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August 27, 2008

Still Alive

Postscript to Portal:

I did finish, after all. It wasn’t too hard, although it took considerable trial and error to find a reliable place to…um, place the gates to do what you need to win in the final sequence. (No spoilers.) I went back and played it through again, taking about four hours—while knowing the solutions to every puzzle ahead of time, knowing where to look, which bits were red herrings. A two-to-three hour game, my ass.

Winning brought more rewards than simply being able to go back and test my time, however. I also got to watch the end sequence, which included a brief look at some cake, and a fucking hilarious song that rolled while the credits played. You can find the entirety on YouTube, though it won’t make mean as much if you haven’t lived through of the evil computer GLaDos’s “experiments,” or her HAL-like demise.

I’m really not angry.
I’m being so sincere right now.
Even though you broke my heart,
And killed me.
And tore me to pieces.
And threw every piece into a fire.
As it burned, it hurt because
I was so happy for you.

Only on the second listening did I realize this was a Jonathan Coulton, at which point I thumped my head and thought, “Of course!”

It matches his style, and Coulton was the perfect match for the vein of institutionalized black humor that made Portal such a success. It’s a short step from Chiron Beta Prime, and not all that far from the rage-against-the-machine Code Monkey and All We Want to Do is Eat Your Brains, and I’m delighted to see another stone paved in Coulton’s path to success. I’d like to see him pop into the national conscious as Weird Al Yankovic, but until that time, he deserves your ear, and your encouragement.

August 26, 2008

Jehova, Swing Voter

For the past year or so, political analysts have been noting a trend among evangelicals and fundamentalists, especially young ones, of deciding that maybe God doesn’t want them voting Republican after all. I’m glad to learn that the neocons’ stranglehold on badge-wearing Christians’ votes, but I have to ask: what took them so long to realize it? If God wants people to vote for leaders who will help the needy and nurture the environment, what caused Him to change his mind in the last four years?

I mean, there’s nothing in the neocon platform—or, since they have controlled the Republican party for decades, the Republican platform—that comes across as Christian. Cut social programs aiding the needy? Check. Launch wars of conquest against small nations? Check. Lie to start same? Check. Torture innocents? Check. Place human interest before national glory? Check. Spend frugally, speak humbly, nurture the beauty of creation, turn the other cheek? Were Jesus alive today, he’d be several steps to the left of Democrats, who are dealing with their own internal sabotage to populist ideals in the form of the DLC. He wouldn’t even be visible to the Republicans from where they stand, gone and thrice-damned as anti-Christian in every sense but a hypocritical label, wrapping evil deeds in a mantle of religion.

The ruling right-wingers have finally produced a leader so rock-bottom dreadful that even the faithful are having second thoughts, and patting themselves on the back for their sudden epiphany and revival of Christian principles. I can’t help but notice, however, that the sudden reappraisal of the religious impulse in politics comes after Bush’s spectacular, multi-dimensional failure. Astounding how the faithful always seem to discover that God wants us to do exactly what the faithful themselves want to do, at that particular time. Right now, it seems God wants the faithful to distance themselves emotionally from the disaster they helped create, to forget their part in the evil committed with their approval. Four years ago, and earlier, it seems he wanted them to create a disaster.

And that’s the problem I have with voting one’s religious beliefs. Voting on religious faith (or any other kind of faith, for that matter) grants self-interest a false authority placing it beyond rational examination, beyond question, beyond criticism, beyond demonstrable facts. If your fellow citizen says he would like to see stronger workplace safety regulation because he values workers’ health and lives, or because he would benefit from such a law, or because he believes the economic benefits outweigh the costs, and you disagree, the matter is open to discussion, hopefully leading to deeper understanding, and possibly even conversion (one way or the other) on the strength of argument. If your fellow citizen says he would like to see stronger workplace safety regulation because the voice in his heart (or the voices in his head) tell him so, it’s awfully hard to challenge his position, which will bear an uncanny resemblance to what will profit him most. Even if things go horribly, horribly wrong, the true believer refuses to treat failure as evidence that the voices are unreliable; instead, he chalks mistakes up to some mysterious Higher Plan that mere mortals can’t comprehend. Too bad everyone has to suffer for the mistake in the meantime. Religion becomes a way to deny responsibility.

Responsibility is at the heart of a healthy democracy. Government is responsible to the people; people are responsible for understanding the issues as best they can, which includes exposing their understanding to criticism and revision. In the voting booth, acting on faith is un-American, betraying the founding fathers’ hopes that our nation be governed by reason.

August 25, 2008

Stop to Enjoy Some Cake

At long, long last, I got around to playing Portal, the wildly praised spinoff from the Half-Life series. I won’t review it here because I don’t have anything to add to the unanimous opinion of reviews everywhere. The game deserves all the praise it gets for combining a signature teleportation-gate projector that makes toying with the physics engine a joy, puzzles designed to exploit the gun’s promise to its maximum, and some of the richest black humor I’ve seen since West End Games printed Paranoia. ‘Nuff said.

No, after a week’s absence spent in training for substitute teaching, chasing my college application, and prepping my parents’ visit next week, I’m going to talk about me, me, me…in the context of Half-Life. Specifically, about the time spent. Many reviews, desperate to find an excuse to ding Portal, so as to appear impartial, cite its short play time, though many hasten to add that the short play time is just about right, especially since the alternative might by some of the cheesy padding techniques employed by other games. It is a short game, but I have a hard time with the consensus opinion that it might take four to six hours. Yahtzee, that bottomless wellspring of bile, calls it a two-to-three hour game.

