The Power of Words: Religious

“Are you religious?”

I crossed my arms against the cold and frowned in thought.  I had stepped outside the party to continue my conversation with a small group of smokers.  We had been discussing the writing of one of my classmates.  He had crafted a series of poems describing the trials and love life from high school on to present day.  Smiling sadly in remembrance, as I recalled what my own high school was like.  “If you believed everything you heard through the grapevine, you would think I had lost my virginity in high school.  Twice.  When in fact,” I bragged, "I remained a virgin until my wedding night.”

The two smokers I was talking with commended me on this, which I found both encouraging and amusing.  It’s good to know that abstinence is respected later in life, even as it was socially frowned upon as a teenager.  My amusement came from an assumption of their religious beliefs.  Chances were at least one of them wasn’t a Christian, and I was somewhat surprised to hear that non-religious people were in some sort of agreement with the sanctity of marriage.  My comment had, unwittingly, steered the conversation in another direction.

I don’t know how to respond to “are you religious”.  I am a child of God, repented of my sins, and placed my faith in Him to grant me everlasting life.  In that sense, as a practitioner of religion, I am “religious”.  But to wholeheartedly claim the title without explanation can be dangerous.  Hundreds upon thousands of people have committed heinous crimes in the name of the christian Lord.  Those who led the crusades and the Spanish Inquisition likely thought of themselves as highly religious people.  To accept the label “religious” would subconsciously put me among their ranks.  Terrible things happen in the world of organized religion because, no matter what your ranking in the church, humans are fallible.

Greg Stier has perhaps my favorite response to the question.  I heard it first when he was speaking at a Dare to Share event in Lincoln, with a stadium packed full of other Christian youth.  He told a story of a time when he was doing street evangelism with his youth group at a local mall, and was approached by a scary looking man.  Having seen what Greg and his group was doing, he looked Greg up and down and stared him in the eye.  “You religious?”  Greg shook his head.  “No man, I hate religious people.”  Surprised to find themselves in agreement, they continued bashing the religious.  They both hated how religious people think they’re better than everyone else, and judge people before they know them instead of accepting people for who they are.

Looking back, I realized that the colloquial use of “religious” doesn’t match up with the definition those inside the faith understand it to be.  To the secular masses, “religious” does not mean of or pertaining to religion: it means that you see yourself as holier that your fellow man.  As a Christian, I’ll be the first to tell you: the vast majority of us hate “religious” people.  They feel that being a child of God somehow grants them a special status here on earth, and think that they should be respected at all times and in all places because of it.  But that isn’t the teaching of God.  In Matthew 23:12, Jesus said, “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”    (English Standard Version).  A true Christian, and someone I would consider religious, would instead live by the words that the apostle Paul says in his letter to the Galatians, where he writes, “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law.” (Galatians 5:22-23, ESV).

It pains me to see and know what things have been and are currently being done in the name of my Lord.  It hurts me whenever I hear stories about “Christians” trying to publicly shame people for their sexual orientation, or picketing the funeral of a soldier (Insider Tip: NO Christian acknowledges the Westboro Baptists as a “church”).  Of course, to the media, bad news is good news, so these are the stories that non-Christians both hear and remember.  But knowing of these atrocities, from the attacks on those unlike them to the haughty looks they give passerby, strengthens my resolve to do good in Christ’s name.  It’s a lifetime of work, but, in my eyes, there is no greater thing I could do with my time.

So when you hear the word “religious”, I encourage you to stop and think.  Is the speaker referring to something that pertains to religion, or are they attempting (consciously or unconsciously) to tear down the good name of Christ through the embarrassing acts of his followers?   

The Gamification of Crafting

The Extra Creditz episode on “Gamification” that I watched a while back was both enlightening and inspiring.  For those of you that don't have the time to watch the video because you hate fun, the idea is that almost any task can be combined with game elements, such as a level system, in order to make the task more palatable, or easier to understand.  This made me wonder: could I gamify my crafting skills?  What level crocheter would I be? What constitutes experience points in such a system?

