PlatKat.com

For someone who plays cards as much as I do (every hour that is not consumed by working or sleeping), I don’t blog about it often. Much like programming, hearing someone else talk about Texas Hold’em ad nauseum is kinda boring. So, I don’t want to post victorious hand histories or give detailed accounts of my game-crushing all-ins, but I will discuss highlights.

My weekend of tournaments started on Friday. I had qualified for a Party Poker Million V Cruise satellite. Unfortunately, there were not enough players in this satellite, so it became a cash tournament. This bothered me, but Gus told me to just do my best so I can win money and buy into the next full satellite directly.

Good logic, but I ended up busting out about halfway through the damn thing, losing with a king-high flush to an ace-high flush. What are the odds? Who cares. I lost.

Then I went on to play another qualifier (they’re very cheap) and a huge $30 buy-in tournament on Saturday. I placed 80th out of 900 in the latter and won a modest sum. The interesting thing about that experience is that two different people at different tables throughout the tournament felt the need to single me out and call me stupid regarding plays they didn’t like. I wasn’t surprised by their audacity—people will say just about anything behind the safety of their computer screen. I just thought it was funny that these two complete strangers thought it would be in some way helpful to criticize my game so vehemently, and then bust out before the payouts.

If my play is stupid, why would you want to tell me? When the L.A. Lakers play the Miami Heat, does Kobe lecture Shaq on how to improve his lay-up? No, because they’re opponents. Rather than wasting their time belittling each other, they focus their energy on out-playing each other.

In addition, why are these fabulous poker players/consultants entering cheap weekend online tournaments when the World Poker Tour is in full swing? Sick of all the fame and fortune of playing professionally? Or maybe they’re just poor, pathetic fucks with nothing better to do on a Saturday. Unless you’re Annie Duke, Phil Ivey, or a one of a small final table of my favorite professional players, you really have no business giving unsolicited advice.

On Sunday, I played a couple more tournaments. In my 3-table, $30 buy-in no-limit tournament, I was at a friendly, chatty table. Midway through the round, one of the players announced that she was “playing in disguise,” having chosen a male avatar even though she is female. She said she did that so guys would stay off her case. I remembered the name-calling from the day before and wondered how much that actually had to do with my being a woman. I doubt I took the criticisms any different than a man would have, and I’m still completely unclear as to the offender’s expected result.

Anyway, I won that tournament, which was nice. After all the big tournaments I had entered, it was like running a 5K after training for a marathon.

Still, I had a lingering problem. Lately I’ve been winning money in tournaments, but I’ve been losing money playing limit. I needed to work on playing a more sensible limit game. So I spent the remainder of last night hounding a $2/4 limit table. After a significant time investment, I came out ahead. This was good for my bankroll but even better for my ego… because when I’m on tilt, that’s what really takes a beating.

I think I’ve pontificated on poker enough for awhile… Hooray for Vikings and Monday morning bagels!

GIS for Viking

I’m sure your evening has been much more productive than mine. I know exactly what I should not be doing (although only a few of these come from direct experience), but it is much harder to determine the best way to spend the dwindling hours of my weekend. So it goes…

• Watching Cowboy Bebop
• Getting drunk at VXN
• Searching for the long-lost Creatress
• Throwing a tantrum in the middle of Wal-Mart
• Testing the load-bearing capacities of ceiling fixtures
• Pulling 20 shopping carts into See-What-Happens-Larry’s driveway
• Reading conspiracy theories about Party Poker while playing a tournament on Party Poker
• Running through the nearest movie theater wearing nothing but a werewolf mask
• Climbing onto the roof of a nursing home to practice my yodeling
• Tattooing an ostentatious, yet sophisticated moustache on my upper lip with a pen and a needle
• Experimenting with gaseous blends of Mexican food ingredients and dairy products
• Ordering a free information kit about the Ab-Doer
• Coaxing three dozen feral cats to jump off the Rengstorff bridge onto Highway 101 to see what percentage of them land on their feet
• Using computer imaging to see what I’d look like in a few years… if I were addicted to chrystal meth
• Teaching myself Latin
• Finding Elvis’s private island so I can kill him for real
• Applying for sales jobs at T-Mobile so I can be the first on my block to sport the phantom Sidekick III

After landing on just about every blog in the universe today, I see that this is the latest waste-your-time-while-your-friends-get-to-know-you-better Internet blast and I’m pretty bored. So here you go.

10 years ago
I was in high school. Short of the thought of blowing my own head off and ending it all, not much pleased me.

