A Learning Blog

Jane McGonigal’s much-publicized book, Reality is Broken, has attracted considerable attention for its unabashedly evangelical embrace of games. The subtitle (Why Games Make Us Better and How They Can Change the World) gives us the real theme of the book. This hard-charging romp through McGonigal’s thoughts, experiences and observations about games will appeal more to those already immersed in gaming culture, but offers some insightful tidbits for non-gamers. Her work focuses mostly on video games, briefly touching on other game types. It does not limit itself to mere first-person shooter fare but travels through every genre of video game currently available. The work is less a case study on games than a manifesto on the potential of games to revolutionize (in only positive ways) everyday life, with McGonigal’s zeal guiding each page.

McGonigal is nothing if not enthusiastic. Her name is well established in the gamer community, and this book puts her on the map of game experts who can talk to the general population – to a point. McGonigal is a game expert. She plays a variety of video games for many hours a week, and she also consults with various companies on video game development. She is steeped in video game culture, and approaches most aspects of her life with a spirit of competition, as though each activity is game to be won. She and her husband even compete with each other to do housework using an online game called Chore Wars. In fact, McGonigal thinks you’d be hard pressed to find any aspect of life that couldn’t be improved by adding a game element. If you find such a premise to be juvenile (and you will have lots of company), this book is not for you; however, if you are open-minded, this book might have you thinking about games in a whole new light.

Though McGonigal holds a PhD in Human Performance (UC Berkley), the writing is never scholarly. Instead, it reads much more like a self-help book. In fact, many chapters touch on positive psychology and flow, ideas that function as the bedrock of her theoretical framework. When she cites research, she is careful to exclude any study that might contradict her thesis that games are the answer to the problems of the world. I suppose there is no law saying that authors should present opposing opinions in their writing, butShe is clearly creative in her ideas but rarely practical and I found myself puzzled by the idea that games were ultimately more rewarding that real life. Does this mean that points earned in games provide more intrinsic rewards than a compliment in the real word? Perhaps for some people this is true; however, I would argue that we should find ways to make real life more rewarding. It’s certainly true that many people are forced to do meaningless unrewarding work, but games don’t necessarily have a way to change that for all people. And even for people who do rewarding work, would we want a surgeon operating on us as though our bodies were a game board? That’s a game I’m not interested in playing.

I laughed out loud when I read this:

Compared with games, reality is depressing. Games focus our energy, with relentless optimism, on something we’re good at and enjoy.

While people who enjoy playing video games might agree with at least part of this assessment, I immediately thought of most of the video games I have played recently. Post-apocalyptic worlds, zombies, killer aliens, crime and murder are the most popular themes for video games today, but McGonigal believes that reality is depressing. I recognize that there are games with more positive themes, but such games are a small minority. When McGonigal goes further to suggest that the ‘hard work’ of gaming brings us happiness by giving us difficult challenges to overcome, I feel a little sick. Difficult challenges include helping to alleviate poverty, working with warring groups to find peace and growing prize winning tomatoes – not killing bug-headed aliens on a TV screen. McGonigal refers frequently to flow, and while I can see how video games might bring about a sense of flow in players, I question whether there are more useful activities in which a sense of flow could be developed.

People who feel that their work in Guitar Hero makes them comparable to a real guitar player annoy me. McGonigal flirts with this idea by suggesting that such a game allows you to ‘master’ a song. This is a complete misrepresentation of the game; you are not mastering the song, you are merely mastering the game of the song. The items are not the same. Towards the end of the chapter she backpedals a bit, saying that many people who play games like Rock Band eventually decide to learn how to actually play an instrument. She also talks a bit about the social aspects of ‘playing music’ with your friends. I admit that it can be fun to play the game with friends, but I cannot accept it when such games are compared to musicianship and the rigorous practice needed to play a musical instrument well. It belittles the art of playing an instrument, and it is clearly something with which McGonigal has no experience. It would be best if she hadn’t made such comparisons.

