GRIZZLY PEAR

written snapshots

Category: Notes

  • The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler, 1939

    I was first introduced to Raymond Chandler via a used bookstore in Paris while I was studying abroad for a semester. I was so taken that I went out and read everything Raymond Chandler wrote, short stories, novels, essays.

    During the pandemic, I thought it was time to revisit the top three highlights of his oeuvre, The Big Sleep, Farewell My Lovely, and the Long Goodbye.

    This book was his first novel, however I read it relatively late in that project – I didn’t find a copy of it until after I moved back to the States. I remember enjoying it quite a lot, an impressive first novel that was an explosion of energy, dramatically announcing a new author into the scene.

    Unfortunately, the book did not hold up under a second reading. There were a few cringeworthy moments in the novel which I had overlooked in a less politically charged time. The conversation around toxic masculinity certainly affected my read on Marlowe’s character, deflated the sense of pure energy that I experienced in the first reading.

    It didn’t help that I was concurrently reading Frederick Frank’s Zen of Seeing, which included multiple critiques of “artifice”. Hardboiled detective fiction is doubly such, layering the mystery genre with an overtly self conscious writing style. I still enjoyed Chandler’s use of wild metaphors, but this bit of bad timing also took some of the fun out of the ride.

    Thirteen years is a long time, so I’m curious how the other two novels will hold up. My memory of this book being a easy quick read still held true, so I don’t think it will be a major time investment. It will be interesting to see what my current self thinks of the literary indulgences of me, a quarter of my life ago.

    PS: I did not notice this fact in my first read, but The Big Sleep was published right before World War 2. It was an interesting exercise to read it with the awareness that the story was written before the full horrors of the mid-century era had become apparent.

  • Carole & Tuesday, 2019, Kipo, 2020

    Both Carole & Tuesday and Kipo started promising as small stories but lost their steam in their second acts when they “went big”. The folk singer duo disrupts the presidential election on Mars. A lost girl dethrones a would-be emperor.

    Conceptually, such stakes inflation might make common sense as a way to drive the story. How does our hero’s problem get worse? Make the problem really big! However, all the extra stuff that comes with saving the world bogs down the character development. The price is not worth the stakes.

    The charm in the first acts of both of these shows came from exploring the world. Learning about the characters who were simultaneously learning about themselves. Once established, it makes sense to take characters out for a spin to go “do stuff”, but when things get too grandiose the natural arc of the story suffocates under the weight of the action.

    Carole & Tuesday really suffered under this inflation. The two title characters get sidelined into becoming Mary Sue’s with the ancillary characters frozen in midway through the show, and a bunch of new personalities thrown into the second half.

    A couple examples from the world of movies to confirm the my dislike of this tendency.

    I absolutely loved Bladerunner but Bladerunner 2049 fell completely flat. The colors were pretty, but the global conspiratorial sweep of the second movie ran against the claustrophobic moodiness of the first movie. Let the bounty hunter chase his prey and don’t distract him with a worldwide economic conspiracy-catastrophe.

    My favorite movies from Studio Ghibli all keep a laser focus on the scale and don’t get grandiose. The genius behind Ghibli is that their majestic animations allow themselves to be bounded within the limits of their universe. That’s why Princess Mononoke and Castle in the Sky fall flat, even though both of them are brilliantly crafted – they veer too close to saving the world.

    Unfortunately Carole & Tuesday did not have a third act to rescue the show, but Kipo was able to regain the narrow focus in its third and final season, becoming a personal vendetta between the good and bad protagonists. Re-tightening the focus also let the show explore fresh moments of absurdity which made the first season so charming.

    When the plot gets going, stay small!

  • Tai Chi

    I picked up Tai Chi around the time I turned thirty.

    To ensure I was serious, I started by learning the 24 movement form from a book. After getting the sequence down, I decided that this was not just a fleeting fad and found a proper school that met at the upstairs exercise room at the Texas Rock Gym. They taught me the style of Dr. Jwing Ming Yang, transmitted via one of his early students who had taught the teachers at this school.

