A Cold, Stiff End
The young couple lay next to each other as the open window let an occasional breeze of cool September night air into the small room, drying the residue of their sexual energies. To the man it was a welcome relief—to the woman it was chilly.
He lay on his back as the call of sleep began to wrap itself around him like a warm, cozy cocoon. When her hand wandered over to his arm, he rolled over on his side and pressed against the wall, as was his routine. The bed was small, only a full, but he was determined to move as far away from her as he could. Her hand moved with him, and it still lingered. He felt he had to tolerate its presence—he wanted to move it. As far as he was concerned, there was no more need for physical contact.
She didn’t feel so well and began to feel worse. Her mind was processing thought upon thought. Why do I have this empty feeling? Why do I feel completely alone?DoeshereallylovemecanheeverlovemecanImakehimlovemewhyamIherewhyamIsooocoldandempty? Everything seemed to be racing through her mind. She was disconcerted and nauseous. She rolled over and snuggled up to him, but he was unresponsive. She wanted him to respond to her in any way other than sexual. It was becoming more and more clear that she needed more than sex in their relationship. Sex was not the sustenance in a relationship, she understood suddenly.
“Honey are you awake?” she asked.
Thirty seconds passed before he responded. “I was trying to get to sleep. I was almost there.” He was not interested in pursuing “the” conversation, and it registered in his voice.
“I’m sorry, but I need to talk. I feel, I feel so very cold.”
“Shut the window, then.” He was speaking to the wall. It was cool and felt good against his warm body.
“It’s not that. It’s something different. Something different,” she said as if she knew what it was, but couldn’t quite articulate what she felt. She wasn’t sure if words were insufficient to describe it or that she didn’t possess the vocabulary. She was compelled to express herself however, so she proceeded carefully, like walking on a slick frozen pond.
Not this shit again, he thought. He almost didn’t want to have sex with her because she always pulled this shit. He just couldn’t understand what her problem was. She always wanted to talk about something. Man she can be irritating, he thought. There was nothing to discuss. They just had sex, no big deal, and now he was tired. He felt she was deliberately trying to agitate him, and it usually worked; he was mildly irritated to say the least. She sensed his irritation. A short while passed before she spoke. She would proceed step by careful step.
“Why do you move away from me?” She started at the most basic level. She wasn’t sure what else to say.
“I was tired and trying to give you room.”
“But I don’t mind if we stay cuddled up together. I like that. It makes me feel connected to you. I want to mean something to you.”
“Well, I need space to sleep. It’s too hot and uncomfortable, so I need to make some room to sleep. We’ve been through all this before.” Although he was agitated, his drowsiness dulled it. He was hoping she might shut the hell up so he could sleep. What else did she want for me, he thought. Goddamn it.
“I know, but something doesn’t feel right with me. I mean, I feel really cold.” Although there was a profound seriousness in her voice, he wasn’t concerned enough to discern it. He barely comprehended what she said. “Shut the window then,” he mumbled. Sleep was a stronger influence than her stupid issues, and besides it was always the same with her anyway. He was slipping into sleep and was comforted by the thought that he’d wake up and have sex with her in the morning—his sincere and only attempt to assuage her.
She snuggled up to him and pressed her cheek to his back. Something wasn’t right at all, and panic was beginning to course through her. “I love you,” she whispered into his ear. He was awake, but pretended not to hear. He was so sick and tired of being dragged into this conversation. He just wanted to sleep. What was so wrong with that? He chose to ignore her, like normal, and resigned himself to make her feel better in the morning. He was warm.
“Do you love me?” It was an important question she always asked. He usually said he did, but she sensed insincerity to it. She wanted to believe, so she constructed many rationales to convince herself that he was indeed genuine with that sentiment. She knew his parents divorced when he was young and thought this was the reason he had trouble opening up to her. She thought that if she loved him enough, he would love her back. That love’s all you need to reach someone. But now she wasn’t so sure and her suspicion was reaching its apex. For some reason she was unable to understand, she desperately needed to know if he loved her or felt anything for her other than sex. The thought that he might love her sparked a locus of warmth in her stomach—a small shred of hope, which she did not believe was true. The warmth quickly dissipated with that specious thought and fueled the coldness, which started in her stomach, and branched out numbing her limbs. It was creeping up toward her head and centering in her chest. She was beginning to feel sleepy. Her body felt numb, like frostbitten ear lobes—a lack of feeling when you knew there was sensation before.
“Rodney, I need to know. Please wake up.” She shook him, gently then more violently. But her strength was limited and she got tired quickly. “Rodney, do you love me? I need an answer. Please. Help me.”
He felt the edges of sleep welcome him with a warm embrace. It felt so good after a hard night’s work, too. His body was tired and needed to rejuvenate itself. His mind became aware of some call, a type of beckoning, but as was his custom he chose to ignore it. He lay there and finally, when her cold hand slipped off his body, the warmth of sleep ensconced him, like a child’s favorite blanket his mother had just wrapped around him on a chilly winter’s day.
When he woke in the morning, he felt really good, great in fact. He was well rested and horny. He vaguely recalled some dilemma his girlfriend was experiencing the night before, but he wasn’t concerned. She was prone to creating problems for herself, he thought. He was confident that he could rectify her problem now. Why interfere with a person’s sleep when all could be cured in the morning?
The window let in a ray of sunlight which fell across his exposed foot. Its warmth felt virtuous, in some strange way, as he could sense the vivacity contained within the ray. It occurred to him that life needed warmth and how that was important. Inspired by his cognizance, he decided to give his girlfriend some warmth. He rolled over to his girlfriend and proceeded to mount her. Although rigormortis had stiffened her and she was a bluish purple, it took him a full fifteen seconds before he realized something was not right. He felt a penetrating coldness.
The window let in an occasional breeze of cool September morning air on the man and the dead woman.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Thursday, August 19, 2010
At The Movies Eulogy
This past Sunday, At The Movies broadcast its last show. This was a sad day for me. Even though the hosts have changed, I have been an avid fan and faithfully viewer for as long as I can remember. Shit, for some 24 years or so.
I am not sure when I discovered the show, but when I did, I was hooked. It was sometime in the 80's. Sunday mornings in Detroit, after Michigan Replay (another show gone--boo), and before This Week when David Brinkley hosted the show, I would watch every week. When I went to college, I forced my dorm mates to watch; when I moved into an apartment, all my roommates watched. When I moved to a new state, one of the first things I did--even before changing my driver's license--I would look for its broadcast time. I have always watched the show, no matter where in the US I found myself. I loved the show.
I remember when Gene Siskel passed away and was sincerely sadden. I remember when he reviewed films from the hospital on the phone. I bumped into a friend after he died and somehow we got to talking about the show and Gene--I found out he was sad, too.
What drew me into the show was the basic idea--two critics evaluating films. I loved this concept. Still do, really. I also loved when Gene and Roger disagreed, which occurred often. One of the favorite shows was the review of Full Metal Jacket. They disagreed mightily on that film, and it was awesome TV. I saw the film and agreed with Gene on that one.
I think it was Siskel & Ebert that introduced me to documentaries--now my favorite film genre. This was Gene's opinion, and I must confess that he was correct. Good documentaries are better than good "traditional" films. That was one the reasons I enjoyed the show so much. It introduced me to films that received no advertising and that I would have not know about otherwise. I did not watch just to mindlessly follow their opinions--no I really liked learning about the "small" movies coming out.
For my entire adult life and most of my teens, I have faithfully watched the show despite all the host changes. I even liked Richard Roper and the last dual Michel Phillips and A.O. Scott. The two Bens, not so much. But I still watched.
I will miss the show and have read that Roger is planning another movie review show. I look forward to that show. I guess until then, the balcony is truly closed.
I am not sure when I discovered the show, but when I did, I was hooked. It was sometime in the 80's. Sunday mornings in Detroit, after Michigan Replay (another show gone--boo), and before This Week when David Brinkley hosted the show, I would watch every week. When I went to college, I forced my dorm mates to watch; when I moved into an apartment, all my roommates watched. When I moved to a new state, one of the first things I did--even before changing my driver's license--I would look for its broadcast time. I have always watched the show, no matter where in the US I found myself. I loved the show.
I remember when Gene Siskel passed away and was sincerely sadden. I remember when he reviewed films from the hospital on the phone. I bumped into a friend after he died and somehow we got to talking about the show and Gene--I found out he was sad, too.
What drew me into the show was the basic idea--two critics evaluating films. I loved this concept. Still do, really. I also loved when Gene and Roger disagreed, which occurred often. One of the favorite shows was the review of Full Metal Jacket. They disagreed mightily on that film, and it was awesome TV. I saw the film and agreed with Gene on that one.
I think it was Siskel & Ebert that introduced me to documentaries--now my favorite film genre. This was Gene's opinion, and I must confess that he was correct. Good documentaries are better than good "traditional" films. That was one the reasons I enjoyed the show so much. It introduced me to films that received no advertising and that I would have not know about otherwise. I did not watch just to mindlessly follow their opinions--no I really liked learning about the "small" movies coming out.
For my entire adult life and most of my teens, I have faithfully watched the show despite all the host changes. I even liked Richard Roper and the last dual Michel Phillips and A.O. Scott. The two Bens, not so much. But I still watched.
I will miss the show and have read that Roger is planning another movie review show. I look forward to that show. I guess until then, the balcony is truly closed.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Addled Angle Angles Askew in latest Commercial
“Government is the problem. People are the solution, “so Sharron Angle claims in her latest commercial. This is the all-too-familiar refrain first foisted upon us by Ronald Reagan, the Hollywood actor cum president. The statement in Angle’s commercial makes little sense; it is illogical. I wonder if she has even bothered to read the Constitution, the venerated document that both sides of the political debate exploit . “Government is the problem. People are the solution.” How does that work exactly, I wonder.
One could assert that that is precisely what our founding fathers did—they created a solution. The people created a government to, among other things, resolve problems. Isn’t that what the Declaration of Independence was all about? Didn’t the people define a problem (tyranny from King George) and offer a resolution by getting on with the business of creating republic democracy?
The people formed our current government as a solution, so what is she talking about? For example here’s the first paragraph or Preamble of the Constitution (note the people part):
We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America
The government is the solution and yet she wants to end it, I suppose. That part is not all that clear to me. It is all the rage from the GOP to mindlessly assert that the government is the problem, until, of course, there’s a big problem and we need to government to resolve it. Take for example BP. Do you really think that a gaggle of regular citizens sitting on the Gulf beach could honestly resolve the environmental crisis BP has created? What would these people do without the support of the government? What could they do? Nothing.
“Government is the problem. People are the solution.” This profoundly illogical statement abuts against her own career ambitions. Why does she want to be “part of the problem” by becoming Sin City’s senator? According to her own logic, she has everything she needs to resolve problems—she is a person. She needs one more person to create “people” and then she can get on with the business of….well, that I am not sure of, but I assume it has everything to do with creating a hostile environment for the poor and working class and extending benefits to the wealthiest among us. After all, those of you on unemployment are simply too lazy to find a job, the pension-receiving Angle thinks. Interesting Christian-values there. Didn’t Jesus chill with the poor and wretched among us? God apparently told Angle to “fuck the poor.”
If, as the GOP and in this case Angle, really believe their own logic here, government is bad, why do republicans want to be part of it? To kill it, I guess, much like a parasite kills its host. Honestly, if the government is so broken and evil, do something else? Be the people and solve the problem so you can quit ducking questions and interviews.
Sorry Angle, while at times cumbersome and frustrating bureaucratic, the government is the people and often the solution—there are thousands of examples to list. It derives its power from the people, you see. Hence the voting thing. It is called an indirect democracy and the people elected are supposed to represent the people, (not corporate America) because it would be nearly impossible for a direct democracy given the 350,000,000 or so people living in the US. The government is the people and thus the solution. You and your ilk should read the Constitution and particularly its Preamble a little more carefully. There are six reasons listed in the Preamble for creating the Constitution. See above paragraph. “Promote the general welfare” is one of the reasons listed for the purpose of the Constitution, and if you believe that people are responsible for that and not the government, please do us a favor and drop out. Perhaps, God will call on you to do that. Explain how you plan to “Promote the general welfare,” Angle and don’t offer illogical and lame refrains about how “government is bad” and “people are good.” Government is in the business of promoting the welfare of its citizens, so says the founding fathers. So government is the solution and some people, Angle, Tea Partiers, etc., are really the problem.
One could assert that that is precisely what our founding fathers did—they created a solution. The people created a government to, among other things, resolve problems. Isn’t that what the Declaration of Independence was all about? Didn’t the people define a problem (tyranny from King George) and offer a resolution by getting on with the business of creating republic democracy?
The people formed our current government as a solution, so what is she talking about? For example here’s the first paragraph or Preamble of the Constitution (note the people part):
We the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America
The government is the solution and yet she wants to end it, I suppose. That part is not all that clear to me. It is all the rage from the GOP to mindlessly assert that the government is the problem, until, of course, there’s a big problem and we need to government to resolve it. Take for example BP. Do you really think that a gaggle of regular citizens sitting on the Gulf beach could honestly resolve the environmental crisis BP has created? What would these people do without the support of the government? What could they do? Nothing.
“Government is the problem. People are the solution.” This profoundly illogical statement abuts against her own career ambitions. Why does she want to be “part of the problem” by becoming Sin City’s senator? According to her own logic, she has everything she needs to resolve problems—she is a person. She needs one more person to create “people” and then she can get on with the business of….well, that I am not sure of, but I assume it has everything to do with creating a hostile environment for the poor and working class and extending benefits to the wealthiest among us. After all, those of you on unemployment are simply too lazy to find a job, the pension-receiving Angle thinks. Interesting Christian-values there. Didn’t Jesus chill with the poor and wretched among us? God apparently told Angle to “fuck the poor.”
If, as the GOP and in this case Angle, really believe their own logic here, government is bad, why do republicans want to be part of it? To kill it, I guess, much like a parasite kills its host. Honestly, if the government is so broken and evil, do something else? Be the people and solve the problem so you can quit ducking questions and interviews.
Sorry Angle, while at times cumbersome and frustrating bureaucratic, the government is the people and often the solution—there are thousands of examples to list. It derives its power from the people, you see. Hence the voting thing. It is called an indirect democracy and the people elected are supposed to represent the people, (not corporate America) because it would be nearly impossible for a direct democracy given the 350,000,000 or so people living in the US. The government is the people and thus the solution. You and your ilk should read the Constitution and particularly its Preamble a little more carefully. There are six reasons listed in the Preamble for creating the Constitution. See above paragraph. “Promote the general welfare” is one of the reasons listed for the purpose of the Constitution, and if you believe that people are responsible for that and not the government, please do us a favor and drop out. Perhaps, God will call on you to do that. Explain how you plan to “Promote the general welfare,” Angle and don’t offer illogical and lame refrains about how “government is bad” and “people are good.” Government is in the business of promoting the welfare of its citizens, so says the founding fathers. So government is the solution and some people, Angle, Tea Partiers, etc., are really the problem.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Frack You!
A new documentary called Gasland continues in heavy rotation on HBO. It is another clear indictment, a thesis that I have maintained for over 15 years, that big business will end humanity. Of course, that seems like hyperbola. The evidence that big corporations destroy and take the lives of humans is readily available and evident. That is hardly a debate. Further, it has been this way for a long time—one needs to look at Nader’s seminal work “Unsafe At Any Speed” written all the way back in 1965 for validation. Well, one could even go further to Upton Sinclair's The Jungle . Throughout the years, big business routinely has dumped chemicals into our water and food supply. It has financially destroyed many a family. It has even forced people off their land—which seems fitting given how this land, the US, was “cultivated.”
However, while GM killed only a relative few people with their engineering flaws, big business is improving its work to end humanity—or at least severely cripple its population. This has been pointed out long ago too. Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring released in 1962, sounds the alarm bells regarding using chemicals for industrial farming. It’s a chilling discussion. One written over 40 years ago. Even back then, the outlook was dire and grim and hopelessly sad. And what do we have now?
BP is in the process of destroying the Gulf; although to be fair, big business has been destroying the Gulf for a long, long time—not just BP. And BP has or will dramatically impact the lives of millions of people along the coast and folks who enjoy seafood, shell fish particularly. But the gulf coast is not all of humanity, Ron, so I am not following your non sequitur. Fair point.
The new documentary Gasland, however, makes my case. If you have time, watch it. I might suggest watching even if you don’t have time. The movie illustrates just how insidious, immoral and wrong big business can be. Essentially, our government exempts these natural-gas-producing companies from the “Clean Water Act.” (I mean, why would we want clean water? That’s soo stupid on the face of it. Why require big business to protect the water we drink? All we need to do is go to Sam’s Club to buy it—that’s what it is coming to.)
So companies are extracting natural gas from the earth and in the process forcing so many toxic chemicals into the earth that it is almost hard to comprehend. The documentary outlines in great detail the process called “fracking.” For more information, here’s the website: http://gaslandthemovie.com/whats-fracking.
For each “well” a company will use between 60-300 tons of chemicals and between 1-8 million gallons of water; a well may be “fracked” up to 18 times. All this, mind you kids, for one well. Nice. There are tens of thousands of wells in the good old US of A. Note that the next time you see a fucking commercial lauding “natural gas” as America’s energy solution.
Many people near these wells have experience problems with their water—no kidding. If you think that your water is safe because you don’t live near a well, and thus prefer to bury your heard in the sand—my first response is “you’re a fucking asshole and I hope you and your progeny die soon” and next is “water is inter-connected, numb nuts.” Take a course in geology. (Of course, these folks probably don’t believe in “science” or intellectual thought, but that’s conservatism for you.) Here in Vegas, for example, there are no wells, but the water Las Vegans drink comes from the snow fall in the Rocky Mountains. In Colorado there are hundreds of wells. So LA and Phoenix, do you like some toxic substances such as diesel fuel, which contains benzene, ethylbenzene, toluene, xylene, naphthalene and other chemicals; polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons; methanol; formaldehyde; ethylene glycol; glycol ethers; hydrochloric acid; and sodium hydroxide in your drinking water? According to earthworks.com very small quantities of chemicals such as benzene, which causes cancer, are capable of contaminating millions of gallons of water. I heart big business!
