Pascale's Wager

Enough

2008-09-24T21:53:00.004-04:00

I have a really bad feeling right now.
Something has gone wrong.
I'm not sure exactly what, but it may be that this blog is to blame.

I always knew I was running a risk with the level of candor I exercised here.
It may well have come back to bite me.

If so, I have only myself to blame.

I hereby apologize for any cavalier remarks I've ever made about the people I care about.
Please judge me by my actual behavior and not the self-absorbed, drama-ridden ramblings documented here.

I'm going to take this offline for awhile.
Thank you, dear readers, for bearing with me. Those of you who'd like to contact me via email, please do so.

Free at last

2008-09-21T17:35:00.004-04:00

I emailed Mr. WPY quoting the video with a big smiley-face. And got a response with an emoticon wink saying "You know how I roll!"

I do now, anyway.

Here's the thing: I'm doing okay with it. It's not as if I'm now deprived of anything I actually had before. I still have a friend who lights up when I walk into the room. Someone who finds me interesting enough to talk about me when I'm not there. Who calls me first when he comes back home.

And now I'm free to stop torturing myself with pointless speculation, and to just enjoy the friendship.

It meant, for example, that I could spend half an hour on the phone with Mr. XM, talking him through his agonizing about the fate of his poor, sick diabetic cat. I was free to give him my full attention, and to hear the genuine gratitude in his voice.

I am who I am: an eccentric, affectionate, adventurous middle-aged woman ~ and it's damned interesting being me.

No need for cupcakes...

2008-09-19T11:43:00.003-04:00

...when you can make a better offer. Let's go to the tape, shall we?

Mr. WPY complains about the wetsuit being too warm.
M: "I'll lick the sweat off you later, you'll be fine."

Okay, then.

That wasn't part of the script. I think it was recorded accidentally.

Crap.

In which I do not know which way is up

2008-09-19T00:52:00.005-04:00

I spent about three hours with Mr. WPY hacking around with some video he shot for a film spoof. In the course of this time period, I met "M" ~ a personal trainer and good-looking young woman who helped him shoot it and played one of the parts, and who showed up at his place WITH FOOD for him. (Which the two of us subsequently ate. She dropped off this homemade pizza and left. Huh?)

He said, "M says she's psyched that she is finally getting to meet the mythical Pascale." (I'm mythical now? What?)
Sure enough, she said, "I've heard so much about you!!" (WTF?)
Apparently, I have been a topic of conversation. I couldn't say the same for her. Is that odd?

We looked at my Ariel videos and traded sad stories of pet deaths.

Poker content of the evening: zero.

Still no touching. (The contrast with Mr. XM in that department couldn't be more flagrant.) But the smile went up into his eyes and stayed there. He really likes me.

No touching until I said good night, and then he opened his arms for the hug (it wasn't me, I swear, I was getting ready to walk out with no contact). And it was a genuine hug, not the abstract sketch of a hug we've had before. I was surprised.

I'm going to AC for the next three days, and then he's got a buddy coming into town, so he won't be playing in our usual Tuesday game. I don't know when I'll see him next.

I am now genuinely confused. I think there's a distinct possibility that he is somehow shy toward me. I'm having a hard time understanding why, but I think it's actually possible. I am legitimately baffled by the way things are going.

This is not a complaint, though, however much it may sound like one. I am sure that all will eventually sort itself out. In any case, we are friends and we enjoy each other's company. There's nothing bad about that.

How would you know?

2008-09-18T16:23:00.002-04:00

If you ran into this woman in an impoverished environment, how would you know that she was not the same kind of human as you?

You wouldn't. In fact I consider the dirty face and hair used in the depiction to be speciesist. If they cleaned her up, she'd look like somebody's grandma.

Most scientists these days are saying there's no evidence of genetic interbreeding between modern humans (homo sapiens) and Neanderthals. If this image is at all representative of how our cousins looked, then I GUARANTEE there was interspecies hanky-panky. She's no Scarlett Johanssen, but she looks like one of us.

