Monday, September 21, 2009

The happy stories

Recently my roommate posted on my facebook status "Guess what everyone? Josh hates EVERYTHING", in response to a status about how the federal government stopped funding ACORN at the first whiff of controversy, while Blackwater (now Xe) is still being funded after numerous incidents. She was kidding, sort of. There is truth in comedy and this joke had a lot of truth in it. I post a lot of shit on my facebook wall about the terrible state of things. Healthcare, gay rights, torture... I've got statistics and stories on why each of these things is worse now than it was ten years ago, and how its not all due to W.

But heres the thing:

No one wants to hear the good stories. We dont like the bad so much either, but we'll listen a lot longer to the "this the 18 little things that went wrong today" story than we will to my amazing weekend. Everyone wants the intimate details of the dating failures I've had recently, from the hook up with the sword swallower to the girl I flirted with for two hours before she let slip that she had a boyfriend to the friend who is just a friend but whom I slept next to. But no one wants to hear the story of the first time I made love and how it was a wonderful experience. They want awkward. They want uncomfortable.

I'm not sure why this is. Maybe its misplaced humility, as bragging is a terrible social faux pas that is easily avoidable. Maybe its a trust issue, where if someone tells you their true joys you've somehow agreed to undertake making them a happy person. Maybe we're just distant. I'm not sure. But I know the cycle of negativity wears on me. I want to tell the good stories. I want to tell people about things that I love. I want to get over that mild uncomfortable feeling I get when someone tells me a good quality that I have. I want to believe I'm not the only one who feels trapped telling the same horror stories and never really talking about what I love.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Life Experience: Day 1

Scrapper

You know those movies where a plucky young upstart gets beat down by a bunch of veterans, but then goes to train and comes back and shows that with the heart of steel and the courage of a warrior he shows the competition he's a man to be respected? I fulfilled the first part of that trope in spades. I got my ass beat down by the oldest men to play winks. It was like Mr. Myiagi, Pai Mei, Gen Fu, and the old guy from Kung Fu came to Vienna, Virginia to hand me my ass in an ancient game they had been training for their whole lives.

A brief rules primer on scoring: In singles winks, each player uses two colors, on opposite ends of the table. Each uncovered wink on the table is worth one "tiddly." (The term is used to differentiate it from "points," which are different). Each wink in the cup is worth 3 tiddlies. At the end of a game, the color with the highest number of tiddlies gets 4 points. The second highest color gets 2, third gets 1, fourth gets 0. If one of the colors gets all its winks in the pot before game end, they take first place points, AND they take one point from their opponent. These points carry through the tournament, so even a loss can come away with points that matter in the final standings. It also means that you can't take it easy on anyone.

The brackets set the lowest with the highest to start, so the opening games are brutal for me. My new tournament jitters, plus the experience of the room, has me getting trashed back and forth. I keep making bad shots, doing more desperate plays, and getting all my winks covered, or "squopped." It's a vile feeling to have to stand there while your opponent gets to roll the table. Ferdinand referred to me as the "valiant punching bag." I didn't expect to dominate, or even win, but I didn't think I'd get beat down that bad. Or that it would feel so bad. I guess I hate losing, whatever the situation.

A couple noteworthy matches:

I almost beat Matthew Fayers. I had 5 out of 6 winks potted, he covered the other one, then proceeded to show me why he's one of the best. Shot after shot, he clawed his way back, and finished me right at the end. He pots out, I pot my colors, and the game goes 6-1. It was the closest I got that day to a victory.

Jon and I had a really fun match. Where professional players usually end up with a large pile of winks at the cup, ours were everywhere. There was chatting, ribbing, and a general joviality at the table that I simply couldn't have with the other guys. He totaled me, 7-0, but it was a close 7-0. More importantly, it was a FUN 7-0.

