Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Friday, August 21, 2009
Coming out of the Dungeon.
Over the last ten years a trend has emerged that really gets under my skin.
I am a member (or at least was) of an oppressed minority that over the course of many years co-opted the derogatory term that was used against us as a badge of honor. Life was never easy for us. Unless you were willing to be ridiculed mercilessly, you couldn’t openly ask others if they shared the same interests. The only way to meet others was by collecting phone numbers off the back wall in dimly lit establishments. You then called these strangers and made arrangements to meet at their house. You never knew what you were walking into and more likely than not, they were a little crazy. But you didn’t care. You would do this again and again, because damn it, you needed your fix.
D&D (or more accurately AD&D 1st edition and then 2nd Edition), GURPS, MechWarrior, Call of Cthulhu, Rifts, Vampire, Marvel Superheroes, it didn’t matter. There was something special about sitting around a table with a bunch of guys (because it was always males), collectively telling a story.
We had a our bags of dice, elaborately painted miniatures, shelves upon shelves of books, cases of Mountain Dew, Doritos, pencils, paper and imaginations that could not be contained by the borders of Kentucky.
We were gamers and proud of it. But starting sometime around 2000, people that played video games started calling themselves gamers. I have nothing against video games and enjoy them occasionally but what they were doing and what we were doing weren’t anywhere close the same thing. When you play a role playing game (don’t even get me started on the video games that are classified as an RPG), you are participating in an organic story limited only by the collective imaginations of the people sitting at the table. When you play a video game, you are interacting with a story limited by what the programmer felt important to include.
Both may contain very similar themes, but at their core, the two hobbies could not be further apart. In fact, I could argue that they are the very opposite of each other.
But here we are in the year 2009 and almost exclusively the term “gamer” is used to identify people whose hobby is playing video games. What’s worse is that the role playing industry is moving towards making their games more video game like.
Arrrrgghhhhh!!!!
I know that I don’t have the time, but I really need to make the trek to the Rusty Scabbard, walk to the back wall and tear off the slip of paper with a phone number.
I still have my dice.
I am a member (or at least was) of an oppressed minority that over the course of many years co-opted the derogatory term that was used against us as a badge of honor. Life was never easy for us. Unless you were willing to be ridiculed mercilessly, you couldn’t openly ask others if they shared the same interests. The only way to meet others was by collecting phone numbers off the back wall in dimly lit establishments. You then called these strangers and made arrangements to meet at their house. You never knew what you were walking into and more likely than not, they were a little crazy. But you didn’t care. You would do this again and again, because damn it, you needed your fix.
D&D (or more accurately AD&D 1st edition and then 2nd Edition), GURPS, MechWarrior, Call of Cthulhu, Rifts, Vampire, Marvel Superheroes, it didn’t matter. There was something special about sitting around a table with a bunch of guys (because it was always males), collectively telling a story.
We had a our bags of dice, elaborately painted miniatures, shelves upon shelves of books, cases of Mountain Dew, Doritos, pencils, paper and imaginations that could not be contained by the borders of Kentucky.
We were gamers and proud of it. But starting sometime around 2000, people that played video games started calling themselves gamers. I have nothing against video games and enjoy them occasionally but what they were doing and what we were doing weren’t anywhere close the same thing. When you play a role playing game (don’t even get me started on the video games that are classified as an RPG), you are participating in an organic story limited only by the collective imaginations of the people sitting at the table. When you play a video game, you are interacting with a story limited by what the programmer felt important to include.
Both may contain very similar themes, but at their core, the two hobbies could not be further apart. In fact, I could argue that they are the very opposite of each other.
But here we are in the year 2009 and almost exclusively the term “gamer” is used to identify people whose hobby is playing video games. What’s worse is that the role playing industry is moving towards making their games more video game like.
Arrrrgghhhhh!!!!
I know that I don’t have the time, but I really need to make the trek to the Rusty Scabbard, walk to the back wall and tear off the slip of paper with a phone number.
