Too long overdue, it's true, i'm out of control

I've started reading JPod today. Microserfs is a great book and I loved it. It's hard not to like it as a Software Developer and a nerd at heart. It's like someone took the time to write about you, and about your quirks and about the way you think. So I'm really looking forward to this one, even though I don't work for a game company.

I will discuss the book in various posts, but I will always warn about spoilers. So here we go: SPOILERS BELOW.

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Engineers aren't funny or cute or nerdy. They're damaged.

The older the culture is, the less cutesy it is about saying, "Well, you're a winner because you tried your best." Can you imagine a Chinese person saying that?

It's so easy to locate myself in this book that it feels a bit like cheating. The opening stream of consciousness section is entertaining, and gives that quality of intimacy. I was just discussing with Arwen yesterday how it's those little thoughts that create intimacy. Anyone can share general thoughts and big moments together, but it's the little thoughts and little moments, from being together all the time or sharing thoughts all the time that really... bond. Then, I guess I encourage certain people to tell me everything they're thinking, even the little thoughts, because I crave intimacy with them. I'm damaged.

This leads me to another musing I've had on and off for a while: the internet and connectivity of the world in general is trending society towards more diluted and shallow relationships. It has become a quantitative goal rather than qualitative. In the world of Facebook, it's no longer necessary to cultivate specific relationships. There is no need to be intimate with people. For example, it used to be that kids would hang out. They would hang out for the sake of hanging out, even if they had nothing to do and they were bored, they would be together and learn how to coexist in boring times. They'd try to entertain themselves with each other. Over the internet this will not happen. If I am "hanging out" or talking to someone online, you can guarantee that they are probably doing or thinking about something else. If things get boring they can just go play another game or talk to someone else. The lack of dependency causes a gap in the bonding process. I think this is why the gang is so strong. We were dependent on each other every weekend, and we got together for good or ill. And for my part, I try to recreate this over all my new friendships, and it's not working. No one needs or wants to be intimate with me. I have always preferred to be intimate and share my resources with a select few rather than get into the whole social acquaintances mess. What do I have now?

Now that I'm started, I guess I might as well express my increasing loneliness from not being able to hang out with my friends. Jas is terrific and great and really fantastically adorable, but going from hanging out with my friends every weekend to nothing is... impactful. They do not come to visit, some have not even asked to visit. Not that I have much to entertain them with my 20" CRT, but... I guess this goes back to my feelings above.

I feel like I've run out of gas and probably won't be doing the second quote justice. The statement infers that practicality wins out in the end. It's true that Chinese people would only laugh at you for failing, because success is everything in that culture (practical for a nation of over a billion people). And yet, they hold on to such crazy and impractical traditions and superstitions. It's one giant paradox wrapped in a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

I've got a Dungeon Master's Guide. I've got a twelve-sided die.

There have been many amusing jokes and webcomics that have come out of Gary Gygax's death, including Richard saying "Are you sure he's not just at -2 hps?". This one I'll point out in particular, because I love when people apply things... cross-discipline, as it were:
Monster Manual: Politicians

Roleplaying has served a fairly role (pun optional) in my life. I miss it, and now I am paying my small tribute to the man who, in some way, introduced me to it. Sure, First Edition was a bit crazy, but it started something. Kind of like the first Dance Dance Revolution. I can only hope that he is smiling in the afterlife, knowing that he is still bringing laughter and entertainment in his death.

I finished "American Gods" this morning. I do not like it as much as the other Gaiman novels, but I still like it. It's well written and fairly entertaining. There is a weird sense of seriousness that you don't get with other Gaiman novels, though, like the sheer weight of the atmosphere is telling you to look for something. Maybe at another point in my life this would be my favourite Gaiman novel. I'm interested to hear what Jasmine will think of Gaiman novels. What stood out to me were the acknowledgments. An immense amount of work by very many people went into that book. For all you kids who think writing is just about sitting in front of a typewriter, think again. You need lots of help and a lot of experts. You need to go ask the police about police procedures, and become familiar with the subject matter. Try to experience the events, maybe. The task of writing a novel now seems gargantuan and very strange.