A Tale of Two Men

2008-09-18T02:20:00.004-04:00

One you already know about. You've heard a LOT about him.

The other one I've only referenced in passing. He proposed marriage to me (obviously tongue in cheek) the first night we played poker together at his place. And candidly, sometimes he's an ass. Whip-smart, but an ass. He's got a heart of gold, though. I've watched him do unexpectedly nice things, like give money to homeless guys who weren't even asking for it.

Last night, apropos of absolutely nothing, he told me that sometimes I turn him on. I was so surprised by this that I said, in the most cheerful tones possible, "Gosh, that's awfully sweet of you," or something to that effect.

Tonight, he apparently decided that the lack of discouragement was as good as encouragement. He started courting me. Admittedly, that's an old-fashioned term, but really, there's no other word for it. He wanted to hold my hand. He rubbed my neck while I was driving. He held me close and danced with me by the pump while I was gassing up my car. He kissed me good night. He really wants to touch me.

THE MAN BOUGHT ME CAKE AT RANDOM JUST BECAUSE. (I rest my case.)

I am utterly bemused by this.

On the one hand, we have Exhibit A: the beautiful, brainy, accomplished, charming, and apparently sexually completely uninterested fellow.

On the other hand, we have Exhibit B: the ordinary-looking, smart, successful, slightly jerky, and apparently quite interested guy.

What the hell? They are the same age. They are completely different personalities. And I mean totally different.

I am so used to pining after the inappropriate and unavailable, to being locked in to an unreciprocated adoration, that I'm really at a loss when presented with someone who is not only available but actively pursuing me.

You know what? I like it.

I'm not at all sure what, if anything, I'm going to do about it ~ but I definitely like it. It is refreshing to not be in doubt about what's going on. If Mr. WPY were doing what this guy ~ Mr. XM ~ is doing, I would be passing out with delight. (They'd have to call the paramedics and I'm not even kidding.)

But what it does is remind me: this is how guys behave when they're actually attracted to someone. Everything else is plain old friendship.

Mr. WPY needs to step up his game. Because Exhibit B is presenting a pretty entertaining proposition.

The Look

2008-09-16T04:34:00.004-04:00

Last weekend there was the evening that looked exactly like a date except that it wasn't a date. We even napped under the same roof... in separate rooms. We ate dinner out together. We talked about all sorts of things, none of which were poker, and I discovered that we have more in common politically than not (which came as a pleasant surprise). We went to a show. We had dessert afterward. And we said goodnight with a blank little hug.

Tonight, though, something was different.

He showed up with baked goods. And you know what? I asked about them. And he told me that a friend had made them: that most of his friends loved to cook and that he was the lucky beneficiary. He must have said the word friend about ten times as he conveyed this information.

Cupcake of despair? I THINK NOT.

He busted out of the tournament tonight in sixth place. He hung around for awhile, as I was very short-stacked. It got to be about 2 am, and we took a brief break in the game. He said he was going to leave. I went upstairs to get a headache pill, and walked him to the door.

"I like your chances against these guys," he said to me. (I was still very short-stacked, and we were five-handed.)

He looked at me with shining eyes. It was the look: admiration and affection. There was a pause.

I could have gone into his arms, then, I think. Instead, I gave him my best smile and we exchanged the infamous 'terrorist fist jab.'

"I'll let you know," I said. And he left.

I went on to win the tournament. Which, needless to say, pleased me very much. Almost as much as that look, and the pause wherein almost anything was possible.

Still Gone

2008-09-08T23:57:00.002-04:00

In more ways than one.

I miss you guys, but I'm so busy with my other project that I just don't have the energy to invest over here. It makes me a little sad.

On the other hand, this is my only venue to vent on the subject of my emotional life. And I so need to vent.

Yes, I'm still gone. Very gone. Utterly gone.

I now see Mr. WPY an average of three times a week. In addition to a couple of group games, we are getting together just about every Monday night to chat and snack and play heads up. Little by little, we're learning more about each other, and simply hanging out is getting easier. He has only grown more and more delightful to me, and if he were any handsomer I'd have to puke. It is almost unbearable. I am not blind to his flaws, but they are ~ alas ~ completely overwhelmed by his charms. Paradoxically, as I become more and more accepting of the insurmountability of the obstacles to any intimate relationship between us, I just love him all the more.

