gewgaw

So far, today is a mixed bag.

On the one hand – I got the majority of my IRB paperwork finished – so that I can run evaluation experiments in November. I still have to take the test for researcher approval (as does Ian – bleh) and write up a questionnaire for participants – but that’s nothing compared to the mountain of paperwork that I completed in the last two weeks. I also got some more forms and information from the Graduate School; they know I’m graduating soon – and it’s good to hear that coming down from above.

However, I found out that I have a hold on my student account (summer tuition somehow unpaid – a billing screwup?) which will prevent me from registering, which in turn prevents me from renewing my student ID (expired this past month) and getting onto the new health care plan… my current care expires today. So let’s all hope that a) there is some money, somewhere, earmarked for my $1,000 tuition bill, and b) I don’t break my leg in the next few weeks!

—

I stopped off at my mailbox after visiting with the student coordinator and angsting much (tho really, all it did was make me feel worse). Deep in a funk, I shuffled through the pile. And nestled between academic press catalogs and random university spam, was a package from Souris!!

Inside were two cute tee’s from the PAX Athletica game campaign… a series of Olympics-type games to be developed for cell phones! Peace in competition, brotherhood in achievement. Today that really hit home.

In addition to the shirts: a bunch of buttons with individual competitors. Can you guess who my favorite is? Wrong! It’s the shot-put guy – because he has a mustache!!! Tho… who knows. Maybe the jet-pack lady has one too, under her helmet?

:)

Thanks Smartgirl NYC, for the smiles. I needed that!

Reading the BBC convention weblog, I found this Rove gem:

“Wealth is too important to be left to limousine liberals”

Fast on its heels, another terror tidbit:

“There is only one way to win the war on terrorism, and that is to chase the enemy to the ends of the earth and utterly destroy them”

WTF? Is he channeling Darth Vader? How is it that people can listen to such rhetoric, and cheer? Are they mindless? Waiting for the return of Hitler? Does this crap really float?

Watching convention coverage in drips and drabs, it’s a little easier for me to understand. People are getting little in the way of journalism with their news these days. Maybe it’s time to clarify some definitions.

—

I for one, have decided to spend at least a little time each week writing about how this whole mess makes me feel.

I don’t like to think aloud about global politics because it depresses me – makes me painfully aware of how little torque I exert on the system at large. And that leads to a lot of complaints and incredulous whining (see above).

But that’s a crappy attitude – and as we’ve seen, there’s enough crap out there already. Like Justin (and Carl), I hope for better times despite overwhelming pressures and piles of discouraging information. I, too, want to be brighter and stronger for future generations of humanity.

Have patience, as I sift through a bunch of apathy and frustration (and the positive posts of friends), looking for clues.

My brain is fried.

Partly it’s travel: I’m in SF again for another visit, some job stuff, and apparently one of the hottest weekends of the summer. I left a humid but cool Chicago to arrive in a sunny and breezeless Bay. 88 degrees today – I got a sunburn just walking to lunch!

But the better part of it is thinking. In the last week I’ve been totally engrossed in a paper on the science of design that has rekindled the flames of my earliest interests in AI, while revealing the structure that best explains the outcome of my thesis work. I stumbled upon it, really, as with most such thought/events. I am glad for these accidents.

—

As the idea moves through my brain, I can feel ripples. I find myself going back to books from my very first computer science class – reviewing notes and projects that I completed in the first phases of my graduate career. Even now, as I watch the last few episodes of Cosmos, I can feel the connections firing – creating a lasting expression of the thought and all its ramifications for my past, present, and future work.

It’s my favorite feeling – the sudden appearance of a mysterious shadow – a fourth dimension of thought, I suppose… hazily transcribed across the reaches of my mind. Intuition, inspiration, creativity, insight – it has many names. But for me the feeling is like stretching just after sleep… grasping the threads of unconcious processes while pushing the delightful sensation of waking action to the tips of my body. A mix of forgetting and remembering that crystalizes in a bright sigh of joy.

—

In times like this, the synthesis demands all of my attention and I find it hard to focus on short-term needs or goals – and even conversations are difficult. I feel an overwhelming urge to processes externally, through dialog and drawing, with every person I contact. Paul, I’m sure, is glad that I left the house after two days of constant, deep, philosophical discussion about the nature of design thinking, human intelligence, research projects and the impact of innovative memes. Perhaps with many miles between us, he can finally write in peace!

Alas, this trip required much attention to the short term – especially with respect to future employment. And caught between two conflicting goals, my brain is fighting back… with headaches. I wake up with a headache (three days now). I drink water, take Advil, drink some tea, eat… and maybe by noon it gets better. If not, it hangs around most of the day, aggravated by heat and staring at the computer. I don’t normally get headaches – and for that I am also glad.

—

So strange, how the body reinforces certain needs. Typing becomes painful, staring at the screen a chore – my brain asks instead for paper, pen, and a quiet place to contemplate. I feel happy about this because it’s a wonderful activity: thinking, connecting, concretizing. But I also fear it – because it’s so tempting to stay in that place, dwelling on the myriad of connections – until there is nothing of substance to report on.

