"Simulation" computer games grab me and they refuse to let me go. There's something about my personality that loves playing god with small collections of simulated humans, even if the simulated humans are just washing their dishes.
Along comes "Dwarf Fortress," which is not only an elaborate social sim but also caters to my OTHER game obsession: procedurally-generated worlds in which I can build and populate elaborate environments. This sort of game is the best drug ever for me. It goes straight through my eyes and into the pleasure centers of my brain. It's so good it's like mainlining breakfast, without the annoying waitress and the babies crapping on the highchairs.
But fortunately there seems to be an unavoidable flaw in all simulations. This flaw ultimately dulls the thrill and returns me to my pre-addicted, regularly-blogging self: sims are fun as long as there are more "real-world" details waiting to be exposed to the player...
...but the more detailed a game becomes, the more monotonous the gameplay ends up being, because the real-world is actually horribly dull.
For instance, I really enjoyed "The Sims" until I realized it was essentially an endless routine of getting my simulated people off to work on time, which is so realistic that it actually sucks. Likewise a game like "Alpha Centauri" where the problems boil down to getting your simulated units from one part of the world to the other; in my REAL life I finally bought a car to reduce that sort of monotony. Why should I put up with such things in a piece of escapist entertainment?
It's typical that, when I started actually having dreams about "Dwarf Fortress," my dreams were always about moving rocks from one place to another. I'd wake up in the morning feeling as though I'd worked all night in a warehouse, moving junk around from one place to another, then moving it back again later on. Most of the gameplay in "Dwarf Fortress" really comes down to that...
...and it's terribly dull and the exact opposite of entertainment...
...but that's the limitation of an accurate simulation: everyday life REALLY IS about moving stuff around all day, whether it's money or food or your body. The only reason we stay sane is because we forget the number of times we've washed our hands and the number of socks we've picked up (and believe me, the Dwarves in "Dwarf Fortress" are ALWAYS leaving their socks around).
So, my sim-hungry brain craves the most accurate "real life" simulation possible...but my brain is simultaneously uninterested in the mundane tasks that are 95% of real life. "Dwarf Fortress" could only sustain my interest if it got even more ridiculously detailed, but by doing so it would only become more tedious as a result.
I suspect this applies to the high-end modern simulations as well, games like Grand Theft Auto 4 and The Sims 2. I'm sure there's a point in the "fun sim" equation when the lines of "tedium" and "realism" meet, where the player cannot cross.
For my own social future that's surely a good thing.
Monday, May 12, 2008
An Intimate Glimpse of Four Young New Yorkers Reveals Their Preference for Best Pajamas
I don't usually bother reading the New Yorker advertisements for large department stores, but this one (November 24, 1928) for Best & Co. is fun.
What *I* want to know is why they're wearing rubber boots and dancing in what appears to be a dormitory. They're so distinctive and gay, those young flapper-things of the '20s!
Pajamas are just pajamas in most shops, but at Best's they are works of art! Simple, comfortable, distinctive, and gay as the light-hearted young things who wear them.Such an "intimate glimpse" of these light-hearted and simple young ladies...err, young things. It doesn't look staged at all! The advertising copy tells us that Miss Marguerite Shea "displays her latest dance step, in colorful broadcloth pajamas with fast-color black braid piping." Meanwhile Miss Virginia Maurice, Miss Marty Simonton, and Miss Katheryn Baltus look on.
What *I* want to know is why they're wearing rubber boots and dancing in what appears to be a dormitory. They're so distinctive and gay, those young flapper-things of the '20s!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Ooh-La-La: Paris in the Spring!
The aforementioned all-new Daily Muffy is online now!
Just in case you're new to this concept, the idea is to present a new picture every day, meanwhile telling a more-or-less coherent story. This one is the story of how Tim and I went to Paris...and you can view it here. The pictures will be unlocked every weekday morning and you can view them at different sizes, comment on them, see them on a map, check out the growing archives...it's all so gosh-darned interactive!
Special thanks to Jenn Wilson for suggesting a way of doing this using Flickr. Hopefully it all works! Please let me know if you have any problems or suggestions.
Just in case you're new to this concept, the idea is to present a new picture every day, meanwhile telling a more-or-less coherent story. This one is the story of how Tim and I went to Paris...and you can view it here. The pictures will be unlocked every weekday morning and you can view them at different sizes, comment on them, see them on a map, check out the growing archives...it's all so gosh-darned interactive!
Special thanks to Jenn Wilson for suggesting a way of doing this using Flickr. Hopefully it all works! Please let me know if you have any problems or suggestions.
