to unanswered/unresponded comments, etc,
This will be my second day in Vegas, and though I have an internet capable phone with a relatively full-service web browser, it is surprisingly difficult to do anything with notes on Facebook or comments on Blogger.com. It may be my failing as an Asian male to know all things computer-related, but I'm simply not that guy. And if I am to answer this question of playing poker for a living (or as a side gig), I must devote time to the tables and not complain about how some programmer hasn't solved the issue of the missing scroll bar in a frame within a webpage*.
When I come back, I will boast... ahem, fill you in on all the details of my victories for your poker edification. And if I lose, I will gently sweep that fact under the rug as former President W. Bush tried to do with 'Mission Accomplished.' And hopefully noone will call me out on it. But if they do, it will be good for me to motivate me to hone my skills further or push me off the precipice of the 'this is a really stupid, inefficient way of making money' cliff.
--
*A real issue on the default browser on the Moto Droid. It won't display anything to scroll within a frame, and I haven't been pissed off enough to Google for a solution.
Wednesday, December 8
Monday, December 6
Vegas (and work) manana!
to the gamblers,
If you've never read the Theory of Poker, please sit at my table and buy in for the cash that you would have lost at the blackjack table anyway. If you can explain and apply 'reverse implied odds'*, then kindly look for your fish at other tables, because mine are spoken for. And I sure do hope there are plenty of fish in Vegas this week (in contrast to 'sharks' which is really a mispronunciation of 'sharps'), because I'd like to pay for this vacation I planned before my job loss.
During the 20+ straight nights of work a few weeks back, I had booked a trip to Vegas for one of my off weeks, and this is that off week. I had a show planned for each night to reward myself for the many hours of Hold'em I was going to play. And if I totally killed at the tables, I would go support some students and single mothers at the Spearmint Rhino, against my rule of never going to a strip club alone**.
But things change, and so if I do win, I'll put it towards my bankroll to support my second (and possibly primary career). If I lose, the experience will let me know if this plan to play cards for a living is a pipe-dream or if it is a truly serviceable option for making a decent wage.
Because I do think I have the potential to be a winning player. My mathematical skills are still prime, when I tilt*** it is almost always to the conservative side, I have a reserve of cash on hand, I can augment that cash if necessary by working crazy shifts, and I don't particularly need the money which would allow me the time to develop the textbook tight-aggressive style.
The question is if I can sit and grind all day long, no sexual innuendo intended. To play poker until the point of physical fatigue and mental exhaustion. Can I do it? This trip will tell.
Poker, shows, poker, eat, poker, sleep, poker, poker, poker...
Don't ask me if I planned to go to Pure, Jet or any other exotic nightclubs on the strip. First of all, I don't have any arm candy to get through the door. Secondly, I'm not going to Vegas to f-- people, I'm going to f-- them over, which is a subtle but important difference. The first instance generally involves hemorrhaging money (if not on escorts, then on the insane cost of drinks at these clubs), while the second involves parting fools from their money.
And I very much would like to be the hand of destiny which fulfills that proverb. Wish me good decision-making and a run of good cards. Or just luck--luck works too!
--
*A real concept: When the odds appear better than they really are and your hand can only get worse as the play progresses, which should generally lead you to fold since you won't be getting sufficient odds.
**Never have gone solo because late one night, at almost 2am last call, my friends were at the bar getting drinks, and about 3 'dancers' came by one after another to asked if I was alone and if I'd like their services like I was a defenseless mark in a dark alley!
***When emotions take over after a bad run of cards.
If you've never read the Theory of Poker, please sit at my table and buy in for the cash that you would have lost at the blackjack table anyway. If you can explain and apply 'reverse implied odds'*, then kindly look for your fish at other tables, because mine are spoken for. And I sure do hope there are plenty of fish in Vegas this week (in contrast to 'sharks' which is really a mispronunciation of 'sharps'), because I'd like to pay for this vacation I planned before my job loss.
During the 20+ straight nights of work a few weeks back, I had booked a trip to Vegas for one of my off weeks, and this is that off week. I had a show planned for each night to reward myself for the many hours of Hold'em I was going to play. And if I totally killed at the tables, I would go support some students and single mothers at the Spearmint Rhino, against my rule of never going to a strip club alone**.
But things change, and so if I do win, I'll put it towards my bankroll to support my second (and possibly primary career). If I lose, the experience will let me know if this plan to play cards for a living is a pipe-dream or if it is a truly serviceable option for making a decent wage.
