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Gamers' Intersection
Robert "Tito" Ortiz, 17, left, Danny Ibarra and Tito's brother Cisco play "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas" at the Ortiz home in South Central Los Angeles.
(By Carlos Puma For The Washington Post)
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"It's a game, just a game , right? But at the same time, it's more than that. There's reality to it," says Tito, jumping off the bed, now sitting cross-legged on the carpet.
Is it any wonder, he asks, that most of the characters in "San Andreas" -- the gang members, the corrupt cops -- are blacks and Latinos?
Is it at all surprising, he asks, that you don't see a white person in the 'hood, either in the "South Central" of the game or the South Central he lives in?
"Even down to the choppy Spanglish, the ' Ora le, homes ,' that some of the gangstas say," Tito goes on, "it's all realistic." The other guys who aren't in South Central "won't fully understand. For them, it's just entertainment."
Cisco, a pharmacy technician who recently lost his job, cuts Tito off.
"The game's violent, yeah. It's dangerous, yeah. It's a stereotype, yeah," he says, staring straight at the TV screen.
Finally, Cisco hands Tito the controller.
"Respect. San Andreas is about respect," says Tito, still on the floor, way too close to the TV screen. "When you start out, they dawg you, they rag on your tattoos, they hate on your clothes. That's the way it's like in real life."
For an hour or so, Tito, who became a dad in July, gets to be C.J.
McLean to L.A.
So what if everything is peaceful and bright and quiet in McLean? Why not go to the game world of "San Andreas"?
Forget that it's a humid, sticky, sunny afternoon. That's outside. Inside is a different story. It's 10:29 a.m. in loud, foulmouthed, exciting "San Andreas," and Brendan -- shaggy-haired, a tight ball of energy -- is driving around aimlessly in the fictional town of Las Colinas. Right now, Brendan is C.J. Every time he steals a car, after shooting or punching or stabbing its owner, the name of the car flashes on the screen.
First a car named Willard, low on sex appeal but featuring neck-snapping acceleration. Then a car named Cheetah. ("Chicks dig it. They don't come much faster than this!" exclaims an ad for a shop that pimps your ride.) Then a car called Flash, dark-colored, close to the ground and, yes, flashy.
