1620 on the AM dial

There’s a little AM radio station in town, KENC, that broadcasts at 100 milliwatts. That kind of power covers about ten square blocks in town. I start to lose it by the time I cross the river and make for the home stretch. But recently, this little station made some big noise.

KENC is non-profit and operated by Ken Cartwright, a resident luthier, music promoter and shopkeeper, among other things. Ken is extremely civic-minded and has the radio station as a community service. It is mostly a one-person operation, and most of the music is run off of his iTunes program; yet he does a live show in the morning and other folks have their own programs of music, story telling and the like. Real down-home.

A few months ago, Ken was married over the radio, meaning that the ceremony was broadcast live in town and on his internet feed. This event was picked up as a news item, and the story was run in the Portland newspaper, “The Oregonian.” Whether or not it was this publicity that set the FCC to come a-callin’ is anyone’s guess. But come they did, and, from what my luddite mind can glean, shut KENC down over the length of a cable to the transmitter. More news was made. A ruckus ensued, letters were written, and milliwatt station operators across the country held their breath.

To make a long story short, and because I am not doing any fact-checking, a couple days before Christmas, Ken received word from the FCC that they were dropping the case against KENC, and he’s back on the air.

A fair amount of the music on KENC is old-timey country and bluegrass, a bit of gospel, doo-wop, and other music folks pushing sixty or yearning for a simpler time would enjoy. I guess I fit in there somewhere for I’m streaming to it as I write this. Here’s the link.

The big news today is the temperature outside. The thermometer reads 71°F, a good fifteen degrees higher than what the prognosticators are still pushing late in the day. Yeah, I know, the rest of the country to the east is in a deep freeze. If it makes you feel any better, the clouds are sitting on the treetops.

Four eggs from the ducks this morning. Two blue and two white. The Ancona (blue) is molting, so I know she’s not putting out. That means the Magpies (white) and two of the older Runners are doing overtime. If memory serves, the same thing happened last year during a warm spell. We now have enough eggs to share with friends.

That’s about it. I mean, there’s more, like the dead squirrel, white fur of its belly up at the head of a curve on the way to town. A tuxedo cat that’s been lying for several days by the side of the road toward the middle of that same bend. There’s fog on the river. The client I had through November seems to have moved on. All stuff not worth belaboring; not here, anyway.

The little ‘puter down in the corner of my screen, usually more than willing to offer advice or performing some sort of transformative dance, is just standing there, sometimes looking at me, otherwise turned to see what I’m writing. I believe he received word from HQ to not waste his time, as I tend to ignore all suggestions. Yeah, I know it’s a f’in’ frag! Agreement? Phooey!

Now I’ve pissed him off. He’s looking away from both me and the screen. OK, OK, the screen and me. He won’t stay mad long.

There is one thing: I’m still working on that art project, the one for “charity.” Here’s the deal:

A local gallery has recruited 100 artists to do something with this here can.

That's the inside of the gallery behind the can. The galley owner's hand, I assume. We’re supposed to transform (recycle) it into art, bring it to her gallery for a big to-do next month, and the proceeds from the sales of those art pieces will go to the local food pantry.

The can has a single dry bean sealed inside. It makes the noise that one bean in a big can would make. Not the same noise all of the time, mind you, depending, of course, on how the can gets moved. And the can itself it capable of producing varied sounds as well, again, depending on how it is struck. Canned music.

“RawCan” is the name of the CD I recorded of these sounds. There are nine tracks in total. Some are minimal, some are polyrhythmic. If I figure out how to embed mp3s into my blog, I will provide a couple samples in the near future. In the meantime, I will provide you with the jewel case art.

The image on the right is the cover. The printed photo is folded in half so that the image on the left is the inside cover. Get it? Can on the can? Yuk yuk.

I asked first. I explained what I wanted to do as well as I could to the nice clerk. She said, "Be prepared to get some strange looks," to which I replied, "I am used to it."

