Rake! Give it back!

Poker sites make money from rake. Rake is collected from the pots exchanged by the players. So in theory, if all the players were equal in skill, the casino would eventually have all the money. These days poker sites have to fight for the players, so they offer all kinds of bonuses. One type of bonus is called rakeback, which, through the site's affiliates, ends up as money in the player's pocket. My 40% rakeback deal seems to be paying off.

Games are good at nextpoker.com, I seem to be above the average skill level and can easily handle myself. My goal has been to keep at +-0 level, but I've even managed to cook up a small profit. I've been trying to change my game style to the kind where I make heroic superman-type laydowns, and rather bet for value when I actually have the nuts, or just try to steal pots without showing my cards. And so far it seems to be working quite well. Nerve soothing to know that only +-0 is required and I'll still make a profit from the rakeback.

Dream Squad in Paradise Lost

Finally free. Got the paycheck I've been waiting for the last 3 weeks. Such a huge relief to be free of this financial burden. I think I'll make an appearance at some poker table when I get my affairs in order. It's either that or getting a job. Which is not a totally unpleasant choice, considering my new contacts and chances with the school.

Symphony X and Dream Theater at the Ice Hall yesterday. In my own little world those two bands are listed in the top three. Always. Hearing them on the same stage, one after the other? Fucking mindblowing.

Symphony X, shamefully, had only a small 35 minute window to make an impression on a crowd that hardly knew them. I had the time of my life watching them play their hearts out with the new Paradise Lost album. And then they left. Damned. I wish they'd make a full length show. Russell Allen's voice though? I'm out of words. Godlike? For a regular manatee-sized hairy guy, he sang like only angels can. And the rest of the band? Phew. They played all the songs about one and a half times the normal speed and still didn't have any trouble. Not that the speed matters, but they seemed to have a good time on stage, and that matters to me.

Two years ago Dream Theater was a hopeless disappointment. Now though, after Mr. LaBrie quit making silly vibratonic improvisations on the high notes, and after Mr. Rudess pulled his roehmy back into his pants, I finally understand what the name "Dream Theater" is all about. Falling into a dreamy state, where your whole head is 100% focused on processing not only the complex music, but also the audiovisual effects flaring in from every direction. The feeling that they set up (in my mind) was amazing. It was really like watching a silly miniopera. Or a dream theater. However you want to put it. Amazing anyway. Oh yeah, and they started their gig with the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey. That's the kind of humour I like to see from Dream Theater. I'm glad as hell they got over their rock-bottom called Octavarium.

What could've made this time different from the last was our seating arrangement. Dream Theater definitely isn't a band to be listened to standing up. The Tekken and I, contrary to the last time, had good seats and were both able to concentrate on the important stuff. Not, for example, trying to keep a black haired kid from swinging his whiplash hairdo out of our collective faces.

I got an impressive rakeback deal for the OnGame Network, which supposedly would have more of these "unlucky" poker players. I've been on break for two weeks now and I'd definitely like to give my honed skills a try in the old crowd. Perhaps I'll leave FullTilt for the pros.

The Ice Queen of Iguana had no idea. Ms. Eeyore joined me and public for the regular pizza cruise. As if the coughing Astra wasn't enough of a spectacle, Ms. Eeyore probably had the time of her life watching, as two age old friends babbled on about stuff no outsider could nor should understand. Poor lady.

Oh yeah. I asked public to make a comic out of my rants. See how that turns out. He's a lazy bastard, so I gotta kick him about this.

And finally, an old video I bumped into on IRC.. Check out Kiwi!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sdUUx5FdySs

The truth about bees and honey

Quoting the whiny and syrupy love song, (and fair enough, an excellent one at that) "Another rainy night" from Queensrÿche would be in order at this time. I had this whole barrel of angst cooked up against women in general, but I realized my protest wasn't actually against women, but the thing women bring out in men: relationships. Think about it. What are relationships really about? And I'm looking for the most sincere sense of the word. Rip it apart, wipe off the extra and what you'll have left is this: lying. For sex. You have a few laughs with a woman, sure. Between the times she doesn't try bossing you around to be her bitch, that is. What are you really haggling at with all those cute gestures and playing nicenice? Yep, you got it. Sex.

