It’s not a game, it’s life

Is it a game of chance or skill? That question runs through my mind as I check my hole cards – pocket aces. Play aggressive to scare off those who might hit a lucky card on the river, or trap my opponents and bilk them for as many chips as possible? I take into consideration the players’ stacks around me, their tendency to bluff, the tells that scream I’m not interested in this hand. All signals that contribute to my final calculation… All in.

The poker analogy has been over-used in the game of international politics. Stanley Kubrick insisted that the War Room table in Doctor Strangelove be covered with the green felt used in casinos: he wanted the actors to convey the sense that the fate of the world was nothing more than a game of cards. It seems that Tal Pinchevsky is tired of the connections drawn between poker and politics, and argues that chess should be the metaphor of choice. 

In lieu of new thought…

Just going to share some scribbling I took about a week ago:

The 2 Indian men chattered nonstop next to me. As the wafts fragant basmati punctuated by aromatic bursts of garlic naan assaulted my nose, it was their baritone voices that left a deeper impression. You could tell they of an educated ilk – besides the various name dropping of the latest books they’d been reading, and their general disdain for morning television shows, they enunciated their words with almost military precision. It was like listening to captivating radio personalities dueling over the airwaves, jabbing, feinting, bobbing and weaving their words. The content was of no matter: arguing about Israel, the history of German beer, travel restrictions in today’s security conscious era. I was privy to a future that I wanted to find myself in 40 years time. Enjoying a good meal, yakking about anything and everything under the sun. Mental exercises with gastronomic delight.

Multitask, schmultitask

Ideas for this blog post pop in and out of my mindscape like a carnival whack-a-mole stand – they’re not quite where my focus is, taunting me with beady eyes and pearly whites. It’s not writer’s block that’s guarding the on-ramp to my editorial freedom – like Little John, he’s demanding tribute and all I can offer is some off the cuff fluff.

And it’s not for lack of trying – unlike Spider Jerusalem conducting research through an information binge, my data stream is operating at 80% efficiency. There’s a jam somewhere and my organic transistors are giving off a foul stench as they sizzle with ferocity. There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.

Overloaded, I’m parsing through possible explanations, and the only logical conclusion is that somehow I’ve crossed the streams of my Gen X and Gen Y personas. Technically I’m from the latter caste, but I think I sympathize on many levels with the former. Regardless, the Focus Alliance is clashing with the Multitask Horde and my poor brain is caught in the middle.

I know I already wrote about this earlier. Can’t help myself though; repetition just drives my point home.

Maybe this information dump of things I’ve been meaning to blog about will help the process. Call it my idea spring cleaning ritual (at the height of summer no less):

• The need for greater transparency in all systems
• Entrepreneurship: why it matters, and how to cultivate it
• A return to my realist manifesto
• The failure of the activism methodology
• Luck, chance and my existence
• Cheese

Time to take that left at Albuquerque…

Historical Prescience

The majority of non-fiction books are historical: the focus is usually on “proper” history (wars, economic cycles, biographies) or at the very least, the narrative employs past events as evidence in an argument. The past plays a huge role in the way we understand things – we know from experience that touching hot stoves is a no-no or how to swing a tennis racquet to get the right amount of topspin to confound your opponent. Even more telling is how much of our present station in life is determined by past decisions and/or events. Your academic pursuit and interests were sparked by some inspiring high school teacher, the job interview offered because of past successes with previous employers, your support of the local sports team because your parents or grandparents chose that particular city to have a family.

Future Imperfect

Some of you know of my love of comic books – or for the more academic term coined by Will Eisner and popularized by Scott McCloud – sequential art. A tight narrative that weaves around colourful characters, coupled with the artist’s dazzling imagination captured in pencil and ink, and highlighted by moody shades and hues: this is perfection.

So is a nicely grilled steak. And an ice cold beer on a hot day. And the view when day breaks on some picturesque landscape, rays of sunlight peeking over mountaintops like curious toddlers, quickly flooding the valley with warmth and life. But I digress….

Like other media that rely on physical formats, there has been much ballyhoo about how comics will survive in the digital world. Is that the sinister visage of Herr InterTubez, cackling with unbridled joy at the inevitable death of my beloved artform? One particular response is this meditation on storytelling, which literally explodes off the page and explores the electronic medium. It entertains and challenges the mind simultaneously, like caviar for your mind.

Pushing boundaries don’t have to happen through the delivery mechanism. A primary vehicle that makes you stop with unexpected clarity is content. New and bold ideas are often explored through fiction, especially within works of the science fiction variety. One of my current online reads is Escape From Terra, a webcomic that looks at how society might evolve in the future. The current arc has introduced an intriguing character, who develops “disruptive technologies” for the common good. His latest invention are “plants that will yield meat genetically identical to cows, chickens, fish and everything else.”

Meat seeds.

Just imagine for one second if we had meat seeds today. This is different than growing meat from a petri dish – which somehow conjures up images of mad scientists, and makes people squeamish. Instead you can sprinkle these seeds on the ground, water and tend them, and soon you’ll be harvesting gourds full of chicken-y flavour. Where do I sign up?

