Tuesday, December 11, 2007

XNA European Tour 2007: Videos from Belgium and Finland Available

To those that didn't get a chance to attend the XNA Game Studio European Tour, never fear. Our partners around Europe are finalizing and uploading the recorded sessions so you can view them and learn all about XNA as if you were right there.

I'm proud to announce two such sessions are now available for you to view; the first comes from our partners in Belgium, the second from our partners in Finland.

Belgium

The Belgium sessions are available in Silverlight format only, and require a few clicks to subscribe to MSDN Chopsticks.

Democratization of Game Development - Dave Mitchell
Build a Game in 60 Minutes - Charles Cox
XNA 2.0 Deep Dive - Charles Cox
Future View and Call to Action - Luc Van de Velde
Benelux Game Initiative - Tommy Goffin

Finland

The Finland sessions are all available in non-Silverlight format, however: the coding sessions are available in a Silverlight-enhanced format that seperates out the code and the speaker (that's me). I highly recommend the Silverlight version.

Democratization of Game Development - Dave Mitchell
Making Games for a Living - Jyri 'Jay' Ranki
Build a Game in 60 Minutes - Charles Cox - Watch in Silverlight!
XNA 2.0 Deep Dive - Charles Cox - Watch in Silverlight!


Enjoy, and I'll be bringing you more as they arrive!

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Sunday, December 09, 2007

XNA Game Studio European Tour 2007 - Photos Now Online

The collection of photos I and others took for the XNA Game Studio European Tour 2007 is now available on Flickr:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/agentcox/collections/72157603421195725/

Enjoy!

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Tuesday, December 04, 2007

Europe, Day 8: Closure in Copenhagen

My mind’s reflection centers are rapidly closing down – the event is over. From its start in Dublin, Ireland, and now closing the last two days in Helsinki, Finland and Copenhagen, Denmark, the XNA Game Studio European Tour 2007 has been an unprecedented success.

There are blogs and forum postings detailing community reactions in almost every venue. We are headed to Tivoli Gardens to celebrate this evening, and tomorrow morning at 10 AM I board a plane for London, and then for home.

It's not unlike me to get reflective at times like this.

Helsinki, Yesterday

We are standing on the steps of the cathedral. Helsinki is under a gray sky, a grainy colloid of old mixed with new. Gravel sprinkled everywhere melts the recent snowfall.

I am awake. After Dreamhack, it has been almost impossible to regain any strength to pull through, but I finally have what I need – fresh air, and the proximity of a culture that’s more than just the here, the now, the digital.

It was years ago, early on in my career in Microsoft that I began to realize that I could live only short sketches of life surrounded by the sterile triumvirate of glass, black, and chrome designs that signal the apogee of the modern age. For the first time in what felt like years, I stepped out among the trees and saw them not as resources, but as symbioses, variables in an equation owned not by us, but by the larger structure.

I realize the same feeling is upon me – and satisfied – on the steps of the Helsinki Cathedral. We are games, games are us, but it is more than we’re concerned with at the moment.

We work long hours. We suffer intolerable crunches. We are prone to shortsightedness. Too often, we make ourselves – or others – victims of our inability to see integration in everything we do; how what we create today may affect so many tomorrow.

The cathedral’s insides are handsome, sparse, functional. They bring with them not the unstructured sketches of early worship, or the gilded, dyed tones of later hierarchical religions, but a sense of form and scale. An engineer’s cathedral, perhaps.

Mathematics, logic – these things intersect the planes of belief and culture – perhaps no more visibly so than in games. As we look forward to a day of free expression in interactive form, for all, not just through the filters of top-down production, it is on my mind to understand that games have a point.

It’s not that they didn’t before. It’s just that more people are listening.

Helsinki-Vantaa Airport

The snow is blowing sideways. Deicing vehicles are spraying down the waiting aircraft, including our Avro jet to Copenhagen.

I remember the social atmosphere at the University of Helsinki. The scholastic home, of course, of Linus Torvalds – the driving force behind Linux. We, as Microsoft, were an orthogonal concept – the very definition of an enemy force, well behind their lines.

The students were open-minded. They did not jeer, they did not shout us down, they did not reject us. There have been so many ideas I have seen – and some that I have worked on – that have short-sighted goals in mind: goals of domination, offense, position-jockeying, gamesmanship. These, I feel, would have been called out and rejected, and rightly so. But I feel that what I am doing now represents a belief in something that transcends these short-sighted tactics and focuses on serving a new and emerging need that people genuinely want – if only in small baby steps.

XNA Game Studio was not for everyone. It was clear enough through this tour that not everyone wants to be a game developer, and in the group of those that do, not everyone wants to use XNA Game Studio. This is good, this is normal, this is healthy. This does not scream the needle’s far-right peg of quackery, nor does it seem a deflated and uninteresting concept when played in front of the European stage.

