Poker According to Žižek

*A Warning: This post concerns political theory and poker. If that does not interest you, read no further.

Slavoj Žižek is a Marxist-communist philosopher from former Yugoslavia, and I’m currently reading his book Welcome to the Desert of The Real for my Secrecy and Spectacle course. (The full course title is “Secrecy and Spectacle from Cold War to War on Terror.” It’s easily the most influential course I’ve ever taken up to this point.) The book is basically about how the illusions of Americans should have been shattered after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, but instead Americans used the attacks as an opportunity to create more illusions. This is an incredibly basic summary—so basic it’s actually wrong, but there’s really no other way to simplify it. Anyway--as you can see from the title of this post, this is in no way what I was planning on writing about, but since I’ve gone this far, I’ll go ahead and summarize what Žižek means.

Žižek believes that America pre-9/11 lived in a fantasy land of Us and Them thinking (Again, the problem of dichotomies. And “Them” equals everyone existing outside of the U.S.), and that when our own country was attacked, it was an opportunity to realize that we are part of a world where terrible things are happening. (For instance, all the Bosnian women who were terrorized, the mass killings in Congo—these are all things that happen to them.) Žižek claims that America did not take this opportunity, that instead, “it [America] opted to reassert its traditional ideological commitments: out with feelings of responsibility and guilt towards the impoverished Third World, we are the victims now!”

Anyway, Žižek fills the book with these little anecdotes and jokes he’s picked up from who knows where, and Saturday night there was a poker game at my house, and Žižek’s words kept bubbling up. Every aspect of the game corresponded to his text—part of me now wonders, in fact, if this book is actually incognito poker theory, only disguised as political theory.

1. Welcome to the Desert of the Real

The Desert of the Real is a place one ends up after illusion—or reality—is shattered. I lead many players to this desolate place Saturday night, as what they knew as reality—their ideological constructs—were shattered.

Playing your pocket jacks when there’s face cards on the table? Welcome to the Desert of the Real. Raising me on two pair when I’m holding an open-ended straight? I’m all in, and I catch my card. I rake your chips, and the only thing you can do is stare blankly at the table, pretending not to be upset. Pretending is all you can do, because you have nothing left. Welcome to the Desert of the Real.

2. Economics Always Trumps Politics

This is how Žižek explains America royally screwing Iran from the 1950’s on, and how I explain pretending to have nothing when I truly hit trips of the flop. You raise, I reraise—sorry “friend.” Secrecy and Spectacle exist not only in government, but at my kitchen table as well. Welcome to the dictates of capitalism—and subsequently, The Desert of the Real. It’s hot out there, maybe you should have another Guinness before you buy back in.

3. A man must desire life like water, but drink death like wine.

This is an idea attributed to G.K. Chesterton—the soldier surrounded by enemies can’t cling to life, or he won’t escape. “He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it.”

Many players experience a chip flux, where they go really low or high. In either case, the reaction can be the same—to tighten their greedy fist around their pile. Inevitably, this results in chips slowly being depleted. The trick is to drink poker death like wine, make your enemies look down the barrel of your all-in. Force a show-down where only one person gets to keep their money, and their ideology--and the other is left numb and alone in The Desert of the Real.

Yesterday in Church

Yesterday in church, there was a boy sitting on front of Angela and I, maybe eleven or twelve years old, skinny, pale, bad haircut, and I noticed that beneath his seat was The Great Hunt by Robert Jordan, which is book two of The Wheel of Time collection—easily the greatest fantasy series ever written. Some people might argue that The Lord of the Rings trilogy is the greatest fantasy series ever written, but those people have never read The Wheel of Time series, and they are wrong. In the early twentieth century, the Wright brothers figured out how to get an airplane flying. It was a landmark, an impressive feat—but I do not want to ride that first airplane.

The boy in church yesterday reminded me very much of myself. I remember following The Wheel of Time series starting when I was about ten years old, and discussing the books with friends as dorky as myself until the next volume was released. (And, since dorkiness knows no age, every now and then I’d bump into someone at the bookstore, or a friend’s parent, who read the series as well. Always a jolt of excitement, to meet a fellow lover of The Wheel of Time!)

Bringing the book to church was a classic maneuver by my little pal in front of me. It was a nostalgic moment. But, since he wasn’t pouring over it in his lap, either mom had set some strict regulations, or he was purely a car reader. I remember church being a great space for reading Robert Jordan. My older sister’s volleyball and basketball games were harder.

My love for fantasy started to fade away sometime after I went to college, and eventually I stopped following all my favorite authors except for Robert Jordan. I had read The Wheel of Time for over a decade, and I was determined to read it until the last novel was released, and I figured out once and for all what would happen to Rand—would he defeat the dark forces at Shayol Ghul? Would he have to give his life in the process? My heart said no, but what about all the old prophecies? (I had a Wheel of Time reference book to help me keep track of these important questions.)

When Crossroads of Twilight was released, I was a freshman in college, and I bunkered down in my dorm room and didn’t leave until it was finished. By the time Knife of Dreams was released, I had stopped checking the WOT website for updates, and didn’t find out until I was in Alaska. I hitch-hiked to Anchorage, and the first thing I did was go to a local bookstore to finish before I flew home. Book twelve, A Memory of Light, was supposed to be the final book in the series, the end of a seventeen year odyssey, and when I was in Africa, I checked online to see if a release date had been set—and instead, I saw a picture of Robert Jordan, with the letters R.I.P. beneath it, and a date from a month or so before.

Throughout the sermon yesterday, I kept wondering—does this little boy know? Should I stop him after the service and say, you know RJ’s dead, don’t you? That he never finished?

The story is that on his deathbed, RJ told someone the ending, and that he kept prodigious notes on the final book, so another writer was hired to finish the books as RJ originally intended-- part one (yes, the “final” volume has now been separated in three parts) owill be released this fall.

I don’t have much time for reading fantasy these days, and I don’t have all my old novels around anymore. Before Angela and I got married, I loaded all my old fantasy novels into the trunk of my Grand Am, drove to Hyde Brothers books in Ft. Wayne, and sold them for four-hundred dollars.

This was actually not a bad price for memories.

Quick Pics

I have been telling Brett for two weeks that I am going to post on the blog. Obviously that has not happened, so I thought I would post a few pictures while he is out at campus! I know he is due for a new post any second and I wanted to get my pictures in before they became old news.

This is supposed to be a picture of Jen, Lane, and me on my visit over to Washington Court House. Of course thirty minutes into my drive back to Oxford I realized I never took my camera out of my purse! So here is a picture from Jen's wedding. I thought it was fitting because she looks just as beautiful now as she did on her wedding day with the cutest little baby bump.
We caught up and went shopping with Lane which you can't really tell from the picture:)




On the right is my candid-ish picture of Brett, Grant, Emily, and Bethany walking out of the Cincinnati Museum of Art. Bethany drove out to our place and then we went to Cincinnati to see Grant and Emily at their beautiful home in Kentucky.
Emily is sporting her new haircut which I think is very fun! I did more talking with Emily at the museum than actually checking out the art so I don't have much else to say about it. The two in the bottom picture absorbed more art.





So, Brett I realize that I posted as soon as you said, "I am going to put up a post today" and walked out the door. I just felt the need to put up some pictures. . . today.
You just go ahead and post today and it will be like a joint post only my bottom half of the post will have pictures:)

- Angela