(Note: this post was originally published on Oct. 2; this is a revised version published on Oct. 3)
Last week, my friend Casey asked me if I played “the game.”
“The game?” I replied.
She nodded.
After a few minutes I realized what she was talking about. The game. The flirtation game. The text messaging game. The let-me-try and-strategize-to-take-you-on-a-date game. The let’s-talk-about-everything-and-nothing-at-the-same-time-and-then-maybe-make-out game.
I have always played some version of the game: passing notes in middle school, gossiping with friends in high school, crushing, blushing, and rushing too quick into a pseudo date to get ice cream, watch a movie, or go on a walk.
Over the course of three years in the university, a set of rules have been fleshed out between some of my friends. Here are some of the basics:
•She took 12 minutes to text me back, so I’m going to take 20 minutes and it will make it look like I’m really busy.
•It’s been an hour and a half since I got a text. Should I double text?
•What dose the ellipsis mean…
•What is a good time to call and try to hang out? Before four would make it seem like I have nothing else to do but sit around and think about hanging out with you. After seven would be too late and make it seem like I don’t have anything else to do for the night. I shouldn’t call at the top of the hour, or the half hour, or even at the quarter of the hour: that would make it seem like I had been planning to call her at a certain time. It’ll be 6:08. It’s 6:14? I’ll have to wait until 6:41.
•Who are these guys writing on her Facebook wall? Posting links to songs on YouTube, bastards.
•Was it a good decision to defriend her on Facebook? It seemed like it was a good way to flirt.
I didn’t realize until then how much of a game fanatic I really was. I would interpret every action actions like they were dreams, trying to find some kind of order in the vague actions.
I’ve spent a lot of time in apple orchards, on the ice skating rink, at mediocre movies, playing the game.
I’ve given up meeting new friends because I was too preoccupied playing the game.
I dated a girl for about a year and a half and dumped her out of a longing to play the game.
Six months later, I met a girl at a party. We texted. We chatted on Facebook. When we finally got together to get coffee, something seemed off. It was time to actually come clean with all the digital communication. I didn’t have time to plan my phrases, time to analyze what was said, and ask advice from my friends.
The telecommunicational thrill was gone.
The game was over.
On to the next one.
While the top Ivy-Leuge educated graduates get rich sitting in their Wall St. offices writing formulas for dividends for the stock market game ,and while politicians at all levels put on their best threads and go door to door assuring their constiotuants that everything is going to be alright, and organizations that thrive to help the poor, sick and ignorant struggle within themselves for power and vision, I, like so many others, play the dating game. It gives us a sense of purpose in the gaming industry, something to consume time not spent consuming. What does a game accomplish? Immediate gratification. Some purpose for the moment. A memory and the possibility of a good story.
Games give us immediate recognition. We role the dice, we make a play, we win or we lose; in a matter of a few hours it’s all done. In the game I’ve been a player in, play is spread over the matter of weeks. Instead of requiring a few hours and basic some basic strategy, the game occupies something more substantial and humane – that longing to be seen as attractive by someone else.
This longing is somthing that Cristina Nehring says we should embrace in her book “A Vindication of Love: Reclaiming Romance for the Twenty-First Century.” The game fulfills what she calls “strenuously exhibitionistic happiness” – that we appear to exhibit passion and mystery in our relationships. Like chess is a game based on the strategy of war, this dating game is based on real feelings of love, lust and compassion. The little pieces on the board are replaces with the plastic keys of a cellphone.
I’ve come to announce my retirement. After realizing that the “game” is just a game, I cannot take it as seriously as I used to. The towel is thrown in. I’m done.
But, like many a sports star, Michael Jordan, Brett Favre, I may be coming out of it soon when I start missing the game.
Fritz Klug, the Western Herald news editor, is a senior majoring in Latin.
About briand
A. Your analysis on the thoughtscape of intervalic “texting” is impeccable.
B. Let me put it this way. I played the game about a year ago with a girl I knew from childhood, then reunited on longer. I received interference from past acquaintances, which hindered my “leveling up.” Then a year later, I think the time is right to maybe see what round two has in store. Come to find out, round one’s girl got married at 19, moved to Kentucky or somewhere of similar stature. What should I do Fritz? Do I pursue this (the mere fact of marriage makes this seem like I am at the final boss battle of FFX) and how? How do I play the game with a married woman? Is this ethical? What if “I know” what is best for her?