People often say "It's easier to criticize the work of others than to go out and create something yourself."
And to that I reply, "Yeah, I know, that's what I like about it. It's easy. Really, really easy. You don't even have to leave your house."
I mean, think about it for like five seconds. Creating something takes a lot of time and effort, even if the thing you make comes out all crummy. And even when comes out really good, you're still going to have some jerk who never bothers to make anything for himself telling you how crummy it is.
Criticizing someone's work, though, can be done with almost no effort, thought, or time. And when you're done, no one is there to tell you that you're wrong except the person who created it in the first place, and you can always say that he's just mad because you pointed out how crummy his stupid thing is.
And it's not like you have to create things in order to know if they're good or not. I don't know much about cooking, but I can tell when something tastes bad. And once I've determined that something tastes bad, I can expound on how terrible it is at length, even if it does make the free sample lady at Sam's Club cry.*
*No, not really.
Friday, August 8, 2008
Friday, August 1, 2008
Ex-crucio detail
You think the book was better than the movie? Really?
Are you some kind of idiot?
Do you not understand that print and film are completely different mediums? That you can't really compare them?
You know yesterday I saw some chalk drawings on the sidewalk, then later watched a Japanese kabuki* play, would you like to weigh in on the clear leader of that match-up?
That skywriting ad versus "The Simpsons," season four episode twelve! Go!
*end of mocking other people's opinions*
It seems like anytime a person complains about a book-movie treatment, it's always the same story. Actually it's usually Harry Potter, so I guess in that sense it's LITERALLY "the same story."
But what I'm talking about is the nature of the complaints. Book fans walk into the theater expecting a 1:1 visual companion to the thing they read, not a solid movie that's inspired by a novel. It's as though they want movies to require homework for most of the viewing audience.
My favorite complaint was that the "Sorcerer's Stone" film cut out the "potion test" challenge in the final act, yet it left in the "chessboard" sequence. This person couldn't understand why GIANT STONE CHESS PIECES battling one another would be more visually interesting than two people deciding on a beverage.
I think I'd respect this sort of opinion more if it just went full-bore and demanded an excruciating level of detail:
"Why was I not able to hear the main character's thoughts in this movie? Someone should have walked on-screen and read those thoughts aloud."
"The great part about the book was that I could stop and take a break whenever I wanted, so why didn't they put that in the movie? I don't understand why that projectionist was so mad when I climbed up into his little booth."
"How come the copyright information didn't make the cut? I enjoyed seeing what other editions had been published, and if they're going to make a movie they should have acted that out somehow."
*Spelled it correctly on the first try!
Are you some kind of idiot?
Do you not understand that print and film are completely different mediums? That you can't really compare them?
You know yesterday I saw some chalk drawings on the sidewalk, then later watched a Japanese kabuki* play, would you like to weigh in on the clear leader of that match-up?
That skywriting ad versus "The Simpsons," season four episode twelve! Go!
*end of mocking other people's opinions*
It seems like anytime a person complains about a book-movie treatment, it's always the same story. Actually it's usually Harry Potter, so I guess in that sense it's LITERALLY "the same story."
But what I'm talking about is the nature of the complaints. Book fans walk into the theater expecting a 1:1 visual companion to the thing they read, not a solid movie that's inspired by a novel. It's as though they want movies to require homework for most of the viewing audience.
My favorite complaint was that the "Sorcerer's Stone" film cut out the "potion test" challenge in the final act, yet it left in the "chessboard" sequence. This person couldn't understand why GIANT STONE CHESS PIECES battling one another would be more visually interesting than two people deciding on a beverage.
I think I'd respect this sort of opinion more if it just went full-bore and demanded an excruciating level of detail:
"Why was I not able to hear the main character's thoughts in this movie? Someone should have walked on-screen and read those thoughts aloud."
"The great part about the book was that I could stop and take a break whenever I wanted, so why didn't they put that in the movie? I don't understand why that projectionist was so mad when I climbed up into his little booth."
"How come the copyright information didn't make the cut? I enjoyed seeing what other editions had been published, and if they're going to make a movie they should have acted that out somehow."
*Spelled it correctly on the first try!
