This picks up where yesterday's story left off. I don't know where this is going, I'm just trying to force myself into writing for at least 30 minutes a day as an exercise, and somehow I found myself rewriting part of the book of Genesis.
I rode a few hours east until I got just outside of Flagstaff, and pulled over to watch the sunset and think. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Lucky, or Lucypher if we wanted to be particularly precise about it, to show up unannounced, but this time I hadn’t seen him in years. I wondered what he wanted. He always wants something, and he usually gets it. And it’s usually not good either to be the one who gives it to him or to be between him and his goals. It’s better to sit on the sidelines and watch the carnage, hoping not to get too much splatter on your shoes.
That’s what I’ve done for years – watch. I’ve watched people grow from just a couple to billions of huddled masses, yearning for something or another. I’ve watched people kill each other over pennies in the street and I’ve watched people give their last breath to help a stranger. And through it all, ever since the Garden, Lucky has been a constant. Always around, always goading something into action. I never know why or what he wants, I just watch.
But this little interaction was different. This was the first time in millennia that Lucky had been goading me. He wanted me to do something, and whatever it was, I didn’t want to do it. The last time I did anything he wanted it didn’t turn out so well for me, so I’ve tried to steer clear of his maneuvering since then. So I sat, and the sun set, and I watched the shadows lengthen and the desert turn from a superheated wasteland to a patchwork canvas of light and rolling shadows. I like sunsets, they carry the memory of the day before and the promise of the day to come.
Eve always preferred sunrises. She said they were more anticipatory, like a held breath before the day explodes like a sneeze all over the world.
Yeah, Eve’s real too. It all is, except for the bit about Lucky being a serpent. That was a little bit of poetic license on Mo’s part, but he was always creeped out by snakes and I think the whole serpent thing was just a little underhanded way of making sure people overall didn’t like snakes any more than he did. Really, Lucky was our friend, and was in the Garden with us from the very beginning. Several of the archangels used to come visit in the Garden: Gabriel, Airel, Jophiel and Metatron were there the most, but after we left the Garden we saw more of Azrael than we really wanted to.
So yeah, Lucky was around the Garden. And we really did all live there with all the beasts in perfect harmony and everybody lived forever and nobody died and it was all sweetness and light. But that can’t sustain. It’s not a natural state of being, and Dad understood that. And he gave Lucky the hardest job, because Lucky was his favored child, and he knew that Lucky would do it without question, no matter what it would cost him in the long run.
So Lucky gave Eve the apple, and she shared it with me, and we ate it, and got kicked out of the Garden, and headed off to the land of Nod and all that stuff you’ve read about since you were a tadpole. And it almost killed Lucky, not just to be banished from Dad’s side forever, but to have to trick Eve and me, who were his best friends, into doing something that would make our lives pretty awful for a very long time. After a long time and more than a few beers, I managed to forgive Lucky and we reached an understanding of sorts, but Eve never let it go. Leaving the Garden broke something inside her that never healed, even after all these years.
Oh, I guess by now you’ve figured out that we’re immortal. Gaining knowledge of good and evil didn’t do anything to change the whole living forever thing we started off with, even though we didn’t pass that on completely to our children. They lived a good long time, don’t get me wrong. And I watched more than one century turn with my kids, but eventually they grew old and died. And I watched more and more centuries turn without them. And no matter what my buddy Clive Lewis wrote about all men being “sons of Adam,” it didn’t change the fact that my direct sons and daughters were gone.
So I sat on a little hill just west of Flagstaff watching the sun go down and trying to figure out what Lucky was looking for. What did he want me to do? He had suggested California, so of course I headed East, but is that what he wanted me to do in the first place? Lucky was the original trickster, so it wasn’t out of the question for him to double- or even triple-think me into going exactly where he wanted me to go.
As I sat there pondering, the first star of the night came winking into view in the east, and I could feel my answer. East. I had to go East, and I had to find Eve. This was gonna get ugly.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
A beginning
I don't know if this will grow or not, but the beginnings of this story kinda came to me between hitting the snooze button this morning.
I sensed him before I saw him. I always do. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, playing a little blackjack when I felt his presence over my right shoulder.
“Hi Lucky.”
“Big A.”
I hate that. He always has to go there right away. And he’s supposed to be subtle. Ass.
“Been here long?”
“A while. Playing a little cards. You?”
“Well, you know me, Big A, I’ve got a place here. I love this town. Everything about it just calls to me.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.”
