Pascale's Wager

Outdrawn

2008-07-19T04:28:00.004-04:00

You know, I'm starting to hate tournaments a little bit. Really, when I run bad I run worse than anyone I know.

I get my money in good over and over. And I get outdrawn BY FREAKING TWO-OUTERS over and over. Honestly, these days I'm surprised if my hand holds up when I'm a 80% favorite.

Knocked out of the WSOP series tonight by the same slowrolling asshat again ~ again! ~ when he spiked a set on the flop with JJ vs. my KK. The guy is fuckin' kryptonite to me. He is also the luckiest SOB I've ever seen. For what it's worth, I played a good game tonight, largely mistake and regret free. I did my best. I just got hosed.

On the plus side, Mr. WPY won the game, and we're cross-staking the whole series so at least I get my buy-in back. (I only hope he doesn't come to regret having made the deal. And god help these guys when I finally start to have my hands hold and my draws hit.)

[Update: Three days later and it happens again. Same guy. My AA vs. his Q10 off. Oh how I hate him.]

The Package

2008-07-18T18:20:00.004-04:00

So I got him a present. Generosity begets generosity. I ordered Gus Hansen's Every Hand Revealed from Amazon.

I tracked the package. Fedex showed it as delivered on Monday. But he didn't say anything about it at Tuesday's game. Hmm. Odd. (We did play two tough heads-up minitourneys together. It was lots of fun, but I could barely muster my "C" game because I'm so gaga. Pathetic.)

On Wednesday, I sent a chatty email suggesting he keep an eye out for an incoming package. He said something about not having been home yet, but he'd look for it. A few hours later I got a text message announcing that he'd gotten it and telling me I rocked.

My paranoid brain immediately deduced that he hadn't been home either Monday or Tuesday night.

Or, you know, Fedex lied.
One or the other.

In the meantime I get another email enthusing about the book. And he's decided to play the WSOP series, so that's yet another night in his company every month. He's occasionally using a rather cute nickname for me that he invented).

I proposed we eat and talk before tonight's inaugural WSOP series game. He demurred, "I'd love to but...[insert list of things to do]." Sigh.

There will be tears.

Grinding

2008-07-16T15:20:00.004-04:00

Having suffered relentlessly lately from bad outcomes in low-stakes online tournaments, I've turned my attention on PokerStars to the microstakes cash games. I'm currently playing .10/.25 full ring games, multitabling, and trying to play a super-disciplined but ever-so slightly creative game.

In the last day or two I've been on a pretty sick heater, and the bankroll which started at $50 is now over $550.

I was playing the .5/.10 game, but I moved up largely in order to garner more frequent player points (FPPs), so that I could clear another bonus. If I can manage to earn roughly 200 FPPs by July 27, which should be pretty easy, I'll get a $100 boost to my 'roll. I'm not seeing a detectably greater range of skill at this level, so I'll probably continue to grind away at .10/.25 for awhile. It's pretty clear I can beat these players, so I might as well just keep at it.

I am beginning to understand why many players prefer cash games to tournaments. You can have an edge in tournament play, but it's harder to make it pay than it is at a cash table. Tournaments are all-or-nothing propositions, and one turn of bad luck can send you to the rail, even if you've been playing beautifully (for days, in some cases). In a cash game, if you're playing at a level appropriate for your bankroll, and bad luck causes a bad player to get the best of you a few times, you can buy back into the game, stay at the table, and bide your time for the opportunity to win it all back and more.

My studying is paying off; I can't wait to take my game to a casino table and see how I fare live.

Stinky Bed Redux

2008-07-15T01:40:00.005-04:00

Those of you who've been following along for, oh, years now may recall the saga of the stinky bed. You'd think I'd have learned my lesson with that experience, but apparently I have a short attention span, or something, because I'm trying again with a foam mattress.

And it stinks.

No moldy underlay this time, just all chemicals.

