If you want to reach me, leave me alone.

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So goes the lyrics to a Sheryl Crow song, and to a loner like me it’s a battle cry.  That is, it would be if I felt I needed a battle cry.  Here’s the thing.  I post online to my blog or Facebook, I host the occasional poker game and I work with a team at my day job.  But I am very much a loner.  Do not translate this to mean I am lonely.  I’m really not.  I’m very happy in my solitude, and amazingly I’ve found a woman who shares my hermit-esque worldview even more strongly than I do!  But as a blogger I am putting a shout out to all the non-loners out there to try and help you understand.

I have no problem going for dinner and a movie alone.  Weeks on end of spending my free time at home with no guests?  Heaven.  It’s not a sad thing, I’m not bitter or lonesome, I just enjoy my own company.  I’m not mentally ill, I don’t need someone to reach out to me, I’m not plotting terrible things or falling into depression.  I have friends and family that I see once a month, once a year, and once a decade.  I value each one of them and don’t feel the need to be in constant communication.  The ones I see the least I often love the most, because they respect my choice of lifestyle.  They know I’m just fine.

I’ve created some of my coolest stuff when I was alone, works which have been enjoyed by thousands of very nice people.  I’m filled with pride and enjoyment when I create things on my own.  Among others though I’m stifled, I can’t concentrate, I can’t follow my thoughts.  If I’m going for a fun day with friends I’ll have a genuinely good time, but I can only do this in short, infrequent doses.  It’s not you, it’s me, but it’s not a problem so please don’t take it personally.  It’s just my way and I’m not apologizing for it anymore.  Most of the time I’d much rather be alone with my wife or completely solo, writing, flying, playing cards, taking photos.  One of the best vacations of my entire life was me, my car, and a thousand miles across the United States northwest.  I only met up with with three people, my future wife whom I proposed to on that same trip, and some friends in Portland who also can relate to my love of self-time.  The trip was pure joy for me, every mile driven, every meal eaten, every stop for gas.

I don’t like team sports.  I like casino poker.  Me versus the table.  I can talk and be pleasant, or I can remain silent and nobody cares.  Nobody judges me as antisocial in that space.  Movie theaters I like.  Don’t have to talk to anyone.  Being social is actually frowned upon when the projector is running!  No phones, no talking.  That’s the unspoken rule people, so turn off your damned iPod-Galaxy-whatever and stop chatting to your friend.

I like flying.  Yes, I have a flight instructor but it’s all business and it brings me to a rewarding personal end.  When I go pro I’ll probably be a one-on-one instructor or flying mail for Fedex, or flying small tours with people who I will never see again after I share my love of.. wherever.  One co-pilot I can handle if needed.  It makes sense and has no obligations once we land, just like my coworkers today.  They’re nice people for the most part and I like them.  If I can fly alone and make a living at it I intend to.  Preferably not north of sixty though, I like warm weather too.  The chatter on the flight radio gives me a sense of belonging without an obligation to know any of the voices.

I don’t like holidays where family participation is expected.  Sorry to my caring family-members, I love you all, but the pressure and expectation of being social due to a calendar date based on a religion I don’t prescribe to is very irritating.  I’ll call you later and we’ll get lunch sometime.  Please no cards.  I know you love and miss me, I don’t need a Hallmark reminder.  Post it on Facebook if you must.  Do it for me, do it for the planet.

I want to make this very clear.  I am not depressed or lonely.  I’m very happy!  I do not need help, I do not need a phone call, I don’t need to find Jesus, I really don’t need anything except space and quiet.  I’m not antisocial in the negative connotation of the word.  If something comes up or I miss you a lot, I’ll let you know.  I think of you all with warm thoughts.

