Tag: Games

Money is Not Victory Points

JulianLeave a comment

You win the game by maximizing eudaemonia.

Money is a unit. It measures a specific thing — perceived value, mostly — but it’s often treated as the score for the whole game. Stop confusing it for eudaemonia (a vibes-based measurement of how much one is living a satisfying life, derived from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics). Money is only one input, and it’s less weighty than friendship, work, impact, hobbies, and legacy. (Individual weights vary.)

Here are units that I or loved ones have applied to life in the last week.

Joy per calorie. A method of choosing what food to consume. One slice of candied orange brings me more joy than an entire non-dried orange. One slice of sun-dried orange may bring even more.

Attention-efforts. Measuring time not in minutes but in effort required to keep your attention on the task. This is like golf: low score is good. The lower the attention-effort, the more you’ll naturally do it (and, generally, the more you’ll enjoy it). I create the grocery list because it’s low attention-effort for me. Partner buys the groceries because it’s low for her. Both of us hate the other’s activity. Dividing the task into more precise chunks enables better isolating and optimizing. 

Keystrokes. How many discrete small movements it takes to achieve a task. (I presume it comes from a CS context where the number of operations mattered to a program.) My father uses this one — he texts “Y” for yes and “Ack” for “acknowledged.” With practice, by both minimizing and bunching together keystrokes into “chunks”, you’ll need fewer attention-efforts to execute the same program.

BTUs (British Thermal Units). The manner through which to keep Partner happy despite last week’s sweltering early summer here in New York City. A happy partner-hour is worth more BTUs than I’d otherwise run. (I installed an AC last week.)

Team alignment. A Partner addition. A vector with directionality (“for the team vs for the individual”) and magnitude. Use cases: “Are the other person and I aligned?” and “Is this person doing a selfish thing?” Also applicable in situations where your thoughts diverge from your feelings. When the Euclidean distance is too high, investigate. 

Money. Perceived value. Not to be confused with actual value.

A unit I used at 17 and now realize was terrible: Facebook friends. The game rewarded me for playing it. Turns out it wasn’t “social media” — it was an ad platform.

A unit I still use and probably shouldn’t: hourly rate. Old habit from the ghostwriting years, when optimizing it was most of the game. A better version: (joy-per-hour + dollars-per-hour) / attention-efforts-per-hour. More-precise denominator, richer numerator, honest about what I’m actually trying to maximize. 

As you age, you develop more precise units. You improve your own vision and you learn from friends. 

Thanks, Partner.

Who’s the Muppet Now?

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The goal of the game is to play. You play by entering their world. 

Two exes have independently called me a muppet.
Today I meandered through Central Park with a literal muppet.
She didn’t have fur or someone’s hand up her backside.
But she voiced a muppet in the 70s and became one of the most in-demand voice-over artists in the country.

Partner and I met her at a Burning Man-esque immersive theater event. She and Partner exchanged numbers. We met at noon today. She has white hair and takes stairs slowly and always with a handrail. She mentions her sciatica. Thrice over the next 90 minutes, she slips into a character voice. The first: a high-pitched mocking childish sing-song, context-fit for parodying the president. Second: Italian, to correct my poorer accent. Third: I can’t recall. 

We started at the Museum of Natural History. By the time we entered the Shakespeare garden a block or two away, an hour had passed in our minds. In reality, under ten minutes. 

There’s a time dilation that happens with some people. Where they keep saying “Look at those flowers!” so you do. And when you’re looking at the bright purple of a cherry blossom, you lose yourself. Floating away, endlessly, somewhere into an abyss you didn’t recognize existed, let alone could be accessed at any second… where 90 minutes could have been 3 or 4 hours… you move slower, your internal monologue slows, but you don’t mind. The same place you’ve been a half-dozen times, but this time you enter it in a new way.

It’s not new. You’re new. The collective you is new. 

This experience happens more with artists. With creatives and children too. You spend an hour or a day or the rest of your life studying the veining in one perfect leaf. 

Suddenly, she’s apologizing on the phone. “Lunch Saturday? Wasn’t it Sunday? I’ll be right there.” She’s sure they agreed Sunday, but won’t leave her friend alone at the restaurant.

Then you leave and you return to the honking cars and the car exhaust fumes and the hot dog vendors and the rest of the dragnet made out of always-fraying sinew that yanks us all forward. 

You asked how she does the voices. She said, “They just come to me. They always have.” Your father has said you do voices well — but each time he says it, you’ve thought, “I know people far better.” Having gone beat-for-beat with a real character, you know this to be true.

So you return home, where you wonder about what you have to Give. What naturally comes to you the way voices do to her? Then you shake your head because mulling and musing and obsessing and ruminating never got anyone anywhere. So you smile, because you finally met a real-life muppet. 

