A Star Wars diorama!
Things you can do instead of grading #139:
A meme of a Star Wars diorama
Things you can do instead of grading #140:
Blog about your meme of a Star Wars diorama…
A Star Wars diorama!
A meme of a Star Wars diorama
Blog about your meme of a Star Wars diorama…
So this morning I went for a run, and this is how it went:
So here’s a challenge for you: can you guess which of these events happened in “real” reality, and which were “augmented”? (You can check your guesses at the end of this post.)
I have no ties with the producers of this app, but I think it deserves a shoutout for the good of all of those who, like me, do enjoy running once you’re there, but have the hardest time actually getting there. (Seriously, I could run a half-marathon in the time it takes me to convince myself to get out the door. That is, if I could actually run a half-marathon.)
So let me tell you how it works, and why I think it’s awesome. Now, if you already plan to try it out, you shouldn’t continue reading. There are some mild spoilers ahead, and it’s much more fun to find out by yourself. But if you are curious and want more information, then by all means…
Zombies, Run! immerses you in a zombie apocalypse adventure. While you run (actually run, like, with your feet, not with a gamepad), you listen to a story develop, with various characters talking to you, asking you to do specific tasks, warning you about a swarm of zombies right at your heels, and overall motivating you into running further, either because you hear the zombies approaching, or because you want to know how the story continues. (The app tracks your progress via GPS, and gives you a snippet of the story at a time).
The app is a breeze to install. It asks you to sign up, but then it only asks for an e-mail and a password, no other personal info required (that in itself made me start liking it). It’s basically free, though they’ll probably convince me to buy some add-ons at some point (I’ll get to that).
I found the controls are very simple (and I’m the guy who gets confused by Instagram). The first time you open it, it’ll ask you if you want to listen to your music while you run. You can choose not to, or use the music in your phone, or you can tell it you’ll use a third-party app (I tried it with Pandora). If you do the latter, you’ll need to open that app and get it going, and then press start on Zombies, Run! Zombies lowers the volume of the music whenever something is about to happen.
That’s nearly all the preparation you need, but you can also choose how long you want your run to be, how you want the distance tracked, and whether you want to add “chases,” moments in which you need to pick up speed. I chose 5k for a start, and used GPS.
And the fun starts right away. You are in a helicopter, and then you are on the ground, running to get away from a small army of zombies. The story is not told to you, but performed, with various characters encouraging you to survive, and asking you to do certain tasks. As far as I know, your character never talks. It’s a bit like playing Half Life in your head while running, but without a gun. Or a crowbar. Or everyone you meet telling you you’re the best thing that happened in their life. No, I’m guessing some of these characters would happily let you die if you don’t run fast enough.
To be clear, you are not asked, at any point, to change your route. You can run on a track, or a treadmill. Nor do you need to hit a specific speed – you can probably use this while walking, though I can’t imagine it would be as much fun. The detours – there are many, and they get scary when you’re getting tired – all happen in your imagination.
As you cover fractions of your total distance, two things happen: you “pick up” (that is, a voice tells you that you have) supplies that can be later used in a “build your base” minigame (got to do something with those collectibles…), and more importantly, a new segment of the narrative develops. If you chose “chases,” you may get a warning that zombies are closing in, and will have to pick a speed for a few seconds, and they start growling in your ears! If you fail, you lose some of your supplies (I don’t think you actually die). In-between, you listen to your music.
What took me by surprise, though, is how well done those bits of narrative are! It feels a bit cheesy at first, but then, every bit of narrative adds a small twist to the story. You think you’re getting to your destination, but in the next bit you’ll be told that the bridge is down or someone you know is trapped (these aren’t things that actually happened to me; I’m trying not to spoil it) and you need to run longer and faster than you expected — and you will, because you are that person, and you want to know what will happen next! In your first adventure, for example, you’ll be guided and encouraged by a nervous radio operator, who’s going through the grief of having lost a previous runner, who really struggles with giving you the bad news, and who sounds just like Simon Pegg!* What I mean to say is, they didn’t just come with a neat idea and phoned it in. The developers really put their heart into this.
(*He’s not. I’ll update when I find out his name.)
And this is why this idea works so well! Of course, I’m the kind of person that runs longer while listening to an audiobook than music, so it may not be everybody’s cup o’tea. But think about this: This was a morning in which it rained until about 11. It was stuffy and humid. I was in the middle of some very productive work. There was a chance it would continue raining, which wouldn’t fare well with my (slightly) cracked phone. Any one of these reasons would normally be enough for me not to go running. Take all four together, and I still went out, because I wanted to try out these new app. I didn’t even like it yet! So. It worked. It got me out and running. Which I think it’s the best that you can ask of an app of this kind.
