Nancy Drew is a Dirty Girl

Oh, yes. Just had to share ths one. Real, honest to God, no-Photoshop-trickery movie theater marquee in Bellevue, Washington. Right there in the middle of it all, “Ocean’s 13 Knocked Up Nancy Drew”.

Quality.

The Games Art Snobs Play

I “published” a board game yesterday.

Hold on, background first: I am a game geek. I play board games, card games, video games, watch game shows, analyze games, track the statistics of sports, etcetera. I am fascinated by all aspects of games, and believe very much that, particularly at this point where the average American has been trained to be distrustful of anything labelled “art,” games are inherently an art form all to themselves.

To simplify, ever since the advent of photography, the purpose of art is less about being accurately representational (as it once was), and more about being transcendental. Art is now created as a way of capturing emotion rather than physical appearance. Sure, it's always been capable of capturing emotion, but in the past 120 or so years, art has been enabled to chase meaning without a recognizeable body - but the stripped-down transcendence is, ironically, the same trait that makes the layman so nervous around it. Art could stop simply being a picture of a man, and could become something of a true mirror, for both the artist and the audience. Art can now allow itself to exist for no other reason than to give the audience a jumping point from which to think about the way they think about things.

Games, good ones anyway, do the same thing.

Chutes and Ladders is not a game. You roll the dice, and a random event tells you how far your piece moves. You move the piece, and the space tells you whether you advance, fall back, or stay in place. You have no control in this experience at all, and no amount of “practice” can change it. A machine could, without thought or motive, replicate the events of Chutes and Ladders, and would have achieved every bit of accomplishment that a human would, which is to say, “none at all”.

Chutes and Ladders is, in this way, an attractive painting of some blissfully “nice” and mindless landscape. It’s not about the splendor of God’s creation or the play of light on the hills and trees, it’s about temporarily sedating a mind that could have made better use of time by actually trying to think through something. Interesting how we teach our children to both color inside the lines and play with so-called “games” that can be played without mustering a single actual thought.

Real games force constant decisions and rationalizations. These are things that can be practiced, and will teach a person to respect the sanctity of their actions and the results thereof. What does a child learn from Chutes and Ladders? That sometimes you win and sometimes you lose... and eventually, that you really don’t have any personal control over which one is going to happen next. That’s not a game, that’s BRAINWASHING. That’s a formula for producing drones happy to let someone else make the tough calls, for producing the kinds of people afraid to take risk, responsibility or recognition. Or, worse yet, it produces people who don’t understand when it’s appropriate to take those things; “I won at Chutes and Ladders as a child. I was good at it. That means I’m good at games and I desrve to win.”

Those are the same people, not by any coincidence, that refuse to recognize Duchamp, Rothko or Pollack as artists.

Give me a real game. Real games involve strategies and skills; things like lying, cheating, and stealing. Things like balancing resources and investments. Things like cooperation and betrayal. Things like assessing values on the fly and trading for profitability. Real games actually feel like an accomplishment when won because they can actually measure a persons ability to win. Real games can actually hurt the loser a little bit, because they with force into focus shortcomings of the player. Real games expose meanings and motives.

Like art.

So back to my earlier story about “publishing” a board game.

Five of the world’s most prolific modern game inventors got together and created a set of pieces collectively called “Stonehenge”. It comes with five sets of rules, as each designer had a different vision of what those pieces could be used for. In many ways, it’s a concept similar to a deck of 52 standard playing cards; the pieces can be used for a multitude of different games.

The creators of the game leave it open to the game-playing public to create other new games to be played with these pieces. There’s even an online library where Stonehenge players can post their newly-authored games. The execution of the library is done beautifully, even in its infancy; when a new game is posted, it can be viewed as a webpage or downloaded as a formatted PDF that stylistically matches the actual rulebook that comes with the Stonehenge boxed game.


