We're a geek culture podcast and blog covering video games, music, food and more. We are the kinds of people who evangelize whatever we are into - it could be anything - but it's usually pretty geeky. We're casual, conversational, NSFW and hopefully interesting. We hope you enjoy it.
posted by Ryan on November 26, 2008 12:00 PM in Gadgets
Connectivity is paramount. The first thing I did after purchasing my new Xbox 360 was snake a cable from the nerve center of my network to jack in to LIVE. While a simple process the proximity of television to router is not one that resulted in a subtle cable connection no matter how creative I got with the staple gun. I knew both official and 3rd party wirelesssolutions existed but at $70-$100 there had to be another way given that 6 years in the IT business have left me with a treasure trove of miscellaneous electronica.
The initial exposure to DD-WRT, a surprisingly powerful open source router firmware, came from Lifehacker a while back and has appeared a few times over the years, most recently as a way to transform your compatible router in to (among other things) a functional WiFi adapter for one's gaming console.
Coming from a pretty substantial technical background I found the process an easy one but was a bit overwhelmed in the early research stages as to which version I should be dealing with. Given that I would be flashing the firmware and potentially bricking my device made me all the more wary as I went along. While linked in a fewplaces the version specific details of the process could only be found in the wiki.
I took notes as I went along as my experience varied slightly from the installation tutorial but at project's end was left with a vastly improved piece of hardware that not only filled the gap of Xbox 360 WiFi adapter but left room for future expansion.
After I had the files I needed the whole process took about 10 minutes tops.
Hit the jump for a stripped down version of the process as well as a few notes regarding having to deal with my new ISP's device restrictions.
Before reading any further check out the video above. While the prospect of sacrificing eleven minutes is a daunting one, my initial reaction likely mirrored your own - eyes rolling and mind tearing at ephemeral overload, I urge you to leave your inhibitions behind and bask in the light of free entertainment.
By itself the clip is amusing, echoing the false reality often used in sketch comedy while paying tribute to the questionably informative nature of small town tourism videos from days not too long past. For some that is all it will ever be.
For others it is blindingly clear this video has an ulterior motive, quickly setting a tone of intentional camp in the guise of a promotion for what is, to most, not the most thrill-inducing of US cities. Add in the veritable deluge of proper nouns (GoDSEED, BlackStar) via a hesitantly pieced together history and you make the short step in to ARG territory.
We had to destroy Milwaukee to save it, and the survivors buried the remnants of GoDSEED in a sarcophagus deep beneath the canning district.
As is usually the case the video was picked up, shared, and dissected frame by frame immediately by the collective swarm of chaotic fiction devotees. Details regarding the web crawling, phone calls, and proposed theories are over at the Unfiction Forums.
It's nice to see a city other than NY, LA, or SF at the heart of one of these things. There has always been a geographical gap in potential meat space participation for dwellers outside these areas and for me having a sense of spatial relation is what makes these games all the more enjoyable.
Unless you include what always pops in my head at the mention of Milwaukee.
The thought of a flying car no longer interests me. Once the archetypal litmus test for when one arrived at the FUTURE, it's now a subject that brings to mind retro-futuristic cinema as opposed to science lab. While potentially practical the vast canyon between concept and execution is gaping, the gritty particulars of implementation overwhelming, and link to reality a vague one. There are so many other areas showing tangible, realistic improvement that even the aesthetic of a flying DeLorean fails to pique what was once the be-all end-all of consumer focused lust.
Instead my interests have moved to innovations in interface. The last few years have given us the iPhone, Wii, and Myvue glasses. Equally impressive are the readily available applications utilizing voice and gesture recognition. Gone (well, mostly) are the clunky VR helmets and subsequent segregation between developers and consumers.
