Well, it finally happened.
My editor at the newspaper that I write for gave me my most dreaded assignment ever. Just as I sat down at my desk, before I could even finish my cup of iced coffee, she asks, “Can you go to the local senior citizen’s center to take pictures and do a story of them playing the Nintendo Wii?”
My heart sank, not only because I am a gamer, but because I also value my journalistic integrity. Thoughts filled my mind of how I would be coerced to watch senior citizens enjoy Wii Sports and how numb I and dirty I would feel from doing so. All the while I would be forced to maintain a smiling demeanor, while my inner nature cried “Shenanigans!”
All just to immortalize the moment in my newspaper.
It was one of my biggest fears since the Wii’s launch. There isn’t a day that you can’t search Google news and find at least one story about senior citizens playing the Wii, and now after everything, I would be contributing to this plague of hype cause by news outlets everywhere.
Please, don’t get me wrong. I’m all for seniors playing video games. Such mental activities can not only possibly stifle dementia, but the motion controls of the Wii actually get them out of their chairs and moving. But reporting on this is a nightmare. In fact, I’m pretty sure Dante Aligheri mentions this at the beginning of Canto III of “The Divine Comedy” when approaching the gates of the Inferno:
“Through me you pass into the city of woe
Through me you pass into eternal pain
Through me among the people lost for aye.
Justice the founder of my fabric moved
To rear me was the task of Power divine,
Supremest Wisdom, and primevel Love.
Before me things create were none, save things
Eternal, and eternal I endure.
All hope abandon, ye who report on senior citizens enjoying the Wii.”
On second thought, I may not be remembering that exactly how I first read it. Anyways, I digress.
I sat there, motionless in my chair as my editor waited for my response. Time slowed and I knew that I had to come up with a response before she threw her Swingline at me to wake me up.
All the time, I kept thinking of poor T.S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock:
“I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.”
I could feel my heart slow to a numbing tempo as anguish poured over me. I, too, could feel Death grabbing me, laughing as my integrity was about to die. Was I ever more afraid? I suppose some journalists would have just bit their lip and taken the assignment without a word. But I couldn’t. The gamer in me was crying, “Foul!”
I then launched into a diatribe of how constant media attention of senior citizens enjoying mind-numbing casual games has caused Wii gamers everywhere to endure a monsoon of lack-luster titles. This is all because grandma and grandpa can swing a Wiimote. I questioned — to myself — if I was over stepping my boundaries as a staff reporter, but I couldn’t help myself. This journalistic injustice had to stop.
I continued, telling her that I am indeed a gamer — specifically the Wii — and that this type of publicity only makes things worse for people like me; real gamers. Every time a story of some old person bowling a strike or hitting a hole in one gets published, developers see one more reason why it is okay to publish titles that don’t even deserve the sad distinction of a discount bin.
Also, every time senior citizens are reportedly enjoying the Wii, an angel loses its wings.
And now, after everything that I have written and spoken on, I was going to feed the beast. I was now going to show how great the Wii is for old people. I sighed and thought about how I would rather set a basket of kittens on fire, before kicking them off of a cliff.
I finished explaining my biased point of view on the topic, and instead of hearing legions of gamers cheering me as I stepped down from my platform, I just heard the voice of my editor, laughing at what I had just told her. Wanna know the best part? I convinced her and we are not covering it.
It seems she, too, has a part in J. Alfred Prufrock’s love song:
“I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.”
It would seem that the mermaids have stopped singing for her. My voice — the human voice — has finally awoken her. How sweet it is to drown.