Boyspeak

Two 17-year-olds, slumping past on their way to my son's bedroom:

My son: "We're gonna go play 'Halo.'"
His friend: "I am the lord of all things 'Halo.'"

Pinball lizard

As if I didn’t have enough to distract me from my work, I’ve learned that my computer has a pinball game.

Over the years, I’ve tried to limit computer game-playing because it takes so much time away from productive work. I can kid myself about roaming the Internet and reading e-mail and amusing myself with YouTube idiocies -- those might serve some business purpose or spark some creative impulse -- but games? Not so much.

Not that I’ve been immune. I’m a long-time addict to Solitaire and its evil cousin, Spider Solitaire, and probably could’ve doubled my work output over the years if I would’ve simply eliminated those games from my computer. And there was that long flirtation with Tetris that nearly cost me my career.

But I don’t download games or upload games or generally seek out games that will result in even more wasted time. And I’ve completely avoided the more complicated role-playing games and war games. I’ve seen what those have done to my teen-aged sons. I can’t stand to lose that many brain cells.

But one day recently, I discovered that my computer came pre-loaded with “Space Cadet 3-D Pinball.” Oh, my.

I had to try it, right? I mean it was right there, taking up space, as it were, begging me to check it out and decide whether to eliminate it from my computer’s overloaded memory.

Well. I quickly found that it’s remarkably realistic, if scaled a little small for aged eyes. It sounds just like a real pinball game, with all the bumpers and bells and flippers. Plus, because it’s a space-themed game, it’s flush with laser noises and wormholes and black holes and relaunches and weapons upgrades. All the things that make an old pinball veteran lose his mind.

I’m a member of the last generation that came of age with pinball games. Yes, arcades still feature pinball, but I was a teen when all the games were mechanical, before video games took over. Oh, sure, I remember Pac-Man and Frogger and Pong and some of those other early games, but they were new to arcades back then, and we old pinball hands didn’t think they’d catch on.

I spent many, many hours in the game room of my college’s student union, where it was all about billiards and pinball. I think there was an Asteroids game off in a corner, but the real men were pinball wizards, wasting our lives a quarter at a time.

For years, I rarely engaged in pinball. When my sons were small, I’d occasionally take them to a local arcade. They’d play video games while I’d be off in a corner, whamming away at a pinball game.

If anyone had asked, I would’ve said I finally outgrew pinball. Much too busy and important to sit around, fondling my flippers, pursuing a high score and cussing when I lose.

Then I stumbled across the computer pinball game and became a Space Cadet, playing until my hands cramp. I’m twitchy all the time. I hear bells and lasers in my sleep. My whole life has gone “tilt.”

At least, this time around, my pinball addiction is free. If I’m going to get no work done, I can’t spare the quarters.

Rubik's rube

Erno Rubik’s got nothing on me.

Rubik is the Hungarian sculptor and architect who invented the Rubik’s Cube and other games. It takes a special sort of mind to devise such clever, addictive puzzles.

I have two teen-aged sons, so naturally we have Rubik’s Cubes lying around the house. My sons busily work the puzzles while simultaneously watching TV, texting on their phones, scratching, playing video games, listening to music and eating. Such are the nimble minds of multi-tasking youths.

My experience with Rubik’s Cube has been less casual. I sit down and give the cube my full attention, and after turning the colorful tiles every which way for 24 seconds, I say, “That was fun,” and toss it aside. Because that’s enough for me. It would take me hours of concentrated effort to even sort of figure out how the danged thing works, to get some type of system going, much less solve the puzzle, and it’s not worth it. The payoff’s not big enough for the time wasted. Unlike, say, a crossword puzzle, which only takes me a few minutes to work and the solution of which makes angels sing.

Scientists call the ability to see and manipulate objects in two and three dimensions “spatial visualization.” The term comes from the Latin roots “spatia” (or “shoulder”) and “visuali” (“door jamb”).

Several experiments have found that men tend to be better at spatial visualization. Yay, men! No offense to women, but we men don’t get many wins in our column these days. Along with spatial visualization, scientists have found that men tend to be better at lifting furniture, stealing elections and competitive eating. That’s about it.

