As I was actually bothering to fill in my Backloggery last night (it's still nowhere near complete), I noticed the new trend in game-making - micro-gaming. That is, to make one shorter game around an innovative mechanic, rather than a much meatier, lengthier one. Dark Void is the latest to try this with a large budget; Mirror's Edge did this earlier, and with indie game developers, it is all the rage. Yet I'm not convinced of its worth. Two games I'd like to compare in this discussion are Braid and Spelunky.
Braid probably epitomizes this movement. Critically acclaimed for its unique puzzle mechanic, the game is also fairly short. I'm not comfortable calling it a great game, though. Is the time-traveling genius? It is, and it's well-implemented. Stylistically and musically the game is well-done, too. Still, I can't help but think that the game would be much better if it actually had reasonably decent controls. Jumping is awfully short, and enemy detection is very, very sensitive. If you were capable of Mario-style jumps, or if the enemies had more forgivable hitboxes, it would be a lot more pleasant to play. As it stands, though, I cannot even count the amount of times that I've been stuck between two rabbits and a missile with literally no way to proceed, short of shifting back a significant length of time and trying again, again, and again because with the limited range of movement there is literally no way to dodge.
So, is Braid an excellent game for using such an innovative idea? Or, is it a mediocre game because it fails to implement this idea well into a larger one? As a whole the mechanics suffer, and a lengthier experience would be frustrating and impossible because so much of the game is wholly unenjoyable - yet by playing to only its strengths, it manages to squeak by. Bringing this into the macro sense, does the micro-gaming trend show an increased ability in game design, or an actually weakening one, where developers have less talent to make a game with rounded, enjoyable mechanics that stand the test of time and prolonged playing?
This is why I'm using Spelunky as a counter-example. I cannot fathom the amount of hours I have spent playing Spelunky. The game is simply perfect, from all angles. There are few games that I could give a ten two, but Spelunky is absolutely one of them. Beyond standing the test of repeated gameplay, Spelunky gains from it. The more it is played, the better, the more addictive and genius it becomes. Its primary feature would be its random levels, if we were to take one and give it parity to Braid's time-traveling. Spelunky's innovative feature forms the rest of the game, but it does not define it - there is more than random levels, it is fun to play.
The recent wave of "innovation" does have me puzzling. We had innovation in older times, but it was often of a less dramatic sort, and, more importantly, was utilized by the game. Super Mario 3's suits didn't define the game, but they certainly enhanced it - it represented a more holistic approach.
Maybe I'm being unfair to Braid by not judging it as a puzzle game, but rather as a platformer; nevertheless, that is precisely my point. Braid only works as a puzzle game because the developers were incapable of expanding its core mechanic into something more significant. While the innovation was there, and the implementation of one specific aspect was superb, its length was its only saving grace. Are micro-games short because of their narrowly focused experience? I argue that their narrow focus is the product of the developers' lack of experience and ability.
Half-Life 2 is five years old, but it is one game that made me think about this. I just started playing it, and while HL2 really brings nothing particularly innovative to the table (besides a now boring physics engine), it's a superb experience; the mechanics are so fantastic that it can fill a lengthy time. Micro-games tend to be weak on many counts. I respect indie developers for their work - for people with limited capital and experience, they do a great job, but for the majority, their efforts cannot rival larger companies. What they tend to have in innovation, they lack in polish. This is why people like Derek Yu deserve so much credit - independent developers who create truly excellent experiences that compete on a one-on-one level with major releases are few and far between.
Not that I'm hating on all micro-games. Braid is still a good experience, and Portal is one of the best things that I have ever played. It is the trend that I am cautioning against. We should be wary to place so much praise on it, because while we get good ideas, they become less well-implemented as part of a holistic experience.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
What defines us as individuals? Or, better yet, why are we individuals in the first place? How are we separated from others, and how are we unique?
These are incredibly huge questions. Where is the core value of individuality located? And what does it mean?
I'm asking more than I'm answering. Frankly, I'm not sure that I can answer tonight, or possibly at all. Humans all have different desires, on one level. Some want to run businesses, others teach, others raise children... We all have our own preferences.
For the most part, though, we share a similar set of core desires. To be remembered in some way (stemming from a fear of death and nothingness), to survive as long as possible, to avoid pain, and to share in the company of others. These qualities may vary in degree, but their presence is shared - they underlie the human experience.
There can be said to be a similar core, with different outgrowths. These are the differences that define us as individuals, it seems - those which are easily recognized. The idea of "group psychology" is that you can remove these preferences, and the people will act, as an aggregate, as their core.
