Tag: gaming

In Favor of Race-Ism

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Not that kind; the playful kind. 

Two days ago, Partner asked, “Are most games races?” 

As a lover of games and bad puns, I present to you: 

RACE-IAL DYNAMICS: a taxonomy of games if we assume all games are races.

Why Touch Upon Race? 

Race is a touchy subject. Why perform this taxonomy at all? 

Story structures come from games. Flirting often mimics tag. Political jabs often mimic “I’m not touching you”. 

Separating the races allows us a clearer vocabulary about the different race mechanics found in a game. 

If you’re playing game A, which has race dynamic Alpha, would the game be better with race dynamic Beta? 

What’s in a Race? 

A “race” is approximately a competition involving time. Common words/constructions include: 

  • “First to X” 
  • “Most Y in [time]” 

RACE-ISM is the categorization of games by their races. (People who subscribe to 

this categorization are therefore RACE-IST.) 

Segregating the Races

Some races are pure: reach the victory condition before the opponent. Most games contain some amount of RACE MIXING (the incorporation of different race-like components, which tends to create stronger games, as we’ll get into later). Let us attempt for a moment to see the races in their purest forms. 

Who’s Racing, How & When? 

  • SIMULTANEOUS RACE
    • “I race while you race” 
  • SEQUENTIAL RACE
    • “I race, then you race” 
  • ASYMMETRIC RACES
    • “Can I X before you Y?”
  • ANTIPARALLEL RACE
    • “You want to go in one direction; I want to go in the other” (e.g. tug of war). 

Race Physiognomy 

  • RACE-RACE
    • “First to X”. 
  • SLOW RACE
    • “Who gets there last?”
  • SCORE RACE
    • “Most points wins” or, for golf “least points wins”
  • QUALITY RACE
    • “Best X within [time]”, where X is about quality traits, not numerical (e.g. the Great British Bake-off or gymnastics.) 
  • ENDURANCE RACE (or SURVIVAL RACE)
    • “Who quits last?”

Race Ends

The word “end” can mean either culmination (“the end of my work shift”) or goal (“you are working to what end?”). As this piece contains copious puns, I shall employ the word to mean both. 

  • RACE CULMINATIONS
    • TIME-ENDED RACES
      • A clock concludes the race 
    • PLAY-ENDED RACES
      • A player action concludes the race
  • RACE OBJECTIVES can be
    • the SAME
      • (“first to touch the tree”)
    • DIFFERENT INSTANCES OF THE SAME
      • (“first to checkmate the opponent’s king”)
    • DIFFERENT
      • (“can I tag this runner before they get to the base?”)
    • SUBJECTIVE
      • (“most satisfying to X person”)
    • OBJECTIVE
      • (“Highest measurable count of X”) 

Race Mixing

Most people only watch footraces at the Olympics once every four years, which implies we find them less interesting than other sports. Football, for example, contains:

  • An antiparallel asymmetric race
    • (offense vs defense) 
  • with mini asymmetric antiparallel races
    • (cornerbacks guarding wide receivers; offensive line protecting the quarterback while the defensive line attempts to pressure and/or tackle the quarterback), 
  • with multiple race ends and sub-ends
    • (the game itself concludes after the clock runs out of time (time-ended race), but the clock can pause due to various in-game mechanics)
    • (the number of downs is a play-ended race, influenceable by both teams) 

Football’s different races require different skills: speed, strength, and hand-eye coordination of course, but also time management, rapid-fire decisionmaking, and balance of risk-taking. Since games parallel the skills we use in the rest of our lives, the simple ones tend to be less generally valuable, just as the ability to perform one simple task (picking up a pencil) is less valuable than performing a more complex task (writing a biography). 

Inferior Races 

There are no inferior races. RACE-IAL PREFERENCE is a matter of taste. 

For example, my favorite type of race happens in cooking: One person speeds to finish the rice before another person can toast the marshmallow, all before the oven is pre-heated. As an added benefit, at the end we enjoy a tasty race krispie treat.

The Game Is Over Our Head

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To win, position. To position, OODA: Observe → Orient → Decide → Act.

Despite what my enemies tell you, I am not the enemy.

