The Inevitable Chess Blog

Ok, I’ve been putting this blog off for a long time, mostly because it’s bound to be a dull topic for most people.  I can see that it needs to be written to get it out of the way so my life can continue without its presence, so bear with me.

For most of my life I have loved chess.  I was fascinated as a kid by the shapes of the pieces and the unique properties they all had.  I read a book or two on the subject and I became an adequate player.  On rainy days, me and my little neighbourhood buddies would play each other for hours.  Aside from my family – among whom I am the only player – I really grew up believing most people could play chess.  As a teen I came 2nd in a tournament held in my high school, and I won a prize playing a master who was travelling around shopping malls playing simultaneous games with 20+ opponents at a time.  In my early 20’s I joined the Langley Chess Club, and over the years I have represented it in club matches many times, have been its secretary, treasurer, tournament director and seven time champion.  I have travelled far and wide in this country, playing in the national championships, usually finishing right around the middle of the pack.  In the past half a decade or so I have been directing larger tournaments with 50 or 60 players, and I’ve even been written to by the national chess federation to be thanked for my “contribution to chess in Canada.”

Meanwhile, my feelings for the game have been changing.

I used to be excited to play other players.  It was my version of the gun slinger’s showdown, and I know my opponents felt the same way.   There was respect and comradery and occaisonally hard feelings, but nothing that lasted long.  In the same way that many kids I had fistfights with became my friends, so did many of my toughest opponents become friends.  Once you’ve taken a measure of your adversary, fought against his strength whether in the school yard or over a chess board, respect came naturally.  That’s how it was.
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Now, I play against opponents who are prepared with computer analysis of my games, who know exactly where my dark squared bishop is going on move 6 of the Trompovski Attack, who know how to exploit the subtle weakness it creates, whose coaches have shown them the best long range plan in that position.  They are usually kids with their parents watching intently, armed with granola bars and juice boxes.  It isn’t a battle of gun slingers in the dusty streets any more.  It has turned into an impersonal battle of computer preparation and coaches.  Rarely do we sit afterward and talk through the games, and even rarer do we leave feeling any respect or warmth toward the human being we just tangled with.  The families are often involved heavily in the chess careers of the children who play, but they seem only to learn moves and positions, not the good stuff about giving and gaining respect or friendships.  Or maybe I’m a cranky old man who imagines things were better years ago?

Maybe among the kids who have taken over the tournaments and their hovering families there is respect and personal feelings.  I’m not in a position to know.  Another thing that bruises my ego is that after some kid, his family, his coach and his computer have beaten me, I get the I’m-smarter-than-you look.  I have to remind myself that being classy is another lesson they will hopefully learn one day, but it isn’t the first step they take.  Of course, I mentally float away to an alternate reality in which I am kicking the kid over a fence into a yard full of hungry dogs, and it helps a little.

If I quit playing, and I might, it will be a sad end to one of my favourite things.

The Curtain Going Down on Another Summer

Well I guess that’s about it for another summer.  I know a lot of people enjoy the fall, and they are getting all excited about cool mornings and sweaters and snuggling on the couch, making stew for suppers and watching the trees turn colour.  Not me so much.  I work outside, and even though summer can be a lot of sweating in the sun, it’s still prefferable to squishing around in the rain.  I like the freedom of summer – of plunking down in the grass any old place I want and wearing minimal clothes, eating lots of barbecued stuff.  I love the fact that nature is in full bloom, all the fruit being in season and fresh, all the flowers and birds brightening up the world.  Fall for me is about watching all the warmth slowly seep away and watching all the colour and vividness of the world droop and fade.  Fall is the old age and death of the calendar year.  Worst of all?  My frickin lawn starts growing again.

Winter is much better than fall in my mind.  I don’t mind the occaisonal snow fall, and winter tends to be less rainy and windy than fall.  Also hockey is in full swing by winter, so if you’re stuck indoors – again – at least there is entertainment to be had on the tube.  I also find it psychologically pleasing to know that when winter starts, the days start getting incrementally longer, brighter and warmer.  It’s always exciting the first time you notice the sun rising earlier and setting later; but the big thrill is the first sunny day that gets into the 14 or 15 C range when you can open the window in the car and let the breeze blow through your hair.  Next thing you know it’s spring.  It’s a magical time when we start the barbecue up and see the blizzards back east on the news.  The weather starts behaving itself and the hockey playoffs get going.  Of course all my teams are usually offed immediately in the playoffs, and the frickin lawn starts growing again, so spring does have a few shortcomings.
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Not good old summer.  The weather is typically great, and everyone you talk to is going on a trip or camping or kayaking on some lake.  Everybody is having a nice time, and the long evenings on the porch with friends, family and a couple beers and the music playing really can’t be beat.  Well I’m going outside now for a barefoot stroll in the grass while I still can, time is quickly running out on another summer.

