Andare, Partire, Tornare


Boys and their toys: A Videogame Saga

Princess Gracie has discovered that if the comfortable foot that one is sleeping next to at the foot of the bed begins to twitch, or if its owner decides to toss and turn, thus disturbing one's slumber, attacking the foot with claws and teeth usually serves to fix the problem. Unfortunately, the foot she is planted by is usually mine, and I discovered this new tendency this morning at about three am, so there was very little amuseument about the whole affair. If this keeps up, I will have beautifully scarred feet. No doubt, the scars will only add to the attractiveness of my feet - they certainly can't make them more ugly.

We went over to a friend's house last night - one of Bemo's longtime friends, and a guy who I've considered a fairly decent friend as well. Gameboy's biggest problem, as the name I've decided for him may indicate, is that he's totally wrapped up in video games. Not to the extent of other guys that I've read about - he has deliberately stayed away from EverCrack, but he is completely obsessed with them. It's part of a larger maturity problem in his case - he has very little understanding of the need to occasionally accomodate other people by, say, not inflicting his choices on them (music, entertainment, and other). I'm sure most of you have known twelve-year-old boys - the symptoms are the same in Gameboy, who is 30, as they are in the younguns.

So, last night, we actually went over to his house in the anticipation of actually playing video games (instead of showing up to watch a movie or play a board game and finding ourselves dragooned into playing said games. I wanted to play a specific one, and asked if I could, GameBoy set up the game. The following tableau played out:

Gameboy: "Let me show you how to play the game."

Genibee: "I can figure it out. I'm not expecting to get far, especially since I'll be in the trial area."

Gameboy: "No, I need to show you how it works. Give me the controler."

Genibee: "No, really. I think I can figure it out, it's just a game, who cares?"

Gameboy: "Come on. Let me do it first so you can see how it works."

So I relinquish the controler. And Gameboy starts playing the game. And playing it. He doesn't say anything other than, "See how cool this is? And look, you can do this here. Aren't the graphics awesome?" No "press B to open the car door, triangle button to shoot somebody." He just starts playing. About ten minutes later, I get up and go to his computer and start checking my email. About twenty minutes later, Gameboy finally offers me the controller. I tell him no, I'm not interested anymore. He keeps playing. A half-hour later, he offers the controler to Bemo, they continue playing. We leave about an hour later. By this point, I am fuming. Bemo makes a few pointed comments towards GameBoy about his behavior, but to no avail - there is simply no comprehension as to the idea that he might have been a *titch* rude.

Now, I have seen this behavior before, specifically from Bemo, whose idea of teaching me bass guitar was to take the bass away from me to show me the notes, and then absentmindedly go off into a jam session of his own, his stare vacant, his fingers flying over the fret board. I could have had a trained seal act in front of him and he wouldn't have noticed. When Bemo did this to me, I explained to him that I found it very rude, and he understood. I have the deep and abiding feeling that GameBoy will not understand. Worse, he will chalk it up to me "being a girl" and thus mysterious, and so unknowable that an ordinary schlub like him might as well not even try. If he goes the PMS route, there will be bloodshed and I will put his head on a pike outside my cubicle.

This is only an issue because aside from his persistent rudeness and lack of a clue, I like GameBoy. He's a nice guy, and can be fun to hang out with. I wouldn't waste any mental effort on it if he weren't a friend. Bemo wrote him an email last night, while I was still too pissed off to even consider it, but I might send one of my own. Or maybe I won't. Staring into the face of utter bewilderment is just so exhausting...

10:43 a.m. - 2002-02-06


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