I got out ye olde credit carde and plonked down an insane amount of money for a fabuloso Tempurpedic mattress. I asked the nice lady if it would stink. She allowed, candidly, as to how it would outgas for some period of time. So I guess I knew what I was getting myself into. She said I should open the windows, run a fan, and periodically get on the bed and basically pummel it to move the process along.

Well, at least this time it's summer.

I am reduced to sleeping in my living room on a semi-functional airbed (it got a little ruined recently *ahem* and can't seem to stay adequately inflated for more than about 5 hours at a time).

Now, I have experienced Tempurpedic mattresses in stores and hotels, and they have NOT stunk. So I am forced to believe that, at some point, this mattress will cease to cause my throat to close up and my head to ache. I will give it some indeterminate amount of time. After which, if things have not drastically improved, I will ask them to come and take it away again.

But, one way or another, I am bound and determined to have a comfortable, back-friendly, GROWN UP bed. This air-mattress crap is so over.

Oh to have been the fly on the wall...

2008-07-12T04:55:00.003-04:00

So he stood in line for some time in order to get the great man's autograph. And he asks for (another? did he get one for himself?) poster, to be signed to... whom? A friend? A (good) female poker player he knows? A girl he likes?

What did he say, exactly? Inquiring minds would like to know.

Thoughtful

2008-07-12T01:25:00.003-04:00

Sorry, but I have to tell you this stuff. I just do. Yes, it's adolescent. Shocking in a woman of my years. But that's how it is. Like I said, sorry.

So I check on the group evite for tonight's game, and I am very disappointed to discover that Mr. WPY has changed his response from "yes" to "no," with no note or explanation. Given my penchant for catastrophic thinking, my assessment of this situation went something like this:

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG ZOMG!!!!1!!11! Cupcake. Better things to do on a Friday night than play poker with me. Date. Despair! I have no life, but he does. I am a loser. Waaaah. (Rinse and repeat.)

I was getting out of the shower when my phone rang. And, as sometimes happens, I had one of those intuitions. "It's Mr. WPY!" I said to myself. (Which is rather odd considering the previous line of thought, but there truly is no accounting for these things.) And so I grabbed a towel and dashed into the living room, leaving damp footprints all the way.

Indeed it was Mr. WPY. Calling to let me know that he wasn't going to be able to make it to the game tonight, and explaining to me why. An explanation having nothing to do with any female companionship. He went on to also explain why he would have to leave right away after tomorrow's end-of-quarter game.

I stood there, bare-assed on the carpet, clutching my towel in one hand and the phone in the other while we chatted about poker a bit. Honestly, I was so damned happy that he called that we could have been saying "blah blah blah blah" to each other and I wouldn't have noticed.

This chant played in my head all evening: "He's thinking of me, he's thinking of me, he's thinking of me!" And I couldn't stop smiling.

Here We Go Again

2008-07-09T05:15:00.002-04:00

Mr. WPY was back from Vegas and playing last night. He was in fine form, and is on his way to tying my league record for consecutive cashes.

He was also looking absolutely, incredibly wonderful. Tanned and rested and *gulp* fit. Oh. My. God. If I'm lucky, between sightings I manage to forget how entirely splendid he is. But that has the effect of making the refreshing of my memory that much more devastating. The man is beautiful.

When he arrived, he beckoned me out to his truck and bestowed upon me not only the signed Doyle poster but also one from Annie Duke inscribed "Chicks Rule!" I took this as excuse to throw my arms around him and give him a big hug. I'd tried to hug the guy before and always had the feeling he was a little uncomfortable with it. Not this time. A little surprised, maybe, but definitely not uncomfortable.

I thanked him for thinking of me. He said, "Of course!"

Lots of table chat. He was relaxed and forthcoming. I busted out fourth, and stayed to deal. He went out third, and stayed to help. Or something. We left the host's home together, and then parted ways at our vehicles.

When I got home, after a detour at another game, there was an email from him waiting. All poker-related. But still, he's done this lately. Like before he went to Vegas, he phoned me after the game (we hadn't had a chance to say goodnight), and brought up something about the game. It seemed odd at the time, and my thought was that he just wanted to touch base with me. I shrugged it off, however, since when I called him back he had company at home, and my thoughts went immediately to the cupcake of despair.