I finally glanced over and gave him the satisfaction of a look. A new look for him this time around – red riding leathers, no helmet of course, black boots, black hair tied back in a ponytail and sunglasses. The sunglasses were kind of a given, I suppose.
“Nice outfit. You look like one of the cavemen in that insurance commercial.”
“Thanks. You, as always, look well put-together.”
I’ve never been sure how to take his compliments, and I wasn’t in Las Vegas to think, so I just went for face value.
“Thanks.”
For once he didn’t press the issue and stopped talking. So we sat there playing blackjack for a while. Me playing green chips, him moving quickly from green to black to purple all the way up to the yellow $1,000 chips in a couple of short hours. He lost just enough hands to keep from getting thrown out, but not quite enough to keep the eye in the sky from getting suspicious.
“A, looks like we’ve got company.”
“You got a mouse in your pocket? I’m not the one that’s been sitting here counting cards for three hours.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one who took twenty grand in chips out of my safety deposit box this morning. Chips, I might add, that came from a casino that was exploded a couple decades ago.”
I hate that he always has more information than he rightfully should. I suppose, to give him his due, that he does have people literally everywhere in this town. But it’s still annoying. I’ll grant that visiting a box that hasn’t been touched in 25 years might raise an eyebrow or two, but I’m still blaming the attention of the lummox in the off-the-rack suit on my unwanted companion’s unabashed card-counting. Either way, the brutes in suits might have had a few questions for me that I wasn’t fully prepared to answer at exactly that moment, so I looked at my old pal Lucky.
“Keys?”
“Might I suggest California? I hear Sacremento’s nice this time of year. My bike’s out front. You’ll know which one. You owe me one.”
“We’re not even. This doesn’t even come close. Nowhere near to close.”
“You really know how to wound a guy, Big A.”
“Bite me.” With that, I grabbed Lucky’s keys from the table, tossed a green chip to the dealer and headed for the cage. I spotted another security lummox between me and the cage, so I decided on discretion as the better part of valor, tossed a couple grand in chips into the air and used the resulting pandemonium to make my less-than-subtle way to the exit. As I glanced back towards the table where I had left Lucky, I noticed that he and the two guards were having a beer and yukking it up like long-lost frat brothers. Which for all I knew, they might have been.
He was right, I knew which bike was his right away. It was big, loud ostentatious black thing with flames painted on the gas tank. Subtle. I swear, the thing looked hungry. I put the key in the ignition (apple key chain? Really?) and headed off down the highway, turning immediately to the East as I recalled Lucky’s nod toward California.
Okay, so looking back on it, maybe opening a 25-year-old lock box wasn’t exactly the most under the radar move I could have made. I know that people take out safety deposit boxes in this town all the time. But not all of them pay the rent on those boxes with automatic debits from numbered accounts. And I just had the bad luck to run into the same security guard that rented me the box the first time, on his first day of the job 25 years ago. Little bugger had a good memory, that’s for sure. And I guess I hadn’t changed much since then. Ok, make that not at all. So it might have been my fault we got spied after all. But I’m still blaming Lucky. After all, he’s been taking the blame for things for a couple millennia now, so what’s one more little incident?
Maybe I should back up a little. My name is Adam. No, I don’t have a last name. Yes, that Adam. No really, you can feel for the rib if you like. But it’s better if you don’t. I’m ticklish.
I sensed him before I saw him. I always do. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, playing a little blackjack when I felt his presence over my right shoulder.
“Hi Lucky.”
“Big A.”
I hate that. He always has to go there right away. And he’s supposed to be subtle. Ass.
“Been here long?”
“A while. Playing a little cards. You?”
“Well, you know me, Big A, I’ve got a place here. I love this town. Everything about it just calls to me.”
“Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere.”
I finally glanced over and gave him the satisfaction of a look. A new look for him this time around – red riding leathers, no helmet of course, black boots, black hair tied back in a ponytail and sunglasses. The sunglasses were kind of a given, I suppose.
“Nice outfit. You look like one of the cavemen in that insurance commercial.”
“Thanks. You, as always, look well put-together.”
I’ve never been sure how to take his compliments, and I wasn’t in Las Vegas to think, so I just went for face value.
“Thanks.”
For once he didn’t press the issue and stopped talking. So we sat there playing blackjack for a while. Me playing green chips, him moving quickly from green to black to purple all the way up to the yellow $1,000 chips in a couple of short hours. He lost just enough hands to keep from getting thrown out, but not quite enough to keep the eye in the sky from getting suspicious.