At this point I usually get someone whining about the joys of a long term relationship. Bullshit. What could be more agonizing than the sight of the same, at this point probably fat, face convincing you not to leave her, because her virility will eventually return some day? And while not having sex with you, she makes sure to deny you an evening of beers and movies with your mates. The male ones. Nope, the broad would have to walk. So I wrote a couple of ground rules regarding this whole dating business:

• Manatees should be condemned.

• Post-manatees should be condemned.

• People with a defect in the self-respect department, yep, condemned.

• Women with an overly possessive obsession over their guy. Condemn with a big C.

• People obsessing over getting themselves a boy-/girlfriend and then settling for some half-witted substitute, should be obligated to fall into a pit of piranhas.

• If your boy-/girlfriend is using you as a doormat, you probably deserve it. You have simply failed.

• If you pick up an idiot from the dance floor of a night club, after getting hell drunk and rupturing your scuba gear, the suicidal feeling and STD the next morning are your fault.

Let me catch even one of you in a crappy relationship after these, frankly industry leading, dating instructions, I only have one thing to say to you. Epic fail.

www.youfail.org

The hills are alive with the sound of absinthe

I just had a conversation with my parents that lasted for over AN HOUR and we didn't get into a fight. If you'd have any idea who my parents are, you'd agree, that's a mighty achievement. Leaving from my parents' place though, caught me in a web of parties around the Espoo-Helsinki area. First from the Space Street birthday party up to Lönrootinkatu (my regards to Ms. Eeyore). From Valdemar's place back to Espoo. Making, of course, the necessary detours through Töölö, to get the proper ingredients for a proper party. These including a bottle of 85% Absinthe. Makes people go wild, that stuff. My hat's off to our dear Captain, for having the utter patience to stay sober, AND drive a car for the whole bloody night.

The public pedometer and the rainy jedi drank themselves silly. They had their heads stuck on the "must-hit-on-woman"-setting, which wasn't great news for the only single lady in the house. Well, I guess Absinthe doesn't work wonders with everyone. I heard it makes your head spin in ways no other type of liquor can, and that you can't get as messed up with anything else. Well what do you bloody well expect? It's 85% alcohol, you dimwits. You don't need an absinth derived magic potion to get brutally drunk if the liquid consists of mostly pure alcohol.

Anyways. I ended up at Ms. Eeyore's place again. Which is kinda cute. Waking up dead tired, two sundays in a row, because of staying up all night with a girl, sounds pretty damn manly. I mean, hours and hours of hot sweaty sex, in the morning moonlit bed chambers of a girl you hardly know, after a night of partying, does sound like a great way to spend a weekend.

Yeah. Too bad none of it really happened, though. We did have a great time getting to know each other. Not shagging, but talking about everything under the sun, and some things from not so much under the sun. Then a couple hours sleep, watching a load of Scrubs-episodes and back to dining with my parents. Not a habit I'd like to keep up, mind you. I don't want to be at my parents' place the day they decide to get a nervous breakdown and use me as a firewall.

I don't want to sound like a flower boy from some pot-saturated meeting for rasta-headed vegans. But with this inner warmth thing, when feelings that you thought were buried years ago start awakening, it's getting pretty fucking hard to uphold my usual tone of bitter cynicism. Even with my angst for women still being much the same, I wouldn't mind sacrificing my night's sleep to watch Scrubs with the little lady again.

Oh it's all so beautiful. *Dances in a field of floating roses* .. Ach bollocks. I think I'll jump in front of a train.

Ralph and Mjoetoeh's excellent adventure

Like the true achiever I am, I didn't make it to the 12 o'clock lecture. I tried to resolve the issue by sitting in the library for the whole Friday soaking myself in stock investment literature. It surprised me to learn, that most of the personality traits common to successful stock investors, were familiar to me from my poker games. Nerves of ice, check. Reading people and interested in psychology, check. Don't mind taking a few hits if it means a big score in the long run, check. Risk taker, strategical mind, all were mentioned. Even the fact that many of these serious investors had a skill in card games. My motivation for making a presence in this area is evergrowing. I knew I had some sort of mindset for this stuff, but to read an exact description of myself was quite exciting.

