I’m seeing political ads all over the city, and while I don’t exactly follow the logic of their imagery, the sheer audacity of the message deserves commendation - such an unflinching indictment of an administration run amok. I am surprised, however, that nobody caught the typo. How could anybody have left the first letter off of every single sign and marquee for that chilling political thriller, President Evil?
Today I got an email from my freaky cool shul about their upcoming festive celebration for Simchat Torah - the commemoration of the handing down of the law. It’s one of two times in the year that jews are supposed - nay, are obliged - to get good and sloshed. And this is a very observant congregation. The email mentioned that, for the services, “music will be provided by the Polyphonic Klezmer and Avant Hasidic band, Captain Zohar.” I really hope I can make it for that. Music can make all the difference.
Which is all the lead-in that I need for a story I wrote up a few weeks ago about a dude I saw listening to music:
I’ve admitted it here before so it should be no surprise that I am prepared to reiterate: I play with myself. I only do it at home because they’ve prevented me from doing it at work, but I do make sure to take a few minutes for self-entertainment several times a week. However, the game has changed a little lately, and I think it means I’ve changed a little too.
It used to be freecell, every time. The initial layout of the cards is simple and almost every deal can be played to victory, so I made sure I never lost if I really didn’t feel like it. And for a while, I just didn’t feel like it. If a game had me stymied I’d restart it and restart it again and again and again until I’d achieved victory. I felt good about being able to master this little pixellated two-dimensional world - even if I only succeeded after many failures. That had a lot to do with why I liked the game, actually: I could re-create the universe and experiment with it as many times as I liked till I got it right. That was comforting.
(It should be noted that all these games are being played on my computer. I would never play so much solitaire with actual, sordid cards. I used to, though. I used to wile away many hours playing canfield and clock, alone in my room, with analog cards and an am radio on my green shag carpeting. Those were simpler days. Freecell is just too fast and complicated a game to play with a physical deck, though. I tried once and for my trouble I got a bloody nose and a restraining order. I don’t need that kind of aggravation. No cards for chuckles’ solitaire fix.)
So, I was in the habit of playing my share of freecell, and enjoying it too. And then I realized something: I sucked at it. People were winning 15, 16, 17 games in a row. At my best, I could get up to about 9 before failing. Folk had performance stats, victory secrets, ratings and rankings. And if I joined them I’d be a nobody. My numbers would be pathetic; my skills, unworthy of note. It felt like my little fiefdom, my sense of supremacy in this small arena, had been totally quashed.
But at just about the same time I started playing spider. Spider’s hard, and I play it with four suits - the hardest version. It’s not much like freecell. The layout is big and complicated, there is much to be remembered and manipulated, and many golden opportunities evade my grasp by just a card or two. And I’ve never won a single hand. I’ve never ever come close. Twice, including last night, I cleared two runs - a quarter of all the cards, but still a weak showing. Yet I enjoy it, throw myself down a hand most every day when I have a few spare minutes.
But the big difference isn’t what I’m playing, but how I’m playing - or how I’m not playing. I’m not playing to win anymore. Rather, I seek to hone my memory, my instincts and my strategy. Sometimes I do well and sometimes not so much, but once I’ve dealt myself out all the cards and run out of moves to make, I just shut the screen down and walk away. I don’t restart and restart, desparate to salvage a victory; I know that victory is unreachable, so I stop striving. One try at it and I am done. Victory isn’t the point, just as a high jumper knows he can’t escape gravity. The point is in playing well, making good moves, drawing together runs and organizing columns, and then letting myself move on to something else. The victory is not in the game, it’s over the game. I find myself playing less and getting more out of it, as a result.
Of course, if I ever actually won a hand, I’d be a lost cause. But that just doesn’t seem too likely anytime soon.
Y’all have been getting antsy, haven’t you, looking for my next transit vignette? …
Gnip: vignette 1