“A, looks like we’ve got company.”
“You got a mouse in your pocket? I’m not the one that’s been sitting here counting cards for three hours.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one who took twenty grand in chips out of my safety deposit box this morning. Chips, I might add, that came from a casino that was exploded a couple decades ago.”
I hate that he always has more information than he rightfully should. I suppose, to give him his due, that he does have people literally everywhere in this town. But it’s still annoying. I’ll grant that visiting a box that hasn’t been touched in 25 years might raise an eyebrow or two, but I’m still blaming the attention of the lummox in the off-the-rack suit on my unwanted companion’s unabashed card-counting. Either way, the brutes in suits might have had a few questions for me that I wasn’t fully prepared to answer at exactly that moment, so I looked at my old pal Lucky.
“Keys?”
“Might I suggest California? I hear Sacremento’s nice this time of year. My bike’s out front. You’ll know which one. You owe me one.”
“We’re not even. This doesn’t even come close. Nowhere near to close.”
“You really know how to wound a guy, Big A.”
“Bite me.” With that, I grabbed Lucky’s keys from the table, tossed a green chip to the dealer and headed for the cage. I spotted another security lummox between me and the cage, so I decided on discretion as the better part of valor, tossed a couple grand in chips into the air and used the resulting pandemonium to make my less-than-subtle way to the exit. As I glanced back towards the table where I had left Lucky, I noticed that he and the two guards were having a beer and yukking it up like long-lost frat brothers. Which for all I knew, they might have been.
He was right, I knew which bike was his right away. It was big, loud ostentatious black thing with flames painted on the gas tank. Subtle. I swear, the thing looked hungry. I put the key in the ignition (apple key chain? Really?) and headed off down the highway, turning immediately to the East as I recalled Lucky’s nod toward California.
Okay, so looking back on it, maybe opening a 25-year-old lock box wasn’t exactly the most under the radar move I could have made. I know that people take out safety deposit boxes in this town all the time. But not all of them pay the rent on those boxes with automatic debits from numbered accounts. And I just had the bad luck to run into the same security guard that rented me the box the first time, on his first day of the job 25 years ago. Little bugger had a good memory, that’s for sure. And I guess I hadn’t changed much since then. Ok, make that not at all. So it might have been my fault we got spied after all. But I’m still blaming Lucky. After all, he’s been taking the blame for things for a couple millennia now, so what’s one more little incident?
Maybe I should back up a little. My name is Adam. No, I don’t have a last name. Yes, that Adam. No really, you can feel for the rib if you like. But it’s better if you don’t. I’m ticklish.
Tuesday, May 05, 2009
Warning
Started re-reading Transmetropolitan.
Felt inspired.
Might need a little push to take the gloves completely off.
But just a little, itty bitty one.
So let's start small. I bought a gun. A shotgun. A big, black, compensating for the white-guy dick I'm swinging shotgun. It goes boom really fucking loudly. I bought it because the old folks around the corner from us got robbed. Twice. While they were home. A couple of cockknockers broke into their house while they were sleeping and robbed them at gunpoint. In their own goddamn home.
I have warned Suzy that if anyone breaks into the house with impure thoughts she should contact our next door neighbor Johnny immediately. Johnny is a drywall contractor. A short-barrelled shotgun has quite the spread. I fear for the integrity of the hallway walls.
Do I have to turn in my liberal card because I bought a shotgun and don't bat an eyelash at the concept of liquefying any asshole that threatens my wife or my personal well-being? Do I have to throw away my Obama T-shirt because I went to the range with Special K and remembered that I enjoy shooting things? Nah, there's some delicious irony about going to a firing range wearing an Obama shirt.
Everybody's freaking out about swine flu. I don't give a fuck. I haven't given too much of a fuck about things that might kill me since they told me sunlight causes cancer. Let's review - the source of all life on the motherfucking planet causes cancer and requires that you get pieces of your face occassionally cut off. You shoulda seen my dad's nose a few years ago. I shit you not, his dermatologist's last name musta been Frankenstein. So if sunlight causes cancer, which can kill you, but without sunlight we begin to freeze ohhhh about eight minutes after the thing goes away, then why would I worry about piggy flu? Fuck it, there are too many people in the world anyway.
