"Nor Gloom of Night"

Three streets to go, I mutter to myself. You're almost done.

As I park the vehicle, my Fitbit buzzes at me. I presume, at this point, it's trying to submit its own resignation letter. But no, it's a text from Jamie, my boss.

Can you check on Victoria when you're done?

The new gal. Of course. They probably gave her two hours too much, because everybody has two hours too much these days. Especially these days. "Sure," I text back, because Jamie doesn't ask this unless someone's in real trouble.

I look again to see the text has vanished. All that remains are three reminders of just how rough this is: the time (6:15pm), the date (December 3rd), and the number of steps (37,420).

I do some quick math as I try to organize packages into my satchel. I've got another hour or so on this route, then I have to get to Victoria and figure out what she needs. That's another hour, plus getting back to the office and closing everything out. So...8:30.

This math doesn't work out, but I can deal with that later. For now, just keep walking.

*****

I find Victoria in front of City Hall. "You holding up okay?"

She gives a wry smile. "Nope. The last guy they sent to help me said he didn't know how to do this section and took the easy stuff instead."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. "Why does it feel like I'm the only one out here who's willing to try new things? Present company excepted, of course."

Focus

How do you choose?

Every day feels like a new verse of "We Didn't Start the Fire"--so many quarrels, dangers, and injustices to care about, keep track of, and fight against.

Oh, these times are so uncertain
there's a yearning undefined
and people filled with rage

Social media only amplifies these issues, each with some people screaming "this is the thing we need to focus on!"--but how do we focus on two hundred battles at once?

What are these voices outside love's open door
Make us throw off our contentment and beg for something more

Disinformation campaigns don't help, as all they serve to do is confound us into wild-goose chases, actually distracting us from the things that actually matter. Whatever those are.

The more I know, the less I understand
All the things I thought I knew, I'm learning again

I know my answer, and the Beatles did too. All you need is love.

Focus on loving those around you--including yourself--and you'll find your compass.

We all need a little tenderness
how can love survive
in such a graceless age?

Think less about how to win, and more about how not to lose anyone. Less energy spent debunking lies, more spent preaching the truth.

All the trust and self-assurance that lead to happiness
are the very things we've killed, I guess
Our pride and competition cannot fill these empty arms
and the walls they've built between us
they won't keep us warm

And above all, recognize that nobody's perfect. We're all gonna screw this up, because we're all screwed up. Just keep swimming, and keep others swimming alongside you. That's gotta be good enough.

I've been trying to get down to the heart of the matter
because the flesh will get weak
and the ashes will scatter
but I think it's about forgiveness, forgiveness...

*****

Lyrical inspiration: Don Henley, "Heart of the Matter"

Tiles and Tribulations

Over the last few years, I've been learning a lot about the various forms of neurodivergence and mental illness--and the ways in which society often treats the former as the latter. While I haven't been diagnosed with any of the major ones (ADHD, autism, depression, etc.), and have no real reason to suspect anything, I do my best to be sympathetic to those who live with them.

Sometimes, however, it's really freaking difficult.

We had a new player at our Scrabble club a few years back, before... ::gestures wildly at everything::. Let's call him Jake. Mid-20s, enthusiastic, good sense of humor, not a malicious bone in his body...and, as we would quickly find out, highly non-neurotypical. While I never heard the full list, I know he was taking meds for ADHD, bipolar disorder, and anxiety.

He came in and lost a lot, as most newbies do. But he wanted to learn, and so we put in the effort to teach him. Of course, there's a lot more to Scrabble than just learning a bunch of words; you have to learn how to think about your plays, figure out what factors matter in which situations, and make inferences and logical leaps that aren't always obvious.

And though Jake's improvement was slow, he was trying.

Very, very trying.

*****

I've been told, by many people, that I'd make an excellent teacher. While I understand the sentiment (and appreciate the compliment), I disagree, for two reasons.

FINE. Let's see if I still remember how this thing works.

https://therealljidol.livejournal.com/1171952.html

River of Life

Let justice roll on like a river, righteousness like a never-failing stream!

What happens when those God sent to build bridges build a dam instead?

Many waters cannot quench love; neither can the floods drown it.

What does love do when the water it needs to survive is taken away?

For I will pour water on the thirsty land, and streams on the dry ground.

Sometimes the heat turns the waters into mist. What then?

All the rivers flow into the sea, yet the sea is not full.

But the sea cannot nourish us, and the rivers run dry.

He leads me beside still waters; He restores my soul.

What do I do when the creek dries up?

*****

(Bible references, in order: Amos 5:24, Song of Songs 8:7, Isaiah 44:3, Ecclesiastes 1:7, Psalm 23:2.)

Birds Are Jerks

Back in 2010, a group of video-game speed-runners (players who specialize in completing the games as quickly as possible) gathered in someone's basement to run a bunch of games and raise some money for charity. The event, Classic Games Done Quick, had its share of technical issues, but eventually raised about $11,000.

At the time, this was seen as a major accomplishment--getting people to watch video games on Twitch was one thing, but getting people to donate for the right to name characters, determine the routes the players took, and even get extra games played was quite another.

