There was a portion of my life where I was certain I’d be a computer programmer. Well, not really a programmer, more like the guy who hooks computers together; a networking guy; the dude with the wire closet. That didn’t pan out, however, but giving it the Old College Try™ did yield certain benefits. Out of these, I’d say that the following were the most influential towards leading me where I am today:
Number One: Computer chicks have REALLY low standards.
Number Two: God damn, I hate math. I mean, before college I disliked math. Now I hate it with the burning passion of a thousand dying suns. Aside: Why the hell do you need astronomy to pass computer programming?
Number Three: I really just like to play games. Hooking two computers together (or twenty) might have been fun back in the LAN days, now it’s just tedious.
The most important of those is number three. I read about games. I write about games. Hell, on occasion I even get to play a game, if the moon is full. See, playing games doesn’t involve math or fancy NIC cards (the irony of following the abbreviated “Card” with “cards” is not lost on me). What it involves is Mountain Dew and Doritoes. Sometimes it involves hastily prepared peanut butter and banana sandwiches, lightly toasted for just the right amount of crunch and a little butter on the side. It involves reclining executive desk chairs and fancy mice. It involves doofy 3D headsets and spending a ridiculous amount for an extra five frames a second. It involves losing out on sleep to make sure that frost dragon is well and truly dead and isn’t laying on an extra piece of loot for free-rolls.
Now here I am 7 years later in a totally different field thinking about what it takes to make a game and how glad I am that I’m not part of it. I look at Paul Barnett and see a rockstar in Elton John sunglasses. Then I check out how much his employees make and I’m not that impressed. Then I read an article about how some company with a half-assed movie tie-in pushed their employees into an 80-hour work week and didn’t pay overtime because they were salaried. All before firing them because Metacritic said so. Is that worth 40k a year while your boss goes and gives his best pre-pedo Michael Jackson impression on YouTube? The world is not made of rockstars.
What I’m getting at is this. I appreciate that some people want to be game designers. Maybe some even want to go to video game school online. In a world where a $2 iPad game is not only more profitable and far less impactful to make, why do we still look up to the Paul Barnetts of the world and think we want to be them? Give me Angry Birds. Give me Super Meat Boy. Give me Minecraft. While we’re at it, let’s also say to hell with John Riccitello, Mike Morhaime, Bob Kotick, and the other bigwigs that feel empowered by the sheer desperation that leads to innumerable lines of talented young men and women waiting outside their doors for other talented young men and women to burn out and leave the industry forever. This, my friends, is the people-mill where the fun of games leads not into temptation but to the everlasting frustration of waiting to be discovered.
Then again, such is the fate of all great minds waiting for their big break. Rock on, rockstars.
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