Yeah, I mighta been a little testy lately. Mighta been wound a little too tightly. I got a ridiculous project that's threatening to eat my entire Atlanta office, both my NC sales goofs have issues with their issue (or the wenches that spawned them), and I lost and halfway regained a job in the last week. That might make me a littly salty. Deal. Or don't. Whatever.
Fuck I love me some Spider Jerusalem. Makes me wanna write. Thanks, Garth.
Felt inspired.
Might need a little push to take the gloves completely off.
But just a little, itty bitty one.
So let's start small. I bought a gun. A shotgun. A big, black, compensating for the white-guy dick I'm swinging shotgun. It goes boom really fucking loudly. I bought it because the old folks around the corner from us got robbed. Twice. While they were home. A couple of cockknockers broke into their house while they were sleeping and robbed them at gunpoint. In their own goddamn home.
I have warned Suzy that if anyone breaks into the house with impure thoughts she should contact our next door neighbor Johnny immediately. Johnny is a drywall contractor. A short-barrelled shotgun has quite the spread. I fear for the integrity of the hallway walls.
Do I have to turn in my liberal card because I bought a shotgun and don't bat an eyelash at the concept of liquefying any asshole that threatens my wife or my personal well-being? Do I have to throw away my Obama T-shirt because I went to the range with Special K and remembered that I enjoy shooting things? Nah, there's some delicious irony about going to a firing range wearing an Obama shirt.
Everybody's freaking out about swine flu. I don't give a fuck. I haven't given too much of a fuck about things that might kill me since they told me sunlight causes cancer. Let's review - the source of all life on the motherfucking planet causes cancer and requires that you get pieces of your face occassionally cut off. You shoulda seen my dad's nose a few years ago. I shit you not, his dermatologist's last name musta been Frankenstein. So if sunlight causes cancer, which can kill you, but without sunlight we begin to freeze ohhhh about eight minutes after the thing goes away, then why would I worry about piggy flu? Fuck it, there are too many people in the world anyway.
Yeah, I mighta been a little testy lately. Mighta been wound a little too tightly. I got a ridiculous project that's threatening to eat my entire Atlanta office, both my NC sales goofs have issues with their issue (or the wenches that spawned them), and I lost and halfway regained a job in the last week. That might make me a littly salty. Deal. Or don't. Whatever.
Fuck I love me some Spider Jerusalem. Makes me wanna write. Thanks, Garth.
Monday, May 04, 2009
Just in case...
I still have any readers. And in case any of them live, or will be in Las Vegas this weekend, here's a heads-up that the Falstaff and Special K bad beat machine will be in the city of glitter from Thursday til Monday.
You've got my numbers, hit me up.
You've got my numbers, hit me up.
Sunday, May 03, 2009
Couple of hands
From last night's game at the Casa de Jones that raised some eyebrows. In a set of circumstances that surprised no one, both hands involved me and Jim the Knife.
Let's set the stage a little - Jim and I have played thousands upon thousands of hands of poker. Almost every week for several years, we've spent a few hours sitting across a table from each other. To say that we're familiar with each other's game would be a slight understatement.
The first hand came in a hand of Omaha. Jim and I ended up heads up after his flop bet, and I called a bet on the turn and again on the river. The board was, as is typical with Omaha, fairly coordinated, and I made the call on every street with a pair of aces, king kicker. Obviously this is not an advisable strategy in many circumstances, but Jim and I have played a lot of hands together. I might have mentioned that. I picked up a vibe, nothing I could put a finger on, just an inkling that I was good. Not strong enough to raise, but enough to call the smallish bets he was firing. He'd controlled the pot size well, and he was able to make reasonable sized bets without the pot blowing up and becoming unmanageable. This not only allowed him to make a bet on every street with air, it also allowed me to call on every street with just one pair. There were a few remarks of astonishment around the table when my hand was turned over and I raked the pot, and it all came down to playing the player. I picked up a small pot and moved along, but the read was good and that was what I cared about.
The next hand I still read fairly well, but didn't work out nearly as well for me. I picked up AQo in middle position and raised. Jim three-bet from the button (or maybe cutoff, but I think it was the button). BTW, we're in Hold'em now. There were a couple other callers and I called to see a flop of Q-10-2 with two diamonds. Action checked to me and I bet about $10, close to the size of the pot with top pair, top kicker. Pirate Rob called my bet, Jim raised to $35, and Matt, a solid player who I'd only played with once before, smooth-called the $35. I went deep, deep into the tank and tried to think my way through the hand. I was sitting with about $85 behind, so calling was out of the question. It was either fold top-top or shove. After thinking for a while, I remarked that it was Matt or Pirate Rob that I was sweating, not Jim. This wasn't intended to be a shot at Jim, just that I had narrowed his range to a set of deuces, set of tens, A-Q, K-Q or two big diamonds, which would give him the nut flush and Broadway draws. Since I was ahead of all but two of the hands in his range, I wasn't really sweating the fact that he was going to call my all in regardless.
