ETC's blog

Hey, everybody! The link for my hypertext is www.etcarlson.com/hyper.html.

Let me know what you think!

Since I missed class today, I wasn't exactly sure what Zach's email concerning the YouTube links was about. So I started watching them, then went over to Unforums...and proceeded to watch all 10 and read all 195 posts (I suggest not watching all the videos in one setting). In doing so, I pretty much killed the first half of my evening. They aren't joking when they say they're spending hours figuring stuff out (I was just catching up!!)

While I was searching for a playable ARG on the unforums, my head started swimming--there were so many threads, so many ideas, soooo many abbreviations which I didn't understand. So I started reading through some threads and began to get the gist of the system. As of now, I think the unforums are enough of a new "world" for me. Nonetheless, I am excited to get involved with one. The "chronosdelay and the minotaur" trailhead seems interesting, but it also appears that it might have been abandoned--though I hope it hasn't. It draws upon the legend of the minotaur and upon concepts of time travel. I hope it picks back up!

I found the "camera in the woods" series to be entertaining. Operating under the assumption that the photos were already on the camera when the blogger "found" it, my guess is that the zombie that appears throughout the images somehow attacked the original owner. From the silhouette in the tress to the glowing eyes to the reflection in the mirror, the artist does a pretty nice job of inserting the creature in a semi-sublte fashion. His use of the blur effect seems to refer to the shake-and-spin motion in scary movies such as the Blair Witch Project. The darkness and fog create an aura of mystery, while the photographer's point of view for the building makes it ominous and looming. Though the deception may be obvious at times, the series as a whole functions pretty well--for some trickster's holiday.

I very much enjoyed Photopia's weaving of stories. It created a colorful blanket with almost seamless transitions (the angels in the crystal city and gym scenes, the over and under water moment) in a semi-linear fashion. While the text was, for the most part, presented out of order (except for the astronaut storyline), I was still able to piece it together. Because of this format, the game reminded me of the movie Memento, in which the story is presented in snippets in reverse-chronological order. Photopia's interactivity made the story a little easier to figure out and follow than if it had just been a straight presentation. The fact that I had (limited) options made me feel more involved, though I feel like I need to go back and play again to choose other options (like asking about the wolf, for instance--what would I have learned?). My guess is that none of those choices would change the ultimate outcome of the text, but it is nice to think that there are other satellite bits of info available to enhance the storyline.

Time lapses in discourse are often meant to hurry along the reader's experience of the story, to edit out the boring, unecessary information. Time lapses in life are exactly the opposite--they tend to condense the events we most enjoy.

Today, for example, I led a trip to Cedar Key to go kayaking. We paddled, explored a graveyard, paddled, and ate lunch on the beach before paddling back to mainland. All this took four full hours--and yet it seemed like only one. We then spent an hour meandering the tiny town--yet it seemed like only 15 minutes. We were with friends and had found huge "small" ice creams for $1.34 (including topping), the weather was beautiful, and no one was contemplating homework yet.

In recounting today's events to my friends, I'll surely go into detail about the fun times we had--attempting to draw out those gone-all-too-quickly experiences into a longer memory. Of course, I'll skip over the driving time and bathroom time--that's what discourse time lapses are for, after all.

In the study of narrative, pop-up books (and other such media) present an interesting mix of solutions. By combining text, image, and special-effect interactive elements, pop-ups invite the reader/viewer to explore the exciting images in multiple ways.

First, the images themselves are often appealing. They inform, exaggerate, illustrate, and entertain. Their content supports the text in one fashion or another, adding important elements that would not have been expressed as well in words or, at that, in traditional flat images. Readers are fascinated by the levels of exploration available, be it in a multi-part pop-up or a flip-open door that reveals a monster. This extra information enhances the narrative by allowing the monster to be absent initially, then appear when the reader initiates the narrative sequence by opening the door. Without the reader's interaction, the narrative would be different--if he refuses to open the door because he's afraid of the image, the page will not convey the same story.  read more »

This adaptation of Space Invaders was such a different experience than the original! As the "invading" alien, I was much more upset because I could do nothing but run continuously. Even though I had full control of my motions, down to the earth's surface and back up again, I was unable to do anything to stop the annihilation of myself or my comrades.

