#used trucks in fullerton

[kenmansposts]

Wherever Jesus Christ gos miracle's follow. I've been blessed from the time I was a tweekling in my mother's eye before she knew my brothers or my dad. My mother and her two sisters were visited by an Angel. In the library's in Anderson Egypt there is a record of when Jesus Christ walk this earth. on the path there was a lame man Jesus told the demons to come forth they wanted to know what he was doing here? It was not his time yet. So he ask where they would like to go. they replied the swine.

He didn't cast them to hell because it was not the time of the lord yet. Can't lose what you don't have. Can't keep what's not your's Can't hold on to something that doesn't want to stay. Sounds like my intellectual property. And physical properties and menial rights that the associates at Set free ministry's transitional housing. And victory outreach transitional housing the Bonnie house and MFI recovery homes. Imagination? And folk's say the chip is on my shoulder. Lol more like up my nose with a rubber hose, in my ear. Oh dear. In my eye? What a guy. I wonder if I have a handle too. I was at an arrow smith show at the Form in the late 70s as I was leaving the concert I saw some people from Calvary chapel in Orange County Greg Lorry and Tom Floris in a stake bed truck that I had loaded up before at church. Telling us who were enjoying life that we were all going to hell for listening to the devil's music. The next thing I remember is being in the middle of Inglewood Blvd asking myself did I come here with them? How did I get in the middle of the street. I'm still not sure, (I bet Greg Lorry and Tom Floris know.) When Larry Gathers pulled up and ask if I was lost. Did I need a ride. Lynn was in the back seat, he gave me a ride to Willowbrook and Rosecrans. I walked to Gilbert's house from there. Where I started off before the concert.

In this homosexual perverse adultress addicted generation. Why would anyone be upset about a third person. It's been that way in every relationship I've ever had. Some people might call it satanic attack. Looking back at how I got wright here wright now I've discovered that it has been that way from the moment I was born . My father told me that I could stand up at less than 6mo. Old in my crib

Told me how the walls at the ceiling were like a door at the henge and my crib moving back and forth from wall to wall.

I had know idea what he was telling me at the time he told me. But after looking for earthquakes in that time frame none to be found he told me that so I would eventually understand that I was under satanic attack from the day I was born.

Let me tell you when you are experiencing satanic attack from the day you were born I would not know life to be any different. Not intell I was 58 years old after being edified did I understand that is what was happening to me Uncle Jess Fullerton promised Ralph A Bowman'. Sr that he would return the property and mineral rights to Ralph A Bowman Jr's #3 We are the remnants of the ten thousand year reign of evil. The time of the Lord Pronounced.

I am and he is and was and is to come. Holy, Holy, Holy. Is the lamb of God. There is no name higher no name more supernatural in heaven or on earth than the name Jesus. For he is the Alpha and the Omega he is the first and he is the last. The time of evil reign is over. It is no longer your time. Know that you have been called into power to cast out demons. What are you still doing here it is not your time anymore. It is the time of the Lord. Satin is locked in hell he can no longer desive the Nations 7 stars have come and gone. The 7 lamp stands no longer have a flame and the 7 Angels no longer carry your hearts desire to God. For those who impede the path of the son of man and still his gifts. Will have the plagues of Egypt to deal with.

[athbharat]

Truck Dispatcher Course | Avaal Technology | Anaheim

Experience the transportation industry first hand and learn all there is to know about truck dispatching in our dispatcher course. We offer online training courses in anheim, santa ana, los angeles, riverside, fullerton, placentia. Are you looking for a rewarding career in the US transportation industry? Learn from 20 years of experienced industry experts how to run a successful dispatch company, get certified, Start your own dispatch company, or get job-ready.

We offer online training courses in anheim, santa ana, los angeles, riverside, fullerton, placentia.

AVAAL Technology Solutions is the industry leader in providing cost-effective and time-saving solutions for the transportation industry. Whether you are looking for education and training to expand your knowledge or start a new career, professional consulting services to help you start and grow your business.

Enroll Now - https://avaal.com/truck-dispatch-training-in-california.php

#anheim #santa ana #losangeles #santaana #losangeles #riverside #fullerton #placentia #california #avaal #truckdispatchercourse #truckdispatchertraining #truckdispatchtrainingnearme#avaal #truckdispatchercourse #truckdispatchertraining #truckdispatchtrainingnearme

[localizee]

Fullerton Tow Trucks Co. is a family owned and operated business serving Fullerton and the surround areas.

[thelandscapingemployeetrap]

Crush it This Year In Your Lawn Care & Landscaping Business with Brian's Lawn Maintenance

Start the year off right and take your lawn care and landscaping business to the next level with Brian. From hiring qualified personnel and incorporating your business as an LLC or S Corp, to purchasing equipment and increasing revenue. Plus, learn valuable tips on how to find an accountant that fits your needs. Crush it this year - Listen now!

"More production is better than less production." - Brian Fullerton

Topics Covered: 

What do you do when you have to use the restroom on a landscape site?

What’s the difference between an LLC vs. an S corp?

Finding a place to park the truck - story from Keith

How to transition from solo to having an employee without going crazy.

How to get started with landscaping equipment.

Hiring employees is not cheap, they are free.

What is the best way to remove weeds from flowerbeds?

When you have the right people, everything works

What percentage of our leads are coming from Google?

Increase the average ticket of each customer by increasing the price

How do you keep employees busy in the wintertime?

What’s the key to growing in your second year of business?

The importance of having a good accountant.

Key Takeaways  "No, it's employees are not cheap. They're free. If you if you understand, please, they're free. But at the same time, it is a commitment. And I take it pretty serious when I hire somebody out because I don't want them to mess with their livelihood. They're planning meals and rents in daycare based on what I'm paying them. So I treat it with a lot of seriousness like I hate letting people go We really try not to do that. But you got to just jump in with your with your big toe, or your first person. They may or may not work out. Give yourself some grace. No enemies right to say hey, man, I suck at this. I'm sorry. I gotta let you go." - Brian

  "Because if you're driving 20 or 30 minutes to customers lawn for 40 bucks, you're gonna you're not making any money. If you're driving 20 3040 minutes to do somebody's five or $10,000 and landscaping job it's worth it you're making money. There's people literally go and do $50,000 jobs and they'll sleep in a hotel room to go finish that job before they come back. I mean, there's people that do million dollar jobs. So you have to find out the law of diminishing returns on a gradient and where does the scale tip so it's the most healthy and profitable for your business. Now sometimes you're going to do inconvenient things when you're getting a business off the ground. Like I said, throwing the mud at the wall to see what sticks. You're going to do a lot of inconvenient shit and drive all over the place and say yes to everything to generate as much activity in the business as possible. But then once you once you really get going then you can kind of cut the fat and narrow back down and be more choosy. You got to get in where you fit in is my favorite thing getting where you fit in." - Keith

Connect with Brian

Website: https://lawntrepreneur.com/ Tiktok: https://www.tiktok.com/@brianslawnmaintenanceyt Instagram: www.instagram.com/brianslawnmaintenance/ Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@BriansLawnMaintenance/videos

  Connect with Keith

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/keithkalfas/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/thelandscapingemployeetrap Website: https://www.keithkalfas.com/resources Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@keith-kalfas

    Resouces and Websites: 

🙋♂️Get My Free Landscaping Business Startup Video Series Here👇  Here https://www.keithkalfas.com/Landscaping-Series

Landscaping Course https://keith-kalfas.mykajabi.com/store/8bFERMcs

LANDSCAPING BUSINESS  How to Guide: https://www.keithkalfas.com/16

Get Jobber: https://getjobber.com/im/ambassador-referral/?gspk=a2VpdGhrYWxmYXM4NTIx&gsxid=Rs6pwtznLDcs

Get Ballard: https://www.ballard-inc.com/

Check out this episode!

