Friday Fun (v.1.12)—Pocket Rockets Cracked by Dysentary

With the 2010 Ironmen of Poker Heads Up Tournament set for Cedar Rapids, my blogging will be limited this weekend (not that you really expected anything significant on a summer weekend).  For now, enjoy this hodgepodge of hilarity ...

* * * * *

I was planning to vacation in the lovely glacial wastelands of Antarctica, but apparently the continent's lack of venomous snakes is counterbalanced by the presence of highly venomous ... octopi.  Yup, the strange idea that a harsh icy environment would be venomous-creature-free was a major miscalculation on my part.  What we need now is a St. Patrick for mollusks, or a market for calamari fugu ...

* * * * *

On your required reading list for the week are an Atlantic City poker trip report by High On Poker, and a marinara sauce incident in LA, as told over at Lost Angeles.

* * * * *

Banana Republic is clearly trying to cash in (belatedly) on the poker boom, using the old "pocket rocket" ploy to sell dress pants (presumably to non-traditional males):

* * * * *

Finally, when I was in 5th or 6th grade, a big thrill for us were the days when we got to play the computer game, "Oregon Trail".  No better way to kill an hour of a boring day than shooting buffalo and laughing at people dying from dysentary.  In any event, here's an inspired faux movie trailer (via the Daily.Wh.at):

Woody Allen Plays The English Patient

Elaine Benes:  [quietly]  No. I can't do this any more. I can't. It's too long.

Elaine Benes:  [yells]  Quit telling your stupid story about the stupid desert, and just die already! DIE!

J. Peterman:  [surprised]  Elaine, you don't like the movie?

Elaine Benes:  [shouts]  I hate it!

[the audience shushes Elaine]

Elaine Benes:  [shouts back]  Oh, go to hell!

Seinfeld, "The English Patient"

This morning, I had a Seinfeldian "English Patient" moment.  I was catching up on my stockpile of overnight Twitteramblings, when I ran across this pair of Tweets from the Poker Grump:

Reminds me of Woody Allen's "I am pointing a gub at you." http://johnrlott.blogspot.com/2010/08/something-for-dumb-criminal-file.html

I can't imagine any of my friends don't know the Woody Allen reference, but just in case:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UHOgkDbVqc

Ruh roh, Raggy!  I felt after my last couple of Vegas trips, I had broken into the 9th level of Grump friendship—bad poker players who somehow amuse rather than annoy him.  But obviously I am not "Grump-worthy".  Why not?  Because I hate Woody Allen films.

I know, I know, most people and film critics (there is little overlap in the two groups) seem to love-love-love Woody Allen films.  I just don't get what is supposedly so funny about his work.  Most of the time, his movie scenes strike me as Saturday Night Live skits with a bigger budget.  Most of his movies seem like they were funnier in theory than in execution, where the writers and actors roll on the floor laughing at themselves, while the audience gives a wan smile and waits for someone to deliver the humor.  The few scenes that do have some comedic potential are heavy-handedly beaten into the dirt; Exhibit A is the scene referenced by the Grump, which is about twice as long as necessary, killing the humor after a promising start.  Frankly, that scene seems a lot closer on the comedy scale to an SNL Night at the Roxbury sketch than the fart scene from Blazing Saddles. 

Now, although I enjoy movies and movie quotes, I am absolutely unqualified to be a movie critic.  All I know is what movies I enjoy, because they make me laugh, cry, or escape (or all of the above).  Looking over lists of all-time "great" movies and TV shows, I happen to like most of the ones that generally get listed.  Many of the listed shows I truly love, while some get a meh response, where I won't turn the channel if they're on, but I won't go out of my way to record them either. 

For some reason, though, I seem to be out of sync with most folks on at least a few widely-loved movies and TV shows.  It's not just the wooden Woody Allen oeuvre.  Forrest Gump makes me want to tear the little remaining hair from my skull.  It's a Wonderful Life, wasn't.  Everybody Loves Raymond, except me.  Two and a Half Men, That 70s Show, and Married ... with Children; grating, mind-numbing, and soul-sucking (mix and match at your leisure).  Oh, and Elaine was totally right about The English Patient.  When faced with casual chatter about this pop cultural dreck, a paraphrase of the old Sam Kinison joke leaps to mind:  I don't condone censorship, but I understand it.

So, faithful readers?  What popular and/or critically acclaimed movies and TV shows make you want to gouge out your eyeballs with a vuvuzela?  Share your entertainment hell lineup in the comments!
-----------------------------------------------------------------

Here's the infamous Seinfeld "The English Patient" scene; preach it, Elaine!

