The Path

The Path, at least the one I'm writing about, is a game by Tale of Tales released in 2008. Rather than rehash every detail about how the game works, I'll send you to Metacritic to read all the details about the game written by all the people who got paid to write about it.

I'm going to go out on a limb and say it right now: I don't find calling this title a game difficult at all. There are items to collect, a world to explore, and objectives to meet. The world may be dark, repetitive, slow, but that's the point. The objectives may be vague and even misleading, but that's the point. The item collection is, well it's item collection, so depending on your opinion of it, that task is pretty much the same in every game.

What I find so important about this game is that it truly is the first title I've ever played that has a feminine voice. Come to think of it, very few games I've ever played have a voice at all.  And that's what has me so worked up about The Path.  A huge catch 22 in the game development world is that the players want change, they want new IPs, they want fewer sequels, and they want innovative gameplay.  The 22 part of the Catch is that most gamers don't buy those games that try new things, that go out on limbs.  They buy the same shooter that lets you run down random hallways shooting bad guys.  But I digress.  The Path is none of those things.  It tried some very unique things, like divulging backstories of every character when they happen upon certain objects or scenarios in the woods.  But they don't find audiologs or scraps of notebooks.  The stories are told only through images, more akin to the way our memories work.  There are flashes of objects and a couple sentences printed on the screen that act as the inner dialogue of the character your playing, which is usually some sort of reaction to the object she's examining.

And that's where the voice enters the picture.  I have never played a game that seemed to speak from a feminine viewpoint as strongly as The Path.  The best part about it is that there is still interactivity, there is still mystery, I still felt that I was playing the game and not simply being told a story, but uncovering it and letting the imagery speak for itself and that in that imagery, the feminine voice was revealed.  Insecurities, uncertainties, and frustrations that only females can truly understand were playing out before me.  As a male player, I could empathize but understood that I could never fully know.  Reading through Tale of Tales' postmortem of the game, they say that a number of players believed the game to be about rape.  I don't blame anyone who may have had that interpretation.  The first character I played went through a story arc that seemed very much to be about her reaction to and dealing with such a violent act.  But the more I played, as I worked through all the characters, it became clear that while that may have been one story, it wasn't all of them.  The wolf, to me, was acting more as a symbol of struggle, something the girls each had to face in their own ways based on the context of their ages and personalities.

While I did find the game very interesting on an intellectual level, however, I understand the backlash that was unleashed against this title by people who play a lot of games.  There really isn't much to do and it is very very V  E  R  Y    S     L    O    W.  Certain aspects like being forced to walk very slowly around certain areas of the world did indeed become a bit too cumbersome for my taste.  But overall, I thought The Path was an excellent step in the right direction, a definitive game that makes a compelling argument for games as art, and one that anyone who has any interest in games beyond the B-movie narratives that populate most titles should play.

Stuff Nerds Like

I was recently introduced to a family I had never met. One of the daughters of the family had drawn a respectable looking female head at a three-quarters profile on the paper table cloth. The head was most definitely drawn in a generic anime style with slightly angular eyes and small triangular nose. Everyone near the table was remarking how good it looked and the artist was accepting the compliments well. Amy, who I think was looking for some nerd cred, remarked on its anime style. That's when the girl piped back, "Hey, someone else knows about it!"

And that right there, my friends, is what will perennially bug me about stuff nerds like. As a nerd myself, I understand the mindset. We certainly have a proclivity to dig into a particular topic that we enjoy and mine it until the depths of its caverns are seemingly unblemished by other human interests. Jewels of unique and interesting content remain partially un-mined and sparkling from smooth, unblemished walls, ready to be plucked for our discovery and marvel. It always seems to us, as we dig deeper into aspects of gaming, music, culture, whatever it may be, that no other person could have possibly ventured as deep into the mountain as we have. But it is guaranteed that someone else has done so but that we just don't know it yet. We fail to understand that this path has been worn for some time.