[supriorsign]

Crittenton of CA Delivers Message with Full Van Wraps in Fullerton CA

California’s Crittenton Services for Children and Families is in existence to make communities better. Working with the courts, the group operates a residential treatment center for teen girls, mental health aftercare, shelter care as well as foster care and adoption services. The history of the Crittenton mission dates back to 1883, when a social visionary and likeminded agency founders sought to better the lives of those who were exploited and generally overlooked by society.

When modern day Crittenton looked for ways to spread the word about its organization in and around Fullerton, the group turned to Superior Signs and Graphics for a van wrap. Nonprofit van wraps for Fullerton, CA, are excellent advertising tools. They are reasonably priced and draw attention to the group whenever the van makes pickups. For Crittenton, we decided to focus on the foster program. Urging onlookers to consider becoming foster parents, we display the photo of a happy foster family together with the Crittenton name and logo as well as the organization’s telephone number. The website address makes it possible to easily access more information about the group whenever it is convenient.

What makes this wrap stand out is the use of a real digital photo versus computer-generated graphics. The simple message in conjunction with the family photo is most poignant. To support the branding of the Crittenton name, we used the same typeface as the group uses on its website. Maintaining the color scheme, it is going to be easy to recognize the organization’s name and logo anywhere now.

When you want to take a closer look at nonprofit van wraps and graphics for your organization, consider that there are plenty of advantages associated with this marketing tool.

Memorable graphics. Whether you have stock photos, logos, symbols or digital photos that you want us to use, we can easily incorporate them into your van wraps. If you do not have these items on file, we can help you design logos and color schemes that will help with branding online and off.

Durable displays. Since we only use the highest quality vinyl raw materials, you can expect your wrap to last for about five years in excellent condition. There is no peeling or fading. Instead, these wraps are designed to withstand the hot sun, rain and whatever else the elements might throw your way.

Reasonable price. Wrapping a van – or a fleet of vans – is not a cost prohibitive project. If you have an advertising budget and routinely spend money on newspaper, magazine and radio ads, you might actually be throwing some of your money away. Your print ads are only as good as the interest in the publication. If you advertise in a daily paper that gets recycled at the end of the day, your ad has reached the end of its useful life. Radio ads may be slightly more memorable if you can afford a week of spots. Then again, once the spots no longer air, your organization slips back into obscurity. The cost of a vinyl wrap ensures that your group’s name is brought to the minds of motorists and pedestrians whenever your vehicles are on the road. Whether you operate vans, cars or a fleet of trucks, you brand as you drive.

Contact Superior Signs & Graphics if you’re looking for vehicle wraps and graphics for your nonprofit or health care organization.

[dmurrqut]

Racing game/Destrally Postmortem

After working on my Destrally prototype, I've got more thoughts to share based on my experiences.

As per the elevator pitch, I ended up leaning into colliding into (most) vehicles instead of avoiding them. I set up a scoring to support this; smashing into regular vehicles awards some points, smashing into an ambulance awards points and restores health, and smashing into trucks and police cars damages the player. The objective is to reach a target score in each level, after which the player moves to the next level with an increased level of challenge and higher target score.

The most interesting part of this exercise on the technical side was giving global variables a proper spin. I decided to use multipliers to determine the difficult of each level. Target score, vehicle spawn rate and vehicle speeds are determined by the value of their respective global variables. These values are multiplied by a fixed value in the transition between levels. It also means I can refer to to a variable instead of an arbitrary number in events that spawn or manipulated the properties of vehicles, which also means it's much easier to quickly change values and have it apply to all vehicles without having to trawl through a bunch of different events. I have some examples of my approach below.

Our textbook readings helped to give me the idea for this approach. Chapter 10 has a section on balancing variables, relating to how variables can be used to control the balance of a game, using the grid size of Connect 4 as a prime example (Fullerton, 2018). With control over both the base values and multipliers, I can adjust both to moderate the prototype's balance.

I believe these kinds of practices will be helpful to carry forward into assessment 3, where a more elaborate and refined design would be appropriate, and where rapid changes would be helpful as a part of the playtesting process.

On that note, this design also proved to be a helpful lesson in playtesting. It quickly became obvious that all of these values could use tweaking; the starting speed of some vehicles was too fast or slow, some of the target scores were too high or low, and the rate at which the difficulty of levels increased didn't always seem right. I did myself a bit of a favour by setting this up in a way where I could rapidly alter values and test repeatedly, trying to find a balance that felt right. When things were tuned too low, the game felt boring and sluggish, and when things were tuned too high, the game was just boring.

Another playtesting-related note is that differentiation between "good" cars that you're meant to hit and "bad" cars that you're meant to avoid wasn't as strong as it should be. If I were to continue developing the prototype, I think I would change either the targets or the obstacles to something that isn't another vehicle to provide clarity to the player.

On the whole, I think my Destrally prototype has provided some valuable insight that I can carry forward.

Sources:

Fullerton, T. (2018). Game Design Workshop: A Playcentric Approach to Creating Innovative Games. ProQuest Ebook. Retrieved from: https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/qut/reader.action?docID=5477698

[megsmulti]

#11: Can you please come and get me?

This takes place in between season 8 and season 9 when Brettsey was still in the best friends stage of their relationship. I loved s8 Brettsey, ngl.

Prompt comes from this prompt list. Once I saw this particular prompt on there, an idea sprang into my head instantly and this fic was born! Enjoy!!

                        ————————————————————————————————

Matt was sitting at Molly’s drinking his beer and listening to what Severide was saying before his phone rang, interrupting their conversation in the process. 

He smiled when he saw the name Sylvie Brett as the caller ID. Kelly raised his eyebrows in curiosity. 

“I gotta take this,” Matt said, walking outside to avoid the loud crowd inside. “Hey, Sylvie. What’s up?” 

“Matt, I need your help.” It sounded like there was some slight panic in her voice. He accepted her help because he would always be there when she needed him. “I was on my way to Molly’s when my car broke down all of a sudden. Can you please come and get me?” 

“Yeah, absolutely. Where are you?” 

“I’m at the corner of Halsted and Fullerton, which is the worst place to be stuck in when your car is done for, by the way.” 

“Ok. I’m on my way. See you soon.” Matt walked back into Molly’s receiving questioning looks from everyone in the bar area. He immediately took his jacket off of the stool he was sitting on. “Sylvie’s car broke down. I gotta go pick her up and bring her here. I’ll be back.” When he walked away, Kelly was smirking. He knew how much his best friend was in love with the PIC, but he wished that Matt would use his words and tell her how he feels.

