Stage 5: Paranoia Rebirth
From that day on, my growing addiction toward the game was certain. Every now and then I would play a game or two before dragging my brother back home for dinner, and every now and then I would go to the arcade on my own just to go "DDRing", as some of the "locals" who practically live next to the machine would say.
Of course, being who I am, I never try to converse with these strangers. SAD is like mind glue – you can hardly spit a word out without processing your sentence through the brain some one hundred and eighty times. However, for some strange reasons, I got along with Blaze pretty well. Perhaps it was because he was a good conversationalist, or just the fact that he's blatantly interested in fucking me… either way, he helped me pull through Butterfly, he helped me get the groove on Let The Heat Beat Em… he seemed to know the people who played the game as well, as he always tried to introduce me to fellow "DDRers" when I was with him in the arcade. To my own surprise, I did not hesitate to ask Blaze about the person that led me into the game.
"He is Fox." was all that he said to me, and all that he needed to say to me. Everyone around him fell into the same solemn, holy mood. It seemed that everyone had respect for him… and as for me, physical admirations.
The mundane school days go on, and one day as we were waiting in line to get our grooves on the machine, Blaze brought up an interesting topic on one of our usual "DDR chats".
"There is a tournament coming up in AI this weekend. Do you want to go and see? I'd invite a couple of friends and we can go together. It'd be fun!"
It was then that the original idea of DDR being a game for "dumb fuck monkeys" crept back into my head. I led myself to accept the picture of playing on a DDR machine because of the exercise that I get. I could not accept the fact that a group of dancing monkeys would gather and all compete to see who is "monkier". That was just not right.
"I'll pay for gas and dinner before the tournament."
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck my wallet!
1.1.1 Stage 6: Dream a Dream
Arcade Infinity is actually more of a arcade machine vendor than an arcade operator. Granted that their machines are all the newest of the stock, the floor was unpolished, the place was filled with the stench of sweat, and the lighting made state penitentiaries look like a decent place to live. However, the tournament changed everything negative about the place: the floor was covered by the feet of masses of onlookers and competitors waiting to step into the spotlight for their fifteen minutes of fame on the DDR machine.
Blaze took off shortly after we all arrived at AI. He came back with a stack of tokens and a disappointed face.
"They ran out of T-shirts," he said, "they were giving away AI T-shirts for everyone who joined the tournament."
"You're joining?"
"Of course! It'd be fun!" Blaze was so simple minded. Everything about DDR seemed to be fun for him. Oh well, at least that made his life that much less complicated than mine.
By the time that we're done with the talking and ready to jam ourselves into the seas of audiences that blocked our view from the tournament center ground, the first section of the tournament – perfect attack – was in full force. I'd never imagined that yellow would ever become my favorite color, but seeing others hitting yellow on almost every step on a manic song was an eye opening experience. And it looked as if everyone who stepped onto the stage were programmed to get perfect steps. How much time did they all spend trending on the DDR pad? I could not even begin to fathom.
The competition was bought into high heat when I heard the announcer said, "Next up, Fox…"
And there he was, perfection in front of my eyes yet again. I could have sworn that I would go up, drag him by the shirt, and rape him in front of the crowd… but who am I to disturb the cloud of religious silence generated by his presence?
Fox gracefully stepped onto the stage, hopped once or twice to get his feet going, and when the selection screen pops up, picked Rhythm and Police.
The crowd fell into silent awe. Anyone who played DDR and have a pea brain knew that Rhythm and Police would not be a walk in the park like Kick The Can. And yet, defying the limitations of strength and stamina, he picked Rhythm and Police… he was my hero…
The screen blacked out. The song loaded and launches its devastating continuous fury of maniac steps. All eyes focused on Fox, who swayed around like he could mop the floor with his feet. In came the deadly gallops, and his feet tapped like a machine.
ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap…
And as he pushes the final step on the dance pad, he stood in his place and did not move a muscle. A few seconds later, the crowd went wild as the game displays his score. The tournament officials typed in the data with excitement.
"ninety seven point eight five, folks! This is by far the best record we have so far!"
I wanted to talk to Fox before he disappeared back into the crowd. My body moved itself without permission from the brain. At that point, I really didn't care what I'd do once I found him. So long as I get to see him… talk to him…
"and up next, Blaze…"
My footsteps froze again.
