Author Archives: Andy

Chilling effect

I’ve removed a blog post from last week after it sparked some heated discussion. I don’t normally like to delete blog posts or comments–I prefer that people’s statements stand, for better or worse–but in this case I felt prompted to do so. I’m not criticizing any of the commentors, and in fact a number of worthwhile points came up in the discussion. If you want to discuss it further, feel free to drop me a note. I don’t plan to make deleting posts or comments a habit, nor do I want to muffle feisty discussions in the future.
And if you’re chafing under the iron fist of my censorship, look at it this way: if you had the foresight to save or print out that post and comments, you now own a genuine collector’s item. I bet you could sell that sucker on Ebay for major bucks.

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Too much of a good thing

As I’ve mentioned earlier, Michele and I are slowly making our way through the first year of The X-Files. It’s fun to watch the show as it introduces us to the characters and establishes the “rational science vs. open-minded faith” tension that made the show so interesting.
Reflecting on the X-Files has led me to a conclusion about our relationship to stories and entertainment: it’s very hard to let go of a good thing, even when that good thing is past its prime and needs to be retired. I’m not talking about lackluster shows that “jump the shark” by pulling crazy publicity stunts to re-ignite interest in a flagging series; I’m talking about excellent shows that make their point and tell their stories, but then just keep going past their expiration date without any compelling artistic reason for doing so.
The X-Files is a perfect example of this phenomenon. Over the course of 5-6 years, it told the fascinating story of two quirky personalities and their entanglement with government conspiracies, alien invasions, and supernatural horror. It was a great show; it was generally entertaining and it featured a great story arc in which both protagonists grow and mature and re-evaluate their worldviews. And then, not long after the (excellent, in my opinion) movie, the story was wrapped up: the long-running Syndicate plotline came to a close, Mulder and Scully had both grown to be better people after years of interaction and tribulation, and it was time for The X-Files to bow and gracefully exit, its point made.
But instead, the show just… kept going, even with one central actor gone and despite the fact that the major plotlines were either resolved or had become so mainstream as to lose their edge. I’m told by friends who watched the show’s final years that it continued to be an excellent and well-written television show. But why? Anything truly provocative or interesting that show had to say had been said quite effectively already. Sure, we all like the characters, but is there a compelling narrative reason to keep them around any longer? Wouldn’t we be better off if the show’s creators and writers just wrote “The End” on The X-Files and turned their creative efforts to a fresher project, instead of working desperately to squeeze several more years’ worth of marginal relevance out of it?
Or take The Simpsons. Why are they still making new episodes for this show? It has been brilliantly funny in the past, and has had a profound influence on comedy and animation. But the last two episodes I tuned in to, while probably no less competently-created than any past episodes, hardly convinced me the show needed to be around: one episode centered around mocking Walmart (“Sprawlmart”–zing!), and the other was truly pushing the envelope by being the 37,648th television show to feature gay characters/marriage. I think we can all agree that The Simpsons has said its piece and carved out its place in history, and should go gracefully into the good night.
There are exceptions to this phenomenon, although they’re rare. Babylon 5, my favorite sci-fi television series, set out to tell a story over the course of five years, and did so spectacularly. Once the story was told, it stopped, and is a much better show for not trying to eke out any more life out of its basic premise. The Star Trek shows limit themselves to seven years, but I personally wonder if seven years isn’t a bit excessive in some cases. I got my hopes up when 24 promised to tell the story of a single day, only to have those hopes dashed when the same gimmick was repeated in successive years. I found the show Scrubs hilarious for a year–but how many years of the same joke do we really need? Arrested Development is funny–will it still be funny in a few years? We can be sure neither of those shows will end because their creators decide they’re satisfied and finished; they’ll be cancelled when the ratings drop below a certain level, and not a minute before. Why doesn’t anybody ever produce a truly great show for one year, then move on to produce another good show the next? Why can’t we just enjoy a good idea for what it’s worth and move on? Why are low ratings the only reasons that shows are ever cancelled? Why must all good shows end their days having been run into the ground several years after their peak?
The answer is fairly obvious, I suppose: good shows get stretched into emaciated, purposeless shells of their former glory because we keep watching them, and because they’re “safe bets” for television networks in search of a good long-term investment. But I have this crazy dream that one day, we’ll see fewer open-ended, long-running sagas that lose their edge well before the end, and more short, concise, well-executed shows that make their point and then stop before pressing it too far. One can always hope.