I thought her quotes from high-level executives and other workers who play video games to relieve stress were practical. Casual gamers such as these are rarely mentioned in the book, but I think they represent a much larger population than we realize. Mobile technologies have the most potential to reach casual gamers but do these short gaming excursions have life-changing power? I would say most of us are just looking for a stress reducing distraction, not deeper meaning in our lives through games.

McGonigal writes:

Compared with games, reality is hopeless. Games eliminate our fear of failure and improve our chances for success.

I think games can be good tools for practicing something in which failure in the real world is deadly (think pilot training), but this doesn’t mean that reality is hopeless. After all, if your avatar in a video game can be killed (and usually it can) that seems pretty hopeless.

We must all confront the danger of enthusiasm when we write about something for which we have strong, or in the case of Reality is Broken, unusually strong, passion. Such unguarded bias towards a way of thinking, learning and living cannot be disguised. And it is here that I must admit my bias in writing a review of this book. I find McGonigal’s writing style lacking in depth and it is completely lacking with regards to scientific credibility. While I respect her decision to write a book that would appeal to the general public, it is disappointing that she never mentions any methodology or method when discussing her own research, and it is here that, in my opinion, the book has an epic fail. She almost never gives any data to support her claims, some of which border on outrageous. It is, for the most part, a book that is carried by a mythic kind of optimism, an evangelical belief that games will essentially solve all the problems in the world. And if she repeats this belief enough times, it will eventually be true. This may seem to work in politics, but I cannot let is pass here. I am interested in her ideas and look forward to her developing them in a more scientific way. Until she does that, I’ll pass on the feel good ideology that guides her current work.

Not sure where you fall in Jane’s world?  This might help:

RealityisaSpreadsheet

What your score means

This is all in fun!  This is not scientific mind you!

This semester Dr. Jodi Kaufmann took a small group of us through an arts-based inquiry class.  Because it combined two of my favorite subjects, art and qualitative inquiry, I was hooked from the beginning.  Reading through the literature, discovering new methods and techniques and watching my fellow artist researchers do their work was a wonderful experience.  For a blog post, I thought I would create some art (poetry) inspired by some of the folks in the class.  Pictures are from the class presentations are also shown.

She wears the longest dress – Threads from pieces she will not hide – Behind the transcendental movement – Of her mind where everything is – In a beautifully imperfect disorder.

Her skin is an unfinished story – Still being written in the outlines – And colors where tattoos are data – Art and life mixed into a transmission – Of elegance, a mysterious exploration.

When you showed us the doors – We walked through with you – Adjusting the blur through your eyes – And the patterns that power – Try to make us work inside, or outside the lines.

You taught me that a leaf can be – Anything.  And that it’s okay to hate – Glitter.  And that drawing is hard – Even when you are really good at it – And that sometimes limbs lack a body.

You took a seat in the uncomfortable – Position that I walked away from – And you made something beautiful – We musicians can do anything I always say – And you proved me right.

Here’s a song I wrote and recorded based on data I collected for my own research.  More about that in another post…

Voyeur

Happy holidays to everyone.  Take some time to reflect on the year…

Lots happening these days.  Two weekends ago I visited Red Top Mountain for an iron pour that never happened because it was so cold.  It was a small gathering of GRITs folk and we had a lovely time.  We carved graphite blocks upon which the iron would flow (had it not been so chilly).  I turned my little block into a community project.  Lots of kids came by and helped me create whatever it was, a sort of untitled topography of Lake Altoona perhaps – or something else.  It was a classic co-construction project.  And the kids seemed to enjoy it.