Now I'm back in the soup again. I am tickled beyond all measure that he went out of his way to fetch those tokens back from Vegas for me (and, I may add, for no one else). He is utterly charming to me and, let's be frank, I adore him. I predict another round of out-of-control pining.

Gah.

Why I Love Him

2008-07-05T19:35:00.004-04:00

This evening I've been getting a series of MMS messages from Mr. WPY, who is in Vegas after spending a family vacation floating around Lake Mead on a houseboat.

These messages are coming only to me. (Yeah, first thing I checked.) They are pictures of famous poker players he's taken, with little messages attached.

The most recent one is a picture of a Doyle Brunson poster, inscribed by Texas Dolly himself to me. Mr. WPY's attached message was, "Somebody says hi. When he found out I knew you, he insisted."

Wish I were there doesn't even begin to cover it.

Mr. WPY for the win! Accept no substitutes.

Ethics

2008-07-02T04:18:00.006-04:00

Poker is a predatory undertaking. The object of the game, specifically, is to take as much of other people's money as you possibly can while abiding by strictly defined rules (and also, one hopes both for the good of the game and general civility, within the bounds of poker etiquette as well).

It is to be assumed that people sit down at the table voluntarily, and are equally free to stand up and walk away when they please. No one is forced to play or forced to quit (unless they run out of money, and then it's not that they are "forced" to quit but that they no longer have the requisite wherewithal to play).

But the reality of it is, in fact, otherwise. You cannot play poker as intensively as I do and not know this.

I see the compulsive gamblers. I see the people so desperate for social interaction that they essentially 'pay' for company by losing at the table. I see the people who ~ despite all ongoing and mounting evidence to the contrary ~ believe they can score big in the game and thereby dig themselves out of a financial hole. I see the people whose emotional state is so precarious that I'm convinced that one more bad choice or bad bit of luck will tip them right over the edge into some sort of abyss, with potentially disastrous consequences for them and/or the people around them.

I don't want to play with those people, but they are everywhere. And they are not always easy to spot right away. Sometimes you only realize how bad things are three or four hours into the game. And maybe only after you or others have relieved them of a buy-in or two. I hope that the empathy which helps make me a good poker player never deserts me. I do not wish to be blind or indifferent to the suffering of others.

Tonight, for the second time in a week, I found myself feeling uncomfortable about some of the other players in the game. I no longer wanted to participate in what looked like a trainwreck in progress. In both cases, I could have stayed and undoubtedly continued to prosper in monetary terms. Instead, I bowed out, while suggesting to the individuals still there that it might be wise to stop. In one case, last Saturday, they agreed and the game came to an end. This evening, however, I left the game still roaring, and the various conflagrations were actively being stoked. It didn't look good to me, and I departed ~ once again taking a friend aside (Mr. Actuary) and telling him I had a bad feeling about the situation. But he had dollar signs in his eyes and didn't want to quit; his greed was impairing his judgment, in my view, as badly as compulsion was twisting the behavior of some of the other players.

I do not want to be on either side of that equation. This is why I like tournaments: defined buy-ins essentially mean a built-in stop-loss. Nobody with the merest modicum of common sense is going broke playing in a tournament.

Cash games are another matter, and this is why, when all is said and done, I prefer to play cash in a casino. Casino play has overhead associated with it. You have to deliberately GO to a casino. You have to be prepared to pay a rake. You probably are paying for food and drink and lodging. You are actively going there to engage in gambling activity, and you know it's going to cost you something. The vast majority of people playing poker in a casino know what they are there for, and they can afford it. Yes, you'll run into the degenerates, the people who are desperate or mentally ill, but they are easier to spot and they are very distinctly a small minority. If I find myself at a table with such a person, I will generally seek to move.

I am well aware that avoiding the problem doesn't solve it; just because I'm not contributing to it directly doesn't mean it isn't still there. Those folks are, to some extent, seeking out their own destruction. I can't fix them, but I can at least do my best not to exacerbate their troubles.