Two or three hours? I spent roughly eight hours on it yesterday, stretching from just after lunch to a point where I had to go quit because it was past my bedtime, minus a break to make and eat dinner. At the time, it seemed the end was nowhere in sight, but I learned at lunch today that I was, in fact, almost at the end sequence. I failed to get past the final showdown with GlaDos, but I can confidently estimate I’ll spend a total of twelve hours on getting through the whole game on the first run, if I can get past the final scene at all. (I may go back to experiment and take a stab at the achievement list, but that doesn’t count.)

Twelve hours, give or take. I’ve had some trouble with handling the game because I’m slow and clumsy, which may have contributed…oh, two hours of that. Three, tops. Speed and coordination play a part in the game, but not a large one; usually, figuring out what to do is sufficient, and executing the game plan is a doddle. With hardly any Nintendo experience, I missed a few platform jumps, and spent ten or fifteen seconds trying again. I probably dragged out some of the turret scenes; a few accidents taught me I could absorb a heck of a lot of damage from those little bastards, and could have been a lot more aggressive while taking them out…call it another half hour. Maybe another half hour looking at the thematic “color,” which could be safely ignored by a player driven to reach every exit as quickly as possible I had trouble shooting the portal gun while bobbing around in flight, but not that much…call it another half hour that a more dexterous player would have taken. So that’s a minimum of eight hours actually spent puzzling, probably more.

I’m not stupid. I’m good at puzzles. Admittedly, I’ve had long, frustrating bouts with certain point-and-click adventures, but such bouts usually prove to be the problems that everyone else finds obscure and frustrating, too: find-the-pixel hunts, tuba-and-ostrich mismatches, stuff that seems impossible to solve even after looking up the answer. I have a passable sense of geometry. Still, most of the time I spent puzzling through Portal was spent puzzling, and almost all of that making progress of some sort, as opposed to numbly staring and being stuck.

For a player to clear the whole game within four hours would mean never being stuck, never—or hardly ever—overlooking some of the barely-visible patches of wall which mark the next leg of your journey, never—or hardly ever—pursuing blind alleys, never getting something almost right and trying again in futility in the mistaken belief that failure was just a matter of poor reflexes and bad aim. How do they do it? Just charge through the whole maze, blindly firing the gun every three meters, hoping to stumble into the exit? Dive headlong into every obstacle, confident in the power of brute force to solve every game? Turning to online walkthroughs the moment they have to pause to think things through?

Either way, it says something about the attention spans of gamers today, as would the robotic refusal to stop and examine some of the amusing graffiti tucked into cubby-holes where earlier subjects found momentary solace. Or something about my own plodding nature. Puzzles—good puzzles—are meant to be savored and examined from many angles, not dashed past as quickly as possible without pausing to appreciate the design.

August 15, 2008

Return to Sender

Just in case you thought the bastards were declawed just because they are in retreat…

Step past the alarmist headline. 600,000 voters is a lot to predict being abandoned in Ohio, out of a total population (of all ages) of 11 million, only a fraction of which are registered voters. Stealing 10 to 15% of the vote seems unlikely…but as 2000 showed, you only need to steal 1%, if your aim is good.

Nonetheless, the grounds for alarm are very real. Read down to the part where voters can be stricken from the voting rolls, not on evidence of ineligibility, but simply on a challenge from a political party. They may be stricken from the rolls almost too close to the election to do anything, but, more to the point, no attempt will be made to let them know that there is anything to be done…until November 4, when voters are turned away simply because one party didn’t like the look of them.

Naturally, the Republicans currently in control of the state aren’t the only ones who can issue such challenges. Also naturally, there is a review board with the power to reject such challenges. In a non-partisan environment, oversight like this would be desirable, even necessary. But Ohio is not a non-partisan environment. Remember from 2004, and from 2000 before that, that Ohio’s voting board is packed with Republican loyalists. Not merely overseers who happen to be Republicans, but people who can be expected to place party ahead of principle. The ones who see nothing wrong with providing insufficient voting booths for Democratic-leaning counties and sending voters home uncounted when the day expires before they can all participate. The ones who see nothing wrong with awarding a contract for new voting machines to an outspoken Republican, nor of letting him personally alter a few machines just before voting day, to correct an ostensible programming flaw. Not all the machines, mind you—just those in selected districts. Even if we has guarantees that such machinations are genuinely aimed at ensuring the booths work properly—and no investigation is underway to guarantee it—the mere appearance of corruption is harmful to the democratic process. People stay home when they think the game is rigged.

So if voter X is challenged on the very flimsy grounds of a returned mailing, the cherry-picked Republican review board can just take a quick look at his demographics. White working-class male? Pass. If voter Y is challenged on the very same grounds, and he’s black, or poor, or college-aged? Out he goes. So sorry. Better luck in 2012. If only you’d thought to check earlier whether someone had struck your name from the voting lists without telling you.

Oh, and the law automatically expires in January, 2009. Just in case.

The 2000 elections were balanced on a hair. A single medium-sized state, like Ohio, could swing the election. Perhaps it did. I spent half an hour looking for a particular quote to wrap this piece up; I’m told Molly Ivins said something similar to, “The bastards will cheat 10% of the vote, so we have to beat them by 15%,” but I can’t find it anywhere. (If nobody else wants credit, I’ll take it; it’s a good line.) Whether Ivins said it or not, it’s looking more and more true with every Ohio return.