Friday, July 25, 2008
The World's most elaborate treadmill
There is a misconception is that people need to be liked.
Most people WANT to be liked, but they don't need it. What people need is to be acknowledged.
Being liked is, of course, a form of acknowledgment, so it can fill that need. But so can a lot of other emotional responses. People can stand being hated, so long as they're not being ignored.
It's as though people fear "not being."
So naturally, I've brought you to this strange existential idea as a way to talk about World of Warcraft.
First, an overview:
You fight enemies to get equipment, you get the equipment so that you can fight harder enemies, you fight harder enemies so you can get better equipment. And that's pretty much the game.
While the same general thing happens in many traditional, single-player games, it's not quite this circular affair. I fought enemies and found equipment in "Chrono Trigger" because I was invested in the story and characters. Experience points and armor ratings were a means to the end of fulfilling that investment. For most players of "massively multiplayer games" like WoW, though, the minutiae justifies itself.
(For those of you who just got up-in-arms, notice that I used the qualifier "most." There are some people that are genuinely interested in the titular "world" of the game, or play as an arbitrary activity to spend time with friends . . . the other 99% though, are in it for the gear.)
And why is this seemingly ridiculous grind so appealing? It's acknowledgment. A WoW character is stored on company servers, not on the player's hard drive, so you know that it hasn't been tampered with.
This gives the character and his inventory a kind of validation, this makes it real.
And that, in turn, gives the players validation. It makes them real.
On some very important level, people just want to have their actions noticed, even if that notice is an automated response by some lines of computer code.*
*Oooo, Uncharted Trophies were announced today!
Most people WANT to be liked, but they don't need it. What people need is to be acknowledged.
Being liked is, of course, a form of acknowledgment, so it can fill that need. But so can a lot of other emotional responses. People can stand being hated, so long as they're not being ignored.
It's as though people fear "not being."
So naturally, I've brought you to this strange existential idea as a way to talk about World of Warcraft.
First, an overview:
You fight enemies to get equipment, you get the equipment so that you can fight harder enemies, you fight harder enemies so you can get better equipment. And that's pretty much the game.
While the same general thing happens in many traditional, single-player games, it's not quite this circular affair. I fought enemies and found equipment in "Chrono Trigger" because I was invested in the story and characters. Experience points and armor ratings were a means to the end of fulfilling that investment. For most players of "massively multiplayer games" like WoW, though, the minutiae justifies itself.
(For those of you who just got up-in-arms, notice that I used the qualifier "most." There are some people that are genuinely interested in the titular "world" of the game, or play as an arbitrary activity to spend time with friends . . . the other 99% though, are in it for the gear.)
And why is this seemingly ridiculous grind so appealing? It's acknowledgment. A WoW character is stored on company servers, not on the player's hard drive, so you know that it hasn't been tampered with.
This gives the character and his inventory a kind of validation, this makes it real.
And that, in turn, gives the players validation. It makes them real.
On some very important level, people just want to have their actions noticed, even if that notice is an automated response by some lines of computer code.*
*Oooo, Uncharted Trophies were announced today!
Friday, July 18, 2008
And the Art of Posting
zen (n) - 1. A state of enlightenment and inner peace, achieved though meditation and self-contemplation.
2. A state in which, upon reading something on the internet, a person completely ignores the associated "comments" thread.
I can't say that I'm there yet. I mean I can pass over the comments on youtube, which are well known to be the swill of humanity's worst aspects, but on average, I just can't keep myself from reading at least the first few posts on any given page.
The worst part is that I'll even read reviews on products that I'm shopping for. Understand that this means that I am choosing to subject myself to opinions that I know aren't valuable.* And I'm someone who regards the idea of professional reviews as a dubious concept, but at least those are mostly written by knowledgeable individuals. So then why do I keep finding myself reading the flimsy run-on sentences of some guy who thought "Astro-smurf" was a clever handle for his Amazon account? What great meaning are his 3 out of 5 stars going to convey to me?
"I don't know, seems like a nice product, but if it's not good enough for 'Techie-hedron13" then it's not good enough for me."
The worst part of it all are the "Hemingways," the people who feel the need to write me a excruciatingly detailed short story about their experiences with electronics.
