Category: Wise to the Game

Complicated and Boring: Baldur’s Gate 3

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I like accessible games. “A minute to learn” isn’t necessary, but it helps. A well-written rulebook is sufficient. During COVID, I read the whole of the Gloomhaven rulebook — all ~95 pages. Beautifully written, well-structured, clear and clean. Loved it. I liked the rulebook more than the game.

I like elegant mechanics. Does the game test my skills, causing me to grow? Does the challenge progressively meet my level?

I spent four hours trying the alleged best RPG of all time. Released in 2023, Baldur’s Gate 3 is a computer-based license of Dungeons & Dragons, 5th Edition.

I’ve played Dungeons & Dragons around five times. Loved it every time. This game had everything I dislike about D&D, and nothing I like.

I like D&D’s innovation. Inventiveness. Possibility. What do you want to do? Do it! See what happens! Every action you take can be turned into a set of probabilities based on your skills and the outcome of those probabilities determine your success. When I say every action, I mean *every* action. This dame walks into your office searching for her disappeared husband, and you want to punch her in the nose? Be my guest! You smash her nose. She calls the police. Now that’s your story.

A good dungeon master (game leader) will accept everything thrown at them. They will guide you to where they need you without you feeling overly led. (They didn’t build this miniature map of the crime scene for nothing!) They will take you on a journey of mutual exploration and creation, giving you a mental experience that is at once novel and personal, but also timeless and compelling.

Baldur’s Gate 3 has dice. It has quests. It has storylines. It offers a mirage of the freedom that I enjoy. But when I get bored of the relatively-linear optionality and tried to steal from the merchant, it showed me a cutscene with a line of dialogue that I shouldn’t — and worse, can’t! — do that. When I pushed one of the townsfolk off of a high ledge, only half of that area rally around to attack me, and when I killed them I couldn’t even loot their bodies! How are the other half just watching, waiting to have the exact same normal-scripted dialogue conversations with me after I’ve massacred their village? I’m willing to accept the consequences — could I please have a little realism? If not, just cop out the way other games do, and don’t let me kill the people. But you can’t have it both ways: you can’t offer freedom without providing reasonable responses.

Creativity comes from constraints. The constraints of Baldur’s Gate 3 are at once too vast (the list of spells on your early-game characters number like 20, each with its own hyper-specific details), and too narrow (I can kill this townsfolk but I can loot their body).

I’ve never understood why people like D&D combat. It’s always been my least-favorite part of the game. Puzzle-solving and situation-navigating prompts creativity. It requires thinking and strategizing. Compared to that open set of possibilities, the combat feels like a funnel. Quite possibly I’ve never played with a dungeon master of sufficient skill to craft a fight that pushes at the edge of my ability, but I think it’s even more likely I just don’t get any joy from imagining chopping off a goblin’s head with a sword. I’m as much a fan of violence as anyone (if you’ve never shot a gun, you should really visit a shooting rage!), but imagined conceptual violence doesn’t do it for me. I don’t feel grand from the mental image of a theoretical-me stabbing someone. It doesn’t require enough skill to be satisfying.

Baldur’s Gate 3 is neither accessible nor elegant. I wonder if the people who love it are those who have already steeped themselves in D&D, and therefore this language is familiar to them. After four hours, I’m just not impressed. The storytelling, combat, and strategy: none excite me. None feels like it’s at the edge of my knowledge, expanding my understanding. It’s closer to a series of empty hours.

I felt this way after 45 minutes playing, when I completed the intro tutorial. I pushed through, since the game is so allegedly excellent. I am now giving up. I don’t think I’m missing anything.

I do have a number of long plane rides ahead of me. I might open it back up to see if it clicks. I wonder what stops me from enjoying this game that has a 96/100 on metacritic, designating it a “must-play” with “universal acclaim”. If you have any guesses, let me know.