August 14, 2008

Do Not Feed the Bear

I expected the Chinese Olympics to lead the news all week: China’s grand coming-out party is a celebration of her arrival as a world power ready to join the world, bringing with it somewhat worried political analysis here in the US, where growing Chinese soft power comes at the expense of US hegemony. But the Olympics had to share the front page with less happy events on the Russo-Georgian border. The move is treated as an aggressive land grab on Russia’s part, and so it is, complete with scorched-earth tactics used to drive out innocent civilians belonging to demographics deemed insufficiently sympathetic to Russian control, but to tell it that way is misleading. Unless you pay attention, you’re likely to miss reports that Georgia grabbed first, albeit after ongoing attempts on Russia’s part to provoke such a move.

President Saakashvili was already considered something of a loose cannon—an assessment which has proven all too true. Because some Georgian nationals live in Ossetia, he reasoned that the entirety of Ossetia should be Georgian territory. (The argument mirrors Hitler’s belief that, because some residents of Czechoslovakia and Poland were Germans, that all of Czechoslovakia and Poland should be German, as well. Any excuse will do for a bully.) Buoyed by a false sense of security in NATO and US support, he ordered Georgian forces to seize the province, of which a majority would prefer to remain with Russia. By some accounts, the plan was to seal off the vital Roksky Tunnel, delaying Russian reprisal; by other accounts, Saakashvili needed the tunnel open as a conduit for ejecting non-Georgian residents. Either the attempt was never intended, never made, or simply failed, and Russian troops poured through with a vengeance, handily retaking Ossetia itself and rushing on with crushing momentum into Georgian territory proper.

The counterattack is ominous, foreboding a return to Russia’s age-old policy of slicing territory from any neighbor to leave itself vulnerable. It’s difficult to guess just what Russia will claim as spoils of this victory, but it will surely keep some significant prizes. All of Georgia is not entirely out of the question. But Russia may well be satisfied with less. Even without an acre of land annexed, the victory alone has earned Putin several significant gains:

1. Popularity at home, where Russian chest-thumping promises of taking a rightful place as a world power play very well indeed.
2. Control of the oil. Even if Russia eventually backs out, it will have had a good, long period to pipe the oil as it wishes. A pinpoint air force bombing on either side of the main Georgian pipeline served to remind everyone just who controls the flow of oil passing through central Asia—whether or not it passes through Russian-owned pipes.
3. A pointed warning to the rest of Russia’s central Asian neighbors of just what happens to little countries who anger the great bear. Russo-Asian relations are unlikely to be any warmer in the foreseeable future, but they will nevertheless be more…compliant for some time to come. Russia has a long and successful history of winning concessions through threat, and very little successful history of winning much of anything through kindness.
4. An even more pointed warning of what happens to former Soviet possessions and satellites who rely on NATO to protect them. Russia wishes to keep as much territory as possible within its orbit, and therefore as far from the European sphere as possible. Saakashvili has played beautifully into this ploy when his own military lunge went pear-shaped. Where are the Americans? Where is NATO? As though he had any claim on support from either. He doesn’t, but his pretense of being abandoned, of having promises of support revoked, makes good press for Russia to whisper to Belarus and the Ukraine.
5. Finally, a demonstration of European and American helplessness in the Russian geopolitical sphere. Both disapprove of Russia’s aggression, of course, but are they going to do anything?

Europe will offer nothing but some harrumphs of protest, it seems. In the short term, it’s powerless to do anything else, and the situation will settle into some unpleasant equilibrium before the long term arrives. Europe hasn’t the military strength or organization to take down Russia way off in its Caucasian bowels. And, of course, there’s the pipelines. Faced with the last decade’s threat of an energy crunch—a threat now blossoming into reality—Europe declined to search for alternatives to oil, and cheerfully locked itself into dependence on oil flowing from and through Russia. Fears of just such a result as this were assuaged by promises that economic interdependence would teach Russia to behave like a civilized country. So much for that happy myth. Russia may need European currency more than Europe needs Russian oil, but Russia is also more willing to see mutual benefit ruined before blinking.

The US position is even more uncomfortable, if only because it’s supposed to be the world’s only superpower, by definition a nation capable of taking on the entire world in pursuing its interests. Although Bush and Cheney seem to be looking forward to a chance to widen South Asian conflicts to a continent-wide state of war, the US is essentially powerless, as well.

Ironically, we are powerless to do anything because of our own little territorial adventure a few hundred miles away. The war in Iraq was sold to the American public, and presented to the world, as a pre-emptive seizure of nuclear weapons (which never materialized), punishment of slam-dunk links to al Qaeda (which also never materialized), and material relief for a people suffering under a brutal despot (which relief also never materialized), to be secured with a quick, cheap, and essentially bloodless victory (which, needless to say, never materialized). Skeptics said it was all about oil. We may never know just what motivated Bush and his walnut-sized brain to invade—outdoing Daddy, simple-minded desire for military “glory,” a true inability to distinguish Muslims from terrorists—but the skeptics were essentially right: Bush’s advisors, who created the Iraqi adventure, were indeed after the oil. Neoconservative doctrine held that the US should begin a program of active imperialism, taking advantage of excuses to seize vital resources. A few suggestive documents and books by very influential neocon thinkers indicate Iraq was to be just the first of many such adventures before its failure. Even in the face of its failure, the Bush administration generally, and Dick Cheney in particular, seek to widen the conflict to Iran and beyond. When Iraq fell, other oil-rich nations were expected to be so cowed as to treat the US more favorably in future dealings. And for those who didn’t, an excuse would be found to teach the region another lesson. The very pattern of Russian expansionism.

The Iraqi adventure has failed utterly: neighboring regions are not so much apprehensive of US power as galvanized against it. We are weaker not only in a raw material sense, broke and running out of recruits eager to play Bush’s tin soldier, but in terms of how others view the strength of the American military. We can’t do much to influence the Russo-Georgian conflict because we already have too much on our plate; we’re already tied down in our own imperial expansionism. More shamefully, we can’t even shake our heads in disapproval from the moral high ground as Europe does…because we’re already tied down in our own imperial expansionism.

