Tommy Angelo

Since the dawn of DeucesCracked.com, I have been singing their praises. I know all five founders well. I’ve played poker with them. I’ve hung out with them. I’ve coached a couple of them. I’ve watched the videos they make. I know how they think, how they work, who they are, and how they are. I see the community they have built and the dedication of their faithful. Being part of the DeucesCracked family is a source of joy and gratitude for me. And now that I have a video airing, I feel like I’ve been promoted from cousin to brother.

The only way to see the videos is the be a DeucesCracked subscriber. If you decide to do that, and you use this link to DeucesCracked.com, I will get a piece of your action.

The Eightfold Path to Poker Enlightenment — EPTPE, pronounced rapidly like so: eh-puh-tuh-puh — is an eight-part video series that, according to these people who have seen the first episode and written about it in the EPTPE thread at the DeucesCracked forums, is really good. I of course have no opinion on such matters since I am opinionless. (This is when my partner in the series, Wayne Lively, would call bullshit.)

Speaking of Wayne, he’s the reason this whole thing happened. Back when he had his own poker show on Hold’em Radio, he had the idea of me coaching him on the air. This was an especially good idea because not only does Wayne have an awesome voice and great microphone sense, he also exhibits some behaviors and attitudes that make him ripe for my coaching.

Well, Wayne’s tenure with Hold’em Radio came to an end right about the same time the idea was bouncing around about me doing a video series for DeucesCracked. When I learned that the DC videos are released in eight-episode-long seasons, it was an instant slam dunk idea for me to use Buddha’s eightfold path as an outline for a series, and just start filling in the blanks from there.

Wayne and I kicked lots of ideas around on the way to settling on having the audio portion of the series be improvised conversations on pre-determined topics. That’s the meat of it. Wayne and I talking. For flavoring, I decided to put short bits of piano music in between the conversations. I played all of the 100 or so piano inserts. Some of them I “made up” and others are excerpts borrowed from classical composers such as Mozart and Neil Young.

The poker talk covers a lot of ground, with the recurring theme being: How can we play our A-game more often, and have more fun (or less agony) doing it? Along the way there are many how-to’s that pertain more directly to modifying thoughts and actions that will lead directly to more profit (or less loss). Wayne came up with the best way to summarize the series: “It’s not about how to play poker. It’s about becoming a poker player.”

The visuals of the videos have been an absolute blast to think up. We use text, sparingly, to let the viewer know what topic we are on, and to emphasize an occasional spoken phrase, and to create a humorous wise-cracking third character. We use original drawings by my good friend Wendelin Montciel that capture ideas with grace and levity. We use occasional photographs, cartoon images, and flash movies, to drive home key points and to keep you from nodding off during Wayne’s long boring parts.

Two words: Rob Cole. Also known as Entity. If EPTPE is a house, Rob is the carpenter. He’s the brains and the brawn behind assembling the pieces, while adding much artistic input along the way. Basically, EPTPE is a three-man job. Me, Wayne, and Rob.

The reason EPTPE exists is because I went from being a self-destructive tilt monkey to being pretty much stable. And I want to increase the probability that you will do the same thing.

Is being in the future bad? Not if done mindfully.

A couple weeks ago, Kay and I were on our 4th anniversary vacation, and one morning we talked about our future vacations. Already in the plan was to do one driving vacation each year on our anniversary. For our fifth trip, next year, we decided we would go to Hawaii and revisit the scene of our marriage. “How about Florence?” We’d been thinking of going there. “We’ll do that on our 10th anniversary,” we decided. “We’ll stay for a month.” That made us think of doing an extra-special anniversary trip every five years. “What an excellent plan of plans!” we thought.

The next morning during my meditation it occurred to me that none of the plans we had made mean diddly squat to me. In fact no plan I ever make holds control over my happiness. What a wonderful realization and condition. For example, let’s say I plan on finishing a project – large or small – by this afternoon or next year or whatever. I will do my best to satisfy obligations I have made to others, but as to the obligation I made to myself, well, there simply isn’t one. If the project gets done, “early,” I don’t rejoice, and if the project takes longer than projected, I don’t suffer. Even if it peters out and doesn’t happen at all, no problem.

