I Like Clouds

Poker: Daylight Tournament

Today I got a check in the mail from RG and E, the local electric company. It was for $3.99 from the sale of an electric plant that I have never heard of. I share electricity costs with my housemate, so when I came in the house, I started claiming that it was all mine because only my name was on the check. It was a harmless claim, since who really cares about two bucks? Well, he wouldn’t let it go without a fight, so he wanted to play some cards for it.

I told him I would check my daylight rule and play now while the sun was still out. We decided to play a Texas Hold ‘Em tournament. We each got two dollars in chips discussed the terms. It was simple, no limit, five- and ten-cent blinds, blind raises every 10 minutes, with the winner laying claim to the entire amount on the check.

Usually we spin a dealer button to determine who deals first, but this time we drew cards from a deck, I picked a 6, he picked a J, and handed me his cards to cut. I made an awkward cut and he commented that it was strange. I got my two hole cards. The flop came, it was 10-10-10! I exclaimed, “Oh man!” and looked at my housemate. He looked like someone holding on to something good, so as he pondered a raise I told him, “There is no way you have a ten, there is no way anyone has a ten with that flop.” Heads up and three 10’s on the flop; the tens would have to have been all within the top eight cards of the deck. That would have to mean, four out of the top eight cards in the deck are tens, those are some impossible odds. So I called his 15 cent raise.

The turn came, it was an eight of hearts, coupled with the ten of hearts, it gave someone a flush draw, but I only had one heart so it was not me. Another fifteen-cent raise came out. I called. The river was a nine of hearts! Now there were several straight flushes possible. Either 6-7 in hearts, 7-J in hearts, or, the nuts, a J-Q in hearts could win. A ten would give someone four of a kind. Pairing the eight or nine would be a full house, as would a pocket pair. Then there were many flushes, and a handful of straights. Sitting at the bottom of the possible winning hands was three of a kind with a high kicker.

With this in mind, my housemate raised twenty-five cents. I figured it was a stab for the pot, or maybe he thought he had it, either way, I reraised a dollar, and he quickly raised all in. I had no problem calling, and it seemed that this tournament would be over in one hand. As he turned over his cards, he asked if I had an eight or a nine, I did not. He showed me pocket threes, giving him an unexpected full house. I smiled and started to laugh hysterically as I turned over my two hole cards. K-10. The impossible ten!

Reflecting on a Guilt Trip

Back in Rochester, it is a nice and warm day. This next part is going to sound rough, maybe mean, but it is not, it is just a statement of the facts. I think I have pinned down my tolerance for the family at about three days. After three days I start to get antsy. I find solace by making frequent trips out, staying up way late (when everyone is asleep), and vanishing into the backyard. Of course, all of these are attempts to retain my sanity and someone always foils them. This, in turn, only puts me under more duress.

I think a semi-solution would be to stay at a hotel, and then I can visit periodically when my mood is conducive to good family relations. I am so annoying to be related to. Now, my family would tell you otherwise, but they are paid to do that. Well, you can’t have your cake and eat it too, not unless you want to gain all that weight, get diabetes, and choke on the ornamental silver beads. See but there is the catch, if I stay at a hotel, it will be misconstrued and a huge backlash will ensue in the form of a deep and overly complicated guilt trip.

As an example, a consequence of telling my mom how I always feel tired and lethargic when I come to the house, and positing that it might be due to mold or something in the house, she retaliated with the following. First, with a claim that soon the house will be sold and she and my dad will live in an RV traveling across the country. She then brought out the big ol’ guilt trip, “Some day I won’t be around anymore.” I quickly fled into another room. Well, this attack was three pronged, and the next prong came via my dad. The next day, he handed me an envelope he said my mom wanted me to have it. It had hearts all over the outside, and in the middle and hand-written, were the words, “To My Son”. I knew immediately that this was a guilt trip and refused to open it in the company of my family members so I packed it in my carry-on and headed out to the airport. Once I got there and through security, I sat down and opened it up. Sure enough, it was the most wrenching type of guilt trip, a hand-written note on a card with some sentimental saying about a parent and their son, and a small cash prize. Gotta love ‘em. Sigh!