The Curse of H.L. Mencken

“No one in this world, so far as I know — and I have searched the records for years, and employed agents to help me — has ever lost money by underestimating the intelligence of the great masses of the plain people. Nor has anyone ever lost public office thereby.”  – H.L. Mencken

HL_Mencken

I was looking for a quick way of assessing the word usage level of certain dialogues.  I wasn’t successful at finding anything quick – maybe someone should invent one? – so I’ll have to forge ahead making guesses and assumptions.

A long time irritant for me has been Ford commercials, especially for their trucks.  The ads contain almost nothing but one syllable words, often delivered in an in-your-face grunt.  They are, I am guessing, what old Mr Mencken was talking about in his column in 1926 when he said no one went broke underestimating intelligence.  The latest batch of Ford truck ads are using the word “undisputed,” which is a whopping four syllables, but still conveys a tough guy swagger as the word is best known for its description of a fighter who has conquered everyone.  Even allowing for this exception, my guess at the word usage level for these ads would be about grade 5.  Gearing your advertisements towards people with a low reading/comprehension level isn’t hurting Ford too much, as their trucks are on every street you look at, having been the highest selling truck for 50 straight years.

There are numerous pills that are widely demanded for their effectiveness such as Kamagra, Caverta and on line cialis . This saves you online prescription viagra without money and is a confidential service. The tablets are safe, modern and improved remedy of relieving cialis cheap online male disorder easily. The Gateway to 10,000 Illnesses describes in straightforward and largely non-technical language the levitra without prescription core mechanism – the engine – of what makes us tick and his conclusions on why this hitherto little understood area is essential for addressing almost any disorder. It is well documented that the education system of the USA has been churning out grads who are nearly illiterate for some time.  I don’t want to pick on Americans, as I’m sure the same is true in other countries as well.  In Canada no one ever seems to fail a grade any more.  If you show up most of the time you will get your participation ribbon/grade 12 diploma.  It’s just that we hear so much more about the Americans and how they’ve fallen into 20th place or so in most subjects when compared to other advanced industrial countries.  So Ford is only following Mencken’s advice and not getting people with poor vocabularies all mixed up with that there fancy language.

Which brings me to Donald Trump.  The Language Technologies Institute at Carnegie Mellon University rates Trump at about grade 4 usage, the lowest of any candidate in the 2016 election cycle.  (I heard that during the debates when he was speaking off the cuff it dropped to a grade 3 level.)  Although, to be fair, the highest usage level was only the 10th grade wordiness of Bernie Sanders.  All the candidates must be careful not to alienate the “plain people,” as that would surely not get anyone a majority of votes.  Like the Ford truck, the Trump brand is not being hurt by keeping it simple.  As of today he is slightly behind Hillary Clinton in the polls, but there is lots of time left to catch up.

If democracy is a true method of bringing the will of the people to the ballot box, then maybe a poorly educated mass should elect a poorly spoken candidate.  There is also a correllation between education levels and where a person votes along liberal-conservative lines, with the better educated tending towards liberalism.  Of course, there are exceptions like the brilliant conservative William F. Buckley, but the trend is fairly consistent.  So a poorly spoken conservative should be a winning combination in today’s world.  How else could you get mass appeal for an arrogant billionaire who promises tax cuts to the rich?

Oh well, it isn’t my country or my election, but it does dominate the news.  I also don’t feel any smugness about it happening elsewhere.  The Canadian Trump might be Kevin O’Leary, and he has expressed interest in running as a Conservative and cites Trump as an inspiration.  Stay tuned for the Great White North edition!

The Day Mom Tried to Kill Me

When I was a little kid, my mom took me and my sister to visit my nana.  My papa was a big wheel in a construction company and so nana and papa were always moving around the province, building a dam or a mine or something.   We hardly ever got to see them as these jobs took years to finish sometimes.  I’m not sure where this story took place, but my guess is McLeese Lake, BC.

We were sitting around the kitchen one day, and my nana asked me if I’d like some apple sauce.  Where my sister was, and why she wasn’t getting apple sauce, I have no idea.  Anyways, she brought me a little dish of apple sauce and I dug in.  It was terrible.  It tasted nothing like any apple sauce I had ever had.   I screwed up my face and told nana how awful it was.  I may have even started to cry.  My mom’s reaction was not what I was hoping for.  “You rude little brat!  It’s delicious and you’re going to eat every bit of it.” This, even though I was clearly dying there at the table.  I was bawling and alone, no one was taking my side.  There were tears and snot, but the sauce continued to be slowly consumed.  After several excruciating spoonfuls of viscous hell, my mom took a little spoonful to see what the fuss was about and discovered I had been eating a nice little dish of chicken fat.
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What sort of monster keeps a little dish of chicken fat in the fridge is a question for another day.  But if you do, put a label on it for god’s sake!

