"What's the difference?"
"Between what?"
"Between giving up on something for whatever reason, and letting go of something you know you can't hold on to."
"Giving up implies you're not willing to do whatever it is that you would need to do to hold on to something."
"And what if you are willing to do it, but you don't know how?"
"Well, if you really did want to do it, then you'd figure out how."
"Ok, so what if I figure out how to do it, but it turns out that what I'm trying to hold on to doesn't really want to be held on to?"
"May I take it then that we're speaking about a certain person?"
"I guess I shouldn't have said 'what.' "
"It's ok, we'll just take it to mean the relationship you have with that person."
"So what do you think?"
"It's a toughie, but I think you need to tell that person exactly how you feel."
"What if you don't think she'd understand?"
"I see now we've progressed from a 'what,' to a 'person,' to a 'she.' "
"The magic of evolution."
"Touché."
"I'd really like to hear what you think."
"I think you need to put your trust somewhere external to yourself. You've gotta either trust her, or trust fate, or trust your voodoo gods, or whoever. But you can't control it yourself. You'll kill yourself trying to."
"And what if what happens isn't what you would have wanted to happen?"
"Then you'll have to learn to deal with disappointment. But you're a poker player; what's another bad beat, even if it is about some broad?."
"She isn't just some broad."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant. I just didn't like it."
"Tough."
"Thanks."
-------------
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Aimlessly
He hated looking at his watch. He couldn't avoid it, but he could hate it. He hated staring at the thin, inconsequentially thin figure of the second hand marching grimly around the face, ticking off the moments which came and would never come again. Time was a bitch, Deck thought.
He tried his best to look at his watch less and less. He tried to avoid being seated anywhere within view of a clock. He tried to ignore the ticking of the watch of the guy seated next to him at the table, whether it was real or imagined.
He got better at it gradually. He started waking up at 12:47 PM on the nose every day, and decided to donate his alarm clock to Goodwill. He ate dinner everyday at 5:15 PM sharp, since Subway's 2 footlong sandwiches for $8.99 deal started at 5 PM and that was how long it took him to walk to the restaurant. He saved the second sub for breakfast, which he usually ate at around 4 or 5 AM. He went to bed as soon as he finished eating his breakfast sub (usually a sweet onion chicken teriyaki on honey oat bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, olives, pickles, and jalapeno peppers). Sometimes, he would brush his teeth. Most of the time, he just comforted himeself with the fact that nobody ever came to see him anyways, so no one would ever notice or care.
-------------
Online poker was not the occupation Deck had gone to MIT to prepare for. But he didn't know why he went to MIT anyways, so it really didn't matter. The whole thing had been very accidental, and Deck felt like he had somehow just woken up one day, and found himself living in Boston. He remembered half-heartedly filling out his application, and turning in some sort of generic essay (or maybe a couple of generic essays) beginning with the words "I wasn't really sure what to write for this essay, so..." Apparently, somebody at MIT was trying to get fired, because Deck soon found out that he wasn't the only one in his class who didn't really belong there. It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He just wasn't brilliant. He had no outstanding traits whatsoever. He did nothing better than anyone else. Everything was easy for him, but he wasn't especially good at anything. Oh, he ended up graduating, but neither he nor MIT felt like either had gained anything of value from the other after four years.
And so it was that after he left the most prestigious technical university in the world, he found himself profoundly and utterly without direction. He had no overwhelming desire to do anything. The few truly brilliant folks he had met in school did nothing to inspire him; they had dismissed him as being just another bright young fellow who lacked the extra something special needed for success, and so he had dismissed each of them as being just another asshole who didn't and couldn't give an honest shit about him. But even if he wasn't inspired or motivated, he could still be hungry. The question of what to do for money led him naturally to the solution which kept him fed and occupied now.
Poker came as easily to him as everything else in his life had. His temperament was especially suited to the game. Natually emotionless and introverted, he couldn't give off tells if he tried. Some of the more overzealous types took this as a sign that he was trying too hard, and in trying to take his money, lost considerable portions of their own stacks before they realized that Deck really was as dead calm and serious as he looked. The other guys just didn't notice, or if they did, didn't know what it was they had noticed. He was just as calm when he took his bad beats. They were inevitable, but he didn't mind them all that much. Probably because he didn't mind anything all that much, an attitude which had gotten him pretty far in life thus far by most peoples' measures, and would probably have carried him even farther had he never met her.
