In transition...aka Leaving the Primordial Soup...aka Tidying Up, 'cause we're having company!

[Edit: Bloggers are good folk. This guy and this guy in particular deserve my thanks today. Thank you both for your help. Much appreciated.]

So this will mark a turning point in the blog. And to mark this point I am urinating on the monitor.

Done.

It’s Potpourri Day at Flights: wherein I try to put down some stuff that’s been rumbling around in my head for a little while. There's no more association between these ideas than that they share some cortical highway lanes. Nonetheless, they requested an airing, and I have time before the 5k, so why not.

After said musings, for any of you who might be wondering if this little run has gotten me thinking I’m the shit, I'll share a little bankroll analysis. That should cure all of us [me, most hopefully] of any such delusions.

Despite having reached, actually exceeded, any goals I ever had for myself as a player back in December, I am still making very poor decisions with deep-seated psychological roots. Nihilism, masochism and boredom are a cocktail that should be had in moderation if at all, yet even during this rush, perhaps moreso because of this rush, I have found occasion to drink deep and drink often. It’s a hope for me that laying out my stupidity will force me to curb it somewhat.

Lastly, I’ll try to chart a new path for myself, stealing a page out of the guy whose book I shamelessly rip off at the drop of a hat, and come up with a goal or two for the MWGB to get to work on next.

On with the verbose, umbilico-centric ramblings...

• I have apparently been banned from commenting on Absinthetics, for cause unknown. Three different posts I’ve tried to add my two cents only to have my witticisms and praise eaten unceremoniously. Now this bugs me a little, since commenting is how I actually got into blogging, and I spend some time composing my thoughts therein. If you’re curious, some of my best stuff can be found here, where I am currently still atop the TLB. The stuff I came out with before he shut down his blog and moved it was even better, but is now lost to the void forevah. T’is a shame. I am a reader before a writer, and since I know that it takes time to craft stories worth reading or give advice worth heeding, I like to provide those authors with feedback. Yeah, we all know you’re in the Main Event, and I am gonna have to wait to have this grievance fixed. I can live with that. Godspeed, Maestro, and I promise when I am in Vegas to lower my voice, keep eyes down and a respectful distance from you at all times.
• I have decided to merge my two blogs. I only had two in the first place because the people who I wrote The Parkview for (family mostly) would have no interest in the poker stuff. Thus came Flights, a place I could point out I am a fucking retard and lost $1240 learning how to play poker (more on this later), without having to worry about what Mom & Dad would say when next I ventured home. Well it turned out, no one in my family reads my other blog. Ingrates! That shit is good (if, albeit a little repetitive). So why even have two? Why indeed. I guess I hesitated because this is a poker blog, and I didn’t want to gum it up with needless non-poker bullshit. Then I spent a day actually reading this mess. There’s barely any poker in here to begin with. Yeah, I just figured that out…So from now on, I am now going to post all about my other life here too, just to keep things simple. I’d do what some do and post warnings like: Limited Poker Content Ahead, but that’s unnecessary, because if you read this thing, then you know that a priori. What’s that? I do post warnings like that all the time? Well…consider me cured of that habit. Let me state it once and for the record: Flights of Iakaris = Limited Poker Content Ahead. Damn…that would make a great name for a poker blog. Limited Poker Content Ahead. Anyone who wants it, feel free. Yep, I’m a giver.
• I am deeply appreciative of all the help I’ve received, and even moreso all the good wishes I’ve received from all you degenerates. Hope everyone knows that. For anyone silently thinking I am an undeserving and lucky fuck to have stumbled into a modicum of success without paying my dues…I agree. Except about the dues part. $1240 in donations is steep if you ask me. Anyone with half a brain would have gone back to chess or porn before now. Fortune apparently favors the obstinate.
  
