6 January 2006

Happy New Year, Bitches

I forgot to do the next-day rough draft of the previous night’s game, so I’ve got no clue as to what went down. I usually do the drafting while I’m at my Saturday gig (That’s right, I work six days a week. Why? I’m broke, son, I’m broke.), but what happened was that I didn’t work on the 7th, and I was so exhausted from the game that I forgot to make time for some writing.

The Automator: The one thing I do remember, because it’s noted in my “2006 Poker Journal,” is that the Automator joined our game for the first time. The Automator is a cool guy, but he’s not so much with the poker skills.

Ordinarily, a player at his skill level would get mercilessly chewed up at our table, the thinking being that the only person responsible for the defense of one’s chips is oneself, and if one can’t defend one’s chips, then, perhaps, one shouldn’t be playing poker with the hardcore heavy-hitters that make up the poker crew.

The thing was, though, that he was making some pretty inexplicable plays that made us feel bad for him. A sure way to give your money is to be a “calling station,” that is, a person who calls way too many bets and never leads the action. It you’re calling when you should be betting, you're not getting maximum value for your cards. If you're calling when you should be folding, then you're giving money away.

We felt a little bad for how he was throwing away his cash, so we started saying things like, “You don’t have to call every bet,” or “You can always fold,” but he kept on playing in the exact same manner until he was dead broke.

A Good Start: With tonight’s game, I’m starting a new poker journal, to be formally called “The Grand Total: 2006.” After one game, I’m 1-0, and have won $43.50 for both the game and for the year. I’m undefeated. In your face, America.

13 January 2006

That Familiar Sound: Ivan, poker player deluxe and designer/programmer of this here website, originally told Bert, inventor of the Bert Classic and the general sense that life is a horrible drag, that he wouldn’t be able to play because he had some other stuff going on the night of the game.

Cool. We’ve all got stuff.

But then Ivan shows up, and he’s wearing a shirt and tie. Guys only wear shirts and ties for three reasons: job interviews, parole hearings, and the meeting of the parents. But job interviews and parole hearings don’t usually go down on Friday evenings. Of course, being the sensitive fellows that we are, we start making vicious fun of him. His manliness was questioned, as was his independence. I went with the classic whipping sound, thus communicating the fact that he was perhaps, oh, I don’t know, whipped.

The Escape Plan: We play for a few hours, and it’s getting close to the time when Ivan has to bounce, so I started offering suggestions for how to get out of his previous commitment early. There’s the traditional argument about nothing, the one that all the guys fall back on in times of crisis. Then, since he’s going to the parents’ house for dinner, I hit upon the perfect plan: say that the food is nasty.

However, this plan, what I’m going to call the “nuclear option,” was deemed to be too extreme, and it was generally agreed that it should only be used in case one wanted to get out of the relationship completely, and not just a mere dinner.

So there you go, kids. If you want to wreck a relationship, attack her mother’s cooking.

Cheetos Are Tasty: One of my duties as pseudo-host of the game when it’s at my big bro’s is to provide drinks and snacks. There’s nothing complicated about the job. Whatever nasty stuff it is that six-year-olds love stuffing in their faces is exactly the nasty stuff that people of any age love stuffing in their faces.

A product with a high face-stuffability factor is Cheetos. Their deliciousness can’t be ignored or denied, so purchasing a bag for the game is always a safe bet.

This is how fast Cheetos move: Jesse’s gotten himself a hefty plateful of Cheetos and, in about a minute, those bad boys are gone. It is my nature to make stupid jokes, so I said, “What happened to the Cheetos?” It wasn’t a real question because we all knew what had happened to the Cheetos. Jesse and the player to his left, Pumpkin Boy, had inhaled them in the course of two hands.

When my boys’ blood becomes saltier than the Pacific and their blood pressures go out of control, they can thank me and the Cheetos. When their arteries close up so that not even one skinny platelet can get through and they end up on their living room floors, clutching their chests and hoping that it’ll be quick, please let it be quick, they can curse me and the Cheetos.

You’re welcome, guys, you're welcome.

On a Roll: Still undefeated. I made $69.25, putting me at $112.75 for the new year. I’m averaging $56.38 a week, which, when extrapolated to the entire year, means that I should end up making $2,931.76, but that’s just a dream. I just want to get to the grand on which I missed out last year.

