Joining together, falling apart.

The Babylon Bee hit one out of the park again the other day: "Archaeologists Uncover Missing Chapter Of Job Where He Has To Put Together IKEA Furniture":

"We knew the suffering of Job was bad, but had no clue it was this bad until now," said Dr. Philippe Domino, professor of Babylonian Studies at Oxford. The new passage of scripture was found miraculously preserved in a bronze age IKEA catalog. He believes it may have been hidden by Jews during the Babylonian exile.

Many of us find that the more we put furniture together, the more we personally fall to pieces. I note that there is an IKEA app, but to my surprise it is just about shopping. I expected it to have a series of increasingly difficult puzzles followed by an escape-the-room game.

But I don't want to blame everything on IKEA. The crib I was asked to help assemble last month wasn't one of theirs. The friend who called said that the instructions explicitly demanded two people for the job, and his wife wasn't up to being a coequal furniture lifter. He also seemed a little daunted by the instructions. That daunted me, because he's a very smart guy and can handle complex projects. If he was worried, what would I think?

Still, the Guy Code calls on one to act when a brother needs help, so of course I couldn't wait.

The thing is, while all consumer-assembled furniture has its little joys and complications in the instructions, cribs have the highest safety standard of any piece of furniture in the house, for obvious reasons. Only something like a self-assembled oven would be worse.  

I tried to be prepared. I printed out a copy of the assembly instructions before I went over. I read it and made notes. It looked simple enough. But no, like any good puzzle adventure, it had hidden traps that would hold us up as we went. One example: The assembly required three different sizes of bolts, which were packed together and were very close in size. Well, of course we used two bolts that were too short early in the process, and you'd better believe that made a difference down the line when the 1/4-inch-longer bolts wouldn't fit. For another: The assembly was almost entirely connected with barrel nuts, which kept rolling in the wrong direction at the worst possible time. Little things like that required stopping, reconsidering, finding, and fixing on a few occasions. I entered the arena like Tool Man Fred, but left humbled, but wiser. I'm glad no one was drinking beer.

In the end we got it done, and it's a lovely piece, sturdier than my own house, a crib that the great Shecky Weeble himself would applaud. The best part about it is that it converts into a bed, so it will suit the baby until he's ready for high school, I think. I should be up to helping assemble a bed by that point.

And I'm glad IKEA doesn't make pianos. They would call them PJANK and they would be as hard to assemble as a nuclear reactor. 

Puzzle Key.

Lookit this dumb thing.

Personally, I don't believe that only 3% of adults can find the different 'KEY.' I think only 1% of adults with normal vision can fail if they take the time to do it, and that 1% is dumber than a sack of cannonballs.

When you have a name like Key, people tend to send you things like this that connect with your name. Usually jealous people, people who have spent their lives spelling out names like Protheroe or Yevdokymenko or Bhattacharyya or Constantinides or Luxuryyacht. (All real names.) (Well, almost.)

There are worst things than having the name of a common object, even if it's an object that has some bad associations, especially one known for always getting lost. In college I knew a guy named Cash, and always wondered if people were hitting him up for money. He's made of money, right? Of course some names are a lot worse, like Wiener, which seems to have been the former congressman's destiny as well as his burden (alternate spelling). On the whole, animal names like Fox or Wolf or even Buffalo would be better. Then again, I never met anyone whose last name was Chicken or Turkey.

Are you familiar with any bad object family names? Or animal names? I'm always curious about this. Not that I'm sulking over the vicious attack on the statue of my dear relative Francis Scott Key, to whom I am not related. I do think they should melt the statue down and make prison bars out of it for the people who destroy public property, That's one way to lock 'em up and throw away the Key.

I'll be curious to hear your thoughts. Meanwhile, I'll be waiting patiently in my usual spot, under the doormat.

Cross words.

Some cross words.

