Face-to-face? Are you kidding? And Romanian Commentary 13

Someone’s just called me asking for a lesson on behalf of her husband. I managed to find a space in my diary on Thursday evening, and I was all set to pencil it in, but then she asked for my address. Er, Skype? Zoom? No, your actual physical address. We want face-to-face here. Fa-fa-face-to-face? No! No no no no no. Not until at least mid-April, three weeks after my first jab. I’m guessing these people might not be all that into jabs and stuff.

I’m starting to beef up my work volume again. Last week I got 30½ hours, and this week should easily surpass that (but you never know; sometimes it just rains cancellations). Some of my lessons are dead easy and don’t remotely feel like work, but others are a test of mettle. I recently started with a married couple who have a nine-letter, seven-vowel surname, and they want to learn from scratch. Hello, how are you, my name is, would you like a vowel? I have to speak a lot of Romanian in these lessons, and although I get by, I still make mistakes and get tongue-tied. For instance, last weekend I couldn’t say “he likes to run” correctly in Romanian. Sounds a simple sentence, doesn’t it? The verb to run is a alerga in Romanian (well, there’s also a fugi, but that’s more like “to run away”). Here’s how you conjugate a alerga in the present:

eu alerg – I run
tu alergi – you run
el/ea aleargă – he/she/it runs (notice the extra a before the r)
noi alergăm – we run
voi alergați – you run (more than one person)
ei/ele aleargă – they run

That’s great, but with sentences such as “he likes to run” we need to use the subjunctive, and for the third person (he/she/it or they) this is different from the normal form of the verb. The form I needed was alerge, not aleargă. The full correct sentence is Îi place să alerge. (The first word of that sentence, if you’re wondering, is an i with a hat followed by an i without a hat.)

By contrast, the very common verb a merge means to go, and it’s conjugated like this in the present:

eu merg – I go
tu mergi – you go
el/ea merge – he/she/it goes
noi mergem – we go
voi mergeți – you go (more than one person)
ei/ele merg – they go

If I wanted to say “he likes to go”, I’d once again need the subjunctive, and this time it would be Îi place să meargă. So the subjunctive ending of “to go” is just like the normal ending of “to run”, and vice-versa. I understand this, but I still get tripped up from time to time.

Another problem I have is stress. Not that kind of stress, but the way words are accented. Just like in English, it isn’t always obvious which part of a word gets the emphasis. I managed to confuse a kid this morning when I said “martor” (meaning “witness”) with the stress at the end, when it should be at the beginning. Unless it’s a word I use a lot, I often find myself guessing.

Poker. My biggest problem is how little I’m able to play. I haven’t run very hot since I last posted. In one tournament my laptop crashed five times – hopefully I’ve solved that problem. My bankroll is $470.

A shot in the arm

To my surprise I’ve managed to book myself a Covid jab. That’s exciting, honestly. I’ll be getting it bright and early next Wednesday morning – I never expected it would be so soon – and yes, it’ll be the Astra Zeneca vaccine. My second jab will be eight weeks later. I’m not counting any chickens until I actually get the needle in my arm, because there’s still a chance Romania will suspend the AZ vaccine like about half of Europe has done so far, crazily if you ask me. One of my students didn’t react well to his first AZ jab, and in the meantime he’s picked up Covid, which he says is far less severe than his reaction to the vaccine. We then did some exercises from a book produced by Oxford University Press. These are the same guys who concocted your awful vaccine; I hope you don’t mind. Everyone has become a vaccine expert – a vaxpert? – seemingly overnight. In Romania the numbers continue to climb.

Mum and Dad are now official owners of property number five. It would be nice if they could offload their big place, and until then they won’t be able to relax. I look back at my grandparents and think how much simpler their lives were, and I dunno, are all these extra complications really worth it? When I spoke to them yesterday, there was a lot of excitement about the America’s Cup, which had completely passed me by. It’s not a sporting event that’s ever captivated me, with the one exception of the time we went to New Zealand in the summer of 1986-87 and the Kiwi boat KZ7 was racing against an American crew to the sounds of Rod Stewart’s I Am Sailing. Both KZ7 and Rod Stewart were national obsessions then.