My own submission was published into their online library yesterday. True, it’s no more “brick and mortar published” than this blog; it had no editor, no production for store shelves, and no more editing than I put into it myself (actually, Heather helped me playtest the game and read over my instructions before I posted it), but it’s out there for people to play. I had no more physical investment in creating it than purchasing a copy of the Stonehenge boxed game. Then again, that means the original creators of Stonehenge and its publishers at Titanic and Paizo are willing to allow aspiring game inventors the chance to create something representational to go along with their own “something physical”.

They’ve provided the canvas in order to allow outsiders the chance to turn it into art.

Is my game (“Artifakes,” a game about defrauding the legitimate anthropological and archaeological communities) real art? Who knows? There is some strategy involved, and it’s certainly been entertaining for me to have this chance to got through the creative process of conceptualizing and testing a new idea. There’s currently no way at Paizo’s site to track how often the game gets downloaded or viewed, and I’m largely reliant on player feedback in their forums to find out if people like it. Titanic and Paizo have plans to eventually release additional official rulebooks with collected sets of game rules to go with Stonehenge, so I suppose the real proo would be to see Artifakes make it into one of their compendiums.

I’ve put my first game out there, and now, it seems, it’s out of my hands.

“Out of my hands,” though, would imply something akin to a real-life Chutes and Ladders scenario playing out, which this isn’t. I put conscious thought into the game I wrote. I used prior knowledge of games and puzzles when making it, and expect that players will judge it based on their own involvement with it and other games when they play it. It’s not “out of my hands,” so much as it’s being shared with other hands.

We shall see...

Non-Sacred Distinguished Cow

I had an interview for a job yesterday with an ad agency in Bellevue, WA. All things considered, I think things went well, which is not to say there wasn’t second guessing after the fact. If there weren’t, I’d either not be interested enough in the job (which I am, very much so), or I’d be the cockiest bastard alive (which... those who’ve put up with me beyond the “cocky bastard” phase know I’m really, really not).

Anyway, the woman I was speaking with mentioned a previous graphic designer with the agency who could illustrate at the drop of a hat. The story that came to mind for her first was about a project for which they needed a cartoonish drawing of a cow. Yes, sometimes all it takes is a drawing of a cow to be the hero of the day, and sometimes it becomes memorable enough to permanently imprint on the people around you. To that designer, it was probably “just doing my job”, but to his boss, it was the sort of thing that proved how valuable it is to have good people around, and she appreciated it. And remembered it. And told that simple story to illustrate to me – consciously – the kind of resourcefulness and action she wants to see in her agency. Unconsciously, she illustrated for me that everyday deeds don’t go unnoticed there.

Wouldn’t you want to work in that sort of environment?

So I came home after the interview and started working out something to send back as a “thanks for your time” note. After everything else we'd discussed, the thing that kept hitting me between the eyes was how much of an impact that drawing of a cow had made for her.

I made this and emailed it to her with a note that said I realized the designer was likely irreplaceable, but that if she needed someone who could illustrate cows, I’d be happy to.



She looks a bit like Abe Vigoda, and she drools when she chews. But hey, when you need a somewhat less-than-distinguished cow at a moment’s notice, there she is for you.



Man, that cow just cracks me up.

Three Little Words

I’ll warn you now that I’ve finally actually read some Ayn Rand. I’ve been told by many people many times that I should read some of her stuff (hers and Vonnegut’s), that I’d enjoy it a lot. Well, I’m now halfway through Atlas Shrugged, and while I’m aware that that’s only half the picture, I’m really liking what I’ve found so far.

Part of it comes from the fact that it backs up a lot of what I tend to believe when I’m at my most pompous.

Yes, that’s an admission of some sort of guilt. I think. I sometimes get into these Machiavellian moods where I start passing judgement on people for no good reason, like a royal jackass. Turns out that Francisco D’Anconia is my kind of guy. And if I’m getting this right, ’Cisco is saying I shouldn’t necessarily feel so guilty for it.

(I know, it’s just a book, and one I haven’t actually finished at that. I’m not actually going full bore into Caesar mode.)

But it does make me think back to something I’ve pondered over for a while.