We need to water to survive. Beside oxygen, water is the single most important nutrient. According to the experts, (I believe in experts, by the way) people can survive without water for 2-3 days max. Now that we are allowing big business to contaminate our water supply, can the end be that far off? Of course, if we drink contaminated water, we will live longer, but in a far more agonizing fashion: cancer, excruciating pain, miserable existence kind-of-life.
While there are people fighting this, does it not depress you that our elected officials specifically allowed these companies to do this to us by exempting them from any type of meaningful oversight? Myopia for greed, I suppose.
Perhaps, it is not big business then that will destroy us—I guess it is us. How can we allow this to happen? Greed is good and so what if your water has a little benzene in it—the CEOs and stockholders are rich. Oh yeah, plus a couple thousand people are employed, too. I think we should force them and their families to use the same water that they have contaminated.
However, while GM killed only a relative few people with their engineering flaws, big business is improving its work to end humanity—or at least severely cripple its population. This has been pointed out long ago too. Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring released in 1962, sounds the alarm bells regarding using chemicals for industrial farming. It’s a chilling discussion. One written over 40 years ago. Even back then, the outlook was dire and grim and hopelessly sad. And what do we have now?
BP is in the process of destroying the Gulf; although to be fair, big business has been destroying the Gulf for a long, long time—not just BP. And BP has or will dramatically impact the lives of millions of people along the coast and folks who enjoy seafood, shell fish particularly. But the gulf coast is not all of humanity, Ron, so I am not following your non sequitur. Fair point.
The new documentary Gasland, however, makes my case. If you have time, watch it. I might suggest watching even if you don’t have time. The movie illustrates just how insidious, immoral and wrong big business can be. Essentially, our government exempts these natural-gas-producing companies from the “Clean Water Act.” (I mean, why would we want clean water? That’s soo stupid on the face of it. Why require big business to protect the water we drink? All we need to do is go to Sam’s Club to buy it—that’s what it is coming to.)
So companies are extracting natural gas from the earth and in the process forcing so many toxic chemicals into the earth that it is almost hard to comprehend. The documentary outlines in great detail the process called “fracking.” For more information, here’s the website: http://gaslandthemovie.com/whats-fracking.
For each “well” a company will use between 60-300 tons of chemicals and between 1-8 million gallons of water; a well may be “fracked” up to 18 times. All this, mind you kids, for one well. Nice. There are tens of thousands of wells in the good old US of A. Note that the next time you see a fucking commercial lauding “natural gas” as America’s energy solution.
Many people near these wells have experience problems with their water—no kidding. If you think that your water is safe because you don’t live near a well, and thus prefer to bury your heard in the sand—my first response is “you’re a fucking asshole and I hope you and your progeny die soon” and next is “water is inter-connected, numb nuts.” Take a course in geology. (Of course, these folks probably don’t believe in “science” or intellectual thought, but that’s conservatism for you.) Here in Vegas, for example, there are no wells, but the water Las Vegans drink comes from the snow fall in the Rocky Mountains. In Colorado there are hundreds of wells. So LA and Phoenix, do you like some toxic substances such as diesel fuel, which contains benzene, ethylbenzene, toluene, xylene, naphthalene and other chemicals; polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons; methanol; formaldehyde; ethylene glycol; glycol ethers; hydrochloric acid; and sodium hydroxide in your drinking water? According to earthworks.com very small quantities of chemicals such as benzene, which causes cancer, are capable of contaminating millions of gallons of water. I heart big business!
We need to water to survive. Beside oxygen, water is the single most important nutrient. According to the experts, (I believe in experts, by the way) people can survive without water for 2-3 days max. Now that we are allowing big business to contaminate our water supply, can the end be that far off? Of course, if we drink contaminated water, we will live longer, but in a far more agonizing fashion: cancer, excruciating pain, miserable existence kind-of-life.
While there are people fighting this, does it not depress you that our elected officials specifically allowed these companies to do this to us by exempting them from any type of meaningful oversight? Myopia for greed, I suppose.
Perhaps, it is not big business then that will destroy us—I guess it is us. How can we allow this to happen? Greed is good and so what if your water has a little benzene in it—the CEOs and stockholders are rich. Oh yeah, plus a couple thousand people are employed, too. I think we should force them and their families to use the same water that they have contaminated.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Repulicans Hate The Poor People
It should be clear to all who pay attention that the Republicans truly hate poor people and revere the wealthy. The Bush tax breaks are no stronger indication than that basic reality. Of course, when you combine that with their sudden resistance for allowing unemployment benefits to move ahead, they logic presents itself in cystal-clear HD.
To continue the tax breaks on the richest assholes in this country--yes, assholes--will increase the deficit. Their own logic--the defict is too big--should clearly demonstrate the need for letting them expire. Instead of demanding that the rich pay their fare share, the GOP party elites instead prefer to stick it to folks already struggling to make ends meet. Amazing. Consider that for a second. The fucking GOP aristocracy prefers to force the poor and struggling into more financial difficulties largely created be their mega rich-friendly policies and claim that we need to allow the tax breaks on the mega rich to continue?
The GOP hates the poor and wants to destroy them by forcing them into financial ruin. It is not any more clear. Slap the next one who argues for continuing the rich tax breaks. Slap hard, too.
To continue the tax breaks on the richest assholes in this country--yes, assholes--will increase the deficit. Their own logic--the defict is too big--should clearly demonstrate the need for letting them expire. Instead of demanding that the rich pay their fare share, the GOP party elites instead prefer to stick it to folks already struggling to make ends meet. Amazing. Consider that for a second. The fucking GOP aristocracy prefers to force the poor and struggling into more financial difficulties largely created be their mega rich-friendly policies and claim that we need to allow the tax breaks on the mega rich to continue?
The GOP hates the poor and wants to destroy them by forcing them into financial ruin. It is not any more clear. Slap the next one who argues for continuing the rich tax breaks. Slap hard, too.
Monday, July 19, 2010
God's Conseravtive Mouth Pieces
Glen Beck may go blind he told a crowd over the weekend. Rush Limbaugh is going deaf, we discovred several years ago. This is truly good news. The only thing better would be that they both go mute as well. Deaf, blind and dumb--yes, God loves the con--artists, it seems. But maybe Beck can cry his way to salvation, since he constantly tears up like a little child.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Binon’s 2 pm $100 buy-in.
A minor discovery for the low-limit-but-serious poker player: Binion’s 2 PM tournament. In Vegas, it is not hard to find good tournaments for 250 and higher range. Below that price, the tournaments generally suck. The problems with the lower level tournaments are two-fold: 1) poor starting chip stack—typically around 3,000-4,000 (some offer 6,000-7,000 which is better, but not ideal); and 2) fast moving blind structures. These factors combined make the tournaments much more a crap shot, to use a gambling analogy.
If the a player starts a tournament with 4,000 and the blinds increase every 20 minutes, after the first hour, the blinds are usually 100/200. After two hours, the blinds are 800/1,200. Some places don’t double every twenty minutes, but still the blinds move up quickly. This accelerated rate and poor stating chip stack does not allow any play. It requires players to push all-in early in the tournament and hope to get lucky.
It was exciting that the Golden Nugget held its Grand Series to pull in some players from the WSOP. While, many of its tournaments were in the mid-range, it still had several lower limit tournaments—I wrote about one. Too bad this does not happen all year. However, I believe I have found a minor discovery which offer lower limit players an opportunity to play in good poker tournaments. Of course, there is always an element of luck in poker, but this tournament allows for some actual poker playing.
I played in the 2 PM tournament yesterday and found it very good. First, the $100 buy-in makes sense. Making the buy-in an even number seems obvious, but casinos rarely do this. The buy-in is never an even number. For example, one might offer a $45 buy-with a $10 dollar add-on and one $20 re-buy. Why not dispense with all the extras and make the buy-in one simple fee? Binions seems to understand that basic concept. I like the clarity of thinking there.
Next the starting chip count is 10,000 chips—a very strong starting chip stack. This chip stack allows some play. It provides enough of a cushion to play some hands and mix it up with the players. If you have a short chip stack, you can’t afford to see flops without committing too many chips. So the chip stack is terrific. The next factor centers on the blind intervals.
Although the blind structures start at 20 minutes, they de-accelerate to 30 minutes after the 1st hour. Not too bad, but it would be better if they were 30 minutes throughout. Even with this structure, it requires some 7 hours to grind it to the final table. And the antes, (not a plus in my book, but it does force one to get involved) begin after the 6 level—so two hours in.
Additionally, the tournament had 154 players, so it was big but not too big. The Grand Series tournament had twice as many players and after my 7 hours of play, it was nowhere near the money, let alone the final table. While the amount of players can’t be determined, a couple of regulars indicated to me that the tournament usually generates around 80-100 players.
So finally, I found a decent tournament and even better did not get unlucky and in fact, got pretty lucky a couple of times. Luck is part of every tournament and some went my way. I must say thought that I did take down several pots with rags. You can’t do that all the time, but maybe I should try. The grind to the final table took about 7 hours and the table stacks were mostly equal with the exception of one person—a very attractive female. She had everyone dominate. I did not play with her, so I had no idea how she generated her massive chip stack. But she was an easy favorite.
Because of the chips stacks being relatively equal (a rarity in my experience), it was going to take several more hours to winnow the field down. At this point, all the players were in the money, but still the players all had chip stacks that require respect. So someone offered a chop with the chip leader getting 2nd place money. She accepted, amazingly to me, since it would have taken several bad beats for her to be in any danger whatsoever. But I was happy to take the chop.
Here is a list of key hands that helped me to the final:
Early in the tournament: I had A,10 and raised. One player called—the big, I think. The flop was J,10,3. He bet and pushed all-in. At this point, things were not going well and I decided to force the action hoping for a fold. He had Q,J and was way ahead—80/20 ahead. Things looked bleak, but then a 10 on the flop. Lucky!
Mid-tournament I called an all-in and although it would not have busted me, it would have taken half my chip stack. I had K,Q and I called the all-in with A,Q 75/25 dog. Blanks all the way to the river, where I was behind 85/15. River was a king. Of course, the pot odds made the call correct, but still I was lucky.
I won several races: pockets fours against big aces. I won those races at least three times. So not lucky, but no unlucky either. I won a coin flip, three times.
With the final table in sight, I got dealt aces. I was the big, and there were two all-ins before me. This is perhaps the best scenario—two all-ins and you look down at the best hand, A,A. And, miracles, upon miracles, they held up against kings and J,7. The J.7 was on tilt and short stacked. That was the tournament in a nut shell—plus several steals.
Perhaps the steals really made the tournament a success. When one is late in the tournament and each hand deposits an ante, stealing is key. I did this several times. Blinds against blinds steals. It was almost too easy. If there were no calls and the action came to me, I raised my blind—be it small or big, almost every time and it worked. One hand stands out, as I was in the small and pushed all-in against the big, who was short stacked. I thought I mis-stepped because he was short stacked and seemed like he had to call. In fact as he looked at his hand, he held his cards high so that I could see his cards: Q, 10 he had. I thought, shit. My hand was 10,2. I was just pushing heads up to steal. He folded. As I said, I did this several times and it really paid off. Glad I was against players who did not understand heads up play.
So Binions has a terrific tournament for the “small people.” Play it if you can.
If the a player starts a tournament with 4,000 and the blinds increase every 20 minutes, after the first hour, the blinds are usually 100/200. After two hours, the blinds are 800/1,200. Some places don’t double every twenty minutes, but still the blinds move up quickly. This accelerated rate and poor stating chip stack does not allow any play. It requires players to push all-in early in the tournament and hope to get lucky.
It was exciting that the Golden Nugget held its Grand Series to pull in some players from the WSOP. While, many of its tournaments were in the mid-range, it still had several lower limit tournaments—I wrote about one. Too bad this does not happen all year. However, I believe I have found a minor discovery which offer lower limit players an opportunity to play in good poker tournaments. Of course, there is always an element of luck in poker, but this tournament allows for some actual poker playing.
I played in the 2 PM tournament yesterday and found it very good. First, the $100 buy-in makes sense. Making the buy-in an even number seems obvious, but casinos rarely do this. The buy-in is never an even number. For example, one might offer a $45 buy-with a $10 dollar add-on and one $20 re-buy. Why not dispense with all the extras and make the buy-in one simple fee? Binions seems to understand that basic concept. I like the clarity of thinking there.
Next the starting chip count is 10,000 chips—a very strong starting chip stack. This chip stack allows some play. It provides enough of a cushion to play some hands and mix it up with the players. If you have a short chip stack, you can’t afford to see flops without committing too many chips. So the chip stack is terrific. The next factor centers on the blind intervals.
Although the blind structures start at 20 minutes, they de-accelerate to 30 minutes after the 1st hour. Not too bad, but it would be better if they were 30 minutes throughout. Even with this structure, it requires some 7 hours to grind it to the final table. And the antes, (not a plus in my book, but it does force one to get involved) begin after the 6 level—so two hours in.
Additionally, the tournament had 154 players, so it was big but not too big. The Grand Series tournament had twice as many players and after my 7 hours of play, it was nowhere near the money, let alone the final table. While the amount of players can’t be determined, a couple of regulars indicated to me that the tournament usually generates around 80-100 players.
So finally, I found a decent tournament and even better did not get unlucky and in fact, got pretty lucky a couple of times. Luck is part of every tournament and some went my way. I must say thought that I did take down several pots with rags. You can’t do that all the time, but maybe I should try. The grind to the final table took about 7 hours and the table stacks were mostly equal with the exception of one person—a very attractive female. She had everyone dominate. I did not play with her, so I had no idea how she generated her massive chip stack. But she was an easy favorite.
Because of the chips stacks being relatively equal (a rarity in my experience), it was going to take several more hours to winnow the field down. At this point, all the players were in the money, but still the players all had chip stacks that require respect. So someone offered a chop with the chip leader getting 2nd place money. She accepted, amazingly to me, since it would have taken several bad beats for her to be in any danger whatsoever. But I was happy to take the chop.
Here is a list of key hands that helped me to the final:
Early in the tournament: I had A,10 and raised. One player called—the big, I think. The flop was J,10,3. He bet and pushed all-in. At this point, things were not going well and I decided to force the action hoping for a fold. He had Q,J and was way ahead—80/20 ahead. Things looked bleak, but then a 10 on the flop. Lucky!
Mid-tournament I called an all-in and although it would not have busted me, it would have taken half my chip stack. I had K,Q and I called the all-in with A,Q 75/25 dog. Blanks all the way to the river, where I was behind 85/15. River was a king. Of course, the pot odds made the call correct, but still I was lucky.
I won several races: pockets fours against big aces. I won those races at least three times. So not lucky, but no unlucky either. I won a coin flip, three times.
With the final table in sight, I got dealt aces. I was the big, and there were two all-ins before me. This is perhaps the best scenario—two all-ins and you look down at the best hand, A,A. And, miracles, upon miracles, they held up against kings and J,7. The J.7 was on tilt and short stacked. That was the tournament in a nut shell—plus several steals.
Perhaps the steals really made the tournament a success. When one is late in the tournament and each hand deposits an ante, stealing is key. I did this several times. Blinds against blinds steals. It was almost too easy. If there were no calls and the action came to me, I raised my blind—be it small or big, almost every time and it worked. One hand stands out, as I was in the small and pushed all-in against the big, who was short stacked. I thought I mis-stepped because he was short stacked and seemed like he had to call. In fact as he looked at his hand, he held his cards high so that I could see his cards: Q, 10 he had. I thought, shit. My hand was 10,2. I was just pushing heads up to steal. He folded. As I said, I did this several times and it really paid off. Glad I was against players who did not understand heads up play.
So Binions has a terrific tournament for the “small people.” Play it if you can.
Friday, July 9, 2010
No Title For the King
Here's a scenario that I hope comes true: LeBron never wins a championship. I assert this without prejudice. For instance, I have no rooting interest in any of the teams involved or even in the NBA, generally. The NBA generates hype but little else. We do live in the world of hype over substance, so he simply follows along, I suppose.
The irony would too delicious if LeBron, after all the look-at-me- and I-am-the-most-important-human-on-the-planet media attention, simply played in every All-Star game, but fails to win a championship. If after all the lame and vacuous ESPN media attention, he bricks the final shot in a game-clinching game, justice would be served. In fact, if there is such a thing as karma and I know many believe that to be the case, this is exactly what should happen. Let me explain.
The hype and absurd attention provided to his "decision" moves well beyond reasonable and interested to the theater of the absurd. Indeed, Harold Pinter may write a play about the entire it eoiside. For starters, why does he generate this attention? After all, the only time he made it to the finals, he sucked. His team could not even win a game. And did you see his amazing play in this year's series against the Celtics? He sucked balls instead of scoring them. So why are folks concomitantly apoplectic and disconsolate? He is not a difference maker; at least not as the championship is concerned. Second, other NBA players were able to make their free agent decision without a stupid special. Just announce it. Why all the hype? Oh, that's right, I forgot, we are all-hype-and-no-substance society. I hate that, but I am one of the few.
BTW: he did not look comfortable or even excited during the "announcement." It was entirely ridiculous as he sat there and regurgitated whatever "canned" responses he and his team rehearsed. Clinched teeth, a nervous smile, and the decision came. A bit anti-climatic. The whole interview/special dripped with tension and nervousness. like a thief in a prep line-up. It made for terrible TV.
