Sweet Cracker Sandwich!

Adventures of a born-again southpaw

2011-10-11T18:58:43Z

In early September I cracked some carpals in my left wrist. Three weeks later, just as it was healing to the point of fairly painless shampooing, I snapped my right arm.

SNAPPED. Two complete fractures in my radius, one crack in my ulna. Big purple cast that doesn’t fit in most of my sleeves. Big sling/immobilizer thingie keeping it elevated and strapped against my ribs.

Best excuse I’ve ever had for not posting, right?

It’s my dominant hand. My pants-buttoning, mouse-moving, hair-washing, nail-clipping, gear-shifting, camera-clicking, Diet-Dr.-Pepper-opening hand.

So I’m typing this with my left hand*, verrry slowly and inaccurately as I rest my casted right arm on a fluffy pillow. That arm still hurts like a bitch, and my left wrist is not happy about being called back into service so quickly – especially now that it has to do all the work alone.

I really am trying not to feel sorry for myself. It’s been 2 weeks since the right arm break, and it’s been so hard to not get frustrated at my new limitations. I complain a lot. I get frustrated. I pout and cry. It seems like every day I discover something else I CAN’T DO anymore.

I’m trying to move forward without hurting myself further – one wrong move and despite the cast, I could need surgery. The break was BAD, but the set was accurate… though I can still fuck it up if I overdo things. The bones haven’t knit yet – they’re in line to, but it hasn’t happened.

This post is me attempting to be a little more positive. I’m going to tell you about some of the things I have learned to do as a new lefty, to remind myself that in the last 2 weeks, I’ve figured out a lot.

1. I can hit Ctrl+Alt+Del left-handed. This was surprisingly difficult and I am proud.
2. I can plug in chargers and USB things. Also tricky at first because I couldn’t hold whatever I was plugging still in order to get the charger in.
3. I can carry a sub sandwich in my cast.
4. I’ve gotten pretty fast at the Swype keyboard on my phone and tablet.
5. I can pump conditioner (and lotion, shampoo, etc.) with just my sore left thumb into my palm and not make a mess of it.
6. I can throw a tennis ball for my dog and not accidentally fling it out of the yard.
7. I can mouse! Takes a pricey, fancy mouse with a trackball and scroll ring, but I can do it.
8. I can open a canned beverage.
9. I can button and zip my pants.
10. I can get my bra and shirt on and off without help.
11. I can open childproof bottles of pain medicine.
12. I can make good pillow forts.

There. It helps me to see those things. It helps that Dan drew a heart on my cast so when I look at it I don’t feel totally sad and sorry for myself, but it’s hard. My season – and probably my “career” – in Gaelic football is over. I’m a spectator now. I can’t exercise and I’m afraid I’ll get fat and lumpy. And this damn cast is starting to smell like feet.**

Well, there I go again, huh? Me and my first world problems.

But tomorrow I will add something to the list.

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* And Percocet. Pardon the rambling.

** Cast-freshening ideas? Please?

Full circle

2011-09-02T16:46:58Z

Full oval: I’ve been running! After a very bumpy (literally: swollen knee looking icky) start to my Couch to 5k program, I’m slowly but surely trotting along. Dan suggested that I try running on the school track instead of on our hard, hilly sidewalks. It’s made such a difference! Sure, no one’s going to run a 5k on a nice smooshy track, but for the bad-jointed among you, I highly recommend this approach while you’re getting used to jarring your knees, hips and spine on a regular basis.

Also recommended: the NHS podcasts for Couch to 5k. Free on iTunes, and set up with a nice Englishwoman telling you when to run and when to walk. The music is quite catchy and keeps the beat that you should be running or walking at any given point.

Full circle: Any of my old-time readers out there? Do you remember my very first blog, My Red Stapler? When I first moved to a self-hosted blog, no appealing red-stapler-ish URLs were available, so I began the bad habit of blog reinvention and called my new one something else. Today I’m working on a project for my Media Production Management class and I need to give my fictional media company a name. I don’t know why it occurred to me, but my very first thought was to call it Lovely Red Stapler Media.

Okay, maybe it occurred to me because I have a red stapler on my desk. But I have seen that stapler almost every day for 7 years. Why today?

But why not?

Would I be retarded to just buy the URL? Just in case? Maybe I should have a home for all my media related projects and portfolio and shit anyway.

Maybe lovelyredstapler.com?

Or should I be The Real Rebekah (TRR Media) or She’s Got Baggage (SGB Creative)?

