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September 30th, 2006
01:27 pm - stupid government
So perhaps my dwindling motivation to play poker was actually a precog-like sensing of the impending legislative ban on online gambling in America. FANNNNNNNNNNNNNTASTIC. I feel much safer now that Bill Frist has protected me from harming myself and others through the vicious vehicle of online poker. Oh, but feel free to continue to bet on horses and buy lottery tickets. Fucking hypocrites. And of course in typical fashion, they sneak the bill into some bullshit about port security and use some special Congressional measure to insta-pass it.
The major problem right now is that the fallout from the bill could be worse than the bill itself. Nobody knows what the online poker sites, payment processing sites (Neteller, Firepay, etc.), and banks are going to do. The whole thing is generally an unenforceable nightmare, but they have up to 270 days to figure out how to code electronic funds transfers in a way that they can flag the "illegal" transactions. From what I can gather, withdrawing money for those that already have money on these sites isn't going to be a problem. There's nothing illegal about having money come OUT of a gambling site or Neteller and hitting a US bank account. It's just illegal to put money IN. That obviously makes it more difficult for casual players to deposit and some will definitely be scared off by the "legal" ramifications, thereby shrinking the online poker economy as a whole and making games tougher (in theory). This is bad enough, but there are still plenty of fish worldwide, I think, to sustain most games.
The real problem is what if these sites, in wanting to comply with US law, decide that they no longer will accept business from American customers? I don't see Party or Stars saying, "Well, thanks for your business, gringos -- it was fun while it lasted. But now we must block you from playing on our site." I think these companies should fight tooth and nail to do whatever they can to make sure that they can retain their American business, which is surely massive. But what if they're satisfied with the rest of the world's business and decide that it's easier to comply with American law than go against it? Neteller already decided that they don't need the state of Maryland's business. I mean, it could happen. Nobody knows what's going to happen right now, and until the major poker sites and transaction processors come out with some kind of statement, people are going to be in a tizzy. Shit, I'm one of them. I'm thinking about withdrawing half my bankroll purely as a precautionary measure. The worst thing would be to have made a bunch of money and then have a site go, "I'm sorry Johnny Bluejeans, but you should have read part XVII subsection A of our terms and conditions that says you forfeit all funds in the event of X..." But then I know it will be so much harder to get money in if I do that, and I'm trying to climb the stakes ladder.
This reminds me so much of when the SEC implemented rule 2520 (the pattern day trader rule) in 2001. This regulation essentially killed all of the small time daytraders off, making it impossible for those without an account size in excess of 25,000 dollars to trade stocks in their chosen manner. This law is similar in that it will impose a similar high "effort" barrier of entry for someone who wants to gamble online.
I'm disgusted that the gambling lobbyists didn't view this legislation as a big enough threat to take precautionary action sooner. They felt it wiser to take the path of least resistance and "not alarm their players" until action was needed. Now, it's too late. The only thing that can happen now is to hope to get some study legislation passed that evaluates a possible taxing / revenue approach to online gambling. Either that or during the 270 day period where everyone is trying to figure out how to enforce this stupid law, it gets sent to the courts somehow.
What a great way to get the fucking weekend kicked off.
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September 27th, 2006
08:13 pm - Poker, Gaming, and Life
Apologies to Sklansky for the headline grab, first of all. Let's tackle the subject matter in order!
Poker:
Has been going incredibly well. I've been playing a fair mix of games, including my first true forays into the NL cash arena. I've dabbled in it every now and then from time to time, but never have made a true committment to playing it consistently. That is, until I got set up on Cardrunners. I found their videos to be just what the doctor ordered in terms of speeding up my learning curve. I'm up some silly unsustainable amount over my first 1500 hands or so, but I don't really care about that -- I just want to play well whenever possible and realize when I'm not. I've also been playing a ton of limit O8. I started off dabbling in the 5/10 and 10/20 HORSE games at Pokerstars and earning a fair amount at them over Labor Day weekend when I was up at my folks' house in NH. Once I got back home and could run my stats, I discovered that my greatest earn was happening during the O8 and Razz rounds. I was particularly shocked at how poorly people played Razz, which is probably the most straightforward poker game. I tried that for a while and discovered what most eventually discover when playing Razz -- it's boring, and frequently just an excercise in card-catching. The O8 was almost as poor in terms of play, so I focused my attention on that for the near term, playing shorthanded 5/10 and 8/16 for starters.
It really is astonishing what people will play in this game. I am by no means an expert, but the hand valuation of those that play 5/10, 8/16, and 10/20 limit O8 is probably the worst I have ever seen in any form of poker. I'm talking preflop, postflop, drawing to a high, drawing to a low, drawing naked scribblings like Jackie Treehorn -- whatever. They pick the wrong hands to go to war with, draw to half the pot almost always, bet weak high only made hands on a two low card / two flush flop, raise the fuck out of the nutlow only... astonishing. Most of them, particularly shorthanded, have absolutely no idea how to value the high half of their hand. This is where my biggest edge is, as my PLO high experience has definitely helped me in realizing good value betting opportunities against opponents who play in a heavily low-centric fashion.
After running terribly in cash games in August, I've had my best month ever in September. There's only one slight tiny problem worth talking about...
I'm getting gun shy.
Whenever I am doing really well, my overall desire to play goes down. I can't figure it out. I don't know whether its because I'm lazy or complacent with the money I've made, fearing that if I play more I'll lose it, or what. Maybe it's part of my profit-booking nature which I got from daytrading, hmm. Unfortunately this trait doesn't do me very well in the poker arena; you're supposed to _want_ to play more when running good. Instead, I'm getting up from good games after having made money and saying "That's enough." I have two possible theories that could account for it:
1) I had a shitty month last month and want to book an extra good month this month, without any last day meltdowns (which I do sometimes - I lost probably 20% of my total monthly profit in both June and July on the last few calendar days).
2) I'm getting mentally fatigued more quickly by the stress of no limit cash play.
also available is option 3) I'm a risk-averse pussy.
It's just odd that I have the desire and put the work in to improve my game immeasurably this year, acquired the results to show for it, and yet my drive to play is on the wane when I should really be thinking about continuing to smash face and move up in limits.
I should be playing right now, but instead I'm writing this.
Gaming:
I've been playing the bejesus out of Company of Heroes for the PC, and just got NBA Live 2k7 for the 360 today. COH is easily one of the best games I have ever played, and the best RTS since Starcraft. The attention to detail and immersion factor is just at a crazy level. I also continue to grind along with my guild at World of Warcraft, raiding various high end instances 2-3 times a week. I still want to quit, but am having trouble pulling the trigger. It's still fun at times, but I sure could use the extra 15-20 hours a week for other things.
