Tommy Angelo
06-02-2004, 01:33 PM
Skip to the Loo
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In May, right after my Vegas trip, Kay and I went to England for a week. We have people there. Everything, even the weather, was totally lovely. I took some notes.
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"Pick from the lowest-hanging fruit."
These words came from the mouth of a good old chap as he explained to me the entire history of, as well as the only-possible-correction of, politics in the UK. I grasped his use of the analogy, and later it occurred to me that it applies perfectly to the way I play poker now, as compared to before, back when I thought winning had to be difficult or else it didn't count, back when I was happy to nibble, precariously, hanging from a branch, rather than feast, stably, with my feet on the ground.
- - - - -
"Sorry, no mooring here."
Those words were on a sign I saw from a boat as we chugged along on "The Norfolk Broads," a vast system of rivers, and wide places in the rivers (called "broads"), that came to be by the methodical harvesting for thousands of years of the fossil-fuel peat. Other small shoreline signs along the way said things like, "No public mooring." It was the word "sorry" on my preferred sign that reminded me where I was.
- - - - -
"Smoking Kills."
That’s what it says in bold black letters on a white background, covering half of the front of every pack of cigarettes in England. Locally I learned that smokers think the warning has no effect on smokers, and that non-smokers think the warning is saving the state billions of pounds.
- - - - -
"Look Left."
Two years ago I was in England for the first time. In London, Kay and I stayed near Paddington station, just north of Hyde Park. We consumed the prime touring areas, mostly on foot. The difference in traffic patterns between the USA and London extends far beyond the most obvious difference, which is that they drive on the left. They also have roundabouts. And more to the story, the typical intersection in central London has triangular islands in the middle, formed by single lanes of traffic coming from every which direction, full of cars that don’t slow down for pedestrians. That’s why they have large signs for pedestrians, in big white letters, painted right in the streets at the crosswalks. All the signs say either “look left” or “look right.”
Months after that first trip, probably while writing, it occurred to me that for years I’ve been trying to increase the number of times I look left at poker, and that perhaps the phrase “look left,” if intentionally logged in my mind, would aid the task. Well, I logged it, and it worked. But I never gave a thought as to where those particular words might have subliminally come from. So it was quite a thrill to be walking through London last week and to see that the UK poker players have had the secret to consistently attentive poker written in their streets all along.
---------------
What a Rush
Kay and I went to a theater show in the West End. It was a Tuesday night, and as far as I could sense, people and traffic and light and sound was endlessly everywhere, metro thick at high excitement. We saw the latest-rave show: The Jerry Springer Opera. It was a farce with feeling. The show poked jolly good fun at the Americans, and it ended with a surprisingly sincere message of truth, beauty, and can’t we all just get along? The production was flawless, with challenging songs superbly performed, with crisp, followable lyrics, and the sound was first rate.
After we got seated, Kay was looking around at the people, practicing to be a CIA agent, and she nudged me and said, “Don’t look now, but Geoffrey Rush is sitting right behind us. Listen.”
I didn’t look. Right away I heard that unmistakable crackle of a voice. If someone asked me to real quick name my top ten favorite actors of all time, Geoffrey Rush would probably not come to mind, until the next day. But the man has never done a roll I didn’t enjoy. At intermission, outside, we watched him galumph across the way to the coffee shop. It was him all right.
- - - - -
Jarred at the NHM
Whenever I visit the museum region of a city, I tend to not go the natural history museum because that was always my first choice for so long. But this was no ordinary museum region, and this was no ordinary Natural History Museum. This was Darwinland. This was the country that invented the naturalist, and the ceaseless logging and collection of animals from around the world that has gone on since the beginning of colonialism. Millions of jars, are somewhere. I’ve always wondered just where. Well, now I know. They have a new thing at the Natural History Museum in London, called the Darwin Centre, where, among other things, you get to see the jars of specimens, in yellowed alcohol, everything from small squirmy things, to large furry ones, with labels, and penmanship, and dates, that predate Darwin himself. Many of the critters are extinct now. Many are protected from collection now. These jars are as irreplaceable as a cherished photo-album.
At the museum, strolling through the geology area, I glanced at some text and I was drawn to the word “tiltmeter.“ I looked it up here at home just now. It is a device that is a bit too expensive and sensitive for practical use at poker. Perhaps with a few modifications.
Another cool thing at the museum is that it is free. One minute you’re walking along a bustling London pavement, with huge stone buildings all over the place, and the next minute you’re inside a spectacular five-story high open space that is the museum entrance. Not even a turnstile.
- - - - -
The last laugh came when my friend Jon and I said goodbye. I said, “Cheerio, Mate,” while at the same time he said, “Later, Dude.”
