I think Bogost’s article just summed up, in an academic nutshell, my issue with “serious” games. Serious games like Depression Quest, The Day the Laughter Stopped, or September Twelvth are the social justice equivalent of the cereal box game Bogost describes; they mimic procedures and procedural behavior, but the available choices are so limited that the player quickly “gets the point,” and no longer feels driven to play. This is because there really is only one point…the players were never meant to have any other possible interpretations.

It’s an interesting way of exploring concepts, but they are more like interactive articles than games. While it’s immensely difficult to really offer multiple endings to any game, when a game developer focuses so intensely on sending players a message, they eliminate the opportunity for the player to learn or create anything for themselves.

I think that’s why I love Simulators (Sims) so much. Games like Prison Architect are fascinating in that they explore the procedures of building and expanding prisons. Certain rooms or staff must be obtained before you can move on to more advanced levels (such as needing to get a Warden before you can modify the prison schedule or offer prisoners parole, since paroles only happen when the prisoner sits with the Warden for an exit interview). There are limits to your resources, and goals that you are urged (if not required) to obtain. But, unlike other more brute-force games, there are multiple ways to succeed. Hence why you can find any number of YouTube videos of various types of prisons…everything from minimal guards, to beautiful grounds, to most-likely-to-cause-massive-riots.

I know Bogost isn’t limiting his discussion to sims, and procedural rhetoric definitely exists in games of all complexities, but for classroom examples or useful learning tools (not to mention a personal addiction to playing them), my mind tends to go towards simulators. It’s also one of the only types of games I’ve tried to come up with scripts and ideas for….and one of the most impossible genres to work on, alone. The sheer volume of options needed to give players the freedom to explore is exhausting.

I can dream, though.

Good God, I’d forgotten how racist Huizinga was.

Yet, despite his infuriating ethnocentrism, I am fascinated by his idea of ritual and play inhabiting the same space. There is something about that magic circle, with its set rules and its separate-but-real existence that resonates in this space. It’s a strange leveling of the playing field that elevates play without necessarily diminishing the intent behind ritual. And that, I think, is the most interesting thing about Huizinga for me…the idea that play is far from frivolous. Irrational, yes, but not dismissible.

It’s a great argument for learning-through-play…with the small problem that, as Huizinga notes, you can’t be ordered to play. Play is an act of freedom, and playing by demand is only an imitation of the actual act. I suppose this is where classroom gamification (the grievously ineffective kind) comes into play. The mechanics of games and play aren’t enough. There has to be freedom to play, to be serious or not, and to fail without failing, as it were.

You know. Simple stuff.

During both of our readings this week, I couldn’t help but think about the oh-so-many FB arguments I tend to get embroiled in. I certainly don’t seem to find myself in the situation Wolfe described, where women shy away from direct attacks or challenges to their points of view. If anything, it’s like I feel compelled to keep answering as long as they do…maybe not one of my better traits.

I found myself questioning Wolfe’s results (particularly after the wonderfully conscientious use of BSRI in Rickly’s study), because of the stakes of the conversation. While I’m glad that none of the students felt slighted, I wonder if that has to do with the fact that these were (largely) class-directed topics that may or may not have had any personal significance for them. She points out that most studies were conducted with professionals and graduate students, but it’s likely that (at those levels) the participants have more at stake. Being ignored, or having your topic hijacked for the use of a tangent, becomes more personal and has more risk if your livelihood (or more) is in question.

While I preferred Rickly’s study (and did find real-world connections via interruptions and the Republican debate), I did end up relating more to Wolfe–in particular how the conversational tactics she describes show up in feminist discourse between genders. It’s a common problem that, when a feminist argument is presented (usually by women), men interject with tangents that lead the conversation back to male-dominated issues. It’s true that this may be a gendered response (re: cultural training), but here is where the stakes are raised. That instinctual, trained response continues to verbally support a system that is painfully unequal. Like Rickly’s example of how “the opposite gender” verbally indicates that female = less-than, this verbal hijacking implies that both issues presented (the original and the tangent-maker’s) are of equal importance. While that is true, individually, socially it is a problem when those who have more resources insist on getting more or equal floor time every instance where an Othered individual is trying to be heard.

…I have more feelings about a cultural-gendered need for explicit agreement and lots of questions about how to work with these findings in general, but this is getting long, so I leave you with a comic.