I am okay (more than okay) with not profiting as much as I might otherwise, as a result.

Is any of this a reason to condemn poker playing, or gambling in general, to the point where it should be anathema to an ethical person?

I don't think so, in much the same way that I don't think that most things consenting adults do which are fine and fun in moderation but dangerous in excess should be banned, prohibited, or shunned. Properly handled regulation, licensing, and even taxation could be good ways to fund necessary health or rehabilitation measures for those who, for one reason or another, devolve into a bad state as a result of their gambling. I believe it is possible to play responsibly and, by example and by advocacy, to help others to play responsibly. Driving it underground through legal sanctions only, ultimately, makes things worse for people who are already troubled. The libertarian in me also believes that people shouldn't be entirely sheltered from the consequences of their own choices and actions.

Is it the best and most ethical way to spend one's life?

Definitely not. Aside from the minor benefit of facilitating the redistribution of wealth from less to more intelligent (for several different definitions of that term) people, poker-playing has no redeeming social value whatsoever. Its entertainment value is, at best, morally neutral. For those who play a lot ~ like me ~ I believe it's imperative to participate in some kind of really morally constructive activity to bring balance to our lives. I am on the lookout to add something like that to my life in a deliberate, well-organized way.

Still Rolling

2008-06-27T15:50:00.004-04:00

Making the mobneys [again: not a typo, slang] in live games, both tourney and cash. The poker drawer is plump.

These days, online has been an exercise in frustration. I'm a winner at FullTilt's $5 6-max SNGs, but that's it, basically. PokerStars SNGs are just a bad-beat fest for me. After the umpteenth 3-outer-inside-straight-draw-gets-there-on-the-river, it's pretty hard not to go on full-scale, atomic monkey-tilt.

So I'm trying a little experiment: multi-tabling microstakes full-ring cash at PS. So far, it's proven modestly profitable. Multi-tabling takes the sting out of any one bad beat, and the players are so generally awful that it's hard not to come out ahead overall. I'm starting to recognize the regulars, and just stay out of the way of the competent ones. If I had the use of something like PokerTracker I'm sure I could do even better.

I don't know whether I'm deluding myself or not, but I really feel as if I'm getting my feet under me in cash games now. I'm not playing scared at all anymore (which is absolutely, positively key), and the unpressurized environment is affirmatively enjoyable compared to the relentless squeeze of tournament play. The fluidity of playing at one table, for many hours, as some people come and go and others switch gears is just fascinating. I can see that there's pretty much an endless road of improvement to travel.

Game selection remains essential. I leave some games because, despite the fact that they play like complete morons, obnoxious drunks make the experience so unpleasant for me that I don't play my best game either. Nor do I play in games where people's disregard for the stakes is so obvious that my entire bankroll could disappear into the variance aether while they're digging into their pocket for their nth rebuy of the evening.

And I'm striving to only occasionally play at tables where I'm noticeably outmatched. My ego is healthy, but I know when it comes to this game I'm not All That And A Bag of Chips; there are a lot of players who are better, much better, than I am. Likewise, it's important for me to learn and grow as a player, and playing with my superiors is definitely one way to do that, but tuition at the School of Hard Knocks can be pretty pricey. I think maybe a ratio of 1:12 is about right (and with stop-losses firmly in place).

I'm looking forward to my next foray to a casino, where I can test my supposed improved cash skills against a broader field.

No Sharp Divide

2008-06-20T14:47:00.003-04:00

I have always maintained that the notion of a sharp divide between us (human beings) and our animal brethren (and especially the great apes) is preposterous.

It has always been convenient for human beings to deny important qualities in creatures we wish to exploit, whether they be other people or animals. We deny their capacity for pleasure or pain, for higher cognition, for anticipation or anxiety. We deprecate their intelligence. Whenever someone wishes to impute such qualities or faculties to these "lower orders" we say they are sentimental, and are projecting or anthropomorphizing.

