Richard Dansky's Blog, page 33
October 26, 2010
A Small Thought On Birthdays
I got asked two questions this weekend with alarming frequency. The first was, "Can I get you a drink?", which, as far as questions you get asked go, is a pretty good one. The other was "How does it feel to be 40?" And I gave some flip answers about roller coasters and hanging onto the last seconds of 39 and all that good stuff, but really, the magic of round numbers is largely lost on me. 40 makes a good launching off point for essays the same way 30 did - back when I was writing internet humor under the pen name "Elfpants", it served me well* - but really, I don't magically feel "older" this week than I did last week. The first time I felt "old" was when I was 22 and I found myself managing a team of QA testers comprised entirely of offspring and younger siblings of my coworkers; nary a one of them had heard of Talking Heads. From there it was a quick logical jump to "Oh, this 'feeling old' thing is relative", and so on and so forth.
So at this point, I don't look at birthdays as achievements, or checkboxes. If they're anything, they're an excuse to get to the real benefits: to gather with friends and family, to appreciate the experiences I've been lucky enough to have, and more importantly, the folks I've been lucky enough to share them with. All the rest is commentary, and possibly cake.
*To be fair, at 30 I also had a mullet, so my judgment may not have been the soundest.
So at this point, I don't look at birthdays as achievements, or checkboxes. If they're anything, they're an excuse to get to the real benefits: to gather with friends and family, to appreciate the experiences I've been lucky enough to have, and more importantly, the folks I've been lucky enough to share them with. All the rest is commentary, and possibly cake.
*To be fair, at 30 I also had a mullet, so my judgment may not have been the soundest.
October 17, 2010
Great Efforts in Futility
Attempting to have a rational debate about PEDs in sports
Trying to find health food at the North Carolina State Fair
Working to find a peaceful, equitable common ground between Yankees and Red Sox fans.
Trying to rearrange the books in this house.
That is all.
Trying to find health food at the North Carolina State Fair
Working to find a peaceful, equitable common ground between Yankees and Red Sox fans.
Trying to rearrange the books in this house.
That is all.
October 16, 2010
Dear Standing-On-The-Side-of-the-Road-Twirly-Sign Guy
If your sign is:
A)backwards
B)upside down
C)behind your back
D)spinning so rapidly as to be unreadable
or
E)on the ground because you really kind of suck at the whole "spinning the sign" thing, then it may in fact be kind of difficult for me to figure out precisely what you're trying to advertise. Which, after all, is supposed to be the point.
Love,
Richard
A)backwards
B)upside down
C)behind your back
D)spinning so rapidly as to be unreadable
or
E)on the ground because you really kind of suck at the whole "spinning the sign" thing, then it may in fact be kind of difficult for me to figure out precisely what you're trying to advertise. Which, after all, is supposed to be the point.
Love,
Richard
Sorbet lessons learned - October 2010
Late season peaches really aren't flavorful enough to make great sorbet.Using honey instead of sugar adds flavor.Using certain types of honey instead of sugar potentially adds a great deal of flavor.As a matter of fact, using certain types of honey instead of sugar adds quite a lot of flavor, which may in fact be more flavor than one actually wants or needs, especially when one is working with late-season peaches that aren't necessarily providing a tremendous amount of flavor on their own.Not knowing precisely how much honey to use instead of sugar and going on the "screw it" model of ingredient proportions may or may not have also had an effect on the final product. Possibly.And finally, being so tired when you make the sorbet that you forget to add the booze (which keeps the damn thing from seizing up into rock-like hardness) is a sign that maybe you shouldn't be making sorbet right now, and should in fact get your sleep-deprived ass to bed before 2 AM once in a while.
This has been a public service announcement. Thank you.
PS-Despite all that, it didn't come out half bad.
This has been a public service announcement. Thank you.
PS-Despite all that, it didn't come out half bad.