Between 3:52 and 6:15 pm today, I played 2 games of Catan with friends I met a couple of weeks ago. One guy clearly saw me as a threat, so he tried to stifle me. He missed the importance of rallying others (i.e. an embargo against the leading player), so he failed.

He observed correctly, but he failed to orient. (To orient is to figure out what your observation actually means. He saw I was a threat: Observing. He missed that the answer was rallying others against me: poor Orienting.)

Almost all skillful game behavior is about positioning. Positioning means observe and orient, then repeat (and repeat…) before you decide and act.

Chess: Literally “Proving It”

Most high-level chess matches end in resignation, not checkmate. In these situations, chess is not played to win, but played to superior position.

At the highest levels, a player sometimes resigns before your average (ie 1500-rated) chess player even understands why. It’s not even “Player A is now ahead by a knight.” It’s “Player A would be ahead by either a knight or two pawns in 4 moves and they both know it.”

High-level positional chess games are almost incomprehensible to your average observer, just as a fighter pilot saying “Is the humidity 45% or 46%?” wouldn’t mean anything to me. I don’t even know if humidity is relevant to a fighter pilot! That’s the point.

Even better for me and my point and the puns in this post: in chess, they literally call the process of someone playing an advantage to its victorious end “proving it.” The positioning is the game; the proof is execution. 

OODA? Ooh! Duh!

Speaking of fighter pilots (“What a segue! This guy can really write!”), in the early 1970s, US Air Force Colonel John Boyd established the OODA loop as a decision-making framework for his pilots.

In an OODA loop, one Observes, Orients, Decides, then Acts.

Four moves. Three are about positioning.

Pair the OODA loop with my favorite fighter pilot quote (“How many fighter pilots does this guy know?”): 

  • “A superior pilot uses his superior judgment to avoid situations which require the use of his superior skill.”

The process becomes:

  1. Get good enough at the skills, so
  2. you understand how the skills work, and therefore
  3. don’t have to use the skills anymore, because
  4. you’re dodging the danger.

(Can you imagine how much of a fighter pilot’s practice is Observing and Orienting? Reminds me of my brother-in-law!)

The Games Behind the Pokerface

In The Count of Monte Cristo (my current tome; spoilers incoming), our hero escapes from prison and is picked up by a nearby boat. The prison fires off a cannon shot. Immediately, the boat’s captain asks, “What does that cannon mean?”

Our Hero calmly states, “A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d’If [prison], and they are firing the alarm gun.” 

Our Hero’s nonchalance convinces the captain that Our Hero isn’t the escapee. Your average person might feign ignorance. But Our Hero – by his claimed background – would know what the cannon means. This move may appear more dangerous, but it’s much safer.

Our Hero’s OODA loop is beautifully speedy: not only does he observe and orient quickly, but he also decides and acts speedily, all while not appearing to be doing so.

This approach is also true for game experts. Many poker players win games in ways you don’t even realize they’re playing:

  • Getting invited to the softest games
  • Table selection
  • Position at a table relative to both good and bad players
  • Talking with fellow players before any cards are dealt to learn their psychology and therefore their leaks.

Stop Acting

(Note to self: find some subtle way to mention to the reader that this section title has a double meaning.)

I am quite skilled at a particular tactic my mother describes as “Baffle them with bullshit.” It’s all Acting, and no OOD. I recognize the pattern → Act. It lacks… a certain elegance.

Relaxing and contemplating (Observe and Orient) have historically been my weaknesses.

To be fair, it’s live Observe and Orient that’s my weakness. I’ve stored plenty through years of preparation, which is why those around me say I’m skilled at games. But Pattern-Match → Act is just stored OO at hyperspeed. In known scenarios, this works. Live execution in novel territory is a different animal.

My poker game has won thousands of dollars despite my complete lack of poker face.

I wish I could install an old turntable in my brain. It would Observe, then Orient, then Observe again… until sufficiently positioned, then Decide and Act. The beauty of the turntable: it’s stuck in the OO grooves (“Ooooooooooo”). I’d have to thunk it on the side to shake it into DA.

