When I sold the condo, I let the new owners keep the fire pit.
It was too heavy to move to my girlfriend’s place. I had built it eleven years prior – the first time my hands had ever touched a saw. The base was a wooden box that I cut and nailed together. If you’ve never built a box there’s a bunch of complicated math you have to figure out. I bought slabs of marble to affix to the sides and built up row after row of broken slate around the gas fire kit. Inside the box was a propane tank. Okay, enough talk about the stupid fire pit. It’s boring.
Smash cut to eleven years later. I’ve built my second ever thing. This time it’s a two player tabletop arcade loaded up with thousands of games. It took me a month from start to finish and I soldered the speakers last night, completing the final step.
Since my arcade came complete with a marquee (obviously I’m not going to build an arcade without a lighted marquee like an asshole!) I had to come up a name. I chose a pun.
If you don’t understand the Arcade Fire reference you should get out more. Arcade Fire is THE preeminent hipster band and have reigned supreme in that community for a decade. Don’t ask me to name their five best songs – I listen to The Beatles, Led Zeppelin and Weird Al. But an arcade with pics of George Harrison all over wouldn’t be as funny, right? I used artwork from the band’s albums to cover the unit. Without permission. Even the bezel border surround the monitor is from one of their albums.
I found a high res photo of the band and photoshopped classic arcade characters over them. Notice that I made the one broad in the band Ms. Pac Man. Might as well do it right, right?
While I won’t bore you with the details about how I put this thing together (like I did with the fire pit), I will say this: I have no skills with tools. Not because I’m a spaz or incapable of turning a wrench. I just don’t know from such things. I didn’t grow up rotating my own tires or building model airplanes. To tell the truth I’m not even much of a gamer. I sold my Playstation last year and I don’t play games on my phone. But growing up, video games were important. I spent every quarter saved at Aladdin’s Castle in our local mall.
And because my parents didn’t supply me with unlimited quarters (which, in retrospect, was a form of child abuse) I couldn’t play as much as I wanted. And now I literally have 5k working arcade games at my whim. Quarters be damned – I have a button that can be pushed for as many credits as I damn well desire. I finally sat down to play yesterday. I realized something – unless you were particularly skilled or had deep pockets, you never saw the later stages of most games. You played for two minutes, you died, and then decided whether to keep feeding quarters into the machine.
Senior year of high school my folks took me to Panama City Beach for spring break and in the hotel complex there was Street Fighter II machine which I beat from start to finish on one quarter. Nobody was around to verify. But I did it. I should also mention all the cool people my age were drinking beer on the beach and trying to pick up girls. But one quarter!
Well, now I can play everything to the end. But it’s weird to continue with unlimited credits. It feels wrong for some reason. Like I’m cheating. There’s no pressure of failure. But I remember back then knowing there was only one last quarter in my Levis front pocket and sweating. I played better under pressure. It was more important to win. So, as cool as it is to dial up any arcade game ever created, it isn’t all that satisfying to play all the way through.
Another odd observation – while technically I could have played the games weeks ago, I never did. There was always some next step to take, like learning how to daisy chain the button wiring, or learning the electricity of all the various power components. And I found that more interesting than actually playing. I think in total there were over 200 wires that needed to be tested, connected, and ground. There’s still one button where the led light flickers a bit – and that is motivating to fix even though I have no idea how. I suspect it’s like the firepit. Even though I built the fucker I rarely used it. Maybe once a year. But I’d pass it on the deck every day and sometimes I’d remember how much work it was and how satisfying it felt to drive pieces of wood together on my own.
Since I’m sure I won’t use the arcade much the smart play would be to sell it to one of the band’s fans. This is exactly the kind of thing they’d buy. Also I’d make a decent profit. But I don’t think I will. And when someone asks me if I play it often, I’ll have to say that I don’t. Or at least I hope I’m not playing it a lot. My time is better spent thinking up the next project. Or writing here. Or reviewing women’s products for InThePowderRoom. Or trying to get something published in The American Bystander.
But I’ll pass it in the hallway each day as it sits outside our master bedroom. And once in awhile I’ll remember how that was once just an idea in my head, and I did a bunch of steps and eventually it came to be. And I’ll feel proud.