20 January 2006

Now I’m Starting to Get Worried: The game is happening and the cards are flying and the chips are going back and forth when my little cough starts up again. Bert, inventor of the Bert Light and deciduous forests, asks if I’m still doing the thing where I cough up blood in the morning.

At this point, I’ve been coughing for exactly thirty-five days, and, yes, that thing with the blood is still happening. But, listen, it can’t be all that bad.

The human body is a pretty amazing machine. My theory is that if I'm coughing up blood, it must be because I have extra blood on me. That makes perfect sense. While most people are cruising around with six quarts of blood, I probably have, like, six-and-a-quarter, minimum. That's right, babies, you might have me on self-esteem and general happiness, but I'm out-producing you in the blood category.

I explained my I-must-have-extra-blood-on-me theory to Bert, inventor of the Bert Death Spiral and perfect binding, but he wasn’t having it. He lectured me on my health, and when I tried to explain that I’d just rather not know what might be wrong with me (Because, seriously, who the hell needs to hear that kind of news? The doctors are going to tell me some awful stuff, and then I’ve got to walk around knowing that I’m dying of eyelash cancer? No, thanks.), Bert wasn’t having that, either.

Ultimately, Bert spoke wisely, and I, to indicate how wisely he had spoken, said, “Bert, you speak wisely.” How powerful were his words? I ended up promising that I’d go to a doctor by the end of March if I were still having my little problem.

But then I gave Bert a warning. I told him that if they “tell me some fucked up shit” that I’m going to drive my car right through his motherfucking front door. Everybody laughed, but I told Bert that he had better make sure that his house insurance was current because I wasn’t kidding.

The Funny: First, Ivan busted off a line about Pumpkin Boy. Over time, Pumpkin Boy and I have learned to get along. In fact, whenever KayJay's at the game, Pumpkin Boy and I work together and attack him mercilessly, because KayJay annoys the hell out of the both of us. Verbally attack him, I mean; I'm from the 'hood, but I've been out for a while, and so I haven't applied a beatdown in forever. And when Pumpkin Boy comes at me now, I come right back, and vice versa, and it's all to just try to be funny.

The truth is that it takes me a while to warm up to people (it was only last week that I was finally able to look in a mirror without calling myself a "disappointing and worthless bitch") and Pumpkin Boy was a bit of a smack-talker, and I'm from the Ditka school of competition etiquette: take care of your business and act like you've done it before. But now, Pumpkin Boy and I are cool, and I said as much as we were getting ready to start the action, at which point, Pumpkin Boy had yet to arrive. That was when Ivan said, "Yeah, Pumpkin Boy has become ‘Pumpkin Man.’"

Then my big bro came with one of the funniest and truest lines that I've ever heard about relationships. We had been talking about relationships in general and the different ways that one can use "I love you." I had made a joke about how you end up saying "I love you" when she wants you to because, well, because the girl always runs the show. Ivan had noted the magical powers of that phrase to get you out of trouble when you've been caught "auditing a class at the junior college," if you dig what I'm saying. That was when my big bro said, "'I love you' is like relationship duct tape."

So there you go, kids. If you’ve dinged up the relationship a little bit, apply the “I love you” duct tape, and you’ll be back on the road in no time.

The New Diets: My big bro went on a health kick about a year ago, and he's in primo shape now. Ivan's also trying to adopt a healthier lifestyle. My big bro sometimes works out twice a day. Ivan's on the same two-a-day system now, too.

My toughest workout of the last twelve months was that one time when I calmly jogged to the microwave from my living room because I didn't want to overheat my burritos. I was really winded after the three-second jog, and I was sore as hell for about a week, but, you know, it really felt good to know that I was finally starting to take care of myself again. It felt like I was finally growing up, and it was a bittersweet moment to know that my youth had ended right there, as I leaned against the counter, trying to keep from passing out while my burritos grew cold.

And their diets are crazy. Basically, they can both have air, but only if it's low-calorie, unsalted air, and then only in moderate portions. I like to salt my salt, you know, for an extra flavor boost. If I'm feeling all "gourmety," I'll use sea salt to salt my salt.

And they're both on low-calorie systems. On principle alone, I stand against that low calorie shit. I don't want to get all technical on your ass, but I studied cooking for a little while and there's this thing called mouth feel, which is, uh, how food feels in your mouth. (I guess that that wasn't that technical and that I didn’t need to mention my study of cooking; probably I was just trying to impress you; yes, I’m terribly insecure.) Anyway, calories usually come from fats, and fats, in proper proportion to other ingredients, give food fabulous mouth feel. That's why rice cakes feel like hell in your mouth, but fried rice is like a little mouth miracle.

