Running into my past

Some of Nina's friends were visiting from out of town this weekend. The four of us spent much of the afternoon today at the Asheville Art Museum, where I had never been before.

In one gallery, I came across a framed collage dating from the 1940s (I think). It was untitled, but the central item was a photograph of a white church, cut out of a magazine. The adjacent sign about the piece said that they had not been able to identify the structure, but thought it was a Catholic mission-style church from the American southwest.

Well, I was pretty sure I recognized it quite specifically. I Googled a bit on my phone to call up other photographs of the building I had in mind, and sure enough, they were the same.

It's the building in which I got married in 1984, at the tender age of 23, in St. George, Utah.

This was one of those odd, unsettling moments in which one is involuntarily picked up by a tornado of nostalgia from out of the blue. As I was explaining the strange sensation to my friends, one of the museum's docents wandered by. I asked if she had the means to pass information on to the curator. She did, so I told her what the building was, and showed her other photos of it on my phone as confirmation. I also pointed out how some other parts of the collage were thematically related to it in ways that had nothing to do with Catholicism (and, frankly, in ways that would have tipped off anybody who had looked closely at the piece). She dutifully wrote a note about it.

Maybe in a few months I'll go back and see if they have changed the sign. My guess is that they won't bother, but perhaps they'll surprise me.

Asheville!

I took a break from work today to head about a mile south to downtown, where the annual Blue Ridge Pride festival was taking place. I thought that might be amusing, and this may be one of the last days we have this year to enjoy some pluperfect weather.

I wandered by the main stage just as this scene unfolded:




The music is being provided by a pair of twin brothers, who call themselves Synergy.

Notice that the only guy who appears to be having no fun at all is the preacher, seen for just a few seconds at the very beginning, waving his Bible, carrying a cane so big it looks like a shepherd's crook. I ran into him several times. He was walking around, yelling about all the faggots going straight to hell preaching the gospel of love.

Asheville is a strange place, and proud to be so. It is an artistic/hippie/liberal enclave, perpetually out of step with the generally conservative state and region it's embedded in, much like Austin is to Texas.

As such, I thought this moment encapsulated my new hometown quite nicely: a sequined drag queen dancing to electric bluegrass, everybody having a gay ol' time, except for the sourpuss preacher, who denounced the fun but could not stop it. Which is kind of how the state government in Raleigh treats Asheville.

It was actually a supremely joyful moment--as I think you can plainly see--and I was tickled pink (so to speak) to have been there for it.


BONUS PINKNESS: 

I made a spur-of-the-moment decision to purchase this small (11" by 14") but original painting, which was one of many in display at one of the many artists' booths set up around Pack Square Park. I know nothing about the artist, except that his name is James, he lives about half an hour outside of town, and he is exceptionally warm and personable. It is titled "Love's Flamingos." The little sign he had made to display with it said, "My love for flamingos is infinite." It's now hanging over my desk, and I think it's beautiful. (Right-click, open link in new tab to see it full size.)

Poker, "this party of apes"

I recently watched Elia Kazan's 1951 film, "A Streetcar Named Desire" (based on the Tennessee WIlliams play) for the first time in, well, a couple of decades anyway. I decided to do so after reading my friend Shamus's insightful essay for Epic Poker about the film's poker scenes. (See here.)

I had completely forgotten that poker even made an appearance in the movie. But as Martin points out, the game forms a crucial part of some of the film's themes, especially the separate roles and realms of men and women, and the dangers that lurk when the barriers between them are breached.

A couple of days ago I posted as a "Poker Gem" Karl Malden's line as Mitch: "Poker should not be played in a house with women." I put that up before the scene had even finished playing, pausing the DVD long enough to post it. I meant it mostly as a joke, a wry reminder of how things used to be. But as the movie continues, we learn that it is, in fact, a stern foreshadowing.

Poker, it is suggested, is a males-only activity, first, because of the vices that come associated with it: drinking, smoking cigars, swearing, lewd storytelling, fighting--vulgarity of every variety. But a second and perhaps more important reason is that the game brings out the raw, brute passions of earthy men, and when they are so aroused, they are not easily controlled or contained. Women who happen to be in the environs are in danger. For these reasons, the ladies are, as Stella wryly phrases it, "cordially not invited."

In case we are too dense to make the associations between poker and men's baser passions by observation alone, the screenplay won't let us miss them. Blanche DuBois confides her opinion of Stanley to her sister (Stanley's wife), Stella:

If you'll forgive me, he's common... He's like an animal. He has an animal's habits. There's even something subhuman about him. Thousands of years have passed him right by, and there he is. Stanley Kowalski, survivor of the Stone Age, bearing the raw meat home from the kill in the jungle. And you - you here waiting for him. Maybe he'll strike you or maybe grunt and kiss you, that's if kisses have been discovered yet. His poker night you call it. This party of apes.

Gentle Mitch is no ape. He leaves the game to chat with Blanche, who he immediately finds charming. He actually appears more comfortable in the side room with the women than in the main room with the men. This very fact (even ignoring his schoolboy mannerisms) suggests that he is, in some sense, not fully a man--an idea further suggested later by the revelation that he still lives with his mother and is to be presumed to be a virgin. (Apparently in the stage play on which the film is based, Blanche's husband committed suicide after being exposed as having had a homosexual affair, so the fact that Mitch is deemed appropriate to fill those shoes is perhaps further innuendo.)

A drunk, angry Stanley bolts from the poker game to invade the women's space in a manner entirely different from Mitch's: angrily, violently, wreaking havoc. He hurls a radio through a window and beats his wife. Near the end of the film, he will again penetrate this same space when Blanche is there alone, again doing so in a way that the mild-mannered Mitch never would: set on violation. What happens between Stanley and Blanche could not be portrayed or perhaps even spoken explicitly, due to censorship standards of the day, but we are not left in much doubt.

That unfinished scene is followed immediately by a second poker game, which functions as the setting for the film's denouement: Blanche has been tipped all the way into frank madness. She is briefly restrained, but then allowed to walk--with assistance from a man--into the forbidden territory, past the poker table and into the car waiting to take her to an asylum. Stella, conversely, takes her newborn baby and flees to an upstairs neighbor, vowing never to return. Her apartment has been irredeemably marked--contaminated, even--as a place in which the ugliest male instincts are allowed to play out. This sadly permanent "no women allowed" status is symbolized by the poker game, which, we presume, continues after its brief interruption.

I've seen poker serve a lot of different functions in movies, but I don't recall anything like this. In "Streetcar" it is simultaneously an emblem of, arena for, and a inflamer of men's coarse, animalistic tendencies. The game has never felt that way to me, but the fact that Williams and Kazan can make it serve such roles so effortlessly in this movie has left me feeling disturbed, unsettled, contemplative. If I come to any brilliant conclusions along those lines, I'll let you know.

The image above is Thomas Hart Benton's painting Poker Night (From "A Streetcar Named Desire"), 1948. It hangs in the Whitney Museum in New York City. You can hear the museum's audio guide about it here.