Men’s special adaptation for spatial visualization, which may go all the way back to the days of prehistoric hunters, certainly explains teen-aged boys’ affinity for video games. I’m no better at video games than I am at Rubik’s Cube, and my failures led me to doubt my spatial visualization manhood. I felt intimidated. My sons mocked me, saying within my earshot: “Imagine the hefty Hungarian brain of Erno Rubik!”

Just as I was wondering whether there was a cure for my spatial visualization shortcomings, a mental Viagra, if you will, I had a breakthrough. I saw that non-Hungarians such as myself face spatial visualization puzzles all the time in everyday life and manage to solve them just fine.

Take, for example, our laundry room. We have two (usually full) laundry baskets. We have a washer and dryer, the tops of which serve as the work surface. The washer’s a top loader. The dryer’s a front loader. No problem, the baskets sit on the dryer, right? Except the lint trap is on top of the dryer. So I have to move baskets to put clothes in or out of the washer and to start each new load in the dryer. Back and forth, open and close. I’m so accustomed to this routine, I do it without thinking. My movements are polished by repetition. The baskets slide back and forth and lids slam and, ba-da-bing, new loads of laundry are under way.

Take that, Erno.

Don’t even get me started on the proper way to load a dishwasher. Oh baby, we could be here all day. Nothing arouses my manly spatial visualization skills like a sink full of dirty dishes. The geometry of loading the big stuff and filling in with the smaller items. The proper tilt to catch the best spray. The ups and downs of silverware.

Whew.

Maybe I’ll try that Rubik’s Cube again.

Guitar Heroes and tin ears

Here’s what the future of music sounds like: Clackity-clackity-clack. Clack-clack. Clackclackclackclackclack.

That’s the sound of Guitar Hero, a video game that lets any nimrod pretend to be a rock star. Guitar Hero and its many evolutions and variations have taken the nation by storm.

For those of you blessed enough to be unfamiliar with Guitar Hero, here’s how it works: The player uses a “controller” shaped like an electric guitar to “play” along with a cartoon band on the video screen. The screen shows different colors for different notes. The colors match five colored buttons up in the fret area of the controller guitar. At the other end of the guitar is a little plastic lever that must be clacked up and down, as if it were the pick used by the player to pluck the strings.

See, there aren’t any actual strings. “Playing” the “guitar” is a matter of pushing the correct buttons with one hand and clacking that lever with the other, as fast as the rock song blaring from the game requires.

Guitar Hero is huge at our house. Our teen-age sons both enjoy the game, and their friends come over to our house to “jam.”

Our sons know to keep the volume turned down on the songs, especially if Crazy Dad is trying to “work,” but there’s no volume control for that clacking noise. What I get -- through closed doors, through walls -- is the merest mumble of some familiar rock song and the clackity-clack-clack-clack of teen-age frenzy. Around the clacking clock.

It reminds me of those laboratory tests where mice or chimps repeatedly push a lever to get a treat. A teen-age boy apparently will clack a lever for hours on end, even if the only treat is being able to call his best friend “loser.”

The irony at our house is that both our sons actually play musical instruments. They can read music and pick out songs by ear and all that jazz. But, for amusement, they’d rather clack away at Guitar Hero.

I’m sure it takes skill and determination to succeed at the games, but clacking that lever is not the same as playing the song on a real guitar. I fear we’re creating an entire generation of youngsters who think they’re musicians because they can play Guitar Hero.

Eye-hand coordination is not the same as musical talent. I can type fast as a fiend, but that doesn’t mean I can play the piano.

Given the speed of technological advance, how long before real guitars come with buttons and clackers rather than strings? You’ll no longer need talent to be a rock musician; all you’ll need are fingers.

Virtual music by virtual musicians, virtually all the time until parents virtually tear off their own ears. That’s the future of rock ‘n’ roll.

Roll over, Beethoven, and tell Tchaikovsky to clack.

