Posted by: Tommy Angelo on October 25th, 2009
Whose fault was it? According to Bob, it was Mary’s fault. But if you ask Mary, she’ll tell you it was Bob’s fault. Joe – (Joe is a big picture kind of guy) – Joe saw the whole thing, and he doesn’t think it was Bob’s fault, or Mary’s fault, because really, the problem started with something nasty that Susie said last week, which was probably the result of the way her mom raised her, so really it was all Susie’s mom’s fault.
But why stop there? Shouldn’t a logical examination of “first blame” always bring us to the same conclusion?
“It’s the universe’s fault!!”
Yes it should, except I’ve got an even better idea.
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When I was growing up, two of the first things they taught me about God was that He is everywhere and you can’t see him. When I was learning physics, two of the first things they taught me about atoms was that they are everywhere and you can’t see them. Atoms are therefore God.
Like God and atoms, the universe is also everywhere. The difference is that the universe is not invisible. For me, this makes it much harder to blame things on the universe, since I have to look at it while I do so. I like the idea of shouting “It’s your fault” at something I can’t see. It appeals to my cowardice. So the universe is out of the running. The choice is God or atoms.
That’s an easy choice for me. Lots of people blame God for things. I’ve never heard of anyone blaming atoms. So I’ll do that.
I’m now ready. Maybe later today something will happen that makes me want to shake my fist in rage, and there won’t be anyone or anything I can blame for whatever happened, but that won’t stop me…
It’s those goddamn atoms! They fucked me again! Stardust release
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Posted by: Tommy Angelo on October 19th, 2009
In March 2009, I got a letter from Guillermo Gonzales, editor in chief of Sportivo Magazine, the top hard-copy poker magazine in Italy. Guillermo asked if it would be okay if he translated some of my poker articles to Italian and published them in his magazine. I immediately sent a copy of Guillermo’s email to my huge Italian family and asked, “How do you say ‘HELL YES!’ in Italian?”
Guillermo and I talked.
“How many of my articles do you want to use?”
“Eight,” he said.
“Do you know which ones?”
“No.”
“Would you like me to choose them for you?”
“Hell Yes!!”
So I went through my articles and picked out the ones that have been linked to or referenced the most, and I sent them in.
A few months later, my first issue of Sportivo arrived. I went to the Table of Contents. It was very exciting to see my name there, in the middle of what looked to me like an Italian restaurant menu. The name of my article was Reciprocita: la ragione del profitto nel poker, which I knew translated to Reciprocality: The Cause of Profit at Poker
So, ragione must mean cause. This was going to be really fun.
I opened the magazine to my article. The layout was superb. I started reading. I’ve heard a lot of Italian, but I barely speak a word, unless you count things like “pasta” and “That’s amore.” But because I was extremely familiar with the English version of what I was reading, the language center of my brain starting pulling lots of extra blood, with patterns and puzzles coming and going like crazy.
My article in the latest issue of Sportiva was particularly fun to read. It’s like, everything sings in Italian. The name of the article is Folding. The very end goes like this:
And all of a sudden, I can’t lose. I love folding.
Which in Italian, sounds like this:
E d’improvviso, non posso perdere. Amo foldare.
I love Amo foldare.
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on October 13th, 2009
.!.
I went to the doctor for a check-up. He said I was perfectly healthy. Well, I knew better.
“C’mon doc,” I said. “No more sugar-coating. Give it to me straight. How much longer have I got?”
He replied, “If you keep taking care of yourself, you’ll most likely be around for another 30 or 40 years or so.”
How depressing. I’m dying. I always suspected I was. Now I knew for sure, from an expert. I walked out of his office, and suddenly, all my priorities shifted. I felt a need to say “I love you” to strangers. I felt a need to suck more life out of life. I felt a need to hurry up, and slow down, at the same time.
I eat approximately 1000 meals per year. Which means, according to my doctor, I only have 30,000 meals to look forward to before I die and my remains are placed in a dropbox and carried away by security to the great casino cage in the sky.
What if I knew that my next supper was my last? Or my next bite? Or my next chew? Would that change the flavor of a tomato? Let’s do some round numbers — 30,000 meals times 50 bites per meal times 10 chews per bite equals 15 million chews. Okay, that does it. My chews are numbered. I can’t be hanging around here. I need to finish up this post and go have breakfast. And when I do, I will re-resolve to pay attention to every last bite as if every bite was the last.
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on October 9th, 2009
Posted by: Tommy Angelo on October 5th, 2009
.!.
I just got off the phone with a mouse smasher. Or you could call him a mouse masher. (It sounds the same either way, whether you are saying it, or doing it.) I’m going to call him Humphrey. The topic was poker coaching. During the conversation, Humphrey asked some questions I had heard before:
Q: Did you really fold pocket aces before the flop just for the hell of it?
A: Yes. Can you think of a better reason?
Q: I tilt. Can you straighten me out?
A: No. But you can.
Q: What’s the difference between ignorance and apathy?
A: I don’t know. And I don’t care.
Okay, I admit. Nobody has asked me that last question. But I’m ready if they do!
I asked Humphrey to elaborate on his tilting. Here’s what he told me…
“Usually my tilt is merely a percolating, churning, grinding, retching, undercurrent of suckiness and ill-being.”
“You don’t say.”
“But sometimes,” said Humphrey, “it gets really bad. It’s as if a tightly coiled spring of Reardon metal suddenly unwinds at the speed of insanity. The metal impales my arm and seizes control. My hand grabs my mouse, and then, with the zip and accuracy of a third baseman throwing to first, I fling the mouse at the wall and – kaBLAM, chinkle tink thunk – the mouse comes to rest, in pieces, on the floor, as do I.”
“And you call that tilt?”
“Of course it’s tilt! What the hell would you call it?”
“I’d call it a religious experience.”
“A what?”
“Think about it. You were redeemed. You were liberated. You were saved. Sounds like religious talk to me.”
“I wasn’t saved! I was violently enraged!”
::: insert soothing exhale here :::
“Let me ask you something.”
“Okay,” said Humphrey.
“How much is your typical win or loss per session?”
“I’d say it’s in the $200-$400 range.”
“Let’s say that instead of smashing your mouse, you had sat there and kept playing, swimming against your undercurrent of suckiness. What do you think your EV would have been for the rest of that session?”
“Not good. At all.”
“Okay. One more question. How much does a mouse cost?”
::: pause :::
“You’re right, I was saved,” said Humphrey.
“Yes you were. This time. But from here on in, it won’t be so easy. Now that you have seen The Way, you will need to develop an entirely new disciplinary practice, one that has never before existed on this earth. Are you ready for a challenge?”
“Possibly. What is it?”
“When you venture forth to acquire your replacement mouse, you will be tempted by the tilt demon. You must be prepared to defend, like a warrior, or else you will surely be slain.”
“Go on.”
“Hanging in the aisles of merchandise, or browsing through an online store, you will see many mice before you. But you must purchase only one. For if you were to…”
“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re saying that if I’m such a tilt monkey that it’s sometimes hugely plus EV for me to smash my mouse, that I should embrace my rodent-killing ways. And to ensure I make money from mouse smashing, I must never buy more than one at a time. This isn’t the world’s most complicated idea.”
“True. Yet there are few master mouse smashers.”
“So is that it? Aren’t you going to break into some speech about how I shouldn’t let myself get that tilted in the first place?”
“Sounds like you already know that to me.”
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