tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21486992868200207992024-03-13T22:05:02.909-05:00Feline 9ineThe adventures of a poker player beyond Bowhead LandKat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.comBlogger85125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-40785283922585865742018-03-09T23:23:00.003-06:002022-04-22T20:52:03.326-05:002018 Formula 1 Predictions - AustraliaMercedes. Toto Wolff has a moment of clarity on the way to Melbourne. Realizing he has exhausted all challenges in F1 he becomes a Mormon and marries Carmen Jorda and Tatiana Calderon. Smoke emanating from the Mercedes garage fuels rumors they are trying to reproduce the new Ferrari engine mode until it is traced to Susie Wolff "throwing a wee wobbly."<br />
<br />
Ferrari. Ted Kravitz conducts a freewheeling interview with Maurizio Arrivabene in which he suggests the Ferrari smoke is designed to obscure self-stabbing voodoo dolls of Adrian Newey installed under the revolutionary side-pods. On race day a mumbling Kravitz comes to a complete halt in the middle of pit lane from where he is taken to the medical center and diagnosed with ketamine poisoning.<br />
<br />
Red Bull. Due to an alleged blueprint mix-up in Adrian Newey's office, Verstappen's side of the garage contains an RB14 whereas Ricciardo's unexpectedly has a 1/10th scale model of a catamaran. When asked by Craig Slater if this may suggest some preference for Verstappen within the team, Ricciardo breaks Slater's nose thereby winning the 2018 Smash a Scot in the Face award sponsored by the England national rugby team.<br />
<br />
Force India. The rumors swirling in Barcelona about a team buy-out intensify when the pink panther emerges from the garage with the legend "Force Liz" and a crown logo in a bold royal blue. The Daily Mail reports that HRH QEII bought the team at twice true value in order to have India's support in the Commonwealth Council for the accession of Prince Charles to the position of the Head of the Commonwealth. The story is widely ridiculed but turns out to be the only thing the Daily Mail has got right about F1 in the hybrid era.<br />
<br />
Williams. Early signs that the FW41 is less than competitive appear to be confirmed when neither Frank nor Claire Williams travel to Australia, both citing "previous commitments." Nevertheless, the team continues in the tradition of a family member sitting on pit wall when they introduce Arthur Higgenbottom, a third cousin once removed previously employed as a Barnsley pipe-fitter.<br />
<br />
Renault. Sainz and Hulkenberg are seen trading punches in the back of the garage sparking rumors of internal conflict over who gets new development parts. Rachel Brookes tweets "the boys were fighting over me." Federica Masolin subtweets "Nei tuoi sogni, culo grasso," and immediately receives a lifetime achievement award from La Gazetta dello Sport.<br />
<br />
Torro Rosso. The FIA convenes a special meeting to discuss whether STR mechanics and other personnel have brought the sport into disrepute by pointing and laughing whenever they see anyone wearing McLaren team gear. Honda awards performance bonuses to all STR employees at the track.<br />
<br />
Haas. Gene Haas uses the team principal press conference to announce the opening of his new chin. Asked by Dieter Rencken if the dearth of sponsorship on the VF-18 indicates a lack of commitment to F1, Haas picks up his phone, buys Autosport and F1 Fanatic and fires Rencken from both. Haas then buys Youngstown, OH.<br />
<br />
McLaren. At the same press conference, Eric Boullier asserts that the MCL33 will be competing for podiums as soon as priests have removed the demons from the R.E.18 power unit. After several probing follow-up questions from new Torquay Gazette columnist Will Buxton, Boullier denies that he is Eric Boullier.<br />
<br />
Sauber. In a unique display of team unity, possibly spurred by Calderon's marriage to Wolff, Ericsson and Leclerc marry each other between FP1 and FP2. An NBC exclusive links smoke billowing from the Alfa-badged Ferrari power unit to the sudden death of a childhood friend of the Pope.Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-48929001758085104092017-02-08T10:47:00.000-06:002019-06-28T03:58:54.415-05:00Alles Gute zum GeburtstagThis feels a slightly formal way of wishing my dear daughter a happy birthday, but enmeshed and limited as we are by ongoing legal matters I am sure you understand.<br />
<br />
I am told, Sopiko, that you are following this page, as no doubt are your mother's attorneys who are far more devoted to every word I write these days than were my fans at the height of the popularity of "Siebenburger Mysterien," but this is about you and not the means by which you afford to be you, including your ability to transform to "Sally" as effortlessly as your mother's little helpers sift through the contents of my recycling bins.<br />
<br />
I have mentioned before, dear, that your mother and I went to a considerable expense and effort to determine the perfect name before you were born, thus you will appreciate your input on this matter at this or any other post-natal stage seems a little tardy and frankly redundant. Indeed this is one of the few points on which your <strike>late </strike> mother and I agree. However we both acknowledge receipt of letters filed by Koenig and Koenig of 21st last and thus you will be referred to henceforth in birthday greetings and lawsuits as Sally von Wehrlof-Strunkel, although, sweetie, your mother pressed me not to hammer on about this, but "Sally"? Really? Zoe and I spent a full seven minutes trying to recall any "Sally" of distinction and all we came up with was that unusual Miss Timms from The Mekons who sang at your birthday party and then released all the geese.<br />
<br />
Now, Sally, while your mother and I have disagreements (currently between 1.5 and 1.8 million, fyi, I really am not made of money) we are united in our sympathy for your current plight, particularly our inability to liberate you from Kansas. Oh! It's the sunflower state! I just looked. Not all that bad is it?<br />
<br />
Sweetie. Sally.<br />
<br />
Speaking purely for myself, I am convinced that your remarkable fecundity while at school in the beautiful heartland is simply your personal contribution to a Marxist-Leninist insurgency against that unspeakable pile of dung in the Governor's mansion. I forget his name but I met him in Iquitos and the idiot couldn't even bribe a Peruvian diplomat. That's not an idiom, dear, he literally could not bribe a diplomat. He tried.<br />
<br />
It turns out in ways which even your mother's coven of advocates cannot crack that this business with the moron from Topeka and Peru is central to the current woof and weave of suits, counter-suits, recusals and the complication brought up by an assistant attorney general in, I believe, New York, about which we sent you the explanatory press clippings and a photograph of a yak.<br />
<br />
Suffice it to say, my dear, that while agencies such as the FBI and ATF, both of which have more attorneys than either your mother or myself combined, which thankfully will never happen again, not that I mean to diminish the sole joyous product of that union. "Sally." Anyway, while the feds feel it is in the best interests of national security for you to remain, just for a little while, at your new apartment in Leavenworth, neither your mother nor I feel it wise to interfere.<br />
<br />
Now, Sally, as you can tell I am doing my best to keep this upbeat, but even on your birthday I think a couple of words are in order about your attitude towards Zoe. Clearly your first meeting with Zoe was always going to be difficult, particularly given this ongoing Kansas business which Zoe feels absolutely terrible about, by the way. So. Can't you give her a chance? I understand that due to some oddity involving chronology or time-zones or something you are, in a purely quantitative sense, older than your step-mother, but I fail to see why you cannot regard this as a positive. It's almost like you're getting that little sister you wanted that cost your mother and me (mostly me) a pony every year for seven years until you finally obsessed about something else. Anyway, neither Zoe nor I have a strong feeling on how you should address her provided none of the words in that little screechy temper tantrum are ever used again.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, dear.<br />
<br />
Your loving father.<br />
<br />
Dr. F. Wehrlof.<br />
<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-65620005216085651312016-10-15T03:42:00.001-05:002016-10-15T07:33:00.667-05:00Up/Down<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">It's funny the
things you remember when you're spending a night in a twenty-fifth
floor hotel room in Vegas for a life-nit reason connected to
“gift-wrap points” overlooking that structure that is absolutely
not a “Ferris wheel” because, well, I forget. Vegas is classier
than that? No idea.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And because
you're spending a night in a twenty-fifth floor hotel room which does
not include your cat, Louis, because Vegas hotels are really weird
about cats (and Louis is equally weird about hotels), even though the
The Linq, which you can see from your twenty-fifth floor window,
maintains the old Imperial Palace dog “rest area” which is
probably why, despite all the renovations, it still smells of pee,
you cannot sleep.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Fortunately
hotel rooms in Vegas include little note-pads and pens, so after I
had carefully inscribed “All Hail Eris, All Hail Discordia,” in
the book left behind by that Gideon dude, I got to scribbling. Which
is what I do when I can't sleep, largely because I have a diagnosed
mental health issue.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And the
scribbling led to the memory of a promise.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Partly because
of my diagnosed (by two independent mental health professionals and
eight ex-girlfriends) mental health issue, I am the first to admit
that my memory for details is both scant and susceptible to
embellishment that typically casts me in a better light. So I
somewhat indistinctly recall finding myself, somewhen around 2006, in
an auditorium on the campus of the remarkably generic state
university that sent me a monthly pay-check, with a guitar and no
plan and sixty honors students.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I didn't really
do plans from 2003-2007, possibly as a result of my diagnosed mental
health issue; technically a “disorder” which is a term I am okay
with since it dovetails nicely with the Eris business.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I suspect that
the faculty coordinator for the honors program was either an
anarchist or had simply decided that she couldn't take the shit
anymore either, so that inviting the professor of astrophysics, who
had recently seriously annoyed ADMIN (they think of themselves in
block caps) by announcing God was a product of the insufferable
hubris of humankind and saying “fuck” a lot in an interview in
the city's leading indie newspaper, would help get her fired, thereby
freeing her to do something useful with her life.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">(People still
think I'm making this up, but half-way through my “performance”
the aforementioned faculty coordinator of the honors program left the
auditorium to throw up, not because I am that bad on guitar but
because she had recently become a future parent.)</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">So I'm in this
auditorium with a guitar and all our 18-22 brains, who I check for
