This is my grandad, back in the Greece of 1929. He was born in 1907 I believe, so he's four years younger than me here. I could make comments about ageing, decay, etc, but there's no point - anyone with a half-a-brain can extrapolate from my appearance and his the sort of comments I'd make.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Flickr Photo Download: Lego Star Wars II - naked Stormtrooper
I've forgotten how to say Lebanon. It reminds me too much of some Elvish word; Lebanen, I suspect. I keep getting into impassioned arguments about the bastardliness of the situation over there, and then am unable to pronounce the word. Anyway, I think the Israeli's had no choice but to bomb civilians, just like Bush had no choice but to assault Afghanistan and Iraq. If terrorists are based in a civilian location and the choice is between your people and theirs, you bomb them. Simple enough. That's the logic of the Death Star being used against Alderaan – those who harbour men of violence will suffer violence themselves. If you accept Bush and Olmert's position, you back Darth Vader, simply put. I'm firmly on Grand Moff Tarkin's side anyway.
Let's pause for a moment of thought and a picture of a naked Stormtrooper.
What's more scary is that Israeli soldiers are now saving their sperm so if they die their families or others can have children from them anyway. I believe that in the traditional hassidic family household, it can be seen as a blessing for a person to study all their lives and if a man is inclined that way, the family will often cope with it and support his (traditionally enormous) family. Hence these communities can live in great poverty because the men produce nothing and do nothing, beyond study. If the men didn't exist, they'd be more useful.
Perhaps the Israelis will go further and start saving ova as well, so there are are millions of useless potential human beings just sitting in these tanks, waiting to be born. And perhaps the government will take the final step, and cut out the parenting process all together, just breeding test tube kids by the hundred, so the people are free to indulge in more economically productive activities - the necessary artificial wombs are on the way. I can see the mentality of a warlike people surrounded on all sides by enemies in creating what is in effect a Clone Army - or rather an army of orphans - merely because it's more efficient in terms of manpower. Israel is one of the most extremist nations on the earth, committed to an exclusionary racial religion, pure capitalism and pure representative democracy; if anywhere could accept my nightmare, Israel could.
Anyway, what am I doing? I was in Cornwall, barbecuing on the beach and running into waves a couple of weekends ago. Me and Alec almost got drowned as we neglected to pay attention to the undercurrent and were forced to try and walk along the sea bed to get back in. Very fun. I need to go to the sea more often, thalatta, thalatta, or whatever it was the ancient Greeks would shout as they ran to the shore There's something deeply spiritual about having your semi-nekked body battered to shit by twenty-foot high waves.
And the magazine. It's been chocka with work this month, more games than we've ever had before but I think it's (so far) gone fairly well. I managed to write a ton myself and commission loads more out, so I feel fulfilled for a bit – I often feel like a spare wheel on magazines because my job is so limited and it seriously feels like, if I had to, I could do the whole thing myself – yet looking at this month's flatplan, I've written 28 pages and commissioned 29 pages (57 all told then) of the 116 editorial pages – and a lot that's left is filler our forumites complain regularly about. I could have done more, but I wouldn't have wanted to.
And life outside the office? I've reverted a little to my staid ways, not taking advantage as well as I should of what London has to offer – I even missed the whole Ealing festival, that was right on my doorstep. My penurious financial situation isn't helping – most of my wage is paid out at the beginning of a month to bills and savings, so I'm skint by the day after payday. I'm still seeing Jill and I think it's going well-ish – though I fear she reinforces my tendency to lie around the house all day, rather than the more outward-going person I would rather be. It's odd how you can have aspirations about yourself in the full knowledge you will never be motivated enough to achieve them. Sad, even. Perhaps I should clone myself and make him have fun...
Let's pause for a moment of thought and a picture of a naked Stormtrooper.
What's more scary is that Israeli soldiers are now saving their sperm so if they die their families or others can have children from them anyway. I believe that in the traditional hassidic family household, it can be seen as a blessing for a person to study all their lives and if a man is inclined that way, the family will often cope with it and support his (traditionally enormous) family. Hence these communities can live in great poverty because the men produce nothing and do nothing, beyond study. If the men didn't exist, they'd be more useful.
Perhaps the Israelis will go further and start saving ova as well, so there are are millions of useless potential human beings just sitting in these tanks, waiting to be born. And perhaps the government will take the final step, and cut out the parenting process all together, just breeding test tube kids by the hundred, so the people are free to indulge in more economically productive activities - the necessary artificial wombs are on the way. I can see the mentality of a warlike people surrounded on all sides by enemies in creating what is in effect a Clone Army - or rather an army of orphans - merely because it's more efficient in terms of manpower. Israel is one of the most extremist nations on the earth, committed to an exclusionary racial religion, pure capitalism and pure representative democracy; if anywhere could accept my nightmare, Israel could.