Hopefully by the time I return to Chicago, I will have a good grip on this new set of ideas – committing the deeper and more important structures to paper. I’ve written about 15 pages in my notebook so far, tho much of it is redundant. It is in what I call the 5 minute form. When it’s down to a minute, I will feel better.

I the meantime – just trying to give my brain the space to process. Doing mindless tasks and resting eyes, hands and mouth so that things percolate within. More in a few days….

I’ve always seen clothes, jewelry and makeup as a science of sorts – tools to experiment with, an opportunity to create. When I bit down (hard) on the styles of punk and goth, my interest in clothes was bolstered with rhetoric. Fashion and look became (and remained, to some extent) part of a larger commentary – ways to communicate a message.

Wandering around at Ozzfest, I felt a tinge of nostalgia. Unlike the gaget-savy preppie teens of this NYTimes article, young ‘Fest fans exhibited a mic of cheap, jumbled signifiers. What looked at first like a sea of black t-shirts and jeans was actually a complex blend of piercings, makeup, hair-styles and labels. Addidas meeting Element meeting hair metal. Crushingly innocent, in a “don’t tread on me” kind of way. And often, a little hard on the eyes.

—

Maybe it’s a lifetime of sensitivity to look and message that has me so tweaked about fashion and tabloid rags this season. Maybe I’m overreacting. But the checkout aisle at my local mega-grocer feels like an all-out assault.

In the last year or two, it seems that standard ploys (glossy, airbrushed flesh in sparkling, couture dresses) have gradually given way to the theme of “transformation”. From The Swan, to Body Work – television shows and magazines foreground the memes of plastic surgery.

Increasingly, concepts like “aging gracefully” are deconstructed along with the lifestyles and habits of media figures. On the same cover, Kirstie Alley faces off with Mary-Kate – who is worse, they ask? Next to it, a tabloid showcases “Star Flaws” with ill-timed photos of celebrities in odd positions (I assume, heavily doctored). “Think they’re perfect? Think again!”

—

In all this I find myself reviewing the “makeovers” of my past – when a haircut and a few new colors (or the absence of color) accompanied a change in attitude or venue… transforming me from an awkward duckling to a pouty goth, from a slightly preppy freshman to a fat-pants urban raver, from a shorn, pro-girl geek to a put-together world traveler. All those looks in the last 10-12 years.. and no surgery required!!

I find myself wondering about our obsession with transformation. I’m thinking about transformation as a game. Would it be possible to explicitly play with the conventions of makeup and clothes, so that people from all walks learned how their choices spoke (or shouted) to others? Could you do this while teaching lessons about positive self-image, and helping people see the true costs of “looking good” as it is defined in popular culture? Could you promote anti-objectifying transformation skills?

—

So I’m looking at sims and fashion games. Already I’ve gotten pointers to a couple of great sites – including this app which allows you to transform plain doll faces into covergirls via the application of makeup (lips, cheeks, eyes), hair and other accessories. That is – unless you’d prefer to make an electroclash punk.

Basically – I want to transform the (already obsession-inducing) activity of character creation into a full-featured game – much like the “fashion victim” career in The Sims: Bustin’ Out. But with twists, humor, and empowering insights.

If you have links to fashion games – send them. I’m on a mission!

So it’s finally happened – so much going on that I just don’t have the energy to really write down my thoughts. Worse – my wrist is acting up again, something fierce. I took Saturday off from typing all together but I can still feel it freak every time I use my pinky. Not fun.

—

Several years ago, when I was working full-time as an interface designer in the UChicago AI lab, I was diagnosed with an aggrivated ulnar condition similar to the one that Brian talked about a week or so ago. It comes from an old injury – sprained my right wrist while doing stunts on a balance beam (bad fall from an improperly spotted double back walkover, for you gymnastics fans out there) when I was in second or third grade. As a result my ulna is about 10 microns out of step with my radius.

What does that mean? When I move my right hand from side to side, my right wrist pops audibly. I demonstrated this for the doctor, as I often had – a party trick of sorts. And he informed me that this was the sound of my wristbone smashing into my armbone. Gah!

There were many x-rays and much discussion. I was using the mouse a lot to draw, and so my wrist was popping enough to entrap my ulnar nerves and create serious tingling, numbness and shooting pains. The specialist suggested operating (breaking my arm, shaving a bit off, and re-setting it). I declined, balking at the 6 month no-type zone and success-rate guesswork.

—

With training, wrist guards and revised habits, it got better. But in my rush to finish, I’ve been lazy. Typing in bed a lot lately on a small laptop keyboard, typing for long periods without breaks. This, and all the mousing for Gems edits has aggravated it. Not climbing can’t be good either – as my wrists become progressively weaker from inactivity.