But there is one tiny detail that permeates some of the newer tech out there, scarring like a drop of India ink on thirsty canvas; the fact that so much of it makes the wearer look like a tool.
posted by Ryan on November 12, 2008 8:00 AM in Gadgets
As an amateur photographer there are a few hurdles I am consistently attempting to clear. These range from the easily definable, such as financial limitations, to the more objective complications of social photography. A careful budget and solid research solves the former, but enter a public area with even a modest dSLR with a zoom lens and the vibe is instantly changed. People prepare to pose, security guards crouch to pounce, and reality shifts to fill my viewfinder with subjects that have shed much of their realism.
I've found a radiant aura of confidence (and stealthy wrist strap) helps to smooth over the painfully public process of carting my camera through highly populated urban areas, home or abroad, but even in a bustling metropolis I'm extremely hesitant to turn my glass on what is arguably the most interesting subject; people. It's awkward, raises countless privacy issues, and face it - is a little on the creepy side.
Preferring to err on the side of caution I've passed dozens of scenarios that tugged at the photographer in me, each encounter positively begging to be shot with the promise of something impossible to replicate in any studio setting.
The folks over at Photojojo (a fantastic DIY themed photography newsletter) offer a particularly intriguing solution, the Super-Secret Spy Lens.
For a surprisingly reasonable price ($50!) one simply attaches the device to an existing zoom lens the same way you'd screw on a filter. Sure, I'll be sporting an extra 5 inches of lens (which would equal about 10 at its shortest with my 18-200mm zoom) but with the ability to frame up candid shots I'd never have the chutzpah to take of a complete stranger.
Yes, there are certainly some issues that can be raised well within the bounds of decency regarding the taking pictures of unwilling, or unknowing, subjects. Common sense applies here more than ever and while I'd like to think any respectable photographer knows where to draw the line the fact remains that this apparatus exists to deceive. A point I'm strangely comfortable with given its ability to circumnavigate the tricky social rules of, you know, photographing strangers.
I'll very likely be grabbing one of these and am curious as to how such a device will be received in the photography community.
posted by Ryan on November 4, 2008 4:58 PM in Games
As a devout in the church of digital recording I don't see many live commercials. It was only recently, by some odd twist of fate, that I had some of this calculated marketing thrown my way.
Words and images flashed as I imagined a face-splitting paternal grin focused on a buzzing child as he skipped over to his machine, assuming the obligatory position of undeniable euphoria at the chance to pedal his way to self-sustaining television. Gone was the pasty skin and doughy physique, this kid would be cycling his way to a greener lifestyle while being entertained. Mom would wipe her floured hands on a modest apron and smile as little Johnny powered their home towards a brighter future.
But I had it wrong; this was some sort of kinetically enhanced video game whose focus was, of all things, learning. Despite the jumpy tune, brightly lit environment, and questionably sane toddler I couldn't decide how to peg the device. Home arcade experience or mechanical babysitter churning out super intelligent, thickly calved Über Children?
It didn't take long prowling the Fisher-Price site to see that this was, in the minds of some spendy parents, a cheaper alternative to getting their 4-year olds a Wii. The presence of near-daily reviews also confirmed that, despite a release date nearly two years ago, the niche this toy fits in to remains a strange one. The thing I don't understand is why.
In the U.S. over 30% of children age 2-19 can be classified as overweight or obese. Blame who or what you want, but surely the presence of physically involved entertainment couldn't hurt those numbers for the ones young enough to be "tricked" in to exercising at play time. General consensus is these toys are in fact so stimulating the little tykes have to be pried off or their time limited.
I like that toys like this exist. They remain the antithesis to the infernal Power Wheels (from the same company) I never had (thankfully) in my youth offering stationary advancement in place of whining, electric acceleration. Sooner or later someone will come up with a better formula that combines the slick stimulus of video games with the clever physical ingenuity of say, a jump rope. Perhaps the need to trick tiny spawn in to exercising, like wrapping your dog's pill in bacon, will become less nefarious.
While I personally can't be bothered to waggle a controller to swing a virtual sword I can see a niche of youngsters that would benefit from kinetic video games. It's not like little league teams or school sports are on a decline, but socially this is a whole different environment due for some innovation.