DOWN
1. Homer's object   _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
2. Ray's Famous _ _ _ _ _
3. John Montagu was the 4th Earl of _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
4. "That's a ___!" _ _ _ _
5. "I've got a ____ with you."  _ _ _ _

ACROSS
1. "Smile! Say ____!" _ _ _ _ _ _
2. Schulz's gang _ _ _ _ _ _ _
3. Levinson film _ _ _ _ _
4. Where Izmir is _ _ _ _ _ _
5. Justice Felix _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Chris, but I'd rather you
didn't write clues just before lunch."

Gordian knot.

My wife is always looking for ways to keep the dogs thinking, keep their mental skills from getting sluggish. I thoroughly endorse this plan. A stupid dog is a dog that can't remember his training. And a bored dog is one that chews the wallboard. 

Fortunately there are a lot of companies that make toys designed to challenge doggies' smarts and make them work for their treats. Here's one we saw mentioned on TV that we thought might make our little guy think. 

The Spot Seek-A-Treat by Ethical Pet! And in French, for extra brain exercise!

As you can see on the picture, the puzzles would be tricky for a dog or a baby. You hide the treats under the flaps (operated with the wheels on the side) and under the sliding caps, and the dog works out a way to get them. Hours of fun!

Or, minutes. 

Our younger dog, Nipper -- almost called him the little dog, but at 100 pounds a dog ain't little -- got the toy and did what you see here. He Alexander the Greaterized it.

Wanton destruction may seem not like an expression of intelligence, but remember Alexander the Great and the Gordian Knot. Every schoolchild knows the legend that Phrygian Gordium had a knot on an oxcart and a prophesy that whoever could unravel the knot would become ruler of all Asia. One might have expected that the king would thus be a man with patience, cleverness, and practical knowledge, for who else could untie an impossible knot? Alexander, some say, having heard the prophesy, just pulled out the ol' sword and hacked the thing up. There! Solved! And the prophesy fulfilled, in that Alexander conquered as much of Asia as he could get to.

One might call him some dummy who solves everything with a sword, and that's one way to look at it. I've never really bought the old saying that when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. It would tell us that when all you have is a sword, everything looks like a neck. That seems to work for guys like Harvey Weinstein; all he has is a screwdriver.

But Alexander fulfilled the prophesy by being bold and seeing the fastest, simplest solution to the problem. The prophesy did not demand that the knot be unraveled by untying it, so I give Alex credit on this one. But I wouldn't want him doing my Christmas lights.

As for Nipper, he's a dog, and you can't explain to him that he has to open the flaps and things to get the treats any more than you can explain to him that he has to take out the wrenched ankle to win the Operation, the Wacky Doctors Game. He's going to sense something he wants that we gave to him and figure out the fastest way to get it. That he won't be able to play with that same toy again is of no consequence. Mission accomplished.

Thimbleweed Park: The Obsession.

When the game Myst came out in the 1990s, it was billed as "The Surrealistic Adventure That Will Become Your World." I'm not sure I'd say the same about Thimbleweed Park, but only because it is a lot more funny than it is haunting. It sure had me going to my phone at random intervals to try crazy things to advance the plot.

Obsession? Such a cruel word. 

Myst's various worlds were beautiful landscapes you wanted to explore; Thimbleweed Park is kind of a dump you would want to flee, rendered in pixely 1987 LucasArts type screens (no coincidence that the game is set in 1987). 

This is one of those classic adventure puzzlers, where you have to solve a bunch of puzzles and do a bunch of weird things to get through the story. Although the game opens with a murder, it is really the spiritual brother of LucasArts' The Secret of Monkey Island rather than a mystery like The Last Express. First, because the action menu is typical; your character can Talk To, Push, Pull, Use, etc. the things and people he or she encounters; second, because Ron Gilbert is one of the designers and he invented Monkey Island; and third, because like Monkey Island, this game is completely insane. I loved it. 

(Very mild spoilers may follow....)

Put together through Kickstarter, the game is a strange journey through a the small town of Thimbleweed Park, initially to solve a murder, later to confront a much greater evil. And you do it with the help of... an agent who may be bad, another agent who may not be an agent, a dead guy, a nerd, and a clown. So, you're screwed right off the bat.  