I can’t just stop typing, but I am going to revisit my braces and cut back as much as possible. And so… here’s the update. Since our last visit I:

a) Went to Ozzfest and it “fucking rocked” as Lulu would say. Saw Slayer, Judas Priest, and Black Sabbath – original lineups!! Much coordinated headbanging and guitar thrashing. I took some photos with my phone – if I ever get them off of the device, I’ll post them with my impressions of the show. Which, as I said, fucking rocked. Encouraged by Matt, I shouted “Priest!” several times with enthusiasm… which I don’t do a lot these days. A great way to spend the day not typing.

b) Went to see Corporation. I had all sorts of thoughts about it afterwards, and am *still* processing the information I absorbed while watching it. In lieu of writing up a complex analysis – I want to encourage you to go see it. Really. It has had lasting impact on my thoughts, behavior and life planning. I’d be shocked if it didn’t effect you in a similar way – regardless of your political standing, personal or professional politics.

ouple more things I’d like to mention – but in the interest of saving my wrist I think I’ll just bail and wish you all well. Love to friends with writers block, stubborn partners, irritating bosses and tough decisions on the horizon. I plan to use most of my keyboard time to write important documents and email will be curt. Forgive me, hopefully it’s just temporary.

Today on my way home from the grocery store, I stopped in at the library and picked up the last copy of my favorite free weekly: the Chicago Reader. It’s the equivalent of Time Out here – listings for music and art shows, plays, film reviews (Jonathan Rosenbaum is the house critic), and so on.

My favorite feature of the paper is relatively new: the comic stylings of Chris Ware. Previously housed in the weaker weekly (New City), Ware made the switch a year (or was it two?) ago – but kept the large, color format we all love so much. I’ve been clipping his comics since I first moved here (was it really 13 years ago?) – tho recently, with all my other chaos, I’ve slacked. And I feel kinda bad about that (even if it is a compulsive behavior)!

So stopping off at the library seemed like a good idea. I double-checked to make sure the comic-carrying section was in there (it was the last full copy) and popped it into my bag. Later, sitting down to a snack, I got ready to indulge in a little more of his morose pictorial (as of late about a melancholic, single, female amputee). But the cover stopped me dead.

—

In “Paddles of Fire”, Josh Schonwald introduces professional table tennis player Ilija Lupulesku – a four-time Olympic medalist living in Ravenswood, by way of Yugoslavia. The article chronicles Lupi’s early start (a national champ by 14), a rocket-ride to fame and fortune, cut short in the mid 90’s by civil war. An interesting tale, and well told (unlike many Reader covers).

So why is he here? In 2000, Lupi accepted a position with Team Killerspin a table tennis equipment and attire startup, brainchild of a Chicago-based entrepreneur. Table tennis (”Amateurs play ping-pong“) is not exactly popular here in the states – but Killerspin hopes to change all that. The team features young hopefuls and a handful of spry, sexy female players who are known to bare midriff during competition. Hot!

While Lupi is about at his career max (he’s 36 – his first Olympic games were in 88!), he’s ready to coach. The article concludes with a promise that upon returning from Athens, he’ll open up a professional club with 8-10 tables. Lupi encourages Chicago-area players to stop by. “I give you a few lessons, and you will see. You will beat your friends.”

Look out, you guys. That’s all I’m gonna say.

Could this rumor be true?

Ok I lied about not thinking big thoughts. In fact – I spent a good portion of my weekend working on my answers to Public Beta’s hard questions about video games. Finally!

I wasn’t sure how it would go – some of the are pretty open-ended, and I was afraid I’d ramble. But I guess all this writing about put me in the right mindset. I felt really happy with the piece I turned in, and am looking forward to reading what others have written.

Iain informs me that indeed, the book, shirts, and magazine (for which I will hopefully do some photography and writing) are all forthcoming. I simply cannot wait!

Until then, back to thesis, Gems edits and Noah’s piece (also loooong overdue).

Trudge, trudge, trudge…

After 15 years of work, a couple of researchers at the U of C have demonstrated the quantum entanglement on a macroscopic level, by studying the behavior of salt at near absolute zero temps.

It turns out that twiddling the magnetic field around a sample allowed them to asses the magnetic poles (or spins) of the salt’s atoms. With careful charges, they jarred the atoms out of their quantum-mechanical superposition, demonstrating that pairs of atoms were bonded – despite Newtonian laws which say they should freeze. A relatively simple experiment, it may have far-reaching implications for quantum computing.

—

I have been thinking about experiments these days as well. Lord knows I won’t have the time to run nearly as many (or as complex, or sound) experiments as I’d like. But if I had time, access to a tricked-out lab, several assistants, and hundreds of subjects – what would I do?

Think big, about simple truths! Like the salt experiment, I’d love to test our fundamental assumptions about why people enjoy games. To see if I could stand conventional wisdom on its ear!

Typing notes, my ideas come out in a jumbled mass. Do people really stop feeling immersed if they get help? Do hardcore gamers really prefer to play the harder settings? If you give someone the *illusion* that they are playing the harder version – will they notice if it gets easier or changes? How hard is too hard? How much frustration is too much frustration? What are the boundaries for the newest of the newbies, and hardest of the hardcore? Who are the hardcore? Could you trust self-labeling, or would you have to test for that, too?

If you deconstruct the terms of these statements, you’re soon asking questions about age and lifestyle (polls courtesy of Ars Technica). After that, gender, genre preferences, exposure… social factors. An endless trail of potential influences w/r/t game immersion and enjoyment. I hate to say it – but designing a solid test for difficulty is going to be difficult!

—

Without an army of researchers and another year, I’ll barely scratch the surface of these things. In fact – most of the questions I find interesting are outside the scope of my thesis – and my discipline! It’s always that way with me: get interested in one thing, only to find the grass is greener for learning on the other side of a departmental fence.