Cowboys

I was playing 6-handed PLO with a couple of them last night. The guy to my left was Mr. Variance himself, up and down. never mind his nick was "tightpoker1." The other was a relative newcomer to the table, and had just taken down a big pot (all-in on flop) by hitting runner-runner 8s to boat with pocket Kings against a flopped straight. This game can be sick, but when you see someone get lucky like that, you salivate and wait. The next hand seemed to be one that had promise.

PokerStars Pot-Limit Omaha, $0.05 BB (6 handed) - Poker-Stars Converter Tool from FlopTurnRiver.com

SB ($12.48) (runner-runner guy)
BB ($2.32)
Hero (UTG) ($13.51)
MP ($18.77) (Mr. Variance is not quite even for the time I've been at the table)
CO ($4.69)
Button ($4.21)

Preflop: Hero is UTG with 8, A, 5, A

Hero bets $0.17, MP calls $0.17, 2 folds, SB raises to $0.73, BB calls $0.68, Hero calls $0.56, MP raises to $3.65, SB calls $2.92, 1 fold, Hero raises to $13.51 (All-In), MP calls $9.86, SB calls $8.83 (All-In)

I'm not crazy about my hand, but given my opponents, I figured I had a small edge with the Aces and the one suit. I would have been content to see the flop had the SB flatted, but it soon became clear that all-in or fold were my only two options. (BTW, the BB, although folding after the SB's re-re-raise, was also a bit wild.)


Flop: ($40.23) 10, Q, 6 (3 players, 2 all-in)

Of course, I'm calling for another club at this point. CK?

Turn: ($40.23) K (3 players, 2 all-in)

River: ($40.23) K (3 players, 2 all-in)

Total pot: $40.23 | Rake: $2

Main pot: $38.17 between SB, Hero and MP, won by SB

Side pot 1: $2.06 between Hero and MP, won by MP

Results:

SB had J, 10, Q, K (full house, Kings over Queens).

Hero had 8, A, 5, A (two pair, Aces and Kings).

MP had A, 2, J, 10 (straight, Ace high).

Outcome: SB won $36.27, MP won $1.96

Runner-runner again. I'm behind on the flop, but only by 3%. Mind you, I don't consider this a bad beat. Even though Hwang says the Aces have the edge in such a situation, I can't say that I am entirely comfortable with such an assessment. Still, should I have folded when the SB re-re-raised? Given what I had seen so far, I'm not so sure, even with the inside weakness of my hand (the 8d).

What strikes me about the hand afterward is what cards the others held and what flopped. A lot of the Broadway cards were already out, yet more managed to show up. Yet, there is a lingering uncanniness about this hand overall. 3-way all-in preflops are a rarity, even in a wild game like this one, but I've seen worse hands than the winner take down huge pots. I guess I have to chalk it up to PLO... and perhaps tighten up a bit more.

…

Two eggs this morning. Three eggs yesterday. Two the day before and one before that. A lot for the old gals. Omelets this evening, I imagine.

Still, the cost of feed for the birds doesn’t justify keeping them. There’s been discussion, both here at home and the feed store. Home: culling. Store: price.

The folks at the counter expect it from me, the complaints. The young woman, sweet as she is, now just smiles. The older one, the one who looks like an aging hippie, has opinions. Someone’s.

“So what else is new? I’m complaining about the price. It’s gone up 75% in four years. Last year it was blamed on the price of corn, food going to ethanol; but corn prices are in the toilet now and we’re paying a dollar more a bag than we did two months ago. I know the store isn’t getting rich on the feed. And the farmers aren’t either. I wonder who is.”

“The government.” Yep, she said, “The government.”

“How do you figure the government is getting rich offa corn?”

“Well, they’re spending money they don’t have.”

Where to begin?

The way it works

I’m looking to open my heart a bit more, right? It’s easy when I already like someone, right?

I’m at the store to buy a single rose for a photo shoot. No, I ain’t going soft(er). I’ve got this art thing I have to do, and I’m almost done, except I keep thinking that I’m not almost done, that I can add a few elements to the “package” that will make folks want the thing, this thing for charity, charity being part and parcel of this opening the heart exercise. That is, if I was doing it solely as a charitable offering. No, I want the exposure too, so nix the notion.