    Unfortunately, I don’t practice much now. The chaos of having children have resulted in me practicing a much simpler art – a quiet walk around the neighborhood, lost in my own thoughts. However, those two years with at the Texas Rock Gym, plus my nine months with the Lohan School in Las Vegas, was critical in learning a meta skill that has been critical in all my subsequent endeavors.

    The process of Tai Chi is to slowly relax into into movement.

    It’s not as easy as it sounds. As a beginner in any endeavor, there is a temptation to jump in and thrash around, but one needs to remember when if you can’t do it slowly, then you’re doing it wrong. When confronting a new activity, there is a subconscious tendency to tighten up. Tai chi has taught me to notice the tension, pause, and let my mind and body loosen up before pushing forward. I learn better that way.

    At this point I’m not sure where I’m going to take this short adventure in martial arts. If one of my kids gets into it, I’ll definitely revive hobby. But even if stays dormant until the kids head off to college, the thirty months of focused relaxation taught me a life skill that has been serving me for well over a decade.

  • Princess Jing, Roberto Fraga, 2018

    “Mass market title” only better” used to be a common cliche to describe eurogames.

    But for real, this is Stratego, only better.

    The joy and curse of becoming a connoisseur is realizing the inadequacy of your previous life.

    However the pursuit of refinement has limits. After a few plays, I realized that the basic game is superior to the advanced version. The raw simplicity of this game is the race to opposite sides of the board with minimal interference.

    I suspect the “legendary animals” variant (which is as clunky as it is themed) was thrown into the package because the publisher could not justify such a simple game in a big box.

    However, I refrain from calling this game “over-produced” because this game only works because of this level of physical production. I don’t see how you can do a mini-version, even if the basic game is about as complex as Nine Men’s Morris.

    This is a little filler that needs to be done up big.

    Let the advanced gamers who desire unnecessary complication enjoy their legendary variant. The version that gets us to the real competition is most certainly the true game.

  • Anatomy Fluxx, Andrew Looney, 2018

    Well, this game is just Fluxx, with body parts.

    So it’s educational. Did you know what the prostate does? Now I know why us boys got this feature in our system. It’s not just there to cause cancer.

    Speaking of which, this game is quite easy to censor if you are worried about getting sidetracked into a premature conversation about human reproduction. There are 4 keepers (testes, prostate, ovaries, uterus) and 4 goal cards (female reproductive system, menses, semen, puberty) that are related to the process of making more of us. None of these cards are remotely graphic, but they are easily removed with no noticeable detriment to the gameplay (for better or for worse).

    Having only played EcoFluxx and the Original, this was my first introduction to “Creepers” and “Ungoal” card mechanisms, but I don’t find them particularly compelling (again, for good or ill). So if you know anything about the extended Fluxx family, feel free to <insert your opinion here>.

    Ultimately, this game is just Fluxx, with body parts.

    However, there is one item I’d like to highlight – the illustrated hands on the cards. Looney Labs chose an olive brown tone, not an orangish spray tanned tone, but a natural dark skinned tone of someone who is not from of northern European.

    The ubiquity of pinkish white hands in board gaming is a reasonable phenomena for a hobby whose epicenter is in Germany. However, I was pleasantly surprised to see my hands represented in a game. In fact, I was surprised at how much I appreciated this gesture. I didn’t realize how deeply I had internalized whiteness as the only available normal in boardgaming.

    Kudos to the Looney’s and their graphic designers.

    This game is just Fluxx, but dang, it was nice to see my body parts.

  • The Dip, Seth Godin, 2007

    While digging around my books, I came across this little volume which had long ago cemented my love for Seth Godin.

    It resurfaced at an opportune time since I’ve been contemplating what to do with this blog. I was concerned that keeping up this blog might be busywork that was getting in the way of doing something better, however I wasn’t totally ready to give up on the idea of publishing on a regular schedule.

    I keep a platform for self expression outside of addictive Corporate Social Media to have some control my own writings. However, maintaining an archive does not mean I need to spend concentrated effort on this website. I had started and ended daily blogging over a full year in 2018-19. However, daily blogging required daily production, and with two young kids, that meant all my spare time was spent at the keyboard.  Even though I enjoy writing as a hobby, I also want to have time to read and enjoy the finer things in life, which a daily schedule did not allow.  