...
-------------
If a certain friend tells me he wants to rape a certain other acquaintance of mine, am I obligated to tell her?
He tried his best to look at his watch less and less. He tried to avoid being seated anywhere within view of a clock. He tried to ignore the ticking of the watch of the guy seated next to him at the table, whether it was real or imagined.
He got better at it gradually. He started waking up at 12:47 PM on the nose every day, and decided to donate his alarm clock to Goodwill. He ate dinner everyday at 5:15 PM sharp, since Subway's 2 footlong sandwiches for $8.99 deal started at 5 PM and that was how long it took him to walk to the restaurant. He saved the second sub for breakfast, which he usually ate at around 4 or 5 AM. He went to bed as soon as he finished eating his breakfast sub (usually a sweet onion chicken teriyaki on honey oat bread, with lettuce, tomatoes, olives, pickles, and jalapeno peppers). Sometimes, he would brush his teeth. Most of the time, he just comforted himeself with the fact that nobody ever came to see him anyways, so no one would ever notice or care.
-------------
Online poker was not the occupation Deck had gone to MIT to prepare for. But he didn't know why he went to MIT anyways, so it really didn't matter. The whole thing had been very accidental, and Deck felt like he had somehow just woken up one day, and found himself living in Boston. He remembered half-heartedly filling out his application, and turning in some sort of generic essay (or maybe a couple of generic essays) beginning with the words "I wasn't really sure what to write for this essay, so..." Apparently, somebody at MIT was trying to get fired, because Deck soon found out that he wasn't the only one in his class who didn't really belong there. It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He just wasn't brilliant. He had no outstanding traits whatsoever. He did nothing better than anyone else. Everything was easy for him, but he wasn't especially good at anything. Oh, he ended up graduating, but neither he nor MIT felt like either had gained anything of value from the other after four years.
And so it was that after he left the most prestigious technical university in the world, he found himself profoundly and utterly without direction. He had no overwhelming desire to do anything. The few truly brilliant folks he had met in school did nothing to inspire him; they had dismissed him as being just another bright young fellow who lacked the extra something special needed for success, and so he had dismissed each of them as being just another asshole who didn't and couldn't give an honest shit about him. But even if he wasn't inspired or motivated, he could still be hungry. The question of what to do for money led him naturally to the solution which kept him fed and occupied now.
Poker came as easily to him as everything else in his life had. His temperament was especially suited to the game. Natually emotionless and introverted, he couldn't give off tells if he tried. Some of the more overzealous types took this as a sign that he was trying too hard, and in trying to take his money, lost considerable portions of their own stacks before they realized that Deck really was as dead calm and serious as he looked. The other guys just didn't notice, or if they did, didn't know what it was they had noticed. He was just as calm when he took his bad beats. They were inevitable, but he didn't mind them all that much. Probably because he didn't mind anything all that much, an attitude which had gotten him pretty far in life thus far by most peoples' measures, and would probably have carried him even farther had he never met her.
...
-------------
If a certain friend tells me he wants to rape a certain other acquaintance of mine, am I obligated to tell her?
Sunday, September 18, 2005
Poker, Because There Really is Nothing Else
Cash game.
$0.10/$0.20 NL texas hold'em.
8-handed most of the day, 9-handed at some points.
Randy to my right, Raj to my left, with Mike one seat behind Raj. All that means is that I get to pick off Randy's calls (at one point, he had called preflop for about 30 consecutive hands), but also have to avoid being super dumb.
