Hubbub has gone into hibernation.

Come over and play at Tweetakt

Tweetakt

From my win­dow I can see guys build­ing the Twee­t­akt pavil­ion on the Neude square. They’ve start­ed today. Next week, the fes­ti­val starts. And I’m a lit­tle excit­ed because this year I was asked by Twee­t­akt to curate the inter­ac­tive exhi­bi­tion that will be on dis­play at the pavil­ion.

Twee­t­akt is a fes­ti­val for per­form­ing arts for youth. The work I select­ed are all instal­la­tions with a play­ful nature. Twee­t­akt is deter­mined to bridge the gap between the tra­di­tion­al ele­ments in their pro­gram — such as the­atre and dance — and emerg­ing games cul­ture. What I also payed atten­tion to was that each work on dis­play would have a per­for­mance-like qual­i­ty to it. That is to say, it should be as much fun watch­ing peo­ple play as it is to play your­self.

The projects on dis­play are:

It’ll come as no sur­prise to you that many of these were fea­tured at pre­vi­ous edi­tions of This hap­pened – Utrecht. In fact the tenth edi­tion of the event coin­cides with Twee­t­akt, giv­ing us the chance to present to the local com­mu­ni­ty both Chris O’Shea (who co-found­ed the orig­i­nal This hap­pened in Lon­don, so it’s a joy to have him over) and Yuri Suzu­ki. Monoban­da and Matthias Oost­rik com­plete the line­up. The event is ful­ly booked, but you might have a chance at the door.

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Human desire in the cognitive city

As I write this I am on a train to Utrecht, the last leg of my jour­ney home from Berlin. I was there for Cog­ni­tive Cities, a con­fer­ence on urban com­put­ing, data visu­al­iza­tion and relat­ed sub­jects. It’s been a hell of a week­end — a few minor flaws aside, the con­fer­ence was great and I got to explore the city and expe­ri­ence some of the joys it has to offer. The thing that has me think­ing though, is the con­trast between the con­fer­ence’s focus on cer­tain ways of know­ing the city, and how I got to know it myself. There’s a gap there.

The conference

On Sat­ur­day I found myself sur­round­ed by the fad­ed glo­ry of Heimath­afen Neukölln. Cog­ni­tive Cities pre­sent­ed a sin­gle track of speak­ers who addressed var­i­ous aspects of the cur­rent and near future impli­ca­tions of tech­nol­o­gy for urban life. I was hap­py to see a com­mu­ni­ty that’s been emerg­ing for a while phys­i­cal­ly gath­er for what I think was one of the first times. The pro­gram was an excel­lent reflec­tion of what’s been going on around cities and tech­nol­o­gy and design. It made con­nec­tions, but also high­light­ed con­trast­ing opin­ions.

  • There were man­i­festoes for the open­ing up of data, and the need for equal shar­ing in it from Adam Green­field. These high­light­ed how prob­lem­at­ic the notion of pub­lic space has become in our net­worked age.
  • Quite a few talks cen­tered around ways of mea­sur­ing city life, and dis­play­ing it. Anil Bawa, Matt Bid­dulph and Diet­mar Offen­hu­ber all talked about this in some way and what stuck with me most is that, with no pri­or knowl­edge, machines can get a pret­ty good sense of what we’re up to just from the data.
  • And then there were odd and won­der­ful talks such as Dan­nie Jost’s dereg­u­lat­ing ram­ble on struc­tures, Georgina Voss’ love­ly tour of things lay­men build for their homes when they are giv­en Arduino and Juha van ‘t Zelfde’s demo of the nascent Urban­ode, a thing that lets you play with build­ings.
  • Final­ly we had War­ren Ellis’ gen­uine­ly scary tale of ghost hunters and earth lights and how we might be get­ting into a lot of trou­ble by unleash­ing all this elec­tro­mag­net­ic wiz­ardry on unwit­ting urban­ites. Through our tech­nolo­gies the ghosts of future and past alike speak to us, and we should lis­ten well.