ADDENDUM, March 1, 2013

Martin's excellent essay disappeared from the web for quite a while following the collapse of the Epic Poker League, along with its web site. But today he reposted it on his own blog, here.

Phillips Collection

Today Cardgrrl and I went to the Phillips Collection, a relatively small private art museum. Though a few old masters are represented (I think today was the first time I've seen an El Greco work on display), it's mostly 20th century stuff--some beautiful, some interesting without being beautiful, some just weird and incomprehensible. For the most part, it was work by people I've never heard of, though there was the scattered Monet, Cezanne, Matisse, and Mondrian thrown in.

One of the most interesting pieces is a brand-new exhibit, a two-part thing called "Skin" by A. Balasubramaniam. The outdoor portion is a steel sculpture, vaguely shaped like a human heart, with channels running through it, confounding one's conception of what is the piece's interior and its exterior, reminding me of a Klein bottle. (It pleases me to have a girlfriend who knew what a Klein bottle was without needing to have it explained.)

The inside portion is a series of five small works that use the wall of the gallery itself as the medium. One looks like a fist has attempted to punch through a wall made of rubber, and got stuck. Three look like skin has been bunched up and is being held in place with nails. One looks like an ugly gaping wound, as if in the middle of a surgical procedure.

You can see a 5-minute video of the installation work of both parts here.

There wasn't a lot that made me think, "Oooo, I wish I were rich enough to own that," but all in all, it was a nice and educational sampling of the last hundred years of art history.

Then we walked a couple of blocks to Dolcezza, a little shop with amazing gelato and sorbet, in unexpected but delicious flavor combinations.

Even though these people in D.C. do strange things like mix lots of moisture with their air, this whole not-working-for-a-while thing is pretty nice, I must say.

Addendum

Cardgrrl's photos from the museum are here.

A little culture for you

Here's a piece about an exhibition coming to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, featuring Cezanne's series of paintings titled "The Card Players." As far as I know, nothing explicitly proves that the subjects are playing poker, but, really, what else could it be? What else could possibly interest people?

Good advice

Last week PokerNews published a list of tips for surviving the WSOP. The second one says:

9. Don’t Leave Anything in Your Car You Wouldn’t Leave in an Oven

I’ve seen it all — melted iPods, blue ink from a ballpoint pen exploded over tan
upholstery, styrofoam cups melted into center consoles. The temperature inside a
locked car in the Rio Convention Center parking lot on a June afternoon can
easily reach 140-150 degrees, so be conscious of what you decide to leave inside
of it. Never leave things like MP3 players, high-end headphones, batteries,
medications, perishable food, chocolate, or energy bars inside your car. Also
consider investing in one of those tacky shiny things that cover the front
windshield. It still won’t be cool in there when you open the door at the end of
the day, but it’s a marked improvement.

This brought back a horrible memory for me, which I might as well recount here. I've told it before, in another venue.

As you know, I lived in Minnesota before moving here. As you may not know, I was a frequent contributor to one of the newspapers there. The St. Paul Pioneer Press has a daily feature, "Bulletin Board" (highly recommended web site visit there), which consists of stories and observations from readers' lives. I used to submit stuff there all the time. In fact, I did it for about 15 years. My stories there were largely the forerunner of this blog; without having that vast experience of telling stories from my life, and discovering that a decent number of people seemed to like reading them, I doubt I would have developed the confidence to think I had anything worth saying in my own blog.

Before I started the blog, I was still sending stories back to Bulletin Board as I began my Vegas adventure. Here's one as it was published on August 31, 2006. Thanks to the BB editor for retrieving and sending it to me.

From Rake of Las Vegas: "I don't think Bulletin Board has ever had a category about messes people have had to clean up. It seems like a natural. [Bulletin Board says: It is!] I hereby suggest the title 'Another nice mess,' in honor of Laurel and Hardy. (Mr. Hardy is commonly, but erroneously, quoted as saying 'Here's another fine mess you've gotten me into' -- but he never said that. The correct quotation uses the word 'nice' rather than 'fine.' See http://tinyurl.com/4vsf7.) [Bulletin Board says: Your wish is our command!] Here's my story:

"Yesterday I did a little grocery shopping. Among other things, I bought two 12-packs of Coca-Cola. When I got home, my hands were too full to carry both of them inside, so I just left one in the passenger seat of my car, figuring that I would bring it in next time I came home from somewhere, rather than make a second trip out to the car to retrieve it. This small decision, naturally, quickly faded from my consciousness.

"Late this afternoon, I went out to my car. Here is a list of the thoughts I had, in order, as I approached it:

"1. What are all those brown spots on my car? Must be something associated with the construction. (My parking lot separates my apartment building from a construction site.) I'm going to have to complain to somebody about this.

"2. Wait a second. The car next to mine is the same one that was here when I parked last night, and it doesn't have these spots on it.

"3. (Upon looking more closely.) Why are the spots only on the window and not the paint?

"4. Oh, they're on the inside.

"5. Why is there a can of Coke wedged upside down between the driver's seat and the door?

"6. Why is there a big hole in that Coke can?

"7. Why are the other Coke cans strewn over the passenger seat?

"At this point, my feeble brain puts the puzzle pieces together and deduces what has happened: The black car interior, left in direct sunlight, got so hot that one or more cans exploded. The train of ensuing thoughts is not appropriate for publication in a family newspaper.

"It's hard to describe the mess without photographs, but I'll try. Nine of the 12 cans had ruptured. Of those, about four still had roughly half the contents inside. That means that something like 80 ounces of Coke was distributed throughout the car interior. The majority of it, apparently, just soaked directly into the cloth seat on the passenger side.

"But some of the cans apparently failed explosively, as evidenced by the one that had wedged itself between the driver's seat and door, and the spray across the back
window.

"There is dried, sticky Coke residue everywhere. It's on the windshield, the mirror, the windows, the door panels, the dashboard, the steering wheel, the shifter, the floor, the headliner, the map pockets, the vents. Except for a few items made of washable hard plastic (e.g., my sunglasses case), everything in there that isn't part of the car is ruined: maps and map books, random papers and magazines, etc.

"The passenger seat is so soaked with cola that it seeps up in pools when you press on it. And the car reeks of Coke. No, not Coke, exactly -- cooked Coke.

"It may be the ugliest, stickiest mess I've ever had to deal with. Once, I accidentally left a 24-pack of Coke in the trunk of this same car during a Minnesota winter. Several of the cans broke open when the liquid froze. That was far less of a mess than this, because by the time the cans ruptured, much of the contents had already frozen. Since I discovered the problem before the next thaw, it was mostly a matter of picking up chunks of Coke-ice. This is a thousand times worse.

"Tomorrow I'll take it to an auto detailing shop and hope they don't laugh too hard at me. No matter how much they clean, though, I think I'm stuck with that awful smell for as long as I keep the car. (I'm reminded of the episode of 'Seinfeld,' in which Jerry's car got so saturated with the body odor of a valet that he couldn't sell it, couldn't even get a thief to steal it.)

"Life lessons learned:

"First, never leave anything pressurized inside the passenger compartment of a car in the summer desert heat.

