sketch

regarding nerd evangelism - intro

for the last few months, I've managed to keep my interest in Starcraft 2 pretty casual. I have a few friends who are still refusing to buy it because they "can't trust themselves with that game in the house." these are, of course, non-trivial concerns; a number of us went through some epic binges with the original Starcraft during college. nevertheless, that was college; I figured I'd be older and wiser now*... or at the very least, too busy to indulge in a horrendous, life-ruining video game binge. I've been pretty actively resisting taking the game too seriously. I was nonchalant about losing matches and refused to look into build orders or other "vetted" strategies of any kind. I didn't even play every night; sometimes I would even a whole week or more off (*gasp*) to do things like go outside and hang out with people in the real world.

all in all, I gloated about the fact that I was a fairly terrible player.

I should've known that it wouldn't last. this is something that began to nag at me-- being terrible. with some activities, I can handle not being awesome and I can definitely be fine with average. being bottom-rung terrible and watching peers put time in and get better and better; it would gnaw at my sense of nerdity. monday mornings, I began to whine to obsessed co-workers about a bad run of matches-- my casual weekend gaming was becoming less entertaining and more frustrating as I seemed to lose match after match. repeatedly they offered to examine my style of play, my strategies, etc. and repeatedly I rebuffed attempts to "formalize" my play and get better. a few more weeks, my frustration grew steadily, but so did my resistance to formally researching and memorizing build orders and other aspects of the game. my co-workers (perhaps out of being tired of hearing the same complaint week after week) suggested that I "casually check out" a blog by a high-level player. this sounded suspiciously like research to me, but on a slow facebook news day, I watched a few episodes.

my casual attitude is currently in serious jeopardy.

let me take a small digression. I love watching people geek out about things. making things and getting better strategically at games, writing, programming or even just hashing out great ideas. I love all of it. I especially love when the geeking involves a non-traditionally nerdy realm; cars, sports strategy, ufc, law / politics, cooking or formulating some complex theory of human behavior. I'm fascinated by the energy of creation. I'm particularly fascinated when the act of creation itself goes through a thorough refinement process. I may not always understand the details, but I love the sentiment. people who freak out about some incremental increase in status ("omg, I acquired a new [xyz]") is not particularly interesting, but whatever process or minutiae that makes you better at doing something or improves your understanding-- "optimization of complexity comprehension"-- I dig it tons. h summed it up when she called me "basically a strategy nerd."

sean "day [9]" plott warms my nerdy little heart.

day[9] is a top-ranked player and 11+ year veteran of Starcraft. his vblog / show, "the Day[9] Daily," offers commentary, strategy and bouts of hilarious, face-palming geekery. people who view themselves as "normal" tend to get dismissive if you use the words "strategy," "vblog" and "Starcraft" in too close of proximity to each other, but what day[9] does is truly fantastic. he is a surprisingly inspiring example of a nerd's pure love of an activity. more about this later.

existential disc

"nothing contributes so much to tranquilize the mind as a steady purpose--a point on which the soul may transfix its intellectual eye" -- mary shelley

I am thrashing uselessly against the dry dead grass and dirt. desperation and pain roll me onto my side, then my back, then my front with my legs kicking idiotically the entire time. I struggle to stop flailing for a moment and after an eternity, I finally feel air slowly seep into my lungs again. a few thankful gasps later, a relieved "fucking christ" sneaks out from between my clenched teeth. yay, for being able to breathe again. I just lay there for a moment and wait for the throbbing in my ears to die down. fucking phoenix with its fucking dead grass. these "fields" are basically parking lots of hard packed clay that some asshole decided to sprinkle some hay on. stuff is starting to itch my face. tastes nasty too-- tastes like the shame of missing a diving catch after a long run.

gradually, the world around me comes back into focus. pairs of cleats approach. voices of concern. the nearest one chuckles as I get helped off the ground.

"the score is ray, zero; the ground, a billion."

as I stand, various parts of my body feel it necessary to call attention to their existences.

excuse me. EXCUSE me. hello? yes. hello. I did not enjoy that. thank you. why the hell do you do that to us? why? for glory? for pride? for what? for a disc of plastic? could you please consider the consequences of diving at the ground? hey everyone, please shut up. we are still in need of air.

"you okay?"

tell him you're dying. I AM ACHY RIBS, PAY ATTENTION TO ME. "okay, enough."

"awesome. play on!"

and the whining fades as play restarts. the nagging of pain and exhaustion diffuses into superfluous background noise. the disc is in the air again. my entire world once again narrows to 160 grams of airborn plastic.

I am naught but the chase.

Syndicate content