Saturday, 22 May 2010
'Oh, he is catching up with me again, cheeky son of a bitch! He is level 51 now, can you believe it??'
'Oh, no no...only 3 seconds and "sorry been claimed already?" How fast are those guys??? Crazy!'
'Quick, quick! Golden egg has been posted!'
'Do you want a collection?'
'My dog needs more treats. Just send me some treats, please?'
'Do you want some more materials for your stable?'
These are just some of the things my 60+ year old mother said to me today.
If none of these sentences make any sense to you, whatsoever, then you are in a healthy minority in this world. The minority who have life.
What does one do when her mother is obsessed with a computer game?
I knew it was bad but I never knew it was this bad. The woman is possessed by the Farmville demons. Even when we are doing something important, she asks for 'five more minutes'. Can’t let the coop members down, you see.
Husband has a brilliant plan for this farmbook as he keeps calling it. He wants to hack into it and plan endless amounts of drugs.
Oh, neighbours will think. A very interesting farm you have got going on over there. Just lots of poppies and green houses with strange blue light inside. Not your average “horti-fucking- culturalist” as they said.
My mother is not alone in her addiction. She is obsessively competing with her neighbour, an older ex-teacher in Baku,a respectable Azeri man. A father and a husband with real life responsibilities. He is driving me insane. I get demanding emails from him asking to join the coop ASAP, ensure i plant enough grapes and harvest in time.
I am curious whether the creators of Farmville thought it would work this well across all nationalities and ages. Surely, when they planned to take over the world, they must have had a certain demographic group in mind? But nope. It works equally well on my 4 year old child, my sexy and glamorous single girlfriend in Moscow, and a 60+ year old Azeri male. This game has no boundaries.
I try to not get too annoyed. Even when we are about to leave the house and my mother is at her laptop, hitting those keys hard and fast-trying to grab that golden egg before her neighbour in Baku gets it first... I am thinking, maybe it is her thing, you know? Mine is blogging. Hers is Farmville. I have no right to complain. And between you and me...I was the one who got her into it.