- - - - -
Tommy
- - - - -
In May, right after my Vegas trip, Kay and I went to England for a week. We have people there. Everything, even the weather, was totally lovely. I took some notes.
- - - - -
"Pick from the lowest-hanging fruit."
These words came from the mouth of a good old chap as he explained to me the entire history of, as well as the only-possible-correction of, politics in the UK. I grasped his use of the analogy, and later it occurred to me that it applies perfectly to the way I play poker now, as compared to before, back when I thought winning had to be difficult or else it didn't count, back when I was happy to nibble, precariously, hanging from a branch, rather than feast, stably, with my feet on the ground.
- - - - -
"Sorry, no mooring here."
Those words were on a sign I saw from a boat as we chugged along on "The Norfolk Broads," a vast system of rivers, and wide places in the rivers (called "broads"), that came to be by the methodical harvesting for thousands of years of the fossil-fuel peat. Other small shoreline signs along the way said things like, "No public mooring." It was the word "sorry" on my preferred sign that reminded me where I was.
- - - - -
"Smoking Kills."
That’s what it says in bold black letters on a white background, covering half of the front of every pack of cigarettes in England. Locally I learned that smokers think the warning has no effect on smokers, and that non-smokers think the warning is saving the state billions of pounds.
- - - - -
"Look Left."
Two years ago I was in England for the first time. In London, Kay and I stayed near Paddington station, just north of Hyde Park. We consumed the prime touring areas, mostly on foot. The difference in traffic patterns between the USA and London extends far beyond the most obvious difference, which is that they drive on the left. They also have roundabouts. And more to the story, the typical intersection in central London has triangular islands in the middle, formed by single lanes of traffic coming from every which direction, full of cars that don’t slow down for pedestrians. That’s why they have large signs for pedestrians, in big white letters, painted right in the streets at the crosswalks. All the signs say either “look left” or “look right.”
Months after that first trip, probably while writing, it occurred to me that for years I’ve been trying to increase the number of times I look left at poker, and that perhaps the phrase “look left,” if intentionally logged in my mind, would aid the task. Well, I logged it, and it worked. But I never gave a thought as to where those particular words might have subliminally come from. So it was quite a thrill to be walking through London last week and to see that the UK poker players have had the secret to consistently attentive poker written in their streets all along.
---------------
What a Rush
Kay and I went to a theater show in the West End. It was a Tuesday night, and as far as I could sense, people and traffic and light and sound was endlessly everywhere, metro thick at high excitement. We saw the latest-rave show: The Jerry Springer Opera. It was a farce with feeling. The show poked jolly good fun at the Americans, and it ended with a surprisingly sincere message of truth, beauty, and can’t we all just get along? The production was flawless, with challenging songs superbly performed, with crisp, followable lyrics, and the sound was first rate.
After we got seated, Kay was looking around at the people, practicing to be a CIA agent, and she nudged me and said, “Don’t look now, but Geoffrey Rush is sitting right behind us. Listen.”
I didn’t look. Right away I heard that unmistakable crackle of a voice. If someone asked me to real quick name my top ten favorite actors of all time, Geoffrey Rush would probably not come to mind, until the next day. But the man has never done a roll I didn’t enjoy. At intermission, outside, we watched him galumph across the way to the coffee shop. It was him all right.
- - - - -
Jarred at the NHM
Whenever I visit the museum region of a city, I tend to not go the natural history museum because that was always my first choice for so long. But this was no ordinary museum region, and this was no ordinary Natural History Museum. This was Darwinland. This was the country that invented the naturalist, and the ceaseless logging and collection of animals from around the world that has gone on since the beginning of colonialism. Millions of jars, are somewhere. I’ve always wondered just where. Well, now I know. They have a new thing at the Natural History Museum in London, called the Darwin Centre, where, among other things, you get to see the jars of specimens, in yellowed alcohol, everything from small squirmy things, to large furry ones, with labels, and penmanship, and dates, that predate Darwin himself. Many of the critters are extinct now. Many are protected from collection now. These jars are as irreplaceable as a cherished photo-album.
At the museum, strolling through the geology area, I glanced at some text and I was drawn to the word “tiltmeter.“ I looked it up here at home just now. It is a device that is a bit too expensive and sensitive for practical use at poker. Perhaps with a few modifications.
Another cool thing at the museum is that it is free. One minute you’re walking along a bustling London pavement, with huge stone buildings all over the place, and the next minute you’re inside a spectacular five-story high open space that is the museum entrance. Not even a turnstile.
- - - - -
The last laugh came when my friend Jon and I said goodbye. I said, “Cheerio, Mate,” while at the same time he said, “Later, Dude.”
- - - - -
Tommy