And here’s a cheap tie-in with the running theme of my blog: It’s wonder that’ll keep me running. Because I can’t help but wonder what the next mission will bring. Yep, wonder does wonders…
A couple caveats. You may encounter some technical issues (it froze in my son’s Android). Second, you get four missions free, and then a free one every week, so if you run twice per week you’ll be faced with the choice of paying for some extras by the fourth week. And third, while I think the “chases” sections are a great idea, game-wise and training-wise (mustering the energy to sprint when you are really tired is a great skill to have in real-life situations, such as at the end of a soccer game, or during an actual zombie apocalypse), I can imagine a bunch of runners collapsing because they overexerted themselves, and showing up in the news. So: know your limits, see a doctor if you can afford one, and if you’re too tired just let the zombies have those supplies.
So which of the events above happened in augmented reality? The answer is: 1, 3, 4 and 7. The others were all real real. Yes, there was a flash-flood alert (and a kind lifeguard told me not to run by the lake shore), I had to run through tall grass, and there was a police blockade (this is Chicago, in case you were wondering). No, I did not stop to find out what the blockade was about. Being chased by a small army of zombies gives you a different perspective on what’s important.
And how was your morning?
The Greek philosopher Plato wrote most of his reflections – deep, penetrating thoughts, always pushing the limits with his questions, always seeking for an additional degree of precision in his answers – in the form of dialogues; like plays in which the main character would be his beloved teacher, Socrates.
In one such dialogue, Theaetetus, Socrates is having a discussion with a youth, the very own Theaetetus (my students won’t even try to pronounce his name, so let’s call him Tee). They’re trying to find what is the nature of knowledge, no less. Tee is kind of the ideal student: clever, respectful, curious, and possessing a good sense of himself and his capacities. He’s not afraid to bring forth his own opinions, be contradicted, if it happens, and learn from the whole thing. And he is not interested in what impression he is making on the teachers, whether he’ll look clever or dumb. He is interested in learning about things that, well, have caught his interest.
In his impish manner, Socrates has shown to Tee that it is possible to become taller or shorter, bigger or smaller, without changing in size at all. Compare yourself with someone who has grown a lot. You’re the same size than you were, but you are also shorter!
“These puzzles are not new to you, I guess,” Socrates asks.
“No,” Tee replies, “but indeed, it is extraordinary how they set me wondering whatever they can mean. Sometimes I get quite dizzy with thinking of them.”
This reaction, I should here mention, is very telling. You can see young Tee (who is a student of math), trying to solve a problem, realizing he’s missed something, looking at it from a different angle, finding it doesn’t add up, starting yet again, until the whole thing gets mixed up in his head. Yet we don’t get from Tee’s reply the impression that he is frustrated by that. Rather, there is something pleasant and fun about getting dizzy and completely baffled!
* * *
Maybe I can introduce here a first definition for “Wonder.” I would call it an onomatopoeic definition.
“Wonder” is what makes us say: “WHAAAT???”
This is not an angry “What?” It’s a baffled, dumbfounded “What?” Socrates compares it with being stung by a stingray. You feel numb, disoriented.
And this is what Socrates makes of Tee’s reply: “That shows that Theodorus (Tee’s own teacher) was not wrong in his estimate of your nature. This sense of wonder is the mark of the philosopher. Philosophy indeed has no other origin.”
These are big words. Up until very recently, at least (until, perhaps, the 1800’s), you could say that this remark by Plato was basically unchallenged. Meaning that everyone who was doing philosophy agreed with this: Philosophy has its origin in this sense of wonder. Let’s look at it in more detail.
There are questions that we ask out of a survival (or more broadly, “practical”) interest: “Where should I go if a tornado struck?” “How can I increase the yield in my crops?”” Does this model come with airbags?” “Do you have homework?”
There are questions that we ask because they help us orient ourselves in the here and now, learn where everyone else is at: “Where’s everybody gone?” “What did you have for dinner?” “What was Hawaii like?” “Who won the game?”
And then there are questions that we ask for no practical reason at all; just because they are baffling, or puzzling, or intriguing.
Sometimes they are kind of silly, but the process of thinking through them is a lot of fun.
And sometimes, they are really BIG questions; questions that make us feel that our grasp on reality is no thicker than a light fabric of theories we’ve spun around our minds. Let’s take gravity, for example.
A: “Isn’t it curious that we seem to be stuck to the ground, when nothing is actually grabbing us?”
B: “Duh! That’s gravity!”
A: “But what is gravity?”
B: “It is… the reason why things are attracted towards the earth.”
A: “So… You’re basically saying that the reason things are attracted towards the earth is that there is something that makes things be attracted towards the earth.”
A: “But how does it work…?”
Now A has punched a hole through the fabric, realizing that gravity is for them no more than a word, put in place of—a placeholder, perhaps, for a real explanation. Now B has two options:
Option 1: Retreat!
“Well, I don’t know myself, but I’m sure scientists know.”
(Which is perhaps not true now, and was certainly not true before Einstein.)
Option 2: Allow oneself to be baffled.
“Dude, I have no idea…!”
Again, it’s both uncomfortable – deeply unsettling, some would say – and exciting. Here is this world we’ve taken for granted, and there’s actually so little we know about it!
