Ms. Pac-Man and the rise of joystick abuse. (And by joystcks I mean joysticks, not “joysticks.”) Joysticks.

While I am not qualified to make any comments on the well-known “Pac-Man” games (having only played, literally, 5 minutes of it total in my lifetime, unless you count the “Jak II” version…), Cary is, and she wrote an interesting post on her memories of “Ms. Pac-Man”. Check it out. Do it.

Recollections of Play

Though I didn’t grow up in the arcades like many gamers of the 70s and 80s, I still had opportunities to play coin-up games back in the day.  As kid, I was generally too timid to really enjoy arcades.  They were boy’s domains…stupid, ugly, rough boys. They (the boys and the arcades) always seemed to be kinda smelly, odors of stale popcorn and pizza  hung heavy and clung to every fiber throughout, and someone was always shouting or crying.  Early on, I rarely remember seeing girls play.  Once Dance Dance Revolution made its way into the arcades of the 90s, which provided them with one last breath before dying, then I saw girls.  Lots of them.  Either dancing up storms, wearily hanging off their boyfriends’ arms, or cheering on friends while trying to not spill drinks. (Sooooo many soda spills…sticky floors and controls …gross.)  So arcades weren’t my…

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