My aunt called me on Sunday. We chatted for half an hour; we rarely make it that far. She talked about my brother’s ex-fiancée and what a bullet he dodged there. Then she admitted that she had a drink problem. That’s a start, but like her other problems, she’s never seriously tried to solve it.

I’ve had some great feedback from my lessons in the past week or so, and that does make me feel good. In two recent lessons I’ve had that lovely feeling of seeing someone “get it”: the difference between for and since, or when to use the present continuous instead of the present simple. Last night someone said he’d learnt as much in that one session as he would expect in five. One of my advanced-level students enjoys the variety of listening, speaking, reading and grammar activities we cover.

Poker. On Monday evening I made a quick $25 from a cash game (nice), then decided I’d play a bounty tournament which started at 9:42. Normally it kicks off at 10:42, but the clocks had gone forward in the US. I was lesson-free the next morning, so I thought I’d give it a go. Big mistake. I was finally eliminated at 2:08 in the morning, finishing third for a $28 profit. As almost always, I did a bad job of collecting bounties. It’s not like I didn’t try. With four left, I got it all in as a 57% favourite with the short stack who had a hefty $20 bounty. My hand didn’t hold up, someone else soon got his bounty instead of me, and I was out almost immediately afterwards. The next day I was a complete wreck and had a terrible headache. I just can’t do late nights anymore; I’m getting old. My bankroll is now $489.

The crappy weather continues. This morning’s sleet turned to rain which hasn’t let up all day.

The nightmare of normal

Today Mum and Dad will have got the keys to their latest property. They’re quite stressed at the moment with trying to sell their current place as they head into autumn. Mum seems to spend half her waking hours dusting or vacuuming, in case somebody shows up out of the blue. They feel about as locked down as I am.

At the weekend I watched John Campbell’s fantastic video on the impacts of Covid on mental health: the depression and anxiety caused by all that worry and isolation. But what he didn’t mention were the anti-effects. If I had an office job and had been able to work from home for a year in relative peace, how would I cope with all those people again? With extreme difficulty, I’m sure. This was the case for me in 2011. I quit my insurance job at the end of 2009. For the next 15 months I travelled, read, played online poker, and did temporary work which I enjoyed because I never had to involve myself in all the crap. Then (and I still can’t believe it happened) I got sucked back into the corporate world. In my first few weeks there I was like a fish out of water. Possum in the headlights doesn’t begin to cover it.

Yesterday I heard that Murray Walker, the Formula 1 commentator, had died at the age of 97. This came as a surprise to me, because I thought he was already dead. Somebody quipped that Walker spoke like a man whose trousers were on fire, and that was why he was so memorable, even for someone like me who was mostly uninterested in motor racing. He voice was cars zooming around a track on a Sunday afternoon. These household-name sports commentators of my childhood and early adulthood are rapidly becoming history. Peter Alliss – it’s hard to imagine the 72nd hole of the Open championship without him – died in December aged 89. Then there’s Richie Benaud, voice of the Ashes, and Sid Waddell, voice of darts. Going further back, there’s Bill McLaren (rugby – again, what a voice), Peter O’Sullevan (horse racing, another sport I didn’t care about but was hard to avoid), Ted Lowe (snooker), Brian Johnston (cricket again), and Dan Maskell (tennis, “Oh, I say”). All gone. Dodgers baseball fans had Vin Scully, who commentated on their games, with extraordinary wit, for sixty-seven seasons until 2016. At 93, he is still with us. But these voices, beamed into our living rooms and onto our car radios seemingly since time immemorial, won’t be replaced. They’re gone for ever, as (for me) has sport itself, largely. I think back to England’s 1998 cricket tour of the Caribbean and how exotic and far away those islands seemed as I listened to ball-by-ball commentary on long-wave radio. As money has flooded top-level sport, that remoteness, that wonder, it’s all gone.

Four more poker tournaments at the weekend. Saturday evening’s fixed badugi went nowhere, then by Sunday the US had moved to summer time, meaning all the day’s tournaments kicked off an hour earlier. (They’ll be back to normal in two weeks, when we too put our clocks forward.) The early starts reduced the fields by about 20%. I had a good run in the single draw, picking up some monster hands to amass a big stack, but I couldn’t make much headway at the final table. I had a big stack to my left who kept bombing after the draw and I never made a hand I felt I could call (or check-raise) with. Being out of position in single draw is tough. I was out in fourth for a $21 profit. At the same time I made a deep run in the pot-limit badugi – being in contention in two tournaments simultaneously is fun when it happens – but though I finished sixth I only made $7 because I once again did a terrible job of picking up bounties. I had a particularly unlucky bust-out hand, but that happens. Then I ran badly once more in last night’s fixed badugi, winning four of the 78 hands I played. My bankroll is $436.