5 years ago
I was in college. I ditched the shitty job, possessive boyfriend, and lackluster school to move to Austin, Texas. It was five years ago to the week that I decided I would only spend time with people I liked and only do what made me happy. Seems simple enough, but I’ve found very few people who can follow this philosophy to the letter. The times I have done it, things have always gone right. These were probably the happiest months of my life.

1 year ago
I was working at a shit job with shit people. You know who you are. Around this time, I also adopted a dog named Zoey. I was living in a house with my current boyfriend Gus and going to Vegas every once in awhile.

yesterday
I got an excellent haircut, rollerbladed downtown, and had a nice dinner with friends.

tomorrow
I’m going to run and lift weights at the gym, and probably play cards for the rest of the day.

5 snacks I enjoy
Ben & Jerry’s Fudge Brownie
Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia
Chocolate covered pretzels
Starburst jelly beans
Cherries and gouda

5 bands/artists that I know the lyrics to most of their songs
Bjork
Pink Floyd
Radiohead
REM
Belly

5 things I would do with $100,000,000
Buy a plane
Travel
Open my own restaurant
Donate to women’s shelters
Update my wardrobe

5 locations I would like to run away to
My house
Aunt Carol’s house
Jim’s house
Australia
Fiji

5 bad habits I have
Blowing my nose too loud
Getting distracted
Drinking like a sailor
Cursing like a sailor
Sailing

5 things I like doing
Hanging out with Gus
Walking my dog
Washing my car
Playing cards
Writing meaningless drivel for friends and onlookers to enjoy

5 things I will never wear
A burqua
A clown suit
Stilts
A shirt with my name on it
War paint

5 TV shows I like(d)
Daria
Futurama
Mr. Show
The Brak Show
Strangers with Candy

5 movies I like
The Wizard of Oz
The Cell
Brain Candy
The Langoliers
Saw

5 people I’d like to meet (alive or dead)
Annie Duke
George W. Bush
Anna Quindlen
Buddha
My maker

5 biggest joys at the moment
Poker
Running
Rollerblading
Day trips
Yakkin’

5 favorite toys
Sidekick II
Computer
Rollerblades
Gameboy Advance SP
Chinese good luck kitty

Well, if you managed to get all the way to the end of this boring-as-hell survey, my hat’s off to you. If I wore hats. Which I don’t.

“If a homeless person has a funny sign, he hasn’t been homeless that long. A real homeless person is too hungry to be funny.” -Chris Rock

I started this morning off right with my usual trip to the gym and nice haircut at Solstice Salon. When I called yesterday, one of the stylists answered and offered to do my hair at 8 even though the salon doesn’t open until 9.

He did a did a really good job (pic below) and he was fast. I like getting my hair done and everything, but some stylists take a ridiculously long time and don’t even deliver the best cut and style. I told the guy what I wanted and he gave it to me. Every purchase should be so easy!

Our conversation was also pleasant–not too personal, but not too superficial. I hate being asked the same question three times in the same visit (yes, that has actually happened to me… “Are you in school? What’s your major?”). And I also don’t like feeling like I have to bear my soul, or listen to my stylist bear theirs. This was just the right amount of friendly exchange between strangers.

This guy has obviously been doing this his whole life. Next to the numerous image-altering visits to my girl in Austin, this was one of the most satisfying hair experiences I’ve ever had. The cut was a little pricier than I would have liked, but as with almost every aspect of my life, I’m happy to spend a little more money for a little less bullshit.

This picture was taken at 8:45 in the morning. Despite my early jaunts to the gym, I am not a morning person. Very few people have made me smile this wide before noon, and they weren’t cutting my hair.

Building 6 is a huge, sprawling, 1-floor building in the center of our campus and that’s where all the other writers and many of my engineers sit. There are sections, thru-ways, crevices, and passages to nowhere. Building 6 is a giant maze, and it’s an adventure every time I visit.

Although I lack a giant pink bow, I am the ultimate anthropomorphic Miss PacMan. I start my journey through Building 6 at a healthy speed… feelin’ good, eatin’ some dots. I hang a right, then a left, and I’m in John’s cube. He gives me a donut. 300 points!

Then, because it’s Tuesday, there’s fruit strategically placed throughout my course, so I grab an apple (200 points!) and some grapes (500 points!) and then head over to Carol’s cube. Before I make it there, I hit one wall and have to back-track, and then I accidentally get stuck in a crevice with nothing but a printer and some garbage cans to fend off the four ghosts that are totally closing in on my ass.