"Second, despite advertising claims to the contrary, not everything goes better with Coke."

If you ever take a ride in my car, ask me to point out the few spots of Coke still left scattered around in a few places that the detailers missed. I've left them there as a reminder to myself--though the memory is painful enough that I probably don't really need any tangible evidence to keep me from making the same mistake again.

Updates: I subsequently graduated to covered parking at my apartment building (there was a waiting list, because the place has fewer covered parking spots than living units). And the smell did eventually go away.

Today's little-known historical fact: Salvador Dali's famous painting is not, in fact, a work of abstract art. In truth, he left some watches in his car when visiting Las Vegas one summer, and what you see above was the result.

How do I disagree? Let me count the ways

In the poker news section at the Card Player web site I found this story about a suggestion submitted to the Barack Obama transition team, which has apparently become one of the most popular ideas for the team's consideration. Here's what the submission says:

Boost America's Economy with Legal Online Poker

Let online poker players in the United States play legally and without fear
of prosecution. Reform the Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act to exempt
poker, a game of skill, from the law. Boost the economy by letting American
companies and Ameican (sic) players make money and pay taxes instead of sending
online poker businesses offshore. Protect online poker players by regulating the
industry to ensure that no one is ever cheated.

Obviously I am in support of online poker being legal. Still, it's hard to imagine how I could have more disagreements with such a short request. Let me list them.

1. It's not at all clear to me that changing anything about the UIGEA would "boost America's economy." It's possible that poker--both live and online--could vanish entirely without materially affecting the economy as a whole. Assuming that the great majority of poker money is recreational, it might simply get shifted to other entertainment sources instead.

2. The "legally without fear of prosecution" line implies that (1) playing onling poker is currently illegal and (2) there is fear of prosecution now. Well, I don't have any! The only people who fear prosecution for playing poker online are those who haven't done more than about three seconds of research into the matter. It is not illegal to play poker on any web site. (I'm talking about federal law here. At least one state--Washington--has made participation in Internet gaming a felony, though even there I have not heard of any prosecutions.)

3. I think it's a huge mistake to suggest "reform" of the UIGEA to treat poker differently from other online gaming. This is a question of personal liberty. I happen not to be interested in playing blackjack either live or online, but why should the guy who wants to play blackjack be prevented from doing so any more than I am kept from playing poker?

My other major hobby is competitive handgun shooting. I have for many years watched closely the political machinations surrounding the issue of gun control. Those who want more restrictions on gun ownership always try to fragment their opposition by selecting specific targets. For example, they'll try to pass bans on .50 caliber or larger rifles, because only a small fraction of gun owners have them, so there is less opposition than if they went after ordinary hunting rifles. Or they'll try to make illegal small or low-end handguns, knowing that for the most part only the poorest, least-connected people choose those weapons, and that's a segment of the population that doesn't get much sympathy or put up much of a political fight. In this way, they chip away at gun ownership little by little. Fortunately, organizations such as the NRA and Gun Owners of America and the Second Amendment Foundation recognize the "divide and conquer" approach and oppose all such piecemeal efforts of the gun control fanatics.

The same principles apply here. When we ask for specific exemptions for our preferred game, it's like taking other people that share our lifeboat and throwing them overboard to the sharks.

You've heard the lines that start, "In Germany, they came first for the Communists, And I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist." (See here for history.) That's the situation we have here. It's folly to consider online poker some sort of divine right of man, but be willing to toss blackjack and roulette to the political wolves. We need to stand together on this. It is just as wrong for do-gooders in Washington, D.C., to tell you that you can't play blackjack on your home computer as it is for them to tell you that you can't play poker. It is illogical, morally wrong, and politically foolish, in my opinion, to carve poker out from the rest of online gaming. As Americans we either have the right to engage in private activities with our own time and money that do not hurt others, or we do not. It is short-sighted to plead for special protection for only one such specific pursuit while letting all of the others be taken away.

If we fight for online poker but not other online gaming, it is, in effect, acknowledging that the feds have legitimate reason to criminalize (or at least make difficult) some forms of online gambling, and you are then reduced to arguments about why poker should be made an exception. I recognize no general right or power on the part of the feds to restrict my activities that hurt nobody else. I can't understand why the writer of this proposal implicitly cedes such a power to the government, which it does not rightfully have.

Rather than fighting the entire idea of a nanny-state government, the writer is effectively agreeing to have a nanny, and just begging the nanny to let him keep one particular toy. The whole approach is incredibly wrong-headed.

4. There is a point about taxes being not paid in the U.S. by companies that are forced to locate offshore. But when a point is made about American players not paying taxes, we have different problems. All income is taxable. That includes poker income, even that which comes from playing online at foreign-based sites. Now, it's probably true that not all citizens accurately report all of their poker income. But what is the evidence that that would change even if the UIGEA were repealed or altered? Many people are dishonest in their taxes when they can get away with it, whether that money comes from gambling, tips, contract work, or whatever else. Is the writer here proposing that the government be allowed to monitor all cash in and out of every online gaming site to better prevent tax cheating? If so, I think he is inviting a guest to the party that he will quickly regret having let in.

5. The writer seems to blithely assume that federal regulation of online poker will "ensure that no one is ever cheated." That is sheer idiocy. If the writer actually believes that this will be the result, his glasses are too rose-colored for me or anyone else to save him. Take the securities industry, for example, which is heavily regulated. Anyone hear of Bernard Madoff? Ivan Boesky? Enron? Where is the evidence for such a grandiose claim that cheating will be eradicated? What precedent can the writer cite for an industry that was previously unregulated and full of cheating, then federally regulated and the cheating vanished? Frankly, anybody who thinks that federal regulation will make it impossible for anyone participating in the regulated field to ever get cheated is too stupid to be taken seriously. I don't even know that federal regulation would substantially reduce the possibility of cheating at online poker, let alone make it disappear entirely.

Is this proposal to the Obama transition team really the best that we can come up with in regard to poker? Lordy, I hope not, or we're in serious trouble.


The print shown above is Martin Luther nailing his "95 Theses" to the door of the Wittenberg church, as engraved by Gustav König (1808-1869). You can see the entire set of 48 engravings of Luther's life here (which is where I found them), or look at the entire original book (as preserved by the Google Book project) here.

Double-paired boards

At the Planet Hollywood game last night there seemed to be an unusual number of double-paired board (e.g., something like K-K-2-7-7). It got me to wondering how often one should expect that to happen, on average.

There are 2,598,960 possible five-card boards possible in hold'em, because C(52,5) = 2,598,960.

The tricky bit, then, is counting up how many possible double-paired boards there are--a task I undertake here with more trepidation than usual, having just minutes ago put up a post illustrated by a book that appears to be titled Counting for Dummies. I feel motivated to get it right to avoid getting the taunts turned on me! So I'm figuring this out as I go. Follow along, if you care to.