D-Bag O' the Day (v. 1.13)—No Free Lunch in Wisconsin

Sometimes, there's just too much stupid.

It was certainly the case last March in the Milwaukee suburb of Shorewood, when a 15 year-old student was arrested and charged with theft for ... wait for it ... sharing his lunch!

According to local Fox TV news report:

Adam [Hernandez] was accused of stealing chicken nuggets from a $2.60 meal.  Those are the nuggets his friend, Gakaree Garner, gave to him.  Garner says, "Although that month I was fasting so I couldn't eat meat, and we had chicken nuggets that day."

Garner gave the nuggets to Adam, who got in the lunch line to get some sauce for them. According to Garner and the police report the cafeteria cashier told the Assistant Principal Adam stole the chicken nuggets.  The Assistant Principal then told the police officer in the school, who called a squad car.  Garner says, "They actually put him in handcuffs, and actually tried to force him into the car."

The charge of misdemeanor theft carried a possible $170 fine for sharing a $2.60 meal.  Thankfully, the theft charges were later dismissed prior to trial, probably because of adverse publicity over the case.

So, here's a fine cast of characters competing for the coveted D-Bag O' the Day nod:

• The school cafeteria cashier who reported the "theft".
• The assistant high school principal who called the police.
• The police officer who arrested Hernandez, wrote the citation, and apparently at least tried to take him into custody.
• The district attorney, for not dismissing the charges as soon as s/he saw the police report.
• The USDA bureaucrats for writing federal anti-fraud regulations so vague or overbroad they could be read to prohibit kids from sharing or trading food at lunch.

Seriously, anyone in this chain could have used some common sense and prevented the escalating series of harebrained decisions.  Instead, a schoolkid got trapped in what reads like a weird Ray Bradbury-esque satire on bureaucratic stupidity. 

At least the federal government hasn't sued Hernandez for its $2.60, plus penalties and attorney fees.  Yet.

A felony on a plate.

(Hat tip to Neatorama for story; image from Grub Street).

A Trip to Pleasure Island

Have you ever had one of those sessions where you are playing bad and know it, yet you find yourself continuing to play, and play poorly? Well, last night I played the starring role in Donkeys at the Meadows.

I played for about four hours at the Meadows ATM (where I also encountered one of their idiosnycratic house rules), after a nice dinner at the Raccoon River Brew Pub with the sig other and some of his gal pals who were visiting from out of town.  The room was pretty quiet for a Saturday night during race season: there was no $2/5 NLHE or $5/5 PL mix game, so I'm not certain where the "big game" degenerates were playing.  At 8:00 pm, there were only two $1/2 NLHE games and two short-handed $3/6 LHE games running, though another table or two opened up as the racing wound down. 

The table had a pretty fun vibe, and there were weird hands galore.  The strangest run of variance was for one guy who laid down quads on back-to-back hands.  Well, he laid down hands that would have become quads had he stayed in.  The first hand he held 88 on a 7-7-5 board, but gave it up after a raise and reraise, only to see the board roll out 8-8.   The very next hand, he folded A4s to a big preflop raise and reraise, only to see the board run out 4-A-4-4-x.  I took a big hit on my second hand when my AKo ran into Q3 soooted on a board of K-Q-3-A-3.  Blech.  But I built my stack back up on the fifth hand, when my sooooted Spanish Inquisition (6-3, a much stronger hand than Q3, obviously), outran AhKh on a board of 6h-4h-2d-3x-6x.   Hilarity ensued!  I also helped the cause with a couple of good reads to pick off bluffs, but got stacked when my QQ ran into AK and the A flopped.  Le sigh.

At that point, I began my Pleasure Island conversion into a total donkey.  For those of you who aren't old enough to remember the Disney version of Pinocchio, there is a part of the film where boys are lured to a place called "Pleasure Island" where rules didn't apply to them, and they could drink, smoke, gamble, and generally "make jackasses of themselves".  Of course, as in all good morality tales, these boys became cursed, by literally transforming into donkeys who are sold off by the evil lord of the Island to work in salt mines. 

My problems began with an inability to figure out the right approach to the table.  There was a weird mix of short and deep stacks, and differences in styles of play.  For some reason, I ended up shifting into a too-passive mode of play, finding myself getting into pots with decent starting hands, then having to abandon ship when either a tight player made a big bet/raise, or a deep player showed too much interest in a pot.  I did manage to pull off one nice bluff by check-calling the flop and turn with AQ unimproved, then value-bet bluffing the river based solely on a correct read of an unimproved overpair to the flop that got scared of two overs hitting the turn and river.  Of course, I lied and told the guy I had called with overs and paired my Yak on the turn, which seemed to annoy him (which pleased me).