I can say then, that XNA is building and moving a resource that will become part of the larger ecosystem of games, and of the larger world we live, work, and play in. It is growing its own legs now, and the community is allowing it the space to continue to thrive.

For that, for the reception I have received in every country, in every venue, and for what that courtesy indicates – an acceptance of a product that is on the way toward passing the global metric for what we believe to be genuinely good for our future – I thank you; it reinforces that this product is worth working on, worth tweaking, worth restructuring as we learn more about the world around us, both digital and corporeal.

As one of the many messengers to bring the news and teach the platform: Ireland, Austria, Italy, Belgium, Sweden, Finland, Denmark – thank you for everything.

Now let’s get to work and build some games!

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Monday, November 26, 2007

Europe, Day 1 Midnight: Vienna


The phone is ringing. It’s ringing, and I’m taking a shower.

I know why it’s ringing, of course. I also know, because the bathroom I’m in is a futuristic, clinical one-wash all in white tile with integrated shower, toilet and sink, that the phone on the wall of the bathroom will be waterproof.

I really don’t want to answer it, because I know why it’s ringing. They think there’s trouble. They think there’s trouble because I saw a long length of cord wired to a switch on the wall, and I pulled it. Curiosity got the best of me then, as it does now, as I pick up the phone.

“Room 212,” I answer. Maybe the guy on the other end will be fooled by my professionalism and, instead of telling me what he’s going to tell me, he’ll go “oh, you’re the guy in room 212? Let me tell you, you’re alright.”

Instead: “Hello – this is Stephen at reception. Is everything okay? Your alarm has just been triggered.”

Earlier

Vienna strikes me as a chemical city – in the midnight nearness there’s really only the forests of great industrial gas pipes and hulks of liquid storage tanks along this stretch of highway. There is a materials-processing smell that hangs about.

We are driving under blue neon-lit underpasses, while I scribble notes in my notebook in the dark. One day, I realize, I’d like to get really superb at writing in the dark. Right now, it ends up listed off to one side like a badly-drawn ship in child’s crayon seas.

Long stretches of grassland along the highway sprout wind turbine stalks occasionally – the European kind with the three blades that never spin faster than you could do by hand. Well, if it were smaller. These are a few stories tall.

With the city looming ahead and the background sparse green and farm, I realize where I’ve seen this before. Fort Worth, Texas.

I’m in Fort Worth.

Panic Room

I shake the memory and realize I’m still on the red phone to the front desk, talking life and death. Not thirty minutes ago I met Stephen for the first time. Tired from a long day, but jovial, he offered us free airline miles when we checked in. Now, he’s wondering one of two things as he waits for my response:




  • God, I hope he’s alright. Did he fall? Is there a burglar? Can he speak? Maybe he’s being held hostage...


  • Those goddamn Americans always pull the alarm cord.



But he can’t say those things. He just tells me my alarm has been triggered, and waits for me to make the next move in the conversation.

Note the tone and the inferences here – your alarm has been triggered. Nothing accusatory here even though I did the boneheaded American thing to do and pulled on a rope for no discernible reason other than that it had the bad fortune to exist within arm’s reach.

As I explain down the situation to Stephen and try to keep dripping water and shampoo out of my eyes, I look down and notice that the cord just about reaches the floor, where someone – if they had fallen down during a shower, would be able to crawl, and with their last vestiges of strength, pull down the cord and trip the tiny switch. A lifesaving device – and I fiddled with it.

Don’t blame me – I’m an American, and life-and-death stuff is always painted red. This was white cord with a black knot. And who the hell expects an alarm cord?
I pull on things, press things, try things.

Hell, there was no way to have known how to turn on the lights in the room by any amount of reading, and I would have been reduced to exploring the minibar in absolute darkness if I hadn’t looked at the little black box by the door, my keycard, and felt like it might be interesting to put one inside the other. The screwer-abouters influence never dies; Et in Arcadia Ego.

“You can press the green button by your door to deactivate the alarm.”

Very staid. Adopting the stance myself, I assure with Stephen the non-emergency nature of the emergency, hang up, shake off the excess water and resolve to turn off the alarm immediately and save good-natured hospitality rescue teams from destroying their own double-peepholed door.

As I step naked out of the bathroom and cross to the door, I freeze. My feet, still wet, are making a cold pool underneath me, but I’m motionless, as if tracked by a Tyrannosaur; my eyes catch two red lights that weren’t lit before on the head of my bed, and below them, the unfeeling diode eye of a camera.

I have just activated an alarm-based closed-circuit recording. I am naked. In front of the camera. And in the interests of litigation that may ever rise from even trivial or false alarms, I know instinctively that this footage of me, frozen in horror and naked, will be stored forever.

