A few years ago, a friend of mine's roommate was going to law school.   It was a fine school--no Harvard or Stanford, but as they say at FDA board meetings, "it'll get the job done."  Anyway, the rigors of academia were taking a toll on the kid.  I'd swing by to watch the big game.  The roommate would be there, but looking more and more ragged with each passing week.  His beard wasn't filling in quite like it used to.  Cheek bones grew more prominent.  The guy was struggling.

Next time I visited, I noticed his skin had a renewed glow, the flush of blooming color found on a ripened Red Delicious.  The dour straight-line across his face had been replaced by an honest-to-goodness grin.  So what changed, you ask?  Had he just passed his Bar exam?  Was he commended by the head honcho for his exemplary work on IP reform?  Did the cute girl in the front row flash a shiny smile and mouth to him, Let's meet and get sweaty, even if she actually said, "Let me go get weddy," speech-impediment and all?

None of this was the cause of his newfound joy.  The spring from which this poor soul's euphoria had sprung was displayed on their shiny new 46" HDTV in glorious surround sound.  He was playing Gears of War.  Crushing foes with boots and haphazardly-aimed chainsaw bayonets.   And for a few fleeting moments, he was happy.

He used to be such a nice boy.