Something Completely Different

In airport bathrooms from New York to Madrid to Nice, paper towels are out and electric is in. The JFK, in particular, has an interesting apparatus; you put your hands in, fingers down, between two blowers, and slowly draw them out. The idea, I suppose, is that the moisture is sheared off in a neat line. The results are somewhat different.

I can see the thinking behind electric dryers. Their advantages far outnumber the disadvantages, of which there is only one.

Advantages:

• Hygienic
• Save trees
• Look cool

Disadvantages:

• Don't dry your hands

There is a philosophical question to be asked here: If electric dryers don't dry your hands, which they don't, in what sense are they dryers at all? You might say they are intended to dry, but even this seems doubtful. Surely the developers tried them at least once. Or you might say, they look like dryers. But to my knowledge there is nothing that looks like an electric dryer that actually dries.

In practice the phrase "electric dryer" is akin to "pretend dryer" or "toy dryer." Airports, at least, seem to have decided that the machine's ostensible purpose is not so important compared to other considerations. It is as if restaurants started selling plastic food because it looks nice and is convenient to prepare.

If I ever own an establishment of any kind, there will be paper towels, and lots of them. Maybe we will kill trees and transmit diseases to one another, but by god our hands will be dry.

Savant

He lives in a big apartment above a bar, but I don't get the feeling he drinks there very often. In the apartment there is a couch, a basketball hoop, and a refrigerator stocked with Snapples. In his room he has a bed, an office chair, and a computer with two monitors. When we come in he has four tables open, mostly waiting for opponents.

Later, Alex says he has gained 20 pounds since the last time he saw him, but he is still very skinny. He has tousled brown hair and a zit on his temple. His shoulders are acutely curved from staring into the computer screen. He shakes with a limp, clammy hand, but when he speaks it is with a surprisingly deep, confident voice.

He has an unbelievable online read. The only information available to him is his opponents' betting patterns and how long it takes them to act, but he can still call their hands dead on most of the time. His specialty is Pot-limit Omaha.

He wants to move up to the big game, PLO with $500-$1000 blinds. He has watched it a lot and says the regulars play crazy and Gus Hansen is the worst. Alex, who knows Gus and has watched the game too, says it can't possibly be real. Gus and the other regulars must have an agreement to recoup all the money that changes hands in the game.

He doesn't care. He wants to beat Gus.

While we are watching he gets into a big hand, at least $5000 in the pot. On the river he hits the king-high flush. The board hasn't paired; he can only lose to the ace-high flush and the betting sequence of the hand makes it very unlikely his opponent has it. He bets, the guy raises big, and he frowns. I would go all-in here, but then I don't know what the other guy has. He just calls, and sure enough the guy shows two clubs, including the ace.

"That was sick," he says. "That same thing happened to me yesterday."

Bon Voyage

My career as gambling intern starts in earnest tomorrow. First we drive to New York, where we stay for a few days. Then we fly to Nice with a layover in Madrid. After dropping off a few things in Nice we get set up in Thailand. Not long after that it's on to Bali for a backgammon game. Fasten your seat belts.

Restroom Drama

Here is the situation: there are four urinals lined up side-by-side. The one closest to the door is out of order. The one farthest from the door is a kiddie-size. Opposite the urinals are three stalls.

When I come in it's all clear, so obviously I take urinal number two, the closest functioning full-sized urinal. Then the next guy walks in. For a moment, time pauses; my stream hangs in the air, motionless. I am thinking: a real man will take urinal number three, enduring the discomfort of peeing right next to someone for the prize of a grownup-sized urinal. A homophobic pussy will take urinal number four, the kiddie urinal, agreeing to pee crouching down just to get a little more distance.

The guy doesn't miss a beat. He strides right into the first stall, pulls up the seat, and lets fly. Society says the urinal is for number one, the stall is for number two; he doesn't care. This is the kind of solution I like best: simple, radical, effective.

Respect.

Rubber Bands Are the New Toga

These days I find it useful to have a rubber band on me - you know, the one that was holding a wad of cash, or an extra in case I come into a wad of cash - that sort of thing. And I've taken to wearing it on my wrist, something I haven't done in a long time.

The rubber-band-as-bracelet makes a paradoxical fashion statement. It says, "I recognize that there is something called fashion, and I choose to ignore it." By adorning your wrist at all you are making an effort you are not required to make; by choosing a rubber band you are expressing your scorn for effort of all stripes.

The rubber band straddles two opposed conceptions of cool. The first is cool as conformity. Few would avow this kind of cool, but when it comes to what looks cool, what looks right, it is largely a question of what you have seen before. You gain greater visual fluency with a style or pattern each time you see it. This is why a new haircut always looks wrong at first. From beggar to president, everyone has used a rubber band. It is ubiquitous, unassuming, and seemingly non-referential. It embodies cool as conformity.

The second kind of cool is the opposite, cool as precisely what is unusual, unexpected, threatening, and new. The rubber band itself is none of these, but when worn on the wrist it aspires to them in the manner of a found art piece. It is the placement and suggested importance, not the thing itself, that is surprising. The everyday, placed in a new setting, becomes revolutionary.

Like a sweatshirt or a white t-shirt, the rubber band can lay claim to a neutral cultural space. Nothing is cooler than nothing - you can't knock it! The rubber band represents a radical blandness. But it is impossible to say nothing with what you wear. The perceived blandness really means that whatever the rubber band says is positioned squarely within our cultural norms, a matter of time and place. Today, a white toga makes a strong statement: Toga party! In ancient Rome, nothing could be more normal.

So there is something futile and misguided about wearing a rubber band on the wrist, quixotically screaming your silence from the rooftops. But then, that is exactly my style.

Reader Letters!

To celebrate the tenth follower of this blog (double figures!) I'd like to share with you a small sampling of the outpouring of the fan mail we receive every day here at jobless.

I like the blog, but why do you write about yourself so much? You know what would be really great? A blog about Martin van Buren. His life, his policies, the historical context...I love all that stuff. Only edgy, like ER, you know? And I think it would be cool if it was written entirely in Sanskrit.

-Helpful in Helsinki

Thanks for the feedback, I will think about how I can work those suggestions into the blog.

Miley Cyrus is so lame. But when are you going to write about her again?

-OMG in Omaha

Soon, my friends, soon.

After reading your thoughtful analysis, I realized you are right, Lesley had been sabotaging me for years, so I kicked her to the curb. But now I need a new best friend and I thought of you first. What do you say?

-Lonely in Los Angeles

Although your offer is very tempting, I must decline. I just don't think we have enough in common. Also, the age difference might be weird.

Your blog is sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo good. Why has it been overlooked thus far by the Nobel Prize committee? This is bullshit!

-Confused in Connecticut

I know, right?! Seriously though, it's all politics.

Nice blog, fag.

-Heterosexual in Helena

Thank you.