Due to a sudden two or three day mood swing where I considered quitting writing entirely and instead dedicating myself to going out in the street and hitting myself with a hammer in front of gawking onlookers, I have decided to write about something that makes me happy, even for a brief moment. In truth, I’ve been experiencing fairly harsh mood swings every couple of weeks. What’s strange is that I am not depressed overall, but I have very bad days. The result of this up and down is I find myself in a state of anhedonia, ambivalence towards things I care about. I’m not looking forward to the upcoming NBA season. I haven’t really cared to watch a match from Napoli SSC. Movies don’t do anything. I have been numbing myself by watching Warhammer 40k painting guides. Painting small skeletons in Mesoamerican teals and reds becomes a way of getting control over somethin’ when your life isn’t going how you want it in some way, even the ways just account to waves crashing against the pier.
Pinball hasn’t started making me unhappy yet. Knowing me, there’s still time. But as of now, it feels safe. While I am planning something more substantial about my favorite pinball machine, the one that really made me fall in love, in the meantime I have thoughts about machines I’ve played recently and in the past.
By the way: the IRS should know the trip that constituted the research for this piece took place on 9/26 at around 1pm at Eclipse Pinball, in the Scott’s Addition neighborhood of Richmond, Virginia. I don’t think I can write off a berry flavored Fanta. Anyway, welcome to this month’s Apophany.
Pinball machines first found themselves in the back of businesses, tucked in corners, designed to take nickels and dimes (Fiorello Laguardia cited taking the “nickels and dimes” of school children as inciting his pinball crusade). With pinball no longer reasonably or meaningfully creating extra revenue in spaces like restaurants, grocery stores, bars, now if you play you’re in a space dedicated to replicate the feeling of the arcade. Pinball is now for enthusiasts.
At the arcade where I play, there’s around 50 machines, and a fair number of people come in to play. When it comes to selecting a machine, I often take the same approach that I would going to a urinal. Which works fine except for when someone is less neurotic than me and sidles up to the machine next to me, leaving no room. I’ve often wondered if this is a sign of me needing to work out some deep locker room anxiety. A point in my column: there’s fifty some machines here, and a bathroom might only have 3 urinals. I think you can spare the three or four feet.
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Pinball, due to some semi-lost history (a point in time where a pinball machine did actually involve something of a “wager” and could be refigured to pay out if the machine owner was crafty enough), gained an association with delinquency. This may explain why so many rock bands have pinball machines. However: I would point out to say that no good is coming from a rock band once it has a dedicated pinball machine, and I personally have had lackluster experiences with pinball machines dedicated to rock bands.
Starting with a machine I enjoyed, Metallica: while I work on getting better at playing the game, I often look for machines with unbusy playing fields so I can try to slow down my play and focus. Metallica delivers in that regard. I am also a wiseacre and constantly bored and have to keep myself afloat, like Wile E. Coyote running in air until he looks down. I am captive to my own endless smart-ass commentary on everything. That’s why when I walked up to the Metallica pinball machine, I couldn’t stop saying to myself: my lifestyle determines my pinstyle. Lo and behold, this summoned “Frantic” as one of the songs the machine belts out. My play diminished from this point.
There is also the fact of the “toy”, one of the targets you aim to hit while you play to run up your score. Here it’s an Eddie-inspired new mascot for the band, Sparky, sitting in his chair. He belongs to that classic hot-rod style James Hetfield loves; a cousin to Kirk Hammett’s Universal monster obsession. Introducing a mascot this late in the game (pinball specific or not) with a band that’s as much a trademark company can’t help but track as cynical. Nevertheless, the game plays clean.
Faring slightly worse in my estimation: Iron Maiden: Legacy of the Beast felt strangely subdued, though I did not play it seriously. AC/DC is my least favorite pinball machine of all time because of a truly stupid interior pinball game hidden in the middle of the play field in foggy glass. I’ve long defended Bon Scott AC/DC’s musical merits, which made putting the interior game to “Hell Ain’t A Bad Place to Be” all the more insulting.
Under no circumstances will I ever play Foo Fighters.
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Pinball was (and is) regarded as random, chance based. But it’s a game about flipper control: based on where you aim the ball you can send the ball wherever you want, even to the other flipper.
I think at some point in Cocaine and Rhinestones, Tyler Mahan Coe points out that all you win from pinball is more pinball, which is one reason machines found themselves in studios on Music Row. You play until you lose or until they call you to record your part on a record. That’s true to an extent. There is also the high score, just one of those ways to write that Kilroy was here.
Over time a machine will take on an accumulated aura of the establishment, becoming a touchstone for a group of people experiencing that establishment’s greater aura. Getting a high score on a local machine marks your initials as a regular, someone who uses the machine and the facilities enough, someone who has skill. You play and hope you can aim correct enough that your name can join the list.
What skill is involved in pinball is also a skill of reading a machine. All the bonus modes on a machine can be kicked on if the correct bumpers and lights are hit, but to find those modes, you have to look beyond the flashing lights and music and the computer display, the mere chatter of the pinball machine. But you would not want to play pinball in total silence. The machine goads you, its lights telling you what to hit to continue your game. Decoupled from its function to take quarters, nickels, and dimes, a pinball machine becomes a simple and loving one, begging for play until your skill runs out.
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