Mar 05

First Experience with Resident Evil 7: Biohazard

Note:  There are spoilers in this article.

As far as immersing myself in a brand-new game goes, Resident Evil 7 proved to be an interesting experience.  In the weeks leading up to its release, every new bit of information got me eager to begin playing.  Though it would not feature any of the established characters in the series – with one possible exception – I thought it would be refreshing to play as newcomer Ethan Winters, a non-combatant in search of his wife, Mia, who was believed to be dead for three years.

As soon as I downloaded the game on the more advanced of my two computers, I booted it up eager to start playing.  I was highly disappointed when the game crashed each time I tried to start it.  After three unsuccessful attempts, I determined that I would likely have to wait until I got a newer and more state-of-the-art computer before I could delve into the world of Resident Evil 7.

Despite my determination to stay spoiler-free, I couldn’t resist watching YouTube videos detailing the game and all its secrets.  While not the same as experiencing it first-hand, I still enjoyed the story, spooky atmosphere, and a few twists and turns along the way.  And I began to imagine ways in which this new installment ties in with previous games in the series.

I was resigned to writing a critical essay about Resident Evil 7 without actually playing the game.  But I was surprised when I found out on February 7th that the game would run on my more substandard computer.  I would liken it to trying to play a DVD with a VCR, but the game still ran all the way through without crashing.  I’m not sure what inspired me to try and start it, but I’m glad I did.

There were however several glitches present that made it interesting, such as a porch swing that looked like it was having an epileptic fit or seeing Mia’s hair literally flapping all over the place during a speedboat ride.  Perhaps the most disturbing glitch was seeing Ethan’s hands completely coated in blood before he’d even wandered into the dangerous house where much of the action takes place.

Examples of the game glitches encountered, and the perfect piece of toast in the bottom left.

In spite of the bugs, I still found the game enjoyable.  I’m glad to have gotten a chance to play it myself.  Since I’m someone who prefers to take their time and look around in detail, I observed quite a lot about the environment and what it tells about the characters.  One thing that I found humorous during my exploration was a perfectly-preserved piece of toast that seemed quite out of place in the decayed, moldy plantation where the game is set.

The villains, like the hero, are also new to the Resident Evil series.  In this outing, you must square off against the deranged Baker family – Jack, Marguerite, and their son, Lucas – and an evil genetically-engineered girl named Eveline who is capable of controlling people after she infects them with a mold-like virus.  There are moments where the Bakers seem to act of their own accord, so I’m inclined to think that Eveline’s victims come around to her way of thinking after a lengthy exposure.

On the other hand, Mia seems capable of fighting Eveline’s control, though she was the first to be infected.  This seems to suggest that Mia – and Jack and Marguerite’s daughter, Zoe – is more strong-willed or somewhat immune to the effects.  To clarify, Mia was part of a team in charge of transporting Eveline from one science facility to another when the latter somehow escaped containment.  This resulted in the destruction of the tanker they were aboard, which subsequently drifted into the bayou bordering the Baker’s home.

Not much is known about the Baker family and what their lives were like before Eveline entered the picture, but there are little things about their house or mannerisms that tell something of their respective backgrounds.  For instance, Lucas is quite skilled at engineering according to the trophies in his bedroom, though his journal entries tell that he was a psychotic killer even before Eveline got to him.  In addition, Marguerite’s biggest passion is cooking, but she gets offended because her meals, repulsive to normal people, are refused.  It’s hard to guess at Jack’s background, but it is known he is a former Marine.  Some of his hobbies may have included hunting or taxidermy.

You might ask what this story has to do with any of the previous games in the series, but I feel there are some interesting connections.  Perhaps the biggest setup for this scenario is tied into what Derek Simmons, the high-ranking NSA agent and main antagonist of Resident Evil 6, proclaimed in his final hours: “You have no idea what would happen if I die!”  As villainous as Simmons was – he did assassinate the U.S. President, after all – it is possible that he was holding a greater threat in check.  Just maybe, his demise paved the way for the organization that created Eveline.