Life:
Is good. I've been thinking about getting a new TV but am dazzled by the research undertaking of DLP vs. Plasma vs. LCD and checking out all of the various brands and models of TV sets. The last time I did this was in 2001 when I bought a Sony Wega 36 inch XBR500 for about $2500. Now, I can get a 72 inch DLP for that much. Absurd.
I've got a lot of other projects I need to work on -- finishing the damn safari journal, retouching my Africa photos, rehabbing my Bill Walton feet (metatarsalgia and achilles tendonitis problems), and oh, the small matter of starting to look for a house. I've also been told that I need to square up and secure _all_ of the extravagant purchases like a new TV, computer, other gadgetry, etc. before the house and at some indeterminate future time, the baby, siphon away the money supply.
Guess I'd better get to work on that poker problem.
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August 18th, 2006
11:33 am - kiggity strikes again
3rd place in a 10k guaranteed on Full Tilt last night. I should probably be playing more of this tournament poker stuff. Highlights included:
- Someone shoving AJc into my 88 on a TT8 board. I won't refuse a gift.
- Eliminating someone with T4 (my T hi beat his 5 hi). Hey I was getting 3.5 to 1...
- Going all-in probably every other hand over a 15 hand stretch on the bubble and never getting called
- A bigstack calling 1/3rd of his chips against my all-in with TT with his 89o
- Misc. other donkalicious treats
I lost when my QQ ran into AA, crippling me, and then my TT didn't hold up against QJ after I'd stolen my way back to an equal stack with the dude 2nd in chips when it was 3 handed. That left me with only 3k chips and the blinds at 5k/10k. After doubling up 4 hands in a row, the final nail in the coffin hit: my pocket deuces didn't save me against AJ on a KT4 board. The Q fell on the turn and I was out in 3rd place.
I was happy with my play overall, but the structure was really lame. The blinds and antes in the tournament went up every 10 minutes instead of the usual 15 I'm used to on other sites, and the game quickly became an all-in shovefest in the later stages. I think my average M (Harrington nomenclature) when I was an average sized stack was around 5. I really hate playing poker that way. There's only one correct play, everyone knows it, and it's just a card catching contest from that point forward. Lame.
This is in direct contest to the PLO8/rebuy tournament I won on Sunday; there was a ton more postflop play due to the pot limit restriction and tournament structure. I was the chip leader most of that tournament, though, and played like it. I'm not even any good at PLO8; really my experience playing PLO high is what won the day. Opponents didn't know how to adequately value their high hands, and when the blinds get hefty, it really isn't about the low side anymore.
Anyhoo, taking a break from the game until Tuesday, since I have a friend coming in to town. The two cashes this week have really helped dig me out of the hole I was in prior.
Damn, it feels good to be a gangsta.
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August 13th, 2006
05:02 pm - about time.
My luck finally turned around this month.
http://www.pokerhand.org/?453935
I'll be posting the rest of the safari journal soon, so for the 5 of you that are reading it, sit tight.
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July 31st, 2006
09:20 am - home at last
We are home at last, after a murderous 48 hours of travel. I have updated and cleaned up the first two journal entries and would encourage anyone interested to re-read them, as some material has been changed or added. I also fixed the stupid text formatting. I will be back-dating and posting my completed journal entries through day 7 fairly soon, and I hope to find a place where I can host and link in the pictures soon, making for a more interactive reading experience.
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July 24th, 2006
07:44 pm - 4 updates to come , perhaps
I'm here at the Mbagaleti Tented Camp in the western Serengeti, making use of the fine satellite Internet connection, but the computer is actually secured here and won't allow me to install my USB key to post my pictures and updates. I have to talk to the manager and use his machine to update, so perhaps I can do that later this evening.
This place is _out of control_. You wouldn't think a tented camp would be better than the best hotel I've stayed at in America, but it is.
More to follow, I hope.
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10:33 am - Day Seven - Drive to Serengeti
Day 7 – Ngorongoro / Drive to Serengeti
Clouded in a thick layer of morning fog, we navigated along the circumference of the Ngorongoro crater. Renny had posed us a dilemma the night prior: fly to the Serengeti, or drive, by way of Oldubai Gorge. I was all-in for flying. Kathleen was on the fence. Bill and Linda were split, as were Sam and Kathy, our van-mates. We had no idea what the other twelve on the trip wanted to do, but given their general enthusiasm, it seemed obvious. Renny announced the majority’s decision to drive at the dinner table.
The Oldubai Gorge was where Dr. Mary Leakey and her company excavated (I believe) some of the first human fossils; a major interest to the group’s history buffs. I was nonplussed – it was three hours of flying to the Serengeti versus eight hours of driving, according to Renny’s calculations. The Oldubai Gorge could have been Atari’s legendary burial site of two-hundred and fifty thousand E.T. cartridges and I wouldn’t have cared a whit. After about three hours, we arrived at the museum. As it turns out, there was more of historical significance there than the excavation.
The Oldubai Gorge was also home to the absolute worst bathroom on the planet. It was a piss and shit-caked slit in a concrete slab, enclosed in a shoulder-width unventilated wooden box. The smell was unbearable. I braved the stench only long enough to open the door and immediately began to dry-heave. Yes, I would have preferred to fly.
The next stop, four hours later, was the Serengeti Welcome Center. The Micato Team unfurled a quick picnic lunch in the parking lot, since all of the tables were taken by other travelers. After the fine-dining, Renny led everyone on a nature walk up a narrow path to Pride Rock, allegedly the site where Mufasa’s presented the newborn Simba in Disney’s The Lion King. Fans of the movie went bananas, obviously. Personally, what I found amusing was that such a “famous” attraction had a mammoth cellular tower planted thirty feet in front of it.
After the walk, Renny informed our caravan that we would no longer be heading to the Serengeti Sopa Lodge, citing that it was under renovation. This smelled awfully fishy; how could Micato not know ahead of time? Did the renovations begin today? Our new destination was Mbalageti Safari Camp, a luxurious permanent tent resort on the far western end of the Serengeti, near Lake Victoria. I doubted that a tent could be a better accommodation than bricks and mortar, but Renny swore up and down that Mbalageti was infinitely superior to the Sopa Lodge. It would take about five hours to get there, but that number included a game drive on the way. The prospect of another five hours in a vehicle was not a thrilling one. This place would have to be pretty damned special.