To start off, I had to look into level progression.  AAA titles are mathematically crafted to make achieving each level exciting, without becoming tedious.  Put simply, the first level should be much easier to achieve than the last level.  I attempted to create my own level system (based off a website I can no longer find) by looking at the numbers and parsing out a pattern that would fit in my head.  The system I came up with was this (WARNING: MATH ZONE.  PROCEED WITH CAUTION): maximum experience to next level was equal to the current level, plus four, plus previous required experience (xp to level = (n+4)+sum of previous equation, where n=level achieved).  The results were as follows:

Level        XP req. to level    Total Experience
1               5                         5
2               11                       16
3               17                       33
4               24                       57
5               32                       89

As I played with it, I realized my level progression was very steep.  Level 2-3 and 3-4 felt more like jumps within Dungeons and Dragons than World of Warcraft.  This meant that each individual level meant more to the player/crafter, but it also meant there were a wider range of achieved experience within each player/crafter level.
Instead of continuing with this model, I decided to shamelessly rip off World of Warcraft’s leveling model.  To do this, I took the charts from this site, spliced them into an Excel spreadsheet, and whipped my calculator monkeys into full speed (i.e. told the program to divide each max xp number by 100).  These results were much more palatable.

Level    XP req. to level    Total Experience
1          0                          4
2          5                          9
3          5                         14
4          7                         21
5          7                         28

This progression had a gentler learning curve (more rewarding for new player/crafters) and more meaningful levels since the experience gaps were much smaller.  Looking further into the data, there are strange jumps in the level progression at levels 60, 70, 80, 85, and 90.  These numbers aren’t random: dedicated WoW players will recognize them as the level caps for each of the expansion packs.  I decided not to worry about this jump until I myself achieve level 59, and work out the math at that time. (END OF MATH ZONE.  DRIVE SAFELY, HAVE A NICE DAY.)

The next step (and possibly the most challenging) was determining how many experience points should be granted upon finishing a given product.  In the end, I decided that a washcloth (specifically, a crocheted washcloth made of half-double crochet stitches) should count for a single experience point.  Using the Crafting level progression, this meant that creating four washcloths would make you a Level Two Hookmaster.  Using the (sloppily approximated) combination of skill and time required to make such a product, I assigned experience points to other crafts I have created.  The following is a compilation of these rough experience point assessments.  
 
Hookmastery
(“Real World” crafting term - Crochet)
Washcloth - 1 xp       
Towel - 2 xp           
2 squid tentacles (2 round granny stripe, 45 long) - 1 xp       
2 Granny squares (3 rounds) - 1 xp
Granny square (5 rounds) -1 xp
Granny square (7 rounds) - 2 xp
Aniball Plushie - 3 xp
Plushie (small) - 5 xp
Hat (beanie) - 3 xp

Needle Knotting
(“Real World” crafting term - Knitting)
Pot Holder - 1 xp
Washcloth - 1 xp
Scarf - 2 xp

Threadmasonry
(“Real World” crafting term - Sewing)
Quilt (simple) - 17 xp
Snuggie - 3 xp
Ren garb (simple) - 5 xp
Fleece hat (simple) - 2 xp
Fleece hat (complex) - 4 xp

The results?  I’m a Level 4 Needle Knotter, Level 10 Threadmason, and Level 17 Hookmaster.  I’m generally not one for number crunching, but the implications of this was WAY too fun to ignore.  What level would my friends and family members be?  How many experience points will I gain by completing my next project?  Suddenly, my holiday craft list becomes a competitive challenge instead of a chore.  Currently, I’m only facing myself.  But that doesn’t mean I can’t win.
 
If you have a skill you would like me to gamify, or have a craft project to add to the ones I have listed, say so in the comments and I’ll add them to the list.  As for now, I’m off to gain some sweet, sweet experience.  Happy Crafting!

T'was Twenty Days before Christmas...

I eyed the pizza.  I could rationalize taking one slice, but I could only achieve variety with two.  So I took one cheese (the favorite) and one veggie (the healthful choice) before turning to the desserts.  I decided on three snickerdoodle cookies (they were small), and a small mountain of (predominantly) almond Hershey’s Kisses.  And two Crunch bars.  They were fun size, so it was okay.  My plate fully loaded, I noticed the Christmas tunes dimming and a girl began sharing her screenplay with the group.  The audio she had recorded was flaky and soft, so a few of us volunteered to read.  The two people who were thrown into a sex scene mumbled a bit, and one non-smoking volunteer was confused at how to pantomime with a cigarette.  But despite these foibles, soon we were all laughing swept up in the spirit of things.  I looked around the room, stuffed to the gills with food my body has forgotten how to process, and let out a sad sigh.  I was going to miss this class.
 
