Dear all,
It's the mid autumn festival, isn't it? I don't really know.
A mooncake/mid autumn/Hainanese Association dinner.
People speaking in Hainan dialect or whatever. What do I do when they say something to me? Smile, and laugh. Just follow their facial expressions and you should be in the right path. Throw in a nod or two and walk off smiling.
Eight to nine courses, wine, and lucky draws. Pretty boring stuff.
My weekend. At an end.
Yours truly,
-Another sheep joke please, you ignorant fu@#
Sunday, 14 September 2008
Wednesday, 10 September 2008
Road to Sin
Dear all,
The third day in this new work environment.
I believe I never told you about my last work environment--it was quite laid back in comparison to this new one.
During the technical writer stint, I was located at this place--Newmarket--near a large shoppers' area situated adjacent to train tracks. Once in a while, I'll be smoking outside, trainspotting. Located opposite the train tracks from the office is a brewery--more than once in a while, I'll catch that scent of barley and hops, or malt. We may have discussed this in the email. I'm no longer sure if it's either.
My new workplace is off K Road. K for Kangaroo. Hard to believe there's a Kangaroo Road, right? That's because it's not really K for Kangaroo. It's K for Karangahape or something or rather. By now you'll understand the abbreviation to just one letter.
The street is strewn with sex shops, strip bars, restaurants, one laundromat, some other sex shops, and me. I haven't gone to a strip bar before. Maybe one of these days after work, when I have spare change, for appreciation--there isn't a $1 note in NZ. The strippers all have bruises from all the coins thrown at them.
The view? From the office, you can see the water, but it's far; so all you see is flat horizon with glimmering reflections of the sun. And boats and buildings. There's more but it's not that interesting right now. Maybe I'll tell you later when I have nothing to write to you about.
Bye for now. Send your families my regards.
Yours sin-cerely,
-Statue of Liberty.
The third day in this new work environment.
I believe I never told you about my last work environment--it was quite laid back in comparison to this new one.
During the technical writer stint, I was located at this place--Newmarket--near a large shoppers' area situated adjacent to train tracks. Once in a while, I'll be smoking outside, trainspotting. Located opposite the train tracks from the office is a brewery--more than once in a while, I'll catch that scent of barley and hops, or malt. We may have discussed this in the email. I'm no longer sure if it's either.
My new workplace is off K Road. K for Kangaroo. Hard to believe there's a Kangaroo Road, right? That's because it's not really K for Kangaroo. It's K for Karangahape or something or rather. By now you'll understand the abbreviation to just one letter.
The street is strewn with sex shops, strip bars, restaurants, one laundromat, some other sex shops, and me. I haven't gone to a strip bar before. Maybe one of these days after work, when I have spare change, for appreciation--there isn't a $1 note in NZ. The strippers all have bruises from all the coins thrown at them.
The view? From the office, you can see the water, but it's far; so all you see is flat horizon with glimmering reflections of the sun. And boats and buildings. There's more but it's not that interesting right now. Maybe I'll tell you later when I have nothing to write to you about.
Bye for now. Send your families my regards.
Yours sin-cerely,
-Statue of Liberty.
Monday, 8 September 2008
"In A Nutshell" fine by you?
Dear all,
I could have sworn I updated this. Of course this is the intro--I'm wrong.
With that being said, a missing post here would have read that I was offered employment at this debt collections organisation. I accepted. Today was my first day. In a nutshell.
There is a tennis court on the premises. I don't play the game.
I just did a bit of reading today. With only three hours of sleep the last night, I don't know how I'm still awake. Those four coffees, perhaps.
Oh! Yes. Earlier, I thought my father bought me a car when he registered this Toyota Windom or something. It's one of those luxury older generation cars. Father says that that model has been relegated to the Lexus side of things. It's quite a smooth-riding car too. No pictures. And I was mistaken about the car really being mine as well. ($1,200)
Love,
-Me.
I could have sworn I updated this. Of course this is the intro--I'm wrong.
With that being said, a missing post here would have read that I was offered employment at this debt collections organisation. I accepted. Today was my first day. In a nutshell.
There is a tennis court on the premises. I don't play the game.
I just did a bit of reading today. With only three hours of sleep the last night, I don't know how I'm still awake. Those four coffees, perhaps.
Oh! Yes. Earlier, I thought my father bought me a car when he registered this Toyota Windom or something. It's one of those luxury older generation cars. Father says that that model has been relegated to the Lexus side of things. It's quite a smooth-riding car too. No pictures. And I was mistaken about the car really being mine as well. ($1,200)
Love,
-Me.
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Somewhat, Not Absolute
Dear all,
Gossip girl here.
Did nothing. Went out for coffee--Met up with Clement and: wife Sue.
Sunday, right? Its rainy disposition contradicts its title. A mellow feel, with a void... that's what today feels like. Such can be said about other days. Don't advise me to fill that void--this is not a cry for help.
I bet you're wondering what I did with my weekend. I watched TV and moped in a regretful fashion, just like anyone else. About what? About the situations that are small but enlarged in my mind. Trivial things. Everything is somewhat trivial, I feel.
Yours truly,
-Not Li San. Neverrrr.............dot.
Gossip girl here.
Did nothing. Went out for coffee--Met up with Clement and: wife Sue.
Sunday, right? Its rainy disposition contradicts its title. A mellow feel, with a void... that's what today feels like. Such can be said about other days. Don't advise me to fill that void--this is not a cry for help.
I bet you're wondering what I did with my weekend. I watched TV and moped in a regretful fashion, just like anyone else. About what? About the situations that are small but enlarged in my mind. Trivial things. Everything is somewhat trivial, I feel.
Yours truly,
-Not Li San. Neverrrr.............dot.
Friday, 15 August 2008
Technically...
Hey all,
It's Me, reporting from the Beijing Olympics!! It's really great here, the atmosphere is so lively and so make-belief. And as I sit in this hotel room in the actual Olympic Birds' Nest monolith, I can't help but make up more shit.
I went for an interview this morning. On time in a hurry, is how I would term it--doing the same sort of work as I did in KL. Recommendations by people and recruiters on how to find work I want is to start in a role I've experience in and work to where I want from there, which is--very much--a popular suggestion these days. I still look for that one alternative option. Irrefutable.
I have a bit of an aversion to doing all that again. Worse, I have to brush up on all of that now. Pity. Fuck. I don't want to write anymore. But I must try. And you will read what I try, or try what I read.
My other work option sort of caved in, and fell through. And now I'm working casually as a technical writer. What do I know about technical writing? Very little. "Very," got it?
What's technical writing? Apparently, technical writers document procedures and policies of a particular process of some sort, be it wiping your ass or blowing your uncle, there are steps and lots of other things that need to be documented. That's what they do. For a company. Or for company. I'll let you know if and when I find out more.
Love,
-Skanky Yi Hwa xoxox
It's Me, reporting from the Beijing Olympics!! It's really great here, the atmosphere is so lively and so make-belief. And as I sit in this hotel room in the actual Olympic Birds' Nest monolith, I can't help but make up more shit.
I went for an interview this morning. On time in a hurry, is how I would term it--doing the same sort of work as I did in KL. Recommendations by people and recruiters on how to find work I want is to start in a role I've experience in and work to where I want from there, which is--very much--a popular suggestion these days. I still look for that one alternative option. Irrefutable.
I have a bit of an aversion to doing all that again. Worse, I have to brush up on all of that now. Pity. Fuck. I don't want to write anymore. But I must try. And you will read what I try, or try what I read.
My other work option sort of caved in, and fell through. And now I'm working casually as a technical writer. What do I know about technical writing? Very little. "Very," got it?
What's technical writing? Apparently, technical writers document procedures and policies of a particular process of some sort, be it wiping your ass or blowing your uncle, there are steps and lots of other things that need to be documented. That's what they do. For a company. Or for company. I'll let you know if and when I find out more.
Love,
-Skanky Yi Hwa xoxox
Monday, 11 August 2008
Don't cut yourself,
Dear all,
How are you? How is the weather there? Any news of that thing we were speaking about last?
Enough about you. I just got a new old car. It was filthy. I was charged with cleaning it and did as such, today. It may have taken 2 over hours to clean it all. In and out, in and out.
I bet you wonder what I do when I don't have a solid job just yet. Well.. I'll tell you. First of all, I wake up around 10ish sometimes earlier, say... 8ish. After waking up, I lie in my warm bed for maybe 2 hours or so depending if I fall back asleep or not. It's cold in the mornings when dark meets bright. And so, the habit of lying in wake in a warm comfortable place--something as simple as just that--really hits the spot, so to speak.
After the whole 'waking up' process, which takes a while as you'd've already imagined, I look for something to eat, make some coffee, and proceed to smoke a cigarette outside... with cup of coffee in hand... facing the garden. This is where I talk to myself, and laugh... if that's not crazy enough, this is also where I think of things to say to people about their statements and criticism--because I'm not impolite enough to say it to their stupid narrow minded faces.
That's right! I am a coward. The tactful kind, perhaps. Or maybe not. Either way, I think it would be weird for my neighbour to one day catch me mouthing what appear to be strong and fierce words towards the garden.
Then, I do some chores; such as today, I washed this new car. I was drenching wet. Through and through. After which I would usually watch some television, but had not today... not until much later in the evening. I help prepare dinner. A stew, with steaks and other sordid vegetables. I also cutted my index finger on a can. I get cuts quite a bit, and wounds on and off.
You know what I dislike about cuts, bruises and wounds? It's not really the pain and stinging. That is pretty much bearable. The fact is that I like white and brightly coloured shirts and the redness of blood really sticks out in these colours. And so whenever you have these bleeding holes in you, you tend to disregard that they are there until you notice spots and splotches of red all over yourself. That's what I dislike: having to be careful what I touch and where, constantly rechecking to see if I'm still bleeding.
Yours truly,
-Nicholas Lo.
How are you? How is the weather there? Any news of that thing we were speaking about last?
Enough about you. I just got a new old car. It was filthy. I was charged with cleaning it and did as such, today. It may have taken 2 over hours to clean it all. In and out, in and out.
I bet you wonder what I do when I don't have a solid job just yet. Well.. I'll tell you. First of all, I wake up around 10ish sometimes earlier, say... 8ish. After waking up, I lie in my warm bed for maybe 2 hours or so depending if I fall back asleep or not. It's cold in the mornings when dark meets bright. And so, the habit of lying in wake in a warm comfortable place--something as simple as just that--really hits the spot, so to speak.
After the whole 'waking up' process, which takes a while as you'd've already imagined, I look for something to eat, make some coffee, and proceed to smoke a cigarette outside... with cup of coffee in hand... facing the garden. This is where I talk to myself, and laugh... if that's not crazy enough, this is also where I think of things to say to people about their statements and criticism--because I'm not impolite enough to say it to their stupid narrow minded faces.
That's right! I am a coward. The tactful kind, perhaps. Or maybe not. Either way, I think it would be weird for my neighbour to one day catch me mouthing what appear to be strong and fierce words towards the garden.
Then, I do some chores; such as today, I washed this new car. I was drenching wet. Through and through. After which I would usually watch some television, but had not today... not until much later in the evening. I help prepare dinner. A stew, with steaks and other sordid vegetables. I also cutted my index finger on a can. I get cuts quite a bit, and wounds on and off.
