When I play pinball it’s just me and the machine. The first time I ever stood in an arcade and chose to play the game I decided it was all or nothing. I equate it with my yoga practice in the sense that I don’t care what I look like while I’m doing it, how I feel is what matters. Like any excellent hobby, it didn’t take much to learn and will take forever to master. If it was just the game, I’d do it forever. Unfortunately it’s also the time, money and worst of all – people. While you can make a career out of playing solo pinball, the culture around it is inescapable for anyone not blessed with a private collection. Part bar game and part arcade politics, the mix of two strong addictions is volatile by nature. Add a smattering of incestual romance and a whole heap of social media to complete modern day Gatsby greatness. The range of strong personalities drawn to the game is vast and I’m only talking about the Seattle area.
As gender dynamics in sports go, I prefer tennis to golf because of the ladies tee situation. I could go through a list of reasons I don’t enjoy women’s tournaments but the fulcrum is that I don’t appreciate the binary implication. Despite the empowerment of self-referential Babes, the days of moderately punk rock sorority behavior have long passed. Nowadays the kids have gatherings based on something they enjoy instead of segregated retaliation. Even acknowledging physical differences, pinball is built on an unfortunately dude-oriented foundation and has defaulted as such ever since. Originally pandering to young boys, the only major change since is more women participating not a less sexist atmosphere. Honestly, figuring out intramural logistics is laborious so I’ve grown up accepting the sexist undercurrent of games in general. If only the same could be said for social politics.
Refusing to be treated differently, the advent of non-binary generations gives me hope for some sense of equality before I die. As for now, I just try to ignore the prissy narcissists that feel the need for special treatment when they play pinball in public arcades. If I’m not in your tournament then I don’t give a damn what you are doing next to me. Pinball happens in a glass box and part of the challenge is having enough stamina to stay focused no matter what is happening around you. I am free to play whatever I want whenever it’s available. You are not privileged, play your game. Telling me I’m distracting is like telling someone they can’t be here because they aren’t on your team. Last I heard, pinball is for everyone.
I don’t take it personally when I’m mistaken for a white lady. Gender perception has come a long way in my lifetime and I embraced certain truths about myself long ago. My artistic taste aside, I tend to avoid some of the more gratuitous imagery when choosing my favorite machines. The art I’m staring at while playing matters on a subconscious level and while I’m all for sexy I don’t particularly enjoy looking at blatant objectification. It’s a subtle line that is obviously influenced by the overall game. I can learn to ignore the art if the board is fun enough, or conversely learn to love a game I enjoy looking at. Pretty sure there’s a metaphor for my love life in there somewhere. Ideally I dream of a day when pinball boards are made as much for their art as playfields.
The tattoo on my neck is complete as of today and I’m planning my next piece. There’s a distinct possibility it will be pinball related. While the portrait of my dead cat is on the list, I’m inclined to do something smaller and easier as an aperitif. Something I can take to any artist as an image and ask for reproduction. Perhaps start my left leg as a pinball gallery. The owls are covered for a while and in contrast, pinball is exactly what it seems. I’ve indulged this addiction for nearly 3 years, making me part of the community by default. It’s not a family I would choose but if I could quit loving the game I would have already. Instead, I accept this island of misfits and quietly wait for them to accept me.