Gadget freak I am. As in, “Hello, my name is Dee, and I have a problem.”

Concerned about my growing middle, spreading ass, and flush with disposable income in the heart of Silicon Valley, so, naturally, I turned to the Japanese. Man, them Nintendo game-makers is slick.

Now me and a stupid looking cartoon me, or as they say, Mii, which for some perverse, ingenious reason I found myself trying to customize to look like me even as my brain said it’s stupid and doesn’t fucking matter and thought about making myself a little Indian dude, but the mind control of the the programmers is insidious, any way the cartoon Mii and me are doing up the yoga and the balance games and “rhythm boxing.” I’m standing on a high-tech, sensory perceiving hunk of plastic and getting an old fashioned calisthenic swerve on. Because I can, because it’s the new millennium, and, while we don’t have flying cars, we have using your real body to balance a fake bubble down a cartoon river.

As they say in California, it’s hella cool. And, the good noise is, according to the technology, I’m still a hair under officially obese by BMI standards.

NOT MY CHART, since it’s clearly a fit, young person.

If you ever get a chance to golf 9 holes, bowl a string or snowboard on a Wii, take it. Seriously, life changing. I may give up food and sex and work to spend more time with my Wii. The little talking cartoon representative of the Wii balance board and I have set up a weight loss lifestyle goal. I will fail, but damn if my virtual golfing won’t improve.

Almost as fun as the Wii Fit itself was watching M. get all take charge about getting one. We were eating out (not in the fun sexing way, but at a restaurant), while I had alerts programmed through the web if it became available at a retailer near me. Damn unlikely. So, I surfed on over to Craig’s List and found out a kid in the same town in which we sat and ate was getting rid of his at a non-completely ridiculous, hyper-inflated price. M. dialed him up, chatted and convinced him to come to us, instead of the usual way around.

Later that night, I was good to go. M. didn’t exercise, he just basked in the glow of his can-do style.

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