My life as a 3D avatar
Follow Lindsay Eanet as she journeys through the world of Second Life. With lively clubs, music venues, shopping and so much more, the possibilities are endless in this 3D online virtual world.
More from the land of Avilion
July 24, 2008 at 4:12 p.m.
We last left our heroic avatar standing at the iron gate of the medieval community of Avilion, flocked left and right by fluttering faeries and dragons also waiting at the gate. Everyone is pretty cordial and greets one another while waiting to be granted entrance. A few people here speak French, but Second Life has a built-in translator that can be acquired to help keep everyone on the same page language-wise.
There wasn't the overuse of "thee" and "thou" that I was expecting from medieval role playing, nor the level of Monty Python-esque campiness I was secretly hoping for. What was there instead was a lush, quaint medieval village tucked within lush, quaint medieval woods, with winged people and wizards with sparkly hats. The center of the world is a drum circle, with all sorts of instruments set up for free use, including a giant Tibetan-style horn, which told me (no, really––it talked to me) to play it first.
My next stop, after an unfortunate and confusing stint underwater (avatars are stripped of their flight powers here), I end up in a lush meadow with giant flowers and stones with "inspirational" words like "Dream," "Live" and "Love," the kinds of stones found in a kitschy tourist shop in Carefree, Arizona. But here they were in Second Life, intended to inspire the residents of Avilion. Two members of "the order," as members of the Avilion community call themselves, named Smoke and Frisky Heron are dancing in the meadow. It looks like a scene out of a Disney movie, and I half expect "Once Upon A Dream" to start playing out of nowhere.
I stumble in and am offered a Boston Cream Pie. It looks delicious (or as delicious as a pixel pastry can possibly be, but it poses a rather peculiar question. How in the world would a medieval community with no connection to anywhere with "Boston" in the name know to call it a Boston Cream Pie. I ponder while Oprah indulges and decide ultimately that I think too much and should just let this one go.
It is also at this point that I notice Oprah is still wearing her blue and red bapes (see previous entry) from the store underneath the medieval gown. Ballin', indeed.
Love (in this club), yeah (in this club), yeah (in this club)...
July 23, 2008 at 5:49 p.m.
"Josie Dances over to Tom..shaking her hips in his direction.....stands close....pulls him towards her....places his face close to his..leans in for a soft..sensual kiss....lingering....then sucking his bottom lip as she pulls away..thanks cutie..."
And how did I end up in this chat room again?
Let's take the Tarantino-esque approach and start at the beginning. This was originally going to be a post about Second Life's reproductions of real-life locations, looking at their accuracy and educational value. I start with Israel, a country I visited not too long ago, and found a Virtual Israel with pretty accurate reproductions of sites like the Western Wall, the Dome of the Rock, several Tel Aviv skyscrapers and the underwater observatory in Eilat. There was also a virtual Dead Sea, complete with a mud bath, where avatars can "float." Infoboxes were placed at every landmark with the intention of giving SL users an informative experience, one of the many examples of how the site is being used to educate as well as entertain.
So I opt to try an American locale next, picking the obvious New York City. I click the first link, something called "New York Harbor," and end up smack-dab in the middle of a strip club called the "Coco Bongo."
Needless to say, being one of the few fully-clothed people there, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I motioned toward a pole just to see what would happen and was told to step off, because only employees were allowed to work the poles. Yes, you can work as a stripper in Second Life. I had to wonder what the people at Coco Bongo, particularly the dancers, looked like in real life, wondering how many were actually mid-level data processors in frustrating jobs/relationships letting off steam.
Everyone at the club was chatting up Vander Flatley, the tall, dark and handsome regular dancer on duty, who flirted with the ladies via chat and worked the pole completely nude, cyber-junk hanging out and whatnot. Another guest was what the Internet world knows as "furries," people who dress up and role play as animals, occasionally with a sexual connotation. This particular furry was a scantily-clad cat, complete with a white tail whipping around as the avatar danced.
But aside from naked avatars and pole-dancing furries, I did find a friendly face. One of the clubgoers gave me 20 Linden Dollars, two new "skins," or body composition templates and the link for the Forou Freebie Store, a place that has user-designed clothes, shoes and accessories free of charge. As soon as I got the link to the shop, I left the strip club, just as club owner "Josie" (see above) was putting the moves on a member in the public chatroom, where all of us could read her actions like bad erotic fiction.
