Breaking the Rule of Thumb to Make an Announcement

The rule of thumb being not a whole hell of a lot of "shop talk" in this forum. Though, regardless of whether I feel compelled to discuss it on a regular basis, the fact is that I'm a professional geographer that considers himself pretty good at his job, and long undervalued in his workplace.

That is, perhaps, until today. In a move that my boss has been acknowledging is overdue but in need of the final few signatures (for, like, the last year) I just got promoted. When speaking to me, you may now all address me as Senior GIS Analyst. Not a huge bump in base salary, but I am now apparently "bonus eligible," which is a bizzare concept for a Crocodile Dundee like myself. I'm eagerly looking forward to finding out more about it, however...

On Second Thought, Maybe Once a Month...

I was thinking there'd be the chance I'd bike into work maybe once a week this late spring & summer. I did today, and the total time it took (one way): one hour and 40 minutes. And my legs are somewhat jelly-like. It's a beautiful ride, as probably 85% of the ride as on biking trails & around lakes and so on, but as I do pretty much no other biking, it seems like that's a bit of undue stress I would be subjecting my "bikers" to, if I were to try the ride too often. Not to mention that a three-plus hour round trip puts a pretty excessive constraint on my work schedule; especially on the days in which I pick up Lucy.

On a side note: I was having all sorts of ruminations and thoughts along the way on the various geography (both physical and cultural) I encountered along my ride. I think it would be fun to do the ride, take notable photos; then do a narrarated slide show or something . Fun for me anyway...maybe not those that would be expected to view it.

"I Hate Special Effects"

A great quote, the title of this post, from my brother, Lindon. He uttered it late one night the last time he came to visit my parents in Iowa. I got up late to go down an check out cable TV and found him watching American Movie Classics, or some other similar station, and we got in a conversation about movies, with both of us generally agreeing on the fact that there has been an almost perfect inverse relationship between the rise of the special effects wizards and the decline of the importance of the script as a foundation for American film.

With the notable exceptions of Star Wars, LOR, and Harry Potter, I haven't gone near a first-run action/adventure film in years; and pretty much don't rent them. I know there's good stuff still out there, and I don't mean to cast aspersions on the filmmaking crews out there-there's some amazing cinematography, editing and other post-production out there (a friend introduced me to Bourne Identity a few months back, and it was a fine enough film); but it seems that more often than not; characters, dialog, and even scenes are recycled, recycled, recycled (Bourne Identity better than most action adventure movies these days in that respect, but not really paving any new ground). It's something that really, really bugs me-that Hollywood keeps dishing it out and people either stand for it, don't notice it, or (worst) eat it up. Reviewers, even, seem to let to all but the most horrendous of repackaged offerings slide by; knowing that if they go down that dangerous road, they'll be out of a job, for they'll have to start ripping nearly every film that exceeds a $15MM budget (and goes through the "Hollywood Executive Finishing School" or whatever it is that requires a protagonist to say something cool before punching someone in the face, or all Native Americans to have unbelievable, mystical powers and be underscored with a woodwind instrument).

Anyway, when I rented Three Musketeers (1948) Sunday night, it was during a 2 for 1 special. I was really in an "escapism" sort of mood, and decided to take a chance. At some point in the past couple of years, I saw a preview for Hildago. The plot seems an obvious enough recipe for disaster: American cowboy enters long-distance horse race in the Arab world. Especially, in this crazy post 9-11 world; where one-upmanship over anyone in a turban can be a cheaper, easier hook than a guy getting kicked in the nuts. However, the one thing that intrigued me was that Viggo Mortensen was the star. From some various things I'd read and heard about him, I thought that he would not become associated with anything that would not approach representing cultures in anything other than a tactful manner and, basically, that he would not do a crappy film.