Another interesting connection between Resident Evil 7 and its predecessors is how closely the Baker plantation resembles the Spencer mansion from the very first game.  A work order found in one of the plantation’s rooms reveals that the Bakers had hired an architecture firm named after the ill-fated George Trevor, the builder of the mansion.  It’s curious why the Bakers chose George’s style and inclination to create puzzle-based rooms meant to hide secret passageways for their own house, but there may be a simple explanation for this.  I think it’s possible the Bakers might somehow be related to the Trevor family; maybe they wanted to honor George’s vision.

There are also some oddities about this game that hint at a much larger picture.  For one thing, it’s curious how or why such a large ship went unnoticed for three years.  However, Ethan discovers some documentation inside a mine late in the game that indicates Lucas was somehow “freed” from Eveline’s control and was secretly monitoring her for the benefit of an unknown party.  It would be quite the twist if Lucas were one of the good guys despite the insane death traps he stages for some of the characters taken hostage by his family.

Even more puzzling is the military team who comes to the aid of Ethan (and Mia if she survived) at the very end of the game.  This team is aboard a helicopter that has an updated logo of the Umbrella Corporation, the corrupt pharmaceutical company responsible for starting the bioterrorism war.  What’s weirder is that one of the soldiers introduces himself to Ethan as Redfield, and the closing credits show Redfield’s first name to be Chris.

I am unsure what to make of this ending, but my imagination is in overdrive and my mind is filled with countless questions.  Is the Umbrella Corporation somehow back in play?  Are they the good guys now?  Is Chris Redfield, one of their long-standing opponents, really working for them, or is it just an imposter using his name?  I am certain these questions will be answered once Resident Evil 7’s expansion pack titled Not a Hero comes out in the spring, but I will be anxiously awaiting some resolution until then.

What I like most about Resident Evil 7 is how it uses the formula made popular by the early games.  There are puzzles you need to solve to advance through the house/game, limited inventory space that forces you to decide what to carry with you or store for later, and the requirement to save your ammo for when you really need it.  I failed a bit at the last one and was down to only one Magnum bullet and a limited amount of flamethrower fuel for the final fight; as if that wasn’t bad enough, I got eaten whole by the last monster when I stupidly stopped firing for a couple seconds.

All things considered, I didn’t do too shabby for my first playthrough, but I was really struggling to survive my third fight with a mutated Jack Baker.  Though I was sure I was going to get killed, I somehow managed to make it through in one piece.  In the end, I only died twice in the whole game.  And that was just on the easiest difficulty setting.  I shudder to think what the hardest difficulty will be like, but I’m not one to shy away from a challenge.

Mar 01

Editor’s Note: Writing isn’t the Difficult Step

So far this year, Deadwood Writers members have been actively publishing books and articles for a wider audience. Here are the books:

This list simply adds to the ongoing list of work produced by those who call themselves Deadwood Writers. Publishing work is a great accomplishment. Anyone who has done so can attest to that. But the work has only begun.

Writing isn’t the difficult step. Yes, it’s challenging, sometimes it feels impossible. Also, there are many who start and never finish. I have several incomplete manuscripts along my journey. But in relative terms, once the book is written and published, now there are the logistics of getting others to notice and read the book.

To put this in context, once someone is published, they have to sell their books. Get others to see the value of taking the time to buy the book and read it. Hopefully enough people like what they read and post a positive review.

There’s just the minor detail of getting one’s book noticed.

Creating and executing a marking plan is crucial. Rarely, and I do mean RARELY, does the publisher provide a marking budget that supports the author’s travels and their direct communications to the public. They do promote the book on their website and send it out to various media agencies, but the book is likely bundled with other’s books.

The best marketing is done by the author. No one is, or shouldn’t be, as passionate about the book as the author. Otherwise, the book is D.O.A.

Marketing requires a plan to get the message out to others. Using social media. Getting early reviews that are positive. And many more needs. One of the best steps I took for preparing my book, So All Can Learn: A Practical Guide to Differentiation is hired Sylvia Hubbard for a one hour coaching session to address any needs that I might not have considered. Sylvia provided me with an abundance of strategies and ideas from her own extensive experiences (https://sylviahubbard.com).