If you play the game through you can use an easy or a difficult setting. If you intend to use the more difficult setting, you will need a tremendous amount of patience, and maybe a tips/walkthrough page, or maybe both. I ultimately wound up using a lot of patience and a few online hints. You can make yourself absolutely crazy trying to get a dime when all you have a nickel, or trying to find a way to get information out of someone when one of your action options is not "BEAT UP".

The game is virtually made up of what would be mini-quests in other games, and they often don't make sense except in the game's own deranged logic. If you are the kind of person who gets furious because your character has to get a particular magazine from a newsstand that's only open after dawn and will only sell that if you can prove your age but you have no ID so you have to get another guy to make you a fake ID and he will only do it for a salami sandwich but the diner has no salami and you have to get them some and -- and so on, then this game may feel like a frustrating waste of time. (Example above is not real, but could have been.) If you like these kinds of challenge, it's right up your alley.

That said, you'll probably waste time anyway, because the game is packed with things to look at. Including at least one alley. There is an entire giant library full of books with short excerpts; there are phone books with everyone who made a Kickstarter contribution; there are even video games within the game, if you can find tokens. (Note: You probably will not be able to find the tokens.)

Since you have to work several different characters, you may find that you need to coordinate their actions in a way that will not make internal sense. For example, for a character to solve a puzzle in one part of town, you may have to switch to another character in another area who can do a required action to enable the resolution but would have no reason at all to do so. Go ahead and do it, and hang the motivation.

If that advice doesn't make sense, don't worry, it will.

As you proceed the air of menace grows, only exacerbated by the background humor. It's darkly funny, but you do come to care about the characters, at least most of them. Yes, even the clown. Maybe even especially the clown. And even if, as in Monkey Island, your characters' safety is seldom a concern, there's no guarantee you'll get a happy ending.

Ultimately it's an extremely meta game, and I did find it engrossing and enjoyable and often hilarious. So I'm happy to help out, as the creators request during the closing credits:

We wouldn't want them to have to get real jobs. We want them to make Thimbleweed Park 2. Hey, if Monkey Island could run five games, they can squeeze out another Thimbleweed Park, I'm sure.

Looking for Leo.

I enjoy puzzle games and escape games, on the phone or computer. I love to curse and threaten violence when they frustrate me. One of the reasons I dislike board games is that fellow players react poorly when you curse at them and threaten violence.

Just to briefly mention my bona fides, I have been through all five Myst games, I have escaped just about everything Mild Escape has to offer, I have tested my mettle against all the Glitch Games (Forever Lost, all three parts, being a trial) and Fireproof Games (all three Rooms). I have battled out of Darkmoor Manor (creepy!) and Facility 47 (apocalyptic!), courtesy of InertiaSoft. I have gone nuts over Hozumi's works, and am currently up to date on the updated-monthly Les Vacances de Monsieur 3939 (that date being Friday). I am well acquainted with Escape Man. Tomatea has no game I have not cracked.

But one of the very best games I have ever cursed and threatened my way through is The House of Da Vinci, by Blue Brain Games.

ARRRRGH!

The plot is pretty sketchy -- your master, Leonardo da Vinci, has disappeared, having run afoul of his patron, and left behind clues for you to follow him through several extraordinarily complex rooms of his home. The puzzles are largely based on Leonardo's real sketches and plans for various machines, and, like all the art, they are gorgeously rendered. The whole thing is an atmospheric feast for the eyes.

You get two lenses that can help. The first is a viewer to operate mechanisms from outside machines for some puzzles, which functions much the way a similar device did in Fireproof's third Room game. There's also another lens that sometimes enables you to see into the past, to get a sketchy view of movements that give you necessary clues. But really, since you can't progress without these two lenses, they aren't so much helpers as yet more complications to keep things interesting.

As for the puzzles, they are absolute killers. According to the game's plot, you are supposed to act quickly because Leonardo is being hunted by his angry patron. In reality, you'd have to hope the patron would be extremely lazy and out of town at an evil masters' conference, because you would be stuck for weeks in each room, trying to solve one complex puzzle in order to get one tiny widget that would enable you to confront the next complex puzzle. Better bring lunch.

