Where peace is not a pie ...Rick's Cafe Americain

I’m glad movies like this get made.  There should be more of them.  Also, while the story is formulaic, it at least doesn’t completely follow the typical Hollywood, one-person, against all odds, sports movie formula, so that’s good.  But Million Dollar Baby does not come within spitting distance of movies like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, the Incredibles or Spider-Man 2 (to stay within the Hollywood realm). 

I don’t know what it is critics have for Eastwood.  Mystic River (which was a better movie) was probably the most overhyped movie of last year by critics (and it was the same thing, great actors, good direction, uninspired, obvious, formulaic plot driven by performance rather than writing or depth).  Eastwood gets you to care about his characters and he picks great actors, all of which are comendable, but these movies are simply not best picture quality.

That’s right, no alcohol. For some reason these guys don’t drink when they play poker. It is pretty amazing, actually, because I get the feeling that under the right circumstances (i.e., any other time) these boys would pound the bottle hard. But if they aren’t drinking, I’m not drinking - which is a pity. Even though it makes the drive home safer.

I showed up at A.M. II at 10:15PM after making a quick stop at R Bar. (More on that in a later post.) Sporto, The Chief, Frogman, Maverick and Combo were there already so we decided to start up with six. Nixma showed up as Sporto was distributing chips. Deke showed up at around midnight. We play .25/.50 NL and typically buy in for $20.

The night was a strange one. I made a commitment to myself that I would stop being such a pussy at the table. I would lay down my hand when I had to but I would play aggressive and strong. Induce folds with real bets at big pots, not just cheap steals of tiny limped pots. Make draws pay real money to come from behind. Loosen up starting hands a little so that my game isn’t so damn predictable. I started on the button. As is true of most of the night, I don’t remember the play. I may have raised preflop. I know that I bet the flop and the turn and the table folded to my bet on the turn. So far, so good.

I picked up a couple more small pots on the first orbit. The button had rotated back to me when I looked down and saw KQo. I joined a few limpers and limped my button. Combos (long story) was on my left in the small blind and he made it $2 to go. All of the limpers threw away their hands and started discussing whether he had nines or tens. I let the table talk get to me and I decided to play my overcards. The flop was Q-J-J and Combos bet $2. I immediately raised him to $7 and he called. Alarm bells should have been going off. The turn was an ace. I had a feeling that Combos didn’t like the card, so when he checked to me, I bet $15. He thought long and hard and pushed. Now I figured that I was beat, but he only had .75 behind my bet so I had to call. He had Kings. I had two outs to a win and four to a chop, but the river was a brick and I found myself down to roughly $6. I saw for myself why asphnxma has dubbed KQo “Kournikova“: looks great, but never wins.

I could have rebought, but I decided that since I played myself into this mess, I’d play myself out of it. It worked. I don’t remember how it worked, but it worked. I built my $6 back up to $23 by playing solid poker, showing down the best hands and getting good folds. The only hand I remember was a push with Q9 on a checked-to-the-river board of T-x-x-x-9 that The Chief called with J9.

While I was riding the rollercoaster, asphnxma was falling off of a cliff. Nix dropped $60 in roughly two hours. That is only two big bets for our high-rolling friend, but losing your stack after rebuying twice is a sign to anyone except The Chief that it is time to leave the table. (And The Chief always makes it back. Unless we are playing Omaha.) His place at the table was soon taken by late addition Stoney who, true to his name, sparked up shortly after his arrival. No alcohol doesn’t mean no vice, after all.

Then I lost it all again. I don’t remember this hand at all. All I know is that I was down to $2.50. That seemed like too deep a hole, so I pulled out another twenty.

After the rebuy, I started playing very well again. I built the $20 to almost $60. I was betting hard and taking people out. I was juicing the pot preflop when I wanted action and hitting my hands. I lost $15 to The Chief when he check-called me on the turn of one hand, but I was able to let it go when he pushed the river because I knew that I was beat.