But it didn’t used to be that way. Just the opposite. I used to be totally at the mercy of my hopes and expectations of the future. If I planned a cookout, I’d worry about rain. If it rained, I suffered. If it didn’t rain, I wouldn’t slow down; I was on to some other idea of what would make me happy or unhappy down the road. It literally never stopped. And I believe it never would have stopped if I had not taken up the practice of stopping, as in, meditating.

That’s not to say I do any less planning than before. I still make many, many plans. I plan for the next second, minute, hour, day, week, month, year, and years. The difference is that now my plans come with some assumptions that make the whole process free and easy.

The main assumption I always make is that I might die before the plan has a chance to happen. I know that a day will come when I make a plan that goes unfulfilled because I died before the, uh, deadline. And I never know when my death will cause a plan to not go as planned. So when I say to you, “I’ll meet you for lunch tomorrow,” I actually do think to myself, “Unless I die first,” but I don’t bother to say that. It’s just assumed.

Another assumption I make is that sometimes I will not be physically able to fulfill a plan, which is really just a subset of the whole dying thing. It’s not as certain as dying, that is, I might die suddenly and never miss a plan because of injury or illness. But still, I consciously accept the inevitability of injury and illness as something that will inevitably interfere with my plans. And that way, when I do have to change my plans because of injury or illness, it’s okay, because mentally, I planned for it.

Another assumption I make is that sometimes there will be a priority shift between the time when the plan is made and when it comes due. For example, I might plan to start writing an article tomorrow called, “How to Plan Stuff Without All the Agony,” and then something might come up that’s more important or appealing or whatever, and I do that instead.

Another assumption I make is that my financial situation will never be static, and that sometimes I will make a plan based on reasonable financial projections that don’t pan out. I remain ever-ready to change plans accordingly. For example, in 2015, because of our finances at that time, Kay and I might not take a month-long vacation to Florence as we recently planned. Maybe we’ll go for week. Maybe we’ll go for a year. Maybe we won’t go at all. However it goes, if I’m alive in April of 2015, my plan will be to be grateful in May of 2015.

Another assumption I make is that sometimes things out of my control will happen that cause a change in plans. For example, you might invite me to lunch tomorrow, and then die tonight. Or maybe you just forgot the appointment. Does it really matter? Either way, I eat alone, when that was not the plan. It doesn’t matter to me why you aren’t there because as I place food in my mouth, the most important thing to me will be the food in my mouth. Later, I will find out if you are dead or delinquent. Until then, it is irrelevant. And in either case, I won’t hold you accountable for having foiled my plan.

Another assumption I make is that it’s never my fault. Let’s revisit our lunch date, but this time, it’s you who are sitting alone in the restaurant half an hour after the time we agreed to meet there. Various feelings may have passed through you in that time: frustration, anger, confusion, worry. When next we speak, I will never begin with, “I’m sorry.” If, after we begin to talk, it becomes clear to me that you believe that my tardiness caused you grief, there is now a slightly greater than zero chance that the words “I’m sorry” will come out of me. But if they do, it won’t mean what you think it means. The translation goes like this, “As spokesperson for the universe, I’m sorry that you have not yet learned how to just eat.” In other words, I am no more responsible for your happiness or your unhappiness than a distant planet. It’s never my fault when a failed plan makes you unhappy.

So really we could boil all this down to three things that can cause one of my plans to not go as planned. I might die, or circumstances might change, or I might change my mind. What makes all this extremely refreshing and a source of shockingly rich freedom and joy is that when I am making a plan, I am actually just making the plan. I’m not entangled in or reliant on the plan itself. I am not at the mercy of its fruition. I just make the plan, now. And if and when the plan comes to be, then I will experience it, now, as in, then, which will at that time be now. So really there’s no break from now, even with all this planning. And if the plan doesn’t happen, there is no loss, because at the moment that the plan is not happening, I’m still just me, now, and whatever now is happening then will always be just as now as if it was planned or not. So I’m free. Free to plan. Free to change plans. Free to not have plans. Free to not have plans go as planned. It’s all just part of the same bowl of soup. And it’s tasty.

The first time Andy slithered into our little snake pit, he had no chance. Not because he was drooping around like someone who had washed down his quaaludes with Jack Daniels, and not because he lacked basic card sense. There was no way to tell if he did or not. That’s because this was his first time ever playing poker for money, as in, ever. Have you read the part of “Shut Up and Deal” by Jesse May, toward the front, where he talks about poker being an easy game to play? Jesse makes the point that because of the assistance that dealers and players can give to other players, all you really have to be able to do is not fall out of your chair, and you can play poker. Andy was still in his chair.

