Sunday, March 18, 2012

Notebook: Coaches say change in bats will pull the plug on slugfests
Read more: http://www.stltoday.com/sports/high-school/baseball/notebook-coaches-say-change-in-bats-will-pull-the-plug/article_f023016a-6fb0-11e1-bb9c-0019bb30f31a.html#ixzz1pU736AuQ

I hadn’t a clue there was a problem. Or perhaps I’d forgotten the stray article here and there over the past few years. Interesting.

*

I returned to the tilling job last evening. The owner and his wife were gone. I found they’ll be gone for the weekend. Bummer.

The job looked fairly good, but my satisfaction isn’t the point is it?

*

Just after sun rise this morning the neighborhood dogs went berserk, with mine echoing the clamor.

One of the pot heads strolling down the bar ditch spearing pop and beer cans. I’m not sure about the timing of all that. Why that early.

*

A motorcyclists wife was arrested for DUI.

Don’t ask. I haven’t the foggiest and I haven’t heard an explanation that suits as yet. She doesn’t own a motorcycle.

*

We’re nearing the end of the The Back Room series.

The Back Room – Advise From A Loser

05 October 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

Clovis came into the office while I was doing accounts.

Clovis is the manager of the Farm Barn Siding and the guy I trade with periodically for things like bulk peanuts (unshelled and unsalted)(which I’d done not long back). We also use a back room of one of his buildings for a poker room.

Clovis doesn’t know that however, even though he plays with the group. He’s one of those people that have ability far in excess of his position. That kind of person seems content in whatever circumstance they find themselves. In his case he hired on with the Farm Barn group young and rose from shoveling cow doo to site manager.

He’d been around the cooperate system on his way up and when he came to town as the Number 2 man, began turning down promotions. He’d found, and eventually inherited his position.

The weekly poker in the back room had been going on longer than either of us had been around. Clovis inherited his position, and about the same time I won the keys to the back room from another, the departed brush, in a poker Head’s up. That’s the way it worked. I hope that when I feel the age I can find and select my inheritor as well as mine did me. Clovis and I get along fairly well – in fact, he’s probably my best friend in town.

I set out a big bowl of peanuts and got him a beer.

“You’ll have a small problem this week, Lum. We’ve had to store bagged grain in the back room.”

“Is there any space at all left?”

“Well. Yes. I’ve had the boys stack the bags high and tight. It took up about a third of the room.”

“We can work with that. A couple of the group has first night parental school meetings.”

“We’ll be playing short handed then?”

“Yes. I think we’ll do cash games Friday. It’s the first Friday and close to payday and all. I don’t think enough will show for a tournament. ”

“Short handed and cash games.”

“Yep. You bringing any food?”

He laughs at me. “Are you thinking of raking the pots for expenses?”

“Hell no! That way is trouble. Guys would start to talk and rumor would spread.”

“Yeah, it works this way.”

“Does.”

“ Say, Lum, in these cash games. What do you do with the Big Blind?”

“How ‘do’ with the Big Blinds, Clovis. What are you asking?”

“Well, I’ve noticed when we’re short handed and I lose – which is usually, I lose about a multiple of the blinds.”

“Look, my friend. I’m not a poker instructor. I’m not even what you could call a very good poker player. In fact, if poker was golf, I’d be a duffer.”

“Drop some words on me.”

I sigh. “’Kay. You’re a rock, Clovis. You’re tight . . .”

He interrupts me: “Like what’s her name?”

I’d been squiring a nice lady across town and hadn’t mentioned her to anyone. Clovis was the last one I’d have told any how, but for him to know, let alone know what and how far the suit had gotten, was an indication of him.

“Not fair, Dude. Not fair at all. Besides, it’s none of your business.”

“Loosen up, man. Loosen up.” He says. “It’s only in fun.”

“Yeah. I know,” I say, “but those are the very words that answer your question. Loosen up.”

“When you are in a short handed game, loosen up and widen your BB hand range. A lot. That’s comparing to the SB. I think you’ll find out that you won’t get re-raised off your hand as often. Try defending against early position attackers.”

“That it?” he wants to know.

“Na. There’s more about the BB, but that’ll do for now.”

“Gotta run. Are you going to sit across from me?” floats over his shoulder as he makes the door.

“No, Clovis,” as the door closes on my words, “I’m going to sit on your immediate right.”

