Big Bang’s MVs are always so interesting.

1. Sometimes trying to arrange for a competitive advantage backfires on you. There was this one team which was hastily formed one week later than the rest due to scheduling and grouping problems, so I tried to pick the best members from other groups to compensate for the 1-week loss. The group ended up having three technical people, which was supposed to give them an edge in the second, computer game project. It didn’t really work too well, since they all wanted to do the same job, and it produced an imbalanced game at the end (high technical polish, low design values). Interdisciplinary variety is still best.
2. I need to improve my turnaround time on grading assignments. This semester was terrible in terms of keeping to deadlines for me. Admittedly, my workload tripled since I got assigned a second module to help teach, plus started my Master’s course. But not being able to get feedback and marks back to the students on time resulted in them not performing as well as they could have for the subsequent assignments. I have to improve my marking-turnaround time to three days or less.
3. Need to spend more time contacting students and using email to leave a paper trail. I was a bit slack in following up on students this semester if they missed classes. Partly it was because I was just too distracted and busy with other things, but still… it’s part of doing due diligence that I need to improve. Professionalism, and all that.

What to teach if there was an Advanced Game Design course:

• Player types, play styles and demographics (Bartle’s test)
• Emotions of play (Lazarro’s Four Keys)
• Difficulty curves – how to balance them across levels (Rule of 3? Mario’s 4 stages). Difference between hardcore and casual difficulty curves. Games should be forgiving of errors, but not easy to perfect.
• Choices – How to weight them properly. Not every choice should be equally important. How to manage cognitive load of player. Grokking. (Raph Koster’s Theory of Fun)
• Dynamics of play – types of interactions between different players, playing styles, how different player power configurations (asymmetric, zero-sum, etc.) lead to different dynamics.

Bleh.

Oh, please, let the new Windows 7 be better, and be out soon. I can’t wait to transfer out of this lousy excuse for an O/S.

…

It’s a little scary to think about it. Now, for the first time, I’m incurring an extra-large, multi-decade debt to pay off, as well as having the first real asset to my name (even though my parents are helping to pay for it). And yet, this is part of the process of growing up, I guess. It’s time I learned how to handle my business affairs and assets, if I ever want to manage a household in the future. The first step to becoming a good husband and father – as a character in a book I read (1632, by Eric Flint) said – is providing a space for my family to build their lives. Now I have a physical place where my future family can grow. It’s a start.

Next comes arranging it in such a way that even if I’m not there, my family can still be assured of having that space… securing my inheritance, so to speak. Time to consult lawyers and insurance people. I take my inspiration from the character of John Brooke, in the book Little Men, by Louisa May Alcott. The following excerpt is a scene from the book, during his funeral and the time immediately after:

They were all there father and mother, Uncle Teddy, and Aunt
Amy, old Mr. Laurence, white-haired and feeble now, Mr. and
Mrs. Bhaer, with their flock, and many friends, come to do honor
to the dead. One would have said that modest John Brooke, in his
busy, quiet, humble life, had had little time to make friends; but
now they seemed to start up everywhere, old and young, rich and
poor, high and low; for all unconsciously his influence had made
itself widely felt, his virtues were remembered, and his hidden
charities rose up to bless him. The group about his coffin was a far
more eloquent eulogy than any Mr. March could utter. There were
the rich men whom he had served faithfully for years; the poor old
women whom he cherished with his little store, in memory of his
mother; the wife to whom he had given such happiness that death
could not mar it utterly; the brothers and sisters in whose hearts he
had made a place for ever; the little son and daughter, who already
felt the loss of his strong arm and tender voice; the young children,
sobbing for their kindest playmate, and the tall lads, watching with
softened faces a scene which they never could forget. A very
simple service, and very short; for the fatherly voice that had
faltered in the marriage-sacrament now failed entirely as Mr.
March endeavored to pay his tribute of reverence and love to the
son whom he most honored. Nothing but the soft coo of Baby
Josy’s voice up-stairs broke the long hush that followed the last
Amen, till, at a sign from Mr. Bhaer, the well-trained boyish
voices broke out in a hymn, so full of lofty cheer, that one by one
all joined in it, singing with full hearts, and finding their troubled
spirits lifted into peace on the wings of that brave, sweet psalm.