Frankly, given the money in the middle and the amount to call, he had to call my all in. It was an extra $50 or so to win $100 or more, so as long as he didn't have complete air or a gutty, he had to call. Note that neither of those were in the range I put him on. But I don't know enough about Matt's range, and his smooth-call of the $35 had me really concerned. In the end I shipped it in, Pirate Rob folded, Jim snap-called, Matt got out of the way, and Jim tabled a set of tens. Given the range I put him on and where I was against most of that range, I make the same move every time. And given that I was ahead of 60% of his range (or more), it's +EV long-term.
Overall I felt like I played moderately well last night. I called way, way too much preflop, but to me at least it became a game of floating and catching up. Some nights it's about starting well, some nights it's about getting there. Last night I got there. One of my biggest hands was one that Bad Blood got away from, and damn him for it. In Omaha the flop came down Jx-10d-Jd, and my hand was J-A-9-6. I checked the flop, and called Blood's bet. I check-raised when the turn brought the 6d, and Blood and Pirate Rob both called. River was a 9 and I fired a decent-sized bet. Blood went so far into the tank I was afraid he'd have the bends when he finally came out, but he folded his pocket tens. Rob got away from his flush, and when the prop bets were made on what we had I showed the turned boat that improved on the river. It was a nice pot, but Blood made the monster laydown to save a big chunk of his stack.
Let's set the stage a little - Jim and I have played thousands upon thousands of hands of poker. Almost every week for several years, we've spent a few hours sitting across a table from each other. To say that we're familiar with each other's game would be a slight understatement.
The first hand came in a hand of Omaha. Jim and I ended up heads up after his flop bet, and I called a bet on the turn and again on the river. The board was, as is typical with Omaha, fairly coordinated, and I made the call on every street with a pair of aces, king kicker. Obviously this is not an advisable strategy in many circumstances, but Jim and I have played a lot of hands together. I might have mentioned that. I picked up a vibe, nothing I could put a finger on, just an inkling that I was good. Not strong enough to raise, but enough to call the smallish bets he was firing. He'd controlled the pot size well, and he was able to make reasonable sized bets without the pot blowing up and becoming unmanageable. This not only allowed him to make a bet on every street with air, it also allowed me to call on every street with just one pair. There were a few remarks of astonishment around the table when my hand was turned over and I raked the pot, and it all came down to playing the player. I picked up a small pot and moved along, but the read was good and that was what I cared about.
The next hand I still read fairly well, but didn't work out nearly as well for me. I picked up AQo in middle position and raised. Jim three-bet from the button (or maybe cutoff, but I think it was the button). BTW, we're in Hold'em now. There were a couple other callers and I called to see a flop of Q-10-2 with two diamonds. Action checked to me and I bet about $10, close to the size of the pot with top pair, top kicker. Pirate Rob called my bet, Jim raised to $35, and Matt, a solid player who I'd only played with once before, smooth-called the $35. I went deep, deep into the tank and tried to think my way through the hand. I was sitting with about $85 behind, so calling was out of the question. It was either fold top-top or shove. After thinking for a while, I remarked that it was Matt or Pirate Rob that I was sweating, not Jim. This wasn't intended to be a shot at Jim, just that I had narrowed his range to a set of deuces, set of tens, A-Q, K-Q or two big diamonds, which would give him the nut flush and Broadway draws. Since I was ahead of all but two of the hands in his range, I wasn't really sweating the fact that he was going to call my all in regardless.
Frankly, given the money in the middle and the amount to call, he had to call my all in. It was an extra $50 or so to win $100 or more, so as long as he didn't have complete air or a gutty, he had to call. Note that neither of those were in the range I put him on. But I don't know enough about Matt's range, and his smooth-call of the $35 had me really concerned. In the end I shipped it in, Pirate Rob folded, Jim snap-called, Matt got out of the way, and Jim tabled a set of tens. Given the range I put him on and where I was against most of that range, I make the same move every time. And given that I was ahead of 60% of his range (or more), it's +EV long-term.