I spend my first Linden Dollar on a pair of bitchin' sunglasses and go to town, buying outfits from fancy dresses and shoes from stilettos to bapes (boldly-colored sneakers from Japanese designer A Bathing Ape, for those not down with the vernacular the kids are using), of which I bought quite a few.
Naturally, a place with free stuff will draw a huge crowd, with people in the mainstream and on the fringes of Second Life. Not that there is really a mainstream or fringe here per se––there is truly a group or a subculture for everyone; no one is really judged, at least not outwardly so.
I heard people speaking Russian, German and Spanish, saw a few dragons fly by. A vampire gentleman from the "Bloodline" group asked if he could bite me. Flattered that a vampire would be so polite to ask, I obliged, and he gave me a pair of bite marks to wear and asked me to join his legion. I declined that part of the offer.
I meet Arjun Ethaniel, a soldier with a sword slung across his back. Resisting temptation to pull the "is-that-a-sword-in-your-pocket-or-are-you-just-happy-to-see-me" line, I ask him what he battles. "We have kingdoms," he says. "To keep peace, we have to fight." I ask him if there is a kingdom he recommends visiting. He told me to try Avilion, with a warning that "clothing is mandatory." Does this mean there are all-nude medieval role playing kingdoms on Second Life? I didn't want to look like a naive idiot, so I'm just going to assume the answer is "yes."
Avilion, as it turns out, is a place where aspiring knights and dames can come to live out their medieval fantasies. Upon reaching the iron gate, I am greeted with the message that "Avilion is NOT a Gorean sim, nor do we practice slavery here. Should you try to do so, there are Drow whom would be happy to sell your body parts and Dragons that are hungry." I am unsettled with the fact that they need to tell readers that slavery is illegal here (because it means there is somewhere on Second Life where slavery is okay) but I'm also intrigued on a larger level that there is a set of laws that people must abide by in this kingdom, that here in Second Life, people form their own governments with their own laws and moral codes.
So now I'm waiting at the gate, pondering whether or not to enter. My adventures in this kingdom will likely be documented in the next entry, so stay tuned.
Questions?
July 21, 2008 at 4:03 p.m.
As much fun as I'm having describing the nightlife escapades of my avatar in painstaking detail, I do want to make sure the blog touches on other topics related to Second Life in which you, the reader, might be interested. So I'd like to know what questions you all have about Second Life that I could answer using the blog and my experiences with the site.
If you have any questions or topic ideas for the blog, please feel free to leave a comment or shoot me an email at lrebn7@mizzou.edu.
In which Oprah crashes a wedding and rubs elbows with Bill Gates
July 20, 2008 at 8:38 p.m.
I've been invited to a party this weekend, courtesy of a random fellow named Anver Chapman. The party is at a location called "Oasis," the invitation says, and will be a weekend-long beachfront blowout. I'm interested to see what a party in this virtual world is like, but the first thing I have to do is find it. So I type "Oasis" into the match function and opted to explore each of the locations that came up. In a rather disappointing turn, none of them had to do with the Britpop band. But I digress.
The first stop on my Tour de Oases is Oasis Cove, a placid beachfront marked with American and rainbow flags. While indeed a gorgeous beach, this is clearly not the place "Anver" told me about, as there is no one here. Still, itching to explore, I stumble upon a cabana by the water, the strikingly realistic sounds of the waves and seagulls filling the air. I relax on a comfy lounge chair with a tropical drink and a book, and relish, briefly, in the luxurious summer vacation I never had.
A place just labeled "Oasis the Tor" is next, and from the looks of it, it's a place to pick up accessories and mannerisms to become the fiercest pirate on the pixelated seas. All of the chests and signs here are in Spanish, and I look forward to communicating with someone here in another language I actually understand. But unfortunately, this place is vacant as well.
The first person who greets me at Oasis Isle is another famously-named avatar: Bill Gates. He sits in the corner of a European cafe in the center of a cute little boardwalk town that could just as easily be part of the French Riviera or Ocean City, Maryland. He can't be bothered with me, glued to his laptop aside from a brief exchange of hellos. I grab a coffee and set out to do some exploring.