In my defense, I did not do anything bad. My only crime as a son is not being a chatterbox. Somehow, this comes off as something bad, despite my attempts to smooth it out. See, I lost the ability to chitchat many many years ago. Not just with my family, but with the world. I find few things interesting to talk about, but I will listen to other’s injudicious chitchat. With my family, they ask questions and conclude that I must not like them because I only answer in short, concise responses. This could be how others feel too when they talk to me, but I don’t care about that as much. It takes a lot of time and something ineffable that goes on in my mind for me to let someone get to know me, and few people have been (un)fortunate enough to experience the full on, blown up, version of me.

In my family’s defense, they do nothing wrong, and I wouldn’t trade them for any other family. As far as families go, I know I lucked out. I think I am just too darn incorrigible. Couple this with the fact that I go from idle family relations to maximum overdrive in a short span of time, then something is bound to crack. I guess I would rather it be me, since I probably have the most insight into the situation and could probably recover faster. In the future, I think I will have to shorten my visits though. Either that, or go camping alone for a few days in the middle of a long stretch of time.

Did anyone see Junebug? I really liked that movie, maybe because I could empathize. The depiction in that movie is close to how my visits home are, but there are some major differences. Like, my family is not nuts, I am the nut!

Junkyard

San Antonio, TX - My dad’s friend has a junk yard. The city is trying to buy him out, along with the neighbors, to make room for a new extension of the Texas A&M University System. I came along with my dad to take some pictures while he looked for an axel for his El Camino.

Devil’s Backbone

The following entry was created from notes left on my voice mail.

Central TX - I am driving on FM-32, a detour on a detour. I was originally traveling on I-35 south, going back to San Antonio after my day in Austin, but I-35 proved to be finicky, so I jumped on Hwy 290 west, looking for Hwy 281. After the bottleneck on Hwy 290, I came into Dripping Springs, TX, and immediately thought of the Devil’s Backbone. I didn’t know exactly what the Devil’s Backbone was, nor did I know exactly where it is, but I had seen it on maps for many years now. It usually appears as a small triangle, on FM-32, and just west of the intersection with FM-12, near Wimberley, TX. An online search a while ago came up with nothing but references to Guillermo del Toro’s film with the same name. (I highly recommend the film.) Today I had some time to kill, so I thought I should investigate.

Without a map, I started to wonder if I was foolish to venture the back roads with a gas-guzzling vehicle already near empty. The roads I am traveling are nestled deep in the rural Texas Hill Country, gas stations are few and far between. I drove for a bit, the sky was thickly covered with bright gray clouds, and the humidity was oppressive. Every once and a while, the temperature would suddenly cool and the sky would explode in a burst of raindrops. It was not like rain though, it was more like if the atmosphere sighed, and in that brief moment the dew point and temperature coincided and water vapor transitioned to liquid water.

The scenery already made the trip worthwhile, finding the Devil’s Backbone and perhaps climbing it would be the icing on the cake. I came upon a tavern; it was called Devil’s Backbone Tavern, so I figured I must have been getting closer. A sign let me know there was a rest area coming up. It was a small rest area; set up with a few picnic tables, a trashcan, and enough room for maybe four cars to pull off the highway an… well, rest.

With no mention of the Devil’s Backbone at this rest area, I realized that maybe this ridge I was driving on, the surrounding valleys, the surrounding hills, this could all be the Devil’s Backbone. If so, this rest area did not provide a flattering view, so I backtracked to the tavern and took it all in from the side of the road. The sun was low in the sky and rain was constantly threatening, so I decided to call it a day go on home. I would like the opportunity to hike around Devil’s Backbone in the future, but as far as I can tell, there are no trails and the area is largely privately owned.

Incidentally, when I got home, I searched for the Devil’s Backbone again, but this time added Texas to the search. I found relevant hits. Most places simply refer to the Devil’s Backbone as one of Texas’ most scenic drives. According to one site, the ridge was used by Native Americans to monitor the new settlers going through the area. Another site says the ridge is haunted; hiker’s claimed to be followed by unseen hikers. Creepy! I definitely have to hike this spot at night!