brain-ness with a knock-knock thing:</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Knock-knock.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Who's
there?”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">To.”</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And they all
reply “to WHOM” so I guess they'd heard it, whatever, Jim, I was
an astrophysicist not a stand-up comedian, you know. And so I'm
planless and just talking to them and my ex-colleague is curled up in
a nearby bathroom stall vomiting, and there's this energy because
some of the kids have this look like maybe this is a bit
off-the-rails and dangerous and conceivably what university was
supposed to be about before those unspeakable bean-counters in ADMIN
fucked it up, and other kids are ignoring me because they're figuring
out how they're gonna get laid this weekend.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And I play four
songs.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">One is about
gin and friends.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">One is about a
specific transgender friend of mine who was fatally stabbed.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And, yeah, I
forget, I coulda done the one about my junkie girlfriend Jessica who
smelled of death (that's not a metaphor, it's opiates) and
probably... oh wait. It was “Waiters.” The song about one of the
times I went mad.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Which I did
periodically due to my mental health issue. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Anyway,
everybody claps and I look around for Prof. Puking and this is the
first time I notice she's not there, so I wish everyone happy feral
cat awareness day and I guess we're done here.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And writing
this now I realize it was rare days like these that made dealing with
ADMIN and CURATORS and PROVOST'S OFFICE almost worth it because as I
vaguely dismissed somebody else's honors class a handful of
students coalesced around the podium where I was bolting my Taylor
back in its shell and hung out for a while asking questions about
everything from astrophysics to Marxism to my mental health issue to
whether Johnny Marr was so fucking good with his fairground hands and
unearthly riffs that he was living proof aliens had engineered some
post-punk guitarists. </span>
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Then there is
just one young man in front of me. And I realize we have the same
eyes.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">He asks me how
many milligrams of Lamictal I am on a day and it turns out he is
ramping up to the same target dose as me, but you have to be careful
and go slow with the stuff because of Stevens-Johnson syndrome, and
we laugh because like me he is constantly checking himself for rashes
on the not unreasonable grounds they are an indicator for imminent
death if you are one of the unfortunate 0.5%. And then he tells me he
has been worrying he is not going to amount to anything, but today he
discovers a tenured professor of astrophysics is in the same boat as
him, and to be a tenured professor you must be doing pretty good,
right?</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I have this
realization that of the sixty students today I have entertained maybe
half of them and, right on the verge of leaving academia, I have
helped one.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">And I drive
home and cry my eyes out because I am not strong enough to deal with
that kind of responsibility.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">Ten years
later. I look out of the twenty-fifth floor window at that not-Ferris
wheel and remember the promise. Cats. That's going okay. I'm helping
them. But somewhere along the line I forgot the part about helping
vulnerable people.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">This post represents the beginning of my re-engagement with that process.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The next
morning after three hours sleep and the knowledge that three hours
sleep is exactly the sort of thing that aggravates my diagnosed
mental health issue I leave my twenty-fifth floor hotel room for the
elevator. It stops half way to the casino level and the doors swish
open.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“<span style="font-size: medium;">Up or down?”
asks a man in a suit and lanyard.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">I explode into
laughter.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;">The doors
close.</span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-9902597113063275712015-06-28T23:00:00.000-05:002015-06-29T03:02:45.121-05:00The less things change the more they stay the same<b>In which we conclude that WSOPcom isn't even trying.</b><br />
<br />
Those of you who read this blog with far more care and attention than it is written may have noticed that <a href="http://feline9ine.blogspot.com/2015/06/escalating-problems.html">Part 3 of this series</a> seemed to peter out unexpectedly. Specifically, neither the problem of mine that had been "escalated" nor its resolution were ever described.<br />
<br />
Believe it or not, there was an excellent reason for this. Almost two years to the day since the problem in question arose, it re-arose [1]. And since I wanted to wait and see how everything panned out the second time, I decided to save the details for this final installment. Not surprisingly, the waiting took a while.<br />
<br />
Rewind to a few weeks after the WSOPcom launch. Word began spreading [2] that the online site would "tier match" the loyalty level players had reached in the bricks-and-mortar properties of the Caesars Empire [3]. Of particular interest was the fact that the higher your tier level at WSOPcom, the higher your rake-back. (As I described in <a href="http://feline9ine.blogspot.com/2015/06/a-tale-of-two-sisters.html">"A tale of two sisters"</a> the more action you give a room, real or virtual, the bigger the benefits.)<br />
<br />
Many of us who play poker at Caesars properties put in enough hours to earn the coveted "Diamond Card" which gives customers daily access to free chicken wings. We quickly ran the numbers and realized that a tier match to Diamond at WSOPcom would be worth enough to pay for a couple of dinners a month at a more pleasant venue than our usual choices [4].<br />
<br />
I promptly wrote to WSOPcom support asking for a tier match.<br />
<br />
Support thanked me for my e-mail and cut-n-pasted a bit from the website describing how many APPs [5] were required to reach each tier level.<br />
<br />
I replied to the e-mail in considerable detail.<br />
<br />
The reply to my reply made it clear the customer rep had no idea what I was talking about.<br />
<br />
The topic appeared at the WSOPcom 2+2 thread in which the forum rep suggested we e-mail support with our Total Rewards number and WSOPcom screen-name.<br />
<br />
Seventy-three posters found different ways to tell the rep we'd already tried that, six of whom also managed to work in flattering remarks about Allen "Chainsaw" Kessler.<br />
<br />
A mere forty-eight hours later the rep returned with new, exciting information. After a couple of paragraphs that seemed mostly concerned with how hard the rep had worked doing this wonderful thing for us (i.e., giving us access to a promo his company had allegedly launched), and several other innuendos that we had no idea how lucky we all were, the exciting information was revealed. It was an e-mail address that was to be used specifically to request the tier match and for no other purpose.<br />
<br />
Nobody asked why this was necessary.<br />
<br />
Actually there really wasn't time for much further discussion because almost immediately we all discovered exactly the same thing.<br />
<br />
The fucking e-mail didn't work.<br />
<br />
I don't mean that sending the required information to this new, super-special e-mail address failed to produce the desired tier match. That would be wholly unremarkable and frankly par for the course. No. The e-mail address didn't exist.<br />
<br />
I forget how this was eventually sorted out. I think we were advised to e-mail regular support again and ask them to forward the e-mail to "bonuses and promotions." Suffice it to say that even once the correct party got the information it took another seven days for the tier match to go into effect. And during the intervening period none of us were getting our increased rake-back. It was costing us money, and costing WSOPcom action and any remaining credibility it might have had with its customers.<br />
<br />
Then we found out the tier match was only good for a month.<br />
<br />
It almost appeared that WSOPcom was doing its best to be so utterly incompetent that it forced its fuming customers back to its own bricks-and-mortar card rooms. Which is where I was a few weeks ago when a fellow grinder mentioned to me that the tier match was back on! It was again for a limited time, with the boost to rake-back applying for the calendar month in which it was granted plus the entire following month.<br />
<br />
Being something of a nit, I e-mailed in my request for a tier match a few minutes after midnight, June 1st.<br />
<br />
I won't reproduce all the e-mail exchanges since some of you may have just eaten, but here are the salient details and a few excerpts.<br />
<br />
June 1st: I requested a tier match and sent all required information.<br />
<br />
I got a response within a few hours which I will include in full because it hopefully demonstrates I'm not making this up, plus getting such a speedy response is something of a record.<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey Meowlzebub,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for contacting us; my name is Brandon and I'll be helping you today.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I understand you would like to have your WSOP.com status matched with your Total Rewards Account.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please be advised, I have escalated your request to our Promotions team to be reviewed. There is a timeframe of 7-10 business days for this to be completed/ an update sent to you.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On another note, I have reviewed your account and see you have been doing well with us so far. I would like to wish you continued success at the tables.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a pleasure to have you as a player, and we look forward to helping you again in the future.</span><br />
<br />
Okay, I included it because Brandon for some reason felt it was necessary to look at my win-loss record and frankly I'd been crushing it.<br />
<br />
It occurred to me that if WSOPcom employees chose to mind their own business it might cut down on the 7-10 business days required to comply with this simple request, but I was so surprised to get a competent response at all I let it go.<br />
<br />
It was a little disappointing to not hear from them again until June 8th, when I was sent instructions on how to <i>link</i> my WSOPcom and Total Rewards accounts. Since they were already linked (the former shows up on my monthly summary from the latter), it was apparent to me that we were in the early stages of a fuck up. However, in an effort to minimize any further delay I followed the supplied link to an obscure part of their website and filled out a form linking the accounts that had been linked for the last two years.<br />
<br />
On the third attempt at pressing the button I did not receive a stream of C++ and a browser freeze. Instead the pop-up told me I'd been a good boy.<br />
<br />
