I’ve probably mentioned this before, but somehow the universe has been kind enough to let me own a Wii. It’s a gorgeous machine and I am happy just to stand like a goofy idiot playing Golf (Golf! How I hate that sport outside of the electronic entertainment medium) all day. I do own games that let me be (among other things) a doctor (I know! Crazy!) and an Italian plumber.
What I haven’t mentioned, like ever, is that it’s Japanese. Now, there are times when you want to see an English menu, with the screen drawing pixels in the form you actually comprehend. But you know, geekery of geekeries, I actually enjoy swimming neck deep in the almost runic symbols that the Japanese language throws at me. As a result, you grow an appreciation of the various ways your brain makes sense of things. I absolutely marvel at my intuitiveness to just click the left squiggly to accept, and the right wiggly to cancel. It’s resonant with human potential, I tell you.
As a result, I may have no idea what the Miis are usually up to or if they assemble when you click the whistle just because they are Japanese in origin, or if they love you or if they are even crazy or what. I do know that they respond to you, and mock you by being happy in a round white room, while you can’t find the same hip deep in entertainment possibilities you invented for yourselves. We lack the Miiness and can’t respond to such a scenario with an even keel. It disturbs me.
Of course, much like Pi or other sane individuals, I had the option to actually buy an English language console – the fact that it is Japanese doesn’t mean that’s the only flavour it understands – but that would contradict my zeal to do something ridiculous each and every day, without which I don’t think I would be able to look at those fucking cartoons.
This was crazy uncle Sam, back to writing fucking cuckoo shit. Tell me something ridiculous you did today.