What’s Going on in Burns Lake?

I’m sure Burns Lake is a nice place.  I don’t think I’ve ever been there, unless it happened when I was very young.  It is a small town of about 2,000 people, several hours from anywhere.  It’s the sort of place a person might go to load up on moose and fish.  It happens to hold the record for the most sunshine in a month by any B.C. town, set in 1982. Anyway, my concern with the town is their lopsided number of lottery wins.  The provincial lottery corporation runs a 50/50 draw that draws four times a day, and often smaller towns like Powell River and Kamloops (which is not exactly tiny at 75,000) win more than their share, but statistically the king is Burns Lake.

 

burns lake lotto

 

But online prescription for viagra is normally not effective if the body is not able to produce the cGMP enzyme at all. You can find Kamagra in two forms, i.e. jelly and tablet. viagra generika It is different from stock exchange because it includes all the national stock exchanges of the country.Though there is a lot to tell about us but we would like you to inform cialis for order, which is not actually affordable for all human being. There are no two thoughts the medicine has to be taken only by the doctor’s instruction order levitra on line as it can worsen your condition. At 2,000 people, Burns Lake has about 1/2,000 of the population of B.C., or about 0.05%.  Logic would suggest that one draw in about every 2,000 should be won there.  That amounts to once about every 18 months.  Today is the end of June, and a fine time to tally up the damage.  Since the beginning of 2015 – 18 months to the day – they have won the 50/50 a whopping 98 times, including 13 times in June, almost 11% of all the draws or around 220 times more than their fair share based on population.  The average win this month was almost $1600 and the Burns Lake haul was $20,723.50.  In the 18 months in question, over $150,000 has been won there on the 50/50.  Once in January it was won three draws in a row at the Burns Lake Husky station, netting $5,000 in 19 hours.  Considering these tickets are sold at over 4,000 locations across the province, a three draw winning streak at one gas station is nearly impossible.

To win a dollar on the 50/50, theoretically you must spend two dollars.  So either the 2,000 people have spent $300,000 on it in the last year and a half, or they are experiencing an elongated period of luck.  My guess would be that most of the winning has been done by a small number of people who faithfully spend a large sum every day.  Even if a person was spending $100 each morning on his way to work and was winning a small number of draws, it may be paying off.  That person would be coming out ahead even if he only won once every two weeks.  In June the town averaged almost $700 in winnings each day, including days they didn’t win any draws.

I was tempted to phone a gas station or two from Burns Lake before I wrote this, see if they have any locals spending wildly or if it’s a fad in town that lots of people participate in, but I decided not to.  I think I’m worried I will mess up their winning streak by snooping around.

 

Ticket Vultures

vulture

Canada’s de facto poet laureate, Gord Downie, has announced he has terminal brain cancer.  His band, the Tragically Hip, are doing a final tour across the country and it will be an emotional farewell for their huge fan base.  Of course, the tickets were sensibly priced originally.  But the scalpers have managed to buy most of the tickets and are selling them for many times their face value.  I guess that’s the free market for you, but it seems a little unfair that some predatory carrion fowl with no souls are going to make more money from this tour than the band, and in the process make the tour unaffordable for many people who actually love the music and Gord Downie.  The same thing happens for every event with a high demand, like when Paul McCartney came to town.  Some poor people who were living in the past camped out by the ticket window overnight, and when the shutter went up they sprinted to the window to find out the scalpers had already bought all the tickets.  Sorry, sold out.   But people bucked up and bought tickets.  Not many chances to catch a Beatle passing through town, and age is becoming a factor.

For me, as a fan of Gord’s, it’s mostly about human decency.  Anyone who sees his lethal illness as a big chance to over charge loyal fans for tickets has no decency, in my opinion.  Don’t bother trying to give me the crocodile tears about putting your kids through college or any other crappy excuse.  You taking joy and finding greedy opportunity in someone’s misfortune is wrong and disgusting.  Period.  And if that opportunity is at the expense of grieving fans, knowing this band is never coming back, shame on you even more.
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If they could monitor the situation and be sure that no one except scalpers had bought tickets, it might be fun if they cancelled their performance and didn’t offer a refund.  That would leave the money-grubbing vultures with a fortune in un-sellable tickets.  Or maybe someone could actually make robbing customers and fans illegal.  Maybe there could be a limit on how many tickets could be purchased at a time, or to a certain credit customer, or to any single web address.  And maybe once a person has ordered their limit of tickets, they wouldn’t be allowed to make another purchase for 8 hours or something.  They could still buy their eight tickets – or whatever the limit was – and go and hawk them on line or at the door, and done correctly they could still make a lot of money.  If they left tickets for normal people to buy, I don’t think anyone would care.  In fact it could go back to being a nice little side business that had the benefit of making a last minute purchase possible.