Anyway, what am I doing? I was in Cornwall, barbecuing on the beach and running into waves a couple of weekends ago. Me and Alec almost got drowned as we neglected to pay attention to the undercurrent and were forced to try and walk along the sea bed to get back in. Very fun. I need to go to the sea more often, thalatta, thalatta, or whatever it was the ancient Greeks would shout as they ran to the shore There's something deeply spiritual about having your semi-nekked body battered to shit by twenty-foot high waves.
And the magazine. It's been chocka with work this month, more games than we've ever had before but I think it's (so far) gone fairly well. I managed to write a ton myself and commission loads more out, so I feel fulfilled for a bit – I often feel like a spare wheel on magazines because my job is so limited and it seriously feels like, if I had to, I could do the whole thing myself – yet looking at this month's flatplan, I've written 28 pages and commissioned 29 pages (57 all told then) of the 116 editorial pages – and a lot that's left is filler our forumites complain regularly about. I could have done more, but I wouldn't have wanted to.
And life outside the office? I've reverted a little to my staid ways, not taking advantage as well as I should of what London has to offer – I even missed the whole Ealing festival, that was right on my doorstep. My penurious financial situation isn't helping – most of my wage is paid out at the beginning of a month to bills and savings, so I'm skint by the day after payday. I'm still seeing Jill and I think it's going well-ish – though I fear she reinforces my tendency to lie around the house all day, rather than the more outward-going person I would rather be. It's odd how you can have aspirations about yourself in the full knowledge you will never be motivated enough to achieve them. Sad, even. Perhaps I should clone myself and make him have fun...
The Amazing Screw-On Head
President Abraham Lincoln: "It disappeared from the Museum of Ancient Evil Texts, along with their foremost expert on untranslateable texts."
The Amazing Screw-On Head "Professor Fruen?!?"
"He was abducted by two old women and a monkey."
"It sounds like the work of Emperor Zombie."
"It sounds like you're right."
Absolutely awesome animated Mike Mignola (Hellboy) series coming to the Sci-Fi channel.
President Abraham Lincoln: "It disappeared from the Museum of Ancient Evil Texts, along with their foremost expert on untranslateable texts."
The Amazing Screw-On Head "Professor Fruen?!?"
"He was abducted by two old women and a monkey."
"It sounds like the work of Emperor Zombie."
"It sounds like you're right."
Absolutely awesome animated Mike Mignola (Hellboy) series coming to the Sci-Fi channel.
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Dave Gilbert ? The Shivah
Dave Gilbert: The Shivah
Glorious little rabinical mini-game I've been looking at. Will have to give it a go and report back. I'm also playing Kudos at the moment, a life-simulator by the maker of the excellent election/re-election sim Democracy where you start off as a 20 year-old and have to achieve success by your thirties. Though it keeps crashing on my machine, I like its elegance of design (you never really leave the main screen) and ease of communication (mostly everything you want to know is one click away). Once the glitches are ironed out, it'll be worth a pop.
Glorious little rabinical mini-game I've been looking at. Will have to give it a go and report back. I'm also playing Kudos at the moment, a life-simulator by the maker of the excellent election/re-election sim Democracy where you start off as a 20 year-old and have to achieve success by your thirties. Though it keeps crashing on my machine, I like its elegance of design (you never really leave the main screen) and ease of communication (mostly everything you want to know is one click away). Once the glitches are ironed out, it'll be worth a pop.
Friday, July 28, 2006
ECT
Last night I had Sausages and Mash for dinner. Well, Sausages at 6 O'Clock and Mash at Midnight; does that count as Sausages and Mash for dinner?
Then I went dreamy-bye-bye, and thought about ambling barefoot over the paving stones of didsbury, aimlessly walking to work. Then I dreamt of games, and got so annoyed at myself for my addiction I tried to think of ways of forcing myself to stop. At university I used to give my power cables away every time I wanted to work; now I think a little dynamo powering off your body's movement would do the job. Every time the circuitry detects that the average input rate (over the course of a day) drops below a certain rate, the battery would start discharging, niggling at first but increasingly painful. Which would certainly make you jump up and do some exercise. If you were playing games for too long, sitting still, that would bring the average input rate down, shocking you into motion. Exercise would buy you lots of time playing games, so we could hope for a pavlovian reaction in the long run, where the gamer starts associating exercise with pleasure and games with pain. Yay!