I’ve thought, on numerous occasions, that I’d like to teach a college course at some point so that I can make the following announcement:

“You will be required to write at least one paper. I will allow you to ask for whatever assistance you may need of me in the process of writing said papers. However, there is one specific question I will refuse to accept. I will not tell you what that question is, only that if you ask me that question, you will fail. You will forfeit your grade on that paper and any and all other papers, tests and projects you may complete or have completed in this class. In such a case, I will refuse any request to drop this class. By electing to continue take this class from this point, you have agreed to my terms, and will accept the consequences stated should you feel the need to ask that question.”

I don’t ever intend to tell the students, within the context of the class, what The Question is. For the point of this post to make sense though, I’ve sort of got to let the cat out of the bag. For those who want to guess, I’ll leave some space...





















“Does spelling count?”


I hate this question.

I understand that not everyone is going to win a spelling bee. I also know that in this day and age, spellcheck is a standard feature, and that failing that, anyone should be able to use a dictionary and proofread what they’ve written. My real problem with the question is basically that once you get to a certain stage in life — say, after the eighth grade — you should have at least learned that when you present something with your name on it, you try your damnedest to make sure you got it right. Period. College Students, by definition, ought to have figured this part out already. Refute this to me and lower yourself in my eyes, and I really don’t feel that this is an unfair statement to make.

Broken down, when someone who should know better asks The Question, they offend me in three stages:

1) They are completely unsure of their own ability to do something they have spent over half their life immersed in.

2) Given the choice between expected effort and demonstration of laziness, they actively choose to demonstrate laziness. Had they not asked the question, I could have forgiven poor spelling, but by asking, they are asking if I will accept — and are expecting that I would consider reasonable — a deliberate lack of effort.

3) They vocally acknowledge points one and two about themselves to the same person and/or persons they ask to judge the validity of their efforts.


There are plenty of other questions out there that could seem pointless, stupid or offensive, but when it comes down to it, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard another that so bluntly identifies a person’s disinterest in giving a reason to be taken seriously.


And really, if you were ever stepping into an elevator eighty stories above the ground, or going into heart surgery, or putting your child on a school bus, wouldn’t you rather know that the engineer, or doctor, or driver responsible would just assume that yes, spelling does in fact count?

V for Oops

So I‘m sitting around with an hour to kill before the season finale of Heroes, and I decide to catch up on some blog reading. My other options are Two And A Half Men, Dancing With the Stars and Deal or No Deal. Good God, TV swings from awful to incredible. Almost ironic how comic books on TV can start off as intelligent writing and then get even more so by comparison.

Appropriately enough, Dan's blog is full of comic book heroes this week. He's found a list of the “top 100 comics movies ever made” according to some editor that he rightfully disagrees with; you’ll find Dan’s blog here.

I must point out a single glaring omission from Dan’s rebuttal list. There may be other omissions that others point out, but the glaring one is the most important: V for Vendetta.

Permit me to regress into Robert Hamburger mode for a bit here: I know chicks who stated openly that Natalie Portman was hot even with her head shaved. The movie was filmed in three colors: black, white and fire. The hero of the story may or may not have actually been a hero, but he was 100% ninja; he never showed his face, and he flipped out and stabbed people. A lot. And he could have even eaten pizzas all day long in his secret underground lair. With Natalie Portman. Plus, like half of London asploded while the other half turned into something I think I saw once in a Pink Floyd video.

V wasn‘t just for Vendetta, it was for VAWESOME

Dan my friend, you have not remembered remembered the Fifth of Novembered. The remedy here is to add a Number 0.5 to your list, because Wolverine ain’t quite a ninja and even Rebecca Romijn naked and painted blue can’t hold a candle to Natalie Portman shaved like a cueball. And take League of Extraordinary Gentlemen off the list, because while Moore may be an utter nutjob, he still wrote both V and the League, and it just ain’t fair to lower his average with that crap.

Who DO you call when your windshield's busted?

Call Giant Glass.

The jingle's been stuck in my head all day. I can only figure I'm going through some sort of NESN withdrawal, what with it being baseball season again. I'm sure it doesn't help that I've been reading Faithful, by Stephen King and Stewart O'Nan, or that the Boston home games I've been listening to on the XM Heather got me for Christmas occasionally feature versions of the ads.