So, while facing the hypocrisy embedded in my good act, I run across a person whom I mentioned somewhere in this blog before. A nice person, an extrovert of the highest caliber, who talks. She has a big heart, and if I remember correctly, she likes J3 offsuit. So, you see the problem.

Anyway, she knows about the ticker, and funny thing, Thumper is trying to escape at that very moment. She relates her own story, similar to mine, yet with much more detail, which she then ties in to some metaphysics regarding semi-precious stones, rose quartz in particular, and how she is conversant with spirits. She says she will pray for me.

And just like that, Thumper settles down.

First poker game of 2010

It wasn’t the promise of prime rib smoked and cooked to perfection on the Traeger grill. Nor was it University of Oregon versus Ohio State on the forty-some-inch HDTV. R has a pretty nice set up with both appliances, but I have never been a fan of bloody meat or one to care much when it comes to football. In fact, it wasn’t a promise at all that found me to R’s all-day poker event today, but the prospect that I might have repeat performance of last Saturday’s game. Oh, and the camaraderie.

I had been looking forward to this day since the beginning of November. It’s a festive day at R’s, and many of the regulars from the home game make an attempt to be there. I believe he had twenty people attend last year. This year we started off with six.

The low turnout was good news for me, because it meant there would not be a tournament, at least not until more people showed up after the Rose Bowl. We would be playing a cash game for a few hours. Yummy. (Speaking of yummy, for the record, I brought a big salad to share with the group, chock full of baby greens, carrots, radishes and green onions. It was superb, if I do say so myself. The salad and a baked potato suited me fine.)

We started the poker game at a table rather far away from the TV, which was okay with the group because the football game had not yet started. We broke for dinner just before the game was to begin, and watched the opening minutes with plates on our laps. After eating, we took seats at the table right in front of the TV, and it was determined we should maintain the seating arrangement we had pre-game. This put me directly in front of the TV, my back to it, more or less, but with my right ear, my good ear, bombarded with the rather loud audio. Not the best set-up. Yet, since I was the person least interested in the game, it was probably best that I had that seat.

As one might expect, the football game slowed the poker. Not that it mattered for me, for just as it had been at the first table, I remained solidly card dead, and blinded away more than half of my stack over the first four hours. I shit you not. No, I shit you a little. I played one hand and my Ace was out-kicked. I bought in for $80 (.50/1.00), and had dropped down to $32.50. Sheesh. I started mulling over whether I should reload or call it a day.

R’s girlfriend, G, was the dealer, and announced that we would be playing Crazy Pineapple. Dealt three cards, we would decide which one of the three we should throw away after the flop. I was dealt AA6. Now, preflop it is typically a family pot in Crazy Pineapple. This hand was no exception, and from middle position, I chose to limp with the rest. The board was harmless enough, so I bet the pot on the flop, and only Fuck Phil called. The turn was a blank and I took the eleven dollar pot.

Almost a complete orbit later, R says he wants to try O8. I was in the CO with the not-so-promising 8s8hJhKd, yet with another limped family pot, I was in. The flop was 7 9 T rainbow. Nice. It checked around to Santa who bet $2. PF raised to $6, and, of course, I jammed my $37 into the middle.

I need to back up for a minute. When I first walked in the door today, FP greeted me with a raised middle finger. “Well,” I said, “Happy New Year to you too.”

“It took me two hours to win back my money after you left last Saturday.” He was still smarting from the big Omaha hand, poor thing. And now, in O8 I have re-raised him all-in. (Santa hemmed and hawed but eventually folded.) “I’m calling just to see if I can suck out.” He was drawing to and hit a lower straight than my made straight. Yummy. And I was almost even again.

Just for FP, I announced, “I’m going to deal Omaha every time I get the deal for the rest of the night.”

I received another middle finger, and FP retorted, “Then I will sit out. It’s a stupid game.”

The deal never got around to me again, as more people showed up and folks were itching to start a tourney. I did, however, get to limp with 78c from UTG+1 just before the game shut down. Yes, they did get there, and in the last half hour of play, I ended up $10 for the day. Not bad (better than the Ducks), even if I did lose a little hearing in my good ear.