I worked with this guy - a kid, really - named, I swear to God, Evan Fink. I liked Evan; he let me mistreat him cruelly in exchange for dropping the occassional pearl of wisdom into his yet-to-be-completely-fused skull. An example: I called him, and he answered gladly to, "Shitston." He left me a voice-mail once in which he referred to himself as Shitston - I kept it until the day I left that job.
What kind of wisdom? Anything, really. He used his whiteboard for a word of the day, 60% of which I provided. This taught him many things -- that "invective" is a noun and not, as it looks to be, an adjective. That "insipient" and "incipient" are two entirely different words - but that something that's coming up soon, that is going to be incredibly stupid, is both insipient and incipient.
I taught him that there was a show called "Hogan's Heroes" that had nothing to do with wrestling, for another example.
What else? How can you quantify something like that? I was 40, he was 20. There was a lot of downhill knowledge transfer without either one of us really knowing it. He seemed to enjoy my little didactic asides, beneficial or no. And, truth be told, I enjoyed it too.
Anyway, some two years into our acquaintance, Evan ended his co-op assigment and went back to school, a period during which my father passed away, the scars about which you, my readers, are more than sick of reading.
Fast-forward this tale, then, until Evan gets a second co-op assigment with my company, relocates to his old digs in the cube right outside my office door, and again assumes the role of my chief patsy in exchange for the odd serious conversation. And, seeing as my general mise-en-scene was infused with a lot more melancholy than some months previous, there was no shortage of serious conversations to be had.
During one of them I made mention of the fact that my father, my Dad, had passed away recently.
"Dude, that's a real bummer," said the now 21-year-old Evan Fink. "I lost mine a few years back. It realllllly sucked."
I'm sorry, what the fuck did you just say?
"Yeah, it was really sudden. His heart. Real bad for me and my sister. My mom too."
Over the next few months, our talk would from time to time wander to the raw nerve of lost dads, but you know the god-damndest thing happened: the more we talked about it the more I realized that this kid, this 20-year-old whose 20-year-old observations and experiences I mocked with regularity, was teaching me, not the other way around.
What did he teach me? How to handle a crushing, awful loss the only way there is to do: Just pick your sorry ass off the ground and keep walking. Sometimes you won't really see the way -- sometimes road-dirt gets in your eyes a little bit -- but you just keep walking, or the world is going to pass you by as sure as morning follows night.
Sometimes it is difficult to follow my own advice. But, even if sometimes I cannot do what I need to do, at least I know what to do, and that's something.
I tell you that story to tell you this one: I have a friend whose father passed on two years ago right about now, who is a regular reader of this blog. Pat would be upset if I gave any personal details, so I won't - that's not even his real name. But he would want to know, I think, that I'm thinking about his entire family right about now, and my heart goes out to all of them.
And Pat, listen bud, I know you like to handle your business yourself, and that's perfectly Kool-and-the-Gang; but remember I'm a phone call away.
Just keep walking, and everything is going to be fine.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
That Living Room wallpaper comment, explained
I always say, if you want to grab someone's attention, start talking about a woman's hair. Hell, if the conversation turns to boobs, I'll have to start paying for extra bandwidth!
In yesterday's kerfuffle about Josie's new haircut I alluded to the fact that it looked like something off my mother's living-room wall. You would be forgiven if you didn't understand that statement, but there's something you need to know: my mother's living room is papered with black hippy-dippy wallpaper that was outlandish in 1970. Feast your eyes:
What with the baby portrait on the wall, my two goofy-looking brothers and me (in the middle), the wallpaper is the most innocuous thing in this picture
In yesterday's kerfuffle about Josie's new haircut I alluded to the fact that it looked like something off my mother's living-room wall. You would be forgiven if you didn't understand that statement, but there's something you need to know: my mother's living room is papered with black hippy-dippy wallpaper that was outlandish in 1970. Feast your eyes:
It's a tactile feast, as well as one for the eyes. It's black velvet flock - naturally. Here's a close-up of the wallpaper pattern, btw. Imagine my surprise when Toots found this picture in a retro home design book:
So when I saw Josie's new do, naturally I thought of Ma's hippy-dippy wallpaper. You be the judge:
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Another cash at the Sportsman's Club - woo hoo!
So yesterday was the first SSC game of the year (they take summers off). After some horrific traffic (at 11 fucking 30 on a Saturday) I stopped to pick up Very Josie and managed to be there more or less on time.
