“Nonsense Pursuit” episode one: I’m memorizing shuffled decks of cards
First written on April 9th. Edited a little later.
On my family’s annual vacation this spring, I read Moonwalking With Einstein by Josh Foer. I heard about Foer through Cal Newport’s Deep Work (a book I’m still much more ambivalent about) and enjoyed it more than I thought I would. (It helped that my immediately preceding read was Jack Kerouac’s On The Road, a piece I can respect for historical context… but did not enjoy.)
Foer is a journalist who set the United States record for timed memorization of a shuffled deck of cards at one minute and 40 seconds back in 2006. (Today the record is 18.653 seconds set in 2016, which I find impossible to comprehend.) He had no experience with memorization beforehand and trained for the competition in less than a year.
I loved reading about his process. I’m especially drawn to the idea of a complete novice investing time in something — deliberate practice, as expert researcher Anders Ericsson called it — and achieving such clear results. Just a half hour every day over the course of several months to win a national competition? Sure, the US was well behind European countries in matters of memory at the time (Foer’s later performance did not secure him a title at the world tournament) but still. That sounds like zero to hero to me.
A week after my family left Florida, I bought a cheap deck of cards. A few days after that, I’m sitting in a coffee shop on a rainy morning in Asheboro, North Carolina. A notebook and the 52 spades, hearts, clubs, and diamonds are spread atop the counter in front of me.
Goal: work hard to achieve something concrete
I’m afraid I’ve never been very adept at putting effort into something and getting noticeably better. My training journey with Scout is a glaring exception here — I’ve never worked so intentionally at anything in my life, alongside my relationship with Sean — but in general I’ve long been “good” at certain things (writing, reading, bullshitting in conversation) for as long as I can remember and “bad” at others (solving equations above high-school math, taking criticism, playing sportsball). It’s only been in the last half decade that I’ve started to seriously consider the possibility of improving in meaningful ways.
Not that memorizing a deck of cards is particularly meaningful. There’s a reason this essay is titled “nonsense pursuit”. It is a symbol, though. (And a fun party trick — we play so many card games whenever we visit Sean’s family in Wisconsin, activities I usually flounder at, so I’m looking forward to flaunting this new ability the next time we go home.)
How’s my memory right now?
I feel I have a strong memory for stories and details and dates — I think about characters in the fiction I read for years afterward, I can tell you when Sean first had a one-on-one conversation with me in college, the day he said I love you too — and the typical decent spatial memory of our species (one that still pales in comparison to that of creatures like squirrels and several birds, of course). Perhaps I’m inclined to believe I have a slightly above-average memory overall.
But this sort of task — quickly looking at an entire deck of cards, 52 individual pieces of information with overlap that can easily lead to confusion (multiple of each suit, multiple of each number) — currently seems impossible.
We’ll see.
Beginning my memorization process
Step one is to assign each card a Person, Action, and Object (PAO). This way I’ll be able to group three cards together in one “picture” when it comes time to memorize a fresh deck, assigning these images to 18 locations in my memory palace.
Actually, that’s step one: my memory palace. I’ve decided to use my childhood home where I lived from seven to eighteen years old, spent summers back from college, and still visit regularly.
My route is this:
I start at the edge of the road by the mailbox (loci one). I walk towards the lampost halfway up the driveway (loci two). I head into the garage (loci three). I open the door to the back hallway, where I turn right for a glimpse of the laundry room (loci four). I peak into the “powder room” half bath (loci five). I check the always-disheveled cubbies by the door (loci six). I step toward the main space, first glancing down the staircase into the basement (loci seven). I walk through the open-concept area, passing the kitchen (loci eight) on the left and dining room (loci nine) on the right. In front of me is the living room (loci ten), which I dodge to see inside the front office (loci eleven). The cute built-in shelf outside the office (loci twelve) has held my parents’ wedding photo for as long as I can remember. As I proceed down the main hallway, I spy a mess of clothes on the floor of my sister’s old bedroom (loci thirteen) and my bed in mine (loci fourteen). I enter our old shared bathroom, now painted a tasteful gray over the once-obnoxious bright teal, and pull back the shower curtain (loci fifteen). I step back out and turn towards my parents’ bedroom, sitting briefly on the king bed (loci sixteen) before opening the sliding door to the master bath (loci seventeen) and finally checking the closet (loci eighteen).
The above paragraph seems monstrous when I unfocus my eyes and see a dark mass of text on the screen. But when I read through it? It’s the most natural sequence. I know that house inside and out. I can walk it with my eyes closed, whether I’m physically there or not. It is the perfect first memory palace.
The end of step one is to retrace these mental footsteps a few more times, to be sure my loci make sense to me.
Creating my PAO system
Now I’m back to step two. Each of the 52 cards in my colorful deck will take on a Person, Action, and Object in my mind. When it comes time to memorize a shuffled arrangement later on, I will mentally organize cards into groups of three: the person from the first, the action from the second, the object from the third. I can condense my imagery into one-third of the loci I’d otherwise need, and I’ll easily be able to keep track of the order. (Well, easily I hope, anyway.)
