TeknoFear

I just finished reading Chapter 2 of Dennis Baron's A Better Pencil, and I must say, I don't really get it. He's talking about people who fear or have feared technology, but I just can't wrap my head around that concept.

Though there are aspects of technology that frighten me (I'm looking at you phone that's always telling people where I am), overall I'm excited about technology. I think exploring new ways of doing things and communicating is endlessly fascinating and fun. Technology is a tool, and it's up to us to wield it responsibly.

One of Baron's comment about the Unabomber stuck out to me: "The unstoppable Frankenstein or Terminator notwithstanding, we will always have more to fear from the all-too-real, all-too-crazed kitchen bomb makers than from the imaginary cyborgs whose deadliness is the product of Hollywood dream factory computers." People are the scary ones -- not technology.



Ted Kaczynski, the Unabomber
(photo credit: commons.wikimedia.org)

Information Overload

I am uncomfortably aware of my mortality lately. I've always been pretty ok with the notion that I'm going to die, since all things must run their course, but now I'm kind of scared. What if I miss something?

You see, I'm completely overwhelmed by the knowledge that, before I die, I won't get to experience everything that I want to. I will never be able to read all the books that I want, to write all the stories that I want, to knit everything that I want, or even to look at as many funny pictures as I want.

ugly-sweater.blogspot.com

We are living in a world of fantastic content, and it's simply too much.

This post was sparked by chapter 6 of Beyond Literacy, "Information Overload" (http://www.beyondliteracy.com/information-overload/). I was drawn to the chapter because I've been thinking about this issue a lot, and it certainly confirmed my thoughts. It seems as if I'm not the only one noticing the onslaught of information, and having trouble synthesizing all of it.

I think synthesis is the root of the problem. If I could simply experience the content and then let it go, things would be fine, but I can't do that. I want to make connections, to link anything and everything in some way. It makes my heart happy to draw ideas out of other ideas. But I think if my heart has any more stimulation, it's going to explode.

Here's another funny picture, just to end on a nice note. (If you get this, we should talk and be friends.)


fuckyeahmurdershewrote.tumblr.com

Post-Literacy

I'm taking a class called Writing in the Digital Age, so over the next couple months, many of my posts are going to be related to that reading, writing, literacy, and what they mean for us as a society.

To start, I'd like to discuss our latest assignment, which was to watch this video: http://youtu.be/l_b-v8e3urQ
and poke through the corresponding website: http://www.beyondliteracy.com/about-beyond-literacy/.

If you don't want to go digging through those yourself, basically it's exploring the idea of humanity moving beyond literacy, and what that would mean. So, what would happen if we moved past language as we know it and into something more efficient? Would post-literacy also mean post-human?


(photo from compthink.wordpress.com)

Honestly, I have trouble even wrapping my mind around the concept. Literacy is an enormous part of my life -- many things I do are literary in a traditional sense, with a pen and paper, and many more are literary in our digital age. I can't imagine anything "beyond" language, because my entire sense of self is wrapped up in language.

If we did move on to some sort of post-literate form of communication, I think there's a strong possibility we'd be post-human. That is, we would be a melding of human and machine, rather than just the people we are now. It's already something we can think about, with the way we can access the work and ideas of people long dead. They're no longer people in the sense of being able to interact, but we still think of those who are gone as people. They're post-human.

If we did move on to become post-human, we could facilitate a sort of hive-mind communication that could transmit a post-literate form of communication. The only thing I can wrap my mind around is the direct transmission of thoughts, images, and feelings -- which we just can't do. We would have to convert to machinery, in some form or fashion, to achieve this.

The whole idea is frightening in its scope and implications.

OTR Diversity(?)

This semester I'm taking a class called Writing for Social Change, which is centered on the Cincinnati community of Over the Rhine. For those of you who don't know, OTR is a low-income area that is commonly viewed as dangerous and shady, and is currently undergoing some rejuvenation. There are two main voices in the fight for OTR: developers who want to gentrify the area, and community groups that want assistance for the low-income people who already live there.

I'm writing a paper on this issue right now, but I wanted to point something out here that didn't really fit into the paper. The gentrification party is full of nasty tricks. For example:


http://www.3cdc.org/

The slideshow on 3cdc.org features many pictures like this. They say they promote diversity and want an area full of mixed income people, but here's my question: Where is the diversity here? Everyone is white and looks upper-middle class.

And this is not the only website. There are plenty of websites out there that paint OTR as trendy and chic, a great place to reside if you want to be in the center of a artsy, cultural boom. I don't think these people have ever even been to OTR. It could be a great place, yes, but I don't want it to become so at the expense of those who are already living there. Why can't we fix up the area for those who already call it home, rather than for a new population?

BioShock

I recently played BioShock, and ever since, it's all I can think about. Never before have I experienced a game that sucked me in quite like it did, and never before have I loved spending all my time doing just one thing more. I'd like to work through my BioShock experience in order to analyze what makes it so special, and there will be spoilers, so consider yourself warned.

bioshock.wikia.com

I know I'm late to the game, but I was hesitant to play BioShock because it looked scary. All I'd ever seen were the Little Sisters, and I don't care who you are, those girls are creepy.

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See my point?










