This month’s WIRED and this week’s Time both have long treatises about the man who occasionally tries to destroy my marriage (the one in WIRED is better, the author of the one in Time didn’t know what he was talking about).
There’s something that happens when DH plays Halo that I’m not certain I can articulate, but I really dislike it. He gets completely wrapped up in the game, bitter if he can’t pass a level, and loses all track of time. Okay, maybe I do the exact same things when I’m engrossed…but it’s at a different level than when he’s playing Guitar Hero. I don’t know, maybe there’s just something more primal about Halo, that accesses the monkeybrain better than pretending to drive or to play a fake guitar. When each new version comes out, he is essentially unreachable for about two weeks, and then off and on for about three months after that.
I’ve gotten to where I will watch him play, just because that’s something that I can do while he’s playing…and the story line’s not bad. Especially for a video game. It’s got some great cinematics and fairly believable characters (you know, for being set in a future filled with aliens on a ring-shaped planet). There are some kickass weapons…and maybe I’d be into it if I could get around the whole not-being-able-to-see-behind-me thing, which is unlikely.
I bought him the xBox, which we both use, for Christmas years ago, but refused to buy Halo, since I’d seen him play it at a friend’s house (he bought it himself). When Halo 2 came out days before his birthday, I bit the bullet and got it for him, laying down some rules (try not to play past 4AM because you know you’ll be cranky the next day), mostly for naught






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