Overall I felt like I played moderately well last night. I called way, way too much preflop, but to me at least it became a game of floating and catching up. Some nights it's about starting well, some nights it's about getting there. Last night I got there. One of my biggest hands was one that Bad Blood got away from, and damn him for it. In Omaha the flop came down Jx-10d-Jd, and my hand was J-A-9-6. I checked the flop, and called Blood's bet. I check-raised when the turn brought the 6d, and Blood and Pirate Rob both called. River was a 9 and I fired a decent-sized bet. Blood went so far into the tank I was afraid he'd have the bends when he finally came out, but he folded his pocket tens. Rob got away from his flush, and when the prop bets were made on what we had I showed the turned boat that improved on the river. It was a nice pot, but Blood made the monster laydown to save a big chunk of his stack.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
A few more details
I know, I know. I never post anymore. I could give you the standard excuses, but I won't. I'm just busy and not quite as into it as I have been in the past. But I did buy a new camera, and I have been blown away at how good the picture quality is. I picked up the Canon Rebel Xsi, which is a little better than an entry-level SLR, and I got the Canon 70-300 lens with built-in image stabilization, so the lens ended up costing about when the camera did, but as you can see from the pics on the last post, it's worth it. Special K and Dr. K came up to Merlefest for Saturday, and he showed me a few tricks to make my shots better. I took over 60 photos over the course of two days, and culled that down to 100 or so that I liked. My plan for the week is to cull even further and then do a little iMovie thing to show off some more pics. If that ever happens, I'll let you know.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Update from the land of dead blogs
I bought a new camera.
I took it to MerleFest.
I saw some killer boogie.
You should all go with me next year.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Riding Coattails
If you wanted any more proof that he's one of the very best in this business, go to PokerNews and follow Pauly's live updates from the LAPT final. With Pauly, Change, Mean Gene and Otis all at one non-WSOP event, the A-Team is definitely in Argentina this week.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Back in the saddle
Poker content - Lost my ass in Tunica. Lost my ass again at BadBlood's. Shoved into the nuts and lost my ass at my home game. And I still love the game. We did wonder what type of thread we could get started of jealous bitches on the forums if we posted that Lee Jones made a McDonald's run at Blood's home game, though. That dude is great fun, but I hate getting in big hands with him. You'd think he'd played the game once or twice.
Today was first tech for the Avett Brothers, and it was a trip to be back in the saddle. This was the first show I'd really done since Godspell in September. I did a little one-weekend thing in December, but it was super-simple and nothing near as complex as this. I picked up a dozen used LED color-changing fixtures online (go here if interested) and bought a pair of small moving lights. I also got a lighting board that is PC-based, so the whole control rig runs out of a backpack, and a bunch of cable and big hampers to move everything with. So today was all about loading it in, putting it together for the first time and beginning to teach their road guys how to run it all. Once I figured it out, that is.
The Avett boys are really loyal, and their road crew (the parts that don't play in the band, that is) are all people that they've known for a long time. This doesn't necessarily mean that they know a ton about lighting, so I'm learning how to run a new console while I try to figure out how to teach their lighting guy how to be a lighting guy. It's a challenge, but he's really bright and was like a sponge today soaking everything up, so I'm pretty sure it will work out okay. These guys are getting bigger and bigger and I think they might be ready to make the next step. If you're going to see Dave Matthews over the next 5 weeks or so, get there early enough for the opener, because they're worth it.
They're also all about the art, which is very cool. So today we got the rig put together, and everything actually worked the first time we turned it on, which NEVER happens. We actually got done early enough to cut a chunk of the crew early and I got a couple hours of dark time in the theatre to program. That's something that I almost never get, and I've yet to be on any show where I have enough time, so to grab an extra two hours today was a luxury like getting to sleep in when the time changes. I think we've put together a good rig, and the ColorBlast TR fixtures (the LEDs) have a ton more output than I expected. We're flying them at about 20-22', and I didn't think they'd give me any punch at all over 16-18', so I was very pleasantly surprised.
And the console that I'm learning has turned out to be very intuitive, and I think it will be good for their guy, since he doesn't have any experience on lighting boards and thus doesn't have any bad habits. It's a Jands Vista PC, which uses a much more visual system of running and programming lights than any other lighting console on the market. When it came out, it was a total reimagining of lighting control, the kind of thing that comes along once every couple of decades. And since it's PC-based, it doesn't have a big piece of furniture, so it's way less expensive. It's available in a big desk-type light board as well, and I've sold one of those to a big church that I worked on a few years ago, but the PC version is ridiculously inexpensive and powerful.
