Where Do Gamblers Get Money to Gamble?

Q: I gave your book, ALL OR NOTHING, to my girlfriend who enjoyed it too but asked, "Where do gamblers get all of that money to spend gambling?"

A: LOL. Good question. The answer is that they beg, borrow, and steal. I have met gamblers who liquidate their life savings, life insurance, 401Ks, credit cards, college savings funds; I know gamblers who sell their own blood, their fancy cars, rent out rooms in their houses, take out second and third mortgages, blow their inheritances and much more than that. By the way, these are the non-criminal gamblers.

We have all heard stories about the embezzlers and prostitutes of the gambling world--at least the ones who get caught.

But think about a woman or man who remains with a wealthy partner, whom they hate, because he/she provides them with money to gamble. Think about people who stay at a job they hate because it provides them with money (or the flexibility of hours) to gamble.

I know of bus drivers (obviously) who gamble. I know of police officers who gamble. I know of physicians who gamble. And when I say "gamble," I mean that they are addicted gamblers I have met regularly in the casinos and in GA.

Where do they get the money to gamble? Lots of places, but mostly from other people. In fact, if gamblers weren't addicted to gambling, they would make great fundraisers.

I know of a gambler who was down 2k after a night at the machines. He had the usual complaints--he was not going to be able to pay his water bill, he was not going to be able to pay his electricity, he was not going to be able to buy groceries, and so on and so forth. So a few of us got together and helped him out a little bit, and then he contacted some other friends of his, and within a few hours he had collected more than the 2k he needed to pay all of his bills. The next night at the casino he blew another 2k or so and the whole process of begging started over again. The only thing he didn't pay was his bills. His electricity was cut off for like the millionth time and his water too, but he had borrowed 2k to gamble with.

Thanks,

Preston

Let's Say P was real . . .

Q: In your novel ALL OR NOTHING, Let's say P was real. How would his family feel about his nearly confessional novel being published? How do writers and people associated with them cope with the truth in novels? Do the living's feelings and dignity indirectly censor some of the things the author planned to write?

Thanks,

Alexander

A: Good question.

First, go read John Dufresne's excellent creative writing text called THE LIE THAT TELLS A TRUTH, or just sit there and ponder the meaning of that title.

Second, maybe I need to stick my motto on my door and on my bumper sticker so that people will know who I am: "My name is writer. I am the most honest liar you will ever meet."

Third, I would hate it if my family wrote a novel with me in it because they don't know how to lie; therefore, they would depend too much on the truth and end up hurting my feelings and my dignity with their blunt, clumsy, insincere, dishonest honesty.

On the other hand, big fat liar that I am, I write about THEM all the time, and they don't even notice.

One of my great private joys is that the cousin about whom I based "IS RANDY ROBERTS THERE?" (found in CHURCHBOYS AND OTHER SINNERS, Carolina Wren Press, 2003) is a great fan of the story and has no idea it's based on her. Tehehe.

I come from a very close-knit family, even though sometimes we hate each other, and thus there are some books that I cannot (and will not) write until certain people are dead or until I find a lie big enough to conceal their identities while at the same time revealing the truth the work aims to explore.

Fourth, it is indeed a long list of writers who have created works of fiction that have offended the friends and family members who read it and, shock of shocks, who found themselves unfavorably portrayed in it.

Fifth, before my mother passed, she read the manuscript of my forthcoming novel, JESUS BOY, which she enjoyed--I never saw her laugh so much in my life. But she did ask over and over, "Who is Sister Morrisohn in real life? Is it Sister Slade? Sister Bynes? Boy, did Sister Bynes seduce you? I cannot believe that that grown woman make a move on my child!"

And I'm like, "No, ma. I did not sleep with Sister Bynes, OR Sister Slade. This is a fiction, ma. Hahaha."

But you could see in her eyes she didn't believe me. My mother went to her grave wondering which respected sister at our church seduced me when I was 15 or 16.

Sixth, I will tell you again that my novel BOUNCE is autobiographical--just as autobiographical as JESUS BOY and ALL OR NOTHING. The protagonist of BOUNCE is a short, sexy Domincan woman named Cindique. Go figure.

Seventh, I am a gambler and P is a gambler. Thus, I know gambling. It makes me the ideal person to tell P's story, whoever he is. Is P me? Yes, in many ways, but in many ways not.

I was a church boy and Elwyn (from JESUS BOY) is a church boy. Thus, I know church boys. It makes me the ideal person to tell Elwyn's story. Is Elwyn me? Yes, in many ways, but in many ways not.

Eighth, in my next novel, THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO ALEXANDER, I am going to tell the story of my former student Alexander Cherin . . .

Is Alexander me? In that book. he will be.

Thanks,

Preston

Skill or Luck

Q: Is poker a game of skill or luck?

A: Easy answer: Poker is a game of skill.

Note that there are those who make a living playing it every day. It takes skill to be consistently a winner at anything.

Note that at the final table in every major tournament, the same dozen or so names show up again and again. Such a hierarchy of success implies skill, and skill implies that some are better at it than others. Luck creates no hierarchy of success.

Nevertheless, if you sit at any poker table long enough, you will hear the grumbling player: "My cards have gone cold. I haven't hit anything in 2 hours. My seat is bad. Boy, it would be nice to see a few good cards." This implies that a poker player only wins when he/she gets good cards. In other words, a player only wins if he/she is lucky.

Well, this may be true if you are a bad player. If you are a bad player, you need to be lucky to win. You need the right cards to fall your way.

Good players, on the other hand, win with skill. They study the other players at the table and strive to outplay them, out fox them, out think them. Sure, cards are important, but it is more important to know HOW to play those cards.

Here's another way to look at it.

Bad players pay to see cards--they are depending on lucky cards to come and help them win. They think this is what poker is all about.

More often than not, good players pay NOT to see cards. They are so much better than you that realistically the only thing that can beat them is luck--bad luck.

Thanks,

Preston

Thank You, Your Book and Your Blog Saved My Life

Q: I don't really have a question to ask or anything. I just wanted to let you know that your book and your website saved my life.

Last year I was in debt up to my ears due to my gambling. I was in the process of losing my house, my wife, and seriously thinking of suicide. The gambling was so bad that I had to borrow to pay bills and necessities, but then I would end up blowing that money at the casinos. I was at least three months behind on everything including my mortgage.

I joined GA and started working on getting my life back together. I found a copy of your book in the bathroom at GA and asked the guy whose house we were having the meeting at if it was his. He said no. I asked a few other people and they said no. I opened it up and started reading it. I was very depressed, but the book cracked me up. I read the whole thing that night when I got home. I laughed most of the night, but some parts of it I found embarrasing. My wife came over the next day. We were (still are) separated because of my problem and she came over to yell at me about some money I was supposed to send to our son in college, and she saw the book and started reading it. She still yelled at me. But then a few days later she came over and we talked. She was a changed woman after reading your book. She said that the ending of the book had really scared her. She asked me if, like P, I was serioulsy thinking of killing myself, because she wanted me to know that in spite of our problems, she still loved me and thought the kids really needed me as their father in their lives regardless of my gambling.

