Yesterday I bought a used copy of George Orwell's Down and Out in London and Paris. Sadly, one thing that is not cheap in Thailand is books in English. Goods and areas designed for locals are cheaper, of course, while those for tourists are more expensive. And I don't think many locals are interested in books in English. I paid 160 bhat, about five dollars, which would be a mediocre buy at a used bookstore in America.
But what a book! Orwell is funny, humane without preaching, and cruel at the right moments (talking about a friend with whom he travelled for a month: "He had the regular character of a tramp - abject, envious, a jackal's character. Nevertheless, he was a good fellow..."). You hear about compassion being essential to literature, but I think cruelty is just as important. It's what makes Flaubert and Flannery O'Connor great. It's why Biggie will always be infinitely better than Tupac.
Question: What book would you most like to have written?
Answer: Down and Out. I could say Lolita or Moby Dick, but what would be the point? I couldn't write those books and still be me. In fact, I can't wrap my mind around how a human can write a novel, even a bad one. They're so long, and what, you just make it all up? Next time you're reading a novel and reach the end of a page, try pausing and thinking how you would continue the story. When I do this my mind goes completely blank. I can't think of anything at all. But someone like me could, I think, write something like Down and Out. I would have to be very lucky to ever make something a third as good, but the idea of it, the approach, makes sense to me.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
Tennis
I walked down to the tennis courts tonight to hit against the wall. Alex has a loose plan of pitting me against Svobo, another backgammon player, who likes to play tennis and doesn't mind losing a few thousand dollars, at some time in the future. But for now it is nice just to get out of the hotel and do something that transcends language barriers.
But when I show up, a kid is getting a lesson on the court that borders the wall. He is working on his serve and is just getting to the bottom of a basket of balls. I consider asking him to move to the next court over, which is open. I could gather the balls in return for his cooperation. But there is no way I could explain such an intricate plan in Thai. What would likely happen is, he would immediately move, and wouldn't let me pick up the balls, and I would feel bad. So instead I walk around for a few minutes.
The tennis courts are in the middle of a large area devoted to sports, which includes a track and field, basketball courts, and several martial arts gyms. So far it is my favorite place in Chiang Mai. It evokes neither poverty nor tourism, a true rarity. It hums pleasantly at all hours with joggers, pickup basketball players, and street vendors.
There's even a cafe where they play checkers and Thai chess (like the European version, except the pawns all start one square forward, the bishops move differently, and the queen is much weaker). All the guys at the cafe are very keen for me to play. I sit down against an old man and lose by hopelessly misplacing my bishops - I have no intuitive sense of how to use the pieces with unfamiliar moves. Next we try a game of European chess. He moves his f-pawn too early, which would be fine in Thai chess, but here exposes him to a vicious attack from the more powerful European queen and bishop. It's clear that neither of us has a chance at the other's game.
When I get back to the tennis courts the lesson has wrapped up, but I run into another obstacle. A stray cat has curled up about five feet from the wall, right in front of the T in the middle of the drawn on net. It ignores repeated nudges from my foot and racquet. I shrug and start hitting. For the next half hour the cat doesn't budge, and miraculously I never hit it.
On the next court over two pretty good players are hitting, one a young kid. The older guy gets tired and asks if I want a turn. I happily take the chance to hit some struck balls. We hit for awhile - he is much better than me, but I try to get enough balls in to make it worth his time. After awhile his dad shows up and watches. We have a lot of exchanges like this:
-I hit the ball ten feet deep.
-The kid sportingly tries to hit it back but clips the net.
-The dad yells something in Thai and mimes a backhand.
They don't seem to do anything half-ass here. If you play tennis, you had better hit every single shot in.
But when I show up, a kid is getting a lesson on the court that borders the wall. He is working on his serve and is just getting to the bottom of a basket of balls. I consider asking him to move to the next court over, which is open. I could gather the balls in return for his cooperation. But there is no way I could explain such an intricate plan in Thai. What would likely happen is, he would immediately move, and wouldn't let me pick up the balls, and I would feel bad. So instead I walk around for a few minutes.