Bush, blind to the beam in his own eye, sees no irony in chastising Russia. Unable to offer any material resistance, he has resorted to lectures on how intimidation has no place in 21st-century politics, how international sovereignty must be recognized even in the face of military strikes, how Russia will lose international standing if it doesn’t shape up. If we wish to be charitable, we could agree that Bush has learned these lessons from hard experience, but I think it’s more accurate to say he simply doesn’t recognize his own bullying, his own violations of national sovereignty, the justness of his own loss of international standing and his country’s with it. The bullying techniques are exactly the same. Only the competence with which it was executed varies, and, sadly, Russia stands to gain international standing where we have lost it. Everyone knows Russia to be a bully, and it gains in stature as it proves able to execute its threats. Once, everyone knew the US to fight for democracy and self-determination, and we lose stature as we prove willing to betray them for oil and war profiteering.

Under the neocon agendum of substituting hard power for soft, we have lost a staggering amount of both. We have most visibly lost them under Bush the lesser, but we have lost them, too, under Reagan before him, and under Clinton and Bush the elder, as well. The Georgian scuffle proves just how much we’ve lost of both at a time when the other half of the front-page news is filled with the Chinese Olympics, and rosy depictions of how much China has gained by substituting soft power for hard.

August 13, 2008

Your Cheatin' Heart

I don’t know what bothers me most about the whole John Edwards marital infidelity scandal.

Of course the God part offends me—Edwards has confidently declared that God has forgiven him. Amazing how many people know the mind of the transcendent, unknowable god they worship when they really want to, isn’t it? But that goes without saying. Every politician and pulpit-thumper in the US confidently announces that he’s all right with God, no matter how heinous his sin, no matter how sure he is that God has definitely not forgiven other sinners for far smaller sexual peccadilloes, so I can hardly work up the energy to be angry with Edwards for that. But there’s far worse to it than the religious hypocrisy our national politics are steeped in.

Part of me wants to rage against Edwards for running for president with a bimbo scandal hanging around his neck, endangering his party’s chances and the nation with it. We couldn’t afford the eight years of neocon sabotage we’ve just endured; we sure as hell can’t afford another four or eight years of it from a Republican beholden to right-wing money as the only thing holding him up, but we’d have gotten it had Edwards received the nomination. We may get it yet, if the Rove machine can resuscitate the old “Democrats are sexual perverts” meme. (Don’t bring up David Vitter, Larry Craig, and Mark Foley; it’ll just confuse everyone.) You may remember Edwards was my preferred candidate, back before he dropped out of the running. I liked his populist rhetoric, and he had enough of a margin to push a few agenda, and possibly even win running between the Obama-Clinton slugging match. Obama, to all appearances clean as a whistle and full of hope, has a lead but not an insurmountable one; how well do you think Edwards would hold up when Karl Rove and company released that little sleaze-bomb shortly before November 4? Hard to put a populist program in place if you can’t make it to office, and Edwards endangered the nation for a bit of tail, not that we haven’t seen that behavior before—which brings up the other part of me.

The other part of me wants to rage against the elements who argue that marital infidelity is so great a deal-killer in the presidency that they hope to tar Obama with Edwards’s affair—the very same elements who quietly overlook John McCain’s own marital infidelity to his first wife, Carol. You know, his first wife: the swimwear model who waited for him while he rotted in a cell in Vietnam, and whom he cheated on and when he returned to find out she’d gained a few pounds recovering from a crippling car wreck. Dropped her for a beauty queen heiress who he respects enough to call a cunt in front reporters. “Love, honor, and cherish ‘til death do you part” doesn’t mention anything about getting fat, fer chrissakes. If marital infidelity is really all that bad, shouldn’t we be walking away from the presidential candidate who actually practiced it? So why are news media ignoring that shameful tidbit? You know, the news media who McCain whines are being oh-so-mean to him.

August 12, 2008

Gods Among Men

My gaming group is returning to the d20 edition of Mutants and Masterminds for our next campaign, and once again we aren’t using the system for its intended purpose of creating superheroes, although we are getting closer—we’re creating gods and fairies and similar figures of Neil Gaiman-esque fiction walking the streets of New York City, carrying on intricate vendettas and power plays just barely out of sight of the ignorant masses. Those few who become privy to our machinations either go mad or are destroyed outright.

We therefore have considerably more freedom to push the envelope of character abilities than we currently enjoy in a space opera campaign. That’s good. Space opera is populated by people who are more-or-less normal; we therefore use only a fraction of the superpowers available in M&M for stray futuristic abilities like cybernetic eyes and an alien’s immunity to certain poisons. (This was Dave’s reason for selecting M&M in the first place: he wanted some way to simulate alien and high-tech abilities. Greg is going with M&M because it’s familiar.) This leads to certain problems, most of them tied to the question of: What you do with all those character points if you aren’t spending them on superpowers?

Well, you buy skills. A lot of skills. Mundane skills are cheap, because superpowers are at a premium for superheroes, while mundane actions like car repair and debate are usually of secondary concern. My own character, being one of the least augmented with advanced technology, combines the business acumen of J. P. Morgan with the piloting skills of Manfred Richtofen, along with sufficient expertise to make a comfortable living as an engineer, natural scientist, dancer, or PR manager, or all at once. Oh, and enough unarmed combat feats to take down a squad of soldiers bare-handed.

We had a lot of points to spend, and, like I said, skills are cheap.