I’ll admit, when I first read Chapman, every bone in my body screamed to contradict him. So much of what he describes–from the actual meat and potatoes of the article to the purple prose he uses to elevate it to–seems to come from a place of privilege. He describes a library with “sanctified halls” and rows upon rows of books where the value of knowledge can be seen in the “rich bindings and marbled end pages.” I have been in libraries such as these. I’ll admit that, when I had the privilege of walking into the Bodleian library in Oxford, I reveled under the awe-inspiring arches and longed to touch the ancient, protected texts they kept tucked out of the reach of curious visitors. Knowledge should be awe-inspiring and, sometimes, we give it the honor of those kinds of visual cues.

But all of Chapman’s descriptions bucked against the expectations of my most desperate students. He admitted the convenience of being able to create bibliographies in the dorm room or office, but lamented that students weren’t willing to take the time to search through the physical copies in the library, content to be lazy and only go with those papers which had a “full-text” option online. He’s not wrong. I’ve been guilty of this, too. But what about the student with two part-time jobs and a full course load? What about the first-generation college student who isn’t sure where to start when faced with aisles of books bound in generic, canvas covers, but knows how to navigate a search engine better than Chapman admits he does? Wanting ease of access isn’t necessarily lazy, and it’s not like our lazy students would be guaranteed to try harder in a physical location–many of them are likely to grab the first books that seem to match and never go back, regardless of the fit. Lazy will be lazy regardless of the venue.

But even though every example Chapman gave only made me want to argue more, I didn’t like finding myself arguing against libraries. I don’t mean the strange, dream-like versions he seems to be valuing, but the cherished, tired, neighborhood versions I grew up with. The ones that smelled vaguely of dust and stale coffee and maybe a bit of mold. The ones with only a handful of aisles, with books that had been worn down by too many hands, but there were a few comfy chairs set up for anyone able to linger a bit longer. The ones that let me check out 15 books for a two week period and didn’t blink an eye when my mom let me bring them back 3 days short because I’d already sped through my latest collection. I love libraries. I love what they offer to communities. And it’s true that, in print form, students have access to some texts they don’t online…sometimes because they haven’t been translated to digital texts yet, but just as often because their school hasn’t subscribed to get behind that particular paywall. Because, for all that the internet could be an equalizer, it isn’t. Not completely. If knowledge isn’t limited physically, it’s limited financially, parsing out availability to those with wallets large enough to pay for it.

Chapman’s arguments seem weak at best–the protests of someone emotionally lamenting the loss of something that 90% of the world will never experience–and they acted as an interesting introduction to Schauer’s conversation about how women are often rationalized out of tech fields. When the status quo is challenged, its defendants will always come out, tears flowing and arms reaching for the golden days when things were done “properly.” But as digital practices become more common, I don’t want to become complacent in my acceptance…and I don’t want to ignore that some of Chapman’s arguments (however misguided I think they are) still hold weight. Technology is not a panacea. It’s not a replacement. It’s not the herald of a utopia. It’s just a tool, with all the ups and downs and strengths and weaknesses that entails, and it’s Schauer and other men and women like her who are responding (I believe) more effectively. Blind acceptance or irrate denial get us nowhere fast. It’s the rhetorical understanding and the ability to think of the possibilities (expected or not) that will let us get the most out of each step of our technological progress.

Alisha’s post has one of my same reactions as I was reading through the articles…which is that play and games didn’t really seem to be the theme (other than the MOO), yet the language was still there…and I actually find that reassuring. Too often we end up arguing about games being worthwhile learning experiences in spite of being fun–as if there is an invisible line at the classroom door where pleasurable experiences must stop and wait until the period is up. It ties in, too, with the difficulty of defining games and how much fun is required before they move from play to…something else. People get angry during games. They fight. They are hurt by loss. And, as Daisley points out, there are always people who take it too far or who end up cruel in their need to win. Fun isn’t always the essential component. That’s too simple.

As Patrick pointed out, games tend to have structures where the learning mechanisms are easy to find. They work well in classrooms because its easy to dissect the process and get students to see how they are learning, what they are learning, and why they should be learning it. The curtain is down and Oz is revealed. The perks and downfalls are exaggerated and clearly outlined because that’s what makes a game easy to learn, fun to play, and worth engaging with.