Started off pretty well, I guess. First hand, A-4 suited on the button, call one raise of $0.50 from Raj with about 3 other guys. Flop is A-J-2, with one card of my suit. Raj checks, Mike bets $0.75, fold to me, and I call for $0.75, on the button, with backdoor flush and straight draws. Raj calls too. Turn is an offsuited 3, Raj checks, Mike checks (he regrets this now), and I check, pretty sure my Ace is outkicked, if not worse. River is the 5. I have the second-nuts (the "peanuts" as I like to call it), save for 6-4, which I can only hope no one was fucking around with. Raj checks, Mike bets, I raise, Raj folds, Mike calls, and I turn up the suck-outed straight against his top two pair. About a $20 pot total.
Fold mostly for about 2 rounds, when I get back on the button with 8-5 offsuit. 3 weak calls after the big blind enticed me to make a play at this one, using my position and my image. "Raise, 50 cents more," I announce. To my chagrin, 3 calls total. Flop is Q-5-3, two spades, and all is not lost apparently. Check, check, Vince bet out $0.50. Vince can get creative at times, and he'd bet out here with a lot of hands that can't stand much pressure. I make a value-looking raise for $2 more. Vince folds, saying how he knows I'm going to come over the top of him for a lot of chips on the next card anyways (hehe, it's working, it's working!).
Life is pretty darn good, eh? Fold fold fold fold, and then, bam! K-10 offsuit under the gun. Maybe I was getting bored. I'd folded K-10 twice before in early postion, so I guess I wanted to change it up a little. Standard raise for $0.50, and I pick up 3 or 4 callers (I don't remember, there's always a lot of dead-money calls where they fold after the flop to any pressure). Flop is K-10 (first two cards off, both spades, so I was praying for a nonspade next) -9, all spades. Randy checked to me, and I bet out $2. Mike called, and Vince called (he regrets this now). Turn is my bingo card, K of hearts. Slowly check, pretending as if my A-10 with the A of spades was not so hot anymore. Mike checked, and Vince checked. River was the J of diamonds (Mike regrets this now). I check again, confidently in my mind, and Mike comes out firing for $5, and before the fireworks even start going off in my head, Vince CALLS. Oh boy oh boy, life sure as heck is REAL good. I ponder for a moment, checking my cards again slowly. I have no idea how they'll react to me, but I don't really care. Slowly, deliberately, I raise it, $10 more. Actually, I announced the $10 raise before I even checked my own stack. Turns out, I only had a buck left anyways after that. Mike calls pretty damn quickly, and Vince flipped up his Q-J as he thought about it. Wow, how awesome would it have been for him to call me too? Instead after several seconds, he makes the tough but correct decision to lay down the flopped straight. I turn up K-10 for my full house, Mike, in shock I guess, flipped up A-Q, for the nut straight. In hindsight, I guess he must have thought I was trying to buy the pot, maybe with 3 kings, maybe with a K-high straight trying to avoid a split (he had the A-high straight), or maybe I was pure bluffing. I guess I am capable of it. I'm just crazy like that.
So, that was about a $40 pot. I was up to roughly $46 at one point in my stack. Then the cards stopped coming, and I couldn't shake anybody off of anything. Notably in my memory, my J-J got, among others, a call from K-6 suited, and the flop came K-6-3; later 8-8 got, among others, a call from Randy with 10-7 offsuit, flop came 10-10-3, he bet out $2 (should have noticed and made the weird laydown here) but instead I raised $5 just to make sure, as he went all-in and I folded.
Final hand (by now the cards had gone completely dead), I limp in with J-8 to an almost-family pot (Raj folded), and the flop was J-8-3, two diamonds. One bet of $0.75, Vince raised all-in for $3.40 total, and I reraised another $7 to make sure. Heads-up between us it went, and he flipped up 10-7 for nothing but an inside straight draw. Sure enough, the 9 on the turn (and another one on the river) cost me about a $9 pot.
Oh well. I cashed out for $34, up $24 for the day, and went home shaking my head, certain I could have hit $50 easily if my quality hands had just held up too.
-------------
Joe Sebok, son of Barry Greenstein, on playing online poker:
"There is also something to being able to say, 'Fold, fold, fold, fold, fold, damn it, for the love of all that is sweet on this earth, FOLD!' out loud during a bluff, which is very freeing."
$0.10/$0.20 NL texas hold'em.
8-handed most of the day, 9-handed at some points.