On Creeping

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Walking along the beach in Palermo, Italy, I spotted a couple sucking face. Not merely kissing nor making out: they were devouring each other. I had never seen two people so intensely impassioned, let alone in public for all to see. Dumbfounded, I paused my walk, fascinated. How had I been living my life so passionless? What is it about Italians that this is an acceptable cultural behavior? Where do I get some? 

After around thirty seconds, I grew self-conscious. What if they look over and see me staring? I don’t want to disturb them or prompt them to stop something they’re so clearly enjoying, but they have selected a very public place… 

A set of hip-height bushes lay between me and the couple. I thought, “I could crouch behind these bushes and keep watching”. Then I laughed because I had just derived how someone becomes a peeping tom. 

I didn’t hide behind the bushes. I continued my walk, filing this experience away in my memory as an archetype of passion and an understanding of how slight escalations can rapidly grow out of hand. 

—

Tonight, my ex is hosting a comedy show. I have always liked their art. I want to attend their show. 

I have no ill feelings toward them. Our relationship ended amicably. Since then, they have increased the amount of animosity expressed toward me. Still, I want to attend their show. 

Tonight, at the show, I don’t want to disturb them. If I could attend invisibly, I would. But the venue is probably small – 20 seats or so. What if I attend in a hat and an N95 mask? I’ll sit in the back. Maybe they won’t see me. 

I discovered this show’s existence because a friend was watching TikTok. A voice came on that I recognized. “That’s my ex!” I said. I watched a few of their YouTube videos, found their newsletter, and signed up. I didn’t want to make it awkward, however, so I signed up using a pen name. Then today, when buying the ticket, I used the same pen name.

I’m now walking to my ex’s comedy show, where I’ll sit in the back, alone, wearing a false name and a mask. 

Somehow, every step seemed reasonable. 

— 

At the show: 

They’re literally arms-length away from me. Talking over me to the person beside me. This is exhilarating. 

They pass out pens and paper before the show. The paper has a prompt. It’s about social anxiety. What’s a social interaction that you would handle differently? 

How apt. 

— 

Games played: 

While taking a shower this evening, my two-year-old nephew summoned me. 

Our games began with the red alligator. I used it to bite different items in the bath. He laughed. 

The game escalated, somehow, to him holding a plastic shovel in his mouth while I held a plastic rake in my mouth. He dropped his, prompting me to drop mine. He laughs. We repeat. 

He then handed me the alligator, wanting me to drop it from my mouth instead. We execute. He laughs. 

One time, after I dropped it, the alligator landed just in front of his body. He laughed hard enough that he peed a little. 

This led to our final game of bath time: him trying to put the alligator in my mouth while I refused. 

Next time, I’ll tell him why the game has changed. That way he can learn! 

—

Meta: 

I feel disheartened. Speaking into the void with minimal feedback that my near-daily Substack is appreciated or enjoyed makes me sad. Do you enjoy this? Read it daily? Once in a while? What do you like about it? What do you want more? Comment on it or reply to this email. I’m not trawling for engagement; I’m seeking connection. 

Sometimes, magic happens

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Today’s game was “promptly check your emails and respond to the journalist quickly”. 

Partner does not usually check her email quickly… or at all. 

She once set her email to only notify her about new emails twice per day, and “do[esn’t] know how that got turned off”. 

Today, a journalist from the BBC emailed her. They wanted an interview, fast. The email arrived at ~11am, the segment planned to broadcast at 3pm. 

Partner lucked into an opportunity to be an internationally-recognized BBC-level expert. 

She already was, just now your average Joe knows. Or at least your average man on the Clapham omnibus. 

Induced Demand

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Partner and I went on a crawl of some of the best food in The City that would have been prohibitive two years ago.

I wrote a prompt:

“Find me all the 4.9* or higher rated restaurants on Google Maps in New York City with at least 500 reviews.”

With a little coaxing, Claude did it.

When a new technology arrives, we — that is to say the average people and the general public — exalt how it will change work forever. Give us all so much free time.

To some degree that’s true.

It unlocks possibility.