Consider the highest possible double-paired board: A-A-K-K-x. How many ways can such a board occur? (We don't care about the order the cards come in for this question.) There are six different combinations of A-A that can be part of it (Ac-Ad, Ac-Ah, Ac-As, Ad-Ah, Ad-As, and Ah-As). Similarly, there are six different combinations of kings that can constitute the other pair. That's a total of 36 different combinations of those four cards. Then we have left in the deck 44 other cards, any of which can serve as our fifth card. 36 x 44 = 1584. So there are 1584 A-A-K-K-x boards.

Given 13 ranks of cards, there are 78 pairings of different ranks that can be made (A-K, A-Q, etc., down to 3-2). We accounted for only one of them in the example just completed. So the final total should be 1584 x 78 = 123,552, for the number of different possible double-paired boards.

The frequency of this occurrence, then, is 123,552 / 2,598,960, which equals 0.0475, or about 4.8%. Double-paired boards should happen just a smidgen under 5% of the time. That roughly corresponds to my general experience, as I think back on things.

This surely can't be the first time anybody has ever run this calculation, but a quick search of my poker math books and these interweb thingies doesn't locate any previous pioneers to give me confirmation. So I think it's right, but if I screwed something up, let me know, and I'll fix it in an addendum, and call myself a dummy in the process.


The image above is "Two Pears," by Georgia O'Keeffe, 1921.

ARGH!

Sahara last night. It is of considerable significance to the story that they recently added high-hand jackpots there.

I have 5-5. Somebody raises to $12. I call, as do several others. Flop is A-10-6. Original raiser bets. Second player calls. I might call the raiser if everybody else folded, because he could have whiffed. But with no flush draws and only gutshot straight draws on this board, the first call almost surely means that at least one of the two players now has a pair that has me beat, and there are still a couple of people yet to act behind me. So I fold.

Turn is a 5, making my set. River is the case 5, making my quads.

Jackpot for quad 5s is $236.

Argh!

A couple of hours later, the same dealer is back in the box. The game is short-handed, with just five of us. We're all pretty much playing any two cards. I'm on the button and join the limpers with 10-6 of hearts.

Flop is 7h-8c-9h. I have flopped a straight with a flush draw and gutshot straight flush draw. When it is checked to me, I bet small--$6. One caller. Turn is a blank. I bet $12. Fold.

I show my cards. The last guy to fold asks the dealer to rabbit hunt. (I never have made such a request, and never will.) She burns one, then turns over the 8 of hearts.

ARGH!

I'm probably near the top end of players in terms of being emotionally resistant to getting myself mentally tormented by "woulda coulda shoulda" syndrome. I realize that it would be completely irrational to play the first hand differently, in the hopes of hitting runner-runner quads (about a 1/2500 shot), or the second hand differently, in the hopes of making the straight flush (about a 2% shot on the turn)--especially since the jackpot was only $63.

But though I've tried hard to extinguish it, I do retain a flicker of the humanity with which I was born, and knowing how things turned out, it's hard not to feel a twinge of regret for not having gone for it.


The sketch above is "A Near Miss." See here.

Madame Meg: Maybe the lamest show in Vegas

Yesterday I got a free ticket (from showtickets4locals.com) to "Madame Meg's" at the Harmon Theater next to Planet Hollywood. Yuck. Definitely the most worthless show I've seen since living here.

"Madame Meg" herself does the world's mildest and most boring strip tease. PG-13 rating at worst.

There is a singer who does three songs. She wouldn't have been invited to Hollywood in an "American Idol" first-round audition. She attempted to sing "Life is a Cabaret," which is unwise. If you can't do it better than Liza Minelli--which, frankly, isn't very likely--you really shouldn't even attempt it.

There's a pantomime skit of a woman who wants to be a showgirl, but doesn't have the assets or talent for it.

There's a stage hypnotist. This was the most painful, embarrassing part of the whole show to watch. She had a reticent audience, and could only get two volunteers up on stage, one of whom was obviously just going through the motions with a perpetual "I wish I hadn't come here" look on his face. Basically, everything went wrong for the hypnotist. She couldn't coax any audience participation. If it had been done on "The Gong Show," she wouldn't have lasted two minutes.

Finally there was a magician. Not horrible, but not one original or interesting thing in her act. It was completely, 100% the same stuff we've been seeing magicians do for, oh, a hundred years or so: cards appearing and disappearing, doves being pulled out of scarves, paper being torn and reassembled, blah, blah, blah. Not a single word of patter or humor, either.

The whole thing was a complete waste of an hour. Even with free tickets, I felt like I had paid too much.

Lame. Just completely lame.


The print above is "Christ Healing the Lame," one of a large series of interesting re-interpretations of biblical scenes by Watanabe Sadao. See the art here, and read about the artist here.

A H.O.R.S.E with no name

Late last year, Shamus commented on the new addition to the World Series of Poker for 2008, an eight-game mixed event. He titled his post "A H.O.R.S.E. With No Name," which was impossible for me to improve on here, so instead of trying, I just stole it shamelessly (or maybe Shamusly).

He suggested the acronym SPLENDOR for the nameless mixed game, which is pretty good. But now that I've been playing a fair amount of HORSE, I've come to think that the name chosen really needs to reflect the order in which the games rotate. I don't really need it as a mnemonic device any more (I've done 98 single-table HORSE tournaments now, which is plenty to burn the order deep into my cranium), but for a long time I definitely used the letters in the acronym to remind myself what was coming up next. With eight games in the mix, I think that function is even more crucial.

Furthermore, because it is effectively an extension of HORSE, it seems to me most desirable, if possible, to keep that part of the acronym intact. It doesn't help new players if limit hold'em is represented by H in one mixed-game format, but L in the other.

I bring this up because PokerStars recently introduced an eight-game mixer, but has no good name for it. In the lobby, it is simply referred to as "8-Game." If you probe a bit further into the Stars web site, you find this half-hearted attempt at an acronym:

T - Limit 2-7 Triple Draw
H - Limit Hold’em
O - Limit Omaha Eight or Better (Hi/Lo)
R - Razz
S - Limit Seven Card Stud
E - Limit Stud Eight or Better (Hi/Lo)
H - No Limit Hold’em
A - Pot Limit Omaha

For reasons that are not at all clear to me, Stars has chosen to order the games differently than the WSOP did. Not that the WSOP is the definitive statement of how poker ought to be played, but I can't think of a compelling reason to deviate from it. The games have to be in some order, so why not use the WSOP's order as a template, and standardize it everywhere based on that? If Stars simply moved triple-draw from first to last, they would match the WSOP format.

Anyway, this all really makes coming up with a good acronym virtually impossible. You can tell that Stars was making some effort at it, because of choosing A for pot-limit Omaha, instead of the more obvious P, and repeating the H for no-limit hold'em, instead of the more obvious N. That suggests that they wanted the thing at least vaguely pronounceable.

Unfortunately, if you constrain yourself to an acronym that reflects the order of the games that Stars has chosen, and also add in the constraints that the HORSE parts remain unchanged, there just isn't much wiggle room. To make matters even harder, I would insist that the letters not be repeated, as Stars has done with the H. Triple-draw is going to have to be either T or D. (Well, you could stretch and argue for a W there. But then you have an acronym that starts with WHOR, and that's just going to create other problems....) No-limit hold'em is going to have to be N. Pot-limit Omaha should be P.