It is simultaneously ridiculous and sublime. I have become a walking romantic cliché, right out of the 19th century. Except that my role has traditionally been played by a man, but whatever. You get the idea.

Well, we are friends. It remains to be seen whether we will be really good, deep, and durable friends, but there's no doubt whatsoever that we like one another very much and enjoy each other's company. It brings me much more pleasure than pain, at the moment, and that's no small thing.

Oh, and I had a revelation ~ whilst in my morning shower mulling the previous night's conversation ~ about the infamous cupcake of despair. He went to visit his family again for Labor Day weekend (and called me ON HIS WAY BACK FROM THE AIRPORT to see if we could get together that evening, yeah baby, thinking of me the moment his plane touched down, boo-yah! *ahem* Where was I?). Anyway, as it happened we got together a few hours after he got home (*ahem*) and had dessert at an outdoor restaurant where we play. He didn't need dinner because he'd eaten a huge casserole that his Mom had sent him home with.

His Mom.

O.M.F.G.

It is entirely possible that his mother made the cupcake. In which case, the major retreat I made after I ate that dread baked goodie may have been COMPLETELY MISGUIDED. I stopped flirting. I discounted every twinkle and every little forthcoming thing he did. I read him as unavailable and conducted myself accordingly.

Given what I think I know about his sexual predilections this probably hasn't made any difference in the course and nature of our relationship. Probably.

But if I was wrong about the cupcake... what else might I be completely wrong about?

The Adventure Begins

2008-08-18T02:59:00.004-04:00

Well, it had to happen.

Something had to give. I was just not prepared to limp along the way I have been for the last year or more.

Like the Fool in the Tarot deck who blithely steps off a cliff, I am throwing caution to the winds and embarking on a year-long experiment in self-reinvention.

You can read all about it at a new outlet: Raise or Fold.

I'll still be posting here, but most of the poker-related stuff will wind up over there. (There may be the occasional cross-post.) This may come as a relief to those of you for whom poker is one big snooze.

I do have one request. Raise or Fold is a much more public-facing blog. I have no desire for it to be associated with this one. I don't want the people who read that blog to read this one, unless they started here.

So please, if you are moved to visit and comment over there ~ and I very much hope you will be! ~, don't reference this blog or my name. If you do so, even inadvertently, I may remove your comment (and I'd HATE to have to do that). Similarly, if you should be inclined to link to Raise or Fold (which would be great!), please don't contextualize it with a reference to me or this blog.

I realize that it's possible that eventually someone, somewhere will make a connection between these two enterprises. On that day, Pascale's Wager may disappear from my server for good, which would be sad for me. I hope it doesn't come to that.

P.S.: Happy birthday to me!

What She Said

2008-08-16T22:57:00.002-04:00

"You don't have to put an age limit on your dreams." ~ Dara Torres, Olympic Medalist in Swimming at age 41

*&$#@!

2008-08-16T03:36:00.002-04:00

Out with friend D., walkin' her dog, and wearing my new kicky heeled sandals = BAD IDEA.

I turned my weak ankle, the left one, the one already so injured that I had to give up running two years ago. Again. Crap! It hurts and it annoys me because it was just so stupid.

And apparently I don't have any bandages to wrap it with anymore. Off to the drugstore tomorrow. Phooey!

Freaking Awesome

2008-08-15T15:03:00.002-04:00

The brave new world of video editing is here. Say good-bye to people and things you don't want to see. And welcome to the world of creative video alteration.

Great potential and scary too.

Two Things

2008-08-13T03:41:00.002-04:00

1) I had my first on-camera interview as a poker player yesterday. (There's obviously more to this story, but you'll have to wait a few more days for the rest of it.)

2) My PokerStars bankroll, the one that started with $50 in it, is now at $620. There have been some unnecessarily "exciting" ups and downs along the way, but I'm pretty consistently beating 25NL now (.10/.25 blinds). I expect the next $600 to come a lot quicker.