I'd Buy Anything By...Komeda
I have probably already mentioned that I flirted briefly with Sweden. I can't give a good reason for why this happened, but it had something to do with being trapped in a dead-end job and feeling like my horizons were shrinking, and that I'd better get out and see the world before I grew too old to really enjoy it.
What better place for a socially-neurotic Canadian to go but Sweden, which is like Canada but more so? I put off actually TRAVELING there by plunging into Swedish history, language, and culture (though I didn't go so far as to try Surströmming, being of a delicate disposition weaned on things that smell good).
During my "Swedish wannabe" phase I ran across the music of Komeda. They exemplified the hip, unselfconscious, unclassifiable nature of so many great Swedish bands that I was hearing at the time...even if many people thought they just sounded like Stereolab.
They only released a handful of albums (only two of which were in English) but they mixed styles in a way that still sounds great today: part lounge, part rock, part laid-back retro electronic. To illustrate their eclectic nature, here's their first hit single, "Boogie Woogie/Rock 'n' Roll," silly on the surface but well-tempered with considerable skill. Don't worry, cubicle surfers...this is the version WITHOUT the bare tushes.
Their second English album ("What Makes It Go?") was much slicker, and it seemed like they were being groomed for North American college radio. Their video for "It's Alright Baby" might not have dispelled inevitable comparisons with The Cardigans, but it sure was fun.
Then they disappeared. Then end.
...
But wait! I just discovered that they released another album in 2003. I'll have to order it so I can justify the "I'd Buy Anything" designation.
Albums to buy: You don't have a lot of choices, but "What Makes It Go" is the easiest to find and considered my many to be the best. Albums to avoid: "Pop På Svenska" is a tad larval and monotonous, and...well, it's in Swedish. So that would also put it in the "For Fans Only" category.
What better place for a socially-neurotic Canadian to go but Sweden, which is like Canada but more so? I put off actually TRAVELING there by plunging into Swedish history, language, and culture (though I didn't go so far as to try Surströmming, being of a delicate disposition weaned on things that smell good).
During my "Swedish wannabe" phase I ran across the music of Komeda. They exemplified the hip, unselfconscious, unclassifiable nature of so many great Swedish bands that I was hearing at the time...even if many people thought they just sounded like Stereolab.
They only released a handful of albums (only two of which were in English) but they mixed styles in a way that still sounds great today: part lounge, part rock, part laid-back retro electronic. To illustrate their eclectic nature, here's their first hit single, "Boogie Woogie/Rock 'n' Roll," silly on the surface but well-tempered with considerable skill. Don't worry, cubicle surfers...this is the version WITHOUT the bare tushes.
Their second English album ("What Makes It Go?") was much slicker, and it seemed like they were being groomed for North American college radio. Their video for "It's Alright Baby" might not have dispelled inevitable comparisons with The Cardigans, but it sure was fun.
Then they disappeared. Then end.
...
But wait! I just discovered that they released another album in 2003. I'll have to order it so I can justify the "I'd Buy Anything" designation.
Albums to buy: You don't have a lot of choices, but "What Makes It Go" is the easiest to find and considered my many to be the best. Albums to avoid: "Pop På Svenska" is a tad larval and monotonous, and...well, it's in Swedish. So that would also put it in the "For Fans Only" category.
Mother's Day in the Rural Badlands, Amongst the Antiques
I spent much of the day with my mother. I love eating and shopping with her. Since we're both socially-cautious people, it's sort of delightful that we've managed to warm up in particular situations -- eating, driving, shopping, drinking -- sheerly through observation, empathy, and the same cautious approach you use when making friends with strange animals: extend the palm, let them smell you, don't lunge or grab, next time bring treats.
We went to Angie's Kitchen in St. Agatha. When I was very young we used to go there frequently, but that was thirty years ago, so all my memories are of dark woodsy corners and paper placemats with connect-the-dot swans. This Angie's Kitchen experience was a little different as we'd come during a traditionally hectic day, and we were inexplicably seated at a huge empty table in the middle of the room. It felt like I was at a conference, sitting beside my mother because the table was far too wide to sit facing each other at opposite sides.
Then we went shopping in Shakespeare, which over the years has become a flypaper-strip meant to catch tourists on the way to the Stratford Festival. It's baited with antique shops. I saw things there that I might actually buy, if I had a lot of money and I had more concern about my personal space. My mother liked the weatherbeaten stuff that looked slightly decayed, whereas I am unable to eat around such things without thinking of fingernail dirt and feces. The one item I decided to buy -- a sort of art deco yoga ornament which could be explained away as an "interpretive dancer made in China" -- ended up having a cracked leg, which wasn't my fault, honest.