They are as gargoyles on high, static fixtures in stationary orbit. Staring with an unblinking eye these deliberately framed tunnels connect in real time, stream without bias, refresh as needed. There are more of them than you might think.
With the basest of resources these antiques march on, mid 90's HTML steadfast in its measured delivery of that city square, campus, or landmark. It is only in the basest sense that these grainy windows exist in our Web 2.0 world, geo-tagged and meta-filtered despite any tangible functionality.
But there's still an element of magic.
Nothing impresses like that added fourth dimension. Even the most ghost ridden frame rate treasured for its instant validation, telltale low quality only strengthening veracity and granting instant trust. An added layer of communication, arguably the closest replication of face-to-face interaction no matter the distance spanned.
I've seen a $5 dollar web cam with spotty satellite connectivity bring a gorilla-necked man to tears, first glimpse of the baby he couldn't see born transforming a blank-faced and lethal door-kicker to proud Papa. It's old tech but sound, potential for maximized web communication that seems squandered in flat, time-lapsed images of the Eiffel Tower or a nondescript city skyline.
Quality of service limitations are lower than ever with expanding cell-based data and cheaper portable electronics, services like Yelp and Qik continue to encroach on each other's territories. Eventually functional mash ups will emerge, hyper-local assets for better, more useful web content. Community self-policing will work out the kinks and word of mouth information, the very best kind of information; will bleed over to the medium where it can have the most impact. Where those looking can find it.
So it was with excitement that I installed Worldview from the App Store. If I scroll fast enough through those vigilant, sub-mega pixel refreshes I can almost see the future.
It's been a while since I participated in the perpetuation of a meme.
They come in all shapes and sizes, iterations often propagated to the point of over saturation but for a more distinguished crowd rarely inspiring the dark turn to contributor. Recently there was an exception, a fresh departure from the archetypal surveys or photo manipulation. Still an exercise in turning the camera inwards, scratching some sort of narcissistic itch, but to a smoother more polished end. Like the difference between a rehashed trawl through fields of blank text and the careful approach to a tautly stretched canvas. The medium sets the bar.
First exposure was over at Laughing Squid, Garret Murray had shared out the above distillation of the mundane in the confines of a Flickr video, running his new D90 through the ropes. 90 seconds of controlled peep-show access to a mile in his shoes. The subsequent pool developed, users submitting their own creations arguably reaching for validation of gadget choice or music selection, routine or habit. Just another meme, or was it?
I was strangely captivated, but this wasn't the first time.
posted by Ryan on October 15, 2008 8:00 AM in Games
It was as if a looming concrete wall stood in my path, flaunting its lack of hand holds or crevices by which to summit its blank-faced stare. Truth be told I had put the thing there myself, gradually adding layer after layer until the original foundation was all but obscured and original purpose a mystery. It is with this strained metaphor that I relate a past decision to block the way in to modern console gaming, a choice steeped in misguided thoughts of self-preservation and efficiency.
I didn't want to start and be unable to stop, self control fading late in to nights that would inevitably lead to sleepless mornings. It's how it was back in school and my productivity... suffered, but surely that is all behind me. As an Adult I have learned a modicum of responsibility and time management so that wall went a crumbling and just last week I emerged on the other side holding a sleek 360 Elite.
And it has been awesome.
But I'd been out of the scene for a while, the last game I recall purchasing being Wind Waker and before that a used copy of Soul Caliber to replace the one I wore out. Barring the sudden appearance of an aged mentor to whisk me through an appropriately themed training montage (as I imagine was the case with Jinny and Chris) I would have to reach out to the prolific gaming community for the low down on how one avoided the dreaded MSRP.
How fitting that it was actual physical media which first alerted me to this event. A full page ad sporting my city's nefarious "Bean" (lord, I hate that thing) as opposed to bytes of text via RSS. Utterly appropriate given the concept of thrusting tech-related link blog ephemera in to the public's sweaty hands.