Then I went dreamy-bye-bye, and thought about ambling barefoot over the paving stones of didsbury, aimlessly walking to work. Then I dreamt of games, and got so annoyed at myself for my addiction I tried to think of ways of forcing myself to stop. At university I used to give my power cables away every time I wanted to work; now I think a little dynamo powering off your body's movement would do the job. Every time the circuitry detects that the average input rate (over the course of a day) drops below a certain rate, the battery would start discharging, niggling at first but increasingly painful. Which would certainly make you jump up and do some exercise. If you were playing games for too long, sitting still, that would bring the average input rate down, shocking you into motion. Exercise would buy you lots of time playing games, so we could hope for a pavlovian reaction in the long run, where the gamer starts associating exercise with pleasure and games with pain. Yay!
Thursday, July 13, 2006
LucasArts!
ME:
Peter Hirschmann, Vice-President of LucasArts:
ME
Peter:
Me:
Expurgated excerpt from an interview I did with the LucasArts head of games for the magazine! I'll link to the rest when it crops up.
...and Nintendo! I don't how to broach this but, as a gamer, I'm really excited to see what you're doing with the Wii controller, Digital MM and euphoria, especially for the Indy game!
Peter Hirschmann, Vice-President of LucasArts:
(Laughs) You want a Wii world exclusive?
ME
I'd have to hide it, I wouldn't be able to tell anyone, it would be terrible, a horrible secret I'd have to keep to myself.
Peter:
The burden of writing for a platform-specific magazine.
Me:
How am I going to keep this to myself?
Expurgated excerpt from an interview I did with the LucasArts head of games for the magazine! I'll link to the rest when it crops up.
Day in the life
Day in the life
Multiple alarms go off. I'm lying in dirty sheets with an Oblivion hangover and I should be getting up for work. Instead of which I've piled all the duvets and my too-many pillows and cushions up (incidentally crushing my plush Gonzo) and thrust my face in, feeling for the crisp coolness of unused linen. Eventually I get up, have a cold shower, and wonder if there's any fodder in the house I feel like eating. I pull on sandals, as it'll save on washing socks later and go down, through my flats.
Longfield house is a bipolar place, with the landlord promising all these improvements, none of which are thought through properly. So to stop tramps sleeping on the roof outside my window, he blocked off the fire escape. To improve the look of the concrete entrance ramp, he covered it in sheet metal that is lethal in ice or rain. The postboxes have been replaced three times, because they can't get the numbers right – and the flaps are so big, anyone wandering in from the street can nick the post. Anyone can wander in from the street because the security system has been deactivated. It's been deactivated because the intercom doesn't work and not enough keyfobs have been handed out to the other residents of the building. The building has a caretaker but he doesn't clean the building itself, merely sweeping up the leaves outside. Inside there's piled rubbish, holes in the wall and bird crap coating the stair-wells, presumably from when a pigeon got in when they were jerry-building the new flats in which we live. No-one I've met, apart from us, likes living there.
I walk through Longfield house quickly.
I walk ten minutes to Ealing Broadway, spend twelve minutes on the overland to Paddington, hop on the underground to Marylebone, walk to the office, and wait for the lift.
Then it's a long day of typing. Yesterday I made about fifteen phone-calls, sent thirty emails, wrote a two-page preview of a game, played squash with Jamie Sefton at lunchtime (having gashed my index finger with a big knife at the weekend, I can't hit straight or hard, and lost badly 5-0), interviewed the head of LucasArts game development over a crackly transatlantic line, stopped a copyright-infringing image going on our cover and took some time to browse the internet and catch up on news stories.
Somedays I even talk to people.
I then reversed my lengthy homeward journey, bought a cookie, stopped in and picked up some cheap canvasses for the painting I never get around to doing, bought some absolute cheap crap from Morrissons, went to a bar with my flatmate Jamie and ate some nachos, drank some white wine, went home, played Oblivion for four hours, had some dinner at midnight (ribs and rice), went into my room, cleared the crap off my bed, started my computer up, listened to radio 4, twiddled, brushed my teeth, installed a duplicate-file finder (because I seem to have at least two copies of most of my MP3s) and went to sleep.
Woke up. Repeat.
Multiple alarms go off. I'm lying in dirty sheets with an Oblivion hangover and I should be getting up for work. Instead of which I've piled all the duvets and my too-many pillows and cushions up (incidentally crushing my plush Gonzo) and thrust my face in, feeling for the crisp coolness of unused linen. Eventually I get up, have a cold shower, and wonder if there's any fodder in the house I feel like eating. I pull on sandals, as it'll save on washing socks later and go down, through my flats.