I hope you don't mind that I put down in words

Jasmine is the most fantastic being ever in the history of creation. Even before creation. Nullness and void were looking into the future and discussing how wonderful a being Jas really is.

I realize every parent will claim this about their child. I don't care. There is also room for them to be right. I submit as proof, exhibit A:



I could gush about her forever, so I had better stop. But something feels so... right when she's snuggling into my neck when I burp her, or when she's listening to my heartbeat calmly.

Without you, it's not as much fun to pick up the pieces

Another contemplative but not necessarily revealing post:

It seems impossible to extract how people really feel about other people, and therefore, about you.

That isn't as malicious as it sounds. Even when people try to be candid, there are just layers upon layers of filters and concerns that end up muddling the message. For example, some people think that the "real" feelings are negative, and won't believe the answer they're getting to be real unless it is negative. And then the respondent will subconsciously shift their answer into a more negative tone just to sound sincere. Also, there's always the concern of what will the audience feel or think if I say such things, which is always subconsciously working in our minds. Cocoons of thought, and all these little thoughts are in there, hidden so well.

I dream of the day that people can cut through that bullshit with me. I don't judge responses, I just really want to understand and know. When I ask a question, I am genuinely and sincerely interested in what you have to say. And the feeling that I won't know the whole and precise truth just causes this desire that seemingly can't be satisfied.

In your reflection, he lives in you

Something in me is getting weary of online conversations. Does anyone talk just to talk to one person anymore? Is anyone interesting enough to completely hold someone's attention?

I've sat online just talking to one person doing nothing else, because I'm genuinely interested in these people. I assume I am not that interesting, and that makes me very sad.

(Nads doesn't count cause I talk to her face to face. I guess when you're face to face with someone they have no choice but to talk to you.)

Portal

Portal
PC - Valve - October 9, 2007
Valve
First-Person, Puzzle, Steam, Valve, Portal, GLaDOS
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Click here to customize the way your overall score is calculated!

Graphics 90 Sound 98 Gameplay 92 Encounter/Level Design 89 Dollar Value CDN$20

92

System Specs used in the review
At the time of writing, 4 hours have been put into the game.

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What would you expect to be the best element in a First-Person Puzzler? The ingenious puzzle design? The clever learning curve and game mechanics? Play Portal and the answer may surprise you. The shining star of Portal isn't the graphics or gameplay, but the villain, GLaDOS.

Portal is available on its own or as part of the larger collection of Half Life 2 related games known as the Orange Box. It is available through the regular retail channels and Steam, and just to show you how much they like the game, Valve made the game a part of their flagship Half Life 2 universe. But, back to GLaDOS.

GLaDOS will creep you out a little as well as make you laugh. She's that type of girl. By the time you are finished with the game, you will remember her lines and her voice more than any of the 19 levels you played through to get to the ending. And believe me, you will remember the ending.

Don't get me wrong, all the other elements of the game are put together very well in order to create an immersive environment for GLaDOS to work her charm. The innovation of the game is admirable, as the portal gun makes you think with a different set of rules. Moreover, despite being essentially a puzzle game, the First-Person view actually allows for some intense action moments, such as desperately trying to find a solution before your platform runs into a wall that will knock you into a pool of acid. This blend of puzzle-action is fresh and actually makes the game quite accessible. The short levels will allow even casual gamers to step in and do a few levels at a time.

The puzzles in the game are also not that challenging, which should lend a hand in attracting a wider audience. However, this aspect was a little bit disappointing as I never really felt triumphant at any moment in the game, which should be the reward of story-based puzzle games. It did help the pace of the game and gets you to the ending faster though, so it's more of a lose-win situation.

The graphics are very clean and really does the job of making it look like a somewhat dilapidated futuristic training centre. As you go deeper into the Enrichment Centre you will notice broken things or dirty things and soon you get the eerie feeling you're not in Kansas anymore. There really isn't much to say about the graphics except to say that they are good but I've seen better.

