I read Lego: A Love Story the other day. It's one of those stunty journalistic books writers pitch to publishers: Jonathan Bender decided to spend a year learning to build with Lego and exploring the world of AFOLs, or Adult Fans of Lego, and somebody gave him an advance and a book contract to do it.
I found the book kind of annoying at times, even though I knew that was unfair. Bender and his wife were trying to conceive during the research for the book, so he hadn't had my experience of becoming a de facto Lego expert because the kids have dragged me, willy nilly, along with them. And he hadn't played with Lego since he was a kid. But even recognizing that I have been steeped in Lego for at least the last seven years and Bender has not, I could not keep myself from rolling my eyes sometimes at his ignorance. For instance, he thought someone was pulling his leg when they told him that Lego makes brick separators. Tyro!
And, I am sorry to say that Bender is not much of a writer. Competent, but pedestrian.
Still, the book was fun. I like reading about quirky subcultures, and AFOLs certainly qualify. I am amused by the kinds of things people get worked up over, like a turn-of-the century change in some of the standard colors that resulted in new bricks not perfectly matching old bricks; in particular, the new gray brick, which was perceived to have a bluish tinge, was much reviled. If you mention the color "bley" to an AFOL, they will know what you're talking about. And they'll probably have an opinion.
Other favorite controversies include the divide between purists, who believe in building only with genuine unmodified Lego pieces, and those who are willing to tinker to achieve their vision. Bender tells one story of a builder cutting a brick in half to get the right size, and there are some very spiffy custom minifig decals floating around out there. Here's a guide to customizing your own minifig, in case you're so inclined.
Possibly my favorite thing that AFOLs get worked up about is a recent Lego innovation in which the bags of pieces in large building sets are numbered, and the instructions suggest you open only one at a time and don't mix them. This is seen as patronizing, as reflecting a continuing tendency of the Lego company to pander to juveniles while ignoring adult fans (a toy company focusing on children! The nerve!). Some, at least, also see it as an unwarranted intrusion into the builder's process. "Who are they to tell me how I sort my bricks?" one AFOL is quoted as saying. Who indeed?
The book makes me really want to visit a Lego convention. I've thought for a long time of taking the kids to BrickWorld in Chicago to visit the exhibition halls, but after reading about Bender's experiences, I got a little itch to get a registration and experience the whole thing. They apparently do all kinds of fun contests, like "blind builds," where everyone has to build the same set while not being able to see the pieces, contests where people have to try to do something creative with a specific set, and "speed builds," which are exactly what they sound like. I was especially interested in the idea of "Building in the Bag," which is exactly what it says: building your Lego set without opening the plastic bag the pieces come in. Honestly, all the contests sounded like so much fun they made me want to organize a little mini-Lego convention for kids here in Lansing where we would do all these fun things (kids do not get Lego conventions. Lego conventions are for the big boys).
I read about the history of the Lego company, including its many ill-advised efforts to attract girls to the hobby by making things pink. And I learned all kinds of fancy AFOL jargon, like the "SNOT" building technique (Studs Not On Top), which results in a smooth finish.
I learned about the Toy and Plastic Brick Museum in Ohio, one man's labor of love in an old middle school, which isn't the Lego museum because he could never come to an agreement with the company about rights. But it's all Lego, baby, and I say: road trip!
At one point, Bender discusses Mega Bloks, the Canadian company that began to make Lego-compatible pieces after Lego's patent expired in 1988. Bender says that AFOLs are disdainful of Mega Bloks and won't use them, and that they're frustrated by trying to buy brick lots on, say, eBay, because casual users often let their Mega Bloks and Lego intermingle and then sell them all as Lego. Even after he's spent a year building (and dutifully purged his collection of Mega Bloks), Bender still sees this as simply a preference, or as a snobby in-group thing. "It's the Coke vs. Pepsi of the Lego world," he says.
He is wrong. I say he is wrong, David agrees, and Eric, when I told him what Bender said, vehemently said that he is wrong. I wonder how many AFOLs have written to Bender to tell him he is wrong? Probably hundreds. I'm tempted to drop him a note myself.
Mega Blok simply doesn't have Lego's quality control. We have never had a Lego set we couldn't build, but when we have made the occasional foray into the world of Mega Blok, we routinely came up against bricks that simply would not stay together the way the instructions claim they will. Even though Mega Blok sometimes has cool licenses (I think it was their Halo license that attracted Eric the last time), we decided not to buy any more. They're a little cheaper than Lego, but a lot crappier. Stick with the Danes, that's what we say.
I think that, although I almost never build on my own (I'm the brick-finding helper most of the time), I am an AFOL anyway. Because what Lego does for the kids who love it is amazing, and what the kids do with Lego is amazing. I find myself fearing and dreading what AFOLs call "the dark ages," the years between about 12 or 13, when kids lose interest in Lego, and the time when they (maybe) come back to it as adults. It's hard to imagine Eric, whose bedroom is practically a Lego museum, packing it all away. That will be a sad day and the end of an era. But, like the dutiful Lego mom I am, I'll keep the boxes. "For the grandkids," I'll say. But I'll be thinking, maybe for him, too.
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