• I am at a loss to understand drraz’ dominance of MATH. He’s good, no doubt, but how can one guy show up every week in a tournament full of playah’s and just pick up his check like clockwork. MD’s reprahsentin’!
• My newest coach, Felicia, has agreed to mentor me to a WSOP Bracelet in Stud if I will read a book with an acronym that escapes me. I went to Border’s yesterday and couldn’t find it, or any other book on stud in the poker section. Should this concern me? Anyone got a copy they want to loan me? If so, email me and I’ll arrange transport. I’ll need it for about 3 weeks, then will promptly send it back with a thoughtful thank-you note and some chocolates. [Iakaris = Class Act, through and through]
  
• I just pulled off a move I learned from Hoy (ten minutes ago in the 5K guaranteed). I caught AA in the BB and the cutoff min-raised me. I min-raised him back to make it look like a cheapo resteal - basically kept it in reach of him and right on cue he came way over top to punish me. There went his stack. Hoy demonstrated this exact move in screenshots a while back and as I looked at those bullets I knew just what I wanted to do to get his chips in the middle. Screenshots are the fyoochah of poker teaching – yeah, yeah they take a while to load, who gives a shit? They’re worth the wait. Hoy, I fucking man-love your blog. You know that of course, but I like stating it for the record. Keep on keepin’ on, brotha. As I sit here 11th/248 with 64 remaining and 27 paying, I want everyone to be clear how much I’ve benefited from finding your site. Of course if I totally botch this and finish OTM, I got no one to blame but my own idiot self. [Edit: I finished third. Number 2 was a short stack that God Himself took a serious shine too, and it was not to be for me. That's FT final table number 4, and cash number 5 = too fucking weird for words.]
  
• A note on my site layout. I know shit about computers. Ask Trip. I think he has to keep from laughing out loud about some of the stuff I’ve asked him about. Fluxer too has had to carefully word his responses to me to keep from revealing just how dumb I sound. Appreciated, gents. But here’s my point. I have a couple of problems I could use some help on. Now usually I ask for help on hands or such, and people sidestep them completely, not wanting to hurt my feelings by clarifying my numerous mistakes. But this time I mean I really want your help. I don’t know how to get things into the right side bar. That’s the reason there is no ForPeyton logo, or ccexplore or MATH…any of that stuff. So if anyone was curious why I don’t support charity or my friends, it’s cause I don’t get computahs much. Secondly, I’d really like to free up the left sided border to let me ramble on even longer. Like Veneno’s page. Anyone know how? Anyone, anyone?

What’s that? This has run on too long? Stop immediately? Fine.

Next Up: Bankrolls and Fyoochah Goals. Then: A Girl Named Mel.

FYI: I will be in Vegas Aug8th through Aug11th. Had a blast meeting everyone last time. Anyone who will be around who wants to grab drinks with me...just email or something.

Laytah

If you were looking for a MWGB, you've come to the right place...aka Holy Shit...aka Holy SHIT!!!!

Edit: The streak ended when I busted around 350ish out of 1100ish in the 20k on Saturday. slb played better and did slightly better. I'll go out on a limb and say if he gets a rush of cards and breaks like I've gotten lately, he will go deep soon. Tonight, D, slb, John Juanda and Huck Seed and I all took another crack at the 20k. On try number two I made the money.

Happy? Ambivalent. After 3 and a half hours of play, and with a lot of my friends watching, I played two incredibly stupid hands that I just didn't need to. My poor battle/hand selection cripppled a stack that was sitting in mid-field with the end-game about to begin. That's exactly the spot I am finding I play my game best. Mixed it up with AKo in MP on a flop I missed, with no reason under the sun and approaching the bubble. Tried an unnecessary steal when the table had clearly loosened up with Q7s - then felt religiously compelled to double the fucker up when two spades met me on the flop. The loss of those chips turned me from someone who could pick a spot and play a hand into a guy in Push/Fold mode. These would be what we call good beats - where better play kicks you deservedly in the teeth. I had that feeling, like the rush was still on, when I signed on, but there ain't a rush in the world that can protect you from your own disregard for sound tactics. I'd feel bad about this for days knowing me, but there are some consolations:

