Tag: education

Forever the ball rolls

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The machine in the San Jose airport will forever spark rich feelings of joy.

When I was a child, I watched for hours as the balls rolled, spun, twisted, and jumped, pinging the bells and conking on the wooden blocks. Seven balls – nine in the box, but always with two of them fallen to the bottom, having missed the jump or, more likely, the bounce-pass. For hours and hours, I would watch these balls. And never would I see a ball miss.

I remember the rhythm; the conk-CAH-cohnk of the green one that spins.

A while ago I considered the idea of buying up old dormant brands, then relaunching them for a new generation. But here’s the kicker: focus on the same people, not the same product. Instead of Hush Puppies shoes for a new generation of young folk, it’s Hush Puppies slippers for older people. The name was always the pitch: barking dogs meant aching feet, and the 1958 shoes promised to hush them. The slippers keep that promise at 75. It’s not Lunchables for a new generation of school kids; it’s Lunchables for yuppies.

We’re wrong when we say that old habits die hard. In reality, they don’t die. They simply go dormant, waiting for the trigger to reignite those same neurons.

But the same sound, the same rhythm, the same habits of mind: the same rolling ball machine still scratches that same itch.

The airport has moved the machine to a new location. They’ve rotated it so I now watch from the other side. Still, the sounds and the rhythm are the same. It’s nice, it’s comfortable, like an old warm coat passed down from a parent that still smells like them even after it’s washed. I found it in an old box in the back of a closet. How nice it is to feel the spark return to my eyes.

Clown School Break Day 30: Cooperative Games

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In which Our Hero collaborates. 

My family has recently taken to playing cooperative games. Growing up, we played mainly competitive games. Sometimes team games, but more often individual competitive games.

My partner recently posed the question: What if a person grew up playing mainly cooperative games?

An interesting question.

For one, most sports are competitive. (Sure, some are team-based, but those are still generally against other people rather than a challenge against nature or circumstance.)

For two, most contrived games (as distinct from natural games like science or business) are competitive.

For three, most good contrived games are competitive. Taking board games as a field I know quite well: only over the last ~20 years have cooperative board games taken off, and still they are much less popular and less created than competitive ones.

Bad games are generally not worth playing. They’re unfun and teach poor / useless skills.

Good games are, well, good.

I learned to count and perform basic mental math through the card game cribbage. I’m not aware of a cooperative equivalent that’s as engaging and strategic (and building one’s strategic muscle is worthwhile in itself).

Cooperative games teach communication, team coordination, collective strategy, leading and following, ebbs and flows.

I used to ghostwrite for the founder of the video streaming platform Twitch. He and his brother both sold companies for ~$1B, and they credit their parents’ chore system with teaching them to collaborate and strategize. The chores had to be completed, but the how and the who were up to the children’s choices. (For more, search the word “chore” in this article or this article.)

Collaborative games are excellent. And in the grand scheme of things, many competitive games are really about collaboration on the meta level anyway. Tennis is about (i.e. funded by) encouraging people to play tennis, which is generally good for physical health. Individual competitive sports like running are about setting a new record, thereby pushing human physical ability to new heights.

Perhaps it’s true: Even when we’re competing, we’re collaborating.

Clown School Day 5: The First Presentation

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In which Our Hero learns that punctuality is for mimes

Monday after class, every student except one gathered outside the studio to form teams. That one was me. I was off to buy sushi. A grave mistake.

Earlier that day, we had received our first presentation assignment. “In groups of 5, show us or teach us a game”.

On Tuesday, my default group (as it was the only group missing a fifth) suggested we assemble after class. I have a meeting after school every day, so I vetoed this idea. We scheduled instead to meet at 9:15 the following morning.

On Wednesday, four of us assembled at 9:15am. The last arrived at 9:20, at which point one of us agreed to babysit a small child until 9:25, which became 9:30.

On Thursday, one of us forgot we had a 9:15 rehearsal. He arrived at 9:25.

On Friday, one of us texted saying she would be 10 minutes late. She was actually 17 minutes late.

This place is full of clowns.

—

For our presentation, we played a game.

On one side, a large bird of prey screeched his desire to eat tiny chickens.

On the other, a mama bird defended her children.

We were light, airy, generous, friendly, open, and with impulse. And then, if we succeeded, we had to add text atop the game. It’s very easy for text to kill the game. But we care not for text. We care for impulse and complicité and game.

My group was the first to succeed.

It feels good. I’m excited for more!

—

Comments from this week:

  • “I’m afraid to shout because it makes me cry” — a student
  • “Your arms are floppy like you smoke hashish” — a teacher
  • “Did you have nazis in your family?” — a teacher, upon learning one of our students is German
  • “You speak in a toilet voice” — a teacher
  • “I think you’re funny for the wrong reasons”. —my roommate, about me