The sound and music in the game are perfect. The voice acting is funny, touching, emotive and yet robotic and distant. I gave it an imperfect score only out of some sense that there is probably some technical element to the sound that I can't perceive but can be improved. Also, providing subtitles for the audio dialog is a fantastic option. I can't express how much I love subtitles.

The only major flaw from a "I have to pay money for this" perspective is the length of the game. If you are not interested in the achievements nor the bonus maps, you may be able to blow through this game in 3 hours. Yet, I still believe the experience is worth the full CDN$20. I recommend that everyone play this game, if only so that I can randomly send them quotes from GLaDOS and share a laugh.

If I believe I'm dreaming

Two pieces of news on video games that i'd like to record:

Video Games as an Olympic Sport

and:

Video Games blamed for violence (again)

I have no more to say about videogame violence. People who believe what they read about this type of stuff are not necessarily stupid people. Surely, if you tell them that linking increasing youth violence to video games is like linking increasing violence throughout the century to refrigerators.

On another note, it's pretty cool that kids can soon (maybe) dream of being part of Team Canada's Video Game Relay. By no means do I think it should be an Olympic sport. Games should stick to game tournaments or leagues... video games have no more Olympic spirit in them than board games. But if it does happen... well, that's something.

I'm not an addict, maybe that's a lie

This is the eve of the birth of baby Jasmine. I've already started referring to her as Jas in various communications, accepted as part of my forthcoming reality. There wasn't this shock of "zomg, i'm becoming a dad". Feelings like that do not really penetrate into my consciousness.

Instead, last night I was faced with a rather tough question that involved some introspection, as some tough questions do:

How much do I want Jas to be like me?

It is no secret that I am not my biggest fan. I feel that is justified, for I know much better people, and people who are better at everything, and... well, enough of that. The important thing is that, despite that, I think I do have some good qualities, and which of those do I want Jasmine to take on? But even beyond qualities, are there habits I want or do not want her to pick up? Let me consider.

Frugality: I think I'm pretty good with money. I do not spend a lot, and I value pretty much everything. I am not afraid of money problems and I can deal with them directly. I can be rather lax about money with my friends though. In this particular aspect, I think what would be best for Jas is if she does not gimp herself to save money like I do. She should enjoy her life to her full enjoyment, and let me be frugal for her to do so! But I would still like her to understand and be able to plan finances.

Pleasing People: Yes, I do try to please everyone and accommodate everyone. This has some advantages, as I never get into a mode that's way too selfish (at least, I think), but of course this means that I am pretty upset when I can't please someone. I'd probably want her to have a modicum of this, but I want her to be more sensible about it.

Technology: I'm pretty crippled without it. It's a weird feeling... I just don't like being offline. I never talk to people on the phone. I am comfortable with the layer of separation between me and the other party, so that if I start being boring, it is easy for them to ignore me. I certainly would not like Jasmine to inherit this. I want her to be tech-savvy and a cool gaming girl, but what I do is pretty unhealthy. I will not let the computer or a TV babysit her. I promise this.

At this point, I'm thinking this task is much larger than I originally thought. I probably have traits that I'm not even aware of. And I apologize now for passing down any that you dislike, Jas.

Shot through the heart

Lyrics are a tricky thing. The simplest way to describe them would be poetry put to music, so I treat them with the same scrutiny that I do with poems. Of course, there is the one conditional component: the words and music can match so perfectly that it doesn't matter if the words count as good poetry.

So what makes a good poem? The most obvious trait would be that it is revealing. It grants you an epiphany, or it makes you think about something. Another criterion is to make you feel something, which is a very common goal in all kinds of art. But the hardest thing to master about writing good poetry, and the thing that makes it the most interesting, is simply this: Show, don't tell. If a song can't achieve this (most people are not good poets), then I will settle for some subtlety.

