The Christmas gift that keeps on giving

The Princess is in the air on her way to what is supposed to be Hawaii, but nothing seems right. The plane hops from mountain top to mountain top. Planes aren't supposed to do that, are they? And where is the Hero?

Now the Princess is whipping along a road at super incredible speed in some kind of personal vehicle over which she seems to have little control, when suddenly a huge chasm opens in front of her. Her vehicle leaps off the end of the cliff and

Another restful sleep hijacked by video-game-induced dreams. The Princess wonders if the Hero also suffers from this. Nope, he cheerfully tells her later when she inquires.

Darn video games.

The Hero got a new game system for Christmas (“A box is coming with my name on it but you should wrap it up for me for Christmas”). I say it is his because although I play too, I can only do so when he gives me the controller and says “Okay, start.” The first level of any game has nothing to do with getting past gatekeepers or avoiding falling gnomes. The first level—which I have yet to master—is turning on the remote. No, make that figuring out which combination of our five remotes will magically unlock the mystery of starting the game system. Five.

After that, well, bring on the falling gnomes.

The harrowing dreams come from a game wherein you hurtle down a path—I use that word loosely—in pursuit of a goal. For most players, this goal is 1st place across the finish line and leaving their competitors in the dust. For me, the goal is a little more prosaic: to not be so traumatized by those jumps across the chasms that I dream about them later that night.

So far, even such a prosaic goal has eluded me.

I have, however, progressed to trying out my special powers in this game.  These are very useful things. A character might be able to, for example, instantly encase himself in a bubble shield that protects him from other competitors, or from flying chickens (of which there seem to be a great deal in this particular game). Or attach a rocket booster to the car and blow through every obstacle.

My defining special power in one game was: flowers. When you deploy the special flower feature, a plume of lovely flowers goes out from the car and a sweet little tune plays for several seconds. As far as I could tell, this special power rated pretty negatively on the usefulness scale.

However, eventually I discovered that in a stressful situation—such as being chased by dinosaurs who live to devour flower-emitting vehicles—deploying the flower power was extremely soothing, what with that catchy little tune and bright, cheery buds flying around. Ahhh, my own virtual Prozac.

And I started to be proud of my flower power.

And then I discovered an even better use for it, the one no doubt intended by the developers all along. When the Hero was behind me, the flowers streaming from my vehicle would stick to his windshield, thus causing a few moments of mayhem where he couldn’t see the road. Ah ha!

Unfortunately for me, the Hero is hardly ever behind me in this game. Or in any others. Luckily, there is still the Prozac effect.