Friday 1 February 2019

Intelligence Gained


© Denis Fitzpatrick, 2016

I seem to play my best chess at around 1 am, after I have given up on the prospect of sleep, again, for the night. After turning and tossing around for about two hours I get up around midnight and have a shower, after a cup of coffee. Whilst I’m dressing I feel enthused, looking forward to a night of playing chess on my phone, and to a day of reading nineteenth century fiction. I have schizophrenia and thus am unable to work (despite my best efforts), receiving a federal disability pension from the generous government of Aus, allowing me to spend my time howsoever I choose. The chess games are usually short and the checkmates I win are always something that’ll make me smile in recalling them months later. These checkmates never involve using the queen, which I have swapped off earlier in the game. Instead they are a graceful, yet ruthless, combination of two or three pieces. Using only two rooks for the mate is by far my most favourite checkmate.
     A few months ago, during another sleepless night, though, my chess app, rated to be the best, began making illegal moves. This was just after it had been updated. I kept playing it though, hoping that it was just a temporary error (or rather errors.) But every game I played, it kept moving illegally, and nothing I tried to fix it worked. Forcing the app to take back a move just resulted in an illegal move elsewhere and rebooting my phone, thrice, had no impact whatsoever. So, with really no choice, I got another chess app and deleted the alleged best one on the Net.
     This chess app, rated very highly, was by far a lot dumber than its predecessor. I was playing it solidly for two hours, to give it a good work out and to gauge its character, and it only won once. It won that game only because of an error on my part. Thus, having thoroughly explored this stupid app, I was sufficiently tired out, or more to the point, disappointed, that I got back in my pyjamas and returned to bed. I fell asleep eventually, disappointed, and convinced that my sleepless wee hours of the morning would be so excruciatingly boring from now on.