As my new Catan group improves at the game, each player will develop our own approach. My Catan-enemy will either improve at his orientation or continue being shot down.

It’s like that key rule everyone knows in the game of real estate: Position, Position, Position.

Playing with “Play” 

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You win the game by playing appropriately. You play appropriately by recognizing and mastering different kinds of “play”. 

We interact with games through play. If you are a participant in a game, we say you “play”. This is true regardless of the intensity of investment. What about a mandatory game (all students of Ms. Jones’ 3rd grade class will now play tag) during which you participate minimally — sit in the corner of the yard, picking grass? Are you still playing? Does it matter whether anyone ever tags you, or is the mere fact that you could be tagged enough to call you a player? Do you even need to react within the constraints of the rules (make an effort to tag another player once you’ve been tagged)?

We generally relate to games through play. When we are unsure of the verb, if the noun is a game, we use the verb play. Fencers fight, but they also play (“playfight”). Politicians manipulate, but they also play (“play politics”).

One can interact with a game without playing it. One can voyeur, heckle, or kibitz. All of these participate, more or less. A well-timed heckle may even throw off the pitcher, changing the outcome of the game. Still, none are “playing”.

Play has two meanings. One is the childlike lightness of being amid interaction. The other is interaction with a game. Some games are serious: politics, finance, war. Yet still we call participation in them play.

Here’s why this matters: 

  • We diminish what we call play, which is why we mis-strategize in serious games we’ve labeled as play.
  • The two meanings of play allow people to dismiss game-thinking as childish, when in fact game-thinking is the most rigorous frame for serious activity.
  • People who seemingly aren’t playing — voyeurs, hecklers, kibitzers — affect the game without taking responsibility for it. 

We hear political games and our guard goes down because games are for children. We hear “playing the market” and we forget the player who loses actual ability to purchase food. We hear war games and sleep better at night because games are contained things, voluntary, with rules everyone agreed to.

We’re making serious games sound trivial. You know: wordplay. 

The fix isn’t to stop calling it play. The fix is to remember which meaning is in use. When you’re “playing the political game,” you’re interacting within a structured competition with real stakes. You’re not doing what kindergarteners do. Except for the name-calling. 

The Sleeper Agent at Chipotle

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The goal of the game is to notice when you’re being played.

In December of 2008, I unwrapped a burrito-based scheme.

My local Chipotle had a promo: buy a $20 gift card, get a coupon for a free burrito. I asked the cashier what the gift card could be used for. “It’s as good as cash.”

I paid $20. They handed me a $20 gift card and a coupon. I asked for another. I handed them the $20 gift card; they handed me a functionally-identical card and a second coupon. I did this four times. The cashier said she might need to check with her manager. I smiled and said I was done, leaving with my four burritos, $20 gift card, and twenty fewer dollars in my pocket.

Chipotle ran this same promotion every December and May through 2011. I always had a $20 gift card on me, ready to use it to buy another. I ate essentially free burritos for three years. Even as a high schooler, I couldn’t eat them fast enough.

I was very proud of myself.

I hadn’t been to Chipotle in years. Today, they had a two-for-one deal – officially for the start of the Stanley Cup Finals (and coincidentally on the biggest stoner holiday of the year). 

I ordered. And, like a just-activated sleeper agent, the skills came back.

Bowl, not burrito – they fill the bowl more.

Say “extra [item],” then pause. Wait until they finish scooping. Once you give them the next task, they will stop the previous one. Wait until they finish and you’re sure to have extracted the maximum.  Ask for half-and-half meat. They always overshoot; you end up with closer to two-thirds and two-thirds. (Combine this trick with the pause for even more.) 

Sour cream on the side. Guac on the side. The containers hold more than the spoon puts on the bowl.

I watched myself do it. Pause after “extra cheese”. Sour cream on the side. My bowl came out about 30% fuller than Partner’s order of the same item. The skills were still there, fifteen years later, like riding a bike.

Here’s the thing I didn’t see in 2008.

Chipotle ran those gift card promotions for three years. If exploiting them had dented the company, they would have stopped after year one. Instead, the promotion kept running. The fraction of people who figured out the loophole was, presumably, priced in. (Or maybe only my Chipotle failed to stop this loophole. As Partner’s mom says, “It’s better to be lucky than smart.” Unfortunately, I’m usually smart.)