So my initial reaction to the girl's comment was to simply think to myself, "Oh great, one of those." Another budding fan of Japanese pop art and culture who feels as though she is alone in her obsession. Alone in terms of what scope? Her family? Sure, I could see it. My parents didn't and to some extent still don't understand some of things I like. Her friends? Less likely but still probable. But start expanding that scope from a narrow band to a wide, global radius and she will begin to find the kinship of like minds. It's inevitable.

Perhaps as someone who knows of life before the world suddenly became connected with itself, I understand better what it was to know the isolation of the nerd. Not many people I knew would seek out some of the gems that I did. Bulletin-board systems existed during my childhood, but I didn't understand them and therefore failed to see the amazing potential of interconnected machines and databases of information until early in my adulthood. But now that we have the opportunity to perseverate on any topic we so choose simply by powering on our Intertrons, we can easily find others who can share in our interests.

For now, however, we should leave this girl in her perceived wilderness, in her age of wandering. She will find her niche. She may not see it now, but she will find it. She will join us.

Poesysteme: Markmark Xydenden

My latest piece entitled "Markmark Xydenden".

markmark xydenden ter mark
markladentmarkmark markmark mark
markmark outcutmarkden dentact
dentact dentactactdent oneden
mark xyonemarking markdent out
markladentmarkmark mark den out
dentactactdent xydenden den
ter den dentmarksphsty ter

Like I said before, it's far from genius and it's a little disappointing when the poems tend toward the repetitive, but it's pretty entertaining while it lasts.

On Beauty

It started snowing yesterday around 11am. Twenty-two hours later, it is still snowing. Truth be told, I enjoy the snow. I like going for walks while it's still coming down. It mutes the noise of the world around me for a short time and everything slows down. Walks in a snowy wood are something I truly enjoy, perhaps due to my affinity for a certain Robert Frost poem, but rarely do I get the chance due to living in a well-populated area. Years ago, when we lived in McDonald, PA, I remember going for a walk with Amy during a snowstorm that swept through the area. The flakes were like cotton balls falling from the clouds. I remember standing in the middle of the main intersection in town, the snow up to my shins, completely undisturbed, as the traffic light above colored the clean white palette below a vibrant red, then green, followed by a short burst of yellow. The only sound heard besides our voices and muffled footsteps was the whipping of the wind through stark, barren trees while it flung power lines around like jump ropes. I have been reminded (yet again, I need to be reminded) that beauty is always just outside the realm of our perception at every single moment if we would only stop to notice it.

I Chanced To Gaze Upon the Stars

Last eve I chanced to gaze upon the stars,
to find a pair cast down from heav'n above.
They streaked across the sky; a painter's brush
could not have made a smoother shimm'ring stroke.
Like lovers they together fell to earth,
in fiery passion astral love was quenched
and as the two flew from the frozen sky,
a tear with dreams of reunited love
did swell to flood my lonely, aching heart.

---------

I was cleaning out the basement this weekend and in a stack of papers I found this poem. I think I wrote it in 1995 or 1996. I arrived home late one night to witness the very event that I described. I remember it flowed from my pen so quickly that I could barely write it down correctly. What I have posted here is almost exactly the same as the rough draft. It not only remains one of the only things I've ever written with which I am still pleased but also the only poem I've composed in iambic pentameter. Almost everything else I've written contains some truly cringe-worthy writing that will never be shown publicly like this. Perhaps this particular poem should also be lumped with all of my other efforts, but I can't help it. I truly enjoy reading it even after a decade has passed. Feel free to let me know what you think regardless of your opinion.

I love reading classic English poetry, which shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone considering the William Blake reference that comprises the title and sub-quote of this site. Authors like William Blake, Robert Burns, and many early, anonymously written songs like Sir Patrick Spens are among my favorites.

..\My Pictures

One night while Amy and I were home for Christmas at my parents' house, I couldn't sleep (which seems to be a theme with me). Not wanting to disturb Amy, I chose to spend some time sifting through stuff in my old room. My room had been turned into a storage room quite a while ago and I spied some old photographs that I had taken in a photography class about ten years ago. Some of them were just awful, but there were a handful that I still liked after a decade and I brought those home with us.

