”With the elite titles," he says, "if you make a mistake reporting something that is important to the community, it could have repercussions down the line. You don't want to treat it with an asterisk if it's tainted and just doesn't sit well." Mruczek says he's worried that the handling of the Wiebe record has set a dangerous precedent that could set back the community to the '80s, when people would claim records that were impossible to achieve. Twin Galaxies has long since abandoned its original verification process, which required a photo of the screen showing the high score and a signed affidavit from the player. Now, a player must videotape his or her game according to strict guidelines or perform the game live in front a Twin Galaxies judge.

I’ve been working on unpacking justice, one of my core values, in an attempt to understand why that value means so much to me.

I find rules to be so helpful in making sense of the world. If you know what the expectations are, then you should be able to understand what it takes to excel.

As I get older, I'm realizing that (a) that’s not always a true principle in practice, and (b) not everyone needs those rules to make sense of the world and get ahead in life.

Articles like this (legendary) profile on a Tetris world record holder make me really question my insistence on clearly defined rules.

Because when you think about it, what possible serious repercussions could happen if you botch the title of ‘Tetris world record holder’?

If women are “bitches” and “cunts” and “whores” and the people we’re killing are “gooks” and “japs” and “rag heads” then they aren’t really people, are they? It makes them easier to erase. Easier to kill. To disregard. To un-see.

But the moment we re-imagine the world as a buzzing hive of individuals with a variety of genders and complicated sexes and unique, passionate narratives that have yet to be told – it makes them harder to ignore. They are no longer, “women and cattle and slaves” but active players in their own stories.

And ours.

The elite special agents assigned to the ISB—the National Park Service’s homegrown equivalent to the FBI—are charged with investigating the most complex crimes committed on the more than 85 million acres of national parks, monuments, historical sites, and preserves administered by the National Park Service, from Alaska’s Noatak National Preserve to Hawai’i Volcanoes National Park.

Three are exactly 33 brave women and men who are part of the Investigative Services Branch, tasked with protecting our national parks.

But correspondents say the ruling is unlikely to have an impact on the use by law enforcement agencies of another surveillance method, mobile phone tracking software.

Which, really, is way more scary than vehicle tracking.