"That ball's over the Monster seats and onto Lansdowne Street, BETTER CALL GIANT!". Castiglione (the Red Sox radio announcer) just keeps echoing in my skull. 1-800-54-GIANT. I am compelled to call, despite having an intact windshield, and no concievable reason to call for coast-to-coast glass service.

To be fair though, my favorite Giant Glass occurrance was something I fear I may have accidentally turned into a drinking game. You'll probably never see it during nationally televised games, but occasionally it shows up in clips on SportsCenter or ESPN's Baseball Tonight clips of games at Fenway Park. Frequently, it can be seen on the regional or NESN home game coverage. I'm fairly certain any of my immediate family members could guess it already...

Watch as the cameras square in on the batter's box. It's most common when left handed batters step out for a moment and cover up the left side of the billboards behind home plate: GIANT ASS. The spacing on the letters of the sign is such that when a player stands just so, the TV shows a tiny bit of unintentional (and infinitely amusing) obscenity.

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Further following the '07 campaign, The Sox took the third game in NY with a trio of longballs and a "manufactured" run or two along the way. Cora may be earning himself the title of "Yankee Killer" (which will not preclude Ortiz from also holding the title); we'll have to keep an eye on him. Hideki Okajima has so far been phenomenal, and I can't help but grin when I think that I (and probably 90% of the rest of Red Sox Nation) had believed Okie was only brought on to give Daisuke Matsuzaka an immediate "homeboy". I'm more than happy to eat crow on that one.

And Torre still has a job. That amazes me. Methinks Steinbrenner may be losing his old fire.

Both teams have the night off, meaning that Boston will enter May with no less than a 6.5 game lead over the last-place Yankees.

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Two consecutive days of blogging. It's almost like I'm coming back around to this...

Baseball Season - Or As It's Known In Boston...

Griping Season? Back-Seat Managing Season? Hell, right now we're in first place, 5 and a half up on New York, sitting on a lot to be grateful for and I'm still all nervey about the '07 season.

The following is the bulk of an email I sent to a friend of mine in NY. Moray is a recent new addition to the American population by way of the UK, and not much of a baseball afficionado. He likes the Mariners because he saw them play a gutsy game against the Yankees once, and likes to see the Yankees lose because it gives his housemate Liz (yes, Road Trip Liz) fits. Outside of that, he doesn't much follow the game as far as I know — but given the chance, I'll fix that.

He had responded to an amail I sent him a few days ago, and tacked on a note at the end that basically amounted to "Ha ha! The Yankees suck and Liz is frustrated!". I sent him this. As it goes for nearly all Sox-Yankees writing, some of it is just not suitable for little eyes.


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Yeah, the Yankees are in dead last, but yesterday's game is pretty much par for the course for them. That team, more than any other, has a gift for winning obnoxious games where every little flukey thing seems to break their way (Liz will corroborate that one, and if she doesn't, just ask about the "fake home run" that let them beat the Orioles in the ALCS a few years back).

Their starting pitcher gets nailed just under the knee on a come-backer from his first pitch, throws three more giving up two hits, and gets pulled for an injury without getting a single out. This should end it right here and send the fans home early, but no, this is the Yankees. The guy they bring in (who by all accounts was one day away from being sent to the minor leagues) grabs an immediate double play to stifle the Sox rally. Then he throws a 6 inning one-hitter (he couldn't throw six innings at all in any of his previous starts) in which every foul ball popped up stays just inside the field where it can be caught, and every leadoff man the Sox get on is followed by an immediate double play. There were about twelve different situations in that game where, any other day, any other pitcher, any other team, any given one of those situations allows an early Sox hit (or run), the Sox get on the board and Igawa gets chased before the fifth.

Not saying the Sox would have blown the Yankees out, or that they would have even won. The Sox bats were terrible yesterday... but so were the Yankees'. The score, even without Yankees dumb luck winning that game (do not let Liz, AKA "Beth Ann" tell you otherwise) is still a low one, somewhere in a 2-1 or 3-2 range falling to either team. It was not a skill game, it was a piss-poor game.