The city

Before and after that won­der­ful Sat­ur­day I found myself par­ty to a fran­tic explo­ration of bars and clubs around some of the more inter­est­ing areas of Berlin. We had drinks in what seemed like a nev­er end­ing sequence of often grit­ty, impro­vised liv­ing-room like cafes. On Sat­ur­day we went search­ing for a club named Horst Krzbrg and acci­den­tal­ly came across a pub­lic toi­let turned into a venue for local bands and were wit­ness to some of the angri­est, loud­est Swedish noise I’ve ever wit­nessed. We car­ried adapters with us and charged our iPhones wher­ev­er we saw the chance. These ghost box­es were our means of tra­vers­ing the city. We car­ried no guide­books, we made no plans beyond where to go next. On Sun­day, in the late after­noon after an organ­ic cur­ry wurst we decid­ed to go to Berghain and that did it for me. That set a new bench­mark. It’s a club that opens on fri­day night and hosts a con­tin­u­ous par­ty for the whole week­end. It is sit­u­at­ed in an enor­mous build­ing which remind­ed me the Tate Mod­ern’s tur­bine hall but dark and grit­ty and packed with an — ahem — col­or­ful mix of peo­ple of var­i­ous incli­na­tions. I was gob­s­macked. Here’s a city that allows for some­thing tru­ly uncom­pro­mis­ing and alive to emerge.

NewImage

And I start­ed think­ing: why was there so lit­tle dis­cus­sion of these things at Cog­ni­tive Cities? Why were so few of the talks ground­ed in human expe­ri­ence of cities on the ground? Sure, some of the speak­ers men­tioned rea­sons why peo­ple flock to cities, but in very gen­er­al terms. And when it came to what peo­ple do in cities, we were pre­dom­i­nant­ly treat­ed to ster­ile though pret­ty visu­al­iza­tions of human action in the aggre­gate: phone calls, pub­lic tran­sit, check­ins… When it came to improv­ing urban liv­ing, there was very lit­tle atten­tion for any­thing besides the work-relat­ed. Which means that all those oth­er activ­i­ties that make life mean­ing­ful and plea­sur­able were left out. The rea­sons why we play games, why we make art, why we come togeth­er for a drink and a chat. The social and the play­ful.

Reconciling the two

So at the next Cog­ni­tive Cities, I hope to see a con­tin­u­a­tion of the work in spaces such as open data and map­ping and so on. But I would equal­ly like to see talks about life on the ground, and what it means to design for cog­ni­tive cities at the human scale. At a con­fer­ence like this, we should­n’t leave our pas­sions for city life at the door.

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Traveling through time in games

Chief agent Kars here. It’s a plea­sure for me to intro­duce you to our new intern Arjen. Like his two pre­de­ces­sors he’s study­ing Design for Vir­tu­al The­atre and Games at the Utrecht School of the Arts. He’ll be with us for the com­ing months to assist on var­i­ous projects (such as Maguro and Buta). In addi­tion, I’ve decid­ed to ask Arjen to work on a self-com­mis­sioned game that we’ve code­named Kat­suo. With­out telling too much about it at this point, let’s just say Arjen’s back­ground in pro­duc­ing LARPs will cer­tain­ly come in handy. I hope you enjoy this first post on some of his pre­lim­i­nary research.

I’ve start­ed research this week on a new project, code­named Kat­suo. A key ele­ment in this project will be time trav­el­ing, so I’ve been search­ing for var­i­ous uses of time trav­el in games. In my search, I have put an empha­sis on the use of time trav­el­ing as part of the game­play, rather than the sto­ry or visu­als.

There’s an abun­dance of games that use slow­ing down or speed­ing up time as spe­cial moves. One of the games that exe­cutes this very well is Viewti­ful Joe, which doesn’t only allow the slow­ing down of ene­mies, but also makes spe­cial moves and sev­er­al inter­ac­tions with objects and puz­zles avail­able.

The YouTube video that was embed­ded here has been removed.