Luckily, I make it out alive and run like hell to Carol’s cube. She gives me a piece of cake (300 points!) and then Tracy gives me a power pill so all the ghosts would turn blue and run away. We talk about some new features for a little bit, but then I tell them I’ve gotta split because the ghosts are about to change colors and eat me.

I head toward the exit but stop short and walk into a dead-end by mistake. The ghosts start blinking and I say “crap.” I get back on the main path and finish eating all of my dots, finding another power pill at the end, just as I’m about to exit the maze and finish the level. I didn’t kill any ghosts, but I got some tasty grub so I’ll be ready to kick some ass in the next maze.

“Video games don’t affect kids. If Pac-Man affected us as kids we’d all be walking around in dark rooms eating magic pills while listening to repetitive electronic music.” -Karen Price, Nintendo Representative

After spending a pleasant morning at the gym and a lucrative early afternoon playing cards, I thought, Hey, I haven’t had a suicidal thought in nearly a week now. I should really go to Wal-Mart.

I had been meaning to go to Wal-Mart for awhile. Right before I determined that Zoey was an intolerable nuisance and needed to go back to Austin, I bought a 20 lb bag of dog food for her. I didn’t feel like having it around anymore, but I did feel like spending the 13 or so dollars that it cost. So, I stuck it in the Building E shopping cart long ago stolen from the nearby Albertson’s (it’s my store indeed; the shopping carts are at my disposal), and pushed the wobbly-wheeled cart down Showers Drive across the California Street afternoon traffic. I’m sure I made all kinds of friends.

As I weaved through cars and pedestrians, I passed the Goodwill donations truck in an adjacent lot. This made me remember that I still need to donate my old PC. In fact, if I’d had my old PC in tow along with my return merchandise, I would have looked 20% less ghetto. That’s quite a deal when you have mainstream ghetto people eyeballing you as you push your wobbly shopping cart down the bike lane of a busy street.

Sho’ nuff, I was greeted with a huge line for the Customer Service desk at Wal-Mart. I patiently waited behind my comparatively large Albertson’s cart. When I got to the desk, the CSR was quite friendly, asking if the food was stale. I politely informed her that I do not eat dog food, therefore I am not exactly sure why my dog would not consume the product. She and several people nearby (at Wal-Mart, there is never a shortage of people just standing around) laughed disturbingly hard and I got my money back.

I almost spent it all on a pair of off-brand shoes with velcro straps, fondly remembering a friend’s pointless, nonsensical rant about buying some $9 shoes at Wal-Mart and basking in my slovenly submediocrity. But then I decided that orange-colored drinks and gummy candy were more practical purchases. Those shoes were pretty friggin’ sweet though.

Yesterday evening, I arrived at my front door, which bore the message “NOBODY LIVES HERE”. That confused me for a second. I checked the number on the door. It said “148″ and I pondered that for awhile. Yeah, I was pretty sure someone lived there, and that someone was me.

Upon closer examination, I found some tiny writing underneath the message that stated, “…by that name.” And it was written on the back of a UPS packing slip. So Bill probably posted it there regarding a misdirected package. Move along, nothing to see here, folks.

But it was nice to have a chance to question my own existence before continuing my daily activities.

1. I often do GIS (Google Image Searches) throughout my day for various reasons and in my searches, I found Pet Portraits. Simply landing here means nothing, but since I amused myself with such idle cuteness between editing projects for such a prolonged amount of time, I have truly sickened even myself. After work, I’ll be at the bar drinking aged scotch straight from the bottle and picking up a few hookers to preserve my usual psuedo-manly persona.

Just kidding… about the hookers.

2. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Fashion is so stupid. Every jacket/blazer that has a chance of covering my freakishly long torso without looking like one of those dumpy 80s rejects also has three-quarter cut sleeves. What the HELL? I’ve got long skinny arms and they get cold! I can’t be walking around with inferior sleeve coverage. I’m told it’s the “style,” but it looks more like someone was just skimping on fabric and making it even more impossible for tall women to find well-fitting clothes.

3. One night my roommate came home when I was asleep. She didn’t know I was there, so she started playing with her dog. “WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE WOOGIE!” her high-pitched squeal echoed. Eventually she realized I was home and stopped. The next morning, she apologized and I said, “Don’t be sorry… that shit was funny!”

Good news: Æon Flux is going to be a full-length feature film!

Bad news: Charlize Theron is the title character, mucking it up with her stupid costume changes and wimpy neck injuries. Æon Flux is supposed to wear a black vinyl bikini and be tough enough to kill everyone… while suspended in midair. Where’s Rose McGowan when you need her?