... But I found a more interesting use for my time, when the captain gave a shout about his '88 VAG-product. New spark plugs? Sure, I'd give it a whack. I had to unload my adjustment and mechanicalizing needs anyways. Removing a carburettor, replacing a rusty old pipe and modifying spark plugs so they'd fit. Exactly the type of thing I was looking for in a Friday evening. Took us a couple of hours to get it running, but I guess it was worth the hassle to see Haddock as pleased as he was to have the Golf purr like a kitten again.

Then we headed for Mr. Str33n's place. I was supposed to bring two ladies with me so we could all talk rubbish and enjoy a bottle of wine, but I ended up taking a small hairy man with an affection for whisky. And he was driving. So that worked out almost as planned. But the board game, Risk, was cool. I'm trying to not sound like a huge nerd, playing board games with two guys on a Friday evening, but it's bloody hard not to. So Risk is the game where you try to take over the world with small plastic men.

I had a rough time getting started, and so did Haddock. We were getting run over by Mr. Str33n by his sheer experience. I realized, with the way things were going, that I wasn't gonna survive this. So I bought some time by dealing with the captain and got him to turn against threethree. Pounded to the ground, he asked if I'd like to make a deal. I thought about it for a while and agreed. I'd give him Africa and he'd withdraw from Asia.

I've never been good with treaties, though. I decided to make a gamble and try to establish a force in Africa AND get Asia for myself. If it woulda worked, it would've meant victory for me. Cards didn't work out and the dice didn't play my way, so I didn't get my reinforcements, causing a huge delay in my plan. We had to quit at that time anyways, it was quite late.

An incredibly versatile game considering what it's comprised of: three blokes, a bottle of wine and dice.

Dollars, fools and eggmen

Thought up a brilliant scheme of turning cheap dollars into a lot of euros. Also thought up a few stock investment strategies. If I'd only have some capital to operate on. Can't really make a huge riskfree buck with my funds.

I guess it's back to studying finance and investment. I'm gonna wreak havoc on the stock market after I build a bankroll.

Listening to Opeth with the volume knob turned up to eleven really does relieve tension in the upper neck.

Ice queens, diesel and jackhammers

I'm probably not the most sympathetic person on this side of town, but I've cut more slack these past few days, than I have in a long time. Mostly for people working in the customer service business. First to the bartender with a crap attitude and today to the guy at the gas station, who was getting flamed by this drunken loser. I told the bartender to try smiling, or it would be one long night for her. And I told the drunken broad at the gas station to cool it and shared the guy's misfortune. And I felt good inside.

I mean, what the hell is wrong with me? They're the ones who deserve the shit for choosing their occupation.

We had another regular guys' night out with the public pedometer and Mr. 33. Ranting and flaming about women, cars, food, politics and Vesa-Matti Loiri's wife is really therapeutic.

I filled up the Audi's tank. 33 litres said the meter (notice my expert use of spelling), and I thought my budget was about to rip apart. But it was diesel, the fuel of kings, and it cost me only 33 euro. I rocketed off with my 320Nm of torque and smoked a Type-R from the first red light. I also turned my bass-oriented music up to the max and hit my reverse-worn baseball cap on my Tommi's Billet aluminium spoiler.

All this action in the last four days has really destroyed me physically. I feel like a snare drum gone through a gruesome drum solo by a ninth grader trying to be Lars Ulrich. That'll probably be normal to some of you, partying hard for days on end. But what about my head? I'll make a written promise right here: when I find the person who's jackhammered the inside of my head to a bloody senseless pulp, I will make a grade A eye-plucking and skullfucking on the spot. My moral highground over everyone else has been shaken up from so many directions at once, that it's begun to affect the way I think. Horrible. I've just realised I've become a woman and returned to puberty.