1. ITM and 103/1470 is sorta amazing considering I know for sure I ain't that good.
2. The feeling hasn't gone away totally yet.
3. Suckouts: Junk Kicking = 0:2, so karmically I'm ok I think. Not that I really believe in that, but hey, every little bit helps...
4. I didn't feel outclassed playing that thing. The mistakes I made were bad ones, but I was able to see them for what they were, almost in real-time. After getting my feet wet, I believe now I could go deeper if the situation was just right. I would never have believed that before this last week.

Now back to your previously scheduled dose of me rubbing coco-butter all over my gooey self.


Me heart Full Tilt. Me heart pokah. Do you remember me asking my Magical Wish Granting Blog "When Do I Get to Win a G?" 5 days ago? Now do you believe this fucking blog is a genie trapped in my computah? Thought so. Me too. Any requests?

Doyle says, "Play your rushes." Who the fuck am I to argue with The Man?

So, tired as I was after an entire morning of MTTing (see previous post for another example of shameless bragging), I decided to try the FT 6500. Would it be different, how deep could I go, how would I fare against a bigger field? Fucking Crack'nAces himself was playing - how's that for intimidating?

I did well it turned out. This was a chop. Even split with even chip counts. Can I call that a tie? I'm gonna anyway.

I had a monstrous stack by the final table and a better player would definitely have been able to take the whole thing down sans chop. I built the stack mainly on Hoyian blinds theft late when I went into Intello-Aggro mode, and D-like resolve when dealt crap for an hour at a stretch. I just let impatient people run their stacks into each other. I have to say I reread Absinthe's strategy post and the comments on it not 15 minutes before I started to play, both this morning and for the 6500. It's actually printed out and sits on my desk beside my computah. If you haven't read it - it's really fucking good. Fuel, Smokkee and Wes would be the other guys I'd like my game to look like a few years from now. So thanks to those who I see as guides in me having a run like this.

I delivered 2 nauseating beats to people well-ahead of me preflop (I had them covered by a mile both times). Thankfully I took 2 hellacious beats in the mid-game that almost did me in, so I don't feel too bad karmically. I'll still be careful crossing the street for a few days.

My HU opponent, AAsurfer, was flat out better than me (not exactly expansive praise, I agree). He came back from being down 2:1 to get even in about 20 minutes of play. Given another 40 minutes of poker I would have been having a nervous breakdown wondering how it all slipped away. Just not strong enough to finish it off yet. But that's okay. He was very cool about the chop and we both made out nicely for a $26 investment.

This is really a post about how solid my friends in this community are. Kat babysat me she was while playing and winning her Stars tournament during my run this morning, and Chris was also keeping tabs on my penchants for donkitude. Kat then joined Waffles and D, my perpetual partners in crime, and kept me focused throughout the endgame of this thing. I need constant babysitting so I don't shit my pants playing 60k pots. Jules and Mookie (photoshop maestro to the stars) met up with us when it really counted at the end. I can't say enough about how fucking helpful it is to have your friends just shooting the shit with you to diffuse the tension and keep you focused on the gameplan.

Does this little run convince everyone of the value of the blogger community? If it doesn't, you're undeniably opaque.

So yeah...it's been a real good couple of days. I have a pounding headache. But I will play this thing out until I get bounced early like I deserve.

Thanks also to everyone for always stopping by to punch my shoulder. Me heart that too. This hot-pink girl diary has worked out just fucking fine after all.

Lay-tah.

In absence of words. Well, except for the title. And a few thoughts below the picture...but otherwise in absence of words.

All money in pre-flop.

SB likes his hand, has me covered by a hair and proceeds to push. I wake to find to the scariest villains in this Grimm Brothers Book of Poker FairyTales: The Black Kings.