However, from the first scene of the movie; where he bests an uppity Englishman in a race; then punches him in the face while diverting his eyes with a coin flipped into the air, I suspected I was in trouble. In the second scene, when he somehow, inexplicably, finds himself riding about in the carnage after the Massacre at Wounded Knee, I knew I was in trouble. At that point, I pretty much resigned myself to the fact that this was going to be a series of eye-rolling, groan-inducing scenes designed to hold together a bunch of thrilling, action-packed scenes. In other words, the very thing I was talking about for the first few paragraphs of this post. And Lord, was I right on about that. Audible, indeed, were my groans when the sheik's beautiful daughter announces she doesn't want to marry an Arab prince by arrangement, when she is caught in a compromising (but innocent, mind you) position in Viggo's tent, when she is kidnapped and Viggo is told he must rescue her or get his balls cut off, when this big muscular black guy helping Viggo in the rescue kicks an unblievable amount of ass but then (oh yeah, you guessed it) dies valiantly, when Viggo rescues at least two guys from dying that would have not done the same for him and that then have a chance of heart, that indeed-all the Arabs seem to have a change of heart (maybe we should just send a cowboy over to Iraq...), that a wealthy British woman present for the race is trying to seduce seduce him and fix the race at the same time, that Arab culture is portrayed as primitive and ridiculous relative to the modest and quiet wisdom of the American cowboy......well, it goes (and went) on and on.

Viggo, what...the...hell...happened? I know I'm hardly the audience they're going for here, but that was pretty much the nail in the coffin. There's too many good classic films and new, independent films being made to waste my time even trying movies like this any more. Or sequels. Or comic book character movies. Or anything with Tim Allen or fucking Nicholas Cage. Or talking fucking animals. Fucking, fucking animation with the pig that farts and the duck with the Jamaican accent.

My question is simply this: how hard is it to simply do films like this and make it unique and original. Just try an interesting twist; or a lot of interesting twists. Give your audience credit enough that they'll jump on board with you-you might just find that you have a classic on your hands. Am I alone here?

Non Stop Excitement, Domestic-Style

Busy, but enjoyable weekend filled with family fun and numerous indulgences.

Among other things:

• Watched, with Sharon, the second part of the 1938 George Cukor film, The Women, which I had seen in college but not since. From that genre of pre-special effects film where dialogue is fast-paced & witty, it was better than I remember. A man doesn't appear on screen in the entire film, as these various wealthy socialites plot, disrupt, and otherwise connive their way into one another's relationships and marriages. Highly, highly recommended.
• Watched, by myself, the 1948 swashbuckling rompus of The Three Musketeers. I consider this one to be from some yet-unnamed genre of bigger-than-life spectacles featuring cringe-worthy anachronisms and no end of unbelievable characters and dialog, I would like to refer to as "The Ridiculous Era of Film." Ridiculous as the film was, however, it was a bit of a visual treat, as it featured such stars as Gene Kelly (as D'Tangan, no less), Angela Lansbury, Lana Turner, and Vincent Price; and some of the most amazingly choreographed swordfighting scenes (Kelly-you can imagine) I have ever seen. Definitely worth seeing; maybe even worth renting, as who knows when you'd ever have a chance to catch this one on TV.
• Drank my first, but not last, Goose Island Honker's Ale. A wonderful English bitter.
• Did a bike ride (70s & sunny, here in Mpls) with Lucy in the bike trailer. She's cool with it this year, which opens up load of possbilities for enjoyable late spring and summer afternoons...
• Got together at the coffee shop with an old chess mate for a couple of games. Good conversation. Great bagel. Lost both games.
• Went for the first read-through (all cast assembled) of The Good Doctor. That's gonna be a lot of fun. Our director, however, is also scenic designer for another production in town right now, and so is trying to balance a couple of schedules, especially early on. We won't convene again until May 1, and from that point there will be rehearsals every night (though my particular scenes will only be two or three nights a week, I suspect), with the expectation being that we are "off book" (not using scripts) within two weeks' time. Kind of atypical; but in all theatre companies, I would guess that the atypical is pretty typical.
• Went for a great, early evening run of my river loop (just a hair under three miles, on paved path for most, but backwoods trail for about 1/4 mile along the Mississippi).

