#that could only be found by decoding various coded messages on my theme- it was so fun

[amischiefofmuses]

☑️ British ☑️ Puzzle solver ☑️ Nervous nerd ☑️ Excited about hieroglyphics Magpie is Steven confirmed?

Damn, my ruse has been uncovered. It's been Steven ghost-writing this blog all along, you bloody caught me out. And here I thought I was being subtle.

[duhragonball]

‘21

Amidst all the popular hype for seeing the end of 2020, it didn’t hit me until about lunchtime what the real highlight is that I’ve been waiting for: For the first time since 1999, the year finally ends in “numberty-number” again.    It low-key irritated me that we had to call it “two thousand three” and I was relieved when “twenty-thirteen” caught on, but it still wasn’t right because it was too short, and now we’re back in the sweet spot, and I should be safely dead by 2100, so that’s one less thing I gotta deal with.

Really, even “numberty hundred” rings true to me.    “Nineteen hundred” sounds like a year.    “Twenty-one-oh-six” sounds like a futur-y year, which is even cooler.   So did “Two thousand five”, until I was actually living in it, and it sounds even worse now that it was a long time ago and adults will talk about their childhood happening in that year.    Daniel Witwicky would be old enough to get married and grow a fancier beard than me.    That’s nuts.    My point is that, honestly, it’s the year 3000-3019 that I have to worry about, so if I ever decide to go vampire, those will be the years I hide in the ocean or force society to reset the calendar, whichever’s easier.  

I spent New Year’s Eve finishing Superliminal, which I bought on Steam after I watched Vegeta play it on YouTube.  It has a similar look and feel to the Stanley Parable, so if you liked one you’d probably enjoy the other, although Superliminal has a different theme.  I kept hoping I’d find some secret passage that I wasn’t supposed to take, and a narrator would scold me for finding the “Chickenbutt Ending”, but it doesn’t work that way.    Superliminal’s all about puzzles and awesome visuals, but it does have the same soothing design aesthetics as TSP.   Honestly, I enjoyed just wandering around in Stanley’s office, and Superliminal does the same thing with a hotel and several other settings.   It’s nice.

This got me thinking about how I kind of did everything there was to do in The Stanley Parable, and I sort of wished they would add new stuff to the game, but I’m not sure there would be much point to that.    I could play the older version, but it presents the same message, just with different assets.   The Boss’s Office would look different, but it’d be the same game.   And this got me thinking about various “secret chapters” in pop culture.  Secrets behind the cut.

I first heard about this idea in the 2000′s, when fans invented this notion that there was a secret chapter of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.    I read a website that tried to explain the concept, and of course it lauded J.K. Rowling with all this gushing praise for working an Easter egg into the book, a literary work of “well, magic.”  

That pretty well sums up my distaste for Harry Potter, by the way.    These days, JKR has thoroughly crapped all over her reputation and legacy, but in the 2000′s it felt like half the planet was in a mad rush to canonize her as a writing goddess, to the point where fans were congratulating her for writing secret chapters that didn’t actually exist.   The idea was based on lore from the books about Neville Longbottom’s parents.    They were patients in a mental hospital, and he’d go to visit them, and they would give him bubble gum wrappers, intended to demonstrate how far remove they’ve become from reality.   The secret chapter lies in those wrappers, which all read “Droobles Best Blowing Gum” or some such.    What if Neville’s parents were only pretending to be mentally ill, so as to throw off their enemies?   Naturally, they would want to stay in contact with their son, so the bubble gum wrappers would have to contain coded messages.    Said code involves unscrambling the letters on the wrappers to make new words, like “goblin” or “sword” or “Muggle” or “Dumbledore”.    The problem is that you can also use it to make other words like “booger” or “drool” or “booobbiess.”   Play with it enough, and you can make the code say anything you want it to say, which means it’s no code at all.   

But the idea was that the not-yet-published sixth HP book would reveal all of this gum wrapper nonsense, and Neville would decode the messages and discover all of his parents’ super-cool adventures.   I’m not sure why we needed a secret chapter if Book 6 was going to explain all of this anyway in several not-secret chapters, but that was the whole point.   Fans didn’t have Book 6 yet, and they were so desperate to read it that they started trying to extrapolate what would happen next based on “clues” from the previous five.    That’s like trying to figure out what Majin Buu looks like by watching the Androids Saga.   I guess some wiseguy would have guessed that he’d resemble #19, but that’d just be blind luck.  

