Pics from the Bash at the Boathouse:
How you doin’?.
Give me the mike!
Dammit, give me the mike!
I can longer see straight.
It was shortly after that last picture that I passed out on a bench. I’m just glad I wasn’t written on.
Grubby has just posted part III of his latest Atlantic City installment. Check it out, if only because his recollective abilities and writing flair far exceed my own.
His post also made me think about my brief experience playing blackjack on the way out of the Borgata. Blackjack and I are not friends. I lost $800+ playing blackjack in Vegas the last time I was out there.
I had just cashed out $230 in profits that I had spent 24+ hours earning at the NL tables. What was I doing at the blackjack table, anyway? Was I just delerious from fatigue? Or riding high from winning?
Next thing I know, I’ve bought in for $200. I play ABC blackjack, and end up down $100 rather quickly. I’m heartbroken. I think about how many hours I put into winning that money, and curse myself for playing this coin-flip game. And yet, I still don’t walk away. My breathing starts to increase as I reach for the remainder of my chips. I put $100 down and wait for my cards. Naturally, no one else has batted an eyelash. Looking around, $100 aren’t uncommon at all. But for me, this hand meant everything. A chance to even-up, and escape the grips of this game.
The dealer deals the cards. I look down and can’t believe what I’m seeing. 16. And the dealer is showing…? You guessed it, a 7. God himself has come down from heaven to deal me the most gut-wrenching blackjack hand possible. I agonize over what I should do. I know I should hit. I imagine busting and losing 87% of 24 hours of hard work. I know I should hit. I know I should hit. I hit.
A 5 falls. The table erupts! My fear and predicament must have been palpable. I’m high-fiving people and exhaling for what seems like minutes. I don’t even remember what the dealer ended up with, I just grabbed my chips and ran away, far away from the blackjack tables.
Hysterical post from Will Wheaton [thanks M.A.M.] on his heart-racing experience signing-up for $3/$6 poker in Vegas. If I wasn’t at work, I’d be on the floor howling. At the best part? The words of encouragement offered up by his good friend, and WSOP Player-of-the-Year, Daniel Negreanu!
To put this in perspective, this is somewhat like me getting a call from Tom Brady just before I’m about to strap on my cleats and go play coed flag football in the special olympics. Which is actually and unfair comparison, since the average participant in the special olympics is a genius compared to the midwest house-fraus and WPT-clones that inhabit these low-limit tables.
Preface: Yes, I know I spelled amateur wrong. Sadly, my brilliantly conceived blogging tool won’t allow me to edit the title of a post. Something about breaking permalinks, who knows. 
I have been remiss in my duties to recount the unbridled goodness that was this past weekend. My excuses are many, but include fatigue, work, football, and the LSAT. Pauly, Grubby, Helixx, and BG have no time for my pathetic excuses. Thankfully, I’m not the only one slacking.
Looking back, it’s tempting to think the whole weekend was a dream. Places I’d never been before coupled with people I’d never met provided the backdrop for a sleep-deprived and alcohol-fueled 48 hours of weirdness. After all, what was I doing in New Jersey on Friday afternoon looking for a hippy in an Eagles jersey? I mean, who’s writing this, anyway? I guess truth is stranger than fiction. Waking up in the comfort of my own bed on Monday, with nothing concrete to show for the weekend heightened my sense of disbelief. Until I looked over at my counter and saw a folded-up Citibank envelope stuffed with money. I counted it out: $1235. Or $235 more than I withdrew that Friday afternoon.
Last night I had dinner with my father, step-mother and some extended relatives (Woody, Elyse and their son Andrew). An interesting puzzle (from Ask Marilyn) was discussed at great length, and I thought I’d pose it to y’all:
You are on a game show, and are presented with three closed cabinets (say A, B, and C). The host tells you that one of the three cabinets contains a wonderful prize and the other two are empty. He then asks you to choose a cabinet.
You choose cabinet A. The host knows where the prize is, and walks over to cabinet B, opens it up, and reveals it to be empty. He then poses the question: would you like to switch your answer to cabinet C, or stay on A?
What should you do? Stick with A or switch to C? Bonus points for any percentages/odds or other persuasive explanations. Please leave your answer as a comment. If you already know the answer to this puzzle, please refrain from commenting on the site.
Update: Thanks for the comments. The answer is: you should switch to C. So, congrats to Maudie! Like Dan mentioned, this is a pretty famous problem that was popularized on the Monty Hall game show back in the day. Doing a Google search on “three doors puzzle” will return a slew of results, but here’s a page that offers a decent explanation and some additional links.
From Paul Phillips: JPEG exploit proof of concept. For anyone who has read Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson, this should seem very familiar.
Some interesting questions posed by BG, a couple of which I will address:
How does a youngster like Carter take to hanging with a bunch of middle-aged men for two days straight?
Eh, I’m not worried. Any group of guys that drink this much, wear football jerseys to the Bellagio poker room, or still use a nickname harkening back to the days of NBA Live have got to be young at heart. Plus, let’s not forget the free booze at the party. I’ll hang out with Lucifer himself if he’s got a tab open. 