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Saturday, March 17, 2012

History Matters: Saving a staple of State Street

http://www.augustagazette.com/topstories/x1612626118/History-Matters-Saving-a-staple-of-State-Street

*

It’s noon. I’m watching the SPEED Channel. They’ve just shown a very nice picture of the Bristol facilities. It is like looking at one to the football stadiums. Rather pretty in fact. I probably won’t watch the races, but the single car qualifiers and the practice sessions are fun to watch.

Looking at the picture of the over all facility, however, I’m left wondering. When will they put a dome over it?

*

I went early this morning, and spent some time working the tiller over the fellows garden. The winds over the past three days has been good to the area – except for the two areas near the trees.

Hate cedar trees. They do their job of protecting the shadow sides and the water holds pretty well around them.

I probably have to go over one more time to insure a decent job of work. Provided the fellow doesn’t plant in the too wet areas. Those areas clodded in some rather large clumps however, so maybe he’ll curse me and not plant in those areas until I can chew the clod smaller.

*

*

There are a few stories left – three or four, I think. Here’s another:

The Back Room – DD’s Tells

01 October 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

I was re-stocking the Fridge the other day. I like the micro-brews we have around the area. We’re blessed with three locally owned, “We don’t ship across the Great Divide,” breweries.

They offer a wide selection of tastes in their brews. DD (I had to stop and think here. I’d forgotten his real name and stepped outside to look at the sign over his business. Raven is his real first name. He runs the custom jewelry place down and across the street.), DD is short for Da Dude. He’s in his eighties. DD likes the wheat brew from White Cedar Brewery. That’s a place up on Salty Dry. Salty Dry is a creek about ten miles or so toward Nevada.

DD’s one of those sneaky poker players. He likes to tease with small bets (not mini bets, just small bets) and check-raise you all-in. He’s a real pisser when it comes to Omaha 8.

I asked him one time: “DD, how is it that you clean the board so often in Omaha 8? What’s the secret?”

DD sticks the tip of his tongue in the top of his beer bottle and tips it back. I’m not at all certain why he does that, probably likes the bite of the malt on his taste buds. But he does it. Come to think of it, he does that when he’s playing poker, too, usually just before he rakes a good sized pot.

Now that I’m on the subject, DD doesn’t drink all that many beers at the table either.

DD lowers that bottle and rubs it some, and then he says: “Most of you guys don’t play the game very well. I can make some money off you by playing Nut Low Draws pretty aggressively. Rather than making the nut low on the flop or turn and checking to flush out the High, I’ll bet it out. You guys are pretty passive after the low shows on the board.”

“Okay, Doyle,” I say, “what other pearls do you want to drop on me today?”

“Are you laughing at me, Lum?”

“No, no. Actually, you’ve given me three tells on yourself today. I’m just looking for more.”

“Oh! I’ll not ask what those are – unless you want to tell me.”

“No, you don’t, DD. They’re mine now and you’re in for a baaad time next week.”

“ ‘ats okay,” he says, “if you think you’re able. And I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of Doyle playing much Omaha 8.”

“Well, I don’t know. I’m not sure I have either. But, back to your Omaha 8 game. How do you handle a draw?”

DD grins. “Still looking for tells?” he asks.

“Of course, I am.”

He muses a bit, and tells me: “I got to package a necklace and get it into the UPS, Lum, so I’ve got to run. But, remember, our game is a passive game, and checking the turn, in some cases, when you’re playing a draw or even calling isn’t the right thing. Raise it up.”

“Later, DD. Are you going to pay for the beer?”

“How many tells have you collected from me today?”

“See you, DD”

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Friday, March 16, 2012

Save on strapless bras. Buy new bras Now!

Received in my ISP quarantine summary today. As a single male person of reliable sexy-ness identification; I was at first amused; then put out by the junk mail; then took a break to shower – caught sight of my man boobs in the mirror and immediately pranced starker's to the computer and deleted the offending SPAM.

How dare they? I start the upper body exercises this evening.

*

GAWD was over this morning, early. When I saw him I called him over to give him a scratch and tickle, as normal.  I grabbed a handful of his hide and was immediately cold and wet.

He’d been out all night and was dewy wet, looked perfectly content and dry. It dawned on me we haven’t really seen the sun for two days now – it did clear last evening, after the sun had set.

Must be nice to have a coat that thick, but I imagine it itches something fierce at shedding time. Wonder how he keeps his good humor all the time.

*

No action on the abandoned car on the road. I’d be a fool if I really thought there would be at this point. It’s only been three weeks or a month.