From that day on, my growing addiction toward the game was certain. Every now and then I would play a game or two before dragging my brother back home for dinner, and every now and then I would go to the arcade on my own just to go "DDRing", as some of the "locals" who practically live next to the machine would say.
Of course, being who I am, I never try to converse with these strangers. SAD is like mind glue – you can hardly spit a word out without processing your sentence through the brain some one hundred and eighty times. However, for some strange reasons, I got along with Blaze pretty well. Perhaps it was because he was a good conversationalist, or just the fact that he's blatantly interested in fucking me… either way, he helped me pull through Butterfly, he helped me get the groove on Let The Heat Beat Em… he seemed to know the people who played the game as well, as he always tried to introduce me to fellow "DDRers" when I was with him in the arcade. To my own surprise, I did not hesitate to ask Blaze about the person that led me into the game.
"He is Fox." was all that he said to me, and all that he needed to say to me. Everyone around him fell into the same solemn, holy mood. It seemed that everyone had respect for him… and as for me, physical admirations.
The mundane school days go on, and one day as we were waiting in line to get our grooves on the machine, Blaze brought up an interesting topic on one of our usual "DDR chats".
"There is a tournament coming up in AI this weekend. Do you want to go and see? I'd invite a couple of friends and we can go together. It'd be fun!"
It was then that the original idea of DDR being a game for "dumb fuck monkeys" crept back into my head. I led myself to accept the picture of playing on a DDR machine because of the exercise that I get. I could not accept the fact that a group of dancing monkeys would gather and all compete to see who is "monkier". That was just not right.
"I'll pay for gas and dinner before the tournament."
Fuck, fuck, fuck! Fuck my wallet!
1.1.1 Stage 6: Dream a Dream
Arcade Infinity is actually more of a arcade machine vendor than an arcade operator. Granted that their machines are all the newest of the stock, the floor was unpolished, the place was filled with the stench of sweat, and the lighting made state penitentiaries look like a decent place to live. However, the tournament changed everything negative about the place: the floor was covered by the feet of masses of onlookers and competitors waiting to step into the spotlight for their fifteen minutes of fame on the DDR machine.
Blaze took off shortly after we all arrived at AI. He came back with a stack of tokens and a disappointed face.
"They ran out of T-shirts," he said, "they were giving away AI T-shirts for everyone who joined the tournament."
"You're joining?"
"Of course! It'd be fun!" Blaze was so simple minded. Everything about DDR seemed to be fun for him. Oh well, at least that made his life that much less complicated than mine.
By the time that we're done with the talking and ready to jam ourselves into the seas of audiences that blocked our view from the tournament center ground, the first section of the tournament – perfect attack – was in full force. I'd never imagined that yellow would ever become my favorite color, but seeing others hitting yellow on almost every step on a manic song was an eye opening experience. And it looked as if everyone who stepped onto the stage were programmed to get perfect steps. How much time did they all spend trending on the DDR pad? I could not even begin to fathom.
The competition was bought into high heat when I heard the announcer said, "Next up, Fox…"
And there he was, perfection in front of my eyes yet again. I could have sworn that I would go up, drag him by the shirt, and rape him in front of the crowd… but who am I to disturb the cloud of religious silence generated by his presence?
Fox gracefully stepped onto the stage, hopped once or twice to get his feet going, and when the selection screen pops up, picked Rhythm and Police.
The crowd fell into silent awe. Anyone who played DDR and have a pea brain knew that Rhythm and Police would not be a walk in the park like Kick The Can. And yet, defying the limitations of strength and stamina, he picked Rhythm and Police… he was my hero…
The screen blacked out. The song loaded and launches its devastating continuous fury of maniac steps. All eyes focused on Fox, who swayed around like he could mop the floor with his feet. In came the deadly gallops, and his feet tapped like a machine.
ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap, ta-tap…
And as he pushes the final step on the dance pad, he stood in his place and did not move a muscle. A few seconds later, the crowd went wild as the game displays his score. The tournament officials typed in the data with excitement.
"ninety seven point eight five, folks! This is by far the best record we have so far!"
I wanted to talk to Fox before he disappeared back into the crowd. My body moved itself without permission from the brain. At that point, I really didn't care what I'd do once I found him. So long as I get to see him… talk to him…
"and up next, Blaze…"
My footsteps froze again.