But first I have to 1) decide what person, action, and object each card will represent and then 2) cement those associations into my brain. I expect this will be the most laborious part of the process.
Here’s my plan.
People
Starting with people (I’m including nonhuman animals here too) as the most salient elements of each card in the deck, I am brainstorming and then rounding out categories that are interesting to me:
Aces will be mythical monsters/creatures.
The ace of spades is a megalodon with spade-like fins.
The ace of hearts is a loch ness monster looking for love like in The Foghorn by Ray Bradbury.
The ace of clubs is a cyclops because of the C alliteration.
The ace of diamonds is a genie because wishes are like treasure.
Twos will be fictional characters.
The two of spades is Stanley Yelnats from the movie Holes.
The two of hearts is Valentine from Ender’s Game.
The two of clubs is Hobbes because he’s got big tiger paws.
The two of diamonds is Calvin because he wants riches and fame.
Threes will be Greek gods.
The three of spades is Hermes because he’s our tool for adventure.
The three of hearts is Eros because he is the god of love.
The three of clubs is Hades because he is the god of the underworld, where people go after war.
The three of diamonds is Artemis because diamonds shine like the moon.
Fours will be bands.
The four of spades is Fleetwood Mac because they might have said “I dig it”.
The four of hearts is Kings of Leon because they sing our first dance song.
The four of clubs is boygenius because they feel like a cool club.
The four of diamonds is U2 because they’re the “biggest” band we like.
Fives will be singer-songwriters.
The five of spades is Hozier because his latest album cover features his face buried in dirt.
The five of hearts is Noah Kahan because his songs have so much heart.
The five of clubs is Lorde because she sings The Love Club.
The five of diamonds is Taylor Swift because she’s so commercially successful.
Sixes will be imaginary friends.
The six of spades is Lamb, my childhood best friend’s sheep.
The six of hearts is Six, Sean’s childhood imaginary friend, because I love Sean.
The six of clubs is Bun-Bun, my childhood rabbit friend, because the club shape looks like paws. Or cute little bunny ears.
The six of diamonds is Sandra, my childhood yellow lab character, because dogs are really girl’s best friend.
Sevens will be teachers.
The seven of spades is Mr. Foster because he gave us tools for understanding the world.
The seven of hearts is Mrs. Weber because I felt nothing but loved as her student.
The seven of clubs is Mr. Cepress because creative writing class always felt a bit like an awesome club.
The seven of diamonds is Mrs. Thompson because she was hard — no nonsense — but worth so much.
Eights will be college friends.
The eight of spades is Brett, who could be a bit of a tool (but we love him anyway I promise). Also he liked to dig deep in conversations so we can go with that association instead.
The eight of hearts is Sophie, whose heart is huge.
The eight of clubs is Jon, who would wear large boxing gloves sometimes.
The eight of diamonds is Garrett, who had a hard shell to get through.
Nines will be nonhuman animals.
The nine of spades is a mole because of digging, obviously.
The nine of hearts is a dolphin because of their deep social bonds.
The nine of clubs is a piglet because of the main character’s clubbed front feet in that pig book I read when I was small.
The nine of diamonds is a turtle because of the diamonds embedded in their shells in The Good Thieves by Katherine Rundell.
Tens will be breeds of dog.
The ten of spades is a cattle dog because they work so hard.
The ten of hearts is a golden retriever because they have so much heart.
The ten of clubs is a beauceron because they have extra dew claws, and clubs kinda look like paws to me.
The ten of diamonds is a poodle because they’re still stereotypically rich dogs in my mind.
Jacks will be nonfiction authors.
The jack of spades is David Foster Wallace because he digs (hence spade) deep.
The jack of hearts is Brene Brown because her work focuses on emotions.
The jack of clubs is David Sedaris because he could read at a comedy club.
The jack of diamonds is Joan Didion, because she was affluent and “cool”.
Queens will be fiction authors.
The queen of spades is Stephen King because he digs into dark human nature.
The queen of hearts is John Green because his writing is heartfelt.
The queen of clubs is Susanna Clarke because Piranesi has three “people” inside him at the end of the book.
The queen of diamonds is JK Rowling because she’s so commercially successful.
Kings will be animal researchers.
The king of spades is primatologist Frans de Waal because primates regularly use tools and a spade is a tool.
The king of hearts is Clive Wynne because he wrote the book Dog is Love.
The king of clubs is Gregory Berns because he recently joined the dog science club.
The king of diamonds is Jane Goodall because her work is so longstanding.
The above list almost two hours sitting at the aforementioned cozy cafe. We took a break for a walk with Scout and lunch in the van — now we’re at a different, decidedly even cozier, coffee shop to keep working.
Actions and objects
I’m allowing the actions and objects to follow naturally from the people. Naturally to my own messed-up brain, anyway, since the salience of my personal connections is what matters most. (I’m already having second thoughts about publishing this list to the larger world for fear of the masses thinking I’ve totally lost it. But that’s part of the fun I suppose.)