Randy to my right, Raj to my left, with Mike one seat behind Raj. All that means is that I get to pick off Randy's calls (at one point, he had called preflop for about 30 consecutive hands), but also have to avoid being super dumb.
Started off pretty well, I guess. First hand, A-4 suited on the button, call one raise of $0.50 from Raj with about 3 other guys. Flop is A-J-2, with one card of my suit. Raj checks, Mike bets $0.75, fold to me, and I call for $0.75, on the button, with backdoor flush and straight draws. Raj calls too. Turn is an offsuited 3, Raj checks, Mike checks (he regrets this now), and I check, pretty sure my Ace is outkicked, if not worse. River is the 5. I have the second-nuts (the "peanuts" as I like to call it), save for 6-4, which I can only hope no one was fucking around with. Raj checks, Mike bets, I raise, Raj folds, Mike calls, and I turn up the suck-outed straight against his top two pair. About a $20 pot total.
Fold mostly for about 2 rounds, when I get back on the button with 8-5 offsuit. 3 weak calls after the big blind enticed me to make a play at this one, using my position and my image. "Raise, 50 cents more," I announce. To my chagrin, 3 calls total. Flop is Q-5-3, two spades, and all is not lost apparently. Check, check, Vince bet out $0.50. Vince can get creative at times, and he'd bet out here with a lot of hands that can't stand much pressure. I make a value-looking raise for $2 more. Vince folds, saying how he knows I'm going to come over the top of him for a lot of chips on the next card anyways (hehe, it's working, it's working!).
Life is pretty darn good, eh? Fold fold fold fold, and then, bam! K-10 offsuit under the gun. Maybe I was getting bored. I'd folded K-10 twice before in early postion, so I guess I wanted to change it up a little. Standard raise for $0.50, and I pick up 3 or 4 callers (I don't remember, there's always a lot of dead-money calls where they fold after the flop to any pressure). Flop is K-10 (first two cards off, both spades, so I was praying for a nonspade next) -9, all spades. Randy checked to me, and I bet out $2. Mike called, and Vince called (he regrets this now). Turn is my bingo card, K of hearts. Slowly check, pretending as if my A-10 with the A of spades was not so hot anymore. Mike checked, and Vince checked. River was the J of diamonds (Mike regrets this now). I check again, confidently in my mind, and Mike comes out firing for $5, and before the fireworks even start going off in my head, Vince CALLS. Oh boy oh boy, life sure as heck is REAL good. I ponder for a moment, checking my cards again slowly. I have no idea how they'll react to me, but I don't really care. Slowly, deliberately, I raise it, $10 more. Actually, I announced the $10 raise before I even checked my own stack. Turns out, I only had a buck left anyways after that. Mike calls pretty damn quickly, and Vince flipped up his Q-J as he thought about it. Wow, how awesome would it have been for him to call me too? Instead after several seconds, he makes the tough but correct decision to lay down the flopped straight. I turn up K-10 for my full house, Mike, in shock I guess, flipped up A-Q, for the nut straight. In hindsight, I guess he must have thought I was trying to buy the pot, maybe with 3 kings, maybe with a K-high straight trying to avoid a split (he had the A-high straight), or maybe I was pure bluffing. I guess I am capable of it. I'm just crazy like that.
So, that was about a $40 pot. I was up to roughly $46 at one point in my stack. Then the cards stopped coming, and I couldn't shake anybody off of anything. Notably in my memory, my J-J got, among others, a call from K-6 suited, and the flop came K-6-3; later 8-8 got, among others, a call from Randy with 10-7 offsuit, flop came 10-10-3, he bet out $2 (should have noticed and made the weird laydown here) but instead I raised $5 just to make sure, as he went all-in and I folded.
Final hand (by now the cards had gone completely dead), I limp in with J-8 to an almost-family pot (Raj folded), and the flop was J-8-3, two diamonds. One bet of $0.75, Vince raised all-in for $3.40 total, and I reraised another $7 to make sure. Heads-up between us it went, and he flipped up 10-7 for nothing but an inside straight draw. Sure enough, the 9 on the turn (and another one on the river) cost me about a $9 pot.