Speaking of drumsets, I gotta get me one. This banging on table corners and steering wheel columns is fun for a while. But then it gets to the point, where either it's too painful, because of the bruises, or the lack of different sounds bores you to hell. Besides, I haven't hit a China Crash for years.

I started making this blog public. Comments are welcome and will be ignored as soon as possible.

I'll do it my way

I'll keep this one short. Just enough to get my head into a writing posture so I could finally do some school work.

After partying on Friday with an excessive amount of tequila and a resulting 6 litres of frozen vodka in my icebox, I decided to take the wheel the following evening. Our quest to sing karaoke ended with 3 people hung over with 2h rest (and the captain still sleeping) on a Sunday morning with the car safely parked outside my apartment. So my role as a driver didn't really pay off. I got home and kept warning people about not going to sleep anymore, as it would be impossible to get any sleep the following night. Feeling smug about knowing stuff, I immediately proceeded to go to sleep, which resulted in a coma lasting for about 13h. Granted, I wasn't tired after that, but my head wasn't screwed on quite tight.

Continuing on my quest to sing a goddamn karaoke, I again decided to take the car to a school party, which eventually ended up at Royal Onnela's karaoke side. Finally.

So I sang My Way. Didn't think I could do it, but I did. Aced it, even and chicks digged. I should've packed my bags and heated up the Audi while I was still ahead. But no. I just had to join the others on the dance floor. This url will give a detailed description of what happened next and my resulting angst on the subject. I mean, most of these girls had a boyfriend or a ring around their finger.

http://www.outpostnine.com/editorials/clubbing.html

By the way. Check out the Audi A3 2.0TDI. Monster of a car.

People, their schools and Janne

Suddenly I find my uniqueness as a Janne threatened, as 5 Jannes have popped into the close vicinity of my array of acquaintances. A couple of them are friends who I cleverly disguise with fake names like Zoidberg. But he's more of a crustacean than a Janne anyways, so that's a given. The others are the smaller siblings of girls I've gotten to know. Sure. So they're not single. I can handle that. I've gotten used to girls not being single. But the thing is, they're not single AND they're doing it with a guy named Janne. Gimme a fucking break. Whoever said fate had a sense of irony? Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a B-class romantic comedy starring Hugh Grant. Without Hugh Grant.

I got a lot of flaming from the public flaming department about the url of this page. So I made some more adjustments. I hope someone's listened to Breaking Benjamin, otherwise I'll seem like the dullest chip on the block.

I heard that about 80% of our business class ended up in Helia as a second choice and will probably try switching schools in the spring. Why. Who gives a flying bee's ass what you've studied and what it says on your degree, as long as you get a job that you like and pays the rent. Even that seems a far fetched idea these days, so why strain yourself with an entrance exam that takes 6 months to study for, when you can use that time to study in a school that's easier to get into? Then after you've actually got some sorta degree, you can continue studying for the higher degree. That's what I had in mind, if meanwhile I don't get caught up in some car dealing.

This ranking of people by a hardcore written exam, based only on memorizing a million pages of study material, has got to have its downsides. There's going to be a day when the schools can't quite figure out how they ended up with a room full of idiots, who can only recite passages from their memory. Which is actually why I'm not in a hurry to leave the Helia Polytechnic: teaching and learning with an emphasis on the practical side of things is something I greatly appreciate.

Which brings me to my own inside joke of the day: PBL - PedoBear Learning.

Poker? Well. I realized something last night. My instincts are quite sharp these days, I seem to sense when I'm beat with accuracy that amazes me. I might get bluffed a few times, but just knowing that 70-80% of the time my thinking is correct will give me the confidence to make some huge laydowns in the future. I wish I could play live, I probably could increase that number to about 110% just by looking at the other guy's face. Now to practice some nerves of steel so I can actually make all the folds I know I should..

Airline pilot Lost and not so much Found

I dressed up as an airline captain and headed off to Pasila. Goofy glasses and knee guards for shoulders, I guess I made a decent amount of respect in the dressing up-department that day. I'm quite sure a lady on the bus actually took me for a real captain, which cracked me up. The day really sucked the juice out of me: drinking and walking around Helsinki for almost 10 hours is a good test of patience for anyone. A few Batterys here and there kept us going.