And when you get down to it, this whole secret chapter business is really just a conspiracy.   This is literally how Qanon works.   Some anonymous jackass posted vague “hints” on an imageboard, and people went goofy trying to interpret them and figure out what would happen in the future.   They call it “research” because they spend a ton of time on this, but there’s no basis to any of it.    It took me a few minutes to figure out that you can spell “Muggle” with the words in “Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum”, but that’s not research and it doesn’t prove anything.   But all these guys keep looking for “Hilary Clinton goes to jail next week” and lo and behold that’s all they ever find.   

In the same vein, the gum wrapper thing was really a complaint disguised as a conspiracy, disguised as a “magical secret chapter”.   At least a few fans wanted to see more Neville in their Harry Potter books, they wanted Neville’s parents, or someone like them, to have cool spy adventures or whatever else.   The point is, they clearly weren’t getting what they wanted out of the printed works, but they didn’t want to turn against their Dear Beloved Author, so they started casting about for an alternative reality, one where J.K. Rowling wrote a cooler story and hid it in the pages of the one that actually went to press.    So instead of just saying “Hey, Order of the Phoenix was kind of a letdown, I hope there’s more ninjas in the next book,” they said “Rowling is a genius because I wanted ninjas and she’s definitely going to give them to me, I have the gum wrappers to prove it.”

The same thing happened all over again when the BBC Sherlock show took a turn for the nonsensical.    I don’t know from BBC Sherlock, but I watched the fascinating video critique by Hbomberguy, and it sounds like the show did tons of plot twists until it stopped making sense altogether in the fourth season.    If you skip to 1:09:00 in the video, you’ll hear about fan theories that suggested that season four was supposed to be crappy, as part of a secret meta-narrative plan that would be paid off in a secret, unannounced episode that would not only explain everything, but retroactively justify the crappy episodes that came before.    But it’s been a few years and it never came to pass, so I think we can call this myth busted. 

Most recently, I think we’ve all seen a lot of talk about the final season of Supernatural, where I guess Destiel sort of became canon but only one guy does the love confession and the other doesn’t respond.   But I guess he does say “I love you too”  in the Spanish dub, which means the English language version was edited for whatever reason.    It’s not exactly a secret episode, but the implication is that there’s more to this than what made it to the screen.    So the questions turn to what the screenplay said, what the writers and actors wanted to do, etc. etc.    My general impression is that SPN fans are a bit more used to crushing disappointment, so they’re not quite as delusional about this show being unquestionable genius, like Sherlock and Harry Potter.     Maybe this is an Anglophile thing?   Like, if you suck at something with a British accent, people will accept it more unconditionally?   

I had seen something on Twitter about how there should have been a secret Seinfeld episode in the 90′s.    Someone suggested it at the time, they tape a whole episode, then wait until 2020 to air it, because by then it would be worth a fortune.    But they didn’t do it, because it costs a lot of money to make a TV episode, and if you don’t air the show right away, you aren’t making that money back any time soon.    Yeah, you might recoup a fortune someday, but Seinfeld was making a ton of money then.    It exposes the fannish nature of the idea.    A fan would love to discover a cool secret chapter, but a content creator isn’t necessarily keen on making a cool thing and then hiding it where few people would find it.  

I thought about doing this myself recently.   Maybe Supernatural gave me the bug, but I thought “I’m writing this big-ass story, so what if I wrote me a secret chapter for it?   Wouldn’t that be cool?”     But no, it wouldn’t be cool, because it’d be the same work as writing a regular chapter, and the same stress I feel when I hold off on publishing it.    Except I’d just never publish it, I’d put it in some secret hole on the internet and hope that some superfan who might not even exist can decode whatever clues I leave.  

I mean, it’d be awesome if it got discovered and everyone loved it.    “Hey, I found this hidden chapter!   Mike’s done it again!”   And I could bask in the glory.   But what if no one finds it?  Then I just wasted my time, right?   I want people to read my work.   My monkey brain needs the sweet, sweet validation of those kudos and comments, folks.   Once I realized that, I understood why no one else would want to do a secret chapter either.    Easter eggs are one thing, but the bigger bonus features they put on DVDs were pretty easy to find, and with good reason.

I think that’s what made the Stanley Parable so appealing to play, because it teases you with the idea that you can “break” the game and find some extra content that you weren’t supposed to see, but as you go exploring all those hidden areas, it gradually becomes clear that this is just part of the game; you were meant to find all these things, and that’s why they were put here.      It’s hidden, but he secret aspect of it is just pretend.   