Longfield house is a bipolar place, with the landlord promising all these improvements, none of which are thought through properly. So to stop tramps sleeping on the roof outside my window, he blocked off the fire escape. To improve the look of the concrete entrance ramp, he covered it in sheet metal that is lethal in ice or rain. The postboxes have been replaced three times, because they can't get the numbers right – and the flaps are so big, anyone wandering in from the street can nick the post. Anyone can wander in from the street because the security system has been deactivated. It's been deactivated because the intercom doesn't work and not enough keyfobs have been handed out to the other residents of the building. The building has a caretaker but he doesn't clean the building itself, merely sweeping up the leaves outside. Inside there's piled rubbish, holes in the wall and bird crap coating the stair-wells, presumably from when a pigeon got in when they were jerry-building the new flats in which we live. No-one I've met, apart from us, likes living there.
I walk through Longfield house quickly.
I walk ten minutes to Ealing Broadway, spend twelve minutes on the overland to Paddington, hop on the underground to Marylebone, walk to the office, and wait for the lift.
Then it's a long day of typing. Yesterday I made about fifteen phone-calls, sent thirty emails, wrote a two-page preview of a game, played squash with Jamie Sefton at lunchtime (having gashed my index finger with a big knife at the weekend, I can't hit straight or hard, and lost badly 5-0), interviewed the head of LucasArts game development over a crackly transatlantic line, stopped a copyright-infringing image going on our cover and took some time to browse the internet and catch up on news stories.
Somedays I even talk to people.
I then reversed my lengthy homeward journey, bought a cookie, stopped in and picked up some cheap canvasses for the painting I never get around to doing, bought some absolute cheap crap from Morrissons, went to a bar with my flatmate Jamie and ate some nachos, drank some white wine, went home, played Oblivion for four hours, had some dinner at midnight (ribs and rice), went into my room, cleared the crap off my bed, started my computer up, listened to radio 4, twiddled, brushed my teeth, installed a duplicate-file finder (because I seem to have at least two copies of most of my MP3s) and went to sleep.
Woke up. Repeat.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
Warning! Game Related Blog - Prey Physics
This post is about the use of theoretical physics in the science fiction shooting game Prey. Don't get me wrong, Prey is not an ideal game; it's stupid, bloody and enormously derivative in everything it does, from combat, to weapon selection, to the plot. That said, it raises some questions about physics and biology that are quite interesting and worth exploring. I know I don't normally talk about games, mainly due to a desire to maintain the work-life separation but a conversation with Steve Hogarty of PC Zone intrigued me enough to write this.
First off, its wall-walking technology is interesting. Simply put, there are powered ramps on the walls which, when you walk onto them, flip your perspective around so you're like a fly walking up the wall, and gravity is apparently always perpendicular to you. It's not possible that you're just stuck by your feet, as your legs wouldn't be able to cope with your entire body weight shifting from the vertical to the horizontal to the inverted vertical, whilst running and shooting; you'd fall over at the knees and just hang there.
So there must be a field covering the entire walkway to hold you in place. However, when a hunter is killed on an upside-down walkway he immediately falls off (likewise if you jump), indicating that the point of contact is only at the base of the foot, or that the field only maintains strength as long as you're in contact with it (like the giant Antaeus from the myth of Heracles only maintaining his tremendous strength so long as he was in contact with the ground.) Still, if you jump into the walkway, it doesn't grab you back by that part of your body, so it can't be a mere contact thing. Nor are you wearing special boots or anything of the sort.
The portals are extremely problematic. These consist of two linked holes, allowing you to move anywhere on the level. While wormholes are theoretically possible, there are multiple problems with these as they are expressed here. Firstly, they should cast shadows if they allow light to pass through their entrances - and they allow you to see people through the portal entrance, so light does pass through. However, if they don't allow light to pass through, they should be black circles on the side you can enter through, and be perfectly transparent from the back. These portals allow light to pass through the entrance side, so you can see into them, and are perfectly transparent from the back. This doubles light, effectively creating it. With this system, you could place one entrance to a portal behind the other, so the light passing through the back of one would be endlessly be recycled, growing in strength exponentially, creating limitless energy from nothing - which counteracts the first law of thermodynamics.
Secondly, there are problems with what is allowed to pass through the holes. Light and sound seemingly can, but gravity cannot. Whether other electromagnetic waves can isn't clear - your shots, which vary from pure energy to projectiles, can pass through. The other key forces to the universe (the nuclear forces, etc) seem to be unaffected. Perversely, the light from your lighter cannot pass through the portal either.