I still have my dice.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Music Meme
There is a meme floating around where you answer a series of questions using the song titles of only one artist. I thought I would give it a try, but I must admit that I have cheated. I choose Jimmy Buffett, which really isn't fair since the man has 8 billion songs. I did challenge myself a little by only using song titles from albums he released in the '70s.
Anyway, here you go.
Pick your Artist
Jimmy Buffett
Are you a male or female?
Son of a Son of a Sailor
Describe yourself.
God’s Own Drunk
How do you feel?
My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink and I Don’t Love Jesus
Describe where you currently live.
Found Me a Home
If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
He Went To Paris
Your favorite form of transportation.
God Don’t Own a Car
Your best friend is?
A Pirate Looks at Forty
You and your friends are?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy
What's the weather like?
Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season
Favorite time of day?
Livingston Saturday Night
If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
The Wino and I Know
What is life to you?
Stories We Could Tell
Your last relationship?
Treat Her Like A Lady
Your fear?
Nothing Soft About Hard Times
What is the best advice you have to give?
Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes
Thought for the Day.
Something So Feminine About a Mandolin
How I would like to die?
Defying Gravity
Anyway, here you go.
Pick your Artist
Jimmy Buffett
Are you a male or female?
Son of a Son of a Sailor
Describe yourself.
God’s Own Drunk
How do you feel?
My Head Hurts, My Feet Stink and I Don’t Love Jesus
Describe where you currently live.
Found Me a Home
If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
He Went To Paris
Your favorite form of transportation.
God Don’t Own a Car
Your best friend is?
A Pirate Looks at Forty
You and your friends are?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy
What's the weather like?
Trying to Reason with Hurricane Season
Favorite time of day?
Livingston Saturday Night
If your life was a TV show, what would it be called?
The Wino and I Know
What is life to you?
Stories We Could Tell
Your last relationship?
Treat Her Like A Lady
Your fear?
Nothing Soft About Hard Times
What is the best advice you have to give?
Changes in Latitudes, Changes in Attitudes
Thought for the Day.
Something So Feminine About a Mandolin
How I would like to die?
Defying Gravity
Friday, July 31, 2009
Gather round the fire
It seems that currently the hip meme running through the blogging world is telling ghost stories. It all started with Stephanie’s very good post about an experience she had in Amsterdam. From there it spread like wildfire and you can find other stories here, here, here and here.
For me personally, I am a little confused on the subject. On one hand, my favorite column in Scientific American is Michael Shermer’s Skeptic. I try to be a pragmatist and think rationally on subjects that on the surface seem to defy a rationale explanation. However, on the other hand, I have had some really really weird things happen to me in my life that I can’t explain in a satisfactory manner.
I am not going to tell you any of the stories that have happened to only me because, while I don’t think it is the case, there is always the possibility that I am simply bat-shit crazy. I might be so freaking insane that my memories are complete bunk and my mind has somehow created these vivid memories.
So no, the story I am going to tell is one where there was another eye witness.
Before we begin, let me give you a little background. The other person present was my friend Jeff. While I don’t remember exactly how old we were, it certainly happened more than 15 years ago. Neither one of us liked to talk about this event. Especially if the other was present. I can’t really explain it, but it seems “wrong” to discuss the event together. Even now, typing this after more than 15 years, I feel a little paranoid. It is almost like I am experiencing the beginnings of a panic attack. I know that Jeff has already written about this story on his blog, but I have never read it. I just can’t do it. My wife has told me that his account is very similar to my account, but I am not going to go read it.
Anyway, here is the story.
One the best things about growing up in my neighborhood were all of the friends that were the same age. There wasn’t a square inch of that neighborhood that we hadn’t explored to the depth of detail that only youth permits. One of our favorite activities was spending the night at each others houses and then slipping out very late. We never really did anything bad. Just boys being boys.
On this particular evening, I was spending the night at Jeff’s house. Jeff and I lived in what we boys called the “new section” of the neighborhood. When my grandmother developed the neighborhood, she created three different phases. The first phase was the “old section”, the second was the “new section” and the third was a section that had not been developed yet.
