Queen Alice

(an entry about poker)

I'm trying to get Alias the Jester to approve my poker nickname 'Alice'. As in Alice in Wonderland "curiouser and curiouser" "you're nothing but a pack of cards" etc etc. Why? Because I always want to see the community cards before I confirm a bet. Anyway, Alias hasn't even approved of my nickname for him but this is my blog so I get to call him Alias. So Old Man River, Alias, Soccer Chief (not a poker nickname, duh), Mr Origami and I scheduled a game after work...

Big boss came in, though, and ran a sales meeting in the boardroom, which is our usual den. We were even going to use the projector to screen the cricket, which is being played in Perth. We ended up moving furniture to the sound room and setting up there and had to contend with the radio broadcast of the match.

I had a bloody lucky run of cards - a lot of triples - which wiped out Alias and Old Man (he had taken down Origami in the meantime, if my memory serves me correctly) reasonably early. So I went heads up with the Chief, who I find impossible to look at because he's just too beautiful (I mean, really, it's just not fair for one person to be so good looking...).

I started off with the larger chip stack in the one-on-one but we see-sawed for about ooh, a good hour. The blinds started hitting 40/80 with a minimum bet of 80 so there was quite a many chips in the pot at each hand. In the end I can't quite remember how I steamrolled him, but he had bet all-in and I, having the slightly upper hand at the time, acquiesced. I think I might have had a pair of fives and he might have had a king or ace high. Origami later said that he fully thought the Chief had me covered and conceded that I'd played well.

Bowed out within a couple of hands in the second round, though (Chief had to go - I felt bad that he was so tired and the play exhausted him further). Alias actually took me out (rather than the other way around, which is what usually happens). I had pocket Queens and a Queen on the river... and he had a flush. Bastard.

That reminds me of an earlier game where Origami lost to the Maverick (who doesn't actually work with us - he is the husband of Melways, who does work with us). They were both all-in. Origami had pocket Queens and the Maverick had pocket 2s. Melways dealt a 2 and it was all over Mr Origami. So those pocket Queens are cursed.

Next time I'll scream "you're nothing but a pack of cards" and see if that gets me the nickname I want.



P.S: Interim news about Stalkie, who'd told Alias and a bunch of other people (at a lunch the other day) that I had said that Alias and Origami didn't want her to play poker any more. This is a blatant lie. Either she's mixing up the fact that Alias and Origami think she's a loose cannon at poker with the fact that Dutchie and our CEO didn't want her to come into the office or she is trying to discredit me. Alias also mentioned that his manager, Toro, keeps getting emails from her and is too nice to shake her off. Lying to her just makes it worse for himself. I guess nice people aren't always completely honest.

the way it is

A couple of months ago I mentioned my tendency to dream about trains when I am troubled. In that entry I also mentioned a situation involving a (formerly good) friend of mine with regard to a lack of notification re: her wedding. Look, with everything compounding itself at the moment I hardly have time for people who don't have time for me. That's just the way it is.

But my subconscious believes otherwise, for without warning I've begun to dream about her. I've dreamt about her explaining the wherefores to me and everything being okay, even though the dream never ends with us reconciling as friends. I have dreamt about her explanation so many times that sometimes, in a moment of confusion just after I wake up, I believe the issue to be resolved and acceptable, even though I haven't touched it since I learnt of the snub. All this tells me is that I should say something or write something to her - but I cannot seem to identify this as my initiative. And the timing is all wrong, it's busy, it's festive - the last thing I want is to let my social problem ambush someone else's mailbox.

I've mellowed, methinks. Where's the fire, doc? And yet I'm strong enough now to let it eat at me for another month. Just another month. And then I'll tell her.

Electronic goalposts

A perpetual problem when playing casual soccer is knowing whether or not the ball went through the goalposts. In fact, I estimate that we spend about 10% of the match disputing whether the ball went through the goalposts. Of course some goals are clearcut, but when you have no goalie, and the ball comes in at an angle, how do you know? And then there are disputes about height...

So, with the advent of those projector pens that project a sensitive laser keyboard, surely they can make electronic goalposts. I mean, have a little device that projects a rectangular area that you can set to whatever size (like 2m wide and 1m high or whatever). When the ball passes through this field, it records a goal. It should also be one way to prevent accidental goal recordings when the ball is rolling out of the goal.

Now somebody make this damn thing and give it to us!

In the morning

Here are some things that I don't like interrupting my morning: lawn mowers. Construction work. Car alarms. Stalkers.

And so it began, and so it ended. I descended the stairs to the train platform cautiously, not quite awake to the task that I had already spent my night alleviating; 'how to extract oneself from the kind of relationship you didn't even know you were in'. Stalkie sat on a bench at the bottom of the stairs. I wondered, not for the first time, whether I should have started going to work earlier. I waved, but it was a hesitant sweep of the hand rather than a friendly gesture.

I'd told her that I had some "bad" news. I had asked her whether she wanted it in person or via email. She settled on email. Then she changed her mind and turned up at my station, demanding I speak. Why did I spend my night constructing a well-worded email? I had emptied myself into the words already, I had nothing to say for a few moments as I grasped at a hazy memory of typed reasons.

Have you ever tried talking to someone who doesn't listen? They hear you, but something in them just doesn't trigger. Have you ever tried talking to someone who thinks they know what you are going to say and has already made up their mind about the things you have not said? There's nothing you can do to change their mind because it has already closed on the pre-emptive conversation that they have already had with you in their head.

Stalkie began the conversation by putting words in my mouth, weaving her own platitudes and excuses into the mix. Suddenly, I remembered why I was there and halted her stream. I told her I was in self-preservation mode. I searched in vain for her eyes but all I found was an uppity nose and pursed lips. Gone. Selfish, I remember calling her, and conceded 'with reason'. I can't take it any more. Where was the goddamn train???

She said she'd warned me that she was difficult and wielded the statement as if it was some kind of caveat amicus that I had failed to notice. How does that work, exactly? Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Well I'm damned, then. The train pulled in and we forked to mount different carriages. She folded her arms and huffed that I had not given her a reason for my departure. I had, but she hadn't listened. A perpetual problem. So close to escape - the doors opened. Email, I told her, check your email.

But it was not over yet. Log in, sit down. She writes that she wishes that she had told me she didn't want to be friends before I had. The petulance spread itself to the outer reaches of my immediate vicinity and then collapsed, exhausted, at the finish line. It was over. I was finally free.