The problem only deepened with regular injections of experience points; already pushing the limits of plausibility with my skills and feats, I find myself turning at last to the powers list, trying to find something that A, makes sense in the setting, and B, won’t offend my character’s sense of identity—surgical transformation into an 8’ tall robot, for example. And all too many of those superpowers merely involve blasting holes in things.

Gods walking among mortals suffer far fewer limitations in this regard, but there are still problems. M&M has a boatload of combat-oriented superpowers, which is only appropriate. Superheroes, especially old-school superheroes, fight. Sometimes they do other things, but mostly they settle things with an epic battle. Any superhero RPG should have a huge variety of attacks and defenses—energy blasts, choking clouds, entangling webs, invisibility, fists that can crush tanks, force fields that can withstand those fists, et cetera, et cetera. Unfortunately for us, Gaiman-esque gods hardly fight at all, and when they do, it’s in the abstract, undoing one another by speaking a name, or reducing their importance in mortal minds. Energy blasts and entangling webs have their place, but all the spectacular methods of comic book destruction at once? Not so much.

Accumulated experience will cause problems with gods, too, albeit of a very different kind: our characters are going to change rapidly. Judging by what I’ve seen from the space opera campaign, within the space of a month or two (game time), experience points will add perhaps another 50% to those we spent on our initial character designs, which raises awkward questions. If experience makes you strong, why aren’t you much, much stronger than this? If you’ve been around since Neolithic times, or 1800 at the latest, why have you learned more and expanded your powers more in the past two months than in all those centuries? Were the gods sitting mutely, weaving baskets and twiddling their thumbs? I blame adaptation to d20 for this more than I blame M&M’s design philosophy. I’ve complained at length before how class-and-level systems drive PCs from anonymous, powerless schmuck to Savior of the Universe in about a year—less if you start out higher than 1st level. But the problem remains, nonetheless.

Rapidly developing new powers, or more sophisticated uses of their existing powers, is entirely appropriate for superheroes. Superman didn’t start out with x-ray vision, heat vision, super-cooling breath, time travel, hypnotic subsonic voice, robot duplicates, or a lot of his other canonical abilities. In the very beginning, he didn’t even fly; he just jumped really far. (“Able to leap tall buildings…”) He accumulated fantastic new powers, not entirely congruent with his original concept of super-strength and invulnerability, over time. The Uncanny X-Men developed new powers and tactics in the battle room and in the field. Rapid advancement is also appropriate if you’re telling a story akin to The Hobbit, or Star Wars. But it’s not appropriate to every story, or every genre. And when all you really have to spend xp on is superpowers, you quickly end up with a big ol’ pile of superpowers. Setting aside the insidious way that a list of explicit choices, be it skills or attributes or superpowers, tends to channel character design into someone else’s preconceived notion of what a character should do, or be able to do, even players who deliberately set out to work creatively soon find they have no choice but to fall in line. It isn’t that they can’t make something outwardly similar to what they envision, or tell interesting stories with it, just that they can’t make what they actually envision and tell the story they intend to tell with it.

Choice of system matters, despite the claims of certain gamers. If you use a superhero system, you’ll end up with a superhero. If you use a class-and-level system, you’ll end up with a character with a story arc about gaining levels. If you use a system geared toward combat, you’ll end up with a lot of combat abilities. If you use a system geared toward a lot of posturing and social manipulation, you’ll end up with a character who postures and manipulates society. Systems with large attribute bonuses create omnicompetents; systems with small attribute bonuses create characters pigeon-holed into their skill sets. Even very liberal, freeform systems like Over the Edge or FUDGE can drive players in certain directions, which may not be the direction you want to go. Choose wisely.

August 11, 2008

Poor Hudson

When I arrived home early this afternoon, I passed the neighbors’ yellow lab, Hudson. Hudson is a sweetie, so after parking, I walked over to give him a pet and say “Hi.” Hudson is only three years old, but already he walks like an old dog, and even has trouble getting to his feet to greet me, because he has hip dysplasia, a painful ailment common in large dogs, and especially Labradors. My parents’ dog, Tucker, suffers from the same condition. He typically sleeps with his legs stiff and his paws pressed into a wall or furniture in reaction; it eases the discomfort.

We—humans—bred dysplasia into dogs. Breeders would say we did so accidentally, but this is only partially true; our dogs got this way through excessive inbreeding for desirable traits, without due caution being given to the dangers of inbreeding. We could have avoided it had we not been so eager to get the perfect show dog, and devil take the rest. Now that we are aware of the problem, we could breed it out again, though this will take more work now that some family trees have been weeded out of the population. We don’t—not very aggressively, at least—because we still want the perfect show dog more than we want healthy family pets. It’s no good blaming the breeders; if families interested only in a family pet did their research before buying, and took care to avoid breeders with a record of hip dysplasia, market forces would drive them to better ethics, so it’s the ordinary owners’ fault, too.

We could do something similar with humans, too, breeding out congenital defects, though doing so would require grossly unethical behavior: sterilizing people, dictating who they could or could not mate with, and leaving such decisions in the hands of some board of experts which we could never guarantee to be free of racist bias. Occasionally, I speculate what the world would be like if we could breed ourselves without such ethical prohibitions. Breeding congenital disease out of our dogs presents no such moral dilemma. It saddens me that we continue to let our pets be born crippled so the dog show enthusiasts can pursue a few more ribbons.

August 8, 2008

CivRev, a second peek

I got a chance to try the demo version of Civilization Revolution on my soon-to-be-brother-in-law(once removed)’s console a couple days ago. So instead of half-baked expectations based on what I’ve read, I now have half-baked opinions based on a demo. Progress!