So all my gear worked and I got out of the theatre by 8, so that was a good day. And it was a good thing, since I've got another 8AM call tomorrow. I'm still debating with myself whether or not to talk to Scott about running a couple of their shows later in the summer. They've got two shows in Myrtle Beach, which is an easy drive and I'd only have to burn one vacation day, but if anybody knows the boys are coming close to them and wanted to party, I might be persuaded to range a little farther afield.
Today was first tech for the Avett Brothers, and it was a trip to be back in the saddle. This was the first show I'd really done since Godspell in September. I did a little one-weekend thing in December, but it was super-simple and nothing near as complex as this. I picked up a dozen used LED color-changing fixtures online (go here if interested) and bought a pair of small moving lights. I also got a lighting board that is PC-based, so the whole control rig runs out of a backpack, and a bunch of cable and big hampers to move everything with. So today was all about loading it in, putting it together for the first time and beginning to teach their road guys how to run it all. Once I figured it out, that is.
The Avett boys are really loyal, and their road crew (the parts that don't play in the band, that is) are all people that they've known for a long time. This doesn't necessarily mean that they know a ton about lighting, so I'm learning how to run a new console while I try to figure out how to teach their lighting guy how to be a lighting guy. It's a challenge, but he's really bright and was like a sponge today soaking everything up, so I'm pretty sure it will work out okay. These guys are getting bigger and bigger and I think they might be ready to make the next step. If you're going to see Dave Matthews over the next 5 weeks or so, get there early enough for the opener, because they're worth it.
They're also all about the art, which is very cool. So today we got the rig put together, and everything actually worked the first time we turned it on, which NEVER happens. We actually got done early enough to cut a chunk of the crew early and I got a couple hours of dark time in the theatre to program. That's something that I almost never get, and I've yet to be on any show where I have enough time, so to grab an extra two hours today was a luxury like getting to sleep in when the time changes. I think we've put together a good rig, and the ColorBlast TR fixtures (the LEDs) have a ton more output than I expected. We're flying them at about 20-22', and I didn't think they'd give me any punch at all over 16-18', so I was very pleasantly surprised.
And the console that I'm learning has turned out to be very intuitive, and I think it will be good for their guy, since he doesn't have any experience on lighting boards and thus doesn't have any bad habits. It's a Jands Vista PC, which uses a much more visual system of running and programming lights than any other lighting console on the market. When it came out, it was a total reimagining of lighting control, the kind of thing that comes along once every couple of decades. And since it's PC-based, it doesn't have a big piece of furniture, so it's way less expensive. It's available in a big desk-type light board as well, and I've sold one of those to a big church that I worked on a few years ago, but the PC version is ridiculously inexpensive and powerful.
So all my gear worked and I got out of the theatre by 8, so that was a good day. And it was a good thing, since I've got another 8AM call tomorrow. I'm still debating with myself whether or not to talk to Scott about running a couple of their shows later in the summer. They've got two shows in Myrtle Beach, which is an easy drive and I'd only have to burn one vacation day, but if anybody knows the boys are coming close to them and wanted to party, I might be persuaded to range a little farther afield.
Thursday, April 02, 2009
Flooding New Orleans
With my chips, that is. Two buy-ins in two hours was enough to get me out of the casino and onto Bourbon Street for the night, not that my nights run all that long anymore. Anyway, I've got a teleconference at 9 tomorrow, so turning in early was ok. I set myself a 2 buyin stop loss for the night, and rapidly went past that dumping another hundred at the blackjack table. But on the to my tales of woe and mediocre play.
First bu-in was easy - I lost about $50 playing 4/8 Omaha Hi before I got called to my $1/2 seat. All that came in a hand where I flopped the open-ender, got there on the turn, and got out for only one bet on the river when the board paired. My nut straight no good to her boat, but at least it wasn't PLO. Meh. Then about three hands into my $1/2 session at what might be the most passive table I've ever seen, I flopped the K-high straight on a board of K-J-10 with two hearts. I held Q-9 off suit, and led out. Guy immediately to my left called, and the short stack at the end of the table raised my $6 bet to $20. I raised enough to put him all in, and the guy to my left moved all in over the top of me. I hadn't been at the table long enough to have much of a read, but I thought he was a pretty sharp player, solid, but capable of making a move. I put the short stack on a King or maybe two pair, and the guy to my left on hearts, so I made the call with the baby end of the straight, saying to the guy on my left "If I'm coolered, I'm coolered."
