Should I travel aboard the International Space Station and experience zero gravity? Take a guided Tai Chi class? Create 3-D paintings in the air? Have a tête-à-tête with Jesus, who would lead me in a guided meditation? (The In His Presence V.R. Web site asks, “How can God fit into your crowded life with everything else on your plate?”) Disunion, the guillotine simulator, was discontinued, so I’d have to find another way to imagine what it was like to be executed during the French Revolution-perhaps I could download the app produced by Excedrin that allows one to feel what it’s like to have a migraine? (Philosophical query: Is it O.K. Oh, look, I thought, my Oculus has a fireplace! (For a moment, I considered ditching my apartment and moving, with my headset, into a closet.) In the “living room” was an enormous floating display with a menu of options from Oculus-apps and games that I could buy for $9.99 to $29.99 (some are free). Gazing up, I saw stars turning full circle, I took in a few Danish-modern sofas, a bookcase, and potted plants. headset tracked my movements and instantaneously rejiggered the mise-en-scène.
I pressed the Power button and found myself in the center of a computer-rendered 3-D glass geodesic dome with a million-dollar view of mountains. I looked as if a gerbil’s casket had been plastered onto the upper half of my face. The headset blocks all ambient light from the wearer’s eyes-the razzle-dazzle happens inside. Reality being what it is right now, doesn’t an alternative sound tempting? That’s what I was thinking the other day, in my apartment, when I adjusted the Velcro straps on my Oculus Quest, a chunky virtual-reality headset made of black plastic, rubber, and a few billion transistors. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from.
0 kommentar(er)