It’s…okay. Slightly better than I expected, but only slightly. The reviews are right to call it candy-coated; it’s definitely smaller, faster, and more vibrantly colored than most of the Civ line. The lack of game options bleeds out some of the repeat play value: no experimenting with map sizes and terrain types. Fans of large maps will be disappointed: there is little room to build a sprawling empire, and you’ll have to make do with a few, high-powered cities. Tightly-packed as you are, hostilities begin immediately; I received news that the Zulus had wiped out the Egyptians before I had met my second neighbor. You zip right up the tech tree, too.

Altogether, the game plays like Civ for short attention spans. There’s no sense of an era passing upon the discovery of the railroad when you just discovered gunpowder five minutes ago, and feudalism five minutes before that. There’s no slow expansion into marginal lands, no quiet exploration of your immediate surroundings, just a quick plunge into border disputes. The colors are more appropriate for Pac-Man than for the administration of an ancient and noble empire. Small bonus achievements abound: you get a new unit or a culture bonus or free cash every time you’re the first person to discover a given tech, or every time your treasury reaches a new level, or every time you successfully press the “X” button. Cartoon “advisors” continually pop up to announce these minute-by-minute bonuses, along with every other game development, or to comment on the lack of development, or just to say “hi,” in enthusiastic gibberish, obscuring the game map. Often, they come so frequently that they have to push one another (or even their own duplicates) aside to make their announcements. Endless praise and special rewards betray an attempt to capture the kids’ market and harm the epic sweep of Civ, although I expect you can turn off the in-your-face advisors in the full version of the game.

Despite lacking the gravitas of its brethren, CivRev still works just fine, mostly. (The substitution of the cumbersome joystick apparatus for a mouse, while unavoidable, is still regrettable.) I, for one, often play small, fast games on my computer, because the micromanagement required for a successful empire at medium-to-high difficulty gets tiresome long before the game is effectively over, and even longer before it ends officially. I know I represent a marginal minority on this—Civ fans continually ask for more slightly-differentiated units, larger maps, more technologies—but for Civ as a game, and not an exercise in grinding micromanagement, small can be beautiful.

And CivRev gets some things right, too, or at least intriguing. I refer specifically to the absence of workers crawling the countryside, building roads and farms and quarries and all the other terrain features necessary to exploit your natural resources. In their place are buildings: granaries raise the food output of the plains, for example, without a need for a worker digging irrigation ditches across the map. I rather miss the worker, and many devoted Civ fans will too, but their removal means the removal of a lot of micromanagement, too. What seems to have started as a design feature intended to conserve on memory ends up looking like clever streamlining.

Other changes, again possibly motivated by a desire to conserve memory, are less welcome. The small maps leave no room for a fair spread of strategic resources, so special resources have regressed to providing mere production bonuses (extra food, construction, or trade) as they did in Civ2. International rade vanishes along with strategic resources. Units once again block one another’s passage, even for players at peace. Religion, corporations, and anything analogous to that sort of cultural infiltration have been removed. Cultural borders remain, although they didn’t seem to do much. It’s hard to tell when “culture” also seems to have supplanted “happiness” as a cap on how many workers a city can support. The inclusion of three-unit “armies” are redundant, and the concealment of enemy units within cities is just plain annoying. (“Oh, it looks like they had thirty tank divisions. I thought they only had two archer companies. Silly me. Maybe they were hiding behind the granary.”)

In short, CivRev is just what you’d expect: a simpler version of Civ, with lots of sparkly bits bursting needlessly across the screen. Sometimes, the simplifications come across as streamlining a game that can bog down in detail, but other times, they just dumb down the experience. CivRev jumbles up the formula just enough to tempt me to explore its variations.

But I won’t. That damned joystick, and endless diddling around, trying to get the cursor to the right space, is a deal-breaker, more trouble than it’s worth.

August 7, 2008

Windbag

Offering your opinion comes with hazards, even if an increasingly reactionary government hasn’t yet backed its equation of dissent and treason with police action. Even if your audience has solicited your opinion. Even if your opinion is informed and intelligent. Especially if your opinion is informed and intelligent.

Thursday evenings, I go to the local library to attend a small writers’ group meeting. Typically, I’ll pop into a room provided for un-library-like activities, like talking, eating, getting a cup of coffee from the occasional snack bar, and using cell phones. (Since I walk down in the mid afternoon, I need to eat something before the meeting starts.) Usually, a few other people will be there, too: teens “studying” while they gossip, or a couple guys playing chess, or any of a few regulars. Three weeks ago, I made the mistake of interjecting into a political discussion-slash-debate that had veered way off course, both from its original subject and from some basic facts. When someone is just patently wrong, the nerd in me can’t leave well enough alone: I have to do my part to dispel ignorance, as I expect others to correct my factual errors. I had some time, so I tried to straighten the matter out, including relevant observations from various subjects.

The local library yahoos are not of the same intellectual caliber as my fellow political observers on the Well. I’m a smart guy, but on the Well, most of the participants are much smarter (or at least better-informed) than I, a healthy contrast to my usual environment. Although I have my moments, in general I absorb far more than I contribute. In the library, the situation is reversed. I think I was the only one to know that Nancy Pelosi was Speaker of the House, for example, or that she has already announced, repeatedly and publicly, that impeachment of Bush is no longer under consideration (if it ever was).

Suddenly, I’m the local expert on all things political, legal, historical, and especially scientific. Obviously, I don’t know everything, or even all the relevant details, on such broad subjects, but I’m the best the local yahoos have on hand, and now they want my opinion on everything, whether or not I know much about the topic, and whether or not I have the time to participate. I don’t want to be rude, but I find myself needing to be firm in a refusal to get involved in every bull session that drifts through the back room.