October 15, 2010
A side trip in Texas
Driving through Texas provides endless discovery. Three hours plus from Austin to Stephenville, mostly on two-lane state routes, and the unexpected was a constant. Crippled rivers on sheets of white limestone, hoping to make it until the rains came. Multiple museums devoted to Billy the Kid. A small colony of Philadelphia Eagles fans, deep in the heart of Cowboys country, loyal to a native son in the green and white. A marvelous gourmet chocolate shop at a crossroads in Hico, pop. roughly 3000, with parking that was positively non-Euclidean. Massive ranch gates, stone and iron and God knows what else, rising up out of the landscape, guarding roads so overgrown that it's hard to imagine them being driven in many a year. One had three words over the gate: Jesus, Lord, and Hopper. For a fan of The Muppet Movie, it made for an odd disconnect.
I learned that in Texas, passing someone has its own rules. They add a slow lane to the narrow highways on the hills, a place for the less precipitous vehicles to pull aside and let the impatient drivers behind them pass, but the hills are few and far between and short, and so there's always the risk of being stuck behind - or ahead of - someone with a very different idea of appropriate cruising speed than you. If you are the fast car, you are expected to crawl up behind the slow car in front of you until you are sitting on their bumper, and they notice you're there. If you're the slow car in front, you are expected to notice the vehicle resting its front tires on the roof of your trunk and ease over onto the shoulder at full speed to allow your pursuer to pass you, friendly-like. I was driving the smallest putt-puttmobile I could rent, which meant that I was the passee far more than I was the passer, and it took me some time - and some angry guys in pickup trucks riding my bumper - before I figured out the ritual. But mostly, I was the only car out there: me and trees and scrub, and the dissonant, out-of-place voice of Jim Rome over the car's radio. He was complaining about the horror that is going shopping with one's spouse at high-end stores. It seemed a small thing to be angsting over in the middle of a space so big.
I was out there to give a talk at Tarleton State University, which went very well. Lots of interest, lots of questions, some good followups the next day with a user interface class in the CompSci department and at lunch with some music majors who are interested in doing game music; my talk had been up against the school jazz band concert, and it would have looked awkward if the sax section had cut out mid-Mingus, I presume. All in all, a worthwhile trip, and a pleasant one, and folks on the receiving end of my brutal powerpoint bludgeoning seemed pleased that I'd come.
And on the way back, I didn't listen to Jim Rome at all, and knew enough to pull onto the shoulder as needed. It was a much more pleasant drive, but that was only to be expected.
I learned that in Texas, passing someone has its own rules. They add a slow lane to the narrow highways on the hills, a place for the less precipitous vehicles to pull aside and let the impatient drivers behind them pass, but the hills are few and far between and short, and so there's always the risk of being stuck behind - or ahead of - someone with a very different idea of appropriate cruising speed than you. If you are the fast car, you are expected to crawl up behind the slow car in front of you until you are sitting on their bumper, and they notice you're there. If you're the slow car in front, you are expected to notice the vehicle resting its front tires on the roof of your trunk and ease over onto the shoulder at full speed to allow your pursuer to pass you, friendly-like. I was driving the smallest putt-puttmobile I could rent, which meant that I was the passee far more than I was the passer, and it took me some time - and some angry guys in pickup trucks riding my bumper - before I figured out the ritual. But mostly, I was the only car out there: me and trees and scrub, and the dissonant, out-of-place voice of Jim Rome over the car's radio. He was complaining about the horror that is going shopping with one's spouse at high-end stores. It seemed a small thing to be angsting over in the middle of a space so big.
I was out there to give a talk at Tarleton State University, which went very well. Lots of interest, lots of questions, some good followups the next day with a user interface class in the CompSci department and at lunch with some music majors who are interested in doing game music; my talk had been up against the school jazz band concert, and it would have looked awkward if the sax section had cut out mid-Mingus, I presume. All in all, a worthwhile trip, and a pleasant one, and folks on the receiving end of my brutal powerpoint bludgeoning seemed pleased that I'd come.
And on the way back, I didn't listen to Jim Rome at all, and knew enough to pull onto the shoulder as needed. It was a much more pleasant drive, but that was only to be expected.
October 11, 2010
Research Techniques
While I'm at it, I need to applaud Harmonix' research techniques for getting stories of real-world band life out of dev team members for potential inclusion in Rock Band.
Guinness. Lots and lots of Guinness.