The soundtrack helps create this experience. It's one of those arch-angel/impending doom songs that tends to be played during the final shoot-out scenes in movies like Boondock Saints (I think) and others (Dogma?). The only thing that concerns me is that the song ends and leaves me with only the sound effects, which are not nearly as mood-setting/enveloping as the music.

The overall effect of the game is to make me sympathize with the little aliens--especially the post-death footage. After escaping from their exploding planet, the aliens arrive at Earth seeking refuge, but finding only hostility. The game was a fantastic shift in point-of-view. I only wish I could have done more to fight back or stop the antagonism. And that the music had played on.

In design, there two main elements: image and text. The two play off each other to inform the viewer--if one is improperly chosen and ill-suited to the other, the message will become skewed.

For instance, a poster for Steve's Old-fashioned Ice Cream Parlor wouldn't use Helvetica in its advertisement. As we've discussed, Helvetica is streamlined, clean, efficient, bureaucratic--and new. Obviously, it wouldn't function for Steve's store--he would opt for a warmer, nostalgic typeface, perhaps even a script.

Helvetica would function, however, as a typeface for a non-nostalgic parlor that served a variety of foods. It would work just as well for and ad for a chain store, such as Target, or for a flyer posted on campus advertising a used bike for sale. Target aims for the clean, modern feel to inform its images; the bike seller probably used the default setting. In these cases and many others, Helvetica works--the basic, the safe, the universal, the default. As a standalone, it functions clearly and simply in almost any case, but combined with image, it must undergo further consideration before being plunked into the workspace.

As a photowriter, I find myself highly intrigued by Mitchell's article--I've been attempting to research the image/text relationship for the past year or so because I myself create works that juxtapose text and image. I dislike the stratification of the two disciplines--the "sense that verbal and visual media are to be seen as distinct, separate, and parallel shperes that converge only at some higher level of abstraction" (Mitchell 85 [coursepack 24]). While the use of text is permissable and even vaguely encouraged in the art world, it is seen as an outsider by most members of the community. They view written word as an add-on; yet once it is involved in a work, it becomes critical in some (usually) abstract fashion. It is a "novel...detail" that gets everyone excited and concerned--artificially so (Mitchell 86). Image/text is a cause for chatter, for discussion that circles only the supporting role of the text.  read more »

I just tried to play "game, game...." And I couldn't. The graphics were so spastic and annoying that I didn't even finish level two. I tried, believe me, but I couldn't stand the animation--it simply drove me away from the screen instead of drawing me in.

I just went back and tried to deal with it again--this time passing into the 3rd level before realizing that I should have had my sound on. The soundtrack drives me even further insane--I really really dislike it. But this time I put up with it through level five before being forced to quit by my overloaded senses. While I don't like the style, I do like the way that running into things doesn't necessarily "kill" you or send you back to start. It's interesting that some elements are important to encounter, because without them, you wouldn't be able to progress toward the end goal. And in all, I suppose the spasticness could be a comment on life as well, making this another version of the message in Passage.

"As a photographer and writer..."

The above phrase was my original introduction to my first blog entry. I intended to comment upon Chatman's comparison of the visual arts to the written. As I began, however, I couldn't get past that first phrase. Should I write "photographer and writer," or "writer and photographer"? What difference would it make in the reader's mind? Which version would be more memorable? Am I a "photographer who writes," or "a writer who creates photos"? Does it matter?

Yes.

This deliberation over the structure of my sentence is a fantastic example of how discourse affects story: each choice of words and of their order creates a different meaning, however slight. For example, whichever name comes first ("photographer" or "writer") automatically assumes a higher status as a label. Thus, even the most elementary of elements of story--grammatical structure--plays a very important role in painting a picture for the audience.

Perhaps I am a writeographer. Or a photowriter.

ETC