The sun rose reluctantly, carefully stretching its wan rays of light through the misty morning fog air to rest on the huddled forms on the sidewalk. One of them stirred, a tousled head emerging with a yawn. “Is it time yet? Are they here?”

Next to him his comrades slowly struggled to their feet, swaying slightly. They were bundled in coats, knit hats, and blankets against the chill but their steely eyes blazed with resolute purpose. There was a palpable feel of intense anticipation; these people had a mission and they were determined to see it through, no matter the cost. For hours they had waited in hardship, with hours more to come, and still there was no sign of wavering or weakness. I was one of them, holding silent vigil in the December morning, and my goal was as clear as the paper sign taped to the wall: “Nintendo Wii Line Starts Here.”

I was one of the greenest, having arrived at a measely 6 a.m., only two hours before the stated sell time. Hard-bitten veterans near the front of the line had been bivouaced for days, with their base camps of sleeping bags and massive Thermos mugs established on the Wal-Mart sidewalk. They talked among themselves in spirited terms as they shared donuts and power bars, laughing and confident of their success.

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Voyeurs, take note: now you watch the same person in two different places at once! What a timesaver!

To demonstrate a) the amazing potentials of the online 3D world Second Life, b) the amazing flexibility of some Intel thingamabob, and c) that New Yorkers are capable of ignoring anything, acclaimed virtual designer Versu Richelieu is spending 72 hours in a storefront window at 5th Avenue and 39th Street living her life entirely through a computer. She is also inside Second Life, where her avatar is busily designing a copy of the street she’s on in real life. Got all that?

For the next three days she’ll be ordering her food and entertainment online, demonstrating the usefulness of computers and probably boosting her WoW levels to some ridiculous, Cartman-killing number. I stopped in and watched as she whipped up a street sign and some traffic lights. It was sort of like watching God, if God wore Lennon glasses and was into urban renewal. Versu stepped away from her creations and answered a few questions.

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We’re past the celebrity baby births and news of Paris Hilton’s new hip hop album, leaving only the seas of blood to complete the disaster trifecta, but I’m remaining optimistic because my youngest son has found true love and it’s a wonderful thing to see.

James is 13-almost-14 and the change in him has been remarkable. Where once he was mainlining DVDs and living on Long John Silver’s while playing Worlds of Warcraft for weeks at a time, now he has let those childish things fade away as he takes that next step towards manhood and focuses with laser-like intensity on the new love of his life: the Xbox 360.

I was astounded when he bought one a few weeks ago, mostly because he had managed to keep from spending any money since Christmas to afford it. This is roughly akin to a tree deciding to save its leaves until spring; James isn’t usually aware that he’s spending his money. It just occurs, the way a dog sheds. But this time he held onto every dollar with an iron fist, begging to do chores for some extra bucks (while still avoiding the usual chores he ostensibly gets an allowance for, of course) and selling everything he could bear to part with. It was inspiring to watch, and a little frightening.

Finally he was within range and he traded in his old Xbox and his Playstation II — once treasured, now only recyclable plastic — for credit to reach his goal. He watched the salesman bring it to him like a proud groom waiting at the altar. When we drove home he carried his new prize in his arms, cooing to it softly, and since then they’ve been inseparable. It’s sweet to watch, really. I never knew he had such a romantic streak in him.

I’m not exaggerating, here. He’s been showing pictures of it to friends. Coming up to brag to me for hours about how great it is. Discarding all the games and accessories from previous, lesser systems. Writing “Xbox 360″ on all of his notebooks. Planning for future accessories together. At this point I’m just waiting for him to come up to me, with his Xbox and an awkward expression, and say, “Dad, we have to tell you something. . .”

Still, all in all I have to say this beats a girlfriend for him from any objective standpoint. Cheaper, ultimately; games may be pricy but they can be rented or bought used. He got the game he really wanted, “The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion,” on eBay; yes, I tried to explain the ironic appropriateness of using eBay to search for oblivion, but he just looked at me funny. And Xbox Online isn’t any more a month than he would spend on cars or dates. Plus, we’ve had the Safe Gaming talk, so I’m not worried about viruses.

If anything, I’m envious. Did I ever have such a pure relationship? And you have to admit, tossing your old loves up on a counter to get credit towards a new one is pretty cool. Try that with girlfriends and they just get mad at you.