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DSL update

Thanks very much to those of you who offered suggestions and ideas regarding the big cable/DSL/VOIP/etc research. After much number-crunching and hand-wringing, Michele and I are going out on a limb and springing for DSL (through Speakeasy) and VOIP, with cellphones as emergency backup.
It’s uncharted territory for us–will we find a new paradise of telephonic freedom, or will we come crawling back to Comcast and SBC in shame and defeat, begging like prodigal sons for scraps from their monopolistic table? You, my friends, will be the first to know.

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The siren call of the Midwest

Allow me to congratulate Mark and his family on the new job, and to wish them luck as they get ready to make the big move from southern California to St. Louis!
I must confess that I am pleased by this development, although I’m sure many of Mark’s family and friends in southern California are dismayed by the news. For years, I’ve been waiting for Escondido’s seemingly unbreakable grip on my childhood/highschool friends to loosen. I’ve been patient for years, content to let the lure of the Midwest do its work. And at last, I can claim a victory of sorts. St. Louis is not quite within easy driving distance, but it’s a lot closer to Grand Rapids than Escondido is.
So Mark, allow me to officially welcome you to the Midwest. Once you get used to our charming ten-month-long winters, you’ll come to truly love it here. It’s a good life… yes, very good. You’ll see.

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This is the way the world ends: thoughts on Gehenna

I read an interesting roleplaying book a while back, and for some time I’ve been meaning to talk about it here.
The book is Gehenna, the final sourcebook published for the Vampire: The Masquerade game line. Gehenna is the end of the road for Vampire and its elaborate setting; after many years of publishing Vampire books, White Wolf (the publisher) decided to end the game line and setting by publishing an end-of-the-world sourcebook which would detail ways to roleplay the End Times in a manner fitting Vampire‘s themes.
Gehenna is that book; it includes four different scenarios for ending the world (as well as some general advice on tailoring Vampire‘s End Times to fit your game). One of those four scenarios, titled “Wormwood,” struck me as particularly interesting, so I’ll discuss it briefly.
[Warning: major spoilers follow.]
First, a quick primer for those not familiar with Vampire: in it, you create and take on the role of a modern-day vampire. As a vampire, you are an inheritor of God’s curse on the Biblical character Cain. You are part of a hidden (from mortals) society of undead who are constantly scheming and trying to acquire power over both their fellow vampires and the mortal world. Most games involve backbiting politics as the characters try to survive and thrive in this predatory world of vampire politics. There is a strong apocalyptic tone to the game; in the Vampire world, the signs of the End are everywhere, and when it finally comes, legend holds that a handful of ancient vampire gods will rise from their slumber and destroy everything. That’s the abbreviated version, at least.
“Wormwood” proceeds something like this: one day, God sends a killing cloud that envelops the world and simply kills off every vampire on the planet in a matter of hours or days. The only survivors are a handful of vampires (including, of course, the players’ characters), who are specifically spared by God in a “Noah’s Ark” sort of situation. These vampires are placed in a church that they cannot leave (because of the killing cloud outside), and have a short period of time in which to prove themselves worthy of being spared from God’s wrath. For several days, the vampires are subjected to a series of difficult moral tests and choices; at the end of their allotted time, the surviving vampires are judged by God and either destroyed (if they succumb to their bestial nature) or spared and restored to mortality (if they demonstrate that they can overcome their predatory nature).
That’s the story in a nutshell. This scenario really appeals to be on a narrative basis for several different reasons.
For one, I think it’s the perfect horrific ending to inflict on a society of arrogant, uber-powerful undead predators: in the end, vampires just… die, and are forgotten. The vampires have spent dozens, hundreds, or even thousands of years seeking power and pulling the strings of their human puppets from the shadows, secure in their supernatural superiority to mortal man; and in the end, they’re just wiped away almost nonchalantly, in a matter of days. For all their raging against God and all their arrogance, for all the supernatural power they have accrued over the centuries, they don’t even get to go out in a blaze of glory; nobody even knows they ever existed. What a thematically fitting end—tossed aside by God, reduced to utter insignificance. That’s a good horror story, in my opinion, and Vampire purports to be a game of horror.
The second reason this tale interests me is the way it depicts God. In “Wormwood,” the true nature of God is finally revealed, and it stands in stark contrast to what we’ve been led to believe about Him. Vampires, descendants of the Biblical character Cain, have long attributed cruelty and arbitrary vindictiveness to God, seeing Him as the source of their vampiric curse and portraying Cain’s sin as a praiseworthy act, rather than a vile one. In “Wormwood,” however, God turns out to be loving, kind, and patient—nothing at all like the vicious and uncaring deity so hated by the vampire community. God is shown to be a merciful God who has waited for millenia for vampires to repent and accept grace and forgiveness. It is the vampires’ own pride, not God’s malice, which has kept them from divine grace; all this time, all they needed to do was humble themselves and repent. In “Wormwood,” time has finally run out, but even then, God gives a chosen few the chance to be spared the richly-deserved judgment that lays waste to the vampire world.
Why is this so interesting to me? Well, for one, it’s practically bursting with substantive Christian themes and ideas. It’s not quite a truly Christian message—in the end, the chosen vampires are saved because of their own good deeds—but it’s far, far closer to a genuine Christian roleplaying scenario then most other games I’ve read (including, I’m afraid, most specifically Christian roleplaying games). I’m not saying that one needs to completely “Christianize” the scenario in order to fully appreciate it, but for those looking for such things, it features a lot of opportunities to explore, in the roleplaying medium, topics like sin and grace.
Unlike just about every other religious-minded roleplaying game ever written, “Wormwood” portrays an actual, no-strings-attached, loving God. When a Judeo-Christian-esque God is portrayed in roleplaying games, He is almost always portrayed as having what you could call a “lawful jerk” personality: He’s usually good and righteous, but in a callous might-makes-right fashion. He smites evil in a scorched-earth manner, with no room for genuine grace or mercy. This is true even in games that attempt to portray God in a somewhat positive light; even most “Christian RPGs” seem to think that “onward Christian soldier” is the only Biblical model for behavior.
And so, I find it fascinating that (of all things) a Vampire scenario hits so much closer to the target than do decades’ worth of other religion-focused games. It’s not perfect, and I’m not saying it’s a “Christian game,” whatever that is. But the God of “Wormwood” bears more than a passing resemblance to the Christian God of the Bible, and I, for one, am happy to see it.