You know what I dislike about cuts, bruises and wounds? It's not really the pain and stinging. That is pretty much bearable. The fact is that I like white and brightly coloured shirts and the redness of blood really sticks out in these colours. And so whenever you have these bleeding holes in you, you tend to disregard that they are there until you notice spots and splotches of red all over yourself. That's what I dislike: having to be careful what I touch and where, constantly rechecking to see if I'm still bleeding.
Yours truly,
-Nicholas Lo.
Wednesday, 6 August 2008
Yes or Yes?
Dear all,
Today. I woke up at 6:30am. To go for an interview. My mother had arranged it. I don't know what's worse, waking up at 6:30 for a 10am interview or having my mother arrange it. Surely, both is fine.
Let's cut the story really short and say that I was at the vicinity till half past 10 to realise that this interview was not going to happen. That's it... I went home, watched TV and ate. And found two new references due to some mix up.
Ten minutes ago, my mother comes to me and suggests I do it again tomorrow in a questioning manner. I said "no," but she was still in my doorway. She would have stood there for half an hour if I hadn't said "yes."
"I know you're not even thinking of what I said," I said "you're just thinking of how to arrange it." I know that look. I know that stance. All too familiar with this method. It gets to me that I have to do this, irrespective of how best her intentions were.
I narrowed it down to the point that it was neither a choice, nor negotiation--just posed as if it were. This entry doesn't belong in this blog. Bear with it. Goodbye.
Yours truly,
-mathaafuackakk, ya that's why.
Today. I woke up at 6:30am. To go for an interview. My mother had arranged it. I don't know what's worse, waking up at 6:30 for a 10am interview or having my mother arrange it. Surely, both is fine.
Let's cut the story really short and say that I was at the vicinity till half past 10 to realise that this interview was not going to happen. That's it... I went home, watched TV and ate. And found two new references due to some mix up.
Ten minutes ago, my mother comes to me and suggests I do it again tomorrow in a questioning manner. I said "no," but she was still in my doorway. She would have stood there for half an hour if I hadn't said "yes."
"I know you're not even thinking of what I said," I said "you're just thinking of how to arrange it." I know that look. I know that stance. All too familiar with this method. It gets to me that I have to do this, irrespective of how best her intentions were.
I narrowed it down to the point that it was neither a choice, nor negotiation--just posed as if it were. This entry doesn't belong in this blog. Bear with it. Goodbye.
Yours truly,
-mathaafuackakk, ya that's why.
Thursday, 31 July 2008
Fumbling
Dear all,
I had a second interview today. Drove to the harbour area where the interview was, and parked my car. I had no change and had to find change and so I did... let's skip this part, it's boring.
I found myself at a crossroads. One that I would eventually have to cross in my life--preferably in the next few minutes because I was running late, which is when the story really starts, I suppose. This is not a metaphor.
You look right, you look left, then right again... and then start walking across looking left, because the last place you looked was right... midway you turn to the right again to see that there's a car that seemed to be coming your direction.
Yes, that car freaked the fuck out of me, causing me to stumble as if I tripped on something, or had a quart of scotch for breakfast, which I did... n't. What kind of fall was it? It was the middle-of-the-street variety, scuffling feet, staggering falteringly, from balls of feet to toes to knees (plural) to hands and chest. Thankfully, my pride broke the fall, lifted me up and out from danger's way.
I have wounds on my knees, and knuckle. That was a real fall--one that I haven't gotten in a long time. Long, long time. Refreshing.
The interview went fine. I told the story to one of the two interviewers but he didn't seem interested, saying how "probably the storm left some things in the middle of the street." I don't think I illustrated the "fall" just right through the use of my tone.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly.
I had a second interview today. Drove to the harbour area where the interview was, and parked my car. I had no change and had to find change and so I did... let's skip this part, it's boring.
I found myself at a crossroads. One that I would eventually have to cross in my life--preferably in the next few minutes because I was running late, which is when the story really starts, I suppose. This is not a metaphor.
You look right, you look left, then right again... and then start walking across looking left, because the last place you looked was right... midway you turn to the right again to see that there's a car that seemed to be coming your direction.
Yes, that car freaked the fuck out of me, causing me to stumble as if I tripped on something, or had a quart of scotch for breakfast, which I did... n't. What kind of fall was it? It was the middle-of-the-street variety, scuffling feet, staggering falteringly, from balls of feet to toes to knees (plural) to hands and chest. Thankfully, my pride broke the fall, lifted me up and out from danger's way.
I have wounds on my knees, and knuckle. That was a real fall--one that I haven't gotten in a long time. Long, long time. Refreshing.
The interview went fine. I told the story to one of the two interviewers but he didn't seem interested, saying how "probably the storm left some things in the middle of the street." I don't think I illustrated the "fall" just right through the use of my tone.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly.
Saturday, 26 July 2008
Batman and Storm
Dear all,
There is a storm warning this weekend. In some areas down south: roofs came off, many items scattered, that sort of thing. Here: it was howling winds and vibrating windows.
I stayed home, not that I had anything else to do. I skipped a party in town, but I highly doubt I would have gone if there were not a storm warning anyhow.
Watched Batman, and thought that Joker act was good, but in overall, I feel that there is something lacking in this Batman, however much entertaining it was. You can see how the writers try to make everything come together. The insertion of a more charismatic Rachel felt weird too.
But I really don't want to make this about movie reviews.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
There is a storm warning this weekend. In some areas down south: roofs came off, many items scattered, that sort of thing. Here: it was howling winds and vibrating windows.
I stayed home, not that I had anything else to do. I skipped a party in town, but I highly doubt I would have gone if there were not a storm warning anyhow.
Watched Batman, and thought that Joker act was good, but in overall, I feel that there is something lacking in this Batman, however much entertaining it was. You can see how the writers try to make everything come together. The insertion of a more charismatic Rachel felt weird too.
But I really don't want to make this about movie reviews.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Driver
Dear all,
Today had the makings of a good day: I sat for my driving test which was supposed to be last week but that panned out terribly due to my car not being able to start at the most critical of times.
I couldn't sleep the night before the test last week. I couldn't either the night before today. Lying in bed, I think of scenarios, situations, and future. It's more of an imagination thing.
Anyway, I passed the driver's test and have a full license now.
I also watched Get Smart, which I thought was alright. That Anne Hathaway really does it for me. And Love Guru. I snuck into the second movie, and regretted it.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
Today had the makings of a good day: I sat for my driving test which was supposed to be last week but that panned out terribly due to my car not being able to start at the most critical of times.
I couldn't sleep the night before the test last week. I couldn't either the night before today. Lying in bed, I think of scenarios, situations, and future. It's more of an imagination thing.
Anyway, I passed the driver's test and have a full license now.
I also watched Get Smart, which I thought was alright. That Anne Hathaway really does it for me. And Love Guru. I snuck into the second movie, and regretted it.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
Monday, 7 July 2008
A garden full of tic tacs
Dear all,
It hailed several times yesterday. Sometimes, that happens here. Little icelings fall from the sky to your ground.
At first, it may appear like snow, only heavier. Snow doesn't bounce off objects or make that sound.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
It hailed several times yesterday. Sometimes, that happens here. Little icelings fall from the sky to your ground.
At first, it may appear like snow, only heavier. Snow doesn't bounce off objects or make that sound.
Yours truly,
-Yours truly, truly.
Monday, 30 June 2008
Keeping Busy with Chinese Class
Dear all,
I tried out at the Noodle takeout shop. For four hours. It reminded me of the time I worked in Toys 'R' Us during school days.
The basic makeup of this store are its three to four cooks, the uncle running the place (father), the auntie running the place (mother) and the son (fat, quiet, dissociative college kid who looks like he thinks he's really smart and probably does).
It's nothing great, or fun. In the first half hour, I was already taking orders and operating the cashier and people use a lot of eftpos--what you would call a debit card--here. Later, I washed dishes, and I still have the stench on my hands: those gloves really leave a foul odour. It was mainly an over the counter thing; taking customer orders, taking payments, taking phone orders, generating orders...
During dinner time, plenty of customers come by for takeout. The counter livens up and the uncle starts talking to me in Canto. Sometimes they--the family of them--starts speaking Mandarin and I have to figure what the fuck they are saying, which isn't really that hard some of the times.
It's humbling, to say the least, but to really say the least is what I got paid in the end of that four hours. I didn't even care if I got paid. Usually, I would write about my exploits, but today, it's about theirs, exploiting me. What a waste of time: Illegal under minimum wage chores.
But I have to do something...
Yours affectionately,
-Fuckyournoodleshopandassholeson
I tried out at the Noodle takeout shop. For four hours. It reminded me of the time I worked in Toys 'R' Us during school days.
The basic makeup of this store are its three to four cooks, the uncle running the place (father), the auntie running the place (mother) and the son (fat, quiet, dissociative college kid who looks like he thinks he's really smart and probably does).
It's nothing great, or fun. In the first half hour, I was already taking orders and operating the cashier and people use a lot of eftpos--what you would call a debit card--here. Later, I washed dishes, and I still have the stench on my hands: those gloves really leave a foul odour. It was mainly an over the counter thing; taking customer orders, taking payments, taking phone orders, generating orders...
During dinner time, plenty of customers come by for takeout. The counter livens up and the uncle starts talking to me in Canto. Sometimes they--the family of them--starts speaking Mandarin and I have to figure what the fuck they are saying, which isn't really that hard some of the times.
It's humbling, to say the least, but to really say the least is what I got paid in the end of that four hours. I didn't even care if I got paid. Usually, I would write about my exploits, but today, it's about theirs, exploiting me. What a waste of time: Illegal under minimum wage chores.
But I have to do something...
Yours affectionately,
-Fuckyournoodleshopandassholeson
Thursday, 26 June 2008
My week at a glance
No more playing for me. I stopped going ever since my brother left the country. It's pretty boring without him here.
Over the past few days of this week, I have been out filling up application forms, or handing in CVs to nearby shops and locations.
My father's patience for my long job search is wearing thin. And there you have it: My week life. My weak life.
Today? I did the same things, and got called by a Noodle shop. I spoke to the boss the previous day about working in this noodle shop. We spoke in Cantonese: the best Chinese dialect I have, but even that's not good enough.
So, I got called by the Noodle shop earlier, and will try out working there on Saturday. It's located somewhere in the vicinity. It doesn't even pay well.
And I bought a pack of cigarettes.
Over the past few days of this week, I have been out filling up application forms, or handing in CVs to nearby shops and locations.
My father's patience for my long job search is wearing thin. And there you have it: My week life. My weak life.
Today? I did the same things, and got called by a Noodle shop. I spoke to the boss the previous day about working in this noodle shop. We spoke in Cantonese: the best Chinese dialect I have, but even that's not good enough.
So, I got called by the Noodle shop earlier, and will try out working there on Saturday. It's located somewhere in the vicinity. It doesn't even pay well.
And I bought a pack of cigarettes.
Friday, 20 June 2008
Bad Play
I made a bad play today. Table Dynamics: Too many loose callers, and one really bad call from me. And also my Pocket Queens was badly played in a bad position. I only played for maybe 20 minutes.
I can't win everyday, I suppose. -$120
I need to start earlier.
I can't win everyday, I suppose. -$120
I need to start earlier.
Thursday, 19 June 2008
Drunken Master
I started playing cards at about 12am; midnight; I was late--my brother was hungry, and so went to Denny's, this 24 hours diner opposite the casino. I had a club sandwich, if that matters.
I'm the type of person that wants to start playing as viably early as possible, so I can get a good head start and cash in more later in the night.