A-Rod, despite being hailed by Fox "We'd Lap Dance For The Yankees If We Could" Sports (who televised the game) as "unstoppable" went 0-for-4 and struck out twice. Baby drool is unstoppable. Puppies peeing on the floor is unstoppable. A-Rod is no longer "unstoppable", and if the guy puts up another 0-fer today and the Yanks lose, we'll be hearing New Yorkers scream for his head once again soon enough.

Bobby Abreu has sold out his team, attempting three bunts (four straight counting Friday's last at-bat) when he should be swinging – a move that can only be attributed to Abreu wanting to reach base at any cost. His third bunt of the game rolled straight to third base and Lowell lazily tossed Jeter out at second, handing the Sox the easiest gift out they got all day. Abreu has resigned to not being able to hit the ball cleanly anymore, and will force his teammates into worthless outs just to stand at first base. That's not just bitch-ball, that's evidence that the clubhouse is not happy and on the verge of publicly blaming each other for the losing season.

Still, Posada single-handedly gave Kei Igawa all the runs he needed for a win: a two run homer that, if the wind had shifted even a hair, would have blown foul. For insurance, he was standing on second when a goofy-ass flare to third took a Twilight-Zone bounce sideways into the stands for a ground rule double. Ball comes straight down on the chalk line, and on the ricochet turns 90 degrees and moves perpendicular to about 6 of it's previous paths of motion. Only the fucking Yankees get that bounce, and it puts them up 3-0. Dumb luck.

Meanwhile, on my side of the dugouts, the Sox are falling behind to start every pitch count on them and hitting like six year old girls. Every pop fly, as mentioned, stays catchable (as opposed to drifting just three rows back into the stands, as they did for the Yanks). Every leadoff walk gets stifled. Even the pitcher (Wakefield, a knuckleballer - look it up, you'll be amused), whom I will admit is no breeze to catch for, is throwing the sort of stuff that the catcher just can't keep a glove on moreso than usual. Not a break our way.

Just a sad, weak game yesterday.

But for the Yankees, they've found another 24-karat gold bar in the dumpster in Kei Igawa. Not the world's best analogy, I'll admit, they did throw a 40 million contract at him presumably for some reason, it just would have been really satisfying to see them throw 40 mil at a true dud. Plus, they got half-a-day's rest for their bullpen, which will probably go perfect-game, lights out from here on in. Clemens will sign with them on May 10th, and will offer to play for the league minimum to boot. A-Rod will, in fact, hit 122 home runs this year, straining for the last two just so he can double-up Maris's record. The Yankees will end the season 132-8, and I will once again be griping in October. You'll see.

Fuck, I'm a true Sox fan. Even after a single milktoast New York win, I'm defeated.

End of the Road (trip)

Once upon a time, we drove through Montana.

There was a fire.

It burned up a thirty mile stretch of I-90 about 80 miless west of Billings. We discovered this as it was happening when a handful of Montana State Troopers stopped us on the highway... about 65 miles west of Billings.

So, as it were, and with there being only three exits along the entire Montana stretch of I-90, we wound up visiting Billings twice in one night; once when we stopped for dinner, and once travelling back east, since the proposed detour route circumnavigating the fire wound around 340 miles of that absolute Godforsaken worthlessness otherwise referred to as Montana. The plan was to be at the hotel in Butte by about 9:00 that evening. We actually rolled in somewhere closer to 2:30 AM.


Suffice it to say that we have nothing kind to say about Montana, and have no intention of ever visiting it again.


And, with that, I cop out and shortcut us to the end of the story. We made it to Seattle one day after Montana. The end.


Funny how crap like that will just kill all desire to blog. Okay, fine, maybe someday I'll wrap the rest of the tale up, but not today. Hell, it's been seven months since my last entry on this blog. Anyone who got this far wasn't reading it at the start.


If I could type the sound of a raspberry, I would. On to other blogworthy crap...