I'm not saying that the puzzles are unfair. But they're difficult. Sometimes the problem isn't even a matter of logic or deduction, just searching -- that tiny key you have to find may be hidden behind a false bracket on a table or in the frame of a painting or even in another item already in your inventory. Happy trails! If you were really in this house you'd wind up having to pee in a corner, because even if you found the bathroom, opening the toilet would be the equivalent of cracking a bank vault.

Fortunately there is a hint feature that doesn't cut you off after X number of hints, or demand extra money beyond the price of the game. Not that it's always helpful. Sometimes it will suggest you try something you have been trying for an hour. I find that's a good time for the cursing.

Before I sound too grumpy, let me add that solving each puzzle makes you feel like a genius for a moment. Some are fairly simple -- but most will test your mad puzl skilz. And there are puzzles and mysteries every step of the way. Apparently your boss Leonardo can't make a sandwich without encoding the bread. If all else fails, the ever helpful App Unwrapper has a complete walkthrough.

I really have only two genuine complaints for this game. First, I played it on the iPhone, and some of these puzzles were not appropriate for that format. For example, take this bloody thing:

You need to be able to see various bits of it that are barely visible with the phone, as there was no way to zoom in. It was a genuine problem that required App Unwrapper.

The other thing is that the game creators made the same error as that idiot Dan Brown -- Leonardo's family name is NOT Da Vinci. "Da Vinci" is just a descriptor. It's like being introduced to Joe from Cleveland at a conference and calling him Mr. From Cleveland all night. When referring to the Renaissance man upon whom this game is based, just call him Leonardo. No one ever makes this mistake with Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni.

Anyway, I got through it, and was frustrated but happy to see that it's set up for a sequel. If you like puzzle games, room escape games, or just being mad as hell, you'll enjoy the House of Da Vinci. It's $4.99 on the App Store, and you'll get plenty of cursing for your money.

Highlights of my youth.

A visit to the doctor's waiting room is a visit to my past.

Not that the magazines in this doctor's office are so old that they actually date to my childhood. This is High Five, a spinoff for younger kids, but just seeing that Highlights logo makes me happy.

Back in my day, Highlights covers were not so cartoony:

Color-coded, though.

I always enjoyed the magazine. It was more fun than Boys' Life. Nothing against the Scouts, but I never got out of the city, or out of the station wagon, so stories about nature survival didn't resonate with me. Besides, during my Highlights days I was probably too young for Boys' Life.

Highlights was the closest thing to a general-interest magazine I ever read, excepting Reader's Digest. Highlights was meant for any kid who could read English. That encompasses a lot of kids. Can you think of an adult magazine that targets all grown-ups that way?

Highlights has a lot of great features that people remember into adulthood, perhaps none so much as the continuing conflict between Goofus and Gallant. But one that I enjoyed was the hidden-objects puzzle. It would be a line drawing (which you could color in) (except if it was in the doctor's waiting room) that had a list of objects that were hidden in it.

I remember one that I'm pretty sure was a drawing of Bob Cratchit carrying Tiny Tim on his shoulders through the streets of London. There was the usual list of a dozen or so things you had to find, and I found them all.

Except the spoon.

This issue was in my dentist's office. He did not cycle the mags much. Next time I was there I went back to that same issue and checked again.

No spoon.

I feel like I spent dozens of visits looking for that dadblasted spoon, but it might have been three. I used every strategy my childlike brain could conceive of to scan every inch of the illustration. No dice. Or rather, no spoon.

Now, as a publishing professional (no, really!) I have worked for a number of magazines, and I know how, with the best will in the world, mistakes can get through. The word "spoon" might have been left from a template for the list. But I didn't know that back then. I thought adults who made magazines were perfect. I thought I was being stupid.

Boy, was I wrong. Not about me being stupid; I leave that for others to determine. About people who make magazines being perfect. Wow. As a colleague once told me: with all the prima donnas and all the politics, publishing "is like show business without the money."

I would still like to see that puzzle one more time. Highlights had never let me down otherwise. Maybe, just maybe... there was a spoon somewhere....

Puzzlement.

Insoluble puzzle for the average man.

Insoluble puzzle for the average dog.