Video games are very special kind of medium; unlike movies or books, they allow the player to enact out the actions that would typically be assigned to the written word or motion acted out by an actor. For too long, people have neglected how special it truly is to be immersed within something on such a personal and tangible level. Games have, in this way, always been art, even when they were just beginning. Pac-Man, to me, is the perfect example of a game as art, something that undoubtedly belongs in a museum. Its simple structure, collecting pellets to increase your score while avoiding the dastardly ghosts, goes a long way in establishing the world that Pac-Man encompasses. Who designed these mazes that he must endlessly crawl through, like an 8-bit Theseus? The designers did. Iwatani is the god of this world, and Pac-Man must pay for the sins he committed. The meta commentary consolidates beautifully with the concept of the Arcade. Machines built with the intention of distracting you so much that you can't even recognize your hand dropping another coin in that beautiful yet sinister silver pouch, the controller of your engagement. Pac-Man's life is repeated over and over as those coins dribble down towards the bottom of the machine. He can never escape, and in a way, so can't you. A better critique of escapism, there never was. The best games leave you feeling changed, different than the person you were when you started. When I think back to all those nights, when real life was scary and all I had was a copy of Pac-Man and my dreams and aspirations, I feel as though, in a way, Pac-Man has become apart of me...