Deconstructing Childhood Construction

When your dad works for the church, your family doesn’t have much disposable income. As a kid, I rarely picked up on this—I didn’t mind eating the store brand cereals or wearing Wal-Mart clothes. What I was aware of, though, was the fact that my family didn’t get as many new toys as my friends’ families. This wasn’t a problem, but it did result in one necessity: recyclable entertainment. My personal venue for such reusable fun was my substantial collection of Legos.

The infinite combination of seemingly endless plastic blocks occupied a significant portion of my childhood. The spaceship of today was tomorrow’s race car, the next day’s superhero base, and the next week’s medieval fortress. For me, the joy was not in the imaginative battles and adventures the finally constructed sets could engage in, but in the creative process itself. I would rather have the opportunity to build one set than play with three. My brother would hastily construct a not-to-poorly designed car and then immediately begin to ask if I would play some variation of a race or demolition derby. For me, this was unthinkable! How dare he suggest I risk destroying that which I had spent such a lengthy and tedious amount of time constructing!?

The constructs I was most proud of were perfectly coordinated in structure and color; not a single Lego brick was unnecessary or out of place. I would naturally build any brand new set exactly as the instructions indicated. The longer the pieces were in my possession, however, the more likely they were to be shuffled and recycled into a new, inventive piece of sci-fi machinery, the specific engineering of which only I could explain. These prized productions would then proceed to occupy a special location on top of my dresser or bookshelf, safe from the war-mongering grip of my “less scrupulous” fellow creator.

Yet, even my carefully conceived and composed creations were eventually destroyed, if only to make way for the next great endeavor of my early engineering career. Sometimes, I wonder if I missed out a little bit. Not that I would trade the care I put into making each and every set. I have merely found myself pondering my brother’s consistent, endearing urge to just play, and mine to think and create. Maybe my 10-year-old self could construct a happy-medium bridge between the creative process and simply enjoying the participation.

Are Pennies Useful?

What follows is an incredibly insightful yet entertaining rant against the penny (and the nickel). He makes a compelling argument against the production of pennies and nickels, and also points out that it is a non-political issue, which could help facilitate bi-partisan communication:



As I see it, pennies are all but useless. The only thing I use them for are putting in the "give a penny, take a penny" plate at registers, the Salvation Army red buckets during the Christmas season, and for throwing at people.

So I ask: Do you think the penny is a good thing to keep around? What are some reasons for keeping it?

Video Games as Art

When it comes to "art," I tend to be very inclusive yet critical at the same time. That is to say, I am willing to accept most everything as "artistic," but once I have, I will be very critical of its quality.

Video Games: It would seem very apparent that video games are art: they possess a story, with an often well developed plot and characters, and there is very obviously a significant amount of visual artistry that goes into developing them. Why then would Roger Ebert, the renowned movie critic, declare that "video games can never be art?"

Ebert's argument is that video games are an activity, as their name suggests, a game. And that as such, they are automatically removed from contention as being art. Citing the examples of Bobby Fischer and Michael Jordan, he states that those players never sought to have their activities deemed as "art."

First, do we not often look at sports stars or participants in various hobbies and activities and say "they make it an art?" Second, Ebert is arguing against the players of the video games as artists, where it seems the creators of the video games are the obvious artists. While Fischer or Jordan may not be "artists," someone had to design and create the chessboard and basketball equipment, and it would be either naive or elitist to say that their work is not art.

While I would agree with Ebert in that "No one in or out of the field has ever been able to cite a game worthy of comparison with the great poets, filmmakers, novelists and poets." And a great number of video games, while still acceptable as "art," are, to put it plainly, very crappy pieces of art. But anyone who has seen something like the video below must agree that in the very least, video games are creative and inspire creativity, which is, in my belief, a core part of what "art" is.

Swept Me Away

I know a couple who had the Avett Brothers' song "Swept Me Away" as their first dance. I think it is a novel idea. What are the criteria for deciding what your first dance song should be?

It seems to me that it should be one that both of you like, but also one that is not just popular, but endearing and long lasting. Not that it has to be "timeless," but it ought to be one that you will always have around and will, say, teach to your children:



Your thoughts?

Francis Chan FTW

Here's an excellent video of a conversation between Mark Driscoll, Joshua Harris, and Francis Chan, on Chan's recent decision to leave his head pastor position at Cornerstone.

Check out Driscoll's question at 8:30...and Chan's response to it. So good:

What's Next for Francis Chan? A Conversation with Mark Driscoll and Joshua Harris from Ben Peays on Vimeo.