This is all my way of not actually working on my homework, but it’s stuck in my head. This, friends, is what happens when you move your damn blog too much.

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Addendum: And it occured to me AFTER posting this that I could just be a normal human being and call my fake place SCS Creative, for Sweet Cracker Sandwich. As in, THIS BLOG THAT I HAVE AND USE NOW, NOT THE ONE FROM 5 YEARS AGO.

Addendum Numero Dos: I bought lovelyredstapler.com and justified it in my head. Don’t judge.

Something is chasing me

2011-08-02T16:54:55Z

It’s a joke among my friends and has been for years. “B doesn’t run unless something is chasing her.”

Where did the summer go?

And those ten pounds I was going to lose on Weight Watchers? RIGHT WHERE I LEFT THEM.

The Gaelic football training schedule popped up in my email yesterday, and holy shit. We start next Wednesday.

I did not like Weight Watchers. I was constantly hungry and tired. Tired enough that I didn’t exercise and earn activity points for more food. It was depressing.

But seeing that schedule just scared me. I am tired and hungry and out of shape, and the start of training is forcing me to re-evaluate my plan honestly. I want to play, and I want to play well. And I still want my beer.

I’m near the top of my healthy weight range, according to the people who make that shit up. My focus needs to be on fitness now, not just losing weight.

I have to be able to run and not, you know, DIE out there.

My sister and her husband did the Couch to 5K program earlier this year. They sure weren’t runners either, but they can run now. They can run for minutes on end without getting winded. That may not sound like much to you Real Runners out there, but I can’t do that. I have horrible cardio, horrible knees. I’m pretty much only fit to play goal right now.

So this C25K is a 9-week program, and Gaelic football matches start in mid-September. Let’s go, I told myself yesterday. Train on your own and with the team and we can do this.

My knee fucking hurt last night and still does today. I did the Day 1 intervals last night around our neighborhood, but oh my sweet cracker sandwich, I am uncomfortable now. Limping and braced. Doing isometrics at my desk every 30 minutes. Taking the elevator instead of walking up or down 2 flights of stairs.

Tomorrow will be Day 2, and I think I’m going to try running on the school track instead of on our bumpy sidewalks… it might help with my balance and I won’t pronate my knees and ankles so much.

I hurt, but I’m hopeful. After all, there’s an app for this.

Have you tried C25K or another program like it? What did you think? And am I the only one who felt starved on Weight Watchers?

A Legend Returns (and practically makes my boyfriend weep with joy)

2011-06-26T20:44:39Z

I came home the other night to a lovely air-conditioned house and was a bit annoyed to see the kitchen window slightly open. Why are we paying to air-condition the great outdoors? I wanted to ask my boyfriend. He’s almost as stingy with the utility bills as I am.

Then I saw the extension cord snaking across the kitchen counter and out the window.

I went out onto the back porch where I was promptly lick-attacked by 50 pounds of dog. I looked at the cord, following it with my eyes to Dan, hunched over the porch table and so intent on something that he hadn’t heard me or the pup.

“Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time” for the Nintendo 3DS had arrived in the mail the day before. It turned out that the extension cord was there because he’d completely run down the battery on the 3DS and COULD NOT STOP PLAYING.

I was so stoked to get that box. The folks from Brand About Town know that my boyfriend is a HUGE fan of the Zelda series, and they chose to send me an early-release* copy of the classic game, re-made in 3-D for the new handheld.

Kids, it even came with an ocarina and a songbook with instructions on how to play the game theme music.

We have the Zelda games for the other Nintendo consoles (yes, we have an N64 and yes, we use it), and the one we usually play is The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess on the Wii. I wondered whether the fancy-pants 3D would make up for the fact that the new Zelda had to go on the comparatively small Nintendo 3DS screen instead of on a 52″ plasma TV. Would the experience measure up? Would it feel like a step backward, going to the small screen even with a spiffy effect?

It’s different. Awesome different.

If you’ve played any Zelda games before, this one will be comfortably familiar as far as the story and the way the game is set up – the practice sections, the levels, the tricks and so on. This is a remake of the original Ocarina of Time storyline, but playing it on a handheld and with 3D enabled is definitely a different experience. The graphics grab you right from the beginning – like all of the games I’ve played on this system, it takes a bit for my eyes to adjust. But once they do, it really pulls you in! The 3D is smooth and you don’t really get any ghosting unless you move the screen the wrong way. That also takes a bit to get used to – holding it correctly, I mean – that’s the nature of the handheld and not a flaw in the game.