"My new mp3 player arrived on a Friday afternoon in a typical Amazon cardboard box. I pulled the tape off and removed the plastic retail shell. After a few minutes with a pair of scissors, I had the player, instruction manual, warranty, and headphones all laid out on my carpet. I read the included "Quick Start" guide, I plugged the player up to charge and went to the kitchen for a snack . . .
As I removed the loaf of bread from the cabinet I wondered whether I wanted chunky or smooth peanut butter . . ."
And they usually go on like that for at least another thousand words.
Then there are the people who assume that a problem they've had with a product is not the result of a simple defect, but rather a reflection of the company's corrupted moral state and, indeed, the failing of human society as a whole.
"I had this product for TWO WEEKS and now it doesn't work! What a waste of money! This company should be ashamed of themselves, how can they sell something that they know is going to break TWO WEEKS later! I'm so disgusted that I'm throwing this device, the box it came in, the usb cable, and the one-year warranty in the GARBAGE!"
*Today's post brought to you by my ever-increasing desire for an HDTV.
2. A state in which, upon reading something on the internet, a person completely ignores the associated "comments" thread.
I can't say that I'm there yet. I mean I can pass over the comments on youtube, which are well known to be the swill of humanity's worst aspects, but on average, I just can't keep myself from reading at least the first few posts on any given page.
The worst part is that I'll even read reviews on products that I'm shopping for. Understand that this means that I am choosing to subject myself to opinions that I know aren't valuable.* And I'm someone who regards the idea of professional reviews as a dubious concept, but at least those are mostly written by knowledgeable individuals. So then why do I keep finding myself reading the flimsy run-on sentences of some guy who thought "Astro-smurf" was a clever handle for his Amazon account? What great meaning are his 3 out of 5 stars going to convey to me?
"I don't know, seems like a nice product, but if it's not good enough for 'Techie-hedron13" then it's not good enough for me."
The worst part of it all are the "Hemingways," the people who feel the need to write me a excruciatingly detailed short story about their experiences with electronics.
"My new mp3 player arrived on a Friday afternoon in a typical Amazon cardboard box. I pulled the tape off and removed the plastic retail shell. After a few minutes with a pair of scissors, I had the player, instruction manual, warranty, and headphones all laid out on my carpet. I read the included "Quick Start" guide, I plugged the player up to charge and went to the kitchen for a snack . . .
As I removed the loaf of bread from the cabinet I wondered whether I wanted chunky or smooth peanut butter . . ."
And they usually go on like that for at least another thousand words.
Then there are the people who assume that a problem they've had with a product is not the result of a simple defect, but rather a reflection of the company's corrupted moral state and, indeed, the failing of human society as a whole.
"I had this product for TWO WEEKS and now it doesn't work! What a waste of money! This company should be ashamed of themselves, how can they sell something that they know is going to break TWO WEEKS later! I'm so disgusted that I'm throwing this device, the box it came in, the usb cable, and the one-year warranty in the GARBAGE!"
*Today's post brought to you by my ever-increasing desire for an HDTV.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Everybody clapped, and they cut slice two
There is one book that has affected my life more than all others. No, it's not the Bible, though that's a pretty important one. And it's not either of the Brennan Manning works I've read, either. It's not even "Riker of the Seven Seas," which I'm pretty much the de facto expert on.
It's "The Giant Jam Sandwich."
No matter what you say about those other books, they weren't there from the beginning. There was never a time in my life when I demanded that "The Ragamuffin Gospel" be read to me every night while I drank my apple juice.
How can you compare it to Shakespeare? It's in a much more elite class, one that includes "Duck and His Friends"* and "The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear."
If you haven't read it, I won't spoil anything for you, but suffice to say that it involves a small town, a great number of wasps, and a rather unique approach to wasp eradication. Also, the book contains a picture of a tractor with a helicopter rotor attached, along with several helium balloons. The implication, I believe, is that this design is aeronautically sound.
But then the book is full of that idea, the using of everyday things in remarkable ways. Even the characters themselves are ordinary, but they make for a good story when faced with a big problem.
It's a compelling theme, and one that you'll find in many good stories. You can start a line with 'Sandwich and continue it through "Alien," right on to "Die Hard," They're all stories about regular people who step up when they have to.