Today, however, seemed to hit only two and a half hours of card time. No complaints on that though. I'm not greedy. I actually am greedy, but what I mean to say is that I'll take what I can get, which today, appears to be $300 profit.
Today's Anecdote: The Drunken Fist story. And it starts with a drunk guy who was standing behind me. The card dealer asked him if he wanted to play and I--distracted by that--turned around and saw him: tall 'dude' with glasses; Caucasian; glaring down at me; says "Stop looking at me!" right after I looked away. Slow reactions, "please sit down and join this table," as I was so ready to BUST HIM UP!
Everyone was just watching his drunk self. He did join the table. He was a very amusing guy. His plays were funny, but not bad--very deceptive, due to his drunk condition. And so I termed his actions as "Drunken Fist!" to which he later said "Chui Khuen."
The Chinese guy between him and me says "What's that mean?" Can you fucking imagine that shit? A white guy, says that. I tell him it means "Drunken Boxing" or "Drunken Fist." I was impressed. He was impressed, too, I feel.
Obviously he has spent time in Hong Kong. Subsequently, he starts speaking Cantonese in a fluent manner. He's able to translate English names to Chinese too!
This guy is something else; says that he was born in Hong Kong when he was 21, which is really very funny to me. The gibberish and the kind of whackey joke-making is so conducive to the kind of table I want to play on.
The guy in between drunken boxer and me had left after losing all his chips admitting how this white guy has a better Canto accent than he does. Drunken Boxer yells out (several times) to him "Ne mou lan yung!" which loosely translates to "You're fucking useless!" as he is leaving the 'Poker Zone' and all I could do is break into heavy laughter.
Other players were laughing as we both started speaking and cursing each other in Cantonese. Hilarious!
That's pretty gold comedy: a white guy, speaking better Cantonese than both me and the fucking useless guy. I really want to play with him again. I believe his name to be Matt or Mark, the 'Drunken Master' henceforth.
In other news, Uncle A/King was there too, but on a different table. Spotlights are on him everywhere he goes. He's like a celebrity here. All the ACTION follows him around. People stand around his table looking at the plays that go down. He had a high stack of chips when I saw him.
I'm the type of person that wants to start playing as viably early as possible, so I can get a good head start and cash in more later in the night.
Today, however, seemed to hit only two and a half hours of card time. No complaints on that though. I'm not greedy. I actually am greedy, but what I mean to say is that I'll take what I can get, which today, appears to be $300 profit.
Today's Anecdote: The Drunken Fist story. And it starts with a drunk guy who was standing behind me. The card dealer asked him if he wanted to play and I--distracted by that--turned around and saw him: tall 'dude' with glasses; Caucasian; glaring down at me; says "Stop looking at me!" right after I looked away. Slow reactions, "please sit down and join this table," as I was so ready to BUST HIM UP!
Everyone was just watching his drunk self. He did join the table. He was a very amusing guy. His plays were funny, but not bad--very deceptive, due to his drunk condition. And so I termed his actions as "Drunken Fist!" to which he later said "Chui Khuen."
The Chinese guy between him and me says "What's that mean?" Can you fucking imagine that shit? A white guy, says that. I tell him it means "Drunken Boxing" or "Drunken Fist." I was impressed. He was impressed, too, I feel.
Obviously he has spent time in Hong Kong. Subsequently, he starts speaking Cantonese in a fluent manner. He's able to translate English names to Chinese too!
This guy is something else; says that he was born in Hong Kong when he was 21, which is really very funny to me. The gibberish and the kind of whackey joke-making is so conducive to the kind of table I want to play on.
The guy in between drunken boxer and me had left after losing all his chips admitting how this white guy has a better Canto accent than he does. Drunken Boxer yells out (several times) to him "Ne mou lan yung!" which loosely translates to "You're fucking useless!" as he is leaving the 'Poker Zone' and all I could do is break into heavy laughter.
Other players were laughing as we both started speaking and cursing each other in Cantonese. Hilarious!
That's pretty gold comedy: a white guy, speaking better Cantonese than both me and the fucking useless guy. I really want to play with him again. I believe his name to be Matt or Mark, the 'Drunken Master' henceforth.
In other news, Uncle A/King was there too, but on a different table. Spotlights are on him everywhere he goes. He's like a celebrity here. All the ACTION follows him around. People stand around his table looking at the plays that go down. He had a high stack of chips when I saw him.
Tuesday, 17 June 2008
The Story of Monday-Tuesday
The journey
I rode the #51 bus to the city yesterday night. It was raining, and half past 9pm. I hadn't slept for 24 hours (probably more). I spent the early hours of yesterday morning watching independent movies on the TV. "World Movies," some classify it as.
The bus ride set me back $4.30. The destination: Casino--poker tables. I felt like Jason Bourne as I walked about 2km from the bus stop through the streets in the city to the tables; never miscalculating; vigilant for malfeasance; hooded jacket (because it was raining).
The feeling
I rarely stay up past 24 hours these days. Like any other person, coffee--in these times--is quintessential to survival. My heartbeat increases 2-3 fold after that 'Venti Latte Double Shot' causing the sensation of shortness of breath for the first hour.
But I was driven by more than just coffee. I was on an adrenalin-steeped stretch of what I believed to be sensible gaming, with risks on the side--naturally. My heart (my actual heart, not the figurative heart) pounds a rich warm pulse (like that of a lower chord on piano keys with emphasis on the ominous) to my torso each time I get the poker hand that I need, and want. Opponents' bets/raises enriches the 'chase,' enlivening it.
It's possible that--by now--the meaning of what I wrote is/was lost in translation. It's not esoteric; it's not a feeling only associated with your friends who dabble in the gamble. You can make sense of it. The feeling is akin to getting something you always wanted. A surprise, if that does it for you. It does for me.
And in the beginning
As per usual, my chip stack declined unfavourably until I finally caught a good hand. I was playing with a few regulars. I've played with half the audience on that table before. An hour past before I had enough money to play aggressively.
I took out a few players' stacks this time. At least 4 players, maybe more. A guilt looms over me each time a player gets felted by me, but the fairness of the game comforts me away from that friendly behaviour. It's not about making friends, it's about making money. If poker was about socialising, there wouldn't be chips involved. Stakes are important!
I was all over the table. I played 6 out of 8 hands, sometimes raising with hands that aren't that great--confuse the prey before striking. And oftentimes folding soon after, especially in the bad position. Bluffing is over-rated, but very useful to set your opponents off.
The introduction of A/King
They call him A/King. He is and old timer; possibly 50 years and above; a regular of regulars. He is known to the whole casino poker scene. If I told you there was a man nicknamed 'A/King' who is there almost everyday, you will figure out who he is within a short time-frame.
He doesn't speak much English. And that's the reason why they call him A/King. It's the most amusing story. Because he doesn't speak much English, the words most frequently spoken by him is an emphatic "A/KING CALL!!" followed by some erratic incomprehensible mumbling. "No thinking!" which becomes "Tung Seng Key!" when it leaves his mouth. I think "Tung Seng Key" actually means something in Chinese. This remains unclear and uncorroborated.
A very amusing uncle he is; speaks Cantonese; wins most times I see him. I don't observe him that much. He's no chump, I'll tell you that much. Not yet, at least. I try not to be in a hand with him because he's hard to predict and read.
Earlier on the table, Uncle A/King had an unfriendly verbal exchange with another uncle (we'll call him Uncle Badminton because he's a Badminton player) sitting on my right--in Cantonese. I didn't dare say a thing, mainly due to my lesser fluent Cantonese.
Badminton Uncle bluffed a pot by going all in with just pocket 5's and Uncle A/King called with two pairs higher. Again, A/King emphatically uttered something in a triumphant tone--he does this a lot--about his bad bluff and this aggravated Uncle Badminton.
This led to an argument. Cantonese flying back and forth and people chuckling, but I knew it was serious because I understood what they were saying.
"Shut up, you" in Canto. [UB]
"Why are you getting all fired up?" in Canto. [AK]
"So you been here a while, so what?" in Canto [UB]
"He no happy I call" voicing it out several times to everyone else in English [AK]
It was confrontational, to say the least. I wanted to say something, but I had bad positioning, to quote from poker. Two very much older men fronting each other.
The introduction of Asian Uncle Gentleman
This uncle is usually dressed in a suit, with gold watch, and likely to be in his forties. I play with a lot of seniors, as I come to realise. He is an average player. He does well on the tables. As well as a regular, he keeps a low profile and says little during gaming.
I totally whaled on this Uncle. He's a good player, but once I started playing fast aggressive, he was taken aback. He would raise and I would call each time, regardless of positioning. I had the right hands for him. Then one round, I failed to hit anything, and bluffed him on a $40 bet; showed him my bluff; he said "good play," the others were somewhat impressed, or at least I'd like to believe that by the sound of their "Waa.. bluffing"
The unlucky thing was that the next game he raised again and I called his raise with 4/5 offsuit. That's not a great hand to call $15 with, but I did anyway. I flopped an open ended draw and raised; he called; the turn came giving me a straight, but there were 3 diamonds there. I value bet $50 thinking that he won't call. I was taking it easy on him. However, Uncle Gentleman comes back over the top with an all-in raise of $166, making it $116 more for me to call.
"You have the flush, don't you?" I asked, and he said no. I flipped over my straight. He said I had to call... and I did. But by that time I was up to about $500 in chips anyhow.
That's the story of me outplaying a nice gentleman. Anyway, he looks well to do and/or comfortable, so I'll just take this as being "lucky."
And in the ending: Triumph!
I changed $300, and cashed out $1,000, a good day at work. I am much more satisfied than the day before. My moment came during the ending of the games. I caught so many hands and had so many cards to call with that I was reminded of my streak as per the other day. In 20 minutes, I made $5oo-600 more.
Something tells me they'll remember me this time. I used to be an obscure player, but now, I think I'm getting to know some of these regular novices. I feel inserted, accepted. People recognise me. It's as if the regulars are brethren; a part of the same working-class of cardplayers trying to make a buck; always waiting till a new fresh player joins the table. That's when the real action begins.
The bus ride set me back $4.30. The destination: Casino--poker tables. I felt like Jason Bourne as I walked about 2km from the bus stop through the streets in the city to the tables; never miscalculating; vigilant for malfeasance; hooded jacket (because it was raining).
The feeling
I rarely stay up past 24 hours these days. Like any other person, coffee--in these times--is quintessential to survival. My heartbeat increases 2-3 fold after that 'Venti Latte Double Shot' causing the sensation of shortness of breath for the first hour.
But I was driven by more than just coffee. I was on an adrenalin-steeped stretch of what I believed to be sensible gaming, with risks on the side--naturally. My heart (my actual heart, not the figurative heart) pounds a rich warm pulse (like that of a lower chord on piano keys with emphasis on the ominous) to my torso each time I get the poker hand that I need, and want. Opponents' bets/raises enriches the 'chase,' enlivening it.
It's possible that--by now--the meaning of what I wrote is/was lost in translation. It's not esoteric; it's not a feeling only associated with your friends who dabble in the gamble. You can make sense of it. The feeling is akin to getting something you always wanted. A surprise, if that does it for you. It does for me.
And in the beginning
As per usual, my chip stack declined unfavourably until I finally caught a good hand. I was playing with a few regulars. I've played with half the audience on that table before. An hour past before I had enough money to play aggressively.
I took out a few players' stacks this time. At least 4 players, maybe more. A guilt looms over me each time a player gets felted by me, but the fairness of the game comforts me away from that friendly behaviour. It's not about making friends, it's about making money. If poker was about socialising, there wouldn't be chips involved. Stakes are important!