On June 10th I received an e-mail apologizing for something and which informed me my accounts were now linked.<br />
<br />
I replied that they had been linked for the last two years and that what I actually wanted was a tier match.<br />
<br />
One June 11th I received another apologetic e-mail:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey Meowlzebub</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thank you for contacting us. My name is Marcia and I will be assisting you today.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Let me take this time to commend you on being at Gold status. It is indeed a pleasure to see you doing so well.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In regards to your query, the Tier Credits for a given month will be credited by the second week of the following month.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This is why you are not seeing anything as yet.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Nonetheless, for every 1 APP earned on WSOP.com, you will be given 1 Tier credited.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It's a pleasure to have you as a player, and we look forward to helping you again in the future.</span><br />
<br />
I appreciate that if you don't live in this sort of hell it may be a little difficult to follow the details here. You may therefore simply prefer to take my word for the fact that what is being described in this e-mail has absolutely nothing to do with getting my WSOPcom tier status matched to my Total Rewards Diamond status. And while you, the reader, may not know that, it is something that customer service reps for WSOPcom would readily understand if only they were given the necessary training and information.<br />
<br />
I explained that the APP-TC exchange rate was completely irrelevant to what I had, for the past eleven days, been trying to accomplish, and got another e-mail:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey Meowlzebub,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for contacting us; my name is Clinton and I'll be helping you today.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With regards tyo your request, I have forwarded this off to be looked into. Please allow up to 72 hours for an update on this. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We apologize for the inconvenience and thank you for your patience in this matter.</span><br />
<br />
Forwarding things off to be looked into sounds like sending a tissue sample to a lab for a biopsy. Except for a WSOPcom tier match it apparently takes longer. And by the morning of June 13th I was steaming:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">This matter has still not been resolved. It's absolutely pathetic that you offer a TR/WSOPcom tier match for a month and nearly half the month has already expired without the match being made. Either discontinue the promotion or expect to explain this laughable incompetence to the Nevada Gaming Control Board.</span><br />
<br />
Seventeen minutes later I received the reply:<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Hey Meowlzebub,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Thanks for contacting us, and please accept our apologies for the delay in responding. My name is Imani and I will be assisting you today.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black;"><br style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Please be advised that your WSOP account matched to your Diamond status on your TR.</span><br />
<br />
I logged on and found that, indeed, my WSOPcom account now showed as Diamond.<br />
<br />
And I concluded that WSOPcom is just fucking with us. Getting this tier match should be as simple as pressing a button, even if it takes three tries. It should not take thirteen days. And I can only speculate how much more time and money I would have lost had I not uttered the magic incantation.<br />
<br />
Nevada... Gaming... Control... Board.<br />
<br />
That's how you get your problem "escalated" kittens. You threaten them with the grown ups.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>[1] I tried that word without the hyphen and it looked like a reference to some sort of colonic irrigation therapy. Since I feel I have conclusively demonstrated that WSOPcom can't (or won't) get its shit together, this struck me as overkill. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[2] I use this construction deliberately. There was considerable doubt as to the reality of this offer for a couple of weeks because it was apparently announced on part of the website that would periodically disappear.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[3] I'm sure I'm not the only one to imagine departing, corpulent supremo Gary Loveman wearing a toga and playing a violin as flames from The Mirage volcano set fire to the roof of the Forum Shops.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[4] Most of us can only afford to eat out if we use comps; typically a pastrami sandwich at Nosh.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[5] I have no fucking idea.</i><br />
<br />
<i><br /></i>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-10078303192772015222015-06-08T08:34:00.001-05:002015-06-29T00:34:02.689-05:00Escalating Problems<b>In which we discover that the customer is always wrong</b><br />
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
There was a time in the not too distant past when businesses put a premium on customer service. I'm told that this fundamental principle began to erode around the Reagan era, when Americans were so busy standing tall that they frequently tripped over things and spilled soup in the laps of patrons [1]. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I've spent a significant fraction of my life in bars, night clubs and casinos, and have dated several cocktail waitresses and hair stylists. Consequently I feel I am on pretty solid ground when I acknowledge that the customer is <i>not </i>always right. Based on direct experience as well as listening, occasionally with genuine interest, to former girlfriends complaining about "work," I can safely say that the customer is frequently an overbearing, rude, drunk scumbag with all the charm of a dozen live leeches that have been poured for obscure reasons into one's underpants. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The puzzle, however, is which MBA programs are recommending that customer service personnel should endeavor to sink to the same depths as their worst customers.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I suspect part of the problem is outsourcing [2] which, as noted in part two of this series, is how WSOPcom has elected to handle customer service. If you are careful in preventing your reps from having access to pertinent information, compound this with a website that is vague and frustrating to use, and finally build in long delays between all communications with complaining customers, you cleverly guarantee that, by the time these customers find outlets such as the 2+2 forums or a personal blog, they are spitting equal measures of nails and vitriol.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Within a few weeks of WSOPcom joining the market, it became impossible to avoid the conclusion that the truly spectacular incompetence was not some highly-sophisticated, level-four thinking developed to charm and amuse us, and that the outfit really did intend to insult its paying customers either by ignoring them, directing them to e-mail addresses that didn't actually exist, or by having reps in the far-flung reaches of the American Empire cut-and-paste responses from arbitrarily-chosen pages of their ghastly website.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was at this point that I was introduced to the concept of escalating problems.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Many of the cocktail waitresses and hair stylists that I dated were also alcoholics [3], and as a result the word "escalate" has almost exclusively negative connotations for me. All the manuals and counselors made it clear that the desired goal was <i>de-</i>escalation. Thus it was with considerable trepidation that I received the news that one of my problems with WSOPcom was going to be escalated.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It turns out that in this Orwellian business lingo, escalating means the person who received the problem is not getting paid enough to solve it, thus they pass it on to someone else. What is less well advertised is that in order to get something escalated (which you will have to do since the customer service reps have no useful information at all), you have to make a real nuisance of yourself on social media and/or at the sponsored forum on the 2+2 boards [4].</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
When WSOPcom established its official presence at 2+2, the reps, apparently having joined the company from FedEx, immediately adopted a defensive position, parrying most complaints with business-speak that roughly translated as "you have no idea how difficult it is to run a poker site," and "we don't see why anyone would want that feature."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So I learned that escalation could be... well. not terrible, and I learned that WSOPcom treated its customers as if they were parasites that were scuppering an otherwise well-oiled machine [5], and I concluded I wasn't going to give them a wooden nickel.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then their competitor went tits up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I went back to WSOPcom.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And, as I'll detail in part four of this series, absolutely <i>nothing </i>has changed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>[1] For brevity I'll restrict my observations to the USA. In the United Kingdom, customer service does not technically exist, unless one includes the bizarre blend of unctuous obsequiousness and pomposity personified brilliantly by the two sides of Basil Fawlty.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<i>[2] One notable exception that deserves special mention is the remarkable performance of the FedEx company. This odious collection of goats and lizards does not outsource its customer service department, nor its recovery mechanisms when, as is usually the case, the parcel it is entrusted with is lost, stolen, destroyed, eaten by bears, or falls into a volcano. Nevertheless, in a complete </i>volte-face<i> to pre-Reagan principles, FedEx customer service reps begin phone calls by making it abundantly clear that, irrespective of the details of your complaint, it is you, the customer, who has done something terribly wrong. And they will shout at you until you apologize or hang up.