Dreidel Poker

I have a little claim term
I made it out of clay
It’s never dry or rigid
It always bends my way.
 
Oh claim term, claim term, claim term,
I made you out of clay,
And while you’re soft and supple,
Oh Markman I will play!
 
A little bit of Philips,
A Festo case or two,
Will justify the language
Of anything you do.
 
Oh claim term, claim term, claim term,
I made you out of clay,
Claim term, claim term, claim term,
I bend you every day!
 
Tis’ the season for Dreidels!  And where better to spend the Wednesday before the festival of lights begins than at . . . Neal and Jen’s house!  I think they own a candle.  They definitely own poker chips and cards, which pays sufficient tribute to a holiday with customs best known for promoting gambling and pyromania among children.

In fact, “No Limit Texas Dreidel,” a cross between poker and dreidel, is a thing.  And we are playing it tonight. See www.Texasdreidel.com.  So bring your lucky dreidel, a $10 buy-in, and probably some booze or snacks, to [——-], tonight at 8pm.  And RSVP so the Hannans know how much gelt to pick up.  And whether to google “gelt.”

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Millenial Poker

I wanted this to be the beginning of Christmas-themed poker emails. I wanted to do a little online shopping now that the cyber-Monday hype has died down and purportedly discounted prices are back down to their normal third-world abusing levels. But I couldn’t. Because CNN ran this headline in their human-interest section:

“This dinner hack has millennials ditching delivery”

First of all, there are no hacks in life. Anything advertised as a “life hack” or “this one weird old trick” is not a hack or a trick at all. It is either (1) false, or (2) just a simple piece of common knowledge being sold to a deliberately ignorant populace that no longer freely passes knowledge down between generations because it isn’t on instagram.

Secondly, as someone who is technically a millennial by most standards (although there are no precise dates, most sources of authority define a millennial as someone born from 1982 to 2002) I find it offensive that my generation is at least perceived as life-incompetent and unwilling to learn any basic skills unless it is marketed as cheating.

Case and point: the so-called “dinner hack” featured in this article is . . . wait for it . . . cooking. I know what you fellow millenials out there are thinking—No way, isn’t cooking like neo-paleo or something? My BFF’s-roommate’s-cousin totally re-tweets about that. You see, cooking has to be marketed to millenials as a hack or re-discovered old trick, because apparently millenials won’t do anything that their parents or older siblings have heard of, even on pain of starvation.

But simply cooking doesn’t sell enough unnecessary crap to a generation already crippled by student loans and living hand-to-mouth longer into adulthood than at any other. Thus, the powers that be have made cooking into a for-profit service that tells you exactly what ingredients to buy and how to make very simple dishes. I.e., a real-time cookbook for dummies, but one that gently holds your hand while you are cooking and then everybody gets a trophy. The article explains that to millenials, “not knowing whether your meal is going to be successful until after you’ve prepared and cooked it is stressful.” That is an actual quote.

Because apparently, millennials are so coddled that they can’t cope with the possibility of a single failure of any kind, even for a few minutes. I guess it distracts them from their cyber-bullying.

If you have a millenial in your family who already has a closet full of hipster clothes and the latest electronics of every kind, you can holiday gift them a subscription to this service, along with the corresponding pre-cooked meats, pre-chopped vegetables, pre-shredded cheeses, and pre-mixed spices delivered to their door each week. Along with their trophy.

I may be a millennial, but I do not subscribe to the spoon-fed everybody-gets-a-trophy philosophy invented by our late baby-boomer and early Gen-X parents. Tonight at poker, it will be winner-take-all. That’s right, you can still buy in as many times as you want, but only one person is leaving with all the monies. And everyone else can just suck it up. And walk home in the rain. No uber. Because life. Start time 8pm, at [——–]. Bring vodka and skittles. I mean beer. Heavy beer. Yeah.

And RSVP because I get really stressed out when I’m not sure whether poker will be successful.