...think about the fine line between sensitivity and discrimination?

So, in a particular class today, the professor was describing the course with special emphasis on its difficulty. Mostly this was to drive the non-majors and first year masters away. The prof made special note of the fact that it was language heavy. Fine. After people got weeded out, the class consisted of a bunch of native English speakers (including a canadian), and an asian girl. After weekly assignments were handed out, the prof, noting that the girl might have difficulty for language reasons (English, not theory) with a harder or longer entry this week, switched assignments with someone else. This is the same girl that he gave a 5 minute speech about how qualified she was as a theorist.

I have no doubt in my mind that the prof had nothing but thoughts of making the girl as comfortable as possible in order to ease her in or whatever and the girl thanked the prof for thinking of it. However, it struck me that the same thing could be taken as highly insulting. This is a qualified theorist being reassigned based on the fact that english is her second language under the assumption that she might not be able to handle it. This is not how it went down but there's a fine fine line between being accomodaring (as this prof was being) and being insulting.

Also, between love and a waste of time.

...think about your best year?

Breighan, Laura and I were talking about returning to an earlier year of our lives to live forever in. I think mine is a toss-up between being 12 and being a college freshman. They are both kind of similar. No real work, food is abundant, free, and cooked by someone else. I think the trade off is I got to play a lot more basketball when I was 12. But as a college freshman, I got to have sex. I'm not really sure which I was better at...though I was pretty good at basketball. What year would you be happy reliving? By the way, if you're also reliving 12, you wanna play some one-on-one? Actually, if you're reliving college, I might ask the same question!

...face up to your boss?

As he saw Kate walking toward him, something in Sean's head screamed "run! run!" Since Sean didn't really know if Frank was onto him or not, Sean didn't want to risk anymore cheating until he found out. As Kate sat down, he gave her the strongest level of warning signals that his new friends had taught him. "Why hello," Sean beamed, "I have a really good feeling about you! I think you're going to do very well today!" Although most people would view this as a positive, Kate knew that this was the sign for trouble. Not "I have a bad feeling" or "right here in River City" kind of trouble but "you only get one phone call, and I suggest you call your lawyer" trouble. Kate played a few hands (legitimately) and left the table.

After Sean's shift, he went into Frank's office and shut the door as he was told. Sean figured that he would be able to read Frank before he started. Would Frank look mad? Or excited to give out a promotion? No, Frank looked, well, smug.

"Sean Sean Sean..." Whatever Frank was up to, he wanted to make it last as long as possible. It seemed that repeating Sean's name had such an effect. "You know, according to some recent studies, almost 70% of dealers in a strip casino will at one time or another be approached about cheating. Typically it happens while the dealer is fairly new at the casino and is not terribly attached to the company. Of those 70%, about 20% decide to go ahead and cheat. Of those 20%, we estimate that 85% eventually get caught. Have you ever seen the movie Casino, Sean?"

Sean nodded. He figured that if he didn't open his mouth, he would reduce the chance of actually throwing up right in Frank's office which was the overwhelming feeling developing in his stomach.

"Well, maybe you remember the opening voice-over. We are reminded that the pit boss' job isn't only to look after the gamblers, but at the dealers as well. So, part of my job is to make sure the 14% of my dealers that do get approached and decide to cheat, become part of the 85% that get caught. Do you see what I'm getting at...doc?"

"I'm not sure I do."

"Maybe it's all this math that's confusing you. A big part of my job is to report any dealers that are committing illegal actions in my casino. In fact, as incentive to do this, we get a bonus of $1500 for any dealer that gets convicted on account of us. Now do you see where I'm going?"

"I think I'm getting it." Sean wondered if jail was anything like Shawshank Redeption. Maybe he could meet a very large man with magical healing powers. Or was that Green Mile? Note to self, check IMDB before going to jail.

"I don't think you are." Frank's lecture voice took a sudden turn. "I want to congratulate you, Sean. Congratulate you on your new promotion to the $500 minimum blackjack table that just opened up."

What? (your author)

"What?" said Sean.

Was? (someone in Germany reading this blog)

"That's right. The eye in the sky reported to me that you might be up to something fishy so I've been watching you. First I thought you were helping somebody cheat. But, now that I think about it, I think that promoting you to the higher limit table will help you....'convince' me otherwise." (Frank used air quotes whenever possible).

Frank eyed the door and Sean took his cue to leave. Even though he was cheating to begin with, he felt a little dirty about being blackmailed for a chunk of his money. He made it back to the agreed upon meeting place to find Kate sitting on a wooden crate in the parking lot beind Caesar's. Jack (formerly "the t-shirt") had not arrived yet.