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Cell phones and DSL and cable, oh my!

Michele and I are currently enmeshed in the process of sorting out all of our phone and internet options. It started out as a simple mission–“Let’s reduce our phone bill!”–but it has morphed into a gargantuan research project.
Should we drop the landline entirely and go voice-over-IP? If we’re doing that, should we switch from cable modem to direct-line DSL and get a bundle deal? And while we’re doing that, should we finally cave in and buy cellphones (that’s right, we’ve never owned a cellphone) so we’ll be covered in case the power goes out and we lose VoIP? Or do we dare trust the phone company’s oh-so-amazing DSL-cellular-landline bundle deal, when they’re the ones whose overpriced phone service kicked off this whole process in the first place?
When researching this sort of thing, you eventually reach a point where the sheer number of variables involved–pricing options, extra features, bundle possibilities, terms of service, activation fees–becomes overwhelming. I think I’m about at the point beyond which I simply cannot process any more information on this subject. So if you’re a pushy salesperson and you’ve got a great deal you can offer me on internet and telephone service, now’s the time to call; I’m far too weary to resist.

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Holiday spirit

Have you hugged your GM today? That’s “GM” as in “gamemaster,” not “car manufacturer.” Today, March 4, is GM Day, a day when we all set aside our differences and celebrate the GMs among us.
I note that several online gaming stores have “GM Day discounts” going on. Will the crass capitalist merchandizing of precious holidays never end? I mean, the local department stores had all their GM Day decorations and sales up months before the holiday even arrived.
update: My wife informs me that March 4th is also the only day that’s also a command. (I had to think about that one for a second.)