A person, who, for most of his life, been given everything with bells and whistles on it, I think it's right, cosmically, that he never win. He is rich and "loved," or at least admired by millions, I suppose. So his life is not terrible. The only thing he deserves, frankly, is the hype he with alacrity generates and uncomfortably participates in.
The irony would too delicious if LeBron, after all the look-at-me- and I-am-the-most-important-human-on-the-planet media attention, simply played in every All-Star game, but fails to win a championship. If after all the lame and vacuous ESPN media attention, he bricks the final shot in a game-clinching game, justice would be served. In fact, if there is such a thing as karma and I know many believe that to be the case, this is exactly what should happen. Let me explain.
The hype and absurd attention provided to his "decision" moves well beyond reasonable and interested to the theater of the absurd. Indeed, Harold Pinter may write a play about the entire it eoiside. For starters, why does he generate this attention? After all, the only time he made it to the finals, he sucked. His team could not even win a game. And did you see his amazing play in this year's series against the Celtics? He sucked balls instead of scoring them. So why are folks concomitantly apoplectic and disconsolate? He is not a difference maker; at least not as the championship is concerned. Second, other NBA players were able to make their free agent decision without a stupid special. Just announce it. Why all the hype? Oh, that's right, I forgot, we are all-hype-and-no-substance society. I hate that, but I am one of the few.
BTW: he did not look comfortable or even excited during the "announcement." It was entirely ridiculous as he sat there and regurgitated whatever "canned" responses he and his team rehearsed. Clinched teeth, a nervous smile, and the decision came. A bit anti-climatic. The whole interview/special dripped with tension and nervousness. like a thief in a prep line-up. It made for terrible TV.
A person, who, for most of his life, been given everything with bells and whistles on it, I think it's right, cosmically, that he never win. He is rich and "loved," or at least admired by millions, I suppose. So his life is not terrible. The only thing he deserves, frankly, is the hype he with alacrity generates and uncomfortably participates in.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Angry Sex Has A New Visual
Everyone has heard, well most adults anyway, of the phrase angry sex. It goes something like this: a couple argue heatedly, each getting more and more angry, their emotions escalating, their blood circulating, until a tipping point occurs and both wind up in coitus amidst flowing fluids. Better even are those who have experienced it. It is quite an intense experience, fleeting, but fervent. (And while it does nothing to ameliorate the problem, at least the couple can talk about it as the energy of the fight has been spent between the sheets or living room floor.
However, although angry sex usually involves intense fucking, it seldom incorporates a 180 neck twist, like Linda Blair's head does in The Exorcist. So it was a shock when Bill Compton and his maker Lorena Krasiki have angry sex in last night's True Blood episode. Bill violently twists her head a full 180 mid-coitus. A variation on the neck chocking or erotic asphyxiation that some more adventurous attempt. This is hardly make-up sex as it seems clear that Bill is trying to kill her but can't. Vampires are persistent in their deaths.
While love is a powerful emotion so too is hate. Both generate fervid and intense emotions. Perhaps they start from the same place, but one emotion goes one way and the other the other way. For Bill his hatred of Lorena certainly generates some angry emotions. It went one, very shocking and violent way. Why not simply twist her neck without the sex, one might ask. Seems like a fair question, but as everyone knows who has had angry sex, it simply feels too good to pass up--even if you hate the bitch.
This scene perhaps is the one that everyone will be talking about, but what about the vibrating, gyrating, pulsating, orgasmic sex Tara has with the mysterious vampire, Franklin Mott. He pulsated her like some type of mating grasshopper. I suspect Tara is multi-orgasmic.
True Blood has made some truly unique sexual TV history. Nice, clean family entertainment. Bravo HBO! Keep it up. My kind of TV.
BTW: what is released when, say, a male vampire has an ejaculation? If they cry tears of blood, then do they shoot spurts of sanguine semen. Perhaps we shall find out this season with a bloody money shot. That would be special.
However, although angry sex usually involves intense fucking, it seldom incorporates a 180 neck twist, like Linda Blair's head does in The Exorcist. So it was a shock when Bill Compton and his maker Lorena Krasiki have angry sex in last night's True Blood episode. Bill violently twists her head a full 180 mid-coitus. A variation on the neck chocking or erotic asphyxiation that some more adventurous attempt. This is hardly make-up sex as it seems clear that Bill is trying to kill her but can't. Vampires are persistent in their deaths.
While love is a powerful emotion so too is hate. Both generate fervid and intense emotions. Perhaps they start from the same place, but one emotion goes one way and the other the other way. For Bill his hatred of Lorena certainly generates some angry emotions. It went one, very shocking and violent way. Why not simply twist her neck without the sex, one might ask. Seems like a fair question, but as everyone knows who has had angry sex, it simply feels too good to pass up--even if you hate the bitch.
This scene perhaps is the one that everyone will be talking about, but what about the vibrating, gyrating, pulsating, orgasmic sex Tara has with the mysterious vampire, Franklin Mott. He pulsated her like some type of mating grasshopper. I suspect Tara is multi-orgasmic.
True Blood has made some truly unique sexual TV history. Nice, clean family entertainment. Bravo HBO! Keep it up. My kind of TV.
BTW: what is released when, say, a male vampire has an ejaculation? If they cry tears of blood, then do they shoot spurts of sanguine semen. Perhaps we shall find out this season with a bloody money shot. That would be special.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Review of Sgt Pepper Live by Cheap Trick by a Novice
First, let me say that I am no fan of the Beatles or their ‘landmark’ musical achievement called Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. However, I am well aware that all, okay, most, great music since its release magically finds its way back to the album. It’s comfortably enshrined in music’s cannon; I know this because that’s what critics and musicians tell me. Maybe it’s my age, but I never really thought much of it. (I also think Zeppelin overrated, blaspheme I know, but that’s my opinion). Further, I might point out that while watching the show I imbibed several beers—I did that before the show too. So I was buzzed. I say this because, as I write, the morning after, I may forget or misremember a few things.
But the show was really good despite my condition and apathy for the Beatles. Perhaps the buzz mitigated some of my aversion to the music, but it must be said that I was familiar with almost all the songs anyway. The Beatles' music is pervassive, to say the least.
Everything about the production and performance was excellent, top notch. The band performed with an orchestra and impressive light show. Furthermore, the sound quality generated crisp, clean notes and vocals. Let me also say that I am not really much of an orchestra fan, either, but it worked. The album has orchestra arrangements, and so this was merely a faithful rendering of the music. From my limited knowledge, the performance sounded much like the music replete with orchestra melodies and harmonizing vocals--there were no less than six back-up singers.
The band played, I assume, all the songs from the album, and so if you are a fan of the album and are still well enough to attend a “rock show,” it would be well worth your time. Even for someone like me, as I said, the show was excellent. In short, the show is worth seeing. But the show does have flaws.
The Beatles I recall were very much into diversity of music and culture—all honorable pursuits. But there was a song that literally brought the house down—that is to a soporific state. Not good for a concert. The song “Within You Without You"(featuring an Indian Ensemble) was slow and odd. Think "The Love Guru" here. It certainly had a “tripping” vibe to it—as in the Beatles were clearly on drugs when they wrote it. The song sucks, and the show came to a grinding halt. Maybe they should pass out ‘shrooms for that song. Instead, I went to take a piss. It seemed like the logical thing to do at that time.
Curiously, the crowd came to its feet not in response to a Beatle’s song, but instead to a Cheap Trick song. Not only did the band play the Beatles, but also it played their own hits. The song that got everyone to his/her feet was the classic “I Want You.” I must confess that I prefer Cheap Trick’s music to that of the Beatles (I know I am off to hell for such heresy), but so too did the audience. So on their feet for the song the audience sprang. It was the highlight of the show—in fact it was Cheap Trick’s songs that worked best. (By best, I mean the songs the crowd enjoyed most.) I might suggest they kick Stg. Pepper to the curb and play their music. I am sure it could work in Vegas. At any rate, judging from the crowd response this night, it was Cheap Trick they wanted to hear. However, immediately following the crowd’s enthusiasm for the song, guitarist Rick Nelison decided to suck the energy out of the show by hawking products. How cheap and lame is that? I suppose that a multi-million dollar production needs to move product, but why do it right when crowd is into the show? Ah, yes, the cynic in me says, that’s the only time to do it. But still, it was amateurish and forced—a terrible moment in the show.
Finally, while as I said I am no fan of the Beatles, I still knew most the music, simply because I am alive and can hear. I suppose being awake helps, too. I thought the same was true for Cheap Trick’s music. With its catchy songs and riffs, radio has been a friend to the band, playing its songs often enough. So it came as a surprise, really, a shock that my girlfriend claimed she had never heard the song “Dream Police.” What, I said incredulously. Everyone, even if you hate the band, has heard “Dream Police.” Everyone knows the chorus:
The dream police, they live inside of my head
The dream police, they come to me in my bed
The dream police, they’re coming to arrest me, oh no
Everyone knows those paranoia-laden lyrics. They’re awesome. So now I wonder if my girlfriend grew up in this country. Seriously, everyone knows those lyrics. In fact, instead of asking for papers in Arizona, the police should ask people to sing the chorus to “Dream Police” as proof of citizenship. I mean, honestly, she never had heard the song “Dream Police?” Seriously, who is she? An American?
Well worth the performance, even if one does not know "Dream Police." They also played "Surrender," which she knew.
But the show was really good despite my condition and apathy for the Beatles. Perhaps the buzz mitigated some of my aversion to the music, but it must be said that I was familiar with almost all the songs anyway. The Beatles' music is pervassive, to say the least.
Everything about the production and performance was excellent, top notch. The band performed with an orchestra and impressive light show. Furthermore, the sound quality generated crisp, clean notes and vocals. Let me also say that I am not really much of an orchestra fan, either, but it worked. The album has orchestra arrangements, and so this was merely a faithful rendering of the music. From my limited knowledge, the performance sounded much like the music replete with orchestra melodies and harmonizing vocals--there were no less than six back-up singers.
The band played, I assume, all the songs from the album, and so if you are a fan of the album and are still well enough to attend a “rock show,” it would be well worth your time. Even for someone like me, as I said, the show was excellent. In short, the show is worth seeing. But the show does have flaws.
The Beatles I recall were very much into diversity of music and culture—all honorable pursuits. But there was a song that literally brought the house down—that is to a soporific state. Not good for a concert. The song “Within You Without You"(featuring an Indian Ensemble) was slow and odd. Think "The Love Guru" here. It certainly had a “tripping” vibe to it—as in the Beatles were clearly on drugs when they wrote it. The song sucks, and the show came to a grinding halt. Maybe they should pass out ‘shrooms for that song. Instead, I went to take a piss. It seemed like the logical thing to do at that time.
Curiously, the crowd came to its feet not in response to a Beatle’s song, but instead to a Cheap Trick song. Not only did the band play the Beatles, but also it played their own hits. The song that got everyone to his/her feet was the classic “I Want You.” I must confess that I prefer Cheap Trick’s music to that of the Beatles (I know I am off to hell for such heresy), but so too did the audience. So on their feet for the song the audience sprang. It was the highlight of the show—in fact it was Cheap Trick’s songs that worked best. (By best, I mean the songs the crowd enjoyed most.) I might suggest they kick Stg. Pepper to the curb and play their music. I am sure it could work in Vegas. At any rate, judging from the crowd response this night, it was Cheap Trick they wanted to hear. However, immediately following the crowd’s enthusiasm for the song, guitarist Rick Nelison decided to suck the energy out of the show by hawking products. How cheap and lame is that? I suppose that a multi-million dollar production needs to move product, but why do it right when crowd is into the show? Ah, yes, the cynic in me says, that’s the only time to do it. But still, it was amateurish and forced—a terrible moment in the show.
Finally, while as I said I am no fan of the Beatles, I still knew most the music, simply because I am alive and can hear. I suppose being awake helps, too. I thought the same was true for Cheap Trick’s music. With its catchy songs and riffs, radio has been a friend to the band, playing its songs often enough. So it came as a surprise, really, a shock that my girlfriend claimed she had never heard the song “Dream Police.” What, I said incredulously. Everyone, even if you hate the band, has heard “Dream Police.” Everyone knows the chorus:
The dream police, they live inside of my head
The dream police, they come to me in my bed
The dream police, they’re coming to arrest me, oh no
Everyone knows those paranoia-laden lyrics. They’re awesome. So now I wonder if my girlfriend grew up in this country. Seriously, everyone knows those lyrics. In fact, instead of asking for papers in Arizona, the police should ask people to sing the chorus to “Dream Police” as proof of citizenship. I mean, honestly, she never had heard the song “Dream Police?” Seriously, who is she? An American?
Well worth the performance, even if one does not know "Dream Police." They also played "Surrender," which she knew.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Kill Corporate Personhood
The dance at Capital Hill yesterday with Tony Hayward (can he sound anymore British and thus like an elitist idiot) painfully exposes the problems with capitalism—the unregulated, unfettered kind apoplectically endorsed by the GOP. The GOP argument goes something like this: corporations should not have to pay its fair share of taxes or deal with regulations lest those burdens stifle innovation, profits and hiring. The argument assumes that corporations, in the best interest of the consumer, will regulate themselves as the best manner to maintain and increase profitability. This unregulated environment creates the conditions to hire the people. This mantra is echoed throughout the GOP and its retarded progeny—Tea Party old, white jerk-offs. The argument goes further by stating that the problem with American is government, that government somehow makes the lives of Americans worse. Has anyone noticed what Enron did to people; BP; Lehman Bros.? It takes a willful intellectual neglect to conclude that government and not corporations create and sustain an unbearable burden for people. But, then again, intellectualism is in short supply.
This self-regulation notion has been entirely proven to be a fantasy, to be a fallacious argument, more correct in Superman’s bizzaro world than the one in which regular people live. Indeed, it is hardly ever the case that the corporation will ‘self-regulate.’ BP is the most evident example, but one need not look too far in the past to find clear, evident, conspicuous evidence: Enron, Lehman Brothers, WorldCom, Exxon-Valdez, Toyota, GM, (insert any health-care provider) and on and one the list goes. These corporate individuals have maimed and killed many an American in the course of business per usual. Strident regulations might well have prevented many a death, but, as free-market (an absurdly incorrect designation) capitalists, our representatives have permitted and even sanctioned these crimes. If one kills someone, he goes to jail--OJ Simpson notwithstanding. Not, of course, if the individual corporation does the same thing with its chemcicals, design flaws, and short cuts to profitability. It lives on, most of the time. Although Lehman Brothers died, as did Enron, so in extreme cases, the corporation can die. But the death hardly seems just.
So as Tony-I-don’t-recall-and-I-wasn’t-part-of-the-decision-Hayward blatantly lies about the culpability of his individual corporation BP, one is not surprised. He is protecting his family, so to speak, and thus must lie about its cruel and irresponsible behavior. Did anyone watching truly believe him? Did anyone believe that he has no idea what happened, that he had no part in the decision, that BP’s safety record played no role in the slow death of part of America? No reasonable person believed him, except Joe Barton and his ilke, who have sympathy for BP and the mess it now finds itself in. Go GOP protect BP, try to generate sympathy for it. Good luck.
We have created an environment where the truth is evaded and destroyed. Profits, the very sustenance of the individual corporation, must be protected and sustained, hence the evasiveness by Hayward. But he’s just the latest to protect his family. Every corporate CEO does the same thing: lies so as to protect his individual corporation.
Perhaps some brilliant team of attorneys can over turn the 1886 Supreme Court decision that established corporate personhood for 14th Amendment protection. The problem is that a century of cruel and inhumane law has been established and thus needs to be navigated. But it’s time to strip corporations of individual rights. A corporation is a thing and does not deserve any protection provided by our constitution—that was written for people—not a collection of people running a business. This is obvious, and yet, despite the clarity of that fact, we still allow this bizarre and illogical reality to persist. Until we expunge corporate personhood, corporations will continue to kill the world and the living things in it for profits. In the interim though, we can start by killing BP--kill it I say, and take all its profits to pay for the damage. Kill it. Chop its head off by siezing its capital assets. Kill it. Before it kills us.
This self-regulation notion has been entirely proven to be a fantasy, to be a fallacious argument, more correct in Superman’s bizzaro world than the one in which regular people live. Indeed, it is hardly ever the case that the corporation will ‘self-regulate.’ BP is the most evident example, but one need not look too far in the past to find clear, evident, conspicuous evidence: Enron, Lehman Brothers, WorldCom, Exxon-Valdez, Toyota, GM, (insert any health-care provider) and on and one the list goes. These corporate individuals have maimed and killed many an American in the course of business per usual. Strident regulations might well have prevented many a death, but, as free-market (an absurdly incorrect designation) capitalists, our representatives have permitted and even sanctioned these crimes. If one kills someone, he goes to jail--OJ Simpson notwithstanding. Not, of course, if the individual corporation does the same thing with its chemcicals, design flaws, and short cuts to profitability. It lives on, most of the time. Although Lehman Brothers died, as did Enron, so in extreme cases, the corporation can die. But the death hardly seems just.
So as Tony-I-don’t-recall-and-I-wasn’t-part-of-the-decision-Hayward blatantly lies about the culpability of his individual corporation BP, one is not surprised. He is protecting his family, so to speak, and thus must lie about its cruel and irresponsible behavior. Did anyone watching truly believe him? Did anyone believe that he has no idea what happened, that he had no part in the decision, that BP’s safety record played no role in the slow death of part of America? No reasonable person believed him, except Joe Barton and his ilke, who have sympathy for BP and the mess it now finds itself in. Go GOP protect BP, try to generate sympathy for it. Good luck.