Oh well. I cashed out for $34, up $24 for the day, and went home shaking my head, certain I could have hit $50 easily if my quality hands had just held up too.
-------------
Joe Sebok, son of Barry Greenstein, on playing online poker:
"There is also something to being able to say, 'Fold, fold, fold, fold, fold, damn it, for the love of all that is sweet on this earth, FOLD!' out loud during a bluff, which is very freeing."
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
Momentary Sigh of Relief
I had been operating (ok, maybe not operating, more like, living in a state of intense dread) on the assumption that Princeton early admission was due postmarked by October 1st. However, I've suddenly discovered a whole new month, the one they call, "November." Still, I am not left with much leeway, as something known as an Extended Essay second draft is due in mid-October.
Ah, but nothing beats that feeling of having some long-carried burden suddenly disappear. To look up and see the sun again.
It's been a slow news day folks, for me at least. Hence, we present some more Rain-isms. Sorry Rain, but you just make it so easy for me.
"Damnit, that gas pump was leaking on me. I got gas all over my fingers Rain."
"Go home and wash it with soup."
(oh, he definitely said "soup")
-------------
Game over. Insert 2 tokens to continue.
Ah, but nothing beats that feeling of having some long-carried burden suddenly disappear. To look up and see the sun again.
It's been a slow news day folks, for me at least. Hence, we present some more Rain-isms. Sorry Rain, but you just make it so easy for me.
"Damnit, that gas pump was leaking on me. I got gas all over my fingers Rain."
"Go home and wash it with soup."
(oh, he definitely said "soup")
-------------
Game over. Insert 2 tokens to continue.
Monday, September 12, 2005
I'm Addicted to You
What? I can't rip a song title once in a while?
I was so desperate on my National Merit application that I wrote about this blog. Now I live in constant fear that someday someone will come asking about it.
Guess I better stop cussing and shit.
Oh but this is fun to keep up, isn't it? Besides beating the heck out of doing IB homework, I also get to practice sounding and writing like an idiot. My God, I've just realized, this blog is the reason for my decline in language skills. Soon, I will begin drooling and whistling incoherently, even though I don't know how to whistle.
I can't keep up with everything. I just can't. It's like putting George Bush into a ghetto.
"Like the black people, damnit!"
"I can't! I just don't know how!"
"We'll shoot your father if you don't hug at least one black person."
"No daddy, NOOOOOO!!!!"
Now, let's all take a moment to pray for those affected by Hurricane Katrina, especially that guy who made off with about 37 Ecko t-shirts. Lord have mercy on them.
Amen.
I was so desperate on my National Merit application that I wrote about this blog. Now I live in constant fear that someday someone will come asking about it.
Guess I better stop cussing and shit.
Oh but this is fun to keep up, isn't it? Besides beating the heck out of doing IB homework, I also get to practice sounding and writing like an idiot. My God, I've just realized, this blog is the reason for my decline in language skills. Soon, I will begin drooling and whistling incoherently, even though I don't know how to whistle.
I can't keep up with everything. I just can't. It's like putting George Bush into a ghetto.
"Like the black people, damnit!"
"I can't! I just don't know how!"
"We'll shoot your father if you don't hug at least one black person."
"No daddy, NOOOOOO!!!!"
Now, let's all take a moment to pray for those affected by Hurricane Katrina, especially that guy who made off with about 37 Ecko t-shirts. Lord have mercy on them.
Amen.
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Comment-Whoring
I wonder where all these little scripts posting comments come from...
Did the digital stork just decide to drop them on my blog's doorstep? If so, well, let's just say Mr. Stork needs a bullet up the ass sometime soon.
In other news, I assert control over my life by choosing to waste my own time. It's really pretty nifty, but I don't recommend it for everyone. You really have to be able to take a lot of mental punishment, because you know in your own head that you're just watching the seconds tick by, waiting for something to happen. Waiting. Waiting. And waiting.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
And pretty soon, you'll wake up and be dead. Oh, but it's not all bad. No one's going to hold you responsible for anything after you're dead. So really, the trick is to die without dying. To die inside, and still keep on breathing.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in...