Because I do think I have the potential to be a winning player. My mathematical skills are still prime, when I tilt*** it is almost always to the conservative side, I have a reserve of cash on hand, I can augment that cash if necessary by working crazy shifts, and I don't particularly need the money which would allow me the time to develop the textbook tight-aggressive style.
The question is if I can sit and grind all day long, no sexual innuendo intended. To play poker until the point of physical fatigue and mental exhaustion. Can I do it? This trip will tell.
Poker, shows, poker, eat, poker, sleep, poker, poker, poker...
Don't ask me if I planned to go to Pure, Jet or any other exotic nightclubs on the strip. First of all, I don't have any arm candy to get through the door. Secondly, I'm not going to Vegas to f-- people, I'm going to f-- them over, which is a subtle but important difference. The first instance generally involves hemorrhaging money (if not on escorts, then on the insane cost of drinks at these clubs), while the second involves parting fools from their money.
And I very much would like to be the hand of destiny which fulfills that proverb. Wish me good decision-making and a run of good cards. Or just luck--luck works too!
--
*A real concept: When the odds appear better than they really are and your hand can only get worse as the play progresses, which should generally lead you to fold since you won't be getting sufficient odds.
**Never have gone solo because late one night, at almost 2am last call, my friends were at the bar getting drinks, and about 3 'dancers' came by one after another to asked if I was alone and if I'd like their services like I was a defenseless mark in a dark alley!
***When emotions take over after a bad run of cards.
Saturday, December 4
Good Old Times
to the alcoholics,
There are two signs you need to look out for if you want to know if I've reached my 'buzz point': 1) I start getting real philosophical and honest to the point of political incorrectness, and 2) I start using the F-word as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun, and even conjunction, preposition, and interjection. It's really quite extraordinary as I try to use correct grammar as I modify all the different forms of the F-word. In high school, my peers used to ask me calculus questions after I polished off a fifth of a fifth of Patron, and yes, I could still do calculus after all that. Now that I forgot all that calculus nonsense (which is good for nothing except telling people who know or care that you 5'd the Calculus BC AP along with 7 other tests), all I can do is tell you random stuff that doesn't really matter all that much but makes you think that I kind of know a little something about something.
But since I'm still slightly inebriated, I'll be a bit honest with you: Truth is I don't really know all that much about stuff that really matters (in my opinion). And it scares me. It is a wholly unsettling feeling that I'm not the badass I pretend to be at the important sh--.
At the 'buzz point', the next alcoholic beverage will send me straight to the porcelain god or passed out with a future trip to the aforementioned god (which likely has more followers than the traditional Dude whom* people praise). I feel completely honest with myself which is sad considering it takes a foreign substance to make me face up to my most protected thoughts. It is a precariously golden moment of [false?] enlightenment.
I tell people the honest truth about how my latest job got cut, and how I kinda expected it to happen and how I kinda wished it would happen.
I tell people that my job made me feel dishonest while I smiled and told customers I wished they'd come back when I secretly deplored them for ever gracing my sight.
I tell them that I have done absolutely nothing in the past 2 weeks and how it feels absolutely amazing to not have to work, disregarding the fact that they have to cram for finals in the next couple of weeks.
I abhor and then console myself for assuming the professional pharmacist role while giving a mini-speech to pharmacy students: I mustn't tell the kids that Santa Claus and the Easter bunny aren't real--they will find out for themselves soon enough if they don't suspect already.
Because who the f-- cares! I've paid my dues in time and money and mental health. It is the time for rebirth into the new me or the old me or the better me (or worse me).
--
Sometimes I think of myself as a broken man with no purposeful intention except the innate desire toward self-preservation through food, shelter, water, and sex. And is that all life amounts to for a young adult male? Food, shelter, water, and sex, and not necessarily in that order?
It is abysmal sometimes when I go out and get to that wasted, veritable state where I look at other guys and think that if they could get with that one girl they were staring at the whole night that their life would be magically cured, that somehow the other flawed human being would make them perfect. But sadly it likely isn't true. Two wrongs don't make a right, and two imperfect persons do not make a perfect one.
--
'I had a good time tonight.'
'Yea, it was kinda like old times a couple of years back when we were in school, when I was driving you around from place to place.'
'Yea, kinda like the good old times, bro..'
With that, my friend exited the car at the University parking lot. I checked the door locks manually to make sure it was secure (can't be too careful in the ghetto), made a semicircle out of the parking lot and onto the road to the freeway..