(When you are prevented from buying something because it turns out to be broken, don't despair! You've saved money that you can spend on something else, like a belt or a down payment on shoes! You should be happy!)
Speaking of spending money, I decided to re-learn pumping gas. After two months of driving my car to such far-off locales as Paris, Wellesley, and Philipsburg I still had a quarter tank of gas left, but fuel-efficiency can only get you so far: it was time to finally brave the pumps. I was astonished to learn that my mother has been shelling out for full service all these years and has never pumped gas herself, so we combined our experience (and our ability to follow written instructions) and came out feeling empowered and fulfilled. The price for this experience? $50. Less than I'd expected.
Here's hoping you had a good mother's day, and that you both did something new, and that your breakfast sausage was ladled out by a cheerful buffet lady wearing a clean smock.
We went to Angie's Kitchen in St. Agatha. When I was very young we used to go there frequently, but that was thirty years ago, so all my memories are of dark woodsy corners and paper placemats with connect-the-dot swans. This Angie's Kitchen experience was a little different as we'd come during a traditionally hectic day, and we were inexplicably seated at a huge empty table in the middle of the room. It felt like I was at a conference, sitting beside my mother because the table was far too wide to sit facing each other at opposite sides.
Then we went shopping in Shakespeare, which over the years has become a flypaper-strip meant to catch tourists on the way to the Stratford Festival. It's baited with antique shops. I saw things there that I might actually buy, if I had a lot of money and I had more concern about my personal space. My mother liked the weatherbeaten stuff that looked slightly decayed, whereas I am unable to eat around such things without thinking of fingernail dirt and feces. The one item I decided to buy -- a sort of art deco yoga ornament which could be explained away as an "interpretive dancer made in China" -- ended up having a cracked leg, which wasn't my fault, honest.
(When you are prevented from buying something because it turns out to be broken, don't despair! You've saved money that you can spend on something else, like a belt or a down payment on shoes! You should be happy!)
Speaking of spending money, I decided to re-learn pumping gas. After two months of driving my car to such far-off locales as Paris, Wellesley, and Philipsburg I still had a quarter tank of gas left, but fuel-efficiency can only get you so far: it was time to finally brave the pumps. I was astonished to learn that my mother has been shelling out for full service all these years and has never pumped gas herself, so we combined our experience (and our ability to follow written instructions) and came out feeling empowered and fulfilled. The price for this experience? $50. Less than I'd expected.
Here's hoping you had a good mother's day, and that you both did something new, and that your breakfast sausage was ladled out by a cheerful buffet lady wearing a clean smock.
Wednesday, May 07, 2008
Things Fall Apart
It is SO HARD to keep ahead of life's inevitable decay. It seems like every day I am confronted with yet another trivial piece of wear-and-tear that requires my attention: a burnt out lightbulb, a dirty litterbox, a full garbage can, a dirty tub, a carpet covered with lint and shucked-off cat claws.
It occurred to me recently that, with the exception of the spontaneously-generating sowbugs in my basement, stuff is falling apart around me all the time. Only by expending our carefully-conserved energy can we keep ahead of the rot. No wonder I get exhausted! No wonder I'm discouraged! No wonder I can't play "Dwarf Fortress" all day!
I manage to ignore this "everyday decay" until my environment becomes unlivable, or until I need to do laundry. Then I go into a flurry of superficial cleaning: empty the garbages, collect the recycling, pay the bills, move a pile of useless junk from the center of the room to the corner that I reserve specifically for the storage of useless junk.
When I'm done I feel vibrant and alive and capable! Then I feel like I deserve a treat, and-how! Minutes later -- with the surface barely scratched -- I'm watching a movie while things fall apart around me again. The dust collects, the pop cans pile up, the plants die.
EPITAPH:
Ronnie O'Vera, you were a good cactus, and the only plant that thrived under my care. I don't know why you finally died -- the long winter, the botched re-potting, the bugs that arrived with that other plant my mom bought me -- but when I pulled your hard, curled-up carcass out of the dirt I felt a tiny twinge of remorse.
I didn't love you, but I'll miss you. Rest in landfill.
It occurred to me recently that, with the exception of the spontaneously-generating sowbugs in my basement, stuff is falling apart around me all the time. Only by expending our carefully-conserved energy can we keep ahead of the rot. No wonder I get exhausted! No wonder I'm discouraged! No wonder I can't play "Dwarf Fortress" all day!
I manage to ignore this "everyday decay" until my environment becomes unlivable, or until I need to do laundry. Then I go into a flurry of superficial cleaning: empty the garbages, collect the recycling, pay the bills, move a pile of useless junk from the center of the room to the corner that I reserve specifically for the storage of useless junk.