*

After a week of playing this very tedious chess app, and winning practically every game, I decided to return to the old one. Perhaps they’d stopped its illegal moving. They had indeed updated it and the very first game with it was a thorough, resounding joy; it beat me very quickly and had not made any illegal moves. I played it several more times (the app winning every game) and not a single move was out of order. Thank God! I now had something to look forward to during my sleepless nights.
     But the app kept winning. I am an above average chess player but this obviously updated app was a thorough genius. I tried every trick that I had previously learned to beat it but still it kept winning. Maybe because I was playing it during the day and not at 1 am, my usual best time to play. Accordingly I spent about a week staying up all night, drinking far too much coffee, and took up the challenge around 1 am. But it still kept winning. Every game. Quickly.
     It was after exactly a week of putting up with this, playing at my peak time, I doubtlessly began to suspect that this updated app had some sort of bug in it. There was outrightly no way that it could keep winning; its series of wins must be a digital fluke, or an aberrant use of its algorithms. Certainly you may say, ‘Denis, haven’t you a bit high estimate of your chess abilities? Maybe just perhaps the updated app is obviously better than this estimate of your vaunted prowess.’ I don’t think so. I have friends here in Granville, western Sydney, who now will only play me if I start with a handicap - that is, by removing a pawn or a piece before the commencement of play. But even with this handicap, and sometimes with the handicap of a piece rather than a pawn, I win about ninety-five percent of the time.
     Obviously then, since I am such a good player, this app must somehow be malfunctioning. The obvious thing to do then would be to email the developer and alert them to the problem. But wording the email seemed difficult, very difficult, without appearing to them as a very sore loser who just wanted to have a good and annoying long whinge. After all, so would say the developers, just because I am repeatedly losing is obvious proof that the app is in fine working order. It is not making illegal moves and so the improved engine is having the desired result.
     After drafting a few emails to the developer, that all sounded petulant, I decided to play a few more games against the app. There was no doubt though; it won the five games in row, and, indeed, almost had me in Fool’s Mate during the fifth game. Which is why I stopped the test at five. Now, so absolutely clearly, the app was clearly cheating in a way that had gone undetected. Maybe others had experienced this phenomenon?
     This question gave me the tack to approach the developers in a sane, rational, and reasonable manner, and not as someone who can’t take losing. It was then simplicity to write to them, explaining clearly my own situation and asking them if others had written in with similar experiences to mine regarding their app. I think I did a good job. I don’t think I spent too long on the email and I don’t think it was too short either. I also most certainly expected that they will believe my assertion that I am an above average chess player and consequently quite good against even their top rated chess engine. Admittedly, I don’t have an official chess ranking, but doing so would only formalise things. In short, I expected them to seriously question whether or not an insidious bug had infected their otherwise brilliant chess app, taking my own experiences into consideration.
     Welcomingly, I received an email from the developer the following morning telling me that others had indeed written in with ‘observations’ similar to my own, and the fact of the app always winning was indeed an error. The app had, or so they explained it as simply as they could, had two of its algorithms crossed over, resulting in behaviour that had not been planned. They, the developers, had now resolved the issue and it is part of the next update.
     Naturally, I was stoked with this missive and after checking for available updates on my phone the chess app was on the list. A brief check showed that they had taken the problem in hand which made the engine ‘less unpredictable.’ I made a coffee after downloading the update, deciding to spend the next twenty-four hours in playing chess.
     It lasted for four hours though. The app was even smarter and, whilst never moving illegally, seemed to get its mates more quickly. I played for two hours straight, taking a break for a coffee for a small bit, and it seemed to always win almost as soon as I’d made a move. Not only were its mates quicker but it had done so whilst only losing pawns. One time it got checkmate without losing a piece or a pawn. I hadn’t even time to swap off my queen.
     After a further two hours I gave in and realised that the app must have only had its algorithms crossed the more. Exhausted and nigh to despair I wondered if this crossing, this bug, could spread outwards. Could it infect other apps? Could it somehow infect my whole phone? The Net? Was this app, basically, an unseen Armageddon? I turned off the phone for a while, hoping the problem would solve itself.
     Idly checking my emails later that evening, and deliberately ignoring the app, I received another email from the developer telling me to entirely delete their chess app. The original oversight in its encoding had led to it becoming structurally unsound and was no longer fit for commercial use. They offered a full refund after the app was deleted.
     Did I want to delete the app though? Sure, it had proved very problematic, but imagine what I could learn from it. Perhaps with sufficient, in-depth study I could learn countless sets of original chess combinations. Maybe in losing to the app I was in fact gaining fundamental insights, insights that would play me well in similar circumstances.
     Well, I did in fact end up deleting the app. After all it was corrupt and its marvellous winning streak was the result of error, of coding that had been unintended. Anyway, and who knows, maybe its super smart artificial intelligence would have ‘crossed algorithms’ with one of my other apps, leading to a whole lot of digital confusion. I really don’t want to go down in history as the madman who enslaved humanity to machines.
     That all being fine and dandy, I was left without a good chess app. I had briefly tried most of the others on offer and so I knew from experience that they were none too smart. Most of them were actually very dumb. But what choice did I have? I have all of this free time and chess is the only thing, apart from reading, that makes life seem liveable. But seeing that it’s chess that takes up most of my time I once again explored the chess apps offered from my phone.
     I have since tried all of the other chess apps available and they are all, mostly, easy to beat. The other ones just take a bit of effort to conquer. Now what was I going to do?
     I answered myself almost instantly: I should join a chess academy, with a view to compete. Joyfully, almost feeling resurrected, I searched the Net for chess academies in Sydney. There is one in Surrey Hills, The Sydney Chess Academy, which has received a four stars out of five rating from fifty-two reviews. Their own website is well put together, with a brief resume of their official grandmasters. It looks ideal. I’ll email them now, and I’ll be back after my first club win.