“Games” aren’t the only form of learning that use this, though, and I kept thinking of the way I use blogs in my class. I don’t use blogs in the strict classroom sense (not in the way I had to do them as a student, anyway). Instead, I have my students take the reigns and write blogs as…well…blogs. Open. Personal. Sometimes inappropriate. There is a lot of discussion about audience, purpose, and how I am not the person they are talking to. Every time I do this, I watch them groan….then I watch them start to write these fascinating little blurbs, and, sometimes, I watch them go too far.

Maybe that’s a better argument for having games in the classroom than I’d thought of before…because when my students push the limits in their blogs–when they say hurtful things, or cross the line into trolling–it’s a chance to talk about limits and purpose and why ethical behavior matters. And if games were the medium being used, that same conversation could happen. Right now, most people learn to play on their own. Video and computer games, especially, are solitary, even when they are digitally social, because a lot of people don’t necessarily learn to play from someone more responsible or knowledgeable who can tell them when they cross a line into trolling. The habits get ingrained before the discussion can take place, and that always makes things harder.

• If you have access to a projector, use MS Word as the board, typing up discussion answers/brainstorm ideas/etc so they display on the screen. It’s faster than writing and you don’t have to turn your back on the class, and the notes are easily saved and emailed or uploaded.
• Use blogs as notecards for organizing research. The tag system lets you make connections faster and reorganize easily.
• Peer review on Google Docs (specifically with spreadsheets) can be incredibly useful. I have students exchange drafts with a partner. As they read, I write up 2-3 questions (ex: general impressions, intro critique, etc) as the first few headers on the table. As students finish reading, they begin to answer. When my fastest students are starting on the last answer, I put up a few more that focus on the middle of the paper…and so on. This lets me see what kinds of feedback students are giving (I can push them to write more if they’re half-assing answers), and lets me pace it so everyone is actively engaged, rather than having students sitting and doing nothing.
• Have students use the “talk” page of a wiki to discuss content. It documents the conversation (a lot like Moran was talking about) while also helping dissolve the idea that information on the page is set in stone or static.
• Have students create word/phrase collages by going back through their writing (both in and out of class) to pull out things they said that they like. Some of the best class reflections I ever got were after having students do this, because it’s fun but it also requires reading through their old work rather than just skimming it or “doing their best to remember.” They make better connections.

It’s funny to read these articles after a round of perusing cries of “texting is ruining our students’ writing!” and “reliance on technology is melting their brains!” (Which is an overdramatization….but not by that much).

We hear a lot about how our students are digital natives, yet out of the three, Moran and Holt’s articles particularly resonate with me because every year I’m in a classroom I’ve seen the exact opposite. It’s not the advanced computing students are struggling with (like tackling InDesign, or learning how to program). It’s simple things, like knowing you can use the TAB key to indent a consistent amount of spaces, or that commands like ctrl + z is a shortcut for undoing mistakes. Having access to computers isn’t enough…without direct instruction and activities that take advantage of our unique options, students are no better off than if they compose on paper. If anything, they’re worse. And that’s not even touching on the difficulties for students who didn’t have life-long access.

It goes along with what we talked about last week…technology doesn’t ruin our thought processes, but it does change the way we process information. And, if we take advantage of features in the programs we use, we can help our students adopt new ways of thinking that will improve their writing, simply by drawing their attention to new options.

I’m sure there are a bunch of examples that I could list, and others could come up with even more, but going off of Holt’s (and Sommer’s) observation that students are more likely to delete and replace than revise, it can be useful to have students compose in something like Google Docs. Like so many, I know I’m terrible about keeping multiple documents for my various revisions. I, too, just delete and replace. It feels cleaner and, for someone with my attention span, it means I don’t have to try and figure out which copy was actually my “better” one. But platforms like Google Docs or online Wiki pages give writers easy access to the document’s history, allowing them to switch between versions and see changes without risk of losing what they’ve done. Without complicating students’ organization and file folders, there’s a way to get them to reflect on their changes in a concrete way; it just needs to be pointed out and (as Moran suggests) built into structured activities until it becomes common place.

I’ve also found that I personally do better with organizing my research if I use a blog rather than notecards, and I’ve started showing this to my students as well. Most of them already think in terms of tags and keywords thanks to hashtags and word clouds. Since blog entries allow multiple tags and instantaneous sorting, I find it easier to organize myself and to reference as I write. It’s not all that different from the pen and paper approach I was taught, but the tech itself allows me to work faster and make more complex connections because other sites have already made tagging and searching second nature.