And in the very of spirit of showing, I will provide some examples of what I consider good lyrics and bad lyrics. Starting with the bad:


You drive me crazy
I just can't sleep
I'm so excited, I'm in too deep
Ohh...crazy, but it feels all right
Baby, thinkin' of you keeps me up all night

- "Crazy", Britney Spears


Why did I pick Ms. Spears? Because I like hollow victories. And kicking a girl when she's down. Also, her lyrics (as with most pop artists) suck. So what's wrong with these lyrics? They pound the emotion in your face. There's no detective work to be done. I feel A, I'm B, You do C to me. Done. Over. What else is there? It may make people feel something, but I have no idea. But all it does is tell me stuff.

Now for a good example:


I once knew a pair that used to fit very tight
But now a man standing tall in the wake of this night
His eyes are watering in anger at the thought of her sight
The scene of adultery sets the stage for his plight

- "People of the Sky", Sloan


Why did I pick Sloan? Cause they rock. Cause they are entertaining live. Oh, and they write good lyrics. In this opening verse alone, there are very many questions you could ask or scenarios you can wonder about. It gives you just enough information to entice you to listen further. What happened on this night? "Sets the stage for his plight" implies that the "scene of adultery" isn't his plight... what's next for this guy? It invokes more emotion than the Spears lyric, strangely enough, even though it's less personal as it's a third person account. This is due to the Showing: His eyes are watering in anger (he is not simply angry), and we know that what he has lost was once valuable (they used to fit very tight). Just the atmosphere set by the description "in the wake of this night" is interesting.

I understand that some people may actually like the Spears lyric better. But they'd be wrong. Or maybe you don't like the Sloan lyric. But comparing these two is like comparing raw teenage poetry and a masterpiece, because the difference to me is so glaring. Amateur poetry is often tough to read simply because they don't follow this principle. It becomes this session of hearing someone complain (and it's not someone you care about). I will leave off with another good (I think it's good anyway) example:


Now I'm falling asleep
And she's calling a cab
While he's having a smoke
And she's taking a drag
Now they're going to bed
And my stomach is sick
And it's all in my head
But she's touching his chest now
He takes off her dress now

- "Mr. Brightside", The Killers


This time I chose a pretty mainstream song. It's a ridiculously rocking tune, but the lyrics make it even better. The interesting part of this verse is "and it's all in my head". How much of what he has said is in his head? Is it all made up? I think that the part that's in his head is after she leaves him, between lines two and three. Between lines. The very fact that it's making me literally read between the lines produces some enjoyment. Also, it would seem that if she is returning to this other man, then that makes the narrator "the other man"? The perspective of the other man is interesting to me, and I had never taken much time to consider that they may get jealous. Another interesting thing is that he imagines them being intimate the way they are (presumably) intimate - but can this other relationship be that great if she's sneaking off to see the narrator?

And really, this is what's great about the "show, don't tell" principle: other people can read these verses completely differently and have a different understanding of them. I love to hear other people's interpretations of literature. In the Spears lyric, there's not much to discuss and not much to wonder about, and that makes it very, very dull.

You say you want to go for a spin

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The lanes at every cash were packed. This is certainly no more than I deserve, Robert thought to himself as he desperately searched lane after lane for one that contained any slight advantage to the one he was already in. His eyes paused at the self-checkout lanes beside lane 1 and thought about the advantages of demonstrating his independence and competency, but decided against it. He didn't like the tone of the machine telling him to "Please Place Items in the Bag".

So he stood there, and as is inevitable to anyone in a supermarket line-up (he imagined), he glanced at a few tabloid headlines: "Britney's Visitation a Disaster", "TomKat Aiming for a Second", "Mary Kate's Cry for Help". I'm the one crying for help, he joked to himself miserably, which did comfort him a little but the feeling was too ephemeral to be of any real help. He dissected the word Disaster in his mind. Di-saster Disas-ter Dis-aster Disast-er. He mused over how a tabloid headline could make any word look aesthetically pleasing. An old lady is finished loading up her bags, and Robert took a careful step forward, savouring it because he knew another one wouldn't be coming for a while.

The man who was on deck but is now the batter, who was also obviously a father as well as a professional baseball shopper (the mysterious tenth position that is never mentioned), loaded up the conveyor belt with various diaper packages and foodstuffs. Robert let his mind wander again as a wellspring of misery threatened to consume him.