Funny: that’s why I chose the U of C in the first place. As the story goes, they teach you to “live the life of the mind” – following knowledge (or questions) across disciplinary lines.

And according to this researcher (from Chicago as well), ’tis a key component of creativity. No need to figure out amazing things (like our salt spinners) – just combine fresh ideas with fertile contexts. And avoid bad gossip on the way!

Yeah! Forget that life of the mind crap! I should see about those Multiply invites!

While I was busy enjoying an awesome day here in Chicago, family and friends were preparing for the worst in Florida, and later, North Carolina. A few phone calls confirmed that everyone is safe, and damage was minimal.

—

My father was calm, if a little tired, when I called. We chatted about downed power lines and fallen trees. My brother had to help him take down two pines that fell on the property – nothing quite so bad as seen in some places. Still, the screen over the pool was damaged, and the entrance to their subdivision was blocked. I’m sure there will be plenty to discuss at the next homeowners association meeting!

Power was his only real concern, as living without air conditioning is hard in that area, and food spoils quickly in the heat. “It’s times like these when you realize just how many little things you’re used to. All the modern conveniences,” he said. “But what can you do? If it spoils, it spoils, right? I suppose we’ll just have to eat four meals a day!”

—

Despite projections that the hurricane would avoid most of Central Florida, my dad had stored up on water, and gas for the grill. Mom joked about eating tuna from a can, but he prepared for steaks. Better safe than sorry – heard it all my life. Once again his foresight and planning proved invaluable. No worries at the Hunicke household – nothing to do but try and stay cool.

Just as we started to discuss the “big picture” – human frailty in the face of nature – our call was inturrupted. Things were beeping; the power was back up. “Wow,” he said, after quieting several electronic devices. “That is a good feeling.” My brother is probably relieved too – he was taking two minute showers to save hot water, and planning on eating at my parents house because he had no way to cook. “Man, you should have seen it,” he said. “It was really something.”

—

Of course if I *were* there, I’d be taking photos. Surveying snaps of the damage you can see that many were not as fortunate as my folks. Homes were crushed, entire stories blown away.

In addition to truck-toppeling gusts, flooding surged – and more rain is on the way. In fact, there’s another storm brewing south of Barbados now. Here’s hoping it won’t get too big, and that this guy doesn’t have any visitors.

Still the same old Florida.

Well – some things have changed. This storm has its very own web log.

—

Thoughts and well wishes to all those with loved ones effected by the storm – and rescue crews working to restore order and aid victims. If you can, donate here.

I am having a fabulous day. I woke up to the news that FontFont would, indeed, help ease the burden of typing in high style. Click, click and click… voila! Beautiful fonts, trickling down through the style options on my thesis template. I printed the first chapter just to see – delicious!

As if that wasn’t enough to keep me writing – I got some encouraging email from Ken, who agreed to sit on my committee. The prof I’m corresponding with regarding IRB approval also wrote. I’m now armed with his advice on setting up my tests, and a list of must-do paperwork from the departmental student coordinator. Rollin, rollin, rollin – keep that diss-train rollin!

—

This afternoon, a bunch of us got together for lunch and movie, courtesy of the CS Graduate Events fund. Shrimp with pineapple, followed by Beat Takeshi’s Zatoichi – fantastic!

The film follows a wandering, blind samurai. As ususal, the “just passing through” fiction unravels, exposing a fine web of intreague – plots like boxes in boxes. Each new tableau is a bloody, emotionally trying experience – touched with humor and wit.

Midway through the film, a vengeful orphan recalls the moment her brother lost his innocence (takeing his first customer, disguised as a girl). Afterwards, hands like delicate doves – he practices a traditional dance… executing the moves with unparallelled grace.

Flashing forward, she calls her geisha brother to practice once more. As the shot cuts from adult, to child, and back – we see how he has transformed – mastering his role. Even as he triumphs, she is bent with shame. It’s a stunning combination.

When the parties responsible for the orphans’ plight are sliced to pieces, it hardly seems enough. With brief strokes, Takeshi expertly illustrates injustice, draws on our thirst for revenge.

The film masterfully capitalizes on this – whetting your appetite for the righteous slaying of foes, and then satiating your thirst… with dancing! It concludes with a taiko drum and stomp/tap number that explodes with sound and color. Each cast member appears – as in a curtain call, including the orphans as adults, morphed into children, and back to adults. Dancing!

All that energy bound up in waiting for justice (which is at best, an end to further suffering) is transformed into happiness. You can’t help but laugh. Despite the grim subject matter and arid, Brectian sets – we all left smiling.

—

Back at the office, I met several new grad students – here from China to work with, Professor Chen nice to see new faces here. Even as I leave I feel more a part of the place than ever.

I walked upstairs with these students to check my mailbox – and found a gift! A kind reader who traveled to France (to watch the Tour) sent me a postcard (with Lance!) and a LiveStrong armband! Thanks, Alan – I’m wearing it right now. PS: Look in your mailbox next week for a little something in return.