I admitted to her that I thought about suicide every single day of my life. I told her that's just how it is with gamblers like me. She said that she understood that better now that she had read your book. She became very sad and serious and promised that she would always be there for me to help me though the hard times.

After that, we fought less and she tried her best to understand me. We are still not together, and sadly I did finally lose our house and some other things we owned, but she kept her promise and stood by me through it all. I did not take my own life, and I am well on my way to putting my life together. Life is hard, but life is better.

Your book helped me because it not only was funny and true, but it helped a non-gambler like my wife to understand what kind of creature a gambler is. Like I said, things are not perfect between us, but it is getting better.

I loved your book. It is the truest stuff I have ever heard or seen spoken on the subject of gambling.

Every gambler or everyone who knows a gambler should read your book and your blog; I love the honest advice that you give to gamblers.

A: Brother, thanks for your email. I do not really know how to respond to it except to say that I am proud of you and that I am pulling for you. Your wife is a wonderful person and you should count yourself blessed to have her. Keep on fighting. You will beat this thing.

Thanks,

Preston

Black Jack

Q: Do you know anything about Black Jack? I noticed that there wasn't much about Black Jack in your novel ALL OR NOTHING. I have recently started playing and I was wondering if there is a reason the dealer wins so much. Have you noticed that she hits the great numbers 19, 20, 21 and beats you with them so often that it looks like she is cheating? Do you think they are cheating? I have lost about $2000 so far and I am thinking about giving up the game. I can't seem to win a hand, even the goood hands.

A: Yes, Texas Hold'em is very dear to the protagonist's heart in my novel, but Black Jack, if you recall, is the downfall of his girlfriend C.L. That is the game she cheats at to get thrown out of Las Vegas.

I am no expert on Black Jack, but I have played it enough to know what you are talking about--the dealer's uncanny ability to draw 19, 20, and 21--just when you get a really good hand like a 19 or 20 or 21, creating an unsatisfying "push" or worse yet, a loss, or your part.

But actually, there is a mathematical reason for this tendency to hit great hands on the dealer's part.

What a lot of newcomers to the Black Jack game do not immediately realize is that the Black Jack deck is over-stacked with 10s. Ten is the most commmon card in the deck. In the deck there are more 10s than any other card. What am I talking about?

Take 6, for example. There are 4 sixes per deck: six of diamonds, six of clubs, six of hearts, six of spades. Therefore if the dealer needs a six to beat you, she is unlikely to get it because sixes are rare; or, looked at this way, she only has a one in 52 chance, roughly, of getting it because there are only four of them in the deck.

How many 10s are there in the deck? Answer: 16!

Yes, 16.

See, there are four 10s, four Jacks (counted as 10 points), four queens (counted as 10 points), and four kings counted as 10 points).

So there are 16 chances out of 52 for the dealer who needs a ten to get it.

This also means that when the dealer is showing an ACE, that there is about a little over 30% chance (one in three) that her other card is a ten, a black jack, perfect 21, and that she will beat you.

It follows then, that the dealer showing a 10, likely has another 10 hidden and she may beat you with 20.

And the dealer showing a 9, likely has a hidden 10, which will be a great hand with 19.

And the dealer showing an 8, likely has a hidden 10, which will be an 18.

And so on.

Black Jack is a great game, the only game in the casino that gives the player a slight edge over the house. But if you play it, expect your GOOD hand to be beaten time and again (at least 1 out of 3 times) by the dealer's GREAT hand.

Getting beat like that is just part of the game.

Thanks,

Preston

I May Have to Return to the Casinos

Okay, this precognition thing is getting worse. Or better. I am now beginning to see a way that I can control it. Maybe. I still have no way to figure out what my dreams mean, but the other powers are becoming more manageable.

This morning I went to court--but first I went to the school to drop off materials for the person who would be subbing my class. My court appointment was at a courthouse downtown, so I thought it might be wise to stop off at an ATM and get some cash for parking. Across from the school there was a Walgreens--with an ATM!--but something told me, a voice in my head, don't worry about taking out money--leave it in the bank.

In fact, traffic would not let me get into the lane to get to the Walgreen's. I was forced by the traffic to go through the light and then make a U-turn to get to Walgreen's. Then when I got there, the ATM machine was broken. Okay, so I would buy a pack of gum and ask for $20 back in cash. This plan had problems, too. The woman working the register was new and inexperienced and kept voiding out the transaction. Finally, she got it right and I had my $20 in cash.

I got into my car, running late now because of the delays at the Walgreen's, and realized that the address of the courthouse (though I did not know exactly where it was) was near the downtown campus of my college; in other words, parking for me was free--all I had to do was park in a faculty slot at the college and ride the free people mover over to the courthouse. Duh.

So I parked in a faculty slot and got out of my car--forgetting my cell phone in the car. I was running late, but I never go anywhere without my cellphone. As I ran back to get it, a voice popped into my head again--it said, "Just leave your cellphone in the car. It's not like they're going to let you use it in court. You're going to have to turn it off anyway."

I said to myself, "Yeah, that's true, but I might need it afterwards."

So I got on the elevator to take me back upstairs to the faculty parking, but the elevator went down instead of up. So I had to wait for it to go all the way to the bottom floor before going back up to where my car was parked. More delays. Running late. It was close to 10:00. My court time was 10:00.

Finally, phone in hand, I ran to the people mover, got off at Government Center, entered the courthouse and dropped my keys, belt, and cellphone into the metal detector, picked them up on the other side, got on the elevator, rode it up to the 14th floor, got to another metal detector outside the courtroom and was told by the marshall guarding the door: "No, you can't bring that cellphone in here. No--abosultely, no--electronic devices are allowed in the courtroom."

Crap! I should have listened to that voice in my head. So now what was I going to do? I had 5 minutes before my court appointment. Crap!

I got on the elevator and rode it back to the first floor. I was frantic. I pleaded with the guards down there: "What am I going to do? I need to go to court, but I can't enter the courtroom with a cellphone. Do you guys have lockers or something where I can stash my phone for an hour or two?"

They shook their heads no, some of them cracking smiles. They had seen it all before.

There were two other guards there who were guarding the door to the outside: one was a friendly black man who had welcomed me in upon my arrival; the other was an elderly hispanic man, who spoke very little English--I had overheard him "trying" to direct an English-speaking woman to the restroom in broken English. His English was very poor.

But something told me to talk to him.

So I went to him instead of the friendly black man.