—————————————————————————————————

It wasn’t long before Matt showed up and saved the day. Or night, rather, since it was dark outside. Right as he saw her silver sedan, he parked behind her. 

“Matt!” Sylvie was ecstatic that he was here. She hugged him when he got out of his truck and while he was caught off guard at first, he reciprocated it. “I’m sorry this is on such short notice.”

“No. It’s not a problem at all. Don’t worry about it,” Matt replied. Why was he the sweetest man on earth? It’s what she loves about him, amongst many other things. But, he doesn’t know that. “What needs to be fixed? I can work on it if you want.” 

“Matt Casey, a contractor and a mechanic?” Sylvie asked, raising her eyebrows. She definitely didn’t know that. 

“I’m a man of many talents, Sylvie Brett.” Yes, that was flirting and yes, that was intentional. “When I was younger, Christie’s car broke down many times and I was always the one that fixed it.” Sylvie’s never heard that story before. She loves it when Matt tells her stories about his life prior to the CFD, both the good and the bad. 

“As much as I appreciate that offer, I already called a tow truck before you got here. They should be coming any minute now.” Matt nodded. 

Soon enough, the tow truck did show up and Sylvie requested that her car be taken to an auto body shop near her apartment. She did have Matt’s new fact about him saved in her back pocket for future reference, though. He didn’t look offended about it, so that was a good thing.

——————————————————————————————————

Sylvie was in the passenger seat of Matt’s truck, staring longingly out the window. Matt was worried because she’s usually this bubbly, talkative, ray of sunshine that puts a smile on everyone’s faces. That wasn’t the case at the moment.

“Everything okay?” he asked, concerned about his friend.

“Not exactly.”

“Talk to me, Sylvie. What’s going on?”

“With my car in the shop now, I don’t know how I’m gonna get to the firehouse. I can’t walk because my apartment is too far away. I could always take the bus, but that isn’t always the cleanest—“ Sylvie knew she was rambling a mile a minute, but Matt didn’t seem to mind. He interrupted her anyway because her rambles tended to go off topic quite a bit.

“Sylvie,” she turned around to look at those gorgeous blue eyes, “you don’t have to worry about a thing.” She was confused. “I’ll pick you up and take you to work until your car’s out of the shop.”

“Really? You would do that?”

“Anything for you.” He sure as hell meant it too. God, just when she couldn’t fall more in love with him than she already is, she ends up doing just that.

“Thank you.” Matt nodded. He pulled his truck in to park at Molly’s. Time flew by really fast in the span of the conversation they were having. Both of them walked in together, which received different looks from their friends. Stella and Kelly shared a smirk, Mouch had a look of confirmation, Herrmann was baffled, and everyone else just wasn’t paying attention to what was going on. It didn’t mean anything, they tried telling them, but none of them were buying it one bit.

————————————————————————————————

True to his word, Matt was right outside Sylvie’s apartment on time the next morning to take her to shift. He had fresh coffee waiting inside the passenger cup holder for her, which was something she appreciated greatly. They would talk about anything and everything under the sun from how his construction jobs were going to the latest Taylor Swift album.

The truck ride wasn’t a temporary thing though. Even after Sylvie’s car got out of the shop, she would continue riding with Matt because it was more fun and no one has ever had coffee waiting for her until this became a daily occurrence.

If this is how Sylvie gets treated after something happens to her vehicle, maybe her car should break down more often.

[anthrofreshtodeath]

Untitled

Inspiration struck last night 👀 - putting this here so you can let me know if it's worth continuing/if you would want to read more of it. Super AU!

Jane cut the engine of her Ford Ranger just outside the tiny strip mall off of Sixth Street. It had been a splurge just after she got brought on as the head baseball coach of Empire High School, a treat for herself for finally getting a big-person job and generating some regular income. Her mother had convinced her to do it, actually, because Jane had been on the fence for months, waffling so many times that Angela piled her in the family Buick and dropped her off at the dealership. Find your own way home, Angela had said, and it better be in that brand new truck.

Now, Jane was thankful for the push, because southern California summers in her old Civic with the busted A/C were no fucking joke. They were still no joke now, but at least she could blast cold air on her face when needed. Like now: even at six thirty in the morning, temperatures climbed above eighty in early August, and she settled into the discomfort of an already damp back. At least her front still looked fresh. She glanced in the rearview mirror one last time before she got out, taking off her adjustable black cap with her school’s insignia and smoothing the tied-back black hair on top of her head. Presentable and believable: a baseball coach with a ponytail and a Nike dri-fit short sleeve windbreaker over her t-shirt.

She hopped out, satisfied enough to not be looking like a hooligan, and when she planted her turf shoes, she could tell the asphalt was already on fire. The boys were gonna be whiny as hell this afternoon. That made her grin just a little bit. She ambled up to the donut shop-slash-panaderia on the corner, straightening her posture when the door jingled and signalled her entry.

The short, middle-aged woman with her graying hair in a bun and an apron around her waist brightened when Jane approached the counter. “Buenos días, Coach Rizzoli,” she greeted with a smile and voice so cheery, she’d obviously been up for hours already. Probably baking as Jane finished weight-lifting in her backyard before the sun came up.

Jane smiled softly in return. “Buenos días, señora Gutierrez,” Jane said, deferential even though at nearly 5’11”, she must have been almost a foot taller than Mrs. Gutierrez. “Como está?” Short Spanish phrases sounded pretty darn good in her mouth, she had to admit, for all the Sicilian she heard growing up, and for being a product of Santa Ana. Spanish was more common than English in a lot of her friends’ homes growing up, so she caught on quick. At least enough to carry on a polite conversation, if needed.

“Bien, gracias. Tengo sus conchas aquí,” Mrs. Gutierrez asked as disappeared behind the counter to find what she was looking for, Jane’s order, reappearing with six pink donut boxes.

Jane opened her nostrils wide to take in the smell of flour, sugar, and a hint of cinnamon for the white conchas, her favorite. It was enough to feed a small army, which felt just about right for the staff meeting she had been tasked with supplying breakfast for. The first of the new school year. “Qué bueno,” she replied, not sure if she was referring to Mrs. Gutierrez’s overall well-being or the pan in the boxes. She pulled out her cash to pay, slipping her wallet in her back pocket, and in the seconds that it took her to do that, a single, piping-hot styrofoam cup of coffee appeared on the counter in front of her.

“Y un cafecito come le gusta,” said Mrs. Gutierrez with a wink and a smile. Occasionally, she did this, and it was her way of taking care of Jane, one of their family’s best customers.

Jane had learned not to refuse it. She just blushed and bowed her head a little bit, her lips pursed in a bashful smile. “Muchisimas gracias,” she said, taking a sip. Mrs. Gutierrez always left the cinnamon stick in it and added minimal creamer, just how Jane liked. Jane held back a moan. She decided she’d partake of the rest in the car, and then pocketed her change.  She picked the boxes up by the string tied to them and huffed, ready to begin the day. “Y el Jonny?” she asked, and Mrs. Gutierrez nodded her head towards the back of the bakery.