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>[3] Before any former girlfriends in these professions stumble across this piece and contemplate legal action, I should point out that many of them were not alcoholics. I did, however, during a hypomanic episode, become fascinated with the correlations and intersections of career and substance abuse choices, and summarized my research through Venn diagrams made out of fuse wire to which I would attach silver posts and give them to the relevant girlfriends as earrings. </i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>[4] I have to say I initially had some sympathy for the WSOPcom reps at 2+2. There is a long tradition of posters there being assholes, almost as if there is a monthly competition. Expecting reps to field customer queries when their promotions and products were so poorly-conceived and executed was never going to be pretty. That sympathy soon evaporated thanks to the imperious and condescending tone of the reps. The WSOPcom 2+2 board was abruptly closed a few weeks ago. I suspect they didn't want the bad publicity it tends to generate right before the World Series of Poker kicked off here in Vegas. Customers can now share ideas, complaints, and be alerted to improvements at a brand new WSOPcom forum which is worse than their website and almost completely deserted. Oh and the bricks-and-mortar WSOP needn't have worried about the 2+2 forums generating bad publicity - they have done that themselves through their completely predictable incompetence, such as making players who cashed in the Colossus stand in line for several hours to get paid. Frankly it's embarrassing to be part of a profession that has a huge build-up every year to its annual jamboree and then, regular as clockwork, royally fucks it up.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>[5] I'm offering a $5 reward to anyone who can find the metaphor I was trying to use here. I think it has something to do with rust. Also possibly a boat.</i></div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-65459778795908986202015-06-07T02:39:00.001-05:002015-06-07T02:39:15.685-05:00Indian AtheistsFor some mysterious reason, Facebook has deemed the "Indian Atheists" page as "unsafe." This means one cannot share posts from the page, nor can one link to it from within Facebook. If you would like to check out the page and judge for yourself, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/IndianAtheists?fref=ts">use this link.</a>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-80053400963036908382015-06-05T21:25:00.000-05:002015-06-05T21:25:14.226-05:00Oh no. Technophobia. Even the machines hate me.I have just spent over an hour trouble-shooting an audio problem on my computer. Now, as will shortly be revealed, like most retired theoretical astrophysicists I am not the most practical person on this or probably any other planet, and in an attempt to compensate I try to be at least methodical when such issues crop up.<br />
<br />
So<br />
<br />
1. Check jack is firmly inserted into hole on tower with headphone symbol.<br />
<br />
2. Check other jack is firmly inserted in headphones.<br />
<br />
3. Check media player is not muted.<br />
<br />
4. Try a different media player.<br />
<br />
5. Fuck about endlessly starting from the Control Panel and wandering and winding down paths I never knew existed for an hour and give up.<br />
<br />
6. Shout about fucking Microsoft and how everything was much simpler in the days of VMS and record players.<br />
<br />
7. Make executive decision to listen to music on iPhone instead.<br />
<br />
8. Remove jack from tower.<br />
<br />
9. Attempt to plug jack into iPhone but discover port already filled with jack.<br />
<br />
10. Follow wire from jack in iPhone and discover it terminates at headphones currently perched on head.<br />
<br />
11. Discover jack previously in tower attached to back-up iPhone.<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-40299362699062634652015-06-02T06:20:00.000-05:002015-06-29T00:23:28.185-05:00A Tale Of Two Sisters<b>In which we discover why Ultimate Poker retained its player base and what WSOPcom might learn as a result</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
In April 2013 Ultimate Poker rolled out the first legal, albeit bare-bones, real-money online poker site in Nevada. WSOPcom, who [1] in my previous post I characterized as Ultimate's herpetic younger sister, flashily appeared on the scene later that summer, with off-the-shelf software that had been battle-tested and refined in the European market, and the commercial power of the mighty World Series of Poker brand.<br />
<br />
Everything associated with the WSOP is, of course, owned [2] , trademarked, exploited, and generally sold down the river by Caesars Entertainment Corporation [3]. However, even detractors would agree that the corporation's marketing division has an absolutely enormous budget that is more than sufficient to overcome the lack of imagination of its management and staff.<br />
<br />
WSOPcom promotional material was suddenly everywhere. The stained and thinning felt on the poker tables at CET properties was somehow scraped off and new coverings appeared, gaudily bedecked with the WSOPcom logo and cunningly designed to camouflage blinds posted by players in the end seats. New swivel chairs sprung up, again sporting the online site's logo, that crashed into adjacent ones whenever a player left the table. Pamphlets were distributed by attractive young women in fishnets and bustiers, who set a trend for all future WSOPcom employees by having virtually no useful information about the site when quizzed on the topic.<br />
<br />
As the PR juggernaut rolled through Nevada, I revised my estimate for the survival of Ultimate Poker from months to weeks.<br />
<br />
And I was completely wrong.<br />
<br />
Poker players, mostly out of necessity, rarely exhibit loyalty to anyone but themselves. Many, I am glad to say, have a respect for The Game and for honesty that keeps the ecosystem functioning and has the added benefit of avoiding unpleasantness late at night in parking lots. But <i>loyalty </i>is something that casinos have long known is a commodity that typically has to be paid for. Hence loyalty programs.<br />
<br />
Casinos and their online spin-offs all offer some kind of kick-back to players in order to keep those players on their bricks-and-mortar or virtual premises rather than those of their competitors. A standard method employed by online poker sites involves deposit bonuses. At certain times, players depositing money on a site will have that deposit matched at some percentage and up to some limit by the house. The player releases that bonus by playing on the site. The more you play, the more the house makes in rake, and the more of your bonus is released. In essence it is one of those symbiotic relationships that real journalists usually illustrate with small birds removing food lodged in the teeth of alligators.<br />
<br />
A few weeks after launch, WSOPcom announced a deposit bonus. I immediately flapped over to my computer, pulled up the client, and after a few minutes pecking at the keyboard had successfully transferred a few hundred dollars from my bank to the site.<br />
<br />
A great deal more pecking through the snarling maw of the cashier page [4] provided no evidence that my bonus had been registered by the system. I reread the e-mail announcing the program and noticed at the bottom that I should have included a bonus code.<br />
<br />
Bonus codes have been a feature of these bonuses even at real sites like PokerStars and I have never fully understood them. They are not used to track how a player learned about the promotion and thus serve no purpose other than additional keyboard pecking. However, since I rarely read instructions carefully [5], I had forgotten to enter such codes on multiple occasions before Black Friday. The problem had always been quickly rectified by telling support I was a dummy and could they please manually activate the bonus.<br />
<br />
I should remind readers at this point that I grew up in London and consequently am more comfortable with accented English spoken by Sunil from Sasaram than Sully from South Boston. Nevertheless, I was a little perturbed to find that my "problem" as it had now become was to be handled by someone twelve time-zones from Las Vegas. I was more than a little perturbed when I was informed by e-mail that my bonus could not be activated.<br />
<br />
Now I suppose it is just about conceivable that the oversight of the Nevada Gaming Commission is so stringent and repressive that it bars any agent of WSOPcom from manually flicking a switch to trigger a bonus. Far more likely, however, is that in outsourcing customer support to some third party with employees sitting on another continent, the system is unable to handle the slightest deviation from an absurdly rigid process.<br />
<br />
Or it could be that nobody gave a rat's ass about my deposit bonus.<br />
<br />
I'll return to WSOPcom's almost unique views on customer service and support in the next installment, but for now I leave you to contemplate this. I am not the only idiot who forgets to enter bonus codes. I checked. Further, and as explained above, the reason online poker sites offer such bonuses is because it benefits <i>them. </i>Thus the fact that WSOPcom would not or could not activate this bonus suggests a hole in their understanding of the business they are in.<br />
<br />
More importantly, at least to me, was that this episode alerted me to the fact WSOPcom outsourced its customer support. Ultimate Poker had its support right here in Vegas. I realized that I didn't care that WSOPcom's software was miles ahead of the Ultimate product. I would rather give my action to a company that created local jobs and generated local revenue.<br />
<br />
Former readers of my Blind Straddle column may recall <a href="http://www.blindstraddle.com/august-2011/whats-your-image/">my ground-breaking article on table image</a> inspired by a young lady named Hope. I once remarked to Hope that "if you don't have herpes by the time you're thirty-five, you're sleeping with the wrong people." I mention this because my characterization of WSOPcom as the younger sister with herpes would not, in itself, be a deal-breaker for most poker players, particularly given she was prettier and faster [6] than her older sister Ultimate.<br />
<br />
But you really have to re-evaluate the situation when you realize the younger sister is both obstinate and as dumb as a rock.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>[1] If corporations are people, grammarians better get used to these kinds of constructions.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[2] Technically dependent on the current status of CET debt restructuring, the merry-go-round of subsidiaries and holding companies, and a bunch of other financial wizardry that would require far more research on my part than is likely to be supported by my latest royalty check from Kendall-Hunt for $11.49.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[3] When the company changed its name from Harrah's Entertainment in 2010 - a move usually made for PR reasons by nuclear waste processing facilities such as Windscale - the new corporation lost staff, credibility, and - for reasons that are mystifying even to Chapter 11 legal specialists - its apostrophe. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[4] It is traditional for the cashier area of online sites to make deposits extremely simple. WSOPcom adopts the philosophy that any other information relating to player bonuses should be part of an amusing game of hide-and-seek.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[5] The exception being high-amperage household appliances since the incident in 2005.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>[6] I am told this usage of faster will confuse anyone under the age of fifty. Boo hoo.</i>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-3396791795997987722015-06-01T18:46:00.002-05:002015-06-01T18:47:15.544-05:00Let Sleeping Cats Snooze<b>In which we begin to uncover how a license to print money turned into a 28 billion dollar deficit.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
As will be apparent from the frequency of posts on this blog, I have mellowed since turning fifty to the point where the stupidity of background events rarely causes me to comment. But just when I felt confident that intellectually I had curled up on a cushion, some damn fool came along and poked me with a stick.<br />