Let’s set the scene. The year: 1991. The place: a home game with a house dealer that ran almost every night. The stakes: $3-6 limit. The games: hold’em and Omaha, alternating each round. The things you might not have heard of before: The Omaha was not hi-lo. We’re talking high-only limit Omaha here, a sickly gumbo of gamble.

And there was no checking. Yup you heard right. You could bet, or raise, or call, or fold. And that’s it. No checking. The only name for this structure I’ve ever heard is “bet or get,” meaning, when you are first to act, your options are to bet, or fold. This structure was so common in the games around town that when Columbus did start having games with checking, it was considered by many to be violently rude to check-raise. Which of course made me want to do it all the more.

(Here’s the details on “bet or get,” included for inquiring minds who want to know, and also because it’s slightly germane to the plot. In “bet or get,” the button effectively moves on every street. Let’s say seat 3 is first to act on the flop. On the turn, first action would be on seat 4, or whoever the next player to the left is. On the river, same thing, first to act moves to the next player to the left. This means that the catbird seat is being first to act on the turn, which means you’ll be last to act on the river. Also good is first to act on the flop, which makes you last to act on the turn, and either last or next-to last on the river depending on what your left-hand opponent does on the turn.)

These games were loose. How loose you ask? I’ve played in games where folding was frowned on. This player pool was so loose and loving that if you folded before the hand was over, you got genuine sympathy. If you’re getting the feeling that these games were chip-hurling brawls, like poker carnivals with a double shot of ruKus, then you have it pictured exactly right. Let’s get back to Andy…

After a couple rounds, Andy had settled into a betting strategy everyone else was happy with. Every time it was his turn, we would tell Andy how many chips to put into the pot to call, and then he’d do it. He never raised and he never folded. Andy was kind of slow with the chips, so we did not wait for him to finish his calling before the action moved on. The result was that Andy was pretty much continuously putting chips into the pot on every hand. I was sitting next to Andy and I oftentimes helped him with the betting and showing down and tipping and such.

And then, this hand came up…

The game was Omaha. The hand ended with one of the most spectacular rounds of river betting I have ever seen. Andy was last to act. There were two other players in the hand, we’ll call them A and B. Player A was first, which meant he had to either bet $6 or fold. He folded. Player B was next. Player B was facing an opponent who only on occasion had a vague sense of what he had. Player B folded. Andy won the pot without a showdown. The dealer started to push the pot to Andy, and a proud smile moved onto Andy’s face. Andy snatched up one of his cards off the table. He cupped it secretly in his hands and he showed it to me, and only me – the ace of hearts. (There were no aces or hearts on the board, but hey.)

Immediately the howls came forth from the throngs: “SHOW ONE SHOW ALL! SHOW ONE SHOW ALL!”

Andy of course had never heard of this common, ancient rule, which states, “If you show someone your uncalled hand, then everyone is entitled to see it, but only after they do the show-one-show-all chant with disdain.”

Puzzled, but still able to understand English, and knowing that he had done something terribly wrong, Andy followed the instructions he had been given. He picked up his other three cards, and he showed them to me.

My friend Arthur Reber has given me many things. He has given me aha moments with his big-picture perspectives, particularly in the way be explains the origins and causes of various human behaviors and attitudes. He has given me many smiles, mostly with his wit, and also with the way he gets tilty over poker even though his understanding of tilt is so rich and deep. (This always reminds me that there is always more to know, and that knowledge is not the cure.) And now, with his pen, he has given me the greatest gift that one writer can give to another… being cited!

Arthur writes for www.pokerlistings.com. I’d like to share three articles he has written that are related to things I have written.

The first one is about a simple, explorable concept I termed “reciprocality.”

http://www.pokerlistings.com/strategy/psychology/reciprocality-your-bottom-line-decoded

The second is one is about quitting.

http://www.pokerlistings.com/strategy/psychology/the-last-word-on-quitting

And the third is a review of my book. (One look at the title of this article and you’ll see the real reason I call Arthur a friend. Shhh. Don’t let him know that. He still thinks it’s because of his jokes.)

http://www.pokerlistings.com/strategy/psychology/the-best-book-ever-written-about-poker

One of the great things about getting married on 4-20 is that I will most likely never forget my anniversary. But just in case, Kay and I have established a tradition of taking a three-night anniversary getaway to somewhere within a 4.5 hours driving radius of where we live. This includes Lake Tahoe, Yosemite Valley, The Humboldt Redwoods, Big Sur, and many other geologically astounding locales.

