Category Archives: game play

The Thank Tank: A Collective Journey – Your Participation is Needed

The Thank Tank has been created! General information, tank location, and (eventually) woven text are available at the Thank Tank’s Home. This post will be an updated area to discuss the game’s mechanics, answer questions, and encourage dialogue related to the game.

If you haven’t already, please watch the short instructional video below.

Thank Tank Instructions from Antero Garcia on Vimeo.

The Thank Tank is also looking for spaces in Los Angeles to reside for a week or two at a time. If you have an office, a lobby, or a space that will receive some foot traffic, drop us a line .

Likewise, if you’re not in Los Angeles and want to contribute to the Thank Tank, single-folded post-its can be mailed to:

842 Terrace 49, Los Angeles, CA 90042.

Is the Thank Tank a Game?

The short answer is yes. Think of it as the opposite of hitting a piñata. With a piñata, the goal is to be the first to break and empty the vessel to reap the hidden rewards. Instead, the goal of the Thank Tank is to help fill an empty vessel; the morsels of gratitude are a collective incentive. The thick ink of the Sharpie and the limited space of the post-it help build anonymity within the project. As the thanks proliferate, they will be posted and woven at neededtosaythanks.com.

This is still a bit of a work in progress. The Thank Tank needs a simple logo. Someone needs to design it. Maybe it is you. Other ideas, questions, and suggestions are appreciated.

Aggregated Search, Phone Photos and Talkin’ ‘Bout Mobile Media

In the past two days, I’ve received no less than five emails asking me if I’ve seen this article (I have now … thanks to each of you!). Apparently my research interests have been made pretty explicit at this point.

In any case, I was reminded of a couple of impromptu lessons I created that I’d like to share briefly, related to new media and its application within the classroom.

Google Image Search & Assumptions about Success

After a brief writing exercise in which students projected and wrote about their lives ten years in the future, we took to the Internet. As students described the careers they are interested in pursuing – doctor, lawyer, architect, astronomer, engineer, etc. – we typed each word into Google’s image search*. For the most part, the search results didn’t surprise – predominantly white, male faces showed up as the top results. (Try this, if you haven’t already.) As a class, we talked about what the search represented and why it was one that didn’t reflect our class and community demographics. The lesson was a place to continue our application of fancy words like “hegemony” and “counter-narrative” and to think about how this image search could be changed in the future.

I haven’t written this out yet, but I think a next step for us will be to simulate an aggregate search within the classroom on post-it notes. I need to tweak this, but perhaps it will be similar to an analog game like Go Fish or even Pictionary. I think if we can replicate a model where the faces of success look like the ones in our classroom, we can think more critically about applying the experience to the larger world.

* A student – based on his own “experiments” – warned me not to image search “nurse.” I appreciated his candor, but think that – in the future – that search will be ripe for discussion about gender stereotypes and sexual objectification.

Photographing an Argument

The next assignment was just as simple. Students needed to email or text me a photo they took somewhere in their neighborhood. They would then use the photo to construct an essay-length argument about their community. By the following week, students shared their photos in small groups and then hosted a class-wide curated slide show. (My students took all of the photos in this post in and around our school.)

Again, the assignment itself isn’t novel. However, I found it impressive how – other than a few students that didn’t adhere to the deadline and subsequently borrowed my classroom camera to snap shots around the school – the majority of the students were able to quickly text or email me their photos on time. That our school’s wireless network is faulty or not open to student access, that many students don’t own computers, and the many other concerns that educators have with technology didn’t stand in the way of students taking carefully constructed photos and getting them to me in a way that could be easily shared and projected. Further, if you haven’t been snapping photos on your phone lately, you’d be impressed with the quality. And hearing students discuss the angles, lighting, color, and compositional features of their pictures was also promising. Did mobile media revolutionize my curriculum? No. It did, however, validate the skills and abilities my students had and helped bridge them toward standards-aligned instruction.