Cruising down Gulf Freeway, I activated the cruise control at 60 mph to take the speed variance out of the equation for the Friday night copper. But the folks in the right lane were moving at an even slower pace, so I disabled the crutch and took over completely.
And I started to think about my life and how it isn't really all that bad in perspective and how I can really start digging the person I am or will be. So after all the years in between high school and now, I've arrived at the same point where I've started, just a little different, hopefully a little more grown and a little less green. And you know what? That's okay..
With that, I cranked up the pathetic speakers in my ride and faded into suspended consciousness while navigating the miles of concrete, passing the familiar food dives and sleazy strip joints, past one of the adult video stores where that priest got caught for 'public lewdness' for touching himself, to mi casa in the suburbia boonies..
--
Don't live life on autodrive; don't live life like your choices don't matter. Because
'lately I, am beginning to find that I,
should be the one behind the wheel.'
..and when you feel inspirational (through natural or chemical means), write it down, because you'll forget it the next day when you're looking at the receipts and wondering how the f-- you spent so much the night before..
..but I suppose you got to pay tuition for those life lessons..
--
*yes, that is the correct use of the word 'whom', so I think..
There are two signs you need to look out for if you want to know if I've reached my 'buzz point': 1) I start getting real philosophical and honest to the point of political incorrectness, and 2) I start using the F-word as a noun, verb, adjective, adverb, pronoun, and even conjunction, preposition, and interjection. It's really quite extraordinary as I try to use correct grammar as I modify all the different forms of the F-word. In high school, my peers used to ask me calculus questions after I polished off a fifth of a fifth of Patron, and yes, I could still do calculus after all that. Now that I forgot all that calculus nonsense (which is good for nothing except telling people who know or care that you 5'd the Calculus BC AP along with 7 other tests), all I can do is tell you random stuff that doesn't really matter all that much but makes you think that I kind of know a little something about something.
But since I'm still slightly inebriated, I'll be a bit honest with you: Truth is I don't really know all that much about stuff that really matters (in my opinion). And it scares me. It is a wholly unsettling feeling that I'm not the badass I pretend to be at the important sh--.
At the 'buzz point', the next alcoholic beverage will send me straight to the porcelain god or passed out with a future trip to the aforementioned god (which likely has more followers than the traditional Dude whom* people praise). I feel completely honest with myself which is sad considering it takes a foreign substance to make me face up to my most protected thoughts. It is a precariously golden moment of [false?] enlightenment.
I tell people the honest truth about how my latest job got cut, and how I kinda expected it to happen and how I kinda wished it would happen.
I tell people that my job made me feel dishonest while I smiled and told customers I wished they'd come back when I secretly deplored them for ever gracing my sight.
I tell them that I have done absolutely nothing in the past 2 weeks and how it feels absolutely amazing to not have to work, disregarding the fact that they have to cram for finals in the next couple of weeks.
I abhor and then console myself for assuming the professional pharmacist role while giving a mini-speech to pharmacy students: I mustn't tell the kids that Santa Claus and the Easter bunny aren't real--they will find out for themselves soon enough if they don't suspect already.
Because who the f-- cares! I've paid my dues in time and money and mental health. It is the time for rebirth into the new me or the old me or the better me (or worse me).
--
Sometimes I think of myself as a broken man with no purposeful intention except the innate desire toward self-preservation through food, shelter, water, and sex. And is that all life amounts to for a young adult male? Food, shelter, water, and sex, and not necessarily in that order?
It is abysmal sometimes when I go out and get to that wasted, veritable state where I look at other guys and think that if they could get with that one girl they were staring at the whole night that their life would be magically cured, that somehow the other flawed human being would make them perfect. But sadly it likely isn't true. Two wrongs don't make a right, and two imperfect persons do not make a perfect one.
--
'I had a good time tonight.'
'Yea, it was kinda like old times a couple of years back when we were in school, when I was driving you around from place to place.'
'Yea, kinda like the good old times, bro..'
With that, my friend exited the car at the University parking lot. I checked the door locks manually to make sure it was secure (can't be too careful in the ghetto), made a semicircle out of the parking lot and onto the road to the freeway..
Cruising down Gulf Freeway, I activated the cruise control at 60 mph to take the speed variance out of the equation for the Friday night copper. But the folks in the right lane were moving at an even slower pace, so I disabled the crutch and took over completely.