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Guilt

Today at work, I did something that made me feel bad.
I got a phone call from a Random Person who asked for me by name, having seen an article I’d written online. He wanted to talk about the article, and to bounce some of his thoughts on the article’s subject off me. Basically, he wanted to chat with me.
I don’t get many phone calls in the course of my job, and I generally try to keep all of my interaction with Random People restricted to email. This is because I dislike talking on the phone, and really dislike talking on the phone with strangers (or salespeople). But I took the call today anyway, not realizing that the person on the other end was going to want to talk with me at length.
He launched into his conversation immediately, and it quickly became clear that the person on the other end of the line was going to be… difficult. I’m somewhat ashamed that my first reaction was “Oh great, I’m stuck in a conversation with a wacko.” I wouldn’t quite label this person a “crazy,” but he wasn’t too far from it. This person, you see, had some very odd ideas about the subject at hand, and hardly gave me any room to speak. I listened as he talked on and on, mumbling the occasional “I see” or “Mmm hmmm” as I tried to think of a way to politely end the conversation as quickly as possible.
Eventually, after about 10-15 agonizing (for me) minutes, he seemed to realize that I was hardly participating in the conversation, and that I was showing a definite lack of interest in talking to him. I politely thanked him for calling me and sharing his, uh, “interesting” ideas, and hung up.
The feeling I had as I hung up, however, was not victory, or elation at being free from the unbelievably awkward conversation, or even anger about the stream of crazy ideas to which I’d just been exposed. I felt… guilty.
Questions are milling around in my brain as I write this–questions about how I should have handled the situation. This guy had some strange ideas, but he was a real person, somebody who took the time to call me up because he wanted to talk to me about what was on his mind. Were his ideas obviously somewhat crazy? Definitely. Was he lacking in social skills? Yes. Was it bizarre that he called me at work to tell me his thoughts? Yep. Was avoiding conversation and essentially hanging up on him a morally appropriate action? I’m not sure it was.
I knew within moments of talking to him that this guy needed help. Not medical help, or even counseling help. He just sounded like he’d been alone for too long, like he’d been cooped up in his house reading oddball websites for too long. At some point in the conversation (and this should give you an idea of the rambling nature of his monologue) he mentioned that he hadn’t been able to find a church home because he felt judged by the churches he visited. But that’s exactly what this guy needed–some friends, some fellow believers, a community of other real people to tolerate him, improve his social skills, and set his life back on track.
I wish I had said something kind to him, encouraged him to keep looking for a church home. I should’ve not let that conversation end with him feeling sheepish for calling me up and babbling at me. I should not have let the excuse It’s not my job to help this guy even enter my mind, much less determine my course of action.
But I did. Maybe I’ll do better next time. And I hope somebody else can pick things up where I dropped the ball, and help this guy out.

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“Which way were we supposed to go, again?”: Information management in computer RPGs