What else can I say? Looking forward to more great weekends and more great evenings, as my work schedule permits...

The Great Magazine Search

I've been without a magazine subscription since my one-year Runner's World in 2001 (the last year I attempted marathon training). Before that, I had canceled a subsription to Outside, when it seemed their irreverant, gonzo-approach to the world of non-traditional sport started to lean a little more in the direction of L.L Bean and Toyota Pathfinder. Currently the only human member of my household without a subscription, I decided to possibly get back in the game, when I received a Girl Scout-sponsored form from my niece, Taylor. Choosing from their selection of magazine, I checked out two issues each of four publications that were under consideration from the library:

Outside: Somewhere along the line, I had the idea they had gotten a wakeup call, and were a cool magazine again. Nope. They had a lot to say about high-tech hiking gear and expensive vacations I could not afford, and were filled to the gills with luxury vehicle/SUV ads (including about six prior to the table of contents-a practice that I think would really annoy me, were I a journalist). The very essence of the magazine seemed to be the anithesis of the "light footprint" approach to outdoor travel and sport, and I could not have been turned off more, relative to what I was hoping for.
National Geographic: I found about half the articles fairly interesting, though I kind of have the same beef with the advertisers. What is the deal with the marriage between automobile manufacturers and magazine ads, anyway? They're ubiquitous. In Outside and National Geographic, I found a real sort of dichotomy between a series of articles every issue talking about conservation ("Saving America's Last Wild Places" or whatever) or the science of global warming; and then all these ads for this products that represent overconsumption and a big ol' fuck you to the very point the articles were arguing for. I don't know whether the blame falls more on the editorial staff for allowing this (less likely), or the readers for supporting this with the spending (more likely), but I don't care. I just won't have it. Joe America would like to tell me "if you don't like it, then don't read it," so fine. I won't. I'll find a publication that doesn't give me the heebie jeebies when I read it, or go entirely without. Or maybe I'll check out (literally, from the library) a magazine from time to time. Some of my biggest "activism" (or, perhaps, "slacktivism") is where I choose to put my dollars. I take it very seriously. And I don't want to throw it behind hypocrisy like this. In my mind they are making a choice (and certainly, it's a no-brainer for them) between my dollars and Buick's.
National Geographic Traveler: The ads didn't seem quite so in contrast to the editorial content as they did in the above publications, but they were generally of the same bent. My experience with this magazine, actually, had been in digging through old back issues at my mom & dad's. There, I was able to grab numerous articles of places throughout the world that I found extremely interesting. In retrospect, I realize that I was probably grabbing a pile of magazines in which to find those articles. I don't think the subject matter is quite consistently fascinating enough to me (or wasn't, in the two sample issues), to entice me to subscribe. Especially when you consider the "this is a pipe dream; I can't afford these trips" factor thrown in. I did, generally, find the writing and the approach towards travel to be fairly high caliber. But ultimately, I don't think I would get enough, issue in and issue out.

Backpacker: The most pleasant surprise of the bunch. Still a few Nissan X-Terra ads & crap thrown in, but also plenty of flat out gear & outfitter ads. The editorial slant definitely seemed to be firmly in the spirit of backpacker culture; not trying to appeal to some wealthier, older, larger, yet watered-down demographic of their bread & butter readership. The articles were pretty cool; though I would feel almost a little out of place reading the magazine these days. Fact is, we only camp about 3-4 times a year these days, and we never backpack (and probably won't again until Little Bean #2 is at least five). It would be a totally detached place from which I'd be reading the articles, and I can't help but to feel that there'd be subject matter that would be more personally relevant to me than what I find in those pages.