And I started to think about my life and how it isn't really all that bad in perspective and how I can really start digging the person I am or will be. So after all the years in between high school and now, I've arrived at the same point where I've started, just a little different, hopefully a little more grown and a little less green. And you know what? That's okay..
With that, I cranked up the pathetic speakers in my ride and faded into suspended consciousness while navigating the miles of concrete, passing the familiar food dives and sleazy strip joints, past one of the adult video stores where that priest got caught for 'public lewdness' for touching himself, to mi casa in the suburbia boonies..
--
Don't live life on autodrive; don't live life like your choices don't matter. Because
'lately I, am beginning to find that I,
should be the one behind the wheel.'
..and when you feel inspirational (through natural or chemical means), write it down, because you'll forget it the next day when you're looking at the receipts and wondering how the f-- you spent so much the night before..
..but I suppose you got to pay tuition for those life lessons..
--
*yes, that is the correct use of the word 'whom', so I think..
Friday, December 3
Juiceless
to the exhausted,
'Juice' has a variety of dirty meanings, none of which I will reference any further than this point. If the title had been related to those dirty meanings, then this post would have been more appropriately named 'Juiceless & Happy'. But as it is, it is more like 'Juiceless & Even-Keeled' or 'Juiceless & Eh..' or 'Juiceless & I-could-go-for-some-lunch,-but-I'm-not-all-that-hungry.'
--
My first memory of 'juice' being anything other than fresh-squeezed* and pulpless** was when my older brother first described to me the intricacies of sports betting. In most sporting contests, there's a favorite and an underdog. If given even odds (1:1), most people would bet on the favorite and would therefore win more than 50% of the time. Bet enough money (or cycle your cash enough times), and you wouldn't have to work.
This would, however, bankrupt sportsbooks and bookies. So somewhere down the line, someone invented the idea of a spread, where you give points to the underdog to make it fair. In theory, the number of points or 'line' should match the final score. A line (or spread) might read 'New England vs Houston, Houston +5' which would mean that if you bet on Houston, you get 5 points toward the final score: NE 20 - Hou 21(26 with spread), win; NE 20 - Hou 14(19 with spread), loss; NE 20 - Hou 17(22 with spread), WIN. In the last case NE wins, but 'did not cover the spread'. A few years back in their nearly undefeated season, NE was crushing opponents, covering all kinds of ridiculous spreads like -14 (when you bet on the favorite, points are taken away, which is the same as giving points to the underdog). In football, anything over 6 points is likely a lopsided game.
In actuality, the sportsbooks don't care what the final score is or if the line even comes close to it. What they want is a line that will induce bettors to bet both sides equally, so that in the long run, they'll break even no matter the score. But how do they get their money then? One word: juice. The odds may seem close to 1:1, but it's usually 110:100 against. In order to win $100, you have to bet $110 and the $10 difference is the juice money which makes sportsbooks profitable in the long run.
In order to get even betting on both sides, the line or spread will move to entice future bettors. So if the line was initially Houston +5, and a lot of people like Houston, then the line might decrease to Houston +4.5 and so on until the bets balance out, but at whatever line you place your bet, that's the line you're stuck with.
There was a whole movie called 'Two for the Money' devoted to sportsbooks starring Matthew McConaughey (who shirtless for a good part of the show, which may qualify it as female porn) and Al Pacino. It's a horrible movie, except if you know about sports betting and want to impress a girl while she's mesmerized by a sweaty, ripped Matt. I've never tried, but in theory it should work.
So juice is that little extra bit at the end that might make a whole venture worthwhile when the initial work seemed arduous, awkward, mostly unpleasant***.
--
In non-jargon use, 'juice' usually refers to energy or electricity and the like. And I am wholly drained of all juice at the moment. And I've been drained for the past two weeks. The R&R hasn't spiked my energy or motivation one bit. There was that one Black Friday morning where I waited about 15minutes for my gaming system, but since then it's been all Netflix and shifting around to different parts of the sofa so the ass print doesn't become permanent. All this is actually pretty great, but I am concerned that I haven't grown tired after 2 weeks which is normally the breaking point.
It is like when the non-replaceable battery in my iPod nano gets entirely drained, and I plug it into the USB port of my computer (because it doesn't come with a wall charger****) and for about 5 seconds, nothing happens. Then the white apple with the bite mark comes on (for how much it costs, can't we get a whole apple?), followed by the little flashing green battery icon to which I greet with a sigh of relief.. and shame that I'm an addict to Apple juice*****.
