text: Microdosing by J.D. Savanyu I grew up playing stupid 2D games, and now I’m making stupid 3D games. Upping the ante with each “immersive digital experience” to distract the players from their pathetic little lives. More character customization, more choice-driven narratives, more melodramatic cutaway scenes, more blood, more boobs . . . and shorter product development phases, pushing programmers like me to the breaking point. Thank god I discovered “Daddy’s Little Helper.” Three o’clock sharp. Time for another cuppa java, discretely spiked with lysergic acid diethylamide. I have to employ a bit of stealth, because California has been legalizing everything in the lawbook lately, but they still haven’t legalized “looney tunes.” Of course I’m not taking enough to get looney, or daffy, or balls-trippy. Just a little microdosing to maximize my productivity at DreamPixel USA; a wholly owned subsidiary of a Japanese conglomerate. I watch the clouds swirling in my coffee, thinking the sound stuck in my head is about me . . . the tinny MIDI overworld theme to Ultra Chaos 3 from 1989, back when I was a hopelessly awkward dork at Pleasant Valley Middle School. GamePro Monthly called it an “RPG tour de force,” and it turned me into a digital zombie, crawling on my thumbs through an 8-bit wonderland, crafted by Masanobu Eguchi. *“Hey mom, I wanna go to the Stanford School of Game Design, so I can be the next Masanobu!”* *“Oh, sweetie, why don’t you do something that actually helps people? Like being a doctor, or a social worker, or a highway engineer.”* *“No way! I’ll make a game that’s twice as good as Ultra Chaos 3, and they’ll pay me a gazillion dollars, and those schoolyard bullies will be living in a freakin’ cardboard box and begging me for lunch money!”* None of my bold predictions came true, much to my dismay. Nobody can out-design Masanobu; “the game guru of Harajuku.” I’m dropping acid in a desperate attempt to avoid the poor house, while Masanobu drinks vintage Karuizawa whiskey at a five-star Kobe steakhouse in Kobe. I reluctantly return to my glowing plasma screen, surrounded by fellow PixelDreamers. The sterile soul-crushing smell of Silicon Valley oozes from every crevice of our “open team workspace.” Ah, here we go. The magic chemical kicks in, and that nagging undertow of chronic depression washes out to the Frisco Bay. It’s just a matter of time before they legalize this shit and throw commercials for it all over the airwaves, just like Viagra before it went generic. Some struggling actor will try to sound natural while yakking over a bubbly remake of “Feelin’ Groovy” by Simon and Garfunkel: *“Having trouble focusing? Falling behind at work or school? Microdosing can make a world of difference, so ask your doctor about Acidera! (Ahem . . . side effects may include rapid heartbeat, increased blood pressure and body temperature, hallucinations, paranoia and distressing flashbacks. Do not consume more than one microdose tablet per day, or these effects will worsen and may cause dangerous life-threatening behavior.) Microdosing truly CAN make a world of difference, so get back in the groove with Acidera! (Buh-da-da-da-da-da-da, feelin’ groo-vey!)* Those side effects haven’t effected me yet, but they surely will. If I’m not careful, I might trip balls, fall into a jail cell, and lose my dream job (which turned out to be a nightmare.) Keep your head in the game, buddy-boy. We’re working like hell to get Magic Gino: The Mandolin of Destiny out to market in time for the holidays, so millions of spoiled brats can unwrap the latest installment in the best-selling game franchise of all time. My current assignment is the warp zone; a secret easter egg in World 1. Gino has to squat down on a white brick wall for five seconds, then he gets sucked down behind it and magically “warps” to World 8, where an evil sorcerer imprisoned Princess Bianca deep inside a gothic labyrinth that would make Count Dracula green with envy. That sexy wench has gotten kidnapped a billion times since ‘82. I guess she spends too much on royal gowns, and not enough on royal guards. The LSD tickles my neurons and makes a ginormous heap of C++ seem far less bewildering. In the back of my mind, I hear the voice of Nick Rafka, a fellow forty-something software engineer, devouring a vegan burger yesterday afternoon in the DreamPixel cafeteria. “The effect of microdosing is mostly placebo, just like those overpriced ‘antidepressants’ from Big Pharma,” Nick claimed confidently. “I say it’s half-and-half, just like the clouds in my coffee,” I replied wittily, and took a big bite of non-vegan bacon cheeseburger. “It’s a bunch of pseudoscience, promoted by clueless talking heads like fucking Doctor Oz.” “Maybe you’re right, or maybe you’re wrong,” I murmured wearily. “By the way, I wish I could take a time machine back to the good ol’ 90’s, before the government allowed TV commercials for prescription drugs, with all those nauseating side effects.” “Oh yeah, I’m totally nostalgic for the days when you could eat dinner in front of the idiot box without being reminded of your own mortality.” Back to the current