Then they did it again, but bigger.

And then again. And again.

Ten years later, the latest event, which took place in Orlando last week, raised over three million dollars for the Prevent Cancer Foundation. All told, GDQ events have now raised over $25 million for various charities.

One wrinkle this time around was that a special call was put out for speedruns of recently-released games, to break up the Sonic-Mario-Metroid monotony that can occasionally take over. Of course, anyone who has followed the video game community over the past year knew what that meant:

Someone was going to speedrun Untitled Goose Game.

"Numbers Game"

There is a phenomenon known to the French as l'esprit de l'escalier, literally translated as "the spirit of the staircase." It refers to that feeling of coming up with the perfect thing to say--a line of argument in a debate, the perfect zinger, the pickup line that might have actually worked--as one is descending the staircase to leave.

Of course, this need not be so immediate. I was having a conversation with my aunt Lynn* at Christmas, and only yesterday did I figure out how to encapsulate my point in a single sentence.

Lynn was talking about a coincidence she had recently experienced, and was asking me, the math major, what the odds were of it happening. "It has to be a sign of something." Now, I fully acknowledge that God moves in mysterious ways. But to speak through the cards in a board game? That seemed, well, unlikely to me. 

We went back and forth on this, me pointing out that similar odd events pass by unnoticed, her insisting that something that unlikely could not happen by chance. This diverged into a discussion of the gambler's fallacy, which I explained as follows: "If a roulette wheel comes up red twelve spins out of fifteen, there will be some people who will insist that you have to bet on red, because 'red is hot.' Others will insist you need to bet on black, because 'black is due.' They can't both be right, and indeed, neither is. The next spin is always fifty-fifty."

"The Words Are Gonna Bleed From Me"

People create music for a wide variety of reasons. Some do it to express feelings that can't be expressed any other way. Others do so because they know they possess a talent for it, and want to share it with the world. Still others do it for the fame, the fortune, and the glory.

Regardless of the reasons, one goal remains the same: the level of ubiquity where everyone recognizes the song after just a few notes. For some songs, this comes as a result of being played (some would say overplayed) everywhere; around this time of year, people make a game of going as long as they can without hearing "All I Want for Christmas Is You" or "Last Christmas." (Spoiler alert: it's impossible to make it to Christmas Day.)

For other songs, however, the notes themselves provide the ubiquity. Listen to the crowd in the broadcast of any European football (yes, I mean soccer for you Americans) match, and at some point, they will inevitably break into a chant--sometimes praising their own players, frequently deriding the opponents, and occasionally just singing the same seven-note melody, over and over:

Dah, dah-DAH-dah-dah-DAH, dah...

You could hear it without even clicking the link, couldn't you? All I had to do was type "sev" into Youtube's search bar to get there.

Poker Faces

Aside from my well-documented love for Scrabble, I've also dabbled in a wide variety of other games. I have a small Magic: the Gathering card collection, as well as a shelf in my closet full of board games. I've played a little bit of competitive bridge and chess, though neither at anywhere near the level I've achieved in Scrabble.

In addition, when my finances allow for it, I'll occasionally wander down to the nearest cardroom (there are a few in the area) and play some good old-fashioned poker.

Of course, "old-fashioned" probably doesn't mean what you think it does. The Cincinnati Kid wouldn't know quite what to make of modern-day no-limit Texas Holdem, though he'd probably figure out how to take everyone's money really quickly anyway.

While it's certainly just fine to just work your way through the game on instinct alone, there is (as you'd expect with any competitive endeavor with money involved) an entire industry dedicated to helping you improve your game. Any reputable bookstore will have a shelf dedicated to poker (which I've certainly browsed), and online courses offer to teach you "game-theory-optimal" play (which is a rabbit hole I'm not prepared to go down).

But none of that, at least to me, is the key to the game. The key comes in the critical moments, where your opponent has shoved all their chips in the middle and is waiting for you to do the same. You have a decent hand, but they are claiming to have a monster. And either they do, or they don't.

Step By Step

During our training sessions at USPS, one of the leaders asked around the room: Why are you taking this job? Most people gave the stock answers (which mostly boiled down to, "I need a job!"), but I came up with a slightly different reason. "You're paying me to get in shape!"

Which, truth be told, I needed. Despite my best efforts, a year of unemployment had tacked on about 30-40 pounds that needed to go. As the instructor reminded us, we were going to get in shape, whether we wanted to or not.

I thought I understood. I had no idea.

*****

The first few weeks were, I was told, fairly easy--long, flat streets; clearly marked house numbers; only a few hours of walking a day. Soon, however, I proved that I could handle pretty much anything the supervisors threw at me, adapting quickly to new routes and being willing to pitch in wherever I was needed.

This, in retrospect, was a mistake.

Our office runs four ZIP codes--three in San Mateo, one in Foster City. I have distinct memories of delivering packages in all four zones in the same day, which entails far more driving around in those boxy mail trucks than can possibly be safe or sane. I also recall two supervisors arguing with each other (after I'd done a 6-hour route in five hours, mind you) about which of them would get to send me out for another two hours' worth of work.

