Monkeying around

I recall when the Japanese giant Nintendo unleashed its new product, the Game Boy — a hand-held, battery-powered plastic block that promised to set gamers loose, from the tyranny of arcades and pizza parlors.  

A tradition was born: and in my opinion, a stupid game.  Their invention colonized brains and shifted the entire economic model of the video-game industry. Today we are living, for better and worse, in a world of idle time –fillers.

Games reflect the societies in which they are created and played. Monopoly, for instance, was a product of the 1930s — it allowed anyone, in the middle of the Depression, to play at being a tycoon. Risk, released in the 1950s, is a stunningly literal expression of cold-war politics.   

Tetris was invented in a Soviet computer lab in the mid 1980’s — and its play reflected its origin. The enemy in Tetris is not some identifiable villain but a faceless, ceaseless, reasonless force that threatens constantly to overwhelm you, a churning production of blocks against which your only defense is a repetitive, meaningless sorting. It is bureaucracy in pure form, busywork with no aim or end, impossible to avoid or escape. And the game’s final insult is that it annihilates free will and forces us to punish ourselves.

When Angry Birds became the most popular game on the iphone, I resisted buying one—the title alone was a turn-off.  How could anyone cut themselves off like a cold mummy, in a form of escapism and be so unproductive? 

I know some who say that they recognize a scary power over them — an opium kind of power — in a video game. I suggest they cultivate other, more impressive ways of spending time, such as culture, or pouring attention into books.

I may sound high-minded but I am detached from video games and don’t believe they have any redeeming value.  And if a game incites violence, or a form of gambling and isn’t fulfilling, what’s the point?  

Humans have always played games. Dice are older than recorded history. Ancient Egyptians played a board game called Senet, which archaeologists believe was something like sacred backgammon. We have rock-paper-scissors, tick-tack-toe, checkers, dominoes and solitaire — abstract games in which sets of simple rules play out in increasingly complex scenarios.  Even chess, you might say, is the king of games: and draws the line where stupid ends and smart takes over.

Games are addictive; they explore an intersection in the brain of motor skills and our capacity to track multiple objects simultaneously. And then there are some who might argue that games may be the answer to all of humanity’s problems— play is possibly the best, healthiest, most productive activity a human can undertake — a gateway to our ideal psychological state.  Certainly for Dementia patients they can be an optimal form of engaging it. Some proponents might point to successful examples of games applied to everyday life: Weight Watchers and frequent-flier miles, for example.

Facebook’s Zynga has expanded its focus to include mobile phones.  Some people argue that Zynga’s signature games — FarmVille, FishVille — shouldn’t even be called games.  They are driven by the human need to achieve progress by a predictable path and a willingness to pay small amounts of money to make that progress go faster. So maybe they aren’t games, just gambling or money drainers.  But one could argue that FarmVille is in fact the logic behind gamification: they have the appearance of games; they inspire the compulsions of games, but are they helping us learn or develop a skill-set?

Multiple Player Games or MMORPG’s—have a large number of players that interact with one another within a virtual game world. I’m sure some will argue that this interaction makes them different, human like, but is this social progress, investing huge amounts of time and money only to repeatedly kill the same monsters over and over again?

The influences of capitalism have crawled into the gaming industry and an increasing number are being churned out—before long the entire gaming industry will be sucked into the vortex of it.  So where does this leave us?  Personally, I feel disturbed by the dark side of games, like an addiction or a cynical corporate hijacking. Part of the seduction, as I see it, is to come out on the other side a more interesting and self-aware person; more conscious of your habits, weaknesses, desires and strengths. But instead it’s like a deadly drug; that crushes your brain. Sure, there’s mathematics to it; if that’s what we can call that tiny piece of culture. But the type of game you play is also a part of how you think about yourself as a person.  Although we walk it like a tightrope between this cerebral thing that gives you opportunities to improve yourself — through forcing us to make a series of choices about what matters, moment to moment, in our lives — at the same time it’s monotonous, and hooks and reels you in and that’s plain self-destruction.

Our lifespan is short, is anyone at the end of theirs playing these games? Are the terminally ill saying—I should have spent more time on playing games and less time staying in touch, talking to or getting to know that person? 

Games have not been proven as a relaxation technique.  Do they make us any happier, inspire us or make us more productive? Do they help us live in the moment with awareness or superficially distract us? Ultimately, I realize, games are a subtle and mysterious form of wall-building: the internal walls we build to compartmentalize our time, our attention, and our lives.  And that’s why I see them as idle time fillers, and as stupid games.   

Are you a video game player? Do they make you stupid or smart? What do you think? Your comments are welcome.  

Green is Lucky

Many years ago, I was at a lecture on St. Patrick’s Day and a brusque and somewhat imperious man, was scheduled to read from his novel. I was surprised to see he had a glass of whiskey hidden behind the podium—suffice it to say, I recognized the color and it was not lemonade. Every time he read a page, he took a swig of whiskey. It was a long reading. When it was over, he couldn’t move, and some assistant had to cart him off, but I remember thinking at the time, “Oh, get a grip.” And I thought that up until I had a different type of audition and looked into the camera and thought, if only…

Even if it’s ridiculous that I would have been nervous after being handed the sides, the first time I was asked to improvise I was so nervous; my mind went blank.  Auditions in Europe weren’t done that way.  After I left Europe for New York I never expected to be in front of the camera again.  But back in Los Angeles, by sheer coincidence and a friend who introduced me to her friend, casting agent and Englishwoman Susie, I was back on the saddle again.  I landed an agent in West Hollywood who had me going out every week.  By then, things had changed.  I still remember the cameraman telling me, “Just pretend you’re talking to me.” Ironic, that now what I do for a living is stand up in front of people and talk. And I am always a tad nervous, like butterflies in my stomach but never as bad as having my speech impaired.  But there is something about reading something, having to memorize it and synthesize it in your own words, incorporating your voice and body into the delivery and into a camera, that felt different, as though naked and literally baring my soul.  It would be a little bit like going to a psychiatrist and beginning to talk and then realizing that there are millions of people listening to you.

