Nothing could be more comfortable than card games, and that’s where I intend to start with Mom. Whether it’s the brand of beer you drink, the kind of shoes you wear, or the Sunday breakfast you prefer, there’s a certain comfort in trooping down a well-worn path. I’m simply suggesting that my kin, like many of us, are likely to make a beeline for the familiar. I don’t mean to imply that my relations are likely to play only those games invented before electric power came into vogue.
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If I expect my family to join the legion of Mac gamers, I must recommend a more appropriate set of products. Unlike the games we used to play around the kitchen table, many of today’s computer games can be enjoyed only by those with a fleet trigger finger and a stomach for cartoon violence. But most of them aren’t our style.”Īnd of course she’s right. Sometime later, as I rinsed the last of the soap from my mouth, my mother carefully explained, “Dear, everyone in the family appreciates your suggestions, and of course we’re delighted that you care enough to send those games.
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“I SEND YOU A BOX FULL OF GAMES THAT ANY 13-YEAR-OLD WOULD SELL HIS PIMPLED SOUL FOR, AND YOU’RE PLAYING KOJI THE DAMNED FROG!?” “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” I shrieked. Despite my distress, however, I remained calm. Far more disturbing was that when I peered over her left shoulder, I saw that my mother was wholly swept up in a frantic bout ofof all thingsKoji the Frog!ĭon’t get me wrong I’m not slamming Marco Carra’s delightful arcade game, but after devoting hundreds of thousands of words to Mac gaming (and sending the family several care packages of games I no longer had a use for), I was a bit put out that she hadn’t bothered to heed my advice and play something more up-to-date.
Now, I’ve never written a “dog thing” in my life, but I was willing to let this pass. “I loved the last game column, by the way. “I’ll be off in a minute, dear,” she called over her shoulder. Well, the confirmation is in the custard, and substance was lent to my suspicions when I trekked home during the holidays for a family gathering and found Mom seated at her iMac. Yet lately I’ve begun to wonder if my family’s support extends to reading the words I’ve penned upon these pages. My sisters invariably remember my birthday with a card and a call, and my nieces refrain from melting into a soporific trance during my long-winded narratives. Anyone looking at my family from the outside would remark that our clan appears to be remarkably supportive.