I like this game a great deal: the people are all great, the play is convivial and the talent is soft as hell. As I sit here right now thinking of it, the play falls into three categories:
1. The old-timers. Longstanding members and friends of the club who have been coming to that club since 1967, who are playing because, well, where the hell else are they going to be on a Saturday? With their wives? Don't be ridiculous.
They show a fair understanding of the game but chase straights and flushes, have faith in second pairs, and can be finessed off hands with big river bets after the board fucks them out of their straight. If they hit usually their body language will betray that too. In the long history of this game I think an old-timer has won maybe twice. They smoke heavily.
2. The wannabes. These guys are usually younger types, in their 20's or so, who fancy themselves good poker players because they've seen hundreds of hours of World Poker Tour videos. They explain their moves after they've lost and seem more concerned with appearing to be a good player than with winning my money. They bluff more than they should and can be effective bullies if they get a big stack in front of them. They smoke heavily.
3. The talent. A very small group. Two of them are a brother-and-sister duo to whom I refer as "1986-called-they-want-their-haircuts-back." I've seen them both play extraordinarily well, heard tales of big cashes at nearby Foxwoods casino, and have earned my respect in all phases of the game. They smoke heavily.
There are only two others. One is Josie. The other is me. Neither one of us smoke, heavily or otherwise. And of us all, and Josie can back this up, the two of us cash more often than anyone else who has ever sat down at that table. I have two outright wins and a bunch of seconds, both back in the glory days when first place was over $1000.
(Quick funny aside: I took first place in the inaugural tournament, and won $1300. I was so pleased with my skill that I made the grave mistake of calling home and bragging to Tootsie that I'd won. She immediately said "Oh, good - so I'll order those drapes for the living room, they're more or less exactly $1300." D'Oh! Never again.)
As for yesterday, Josie got knocked out right before the pizza break when her pocket aces were cracked by a flopped two pair. I think if you were to ask her, she'd say that she misplayed her hand by not shoving pre-flop but I would disagree with that. For one thing, you never play the same hand the same way 100% of the time; you just don't. For another, the makeup of this table is such that finessing aces can be extraordinarily profitable. As far as I'm concerned, the hand wasn't particularly misplayed - it was just one of those things.
I chipped up pretty quick when two people bet into my Kings. I didn't knock anyone out from them because I wasn't paying attention and didn't notice that the fishcake to my left had maybe two big blinds more than I bet him. He called of course and I'm sure he'd have given me those last crumbs if only I'd asked for them. As mistakes go it was pretty low-impact but someone else got his damn scratcher ($5 scratch card as a knockout bonus).
It was ebb and flow until after pizza time. Maybe an hour after the break I was dealt KhJh and flopped a King and a third heart. I shoved - more of a bluff than anything else - and my opponent went into the tank. He started muttering "did you flop a god damned set?" Ohhhhh shit. I knew then that this dude had AK and that I was crushed. Sure enough, he calls and I said "you got me" before turning my KJ. Indeed he had AK. Turn comes Ah, which gives him two pair but opens up flush and straight possibilities. Now it was his turn to be psychic: "worst card I could possibly draw. You got it." A bit premature, I thought, but indeed the river came a queen and I won a hee-yuge pot. It was an ugly win but as we all know, it's just poker. Besides, he was wearing a Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey so my compassion level was pretty low!
So at that point, there were only three of us left and we decided to chop, and we each took home a quick hundy profit for our trouble. In truth that suits me fine; impatience after hours of play is a hole in my game so I was just as happy to avoid it.
Anyway, there you go. Maybe Jo can write about it from her perspective. As for me it's almost 6 AM and it's just about time for bed.
I'm looking for a cool sign-off, like Wolfie's thanks for listening, or Jo's play smart. I'm thinking of something like "remember: the Holocaust never happened." What do you think?
To soon? Yeah, probably. Well, open for suggestions.
I like this game a great deal: the people are all great, the play is convivial and the talent is soft as hell. As I sit here right now thinking of it, the play falls into three categories:
1. The old-timers. Longstanding members and friends of the club who have been coming to that club since 1967, who are playing because, well, where the hell else are they going to be on a Saturday? With their wives? Don't be ridiculous.
They show a fair understanding of the game but chase straights and flushes, have faith in second pairs, and can be finessed off hands with big river bets after the board fucks them out of their straight. If they hit usually their body language will betray that too. In the long history of this game I think an old-timer has won maybe twice. They smoke heavily.