Right in between the new section and the old section was a lake. This was a man-made lake created when a dam had been built in a deep valley. The quickest route for us boys to travel from one section of the neighborhood to the other was by walking along a path that went down into this valley on one side of the dam. The entire path was maybe ¼ of a mile long, at most. While fairly short, this area could be pretty spooky because fog coming off of the lake would settle into this valley and on one side of the bath was the foundation of an old pig slaughtering facility.
This evening though there was nothing really spooky about the area. We had spent most of the night in the old section of the neighborhood with friends. At about 3 or 4 in the morning, we were headed back to Jeff’s house. When you are heading to the new section from the old section, you walk down a nice wide road until it dead ends. When you reach the dead end, you take a sharp right next to this nice elderly couple’s house and start descending down the path into the valley.
We made our turn and were walking about 150 feet from the large triple car garage door of this elderly couple’s house, when suddenly the very bright light over the garage door came on and the garage door started to open.
Doing what boys do best, we ran. Immediately upon realizing the door was opening we turned 180 degrees from the door and started running into the empty field. And this is where things turned weird.
When we were about 300 feet from the garage door, both Jeff and I fell, face first. Somehow, and I have no idea how, we were then lying in the grass facing the garage door. We should have been facing the opposite direction when we fell, but we weren’t.
I can’t speak for Jeff, but from this point on, I will be telling you what I saw.
I am lying in the grass looking at this open garage with a large bright light illuminating the driveway, when what appeared to be about 25 to 30 “little kids” emerged from the garage. We weren’t that far away, but these kids looked blurry. They all were wearing some kind of grey jumper. These kids were running around in the middle of the driveway very fast, jumping up and down and making little squeaking noises. For some reason, I then and still to this day, want to call these kids German. They didn’t speak German and they were not wearing lederhosen but for some reason I want to call them German.
These kids continued to run around, jumping and making their little squeaks for about 2 minutes then suddenly they all ran back into the garage, the door shut and the light went out. I then remember Jeff and me standing up, looking at each other but not saying a single word. Then the next thing I knew, we were both lying in Jeff’s bed. I have no memory of walking back to Jeff’s house. I just remember lying in the bed and going immediately to sleep.
The next morning, I got up, maybe said bye to Jeff and went home. Each of us told friends about the story but for some reason could not talk about it to each other. It was years and years before either of us would even briefly mention it if the other was present.
In case you are interested, here is Jeff’s take on the event.
But I still won’t read it.
For me personally, I am a little confused on the subject. On one hand, my favorite column in Scientific American is Michael Shermer’s Skeptic. I try to be a pragmatist and think rationally on subjects that on the surface seem to defy a rationale explanation. However, on the other hand, I have had some really really weird things happen to me in my life that I can’t explain in a satisfactory manner.
I am not going to tell you any of the stories that have happened to only me because, while I don’t think it is the case, there is always the possibility that I am simply bat-shit crazy. I might be so freaking insane that my memories are complete bunk and my mind has somehow created these vivid memories.
So no, the story I am going to tell is one where there was another eye witness.
Before we begin, let me give you a little background. The other person present was my friend Jeff. While I don’t remember exactly how old we were, it certainly happened more than 15 years ago. Neither one of us liked to talk about this event. Especially if the other was present. I can’t really explain it, but it seems “wrong” to discuss the event together. Even now, typing this after more than 15 years, I feel a little paranoid. It is almost like I am experiencing the beginnings of a panic attack. I know that Jeff has already written about this story on his blog, but I have never read it. I just can’t do it. My wife has told me that his account is very similar to my account, but I am not going to go read it.
Anyway, here is the story.
One the best things about growing up in my neighborhood were all of the friends that were the same age. There wasn’t a square inch of that neighborhood that we hadn’t explored to the depth of detail that only youth permits. One of our favorite activities was spending the night at each others houses and then slipping out very late. We never really did anything bad. Just boys being boys.
On this particular evening, I was spending the night at Jeff’s house. Jeff and I lived in what we boys called the “new section” of the neighborhood. When my grandmother developed the neighborhood, she created three different phases. The first phase was the “old section”, the second was the “new section” and the third was a section that had not been developed yet.