When I'm done I feel vibrant and alive and capable! Then I feel like I deserve a treat, and-how! Minutes later -- with the surface barely scratched -- I'm watching a movie while things fall apart around me again. The dust collects, the pop cans pile up, the plants die.
EPITAPH:
Ronnie O'Vera, you were a good cactus, and the only plant that thrived under my care. I don't know why you finally died -- the long winter, the botched re-potting, the bugs that arrived with that other plant my mom bought me -- but when I pulled your hard, curled-up carcass out of the dirt I felt a tiny twinge of remorse.
I didn't love you, but I'll miss you. Rest in landfill.
Huck Finn
I need to get this off my chest: I just finished reading "The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn" and I don't have a clue what I should say about it. It's like coming back from Niagara Falls and trying to find meaningful adjectives to describe the falls that haven't already been used. "Huck Finn" has been analyzed to death; what more can I possibly add?
Only that I thought it was amazing, funny, touching, witty, and fascinating. I hear that it is Mark Twain's best book by a longshot so I probably won't pick up his other books, but nobody could write such a masterpiece without being consistently brilliant in SOME other way.
Critics love to slam the book's final chapters, and I have to agree...they are total crap: forced, repetitive, pointless, and a complete letdown from the subtlety and fine-honed logic of the rest of the story. Don't let that spoil it for you though...if you're looking for a fun and sometimes painful adventure through a sharply-observed long-lost time and place, definitely give "Huck Finn" some of your time.
It was almost better than "Dwarf Fortress." Almost.
Only that I thought it was amazing, funny, touching, witty, and fascinating. I hear that it is Mark Twain's best book by a longshot so I probably won't pick up his other books, but nobody could write such a masterpiece without being consistently brilliant in SOME other way.
Critics love to slam the book's final chapters, and I have to agree...they are total crap: forced, repetitive, pointless, and a complete letdown from the subtlety and fine-honed logic of the rest of the story. Don't let that spoil it for you though...if you're looking for a fun and sometimes painful adventure through a sharply-observed long-lost time and place, definitely give "Huck Finn" some of your time.
It was almost better than "Dwarf Fortress." Almost.
Sunday, May 04, 2008
Globetrotters
Would you believe that Victoria and I actually went to PARIS in order to take pictures for a "Daily Muffy?" It's true! C'est vrai!
This first in a new season of "Daily Muffy" episodes will begin on May 12th, in a brand new format and location. Stay tuned for all the details!
Friday, May 02, 2008
Coming Up!
I haven't just been sitting at home playing "Dwarf Fortress." No indeed, I've been planning all sorts of special events.
First off, hopefully I'll see some of you at "La Cage" tonight (Friday) at the Walper Hotel, starting at 6pm. I won't be performing, just playing the music for the performers themselves, but it's always a fun and professional event in support of Tri-Pride...come see!
On this coming Thursday (the 8th) come to Club Renaissance for the next installment of "Glamourspunk!" It's an extension of the regular Ren Glitter Nights, coordinated and hosted by Victoria Parks with some help from me. So far these shows have had some of the best local talent (and the best crowds I've ever seen) so you're probably missing out if you don't show up.
Then, on Saturday May 31st I'll be performing at Guelph's Pride Party and Dance. Last year they gave me my own hotel room...maybe this year they'll give me the entire hotel?
Other than that there are some SECRET plans: operations "Ooh-la-la" and "Maid of the Mist." I can't tell you more, but let's just say that the "Daily Muffy" will be back soon...maybe as early as next week! Stay tuned.
First off, hopefully I'll see some of you at "La Cage" tonight (Friday) at the Walper Hotel, starting at 6pm. I won't be performing, just playing the music for the performers themselves, but it's always a fun and professional event in support of Tri-Pride...come see!
On this coming Thursday (the 8th) come to Club Renaissance for the next installment of "Glamourspunk!" It's an extension of the regular Ren Glitter Nights, coordinated and hosted by Victoria Parks with some help from me. So far these shows have had some of the best local talent (and the best crowds I've ever seen) so you're probably missing out if you don't show up.
Then, on Saturday May 31st I'll be performing at Guelph's Pride Party and Dance. Last year they gave me my own hotel room...maybe this year they'll give me the entire hotel?
Other than that there are some SECRET plans: operations "Ooh-la-la" and "Maid of the Mist." I can't tell you more, but let's just say that the "Daily Muffy" will be back soon...maybe as early as next week! Stay tuned.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
From the Mouth of the Optometrist (Plus, Chicken Brains)
I've been getting a lot of conflicting advice about my glasses: should I be wearing them all the time or only when I need them? Will wearing them prolong the quality of my eyesight, or vice versa? If I don't wear them constantly, will I ever get used to them?