We just got back from Point Reyes National Seashore. It’s only one hour north of San Francisco, which makes it less than 2 hours north of where we live, which is why these two question surfaced:   1) “How is it that neither of us has ever been here before?  2) “We have 2.5 hours of driving time left over. What would you like to do with it?”

The quote of the weekend goes to me. I said to Kay:

“We take us to all the best places.”

Below are four pictures.  The first one is where we stayed.  The second one is looking out from our deck.  The third picture is yer typical California “Wow, I mean seriously, wow” shot.

The fourth picture is looking down on some elephant seals.  They are just this side of the big rock, on the little beach. Also in this picture are many colors in the grass provided by flowers.  We talked to a woman who comes here often.  She said we had caught incredibly perfect weather, as usually it is cold and windy out on the point, and she told us that we had come at the most colorful time of year, as this was when most of the flowers have their pistils and stamens out.

She also taught us about California gray whales and their spring migration to the north during which they hug the coast and if you get lucky you’ll see some today.  As it turned out, we got lucky that day, several times.  Which brings us to the last feature of picture number four.  If you look carefully, at just the right spot, you’ll see a place that isn’t all that far away from where we actually saw some whales.

The most surprising thing to me about the whales was being surprised by the scale.  It’s pretty hard to surprise me when it comes to scale.  I’ve spent an awful lot of time and mind-wattage observing, reading about, talking about, and thinking about the various size scales, and time scales, and temperature scales, and every other way we have of measuring the goings on around us.  So I already knew, long before we left home, that whales are big.  And here’s what happened.  Because we were so high up, my mind had automatically factored in “whale largeness” and “approximate distance” before it set forth at using my eyes to look for whale-sized objects in or above the water.  Then I spotted a whale as it broke the surface of the water.  I could not see the whole thing.  After it went back under, it stayed very near the surface for a little while and it was easy to stay with it.  And that’s when I was able to see the whale’s entire lengthitude.  It was twice as long as it was supposed to be according to my mind’s calculations.  They should put a sign up there for the whale-watchers that says, “Objects are in fact exactly as large as they appear, especially whales.”

Even though my friend Ken Silbert lives in Florida, he is funnier than Dave Barry. I am proud and grateful to say that I have known Ken long before he ever killed anyone softly with his song. And now he has begun to officially share his malignant mind with the world using mere words. This will be a fun trick to watch. It’s like using an industrially complex cement mixer to squeeze a nano-thin ribbon of icing on to a tiny muffin that says “Oh, hi, I didn’t realize anyone was watching.”

Here comes Ken. Warning: don’t drink and read.

SPELLING BEE CHAMP RETAINS STATE TITLE WITH AID OF ADA

Kelley Mantz, 12, of Bitters, Oregon, will retain her title as State Spelling Bee Champion and move on to the national Scripps-Howard competition in Washington D.C., thanks to pressure from the Office of Americans with Disabilities Act.

According to Nels Fflargrensen of the ADA, Mantz was disqualified by state judges despite beating all other competitors and proceeding to the final round where she correctly spelled the word gynandromorph—except with a ‘dick’ in the middle.

“Kelley suffers from Tourette Syndrome and is on medication to suppress her urges to blurt out offensive sounds and words,” explained Fflargrensen, “but in pressure situations, or when experiencing abnormal emotional stress, patients often exhibit unwanted behaviors even while under medical treatment. That could certainly explain the unfortunate ‘dick’ in the spelling bee.”

Officials with the Oregon State Spelling Bee are planning an appeal before May’s national contest. “Look, I feel bad for the little girl, I do, but the rules are the rules,” argued Eileen Gelb, one of the judges on the state panel that originally disqualified Mantz. “She spelled G-Y-N-A-N-D-R-O-M-DICK-O-R-P-H. That’s just not how that word is spelled. There is no dick in it.”

Kelley’s mother, Nancy Mantz, sees it as even more than an ignorance of the disease though. “Just because my girl is special needs and whatever, okay, fine. But if she had like a club foot, or one huge ear and no ear on the other side—something they could see with their own eyes—they’d still let her win at spelling. So yes, they don’t understand Tourettes, but also, secondfold, I think they don’t like ‘dick.’ I just have to wonder what if she put a ‘twat’ in there instead. I just have to wonder,” she said.