Then I almost lost it all again. Before I get to me, though, a moment for Stoney. He had a pretty erratic night also. After starting the night up, he found himself down to $6, so he pushed all-in. Chief called him in the dark and doubled him up. With over $100 in front of him, he figured he could fuck around. Two hands later, Stoney pushed again - this time on the flop - and again got a call from The Chief. From $6 to almost $30 in an eyeblink. It took a little while, but about fifteen minutes later it occurred to Chief - after doubling up Tiger - that he was bleeding away all of the money he had spent the night winning and almost all of his blue $5 chips had been distributed all around the table. It didn’t stop him, though. Stoney eventually lost most of his chips and found himself with less than $10 again, so when he got a hand, he pushed again. Chief looked at his hand and said I’m behind, but I’ll call. I’ve got nines. I laughed flicked my big blind into the pot and mucked my cards face up: 9♥6♥. Stoney turned over AQo (black) and Chief turned over his nines, er, 9♦6♦. Chief instantly apologized because he wouldn’t have called an all-in with such junk and winning a hand like that is just wrong. When he spiked a black six on the river, Chief apologized again. And then took down the pot.

After Stoney busted out, we decided to finish the orbit and then break up the game. It was a wild last orbit. Tiger had cashed out (down about a buck) but had been hanging around, hoping that the game would break up and I would give him a ride downtown. We eventually convinced him to sit back down for the last few orbits, so we were five handed (Sporto having decided to retire to his room to play World of Warcraft.)

I became a raising machine. Oddly enough, every hand I raised with was a legit raising hand in a short-handed game. The first time everybody folded. The second, I got callers who folded when I bet the flop, but were sure that I was full of crap. The third hand was a brief interlude where I folded to Chief’s raise, Tiger pushed and lost all of his chips to Chief. (NB: His free ride home just cost him $20.) On the next hand I got screwed by the flop and had to fold my ace. Then it happened again. After screwed by the flop twice, I decided to limp my ATo. The flop had two kings and Deke bet $1. I was pretty sure that I had the best hand, though I shouldn’t have been. Deke often makes small value bets on the flop when he knows he is ahead, hoping for a raise. He got the raise from me on the turn. He bet another dollar when a brick came out and I raised him to $6. He pushed, I let it go and he showed me his king.

Next hand (and the second to last hand of the night): Pocket eights, so I raised to $2.50 to thin the field. No dice. FOUR CALLERS! And the flop had a damn ace (A-6-3♦.) I probably should have bet, but knew that I’d have to shut down if I got callers. (That is more reason to bet. You had position. -ed. Yeah, yeah.) 7♦ on the turn. Deke and Chief checked so fast that I was sure I was being trapped, so I checked again. The river was the T♦ and Deke bet out $5. I said I can’t believe that I’m going to pay you off again, assuming that he figured it was time to bet his ace and made the crying call. He flipped over K♦4♦ for the runner-runner flush that I let him catch for free. Chief said that he checked his small ace, figuring that I’d check-raise him. I had gone from $50 to ~$18 in about six hands.

Last hand of the night. Chief raised to $1.50. I took a peek and saw something I hadn’t seen all night: bullets. So I just pushed all-in. If all I got were the blinds and Chief’s raise, so be it. The fast-and-loose turn the game had taken told me that I was going to get a call. Around the table:

Frogman: Bullshit (muck)
Deke: Let me think about this ... I really want to call, but I’m afraid [Chief] is going to call ... (muck)
Chief: [Banter to draw me out] Call.

He had me on a small pair and was willing to race for my stack on the last hand of the night with KJo. He didn’t get any help, though, so I doubled up to close the night and ended up down only $1.50 for the night. For such a mild finish, you would never guess that a flowchart of my chip count would look like an EKG.

Poker does get the heart racing, though.

At 4-8, my New Orleans Saints didn’t look like they had a shot at the playoffs. I don’t think they had won a game in December since Clinton was President and every week they found new ways to leave receivers open for long gains. Also, they couldn’t stop the run. Also, Aaron Brooks appears to be as dumb as a bag of hammers.

And then the Saints beat the Cowboys. The article talked about how the loss hampered the Cowboys’ playoff hopes but didn’t even mention that the Saints were still alive as well.

The next week they beat Tampa Bay and the writer noticed that the Saints were really still alive. I wrote to a friend and said that, barring some crazy, inconceivable three-way tiebreaker possibilities, the Saints controlled their own destiny.

In the penultimate week, the Saints played their best game of the year against a resting Falcons squad and won their third game in a row. In the meantime, the Vikings had lost three of their last four and were proving that I might not know what the word inconceivable means.

The last week was for all of the marbles. A rematch with the Carolina Panthers - who killed them a month ago AND knocked them out of the playoffs in the last game of 2002 - would almost certainly determine the final wildcard team.  The New Orleans Saints WON!!! They played even better than they did against the Falcons the week before. Carolina never really had a chance.