I should have known that my OPTOMETRIST was the person to ask. Here's what he said, for the enlightenment of future generations:
* The reason the world looks strange when I'm wearing the glasses is because of my astigmatism. If this persists, they can reduce the power of the lenses.
* Given my age, my eyesight will not deteriorate any slower whether or not I wear glasses. Likewise, wearing them will not in any way weaken my eyes.
* In order to adjust to the glasses (the distorted world and the feeling of strain) I should wear them pretty much constantly for a week. At the end of this period I can wear them whenever I want to...when I put them on the adjustment should happen much faster, and when I take them off I will still adjust back to not wearing them. This is not a permanent change (see "Chicken Brains," below).
* By wearing them constantly I WILL get used to how sharp and clear the world can be. When I take the glasses off I will probably miss that sharpness.
So I'm in my fourth day of forcible adjustment. Wearing the glasses at work has been a lot of trouble because I need to struggle to focus on things that are close-up...and I spend all day looking at close-up things. I have not been the most efficient and useful worker this week, spending part of my time staring in an unfocused way at the top edge of my computer monitor and wishing that the day would end.
BONUS: CHICKEN BRAINS
Perceptual psychologists LOVE their prism glasses. By putting these glasses on various creatures at different ages and seeing how they adjust to displacement, they can learn an awful lot about the brain and its wiring.
In one of my classes the professor described an experiment commonly done with chickens. They put glasses on a chicken to displace its vision about twenty degrees, then they watch it try to peck at a seed on the ground. Chickens will continually peck twenty degrees away from the seed, never coming anywhere near the target. They can't adapt.
Most mammals, however, adjust to this displacement eventually through an unconscious mental process. To demonstrate, the professor brought volunteers to the blackboard, made them wear the prism glasses, and asked them to repeatedly and quickly strike out with a piece of chalk while aiming at a spot on the blackboard. I was one of these volunteers and we all reacted the same...the strikes started off far from the target, but gradually reduced the distance until they were bullseyes. Our brains had made an unconscious adjustment, and even though the target still appeared farther to the left than it actually was, our hands could reach it with very little error.
One volunteer, however, was totally unable to hit the correct spot. His errors remained constant. The professor announced to the class that this volunteer had the brain of a chicken, and the nickname "chicken brain" stuck.
I should have known that my OPTOMETRIST was the person to ask. Here's what he said, for the enlightenment of future generations:
* The reason the world looks strange when I'm wearing the glasses is because of my astigmatism. If this persists, they can reduce the power of the lenses.
* Given my age, my eyesight will not deteriorate any slower whether or not I wear glasses. Likewise, wearing them will not in any way weaken my eyes.
* In order to adjust to the glasses (the distorted world and the feeling of strain) I should wear them pretty much constantly for a week. At the end of this period I can wear them whenever I want to...when I put them on the adjustment should happen much faster, and when I take them off I will still adjust back to not wearing them. This is not a permanent change (see "Chicken Brains," below).
* By wearing them constantly I WILL get used to how sharp and clear the world can be. When I take the glasses off I will probably miss that sharpness.
So I'm in my fourth day of forcible adjustment. Wearing the glasses at work has been a lot of trouble because I need to struggle to focus on things that are close-up...and I spend all day looking at close-up things. I have not been the most efficient and useful worker this week, spending part of my time staring in an unfocused way at the top edge of my computer monitor and wishing that the day would end.
BONUS: CHICKEN BRAINS
Perceptual psychologists LOVE their prism glasses. By putting these glasses on various creatures at different ages and seeing how they adjust to displacement, they can learn an awful lot about the brain and its wiring.
In one of my classes the professor described an experiment commonly done with chickens. They put glasses on a chicken to displace its vision about twenty degrees, then they watch it try to peck at a seed on the ground. Chickens will continually peck twenty degrees away from the seed, never coming anywhere near the target. They can't adapt.
Most mammals, however, adjust to this displacement eventually through an unconscious mental process. To demonstrate, the professor brought volunteers to the blackboard, made them wear the prism glasses, and asked them to repeatedly and quickly strike out with a piece of chalk while aiming at a spot on the blackboard. I was one of these volunteers and we all reacted the same...the strikes started off far from the target, but gradually reduced the distance until they were bullseyes. Our brains had made an unconscious adjustment, and even though the target still appeared farther to the left than it actually was, our hands could reach it with very little error.
One volunteer, however, was totally unable to hit the correct spot. His errors remained constant. The professor announced to the class that this volunteer had the brain of a chicken, and the nickname "chicken brain" stuck.
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