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.

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.

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.

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.

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'.

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.

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.

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."