But you don’t have to hold it still – you can move the handheld to do things like aim your slingshot. Just keep your body in line and you’ll get the effects and good aim too.

I love the D-pad on the Nintendo 3DS, it makes your motions in any game so much more precise and flexible than the “+” pad on all the older game controllers. It’s a lot easier on the hands too, in my opinion. You can move pretty darned accurately in this game, which speeds up play a LOT. This is particularly good for me because I always get lost.

My boyfriend has played a lot further into the game than I have, and as a serious Zelda fan, he’s quite impressed. I never see him playing this on the Wii anymore. Also, after you beat the main game, it unlocks a second Master Quest so you can really go on and on with this.

In sum? This is the first “classic” Nintendo game that has been released for the 3DS, and it’s a fantastic way to kick it off. One of the big gaming community gripes when the 3DS launched was the lack of classic Nintendo titles with the launch – Mario, Donkey Kong, and of course Zelda. Well, gripe no more. They’ve delivered, and Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time was obviously made by people who love and respect the classic game. I can’t wait to try the new Kid Icarus: Uprising that will hopefully be coming out sometime this year. As fun as the new games are,** the classic lines are what make Nintendo Nintendo, and I love that they’re keeping them on with both respect to the originals and slick updates for the new technology.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an ocarina to practice while my boyfriend saves Hyrule on our porch.

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* Yep, I got this a week before anyone else could buy it. Amazing.

** And I have some more of those to write about soon. Keep your seats.

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FTC Disclosure: This game was provided by the Brand About Town and Nintendo America. They like me to review and share my impressions, but I am not financially compensated for such writings, nor am I in any way limited in what I can and cannot say about the services/products provided.

Bravery, or the lack thereof

2011-06-16T16:11:28Z

The blog has been a bit quiet lately because I’ve only really had the urge to write when I’m frustrated or sad – which hasn’t been terribly often, but I don’t want this to become THAT BLOG, the one where the writer whines and moans and puppy-eyes the readers for sympathy ALL.THE.DAMN.TIME.

I’m not really a sad person. And it’s nicer to write happy things.

But that being said, I am really annoyed and I figure since I haven’t blogged for awhile, I may as well write something.

Thing #1: No one wants to be at the hospital. No one wants to be a patient, and no one wants to be here visiting because no one wants the person they have come to visit to be in pain.

Thing #2: No one wants to be in the hospital cafeteria. People are here because they have to eat and there is no place else to eat on this campus.

Thing #3: Which means this is not McDonald’s. Or any other restaurant, for that matter. No one chose your cafeteria food because it sounded good or they had a craving. No one is in your line because they really want your fries in particular and are prepared to go through some degree of trouble – up to and including dealing with your shit attitude – to get them.

NO ONE WANTS TO BE HERE.

And you treat them all like they’re the biggest pain in your ass. You and your audible, drawn-out sighs that let us all know that you don’t want to move an inch. You and your eye-rolling, your back-turning, your rude grunts. How can you do that to these people? How can you be such a bitch to visitors IN A HOSPITAL?

I get that we all have bad days. I get that sometimes we, the employees, don’t want to be here either. But we’ve got badges on. Take out your venom on us if you have to, but you stupid cow, quit making sad people even sadder ABOUT ONION RINGS. Do you need to snap at a little old lady “I’m GETTIN’ to it!” when she’s leaning on a cane, just waiting for onion rings while you’ve filled several orders ahead of hers?

In what world is that okay?*

I stood in the line fuming. I was back in street clothes, leaving for the day, and my badge was tucked in my purse. She didn’t know I worked there. She didn’t know I know her boss’s boss – and if she did, it shouldn’t have mattered anyway. I ordered chicken strips because they were a grab-and-go and I didn’t want to look at her face any longer. She tossed them in a box and shoved them across the counter at me. Not a word. Not even a grunt before she turned and glared at the next customer as if daring him to ask for something.

I went to pay. The line was long and the old lady with the onion rings and the cane finally made it through a few spaces behind me. The cashier looked past both of us with dead eyes. I wanted to apologize to her, the old lady. I wanted to apologize on behalf of my hospital, to tell her that this is NOT who we are, that I would call the manager in charge of the woman at the grill and tell her about this horrible person’s horrible attitude. I wanted her to know that people here are not heartless, that whether you want onion rings or a new liver (with or without onions or immunosuppressants), WE ARE NOT LIKE THAT.

