Growing up, technology made up an important part of my life. People wrote me computer programs for my birthdays when I was a child. I spent days inside a major game manufacturer's headquarters testing new, never before heard of video games, and helping them determine whether their toys were built for an appropriate age. At times, cases of video games were sent home for further testing and experimenting.
When I was in high school, I was even given a Sony stereo jacket before they were ever released onto the market. The concept was that the jacket had about five speakers wired within it and you plugged the main jack into your walkman. I don't think they ever caught on, but it was quite an interesting conversation piece.
Video and computer games were often particularly central themes to my youth, as I participated in the fairly common activity of playing them everyday with my friends. As I matured, much of the other technologies of my younger days were abandoned, owing to major lifestyle changes, but video games never fully left. Granted, I no longer had the latest and greatest systems, but I still played frequently in college.
When I finished law school, I suddenly could afford the newest and greatest game systems around, and immediately began to intelligently invest my hard earned money in such wonderful objects as XBox and Gamecube. My friends would come over, and we would play for hours. As my friends changed, however, I realized that the game systems began to do nothing but look really cool as they collected dust.
It was then I considered that perhaps my obsession with video games over the years was actually directly related to the social aspect involved with the moving dots on the glowing phosphorous screen. It seems unfortunate that I realized this only after having purchased the systems. Perhaps I should give them to someone who can truly appreciate their magic and mystery, or mayhaps I could sell them for some paltry amount to help subsidize my salsa lessons.
(Don't touch my iPod, though.)
When I was in high school, I was even given a Sony stereo jacket before they were ever released onto the market. The concept was that the jacket had about five speakers wired within it and you plugged the main jack into your walkman. I don't think they ever caught on, but it was quite an interesting conversation piece.
Video and computer games were often particularly central themes to my youth, as I participated in the fairly common activity of playing them everyday with my friends. As I matured, much of the other technologies of my younger days were abandoned, owing to major lifestyle changes, but video games never fully left. Granted, I no longer had the latest and greatest systems, but I still played frequently in college.
When I finished law school, I suddenly could afford the newest and greatest game systems around, and immediately began to intelligently invest my hard earned money in such wonderful objects as XBox and Gamecube. My friends would come over, and we would play for hours. As my friends changed, however, I realized that the game systems began to do nothing but look really cool as they collected dust.
It was then I considered that perhaps my obsession with video games over the years was actually directly related to the social aspect involved with the moving dots on the glowing phosphorous screen. It seems unfortunate that I realized this only after having purchased the systems. Perhaps I should give them to someone who can truly appreciate their magic and mystery, or mayhaps I could sell them for some paltry amount to help subsidize my salsa lessons.
(Don't touch my iPod, though.)