Unfortunately, that play was the exception for my skillz.  In addition to letting myself get bled to death by not tightening up in early position—Position? We don't need no stinking position!—I ended up gacking off my stack with a semi-bluff on the turn with KJs, having picked up a gutshot straight draw to go with my flopped flush draw.  I got called by a turned set of Queens (ouch!), and bricked the river.  Doh!  Apparently, my instinct to check-raise the flop was correct.  Aggression?  We don't need no stinking aggression!  My next stack-off was even more brainlocked, shoving with AQ on a Q-high flop ... into bottom set and a flopped straight.  Error!  Big pot?  We don't need no stinking big hand!  At that point, I knew I was mentally not on my game, so I called it a night.

I still had an hour or so to kill before picking up the gals from the bars, so I wandered down to the casino floor to see if my buddy Brian was playing craps.  Brian wasn't around, but I was bored, so I sat down at the $25 blackjack table, something I hadn't played in months.*  I ended up getting blessed by the blackjack gods, and was able to win my poker buy-ins back plus a nice buy-in profit on top!  My biggest hand was a $100 bet where I was dealt 88 against the dealer's 5.  I split it out, and my first hand found a 3, which I doubled, and hit a 10!  Yahtzee!  My next 8 found another brother 8, so I split again.  The second 8 drew a 10.  The third 8 found another 3, I doubled again, and again drew a 10!  Donkey Kong!  The dealer showed 15 total, and busted on one card, bringing cosmic balance to the Force.  As I told the very attractive female dealer, "If I weren't gay and married, I would totally kiss you."  Since I was sober, I cashed out before I became like the drunk wedding party guy at my table, who was "riding the wave" and blew through his $500 buy-in, the $5,000 in profits he had amassed while surfing with variance, and $2,000 more from his wallet before going under for good.

So, the moral of the story is, "It's OK to gamble if you're already a donkey."

----------------------------------------------------------

 *  I probably play blackjack or craps 4-5 times a year.  Two waitresses and the cage gal, who all work some shifts in the poker room, each asked me, "What are you doing down here?"  So, I figure I'll know I have a gambling problem as soon as I'm on a first name basis with any of the folks on the casino floor!

Stupid Poker Rules—Capped Bets in No Limit Games

Tonight I played a session (badly) at the Meadows ATM (full report of my ineptitude to be posted later).  I ran into a weird situation which I have seen on occasion—a "capped" bet in a no limit game, without any player being all-in.  That's right, a supposed "no limit" game actually had limited betting.  Let me explain.

I had been at the table a couple of hours when two regulars sat down.  Somehow, this precipitated a bunch of straddling and blind raises, culminating in one ridiculous hand.  UTG straddles to $4, and UTG+1 decides to make a joke blind-raise to $6.  So, one of the newbies to the table decides to make it $8 to go, also blind.  Then, another regular, known for uber-tight play, decides to make it $30 total, again blind!  Now, I'm in the cutoff, but I'm essentially acting in early position preflop, hoping to pick up a hand.  Unfortunately, I have some trash like 93o, and fold 

That's when the stupid rule comes into play.  The button looks at his hand and says, "raise".  The dealer politely informs the button that he cannot raise, because the hand is capped.  The house rule of one bet and four raises, except for action that begins heads up during a round, applies to no limit as well as limit structured games.  So, the button calls, as does basically every player left, and six (6!) players see the flop of K-T-6.  One of the early position players bets, folds to the button who wistfully shows me Yaks before folding.  The monsterpotten ends up being won by AT when he rivers a Ten for trips.

Although I have seen this capped betting rule enforced previously, I think the rule simply doesn't belong in no limit play.  Essentially, this rule deprives players who have not yet acted in a betting round of their right to act on their hand with a raise to any amount (up to their stack).  The whole point of no limit play is to be able to size one's bets to the given situation, but this rule acts to give players in early position a "heckler's veto" (or joker's veto) over a late position player's right to act on his hand, when he hasn't yet had any opportunity to raise.  In theory, a group of five players could transform a supposedly no limit game into a fixed limit game with a maximum bet of five big blinds per round.  Although this situation is exceedlingly rare, in this particular hand it cost a player a shot at winning with a strong hand—Yaks on the button—in favor of hands that would never have seen the flop if there truly were no limit to the betting structure for players who had not yet acted in a round of betting.

The cap on bets per round is another limit structure concept—like the "half bet" raise rule, where a raise all-in of half or more of the pending raise reopens all betting to further raises—that really has no place being applied to no limit structured games.  It's time to either ditch the capped bet rule in no limit structured games, or to stop pretending that there is no limit on the structure, and just go back to limit stuctured games.