There's been a certain problem with gaming that's only gotten worse over time: it's what I like to call Late to the Party Syndrome. It happens whenever people on the Internet venture to talk about a game more than two weeks after its release date; daring to excuse their transgression, they proclaim themselves "late to the party" and sheepishly try to revive a lost conversation.
Of course, the problem isn't these "latecomers." We, as gamers, are becoming--or may have already become--a culture that absorbs new products as fast as possible in order to move onto the newest and next biggest thing. There's something to be said about the only acceptable window of conversation for a game being the two week period around its release, and when said game becomes retro rougly a decade later.
This is why I'm thankful for podcasts like 1UPFM, which has a "Backlog" section that features editors' thoughts on playing games from as far back as the mythical age of 2005. And, to be completely fair, the consume-and-forget lifestyle doesn't exist in the world of video games alone. I remember back when the last Harry Potter book came out, everyone on the Internet practically had a race to see who could finish it first. Whatever happened to savoring something you enjoy, and taking time out to reflect instead of binge?
Oh, and now that Stephanie Meyer's god-awful Twilight books are the Next Big Thing, several articles about them have basically stated, "Potter who?" ARGH.
Between schooling, writing, teaching, and blogging, I have very little free time as it is, so I may sound like a hypocrite in asking people to be less effective with their spare time. I, too, could joylessly rush through as many games as I could in my gaming time--but that doesn't sound very fun to me. Last night, I finished Fable 2, a game that took me roughly a month to get through. The main quest probably could have been finished in about a week, but I wanted to get as much out of the game as I could. Yes, I did miss out on the nine million other games that were released in that month-long time span, but you know what? They're not going anywhere.
Places like GameStop may be encouraging this sort of "Get rid of your games ASAP" behavior, but that doesn't mean you have to buy into it. I know I pimp the place out enough (and receive nothing from my pimpings), but get a GameFly subscription, stop hoarding, and quit viewing your games as ticking time bombs steadily decreasing in value. And most importantly, slow the hell down. Don't become an automaton speedrunning through Corporate Blockbuster Version A-13 motivated by peer pressure alone.
Related Links:
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