Betting On The River
The typical gambler might not really understand the probabilistic nuances of the wheel or the dice, but such things seem a bit more tractable than, say, trying to raise a child in this lunatic society of ours. ~ Arthur S. Reber The New Gambler’s Bible
I’ve started playing poker. Texas Hold ‘Em. To be fair, I’ve never been that much of a gambler. I’ve lived near Casinos off and on again for the past several years, and the temptation of high stakes has never even once appealed to me. As most of you may know, I’m a logical man to a fault, and this was likely one such case of gaffe. The single flaw with logic is that certain aspects of this existence are beyond a logical explanation, resulting in the sublime, philosophical life experiences that you can barely translate to words, let alone full comprehend the complete lessons thereof. Nonetheless, I’ve unfortunately not become so in-tuned with the inspirational; there were reasons leading up to my decision to sit at the table and be dealt in… As it is the rare virtue in people I have the chance of encountering to possess any sort of menial or fundamental grasp on self-identity apart from the growing herds of socio-consumer lemmings or quasi-political psych-ward patients, I have, over the past three years, become somewhat pre-occupied with concepts and definitions of character. I have maintained a relatively decent level of self-awareness throughout my life, though I’ve not always been the best at expressing it; and as my current job requires either mental deniability or deep moments of meditation, the cerebral wanderings of my spare time usually push beyond my own boarders. All this to say, what concerns me on recent occasion is one’s formation of Self within their prescribed identities, the one which is currently placed at the foremost of my contemplations being that of nationalism. It’s a word that almost seems to have nestled its way into the history books, conjuring images of bygone wars for various imperialistic survival or ideological revolutions bent on an ever-dubious change. Whether strong or mute, noble or villainous, the idea of national identity is something that has become almost passé to most Americans, though you’d never know it from the abundance of neo-patriotic fervor that resonates from our twenty-four hour news networks, ever-political evangelicals, and omni-present radical fascists of the far left and right. As a member of Generation X, I understand as well as anyone that our personal self-realizations come from continued redefinition of our own ‘breaking the norm’. Our parents set the stage for this with their own failed revolution, showing us the basic and inherent value in rebellion, and we are now positively to blame for the virtual tesseract into Generation Y’s new American Nihilism… hmm, that sounds good, I think I’ll coin that. So what is it to be American, or better yet, what encompasses the American Dream or the American Spirit… considering our current political and moral situation as a country with respect to our historical heritage of course? Dr. Hunter S. Thompson claimed it was out in northern Las Vegas at an old burned down slab of concrete called The Psychiatrist’s Club. Who’s to say? I believe that part of malady lies in the fact that no one is any longer willing to even attempt to try. Perhaps we are not capable without risking the incursion of being called hypocrites. Still, efforts can be made. Like Dr. Thompson shows us, The Dream and Spirit may be anywhere, but it requires attention to detail and situational awareness, not just of our surroundings but of our place in time. Further, it you don’t go looking for yourself in the disposables, that is to say, among the hordes trendy icon cut outs who believe their eighteen-to-twenty-five years on this planet have been spent selflessly waiting in line for their somehow deserved fifteen minutes. Accepting that, I made some American Resolutions for myself. Despite a final digression, I concluded that at no greater time was the concept of what it was to be an American anymore full and pure than during the brunt of the nineteenth century in the untamed West. The strength, innovation, and will of the American frontiersmen was unparalleled by anything before or after in our history when viewed as a whole. That being said, among the many elements and aspects of what existed during that considerable span of history, gambling jumped to musings as something of a heritage, an understanding that every man should know, akin to smoking cigars and appreciating good whiskey… two things that are still on my list. Which brings us full-circle to poker. So I’ve sat and I’ve learned. Our table is one that is filled with men who span the Union, and despite the fact that the cards are dealt in Central Asia for the time being, I can think of no more symbolic place in time that I come to understand one of the games that is as American as Baseball itself amongst not only circumstance but also men of character and appropriate mind. Best of all, last week I won. But it is not about the winnings, though they are a pleasant benefit. To summarize another’s gambler’s words, it’s not about defeating your opponents at first; it’s about defeating the game itself. Once you understand that, you’ll see that there are only so many players actually at the table with you… and the game resolves itself to another level. Humbled as I am at these revelations, I can only fathom the depths of such gambler’s philosophy as the game marches on and the next hand is dealt. Logic cannot explain philosophy. Moreover, there are instances where logic will not even take you within the proximity of free thought. Logically, one might consider an increased attention to and participation in a high stakes card game analogous to placing one closer to a limiting definition of Self than finding Self actualization? It’s lucky for us that the actual outcome of the cards that we hold in our hand has little to do with what is likely. Very lucky indeed.