We generally get very nice weather in Timișoara – that could be another reason why it’s become my happy place – but right now it’s grey and wet and miserable.

Finally, I’ve just found out about this new website – radio.garden – which lets you tune in to any radio station in the world just by clicking on a map. You can spend hours on it.

Confidence boost

My 18-year-old student cancelled last night’s lesson two hours before we were due to start, so that meant only one thing: poker. And as it happened, a nice win. I won the fixed badugi from 153 entrants, making a $79 profit in 4½ hours. That felt pretty good. I took me a while to get going though. My starting stack of 3000 had dwindled to three figures before I made a monster on the last hand prior to the first break, giving me a toehold. From there it wasn’t plain sailing. I’d chipped up to just over 10,000 not long before the money, but I gave back almost half of that when my opponent underplayed a big hand. I should have lost more. When we reached the eight-man final table I quickly relinquished over half my chips to become the short stack, but when I recovered from that I came into my own. In fact at times I was just about running over the table. That’s always fun. I entered heads-up with just over 60% of the chips. My opponent wasn’t bad – he knew how to bluff – but he was too passive at times, not betting when he had a clear advantage and giving me the chance to catch up. We swapped the lead a few times, but after our 70-hand battle I emerged the victor. My bankroll is now $420, and hopefully that win will give me the confidence to play with more freedom, to bluff more, to make make more moves, and to be less timid in bounty tournaments. Let’s see.

This week I’ve been thinking more about my long-term plans. I’m pretty they involve Timișoara which I still absolutely bloody love. The place makes me happy. I have everything I want here, or at least I will when we finally see the back of this virus. Having a job that works for me is the biggest thing of all, but the architecture, the parks, the markets, the squares, I can’t think I’ll ever tire of all of that. And I’m part of it, slap-bang in the middle, not stuck out on the ninth floor of Building D in some god-awful shoot-me-now business park.

On Wednesday my student was clearly still feeling the effects of the Astra Zeneca vaccine he’d had five days earlier. I would have taken that vaccine in heartbeat, and would still take it for sure, but seeing his pallor and lethargy, several days after the jab, gave me pause.

Yesterday was the tenth anniversary of the Japanese tsunami. It came on the back of the Christchurch quake, and in the middle of my horrible long wait to find out the Wellington job. Not fun times.

Back in lockdown

I was about to do my weekly shop, but then I checked the rules and realised I couldn’t until after lunch. Timișoara entered lockdown last night at midnight, and supermarkets are reserved for over-65s between 10am and 1pm. Good decision all round. The sunny early-spring weather had brought crowds of people to the centre, especially in narrow streets like Strada Alba Iulia where you’re all hemmed in. Hospitals are just about bursting at the seams when the new variants are starting to proliferate, so this increase in activity is at exactly the wrong time. There’s been too much “can we get away with it?” and general pussyfooting around, so I’m glad they’ve put the hammer down. I wonder if that would have happened under Nicolae Robu, our old mayor.

Leadership matters more than people think. Would New Zealand have done so well had the 2017 election turned out differently (or should I say, as expected)? We’ll never know, but it’s just a hunch that National would have been all “we’ve got a goddamn rock star economy and we ain’t gonna shut it down”. Team of five million? Maybe. Be kind? I doubt it. NZ’s messaging has been inclusive, not divisive, and that’s gone a long way towards their resounding success up until now. To be clear, I still think National would have handled it miles better than the US or most of Europe.

The British people’s reaction to their disastrous response to Covid is increasingly maddening. The death toll is around 120,000, and tens of millions of Brits aren’t only OK with that, they like what they see. Now they’ve got their vaccines and all is forgiven, if they ever thought there was anything to forgive in the first place. It seems that if you supported Brexit and voted Tory in December 2019, you’ll support the government come what may. And now they’ve got their vaccines that the EU don’t have, so hahahaha in your face! Take that remainers, we’re winning! Who cares about all that death now.