As his eyes started to glaze while browsing the colourful selection of candies, a unique "fusion" of many different fruits and flavours, somewhere in the world he was leaving, a light went on. He did not have an idea. This was an extra lane opening up. The gods have shone this light upon him.

Robert, growing up, was not the best at anything but quite above average in reflexes. He turned his cart and darted for the newly open lane. He raced his accelerating cart, trying not to have it go out of control or spill its contents and yet reach the now open lane with expediency. Perhaps he could be the first, or, being more realistic as he tends to like to be, second or third in line. He flexed his calves and asked his heart to pump more blood and pump it faster, he was quite far from his destination but maybe he could still reach his goal, and he is now jogging across the massive contingent of checkout lanes now, ever closer now, only a couple of people have noticed and lined up at this escape route, and if -

a jolting sensation and a loud clang caused him to stop and reel backwards. Various dairy, vegetable, meat and potato products flew for aisles in every direction, and several shoppers gasped at the collision, but were unwilling to leave their hard earned spots. The other market athlete, another young man in his twenties, seemed stunned as well, his cart toppled over by the force of the two carts crashing together. Robert looked at the open lane in panic. "Was there an open lane at all?" he wondered to himself, as he looked around bewildered from a sitting position on the supermarket floor. All he saw were lines of people forming one-way walls, and he was caught between two of them. The other man had gotten to his feet and offered him a hand. Still in disbelief that the open lane had vanished as soon as his eyes were off of it, Robert took the hand and raised himself to a standing position, instantly feeling less confused. Is that how kids always feel?

"Sorry buddy, I was trying to get into the open lane," the man said somewhat timidly.

"What open lane?"

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"It's in the trees it's in the trees", it's not - it's inside me

Today is Blog Action Day. I have a blog, although it is not often updated. So, two birds with one stone!

My topic is one that people will relate to, or they will be angered by, but at the very least they should be familiar with: Cigarette litter. Instead of going all macro about global warming and whatnot, I've decided to play small ball and focus on one of my pet peeves.

Smoking is in itself quite a revolting habit. It's smelly, destroys the lungs of you and those around you, and burdens us heavily in terms of public health dollars. It's also not as fun as alcohol (disclaimer: do not drink and drive!). But that is another topic for another day. I am playing even smaller ball than smoking. This is like... a sacrifice bunt, except I'm only talking about the part where you drop the bat.

That's right, for those of you who fling your cigarette butt and then step on it, please take the extra step to put the butt into the trash receptacle. When my company goes on the "clean up day", we could fill entire bags of garbage just full of cigarette butts in the smoking area. It's not nice. The corpses still reek of the thousands of chemicals you've transformed into gas.

For those of you who toss it to the ground and don't even bother putting it out, much less waste your precious time putting it in the trash, I'm sure there's some special level of hell waiting for you. Maybe level... 6a or something. Where people on level 6 are forced to constantly smoke cigarettes and then they just toss them down at YOU. While it's still lit. It will land in your eye. You won't like it.

So now that we're friends, I once again implore you to keep your city streets clean of cigarette butts (especially Torontonians). It really does make a difference!

Still I can't decide, cause my hands are tied

I've been reading Gaiman stories. His stories are always the best stories. They make you feel good reading them. They have internal consistency, just as he describes in American Gods, that there are these rules and you don't know them all but you know they're there. Anyway, I encourage everyone to read Anansi Boys and anything else by him that you can get your hands on. His I, Cthulu short story is pretty amusing (you can read that from his blog linked above).

But I'll come back to me, since this song is about me. Now I want to write stories. It has been a long time and I'm sure I won't be any good at it, and yet, I'm compelled.

---

"Come on, get up, punk!"

Robert felt like he had been hit by a truck. But of course that was not true, he had simply been hit by a three hundred pound sack of muscle. His vision was still fading back into reality piece by piece from the white wash that filled it, like some bad transition on a TV show.

"What's the matter, pussy?"

He saw the kick coming and managed to edge slightly away from it before it connected with his side. It sent him rolling across the wooden lacquered dance floor, and into a small puddle where someone had - against the rules - brought a drink onto the dance floor and spilled it. No vision problems this time.