Four More Hours

2008-08-12T01:50:00.004-04:00

At about 7 o'clock this evening Mr. WPY called me. I don't have to tell you how pleased I was to hear his voice. But perhaps you'll appreciate that I was even more pleased than average to hear from him because over the week-end we'd crossed paths all too briefly and I'd felt a little... well, blown off is too strong a phrase. But disappointed that we hadn't communicated more substantively.

Anyway, he phoned me and we started talking poker, and then he asked me whether I had plans for the evening. And when I allowed as to how I did not have plans, he invited me over to his place to play heads up.

So I went. And we played poker. And talked. And watched some Olympics together (swimming & gymnastics). At about 12:30 he announced he was sleepy and I cheerfully said good night and left promptly.

He doesn't want me to touch him. I think I've explained the why of that for myself pretty convincingly.

But he definitely wants me around. He likes being with me. I think he likes being the person who he sees that I see in him. He wants to be the person that I so evidently like very much indeed ~ and when he strays away from that, he tries very hard for me not to see it. (I had another example of this from S. again this past week.) He wants to live up to my expectations of him and to do the things that delight me about him!

I don't know why I'm so surprised by this, but I actually am. I thought I was the approval-seeker, but actually, it's him. Or, more accurately perhaps, it's both of us. In any case, I think the chief difference between the two of us is that I'm overtly conscious of my desire for his approval, and I'm okay with it, whereas I think his Alpha Maleness and his command personality make it very difficult for him to acknowledge this in himself.

I told him about The One-Year Plan. (Something I haven't even told you, dear readers, about yet. But I will. Soon.) I found a way to include him in it, and I immediately had the sense that he was deeply flattered.

Good. He should be.

We have something really unusual, something genuinely unique going on. It's not a conventional anything, and I think it's likely that it won't ever be ordinary, typical, or easily categorized. But whatever it is, I am beginning to believe that he values it as much as I do.

And that makes me very happy.

Bye-bye, stinky beddy, bye-bye

2008-08-11T12:43:00.005-04:00

Hallelujah and pass the air mattress! This afternoon the evil Tempurpedic mattress has returned from whence it came.

No more sleeping on my living room floor! No more watery, gummy, weeping eyes, no heavy chest and headaches!

I get to reclaim my bedroom, which has been off-limits behind a closed door with both windows open and the fan running for a MONTH. The solvent fume stink eventually gave way to the musty plastic stink... the same panoply of product emissions that caused me such misery with the Ikea mattress. Only this allergen bomb was much, much more expensive.

My only regret is that the damn thing was incredibly comfortable. Too bad it made me ill.

I am a little miffed that it took so long to get the darn thing removed, but I'm also so thrilled that it's gone that I'm sure I'll get over it.

I guess it's back to cheap and tolerable air mattresses until I figure out a grown-up solution that won't leave me sick as dog.

So, so ahead of my time

2008-08-08T13:03:00.004-04:00

In order to cement your status in the cultural elite, you want to be already sick of everything no one else has even heard of.

...If you can do this, becoming not only an early adopter, but an early discarder, you will realize greater status rewards than you ever imagined. Remember, cultural epochs come and go, but one-upsmanship is forever.

I will spare you the long list of items that I "discovered" well in advance of the madding crowd. Or the brilliant predictions I made which were ignored or pooh-poohed at the time, but which could have made someone (including me) huge portions of fame and fortune had we been bothered to follow up on them.

Bah.

Go read this article by David Brooks, it's amusing.

Re-Tired

2008-08-06T17:11:00.004-04:00

My right rear tire gave up the ghost about a week ago. Fortunately it had the good graces to do it a few hundred yards from my home, rather than at high speed on a freeway at midnight. I was able to limp to my reserved parking spot on the rim, and my car's insurance covered the installation of my spare.

You'd think that would have served as a wake-up call to get the rest of my ageing tires replaced, as my service people had recommended. But no.