Jane nodded and made her way toward the door so she could pop around. “Qué tenga un buen día, Coach,” Mrs. Gutierrez called after her.

“Igualmente!” Jane replied, already on her way. She deposited her haul on her front passenger seat, keeping her coffee in hand, and then walked over to the alley between the Gutierrez bakery and the block wall separating it from the Cardenas market just across the way. She put her hat back on, threading her ponytail through its opening, and adjusted her Oakley sunglasses as she stood by the dumpster that Jonathan Gutierrez currently filled with broken-down cardboard boxes.

He heard her shoes scuffling his way, so he turned. “Coach Rizzoli! It’s early as hell,” he said, “what’re you doing here?” He sweated through the ribbed tank on his torso and the black basketball shorts on his hips. Jane commiserated, having helped her dad out on many a plumbing job in the summer when she was in high school.

“Well, first day for teachers is today,” she said, sipping her drink. “And I had to get some of your mom’s pan for the meeting. They’d expect nothing less. I’m here lookin’ at you because she exhausted all my Spanish skills, and I needed to remind you that practice starts at one today.”

Jonny, as tall as her, lanky too, smirked. “I’m sure you could’ve found a way to say that to her,” he teased, knowing that she couldn’t have, not well.

“You’re a riot. One o’clock, and not a minute later, a’right? I will not hesitate to bench our centerfielder for opening day if he’s late,” she warned. Then she started to turn.

“That’s like seven months from now!” Jonny whined, setting his box cutter down and running a hand through his thick black hair. “I got work today! Last day before school starts next week!”

Jane rolled her eyes. “The perfect hair thing may work on the girls at school, kid, but it won’t work on me. Find a way to make it happen - if you get into Fullerton, it won’t be because I sent you, but because you did it on your own. Part of that means showing up to practice on time. Even in August.”

Jonny sighed. His mom would understand, but his wallet would be crying. “I’m tryna save up for a pickup like yours, though, Coach,” he tried, batting his eyes for extra sympathy.

Jane laughed, and then he did. “Listen. You show up for practice on time every day this year, and you and me’ll have a talk about replacing today’s wages for that new Ranger, a’right?”

“Ok,” Jonny said quietly. He knew that Jane knew they didn’t have much money. And he knew that she knew most everything about him - she meant what she said. She’d taken him under her wing when she’d noticed his boundless talent and his faltering attendance. When she found out it was to make enough money to keep him and his brother on the team, she’d covered the cost in full. That was two years ago, and now that Jonny was an incoming senior, they’d righted the ship together. There was only a little more to go until he applied to the school of his dreams, the one with the killer baseball program and just miles from home.

It didn’t hurt that Jane was the first woman to play ball there as a range-y second baseman, was eventually drafted from Fullerton. He wanted to follow in her footsteps as best he could. “Good. See you then, kid,” she said. He knew that she knew the best way for him to do that was to grind. To eat, sleep, drink, and shit baseball.

“Hey Coach!” He called after her as she made her way back into the alley.

She turned around. “What’s up?”

“I wanna focus on my forearms this year. Should I go the Altuve way?” he asked, smiling.

The Jose Altuve way: banging sledgehammers into tractor trailer tires. Jane guffawed. “I’m not saying do it, but I mean hey, guy’s 5’5” and hitting thirty dingers a year in The Show, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jonny said. “I’ll take it under advisement. Thanks,” and with that, he waved Jane off. She spent the rest of the ride to school thinking about how to safely incorporate forearm work into the team’s regimen in a way that didn’t involve sledgehammers.

The bread had made her truck smell like heaven, and it was the perfect olfactory accompaniment through the working class neighborhoods of Coronita Heights - the part that she felt more comfortable in. She’d grown up down the 91 in Santa Ana, one of Orange County’s most vibrant cities, and her street looked a lot more like these than the ones that Empire High School sat on.

But Empire was one of the top 15 baseball programs in the state, and she had jumped at the opportunity to coach when she’d been approached about it. She packed the few boxes from her parents’ house, used the rest of her signing bonus to put a nice down payment on a house in Coronita Heights, and hadn’t looked back. It had been good for her - she kept in shape, used that teaching credential she’d worked on at Fullerton to teach PE, and led the Knights to a CIF championship in the five years she had been there. She hunted another.

Soon, the burger joints, smoke shops, and insurance spots gave way to expensive houses and palm trees, and she saw the massive campus come into view. She hopped out of the truck once she parked near the office toward the front, downing her coffee and tossing it in the trash. She tugged her belt, looped through her white baseball pants, making sure the fit was good, and then she took the breakfast out.

Another school year was about to begin, and she was determined to make it a victorious one.

___

Maura smoothed her dress in the full-length mirror of her bedroom for what must have been the hundredth time. It was tasteful: sleeveless, dark blue, with a thin black patent-leather belt around its waist. She paired it with black heels, and she looked good. She knew, intellectually, that she did, but this happened every time she started something new: the nerves kicked in and she doubted herself. She curled her impeccably styled hair behind her right ear out of habit, and then made her way downstairs for breakfast.

Her palatial home in Anaheim Hills sat overlooking the city below, still sleepy at six-thirty in the morning. She was anything but, having already completed her run and entire grooming routine. She perused the options within her double door refrigerator, still quite imposing even under the expansive wooden beams on the ceiling that ran from wall to wall. She thought about eggs, protein always a good start to the day, but then remembered the expected temperature and decided a cold breakfast of yogurt and berries would be best.

Again, it was too hot for warm coffee, but the massive cold brew dispenser she had readied just a few days prior called her name and she filled a tumbler with it and her favorite almond milk creamer. She’d have one cup with breakfast and a refill for the road, as she always did from May to October. She reveled in routine; it was what helped her not to shake as she brought a spoonful of honey, dairy, and strawberry up to her lips.

Today, despite her several years of doctoring, would be her first job with the living since residency. In fact, it would be her first non-clinical job, well, ever. Even when she had volunteered for research, it had been in pathology labs, or oncology centers, or Alzheimer’s wards. Now, she would head the pilot program for a pre-med track at Empire High School. Well, pre-pre-med, she corrected herself. The point of the program was to prepare students from non-private and non-charter school backgrounds for the rigor of medical school. And, as a graduate of the Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA, as well as Boston Cambridge University for undergraduate work, Coronita Heights Unified thought her very qualified to head its inception.

Maura was humble, so she did not consider that they also factored in her copious research articles within the field of pathology, nor her several awards from the Medical Board of California. But they did, and so today she started her teaching/counseling position that included Advanced Placement Anatomy and Physiology, as well as Advanced Placement Biology and an elective of honors molecular pathology to boot. She had negotiated that last one to retain a taste of her passion outside of teaching.

Satisfied both with her breakfast and her mulling, Maura rose from her stool at the kitchen island, its white marble counter still gleaming from its recent clean this weekend, and made her way to the sink. She rinsed her bowl, placed it in the dishwasher on the top rack with the others, and then washed her hands for twenty seconds. Soap on, palm scrub, back-of-the-hand scrub, webspace scrub, for as long as it took to hum happy birthday to herself, twice.