Thirdly, approaching the portal from the side or rear. If you walked into the back of the portal, then backed off, would the intruding piece of your body simply shear off? If not, how does the portal qualify what is a full entity and distinguish it? Approaching if from the side would surely shear the entity along the line of approach, like the finest nanowire. Unless, of course, the edges of the portal are robust and solid in themselves - which they're ostensibly not.
And what if someone walks through the back of a portal while someone else is exiting it? Would they appear on the same spot? Would they mingle? If you force that many atoms into the same space, surely they'd explode. What if you poked your finger into a mirrored portal - one that the surface for entrance and exit are the same? Surely you'd be able to touch yourself, much like you can in normal life, albeit in a mirrored form. In crude terms, you could give yourself a reach-around!
Finally, the portals seem to float above whatever surface they're fixed to. We have to assume they're held in place by magnetic fields or something like that, as if they weren't imagine the problems - dropping a portal onto the surface of a planet would result in it spewing out a tube of material at its other end, as gravity sucked it down, endlessly consuming until it hit the planet's centre.
There's a lot more problems with the physics of Prey and they simply haven't thought the issues through at all. They make for a fascinating physics test of the rigours of science fiction, which is more interesting that the game itself.
I can't justify this though.
First off, its wall-walking technology is interesting. Simply put, there are powered ramps on the walls which, when you walk onto them, flip your perspective around so you're like a fly walking up the wall, and gravity is apparently always perpendicular to you. It's not possible that you're just stuck by your feet, as your legs wouldn't be able to cope with your entire body weight shifting from the vertical to the horizontal to the inverted vertical, whilst running and shooting; you'd fall over at the knees and just hang there.
So there must be a field covering the entire walkway to hold you in place. However, when a hunter is killed on an upside-down walkway he immediately falls off (likewise if you jump), indicating that the point of contact is only at the base of the foot, or that the field only maintains strength as long as you're in contact with it (like the giant Antaeus from the myth of Heracles only maintaining his tremendous strength so long as he was in contact with the ground.) Still, if you jump into the walkway, it doesn't grab you back by that part of your body, so it can't be a mere contact thing. Nor are you wearing special boots or anything of the sort.
The portals are extremely problematic. These consist of two linked holes, allowing you to move anywhere on the level. While wormholes are theoretically possible, there are multiple problems with these as they are expressed here. Firstly, they should cast shadows if they allow light to pass through their entrances - and they allow you to see people through the portal entrance, so light does pass through. However, if they don't allow light to pass through, they should be black circles on the side you can enter through, and be perfectly transparent from the back. These portals allow light to pass through the entrance side, so you can see into them, and are perfectly transparent from the back. This doubles light, effectively creating it. With this system, you could place one entrance to a portal behind the other, so the light passing through the back of one would be endlessly be recycled, growing in strength exponentially, creating limitless energy from nothing - which counteracts the first law of thermodynamics.
Secondly, there are problems with what is allowed to pass through the holes. Light and sound seemingly can, but gravity cannot. Whether other electromagnetic waves can isn't clear - your shots, which vary from pure energy to projectiles, can pass through. The other key forces to the universe (the nuclear forces, etc) seem to be unaffected. Perversely, the light from your lighter cannot pass through the portal either.
Thirdly, approaching the portal from the side or rear. If you walked into the back of the portal, then backed off, would the intruding piece of your body simply shear off? If not, how does the portal qualify what is a full entity and distinguish it? Approaching if from the side would surely shear the entity along the line of approach, like the finest nanowire. Unless, of course, the edges of the portal are robust and solid in themselves - which they're ostensibly not.
And what if someone walks through the back of a portal while someone else is exiting it? Would they appear on the same spot? Would they mingle? If you force that many atoms into the same space, surely they'd explode. What if you poked your finger into a mirrored portal - one that the surface for entrance and exit are the same? Surely you'd be able to touch yourself, much like you can in normal life, albeit in a mirrored form. In crude terms, you could give yourself a reach-around!
Finally, the portals seem to float above whatever surface they're fixed to. We have to assume they're held in place by magnetic fields or something like that, as if they weren't imagine the problems - dropping a portal onto the surface of a planet would result in it spewing out a tube of material at its other end, as gravity sucked it down, endlessly consuming until it hit the planet's centre.
There's a lot more problems with the physics of Prey and they simply haven't thought the issues through at all. They make for a fascinating physics test of the rigours of science fiction, which is more interesting that the game itself.
I can't justify this though.
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