I thought I was beating the system. The system was too big to care. 

Today is even funnier. Chipotle is doing two-for-one on 4/20. Their margins on a 30%-overfilled bowl are fine – the whole promotion exists because they must make more than 50% margins on food sales. The tactics I was proud of – pause-after-extra, half-and-half, sidesies – if everyone did them, Chipotle would be ecstatic. My “exploits” meant I ate at Chipotle when I otherwise wouldn’t have. And as long as I do that, they win. 

It’s like the credit card companies with their 5%-cashback offers. They’ve run the math. They’re making profit. Go ahead and max out the offers: That just means you’re playing the game. 

Being Wise to the game sometimes means: 

  1. Noticing that winning the game means you’re playing; and sometimes playing itself is losing.  
  2. Making games that entice others to play, and where any play is a win for you. In casino parlance, this is being The House. In Chipotle, it means having such high margins that a 50%-off deal plus customers bowlmaxxing still leads to a profit. 

And, fine: sometimes a teenager actually does beat the house. I did. Sorry, Chipotle.

Still, that nostalgia brought me back to Chipotle today, over ten years later.  

On long enough timelines, with large enough groups, The House always wins.

Game on. Or maybe: Got played.

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.

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)

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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. 

Clown School Break Day 45: What is Fun? 

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What is fun? Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me no more. 

Yesterday night I played a bit of poker, then stopped. 

I wasn’t obviously playing poorly. 

I just wasn’t enjoying it. 

What is fun? 

Why is poker more fun when you’re winning? 

Part is the monetary aspect: it’s not enjoyable to lose money. And while the monetary aspect in this case is not large enough to be life-affecting, it’s still relevant to the pleasure. 

Poker is an intellectual exercise that I enjoy attempting to do well. It’s fun circumstance in which I strive to do something properly. That’s part of the joy that I get from sharing my hands with a professional poker playing friend: the interestingness of improving. 

It’s also a naturally exhilarating game. You can play well – perfectly, even – and still lose. 

Is fun just the distraction from suffering? That’s the etymology of at least one french word and one spanish word for fun. 

If so, are the times when I stop enjoying poker the times when it becomes too serious? When I’m taking it with too much heaviness? (Alternate hypotheses: my suffering outside of poker is too great for the distraction to work, or I’m not suffering enough outside of poker so the distraction doesn’t give me additional pleasure.) 

I think it’s closer to: I’m feeling fear. I don’t enjoy poker when I’m feeling a lot of fear. When the fear prevents me from playing well, I stop enjoying the poker. I clam up and that’s no good. 

Solutions: 

  1. Don’t play poker games where the stakes cause me to feel fear. 
  2. When you feel fear, notice it’s fear. Then put it in its place and make the right decision.

Amusingly enough, when I wrote that my today’s pokerplaying went from playing my B game to my A game. That’s nice! 😀 

Clown School Break Day 34: Invention via Iteration 

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In which Our Hero builds upon himself. 

I created a new game today. 

We started with the game I described two days ago. 

We played with three people. It wasn’t as good as with 4 or 5 people. Then we expanded so we each received two hands instead of one hand, for a total of 6 two-card hands. 

Then we gave ourselves 3 cards per hand instead of two. 

Then we gave ourselves 6 cards instead of two sets of three, which we subdivided into our own three-card hands. 

What did I learn? 

  1. Follow the fun. When it’s not fun, find new fun. 
  2. Don’t push. If it’s fun enough, stick with it. 
  3. I like chaos. Compared to my card game compatriots, I enjoyed the more intricate game. (Part of that may be my familiarity with poker — i.e. this end version was farther at the end of my comfort zone while the basic game had become trivial). 

We spent 5 hours today playing that game. Playing variations. Ending at the more intricate one. 

Also this: 

  • To get to the end we had to go though the steps. Sometimes you have to take people through the basics, not start at the end if the end is too complicated. 

Building blocks. Leveling up. 