Well, damn :-)
Guinness. Lots and lots of Guinness.
Well, damn :-)
Game Narrative Summit - I survived!
Ordinarily, I'd take this space to do a detailed rundown on the Game Narrative Summit last week in Austin. But I'm not going to do that.
I mean, sure it was a great time, something I was very proud to have been on the Advisory Board for. We had great speakers. Great talks. Great extracurriculars - John Hay rocked Write Club on Tuesday night at the Ginger Man. Great conversations in the hallway, a fantastic showing from our student narrative competition winners, and rooms that were overflowing for pretty much every talk. 50 person workshop sessions and rooms rocking with laughter. Leanne Taylor being brave enough to put her writing workshop submission up on the big screen for a room full of strangers to take a whack at, inside scoops on narrative angles on Rock Band and Halo and Fallout: New Vegas, hits on narrative in social games, great academic talks courtesy of MIT folk, and, well, yeah.
Damn. I thought I wasn't going to do the detailed thing.
In any case, it wrapped up and left me exhausted, exhilarated, excited, and loaded with new ideas. I saw old friends, made new ones, and generally wallowed in the community that comes together every year at the Summit. So thanks - to my fellow board members, Tom and Lev. To Izora and Jen and Ahmad and all the folks who put the show on. To the speakers who did a great job of putting great content out there from first session to last. To John and Chris for wrangling the Game Writing SIG presence, the students who submitted posters, and the volunteers who are absolutely indispensable, and everyone who attended and made it great - thank you.
Now, to start thinking about next year.
I mean, sure it was a great time, something I was very proud to have been on the Advisory Board for. We had great speakers. Great talks. Great extracurriculars - John Hay rocked Write Club on Tuesday night at the Ginger Man. Great conversations in the hallway, a fantastic showing from our student narrative competition winners, and rooms that were overflowing for pretty much every talk. 50 person workshop sessions and rooms rocking with laughter. Leanne Taylor being brave enough to put her writing workshop submission up on the big screen for a room full of strangers to take a whack at, inside scoops on narrative angles on Rock Band and Halo and Fallout: New Vegas, hits on narrative in social games, great academic talks courtesy of MIT folk, and, well, yeah.
Damn. I thought I wasn't going to do the detailed thing.
In any case, it wrapped up and left me exhausted, exhilarated, excited, and loaded with new ideas. I saw old friends, made new ones, and generally wallowed in the community that comes together every year at the Summit. So thanks - to my fellow board members, Tom and Lev. To Izora and Jen and Ahmad and all the folks who put the show on. To the speakers who did a great job of putting great content out there from first session to last. To John and Chris for wrangling the Game Writing SIG presence, the students who submitted posters, and the volunteers who are absolutely indispensable, and everyone who attended and made it great - thank you.
Now, to start thinking about next year.
rdansky @ 2010-10-10T23:06:00
Ordinarily, I'd take this space to do a detailed rundown on the Game Narrative Summit last week in Austin. But I'm not going to do that.
I mean, sure it was a great time, something I was very proud to have been on the Advisory Board for. We had great speakers. Great talks. Great extracurriculars - John Hay rocked Write Club on Tuesday night at the Ginger Man. Great conversations in the hallway, a fantastic showing from our student narrative competition winners, and rooms that were overflowing for pretty much every talk. 50 person workshop sessions and rooms rocking with laughter. Leanne Taylor being brave enough to put her writing workshop submission up on the big screen for a room full of strangers to take a whack at, inside scoops on narrative angles on Rock Band and Halo and Fallout: New Vegas, hits on narrative in social games, great academic talks courtesy of MIT folk, and, well, yeah.
Damn. I thought I wasn't going to do the detailed thing.
In any case, it wrapped up and left me exhausted, exhilarated, excited, and loaded with new ideas. I saw old friends, made new ones, and generally wallowed in the community that comes together every year at the Summit. So thanks - to my fellow board members, Tom and Lev. To Izora and Jen and Ahmad and all the folks who put the show on. To the speakers who did a great job of putting great content out there from first session to last. To John and Chris for wrangling the Game Writing SIG presence, the students who submitted posters, and the volunteers who are absolutely indispensable, and everyone who attended and made it great - thank you.