We have created an environment where the truth is evaded and destroyed. Profits, the very sustenance of the individual corporation, must be protected and sustained, hence the evasiveness by Hayward. But he’s just the latest to protect his family. Every corporate CEO does the same thing: lies so as to protect his individual corporation.
Perhaps some brilliant team of attorneys can over turn the 1886 Supreme Court decision that established corporate personhood for 14th Amendment protection. The problem is that a century of cruel and inhumane law has been established and thus needs to be navigated. But it’s time to strip corporations of individual rights. A corporation is a thing and does not deserve any protection provided by our constitution—that was written for people—not a collection of people running a business. This is obvious, and yet, despite the clarity of that fact, we still allow this bizarre and illogical reality to persist. Until we expunge corporate personhood, corporations will continue to kill the world and the living things in it for profits. In the interim though, we can start by killing BP--kill it I say, and take all its profits to pay for the damage. Kill it. Chop its head off by siezing its capital assets. Kill it. Before it kills us.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
The Gay Marriage Dance
Gay marriage simply won’t fade away. It keeps coming up. Yesterday a California judge ruled on it and now we are told it’s heading to the Conservative, err, Supreme Court. (The idea that the Supreme Court Justices are somehow dispassionate and apolitical is absurd—how else does one view the fact that Rush Limbaugh’s wedding—his fourth—had Clarence Thomas on the guest list. I wonder if Limbaugh calls him boy—well within his frame of perception.) One report on the hearing indicated that when asked by the attorneys what harm gay marriage would do to “hetro-marriages” they could provide no valid answer. That is because, as sane and reasonable people have known, there is no valid reason to deny gay people the ability to marry. It can’t and won’t affect hetor-marriages. It was a bogus, hate-filled argument from the start.
The locus for denying gay people the ability to marry can be found in hate, fear and ignorance—plain and simple. And of course, we certainly want those characteristics in abundance when making legal decisions, or decisions that deny people civil liberties. Let me not hear anything approaching reason or logic regarding this issue. What use are reason and logic if they directly contradict hate, fear and ignorance?
Imagine it: gay people holding hands and kissing and having wedding receptions. Oh, it makes me so mad, even though I have nothing directly to do with it. In fact, it makes me so mad, I can’t stand it. What on earth do they do behind closed doors? Distrusting and now, they can do it—sodomy and whatever else—legally. OMG!
Have you ever considered that some of the people most fiercely against gay rights, and specifically gay marriage, are themselves complete flamers? Ted Haggard, Larry David, George Rekers, Bob Allen, Glenn Murphy, Mark Foley and on and on the list goes. All Republican cocksuckers to be sure. Perhaps, they might consider getting together for a circle jerk—it seems to fit.
The argument against gay marriage is specious; it has no validity at all, except if one considers hate, fear and ignorance. But this is America, where the Tea Party flourishes and the Supreme Court Justices hang out, some at least, with the same folks who truck in hate, fear and ignorance.
The locus for denying gay people the ability to marry can be found in hate, fear and ignorance—plain and simple. And of course, we certainly want those characteristics in abundance when making legal decisions, or decisions that deny people civil liberties. Let me not hear anything approaching reason or logic regarding this issue. What use are reason and logic if they directly contradict hate, fear and ignorance?
Imagine it: gay people holding hands and kissing and having wedding receptions. Oh, it makes me so mad, even though I have nothing directly to do with it. In fact, it makes me so mad, I can’t stand it. What on earth do they do behind closed doors? Distrusting and now, they can do it—sodomy and whatever else—legally. OMG!
Have you ever considered that some of the people most fiercely against gay rights, and specifically gay marriage, are themselves complete flamers? Ted Haggard, Larry David, George Rekers, Bob Allen, Glenn Murphy, Mark Foley and on and on the list goes. All Republican cocksuckers to be sure. Perhaps, they might consider getting together for a circle jerk—it seems to fit.
The argument against gay marriage is specious; it has no validity at all, except if one considers hate, fear and ignorance. But this is America, where the Tea Party flourishes and the Supreme Court Justices hang out, some at least, with the same folks who truck in hate, fear and ignorance.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Oil and The Slow Death of Addiction
The argument against the off shore drilling moratorium reminds me of an addict. There are alcoholics, for example, that will drink themselves to death. Even after the alcoholic has had a 'scare' and been hospitalized with a serve health concern. And once released, he still continues his deleterious ways, until he dies. I had an uncle like this.
The same idea can be applied to a smoker. Everyone understands that smoking slowly kills you. In addition, it makes one smell like shit and look worse. It discolors teeth and skin and makes one look like a leather mitt. Have you ever seen a 20 year smoker? Nasty.
And yet the argument against off shore drilling is being made because of jobs. I understand that folks need to live, but do we have to continue to destroy ourselves in the process? Let's face it, the oil spill says more about us than it does about anything else. The destruction is ours, collectively. And so the argument is made that we need to continue drinking, even though we have slcerosis, or that we should continue to smoke, even though we have lung cancer, so that we may pay the bills. We are killing a part of us, the Gulf, so that we may have oil, our addiction. If we are sick, shouldn't we stop and diagnose the problem then take steps to correct it? A moratorium makes all the sense in the world, but I am sure it will be lifted to allow us to continue the slow death.
The same idea can be applied to a smoker. Everyone understands that smoking slowly kills you. In addition, it makes one smell like shit and look worse. It discolors teeth and skin and makes one look like a leather mitt. Have you ever seen a 20 year smoker? Nasty.
And yet the argument against off shore drilling is being made because of jobs. I understand that folks need to live, but do we have to continue to destroy ourselves in the process? Let's face it, the oil spill says more about us than it does about anything else. The destruction is ours, collectively. And so the argument is made that we need to continue drinking, even though we have slcerosis, or that we should continue to smoke, even though we have lung cancer, so that we may pay the bills. We are killing a part of us, the Gulf, so that we may have oil, our addiction. If we are sick, shouldn't we stop and diagnose the problem then take steps to correct it? A moratorium makes all the sense in the world, but I am sure it will be lifted to allow us to continue the slow death.
Friday, June 11, 2010
ESPN Can't Trick Me Into Caring About the World Cup
ESPN and other corporate interests can try to convince me to pay attention to the World Cup, but it won't happen for this sports-minded American. Even with the rage against BP(I say seize the company), I still won't be interested in the outcome of the USA v. England game. Indeed, the US could lose or win every World Cup game, and I still would not be interested. But, boy oh boy, do corporate interests try to convince us that we should care. "It's the most popular sport on the planet," is often the fallacious bandwagon appeal these interests make. "Yes," I say that may be true, but so what--it's also the most boring. I can no more watch a soccer game than I could watch old people watch Wheel Of Fortune. Boring and more boring.
So go on spend and spend some more to convince me that the World Cup matters, that I should be interested, that I should join the rest of the world and give a shit by painting my face and chanting sing-alongs and assaulting my rival countries fans. I won't, I can't care. Please give me something worthwhile, like real football, American Style, then I will pay attention.
By the way, did you see the Rachel Nichols report today--terrible.
So go on spend and spend some more to convince me that the World Cup matters, that I should be interested, that I should join the rest of the world and give a shit by painting my face and chanting sing-alongs and assaulting my rival countries fans. I won't, I can't care. Please give me something worthwhile, like real football, American Style, then I will pay attention.
By the way, did you see the Rachel Nichols report today--terrible.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Favorite Movies
Some of my favorite films, in no particular order:
Memento
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Fargo (really any Coen film)
Henry V (Branagh’s version is best)
Citizen Cane
8 ½ weeks (Fellini)
Amadeus
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest
Thirty-two Short Films About Glen Gould
The Last Detail
Chinatown
Five Easy Pieces
Se7en
Platoon
Raging Bull
Annie Hall
Manhattan
Mulholland Drive
Double Indemnity
The Pianist
Short Cuts
Mosquito Coast
Inglorious Basterds/Jackie Brown (best of Tarantino)
Capturing the Friedmans
The Matrix
There Will Be Blood
Midnight Cowboy
The Empire Strikes Back
30 Days Later
Frenzy
Saving Private Ryan
Midnight Cowboy
Which ones have I missed?
Memento
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
Fargo (really any Coen film)
Henry V (Branagh’s version is best)
Citizen Cane
8 ½ weeks (Fellini)
Amadeus
One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest
Thirty-two Short Films About Glen Gould
The Last Detail
Chinatown
Five Easy Pieces
Se7en
Platoon
Raging Bull
Annie Hall
Manhattan
Mulholland Drive
Double Indemnity
The Pianist
Short Cuts
Mosquito Coast
Inglorious Basterds/Jackie Brown (best of Tarantino)
Capturing the Friedmans
The Matrix
There Will Be Blood
Midnight Cowboy
The Empire Strikes Back
30 Days Later
Frenzy
Saving Private Ryan
Midnight Cowboy
Which ones have I missed?
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
The Grand Series at the Nugget--Awesome
Now that the WSOP is in town, many other poker rooms are offering ‘special’ tournaments, I assume, to capture the influx of players. The buy-ins for the WSOP are prohibitive for many, though this year there are several $1,000 tournaments. Still a grand is too much, so it is nice to see that there are tournaments catering to the lower limit players, but still offering excellent structures and chip stacks.
There is hardly a paucity of tournaments to play year round, but for the lower limit player, these 40, 50, 60 dollar buy-ins offer terrible structures--usually 20 minute blinds and starting stacks of 3,000 to 4,000. Those games don’t allow any ‘play.’ After an hour the blinds have increase three-fold and one need to start pushing all-in.
This past Saturday, I played in a tournament that offered terrific blind structures and starting chip stacks: 40 minutes and 12,000 chips, respectively. These types of tournament are usually more expensive to play year-round, but not this time of year.
The Grand Series of Poker at the Golden Nugget offered the above tournament for $135. Truly awesome. It even received a ‘good luck’ and ‘hello’ from Phil Hulmuth, in person. The series continues through July with buy-ins ranging from 135 to 235 to 500 and the most expensive, 1,000. Every day there is one going on and most of the time two. The tournaments don’t just offer No Limit. There’s stud hi-low, Omaha, pot limit, HORSE, etc.
So when I played the room had two games going—stud high-low and no limit hold ‘em. The stud tournament had 119 players and the no limit had 372 players. As I was playing no limit, I really did not pay too much attention to the stud game, but did note how many players entered. The hold ‘em tournament paid out 37 places with 1st place offer $8,700—not too bad for 135 bucks.
I started playing at noon and busted out about 3:30 with still well over 260 players left—it’s a grind. My poker run is still going terribly wrong, and this tournament proved no exception as did the subsequent games I played over the weekend. What’s new there? Nothing. However, stupid is as stupid does and thus stupid will enter in another tournament. The Nugget is not the only place offering these ‘special’ tournaments, but it’s the best one for the price that I have found.
There is hardly a paucity of tournaments to play year round, but for the lower limit player, these 40, 50, 60 dollar buy-ins offer terrible structures--usually 20 minute blinds and starting stacks of 3,000 to 4,000. Those games don’t allow any ‘play.’ After an hour the blinds have increase three-fold and one need to start pushing all-in.
This past Saturday, I played in a tournament that offered terrific blind structures and starting chip stacks: 40 minutes and 12,000 chips, respectively. These types of tournament are usually more expensive to play year-round, but not this time of year.
The Grand Series of Poker at the Golden Nugget offered the above tournament for $135. Truly awesome. It even received a ‘good luck’ and ‘hello’ from Phil Hulmuth, in person. The series continues through July with buy-ins ranging from 135 to 235 to 500 and the most expensive, 1,000. Every day there is one going on and most of the time two. The tournaments don’t just offer No Limit. There’s stud hi-low, Omaha, pot limit, HORSE, etc.
So when I played the room had two games going—stud high-low and no limit hold ‘em. The stud tournament had 119 players and the no limit had 372 players. As I was playing no limit, I really did not pay too much attention to the stud game, but did note how many players entered. The hold ‘em tournament paid out 37 places with 1st place offer $8,700—not too bad for 135 bucks.
I started playing at noon and busted out about 3:30 with still well over 260 players left—it’s a grind. My poker run is still going terribly wrong, and this tournament proved no exception as did the subsequent games I played over the weekend. What’s new there? Nothing. However, stupid is as stupid does and thus stupid will enter in another tournament. The Nugget is not the only place offering these ‘special’ tournaments, but it’s the best one for the price that I have found.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Why Rachel Nichols Sucks
ESPN tends to be a bore in the summer, namely because football season is over, and I am really no basketball fan. The only thing the network covers is basketball seems like. Where’s hockey? They do offer token coverage, but the coverage seems be treated like the annoying uncle that has to be tolerated during the holidays than wanting him to attend because the family likes him. The network seems simply apoplectic about basketball, Kobe and LeBron. And I don’t care how many promos the network produces about the World Cup and soccer. I don’t care if the USA loses every game, or wins every game, I won’t be interested. But, I really wanted to discuss Rachel Nichols.
She seems to report on every big story and thus is always on the channel. Her reports are terrible, both in content and delivery. In fact, I almost always change when she comes on. However, I have suffered through many of her lame reports to assert that she is terrible. I know with certainty that she will communicate nothing interesting or worthwhile. Her cream puff reports are almost infantile in their content. I am really surprised that her reports qualify as reports—it’s more like gossip than actual sporting news. But it’s the delivery that I find insufferable.
Next time watch her mannerisms and inflections and ask yourself if you really would want someone to talk to you in that way. For example, she shimmies her shoulders and raises her eyebrows all the while cooing with a soft, fake voice. Last night she was on live after the Celtics domination, and she was terribly stiff and mannered. Fake, really. She struck me as someone who really has no interest in sports—it’s something she does but has no interest in the subject—this undoubtedly explains the content of her reports. I know that reporters exaggerate mannerisms so to ‘connect’ with the audience, but she seems to play to a high school telecommunications class: really obvious, fake and overly mannered gesticulations of a neophyte learning how to ‘report.’ She is terrible and I vow to turn off her reports. Do you agree
She seems to report on every big story and thus is always on the channel. Her reports are terrible, both in content and delivery. In fact, I almost always change when she comes on. However, I have suffered through many of her lame reports to assert that she is terrible. I know with certainty that she will communicate nothing interesting or worthwhile. Her cream puff reports are almost infantile in their content. I am really surprised that her reports qualify as reports—it’s more like gossip than actual sporting news. But it’s the delivery that I find insufferable.
Next time watch her mannerisms and inflections and ask yourself if you really would want someone to talk to you in that way. For example, she shimmies her shoulders and raises her eyebrows all the while cooing with a soft, fake voice. Last night she was on live after the Celtics domination, and she was terribly stiff and mannered. Fake, really. She struck me as someone who really has no interest in sports—it’s something she does but has no interest in the subject—this undoubtedly explains the content of her reports. I know that reporters exaggerate mannerisms so to ‘connect’ with the audience, but she seems to play to a high school telecommunications class: really obvious, fake and overly mannered gesticulations of a neophyte learning how to ‘report.’ She is terrible and I vow to turn off her reports. Do you agree
Friday, June 4, 2010
Apocalypse of capitalism
Doesn’t the oil spill feel apocalyptic? The oil spill is killing everything it touches: animals and plants. It robs the ocean of oxygen and thus kills everything in it. It will kill the islands and destroy the beaches it washes upon. The oil is likely to get around Florida and up the east coast destroying animals and plants along the way. Although I am no religious guy, this seems apocalyptic. The end is near. The spilling may well continue until the end of the year, as the ‘relief’ well is the only way to stop the leak that oil companies know work. Everything that is being tried is guess work. So the oil spills until the end of the year—how much killing will it do? How much will it kill in its aftermath?
Drill, baby, drill, indeed. And still there are some who believe that we should continue to drill and risk everything in the process. Yes, this is the beginning of the end. It may take some time, but we do not have the capacity to fight the corporations that will destroy the environment. Many believe that we should still not regulate corporations lest it stymie profits and innovation. So many will actively aid and facilitate the end.
Drill, baby, drill, indeed. And still there are some who believe that we should continue to drill and risk everything in the process. Yes, this is the beginning of the end. It may take some time, but we do not have the capacity to fight the corporations that will destroy the environment. Many believe that we should still not regulate corporations lest it stymie profits and innovation. So many will actively aid and facilitate the end.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
The Poker Gods Hate Me; or it is not a trend if it happens all the time
I decided to play a limit game for the hell of it. Try to refine some basic strategy as I had not been playing for a while. Easy myself back into playing, as it were. The trend last time I played was not good. Amazing suck outs, always on the wrong side. The bad beats simply forced me to stop playing for a good 6-7 months. It was not worth playing when miracles happen for everyone in a hand with me. So a limit game might help easy into the no limit game I normally play. Now I am coming, painfully, to the conclusion that I am not very good, and simply should stop playing al together. Or understand that when I do play, I won’t win, no matter how I play. I plan to give a deep stack tournament at the Nugget this weekend a go. If the “trend” continues, well, I must stop playing for good. It’s the only sensible thing to do.
So I am in a 2/4 game at the Green Valley. I think I won a hand or two and was up a bit. How misleading that was. The comes this gift.
I was in middle position, and look down at 10,10. Pretty good, but nothing to get crazy about. In a 2/4 game, there are always, always, multiple folks to the flop no matter if there is a raise or not. So I call and there maybe 3 or 4 to flop.
The flop comes 6,10,6
Holy shit, I flopped a full house. I have the best of it, unless someone has pocket sixes. Perhaps, I think, things are changing for me. This is the poker gods laughing at me and spiting my very attempt to play poker. Expect that I am an atheist. Quite a confusing state, to say the least. Fourth street is a blank, an 8. The board reads thusly:
6,10,6, 8
I raise the bettor. It is just the two of us at this point. The river is a six; the board is
6,10, 6, 8, 6
When the my heads-up player bets, I know, I know with certainly that she has a six. And sure enough, when I call her bet, she flips over 3,6. Sadly for me, awesome for every asshole that I wind up in a pot with, she has quad sixes.