Prior to going up the mountain, I visited Cartersville.  Several years ago I was the organist/choirmaster for a small Episcopal church in Cartersville.  The church and most of the people there made for a rather unpleasant experience.  For example, the main social encounter I remember was a man who insisted speaking with me after the main morning service.  He wanted to know “if I liked girls.”  I told him that some of my favorite people were in fact girls.  A soprano stole several of my expensive imported art song CDs.  I lasted a year before abandoning ‘sacred’ music altogether – it was my last gig as a church musician.  I miss working with quality choirs and sometimes entertain the idea of doing it again – but not until after my dissertation is finished.  Despite these unfortunate experiences, I loved the scenery of Cartersville and the lush, rolling farmland.  On this visit to Catersville, I stopped in to see the Booth Museum of Western Art.  The museum is right in the center of town – probably the largest building in the metro-Catersville area.  And the collection of art inside is impressive.  My favorite piece was Fort Stanton Pasture in December by Peter Hurd.  It captures such an important part of my childhood, growing up with cows, and being responsible for their care.  Heavy snow in central Alabama is rare (rarer still today) but we usually had a few snowfalls each year, and I loved feeding the cows after a snowfall.  It was magical.  Hurd’s painting is a nearly perfect representation.  I think my Dad would have loved this painting and I wish I could share it with him.  (Side note: You can get in for free on the first Saturday of the month if you have a Bank of America card.)

Last weekend I had the most amazing bike ride on the Chief Ladiga Trail.  The leaves were spectacular, the air was crisp and the sun was that autumn yellow that bounces off everything.  I had an interesting conversation with the local pediatrician about how more and more Atlantans were choosing to live in Anniston and commute to Atlanta for work.  I’m sure there are people who do that, but I cannot imagine spending that much time in the car.

Yesterday I visited the Dali show at The High.  I’ve always loved Dali’s work and this is an exceptional show – perhaps the best I’ve seen at The High.  If you go, pay special attention to the quotes on the wall.  They are almost as interesting as the paintings.

Today I spent most of the day in the studio, finishing five songs.  I’ll write a post about that process, and how these songs emerged in a future post…

For the last couple of years, we’ve seen the signs go up in October for the Haunted Chicken House.  The idea brings to mind many images.  Are they dressing up chickens as creatures of the night?  Are they taking industrial chicken farming practices (which are already frightening enough) and putting a Halloween spin on it?  Are they working under the premise of a family of chicken farmers who breathed the fumes of the chicken house too long and turned into flesh eating ghouls?  None of my initial thoughts (or fears) turned out to be true.

One of several haunted hearses

Seems like the Hollis Fire Department uses the old haunted chicken house to raise money each year – and it’s quite a success.  When we arrived on Saturday evening, there was quite a line.  One doesn’t normally encounter lines in rural Alabama (unless it’s something related to Nascar).  People of all ages (but definitely more teenagers than anything) were gathered around in clusters to get in.  They even had two guys directing traffic for parking.  One young lady told me that the previous evening they had over 600 people.  They also have a haunted hayride which looked fun (perhaps we’ll try that next year).  But this post is all about the chicken house.

As a child in rural Alabama, we never raised chickens (just the occasional duck) but I had friends and acquaintances who had chickens, and therefore, chicken houses.  Chicken houses are long, gigantic spaces where thousands of chickens are forced to live in oppressively tight (and hot) conditions for their short, tragic lives.  There is something about having a haunted space on the grounds of what was formerly a chicken torture chamber that adds a bit of spookiness to the experience.

Yes, the chickens are in charge

I have to say that the folks running the place, from the ticket sales and concession booth, to the tee shirt selling vampire girls, are about the nicest group of people you could ever encounter.  In the long, weaving waiting line, there’s a projector playing selected scenes from various fright flicks.  There’s also a red button on the wall with clear instructions that one should never press it – and of course, we all had to press it (but nothing happened while we were there) – perhaps the demon in the box above the button was on coffee break.  It was fun listening to the rural accents, especially the accents of the kids.  Another interesting element that you are unlikely to find at other haunted houses you visit is the two large wire mesh cages.  On the bottom, there’s a lovely assortment of some chickens and a beautiful rooster.  I overheard one of the chickens say something about “look at this morons paying to get in here – can you believe it?”  On the upper cage was a collection of rats.  They sort of huddled together, trying to sleep through the noise.

