You can't win

I've been playing a lot of Scrabble lately. A friend of mine is on Facebook, and she's gotten me onto it, so we can play Scrabble.

I hate Scrabble. I like my friend, though. So I go.

I suck at Scrabble. Seriously. Just. Suck. My brain doesn't wrap around these puzzles. It's OK; not ever game is for every person. My head just doesn't get this game.
And of course, I'm playing someone who's good.

Perpetually losing at a game though, means that the game ceases to be entertaining. This is why it's so hard to keep people interested in a game like Magic; the learning curve is really high, and you lose a lot, frequently at random for reasons you don't understand. Even if you have a good teacher, (and while there might be schools for Scrabble, I haven't heard of them. Yes, I know there is a league and people who play seriously.) Magic can be a real bear to learn, because there are just so many decisions to make, and often so many ways to lose, instead of paths to win.

So if you can't win, what do you do?

You change the rules. My youngest sister is actually a genius at this kind of thing; playing Scrabble with her is irreverent and a hell of a lot more entertaining, although it does become a bit easier. But who cares? You get to play. Playing is a lot more fun than losing.

I'm now going to try and play my own game within a game. Winning the outer game is now irrelevant, because I already know it cannot be done. What the point of trying to win that game?

But the inner game. Ah; now this I might be able to win.

For example; I'm now going to have all my words equal a point value of 10. If I cannot devise a word with a 10 point value, I will either pass the turn, or trade in tiles.

Any other suggestions?

Just wanted to let anyone reading who I haven't told: my Dad's OK. He's tired, but he's been released from the hospital, and seems to be in pretty good spirits.

Ticket to immortality

So, with my Dad undergoing triple bypass surgery in T-4 hours, 45 minutes, I'm a little nervous.

Dad's had some real challenges in the past 10 years, and he's weathered them pretty well, but...I think he's lonely, and he's stuck in a job he loves in a city he absolutely hates. He knows he's getting older, too, in that way that people just know things about themselves, sometimes good, sometimes bad.

I don't want him to die. I just don't want him to have to keep suffering, either. I know that sounds a bit fucked up. I know that there are people who endure much more, and go on. But I don't want to see my Dad be sad all the goddamn time, and I don't want him to undergo this shit and just be miserable afterward.

He deserves a break. More than that; some good times, even. I'd like it if this turned things around in a really good way. Even if that good way isn't so awesome for me, if that makes sense.

Bring the pain, yo

I'd say I can't believe it, but I'm too jaded now.

Found out today Dad's going to have bypass surgery. This is not good.

Another stone to throw

I am aware that last night was not a disaster. But it sure fucked with me, personally.
I've been taking swing dance classes because the girlfriend loves to dance, and I'm old enough now that going into a room and doing something that won't kill me isn't so embarrassing and fucked up. I could do this, you know?

But as it turns out, I am not a very good dancer. I mean this from as detached a place as I can get; my body just doesn't like to bend or flex in ways that are helpful to dancing. I can manage it with a certain level of adequacy; I don't step on anyone's toes, I can find the beat-or re-find it, if I lose it (which is often)-and generally keep time.

I'm really not so good at leading, though. When you dance, as the guy you're expected to take charge, to decide what gets done next, etc, etc. I am not so good at these things in a social sense, and dancing is entirely social. Yes, yes, I'm still learning all of this stuff, but I'm generally wracked with various forms of indecision, and in the meantime just keeping a beat. Which is boring-eventually my partner is going to wonder why she hasn't been turned, or something'd, you know?

But, I took the classes. They went pretty well, and I thought I had a handle on some stuff. I haven't been in class for a month, but last night was the first chance we had to go out dancing socially, instead of in a class. I was nervous, but I always am when I go into a new situation. It didn't help that I was a little grouchy beforehand, but I was trying to throw that off before we went in, because what's the fucking point in being grouchy?

Ugh. I just...I felt awful out there. My legs were stiff, I couldn't remember the moves, I actually bumped into the girlfriend during a move-something I'd never done before- and nothing seemed to flow.

Worse, everyone, and I mean this, everyone from the 60+yo man on down, was better than I was. Not just better as in; oh, this person is new but improving, that one has a few years under their belt, wow.

No. Everyone was like: I've been doing this since birth, and I'm insanely good at it. They were fast, they were smooth, they were well versed. Every man, every woman; good at it. I tried to follow some couples, to see if I could pick up on some of the moves, or just learn something, but it was really fast, and a lot more complex than what I'd learned.

I got to watch my girlfriend dance with a couple other people, and she got to actually dance, you know? Not clod around while your lead tries to figure his shit out. She looked like she was having a great time--and I don't begrudge her that at all. In addition to my lack of jealousy about these sorts of things, I'm really glad she got to dance, dance, if you take my meaning.

Didn't help so much on the shame factor, though. All I could think about was how much I sucked at all this, and pretty much sucked at life (I've been having to look for a new job-or at least prepare for one, write resume, look at ads, etc-and so we could cheerfully describe my general mood lately as blackhearted.) And, of course, then when I would go out there to dance again, all these terrible mindfucks are not helping me do any better...

Most awkward? I actually had to ask the girlfriend to dance. I don't mean this in a negative way; we'd take breaks between songs and such, but then she'd look at me like: are you going to ask me to dance? Then I have this panic moment; oh shit. I have to ask her to dance? Can't we just go out there and do it? I didn't come here to just hang out, right?

I avoided asking her to dance, pretty much the whole evening. I mean, we did it-but she would nudge me and I'd be noncommittal about it, and then we'd go.

So the whole thing probably felt to her like she was burdening me with this-which makes us less likely to go out and do it again.