Scrabble in Seattle

Back at the helm after a fun few days of Scrabble and dining out with my pal Frank in beautiful Seattle. We even got one day of sunshine while I was there. Not that we were outside much. We played 19 games of Scrabble between Wednesday night and Saturday morning.

I won the majority, humbly remaining Scrabble Champion of the Known World. Because Frank is the loser, feel free to taunt him if you cross paths. Spitting is allowed.

Swords, sorcerers and Dad

Now that the fall television season has arrived, I'd like to tell you about my favorite program.

It's an action-packed adventure show full of martial arts and magic and mystery. It usually stars superheroes or warriors or cartoon characters (sometimes we hit the trifecta: Superhero cartoon warriors!) who are seeking a treasure or trying to save the world from imminent destruction. Our heroes travel through fabulous settings -- everything from sandstone castles to futuristic space cities to Infernal Fire Swamps of Despair -- while they overcome evildoers and cast spells and achieve great things.

I'm sure you'd enjoy this program, too, but you won't find it on any cable channel. The show's only available in homes equipped with video games and the teen-agers necessary to play them.

I don't play video games myself, and know so little about them that I'm probably the world's least qualified person to write about gaming. But that's never stopped me before.

Despite my ignorance, video games have become a big part of my life, and I occasionally find myself shouting something like, "No! You should've used the Great Mallet of Confusion! Now you've got to start over."

Here's how it happened: My wife and I finally caved and bought our two sons a Playstation 2, which is a flat black box that attaches to a television via cables. Not to get too technical here, but game cartridges are inserted into this box and the games take place on the TV screen while the players fondle handheld controllers that make the on-screen characters do stuff.

When we bought this satanic device, we figured the kids could hook it up to the Old TV in the bedroom and spend hours in there, polluting their minds with kung fu fighting and witchcraft while we adults loitered in the living room, watching "Reno 911" on the Good TV.

Alas, we erred. The Playstation 2 cables would not connect to the Old TV. They would only connect to the Good TV. Which means two things: 1) we now have cartridges and controllers and snaking cables all over the living room, and 2) anytime I want to watch the Good TV, I must extricate the remote control from the claws of a glassy-eyed teen who only wants to play more games.

If I want my traditional place on the sofa, with the reading lamp and the handy snack table, then I'm exposed to a certain amount of video gaming.

Parenting experts probably would laud this situation because it's Quality Family Time Together and at least I'm regulating my kids' video gaming. Those experts would be wrong. Just the opposite happens. Instead of exercising some control over the gaming, I become captivated.

No matter how hard I'm trying to read or nap or otherwise act like an adult, I find myself staring at the cavorting ninjas on the TV. Before long, because I'm a dad, I'm offering advice.

"There's your problem right there," I'll say. "You should've climbed that staircase to the Hall of the Dead, then taken out Graydork the Terrible with your Sword of Swarthiness."

My teens roll their eyes at my kibbitzing. Because that's their job, and because they know I have no idea what I'm talking about. Then they start a new game while I watch over their shoulders.
It's great interactive TV. And no commercials!

We're wasting time together. As a family.

Life lessons from poker

Poker has taken the country by storm. Americans of all ages are gathering around kitchen tables to pass cards and money back and forth, just as they see the professionals do on TV.

Whoever thought poker would become a spectator sport? But it's caught on, big-time. TV ratings are so good, a dozen cable channels now feature poker tournaments as regular programming. Most anytime, day or night, you can watch the pros playing in the World Series of Poker or famous idiots playing Celebrity Poker.

I watched for a while, until I realized that the only thing lazier than sitting around and playing cards was sitting around, watching other people play cards. At least, when you're in a game yourself, there's a chance you can get your heart rate up with a winning hand.

I've played poker for years and find that it’s a fine hobby for those of us who work at home. Poker gets us out of house, forces us to interact with others, and gives us a chance to lose our paltry "incomes" in pulse-pounding ways.

I'm at best a mediocre player, so I wouldn't dream of giving advice on how to play winning poker. But I have learned some lessons I'd like to share with you amateurs.

(Even if you don't play poker, you might learn from what follows. Most of these lessons apply to everyday life in the business world.)