I’ve been a muppet to others. This is a muppet to me.

Wise to the Game

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A relaunch.

I’m most alive when I’m playing games.

A few months ago, my sister asked me about an unspoken rule in her business culture – an implicit game. I told her about games where explicit acknowledgment of the rule breaks the rule, and pointing that out is also against the rule. She thanked me and said I should write about the philosophy of games.

I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

Near the end of my senior year of college, I ushered my father into a room above the library and drew three circles on a whiteboard: writing, philosophy, and befriending eccentric people. In the middle I wrote the question that would pick my profession: “in what areas am I in the top 5% of my classmates?” 

The answer that fell out: befriend eccentric people, then write their philosophy.

Not wanting to be a starving writer, I asked one follow-up: who in that circle has money? Growing up in Silicon Valley, the answer was tech founders. I spent the next six years building that business and rose to the top of the technology ghostwriting industry. It was fun while I was growing. It’s not fun anymore. The game is too easy. 

So today I ran the exercise again, with the ikigai framework:

  • What do I love? Games. Learning new things. Befriending eccentric people.
  • What am I paid for? Writing.
  • What does the world need? Play. Whimsy. Fun.
  • What am I good at? Making complex things clear.

The answer that fell out is games, which makes sense: games are a bounded, examinable instance of the thing the world needs more of. If the world needs more play, games are where play can be examined. I learned this at clown school: the first course isn’t about humor or fun or jokes; it’s about games. 

The three pillars of this publication, going forward:

  1. Games.
  2. Eccentric people.
  3. Practical philosophy.

Writing is the medium. Speaking, eventually.

The new name is Wise to the Game. (My last name is Wise. It’s a pun. A double-pun? No: a triple-pun. Try to keep up.) 

More tomorrow.

The Sum

JulianLeave a comment

The goal of the game is to keep the sum. You keep the sum by noticing who’s low. 

Partner and I play a game: we try to keep our sum competence level the same.

On a normal day, she’s the one who tells strangers their dog isn’t actually a schnauzer — it’s just cut like one. She’s the one who’d google the laws on dog-deterrents in the tree box, to get the annoying ones removed.

Today we met with a doctor, and afterwards she wanted to curl up in a ball. So she went to our cave of a bedroom, where she either napped or fiddled on her phone. And today I was the one who googled the dog-deterrent laws. I didn’t spot the schnauzer — I didn’t know to look. But the gym got visited, and we got fed. The sum held.

It goes the other direction too. Yesterday I noped out of what I usually handle — navigating, picking the food place — and she took us to Whole Foods where we bought my favorite oranges.

I don’t think this is an accident (at least on my side). When she’s doing well, we’d both rather I spend my attention elsewhere. When she’s doing worse, it’s worth the effort. 

One question this raises: if one of us is very competent, is it worthwhile for the other to be negative? 

I assume no, but let’s investigate. 

What’s the benefit to un-competence? Not merely the lack, but the negative. 

One piece is fun. Competence is goal-oriented. Un-competence is expansive, innovative, novel. Competence lifts the weight and puts it back down, thereby strengthening the muscle. Un-competence learns there is such a thing as standing on one’s head. 

Sometimes standing on one’s head raises new understanding of human biology. Sometimes un-competence creates a new joke. 

I wonder if other people play a similar game in their relationships. Or if it’s just me — if I’d do this with anyone.

It doesn’t strike me as a bad approach. If anything, it’s quite elegant. 

Game on.

A Triathlon of Triathlons (Mar 31 2026)

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A friend and I created a monster. Let me explain:

We started playing Pokemon during the pandemic. We would race to see who could complete the first gym the fastest. After a few attempts, this got stale, so we expanded to other Pokemon games. There are many to choose from.

Then we developed a scoring system. Pokemon games are naturally divided into 9 segments: 1 for each gym badge, and 1 for the Elite Four. For each segment, whoever completes it faster receives a point. At the end, most points wins.

But that was an insufficient amount of game. So we created a triathlon: play that competition across 3 Pokemon games, crowning victorious whoever wins best two out of three.

But even that was an insufficient amount of game. So we added a second category: total points across all three games. If one player ekes out victories in two of the legs but gets swept in the third, they could win the 2-out-of-3 but lose the points game.

And then, naturally, we play the triathlon three times. A triathlon of triathlons.

First triathlon: I won the 2-out-of-3 but lost the points.
Second triathlon: I lost the 2-out-of-3 but won the points.
Third triathlon: TBD.

Our tiebreaker begins soon. Stay tuned — or better yet, try it yourself. I’ve invented many an excellent game. Maybe someday one will spread to others.

Charades with Cards (Mar 29 2026)

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero reflects on reflecting. 