She reveled in routine.

She unscrewed the lid of her tumbler and placed it under the dispenser in the refrigerator again, watching dark coffee wash over ice cubes with pleasure. The properties of matter, their predictability and regularity, calmed Maura. She could predict where each rivulet would go with accuracy, and then watch the change of color with no surprise when she poured in her creamer. She could control how light or dark it became, and thus control its flavor. She savored that one last ounce of control before she screwed her lid back on and walked over to where her purse and rolling cart awaited her at the front door.

She took one last look behind her, at the open concept living room so large it needed a sectional couch that no one used because people hardly ever dropped by, at the kitchen with state-of-the-art, industrial appliances that often cooked meals for one. It was her home, even if all of that were true, and the way that the southern California sun poured in through her floor-to-ceiling windows thrilled her. It thrilled her the way it had the first time she set foot in LA, for her first day of classes. She let that embolden her as she locked the door and stepped into her S-Class.

Navigation popped up as soon the engine roared to life, already pre-programmed with the route to Empire High School. She saw the calculation of a twenty minute drive, rearranged a few numbers in her head as she thought about the day of the week, the time of the morning, and the unpredictability of the 91, and decided twenty minutes was probably just about right. She’d given herself a cushion for twenty-five, and with a glance to the men’s style cartier on her wrist, she smiled and pulled out of the garage towards the main drag that would lead her to the freeway.

She jumped out of nerves and surprise when the system notified her of a call coming in. She smirked when she saw the caller ID: Dr. Nina Holiday, Hoag Hospital. Maura pressed the call accept button. “Need a consult already, Doctor?” she teased, her own voice always just a bit foreign in the morning after not having heard it for hours.

Doctor Holiday scoffed on the line. “You wish,” she replied, and then there were beats of silence. “I just wanted to call to wish you good luck on your first day. And to see if you’d reconsider.”

“If this is Hoag’s way of trying to lure me back, by making their premier neurologist do all the dirty work, I think I’m going to have to pass,” Maura said, and Nina laughed.

“No, this is just a friend saying you’re gonna be missed is all,” said Nina. “But I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Maura demured. “Pathology is in... very capable hands with Doctor Pike,” she said, and then immediately the two women guffawed.

“You couldn’t even get it out before you started laughing!” Nina asserted, “see? We’re up a creek with no paddle!”

“Whom the department decided to hire in my stead is not my business,” Maura replied professionally, “especially if they do not take my recommendations into account,” and then with more spice.

“You right, you right. And I know I said it before, but I respect you for this. I think my road to medicine might have been a lot easier if I had someone like you at my high school to guide me through,” Nina said seriously. “Just answer me something: you didn’t leave because of Ian, did you?”

Maura stiffened. She hadn’t wanted to think about that on her first day, but here Nina was, dredging it up. Maura wrung her hands on her steering wheel. “No. Not really,” she answered, and that was the truth. The timing of it all had just been awful.

“Ok. I just… with him being gone, I didn’t know if that would be better, or if you’d be haunted by ghosts, you know? If you stayed.”

“I think I needed a fresh start either way, Nina. I really do,” Maura said.

Nina took the hint that they were done talking about it. Her voice turned chipper again. “I’ve got a call at seven, so I have to go, but I’ll talk to you soon, ok? You can tell me all about your first week. Maybe over bottomless mimosas.”

Maura sighed with relief. She would need that. “Sounds great. Nina?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for calling. I’m… I’m going to miss you, too,” Maura confessed.

“Aw, Doctor Isles, don’t get all mushy on me,” gushed Nina. “Bye. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye,” Maura said after the line had gone dead.

Nina’s call had lasted most of the ride. Maura was grateful. Nina had been one of the few people to get to know her at Hoag. The hospital itself had a very competent staff. Excellent, really. And Maura was one of the best, so this led to a never-spoken, always-felt air of competition. It didn’t really lend itself to friendship. But Nina had consulted with Maura so often, that a comfortable working relationship eventually morphed into a casual friendship. That turned into drinks on the rare weeknights they had off and brunch on Sundays at some of the best spots in Orange County.

They promised to continue, and they would of course, but for the first time in their friendship, they didn’t work a floor away from each other, and Maura resolved that while she would do everything to keep it alive, she had to acknowledge the change. Fittingly, as soon as she did so, she drove into the staff parking lot at Empire High. Her new beginning.

Her welcome e-mail mentioned a staff meeting today, Friday, in the lecture hall at the front of the school, refreshments provided. So, she pulled next to the gunmetal gray Ford Ranger to her right, and gathered her things. Her cart could wait until they were dismissed to ready their classrooms, so she deposited her fob into her purse and sipped on her coffee for fortitude as she followed the sidewalk pathway past the front office to the lecture hall. She had mapped out the route when she had found out about the meeting, deciding that touring campus on her own before she began would reduce her anxieties, as well as the possibility of unknown factors. It was also why she had arrived right on time: early meant possible one-on-one conversations with strangers, and late meant all eyes on her as she hustled in.

She pushed her sunglasses to the top of her head when she reached the glass double doors of the hall, and breathed in one last time. It was a big, 360 degree breath: it engaged her pelvic floor and spread her ribs equally. It lowered her pulse and calmed her nerves, and then she was ready.

When she entered, she heard chatter. Lots of it. When she turned the corner and yanked open the wooden door of the room itself, she was shocked to see what looked like most of the staff already deep in conversation in their seats. Some stood, others stretched their legs over a couple of seats at once, some laughed and some nodded seriously. For a moment, Maura panicked, then checked her watch again. She felt her heartbeat fall a little bit when she looked up to the front and realized that no-one had started the meeting. In fact, there was a small line at the sign-in sheet, so she decided that rather than have a breakdown in the walkway, she should join the line.

She mustered as much courage as she could and stood behind the last woman, who smiled at her politely. Maura smiled back and thanked whatever powers that be that the woman didn’t try to engage. The line moved quickly, and staff members grabbed what looked like sweet bread just off to the side of the table as they signed in. She forewent the sugar and decided just to take the requisite printouts instead. By then, things started to feel a little more like a normal job orientation, so she turned on her heels to make her way back to the crowd.

The confident turn ended up being another mistake, however, because as she started to walk, she saw no openings. It was like the middle of a very bad dream, in which she needed so desperately to blend in, but all she could do was stand out. She felt eyes on her as she passed tables full of other adults, she heard conversations quiet and alter when she walked by.

However, just as she was about to give up and stand all the way in the back, someone called out. “Hey,” the voice was firm, raspy, and kind. She turned instantly and it kept talking. “You need a spot? I was savin’ this one for my brother, but, big shocker, he’s late.” Seated at a table in the middle of the hall with an all-white backpack on the empty chair next to her, two aluminum bat handles sticking out on either side of it, was… “Oh, and I’m Jane. Rizzoli. By the way.”