Now, to start thinking about next year.
I mean, sure it was a great time, something I was very proud to have been on the Advisory Board for. We had great speakers. Great talks. Great extracurriculars - John Hay rocked Write Club on Tuesday night at the Ginger Man. Great conversations in the hallway, a fantastic showing from our student narrative competition winners, and rooms that were overflowing for pretty much every talk. 50 person workshop sessions and rooms rocking with laughter. Leanne Taylor being brave enough to put her writing workshop submission up on the big screen for a room full of strangers to take a whack at, inside scoops on narrative angles on Rock Band and Halo and Fallout: New Vegas, hits on narrative in social games, great academic talks courtesy of MIT folk, and, well, yeah.
Damn. I thought I wasn't going to do the detailed thing.
In any case, it wrapped up and left me exhausted, exhilarated, excited, and loaded with new ideas. I saw old friends, made new ones, and generally wallowed in the community that comes together every year at the Summit. So thanks - to my fellow board members, Tom and Lev. To Izora and Jen and Ahmad and all the folks who put the show on. To the speakers who did a great job of putting great content out there from first session to last. To John and Chris for wrangling the Game Writing SIG presence, the students who submitted posters, and the volunteers who are absolutely indispensable, and everyone who attended and made it great - thank you.
Now, to start thinking about next year.
September 28, 2010
Game Narrative Summit Writers Workshop
There are still a couple of slots open for the game writing critique workshop at the Game Narrative Summit. If you're going to be there (and I still have a 15% discount code for the Summit for those who are still on the fence). If you're interested in the workshop, send your submission to agdcwritersworkshop@gmail.com - all types of game writing are fair, err, game :-)
Thoughts on Stranded
Regardless of format wars, e-readers and the continuing economic strangeness that is Conde Nast, there's something wonderfully decadent about a well-made glossy magazine. Which is to say that my copy of Stranded finally arrived, and it is gorgeous. Having a piece in there (and with illustration, it takes up four pages - I'm such a column inch hog) makes me feel positively louche.
One of the nice things about the mag is that the "assignments" that were handed out - turn being stranded into a course of study, take pictures of a waiter, describe a local drink called a volcano - are posted with each of the pieces. And along with that are the notes of apology from people who initially got involved with the project and then were able to scurry home, and then for one reason or another didn't quite come through. It can be read one of two ways: "thanks for at least being part of it" or "it's easy to get involved in something bigger under extraordinary circumstances, but back in familiar circumstances, it's just as easy to fall away." I do not judge; read the mag yourself if you're so inclined and decide.
As for my piece, I wrote it in a mostly-empty hotel out on the far end of Heathrow, tucked in on the cheap because the smart business travelers had long since departed ahead of the badness. Susan O'Connor pointed me at the project, and, after a brief email exchange with editor Andrew Losowsky, I was offered two potential assignments: a horror story set inside the ash cloud, or something game-related. I picked the former, and ended up hammering out something very different than any other short fiction piece I've ever done.
Then again, I'd never been stranded by a volcano before.
One of the nice things about the mag is that the "assignments" that were handed out - turn being stranded into a course of study, take pictures of a waiter, describe a local drink called a volcano - are posted with each of the pieces. And along with that are the notes of apology from people who initially got involved with the project and then were able to scurry home, and then for one reason or another didn't quite come through. It can be read one of two ways: "thanks for at least being part of it" or "it's easy to get involved in something bigger under extraordinary circumstances, but back in familiar circumstances, it's just as easy to fall away." I do not judge; read the mag yourself if you're so inclined and decide.
As for my piece, I wrote it in a mostly-empty hotel out on the far end of Heathrow, tucked in on the cheap because the smart business travelers had long since departed ahead of the badness. Susan O'Connor pointed me at the project, and, after a brief email exchange with editor Andrew Losowsky, I was offered two potential assignments: a horror story set inside the ash cloud, or something game-related. I picked the former, and ended up hammering out something very different than any other short fiction piece I've ever done.
Then again, I'd never been stranded by a volcano before.