2. The wannabes. These guys are usually younger types, in their 20's or so, who fancy themselves good poker players because they've seen hundreds of hours of World Poker Tour videos. They explain their moves after they've lost and seem more concerned with appearing to be a good player than with winning my money. They bluff more than they should and can be effective bullies if they get a big stack in front of them. They smoke heavily.
3. The talent. A very small group. Two of them are a brother-and-sister duo to whom I refer as "1986-called-they-want-their-haircuts-back." I've seen them both play extraordinarily well, heard tales of big cashes at nearby Foxwoods casino, and have earned my respect in all phases of the game. They smoke heavily.
There are only two others. One is Josie. The other is me. Neither one of us smoke, heavily or otherwise. And of us all, and Josie can back this up, the two of us cash more often than anyone else who has ever sat down at that table. I have two outright wins and a bunch of seconds, both back in the glory days when first place was over $1000.
(Quick funny aside: I took first place in the inaugural tournament, and won $1300. I was so pleased with my skill that I made the grave mistake of calling home and bragging to Tootsie that I'd won. She immediately said "Oh, good - so I'll order those drapes for the living room, they're more or less exactly $1300." D'Oh! Never again.)
As for yesterday, Josie got knocked out right before the pizza break when her pocket aces were cracked by a flopped two pair. I think if you were to ask her, she'd say that she misplayed her hand by not shoving pre-flop but I would disagree with that. For one thing, you never play the same hand the same way 100% of the time; you just don't. For another, the makeup of this table is such that finessing aces can be extraordinarily profitable. As far as I'm concerned, the hand wasn't particularly misplayed - it was just one of those things.
I chipped up pretty quick when two people bet into my Kings. I didn't knock anyone out from them because I wasn't paying attention and didn't notice that the fishcake to my left had maybe two big blinds more than I bet him. He called of course and I'm sure he'd have given me those last crumbs if only I'd asked for them. As mistakes go it was pretty low-impact but someone else got his damn scratcher ($5 scratch card as a knockout bonus).
It was ebb and flow until after pizza time. Maybe an hour after the break I was dealt KhJh and flopped a King and a third heart. I shoved - more of a bluff than anything else - and my opponent went into the tank. He started muttering "did you flop a god damned set?" Ohhhhh shit. I knew then that this dude had AK and that I was crushed. Sure enough, he calls and I said "you got me" before turning my KJ. Indeed he had AK. Turn comes Ah, which gives him two pair but opens up flush and straight possibilities. Now it was his turn to be psychic: "worst card I could possibly draw. You got it." A bit premature, I thought, but indeed the river came a queen and I won a hee-yuge pot. It was an ugly win but as we all know, it's just poker. Besides, he was wearing a Kobe Bryant Lakers jersey so my compassion level was pretty low!
So at that point, there were only three of us left and we decided to chop, and we each took home a quick hundy profit for our trouble. In truth that suits me fine; impatience after hours of play is a hole in my game so I was just as happy to avoid it.
Anyway, there you go. Maybe Jo can write about it from her perspective. As for me it's almost 6 AM and it's just about time for bed.
I'm looking for a cool sign-off, like Wolfie's thanks for listening, or Jo's play smart. I'm thinking of something like "remember: the Holocaust never happened." What do you think?
To soon? Yeah, probably. Well, open for suggestions.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Friday, October 1, 2010
A bad beat, with no malice
It's early on at the Mook, and truth be told, the Karma was poor. Every hand I decided to play was stepped on, every flop not connecting, every attempted blind theft sniffed out. Before a half-hour goes by, I find myself having lost half my god damned stack.
I take a quick peek at the other table to see my best friend, my mortal enemy, love her or hate her you have to...um...hate her, the Veryest Very Josie, already having exited from the tournament, her pocket aces having been cracked by pocket queens.
My outward reaction: Aww, man, what a shame.
My inward reaction: Tee hee hee!
And it was that reaction, methinks, that led to the karmic explosion of what happened less than 10 hands later.
In middle position I picked up A9o. I decide to play the hand (for me, A9 is a 50/50 thing in middle; sometimes I do, sometimes I don't) so I throw in a standard (3x) raise. Two to my left snap-calls. Uh-oh, thinks I. If I don't connect on this one I have to drop it like it had herpes.
Flop comes A9K, two clubs. As the new Nike commercial says, Boom!
Villain bets, I raise, he shoves, I call with my remaining few hundred. He turns over AcQc, and all The Crafty Southpaw has to do is dodge a Q or a club, right?