I was all over the table. I played 6 out of 8 hands, sometimes raising with hands that aren't that great--confuse the prey before striking. And oftentimes folding soon after, especially in the bad position. Bluffing is over-rated, but very useful to set your opponents off.
The introduction of A/King
They call him A/King. He is and old timer; possibly 50 years and above; a regular of regulars. He is known to the whole casino poker scene. If I told you there was a man nicknamed 'A/King' who is there almost everyday, you will figure out who he is within a short time-frame.
He doesn't speak much English. And that's the reason why they call him A/King. It's the most amusing story. Because he doesn't speak much English, the words most frequently spoken by him is an emphatic "A/KING CALL!!" followed by some erratic incomprehensible mumbling. "No thinking!" which becomes "Tung Seng Key!" when it leaves his mouth. I think "Tung Seng Key" actually means something in Chinese. This remains unclear and uncorroborated.
A very amusing uncle he is; speaks Cantonese; wins most times I see him. I don't observe him that much. He's no chump, I'll tell you that much. Not yet, at least. I try not to be in a hand with him because he's hard to predict and read.
Earlier on the table, Uncle A/King had an unfriendly verbal exchange with another uncle (we'll call him Uncle Badminton because he's a Badminton player) sitting on my right--in Cantonese. I didn't dare say a thing, mainly due to my lesser fluent Cantonese.
Badminton Uncle bluffed a pot by going all in with just pocket 5's and Uncle A/King called with two pairs higher. Again, A/King emphatically uttered something in a triumphant tone--he does this a lot--about his bad bluff and this aggravated Uncle Badminton.
This led to an argument. Cantonese flying back and forth and people chuckling, but I knew it was serious because I understood what they were saying.
"Shut up, you" in Canto. [UB]
"Why are you getting all fired up?" in Canto. [AK]
"So you been here a while, so what?" in Canto [UB]
"He no happy I call" voicing it out several times to everyone else in English [AK]
It was confrontational, to say the least. I wanted to say something, but I had bad positioning, to quote from poker. Two very much older men fronting each other.
The introduction of Asian Uncle Gentleman
This uncle is usually dressed in a suit, with gold watch, and likely to be in his forties. I play with a lot of seniors, as I come to realise. He is an average player. He does well on the tables. As well as a regular, he keeps a low profile and says little during gaming.
I totally whaled on this Uncle. He's a good player, but once I started playing fast aggressive, he was taken aback. He would raise and I would call each time, regardless of positioning. I had the right hands for him. Then one round, I failed to hit anything, and bluffed him on a $40 bet; showed him my bluff; he said "good play," the others were somewhat impressed, or at least I'd like to believe that by the sound of their "Waa.. bluffing"
The unlucky thing was that the next game he raised again and I called his raise with 4/5 offsuit. That's not a great hand to call $15 with, but I did anyway. I flopped an open ended draw and raised; he called; the turn came giving me a straight, but there were 3 diamonds there. I value bet $50 thinking that he won't call. I was taking it easy on him. However, Uncle Gentleman comes back over the top with an all-in raise of $166, making it $116 more for me to call.
"You have the flush, don't you?" I asked, and he said no. I flipped over my straight. He said I had to call... and I did. But by that time I was up to about $500 in chips anyhow.
That's the story of me outplaying a nice gentleman. Anyway, he looks well to do and/or comfortable, so I'll just take this as being "lucky."
And in the ending: Triumph!
I changed $300, and cashed out $1,000, a good day at work. I am much more satisfied than the day before. My moment came during the ending of the games. I caught so many hands and had so many cards to call with that I was reminded of my streak as per the other day. In 20 minutes, I made $5oo-600 more.
Something tells me they'll remember me this time. I used to be an obscure player, but now, I think I'm getting to know some of these regular novices. I feel inserted, accepted. People recognise me. It's as if the regulars are brethren; a part of the same working-class of cardplayers trying to make a buck; always waiting till a new fresh player joins the table. That's when the real action begins.
Monday, 16 June 2008
Flashing Lights
One day, maybe 2 weeks ago, my neighbour's house caught on fire. There was thick burnt-plastic odour everywhere a window or door was opened. Japanese neighbours.
Firetruck after firetruck appeared in front of the house till there were three of them. Nothing serious, really. Neighbours all assembling outside for some curious conversation.
When a firetruck arrives at a scene where a fire is reported, a fee is incurred--in the thousands ranging from $1,000-5,000. I think it's just $1,000.
Firetruck after firetruck appeared in front of the house till there were three of them. Nothing serious, really. Neighbours all assembling outside for some curious conversation.
When a firetruck arrives at a scene where a fire is reported, a fee is incurred--in the thousands ranging from $1,000-5,000. I think it's just $1,000.
Uncle Provocateur
Round 1: I was wining at first. I had nice solid cards dealt to me. Then this one Asian guy--around the age of 40--sitting opposite me felt me (in poker, being felted means to be cleaned out) up so badly, ripped out most of my chip-stack, which was over $200. I was violated!
In hindsight, I placed him pretty badly, and I made a bad 'all in' call on a 2 pair board. If you don't know what that means, it just means that there were 2 pairs out of the 5 cards dealt in the center on a hold em table. And I called a raise to beat only a bluff.
So there you have it, I flopped a flush, raised, then ended up committed to the pot even after it paired 2 cards and called over $100 because of sentimentality. That was pure emotion for me, I'll admit that. I didn't want to be bluffed by this chump. But he caught a full house right at the end. Luck is a funny thing. Skill is another thing altogether.
In speaking to one of the other regular players there--a friendly old white guy, whom I've won money with on another table before--he said, "It's just one of those days..." And it was. A very cliche sort of phrase, as you might have observed.
Round 2: The same 40 year old chump called a $33 all in raise from my brother, and I was sitting on KK (that's two Kings in my hole cards) with no card higher on the board and went all in with $70+ more. The chump called and had the cards for calling too: one card off from a flush with 2 more cards to draw with. He did catch his flush.
I thought about how if I were to have just called and later raised on the turn, when there would only be one card to call for a diamond, and if he would have called $70 then. A few of us players were discussing that in retrospect. I still wonder about that; some other players said he would have called because he had hundreds in chips.
And so there it is, being outdrawn and felted by this man. Twice.
I didn't give up; I continued; persevered and went to play again after a smoke, in unbelievable denial, but if you played as much as I have before, you'd realise that it happens quite a bit.
I said to them, "I'm back, against my better judgment!"
Round 3: The 40 year old, still sitting on his hundreds... and I'm talking about at least $500, if not more. I started playing aggressive--sometimes you need to change your play with someone as loose as this asshole.
I call him an asshole because he was trying to rile me up by bluffing me and showing me his crap hands. "You cannot bluff me, I can bluff you!" the chump said. That amused me. I laughed, "How emotional" I said, as I laughed with another player agreeing in chuckling.
I felt his aggression; his attempt at belittling me; a provocation. I suppose he sees me as a threat because I seem to be getting my high stacks back again after just a few rounds: about $300-400. But only amateurs fall for that sort of rubbish.
"I'll show you," I thought, as I harnessed my Qi, "Just keep talking..."
This guy really thought he could outplay me. "Please try!" I thought to myself. That's the only way I can get his money in the pot. And he did. And it was when I had the hand to meet his raises.
What a pansy. I raised AQ and he called. I hit my top pair Queen on the flop, and he bet $25; I raised it to $75; he insta-called. Next card was an Ace--he bet $125; I insta-called. Insta-call means I instantly called his bet.
You should have seen his shocked face as I was pushing a high stack in immediately. Looking at that face, his thoughts were probably "Oh shit, What does he have?" That stunned stupor pasted all over his uncle face.
And since he was wondering, I showed him an Ace. Why? To see where I was in the game. See, if he saw the ace, how he reacted after--whether he would bet or check--would indicate what he had in his hand.
I expected him to just check it, but instead, he folded his hand. A surrendering "you beat me" out of his mouth. If he had a pair, he would at least check it, but instead he threw away his hand. Glory!
After that pot of over $400, the chump was on tilt. He continually started playing fiercely. Somehow or rather, I'm sure the other players were thankful that I shattered his run because he was so on tilt after that game with me.
Suffice it to say, he ceased trying to provoke me--highly likely to be ashamed and embarrassed.
It's cruel, but this is what I live for; the sadistic nature; the immense enjoyment I attain by putting people in their place; the fierce table aggression; the fight.
"Go back to Disneyland, you fucking amateur!"
I took back all of my money and more from him and his frustrated face. I cashed out $600 about an hour or so after I rejoined the game.
"Some days are just like that..."
In hindsight, I placed him pretty badly, and I made a bad 'all in' call on a 2 pair board. If you don't know what that means, it just means that there were 2 pairs out of the 5 cards dealt in the center on a hold em table. And I called a raise to beat only a bluff.
So there you have it, I flopped a flush, raised, then ended up committed to the pot even after it paired 2 cards and called over $100 because of sentimentality. That was pure emotion for me, I'll admit that. I didn't want to be bluffed by this chump. But he caught a full house right at the end. Luck is a funny thing. Skill is another thing altogether.
In speaking to one of the other regular players there--a friendly old white guy, whom I've won money with on another table before--he said, "It's just one of those days..." And it was. A very cliche sort of phrase, as you might have observed.
Round 2: The same 40 year old chump called a $33 all in raise from my brother, and I was sitting on KK (that's two Kings in my hole cards) with no card higher on the board and went all in with $70+ more. The chump called and had the cards for calling too: one card off from a flush with 2 more cards to draw with. He did catch his flush.
I thought about how if I were to have just called and later raised on the turn, when there would only be one card to call for a diamond, and if he would have called $70 then. A few of us players were discussing that in retrospect. I still wonder about that; some other players said he would have called because he had hundreds in chips.
And so there it is, being outdrawn and felted by this man. Twice.
I didn't give up; I continued; persevered and went to play again after a smoke, in unbelievable denial, but if you played as much as I have before, you'd realise that it happens quite a bit.
I said to them, "I'm back, against my better judgment!"
Round 3: The 40 year old, still sitting on his hundreds... and I'm talking about at least $500, if not more. I started playing aggressive--sometimes you need to change your play with someone as loose as this asshole.
I call him an asshole because he was trying to rile me up by bluffing me and showing me his crap hands. "You cannot bluff me, I can bluff you!" the chump said. That amused me. I laughed, "How emotional" I said, as I laughed with another player agreeing in chuckling.
I felt his aggression; his attempt at belittling me; a provocation. I suppose he sees me as a threat because I seem to be getting my high stacks back again after just a few rounds: about $300-400. But only amateurs fall for that sort of rubbish.
"I'll show you," I thought, as I harnessed my Qi, "Just keep talking..."
This guy really thought he could outplay me. "Please try!" I thought to myself. That's the only way I can get his money in the pot. And he did. And it was when I had the hand to meet his raises.
What a pansy. I raised AQ and he called. I hit my top pair Queen on the flop, and he bet $25; I raised it to $75; he insta-called. Next card was an Ace--he bet $125; I insta-called. Insta-call means I instantly called his bet.
You should have seen his shocked face as I was pushing a high stack in immediately. Looking at that face, his thoughts were probably "Oh shit, What does he have?" That stunned stupor pasted all over his uncle face.