Now, I will admit it’s been a long time since I visited a haunted house so I am probably not the best person to ask about comparisons with other, larger attractions (like the Sloss thing, or the freakish Netherworld in Atlanta), but I thought the haunted chicken house was great fun.  They definitely lean towards the more modern slasher film genre of frights (there are few werewolves, vampires or traditional stuff) but overall, it’s pretty impressive.  They have an enormous assortment of lights and small special effects.  My favorite was a twisting tunnel of doom.  The scary school bus is also a heart racing delight.  The dark and narrow maze seemed to go on a little long, but that could be my own fault (for some reason my group had me lead the party and I admit my sense of direction isn’t what it used to be).  I love the immediate sense of connection you develop with complete strangers when going through a haunted house.  The intimacy is a little startling, but it certainly adds to the experience.

I thought back to my own experience of working in a haunted house when I was in junior high.  We somehow got permission to use this old abandoned house by the IGA (grocery story) and turned it into a really scary house to raise money for the band.  Nowadays, I suspect it would be hard to get permission to do that kind of because of legal issues, but what a great experience it was.  That house was demolished years ago.  I wonder if anyone took pictures of our antics.  Across the street now, at the local Baptist church, they have something called Hell House (where I am guessing they try to scare young people into the rigid rules of repressive fundamentalism).  It’s probably much more frightening than the chicken house.  I was also thinking about how working in a haunted house is kind of like participating in the DragonCon parade, or the Pride parade, or the Five Points Halloween parade – all these performance spaces that we seek out to explore other pieces of who we are.  I’ve been writing about that a lot lately for my final manuscript in the pop culture class.

I hope everyone has a happy Halloween.  If you get a chance, be sure to visit the Haunted Chicken House.  Your money goes to a good cause.  And you’ll have a great time.