--There's no such thing as a "friendly" poker game. Sure, you can play with your friends. You can be friends before the game and friends again after the game. But during the game? Not so much. In fact, your very best friend is the one who'll most enjoy taking your money.

--Avoid drinking alcohol while playing poker. It makes you stupid and reckless. Plus, you'll have a hangover the next morning, so your head will pound while you try to remember where all your money went.

--Any beverage at the poker table is ill-advised. Knock over your drink and get the cards wet and you'll hear about it for weeks to come.

--Beware of players with nicknames. I've played with many Richards over the years, and have lost to all the ones known as "Dick." If you run into a player named Ace or Tiny or Curly, look out. And if you face one named Red, you might as well just give him all your money and go home early.

--No children should be allowed on the premises during a kitchen game. Not only are kids noisy distractions, but they're likely to overhear many "bad words."

--Know when to fold 'em. If you don't have the "lock" hand, the one that's unbeatable given the cards on the table, then you should fold. More than a vowel separates "lock" and "luck."

--Be careful about "tells" that tip your fellow players to whether you're holding good cards or just bluffing. Sweating, twitching, snorting, tapping, smiling, frowning, whooping or bending the cards in the Death Grip of Imminent Defeat all can reveal your intentions. Watch the pros. They show as much emotion as your average lizard.

--Never gamble with more than you can afford to lose. If you find yourself going out to the car to get the title out of the glove compartment, it's time to get behind the wheel and drive home.

--Finally, avoid playing poker in casinos. You're not ready. No, you're not. Go look at the guys who play casino poker. They're a serious bunch of lizards. They're gambling with their Social Security money. They play for keeps.

Better to give all your money to your friends. That way, you at least can go visit it later.

Deal 'em, HAL

We were having the carpets cleaned at our house, and I was sitting at my desk in my home office. No chance of doing anything productive with carpet-cleaning machinery roaring all around, so I was plunking away at computer Solitaire.

The carpet guy noticed and said, "Solitaire, huh? It's funny, with all the high-tech games out there, the one I see people playing most is good old Solitaire."

"It's my downfall," I said without looking away from the screen, too busy losing another game. "Keeps me from getting any work done."

"You're in good company," he said. "Everywhere I go, doctors and lawyers, everyone's playing Solitaire."

That brought me up short. Here's a guy who spends all day in other folks' offices and homes and, everywhere he goes, people are wasting time playing cards with their computers? Don't they have anything better to do?

I recently saw a good movie called "The Man from Elysian Fields." In the film, Andy Garcia plays an unsuccessful novelist (a role for which I felt a special empathy). During one tough period in the novelist's life, he's suffering from writer's block. How did the filmmakers illustrate this? They zoomed in close to his computer to show he was playing Solitaire instead of working.

A guilty titter arose from the audience, one that said, "Been there. Done that."

And all this time I thought I was the only one who wasted hours of every workday playing computer Solitaire and its evil cousin, Free Cell. Apparently, the problem is more widespread.

You might expect that people like me, those without regular jobs, would be especially susceptible to this addiction. We're in our home offices all day with no bosses looking over our shoulders.
But "doctors and lawyers?" Are attorneys spending their billable hours diddling their keyboards rather than seeking truth and justice and headline-grabbing tobacco settlements? Are doctors taking time away from patients to have "consultations" with their computers?

These days, most American workers have computers on their desks. Are they all squeezing in a few hands of Solitaire between clients? Is this why you can never get anyone to answer a business phone?

The United States has the most productive workforce on the planet. Could we be even more productive if we weren't wasting huge amounts of time playing cards? If everyone stopped playing Solitaire, maybe we could pull the economy out of its slump.

Then again, perhaps Solitaire is the cause of the slump. Maybe, after 9/11 and Enron and Iraq and the deluge of other bad news, American workers said to themselves, "Whew, I can't take it anymore. Maybe a few quiet games of Solitaire will lift my spirits . . . "

Next thing you know, the economy's in the toilet.