The tennis courts are in the middle of a large area devoted to sports, which includes a track and field, basketball courts, and several martial arts gyms. So far it is my favorite place in Chiang Mai. It evokes neither poverty nor tourism, a true rarity. It hums pleasantly at all hours with joggers, pickup basketball players, and street vendors.
There's even a cafe where they play checkers and Thai chess (like the European version, except the pawns all start one square forward, the bishops move differently, and the queen is much weaker). All the guys at the cafe are very keen for me to play. I sit down against an old man and lose by hopelessly misplacing my bishops - I have no intuitive sense of how to use the pieces with unfamiliar moves. Next we try a game of European chess. He moves his f-pawn too early, which would be fine in Thai chess, but here exposes him to a vicious attack from the more powerful European queen and bishop. It's clear that neither of us has a chance at the other's game.
When I get back to the tennis courts the lesson has wrapped up, but I run into another obstacle. A stray cat has curled up about five feet from the wall, right in front of the T in the middle of the drawn on net. It ignores repeated nudges from my foot and racquet. I shrug and start hitting. For the next half hour the cat doesn't budge, and miraculously I never hit it.
On the next court over two pretty good players are hitting, one a young kid. The older guy gets tired and asks if I want a turn. I happily take the chance to hit some struck balls. We hit for awhile - he is much better than me, but I try to get enough balls in to make it worth his time. After awhile his dad shows up and watches. We have a lot of exchanges like this:
-I hit the ball ten feet deep.
-The kid sportingly tries to hit it back but clips the net.
-The dad yells something in Thai and mimes a backhand.
They don't seem to do anything half-ass here. If you play tennis, you had better hit every single shot in.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Losing
My first foray into online poker didn't go so well. I had $200 to work with. I lost all of it in less than an hour, four buy-ins of $50 playing heads up with $.25/$.50 blinds. It's not the losing that bothers me so much as how I played. I can point to a couple specific plays that were certainly wrong, but it's more an overall sense of unease.
Some poker player said, "The bad part about losing isn't the money, it's the embarrassment." Exactly. Everyone knows the feeling: you're right, but you can't prove it, and nobody knows but you. This happens all the time in regular life, but poker takes it to new heights. Part of my problem was that I felt my opponents were playing badly and I was frustrated that I wasn't beating them. But as soon as you start to feel frustrated, you're the one at risk of losing by making a bad decision.
There's a famous story about Nimzovich, one of the greatest chess theorists and writers, throwing the board and screaming, "How can I lose to this idiot?!" after dropping a game to an inferior player. But this kind of thing happens relatively rarely in chess. This is why, minus some sort of elaborate hustle, you will almost never make real money betting it. If you are a favorite against someone, they probably know it. And if they don't already they certainly will halfway through the first game. Playing chess against someone much better than you is a uniquely oppressive experience: you feel like there's absolutely nothing you can do. And in fact, there isn't. Your lack of understanding dooms you from the start.
Poker is just the opposite. Every play feels like it might work. No one ever thinks they're a dog. You could play someone ten heads up sessions, win seven, and he would likely want to play ten more. This is why poker is profitable. There are people out there who donate money for years and years, thinking they're favorites the whole time.
It also means that, if you play a lot of poker, you will lose to idiots pretty often. This tension exists for any professional poker player. The idea of mastering the game, taken to its logical extreme, would mean winning every time. Yet it's precisely the game's built-in refusal to let anyone reach this summit that makes it profitable.
But I haven't made it there yet. I wasn't even a favorite. They played bad, but I played worse.
Some poker player said, "The bad part about losing isn't the money, it's the embarrassment." Exactly. Everyone knows the feeling: you're right, but you can't prove it, and nobody knows but you. This happens all the time in regular life, but poker takes it to new heights. Part of my problem was that I felt my opponents were playing badly and I was frustrated that I wasn't beating them. But as soon as you start to feel frustrated, you're the one at risk of losing by making a bad decision.