Wrong. Turn comes a King, my 9's are counterfeited, and his Q outkicks me for the win. Ohhhhhh lordy.
Does this suck because I lost? No, not at all. He had outs galore - 9 clubs and three queens (so I thought) made me 52/48 to win so I knew I had a tough road. But fuck a duck (sorry Duck), I got shitcanned with what one of my tablemates called "a phantom out." God dammit! It was like I survived a gun battle only to shoot myself in the balls reholstering my weapon. But oh well - it happens; in the end I more or less lost a coin flip and that happens half the time. And, in fact, figuring in the Kings in the Villain's outs, he really had me 60/40, so the play ended up following the odds.
So: like I said, I'm not mad, or bitter, or even nonplussed. It's just a good story. And hey: I lasted longer than Very Josie, so I got that going for me.
See you Wednesday at the VJ and the Mook. And please, stop by Josie's blog and give her a virtual pat on the shoulder; she could use it.
I take a quick peek at the other table to see my best friend, my mortal enemy, love her or hate her you have to...um...hate her, the Veryest Very Josie, already having exited from the tournament, her pocket aces having been cracked by pocket queens.
My outward reaction: Aww, man, what a shame.
My inward reaction: Tee hee hee!
And it was that reaction, methinks, that led to the karmic explosion of what happened less than 10 hands later.
In middle position I picked up A9o. I decide to play the hand (for me, A9 is a 50/50 thing in middle; sometimes I do, sometimes I don't) so I throw in a standard (3x) raise. Two to my left snap-calls. Uh-oh, thinks I. If I don't connect on this one I have to drop it like it had herpes.
Flop comes A9K, two clubs. As the new Nike commercial says, Boom!
Villain bets, I raise, he shoves, I call with my remaining few hundred. He turns over AcQc, and all The Crafty Southpaw has to do is dodge a Q or a club, right?
Wrong. Turn comes a King, my 9's are counterfeited, and his Q outkicks me for the win. Ohhhhhh lordy.
Does this suck because I lost? No, not at all. He had outs galore - 9 clubs and three queens (so I thought) made me 52/48 to win so I knew I had a tough road. But fuck a duck (sorry Duck), I got shitcanned with what one of my tablemates called "a phantom out." God dammit! It was like I survived a gun battle only to shoot myself in the balls reholstering my weapon. But oh well - it happens; in the end I more or less lost a coin flip and that happens half the time. And, in fact, figuring in the Kings in the Villain's outs, he really had me 60/40, so the play ended up following the odds.
So: like I said, I'm not mad, or bitter, or even nonplussed. It's just a good story. And hey: I lasted longer than Very Josie, so I got that going for me.
See you Wednesday at the VJ and the Mook. And please, stop by Josie's blog and give her a virtual pat on the shoulder; she could use it.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Answers
1. The Isles of Langerhans are:
a. in the South Pacific
b. off the coast of Norway
c. now independent, but at one point part of the Soviet Union
d. wherever you are, baby. Wherever you are.
Answer: D. The Isles of Langerhans live in your pancreas.
2. "Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny" is:
a. incomprehensible.
b. misunderstood.
c. obsolete.
d. not even English, for Chrissake.
Answer: C. Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny is the scientific theory that an embryo going through its development (ontogeny) goes through all the physical forms (recapitulation) of the adult creature's evolutionary path (phylogeny). It was accepted science in the 19th century, but has long since been debunked.
3. A "cleek" is:
a. a golf club.
b. the name the British assigned to the Daschund while they were at war with Germany.
c. a machine used in sausage-making.
d. style of moustache.
Answer: A. It's an old golf club, more loft than a driver but less than a 1-iron. History records it was a bitch and a half to use.
4. The word "assassin" originated from:
a. a body part.
b. sex.
c. drugs.
d. rock and roll.
Answer: C. The original Assassins were Arab hired killers, and they were rewarded for a job well done with the drug that inspired their name: Hasish.
5. "Pruno" is:
a. corrosive but effective.
b. illegal but common.
c. colorful but tasteless.
d. kid-friendly but prone to staining furniture.
Answer: B. Pruno is prison liquor. Get a bag, a bunch of fruit, some sugar, and a heat source. Let sit a few days. Strain, re-sugar, maybe skim off the mold, and re-heat. A few days later, Pruno. It's either drunk or sold for a buck a glass. Reports indicate it's vile, but it does get you mildly buzzed.
a. in the South Pacific
b. off the coast of Norway
c. now independent, but at one point part of the Soviet Union
d. wherever you are, baby. Wherever you are.