The ills of the world are being solved in the fantastic realms of artists. When will everyone else catch up?

Information Overload

My RSS reader has over 1,000 unread items. My inbox is never down to 0. I’ve got stacks of books I’ve been meaning to read. TV shows I need to watch, bands I need to listen to.

Doctor, doctor, I think I’m suffering from information overload – there’s too much data and not enough time to sort and analyze. The constant stream of status updates, tweets and ticker feeds are bombarding my senses.  It’s like I’m standing at the bottom of a waterfall with a paper cup, vainly trying to fill it up.

Reminds me of Blur’s Out of Time chorus:

And you’ve been so busy lately
That you haven’t found the time
To open up your mind
And watch the world spinning gently out of time

Worry not though, there’s a breath of fresh air out there, and it actually comes from my twitter feed. It’s the people I follow who tweet once in a while, once every 2 weeks at most. And it’s usually an update letting me know where they’re going to be, what they intend to do. No sharing of links, no snarky commentary, no self-advertisements.

More of that would be nice. So would shutting off my data stream tap. But I’m too addicted to the ebb and flow of information – I’m a proud card-carrying member of the 21st century hyper-reality meta-nation called the Internet.

What’s your media diet?

I came across that question in the current issue of Monocle – and it got me pondering. While we’re very conscious of what we put in our bodies, what about the stuff we upload into our minds? Sure, we count calories but how many of us actually measure the content?

Wired recently posted a neat illustration that divides one’s media intake by type and by time spent. While this methodology recalls the food pyramid we’re taught at a young age, it does beg the question: is this breakdown actually healthy? While we can debate about whether 3.5 hours of entertainment is optimal, I think we need to examine the types of media we consume. To use the food analogy, it’s not only the number of servings of each food group that matters, but also where you’re getting your vitamins, carbs and proteins.

I am a rock

Yesterday’s post about my workout regiment got me thinking about my spiritual well-being. Muay Thai is an excellent way to relieve the stress that builds up over the course of a day – in fact, it can be argued that any form of strenuous physical activity can do the job. I would still submit that there is something special about pounding away your frustrations…

But beyond the release of endorphins (which apparently is disputed), I think that there is something deeper at work when I’m in the middle of yet another set of crunches or push-ups. Repeated exercises seem to have a focusing effect on my mind – there’s clarity of thought as I realize my objectives. The more I whip my body into shape, the more I notice how very little disturbs me. Nothing seems to be of great urgency or worry, the only thought in my head is of Now.

In my hyperreality where I’m constantly plugged in, multitasking and on the go, Muay Thai has become my refuge. It’s a place of sanctuary, where I focus body, mind and soul. Much like meditation, these sessions have the added benefit of opening my consciousness. All of sudden I’m aware of the limitless potential that resides in me.

Hindus and Buddhists might call this opening your third eye, a crucial step on the path to enlightenment. While I’m admittedly not actively searching for nirvana, my dedication to a healthier lifestyle has engaged some higher consciousness. Whether physiological or psychological, I feel I’m a little bit closer to spiritual peace.

Isn’t that what we all want? A little bit of peace and harmony?

Kickin’ it old school

My friend and former colleague Kirsten asked me to contribute to her fitness blog, so here’s what I wrote:

When encountering martial arts, most people think of karate or taekwondo, where boys and girls proudly sport their white gis and colourful belts. Or they’ll remember their favourite Bruce Lee, Jackie Chan or Jet Li movie (Chuck Norris and Jean Claude Van Damme will also suffice).What they might not realize though is that martial arts are an excellent way to get into great shape and ultimately live a better life.

Adrenaline, stat!

It starts in the gut, quickly radiating outwards, down your legs and along your arms at the same time. Creeping up your neck, you hold you breath in anticipation, waiting for the rush. A momentary pause, time stands still, and then like the Norwegian Blue, voom!

Listening to the hockey game on the radio, I’m completely absorbed in a surreal experiment that engages my imagination. Names and described action fill my imaginary rink as the team wins and loses. It’s not quite synaesthesia, but the sounds create a different reality that exists outside of television.

But live, now there’s the rub. The adrenaline takes you higher when the roar of the crowd shakes your very core. The amplifiers thunderous, the mosh pit energetic, the light show fantastic, the body electric. The ringing in your ears echo the experience, keep you coasting just a little bit longer.

Or perhaps you prefer your excitement in a more subdued doses, like an IV drip that sustains a romanticized vision of the perfect relationship, the perfect job, the perfect world. Layer upon layer, we follow the yellow brick road to our deepest desire, constructing the rationale that lets you sleep better at night. This is living, you mutter to yourself.

Live for those moments where you revel in joy. Moments where you’re left awestruck by fantasy, where you can genuinely smile, for the company of good friends. And live for those moments, where like Icarus, you come crashing down. Cause it’ll make the trip back to the top, that much more satisfying.