--
*,**,***,***** - okay, I lied about the dirty meanings thing :)
****Seriously Steve Jobs-- $160 and you can't include the wall adapter which costs another $30?
'Juice' has a variety of dirty meanings, none of which I will reference any further than this point. If the title had been related to those dirty meanings, then this post would have been more appropriately named 'Juiceless & Happy'. But as it is, it is more like 'Juiceless & Even-Keeled' or 'Juiceless & Eh..' or 'Juiceless & I-could-go-for-some-lunch,-but-I'm-not-all-that-hungry.'
--
My first memory of 'juice' being anything other than fresh-squeezed* and pulpless** was when my older brother first described to me the intricacies of sports betting. In most sporting contests, there's a favorite and an underdog. If given even odds (1:1), most people would bet on the favorite and would therefore win more than 50% of the time. Bet enough money (or cycle your cash enough times), and you wouldn't have to work.
This would, however, bankrupt sportsbooks and bookies. So somewhere down the line, someone invented the idea of a spread, where you give points to the underdog to make it fair. In theory, the number of points or 'line' should match the final score. A line (or spread) might read 'New England vs Houston, Houston +5' which would mean that if you bet on Houston, you get 5 points toward the final score: NE 20 - Hou 21(26 with spread), win; NE 20 - Hou 14(19 with spread), loss; NE 20 - Hou 17(22 with spread), WIN. In the last case NE wins, but 'did not cover the spread'. A few years back in their nearly undefeated season, NE was crushing opponents, covering all kinds of ridiculous spreads like -14 (when you bet on the favorite, points are taken away, which is the same as giving points to the underdog). In football, anything over 6 points is likely a lopsided game.
In actuality, the sportsbooks don't care what the final score is or if the line even comes close to it. What they want is a line that will induce bettors to bet both sides equally, so that in the long run, they'll break even no matter the score. But how do they get their money then? One word: juice. The odds may seem close to 1:1, but it's usually 110:100 against. In order to win $100, you have to bet $110 and the $10 difference is the juice money which makes sportsbooks profitable in the long run.
In order to get even betting on both sides, the line or spread will move to entice future bettors. So if the line was initially Houston +5, and a lot of people like Houston, then the line might decrease to Houston +4.5 and so on until the bets balance out, but at whatever line you place your bet, that's the line you're stuck with.
There was a whole movie called 'Two for the Money' devoted to sportsbooks starring Matthew McConaughey (who shirtless for a good part of the show, which may qualify it as female porn) and Al Pacino. It's a horrible movie, except if you know about sports betting and want to impress a girl while she's mesmerized by a sweaty, ripped Matt. I've never tried, but in theory it should work.
So juice is that little extra bit at the end that might make a whole venture worthwhile when the initial work seemed arduous, awkward, mostly unpleasant***.
--
In non-jargon use, 'juice' usually refers to energy or electricity and the like. And I am wholly drained of all juice at the moment. And I've been drained for the past two weeks. The R&R hasn't spiked my energy or motivation one bit. There was that one Black Friday morning where I waited about 15minutes for my gaming system, but since then it's been all Netflix and shifting around to different parts of the sofa so the ass print doesn't become permanent. All this is actually pretty great, but I am concerned that I haven't grown tired after 2 weeks which is normally the breaking point.
It is like when the non-replaceable battery in my iPod nano gets entirely drained, and I plug it into the USB port of my computer (because it doesn't come with a wall charger****) and for about 5 seconds, nothing happens. Then the white apple with the bite mark comes on (for how much it costs, can't we get a whole apple?), followed by the little flashing green battery icon to which I greet with a sigh of relief.. and shame that I'm an addict to Apple juice*****.
--
*,**,***,***** - okay, I lied about the dirty meanings thing :)
****Seriously Steve Jobs-- $160 and you can't include the wall adapter which costs another $30?
Tuesday, November 23
Face Down
Smartphone users,
It's hard to imagine that I've only had my Moto Droid (original) smart phone for just under a year. Before that, I was still pimping the Verizon Moto Razr which after 3 years could literally only make 2 calls or 10 text messages before the battery would alert that it was near dead (but would make a ding sound for a day before it would actually die). And just forget about accessing email or the internet on the minuscule pixelated screen, let alone pay Verizon for access to their crappy VZW Navigator program.