In my virtual mailbox: an invitation to see Erase Errata at the Fireside Bowl (that should be awesome), and a link to an inspiring review of Katamari, which is now scheduled for release in the states. Joy, yes. Beauty yes! I think I’ll go home and play it some more!

Because on top of all this – it’s Friday! The 13th! Ha!

“They are nothing more than pixilated minstrel shows,” said Joe Morgan, a telecommunications executive in Manhattan who is black and is helping rear his girlfriend’s 7-year-old son, who plays video games. Mr. Morgan argues that games like the Grand Theft Auto sequel, which was described glowingly and at length in a game magazine the boy recently brought home, are dangerously reinforcing stereotypes.

“A lot of young people are unable to discern between reality and satirical depictions,” he said. “It makes them very vulnerable.”

this NY Times article on diversity and games, by way of Gonazlo. Interesting to see Eidos and Ubisoft nestled together at the bottom of the first page, as peas in the pod of stereotypical dipictions…

I wonder if Morgan would consider sending his kid to a camp like the one I met with yesterday – encourage him to go out there and build a better mousetrap, so to speak? There wasn’t a single black kid in the class.

I finished the Scrabble book last night. As I drifted to sleep, all-caps words rearranged themselves before my eyes. I imagined Fatsis poring over his word lists, on the train from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Even now – questing for a 1700+ rating…

In the morning, I got up early. I’d volunteered (along with my office mate) to give a presentation to the students of a programming summer camp. At 1:00, we spent an hour chatting with 20 middle school kids (19 boys, 1 girl) about our work.

The students are “gifted”, learned C++ in three weeks, and are working on games as their final projects. I was in gifted classes as a kid, too – it was the first place I encountered computers (Apple II, drawing and typing programs). Games would have been *much* cooler.

Nothing is quite like a 12 or 13 year-old kid. Stuck between small and big, full of excitement and ideas but short on experience – hormones kickin in (some) or standing them up (most). It was fun. Rob talked about the programming side of things, I talked about design. Then we took questions, discussed games, and goofed off.

Their favorite game (voting by shout-out): Halo.

—

Afterwards I talked with Rob about his dissertation work.

The question: should the program be the defender, or initiate the breakup? Specifically – what’s the most natural/engaging activity for a player? Coming to the dialog with little back story and improvising reasons for the split, or fishing for clues and then turning the program’s words against it – staving off a breakup? I voted for the latter (tho Rob has the preliminary implementation of the former completed).

I have… experience with breakup conversations – so I had expectations, concerns, strategies. But trying to initiate a breakup with the bot felt odd. I wasn’t sure who I was talking to. Didn’t know how to handle the bot’s bruised feelings, sad self-recriminations, and attacks. I figure, if the roles were reversed – it would be the *program’s* responsibility to inform me of why things were changing. This way, I could draw out the information with questions, and then manipulate things to my advantage – try and convince the program otherwise. Evil!

But either way – it’s a hard problem. After discussing the representation and strategy issues for both roles, I suggested that he try building the aggressor and then have both bots chat “against” each other. See what that produces. Might be interesting!

—

After this conversation, however – I was exhausted. Lecturing is tiring – design thinking even more so. I packed up and headed home for a nap.

But not before completing one more item on my task list! I stopped off at Borders to buy a style manual. The paperbacks (MLA Handbook, Thesis’ Writer’s Handbook, etc) looked thin and watery, like soup from a can. The thick, creamy, linen-bound 15th edition of the Chicago Manual of Style – that’s a meal. As I plunked down cash for the nerdly bible of my alma mater, I couldn’t help but think of Fatsis and his Scrabblers.

On the train ride home, I fell in love with the typesetting. I thumbed to the back, curious about the fonts. Scala – courtesy of Martin Majoor, circa 1994.

Hrm. At FontFont I could get the Serif and Sans for ~$350. That’s a lot of clams! The Manual was a bit extravagant – this would be… irresponsible. I do some figuring. What if I eat… soup from a can? Nope, no way I can afford them.

So I wrote some email. Asked the kind folks at FontFont to save me from Times Roman. Never hurts to ask, right?

More when (if) I hear back!

Being productive is a pain. Keeping to a tight schedule is difficult, cramps my style, and makes me want to act out in small ways. My whole life, it seems, has been a long struggle between an impulsive nature and the desire to make things that I care about better – somehow.

But… what do I do, when I “waste time”, exactly? What are my verbs?

—

I come from a family of carpenters, gourmands, gardeners, artists, bookworms and worriers. Slacking off from one task usually leads to something else on “the list” – which is neverending, it seems.

When I’m not learning about (or how to), I’m doing. When I’m supposed to do, I often experience, nurture or make for others (as with the care packages I’m busy assembling). Play was my one guilty pleasure – but even *that* is now happily filed under work, creativity and intellectual exploration.

Progress, progress, progress! Is this just a sham? Is it unhealthy? Must everything in my life be about creating a larger, integrated picture? Can’t I just fuck off sometimes?

—

I’ve been putting all my dissertation notes and writing into official format – out of their curlers and into an evening dress. It’s inspiring – but intimidating. So many rules about pagination, fonts and style… I have to go the book store tomorrow and choose a manual. That sounds so final!