I wondered for a while how this had happened.  Why was it that Blam-o’s class, in which we were urged, verbally and often, to create community, that it took two months to begin cracking some people’s shells?  Pearl never asked us to talk in small groups, or share our work with one another.  And yet we formed a class group, where we bantered constantly, bragging about each other and generally uniting as authors, seniors, and creative minds.  It seems sad in a way that Blam-o worked so hard to achieve what came naturally to Pearl’s class.
 
It makes me feel weak to admit it, but I enjoyed Pearls’ class because of how encouraging she was.  Plenty of authors work through tougher conditions than I encounter, so I have no right to complain about harsh graders. But Pearl’s direct and encouraging words took me to a place beyond “I need to be better” and into the land of “I’m still learning, but I can kick ass”.  Where Blam-o pushes, Pearls lifts.  And between the two of them, I managed to survive a semester that was both challenging and exhausting.
 
Kudos to you both, ladies.  You’ve left a mark on my education that I’ll never forget.


Now I progress onto the classes I don't enjoy for the rest of the semester.  Because of my gross generosity, I wrote them a poem.

T'was twenty days til' Christmas, and all through A. Hall
all the students are drooling, dead eyes fixed on walls.

For this week was Dead Week, when most don't have class
But attendance was called for, so we glumly kiss ass.

Somewhere upstairs, there's pizza.  Beyond that, wine and cheese...
But for us, there is nothing save low marks and high fees.

The grad student bores them with grey films of yore
as the class gently snoozes; they've been up since 4:00

As the video clicks off, bags unzip, phones turn on,
and they're off to write papers from dusk until dawn.

So the week shall progress, in it's slow weary way,
As the students all hope it will finish some day.

Giving it Away

I write Facebook statuses when I ought to write blog posts.  My little nuggets of snark and brilliance (Snilliance?  Brark?) are usually wrung out responding to a political picture or a photograph of a friend diligently consuming an entire box of crayons.  I hadn’t considered this until I read a facebook status concerning the origins of Christmas traditions. Here's the transcript from the Thought-o-matic 4000:

I love Chritmas!

This is a cool academically minded person, I should join the discussion

I don’t really care where the traditions come from, but I do like the traditions

What traditions do I like?

*typing* I'm interested in holidays and traditions from an academic point of view, but usually the things that are most important to me are important because of the effect they have had on my personal life.  The reindeer and evergreen wreaths and bright halogen Christmas lights and Christmas Eve church service singing the alto line of "Silent Night" with my mother are the reasons that I-

At this point, the conductor on my train of thought threw the e-break (yes, that makes sense, quiet you).  I was noticing a few things about my status comment.  A) this is kind of ridiculously long, and B) this is the exact same process I use when I write a post.  In fact, my first instinct when I thought of that was to write a facebook status about how I never write blog posts.

Let’s back up before the Inception jokes begin.

I’ve been blessed to take a creative writing course with Pearls this semester.  She’s a wonderful lady, with a bachelors of creative writing out of New York, a head full of poetry and images, and the delightful inability to stay on task.  Her class has become something of an English major self-help group, with students derailing conversation into the terrifying abyss of their future and asking how we can become marketable to hiring agencies.  Pearls has done wonders to massage away the tensions of unworthiness and defeatism that inflict of the liberal arts major in all of us.

During one such self-help session, a girl in my class asked about when she should share her work.  The idea was alien to me: I was likely to blurt out my thoughts or concepts full SECONDS after they had occurred to me.  This strange young girl was waiting weeks, even months before even mentioning to those closest to her.

Pearls response shocked me further: wait until you publish to share it.  In her eyes, the best time for your family to discover that you had written a novel was by spewing fairly traded coffee onto the cover and upsetting the shop cat when they found it in a used bookstore, five years later.  I had always thought that sharing and collaborating were natural parts of the creative process.  But here was Pearls’, Goddess of the Written Word, descended upon me from the holiest realms of New York and tenure, telling me that this was the last thing that I should do.