Matters were not helped along by the fact that I got to the audition about an hour early. I am chronically punctual, and the positive side of that is that even with traffic, I arrive on time, but the bad side is that I am always roaming around, trying to kill time, and in this particular instance I was getting hungry and there was forty-five minutes to go.

I knew I couldn’t digest anything but to keep myself alert and peppy I found a bakery and had a latte, thinking the milk might help. After my drink, I went to the bathroom to re-apply lipstick and take one last look at myself.

Anyway, now there were about thirty minutes to go and I walked back to the studio and there was another woman—who arrived in one door as I opened another.  We argued over which of us would walk into the audition first, and for some God-unknown reason she also wanted to sit in the chair I had selected.  Teaching myself feng-shui at the time and implementing directions for prosperity, I had to sit in that corner. I am good about sharing, but I was absolutely convinced she was going to knock my chances—I could feel my blood pressure rise—and so every time she came in my direction, I would put my hand up to block her way. It seems funny to me now, but at the time I was ready to strangle her.  But then a friend of mine, showed up, which was a great treat. And from then on everything went well. It turned out there were quite a few people in attendance, some of whom I didn’t know, or had ever seen, but they all smiled and were friendly, except for the arguer.     

I waited for my friends audition to be over, and on the walk back to our cars, I was relieved to be alive and for the first time in a while I felt relaxed. In fact, I was quite calm and then the argumentative woman came by and said, “Better luck next time!” The rest of that discussion I’ll leave to your imagination.

Right as Rain

I can’t decide whether it’s more narcissistic or more fair-mindedly self-critical to compare oneself to novel characters, but I do it all the time, and I increasingly reflect on if I should post my opinion on some subject or not.  The last book I read was finally something I wanted to devour (the last 5 or so were mediocre at best) although I couldn’t identify with the characters, I felt empathy for their struggle.

So rather than read the Ford Madox Ford's Edwardian-period novel, Parade’s End, I’ve decided to tune into the HBO mini-series.  It hadn’t held my interest but with my stick-to-it attitude, after last night’s episode 3 (there are 5 total) I thought—finally, the carriage ride ends and I see the venture into heart and humanity, as the perennial brew or storyline unfolds.   

The complex protagonist, Christopher Tietjens, is thoughtful, pensive, resigned, and romantic.  His outrageous wife, Sylvia, on the other hand is courageously shrewish, and one of the most manipulative female characters ever constructed.  Tietjens is in love with Valentine Wannop, a young suffragette.  The three live in a haphazard, combative, flashes of danger, glimmers of beauty world.  It's the world seen through Tietjens's eyes — its losses, occasional gains, romance, and, ultimately, the seismic shifts that occurred in Britain during 1914-1916.  The war is there and obviously so are the diminishing class distinctions.  But it's not a story per se about the war, or like Downton Abbey, the social classes. 

There is an almost anthropological consideration of varied social classes and types of life living in fear of the international sea change, which occurred in 1914. It's an encyclopedic look at British life at its most pivotal point in the newly-dawned twentieth century. There is no shortage of romance, wit, and a staggering amount of conscious thought. And this is where things get interesting. Consciousness, interiority, and psychological insight were such prevalent concepts and means of character illustration in the twentieth century. Christopher Tietjens is a greatest example of that; of honor, self-awareness and consciousness. The story is heavy on impression and full of little fleeting moments. The impressions, mainly coming from the characters, wash over you like a subtle mist of rain rather than declare their intentions.

So with that, reader, I ask, do you ever find yourself identifying with novel and/or film characters?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r5DMmOLkLQI

Opportunity and Success

Recently I’ve begun to think that quotes from intelligent people would be perfect as an epigraph for either my own or anyone else’s novel http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epigraph_(literature), an epigraph being a little quote on the opening page right before a novel starts.  With the right epigraph I’d immediately establish a warm, sympathetic, intelligent tone.  So far I can’t find the exact words. But I am confident that somewhere, tucked away, I’ll find it.  Meanwhile, I’ve been accumulating quotes perfect for books I’m not writing. So I’ll pass them along and feel free to take them.

Oedipus: “The pains we inflict upon ourselves hurt most of all.”

Voltaire: God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.”

Eleanor Roosevelt: “Perhaps we have to learn that life was not meant to be lived in security but with adventurous courage.”

Eleanor Roosevelt: “It is often said that friendship and loyalty are the petty illusions and dreams of youth and that as one grows older, one gives them up and forgets them, but this seems wrong, for the greatest men and women are those who have been loyal and honest and have believed in friendship to the end.”

Bernard Selling: “Sometimes the only real truth is each person’s perception of it.”

Peter Ackroyd: “If there is one aspect of a writer’s life that cannot be concealed, it is childhood.”

Margaret Robison: “The soul has to have a place to come home to.”

Lucille Clifton: “I write the way I write because I am the kind of person I am.”

Mahatma Gandhi: “First they ignore you. Then they laugh at you. Then they fight you. Then you win.”

Stephen King: “If you intend to write as truthfully as you can, your days as a member of polite society are numbered.”

Anyone have a quote they want to share that would make a good epigraph?