This is, according to Plato, and Aristotle, and the bulk of classical philosophers, what originated not just philosophy, but all the sciences (which in the beginning, if you want to know, were all jumbled up under the name “Philosophy”).
And that’s where it all began, philosophy and science: with people that got carried away by these immense questions, and decided to be methodical about it.
<Coming next: Wonder is not just “Whaaat?”, but also “WOW!”>
Plato would be mad at me. So would be Alice, for that matter.
I didn’t try to define my subject (which would have upset Plato), and (against the King’s only good bit of advice to Alice) I didn’t begin at the beginning.
I’ve had the nerve to subtitle my blog, “Looking for Wonder in All Things,” and to name it after one of the most famous expressions from (you probably knew this) Alice in Wonderland. Yet at no point, in the year or so it’s been up, did I even try to explain what this Wonder thing is!
I’ve had my reasons, of course; the first being that it is a very difficult thing to do. I have a very narrow comfort zone; doing something difficult is already stepping out of it…
Secondly, Wonder and Philosophy go a long way back. Plato makes Socrates say (in Theaetetus) that “this sense of wonder is the mark of the philosopher,” no less, and that philosophy, indeed, has no other origin than wonder. After Plato, many great philosophers – and hundreds of minor ones – have written magnificent things about it. So the task is reasonably daunting. Especially since I plan to do it blog style.
What got me started, then? Well, this: I teach Philosophy. I brought my students to the library to do some hunting. Among the questions I posed was, how do you define ‘wonder’?
Easy, I thought. Just go into one of the many encyclopedias of philosophy we’ve pulled out for you and look into the index. Well, here’s what they found.
In fact, I think I should center it for emphasis. Here’s what they found:
Yep. They looked in Routledge Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 10 volumes, and the word wasn’t even in the index. They looked in the Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy and the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy, and got just a few inconsequential hits, of people, well, wondering about something, but never about wonder itself. Somehow we’ve gone from “the mark of the philosopher” to “not worth writing an article about,” and this is certainly puzzling. A screaming silence, if you will.
I’m talking, of course, of the peer-reviewed heavyweights. Wikipedia, which is awesome (another word for “wonderful”), but so far unquotable in the academic world, has a somewhat discombobulated article that amounts to, let’s see, 700 words. Fewer, probably, than any minor supervillain from Marvel (yet another word for “Wonder”). Certainly less than Wikipedia’s entry on Wonder Woman (which, come to think about it, is such a silly name for a character: it applies to about half the population on Earth!)
Yet wonder is very, very important. Not just for philosophers, but for human life.
Without wonder, it’s like the light has died inside you.
* * *
Just bring these two images to your mind: two traditional high school classrooms. In one students are slumped, their eyes glassy, their whole body language lazily screaming, “when is this class going to end?” In another, students are not just sitting upright but a bit forward, itching to speak, nearly falling from their desks in their efforts to catch the teacher’s attention so they can share what is buzzing through their minds…
The difference? Easy. Wonder. Call it curiosity or interest, if you want; that’s wonder at its lowest intensity. Bring it up all the way to mind-blowing (or sometimes mind-numbing) puzzlement, disbelief, the impossibility to reconcile what they think they know with what is being proposed, and you have something closer to what Plato meant by it.
Do you begin to see why wonder is important? Maybe you’ve been present at a class, or a meeting, where “nobody cares.” It feels like people are breathing, but not really alive. We can lose our capacity for wonder – that interior light. It is rather common, actually.
If you’ve read this far, it means you haven’t lost your capacity for wonder – at least it’s a very good sign. But maybe you are considering – wondering, yes – how to recover it, wake it up when someone has lost it. If you teach, or if giving presentations is one of your career hazards, you may be asking yourself how to wake up this wonder in your students, in your audience.
I’ll put down a few thoughts in my following posts. I can’t claim them as mine, since some of my favorite philosophers have been working on this for a very long time; but the least I can say is that they are “time-tested” – for at least twenty three hundred years or so.
In the meantime, I’d very much like to hear your thoughts on the matter!
<To be continued…>
The trick is to make it easy, both for them and for you, to visually check whether each student has participated or not. I use a very simple method: paper cards that are green on one side, and red on the other. Every time a student asks a question or adds a (somewhat substantial) comment, they get to turn their card from red to green.
It’s all explained in this little video:
By the end of class, you can see with just a glimpse which students still have red cards on their desks. If you have a “participation grade”, it will take you no more than a minute to pen down which students got their points, and which didn’t. (That is, when you’ve learned all their names. At the beginning of a course it may take a bit longer.)
The neat thing is that students immediately know whether they are getting their points or not, and will make an extra effort – I normally get about 80% of the students to participate in one form or another without prompting. Which makes it also easier to pay attention to the students that find it more difficult to participate, and to help them out.
This system also helps you to avoid a student “hogging” the discussion without being curt to them: if a student is raising their hand for the tenth time (it’s a good problem; I love those students!) you can simply say, “Let’s hear from the red cards first.” A very easy way to open the discussion.
Let me know if this was any help!