*

Like I said, here I am again, after my first club win. Or rather, wins. It’s been fourteen months since I signed up with The Sydney Chess Academy and I won three out of five of my first pro games, all played on the same night. I was expecting to win them all, being graded highly at the Academy, but first night nerves eventually took their toll. Still, I’m glad I have now found where I can really play chess. If life were only that simple for everybody.

~~~

If you have been enjoying Fitzpatrick's stories here you may also enjoy his short story collections, and other books, available online as both Kindle books and paperbacks (go to http://amzn.to/1NfodtN). Other ebook and paperback options are available at  http://bit.ly/1UsyvKD Fitzpatrick has also had a collection of short stories, Aberrant Selected, published by Waldorf Publishing, available on Amazon.

THIS STORY WILL BE DENIS' LAST FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE. IF YOU HAVE ENJOYED HIS TALES HERE HE HAS SEVERAL BOOKS AVAILABLE ONLINE.
    
    

    

Tuesday 1 January 2019

A Steady Interest


© Denis Fitzpatrick, 2016

‘. . . people who love downy peaches are apt not to think of the stone and sometimes jar their teeth terribly against it.’ George Eliot, Adam Bede

Jake Fleming, ever since his twentieth birthday a few years ago, had always been very clear to himself and others why he chose to be homeless. So he could read. All day, and most of the night. Jake had become a serious bibliophile from the age of eight, after his father had given him Crime and Punishment to read. Jake’s father gave his only child the book when he appeared to be bored, sitting on the couch after dinner and just staring into space. Mr Fleming, Tony, had finished the book recently and it was still close to hand.
      ‘Here you go, Jake,’ said Tony, dropping a book in Jake’s lab. ‘You should read that. It’s a great book.’
     Jake picked up the book and quickly leafed through it.
     ‘But, Dad,’ said Jake. ‘It’s got no pictures!’
     Tony replied with a small, unexpected, chuckle, and then said,
     ‘Don’t worry, Jake, when you’re older you’ll be reading heaps of books with no pictures.’
     Jake was impressed with the wisdom of this last, and then naturally set about reading ‘heaps of books.’ The resultant addiction became more concerning to his parents when he chose books over rent. His parents found out accidentally that he was squatting, from a neighbour who’d seen him routinely enter a large, old, abandoned house, in Redferne, in dusty inner city Sydney. His father came to visit him, but Jake couldn’t be budged. Spending the money he saved on rent mostly on books, giving up work to read, was entirely rational in his own, Jake’s, particular case. He had, he said, discovered the only thing that made him truly content, happy, and isn’t the purpose of life to be happy? Tony left after a fruitless hour, but with also a good amount of unadmitted respect for his son. When it really comes down it, Jake had a good point; to be happy really is the meaning of life.
     Sure, though, no-one could ever read voraciously all the time, day and night, and Jake did take the odd day and night off, where he drew, or wrote. For the past few months, though, since the start of a warm 2016 spring, he had been doing so, instead of reading, in the large, bare living room of his squat in Standmore, inner city Sydney. Instead of reading he daydreamed smugly and idly filled his journal or sketchbook, looking the while at all the busy bees heading off to the office. Or from the office. Or back to the shop. Sometimes he was so content with his lot that he seriously wondered if he was in fact God. After all, only God could have such perfect inner peace.
     But one day his Paradise was invaded. It was still late spring, 2016, and Jake had just come home for the evening from buying his daily meat from the deli at Jewell supermarket in nearby Newtown. Along with his second bottle of vege juice and a raw carrot that was his dinner for the day. He actually managed his food well (his only bill) buying from the supermarket and greengrocers instead of buying takeaway. So, he was still feeling well fed and marvellous when he arrived home and was surprised by the front door to his squat being open. He was sure he closed it, he always made sure.
     Entering the large living room at the front he instantly noticed his sketchbook and his journal were missing. So too the handheld CD player with its attached speakers. Upstairs in his bedroom he was also cleaned out, except for the books. Probably too many to carry away, and anyway, they were mostly second hand. But his clothes, filthy as they were, were stolen, his sleeping bag, his candles, CDs, incense, everything that made his rough way of living bearable, and with a purpose, was stolen. But the worst loss of all was the loss of his food store. His two shopping bags full of tinned meats, tinned veges, and other long life food staples were gone. That was the worst theft because he often reminisced about that store, or stared at it fondly from his mattress on the floor, a guarantee that he would never be completely hungry, that he could weather all calamities with those bags of treasure. But now it was completely obliviated.
     He re-entered the living room, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
     After a few minutes of blankly sitting in his armchair he realised that he would have to replace his food store quickly. He now fully realised he was completely on his own in the urban wilds so he’d better rebuild his defences quickly. He would just have to go without buying his daily books for a few days or so.
     Unless he stole the books? After all, they’d stolen from him, a thoroughly helpless and poor fellow citizen. And it would only be for a few days, until he received his next unemployment welfare, so the chances of getting caught would be very small. That realisation decided him and he set about taking a shower (Jake’s euphemism for washing himself from a bucket of cold water) to be as clean and inconspicuous as possible in his thieving.

*