For the final match, I was able to scrape out a 2-point game against Rick. I learned a huge amount about the game of Tiddlywinks in that one day. I do have to admit I was glad when it was over for the night. I gained a great deal of respect for the guys who analyzed, practiced, and strove to fully master this game. Sadly, that respect would be blunted a bit by the evening's end.

Wild Man

Anyone who wants wild cards in their poker game is an asshat. There. I said it. It had to be said.

After winks, Larry and his wife Kathy had some guests over, and we all had BLTs for dinner. It's a fine sandwich; I'd eat it any time of day. Afterward, some of the group went to a dancing thing in town, while Dave, his son, Bob, Ferd, and I stayed behind to play some cards. We started with poker. This was an adventure, since Larry has no poker chips; he did, once, but he filed them all down to make squidgers for Tiddlywinks. Priorities, I guess. We end up using glass beads.

The people at the table are smart folks. They're all better than me at Tiddlywinks. So why is it, when I try to explain Texas Hold-em, everyone becomes a shit-flinging retard!? The one guy who gets it is 17, and the 60 year olds are not grasping the concept of betting rounds. It wasn't helping that everyone who had a thought was trying to express it while I'm explaining the rules. It's a bittersweet comfort to see that, no matter how old or young the group is, they'll still make it difficult to explain a game. Kids, remember; ONE person explains a game at a time.

After a couple rounds, we do dealer's choice. When it gets to Ferd, he starts saying "5-card draw, and…"

I interrupt him with, "Ferd, if you put wilds in the game, I'm getting up from the table."

He replies, "There WILL be wilds, and you CAN get up." Yes, I handled that poorly. And yes, I think wilds are the shittiest thing in poker. It's exactly like Free Parking Money in Monopoly; the game devolves into simple chance. You get a wild card, bet, if not, fold. It puts a probabilistic spin on the game that takes out all the interest. When I tried to explain that to a group of smart MIT alums I am met with, "No, it's fairer to say you just don't like it." I don't like it because it sucks! And there's cash on the line. Not a lot, just a few bucks, but if I'm putting money on a game that susceptible to chance, I'll play slots, or Roulette, or blackjack. Poker is a game of skill. Drinking games require more skill than wild-card poker.

We play one more round of poker, because nobody's really that into it. In the end, Ferd suggests some 7 card variant where you bet, pass 3 cards left, bet, pass two, bet, and pass one. I fold in the first round of betting. I'll save poker for a different group.

We then play a game called "Oh Hell!" I won't go into the rules here, but as they're teaching me the game I realize it's exactly like a game I've played called Wizard, only less interesting. I dominate. It felt good to win something that night. After that we headed to bed. Bob and Ferd took a late night walk, which was kind of adorable, two old friends sharing a moment in the moon light. After getting some questionable rest on an under-filled water bed, we woke and plunged into the second half of the tournament. I'll post next week with day 2 results, and a recounting of one of the most surreal scenes I have ever witnessed this side of reality.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Life Experience: The Men of Winks

I promised a recounting of the games, but before we get into that I wanted to introduce the men who play the game of Tiddlywinks ((the women were notably absent from the event).

Larry Kahn: Winker 1

From www.tiddlywinks.org:

Larry "Horsemeat" Kahn has been one of the most competitive winkers since he stumbled onto winks at MIT in the Fall of 1971 at Baker House. He holds, by far, the most number of world titles (singles, pairs, and teams), though does not exhibit the intensity sometimes found in others.

The tournament is being held at this guy's house, and most of us are crashing there. Let me tell you a bit about the Larry Kahn, the man, the myth, the winks machine.

First off, he looks EXACTLY like you'd expect a 'Larry' to look. Remember Perfect Strangers? He looks just like 'Cousin Larry,' with one notable difference; he has ptosis, an eyelid condition where his eyes only open as far as slits. So he can't open his eyes too wide, and he can't wink. There's a joke in there, but I'm not going to tell it, because I'm trying to be fucking classy.