I give Stars points for creativity in choosing A for pot-limit Omaha, rather than repeating the O. The problem with the selection, though, is that it doesn't take advantage of identifying the unique feature of the game--its structure--nor the unique letter that would most obviously represent that structure--P.

So something has to give way. You have to sacrifice at least one of these properties: (1) Pronounceability. (2) Consistency with the well-established HORSE. (3) Non-repetition of letters. (4) Order of letters reflecting order of the games. (5) Obvious association between the letter chosen and the game it stands for.

THORSEHA compromises on points 3 (by repeating the H) and 5 (by using A for pot-limit Omaha). It arguably also compromises point 1, in that, unlike HORSE, THORSEHA isn't a real word.

Shamus's suggestion, SPLENDOR, scores superbly on points 1, 3, and 5, but misses on points 2 and 4.

The two best ones I came up with in my comments on Shamus's original post were NOT HORSE and HERO SHOT. But those violate points 3 and 4. Also, while they are readily pronounceable, they are not single words, which is at least a minor problem for all those who have to figure out how to reduce such things to paper. (NOTHORSE just looks wrong.)

So where do we make the compromises? After thinking about this for far longer than the whole matter probably deserves, I've concluded that pronounceability is the least important principle. I would order my points, from most to least important, as 2, 4, 5, 3, 1.

And so, were I in charge of things over at PokerStars (which, shockingly, I'm not), but for whatever reason the order of the games they've selected were inviolable, I would reluctantly settle on calling the thing THORSENP, pronounced (if you must) "Thorsen-P." This pretty much offers up my point 1 on the altar, but honors the other four principles well.

If I were allowed to re-order the games, then I would follow the WSOP's lead and call it HORSENAT. This is at least a little more pronounceable than THORSENP, and compromises only mildly on point 5 (with A not being an obvious representative of pot-limit Omaha), while leaving the other points their integrity.

I don't like Stars' use of THORSEHA because it compromises both points 3 and 5 without really being any better than THORSENP in pronouncability.

I despair of a really good solution, though if my clever and creative readers have better suggestions, I'd love to hear them.


The artwork above, incidentally, is "The horse with no name" by Eddie Maier. See here.

Sights and sounds around town (minimal poker content)

1.

Bill's Gamblin' Hall and Saloon just got new felt on their tables. That's usually not cause for a photo and post, but these are really wild--easily the most colorful in town now. The wood looks so real that you have to touch it to convince yourself that it's not actually a wooden table.

Rumor has it that the cowboy shown on the felt, who is also on all sorts of other promotional materials around Bill's, originally had no moustache. But then the aggressive lawyers for Pixar objected, saying that the cartoon looked too much like a certain iconic character from a certain successful 1995 animated feature that that company had made, so Bill's added the moustache to better differentiate the two.

Sorry, but that's the end of the poker content for this post.


2.




I passed this car in the parking lot the other day. I liked the license plate so much I had to stop and take a picture of it.


3.

I was at Red Rock casino yesterday afternoon. All three of the remaining stories herein took place there within the space of five minutes.

I was in a stall of the men's room taking care of business, when somebody entered the stall to my right. I saw his shoes. He was standing up against the wall separating us, with his heels toward me, back against the wall. I figured he was going to engage in one of the various pre-business rituals that I've grown accustomed to hearing take place: wiping down the seat with toilet paper, putting down a paper seat cover, maybe a preparatory flush. But no, it was nothing like that. It was much stranger.

There was a series of loud, non-human noises I couldn't identify. Then I heard the slosh slosh slosh of what was unmistakably something being swirled around inside the toilet! I found this rather alarming. Lots of shuffling around. Things being wiped with a lot more vigor than expected. I couldn't figure out what he was doing.

But then I heard a sound that clarified everything: a brush. Aha! It's the cleaning guy!

Whew!


4.

As I was exiting the stall, I had to pass by the row of urinals. I saw something there that I have seen only once or twice before: An older guy accessing his, uh, parts by hiking one leg of his shorts way up. That's actually why I couldn't help noticing--the contrast of him having black shorts covering up one half of his backside, and his exposed lily-white thigh and butt cheek on the other side. It was seriously weird.

I don't get this behavior. I can't believe that it's faster, easier, or conveys any other advantage over the more traditional routes.

(That's right. This blog has now devolved into bathroom humor and observations. Maybe it's time to give it up, eh?)


5.

Upon leaving the restroom, I passed by a small decorative fountain and pool. Wherever there is such a thing in a public place, people will toss coins in. Here, though, I caught an old man bending over and fishing a quarter out. He gave it a vigorous shake to throw the water off before slipping it into his pocket. He then looked up and saw me staring at him. I'm not the confrontational type, because it's really not my business. But I hope my disapproving glare gave him a little jolt of shame.

People are so strange.


6.

My out-of-town visitor left this morning. One of the last touristy things we did yesterday, after the lunch buffet at Red Rock, was to visit the Las Vegas Art Museum in Summerlin. I had never been there before.

I can't recommend it. It costs $6, and there are only three rooms of art. Now, if these were three rooms filled with Monets and Cezannes and Rembrandts, OK, I'd consider that a treat and a bargain. But--pardon me showing my ignorance here--these pieces are mostly just crap. There were one or two things that were OK, that I wouldn't mind hanging over the sofa. But nearly everything else there, if I noticed it sitting in a Dumpster, I not only wouldn't bother retrieving it, I'd think that it had been put there with good reason.



Addendum, September 21, 2008


A reader sent me the photo below, showing the Bill's cowboy before the moustache was added, which adds some evidence to the rumor I heard about his alteration.

First Friday

Did some work at home this afternoon with my usual PokerStars razz $2-4 going on in the background. Had an unusually good day at it: uptick $160 in about two hours of giving it part-time attention.

My visiting friend had read good things in the Fodor guide about a Mexican restaurant called Dona Maria Tamales. This is on Las Vegas Boulevard just north of Charleston, so not far from where I live and also close to where we were heading after dinner. It was truly excellent food--easily the best Mexican I've had since living here. My friend, who is much fussier and more educated about fine dining than I am, agreed that it was superlative. My only concern was that the restrooms were pretty nasty, and you know the old saying--if they don't bother to keep the restrooms clean, when they know you'll see them, you can bet that the kitchen is filthy, because they know you won't be seeing that. Ewww.

Then we headed off to "First Friday," a monthly sort of open house of all of the downtown artsy-fartsy shops and galleries. It's a pretty nice thing to take out-of-town visitors to, because it's unlike anything else they'll ever do in Vegas, and not at all the sort of thing anybody expects this city to offer.

Below is a tiny sampling of the arts, crafts, ware, antiques, clothes, etc., that are for sale at the permanent galleries and the various temporary ones that get set up in a closed-off few blocks of Casino Center street--plus a few other sights of the evening, bands, break dancers, girls in their underwear and body paint, that sort of thing.

One of my favorite contemporary artists (and this allows me to slip in minimal poker content!) is Matt Rinard, and some of his stuff was on display at a high-end printing shop. You can see his main web site here and some from his poker-themed series here.