When I got up real close to him, I noticed he had a Honduran flag tattoed on his wrist. Interesting. I was born in Honduras, though I speak absolutely no Spanish. I come from the English-speaking side of the country--I'll explain more in a later blog.

So I went up to this guy and told him my problem.

He nodded his head and told me in broken English: "Go e-next door. Photo e-shop. A girl, a nice girl. Virginia. She will e-hold e-phone for you. Maybe give her some money."

Bingo!

I ran next door to the photo shop beside the courthouse, and the nice girl Virginia was not only nice enough to hold the phone for me, but she refused to take any money.

I ran back inside the courthouse and made it to my appointment, at most, 30 seconds late.

Afterwards, I got my phone from nice girl Virginia. Again I offered money, and again she refused.

I was going to get on the people mover to go retrieve my car, but a voice in my head said: "It is not too far. Walk."

So I walked back to the parking garage.

When I got there, there was a crowd waiting to get on at that end of the people mover. They were not happy. I over head them saying:

"It broke down again."

"This damn thing. I wish they would fix it."

"I need to get to court."

"Maybe we should walk to court. It's not too far."

"This damn machine. They should fix it."

Again, I had listened to the voice in my head and come out AHEAD.

Now if I can only figure out how to do that in the casino.



Thanks,

Preston

A Gambler Dreams

Wow, this new semester is taxing me mightily with work.

I've got tons of papers to grade and I am almost finished with my latest novel, so instead of writing for my usual one hour a day, I have been writing 3 or 4, which leaves me little or no time to blog.

Sorry about that, guys.

Instead of answering emails this time, I am going to post a few weird dreams I have had and maybe you can tell me what they mean . . . maybe they represent winning lotto numbers or something.

When I finish the new book (in the next few days), I will be able to start blogging again with regularity.

____________________________
Dreams

1. I needed money to gamble and my account only had $200 in it, so I went to my youngest son, age 5 or 6 it looked like, and asked him for $400.

He said, "Okay, papa," and hopped on his bike and came back with $400.

When I saw the money, I decided to press my luck and said, "Really, son, I need another $1000."

He said, "Okay, papa," and hopped on his bike and came back with $1000.

When I saw this, I said, "Son, I really need $10,000 . . . is that okay?"

The 5-year old (who in real life is 14) said, "Okay, papa," and hopped on his bike and came back with a bag full of money. $10,000!

So I put the money in my wallet and noticing that he disapeared to use the bathroom, I snuck into his bedroom and took out his bank pass book (which no one uses these days). To my astonishment, his balance read, $300,000,000! My 5-year old was a millionaire.

Now I became very exited.

When he came out of the bathroom, I said to him, "Really, son, I need $100,000."

He said, "Okay, papa," and when he came back from the bank this time, I put the hundred grand in my wallet and headed for my car to go to the casino and gamble.

My wife stopped me at the door.

She said, "Do you not even want to know where he got the money from?"

I hadn't thought about that. "Where?" I said.

She said, "From his father."

"But I am his father."

She said, "No! Tommy is his father, and you don't even care!"

She stormed off loudly weeping and shedding big tears, and I shrugged and headed for my car. Whoever Tommy was, I would deal with that when I came back from the casino. For now it was time to gamble.

2. My father and I were on an island. I think we were stranded there. I was sooooo hungry. Somehow it came to my attention that my father was not as hungry as I was. Somehow I noticed that he was gaining weight despite being stranded on the island along with me. I begged him to tell me his secret.

He refused at first, but finally broke down and told me.

He said, "I learned this trick from years of sailing on the high seas as a merchant marine. Sometimes on the ship, we run out of food for weeks. When there is no other food, we prepare and eat our feces. But you have to do it the right way. Here, let me show you."

He took me to a tree, reached up into its leafy branches, and pulled down a square, brown cake of his feces that had been hidden up there. He handed it to me. It didn't smell so bad, but it felt heavy and solid like a rock in my hands.

"Eat up," he said. "It's not as bad as it looks."

I took a bite. It was nasty. Now inside my mouth felt like it was full of spiderwebs. And there was something crunchy in my mouth, too.

When I looked down at the cake of my father's feces, it was oozing bloody human fingers. I tried to spit it out, but the stuff was sticking to the inside of my mouth. My mouth was oozing blood.

3. I had a dream about my mother, who passed recently, and I don't remember whether she was actually in the dream or whether she was just a ghostlike voice, but she ordered me to read her journal out loud. So I read it out loud. I don't remember what I read, but she shouted very angrily, "No, don't read it in order. Read it backwards in the mirror."

I took it to the mirror and read it out loud backwards.

It read, "Hop home on your one foot, demon day. Hop home on your one foot, demon day."

I said, "Mommy, what does it mean?"

These were the words to a silly tune she used to sing to us, playfully teasing us (her sons), whenever we lost to her at checkers or some other game. I never understood these words, though as a child I used to squeal with delight when she sang them.

"What does it mean?" I pleaded.

She said, "Look in the mirror again."

I looked in the mirror again.

The mirror was cracked.


4. My daughter was in the backyard with my mother-in-law. My daughter, who is now 18, was a toddler of maybe 2 or 3 in the dream. She was wearing a little blue jeans overall dress set and a deep red shirt underneath. My daughter was lying on her back, and my mother-in-law Was trying to teach her how to pee on the grass. I heard my daughter crying pitifully and my mother-in-law shouting commands like "Shame on you," "Do it right now," "You're a big girl now, you should be able to do this."

When I looked between my daughter's legs, she had a big, black, bushy vagina, like an adult woman's vagina, and instead of urine coming out of her, she was dripping white semen.

My first impulse was to run and help her, but I slunk away in shame, hiding my eyes from her nakedness.

When I was safely inside the house, I screamed, "Leave her alone! Leave her alone!"

I listened with all my might, but I didn't hear any sounds coming from outside.

I woke up sobbing and shivering.

5. This one is the most recent. Last night I dreamt I was walking across a mattress upon which slept a large black jungle cat--a panther or something. A voice told me, "Be careful," but too late--I shook the mattress and the large predator awoke and pounced on me. He bit me hard on the hand, and having no other way to fight him, I bit him hard on the head. I don't know how I did it, but I put his entire head into my mouth and bit it, as though he were no bigger than a house cat.

Then I awoke.
___________________

Thanks,

Preston

Money for the Cure

Q: When you came to our class the other day, you mentioned something about gamblers' getting no sympathy. What did you mean? I enjoyed your classroom visit to my Reading class and your novel ALL OR NOTHING. It is the first complete novel I have read in ENGLISH since leaving Haiti four years ago. Studentfan

A: Yes, studentfan, I enjoyed that Saturday session with your Reading class. I was surprised and pleased to see you there because I have you in one of my English classes and you never mentioned that your Reading class was reading the novel. I'm glad you enjoyed the book.