But if we define ourselves based only upon these qualities, what is the significance of the individual? Is it truly merely a set of preferences? That cannot be the case - we have met people like us, but if preference was the only determining factor, we would often meet people exactly like us. There is more to the individual - the individual mannerisms, characteristics, personality quirks.., that are entirely unconscious, generally uncontrolled, and incredibly different. These themselves can cause infinite amounts of conflict.
Furthermore, no two humans (barring identical twins) look exactly the same. Individuality seems a key characteristic of the human being. Even the genetically identical twins, who share so many similarities, are often their own person. We are the product of more than our environment, more than our genes... All these things define us, yet fail to capture the true essence of our individuality.
We share many things, but it seems impossible that we are not all our own actors, with our own parts and characters. Individuality seems to be inseparable from humanity.
These are incredibly huge questions. Where is the core value of individuality located? And what does it mean?
I'm asking more than I'm answering. Frankly, I'm not sure that I can answer tonight, or possibly at all. Humans all have different desires, on one level. Some want to run businesses, others teach, others raise children... We all have our own preferences.
For the most part, though, we share a similar set of core desires. To be remembered in some way (stemming from a fear of death and nothingness), to survive as long as possible, to avoid pain, and to share in the company of others. These qualities may vary in degree, but their presence is shared - they underlie the human experience.
There can be said to be a similar core, with different outgrowths. These are the differences that define us as individuals, it seems - those which are easily recognized. The idea of "group psychology" is that you can remove these preferences, and the people will act, as an aggregate, as their core.
But if we define ourselves based only upon these qualities, what is the significance of the individual? Is it truly merely a set of preferences? That cannot be the case - we have met people like us, but if preference was the only determining factor, we would often meet people exactly like us. There is more to the individual - the individual mannerisms, characteristics, personality quirks.., that are entirely unconscious, generally uncontrolled, and incredibly different. These themselves can cause infinite amounts of conflict.
Furthermore, no two humans (barring identical twins) look exactly the same. Individuality seems a key characteristic of the human being. Even the genetically identical twins, who share so many similarities, are often their own person. We are the product of more than our environment, more than our genes... All these things define us, yet fail to capture the true essence of our individuality.
We share many things, but it seems impossible that we are not all our own actors, with our own parts and characters. Individuality seems to be inseparable from humanity.
Monday, January 18, 2010
On Money
Whoops, I got a tad lax on my updates for a day or two... Or how many? Nevermind, it is far more important that I get back on the horse.
When things are popular, it is difficult to make money from selling them. This sounds like a contradiction - if they are selling well, then how could you not profit? The answer is simple. People do not make money from selling things that are abundantly available. they make money from providing goods or services which are hard to come by and in demand.
A significant way to make money is to provide something tha people didn't even know they wanted. If you introduce a new good or service to a local market, it means that, though untested, you are embarking on new territory. This is, of course, less profitable than a popular item, but the trade-off is worth the effort. If successful, you will stand to make more than you have ever dreamed.
Money can only be gained by helping people and providing them with real value. To be successful, though, you have to convince them that, for their money, yours is the most value. That's not easy, but it's rewarding.
When things are popular, it is difficult to make money from selling them. This sounds like a contradiction - if they are selling well, then how could you not profit? The answer is simple. People do not make money from selling things that are abundantly available. they make money from providing goods or services which are hard to come by and in demand.
A significant way to make money is to provide something tha people didn't even know they wanted. If you introduce a new good or service to a local market, it means that, though untested, you are embarking on new territory. This is, of course, less profitable than a popular item, but the trade-off is worth the effort. If successful, you will stand to make more than you have ever dreamed.
Money can only be gained by helping people and providing them with real value. To be successful, though, you have to convince them that, for their money, yours is the most value. That's not easy, but it's rewarding.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Conflict
The weaknesses that tie humans together are remarkable. Everyone seems to have their own individual flaw. The conflict that arises from the clash of these flaws utterly defines human interaction and emotion. Properly applied, these human failings provide the foundation for suffering, anger, and all those things which ultimately make life worth living. A life without conflict, highs and lows, and every sort of misery is hardly worth living.
Not that we should seek these qualities actively. Their involuntary nature provides the most true, organic conflict possible. The painful nature of conflict is exacerbated by the fact that we are not used to it, we prefer not to be used to it, frankly, and we would like it to go away. Especially today, where news and unpleasantries can be easily avoided through distractions or ignorance - it is easier than ever to ignore the events of the world, and even simpler still to ignore events closer to home - conflict provides a wonderful source of connection with those around us, forces reflection, introspection, and personal evaluation.
I'm not saying to not hate conflict. It's awful, and you should. But respect it for what its awfulness accomplishes, and the necessary function it serves.