Wired's NextFest is a free event that allows said creative output, whose exposure is typically restricted to little more than a blurb or grainy embedded video, to exist in three dimensions and five senses at a free show in Chicago's Millennium Park from September 27th through October 12th. The exhibits consist of several recent breakthroughs in robotics, entertainment, and enviro-friendly innovation.
If you're in the area I highly recommend swinging by. Hit the jump for a few items (such as the above-pictured Modular Snakebot or highly functional yet unsettlingly adorable BeatBot) that caught my attention or peruse the gallery below.
While preparing for an upcoming trip this week I created a checklist of things to do. Some items were specific to travel but most were part of the weekly routine that involves feeding not only my own mouth but also those of a few cold-blooded accomplices that have managed to stick around over a decade of constant relocation.
My current digs are in the same locale I grew up in so the choice of where to acquire the premium of gut-loaded insects was a simple one. I'd be paying a visit to the independently owned pet store not only marked as one of the older establishments in the area but also as the very first distant destination I was permitted to bike to as a child. It had supplied me well on and off for the last 14 years whether I was there to gawk with my GT Performer inverted out on the sidewalk or I needed to special order a questionable toad. As time passed I'd buy crickets from the same guy that sold me that one tarantula I had to get rid of while in college or the lizard that once escaped for an entire winter break only to somehow re-emerge fatter than when he vanished.
The list grew shorter and I eventually pulled in to the pet store's lot as I had literally hundreds of times before. Upon arrival, however, I was not greeted by the oddly satisfying view of windows plastered with faded vendor stickers and condensed seawater but instead with the harsh contrasting colors of BUSINESS FOR SALE signs.
I blinked a few times as a random minivan swerved, cutting through yellow lines of the crosswalk despite the moron standing there staring up in confusion.
I've scoured Pricegrabber for years and typically allow a few days of web crawling when seeking the best deal for just about anything. I've clipped coupons, mailed in rebates, and traded in the old to offset the new while taking an intense pleasure in skipping from stone to stone across the swift rivers of commerce both electronic and physical.
This was different.
If ever there were a brick and mortar location I'd pledge loyalty to this was it. I'd been genuinely sad when the store cat, a multi-colored behemoth named Monty that would unexplainably sit on my foot for pleasure, came up missing. Even while working in a competing pet store all through high school each week would end with me stopping by for dozens of crickets at full price. This place and I, we had a history.
Truth told this wasn't completely unexpected; I've watched countless local places trampled either by the fickle economy or links of ever-expanding chain stores, but it was the response the owner gave as to why he thought that pet stores in general were on the decline that I found the hardest stomach.
A few weeks ago I met a buddy at the after party for a BarCamp in Chicago whose focus was social networking. In spite of having worked in the IT industry for the last 6 years I was clearly an outsider unable to claim familiarity with either the coding or business aspects that seemed to dominate most conversations. Regardless of this stigma I was briefly chatted up and given free drinks by a would-be businessman who was equally enthusiastic as he was naive regarding my duties as a NetAdmin.
This experience only strengthened my skepticism of Social Networking in its colloquial form. Given its heavy use as a buzz word the term has come to refer more to a specific platform often forced in to creation with the hopes of some quick cash than an actual service. Technically speaking I've been using all kinds of social networks over the years, from online forums to collaborative blogs or mailing lists. A social network is merely the series of relationships one has, the service being the medium which either enables or promotes interaction.
Facebook started out as such a platform available only to Ivy Leaguers and later other college students prior to its evolution into the all inclusive tour de force it is today. Any remnants of the educational background requirements have been buried under pokes, party pics, and a myriad of entertainment driven applications. These features aren't really detractors as the site is wildly successful but its place in any students' life is clearly separate from studies.
Enter Knetwit, the social networking site built on the desire for "a comprehensive resource for studying."
Of the site, co-founder Benjamin Wald says:
"College students see social networking and online research as part of their everyday academic life. As recent college students ourselves, we are familiar with the frustrations that often come with researching information online. And with Knetwit, we strive to make it easier for people to find relevant information around any topic."