I’ve started playing poker. Texas Hold ‘Em. To be fair, I’ve never been that much of a gambler. I’ve lived near Casinos off and on again for the past several years, and the temptation of high stakes has never even once appealed to me. As most of you may know, I’m a logical man to a fault, and this was likely one such case of gaffe. The single flaw with logic is that certain aspects of this existence are beyond a logical explanation, resulting in the sublime, philosophical life experiences that you can barely translate to words, let alone full comprehend the complete lessons thereof. Nonetheless, I’ve unfortunately not become so in-tuned with the inspirational; there were reasons leading up to my decision to sit at the table and be dealt in… As it is the rare virtue in people I have the chance of encountering to possess any sort of menial or fundamental grasp on self-identity apart from the growing herds of socio-consumer lemmings or quasi-political psych-ward patients, I have, over the past three years, become somewhat pre-occupied with concepts and definitions of character. I have maintained a relatively decent level of self-awareness throughout my life, though I’ve not always been the best at expressing it; and as my current job requires either mental deniability or deep moments of meditation, the cerebral wanderings of my spare time usually push beyond my own boarders. All this to say, what concerns me on recent occasion is one’s formation of Self within their prescribed identities, the one which is currently placed at the foremost of my contemplations being that of nationalism. It’s a word that almost seems to have nestled its way into the history books, conjuring images of bygone wars for various imperialistic survival or ideological revolutions bent on an ever-dubious change. Whether strong or mute, noble or villainous, the idea of national identity is something that has become almost passé to most Americans, though you’d never know it from the abundance of neo-patriotic fervor that resonates from our twenty-four hour news networks, ever-political evangelicals, and omni-present radical fascists of the far left and right. As a member of Generation X, I understand as well as anyone that our personal self-realizations come from continued redefinition of our own ‘breaking the norm’. Our parents set the stage for this with their own failed revolution, showing us the basic and inherent value in rebellion, and we are now positively to blame for the virtual tesseract into Generation Y’s new American Nihilism… hmm, that sounds good, I think I’ll coin that. So what is it to be American, or better yet, what encompasses the American Dream or the American Spirit… considering our current political and moral situation as a country with respect to our historical heritage of course? Dr. Hunter S. Thompson claimed it was out in northern Las Vegas at an old burned down slab of concrete called The Psychiatrist’s Club. Who’s to say? I believe that part of malady lies in the fact that no one is any longer willing to even attempt to try. Perhaps we are not capable without risking the incursion of being called hypocrites. Still, efforts can be made. Like Dr. Thompson shows us, The Dream and Spirit may be anywhere, but it requires attention to detail and situational awareness, not just of our surroundings but of our place in time. Further, it you don’t go looking for yourself in the disposables, that is to say, among the hordes trendy icon cut outs who believe their eighteen-to-twenty-five years on this planet have been spent selflessly waiting in line for their somehow deserved fifteen minutes. Accepting that, I made some American Resolutions for myself. Despite a final digression, I concluded that at no greater time was the concept of what it was to be an American anymore full and pure than during the brunt of the nineteenth century in the untamed West. The strength, innovation, and will of the American frontiersmen was unparalleled by anything before or after in our history when viewed as a whole. That being said, among the many elements and aspects of what existed during that considerable span of history, gambling jumped to musings as something of a heritage, an understanding that every man should know, akin to smoking cigars and appreciating good whiskey… two things that are still on my list. Which brings us full-circle to poker. So I’ve sat and I’ve learned. Our table is one that is filled with men who span the Union, and despite the fact that the cards are dealt in Central Asia for the time being, I can think of no more symbolic place in time that I come to understand one of the games that is as American as Baseball itself amongst not only circumstance but also men of character and appropriate mind. Best of all, last week I won. But it is not about the winnings, though they are a pleasant benefit. To summarize another’s gambler’s words, it’s not about defeating your opponents at first; it’s about defeating the game itself. Once you understand that, you’ll see that there are only so many players actually at the table with you… and the game resolves itself to another level. Humbled as I am at these revelations, I can only fathom the depths of such gambler’s philosophy as the game marches on and the next hand is dealt. Logic cannot explain philosophy. Moreover, there are instances where logic will not even take you within the proximity of free thought. Logically, one might consider an increased attention to and participation in a high stakes card game analogous to placing one closer to a limiting definition of Self than finding Self actualization? It’s lucky for us that the actual outcome of the cards that we hold in our hand has little to do with what is likely. Very lucky indeed.
