Ignorance is Bliss, then Facebook Ruins It

As I published hear a few weeks ago, the Transformer Generation Dad Retro-Gaming Museum (TGDRGM) is up and running (and accepting donations).  I have collected several old systems of mine, pooled the cartridge collections of any friends and family that were willing to contribute and constructed an impressive library of titles that you can play on their original systems.

There is also a rumor that I am in possession of an old Xbox that has been converted to play thousands of video games from retro systems including old stand-up arcade consoles.  While this would make the TGDRGM even more impressive, this is only an urban legend (I wrote so here myself).  Regardless of the awesomeness of the TGDRGM, I was well aware of just how many consoles and games were missing from my museum.  Collecting every video game ever made would be a near impossibility, but I was pleased with what I had managed to assemble.

Then someone sent me this picture that they found on Facebook...

I cannot attribute this behemoth to anyone as its origins are a mystery to me

...and I hung my head in shame.  Here it was, the ultimate goal, the unreachable ideal I held in my head of what a retro-gaming museum might look like, the shrine to gaming history that I thought could never be achieved and someone had actually created it.  More importantly, that someone was not me.



My world was rocked.  I began the five stages of grief almost immediately.  "That can't be real," I said.  "I has to be Photoshopped."  But as I stared at it, it was too seamless.  "This sucks," I said next, "I totally could have gotten a hold of a few more systems if I had really tried.  Why hadn't I tried harder?  I could have done so much more."  I quickly turned to, "That's a waste anyway.  They could never enjoy all those games and some of them are technically systems that play the same games anyway....but maybe I could at least come a little closer.  I could probably pick up an original Playstation and a PS2 at the Play N Trade.  If I can just scrounge up a little extra cash..."  But it became quickly apparent that I would never achieve what this mad genius, this beautifully colossal geek, this lifelong visionary of hoarding prowess had created.  And my depression began.

I wallowed in self-pity.  I felt inadequate.  Nobody could possibly be impressed with the TGDRGM, I was convinced, while this Mecca of video gaming was out there.  How could I ever be whole again?  I considered packing it all up, returning the cartridges to their rightful owners and closing down the TGDRGM for good.  What was the point?

This went on for...jeez, I don't know, a long time.  It was almost an hour.  And then I remembered an importantly lesson, a lesson I have been trying to teach my sons as my parents taught it to me.  There are many ways to put it, many incarnations of the moral.  Whether one mentions that the grass is greener or the bliss of ignorance, it all comes back to one point: If you're happy with what you have, then just go ahead and enjoy it.

And so, without worrying about how mind-bendingly awesome someone else's retro-game collection might be and without gloating over my collection as opposed to that of someone with less, I am pleased to announce that the TGDRGM shall remain open indefinitely.  Because the point isn't to be the most awesome, it's just to be awesome, and it is.  At least it is to me, anyway.