Last night, I emerged from my game to find my left rear tire almost completely deflated. I hobbled directly to a gas station and pumped a whole lotta air into it, crossed my fingers, and drove gingerly home on non-highway roads.

Now I'm sitting in a coffee shop waiting for my new tires to be installed and promising myself that I will never procrastinate key safety maintenance again. Sickeningly expensive though.

All Talk

2008-08-05T00:36:00.005-04:00

All poker, all the time.

We started talking at 7:15, and stopped at about midnight. We talked strategy, we talked tactics; I introduced him to the wild and woolly world of online poker for money. It was hella fun.

We did NOT talk about his weekend or mine.
We did not talk about anything other than poker. Nonstop. No pauses, no interruptions except for bathroom breaks.

And I was fine with it. More than fine. I enjoyed the hell out of it. Having released myself from all pressure, all expectation, I was free to just be my totally poker-geeky self. I didn't dress to impress, I went bare-faced and all in black.

We did math, we debated the finer points of all-in re-raises with the second nut flush.

Periodically, I will admit, the thought crossed my mind: my god, he's so, so handsome. He wasn't in game-face lockdown mode; I was treated to the full spectrum of smiles and crinkled blue-green eyes and full-on charm.

No touching. None at all.

It's okay; I think I understand where I am with this now. He looks at me with genuine enthusiasm and affection. He likes me ~ a lot, if I had to guess ~ but by his lights I'm not boinkable. I am in my own category with him. Ultimately, he is not a problem for me to solve; I am problem for him to solve.

Thinking about it that way makes it much more pleasurable for me. I may even start to play with it a little. I feel free: he is the one in a box, not me.

From now on, if anyone's head is going to get messed with, it's going to be his. I have taken back my power.

Still On His Mind

2008-08-02T06:16:00.004-04:00

It was another interesting evening in Pascaleville.

I finally had a deep run in a tournament, after a long spell of appalling luck. I was runner-up in the second of our 12 WSOP v.2 games, thereby covering my first quarter dues and making back my tourney buy-in. Since Mr. WPY and I are cross-staking each other, I already got my buy-in back for the first event, and that means I'm just about free-rolling for the third tournament of the quarter, coming up in September. The Syndicate is prospering: Mr. WPY and I are now 2 and 3 on the leaderboard.

This is especially impressive as Mr. WPY was not in attendance for this game. He was in Connecticut at a cousin's wedding.

But he was thinking about about me.

How do I know this? Because just before the game started, I got an MMS from him. Since we had communicated via text earlier in the day, I assumed he was just wishing me luck for the game, as I had requested.

Nuh-unh.

He sent me a picture of the bride and groom in each other's arms, surrounded by well-wishers. "Worth missing poker for" was the caption.

Okay, I gotta say I'm a tad confused.

We are getting together for a long-overdue strategy session on Monday night. At his place.

THAT should be interesting too. One way or another.

Double Standard

2008-07-30T17:05:00.003-04:00

So, now that I believe I've diagnosed the difficulty in my relationship with Mr. WPY, I find myself asking the question: am I guilty of a double standard?

Am I really in a position to criticize the particularities of what any individual finds sexually attractive, just because it is a standard that is disappointing/repugnant/unimaginative to (or, alas, unobtainable by) me?

I like to think that I'm flexible in terms of my own requirements. But, let's look at the record, shall we? Some might say I'm pretty darn picky.

So far, I seem to have insisted upon: significantly higher than average intelligence, verbal wit, at least average good looks and fitness, and youth. (I haven't dated a man older than I since my freshman year of college.) Is there anything in this litany that would actually allow me to feel morally superior to a man who just wants to boink Barbies?

I'm not so sure.

I believe that, under the right circumstances, I could be attracted to someone who did not tick off all of the boxes itemized above. I think I could love such a person and want an intimate relationship with him.

I think so. But, for what it's worth, it hasn't happened yet.

What is fun?

2008-07-30T16:17:00.005-04:00

The question makes me sound a bit like Pontius Pilate ("What is truth?"), not necessarily the person I want most to be likened to, but there we are.