"So, why the signal? Is everything ok?"

Sean paused. He knew he had to tell her about the promotion. But, what to tell her about Frank? If he told them the truth, would they call everything off? Then not only would he be out the extra money, Frank would still want to be paid off for keeping quiet. Was it right to keep this from them? Maybe they could help with the situation. Sean wondered what Oprah would say the polite thing to do when you are being extorted by your pit boss for helping two strangers cheat on blackjack is.
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Ok, time to vote. Should Sean tell Kate what happened or should he lie? Would they call it off? What if he lied and they found out? What might they do to him? Who knows what kind of people they know. You can be like a staggering percentage of Americans and let other people vote for you or you can.....BLOG YOUR OWN ADVENTURE!!!

...reach 1000 hits?

In it's short history, my blog has struggled to find its identity in a sea of very respectable blogs. Was I to write about the stupid things I think about now and then? Was this a forum to talk about recent social events? Were people itching to blog their own adventures? I think I'm still finding my particular niche but am proud to announce that this blog has reached 1000 hits! Please, spread the word about Sean, Boobs, and the whole gang. Remember my goal: $150k from Google! Together we can make it happen and I'll buy everyone a beer! (A Miller Lite from Arlins....on Tuesday)

...go meet a creepy guy? (pt 2)

NOTE: This is part 2 of this week's story. Please scroll down and read part 1. I split the entries because it was running long. Feel free to read pt 1, go to class, and come back and read pt 2!

"Ok," Sean thought, "there are four people. Maybe it's something obvious. One of them is wearing an NGC hat or something. Maybe it's the woman because no one would expect it." The longer Sean thought, the less interested Kate seemed in whatever she was planning on proposing to him. Sean was thankful he had something to concentrate on because he kept trying to get up the courage to ask, "so, you don't want to sleep with me?" Right before his mind started thinking about sex again...well, right after it finished, Sean noticed the man sitting to the dealer's right. Although everyone else was watching the cards as they got dealt and cheering along, this man kept his eyes fixed on the dealer despite trying to act drunk.

"Position 8." Sean tried to sound nonchalant which is difficult for a man who has spent 5 long minutes trying to figure something out. This didn't really matter because Sean pulls off nonchalant about as well as Katie Holmes pulls off ugly. Sean was promptly led by the wrist out of the casino and into a white SUV just outside the hotel. Sadly, Kate got into the front while Sean found himself next to....well, someone not too much unlike himself. Although he expected a big Italian guy with his chest hanging out and gold chains from Scarface, he found none other than the "I rock Catholic girls" t-shirt from earlier that day. Before Sean could say the most characteristic thing he could think of (hey, what's the deal?), the t-shirt began.

"Here's the deal. Card counters have existed for a long time. Card counting is predicated on the idea that if one can keep track of the cards that have been dealt, they can, over a long period of time obtain an advantage over the house by figuring out more reliable odds based on their hand and the dealer's up-card. In other words, they can take advantage of 3 of the four elements in the game: 1. the cards that have been dealt 2. your current cards 3. the dealer's up-card 4. the dealer's hole card. Mathematically, variance in the dealer's hole card (the unkown) accounts for a loss of money seven percent of the time. Although this seems small, remember that counting cards only gives us a 1.6% advantage over the house. Here's where you come in. If we had a clean dealer who could signal what the relative value of his hole card is to us, we could cut that seven percent down to two percent. So, Sean, all I'm asking you to do is say "Ok," "here we go," and "alright" when your hole card is 1-9, 10-K, or an Ace. You get ten percent of everything we make."

Sean wondered what all his friends would decide he should do if he asked all of them. Last time he did that, it took a week for everyone to answer and he only got 6 opinions, 4 of them anonymous. He didn't have that kind of time. He also didn't think you could get arrested for merely saying "ok" at pre-arranged times. His mind turned to all the people sitting in jail at that very moment for things they didn't think they could get arrested for. And then there was Kate. There was something about that dress that made him think if he could only buy her a drink, maybe he'd have a shot at her. Since he had once again exceeded his window for nonchalance, he simply said "fine."

By 3:30 Thursday afternoon, he thought that he had maybe misunderstood the plan. It was just then he found himself staring at a familiar face that was now framed by a mullet with a t-shirt that read "Don't ya wish your girlfriend was hot like me?" It was time. Trying to keep his hands steady he dealt off cards to the three people to the t-shirt's right, then to the t-shirt, then himself. As he peeked at his hole card he saw a 7. "Here we go" Sean said, trying not to add a wink or a knowing nod. Although there was no way his friend would have stayed on 13 when the dealer had a 9 showing, the new priviledged knowledge of Sean's hidden 7 (making 16), made the t-shirt's decision very easy. Sean pulled another 7 and busted. His new partner has just made $20. 18 if you take off Sean's cut.

