Sunday, May 15, 2011

From Game to Grave

The word “Gamer” is a pejorative in our society. I’m not talking about the Lebron-Miami-Heat-superstar kind of gamer, or that socially dexterous friend that can’t help but get the girl—you know that one you thought you had a shot with—no, I’m talking about the Gamer who plays video games, strategy games, card games, role-playing games and board games. Not the girl who owns a Wii for Wii-Fit and occasionally puts in Mario Kart at social gatherings. I’m talking about a gaming chair, worn in with a perfect ass print:

You know, soda and potato chips, headsets and strategy guides. I’m talking about shoe-boxes full of Magic the Gathering cards, multicolored polygonal dice, and subscriptions to Game Informer magazine.

These social pariahs are everywhere. I’m sure you know one or two, I can almost guarantee you know more than you think. You see, gamers generally don't brag about it. They hide it. It is a dirty, shameful thing. Being a proud gamer is like being a proud masturbator. Rare.

If you haven’t guessed it yet, I am talking from firsthand experience. 

I am starting this blog as an excuse to mix what I love to do, play games, with what I want to love to do, write. I am not here to denigrate gamers, because despite everything I just said, I love gaming. 

I want to explore what it means to be a gamer. What do we get out of it all? Why do we feel good about meaningless accomplishments? Is the social stigma fair? It is expensive, bad for our health, our social life, cancerous to our romantic life, and erodes our self respect. But we still do it. Day after day. Year after year. I'll probably game until the day I die.


  1. Why did you have to use MY chair as an example? Come on man, your cramping my style.

  2. I think this post was the beginning of Dread's metamorphosis into a mad club gangsta