The numbers:
Tens heads up, the odds are 86% to win against a 6,3. In a 2/4 game, one is never heads up before the flop. So the true odds are not known, but after the flop I was heads up.
So I had pocket 10s. After the flop I am 96% to win. So I raise her bet and a blank comes: 8. So now I am 98% to win. She checks and I bet; she calls
She has a 2% chance of winning and wins. The thing is that this happens all the time, and by all the time, I mean every time I play. At least every time that I can recall. This is why I have slowed down and have not played much at all.
So after this beat, I was cracked and proceed to lose. I buckled down and only played premium hands—did not matter. I then played rags, did not matter. More later
So I am in a 2/4 game at the Green Valley. I think I won a hand or two and was up a bit. How misleading that was. The comes this gift.
I was in middle position, and look down at 10,10. Pretty good, but nothing to get crazy about. In a 2/4 game, there are always, always, multiple folks to the flop no matter if there is a raise or not. So I call and there maybe 3 or 4 to flop.
The flop comes 6,10,6
Holy shit, I flopped a full house. I have the best of it, unless someone has pocket sixes. Perhaps, I think, things are changing for me. This is the poker gods laughing at me and spiting my very attempt to play poker. Expect that I am an atheist. Quite a confusing state, to say the least. Fourth street is a blank, an 8. The board reads thusly:
6,10,6, 8
I raise the bettor. It is just the two of us at this point. The river is a six; the board is
6,10, 6, 8, 6
When the my heads-up player bets, I know, I know with certainly that she has a six. And sure enough, when I call her bet, she flips over 3,6. Sadly for me, awesome for every asshole that I wind up in a pot with, she has quad sixes.
The numbers:
Tens heads up, the odds are 86% to win against a 6,3. In a 2/4 game, one is never heads up before the flop. So the true odds are not known, but after the flop I was heads up.
So I had pocket 10s. After the flop I am 96% to win. So I raise her bet and a blank comes: 8. So now I am 98% to win. She checks and I bet; she calls
She has a 2% chance of winning and wins. The thing is that this happens all the time, and by all the time, I mean every time I play. At least every time that I can recall. This is why I have slowed down and have not played much at all.
So after this beat, I was cracked and proceed to lose. I buckled down and only played premium hands—did not matter. I then played rags, did not matter. More later
Friday, May 21, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Field report from the felt-lines:
After my minor morning tournament success, I decided to play in the late night tournament, the 11 PM. Those can be a little more fun since the tourists have been boozing it up all day.
My play was fairly strong and solid for the 1st part of the tournament—up to the initial break. I was aggressive and had only one show down. I think I chipped up to about 10,000 right before break. One hand really helped me and demonstrates really how clueless some players are.
I looked down at A,10 off suit and so raise to 400 when blinds are 50/100. A serious raise as I was in middle/late position. The button calls and everyone else folds. I had watched the button play and was not terribly impressed. Although, I thought that I would like to have sex with her if circumstances conspired to put us together. She was maybe 40ish; and had that lived-in look that many middle-age women have. One’s mind wanders sometimes.
The flop is 8c,kd,8s. I am first to act and want to stay aggressive. I hope this flop missed her, but I am certain she’s playing paint. She had been playing that way generally; she was a calling station. So I fire a bet; 1,000,-two black chips. Call. I am certain she caught a piece of this flop now. I think she has big slick, but I don’t know. But I am sure she caught some of the flop, however and because she simply called, I think she has a King. Next card is Qh so the board reads 8c,Kd,8s,Qh. Hmmm. I check, and she checks behind me. The last card is a miracle Jack. Broadway. Lucky. I bet 2,000. She calls, and I take the robust pot.
What did she have? She had K.Q. I was amazed she did not come over the top. She flopped top pair and only called. I could see her not coming over the top on the flop. She had two pair: Ks and 8s. Since I raised perhaps she put me on A,K, like I thought she might have. But after the turn? She had top two-K,Q, and she checked? This is a terrible play by her.
Let’s consider the situation. If I had flopped a strong, monstrous had like, say, a full house, maybe I raised with K,8—but not likely, or maybe I had A,8 and flopped a set, but raising with A,8 is unusual, or maybe I raised with pocket 8s, for the unbeatable quads, the call still makes little sense.
For starters, if those situations were true, there is no way I am betting on the flop, at least most of the time. If I have that dominating of a hand, with possible exception of A,8 or rag 8, I am not really concerned about anything and want to extract as many chips from her as I can by allowing her to “catch up,” as it were. So my bet on the flop communicates quite a bit. It says, in the very least, “something makes little sense here,” for some of the reasons I just pointed out. So her play should have been to re-raise me to at least 3000. That’s a difficult bet with a scary board, but seriously, what could I have had? Pocket A,A were the only thing to be realistically afraid of, and if one thinks a player has A,As, and one calls to see what the flop brings, then after said flop provides nothing, the obvious choice, the only choice is fold. The only other reasonable assessment by her was that I had A.K. So the check on the flop is maybe okay.
It is easy to analyze after the fact, but this seems clear, especially after the turn that she needed to bet or re-raise any bet. After the turn, she said top pair and checks? No way. She has to realize that. A poor play that I liked because she chipped me up; and she was sexy. Things don’t last forever, however.
Those players in the tournaments I play in abound. They often chip me up, unless they get lucky, which happens enough. Despite my strong play, alas no success here. At least no cash, but I did go deep in the tournament. Sometimes going deep is a win, a moral victory, which means “you’re a loser.”
Although this hand did not bust me out of the tournament, (I hung on far a long time after) it was the hand that sealed my fate. A little after the first break, the table I was on got broken up. I was sent to another table, right next to this fairly hot chick. She had on a tank top, revealing her ample and lusty breasts. Plus she was friendly—from Texas. She smiled a lot, and I immediately thought it would be great to sex her. She was pretty, friendly and a little flirty. I am positive every dude at that table had similar thoughts.
I saw her in the earlier tournament and knew she had a husband—good looking guy. Perhaps they were here for a swinger’s convention, I thought. Maybe they get off on having a guy fuck her as the husband watches. The trick was, how best to find this out without appearing to look like a complete perverted degenerate. I did not find out. I am still not sure how to broach that subject. The thing was, I put a brutal beat on her later in the tournament, which is like getting fucked, but without the fluids or mutual fun.
Anyway, I am in the small blind, next to a huge chip stack. Fucking shitting position to be in. I do have a nice chip stack, 9,000 or so. Strong for this point in the tournament. Everyone folds except the button, the hot chick in town for the swinger’s convention. I look down at Frosty The Snowman—pocket 8s.
The blinds are 200/400. I make it 1,200 to go. There is really one way to play middle pair. Be aggressive or hope to flop a set and play passive. I was aggressive, figuring the big blind would fold. The big blind calls, and hottie from Texas dumps her hand, complaining about the raise, but not in an irritating way. I thought it cute. Anyway, I am concerned about the big blind. I had not been able to see him play, but he did have a stack. He could be a guy who calls everything and has gotten lucky; or he could have a hand. Not good. I am praying for an 8. But God does not listen to atheists, so the flop comes Js,9c,Jh. Fuck, a big miss. However, I want to be aggressive, (I see no other way to win this pot) so I fire a 2,000 bet, hoping the jacks missed him and he would respect my pre-flop raise. He smooth calls. Fuck, fuck, I am fuct, I think. The next card is a blank, like a 6 or something. I check; he checks behind me. Hmmm. The next card does not help me and I check. He bets 4,000. In this hand I’ve lost 3,200, a third of my fucking stack. (This happens all too often to me.) I debate for awhile about this and almost talk myself into the call. Perhaps, he’s totally full of shit and is using the big stack to push me around. I even count out the call to see what I would have left. Not much at all. So I fold. Turns out that was the correct play. He told me later on break that he had a full house. I guess, he could have been lying, but he was flirting with the Hottie, discussing a bad beat he had given to her; he fucked her too, so I think it was a moment of truth.
Anyway, that hurt and the next hand, the table is broken up. I am put across the table from Macy and thus can intermittently look at her tits. This is a much better table. The Big Stack, who eventually knocks me out, is at the table too. Turns out, he played well. Not in very many pots, but played aggressive when in. Oh well.
So I am getting kind of short stacked after being blinded down a couple of times without a hand. I am the cutoff and need to make something happen. The blinds are at the doorstep, for fuck’s sake. I look down at A,J off suit, so all-in. Fold, fold and then Macy looks at her hand and starts to complain about the all-in, and so on. She does so in a flirty, non-threatening way. She calls my all-in and the table folds. She turns over Queens after I show my small penis of a hand. She has me dominated, but seems resigned to a brutally fucking by pointing our how her queens had lost to Big Stack’s ducks earlier in the evening. It sort of turned me on.
At this point she is 70% to win and not be metaphorically fisted by me. Come on Ace. The flop is ugly. The flop is 10,2,9. Now she is 84% to win. Shit! the turn is a 7 and she is still 84% to win. Then I call out, 8, come on 8. And the river is an 8. She got total fucked by me, which is what I wanted all along, but not exactly in this way, you understand. A straight to the jack. Hey maybe, I can get back into the tournament here. However, even with the double up I am only at 9,000. Not enough with 2,000/1,000 blinds.
Macy is polite about the bad beat and I apologize for it, but I am not even close to being sorry about this. She smiles and goes to the rail to watch the table. Two hands later, my demise comes hastily. I have Jacks and push all in. There are two callers, so I am sure I am fucked. Yep, I am up against 88s and AAs. Bad luck. AAs win. As I walk to the rail, however, Macy rubs me on the back and says “it’s alright,” or something like that, and I feel my dick twitch. It’s nice to be rubbed by a new female. Hmmm, perhaps I should figure out how to broach the swinger’s thing. In the end, I bummed a smoke and lost more money playing blackjack. Have I ever pointed out how fucking stupid I am? Blackjack is a loser, for losers. What was I doing?
My play was fairly strong and solid for the 1st part of the tournament—up to the initial break. I was aggressive and had only one show down. I think I chipped up to about 10,000 right before break. One hand really helped me and demonstrates really how clueless some players are.
I looked down at A,10 off suit and so raise to 400 when blinds are 50/100. A serious raise as I was in middle/late position. The button calls and everyone else folds. I had watched the button play and was not terribly impressed. Although, I thought that I would like to have sex with her if circumstances conspired to put us together. She was maybe 40ish; and had that lived-in look that many middle-age women have. One’s mind wanders sometimes.
The flop is 8c,kd,8s. I am first to act and want to stay aggressive. I hope this flop missed her, but I am certain she’s playing paint. She had been playing that way generally; she was a calling station. So I fire a bet; 1,000,-two black chips. Call. I am certain she caught a piece of this flop now. I think she has big slick, but I don’t know. But I am sure she caught some of the flop, however and because she simply called, I think she has a King. Next card is Qh so the board reads 8c,Kd,8s,Qh. Hmmm. I check, and she checks behind me. The last card is a miracle Jack. Broadway. Lucky. I bet 2,000. She calls, and I take the robust pot.
What did she have? She had K.Q. I was amazed she did not come over the top. She flopped top pair and only called. I could see her not coming over the top on the flop. She had two pair: Ks and 8s. Since I raised perhaps she put me on A,K, like I thought she might have. But after the turn? She had top two-K,Q, and she checked? This is a terrible play by her.
Let’s consider the situation. If I had flopped a strong, monstrous had like, say, a full house, maybe I raised with K,8—but not likely, or maybe I had A,8 and flopped a set, but raising with A,8 is unusual, or maybe I raised with pocket 8s, for the unbeatable quads, the call still makes little sense.
For starters, if those situations were true, there is no way I am betting on the flop, at least most of the time. If I have that dominating of a hand, with possible exception of A,8 or rag 8, I am not really concerned about anything and want to extract as many chips from her as I can by allowing her to “catch up,” as it were. So my bet on the flop communicates quite a bit. It says, in the very least, “something makes little sense here,” for some of the reasons I just pointed out. So her play should have been to re-raise me to at least 3000. That’s a difficult bet with a scary board, but seriously, what could I have had? Pocket A,A were the only thing to be realistically afraid of, and if one thinks a player has A,As, and one calls to see what the flop brings, then after said flop provides nothing, the obvious choice, the only choice is fold. The only other reasonable assessment by her was that I had A.K. So the check on the flop is maybe okay.
It is easy to analyze after the fact, but this seems clear, especially after the turn that she needed to bet or re-raise any bet. After the turn, she said top pair and checks? No way. She has to realize that. A poor play that I liked because she chipped me up; and she was sexy. Things don’t last forever, however.
Those players in the tournaments I play in abound. They often chip me up, unless they get lucky, which happens enough. Despite my strong play, alas no success here. At least no cash, but I did go deep in the tournament. Sometimes going deep is a win, a moral victory, which means “you’re a loser.”
Although this hand did not bust me out of the tournament, (I hung on far a long time after) it was the hand that sealed my fate. A little after the first break, the table I was on got broken up. I was sent to another table, right next to this fairly hot chick. She had on a tank top, revealing her ample and lusty breasts. Plus she was friendly—from Texas. She smiled a lot, and I immediately thought it would be great to sex her. She was pretty, friendly and a little flirty. I am positive every dude at that table had similar thoughts.
I saw her in the earlier tournament and knew she had a husband—good looking guy. Perhaps they were here for a swinger’s convention, I thought. Maybe they get off on having a guy fuck her as the husband watches. The trick was, how best to find this out without appearing to look like a complete perverted degenerate. I did not find out. I am still not sure how to broach that subject. The thing was, I put a brutal beat on her later in the tournament, which is like getting fucked, but without the fluids or mutual fun.
Anyway, I am in the small blind, next to a huge chip stack. Fucking shitting position to be in. I do have a nice chip stack, 9,000 or so. Strong for this point in the tournament. Everyone folds except the button, the hot chick in town for the swinger’s convention. I look down at Frosty The Snowman—pocket 8s.
The blinds are 200/400. I make it 1,200 to go. There is really one way to play middle pair. Be aggressive or hope to flop a set and play passive. I was aggressive, figuring the big blind would fold. The big blind calls, and hottie from Texas dumps her hand, complaining about the raise, but not in an irritating way. I thought it cute. Anyway, I am concerned about the big blind. I had not been able to see him play, but he did have a stack. He could be a guy who calls everything and has gotten lucky; or he could have a hand. Not good. I am praying for an 8. But God does not listen to atheists, so the flop comes Js,9c,Jh. Fuck, a big miss. However, I want to be aggressive, (I see no other way to win this pot) so I fire a 2,000 bet, hoping the jacks missed him and he would respect my pre-flop raise. He smooth calls. Fuck, fuck, I am fuct, I think. The next card is a blank, like a 6 or something. I check; he checks behind me. Hmmm. The next card does not help me and I check. He bets 4,000. In this hand I’ve lost 3,200, a third of my fucking stack. (This happens all too often to me.) I debate for awhile about this and almost talk myself into the call. Perhaps, he’s totally full of shit and is using the big stack to push me around. I even count out the call to see what I would have left. Not much at all. So I fold. Turns out that was the correct play. He told me later on break that he had a full house. I guess, he could have been lying, but he was flirting with the Hottie, discussing a bad beat he had given to her; he fucked her too, so I think it was a moment of truth.
Anyway, that hurt and the next hand, the table is broken up. I am put across the table from Macy and thus can intermittently look at her tits. This is a much better table. The Big Stack, who eventually knocks me out, is at the table too. Turns out, he played well. Not in very many pots, but played aggressive when in. Oh well.
So I am getting kind of short stacked after being blinded down a couple of times without a hand. I am the cutoff and need to make something happen. The blinds are at the doorstep, for fuck’s sake. I look down at A,J off suit, so all-in. Fold, fold and then Macy looks at her hand and starts to complain about the all-in, and so on. She does so in a flirty, non-threatening way. She calls my all-in and the table folds. She turns over Queens after I show my small penis of a hand. She has me dominated, but seems resigned to a brutally fucking by pointing our how her queens had lost to Big Stack’s ducks earlier in the evening. It sort of turned me on.
At this point she is 70% to win and not be metaphorically fisted by me. Come on Ace. The flop is ugly. The flop is 10,2,9. Now she is 84% to win. Shit! the turn is a 7 and she is still 84% to win. Then I call out, 8, come on 8. And the river is an 8. She got total fucked by me, which is what I wanted all along, but not exactly in this way, you understand. A straight to the jack. Hey maybe, I can get back into the tournament here. However, even with the double up I am only at 9,000. Not enough with 2,000/1,000 blinds.
Macy is polite about the bad beat and I apologize for it, but I am not even close to being sorry about this. She smiles and goes to the rail to watch the table. Two hands later, my demise comes hastily. I have Jacks and push all in. There are two callers, so I am sure I am fucked. Yep, I am up against 88s and AAs. Bad luck. AAs win. As I walk to the rail, however, Macy rubs me on the back and says “it’s alright,” or something like that, and I feel my dick twitch. It’s nice to be rubbed by a new female. Hmmm, perhaps I should figure out how to broach the swinger’s thing. In the end, I bummed a smoke and lost more money playing blackjack. Have I ever pointed out how fucking stupid I am? Blackjack is a loser, for losers. What was I doing?
Sunday, April 25, 2010
The Public Restroom Gift
It is easy to determine the quality of the food you eat by the manner in which it leaves your body. You know what I mean.
I had to drive to Marquette, MI recently, and it’s a long drive—7 plus hours solo. I wanted to make good time so I left early. One of my many foibles includes the delicious taste of breakfast sandwiches from fast food joints. I love them despite fully understanding how terrible they are for my health. Nevertheless, on this morning I order a combo sausage egg croissant—actually two of them. I am a growing boy after all. The order also included, per my choice, a large cup of coffee.