And I wasn't going to get into the whole phone craze (maybe just a newer, thinner clamshell), but my uncle kindly commented/insulted that my swag didn't quite match my salary. And so began this unholy tethering of myself to a 3.7 touchscreen device.
For a reasonable price of $200 for the phone and $50/month paid out to my parents on or around the first of the month (they comp my minutes, but not my data plan), I get unlimited internet and email pushed to my phone via Google's relatively seamless system. Which would be great if it hasn't turned me into a email-seeking fiend.
The Droid alerts me to my Gmail messages with a windchime-like noise (I couldn't find a decent copy of the Razr default windchime) and a fluorescent green, blinking LED light in the top right corner. The green, blinking LED light also alerts me to weather alerts, alarms, Facebook stuff, and a variety of other things. Sometimes when I don't see that green light for a few hours, I start to get depressed* and wonder why the world ignores me.
But then I just force the world to pay attention by posting random status updates and updating my blog (sorry for the long absence, but I have my reasons). Or I read Ball Don't Lie or poker articles or check stock quotes. All the while waiting for that little green light to turn on to signify that someone in the ether has initiated contact and wants to talk to me. Pretty sad, I know.
Most of the time, it's just Overstock.com or Southwest.com, but it's still nice to know you're appreciated, even if it's just for your money.
So this morning, when I woke up at 4:30AM to take care of bodily functions, I noticed my favorite green, blinking light sitting on the desk. Though I passed it up the first time, I couldn't resist the second time upon returning from the bathroom: it was nowhere in my line of sight, but the temptation of its sitting there waiting for my response was irresistible.
After two random emails and a few minutes of Facebook newsfeed, I was wide awake and lusting for more contact with the outside world even though I only had 6 hours of sleep after being awake for over 24 hours.
In the subsequent 4 hours, I set up my old DSL modem/ wireless router combo only to learn that AT&T has LoJacked their DSL service to possibly only allow their current hardware to work, saw my parents off the work and harassed them for the new hardware that was sent in the mail, set up the new modem/router device, used up a week's worth of 4-letter words when the 'easy to follow instructions' were easy to follow but just didn't work, got the easy to follow instructions to work after a cooling off period, got on the internet using WiFi instead of PDAnet, forgot my password to my email account because I don't type it anymore since I get my email through my phone, used some more 4-letter words, remembered the password, saw that there were no new messages because I had seen them all on my phone, and finally composed a long-winded blog entry.
And now I think I might go back to sleep with the rising sun, which I'm used to since I work nights. But before I do that, I think I must turn my phone face down so the green light can tempt the wooden desk, which has far more staying power than me**.
--
*Not really, because that would be sad.
**Ever so subtle double entendre :)
Saturday, October 2
Wasting My Time
Procrastinators Non-Anonymous,
There's only a few people I know who aren't major procrastinators. I'm sadly not one of them. And I would bet even they are closet procrastinators and are simply good at putting up a diligent front. Or they're aliens. Yes, either they're closet procrastinators or they're aliens. There's no other logical reasoning. Book it!
However, there is one defense for procrastination: if your problem may go away by itself in the future, then it is logical to put off addressing it now. One application of this is to wait out the common cold. There's no cure anyway, and the doctor to justify a copay will just prescribe some new formulation you could get over the counter anyway (yes, this particular formulation of a decades old antihistamine and decongestant is sooooo much better than Claritin-D or Zyrtec-D). If you can't tell, I have a serious aversion to drug companies.
But for the most part, procrastination is a vice that many of us try to purge ourselves of and frequently end up unsuccessful. But we manage, either by the carrot (incentives) or the stick (punishment). The problem grows fierce when there's no carrot nor stick, as in my case now.
On my work week, I delay everything to my off week because it's direly important that I get enough sleep so I'm alert and focused so I don't make a misfill and get my pants sued off of me. On my off week, I go out carousing and making jolly, killing brain cells and spending 5-10 hours straight reading fine literature. All the while the to-do-list piles up in the corner, ignored the like red-headed step-child, who is soulless and therefore undeserving of love. And then the end of the week arrives, and the bill comes due.
And so here I am scrounging about for Form 4868 to file an income tax extension*, to do more work than is necessary if I had done it right the first time around.
Oh, I'll never change.
--
During school, there were reset switches. Let me explain: When making the most of life not studying for a test, the elapsed time until the test doesn't change. The test will still be in 2 weeks whether you like it or not. And I really don't understand why people assumed that I studied all night and day for stuff. I didn't and I don't. It's a gift to guess between A-B-C-D-E a little more than 90% of the time.