The next 36 minutes went beautifully. Sean was impressed at the control his partner had. He would bet small and make stupid moves on purpose just to make it seem like he was losing as much as he was winning. Sean kept his eye out for both his pit boss, Frank and the NGC, just like Kate and his new friend had taught him. Just like that it was over. Sean's stomache battled over the excitement of having made $50 for himself in a half an hour and the nervousness of being caught. That night, while he was eating steak (and not one from the $4 Cici's:Vegas steak buffet), the $50 won out.

By Saturday, the secret hope that his friend wouldn't show up this time was replaced by an anxiousness for his arrival. The day before Sean had made $120 for himself. In fact, it barely even felt like he was doing anything wrong anymore. Today he saw Kate walking towards his table dressed down and looking about as frumpy as a pig on a silk hat. Yeah, it's a pig, but it's still a silk hat. (PS, what's so good about a silk hat?) As he pondered this, he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Frank. "Hey Sean, you have a break in an hour, why don't you come see me before you wander off too far, ok?"

"Sure thing." (It's amazing what $170 in two days can do for your gift for nonchalance). Sean tried to remain calm. Sean sucked at remaining calm. He knew a position had opened up at the $500 mininum table. Was Frank giving him that promotion he had been hinting at? Had Frank spotted him cheating? If he had, why not just arrest him? Maybe he just wanted to feel Sean out or didn't want the PR of one of the casino's dealers being arrested. Sean knew that Frank had to sign off on deposits right when he was scheduled to go on break. He would have a shot then to leave the casino through the back door, escaping Frank. Of course, if he did this and Frank wanted to promote him, he could kiss his job goodbye. If he stayed and Frank was onto him, he could kiss his freedom and possibly his 24 year streak of not rooming with a convicted felon (a streak that, though he had not given much thought to until now, suddenly had great importance to him) goodbye. This decision, he figured, was worth some consideration.

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Ok, go ahead and vote! Meet Frank or try to escape? Remember, if you click "other" you can post under your name without having to sign up. Thanks for reading!

...go meet a creepy guy? (Pt 1)

Just as Sean got up from his table at the end of his shift, his pit boss, Frank, signaled him to come over. This was nothing out of the ordinary as Frank would often talk to him about things he could improve or general chatter about a particular girl sitting at Sean's table. This time Frank put his arm around Sean. "Hey Doc, (Frank's nickname for Sean. Really, Frank's nickname for anyone who had graduated a four year college and was planning to go back for more) I've been noticing you lately. Not bad. You might actually be half decent some day."
Sean didn't really know why Frank's complements always came out like insults. He figured Frank's father had substituted slaps on the back for hugs when Frank was a kid. Note to self: hug my kids a lot.

Sean had more important things to figure out than Frank's childhood. He had a choice to make. His first instinct was to visit the girl. Then, for some reason, he had this overwhelming feeling that he would be smart enough to know after 30 minutes whether or not the guy is worth his time. After all, he could always bail and catch up with the girl by 10:15. This seemed logical.

Binion's Casino is the epitomy of classic Vegas. Founded by Benny Binion, an authentic Texas gambler, it has, among other claims to fame, hosted the very first World Series of Poker and every one since until this past year. Unlike the strip casinos that attract families, sorority spring break trips, and senior church group road trips, Binion's downtown was for the gamblers. It had all the glamour of a baked potato. This is where Sean found himself. Fortunately for him, it was a Wednesday night and the cab ride over only took him about 10 mintues. That gave him 20 minutes to decide if this guy was worth missing his chance with Boobs.

When most people walk into a casino, one of the first things they notice is the noise. The slots ringing, the chips clicking, the craps game cheering. After 9 months of dealing, Sean no longer noticed these things. What Sean did notice was that the blue button down short sleeve shirt the man from his table was wearing was now covered by a black blazar with a name tag on it and that the man in that blazar caught the eye of a man in an identical blazar across the room as soon as Sean walked in. Sean suddenly became nervous. If a man off the street asks you to do something illegal and you say no, that's about the end of it. But this looked like an employee. When some higher up at a different casino asked you to do something illegal and you say no, they have a tendency to not want you around Vegas anymore. They also have means to accomplish that.


"Right on time, that's good," said Jimmy whose smiling, although intended to put Sean at ease, seemed to have the opposite effect.