One of the first games I thought of myself was Ani­mal Cross­ing. I played this game on my DS, and that ver­sion used the time set­tings on your sys­tem to deter­mine a bunch of fac­tors in the game. Like whether it was day or night, what day it was, growth of plants and the inter­est on your saved mon­ey at the bank. Although the cre­ators nev­er meant for this to be pos­si­ble, you could time trav­el by abus­ing the sys­tem time-check­ing. If, for exam­ple, you would put mon­ey in the bank, then change your sys­tem time from today to today 20 years in the future, you would get 20 years of inter­est on your mon­ey. If only sci­ence would hur­ry a bit, I’d be rich in the real world by the end of last week.

Video by Mari Mar­tinez, orig­i­nal­ly on YouTube.

Many games require you to trav­el back and for­ward through time to solve puz­zles and advance in the sto­ry. Day of the Ten­ta­cle, Chronotrig­ger and The Leg­end of Zel­da: Oca­ri­na of Time, Ora­cle of the Ages and Majora’s Mask are just some of the titles that spring to mind.

Con­cern­ing the last game, I found an inter­est­ing alter­nate real­i­ty game that is built around the sto­ry of a cursed car­tridge of The Leg­end of Zel­da: Majora’s Mask. This game fea­tures a well told sto­ry in which the play­ers were able to force the whole world of the game back by a few days by post­ing a video of the song of time. This includ­ed web­sites going offline because they didn’t exist yet, and allowed for quite an inter­est­ing mys­tery to solve. The game is live again, so if you’re into ARGs, you should def­i­nite­ly go and find it1

Video by Jadus­able, orig­i­nal­ly on YouTube.

Anoth­er inter­est­ing game I found is Time4Cat. This game isn’t real­ly about time trav­el, but more about the per­cep­tion of time. You actu­al­ly force your per­cep­tion upon the game world: when you stand still, so does the time and every­one around you. To ful­ly under­stand what I’m say­ing, I rec­om­mend you just play it.

This brings to mind the indie hit Braid, in which your move­ment is linked to the time of the game world. If you move back, every­thing moves back with you. Def­i­nite­ly worth play­ing, but I think you already knew that.

To wrap things up, I’ve got some­thing you can play at home, all you need is a chess set and some paper. It’s a spe­cial form of chess. I am going to do some playtests this week, try­ing to tweak some of the rules. I’ll let you know the ide­al con­di­tions for send­ing chess pieces to the future in a lat­er post.

  1. No, I’m not going to give a link. You’re an ARG play­er, are you not? [↩]
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“Personality goes a long way”

'Save the Pets' by Tinkebell

‘Save the Pets’ by Tin­ke­bell

Ear­li­er this year Dutch artist Tin­ke­bell stood tri­al togeth­er with the direc­tor of a gallery for the alleged tor­tur­ing of ani­mals. She’d cre­at­ed an art­work involv­ing a lit­tle under a hun­dred ham­sters in so-called ham­ster­balls. Accord­ing to her it was a com­men­tary on the many peo­ple on YouTube post­ing video’s of their pets in these play­things. She got sued because accord­ing to some the ham­sters had spent too long in the balls, lead­ing to severe fatigue. The san­i­tary con­di­tions of the balls and the pens they were kept in were below stan­dards too. She was acquit­ted on Jan­u­ary 21, but Tin­ke­bell – who is no stranger to con­tro­ver­sy, she once killed her pet cat to turn it into a hand­bag – has said that if her con­vic­tion would have lead to a ban on ham­ster balls, she would still be sat­is­fied.

Crabfu's 'Hamster Powered Walker' on YouTube

Crab­fu’s ‘Ham­ster Pow­ered Walk­er’ on YouTube

All of which gets me think­ing about the com­pli­cat­ed nature of our rela­tion­ship with ani­mals. No-one can deny that watch­ing a ham­ster move around inside one of those balls is quite enter­tain­ing. (A ham­ster ball com­bined with Strand­beest-inspired legs is even more fun.) One is tempt­ed to think the same applies to the ham­ster inside. We imag­ine what it must be like to be the ham­ster inside the ball, and con­sid­er that to be pret­ty awe­some. Cirque du Soleil any­one? But how much of that is pro­jec­tion and how much is real? When we play with our pets we anthro­po­mor­phize them.