Jane Rizzoli. Maura thought the name fitting. Jane was so tall and so dark-featured and so handsome that she needed an Italian surname. And by god, she had one. One with a trilled-r and a plural i and everything: it was perfect for her in the way that all its sounds signified abundance. Maura’s mind rambled and she caught it; she wasn’t even sure how the phonotactic rules of Italian applied to Jane’s physicality, but they did, and Maura sat next to her without hesitation. She chanced one glance to the length of Jane’s torso as she curled to put her elbows on the table, and then she met Jane’s dark brown eyes.

It was then that she realized that Jane probably awaited some kind of response. “Maura Isles,” said Maura, holding her hand out. Jane shook it and Maura was not at all surprised by the firmness of the shake.

“Hey Maura. I’m uh, I’m the head baseball coach here. I also teach PE,” Jane explained. Then she looked down at herself, her uniform and the bats in the backpack now on the floor. “But you probably guessed that.”

Maura smirked, and laughed softly. “I don’t like to guess. It puts people in awkward positions. But I would say there’s lots of evidence to that fact, yes.”

Jane laughed openly and then took her hat off. “Well, I’m gonna go out on a limb and guess you’re the hotshot doctor that they hired for our new pre-med pipeline.”

Maura raised a perfectly-sculpted eyebrow. “And why would you assume that?”

“You talk like a doctor. And you dress better than everyone else in this room. Real doctor-y,” Jane wagged her own eyebrows up and down.

Maura watched Jane’s crooked grin, rapt. “One…” she began slowly, “doctor-y is not a word. Two, what if I were independently wealthy and taught, oh say, English?”

Jane shrugged. “Words are made up. And are you? Independently wealthy?”

Maura’s mouth twitched in humor. “Yes,” she answered. Jane threw her head back in defeat. “But, I am also the doctor piloting the pre-med program here.”

Just like that, the slender column of Jane’s neck brought her head forward again. “Thought so!” she said. Just as she did, The man who Maura knew from his photo online as the school principal walked in. People started to hush as he made his way to the front podium. Even she turned her attention, until there was the distinct warmth of whispering by her ear that dismantled all other thoughts. Jane was speaking. “Well, Dr. Isles,” she responded, “welcome to Empire High, then.”

[zealseal]

Wk 6 DevLog - Shooter

During this week’s workshop, I made the basics of an Asteroid space-shooter game. I later changed the game entirely, using the shooting code to work with individual turrets.

Changed the spaceship into turrets. The placement is at certain locations on the left and right side of the truck. To make coding flexible, I made it so that each one was assigned a variable. This is so in future I will be able to allow a player to upgrade, choose a different turret, or change the appearance of their turrets with ease.

The truck moves on a horizontal plane for the moment. I considered limiting movement to jumping in-between lanes grid-style, however It may allow players to feel more in control by having the ability to weave in and out of lanes. Doing so would require more skill and fulfil a player’s need for competency as described by Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs (McLeod S. 2020). Once more formal elements have been introduced - mainly hazards - I will need to test the feel of the gameplay.

Turrets rotate to aim at the cursor’s position. I will play with having a ‘blueprint’ or ‘marker’ to indicate certain weapons’ line of fire, such as shotguns’ spread range, bouncing bullets’ trajectory, and charged lasers’ line of sight.

To Add:

Hazards should appear on the road. Accompanied with the freedom of movement, players should feel challenged with these basic dramatic elements. As covered by Fullerton, part of enjoyability comes from a balance of challenge and ability as well as giving players a sense of control over their actions (2018. p99-100). As the level progresses, it should get faster, higher priority enemies will start to appear on the screen, and eventually, once the player fills up the progress bar, a boss fight will appear.

Enemies. Defeating them will award coins that can be used to upgrade guns and buy new ones. Later in development, enemies that deal damage to the player using various methods will be added.

Different weapons. Allow players to gain a sense of achievement and progress as they gradually unlock new and different weapons. Each weapon will have what my lecturers have covered as orthogonal differentiation; weapons will have unique damage ratings, shooting styles, and reload times. This will give players a unique choice and allow them to tailor gameplay to their play style. For the Collectors, (Fullerton T. 2018. p.104) it will give them incentive to play and discover the variety of weaponry.

References:

McLeod S. (2020). Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. SimplyPsychology. Accessed 2 September, 2021 from https://www.simplypsychology.org/maslow.html

Fullerton T. (2018). Game Design Workshop : A Playcentric Approach to Creating Innovative Games, Fourth Edition. ProQuest EBook Central. Accessed 2 September, 2021 from https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/qut/reader.action?docID=5477698

[theliterateape]

History is a Puzzle Box of Rashomon

by Don Hall

I’ve often said that the scariest thing to ever come out of my mother’s mouth was the declaration “Let’s go on an adventure!”

For my mother an adventure must include a lack of preparation, potential for danger, and a sense of I can’t believe we just survived that! She once decided she wanted to do a charcoal sketching of a gravestone from the grave of one of our Appalachian Baptist fire-and-brimstone preacher ancestors. My dad drove her up into the mountains and they started seeing patches of purple paint on trees and rocks.

Turned out that was the locals’ way of telling outsiders they'd get shot if they trespassed. My dad clutched his pistol the rest of the way.

Mom got her charcoal sketch. I can’t believe we just survived that!

When I was a kid and we lived in Arizona, mom decided we were going on adventure. My little sister, mom, and I loaded up in her brown Gremlin, a bag of sandwiches, some sodas, and all of our swimming gear and headed out for an afternoon at Lake Pleasant.

All was copacetic until she thought she saw a shortcut to he lake. It was not a shortcut. It was simply desert. It started out as a bit of a dirt path that sort of petered out about an hour into the drive. We were driving in the open desert in the vehicle equivalent to a Pinto.

Of course we blew a tire. Of course we didn't have a spare.

Being a melodramatic kid, I went into a full-blown faux-survivalist panic. After a few minutes of wailing about our imminent demise I set out to figure how to get water out of cactus, the thorny testaments to the heartiness of desert foliage fending off my un-callused hands and delivering exactly no water.

This being decades before smartphones, we were stuck. We had no clue where we were in terms of the comforts of civilization and while mom put on a brave face (and occasionally got the giggles at my histrionics) our fate was sealed. Unless someone miraculously drove into the middle of the desert to save us, we were doomed.

And then the miracle occurred. A beat-up red Ford pickup truck coming from the other direction popped up on the horizon. I shrieked in relief; mom flagged the truck down.

We were about a mile from a highway but we couldn't know that. The driver of the pickup was taking a shortcut from the highway.

Here's where the story gets odd. To this day, my mother's version of this adventure and mine are identical. Word for word the same until we get to the driver of the Ford. On my life, I swear it was an older Native American man who stopped, hitched up the Gremlin to his vehicle, and towed us the mile to the highway and on to a gas station. 

My mother will go to her grave insisting it was a family of four Mormons.

What?!

We’ve had family arguments about this story. Both my mother and I are intractable in our insistence of our specific endings of either Native American man or family of Mormons. We both were there. We both can see ourselves in the tale. The endings are as different as could be.

There is conclusive scientific research that demonstrates how the memory of an event subtly changes the actual memory as it is retold. The more you tell the story, the more it transforms into something similar but wholly different in the margins.