But that possibility also unlocks possibility that destroys the original possibilty.

Induced Demand, they call it. It’s the story of why 6-line highways have no less traffic than 4-lane highways. It’s why friction really truly does prevent people from doing things but frictionlessness doesn’t lead to empty space.

The time fills. The space newly open is immediately claimed.

I now have a google maps list of every top-rated restaurant in New York City. Tomorrow, I’ll sort it by price. When hungry, I’ll be able to open up my phone and spy exactly what I want in the blink fo an eye.

I’ll find it glorious. My children will roll their eyes. Their children will laugh. And their children will wonder what the hell was food.

The Community of my Community is my Community 

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Tonight I helped a friend of a friend think through his work plans. He lent me a book from his shelf that I enjoyed leafing through. 

I like this group of friends that this this friend has. I’m three for three on liking them (I’ve liked him and two of his friends). My normal hit rate on befriending people is probably in the single digit percentages. 

They’re 25 years old. I’ve got 8 years on them. Not necessarily 8 years wiser; just 8 years. 

The conversation started when he complained that the company he wants to work for re-posted the job he applied for. They didn’t reply to his resume and cover letter two weeks ago: just re-posted the job opening online. I suggested he walk into their office tomorrow. Dress nicely, bring a copy of your resume and cover letter, find a way to talk to the would-be-boss. Tell them “I like what you’re doing and would love to help.” Know some info about the guy. It’s an assistant role: be ready for that particular guy. It’s a big city: you gotta stand out. 

He liked my advice. He plans to execute it. Even if it fails, he’ll have Done The Thing. Doing The Thing increases your ability to do. If you walk into 400 theater companies in nyc, one of them will hire you. Or at least you’ll get some exercise. 

I wonder whether I like helping this group of guys because it’s the same generation as the youth group I used to advise. Similar friendly banter. Same camaraderie. Same desire for impact and intellect. Same idealism. 

I like being helpful. I like where life is. 

He lent me a book. How to Survive the Modern World. I would like to do that. I would like to Survive. 

I like exchanging gifts. That’s how you make friends. 

Games Played 

“You’re forgiven for making me leave the house.” -Partner, after I brought her delicious fried chicken (delicious fried chicken in Harlem? What a surprise!)

Me: “When is the delivery driver expected to arrive?” 

Delivery company dispatcher: “He’s on Broadway.” 

Me: “Broadway is a reasonably large street. Do you have a cross street?” 

(This is an instance of “Tell me you don’t live in New York without telling me you don’t live in New York.”) 

How did the Chelsea Hotel become the Chelsea Hotel? 

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I saw a one-man show today. The star, Ned Van Zandt, did heroin with Sid Vicious in the Chelsea Hotel shortly before Sid’s overdose. He drank and drugged with the creative types of the time. They all stayed at the Chelsea Hotel. 

Part strikes me as a coordination game. A Schelling point. Artists want to be with artists. Chelsea and Greenwich Village had been artistic hubs. Artists need a place to stay. This particular hotel might have some happenstance trait that makes it The Place. Once it’s The Place, it shall remain so. 

In these scenes, there is always A Place. The Algonquin Round Table was a similar structure: influential, passionate artists who enjoyed associating with each other. They started at the Algonquin Hotel, but then evolved into a more portable group. A Movable Feast is this same structure, I’ve heard, but haven’t read. 

When you create a context that attracts great people, they want to bring their friends. These places can be created. They’re worth creating. 

Firing the wrong person

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Someone conscripted me for a project. 

I wasn’t super interested. 

I didn’t know the team, didn’t care about the topic, and the scope was out-of-wheelhouse. 

Still, they wanted to take on the topic, and the money was fine. 

The structure: a two-week work trial. We produce one article, after which the company may extend our contract. 

Someone & I worked on it for a week. Someone put in ~80% of the hours; I structured the content. We sent The Boss an outline. 