At least I got a shower.

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Sunday, November 25, 2007

Europe, Day 0A: Aerial Farming

The Club World section of a British Airways 747 looks a little bit like a corporate cubicle outlay – gut-high partitions separate alternating bow-and-stern facing seat arrangements in a sort of transverse Air Force kind of way – pilot never notices navigator, and so on – dividers ensure you don’t have to see your one-hundred and eighty degree neighbor if you don’t want to.

I am amazed at the brilliance of the design of the cabin – the seats themselves contain a startling variety of things-that-hinge-out-from-inside-other-things, and lit panel arrangements yield to curious fingers to discover the entire seat arrangement is on electronically-actuated motors that flatten, raise, or otherwise contort the seat in ways that can really only be described by eigenvectors, perhaps more easily visualized as your grandpa’s recliner on Superbowl Sunday.

Footrests and snap-out remote controls for the television screen – on-demand video systems showing the latest movies and absolutely nothing starring Ben Stiller. Power plugs and a miniature travel kit with revitalizing eye cream (I have no idea where or when to apply revitalizing eye cream).

Even the overhead compartments mesmerize in some geometric way that fixes my attention until I can figure it out: the oval forms of the storage spaces are rotated, they lie horizontally amidships, flat in the vertical direction unlike the tall, big-brother storage spaces of the short-hop aircraft; it evokes in me the zero-angle zaftig-visions of 50’s UFOs, when things were curvy without apology.

I think my grade-school teachers would call this flat-across arrangement “the hamburger way”: orthogonal to the “hot dog” way, you see, where the long axis is up and down. I’ve been trying for years to explain this concept and it’s clearly still not working. That’s public education for you.

The silverware is weighty, though the lack of serrated edges on the knives reveals a flaw in the so-far sparkling stone; it is the reality of a recently-conflicted world. Another conflict to resolve is my own issue with airline gourmet; they serve antipasto for starters, and halfway through my consuming something beyond my food pay grade – a mushroom pate, I‘m assuming – my palate screams back to my more Virginia-agrarian roots, and I sink my teeth into a warm dinner roll. Ah, there we go.

My purposely-dulled knife is unable to score the skin of the tomato I’m served, and I’m left with a smashed seedy pool on my plate that looks, if you arrange the artichokes the right way, vaguely like the remains of a car crash. Screw you, 9/11.

Finally, the main course is out, and again, nods are made to air security. The steak – or more appropriately, short rib – is sirloin-ish, easy to cut. Sort of meatloafy. You get the idea. The gravy, however, forgives all transgressions, and the whole of the thing is sensible while somewhat sensuous. How did they do that?

All this, note, while we passengers retain only the vaguest of senses around being transported somewhere else, somewhere that’s expensive enough to justify eye cream and miniature glasses of Chardonnay (serial-numbered to avoid theft). In this reality, with a service crew and little to no word from the flight deck, the mechanics of the journey are the afterthought, not the primary. The service crew is careful to shut any open windows to maintain a running illusion that we’re actually in someone’s house and they – with apologies – simply have the vacuum cleaner running.

I mention this not to emphasize or elevate my own station, but to indicate that there remains something worthwhile about air travel. I have previously pointed to my love of airplanes and the travel culture surrounding them, and maintained, in the midst of the screaming babies and foil-wrapped meals in coach that there was something still redeeming about civilian consumer flight. Dignity aloft.

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Monday, November 12, 2007

Updated: Charles Cox at Microsoft XNA Game Studio European Tour 2007

UPDATED: Final tour links posted (Ireland is sold out!)



Well, I suppose if you see it on the web, it must be true - I'm headed to Europe for a couple of weeks as part of the Microsoft XNA Game Studio European Tour 2007.

While there, I'll be presenting information on the newest version of XNA Game Studio, and doing that trick where I put together a game in an hour.

Here are the dates, locations, and sign-up links (if you're the international type):

November 26th - Dublin, Ireland (SOLD OUT) link

November 27th - Vienna, Austria link

November 28th - Milan, Italy link

November 29th - Mechelen, Belgium link

November 30th - Stockholm, Sweden (At the Swedish Game Awards) link

December 03rd - Helsinki, Finland link

December 04th - Copenhagen, Denmark link


We're looking at nearly twenty seperate presentation sessions, a couple thousand people, constant travel and questionable (read: negligible) amounts of sleep. I'm sensing a lot of macaroni and cheese. If you're in the area and get a shot of me looking like a half-dead raccoon, just remember that it's for a good cause.

I'll be posting what I can, from where I can, when I can. That may be never. Wish me fair tailwinds and benevolent Wi-Fi.

See you on the road!

Flags by markfennell.com.

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