And since he was wondering, I showed him an Ace. Why? To see where I was in the game. See, if he saw the ace, how he reacted after--whether he would bet or check--would indicate what he had in his hand.
I expected him to just check it, but instead, he folded his hand. A surrendering "you beat me" out of his mouth. If he had a pair, he would at least check it, but instead he threw away his hand. Glory!
After that pot of over $400, the chump was on tilt. He continually started playing fiercely. Somehow or rather, I'm sure the other players were thankful that I shattered his run because he was so on tilt after that game with me.
Suffice it to say, he ceased trying to provoke me--highly likely to be ashamed and embarrassed.
It's cruel, but this is what I live for; the sadistic nature; the immense enjoyment I attain by putting people in their place; the fierce table aggression; the fight.
"Go back to Disneyland, you fucking amateur!"
I took back all of my money and more from him and his frustrated face. I cashed out $600 about an hour or so after I rejoined the game.
"Some days are just like that..."
Wednesday, 4 June 2008
Problem with Gambling?
Dear all,
I know we haven't spoken for a while, and we probably won't be speaking for a long time, but I just wanted you to know that.... wait, "brb."
So, where was I? Oh ya, I have been going to the casino lately--after a few weeks of NOT going (because I lost money, which was when the last entry on going to the casino was dated).
Nicholas thinks I have a problem with gambling. I agree that playing roulette and whatever "chances" game is "gambling" and I have decided to only play holdem. I want to divert the next time Nicholas introduces me to someone like Inez bringing forward my "problem with gambling," to which she would say "that's interesting," which to some people would appear embarrassing, but not me--I fly that flag with glory and pride, and lots of honour. But no money, so maybe you're right, Nicholas.
Each time I go there (to the casino), I recognise more and more people. It's the funniest thing, but what can you say to just 8 designated "Poker Zone" tables. I guess it's the minimal approach. I can practically make friends but I don't think that's a good idea over the tables. They have a rule against friends playing on the same table.
There's a rake of 10% with a cap of $10 maximum. That's pretty high, I thought. Every time I take in a huge pot, it looks smaller than normal, but I don't know--it could just be me.
Sometimes, you'll play with players who take themselves way too seriously. Sometimes, just sometimes you'll find arrogance and condescension at your table. Most times, when I do take the pot off them, I just feel like rubbing their faces in my victory over their "supposed poker acumen." Like a little "Fuck off, old man, it's my turn now" right to their face, but I do not. It's people like that who make you want to take their money so badly. So don't play with your emotions.
I realise one thing though, and it's when a new player enters the table. All of us will be immediately interested. Like the other day, this kid comes in all reckless and aggressive with unusual large raises and straddles. That had the table curious and amused, laughing at the hands he would play with; confused, even. I told the others that "I love that kid" because it appeared like he didn't know how to play and just threw his money at me and kept coming back with $100 each time. I think we all shared that thought.
But back to that gambling problem, as above. Yes, perhaps I do have a gambling problem, but it's not when I play poker. Playing holdem makes me happy. Of course, winning makes me happy too, but you can't play to lose, and winning somewhat means that you are playing better, becoming a yardstick or a measure.
I know we haven't spoken for a while, and we probably won't be speaking for a long time, but I just wanted you to know that.... wait, "brb."
So, where was I? Oh ya, I have been going to the casino lately--after a few weeks of NOT going (because I lost money, which was when the last entry on going to the casino was dated).
Nicholas thinks I have a problem with gambling. I agree that playing roulette and whatever "chances" game is "gambling" and I have decided to only play holdem. I want to divert the next time Nicholas introduces me to someone like Inez bringing forward my "problem with gambling," to which she would say "that's interesting," which to some people would appear embarrassing, but not me--I fly that flag with glory and pride, and lots of honour. But no money, so maybe you're right, Nicholas.
Each time I go there (to the casino), I recognise more and more people. It's the funniest thing, but what can you say to just 8 designated "Poker Zone" tables. I guess it's the minimal approach. I can practically make friends but I don't think that's a good idea over the tables. They have a rule against friends playing on the same table.
There's a rake of 10% with a cap of $10 maximum. That's pretty high, I thought. Every time I take in a huge pot, it looks smaller than normal, but I don't know--it could just be me.
Sometimes, you'll play with players who take themselves way too seriously. Sometimes, just sometimes you'll find arrogance and condescension at your table. Most times, when I do take the pot off them, I just feel like rubbing their faces in my victory over their "supposed poker acumen." Like a little "Fuck off, old man, it's my turn now" right to their face, but I do not. It's people like that who make you want to take their money so badly. So don't play with your emotions.
I realise one thing though, and it's when a new player enters the table. All of us will be immediately interested. Like the other day, this kid comes in all reckless and aggressive with unusual large raises and straddles. That had the table curious and amused, laughing at the hands he would play with; confused, even. I told the others that "I love that kid" because it appeared like he didn't know how to play and just threw his money at me and kept coming back with $100 each time. I think we all shared that thought.
But back to that gambling problem, as above. Yes, perhaps I do have a gambling problem, but it's not when I play poker. Playing holdem makes me happy. Of course, winning makes me happy too, but you can't play to lose, and winning somewhat means that you are playing better, becoming a yardstick or a measure.
Tuesday, 20 May 2008
7up
So far, I haven't won at poker from the casino at all. The best I've done is broke even or maybe $7 up. "7up"
That's the trouble with me: I initially start off doing pretty well in the game, which is when I get reckless or bored--possibly both--and start playing my weak hands or maybe even overvalue my hole cards a bit.
I know I can play better, but I don't have that much time to play with--3 hours is the most usually.
It's always good to scope out the playing hall before you begin your game. There are regulars on every table. There is not one table where there isn't a recognisable face--I don't know them, but I know they're here more frequent than I am. I can't sit on a table without seeing someone I've played with before. And I don't even play often.
This is where you need to be careful as some of the players are here with each other. There's always a suspicion of an unfair game going on. Like today, where this married couple couldn't sit on the same table--I've played with them countless of times. Today, there was suspicion over whether they had signals for each other.
Where does all this lead me anyway? I'm still $122 down from all the bad calls I've been making since I was $15o up.
Sometimes. Sometimes, you're just outmatched by better players. Sometimes, your reads aren't as good as you thought they were--you get blinded into calling strong hands with cards you shouldn't have been playing with in the first place. Bad calls. Bored calls.
These are the kind of calls that release you from victory. Take a break once in a while, kid.
That's the trouble with me: I initially start off doing pretty well in the game, which is when I get reckless or bored--possibly both--and start playing my weak hands or maybe even overvalue my hole cards a bit.
I know I can play better, but I don't have that much time to play with--3 hours is the most usually.
It's always good to scope out the playing hall before you begin your game. There are regulars on every table. There is not one table where there isn't a recognisable face--I don't know them, but I know they're here more frequent than I am. I can't sit on a table without seeing someone I've played with before. And I don't even play often.
This is where you need to be careful as some of the players are here with each other. There's always a suspicion of an unfair game going on. Like today, where this married couple couldn't sit on the same table--I've played with them countless of times. Today, there was suspicion over whether they had signals for each other.
Where does all this lead me anyway? I'm still $122 down from all the bad calls I've been making since I was $15o up.
Sometimes. Sometimes, you're just outmatched by better players. Sometimes, your reads aren't as good as you thought they were--you get blinded into calling strong hands with cards you shouldn't have been playing with in the first place. Bad calls. Bored calls.
These are the kind of calls that release you from victory. Take a break once in a while, kid.
Sunday, 11 May 2008
Start of a Bad Day
It began maybe 2 weeks earlier. I've had these irregular sleeping patterns since. I thought I had it under control--I almost did. But that was yesterday.
I was in bed right before 10pm. And I wasn't even interested in playing low stakes hold 'em at my brother's friend's house. What a waste of 3 hours, and $10. We left by 1:30am.
Seven hours, $200 later, I'm back from the casino, unable to sleep once more. Today, rapid roulette just made a new enemy of me. How could I even resist? The house was so close to the city.
Happy Mother's day--meaning: no full sleep.
I was in bed right before 10pm. And I wasn't even interested in playing low stakes hold 'em at my brother's friend's house. What a waste of 3 hours, and $10. We left by 1:30am.
Seven hours, $200 later, I'm back from the casino, unable to sleep once more. Today, rapid roulette just made a new enemy of me. How could I even resist? The house was so close to the city.
Happy Mother's day--meaning: no full sleep.
Friday, 9 May 2008
Tai Sai
The game 'Tai Sai' has just grown on me. The game with 3 dices in a glass jar. 'Tai Sai' translates to big/small. My strategy--not complex--is to spread $20 onto 4 total-sum spots. The total sum spots are just values from 4 and up that indicate what the sum of all three dices add up to. The best odds you'll get are from 9-12 due to their frequency. I won $100 just from doing that; which isn't much to be proud of.
Yes, we were at the casino again. Two days in a row. And yet I have not tried my hand at hold 'em. Each time I want to take a seat, words of warning from my brother stop me.
Sitting at the roulette machine, drinking drinks like beer and Jim Beam cokes, and smoking more frequently than ever. I'm back into this line of work. Tsk...
Yes, we were at the casino again. Two days in a row. And yet I have not tried my hand at hold 'em. Each time I want to take a seat, words of warning from my brother stop me.
Sitting at the roulette machine, drinking drinks like beer and Jim Beam cokes, and smoking more frequently than ever. I'm back into this line of work. Tsk...
Thursday, 8 May 2008
Readjust
A lot of people sleep around 12 or 1am, wake up at 7 or 8am, then carry on with their day.
That's what I've been doing, with the exception that it's in pm and not am.
Just another phase, I'm sure. Readjusting.
That's what I've been doing, with the exception that it's in pm and not am.
Just another phase, I'm sure. Readjusting.
Sunday, 4 May 2008
Shooting Star
I was outside smoking the other day, and I was looking at a portion of the sky towards the left when coincidentally a shooting star went by. It wasn't a very long streak.
What are the chances of that one spot being the one where it would hit (and it did)?
Then later my brother says it happens all the time and that one day we should go to the some bay area and because it's clearer.
I don't know how true that was, however.
What are the chances of that one spot being the one where it would hit (and it did)?
Then later my brother says it happens all the time and that one day we should go to the some bay area and because it's clearer.
I don't know how true that was, however.
Wednesday, 30 April 2008
Back to the Casino
It's not so surprising how many people are at the city casino on a Wednesday morning--mostly Asians.
I didn't really know why I was there. I didn't feel like playing anything. That was till I saw the Hold'em tables upstairs. A maximum of $100 buy-in on the tables. It's a pretty small section of possibly 6-7 tables.
"I'll skip this round," I thought. "Shark attack waiting to happen."
After a half hour of just observing, my brother and I went downstairs; which was where I started to itch for a round of roulette after watching a few spins.
I put in $20 and cashed out $90 the first time. Then later after the second beer, went back to the table and inserted another $20 and came out with $101.
This was Rapid Roulette--where the betting time is shorter. So I missed a few hits, but no point thinking about that.
I didn't really know why I was there. I didn't feel like playing anything. That was till I saw the Hold'em tables upstairs. A maximum of $100 buy-in on the tables. It's a pretty small section of possibly 6-7 tables.
"I'll skip this round," I thought. "Shark attack waiting to happen."
After a half hour of just observing, my brother and I went downstairs; which was where I started to itch for a round of roulette after watching a few spins.
I put in $20 and cashed out $90 the first time. Then later after the second beer, went back to the table and inserted another $20 and came out with $101.