I say that's just another form of rationalization. Anyone who has ever had a pet cat or dog knows of those mammals' capacity for ~ among other attributes ~ love, patience, and even certain forms of creativity. We are on a continuum with all living beings, and we have more in common with them than it is comfortable to contemplate. And if perchance you believe that you have a soul, I challenge you to investigate closely why you believe that some other being does not. Is your reasoning completely devoid of self-interest? Does it appeal entirely to external authority or derive from direct personal experience and observation?

But, you say, you want some science with that gooshy, touchy-feely crap? Okay, here you go. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: future generations will one day be just as ashamed of the way we treated other sentient creatures as we are of our forebears who enslaved and exploited one another.

Good Playing, Mr.

2008-06-18T03:20:00.005-04:00

This wordle was derived from entries made this June so far. You can make your own here (you must have Java enabled).

Have a look at the larger version; there are some pretty entertaining juxtapositions there.

Épater la jeunesse!

2008-06-17T17:02:00.005-04:00

Shock the youth!

I think I'll make that the first sentence in my new manifesto. I am going to aggressively embrace my middle-ageitude, and defy and deny restrictions and expectations. And if they don't like it, too bad. And if it makes me a little ~ or more than a little ~ ridiculous... well, okay then, I can live with that too.

Time to have fun! And to stop worrying about and apologizing for things that aren't bad or blameworthy.

(I am snickering slightly to myself as I imagine the slightly queasy feeling being experienced by the handsome, bright, and charming 24-year-old I was flirting with last night, when he checks out my online resume and does the math. In my mind's eye he runs through four possible explanations for what he finds there:

1. I was an incredible child prodigy and graduated from college before puberty.
2. I'm lying on my resume.
3. I am not the person whose name appears on the resume.
4. I am old enough to be his mother.

Which one do you suppose he'll choose to believe?)

No AC for me

2008-06-15T19:38:00.004-04:00

Alas, my ride to AC bagged out, and circumstances generally conspired to make it impracticable for me to get to the Ladies Tournament. Oh well.

Actually, there's a bit of a story there. What really happened is that some of my A League people who had originally indicated they might come along decided that it was too rushed, and the Monday morning work day would be too daunting after a late night of driving. So that left me, S., and her husband M.

They were actually talking about leaving their two relatively young children unsupervised for an entire day in order to make this trip. I have to say, the idea of that made me pretty uncomfortable. Then, S. took me aside and said she was worried about M. on his own at the blackjack tables. It would have been okay, she said, if some of his buddies were along to moderate his behavior, but she was afraid he'd get in over his head if he was on his own for hours while we were playing in the tournament.

So I quickly assured her that I was okay with not making the trip at all. Which, although a disappointment, was also (for the above reasons) something of a relief. Honestly, I didn't want to be the occasion for utter degeneracy.

Of course the end of result of this decision was that a bunch of us ended up playing all night at S. & M.'s place. My hot streak died down a bit, as my best result of four games was a second.

It is much easier to spot and disapprove of degeneracy in others than in oneself. I am, I hope, at least aware of THAT fact. One challenge created by immersion in the subterranean but intense poker-playing subculture is that one is generally surrounded by people who are at least as addicted as oneself. Self-monitoring is hard. My non-poker-playing friends become even more precious to me by virtue of being able to hold up a less distorted mirror on my behavior. I am striving to give serious attention when they voice concerns about the choices I make.

Running Ridiculously Goot

2008-06-14T02:42:00.004-04:00

Oh how I love it. Took down another tournament tonight. I'm up A LOT in the last four days.

It looks like a group of us are making a dash for AC on Sunday early A.M. so that S. (she of the "are you guys dating?" question) and I can play in the Ladies Tourney of the Borgata Open. I can only hope that my rush continues.

Mr. WPY played as well this evening, and finished third. I continue to completely adore him, and he continues to be charming and friendly as heck. Still not a hint of movement from him, though. Rats!