What I meant by that comment was that most people have a certain amount of sympathy for those with serious substance abuse and addiction problems, more sympathy than they have for gamblers. Let me give you an example of what I mean.

Jane: So How's your uncle Mike?

Suszy: Well, you know, his cocaine problem overcame him again. They caught him breaking into a neighbor's house. He's in jail and we're trying to get a lawyer for him and we're trying to get the neighbor to drop the charges. He's really not a bad guy.

Jane: Poor guy. I'll keep him in my prayers.

Suszy: He tries, but he's hooked, you know?

Jane: Yeah. So sad. So how's your cousin Joe?

Suszy: That jerk! I never want to talk to him again. He set me up and borrowed a hundred dollars--he said it was for the rent, but my roommate says she saw him at the casino right after he had borrowed it from me. What a jerk!

Jane: Yeah, what a jerk! You just can't trust a gambler.



Or here's another way to look at it--

If you had to do one of the following, which would it be?

1) Mortgage the house to get your cocaine addicted brother out of jail?

2) Mortgage the house to clear up your gambling brother's finances?



Thanks,

Preston

A Trap for the Pure In Heart

Q: Dear Preston, I haven't been to "the casino" since September 23, 2007.

In January, I filed Chapter 13 bankruptcy, in part because of the credit card debt I ran up by taking cash advances so I could play the slot machines.

Sometimes I get the itch. Sometimes I really want to play "Double Diamond Run," "Cleopatra" or "Hot Flashes," but I've somehow been able to resist. It's been very difficult lately, though. I've been wanting to go so I can win enough money to buy my friend a concert ticket for her birthday. One of my other friends talked me out of it, thankfully. Another friend thinks I should go and see if I can only gamble a "certain amount" and make sure I can't get more by leaving my ATM card at home.

Well, I just finished reading your book.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

S.

A: Thanks for your email, S (named after one of the characters in the novel, LOL), and thanks for reading ALL OR NOTHING. I hope that it helped in some way, though I know that the only “dependable” and “trusted” ways for a gambler to be helped are to seek it professionally from a mental health counselor or to go to GA—and even if you seek help in one of these manners, you will feel the itch for the rest of your life. Sadly, they can teach us how not to scratch, but they can’t teach us how not to itch.

Therefore, the friend who advises you not to return to the casino to “win” money to buy a concert ticket for someone you care about is right. What many fail to understand about us gamblers is that we are usually good people at heart—we have wonderfully generous and altruistic plans for what to do with the money once we win it. We want to save the world with all of that money, and we would, if we could just win it. The casino is a trap for the pure in heart. You go there to win money for a good cause, and instead you become addicted to the most dangerous vice there is: the vice of throwing your money to the winds for enjoyment. If you go to the casino to win money for that concert ticket, you will lose the money for your rent and for other essential things.

I have been a lucky gambler at times. I once went to the casino to win money to help bury a close family friend. Was God watching me? I hit big on the first machine I touched upon entering—I hit more than enough to bury her and then have a few hundred left over. Then as I was waiting for them to review my ID documents and print me the check, I fooled around with another machine, and hit again! This was not so much as the first time, about half as much—but it was still nice. This amount was small enough for them to give it to me in cash without checking my ID, which I did not have because they were still checking it for the big amount I had hit previously and was still waiting to be given the check for. Of course, I put this money back into the machines and hit again! I was on a roll that night. By the time they finally brought me my check, I had won almost as much in smaller increments on random machines. So that was a good night . . .

But the problem is that the few and far between nights like that helped to create in me the twisted logic known as “magical thinking”: i.e., when I need money, instead of working I will go get it from the casino. Thinking like that leads to disaster. I have too many examples of disastrous nights like that, as I am sure you have.

Our habit is not in the making of money or the winning of money—our habit is in the ritual of risking money. Winning encourages us to take more risks (because we incorrectly feel we are lucky); losing encourages us to take more risks (because our financial situation has been destroyed by our habit and we need to get our money back and ironically the only way to get it back is to . . . gamble more and harder).

But you know all of this already, I am sure.

And the friend who tells you to go to the casino to see if you can gamble only a small amount is in gross misunderstanding of your addictive condition. You are trying to see if you can control it . . . but we have already determined that you are a gambler and therefore cannot control it . . . furthermore, did you do anything in the interim to “learn” to control it?

Did you go to GA? Did you seek counseling? No?

So here is your answer: of course, you cannot control it. That is not control talking to you. That is simply the monkey on your back talking. That is your itch begging to be scratched. You will tell yourself any lie to get back into the casino—including, “I want to buy a gift for my friend,” or even worse, “It’s my money and I can do what I want with it.”

LOL

But it is not your money anymore . . . really, it is not. It is NOT your money.

You have already spent all of YOUR money. You are now spending borrowed money—money borrowed to save your life!

Money borrowed from credit cards. Money borrowed (I am sure) from friends. Money borrowed from bankruptcy (a program that, despite its name and connotation, is really a system of consolidating and repaying your debt).

YOUR money has already been spent—you are now spending money that you OWE to other people.

No, by law it is not your money, and you cannot do what you want with it (not legally anyway). But you will gamble anyway . . . we will gamble anyway, because we are gamblers and we are ill. We have the worst kind of illness, a mental illness that tells us lies like “all we need is self-control to stop gambling” and “we will save the world and buy concert tickets for our friends with the money we will win at the casino” and “it’s my money and I can do what I want with it.”

Here is what you need to do:

1) Stay away from the casino forever—get help from a program like GA so that you can stay away from the Dante’s inferno called casino.

2) Find a new kind of thrill. Fall in love. Write a book. Take up sky diving. Here is something you may not have noticed, S. See, now that you are not gambling you have a lot more free time—a lot more—gamblers spend countless HOURS a week in casinos—countless. See, casinos not only steal your money. They steal your life. One hour at a time. When was the last time your played with your children? When was the last time you hung out with an old friend? It steals your time--and time, unlike money, cannot be won back. Suddenly all of your children are grown and they are strangers to you. Suddenly all of your old friends have replaced you with other friends. Like the song says, "Time keeps on ticking, ticking, ticking . . . into the future."

So when you stop gambling you have all of this free time, S, and . . . if you do not fill it up, you WILL eventually end up back in the casino. So why not use that free time to start a business? Help a charity? Do self repairs on the house? Learn to play the piano? Learn a foreign language?

Quitting gambling gives you back your time, so use it, S, or gambling WILL take it back.


Thanks,

Preston

Luck . . . Again

Q: What lucky or coincidental things have happened to you in your life and maybe helped you to write you novel ALL OR NOTHING.

A: Please let this be the last luck/fate question. Please.

I believe in skill, not luck. I do not believe that things are pre-ordained or predestined and will not believe until someone shows me some hard evidence or makes a more convincing argument than any I have heard so far.

That being said . . .