Serengeti means “infinite plain” when translated from Swahili. The natives were stunningly accurate – nothing but miles and miles of flat grassland with an occasional tree here and there. The Serengeti had a stark beauty about it, but it was easily the least visually appealing game park, despite its world-famous reputation. The animals were quite skittish, too. Our only new sighting was the ever-elusive leopard, nestled in the crook of a tree. It was barely visible, and not even those with expensive 400x telephoto lenses could get a clean shot.
At about six o’clock, our van was first to arrive at the Mbalageti Safari Camp and was greeted by the usual troupe of smiling porters bearing heated washcloths. I wiped my face, and then a cold fruit drink appeared in my hand. The place didn’t look like much yet, certainly not worth the twelve hours. Alas, we shuffled in to the main welcome area and saw that Renny was not kidding. My quick wits afforded me a swift hip-hop bastardization of the camp’s name: Ballergeti.
The open air “lobby” area was a mix of comfortable looking teak and oak furniture. A gorgeous table sported different varieties of coffee, tea, hot chocolate – even five different kinds of sugar. A computer desk with free internet access was nestled against the wall. All of the décor had an overwhelming rustic meets modern appeal. The bathroom doors were hand-hewn works of art, with smoothed branches acting as handles. The bathroom fixtures were out of any American luxury hotel, but the toilet jutted out of a real flower bed. The whole thing was quite out of hand. We were given our room key, and a Masai warrior walked us to our tent as the sun descended over the horizon. Escorts were required for anyone walking after dark in Mbalageti, since the camp was unprotected by any kind of electric fence.
The tent was unlike any accommodation I have ever experienced. It was at least three hundred to four hundred square feet with the attached bathroom. The bed was a lovely four-poster king with a down comforter and pillows. There was a couch, vanity, dressing table – the works. A free-standing ivory tub beckoned on the porch. Yes, this tent had a porch.
We sat down to the dinner table to find that the other twelve had not yet arrived – they had gotten stuck in a ditch a few miles from Mbalageti. Poor luck for them, as African and Indian buffets were both available. Outside, on a real charcoal pit, a whole suckling pig was roasted to perfection. Wine was complementary. No bugs were in sight. Lightning danced on the horizon and the crack of thunder roared across the infinite plain.
A guy could get used to this Africa stuff.
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July 23rd, 2006
10:28 am - Day Six - Ngorongoro Conservation Area
The Ngorongoro Sopa Lodge was a bit nicer than the one in Tarangire, but I based this on two things: the sights and a brand of Brazilian instant decaffeinated coffee served there. In the morning, I opted for the locally grown Arabica but favored the decaf in the evening. A hot drink in hand at all times was almost a requirement; it was cold at the crater rim. Morning game drives typically began with the temperature in the fifties. So, all of the shorts I packed for safari have gone unworn outside of Nairobi. The climate has been pleasantly cool and moderate, but here I had to wear a sweatshirt for the entire day.
The ride down into the crater itself was extremely bumpy and boring. The road was thickly foliated on each side, with the occasional break hinting at the usual stunning view. Unfortunately, the entire crater was socked in a layer of impenetrable fog at the highest elevations. Nothing would be viewable until in the caldera itself. After reaching the bottom, we were treated to a unique landscape that was markedly different than the ones prior – a weird mix of grassland, forest, and swamp. I’m continuously amazed at the differences in topography as the safari moves from site to site. The land often told a fresher story than its denizens, as the same animals are common to many locales.
There was some new game spotted on the morning journey, but the number of fresh sightings was dwindling. The olive baboon, silver-backed and side-striped jackal, and a host of new birds were among the highlights. It’d be impossible to see every bird species native to Tanzania, but we’re getting dry on the other stuff.
Lunch was served picnic-style at the bottom of the crater, near a hippo wading pool. Unfortunately, our camera lens was not powerful enough to take any close up shots here, but I would get some decent ones on the afternoon drive. At the picnic area, I captured a few excellent starlings that lived in a large bush. I also saw the biggest wasp ever; it got trapped in our open van and was the size of the door lock. The Micato team tidied up everything and re-packed for the afternoon when lunch had finished. This was the first and only all-day game drive for the duration of the trip.
Renny joined us as a guide on the PM drive, and he was his usual effusive and gregarious self. It was plain to see that he really enjoyed his work, as grueling as it was. Micato safari tour leaders had to keep track of the whims and wishes of eighteen demanding American tourists, make every arrangement, answer every question posed, and handle every problem thrown at them for sixteen hours every day. At Ngorongoro, Renny went without sleep, unable to rest because of the altitude. I’d probably hurl myself off of the crater if I had to do his job.
We saw a black rhino at medium distance this afternoon, and spent thirty or forty minutes at another hippo wading pool. There were at least ten, and everyone took their fill of continuous photography of the hippos bathing, sunning, and jousting with one another. Renny interjected various bits of hippopotamus lore and kept the mood light. Later, our van chanced upon another elephant family later and was mere seconds from being charged by a protective mother. The encounter was at an even closer range than the one in Amboseli but when ears flare and trunks rise, it’s time to start the engine.
We returned somewhat early to the lodge, and I, of course, downed another cup of the delicious decaf. Dinner was served buffet style, but the food quality wasn’t tremendous. The day was long and exhausting, but spirits were high as the eighteen of us swapped tales of a full day in this unique and wonderful country.
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July 22nd, 2006
10:08 am - Day Five - Tarangire / Drive to Ngorongoro Conservation Area
The one thing about safari: it’s a lot of driving. Game drives last around four to five hours, which is just a long time to be in a car with six other tourists, the driver, and guide. Our drive this morning was around five hours and took us through the entirety of Tarangire National Park. The most prominent feature of the landscape was the baobob tree. Baobob have an enormous trunk, a couple of main limbs, and then hundreds of tiny branches. Many of them have gaping holes – the product of elephants attempting to get the water stored inside during the dry season. There were also “sausage trees”, which were similar in shape to the acacia, but with more conventional foliage and hanging fruits which indeed looked like sausage. Big thickets of growth, dense bushes, giant wild aloe plants, and burned out tufts of savannah grass comprised the land between the trees. It’s difficult to describe, but the overall topography was just rough – totally unlike Amboseli.