Recent studies show 13.74 million college and 12.3 million high school students in the U.S. alone with home internet access, producing roughly 1.92 billion pages of notes each year. Knetwit offers a searchable, meta data filtered repository for this work to which a user's content can be uploaded, rated, and made available to anyone with an account.
Oh, and Knetwit pays you to participate.
So let's see, an online collective of intellectuals sharing notes in the pursuit of greater knowledge while bypassing geographical boundaries and the need for swanky journals or published studies. These individuals are sharing in the ad revenue from the platform to further fund their studies as part of an open meritocracy of rated content.
This should have existed years ago.
I'm sure that school is a different experience nowadays with the advent of better web content and the relative cheapness of personal electronics. Having been out of academia for 7 years now the thought of taking a laptop to lecture is kind of exciting, as is the concept of sharing notes with another student studying even the rarest of research topics.
It seems that the founders of Knetwit have created a simple solution to a simple problem while simultaneously finding a way to entice even the wariest of participants. At the same time they provide a means to feed the desire for a functional online community with roots in the education system.
Kind of makes me want to get back in school and, you know, actually go to class this time around.
posted by Ryan on September 22, 2008 11:57 AM in Movies
Of all the advances in technology the mail delivery of rental DVDs is among my favorites. Gone are the hours of uncomfortable shuffling between addled rows trying to rush a decision based on loose genre classification and sun-faded box covers. It's a ritual I'm glad to be rid of.
But with ease often comes... confusion. I throw movies in my online queue at the mere mention of potential awesome and am often surprised when they finally arrive, any previous reference forgotten.
One such film was Fido. As a fan of the ever-expanding zombie genre I was puzzled as to why I hadn't heard of it before. Without even glancing at the sleeve blurb I remained optimistic and fired it up.
After suffering through the unholy montage of Lions Gate trailers I was pleasantly surprised with the premise of a 1950's post-zombie-apocalypse setting in which a corporation had all but handled the still occurring threat of every dead person reanimating as a zombie. Once fitted with a device the undead perform a myriad of grunt labor tasks such as delivering milk or household chores freeing up time for those wealthy and privileged enough to have them. Every aspect of daily life is touched by the zombies' presence and potential lethality.
As with any zombie flick there's certainly an underlying commentary but this film performs on a number of levels. Everything is richly colored, heavily saturated to the point where even mundane items scream "Everything is OK!" to overshadow the gray-garbed Zomcom workers picking up the slack.
While the pastel-topia Edward Scissorhands or exaggerated Pleasantville came to mind first I'd say the RomZomCom mash-up Shaun of the Dead is a better comparison movie as Fido transcends the label of a single genre with its strong characters (one of which never speaks), quirky humor, and well timed gore.
posted by Ryan on September 18, 2008 12:00 PM in Games
Though I can no longer claim the title there was a time when I considered myself a hardcore gamer.
The games and platforms varied through the years but it was those by Blizzard that left their mark more deeply than others. While Warcraft II forced memorization of my modem's INIT string during the hours of agonizing multiplayer setup it was the Diablo franchise that left a visible callus on the ghost of my gamer's heart.
My buddies from high school, the original crew of tower-toting LAN party professionals, instituted a mandatory cross-country gaming night about a year ago. The four of us span two coasts and three timezones, each with vastly different professions and lifestyles. Despite surprisingly full schedules we all set aside a couple hours each Tuesday night to regress back to our Mountain Dew-can-stacking, dice-rolling, stay-up all-weekend selves. We fire up Vent, shoot the bull, and live the dream that is modern day internet gaming.
When Diablo 3 was announced we knew we had to go back and reinstall The Deuce.
The only thing that surprised me more than an eight-year old game still being stocked was the fact that every brick and mortar I rambled in to sported an empty slot. The multimedia strewn announcement for the third iteration was a taste of warm nostalgia to those that had been sober for years, a drop of blood in the shark infested waters thick with previous addicts that went in to a frenzy snatching up new copies to get that old fix. More than a few gamers had the same idea and even drove this classic to the top of Amazon's game sales (it's currently at #75).