The Grind

It's the summer of 1998, just before the start of my sophomore year. Both of my parents work, so most of my weekdays are spent at the Porter's, our friends from church. (Most of my Saturdays are spent with them at bowling league, and all of our Sundays as well. The seven of us--my parents, their parents, and the three of us boys--are kinda inseparable.)

On this day, Aaron (the older brother, who’s a year ahead of me) pulls me into his room and fires up his Playstation, which at the time was the hot new tech. I was always more of a Nintendo kid, so this was way cool to me.

"You ever played an RPG?"

"A what?"

"RPG. Role-playing game. You control a bunch of characters, and fight a bunch of...ya know what, it's too much to explain. Just jump in."

As the opening title sequence plays, he hands me the controller and quickly explains what the buttons do, then leaves me free to explore. "Call me if you get stuck."

*****

a few hours later...

Despite a few interruptions by Jason (a year younger than me, and way louder than Aaron), I'm making pretty good progress. The battle system makes sense, though the plot kinda doesn't.

Until I leave the first major city, Midgar, and find myself in the open world.

"Aaron!" I call out. A few seconds later, he shows up. "Now what?"

He peeks at the screen. "Oh cool, you escaped. Now comes the fun part."

"Where do I go?"

"Just run around this area for a while and level up your party. Try to get Cure2, if you can."

"Angels and Devils"

I hadn't noticed him come in. He had this way of slipping into the bar when I wasn't looking. But when I saw him, I was alarmed.

He was sitting there, as slickly-dressed and pug-faced as ever, next to a stunning brunette in a red dress. She seemed totally entranced and intrigued by him, which meant his "charms" were working.

In any other circumstance, this would not be a cause for concern; people talk and flirt at singles bars all the time. That's what they're for. But this weasel was no ordinary circumstance.

The temptation to intervene was impossible to resist, but given that he had a good fifty pounds on me, it was also likely to lead to a nasty hospital bill. I needed another plan, and after a couple of minutes I came up with one.

I grabbed a napkin and pulled a pen out of my pocket, writing carefully so as not to tear the unpredictable fabric. After a few seconds, I folded it neatly and stuffed it in my pocket.

When he finally got up and wobbled his way over to the bathroom, I made my way over towards the bar, leaning in to order another drink. As I did so, I pulled out the napkin and slipped it onto the counter, right next to her hand. She looked at me, slightly puzzled, and picked it up, but didn't read it until I'd gotten my drink and gone back to my table.

She stared at the napkin for a few seconds, then looked over at me with deep blue eyes. I lifted my glass in a silent toast and took a drink. She smiled and responded in kind.

No One Lost Ahead of You

This past December, I managed to finagle three days off of work. Now, that may not sound too impressive, but I work for USPS. Trust me, it's tougher than you might think.

The reason I needed the time off was to play in the California Open, the one multi-day Scrabble tournament held in San Francisco each year. Having not played any live games in four months due to being overworked, I wasn't sure what to expect in terms of my performance. 

Certainly not going 15-1 over the first two days--running roughshod over the field, playing well and drawing better. By my ballpark math, I was about 90% to win the tournament, up three games on the field with four to play.

And then...I didn't win. Carl won his last four games, including beating me twice, while I lost all four games to finish second:

https://www.cross-tables.com/tourney.php?t=10523&div=1

As you may be able to infer, I have some thoughts about this.

*****

The title of this post is taken from an old Jerry Seinfeld routine:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xK9rbwM3omA

There's actually scientific backing for this: bronze medalists are typically happier than silver medalists at Olympic medal ceremonies. 

Why does it matter? Why can't I be half as happy with second as I am with first?

"Worth The Fight"

You say you just want the fighting to stop.
For everyone to come together, get along.
Why does it need to be so over-the-top?
Does it really matter who's right, who's wrong?

Yeah, it matters.
Because to tell those who have been oppressed,
whose concerns have never been addressed,
to stop fighting, leave their weapons at the door
is to tell them that those concerns
aren't worth fighting for.

If all you want is a resolution to the conflict,
you'll never allow for an evolution.
We can be better than this, rise above,
become a society that focuses on love,
but only if we first address
those who only use their power to oppress
and if we make sure that those with less
still have the means to achieve success.

If all you want is a resolution,
you'll never want to pay restitution.
For those society has broken
just because they don't fit the mold,
instead of breaking the mold itself,
have a right to be repaid.
And even though you or I may not
have been the ones who did the deed,
we inherited the proceeds
and are responsible for the repayment.

If all you want is a resolution,
you'll never look forward to revolution.
The absence of conflict has no value.
People's lives do.
And yes, there will be those who die
in the struggle.
Better there than in an armchair.
At least those on the front lines
are willing to put their lives on the line
to show they care.

We can't all just get along.
Not when some of "we" think that others
aren't part of "we".
Not when money talks louder than those
who don't have a dime.
Not when the weight of this world falls squarely
on those too weak to bear it.

Don't say it's not worth fighting over.
You know which side you're on--
you know your side is right.
So join the fight, even though it's hard.
Grab your sword.
En garde.

Sure, why not. Let's see if I still remember how to write.

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