Photo of a football in a pig pen, taken during a project Buta field study

Pho­to of a foot­ball in a pig pen, tak­en dur­ing a project Buta field study

How would that apply to ani­mals we don’t keep as pets? I’ve been involved with a project code­named Buta at the Design for Play­ful Impact research group at the Utrecht School of the Arts. (Hub­bub is an ‘indus­try part­ner’ of the group, does­n’t that sound impres­sive?) The project is about inves­ti­gat­ing new ways of play between peo­ple and pigs that are raised for meat. Those ani­mals are incred­i­bly invis­i­ble to us, even though there’s tons of them in the coun­try. I am curi­ous how our per­cep­tion of them changes once we find out (as I did over the course of a few play ses­sions at a pig farm) that these are incred­i­bly clever ani­mals, you can have as much fun play­ing with them as with your pet dog. I’m not say­ing that should stop you from con­sum­ing pig meat. (Although it might. It has­n’t with me though.) But it would cer­tain­ly change your rela­tion­ship to them. It’s like Jules says to Vin­cent in Pulp Fic­tion: “Per­son­al­i­ty goes a long way.”

Still taken from 'Pulp Fiction'

Still tak­en from ‘Pulp Fic­tion’

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Machines for getting lost

It turns out Lone­ly Plan­et is not just in the busi­ness of help­ing you find your way, but also help­ing you get lost. I came across their exper­i­men­tal trav­el series when I was doing some con­cept devel­op­ment recent­ly for a her­itage site. A project I am work­ing on at the HKU’s DPI research group, which Hub­bub is an indus­try part­ner of. Any­way, we were think­ing about her­itage sites and the ten­den­cy of care­tak­ers to facil­i­tate explo­ration in the tra­di­tion­al sense: putting up name­plates, cre­at­ing routes, offer­ing tours, etc. But many of these sites, the one we were work­ing for in par­tic­u­lar, are won­der­ful places to aim­less­ly wan­der around in. When I myself vis­it­ed it, I was tak­ing pho­tos of places that felt secret, or were sur­pris­ing in some way, such as unex­pect­ed per­spec­tives. So we began to think about ways of engen­der­ing this spir­it of “get­ting lost” in peo­ple.

Drift Deck by Julian Bleecker

The Lone­ly Plan­et exper­i­men­tal trav­el guide­books serve as one exam­ple. They of course have part of their roots in the ideas of our good old friends the Sit­u­a­tion­ists. As does the game Boc­ce Drift, which I’ve writ­ten about here before. But there’s more nice ways to get lost. Such as Drift Deck, a set of cards that gen­er­ate a route through a city as you go. I also like that it has lit­tle assign­ments that chal­lenge you to med­i­tate on your sur­round­ings. It can be as sim­ple as the assign­ment giv­en to stu­dents by a friend of mine, who designs for soci­etal issues in under­priv­i­leged neigh­bor­hoods: draw a straight line across the map of the area you’re inter­est­ed in and fol­low it. Col­lect what you find and map it. Sim­ple. It has all the char­ac­ter­is­tics of what I think these “machines for get­ting lost” should have: a gen­er­a­tive mech­a­nism, an incen­tive to per­ceive your sur­round­ings in a new way, and a means to share what you find with your friends.

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Drifting through the city with a few bocce balls

Bocce Drift

On a recent sun­ny Sun­day after­noon I took a walk while boulesing through Utrecht. Togeth­er with a group of friends I used a num­ber of streets and squares as a play­ing field. The water-lev­el walk­ways along the Old Canal, the foun­tain behind the city hall, and the usu­al­ly qui­et Sev­en Alleys. Passers­by respond­ed with amuse­ment and some­times even joined in. The win­ner of each round decid­ed where the next one would begin. For the rest, the route was deter­mined by where the balls rolled. The result was wan­der­ing around for hours through the city cen­ter, a route no one could have planned in advance. We played Boc­ce Drift, a game described by its cre­ators as a mix between boules and the Situationist’s Dérive. Who?

