Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Last night, in perhaps the most egregious violation of my video gaming philosophy yet, I wowed my boss with a headshot. The context was Gears of War 3. The docks. 40, 50 virtual feet away, a Theron Guard popped its foul skull out of cover. I raised my Longshot, leveled the scope dead center with its head, and squeezed the trigger. Crack! The tell-tale whine of the bullet, followed by a graphic and noisy splatter of alien brain matter. I should’ve asked for a raise right then and there.

How I even got to this point was a harrowing ordeal, in and of itself. Let me retrace my trajectory: I gamed openly in college, then buried it thereafter in various degrees, treating the hobby for what it truly was–a secret shame–to the point where I reinvented my public persona to be largely Xbox-free. Recent events, however, have brought about a Nerd Renaissance, which has culminated in this latest development: a foray into social gaming.

When I first logged onto Xbox Live, I was frankly aghast at the invasion of privacy. Not only would your online Friends know when you were logged in, they could also discern what precisely you were playing. It was unnerving, and I promptly blocked everybody. But then, a part of me wanted to interact. Wanted others to see what I was playing. There’s also a corrective component to this dynamic, too, because social shaming ensures you won’t stay logged in for hours on end. So I flipped the switch. Decided to reveal all. “Welcome to social,” messaged one buddy and, well, here we are. We’ve only got a couple levels left to go. 10:30 PM approaches. Duty calls! And I must answer.