Like my Uncle Les used to say . . .

So much of poker is based on your mentality. It's about confidence and the way you mentally approach the game, every session, every hand. I wake up in the morning feeling fresh, sit down at the computer, and open up my tables. Five hands in and the morning's facade comes crashing down. All of the residual destructive forces that seemed to have disappeared over night  surface. You always try to leave poker alone when you shut down the computer for the day. But waking up everyday and getting crushed eventually wears down your ability to shake a bad day, because it feels like everyday is a bad day. All the losing starts nestling up inside you and transforming your mentality.

Last week I would start playing poker and immediately feel like a heavy weight boxer in a title match, but it wasn't my title match, no I was subbing in. I was a punching bag. I was the guy who had the line against him 11:1, that line was for me making it past round 6 - I'm not even sure they laid a line for me to win. That's what it feels like, like my only goal is to make it to round 12. Just be on my feet - it doesn't matter if I can't feel my face and I'm fighting six versions of the same guy, but only one of them seems to be tangible. My gloves feel like cinder blocks, too heavy to keep up. So I just stand there praying that the beating will end that I'll hear the bell and get to take a break. That's not a winning mentality. You can't win at anything with that mentality, because really, all you're trying to do is not lose as badly as you think you will - winning doesn't even seem to be part of the equation.

This is a graph of my "profits" (profits given in Big Blinds and not dollars) since arriving in Thailand and starting my stake. The green line is money won or lost, the blue line is money that is won or lost when we go to showdown (neither the villain nor I fold), the red line is money won or lost (usually lost) when either the villain or I fold. The little straight black line at the top of the graph is the zero marker - I've been dive bombing out of control since my arrival. This is the sort of  trouncing that starts affecting your whole life.

Last week my staker and I talked about what was going on after I sent him that graph. That is not a graph of a winning player. That is not a graph of someone who is utilizing their perceived edge in the game. 

That is the graph of someone who is getting soul crushed. We use that term in poker "soul crush." I don't think I've been on this side the the battle field before, but it really does permeate through your entire life. It sucks at your soul.

Waking up only to  be reminded that you are terrible at what you do is a hard thing. Then, having to do it and walk away from it like nothing happened is even harder, but you have to do it if you want any happiness in your life. So my staker and I talked. We were honest with what we saw and we've decided to give it a rest. Take an extended holiday, while I get my feet under me at my new job. I can't imagine a better thing to do. My staker has been a stand-up guy the whole time, something that shouldn't be taken for granted in the gambling world. It's not over for us, but something inside me needs to reset. I'd like to make his money back for him. I'd like to get back into poker - I love the game. But as things stand I'm taking a breather, so I'll see you later "you secret handshaking assholes." (Rounders Quote)

Daily Expenses

Expenses for visa run from Phuket to Kuala Lumpar Malaysia:

(1 Malaysian ringgit = 9.76076301 Thai baht)


Bus ticket from Phuket to Hat Yai: 350 bht
Bus ticket from Hat Yai to KL: 590 bht
Bananas: 30 bht
One night stay at Red Dragon: 18 ringgit
2 hours Internet: 8 ringgit
Tram passes: 4.8 ringgit
Lunch + tea: 7.8 ringgit
Dinner: 3.5 ringgit
Water: 2 ringgit
Snacks: 5 ringgit
Soda: 3.5 ringgit
Jelly drink: 3.5 ringgit
Gift for Jackie: 25 ringgit
Magic Tricks: 0 ringgit (I was so proud of myself. I actually found a magic shop and they had several tricks that were awesome and perfect for what I'm wanting, but I'm so tight on cash . . . I was able to walk away from them, despite spending the majority of my morning looking the shop)
Lunch+2 drinks: 10.2 ringgit
Passport Visa: 220 ringgit
Flight back to Phuket: 78 USD (on the credit card)
Transport to Wrong airport: 12.5 ringgit
Transport from wrong airport to right airport: 2.5 ringgit
200g of chew candy: 10.8 ringgit

(If you notice that there is only three actual meals accounted for during this three day trip, well I can assure you that the records are correct.)

Today's Tide Pool

With the Vegetarian Festival and Visa runs consuming most of Jackie's and my time we've not had as much time to explore the tide pools. Jackie however has turned the kitchen table into a arts and crafts zone with tons of the shells that we have picked up getting several layers of clear nail-polish in order to protect them and help them maintain their colors. Here are the latest pictures from our tide pools:

(We were unsure if this was a sea snake or a white eel)

 (Didn't have it in me to force this awesome looking clam from it's home and slay it in hopes of it having a pearl, though it's probably a lot more likely to have one then where I have been looking)

 A bit of beautiful living coral. The tips of this type of coral comes in a variety of colors. So far we've seen green, yellow, white, and my favorite lavender. 