The near neighbors mothers guy friend has re-appeared. The Greasy’s owners sister remarked that she’d seen the near neighbor walking, but not around as much anymore since they’d taken his tractor away from him.

The tractor was owned by the mothers boyfriend and when she kicked him out, he took the tractor back to the farm.

What’d I say about this summer?

*

*

The seasons first mowing is done. Happy/sad.

*

The Back Room – Do What?

23 October 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

“You’re a witch.”

I busted out laughing. Those were the first words Seamless had offered me in six months.

“Seamless! Where the hell you been, Man? Gone! Not a word to anyone.” I exclaimed.

“Strange places, strange faces, Lum; just don’t ask for more than that.”

“Okay, okay. Glad you’re back.”

I’m Lumbar. I operate a custom woodshop. When Seamless showed up I was three-quarters through cleaning The Back Room. Someone had trashed the grain stored in sacks back there. Clovis’ crew had gotten the big stuff, but the tracked-in dirt and grain kernels had made a mess.

“Break time, Seamless. Grab a beer from the cooler over there and sit.”

And that’s the way Eddie the Droop found us, sitting drinking a local micro-brewery wheat beer catching up on common friends and town events.

“Beer, Lum!” demanded Eddie.

“In the cooler behind you, Eddie.” I pointed. “Seamless is back.”

“I was wondering who that car out front belonged to.” Eddie said, getting himself a beer. “Seamless.”

After catching up with each other, Eddie turned to me and asked: “What are Stop-Win, Stop-Loss and Stop-Playing?”

“Been reading books, Eddie,” I ask.

“No. I was up North the other day with a friend and we got into a conversation with a bunch and a couple of them threw out the words. I hadn’t anything but idea’s what they really meant, Lum.”

“What do you think they mean, Eddie?”

“No you don’t, Lum, this time just gi’me without the long explanations and detours.”

Seamless said; “It’s fairly easy, Eddie. Stop-Loss is a self limiting lost money point you set for yourself. An example would be one buy-in or fifty percent of one buy-in, or even a time limit to play in a manner of speaking. That last shades into the Stop-Playing area, although not totally. When you reach those self imposed limits, push back from the table and say, No more – you have to mean them though.”

I chimed in with: “Stop-Playing is different in ways, Eddie. If you think, or feel you’re on tilt, stop playing and take a walk. Clear your head is another way of saying it. It’s just a way of expressing confusion, really. Get away for awhile. Oh! That includes getting away from the table for weeks or months, too.”

Eddie put his empty bottle in the sack and looked around. “Let’s get this job finished, huh?” and grabbed a broom.

Between the three of us, we made fairly short work of that room. Disregarding the trash bags outside the joint fairly sparkled. Well, if you disregarded the open studs and smell of dusty grains. But the table was polished and the floor was clean. Hell, even the lamp shade was clean. I think that’s the first time in fifty years or so. We’d even gone so far as to beat the dust from DD’s cushion.

Finished, Eddie handed around another beer and sighed. “Damn,” he says, “don’t recognize the place. It even smells good.”

“Clean always smells good, Eddie.” Seamless says.

“Alright now,” Eddie says, “Stop-Win. That one has been bothering me for days now. It’s ridiculous. Just the thought of stopping winning is stupid. Weird, even.”

“Not really, Eddie. Most people indulge in Stop-Win, but never realize they do it.” Seamless says.

“Think of it another way,” I say, “how many times have you heard “He isn’t living up to his potential.””

“You mean . . “ Eddie turns thoughtful.

“Yeah, Stop-Win is stopping at a pre-defined limit of winning. It happens in life efforts and it is a “maybe it should apply” to some folks at the poker tables. The problem with life efforts it’s a conscious or unconscious decision.” I continued.

Seamless picked it up with: “There’s probably not one of us that haven’t looked at a large stack in front of us and then made a stupid call that started a skid to going broke. That’s what the Stop-Win does for us. Figure what you want to do, get there, Stop. Push away from the table. Same-same as the Stop-Loss: one buy-in, a percentage of a buy-in or a double up.”

“Self limiting.” Eddie exclaims.

“Yep,” I say, “rather like a tournament makes you do. Without the excess of all or nothing.”

“Damn. So easy.” Eddie exclaims.