<br />
The damn fool in question is slightly amorphous, but since I live in a land where corporations are people, it can be roughly identified as WSOPcom.<br />
<br />
I'll use that rather ugly string when referring specifically to the online poker site. Not the <i>website </i>of the online poker site, because wsop.com, while sometimes appearing to be the site that you'd want to consult with queries about WSOPcom, will, at the press of a button, suddenly transform to the website covering the WSOP. And by WSOP I don't just mean what the WSOP meant for decades - a tournament series held in Las Vegas <i>before </i>it got so damned hot everybody wanted to stay inside - but also WSOP-C, WSOP-E, and WSOP-WTF.<br />
<br />
The point being that one can be attempting to ascertain the e-mail address for Nevada support for WSOPcom and seamlessly get transported to a list of chip counts for a tournament in Prague. The wonders of modern technology.<br />
<br />
When online poker returned to Nevada, I was one of the first to sign up at Ultimate. It was exciting. It was slightly less exciting when the game client showed all the sophistication of PokerRoom.com <i>circa </i>2002. When it became apparent the traffic at the site was never going to crawl above horse-and-buggy status the word "exciting" became pretty much surplus to requirement, but I won a few tournaments and played some PLO8 cash and generally it was better than nothing.<br />
<br />
Then WSOPcom launched. Ooooohhh. Shiny shiny!<br />
<br />
I confidently predicted on one of those poker forums where 95% of the posts are "+1" "in before 'Doug Lee is a tool'" and "HU4rollz!!!" that the superiority of WSOPcom's software would bury Ultimate in a matter of months.<br />
<br />
Eventually Ultimate did go tits up for a variety of reasons, but before that occurred many of us played there exclusively, shunning her prettier, younger sister like she had herpes.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
Stay tuned.Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-50849476950652215572014-08-19T07:32:00.001-05:002014-08-19T07:32:43.778-05:00ChoicesWhen I first moved the Land of the Free I had to answer a lot of questions. See there's this visa form, where they try to trick you. The most cunning question is: "Do you plan to overthrow the government of the United States by force?"<br />
<br />
Understand this is one of those small forms. There were boxes to check.<br />
<br />
A checked box did not offer the option: "I approve of this sentiment."<br />
<br />
It didn't offer: "Damn skippy!"<br />
<br />
It gave me:<br />
<br />
YES<br />
<br />
or<br />
<br />
NO.<br />
<br />
I checked "NO."<br />
<br />
My plan has always been to accomplish the task with flowers.<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-32494424904345756192014-06-23T21:46:00.000-05:002014-06-23T21:46:05.658-05:00Leaving AgainI don't know if you heard<br />
But that's the girl<br />
Who's always leaving again<br />
I find it so absurd<br />
But that's her way<br />
She's always leaving again<br />
<br />
And she says:<br />
"Keith, don't take it personally."<br />
But what else can I think<br />
When it's me she's leaving?<br />
<br />
And she says:<br />
"Stop! Why must you make me cry?<br />
I found love a hundred times<br />
It's a lie."<br />
<br />
But I can't believe you're that cynical<br />
You're not that clinical<br />
Although I'd like to dress you up as a nurse<br />
Of course<br />
<br />
If life's that bad why get out of bed?<br />
Sara, don't shake your head<br />
You still fix your lipstick<br />
When you see me<br />
<br />
I don't know if you heard<br />
But that's the girl<br />
Who's always leaving again<br />
I find it so absurd<br />
But that's her way<br />
She's always leaving againKat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-65149077138927431842014-03-01T17:22:00.001-06:002014-03-01T17:22:58.399-06:00F1 2014 Predictions<h4>
Red Bull.</h4>
<div>
Massive quantities of K-Y Jelly delivered to Milton Keynes spark rumors of something "not quite British" going on, until it is revealed substance serves dual role of easing ERS and Ricciardo's ass into RB10. An exasperated Adrian Newey writes to FIA protesting McLaren's rear suspension, the Lotus nose, Ferrari's engine, and the ongoing and unnecessary presence of drivers in F1. Sid Watkins comes out of retirement to certify Helmut Marko undead.</div>
<h4>
Mercedes.</h4>
<div>
Statistician Sean Kelly stuns the F1 world with a multivariate analysis of Hamilton's results. Five-sigma correlation between WDC points scored and scoring with Nicole Scherzinger leaps out of data like Vettel escaping an electrified and stationary RB10. Result prompts Lewis to "mend fences" with the former Pussycat Doll and Walmart manikin, but reconciliation thwarted when Roscoe pees on Nicole's daily branflake. Incident inspires Pussycat Dolls to reform. New tour delayed until December after it is revealed Ashley Roberts and Nico Rosberg are the same person.</div>
<h4>
Ferrari.</h4>
<div>
Leaked internal Maranello memos reveal Luca di Montezemolo's prohibition on any mention of wind tunnel calibration and an invoice for nineteen wide-screen plasma TVs. Horse Whisperer refuses to deny reports massive sensor array stretching from Milan to Messina is tuned to detect any movement made by Ross Brawn. </div>
<h4>
Lotus.</h4>
<div>
Revolutionary tuning-fork nose found to resonate at exact frequency of death rattle of a bankrupt F1 team. In the wake of team folding, Maldonado and Grosjean pursue careers in resurgent TV series "Battlebots." </div>
<h4>
McLaren.</h4>
<div>
Despite awesome power and reliability of Mercedes PU, MP4-29 proves mediocre. Shortcomings eventually attributed to technical limitations of Woking-area photo-copying outlets. Magnussen's ability to reproduce lap-times to within one thousandth of a second amazes paddock until Ron Dennis's e-mail account is hacked and references to "MagBot 2.0" discovered. McLaren's second driver still unable to find front grip.</div>
<h4>
Force India.</h4>
<div>
Team consistently late for FP1 due to "taking the long way round" to avoid arrest warrants. As financial strain ceases all car development, team-hopping Nico Hulkenberg asked by President Obama not to participate in COTA race on the grounds it might trigger another recession.</div>
<h4>
Sauber.</h4>
<div>
First four races marred by bizarre pit-stops, largely because all but three drivers on the grid have driven, are driving, or will drive for the team. Legal battle erupts with Force India over royalties deriving from new "Ger-Mex" cuisine fad. Both teams sued by Pfizer citing topical ointment "Germ-Ex" patent infringement. </div>
<h4>
Torro Rosso.</h4>
<div>
Vergne and Kvyat repeatedly stop on track with no apparent mechanical problem. The mystery persists until June when Renault technician spills les haricots: Marko will "convert" any STR driver who finishes ahead of the RB10. </div>
<h4>
Williams.</h4>
<div>
Punters are surprised by SkyBet's opening line of 33/1 for WCC until it is discovered the price is for Claire Williams in the 2014 Grand National. Monisha Kaltenborn seen in the paddock wearing huge smile and "Who's pretty now, bitch?" T-shirt. </div>
<h4>
Caterham.</h4>
<div>
Team dominates Renault-powered runners until May when Marko sinks his teeth into it. Green livery gradually fades to a sickly purple.</div>
<h4>
Marussia. </h4>
<div>
Bianchi continues to impress while Max Chilton's interviews increasingly appear to be an audition for presenter of Blue Peter.</div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-18061500858224583802013-04-23T01:45:00.000-05:002013-04-23T01:48:56.582-05:00AnniversaryA year ago today, an obviously unimpressed and scared cat moved in with me. You can read about my adoption of Louis the Maine Coon mix in a <a href="http://feline9ine.blogspot.com/2012/05/foreclosed-upon-pets-inc-fupi.html">previous post.</a> As I type this he is hanging out behind me, as is his habit when I'm on the computer.<br />
<br />
(Apparently he knows I'm typing about him; he just trundled over and made a "pet me" noise.)<br />
<br />
The last year has seen slow but steady changes in Louis. He's still nervous of strangers, and on the rare occasions when someone rings my obnoxiously-loud doorbell, Louis scuttles to his safe place under the bed. The combination of his fluffy coat and the low-riding gait used in such circumstances always reminds me of an over-sized guinea pig riding a tiny tandem.<br />
<br />
Three months ago we moved apartments. Louis didn't enjoy this at all, and the first few days in the new place saw him firmly camped under the bed until I'd turned in. Apparently the cover of darkness made him more confident and I'd hear him investigating and sniffing his new environment. He has now come to appreciate the better location and view, and is particularly fond of watching SouthWest 737s on final approach into McCarran.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n1yVuLNGFNs/UXYlmuoHQFI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/UEwb_ihVSVg/s1600/Lou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-n1yVuLNGFNs/UXYlmuoHQFI/AAAAAAAAAMQ/UEwb_ihVSVg/s320/Lou.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
When I chose to adopt a traumatized cat, I realized it would take a while for trust and affection to develop. It's an ongoing process, but a rewarding one. Over the last year Louis has incrementally become calmer and more desirous of interaction with me.<br />
<br />
Fortunately he seems to approve of my late schedule. I usually wake up mid-afternoon. As I'm making coffee, Lou emerges from under the bed. After a yawn and a stretch he hops onto the bed to be petted and sometimes brushed. Then he waddles off for breakfast.<br />
<br />
On days that I'm home he tends to hang out wherever I am, except during his many naps that he prefers to take under the bed. He has an arsenal of toys, but in accordance with YouTube tradition he is obsessed with chasing the Red Dot.<br />
<br />
If I leave the apartment to work, he's invariably waiting for me when I get home. As I walk through the front door his usual greeting is to poke his head around the wall of the short corridor to the bedroom, presumably to make sure it's me. He then dictates the proceedings by either running to the bedroom and onto the bed for petting, or towards his food-bowl for dinner.<br />
<br />
Around 4 a.m. he gets restless. Time for bed. I usually read for an hour while he curls up next to me purring. He'll stay with me for a while after lights out, but then he has to fulfill his role as a cat and tear around the apartment as fast as he can, stopping only to play with his favorite toy, the Turbo Scratcher.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LMg2YUyhIWM/UXYslceJY2I/AAAAAAAAAMg/MdogLmXl7PA/s1600/lou2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LMg2YUyhIWM/UXYslceJY2I/AAAAAAAAAMg/MdogLmXl7PA/s320/lou2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
So wouldn't it be more fun to have adopted a kitten? Or perhaps a "normal" cat without Louis' traumatic past and resulting nervousness?<br />
<br />
Well... kittens are fun, sure. I've had the pleasure of adopting several over the years, developing a remarkable bond with them. And, yes, an adult cat with a calmer past would likely sit on my lap within the first week of adoption and not require this long process of earning trust.<br />
<br />
But adopting a "special needs" cat like Louis brings special rewards. He needed a quiet environment where he could feel safe, and a human with patience who would let <i>him</i> define the boundaries of the human-cat relationship, free of prejudices about how a cat is "supposed" to behave and interact.<br />