Laying out each card:
The ace of spades is a megalodon swimming near an anemone.
The ace of hearts is a loch ness monster bleating at a foghorn.
The ace of clubs is a cyclops riding a bicycle.
The ace of diamonds is a genie laughing by a lamp.
The two of spades is Stanley Yelnats sweating with a lizard.
The two of hearts is Ender wearing a space suit.
The two of clubs is Hobbes rolling a snowball.
The two of diamonds is Calvin watching TV.
The three of spades is Hemes flying with winged sandals.
The three of hearts is Eros shooting an arrow.
The three of clubs is Hades lighting a staff on fire.
The three of diamonds is Artemis stalking the moon.
The four of spades is Fleetwood Mac fighting with guitars.
The four of hearts is Kings of Leon walking a mile in my shoes.
The four of clubs is boygenius getting tattoos of teeth.
The four of diamonds is U2 singing into the Apple Music app.
The five of spades is Hozier burying a flower.
The five of hearts is Noah Kahan throwing a stick.
The five of clubs is Lorde driving a boombox.
The five of diamonds is Taylor Swift stringing a friendship bracelet.
The six of spades is Lamb jumping onto the roof.
The six of hearts is Sean’s imaginary friend Six playing Monopoly with goldfish crackers.
The six of clubs is Bun-Bun the rabbit flipping into a basketball hoop.
The six of diamonds is Sandra the yellow lab building a pyramid with Littlest Pet Shop figurines.
The seven of spades is Mr. Foster pointing at his collection of wood types.
The seven of hearts is Mrs. Weber hatching out of an egg.
The seven of clubs is Mr. Cepress standing atop a pencil point.
The seven of diamonds is Mrs. Thompson peeling an artichoke.
The eight of spades is Brett screaming into a cell phone.
The eight of hearts is Sophie doing yoga with jar of honey.
The eight of clubs is Jon punching with a boxing glove.
The eight of diamonds is Garrett lifting a heavy weight.
The nine of spades is a mole tunneling with a bottle of iodide.
The nine of hearts is a dolphin shaking flippers with sunscreen.
The nine of clubs is a piglet paddling with a picket fence.
The nine of diamonds is a turtle flailing on their back holding a diamond.
The ten of spades is a cattle dog herding banjos.
The ten of hearts is a golden retriever retrieving tennis balls.
The ten of clubs is a beauceron growling at croissants.
The ten of diamonds is a poodle prancing with a ribbon.
The jack of spades is David Foster Wallace eating lobster.
The jack of hearts is Brene Brown telling a story into a microphone.
The jack of clubs is David Sedaris picking up garbage.
The jack of diamonds is Joan Didion drinking a Coca Cola.
The queen of spades is Stephen King carving ghosts into a tombstone.
The queen of hearts is John Green climbing the Sun Trust building.
The queen of clubs is Susanna Clarke fishing with seaweed.
The queen of diamonds is JK Rowling swishing and flicking a wand.
The king of spades is Frans de Waal cradling a cucumber. (Because of the famous, hilarious capuchin monkey cucumber-grape experiment.)
The king of hearts is Clive Wynne petting a dog food bowl.
The king of clubs is Gregory Berns taking an MRI of a table.
The king of diamonds is Jane Goodall recording data about a tree.
In full roundup, my verbs are swimming, bleating, riding, laughing, sweating, wearing, rolling out, watching, flying, shooting, lighting on fire, stalking, fighting, walking a mile, getting tattoos, singing, burying, throwing, driving, stringing, jumping, playing Monopoly, flipping, building a pyramid with, pointing, hatching, standing atop, peeling, screaming into, doing yoga, punching, lifting, tunneling, shaking flippers/hands, paddling, flailing on their back, herding, retrieving, growling at, prancing, eating, telling a story to, picking up, drinking, carving, climbing, fishing, swishing and flicking, cradling, petting, taking an MRI of, collecting data on.
(I only had to reference the preceding bullets four times to write that paragraph! WOO for memorable imagery!)
And my objects are anemone, foghorn, bicycle, lamp, lizard (sorry lizards, you’re creatures not inanimate objects but the image is so strong), space suit, snowball, TV, winged sandals, arrow, staff, moon, guitars, my shoes, teeth, Apple Music App, flower, stick, boombox, friendship bracelet, roof, goldfish crackers, basketball hoop, Littlest Pet Shop figurines, wood collection, chicken egg, pencil, artichoke, cell phone, honey, boxing gloves, heavy weight, iodine bottle, sunscreen, picket fence, diamonds, banjos, tennis balls, croissants, ribbon, lobster, microphone, garbage, Coca Cola, tombstone, Sun Trust building, seaweed, wand, cucumber, dog food bowl, table, tree.
(I had to reference the preceding bullets just once for that one. But it was easier since I’d just gone through all my images to remember the verbs.)
The above final PAO for each card took another hour to finalize — and there’s a good chance at least some of these will change over time. I’ll have to test what confuses me most as I start practicing with actual cards.
That’s enough work for today. See you on the next episode of Nonsense Pursuit 2024 😉