 

The Dunning-Kruger Superhero

“The Foole doth thinke he is wise, but the wiseman knowes himselfe to be a Foole.”

  • Shakespeare, As You Like It

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The Dunning-Kruger Effect is the inability of low intelligence people to correctly assess their skill at certain tasks.  The effect was experimentally ‘proven’ in 1999, and the authors of the prevailing study were awarded an IgNoble Prize for their work, sort of a mock Nobel prize for minor accomplishments.  The idea is that people who aren’t especially bright often think they are wonderful at everything they do, while highly intelligent people tend to believe themselves to be only average, as though the difficult things they excel at are easy for everyone.  It turns out that the lack of general intelligence also makes people very poor at assessing their own level of competence.  I think we can all think of examples of a dimwit who is full of unearned confidence and a smart person who is full of excessive doubt.

One hopes that along the way the highly confident but not very bright person gets a reality check and realizes their shortcomings.  For example, if a person of unreasonable confidence had a string of bankruptcies and failed marriages, it might dawn on them that they are not great with people or money.  You would hope.  If that person, for example, spouted off a daily stream of public rants that were laughable in their simple ingorance of the truth, you would hope that the people who critiqued those rants would get through the thick head of the ranter who would, you would hope, either do a little reading or shut up.  You would hope a person that dumb would not become a public figure, and really hope that if they did something stupid like run for president, millions of people wouldn’t fall for his or her empty ramblings.  No, in the case of Donald Trump, his Dunning-Kruger filter on the world remains firmly in place.  The daily reality checks bounce off his cheezie-coloured noggin like a bullet off a superhero.

If it were just for comedy, Trump would be a great gag.  Unfortunately, he is racist, mysoginistic, mean spirited, devoid of any sense of the modern world and a bullying, cheating douchebag.  And immensely popular.  He’s an orange, wind-tussled Archie Bunker who wants to default on America’s debts and let more jobs go to third world countries.  Really?  That gets you whose vote, exactly?  Not to mention the ridiculous wall.  Not only would that idiotic wall cost a fortune – they could probably find the money if they plunder the education budget, who needs that? – but it would be a symbol of intolerance and not much more.  Let’s hope no Mexicans own a plane, a boat, a shovel, a sledgehammer or a ladder.  And doesn’t it seem a tad inconsistent that those raping, thieving Mexicans are working in his hotels?

To be fair, I’m not completely sold on what the Democrats are cooking up either.  In fact it’s been quite a while since I saw a candidate on either side of the 49th parallel that I had total faith in.  My favourite of the 2016 batch in the US is Bernie Sanders, but he doesn’t appear to have a chance.  Besides, he is so out there he’s like a guy hoping to turn the US into Denmark.  I worry if he overcomes the odds and wins the nomination that someone might kill him.  He’s pretty old, a really strong glass of prune juice might do the trick, but let me say it now: I’m not cleaning that up.

A Rainy, Beerless Saturday

I have been really bad the last month or so at writing in my blog.  I think about it all the time, but my life has been so dull the past little while that I don’t want to infect any potential readers with it.  If I were experiencing any swashbuckling adventures, I would be sure to inform the world.

This weekend I am back on antibiotics for the third time in six weeks.  I stabbed a dirty screwdriver into the palm of my hand, and my palm reacted by swelling up so that I couldn’t make a fist about 12 hours later.  On top of that, it is raining hard enough to keep me inside, and there isn’t even any hockey to watch as our American overlords have scheduled the Stanley Cup Final to begin on Monday.  On the bright side, hockey will be back in a couple of days, and after tomorrow afternoon it isn’t forecast to rain again for at least a week or two.  And when the hockey returns, it will be a nice intense Final between two teams who skate and score.  It shouldn’t be a snoozefest of 1-0 games and a lot of neutral zone trapping, a la New Jersey/Anaheim 2003.
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Today is my son’s 31st birthday.  It is also the 51st birthday of one of my best and oldest friends.  They were born 20 years apart almost to the minute.  Last year I went to two birthday gatherings, but this time their new ages don’t end with a zero, so it’s passing by without much fuss.  I love my son a lot, but it turns out I hardly ever say it to him.  I wasn’t brought up in a house that said it much, but I never questioned it or felt any great absence over not hearing it.  I hope he understands.