Of course I find myself wanting to print the document in an open, san-serif font. Century Gothic is giving me goosebumps. Will they allow it over at the graduate school admin office? I doubt it. Times Roman – how drab!

Such are the struggles of a dissertating graduate student. In the midst of a particularly difficult paragraph (it sounds so silly to say that) I realized my stomach was grumbling. I needed to take a break, think about something else. I needed to eat!

—

Sitting at the kitchen table, I devoured a tuna sandwich, half a bag of baby carrots – and a few more pages of the Scrabble book. It’s late in the game now (he’s up to a 1500 rating), and Fatsis is contemplating “expertise”. He consults experts, even, who tell him that true knowledge comes from practice. The key, they say – is

moving beyond “maintenance practice”, or simply playing a lot of Scrabble, which is what the hobbyists do (and what I did on my living room floor early on), to “deliberate practice,” what Charness calls the “technical, draining, attention-demanding” work that can only be conducted in short sessions, a maximum of three to four hours a day, in the case of writers and musicians.”

How much practice? Some say 10 years, others, tens of thousands of hours. But really – at that scale, do the numbers matter? Stick with it, is the message. Have patience. Believe. It is all leading to something.

—

I packed up the book and went back to my writing – but I was still stuck. I stared at the page. I realized that I’d reached my daily limit with the writing. I made a note in my calendar to ask Ian about it in our meeting tomorrow, and gave up for the day.

Then I read some email. A friend of mine is experiencing a deeply depressing writer’s block. I shared about my own snags and blocks, explained about the 10 year thing (we both started our respective paths about 10 years ago) and encouraged her to start blogging!

Complain to the faceless masses! Receive supportive email from friends and strangers alike! Amuse and entertain and inform – and start those little idea gears turning. Pretty soon you’re cranking out all manner of ideas, and the block just kind of fades. At least – that’s how it worked for me.

All this – and I believe her blog would be truly insightful – voicing a perspective that’s uniquly compassionate, twisted and… strangely spiritual, for lack of a better word (shame on me, Scrabble gods). It would be valuable! Worthwhile! Progress!

I am driven to infect even those closest to me, it seems…

—

Surfing around from typepad (which I referred her to), I found Seth Godin’s recent post on Chinese consumption. I then read this, which led to this and eventually, this.

Ambitious. Slick. Slightly pat? A strange blend of b school, web design and activism. A whole new network of people sharing, working… even writing about games. Turning those idea gears – on purpose!

And here I was, feeling like an oddball about *my* deliberate practice…

—

ps: this is awesome.

BBC reports that the popular Chinese novel Outside the Fortress Besieged will be released via SMS to millions of subscribers over the next year:

The work has been cut down to 4,200 characters and will be distributed as 60 chapters of 70 characters each.

As well as getting the novel in SMS chunks, Chinese mobile phone users can choose to have it read to them over the phone or they can read it themselves on a webpage for mobiles.

The title is taken from a French proverb which says that marriage is like a fortress besieged because those outside want to get in, and those inside want to get out.

According to Xinhua (the paper that reported on the novel’s release), phone users sent over 220 billion text messages last year alone… “more than half of all messages sent in the world.”

Saturday afternoon, I took a nap because I was tired, and my network connection was down. I had a vivid dream.

In this dream, I was a young Chinese boy. I lived in the mountains with my family, where we herded yaks. I was a beautiful place, a farm, in a small village full of people who doted on me.

One day my father came home and said we were moving. I was excited, and worked hard to pack up our things. We went for a long way, from our old home to the new one – it was really quite an adventure. It took a long time (we were in a caravan, moving slowly) but the camping and sights made me feel so grown up. I was excited.

Then we arrived. It was an old farm – the home of a now-dead relative. Larger than our old farmhouse, but drafty and rickety. Colder.

There was a storm, and it rained – and rain came through the roof. I was drinking tea and eating rice – and the water kept splashing in my tea. I became furious, and knocked the tea to the ground, stomping and screaming, throwing a tantrum. It wasn’t like before, I shouted. I wanted to go back!

My father was stern, silent. He told me to clean up the mess, and turned back to his dinner.

So I spread out a long billowing yellow cloth. I watched it soak up the stain – and watched drops falling on it from the roof. And then, I balled up the fabric, and took it to the corner, and fell into it, weeping inconsolably.

In that moment, I knew that I could not go back. I was no longer a baby, my childhood was over, it would never be the same. And I was sad to have changed, to have to grow up.

I cried and cried… and then, I woke up.

—

It is hard to give up things, to give up on them. Even when we know that the change is for the better, it can be difficult to move forward, really. Physically we move from place to place, job to job, relationship to relationship. We grow older, but inside, we carry around hopes, ideals, memories of how things were better once, or how they could have been.

Is this dream about graduate school? A breakup? Literally, childhood lost? I’m not sure. But it shook me, and I have been thinking about it all weekend.

—

In an attempt to make myself feel better, I OCD’d. Cleaned my house, blocked out my schedule and set all manner of goals and tasks for myself this week with my writing. Culled unused items from my wardrobe, outlined and edited, trimmed and cared for all my plants and fish. Cutting, adding – making changes. Trying to come to terms with the in-between time that’s ahead.