There's a famous story about Nimzovich, one of the greatest chess theorists and writers, throwing the board and screaming, "How can I lose to this idiot?!" after dropping a game to an inferior player. But this kind of thing happens relatively rarely in chess. This is why, minus some sort of elaborate hustle, you will almost never make real money betting it. If you are a favorite against someone, they probably know it. And if they don't already they certainly will halfway through the first game. Playing chess against someone much better than you is a uniquely oppressive experience: you feel like there's absolutely nothing you can do. And in fact, there isn't. Your lack of understanding dooms you from the start.
Poker is just the opposite. Every play feels like it might work. No one ever thinks they're a dog. You could play someone ten heads up sessions, win seven, and he would likely want to play ten more. This is why poker is profitable. There are people out there who donate money for years and years, thinking they're favorites the whole time.
It also means that, if you play a lot of poker, you will lose to idiots pretty often. This tension exists for any professional poker player. The idea of mastering the game, taken to its logical extreme, would mean winning every time. Yet it's precisely the game's built-in refusal to let anyone reach this summit that makes it profitable.
But I haven't made it there yet. I wasn't even a favorite. They played bad, but I played worse.
Friday, February 20, 2009
The Girls in Thailand
A common sight in Thailand is a white guy walking hand-in-hand with a Thai girl. At first I naively thought, how are these guys meeting Thai girls?
The girls are professionals, of course. You can tell by how they dress: tight jeans or a short skirt, fashionable top, knock-off designer bag, always a bag, for contraceptives and other necessities.
Some guys hire a girl for a month or however long they're here and she takes care of everything: food, shopping, sex. You wonder what the girl does in the moments she's alone. In a movie she would vomit, or cry in the shower, but I don't think that's what it's like for most of them. Here, sex is only sex. It doesn't represent anything special and it's a way for a lot of people to make a living.
Walking by the bars is a strange experience. They employ girls to lure in the male tourists. As you walk by they hoot at you, and if you walk close enough, even if you're careful to avoid eye contact, one may physically grab you by the arm and try to drag you in. Escaping from a 90-pound Thai girl is harder than you think. Asking politely to be let go certainly won't do the trick. I've developed a kind of swim move, writhing with the arms while driving forward with the legs, followed by a quick burst of speed to deter pursuit. That usually works.
If you read the blog, you know that I'm kind of obsessed with measuring myself by how people, especially girls, respond to me. In a way the rug has been pulled out from under me. Smart or dumb, funny or boring, good-looking or ugly, none of it matters here. You pay you get laid, you don't you don't, simple as that. There's no jealousy, at least not the same kind as in the states. If you see a guy with a hot girl, you know you could have one as hot or hotter for a fixed price. And while I am susceptible to coolness envy, I don't really have any money envy.
Maybe this is a better system than what we have in America. We worry so much about sex, about what people think of us sexually. As a country I would say we have a very unhealthy relationship with sex. In Thailand they remove a lot of the doubt and uncertainty. Every time I think it through, I come to the same conclusion: I should just get drunk and bring home a girl. But I keep chickening out.
The girls are professionals, of course. You can tell by how they dress: tight jeans or a short skirt, fashionable top, knock-off designer bag, always a bag, for contraceptives and other necessities.
Some guys hire a girl for a month or however long they're here and she takes care of everything: food, shopping, sex. You wonder what the girl does in the moments she's alone. In a movie she would vomit, or cry in the shower, but I don't think that's what it's like for most of them. Here, sex is only sex. It doesn't represent anything special and it's a way for a lot of people to make a living.
Walking by the bars is a strange experience. They employ girls to lure in the male tourists. As you walk by they hoot at you, and if you walk close enough, even if you're careful to avoid eye contact, one may physically grab you by the arm and try to drag you in. Escaping from a 90-pound Thai girl is harder than you think. Asking politely to be let go certainly won't do the trick. I've developed a kind of swim move, writhing with the arms while driving forward with the legs, followed by a quick burst of speed to deter pursuit. That usually works.