A constant state of revolution

The Sit­u­a­tion­ists were an inter­na­tion­al­ly oper­at­ing group who resist­ed the sta­tus quo in the 1950s and ‘60s. Their most famous mem­ber was Guy Débord. If his name rings a bell, great, if not, no prob­lem. They tried to unleash a con­stant state of rev­o­lu­tion with all kinds of hap­pen­ings that were dis­guised as enter­tain­ing, easy to con­sume activ­i­ties. The dérive was one of these. They walked through town with­out a plan, which, in this time of recon­struc­tion and domes­tic­i­ty was in itself sub­ver­sive. This was their way of map­ping city life, by expe­ri­enc­ing it them­selves, not by read­ing maps or the pub­lic reg­is­ter. ‘Dérive’ can be trans­lat­ed as ‘drift’.

Cre­ators of urban games such as Boc­ce Drift love the Sit­u­a­tion­ists. Just like Débord and his bud­dies there are quite a few activist-types in that scene. Espe­cial­ly in the Unit­ed States, where pub­lic life and pub­lic space are sub­ju­gat­ed to social pres­sures. But also in The Nether­lands and the rest of West­ern Europe there are rules and norms about what can and can­not be done in pub­lic spaces. Think about it, our idea about what a city is good for is often lim­it­ed to a hand­ful of activ­i­ties: going out, liv­ing, shop­ping, per­haps work­ing or study­ing. That’s it. Urban game-mak­ers, at least some of them, see it as their job to put ques­tion marks around that image, that ver­sion of a city. They believe that city-dwellers don’t need to be told by the pow­ers that be what a street or build­ing is, or isn’t, for. If they want to use a pub­lic square as a gar­den, play­ground, or open air cafe, they should be able to.

Pitiful bourgeois

But on that play­ful, sun­ny, Sun­day after­noon, none of us were talk­ing about protest. I don’t even think the major­i­ty of my fel­low play­ers knew of the polit­i­cal-artis­tic roots of Boc­ce Drift. It didn’t mat­ter. The game can be played as a game and noth­ing else. You could even say it was a suc­cess­ful sit­u­a­tion­ist inter­ven­tion. The play­ers, and spec­ta­tors, were play­ful­ly tempt­ed to adjust their view of the city. But I think that’s going too far.

After­wards, relax­ing on the ter­race of Café de Zaak with a Ger­man wheat bear and a bas­ket of tor­tilla chips, we most­ly just had a feel­ing of fun at hav­ing expe­ri­enced the city in a way we weren’t used to. And if I’m hon­est, that’s more than enough for me. But Débord, he took play­ing seri­ous­ly. He would have seen us as a bunch of piti­ful bour­geois.

This piece orig­i­nal­ly appeared on Bash­ers in Dutch and was trans­lat­ed by Alex­is Moran Trans­la­tions.

The Boc­ce Drift ses­sion I refer to here was a Hub­bub social event which took place on Sun­day 22 August 2010. More pho­tos can be viewed on Flickr, and a \1 is up on Vimeo.

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From the trenches of project Maguro

Lounge music. A minia­ture dis­co light device spins in the mid­dle of two adja­cent desks, cast­ing colour­ful spots on its sur­round­ings. Peo­ple are typ­ing, click­ing away. Intense stares at lap­top screens. Nobody is mak­ing any cof­fee.

Things seem to be get­ting busier at the Hub­bub head­quar­ters. Not that I know much about the usu­al goings-on around this place — I just got here — but the team is def­i­nite­ly get­ting into some sort of groove.

We’re Team Maguro. It’s a damp Thurs­day halfway through Jan­u­ary. This is our third prop­er, full-team get-togeth­er. Kars intro­duced our project two months ago on this blog, describ­ing it as fol­lows:

A hush-hush per­va­sive game for a large gov­ern­men­tal orga­ni­za­tion that will be played by employ­ees, blend with their day-to-day work and hope­ful­ly ignite behav­ioral change.

Around that time, I was draft­ed to join. Not only as sto­ry slash copy guy, it turns out, but also as a kind of gonzo jour­nal­ist report­ing about the cre­ation process from with­in. An embed­ded writer in the trench­es of game devel­op­ment. Rad.

Team Maguro, then. There’s five of us.

Kars is our direc­tor, keep­ing every­one in check. Mak­ing sure that, as we like to say here, every­one’s noses are point­ed the same way. Dip­ping his toes into all aspects of the pro­duc­tion, trust­ing his com­rades to deliv­er the goods.