A Few Summative Thoughts

Going back to the article that kick started this post, I guess my larger concern with mobile media isn’t if students are cheating or abusing their phone privileges. Instead, I’m interested in student positioning and understanding of the mobile device and of themselves as authors and creators. As we inevitably move toward the eventual acceptance of phones in the classroom, it will be useful for us to construct a foundation on which students can think responsibly about media and their role in consuming and creating it. This may sound like I’m either spewing abstract hogwash or stating the obvious to some, depending on where you stand on the tech debate. I’ll be piloting this theoretical foundation within my classroom later this year, with activities and texts ranging from cell phone ”Freeze Tag” (for lack of a better name) to diving into the words of Bruno Latour. Of course suggestions are always considered and appreciated.

“Pandemic Right Here! Got That Pandemic!”

We looked at the clock: it was minutes before midnight. We were exhausted, the chips and guac had been exhausted hours before, and the dog had lost interest from the moment the events transpired. The only real reason we had to continue was because the fate of all humanity rested on our weary shoulders. Such is the sense of burden that is felt as we played through four different games of Pandemic.

A board game that relies on collaboration amongst players instead of competition, Pandemic finds players racing around the globe treating infections and feverishly trying to discover the cure before another epidemic wrecks havoc on the globe. In effect, the players are working together to beat the game; either we all win or – as was most oft the case for us – we all lose.

A game that can be played by anyone, we found ourselves deliberating every action and discussing (or arguing) strategy. We were metacognitive in our decision making process. We highlighted what failed in past games (deciding to ignore the wildfire-like spread of disease in Asia, for instance was a particularly terrible strategy) and relied on our various locations, cards, and other game attributes to eventually beat the game.

Exhausting and exhilarating, Pandemic is the kind of game that warrants careful analysis – the game’s design helps rupture any sense of confidence; at any moment all hell can break loose when another epidemic strikes. As a learning tool, Pandemic is particularly intriguing. By the end of our final game – we saved the world at 12:53 a.m. – we informally reflected on how our game playing adapted to the nature of the game, our communication skills, and the way the game’s design was a useful instructional tool.

As I continue to think about game play within the classroom, I think Pandemic and a general resurgence in board game playing is helping me distill the basics out of what is meaningful in a gaming and learning environment.

I’m in the middle of watching this great Google Talk by Pandemic’s creator, Matt Leacock.

Additionally, I’m looking to create a regularly meeting board gaming group to look at the role of social interaction and strategizing when playing. (I guess I should also mention I’m reading this and planning to work through the exercises, if anyone else in Los Angeles is interested in collaborating.)

At Manual Arts, Mr. Carlson and I have created the Strategic Gaming Club – meeting during lunch and after school a group of students regularly plays games ranging from Mancala to Chess to Hungry Hungry Hippos. And if we’re able to sneak in a few sessions of Settlers of Catan and Pandemic, I’m sure the world would thank us.

“Got that Pandemic!”

Patterns Towards Da Future

A paper I co-authored (and partially adapted from my work in a course about Dewey and democracy) was presented at the Association of Computing Machinery (ACM) Multimedia Conference in Beijing last week.

Though you (or your institution) will need a subscription to download it, the abstract (below) and the list of citations (linked) should give you a fair idea of where we went with this. If you’re interested, the actual paper can be found here.

ABSTRACT

The authors developed and tested a hyper-local air quality sensor network and a fictional game narrative to evaluate the pedagogical potential of Alternate Reality games for high school students in Los Angeles. This study examined how Deweyan concepts of learning can be applied to game play. The authors found that students developed a unique language to discuss real pollution issues within a fictional construct. Engaging in both civic engagement and educational rigor, student learning was situated in a framework of instruction John Dewey outlines as counter to traditional models of schooling. Despite limitations, including some authoritarian and competitive structures implicit in games, students found new reasons to communicate with real-world adults in verbal and written form. Game-based learning inspired substantial qualitative progress and high levels of engagement among students, compared to traditional teaching methods.

Space: The Unacknowledged Frontier

The new school year has begun. I teach three 90-minute classes. One class has 39 students, the other two float comfortably in the low, mid-30s. I’m travelling between two classrooms – the class I use for two periods currently has no working AC – the heat is of a level that would help propel Kozol up the bestseller’s list if he were to document it.