Fflargrensen, however, does not feel that is an issue. “Sure, it’s an uncomfortable topic for many, but whether it was a dick, a slot, or just mud flaps, it would boil down to the same thing: this is a smart little girl with a disability who needs to be defended against discrimination. Even if it had been shit nipples, mud puppy or a beeping sound. Some of them beep or honk, you know.”

“Let me ask you this,” countered Gelb at the ADA inquiry, “what if Kelley were to spell the word mattress M-A-T-T-R-E-S-PEE-S, with the word ‘pee’ in there. How would we know it was the word ‘pee’ and not the letter ‘p’ —which would constitute a misspelling? I don’t want Oregon represented in the national championship that way.”

Kelley’s mother explained that ‘pee’ would not be a problem. “She never says pee. She either says ‘piss’ or ‘hot squirt’ over and over and over.”

Breathing in, I am aware that I am breathing in.
Breathing out, I am aware that I am breathing out.
In this way, I train myself.
Breathing in, I am aware that I am sitting at a poker table.
Breathing out, I smile to the poker universe.
Breathing in, I watch the cards being dealt.
Breathing out, I observe the players on my left.
Breathing in, I look at my cards.
Breathing out, I fold.

Breathing in, I watch the hand play out.
Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out.
Breathing in, I am aware that air is entering my body.
Breathing out, I notice my fingers.
Breathing in, I am aware that a player is thinking about his decision on the river.
Breathing out, I watch him call.
Breathing in, I watch the called player turn over the nuts.
Breathing out, I hear the caller curse briefly.
Breathing in, I am aware that I understand the cause of the caller’s discomfort.
Breathing out, I send him some ease.
Breathing in, I erect my spine and I know that I am preparing myself to receive the next hand.
Breathing out, I am perfect and I notice the sounds of poker.

Breathing in, I am aware that I am breathing in a short breath.
Breathing out, I am aware that I am breathing out a short breath.
Breathing in, I know that I am breathing in a long breath.
Breathing out, I know that I am breathing out a long breath.
Breathing in, I calm my mind.
Breathing out, I calm my body.
In this way, I train myself.

Breathing in, I look at my cards.
Breathing out, I know that one is an ace and the other a king.
Breathing in, I move chips from my stack across the betting line.
Breathing out, I await and observe the decisions of my opponents.
Breathing in, I see them folding.
Breathing out, I see the player on my right raise.
Breathing in, I call.
Breathing out, I see the dealer thumbroll an aceless, kingless flop.
Breathing in, I watch the player on my right prepare to bet.
Breathing out, with anticipation, I time it so that at the moment he bets, my lungs are empty, and I dispatch my cards into the muck with the tip of my thumb, expending the least possible energy.

Breathing in, I am completely aware that I am breathing in and that my lungs are inflating.
Breathing out, I know that right now I am breathing out.
In this way, I train myself.

Breathing in, I post a big blind.
Breathing out, I see the player on my left post a straddle.
Breathing in, I hear the cards coming off the deck.
Breathing out, I look at my cards and I determine that I will fold when it is my turn.
Breathing in, I am grateful for this opportunity to relax and be still.
Breathing out, I fold and I notice my own gratefulness.

Breathing in, I see a player bet the flop.
Breathing out, I see the other players in the pot fold.
Breathing in, I hear the winner’s remark and a reply.
Breathing out, I intentionally shape my body as I please.
Breathing in, I post a small blind.
Breathing out, I watch the dealer’s hands deliver the cards.
Breathing in, I look at the big blind as he looks at his cards.
Breathing out, I look at my cards – 9-4 off-suit.
Breathing in, I decide to pay close attention to the action and to not decide yet what I will do at my turn.
Breathing out, I watch a player raise. Breathing in, I decide now not to reraise.
Breathing out, it is my turn, and I fold.