And finally, I began to log and post my photos from my last bay visit. Looking at them made me hungry – and dare I say it, homesick.

I wish all game reviews had as much character, humor, and wit as Tom Chick’s recent piece on Doom3. Worth the read, job well done.

Not so sure how I feel about Nintendo’s “girl friendly” repackaging & marketing of the SP, tho. I think that I think that it sucks… except that it’s so goofy, it’s kind of awesome.

Either way, I am clearly failing to channel Mr. Chick. So I’ll stop now.

Ok remind me never to diss my love of shoes, ever again.

At the beginning of the week, I got email from a member of my Orkut shoe community (which I started back in January), asking if we could change the photo (of my hot pink slut pumps) to something new. “It’s a nice picture – but there so many nicer shoes!”

Hrm. I filed it for later, because I was busy – figuring I’d take a poll and see what people thought would be better. Today, as I was blocking out my calendar for the next week – I got *another* shoe community email:

Subject: Hello! I admire your work…

I have to tell you how much I admire your brilliant idea…Such a simple topic was able to gather more than 4 thousand people around the same interest, and so easily! I have visited your page, and my admiration only got bigger…Makes me think about all the possibilities of this new kind of media. I would feel really honored if you sent me your ideas on this subject.

Kind regards,

Heloisa

4 thousand? What was she smoking?

—

Well, it looks like shoes are a more popular topic than I ever would have expected. A quick check revealed that my community has, indeed, grown exponentially in the last two months. I wonder if Orkut publishes stats on that sort of thing?

Not only has the shoe community soared in popularity – it’s taken off within the Portuguese-speaking world, in particular. The posts reflect an 80/20 split Non-English to Enlglish… and my ability to moderate is waning with each passing day. Zapatos, yes – I can read that, and register the posts that voice excitement about sexy shoes, women in shoes, etc. But detecting spam, unwanted posts, etc.. that’s just beyond me.

I wrote to the Orkut folks and asked if there was a way to manage the threads based on language – some meta-thread categorization option that I didn’t see on the community manager page. If you know of one, please email me. Alternately, if you speak Portuguese, and LOOOOVE shoes, drop me a line. Perhaps we can start an offshoot community.

—

4,000 and counting – man. A dollar from each forum member would be… almost a whole year of school loans!

Shoes: who knew?

Today I decided to come up to Evanston and finish setting up my office. I’ve been avoiding the office because it’s filled with random small things that need filing, pitching or seeing to in some way or another. Today the weather was beautiful, so I decided that a trip was in order.

As discussed yesterday, I feel pressed pretty much constantly, but I’m working on that. I played some Mario Golf on the way up – beating another one of the gated course mini-games (Dunes level) just as my stop appeared. I was relaxed, even as the giant 80’s silkscreen I carried (destined for my wall) blew in the warm, gusty winds.

I get in – and just as I finish hanging the picture (and spreading out all my other options to select companion pieces) Ian shows up with a photo crew. “We’re looking for a good place to take a photo!”

—

Don’t get me wrong – I have no problem letting people use my office for photos. I mean – it’s flattering that my space is interesting (and random) enough to act as a helpful background. But I found myself getting more and more tense as the shoot dragged on.

This office is small – smaller than my old office by 1/3. And with 5 people in it, moving around (all over my limited edition Epoxy and Berlin posters!)… I started to feel pretty claustrophobic. A few re-arrangements for the photos (my stuff is often precariously balanced, teetering at the touch) and I was in knots.

I tried to pass the time by making small talk with Sam the photographer – a nice guy. This led to a discussion of cameras, shooting conditions in the office – eventually the Sun Times photograph session, the article, and finally games. Would you believe it: a high school friend and her beau are now at Maxis!

But of course, this conversation reminded me of all the pressing details of my pre-graduation life which got me nervous again. By the time they left, my hands were shaking. That can’t be good.

—

It’s been a while now since they left. I took some time to arrange my things again, and set about putting up the posters – including a new set of postcards by Yoshitomo Nara that I picked up on my trip.

For some reason, this kind of thing takes a mood. I tried to do it before I left for California, but nothing seemed to work. Today, with the new images, and the stress – something clicked. In addition to my final arrangement, I drew on the wall with chalk – swirls and small stems with .. I dunno. Bulbs or something at the ends. Yellow w/blue accents. It’s my favorite office wall yet.

—

Sitting back down at my desk for some lunch, I realized: my awesome pencil case is missing! I’d taken it out so that I could swap in some of the pens I got on this trip – and it must have gotten lost (or borrowed) in the hustle of visitors. Boo! Hiss!

Good thing I have Rachel’s compass, eraser friends, inspiring note paper and bionic supersticker to cheer me up… not to mention this awesome footage of unapologetic, enthusiastic, kick-ass, competitive game geekery. Woo! Yes!

I have been thinking a lot lately about cost, as many of you know. Between financial constraints, time constraints and the ultimate question (ie: What did I just spend the last 6 years of my life trying to do?) I sometimes feel like an inefficient, fleshy calculator.