If you read the blog, you know that I'm kind of obsessed with measuring myself by how people, especially girls, respond to me. In a way the rug has been pulled out from under me. Smart or dumb, funny or boring, good-looking or ugly, none of it matters here. You pay you get laid, you don't you don't, simple as that. There's no jealousy, at least not the same kind as in the states. If you see a guy with a hot girl, you know you could have one as hot or hotter for a fixed price. And while I am susceptible to coolness envy, I don't really have any money envy.
Maybe this is a better system than what we have in America. We worry so much about sex, about what people think of us sexually. As a country I would say we have a very unhealthy relationship with sex. In Thailand they remove a lot of the doubt and uncertainty. Every time I think it through, I come to the same conclusion: I should just get drunk and bring home a girl. But I keep chickening out.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Heads up
I'm going to start playing heads-up (one-on-one, for the uninitiated) poker online. In preparation I've been playing against Falafel. Neither of us is very good, although he thinks he is.
He concedes that he hasn't really studied poker, doesn't play very much, but he still believes he can beat not only me, but also Alex and Peter, who are fairly accomplished poker players. The reasons for this are a bit mysterious. It seems to come down to... he is him. And how could anyone beat him? As usual, Luda put it best: "How you ain't gonna cut? Bitch I'm me..."
The best players in any game tend to have this attitude. I have some of it myself. At one point I had lost a few games in a row and wanted to keep playing. "You're a fighter, that's good. But," he said, "so am I." In backgammon, Falafel has the ability to back it up. He really is one of the very best in the world, maybe even the best. But no amount of confidence can completely overcome a skill deficit and, like I said, neither of us is much of a poker player (I hope to someday become one).
We played about 30 sets total. Going into the last session he was plus two. We were playing for "dinners", a stake which as I pointed out was like giving him three to one, the ratio of our caloric intakes, but it didn't really matter - mostly it was for pride. The whole time we played he would grumble under his breath about how bad I played, how I couldn't possibly win. But when I pressed him for what he thought his chances were, hoping to get an odds bet, he eventually came up with 6-to-5. In heads-up poker with the stack size we were playing (100 chips each, 1-2 blinds) that would indeed be a significant edge, evidence of superior playing, but I'm not sure how he came up with it.
We sat down for one last session a few hours before his flight. Alex and Sergio, a friend and professional poker player who lives in Thailand, were hanging around and watching. I hadn't felt nervous when we played before, probably because we weren't really playing for anything, but this time I had a little buzz because people were watching. As it happened I won four in a row to end up plus two overall. There's no doubt I was lucky, but something else happened as well. Falafel seemed to tighten up his already tight play with Alex and Sergio watching.
In Texas Hold'em poker, most hands miss most flops. That is, with a single opponent, their most likely hand is nothing. This doesn't come into play so much in ring games, where the only players still in the hand are those with the best cards. But in heads-up, usually they just don't have much. So if one player raises every time it's his turn, and the other player folds if he has nothing, the guy who's raising is going to come out ahead.
Falafel thought he could beat me by waiting around until he picked up a really big hand. What he didn't realize was that while he was waiting I was slowly stealing all his chips. And when he did press the action, I could easily give up the hand - unless I had something even bigger.
He concedes that he hasn't really studied poker, doesn't play very much, but he still believes he can beat not only me, but also Alex and Peter, who are fairly accomplished poker players. The reasons for this are a bit mysterious. It seems to come down to... he is him. And how could anyone beat him? As usual, Luda put it best: "How you ain't gonna cut? Bitch I'm me..."
The best players in any game tend to have this attitude. I have some of it myself. At one point I had lost a few games in a row and wanted to keep playing. "You're a fighter, that's good. But," he said, "so am I." In backgammon, Falafel has the ability to back it up. He really is one of the very best in the world, maybe even the best. But no amount of confidence can completely overcome a skill deficit and, like I said, neither of us is much of a poker player (I hope to someday become one).
We played about 30 sets total. Going into the last session he was plus two. We were playing for "dinners", a stake which as I pointed out was like giving him three to one, the ratio of our caloric intakes, but it didn't really matter - mostly it was for pride. The whole time we played he would grumble under his breath about how bad I played, how I couldn't possibly win. But when I pressed him for what he thought his chances were, hoping to get an odds bet, he eventually came up with 6-to-5. In heads-up poker with the stack size we were playing (100 chips each, 1-2 blinds) that would indeed be a significant edge, evidence of superior playing, but I'm not sure how he came up with it.