I think that most of the people who work here are great. I think that most of them really care. I think, and wanted to yell at the top of my lungs right then, that the soulless keeper of the onion rings was an anomaly among us. I wanted to defend us and what I know we stand for!

And yet… I did nothing. Maybe I’d have been braver with my badge on, kitted out in the scrubs of a medical professional, more suited to represent the values of a fine hospital than what I was there: a messy-haired girl in track pants and flip-flops.

Maybe.

I got my ranch dressing and I left, badge in my bag, ashamed.

Just another customer putting up with it.

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*And in what kind of messed-up world do we live when someone like this has a job and millions of people who HAVE SOULS are trying to find honest work and can’t?

Stay klassy, North County

2011-05-17T20:08:49Z

Driving to work yesterday I saw something on the side of the road that looked horribly like a roadkill Yorkshire Terrier.

Black fur, some brown fur, about that size.

Poor puppy! I thought. As I drove closer I could see the little fluffer a bit better…

It was not a dead Yorkie. It was a weave.

SERIOUSLY. A FULL-ON, ALL-UP-IN-YOUR-HAIR WEAVE.

I’m not sure which bothered me more, the fact that someone thought that it was a good idea to yank out what was surely a pricey weave (I told you, it looked like real fur) and just throw it on the side of the road to frighten pet lovers, or the fact that someone would even get a pricey weave that so closely resembled a small yappy animal.

Who does that?

Gratuitous picture of my dog. You’re welcome.

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Thirty, lucky, and the P-word.

2011-04-25T18:34:08Z

Last Tuesday afternoon, in anticipation of my thirtieth birthday the following day, I pondered and pondered what kind of post I should write to mark that momentous occasion. THIRTY is a big one. THIRTY should have a bigass blog post.

THIRTY should be something special. Something profound. Poignant. Purposeful. Powerful.

Something with a “P,” I suppose.

And yet I couldn’t think of one thoughtful, birthday-appropriate track to indulge. I thought perhaps I’d do one of my fun little vlogs, but nothing – NOTHING came to mind. This is especially peculiar because I was quite excited about my birthday.

But in the intervening days I have come up with a few things.

Some of you may have seen on the news that some nasty tornadoes ripped through the St. Louis region on Friday night. The local media – and some national media – have been inundated with images of destruction, devastation and loss. Airport windows blew out, spraying glass into the concourses. Church roofs flew across roads. Homes were leveled, cars flipped into trees, power lines tangled across major roads. Pouring rain continued through the night, drenching the exposed debris and the people both seeking shelter and trying to help.

The tornado that ravaged the airport and flattened parts of the next town over came within half a mile of my house… and our wheelbarrow didn’t even tip over. The power was out everywhere in town – but in our little neighborhood, we all had our porchlights on.

We were out having dinner when it all happened, and what we saw on the drive home was total chaos.

Here’s the church that’s pretty close to us:

Here’s part of the town where a friend lives close by:

Inside the concourse of the airport not far from our house – a friend was there when it happened:

VERY close to us:

So. THIRTY.

Thirty has been lucky so far. For me, and in a backasswards way, for our whole town. Possessions, homes and businesses are destroyed and cannot be salvaged, but everyone is alive.

The National Weather Service reported that this was the worst storm in St. Louis since the 1960s, but no lives were lost in the St. Louis area due to the tornadoes last Friday.

I cannot even imagine what these people so close to me are feeling as they sift through the messes of their homes. People stood watch and protected one another’s belongings while others struggled to cover roofs and walls with tarps and plywood while the rain continued. There were more reports of strangers helping strangers than of looters taking advantage of victims.*

It says a lot about the people we are and communities in which we live.

It’s a new perspective on thirty.

So I guess there’s your “P” word.

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Please click the United Way 211 link in the sidebar if you can give a little to help the storm victims. We all know how long it takes to get insurance claims processed, and every little bit helps tide people over. Thanks!

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*There were a few looters, and I hope they fell on stabby tree limbs and glass while they were trying to get away. Jackasses. Who does that?

Moo.

2011-04-18T16:11:19Z

My man is a contractor and he works hard at least six days a week – if not seven. And if he’s not at a job site on Sundays, he’s doing some sort of work on our house. He’s a busy boy.

