“A group of doctors says yes, but video game makers scoff”

The above headline and subhead appeared in the local newspaper. The article from the AP says a leading doctors’ council wants to classify playing video games too much as a psychiatric disorder. Does every thing that addicts people have to be labeled a medical or psychiatric problem? Maybe it’s the person, not the thing.

I can understand and appreciate that some things have a physical and/or chemical component that people get addicted to. Certain things affect people’s bodies on chemical level: cocaine, nicotine, alcohol, caffeine, etc.

But things like gambling, sex, and video games don’t have the chemical component. (Well, maybe sex does.) I mean, there are people who have addictive personalities. They can get addicted to TV shows, boyfriends/girlfriends, and checking that their oven is off. Why don’t doctors just label a person as an addictive personality rather than labeling the choice of addiction as the problem?

The article says “up to 90 percent of American youngsters play video games and as many as 15 percent of them may be addicted, according to data.” Up to? As many as? May be? Is the data not complete? I would hope if some authoritative agency is going to label something, they would have more confident information.

I’m not saying that some people don’t get way too involved, even addicted, to video games. My point is that I don’t think it is the game that is the problem. If 15 percent of video gamers get addicted to video games, what about the other 85 percent? What’s the percent of all Americans that have some other kind of addiction? Do 15 percent of armchair sports fans get addicted and spend way too much time and effort on a sport? From what I’ve seen of many sports fans, I’d guess that’s a close number.

How many people vote in the American Idol competition? And how many times do they call in? Should American Idol be considered a psychiatric problem?

Why can’t we identify people with addictive personalities as problems rather than point to the target of their addiction as the problem.

“This person is an addict, and that person is an addict. Let’s solve their personality problem.” Instead of, “Video games are addictive, and gambling is addictive, and televised talent shows are addictive. Let’s identify them as a problem and scare normal and well adjusted people off of them.”

Having said this, though, I will be the first to say that there are a lot of kids and adults who need to turn off the video games and get their butts outside. But the game is not the problem.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

Viewed: DVD

This is the 1951 classic that nearly every sci-fi fan knows of but few have actually seen. I’ve known of the movie’s title, Gort the robot, and the words “Klaatu barada nikto” for as long as I’ve known anything about science fiction. As a kid, I occasionally read sci-fi magazines, and I marveled at the images from famous sci-fi movies. I knew what Gort the robot looked like, and what movie he was from, but I knew nothing about the actual movie story. Now I do.

A flying saucer comes to Earth and lands in a Washington DC park. The military moves in and surrounds the space ship, and excitement fills the city. It doesn’t bode well for a serious movie—and this is apparently supposed to be a serious movie—when the first things I note about the situation make me laugh.

The military has surrounded the ship with armed soldiers, tanks, and artillery pieces. The fact that the military has tanks and artillery pieces in point-blank range of a target is funny enough, but “surrounded” is the notable word in this set up. Ever heard of a Polish Firing Squad?

And then we have all the civilians standing behind the police line, just a couple yards behind the guns. If the space ship backfires and startles a soldier, the death toll would be staggering.

But anyway, in all seriousness, the space ship opens and a spaceman with a fishbowl helmet and silver unisuit comes out with an unknown object in hand. A scared soldier shoots the spaceman in the shoulder. Then Gort the robot comes out.

Gort is ominously quiet as he stiffly steps, one foot after the other, down the ramp from the ship. His visor raises and he shoots a ray at all the weapons around the ship. Guns disintegrate in soldiers’ hands, artillery pieces disappear, and tanks glow long enough for the soldiers to escape, then they too disappear. Gort is badass.

The spaceman is taken to Walter Reed Hospital for medical attention, and he turns out to look completely human. His name is Klaatu, and he has a message for all mankind. A serious message.

Klaatu quietly escapes from the hospital without event, and surreptitiously gets a room at a local boarding house. He then just goes about observing humanity while trying to find a way to get all the governments of the world together to hear his important message at the same time. Most of the movie is non-sci-fi—it’s a mild thriller with a global-political message: stop with the nuclear weapon cold war.

It’s all kind of a disappointment, really. I was fully prepared to accept goofy special effects, but the “serious message” really caught me off guard. It’s almost comical, in retrospect, considering how mild the nuclear war threat was in 1951 compared to how things got by the end of the Cold War. In 1951, the threat was what, a few major cities might get destroyed? By the 1980s, the threat was global total annihilation.

Meh. I’m glad I watched it so I can finally say I know exactly what the movie was about and what it was like. But sadly, the knowledge is nothing to brag about.

And for those who don’t know and are wondering, “Klaatu barada nikto” are the words that must be spoken to Gort to prevent him from going on a rampage.

Bullgrit bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

When my wife drives the kids around town, she puts kiddie tunes in the CD player. They listen to storybook tales or children’s songs. The number of times you can listen to Frog and Toad Are Friends or Wheels on the Bus Go Round before you go out of your adult mind is limited. Severely limited if you are already crotchety and selfish, like me.

When I drive the kids around town, I turn on the radio and listen to music I like. It’s my vehicle, so why shouldn’t I get first choice? Unfortunately, first choice is not always the final choice. When my kids call for a story or a kid song, I have to give in. One: I love them and want them to be happy. Two: I don’t want to hear the whining and nagging for the next hour. Three: I can turn the volume up in the back and down in the front so I can only barely hear it. And turning up the front AC or heat helps to drown it out.

A few days ago, though, we had a breakthrough. I turned on the radio and started surfing through the stations. My oldest son, 6 years old, said, “Turn on some rock and roll, dad.” Hell yeah! That’s my boy!

I tuned in to the local classic rock station and we rocked down the road to the grocery store. We heard The Eagles, Pat Benatar, Golden Earring, and other rockers from the 70s and 80s. And both boys were happy. Dad was happy, too.

This happened again today. “Turn on some rock and roll, dad.” So the first time wasn’t a fluke. It’s a pattern. At one point during our drive today, when a commercial was on the classic rock station, I went up the dial and stopped on a country station that was playing a song I liked. We listened for few seconds, and then my son requested I tune back to the rock and roll. Yes, he actually says, “rock and roll.” That is so cool to hear from a 6 year old.

Even the 2 year old was apparently fine with the rock and roll, because he made not a sound in protest.

But when I sang along with one of the songs (I think it was “One Thing Leads to Another” by The Fixx), I was told, “Dad, don’t sing. Turn up the radio.”

Okay, son. It’s a deal. I’ll not sing, and I’ll turn up the rock and roll.

Bullgrit
bullgrit@totalbullgrit.com

I play the PowerBall lottery each week. There’s two drawings: Wednesday nights and Saturday nights. I forgot to check Thursday morning, and just checked the winning numbers today.

9, 11, 13, 24, 43, PB 18

Way cool for me. I matched the PowerBall: number 18. That means I win three dollars! Woohoo! I won three times what I paid for the ticket. Cha-ching!

But I’m not going to go crazy with this money. I may splurge and by a candy bar with some of it, but the rest I’m going to invest. I’ll use it to buy another ticket or two, depending on how much is left after the candy bar. I’ll make the money work for me.

I’m smart with my money.

Bullgrit