If my mother and I can have such divergent differences within a memory of an event we both shared, how many splinters are there in a collective re-telling of a larger event encompassing many more tellers? How many completely incompatible versions of the attacks on New York on September 11, 2001 are there? How many versions that don’t quite line up with one another are there of the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941?

Moving forward and backward in history, if we are to accept (and I do) that our memories are more Silly Putty than Lego Bricks, how much does film, television, books, and social media come into play in the constant morphing of objective truth to the collection of subjective memories and finally commonly accepted reality?

There is conclusive scientific research that demonstrates how the memory of an event subtly changes the actual memory as it is retold.

Back in the olden days when one could watch something horribly incorrect in the political sense without it becoming a ringing endorsement of your personal "brand" or a scathing indictment on who you are as a fellow human, I went to a screening of Griffith's The Birth of a Nation. It was at an esoteric video shop/screening theater on Fullerton Avenue in Chicago called Facets Multimedia and there were six or seven others in attendance. I was the only white person in the room.

Historically, Griffith's opus is significant in several ways. 

First, it was among the earliest epic uses of film. Released in 1915, it was the first blockbuster Hollywood hit. It was the longest and most-profitable film then produced and the most artistically advanced film of its day. It secured both the future of feature-length films and the reception of film as a serious medium.

Second, it was the first modern popular culture example of an artistic achievement attempting to force a certain perspective on the larger culture (the idea that the KKK were the heroes of the Civil War) it was initially released with the title "The Clansmen" and reframed the war, Reconstruction, and white hooded sheets in tandem with lynchings as the preferred story of American history.

Third, while propaganda has been around since men could talk and write, it was the most pervasive use of a medium that communicated on a newfound mass level to promote a horrifying ideology and was embraced by President Woodrow Wilson as a personal favorite.

Following the three-hour screening, there was a sense of discomfort as the lights came back up. My guess at the time it was the other viewers in the room wondering if I, the sole white person in the room, was as offended by the revised perspective the film espoused as the rest in the small cadre. I suppose I wasn't as offended because I wasn't black and I knew what I was getting into when buying my ticket. I can imagine seeing the film without some context would be like a slap in the face.

One of the things I learned doing stage combat around the same time was that a slap in the face never hurt as much as you'd think. It wasn't the pain of the blow but the surprise of it that gave it impact. Going in cold to see the KKK presented as the true patriots wouldn't hurt but the surprise might be a shock.

In a very different way but in the same vein, I remember being the only white face in a crowded theater in Fayetteville, Arkansas at the opening night of Spike Lee’s Do the Right Thing. The looks of inquisition for my reaction to the film from the predominantly black faces followed me out into the lobby and into the parking lot.

I read recently that one of the reasons the scars of that Civil War in America have never fully healed is that we’ve never, as a nation, agreed on a single narrative of why we fought the goddamned thing. The subjectivity of truth in the re-telling of that dark period is confounding and subsequent attempts to force one perspective or the other or multiple angles on the causes of the War of the States has only confused the issue. Thus the recent beheadings of statues glorifying Southern generals and the re-naming parties of public schools to eliminate anyone associated with slavery.

I understand and empathize with this impulse to reverse the whitewash of history from our streets and schools. So much of our literature and symbols in real life have been created with, maybe not a D. W. Griffith subjectivity, a revisionist historical perspective that paints over the ugliest parts of our history to re-tell the narrative and erase those most subjugated by it. I expect over-correction (like the New York Times 1619 Project which casts our history as steeped in nothing but racism and slavery without acknowledging the contributions set apart from those stains) and, after reading that San Francisco schools are eliminating Abraham Lincoln's name, I decided to re-watch Spielberg's Lincoln.

I don't know if it was actually Lincoln or screenwriter Tony Kushner who came up with the following analogy but I found it instructive in the push to reframe the story today.

A compass, I learnt when I was surveying, it'll... it'll point you True North from where you're standing, but it's got no advice about the swamps and deserts and chasms that you'll encounter along the way.

If in pursuit of your destination, you plunge ahead, heedless of obstacles, and achieve nothing more than to sink in a swamp... What's the use of knowing True North?

The film paints the fight for the 13th Amendment as a dark political game, cajoling and persuading the legislators of the day to codify in the Constitution a formal revocation and rebuke to the forced enslavement of other human beings. It also portrays Lincoln as a deeply pragmatic leader. The speech is one he gives to Thaddeus Stevens, a zealous abolitionist, who rightly sees true north but, up to that point, would rather be righteous than successful in abolishing slavery.

Both men are long dead so the question of whether both men would tell the same story, in their re-telling of those pivotal moments leading up to the vote, or if their stories would radically diverge, is wholly academic. That’s where the trappings of art collide with authenticity. This is the version Spielberg and Kushner decided upon and it will be the version millions who watch the film and decide to simply accept it as the one true version.

This is not to say there is no objective truth. It is to suggest that our inability to separate fact from our subjective fictions makes us pretty fucking lousy arbiters of that fact.

On the other hand, we have celebrated author Mark Manson, whose book Everything is F•cked: A Book About Hope is being banned in Russia by Putin because it speaks directly to atrocities committed by Stalin. Putin is looking to re-write Stalin's history. 

There is a big difference between revising a history shown to diminish the effects of overt racists in one country and purging a country’s history of established monstrosities but the mechanism remains the same: reframe the story and tell it enough times that the meaning changes over time. Keep pushing the new narrative (right or wrong) until the soft memory of an entire nation bends to the will of the teller.

That’s all history is, after all. A slew of stories we tell over and over to indoctrinate a sense of national pride. It grows more perilous when those revising the stories weren’t present. The source of the tales becomes less reliable and the reframe more suspect. When the source is a film or video of an event, we feel as though we’ve experienced it but our perspective is entirely subverted by what the camera shows us and the narrative promoted when we watch it.

One of the techniques that Griffith practically invented was the camera’s use to tell the story from his view. Frame things in a certain way, in a certain order, and our very eyes are deceived, our minds accept the deception, and we believe.

In 1950, Akira Kurosawa gave the world the reigning example of individualized subjective point of view. Rashomon shows us three different perspectives on one specific event. The film makes the point so clearly that the term used popularly to label the he said/she said/they said dilemma is a rashomon.

This is not to say there is no objective truth. It is to suggest that our inability to separate fact from our subjective fictions makes us pretty fucking lousy arbiters of that fact. Show me someone absolutely 100% certain of the sort of events they've only seen on an iPhone video moderated by Faceborg and spun by both the media and some random stranger and I'll show you someone deluded and quite probably dead wrong.

Even when we're there to witness events in person we get it wrong so the concept of getting it right through the mediation and manipulation of amateur videographers and activist pushing a narrative is nothing short of lunatic fringe.

Bizarrely, we all know this to be true.

We know that social media is almost entirely unreliable. We know that film is a highly manipulative art form. We know that Robert Downey, Jr. never flew in a suit of armor, that Keanu Reeves is not Neo, that as much as he embodies who I hope Abraham Lincoln was like, Daniel Day Lewis is an actor and couldn't possibly know what the man was actually like in person.