I haven’t been doing too much computer gaming lately, but the one game I’ve been slowly working my through over the last few months is Morrowind, a fantasy RPG that had the misfortune of hitting store shelves at about the same time as Neverwinter Nights a few summers ago. Morrowind is, thus far, a very excellent game–its main feature is its extremely open-ended gameplay, with an almost bewildering amount of freedom given to the player.
While I recommend that you give Morrowind a try should you come across it, that’s not the main point of this little post. I’d like to think aloud for a moment about an oft-overlooked but important gameplay challenge that epic-scale RPGs like Morrowind face: helping the player keep track of all the information s/he comes across in the course of the game.
The world of Morrowind, and computer RPGs like it, is massive. The world map is sufficiently big that exploring it all could very easily take many dozens of hours of “real life” time; and the number of villages, cities, dungeons, and other Locations of Interest is enough to drive mad any but the most determined cartographer. When you consider that each location on the map can feature anywhere from 2 to 200 characters with whom to interact (“NPCs,” in RPG parlance), and each of those characters is ready to spout several pages’ worth of dialogue about the world of Morrowind and its secrets, the very thought of keeping track of all this information mentally is intimidating, to say the least. “What was the name of the town where I’m supposed to meet that contact, again?” the bewildered player soon finds himself asking. “What were the names of the local guild leaders? And did that guy say to turn north at the swamp, or south?”
Morrowind‘s sheer size makes it something of an extreme, but many RPGs suffer from being so big and populated that players can’t remember everything they’re told in the game. So how do RPGs go about trying to help players out in this regard?
In the Old Days, computer games didn’t really help you out at all, which meant that a pencil and notebook were the gamer’s most precious possessions–whether you were playing The Bard’s Tale or Ultima IV or Wasteland, chances are your computer desk was buried under sheets of notebook paper upon which crude maps, cryptic notes, answers to riddles, and passwords were scrawled. When, in their lair at the bottom of the Dungeon of Doom, the priests of the Mad God Tarjan ask you to state the password or die, you had just better hope that password is one of the many words scribbled on that piece of notebook paper!
These days, of course, games are both more complex and larger in scale than they were in the Glorious Days of Yore. They also, in some cases at least, attempt to store and manage your information for you. Morrowind does this fairly well, in my opinion, if not perfectly. It features an automatically-updating map of the game world, which is expanded and annotated as you acquire information and visit new locales. It’s a particularly helpful map in that it not only shows the main game world, but shows “local” maps with things like shops, temples, and other important buildings labeled so that you don’t have to remember which section of town houses the town hall.
Auto-maps like this are pretty common fare in RPGs these days, although most of them (including those in Morrowind) are missing a feature I think is almost ridiculously useful: the ability to mark and annotate the map yourself. Why does my map only show me the handful of locations deemed Important by the game designers? What if (as was recently the case for me in Morrowind) I want to stash all of my spare equipment and supplies in an abandoned building somewhere for later retrieval, but I don’t want to forget where that stash is located? It would be really nice if I could add labels and markers to the in-game map to note important locations like that, or to post “sticky note”-style reminders and notes to make sure I don’t forget important bits of information. I have seen this feature in only a small handful of RPGs (Baldur’s Gate II, I believe, was one of them), but I wish it were more common.
Keeping track of map locations is just one aspect of managing player information, however. The other major element is somehow recording all the important hints, secrets, names, directions, advice, and commands that you receive in conversation with the game’s NPCs. There are two extremes RPGs take in this regard: some, like Knights of the Old Republic, contain complete logs of every conversation you have in the course of the game, and let you browse through the conversation logs if you need to track down a specific piece of information. Other games, like Morrowind and most of the Black Isle RPGs, contain an automatically-updated “journal” that records basic summaries of plot-important conversations.
There are problems with each extreme. The first method–recording complete logs of all conversations–is useful in that it puts the maximum amount of information at your disposal, but is incredibly unwieldy. Are you really going to dig through dozens of conversation logs in search of some isolated line of important dialogue? The other method–the automatic journal summary–is useful because it distills all of your conversations down to just the plot-important ones, but can quickly start feeling like a checklist of tasks, not a real diary of one’s experiences. I remember only one game that let you keep your own in-game journal (Baldur’s Gate II), and I must say, it added tremendously to my experience to be able to keep my own notes (both in-character and out-of-character) during the game.
I’d love to see these methods of tracking game information improved and expanded. The automatically-updating maps are already quite useful, although they would benefit from being editable by the player. The conversation-tracking and journalling can use some more substantial improvements, however. To that end, I’d love to see an RPG that includes some of these features:

  • a simple, Google-style search engine I can use to search through conversation logs for keywords
  • an in-game player journal (in addition to, or integrated with, any automatically-updated journal)–preferably a full-blown text editor, complete with basic text formatting options
  • the ability to associate certain journal entries with specific points on the map, so that clicking on parts of the map would also highlight all journal entries (or conversation logs, or any other notes you’ve taken) that relate to that area
  • a “sticky note” feature that would let you attach sticky notes to any part of the game interface

I’d love to see some of these features added to future RPGs. I’m sure that some of them will be (or already are) incorporated into games, but I have a feeling that the relative thanklessness of designing this aspect of a game will keep these sorts of tools very much on the back burner in most RPGs (are game reviewers more likely to praise a game’s mind-blowing graphics, or its map-annotation features?). Nevertheless, I think the careful application of some of these features would improve gameplay in subtle but important ways.

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Muffin mania

This morning, Michele baked a batch of delicious muffins with chocolate chips in them. They are quite tasty, and presumably intended to be eaten over the course of several days. Then she went off to work, leaving the container of muffins on the kitchen counter.
To make a long story short, I’ve eaten a very large quantity of chocolate-chip muffins today. She’ll be home shortly and will inevitably see that the muffin container is now only about 30% full. She will also want to know why I’m too full to eat dinner.
I think it’s too late at this point to somehow create more muffins to replace those I’ve eaten. Nor can I think of a convincing story to explain the disappearance of all those muffins (the cats, who normally make good scapegoats, have shown no interest in the muffins, so Michele wouldn’t buy that). I might just have to face the music on this one.

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