So the day before the test like every other super-studious student, I crack open my notes to page 1 of 1,000 and curse the day I was born into this world which has tests and isn't just a whole Montessori-it's-okay-just-try-your-best-you're-all-winners delusion. But my test-taking skills prevail, and the procrastination is reinforced instead of punished: if I can study just a day before a test and still make the same grade, then what is the point of studying in advance. Hate me; you know you want to.
But then the situation is reset: that test is over, and then there's the next one which you have 2 weeks to study for. It's like a 2-player Halo game: when your partner gets to the next checkpoint, you get to go along for the ride even though you hardly did any work. And at the end of the year, there's a giant reset button and you get the summer off to do whatever the hell you please.
--
When you beat the game (grade school & college), however, the resets and checkpoints mostly disappear. That same task you wrote down to clean out your notes and have a huge, purgative bonfire will remain there until you actually complete it. Your dumbbell set stares at you condemningly when you don't work out ('I worked out yesterday!' 'But you didn't work out today...FAIL'). The stuff you said you'd sell on eBay remains unsold. Etc, etc ad nauseam.
Okay, so today, I'm going to listen to some music, reconcile some receipts, and clean out my room. I predict I will complete just 1 out of 3, and that would be the listening to music task.
Queue Default's Wasting My Time.
--
*Not really--the government owes me a fat check every year since they take out 1/3 of my income, and I file my taxes as early as possible so those bastards can't get more interest off of MY money.
There's only a few people I know who aren't major procrastinators. I'm sadly not one of them. And I would bet even they are closet procrastinators and are simply good at putting up a diligent front. Or they're aliens. Yes, either they're closet procrastinators or they're aliens. There's no other logical reasoning. Book it!
However, there is one defense for procrastination: if your problem may go away by itself in the future, then it is logical to put off addressing it now. One application of this is to wait out the common cold. There's no cure anyway, and the doctor to justify a copay will just prescribe some new formulation you could get over the counter anyway (yes, this particular formulation of a decades old antihistamine and decongestant is sooooo much better than Claritin-D or Zyrtec-D). If you can't tell, I have a serious aversion to drug companies.
But for the most part, procrastination is a vice that many of us try to purge ourselves of and frequently end up unsuccessful. But we manage, either by the carrot (incentives) or the stick (punishment). The problem grows fierce when there's no carrot nor stick, as in my case now.
On my work week, I delay everything to my off week because it's direly important that I get enough sleep so I'm alert and focused so I don't make a misfill and get my pants sued off of me. On my off week, I go out carousing and making jolly, killing brain cells and spending 5-10 hours straight reading fine literature. All the while the to-do-list piles up in the corner, ignored the like red-headed step-child, who is soulless and therefore undeserving of love. And then the end of the week arrives, and the bill comes due.
And so here I am scrounging about for Form 4868 to file an income tax extension*, to do more work than is necessary if I had done it right the first time around.
Oh, I'll never change.
--
During school, there were reset switches. Let me explain: When making the most of life not studying for a test, the elapsed time until the test doesn't change. The test will still be in 2 weeks whether you like it or not. And I really don't understand why people assumed that I studied all night and day for stuff. I didn't and I don't. It's a gift to guess between A-B-C-D-E a little more than 90% of the time.
So the day before the test like every other super-studious student, I crack open my notes to page 1 of 1,000 and curse the day I was born into this world which has tests and isn't just a whole Montessori-it's-okay-just-try-your-best-you're-all-winners delusion. But my test-taking skills prevail, and the procrastination is reinforced instead of punished: if I can study just a day before a test and still make the same grade, then what is the point of studying in advance. Hate me; you know you want to.
But then the situation is reset: that test is over, and then there's the next one which you have 2 weeks to study for. It's like a 2-player Halo game: when your partner gets to the next checkpoint, you get to go along for the ride even though you hardly did any work. And at the end of the year, there's a giant reset button and you get the summer off to do whatever the hell you please.
--
When you beat the game (grade school & college), however, the resets and checkpoints mostly disappear. That same task you wrote down to clean out your notes and have a huge, purgative bonfire will remain there until you actually complete it. Your dumbbell set stares at you condemningly when you don't work out ('I worked out yesterday!' 'But you didn't work out today...FAIL'). The stuff you said you'd sell on eBay remains unsold. Etc, etc ad nauseam.