I suppose that what I like about games like TSP and Superliminal is the illusion of secrets more than the secrets themselves.    I like roaming through the hallways, having no idea what I might find ahead.    I kind of wish I could open all the doors, and not just the ones the game designers put stuff behind, but the reality is that there’s nothing on the other side.    I used a cheat code once  to explore the unused doors in TSP and it’s just a bright white field on the other side.   Interesting to look at, but not much of a reveal.   Honestly, the doors themselves are more appealing than anything that could lay behind them.  

And that’s probably what makes secrets so fun.   They could be almost anything, but once you open the present, the number of possibilities drops to one.   If they had ever made that Secret BBC Sherlock Episode, I doubt it would have lived up to expectations, but fans could amuse themselves by imagining what could have been in it.    In the end, though, things usually don’t justify the hype.  For every Undertaker debut at Survivor Series 1990, there’s a Gobbledygooker debut at Survivor Series 1990.   It’s impossible to manufacture a secret with a guaranteed payoff.   

[23-21-12-6]

Analysis

On October 23, 1966, Chanie Wenjack, a boy taken from his family because of who he was and who they are, died trying to return home. His is a story that deserves to be told and should be told, certainly by one more skilled than me, his among many others. But can these stories be told accurately? And if so, what obstacles might stand in the way?

Within Philosophical Investigations, philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein suggests that individual words, or even sentences, only have meaning because of what he called “language-games” because, similar to “normal” games, language-games have a set of rules. It is from the application of these rules that words obtain a meaning. A meaning, singular, because rules and their resulting meanings for a particular word can change between games due to communication’s constant evolution. As an example, Wittgenstein uses the word “water”. Even used in isolation from any other words, “water” could be a command to be brought some for drinking, an alert to a leak or spill, or even as a code word. Meanings aren’t even fixed within a particular language-game; they can be fluid in use, like water.

Wittgenstein didn’t limit the idea of language-games to only word-based communication by using the example of a builder instructing where their assistant should place stones via pointing. Though he applied this to only objective communication, I believe he could have with good reason.

Human communication can be split into two groups: cross-cultural and intercultural. Cross-cultural communications are methods that everyone should be able to recognize, a set of universal rules for every language-game such as weeping being recognized as emotional distress regardless of the audience.  These sorts of indicators are instinctual and vague, unlike intercultural communication which is taught and precise. Intercultural communication is everything else: rules that are not seen in every culture, community, or scenario. These rules can range from widely recognized gestures such as pointing to natural languages such as English or French, to regional dialects, to slang, or to location-specific references.

This is the first problem with telling the story of Wenjack: particularly to a wide audience, using intercultural communication isn’t intrinsically more precise. Using words or interpretations that are too specific to a demographic will leave many unaccommodated. Generally, the broadest and most widely understood yet precise game is a natural language which dictionaries attempt to define and upon mediums such as encyclopedias rely. The Canadian Encyclopedia’s article for Wenjack uses no local slang and only terms that could be easily found in a dictionary. If there was any ambiguity, as for the term “Residential School”, or for a local term such as the place-name “Kenora”, then there is a link provided leading to an exposition. Though all word-based communication is intercultural, not all intercultural communication is word-based. Many cultures, including construction, have some form of “pointing”, but there can be important variations, sometimes within a single system, each form possessing its own meaning.

Wittgenstein only mentioned Intercultural communication but didn’t include all forms within: abstract symbolism was omitted. Some symbolism does only represent words, such as the octagonal “stop” sign, some also objective indicators: “x marks the spot”. The digital information particularly has worked best with icons, such as the reload, save, like, and go-back symbols that have become intuitive without being fixed to a natural language. However, abstract symbols have abstract meanings. Ravens are a popular animal for symbolism. Their scavenging habits have led many cultures to see them as representing death, not “death”, but the idea of death. Native cultures in North America instead saw their resourcefulness and intelligence as the signs of a prolific trickster; a character rather than a trait. In both the lyrical and illustrational aspects of Secret Path, a project directed by Gord Downie to tell Wenjack’s story, a raven accompanies Wenjack. As the story nears its end and Wenjack his death, the raven becomes more prominent. In the third last track of the album, the raven begins to speak to Wenjack saying “I know a way that I can help you.” Whether what follows are honest proposals with honest intentions I am still not sure.