And it was addictive. The sound of an item dropping still elicits a tiny Pavlovian rush of adrenaline, the promise of digital riches in the form of stat-heavy weapons and armor only growing stronger the deeper one delves. Blizzard had to know what they were doing, setting the hooks in the Normal mode with the lure of greater treasure in subsequent difficulties of the same game.
We ate it up.
Hack n' slash is good stuff and randomly generated dungeons with steadily increasing difficulty keep that thrill going three times longer than other games dare. Diablo 2 built on the original's appeal and tipped it over the edge in to a more deeply immersed gaming experience which laid a lot of the groundwork for how the massively successful World of Warcraft would be structured years later.
It's taken just under three months of casual gaming for that thrill to wear off. I now maximize game play for a greater loot to time-spent ratio which was what turned me off of WoW a couple years ago. Blizzard kept the new content coming, engaging to say the least, but advancement was measured in the items acquired and that meant dedication with time-intensive logistical planning separate from actual game play in order to tackle dungeons that often required no less than forty people to complete.
Gaming became Serious Business.
So Diablo 2 is getting replaced in the Tuesday night rotation. Each of us will count the weeks we spend clean while wiping the gradual saliva until we can relapse again with a new Diablo.
It used to be that hammering out a paper was just that, a tactile bout between man and machine. Each hammer fall a satisfying CHUNK as part of either a slow paper tattoo or furious ink-spraying staccato. I'd play the part of the blacksmith bent over my typewriter forge, pouring sweat across corded wrist muscles that whimpered for a mercy they wouldn't see until the required number of pages were beaten to submission. Progress was ripped from rubber rollers to be tempered in cool air alongside similarly bruised brethren.
It was an assault on the senses, heat and impact and carriage returns the underlying heartbeat.
I was recently trawling through boxes of electronics and unearthed a dusty keyboard from my childhood. It took but one pass and I was rushed to when every key was a tiny double-stroke engine ringing out with sharp cluh-CLACKs at each depression. Back when flipping a power switch was Waking Up God; hard drive winding towards a steady pitch that let you know it was time for action. Productivity peaked with the mind-numbing modulation/demodulation of a screaming 9600 letting all in earshot know it was going down, and it was doing down Now.
I needed to hook this bad boy up and take it for a spin.
Dials need not click anymore. My iPod, a marvel of interface engineering, has a simulated clicking built in. Cameras have shutter snaps emitted from speakers, not a flexing aperture. The sounds are purely aesthetic, intentionally added to tell us that things are working. It's how we used to know.
An oft-used writer's trick is to appeal to as many senses as possible. I still remember the dull whirring of my Playstation's DualShock as I twitched to Resident Evil. At the time it struck me as campy but I can see what the designers were shooting for.
Are clacky keyboards, shaking gamepads, or manual typewriters the answer to a more stimulating experience? Does tactile feedback further enhance immersion? As we glide closer to the interfaces of Minority Report and super-slick motion capture designers will inevitably look to supplement by adding even more sensory input.
For the time being I'll mute my camera and iPod, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit there was something utterly sexy about this keyboard and its auditory stylings.
To say that I am fond of cable management is a bit of an understatement. When confronted with a tangled rat's nest of wires I can concentrate on little else. Jaws clenched and temples throbbing the world silently fades as my focus gets narrower and more fierce. That mess is broken, and I have to fix it. Why won't they let me fix it? Alternately, each encounter with a tightly velcro'd grouping of insulated conductor proves enticing much like the garter on a lass's upper--
Ahem. Yeah, I like clean cabling, both its aesthetic and efficiency.
My computer workstations at work and home are already upstanding pillars to this interest. However, the myriad of AC adapters for my portable electronics were in dire need of some attention. I needed a charging station.
Off-the-shelf valets run upwards of $30 but are devoid of the home-brewed functionality for what I had in mind. There is no lack of options either at Instructables or otherwise for the DIY solution but while everything I came across certainly hid the cables many seemed a bit lacking in presentation.