But you know what, I am not defeated. I'm not. That man likes me, I'm in no doubt whatsoever about it. In fact, I suspect that he likes me more than he knows, or than he is willing to admit to himself. And I really, really like him. We have a thing going on, of some sort. Given my recent adventures, I'm rapidly becoming immune to fear of rejection, and I'm getting progressively more and more shameless. One of these days when the circumstances are right, my friends, I'm going to offer to rock his world; should he choose not to take me up on it... well, I will consider it his loss and move on. (I might shed a tear or two, but I'll recover.)

Hear me roar, people!

Running Goot

2008-06-13T03:36:00.003-04:00

[The title: not a typo, poker slang.]

Things have been going pretty well for me in live play lately. I won my B League season points race, and got the prize money tonight. I've been playing well and making small but consistent profits in cash games. I've been cashing at my A League tourneys.

Online, not so much. I'm getting sucked out on so much, it's a wonder I don't have hickeys.

With the way things have been going for me in live games, I'm thinking maybe I'll make a dash for AC and the Women's Tourney at the Borgata on Sunday. It may be time to break out Ye Olde Pinke Baseballe Cappe again.

If I can get a cheapish room, I may go up on Saturday.

When the love affair becomes a committed relationship...

2008-06-10T12:16:00.001-04:00

Words of wisdom on the game from Bad Blood.

Flirting with Danger

2008-06-06T17:23:00.006-04:00

There is mark on my forearm, a reddish-brown bruise. It is darkness made visible, and I understand viscerally ~ now ~ something that has always been difficult for me to comprehend, either emotionally or intellectually. It is a frightening and sobering reminder that most of the borders we establish in our lives are thinner and more fragile than we care to imagine.

Last night, I played cards with a group I haven't hung out with for a year or more. One of them was the beauty boy from way back when, who reappeared having put on some pounds (unfortunate, but not catastrophic). Another of them was a long, lean, handsome fellow with dark Irish good looks, who in the past I've always seen drinking too much and with some distinctly glamorous chick hanging off him. We'll call him Mr. LLH for short. This past evening he was also drinking too much, but there was no babe in the vicinity. For the first time, the guy was flirting with me.

[Insert when-it-rains-it-pours comment here.]

Not to put too fine a point on it, Mr. LLH is a jerk. He is witty, charming, and creative (an architect/designer graduate of RISD). He specializes in the bantering put-down. He bullies, in an insidious am-I-really-sure-he-means-what-he-just-said/did kind of way. A woman without a strong sense of self could easily be confused and worn down by it, as the alternating charm and abuse send mixed signals and trigger the desire-to-please reflex.

But what finally put up the ultimate warning sign for me was the iron grip on my forearm that left the mark.

I can say without exception that until now no man has ever touched me in such a way as to inflict harm upon me, especially after having received feedback from me that something hurt. This guy, Mr. LLH, pushed my boundaries in a supposedly "playful" manner.

NO. Not fun. Not cute. Not funny.

Every man I've ever associated with has been able to modulate his physical strength appropriately. No man has ever tried to cajole me out of my own instinctive response of self-protection.

Red flags everywhere.

You know, the scary thing is that despite knowing exactly what was going on, I could see the appeal. I could understand why someone would get mired in this very, very unhealthy dynamic. He is an attractive guy, and his behavior has a seductive push-me-pull-you quality that could suck a person in. There is even potentially the ego temptation to try to be the strong, actualized woman who cannot be bullied and thereby 'fixes' him. (As if.)

Thank God I'm sufficiently mature, and in possession of just enough self-esteem and experience, to see this black hole of a human being for what he is. I'm also really glad that I don't drink when I play poker, because with enough disinhibition I might not have had the good sense to draw a bright line and stay on the right side of it.

My sisters, beware. I understand now on a gut level how you get yourselves into something deeply ugly and destructive. For the love of God, give your own self the respect you deserve: learn to recognize this species of man and stay the hell away from him.

[Please note: Vegas Boy could not be less like this. He is entirely polite and respectful toward me, and indeed all women as far as I can tell. As, by the way, is Mr. WPY as well. I've never heard either of them make an off-color or degrading remark about women. It's a quality that is especially noticeable for its general absence in the poker context.]