The darkness and the occasional stream of coloured light that struck him helped Robert see the concerned look of club-goers, who were in no way offering to help him against his burly opponent, but felt very badly for him nonetheless. Especially the fathead's (he had one of those squat, square heads) girlfriend, who got him into this mess in the first place. "Never get mixed up with broads in low-cut dresses," he could hear his dad advise. Thanks, dad.

Right now though, Robert had to make what seemed to be the most important decision in his life - get up and possibly witness an end to his short, but remarkably fun 21 year old life, survived by old-fashioned and loving parents, Body, his lovable Westie, and his vast collection of golden age comic books, or stay down, let this pool of alcohol and saliva soak into his silk shirt some more, and probably live a long, healthy, and hopefully marvelous life. The choice seemed obvious, but at that moment, fathead decided that he was going to make his choice for him.

Robert was suddenly looking at fathead eye to eye, not recalling that he ever used his own two feet to stand. That's when he noticed that he wasn't standing, but hovering about a foot off the ground, suspended by two massive hands that you might find at a prehistoric gorilla exhibit. An upwelling of well-being and cleverness came over him then, despite the pain that pervaded his body. He began to dramatically work up some phlegm and made a spitting motion. Fathead instinctively turn his head and loosened his grip a little, which allowed Robert to introduce Fathead's crotch to his foot. Fathead's crotch did not enjoy this meeting, but Robert didn't stay to console it. Instead, he bolted and ran into the night.

---

Comments, thoughts, and suggestions are all welcome.

I want to know you, want to trust you

No need for words now, we sit in silence.

As I often do, I pondered as to why people give a rat's ass about celebrity news. Who had who's baby, who's breaking up with who, etc. Personally, I could never understand it, but today I thought of something that may be part of it.

I think that people like to know secrets. They love to know. But I also like to know other people's secrets, so how come I don't care about celebrity news? The answer is that there are two parts of a secret. The first is that it is forbidden knowledge, and it is this part that relates to celebrity news. It doesn't matter that everyone knows - all that matters is that you're not supposed to know. The second part is the sharing of the secret, and this is the part I enjoy. I like it when people tell me things they wouldn't tell other people. It is a sign of trust and friendship.

I divulged this little revelation with Sat, who said that it is also because it is a neutral topic that makes people feel involved, and people want to feel involved with anything. Probably true.

We're the bodies piled up by the roadside

Sometimes, I ponder about death. Usually not my own, but if my mother is sick I will think about it. There is a small amount of guilt attached to the thoughts, because at some level something is threatening to make my thoughts a reality, even though I know it has no actual power to do so. I've never been too concerned about my state after her death. I mean, I'll be very upset. Is it because I've lost a link in this world? I have no perception of other worlds.

I would lose such an ally - my mother is always in my corner. She is always looking out for me and willing to go out of her way, and I know that when all other lights go out, she will be there to absorb the darkness. I would lose one such person, and that would suck, but that's not why I would be sad... would it?

Would it be because I have no other birth mother? Is it biological? What is the big deal about death? What does it say about my life if she were to die? Would I be telling my children that it was tragic that both my parents died so young? How should I even think about it?

I'm afraid that I wouldn't be sad though, that I would be proven to be some kind of monster that I could just accept it, mourn, and move on. I know I'm some kind of monster, but am I that kind? What if I could just deal with it better than most?

Is this desire enough?

If you are going to make a multi-display wallpaper, this is a perfect example of how to do it. It breaks nicely in the middle, and it's almost two separate wallpapers except that it is connected by theme and colour, and when you consider both together it does add more to the piece than apart.

Thanks to evilhomer for this awesome background. Follow this link to the full deviation.

Tag Team, back again

That quote really dates me, doesn't it? The other day I realized that I am actually 26. I've never given much thought to it, but somehow the act of mistakenly thinking that I was still 25, and then finding out I'm 26, now that I think about it, seemed to have triggered ill feelings towards my age. I'm not looking back in regret or anything like that, but twenty-six just has some negative energy attached to it.

