What Next? Virtual Imagination?
When I was 5, I had an imaginary playmate named Bobby. We had no secrets from each other, but things ended badly; one day, Bobby just left. No word, nothing. Never saw him again. I think he still owes me a quarter, and let’s not even talk about what happened to my penknife.
I don’t play with dolls anymore. It would be fair to say I’m way out of circulation, so maybe that’s why I’m standing like a lunk at an FAO Schwarz toy store counter while Crystal and Irma explain Furby to me.
By the time they finish, I’m still not sure I understand how it works. But from what I’ve read, sensors built into the doll detect people’s voice and movements, triggering a whole range of responses, including words, sneezes and giggles.
“It’s a virtual pet,” Irma Marin says, and I know she means “virtual” in the electronic, computer-world sense. I know that because Furby, while cute and furry, is a stuffed animal and comes in a box.
“But this is one virtual pet that talks to you,” Irma says.
Talks to me?
“It’s got sensors on it, so, like, when you touch it or tickle it or pet it, it’ll talk to you. But when you first open it up, it speaks in its own language, which is the Furbish language.”
The weird thing is, Irma isn’t laughing.
“And you need to teach it English,” she says. “It comes with a little dictionary, a Furbish dictionary, and you kind of have to learn how to speak its language.”
I have to learn its language? Why can’t it learn my language?
“You teach him English by talking to him,” Irma says. “So, like when you’re tickling him, you say, ‘Oh, tickle me,’ and it picks up what you’re saying.”
Forget about impeaching the president. What America wants this Christmas season is Furby. Irma says about 1,200 orders are stacked up at the store, which officials believe they’ll fill by Christmas. They’re selling Furbys for $34.99. I called a couple of other toy store chains, but they handled my Furby questions as if I were inquiring about nuclear weapons secrets.
How real is it, I ask Irma.
“It sees you,” she says, referring to sensors strategically placed on its body. “It has a timer so it knows when it’s hungry. It knows when it’s time to sleep, it’ll close its eyes, it’ll want you to sing to it, and then it’ll sing along with you.”
She summons fellow clerk Crystal Bolte to join the conversation. Crystal, 17, has a Furby whose name is Coco. “It sings a couple different songs,” she says. “One is like a lullaby, and I’m not sure about the other one. When it wakes up in the morning, it says, ‘Cock-a-doodle-do.’ It’s really cute.”
You ain’t seen nothing yet.
Remember when you had to pretend that Barbie was hungry or needed a bathroom break? Not with your Furby: “If you feed it too much, it’ll fart or burp,” Crystal says of Coco. Then, when I ask for details, she proceeds to replicate the sounds her Furby makes.
By now, those of you lagging in the electronic interactive world are shaking your heads. You’re probably asking why children need a pet that speaks its own mind and discusses its problems.
“It almost seems like a responsibility,” Crystal says, “because you want to feed it and keep it alive. It’s like you feel bad if you don’t feed it. At least, I did.”
Crystal is 17. I can only imagine how a 6-year-old might feel about his or her Furby. I envision some serious bonding or early childhood therapy.
When I ask Irma why she doesn’t have a Furby, she says, “I have a kid, so I don’t need one.”
Middle-aged businessman Rusty Cook was scouting for Furbys as I chatted with Irma and Crystal. Later, he tells me he’s hoping to buy a number of them and then resell them, a la Beanie Babies and the great American game of supply and demand.
“They have different personalities,” he says of Furbys. “And they learn different things from different ones. Once your two Furbys get to interacting, you take one to a neighbor’s house and it learns new things, you bring it back home and it teaches the other one.”
In layman’s terms, I say, just exactly how does it do that?
“I don’t know,” Cook says.
I’ll leave it there. I’m frightened enough already.
As a codger, it probably isn’t for me to say whether children need a furry pet that can recite hundreds of phrases. In my silly children’s world of long ago, a child spoke for his toys and called it imagination.
Now, all the imagining is done by the toy makers. They must be having a blast.
“It’s just more and more advanced technology,” Crystal says of the coming Furby invasion. “It’s more lifelike.”
The Darwinists have won the toy controversy. The singing, talking, sleeping, burping species now rules the toy world.
Somewhere, my friend Bobby is thanking his lucky stars. He was a product of his era and got out when he could. He must have known he would never have made it in the 1990s.
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Dana Parsons’ column appears Wednesday, Friday and Sunday. Readers may reach Parsons by calling (714) 966-7821 or by writing to him at the Times Orange County Edition, 1375 Sunflower Ave., Costa Mesa, CA 92626, or by e-mail to dana.parsons@latimes.com