Game-wise, we saw several new species in Tarangire. Kathleen’s favorite was naturally the cutest animal – the dik-dik. Everyone suppressed their juvenile urges when our new driver-guide, Simitan, first informed us of the name given to the one of the world’s smallest antelopes. Renny had to split time between three vans due to the size of the overall group. Simitan was quiet and offered little, but knowledgeable when asked anything directly. He was more difficult to understand than Renny, who spoke flawless English, but communication wasn’t much an issue.
Tarangire is home to more diverse bird species than anywhere else in the world. Strangely enough, the most common bird in East Africa is the most photogenic: the superb starling. It has a black head, milky white eyes with a well-defined pupil, a gorgeous iridescent blue back and wings, and a breast that varies in color from ruddy brown to ruby red. Like a city pigeon, they are totally fearless and the only wild bird I have ever seen that will not fly away when a human is nearby.
We encountered the usual assortment of elephants, giraffes, lions, antelopes, and other short grassland animals in Tarangire, but Amboseli was infinitely superior for viewing them.
After a brief buffet lunch at the lodge, our caravan rolled out for the Ngorongoro Conservation Area – another six hour drive. The only memorable portion of the journey was a stop at yet another souvenir shop. Kathleen scoured for a purchase and finally settled on a giraffe-etched salad bowl for the sum of twenty American dollars, negotiated down from sixty-five by Bill. I didn’t see anything that I liked, as I was searching for a good African mask replica. I’m not really much for souvenirs anyway. My pictures and memories are souvenirs enough.
Six hours and about nine thousand feet later, we reached the rim of the Ngorongoro Crater and pulled up to the Sopa Lodge there at about seven o’clock. I have seen some amazing things during these four days on safari, but the sunset view from the top of the crater has to be the best. It was postcard perfect – a mind-blowing panorama of tree canopy, thick mist, and rock face.
Ngorongoro Crater is said to be the eighth wonder of the world. Consider me among the believers.
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July 21st, 2006
09:58 am - Day Four - Drive to Tarangire / Tarangire National Park
The drive leaving Amboseli was affectionately termed the “African Massage” by safari guides for good reason. At least an hour and a half of it felt like driving high speed on unpaved gravel. The van was full of everyone’s stuff and cramped, making for a very uncomfortable ride. It was not without some relief, as Jefferson took a shortcut through the dried-up Lake Amboseli. During the rainy season, the lake is as one would expect, but during the dry season, it is nothing but a flat bed of black, loose soil. We were heading for the Tanzanian border to go through customs and then onward to Arusha, the third largest city in the country, for a quick lunch. The final destination: Tarangire National Park.
There was much rejoicing when the tires finally touched real pavement. It was another two hours until the border, but we stopped at a couple of souvenir shops to break up the trip. Kathleen found nothing of interest, but I could tell that her purchasing juices were beginning to flow and the urge to buy something would soon arise. The journey toward the border continued, passing through rural villages similar to those seen outside of Nairobi. Things were a bit more on the agricultural side out here, as the number of shops selling phone services gave way to the more typical fruits and vegetables. Children ran up to the van whenever able, mimicking handwriting motion to signify desire for a pen. The Micato literature noted that pens are great gifts for African children and those on safaris should bring a box. Americans lose them and throw them away without a second thought.
The Tanzanian border scene was pure chaos. Hucksters were everywhere, running from van to van, trying to make a fast buck from tourists. Salesmen were hawking bottled water, Coca-Cola, beads, wooden carvings, ebony statues, spears – just about everything. Guards patrolled, searching for contraband: rhino horns, elephant tusks, and other game trophies. We eventually got through customs after about an hour, going through the Kenyan departure stage and the Tanzanian arrival stage, which were about half a mile apart from one another.
At the Kenyan border, we bid a temporary farewell to Alfred, whom everyone was pretty fond of. He was knowledgeable, serious, educated, calm, honest, and possessed a quirky sense of humor. Alfred’s best trait was that he always looked after the group first; he secured special tables, filled our petty requests, covered our tourist mistakes, and always, always made sure that everything went as smoothly as possible. He explained that he would be rejoining us at the Masai Mara Game Reserve in Kenya in five days’ time, and our new guide through Tanzania would be Renny. We’d also be combining with a larger group of twelve on different Micato safari packages for the remainder of our trip. This wasn’t great news, as we’d gotten quite used to our intimate group.
Renny was a much larger man with a booming voice and an eager smile; a company man. Kathleen remarked that his outward enthusiasm was cruise ship director-like in quality. Alfred was almost the polar opposite; he confided over a dinner in Amboseli that Mrs. Pinto (owner of Micato) didn’t like him very much because he always told the truth, and that occasionally when asked, he would refuse to take clients into the bush in favor of spending time with his family. Within the first five minutes of meeting Renny, Kathleen and I knew we were in for a different vibe.
The drive to Arusha was long and uneventful. It was not entirely without mirth, as Renny had picked up a Tanzanian newspaper at a gas station. What apparently passed as American news of import to Tanzanians:
KID ROCK, PAMELA ANDERSON TO WED
Arusha was a scaled down Nairobi with fewer citizens ceaselessly milling around. Renny pointed out the midpoint between Cairo, Egypt and Capetown, South Africa – a stone monument in a city park. Another landmark was the United Nations Tribunal for the war criminals of the Rwandan genocide – easily the biggest and most modern looking building in Arusha. That was the extent of the sight-seeing there. After a quick buffet lunch at a hotel, we drove to an airstrip and boarded a twelve seat plane bound for another tiny dirt airfield outside of Tarangire. This plane had me a little more worried than the flight to Amboseli, particularly when the pilot told everyone to sit in the front part of the plane or else we wouldn’t make it off the ground.
We landed at the airstrip without incident, packed up the waiting vans, and began our game drive through Tarangire. The countryside was remarkably different than Amboseli. Where Amboseli was mostly plain, Tarangire was a land of thick vegetation and burned out grass, with many more trees – mostly baobab and some species of acacia. It was a lot harder to see game, but Kathleen preferred it due to its more “natural” appeal. A dearth of new species was spotted on the short drive to the lodge, sadly.
Tarangire Sopa Lodge was nowhere near as luxurious as our accommodations in Amboseli. It felt dated, but I suppose it’s splitting hairs to complain about the stylistic upkeep of a place in the middle of nowhere. We lay down to rest for an hour and then went to meet the rest of our group. There was a family of five, two newlyweds from Rhode Island, a mother and her two teenage kids from California, and an elderly couple from Ohio who had been on safari before. Their group was really jacked up. This was their first destination for most (none had been to Amboseli, three had already been in the bush for a week) and the twelve of them were totally gung-ho and almost drunken in their enthusiasm. This didn’t sit well with the six of us, whom had been traveling all day on bumpy roads.