This was Rapid Roulette--where the betting time is shorter. So I missed a few hits, but no point thinking about that.
Wednesday, 23 April 2008
Still Settling In
Every time I wake up, I feel foreign--disoriented. That feeling when you don't know which direction you're facing in bed, even though it should be obvious to you.
Monday, 14 April 2008
Or not
It has become increasingly colder here than when I first arrived in late February. It was warm then compared to the soon-to-be rigid-fingers-freeze. And it's not winter yet.
There's going to be hell to pay again as I acclimate further and it'll be my fingers paying them as I have yet to stop cracking them as I set out to weeks ago--a really bad habit. In my mind, this appears as though it will affect the movement of my fingers a lot, but I can't be very sure.
Being sure implies certainty and there's nothing really certain about my life, sadly. There should be. Or not. I can't be certain.
Sometimes, I don't even really know what these ramblings are about but a stream of words somewhat related to cracking knuckles/fingers and the cold.
There's going to be hell to pay again as I acclimate further and it'll be my fingers paying them as I have yet to stop cracking them as I set out to weeks ago--a really bad habit. In my mind, this appears as though it will affect the movement of my fingers a lot, but I can't be very sure.
Being sure implies certainty and there's nothing really certain about my life, sadly. There should be. Or not. I can't be certain.
Sometimes, I don't even really know what these ramblings are about but a stream of words somewhat related to cracking knuckles/fingers and the cold.
Sunday, 13 April 2008
I don't like Omaha
I played poker today.
Here, they play for $5 for 5000 in chips, with the blinds increasing now and again from 25/50 till 75/150.
Neither did I win nor lose any money as I needed not pay, but that's not important.
The players here are pretty alright--brother's friends--and they mostly play for fun and pride rather than stakes. I still think that it's easier to get called on when stakes are so low, but I think it's highly unlikely that they'll convert to higher stakes.
The players here (who usually play Hold 'em) are playing more 'Omaha', which to most of you is much different than what we're used to. Any four cards can get you in trouble because it really blinds the fact that you are only playing with two of the four cards. Two pairs, trips, can sometimes be so trivial.
So the whole time, the games would swap from Texas Hold 'em and Omaha depending on the dealer's prerogative. However, I think more of Omaha was dealt.
Mainly, I was uncomfortable with the idea that I have to adjust (from scratch) to a different game on the night I play with new people after not playing since I left KL. I learnt that I'm slowly losing my grasp of the game--what time does, I suppose.
Here, they play for $5 for 5000 in chips, with the blinds increasing now and again from 25/50 till 75/150.
Neither did I win nor lose any money as I needed not pay, but that's not important.
The players here are pretty alright--brother's friends--and they mostly play for fun and pride rather than stakes. I still think that it's easier to get called on when stakes are so low, but I think it's highly unlikely that they'll convert to higher stakes.
The players here (who usually play Hold 'em) are playing more 'Omaha', which to most of you is much different than what we're used to. Any four cards can get you in trouble because it really blinds the fact that you are only playing with two of the four cards. Two pairs, trips, can sometimes be so trivial.
So the whole time, the games would swap from Texas Hold 'em and Omaha depending on the dealer's prerogative. However, I think more of Omaha was dealt.
Mainly, I was uncomfortable with the idea that I have to adjust (from scratch) to a different game on the night I play with new people after not playing since I left KL. I learnt that I'm slowly losing my grasp of the game--what time does, I suppose.
Monday, 7 April 2008
Due South
I had gone south this weekend. to Napier and Hastings, wine country and art capital (said somewhere/someone) of NZ, apparently. It was in the book--a rough guide to NZ. It's a small quiet town (but not rural) further south on the eastern coast of the North Island.
It took about 5-6 good hours of looking out the window of a minivan/MPV/whatever the fuck have you, into a largely different scenery that you see back there, wherever that is; into a world of rolling hills, thick dense bush, coastline, rolling hills once more, vineyards, paddocks, way too many farm animals, and sometimes: combinations of the above.
In my travels--as though I've traveled a lot--I happened across hundreds in both cattle and sheep, loads of red deer, plenty of horses, some ponies, emu, and one donkey (just one in the middle of nowhere; alone; like me; jackass... and the being alone part). There were probably more animals than I can remember. But that's one big farm blur to me. I tried to take pictures for you but the car/minivan went by too quickly.
There are so many varieties of things to view from down there, though I didn't get the full views.
Mini breweries can be found there and about; there was one place called 'The Rooster,' where you are able to buy big bottles (called flagons)--these are the LARGE coca-cola sized ones--of whichever ale you want to take back home
There was a night at a motel, with a visit to the hot springs or thermal bath area alongside the coast. This must be a place where the locals go on weekends with the family (at a price of $10 a head for adults) because it was pretty crowded. The other thermal area we stopped at was a place called Kerosene Creek--an actual creek where natural (pungent) thermal water flows freely, which was off the beaten path somewhere in Rotorua--I don't know, I fell asleep in the car.
It took about 5-6 good hours of looking out the window of a minivan/MPV/whatever the fuck have you, into a largely different scenery that you see back there, wherever that is; into a world of rolling hills, thick dense bush, coastline, rolling hills once more, vineyards, paddocks, way too many farm animals, and sometimes: combinations of the above.
In my travels--as though I've traveled a lot--I happened across hundreds in both cattle and sheep, loads of red deer, plenty of horses, some ponies, emu, and one donkey (just one in the middle of nowhere; alone; like me; jackass... and the being alone part). There were probably more animals than I can remember. But that's one big farm blur to me. I tried to take pictures for you but the car/minivan went by too quickly.
There are so many varieties of things to view from down there, though I didn't get the full views.
Mini breweries can be found there and about; there was one place called 'The Rooster,' where you are able to buy big bottles (called flagons)--these are the LARGE coca-cola sized ones--of whichever ale you want to take back home
There was a night at a motel, with a visit to the hot springs or thermal bath area alongside the coast. This must be a place where the locals go on weekends with the family (at a price of $10 a head for adults) because it was pretty crowded. The other thermal area we stopped at was a place called Kerosene Creek--an actual creek where natural (pungent) thermal water flows freely, which was off the beaten path somewhere in Rotorua--I don't know, I fell asleep in the car.
Thursday, 3 April 2008
Coordination
I should probably tell you all that I have a foosball table. I don't know why I should, but it appears to be something I would think you might like to know. It's one of those Tornado Tables that those pubs and pool houses carry.
And so, over the past few days since the weekend the table had been assembled (in the hallway next to my room) I've come to learn that I have very poor hand-eye coordination.
I'm lying about that--I didn't just learn it over the weekend or anything of the like. It's been like that since I was a kid. After a certain speed, my reactions are generally poorer in quality.
Badminton shuttlecocks are a prime example of this. Are you like me? Does the shuttlecock miss the racquet by mere inches? Are you like me--that when you miss it, you are no longer embarrassed because it no longer seems to be an issue of skill levels; that somehow or rather through either spellbinding magic or a higher form of sorcery, the opponents have been given an edge over you?
I'm just kidding about that: of course there's still some embarrassment, but it's only embarrassment from not being selected, picked by the divine almighty Badminton wind spirits. I hate them.
Come to whatever conclusion you feel like, but just don't start with your crazy-eyes comments because they will be filtered. Carefully filtered.
I stopped playing Badminton long ago; since primary school. By "playing" the idea of consistently or regularly is best suitable. I don't remember having this problem with missing, then but things are rather foggy in that direction of my life.
And Kwang Ming asked me to play football with them. He was trying so hard to persuade me. The guy is unwavering. No never means no. I'll be avoiding that football phone call, I assure you that. I have a strange feeling I have poor foot-eye coordination as well.
And so, over the past few days since the weekend the table had been assembled (in the hallway next to my room) I've come to learn that I have very poor hand-eye coordination.
I'm lying about that--I didn't just learn it over the weekend or anything of the like. It's been like that since I was a kid. After a certain speed, my reactions are generally poorer in quality.
Badminton shuttlecocks are a prime example of this. Are you like me? Does the shuttlecock miss the racquet by mere inches? Are you like me--that when you miss it, you are no longer embarrassed because it no longer seems to be an issue of skill levels; that somehow or rather through either spellbinding magic or a higher form of sorcery, the opponents have been given an edge over you?
I'm just kidding about that: of course there's still some embarrassment, but it's only embarrassment from not being selected, picked by the divine almighty Badminton wind spirits. I hate them.
Come to whatever conclusion you feel like, but just don't start with your crazy-eyes comments because they will be filtered. Carefully filtered.
I stopped playing Badminton long ago; since primary school. By "playing" the idea of consistently or regularly is best suitable. I don't remember having this problem with missing, then but things are rather foggy in that direction of my life.
And Kwang Ming asked me to play football with them. He was trying so hard to persuade me. The guy is unwavering. No never means no. I'll be avoiding that football phone call, I assure you that. I have a strange feeling I have poor foot-eye coordination as well.
Wednesday, 2 April 2008
April Baby
I was April fooled when someone answered my "what's new?" with "nothing much, same old, except that I'm going to be a father."
Suffice it to say that that is evidently not the case.
Suffice it to say that that is evidently not the case.
Tuesday, 1 April 2008
Mantidae
It's about time for another insect post, and this week, I present to you: The Praying Mantises that find their way into the house. They make fluttering noises just soft enough for you to hear them. I once confused one for a clock. I was in the dark.
Being one of the insects that have a strange appearance, it's about time to start disliking something else. Thin stick legs; large eyes with a dot in the centre; what appear to be mandibles; jagged claw appendages thingamajinga--which folds backwards giving the impression of a serrated cutting process to follow.
This must be the season as they come in swarms. Already there have been three. That's almost as many drunk white men I've encountered in one sitting.
Being one of the insects that have a strange appearance, it's about time to start disliking something else. Thin stick legs; large eyes with a dot in the centre; what appear to be mandibles; jagged claw appendages thingamajinga--which folds backwards giving the impression of a serrated cutting process to follow.
This must be the season as they come in swarms. Already there have been three. That's almost as many drunk white men I've encountered in one sitting.
Saturday, 29 March 2008
Stranger things have happened
I was just standing there, in a pub, Friday night, with a pint in one hand and no excuse in the other as to why I'm at a farewell of people I haven't even met until this night. I don't ask a lot of questions; not out loud at least.
The real reason was to have a drink and to watch and observe--people; to just lounge about, and get into the whole feel of this pub-going, crowd-gathering, glass-holding society. It was sick, cultural, unnerving, colourful, fun and beautiful, all at once--like a poem. Or a pub.
The more real reason is so that I can write you more amusing and anecdotal entries while laying in this uncomfortable sit-up position, in the dark listening to Travis - The Man Who album, not being able to catch a break from trouble sleeping. Don't you dare ask me for pictures in this dark heap of madness and questionable taste!
A welsh man of a tall and sizable nature came up to (the four of) us earlier. Initially, Doreen was caught by surprise by this man standing 1-2 feet to the side of her, body tilted slightly (head likewise) at her direction. Puzzling was this as no one knew why this man stood there till he explained in a faintly tipsy manner that he was looking for a friend. I surmised this by the size of his opened eyes and a smile that seems to follow every cheerful disposition to drinking aplenty.
All I know is that either these girls have this happen to them every weekend or never have this happen at all. This is evident (but not evident enough for me to draw a conclusion) by the way Doreen said "Okeyyyy.." It was in a disbelieving indifferent tone. I received this treatment before as an experience to make a guess. It's rude and sometimes amusing from both perspectives.