For my mom’s birthday in February, I gave her a coupon for one free day of slave labor stripping the wallpaper in her living room. A few weeks later, my dad started talking about hiring someone to come look at the slight water damage in the kitchen ceiling, re-patch some places he thought he didn’t patch well, and give the whole ceiling a fresh coat of paint.

That would be a two-story high ceiling that extends through three biggish rooms, by the way.

“I’ll have Dan come look at it,” I said. “He can fix it while I’m doing the wallpaper.”

“Oh, he doesn’t need to do that on his day off, he does that stuff all week.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind. You don’t have to go hire someone else and pay for it,” I insist, and I’m right.

Of course my man can take care of it. He swore he didn’t mind helping my folks out, even on a day off. I thanked him profusely, telling him my mom and dad would really appreciate it.

“It’s no problem,” he said. “I don’t have a cow to give them for you, so I’ll help out instead.”

Well, he used to say he’d give my dad a goat in exchange for my hand in marriage, so I suppose this is an upgrade of sorts.

Moo.

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Homonyms, and how I am a chicken

2011-04-11T18:43:52Z

Balk: to stop, as at an obstacle, and refuse to proceed or to do something specified – ALSO – to stop short and stubbornly refuse to go on.

Bawk: noise a chicken makes

Given the semantics, it’s not very surprising that you might call someone who balks at something a chicken. Even “cluck,” the other common interpretation of a chicken noise, is associated with being nervous and skittish.

As I write this, I am balking at the idea of playing camogie.

I went to the first season practice, but since then there has always been some reason to stay away from the practice pitch on Thursday nights. Sick. Grandma passed away. Out of town. All totally legitimate. But our first game was this Saturday and I’ve only been to one practice. EVER. I am not good. I don’t even know all the rules.

Also, I’m chicken.

I don’t want to embarrass myself by being bad even WITH practice.
I don’t want a bunch of girls judging me.
I really, REALLY don’t want to get hurt again.

Camogie, in case you’re not familiar with the sport (and you don’t feel like clicking on this link), is the women’s version of hurling, the national sport of Ireland. The closest we can come to describing it in terms of American sports is that it’s like a combination of field hockey and lacrosse – and yet it’s not that. It’s kind of rough and tumble, a stick-and-ball game that requires a lot of running, a lot of coordination, and a lot of grit – if you’re going to be good.

When I started playing Gaelic Football last fall, I was informed almost immediately by the girls in the Gaelic Athletic Club that, like it or not, I’d be joining them for camogie in the spring and summer. I like most of these girls and it sounded like fun, so I said I’d give it a shot. The camogie branch of the GAC isn’t nearly as big as the hurling branch (they play coed), so I thought I’d be up for just playing with the girls at first. I was pretty excited.

Except I’m kind of not now.

I’ve only been able to make it to one practice and I wasn’t very good. That’s normal for a newbie, I know. But I’ve historically just not been good at any game involving hitting something with a stick. Tennis, softball, hockey… the whole “think of it as an extension of your arm” thing just doesn’t click with my motor skills. I can play volleyball and I’m halfway decent at soccer. But sticks? I’ve never been good. I even suck at Wii tennis. Yet I feel like a big chicken saying I don’t want to do it after only one practice.

Maybe I just had a bad day.

But I don’t like being judged. And some of these girls – not the ones from football who were all nice to me – make the team into something like a sorority with sticks and shinguards. Maybe I’m being petty, but there are a few of them that, for various personal reasons, I’d rather not talk to. Ever. And it’s pretty hard to bring yourself to communicate on the field when you just don’t like the person.

I know. I just need to get over that.

And injury – I’ve had enough major and minor injuries for now, thank you. I’m just prone to clumsiness and I hurt myself in the stupidest ways. I’ve broken my thumb three times – which doesn’t sound serious, but when you have to type all day it can be hell. I broke my ankle falling off a curb and spent 10 weeks in an air cast. One of the thumb breaks and a meniscus tear were from a fall off my bike and I ended up in surgery. I got a concussion from slipping off a bar stool (while not even drunk, which just makes it more inexcusable), a broken rib from falling during football… I just hate it so much. I already have a shit immune system, being injured is just beyond annoying. At my first camogie practice I rolled my bad ankle on a divot and had to limp off before we were done with drills.

I’m just a wimp. Flat out. This girl is a wimp.

My boyfriend plays hurling and he is REALLY good. He’ll work with me if I want. But I make excuses not to. I want to play Wii bowling instead. I want to finish Professor Layton and the Unwound Future. I want to make meatballs. I want to clean the bathroom.