“Try it sometime.” Seamless mutters.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Thursday, March 15, 2012

Attention All Gardeners: Adopt-A-Pot Program

AugustaGazette.com - ‎3 hours ago‎

By Anonymous The First Annual Adopt-a-Pot Contest is a project is jointly sponsored by the City of Augusta and Downtown Augusta, Inc. Individuals, organizations, and businesses are invited to showcase your “green thumbs” by designing, planting, ...

I suppose it’s fair.

The city has installed concrete pots along the main street. Now they want folks to fill and care for the plants therein.

But I’m minded of a business along that street that was forced to remove a couple of trees out front – trees planted when the business moved from another location. The business owner neatened up the old rail road building and gave it a nice paint job; put up a fence to hide the salvaged lawn mowers and stacked parts. And he cared for the trees.

After making him remove the trees, the city ‘planted’ two concrete pipe sections in the spaces and are now looking for adoption families to care for those pipes and plant something.

*

A fellow on the other side of the village wants a garden this year. He wants a tilling job done over there.

I went over, after getting the hydraulics on the tractor finished last evening, and had a look. Wet. Very wet. I told him it’d be a while before I could till. He said: “Well, if you can’t do it for me to put in a garden soon, there’s always next year.”

I’m one of those fellows that when asked by a repairman “When do you need the work done” I always’ say “yesterday”, so I suppose listening to him is fair.

I did a single test strip for him. The upper half turned smooth as butter when the tiller crossed the area. Standing water.

I asked him to hold on for another week or so. He’s wanting to plant melon's of several types.

*

I minded that writing of a subject is not the same as being the subject. Having said that gambling on anything – to include human relations, farming, ranching or whatever, is still gambling. No matter the justification or twisting of logic.

That said, another of the previously published stories.

The Back Room – Finding Information

3 November 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

“What do you mean; you don’t know what we’re talking about?” Clovis asked.

“Look,” the casual said as I counted out his chips for the rebuy, “you guys talking about ‘Loose’, and ‘Loose-Aggressive, and other things are blowing wind as far as I’m concerned.”

“I see,” Clovis said.

The casual re-counted the chips I pushed him and stacked them. “Deal.” He says.

“You have the button, friend.” I told him. He looked somewhat surprised.

I’m Lum. That’s short for Lumbar. I run the game in the Back Room. Clovis is the manager of the Farm Barn Siding. The Farm Barn owns the building where The Back Room is located. We pick up the stray train or truck driver in the game. The casual tonight was one of those.

So the casual picks up the deck Mary had shuffled and placed ready for him and he deals out Hold’em. The way it works on the odd call by me is: the deal remains the same for a complete orbit of however many players are in the game (up to ten). Personally, I don’t really like the game changing every hand, so the one orbit of one game stays when we play dealers choice. We play that when the small blind gets to the dealer big blind calls the next game.

Seamless, sitting in the three seat, which is an arbitrary designation in dealers choice, but workable, asks the casual: “You keep a note book of other players, friend?”

The man lays out his last card and shakes his head. “Like I said, half the time I don’t understand what you guys are talking about.”

Seamless looks over the table at me and I just shrug. So far no one has taken advantage of this guy, but I was beginning to see eyes starting to tighten up around the regulars. A couple of them had taken walks with serious faces – more serious than normally seen in the game.

Even Eddie the Droop had both arms up his sleeves looking at the guy. Eddie caught Seamless looking at me and gets a stupid grin on his face like he could see it coming.

But I hadn’t a clue as to which would take this guy. So far the table was about evenly stacked except for the causal being down two rebuys.

About the time one of the local casuals was asking where the guy came from, DD walks in.

“Want to play, DD?” I asked him.

“Why not?” DD says, “How about me just buying you out, Lum. You look like you could use the break.”

So we did it that way and DD sat. I kept half an ear on the game while I squared away the rack and made the counter right.

We learned, by first one and then another asking the casual visitor about himself, which he was from two counties over East and he was driving a truck; married, with no kids and his wife worked.

He’d been to the local Juco but hadn’t finished and when he used the wrong word in reference to DD’s color, how he thought about that.

There was a pause when the guy came out with that word and we waited for DD to flatten him. But he didn’t. DD has some very good instincts.

We got the guy to tell us he played a lot of poker over in his home county, and as he was making his fourth buy-in, I asked over his family; inquiring as to his brothers or sisters.

He told us his sister was married to his home county prosecutor and his brother was the Sheriff.