Karel is our game design­er. It may look like play­ing with Lego’s, but he’s actu­al­ly design­ing a com­plex, three-lay­ered game sys­tem. So far he pret­ty much nailed the bot­tom lay­er, which deals with the import­ing, stor­ing and export­ing of stuff, using some kind of cur­ren­cy to make every­thing pay. In the paper pro­to­type he cre­at­ed, two or three play­ers wrote down bids, com­pet­ing for goods, try­ing to make a prof­it.

Each play­er rep­re­sents a team of maybe ten employ­ees of the mys­te­ri­ous “large gov­ern­men­tal organ­i­sa­tion” — the actu­al play­ers of the final game. That’s the sec­ond lay­er, which Karel is crack­ing next. He’s tack­ling ques­tions like: What are the dif­fer­ent roles with­in the team? And: How can a fun and inter­est­ing game emerge, while also gen­er­at­ing dynam­ics that will “ignite behav­ioral change” (for the good — riot­ing not intend­ed).

The third lay­er will be the web-based sys­tem for indi­vid­ual play­ers to inter­act with. Their gate­way to our game.

We’re try­ing to think ahead, shap­ing an idea of what the third lay­er will be like, so that our design­er Simon can start craft­ing its looks. For now, he’s doing visu­al research, look­ing for ref­er­ence mate­r­i­al that sets the right mood. Next he’ll be whip­ping up some quick designs, such as a first ver­sion of a future logo.

Alper is our tech guy. He’s try­ing to grasp the game sys­tem — or at least its con­tours, so he can start build­ing the required tech­ni­cal infra­struc­ture.

Then there’s me. My main respon­si­bil­i­ties are copy and sto­ry. At this point, this most­ly means estab­lish­ing the game’s real­i­ty. We have a dis­tressed world in the near­by future — and a lot of ques­tions. Just how apoc­a­lyp­tic should this thing be? Should the game try to be fun­ny? How detailed should the sce­nario be?

Today I start writ­ing the first mes­sage play­ers will receive, sketch­ing at least four ver­sions. I prob­a­bly take too long think­ing of pos­si­ble approach­es — once we set­tle on a style, the process will speed up.

By that time stom­achs have start­ed rum­bling. We head out for lunch, land­ing at the Spring­haver Café a cou­ple of streets way. Simon and I have carrot/ginger soup. The oth­er guys, I don’t remem­ber.

Kars tells us that one of his goals for 2011 is to do cul­tur­al stuff more often. Alper goes on to crit­i­cize mid­dle-aged peo­ple who feel that by attend­ing polit­i­cal­ly engaged stage plays, they are doing their part improv­ing our soci­ety. I sug­gest that Kars go to the­aters and con­tribute to soci­ety more often.

Walk­ing back to the Hub­bub office, we’re quite the sexy group of game mak­ers. Had that pic­ture been sharp­er, we’d been irre­sistible.

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My talk at Ignite Amsterdam 4

Here’s a selec­tion of the 20 pic­tures I showed at Ignite Ams­ter­dam 4, and the words I man­aged to cram into the 5 min­utes I had avail­able to me. It’s about some of the things that excite me, some of our recent work (most notably PLAY Pilots) and some of our new projects on the hori­zon.

It was a swell evening, with Media­mat­ic’s exhi­bi­tion of arcade machines of var­i­ous vin­tages serv­ing as a fit­ting back­drop. Sit­ting in the front row, watch­ing lots of clever folk talk about all kinds of games-relat­ed stuff was a rare treat. Thanks to Eve­lyn for invit­ing me.

Cardboard tube fighting

Hi there, I’m Kars. I’m the founder of Hub­bub, we’re a design stu­dio for phys­i­cal social games in pub­lic space, based in Utrecht. We make phys­i­cal games, we want to make games that are embod­ied. That make use of people’s expe­ri­ence of phys­i­cal real­i­ty, and their social lives. Such as card­board tube fight­ing.

Neo Tokyo

And we are very inter­est­ed in doing this for the city of tomor­row, so we have a keen inter­est in urban life and how it is shaped by tech­nol­o­gy in the near future.