    A few months ago, I gave this blog a slightly more focused tagline of “notes on my consumption”. The key change is that it has pushed myself towards a better balance of reading and writing. 

    Knowing that I would be banging out a “book report” at the end of each instance of media consumption has created a solid excuse to regularly indulge in writing. The looming assignment seems to have been effective in sharpening my mind as I read the book. It’s an algorithm that keeps some pressure to create output at a less relentless rhythm than the rising of the sun. It has given me time to consume without devolving into a mere consumer.

    Reading The Dip was down then up experience during these contemplations. The first section made me consider dropping this project and letting this blog just become an internet repository again, but by the end, it resulted in some fresh encouragement to keep going. 

    The critical moment came at the end of that book, when Seth Godin encouraged the reader to decide upon the criteria for quitting before starting a project.

    After some thought, I realized that this blog is not about having an audience even though I think the public nature of a blog helps sharpen my writing. Instead, writing this blog helps me enjoy the world around me better. So I will quit if it stops helping me better enjoy the world around me.

    I’m pretty sure that this personal blog will not be particularly exceptional in the wider universe of personal blogs, but it still is the best internet site of my little world. So I’ll keep up this effort under this tag line, for now.

    Who knows what I might find if I push through to the other side of this dip? Maybe it will just be a few months of weekly essays about the things around me until I come across another more compelling project. Maybe it will become a long running platform like Dave Winer’s blog. Maybe it will morph from idiosyncratic ramblings about my own stuff into something more public facing.

    Grizzlypear has always been here for these various digital experiments.

    Here’s to the current / next one.

  • Mottanai (again), Carl Chudyk, 2015

    I had originally written in early August as update to my original review, but I didn’t get around to posting till now in early October. Aside from one predictably disastrous game with my wife, Mottainai’s ease of setup and quickness of play continues to be perfectly suited for life with young children when even self-gaming is a rare and often short lived event.

    Damn this is one fine game.

    The analogy that floats in my head is that Innovation is a fencing duel, Glory to Rome is a raucous pillow fight, and Mottainai is a knife fight in a dark room.

    My opinion of the game had previously hit a high-plateau when I last reviewed it. In the intervening months I’ve made a concerted effort to get better at Crafting and Selling. Neither of these tasks are easily intuitive like to Monking and Smithing, but once I got a handle on those them, the game blossomed yet again. I’ve also developed a fondness for Tailoring since getting two covered tailor helpers is a devastating position, cycling through a sixth of the deck every other turn.

    I’d say that most of my games are still won via a quick race to 5 works, however, many more of these plays now assisted by crafting. I also need to work my personal inclination towards building and get better at making early sales. Even though it’s tempting to leave materials in the craft bench for future works, selling a couple items forces the rush-builder opponent reassess their strategy (even though it would usually still be best for them to end the game as quickly as possible since they have already committed to that path).

    As an aside, I have not yet tried the extended game with the endgame condition at 6 works on a side. With my big-builder tendency, I understand why people might prefer it, but I think the game is made great because of this fundamental tension of shooting for an quick ending versus selling goods. I should try it at some point, but I suspect it will bloat the play experience.

    I am also now much better at playing the individual cards, especially knowing if something is worth holding a couple turns so I can complete the work (very rarely). Most games where I spend such effort to complete a work will result in a loss. The opportunity costs are too high and cycling your hand is so critical that if you can’t shoot the silver bullet immediately, it is invariably better to use its task and move on.

    At this point, I’ve developed that ESP feel that comes with card games that I’ve played an ungodly amount of times (such as Tien Len or Ticket to Ride). My brain has wrapped itself around the deck so that I feel the shape of the game just by a few cues here and there.

    I might be overly cocky (especially since I’ve only once played another human), but I think it would be virtually impossible to lose a game with a first time player. Extending this completely untested hypothesis, I would conjecture that I would win 9 games out of 10 with a new player, which should be a ridiculous claim for such a high randomness game. The fact I would dare to make such a conjecture shows the level of skill that is embedded in this design. After these initial plays with a hypothetical opponent, I think the the disparity would quickly level out to two thirds of the games until it flattens out to even.