Wow-so where am I on this? Perhaps the magazine for me doesn't exist at all? Or perhaps (like most things of interest to me) it's not to be found on a "America's Top 200 (Magazines, in this case)" order form. I don't think poor Taylor is going to have me help her reach her quota. I've considered a subscription to "The Nation" or "Mother Jones," but to be honsest, I'm a little worn out from all the outrage. I feel like I'm getting the majority of information I need to have informed political opinions, and more preaching to the choir in which I sing is just going to whip me up and depress me unnecessarily. Maybe I consider the newly discovered Damn Interesting my "subscription." Their articles are fascinating. Maybe I up my blogroll. But God, sometimes I just want to kick back on the couch with a cat in my lap and a beer on a coaster. Say...perhaps I'll opt for some pure indulgence and be a founding subscriber of Beer Advocate Magazine. Hmm. I just may do that. Or I may opt for nothing. I will take suggestions, though...

Born at the Right Time

It's been amazing, how my relationship with Lucy has changed & grown over time. As she has evolved from an infant whose existence was defined purely on the basis of physical needs and comfort to a complex, inquisitive, creative little girl; time I spend in her company has gone from being touch-and-go to being, more often than not, pure joy.

We still have moments where the "resistance to authority" trait rears its head; but that has really, really subsided in the past few weeks. Almost like she's gone through another developmental step forward that maxed her out for awhile and reached a more peaceable and happy state. It's really a cycle that's repeated itself over and over in her first three years.

It's hard to explain the extent to which our interactions, and the way in which I get to perceive this amazing world vicariously through her eyes exceed my wildest imaginations of how much a source of joy and precious a little child of mine could be. I get to see her break into spontaneous, uncontrollable galloping about in pure unadulterated happiness at the mention of stopping by a park on the way home from school. And listen to her sing 15-minute, stream of consciousness songs that would put Alice's Restaurant to shame. And play games of chess where one of her moves sends a rook up onto my knee. Games, conversations, and stories. Running, hugging, sharing a treat. True-Heart Bear underwear, coffee shops, and puppet shows. These are truly the best of times. Though in the heat of occasional, minor frustrations it can be a little tougher to remember, I know that this little girl has long since gotten to the point where she gives as much as she gets.

For Joy Wk 2

Yesterday-about 70 degrees with a breeze. I headed off to Hyland Park again-this time taking a south loop and running for about 40 minutes with a pushup/situp break in the middle. Once again, a wondrous experience. Saw: red-tailed hawk, plenty of deer tracks, fur and bleached bones of some sort of coyote prey. Heard: pheasant (two different places), cry of red-tailed hawk, chorus frogs.

Man, that just recharges my jets.

Another Grand Experiment

So, making the green decision to buy a powerless reel mower has been one that has caused some extra work and frustration. Yes, it cuts grass cleanly. But you have to go over every inch of your lawn twice. And if you happen to skip a week or two and the grass gets high? Well, it gets particularly ineffectual, actually just knocking the grass over, rather than cutting it.

To make matters worse, a reel mower is incapable of cutting dandelions. So, while everyone else in the neighborhood sets the blades on their mowers so low they leave burns in the dirt, and nip dandelions in the bud, so to speak; we had a couple of occasions about three years ago, where we knocked over dandelions in full seed and basically succeeded in spreading them throughout our lawn. That was a stupid act for which we are still paying consequences. Last year, we spent many hours working on our knees, trying to make a dent in the dandelion population, which takes over our lawn to an embarassing extent every spring.

I am definitely in the "less lawn" camp. If you get me going, I'll try to explain how it is ludicrous how Americans are so in love with large swaths of lawn, paying an unkowing tribute to our British roots, while ignoring the fact that 95% of the US does not have the natural climate to support it. Over time, I'd love to have a lawn that we turn into a mixture of native plantings, walkways, and wildlife corridor.

That said, the dandelion explosion in our yard is embarrassing.

So, the Grand Experiment? Corn Gluten pre-emergent weed and feed, which we spread on last week. It won't get rid of the existing dandelions, but will keep new ones from spreading as we continue to slowly eradicate the existing ones. Giving Green one last try, there. Results of the Grand Experiment to follow in weeks to come.