Ocean's 11

We’re orga­nized accord­ing to some­thing we’ve come to call “the heist mod­el”, inspired by films such as Ocean’s 11. That means each Hub­bub project is run by a team of inde­pen­dent spe­cial­ists that con­verge around a shared inter­est.

Bar Karma

So I want to start by shar­ing some things that excite me at the moment. The fact that Will Wright — of Sim City, The Sims — is doing a TV show called Bar Kar­ma in stead of a game for instance.

Woodthorpe Grange Park

Or Kei­ta Taka­hashi — cre­ator of Kata­mari Dama­cy and Noby Noby Boy — design­ing a play­ground. He’s not just design­ing for humans, but also for ani­mals.

Buta

Trans-species inter­ac­tion is some­thing that we’re doing some work on our­selves. Such as a project code­named Buta com­mis­sioned by the Utrecht School of the Arts, where we’re design­ing play between humans and domes­tic pig.

The Office

Oth­er work on the hori­zon for us is a per­va­sive game for a large gov­ern­ment ser­vice. The game will be used to affect the behav­ior of its employ­ees and bring a lit­tle light in an office envi­ron­ment. Much like our friend David Brent is doing here.

NIDHOGG

More things that excite me: NIDHOGG is a two-play­er indie video game that is played on big screens for large audi­ences. Play as per­for­mance. I though it always requires a phys­i­cal act, turns out screen-based inter­ac­tion can have that qual­i­ty too. Genius.

PLAY Pilots concept sketches

A big chunk of our time this year was tak­en up by a project that was about play as per­for­mance a lot. It’s called PLAY Pilots. You may have heard of it. This start­ed out as an inves­ti­ga­tion I did into the oppor­tu­ni­ties for play­ful addi­tions to the major cul­tur­al events in Utrecht…

PLAY Pilots live games

…and end­ed up as three live games cre­at­ed by three Utrecht-based stu­dios for three love­ly fes­ti­vals.

Wip 'n' Kip

Wip 'n' Kip on PLAY Pilots site

The first one you’ll hear more about, that’s Wip ‘n’ Kip by Fource­Labs for Stekker Fest. A spring rid­er race with phys­i­cal chick­ens and a dig­i­tal race track on a big screen. All play­ers got a lit­tle code with which they could claim their race times and see a slow-motion video of their race on our site.

De Stereoscoop

De Stereoscoop on PLAY Pilots site

The sec­ond game was made by Zes­baans for the Nether­lands Film Fes­ti­val. It’s called De Stere­oscoop and is like a set of turn tables with which you can scratch and mix a huge data­base of clips from Dutch films from the last 30 years. De Stere­oscoop print­ed receipts when you unlocked a badge because you made an inter­est­ing mix. You could claim these online and see what films you used to get it.

Bandjesland

Bandjesland on PLAY Pilots site

And final­ly, Monoban­da made Band­jes­land for Le Guess Who? It’s like this loop-based sequencer that uses old fash­ioned cas­sette tapes with new­fan­gled RFIDs inside of them. And a lot of black­light. We record­ed most of the “music” peo­ple made dur­ing the play ses­sions and put those on Sound­Cloud. We also stored all sep­a­rate sam­ples and made those avail­able too.

PLAY Pilots online game

To tie it all togeth­er we came up with a social game that’s about duel­ing with your friends using moves from var­i­ous sub­cul­tures. It’s a sort of com­pet­i­tive slot machine that pig­gy­backs on Twit­ter.

Doom Patrol's magic bus

And final­ly, in 2011, we hope to take these games, and new ones, and go on a tour of the coun­try in our very own mag­ic bus. So we hope to see you there!

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Two junior agents, signing off

For the past 4 months, a whoopin’ 1.253 hours (divid­ed amongst the both of us, mind you), we have been broad­cast­ing to you live from the Hub­bub stu­dio, bring­ing you the beez neez of top design in per­va­sive gam­ing and expe­ri­en­tial learn­ing.