The Boss was livid. “Unacceptable”, he said, along with other epithets. He didn’t like the appearance, completely ignoring key traits and lacking in curiosity. I said to Someone, “If he replies like this, the price of the actual work just went up.” 

We hopped on a call. I spoke most on my team’s behalf: Someone prefers I do the talking because Someone wants me to own the relationship going forward. 

Afterwards, The Boss called Someone for a one-on-one. The Boss wants to drop me from the team. The irony? It wasn’t my work! I was just the point of contact! 

Someone told him they don’t have bandwidth to shoulder this whole load themselves. I’ll still send him a finished draft, because that’s what we agreed. Then maybe he’ll seek to only hire Someone for the bigger project, despite a misread of the situation. 

There’s irony for ya. 

If I cared, I’d care. But I don’t; I just find it funny. 

In the “Do good work, turn it in on time, and have people like you” world of freelancing, with this particular gig, I’ve nailed the first two. The third one? Fortunately, it’s a “choose any two”. 

Games Played

“I was going to ask you what the Jewish creation myth is. I then laughed at myself when I thought of the question.” — Partner, who was raised catholic.

How much of employment is emotional soothing? 

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Actually: how much? 

I recently read a Reddit post by a multi-exited CEO. She mentioned that most of her job is informational framing. It’s the same facts, framed precisely for the target. 

I’ve coached a number of CEOs. I’ve ghostwritten for even more. The uber-successful ones are universally kind, curious, and generous. The medium-successful are jumpy and reactive. 

I wonder if emotional soothing is such a big deal for humans that it’s the key piece to be solved before all others. (“You’re not you when you’re cranky”, and the like.) 

If that’s true, then solving this main need opens up a lot of doors. Logical thinking becomes much easier. Reliable behavior, too. 

People like people they can rely on. People bet on people they can rely on. 

Perhaps it’s those middle-successful who need the emotional soothing, 

while the best of the best just take care of themselves.

Don’t gussy up poor-person food and tell me it’s rich. 

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I’ve been to Indonesia. I’ve eaten nasi goreng. I liked it. That’s why I can’t eat it anywhere else. 

Nasi goreng is poor-person food. For under $5, you can get a heaping plate of eggs, rice, vegetables, meat, and spices. In the US, you can get the same (or more often, a worse version of the same) dish for $20. That doesn’t make it better! 

I’m in Dublin. Today, I ate a boxty. It’s potato dumplings plus cream sauce. It’s clearly poor-person food. I followed it up with fish & chips, also poor-person food. The first was 27euros. The second 21euros. Both were bland and uninteresting. Both would have been passable at 7euros. These were the best places in Dublin! The highest-rated for their respective dishes! Featured on best-of lists! 

I’m perfectly satisfied by 6-dumplings-for-$5.50 from a basement store with a bathroom toilet more disgusting than any at Woodstock. What I don’t like is putting a bow on that set of dumplings and selling them for $20. 

So far, Partner and I have eaten 6 meals in Ireland. We are 2/5 on passability: the late-night kebab upon arrival was delicious, as was the full Irish breakfast this morning. The beef-and-guinness stew, the fish & chips, and the boxtys are to be avoided. 

Tomorrow, we try the lamb. At least a $23 lamb shank seems appropriately priced. Let’s hope it’s also appropriately tasty.  

I <3 Ireland

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I landed in Dublin three hours ago. Three of my first five experiences: 

  1. Outside the airport, I ask a fellow whether we can tap-to-pay on the bus. He says we need euros in cash or a local transit card. We tell him we don’t have either. He initially pulls out a 5 euro note to give it to us, then realizes he can just tap us on instead, so he does. What a generous bloke! 
  2. Immediately after exiting the bus, Partner & I ask a bouncer at the local pub if they’re still serving food. He says no, but goes out of his way to suggest other options. This is not typical bouncer behavior. 
  3. A short walk later, a college-looking kid tells a homeless-looking man, “I’ll get ya tomorrow.”

I’m going to like Ireland.