On a side note: the product was developed by researchers at Iowa State.

Happy Easter!

For Joy

It's in the 70s, beautiful, & sunny today. I indulged myself for a short drive to Hyland Park (where Sharon used to work in Bloomington) so I could go on a 30 minute trail run.

Clear, blue skies; light breeze; chorus frogs in full gear; and an immensely peaceful and gratifying moment of "yes...yes...this is where I belong." I couldn't wipe the smile from my face as I ran.

Consider a moment like this a point in favor of Zephyr Valley.

Chess & Theatre Updates

So, starting from the easiest levels has done wonders for my confidence and my game. I strung up a quick series of five vitories vs. level one of "Ivan the Conquerer," then graduated to level two. I destroyed Ivan on level two, actually gaining one victory in a mere seven moves. I then moved onto level three, and won a number of somewhat harder-fought battles; twice actually coming back for victories after losing my queen. I've started to get a lot more comfortable with the game; seeing how scenarios will play out, and work my pieces together effectively. A couple of times, I've gone in with the board to show Sharon the last four or five moves that were made, as the circumstances of the final attack and checkmate seem (to me) pretty unique and intersting.

Last night, then, in the third staying up past-midnight evening in a row, I decided to give the dreaded level four a shot again. Victory.

On the theatre front: callbacks were last night. You can read a little about the experience (and, of course, a journal of pretty much our entire production process) here. Afterwards, we headed out to an eatery for our director (Jaron) and artistic director (Jeff) to discuss final casting. As it turns out, I will be playing two characters (a guy who becomes obsessively preoccupied with sneezing on his boss, and a banker with gout who is driven up the wall by a nutty, persistant woman looking for a loan). Both are quite different characters, and should be a lot of fun to both practice and perform. Rehearsals begin mid-next week.

lcd

Ah-the concept of marketing to the least common denominator. Simply trying to buy some pjs for my three year old daughter, I find an ridiculous and narrow array of stereotypical options for girls: only fairy princesses, butterflies, and flowers. Literally only princesses, butterflies, and flowers. And for boys? Trucks and basketballs. It is mind-blowing, in this modern world of supposed equality. People who would be outraged and offended by any verbal suggestion or implication that girls are a dainty, fragile gender think nothing of clothing their young children in this insulting attire.

In addition to the general annoyance of it all, is this feeling that the thing is a sort of the culmination of numerous cultural sore points for me:

• Constant merging of retailers and brands, resulting in fewer consumer choices.
• The war on intellectualism: "We've merchandised out the need for imagination! And the need for your child to try and figure out on their own what their place is in the world!"
• Pervasiveness of marketing. In some instances, we've found that a clothing item simply isn't available at all without a character likeness on it.
• Perhaps the worst: Sexism, pure and simple. On boys' clothes? I've seen lizards, sharks, tents, basketballs, etc. etc. and all that is bold, adventurous, and diverse about the world. On girls'? Princesses, flowers, and butterflies. Oh yeah, and rainbows. Dream-land. I shit you not. There's seriously nothing else. And all is right in the world when Sharon does a program for a group of second grades and all the boys want to get their hands all muddy and all the girls shriek when a snake is taken out of a cage. Is it any fucking wonder? I do behlieve that there is an innate factor at work in the two genders for gravitating towards some of these preferences and tendencies. But Christ, our culture exacerbates it. Can a girl currently grow up to be a scientist, or a life-long athlete, or a president? Sure-but right now I have the depressing feeling that-in most cases-it has to be in spite of her background, rather than as a result of it.

160

Beats per minute, a little heartbeat that was difficult to find right away, but which came through, crystal-clear with the little belly microphone that was concentrated in his/her direction. Apparently, 160 is right on target, as Little Bean 2 (we really need a new nickname, and fast) is only an inch and a half long at this point.