I had my good camera along, so there are much larger versions of these photos available for the mere effort of a click on them. Enjoy.

HBPRS, #8

Another episode of the Hard-Boiled Poker Radio Show is now up here, including a segment from yours truly.

Interesting that Shamus chose to illustrate my little contribution in the show notes with an engraving by William Hogarth. You would have to be a meticulous--perhaps even obsessive--reader to have noticed and remembered this little fact, but I once mentioned that the pseudonym under which I both blog and play online poker is taken directly from what is perhaps Hogarth's most famous series of illustrations, "A Rake's Progress," featuring the character Tom Rakewell. There are many days when I feel as he is shown in Plate 6: "Scene Six takes us to another gaming house where we witness Tom Rakewell's second, inevitable loss of fortune. Half mad, wig torn from his head, he wrenches his fist at the Heavens. Quite literally, by having married the old hag and now losing her fortune, all his cards have been played. He has sealed his own deplorable fate." I just hope to avoid the other Rakewell's subsequent stages of downfall: debtor's prison and the madhouse.


Addendum, December 12, 2010

It appears that the links given above are now broken. Try here instead: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rake%27s_Progress

I may be a little too set in my ways

Just as I was leaving the Venetian last night, a guy who had been playing at my table stopped me. He asked if I was the Poker Grump. I confessed. I've posted my mug here a few times, so it's not too surprising that occasionally a reader recognizes me in a poker room.

This was different, though. He introduced himself and said that he had friends that were blog readers--former Hilton dealers who knew me. OK, that's cool. Nice to know they're checking in on me from time to time.

But then the oddness of this dawned on me. How did he recognize me, if he didn't read my blog himself and therefore hadn't seen my photo? He hemmed and hawed a bit, but then said that his dealer friends had described me pretty well.

Wow. Barring some really remarkable physical feature (a big scar across the face, maybe, or a Van Gogh-esque missing ear), could you describe a friend in such detail that a person who has never met him before could pick him out of a crowd, especially if that person has no advance warning of where or when he might run into the subject of your description? That's quite a task--or so I thought at first. I'd like to think that I'm pretty average and unremarkable, and that I basically vanish into the background. Norman Chad says of Allen Cunningham that you don't even notice he's at the table until your chips are suddenly being shipped over to him. That's exactly the effect I try to achieve. So I have an image--perhaps an illusion--of myself as not standing out in any way, sort of hidden or camouflaged at the table. It's a bit unnerving to hear that I could be spotted so easily from just a verbal description.

Then I got to thinking about it. Here's what the dealers could have said about me--and probably did: He's about 5'7", 145 pounds. Really short, thinning hair. Wire frame glasses. No hat. Always wears blue jeans and a dorky fanny pack. Almost always wears the same style of collarless, long-sleeve, crinkly cotton shirt. There will be a pen and a folded-up sheet of paper (for note-taking) in the breast pocket. Always carries a sweatshirt in case the poker room is overly air-conditioned (which they often are). Expect to see some stubble, because he's too lazy to shave more than once or twice a week, and doesn't care that everybody knows it. Sometimes uses an MP3 player with ear buds, though not consistently. Usually occupies either Seat 1 or Seat 10 next to the dealer, and will be the quietest guy at the table, playing a classic tight-aggressive game. There will be a silver dollar in use as a card cap.

But here's the part I didn't anticipate. The guy didn't give me any details (which is why I have had to surmise what they must have told him), just saying that his dealer friends' description of me was good enough that he thought he had me spotted, but the clincher was that they had told him I always keep my chips in meticulous stacks of $50 (i.e., ten chips high). Oh, man, that is me all over. I don't do any chip tricks, but I confess that I do tend to simultaneously assuage my boredom and satisfy my craving for order in the world by working on making those stacks as neat and precise as possible. Why stacks of 10 instead of the more common 20? Simple--I'm a klutz, and I tend to knock them over if they're any taller.

I guess I hadn't realized that it had become something of a trademark.

But put all of those obsevations together, and it no longer seems especially remarkable that somebody who has never seen my photograph could pick me out, even at one of the biggest, busiest poker rooms in the city. In fact, given that information, if he couldn't nail me within a few minutes, his observational skills would have to be so weak that he wouldn't make it as a poker player.

Sigh. I guess I'm not as camouflaged as I thought.

This is all tongue-in-cheek, by the way. It honestly doesn't bother me if people know who I am. In fact, it's quite flattering. If you're a reader and happen to notice me at the table, feel free to speak up about it if you want. I occasionally even mention this blog to people I'm playing with, if there is some reason to (such as I'm going to write about them, or some topic of conversation arises that I've written about and I want to point them to it), so it's not like I try to keep it a deep, dark secret.

**********

By the way, not that I really needed further evidence that my recent losing streak was over, after the straight-flush incident, but I got it last night anyway. In six hours of poker, I had aces four times, kings one time, queens one time, jacks one time.

Not.

Cracked.

Once.

All praise be to the poker gods, for surely they are good and wise (most of the time).

***********

The interesting bit of artwork above is from Ann Huey. See her web site here.

More non-answers from UltimateBlecch

Pokerati's California Jen has conducted an interview with Paul Leggett, the COO of Tokwiro Enterprises, which owns and operates UltimateBet and Absolute Poker. You can read her introductory remarks and get to the interview transcripts here.

Jen is quite complimentary about Mr. Leggett's accessibility and openness. Frankly, I don't see it. There may be a crumb or two of detail here that wasn't previous reported, but precious little, and nothing that I found important. It mostly strikes me as the same mind-numbing corporate PR-speak that we've gotten all along. (See my previous posts on the subject here, here, here, and here.)

For me, the most basic and central question remains, Whodunnit? Once again, everybody interested in the answer to that will be disappointed:

I cannot confirm or deny anybody that is involved or not involved at this
point. Every time I give an interview, obviously people want me to say exactly
who is the perpetrator or who is part of the investigation, and I simply can’t.
There’s nothing that would give me more personal satisfaction than to do that,
but unfortunately, our situation is very complicated.

But I have a ton of evidence – IP addresses, withdrawal information,
transfer information, addresses, names – and I’m confident in my own mind that I
know exactly what occurred. We’re involved in complicated legal action, and our
litigators have forbidden me to say anything about who is or is not involved at
this point.

I’m very hopeful that we’re going to be receiving a very large sum of money
as a result of our legal actions, something that represents some kind of justice
in this whole thing, and I’m very hopeful and committed to doing everything I
can to make sure that enough information comes out about this, whether it be
through our legal actions or whatever, to make sure that the poker community and
the public at large are satisfied at the end of this.

I wish that Jen had pressed harder on this. Not that Liggett would cough up any names no matter what she had asked, but I'd like to hear him explain exactly why he can't tell us who the culprits were. What does he fear would happen as a result of releasing that information?

