There was a movie called The Wizard. I think I was about 8 years old when this movie came out. The 8 bit Nintendo was the most glorious device I had ever discovered. And suddenly, there was a movie about it. In fact, I had a really big crush on the bad guy, whose key line was," I love the Power Glove. It is so bad."
Imagine this guy delivering that line in all due seriousness.
Hysteria aside,back to our story. The movie impressed me. It was a simplistic story about the ridiculous journey of a preteen and a retarded kid going cross country to win a video game contest. These kids lived games, breathed games,and followed their dreams which of course were all intertwined in a journey to an ultimate kingdom paved with golden question mark blocks. It made no sense and I loved it. And of course, I had to have it-the gauntlet of my digital dreams. The Power Glove. I knew come Christmas morning it would be mine, and I was waiting with bated breath for the moment when I would don the magical item. Of course, what I did not forecast for was the eventuality that it was a complete piece of shit. I refused to accept it. I tried to manuever with it and figured-it must be broken. It isn't working right. I wept with disappointment. The day after Christmas, my mother was forced to drive 25 minutes to the nearest Toys R US with me in tow to get a new one. Back home, it did not work. More tears. Another trip. Another glove. One more massive failure reduced me to a sobbing heap, and from that moment on I began to accept that my dreams could so easily be shattered by poor design and false marketing. Of course as an adult, I understand that as a plain fact.
Childhood trauma aside, I'd still buy the damn thing at a garage sale in a quarter of a second. I've let all the pain go now. It's good enough for it just to be. It doesn't have to function. I'd just be happy to have one in the room. Ah, maturity.