Dead horseshoe crab. Did you know that they collect horseshoe crabs, harvest their blood, and release them back into the wild? And all of this is done for the sake of medicine?

http://www.horseshoecrab.org/med/med.html

Thailand- Vegetarian Style (Jackie)

The Vegetarian festival parade is a mind blowing experience not for the queasy or faint of heart. Even 24hrs later the only words that come to mind are 4 letter explicatives. Look at the pictures and see if you can do better!  Warning: If you don’t like seeing this type of bodily injury just scroll down past the pics…hopefully by then I’ll have thought of a way to describe the festival in words.

           (I'd look concerned too if I had a blade like that through my mouth )

           (This piercing freaked me out the most..I couldn't stop imagining HOW he got those candles in his cheeks)

 (Maybe toy helicopters in Thailand should come with an additional warning concerning intentional impalement)

                             

 ( This was ironic because it rained suddenly in the morning and he was the only person with an umbrella. It just couldn't keep him from getting wet)

                                      (The kids aren't allowed scissors at school.  Maybe this is why)

( Yes, that man has a pole that spans the entire street through his cheeks...perhaps the world's largest  fruit skewer as well)

(Not sure how I would feel about getting blessed by a man
with a sword through his cheek, but baby's seem to love it!)

 Whew, now you see what I mean! It’s entirely overwhelming and impossible to even try to explain in words what the Ma Song do for their religion. I’ll try instead to describe what it was like being in the midst of it. Imagine you’re running in a 5K event, imagine the chaos, adrenaline, noise, laughter, and confusion as hundreds of people pack into a single narrow street for the start of the race. The starter gun blows and you suddenly realize you’re hemmed in by other people and there’s nowhere to go except with the mass. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the course, now you couldn’t leave it if you tried. Now replace the water stations with fresh fruit and tea in tiny cups, the mile markers with firecracker stands, and give every teenage boy a Buddha litter that will occasionally explode with firecrackers and send billowing smoke and bits of paper flying everywhere.  Keep the adrenaline. Keep the constant jostling of bodies. Keep the constant weaving in and out of the living obstacle course and keep the ambulance. In fact, keep a few ambulances. Oh, that’s right, and this morning you shoved a metal object through your tongue or cheek. I usually hate being left on the sidelines but in this parade I was happy to just watch.

Because the streets were so narrow we got to see all of the Ma Song up close.  Sometimes I could barely wedge my way deep enough inside the crowd to avoid touching them. I lived in deadly fear somehow bumping one of the incredibly long poles that protruded horizontally from delicate skin. I don’t consider myself to be particularly delicate but seeing bulging and ripped skin, blood, and the enormous holes in people cheeks made me cringe and look away time after time.

After staring in fascination at the first few Ma Song I saw close up, I happily hid behind a camera to create some distance from the nauseating extreme close up’s.  From a few yards away the a devotee with a fantasy blade through his mouth looks incredibly exotic, courageous, and  cool. Up close it makes you think about how the man next to him got 1.5inch wide wax candles in his cheeks. Do they make a small hole and push? Do they measure the circumferences of the candle and cut the hole accordingly? What about some of the weird shaped objects? Nauseating. And I couldn’t stop thinking about it whenever I saw a strange object through some one’s cheek.  Luckily there were so many huge firecracker litters going off that I was busy avoiding getting any more ankle burns and trying to escape the choking smoke that billowed down the block.  I outright refused to go to the piercing ceremony today because there is no way that I could watch samuiri swords, guns,  hulu hoops, umbrellas, and hooka’s be shoved (no matter how gently) into devotees who may or may not be in a trance. 

Grandpa Joe (Jackie)

Today I found out that my only grandfather passed away. His name was Joe and he was a wonderful man who loved his family and Elvis. He was also a collector of many things over the years and his huge collections of exotic shells, matchbox cars, beanie babies, and DVD’s were always an endless source of awe while I was growing up.  He was the person who taught me to heap cayenne pepper on everything...which I still do.  Grandpa was also very supportive of everything I did, especially if it involved sports! He and my grandma came to watch my very first Little 500 race at IU and they cheered me on at the courthouse square when I finished my first deCycles trip from Key West, FL to Bloomington, IN. They also came to support me at the State soccer and track meets in high school. His big hugs after all of the events, no matter how sweaty or smelly I was were always something to look forward to at the end of matches. He meant a lot to me and I’m very sorry that he is gone. However, he died peacefully in his sleep at age 80 and I was lucky enough to be able to spend time with him right before I left for Thailand. Here is his obituary:

Joseph George Age 80, of Crown Point, IN, passed away on Tuesday, September 27, 2011 at his home. Joseph is survived by his wife: Shirley; 5 children: Michael J. Schelfo, Theresa Y. Duemler, Patricia M. Holeman, Daniel A. Schelfo, and Steven J. Schelfo; 9 grandchildren: Andrew, Yvonne, Jaclyn, Davy, Marie, Aaron, Mariel, Macy, and Charlotte; 1 great-grandchild: Audrina; He was preceded in death by his parents: Joseph and Helen Schelfo; brother: Frank; sister: Pauline. Joseph was a member of St. Mary Catholic Church in Crown Point, IN and was retired from LTV Steel with over 37 1/2 years of service. He was an Army veteran serving in the Korean conflict and a member of the American Legion Fred Schmidt Post #20 in Crown Point, IN.

The worst part about losing a loved one should be the loss. However, in this situation the worst part was that I found out about my grandfather’s death through facebook- and not even through a personal message. A few days ago my cousin’s status popped up in my newsfeed with the statement “it’s hard to find black baby clothes.”  Never a good statement, especially when it’s a family member posting it.  I checked for additional information, found none and when no bad news arrived via email or phone I forgot about it. Today a picture of my grandma popped up in my newsfeed (from my cousin again) with a lot of comments under it, including a statement about losing a grandfather. Now I’m very distressed but trying to stay calm because after all, she has another set of grandparents and wouldn’t somebody have TOLD ME if my grandfather had died?!  I scan the last few days I see that my cousin’s glad her daughter got to see her great grandfather before he passed when they visited a few weeks ago. Now I am intensely facebook stalking and searching for where she’s been in the last few weeks… just outside of Chicago. Uh-oh. It just keeps looking worse. Finally Isaac searched Indiana obituaries and found him. He died almost a week ago and the funeral has already passed. I have still not been told.

 This experience has infuriated me as well as hurt me because it exponentially compounds and clarifies the extent of the silent treatment my parents have been giving me. They have not replied to any of my emails since I left the country. They have my phone #, my skype name, my email addresses, and even my postal address so there is no excuse for this complete absence of communication. The only family member I talk to at all is my brother and he’s assured me that they are healthy and have been doing very well, which left me to wonder why I had suddenly been abandoned by both of them. The complete silence from home was annoying and slightly upsetting before today, something that alternatingly sparked a variety of emotions from bemusement and frustration to anger and hurt, but now my overall opinion is just disbelief and fury.  Fury because all I want is to just be sad. How can they be stubborn enough to remain silent even when a family member dies?  What if I had wanted to come home and be with everyone during this difficult time?  I want to talk to my grandma and share stories about grandpa and cheer her up, but how could I have done that if I never knew anything was wrong? Ridiculous.  If they insist on extending this silent treatment past a month it’s their choice. All I want is assurance that when things like this happen in the future I will hear it from them, not the internet. That’s all.

Step One to Becoming a Super Hero

The members of RLSH (real life super heroes: http://www.reallifesuperheroes.org/) might have different ideas then me on what the first step to becoming a super hero is. I think none of us could argue that getting superhero powers would be solid first step. I also wouldn't argue against the idea that having the desire to be a superhero is fundamental and perhaps the first step to being a super hero. Off scene, when they don't think anyone is paying attention I wouldn't be surprised if some members of RLSH think making up a persona, a name, a logo, or a costume is one of the first steps to becoming a RLSH. There are those members who take their civil duty to heart and would say that the first step is identifying the need, I like this brand of hero. For me though, the first step of becoming a superhero is having a superhero day job. Peter Parker freelanced for a newspaper. Clark Kent was a reporter for the Daily Planet, receiving late-breaking news before the general public. A job that gives you the inside track to the world and gives you the connections needed to fulfill your civil duty by night seem to be a choice job for a superhero. So, I have taken my first step into the realm of superheros. (For those of you already acquainted with a somewhat fictional character, Money Man, I don't know what to tell you.)