Much of the boardwalk is dotted with shops, which do me no good because I have yet to find a means for making money in Second Life. The most intriguing of these is one just called "Weird Shit," which features costumes of all stripes. There are a lot of costume contests in Second Life with Linden Dollar prizes; one for Sci-Fi characters was publicized during my adventures today. At the end of the dock is a fishing game for prize money, facilitated by a man who goes by "Shark Hunter." After about ten minutes of fishing, I hold the top two spots, although my position in first was later overtaken. Bummer.
I leave Oasis Bay after about a minute and a half, seeing as it is a posh resort community with villas that I have yet to be able to afford to buy.
The last place I manage to go is Oasis Island, a lavish "Grown and Sexy" hangout where it is always sunset, the bar is always open and DJ Big D spins smooth jazz to get the crowd in the mood. I dance a little bit, order a few drinks and continue to explore. There is a pirate ship on the island, furnished with only a bed, a secluded place for amorous avatars to get some lovin' at sea.
Elsewhere on the island is an ornate pavilion with church pews and flowers at every turn, and it hits me that this is an outdoor wedding chapel. Here, dating, the wedding, the wedding night and the honeymoon are all available for avatars ready to take the plunge. The site is a little jarring and raises a ton of questions: do people really get married and have serious relationships on this site? How do the people in their real life feel about it? I decide it's best to find someone to ask and make my way into the ballroom.
The crowd here, mostly in formal attire and grooving to some R&B slow jams, is a lot more welcoming than the crowd I encountered before at the Stardust Cafe. Everyone says hello and no one makes fun of my name. Then I notice one couple, whose avatars' names are Savannah and Wolverine, are decked out in a white gown and tuxedo, respectively. They're a bride and groom, and this party is their Second Life wedding reception. Savannah's affirmation of "I love you, Wolverine," comes up on the open chat where everyone in the room can read. I've crashed a Second Life wedding, and I'm suddenly very uncomfortable, more because I feel bad showing up uninvited than because I just watched two people have their first dance in holy cyber-matrimony. I leave through the back door and opt to go back to Oasis Cove, my first stop, to rest and absorb the festivities.
Unfortunately, I never found the Oasis party. And despite all my travels, I'm still kind of disappointed. Anver Chapman, you owe me.
Bass lessons and booty-dancing vampires
July 20, 2008 at 4:43 p.m.
With Oprah's newly-acquired flight powers, I am so ready to hit the town, or multiple towns. The tutorial island is pretty much dead, and the music streamer is inexplicably playing '80s classic "Come On Eileen." I attempt to walk off the island and end up in the ocean, an irrelevant situation since my avatar can also successfully walk underwater.
Attempting to seek out some familiarity among the 12 million people and a virtual landmass the size of New Jersey, I type "Missouri" into the search function. I am inadvertently transported to the virtual MU School of Journalism, a building with laptops and links to the Web sites for the Columbia Missourian, KOMU-TV and Missouri Digital News. Much to my dismay, there was not a virtual Brian Brooks there to greet passersby.
I didn't want to waste my time exploring a realm I work in every day, so I leave the virtual J-School. I realize I am clearly in the "virtual campuses" section, as there are replicated buildings and student unions from colleges all across the country, from Stanford University to the University of Pennsylvania to the College of DuPage in Illinois. This must have been what Bryan Carter was talking about when he said more colleges were looking to Second Life as a means of enriching the classroom environment. Unfortunately, there is nary an avatar here, aside from me, so there is no one to ask about the experience. Guess I'll have to come back when school's in session.
Feeling rather lonely, I opt to do something a bit more social, heading off to the edgy-sounding Five Blades neighborhood to check out the local nightlife. It's the freakin' weekend baby, and I want to have me some fun.
The first venue I try is Nightfires, a gritty club on the outskirts of the island. There is a definite boozy, dirty old-school blues and rock 'n' roll theme here. Pictures of B.B. King, Janis Joplin and Alice Cooper dot the walls, stains adorn the floor and a neon sign at the bar proclaims that yes, there is Coors on tap. Something about Nightfires is reminiscent of Mojo's in Columbia, except here, unlike Mojo's you can smoke inside.
