Monday was a rough day. I came home in the evening bruised and battered, my heart filled with despair. The only certainty in the world was the isolation I lived in and was sure to live in until the end of my days. There was only one thing to do: I logged into World of Warcraft.
The idea of MMOGs as drugs is a common joke: Surely you’ve heard names bandied about like “Evercrack” or “World of Warcrack,” etc. You see, the idea is that these games are addictive… LIKE CRACK! Get it? (I suppose it also helps that these names roll off the tongue a bit easier than “World of Warmethamphetamine,” but I digress.) The mental image these terms are meant to invoke is one of the lonely nerd huddled over their computer like a burnt heroin spoon. They are playing these games twelve hours a day, unable to peel themselves away. Their addiction is having a negative impact on their ability to hold a job or maintain relationships. They are junkies.
I think that the joke is about the time suck and the compulsion aspects, generally speaking. I don’t have any desire to comment on the validity of this comparison, since I believe reasonable people can deduce the truth for themselves and unreasonable people are idiots I’m uninterested in hearing from. However, I think there’s another, possibly more overlooked aspect to the drug analogy that concerns me more as a gamer.
I’m not addicted to WoW. I am an infrequent user, as evidenced by the fact that I have one character who is only level 75. I have never been on a raid with more than 10 people. I don’t know what the good armor sets are, or how to get them, and I don’t think I’ve even spent all my talent points. I am really only marginally invested in this game. That said, when I use it, I use it like a drug.
WoW does not stimulate me in the way that most other games and even some television does. I find grinding my way through Azeroth to be a sort of repetetive, thoughtless, almost Zen-like exercise. I go there to make thoughts die, my brain activity only dimly flickering like a flashlight right before the batteries go out. When I eventually awake from this induced stupor I find that I am in the future(!), and I have successfully arrived survived the passage of time with only the slightest feeling that something intangible has been lost.
It’s a comparatively better choice than downing a fifth of whiskey, smoking a joint, injecting mescalin directly into my forebrain or whatever it is the kids do these days. However, it still raises the question of why I’d engage in this activity over one that I might actually enjoy. I’m not talking about something so radical as going outside, talking to other humans, or even — God forbid — exercising. I can’t figure out why I would ever choose to do this over another video game I actually enjoy. I don’t know, but I suspect the answer reveals something dark and sad about me.
My name is Safety Monkey, and I’ve been free and clear for two days.
