It's getting harder for me to separate reality from fiction. Walking to work today, I was very tempted to do a carjack and shoot some people along the way. My only punishments would be either getting out of the hospital, or the police station. (Money and weapons would be taken, but I could live with that.)
On Tuesday night, I managed to secure a non-pre-reserved copy of Grand Theft Auto IV. It was as easy as walking into a Gamestop and handing them my credit card. Happily, I made my way uptown to play the game. Luckily, a well-timed computer virus wiped out my company's internal network, so I spent all night and day playing worked from home yesterday.
As I've mentioned before, I might be too old to play video games. At 29 years of age, I should not find such satisfaction in killing prostitutes. This was supposed to wear off years ago, especially after the therapy and prison stint. Yet each time my Playstation cycles up, a string of Pavlovian drool forms on my chin.
Grand Theft Auto sucks you in. It's endless. And because it represents an almost photo-realistic version of the city I live in, it's just that much more engaging. I actually passed up sex on Tuesday night to play the game*. And the real problems come after you've turned the game off.
Walking around the (real) world, you begin looking at cars differently. They sit there so quietly, so unassuming, begging to be hot wired. The asshole who cut you in line at Dean and Deluca would think twice once you point a gun in his face. I've experienced this same phenomena after leaving strip clubs. You wonder why all women aren't taking their clothes off and letting you stick dollar bills down their pants.
Like all good things, playing the game is best enjoyed in moderation. If you find yourself attempting to throw cement bricks through laundromat windows, or running down pedestrians on the sidewalk in your Hummer. You might need to take a few weeks off from the game.
*This is sadly true.
As I've mentioned before, I might be too old to play video games. At 29 years of age, I should not find such satisfaction in killing prostitutes. This was supposed to wear off years ago, especially after the therapy and prison stint. Yet each time my Playstation cycles up, a string of Pavlovian drool forms on my chin.
Grand Theft Auto sucks you in. It's endless. And because it represents an almost photo-realistic version of the city I live in, it's just that much more engaging. I actually passed up sex on Tuesday night to play the game*. And the real problems come after you've turned the game off.
Walking around the (real) world, you begin looking at cars differently. They sit there so quietly, so unassuming, begging to be hot wired. The asshole who cut you in line at Dean and Deluca would think twice once you point a gun in his face. I've experienced this same phenomena after leaving strip clubs. You wonder why all women aren't taking their clothes off and letting you stick dollar bills down their pants.
Like all good things, playing the game is best enjoyed in moderation. If you find yourself attempting to throw cement bricks through laundromat windows, or running down pedestrians on the sidewalk in your Hummer. You might need to take a few weeks off from the game.
*This is sadly true.
I have GTA4 too, and I find it very interesting that within a few minutes of being dropped into this alternate reality, you have the irresistible urge to start randomly punching people and running over pedestrians. Very entertaining, though!