1) At work, my office was the office of novelist James Lee Burke when he taught at my college. People are always saying to me, "What a coincidence. That is the same desk James Lee Burke sat at. You are destined for great things."

2) As concerns poker, I seem to have a lucky seat--seat 3. I have caught seven royal flushes in seat 3. Seat 7 is also lucky for me. I have caught 4 royal flushes in seat 7. In a ten-handed Texas Hold'em or Omaha Hi-lo game, both seat 3 and seat 7 are three seats away from the dealer. As far as I can recall, I have never caught a royal flush in any other seat.

3) I seem to have had a lucky friend. While at the casino in the swamp one night, I was losing my shirt. This guy walked in, sat down at the table, and said to me, "You look like you are having bad luck. I'm gonna give you some luck." Players often joke like that to each other. I few minutes later, I hit a royal flush. It had a nice jackpot attahced to it, so I tipped all of the players at the table as well as the dealer. My new lucky friend said to me, "I brought you luck. You should tip me more than you did the rest of them." I laughed and gave him another hundred.

The very next night, while at the casino up in Broward, I was losing my shirt. The lucky guy I had met down in the swamp came in. He was not seated at my table this time, but at a table next to mine. In fact, we were back to back. I joked ove my shoulder to him, "If you are so lucky, bring me some more luck." He joked back, "I'm doing my best, bro." A few minutes later, I caught another royal flush. When they paid me the jackpot, I tipped everybody at my table and then turned around and tipped my lucky friend, too.

Every time we saw each other, we would joke around about how he brought me luck. It was kind of funny, really. And on nights when he was in the casino, I tended to win. I made note of this . . . coincidence. One night as I was leaving the casino, I found him hanging out in the parking lot. He had lost all of his money, he was afraid to go home to his wife, he had bills to play--blah, blah, blah--typical gambler spiel. What he really wanted was money to gamble with.

I had won a couple hundred that night and so I split it with him, but he said, "I am your good luck, bro. You should give me more money. Give me everything you won because I need it. Then go back inside and use the luck you get from me to win something really big."

This was complete BS, and I knew it, but I had been lucky with him. So I gave him all of my winnings from that night, then went back inside and sat down at the poker table. As I recall it, I could not seem to LOSE a hand that night. Before I knew it, my chips amounted to way more than the $200 or so that I had given him. Then a few hours later I hit a royal flush for about ten grand.

When I saw my lucky friend again a few weeks later, I pulled out a few hundreds and stuck them in his hand. He was suprised because he had not asked me for anything. He said, "What's this for?" I told him about the royal flush I had hit the night I had met him in the parking lot.

We laughed and laughed. "What do you think it means?" he asked.

"Well, I don't believe in luck, so I have no idea what it means," I told him.

And he said, "Well, believe this. I am moving out of town. I got a new job up in New York. I'm leaving tomorrow. Let's see how you do when I'm gone."

I laughed and told him, "I'll do just fine."

We slapped five and I never saw him again. I guess he moved to New York.

I also have never hit another royal flush.

4) After my divorce, I told my mother that I would never marry again. I had just started my new job that week. I had left the public schools for the community college. I was looking forward to making money and being single for the rest of my life. What need had I of marriage? I already had two kids from my ex, and I did not desire any further "marital torment," as I described it to my mother. I meant it. I was adamant about this thing.

The next day at work, my new boss, who, to my delight, seemed to like me very much, asked me to do some extra work (over time, more money!) in the writing lab at our satellite campus in Hialeah. Well, I was going through a divorce and needed the money, so I said, eagerly, "Yes."

So after work, I went to do my part-time night gig at the Hialeah Center, and upon meeting the woman who ran the lab felt a bit of the old lightning bolt. When I got home that night, I told my mother, "I just met the woman I am going to marry."

My mother could only nod her head, smiling at her fickle son.

Fickle, my big fat butt. My wife and I will have been married seventeen years in October.

In one of my many chats with my colleague and fellow writer poet/novelist Geoffrey Philp, I mentioned how I met my wife. I said, "If Elaine hadn't sent me over there, we never would have met."

And he said, "Elaine put me and my wife together too. She was in charge of the labs back then and assigned us to work together."

I forget who our other colleague was, but she overheard us and exclaimed, "Elaine put me and my husband together, too!"

5)

This is the one that makes me sad, but here goes. My mother passed away a year ago.

On the anniversary of her passing, I kept seeing three 7s. I saw them on a license plate. I saw them on a billboard. I saw them painted on the side of a truck. Then I even saw three Zs on something, but the bottom was obscured and the three Zs looked more like three 7s.

That night in the Play-4, the number was 7773, which was mother mother's phone number.

The next night 1972 came up boxed in the Play-4. My brother Anthony, who was not at the funeral and for all intents and purpoes is estranged from the family, was born in 1972.

I told my other brothers about it. It freaked them out.

6) One day I was playing Hold'em, and my cards were bad. Bad. For about three hours I was getting nothing but crappy hole cards. So I said to myself, I don't care what kind of crap I get in the hole, I am going to play the next hand. When I got my next hand, I looked at my hole cards: 2, 9. More crap. But I kept my promise and I played bad cards. The flop came 2, 2, 2. This meant that I now had four 2s, an unbeatable hand. Amazing.

7) I once picked up a hitchhiker during a very bad storm. She was a tall young woman with a dainty umbrella. When she got into my car, she said, "Do you smoke?"

I said, "No."

She said, "Do you get high? You mind if I get high?"

What kind of girl was this? She looked to be maybe 16. She had tattoos and piercings all over her face and arms. Her hair was cut short like a man's. As the rain and wind pelted thec car, I said, "No. I do not get high, and you will not get high in my car, either. Ma'am, would you just tell me where you'd like me to drop you off."

"No problem," she smirked, brushing me off as old school, out of touch, a square, a geezer. "The house is in Opa-Locka. You know where that is, pops?"

"Yes."

I knew where it was. Opa-Locka is not the safest neighborhood in Miami. In fact, it is reputed to be one of the most dangerous. I grew up in Opa-Locka back when it wasn't so bad.

When she gave me the address, I was in for another surprise. It was my old address! This girl lived in my old house.

I told her this, and her attitude changed. She became friendlier, more respectful. I told her which room used to be mine and she said, "That's my room now. Me and my little sister's!"

When we got to her house, the rain had abated, and we were both in for another surprise--she more than I. I spotted a man standing at the open door of her house and asked her who he was. She said, "My dad."

But he looked familiart. A little taller, a little stouter, but the same sleepy eyes and fat cheeks. I told her, "His name is __________ __________, right?"

She said, "Yes! How do you know him?"

"We were in fourth grade together. We sat next to each other in fourth grade."

The tattooed girl said to me as I was getting out of the car to go greet my old buddy, "Don't tell him what I asked you about getting high, okay? Please don't tell him."