<br />
Louis is always going to be a little different. I imagine that he'll do his guinea-pig-on-a-tandem routine whenever a sudden noise or strange voice startles him. But as I look at him now a couple of feet behind me, laying on his back with all four paws pointing at the ceiling, I am convinced that Louis is pretty pleased with the way things have turned out. And so am I.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-90144227078750368672013-02-02T16:38:00.003-06:002013-02-03T00:08:40.112-06:002013 Formula 1 Predictions<br />
<b>Red Bull.</b> To enhance aerodynamic efficiency, Newey replaces mini-KERS with four AAA batteries. Webber's inexplicably fail. Marko issues statement claiming problem a result of Webber being "too Australian" and is later discovered with boomerang lodged between shoulder blades. Scandal nearly wipes smug grin off Horner's face.<br />
<br />
<b>Ferrari.</b> Luca di Montezemelo petitions FIA for reduction in number of tires allocated for each race. F1 community puzzled until Adam Cooper finally gets a story right, reporting Ferrari needs more space for Alonso's new throne. Massa spends summer break in Australia learning to throw boomerang.<br />
<br />
<b>McLaren.</b> Out-qualified 10-0 by Perez, Button quits team mid-season to pursue musical career. "I've got no front grip," tops Billboard and iTunes charts, sparking "Whine Rock" revolution. Ron Dennis demotes Whitmarsh to assistant gravel washer.<br />
<br />
<b>Lotus.</b> Kimi arrives in Melbourne seventeen minutes before FP1 wearing battered Napoleon hat on top of traffic cone. When quizzed by Will Buxton, replies: "YeahwellyouknowIwassomewhereorotherandthisandthatleavemealoneIcollectwalnuts." Grosjean relieved to have attention drawn away from new Buddy Holly spectacles.<br />
<br />
<b>Mercedes.</b> Pre-season additions to technical team include Flavio Briatore, Eddie Jordan, Murray Walker, AJ Foyt, Harry Redknapp, Vladimir Putin, and Beyonce. Hamilton denies rumors of talks with Sauber, Force India and Caterham. Autosport posts video of Lauda dressed as Napoleon minus the hat being spanked by Max Mosley's hookers.<br />
<br />
<b>Sauber.</b> Monisha Kaltenborn hailed as first woman in F1 to be Monisha Kaltenborn. Adam Cooper refuses to mention her on grounds he cannot spell her name. Hulkenberg admits he cannot spell Esteban Gutierrez's name. Gutierrez admits he has a shitload of money.<br />
<br />
<b>Force India.</b> In an attempt to calm fears team is facing severe financial problems, Vijay Mallya hides behind cardboard cut-out of himself at all official functions.<br />
<br />
<b>Williams. </b>Team narrowly survives attempt by Mercedes to hire entire technical, catering and laundry departments. Adam Cooper notches up 29th season as a fuckwit firmly believing Pastor Maldonado is a clergyman.<br />
<br />
<b>Torro Rosso.</b> STR8 breaks new ground with inclusion of proximity detectors. FIA scrutineers determine detectors linked to brakes and steering and take car swiftly off racing line when approached from behind by a Red Bull.<br />
<br />
<b>Caterham/Marussia.</b> Assimilated by Mercedes Borg collective.Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-47392703484690690232012-12-31T23:04:00.000-06:002012-12-31T23:04:08.373-06:00ResolutionIn 2013 I will try to pay attention.Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-54478615452803695792012-12-11T22:07:00.000-06:002012-12-11T22:07:28.670-06:00Midnight HellcatI met her at the Replay Lounge<br />
Attracted by a growling sound<br />
Blue-back hair and silver rings<br />
I wondered what the morning brings<br />
<br />
Cos she's the midnight hellcat<br />
Peering through the gloom with perspex eyes<br />
Swishy when she wants to be<br />
Darkness is her cloak and her disguise<br />
<br />
She cracked a smile, she broke my spine<br />
Then left me in the firing line<br />
Mind and body scream in pain<br />
When can we do that again?<br />
<br />
Cos she's the midnight hellcat<br />
Creeping up the streets and down the lanes<br />
She was my favorite birthday present<br />
Gift-wrapped in leather and chains<br />
<br />
She's the midnight hellcat<br />
Peering through the gloom with perspex eyes<br />
Swishy when she wants to be<br />
Darkness is her cloak and her disguise<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-84336001903682701492012-09-26T19:29:00.001-05:002012-09-26T19:29:28.275-05:00Dear State Farm II<span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">Dear Mark:</span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_2_0_1_13486958842231073" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
I feel flattered that so many State Farm agents in Vegas are soliciting my business. Please see the appended e-mail to your colleague Jeff for a brief summary of why the odds of me using State Farm as an insurer are slightly worse than State Farm wishing Fidel Castro a happy birthday.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 16px;">
Best regards ~ Kat</div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-5161481739270457082012-09-26T19:10:00.000-05:002012-09-26T19:13:03.045-05:00Dear Cake Poker<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Hello Kat, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Thank you for your email. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Due to the current delays we are experiencing with cashouts, I'm afraid we cannot confirm a timeframe as we could not guarantee a timeframe and we do not wish to mislead you. We are hoping you won't be waiting much longer and we will email you as soon as the funds have been sent. I'm very sorry for the inconvenience caused.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Please let us know if we can be of further assistance</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Kind Regards,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Murray</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">CakePoker Support</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> </span>
</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Dear CakePoker Support:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Concerning your previous e-mail and the continued "pending" status of my withdrawal... I appreciate your desire "not to mislead" me, but given the ridiculous amount of time this withdrawal is taking to process I'd prefer you to give me a timeframe even if it is a complete guess. If this turns out to mislead me at least I will have a fleeting period of hope that I might actually see these funds, whereas the current situation offers no hope whatsoever.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow;"><br style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: black; color: yellow; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Thanks ~ Kat</span>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-91376113602635630522012-09-26T02:13:00.000-05:002012-09-26T02:16:36.403-05:00Dear State Farm<span style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">Hi Jeff:</span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<br /></div>
<div id="yui_3_2_0_1_1348642640916560" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
I'd be most grateful if you'd take me off your mailing list. I have used State Farm in the past for my insurance needs, but would never consider doing so again. The fact that State Farm uses its profits to support the social-engineering neo-fascists at ALEC is bad enough, but my previous experience with State Farm in Kansas was so abysmal that my opinion of the company couldn't be lower. Of course it's quite possible that your own office runs smoothly, since basing anything on what happens in Kansas is probably unfair. I swear some of the people working in the Lawrence office had webbed feet. But your national TV commercials are horrible too, so... you know... let's save time and paper.</div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif;">
Best regards ~ Kat</div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-36530578162315241402012-08-07T00:44:00.003-05:002012-08-07T15:51:30.597-05:00Two Adoptable Black CatsA couple of months ago I described my <a href="http://feline9ine.blogspot.com/2012/05/foreclosed-upon-pets-inc-fupi.html">adoption of Louis</a> from <a href="http://forecloseduponpets.org/">Foreclosed Upon Pets, Inc.</a> I am delighted to report that his early transformation from a frightened figure huddled under my bed to The King of the Apartment has continued. He now prefers to sleep curled up by my pillow where he also washes my hands in between scritches.<br />
<br />
The process has given me a much deeper appreciation of the difficulties in adopting neglected and abused cats, but more importantly it has shown me how much such an animal can change and adapt, particularly when placed in the right environment and treated with love and patience. Most striking of all is the huge reward adopting such a cat can bring.<br />
<br />
I'd like you to also enjoy the reward. And I'm giving you two distinct options.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1_FS5KH4aw/UCCkZMwQRCI/AAAAAAAAALE/3kctbnC-rhI/s1600/Buddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r1_FS5KH4aw/UCCkZMwQRCI/AAAAAAAAALE/3kctbnC-rhI/s1600/Buddy.jpg" /></a>Buddy is a neutered male cat, around 4-5 years old, with a black medium-long coat and an endearing raspy voice. He was found wandering the Vegas streets, apparently abandoned. He is a territorial alpha male and for this reason needs to be an only pet in a peaceful environment without children. He enjoys human attention, including petting and brushing, but currently does not like being picked up. This may be because he is in a shelter where the sound of other cats and dogs overstimulates him. Indeed his discomfort around other animals means that rapid adoption is highly desirable. His vaccinations will be updated prior to adoption. If you'd like to meet Buddy please call 702-272-0010 or e-mail: forecloseduponpets@hotmail.com.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C2YIQ8OYX-o/UCCnkzc9wbI/AAAAAAAAALU/18K333TJGCg/s1600/KennyG-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C2YIQ8OYX-o/UCCnkzc9wbI/AAAAAAAAALU/18K333TJGCg/s200/KennyG-1.JPG" width="200" /></a>Kenny was abandoned and subsequently trapped and was about to be sent to the pound when a neighbor intervened. Kenny is a large neutered male, long-haired Tuxedo, about 5-6 years old and current on vaccinations. He doesn't seem that impressed with human beings at the moment, but my experiences with Louis and those of countless other adopters suggests all he needs is love, patience, and a secure environment. He <i>does</i> enjoy the company of other cats, and would thus make a wonderful addition to a home already blessed with one or two feline members. If you feel you could provide such a home, please call or text his foster mom at 702-205-1234 or e-mail fupishanna@gmail.com.<br />
<br />
If you do choose to meet either cat your first reaction may be that they are cautious, stand-offish, or just plain frightened. Louis was petrified when he arrived at my apartment, and I confess there were times during the first few days when I wondered if I was going to find a way to get him past his fear. I should have trusted that most unique of all cat qualities: they love being loved. And whatever horrors they may have experienced at the hands of humans they somehow retain the ability to reconnect with those who deserve their affection.<br />
<br />