Spreading knowledge is good, especially to a willing audience. That’s why I go to the Well: to receive the wisdom others spread. I’m not sure that’s really what I do in the context of the local yahoos, though. Being taken uncritically on subjects of which I have only a passing knowledge just substitutes myself for some other windbag.

Which is entirely different from what I do here. I can trust you to sample other sources.

...Right?

August 6, 2008

Shoot To Kill, Men!

Drifted across an intriguing site today—or rather, two, since fanboys often duplicate one another’s ideas—addressing the question of who would win in a showdown between the disposable ensigns (“redshirts”) from the Star Trek series and the disposable “elite” stormtroopers from the Star Wars movies.

It’s quite a dilemma; the redshirts exist only to die at the hands of some alien menace, true, and do so at the slightest provocation. The stormtroopers might qualify as just such an alien menace, although the movies prove them incapable of shooting the broad side of a barn. As one poster notes, it’s the inverse of the old conundrum of what happens when an irresistible force meets an immovable object. Or another: “How can the redshirt die if the stormtrooper never hits him?”

Discussions like these rarely end conclusively, and often drag in subjective and irrelevant measures of “cool factor,” such as whether Captain Kirk was cooler than Han Solo, or that the redshirts have individual names while the stormtroopers have serial codes, or that stormtroopers have cool blaster rifles that go *peoww*, while the redshirts have wimply little phasers that go *zeeeeee!*. Still, I have to say the “off-screen/on-screen” argument is pretty forceful. Essentially, it holds that the stormtroopers were capable of victory in battle, but that it only happened off-screen, and the audience sees (or merely hears about) their handiwork after the fact. Maybe they’re terribly camera-shy, and the distraction undermines their elite training. The redshirts, by contrast, occasionally put up minor resistance in firefights on-screen—in Deep Space Nine and other later generations of Star Trek, if not the original series—and drop like flies when the camera turns away. The moment the cameras turn from the battle, the stormtroopers would wipe the redshirts out.

The argument presumes a little too much, however. We have no immediate reason to presume the cameras would turn away. Granted, it would be a boring fight, what with everyone missing their targets all the time, but boring alone doesn’t turn the cameras away. They televise bowling matches, for crying out loud. It seemed we were back at square one. Fortunately, a seeming irrelevancy which provides the key to the whole dilemma.

The stormtroopers have a badass soundtrack. The poster who made this point missed its significance; he felt that the soundtrack alone settled the argument. It does not, any more than any “cool factor” does. Nevertheless, in conjunction with the camera argument, it resolves the whole dilemma.

Kirk only includes redshirts in a landing party to trigger some hidden alien menace. As previously noted, they always buy the farm off-screen. Dying on-screen would give away too much mystery too quickly. But—and this is important—ominous music is the cue for the camera to turn away, and for the senior officers to receive the cryptic message spelling the redshirts’ doom.

Mystery solved. A showdown between stormtroopers and redshirts would open with a lot of inconclusive phaser and blaster fire. The fight would drag on, ensigns periodically dying of alien viruses or being dragged off by foam rubber monsters, but occasionally dropping a stormtrooper unable to see out his helmet’s eye-holes. Eventually, Lord Vader would get impatient and call to offer vague threats for failure. Cue Vader’s theme music. Triggered by the ominous music, the camera suddenly flips to Kirk and Spock and Bones, respectively flirting with the native women and arguing about the value of a pre-industrial lifestyle. Their communicators squawk to life, and every redshirt shouts, in unison, “Captain, I’m getting a strange reading…wait…it’s…it’s…No! Aaaaaaghgh!” The senior officers would rush to the scene, but it would be too late: the redshirts would all be dead, the only clue to their demise being a countryside riddled with stray blaster fire and bantha tracks, riding in parallel. Victory: stormtroopers.

August 5, 2008

Too Dangerous to Release

Salim Hamdan awaits his verdict today from the kangaroo court the US has set up to try him. Hamdan is accused of conspiracy and providing material support to terrorists, that is, of acting as chauffeur to Osama bin Laden. A threat to be sure, but a threat to whom, exactly?

An acquittal is unlikely, despite the dubious equation of driving with material aid. The judges are military officers, answerable to the Commander-in-Chief and not to civil law, carefully selected to be sympathetic to the current administration’s political desires. Much of the evidence against Hamdan, including the identities of his accusers, has been kept from him and his attorneys on “security” grounds, and his attorneys have been informed that attorney-client privilege will not be respected, again on “security” grounds. His trial is being held in secret, again on grounds of “security.” Simply getting a trial of any kind required a suit taken to the Supreme Court. The trial is a mockery of both American and international justice, and stands in stark contrast to the Nuremberg trials following World War II, wherein the victorious Allies worked scrupulously not only to provide a fair trial but to maintain the appearance of a fair trial, secure in the belief that the law exerts its greatest authority—indeed, that it works at all—only when it is open and impartial.

Curiously, Hitler’s chauffeur was brought to Nuremburg. Erich Kempka was captured as something of a cat’s-paw, sent ahead by Nazi leaders to see whether it was safe to surrender to Anglo-American forces. He, too, was investigated on grounds of aiding criminal leaders, and was held as an asset to military intelligence. He, however, was acquitted without trial of all charges. Even more importantly, he was, after a thorough debriefing, set free—there is only so much information you can wring from any asset.

Many defendants were tried and acquitted in Nuremberg, despite considerable objections from the general populace who understandably wanted to see severe and widespread punishment for participants in Nazi Germany’s aggression. But the court lived up to its principles. It served justice and the rule of law, and where evidence was insufficient, or where acts of war were not judged atrocities, the court found defendants not guilty.