I winked at her. It would be our secret.

A Page from the Diary of Fate 2

Man oh man, have I been getting some heat for my blog on luck!

Some emailers are saying "what about my lucky hat?" "What about how I met my wife? If I hadn't been at that party that night . . ." "What about Bob Marley? If he hadn't been a welder on the same job with rising singer Desmond Dekker when Desmond got hit in the eye and couldn't peform that night at the show, he may never have gotten his shot." "What if I had folded that night? I had nothing but 2,7. But I kept it, I did not fold, and the flop came 2,2,2. I won my first million that night because of that good luck."

Let me put it another way. There is no luck that controls things. There is only what we call "luck" after a thing has happened. In short, there is only "what will be will be."

Think of it like this. There are two giant wheels spinning independently of each other. Each wheel has a thousand points of contact. Most of these points of contact have CRAP marked on them. In fact, Only 20 out of a possible 1000 have GOOD STUFF marked on them. If your two wheels spin for you and you get GOOD STUFF on BOTH wheels when they stop, then you win. Most of the time you will get CRAP/CRAP. You will often get CRAP on one wheel and GOOD STUFF on the other. Often you will get GOOD STUFF on one wheel and CRAP on the other. It is very exciting, but you do not win. Close, but no cigar. Sometimes you will get the magical, wonderful, amazing GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. When this happens, we say that you are lucky.

Well, yes. You are lucky because it was your turn to spin when the wheel came to GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. You did not earn it through hard work. It was simply your turn and the wheel was ready to hit. You did not deserve to win it any more than anyone else who had played and lost. You are called "lucky" and you feel as though you have been chosen by the gods, you and only you. But luck only means "what will be will be," not a pre-ordainment. Luck is not a compliment to your talent and skill--it is a comment on what happened.

But you will say, "There were only 20 winners on each wheel out of a thousand. The odds of winning were therefore 400 out of a million, or 1 out of 2,500." Yes the odds were great, and so then luck should mean, "I have no special quality, I am simply the one who spun when the wheel hit. I did nothing to earn this but spin as did all of the others before me."

But we take luck to be a quality attached to the person--he is lucky. We argue Backwards and say, "But who put him in that spot at that time? Who did that? Who made him play on this certain day? Who set the wheels to hit just when he was playing."

We try to make luck a function of preordination. We anthropormorphize luck. Luck is a creature, a sentient being that controls what will be. We make luck a deity, a god.

But luck is not a god. Luck is, actually, the absence of a god.

Consider the following exchange:

1

"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. You are quite a skilled player."

"No, Roger, I am not skilled at all. I hardly even understand the game. It was all luck."

2

"So John, congratulations on your tournament victory. I could tell from the way you played that you have no great understanding of the game. Clearly God was on your side, guiding your play."

"No, Roger, I doubt God had anything to do with it. I was just lucky."

Luck is the absence of skill or a god. Luck is a factor of probability. Luck, in fact, is about science.

There is a mathematical formula to represent how often our two spinning wheels will land on GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF. If you spin 2500 times, you are likely to hit GOODS STUFF/GOOD STUFF once. This does not mean that you will hit it. It simply means that we can look at every spin of the two wheels and count how many times GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF shows up, and that number is 1 out of 2500.

How do gamblers use probability?

Let's say the odds of hitting a royal flush are 1 out of 250,000 (I don't have the numbers in front of me, but this ratio is not too far off); this means that if you are holding a JACK, QUEEN, KING, and ACE of hearts against an opponent who is betting like crazy and you suspect he has a full house, you should fold your cards. Why not wait for the TEN of hearts and your royal flush? Because the odds are pretty good that you will not get it.

Now a bad gambler, or a brave one, or a desperate one, or one who is so rich that losing money means nothing to him/her will stay in the hand hoping to catch that TEN of hearts to complete the royal flush. And sometimes they do catch it.

To date, I have caught 11 royal flushes. This is no testament to my poker-playing skill; I was at different times a brave gambler (I knew the odds, but I defied them), a desperate gambler (I knew the odds, but I was so broke I had no choice but to play and pray that I won so that I could get my money back), a bad gambler (I had no idea what the odds were and no idea that a good gambler would have folded in this situation).

A poker player's skill comes from knowing the odds of catching this hand or that, and knowing the tells and tendencies of the other players at the game so as to determine whether they are bluffing or not.

See, most winning hands of poker played at a table with "good" players are never revealed. A player who gets ACE/ACE in the hole will bet a certain way and usually the other good players will fold, sensing he has something very strong--it matters not that the player holding the crappy 2,7 actually would have won if he had stayed in because the flop, turn, and river cards were going to be 7, 7, 7. Only a bad player would stay in with crap like that--and if the bad player stays in, he/she will beat the ACE/ACE and win. But the other good players at the table will grumble disparagingly, "He/she got lucky. What a bad player. No skill at all. Just blind luck."

Not God, not skill, not fate--just blind luck. Good gamblers don't like luck very much. Luck is what the amateurs need to beat the better players.

Luck is not a good thing. Luck is an un-earned scientific thing that the skilled have to overcome when matched up with the un-skilled.

But what about Bob Marley?

Okay, let's leave our hypothetical casino for a moment, though the two giant wheels are spinning out here in the real world too.

The story as told to me goes like this: A young Bob Marley was working as a welder alongside another young singer Desmond Dekker (REMEMBER THAT FAMOUS SONG, The Israelites?), who had an upcoming gig that night but hurt his eye so badly that day on the job that he could not perform. Bob Marley piped up something like, "Don't worry, boss. I can sing too. I can do it." The rest is history.

Here is a case where preparation, hard work, and skill meet opportunity (or mathematical probability). Call it luck if you will, but I will argue that this is no deity pulling the strings. Marley, though a young man, had been singing for years and mastering his craft. He took the job as a welder so that he could eat, but he was in his mind a singer looking for an opportunity.

In life, opportunities are not so numerous as lack of opportunity, but they do exist. Let's say there will be 20 opportunities on a spinning wheel of 1000.

If that spinning wheel offers an opportunity to, say, the non-musical Preston L. Allen, that is like a GOOD STUFF/CRAP spin. It can't help me. I'm a writer, not a singer. I help my co-worker Desmond Dekker find some ice to put on his eye, and I keep on welding. That's it.

But if that spinning wheel lands for Bob Marley, then we have a GOOD STUFF/GOOD STUFF hit and Marley will make the best of this opportunity. He had nothing to do with this opportunity, true, but he can take advantage of it because he has been preparing most of his life for it.

I know, I know, you have objections:

You say, but what if Dekker hadn't hurt his eye? Marley, I'm sure, would have kept spinning that wheel. Maybe he strikes up a friendship with Dekker and breaks into the business that way.