And then they stop being scared and alone.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-76446612306621692462012-06-19T00:38:00.004-05:002012-06-19T02:00:35.953-05:00Tales From The Riviera Bank: The Ball<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SmbCPDDkci0/T-AVgEpJMNI/AAAAAAAAAK4/ujUMn9jscEs/s1600/rivball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5755623964525801682" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SmbCPDDkci0/T-AVgEpJMNI/AAAAAAAAAK4/ujUMn9jscEs/s320/rivball.jpg" style="color: #0000ee; height: 182px; margin-top: 0px; width: 174px;" /></a>First hot day and tempers frayed in the Riviera poker room. Steve is breaking up with one of his girlfriends via text and seems by far the happiest at the table. I have just been reprimanded by the cocktail waitress for ordering my bottle of water too slowly and the new guy directly to my left is muttering to himself darkly. There is an unnerving undercurrent to this guy. Tension and displeasure radiate from him like the insistent heat from glowing hibachi coals. He is overweight, balding, a less attractive and possibly more violent version of Tony Soprano. Looking up from the table he glares at the pickets.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div>
The poker room is a shallow flight of steps from the Las Vegas Boulevard doors, outside of which pickets <span style="font-size: 100%;">with </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">placards march at a commendable clip in the 108F temperatures. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: 100%;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
Senior VP Noah Acres wanders out and is met with cries of "shirt, shirt, shirt..." (isn't "suit" more standard?) and the assertion that something is unfair. Brief pangs of guilt since I am instinctively pro-union. Maybe if I played blackjack for a bit and counted cards it'd be showing solidarity with the strikers?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then The Ball appears.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5755622378859103106" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2x0yUNSbpkE/T-AUDxkvg4I/AAAAAAAAAKs/XFz2Jh34Vow/s320/rivball3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 152px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 101px;" /></div>
<div>
It is hard for The Ball to look anything other than cheerful thanks to the beautifully stylized fifties grin stretched from arm to arm, and on its arrival even the gloomiest of grinders at the table briefly look less miserable. The Ball ambles around the blackjack pit waving at the punters, then pulls up short at the bottom of the steps to the main doors, apparently transfixed by the striking casino employees.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It is about this time that the gentleman to my left slams his fist onto the felt. I had lost track of the hand, being more interested in The Ball, but based on the board it seems Tony Soprano just got outdrawn. As the cards for the next hand fly around the table a vein starts to pound in his neck. Everyone has become very quiet. I can hear his dental enamel delaminate and think of Scrabble. The future victim of a massive coronary folds flamboyantly out of turn and storms off.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I glance at Steve who is watching the receding broad back of the unhappy customer. Then he leans over the table to read his name from the Bravo system.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Jeremy!? He can't be a Jeremy. Maybe a Butch."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Or a Vinny," I suggest.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah, but not a Jeremy," says Steve. "'Raging Jeremy?' It just won't do."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"He seems to have issues."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As does The Ball. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not entirely clear how The Ball got outside because the doors are not wide and The Ball is, but get outside it did. And according to a player to my right who had responsibility for watching The Ball rather than Raging Jeremy, it seems The Ball said something out-of-line to the strikers. And this is why three or four of them are now taking shots at The Ball with their placards.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The Ball doesn't care! The Ball is bad ass! The Ball wanders outside in 108F ambient (135F track?) and starts opining on industrial relations with Local 495. And sticks and stones are having no affect on The Ball thanks to the considerable padding.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Then even from my vantage point directly above a pair of fives I notice that The Ball has realized its own weakness. And as the anti-Ball contingent concentrate their attack on its north side, it has dawned on The Ball that it is a 4.3 mile roll down Las Vegas Boulevard to the Luxor where the ground finally levels out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"On you Kat!"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I apologize, realize the open-raise from Clem-the-Rock ranges him [QQ+, AKs, AKo?] on a loose day and that he's short-stacking. I pitch my fives.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Where's The Ball?" I say, looking up and only seeing strikers marching with their placards.</div>
<div>
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"Just passing Peppermill," says Steve as he folds and picks up his phone.</div>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-85812045704688308892012-05-29T19:52:00.011-05:002012-06-20T03:24:56.154-05:00Foreclosed Upon Pets, Inc. (FUPI)Few cities were harder hit by the recession than my recently-adopted home of Las Vegas. The combination of an economy dependent on the disposable income of others and a housing market that went from boom to free-fall led to high rates of unemployment and home foreclosures. The resulting human suffering has been well documented, but perhaps less appreciated is the terrible toll the recession took on pets.<br />
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Many pet owners suddenly found themselves with insufficient means to provide for their pets, or were forced to move into rental housing where pets were not allowed. The responsible owners took their pets to shelters; others simply abandoned their pets or left them without food in their vacated homes.</div>
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Foreclosed Upon Pets, Inc. (FUPI) was formed to specifically address the rapid increase in abandoned and otherwise homeless pets. The <a href="http://www.forecloseduponpets.org/">FUPI website</a> explains:</div>
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<i>Foreclosed Upon Pets, Inc (FUPI) is a not-for-profit 501(c)(3) organization dedicated to the rescue of domesticated animals that have been abused and/or abandoned by their owners as a result of economic hardship, including home foreclosure, loss of employment, insufficient income, or death and illness.</i><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-52Gszmqs1O8/T8VwvD4AgcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/pOC4bVWCHrg/s1600/FUPI2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5748124453204689346" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-52Gszmqs1O8/T8VwvD4AgcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/pOC4bVWCHrg/s320/FUPI2.jpg" style="float: left; height: 251px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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FUPI is staffed by volunteers who work incredibly hard to look after the cats and dogs at the FUPI shelter and to find both short-term fostering and long-term adoption for the pets that come into their care. While donations to fund their operations are always welcome (and tax deductible), and volunteers are also sought, the most important help anyone can give FUPI is to help find forever homes for the animals. </div>
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FUPI has regular sessions at Petsmart where you can meet some of their pets. Dates and times are listed on their <a href="http://www.forecloseduponpets.org/">website</a> or you can e-mail FUPI at forecloseduponpets@hotmail.com.</div>
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Alternatively you can go to their website for currently available cats and dogs. Their adoptable pets are also listed through the national <a href="http://www.petfinder.com/index.html">Petfinder</a> service. FUPI also has a <a href="https://www.facebook.com/FUPILasVegas">page at Facebook.</a></div>
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Many of the animals FUPI adopts out have had difficult pasts; that is usually why they are at FUPI in the first place. These difficulties range from the trauma of losing their homes and families to neglect and abuse. As a result, adopting these animals can involve a little more work than picking up a kitten or puppy at the local pet store. </div>
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The extra work is worth it. The young man below is Looey (a.k.a. Ludo Louis IX). The details of his story are not known, but he was found abandoned and in pretty poor physical shape. He is mostly Maine Coon and his magnificent coat had become seriously matted. In addition to his painful physical condition, his response to humans made it clear he had suffered considerable trauma, somewhere on the spectrum from neglect to actual abuse.</div>
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Such animals do not show well to potential adopters and Looey was in temporary foster care for over a year. His foster Mom did a magnificent job of helping heal his psyche, but he was extremely frightened of unknown people.</div>
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For the first four or five days after joining my household, Looey lived under my bed. Concerned that he would dehydrate I fed him bits of wet food on a fork. As he began to trust me he ventured a few feet out from the bed and accepted his meals from a bowl. <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-52Gszmqs1O8/T8VwvD4AgcI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/pOC4bVWCHrg/s1600/FUPI2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5748126647464553922" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FS5uAapxzTU/T8VyuyIU7cI/AAAAAAAAAKc/-x_I5l4UYlg/s320/IMG_3412.jpg" style="float: left; height: 240px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 320px;" /></a></div>
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He now runs my apartment. In fact based on the above picture it seems his only adversary is his shadow, and he's winning that battle.</div>
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Most of you reading this will not currently have room for a new pet. However, many of you know someone whose life would be enriched through adopting a pet from FUPI. The benefits of a forever home to the animal are beyond measure.</div>
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Please share this post with anyone you know in the Las Vegas area, and if you live in other parts of the country or the world, please consider adopting a pet or supporting shelters like FUPI in whatever way you can.</div>
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</div>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-43961178042029463572012-05-22T22:06:00.002-05:002012-05-23T03:17:11.925-05:00HiatusIt's been so long since I posted the tools have changed.<br />
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This is what the never-ending sale of a house will do to you. And it's still not sold, so I can't stop, but...<br />
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If you've missed my observations on poker, most can be found at <a href="http://www.blindstraddle.com/category/kat-martin/">Blind Straddle</a> except one issue where there's something weird with the indexing and I'd hate you to miss the <a href="http://www.blindstraddle.com/december-2011-january-2012/the-cross-dressing-goatherd/">cross-dressing article.</a><br />