For those you do not drink coffee, let me point out something. Nothing is a better expectorant for one’s bowels than coffee. Dulcolax ain’t got shit on coffee. It seems to stimulate, loosen and hasten all at once.
So after I eat my glorious American morning breakfast, speeding down, or rather up I-75, I feel as though I can evacuate my bowels with prejudice, but cling to some notion of “making good time” and thus leave the fetid stew a brew in my bowels. However, being that I am seated, it seems that the urge is blunted, if ever so slightly. No way could I be walking around with the steaming stew.
Well, I drive for a good three hours and need to stop for gas. The urge has sort of settled a bit by this time. I would not say I was comfortable, but at some point it became manageable. I can deal with it, as the urge had not increased in any significant way.
But once I pulled into the local gas station and before I even got out of the car, my bowels dispatched a warning shot down my ass cheeks. “Oh fuck,” I thought as I strained every available ass muscle to pinch off the rest of the lava flow. I heard my bowels gurgle.
How did my bowels know that I was close to a toilet? I was fine for hours, and then once I stop, wham, the gathering masses make their presence felt. And felt in a burning way. It’s amazing.
So I walk into the station to relive myself and find the bathroom being cleaned. “Christ almighty,” I think. Still straining my ass cheeks, I walk out and begin pumping the gas. I hear gurgling noises. I am being warned.
I walk back in and the lady cleaning informs me that the women’s bathroom is open and that I should use it.
So I quickly rush into the nearest stall and let the deluge begin. It was a torrent of several burning steams. More mushy than solid, like milky oatmeal. Only this oatmeal burned as it left. And the smell. Christ the smell. Vile, simply vile.
Anyway, I am oddly feeling good despite my asshole feeling like lava had spewed from it, when the bathroom door opens. The crack between the bathroom door and the wall was wide enough to get a good look. I see a fat, meaty white calf through the crack. The foot was jammed into a shoe that looked like it was straining to stay together. The shoe laces were missing and the tongue was distended out like panting dog. Before she goes further, the attendant informs her that I am in the bathroom. Out goes the gross calf.
So I am still sitting in my own stench, forcing the last stubborn stew from my body, when the fat, milky, gross calf comes back in.
“Are you still in here?”
“Did you see me leave?” I am not sure else I am supposed to say. I wonder if her bowels were threatening her, too.
Eventually, I get up to leave the stench, and turn around to flush. And there I see what came from me. Not a pleasant sight, to be sure. Caked onto the bowl, just above the water line, is a nice nasty splotch of shit, like brown mashed potatoes—homemade, given the impressive lumps. It was like the shit exploded from me and went everywhere. Not down, but out, to the right and left and everywhere in between. The equivalent of G-force power. Nasty.
The toilet was more of the residential type as opposed to those industrial ones that seem to able to suck anything down. No this one was nice and sedate. I flushed and the gentle, creek stream of water flowed leisurely down over the shitty lump barely taking anything with it. The shitty lump was too strong for the flow. I flushed again. Stubborn was the lumpy shit, and it did not move.
There was no way I was washing the shitty lump from the bowl—that was the cleaning lady’s job. Besides, it’s always nice to leave presents.
I left and smiled at the vile old fat lady, who was languishing outside the door. I can only imagine her reaction as she looked at what I left her. First the smell, like whiffing ammonia and having to violently jerk your head away from it, then the awesome, shitty lump. I giggled all the way to the bridge thinking about it.
I had to drive to Marquette, MI recently, and it’s a long drive—7 plus hours solo. I wanted to make good time so I left early. One of my many foibles includes the delicious taste of breakfast sandwiches from fast food joints. I love them despite fully understanding how terrible they are for my health. Nevertheless, on this morning I order a combo sausage egg croissant—actually two of them. I am a growing boy after all. The order also included, per my choice, a large cup of coffee.
For those you do not drink coffee, let me point out something. Nothing is a better expectorant for one’s bowels than coffee. Dulcolax ain’t got shit on coffee. It seems to stimulate, loosen and hasten all at once.
So after I eat my glorious American morning breakfast, speeding down, or rather up I-75, I feel as though I can evacuate my bowels with prejudice, but cling to some notion of “making good time” and thus leave the fetid stew a brew in my bowels. However, being that I am seated, it seems that the urge is blunted, if ever so slightly. No way could I be walking around with the steaming stew.
Well, I drive for a good three hours and need to stop for gas. The urge has sort of settled a bit by this time. I would not say I was comfortable, but at some point it became manageable. I can deal with it, as the urge had not increased in any significant way.
But once I pulled into the local gas station and before I even got out of the car, my bowels dispatched a warning shot down my ass cheeks. “Oh fuck,” I thought as I strained every available ass muscle to pinch off the rest of the lava flow. I heard my bowels gurgle.
How did my bowels know that I was close to a toilet? I was fine for hours, and then once I stop, wham, the gathering masses make their presence felt. And felt in a burning way. It’s amazing.
So I walk into the station to relive myself and find the bathroom being cleaned. “Christ almighty,” I think. Still straining my ass cheeks, I walk out and begin pumping the gas. I hear gurgling noises. I am being warned.
I walk back in and the lady cleaning informs me that the women’s bathroom is open and that I should use it.
So I quickly rush into the nearest stall and let the deluge begin. It was a torrent of several burning steams. More mushy than solid, like milky oatmeal. Only this oatmeal burned as it left. And the smell. Christ the smell. Vile, simply vile.
Anyway, I am oddly feeling good despite my asshole feeling like lava had spewed from it, when the bathroom door opens. The crack between the bathroom door and the wall was wide enough to get a good look. I see a fat, meaty white calf through the crack. The foot was jammed into a shoe that looked like it was straining to stay together. The shoe laces were missing and the tongue was distended out like panting dog. Before she goes further, the attendant informs her that I am in the bathroom. Out goes the gross calf.
So I am still sitting in my own stench, forcing the last stubborn stew from my body, when the fat, milky, gross calf comes back in.
“Are you still in here?”
“Did you see me leave?” I am not sure else I am supposed to say. I wonder if her bowels were threatening her, too.
Eventually, I get up to leave the stench, and turn around to flush. And there I see what came from me. Not a pleasant sight, to be sure. Caked onto the bowl, just above the water line, is a nice nasty splotch of shit, like brown mashed potatoes—homemade, given the impressive lumps. It was like the shit exploded from me and went everywhere. Not down, but out, to the right and left and everywhere in between. The equivalent of G-force power. Nasty.
The toilet was more of the residential type as opposed to those industrial ones that seem to able to suck anything down. No this one was nice and sedate. I flushed and the gentle, creek stream of water flowed leisurely down over the shitty lump barely taking anything with it. The shitty lump was too strong for the flow. I flushed again. Stubborn was the lumpy shit, and it did not move.
There was no way I was washing the shitty lump from the bowl—that was the cleaning lady’s job. Besides, it’s always nice to leave presents.
I left and smiled at the vile old fat lady, who was languishing outside the door. I can only imagine her reaction as she looked at what I left her. First the smell, like whiffing ammonia and having to violently jerk your head away from it, then the awesome, shitty lump. I giggled all the way to the bridge thinking about it.
Report From Feltlines--Stratosphere
Stratosphere
Buy-In 60
30ish players
4-way chop 319
So I have wanted to explore some of the other tournaments around Vegas, but, of course, some basic criteria must be satisfied from me to even consider. I had been looking at the Stratosphere tourneys for a while and made the decision last Sunday.
I did some initial research and knew that the starting chip stack was 5,000 for $60—acceptable. They did have an ante, but that forced bet happened well into the tournament, so I was not terribly irritated by it.
Generally, I played real well and picked off a few pots with marginal hands. In my assessment, taking down pots, at least a few, with marginal hands is key to getting to the money. You can’t do it often, sooner or later some plays back at you, but it works intermittently. I usually look when the blind increases are coming and take a stab in late position if the pot has not been significantly raised. And it worked a few times.
Key Hands
I assessed the play of seat 10—let’s call him Superfly. I was in a hand, big one, later and the information I collected helped me out. He was cream colored with cool shades and a loose afro--Superfly. He was in a hand with the only other player at the table that I considered a threat. Superfly raised and the player in the big blind called. The flop: 10,8,9.
A fairly dangerous flop; big blind checks and so does Superfly. The next card is a 6—making any seven for the straight. Of course, the straight could have been realized from the flop. At any rate, the big blind bets, Superfly raises, and the big blind goes all-in. Superfly calls and both turn over their hands. The big blind hand A,7 and Superfly had 8,8. So Superfly allowed the big blind to catch for free. Superfly flopped trips and checked. I think this is a terrible play. Now Superfly is way behind as a result. The river comes a 9—Superfly rivers a 9. Amazingly lucky. The big blind was 70% to win after the turn. But Superfly's spectacularly poor play was not penalized--it was rewarded. He rivered a full house.
Even if Superfly was concerned about the straight on the flop, he still needs to bet. He needs to bet the size of the pot, at least. The bet probably would have told him where he was in the hand. If he got re-raised, then he needs to worry; if just a call, he can assume the big blind is drawing, generally. Trickier players would perhaps smooth call to extract more chips if they flopped the nuts outright. But even if one flops the straight, there is still much to worry about—namely a better straight coming. Still, though, Superfly must bet there.
After Superfly lucked out, I glanced at the German woman sitting next to me, and she gave me a furrowed brow look. “I did not get that either,” I said to her. She was a dealer in Germany and played a straightforward game. I outplayed her several times in the tournament. But this information was helpful.
Fast forward to a few hands later and boom, I get A, Q suited in late position. I raise and Superfly from the blind calls. Hmmm, with what is he calling, I wonder.
Flop is K,10, 5; so I miss, but still have a draw. He bets, 800 and I call hoping for a jack. I think he has Big Slick, but not sure. Turn is an Ace; he bets like 900 or something, I immediately come over the top, all-in, putting the pressure to Superfly, and he eventually folds. He thought about it; he must have caught a little piece or was on a draw. It didn’t matter; he was not a solid player and was lucky to still be playing. When the Ace came, I had top pair and still had a straight working, so I thought it was a great opportunity to put on the pressure. If he calls, and I am behind, I still have a chance—a slim one, perhaps.
Although the play worked, in retrospect, the quick all-in by me was an indication of the strength, or lack thereof, of my hand. Quick bets usually indicate weakness, and so it did here. A little weakness, not pussy weakness, but still I need to be aware of this. Superfly did not reveal his hand, so I have no idea what he had. Didn’t matter though, I outplayed him.
Later in the tournament, I still continued to pick off several blinds from the small and big blinds as well as from the button. If I was on the button, in one of the blinds and no raises were in front of me, I raised or bet the flop every time. This chipped me up, a lot. It helped me when I got unlucky in a hand, since I still had chips.
Guy Lafleur
I was next to this player, let’s call him Guy Lafleur, because he was a hockey player from Quebec. He was in the minor leagues. At any rate, he had pushed all-in a few times and was on tilt. So he goes all-in, and I look down at A,Q. Given his loose play, I quickly called. Guy had K,9. I am of course a favorite here, but he gets lucky, per usual—what a bunch of shit—that hurt and left me a little short, but not too bad because of my earlier blind stealing. He hits a 9, a fucking 9.
Sweet Payback; or Fuck Canada and Spain
Eventually, the blinds and antes shrink me into a small stack approach. I went dead for a spell. So, I get A,J and shove all-in. Everyone folds. Next I get A,Kd and shove all-in. Two times in a row and everyone folds. Now I have some chips. Skip one hand, and I get A,A. Normally, I bet simply raise with this hand, but because I had to moving all-in, I assume someone is going to look me up, so I push all-in. Guy immediately calls with his French/Spanish accent. “I call.”
He turns over Big Slick. I have dominating hand, over 90% to win. This is the same fucker who should have been long gone by me. A,Q against K,9 and he wins—bullshit. So the flop comes J,10, 8. Guy has a goddamn straight draw. For once, the odds held up and I double up. So owed me, and I told him that. This double up allowed me to fuck the Tight German.
The Tight German: I was in two hands with the German and completely dominated her. I would have liked to do that sexually with her, but no luck. She was tall, skinny with juicy tits. Well, I don’t mean lactating, just ample, fresh, bouncy, fun, ripe. You get the idea.
She was an straight A,B,C player. So late in the tournament, she raises. I am in the big blind and look at 8,8s. Most of the time, this is a raise, but the raise from the Tight German slows me down; I simply call. I hope to spike a set and take all her chips. I really think she has a big pair. The flop is nothing: 4,5,9 or something like that. I am out of position and can’t bet into her raise, so I check. She checks behind me—ah ha. She’s weak—big slick—and missed. The next card is a 10, and I bet. She folds and turns over her big slick. Had she bet after the flop when I just checked, she likely would have take down the pot right there. Probably.
Same type of thing happened again with us. I had a middle pair—6,6 this time-and called her raise. The flop brings a 6 for me. I hit a set, but because the board had straight and flush implications, I couldn’t afford to slow play, so I bet. She folds.
The Tight German gets knocked out along with another player. She had 10,10s in the blind and was against A,J and A, nothing, 6 or something. Of course, one of the two aces left comes, and two are gone. Now four are left and the payouts are to three. Chop, should I suggest a chop?
I am in good chip standing, 2nd on the table, and Guy is seriously low. I almost decided against asking. But only three places, and although I was sitting okay, I knew that all-ins by the short stacks was coming and at that point, it is almost luck. No real poker playing going on. Third place was 126, 2nd 250, 1st was 774. A four-way chop was 319. So I agreed, but think that I should have waited until Guy went out, then asked for the chop. I just like to collect money when I can. With my stellar luck, I would bust out in 4th place, which has happened to me several times—I mean 5-6 times that I can remember. So 319 sounded good, and the tournament was over.
Buy-In 60
30ish players
4-way chop 319
So I have wanted to explore some of the other tournaments around Vegas, but, of course, some basic criteria must be satisfied from me to even consider. I had been looking at the Stratosphere tourneys for a while and made the decision last Sunday.
I did some initial research and knew that the starting chip stack was 5,000 for $60—acceptable. They did have an ante, but that forced bet happened well into the tournament, so I was not terribly irritated by it.
Generally, I played real well and picked off a few pots with marginal hands. In my assessment, taking down pots, at least a few, with marginal hands is key to getting to the money. You can’t do it often, sooner or later some plays back at you, but it works intermittently. I usually look when the blind increases are coming and take a stab in late position if the pot has not been significantly raised. And it worked a few times.
Key Hands
I assessed the play of seat 10—let’s call him Superfly. I was in a hand, big one, later and the information I collected helped me out. He was cream colored with cool shades and a loose afro--Superfly. He was in a hand with the only other player at the table that I considered a threat. Superfly raised and the player in the big blind called. The flop: 10,8,9.
A fairly dangerous flop; big blind checks and so does Superfly. The next card is a 6—making any seven for the straight. Of course, the straight could have been realized from the flop. At any rate, the big blind bets, Superfly raises, and the big blind goes all-in. Superfly calls and both turn over their hands. The big blind hand A,7 and Superfly had 8,8. So Superfly allowed the big blind to catch for free. Superfly flopped trips and checked. I think this is a terrible play. Now Superfly is way behind as a result. The river comes a 9—Superfly rivers a 9. Amazingly lucky. The big blind was 70% to win after the turn. But Superfly's spectacularly poor play was not penalized--it was rewarded. He rivered a full house.
Even if Superfly was concerned about the straight on the flop, he still needs to bet. He needs to bet the size of the pot, at least. The bet probably would have told him where he was in the hand. If he got re-raised, then he needs to worry; if just a call, he can assume the big blind is drawing, generally. Trickier players would perhaps smooth call to extract more chips if they flopped the nuts outright. But even if one flops the straight, there is still much to worry about—namely a better straight coming. Still, though, Superfly must bet there.
After Superfly lucked out, I glanced at the German woman sitting next to me, and she gave me a furrowed brow look. “I did not get that either,” I said to her. She was a dealer in Germany and played a straightforward game. I outplayed her several times in the tournament. But this information was helpful.
Fast forward to a few hands later and boom, I get A, Q suited in late position. I raise and Superfly from the blind calls. Hmmm, with what is he calling, I wonder.
Flop is K,10, 5; so I miss, but still have a draw. He bets, 800 and I call hoping for a jack. I think he has Big Slick, but not sure. Turn is an Ace; he bets like 900 or something, I immediately come over the top, all-in, putting the pressure to Superfly, and he eventually folds. He thought about it; he must have caught a little piece or was on a draw. It didn’t matter; he was not a solid player and was lucky to still be playing. When the Ace came, I had top pair and still had a straight working, so I thought it was a great opportunity to put on the pressure. If he calls, and I am behind, I still have a chance—a slim one, perhaps.
Although the play worked, in retrospect, the quick all-in by me was an indication of the strength, or lack thereof, of my hand. Quick bets usually indicate weakness, and so it did here. A little weakness, not pussy weakness, but still I need to be aware of this. Superfly did not reveal his hand, so I have no idea what he had. Didn’t matter though, I outplayed him.
Later in the tournament, I still continued to pick off several blinds from the small and big blinds as well as from the button. If I was on the button, in one of the blinds and no raises were in front of me, I raised or bet the flop every time. This chipped me up, a lot. It helped me when I got unlucky in a hand, since I still had chips.
Guy Lafleur
I was next to this player, let’s call him Guy Lafleur, because he was a hockey player from Quebec. He was in the minor leagues. At any rate, he had pushed all-in a few times and was on tilt. So he goes all-in, and I look down at A,Q. Given his loose play, I quickly called. Guy had K,9. I am of course a favorite here, but he gets lucky, per usual—what a bunch of shit—that hurt and left me a little short, but not too bad because of my earlier blind stealing. He hits a 9, a fucking 9.
