....Dance Dance Revolution Addict.

Hi Ben

It all started a few years back. Growing up, I always thought videogames were always going to be a safe past time, kinda like alcohol. It was the gift that kept on giving. I could play and go for hours. RPGs and Racers, Puzzle games and Platformers, I played all.

Then It happened.

I heard about this craze coming out of Japan. It was this new fun drug, popular with the ravers and the masses. You danced to play the game At first I scoffed, thinking that this craziness would never make it in the states. You see, as a red blooded American, I wasn't going to prance about to shitty J-Tech like a faerie in a Sanrio store.

How wrong I was.

The first time I saw a DDR machine in the states was at minigolf center. Within the arena of putt-putt, go-karts, and mini boats, this loud and flashy machine screamed to me. How fascinated I was over such a contraption Fat people, little girls, goth kids, everybody was playing this game. I thought that I could own that game, after all, how hard could it me?

As I awkwardly stepped up to the stage, I felt every eye watching me. I picked Standard mode, thinking "I'm no beginner, I play games all of the time." Three seconds in, I knew I had made an awful mistake. You see, the game handed my ass to me, and my face fell in shame, but I was instantly addicted. [i[A game that didn't use traditional buttons, and was hard as fuck, yet fun?[/i] I would be back again.

Things were fine at first. I would casually play whenever I saw a machine. Disneyland, Scandia, Six Flags, everywhere. Even my friends could join in, as it was an equalized game. I could never do very good, but I'd always play. I'd watch those crazy freaks play, those damn "Standard" and "Heavy" players rock the stage, even the occasional "Max" players own all. Everybody would watch in amazement as these gods would destroy all. Of course, they were often fat, or emo, or both, and we'd all make fun of them as we'd walk away. I'd always look back at the machine as we'd walk away, secretly dreaming for that skill, that honor I'd receive.

Then I got the home version.

I'd been wanting to get the home version for a while, as my twin sister had been casually playing as well. I had even previously bought Donkey Konga to fill the "fix" I needed until I had a PS2. Anyway, I picked up DDR Extream 2, and thought of the fun I was going to have. Little did I know how far past fun I was going to go.

I would ignore my friends. My family would walk in on me getting my fix, and look in horror as I'd hop and flail about, stomping like a three year old deprived of Ritalin. And they could do nothing to stop me.

My life revolved around DDR.

Everytime I'd go out with my friends, it was always to the nearest arcade. Everytime I saw a machine, I'd have to play. My friends would scoff as I'd slide coin after coin into the machine, but their jaws would drop as I would flat out PWN. I was no god in their eyes, I was a loser junkie.

I had some help when I left for London. Living on my own, with no game systems to entertain me pushed the game out of my mind. Then, I caught sight of a machine. I played a round. Then another.
I went back three times. A girl invited me to the Trocadero, in Picadilly Circus, where there was a huge arcade. Downstairs, there was 5, maybe 6 machines, all of variable qualities. My friend and I played a few rounds, and I was rusty, but soon back into my groove.

My God, the rush. It was good.

Then after a particularly grueling round that I ended with a flourish, an dude came up to me and asked me where I was from. I said the States, and he said that everybody from the States were really good, and that the Brits don't know what they were doing. Then he asked me to dance. Dance. In my stupor of the previous hit, I accepted.

This dude, (who I never saw again), took me to heights I've never played before. I abandoned the girl to dance dance with a guy. We played as hard and as fast as possible. I'd win a round, he'd win a round. It was dirty, fast, and fun.

We even exchanged numbers.

I come to you as a filthy man. I was dreaming about DDR. It festered in my mind. I haven't played much since getting back home, but I fear that I'll go farther and deeper into this addiction, and I don't think I'll come out alive. I need your help. Thanks for anything you can do.

*sits down to clapping*

(edit. after this writing, Ben went to a few more meetings, but the urge was too strong. On July 2, he entered an arcade, never to return. Our hopes and prayers are with him, should we ever see him again.)