It rings true.
*Also about people . . . er, animals, building things. I was a techie from the start.
It's "The Giant Jam Sandwich."
No matter what you say about those other books, they weren't there from the beginning. There was never a time in my life when I demanded that "The Ragamuffin Gospel" be read to me every night while I drank my apple juice.
How can you compare it to Shakespeare? It's in a much more elite class, one that includes "Duck and His Friends"* and "The Berenstain Bears Meet Santa Bear."
If you haven't read it, I won't spoil anything for you, but suffice to say that it involves a small town, a great number of wasps, and a rather unique approach to wasp eradication. Also, the book contains a picture of a tractor with a helicopter rotor attached, along with several helium balloons. The implication, I believe, is that this design is aeronautically sound.
But then the book is full of that idea, the using of everyday things in remarkable ways. Even the characters themselves are ordinary, but they make for a good story when faced with a big problem.
It's a compelling theme, and one that you'll find in many good stories. You can start a line with 'Sandwich and continue it through "Alien," right on to "Die Hard," They're all stories about regular people who step up when they have to.
It rings true.
*Also about people . . . er, animals, building things. I was a techie from the start.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Enjoy the cookout!
Why do we get sleepy after eating a big meal?
The popular medical opinion is that your body rushes blood to your stomach because it's busy digesting such large quantities, but personally I don't buy that.
I think it's your brain saying, "Ok, clearly you have no idea what you're doing. You don't have any idea how much food is appropriate, or what kind of food you should be eating. Now go to sleep, try again tomorrow."*
This mental mechanism is the same one that gives you an aversion to something you got food poisoning from and makes you throw up when you've had too much to drink. Wired into your mind is a patient parent desperately trying to save you from your own dumb ass.
As you may imagine, I have used this concept to make some very passionate defenses for avoiding spinach, seaweed, turnips, and green beans. My longstanding hatred of each one, I reason, is not a childish dislike for vegetables, but rather my own mind insisting that these things are poison to this particular body.
Especially seaweed.
*So then the minds of most men are trying to save them from watching baseball?
The popular medical opinion is that your body rushes blood to your stomach because it's busy digesting such large quantities, but personally I don't buy that.
I think it's your brain saying, "Ok, clearly you have no idea what you're doing. You don't have any idea how much food is appropriate, or what kind of food you should be eating. Now go to sleep, try again tomorrow."*
This mental mechanism is the same one that gives you an aversion to something you got food poisoning from and makes you throw up when you've had too much to drink. Wired into your mind is a patient parent desperately trying to save you from your own dumb ass.
As you may imagine, I have used this concept to make some very passionate defenses for avoiding spinach, seaweed, turnips, and green beans. My longstanding hatred of each one, I reason, is not a childish dislike for vegetables, but rather my own mind insisting that these things are poison to this particular body.
Especially seaweed.
*So then the minds of most men are trying to save them from watching baseball?
Friday, June 27, 2008
Picking up where I left off last week
If you are a crazy person, this must be a very exciting time to be alive.
There are so many contextual avenues for the modern delusional to work his magic. Big business and government are their old standbys, but every new technological or scientific advance flares the psyche of these individuals!
It makes you wonder how people in the past managed to have paranoid delusions and conspiracy theories, living in era without cameras, satellites, or large-scale corporate structures.
I wonder how they did it?
"You know the king? He's got a secret intelligence division. Whole bunch of guys with tiny easels and canvases that paint pictures of what we're doing. They could be painting us while we sleep!"
"Oh sure the OFFICIAL story is that Charles X died of cholera, but that's just what they want you to believe . . . there was a second illness given to him by the bourgeois!"
"That apple cart?* The one you always see right after you think about apples? It's controlled by a powerful fruit conglomerate that plans to take over the world!"
Yet today's crazy people have it hard. Science has mostly dispelled the public belief in "magic" (And here I'm speaking of magic proper. Please don't trot out that tired idiom about how 'new technology is essentially magic.' You know there's a difference, don't pretend otherwise.) It's harder to convince the un-superstitious.
But it's for the best. Just like any kind of story telling, using a reasonable mechanism to explain yourself is always more compelling than not.