Now What?

First I had pneumonia.  Well, maybe not first exactly, but recently.  Then my left elbow started swelling up.  It didn’t alarm me much, as I had wrenched some inner mechanical piece of that elbow about six months earlier while heroically trying to move a 300-or-so lb chunk of concrete.  It hurt a little from time to time, but why it chose to wait half a year to swell didn’t seem important or strange.

So my partner thought it was ugly and a ‘gross deformity,’ so naturally I kept rubbing it on her and putting it in her line of vision.  Real mature, like usual.  Oh the fun we were having!

Then today I showed it to my boss, who is a noted hard ass.  I expected him to tell me not to be a baby about it, but to my very great surprise he was alarmed.  “Have you seen a doctor about this?” he asked me. “No,” I answered sheepishly.  “Well you get out of here and get to a walk-in clinic or something.  If that gets infected you’re in big trouble.”  Poof!  That was the moment all my deformity related fun came to an end.
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My doctor is a small, somewhat pretty Russian lady, mid 40’s, heavy accent.  If you are picturing empathy or gentle nurturing, forget it.  You could get a hug and a bowl of borscht out of Vladimir Putin quicker than her. “No wonder your blood sugar is high, you are fat,” she once told me, as an example of the bedside manner one has to accept as her patient.  Today even she seemed subdued and concerned.  She told me if I get a fever, or the swelling gets worse, or I start feeling unwell in the next couple days to go straight to the hospital emergency.  I am also to eat a bumblebee sized antibiotic every 6 hours and to go back to see her in two days.  “Any time you have fluid build up like that, you can get infection.  Being diabetic, that would be very serious for you.”

I had a pretty good run going there.  I never really had any sort of health concerns until I was 47.  That’s when they decided my pancreas had pretty much given up trying to provide me with enough insulin and declared me diabetic.  Up until then I was cruising along, eating whatever and however much I felt like, and drinking beer like a minor league hockey team.  Sure I was packing a few extra pounds, but I could still walk a whole 8 hour shift and spend the weekends playing baseball and tennis.  My idea of medicine was a Bayer aspirin.  I guess all the fun was setting me up for troubles later on.  I can’t say I hadn’t heard rumours that such things could happen, but I guess I’m a bit like the smoker who gets cancer.  It won’t happen to me, even though I was amply warned.

When the Guiding Light is the Laser Sight on Your Glock

I was just doing some light reading after work, and I came across this puzzling article on Msn.ca taken from the Independant.

http://www.msn.com/en-ca/news/world/woman-vows-to-take-gun-into-target-discount-store-bathrooms-to-protect-herself-from-transgender-people/ar-BBsjaUy?li=AAggv0m

The gist, if you have decided to skip reading the whole thing, is that a woman in the US, Anita Staver, is planning to take a .45 calibre Glock with her into the bathroom at a Target store so she can protect herself (and others) from the wave of perverts who are going to enter the ladies washroom as transgenders.  She figures perverted men are going to start raping women in the store washrooms, which would seem like a pretty risky undertaking, even without armed vigilantes laying in ambush.  Maybe she should stake out frat parties and hiking trails?

Anyway, my first reaction was that this person may have some unused brain cells loafing around her skull.  Turns out she’s a lawyer, so she was at least clever enough to pass a bar exam.  Then came the answer: she’s a Christian lawyer!  She will be cocked and loaded to protect all that is clean and good in God’s favourite country.

As a good Christian, she has probably skimmed by problematic phrases like “thou shalt not kill,” “do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” “love thy enemy,” “don’t judge lest ye be judged” and “turn the other cheek,”  but she has decided to ignore those and interpret things her way.  Those aren’t central tenets of the faith or anything, just suggestions from the Appendix chapters.  And in case anyone read those lines and took it to mean Christianity was intended to be peaceful, we have Ms Staver to thank for setting us straight about that.
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I had a lot of Christian dogma come my way in my 12 years of Catholic schooling, but I can’t remember anything about using lethal force to exterminate people you think might be pissing off Jesus.  (Oh, even though you also believe he created them in His image and loves them.  Huh?)  I must have nodded off when that went by.

So here’s your warning, dirty perverts: if you start raping women in a busy washroom, in a busy store full of witnesses and cameras, using the crazy premise that you are transgender, Anita Staver and Jesus may be hunkering down in the next stall deciding who gets to scatter your filthy brains on the wall.  In self defense no less!

Amen.