About three things I was absolutely certain.
First, Atrus was a Chromebook. A very spiffy, arctic-white Samsung Chromebook.
Second, there was a part of him--and I didn't know how dominant that part might be--that was Google. And Samsung. And Arctic White.
And third, I was uncontrollably, irrevocably amazed by him.
For years I had dreamed of my very own Windows laptop to have and hold, to play and program on--true, I was raised Apple, but as I've progressed through adolescence I've questioned my native technological creed time and again (which could take up a whole other post on game philosophy some other day). But I largely kept these ruminations in my head. Once, I did confess my queer, deep, abiding passions for video games to my mother, but I could never get my father to see the value of any serious, spirited gaming beyond the occasional Mario Kart weekend marathons and FIFA '09 sessions--not exactly the Dark Descent of Amnesia I was looking for. So when he told me one day that he wanted to get me a computer, I never mentioned that my main interest in a Windows PC came from a secret desire to own all Steam virtual inventory.
"He'll be good for you," my father said--of the Google Chromebook he found for me. "He'll be perfect for all your school and Internet needs. He'll take care of you for many years, Alex."
The day before Thanksgiving was when Atrus and his light accessories moved into my room. I found myself interestingly impressed by his minimalist appearance, easy-going manner, and brilliant eyes with a face that lit up so intelligently whenever he did something. But not for a moment could his coolness make me forget that he was a glorified netbook--unable to recognize executable files of all types meant he was immune to viruses as well as the games I yearned to play.
He sensed my sadness, and sympathized. "I come from a land built on people playing with things, playing around things, and just playing things. But perhaps I can--shall we say--connect--you to certain resources...?"
"How?" my aching heart sniffled, suddenly hopeful.
"Well, there is something called Entanglement you can get on the Chrome Web Store. It looks like an app store, but everything is free. There is a whole section just for games. They are not the Amnesia you want, but they are good games. Cheer up now, mate."
So I cheered up and started playing Entanglement--a relatively simple puzzle game where you try to make the longest path possible across the strategic placement of adjacent tiles. It plays Zen-like ambient sounds and doesn't make you compete or compare with other players. It was a nice game, a beautiful game, maybe a bit slow for me, but fun all the same.
It was a game. Not the game I thought I wanted, certainly not the game I expected... but it was a game.
The day Atrus showed me Entanglement was the day I learned I didn't need this game or that game to be a happy gamer. I just needed someone who understood my heart. My heart doesn't want to be a hardcore wired gamer; it just wants a happy gamer.
Since then, I've gotten hooked on Bejeweled and Little Alchemy, also available as Chrome "apps"; more games besides are arriving every other day. And while I still wouldn't mind getting a fancy-dancy decked out $4,000 PC station thing-a-ma-jig someday for playing Amnesia in all its glory... I'm holding on to Atrus for as long as he wants to be around.
 |
| Somehow, I managed to penetrate his arctic white exterior--or did he simply expose his good side to me? |
"He'll be good for you," my father said--of the Google Chromebook he found for me. "He'll be perfect for all your school and Internet needs. He'll take care of you for many years, Alex."
The day before Thanksgiving was when Atrus and his light accessories moved into my room. I found myself interestingly impressed by his minimalist appearance, easy-going manner, and brilliant eyes with a face that lit up so intelligently whenever he did something. But not for a moment could his coolness make me forget that he was a glorified netbook--unable to recognize executable files of all types meant he was immune to viruses as well as the games I yearned to play.
He sensed my sadness, and sympathized. "I come from a land built on people playing with things, playing around things, and just playing things. But perhaps I can--shall we say--connect--you to certain resources...?"
"How?" my aching heart sniffled, suddenly hopeful.
"Well, there is something called Entanglement you can get on the Chrome Web Store. It looks like an app store, but everything is free. There is a whole section just for games. They are not the Amnesia you want, but they are good games. Cheer up now, mate."
So I cheered up and started playing Entanglement--a relatively simple puzzle game where you try to make the longest path possible across the strategic placement of adjacent tiles. It plays Zen-like ambient sounds and doesn't make you compete or compare with other players. It was a nice game, a beautiful game, maybe a bit slow for me, but fun all the same.
It was a game. Not the game I thought I wanted, certainly not the game I expected... but it was a game.
The day Atrus showed me Entanglement was the day I learned I didn't need this game or that game to be a happy gamer. I just needed someone who understood my heart. My heart doesn't want to be a hardcore wired gamer; it just wants a happy gamer.
Since then, I've gotten hooked on Bejeweled and Little Alchemy, also available as Chrome "apps"; more games besides are arriving every other day. And while I still wouldn't mind getting a fancy-dancy decked out $4,000 PC station thing-a-ma-jig someday for playing Amnesia in all its glory... I'm holding on to Atrus for as long as he wants to be around.
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