Good Riddance, 2009

The Long, Drawn-Out Demise of 2009 (or, it's about freaking time)

I, for one, am not sorry to see it go. Here's hoping 2010 decides it's quite content offering good fortune, health and gleeful amusement. We could all use a bit of that. At the very least, I'm hoping 2010 grows up to be a pleasant sort rather than the snarky, greedy, underhanded bitch 2009 turned out to be.

As an example. Mom and I went to the Grape Rd. Barnaby's on a whim the other day. Now, we both love Barnaby's downtown. But this ...  I can safely say it was the worst pizza I've ever had. Ever. It was teeming with soul-crushing disappointment masquerading as greasy pizza and rancid onions. We made off with handfuls of their peppermint candy canes just to rid ourselves of the taste. That right there, that's pure 2009 in action.

And that is all I have to say about that.

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Randomosity: Good things, past and future

GenCon provided a good excuse for a marathon gaming weekend, since several of us skipped the con this year. Beginning Thursday, we had two back-to-back sessions of Changeling (with pizza and delicious BLTs, respectively), a night off (for W. and I, anyway -- Edige had a third game to run), and then the Sunday 3rd continent game.

Saturday evening, W. and I stopped in at my aunt and uncle's to drop off some football tickets. We stayed and chatted for a bit, since they'd never met W. before; it was a pretty relaxed visit. My aunt restrained herself from asking too many questions (which she commented on proudly as we were leaving) and offered to take us to Red Lobster next week. So there's that to look forward to.

Afterward, we kept driving north and went to dinner in St. Joe. (There was lots of driving this weekend, as the weather was particularly good for it, for the first time in weeks.) Re: St. Joe, though -- there's a fine line, for me, between pleasant people-watching and claustrophobia, and the crowds up there this weekend were right on that border. Dinner was excellent, but even at 10 pm, the line at the ice cream shop was far too long.

Also, we decided during the course of the evening that our host at the Pumphouse Grill really needed to be an evil mage of some kind. He was perfectly polite, with perfectly manicured nails, and thick, shoulder-length stark white hair; a pure white Van Dyke, slightly hawkish nose, and dark-dark eyes. He needs to be a character, somewhere. In fact, I can't help but wonder if he didn't perhaps walk off the page of a book at some point.

I was supposed to make some zucchini bread this weekend with this amazingly huge zucchini Cher Mere gave me on Thursday, but it was so hot I have't gotten around to baking anything. Hopefully Tuesday will give me a chance if it cools off a little in the evening. I'm thinking I might be able to get three loaves out of this puppy. If it works out, I may have to drop off a loaf for them as a thank-you. Assuming they're edible, of course. ;)

Game-wise, I'm almost done with SMT: Devil Survivor. Unfortunately I hit a lull for a bit there; because I've been tearing through story points and haven't been taking on as much in the way of build-battles as I normally do in a MegaTen game, I ended up having to farm a fairly boring free battle over and over to get past the Belial fight because I didn't have enough ice in my arsenal. Once I went back and took a second stab at Belial with the revised strategy and updated fusions, it was a cake walk. I have now made it to the last "day" of the game, though, and I chose Gin's path -- but that's a subject for a whole post in itself. I've got my fingers crossed for a good ending, which is never a guarantee in these games. However ... I think I've played enough of them to figure out which ending leads to the "right" path for me.

I do love the SMT; it remains my all-time favorite game line. Once I'm done with this game, it might be worth taking a look at the whys and wherefores of that.

In other news, a group of us are going to see Miyazaki's Ponyo Thursday night. It's apparently an adaptation of the "Little Mermaid," with a Miyazaki twist, so I'm looking forward to that. A fellow gamers' daughters were watching Spirited Away while we played at Edige's last night, and it was hard not to sit down and watch the rest of the movie all the way through.

I'm tired today (far too much Devil Survivor last night after the game), and right now I'm hoping for a slow week. We only have a couple of things planned, so for the moment, I'm looking forward to enjoying the week's impending thunderstorms curled up on our comfy, comfy couch.

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The Kindness of Strangers

I loved Johanna Eurich's blog post on Alaska Dispatch today (courtesy of WitchVox). It's a rare piece that managed to inspire simultaneously a gleeful giggle, a touch of jealousy, and even some small bit of pity for the poor, protocol-laden Catholics of her area. I hope her article gives those church-folk a much-needed poke in the ribs.

I know it poked at mine. In some respects, I've not been very charitable lately, so it's good to be reminded of my duties now and then.