Sweet Payback; or Fuck Canada and Spain
Eventually, the blinds and antes shrink me into a small stack approach. I went dead for a spell. So, I get A,J and shove all-in. Everyone folds. Next I get A,Kd and shove all-in. Two times in a row and everyone folds. Now I have some chips. Skip one hand, and I get A,A. Normally, I bet simply raise with this hand, but because I had to moving all-in, I assume someone is going to look me up, so I push all-in. Guy immediately calls with his French/Spanish accent. “I call.”
He turns over Big Slick. I have dominating hand, over 90% to win. This is the same fucker who should have been long gone by me. A,Q against K,9 and he wins—bullshit. So the flop comes J,10, 8. Guy has a goddamn straight draw. For once, the odds held up and I double up. So owed me, and I told him that. This double up allowed me to fuck the Tight German.
The Tight German: I was in two hands with the German and completely dominated her. I would have liked to do that sexually with her, but no luck. She was tall, skinny with juicy tits. Well, I don’t mean lactating, just ample, fresh, bouncy, fun, ripe. You get the idea.
She was an straight A,B,C player. So late in the tournament, she raises. I am in the big blind and look at 8,8s. Most of the time, this is a raise, but the raise from the Tight German slows me down; I simply call. I hope to spike a set and take all her chips. I really think she has a big pair. The flop is nothing: 4,5,9 or something like that. I am out of position and can’t bet into her raise, so I check. She checks behind me—ah ha. She’s weak—big slick—and missed. The next card is a 10, and I bet. She folds and turns over her big slick. Had she bet after the flop when I just checked, she likely would have take down the pot right there. Probably.
Same type of thing happened again with us. I had a middle pair—6,6 this time-and called her raise. The flop brings a 6 for me. I hit a set, but because the board had straight and flush implications, I couldn’t afford to slow play, so I bet. She folds.
The Tight German gets knocked out along with another player. She had 10,10s in the blind and was against A,J and A, nothing, 6 or something. Of course, one of the two aces left comes, and two are gone. Now four are left and the payouts are to three. Chop, should I suggest a chop?
I am in good chip standing, 2nd on the table, and Guy is seriously low. I almost decided against asking. But only three places, and although I was sitting okay, I knew that all-ins by the short stacks was coming and at that point, it is almost luck. No real poker playing going on. Third place was 126, 2nd 250, 1st was 774. A four-way chop was 319. So I agreed, but think that I should have waited until Guy went out, then asked for the chop. I just like to collect money when I can. With my stellar luck, I would bust out in 4th place, which has happened to me several times—I mean 5-6 times that I can remember. So 319 sounded good, and the tournament was over.
Report From Feltlines-Sahara Tourney
Sahra 11 am tournament
52 Players.
5th Place, but I still got fucking screwed.
It’s been a while since my last report. I have cashed in 2 out 3 of the tournaments that I have not yet to report. And my cashing streak over the last six tournaments, 4/6 or 67%. Not too bad. Any at this early morning tournament, I played a fairly ABC game, and it got me to the money. However, I still think that I need to mix it up a lot more to be really successful. I did steal a pot early in the tournament, but slowed down after pocket 3,3s almost killed me. I was forced to play kind of short stack as a result of my crazy pocket pair play.
Early in the tournament and position, I look down at 3,3s and fire off a 400 raise. Blinds were 50/100, I think. Three callers behind me call the 400 raise, and that really sucks my dick, I think. The flop was terrible for me, just terrible. A,K,10—two were suited, if I remember correctly. I am first to act, and I should have checked and given up to any raise, but I thought I’d get cute. Thought, I’d mix it up. So I fire off a bet of 1,200 and got two callers. Fuck, I think. How fucking stupid was this play? Real stupid. One of those players hit the flop, no question, but I thought that maybe with the straight out on the board, I might be able to scare them out of the pot, all the callers. But now I have two behind me and I just donkeyed off 1,200. Man that was stupid because there is no way I can call any bets. The turn was a Q, which was an even better card to sink my stupid, piece-of-shit-threes. So I checked with my testicles shrinking under the stupidity of my play and sure enough, a bet came and I checked out. However, despite this donkey play, I did recover and made it to the money.
So now I was short stacked and playing that way. In fact, I think that is the strongest part of my game now-playing short stacked. I was in the small blind, and I looked down at pocket 7,7. As you know from my earlier posts, I play middle pair 90% of the time one way. “All-in, bitch,” I think as I push all my chips forward. The big folds and the button hems-and-haws but eventually calls. So I flip over my sevens, and he turns over J,10. What? Jack fucking ten! What an idiot. Honestly that was in my opinion, a horrible call, even though he was roughly a coin flip. He had no way of knowing and at best, as was the case here, he was a coin flop--at worst a much bigger dog. He did not have a made hand. My hand did hold up and the Mexican went on tilt, moving all-in the next several hands—he was eventually picked off, like apples from a tree.
The Tattooed Swede: There was a Swede at the table with a tattoo that ran the length of his right arm. He was wearing a tank top with a stylish leather vest over it. I assumed that he was a fisting gay sadomasochist, expect he had a roomy girl chat with him about marital-esque things: money, or the room key. His tattoo was one of those tribal designs that resembled meandering lines coming to a gradual point. Fucking stupid tattoos, if you ask me. To what tribe does this guy belong—the Vikings. I knew he was from Sweden because someone asked him. He looked like a Swede, too. Thin, pointy nose, pale skin, etc.
This guy was so lucky. However, he failed to raise pocket pairs and made bad calls all night. For example, he did not raise QQ and allowed several players into the pot. The board had flush and straight possibilities, but no one in the hand hit. He simply called down to the river. He did not pre-flop raise. Another time he flopped Broadway and checked all the way down, even though flush possibilities were present.
The Tattooed Swede had a huge stack initially. But he eventually busted out. He made several terrible calls, and it eventually caught up with him. He did, however, make it far and doubled up several times. He was like fucking herpes or something. Would not go the fuck away.
Chipping up but not for Less: At specific levels, the house chips up the chip stacks. For example, they will remove the 25/green chips; next the 100/white chips and sp on. The problem is that getting chipped up makes your stack seem small, like one’s pool chilled penis. Anyway, I thought it a good idea to count my stack and not panic—still the same amount. It seems as though when I have less chips, because there are not as many physical chips—not as many to shuffle, etc, that this causes me to push in with marginal hands when I really did not need to. It causes me to play with a short stack mentality unnecessarily. This awareness helped keep me in the tournament, even though I wanted to push for all my chips a few times, but really did not need to.
A Key hand late helped me to the money—it pushed me there. I am the small blind, and I have K/3. A shit hand really but because I am already committed, I call the big blind and there are three to the pot. If there are no raisers, I always complete the big blind bet from the small blind—always no matter what I have.
It was late in the tournament with, say, 12/13 people left. Flop is K,4,5-last two hearts, so I look down to my to pair of Kinks, nothing 3 and push all-in. I am first to act, so I want to push all draws out and hope that someone else does not have a better king—a little risky. The big blind folds, but the long hair, dirty/crooked teeth, from, I assume, the Dirty South, debates. He is the kind of guy that develops pools of small bubbly salvia at the corners of his him—Yum. He calls with A,6 hearts. I wish I could remember exactly what the amount was, but he had more chips. I think it might have been 12,000 or something. So a nice bet, and it really crippled him.
After the flop, I am a coin flip, and I think “heads, let it come heads.” He has many outs—all the hearts, plus any Ace-12 outs. I think it was the right call for him to make at that time. I won the coin flip and doubled up. Sometimes, you just can’t get unlucky. I was good at that until we got to the final table.
The Money By Attrition: So finally I made it to the final table and counted my chips -30,000. Not bad. Enough to play with here. However, I went completely card dead and could not do much. And at this point, antes are being collected. So a few circuits around the table and I am getting a little short. I can’t take chances because there is always all-in action pre-flop or on the flop. Everyone is pushing. I outlast a few players and eventually get to the money. Attrition. The money by attrition.
So eventually, I get to the point that I have to push since my chip stack was too small. I was in the money, but really wanted to move up. First place was 1,000 bucks. For a $40 tournament, that’s pretty good with only 52 players and second was 700. But, alas, no fucking luck. What can you do?
I look down at A,4 with just the button left to act and push all-in. The big blind calls with his big stack. The right call, but sucks for me. He turns over K,Q off. A good enough hand to call, given his chip stack. Of course, a queen comes and sends me home in 5th place. One fifty for a 40$ tournaments is nothing to sneeze at, but still, still would have liked to move up.
52 Players.
5th Place, but I still got fucking screwed.
It’s been a while since my last report. I have cashed in 2 out 3 of the tournaments that I have not yet to report. And my cashing streak over the last six tournaments, 4/6 or 67%. Not too bad. Any at this early morning tournament, I played a fairly ABC game, and it got me to the money. However, I still think that I need to mix it up a lot more to be really successful. I did steal a pot early in the tournament, but slowed down after pocket 3,3s almost killed me. I was forced to play kind of short stack as a result of my crazy pocket pair play.
Early in the tournament and position, I look down at 3,3s and fire off a 400 raise. Blinds were 50/100, I think. Three callers behind me call the 400 raise, and that really sucks my dick, I think. The flop was terrible for me, just terrible. A,K,10—two were suited, if I remember correctly. I am first to act, and I should have checked and given up to any raise, but I thought I’d get cute. Thought, I’d mix it up. So I fire off a bet of 1,200 and got two callers. Fuck, I think. How fucking stupid was this play? Real stupid. One of those players hit the flop, no question, but I thought that maybe with the straight out on the board, I might be able to scare them out of the pot, all the callers. But now I have two behind me and I just donkeyed off 1,200. Man that was stupid because there is no way I can call any bets. The turn was a Q, which was an even better card to sink my stupid, piece-of-shit-threes. So I checked with my testicles shrinking under the stupidity of my play and sure enough, a bet came and I checked out. However, despite this donkey play, I did recover and made it to the money.
So now I was short stacked and playing that way. In fact, I think that is the strongest part of my game now-playing short stacked. I was in the small blind, and I looked down at pocket 7,7. As you know from my earlier posts, I play middle pair 90% of the time one way. “All-in, bitch,” I think as I push all my chips forward. The big folds and the button hems-and-haws but eventually calls. So I flip over my sevens, and he turns over J,10. What? Jack fucking ten! What an idiot. Honestly that was in my opinion, a horrible call, even though he was roughly a coin flip. He had no way of knowing and at best, as was the case here, he was a coin flop--at worst a much bigger dog. He did not have a made hand. My hand did hold up and the Mexican went on tilt, moving all-in the next several hands—he was eventually picked off, like apples from a tree.
The Tattooed Swede: There was a Swede at the table with a tattoo that ran the length of his right arm. He was wearing a tank top with a stylish leather vest over it. I assumed that he was a fisting gay sadomasochist, expect he had a roomy girl chat with him about marital-esque things: money, or the room key. His tattoo was one of those tribal designs that resembled meandering lines coming to a gradual point. Fucking stupid tattoos, if you ask me. To what tribe does this guy belong—the Vikings. I knew he was from Sweden because someone asked him. He looked like a Swede, too. Thin, pointy nose, pale skin, etc.
This guy was so lucky. However, he failed to raise pocket pairs and made bad calls all night. For example, he did not raise QQ and allowed several players into the pot. The board had flush and straight possibilities, but no one in the hand hit. He simply called down to the river. He did not pre-flop raise. Another time he flopped Broadway and checked all the way down, even though flush possibilities were present.
The Tattooed Swede had a huge stack initially. But he eventually busted out. He made several terrible calls, and it eventually caught up with him. He did, however, make it far and doubled up several times. He was like fucking herpes or something. Would not go the fuck away.
Chipping up but not for Less: At specific levels, the house chips up the chip stacks. For example, they will remove the 25/green chips; next the 100/white chips and sp on. The problem is that getting chipped up makes your stack seem small, like one’s pool chilled penis. Anyway, I thought it a good idea to count my stack and not panic—still the same amount. It seems as though when I have less chips, because there are not as many physical chips—not as many to shuffle, etc, that this causes me to push in with marginal hands when I really did not need to. It causes me to play with a short stack mentality unnecessarily. This awareness helped keep me in the tournament, even though I wanted to push for all my chips a few times, but really did not need to.
A Key hand late helped me to the money—it pushed me there. I am the small blind, and I have K/3. A shit hand really but because I am already committed, I call the big blind and there are three to the pot. If there are no raisers, I always complete the big blind bet from the small blind—always no matter what I have.
It was late in the tournament with, say, 12/13 people left. Flop is K,4,5-last two hearts, so I look down to my to pair of Kinks, nothing 3 and push all-in. I am first to act, so I want to push all draws out and hope that someone else does not have a better king—a little risky. The big blind folds, but the long hair, dirty/crooked teeth, from, I assume, the Dirty South, debates. He is the kind of guy that develops pools of small bubbly salvia at the corners of his him—Yum. He calls with A,6 hearts. I wish I could remember exactly what the amount was, but he had more chips. I think it might have been 12,000 or something. So a nice bet, and it really crippled him.
After the flop, I am a coin flip, and I think “heads, let it come heads.” He has many outs—all the hearts, plus any Ace-12 outs. I think it was the right call for him to make at that time. I won the coin flip and doubled up. Sometimes, you just can’t get unlucky. I was good at that until we got to the final table.
The Money By Attrition: So finally I made it to the final table and counted my chips -30,000. Not bad. Enough to play with here. However, I went completely card dead and could not do much. And at this point, antes are being collected. So a few circuits around the table and I am getting a little short. I can’t take chances because there is always all-in action pre-flop or on the flop. Everyone is pushing. I outlast a few players and eventually get to the money. Attrition. The money by attrition.
So eventually, I get to the point that I have to push since my chip stack was too small. I was in the money, but really wanted to move up. First place was 1,000 bucks. For a $40 tournament, that’s pretty good with only 52 players and second was 700. But, alas, no fucking luck. What can you do?
I look down at A,4 with just the button left to act and push all-in. The big blind calls with his big stack. The right call, but sucks for me. He turns over K,Q off. A good enough hand to call, given his chip stack. Of course, a queen comes and sends me home in 5th place. One fifty for a 40$ tournaments is nothing to sneeze at, but still, still would have liked to move up.
Small Poker Tournament-Fiesta
The Fiesta 6 PM Wednesday tournament
40 Buy-In
2nd Place
This is a tournament I play in often, simply because it is near my house. I’d rate it a B-. My main concern with this tournament is the antes, which begin after the third level. That is too soon, I think. Otherwise, for a cheap tournament, it is generally pretty solid. The starting chip stack is 6,000; real nice for a cheaper tournament. Generally, the cheaper tournaments, say 25-50$ or so, offer players 1,500-3,000 in starting chips. I never play in those tournaments, because the chip stack is too low to really play solid poker. If blinds are 25-50 starting, (very standard), within an hour the blinds are 100-200. Any raise in these “short stack” tournaments means either you will be crippled for the rest of the tournament, or you need to simply push all-in. So 6,000 in starting chips is solid, but, of course, the antes mitigate that slightly.
I have played in this tournament many times and do well. I have cashed, chopped and won it more than once. I’d say, (I have only recently started recording all my poker stats) that I get to the money here about 30-40% of the time. This is a guess, but there was one stretch were I cashed it 3 out of 4 times or 4 out of 5 times. I used to play it a lot. So, I feel pretty comfortable and because it’s away from the Strip; many of the players are familiar faces. So I have a fairly solid read on most of them. The players are old and older. No women, just retirees and the occasion younger person playing for whatever reason. My presence brought the median age down to, say 55, from 60.
Here are a couple of key hands that allowed me to, once again, get to the money—in this case, 2nd place. (I was better than the winner, but that’s the way things go.) Early in the tournament, I was in the big blind. There were two or three callers, but no raises. I look down at 7,7. As you know from my last post, I play middle pair a certain way—sometimes it hurts me and other times, not so much. So, I push all-in. I have a hand, and I will “go to war” with a hand. The button hems and haws about the call, so I believe that he has Ace/Big. At least that’s what I assume he has; otherwise he’s call more quickly.
Eventually, he calls with A,7 suited, a fairly poor call, I think, although, because of the fact that his hand is suited, I am only 64% to win here. The caller I have noticed by playing with him that he takes chances far more often than other players. At any rate, the flop was no good and my 7,7s held up, although I had to dodge a spade on the river.
There were two hands, I played back-to-back the same way and it had the effect of slowing the play down—I loved doing this. I was in the cut-off or early position, and I look down at A,A, American Airlines, so I raise to 300. It was early in the tournament and the 300 represented a fairly strong raise. I was not happy when four called behind me. I have poor position. So the flop is 5,4,7 rainbow. Not really a scary flop considering the pre-flop raise. I mean, most 6,3s or 6,8s will usually fold against a raise. Since I was first to act, though, I check, planning to hammer anyone who bets. This is kind of scary, because I could be giving a free card to some players, but I am sure someone will take a shot at the top. The next player also checks, then a bet of 900. A fold, then to me. Awesome, I come over the top for an all-in. I love check raising. A fold, then the initial bettor looks at his hand, not at all happy about my move. He folds and I get 900 extra chips from this hand. I am sure that if I push all-in, he folds and if I simply bet, he might just call. I am not sure what he has, but no free cards is my rule--never.
In the very next hand, I am in the big blind and I have Big Slick. I raise from the blind and get heads up with the Secret Asian Man (I know the song is Secret Agent Man, but this is funnier.) The flop is 5,K,8. I check again, then SAM, bets and you guessed it, I come over the top for an all-in move, putting the squeeze to him. He thinks about the situation and even shows me his hand to “get a read on me,” he claims. I wish I would’ve have guessed his hand first. He calls, claiming he got a read—maybe he did. He also had Big Slick, and we split. However, these two plays made players slow down a bit against me. If they were in a hand with me, they knew it could be for all their chips.