No surprise what happens next. 5th of 216. Okay.

Silver Lining: 2 of these things entered, 2 final tables. Also more than covers my 1/2 stacking Wednesday.

Net Effect? I heart Full Tilt.

Still. What could have been...

I lied to you...aka Melinda baby - next post, I swear...aka Tonight, I'm cleanin' out mah closet...

Congrats to our boy Donnie, who took down the Not. Congrats to slb who took me out - for a guy who took a ridiculous amount of convincing, he posts with regularity, and he's pretty damn funny. You have joined Wes' blog as another I am growing addicted to serially commenting on. Ask him what a pain in the ass that can become, brotha. Donnie too. Donnie's comment on the divorce post in The Blog of Lose is one of the weirdest, laugh-because-you've-suddenly-become-afraid, mini-epics I've read in a while. If I evah need a marriage counsellor, I am not goin' to this guy. Also, Zaraq and Evil (ISS) Spock, nice job and glad you made it out - send me your links and I'll put them in here and then we can all invade your quasi-private girl diaries. I guess my little streak couldn't last long, but at least I played okay enough to make it back to the final table. Darval, we gotta grow the Not. It can be the next Mookie, I know it. First the S&M name change to The Knot then a banner with Tabitha Stevens getting paddled, and voila! 55/week easy. That's more or less how Mookie did it.

Either way, you're doing a great job brotha.

For whatever it's worth, can I say how awesome it is that Trip took down the Mookie. Considering what a masterful job of encouraging and guiding Donnie I did at the Not HeadsUp, I am really disappointed I didn't stick around to see one of the nicest guys on our circuit return to winning ways. My bad, Trip. Next time. I was being a total tool, and if it's any consolation got myself stacked playing cash 1/2. I am gonna have to stop bouncing back and forth between MTT and cash. Unlike Wes, D and Hoy, I am simply not good enough to change gears appropriately. Got myself doing crazy shit like trying to resteal from someone from an obviously made hand.

Me stupid.

Oh well. lesson learned (I think).

Which brings me to the last point of this post. Felicia, I want to learn how to play stud. You looking to teach a non-mouth breather everything you know? Mull it ovah and email me or reply in comments. And fret not, I've been getting rejected my whole life, so a No Thanks won't kill me. I'll just cry inconsolably. Edit: Great Timing! I ask Felicia to teach me Stud the same day she tells all of us to focus on Hold'Em! Ah well I like Hold'Em just fine and stink at it pretty bad, so teach me that please.

Alright NEXT post is about She Who Cannot Be Named, Eric. Very likely anyway.

Laytah.

Into the void, then up the ladder we went...

For anyone new here today who'd like to read a grown man bitch like a spoiled child about the fact that poker isn't chess, please see the previous post. For anyone who'd like to read about an incurable egomaniac who's feeling pretty fucking smug right about now, please read on.

Pretty good 24 hours of MTTing. Popped another cherry this morning. First non-blogger online MTT. $26 well spent. The Lone Gunman helped me stay patient as the short stack while dutifully ignoring whatever it is he does during the day. Arrange the deportation of foreign nationals? Select new models for Bebe sports wear? Explore the occult with an exquisitely preteen fascination? Unsolved mysteries indeed...

My worst mistake of the tourney? I reraised a flop I missed with AKs when I thought the guy was c-betting me. He sprung his trap and put me all-in. Had me covered by a mile too. Talk about picking a fight I didn't need. Otherwise, played reasonably well. Totally card dead at the final table but waited out two people who ran pocket pairs into pocket aces on nearly consecutive hands. After an early AKs push that no one called, I never saw anything higher than an unsuited, unconnected queen. Until in the BB with just 4k left I found Jacks. And promptly fired them into the SB's kings.

All good. Me feel bettah. Me Heart Pokah.

Also: Was I the only tool yesterday who didn't realize that HermWarfare was Derek? Cool playin' with ya, brotha. Sorry I didn't find ya in Vegas, but next time.