I was coolered. He turned over A-Q off, having limped into a 7-way pot with AQ and flopped Broadway. Shorty at the end showed another Q-9 off, and when the board didn't bring an ace, I lost my first buy-in. I didn't sweat that too much, since it's pretty rare that someone limps with AQ at the $1/2 table, so I reloaded. A big chunk of my second buyin went away when I flopped a flush draw, bet out, got one caller. Turned the open-ender to go with it, bet out, got called, and when the river missed me I had to fold to his shove. Then I made my last poker mistake of the night. Old nit had raised his button to $12 every orbit. He was a local, and old fuck, and a table captain besides. Add that to his habit of hiding his green chips behind all his other chips, and I kinda didn't like him. So the third time he raised his button, which put me having limped in under the gun with Qh-7h, I called out of spite, figuring he was raising with position. The only times he raised preflop was from the button and cutoff, and he limped every other hand. His pattern was to raise preflop and overbet the flop if it checked to him. This flop came down A-7-x, and I checked, planning to go to war with 2nd pair if he did his standard overbet. He did, pushing $50 into the $30 pot, and I moved all in over the top. He had A-K, I didn't improve, and I went to wander Bourbon Street.
Neither of those hands turned out the way I wanted them to, and maybe with more information on the old fuck I don't make that move. It could be that he had the goods every time he had the button, but I don't buy it. I just ran into him the time he did. Meh. Tomorrow will see me heading to Biloxi to check out the casinos there after I wander the Quarter a little during the daytime, take some pics and snag some souveniers for my sis and Suzy. Then hopefully I can rebound in Mississippi from the drubbing I took in NOLA.
First bu-in was easy - I lost about $50 playing 4/8 Omaha Hi before I got called to my $1/2 seat. All that came in a hand where I flopped the open-ender, got there on the turn, and got out for only one bet on the river when the board paired. My nut straight no good to her boat, but at least it wasn't PLO. Meh. Then about three hands into my $1/2 session at what might be the most passive table I've ever seen, I flopped the K-high straight on a board of K-J-10 with two hearts. I held Q-9 off suit, and led out. Guy immediately to my left called, and the short stack at the end of the table raised my $6 bet to $20. I raised enough to put him all in, and the guy to my left moved all in over the top of me. I hadn't been at the table long enough to have much of a read, but I thought he was a pretty sharp player, solid, but capable of making a move. I put the short stack on a King or maybe two pair, and the guy to my left on hearts, so I made the call with the baby end of the straight, saying to the guy on my left "If I'm coolered, I'm coolered."
I was coolered. He turned over A-Q off, having limped into a 7-way pot with AQ and flopped Broadway. Shorty at the end showed another Q-9 off, and when the board didn't bring an ace, I lost my first buy-in. I didn't sweat that too much, since it's pretty rare that someone limps with AQ at the $1/2 table, so I reloaded. A big chunk of my second buyin went away when I flopped a flush draw, bet out, got one caller. Turned the open-ender to go with it, bet out, got called, and when the river missed me I had to fold to his shove. Then I made my last poker mistake of the night. Old nit had raised his button to $12 every orbit. He was a local, and old fuck, and a table captain besides. Add that to his habit of hiding his green chips behind all his other chips, and I kinda didn't like him. So the third time he raised his button, which put me having limped in under the gun with Qh-7h, I called out of spite, figuring he was raising with position. The only times he raised preflop was from the button and cutoff, and he limped every other hand. His pattern was to raise preflop and overbet the flop if it checked to him. This flop came down A-7-x, and I checked, planning to go to war with 2nd pair if he did his standard overbet. He did, pushing $50 into the $30 pot, and I moved all in over the top. He had A-K, I didn't improve, and I went to wander Bourbon Street.
Neither of those hands turned out the way I wanted them to, and maybe with more information on the old fuck I don't make that move. It could be that he had the goods every time he had the button, but I don't buy it. I just ran into him the time he did. Meh. Tomorrow will see me heading to Biloxi to check out the casinos there after I wander the Quarter a little during the daytime, take some pics and snag some souveniers for my sis and Suzy. Then hopefully I can rebound in Mississippi from the drubbing I took in NOLA.
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