Unfortunately, it's pretty quiet. And the band must have had to leave in a hurry, since a piano, drums and an upright bass are left on stage. I am able to test my skills on all of them, and as it turns out, Oprah's got a knack for pitch on the piano and a natural rhythm on the drums and bass. Maybe she could join a band one of these days and actually earn some Linden Dollars.
The crowd at the Stardust Cafe is also a pretty rock-oriented one, with lots of black, dyed hair and dudes with long blonde or silver hair who seem to evoke everyone from Neil Young to Chris Daughtry (or as rock 'n' roll as Chris Daughtry can possibly be). The hosts are friendly, but upon finding out my avatar name, they pile on the snark: "Can I be on your favorite things?" "Where's Dr. Phil?". I timidly greet them, then retreat to the bar to absorb the music and have a few drinks. The bar has, among other things, several varieties of whiskey on tap, including the very rock 'n' roll Jack Daniels, of which my avatar imbibes a few, but does not seem to develop any symptoms of intoxication. The music is acoustic adult alternative-rock in the Hootie & the Blowfish realm, with a blandly good-looking blonde and mildly talented avatar at the helm. After a few minutes of original material and fed up with people making fun of my name, I opt to leave.
The last stop on my first Second Life crawl is the UltraViolet Moon Club, a decadent, supernatural-themed discotheque. Vampires, iridescent blue dragons and naked dudes abound, dancing to thumping Euro-disco. The club hires a few scantily-clad exotic dancers with names like SiLencc Magic and Manolito Nightfire, not too unlike some male strippers in the real world. A few of the avatars give each other playful slaps on the ass (or tail, I suppose, if you're into dragons). I try to communicate with the dancers, only to realize everyone in this club is speaking German. It's the first time the international scope of Second Life has really hit me. I was able to go clubbing with vampire fetishists in Germany without even leaving my apartment! I take my free t-shirt (available at the bar) and leave, because I'm clearly underdressed and don't speak a word of German.
I return to the Stardust Cafe, now nearly empty, and have a quick dance with a gentlemanly avatar to Dido's ballad "Thank You." The next song, much to my dismay, is Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now." Needless to say, I'm ready to call it a night.
Introducing...Oprah!
July 18, 2008 at 4:36 p.m.
There are so many questions to address when creating a Second Life avatar. Do I shoot for accuracy, merely making the avatar an extension of my real life, or do I create an idealized version, a toned, tan super-babe capable of making cyber-dude-man-bros stop in their tracks? Now I know how Madonna felt all those times she reinvented herself...
The first step is coming up with a name for my SL avatar. The program gives you a fairly long list of last names to choose from (I choose "Kelberwitz" at random), but the first name is up to the creator, the thing that sets you apart from the site's 12 million other inhabitants.
The name I decide on? Oprah, of course. After all, this is a site where you can be anyone you want. So why wouldn't I want to share a name with one of the most influential women in the world?
Oprah and I are transported to Avatar Island, a tutorial of sorts for learning the site's chat functions, how to move around, sit and stand and even fly (Everyone in SL can fly. It makes things oh-so-more convenient.). A few other newbies are present, all of us identical, having not received the opportunity to alter our avatars yet.
The avatar altering process is a painstaking one, with every physical specification possible just shy of pore size available for adjustment at my whim. You can control the size of your avatar's nostrils. There is even a scale where you can adjust breast perkiness. No, really.
And the dilemma remains: do I go for a realistic or idealistic appearance? Oprah's is a compromise: hardly a supermodel, but a few inches taller and in better shape than her creator (or her namesake, for that matter), with a nice tan and minimal makeup (those who choose to can really cake it on). The process, working from the feet up, takes a good 45 minutes.
But finally, with specifications in place, Oprah Kelberwitz is ready to hit the town.
Here we go...
July 18, 2008 at 4:34 p.m.
Okay, here goes.
The idea for this blog emerged from an assignment I have been working on for Vox's Gaming Issue, on stands next Thursday. The story is about Second Life, a user-created virtual universe in which people from all over the world interact through avatars. You can be whoever you want in Second Life: a rock star, a vampire, even your favorite celebrity. Or you could take the route of Dwight Schrute from NBC's "The Office," and just play yourself, only with the ability to fly.
With this blog, I will document the highs and lows of my Second Life experience, explore different worlds and subcultures, write about the different interactions and opportunities, and hopefully give you a comprehensive look into this vivid virtual world.