Take "Death of a Salesman" for instance. Would that story be as good if it cut away for "flashback" sequences? No. The hook of that play is how Willy's failing mind draws us in and out of the past. We appreciate the story because it creates a reasonable excuse for what is otherwise a clunky technique.
And that's why we have things like the "X-Files" and "Men in Black," the hard work of the paranoid has found resonance in popular culture.
*Thank you, MarioKart, for keeping me from spelling this word correctly on the first try.
There are so many contextual avenues for the modern delusional to work his magic. Big business and government are their old standbys, but every new technological or scientific advance flares the psyche of these individuals!
It makes you wonder how people in the past managed to have paranoid delusions and conspiracy theories, living in era without cameras, satellites, or large-scale corporate structures.
I wonder how they did it?
"You know the king? He's got a secret intelligence division. Whole bunch of guys with tiny easels and canvases that paint pictures of what we're doing. They could be painting us while we sleep!"
"Oh sure the OFFICIAL story is that Charles X died of cholera, but that's just what they want you to believe . . . there was a second illness given to him by the bourgeois!"
"That apple cart?* The one you always see right after you think about apples? It's controlled by a powerful fruit conglomerate that plans to take over the world!"
Yet today's crazy people have it hard. Science has mostly dispelled the public belief in "magic" (And here I'm speaking of magic proper. Please don't trot out that tired idiom about how 'new technology is essentially magic.' You know there's a difference, don't pretend otherwise.) It's harder to convince the un-superstitious.
But it's for the best. Just like any kind of story telling, using a reasonable mechanism to explain yourself is always more compelling than not.
Take "Death of a Salesman" for instance. Would that story be as good if it cut away for "flashback" sequences? No. The hook of that play is how Willy's failing mind draws us in and out of the past. We appreciate the story because it creates a reasonable excuse for what is otherwise a clunky technique.
And that's why we have things like the "X-Files" and "Men in Black," the hard work of the paranoid has found resonance in popular culture.
*Thank you, MarioKart, for keeping me from spelling this word correctly on the first try.
Friday, June 20, 2008
Siren Song
I'm really impressed by the location of that QuickTrip on 316, as should be anyone who makes the drive from Atlanta to Athens on a regular basis.
I mean you can resist the Kangaroo, right? Because it's so close to home. You think about stopping, but then you realize "I'm practically there anyway, I can survive twenty more miles. It would be silly to stop now."
But that QT . . . JUST far enough away. You're close, but you're not TOO close.
I'm particularly aware of this "sweet spot," because anytime I drive for more than thirty minutes at a time, my body begins demanding Dr. Pepper. Not soda in general, mind you, Dr. Pepper specifically. Mr. Pibb will not substitute, because as Mitch Hedberg so aptly put it, "Dude didn't even get his degree."
Now I stopped drinking soda on a regular basis several years ago, when I discovered that doing so ended the near-chronic heartburn I had at the time. And in the past six months or so, I've cut back heavily on the amount of sugar I take in. So this weird Pavlovian Pepper thing is really an inconvenience.
My willpower is strong enough to resist these cravings, for the most part. But that QT . . . it gets me every time. Just when I'm really worn out from driving, anxious to be back and bored with listening to music, there's the QuickTrip.
They have to know. You don't get a spot so precisely tuned to people's carbonation fatigue patters by accident. Thought went into that establishment. Crafty questionnaire-writing individuals held meetings about it. Charts were employed.
It's really a strange thing too. In the past, people ascribed superstitious meanings to these little coincidences in their lives. If you really wanted an apple, then came across man selling apples, you'd think the gods were smiling on you. Or maybe you'd start wondering if you were having premonitions.
But today, things like that aren't superstition.* That apple cart is there because the statistical analysis said you'd be wanting an apple right about now.
*Except for Mint Oreos, which were invented by the Devil, specifically to destroy me personally.
I mean you can resist the Kangaroo, right? Because it's so close to home. You think about stopping, but then you realize "I'm practically there anyway, I can survive twenty more miles. It would be silly to stop now."
But that QT . . . JUST far enough away. You're close, but you're not TOO close.