But what if Marley had not taken a job as a welder? He would have taken a job as busboy and kept right on spinning--opportunities exist.

And Marley will find one of those opportunities, and if he never finds one, he will become a very talented, very avante garde teacher of music in Jamaica, unheard of by most, but beloved by his students, especially those with a little rebellion in their blood.

We can't always create or find opportunities, but we can work hard on our craft, work hard at improving our skills. Then when opportunity meets preparation, we are ready to rock.

At that point, you can call it luck, fate, God, or whatever you will as you soar to the top.

The big wheels just keep on spinning.

Preston

You Are P

Q: Your blog is hilarious. You sound just like the character P in your novel. You are P, admit it.

A: I am not. I swear it. Seriously.

Preston

Are You Anti Gambling?

Q: Are you anti-gambling? Do you wish there were no casinos? In your other blog, you attack the idea of a state-run lottery.

A: Am I anti-gambling?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

No, I am an addict. Therefore, I am pro-gambling. I wish I could gamble. I wish I were gambling right now. The problem is that gambling, for me, is destructive. [[Is there such a thing as "constructive" gambling?]] Therefore, I pray that I never ever see the inside of a casino again. I pray this everyday.

But the state-run lottery . . . well, look at it like this--

If you are a crack dealer and you need to make more money, all you have to do is raise the price of crack.

If you run a state lottery and you need to make more money, all you have to do is raise the price of gambling: create numbers-games and scratch-off games that take in more money and pay out less.

Like, for example, add $2 or $3 bucks to the price of the lottery ticket with the enticement that if the player wins, he/she will get an extra 10 or 25 million dollars added on to the prize [[the 1 in 13 million odds to win doesn't change at all, just the price to play--from 1 buck to 2 or 3 bucks, suckers!]]

If you are a crack dealer and you need to make more money, all you have to do is find more customers: children are the future--pass out free samples at the junior high.

If you run a state lottery and you need to make more money, all you have to do is find more addicted customers: children are the future--advertise in front of the kiddies--as soon as they turn 18, they're as addicted already as their parents.

If you are a crack dealer and you need to make more money, all you have to do is make your old customers increase their consumption of the product: I have no idea how a crack dealer would accomplish this feat. But a state running a lottery--

If you run a state lottery and you need to make more money, all you have to do is make your old addicted customers increase their consumption of the product: create games that are more addictive (check out the newest scratch-offs--they are not only expensive but they have lots and lots of bells and whistles to keep you excited as you scratch); create games that can be played more often (now the Cash-3 and Play-4 can be drawn TWICE a day--Fantasy 5 can be drawn 7 times a week--Mega Money can be drawn twice a week--and the lottery is also played twice a week.


Get the picture?

To earn millions in revenue, the state is pushing a drug called gambling on its addicted citizens--and pushing it hard. But the same state is also spending millions to "cure" its addicted citizens.

But then the same state is finding ways to increase the number of addicted citizens and also to make them MORE addicted because the state needs to earn more revenue.

This is crazy. Somewhere in there is a dog endlessly chasing its tail. Somebody stop him please!

Figure out what you are, oh great state. Are you my pusher or are you my saviour?

I am a sick degenerate gambler and so I love the lottery with every ounce of my being, but even a wastrel such as I can see that the state should be in the business of curing those plagued with a vice, and not in the business of increasing their dependence on it.

And people, please stop asking me gambling questions. I'm drooling all over my good shirt.


Preston

A Direct Appeal

Thanks to all of you who have emailed me questions and comments. I like the direction this blog has taken, and I owe it all to you.

Now I'd like to make a direct appeal: please go out and purchase a copy of my book ALL OR NOTHING and write a review for me on Amazon.com. It really is a great book. I promise you will enjoy it.

The book has received rave reviews from the New York Times, Publishers Weekly, Kirkus Review, and Library Journal among others.

Get your copy today! Support living, breathing writers!

Thanks,

Preston
______________________________

New York Times: "As with Frederick and Steven Barthelme's disarming gambling memoir, Double Down (1999), the chief virtue of All or Nothing is its facility in enlightening nonbelievers, showing how this addiction follows recognizable patterns of rush and crash, but with a twist—the buzz is in the process, not the result. 'That's what people don't understand about gamblers,' P explains. 'We gamble to gamble. We play to play. We don't play to win.'

"As a cartographer of autodegradation, Allen takes his place on a continuum that begins, perhaps, with Dostoyevsky’s “Gambler,” courses through Malcolm Lowry’s “Under the Volcano,” William S. Burroughs’s “Junky,” the collected works of Charles Bukowski and Hubert Selby Jr., and persists in countless novels and (occasionally fabricated) memoirs of our puritanical, therapized present. Like Dostoyevsky, Allen colorfully evokes the gambling milieu — the chained (mis)fortunes of the players, their vanities and grotesqueries, their quasi-philosophical ruminations on chance. Like Burroughs, he is a dispassionate chronicler of the addict’s daily ritual, neither glorifying nor vilifying the matter at hand."

Library Journal: "Told without preaching or moralizing, the facts of P's life express volumes on the destructive power of gambling. This is strongly recommended and deserves a wide audience; an excellent choice for book discussion groups."

Publishers Weekly: "The well-written novel takes the reader on a chaotic ride as P chases, finds and loses fast, easy money. Allen reveals how addiction annihilates its victims and shows that winning isn't always so different from losing."

Kirkus Review: "A gambler's hands and heart perpetually tremble in this raw story of addiction.

"We gamble to gamble. We play to play. We don't play to win." Right there, P, desperado narrator of this crash-'n'-burn novella, sums up the madness. A black man in Miami, P has graduated from youthful nonchalance (a '79 Buick Electra 225) to married-with-a-kid pseudo-stability, driving a school bus in the shadow of the Biltmore. He lives large enough to afford two wide-screen TVs, but the wife wants more. Or so he rationalizes, as he hits the open-all-night Indian casinos, "controlling" his jones with a daily ATM maximum of $1,000. Low enough to rob the family piggy bank for slot-machine fodder, he sinks yet further, praying that his allergic 11-year-old eat forbidden strawberries—which will send him into a coma, from which he'll emerge with the winning formula for Cash 3 (the kid's supposedly psychic when he's sick). All street smarts and inside skinny, the book gives readers a contact high that zooms to full rush when P scores $160,000 on one lucky machine ("God is the God of Ping-ping," he exults, as the coins flood out). The loot's enough to make the small-timer turn pro, as he heads, flush, to Vegas to cash in. But in Sin City, karmic payback awaits. Swanky hookers, underworld "professors" deeply schooled in sure-fire systems to beat the house, manic trips to the CashMyCheck store for funds to fuel the ferocious need—Allen's brilliant at conveying the hothouse atmosphere of hell-bent gaming.

Fun time in the Inferno."

