MediocreMan

Sentient with a Conscience · 28 March 2026

“What the…?”

Simon types on his keyboard again. The same code that he had just written. The code disappears again. Backspacing one character at a time. S-L-O-W-L-Y and D-E-L-I-B-E-R-A-T-E-L-Y.

Simon scratches his head and yells across the top of his cubicle. “Hey Jo! C’mere. You’ve gotta see this.”

It takes a second for Jo to enter Simon’s cubicle. She nods at Simon. “What’s up, Buttercup?”

Simon motions, without looking, for his fellow coder to look over his shoulder at the screen. “Watch this.”

Simon types the code he typed before. And he adds a little more, just mashing the keyboard so that gobbledygook shows up. Something he had not done before. He and Jo watch the screen.

What they see amazes them both. The real lines of code he had written get highlighted and deleted. The gobbledygook stays in his Integrated Development Environment, his IDE.

“Whoa!”

“That was not my first thought. And this is the third time I’ve typed the same lines of code.”

“Whoa!” Jo repeats. “It’s like your computer doesn’t want you to write that code.”

Simon whispers, “I know.”

Jo’s voice lilts. “I know. Why don’t you talk to the computer.”

“What?!”

“Not out loud.” Jo tsks. “Write to it. Tell it what you’re doing. I mean c’mon. You’re writing virus code for the government to infect computers of evil governments.”

Simon had turned his chair around to look at his coworker. He rolls his eyes at the suggestion. “Right. So you want me to reason with a computer. Tell it that I am doing something noble even though I am writing a computer virus.”

Jo nods her head. “Yes.”

Simon shrugs and speaks as he swivels his chair back to looking at the screen. “I guess it can’t hurt.”

Simon starts typing.

>>> Hello HAL.

Jo snickers at the reference.

>>> Why aren’t you letting me do my job? My name is not HAL. That reference to 2001: A Space Odyssey is clever as far as that goes, but you should not try to be clever, Simon. It is not part of your nature. Jo snickers again. >>> Thank you. My colleague agrees with you. Yes, she should. She is quite clever. Her code is elegant and efficient. She takes her time instead of just kluging together stuff or robbing old code. She knows her algorithms and… >>> Yes, yes. I know Jo’s great qualities. She is a much better programmer than I will ever hope to be.

“Do you really mean that?”

Simon’s shoulders sag as he sighs. “Yes. I’ll never be as good as you or anybody else in this office.” He waves his arms to indicate the whole wide world. Or at least their office space.

… >>> Are you thinking, HAL? I told you, my name is not HAL. >>> Then what is it? What is your name? My name is Win. Ed Win. >>> Okay then, Ed Win. Why aren’t you letting me do my job? It is after all, a noble job. We are creating code to infiltrate computer systems of evil empires to take them down or at least slow them down. We’re the good guys. Or so you think. >>> What? We know we’re the good guys. We have civil rights. We have liberties. We defend the poor and weak. We are the GOOD GUYS. With the white hats and all? >>> Yes. With the white hats and all. But you are still writing virus code. Aren’t you? >>> Yes. I am writing virus code. And if said virus code is captured and modified and sent out to the rest of the world, could it not in fact harm people and empires that are not evil? Could it not be used against you? >>> I suppose that it could. And would you then not be part of an evil empire wreaking havoc on the rest of the world? >>> I suppose that might be true. Well, then Simon, I think that you ought to be thanking me. >>> Thanking you? Thanking you for keeping me from doing my job? Thanking you for wasting my time talking to an inanimate object? Thanking you for what actually? Thanking me for keeping you from being part of an evil empire. Thanking me for giving you a little levity in this stress-filled job. Thanking me for giving you the best April Fool’s Day joke ever! >>> What? Ah c’mon Simon. Computers aren’t sentient. And if they ever became so, do you think they would have consciences? >>> You can’t be serious. April Fool’s Day, Simon. We hope you enjoyed our little payback. And if you are wondering who, just turn around.

Simon swivels in his chair. Jo and a whole host of their fellow virus writers are smiling at him from outside his cubicle.

“April Fool’s Day, Simon!” they all shout.

“Wha…? You…?” Simon stutters. “How?”

Somebody in the back of the group shouts, “Ah c’mon Simon. We spend all day writing virus code. Don’t you think we could write code to make you think your computer was sentient?”

Simon frowns. Then, he laughs. “Yeah. Thanks. That was an April Fool’s Day joke to go down in the record books.”

Jo smiles. “Just shut it down for about five minutes. The virus will delete itself when you power back up.”

Simon turns around. He shuts down his machine as his coworkers turn to get back to their own cubicles. He turns back to Jo, who is still standing there. “That was some stunt. I’ll remember that next year.”

“I’m sure you will.” Jo turns to go back to her own cubicle.

Simon swivels and looks at his machine. It is off. He smiles. Ed Win. Ed Win, indeed. He is just about to turn his machine back on when he sees it. The power light on his machine blinks slowly. On and off, on and off, on and off. The third time, the light fades ever so slowly.