Exhausted from the day, we retired shortly after dinner and conversation with our new safari-mates. Tomorrow would bring an early morning game drive through Tarangire, followed by another six to seven hour trek to the Ngorongoro Conservation Area. One thing was certain: this safari was a little more on-the-go than we had originally hoped.
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July 20th, 2006
09:32 am - Day Three - Amboseli
Mornings on safari so far have been fairly routinized; awaken before the sun, go to a designated location for breakfast, and then depart for a morning game drive. I don’t typically eat breakfast, but it is such an essential part of the safari day, I can’t imagine going without. If I didn’t eat anything in the morning, it would be at least six to seven hours before lunch. Naturally, my new breakfast habit was encouraged by the Amboseli Serena Lodge’s buffet, rivaling that of any five-star American hotel.
The AM game drive marked the group’s first encounter with the creature virtually everyone on safari clamors to see: the lion. We chanced upon a resting pride near some fallen palm-like trees just after sunrise. Alfred noted, “The lion is a very lazy animal. He can only be active for four hours a day and will only expend energy when necessary.” The lions were indeed largely docile, but a few of the females and younger males decided to cross in front of our safari van, creating an exciting photo-op. We had no idea that this was merely a taste of the true excitement that waited.
“They’re fighting! They’re fighting!” Sam drawled excitedly. I heard rustling and growling coming from somewhere, but wasn’t sure of the location.
Jefferson started the van and rolled forward, just past the clump of fallen trees obscuring the action.
The lions had made a kill.
The scene was terrible, visceral, and gratifying; the warthog, pinned down by six lions, was still alive. There was a cacophony of sound – bones snapping, flesh tearing, and the piercing shrieks of the dying warthog all cascaded over the low, guttural growl of the feasting pride. This natural concert lasted for two full minutes. Finally, the dominant male picked up what remained of the warthog carcass and spirited it away. Half of the pride followed in tow; those that remained were content to snack on entrails. No less than ten seconds later, another warthog darted out of the underbrush, presumably waiting for a safe moment to make an escape. Three of the pride gave chase, but gave up quickly, half-sated.
“That is the male warthog – his mate eaten by the lions,” Alfred stated soberly.
Allegedly, only ten percent of those on safari ever get to see a lion kill. The rest of the morning game drive paled in comparison, as we were all practically drunk from the experience. About an hour later, we saw a lone warthog aimlessly wandering.
“That is our friend the warthog from before. He is… miserable, in a very bad place. His wife is gone and he does not know whether or not his babies are safe. Soon he will go back to check on them, but the chances are not good. He is lost.”
We returned for lunch and a leisurely afternoon of messing with the Serena Lodge’s only Internet connected computer (56k, obv) and paying an exorbitant amount of money for thirty minutes of access. As a bona-fide computer jock, I noticed that it was totally insecure and that the staff logged on lodge guests with the administrator account, a definite no-no. I could have made my own account, disabled the time tracking program, and used the damn thing for free for as long as I wished and nobody would have been the wiser. I also pondered the ease of installing a simple keystroke logger on the unsecured computer, snagging the accounts and likely synchronized passwords of every rich safari-goer on the continent. In the end, the battle of hacker vs. napper was decided for the latter.
Upon returning to the room, three black-faced vervet monkeys were hanging around on our porch. The vervet is easily my favorite animal so far, as the entertainment from watching them surpasses just about anything. The vervets frolicked on the porch outside and pressed their dark faces up against the screen door. One leapt up on the back of a folding chair and peered through the glass at the fruit basket sitting on the desk. The target: bananas. I had the absolute best time watching the monkeys work out just how they were going to get at their prized fruit.
The afternoon game drive was a bit of a bust, as we didn’t see anything new and what we did see wasn’t very close to the van. At sundown, everyone departed the vehicle and climbed a narrow pathway to the top of an observation point in the Amboseli National Reserve to take photos of Mt. Kilimanjaro and the surrounding area. When we descended, there was a bush cocktail party waiting behind the van. I opted for a few glasses of Tusker, the favorite beer of Kenya. It’s a pretty simple lager, slightly above American swill like Miller and Budweiser. Kathleen, per usual, got plastered from one tall gin and tonic. The other members of our group put down a goodly amount of booze as we enjoyed the Kenyan sunset and traded stories. Our ride back to the lodge was equally well-lubricated.
At dinner, a lively discussion about homosexuality arose, and Alfred shared both his views and the views held by the Masai people and by Kenyans in general. It was enlightening to hear how another part of the world viewed a divisive topic. By the end of dinner, I was totally spent and could do nothing but slink back to the room and fall into bed.
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July 19th, 2006
08:04 am - ps
check ftp://ftp.geno.org/geno/jrbob/
for updated photos
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07:36 am - Day Two - Amboseli
Kathleen and I woke to our 5:45 AM wakeup call at 5 AM, which made a tremendous amount of sense. Apparently in Africa, a 5:45 AM wakeup call means receiving a pre-recorded machine call at 5 and then an actual person call again at 5:05. It didn't really matter too much though, as numerical notions of early and late times were beginning to fade. We journeyed down to the buffet breakfast in the Grand Regency atrium with about twenty minutes until we had to leave on our flight for the Amboseli game park. This was less time than I'd have liked, but enough to have another omelet and a couple sweet cups of every jet-lagged traveler's favorite beverage.
Kenyan coffee is spectacular. I was surprised to find out that the Kenyans themselves don't actually drink it, preferring tea or "chai" as it's called here. It's similar to the chai we have in the West, but far less spicy and prepared with pre-blended milk and sugar before heating. How Kenyans do not drink their own coffee is beyond comprehension, as it has a smoothness and flavor that surpasses any coffee I have ever tasted in America. I'm not a purist by any stretch; I think my Keurig K-cups are pretty tasty, but they're scoffed at by bean connoiseurs. I don't drink black coffee either; I need to load it down with a goodly amount of cream and sugar before imbibing. Here in Kenya, I am drinking the coffee either black or with hot milk (another common method of preparation.) It's just that good.