Welsh Man walks up between me and John, puts his arms on our shoulders muttering something facing John while Doreen and Maria watched. John asks "Having a good night?" to a yes sort of answer. Following this he turns his head to me and I'm smiling in an approving/agreeable manner while the two girls continue watching. Yes Giant, gooooddd Giant. I'm wondering what the Giant really wants aside from conversation. He looks back at John saying something else and the two girls are just standing there waiting for the next thing to happen. It felt like tennis and the Giant was that man that sits in the middle watching the ball from court to court and the girls were making it more so by being the spectators.
And sure enough, he turns to my direction again. Having had enough of this, I smile ear to ear and utter "I don't have anything to say..." I think everyone found that funny except the Welsh Man, who said "I can sense the doubt in me, here." Of course, seeing that no one wanted to entertain the guy, I stepped in and made conversation. I was hoping someone else would pick up the slack--that usually happens.
How I came to know he was Welsh and looking for his friend (Steve) is another story. The truth is I don't even think he was looking for his friend. Steve is quite a general name. He had a drunk pasted face just standing there. You know, the kind that just looks superimposed and has little expression by how little it changes.
He wasn't the first one, tonight. The moment I stepped out of the car, "There you go..." I was greeted drunkenly on the street outside another pub, waving. I wave back, with that stupid puzzled look on my face as before in the Welsh Man chronicle. I hear a muffled "High Five" and turn to see that he wants a high five now, and so I gave him one. That high five changed into some weird hand shake with the twisting and gripping and [you name it]!! Fuck this I thought, breaking the handshake in a surrendering look hoping that he would take that as me being done on my half; I even threw in a friendly wave and smile at the end.
Right in front of where we parked, a pub, with a high five-ing white guy with the famous drink-in-hand look that I seem to carry everywhere I go being turned against me. A conspiracy, damn you! I don't know anymore. I can't even guess on whether he was making fun of me or drunk or both.
"Would anything happen to our car contingent of how I shook his hand?"
"Did I do it right?"
"Was he going to thrash our car because of my mistaken secret Aoteroa handshake?"
"I should have done it better and now it's too late!"
I was nervous. Drunk people can do anything, and usually will. The thought of coming back to windowless car. I felt, at this point, the feeling that people usually have after an exam paper they were under prepared for--that only the results will tell and nothing you do will ever change the mark handed to you.
The real reason was to have a drink and to watch and observe--people; to just lounge about, and get into the whole feel of this pub-going, crowd-gathering, glass-holding society. It was sick, cultural, unnerving, colourful, fun and beautiful, all at once--like a poem. Or a pub.
The more real reason is so that I can write you more amusing and anecdotal entries while laying in this uncomfortable sit-up position, in the dark listening to Travis - The Man Who album, not being able to catch a break from trouble sleeping. Don't you dare ask me for pictures in this dark heap of madness and questionable taste!
A welsh man of a tall and sizable nature came up to (the four of) us earlier. Initially, Doreen was caught by surprise by this man standing 1-2 feet to the side of her, body tilted slightly (head likewise) at her direction. Puzzling was this as no one knew why this man stood there till he explained in a faintly tipsy manner that he was looking for a friend. I surmised this by the size of his opened eyes and a smile that seems to follow every cheerful disposition to drinking aplenty.
All I know is that either these girls have this happen to them every weekend or never have this happen at all. This is evident (but not evident enough for me to draw a conclusion) by the way Doreen said "Okeyyyy.." It was in a disbelieving indifferent tone. I received this treatment before as an experience to make a guess. It's rude and sometimes amusing from both perspectives.
Welsh Man walks up between me and John, puts his arms on our shoulders muttering something facing John while Doreen and Maria watched. John asks "Having a good night?" to a yes sort of answer. Following this he turns his head to me and I'm smiling in an approving/agreeable manner while the two girls continue watching. Yes Giant, gooooddd Giant. I'm wondering what the Giant really wants aside from conversation. He looks back at John saying something else and the two girls are just standing there waiting for the next thing to happen. It felt like tennis and the Giant was that man that sits in the middle watching the ball from court to court and the girls were making it more so by being the spectators.
And sure enough, he turns to my direction again. Having had enough of this, I smile ear to ear and utter "I don't have anything to say..." I think everyone found that funny except the Welsh Man, who said "I can sense the doubt in me, here." Of course, seeing that no one wanted to entertain the guy, I stepped in and made conversation. I was hoping someone else would pick up the slack--that usually happens.
How I came to know he was Welsh and looking for his friend (Steve) is another story. The truth is I don't even think he was looking for his friend. Steve is quite a general name. He had a drunk pasted face just standing there. You know, the kind that just looks superimposed and has little expression by how little it changes.
He wasn't the first one, tonight. The moment I stepped out of the car, "There you go..." I was greeted drunkenly on the street outside another pub, waving. I wave back, with that stupid puzzled look on my face as before in the Welsh Man chronicle. I hear a muffled "High Five" and turn to see that he wants a high five now, and so I gave him one. That high five changed into some weird hand shake with the twisting and gripping and [you name it]!! Fuck this I thought, breaking the handshake in a surrendering look hoping that he would take that as me being done on my half; I even threw in a friendly wave and smile at the end.
Right in front of where we parked, a pub, with a high five-ing white guy with the famous drink-in-hand look that I seem to carry everywhere I go being turned against me. A conspiracy, damn you! I don't know anymore. I can't even guess on whether he was making fun of me or drunk or both.
"Would anything happen to our car contingent of how I shook his hand?"
"Did I do it right?"
"Was he going to thrash our car because of my mistaken secret Aoteroa handshake?"
"I should have done it better and now it's too late!"
I was nervous. Drunk people can do anything, and usually will. The thought of coming back to windowless car. I felt, at this point, the feeling that people usually have after an exam paper they were under prepared for--that only the results will tell and nothing you do will ever change the mark handed to you.
Thursday, 27 March 2008
Fetch
I saw footage of a dog owner who trained her doggy to fetch her a cold beer from the fridge. The only flaw is that the fridge door remains open. It's not a novel idea but it's the first time I've seen it--Impressive.
Sunday, 23 March 2008
That's Animal Planet for you
A mother wolf carries a pup in its mouth. The pup is dead. She takes her pup into the bush and starts eating it. She didn't kill the pup for it died of starvation. Another pup comes along, also suffering from starvation. It needs to eat, so the mother wolf regurgitates its dead brother for the pup to feed on.
I'm watching Animal Planet. It's depressive sometimes.
I'm watching Animal Planet. It's depressive sometimes.
Saturday, 22 March 2008
Weather
Most nights, you cannot see a cloud in sight. Stars everywhere, moon in clear view, moonlight on everything. The clouds you see at night are illuminated by the moon. Something about it that will tell you that you're not in Kansas anymore, except that it's Kansas was KL.
When it rains here, you will hardly hear thunder. That's not how it goes down here, for some geographical reason. I should be researching the reason why this is for you, but not this time.
When it rains here, you will hardly hear thunder. That's not how it goes down here, for some geographical reason. I should be researching the reason why this is for you, but not this time.
Monday, 17 March 2008
An exercise in self-amusement
The theme was "white," in that you had to wear white to this birthday party. The big 3-0 of Lawrence (Malaysian). Lawrence is an old friend of my brother. He was here since the last time I was here: 4 years or more ago. He'd used to come over to play mahjong with his girlfriend Susan. He doesn't anymore.
We were headed to Galatos. Galatos is a bar/club place off K. Road. It consisted of a stage and tables downstairs and another hall upstairs overviewing the stage and tables below. We were the upstairs party.
The area upstairs is a very dimly-lit, large living room-esque hall with a bar in the corner and three large couches with a big coffee table in the centre. Hanging above were those blue lights that make your white shirts glow and occasionally your teeth, too. My teeth didn't.
An hour in to the party and I haven't seen anyone I knew. It took a good two hours for someone I recognised to arrive. By this time I was immensely bored, but that's how I get everywhere I go, so I just go with it--and two hours is a long time, dear.
In the time which I was waiting, I managed to make friends, though not many, but that's because I never know if I'm ever going to see the person I meet ever again. In retrospect, it is probably why I don't remember names of many people. Note to self: Remember more names. Of many people.
I met this couple: Peter (Chinese) and girlfriend (Chinese). It appears that Peter didn't know anyone else except Lawrence at this party. Had I not said hello and introduced myself, they would have been sitting next to me for hours staring at glowing white shirts all over. Ghosts! However, sadly to say, I was getting tired of the icebreaker conversation and left to the bathroom to reposition myself somewhere else--I did feel guilty leaving him there, though that changes nothing.
I also met a Gavin, an engineer who works with Ivy. First: Ivy was a girl that shared the birthday with Lawrence. They had decided to celebrate their birthdays together; which should explain to you by now that when we arrived, the place was full of her friends. It was 20 to 4 to Ivy's advantage. And so I recognised no one.
Gavin (Malaysian) is a chatty person. This amused me somewhat because we would have an amusing conversation later.
Gavin was a thin guy, a head taller than I am, speaks with a bit of an accent because I could see through the accent to the broken English beneath. Through my observations, Asians add "Eh/Aye?" behind their sentences a lot here to blend in. Gavin was no exception. You understand this to be an impersonation, aye? If you're trying to pronounce it, then it's a slightly elongated "A." If you say the first alphabet at the end of every question, then you've got it, eh.
Later: I think I made Gavin start smoking again. I say this only because he mentioned that he had quit. Cigarettes are expensive here, which leads me to think that you should never pass them up. I only offered, and did no convincing. Marlboro lights. His face lit up with a bit of hesitation--as if he was thinking "oh wait.. I quit, so that means I shouldn't....."
Over a few cigarettes, Gavin would offer me advice on looking for work here in Auckland. He seemed to disfavour Hayes (a recruitment agency) a whole deal; he kept saying to be careful of these agencies with negative overtones.
Aside from the warning above, he went on about how people think it's good to work here but there's discrimination and from his experience, YOU'RE SHIT. He would then follow it up with another statement only to end up with "You're Shit!" once again. He did this maybe 2-3 more times. To me, it had appeared as though he had been burnt a few times in terms of work.
I gather that he was quite adamant about not liking Auckland or the work in Auckland by how fervently he said "You're shit!" It didn't lack conviction at all, as though he really knew that I was shit by how fast he said it. I was convinced. I was considering diving into the toilet and embarking on my journey to the motherland when he stopped and changed the topic.
"Oh but the weed here is awesome, eh?" My eyes lit up now, but there was hesitation, as though I was thinking "Oh wait... I quit, so that means I shouldn't..." And so I held my silence.
This guy was exclaiming to me (and the sidewalk of half a dozen people) of his one and only experience and how he didn't take that much and was so fuccccckeeed up. If he only knew who he was talking to. According to him, you have to know some kiwi people to get really hooked up with the cannabis scene. I don't think it's that hard, really.
Then he shifted back abruptly to talking about looking for work. But seriously work this work that... Maybe he figured I was on to his over enthusiastic pot experience.
Pearson and Kwang Ming were at the party. Some of you might remember them. They were in the same secondary school as I was. By this time, Pierson had already adjusted to his Kiwi accent. This is where you add "bro" to the end of your statements, bro. Kwang Ming, however still sounds pretty much the same. Kwang Ming is continuing his studies here in business. I didn't get to find out what Pearson was doing here aside from drinking profusely. At one point, he took off his tshirt, but I have no idea what for--he might have been warm due to drinking or was duped into doing it by his elder brother Bronson. Bronson is also an old friend of my brother's, here since four years or so ago.