I wanted a solution that would mesh well with my living room while keeping the functionality of the other stations. Something that was cheap but didn't look it. Something that was easy to use and eventually modify down the inevitable upgrade road.
Hit the jump for the step-by-step process of what I came up with using $25 worth of on-hand materials.
At 15 I took a summer job in an office. Duties revolved around the preparation and scanning of leasing contracts, hulking file cabinets reduced daily to reflective laser disks. It was easily half as glamorous as it sounds, a monotonous paper-strewn hell.
Years later I was part of a team that implemented a proprietary audio handling system, digitizing a dozen analog voice networks and filtering them through heaving servers and slick fiber optics only to spit them back over their originating hardware. One operator could monitor every radio net via touch screen laptop, simultaneously hearing independent voice in each ear while incoming transmissions were held in queue. It was the future.
And just recently I made the transition from Moleskin to Smartphone, tactile scribbling now synchronized at each of my workstations with information back-lit by brilliant pixels where ink-soaked paper once sufficed.
As a long time IT goon I can personally vouch for many of the advantages Digital claims over Analog ("analog" a colloquialism here, math/music geeks). Information saturation can become manageable if sorting by meta data while a stack from the local bookstore can be made to fit in the palm of your hand. My RSS reader can and will beat the ever-living crap out of your newspaper subscription any time any place without smudging your hands or cutting down a tree.
But even binary has 10 two sides.
I will never forget the cheap thrill of sliding a comic from its plastic sheath, the first smell of an old book, or the indescribable satisfaction of a well-organized bookshelf. These experiences assault the senses in ways that even the warmest monitor glow never could.
Even with that in mind I, in preparation for yet another move, hastily decided to ditch all my media packaging. Huge piles of DVD cases and album art growing as I marveled at my cleverness and considerable reduction in volume. I briefly considered saving a few choice articles but where to put them? A scrapbook? A cardboard box, one of dozens existing only to be lugged up and down flights of stairs and likely never opened?
At this very moment I have 16 banker's boxes in storage full of books that have moved across this country more times than I care to count. With them travel the assortment of figures, framed prints, wall sconces, and various bric-a-brac of sentiment. I am but one man and something had to be done given my damn near Bedouin lifestyle. So into the trash went the jewel cases, glossy game boxes, and what now strikes as quite the biographical time line.
Retrospect has bred regret.
I flew too close to the digital sun and fell, screaming for my trifold cd cases. My shiny box art. My mint condition Doom 2 manual!
What's done is done and I depart from this reflection wiser. I'll revert to my hybrid stylings, twittering and snapping digital photos while enjoying the sensory overloading delights of wood-pulped media old and new. My mouth still waters at the site of a fresh National Geographic and words won't do justice to how much I enjoyed the first issue recently published by the Coilhouse crew.
At the same time Steam and iTunes are are both reliable forms of media distribution, to say nothing of Hulu or the growing habit of television networks to make recently aired shows available on their website. Print is far from dead and the "paperless office" remains science fiction. Folly only greets those that charge headlong down a solitary path, ignoring the countless forks as our options grow daily.
Now I'm curious how other geeks handle their media.
Do you still clack through alphabetized jewel cases at Best Buy? Store your game packaging neatly or simply exchange to reduce the cost of new purchases? Do your old vinyl and CD cases form vast horizontal monoliths at which you worship?
If there's a mix what determines an exalted place in meatspace versus the wonderland of your hard drive?
Over the weekend I caught highlights from the Olympic marathon. Conditions were less than ideal, the world record holder even declining to compete due to the damage the metropolis of Beijing might wreak on his asthmatic lungs. At just over the two-hour mark I couldn't help but think back to the event's origins, that tale of a lone Greek running the distance from Marathon to Athens to tell of the victory (We have won!) over the Persians.
Aside from the fact that the guy allegedly dropped dead following this exclamation there's an additional detail that lends bearing to the differences of our modern times.
The dude was probably naked.