Last week, I had my own encounter with a stranded foreigner. When I boarded the shuttle bus to our parking lot at the end of the work day, there was an unfamiliar young lady sitting near the front with a huge backpack that was itself about half her height. With a lovely Irish accent, she asked if any of us had any water -- unfortunately no one did. By the time we reached the last stop, she and I were the only passengers left.

The young lady had a rather forlorn look on her face as we disembarked, clearly searching for something, so I asked if she was lost. Apparently our kindly shuttle driver had told her she'd be able to catch the city bus near that stop; however, to do so, she'd need to hike over to the library, which doesn't precisely look like a library -- and anyway the bus stop isn't visible from the far corner of the lot, where the shuttle drops us.

I offered her a ride to the bus station, and she crumpled into my car after stowing that huge pack in the back seat. As we chatted, I managed to glean that she was ultimately trying to catch a train to Chicago. After a quick stop at a gas station to get her something to drink, we skipped the bus stop and drove to the airport on the other side of town, where she could catch the South Shore train to Chicago -- or if that had stopped running, one of the Greyhound buses.

It was a pleasant ride. We chatted for a bit about the immigrant waves of the area, South Bend's adopted affinity for the Irish, and her looking forward to coming back to town to see a friend perform at Fiddler's Hearth. We didn't discuss religion, although we did find some amusement in her assurance that her grandmother would've been waxing poetic about the rewards I'd surely receive in Heaven for my kindness. Like Eurich, we agreed it was far better to enjoy the tiny contentments of this life rather than to hold out for mansions of gold.

Heck, I'm pretty sure Maeve -- a self-confessed "itchy foot" -- would be off in search of more interesting venues within days of finding herself holding the keys to such a celestial abode.

Maeve, it turned out, was an actress and director, mostly of small stage productions; she had been in Paris before coming to the US. She'd just come from New Orleans, and was planning to spend a little time in Chicago before heading back to NYC to work on a new project with some friends. I was honestly (and pleasantly) surprised, though, when she said that she loved America. Apparently she'd been impressed by the kindness of strangers during her travels, and declared she'd happily dispute any snarky comments about American hospitality once she headed back to Europe.

I'm okay with that plan. I imagine we Americans need all the good press we can get, these days ... though I'm wondering whether we're currently ranking higher or lower than the Brits in, say, Latvia and Greece.

In any case. As Maeve struggled to pull her enormous pack from my tiny backseat, I invited her to stop by my office if she found herself on campus again -- to refill her water bottle, if nothing else. She agreed that she would, and stowed her bottles of water and juice in the pack, and disappeared into the train terminal with a cheerful wave.

I hope the strangers she meets -- Christians, Pagans, or whomever they may be -- continue to treat her well. And here's hoping, too, that there will always be another Maeve (or perhaps a stranded Polish priest, or a sassy Alaskan journalist), the next time I need a reminder that a little kindness goes a long way.

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They Need More Categories

As suggested by Cher Mere: The Gray-Wheelwright-Winer 4-letter Type Indicator Test. After looking at the results, I can see some of it, but the rest..? Eh, not so much. They got the "introverted" part right, but I'm more like a smashup between INFP and INTP, I think.

Following CM's model, I'll highlight the bits I feel are either pretty close or spot-on. There are some things that might be true, but I suspect my perception of them would differ than that of an outside observer.

You'll notice, the "Mates" section gets no highlighting.

~

INFP -- Introverted Feeling Aided By Intuition

INFPs present a calm, pleasant face to the world and are seen as reticent and even shy. Although they demonstrate a cool reserve toward others, inside they are anything but distant. They have a capacity for caring which is not always found in other types.

They care deeply -- indeed, passionately -- about a few special persons or a cause. One word that captures this type is idealistic. At times, this characteristic leaves them feeling isolated, especially since INFPs are found in only 1 percent of the general population. INFPs have a profound sense of honor derived from internal values. The INFP is the Prince or Princess of mythology, the King's Champion, Defender of the Faith, and guardian of the castle. Sir Galahad and Joan of Arc are male and female prototypes of an INFP. To understand INFPs their cause must be understood, for they are willing to make unusual sacrifices for someone or something believed in.

INFPs seek unity in their lives, unity of body and mind, emotions and intellect. They often have a subtle tragic motif running through their lives, but others seldom detect this inner minor key. The deep commitment of INFPs to the positive and the good causes them to be alert to the negative and the evil, which can take the form of a fascination with the profane. Thus INFPs may live a paradox, drawn toward purity and unity but looking over the shoulder toward the sullied and desecrated. When INFPs believe that they have yielded to an impure temptation, they may be given to acts of self-sacrifice in atonement. The atonement, however, is within the INFP, who does not feel compelled to make public the issue.