And then the Vikings choked against the Redskins. And the Jets choked against the Rams. So the Rams, Vikings and Saints all finished at 8-8. With the best NFC record of the bunch, the Rams moved on. Because they beat the Saints in week six, the Vikings advanced. So the Saints, despite playing the best football in the NFC in December, once again finished out of the playoffs.

To rub salt in the wound, the Vikings and Rams both won this week, proving that the NFC is hopelessly weak. This was a year when a team as erratic as the Saints might have made it to their first Super Bowl. That, I now know, is inconceivable.

* Not really. 

Challenge 1: Link to humanitarian aid organizations

International aid organizations:
UNICEF (United Nations Children’s Fund)
United Nations’ World Food Programme
Medecins Sans Frontieres / Doctors without Borders (donate!)
CARE International
The International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies

UK/Europe:
Disasters Emergency Comittee (DEC) - comprises a raft of aid agencies, including the below and others
British Red Cross
Oxfam
Save the Children UK

North America:
American Red Cross
Canadian Red Cross
Save The Children
Oxfam America

Anders Jacobsen: Webloggers: Give to tsunami victims and I’ll give too!

Challenge Two: Show the world the wonder that is Scarlett Johansson

By the way, if you pull yourself away from that picture, Daniel also has a hilarious tsunami-related (did I write that?) screen capture from Google news.

The main reason is that I am outside the loop. I am just starting out as a comic and only starting to meet people. I didn’t get wind of the organizational meetings for NYCC until right before the news of the threatened strike broke in the local press. The first information of any substance that I received was by way of an email from a friend with a link to the article in the New York Times. Since then I have contacted the leaders of the Coalition and should be attending a meeting later this month.

As we speak, I only know what I’ve read in the papers. What I’ve read, though, sounds like the comics have a hell of a point. The same rate for a set as clubs paid in the mid-1980’s? A comic working a full schedule exclusively in New York clubs can expect to make $20,000 a year? What bullshit. With drink prices as high as they are at comedy clubs in New York, those are pathetic returns for the comics.

I also didn’t write because I am somewhat removed from the issue. I am a good bit away from being paid to do “feature” spots at clubs in New York. Since I’m not getting paid, I wasn’t really hip to what I would be getting paid if I were at a more advanced stage of my career. The best I can hope for now is an unpaid guest spot here and there. If I were suffering from the low pay that featured acts get, I’d probably complain more, but right now the paltry fees paid to the features is still more than I get for the bringer shows I sometimes do.

Perhaps working for free is part of the Coalition’s agenda, but I doubt it. Performing for free at bars and bringer shows is a dues-paying phase. I don’t really see how it could be otherwise. I should probably get something back from the club if I bring audience to a show - and some clubs do pay by the head - but the money in those situations is so small it hardly seems fighting over. I’d only be taking that money from my friends who have come out to see me anyway and that takes some of the shine off the idea also.

In any event, I can unequivocally state it here: If the New York Comedians Coalition pickets a club I will not play at that club even if I am contacted to perform.

Let me also state that if the National Hockey League tries to play scab games during the lockout, I will support the players’ union by refusing to lace up the skates and play.

The first thing to know about Carl is that he has the greatest voice in New York. This is no joke. James Earl Jones would sell his children as food for circus animals if he could have Carl’s voice. When you hear it booming down the platform, even when you can’t make out the words just the timbre, it is impressive. But the words are glorious. He is also nattily attired. He isn’t wearing a tux or anything but he is clean, with a neatly trimmed beard and a wardrobe that comfortably fits into “business casual.” Hell, for all I know he isn’t even homeless.

Not that I agree with anything he has ever said. If I agreed with him he would just be a guy with a nice voice. His saving grace is that he is clearly insane. When you are close enough to hear what he is saying it is hard to keep from laughing. He paces the platform with a dignity that I’ve never achieved and the first words you are likely to hear are ... and that’s why women are the devil. He doesn’t even raise his voice at the end of the sentence to emphasize women’s evil nature: it is advice so plain, he needn’t emphasize. The ills of women and the wrongs they commit aren’t his only topic of conversation. He also believes that the moon landing was staged. And that Bush led us into war in Iraq without justification.

Which makes me think that I may be wrong about the moon landing and women, but I digress.

The disconnect between this not-bad-looking, presentable, eloquent and honey-voiced man and the rank insanity that comes from his lips was always one of the things I looked forward to when I worked near his stomping grounds. Check him out. He is at the station daily.

Cover charge is $2 (or free with a monthly Metrocard), no minimum.