The Nerdist Way_ How to Reach the Next Level (In Real Life) - Chris Hardwick [6]
When you were a teenager and started discovering the hobbies and interests that would define you, you probably had no problem concentrating on stuff because you were finding and learning new things. Then when you would pick those things, your focus went into hyperphase because you needed to conquer and own these passions. Recall this power and keep it tucked in the back of your think-vault as I share a story with you.
VIDEO GAMES HAVE VALUE
My father, Hall of Fame professional bowler Billy Hardwick, retired from bowling at the ripe old age of thirty-four. He then went on to open a bowling center in 1981. My parents met in 1970 when my dad was bowling at a bowling center that my mom’s father owned. The point here is that I was grown in a bowling center (yes, I meant to word it that way). In the ’70s, bowling centers capitalized on the addictive, quarter-munching qualities of video games when they started installing Pong. After all, kids whose parents were bowling in leagues needed something to do other than run around and break things. This was followed by other such phenom games like Space Invaders, Asteroids, Pac-Man, Defender, and Donkey Kong. As we turned the corner into the neon-pop feel of the ’80s, video games were moved off the bowling center concourse and into dedicated arcades. My grandfather, one Jim Facente, was a technophile. I credit all of my early Nerdist passions to his influence. He had a LaserDisc player in ’79, an early Betamax (he said the quality was better than VHS—he was right), any newfangled video camera, an Atari 2600, Coleco-Vision, Intellivision . . . it was a constant stream of blinking toys. He also had the foresight to put a massive arcade in his Miami bowling hall, Palm Springs Lanes. I spent much time there. He had his arcade tech mark up a bunch of quarters with red nail polish that would then be separated and recycled for me, giving me an endless stream of arcade game play. I was a spoiled Nerd at the dawn of a digital revolution. The timing was gorgeous. When my dad opened his center, there was little question that my vote leaned heavily toward the implementation of this fair and balanced plan. Not surprisingly, I was pretty good, having spent so much time in there. My favorite (and highest scoring games) were Robotron: 2084, Galaga, Donkey Kong Jr., and Tron.
Naturally, there was a parallel home game system marathon as well—from the earliest days of Atari’s Combat (which came with the system) to Adventure, Superman, and Pitfall! Nerds, this was a golden age of gaming and I was a happily spoiled Gen X brat. It was a glorious time of discovery, when video games gave us the at-home ability to have SQUARES shoot LINES at OTHER SQUARES. Those games probably look as ridiculous to kids today as medieval barber tools look to a doctor (Atari released an emulator pack of its own games for the iPad for $15, if you want to test this theory). Still, they were no less powerful at firing a tractor beam at your brain and holding you in front of the television set indefinitely, with that archaic antenna to co-ax switchbox. How many valuable “inventing minutes” did I blow in front of those games? Who knows? I was too busy poking arrows into 8-bit dragons to care.
My game addiction continued through the years until 2004. I had an audition for some show or other that probably never saw the light of day. I bombed it. HARD. But I didn’t care. I had been up all night the night before pipe-whipping pimps in Grand Theft Auto 2. While reading lines in the audition, all I could think about was getting back home to play more GTA2. This was a problem. Having recently had to quit drinking, I was on a “no addiction” addiction, so I decided to give it all up. I sold my gaming systems and all of my games on