So Kwang Ming says: Let's go for a smoke. I just had one. He insisted. Five minutes later a bunch of us were heading to some other club or bar to meet some Brazilian girls. I didn't understand how one can end up deviating from just a cigarette to walking towards the main road in search of exotic girls. But these were Audrey's friends and I had no expectations of what was to come.
"Just go!"
"Just come!"
"What? Is this a strip club or what?"
"When you don't know, all the more reason to tag along!"
In case you have yet to learn this: that last quote is usually a surefire recipe for disaster, injury and/or prison-time. I yielded all the way up to the crosswalk and went back to the bar. What a waste of time.
That's about all of Saturday night--there's actually more but it's just meeting people and the like. I didn't get to play cards but the people play for $5 a buy-in so I'd rather do something else. And so we drank gin tonics and did tequila shots and beer amidst ghosts in white. That's about it. I'd have pictures but Audrey has all of them. I'll find them eventually.
We were headed to Galatos. Galatos is a bar/club place off K. Road. It consisted of a stage and tables downstairs and another hall upstairs overviewing the stage and tables below. We were the upstairs party.
The area upstairs is a very dimly-lit, large living room-esque hall with a bar in the corner and three large couches with a big coffee table in the centre. Hanging above were those blue lights that make your white shirts glow and occasionally your teeth, too. My teeth didn't.
An hour in to the party and I haven't seen anyone I knew. It took a good two hours for someone I recognised to arrive. By this time I was immensely bored, but that's how I get everywhere I go, so I just go with it--and two hours is a long time, dear.
In the time which I was waiting, I managed to make friends, though not many, but that's because I never know if I'm ever going to see the person I meet ever again. In retrospect, it is probably why I don't remember names of many people. Note to self: Remember more names. Of many people.
I met this couple: Peter (Chinese) and girlfriend (Chinese). It appears that Peter didn't know anyone else except Lawrence at this party. Had I not said hello and introduced myself, they would have been sitting next to me for hours staring at glowing white shirts all over. Ghosts! However, sadly to say, I was getting tired of the icebreaker conversation and left to the bathroom to reposition myself somewhere else--I did feel guilty leaving him there, though that changes nothing.
I also met a Gavin, an engineer who works with Ivy. First: Ivy was a girl that shared the birthday with Lawrence. They had decided to celebrate their birthdays together; which should explain to you by now that when we arrived, the place was full of her friends. It was 20 to 4 to Ivy's advantage. And so I recognised no one.
Gavin (Malaysian) is a chatty person. This amused me somewhat because we would have an amusing conversation later.
Gavin was a thin guy, a head taller than I am, speaks with a bit of an accent because I could see through the accent to the broken English beneath. Through my observations, Asians add "Eh/Aye?" behind their sentences a lot here to blend in. Gavin was no exception. You understand this to be an impersonation, aye? If you're trying to pronounce it, then it's a slightly elongated "A." If you say the first alphabet at the end of every question, then you've got it, eh.
Later: I think I made Gavin start smoking again. I say this only because he mentioned that he had quit. Cigarettes are expensive here, which leads me to think that you should never pass them up. I only offered, and did no convincing. Marlboro lights. His face lit up with a bit of hesitation--as if he was thinking "oh wait.. I quit, so that means I shouldn't....."
Over a few cigarettes, Gavin would offer me advice on looking for work here in Auckland. He seemed to disfavour Hayes (a recruitment agency) a whole deal; he kept saying to be careful of these agencies with negative overtones.
Aside from the warning above, he went on about how people think it's good to work here but there's discrimination and from his experience, YOU'RE SHIT. He would then follow it up with another statement only to end up with "You're Shit!" once again. He did this maybe 2-3 more times. To me, it had appeared as though he had been burnt a few times in terms of work.
I gather that he was quite adamant about not liking Auckland or the work in Auckland by how fervently he said "You're shit!" It didn't lack conviction at all, as though he really knew that I was shit by how fast he said it. I was convinced. I was considering diving into the toilet and embarking on my journey to the motherland when he stopped and changed the topic.
"Oh but the weed here is awesome, eh?" My eyes lit up now, but there was hesitation, as though I was thinking "Oh wait... I quit, so that means I shouldn't..." And so I held my silence.
This guy was exclaiming to me (and the sidewalk of half a dozen people) of his one and only experience and how he didn't take that much and was so fuccccckeeed up. If he only knew who he was talking to. According to him, you have to know some kiwi people to get really hooked up with the cannabis scene. I don't think it's that hard, really.
Then he shifted back abruptly to talking about looking for work. But seriously work this work that... Maybe he figured I was on to his over enthusiastic pot experience.
Pearson and Kwang Ming were at the party. Some of you might remember them. They were in the same secondary school as I was. By this time, Pierson had already adjusted to his Kiwi accent. This is where you add "bro" to the end of your statements, bro. Kwang Ming, however still sounds pretty much the same. Kwang Ming is continuing his studies here in business. I didn't get to find out what Pearson was doing here aside from drinking profusely. At one point, he took off his tshirt, but I have no idea what for--he might have been warm due to drinking or was duped into doing it by his elder brother Bronson. Bronson is also an old friend of my brother's, here since four years or so ago.
So Kwang Ming says: Let's go for a smoke. I just had one. He insisted. Five minutes later a bunch of us were heading to some other club or bar to meet some Brazilian girls. I didn't understand how one can end up deviating from just a cigarette to walking towards the main road in search of exotic girls. But these were Audrey's friends and I had no expectations of what was to come.
"Just go!"
"Just come!"
"What? Is this a strip club or what?"
"When you don't know, all the more reason to tag along!"
In case you have yet to learn this: that last quote is usually a surefire recipe for disaster, injury and/or prison-time. I yielded all the way up to the crosswalk and went back to the bar. What a waste of time.
That's about all of Saturday night--there's actually more but it's just meeting people and the like. I didn't get to play cards but the people play for $5 a buy-in so I'd rather do something else. And so we drank gin tonics and did tequila shots and beer amidst ghosts in white. That's about it. I'd have pictures but Audrey has all of them. I'll find them eventually.
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
Bad Dream
So I started by taking the toilet brush. This was one of those special toilet brushes; the kinds that looked like a tooth brush with bristles on the back.
I flush the toilet and start scrubbing the bowl down. It was filthy with residual crap all over. I remember the filth spreading from bowl to seat.
I think I finished cleaning around late 5am, which was when I woke up. This was a dream. I think I have mental health issues.
I flush the toilet and start scrubbing the bowl down. It was filthy with residual crap all over. I remember the filth spreading from bowl to seat.
I think I finished cleaning around late 5am, which was when I woke up. This was a dream. I think I have mental health issues.
Tuesday, 11 March 2008
Maybe tomorrow
I woke up today determined to stop cracking my fingers, knuckles, whatever. I didn't have a dream about it or anything. I just thought that I should stop. That's just how I roll: I decide things when I wake up.
I didn't. A few hours later, it happened--I cracked my fingers; shoulders, feet, neck and toes altogether.
I've heard from people--the same people that say a lot of things, for some reason--that cracking your fingers will eventually cause some form of difficulty for your fingered future(s)--something to do with pain or big joints.
I didn't. A few hours later, it happened--I cracked my fingers; shoulders, feet, neck and toes altogether.
I've heard from people--the same people that say a lot of things, for some reason--that cracking your fingers will eventually cause some form of difficulty for your fingered future(s)--something to do with pain or big joints.
Friday, 7 March 2008
Yata!!
I, appparently, look like Milo Ventimiglia of Heroes (Peter Petrelli). I don't see any resemblance except that I can absorb powers of others'.
Thursday, 6 March 2008
Wasps
I didn't know what day it was today. Apparently. I am two days behind, still stealing/borrowing bandwidth off the neighbour. with a head in the clouds and additional to disliking spiders, am more of hornets or possibly wasps.
They are nesting on my fence right outside my window--that can't be more than 12 feet from where i sleep. Have you ever seen a wasps' nest? Imagine hearing them zing over your head and not being able to spot them.
However, they've been taken care of. They are all dead now. Father took some insect spray to it. He was stung the other day. Your hand goes numb just from one sting. These suckers aren't too big--just about smaller than a little paper clip.
They are nesting on my fence right outside my window--that can't be more than 12 feet from where i sleep. Have you ever seen a wasps' nest? Imagine hearing them zing over your head and not being able to spot them.
However, they've been taken care of. They are all dead now. Father took some insect spray to it. He was stung the other day. Your hand goes numb just from one sting. These suckers aren't too big--just about smaller than a little paper clip.
Monday, 3 March 2008
Sleeping/Insects
One thing you'll need to get used to is the sound of the insects outside. In their full glory, these little suckers can go up to a distant power-tools decibel. Naturally, this is what you'll hear last before you sleep. Every night.
Sunday, 2 March 2008
Disney
The house played host to friends of the family today--Children aplenty. The TV was set to Disney for most of the day. This marks the end of all the interesting parts of the day. 3 meals, 3 cigarettes (maybe more) and a lot of TV.
Saturday, 1 March 2008
A family lived there! With children!
Gjin's neighbour's house is for sale and so we went to take a look. You would not believe the state of this place. The place was filthy inside and out.
Outside: damp mud and leaves lead in to the doorway.
Inside: the place reeked--smelling of dampness and mold. All sorts of household items lay over the floor, tables, mousetraps and spider webs. Imagine a whole family living here.
Pictures hung and pinned everywhere. Some self-made, and others: clippings from magazines. The tenants were out of town and left the light on to keep away thieves or robbers. You could leave the doors and windows open and no one would go into this place. I'm not even kidding you by exaggerating.
There was mold in the ceiling and the windows have been covered to avoid shame, perhaps. If you thought your room was messy and/or dirty, then I think YOU'RE just over-reacting. It creeps me out.
Outside: damp mud and leaves lead in to the doorway.
Inside: the place reeked--smelling of dampness and mold. All sorts of household items lay over the floor, tables, mousetraps and spider webs. Imagine a whole family living here.
Pictures hung and pinned everywhere. Some self-made, and others: clippings from magazines. The tenants were out of town and left the light on to keep away thieves or robbers. You could leave the doors and windows open and no one would go into this place. I'm not even kidding you by exaggerating.
There was mold in the ceiling and the windows have been covered to avoid shame, perhaps. If you thought your room was messy and/or dirty, then I think YOU'RE just over-reacting. It creeps me out.
Wednesday, 27 February 2008
Arrival/Customs Asshole
The only thing I bought from the duty free shops were a carton of cigarettes and a case of mini cigars--Davidoff: Exquisitos. They are nice. They cost RM94. For 10 of them--Expensive.
Fresh off the boat, looking for where to enter as a resident, I encountered this Customs Elderly White Lady. She was waving her walky-talky and confusing me. I must have hit her button when I asked her a question because she was very rude. She obviously needed to change her diaper.
What an asshole! It makes you feel like an idiot for approaching someone as politely as "Excuse me, ma'am."
Fresh off the boat, looking for where to enter as a resident, I encountered this Customs Elderly White Lady. She was waving her walky-talky and confusing me. I must have hit her button when I asked her a question because she was very rude. She obviously needed to change her diaper.
What an asshole! It makes you feel like an idiot for approaching someone as politely as "Excuse me, ma'am."
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