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I remember being in a bar in California, a small town just south of San Francisco, blinding daylight outside, gloomy interior. There was a table there, the surface glowed a little greenish. There was a sort of white dot slowly arching it's way across the table from one side to the other. "Wanna play?" asked my friend. "It's a gas." So he slipped a coin into the side of the table and fat white lines appeared at either side of the table. "That one's yours," he said, pointing to a knob. I probably did as poorly as you just did. I was younger then. I caught on. I'm older now, and haven't the patience to even try. The Match Game is more my style now; it keeps the brain nimble, I've heard.

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