Finally a Monopoly Everyone Can Love

I'm starting to regret that I missed out on the Google IPO. I've been a loyal customer of theirs since before it was cool, and am increasingly impressed by the quality of their software and search offerings. It's only going to get better.

It's now becoming obvious that the Big G (no, not that one) has its sights set past the mere cataloging, digestion, and distribution of all of humanity's information. Now they're in position to be a leader in content creation, and I can't wait to see it happen.

I'm in the process of enslaving the half dozen or so email accounts I have to Gmail, which is so vastly superior in terms of usefulness and design elegance that I need not even bother going into it here. I'm waiting for a Google Calendar, which will let me publish (public) appointments from anywhere as well as singly add them from any website dealing with time-sensitive content (that is, everything from court summonses to TV shows). But that's only the half of it. Since it's not MS proprietary, it can be shared with anyone whom I trust to see it, and will probably allow different permissions for different times of day, different people, and common trust levels based on how well they know people I know well.

If this sounds like rambling, it's because I'm overwhelmed by the potential that the new Google/Sun deal brings to the office sphere. Finally, we'll have (for the very reasonable price of free) what MS Office has been trying to do for the better part of a decade: seamless interaction with other users, the internet, etc. Massively distributed editing, immediate publication, and, of course, the ability to search every sentence ever written by anyone from now on.

Now, of course, privacy advocates will whine about how, if they could only go on using typewriters, no one would be able to see what they were up to. Certainly there will be at least as many concerns as there are over the gmail searching (I for one support it as long as it's done in a way that benefits me, rather than overwhelms me with useless information. Google is currently the only entity I trust to limit itself to reasonable profitable usage of my information, and I would much rather see them as a leader in how to do it right than have them cringe under privacy advocates' sensibilities).

I think what the privacy people fear most is that no one cares what they think they know or have to say. Most of history's greatest thinkers were among its most open (and thus vulnerable) people; you almost have to pity the people who hide from this kind of information.

In any event, the infomation age is upon us. While some will say that it's been here for at least ten years, I'm going to mark the launch of google SMS as something of a turning point. Now, any moron with a cell phone, a thumb, and a dime can access any text information they need from the most reliable source of all things reliable. That's not even touching the potential of real-time google map-based navigation devices, or linux-based, $100 laptops running nothing but Firefox with a few choice extensions capable of blowing away office & windows-based systems. We're way past the point where new features in office are of use to most people; every new capability they tack on serves to cover up three that were almost debugged to begin with.

I'm more than a little perturbed by some publishers' reaction to the Google Print project, which aims to scan every book ever published and make exerpts and ISBN information available online. It has the potential to save thousands of out-of-print (such a quaint expression) titles from obscurity, and make billions of dollars for copyright holders of unpopular books. I don't remember which site I read this on, but one publisher, when asked why Google's generous offer to leave out any publisher who wanted to opt out (despite a more than legitamate fair use claim) said something along the lines of, "We have no idea what books we may have published or have a legitimate claim on." So, at present, they stand to make all of no money from those works, whereas, with cheap print-on-demand and ebook readers in every cell phone and PDA (except mine), they stand to be dripping in caviar. People like that need to be expunged from the planet for the good of humanity; if you stand in the way of education, especially when it's on the verge of being universally, freely, globally, and instantaneously available, I have no use for you.

I won't speculate on the future of Google Video, which looks like it may have further to go, but I'd keep an eye on it if I were you. All they need to do is cross-reference scripts with TV shows, put bookmarks corresponding with keypoints in the script (or better yet, allow users to do it for them), and basically all of television and film can be indexed and catagorized as easily as print news is today.

Information wants to be free. I want to be free. I want to be informed. I also want to have as much distance as possible between me and those that don't. Unless they're playing poker.

Don't Ask

On the Effects of Zoloft Withdrawl on Poker, Dancing

I'd forgotten just how much more personality I have when I'm not medicated. Maybe personality isn't the right word, but anyway, those of you who have known me on and off the stuff will catch my drift, or not.

As it turns out, the SSRIs tend to chop both the highs and lows off my experiences, so when I'm on the stuff, I don't feel bad as easily, but I don't have as much fun. (Still bipolar, but with a shorter pole). Anyway, I ran out of it on Friday, but still managed to have an interesting weekend.

Friday night I played (guess...) poker at a the kickoff tournament at Tam O' Shanter (which we decided was Irish for bucket o' chicken wing bones). It wasn't pretty. Not only did I lose in a depressingly unspectacular fashion, I had a dinner/bar tab of like $25 before the tip. At this point I decided that I couldn't afford to play for free anymore.

So, naturally, I went back to the Midnight Rose on Saturday to reclaim the money I lost last week. I bought in for $50, won my way up to $115, lost my way back to $51, and decided it was time to go home. I haven't decided how to spend my dollar yet, but I'm working on it.

It seems like the trick is to leave before I start losing. That's the second week in a row I've doubled my money in five hours and then nosedived (nosedove?). A player sitting next to me said that she'd never seen anyone leave that table with more than $100, which I can believe, although I'm convinced it can be done. All in all, I spent nine hours there earning my dollar, but if I'd left after doubling up (or at least switched tables) I'd be much better off. Not a bad way to spend a Saturday, though.

Then Sunday I lost at On the Rocks, then went to Fat Jack's and won 3rd, for a $10 bar tab. Last night I went back to On the Rocks for another Benchmark tournament, and won second, which is my best so far in that league. That was worth another $15, but that's only because On the Rocks has the lamest prizes. The cool thing was that I got about another 600 points for my trouble, which should take me from 29th to about 19th in the league. The top 132 players make the semifinals, so I'm probably safe for now as far as that league is concerned. It was an awesome game, especially for the winner, who came back from a thousand chips and won all $50,000 of them. I lost on pocket Aces (again) on the hand before I'd have had to go all-in blind. I had about $7000 at stake, and he was sitting behind the other $43000, so he called me with his 7-3 off-suit. The jerk had the nerve to turn that hand into trip 7's, but I can't fault him for that.