That’s not to say it simply let everyone go; several German officers, especially among the fanatical SS, were found guilty and hanged. Members of the high command, who could not plead that they were “only following orders,” were also frequently convicted. So, too, were Japanese officers for whom a record of torture could be produced. One of the most popular forms of torture employed in the Pacific theater was a form of water torture—not to be confused with the infamous “Chinese water torture”—in which Allied personnel were tied down and water was poured over their face until they felt they were about to drown. We now refer to this form of torture as “waterboarding.” Japanese officers were hanged for waterboarding US troops; the need for military intelligence against an encroaching enemy was ruled insufficient justification for employing torture.

The current US administration now insists that waterboarding, far from being a hanging offense, is not even torture. A world court with the same authority as the Nuremburg trials, should one ever materialize, may feel otherwise. Of course, such a court would need evidence of torture to prosecute. Sworn testimony would be an excellent start to such evidence.

Sadly, even if Hamdan is, by some miraculous erpution of conscience on the part of his judges, acquitted, he will not go free. The Bush administration, continuing its practice of ignoring the law when it suits them, will keep him imprisoned. While technically acknowledging the court’s authority, the White House has already announced that it will hold Hamdan indefinitely as an “enemy combatant” even if acquitted, using the excuse that he is too valuable an asset to release, despite the fact that he, like Kempka, could be thoroughly debriefed, and despite the fact that he could without the use of a prison be made available for later questioning should it prove necessary, and despite the fact that whatever information he may have loses value quickly over time—and he hasn’t overheard a word of bin Laden’s for seven years.

Of course, Hamdan is not quite in the same situation as Kempka. He has other information of concern to our government officials, from president to vice president to attorney general to DoJ lawyers to military officers to CIA operatives. Information not gained during his service as chauffeur, but rather gained as the victim of and witness to torture at the hands of the US officials who hold him.

Officially, Hamdan is on trial for aiding terrorists. Unofficially, he has already been convicted of a far more damning crime, one for which there is no appeal: possessing information damaging to the powers that be.

August 4, 2008

Clap Your Hands if You Don't Believe

I enjoyed a moment of praise this morning. Just as we were leaving the house, the mailman had reached us on his daily appointed rounds. As we waited for him to separate our mail from the mail headed downstairs, he told us that he had thoroughly enjoyed the rhetorical whipping I’d given to the last evangelists to visit—the same encounter I described in “Praying on Grief” last month. (He just happened to arrive as they did. I didn’t think much of it at the time, because argument takes all my attention, but in hindsight, I dimly remember him slowing to a mosey as he visited the other houses on our little dead-end street.)

We didn’t have time to converse, so I just thanked him without asking why he had enjoyed it. Maybe he’s an atheist too, or practices some religion not broadly accepted in our country. Maybe he’s a Christian who wishes other Christians would shut their pie-hole and stop pushing their particular creed as the One True Way. Maybe he’s just a secularist who resents the awkwardness of missionary visits. He did say he was glad to see me reply, forcefully, to evangelism because he would never have the nerve to do so.

That’s both heartening and disappointing. Heartening because it’s nice to know that I’m not a lone voice shouting into the wilderness, nor even one of a few thousand bloggers angry at how religion embraces and encourages ignorance and intolerance. I can’t say I’ll never create some healthy doubt in a True Believer, because it happened once already, back in high school, but such moments are few and far between—literally once in a lifetime for me. One could get discouraged. Knowing that being outspoken on the value of reason in cosmology, epistemology, ontology, and above all ethics reinforces those virtues in others who may not even be part of the conversation makes the effort more worthwhile.

The fact that the silent majority—secularists who believe that American values includes keeping your religion to yourself—needs such reinforcement, however, is a bit of a downer. So, too, is the reminder that it doesn’t have the nerve to challenge obvious absurdities, whether out of laziness or a misguided sense of politeness, a preference for letting willful ignorance slide over speaking up for the truth, as best we can understand it and as best we can express it.

Letting bad ideas slide does more damage than people may immediately realize. When a community doesn’t stand up and say, “No, don’t teach our children that life appeared on earth by divine magic; teach them evolutionary theory in keeping with scientific understanding,” the vocal crazies win. No politician is going to stand up against a zealous fraction of voters to defend an apathetic majority—or if he does, he won’t be in office long. When a community doesn’t stand up and say, “Constitutional law, and not biblical law, is the foundation of our civilization,” we get judges ruling by God’s law instead of man’s—or rather, because people so seldom agree on divine will, what the judge understands to be God’s law, which mysteriously happens to be just what the judge would prefer to be true. And the principle doesn’t extend just to religion. The mess in Iraq is a direct product of too few people standing up and calling bullshit.

Like it or not, our beliefs are shaped by our community, and tend strongly to move to match the beliefs shared by our community—or, more accurately, what we perceive our community to believe. If sensible people remain silent, then all we see on the news, all we read in the papers, all we hear at the office cooler are the crazies, and we grow to believe that the crazies define the mainstream, that their belief is normal, if incorrect.

They don’t, and it isn’t. You may not agree with my religious beliefs. That’s your right. I may hope to change your belief through the power of persuasion, as evangelists hope to change mine through the power of faith. But I beg you, don’t let foolish ideas slide. If someone is peddling bad ideas, sloppy thinking, dangerous beliefs, call them on it. Bad ideas are like weeds: with diligence, we can control them, leaving room for healthy ideas to grow; left unchecked, they spread out of control. And like weeds, they never…quite…vanish entirely. So don’t stop. Not ever.

You don’t have to aim so high as to convert the fools. Just be heard by the timid, and encourage them to speak.