THE DAILY NUBB

At some point when I was a kid, I realized I was bright. Not Shakespeare or Einstein smart, neither of whom would have been part of my comparative calculus at the time anyway. Still, it was pretty clear that I had a predilection for words, ideas, discrete facts–the more arcane the better. Decades later, I’m still not entirely sure where that tendency comes from, but it’s still true. I like knowing stuff, especially the stuff I find interesting. Small things, easily forgotten, ferreted out, savored, and preserved. Pondered later, sometimes even shared.

Fortunately, my early teen years aligned with the advent of affordable home computers. My rig of choice? The Commodore 64. I remember getting it for Christmas, breaking it out of the packaging, setting it up in my room using a 13″ TV in lieu of a monitor. Of special note for those unfamiliar with the setup? The enormous disk drive and the iconic floppies that made it hum. It was the era of computer clubs and early BBSes accessed from dial-up modems.

A lot of the early stuff that I remember playing on my C64 was unremarkable, but that all changed when I came across Zork: The Great Underground Empire. Published by Infocom, a company I would come to love, Zork was unlike anything I had ever played before. There were no graphics. None. Only words. Visually sparse and entirely dependent on language, an aesthetic that appeals to me still. The premise was as simple as the opening scenario: you appear west of a white house, and what happens next depends entirely on your keystrokes. L to look around. I for inventory. A simple cardinal direction would move you from one place to the next, provided a path existed. After each turn, new text would appear, describing the room you had entered, objects you observed. I had played some Dungeons & Dragons over the years and enjoyed it. Again, the arcane knowledge thing, right? But this was different. I could do this on my own or with friends while the Infocom wizards did all the work. The world of Zork sprawled in every direction, inviting the adventurer to pursue priceless objects while solving puzzle after puzzle–many of which had to be completed in a certain order, within a fixed time frame. Later generations would grow up learning they had died of dysentery on the Oregon Trail; we learned that we had entered a dark place and were likely to be eaten by a grue. We mapped it. We shared tips and new discoveries. But most of all, we played and imagined the entire world as line after line of descriptive text painted it for us. Thankfully, Infocom didn’t stop with Zork. There were two more in the series. I was especially fond of Zork II: The Wizard of Frobozz. More treasures, more puzzles, more worlds to explore and map–sometimes even on graph paper.

There are lots of reasons I’m grateful that I was blessed with an inquisitive mind and a fondness for words and ideas. Same with games. I love playing them even now, all kinds. Bigs and I have a beloved game franchise these days, and it certainly has elements that Infocom would appreciate: cool words to know, huge worlds to explore, elaborate challenges to overcome. Granted, it’s graphics-rich as virtually all games are now, but the spirit is the same. Sharing it and figuring it out together (though he’s usually way ahead of me) are probably the best parts, though. He’s curious and sharp also, in ways both similar and different. He would’ve loved Zork back then, too.

No big lessons, nothing preachy from here. That’s not how we do it here. I’m just glad to reflect on something dear and wickedly fun from my early teen years while also considering how wonderfully rich and surprising the world is when we’re curious enough (and bright enough) to find out about it.

Trusty brass lantern in hand, I explore….

Nubbs