Still, I’m proud of both of them because they have exhibited great discipline and strength of character. I, myself, would have lasted about half a minute, give or take twenty-five seconds, on their regiments.

What the Hell Happened?: I had been off to a pretty decent, if unspectacular start to the poker year. Tonight, however, was my second-worst night ever. By the time I had to split, I had lost $150.75. That was bad enough, but that large loss meant that I was now down $38.00 for the year. That’s right, for the first time since I’ve been keeping track, I’ve got a negative YTD total.

27 January 2006

Cloutier: Our table is pretty tough. I'm not saying that it's super-crazy-hardcore-stab-your-mama-in-the-eye tough, but it sure ain't easy. You have to constantly improve your game, or at least change it up often enough so that you aren't that easy to figure out. I use a computer program to work on my skills (it's what I do when I should be writing), and so do Bert and Ivan. Most of us also read books on the theory and practice of poker. I've always got a poker book in my computer case, which goes with me everywhere that I go, in case I have a free moment to read. Right now, I'm working through Championship No Limit & Pot Limit Hold 'Em, though I'm reading it for future use, because I don’t have the kind of green that you’d need for no-limit.

I'm not sure how much the other guys read about poker, but here’s an interesting story. Ivan, poker player deluxe and programmer/designer of this here website, is going to get a haircut and whom does he see sitting inside the barbershop? Shawn Gee, the poker player formerly known as “Pumpkin Boy (when I couldn’t stand him [but now we’re cool]).” Shawn Gee’s sitting there, reading a book on poker strategy. That’s how core it is at our game. You take a poker book with you everywhere that you go, and you read it whenever you can because, much like Biblical scholars, in order to attain true knowledge and wisdom, one must spend all available moments in deep and devoted and passionate study. Also, you can have the fun of taking loads of money from your homies.

Do You Have It?: Around midnight, and after a tricky flop that opened up straight and flush draws (not to mention the usual two pair or trips or set draws that always land), there was much betting action, which meant, of course that I folded. The board pairs tens on the turn, there are still flush and straight draws, and there's a lot of betting again, but now we're down to two people: Bert and my big bro. The river is a club that completes a flush if you're holding two clubs. After my big bro calls Bert's maximum bet, Bert asks, "Did you make the flush?" which is the kind of question that you ask if the flush beats you. Thankfully, before my big bro can answer, Bert completes his thought by saying, "Because I made the boat." Nobody really notices until I say that it was kind of cold-blooded to ask that question because if my big bro had said yes or shown a flush, he would have been led into momentarily thinking that he had won, only to be shown the soul-destroying 10-10-10-9-9 boat. A series of jokes followed. Some highlights:

"Do you have a pair, because I've got four of a kind."
"Do you have high card, because I've got a royal flush."

Joke of the Night: The Comedy Is Pure

I caught horrible cards all night, which sometimes happens. You just do the best that you can, which mostly involves having the discipline to fold out and not chase, even if you're not playing very many hands. Toward the end of the night, though, I said, "I'd stab an old man in his heart for aces," which, while partially true, got a good laugh, but then I added, "Nah, I'd probably just mess up his hair, or something," which took the bit to higher ground. That's pure comedy, there.

Joke of the Night Runner-up: Chips in the Shape of a Cross

I've got to decide whether I should call a bet, but it's a tricky one. I decide to call, and I notice that in order for me to call, the chips that I'll need can be laid out in a nice cross shape, with a white chip in the center of the cross representing the glowing orb that you sometimes see in depictions of crosses.  As I put out my chips, I said, "I call your bet, in the shape of a cross." Ivan cracked up and said, "That's just wrong," I guess because we’re wasting hours and hours of our lives gambling. After much laughter from the table, I said that my bet had been "blasphalicious."

I’m Down: But not in a good way, as in “I’m cool” or “I’m with it.” I mean that I’m down for the year. Before the start of the game, I had been down $38, not a lot, but still my first negative total ever. I figured, though, that even a slightly successful night at our game would get me right back into the black. Instead, I lost $75.25, bringing my YTD Total to -$113.25. That’s right. I’ve entered the world of triple-digit losses. Not only that but I’ve also ended the first month of the year with a deficit.