My dear brother Bastin (from whom I was evidently separated at birth, and whom I met many decades later on Poker Academy Online, and then subsequently in person in Vegas ~ twice), recently opined:

The conversation then shifted to whether playing poker is fun. Never. The environs may be fun; the game isn’t, whether winning or losing.

Now, I bow to no one in how seriously I take the game. I take the game very, very seriously. Ridiculously seriously. As seriously as I've taken any activity I've cared a great deal about in my whole life. But I'll be goddamned if I'd play as much as I do if I didn't find it fun most of the time.

It's fun to play the game of poker. It's fun to use one's observational skills and smarts to triumph over probability. It's fun to learn how to maintain one's equanimity in the face of cruel fate and the bad behavior of one's tablemates. It's not much fun to lose, especially if IT GOES ON FOR A MINDNUMBINGLY LONG PERIOD OF TIME, but recovering from defeat can definitely be fun.

Sometimes poker is fun in the manner of a hair-raising rollercoaster ride. Sometimes it's fun as in "fun house," where everything is wacky and distorted and goofy-looking. Sometimes it's fun the way meditating at sunrise on the top of a mountain with no one around for a hundred miles is fun.

Sometimes it's as much fun as being waterboarded. Which is to say, the polar opposite of fun. But for me, that's a relatively small percentage of the time (5%), and is easily outweighed by the rest of the time, which can be divided into boring (10-15%) and fun (80-85%).

Also, arguably "the environs" of poker are often pretty un-fun: downright nasty, vicious, dirty and/or disreputable. Or merely tacky. Let's just say that if poker weren't fun, I certainly wouldn't frequent them.

[Another blogger on fun and poker.]

Cognitive Dissonance

2008-07-26T03:07:00.004-04:00

Okay, so I wasn't exactly wrong. Except for the part where I was completely wrong.

One always suffers a certain pain when illusions are revealed for what they are.

For example: I know all men are not swine. Most of them, apparently, yes, but not all. I can think of at least three examples of non-swinish men of my acquaintance, that I'm really sure of. And to all of you men among my gentle readers who are not fundamentally pig-like, I salute you. Good going.

Sometimes, however, some men turn out to sport the cloven hoof, even when one has considered them to be shining counterexamples. And then one has to do a mental revision, rewinding all of one's past experiences and encounters, and recalibrating one's understanding in light of this new information.

Here's the hard and painful part.

Yeah, you know where this is going.

Mr. WPY.

I don't know what the hell was going on tonight. It started out promisingly, with him calling me to see if I was going to play. Well, I had dinner plans, but allowed as how I was going to try to make the second game. I was thrilled that he called me, again.

So I showed up for the second game, and was seated at a different table. There was a bikini-shoot show playing on the TV in the background, which featured cheerleaders of the NFL, and all the men were mesmerized. A veritable miasma of sex-talk floated around the other table, at which Mr. WPY was seated. S, the other female player, was in the midst of it, and later reported (accurately, I believe), a string of remarkably crass and playerly comments made by Mr. WPY. We are talking about explicit descriptions of X-rated activities at strip clubs in Vegas, among other things. Apparently busty blondes with dark eyebrows are the requisite creatures.

Suddenly the scales fell from my eyes. He is one of those guys, those guys who basically divide women up into two categories: sex toys and everything else. The reason I have been so confused about my interactions with him is that I have been entirely correct that we have a strong connection, but it is a thoroughly emotional and intellectual connection and thus (for him) prima facie not in the slightest bit a physical one.

I don't have any doubt whatsoever that he likes me, respects me, and enjoys my company. I think I am a category-buster for him, because I think he is, in fact, ~ on some level ~ attracted to me, but NOT in the way he is accustomed to and comfortable with. And who can blame him? I don't make sense for him. At all.

He still lights up when I enter the room. I've seen it, and so have other people. There's something unusual there. But unless something truly radical cracks open in his psyche, there is no possibility for any kind of intimate relationship beyond friendship.

I get it now. I don't like it, but I get it.

Damn.

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.