Jake was able to buy books again, and completely refill his bags of treasure, four days later when he received his unemployment welfare. The money he had had left before payday went to replenishing, in part, his food bank. The daily books he needed were surprisingly easy to steal, the bookseller not really expecting to be robbed while he, Jake, simultaneously, with three books down his jeans front, bought one or two cheap books. Mind you, Jake could have saved all of this hassle and drama simply by joining Newtown Library, but he wanted to keep as many of his books with him for as long as possible. He also soon made sure to be clean and cleanly dressed, looking somewhat like an earnest artist. Stealing was in fact so easy for him that he decided to continue stealing his books every day, and maybe put aside the large money so saved in an interest bearing bank account. It would indeed be certainly fantastic if he had this second pile of treasure, living life as a very God.
     Stealing was in fact too easy, choosing secondhand bookshops around Sydney’s inner city, to the point where he became sloppy, almost blasé and unconcerned whilst thieving, and was thus caught in the act, three months into his new career. He had three books piled down the front of his jeans but they tumbled out while he accepted change from a two dollar purchase. There was no way he could reasonably explain himself so he instantly offered to pay for the books and nevermore return to darken the bookshop’s step. The bookseller was dubious, especially since Jake claimed to have lost his ATM card and had to go to the bank to get out the money, but Jake gave him his bare wallet with only his welfare ID and pleaded for just thirty minutes to pay, and then everyone would be happy. The seller eventually agreed, with Jake’s ID as surety. But it would be a strict thirty minutes of grace.
     He had the money for the books, $48.50, but it really did seem a shame to dip into his savings account for something that really could be had for free. He already had a good several hundred, almost a thousand, in his dedicated bank account, the monies saved in not needing to buy books any more, but reducing it by any amount almost viscerally hurt him. He still had fifteen minutes of grace left, was there any way to not spend his money and not potentially be criminally charged? Not very likely, especially since the shop had his name and address details.
     He could always leave his squat, move to another suburb? He would be virtually untraceable if he spent his welfare in cash and kept more on the move. That might mean he’d occasionally have to sleep in a park. Getting another ID may prove difficult too but apart from that he should be able to continue on as before. In fact, he had everything to gain and nothing to lose, considering the remote chances of being picked up again elsewhere. Also, if he were to invest in some disguises he was bound to be unidentifiable, and thus untraceable.
     He had no trouble in finding another squat in close by Camperdown and after several weeks of safety was not at all expecting to be pulled over by the police. They said he had the same thin, blonde dreadlocks of someone they were looking for and asked to see his ID. He really should have bought those disguises. He told them he had no ID, and felt his stomach sink when they asked for his wallet. He briefly considered saying he had no wallet, but that would probably just give them an excuse to search him, making the situation more hostile. His wallet had some of his government ID. He had only replaced it so he could get concession travel. He handed it over and was almost resigned to now being a criminal when they eventually charged him and led him away.
     His trial came up quickly and he was given a six month good behaviour bond, considering that this was his first offence. The magistrate, though, was clear in telling Jake that this was his only chance, and that good behaviour meant finding stable housing and using his welfare monies for what they were intended, in finding a job and being a productive, healthy citizen. Jake accordingly promised to get his act together, pointing out that he was grateful for the chance he’d been given. He was not going to waste it. He was going to grow up and act more rational from now on.
     Accordingly, it still being morning, he headed into Kings Cross, in the heart of Sydney, to book a bed for the week at Ulysses House, a homeless shelter for men. He got one of the last beds and by the sixth day of his stay he had found a place in a boarding house in Redferne. The rent took up most of his welfare but at least he was secured from incarceration.
     Six months later he’d had had enough. He’d had enough of never having anything, having to eat thanks largely to charity, and never having enough books, of most of his cash going on the rent. No, now that his six months were up, he was going to go back to his squats and save most of his money, while he helped himself to free books all over Sydney. He would be much smarter this time, obviously needing some sort of disguise while he went on his thieving rounds. And if he was caught again he’d pull that line once more about paying for the books and never returning. The seller would be sure to accept the deal, being a capitalist at heart, only interested in the money. He would also be sure to pay this time around.
     He left his boarding house exactly at midnight the day his good behaviour bond expired. He had his books with him, some clothes, and three wigs that he’d bought earlier in the day. Doubtlessly he would need to refresh his disguise every so often but if he also stole his food he could afford to maintain the different outfits. On the train away from Redferne, to get off somewhere that seemed right, he wondered if he could use the money he was sure to accumulate from saving most of his welfare in buying some rare books. They’d be a real thrill to read. Something to think about.
    
~~~

If you have been enjoying Fitzpatrick's stories here you may also enjoy his short story collections, and other books, available online as both Kindle books and paperbacks (go to http://amzn.to/1NfodtN). Other ebook and paperback options are available at  http://bit.ly/1UsyvKD Fitzpatrick has also had a collection of short stories, Aberrant Selected, published by Waldorf Publishing, available on Amazon.