The other thing you notice as you get older is that people around you start talking about their age. Mark commented on how songs on the radio remind him of his age, because he remembers when they first came out.

From January until now, and for the near future I've been in another World. Of Warcraft. I'm enjoying it even more this time around, partly because the expansion is amazing, partly because I'm actually getting to raid, but mostly because I've found some cool people to play with. When you can find a group of trusted people to go spelunking with, it makes all the difference!

"Keep looking a the bright side", but that just hurts my eyes

I often think of property or phenomenon, and then wonder if it's the same for other people. For example, I don't think much at all about my own birthday, safety, health, or any of that... but I really care about other peoples'. I'm sure it's some manifestation of a serious self-esteem issue, but at some level I know I think it's just more noble to care for others rather than yourself.

That's not to say that I spend all my time caring for others... or even most. It's just my frame of mind. I would not die to save myself, but almost anyone else? Sure. Also, I can't seem to display this desire for nobility in person... it seems easier to be difficult. Do I really desire it, then?

It's also a pretty handy shield at times. For example, if someone forgets my birthday, or does not come to a celebration of it, then I can deflect any hurt or resentment to the fact that it's just not important. And I can ask myself things like, "why should it be important to them?", and of course I have no answer, and that would be that. I also can't help but to ponder the meaning of such actions. It doesn't mean anything. Everyone falls the first time.

'Till the words flow like the pros

I know the trick to dealing with people. I say trick not because anyone should use this information to manipulate (although I'm sure people do), but a trick in the sense that it's not obvious. I guess it's more like a secret, although that word implies that people are actively trying to keep it hidden, and that's no good either. How much time do I spend analyzing the correct word for things? Ineffable.

Anyway, the secret is to acknowledge that this person that you're talking to has overcome some amount of trauma, in tact, and emerged better. I think, in some way, that at least most people want people to acknowledge that. They want people to know what kinds of horrors and difficulties they faced, and how they managed to come out of it a much smarter, wiser, or stronger person. And everyone has difficulties. I love to learn of the struggles of other people... maybe for this reason. It garners at least a modicum of respect when someone has struggled through something.

Linda may be coming home early. That will be fantastic. I feel a bit guilty that I hadn't written a letter to her like I was meaning to, or send her a postcard of Toronto for laughs. I'm dreaming up other schemes, but who knows what will happen to them. Her postcard put a smile on my face, as always.

Things seem to be ok... hockey has started and my heart bubbles with hope that the Leafs will win it all! Oh.. and Kyle Wellwood (AKA Frodo) will win the Hart and the Conn Smythe.

I'm writing "sharp and gifted", with my finger on the steam

I don't know who this guy is, but I hope he's pretty good!

Chris Ferguson 72 Poker Face, 9 Irritating, 76 Mathematical

Poker face - Tight and very difficult to read, probably known by your friends as being quiet and aloof. You'll use whatever props and techniques it takes to stop people understanding how you really feel. This is a real asset in a game of poker, but not a great virtue socially. Irritating - Not at all. Good company, not too loud, not too offensive. At a party you're not the centre of attention but you're chatty and always mingling. Your fellow players welcome you to the table for a pleasant chat, safe in the knowledge you're not going to send them over the edge in a fit of rage. Mathematical - Tight and conservative, you only like to play hands where you know you've got the edge on your opponents. You need to loosen up a bit and stop scaring the other players away when you bet. In summary - You'd probably make a great poker player. Try being a little more loose with your betting to improve your game even more. Your professional match - Chris "Jesus" Ferguson. Ferguson started playing at the age of 10 but didn't start playing in tournaments until he was 31. Since then he's amassed over $5,500,000 in winnings and has also scooped the game's most coveted prize, the World Series main event. He also has an unusual skill - he can chop fruit and veg by throwing playing cards at them.

My test tracked 3 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 57% on Poker Face You scored higher than 14% on Irritating You scored higher than 85% on Mathematical

Link: The Could You Be A Poker Player Test written by dennisnewark1 on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the 32-Type Dating Test