I played tennis twice at the weekend, and it’ll be at least three weeks before I’m back on the court again. In both sessions – four hours – I played with Domnul Ionescu, a man in his late sixties with a smoker’s cough who spat on his hand every second point or so. On the other side was a woman of 30-odd and the bloke I had that singles match with just before Christmas. Petrică, one of the other regulars who must be in his early fifties, couldn’t make it. He’s suffered from a kidney problem for some time, he managed to pick up Covid, and now he needs dialysis.

Four poker tournaments yesterday. All frustrating in their various ways. I cashed in two of them but barely broke even. In the Omaha hi-lo I amassed a nice stack but couldn’t build it up into something imposing. I treaded water for a long time, then when we got down to three tables I min-raised my high-only hand in the cut-off. I was unlucky enough for both the blinds to wake up with A2 and good side cards. I correctly got all in pre-flop three ways because I had plenty of equity (one third, as it happened) but the board ran out horribly for me and I was out in 15th for a small cash. In the single draw I hung around but a big stack on my left kept going all in over my raises and I never felt I had enough to call. Being out of position is horrible in that game at the best of time. I had another good run in the pot-limit badugi, knocking three people out early, but the bounties dried up and at the final table my stack did too. I got a small payout for coming seventh out of 100. Then in the fixed badugi I started OK but couldn’t win the big pots when it mattered, and was out well before the money. My bankroll is $337.

Update: The Romanian authorities have come to their senses and approved the Astra Zeneca vaccine for over-55s. The notion that it was unsafe or ineffective for older people has been roundly disproven, but sadly too many people might already have been spooked by all that bollocks.

This morning Adi Bărar, who founded the highly successful Timișoara band Cargo, died after spending two weeks in hospital with coronavirus.

Growing old quickly

Not a whole lot to report. I’ve had tech issues with my laptop which I mentioned last time. Both the power port and the charger itself were playing up, and for a while I was using books to jam the charger into place, knowing it could still come loose at any second in the middle of a lesson, which would have meant disaster. I took delivery of a new charger yesterday, so I can breathe again.

The subject of tech came up last night with a student. He got me to sign up to Revolut, a payment app which is all the rage here. He could tell that I didn’t understand how it worked, and neither did I particularly care, and he said “you’re so old-fashioned”. Well I guess I am. I’m also nearly ten years older than him. My phone is vital to me, but outside calling and texting it doesn’t get much use, especially in Covid world where I’m inside the vast majority of the time. Imagine writing this blog post on my phone with its tiny touch screen. Ugh. I’m constantly making worksheets for my students or looking at data or replaying poker hands, stuff that’s either horrible or impossible on my phone. I still use paper dictionaries (they’re more informative than online ones and, for me, just as fast) and I keep records of all my lessons in an A4 notebook. Whatever. This guy then asked me to confirm my year of birth for ID purposes. I said 1952 but I’m not sure he got the joke. He then pestered me about the money from my apartment sale. You can’t just leave it in a bank, yada yada yada. I’ve had it for ten days. Leave me alone. He doesn’t just think I’m old-fashioned; he thinks I’m a gigantic failure in life, in all matters unrelated to the English language.

Last weekend I had a fright when I saw Mum on FaceTime. You look like your mother. The stress of moving money around the world while attempting to sell their huge house seemed to have aged her ten years. Right now they have five properties. Just imagine. Dad isn’t immune from stress either, and he’s untrusting of online payments and the internet in general. As for cell phones, he doesn’t even have one. Going into autumn they might struggle to shift their high-end property; I hope that doesn’t pile on the stress.

I recently watched a three-part documentary on Netflix called Don’t F**k with Cats (the asterisks are in the name). Gruesome and deeply disturbing.

Dad sent me some pictures of drawings and scribbles I did when I was five. I think I was a little messed up even then.

In an hour I’ll step onto the tennis court for the first time in three months. I’m in serious need of the exercise.