People gather round the fire to share nachos and stories of evil chickens

This was my second time to attend Educause, an international conference for people who are involved in IT in higher education. Luckily, it is not limited to just folks in IT (whether that’s instructional technology or information technology). This year I met lots of faculty who were doing interesting things with technology in their classrooms. I always feel like an outsider at this conference. I don’t have my PhD yet, so I’m not fully accepted as a peer by the faculty. I don’t often relate to the IT folks because I tend to focus more on results than the technology being used (for me, technology is just a tool). The administrative groups seem frustrated with everyone (faculty and IT) and want me to take their side (but become annoyed when I don’t do that). It’s fun to sit back and watch the groups interact, and my outsider status allows me to do that. Coming to higher ed from the corporate world (and one year of teaching at a private school and another year spent teaching at a conservatory), people sometimes think I don’t yet have enough higher ed experience to understand the problems they face. They may be right, but sometimes I think they just don’t want to hear what I have to say. So I’ll say it here.
This year the conference took place in Anaheim, California. California is a huge state with lots of interesting places, and it breaks my heart that we were brought together in such a distasteful place. Having dinner one evening with some folks from Uppsala University (Sweden), I wanted to assure them that California had some lovely places, not covered in plastic and concrete. I hope they had a chance to see them.
The first half-day session dealt with pedagogical issues in social media. I sat beside a librarian who had never used Wikis, Twitter, Facebook or other social media. I helped her set up accounts so she could follow along. The speakers showed lots of poorly produced video (or played audio podcasts) for most of the session. While I appreciate their attempt to create small working groups to produce content to share (and I won a copy of Camtasia for my contributions – yay!), I could have watched YouTube videos from home. If your presentation consists of 70% video (and loud music), you’ve not really done a good job preparing your thoughts. Rather than having people talk about how cool social media is, it would have been useful to see students using it to learn something. Twitter can be interesting, but if you want that kind of tool, you could also use the chat feature in something like Elluminate (and also have other pedagogical tools). Show me what is different or unique or transformative. What did the students create? What did they learn?
The second half-day session was very well done. Two science professors gave an excellent talk (with a well-produced presentation) called “Learner-Centered Instruction in an Age of Mass-Market Education”. It was impressive to see two science geeks not only know their own subject matter so well, but to also understand (and use!) pedagogical approaches promoted in my field. Would love to be in their classes!
Gary Hamel was the keynote speaker. He had some insightful (and sometimes brave, considering the audience) things to say. He compared higher ed to healthcare, suggesting that both industries had to find ways to dramatically lower costs. He felt that technology would allow that to happen in both fields, but that it was going to be a painful process. He threw in ideas like “imagine a university without faculty” and “why can’t you get an MBA for $250”. Some comments were provocative, but I appreciate his willingness to throw these ideas into the mix (even the ones I don’t necessarily think are valid). I am going to read some of his stuff because I’m curious if he is a cult of personality figure or really bright. We’ll see.
There was an all too brief talk about learning environments, and ways to set them up (physically). I find the research here to be fascinating and am surprised that most universities continue to build classrooms that go against what the research tells us. I sat with a guy from Lancaster University and we tried to understand why classroom designers didn’t get it right. We decided it was because they weren’t talking to the educational researchers who studied learning environments.
ACU gave an excellent talk about what they were doing with mobile technology. Their research results are confirming many of the same findings I am getting at GSU. There are some interesting differences. I have to say, I was impressed with what they were doing and how they were managing the program. Very sharp faculty.
Poster sessions were good too (including the one done by one of our own – hey James!). Arizona State had an interesting table about their one-minute video for students (something I would like to see done for The Exchange and Digital Aqaurium), and my absolute favorite table was by Virginia Kuhn (from University of Southern California) who addressed assessment issues in scholarly multimedia. I also want to give a shout out to Kathryn Tomasek from Wheaton who is doing cool stuff with her history class and digital archives. To Educause, I would just say that you absolutely need to give more physical space to the poster sessions. I couldn’t even get to some of the tables, so who knows what I missed. Those folks put a lot of work into their material and you should honor them with adequate space.
I went to a talk given by folks from the Bill and Melinda Gates foundation about getting some ed tech grant money. I have an idea that I am not going to write about here just yet…but I think I may have a shot to do something cool if I can get funding…stay tuned.
Attended an eye-opening presentation from two guys from Purdue, all about their product called Hotseat. I think the product has a lot of potential in some well-designed learning spaces. But it also has a lot of risks. I repeatedly heard the presenters saying that this kind of tool was very useful in a class about human sexuality, where people wanted to remain anonymous. Ironically, on the flight home, I watched a Harvard podcast of a classroom of perhaps 200 students, discussing the highly-charged topic of GLBT marriage. The students stood up and articulated their thoughts, and I think it’s important that we learn how to do that. We cannot always hide anonymously behind our technology. Because we were using Hotseat during the presentation, I found myself tuning out the presenters and paying much more attention to what people were posting. Does this mean that the presenter wasn’t interesting? Does this mean that the posts provided better learning content? It’s hard to say, but many folks commented on how they zoned out when they were posting (and others said they would be zoning out anyway). The presenters did a great job either way, and I want to explore their other tools.
Neil Gershenfeld gave the keynote on Thursday. What a brilliant guy. I loved that he sees the importance of vocational schools, and acknowledges how we have disconnected vocational skills from intellectual skills. I totally want to go back to Galloway and set up one of his FabLabs. Galloway would be perfect for just such a thing.
The hot seat session about games as a way to learn was well done. This was presented by folks whose title included emerging instructional tech. I realized, that’s me – I like working with the new stuff, doing experiments and trying things out with faculty. I need a new title! They did a super job, making folks uncomfortable and getting us to see games in new ways. I love the idea of incorporating a sense of play into teaching. As human beings, we do love to play and shouldn’t feel bad about playfulness in our learning. And I want to give special kudos to Sarah Smith-Robbins who was quite comfortable responding on the fly to a variety of questions and jabs.
In closing, I hope that Educause will continue to push the boundaries, opening themselves up to more faculty involvement and participation. For years, faculty have been accused of living in ivory towers, but IT needs to be cautious about living in a digital tower. We should learn to work together to improve our universities. I think Educause could be a forum to make that happen. Hope to see you next year!