The website is up for So All Can Learn (www.soallcanlearn.org). I am currently lining up presentations and talks on the topic of my book, so that people who attend will get a sneak peak of the treasures they’ll find within.

Once you have a plan, implement and commit to it. The marketing work never ends.

Feb 23

Dog On Me

Half the time I’ve been walking this earth, there’s been a dog walking next to me. Gracie and Joker, both female, are my two constant companions these days. They’re both mutts, both were rescued and we got them about a year apart, Gracie first in 2007, making her the Alpha Female. At 55 pounds, she’s 15 pounds heavier than Joker. Gracie is a Lab, all black with a white beard, a tiny white blaze and two white socks on her rears, while Joker looks a bit like “Pete,” the sock-eyed dog from the 1930’s Little Rascals movies and 1950’s television show. You know, the dog that Target remade into one of their logos? That’s Joker.

Growing up, I took my dog everywhere. If I biked, he or she ran alongside. When I played in ballgames, they would sit near the sidelines or go play with other dogs. In 7th and 8th grade, in then-rural Abington, Massachusetts, there wasn’t a day I walked all the way home from school without Queenie, my German Shepherd, greeting me somewhere along the shortcut I took through the woods. When I started to drive my own car, my dogs rode shotgun. I could take them into stores and banks and all sorts of businesses without a bother to anyone.

Most of my friends had dogs, so paying a visit usually meant bringing along a playmate. Collars and tags? Sure, my dogs wore collars and tags. Their tags had their name on one side and my name, home phone number and address on the other. My Dad always kept up with all our pets’ shots, for their own good, not for any law or rule. But leashes? Never. Maybe I was lucky growing up, but I never owned a “bad” dog, one who would not stay, sit or come on command. Those are the three easiest things to teach a puppy, even a child can do it. And puppies are as eager to learn as young children are. My pups and I taught each other good manners, and with love and affection we learned what pleased each other. I’ve yet to take a dog to training, for anything, but I’ve known a lot of dogs – and dog owners – who needed training!

One of my earliest memories is riding on our Great Dane, Valorie, like she was a horse except I’m hanging onto her underside. According to my sister, Valorie taught me my first steps. I was rarely sick as a kid and allergic to nothing until I was teenager. Having my own dog at age ten, I learned early on it was a lot of work. It was a chore to groom, feed, pick up poop, pick off tics, de-skunk and clean small cuts on their noses from cat fights. But they never seemed like chores, and they were always bracketed with playtime.

When I started owning a home, I would leave one outside door open so my dog, or dogs, could come and go without disturbing me all the time. Jarvis was the biggest wanderer. Living in rural Northwestern Connecticut, he would roam for miles and be gone for hours. More than once, we got a call from a friend who lived about five miles away saying Jarvis was over there, playing with his dog, who happened to be Jarvis’s brother. Fine. He knew his way home, too.

And I’ve lost dogs before their time. Accidents. Sometimes with cars, sometimes with poisons like antifreeze. Queenie just vanished one day, that was the toughest of all because there was more anxiety in not knowing. It’s never easy and my initial, gut reaction every time is that’s it. No more dogs. No more heartbreaks. That would only last about two or three nights before I’d go puppy shopping.

Today, it’s different. Gracie and Joker have the run of the house and an 80 x 100-foot backyard to patrol, but they are never off the property without a leash. Except at the park, at sunup, most mornings, before the joggers are out. It makes my day, watching the sun rise and the dogs run. I’m not alone. The park is about 1,300 acres and often there a dozen dogs or more, running free. Not a leash in sight. Not on the dogs, anyway. Our town has a leash law, so all us owners carry leashes. Ironically, we wear them around our necks in case the nice policeman happens into the park.

Here, the dogs have the run of the wild. There’s a river that runs through it, and a pond with ducks to chase, and lots of natural woods and brush to explore.