With our family coming out of a pretty stressful whirlwind of a six months and me, personally, being a bit overwhelmed by the number of spinning plates I have currently, there has actually not been all that much time to just sit back and reflect on the miracle we have growing steadily in our midst. For all the uncertainty we have surrounding our environment seven months from now, I remember how my initial reaction to the positive prenancy test was pure mirth and joy. It was a similar feeling yesterday, when we heard that heartbeat. I had forgotten what sort of first, enormous milestone that really is-that moment when all your nagging thoughts of "what if the test was just wrong?" or, worse, "what if something has gone wrong in these first couple months?" (the midwife reminded us yesterday that the vast majority of miscarriages, were they to occur, would have happened by this point) are laid to rest and the baby becomes real. Indescribable, the love & closeness you feel for your partner at a moment like that. More laugher ensued. And it was wild, having Lucy there. She really didn't get a whole heck of a lot out of much of anything else (although there was some curiousity during the actual "examination"), but she joined in the excitement during that listening session.

On a side note-the first night of auditions went well. We had a few no-shows, but also had some really talented performers come; some with surprisingly impressive resumes and professionally done head shots (publicity photos). We went out to Perkins (where the flag is bigger than the parking lot) afterwards with the director to sort of run through the auditioners and discuss callbacks. I had a short stack and, stupidly, a couple of cups of coffee which ended up keeping me from hitting the sack until 2:00 a.m. Got up at at 5:45 a.m. Based on my experience, 3:00 p.m. should be interesting.

Birthday Bash Wrapup, Onward with Little Bean 2, and Tryouts!

It would have been great to have the playset together for the party, but oh well...It was still a great time. Lucy's best friend, Harper, was there, as was one-year-old Elsa, making her first appearance in the Hylton household in quite a while. Both were smash hits. Adults present were A&K of south Minneapolis, our neighbor Ginger, grandma Lois & Grandpa Jack who are both spirited enough following last weeks trauma to engage in some lively bickering over diabetic menus, and Harper's mom.

Tops were popped of Spring Ales & Spring Bocks, and Papa Murphy's pizza was consumed. Much sharing of parenthood stories while the little ones did their thing; and then adults had the opportunity to be treated to a puppet show by Harper & Lucy prior to festivities winding down. Yesterday was a day of some recouperation, though it was also the day in which we chose to break the news officially (though we'd been dropping hints), that mamma's got Lucy's little brother or little sister growing in her belly.

Lucy & I will be going with Sharon to all of the pre-natal checkups, and today is the first one. Kind of a the first big moment after the intial positive pregnancy test, when you get past that dicey first six or so weeks and have a little one-and-a-half piece of precious cargo that is finally "real" with respect to the medical profession. Goal number one is to keep Sharon and, by extension, the baby, comfortable and healthy through the entire pregnancy. Goal number two is to prepare Lucy to be a big sister; making sure she feels like a very necessary and important part of the whole process. That began yesterday and continues full-force at the appointment today.

Finally, my theatre company had a meeting with a number of our production team to discuss our overall plan & the director's vision for our play. Today will be our first of two tryout days. The community response has been overwhelming, as we have over 30 folks showing up for auditions. My job there will be to take head shots of auditioners so the director can look & compare prior to making decisions for callbacks. Other company members may also be paired with an auditioner or two so he can get an idea of how various actors would work with us in these scenes. Exciting, exciting...

Gearin' Up

Gearin' up for the weekend; Lucy's having a birthday party. A couple of small friends (& parents) will be there, as well as my parents, up from Iowa. My dad was released form the hosital, by the way, and everything appears to be uner control-which is great. Anyway, we invested a fair amount of money in a wooden swingset for Lucy. I took a couple of afternoons off this last week in an attempt to get it together for a wonderful birthday surprise, but it wasn't nearly enough time. Alas, it'll just be a lot of running around in the backyard. Definitely looking forward to the swingset for this summer, though (the picture above is of the idea finished state-I've currently got it in the state you always see the boat in recreations of the Noah's Ark story, when people are heckling Noah) . Again, a decent amount of money (for us, anyway); but when I look back and remember some of the great adventures in imaginary lands from my youth, I see this as being a great, great part of Lucy's life for years to come.