And what can girlfriends give you that an Xbox 360 can’t? Speaking for a 13-almost-14-year-old boy, I mean. Adventure, amazing graphics, fast-paced excitement, golfing with Tiger Woods, flying with a WWII squadron. . . who could compete? Besides, in this relationship, he’s completely in charge. Few girlfriends let you pause and pick up again later. He can change its face to match his room. He doesn’t have to dress up for his Xbox, or even bathe. He can ask for advice from friends that actually works. It doesn’t have in-laws to deal with. And the Xbox 360 comes with an instruction book.

All I know is, if some girl ever tries to get James interested in her, she better have a wireless controller.

Major League Gaming, the first professional video game league (of course there’s a professional video game league) has just announced that the MLG 2006 pro circuit will be broadcast on the USA Network, finally catapulting the grueling challenge of video game competition into the fast-paced world of professional sports. I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait. . .

“And we’re back! This is Rick Riviera in Chicago, with Josie McLellan from Game-itude Magazine; Mitch Miskelli, the first kid to ever get a perfect score in Super Mario Brothers back in 1985–”

“I’m not a kid, I’m 37 now–”

“–and Game-Ho.com’s Mr. Freeze, and we’re here at the 2006 Boost Mobile Major League Gaming playoffs. First up is the Halo 2 competitions, where Josie has the news. Josie?”

“Thanks, Rick! It’s been an exciting game so far, and the players aren’t giving an inch. JaiBen327, 13-year-old captain of the D’ohBoyz, has been playing Halo 2 nonstop ever since he torrented a stolen beta copy in the summer of 2004, and he’s bringing all that experience to the field this afternoon. But the Pwn Wolves want it just as bad. Mr. Freeze?”

“JaiBen327 is indeed an incredible player. In the last heat when his mother interrupted his precisely timed melee attack to make him take out the trash he kept on sticking people right and left, getting three more kills without ever spilling the bag. His final doublekill was stolen, however, when the Pwn Wolves’ Juxtapose took off JaiBen327’s overshield with a PP and BRed him just as JaiBen was switching from the BR to the shotty. Bad luck, there. Mitch, what did you think?”

“Hey, did I ever tell you kids about the time I found out how to jump Mario into the secret coin level?”

“Yes. Josie, how did JaiBen327 take that last death?”

“I got to talk to him right afterwards, Rick, and here’s what he had to say. JaiBen327, how do you think this season is turning out for you?”

“Good, good. We got the Microsoft sponsorship, and that’s really helped with the replacement gear and the private jets and everything. Sure cheered Dad up!”

“I’ll bet it did. I notice that you use the claw technique, with your middle fingers on the controller buttons leaving your thumb in control of the stick. Do you find that gives you the advantage?”

“Actually I am no longer able to bend my hand in any other direction and must be fed and clothed by my support staff.”

“Bummer! In your last game you had just made an incredible no-shield melee/BR kill that had the crowd jumping in their seats when you were vaporized in a rocket attack immediately afterwards. Do you regret the move?”

“Regret is a name, Josie. Whoops, I’m spawned! Later!”

“Any last words, JaiBen327?”

“PWNZORS!!!1!1!!1one1!”

“Thank you, JaiBen327. Back to you, Mitch!”

“What are you people saying? Are you speaking English?”

“Thanks, Mitch. Rick?”

“Well, the crowds here at GameSpot Stadium are really going wild today. Excitement is high, and the Goodyear Covenant Dropship is circling over–”

“Wait, check it out, JaiBen327’s in trouble!”

“You’re right, Mr. Freeze. He’s back in play but Juxtapose was spawncamping. It looks like… yes… yes… 0wned! JaiBen327 is down for the count. Josie, can you see what’s happening there?”

“Juxtapose just took out JaiBen327 and now it looks as if he’s preparing for his signature move. Yes, he’s squatting… there he goes! And the crowd loves it, Rick!”

“And that brings us to halftime. The MySpace Marching Band is firing up their MP3s but stay tuned for our incisive and painfully exhaustive mid-game analysis. One last word from Mitch. Mitch?”

“I don’t understand any of this. People actually pay to watch kids play video games? Where are your parents? Why am I even here?”

“Because we needed someone old enough to buy beer for the championships. We’ll be back with the Smash finals right after this word from new Mountain Dew Intravenous. Drip the Dew!”

This weekend my 13-year-old son took an important step in his development, a milestone that makes startling new hair eruptions and a drivers license pale in comparison: he bought his first set of role-playing game dice.

For the non-geek among you, gaming dice have anywhere from four to 20 sides, will direct every decision James makes for the next six years, and will quickly become more important to him than any three relatives. Their constant clatter will bring back fond memories even as I yell at him to keep it down.