Next Up: "Melinda - Where you at Shorty? "An epic poem in 7 parts.

Ciao.

It will put the dog in the bucket! It will put the dog in the bucket!...aka As usual, the universe couldn't give a fuck what I want for Christmas...

Greetings.

I want to begin today’s post with a philosophical observation and a daily affirmation.

As Renee Descartes once said, “Fuck personal responsibility.”

I happen to love me. A Lot. So I sure as shit am not gonna blame myself for that royal screwjob I suffered last night on the way to my coronation.

No way.

I blame this guy.

After all the love I’ve sent him for weeks now (check the comments in any of his recent posts) in his epic quest for a WSOP-ME seat, how does he respond? By showing up at my table while I’m trying to do my thang, and proceed to jinx the evahlovin’ FUCK out of me. Chatting the table like a demon; demanding I win, insisting I HAVE to win or it will be the meltdown of all blogger meltdowns, and rousing the rabble so effectively they proceed to raise and reraise me every hand, just about making me cry in the process. Okay maybe you guys aren’t rabble, per se, but ya know what I mean.

Dude, if your girlfriend wasn’t so relentlessly Smokin’, I’d nevah let you rail me again. Since she is so relentlessly Smokin’ as a guy I am forced by the Guy Code to forgive you. Which I do.

You’re welcome.

[Edit. Did this read like I was seriously blaming mah boy Smokkee for me being a luckless schmoebot? Hope not. Smokkee, we're good brotha, it was 2AM when I wrote this and I was just screwin' around as usual.]

There. I feel bettah already. Well, a little anyway.

So, nope. I didn’t win WWdN, despite having spent a couple of hours getting to a position where that was a strong possibility. If I had, it would have been hellaciously cool, because as I’ve mentioned a few times, I only got interested in poker through Wil’s blog, and this tournament was the first online poker game I ever played in. As some of you saw, I came in fourth, but at present I take no joy in it. I entered the final table with almost 9k more chips than my nearest competitor and was sure I knew what to do in order to win the damn thing.

But after all that - Fourth. I am having a hard time recalling the last time I felt this disappointed; like something I felt I was entitled to just slipped past with a whispered chuckle. Moron.

Yeah, I already agree – better get the fuck over myself. Life is good, and I am in no need of a ledge with attendant 20 story drop. Still sucks though.

Here’s something a little unusual about my path up the ladder:

1. I busted Wes. That’s four times and counting – almost as bliss inducing as busting Waffles – 2 times to date for that hedonistic thrill. Hoy has it in spades; the rest of the tournament becomes a post-coital haze in your head after Waffles goes bye-bye and his chips start skipping merrily towards you. BTW I busted Wes at a table that included him, Weak and Absinthe – What do you suppose the expected value of sitting there for 20 minutes is? No es bueno, that’s for sure.


2. I busted Eric. I understood your point B.D., but if you reraised me on the flop that would have been more consistent with a made flush. Pretty hard to lay down a flopped 3rd nut for a moron like me anyway. You should have known that about me by now. Chip Reese and Freddy are very disappointed; you’re making them look bad by association.


3. I busted Kat. Please forgive me darlin’. Luckaris is sorry. Well, sortof.

These are people I really spend a lot of time reading or just shootin’ the shit with in general. It was weird going through everyone you know as you move through the crowd. But I’ll take it in a pinch.

Need proof that math (no, not MATH) sucks?

Suckouts: Junk Kickings (min. 1k chips in pot) = 2:3

Timing, of course, proved to be the totality. It’s true I delivered a hellacious beat when I was dominated and managed to bust two people right there. As anyone who plays a lot of MTTs knows, you have to get lucky, win races, steal and resteal etc. I did all that, got decent cards and it still just wouldn’t come together.