The game broke up soon after that.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

I’ve just finished up a short story called Once There Was A Giant, from the collection edited by Eric Flint, written by Keith Laumer.

It’s probably the weather patterns, but I must admit the story was a near tear jerker. I’ve been wanting to read the Odyssey for some time in a now and again desire. Now I’m not certain I wish to finish the book.

Cause, I will, I know. I don’t want to miss out on the rest.

*

The shootings in Wichita’s Old Town has created some controversy. There has been any number of articles of the incident and no real conclusions. One article indicates the crime rate in the area is declining.

*

The Cabbalas new store is scheduled to open, and the Governor will be there. One remembers the proposed two hundred plus jobs there. As opposed to the two thousand due to be lost from the aircraft closings.

*

Up date on the abandoned vehicle. It appears not to belong to a cousin of the near neighbor, but the brother of the near neighbor – the ex-con, dope dealer, brother that dropped the word on the three cookers,  which resulted in the death of the sheriff.

This should be a wonderful summer.

*

*

The Back Room – Follow Up

20 November 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

If I remember it correctly; Clovis and I were discussing routine city things and settling the problems of the local religious world while I cut away all the things on the side panels of the chest I was working on that were not what I saw in the wood.

Clovis was just asking about the patch of untouched wood in a corner when DD entered with Rimshot.

“Lum,” Rimshot says without preamble, “I’m going to kick your ass.”

Well, now!

“Rimshot,” I says, “here I stand. In my left hand I have an eighteen inch chisel which I spent thirty minutes putting an edge on sharp enough to press through a three-quarter inch board. And in my right hand I have a wooden mallet heavy enough to raise a welt on an elephant brow. Now, how, exactly, are you proposing to kick my ass?”

The look that came over Rimshot’s face was, thinking about it all this time, something I wish you could capture somehow.

“Ah . .” came dribbling from his mouth. DD busts out laughing.

“Ease up, Lum,” DD tells me, “We’ve been talking about bluffs and running bluffs and stealing blinds. I put him up to hitting you cold like that knowing how you’d probably react. Now I can teach him something.”

I just glare at DD.

“So? Who am I suppose to be more pissed at DD?” I flare. “You? Or the sheepherder here?”

DD shrugs, venturing a; “That’s up to you. Got a beer?”

“Look,” he continues, “ever since Rimshot got that book of bluffs he’s fallen in love with it. He’s been losing his butt, too, but hasn’t really understood.”

“So why’d you sic him on me today, DD?” I asked. I was still mildly high on the fight aspect of flight.

“Well, we were working on the Bluffs are fine thing, which is what Rimshot here is practicing, but what are you going to do after you make the bluff. That seems to be a really bad area in his game.” DD explains.

I twisted down the grin that had started to sprout on my face and downed tools.

“So, tell him, Lum, how many re-bluffs you’ve used to take his bluff steals from him.” DD says over his shoulder while he’s giving Rimshot his beer.

DD is an opponent you don’t really want to play. The guy is good. Good enough, in fact, to make a living on poker if he wanted. Good enough to have broken The Back Room game if he desired.

But I wasn’t about to give him more than he earned at the tables. “A couple, DD. Just a couple.”

DD turns to Rimshot and says: “Now, do you understand what I was saying?”

Rimshot shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so, DD. I’d never have offered to fight Lumbar in the first place like that, and I sure as hell didn’t expect him to do what he did.”

“If you think about it,that is one of the things I’ve tried to tell you, Rimshot. You can bluff sometimes, but you’d better know the player and you’d better have a good grasp of continuation betting aspects of a bluff, which you do not have now.” DD almost lectured. If you fire a shot, either be ready to fire the second or put the gun away. Checking or calling after your bluff is not an option, which is what you’ve been doing, and which is why Lum re-steals from you so often.”

“A couple of times, DD. Only a couple of times.” I mumble.

DD just grins at me and looks at Rimshot. He asks Rimshot: “Now, knowing what reaction Lum gave you, would you tell him you’re going to kick his ass again as a bluff?”

Rimshot rumbles out: “But, DD, smiling would give away the bluff.”

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Tuesday, March 13, 2012

WICHITA, Kansas -- Did police fire bullets that hit innocent bystanders in a weekend shooting in Old Town?

Wichita Police Chief Norm Williams says the Kansas Bureau of Investigation is looking into it.