Royal Onnela, roughly translated to the kingdom of great despair, was actually a positive surprise. I got to sing karaoke. And even though my voice cracked up halfway through the song and I couldn't hear a thing I was saying, I got a lady to dance with me and applause at the end. Which was quite cool. What's up with the lady with my hat? Couldn't figure her out. Well, I was dead tired after that day, I slept for like a week afterwards (still asleep!).

What's up with this sudden trend in importing Toyota Supra MKIVs? Saw the Vasmo Motorsport Supra followed by two other Supras last night.. I think I'll live a week off that dump valve sound alone. Why oh why don't they make the damn car anymore..

Alfa Romeo. Whoever had the genius to design a car that has the build quality of a haystack, mechanics and driveability of a donkey, and the appearance and character of something so beautiful. How many times have you talked to an Alfa-male (or Alfa owner) about the faults of his car, only to have him make a smug smile and hear "It's an Alfa Romeo." And worst of all, you agree with him. You don't give a toss about about the fact that the damn car will probably break into pieces every 6 km. You couldn't care less that the cars are front wheel drive or that the V6 in the Brera doesn't really move the heavy hulk. They're Alfas. I gotta get me one.

Think about it. You're at a party and the guys are talking. "I drive a Mercedes", and the guy flashes the lights of his A-Class. The other guy nods "I got a Beamer." and points to his 3-series compact. You don't need to say ANYTHING, because you know that the only thing that people are really looking at is your silvery blue Alfa Romeo 147. .. Which you need the neighbours Mazda6 to jumpstart because the shoddy electrics emptied your battery. But you don't care.

I tried a bit of poker for a change. It's been shit. Running into coinflips all the time, get outdrawn on my 60-80% hands, find myself on the short end of a full house.. I guess I'll keep the break going for a few months so I'll get rid of this tilt. I mean sure, I guess I'm getting sorta unlucky when my percentages don't really hold up. But I'm also finding myself making amazing reads. Which is a good thing. Then I don't trust the reads and pay him off anyway. Which is fucking stupid. Yup, I think a break might be well in demand here.

Using computers 101

Sitting in the lower computer class of Helia puts my mind at work. Mostly because everything the teacher's been talking about up to now has been OFN to me. Creating icons, compressing files.. What the hell am I doing here? I could've slept for another few hours.

Being a total nolife computer geek gives me an advantage in this field, but I had no idea that people actually still exist who DON'T know how to setup a shell account for IRC. Could be a clear signal to get out more, but I'll go with just skipping computer class.

Nordea, your friendly neighbourhood banking service

You make an appointment, you expect the other person to be there, right? You call one of the biggest banks in Finland and make an appointment, you expect them to be there and have a cookie ready for you, correct? Wrong.

When you make it to the appointment, not a minute late I might add, the person you've arranged to meet with is sick. WTF, couldn't they have checked that? Anyway, so you get this replacement to talk with you. At that point you're thinking "Who gives, at least the job gets done." But oh no. The fucking manatee sized degenerate desk assistant doesn't have a CLUE about who, what or when you are. She's never heard of Haaga-Helia. Well, I gotta give her that, It's not everyday you look out the window and see further than the tip of your nose. She believes you would like to do your business in Lauttasaari instead of the office you're currently sitting in and have reserved an appointment in. Using my exemplary amount of patience and diplomat-sized attitude, I made it perfectly clear that I was not about to jump to the other side of town to clear a matter that should take 15 minutes of paperwork. And smiled.

I think the manatee got the hint at this point and started rambling on with the huge stacks of papers. Every now and then she made the dance of the manatee and got up to bump into other manatees, equally confused in their matters. What should've taken 15 minutes of clearing up took 55 minutes of utter confusion. What do these people really get paid for. At least I got the thing done.