The bases of all communication can be described by a model derived by C.E. Simmons which includes 8 steps through which information passes. In order, the steps are Inspiration, composition, encoding, transmission, noise, reception, decoding, then interpretation. However, for our purposes, we can boil it down to just encoding and decoding. As with any game (except maybe hunting and fishing) all participants should understand what game is being played and what the rules are. The presenter, the one who is encoding, needs to understand which “game”, or set of rules, the context calls for and how to effectively use those rules. The audience, those who are decoding, should also understand the set of rules that should be used and reverse engineer the meaning effectively. For anything that can be observed by both speaker and audience, perfect encoding and decoding can result in exact communication for the subject. However, this is only true for what is observable by both parties.

Language games were not Wittgenstein’s only contribution to language theory. To describe subjectivity and limitations in language, he proposed a thought experiment. Suppose everyone each had a box hovering above their head which contains… something. Importantly, only the person to whom the box belongs knows what is inside and everyone calls what is in their box a “beetle”. Wittgenstein uses this idea to show individual perceptions aren’t verifiable and how language can fail to communicate these experiences. We all experience something called pain, but we fail to know and communicate exactly how everyone else experiences pain. We all just call it “pain”. While we don’t know how others feel pain, we can still recognize the signs of cursing, crying, and holding the injured part using empathy. The reaction to pain is instinctual, while pain isn’t cross-culturally or interculturally, the reaction is.

We don’t know how Wenjack felt when he was home, confined to the school, or on the run. However, we can use empathy to make a strong guess as to what he felt. This is his story and he is at the centre of it. His perspective is integral.

              The question then becomes, which reactions, similar to grasping a stubbed toe, are rooted deeply enough in the human psyche that the subjective experiences of Wenjack or anyone else can be communicated, or even better, felt. Intuition is key, shared intuition is better. The methods of communication that result are generally labelled as art. Artists hone their craft, gain and enhance their intuition as a result, and apply it to various degrees of success. I referenced Secret Path earlier. Secret Path is certainly an art project meant to convey more than objective information; whether it be through phonetic lyrics and musical key choices on the album, or through the colour scheme and movement in the graphic novel and animation. I think the colour choice for the illustrations was particularly fantastic.

              What fascinates me is that while this use of colour is largely a form of cross-cultural communication it is still easy to see how it applies to the theory of language-game because right from the beginning it breaks a rule: if it isn’t only black and white, colour is to be used accurately. Secret Path uses only blue in addition to black and white; panning from the sky down to a forest without any green or brown. This breaking of the rule sets up a new rule: only blue, black, and white are used. This sets up a question; why blue?

Blue occurs relatively rarely in nature,  in the sky and in large bodies of water that mostly just reflect the sky, to see blue and only blue on land is a bit disconcerting. People also usually associate blue with sadness or cold, possibly due to blues prominence during winter. This new rule of blue, black, and white also gets broken when Wenjack is remembering his home: portrayed using the full visible colour spectrum but focusing on the warmer colours of yellow and red. The final set of rules relating to colour is that blue represents foreignness, but warm colouring indicates home and security.

              Downie stated that he wanted to get across “the idea of trying to get home.” Given that verbal key, it becomes easier to find that theme in the telling of the story. The last shot of the film is Wenjack’s consciousness walking away from the blue landscape towards a vibrant homestead. However, this is not what I was thinking of when I first heard Wenjack’s story. Though it has been a while since the first reception, I believe my initial thoughts are the same as my current: Wenjack’s forced choice between losing his life or personhood. I do not think that I got the wrong impression, nor do I think Downie failed. There is a dichotomy in communication: that objective encoding and decoding can be accurate, but no matter how some concepts are encoded they will never result in a message unaffected by the audience save by chance. Downie and I could have both had a beetle in our box (trying to get home), but I happen to call mine an apple (forced choice). For cases such as this, I believe there is no right answer because the answer is unknowable.  Works Cited

Carley, Georgia. "Chanie Wenjack". The Canadian Encyclopedia, 01 November 2016, Historica Canada. https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/charlie-wenjack. Accessed 02 January 2021.

Cherry, Kendra. “The Color Psychology of Blue.” Verywell Mind, Verywellmind, 24 Nov. 2005, www.verywellmind.com/the-color-psychology-of-blue-2795815.

“Gord Downie’s The Secret Path - YouTube.” Www.Youtube.com, 23 Oct. 2016, www.youtube.com/watch?v=yGd764YU9yc&t=2357s. Accessed 2 Jan.

2021.Ludwig Wittgenstein, and G  E  M Anscombe. Philosophical Investigations : The English Text of the Third Edition. Englewood Cliffs, N.J. Prentice Hall [Ca, 2000.