situation, however mundane it may be. I press the “render” button and reveal a lush Tolkein-esque landscape, where Gino battles a vast army of enchanted lizards, porcupines, hedgehogs and Venus flytraps; doing it all for the glory of love. He won’t stop fighting until he defeats the evil arch-alchemist Dante Machiavelli, and then he’ll fuck the brains out of that brainless blonde princess. (Only in my imagination, because this is an E for Everyone franchise.) Who am I fighting for? Nobody but myself. There's no princess waiting at my “castle” in the Mission District. Nobody to kiss my face and scratch my back and make me forget about the endless digital rat race. A little red-haired girl broke my heart in a thousand pieces at Love Creek High School, so I rejected the entire concept of romance. Computers became my only friends . . . but what glorious friends they are. I love how they serve my every whim, 24/7, with no complaints whatsoever. They never take a coffee break or demand a ridiculous pay raise or sue your ass off at the slightest opportunity. I took the red pill and stayed in wonderland, seeing just how deep The Matrix goes. It’s nine o’clock somewhere. Right here. The acid catches my feet and sends me flying through a midsummer night’s waking dream, in a cheap Korean car. I pop some Fourplay into the CD player, and smooth jazz from the grunge era soothes my wired nerves. The neon lights of Silicon Valley race by in a dazzling particolored sheen, like an ethereal court jester on a cosmic stage. As I've gotten older, I've realized the immense wisdom behind the trite expression “life is more about the journey than the destination.” Less about winning the game, and more about playing like hell ‘till your eyes bug out of your head, like mama always said. Achieving virtual nirvana with a $500 console, made in China. The Frisco skyline peeks over the horizon. Home sweet home, no matter how high the crime rate goes. A pair of San Mateo police cars zoom by with sirens blaring, jolting me back to reality. One little mistake and I'll lose everything, rotting in a jail cell with robbers, rapists, and ruffians. I have to stay focused on my epic quest, like Gino the Brave navigating the treacherous wilderness of Subcon-Westphalia. There's no fair maiden waiting in my humble abode, but that little red-haired girl is out there somewhere, breaking hearts like a serial heart killer. Maybe I'll bump into her someday, and perhaps we'll make amends. I don't believe in soulmates, and I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe in hitting the reset button. Exiting the interstate and floating down to a paradise city, where the money is green and the girls are pretty, with neon hair and black leather skirts and VEGAN BITCH tattoos. I fantasize about them every single night, and the stay the hell away from them every single day. An SF squad cruiser turns on its siren, pulls up right behind me, and stays right behind me. Oh shit, oh shit. I wasn’t going that fast! I pull over in front of the Sticky Rice sushi bar, and he takes his sweet time getting out of the cruiser, building up suspense like a master showman. Easy now. Play it cool, and don't be a fool. Remember that cops are only human, with children to feed and clothe and buy video games for. The world has turned into one big crazy RPG, and everyone is using a cheat code. “Sir, are you aware that you were going fifty-two in a thirty mile-an-hour zone?” “I was? Damn. Sorry about that, Mister Officer.” Mister Officer? Crap! The stress is making me sound like a burned-out stoner from the Haight-Ashbury glory days. “Also, your brake light has burned out.” Jesus fucking Christ. I work my ass off to make those stupid games, and I have zero mental energy left over. A digital zombie, indeed. “License and registration, please.” I dig through my pockets, but I can't find my license. Shit! I took my dummy wallet along this morning (in case I get mugged on Market Street,) but I forgot to put the real one in my zippered pocket. And I forgot to put the registration papers back in the glove box after renewing the license. Shit, shit, crap on a fucking cracker! “Sorry officer, I forgot to bring that stuff with me. I’m having a bad day all around.” His mustachioed mouth curls into a hungry grin, sensing a big score. Something to brag about in the locker room down at the station, and boost his chances for a promotion. Every profession is all about egotism, no matter how noble anyone claims to be. “Step out of the vehicle, please.” Fuck-fuckity-fuck! I emerge from the transport unit, dazzled by a gleaming dystopian backdrop, like Night City in Cyberpunk 2077. He goes right for my briefcase and finds the “looney tunes” lickety-split, like a well-trained bloodhound. Deep shit, buddy-boy. You slipped off a ladder in Dante Machiavelli’s castle and fell into a giant vat of lava. “Look what I found, Mister DreamPixel,” he remarks while holding up a baggie full of jagged little pills. “You must be one of those Silicon Valley microdosers.” “Bingo,” I mutter under my breath. “If everyone else jumped off a cliff, would you jump too?” Game Over.