Results tagged “steampunk”

I tell my kids steampunk bedtime stories about the adventures of Captain Rod Gearhart and the Magnificent Blimpship. Since I also enjoy playing with Blender 3D, it seemed natural to make these clockwork heart decorations. (My wife offered detailed pointers to tweak the one on the right.)

This bit of educational theatrical fun sounds awesome! Via.

Travelling from past to future through a landscape of machines and ideas Walk the Plank and Thingumajig Theatre have created an interactive journey through the courtyard of Manchester's Town Hall. The audience will help inventor and mathematician Charles Babbage find the clues to repair his Difference Engine; solve the spider's riddles, hidden in the worldwide web; persuade the counting madman to open the gates to the Hall of Shadows...and discover the secret workings of the steampunk arcade. --The Manchester International Festival

I enjoy steampunk, a cultural aesthetic which celebrates what both ordinary and extraordinary things might look like, had technology progressed along the lines that Jules Verne and his contemporaries imagined. As a literary subgenre, it imagines that the immeasurable power of steam has opened the skies, leading legions of top-hatted gentlemen-explorers and parasol-wielding adventuresses to the heavens beyond.

With steampunk on my mind, after submitting the final semester grades, I took a moment to celebrate by poking through the stacks. I found this absolutely beautiful book, A History of the Growth of the Steam Engine, by Robert H. Thurston, published in 1878. (Full text via Google Books.)

This isn't just a retro aesthetic, reacting against the streamlined and textureless Apple assembly line, or a self-conscious choice to make every bolt and gear visible in order to force us to come into direct contact with the technology. This is the real thing.
This engraving of the Worthington Pumping-Engine made my heart stop.

I also love the detail in this Compound Marine Engine. It's proportioned so that it looks to my eye almost like a desk toy, but I assume that's a person-sized hatchway visible on the left image. No riveted portholes? C'mon! I left the pages and my hand in the frame, so you can get a better idea of the materiality, the hefty bookiness of this book.

We don't have cable TV in my household.

Rather than pay the cable bill every month, we buy a few DVDs when they hit the bargain bins, or we just check them out of the library. My wife also makes regular trips to Blockbuster. I'm not a TV-free purist. I've even browsed through websites giving plot summaries of Lost and the new Battlestar Galactica, and I'd probably give Code Monkey a shot and check out how The Simpsons are holding up (now that it's been about five years since I've seen a new episode). 

My kids don't watch Nickelodeon or The Disney Channel, but they did go through their Barney phase, their Wiggles phase, and we've bought every one of the VeggieTales shows (except for a few compilation sing-alongs).

Last year, a grocery store cashier made a friendly reference to SpongeBob Squarepants, and when my son made it clear he didn't know the character, the cashier gave him a look of genuine pity. (Since then he's seen an episode or two on the TV in a play area in a Burger King, and I agree they're better than lots of the stuff I watched when I was a kid, in the era of NBC/ABC/CBS, just because I was too lazy to get up and change the channel.)

While strapped down in the car during long rides, my kids are likely to have conversations like this:

Peter: You're a Union artilleryman. Your officer tells you to go into a forest and hunt for rebels.
Carolyn: I've got a musket.
Peter: The forest is dark.
Carolyn: I pull a flashlight from my pack.
Peter: Flashlights haven't been invented yet.
Carolyn: I pull a candle from my pack.
Peter: You need a match.
Carolyn: I have one in my pocket. I light it.
Peter: It went out.
Carolyn: I light another one.

This will go on for hours, with Peter making sound effects, and Carolyn sometimes trying to insert comedy -- her character will faint, or have to go to the bathroom at times that are inconvenient to the plot, or find a group of lost babies. 

I feel rather pleased that my children are likely to run around the house pretending to be civil war soldiers, or Doctor Who (from the 1970s Tom Baker era), or even -- and this gives me a real thrill -- re-living the "Captain Gearhart and the Magnificent Blimpship" bedtime stories I've been telling them for several months. (My six-year-old daughter loves adventure and romance, and my ten-year-old son loves technology... no genre holds their combined attention quite like steampunk.)

This is a form of interaction that they've developed on their own.  Even when they aren't buckled in on a car ride, they will often narrate their actions, possibly because when they were little and I would make adventures for them with their toys, I always had the characters discussing their motivations, so that the play unfolded with words as much as actions.

When I say that I tell them bedtime stories, it's really more like I will briefly set up a scenario, for example, Count Catastrophe lures Smart Carolyn from the Moon into his lair and promises to give her a clockwork doll (that has a clockwork teddy bear in its backpack), if only Smart Carolyn will agree to aid the count in his dastardly plot to win control of the moon.

Then, once the "plot time" is over, the "interactive time" begins, and the kids role-play within the story for a while, occasionally vetoing their suggestion ("No, Moonbot does not have rockets that pop out of his legs. Try something else."), and trying to end with a cliffhanger that makes them wake up wanting to talk to each other about what's going to happen next.

Several times, I've had my daughter weeping because the characters seem to be in so much trouble.  When I have a particularly good night of story-telling, I have to write down the key points so I don't get them mixed up.

Truth be told, I can't remember the last time I had a spare moment and chose to put on a DVD for myself. My wife buys me movies for my birthday and Christmas, but they stack up faster than I watch them.  I still haven't watched the special edition of Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan that she gave me a year ago, or the bargain VHS of Star Trek: Insurrection that we picked up in the grocery store probably six years ago.  (I just checked Wikipedia... that movie came out ten years ago!)

When I want to kill time, I'd rather browse Wikipedia or YouTube, or (gasp!) try some classic literature. This summer I returned to The War of the Worlds and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (both of which I head read as a teenager), and just yesterday I finished Moby Dick for the first time.