For over 30 years now “Dungeons and Dragons,” the game he is starting to dabble in, has provided a rich haven for kids who enjoy the wonders of a dangerously overactive imagination combined with the never-ending delight of arguments about weapons encumbrance.

Players become knights, elves, dwarves, clerics, and other fantasy figures while the kid who controls the game (the Dungeon Master, or DM) tells them exactly what’s about to kill them all. Then they describe their reactions and, based on their individual abilities, character classes, moral alignments, birthmark configuration, and the roll of the dice, events transpire.

DM: “The orc swings a massive club at you, with 2d8+7 damage. The princess you’ve been sent to rescue is screaming and helpless.”

James: “I throw the princess at the orc and dive for the gold. Do I get to it before she splatters?”

DM: (dice clatter) “No, she was so mad she grabbed the club away from the hulking man-beast and now she’s beating you in the spine with it while he watches and offers pointers.”

James: “Can I still reach the gold?”

Rather than staying pent up in their fetid bedrooms playing video games all day and night, kids stay pent up in their fetid bedrooms becoming someone better than themselves, or at least someone easier to draw. Dragons are fought, wars waged, the helpless saved, and treasure earned, all without risk beyond eyestrain and self-inflicted malnutrition. And, since kids from the last three decades are still playing it — you’re never too old, no matter what my wife says — D&D is more popular than ever. This is because D&D teaches valuable life lessons, lessons that will serve you well for the rest of your life.

You learn how to recognize honor, nobility, and self-sacrifice in others, and how to capitalize on it.

You learn how easily the arbitrary whim of one person can drastically change your entire financial situation.

You learn how to placate and bribe that person to improve your prospects. Whether it’s with a well-timed handful of Cheetos before a devastating battle or a well-timed kick into the rough so your boss can win the golf game, it’s important to know how to handle yourself in a greed-based economy.

You learn to never invoke anything bigger than your head.

You learn the all-important phrase, “And in this one D&D game I was in,” a phrase guaranteed to quickly end all of your many, many first dates.

You learn the insightful, transcendent state achieved by living on caffeine and sugar for six days without sleeping, a valuable thing to know come the end of the fiscal year.

You learn to turn your imaginary friends into valuable allies.

You learn that when a religious artifact begins emitting light, you should close your eyes. Thousands of people could be saved every year with this simple safety tip.

You form lasting bonds with friends that will last forever, although this can backfire in the middle of a tricky business merger when the opposing representative turns out to be the guy you shoved into a goblin cave back in ‘84.

You learn the importance of selecting ceremonial robes that are easy to run in while still affording ample concealment.

You learn that, for some people, rules are all that matter. And you learn how to confound those people.

And now my son will learn these vital lessons the same way I did: at 3 in the morning, surrounded by his weight in empty Doritos bags. Now he will rummage through my old, musty, gaming books, hunting for decades-old tips and storylines he can surprise his friends with. Now his dice bag contains some of my dice, as a way of passing the torch down through the generations.

Not my good dice, of course. I need those. There was this one time, in this game I was in…

Just got home to find a box waiting, and it was full of Serenity! In plastic form!

Sadly, none of the ladies of Serenity have been figured, but here’s what’s available so far, with comments. WARNING: the more spoiler-centric of you might wish to avoid reading, just in case. Just look at the pictures.

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Row upon row of dark figures loomed over me. Nervous, hesitant, afraid if what I might find, I pushed past them, hoping against hope that I’d find her safe and sound, but it was no use. Bruce Wayne’s ex-girlfriend, Rachel Dawes, was nowhere to be found.

Looking down the “Batman Begins” toy display I could easily spot Attack Net Batman, Battle Cape Batman (deluxe), Battle Gear Batman, Bomb Blast Batman, Dual Blade Bruce to Batman, and (I’m not kidding) nine more different Batman figures. There were even a few bad guy figures for the hordes of batmen to go beat up. But no Rachel.

Katie Holmes shouldn’t take it hard, though. Love interests rarely get their own action figures.

Years ago this wouldn’t have been the least bit surprising. G.I. Joe didn’t have any women under his command, unless it was strictly “don’t ask, don’t tell.” I think there were Wonder Woman and Invisible Girl dolls when I was young but they were only spoken of in hushed tones.

And this bugged me as a kid. I wanted the full cast. Despite my inborn “fight scene” DNA I wanted to be able to play more rounded games, with intricate plotlines and tense, emotional moments. Besides, exciting last-minute rescues are even more dramatic when there’s someone to, you know, rescue (although in my games it was a toss-up as to who would be rescuing whom from the Halifax River of Death).

