They Call You Lady Luck

Luck be a lady tonight
Luck be a lady tonight
Luck if you've ever been a lady to begin with
Luck be a lady tonight!

Poker is a chess game, but with luck involved. I could play Gary Kasparov a thousand times, and he'd beat me soundly each time. I could play Johnnie Chan a thousand times, and I'll bet you your house that I'd come out ahead more than fifty times. Hell, if we played hold'em, and he had me all-in with his A-A against my 7-2 offsuit each time, I'd still win 110 times out of a thousand. That's what keeps the suckers coming back isn't it? Ask a loser why he loses, and he won't know why. Ask a consistent winner why he can make a living off the game, and (if you can get him to divulge his secret) he can tell you what he'd do with aces in different positions, how he reads his opponents, how he decides how much to bet, how he knows when he should bet bottom pair and when he should fold top pair, and most importantly, that he's got a game plan. He knows what he's doing every time before he even sits down at a poker table. Just like the Boy Scouts'll tell you, always be prepared.

Ok, so now you're prepared for your Friday night poker game, but is that where it stops? If it's a good idea for a poker game, why not be prepared for that big Chem test next week? Why not be prepared for that next job interview? Or for that big first date with the girl you've been chasing for weeks? Why don't you just prepare yourself for everything the way you would for a poker game? One who does not understand the concept would tell you that it's impossible to prepare for everything, because you just don't know what might happen. That's true: you never know when your aces'll get cracked, or when you'll make your flush draw and when you won't. But that doesn't mean you can't be prepared for those situations. Preparing doesn't equate to knowing what will happen; it's rather the opposite. Being prepared means you can handle the worst but expect the best. You have to be able to deal with a bad grade on a test, but you expect a good one when you are adequately prepared. Being ready to have your aces cracked doesn't mean you expect it; it means you can deal with that blow and keep on playing.

Life is a poker game, but with something more important than money involved.

In Lieu Of Anything Exciting

I had planned to wait until I could come up with something exciting to write, but having realized that that may take a while, I caved. Hmm, now doesn't that seem reminiscent of a lot of modern marriages?

I spent most of today playing Winning Eleven 8, undisputedly the greatest soccer game ever made. The Master League is as addicting as... as poker, I guess. Ok, bad analogy. Actually, technically that wasn't an analogy. And now you have a small taste of what it's like inside my head. I make cracks about things, then make cracks about the flaws in the cracks I just made, then I make a final crack about how many cracks I'm making. Oh what a twisted web... etc, etc, etc.

Have you ever heard Daniel Negreanu talk about reading his opponents? Basically, depending on the level of his opponents, the process of reading becomes not only just "what does he have," but also "what does he think I have," "what does he think I think he has," "what does he think I think he thinks I have," and so on. I think I'm predisposed to that already; it's a game I play often with myself. Only it's, "what am I doing," "what do I think I'm doing," what do I think I think I'm doing," etc. Or the "what"-part is replaced by a "why."

Next week: a novel about an amateur detective who's read a few too many dectective novels.

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

Don't Wait Up

(entry under construction)

(projected completion date: sometime in 2006)

Slow Deaths Are Always More Dramatic

Holy mackeral, 5 whole days without a single blog entry. Actually, "mackeral" is supposed to be spelled "mackerel." But I won't change it, because that would be cheating. I'm not kidding; I remember an incident from Chinese school several years ago. Yes, Chinese school. Where pathetic little children of immigrant families go to reinforce their shame of not knowing their mother language.

It was during a test. The teacher had walked over to my desk and was rountinely looking over my shoulder. I was diligently working my way through, not paying attention to her. She tapped me on the shoulder, and whispered in my ear, "I think that's a typo over there." Well it wasn't actually a typo, per se, but you know what I mean. Imagine writing the letters in the word "apple," except for no reason in the world, you crossed your p's. Yeah, it was like that.

So now I was faced with a moral dilemna. At least, I thought I was, but maybe you wouldn't have been. For you see, in my mind, the teacher had just given me illegal outside assistance. Imagine if during your AP test, your proctor came up to you and remarked to you that you had mispelled a word in your free-response packet (however unlikely that may be). Would it therefore, be ethically wrong to fix that? I certainly thought so, so I tried to ignore her. She was insistent however, and tried again. I shook my head "no" at her, but the message was lost. And in the end, I eneded up crying, shouting hysterically something to the effect of "Nooo, I won't do it, you can't make me, I'm a good boy!!!" etc.

And quietly inside, I cursed her whore of a mother and her tortoise of a father for creating this horrible monster of a teacher who was going to ruin my sweet, young, innocent life.

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On a somewhat related note, the baby tortoise known as Moz is doing fine. His favorite food is bread, which I heartell is not supposed to be tortoise food, so now I put the little pellets of tortoise food that I bought from Petsmart into his bread. Also, it seems I should "water" him more often; I would just leave a lid-full of water in his box, but apparently, he doesn't like to drink on his own.

Correction, he's a she.

When We're Out Together Dancing Cheek To Cheek

There are several things I'd like to say that I've done by the end of my life. Some are stupid, some are personal, and some are downright cool, even by your standards.

In no particular order, they are:

• drag race professionally
• have sex in space
• rent out ad-space on condoms
• invent something that's invisible
• bungee-jump off of an airplane (laws of physics be damned)
• buy a country (something small, like Monaco)
  
• win an Oscar
• build myself a robotic woman, who responds only to commands ending in the word "bitch"
• publish a novel and find it in a bookstore
• buy an empty storefront, hang up a cardboard sign that says "Bookstore" and print off my book and put it on the only bookshelf in the place, and make myself feel like I've accomplished something
• have my name appear in the credits of a major motion picture, hopefully directed by/produced by/starring/or just significantly related to a high-school chum

Well ladies and gentlemen, that's all the time we have today.

Join us next week when we start watching Cody's mustache grow. Trust us, it'll be more interesting than just damn grass.

"You don't have a mustache."
"Well I shave every day anyways."
"Chinese people can't have facial hair."
"Oh yeah, who says?"
"The laws of nature."
"Pshht, screw that."
"You can't do it Cody, don't try."
"All I need is some Rogaine."
"For your face?"
"A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

Another Month Closer To My Own Death

It's June already, and I haven't even posted a new entry? Preposterous.

"Where's Cody Wang when you need him?"
"Oh he'll come if you need him."
"So?"
"So, apparently you don't need him."