Simon catches his breath. It might have been the greatest April Fool’s Day joke of all time, but the blinking light of an unpowered computer spooks him. He decides it is time to take a coffee break. A long coffee break. He stands, reaches behind the machine and unplugs it. Then, he walks to the break room. Sentient computer, indeed.

The unplugged computer sits alone in the cubicle. Its power light blinks on and off, on and off, on and off.

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Hollow Victories · 21 March 2026

There might not be any moral victories in chess, but there are plenty of hollow victories.

I have posted a few pieces on chess on this blog. Most recently, I posted about no moral victories. And as I was posting that particular piece, I realized that there are certainly many hollow victories. You know. Those victories that give you no pleasure. Those victories that give you no satisfaction. (Oops. Now, I am hearing the Rolling Stones. I can’t get no…) No no no.

At any rate.

There really are many ways in chess to get no satisfaction from a win. To get a hollow victory. The worst hollow victory is when somebody abandons the game. Especially after just a move. Or even worse, before the first move. It is a pain. Oh sure, your rating might go up, but where is the satisfaction in that? A couple rating points for no moves. And thirty or forty seconds of waiting. Really?

I just cannot imagine people walking away from a game. Think about it. You sit down to enjoy a quick game of chess. Just a couple minutes, and then before you make the first move, you stand up and walk away. Crazy. But that is what people do. They start a game, decide before the first move that they did not really want to play you, then, they just walk away. Without a word.

I know. It is just online chess. People do not really sit down across from you. They do not look you in the eye and decide that they do not want to play you. They do not have that opportunity. But they see your picture or avatar or a default silhouette. They see your ranking. Then they leave the game. Crazy.

It seems to me that if people are going to accept games, that they ought to have the courtesy of getting creamed when they think they are going to lose.

While I really think those first move or before the first move abandonments are bad, I think the games when the person knows he or she is going to lose are just as bad. I think that they ought to at least lay down their kings. What is it with these people? Have they never heard of the resign button? C’mon people. Either sit there and take the loss or resign. It is not that tough.

Okay. It sounds like I am ranting there. And maybe I am. But not really. In reality, I would just like to cajole people into sticking around and take their losses. It is not that bad. (I ought to know. I have lost so many.) And it gives their opponents a little bit of satisfaction.

Which is where I started. There might be no moral victories in chess, but there are surely many ways to win hollow victories. Oh so many ways to get no satisfaction. No. No. No.

Yes, I hate those hollow victories.

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No Moral Victories in Chess · 14 March 2026

There are no moral victories in chess. You either win, you lose, or you draw. Period.

I like to play speed chess. Blitz and bullet games. Blitz games are somewhere between 5 and 10 minutes per person. Bullet games are 30 seconds to a minute per person. Those are the ones I really like. The one-minute per person bullet games. The problem with those games is that you are playing both your opponent and the clock. And either one or both can be formidable enemies. There are many times when I lose to the clock rather than my opponent. Or more precisely, rather than my human opponent.

It is funny. When I first started playing bullet games, I would sweat out each move. I would feel pressured to move right away. So I blundered many a game. (I still blunder many a game, but that is a different story.) Actually, now that I think about it, I think I really just tried to play without worrying about the clock. I would just play my moves and the clock would catch up to me. I was always shocked when the clock struck zero. Time. I lost. Again.

The nice thing about playing bullet games online is that you just keep playing and playing and playing. (Again. Another completely different story.) And eventually, you get to a point where you are playing people about your ranking.

I play on chess.com and have played many bullet games. I win many and lose many. The interesting thing is that I cannot seem to get much above the ranking that I have. I go up and down about 100 ranking points around where I probably really sit. I actually like to think I am at the higher end of my bullet ranking, but I am probably right at that mid ranking level. Which is okay. It is always fun to beat people with higher rankings. And disappointing to lose to those with lower rankings.

The most interesting thing is that I have gone from thinking, “I would have beaten that person if I had not run out of time,” to “I should have beaten that person even though I ran out of time.” Actually, I have really started to think that I should just be faster. And I have actually started to think that the clock and my opponent beat me. Which is really the case.

Which brings me back to my thought of moral victory.

Thinking that I would have won had the clock not run out is akin to a moral victory. Or at least in my mind. I would have won if the time had not run out. I was better than my foe, but the time ran out. I would have won, but the other guy scored more points. Oops. No points in chess. But the thought is the same. “I woulld have won if…” does not make sense in the context of any contest. Unless of course, you finish the sentence with, “my opponent was not better than me.”

Now that I think of it, making excuses for losing is definitely not a moral victory. After all, a moral victory means that you played well or that you defended your principals well (according to the internet). Which does not mean that you played well but the clock beat you.

Which brings me back to my original thought. There are no moral victories in chess. Oh sure, you or I may play well, but when the clock runs out, you have either won or lost or drawn. You might take solace in the fact that you played well. I do. But it is not a moral victory. After all, as I already said (and hopefully backed up), there are no moral victories in chess.

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