When you're number 1 at something, your life sort of revolves around it. Here's what I mean:

I was turned on to the game and tournament by British MIT alum Matthew Fayers. He, his wife Jenny, and I are waiting for Larry to pick us up. When he does, I notice his license plate says Winker 1. Larry's e-mail address is madsquopper*@ (address omitted). His mantle is covered with dusty trophies of all the tournaments he's won, the Sports Illustrated article about him and winking, and he always wears his pink flamingos shirt he's had for years to matches. *author's note: To "squop" means to cover a wink with another wink, so it cannot be played or scored.

One thing I found very cool about Larry; in his basement he has a box of "things he used to throw." In it is his collection of boomerangs, a set of ultimate Frisbee discs (he's played for years), and the oldest set of Disc Golf Discs that may ever exist! They're just regular Frisbee brand discs, different sizes, with numbers so you know whose disc belongs to whom, like tennis balls. Larry played "frolf" before the sport really existed. If you know me, you know how cool I thought that was.

The Old Salts (editorial note: There was no salt in this house. None. Who the hell doesn't have salt?)

Matthew Fayers: The man who introduced me to the sport. He's in his mid-30s, holds a PhD in Mathematics from MIT, and is quintessentially British. Where another man would provide an outburst of emotion, Matt gives a small sigh and says something to the effect of, "Ah, well, could've been a better one, I'm afraid." He is currently ranked 5th in the world.

Ferdinand "Ferd" Wulkan: At 62 years old, Ferd was one of the 3 aforementioned wise men I met on "Day 0." He's well-traveled, soft-spoken, and ranked 12th in the world. Gray hair, tan skin, he kind of looked like a cross between Orville Redenbacher and an old warlord, which may be where his nickname "Ferdinand the Bold" came from.

Bob Henninnge: Wise man number 2. Also 62, he was Ferd's roommate when they went to MIT. They were, I believe, the founders of the MIT Tiddlywinks club. These guys are the oldest of friends, and it was delightful to see something like that endure all these years. Bob's current rank is 9th. He's got a short face and one of those long beards that sticks out in front of him.

Sunshine: Born David Shenison, Sunshine (or Sunsch, as he came to be called) no longer plays competitive winks (too hard-hitting, I guess), but still finds time to visit the gang. The 3rd wise man, Sunshine and Bob co-wrote one of winks "controversial" "new" "rules," the perimeter rule. (If you really want to know, e-mail me, I'll explain it). Sunshine has been known to play ambidextrously, and on rare occasions, with his feet. He published a book detailing all the crazy variations made for Tiddlywinks over the years, which reminds me of my game-designing friends. He's a great guy, a dyed-in-the-wool hippie, and while he longer holds a world rank, he's made his mark on the winking world.

Dave "The Dragon" Lockwood: At 50+ years old, Dave is to Larry like Mike Tyson is to Lennox Lewis. Larry is a tactician of the game, calm, almost aloof in his play. Dave, on the other hand, is an aggressive player, known to make strong, difficult shots, launch winks far and wide, and plays to win every time. My second match with him, he had a pounding headache and couldn't stand for much of it, and he still trounced me. Currently ranked 6th, and taking second place in the tournament, he's one of the 8 Americans who traveled to England in 1972 to play against the best winkers in the land where Tiddlywinks was invented. Since then, he's been back over 100 times. He has five children, and they all play the game, including:

Jon Lockwood: 17 years old, Jon was the closest person to my age, save Matthew, and definitely the closest spiritually, as I have always behaved younger than I really am (some call me immature, I like to think I'm just "chronologically displaced"). Jon was fun, if a bit rambunctious; his father was on hand constantly to tell him to quit screwing around. It was eerily familiar. As far as winking goes, he's a good player, currently ranked 26th; definitely better than me, but still years away from the rest of the folks at the game. Every sport has its brash young upstarts. Personally I think he'd make a better poker player, but apparently he needs to focus on his studies more.