 

With all my sincere love,

Albert Einstein, Barry Bonds, Anne Rice, Isaac Newton, Leonardo Da Vinci, Michelangelo, Crazy Horse, Alec Guinness, Philo T. Farnsworth, Rene Descartes, Lawrence of Arabia, Beatrix Potter, Anneli Rufus, Brian Epstein, John Hughes, nearly every superhero ever drawn, Axl Rose, Daniel Clowes, Bruce Lee, Joe DiMaggio, nearly every western hero ever filmed, Kurt Cobain, Emily Dickinson, and Jon Ashby.

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Small revelations over breakfast.

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I’m sitting in an Ihop sipping orange juice, contemplating lessons learned over the last few days. Around this time last year I beat the game at Tropicana, this year I stepped up to Bellagio and did even better.

I realize now that my success is due to a few key factors. Firstly, I was rested with a nap before the game. Thanks to Barry Greenstein for that invaluable tip. Next, I changed my targets. In previous years I assumed that beginners and tourists are the easiest people to play against. While they tend to make inferior decisions, they present one element that grinders often neglect; unpredictability. Unpredictability equals variance, variance equals easier tilt. It’s true tourists don’t know how to fold and they don’t understand hand values or equity.  This is great when you have the hand, but if you are short on cards you won’t be able to bluff. Period. If you’re behind, you’re not going to win the hand no matter what you do. This is aggravating to any grinder. Luck sucks.

I like playing the guys wearing their hoodies, talking about hands they played really well last night, watching videos on their ipod as if they’re so good they don’t need to pay attention. When they take a beat they can’t believe it, they’re so skilled and their fish opponents are just so lucky. They tilt with the slightest push. Their technical game is solid; their mental game is shit.

Yum yum.

I’ve learned weeknights are actually good days to play in Vegas. True sharks come out on the weekends and I can spot them easily now. They look like Bill Nobody, plain clothes, they hardly breathe a word, they play less hands, and they never forget to tip the dealer.

I used to suit up to play cards, but I think I’m done with that. It doesn’t give me an edge, it’s not comfortable, and it draws attention to me. It might throw off rookies but for good players it tells them I’m more interested in looking like a pro than playing like one. They instinctively target their best game on me.

Lastly, I need to put in more live game hours. A combination of time and intimidation at higher stakes has held me back, but I’ve learned that I am a winning cash game player, and I can make more time if I truly want to.

Now I have a few hours to kill, and then I’m out of here.

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The tourist, the amateur and the tilted grinder.

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Last night I played 3-1 no limit Holdem at Bellagio.  To poker players like myself this room represents Mecca, a pilgrimage we all make to see if we have what it takes to make it in Vegas.

3-1 is very small stakes here, tourist stakes, but this comes with an advantage. The game can be very soft. I prepared with a nap beforehand and waited until about ten to head over.

I was given a choice of three tables. I took the one with the most young guys, all looking like the pros on television.  I sat next to a man from Brazil who only spoke Portuguese and who was cleaning up with a great run of cards. Being on his left saved me a lot of money.

The game started poorly when I picked up aces early, got a short stacked player all in for his last eighty dollars, flopped a third ace, and while he moaned of his terrible play, proceeded to catch runner-runner for a gutshot straight holding 9-7 of diamonds.

I stayed jovial and upbeat despite the terrible beat. I made conversation and kept the table laughing. If I was going to have a bad session I was at least going to have a good time.

Across the table in the three-seat was a grinder, a young player watching TV on his ipod. He repeatedly ran into the Brazilian, and every time the tourist would beat him with big pairs, or by drawing out. The grinder would cry out at his bad luck and throw his cards in the muck like they were burning his fingers. He stormed off several times and return a little calmer, but I could see the steam from across the room.

I took advantage of his state with continual c-bets in position. He had loosened up and rarely hit, so stealing twenty bucks from him on the flop was easy money. No hand required.