INFPs prefer the valuing process over the purely logical. They respond to the beautiful versus the ugly, the good versus the bad, and the moral versus the immoral. Impressions are gained in a fluid, global, diffused way. Metaphors and similes come naturally but may be strained. INFPs have a gift for interpreting symbols, as well as creating them, and thus often write in lyric fashion. They may demonstrate a tendency to take deliberate liberties with logic. Unlike the NT, they see logic as something optional. INFPs also may, at times, assume an unwarranted familiarity with a domain, because their global, impressionistic way of dealing with reality may have failed to register a sufficient number of details for mastery. INFPs may have difficulty thinking in terms of a conditional framework; they see things as either real or fancied, and are impatient with the hypothetical. (I'm not even sure it'd be possible to be a gamer if this were true...)

(Follow the breadcrumbs for the rest.)



Career

At work, INFPs are adaptable, welcome new ideas and new information, are well aware of people and their feelings, and relate well to most, albeit with some psychological distance. INFPs dislike telephone interruptions and work well alone, as well as with others. They are patient with complicated situations, but impatient with routine details. They can make errors of fact, but seldom of values. Their career choices may be toward the ministry, missionary work, college teaching, psychiatry, architecture, psychology - and away from business. They seem willing and usually are able to apply themselves scholastically to gain the necessary training for professional work, often doing better in college than in high school. They have a natural interest in scholarly activities and demonstrate, as do the other NF's, a remarkable facility for languages. Often they hear a calling to go forth into the world to help others; they seem willing to make the necessary personal sacrifices involved in responding to that call, even if it means asking others to do likewise. INFPs can make outstanding novelists and character actors, for they are able to efface their own personalities in their portrayal of a character in a way other types cannot.


Home

At mates, INFPs have a deep commitment to their pledges. They like to live in harmony and may go to great lengths to avoid constant conflict. They are sensitive to the feelings of others and enjoy pleasing those they care for. They may find it difficult to reconcile a romantic, idealized concept of conjugal life with the realities of everyday living with another person. At times, in fact, INFPs may seem fearful of exuberant attainment, afraid that current advances may have to be paid for with later sacrifices. The devil is sure to get his due if the INFP experiences too freely of success, or beauty, or health, or wealth, or knowledge. And thus, INFPs guard against giving way to relaxing in the happiness of mating. They may have difficulty in expressing affection directly, but communicate interest and affection indirectly.


For INFPs, their home is their castle. As parents, they are fierce in protection of home and family and are devoted to the welfare of family members. They have a strong capacity for devotion, sympathy, and adaptability in their relationships, and thus are easy to live with. They are loyal to their family and, although they may dream of greener pastures, if they stray into those pastures they soon locate the nettles. The almost preconscious conviction that pleasure must be paid for with pain can cause a sense of uneasiness in the family system of an INFP, who may transmit an air of being ever-vigilant against invasion. In the routine rituals of daily living, INFPs tend to be compliant and may even prefer having decisions made on their behalf, until their value system is violated! Then INFPs dig in their heels and will not budge from ideals. Life with an INFP will go gently along for long periods, until an ideal is struck and violated. Then an INFP will resist and insist.

Mid-life

At mid-life INFPs may want to increase mastery of intellectual interests, perhaps taking advanced degrees in a chosen profession. They also may want to explore the sensual side of their natures, expanding their aesthetic appreciation to include physical sensory appreciation. Extending social activities and contacts may offer new horizons for INFPs, but they will have to guard against overextension psychologically, for before, during, and after mid-life the vulnerability and sensitivity of the INFP will continue, and he or she can easily become emotionally drained.

Mates

The INFP question probably has more problems in mating than any other type. Let us be mindful of the relative infrequency: about 1.25 percent, say two and a half million people in the USA. Their problem lies in their primary outlook on life. "Life," says the INFP, "is a very serious matter." Now when a person makes his life a kind of crusade or a series of crusades, then there's bound to be some taxing of the spouse. If the INFP takes the other tack, the "monastic" (and the same person can tack back and forth - now a crusader, now a monastic), the spouse will find himself again taxed, trying to draw the monastic out of his dark meditative cave.

The opposites of our crusading monastic seem well equipped for this alternating-phase taxation: ENTJ and ESTJ. Both are anchored in the real world with a vengeance. The ENTJ marshaling his or her forces toward distant objectives, the ESTJ administrating in a solid, dependable, and traditional way whatever is his or hers to administer. Both provide anchorage to a person who might otherwise get lost in meditation or in crusade. Selection of a mate of irrelevant form (e.g., an ISTP artisan or an ESTP promoter) would not be the wisest of tactics in so serious a business as life.

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