Not that we should seek these qualities actively. Their involuntary nature provides the most true, organic conflict possible. The painful nature of conflict is exacerbated by the fact that we are not used to it, we prefer not to be used to it, frankly, and we would like it to go away. Especially today, where news and unpleasantries can be easily avoided through distractions or ignorance - it is easier than ever to ignore the events of the world, and even simpler still to ignore events closer to home - conflict provides a wonderful source of connection with those around us, forces reflection, introspection, and personal evaluation.
I'm not saying to not hate conflict. It's awful, and you should. But respect it for what its awfulness accomplishes, and the necessary function it serves.
Friday, January 15, 2010
A Quick Note
I've made this argument to people in the past, and I'll make it again:
The new day doesn't start until you wake up, or 6:00 or 7:00 hits, depending on the sun's rising. It may be Friday by time and calendar, but in a purely human sense, it's the same day I woke up with. The ancient Jews had this right.
Human things can exist separately from scientific definitions.
So this is my way of saying, this is Thursday's post. And I'm too exhausted to write any more.
The new day doesn't start until you wake up, or 6:00 or 7:00 hits, depending on the sun's rising. It may be Friday by time and calendar, but in a purely human sense, it's the same day I woke up with. The ancient Jews had this right.
Human things can exist separately from scientific definitions.
So this is my way of saying, this is Thursday's post. And I'm too exhausted to write any more.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
I tried for a while to think of a subject for tonight's post. Ultimately, I couldn't, really. Maybe a bit of rambling will get me through, at least I'll have put finger to key (pen to paper being somewhat outmoded; soon, I imagine, pencil and paper will be back in style, being "retro." Give the typewriter another 15 years; in ten it'll be adopted by hipsters, in 15, it'll be "mainstream.")
I've never been much of a "group" person. It's not that I'm antisocial, but I always end up on the fringe. I've always been too reticent to throw myself fully and completely into a group of people. When you're friends with just a few, you can choose to point out or ignore their follies - it doesn't have to be a commitment on your part. In a group, though, when a direction is decided upon that you cannot agree with - that's cause for hatred. The expectations are far different, and that sort of commitment to an uncontrollable mass has always scared me, if that's the right word or not.
My life spent apart from others has had one interesting side effect, though. It has given me a rather detached, observational perspective. When dealing with those with only marginal emotional connection to me, I develop a sort of Jane Goodall approach, in which I've been accepted as part of the events but am truthfully rather apart from the whole thing. I find humor in events and situations through the continuous irony that underlies human existence, even when involved personally.
Not to say, of course, that I associate with others with the intention of using them for humor. I enjoy real relationships with others, of course, but I cannot help but observe the continual, impeccable comedy of human life when it rears its head. The wise tiger Hobbes once stated, "If all the world's a stage, it must be a farce."
I've never been much of a "group" person. It's not that I'm antisocial, but I always end up on the fringe. I've always been too reticent to throw myself fully and completely into a group of people. When you're friends with just a few, you can choose to point out or ignore their follies - it doesn't have to be a commitment on your part. In a group, though, when a direction is decided upon that you cannot agree with - that's cause for hatred. The expectations are far different, and that sort of commitment to an uncontrollable mass has always scared me, if that's the right word or not.
My life spent apart from others has had one interesting side effect, though. It has given me a rather detached, observational perspective. When dealing with those with only marginal emotional connection to me, I develop a sort of Jane Goodall approach, in which I've been accepted as part of the events but am truthfully rather apart from the whole thing. I find humor in events and situations through the continuous irony that underlies human existence, even when involved personally.
Not to say, of course, that I associate with others with the intention of using them for humor. I enjoy real relationships with others, of course, but I cannot help but observe the continual, impeccable comedy of human life when it rears its head. The wise tiger Hobbes once stated, "If all the world's a stage, it must be a farce."
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Quick Work Observation
Perhaps nothing is more draining than a job which requires the most minute bit of concentration. Simple manual labor often has a joy all of its own. Picking peppers, making pipes in a factory... Sometimes it feels good to become a cog in a machine. When the body is distracted by limitless, repetitive work, the mind is free to wander. The worst jobs I have ever held are the ones that distract the body too little, and the mind only slightly. When the choice comes to either working in an empty department store or digging ditches, I'd probably pick the digging first. Labor is rewarding, it's invigorating, and it's oddly conducive to a life of thought and contemplation. St. Benedict founded his order upon "work and prayer," after all.
Maybe we shirk the life of simple work too readily. We place no work at all upon a pedestal. That's a holdover from the era when the average peasant worked himself to death. Now we find ourselves on the other extreme. We no longer work our bodies, yet we continue to work ourselves to death.
Maybe we shirk the life of simple work too readily. We place no work at all upon a pedestal. That's a holdover from the era when the average peasant worked himself to death. Now we find ourselves on the other extreme. We no longer work our bodies, yet we continue to work ourselves to death.
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