Answer: D. The Isles of Langerhans live in your pancreas.
2. "Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny" is:
a. incomprehensible.
b. misunderstood.
c. obsolete.
d. not even English, for Chrissake.
Answer: C. Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny is the scientific theory that an embryo going through its development (ontogeny) goes through all the physical forms (recapitulation) of the adult creature's evolutionary path (phylogeny). It was accepted science in the 19th century, but has long since been debunked.
3. A "cleek" is:
a. a golf club.
b. the name the British assigned to the Daschund while they were at war with Germany.
c. a machine used in sausage-making.
d. style of moustache.
Answer: A. It's an old golf club, more loft than a driver but less than a 1-iron. History records it was a bitch and a half to use.
4. The word "assassin" originated from:
a. a body part.
b. sex.
c. drugs.
d. rock and roll.
Answer: C. The original Assassins were Arab hired killers, and they were rewarded for a job well done with the drug that inspired their name: Hasish.
5. "Pruno" is:
a. corrosive but effective.
b. illegal but common.
c. colorful but tasteless.
d. kid-friendly but prone to staining furniture.
Answer: B. Pruno is prison liquor. Get a bag, a bunch of fruit, some sugar, and a heat source. Let sit a few days. Strain, re-sugar, maybe skim off the mold, and re-heat. A few days later, Pruno. It's either drunk or sold for a buck a glass. Reports indicate it's vile, but it does get you mildly buzzed.
Monday, September 20, 2010
The Inaugural "Don't Be a Douchebag" Trivia Contest
I like trivia contests. I think they're a lot of fun. So I'm going to have one from time to time. Why do I call it the "Don't Be a Douchebag" contest? Because, of course, you have the mighty awesome power of the Internet in your hands, and nothing is stopping you from using it to answer these questions, except for this: doing so makes you a big giant douchebag. So don't do it. This isn't a contest to see how fast you can look something up. Answer the questions if you know them or if you think you can noodle them out, or don't.
OK? Fair Enough? And my promise to you is that I will only use questions that I know the answers to without looking them up - although post facto I will confirm the answers so that I don't lead you down the primrose path.
Absent any further questions then, here we go:
1. The Isles of Langerhans are:
a. in the South Pacific
b. off the coast of Norway
c. now independent, but at one point part of the Soviet Union
d. wherever you are, baby. Wherever you are.
2. "Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny" is:
a. incomprehensible.
b. misunderstood.
c. obsolete.
d. not even English, for Chrissake.
3. A "cleek" is:
a. a golf club.
b. the name the British assigned to the Daschund while they were at war with Germany.
c. a machine used in sausage-making.
d. style of moustache.
4. The word "assassin" originated from:
a. a body part.
b. sex.
c. drugs.
d. rock and roll.
5. "Pruno" is:
a. corrosive but effective.
b. illegal but common.
c. colorful but tasteless.
d. kid-friendly but prone to staining furniture.
Answers in 48 hours. If you want to email me the answers directly please feel free: it's gpjacobs at cox dot net. Winners get a shout out full of false sincerity.
OK? Fair Enough? And my promise to you is that I will only use questions that I know the answers to without looking them up - although post facto I will confirm the answers so that I don't lead you down the primrose path.
Absent any further questions then, here we go:
REMEMBER: DON'T BE A DOUCHEBAG. DON'T LOOK THESE UP!!
1. The Isles of Langerhans are:
a. in the South Pacific
b. off the coast of Norway
c. now independent, but at one point part of the Soviet Union
d. wherever you are, baby. Wherever you are.
2. "Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny" is:
a. incomprehensible.
b. misunderstood.
c. obsolete.
d. not even English, for Chrissake.
3. A "cleek" is:
a. a golf club.
b. the name the British assigned to the Daschund while they were at war with Germany.
c. a machine used in sausage-making.
d. style of moustache.
4. The word "assassin" originated from:
a. a body part.
b. sex.
c. drugs.
d. rock and roll.
5. "Pruno" is:
a. corrosive but effective.
b. illegal but common.
c. colorful but tasteless.
d. kid-friendly but prone to staining furniture.
Answers in 48 hours. If you want to email me the answers directly please feel free: it's gpjacobs at cox dot net. Winners get a shout out full of false sincerity.
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