Residents of Old Town, meanwhile, says a shooing there is no surprise.

http://www.ksn.com/news/local/story/Old-Town-residents-respond-to-weekend-shooting/VgEYgI03ckWZvVPrjfBY0w.cspx

In some ways this one bothers me. A guy shoots into a crowd, the cops shoot him. The investigation is about where the cops shots went. Give me a break.

There was another article of an interview with a bar owner. The owner indicated he had:

The night of the shooting there were 35 security guards and six off duty police officers.

The number of on-duty police present was not revealed.

*

Trivia:

Apparently Americans are more likely than Canadians to believe in Big Foot, and Democrats are responsible for pulling up this average. The results are from a new Angus Reid survey.

*

*

I received a question or so about yesterdays post. It was deliberately twisted in a general sense to bring in the variant Omaha H/L (or O8), which I’ll leave the reader to learn – hopefully at little loss, unless playing me and then to a great detriment.

One questioned the last few lines. All I will say about that, is that the lady in question has her name somewhat bastardized by the author – again, deliberately.  One should note, however, that poker players do speak of such things as bad luck, variance, and fortune.

That wasn’t helpful at all, was it.

*

The Back Room – Gut Feeling Call

27 November 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

“Hi, Lum.”

“Wha? Oh. Hi, Mary.”

“This is Ate, Lum.” Mary said, indicating the short, fair skinned, blonde and not particularly pretty female at her side.

“Ate?”

“Yes, Ate.” Mary is grinning. “As in ‘ate your meal’, ate.”

“Got it,” I said. “Why?”

“Why did my family name me “Ate”,” asked Ate.

Now, I will admit to some confusion at this point. By the way, I’m Lum, short for Lumbar, I run the game at The Back Room.

“Lady, the fact your family named you “Ate” tells me about all I need to know about them. No, why is Mary introducing you to me?”

This woman seemed likeable enough, but there was just something here. What? I didn’t know. But there was something.

Mary has a funny look on her face, and says to me: “Later, Lum. We’ll talk later.”

“Okay. Then, why now?”

“Oh. She wants to join the game.” Mary says.

“That’s nice.” I say. “No.”

“No?” the not pretty woman questions, voce rising. “Why, No?”

“I cannot really say, Ate. I really can’t. But, No! it is, and No, it will remain.” I tell her.

There was a pregnant pause and I turned to Mary and suggested; “Why not take her to Bean Bag.”

“Bean Bag?” Ate raises an eye brow in question.

“Yeah. He’s the municipal superintendent of everything nailed down and chargeable to the tax payer. He also runs a game behind the fire house, about once a week or so.” Then I added; “On the other side of town,”

So they left. Mary looked over her shoulder and mouthed “Later.”

And later proved to be late evening and I had a fire going with mood music and things on my mind. We’re sitting on the blanket covered floor in front of the couch watching logs die, when Mary says: “Lum?”

“Um.” I’m a brilliant conversationalist most of the time. But I was well fed, and very comfortable.

“Lum,” she continues, “Why’d you send her away?”

“It’s like I said, Mary. I don’t know. There was something wrong there.”

“Have you ever read “Inside the Poker Mind,” Lum?”

“By John Feeney, Ph.D.” I say. “The things aren’t always what they seem on the surface book? The reason a guy calls and raises a five card flush spread with none of the suit in his hand book? The read it twice to get a handle on it, and read it again to begin to make sense of it book? Yeah. I have. Several times. Why?”

“Well. I think you put some of the tenants in there to practice today, Lum.” Mary spoke out. “You acted straight from incomplete information,” she paused a bit, then continued.

“She’s new in town, you know.”

“So how’d you come to hook-up with her?” I asked her. “If she’s so new. You seen her around? Or what?”

“I think she looked me up, Lum. I’ve been thinking about it since I dropped her off with Bean Bag. She just appeared in the shop one day and started talking poker and kept insisting she wanted a game.” Mary shrugs. “I also did a bit of reading before you picked me up this evening.”

“I’ll bite.” I said. “ I’ll listen to your reading. That is where you were going, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes. Lum? Do you know who else was named ‘Ate?’”

“Nope.”

“Ate.”

I sighed.

Mary giggled, and said: “The personification of error, delusion, and blind folly. Zeus took her by the hair and threw her out of heaven.”

I thought about what Mary had just said and started laughing.

“What?” Mary demanded.

“Well,” I said, pausing for breath. “Everyone has wanted an excuse to let Bean Bag seek greater opportunities. How long, do you think?”

