Returning to the Subject: Video Games and Art

Days later, and this incident is still on my mind. Blogging must be done.

First, the scene: I am at work, discussing with a friend two of the things closest to my heart: good television commercials (I'm an advertising major) and video games (I'm a gamer, for those of you just tuning in). Specifically, we were discussing the latest PS3 commercial (those guys are putting out some great stuff, lately). The conversation progressed into the potential superiority of PS3's upcoming Move technology, in comparison to the Wii's MotionPlus. Being educated in the matter, I point out the real loser is going to be Microsoft's Project Nataal, Nintendo always has a handful of first-party titles in any month's Top 20 sold, blah, blah, blah.

This old lady I'm ringing up, she decides to chime in with the following bullshit pseudo-intellectual comment: "Oh, you video gamers always know exactly what you want."

My friend and I do not respond. I won't speak as to why he didn't, but I didn't respond because this is exactly the sort of subject I feel strongly enough about to get into an argument over. And, again, I am at work.

"My generation was so against that stupid Pong game. You should get out and live real life, it's more exciting."

What the shit kind of stupid comment is that? By that idiot logic, no one should bother reading books or watching movies or going to goddamn museums. This silly, uppity old witch was actually arguing not against video games, but against art, but she was so wrapped up in some trendy school of thought from her half-dead generation (baby boomer nonsense, they don't even see what they did, they're so selfish) that she didn't see it.

Anyway. She made a few more idiot comments, all of which went uncontested, due solely to where I was. She walked away, I think, amused at having shut us and our opinions down.

I raged.

Here's the trick, folks. First of all, no: real life is NOT more exciting. It has its own unique offers, but I can't exactly go about in real life slaying dragons, saving princesses, slaying gods, whatever. If I could do any of these things, you can be damned sure I wouldn't spend quite as much time playing Final fucking Fantasy. Yes, seeing an amazing vista or natural feature or building in the real world is something more amazing than seeing it in a video game, but that can be said of all art.

And that's the point: If real life is "more exciting," then why bother with art at all? Why bother with storytelling, why bother with paintings, why bother with learning to write or draw? Nope, apparently, it should be enough to be a mindless automaton (oh, shit, high school anti-society rant incoming!) who works hard at scraping together what meager cash you can, never sparing a moment to independent thought, until a week of vacation rolls around and you go to some idiot tourist spot buried in people who don't belong there. You stand shoulder to shoulder with them, marveling in a beauty that has become entirely artificial - as much a piece of art as the sculptures you ignore - because if it didn't have human hands doing the upkeep, people like YOU would have destroyed it by now. You go ahead, you ogle your lie, and you take some pictures. Some goddamn photos, which you then take back to work and show to anyone who can't politely disengage from you in the break room.

Only, here's a thought: by your own logic, they shouldn't give two SHITS about your photos of someplace they weren't. They should go themselves. Yet here you are, showing 'em off like they're the most amazing thing ever, like you've somehow accomplished something. I'm not saying I've accomplished a whole hell of a lot in my time spent in games and novels, but at least I've learned, thought, expanded my mind. And I didn't do it because some travel guide told me to.

Again, I don't pretend beating BioShock was some great fucking accomplishment. It was as unimportant and self-indulgent as any given activity of your idiot, thoughtless workday. The thing of it is, I don't walk around PRETENDING OTHERWISE. And I walked away from it with some interesting thoughts on the ultimate folly of the utopian society you were so damned sure you were working towards, you baby boomer fuck.

Wow. How do you not see how self-indulgent, self-serving, and hypocritical your life is? I know how: It's because you're a trendy baby boomer bitch prone to talking out of her ass. You are the cancer that broke our world.

God, I really hate baby boomers.