Aug 23, 2006 02:32
RobMonge:
Thu Jul 13 00:41:00 PDT 2006
Prop Bets
Doyle Brunson and Phil Ivey are making unspecified prop bets at their table.
Tonight, I'm writing a Live Journal. Yup, in my white tee. I slang in my white tee. I bang in my white tee. All in the club spitting game in my white tee. And you can either thank or blame RobMonge because although I've accumulated plenty of material since my last entry, things have been pretty busy lately. But between Rob's encouragament, Chau Giang's elimination from the $50,000 H.O.R.S.E World Series of Poker event, and a desire to finally live up to the promise I made months ago in my AIM profile, I've brought myself to get something in writing. And to make up for all the things I've missed between now and then, I'll make it easy for everyone who's in a rush by providing a table of contents: First, I owe it to Alon "The Numba' Man" Brodie to tell this story - plus, it might help to explain why Alon calls me "Att" (in case anyone's been wondering). Next, I'll list some observations and explain why I've been tossing over them for the last few weeks. Finally, I'll explain why my International Relations of East Asia professor can read my mind.
A few weeks ago, Alon, Justin and I played Canadian Doubles (which is a type of tennis where the drinking age is 18, strippers retrieve the balls, and nobody speaks English). Afterwards, Alon and I went to Jamba Juice while Justin nobly went home to care for his family. Now, for those of you who don't know, Alon's name is pronounced Uh-LOAN - not Eh-lan or even Ah-lan. Alone - like the state of being. And for some reason, he's ashamed of it - so ashamed, in fact, that when we went to Jamba Juice and the cashier asked for his name, he answered "Brodie" - which, to me at least, is as funny as the name 'Alon'. Anyway, I couldn't help but wonder if having a name which is often confused with an adjective really creates any palpable embarassment - so I told the cashier that my name was Alon. She smiled and said, "Oh, what does your name mean?" Before I could say "Impassionate hunter", Alon responded with the real translation - oak tree (so much for impassionate hunter). Now, I've never been hit on, and whenever I've tried to hit on someone else, it's usually gone terribly, so I've got no idea what hitting on looks or sounds like. But I once read an article about this professional poker player who meets women by asking their names and following with either "You're the cutest (her name here) I've ever met" (if it's an average name) or "My, that's beautiful - what does it mean?" (if it's exotic). So I put the pieces together and realized that, for the first time in my life, it was POSSIBLE that someone was hitting on me - I still say she wasn't, but Alon runs the numbers, and he said she did. Okay, he didn't say that - but he was thinking it. I also read an article about Phil Ivey playing $8,000/$16,000 - man, Phil Ivey's awesome. But back to our cashier friend; I then noticed that her name was also in Hebrew, so I asked what it meant. If memory serves, it wasn't especially exotic, so our conversation was essentially dead. I drank my juice and left.
So with that said, I'll now explain why Alon calls me "Att". Many months ago, probably during a poker game, someone asked Alon how he introduces himself at WashU. "I say, 'Hi. I'm Alon.'" Someone else followed by asking what people typically say in response. "'Aww... that's too bad. Wanna sleep together?'" Yeah, Alon didn't say that, but I thought it'd be funny to speculate. Anyway, I must've been doing well that night because I found this absolutely hysterical - on par with the time Mrs. Garbis told Andrew and me that Jim Fant tried to get her drunk, which is an altogether different story. But then I realized that I have a similar problem; when I introduce myself, I say, "Hi. I'm Matt". Notice anything strange? Try saying it. How about now? Yup, there it is - the elusive DOUBLE M! Alon found this implausible - "Nobody's gonna think your name is 'Att'", he retorted brashly. "That's stupid."
Had it been anyone else, I probably would've agreed and moved on - but how could I pass up an opportunity to argue with Alon, the man who has declared time after time that China's in Southeast Asia? With no foreseeable ending in sight, Alon and I stopped arguing and just accepted our new nicknames - Att and Alone (although his was actually his real name).
But recently, things changed. After listening to the song "Halftime" by NaS a few times during my June 8-18th Birthright Israel trip, I fell in love with the nickname "Numba' Man", and when I came back, Alon started calling me "The Jigga Man". Wheels started turning, things clicked, etc. etc. and now, we've got a new set of much cooler nicknames. Boom, it's on. Ahh, and about Israel - I spent ten days in the land of my forefathers with thirty-eight of the greatest people you'll ever meet (to take a line out of Mean Girls - I quote Mean Girls like it's my job. Just ask Ramon.) Israel's a lot like Canada - underage drinking, strippers, foreign language, robust beer, etc. - but without all the stupidity. That is, until recently. I've never gotten political in a Live Journal entry and, as RobMonge teaches, I'm not a huge fan of political discussion (even though I'm a PoliSci/Econ/English major). But that doesn't mean I don't follow shit - nigga', I been followin' shit since the slaaaaaaave ships... wit' the saaaaaaame clip and the same .45. Quick draw McGraw, I read The Economist. Nevermind - ask Daniel Levy. But I had a conversation with Ali Walker last night about the subject, and I've since opened up. I'm now prepared to discuss politics with allcomers - so bring it, suckas. I'll meet y'all in the trail... it's goin' down.
The ensuing list of observations epitomizes what I've been doing over the last few months. In fact, that's as far from the truth as you can get - so take the list, go as far from it as you can, and then deduce what I've been up to lately. It's kind of like listening to old Beatles music backwards, but without any discernable meaning. Or LSD. Well, maybe some LSD... you'd probably learn more from it if you were on LSD... Just a thought; just throwing it out there.
Observation Number One: Dental Assistants - wtf, mates?
I've been going to the same dentist for the last 8 years (with the saaaame... ah, nevermind). We're friends - his name's Jeff ; mine's the Jigga Man. We've had some great discussions (under the knife and otherwise), but the same can't be said for his new assistant, a woman named "Scotty" (I knew it was a man's name, and I cycled through a few possibilities - Bobby, Toby, Roger, Franklin - before remebering what it was). Jeff hired Scotty a few months ago, and at first, I liked her - she told me to floss and I thought to myself, "I be tossin' and flossin'; my style is AWESOME! This lady rules!" But during my last cleaning, Scotty insisted on having this long, in-depth conversation about everything I didn't care about. It was like she had a list of things I didn't care about. But I put up with it because she's got her hands in my mouth and it'd be awkward to just ignore her. But while she was unearthing tartar from the deepest layers of my gum tissue, I realized something: what the fuck does she expect me to say or do? If, for some reason, I wanted to reply with anything more than a nod or a smile, I'd have to stop her from doing what she's doing, which would create inefficiency and possibly put my teeth and her hands in danger! PANIC BUTTON! I even tried to reply a few times, but she obviously couldn't understand a word I said (as evidenced by her laughing after I commented on the impending clash of Arab states - I guess it's kind of funny). I'm in no way, shape, or form opposed to discussing shit with Scotty, Jeff, or anyone else who puts their hands in my mouth, but why can't we save it for afterwards? It's just too difficult. You caaaaaan't call... hundred tousand, 'das toooo much fah yooooou. Oh Scotty. Does she know? I'll tell her next time.
It's 2:34 AM on August 23, 2006. Alon's standing behind me. Earlier, he told me that at 9:00:00:00 AM, he was going to press "Update" no matter what I had written, so consider this part one of a three volume set. I'm still planning to discuss my experience at Tufts, throw some shout-outs to my boys in Bo-town, describe the greatness of UNIVERSITY CLUB, and go deeper into my latest exploits. But I'm tired and half-drunk, so I'd better call it. Thanks for the read - comments welcome, as always.