“I have a good poker face because I am half-dead inside. My particular combo of slack features, negligible affect, and soulless gaze had helped my game ever since I started playing 20 years ago, when I was ignorant of pot odds and M-Theory and three-betting, and it gave me a boost as I collected my trove of lore, game by game, hand by hand. It had not helped me human relationships-wise over the years, but surely I am not alone here — anyone whose peculiar mix of genetic material and formative experiences had resulted in a near-expressionless mask could relate. Nature giveth, taketh, etc. You make the best of the hand you’re dealt.”
Ladies and gentlemen, Colson Whitehead being all awesome on Grantland. At the same time, he’s describing me.
How’s this for a mondegreen? (Answer: not that great, really.) I always thought the last line of Liz Phair’s “Chopsticks” was “secretly I’m dead,” but it’s actually “secretly I’m timid.” What a shame. I’ve always kind of loved that song, and not related to it, but definitely related to being secretly dead inside for sure. Or something. TMI, right!
