It weebles and it wobbles

Disco Diaries #43

Hi y’all!

I’m writing to you today from Philadelphia, sitting on a leather couch next to a giant teddy bear. That’s all you need to know.

Literal Jenga

I cannot remember the first time I played Jenga, but it was almost certainly at a youth group. One of the main purposes of most midwestern youth groups of my generation was to give teens a space to socialize in what was deemed a wholesome context. 

These meet-ups often occurred in a room tucked away somewhere in the church, like in a basement or at the end of a carpeted hallway. Any number of meetings could take place in these spaces during the week, but they were usually laid out with the teens in mind. The brains behind these rooms did what they could to make them feel like a fun, laid back hang out spot — like the Central Perk of the church. There had to be plenty of seating — usually multiple couches, and maybe even a bean bag chair or two. In addition to seating for the masses, there might be a few fold-out tables reserved for pizza nights, plus activities to keep the kids occupied before or after the lesson. 

This is where the Jenga comes in. You would find this simple yet engaging puzzle in a stack of games — some new, some donated, some missing pieces, some with torn packaging. The games may be efficiently stored on, or adjacent to, the shelf stacked with Bibles and books appropriate for the budding Christian adolescent, which probably also houses a disappointingly small collection of CDs to go with the room’s boom box.

Jenga is a smart choice for a youth group space. It’s not breakable, and it can be played by any number of people. Also, even if you lose one the 54 pieces, you can still make the game work by making sure you’re playing with a number divisible by three.

How do you know if a number is divisible the three? You add up the digits and see if the sum is divisible by three. Like, 5 + 4 = 9. Or you could just build the Jenga tower and take away the extras. Your call.

Many people seem happy, or at least willing, to take a turn at Jenga. The game is a low-commitment setting that can draw people together to share a short-lived but enjoyable commonality. 

Another place in which you’ll almost definitely find some form of Jenga is at a brewery. A giant Jenga-style tower seems to be a popular toy for adults out on the town. It’s the sort of visual that annoys you to no end until you get a turn and find that it’s actually pleasantly silly to tinker with giant wooden blocks.

The last time I played Jenga was Thanksgiving 2019 (see above). Strobobean had just gotten back from a three-week tour around the midwestern and southern states, and Jake and I were invited to enjoy a holiday meal with our bandmate and her partner at her parents’ suburban home. 

The house looked warm and cozy lit up against the grey November dusk. Inside, maybe two dozen people lingered comfortably, drinking glasses of wine or bottles of beer, gathering around the kitchen island, kitchen table, and living room furniture set. I wondered just how out of place I would feel, but when we arrived we were ushered in with midwestern warmth and familiarity. 

Later, after two plates of food and a trip to the dessert table, the party had thinned out and the four of us were seated around a card table in the living room. And then, Jenga emerged. We played a few rounds as we talked and let our food digest, before a young blonde girl barely as tall as the card table appeared to challenge us. The tiny relative wore matching pajamas with her even tinier sisters. She climbed up onto a chair and we went to it. 

This happy child, maybe eight or nine years old, was extremely talented at Jenga. She removed the blocks with grace and patience, and tossed them onto the top of the tower with confidence and gusto. It was sweet, impressive, and I think I speak for my friends when I say that it made us all feel a little bonded just for that short-lived Jenga hang, thus proving my argument that Jenga is a great game for staging youth bonding opportunities. 

Metaphorical Jenga

This commercial really channels the manic energy that I feel when I go through my life saying “yes” to things. I take on a lot, and put myself under lots of pressure. If feels fun and exciting, just like this banger of a Jenga song — until it tumbles.

I tried really hard to make some metaphor for my life using Jenga and this commercial feels like the answer. This is my pattern — to take all the blocks and put them on top and just hold my breath. This is not ideal, it’s just the way it’s been.

Recently, I’ve been collecting problems that need solved, questions that need answered, dreams that need realized, and tasks that need finished, and the tower got too high.

After my unstable structure of self-pressure fell down, I was in a panic. My therapist had a lucky cancellation on the morning, and helped me build it back up neatly, one block at a time, so that I could better keep things in order. Between our meeting, and having the chance to lay some of my so-called blocks out on the table in conversations with some of my closest companions, I was able to reconstruct a structurally sound tower that will hopefully not pull a Jenga on me.

Putting things together when they seem to have fallen apart is not an easy task. But, it’s always possible to reset. As Sonja’s mom says, you have to peel one potato at a time. Potato salad or Jenga tower, don’t feel bad if you’re stressed about where to start. Sometimes, asking for some outside perspective is the right thing to get a grasp on what you need to do.

Today, in music

After a year somewhat removed from creating music, I feel myself drifting towards it again.

I was disheartened by the hiatus imposed by 2020, and turned to focus more on writing. The bands I play(ed) in are still active, each in its own way, most from afar. I get to watch them exist from the perspective of any onlooker, and so I was surprised to see this video drop today from Pop Empire. Enjoy its spooky, psychedelic charm.

Thanks for tuning in,

Katya