I was enraged by this.  Well, maybe not enraged, but "mildly put off" seemed like a pathetic way to start a paragraph.  What was the goal of writing, if not to share with an audience?  Text was, after all, a form of communication, and communication cannot exist without both a speaker and a listener (you could argue that the speaker can also act as the listener, but we already chased out the half-formed Inception jokes with a ratty old broom, so let’s not go there).  Even my little facebook statuses, my half-formed novels, and my rotten poetry existed for the sake of sharing an idea with someone else. 

Thankfully, Pearls mended her advice: you HAVE to share your writing with someone, eventually (excepting truly personal works, diaries, etc, etc, you contrary people need to just calm down).  Pearls shared a story about a man that was so overly protective of his work that he never managed to fulfill his dream of being published because he was afraid of the editing his publishers would do.  “There is a time and a place to share your work,” she said, “but hold onto it for a while for God’s sake.  Take your time.  Let your ideas grow a little before you ask someone for their opinions.

That’s when it dawned on me.  The facebook statuses and snarled masses of notes that I call my “novels” were all only babies.  Newly hatched chicks, slimy and covered in bits of calcified exowomb, unable to open their bulbous creepy eyes to take in the world for themselves.  My ideas had hardly developed and yet I was thrusting them, squalling in terror, to my friends and family, asking them all how they would shape this concept, stoke the fires of life.  My ideas hadn’t had any time with me, to hold them close and play with them, to see the strange new directions they might turn.  Many had the potential to grow and fly, but I had to nurture them first.  Give them time, let them stretch their wings.

So next time I have the impulse to write a facebook status, I’ll have to ask myself why I’m writing it.  Am I sharing a frivolous tidbit for other’s enjoyment?  Or am I casting the seeds of my imagination, malformed and premature, for the entire world to see?

Don't Starve - A Game Review

I will not play Don’t Starve.

I will not play Don’t Starve until my Prospectus is done.

I will not play Don’t Starve until I have worked on my homework for another class

I think we have a winner.

Don’t Starve is a wilderness survival game that fulfills pretty much everything I’ve been craving from gameplay lately.  You start as a little wild haired man in a macabre wilderness, where your only goal is to live as long as possible until you inevitably die.  You can set traps for rabbits, pick berry bushes, chop down trees for firewood when the sneaky creepy darkness of nightfall, and fend off a small host of spiders that are themselves attempting to not starve.  You can use materials such as sticks, grass, and flint to make torches, mining picks, axes, and a whole host of other objects and tools that are listed on the left toolbar.  So far, this may sound a lot like other wilderness survival games (such as Terraria or Minecraft) but what really sets Don’t Starve apart is a unique item that you can build early on: The Science Machine.

As you progress through the game, you can dump unwanted resources into the Science Machine to gain Idea Points.  These points can be used to unlock new inventions, starting with hammers and bug nets, and going all the way up to Alchemy engines.  The best part about Idea Points is that once you inevitably die, these points carry over to your next play through, along with any inventions that you have unlocked.  So while learning how to turn logs into boards, and then turn those boards into a chest (for storing items: inventory space comes at a premium in Don’t Starve) took me nearly ten game days to learn on my first play through, I had a chest built by day two on my second play through, because I had the knowledge of boards and chests unlocked previously.  This game mechanic allows for a feeling of progression throughout the game as a whole, and keeps the player from feeling worn out or frustrated with the game every time they die.  Instead of focusing on how much they have lost, the player can think about how much they have learned, and how exciting it will be to start a new game with the inventions and idea points they now possess.

I hope other games take from “Don’t Starve”s example and include elements of continuity in their gameplay.  Heck, I’d probably settle for more wilderness survival games being developed.  In the meantime, I have spiders to murder and a Science Machine to feed.  You know where to find me.

Fish, Goblins, and so forth

I've considered how different life would be as a fish in an aquarium.  Assuming I had the consciousness to consider such questions (and thought in English) would I wonder "why am I here?" or "is there a world outside of this one?" It's hard to say.  Maybe I'd be content with sucking at algae or mindlessly gulping down processed flakes from an unknown and unseen god.  I'd never have the joy of my wedding day, or the exhilaration of traveling to a new country, but then I'd also get to miss out on soul-crushing prom nights, or the sadness of a friend's miscarriage.  Ramen only seems like a terrible food when you eat it for weeks on end because you know about t-bone steaks and tiramisu.