One possible answer is perhaps found in a cryptic phrase in that last paragraph: "whether it be through our legal actions or whatever." It's that "whatever" that catches my attention. If the revelation of the names is to be through Tokwiro's "legal actions" seeking compensation, then it's hard to fathom any reason why revealing them now versus revealing them later in court documents makes any difference. It's not like the culprits don't already know that they've been fingered, and Tokwiro is therefore trying hard not to alert them to the investigation.

So what could that "whatever" mean? I wonder if it means that they are negotiating with the thieves for reimbursement to Tokwiro, in exchange for which their names will never be made public. (You may recall that the names of the culprits behind the Absolute Poker cheating were buried in exchange for them revealing to the company how they accomplished their misdeeds.) That would certainly explain the silence. But it would flatly contradict Leggett's assertion that he is "committed to doing everything I can" to satisfy the poker community, because no reasonable assessment of what information will satisfy the poker community could fail to include the names of the guilty.

In other words, this appears to be a statement of reassurance that "at the length truth will out," as Launcelot put it, but it is given with weasel words and loopholes; Leggett may simply later claim that the names of those involved are not part of what he defines as "enough information ... to make sure that the poker community and the public at large are satisfied." It's not hard to imagine him saying, now or later, "Uh, you don't need to know that."

Well, sir, we do need to know it, in order to find out whether the felons are still involved, in some direct or indirect way, with the company now. Your shills have claimed that there is no longer any connection, but there is considerable reason to doubt the truth of such assertions. In fact, the continued secrecy strongly fuels suspicions along those lines.

For example, suppose we were to ask Mr. Leggett whether Joe Norton, the CEO and sole owner of Tokwiro, was personally involved in the scandal. Since Mr. Leggett "cannot confirm or deny anybody that is involved or not involved," then he obviously cannot and will not deny that Mr. Norton knew about, authorized, and/or profited from the cheating. As long as that is the case, how on earth can they think that they have given even token reassurance to the poker-playing public that they have actually cleaned house?

The most nausea-inducing part of the interview, for me, was this final paragraph:

It’s our job now to do everything we can to prove to the poker community and the
world that we are open, we are transparent, we are secure, and as additional
information comes out about this investigation as it wraps up, that people are
more willing to listen to what we’re saying about security and transparency
going forward.

Oh, please! He says "we are open, we are transparent," in the same interview in which he doggedly continues to refuse to answer the single most central, basic, and nagging question about the scandal.

Does he really think we are so stupid as to believe this?



About the image above. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find tasteful images when doing a Google Image search for "vomit"? This one seemed OK to me.

Here's the information about the painting, as listed here:

Tonel (Antonio Eligio Fernández)
El vómito es la cultura (Vomit is Culture), 1998
Watercolor and ink on paper 121 x 91 cm. - 48 x 36"
Collection of the ASU Art Museum
Gift of the Bacardi Art Foundation, Miami

Some poker-y things that I miss

The Las Vegas Hilton poker room

NetTeller

Party Poker

Shana Hiatt

The "Red Bull and Poker" blog


**********


OK, that's all this crummy little post is going to be (except there was one more thing that I thought of to add to the list, then promptly forgot again; I'll add it back in later if I remember). But now I have a problem. It has to do with the ease with which I can be distracted from one task by another only tangentially related. You see, I tried to do a simple Google Images search for "sad" to find something appropriate with which to illustrate this post. One of the first images that caught my eye was the one shown above, which is Marcel Duchamp's 1911-1912 painting "Sad young man in a train." I looked, then looked again, then looked some more, and for the life of me couldn't see either a young man or a train.

This intrigued me, and soon trying to unlock the mystery of this painting completely displaced my interest in actually making something useful and/or thought-provoking out of a list of poker-y things that I miss--which is why the list didn't grow any longer or more interesting. I haven't found any one place that dissects the painting and points to specific parts saying, "this line is ______ and this curve is _________." Sort of a map of the painting, which is what I was looking for.

However, I did find a bunch of short descriptions of it, including a bit by Duchamp himself, and learned the following additional tidbits: The young man is nude. It's a self-portrait. The young man is walking down the corridor of a train that is violently lurching to and fro, tossing him about. There are actually many separate renderings of the young man, apparently sort of a stop-action sequence, as with Duchamp's most famous work (which came right after this one), "Nude Descending a Staircase." He is smoking a pipe. The pipe and his walking stick are beloved objects. According to one commentator, the man's penis is prominently displayed and he may be masturbating. Yes, in the corridor of a train. There are theories about why he is sad, all of which seem to be wildly speculative and ungrounded.

OK, I can see the walking stick. I think the thing just to the left of the walking stick looks like a tibia, so is probably supposed to be the lower leg. I also found the alleged penis, because of the detailed description of the masturbation theory here. That small, dark, horizontal thing may be the pipe with a wisp of smoke coming out of it, though it looks more like a cigar to me, if anything. But honestly, even after an hour spent looking at and reading about this painting, I still don't see the overall outline of a man, nor his face, nor features that would suggest sadness, nor multiple copies of the figure, nor anything that looks like a train or the corridor thereof, nor anything that would clue us in that the pipe and walking sticks are beloved objects. Yet apparently all of these things are there, and quite obvious to other people who have studied the painting. (Unless it's all just a massive case of the Emperor's New Clothes, and Duchamp is having a big ol' laugh at everybody who thinks they see these things. With Duchamp, that is not an impossibility.) Maybe if one looks at the full-sized original it's all easier to see. Here is the other most complete description of the painting that I found, though it's not really a lot of help.

(OK, I can see a shape that might be his head. But if so, it's hugely oversized compared to what I think is his leg and the walking stick, and distorted, looking sort of like an Easter Island head. Furthermore, if that's his head that I'm seeing, then it looks like both of his hands are holding his head, just like in "The Scream." But then that would leave no hands with which to be holding his walking stick or his, uh, other implement. Besides, that would make him anguished, not sad. I really don't think Duchamp would be copying or parodying Munch here, at least not without that being prominently featured by every commentator. So I'm not blind to what might be his head--it's just that I've considered it and decided that I'm trying too hard to discern it, and my eyes are finding things that aren't there, in addition to not finding things that are apparently there.)

Anyway, as you can see, this bit of intrigue completely overwhelmed my initial interest in drawing up a list of poker-y things that I miss, which means that said list will probably never be completed now. It has now completely overtaken this blog post as well, making it almost entirely about something other than what it started out being, and having nothing to do with poker, except for the (now misleading) title and the first 17 words. I can't even think of any relevant labels to attach to it. I'm pathetic.

This may be the strangest post I've put up yet. For the record, it is the first time that the word "masturbation" has appeared. I thought it would also be the first time that the word "penis" appeared, but a quick search told me I was wrong about that. There was one previous such usage, which I had forgotten about.

UltimateBlecch and Absolute Puker to merge (sort of) into one giant vomitorium

This is the first time that I've had a post almost finished, then deleted it. The reason is that in doing my last-minute due diligence of seeing what others have written on the subject of the announced quasi-merger of Absolute Poker and UltimateBet as "Cereus," I discovered that between Wicked Chops Poker, Hard-Boiled Poker, and Pokerati, everything I was going to say has already been said, and better. I thought I would be the first to point out the laughable irony of the name selection, because the first thing I thought of upon seeing "Cereus" was that Bacillus cereus is a gastrointestinal pathogen that causes nausea and vomiting. (Yeah, I actually know strange stuff like that, from my pre-poker life.) But nope, Pokerati managed to catch that, too. Damn.