So I slept into a bomb, kinda. Shouldn't drink that Dooley's type in the middle of the night, it doesn't really help getting up in the morning. I fired up the old Vento for the last time just so I wouldn't be late. Admirable determination, yes? I pulled up in the Fair Centre's parking lot, it seemed abandoned enough: the gates were open and the guard post stood empty. After three hours of lectures I return to move the car. Suddenly there's a guy taking money from everyone leaving the parking hall. Entrapment! Unfair! I think better of it and move my car back to its post. You probably think the poor VW is still sitting on the roof of that strange parking garage.

Then you have no IDEA of how cunning I get. I made a roundtrip to Helsinki, did some stuff there and returned a couple of hours later to find the guy gone and place abandoned again. Saved myself 5 euro, but I don't think I'll want to drive up to Pasila again. The place is weird for driver types.

Right, made the accidental daily blurt-out of my poque hobby. I hope my image as a (not completely) sane young adult hasn't been completely rendered to a degenerate with a gambler's fallacy. Then again, if it has, I guess I won't have trouble finding easy games at school.. See? I'm thinking like a businessman already.

Not a rant against VW

I'm not intentionally trying to badmouth the VW products. Really. It just so happens that my VW Vento seems to have trouble lowering its driver side window (especially unhandy for trips to the drive-in), and as you must have realized by now, the VW Passat is crap. This latest incident made me bring up the subject again, adding to this seemingly long line of VW supremacy: No other than the captain's own 1987 Golf has just set aground on Highway 3. Avast ye, thar be dinghy remnants dead ahead. I can imagine the scene: the old brownbeard, while violently swearing in oldish sea curses, gathers what's left of his pride and exhaust pipe on the side of the road.

I don't endorse using trains, as I think they're horribly expensive to other than students, but you gotta look on the bright side: at least whiskey is served in the restaurant wagon.

It's damn hard making life easy

When you get this strange bonging sound and your fuel gauge keeps flashing on the part where it says "E", you're bloody well better to take the hint and fill'er up. You do NOT, for example, disregard the noise and use the car for 2 km roundtrips which should've been done on foot anyways.

So my car ran outta gas. Thank goodness for sisters and them owing you favors, I might have accidentally ripped someone's spleen out if I'd had to leave my car on the frickin bus stop only to find it the next day with a parking ticket on the windscreen.

Well, the car's due for retrieval tomorrow anyways. At least I got the fuel business out of the way. You can probably stick this next comment with the others in the "I regret ever saying that"-file, but I'm kinda glad the next car I buy will probably be a quality car which I can afford to keep.

Right. Off to find a torrent for all of the Simpsons seasons and the newest HSP-episode..

Blogs need a theme

My attempt to infiltrate and take over the blogging scene has produced its first bit of feedback: "Your blog should have a goal or theme". I thought about my goals in life, and other than becoming a rich fat bastard who drives Ferraris everyday, my current more realistic goal is to enter a big poker tournament like the EPT by for example, next summer. So I changed titles a bit. And I dunno, making the EPT doesn't seem all that difficult. Staying out of tilt during all these nasty swings is something I'm really focusing on. That and I gotta move my game into a more tournament oriented style to keep up.

I'll try to cook up some sorta starting bankroll and start building on that. It'll take a few months though, I'm really into this school thing right now. Feels like I might even graduate someday. Of course, this could be the alcohol in me talking right now, last night's case of Lost & Found wasn't entirely sober.

Be an airline pilot, they said. You'll get three beautiful stewardesses as escorts, they said. I now gotta figure out a pilot's suit for next wednesday so I can make an entrance with these three ladies at the freshman party of the year. It's supposed to be a costume party and we're supposed to dress up as British tourists. Football hooligans and such. I think this airline spoof might be kickass.

My attempts to remedy my current financial situation have yet been futile. (I do sound like a scifi-movie narrator, don't I) I'm thinking of moving towards bank robbery, jewelry theft or just the regular gold transport heist if nothing comes up. The occasional expedition to the casino has also crossed my mind. I mean, how many 5% beats can you take before statistics start to work for you? But then again, I'm not one of those who can play my A-game without a decent bankroll, so I gotta scrap that plan for now.