He would have cast off his armor and clothing for speed, the advantages of which are logical. In fact, the first Olympians competed au naturale, the only addition being a slop of oil for the wrestlers to uh, enhance the experience.
For better or worse times have changed. Not only are our countries' most talented clothed, in some events more than others, their attire is now the product of engineers and scientists as much as fashion designers. While a beach volleyball bikini may not ever see the inside of a wind tunnel (a shame, really) you can bet that Michael Phelps' new Speedo did.
I am all for maximizing the entirety of one's self for increased performance. Were I a swimmer in high school I'd have joined the press of sleek, hairless bodies with the rest of the swim team. I would gladly have gone with short shorts for cross-country, or squeezed in to a mystifyingly masculine singlet as a wrestler. But even the priciest piece of spandex off the rack couldn't compare to the intensive research and development that go in to girding the taut loins of our Olympians.
As toolmakers we human folk are constantly reinventing, those Converse All-Stars might have done the job for the guys in the 70s but modern competitions demand more. Natural talent and training are not the only building blocks for success and those with the resources turn to science for an edge.
So where do we draw the line? While chemical injections immediately raise red flags, altitude training and slick engineering remain the norm. Several extreme runners (these folks laugh at your petty marathons) regularly file their toenails down or have them removed to increase performance so what's to keep them from having their appendix out to reduce their weight? Or something else?
The topic of this article comes from a recent Nike sponsored TV spot for the Olympics, embedded below. Hi-res is here.
The ending image is of course runner Oscar Pistorius, of whom I am a huge fan. Every time I see him in action I can't help but stare in wonder, goose bumps forming as he transcends all existing definitions of the word "athlete." A man without legs churning up the race track fueled by sheer power of will and the marvels of modern science, an inspiration to any person facing physical limitations of their own. However, he is clearly using something that is not "already inside."
I won't delve in to the controversy of his intended competition in the summer games (which was granted but he failed to qualify for, you can read about it here) but he certainly calls in to question existing definitions of who is eligible to compete. Would the verdict have been the same if the body modification was intentional?
2008 marked the high point of the graph in engineered attire and that curve is going nowhere but up. Competitive parameters will get stricter, boundaries more encompassing, and each and every breakthrough will have to be met and evaluated in order to determine fairness. The idea of body modifications obtainable by means other than training may not be too far off. The winter games might unveil some new tech that enhances performance and calls in to question the limits of what is allowed in competition.
Technology continuously redefines and restructures even the basest of human activity, its advancement equally pushing and pulling the standards by which we work, play, and compete. Perhaps its continued implementation will reach a ceiling that purists will refuse to break, a point at which the effects of research and development supersede talent and training.
At that point it will be what's on the inside that counts. And we can expect, dare I say anticipate, a whole lot of naked.
Please join me in welcoming another new addition to the Weekly Geek writing staff, Ryan G. Biv. Ryan blogs from his ice fortress deep under the Siberian permafrost, gibbering unintelligibly at an indentured translator who relays the information best he can. Enjoy! --Chris
Promotional media is fleeting. Compacted revenue streamlined to fill the seats or your grubby little hand with the latest and greatest. Posters spring up like mushrooms after a rain for upcoming films and are left to rot, sure to be covered over as compost for the next flick that blows in to town. Run times dictate, release dates loom, and you better bold-face that font if you want your gig filled to capacity.
Enter viral marketing, the self replicating strain of publicity that I'm certain gets marketing execs all hot and bothered. They have to place but a drop in the pool and the very nature of their target audience whisks it away in a mad fit of dispersion. It's market specific, geek-friendly, and like any other advertisement can go incredibly right or terribly wrong.
But what if there is a more sprawling narrative? What if a parallel story is related to the product but can exist on its own? What if I can participate in the delayed unveiling through a series of either web based or cleverly placed real-world clues? Now we are in the territory of Alternate Reality Gaming (ARG) and they've been around for years, causing a stir and getting targeted audiences talking about the process, not just the product.
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