We sat down for one last session a few hours before his flight. Alex and Sergio, a friend and professional poker player who lives in Thailand, were hanging around and watching. I hadn't felt nervous when we played before, probably because we weren't really playing for anything, but this time I had a little buzz because people were watching. As it happened I won four in a row to end up plus two overall. There's no doubt I was lucky, but something else happened as well. Falafel seemed to tighten up his already tight play with Alex and Sergio watching.
In Texas Hold'em poker, most hands miss most flops. That is, with a single opponent, their most likely hand is nothing. This doesn't come into play so much in ring games, where the only players still in the hand are those with the best cards. But in heads-up, usually they just don't have much. So if one player raises every time it's his turn, and the other player folds if he has nothing, the guy who's raising is going to come out ahead.
Falafel thought he could beat me by waiting around until he picked up a really big hand. What he didn't realize was that while he was waiting I was slowly stealing all his chips. And when he did press the action, I could easily give up the hand - unless I had something even bigger.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Props
The purest form of gambling is the proposition bet. Habitual gamblers will bet on anything that comes up, with stakes hammered out on the spot.
Alex warned me ahead of time to be careful about saying anything on the trip I wasn't sure of, because someone would be quick to jump on it and propose a bet. On the last trip he made $10,000 betting on who sang some 80s tune (no one can remember the song now).
"Can't I just say, no, I don't want to bet?" I asked.
The answer is no, or not without consequences. In this world money stands for everything, but especially integrity. If you're willing to say it, the thinking goes, you should be willing to bet on it. To do otherwise is to admit you are full of shit.
Falafel thought one of the other guys, Henrik, had shorted him some money a few months ago. Henrik offered to bet $5000 that he had not. The original sum they were arguing about was less than a thousand.
Mostly the prop bets tend to be light-hearted though, even when they are for a lot of money. Falafel is currently paying Peter five dollars a day. The bet was over whether Falafel would be married by 40. If he was, Peter would owe him five dollars for the number of days before he turned 40 that Falafel got hitched. If he wasn't, he would pay Peter five every day after forty until he got married. He's a few years past 40 now, and it looks like Peter can count on getting his daily five for some time. Falafel has been pestering Koonie to set him up with an Indonesian girl - not the marrying kind.
Koonie likes to accept a prop by pointing at the person who offered it and shouting, "Down!" He just won a thousand betting on a documentary about Falafel. The film maker had Falafel pretend to read a Kafka novel because he thought a line in it resonated with his life, or something. Naturally Falafel had no interest in the book, and some of the guys were saying he was actually holding it upside-down in one scene. Koonie didn't buy it and even gave them three-to-one on it. It turned out it was right side up the whole time, although the Israeli lettering kind of looks upside-down. The weird thing was that everyone betting on the wrong side was in the movie, whereas Koonie had never even seen it.
Alex warned me ahead of time to be careful about saying anything on the trip I wasn't sure of, because someone would be quick to jump on it and propose a bet. On the last trip he made $10,000 betting on who sang some 80s tune (no one can remember the song now).
"Can't I just say, no, I don't want to bet?" I asked.
The answer is no, or not without consequences. In this world money stands for everything, but especially integrity. If you're willing to say it, the thinking goes, you should be willing to bet on it. To do otherwise is to admit you are full of shit.
Falafel thought one of the other guys, Henrik, had shorted him some money a few months ago. Henrik offered to bet $5000 that he had not. The original sum they were arguing about was less than a thousand.
Mostly the prop bets tend to be light-hearted though, even when they are for a lot of money. Falafel is currently paying Peter five dollars a day. The bet was over whether Falafel would be married by 40. If he was, Peter would owe him five dollars for the number of days before he turned 40 that Falafel got hitched. If he wasn't, he would pay Peter five every day after forty until he got married. He's a few years past 40 now, and it looks like Peter can count on getting his daily five for some time. Falafel has been pestering Koonie to set him up with an Indonesian girl - not the marrying kind.