I came into a four handed pot on the button holding Q8 of diamonds for a small raise that everyone called. I was thrilled to see three diamonds flop! The initial raiser bet again and a middle player called.  Beautiful. The initial raiser won’t have a flush, the caller is drawing, possibly to the nuts. I intend to shut this down. I reraise all in, and both my opponents call after some thinking. I put the original raiser on an overpair or set, and the other on the nut flush draw. The pot is enormous. I pray for low black cards and my wish is granted.  But the board pairs. Gulp.  If my opponent flopped a set, I’m done for.

The dealer tells us to show down, and I meekly announce ‘flush’. When the raiser stares at his hand I know it’s a harmless overpair.  He and the other player muck their hands and I drag a couple hundred dollars. Big tip for the dealer on that one.

I’m brought hot chocolate and water and I settle in, grinding away, switching from tight to loose at random.

I play a multiway pot in the big blind holding a garbage 7-2 suited for a tiny raise, hoping to get in a shot.  I flop a big draw to a double gutshot and a flush and stick around but I miss the river and cost myself forty bucks. Silly hand.

The big one came after a long dry spell, when I received jacks, queens and made a reasonable pot on each, followed by aces again on the button. The now wealthy Brazilian raised the limpers and I reraised a bit more than double to isolate the man that never folds pairs.

The others fold and he calls. The board is a benign 2-2-6 rainbow.  He checks. I bet about the pot, and he calls without much thought. This removes AK from his range, and I’m certain he has jacks or maybe even kings. The turn is a blank, so I bet small to milk him, 50 into the 170 pot. Easy call.

The river is also a small card, not threatening. He checks and I grab a small stack of fives without counting it, no more than fifty. I just want another call.  He obliges and I show him my aces. He rubs his cards longingly, flashes two nines, and mucks them. I might have extracted more with some thought but didn’t want him to consider for too long, hence the fast bet. Greed doesn’t always pay.

I ground out a few more pots and left about an hour later. I left with half a grand and the knowledge I had won in one of the prestigious poker rooms in the world.

I slept well.

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Thoughts over a cup of tea.

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As I write this I’m enjoying a cup of the most expensive tea I’ve ever had, overlooking the adult Disneyland that is the Las Vegas strip. A quiet, little known place to get away from the ringing slots and blaring music exists on the 23rd floor of Mandarin Oriental Hotel.

It’s one of those places that is harder to find unless you already know where it is. There are no signs, no ads, no directions to it. I love it.

The view is spectacular. It has a quiet charm and an air of sophistication. But then I suppose that is what comes with a twelve dollar cup of tea.

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Blogging at 36000 feet.

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I’m sure in a year or two this will be standard, but its a first for me. As I type this I’m at a cruising altitude of about 36000 feet on a jet, sitting in first class.  Cranberry tea at my side, tablet in my lap, feet stretched out.  Life is good.  I’ve just been offered scrambled eggs with cilantro and black beans, but having finished the best lox bagel I’ve ever had I politely decline.  Sweet.

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Grounded again.

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So bad weather had kept me on terra firma once again.  With a trip to Vegas planned for next week I guess this means I’ll be hitting the books for a while. I’m going to study for the PSTAR exam, which is a test of aviation regulations I must take before I can go on my solo flight. The various rules about different classes of airspace is complex right now, but I’m sure I can get it to stick if I keep at it.

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Video headaches.

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I shot some good footage of me doing my first aerial spin. Unfortunately wordpress is being difficult, and my tablet and youtube aren’t getting along. The front shot of the maneuver can be seen on my facebook page. I hope to post my recorded entries soon.

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Wooooo!

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This week was waaaay more fun for flying! At the last minute my instructor was replaced by another named Marlo. He proved himself a smart, balanced instructor.  He knew when to help out, he knew when to let me fly. He would cover the radios so I could focus on my exercise – stalls.  It was a gorgeous, mind blowing day along the snowcapped peaks of the Rockies front range, and I was intentionally killing the airflow over my wings, letting the plane drop, and recovering!  What could have proven nerve-wracking ended up being a ton of fun! More details to come..

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