"I didn't realize you worked....are you allowed to gamble at other casinos if you work here?" Sean had interupted what he realized was a dumb question in order to ask an unintentionally accusatory question. Sean's sudden panic must have spread across his face because Jimmy said, "don't worry kid, you can turn me in to the boss later, right now I have a simple question for you. I know you probably don't make a ton of money working over there at the Flamingo. Kids like you in Vegas need some money to throw around. Instead of that crap you make over there, how would you like..."

Sean panicked. If he didn't hear Jimmy's scam, he couldn't get in trouble. He didn't care how much money he would make or how easy it would be to bring one little backpack across the Mexican border a month. This was not for him. He loved making $5.25 an hour plus tips. He loved hoping someone would tip him big so he could rent a movie that week. In his haste, however, all he could interupt Jimmy with was, "WAIT, I LOVE MOVIES!"

"What, kid?"

"I'm sorry....I mean...I don't want to hear your plan. I just want to go. Please, I haven't heard anything important. I won't even remember your name. Just...I want to go."

"Kid, you ok? What plan? I know you don't make a lot over there and I like your style so I thought you might be interested in working here for $5.75. I guess they really treat you good over there."

Note to self: stop watching Ocean's Eleven.

One of the most remarkable things about the male mind is its ability to switch over to thinking about sex once any other important stimulus has been removed such as illegal propositions by creepy men named Jimmy. When there is an actually possibility of sex, not only does the time it takes to switch get halved, but it never really leaves. The reason I mention is that Sean didn't really remember saying goodbye. leaving, opr hailing a cab, but he found himself seatbeltless in a cab hurtling towards Bally's and being driven by someone who he had apparantely offered an extra 20 to if he got Sean there by 10.

Have I mentioned the thing about walking into a casino? Yeah, that again. This time Sean's attention was focused somewhat differently. Boobs had ditched the tank and skirt for a simple black dress that screamed "If you buy me a drink I might pretend you have a shot with me....but you won't." Sean sat down next to her at the bar. SHe waited the appropriate 3 seconds to turn around an acknowledge him. Long enough to indicate she was only turning around for her own benefit, not his; short enough so as not to be obnoxious about the whole thing.

"I'm Kate," Kate said, more matter-of-factly than flirty. (whew! no more calling people "Boobs!" Well, at least until Sean meets Bob Cockinson.)

"Sean." Very good, the fewer words the better.

"So, over on Blackjack 12 over there, there are four people playing, three men and a woman. One of them works for the NGC (Nevada Gaming Commission). Which one is it?"

"What? How should I....are you serious? I was just thinking that we..."

Kate made a move to get up and leave. "I made a mistake, I'm sorry."

Sean realized that Kate might be offering something other than another easy night in Vegas. Since his male ego already regretted how he had acted with Jimmy, he was not going to chicken out again. Instead, he focused in on Blackjack table 12.

...think about what "dating' really means?

I recently have developed a theory about categories of romantic relationships. There are 4:
1. Not romantically involved at all (think you and the mailman. Unless you sleep with your mailman. Then you're in category 2. Unless you've married your mailman which puts in category 4. Ok, I'm getting way ahead of myself and am starting to wonder if you get your magazines for free.)

3. (yes, three) In a commited relationship, boyfriend/girlfriend. Love optional. I.e. you've had "the talk" AND call her/him your girlfriend/boyfriend in front of your friends.

4. Married. (you find yourself longing fondly for category 1).

2. Dating. EVERYTHING between 1 and 3. I have saved this for last because it is the crux of my theory.

My contention is that, unless you're truly in a relationship, every situation is slightly different. Maybe it's a roomate's friend that you habitually hook up with. Maybe it's a girl you see every weekend and expect to end up in a cat 3 situation. Maybe it's someone you go out with every 2 wks and know it's not leading anywhere but are having fun anyway. They're basically all the same, aren't they? They're not your buddy but they're not your boyfriend.

I know what you're thinking. "So, I hook up with one person one night, and all of a sudden we're dating?" Absolutely not. The habitual nature is what moves you into cat 2. If it's just one time, there is a window where a second and third time can move you into a new catergory. Once that window has elapsed, you're safely in 1. First dates retain that same window. As someone has remarked recently, the term "dating", present participle, implies current and continued activity.

Why is this important? Next time someone asks if you and that guy you make out with every weekend are dating, you can confidently say, "yes, Brian and I are dating." Without feeling like you've just committed yourself or needing to explain all the details of your particular situation. Besides, they didn't want to know details, just whether I'm still on the market. Theorists are a hot commodity these days. Get 'em while they're single!!!