This week, Jon and I were blessed with a Wii. A little, shiny, white box, that now sits atop our bedroom dresser, next to the TV. You can imagine the lack of sleep we're getting around here. Last night, after all the laundry, and fretting over what to pack, and visiting with Katie, we decided to play a match of tennis before bed. I really got into it, hitting the ball forehand and backhand, jumping about full force, and cursing a' la John McEnroe. At one point, after several minutes of power play I am now forever quoted as "telling Lindsay Davenport to bite me".
It was all too much. Too real. I was in the moment, transported back to a time in the late 90's when Jon and I would play honest to goodness tennis on the courts outside our dorm. You know, like real tennis, with a fuzzy neon ball, not some new-age, cyber ball, made of pixels and Nintendo genius. And then it struck me, had we finally arrived? Were we now living in that futuristic time of playful novelties and slick modernity that Life Magazine waxed poetic about in the 1950's? To be able to play tennis, in your bedroom, late at night and really feel like you are in the game, is that the future we've all been waiting for?
I think maybe, I think almost.
I'd suppose if we could walk out in our yards, push a button on our watches, and have a hologram of a ball and racquet pop up, now that would be future. We call up friends, with their holographic balls and racquets and play a game or two, back and forth, back and forth, knocking the illusionary spheres. Then again, that would would essentially be just like playing old fashioned tennis and just not futuristic enough for me. I'll stick to the Wii.