Okay, so today, I'm going to listen to some music, reconcile some receipts, and clean out my room. I predict I will complete just 1 out of 3, and that would be the listening to music task.
Queue Default's Wasting My Time.
--
*Not really--the government owes me a fat check every year since they take out 1/3 of my income, and I file my taxes as early as possible so those bastards can't get more interest off of MY money.
Friday, October 1
Pre-Filled Flu Syr
Dear new techs,
The bad part about working at a brand new store is that you can hardly find a pharmacy technician with any experience. All those AIU, Remington, ITT tech places promising thorough training and career placement have fine print saying jobs aren't guaranteed. The reason being that employers want people with real-world understanding of the job. But when you open in a brand new market, those trade school grads are the ones you can find with some exposure, however minimal.
Though you can find a truly remarkable individual once in a while who ends up being really great but didn't have any experience initially, that is the exception. Experience matters, period.
But luckily for me, the techs at my store have a good attitude towards learning, which is really the most important characteristic in my opinion.
With new techs, you do see some pretty funny situations such as a tech saying that we were out of stock of albuterol MDI ('Dude, there's ProAir, Proventil, or Ventolin...pick one') or ordering Indocin suppositories because that's all that was pulled up in the computer when they typed 'Indocin' (brand for Indomethacin, which we had 10 bottles on the shelf).
But the one that took the cake, which I could see myself doing if I had a brain fart, was this:
I came in one night and noticed that we had low-dose heparin syringes, the kind that they used to clear out or push through medicines in IV lines in hospitals. It's pretty common in hospital pharmacies which usually carry several cases of them. But not in a retail pharmacy--if you have an IV line, you should probably be in a hospital or a long-term care facility. And IV drugs are probably not going to be covered under prescription insurance anyway.
Anyway, I laughed at it, chalking it up to ordering error, which happens a lot. The syringes came in white boxes with about 50 in each. In turn, the 4 white boxes fit inside a large cardboard box, which had the label: BD Pre-Filled Flush Syringes.
My goodness, so that's the reason! BD Pre-Filled Flush Syringes. I guess one of the techs thought that the 'BD Pre-Filled Flu Syr' in the wholesaler catalog was the pre-filled flu syringes that we've been using like warmcakes*.
And we can't return it because it's 'generic', but at least it's cheap. So if you need some flush syringes, get a prescription and then holla at yo boy.
--
*Flu shots haven't exactly been flying off the shelf. Maybe 10/week if that?
The bad part about working at a brand new store is that you can hardly find a pharmacy technician with any experience. All those AIU, Remington, ITT tech places promising thorough training and career placement have fine print saying jobs aren't guaranteed. The reason being that employers want people with real-world understanding of the job. But when you open in a brand new market, those trade school grads are the ones you can find with some exposure, however minimal.
Though you can find a truly remarkable individual once in a while who ends up being really great but didn't have any experience initially, that is the exception. Experience matters, period.
But luckily for me, the techs at my store have a good attitude towards learning, which is really the most important characteristic in my opinion.
With new techs, you do see some pretty funny situations such as a tech saying that we were out of stock of albuterol MDI ('Dude, there's ProAir, Proventil, or Ventolin...pick one') or ordering Indocin suppositories because that's all that was pulled up in the computer when they typed 'Indocin' (brand for Indomethacin, which we had 10 bottles on the shelf).
But the one that took the cake, which I could see myself doing if I had a brain fart, was this:
I came in one night and noticed that we had low-dose heparin syringes, the kind that they used to clear out or push through medicines in IV lines in hospitals. It's pretty common in hospital pharmacies which usually carry several cases of them. But not in a retail pharmacy--if you have an IV line, you should probably be in a hospital or a long-term care facility. And IV drugs are probably not going to be covered under prescription insurance anyway.
Anyway, I laughed at it, chalking it up to ordering error, which happens a lot. The syringes came in white boxes with about 50 in each. In turn, the 4 white boxes fit inside a large cardboard box, which had the label: BD Pre-Filled Flush Syringes.
My goodness, so that's the reason! BD Pre-Filled Flush Syringes. I guess one of the techs thought that the 'BD Pre-Filled Flu Syr' in the wholesaler catalog was the pre-filled flu syringes that we've been using like warmcakes*.
And we can't return it because it's 'generic', but at least it's cheap. So if you need some flush syringes, get a prescription and then holla at yo boy.
--
*Flu shots haven't exactly been flying off the shelf. Maybe 10/week if that?
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