Signs of Life: Autumn Equinox, 2008

The first day of autumn, as well as the birthday of Bilbo and Frodo. Earlier incarnations of this project were marked by prolonged periods of inactivity, which were often broken only by the changing seasons. I'm pleased to know that - thus far, at least - this latest attempt has been plagued by such an affliction to a much lesser degree. I still haven't been able to spend the time on posting that I would like to, but have attempted to make brief appearances with relative frequency. A few posts have been incubating over the last few weeks: another session report, a few thoughts on a Neal Stephenson appearance I recently attended, and vague plans for a post on adventure playgrounds. Hopefully they'll all soon see the light of day.

Session Report 1.9.08: Diplomacy

Patrick, Michael, Mikey, Franco, Tom and I spent the lion's share of our Labor Day playing Michael's copy of Diplomacy. It's only in the last couple of years that I've become really enthusiastic about board games, and so there are quite a few classic games, Diplomacy included, that I've never had a chance to play. Having finished a game, I can easily say that it's an excellent design, and I enjoyed playing it a great deal - though not without a few caveats.

Within the first two or three turns, the game's appeal had become clear. I realize that this is a kind of strange comparison, but the tone of the game almost reminded me of something like Werewolf or Mafia, in that a very light rule set provides the framework for some very rich social interaction. Naturally, that means that the quality of one's game depends even more than usual on the other players. Luckily, we all seemed to be enjoying ourselves a great deal, and more than willing to throw ourselves into the game.

Well, most of us seemed to be enjoying ourselves. Patrick was put into a pretty tough position early on, and eliminated from the game about halfway through. That might not have been much of a problem in a shorter game, but this meant that he spent hours sitting out while the rest of us finished playing. Of course, Diplomacy is from a time when player elimination was par for the course, and Michael later said that usually more than one player will be eliminated, so that at least no one would be killing time alone. Still, even the possibility that a player could be shut out for so long is pretty big shortcoming for me these days.

Mechanically, of course, Diplomacy is the progenitor of a lot of what we enjoyed about A Game of Thrones - particularly in its emphasis on negotiation and its secret and simultaneous issuing of orders. I don't know if it was the lack of other rules, or the formal negotiation phase, or perhaps the significantly longer playtime, but I felt like Diplomacy was a lot more conducive than AGoT in creating those meta-interactions. Our game lasted about six hours, which is a lot longer than I can generally play a single game and about an hour longer than I would've liked, but there's definitely something to be said for seeing one's plans slowly unfold over such a long period.

Overall, I thought Diplomacy was great. It more than deserves its classic status. At the same time, the anachronisms of its design and the fact that it's such a time investment mean that I can't really see playing it all that often. When I do have a chance to play, though, I don't doubt that I'll enjoy it immensely.

Ten-Year Letter

My ten-year high school reunion was a few weeks ago. I didn't attend, but I have to admit to a little morbid fascination with it. Most of my close friends from back then are actually still my close friends, and I'm in touch with a few other people that I knew, but there are others I think about from time to time... I suppose this is all just another symptom of my preoccupation with the past, and with how we connect with others. I frequently find myself wondering what's become of friends whose lives are no longer in the same place as mine.

On the last day of my senior year, my English teacher had each person in my class write a letter, a letter that would be sent to us in ten years, a chance to talk about where we were coming from and to speculate as to where we would be. A few months ago, I remembered that my letter was coming, but couldn't remember at all what I'd written. It was with a mixture of curiosity and dread that I received it a few days ago.

Surprisingly enough, there's nothing in it that I can really bring myself to be embarrassed about. In some ways, perhaps I've changed quite a bit in the last ten years, but the same things are still important to me. The letter is brief, but the things I was concerned with then are still with me. They're things that I don't think I'll ever entirely feel at peace with. This is how it ends:

"My name is Harry. I'm pretty lazy, but I've got big dreams. I like sad songs and walking in the rain and talking late. I get big dumb crushes and enjoy them for what they are, most of the time. I don't live enough. When I say I love my friends, I mean it. I would rather hug someone than shake their hand. Sometimes I feel incredibly lonely, but everyone does. The thing that frightens me the most is the idea that life means nothing. I want my time to count for something."