I've negotiated a workout regimen with my landlord/roommate/personal trainer/nutritionist, so it looks like I'm gonna be in a world of hurt for a while, but in a good way. That should help with the seratonin and dopamine levels.

In between poker and poker, I had a ball dancing. It seems like the devil's showroom for Faustian bargains over there. Maybe that's just because the pickings are somewhat slim on the poker front; the only way to get one of the pretty girls is to win her off her boyfriend.

I'm feeling unpatriotic having not served even one measly tour in Iraq, and get another pang of guilt every time I take chips from another veteran. It looks like the Iraq alums are readjusting better than the Vietnam vets, although my sample space is of course limited. I got to listen to a heated discussion on whether it was hotter in Falluja or Al-Asad, but in any case, at 120 F +, it's easy to understand why so many of them are eager to come home to Colorado.

On the skirt-chasing front I seem to have moved beyond getting fake numbers; now they're giving names that just don't seem to add up. I've met a girl named Jerica, one named Spider, a Gloriana, and one named Teen (I even had her spell it for me).

Anyway, I'm keeping busy, so that's something. I've gotta go put air in my bicycle tires, but I remembered that my roomie has a compressor, so that should make short work of it.

Nothing Says Tornado Safety Like a Double-wide

It must come as a great relief to the evacuees to know that, after seeing their cities obliterated by a Hurculean hurricane that they're getting an all-expenses-paid ticket to live in the largest trailer park ever conceived. Kinda makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I wonder if it'd be cheaper for the government to simply draft everybody that stays behind. Since they declared martial law in New Orleans, technically the military is in charge. Anyone who thinks he or she is tough enough to stay behind should be put to work immediately cleaning up wreckage on the GI Bill, or shipped off to somewhere where tough people are needed. I'm still waiting to hear about somebody looking back and turning into a pillar of salt.

The best solution I can think of is to let New Orleans flood again, then pour a megaton of cement mix into the water. Presto, instant land reclamation.

I've Discovered How to Fix Social Security.

All you have to do is forbid anyone over 55 from entering a casino.

I guess I should back up a little bit. I took Wednesday off from playing poker, and then made an unspectacular showing on Thursday night at Sticks. On Friday, though, I took third place, which was worth $15 in food and stuff (woohoo), and not a moment too soon, b/c I'd spent all of the $60 I won there two weeks before.

On Saturday, the weather was gorgeous, so I went to check out Garden of the Gods park. There were really big rocks, as promised, and I had a great time driving through there, and even hiked a little bit (maybe a half a mile total; the rocks weren't close enough together to provide any shade). Then, it being so pretty and all, I went for a drive.

You're not going to believe this, but somehow I ended up at a Casino. Ok, so you'll probably believe that part, but the serendipity of the thing was uncanny. I was just cruising along these mountain roads, taking in the sun and wind and big rocks, and enjoying the absense of traffic, when I saw the sign for Cripple Creek (no relation to the crippled tribe of the same name). I recollected that there was an establishment there that claimed to have poker tables, and, seeing as how I'd been a good sixteen hours without playing, thought I'd stop by.

Sure enough, at about 9800 feet, right next to the DalaiLama's summer home, there's a whole mini-vegas thing. Whodathunk?

Anyway, I found the place I was looking for, called the Midnight Rose (not a rose in the place, by the way, especially by Pasadena standards). I was duly shown to the Poker Room, and allowed to purchase chips. This was a new thrill for me, but, what the hey. You've got to speculate in order to accumulate. I put up a sum that was modest by their standards, and played at the cheapest table.

Ten hours later, I had lost 75% of my initial buy-in, won it back and risen to 200%, then lost that, slowly and excrutiatingly. While not strictly profitable, at least I was losing much slower than the other people at the table. The game was limited, as opposed to no-limit, hold 'em, so that was an adjustment. Plus, nobody ever busted out and left, or the few who did were quickly replaced. The blind stayed the same all day, and the food and drinks were free...all in all, it's a setup I could get used to.

Anyway, it turns out I was probably the youngest person at the table, and I haven't felt so much animosity to previous generations since...well since the last time I thought about 20th century history, or any of the history before that. But this was the first time I'd ever thought about punching a guy on a respirator (so smug, making his Darth Vader sounds, with enough chips in front of him to call anything).

It's not that the people were beating me by playing well; they just played every hand without regard to the value of their cards, hoping to catch all kinds of unlikely hands. Granted, I made a couple of stupid calls (usually involving holding two pair and going up against somebody with a flush draw), but I watched old people pay out money faster than an ATM in Times Square.

The trouble with the table was, they were just good enough to know not to beat me, but bad enough to lose to everybody else. I'm good at knowing when to fold, and in fact yesterday I won second place (and a $10 tab) by doing just that (in the whole tournament I didn't pay for one river card without wining the pot, and only invested in two turn cards before having to fold). I'm not as good at bluffing, especially against people whose sensitivity to losing money is nonexistant and in a limit game. I would've gladly left when I was up, but I wasn't in a condition to drive, so I stayed put and watched my luck, and my money, run out.

Anyway, I figure I only lost about six dollars an hour, and was well taken care of the whole time, so it was a good trip. Most people I've talked to said it was a heck of a roll for $60, especially since it was my first (and last, if I know what's good for me) casino venture.