I know all the dogs’ names but their owner’s names I sometimes get confused. All the canines get along, from Nadia, the Great Dane, to Taco, the Chihuahua, they play and scout together or just ignore each other. There are very few fights. When they do get gnarly, we give them a few seconds to solve it on their own, and they usually do. I can’t remember the last time we had to break up a dog fight. Us owners get along, too, as long we stay away from politics. We’re a mix of nurses, lawyers, bikers, shop owners and retirees. Some of us get together a few times a year for pizza and beer, but, really, we all have very little in common aside from our love of dogs.

Lately, I’ve had three dogs home with me a few days a week, including my son’s Maltese – Shih Tzu mix, “Trixie.” She’s a 14-week old fluff ball who is still finding her legs. She hops more than runs and can walk a few steps on just her rears while begging with her fronts. Trixie is as cute as a button when she does this, and at just three pounds she’s not much bigger! Gracie and Joker are very careful around Trixie. Gracie has adopted a motherly attitude, wagging her tail playfully as Trixie tries to catch it, and she allows Trixie to climb all over her. Trixie may be small but her little teeth are sharp. When she gets too friendly with her mouth, Gracie lets her know it! Joker is afraid of her unless Trixie is in my lap. On the floor, Joker runs away whenever she approaches. Joker likes to roughhouse and I think she knows Trixie is too fragile for her usual antics. Joker’s the same way with all the puppies at the park, too, regardless of size. Funny how they know.

Trixie has her own bed but prefers to sleep on a human, on my shoulder to be accurate. While I’m watching TV, she’ll fall asleep and snore in my ear, which makes me laugh. My laughter wakes her up, then she licks my ear and falls back asleep, and it starts all over again.

If they don’t allow dogs in Heaven, then, when I die, I want to go where they go.

Feb 21

So All Can Learn

So All Can Learn: A Practical Guide to Differentiation by John McCarthy

 

This exciting new book is just what is needed today! It will help new teachers, as well as those with many years’ experience, reach students in a time-efficient manner. New ideas are fine. But if one doesn’t have the time to implement them, they are not going to happen.

 

What makes So All Can Learn, https://www.amazon.com/All-Can-Learn-Practical-Differentiation/dp/1475825714/, so relevant is that it gives the information, as well as the encouragement and resources, to create differentiated lessons today! It also shows why student ownership is essential as well as giving ideas on how to gain it. When students are involved in lesson planning and assessment, they’re self-motivated to do a good job.

 

I remember one fourth grade reading class. My students were of average intelligence or better but you’d never know it looking at their scores. I could see them struggling every day. This book would have been a big help! Its resources, strategies, and guidance would have given me so many great ideas and saved me so much time! Instead I had to invent the wheel by myself.

 

I also remember one of my favorite third grade math classes. The students came in every day smiling, happy and enthusiastic—until we got to word problems. Then I watched their moods sink. Why? Many of them were reading below grade level. They could do the math, but they couldn’t read the problems. So they didn’t know what they were being asked to do.

 

When I read about Assessment Fog in Chapter 3, it really resonated with me. That was the problem I had faced. Yes, I solved it, but again, it took a lot of time. If I had had So All Can Learn, with all its resources, I could have created fog free assessments much faster.

 

This is why So All Can Learn is so valuable. It has, all in one place, the ideas, suggestions and resources that teachers need to help create successful differentiated lessons quickly.

 

If you’ve enjoyed reading this piece, and would like to support the author, please click on this link: https://www.amazon.com/John-McCarthy/e/B01MZ9EX0A/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0

Once the page opens up, on the left, is a link that says, “Follow the Author”. Click on it. This shows Amazon that people value John and it helps sell the book. Thanks!!!

 

Claire Murray, M.A., L.P.C., N.C.C.

Feb 18

Coffee shop Chronicles: An awkward coffee conversation

January 2017

Starbucks

Livonia, MI

My fingertips touch the grande cup of coffee when I think to ask, “This isn’t yours, is it?”

“Oh no,” the guy next to me says. “I watched her make mine because I got hazelnut in it. I’m trying something new.”