Right in between the new section and the old section was a lake. This was a man-made lake created when a dam had been built in a deep valley. The quickest route for us boys to travel from one section of the neighborhood to the other was by walking along a path that went down into this valley on one side of the dam. The entire path was maybe ¼ of a mile long, at most. While fairly short, this area could be pretty spooky because fog coming off of the lake would settle into this valley and on one side of the bath was the foundation of an old pig slaughtering facility.
This evening though there was nothing really spooky about the area. We had spent most of the night in the old section of the neighborhood with friends. At about 3 or 4 in the morning, we were headed back to Jeff’s house. When you are heading to the new section from the old section, you walk down a nice wide road until it dead ends. When you reach the dead end, you take a sharp right next to this nice elderly couple’s house and start descending down the path into the valley.
We made our turn and were walking about 150 feet from the large triple car garage door of this elderly couple’s house, when suddenly the very bright light over the garage door came on and the garage door started to open.
Doing what boys do best, we ran. Immediately upon realizing the door was opening we turned 180 degrees from the door and started running into the empty field. And this is where things turned weird.
When we were about 300 feet from the garage door, both Jeff and I fell, face first. Somehow, and I have no idea how, we were then lying in the grass facing the garage door. We should have been facing the opposite direction when we fell, but we weren’t.
I can’t speak for Jeff, but from this point on, I will be telling you what I saw.
I am lying in the grass looking at this open garage with a large bright light illuminating the driveway, when what appeared to be about 25 to 30 “little kids” emerged from the garage. We weren’t that far away, but these kids looked blurry. They all were wearing some kind of grey jumper. These kids were running around in the middle of the driveway very fast, jumping up and down and making little squeaking noises. For some reason, I then and still to this day, want to call these kids German. They didn’t speak German and they were not wearing lederhosen but for some reason I want to call them German.
These kids continued to run around, jumping and making their little squeaks for about 2 minutes then suddenly they all ran back into the garage, the door shut and the light went out. I then remember Jeff and me standing up, looking at each other but not saying a single word. Then the next thing I knew, we were both lying in Jeff’s bed. I have no memory of walking back to Jeff’s house. I just remember lying in the bed and going immediately to sleep.
The next morning, I got up, maybe said bye to Jeff and went home. Each of us told friends about the story but for some reason could not talk about it to each other. It was years and years before either of us would even briefly mention it if the other was present.
In case you are interested, here is Jeff’s take on the event.
But I still won’t read it.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Enjoy this brief intermission
I know the blog has been dead for a while.
Sorry.
In the mean time, enjoy this simple little Quidditch game I made in Scratch.
There are some bugs but since I have only about 4 hours (I thought it was about 2.5 but Anna told me it was 4) of work into the game, I am happy with the result so far.
Arrow keys control your Chaser and the Spacebar shoots the Quaffle when you are in the scoring zone (about the quarter of the screen close to the Rings).
Learn more about this project
Sorry.
In the mean time, enjoy this simple little Quidditch game I made in Scratch.
There are some bugs but since I have only about 4 hours (I thought it was about 2.5 but Anna told me it was 4) of work into the game, I am happy with the result so far.
Arrow keys control your Chaser and the Spacebar shoots the Quaffle when you are in the scoring zone (about the quarter of the screen close to the Rings).
Learn more about this project
Thursday, May 28, 2009
The Bell Curve of Complexity
I have been thinking a lot about complexity lately. We live our lives constantly interacting with different systems of varying complexity and scale. 
These systems are nestled like Russian nesting dolls inside of, and making up, countless other systems. In Gödel Escher Bach, Hofstadter argues that our souls are the result of unimaginably large self-referential systems that fold back upon themselves (which book, I might add, has the most profound things to say on the nature of intelligence that I have ever read).