Tough times ten years apart

My friend from Birmingham emailed me yesterday to say that he’d just seen his mother (who lives in the same city) for the first time in months, all masked up and physically distanced. No hugs. His father died about seven years ago. That must be hard. My parents live on the other side of the world so seeing each other is hard enough, virus or no virus, but when your mum is just there… I have been toying with the idea of a trip to virtually virus-free New Zealand. (NZ likes to be free of things. GE-free, pest-free, predator-free, smoke-free.) I’d have to quarantine for two weeks, but I could work in isolation.

The numbers are going back up in Romania, no doubt about it. The more contagious UK variant is, slowly but surely, becoming the dominant one. The weather is rapidly improving – we’ve had glorious days that have felt like May – but we could be in for a spring just like in 2020, under national lockdown. Unlike the UK, Romania is employing a two-jab strategy, so while 600,000 Romanians have now received both shots of the vaccine, most people are still fully exposed. (Anybody who has only just had their first dose is fully susceptible, too.)

Last week was the tenth anniversary of the deadly Christchurch earthquake; 22/2/11. I was still living in Auckland then. Three weeks earlier I’d had an interview in Wellington for the job that I didn’t want. I was going through a bout of depression, though the previous evening I’d managed to play tennis. (Yes, tennis night was Monday. From memory I lost my singles but won the doubles.) I was in Devonport library when I heard the news, and a couple of hours later my boss at the insurance broker’s on Queen Street called me to ask if I wanted my old job back. I’d worked on claims for the first Christchurch quake until December. Yes, please! I was back there the next morning. A meaningful job with no bullshit (especially in such circumstances). I had a relaxing ten-minute ferry journey each way. Then in another three weeks they offered me the Wellington job, and with much (justified) trepidation I took it.

On Thursday I had one of those rare car-crash lessons. It was my first lesson with a woman who said she knew no English whatsoever. The charger port on my laptop had broken, and no matter which way I wedged the cable in the socket, it wouldn’t charge. I used some very good materials from the Lingoda site, but had to explain them in Romanian (with difficulty) while being distracted by watching the battery level drop like a stone. My laptop was about to die so I resorted to using my phone, and I must have seemed rather unprofessional. I’ve since managed to make a connection again – I daren’t move my laptop a millimetre from its current spot on my desk – and I hope I can get it fixed on Monday. Hopefully my new student hasn’t already given up on me.

Four more poker tournaments today. The first one (Omaha hi-lo) lasted barely ten minutes. A crazy five-way all-in on the flop, I had good equity, but none of it materialised. Then single draw, which came to an abrupt halt when my good hand was outdrawn. Then pot-limit badugi. I made a very fast start, then went card dead, then kept sticking around until I was the short stack with only three remaining out of 100 entries. I survived some hairy moments and eventually eliminated one of the other players for a useful bounty. (Makes a change.) I didn’t last too long heads-up, but I made a $48 profit for finishing second. This evening I played the limit badugi and chipped up well, but when my big pat hand got outdrawn in a monster four-way pot, that was pretty much that, and I fell four places short of the money. I’ve made a couple of hundred this month; my bankroll is $353.

We were supposed to restart tennis today, but someone decided to call it off because it was too windy. Too windy?! You gotta be joking. In Wellington, that would have been a joke.

I no longer own a property. I do however own a meaningful sum of money, finally.

More house stuff

On Thursday night, straight after finishing work (I was really happy with my pair of evening lessons), I called Mum and Dad to ask whether they’d got the house. They didn’t know yet. Mum was being characteristically pessimistic. My “conversation” with Dad descended into a debate about the housing market in which I was probably more than a little dickish. The very subject is a sore point for me, and I’ve been over that several times on this blog already. Then within minutes of getting off the phone, Dad emailed me to say that they’d got it. So they’re going to be busy for the next little while. Dad has mixed feelings I think (they’ve been in their current place 16 years), but if it makes their lives less stressful then I’m all for it.

As for me, I’ll be a homeowner for only the next two days. It’ll feel good to pocket that money, much more of it that I was resigned to getting. Then I can maybe get the ball rolling here. The immigration stuff has stalled for now; I need my landlady to draw up an updated contract to prove that I actually live here legally.