I'm particularly aware of this "sweet spot," because anytime I drive for more than thirty minutes at a time, my body begins demanding Dr. Pepper. Not soda in general, mind you, Dr. Pepper specifically. Mr. Pibb will not substitute, because as Mitch Hedberg so aptly put it, "Dude didn't even get his degree."
Now I stopped drinking soda on a regular basis several years ago, when I discovered that doing so ended the near-chronic heartburn I had at the time. And in the past six months or so, I've cut back heavily on the amount of sugar I take in. So this weird Pavlovian Pepper thing is really an inconvenience.
My willpower is strong enough to resist these cravings, for the most part. But that QT . . . it gets me every time. Just when I'm really worn out from driving, anxious to be back and bored with listening to music, there's the QuickTrip.
They have to know. You don't get a spot so precisely tuned to people's carbonation fatigue patters by accident. Thought went into that establishment. Crafty questionnaire-writing individuals held meetings about it. Charts were employed.
It's really a strange thing too. In the past, people ascribed superstitious meanings to these little coincidences in their lives. If you really wanted an apple, then came across man selling apples, you'd think the gods were smiling on you. Or maybe you'd start wondering if you were having premonitions.
But today, things like that aren't superstition.* That apple cart is there because the statistical analysis said you'd be wanting an apple right about now.
*Except for Mint Oreos, which were invented by the Devil, specifically to destroy me personally.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Contrarian Medicine
Now, as I remember it, sugar is bad for you. Or, at least, it's not very good for you. I'm not sure anymore, though, because recently I watched someone choose a soda BECAUSE it was made with sugar.
So I guess sugar is still bad for you, but high fructose corn syrup is worse, which makes sugar ok by comparison. Continuing this logic, you can have a big bowl of Cool Whip for lunch because at least it's not searing-hot volcanic ash.
People tell me that HFCS is bad because it doesn't trigger the chemical signal that tells your brain that you're full. And since your brain doesn't know that you're full, you keep eating. This is, of course, why people who drink sodas with lunch continue to sit there eating meal after meal, charging hundreds of dollars to their credit cards until they pass out from exhaustion. Unfortunately the human mind has absolutely no sort of redundancy for protecting itself, and we're basically just robots to every chemical suggestion.
The best part of the HFCS controversy is how, when I was young, people told me that sugar was bad because it suppressed your appetite. Now HFCS is going the other way, pushing me to finish my broccoli, and people are making a fuss.
But perhaps there is something to it, I mean we weren't designed to consume HFCS, it isn't natural. Natural things are much better for you, except all the ones that will make you sick or kill you if you eat them or maybe just touch them, because you could get a bad rash.
I think the real motivator behind the whole thing is our need to have someone to blame. It's a lot easier to think that bad health is the fault of a single source than to believe that it's a complex issue with a number of factors at work*. That, and hippies who sell healing crystals know when they've found a good hook.
*And by that, I mean that it's our CELL PHONES!
So I guess sugar is still bad for you, but high fructose corn syrup is worse, which makes sugar ok by comparison. Continuing this logic, you can have a big bowl of Cool Whip for lunch because at least it's not searing-hot volcanic ash.
People tell me that HFCS is bad because it doesn't trigger the chemical signal that tells your brain that you're full. And since your brain doesn't know that you're full, you keep eating. This is, of course, why people who drink sodas with lunch continue to sit there eating meal after meal, charging hundreds of dollars to their credit cards until they pass out from exhaustion. Unfortunately the human mind has absolutely no sort of redundancy for protecting itself, and we're basically just robots to every chemical suggestion.
The best part of the HFCS controversy is how, when I was young, people told me that sugar was bad because it suppressed your appetite. Now HFCS is going the other way, pushing me to finish my broccoli, and people are making a fuss.
But perhaps there is something to it, I mean we weren't designed to consume HFCS, it isn't natural. Natural things are much better for you, except all the ones that will make you sick or kill you if you eat them or maybe just touch them, because you could get a bad rash.
I think the real motivator behind the whole thing is our need to have someone to blame. It's a lot easier to think that bad health is the fault of a single source than to believe that it's a complex issue with a number of factors at work*. That, and hippies who sell healing crystals know when they've found a good hook.
*And by that, I mean that it's our CELL PHONES!