And one more thought: 

  • In the last hand, I correctly called all three cards in two of my compatriots’ hands. One of my friends half-jokingly called me “the oracle”. 

Perhaps what other people find chaotic is just the space I exist in. Sometimes what’s trivial to you is complex to me. (My partner laughs when I refer to putting frozen food on a plate and microwaving it as “cooking”.) 

This reminds me of one of the lessons from clown school: everyone has their own challenges. What’s trivial for me may be hard for you. Jesus would say “judge not lest ye be judged”. (And after all, today is the day for celebrating his birthday.) 

I’m glad to have seen my classmates trudge through their own challenges. And I’m glad to have built up the self-comfort prior not to judge them during the process. That would be a real dick move. 

🤡 

Clown School Weekend 5.2: Good at Games, Bad at Play

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In which Our Hero muses on play

Do I like play?

For someone who has historically liked games—loved games, spent thousands of hours inside them—it’s a surprising question to ask.

There’s no question I like games. And play is what we do in games. So I suppose I like play?

This explanation feels insufficient.

I like lighthearted engagement in low-stakes, real-world-mimicking activities. In that sense, I like playing.

But often when others play with me, I generally don’t experience it as mutual play. And often when I try to play with others, they don’t experience it as playing together. (They sometimes experience it as me playing at them or against them, which has its own problems compared to us playing with each other.) It’s rare for me to find someone with whom play becomes mutually satisfying.

This isn’t necessarily about my love of play. It may be about my skill at play.

Eight or so years ago, a friend told me I didn’t know how to play. It was one of those moments you remember: if not for the bluntness of the comment, then for the proximity of his anger to a fist arriving at your face.

Learning to play requires paying attention to others. It’s a feedback loop: you stoke their fires, they stoke yours. And with rare exception, I’m not interested in stoking fires. The pool of people I like is small; my interest in socializing outside that pool is also small. So perhaps I simply have less experience in social play—either from lack of historical interest or poor methodology.

This, to be clear, is about social play.

Only two (three?) weeks ago did I first play a game to play rather than to win.

Historically, my engagement with games has been more optimization than play. Perhaps that’s why my win rate is high: if most people play, the one who optimizes will win. I analyze, comprehend, break down, and rebuild. These are fun for me, thus part of my play. But how many people do you know who approach a casual board-game night like this? And how many people want to rejoin someone who plays a board game night like this?

My clown teachers say I need sensitivity. I think they mean gentleness, and sensitivity is one route to gentleness. Sensitivity is letting experiences permeate you. Those who know me—family especially—would say I’m already very high in sensitivity (i.e. sensing the world around me, including the experiences of others). My teachers may mean a specific flavor: gentle sensitivity with lighthearted reactions. Not that I lack sensitivity, but that I lack lightness of spirit and gentleness of response. 

Yesterday at 4 a.m., a bird flew into my apartment window. I learned this at 11 a.m., when my roommate showed me the box he’d put it in. We called French animal rescues; none were helpful. I made a joke about how the French might simply eat this sort of injured bird. He said (paraphrasing), “Come on. This is an opportunity to be sensitive, man!”

As a classmate, he knows I’m working on this skill. What he might mean is that the joke felt heartless. Some people don’t like dark humor; some don’t like cultural humor. Perhaps what they really mean is: give what your audience wants.

I used this skill when running sales at my previous company: give them what they want; say less—always less—as less is more.

And perhaps my teachers are saying that almost no one wants me without gentleness.

In competitive games, my strategy is often to use my strength against the opponent’s weakness. It’s a good way to win. But it only attracts people who love competition.

So if I want cooperative relationships,
I’ll have to learn to play.

(Closing the loop on that earlier story: I have never been punched in the face. I’ve only been punched once, by someone experiencing a very different reality. I have, however, been threatened with face-punching roughly five times. I’d like to keep that streak—and ideally reduce the threats.)

—

Today I watched a clown show. Afterward, I left the theater to go home. And upon stepping outside, I realized that part of sensitivity is patience. So I went back, stood outside, and let myself be sensitive. Two people I enjoy talking with emerged, and we walked to the train together. It was lovely.

+1 for sensitivity and patience.