But I don't want that! There's no way I'm ever going to be good at this, but I'd like to at least be decent enough (and not ashamed of my ability) to do this and have it work out OK. She likes to dance; I don't want to be the stick in the mud that keeps her from going and having fun.

When we left, she asked me how I was, because I looked, "really bummed out," which was the truth. But I didn't quite have the wherewithal to explain all this then; I just tried to put a good spin on it and say that things will be better next time. I don't actually feel like that, but they certainly can't feel any worse, because I had a good 40 minutes afterward of doing nothing but feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was dead. Then getting into bed and trying to curl up and dissolve into nothing. Then waking up at 3am and feeling depressed. Then wake up this morning and feel glum.

Now I finally am writing this all down-in public no less, and again, really, after last night's journaling-and it's still depressing. Not as bad as it was 12 hours ago, but not good, either. I don't know. I'm just trying to work it out.

I was wrong.

There's also going into a room full of experts as a beginner to rail on the ol' self esteem.

There is nothing like looking for work to make you feel worthless.

My brain hurts now

There's...there's just nothing to be said there.

Strange visions

Had a dream last night that I was in a cabin on a mountain, during an earthquake. Large red stones tumbled downhill as I too refuge in a doorway, and then thing seemed to slow as an enormous rock slowly moved, end over end, toward the house, with me waiting until the last moment to move out of the way. Possibly closest thing to a nightmare as I get.

Find out this morning that there was an earthquake in Cali. How about that?

I'm not afraid of a panda, I know karate!

That there should've been some last words.

Memory's Garden

There are times when it's not easy to remember that I've got it pretty good. That what I've been asked to let go of this year will not cripple me, and someone else needed it more.

There are times when it's hard to get out of my own head. To remember to do the (art) work because it seems to be the thing that keeps me from splitting my head open on the steering wheel. Blood stays inside. INSIDE.

Damn. I forgot my yogurt today.

What's also difficult to not fucking whine. Because who wants to hear it? I don't really want to put the effort out there to make my shit entertaining or interesting. I just want to be depressed, have a couple beers and a really good hamburger and fries somewhere semi-gloomy. I also want to rewind life to a situation that seemed happy, even if it wasn't entirely.

I thought it was. Then again, what I'm asking for there is self-deceit, and that way lies madness for certain.

I guess that it's good to realize that since happiness comes and goes, enjoy what is there, and don't set up camp in gloomyville.


All that said: I need to start taking some steps. I know, I know.

Kyöpelinvuori

For some reason, I'm glad I learned this today.

City Livin'

Saturday night, I was driving to the store to get meat. I like meat, it's tasty.

Anyway, I'm driving down Division to get to the store, passing by a porn theater. The theater is bland; a forest green everywhere except for the yellow sign with red lettering, telling you it's Oregon's Adult Theater, and then a pair of mirrored doors (think bad '90's highschool van) for accessibility. There are no posters outside, nor anything, really, to give the place personality, and as a result there is a vague sense of creepy about it. (I want to go in and check it out, though.) That Portland still has these anachronistic haunts pleases me to no end. I doubt they will last much longer, but that they're still here in the age of internet and DVD, this makes me smile.

Today, however, I was to get an Icing on the cake moment.

Outside on a white sheet of paper, was printed this announcement:
Bicycle parking indoors.

I love living in this city.

Dead Eyes

You get up some mornings. The clouds in the east look a little like sky turds. The rest of the heavenly expanse is a dull orange, or a flat gray-blue. It's nearing autumn.

The whispers of Dead Eyes start up. Some kind of tape looped backwards, it upswings in a strange tone, as though it's going forward, even though you're hearing it in reverse. The whisper rises, just a bit more, and then Justin Broderick hits his first ka-chung! of a note, except instead of guitar strings, I swear he's playing the cables that hold up the Golden Gate bridge. The sound is HUGE, and he must be swinging a Thor level hammer to get that chime out.

Ka-CHUNNNNNGGGGGG

Then it hits again.
WA-CHUNNNNGGGGG
and the drums beat at the same time the bass is in there somewhere-for all I know, the guitar is the damned bass, but by now either you're in, or you don't get it at all.

The reverse loop rises, and the drummer fills in the spaces between hammerstringing, then you hear it. That faded, e-warbled voice. It's fuzzy, like a bad comb; no truly identifiable words are coming out of that mouth. It's the goodbye at the airport, Spock asking if the ship is out of danger, the breakup after all hope is lost, and you both know it. The words are vapor. The meaning still gets to you.

This is Dead Eyes. The air around you thickens, as though snow and gloom have combined to sludge your progress. The voice is your beacon, but it's not one that is telling you that things are going to be OK. The ground shudders under the weight of all that is doomed.

Hammerstrings fade, finally, the voice says his last. The reverse whisper starts to go quiet, the eye of the storm has approached...

Until a low, electronic, guttural tone is thrown from a machine surely belched from hell, and then Broderick is suddenly smashing the strings like a black door that must be opened, like the violet sun from claws of darkness, there is the rising, and FUCK YES every song should end like this, should have this Unfuckwithability, the countertone to the howling hammerstringing is almost barely noticeable, but it's SO THERE, and with the four pings upward, reaching higher the whole song makes sense. The hammer chords stop, cut as though the tone was killed. Then it fades out, the reverse whispers drifting away, a wraith on the bog.

I wonder why people listen to Coldplay. Ever. Even for a second.

Long week, no lunch break

All my predictions about the week sucking?
Very True.

And I currently want to punch the guy who created the 'Reply All' button in email. FUCK.

frustration

the pain, I feel it.

Suck

For work related reasons, today is going to suck like a black hole.

iTheology

For the last year I've been helping my girlfriend take care of her two darling/devilish children. Today the experience culminated in this thought: The fact that more parents aren't alcoholics proves, to me, the existence of God.

new sound waves

I think DM will dig this.