Wii Have Ourselves a Wii-ner

November 21, 2015

(Science comes first! As in, Secondhand SCIENCE, and this week’s post all about junk DNA. Are you more junk than you thunk, or is “junk” a bunch of bunk? Go find out!)

For the next week, I have a Wii.

I’m not really sure that’s a good thing. Or anything, at this point. Getting a Wii was a big deal, like, eight years ago. My parents have a Wii. For that matter, so does my grandmother. It’s not exactly “cutting edge” at this point.

Still, it’s a Wii. And if I choose, I could have quite a bit of quality time with it. We borrowed it from friends to help us entertain a house guest staying with us next week. Our guest is a Wii fan. We’re 100% Wii-less. So we got the loaner.

But our house guest keeps an “old-school” schedule. Early to bed, and early to rise. From what I gather, our guest will hit the sack by 8pm most nights. Which means the missus and I can Wii-Wii-Wii all night long together.

Or, you know, until 9:30, when she usually tuckers out. But then! I could be up for five, six, seven hours more. I could Wii the bejeesus out of this thing, if I’m feeling it.

That begs the obvious question: am I feeling it? I’ve dipped my toe into Wii-dom in the past. It’s possible there’s a balloon-headed Mii of my general description sitting on my parents’ device, a leftover from Christmas visits past. I like the Wii — its advanced age and general the-kids-are-so-over-this-thing uncoolness notwithstanding. I’ve Wii’ed. I’ll Wii again. But. Will I binge-Wii this week?

That’s a trickier question.

Any Wii-ing this week is harmless fun, of course. Assuming we use the wrist strap, and don’t gank an old-person hip, of course. But what if we get hooked?

Where by “we”, I mean “me”, since my wife is generally fairly resistant to the siren call of self-testing and mettle-proving via video games.

(Apart from a wildly uncharacteristic Candy Crush obsession a few months ago. We don’t talk about that. We don’t fully understand what happened there.)

The risk is, I could easily get Wii-hooked — at the same time I’m destroying any achievement levels or streaks my buddy had with his Mii. We played one “test game” of bowling to make sure the game was hooked up properly, and at the end, it asked me what the hell had happened to me. Or rather, him. It’s no picnic when you think you’ve rolled a decent game, and your console pops up to say:

“It appears you’ve recently suffered a catastrophic loss of motor skills, or possibly an amputation. Should we recalibrate to accomodate your current feeble state?”

I may be a doof, but I don’t need that kind of attitude from computer-based assistants. I don’t get this kind of shit from Clippy.

“I don’t get this kind of shit from Clippy.”

Clearly, my first in-home Wii experience was something short of “inspiring”. Which might be for the best. Do I really want to get locked into this thing, buy one of my own, snake six more wires behind the television, and turn my living room into a virtual jai alai court, or whatever the latest game is?

Like, especially when there’s beer in the fridge, right this minute, that’s stubbornly not drinking itself?

I guess time — seven days, specifically — will tell. Maybe I’ll come out of this week a Wii-ful man. Or maybe I’ll pack it up afterwards, give it back with nary a regret and think no more about Wii-ing here at home. Either way, though, one thing is for sure:

This guy whose Mii I’m playing will never get his bowling average back up. I see why the smartassed thing asked me about amputations now. Jesus.