So on the outside chance that any of my readers don't already regularly read any of those three other blogs (and if you don't, what the hell is wrong with you???), now you know where to look for the basic information (Pokerati) , for thoughtful commentary (Hard-Boiled Poker), and for snarky shots at the absurdity of the whole thing (Wicked Chops Poker).


Addendum

Hey, I just thought of something original to say about the situation after all. There's this silver lining: Instead of there being two poker networks in which the site owners are cheating their players, now there will be only one!

Who needs a big hand?

My last three poker sessions--two at the Palms and one at the Rio--have been fairly remarkable for the absence of big hands. I did win one big pot with a full house (though the smallest full house possible: deuces full of treys), but other than that I haven't had so much as a stinkin' flush.

I have hit two straights, and in each case managed to stack an opponent. Last night I held the nuts: Q-9 with a board of 3-7-8-10-J, and a guy holding 8-9 moved all in on me. OK, well, I guess I'll call! Monday night at the Rio I made a wonderfully disguised straight holding a 5-7 and took all the chips of a guy who had flopped a set and slow-played it.

Last night I felted another guy when my A-A nicely matched the flop of A-10-8. I made a healthy bet at it and was surprised when somebody moved all in on me. OK, well, again, since I have the nuts, I guess I'll call! He had A-10 for top two pair. Ouch. (By the way, that's the only set I've hit in these three sessions.)

For the most part, it's been working about like this: The standard premuim hands win me small pots, mostly because the table recognizes that I'm playing tight and solid, and a continuation bet on the flop is usually enough to take it down. Those small pots don't add up to much profit, but they do compensate for the aborted hands--the ones in which I have position and call a pre-flop raise, but then have to abandon ship when I don't improve.

The big profit is coming from the small hands--and I mean that in two senses. First, as I've said, I have had a strange absence of big made hands: full houses, flushes, etc. Second, it's the sneaky, tricky, little cards that nobody at the table suspects I would be playing that have pulled in the big pots. 2-3 making a full house. 5-7 making a straight. Another 5-7 the same night making two pair to crack an opponent's big pocket pair. A 5-6 in that same session hitting trips (a 5 on the flop and another on the turn) to take down a player who couldn't get away from top pair/top kicker.

A little more profit has come my way from picking off two bluffs with a single pair.

Then there have been the two occasions that I raked in the chips in the most satisfying way: with the worst hand, an intimidating table image, and a well-timed big bet. The second of these was last night, against the guy who had earlier lost everything when I had the queen-high straight. This time I missed my straight draw, but hit him with an all-in check-raise on the river. Our earlier confrontation obviously did a Jedi mind trick on him, and he very reluctantly folded. On the first occasion, I wrongly thought I had the best hand. The loose-aggressive guy to my right made a continuation bet on an 8-high flop. I had 5-8 in my hand, and thought it was likely to be good, so made a big raise. He mucked Q-8 face up in a hurry. I showed him my own 8, but kept the other one hidden, and flashed him a grin. He confidently said to his buddy across the table, "I was beat. No way this guy calls a raise before the flop with anything worse than an A-8." Hee hee hee!

At a few points along the way, I have quietly bemoaned my relative inability to hit my flush draws and straight draws. (Let's face it: Two straights, zero flushes, one set, and one full house in nine hours of poker is a true drought of intrinsically strong hands.) But then I look at my spreadsheet and see that I've been averaging $85/hour this week (well above my norm), and realize that such complaints are being atrociously petty. In the end, the absolute strength of one's hand isn't what matters--it's the relative strength against whatever one's opponents are holding. Bottom two pair is pretty trashy, but it's pure gold against unimproved pocket aces.

Very early in trying to learn about poker, I heard the oft-repeated notion that what really separates good players from the not-so-good isn't how much they win when they have the best hand, but how little they lose when they have the second-best hand. I pooh-poohed that as being the sort of tired refrain that people comfort themselves with. But the more I play this game, the more fervently I believe it to be true.

We all get a little rush from seeing the board bring us a full house or the nut flush. They look so pretty. They make us feel like we deserve a big pot to go along with them. But the biggest money-making tool in the toolbox remains the ability to push the second-best cards back to the dealer.

It hurts. It hurts SO bad.

The pain is so deep, so intense, that I cannot comment. I can only post the facts, and hope you understand. (Non-razz players need read no further. You cannot know. Just kindly avert your gaze from my pitiable state of agony, and move on.)


*******************************************************************

PokerStars Game #18524408984: Razz Limit ($1/$2) - 2008/07/02 - 02:04:30 (ET)
Table 'Aisakos III' 8-max
*** 3rd STREET ***
Dealt to owlycat [6d]
Dealt to mondo nutz [8s]
Dealt to Fast Normie [Jc]
Dealt to Tactix [Kd]
Dealt to DaviTeresina [Ac]
Dealt to Rakewell1 [2h 3h Ah]
Dealt to JohnnyB3692 [8d]
Dealt to jbrennen [5c]
Tactix: brings in for $0.50
DaviTeresina: raises $0.50 to $1
Rakewell1: raises $1 to $2
JohnnyB3692: folds
jbrennen: folds
owlycat: calls $2
mondo nutz: folds
Fast Normie: folds
Tactix: folds
DaviTeresina: calls $1
*** 4th STREET ***
Dealt to owlycat [6d] [9d]
Dealt to DaviTeresina [Ac] [5h]
Dealt to Rakewell1 [2h 3h Ah] [Ad]
DaviTeresina: bets $1
Rakewell1: calls $1
owlycat: folds
*** 5th STREET ***
Dealt to DaviTeresina [Ac 5h] [Qd]
Dealt to Rakewell1 [2h 3h Ah Ad] [7h]
DaviTeresina: bets $2
Rakewell1: calls $2
*** 6th STREET ***
Dealt to DaviTeresina [Ac 5h Qd] [2c]
Dealt to Rakewell1 [2h 3h Ah Ad 7h] [Ks]
DaviTeresina: bets $2
Rakewell1: calls $2
*** RIVER ***
Dealt to Rakewell1 [2h 3h Ah Ad 7h Ks] [3c]
DaviTeresina: bets $2
Rakewell1: folds
Uncalled bet ($2) returned to DaviTeresina
DaviTeresina collected $16.55 from pot
DaviTeresina: doesn't show hand

***************************************************************************

Boils all over the body? Family being killed off? Those are nothing--bring 'em on. If God had really wanted to hurt Job, he would have forced him to play razz.


The illustration above, incidentally, is a depiction of a face in pain, another fine piece by the remarkable neurologist, Charles Bell, about whom I wrote a bit here. I found it on this page, which is part of the UCLA biomedical library's site devoted to a 1998 symposium/art exhibit they put on devoted to the history of understanding and treating pain. Interesting stuff.