In the last twenty years women have made great advances towards breaking through the plastic ceiling, following the inspiring lead of plastic feminists like Princess Leia, April O’Neil, Catwoman, and the casts of “Buffy” and “Xena.” Now female action figures are available, as long as you’re willing to go to specialty stores to find them.

The problem was that throughout the history of toys one rule was handed down from on high: Boys Don’t Play With Girl Dolls.

Then a little indie movie called “Star Wars” came out, and merchandising was invented. Suddenly the notion of buying toys to complete a set encouraged the Lucas Empire - and, playing catch up, the Star Trek people and DC Comics and Marvel Comics — to make figures of every single entity they could think of or make up, male or female. Collectors ruled the market, and everyone was fair game for more revenue.

So why didn’t the Batman people drop one of the Implausible Attack Batman figures and stick in another important cast member? She could even have been a rare “chase” figure to improve her retail desirability. It worked for Mary Jane from the first Spider-Man movie.

Chase figures bring their own problems, of course. If you’re a parent who had kids in the late 80’s, you know, and hate, April O’Neil, reporter and friend of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. You may even still have gouge marks in the shape of my fingers if you got in my way around Christmas time.

“Chase,” of course, refers to the way that collectors chased down truck drivers behind Toys-R-Us to pull boxes from the drivers’ unconscious hands because there was only one April per case and their kids had to have one. April O’Neil was the crack of action figures. Why not continue that tradition?

And there are quite a few toy companies producing beautiful and cool female figures. Death, Kabuki, and Cry for Dawn are looking at me now from my shelf, joined by the dancing girl from the Simpsons.

And it could be argued that Rachel isn’t that essential to the Batman movie. To be fair, there’s no Alfred toy either, although I’d buy one. (”With new drink-serving action!”) But search the racks for new Fantastic Four toys and you’ll see that three of them seem to heavily outnumber the fourth, who is presumably not quite as fantastic. For the upcoming “Serenity” movie, which features nine main characters, four of them women, there are only three being released: two men and one bad guy. The belated “Pirates of the Caribbean” action figure series has Captain Jack, Captain Barbossa, Will, a pirate, and a complete absence of Elizabeth, whom I seem to recall was in a scene or two.

The Plastic Equal Rights Movement has a long way to go.

You put in a quarter. You hear this cheesy song. And suddenly you’re a starving yellow creature, caught in a mad dash to devour all the little white dots you can catch before the hordes of floating undead bring you down. And it’s not an M. Night Shyamalan movie. Well, not yet, anyway.

The classic video game Pac-Man turns 25 this month, which, in video game time, makes him about 6,000 years old. He was a simple man, from a simpler era. He didn’t shoot anybody, jack any cars or beat his opponents senseless. Pac-Man even married, had a kid, and became a superhero, which is more than the Doom guy ever did.

It’s hard to understand the addictive properties of Pac-Man if you’ve never tried it, assuming that’s possible. To the casual observer it looks like a childishly simple game where you beat a maze while avoiding, for some reason, ghosts. Then before you know it eight months have passed and you’re desperately fighting to get to the next level before you pass out from all the plasma you’ve been selling for quarters.

Also this month, Pac-Man entered the Guinness Book of World Records as the “most successful coin operated game” in history. It sold 293,822 units when it was being manufactured and has made over $100 million since its creation, of which I personally accounted for about half.

It wasn’t just a game, not to me and not to the other kids crowded around the tabletop version at Pizza Hut who memorized hundreds of levels of twists and turns. Even then I knew that Pac-Man tapped into a cultural gestalt and in so doing, changed the face of gaming forever. Also, I was killer good at it.

Pac-Man was more personal than the other games. For once you were playing a real character — albeit a round yellow one that appeared to be mostly jaw - instead of a space ship or a green wire-frame tank. It was just you against your foes, pac-mano a mano. Unlike some games’ wimpy button maneuvering, the physical effort of throwing your body back and forth against the machine while executing a lightning fast feint and reversal gave you the heady feel of a fighter pilot escaping enemy fire. And when you gobbled a Power Pill and turned on your suddenly cowardly opponents, you truly knew what it was like to be invincible, or on steroids.

There was also the mysterious element of the supernatural. It was never mentioned how screen specters Inky, Pinky, Blinky, and Clyde perished or why they endlessly tormented Pac-Man, although personally I suspected they were themselves ancestral Pac-Men, condemned through eternity to protect the very dots that they died trying to acquire.

It encouraged healthy diets. How many video games reward you for eating fruit?