Our ride to the airstrip outside of Nairobi (not to be confused with the Nairobi Kenyatta airport) was uneventful; again we were treated to the sight of thousands of Kenyans walking in to the city from the slums in search of work. Slums are tightly packed row houses with no plumbing or running water of any kind. Alfred pointed out the largest slum in Nairobi -- over six hundred thousand people packed into the area of a few city blocks. The road view was pretty sobering, but not as sobering as the aerial view. After takeoff, the truly horrific conditions were even more apparent.
We boarded a small plane, but my earlier concerns regarding the safety of the intra-country flights prior to the trip never truly materialized. The plane was not too dissimilar to one used for a Dulles to Charlottesville flight and was piloted by a dashing Brit that could have passed for Pierce Brosnan. I think this comforted me on a subconscious level because surely James Bond knows how to fly. Kathleen and I had an outstanding game of backgammon, and before too long we landed at a dirt airstrip in the Amboseli game park. When I stepped out of the plane, the vastness of the landscape triggered a response of raw, unadulterated awe.
I'm in Africa.
I am in Africa.
I. Am. In. Africa.
I looked left and saw a herd of grazing wildebeest. Without turning my head, I saw five or six zebra that were just stone-cold chilling, a second favorite pasttime to eating. Elephants dotted the horizon in different spots. And all around -- all around -- a panorama of blue sky, mountain horizon, and golden plain. I had never read any books on Africa before or really ever watched anything barring the odd Discovery channel program for a few minutes here and there. I have always been a person who prefers to keep my experiences pure. I don't read reviews of movies or music before I take them in. I don't enjoy people telling me about things before trying them myself. I like to form my own opinions and draw my own conclusions about just about everything.
No amount of television or written word or oral recount could have prepared me for today.
Without much delay, Alfred whisked us aboard a Micato van and we eagerly began our first game drive. We would scour the landscape for animals and take photos for a few hours before arriving at the Serena Lodge, located on the edge of the park. The van was uncomfortable with everyone's things in it, but it ceased to matter after a while. For the first few minutes, I continued to take in the landscape with my mouth agape. We settled on a herd of zebra for the first of many photo stops. The most plentiful animals in Amboseli are the zebra, the wildebeest, and the Thomson gazelle, or "Tommies" as they are called by the natives. Each of these are as common as pigeons in a city or seagulls at the beach. Kathleen and I got many photos of these species, but they are not terribly exciting to watch for extended periods. We saw a lone hyena in the next few minutes, but hyena really seem to detest the presence of vehicles. None of the other animals seemed to care much about gawking humans in a white van.
Within about twenty minutes, Jefferson, our driver, spotted a small herd of elephants. We got extremely close to them, soaking in their majesty for at least a half hour. The elephant, not the lion, is the true ruler of the savannah. They seem to have no natural enemies other than man. The lions will only attack the young and only when they vastly outnumber the elephants. Still, the elephants show the cats proper respect by marching in a column with their young in the middle, flanked on either side by the adults. Elephants pick up dust to "powder" themselves as they move or graze on the tall grass as they plod along. This was a practice I had never heard of before, let alone seen.
After a full two and a half hours of animal watching, we arrived at the Serena lodge and sat down to a lunch buffet, a mix of traditional African and Indian dishes. The Dal Makhini (spiced lentils) was quite savory. After lunch, we walked around the lodge for a while. It was immaculate -- essentially a luxury facility in the middle of the bush. Everything is open air and decorated with traditional Kenyan artifacts and designs. Vervets were scurrying around the outer portions of lodge, as if they too were guests. Exhausted, Kathleen and I collapsed to rest for a few hours before the afternoon drive.
The antics of a yellow baboon family was definitely the highlight of the afternoon drive. I am constantly astounded by the human similarities among the lesser primates. Intelligent design vs. evolution is an emotionally charged debate, but I would encourge anyone on either side to watch baboons for an hour or so. They and the vervet monkeys are, by far, the most entertaining denizens of the Amboseli for my money. I took several priceless photos, including some... adult material, which prompted a slew of juvenile humor. The day wound down with a few ostrich sightings and an up close encounter with a mother elephant and her babies that deigned to cross directly in front of the safari van. Even at the best zoo, it's not possible to get within five feet of ONE elephant, let alone ten. Lions and hippos would have to wait; we did see some briefly but too far from the road to get good photographs. This is only the first real day and we have seen so much already.
African sunsets, as expected, are nothing short of sublime. I know that I will treasure each every day that I am here.
Dinner was a pre-fixe menu; I had marinated rump steak, spiced potatoes, and a smoked salmon appetizer that rivaled the best The Sole Proprietor could even offer. We gorged sufficiently over the course of two hours on the gourmet meal while Alfred regaled us with safari tales. He gave our schedule for tomorrow morning: coffee at 5:45, game drive at 6:30. I was tired and drunk, but not from the red wine at the dinner table -- drunk from the safari experience. The numbers were meaningless. I am in Africa.
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July 17th, 2006
02:44 pm - Day One - Nairobi
After a solid eight hours of sleep, our first day on safari began with a tour of Nairobi. It's a city that betrays any kind of conventional description, but the most immediately striking (to my commercial and pop-culture-oriented eyes) were the first-world products and services being marketed in third-world surroundings. This was a trend that continued and became even more jarring further on the outskirts. Inside the city limits, Nairobi was reminiscent of a 1970's era New York -- dingy, grey, advertisement-laden, and dotted with tiny shops. And then, the teeming mass of people either walking purposefully or simply hanging around. One of the others on our tour asked Alfred, our guide, "What are all of these people doing?"
"Most of them are looking for work," he replied. Imagine Times Square at noon on a weekday, except everyone there is unemployed.
Our white van was eight-deep. Alfred Mutai was our Micato tour leader -- he sat in the front with Jefferson, the driver. Two other couples accompanied Kathleen and I in the main cab: Sam Pickens and Kathy Morris, from Raleigh, NC and Bill and Linda Glassifer from Short Hills, NJ. Sam was a classic Southern gentleman with a deep, deep drawl. He owned his own insurance business. His wife, Kathy, was the chief financial officer for the largest Caterpillar dealership in the South. She also had a thick Southern accent with a debutante-like sweetness to it, masking her real toughness. Bill worked in sales and Linda taught at a Hebrew school. These two were larger than life characters -- straight out of an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to get along very well, despite the generation gap.