TV is just not my preferred medium. Every time I read a story about the declining viewership for broadcast TV, I feel a bit of schadenfreude. 

So I found the recent Wired article on the survival of the TV business to be enlightening.

Ben Silverman, NBC's head programmer, may fret when one of his network's shows struggles against a basic-cable hit like Bravo's Top Chef or the Sci Fi Channel's Battlestar Galactica. But his boss, NBC Universal C.E.O. Jeff Zucker, will rest easy, because his company also owns Bravo. And the Sci Fi Channel. And a whole lot more. The notion that the "500-channel universe" is a pie being cut into ever-tinier slivers ignores the fact that the vast majority of what we watch fills the coffers of a small handful of megaliths, just as it always has.

Take a closer look at that pie:

• Besides Bravo and Sci Fi, NBC Universal also owns USA, the highest-rated ad-supported cable channel; MSNBC; CNBC; ShopNBC; Oxygen; Telemundo; and one-third of A&E Television, itself a conglomeration that includes A&E, the History Channel, and the Biography Channel.
• Disney owns ABC, ESPN, SoapNet, ABC Family, its own one-third share of A&E, and half of Lifetime. It also, of course, owns the Disney Channel, the top-rated basic-cable outlet of any kind.
• Viacom and CBS, though now traded separately on Wall Street, are both controlled by one man, Sumner Redstone. CBS owns Showtime, the Movie Channel, and half of the CW. Viacom's list of properties includes MTV, VH1, Nickelodeon, Spike TV, BET, and Comedy Central.
• Rupert Murdoch's News Corp. owns Fox, Fox News, FX, and, well, everything with the word Fox in it, from Fox College Sports to the Fox Reality Channel.
• Time Warner owns the other half of the CW, as well as CNN, TNT, TBS, TCM, HBO, Cinemax, the Cartoon Network, and TruTV (formerly CourtTV).

So a half-dozen companies own not only five broadcast networks but also a majority of the cable channels that anyone actually watches--including all 10 of prime time's highest-rated cable networks, which together accounted for more than 18 million viewers a night last year. To anyone worried about where network viewers have gone: They may have left the building, but they haven't escaped the compound.

At the beginning of last semester, when I called roll in a class that included a student with the last name "Gearhart," I have been telling steampunk bedtime stories to my kids (Peter, 10; and Carolyn, 6). 

Each night, after my daughter has finished the tooth-brushing and prayer-saying, in total darkness I try to advance the plot for about ten minutes, then give the kids some "interactive time," where they role-play various characters.

Tonight, Captain Rod Gearhart, having been prodded by his older brother, the banking tycooon Maximillian Gearhart, finally decided he will declare his love for Miss de Meaner, the science officer from a rival blimpship (the Dark Blimpship of Count Catastrophe). After a quick visit to his quarters to freshen up, he strides down to sickbay, where Miss de Meaner is recovering from an injury received in a pirate attack. She is asleep, so he sits on the edge of her bed and declares his love for her (in an appropriately stiff-upper-lip, stuffed-shirt, all-work-and-no-play kind of way).  When he finishes, the figure in the bed sits up -- it is not Miss de Meaner after all, but one of her biobot crew members (artificial humans, picked up in an earlier adventure).  The biobot says that the devious Solomonder told him to load Miss de Meaner into an escape pod and then lie down in her bed and pretend to be her.

I heard the children gasp, and Carolyn -- who loves the romantic subplots as much as Peter loves the etherpunk technology -- fumbled for my hand in the darkness.  All week I was planning that twist, even having Solomonder snicker under his breath "Heh, heh heh!" after he requested permission to leave the ship, and establishing that one of the biobot crew members is missing.

My six-year-old daughter is a very visual thinker, who absolutely adores her brother. About a year ago, I stumbled across a notebook of sketches I made in 1980, when I was 12, and I remember how much I enjoyed drawing gadgets and cityscapes.

So I bought a notebook and some mechanical pencils, thinking I'd encourage my daughter to express herself through art, and maybe in the process reawaken the visual part of my brain.

So, in my spare moments around the house, I started sketching web page layouts, or characters and props from the bedtime stories I've been telling my daughter. (Recently, I had a burning need to know what an engine room looked like in our ether-powered blimpship.)

Carolyn has picked up the habit from me -- we supply her with little notebooks which she happily fills up.  She drew this picture during church this weekend. There's Carolyn on the left (note the "C" floating above her head) snuggled up against her brother Peter.  Note also the little hearts inside the letters.

At the time she drew the above picture, I was sitting between Carolyn and Peter, and I wouldn't let her squirm across me to show this picture to her brother.  Blinking back tears, Carolyn sat down in the pew and drew another, very different picture:

That's Carolyn on the left again, with a heart hovering over head as before -- only now the heart is broken, and each broken half contains the letter "P". One finger points to herself, the other points pleadingly towards her brother (whose shoulders droop in sorrow, and whose own floating broken heart contains little "C"s).

I have been reduced to a vertical barrier -- an impersonal force separating the two siblings.

My kids are playing on the floor as I carry out my online routine.

Carolyn is mixing and matching from different Lego sets in order to create characters from the "Magnificent Blimpship" steampunk bedtime stories I've been telling her.

She aims Captain Rod Gearhart's gun at her brother's minifigure.  "I just killed you."

"No, I killed you," Peter retorts.

"But I killed you first!"

"I killed you first!"

This goes on for some time.

Finally I turn on them, with a voice registering about 7 or 8 on the "parental authority" scale: "Children, please play together nicely, and take turns killing each other."

Peter notices that I cracked a smile before I finished the line, but Carolyn pauses to think about the conundrum.