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Notes from the Nervous Breakdown Lane by John ANAGRAM MADNESS -or- MAN, A DANGER MASS Man does not live by poker alone. Nor, indeed, does man live by poker computer programs alone. Though these days it seems I spend half my time playing poker and the other half running computer simulations to see what I did wrong, every now and then, I rise to the bait of some software that has nothing to do with anything, but is just plain fun. Such is a cute little anagram program called Namegram 3.00 by Neil J. Rubenking. An anagram, if you don't know, is the rearrangement of a familiar word or name in new and sometimes surprisingly appropriate ways. For instance, an anagram for George Bush is go hug beers. Isn't that interesting? Isn't that quaint? Idle hands being the devil's playground, and my hands being idler than most, I've taken the time (too damn much time, if you must know) to run some familiar names through the anagram generator. Here's a random sampling of Card Player people, and the mystic secrets that their hidden names reveal... Mason Malmuth, for example, is L.A. sun mammoth. Mason, where have you been spending your time? Bill Sykes is bellykiss, but Bill "Bulldog" Sykes is bless gold, bulkily. I don't know what either one means, but they both seem wonderfully portentous. London Haywood is lay no odd, nohow, or nod a howdy, loon. My name converts to Josh van Hour, which seems a damn sight more aristocratic than John Vorhaus. June Field becomes if June led, which she has, and her husband Phil is he flip lid, which I imagine he does on deadline day. Susie Isaacs translates into sis is a U.S. ace, her wildest dream come true, no doubt. Roy West is rosy, wet. Draw your own conclusions. The next one's kind of x-rated, so you might want to turn your head. Lynne Loomis is lemony loins. Nice! Max Shapiro is aphorism ax, and is that his style or what? Arnold Snyder is rad red nylons, though, of course, his personal life is his own affair. Lee Frome is eel for me, and Jim Feist is Fiji Stem, and Jack Rubin is Juan Brick, and Alan Krigman is an alarm king, and Mike Cappelletti is pale kelp titmice, and Bob Ciaffone is Babe O'Coffin, and W. Lawrence Hill is in hell we crawl, and Andy Nelson is Sonny Laden and Mike Caro is okra mice, and Tony Holden is holy tendon, and, and, and, and... And about this time, my brain begins to burn, and I realize that this anagram program is truly a Pandora's Box (or darn soapbox) that, once opened, can never be shut. After all, people's names are just the beginning. Card Player Magazine, we discover, is rarely patched, or partly reached. The World Series of Poker is flower spikers' rodeo. The Normandie Club is manicure blond. Texas hold 'em is almost hexed or smelted hoax. Seven card stud is durndest caves or dusted caverns. A straight flush is a flattish shrug, but a royal flush is a rush folly. A full house is o lush fuel. Three of a kind is no fake dither. Two pair is row it, pa, or I top war. The fabulous Mirage Casino is... No! No! No! If I start in on casinos, I'll be doing restaurants next, and names of drinks, and colors of chips, and, basically, anagrams till the day I die. Stop me before I anagram again. You know, when I started this article, I had no idea no idea how the hell I could possibly relate anagrams to poker and thus justify its place in this fine magazine. But now I think I have the answer. Anagramming started out as an amusement and a keen tool, but by overuse I've reduced it to folly and nonsense. (The anagram for anagram is a rag man--who cares?!?) Too much of anything is trouble, whether anagrams or poker. How many strong sessions have turned to dust because we stayed to long or played too late? So let my little anagrammania be a caution to us all: moderation in all things; even anagrams; even poker. Okay, that's all. Till next time, play tough, stay sane, and I'll see you in the nervous breakdown--or should I say overwound bankers--lane.
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