We cruised for a good hour or so while Alfred pointed out the sparse "highlights" of Nairobi. Truth be told, there wasn't much really to see. I did note several idiosyncrasies that had absolutely nothing to do with nature or culture -- just what my own warped Western mind conceived as entertaining. The predominant method of public transportation in the city were filthy little twelve seat vans (always packed to the gills), and every single of one of them were spraypainted or decaled to suit the individual taste of the driver/owner. Imagine if every New York City cab driver tricked out their ride with unique personal detail jobs. It was nutty. One of them had a perfect likeness of Eminem airbrushed on the back. Another had unintelligible Swahili phrases rising from a picturesque rolling landscape, likely symbolic of the Ngong hills surrounding Nairobi.
The further we travelled from the pungent stink of Nairobi's diesel fumes, the countryside aligned with my expectations of rural Africa: extremely impoverished people trying to make a living. Our van passed through several market areas that were nothing more than huts, shantys, and alumnium lean-tos selling odd products or services. Each was "staffed" by at least three, but sometimes four or more Kenyans. I've seen this type of thing before in trips to the Carribean, but nothing like this. In St. Thomas, a street vendor sold baskets or t-shirts or hand-crafted goods in his one person kiosk. On the outskirts of Nairobi -- same scenario -- except the kiosk was plastered in logos, staffed by five, and sold cell phone minutes. Some sold one product or service only, like grilled corn or tire inflation (needed daily for the horrendous roads, obv). First world products in a third world setting. There were also many just hanging out, standing by themselves on the roadside, waiting for Godot.
After about forty-five minutes of bumpy travel, we arrived at the giraffe aerie to hand-feed Rothschild giraffes. It sounds kind of gross, but it was actually pretty cool. Giraffes mouthes are actually more sanitary than human mouthes (nobody acts as if this is the case), and they have cat-like sandpaper tongues. They were surprisingly gentle and docile creatures. The first Kathleen gift shop raid commenced after the feeding, but alas, no purchases made. The next stop was the home of Karen Blixen, author of Out of Africa. Having never read the book or even seen the movie, this was by far the lowlight of my day. The other two older couples in our group seemed to enjoy it, being more versed in the lore, but I really didn't care much and was hungering for lunch.
The best part of the day was the luncheon stop at Kiambethu Farm, a tidy estate owned by a charming British couple that grew and sold tea leaves to factories in Kenya. They had a fantastic home and a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside. I had some of the best iced-tea (and later, hot tea) I have ever had. Lunch was served in five or six courses -- I lost count. We had rolls with homemade butter, maize in a cheese sauce, salad with all garden-fresh vegetables, mashed potatoes, aricot vert, chopped filet mignon bits in a bizarre gravy, and shredded seasoned raddichio. Dessert was a selection of melon and homemade sweet cream ice-cream, topped with turbinado sugar. THIS WAS LUNCH. During the ride, Alfred had remarked that this was not only a nature safari, it was a food safari. No kidding.
We also got a few photos of the monkeys that dwelled in the surrounding trees, but unfortunately missed the best -- a Colobus monkey taking a banana from Kathy's hand. I'll never forget the look on her face. I could have spent more a few more hours, but Alfred spurred us on, and we had to get back to the hotel for a brief downtime. My bag had been lost in London the night prior, but was recovered and waiting in my room upon our return.
Dinner that night was at the house of Felix and Jane Pinto, owners of Micato Safaris. Yes, shockingly enough, having Americans pay thousands of dollars to go on safari does translate to some real bling in Kenya. Although Ms. Pinto was very hospitable and not haughty at all, it was trivial to tell from the way she commanded her staff that the diminutive Indian woman was the boss. Mrs. Pinto later confessed that she was a former table tennis champion, having played for Kenya's national team for over fifteen years. She even had a table set up in the garage. I would have paid good money to see my wife Kathleen, no ping-pong slouch herself, take on a true wizard of the game on her home turf. Alas, there was no time.
The food was good, but nowhere near the quality at Kiambethu. Dinner wrapped up quickly, as everyone had to wake at 6 AM and could ill afford a late night of chatting with a bottomless font of stories. Tomorrow, it is on to the Amboseli National park and our first trek into the bush.
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July 13th, 2006
10:46 am - donnie, you're out of your element
This journal is about to experience a bit of a change from the usual once-a-month poker post into a full fledged travel blog. Over the next couple of weeks, my wife and I will be on safari in Kenya and Tanzania. Internet connectivity in the bush is probably at a premium, but I do know that it exists in some capacity at some of the places that we'll be staying. For a look at where we're going and what we're doing, have a gander at:
http://www.luxurytour.com/destinations/africa/stanleywingsafari.html
I would link to the outfitter we're going with (Micato), but their page is under construction.
I'm going to try to upload stuff as we go, including pictures, but if that doesn't work out, there might be a huge lump sum update of pasted text files at some point in the future.
When my wife began planning this trip, I must admit that I wasn't very enticed by the prospect of going across the world to another continent and spending the equivalent of ten "normal" vacations on one. Time heals all trepidation though,(isn't that how the saying goes?) and I've grown more excited about the trip than I thought I ever would be. I'm not entirely sure why that is, but I'm betting it has a lot to do with the placement of the trip in our lives. Africa marks both the closure and the beginning of a new era for Kathleen and I. We each have turned 30 in the past couple of months. We have neither a house nor children, but both are on the horizon. This seemed like a natural time to take a big trip before the trappings of a "conventional life" rooted us down.
Many people have expressed concern that we're going to a part of the world not really known for poltiical stability or friendliness towards outsiders. Though I have every confidence that things will be fine -- as we're going with a top-notch outfitter -- the very nature of the trip raises some salient questions; questions that at age thirty, if you're like me, you haven't really confronted at all. The most prominent one: What if I don't make it back?
It seems ridiculous, doesn't it? For anyone that knows me, you'd think this to be the absolute furthest thing from my mind. But I have thought about it. I don't have a will, or anything like that. What happens if one of those tiny little prop-plane joints crashes under the weight of 15 overzealous travellers and their heavy cargo? Who's going to give a shit? Will we ever be found? IT'S SO STUPID TO THINK ABOUT. But then I think -- what about the money I have in X account? Will anyone know how to get to it? Who'll get my guitar equipment, my Magic cards, my game collection, my McHale jersey? It's a pretty sobering confrontation of mortality to realize that where I'm going is pretty fucking far from Disneyland. However remote the chances, there are bandits, substandard airline regulations, malaria, dengue fever, poisonous snakes, and a whole host of other shit that we'll presumably be insulated from. I am not a worrier, by trade. My wife does enough worrying for the both of us. But I can't lie that these thoughts have gone without consideration.