Went into the Phuket Gazette Tuesday for my second interview, which consisted of meeting the publisher, Joe, and re-testing my ability to write a news article. Joe is an elderly man in his 70s that still has a bright sprightliness in his eyes. He has a English gentry feel about him, despite growing up in Wisconsin. He came to the Far East for a two year stent with his bank back in the 60's. I was blown away by his reasoning for loving banking - the writing. The writing has to be concise and economical, and for him there was nothing better in the world. Sitting on the blue couches in his office we talked about my goals, where I was in my life, and why I wanted to get into journalism (superheros were not mentioned). I hadn't prepared answers for any of these questions, despite them being pretty obvious and important questions. So without textbook perfect answers I was as honest and genuine as I could be. After the interview I hammered out another story; this time I focused on what I had learned from the all-mighty internet about how to write a newspaper article, which mostly consisted of writing a good lead. A good lead had to included who, what, where, why, and how, because most people never got past the first paragraph - assuming they got past the headline. Half an hour was all the time I had. I read the article highlighted what seemed important and went to town. I didn't have a chance to read back over it and edit it. I hardly had a chance to write a conclusion. A couple minutes over the time limit I just stood up and popped into Chris's office.

We took a walk outside so he could smoke. The rain was coming down loud on the roof outside. Chris checked the direction of the wind and stood down-wind from me as he lit a cigarette. We talked about the commitment, the logistics, my worries, things I was excited about and what the contract would look like. He thought Joe liked me and was willing to give me a verbal offer. He was proud of his news team, though he couldn't let them know it. They did good work and he wanted me to join them. I was ecstatic, but nervous, because he hadn't even looked at what I had written. The rain kept coming down so I spent sometime at the office just reading archived issues of the paper. With no sign of the rain letting up I decided to wrap up in the space suit and head home to Jackie. I wasn't settled. Chris was going to send me a written agreement that afternoon. When the agreement arrived I would finally be able to relax, but the time passed and nothing came. I had lunch, and there was nothing. I had dinner, and there was nothing. The clock moved past the hours that the Gazette was open and everyone, even those staying late, would have headed home.

No e-mail when I woke up in the morning. But I did get a phone call. Chris was on the line. The Gazette had a four hour power outage yesterday, so he hadn't been able to e-mail me. He had talked with Joe about me, so it looks like the job offer hadn't been a 100% the day before. Now without question he wanted to offer me the position as sub-editor for the news team at the Phuket Gazette.

Vegetarian Festival Day 1 (Jackie)

The nine day Vegetarian festival kicked off today in Thailand with Phuket at the heart of its world-renown revelries. My brother would love it because vegetables are nowhere to be found, abstinence from meat here simply means deep frying everything within reach (unless it happens to be a vegetable).  It also means watching Ma Song men pierce their flesh with various sharp objects in the hopes of transferring evil from individuals onto themselves and bringing good luck to the community.

Isaac and I drove to Phuket Town with the tank hovering on empty, aimlessly drifting through tiny streets where we’ve never been, following flapping yellow and red banners that had popped out overnight in astonishing sporific profusion. We stopped when we spotted the tiny fried dough balls in greasy paper cones that we like so much and almost immediately saw a flood of people in white carrying tall sticks wrapped in colorful fabric. We found one of the ornate Chinese temples draped in wafting clouds of incense and swarming with people but hovered hesitantly nearby, not wanting to interrupt the religious ceremonies and worship with our wide eyes and lack of knowledge about the religious facets of the festival. All we knew was that there would be abundant self- mutilation; we’d already noticed the men with deep scars around their mouths pushing through the crowds, evidence of annually pierced cheeks that never heal completely. Suddenly we realized once again how little we know about anything here. We buried our self- deprecations in deep fried food as rain began to pour, driving everyone from the streets under the tiny awnings of food stands where only your nose gets wet if you don’t mind getting close with strangers.

Isaac put on his space ranger rain gear and we made a dash (more like slow walk) through the crush of people until we found a large traditional monastery. It was painted in vivid colors and guarded by stone lions with bulging eyes and golden dragons doing headstands on the roof. Men with gold flakes spread across their faces pushed through the crowd, sending the small gold bits spiraling toward puddles to mingle with singed firecracker wrappers.

The stone courtyard past the entrance was slick with rain and rang with the excited giggling of young boys tossing firecrackers into a shrine and the sharp blasts from the misguided missiles exploding underfoot. Chanting from a loudspeaker was obscured by the gentle cracking of a long rope guided by priests removing the sins of locals. The sounds echoed and blurred together with the sound of rain pounding down and combined with the swaths of sweet smelling amber and sandalwood incense to create the sense of being alone and all-seeing while being jostled by unchecked shoulders blocking a clear view in any direction. The scraps of sound, scents, and sight somehow all drifted to form a complete picture out of small bits. It also helped that whenever the rain got too intense everyone except those already huddled under the priests flags crammed inside of the temple only to slowly emerge and reengage when the rain subsided. 

MORE PHOTOS HERE: https://picasaweb.google.com/101782615335640844329/VegitarianFestivalDay1?authkey=Gv1sRgCM_buNOL3_PH1wE