Shocking, But Not So Shocking

My dad was hospitalized yesterday. As a result of constant peeing, constant thirst, and extreme lethargy, they brought him in, and his blood sugar level was tested at 700 (I don't know a ton about this, but I think 100 is the target level for diabetics). They stabilized him and gave him an insulin shot; it appears he is probably diabetic.

The last three or four years have been really rough on my dad who, at 77, is no spring chicken. It's tough to see this decline in a man who, in his youth, was so athletic & vital. Yet, the truth of the matter is that; whether because of the mindset of his generation, or because of his own ignorance/subbornness, the vast majority of his issues are as a direct result of ignoring his health for the last fifty years. Fifty years of no exercise and eating badly. You just can't do that.
My grandad on his side died of a heart attack at 76 and I have long been aware that my dad has not put himself in a position to be around for a lot of years of Lucy's upbringing. But a few years back, when he had an aneurism, it was a call to action and he immediately and successfully gave up smoking, cold turkey (it bascially took a near-death experience for the dangers of cigarettes to sink in). I can only hope this episode (especially if it is borne out that he is, indeed diabetic), will force some dietary rigor and control into his life. My mom is diebetic; this could have the added benefit of him not keeping foods around the house that are tempting for her. Wish him the best.

On a side note: two diabetic parents. Outlook for me not good.

On a side side note: He'd apparently (unbeknownst to me) had increased levels of pee & thirst for months, and has been repeatedly been in to see his personal practicioner to try to track down the cause of some other, seemingly unrelated, issues of swelling of the legs and tiredness. In all that time, no one thought to do a urinalisis or test his blood-sugar level? Hello, Covenant Medical Center? The Mayberry Clinic called; they want their doctor back. Jeebus.

I Don't Suck!

Use of one of the two chess sets I received for my birthday, the electronic chess set Ivan the Conquerer, has been a humbling experience. Playing game after game on the easiest level, I found myself repeatedly crushed. Hearing the robotic "Check...Mate" has become almost unbearable, and I found myself losing interest in even attempting a new game.

Well, during our family's "quiet time" (a down time set aside, in lieu of naps, which Lucy no longer takes), I was drinking a Summit India Pale Ale (which was quite hoppily bitter and divine), and scrolling through the options to turn off even the most basic vocalizations for Ivan. Suddenly, I realized that it had not been set on the most basic level at all! It was on "4" (indicating Ivan had four seconds to think). I switched it promptly to "1" and won the next game. Oh joy and exaltation, to take that fucker down!

It probably seems like a really lame move by a desperate loser. But to which anyone who has played me at chess can attest; I may be somewhat of a hack, but I'm not a bad chess player, versus other hacks. I asked for the chess set this year in attempt to get back into the game and maybe improve to a level where I wouldn't consider myself a total hack. Understand strategy; maybe think a few moves ahead in a way that isn't completely linear. But these repeated drubbings on level 4 were not accomplishing anything, unless it was to dispirit me and make me lose confidence. I swear that there was NO margin for error. On that level, if you make a single slip up, there was no praying that Ivan "wouldn't see" your mistake and take advantage. Pawns were deployed expertly in triangulated defense schemes in concert with other pieces as he marched his forces inexorably towards victory at the other end of the board. I still shudder at the remembrences. I may get back to that point at some point, but I think I need to string together a few victories at the lowest levels, and challenge myself incrementally. Level 1 is no cakewalk, but the playing field is evened out somewhat as he, too, occasionally will end up giving pieces away in exceptionally ridiculous blunders.

On that game I won, by the way: I turned the volume back on just in time to hear the historic, "I..lose..."