Amy bought some simple but elegant frames for them and I spent time yesterday cutting the museum-sized mounting boards to fit the smaller frames. I'm happy with the way they turned out although I wish I had cut the prints at more exact angles when I applied them to the boards a decade ago. I must say that having my own art hanging in the house is something I have never experienced before. I'm quite proud of those photographs and I'm happy to have a chance to display my work.

I can't do that with music at all. With music, I'd have to persuade anyone who comes over to spend five minutes pretending to like what I've written while we sit staring at each other in silence. This is not to say that I'd rather be a visual artist. It's just that visual art is more convenient as a conversation piece. You can look at it and use your mouth at the same time which really isn't possible with music.

Madison Madness and Money

Amy and I went to Madison last weekend to visit Evan and Sandy. On Saturday, we went to the airing of 'Michael Feldman's Whad'ya Know?' at the Monona Convention Center. I ended up getting on the show for about five seconds courtesy of a question that Dennis insisted be asked of a guest director at the Musicbox Massacre, "Which would win in a fight: an 800 pound gorilla or 800 one-pound squirrels?". Unfortunately, no answer to the question was even attempted, but it did offer me a questionable fame of the NPR variety. Proof of the event can be found at the shows website, www.notmuch.com. The date of our attendance was October 21st and I'm on near the top of the second hour of the show, probably in the third segment.

On Sunday, we made a short visit to Devil's Lake following an afternoon tour of Baraboo through various artists' homes. Local artists were showing their wares throughout the area and so we stopped at a number of them, not only admiring their craft but also partaking in some of the snacks that were available as a thank you for visiting. One place even had soup, which was a warm welcome on a rather frigid October day. We also played Artifact, the game I got from my parents a few months ago a couple of times and we can now see some of the strategies involved and how they can be turned around quickly during the endgame.

Finally, my first batch of freelance work will be coming from Rosetta Stone sometime in the next few days. It appears that this could be relatively steady work and the extra money will definitely come in handy while we still have the kitchen debt. I'm not exactly sure how I would like to manage these monies yet, though. I have always wanted to set up a seperate account for freelance audio work an have that money pay for more and better studio gear. In other words, the money made from extra audio work would go toward some kind of studio fund. That was the advice that was given to me quite a while ago and I would like to follow it, but that kitchen debt is just begging to paid. Obvioulsy, more thought will have to be given to the matter. Ultimately, I would rather have this dilemma over the problem of finding where the money is going to come from in the first place.

Quote Unquote

There are two poems I have posted on my bulletin board at work. Both of them were written by two classmates of mine from high school in a creative writing course. This stuff predates the web and anime forum poetry, but it's where I got my first taste of this level of poetic entertainment. The first poem is one of my favorites!


Poetry
Poetry is like a gun
being unloaded on a
target, which is quick
and gets right to the point.

As the bullet hits the target,
a strong emotion towards
that quick little period of time
is shot in a person's head for a long time.


Wow. No kidding! And rhyming time with time: Priceless.


end:
The end of time soon will come,
when will it happen? no one can tell.
but I'm sure when that day will finally arrive,
I'll see you in the firey pits of hell.
I'm sure in our lives we've all done something
that just wasn't right.
like drink, cuss, smoke, or provoke a fight.
I can't wait to see you all,
burning in the firey furnace called hell.
I don't care where I go, I need a tan so hell is swell.
I want to see your faces as you watch each other fry.
I know I'll see you all in hell,
everyone has told a lie.
so sit and ponder this coming day,
when you'll feel the heat greater than 10 million
sun rays.

The misused punctuation combined with an erratic use of capital letters in an off-kilter, arhythmic Hallmark-esque style singularly accentuate the duality of his fragile psyche. On one hand, the author is impassioned enough to wish that everyone burn in hell, yet he himself is so ambivalent about the idea that his attention turns to getting a tan. Genius, I say.

One for the road:

"I meant to be a serious actor with a beard who wore a lot of black and wanted to share his misery with you." --Stehpen Colbert