You don't have to be completely paranoid to take this even further, though it helps. Computer Solitaire could be a terrorist plot to wreck our productivity. Or, it could be Bill Gates' secret plan to take over the world economy.

That "irrational exuberance" Alan Greenspan's always going on about? That's when someone wins a game.

Because what could be more irrational than devoting large blocks of time to a game that's so hard to win? No matter how much you practice (and, believe me, I've tested this theory), Solitaire remains very difficult. Lots of luck involved. Make one wrong move and -- pfft! -- it's time to start over.

And you will start a new game. You might plan to just dip in, play one little game, and get out again before anyone notices that you're wasting company time. But you're an American; you want to win. Next thing you know, the only people left in the office are you and the janitors.

How can we stop this evil influence? By swearing off Solitaire. We can become more productive workers and stop wasting our lives.

Follow my lead, America. No more Solitaire. Find a better way to use your workday.

I, personally, intend to spend more time playing Tetris.

'Fessing up at Gamers Anonymous

Hi, my name is Steve, and I'm a computer game junkie.

(All together now: "Hi, Steve!")

I'm a little nervous. This my first time to come forward. I've been in denial for a long time. But I was sitting in the back there, swilling coffee, and I thought: Stand up and say it. Admit it to these strangers and maybe you can finally admit it to yourself. So that's what I'm doing. I'm confessing my sins. Who knows? Maybe it'll help.

My story is a familiar one. I started out small, just a little Solitaire when no one was else was around. Maybe do a little shareware at parties. I told myself I was just experimenting. A taste of computer poker never hurt anybody, right? I still functioned in my everyday life, though sometimes I'd have a virtual hangover the next morning from staying up too late, zapping aliens.

Pretty soon, I was no longer just joy-popping. I moved up to the harder stuff -- advanced games like Tetris that eat up your time and lead to debilitating physical problems, such as carpal tunnel syndrome.

My addiction started to crop up during the workday. I'd be itching to play when I should be doing something productive. I began to ignore my chores in favor of computer chess. I'd get irritated when the ringing phone interrupted a game that couldn't be paused. I skipped bathing and eating and other everyday activities that might take me away from the computer screen. I'd bark at my children when they broke my concentration, pestering me with some minor problem, like a house fire.

I was blind to all these signals, of course. I thought I had my habit under control.
The first recognition that I had a problem came when I started attributing human motives to my computer, which is just a machine after all. The computer seemed out to defeat me at any cost, and I began to treat it like a real live human enemy. I'd curse at it and pound the keyboard and choke the mouse and generally act like an idiot.

Some of you are nodding. Guess you've been there, too, huh? But I went even further. I started believing the computer was toying with me.

Here's an example: One of my obsessions is a simple little game called Evolve. You fly around in a spaceship, shooting kamikaze aliens that are trying to crash into you. A silly game, really. It's called Evolve because the aliens change if you don't shoot them soon enough. They go from green to yellow to red with an increase in speed and agility in each incarnation. At first, I just played the game, win or lose, it didn't matter. But then I began to notice a pattern. Just when I'd killed nearly all the aliens and was relaxing a bit, bracing to move up to the next level, one of the few remaining aliens would evolve suddenly and run right at my ship at twice the normal speed.

How else to explain it? The evil computer was out to get me.

Another game involves moving virtual marbles around a board. I started to believe the computer was counting ahead two or three plays, so it could be sure to trap me. It took all the joy out of the game. Now, I get so caught up in trying to read the machine's motives that, boom, I lose all my marbles.

It's insanity to play a counting game against a computer anyway; counting is what they do best. But I kept playing. I was hooked.

And now I've admitted it. I know I have a problem. I'm planning to get with the program and kick the habit.

Withdrawal will be rough. My hands will itch to play again. My brain will desire the strategy, the competition, the occasional victory. I'll hear the beeping and blooping of the games in my sleep. But I think I'm ready. I just hope it's not too late.

I know you're supposed to stop cold turkey, but I was wondering, could I do just a little more Tetris before I get on the wagon? I'm ready to quit. Really. But first I want to teach that computer a lesson.