I didn’t really think it was mine; I was being polite. I always order a tall coffee in a grande cup so I have room to add milk. The barista set my side of steamed 2% milk on the counter at the same time she put his tall coffee down. That’s why I asked. Just in case.

It’s an embarrassing thing to touch someone else’s coffee cup. What’s the etiquette? I’ve seen people ask for a new cup of coffee, perhaps thinking of all the germy diseases that transferred from that two-second touch. I’ve seen people walk away without a second thought. Do you, the toucher, ask the touched if they want you to buy them a new cup of coffee? Touching a for-here mug, however, is that whole salad bar sneeze guard thing, except that there’s no sneeze guard at a coffee shop. Fortunately, I don’t need to worry about etiquette. Not today.

“I’m not a hazelnut person,” I say, stirring a Splenda packet in my mug. “What kind of coffee did you get?”

“Just the regular, the Pike,” he says. “I’m just a coffee guy. What about you?”

“I got a Veranda.”  He stares at me. This conversation has just turned awkward.

“It’s the blonde roast,” I explain. That’s how the Starbucks baristas refer to it. There’s dark, medium and light roast. Blonde is the lightest; Pike Place is the standard medium roast; and there’s a rotating variety of dark roast. Knowing to say “blonde roast” means you’re hip with the proper terms and slang to fit in. You know how to order a drink. You’re a regular. I’m a regular, but I still refer to the coffee by the BEAN/BLEND itself, mostly because the dark roast rotates. The average blue collar drinker uses the roast terms. Will this guy understand me?

“I’ve never had that,” he says as he pours excess, filled-to-the brim coffee into the trash bag.

Ew. This is why, I get a grande cup. Would you pour hot liquid into your trash bag at home?

“It’s the light roast,” I say, reaching for another Splenda. “It’s smooth…”

“Oh, yeah, yeah,” he interrupts me.

I’m a bit put out. He wanted to experience something new with his hazelnut. I want to share with him something I like that could turn into a new experience for him.

“They used to offer a vanilla blonde,” I continue, thinking of our shared reference of flavored syrup. I pause, he’s staring at me. I can’t tell if its stop or go, so I continue, “But the vanilla took away from the taste.”

He looks down at his coffee, stirring. I look over his shoulders at the signage board. It’s a place for my eyes to rest on before stirring more milk into my coffee.

“I got a friend who’s a coffee specialty guy. He comes for the special coffee,” the guy says.

Special coffee? What’s that? I’d like to try it if there’s something unique. “Does he come here to this store?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Oh, he must get the Reserve coffee,” I say, pointing to the signage board I was just staring at. Good move there. This store is a Clover location, which is one that has a special coffee machine. A Clover coffee was the first cup of coffee I had today, but you can only get a free refill with one of the regular coffees.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says, his voice energetic, finally. He had sounded impatient, like I was keeping him from leaving or something, but now, he continues the conversation. “I call him a coffee connoisseur.”

If your speech could roll its eyes, this would be it. He wipes up his trash–poured coffee–he spilled. “Me, I’m a coffee guy.”

It’s that act of wiping the coffee that catches my eye and stops me. He’s cleaning up his mess, like he would do at home. And he’s really cleaning it up, wiping hard with the napkin and scrubbing the counter space.

‘Just coffee guys’ don’t do that. Heck, coffee connoisseurs don’t do that.  I do it when I can because there’s nothing more icky than setting your cup down on a sticky counter. Even when I put a napkin down first, I hope that sticky drop under my napkin is honey.

He says something else, but it’s that friendly garble-rush of someone finishing a conversation with no room to continue. I don’t hear what it is because I stare at his clean counter area. I was wrong about him? He takes a seat at the window seat behind me. So, he wasn’t rushing to get out to his car after all. For some reason, him sitting there surprises me. Regardless, our moment is over.

I’ve spilled some Splenda on the counter. I’d wipe it and brush it into the trash bag, but there’s a rim around the trash bag that I can’t get over. I brush the white powder on the floor instead. It’s something.