Knowing Al and Iggy are married, and Pauly s a goofy looking bastard (kidding, kidding), does Carter get in the way of any of Al s machinations to get me laid?
There’s no doubt. My skills are legendary. Haha. But seriously, if Al is truly America’s Wingman, then he should be able to double-fist this assignment. Right, Al?
Had our weekly DCPoker game last night. It wasn’t at my place though, as Steve and Anthony were hosting. No ptoblem, I hate cleaning up after these slobs anyway.
Alex was new to our game, and was immediately feared by all when he started doing chip tricks. Luckily for us, he wouldn’t catch a card all night. And the few times he did, bad things happened. You’ll see what I mean.
Craaaazy Hand 1: I’m dealt JJ and make it $1.50 to go. Get some calls. Flop comes up K8x (rainbow?). I bet $1 and Anthony comes over the top for $5. Folds to me, I think for a second, and push all-in for about $12.75 more. Anthony goes into the tank and end up folding KQs. I believe I showed, and thusly fueled Anthony’s desire for revenge.
Craaaazy Hand 2: Alex and Anthony are in a hand that was raised up to $1 or $2 pre-flop. Flop comes up QxQ. Alex bets $2 (later admitting he wanted a call). Anthony calls, and the turn is a 6. Anthony bets $1, Alex comes over the top for $5. Anthony think for a second and pushes all-in. Alex realizes he’s probably beat, but makes the crying call. Anthony turns over 66 for the full house. Alex turns over Qx for the flopped trips.
Craaaazy Hand 3: No flush, but there is a pair on the board. There’s about $10 in a pot built up by myself and Alex. I’ve been chasing the flush draw (with an gutshot straight flush draw) but missed. Alex is holding two pair and raises a few bucks. I push all-in for $19. Alex folds to my stone cold bluff. I believe the pair on the board counterfeited his hand somewhat.
Craaaazy Hand 4: Most fun hand of the night for me. I’m holding Qs10s and Anthony is holding AA. Light pre-flop raising (bad, Anthony, bad!), nothing intimidating. The flop comes up As8c5c. Anthony has trips and I have nothing. I bet out, he raises, and I go all-in (baaaad timing). He calls and flips over his trips and I sheepishly flip over my garbage hand. At this point I’m hoping for runner-runner spades. The turn is a Jd. Whoa! A 9 gives me the straight. Alex then points out that a K will as well. Double gut-shot! Before I can even say a prayer, a 9h falls on the river. Ha ha! Rockets cracked! Anthony just gives me a wry grin and says “good hand.”
All-in-all an ok night. Maybe it was the change in venue, but things were a bit off. Misdeals and silly mistakes were happening much more often than they normally do. I lost about $10 when Dan got to see the first card of the flop when the dealer thought he was done betting. In this case that card gave him trips, thus making my pocket 8’s less than a favorite. I don’t think we got in as many hands as we normally do either. I don’t even want to know what the over/under was on spilled beers. But it was cool to play with Alex and Dave for the first time (thanks for coming out, guys).
Post-mortem: I ended up $12, Steve was up $17, Anthony was up HUGE, Alex was down (he rebought 3 times), Fernando and Dave (1 rebuy) busted, Josh was up some, and Dan was down some. Of course I blew all $32 in the next 5 minutes when Anthony, Steve and I decided to play some winner-takes-all short-handed HE. I had middle pair and a flush draw and lost to Anthony’s TPTK. Anthony, you’re buying drinks next time we’re out.
Also, if you were at the game, feel free to leave a comment, especially if I got something wrong or forget a notable hand.
Suberb essay over at The Technology Liberation Front dissecting articles from Larry Lessig and Jeffrey Rosen about obscenity on the Internet. I left a little comment, less to add my own thoughts, but more to refute someone else’s. Nice guy I am, right? After reading these essays, I’m flabbergasted. The word “filter” came up 12 times in this essay, with all kind of First Amendment implications being discussed. You’ve got to be kidding me, right? Filters are optional! I don’t use a filter. No one has to use a filter. So how’d this become a central part of the discussion?
Last night tried to book a room at the Borgata for this Friday night, and was denied. I guess five days in advance is no bueno. Never fear, though, I’m still coming up to AC (and the Borgata) on Friday. My plan will involve getting there as early as I can (3pm-ish) and getting set-up for poker. At which point I’ll try to put my name on some sort of waiting list in the event of a room cancellation. Failing that, I’ll just play poker all night with Al and the gang, and then start driving towards Philly, stopping at the cheapest motel I can find along the way to crash for 4-5 hours.
Update:Grubby has offered to let me crash in his room on Friday night. What a freaking cool thing to do. Seriously, I can’t believe a non-team game like poker that used to get people shot and created legends like Wild Bill Hickock can end up fostering such a friendly on-line community of people. Think about it. Kind of counter-intuitive, isn’t it?
