I’m still a kid at heart when it comes to the Christmas holiday. I ask my nieces and nephews what they want and/or need and I purchase the noisiest thing I can find. This results in the headache of the year from toys that ping, ding, bounce and makes electronic “gadgety” sounds.
Their parents roll their eyes as the children begin their ritual of banging and clanging the new items. Watching them and the looks on the faces of their children at this moment is priceless.
However, this year the joke was on me.
Knowing that during the past year I had purchased a Wii, and for the last year the Wii’s been collecting dust, (not being used like many high tech games we think we need but don’t), and knowing that I’m a Michael Jackson fan, I received as a gift a Wii game called “The Michael Jackson Experience”.
It even comes with a sequined white glove and a warning: “glove is not to be used during game play.”
As not to embarrass myself I waited until I was alone and my family had left the annual Christmas Eve gathering this year, which was at my house. It was just me and Spike the dog and the Wii.
I had played one dance game before and it was fun and got your blood pumping. At a party you can see your friends and relatives “bust a move” from one of the top video performers of the day. Pop the game in the console and you can begin.
To be safe, I started with the short slow songs to get a feel for the controller and the sync device that monitors your movement. Every movement of your arm is monitored and reported on screen as a miss, good moves or perfect motion.
“This is simple,” I thought as I cranked up the difficulty level.
By the time I made it to the “Thriller” experience I was ready: I was going to follow this game move for move.
As the game started I knew I was in for a workout.
At the two-minute mark I thought I was going to die. The movements were so precise that even wrist flicking movement from the video is captured and you actually feel like you are doing these extreme dance moves.
That’s when my foot hit the coffee table and I simultaneously pulled something. The dog ran out of the room, (I think he was embarrassed for me) and I tossed the controller down.
“Damn! I need more practice.”
Ken Jackson is a weekly columnist for The Eagle and the editor of Urban CNY. Reach him at [email protected].