Breathing in, I pay attention to my in-breath at my nose.
Breathing out, I make my out-breath even and long.
In this way, I train myself.
Breathing in, I am aware that I have the button.
Breathing out, I perfect myself, I hear the poker sounds, I look at my cards – 8-6 of clubs – a vulnerable player limps, I look to the left as the action approaches me, I raise, the small blind calls, the big blind folds, the limper calls, the flop comes, they check to me, I bet, the small blind calls, the limper folds, the turn comes, the small blind checks, I check, the river comes, he bets, I call, he says “You got me,” I show my cards, he mucks, I hear someone say “He’s a moron,” the dealer’s eyes smile at mine as I tip, the next hand is dealt, I’m in the cutoff, I look at my cards – A-5 off-suit – the same player limps, I look left, the button indicates that he is folding, I raise, the button folds, the small blind folds, the big blind reraises, the opener folds, I fold, I sit back, and…

Breathing in, I notice that I have not noticed my breathing for a while.
Breathing out, I remind myself to remind myself to do better at reminding myself to remember to remember to remember to, ah, to remember. With each aware breath, I rejoin, I recombine, I become a member again, I re-member.

Breathing in, I know that I am breath taking.
Breathing out, I know that everything is breathtaking.
Until death do I live.

My friend Wayne told me that it’s important for a writer to be able to “kill his babies.” When he told me this, I knew exactly what he meant. And I was pleased, because when it comes to my babies, I am a brutal serial killer. Take the carcass below for example. It used to have four siblings, quintuplets they were. These clumps of text grew up together under the article title: “Data Minding” which I just sent in to BLUFF Magazine. What these cute little infants had in common was the theme of keeping records at poker. But collectively, they grew too big. There was not enough room for everyone, so someone had to die. Naturally I did what any ruthless son of a bitch would do, and I murdered the weakest one of the lot. They don’t call it the cutting room floor for nothing. It’s bloody down there. If you can stand to look at such a sight, here’s a dead baby:

When 3 = 370

So far, I have been using the time unit called “a year” because everyone else does. But really, I have to contort my mind to fit it into that box. Just when exactly does this thing called “a year” start anyway? January first? Says who? Like I’m supposed to wake up on a winter’s day and just because some farmers who lived thousands of miles away and thousands of years ago figured out that celestial motions are patterned and predictable, I’m supposed to feel like today is the start of something? And that the numbers on my poker tally sheet for precisely the previous 365 days hold some special meaning?

Seems to me there’s a better way. If the objective is to use our collected data to “see how we did” over the span of 365 days in order to draw statistically viable, meaningful, and useful conclusions about past performance and future expectations, then yes, I do believe there is a better way. And here it is:

Instead of waiting a year for a year’s worth of data, try this. Tally your results from, say, January 1 to January 1, then tally your results from January 2 to January 2, then January 3 to January 3, and so on. Do that everyday.

Let’s look at what you have after three years. If you do your tallying the traditional way, you’ll end up with at least 3 numbers and at most 5 numbers for each year:

• Your total amount won or lost. (1 number)

• Your total hours played, or your total hands played, or both. (1 or 2 numbers)

• Your rate of winning or losing, which could use the time unit “hour” or “100 hands.” You could do either, or both – for example, if you play multiple tables online, you might want to know your hourly rate, and also your “per 100 hands” rate. (1 or 2 numbers)

So after three years of keeping score, you’d have at least 9 and at most 15 numbers to show for it. That’s not much grist for the number mill. Hardly enough for data mining, more like data dipping. If you want to dig deep into numbers, you need lots of them, like, thousands of them. And doing it my way, that’s what you’ll have:

• 365 = the number of days in a year.

• 365 x 2 = 730 = the number of days in two years.

• 730 = the number of days in a three-year span that have at least 365 days after them. In other words, every three-year span has 730 years inside it.

• 3 = the minimum number of numbers per “year” that you use. (win/loss amount, amount played, win/loss rate.)

• 5 = the maximum number of numbers per “year” that you use. (This applies to those who use both “hours” and “hands” as units for “amount played.”)

• 730 x 3 = 2190 = the minimum # of #’s you’ll have after three years.

• 730 x 5 = 3650 = the maximum # of #’s you’ll have after three years.

Now that’s what I call a deep mine.

Sometimes my poker articles start with an idea, then comes some text, and somewhere along the way a title shows up. Other times I start with a title that I really like and then I come up with something to put underneath it. This post is about one of those. Here’s a title I came up with that has been waiting for an article:

He Beat Me With a Club

And now I’ve decided what the article will be about. It’ll be a lingo article. I do one of those every few years or so. This one will be about new words that have shown up in the poker lexicon since the 2003 poker explosion. Right now I’m collecting them. If you can think of some, please send them to me! You can either leave a reply here at my blog, or in this thread at DeucesCracked, or send me an email at tommy@tommyangelo.com. Thanks!