If you had no options in life: no career paths, no vacations, no picking out new furniture, then maybe not having to worry about them would be a good thing.  My life would be reduced to eating (which I love already), playing tag, occasionally being bullied, and relieving myself wherever I saw fit.  The worst thing that would ever happen is getting scooped into a net and dumped into a new container every few months for cleaning.  To be fair, fish probably think they are going to die, like, FOR REAL, every time this happens, but it's never more then ten minutes until they're all perked up and swimming about joyously in an old cat-litter bucket.  What would life be like without the inane decisions of human life?  Without religion, without hope, but also without a care beyond your own existance?  It seems primal to those of us who have the more "refined" choices on our menu, but to them, life probably seems like a natural progression of eating, pooping, and sleeping.

Weirdly enough, I think I've just described the "dumb" races in high fantasy.  Goblins don't give a fig if you were once their friend.  If you're made of meat and dead, they're going to eat you.  Chances are you weren't even a friend.

However, Goblins ARE depicted as being capable of very basic religion, usually following some war god or otherwise barbaric overlord.  So maybe there still is goblin marriage and goblin families and goblin home decorating.  But nothing as sophisticated as human decor and architecture.  Is that racism speaking?  What if Mrs. Twacknsmack is very proud of her rabbitskin rug and the tidyness of her little goblin hut?

Maybe elves view humans the same way humans view goblins.  Elves think of us as similar, and yet (adorably) beneath their capabilities of art and politics.  Goblins don't even come to mind when they think of humanoid races (maybe like we think of monkeys?).  Any human that rises to their ranks has only done so because they were a cute pet, or necessary to some crazy prophecy.

Maybe THAT'S why elf/human relationships are so looked down upon by elves... Not only are they (usually) rejecting a long lifespan, but they're falling in love with a creature so basic, so unrefined compared to their society.  When Ymir runs off with Jimmy, it seems to the elves that she's been captured by some dirty hippie.

Do rich people think of me this way?
Am I this closed-minded to the poor?

On Hospitality

   I've always enjoyed playing hostess for my friends.  I love cooking for them, gathering mix and match pillows and blankets for the evening, and laying out towels for showers in the morning.  When we're gaming (see: Always) I make sure there is room on the table for the crackers and cheese, and fetch drinks and refills when it isn't my turn.  I take pride in ensuring that no one feels excluded, bored, or hungry.
   Yesterday I was reminded where I picked up my love of entertaining: my parents.  They have always enforced an open door policy, ensuring my friends had a place to go when things went wrong.  Dad has fixed one of my friend's cars when she was behind on rent and afraid of losing her only source of transportation.  Mom has reminded my friends time and again that they are welcome to come any time, even if my brothers and I are not around.  Regardless of the nights they kept them up, the extensive amounts of food they consumed, and the number of things they have broken, my parents have continued allowing them to come over, yell their lungs out, chow down... and fix the house they've all but destroyed (high school was a trying time for the walls and furniture in the basement).  Through them, I learned that hospitality means more than room and board.  It's an honest desire to reinforce assurance and well being.
  This morning, I woke up in my old room, husband sound asleep from coming to bed at four in the morning, and friends sprawled out on any available furniture.  Coming upstairs, I took inventory of everyone, making sure they had blankets to keep them warm, and cellphones near at hand.  Once they had all been seen to, I saw to my own needs and went to the kitchen scrounge up something to eat.  As I was taking stock of what was available for everyone's morning meal, I saw a plain brown box on the stove.  On it was a single piece of scotch tape (lock and key for the cats) and a short message, in my mother's even handwriting.
  "Breakfast :)"
   Even after returning from a late night concert, waking up at six to attend church this morning, and likely bidding the MtG crew upstairs a good night, she found time to spoil us all with doughnuts for breakfast.  It's good to know that after all these years, my parents are still able and willing to help me help others.  And when you spend so much time concerning yourself about the welfare of others, it's awesome to have someone to fall back on, with full confidence that they'll catch you.
  Mom, Dad, thanks for everything.  And today especially, thank you for your couches, refrigerators, showers, and sheets.  Some day, I'll pay you back in kind for these generosities but for now I'll keep it simple:  Thank you for your hospitality, and for always having my back.