heading home

I think that, under the heading "Friday night adventures," you might include the following.

The single's guide to perfectly playing a pair of jacks, even though they are certain the other guy has a pair of kings. With sub-headings of: "Metaphysical speculations upon proper pre-flop play." Or, "Why Tolstoy would have played that 3-9 off-suit." Or perhaps even, "What would Jesus do with a full-house."

These are, I suppose, but the inane offerings from the septic mind of a plumber.

Adieu.

P.S. As you seem to be somewhat disheartened, I offer perfunctorily this encouragement: Don't kill yourself. There is, at the very least, a family that holds you in high regard. Mine. (Yes, I know what 'perfunctorily' means. It was a joke.)

CARL? I am in no danger of killing myself. I'm actually quite enjoying my life. I disagreed with Johnson's negative comment. After looking back over some of the possible chapter headings, I see where you might get the idea I'm disheartened. However, most of the negative ones (Sunday afternoon, for example) are from years gone by in my single experience.

I'm thankful for the love of your family, though. Y'all are a blessing to me whenever I'm in contact with you. :-)

I don't play poker. Sorry, plumber, the closest I can come is rook, and I'm even rusty at that.

I say that we keep "step three" of last Friday night's adventure to ourselves. No need to embarrass ourselves anymore then we have to.

"I don't play poker."

My dearest Ms. K.,

For this you must be truly grateful. As one who finds himself consumed with a passion for "the Devil's game," if I may, I can assure you that your hours are far better spent in the recitation of poetry. And this, even though such prosody may be entirely prosaic, as it were. There is no vice that humanity should fold, so much as that proclivity towards cards. In this I speak not only about the game of poker; though surely that particular game has been the ruin of many a fine plumber.

One may compare it thus. Suppose that, in life, you are dealt a pair of Aces. "With the bullets," you think, "I shall be able to do marvelously." And well might you think so. But the truth of the matter is soon revealed. Some goober--the technical term, if I am not much mistaken--but some goober decides to stay in with four seven offsuit. You raise. He calls. The flop comes. And with no pun intended, it deals bountifully with you. Ace, five, six. You now have three aces. Since the cards before you are presented as a 'rainbow' (three different suits,) you raise.

Now it is at this point in my allegory that I must pause to remind you that we are emphatically against the 'Devil's game.' As I have said, you now have three of a kind. Because of this, you raise. Everyone but goober folds. The turn comes two of clubs. It is somewhat unnerving, of course, that there is a possible straight. But you disregard this, knowing that only a fool would have stayed in with two unsuited low cards.

Now comes the river, and it is an eight. Feeling confident that your three of a kind beats goober--you didn't make the full house you wanted; you raise. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to you, dear ol' goober has hit his straight and you lose.

Now, Ms. K. Do you not see how this proves beyond a reasonable doubt that poker, yea, even "Texas Hold'em," is from the pit? I daresay, and even dare to say that you, with all your Sophistry could not gainsay what I have written. You may try, of course. But I warn you, it is to no avail. For, as you leave the table empty-handed, having gone 'all-in,' you realize that the massive "bullets" were unable to profit you. You realize that you have wasted an entire weeks pay because some goober didn't know when to quit. You finally understand that low cards are sometimes good. And you finally recognize the good of small things.

But the learning is, for you, quite unfortunately mere academics. With rent to pay, and no money; with bills coming due, and no money; you do the only logical thing you can. You end your life.

Now this sad tale is what I had in mind when I wrote to you earlier; thinking, as well I might, that you were secretly addicted to poker and were intent on committing self-murder. I am pleased to understand, however, that this was not the case. And as such, I bid you goodnight.

Carl

Carl Joseph, stop using my comment section as a poker game story disguised as an allegory! :-) You are far too responsible to let that "losing your rent" situation happen to you. I might spend my living on riotous book-buying, but never on poker.

Grace, do you mean the step that involved standing out in the cold wrestling with a car gas cap, a strange buzzing noise, a girl with a bum leg, ten dollars, and a helpful gas station attendant? That situation?

Karyn,

You owe me one book before you every start this one. It has been almost three years since I walked acrosss that stage at Norhthland!! But when you get mine done I am sure this one will be a winner, as Grandma woudl say.

Karyn, So you've given up your poker days since your trip to Romania with the Whitely's when you and Phil got in trouble for teaching poker to the natives...Need I say more.