*

Now if you were paying attention, you’d realize that yesterdays story and todays are related in some manner.

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile

Monday, March 12, 2012

The trouble with running various “Clean-up” your computer programs is the absolutely wonderfully crisp colors, text that you weren’t aware it could produce.

*

Usually I’ve filed my taxes by now. But the government, according to the library that orders the tax booklets I use, is the government seems strangely reluctant to fully fill the order submitted; and appears to enjoy delaying the delivery dates.

I wonder if the trouble is unionization. I do know that government is no longer a calling – i.e. Civil Service. That would make it more of a job, wouldn’t it.

I now have the booklets, regardless, and will file today. And expect that in June I’ll receive a letter from the IRS requesting an additional payment – because this year THEY will figure the taxes.

*

The Back Room – Injustice

13 November 2010

Contributed by Lumbar

It was hot in the room in-spite of my having propped the door open, and the game had been raging for almost two hours.

We had a full table tonight; enough so I sat out and tended the room, occasionally taking the deck for half an hour or so. There were the usual suspects: Eddie the Droop, Clovis, Mary was there, Seamless was in for the evening, DD and his son were playing and the clown casual player from a county or so over.

New to the game were a guy and two females. Eddie had brought them to the game. I don’t mind him doing that, not too much anyway. He usually screens his hunters pretty well and after a day of him tromping the weeds with them for things to shoot they’re pretty tired and make good mistakes.

But this game had some heat in it. The game smelled of blood, and the local guys, I was happy to see, were holding their own against the three unknown’s. Those people were playing no quarter and damn little forgiveness was in the betting patterns of anyone at the table.

The third hour went by pretty quickly, me still dealing, when DD declared he’d time limited himself. He said he’d done it in deference to his advanced age. Most of the players nodded, realizing he is in his eighties. But he kept playing (he was up on his buy-in).

Mid-way through the fourth hour DD did quit, still up and the group all took a stroll as I spread the table wider and stored DD’s chair out of the way. The hunter guy raised an eyebrow toward me and I shook it off.

“Not tonight in the middle of this game,” I said, “this is pretty intense.”

He shrugged, and they were back at it.

A game change was called for and it became Omaha H/L. Mary asked for it, and some questioned her guts, one her sanity and one asked for a new deck.

One of the new women went bust in a hand against the hunter guy. She remarked he’d faked her out of that one.

He said: “To die is to be a counterfeit: for he is but the counterfeit of a man who hath not the life of a man: but to counterfeit dying, when a man thereby liveth, is to be no counterfeit, but the true and perfect image of life indeed. The better part of valor is discretion; in the which better part I have saved my life.”

“Jesus Christ!” Mary exclaims, “Shakespeare? At a poker table and this late at night? God.”

The hunter guy grins at her and continues stacking his chips.

I looked at Mary and asked: “Shakespeare?” She just nod and looks at the guy, re-assessing what she already measured.

Into the sixth hour and I called the game to end when the deal reached the remaining hunter woman in the game. That may or may not have been a good thing, but I wasn’t on vacation and neither were the other locals.

There were a few sighs when I announced that one, but grunts of good were enough for me.

On the last hand, Eddie and the hunter woman ended heads-up. I read them one high, and one low on the flop. Then trouble set in. The turn came possible flush on the board, possible low also.

Eddie went into his squirming act and his nose started running. He got one arm up the same sleeve, and instead of wiping his nose on the back of his hand he scratched his ear and the back of his neck. I’d not seen those signals before and wondered what they meant.

I turned up the river card.

It gave the board the three flush, and the low possibility. Eddie and the woman got all the money in, and I had them roll them.

The woman showed the straight flush wheel, Eddie showed the six seven of the suit for the higher straight flush.

I showed astonishment.

The clown casual looked the female over again, and said: “What’d you say your name is?”

The woman looked him over and said; “I hadn’t, but it is Adikita, and I don’t like you.”

*

Well, I did warn you. Didn’t I.

The flash fiction stories were written for Linda of Dear Diary. She’s a hard working person and an ex-dealer from Idaho, Montana and Las Vegas – Las Vegas being in Nevada or some such as that.

I was suppose to do two a week to her reckoning, when I, because of my work load, only wanted to do one. She was the publisher, I was the worker bee.

Sigh. I didn’t have a union to intercede for me. Still I had fun with them and will eventually turn the characters developed within the fiction into what I envisioned them. Eventually.

*

_____

From the reaches,

Ten Mile