It might not always have been quite clear to you what exact­ly it is we did here. To be hon­est, this was not always clear to us either. Actu­al­ly, that was part of the fun! Being thrown into weird com­mis­sions, plung­ing head first into projects, busi­ness lunch­es, hot­tubs… Before­hand, there real­ly was no telling what we were up against. In ret­ro­spect, we couldn’t have known. We’ve been in the mid­dle of the Learn­ing Lab project since day one, and we’ve had a great deal in shap­ing it as we went along, along with the stu­dents and Dr. Thieu.

Being stu­dents, doing an intern­ship is about learn­ing. This, we did. We did because real­ly, what is expe­ri­en­tial learn­ing? How on earth do you teach through gam­ing? And not just nor­mal pre-school knowl­edge but lessons about the vast humon­gousi­ty of the human race and the deep inner reflec­tions of human con­scious­ness!

And so we strug­gled, run­ning head first into con­crete walls, bat­tling ques­tions such as: “How do you use assump­tions as an active game­play ele­ment?”, “Where is the bal­ance between play­ing and learn­ing?” and “Why does my brain hurt?”. Because you´re a Design­er. And a Pio­neer. And we´re interns at an entre­pre­neur in the games indus­try.

OK and we also did like lots of oth­er stuff. Which was nice, and good.

The best thing for me in this intern­ship was the free­dom we had in mak­ing our own design. At the same time I was real­ly moti­vat­ed because we were actu­al­ly doing some­thing in the real world, the “big bad world”. And so it’s time to grab togeth­er these expe­ri­ences and tack­le the next big thing. Booya.

Wieger and Syl­van, sign­ing off.

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The end (of the Learning Lab project) is near

So as you know we’ve been work­ing on a metagame for the Learn­ing Lab. This year’s Learn­ing Lab is com­ing to an end and so in order to have the metagame ready before the next one kicks off, it’s time to wrap up: writ­ing won­der­ful design docs, cre­at­ing wicked wire­frames, basi­cal­ly mak­ing a plug and play design to be passed on to a Word­Press devel­op­er.

But before we got to this point, this point of con­fi­dence and readi­ness, we had one last thing we had to do. We had to playtest. For real.

Seri­ous­ly though, we had test­ed and test­ed and test­ed, with­in Hub­bub, with Thieu, with who­ev­er we need­ed to see if it was work­ing. If what was work­ing? Game­play, inter­ac­tion, ter­mi­nol­o­gy, con­tent… you name it, we test­ed it, we made it work.

Then of course came the point of test­ing it with the stu­dents. But as time was run­ning out, and with our game being more com­pli­cat­ed than just giv­ing bananas or throw­ing feces, we knew test­ing online wasn’t gonna work out. And so we trans­lat­ed our con­cept into a paper pro­to­type one last time. Here’s what we did:

All the stu­dents were giv­en the assign­ment to cre­ate a poster regard­ing the Learn­ing Lab. These would be used as their blog­posts. At the actu­al test, we gave all the stu­dents one com­ment card, to be put on some­one else’s poster. These com­ment cards asked for, well, com­ments, but also asked the stu­dents to rate the poster they were com­ment­ing on: how did it score regard­ing the authen­tic­i­ty of the poster? Was the poster insight­ful?

After the first round, every­one was giv­en new com­ments based on the amount of com­ments that were put onto your own poster. Nobody post­ed on yours? Only one com­ment for you, sir! Twelve peo­ple post­ed on yours? That’s a whoopin’ 13 ready to be spent!

And so we did this for a total of three rounds, allow­ing the stu­dents to real­ly get into it and com­ment away. Did they? They did. In fact, near­ly all of the 126(!) com­ments were used, and near­ly all of them to their full extent.

The stu­dents liked it, and more impor­tant­ly, had no prob­lems what­so­ev­er adding mean­ing­ful and insight­ful con­tent to the whole. Which is, in the end, the goal.

So the playtest was a suc­cess, the final ver­sion of the game will have lots more func­tions to help the stu­dents look at their own progress, at their learn­ing and at that of oth­ers. I guess it’s like I said: we’re con­fi­dent. Con­fi­dent, con­tent, hap­py campers. In fact, doing inter­ac­tion design isn’t such a pain after all.

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