As Meg listened, she felt that she had done well; for not only did
the moment comfort her with the assurance that John’s last lullaby
was sung by the young voices he loved so well, but in the faces of
the boys she saw that they had caught a glimpse of the beauty of
virtue in its most impressive form, and that the memory of the
good man lying dead before them would live long and helpfully in
their remembrance. Daisy’s head lay in her lap, and Demi held her
hand, looking often at her, with eyes so like his father’s, and a little
gesture that seemed to say, “Don’t be troubled, mother; I am here;”
and all about her were friends to lean upon and love; so patient,
pious Meg put by her heavy grief, feeling that her best help would
be to live for others, as her John had done.

That evening, as the Plumfield boys sat on the steps, as usual, in
the mild September moonlight, they naturally fell to talking of the
event of the day.

Emil began by breaking out, in his impetuous way, “Uncle Fritz is
the wisest, and Uncle Laurie the jolliest, but Uncle John was the
best; and I’d rather be like him than any man I ever saw.”

“So would I. Did you hear what those gentlemen said to Grandpa
to-day? I would like to have that said of me when I was dead;” and
Franz felt with regret that he had not appreciated Uncle John
enough.

“What did they say?” asked Jack, who had been much impressed
by the scenes of the day.

“Why, one of the partners of Mr. Laurence, where Uncle John has
been ever so long, was saying that he was conscientious almost to
a fault as a business man, and above reproach in all things.
Another gentleman said no money could repay the fidelity and
honesty with which Uncle John had served him, and then Grandpa
told them the best of all. Uncle John once had a place in the office
of a man who cheated, and when this man wanted uncle to help
him do it, uncle wouldn’t, though he was offered a big salary. The
man was angry and said, ‘You will never get on in business with
such strict principles;’ and uncle answered back, ‘I never will try to
get on without them,’ and left the place for a much harder and
poorer one.”

“Good!” cried several of the boys warmly, for they were in the
mood to understand and value the little story as never before.

“He wasn’t rich, was he?” asked Jack.

“No.”

“He never did any thing to make a stir in the world, did he?”

“No.”

“He was only good?”

“That’s all;” and Franz found himself wishing that Uncle John had
done something to boast of, for it was evident that Jack was
disappointed by his replies.

“Only good. That is all and every thing,” said Mr. Bhaer, who had
overheard the last few words, and guessed what was going on the
minds of the lads.

“Let me tell you a little about John Brooke, and you will see why
men honor him, and why he was satisfied to be good rather than
rich or famous. He simply did his duty in all things, and did it so
cheerfully, so faithfully, that it kept him patient and brave, and
happy through poverty and loneliness and years of hard work. He
was a good son, and gave up his own plans to stay and live with his
mother while she needed him. He was a good friend, and taught
Laurie much beside his Greek and Latin, did it unconsciously,
perhaps, by showing him an example of an upright man. He was a
faithful servant, and made himself so valuable to those who
employed him that they will find it hard to fill his place. He was a
good husband and father, so tender, wise, and thoughtful, that
Laurie and I learned much of him, and only knew how well he
loved his family, when we discovered all he had done for them,
unsuspected and unassisted.”

Mr. Bhaer stopped a minute, and the boys sat like statues in the
moonlight until he went on again, in a subdued, but earnest voice:
“As he lay dying, I said to him, ‘Have no care for Meg and the little
ones; I will see that they never want.’ Then he smiled and pressed
my hand, and answered, in his cheerful way, ‘No need of that; I
have cared for them.’ And so he had, for when we looked among
his papers, all was in order, not a debt remained; and safely put
away was enough to keep Meg comfortable and independent. Then
we knew why he had lived so plainly, denied himself so many
pleasures, except that of charity, and worked so hard that I fear he
shortened his good life. He never asked help for himself, though
often for others, but bore his own burden and worked out his own
task bravely and quietly. No one can say a word of complaint
against him, so just and generous and kind was he; and now, when
he is gone, all find so much to love and praise and honor, that I am
proud to have been his friend, and would rather leave my children
the legacy he leaves his than the largest fortune ever made. Yes!
Simple, generous goodness is the best capital to found the business
of this life upon. It lasts when fame and money fail, and is the only
riches we can take out of this world with us. Remember that, my
boys; and if you want to earn respect and confidence and love
follow in the footsteps of John Brooke.”

May the same thing be said of me, in my funeral.