Benazir Bhutto

I am dumbstruck and dismayed.

Long, long ago — seemingly in another life — I met and photographed Benazir Bhutto. She was a young woman then (as was I), but she had already been Prime Minister of her country.

She was amazingly charismatic, eloquent, and ferociously intelligent. She seemed like a beacon of hope, especially for women, in a region that had suffered tremendously.

I have not followed the controversy surrounding her political career, so I can't speak to that. But I admire her courage in returning to Pakistan in the face of serious personal threat. And I mourn the brutal destruction of a person who carried such potential to contribute to the greater good.

[Update: For some grim photos and an eyewitness account, go here; this is what political violence does.]

Rattled

I had a night of vivid dreams recently. I hadn't had a flying dream in ages, and this one had flying in it. Even better, it wasn't the version where I can only fly when no one is looking at me and it's really hard work. This was flying as freedom and power.

I don't really recall what the narrative of the dream, if any, was.

But there was a very odd segment in the middle of it. I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth. The sink was at the level of my chest. My father was sitting on the lid of the toilet next to the sink. He was naked, with a towel in his lap. When I spit out my mouthful of toothpaste, he reached up and pushed down on my head, as if to bring me to my knees and pull my face toward his crotch.

I said, "No!" forcefully, and pulled away.

And that was the end of that segment, as best I can remember.

Well. I really don't know what to make of that. I've never had a dream remotely like it before. I have no reason to believe I ever experienced anything like it in my waking life. Nothing new or different is going on in my life that would prompt such a dream, as far as I know. Maybe it's the equivalent of a psychic burp, and it means nothing whatsoever. But it definitely disturbs me and I haven't been able to get it out of my head for several days now.

A Little Light

Apparently the online doomswitch is semi-permanent. To the point where, as I was ahead in two tournaments this evening, FTP felt it necessary to bring the whole server down* rather than let me succeed. Pokerstars has picked up in the bad-beat parade where FTP left off, so they're more or less tag-teaming me.

In more cheerful news, I took down my B-team league game again tonight. Alas, the point leader came in second, which gave him just enough points to beat me out for the season prize. Nonetheless, I brought home some cheddar and won two of the three games I played with that group, so go me!

The best thing about it was that I made really good decisions throughout; I played a game that I could be proud of, win or lose. This is the standard I must meet EVERY TIME I PLAY.

*This is a joke, of course. Ha bloody ha. So funny.

FRUSTRATION

It's always the one that gets away.

My home league has a subscription series of deepstack games (7000 in chips, 40 minute blinds) that will send four of our group to Vegas at WSOP time. It's a pricey undertaking. I committed to it happily, because I believe that deepstack is my game.

We've now played 5 games of 12, and I haven't cashed in a single one. I've bubbled twice, and gone out earlier the rest of the time.

In a few cases, I know I've failed to play my A game. Tonight, I made one crying call, where I knew I was beat, but I had to see exactly how my great hand was crushed (which is my single biggest leak). Other than that, I played as best I know how. And I went out on the bubble.

Aaaaaagh.

We played another side tournament, which I chopped with our newest player. So I more or less broke even for the evening.

But DAMN. I'm gonna have to do really, really well in the remaining games of the WSOP series or revise my assessment of my skills. One or the other.

Like Being Hit in the Face...

...over and over and over.

Finally, I understand battered woman syndrome. Poker is my abuser.

Today the cards have turned unbelievable ugly. I can't win with anything. My opponents outdraw me with a series of miracle cards. I watch in horror as a totally dominated hand turns into the nuts and my flopped joint gets done in by runner runner for quads. Honestly, I've never seen anything like it.

Again and again.

And each time I say to myself: "Wow! That was flukey as hell! Things can't go on like this" ("He didn't mean it. He can't help himself.") And eventually, "My god, am I doing something that wrong?" ("I must deserve it.")

Poker is a stone cold evil bastard. I refuse to be beaten.

Aversion

I have a job interview tomorrow. I really need a job; I'm not at all sure I want this job.

Of course on some level I'm not at all convinced I want ANY job. But I do want to be able to pay the rent and eat, and I sure wouldn't mind having some health care coverage too.

Words cannot express how much I hate the hoop-jumping involved with job interviews. I hate hate hate them. HATE. Did I mention: loathe.

Plus, I have to wear interview clothes. Ugh.