My family has been playing a card game for the last week.
Every day up til midnight or 1 or 2am.

One element I like: Mainly playing the game; not too much discussion/reflection about the game.
It’s a game where the point is to learn how to communicate intricate information without language.
Language & clear behavioral conventions therefore ruin it.

The topic has come up: what analysis/discussion is desirable, and what is not? 

Here’s my opinion and reasoning: 

The key is the novelty of information: 

  • If someone does not know what a communication means, sharing its meaning is bad.
    • (The game is learning what communication means. Resolving that tension through clear information removes that learning.) 
  • If someone does know what a communication means but made a logical mistake, pointing out this mental flaw is acceptable, but not necessary.
    • (If they know that 3 minus 2 is 1 and 4 minus 3 is 1, but they accidentally make a move that implies 3 minus 2 is 0 while 4 minus 3 is 2, pointing that out after the game doesn’t chip away at the value of the game while it does improve their mechanics.) 

In short, if a statement would be new information to someone, don’t tell them. If it would be old news but they made a mistake, tell them. 

Assumptions: 

  • The game is about what I think the game is about. 
  • One can accurately determine with a high degree of accuracy what others know.
  • Even without others’ advice, each person can improve individually to a degree / with a speed that is satisfying for them 

And a final follow-up: 

  • The game might be even better with no reflecting afterwards.
    • Maybe even the “this person already knows this but just made a mistake” is just too difficult to separate from “this person actually doesn’t know this thing”.
      • (Theory of mind is hard! Something I think that you know may be completely unknown to you… or the way I communicate something to you might change your entire psychological paradigm about the game. If the whole point is the communicative tension, keeping tension might be… …. … good!) 
    • Maybe the game itself being slow to improve is part of what will make it interesting for my family for time to come. (Often we will run into walls where we play a game for a while as a family, then lose interest and move onto another game. If we keep this game minimally-discussed, does that elongate the duration we enjoy it?) 
    • Perhaps the only time to reflect and dissect is therefore when NOT reflecting/dissecting would be intolerable. Like if someone says “I’m not having fun any more because I’m no longer growing. Can you do something to kick me off of my local maximum?” 

This ends JuJu’s analysis of a silly, fun activity. 

Stuck in the Mud (Feb 12 2026)

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In which Our Hero <schlorp schlorp schlorp>.

On our long third date, my partner and I got stuck in the mud. 

We were rock hounding after snowmelt, down a dirt road off another dirt road in the middle of nowhere without cell service, and my two-wheel-drive van got stuck. 

I was driving; clearly my fault. 

We discussed our options: 1) get unstuck; 2) sleep here and walk the 5-7 miles to town in the morning to get cell service to call for a tow. 

2 hours later, after around 10 overly optimistic “that’s it! We’ve got it!”s, both the van and I were covered with mud, and our gentle rocking (putting some rocks just behind the wheels and move back; putting rocks in front of the front wheels and move forward; repeat without rinsing) had us back on solid ground. 

—

Yesterday, I made a mistake. 

A reasonable mistake. 

A mistake that… 

Because, like, how can a refrigerator exist that doesn’t fit through a normal width doorway? 

A fair question. 

But it turns out my doorway is 1.5” short of normal width. 

Oof. 

—

At 9am someone posted “free fridge!” In the neighborhood free group. 

Within 40min, I had dibs. 

At 11am, my super lent me his hand cart. 

At 5:45pm, my partner and I walked the 5 short blocks and one long block to pick it up. This walk took 20 minutes, 5 of which was spent buying a ratchet strap for a 15% discount because it lacked a component that wouldn’t affect our use. 

At 7pm, we reached home with the fridge. 

… and realized it was too wide for the building’s front door. 

So I took the fridge doors off while my partner measured our unit door. 

She reported back, “We’re going to need to take the unit door off too, but it should fit”. 

At 7:45pm, I had the fridge doors off and it at the front door to our unit. 

At 8:15pm, we had the unit door off, despite 3 screws being stripped before we got there, and concluded the fridge bulges slightly in the middle

At 8:40, we had just enough screws back in the unit door to close it (if you physically heave up on the knob to seat it properly in the latch), stowed the fridge in the basement, and went for pizza. 

—

What did I learn? 

  1. Excitement and optimism can distract from considering practicalities. 
  2. Doors may be a standard 30” wide. But some doors are not standard. I imagine the same applies to other common items (eg cars). 
  3. Avoiding the sadness and pain during the installation and re-installation will increase the likelihood this sort of event happens again. 

The whole experience was frustrating and grumble-provoking. 

Many parts of me were generally annoyed at the situation. And therefore annoyed at all its contents (me, my partner, the door). 

It’s interesting, however, that this didn’t cause my partner any emotional harm. (I asked.)