So just DON’T play then, you say.

I go to his matches, which means I see everyone who I would be playing with if I did camogie. And they’re all like “You should plaaaay! Why haven’t you been at practice? It’s ok, none of us are that awesome, you can learn!”

“No,” I want to say, “I don’t want to be clobbered by people with sticks chasing a little ball. I don’t like when people run at me. “

“I’ve been busy,” I say instead. “I’ll try to come next week.”

I kind of lie there.

This post is pretty pointless except to invite you all to make chicken noises at me. I just had to vent a little bit.

Bawk bawk baaaawk!

OMFGWTF3D at the Nintendo 3DS Summit

2011-04-07T02:26:50Z

I’ve been a Brand Ambassador for Nintendo (via a lovely company called Brand About Town) for the last 2 years. It’s a really rough gig – I get consoles and games to try out and review, and they occasionally let me invite a dozen friends to some swanky place at which we all get food, drink, and a chance to try out the latest in Nintendo handheld gaming. I did a DSi event in 2009, a DSi XL event in 2010… but this year, Brand About Town and Nintendo totally blew me away.

Or, FLEW me away. (Yeah, you saw what I did there.)

They invited me – and a ton of other Brand Ambassadors from around the country – to fly out to Seattle for a day of gaming at the Nintendo headquarters.

Did I mention it was with the new Nintendo 3DS? The 3D-with-no-glasses one?

Because it WAS.

Nintendo, I love you but some of the commercials for this new handheld were kind of theatrical. The amazed looks, the gushing, the this-will-change-the-world-forever quotes. I mean, I wanted to get my paws on it and see what the big deal was, but 3D? It’s a movie trick, right?

IT MADE MY COUNTERTOP MOVE.

(More on that in a minute.)

We all spent this past Friday at the Nintendo HQ, squeezing in a tour of the facility and a mad dash through the employee shop among our stops at 8 different gaming stations. Skepticism about a movie trick? Whatever. I blew that out of the water at the Steel Diver station.

The following fare was on the menu:

AR Games (comes with every new 3DS)
Mii Maker and StreetPass Mii Plaza (ditto)
Steel Diver – blow shit up with submarines.
Street Fighter IV – kick some ass!
Pilotwings Resort – wheee! flying!
Asphalt 3D – a racing game that was a little meh, as I prefer my classic Mario.
Nintendogs & Cats – amusing, and probably cool for the kiddos
Kid Icarus Uprising – DAMN, YO.

A word on Kid Icarus Uprising – it’s not out yet. This was an especially awesome part of the day for me, because the systems we tried the game on were locked down with steel cables – it was all so secret-y feeling. We even had one of the game developers at our station soliciting our feedback. If you remember the days of the original Icarus (hint: it’s been 23 years since the last new game), you will WANT THIS. I miss it already. I’m on the notify-me-when-it’s-available list at Amazon.

Brand About Town and Nintendo oh-so-amazingly sent each of us home with our very own shiny new Nintendo 3DS. They’ve always been extremely generous to their Brand Ambassadors, but dude… SHINY SHINY SHINY FUN. I haven’t even bought any games yet (my birthday is April 20th, hi everyone!) but I’m already having a blast with the pre-installed stuff.

Which brings me back to the countertop.

AR Games looks like a set of dinky paper flashcards. But using the camera on the front of the 3DS, the system reads a card and I don’t know how to describe it other than to say it creates the 3D gameplay right on the surface in front of you. So when I laid a card on my countertop and aimed my handheld at it, the targets appeared in 3D like they were sitting right there on my counter. As I shot down the targets and moved to the next round, it did this weird thing where it looked like my counter was bulging and rolling, like it was an ocean or something, and the targets were moving along on top of the rolling surface. The pattern of the countertop was MOVING.

I told you I thought the people’s reactions on the commercials were a little theatrical? If you saw your countertop waving like the ocean, I bet you’d be pretty OMGWTFAMAZING!!! too.

I’m going to try and vlog this sometime but I don’t know how well it will work with that fancy-pants 3D and all. In the meantime, take a look at these pictures of awesome people you probably don’t know, and a screenshot of my Mii for good measure.

FTC Disclosure: This trip was funded by the Brand About Town and Nintendo people, and the Nintendo 3DS system was a gift provided by them. They like me to review and share my impressions, but I am not financially compensated for such writings, nor am I in any way limited in what I can and cannot say about the services/products provided.