This morning, for instance, I woke up thinking about my writing and editing tasks. How much did I have to complete before leaving for Evanston? Should I eat and shower and *then* work – or eat, work and then shower? Would biking to the office save me a few minutes (I had to run some errands anyhow) or should I take the train and try to read during the commute? The walk from the train to the B School, an hour spent in therapy, the papers waiting for me at home… each a slice of my productivity, tiny grains of sand worth more to me than ever before.

It feels odd to live my life in this kind of perpetual crunch. I can see it for what it is: thesis tunnel vision. I imagine that there are lots of people (friends working on games, for example) who feel this way all the time. But I don’t know how they do it!

—

In an effort to trim back my daily duties, I’m declaring the clam count over. The next two months should be relatively easy compared to my meager July – but I don’t want to end it without reflecting.

The experiment revealed two things to me:

1) When I put my mind to it (and rely *heavily* on the kindness of others), I can almost scrape by on air. I have wonderful friends and colleagues, and I love all of you so very, very much. Muchas Gracias!

2) Even when flat-ass broke, I’m still prone to senseless implulse purchases. Non-budget (frivolous, needless, indulgent) items accounted for about a third of my total spending in July – offset only by the cash I made doing random favors for sympathetic friends (I finished the month about $40 up, all told).

Was I hedging, knowing I’d come out somewhat ahead? Not really. I’d like to claim the ability to manage those kinds of margins on the fly- but I can’t. Until I consult the web page or ATM, my balance is a bunch of question marks. For any kind of long-term progress, this is going to have to change.

So – this month, I’m going to write expenses in a little book, and manage my balance. Not as exciting as blogging it – and certainly, less advertising for free dinner donations. But probably better, in the long run. This grasshopper gotta get her act togetha!

—

In the mornings, I’ve been reading Word Freak, which my house sitters left here when passing through. I’ve never been a Scrabble nut – tho I do enjoy the occasional triple-word score. In the unofficial terminology, I’m at best a good “living room player”. But it’s fascinating to read about the game as viewed from an aspiring pro.

It doesn’t hurt that Fatsis is an accomplished sportswriter – insightful, funny sometimes brutally honest – and more in touch with his inner geek on each passing page. On 114, stalled at a sub-pro rating, but continually inspired by his pro interviewees (fast becoming friends) he writes:

For the moment, I wonder… what my obsession is proving. Maybe nothing. Maybe more than I care to admit. With the board and tiles and word books splayed across my living room, and my regular circuit of tournaments, and leaving work early on Thursdays to get to the club on time, I have managed to reorder my life so that I can play a board game. This doesn’t seem healthy, especially because I still suck. But it doesn’t seem avoiadable, either. I entered this world because it was a curiosity, a good story. Then it became an infatuation. I’m having trouble typing these words, but right now Scrabble is the most important thing in my life

I think back to the early days of my graduate career, when I hadn’t quite settled on games – when “story” and “memory” were the vague focus of my AI studies. All those books on cognition, psychology, drama, creativity, design, gender – growing dustier and dimmer in the face of a few volumes on play, games and game development…

As I transitioned to writing and producing thoughts, the games became the text. They litter *my* living room floor… kitchen table, desk, nightstand. Email about games fills my inbox. I read about them online, discuss them constantly with friends. Was I always a gamer? Sure. Was I always working on them – studying them – obsessed with them? No.

Like Fatsis, it feels like destiny. I hear myself talking about games in casual, non-work conversations with non-gamers – but I no longer feel apologetic. I’m going somewhere with games, and that’s ok. Small triumphs push me through the slumps and doldrums (stretches where the ideas just won’t come, days when I feel like I’m treading mental quicksand). But somehow, reading about Fatsis’ punishing crawl to mastery gives me an extra boost.

Call me a masochist! A sadist! A grad student!

—

The downside is that like Fatsis, I’m eschewing the anscillary in favor of concrete progress. No time to visit, no time to chat. When I’m not working, I’m doing the basics – feeding myself, sleeping, going the doctor, writing my mom. Therapy is down to twice a month, and blogging is on the short list for heavy cutbacks.

Who knows – maybe blogging is like my love of shoes: shining brightly despite all else, tempting me (but bringing joy) in the leanest of times? If so – perhaps these entries will just reflect more of my inner process – somehow become part of the work of finally graduating. If not – I apologize in advance for the sparse and sporadic updates.

Remember: it’s not what you got, it’s how you spend it!

Modern convenience or plague on privacy? Gmail sparked this debate in the broader public, but it’s been a lively topic among nerds for some time now.

I have mixed feelings. Friends work there, they seem like nice folks, Orkut is handy and their repository fuels novel projects. But do I really want them combing through my email? Even with the privacy promises – I feel uncomfortable about that.

There’s more to it than just ads, as Rob pointed out this morning:

sometimes slashdot can surprise you. today i learned about the abuse potential for google’s dot-dot operator. have you seen this one? try googling for:

visa 4356000000000000..4356999999999999

eek!

This courtesy of DEFCON. I wonder if haxxors will work to dissent during the convention, as suggested by the be-braced speaker mentioned at the end of this report?

While it’s hard to get too worked up (after all – this stuff has been going on forever), I do find it slightly disturbing that Oreilly publishes an entire book on preliminary Google hacking. Tho, if you look at it a certain way, it’s a public service.