Friday, June 6, 2008
The Latest Addiction
Oh Lord.
This, my friends. This could be worse than "Settler's of Catan." Much worse, considering the online version of it is free.
Oh the time I will spend coming up with new and brilliant strategies for constructing railroad lines at peak efficiency. If ever someone wanted to "Nerd Snipe" me, a board game with lots of strategic options would be the way to go.
Wow, that's some real Smaug info I just gave you there. If you could just forget all about it, that would be awesome.
But as much as I enjoyed "Ticket to Ride," it brought up an unsettling point.
See, at their best, competitive games serve as a sort of personality test. The point of a game is not to win, but to find out what happens when you try to win. By pitting yourself against other people, you draw out elements of yourself that you wouldn't otherwise see. Anyone who has found an extra reserve of strength in the final moments of a football game will know what I'm talking about, but that's not the extent of it.
Do you go after the high-production spots on the Catan board, or do you build away from them in fear of being cramped by your opponent's roads?
Are you the kind of person who builds a big-point city in Carcassonne? Or do you make a bunch of tiny cities on a field that contains one of your farmers?
In "Ticket to Ride," do you find that you are at your best while saving up cards to cross the continent, out-building the competition . . . or are you like me?
Are you kind of a bastard?
I don't know what it is, but I just can't win through non-combative tactics. My best bet in "Ticket to Ride," just like in Carcassonne, is to secure a few points for myself and then spend the rest of the game getting in everyone else's way. I play for the block, it's how I roll.*
But while competitive games offer us one view of ourselves, the oft-missed co-operative game experience show the other half of that coin. How you react in competition with other humans is one thing, but how do you react when you have to work alongside them?
A few months back, I realized that I've always been one of two things in co-op video games: a healer or an archer. They're not that different really. Both are ranged jobs, away from the main fight. Both are support roles: the healer keeps everyone going, the archer keeps an eye on the whole fight and deals with problems (read: dark wizards).
And when I think about that, it reminds me of how startled I was that I liked teaching, and that I was good at it.
And maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised.
*See? Roll? Like dice? Eh? Eh! Oh. Hmm.
This, my friends. This could be worse than "Settler's of Catan." Much worse, considering the online version of it is free.
Oh the time I will spend coming up with new and brilliant strategies for constructing railroad lines at peak efficiency. If ever someone wanted to "Nerd Snipe" me, a board game with lots of strategic options would be the way to go.
Wow, that's some real Smaug info I just gave you there. If you could just forget all about it, that would be awesome.
But as much as I enjoyed "Ticket to Ride," it brought up an unsettling point.
See, at their best, competitive games serve as a sort of personality test. The point of a game is not to win, but to find out what happens when you try to win. By pitting yourself against other people, you draw out elements of yourself that you wouldn't otherwise see. Anyone who has found an extra reserve of strength in the final moments of a football game will know what I'm talking about, but that's not the extent of it.
Do you go after the high-production spots on the Catan board, or do you build away from them in fear of being cramped by your opponent's roads?
Are you the kind of person who builds a big-point city in Carcassonne? Or do you make a bunch of tiny cities on a field that contains one of your farmers?
In "Ticket to Ride," do you find that you are at your best while saving up cards to cross the continent, out-building the competition . . . or are you like me?
Are you kind of a bastard?
I don't know what it is, but I just can't win through non-combative tactics. My best bet in "Ticket to Ride," just like in Carcassonne, is to secure a few points for myself and then spend the rest of the game getting in everyone else's way. I play for the block, it's how I roll.*
But while competitive games offer us one view of ourselves, the oft-missed co-operative game experience show the other half of that coin. How you react in competition with other humans is one thing, but how do you react when you have to work alongside them?
A few months back, I realized that I've always been one of two things in co-op video games: a healer or an archer. They're not that different really. Both are ranged jobs, away from the main fight. Both are support roles: the healer keeps everyone going, the archer keeps an eye on the whole fight and deals with problems (read: dark wizards).
And when I think about that, it reminds me of how startled I was that I liked teaching, and that I was good at it.
And maybe I shouldn't have been so surprised.
*See? Roll? Like dice? Eh? Eh! Oh. Hmm.
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