Naomi Osaka won her fourth grand slam title today. Gone are the days of Steffi or Chrissie, or even Serena, hoovering up grand slams. Four is a lot. And this time, she had to fend off two match points against Garbiñe Muguruza in the fourth round. I only watched bits of today’s final, after I’d been knocked out of whichever poker tournament it was. After the match the commentators pointed out that Osaka has yet to taste defeat in a grand slam final and she must be fearless every time she steps on the biggest stage, but how will she fare in front of her own crowd at the Olympics in Tokyo? Seriously guys, fuck the Olympics. We can all live happily without them until 2024.

Four poker tournaments today and I blanked the lot. Either I started well and then hit the wall, or I slammed into the wall right at the beginning. Not to worry; that happens. My bankroll is $280.

Winning ways

My parents have put their offer for the house. Seems like a ton of money to me but I’m no expert on this stuff. Or rather, I haven’t a clue. They’ll find out in the next few hours, I expect. The stakes aren’t really that high – if they get it they win, but if they miss out they also win.

Dad diced with disaster again at the weekend. He fell off an unstable stepladder, his big pot of denim blue paint went flying, and so did he. He landed on his back in the grass, narrow missing a large rock.

I had a rare free evening last night, so I played a low buy-in poker tournament, and guess what, I won it. It had 165 entries including rebuys, and I was the last man standing after 4¼ hours. It was good old fixed-limit badugi, my mainstay, and my win came after a very barren run in that tourney. I wound up on tighter tables than usual this time, and played more hands than normal in the timeframe because so many of them ended long before showdown. I was pretty sure I was dead meat well before we entered the money, but when I got almost all-in, my opponent either misread his hand or was clueless, probably the latter. A bit later with a dozen players left, I hit a four-outer on the last draw to survive, meaning I had a 90% chance at that point of instant elimination. I rode my luck a bit from there, though when we got heads-up I was at a small chip disadvantage which became lop-sided when I lost the first few hands of our 62-hand battle. Luckily for me, my opponent wasn’t that great, and I gradually chipped away at him. On the last hand I hit a lovely low spade to make the second nuts – a colossus of a hand – and that was that. Because it was a limit tournament, I didn’t have to worry about knocking people out, and my win netted me an $85 profit. My bankroll is $296, almost twice what I started the month with.

Dad sent me some information about an app for learning Urdu. I don’t have much use for Urdu right now, though it would surely be fascinating. The Urdu script, known as Nastaliq, is difficult to typeset. Because of this, there is an Urdu newspaper called the Musalman, based in Chennai, that is handwritten – calligraphically – to this day. It’s a thing of beauty.

It’s been a slowish start to my work week, but I’ve got ten lessons scheduled for the next two days.

Money talk

My parents are about to put in an offer on that place in Geraldine. If it’s accepted, they’ll try to sell their current place. (They don’t need to sell it to afford the other one. Must be nice.) If they do get a buyer for their current house, I wonder how many digits they’ll get. To have such affluent parents feels, I don’t know, a bit weird. All that affluence does come with added stress, though. (Years ago I read Oliver James’ depressingly accurate book about that.) Mum, who let’s face it, deals with 80% of the money-related stuff, gets pretty stressed by it all. Dad would be happy if they stayed where they were, but I’m all for the move.

All this talk of properties and money leaves me ice-cold, honestly. Even my brother has an app pinned to his front screen so he can see how much his place has increased in value since breakfast. It was the most liberating thing in the world to teach here and get rewarded with rectangular pieces of polymer with pictures of Romanian artists and writers on them, and then hand those same sheets of polymer to the old man or lady at the market. This is how money is supposed to work. Yeah I know, life is way more complicated than that, financial security is really important, and having a place of your own is hugely beneficial especially as you get older, but there’s a threshold beyond which having more doesn’t achieve a whole lot (apart from boosting your own status, of course, if that matters to you).

I had a shocker of a day on Saturday. Intense sinus pain, or more likely a migraine, and I was up to my eyeballs in paracetamol. Not much else I could do, and it’s all so debilitating. I was still feeling sluggish yesterday (Sunday). My late-night poker tournament on Friday night probably didn’t help. I came second in a pot-limit badugi tournament for a $47 profit. (Nice, and I ran pretty hot for most of that tournament, but the bounty thing keeps killing me. I’m really bad at knocking out other players.) As for the fixed-limit badugi tourneys, I’m going through a dreadful run – I’ve blanked my last ten. My bankroll is currently $210.