These systems are nestled like Russian nesting dolls inside of, and making up, countless other systems. In Gödel Escher Bach, Hofstadter argues that our souls are the result of unimaginably large self-referential systems that fold back upon themselves (which book, I might add, has the most profound things to say on the nature of intelligence that I have ever read). You can’t delve too deep in the rabbit hole that is looking at the world as an infinite series of systems, for that way lies madness. Or enlightenment. I don’t know which, but both are dangerous. I do think it is good to periodically stop and ponder on how large a role complexity plays in our lives.
I read an article today about a man that has just finished building an 8-bit CPU by hand. His CPU is the equivalent of an Apple IIe or a Commodore 64 (the picture to the left is of his CPU). For most people a computer is the magic box that sends email, surfs the web, balances their checkbook, etc. The more you learn about computers, the greater their complexity grows. Computers become far more complex if you know a little programming. 
But at some point as your knowledge of a system grows, the complexity of said system starts to decrease.
“Computers can seem like complete black boxes. We understand what they do, but not how they do it, really,” says Chamberlin, the guy that built the CPU. “When I was finally able to mentally connect the dots all the way from the physics of a transistor up to a functioning computer, it was an incredible thrill.”
I am seeing a similar realization in my own life. The primary reason I have been neglecting this blog is because I have been neck deep in planning the Bluegrass Festival. This will be the 36th year for the festival, which means that I have been a part of this festival since I have been alive (including in the womb). My earliest memories of the bluegrass festival are winning prizes at the vendor that sold kid’s trinkets, the sofas and recliners that were hoisted into the gigantic oak trees at people’s campsites and being shooed out of the store because I was always underfoot.
As I got older, the festival grew in my eyes. I started selling t-shirts at the store and ice off the back of a golf cart. Backstage seemed like a place that I wanted to be, even though I had no business being there. When I turned 12, my friends and I started camping, which made the festival grow by at least an order of magnitude. 
Suddenly, there were other campsites that we could visit (or at least spy on), beer to sneak out of coolers, tents to pitch and campfires to start. Move forward a few years and you add working gates shifts, organizing the schedules of friends to work, building overly elaborate kitchen areas, etc.
Over the last couple of years, I have been trying to help my grandmother out by taking some of the planning off of her shoulders. The complexity of the festival as an organism in my mind has grown larger than any of the previous jumps. I never imagined the scale of “stuff” involved in planning such a large event.
Here’s the thing though. I think I have reached some kind of plateau where I am realizing that no other person, besides my grandmother, knows the level of detail and complexity of this event but at the same time it is becoming simpler. It is hard to describe but, if I didn’t know better, I would swear that I can hear the heartbeat of the festival. At minimum, I have at least a small understanding of what the CPU guy was talking about when he said it was a thrill to connect the mental dots.
I believe it is good for the soul to understand something so well that its complexity is stripped away not because you have removed its components but because you see it as a whole.
Of course it is far more likely that I just need to eat my bowl of Wheaties in the morning.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
I'm Lazy. So What?
I still have not been able to find the mental energy to compose a decent blog post. A Bluegrass Festival won't plan itself you know.
Anyway, being the nice guy that I am, I have ran a couple of filters in Google Analytics and had it spit out a list of the most popular blog posts. So, I thought I would give you a trip down memory lane and write a blog post in which I simply link to my own blog posts.
(I am very aware of how egotistical this is)
Anyway, being the nice guy that I am, I have ran a couple of filters in Google Analytics and had it spit out a list of the most popular blog posts. So, I thought I would give you a trip down memory lane and write a blog post in which I simply link to my own blog posts.
(I am very aware of how egotistical this is)
Chilling out, maxing, relaxing all cool
This is the most popular post on my entire blog. My only guess is that many poor saps think they are going to find the lyrics to the Fresh Prince.Shit.
Kid Nation of Capitalistic Pigs
An Anthropolgical Study of Parents.
Death Match to the Extreme!!!!
By the Power of Rationalization!
Quack, Quack, Quack.
Weapon of Mash-Destruction.
The Return of the Comic
Still Without A Name Comic 2
We are an Honorable Band of Thieves
All I Really Need to Know I Learned in D&D.
The White Man's Burden.
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