Koonie likes to accept a prop by pointing at the person who offered it and shouting, "Down!" He just won a thousand betting on a documentary about Falafel. The film maker had Falafel pretend to read a Kafka novel because he thought a line in it resonated with his life, or something. Naturally Falafel had no interest in the book, and some of the guys were saying he was actually holding it upside-down in one scene. Koonie didn't buy it and even gave them three-to-one on it. It turned out it was right side up the whole time, although the Israeli lettering kind of looks upside-down. The weird thing was that everyone betting on the wrong side was in the movie, whereas Koonie had never even seen it.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Bali: Cast of Characters
Koonie:
Most famous for losing more of other people's money than anyone else in history (not a hyberbole) in some sort of stock market debacle in England. But not a fat cat. E.M. Forster wrote, "If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country." I agree with that, and Koonie would be the guy who had the guts. He's the mark, but not in the sense of being dumb. Likes the idea of playing backgammon against the world's best players, understands he's a dog, but wants to play.
Alex:
My boss. Not the best backgammon player, not the best at anything really, but a deceptively shrewd gambler. He beat Koonie for $170,000 in Vegas and set up this trip. The nominal leader of the team playing backgammon against Koonie.
Falafel:
Number one-ranked backgammon player in the world, old friend of Alex. Finds it difficult to restrain himself when others are playing: he can't stand the mistakes they make.
Sander:
One of the very best backgammon players in the world, a high roller. As long as the sums are less than astronomical he doesn't care in the least. I beat him for about $2000 at chess the first night. The next morning, I don't think he even remembered.
Peter:
Along with Falafel and Sander, one of the "three wise men," the three best backgammon players, the people the pro team want sitting opposite Koonie to make maximum profit. Maybe the most naturally gifted player, he almost always plays instantly, and remembers every position from every game played in the night.
Eastgate:
Most recent World Series of Poker champion, a very nice and unassuming kid, my age. The WSOP win is his golden ticket into this world: he gets respect beyond his age and experience. Not a backgammon player, but has a piece of the action.
Humpke:
German backgammon player, a nice guy, so nice that he immediately seems out of place amongst the others and constantly in danger of being shattered.
Morty:
Very strong backgammon player, will bet on anything, anywhere, any time, especially when he's been drinking.
Most famous for losing more of other people's money than anyone else in history (not a hyberbole) in some sort of stock market debacle in England. But not a fat cat. E.M. Forster wrote, "If I had to choose between betraying my country and betraying my friend, I hope I should have the guts to betray my country." I agree with that, and Koonie would be the guy who had the guts. He's the mark, but not in the sense of being dumb. Likes the idea of playing backgammon against the world's best players, understands he's a dog, but wants to play.
Alex:
My boss. Not the best backgammon player, not the best at anything really, but a deceptively shrewd gambler. He beat Koonie for $170,000 in Vegas and set up this trip. The nominal leader of the team playing backgammon against Koonie.
Falafel:
Number one-ranked backgammon player in the world, old friend of Alex. Finds it difficult to restrain himself when others are playing: he can't stand the mistakes they make.
Sander:
One of the very best backgammon players in the world, a high roller. As long as the sums are less than astronomical he doesn't care in the least. I beat him for about $2000 at chess the first night. The next morning, I don't think he even remembered.
Peter:
Along with Falafel and Sander, one of the "three wise men," the three best backgammon players, the people the pro team want sitting opposite Koonie to make maximum profit. Maybe the most naturally gifted player, he almost always plays instantly, and remembers every position from every game played in the night.
Eastgate:
Most recent World Series of Poker champion, a very nice and unassuming kid, my age. The WSOP win is his golden ticket into this world: he gets respect beyond his age and experience. Not a backgammon player, but has a piece of the action.
Humpke:
German backgammon player, a nice guy, so nice that he immediately seems out of place amongst the others and constantly in danger of being shattered.
Morty:
Very strong backgammon player, will bet on anything, anywhere, any time, especially when he's been drinking.
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