Rick Tucker: I didn't get much of a chance to talk with Rick, which is a shame, because he was probably the coolest guy at the event. In addition to winking, he's a puzzle aficionado, a world-traveler, and a pretty good photographer. He has a heavy online presence, you'll find him if you Google him. He maintains the North American Tiddlywinks Association website, http://www.tiddlywinks.org/, where you can get information on the game, events, and bios of the people mentioned above. I do not yet have a bio there. Rick is ranked 14th. Later on I'll tell you how I almost beat him in a match.

All these guys are MIT alums (Little John aside), most of them played together at MIT, they are the backbone of North American Tiddlywinks. They're well-traveled, well-spoken, intelligent individuals with a penchant for gaming. They remind me of my group of friends at MIT. Sadly, they represent a dying breed. The sport of winks is waning rapidly in popularity and, except for the efforts of The Lockwood Foundation, no new blood is being introduced to the sport. It was kind of bittersweet, playing a tournament with these guys, like taking part in a slice of history. And while I enjoyed my time at the tournament, I found myself wondering if this would be a mirror of my potential future? But that is a musing for another post.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Life Experiences: Prelude

I'm finally getting around to documenting my sojourn into the world of competitive Tiddlywinks. There were many noteworthy events, which would make for a tedious single read, so I'll be posting in chapters. This is, as the title suggests, the introduction into what was a delightful if not surreal experience.

Executive Movement

This part isn't about Tiddlywinks, but I feel it bares mention.

I get to the airport on time, board the plane, and settle in, when the pilot clicks on the intercom with this little tidbit:

"Uhhhhhhh, (all pilots do that when they're about to say something) this is your captain speaking, we'll be headed out in, uhhhhhhhhh, about 12 minutes." Like hoe knows exactly when we're going, down to the minute. "We'll be delayed a bit, by… well, the tower's calling it 'Executive movement.' I'm not really sure what that is…"

I'm not really sure what that is. I know pilots aren't all geniuses, but when you're about to tackle the wild blue yonder in a big metal tube, you never want to hear the guy at the front of it say those words.

We end up getting delayed for a solid hour. The pilot gives two reasons:

1) The aforementioned "Executive Movement." Ted Kennedy died (for more information, read some other blog), and some of the President's political entourage was mucking up the airways going to or from the funeral service.

2) The tower gave the plane the wrong flight time, stating something about "Greenwich Standard Time" and being an hour off.

Not only is #2 an awful thing to happen to a company as dependent on time as a freaking airport, the two excuses don't mesh. It's like they lied for no reason. If JetBlue didn't provide TV and snacks I'd feel even more ripped off than I already did.

Expectations

We waited to be picked up at the airport by Larry Kahn, who I will discuss in detail in my next entry. When he pulls up, I immediately note his license plate: Winker 1. A few notions pop into my head; is he the number one winker? Is he just a winker, but "Winker" was already taken? Or maybe he has multiple cars? In the end I decided it was the first, but also that it was a D.C. thing, because on the way to his house I saw a car with the plate "Dingo 1." Or maybe that guy was the number one baby eater. We didn't get a chance to ask him.

When I first agreed to come to the tournament, I admit I had a few expectations. They were all wrong. One, that there would be multiple people. Nope. Eight. Eight people. I figured it would be held in a rented hall in a hotel, or some large venue. Nope. The National Singles Tiddlywinks tournament took place in the illustrious Larry's Rec Room. And I expected there to be a couple players close to my age. Well, a few had already showed up that night, as they were also staying at Larry's, so I went down to the rec room to see who showed up early.

It was like Bethlehem, complete with three wise men and a cheap palette not unlike the one Jesus may have slept in. I was greeted by the oldest men I have ever seen playing a game of anything, let alone a game formerly thought to be played by kindergartners. Their names were Ferdinand (Ferd), Bob, and Sunshine, whose real name I forgot. They too will get their own chapter.

I also believed I would not be the worse player at the tournament. I'll recount the Day 1 action tomorrow, and let you know how I fared on that one.