Even with all of this, I'm still very excited to go. I'm not even worried so much about the time difference anymore (I'm a very light / peculiar sleeper). A lot more can go right with this trip than can go wrong. I'm certain that when I'm sipping some strong Kenyan coffee on the rim of the Ngorogoro crater as the sunset washes over the caldera, I'll realize what all this was for anyway.
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May 23rd, 2006
09:58 am - well then
It's been a long time, yes, I'm aware. Not that anyone minds, naturally.
Poker has been up and down lately; I had a huge March, a decent April, and so far, a very swingy May. I took a string of bad beats on Party, so I did what anyone might do in this situation: drop a bunch of money into Bodog and get their bottomless 10% bonus. It was going great there for a while... but then the beats on Party got the word that I had set up shop on Bodog. About -1600 later, I find myself today dead even with the money I've deposited -- the entire bonus wiped out. I only have about 500 points left to clear though, and once I do, I'm gone. There just isn't enough game selection there nowadays -- it seems that the interface overhaul that they did a while back has driven many players away. Either that or they're a purely NL cash game / tournament site now, with no other real games to speak of.
I've been playing a lot more limit holdem this month than earlier this year. Prior to May I'd pretty much exclusively been playing Stud 8 and PLO. I think that the most valuable thing I've learned in PLO are the _true_ value of coordinated hands. No more playing raw high pairs with like, one connected card or a weak suit. I find myself waiting for strongly coordinated hands and raise them in position or limp/call raises when out of position more than I did when I began playing. And as anyone knows, obviously if you've raised preflop, you hold AA...
Things are going fine in other areas. I've been playing a lot of Xbox 360 (Burnout Revenge, Topspin 2) lately in lieu of PC games. In the Magic arena, I had another near-miss at Mid-Atlantic Regionals this year, taking 13th with a RBu Rakdos deck. It's just as well though because I can't attend Nationals anyway due to the safari in Kenya/Tanzania I'm going on in July. Naturally, Ted did not tell me this prior to attending Regionals since he knew I wouldn't go if I knew. Crafty one, that Knutson.
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April 5th, 2006
03:41 pm - yawn
Not much new to report... April is starting off decently after the hotness that was March. I realize that most of my March was due to a remarkable run at the Stud 8 10/20 game and now things have sort of returned to normalcy there. I'm still doing rather well in the PLO games at Party, although I really have to work on not getting so frisky with top two. That's one of the leaks I'm trying to plug, as I get a little too aggressive with the hand when out of position, especially.
In other non poker related news, I turn 30 on Friday and will be heading up to Philadelphia to see my beloved Celtics take on the Sixers. I don't think either team is gonna make the playoffs. Good seats still available, folks!
I did that "rate your Livejournal popularity" thing and was surprised to find that my LJ was above the average. Huh?? How is that possible? Nobody reads this shit anyway. That's just baffling. I really would like to put more effort into my LJ, particularly to get some discussion going on the play of hands, but its hard to get stuff going when nobody knows of your existence. And I'm not the sort to go over to 2+2 or BTP and start pimping my blog. Oh well.
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March 17th, 2006
11:34 am - wowsers
I don't think I've ever been in a better spot. I just wish the guy had more money.
http://www.pokerhand.org/?272645
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March 16th, 2006
03:40 pm - two hands
I call out of the blind with an iffy-holey hand that ends up good here:
http://www.pokerhand.org/?271887
I'm not sure if I bet the turn right or not. I bet the flop primarily on the strength of my wrap draw + flush draw, and when the ace of the suit comes, I'm not really afraid of someone who drew to the K-hi flush. I know not to put anything past the denizens of Party, but I really felt like my hand was best here. Even when the dude raised the remainder of his stack, I wasn't afraid. I think my spider sense told me.
Here's one that I'm not particularly proud of the way I played since I think in most situations, calling the flop reraise is bad, but I did have a read in this case:
http://www.pokerhand.org/?271907
The rationale was that the bettor had been making a lot of gay raises (like the one seen here to $5) and potting and raising frequently and playing like a maniac in general. On the flop I felt that my flush and gutshot and pair was enough to make a play. When he raised back, I was still confident that he was up to his maniacal ways... but I was wrong. He actually did have a hand here this time.
Here's a situation where I made a read, trusted in it, and was right.
http://www.pokerhand.org/?271933
I only wonder if there was some better way to do it than reraising the pot after betting out and being raised. His first raise doesn't necessarily mean "I have top set" here, but his second raise certainly does. I don't like flat calling his first raise and then checking it to him because then I have no idea what to do on the next card. I figured if I reraised the pot back to him, he could:
a) fold (obviously preferable)
b) call (probably has a drawing hand, maybe hearts or maybe a small straight)
c) reraise all in (he definitely has TTxx)
But I still wonder if I could have reraised smaller and gotten the same effect. I really want to have the situation clarified here, and I don't know of a better way to do it than raising pot. I guess like its sacrificing $70 to not sacrifice $200, as middle set would be pretty tough to lay down ordinarily on that board. It also helped that I know QQDown from his holdem play at the 10/20 and 15/30 limits, and to say that he is tight would be an understatement. A big reraise from me would either make him fold his hand or give me the warning signal to get out, which he did give. I just wonder if the same effect could've been achieved with less. Ideas?
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02:15 pm - back (to reality)
I'm back home after a week On The Road at a security conference sponsored by SANS at Virginia Tech. The conference was highly enlightening, and I learned quite a bit. There was precious little to do after class (which went from 9-6 on most days) since it was spring break in Blacksburg and the place was practically deserted. The time afforded me to get in a decent amount of hands at the table, and I had a great week. I've returned pretty much full time to Partypoker and specifically the 10/20 Stud 8 game which has been so kind to me over the years. The play there is just unbelievably bad in general, but I've got tons of hours logged with most of the regulars (its a pretty small player pool), so I know all of their moves. To find a true fish at Stud 8 is pretty rare, and they lose their money quickly -- but if you can find just a couple exploitable tendencies of an otherwise solid player, that pays off almost as well as a fish who simply calls every street with no hope.
I've taken a few PLO beats in very limited action over the past 2 weeks, but have made up for it with some monster pots. I got into pretty much a dream situation where I flopped the top full house against AAxx and trips/A kicker -- a 3 way all-in fest and I emerged the victor. I've also had some good bluff catching calls on the river that have worked out.
Holdem has been pretty breakeven; I'm not really playing that many hands of it these days. The other games are just too profitable right now for me. Let's hope that trend continues, hmm?
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