Life on the Farm

Recently I’ve had cause to wax nostalgic about those little virtual pets from the 1990’s. Do you remember them? They were about the size of one of those rubber squeeze coin purses, with a couple of microscopic buttons and a key ring: the ubiquitous companion to 8-year old girls everywhere. They were created in Japan where living space is too limited for anything more than a pet octopus. I never understood why they caught on here in America where I can’t get my kids to feed our real dog on what could be considered a humanely frequent basis. For that matter, I can’t figure out what an 8-year old needs with a keychain, either.

Some of you may be wondering what stimulus could cause me to flash back to those now obscure Happy Meal treats. Others of you will know exactly why they popped into my head. Farm Town. I’m watching my wife play it right now while talking to her eldest on the phone. Yes, a grown woman torn between the emotional needs of that which sprang forth from her own womb and a plot of digital grapes. Allow me to fill any non-Facebookers in on Farm Town.

Facebook, the online community phenom, offers numerous activities you can join your friends in, from racing games to mafia hits to Farm Town. To be honest, I haven’t played any of them. Not because they’re inane wastes of time, but because I’m a very anti-social curmudgeon… I mean, because they’re too complicated for me. But of these none has permeated my world like Farm Town. Everyone in the house is abuzz about it. The wife is talking about “checking the farm,” the boys are glued to the computer screen 25-hours a day… even the dog is playing, although I suspect she just likes looking at the pictures.

Apparently, what you do is accept an invitation from a friend to start your own farm, get plants given to you by these friends, grow the plants on your virtual farm, harvest the crops, sell them, buy more plants and land, accumulate digital farmhouses that will be the envy of all of your virtual friends, and… well, think about it all the time. And that’s the hook that makes it different from other games. If you plant, for instance, grapes, you have to come back online in four hours and harvest them or they die. Plant a fruit tree and it may take a couple of days. I don’t know if you have to feed the goats, but I would if I had crops nearby. My wife has actually given her password to a friend so that said friend can harvest her crops while she is at work! (I’m sure 5 or 6 friends will now be mad that they weren’t chosen as the surrogate harvester.) Does all of this sound familiar? Tamagotchi pets.

To point out the insanity I turned to my wife the other night (we were in our office: I, trying to think of something to fill my next blog; she, harvesting virtual pomegranates) and said, “Honey, do you remember those stupid little virtual pets the girls used to play with back in the 90’s?” Her response, and I quote:

They were very stupid, but look… I can buy fences!

Now, please note that my wife is an exceedingly intelligent woman. Her job is complex and turbulent, yet she wades through it like a neap tide. She is conversant on any number of subjects. She is a very talented photographer. She reads books that have no pictures in them whatsoever. But she is addicted to Farm Town. She says she’s not (“I can quit any time I want”), but I know denial when I hear it (“You think I’m addicted? Look at this girl’s farm. That’s a grain silo, for crying out loud!”).

But hey, what’s a little fun now and then? She did point out that I like to waste time and money hunting animals when there’s plenty of meat at the grocery store. And do I really need to waste time writing a blog when everyone else in the world already has one (http://ultimatetoiletblog.blogspot.com/2008/03/marcos-way-of-rating-toilets.html)? And what about the garden out back with all the weeds in it? The real garden. The one that produces real food. The one with real weeds. I turn to suggest to her that we spend some quality time together by going outside and weeding our garden, but thought better of it as I heard her shout:

I’ve got to get control of these chickens!