Now I remember...

2008-06-05T13:13:00.003-04:00

They bogart the bedclothes, they snore, they thrash in their sleep, and they make way too much noise when they get up to use the bathroom.

I knew there was a reason why I used to encourage the boyz to leave in a timely manner: so I could get some damn sleep.

Yes, they have their good points. But sheesh, a girl needs her beauty rest.

Wiped

2008-06-02T20:58:00.001-04:00

On the ground at Dulles. Now all I have to do is fetch my car and drive myself home.

Home.

Can't wait.

Foxwoods Run

2008-06-01T23:31:00.003-04:00

This afternoon I made an impromptu sprint to Foxwoods ~ about 250 miles and 4 hours or so round trip from Boston. All that for just 2.5 hours of 1/2 NL! A ridiculous ratio.

It was my first experience of time drop rather than a rake. I'm not sure how I feel about it overall, but I sure didn't appreciate the guys who sat there endlessly mulling over their choices. Raise or fold, baby!

For such a short session I both did well & got lucky. I flopped a set of 7s and managed to double up. I took down a modest pot preflop with pocket queens, and my JJ held up against a dopey Q9os all-in. I played pretty snug, only showed down my big hands, and was thereby able on my last hand (in late position) to bluff five limpers off their hands with a ten dollar raise.

Overall, I spent about $32 on time and tips. And about $25 extra bucks on gas. I left the table with $245 more than I sat down with. I am pleased.

Foxwoods' poker room is huge. I wasn't especially looking, but I think it's possible that I was the only woman playing within a three-table radius. Just amazing.

The good news for me from this little expedition is that I am getting much more comfortable at a cash table. I'm raising more, playing some speculative hands in position pre-flop, and not laying down to every whiff of aggression. I may one day be a decent cash player.

Good Words

2008-06-01T00:15:00.002-04:00

The memorial service went very well. My sister picked good speakers. It was helpful to me to hear good things about my father that had nothing to do with his role as a father.

I think we had about 80 people in attendance. Many, if not all, familiar faces. I met our lawyer in person for the first time, which was odd. I had invisioned a pink-faced slightly chubby and perhaps balding man in his forties. But no. He was a rather slim, nice-looking young man with a full head of hair, who looked to be in his middle thirties. (Rather my preferred demographic, come to think of it.)

My cynical wise-cracking aunt started sobbing when we said good-bye. Who knows if or when we'll see one another again.

It has been a crazy emotional rollercoaster ride of a trip so far. I had a text message from Mr. WPY saying (I suppose entirely conventionally) that his thoughts were with me, and the kindness of this gesture just flattened me with gratitude.

There's more ~ much more ~ to say about all of this, but I'm exhausted and wrung out and typing lengthy entries on my iPhone is not ideal. We'll see whether I can muster the wherewithal to communicate more of it when I get home.

Yes, these glamourpusses are my siblings

2008-05-31T00:05:00.002-04:00

So tired

2008-05-30T22:28:00.003-04:00

Another fun-filled day. Back-breaking sifting through artwork. Familial sturm und drang.

I did have lunch with lifelong friend J., which was a bright spot in my day.

Tomorrow is the memorial service and reception. I hope to get through it in one piece. For an admitted control-freak such as myself, it is difficult to sit back and let other people run things ~ especially if I would have handled them much differently (and better! Of course! :P).

I am trying to detach, detach, detach. Yeah. Wish me luck with that.

(Two days of no poker whatsoever. It's fine, but ~ you know ~ I wouldn't mind a game.)

Thank God for Alcohol

2008-05-29T23:19:00.005-04:00

Anybody who knows me knows that I'm not much of a drinker. But frankly the two extremely strong Gibsons I had with dinner tonight in the bosom of my family were ~ how shall I say? ~ sanity preservers. It's been a rough day.

I don't know what it is about my childhood environment that prompts such a strong reaction, but combined with another delve into the parental legacy - well let's say I was pretty much an emotional basket-case by mid-afternoon.

Goddam I can't wait for this to be over.