We know this to be true but we need to be right. We need to believe and so we take that leap of faith, that gut level adherence to what makes some sort of sense in the story and run with it. More so, if the fiction supports things we already have chosen to believe in, we are adding it to the arsenal of defenses against any other sort of view of our story.

We know there's more to the story of the Antifa takeover of Seattle. We know there's more to the January 6th breach of the Capitol. We know there are more sides to the story of Michael Brown. We know that with everyone filmed in a Walmart screaming about her right to forego a mask there is something else before and after that moment that may demonize her just a bit less.

We know but we don't care. Context and considering the framing takes too much work. Too much time. In an existence flooded with too much information, too many stories, too much video, too many opinions, it's just fucking easier to settle on the story that suits you and roll with that.

That's why—no matter what my mother says—it was definitely not a family of Mormons and I'll go to my grave with that.

[athbharat]

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[empiremotors]

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[czech-trucker]

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[trucksandtrailers4you]

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[piacemia]

01/19 - 05/19

January: Citrus shrines galore with constant imports of lemons from Fullerton to Idyllwild, getting tix to Vampire Weekend and Passion Pit, meal prepping all the veggie pesto pasta, and discovering our love for Whole Foods olive bars.  February: Getting ALL the candy, including a surprise sneaky shipment, eating at Crest Cafe for Valentines with all the other partner couples, enjoying the rare sunny days and sometimes the pretty cloudy days, discovering the wonders of Carnival and mexican supermarkets in general, found the love of our lives the fish taco truck in the target parking lot, moved the house around and prepped for Julia to move in! March: Having Issy and Urique come to visit and eating Crack Shack, watching the big St. Patricks Day Parade from our bedrooms while I ate salmon and eggs on toast, then on to the festival in the park complete with corned beef sandwiches, brats, and weirdly waxy ice cream. Oh and seeing your coworkers in the beer garden! Finishing Freedom by Jonathan Franzen, getting wildly sick the first day of vacation, heading home for spring break for family time, adventures in Berkeley (Shattuck Hotel, Halal Guys, Morning Trips, walking through the prettiest weather to shattuck and telegraph streets, amoeba music), SF (Stratford Hotel, Senor Sisig, eating in Dolores, heading over to Haight via Muni and almost dying in the Whole Foods, then a free happy hour and dinner at Et Tutto Quoi and drinks at Vesuvio. Next day included sisig fries and pineapple buns for lunch), and Oakland (mario party party and friends of friends), and then a trip to Bali that will be detailed someday.  April: Making rabbit food and eating trail mix, FINALLY getting to Swami’s for the most gigantic acai bowl in the history of the world, working on BTSA forever and ever, endless musical practice, getting visits from multiple easter bunnies, making chili & cornbread, finally making it to explore more of the park, buying pool noodles from the dollar store.  May: PASSION PIT and the first ever concert at North Park, going to Fullerton every weekend just for fun (Babysitting, then parents were there for mother’s day, and then heading to Sacramento with tita), playing baseball in the park, eating at the new Din Tai Fung in San Diego which made us wait an hour and a half, flying to Sacramento for issy’s GRADUATION (seeing old town sacramento, eating at the cutest patio mexican food, and falling asleep in a hotel with Issy asking to go out in the rain), finding my love for Chile Lime Corn Rolls is complete and everlasting, discovering Bronx Pizza and RK Sushi in mission hills, going on a Memorial day extravaganza with Julia which included having sushi and salt and straw with Julia’s friend in which we argued profusely, drank sake/beer, skipped the line for new flavors, didn’t get any new flavors, and talked till midnight. Next day was walking Mission Beach and PB, getting frozen strawberry lemonade, and Julia making delicious amazing bbq burgers. Next day, walking to hillcrest farmers market, eating lebanese wraps and waffles, and then hanging out at Better Buzz being relaxed, cleaned out our entire wardrobes, ate the second two burgers, and then got the best dessert at Extraordinary Dessserts: the passionfruit napoleon. From there we quickly discovered lice possibly maybe who knows and the night devolved into rite aid, vaccuuming, sticking things in trash bags, stripping beds, shampooing, and combing out hair with new girl in the background. Also with booking a trip to Seattle. And that was that. 

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Digital Prototype Racing Game Development

Following on from my elevator pitch and the lizard-frog-mouse race idea, we presented by our lecturer Dr David Conroy. I decided to use a road bike for the road, a buggy for the sand and a truck for the dirt. To add balance to the game, I will want to switch the track’s surface at random intervals throughout the race. As the book The Game Design Workshop by Tracy Fullerton(2018) explains, the balance needs to meet the goals I, as the developer, have set for the player’s experience. The experience I want to give the player is one where they feel like they have a chance of winning even when they are in last place. However, I don’t want that to come from rubber banding as this is a feature in racing games I don’t enjoy as a player.

So, getting started, I chose to once again go with the awesome asset from https://www.kenney.nl/ and choose a top-down racing set they have there (https://www.kenney.nl/assets/racing-pack) as it had all the elements I needed for my racing game

Next, I had to work out a way to lay out the track, but this turned out to be a long and tedious process as I would have to add all the sections as sprites. This was so I could add collision and the track swapping mechanism to them.

Once that was done I got started adding the track to the game and then tried adding a random time swap the problem that I found was that swapping the animation with a random function meant that each track piece swapped separately, and although this looked cool and may even be a cool feature to add to the game in the future it did give the result I wanted. To fix this, I created a master road sprite that I hid and had it swap randomly. Then all the other road sprites check if they are the same as the master, and if they are not, they swap to match it. This resulted in all the track sprites swapping together and was the result I wanted. The Gif below has been sped up normally, the swap will happen between 5 and 10 seconds.

Then, I added the player with their 3 vehicles. To get the right acceleration and movement, I used delta time as the built-in behaviours with GDevelop didn’t quite feel right. So, the player could switch I had added an animation chance trigger when the space bar was pressed.

Now I needed to add a way to slow the player if they were in the wrong vehicle for the track’s surface. I did this by checking both values and misusing the delta time of the player’s acceleration if their vehicle was incorrect to the track. I also added some camera shake if the player hit the roadside markers and an acceleration boost if they were in the centre of the track.

Finally, it was time to add some AI players however this was quite difficult for a racing game and not because of GDevelop it was more due to my lack of knowledge of the engine as I wasted a lot of time with having the Ai react when it collided with an invisible object and although this method worked to an extent, it was far from good. Later I found that I could use a path-finding behaviour for the AI and have their path find to a point on the track however, I ran out of time to implement this correctly. And thus, the game is incomplete, but it was playable for testers.

Also, this was my first attempt at interactive AI, and I don’t consider it a failure I consider it a great learning experience and a must come back to.

Sources:

Tracy Fullerton. (2018) Game Design Workshop : A Playcentric Approach to Creating Innovative Games, Fourth Edition. Retrieved July 29, 2022, from https://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/qut/reader.action?docID=54776988

Kenney. (2022) Kenney • Home. Retrieved September 18, 2022, from https://www.kenney.nl/

Kenney. (2010) Kenney • Racing Pack. Retrieved September 18, 2022, from https://www.kenney.nl/assets/racing-pack