Did the digital stork just decide to drop them on my blog's doorstep? If so, well, let's just say Mr. Stork needs a bullet up the ass sometime soon.
In other news, I assert control over my life by choosing to waste my own time. It's really pretty nifty, but I don't recommend it for everyone. You really have to be able to take a lot of mental punishment, because you know in your own head that you're just watching the seconds tick by, waiting for something to happen. Waiting. Waiting. And waiting.
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
And pretty soon, you'll wake up and be dead. Oh, but it's not all bad. No one's going to hold you responsible for anything after you're dead. So really, the trick is to die without dying. To die inside, and still keep on breathing.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in...
Tuesday, September 06, 2005
Sprechen Sie Englisch?
Thank the powers that be for in-flight movies... Madagascar being one of the many, many movies played back-to-back on my flight back from Hawaii.
Skipper the Penguin: Hey, quadruped, sprechen sie englisch?
Marty the Zebra: Yeah, I sprechen.
Skipper the Penguin: What continent is this?
Marty the Zebra: Manhattan.
Skipper the Penguin: Hoover Dam! We're still in New York! Dive! Dive! Dive!
Well, at least a few lines of that movie were funny.
But it does bring me to my next point (does "next point" imply I had a first point? either way, I lied), which is the plight of non-well-speaking-English folk in America. You know, dem kids who don't talk good American. I used to be one of them. Until I realized how ridiculous I was. Never again will I mispronounce anything.
Except maybe the word "Bono."
But I digress.
Many of you (how many is many of one person?) know my friend Rain. Well, Rain has a dilemma over at Countryside High School. He is currently ranked 3rd in his class. He's taking quite a few quality-point classes this semester, and so by all reasonable estimates, he should overtake the #1 ranking by Christmas.
So, what's so horrible about becoming valedictorian?
The speech he'd have to give.
I won't try to explain the situation much further; those of you who know Rain also are well familiar with his language limitations. Perhaps he can explain best in his own words:
"Aww, I sucks at speeching."
-------------
I bid you all goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.
Skipper the Penguin: Hey, quadruped, sprechen sie englisch?
Marty the Zebra: Yeah, I sprechen.
Skipper the Penguin: What continent is this?
Marty the Zebra: Manhattan.
Skipper the Penguin: Hoover Dam! We're still in New York! Dive! Dive! Dive!
Well, at least a few lines of that movie were funny.
But it does bring me to my next point (does "next point" imply I had a first point? either way, I lied), which is the plight of non-well-speaking-English folk in America. You know, dem kids who don't talk good American. I used to be one of them. Until I realized how ridiculous I was. Never again will I mispronounce anything.
Except maybe the word "Bono."
But I digress.
Many of you (how many is many of one person?) know my friend Rain. Well, Rain has a dilemma over at Countryside High School. He is currently ranked 3rd in his class. He's taking quite a few quality-point classes this semester, and so by all reasonable estimates, he should overtake the #1 ranking by Christmas.
So, what's so horrible about becoming valedictorian?
The speech he'd have to give.
I won't try to explain the situation much further; those of you who know Rain also are well familiar with his language limitations. Perhaps he can explain best in his own words:
"Aww, I sucks at speeching."
-------------
I bid you all goodnight, ladies and gentlemen.
Monday, September 05, 2005
Shh!
Don't tell anyone but, I don't have a copy of the Mu Alpha Theta application. I gave mine to Channing, but then I forgot to go get another one. This presents us with a choice then:
A) I can go get one tomorrow from Linder (without telling her why), then fill it out and forge some signatures, and turn it in tomorrow, or
B) Since Channing has "my" application technically, I've already told her that she gets to be Mu President for me.
Personally, plan B seems more ethical than A. Plan A involves a lot of deception, lying, sneaking, etc.
Sadly, Channing has refused this position.
Fortunately, I am an expert forger, lockpicker, safecracker, and card counter. There's probably a few other criminal skills I should brush up on. Another day perhaps.
A) I can go get one tomorrow from Linder (without telling her why), then fill it out and forge some signatures, and turn it in tomorrow, or
B) Since Channing has "my" application technically, I've already told her that she gets to be Mu President for me.