In any case, all of this flux, change, and curmudgeony frustration with conditions has had me thinking about the “story” that our classroom spaces provide. As struggling-to-keep-our-heads-above-water teachers, classroom design is usually little more than doing our best to figure out how to cram class libraries in the limited bookshelves, how to arrange desks, and what posters to slap on the walls. That’s not a sleight to teachers – lord knows we can be spending our time on tons of activities that help improve instruction and student experience. However, when I look at the evolution of modern office spaces, I can’t help but wonder how this evolution can trickle into my classroom in South Central.

Similarly, I’ve been thinking about Joshua Prince-Ramus’ talk about the Seattle Library’s ultra-utilitarian design and wonder if there is a better lens to look at my four-walled space than the factory-oriented school model through which I’ve been inculcated; “Constraining Innovation” indeed.

Since studying narrative theory and mobile media through a generally awesome cognate course last quarter, I’ve been reading through this text on architecture, game play and space. Reading about ways that a place like Disneyland weaves narrative into space such that the guest is already well-immersed in an overarching narrative or theme well before ever sitting in the Haunted Mansion’s “ride,” for instance makes me think about how these kinds of spatial narratives are being disregarded within my school. In his essay in the book, Henry Jenkins quotes Disney Imagineer Don Carson saying, “The story element is infused into the physical space a guest walks or rides through. It is the physical space that does much of the work of conveying the story the designers are trying to tell.” He later writes that an iconic attraction like “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” is designed such that “the original tale provides ‘a set of rules that guide the design and project team to a common goal’ and help give structure and meaning to the visitor’s experience.” Sure, our school’s shift to uniforms this past year and repainting of offices helps send a kind of message or narrative to the students. However, is it one that is engaging? One that adds intrigue? One that poses problems to be solved? Encourages exploration?

Finally, Lev Manovich writes about the potential of “augmented space.” I’m still working through this. As I continue to ponder the prospects of a CryptoZoo invasion in South Central (as an ongoing 11th grade project), I wonder how the differences between immersion and augmentation can be looked at within a portable “bungalow” with no AC.

“… Cut off by the devil white man from all true knowledge”: On Making Sense of Malcolm One Page At a Time

I’m currently in the midst of a revamped unit with my 11th graders involving concurrently analyzing The Autobiography of Malcolm X and The Broken Spears. We’ll be reading additional texts and watching films related to Thoreau, Subcomandante Marcos, Gandhi, the South Central Farmers, and whatever else we can cram into the next few weeks before the school year ends. I thought I’d share a resource I used in setting up this unit as well as a strategy I attempted in conjunction with this resource.
I guess now is as good a time as any to make this confession: I like to rasterbate. Uploading images to the online rasterbator, a PDF of the image stretched to the size of your preference is created. It’s an instant poster maker and the effect it has is a useful (and cheap) resource for decorating a classroom. That said, I decided to experiment with simple game play using a rasterbated image. As students filed into my class at the beginning of the quarter, I handed each of them two random sheets of paper, announcing that they all held pieces of a puzzle and needed to (preferably quickly) assemble the puzzle on a wall.

Period 2 struggles to put the puzzle together.

Period 2 struggles to put the puzzle together.

Period 3 doesnt do much better...

Period 3 doesn't do much better...

The simple experiment yielded a couple of useful insights: my kids took way longer assembling the puzzle than I thought they would. The dynamics of collaboration that I was hoping for not only sprang to life but helped garner additional buy-in from some of the quieter students in the class. Further, the sense of ownership of the picture by the students was powerful. We were able to analyze numerous components of the iconic photograph of Malcolm X (once it was revealed) as the students were looking at the picture from a well-developed perspective. (On a side note it is interesting that both classes that assembled the picture immediately guessed that it would be a picture of Obama once finished…) Though the students didn’t read a lengthy introduction or fill out an initial KWL chart about Malcolm, they were able to articulate their prior knowledge as well as any questions or thoughts that arose during the activity. By the time I handed each student her or his own copy of the book to mark up and write their names in, the students were prepared to engage in dialogue with the leader they spent 30 minutes assembling; even if I thought it was 15 minutes too long, the time still felt well spent.

A completed puzzle [sheets taped sideways are not the result of improper teaching!]