But I listened to the Nerdist podcast featuring Ken Levine, the creative director of the BioShock enterprise, and was blown away by what he had to say about story. I stopped listening about 20 minutes in so I could stem the tide of spoilers I was hearing about Infinite, and decided to start from the beginning.

I knew nothing about BioShock's gameplay, and was disappointed when I discovered it was a first-person shooter. I suck at first-person shooters. Luckily for me, easy mode is quite forgiving, and the mechanics didn't get in the way of my enjoyment of the experience. In fact, I think the full immersion that the first-person perspective provides helps make the game as exciting as it is. Everything is scarier when it's running at you rather than some guy, and having to manipulate the camera almost constantly in order to see everything around me kept me active and engaged during every moment of play.

Part of the reason I love BioShock as much as I do is because the game rewards you for engaging with your environment. Sure, you could move through the game fairly quickly without exploring much, especially on easy mode, but you would miss most of the story.

The joy of BioShock comes from taking an active role in discovering the story. You start with no knowledge of the world you are in or yourself, but discover it in bits and pieces along the way through radio transmissions with Atlas, one of the survivors in the city, and by finding audio logs, voice recordings left scattered through Rapture by its residents that act much like journals. Because these audio logs are scattered and somewhat hidden throughout the city, you have control over how much story you receive.

randomintermissions.wordpress.com

The audio logs are usually in rooms that aren't involved with the main story line, so I quickly developed the habit of looking at which way the plot arrow was pointing on screen, and heading off in the complete opposite direction. This gave me more time in the world of Rapture, and exposed me to many details I would have otherwise missed.

The audio logs also kept the game from feelings stale, because they offered so many different viewpoints on Rapture and the events that went on there, and gave characters who wouldn't have otherwise existed a voice. It was fascinating to me to see what each person chose to focus on in the chaos of Rapture's demise, and how this focus would change in different parts of the city.

In addition to the audio logs, I think what makes BioShock's story so special is the deliciously meta twist when you discover you are playing a brain-washed pawn in the Ryan/Fontaine drama. The reveal that Ryan is your father and he turned you into an unthinking slave as a child is disturbing, unexpected, and makes perfect sense once it is out in the open. Of course Atlas, who is really Fontaine, has been controlling you the entire time! Why else would you be there, killing Ryan? Everything you've done to that point has been part of some grand scheme you have no control of.

www.henrycountyr1.k12.mo.us

This reveal calls into question the nature of gaming, of life, and of the nature of humanity itself. It may just be me, but the "a man chooses, a slave obeys" point that Ryan makes hit me deeply. My mind can't stop turning the concept over and over, applying it to my life, and to everything I do. That's the mark of a great story. And I don't think the message would have been as powerful in any other medium, or if the story had been told in any other way.

Journey

Last night, I played through Journey on the PS3. I'm a little late to the scene, since it came out a while back, but late is far better than never. If you haven't played Journey and plan on doing so in the future, I would suggest reading this after you play. The game is best when you don't know what's coming.

If you have played Journey, then you'll probably understand my reluctance to begin this entry. I was moved to say something about my experience, since the game touched me so deeply, but I just don't know where to start. I'm even doubting my use of the term "game," since it's unlike anything else I've ever played.

I suppose a good place to start would be with the surface of the game. It's beautiful.

(Photo from www.indiegamemag.com)

Moving through the game is moving through art. Every frame is stunning, and the whole time I played, I kept asking, "How did they make it so pretty?" I would have been happy just looking around and not doing anything.

Luckily, that's pretty much what the game is: movement and exploration through a world that is so stunning, the lack of complicated puzzles and combat is insignificant. In fact, if either of those things were included in the game, it would detract from its pristine feel. Everything carries a spiritual weight, and it was nice to have that weight unmarred with death and flashy action. Not that I dislike combat or difficult puzzles, but they would have just felt wrong in Journey. The lack of either contributed to the sense that the game had been boiled down to its essence.

An interesting feature that help to break up the loneliness of playing in a world with such an epic scale is the unobtrusive mulitplayer. After I spent a little time wandering around the initial desert landscape, I came across another individual who was dressed just like me. I was having some trouble getting to the next area, and thought that the game was tossing me an NPC to show me the way.

But the individual stayed with me and, after a few minutes, I noticed it wasn't really acting in any predicable way like a computer would. I guessed that it was another player, and instantly appreciated that the game hadn't bugged me about meeting someone else. It was a seamless transition. 

 Making the journey with someone else makes it that much more powerful because your trek feels validated. Someone else is moving to the same goal as you, you can "talk" to each other to help get through, and Journey's use of communication to refuel your characters magic was genius. By time my partner and I made it to the mountain area, I felt like I couldn't go on without him/her. 

(Photo from lucien0maverick.wordpress.com)

By time the game was over, which didn't take very long, I had become so wrapped up in my mission and wanted so badly to reach my destination, that the end felt like a positively spiritual experience. I sat in rapt silence, fighting back tears during the closing cinematic. Something about Journey touched me very deeply, and made me feel as if, by simply experiencing it, I understood something about myself. My whole body felt at peace and my mind was still for the first time in a long time. It felt like coming out of a deep meditation. 

I feel silly even having written all this, now that it's over. I simply don't have the skill to capture the feeling of magic that I got from Journey. All I know is that it's a story I will never forget, and my life has been enriched by its presence.