Like a Rush Without the Risk

Q: I read your book a few months ago and really enjoyed it, but now I see you have a New York Times review. You should be very proud. Your book is great. Reading your book is like getting all the rush of gambling without having to lose any money. I can relate to almost everything in it. I am a gambler and have gambled in the Florida casinos, though now I live overseas (military). I think I remember you from the casinos. My name is ___ . I am Haitian, very tall, and have a shaven head. I was a school teacher for a while and I think we talked about that a few times? Your photograph looks very familiar and some of the adventures in the book are very familiar. Do you remember the tall transvestite M_____ who used to gamble there all the time? She was a trip. How come you did not use her in the book? I read an episode you wrote about her or someone very similar to her on another website. The website is asili and the story was called "Pretty Birdy". It was a great gambling story, why didn't you use it in the book?

A: No, I cannot say that I remember you. I'm scratching my head thinking, but your name and description do not ring a bell. Sorry. But I do remember M____! I believe that she was a transsexual, not a transvestite--though I have no hard proof. The story you are talking about was only loosely based on her, and I did not use it in the book because my editor and I decided that it did not fit the book's overall direction. There were many such episodes that had to be cut, a few of which were published elsewhere.

I like what you said about the book. "All the rush of gambling without having to lose any money."

Why don't you write me a review on Amazon?

Thanks,

Preston

Children and Gambling 2

Q: I read the answer to your last question and read that you have seen children waiting for their parents in parking lots and non-carpeted casino floors. I am a 14 year old daughter whose father has/had gambling problems and HAS left me and younger siblings in a parking lot. Have you ever thought of seeing or listening from a child's prospective? My blog is basically from a child's view:

http://www.sramirez93.blogspot.com/



A: Thanks for your question. Yes, I have thought of gambling from a child's point of view. In fact, the sequel to the book (Son of a P) is written from the point of view of P's son--but he is an adult telling the story.

I have a story called "Crip" in the collection LAS VEGAS NOIR (Akashic 2008) that features a little girl who is the child of a gambler. She suffers a lot because of her gambling father--she gets kidnapped and ransomed and then even the threat of sexual abuse arises.

Around 2003-4 there was a memoir I heard about on NPR called something like . . . I wish I could remember the title . . . it was called something like "THE THINGS WE LOST THROUGH OUR FATHER's GAMBLING." From the excerpts, it seems to have been written from the point of view of an adult child of a gambler--recalling her childhood with the gambling father. I wish I had written down the title, but I was on my way to the casino to go gamble and I didn't want to be late.

Your question has given me an idea--I am going to write another short story from the point of view of a gambler's child and focus just on the adventures of the child.

I will visit your site.

Thanks,

Preston

Children and Gambling

Q: I am enjoying your book. I have a question about children. Is it realistic that P would abandon his wife and children? He clearly loves them.

A: Good question, and the answer is yes. It all depends on the gambler, of course, and the level of addiction to which he/she has sunk. But I have seen very young children waiting on their gambling parent for hours on the non-carpeted areas of the casino (Florida law forbids minors to step on the carpeted areas where the gambling occurs). I have seen them waiting outside in parked cars. I imagine many of them must be waiting upstairs in the hotel rooms, too. I have known of gamblers who have divorced most likely due to their addiction--and there are children involved whom they almost never see, and to whom they give little financial support because their money goes into the casino. In other words, they cannot afford child support (and are not there for emotional support) and yet they are in the casino every day blowing hundreds and thousands.

In that respect, P is fictional, but typical. He loves his children, but he will push them aside if they interfere with his gambling.

Go to this site for more information--Gambling Addiction Questions and Answers.

http://www.addictionrecov.org/qandagam.htm

Thanks,

Preston

Astonishing

Q: Loved your book. What is the most astonishing thing you have ever seen in a casino?

A: Hmmm. Good question.

I think I may have told this story before on another post, but here goes.

An elderly couple (Canadian, I think) were new to the casino's four-screen build-your-own-lotto machine. So they were complaing and grumbling and asking for help, but no floor person was nearby and none of us regulars would help them.

He was saying, "How does this thing work? How do you get it to play a quarter? Are zeroes the only number that it can play?" The machine showed six zeroes on all four screens.

She was saying, "Let's get someone to help us. Where is everybody? Why will no one help up? I think the machine is stuck on forty. How do you change it? We don't want to bet forty dollars at a time. That's too much."

And they're pushing buttons and grumbling and fiddling with the machine, and I am about to offer my assistance, when all of a sudden I hear their machine pinging like crazy. Ping-ping-ping-ping!

Accidentally, one of them had pushed the PLAY button and six zeroes came out. Six Zeroes!!! They hit on all four screens.

And since their machine was stuck on forty dollars (ten dollaras a screen), they hit $50,000 on each screen--in other words, they hit $200,000 without even knowing what they were doing.

Astonishing.

I was at a table and a guy hit a Royal Flush. So we paused the game so that the Indians could pay him his jackpot ($5,000). Fifteen minutes later, we got back to playing the game, and the guy's eyes grew big again. When he laid down his cards, he had hit another Royal Flush! He hit two Flushes not only at the same table, but in consecutive hands.

Astonishing.

I sat down at a poker table in my favorite seat--seat 3. And I told the dealer, "This is my lucky seat. I have hit 7 Royals in seat 3 so far, so deal me Royal number 8, dealer." On the next hand, he dealt me a spade Royal Flush. The jackpot was $2500.

Astonishing.

A dealer snuck a quarter from the till. This was one of the best dealers in the house. Everybody liked her. She was attractive, humorous, she controlled her table, and she dealt a fast accurate hand. Perhaps she did not sneak the quarter from the till--perhaps she just made an honest mistake. It did not matter. Against the protests of the players, they fired her on the spot for swiping that quarter.

Astonishing.

Preston

Queen of Spades

Q: I am curious about the story by Pushkin that you refer to in the novel. You refer to it as the "Queen of Spades." I'm not finding it.

A: It is a translation from the Russian, so depending on whose translation you have it might have a slightly different title. I don't have the collection of Pushkin stories in front of me right now, but I am 100% certain my translation had it titled "The Queen of Spades."

Thanks,

Preston

Sex in Gambling

Q: Is there a lot of sex in gambling?

A: I wouldn't know because I am a virgin. I'll pass your question on to one of my three children, however.

Seriously, though, I have seen some things in the casinos that make me shudder. First, there are the professionals, the prostitutes. Second, there are the gamblers who fall in love with each other. Third, there are those who have fallen on hard times and whose bodies are the final thing they can sell, or exchange, for money to gamble with.

Here's some advice for you non-gambling husbands out there. Always go to the casino with your gambling wife. I you cannot go with her, send her with a lot of money. When she calls you on the phone for more money, do not berate her--send her more money. Remember, there are WAYS for her to make money to gamble with in a casino.

Thanks,

Preston