Exit Music, My 360

On Sunday, January 20, 2008 at approximately 7:56 pm, it happened. The red ring of death docked in our living room. Our Xbox had failed.

At first, we pretended as if it hadn’t happened. We went into the other room, told ourselves that it was just a figment of our imaginations. We would go away for 10 minutes, come back, and everything would be fine. So 10 minutes later, we returned to the living room with the expectation that our Xbox 360 would be green as money and ready to play Mass Effect at a moment’s notice. I pressed that little 360 power circle and was prepared to scold myself for such a silly red ring of death Sunday night scare and partial meltdown. RED!

My face felt warm and wet. I looked in utter panic to John who shook his head. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. But John’s expression told me that my worst fears had been realized. Complete hardware failure. The 360 wouldn’t come back, not if we wrapped her in towels, not if we unplugged her and tried to revive her. There was nothing we could do. It was over, the end of an era.

And then my whole world fell apart. The ice cream cake in the freezer, reserved for gaming nights alone, would go to waste. The Wii couldn’t provide us with Mass Effect! The Wii wasn’t cut out to play Drum & Bass! The Wii wouldn’t display Coen Brothers films! The Wii was only good for tennis and families, not young gamers with passion and ice cream cake! We knew what we had to do. But how would we accomplish the task?

And in the distance, I heard Thom York sing “Exit Music”:

Breathe … keep breathing
Don’t lose … your nerve
Breathe … keep breathing
I can’t do this … alone

If we hopped into the car, we would risk losing our highly coveted San Francisco parking space. It was cold outside and threatened to rain. But this was an emergency. We started the vehicle engine and proceeded to drive down Geary St. toward Best Buy. But a quick pull into the empty parking lot threatened to spoil our plans. As we suspected, Best Buy was closed. And then the panic began to leech out of my bones and into the car. It was Sunday. Of course! Everything was closed! How could we have been so stupid? I oscillated between self-loathing and exasperation for a time before deciding that if need be, we would drive 2 counties north to Walmart where surely a console awaited us. But no. A call to Target informed us that we had 30 minutes before close to arrive, purchase, and breathe again. Thom York sang:

Sing us a song
A song to keep us warm
There’s such a chill
Such a chill.

The San Francisco traffic gods took pity on us that evening as we drove south toward Target, toward salvation. The desperation was palpable as we pulled into the enormous parking lot. We rushed to the gaming area. Two college-age kids were ahead of us in line. They were asking for a 360. We listened in pain as the clerk said that the Xbox was sold out, nowhere to be found … anywhere. The news was not alarming. We had suspected that it might have been the case, and although the traffic gods had shown us mercy, we had clearly angered the console gods. We had to pay. And pay we did … for a PlayStation 3.

As we arrived back home, we could breathe. We had a lovely little PS3. It would care for us, play our DVDs, our D&B, and yes, there were PS3 games, many PS3 games to be played. And at the console gods, I heard Thom sing:

You can laugh
A spineless laugh
We hope that your rules and wisdom choke you
Now we are one
In everlasting peace

We were one, just me, John, the Wii, and the PS3, and it would be a new life, a new and exciting life.

But the week grew cold. The poinsettia died. And the PS3 was lovely, but Mass Effect lingered savagely in my mind. I had been waiting all that time for John to beat it before I played it for myself, knowing that once I went Mass Effect, I wouldn’t go back. And the opportunity had been cruelly taken from me by the console gods and their red ring of fucking death.

We hope that you choke … that you choke
We hope that you choke … that you choke
We hope that you choke … that you choke

And as Mass Effect nagged at me, Monday dragged. Specter Shepard, I wouldn’t become her. Tuesday I spent in spiteful darkness. And by Wednesday morning, the pain had become too much. I awoke for the third day in a row to Thom singing:

Wake … from your sleep
The drying of your tears
Today … we escape
We escape.

I looked over at John, who lay beside me. He had downloaded flOw. He had fondled the Home trailer lovingly. We had played Resistance and Uncharted. He was at peace with the PS3, had even grown to love him and his sleek black lines, sharp edges, effortless operation. And even though it would hurt both John and our PS3, I no longer had any choice, no agency, no will. I was defenseless against Mass Effect and the 360 that I longed for. The pain had to end soon.

And at lunch that day as I slipped out of the office, I looked at John before closing the door behind me.

Pack and get dressed
Before your father hears us
Before … all hell … breaks loose.

At 45 miles per hour, I raced to Best Buy. And there, so near the floor, so hidden from view, I saw her. She had been waiting. $350 later plus tax, I triumphantly threw the 360 in my trunk. It was mine. I would play Mass Effect! I would be Specter Shepard! I would fight Matriarch Benezia, and I would take Saren down! I roared in my victory over the console gods.

We hope that you choke … that you choke
We hope that you choke … that you choke
We hope that you choke … that you choke

And with that final curse, Thom York stopped singing.

Now we are one
In everlasting peace

But the next day, my wallet began crying, and I once again heard the deafening roar of the console gods’ laughter. I had won the battle, but they had won the war.