Deep in my hallway closet, on a shelf up high, sits a ping-pong paddle. Near it is a tennis racquet, below it hangs a trusty corduroy jacket, and gathered on the floor are CD-Rs, a power drill, and other curios once useful, now left to idle in the dark. But the paddle, which I’ve had since high school, may be exhumed in short order. Indeed it is positively ancient, with its own narrative told through a scratched handle and a worn face, and yet I’ve kept it. I like its heft. It’s reassuring, familiar, and with a little work it should be ready for prime time.
The venue in question is the office. You may recall my stance on physical exertion vis-à-vis the corporate world. Golf, bowling, table tennis, darts, softball, kickball, it doesn’t matter–any sport simply offers another data point upon which you may be judged, in however minor a capacity, and this is at the forefront of my mind whenever I think about participating. But ping-pong is big in the office, and I happen to enjoy it. Proportionally speaking, I enjoy it with a fervor commensurate to how much I hate golf.
I got the full lowdown today, from the house rules to equipment allowances to the key stakeholders who must be vanquished in order to ascend to the top of the heap. It’s been two years since the paddle’s left its case, but I’m on a mission now, and such stats are irrelevant. There’s apparently a tournament around Christmastime, complete with an actual bracket, so there’s my due date. It’s perfect, really. I’m afforded a few months to prepare. More importantly, it’s the season of Advent, the festive time of year when thoughts turn to the birth of Jesus and how to crush my opponents.
Secondhand Rants will return on Tuesday, September 07.
There is an Xbox sitting no more than a floor away from me now, and despite its proximity it is currently off, WordPress is on, and here we are. In what may very likely be a terrible lapse in judgment, I’ve allowed one of the two devices I’ve long embargoed–the other being a generously sized high-def television–into my home, with mixed results. On the one hand, the grim calculus I had laid out before me, which called for malnourishment, missed work, and an overall absence of self-control has yet to unfold. I’ve been sleeping amply. Showing up at the office on time, more or less. On the other hand, it’s only been two days.
I won’t bore you with details. This was a broken Xbox made whole again, courtesy of eBay, and in a moment of resolve I posed it as a grand experiment, a concrete answer to a long-standing “What if?” of mine. What if I had easy access to video games? Would catastrophe ensue, or would I maintain some semblance of normalcy? I should probably clarify the television point. The console isn’t just sitting there, like, on the carpet, connected to nothing, after all. I discovered component outputs on one of my monitors when I found the ports cleverly hidden along the bottom of the screen. Sure, 480p is no 1080p, but you know what? It’s enough for me.
Previously I had believed a 52″ plasma and full surround sound were prerequisites for even entertaining the thought of accessible gaming hardware, but clearly that’s not the case. Now, the main issue before me is moderation. The limited data I do have suggests I probably should’ve done this sooner, rather than nurture the nightmare scenarios I’ve been picturing. It’s kind of like how the drinking age in Germany is–what, 12? It takes away from the mystique. Having said all this, if you don’t hear from me next week, send for help. Possibly Hot Pockets as well.