Personally, plan B seems more ethical than A. Plan A involves a lot of deception, lying, sneaking, etc.
Sadly, Channing has refused this position.
Fortunately, I am an expert forger, lockpicker, safecracker, and card counter. There's probably a few other criminal skills I should brush up on. Another day perhaps.
Friday, September 02, 2005
We're So Not Addicted
Look. If there's anyone out there around the ages of 16 to 17, and who's interested in gambling, I'm here to tell you, you're a fucking idiot.
Yes, this means I'm a fucking idiot.
Friday afternoon, and I have the bright idea of having a poker game at my house. Six people total, and yes, even Bromar showed up (he was lost for at least half an hour, driving in circles on the CIRCULAR road around my house).
About 45 minutes in, after I had busted out, I suddenly had the bright idea of making it a rebuy tourney. Randy was pissed. But that's ok, because he's not a real person.
Amid jokes about Omar's undying love for a certain girl by the initials of R(achel) B(I can't spell her last name), and Randy's inability to speak either passable English or Spanish, we somehow found ourselves holding the short end of a stick that Randy was holding on to as the winner. No worries mate, we had a plan.
First, we played 6 way high-card, $1 and later $2 a hand. Joey managed to draw an Ace three separate times, but on the third time, after Max had flipped up another Ace (after he'd lost), both Randy and I looked down to find ourselves holding the last two Aces in the deck. Sadly, the three-way tiebreaker went to Randy. I did manage to win one high-card game, drawing out a K to beat a Q.
Having tired of playing high-card, we moved on to blackjack. $5 a hand seemed to become the norm, and Randy was probably up in the nieghborhood of $80 at his high (later after they left my house, Joey told me that Randy was at one point in debt for $40 when they played some more at Joey's house). I played a total of three blackjack hands, losing two for $10 each and winning one for $20.
Sadly, at one point, Randy and Joey began playing rock-paper-scissors for money, $1 a pop.
Joey wound up up $5 total.
The moral of the story is:
we are some fucking bad gamblers.
(15 minutes ago, Joey also told me that Randy thought he had lost the $50-dollar bill he had won gambling; later when Randy called Joey back, he told him he had found it...
in the toilet,
after having been urinated on by his younger brother.)
-------------
Yeah, we suck that much.
Yes, this means I'm a fucking idiot.
Friday afternoon, and I have the bright idea of having a poker game at my house. Six people total, and yes, even Bromar showed up (he was lost for at least half an hour, driving in circles on the CIRCULAR road around my house).
About 45 minutes in, after I had busted out, I suddenly had the bright idea of making it a rebuy tourney. Randy was pissed. But that's ok, because he's not a real person.
Amid jokes about Omar's undying love for a certain girl by the initials of R(achel) B(I can't spell her last name), and Randy's inability to speak either passable English or Spanish, we somehow found ourselves holding the short end of a stick that Randy was holding on to as the winner. No worries mate, we had a plan.
First, we played 6 way high-card, $1 and later $2 a hand. Joey managed to draw an Ace three separate times, but on the third time, after Max had flipped up another Ace (after he'd lost), both Randy and I looked down to find ourselves holding the last two Aces in the deck. Sadly, the three-way tiebreaker went to Randy. I did manage to win one high-card game, drawing out a K to beat a Q.
Having tired of playing high-card, we moved on to blackjack. $5 a hand seemed to become the norm, and Randy was probably up in the nieghborhood of $80 at his high (later after they left my house, Joey told me that Randy was at one point in debt for $40 when they played some more at Joey's house). I played a total of three blackjack hands, losing two for $10 each and winning one for $20.
Sadly, at one point, Randy and Joey began playing rock-paper-scissors for money, $1 a pop.
Joey wound up up $5 total.
The moral of the story is:
we are some fucking bad gamblers.
(15 minutes ago, Joey also told me that Randy thought he had lost the $50-dollar bill he had won gambling; later when Randy called Joey back, he told him he had found it...
in the toilet,
after having been urinated on by his younger brother.)
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Yeah, we suck that much.
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