    The hard part would be to get a new player to get past the initial introduction to the game. Mottainai is an intricate, counterintuitive duck. Glory to Rome is equally convoluted, but this experience feels counterbalanced by its silliness and patently broken combos. Innovation is a bit more methodical and forgiving than either game. Mottainai uses the insane flow chart of Glory to Rome to recreate Innovation as a sprint. Accelerating the byzantine mechanics of Glory to Rome creates a bewildering experience, hiding the vast opportunities for skilled play.

    After 180 plays, I still feel there is room for improvement, though I most likely need to start find opponents who aren’t myself to get there.

    Not surprisingly, I now rate this game a 10.

  • Push Tricycle, Radio Flyer

    This is not the tricycle we grew up with. It can function as a self propelled vehicle, but it comes with a handle in the back for an adult to push and steer this monstrosity. The seat has side bars to keep the child contained in the cockpit, a drink holder in the front, an operable shade canopy, and a small storage container in the trunk. The foot petals are geared so that stubborn little feet can’t stop forward movement. This model has hard rubber wheels, but I’ve seen a version with inflated tires.

    The thing looks as kludgy as it sounds, especially if you get one with the plastic that has been aged in the desert sun. We bought ours from a family who was moving back to England.

    However, this contraption has been brilliant for getting the boy to fall sleep, pushing him in loops around and around the house. Sometimes it will happen in a few magical minutes. Often I’ll get more than thirty minutes to practice walking mindfulness meditation.

    Recently, he’s decided that he prefers riding an old office chair, where he can sit proudly on his throne as he heads towards slumberland. But fear not, his older sister will occasionally squeeze herself into the tricycle and zip a few rounds around the kitchen.

    I’m impressed with Radio Flyer. They have crafted a nostalgia brand, but they aren’t afraid to throw random things out into the world. These new era artifacts can be quite ugly, especially given wholehearted embrace of plastic.

    But if the kids dig it, how much of an argument do I have?

  • Nerf versus O-Ball

    The kids were fighting over the Nerf ball. The girl and I had been batting around the little orange ball, which made it became an object of desire for both of them, even after we had moved on to riding the red wagon around the backyard.

    As any parent would do in this time of high stress, I found a colorful O-ball and convinced them trade balls every time we passed the outdoor sink. They acquiesced and we had peace (more or less) for the remainder of their wagon ride, even though they both thought that the orange Nerf ball was obviously more desirable.

    I often wonder what the gods must think of us humans and our squabbles. In the moment, the dumbest shit is always the most important issue ever, often becoming deadly serious when adults are involved. Maybe the evolutionary role of religion in societies was to make us think “as-if” we were the higher deity and get us to rise beyond our momentary passions.

    However, it seems to have been only partially successful. Religion may have made individuals a little better, but we’re now stuck with conflicts between large groups of humans, each with the conviction they have a supernatural power on their side.

    It’s too bad that these tribes aren’t willing to settle for trading colorful balls every few minutes.

  • Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, Haruki Murakami, 1991

    After finding his voice in A Wild Sheep Chase, it seems that Murakami decided to explore all the genres at once. The book is fantasy and sci fi, with the mood of a hard boiled mystery and a little horror as well.

    The hard boiled protagonist works well for Murakami’s typically semi-apathetic first person characters, as does the side plots of a few ladies whose attention he’s captured. However, Murakami is a bit subversive, taking an outsider’s view of the tropes of these styles, jumping in and out of the contrived silliness with bemused detachment.

    In reading these works in sequential order, I’m wondering if I’m falling into an end of the world fallacy, rationalizing the author’s product as predestined in light of their past works. I had that feeling when I was doing my graduate thesis. It felt that all my previous projects was culminating in this specific thesis. But even under the stress of the deadline, I was still was keenly aware it might be my mind post-rationalizing my decisions as they were being made.

    However, given Murakami’s exploration of multiple genres – and the title of the novel – I feel it is fair to indulge in this fallacy while considering this book.

    Ultimately, it’s a fine novel, one where the cloth holds together, but the threads are never woven too tightly, as would be expected from a Murakami novel. The romances linger deliciously in their usual fashion and he indulges occasionally in his typically delightful wordplay of metaphors upon metaphors.

    As his fourth novel, this was a fine senior thesis for his budding career as an author.