I am pleased that I wasn’t tight with that big stack. I used it like God intended, as a club to beat the shit out of anyone not holding a premium hand. Down to 18, I raised and reraised with complete junk at least half the time, trusting only in position and trying to put as much pressure as I could before taking time off to build up table image again. I stupidly called a big hand with the Hammer (never did it at a final table, so that novelty is now gone – ie. Nevah Again, Retard), but quickly stole enough blinds to get right back in it.

So overall the plan was working beautifully.

Until something bad happened to my queens at the final table. Something very bad. I’m not supposed to say, but let’s just note my worthy opponent (Amy) had AJo. And I took a 7k hit that really changed table dynamics with the antes being measured in astronomical units.

Did I then tighten up and start making tilty moves? Nope. I channeled my inner Hoy and went right back to work stealing any blinds I could get my grubby hands on. Sure enough, I built back up to 26k and thought that this has to be my night: I had survived a couple of races, my big pairs all held up – with just the one exception, which I managed to overcome. I had made a couple of big laydowns, suckouted twice to great profit - what the hell else is there between an affable Robbie Benson lookalike and victory?

Well it turns out you shouldn’t pick the last 15 minutes of the tournament to get incredibly unlucky. With blinds in the Hubble Deep Field, I got Astin all-in preflop with a dominated king, only to have him pull out his wand a conjure one of his 3 outs. Nope, that's still not a bad beat story because, hey no hard feelings, despite it costing me a third of my stack. In fact, that evened up the suckout: junk crunching ratio, and karmically that’s always good I think. I don't know much about online strategy, but I do know enough about Lee Jones to know I am at the mercy of his draconian sense of justice.

So, I still felt like four-handed, I definitely had a chance. Then the previous hand with Astin essentially repeated itself. This time his river magic conjured one-of-8 outs while he had me covered. And just like Kaiser Souze, I was gone. Yeah...I'll allow you might consider that a bad beat story. But at least it was only one sentence. And at least he's a Torontonian like yours truly. If it couldn't have been me (WHY GOD?! WHY couldn't it be me!?), I was rooting for you. Which is likely why you lost in short order. Great run this week brotha. Congratulations also to HermWarfare and of course KentAllard. Way ta take the whole thing down.

It's really all good news: I made a few bucks, it was nice to be at a blogger final table again, and without a shadow of a doubt, when it was crunch time I got my money in 3 times WAY ahead. [EDIT: I thought I might be overstating this, but I just ran the numbers this morning - Yeesh!] I am trying to be decisions-oriented and feel good about the fact that those reads on my opponent were good, and that those were reasonable plays that should have held up.

But it’s weird. I just felt very dialed-in for most of that tournament, especially after I took those late gut punches. As arrogant as it is to say considering the fucking ridiculously talented people who were playing, I seriously believed I was going to win, pretty much from the time I got things going. As I write that I force myself not to delete it; it’s the truth after all, but the hubris of it just makes me smile and shake my head. What a retard.

So what am I left with? Just this:

Man’s reach must exceed his grasp, else what’s a Heaven for?

That’s John Milton with an observation that is one of my favourites, because it eloquently explains why a guy like me wastes his time playing this fucking game.

So, here’s to Fourth. And perhaps a first to follow, at some point down the road, although given the competition, who knows?.

And here’s wishing each of you success with the beast too.

Laytah.

Information you likely already have...aka When do I get to win a G?...aka Maybe it isn't for Escargots after all...

First time posting on a Sunday? Could be, could be...

What's the special occasion?

I just want to ensure that anyone who stops by here has heard the great fucking news.

Eric, Biggestron, and Wes all had huge scores within hours/days of each other. Eric is in fact now ranked the 3,456th best live tournament player in the U.S. That ranking is just about the weirdest bit of numerology I've seen all week. Don't win or lose anything else B.D. For me, you'll always be #3,456.

Edit: in a related vein (no not a big blue one you pervs), my boy slb just won a token. Not too shabby, brotha, not too shabby.