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I've also started writing about music again, except... seriously, the house sale has skewered this too, but if you want to know about the greatest band Vermont has to offer, my piece about Persian Claws at <a href="http://blog.tmntv.com/2012/02/20/persian-claws-vegas-view-wkeith-martin/">The Musician Network</a> is a must read.<br />
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And what about Feline 9ine?<br />
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I thought I'd take a hint from my own blog title and devote this site to cats.<br />
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Stay tuned.<br />
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<br />Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-35673751559724639172011-07-30T21:49:00.013-05:002020-05-30T15:03:47.342-05:00Death Of The White Elephant: Part II<div>
<b>A lot of people who work for NASA aren't very bright.</b></div>
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In the first installment of this obituary I accused NASA of telling fibs. Since NASA isn't an individual this requires some elaboration. As I'll explain below, what I'm really talking about is an institutional culture of deceit and delusion, the negative results of which range from compounding scientific illiteracy to people dying.<br />
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In the Fall of 1985 I started my graduate work at Queen Mary College, London. This opened many doors including the one to the departmental lounge. Morning coffee and afternoon tea provided a remarkable opportunity to hear what some very clever people were saying. These people included senior personnel from various satellite and solar system missions including IRAS, Voyager, Galileo and Cassini.</div>
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One afternoon the conversation meandered to the topic of the safety of the Shuttle. Three professors with considerable expertise in such matters gave their estimates for the likelihood of "catastrophic failure." Two independently arrived at a failure rate of 1 mission in a 100. The third said he felt that was optimistic and that before the Shuttle had begun operations he had predicted a failure rate of 1 in 25. However, since the Shuttle had already survived more than 20 missions he had adopted a Bayesian approach and upped his failure estimate to 1 in 50.</div>
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This didn't seem to me to be possible. Partly because Dawn, my future-first-ex-wife, was a school teacher, I was aware that in a couple of months the "Teacher in Space Flight" launch was scheduled. Teaching in an inner London school was certainly a dangerous profession, but Dawn's expectation of returning home on any given day was much better than 1 in 100. </div>
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I asked the assembled experts how NASA could contemplate putting a civilian in such peril.</div>
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"NASA senior managers estimate a 1 in 100,000 catastrophic failure rate," replied one. His two colleagues nodded.</div>
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"And you get 1 in 100?" I said.</div>
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"Give or take."</div>
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"!?!"</div>
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Several years after this conversation I read Richard Feynman's account of his work on the Rogers Commission that investigated the loss of Challenger. It gave me goosebumps. Because the criminally dysfunctional mess that was NASA, and that Feynman "discovered," was well known to the three professors at my college and anyone else who had been exposed to the inner workings of the agency.</div>
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So how could NASA's senior managers come up with estimated failure rates completely divorced from those of their own engineers (who they ignored) and reality (which is a place other people live)? Part of it is they had no choice. Now... okay this may not make any sense unless, like me, you've worked for these people, but... NASA's senior managers were compelled to assume a microscopically low failure rate of 1 in 100,000 because if they accepted a realistic estimate they would have no choice but to ground the Shuttle.</div>
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Actually, even if you have worked for NASA, this idea doesn't make any sense in isolation. You also have to understand something I'll expand upon in Part III: A lot of people who work for NASA aren't very bright.</div>
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A couple of months after this coffee-room conversation, Challenger was destroyed. Dawn and I got back from shopping and as we unpacked I turned on the TV to catch the evening news. The first shot I absorbed was of two solid rocket boosters curving away from a single trail that terminated abruptly in a roughly spherical cloud. </div>
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"I suppose they all died instantly," said Dawn, blinking damply at the screen as the 73 second flight was replayed. </div>
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It was a couple of hours after the "major malfunction" and news pundits had already enhanced some critical video clips. Something pertinent to Dawn's not uncommon supposition was readily apparent. Whatever the cause of the "explosion" it had left the SRBs relatively undamaged. Further, interest had already concentrated on a plume near the rear of the vehicle. You didn't have to be a rocket scientist to realize that the location of the apparent failure combined with the lack of damage to the SRBs made it quite likely that the crew cabin had survived the explosion.</div>
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"I'm afraid they probably didn't," I said to Dawn.</div>
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We still don't know for sure. The Kerwin report concluded:</div>
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"[T]he crew possibly, but not certainly, lost consciousness in the seconds following Orbiter breakup due to in-flight loss of crew module pressure."</div>
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This conclusion may have been sanitized for public consumption. Lead NASA investigator Robert Overmyer was convinced at least some of the crew were not only alive as the crew module plunged towards the ocean, they were also conscious. Based on the positioning of certain flight switches, Overmyer concluded:</div>
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"Scob [Commander Dick Scobee] fought for any and every edge to survive. He flew that ship without wings all the way down... They were alive."</div>
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This raises a key question. Wouldn't it have been a good idea for the Shuttle to have some kind of escape hatch or ejector seats or something? You know, like other experimental aircraft and spacecraft.</div>
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But that would be silly, wouldn't it? The Shuttle didn't need an escape facility. The expected failure rate was 1 in 100,000.</div>
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The full and well-documented story of exactly how badly NASA screwed up is beyond the scope of my musings here. Anyone who has read Feynman's account of his investigations may, like me, have been driven to angry tears by the sheer stupidity and negligence of senior NASA personnel. The fact nobody was ever convicted of crimes relating to the death of the crew is only unsurprising because we expect so little accountability from senior personnel in federal agencies. </div>
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But at least the thorough investigation into the Challenger disaster made it clear that those seven individuals did not die in vain. The culture of deceit and delusion at NASA would be changed so that such an "accident" could never happen again.</div>
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When an equally avoidable accident <i>did</i> happen again, I decided I didn't want to play with rockets any more.</div>
Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2148699286820020799.post-43338864796343411812011-07-28T06:29:00.005-05:002011-07-28T07:14:19.891-05:00Death Of The White Elephant: Part I<b>With the Shuttle "fleet" finally decommissioned it's time to crash the ISS into the Pacific and dismantle NASA.</b><div><br /></div><div>I suppose I shouldn't have been surprised that on the final Shuttle launch NASA would still be lying to the American public. I hadn't watched a launch for years, primarily because they make me feel physically sick. Partly this stems from the fact that the craft is a death-trap, but the manipulative, disingenuous garbage that accompanies the Shuttle traveling "into space" also contributes to my nausea.</div><div><br /></div><div>As those of you who have read Douglas Adams will know, space is big. When I was teaching introductory astronomy, one of the first assignments I gave was intended to give students some idea of the scale of our neighborhood. For the first time ever I've worked out the numbers using "British" units. Somebody should probably check my arithmetic.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suppose the Earth is a basketball. On this scale the Moon would be a bit smaller than a baseball twenty-four feet away. I think that's quite an instructive image. On this same scale the Sun would be a bit less than two miles away. If you can imagine something like a spherical five-story building that is very hot indeed then you're getting a decent idea of the Sun.</div><div><br /></div><div>So we've learned that in our immediate vicinity - our little corner of space - the Moon at only twenty-four feet away is much closer than the Sun, and the Sun is much bigger than both the Earth and Moon.</div><div><br /></div><div>During the countdown before Atlantis commenced its eight minute journey into "space," various key personnel added whimsical speeches to their usual pre-launch routine. We were reminded of the thirty magnificent years of the Shuttle program and its pivotal role in space exploration. The notion of the Shuttle "exploring space" came up time and time again, wearing more enamel from my teeth on each occasion.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let's put the Shuttle on our scale model of the Earth-Moon-Sun system. Remember the Moon is twenty-four feet away, the Sun almost two miles. On this scale the Shuttle orbits the basketball that is representing the Earth at a height of one quarter of an inch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Exploring space? The Shuttle explores space in the same way an automobile going round Daytona International Speedway explores Florida. Except much less so. The idea is completely preposterous, although it does invite further comparisons between NASA and NASCAR that I'll explore in the second part of this rant. </div><div><br /></div><div>I think what really bugs me about NASA selling the Shuttle as space exploration is that it reflects the broader NASA culture of lying to the public. And that in turn reflects a deeper culture that led to the unnecessary deaths of fourteen astronauts. NASA lied to them too. </div>Kat Martinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00973778274956344822noreply@blogger.com11