Evidently she also felt frustration and dissatisfaction, but the annoyance I felt at her didn’t come through to her. 

Since getting engaged, this appears to be a change. Maybe the fact of having an increasingly-solid foundation means we’re both less worried about some of the minor pokes and scuffles. 

She knows that it’s us against the problem. And the problem is challenging and frustrating and annoying. So even though I’m partially annoyed at her (because I’m annoyed at everything), it’s chill. 

And that’s nice. 

Because sometimes we get stuck in the mud. 

And when we do. 

90% of the time it’s my fault. 

😂 

Clown School Break Day 53: The Honking Subsides

JulianLeave a comment

In which Our Hero clowns down. 

“I think you’re done with this theme. I think sometimes you have good things to say about games and clowns. But I think you’re too forced into a narrow hole.” –My partner, regarding my blog. 

It’s nice to have people tell you things you already suspected but hadn’t fully admitted to yourself. 

I’m not at clown school and haven’t been at clown school for 53 days. 

I’m not going to the next available clown course. 

My time and mind and attention are focused elsewhere. 

This is the state of the world of the JuJu. 

So what? 

I think I open up the subject matter of the blog. That sounds funny. 

Or, as my partner likes to say, “Julian plans and Julian laughs.” 

🤡

———-

For those of you curious, here was my daily blog before she made that comment: 

Is Jumanji a game? 

IN THE YES CATEGORY: 

  1. There are players 
  2. Players take turns
  3. On their turn, a player rolls dice and moves pieces
  4. Players act in pursuit of winning. 

IN THE NO CATEGORY: 

  1. It is NOT fun
  2. It is NOT separated from the rest of the world. (In fact, quite the opposite: elements come from the game to attack you in the world itself)
  3. The most crucial parts of the game are not clear from the rules 

Conclusion: 

  • Jumanji is a 1995 film starring Robin Williams. 

Clown School Break Day 50: Seeing Ahead

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In which chair-sitting is frog-boiling. 

A coworker once taught our company how to sit in a chair. The problem: humans are very adaptable. So when we sit in a chair, we adjust our bodies to fit the physical circumstance. This is bad. We should instead adjust our circumstances to fit our bodies. (The desk doesn’t care if it’s adjusted to be higher or lower. Our bodies do prefer we don’t slump.) 

The rules of the game change your play. That sounds obvious, but its effects often go unrecognized. 

Take a simple rule – like the football rule that the clock stops when a player runs out of bounds – and imagine the changes to the entire game that could result. Obviously the end of the game is faster: more hurry-up plays, less pre-defined set-ups.

Now consider how different technology was when this rule of this game was established – at some point before 1909 (citation: pg 214 here). Was this rule intended to play out the way it is? No – no way – not really – it can’t be. But it shapes how today’s entire game is played. 

We often accept the slight changes in our environment, in the rules that govern our games. But adjusting our behavior to maximize our desired outcomes is not easy. Do you think second-order effects (Since A happened, B will happen) are hard to predict? Third-order effects (A, therefore B, therefore C) are even harder!

Eg: If we changed the clock-stop rule, would Quarterbacks make more in-the-moment decisions? Become more skilled at rapid decision-making? Would we select for quarterbacks who are more tacticians and less strategists? Would that change lead to the rest of the team being more strategic (to fill the gap) or less (because their leader is less strategic)? Is this even the right pathway to follow, or would quarterbacks actually become more strategic because they would plan their whole series of plays ahead of time for those low-on-time situations? Would timeouts become so incredibly valuable in the endgame that they’d never be used otherwise? How would that impact how strategic a quarterback needs to be?

It’s really, really hard to tell. Those who can see the second-order effect in a very complicated situation are often highly-prized experts.

A chess grandmaster can sometimes see 10+ moves ahead. On the other hand, one former chess world champion is commonly crediting as saying, “I see only one move ahead, but it is always the correct one.” 

Which would you rather do? And in what areas? 

–(Oh, and GO BEARS!!!)

Clown School Break Day 49: Following the (a)Muse(ment)

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In which Our Hero says yes

I emailed clown school to tell them that I will not be joining for Melodrama. Melodrama starts in just over 2 weeks. I will be somewhat in New York and somewhat in France. I could join. My foot will be near-healed. But I don’t want to go. Why?

  1. I’m buying an apartment. I’m currently in the final stretch. My attention is elsewhere. This is a better use of my time.
  2. I’m just not excited about it. I’m still very interested in the Bouffon class. Perhaps I will join for that in February.
  3. The most important reason: I’m not super-uber-jazzed about it. I have other professional work I’m currently doing. And if the specific course is not super-uber-appealing, I don’t need to take a slot from someone else / spend the time & money.

–

Also, I made $550 playing poker today. Woohoo!

–

[Also, stay tuned.]