Wild Ting
I never understood the appeal of the Wild West until I attended the 6-year-old birthday party of Connor's buddy, Lawson, this weekend. The party theme was Bionicle, not at all Western mind you, and it took place in a cool, modern warehouse that incorporated a jungle gym, mini golf, and rock wall. The real gem for parents, though, was the arcade. Tucked away behind the Skeeball and coin rides was a treasure hidden behind dark curtains -- a Jurassic Park shooter game for two. The passivist-Anti-NRA-lobbyist in me screamed to run away. But my boys had already climbed into the dark womb of the machine, and I had to get them out, but not before I swiped the gaming credit card and had a go at it first.
The raptors and rexes came roaring forward and before long, my half-hearted attempt to simply appease the kiddees transformed into a single-minded effort to slaughter the meat-eating beasts. That was until "Uncle Larry" swiped-in with his card taking over the other gun, at which point it became a partnership in gun-slinging destruction.
"Out of my way Benjamin!" Mommy screeched like a Dilophosaurus, caring little for the nightmares that were bound to invade the dreams of her children that night.
Shoot-reload, shoot-reload. It was addictive and so very satisfying. Images of weapons-savvy movie heroines (a la Mr and Mrs. Smith, Aeon Flux, and MI3) came to my mind as we covered each other with gunfire and ran up the score. When one of us died, the other would carry-on, buying time until the other could swipe back in. It was all fun and games until the brachiosaurus raised her enormous tail above us and POOPED right on our heads. No amount of ammo would get us through that fecal matter.
And then the fun was over. All too soon reality called us back to our normal roles in safe, normal lives. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for the dangerous thrill of shooting to kill, even if it is just in a electronic land of fantasy in a kiddee arcade.
The raptors and rexes came roaring forward and before long, my half-hearted attempt to simply appease the kiddees transformed into a single-minded effort to slaughter the meat-eating beasts. That was until "Uncle Larry" swiped-in with his card taking over the other gun, at which point it became a partnership in gun-slinging destruction.
"Out of my way Benjamin!" Mommy screeched like a Dilophosaurus, caring little for the nightmares that were bound to invade the dreams of her children that night.
Shoot-reload, shoot-reload. It was addictive and so very satisfying. Images of weapons-savvy movie heroines (a la Mr and Mrs. Smith, Aeon Flux, and MI3) came to my mind as we covered each other with gunfire and ran up the score. When one of us died, the other would carry-on, buying time until the other could swipe back in. It was all fun and games until the brachiosaurus raised her enormous tail above us and POOPED right on our heads. No amount of ammo would get us through that fecal matter.
And then the fun was over. All too soon reality called us back to our normal roles in safe, normal lives. Nevertheless, there is something to be said for the dangerous thrill of shooting to kill, even if it is just in a electronic land of fantasy in a kiddee arcade.
posted by Ting at 2:09 PM
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