I have a list started already. Here are a few words from it:

Donkaments — I don’t know what this word means but I’ve heard it a lot.
Float — a type of call at no-limit.
Stack — It’s new usage is as a verb, meaning to win the other guy’s stack (or lose your own) at no-limit or pot-limit. (ex: I love to stack that guy.)
Felt — as a verb, means the same as Stack.

I’m looking forward to having some fun putting this article together. Here’s a replay from an old article of mine of a passage that was the most fun I’ve ever had writing anything. It’s from “Broken Down English.”

Play along with me here, and try to imagine you are a regular person. Pretend you have no idea what words like “fold” and “diamonds” mean to a poker player. Then one day you overhear this story being told:

“Some guy limped in with rags, suited up. I woke up with two cowboys, so I popped him. I’d been beating him up all night. He was stuck like a pig and tilting bad. So he came back at me. I put the cap on, of course. I hit my hand hard when a king flopped along with two clubs. Then I picked up a house on fourth street. And if that wasn’t good enough, he flushed up on the river and started pounding me!”

Pretty incredible how much I used to hate air travel and now it’s one of my best times.  What a difference a bench makes.

From Friday to Sunday I was in Las Vegas for a long-planned sibling+partners get together.  We did wonderful things.  Visiting.  Eating.  Shows (we saw LOVE and Blue Man Group).  It would be an easy matter to write many words about the events and ideas and feelings of those three days. I could put up some pictures.  I could recall on this page — as I have already done on my bench in the morning using my little hyper-detailed-reconstruction-while-putting-myself-in-the-scene mental memory gadget that I’ve developed — the finest details of the settings and events.

And I probably would.  Except that something happened yesterday, at the end of the trip, that is still kind of sitting on top of everything like the huge flowing white sheet that covered half the audience during part of the LOVE show.  The good news about the thing that happened is that it was really amazing in general and really wonderful and good for me in particular.  The bad news is that by the very definition of the words “thought” and “experience,” the thing that happened cannot, and I mean that literally, cannot be described.  It can, by definition, only be experienced.  To even attempt to describe it reduces it to non-existence and non-reality.  And that’s why it always sounds insane to some people when such attempts are made.  So, because of the limited nature of ideas and words, here come some that know they are insane.

On the flight back from Vegas, Kay was asleep in the seat next to me and I decided to stay with my breathing for a long time.  I do this whenever I fly.  About 3/4 of my flights are alone, so I’ve gotten pretty good at meditating on the plane.  The result is always the same: good.  Good takes different forms.  It changes as it happens.  Good is better than not good, in other words, meditating is better than non meditating.

I’ve gotten used to residual good that follows me off the plane, even after my thinking mind wanders away and gets lost in the not-now.  Good usually keeps wedging its way in there as a walk through the terminal thinking about what I’m doing and where I’m going and all that.  Good usually uses my feet and my breathing, sometimes my vision, to scamper back up and sit on my thoughts.

And that’s what was going on again yesterday.  I was walking alongside Kay, and we were in the middle of a little stretch when neither of us was talking, and I noticed to my left an especially beautiful woman walking toward me.  She was everywhere impeccable and appealing, not just visually, but her walk and her demeanor too.  A thought arose about the labels that my thoughts had assigned to her: attractive, appealing.  I have been giving thoughts like these much thought these last few years, so it didn’t take long to tread this familiar ground.  I understand the evolutionary forces behind the existence of and the determination of attractiveness.  I know that I am an animal organism with a mind that sees and rates.  I know what’s happening while this happens.  And I do like looking at people I like to look at.  It’s pleasing now in the same way that looking at any pleasing thing — such as The Wynn, or a horizon — is pleasing.

I looked at her, and I smiled inside.  I looked at the next person, an obese person, and my smile was unchanged.  I looked at the next people, an anxious couple walking very fast, and I breathed in their tenseness and breathed out my air and my smiling gut widened.  I noticed all the people all at once all together, and they all died.  I noticed the carpet, and it was living.  The floor was as dead and as alive as the people.  I was dead.  I was good.  I was moving, depending on where you stood, and I was still, and the carpet was moving, depending on if you happened to be a human or a wall.  There were no divisions.