Picked up one of those new fangled Playstation 3 thingammy bobbins a few months back. My new flat and the prospect of impending debt brought on the need to equip it with sleek Swedish furniture. Debt calls for more debt like a moth to a flame.
Anyway, for the most part have been managing to keep a lid on the hours spent on the new toy, but it creeps in every now and again, seeing a five hour, coffee fueled solitary journey into exploring the ravaged world of Fallout 3, shooting my fellow man in Call of Duty and tripping it out lean up style in some Japanese kid’s Little Big Planet level of joy.
The new generation of consoles are insidious in that they literally do everything so well. You want to immerse yourself in an epic Hollywood budget interactive film? No worries. You want to play games with people all over the world. Couple of clicks and one username and account and you’re up and running. Watch a blue ray? No probs as long as you’ve got the requisite giant HD screen (which I don’t yet incidentally). Stream videos, tunes and images from any other computer on your wireless network? Couple of clicks and you’re there. Send abusive message to your friend due to zombie killing antics? Inadvertently make a 10 year old cry due to expertise at shooting nazis? Yes it’s all possible. Hmm the relapse to total geek fueled second adolescence, including accompanied self loathing and bad skin is near enough inevitable.
Yes, yes. I have long resisted the call of the PS3, but your account is a good advert for signing away projects and normal life and embracing the dark, sleek nu-tech underworld of Sony’s latest bastard son. Unfortuantely, given the impending arrival of our first born child, Mrs Bennie is extremely unlikely to perceive the PS3 as a welcome addition to the home. I live vicariously through you on this one. Ravage those nazis, make the children cry in frustration (for their senses have not had the high grade training of the C64) and forget the media driven Credit Rape! Live and be (virtually) free my friend.