Month: March 2013

johnisdead:

spoiler alert via vgjunk

I have a Nintendo Entertainment System in my apartment. Two controllers, the orange gun, all that. I found it in a black plastic garbage bag, which was in storage along with most of the rest of my stuff. I don’t know where this NES came from, but that’s how things are. You get stuff and forget about it.

I was kind of excited, you know, for nostalgia reasons, but I was bummed when I saw no cartridges or game cases in the bag. There was nothing in the box, either. An NES and no games. The torture.

But something everyone always did was forget that they left the cartridge in the console, and sure enough, there was a good copy of Batman waiting to be played. I never completed this when I bought it at an Inglewood yard sale years and years ago. I didn’t think I’d finish it that day, but it was a chance to bring back old memories. Old memories are the best.

The lesson I took away from that five minute ordeal was that satisfaction is assured. The universe abides.

I played some Batman (really, just level 1), and it was pretty great. Then I moved on to something else.

johnisdead:

spoiler alert via vgjunk

I have a Nintendo Entertainment System in my apartment. Two controllers, the orange gun, all that. I found it in a black plastic garbage bag, which was in storage along with most of the rest of my stuff. I don’t know where this NES came from, but that’s how things are. You get stuff and forget about it.

I was kind of excited, you know, for nostalgia reasons, but I was bummed when I saw no cartridges or game cases in the bag. There was nothing in the box, either. An NES and no games. The torture.

But something everyone always did was forget that they left the cartridge in the console, and sure enough, there was a good copy of Batman waiting to be played. I never completed this when I bought it at an Inglewood yard sale years and years ago. I didn’t think I’d finish it that day, but it was a chance to bring back old memories. Old memories are the best.

The lesson I took away from that five minute ordeal was that satisfaction is assured. The universe abides.

I played some Batman (really, just level 1), and it was pretty great. Then I moved on to something else.

I don’t miss much when looking back at life and at ways I used to be. It’s a terrible trap to get caught up in that untapped potential. There’s potential now that requires my attention. But one aspect of myself I consider often is physical capability. Not health so much, as that is a more passive albeit crucial concern, but sheer physical prowess. The power of it. Feeling strong, agile, flexible. Invincible.

Which I don’t, at least not for a long while. What’re we in, March? That makes it nearly two years now that I’ve been on a self-indulgent avalanche. I still feel strong (and prove it to myself when I move furniture or easily hold someone down), but it’s the raw strength of good genetics and a high protein and fat diet. There is no flex to my sinews. I don’t feel like leather is stretching inside my arms or across my legs and back when I lift. Good in a pinch but not capable for a long stretch, let alone a lifetime.

And it’s important. There’s a big piece of my identity that was cultivated in a blue collar home, with a blue collar dad who was always active. Basketball, car and house maintenance, yard work. Simple in theory, but fuck me if I can do any of it for a sustained period of time. A fifty-five year old man can do it, but I can’t? The hell with that.

Anyway. Oedipal inadequacy, I know. My own set of daddy issues.

But, God, there was a time. I’d be up at 3:00 AM at the office, working on who knows what. Organizing disc builds while I wait for NDS carts to finish burning. I’d be there, sitting in some terrible office chair, and I’d just drop to the floor. One hundred push-ups. Felt like I could punch a hole through a wall. It felt good. The impact on my libido was similarly awesome.

I miss it. The absence of doubt in one’s capability. The one angle that I reflect upon in continual regret. If regret’s purpose is to give pause, it works damn well.

I don’t miss much when looking back at life and at ways I used to be. It’s a terrible trap to get caught up in that untapped potential. There’s potential now that requires my attention. But one aspect of myself I consider often is physical capability. Not health so much, as that is a more passive albeit crucial concern, but sheer physical prowess. The power of it. Feeling strong, agile, flexible. Invincible.

Which I don’t, at least not for a long while. What’re we in, March? That makes it nearly two years now that I’ve been on a self-indulgent avalanche. I still feel strong (and prove it to myself when I move furniture or easily hold someone down), but it’s the raw strength of good genetics and a high protein and fat diet. There is no flex to my sinews. I don’t feel like leather is stretching inside my arms or across my legs and back when I lift. Good in a pinch but not capable for a long stretch, let alone a lifetime.

And it’s important. There’s a big piece of my identity that was cultivated in a blue collar home, with a blue collar dad who was always active. Basketball, car and house maintenance, yard work. Simple in theory, but fuck me if I can do any of it for a sustained period of time. A fifty-five year old man can do it, but I can’t? The hell with that.

Anyway. Oedipal inadequacy, I know. My own set of daddy issues.

But, God, there was a time. I’d be up at 3:00 AM at the office, working on who knows what. Organizing disc builds while I wait for NDS carts to finish burning. I’d be there, sitting in some terrible office chair, and I’d just drop to the floor. One hundred push-ups. Felt like I could punch a hole through a wall. It felt good. The impact on my libido was similarly awesome.

I miss it. The absence of doubt in one’s capability. The one angle that I reflect upon in continual regret. If regret’s purpose is to give pause, it works damn well.