One hand really helped me and knocked out two players. I am at the final table, but the tournament only pays to four places. So, I am still a little ways from the money. I am on the button and look down at A,10 off. The were no one in the hand except the blinds—at this point there were also a nice amount in the pot because of the antes—200 per player at this point. So I bet, like 8,000, when blinds are 1,000-2,000. The small goes all-in and so does the big—shit. As I assess the situation, I consider that a) it was only 3,000 more to call into a pot that had around 15,000 in and b) both players were short stacked and had no move other than to call all-in. The antes were eating them up. So because of the situation, I called hoping for the best. The hands were A,5, A,4 and mine A,10 all off suit. Shit, I am much better than I thought; however I am only 53% to win with the other hands are roughly A,5 21% and A,4 at 17%. I win the hand with a straight on the river, and this is a nice chip stack I rake in.
Basically, I wait it out, and eventually make the money, but with a short stack. It looks like I am destined for 4th or 3rd place. But then all the remaining players, expect me are all-in. Two of the players are knocked out and I just move up to 2nd place, but I am against a monster stack. So I was heads up was really short stacked, against a monstrous chip stack and really made a go of it for a brief moment. For example, first to hands two back-to-back all ins and folds, I have some chips. However, the big stack had a monster stack and even a double up did not alter the balance much. I look down at A,7 off suit, which is a great hand heads up. The basic medium hand in heads up is Q,7, so I am pushing with any Q, really. The big stack called with Q,5. It really was a no-brainer, for him as he was already in for 8,000 and I had about 15000 more to call. The flop teased me. 10,6,7. Whoo! I hit a 7. Nice maybe I can come back. I had jokingly asked if he wanted to chop when we got heads up. The next card was a Q and that was it. Second place. Not bad considering, I was sort of short stacked with 5 players left. The tourney paid out 4 places, there is only 35 players, give or take. Three tables with a few alternates. The table agreed that we’d pay the bubble his entry fee. But 2nd place. I am going to play in a higher entry fee tournament sometime this summer. The Venetian, the Wynn and Cesar’s Place all have deep stack tournaments. That’s my goal, sooner or later.
Romanticism and the Open Road
I have grown up believing in a romantic view of the open road and driving long distances. You know that prevailing idea-the open road, wind in your hair, capriciously going where you choose, meeting interesting and provocative people, seeing cool things-that horseshit view. Perhaps, “On the Road” and “Thelma and Louise” colored that perception; although admittedly I never read “On The Road” and it’s not in my queue and “Thelma and Louise” had, how shall I put it, not a great ending, but nevertheless still this romantic view of driving across this country prevailed in my thoughts. That is, however, until I did-several God damn times.
It is my intention to clear up this perception, using my most recent experience to help elucidate those who may otherwise be ill-informed. You see, I have driven from Las Vegas to Michigan and back; prior to that I did the Michigan to New Mexico and back-Michigan to Phoenix and back; New Mexico to North Carolina and back. Fuck, that’s a lot of driving. Yes, I do fly too. My experience is vast and unparalleled.
Let me be perfectly clear, nothing, and I mean nothing, is romantic or more generally, remotely pleasurable in driving long distances. In fact, it is a horrendous experience, replete with an aching ass and back, immense boredom, punctuated with bouts of sheer terror or agitation, and feeling generally shitty. Quite a confluence of emotions. Let me explain:
Aching Back and Ass:
Sitting for long periods of time exerts a fair amount of pressure on the ass and tends to cut off the circulation in the legs. In fact, I heard somewhere that people should walk around on long flights to encourage circulation in the legs, lest serious medical conditions develop, like blood clots. So one tries to lean on one ass check for a few hours, then shift over to the other ass check, but this is hardly effective.
The back, more specifically the spine, is not supposed to be in the C-shape that invariable it is in while seated-it should be in an S-shape. Hours after hours of seating makes the back ache and I swear I could feel my kidneys throbbing, though that might have been more to the road diet than posture—perhaps a combination of the two. (More on the road diet later.) But, one might say, you may remedy this with pillows and other aids in an attempt to alleviate the pressure and ameliorate the poster. Indeed, I did employ the use of pillows in an attempt to force my back into the C-Shape that it should be in normally. That has the effect of making one look like you have a stick jammed up your ass. Oh what the other road companions must have thought driving past, to see a very erect driver, head almost hitting the roof of the car. “What the fuck is up with that guy,” they must have thought. But still, one cannot be in that state for too long; it is not comfortable.
The shifting from ass check to ass check does little to succor, so one must be more adventurous. At varying points, depending largely on the terrain ahead, I would stretch my right leg out from the driver’s side foot area, across the stick and console into the passenger’s side foot area. This allows, as I pointed out, to stretch at least one leg, but also to air out the balls—a brief respite of relief in an otherwise hot and sticky environment, if you know what I mean. But this creates problems. Cruise control is nice, but of course, the other driver’s incessantly conspire against using cruise control by cutting in front of you just before you pass them, as they try to get around that semi. Most of the Interstate is but two lanes, thus drivers are forever cutting in front of you, as you are happily cruising at 80, right foot in the passenger’s side, balls airing comfortably. This happens all the time. Try quickly swinging your foot over to apply the brakes lest you smash into the fucking Toyota that has the bumper sticker “Bush/Cheney: Real American Heroes.” Double fucking assholes—cutting in front of me and participating wrongly in the democratic process. However, after several near misses, I did become adroit using my left foot to handle the braking and what not.
Immense Boredom:
I have long invited and recommended to those in similar driving plights to use “books on tape” to assuage the sheer boredom that accompanies hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of driving. Sometimes, it can help pass the time. But that has limits and if you select a boring book, well boring and more boring does little to pass the time. I had Moby Dick and, errr, despite my literary education, thought the book indefatigably boring. Christ, on and on about different whales. Shit, come to the point, Melville. Despite a noble effort, could not finish. Thus, I was left to the radio.
I am amazed at how many religious and conservative talk shows there are. These people hate everything not white and cornbread feed. Jesus was there with me in the car, if I ascribed to the dogma; all I had to do was open up my heart. I did open up, but let loose a fart instead. Jesus smells like shit, methinks.
At times, nothing could be heard on the radio-AM or FM. I hit scan and let it run until something happened. Through large parts of Utah especially, nothing could be heard. I would think the Mormons could penetrate every where, industrious as they are.
But mostly there was nothing to do and nothing to listen to. Thus, thoughts were all that was left. Mine being unimaginative and pedestrian, I was left to sheer boredom. So bored dental work would not have induced me out of the ennui.
Bouts of sheer terror and agitation:
Emotions, as with most things, are often more clearly rendered and comprehended when immediately juxtaposed with its closely-related opposite relative. Thus, while humming along at 82, using but one finger to control the vehicle, mental activity gone into a reptilian lethargy, a truck casually meanders into your lane, I fully appreciated the terror of becoming a driving accident statistic.
But not all situations were as dramatically illustrated. Consider this, for example: after driving all day and into the night, I thought I saw little creatures on the side of the highway and occasion run onto the road. Sometimes, it was the simple reflection of the car’s headlights and my brain filling in the rest. So I would slow down, swerve over or say, “What the hell did I hit.” But nothing was there, ever.
What’s ever more thrilling is driving through the mountains at night. All you can do is put your hands at 10 and 2 and hug the inside lane. Signs that say “Exit for Runaway Trucks” do nothing to comfort the weary driver.
Agitation comes into play almost immediately following terror. For instance, when the meandering moron moves into my lane forcing me to left-footedly jam on the brakes, I discover agitation instantaneously following the terror. Of course, sometimes the agitation is more general in its application and development.
There are those who wish to drive in extreme excess of the speed limit. The 90 plus people. As for my 4-cylinder, that is not in my capabilities, but even if it were, I would not go but 7 or 8 miles above the speed limit. Old fucking man, you think, get the lead out. I have been labeled such. Yet, that seems sufficient and keeps me from getting speeding tickets. But as semi-trucks most go 55 to 60 and me wanting to hum along at 82, airing my balls out, oscillating between left and right ass check, it does not take long to see that on a 2-lane highway, problems can develop.
When I came upon a slower moving vehicle and moved lanes to get around him, inevitably I would look up to see some Mustang or Land Rover in my read view mirror riding my ass. Of course, I would not release my cruise control, so overtaking the slower truck, did not happen quickly. Slowly I would get around, but at the cruise control’s pace, this could take a full minute or maybe more. All the while, getting my ass eaten out by the fucking Mustang.
Feeling Generally Shitty:
Feeling generally shitty should be no surprise given all the joys that driving across country affords one. However, there is more to feeling generally shitty then an aching back and a sweating ass crack. Let’s review my road diet: McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s and Taco Bell. Throw in some coffee and donuts from the gas station and no wonder I felt great.
Super Size Me no doubt. Let’s see day one:
Breakfast: Mickey D’s breakfast burrito combo—which tasted like shit
Lunch/Dinner: A Baconnator combo from Wendy’s. A had a diet soda, though. I could begin feeling my arteries clogging. Plus coffee.
Day Two:
Breakfast: Burger King-breakfast burrito combo. It also tasted like shit.
Lunch: I thought, healthy, eat something good for you. Taco bell soft taco supreme combo meal, with a Mexi-melt to boot. Wolfed down almost before I got onto the Interstate.
Dinner: 10 piece McChicken nuggets with a double cheeseburger, but no fries, fucker. Fries and bad for you and well, this was a little, feeble attempt at being healthy.
Needless to say I suppose, after this road diet, the Tracer’s cabin was, errr, gaseous to noxious.
It is difficult to eat right on the road. Convenience and ubiquity are strong influences when you are trying to drive 2,000 miles in a couple of days. Being delayed while you eat a Chicken Cesar salad only means longer time on the road. Shit no. “I have a number 3 with a diet,” so I can be back on the road with my aching back, sweating ass, sheer boredom and fucking asshole drivers. Terrific.
Of course, with a diet like that finding the appropriate place to vent all that healthy food became an immediate need/then uncomfortable reality. Thank goodness for the clean Mikey D’s somewhere in Utah.
How Goddamn romantic is that? You tell me.
It is my intention to clear up this perception, using my most recent experience to help elucidate those who may otherwise be ill-informed. You see, I have driven from Las Vegas to Michigan and back; prior to that I did the Michigan to New Mexico and back-Michigan to Phoenix and back; New Mexico to North Carolina and back. Fuck, that’s a lot of driving. Yes, I do fly too. My experience is vast and unparalleled.
Let me be perfectly clear, nothing, and I mean nothing, is romantic or more generally, remotely pleasurable in driving long distances. In fact, it is a horrendous experience, replete with an aching ass and back, immense boredom, punctuated with bouts of sheer terror or agitation, and feeling generally shitty. Quite a confluence of emotions. Let me explain:
Aching Back and Ass:
Sitting for long periods of time exerts a fair amount of pressure on the ass and tends to cut off the circulation in the legs. In fact, I heard somewhere that people should walk around on long flights to encourage circulation in the legs, lest serious medical conditions develop, like blood clots. So one tries to lean on one ass check for a few hours, then shift over to the other ass check, but this is hardly effective.
The back, more specifically the spine, is not supposed to be in the C-shape that invariable it is in while seated-it should be in an S-shape. Hours after hours of seating makes the back ache and I swear I could feel my kidneys throbbing, though that might have been more to the road diet than posture—perhaps a combination of the two. (More on the road diet later.) But, one might say, you may remedy this with pillows and other aids in an attempt to alleviate the pressure and ameliorate the poster. Indeed, I did employ the use of pillows in an attempt to force my back into the C-Shape that it should be in normally. That has the effect of making one look like you have a stick jammed up your ass. Oh what the other road companions must have thought driving past, to see a very erect driver, head almost hitting the roof of the car. “What the fuck is up with that guy,” they must have thought. But still, one cannot be in that state for too long; it is not comfortable.
The shifting from ass check to ass check does little to succor, so one must be more adventurous. At varying points, depending largely on the terrain ahead, I would stretch my right leg out from the driver’s side foot area, across the stick and console into the passenger’s side foot area. This allows, as I pointed out, to stretch at least one leg, but also to air out the balls—a brief respite of relief in an otherwise hot and sticky environment, if you know what I mean. But this creates problems. Cruise control is nice, but of course, the other driver’s incessantly conspire against using cruise control by cutting in front of you just before you pass them, as they try to get around that semi. Most of the Interstate is but two lanes, thus drivers are forever cutting in front of you, as you are happily cruising at 80, right foot in the passenger’s side, balls airing comfortably. This happens all the time. Try quickly swinging your foot over to apply the brakes lest you smash into the fucking Toyota that has the bumper sticker “Bush/Cheney: Real American Heroes.” Double fucking assholes—cutting in front of me and participating wrongly in the democratic process. However, after several near misses, I did become adroit using my left foot to handle the braking and what not.
Immense Boredom:
I have long invited and recommended to those in similar driving plights to use “books on tape” to assuage the sheer boredom that accompanies hours and hours and hours and hours and hours of driving. Sometimes, it can help pass the time. But that has limits and if you select a boring book, well boring and more boring does little to pass the time. I had Moby Dick and, errr, despite my literary education, thought the book indefatigably boring. Christ, on and on about different whales. Shit, come to the point, Melville. Despite a noble effort, could not finish. Thus, I was left to the radio.
I am amazed at how many religious and conservative talk shows there are. These people hate everything not white and cornbread feed. Jesus was there with me in the car, if I ascribed to the dogma; all I had to do was open up my heart. I did open up, but let loose a fart instead. Jesus smells like shit, methinks.
At times, nothing could be heard on the radio-AM or FM. I hit scan and let it run until something happened. Through large parts of Utah especially, nothing could be heard. I would think the Mormons could penetrate every where, industrious as they are.
But mostly there was nothing to do and nothing to listen to. Thus, thoughts were all that was left. Mine being unimaginative and pedestrian, I was left to sheer boredom. So bored dental work would not have induced me out of the ennui.
Bouts of sheer terror and agitation:
Emotions, as with most things, are often more clearly rendered and comprehended when immediately juxtaposed with its closely-related opposite relative. Thus, while humming along at 82, using but one finger to control the vehicle, mental activity gone into a reptilian lethargy, a truck casually meanders into your lane, I fully appreciated the terror of becoming a driving accident statistic.
But not all situations were as dramatically illustrated. Consider this, for example: after driving all day and into the night, I thought I saw little creatures on the side of the highway and occasion run onto the road. Sometimes, it was the simple reflection of the car’s headlights and my brain filling in the rest. So I would slow down, swerve over or say, “What the hell did I hit.” But nothing was there, ever.
What’s ever more thrilling is driving through the mountains at night. All you can do is put your hands at 10 and 2 and hug the inside lane. Signs that say “Exit for Runaway Trucks” do nothing to comfort the weary driver.
Agitation comes into play almost immediately following terror. For instance, when the meandering moron moves into my lane forcing me to left-footedly jam on the brakes, I discover agitation instantaneously following the terror. Of course, sometimes the agitation is more general in its application and development.
There are those who wish to drive in extreme excess of the speed limit. The 90 plus people. As for my 4-cylinder, that is not in my capabilities, but even if it were, I would not go but 7 or 8 miles above the speed limit. Old fucking man, you think, get the lead out. I have been labeled such. Yet, that seems sufficient and keeps me from getting speeding tickets. But as semi-trucks most go 55 to 60 and me wanting to hum along at 82, airing my balls out, oscillating between left and right ass check, it does not take long to see that on a 2-lane highway, problems can develop.
When I came upon a slower moving vehicle and moved lanes to get around him, inevitably I would look up to see some Mustang or Land Rover in my read view mirror riding my ass. Of course, I would not release my cruise control, so overtaking the slower truck, did not happen quickly. Slowly I would get around, but at the cruise control’s pace, this could take a full minute or maybe more. All the while, getting my ass eaten out by the fucking Mustang.
Feeling Generally Shitty:
Feeling generally shitty should be no surprise given all the joys that driving across country affords one. However, there is more to feeling generally shitty then an aching back and a sweating ass crack. Let’s review my road diet: McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s and Taco Bell. Throw in some coffee and donuts from the gas station and no wonder I felt great.
Super Size Me no doubt. Let’s see day one:
Breakfast: Mickey D’s breakfast burrito combo—which tasted like shit
Lunch/Dinner: A Baconnator combo from Wendy’s. A had a diet soda, though. I could begin feeling my arteries clogging. Plus coffee.
Day Two:
Breakfast: Burger King-breakfast burrito combo. It also tasted like shit.
Lunch: I thought, healthy, eat something good for you. Taco bell soft taco supreme combo meal, with a Mexi-melt to boot. Wolfed down almost before I got onto the Interstate.
Dinner: 10 piece McChicken nuggets with a double cheeseburger, but no fries, fucker. Fries and bad for you and well, this was a little, feeble attempt at being healthy.
Needless to say I suppose, after this road diet, the Tracer’s cabin was, errr, gaseous to noxious.
It is difficult to eat right on the road. Convenience and ubiquity are strong influences when you are trying to drive 2,000 miles in a couple of days. Being delayed while you eat a Chicken Cesar salad only means longer time on the road. Shit no. “I have a number 3 with a diet,” so I can be back on the road with my aching back, sweating ass, sheer boredom and fucking asshole drivers. Terrific.
Of course, with a diet like that finding the appropriate place to vent all that healthy food became an immediate need/then uncomfortable reality. Thank goodness for the clean Mikey D’s somewhere in Utah.
How Goddamn romantic is that? You tell me.
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