Not only did his wife become a feminist icon by scandalously avoiding the patriarchal term “Mrs.,” Ms. Pac-Man was more challenging, more fun, and sexier than her husband (she had a beauty mark, that mesmerizing wanton).

Pac-Man didn’t just sit on his dots, though. He had his own cartoon and cereal and clothing line and even became a recording artist. “Pac-Man Fever” is still available on CD from www.bucknergarcia.com and includes such breakaway pop hits as “Froggy’s Lament” and “Do the Donkey Kong” along with a new “Unplugged” version of the title song, which seems kind of pointless for a video game but there you go.

And he’s a restaurant mogul. Head to XS Orlando on International Drive and you’ll find the Pac-Man Cafe, 40,000 square feet and three floors of dining and games and even a Pac-Man Museum. Does Mario or the guy from Halo have one of those? I don’t think so.

There are live-action Pac-Man games involving running people in ghost costumes using cell-phones and city street grids. There are knock-off versions made for PDAs. Soon we’ll see new Pac-Man games, in 3D and anniversary editions. I’m expecting a Broadway version any day now.

His legend lives on. Let the lesser games fire their own weight in ammo, Pac-Man is a game of skill and cool-headedness that has yet to be matched.

Wak on, my friend. Wak on.

Parents look forward to the wonderful, magical day when their child chooses a career. Endless opportunities are narrowed down to one lifelong field, where their child can go out and make his or her mark. Mine has decided to become a megalomaniac.

While my 12-year-old son James has always had leanings in that direction, the concept of supervillainy as a potential vocation didn’t arise until he started playing “Evil Genius,” the game where players strive to construct the perfect island lair, defeat pesky secret agents, and take over the world.

“Dad! I just stole the Eiffel Tower!” he said last weekend while I was faithfully performing my traditional fatherly duty of not doing a large chore. In this case, it was moving a bookshelf in his room so we could paint behind it, a task that would require the stacking of books, the cleaning of shelves, and the actual physical sweaty moving part. When he spoke up I was sitting on his bed, drinking my Coke and attempting to move the bookshelf with my mind.

When I expressed disbelief — the Eiffel Tower is, by all reports, even tougher to move than a bookshelf — he cackled and showed me his monument-shrinking ray gun. He then spent some time showing me around his evil headquarters. There were death traps, an army of minions, more bite-size national monuments, lots of bubbling chemicals, and stacks of Weapons of Seriously Mass Destruction.

James really did have a flair for this. And I realized that encouragement of a child’s natural aptitudes is important, even if they do tend towards death rays.

After all, he’d need to apply himself more in school if he didn’t want to end up as an evil fry cook. He almost balked at that, but visions of staggering wealth and power helped keep him motivated.

“Will I still need math? Can’t I torture someone to do it for me, or build an 80-foot killer robot with a calculator in it? That shoots plasma beams?”

“Oh, no, you have to have a good grounding in math to calculate trajectories and to make sure your countdown timer is going the right way. Mad scientists need math, son. It’s what separates them from mad sociologists.”

Politics. Chemistry. Nuclear physics. Care and feeding of henchmen. Advanced electronics. How to exchange your enemy’s brain with that of a gorilla. Mad scientists have to be versed in all these fields of expertise, although I admitted I wasn’t sure which colleges offered the best evil genius curriculum. Are mad doctors with community college degrees looked down upon? Is that why they keep trying to blow up continents?

Fortunately I’m not worried about any actual world domineering occurring because he’d never create his own doomsday weapon if he thought he could get his mother to do it for him the night before his worldwide ultimatum was due. “Mom,” he’ll say. “Since you’re up, could you take over the world for me? You’re closer.” Besides, judging from countless Christmases, even if he got the world he’d get bored with it in three days and lose it in his room somewhere.

In the meantime he’s watching James Bond and Austin Powers movies, “Pinky and the Brain,” and “The Apprentice,” and taking notes on each evil wannabe’s fatal mistakes. He can’t perfect his sinister laugh until after his voice changes, but just yesterday he convinced the UPS guy to turn against his masters and serve only James. And he’s working harder on his math.

I don’t know where this will take him. I don’t know if he’ll suddenly pop up on CNN one day, laughing maniacally, in front of a map of Europe with big circles on it and the words “emergency evacuation” on the crawl, or if I’ll lose contact after an unexplained mushroom cloud appears over the Kurile Islands. All I know is that as his loving parent I want James to be the best he can be and to go wherever his skills take him, even if it’s a secret moonbase.

But if he does manage to conquer the world, he can send around a few minions to move this bookshelf for me.