Ugarte's Poker Grovel #27, or Don't Quit Your Day JobIt was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was perfectly ordinary times.
It was the monthly game at the Churchwarden’s, but I didn’t go to the game directly from work as was typically the case. See, I don’t work anymore.
The Best of Times
After six years of working as a lawyer in a commercial litigation firm in New York City, I finally walked away from the whole damn thing. Every day I wake up, look at the clock, smile and then go back to sleep. After a week, the joy has not gone out of that.
I’ve never particularly enjoyed being a lawyer. Everything that I liked about law school (limited personal responsibility; a preference for legal arguments that weren’t dependent on the particular interests of a paying client; colleagues who were down for weekday drinking) has nothing to do with the practice of law at a commercial litigation firm. Sure, there were moments of pride, thrills of victory and plain old intellectual stimulation but they were few and far between. Mostly it was a vortex of despair. And I felt this despite (brace yourself, because you don’t hear this every day) the great group of attorneys I worked with from January 2000 through June 2003. They are bright, ideosyncratic and shockingly tolerant of me despite some considerable flaws in my legal skills. (Notably, I am spectacularly lazy unless I think someone else is going to pay a price for my sloth. Also, I tell inappropriate jokes at client meetings.) I know things could be worse - my first legal job had the added pleasure of working for brainless assholes - so I count myself lucky to have worked with folks like Rick, Sous Chef and Ferrari. In other words, they laughed at my jokes and never once reported me to the EEOC.
Last July the Firm was bought by a larger firm. The new place was mostly benign (though it occassionally reminded me of my detested first job) but just didn’t have the same spark that made the Firm the sort of place that made professional inertia seem somehow acceptable. So, having spent almost a year at the new place, I have put away the briefcase (actually I literally lost the briefcase a year ago) and hung up my suits (actually we forced the Firm to go casual years ago) and traded in the life of an attorney for the life of a would-be stand-up comic.
Don’t bother looking for evidence of the likelihood of success; you won’t find it here. Just trust me: this is a step in the right direction.
The Worst of Times
Um. It’s been a week and a half and I haven’t really written anything. I’ve added a few more ideas to my “notes for future routines” book, but I haven’t done any of the hard work of developing routines. Today. Tommorow. (Maybe not tomorrow. On my last day of work I got a notice from the Brooklyn Supreme Court. I report for jury duty tomorrow at 8:45 AM. How did they know?)
If I don’t get going on this I may end up pulling a Costanza and just showing up at work again in a week or two. On the other hand, I consider it a good sign that I am already worried that I haven’t done anything. I went longer than this at the office without doing any work and it never once bothered me. I believe that is called “growth.”
Perfectly Ordinary Times
I haven’t even really been playing a lot of poker, so I can’t even blame that for my lack of productivity. I haven’t really played online at all, but I had the Tournament at the Blue Parrot to tide me over for a little while last Monday, and a visit to the Churchwarden’s on Thursday.
The cast at the Churchwarden’s is getting thin. We were down to five because Rick takes his job seriously despite his own impending departure. Leo Bloom, Helmut and Sean filled out the table. Darren was supposed to come but he gave some lame excuse.
This table has become perpetually short ever since the office space that the Churchwarden shares has become a battle zone. For reasons too silly to recount here, the shared space is now divided by a curtain. I was sure that sort of thing only happened on sitcoms, but it has happened here. This is unfortunate for two reasons.
First, it is always nice to play at a full table. The blinds don’t come around as quickly, there is usually more coffeehousing and the tightness of my game isn’t exactly ideal for a shorthanded, low-limit game. Second, those folks were, without question, among the worst poker players I’ve ever seen. My hourly rate took a hit when they left the table and that isn’t good either.
It is still a monthly highlight. There isn’t any particular hand that stands out in the game, which isn’t surprising since I just floated along from the first deal to the last. I played horribly for the first hour and slowly bled to death. I recovered in the second hour by stealing the blinds a few times. I dragged a decent Omaha pot with a full house when a flush materialized, but gave up half to a liberal policy on pulling your cards from the muck when Leo realized that he had a qualifying low hand.
In truth, this game is more about fucking around than it is about playing poker. I didn’t play particularly well; I didn’t play with the courage necessary to profit from bad cards. As a result I finished up for the night, but earned less per hour than an eight year old girl in a Nike shoe factory. But I still had a very good night, which is really the beauty of the game.
Even a bad poker game beats a good day at work.
The Tally
Helmut +$32
Leo Bloom +$26
Churchwarden +$1.50
Ugarte +$.50
Sean -$60
Blog Stuff
Since artistic endeavors are sort of the theme today, check out Pauly’s literary webzine Truckin’ - a new edition to the blogroll (as soon as I get around to adding it).
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