neighbor’s curbside trash pile and brought
them in.
“We have an indiscriminate approach
to collection since we’re so interested in
everything,” he says.
That much is obvious.
On one shelf is a kid-friendly Singer sewing
machine that came bundled with a Gameboy,
so users could type out words on the screen and
have them stitched on fabric. On another shelf is
a vibrating device, sold only in Japan, that could
turn a popular, music-based shooting game into
something more, um, stimulating.
There are boxes of loppy discs that are actually
loppy and stacks of cassette tapes that unspool
computer games instead of tunes.
High-end Guitar Hero controllers and Rock
Band drum kits are tucked away in the sort of
instrument cases you might expect to ind on a
real rock band’s tour bus.
One entire bookshelf is devoted to nothing but
strategy guides, including a few hardbound
editions that stretch on for hundreds
of pages.
“That’s another fun thing about games: People
needing or wanting help,” Ruggill says.
The archive also collects glossy trade
advertisements aimed at arcade owners, kits
designed to convert old arcade cabinets to
newer titles and display cases illed with tokens,
collectibles, expired game-themed food and
original art, both amateur and professional.
Even some pirated stuf has wound up in
the collection.