As a guy who is new to the fraternity, I honestly get encouraged/inspired by the fact bloggers are taking names and kicking ass all over the digital and three-dimensional felt. Can I go next? Edit: Nope. Details to follow.

Well that's it. If ya get a chance, stop by and give the brotha's their due, 'cause that's how we all roll.

Impressions of Absolute Dominance, and poor impressions at that...

One day after chump-bubbling The Mookie (10th/57), I won The Not. Only 15 people played, but it is my first MTT win to speak of. So that’s sort of cool.

I almost didn’t play the thing. As usual, D gets the nod for timely good advice.

I got heads up against a guy that I hold in very high esteem. Wes is the motherfuckin’ man and he’s funny as hell. How funny? Tough_Fish – ‘nuff said.

Fortunately, I tend to get very, very lucky against him, and this is the third blogger tourney I have busted him out of. He also puts up with my compulsive need to serially comment in his blog, which I do appreciate, and hereby promise to curb.

Wes went on an unbelievable run after having his aces cracked by my mighty T6h. He was down to less then a thousand chips, but gave no signs of tilting. One hand after another, he Hoy’d and Hoy’d me till he was back up to just a 4:1 deficit. Incidentally, he is the only other blogger I know who talks shit while he Hoys, and who checks down his Hoy’s like a man. Full style points, brotha.

I began to freak out a little for a bit, but caught some good looking A’s and paint then survived my own mis-fired Hoy. Good stuff. Thanks to all our crew who railed us both: the chat was hilarious, and it was fun to not be green text for a change.

In honor of Wes I tried to keep this short, but even then it’s like a month of posts on Retards. I tried. Speaking of running on, if you survived Part One of my Vegas Soliloquy, Part Two is found below this. Like I said, it may be a while before I'm back at it, so hope you enjoy it and have a great weekend.

Lay-tah.

Incomplete but concluded, or so I hope...aka Did ya meet anyone interesting?...aka Vegas Baby! Part 2

So I got the poker play out of the way in Part One, which for anyone new here is found a couple of PageDowns below this. I should point out the disclaimer is still in full effect, as I didn’t hit on Articles 2 and 4 first time out.

Now on to what really made Vegas worthwhile.

It was not the MGM’s bathtub, which insisted on pitstopping my shower drain for twenty minutes each morning before adding a tubfull of agua to the disturbing equation that is the Nevada Water Crisis. Each day I had to find creative ways to solve ring-around-the-shins.

Nope, as Falstaff and Wolf predicted, the trip turns more on the people you get to know. I know Hack, as far as truths go, that’s a regrettably sentimental one, but it’s also unavoidable, even for someone as malicious and cynical as I. If you’re looking for something more salacious, I recommend you ask D or Waffles about Princess JelloShot; some stories should be told by a third party for credibility’s sake.

Sitting here at my desk in the study, the best bits of Vegas are brought easily to mind with the agreeable chaos card shufflers are more than comfortable with:

Working back to front I recall Jules, D, Static (first time meeting an LA poker blogger – you did your kind proud BM), Kat, Waffles and I near the end of a great day at Red Rock chowing down and mulling over just how weakly I played a hand where I held AKs. What’s that? You want me to review the hand in exacting detail, so you can offer your opinion or commiserate? Well, I don’t normally go for that sort of thing – some consider it gauche - but since ya asked:

RedRock (and boy does she rock) ½ NL: Yours truly with intermittent focus primarily because the augmented cocktail waitresses alternate between ignoring and molesting me. Well, mostly ignoring me, but distracting nonetheless. Plus I spent a few hours with the big boys the night before.

Hero in BB dealt AKs, looking with relief at $390 after a set of 8s trapped AA two hands ago. Villain UTG is a decrepit, almost cadaveric, octagenerian with the dour odor only the truly despondent can aquire after years of Vegas inspired soul-erosion. This is the cowboy whose bullets backfired for a rack. He’s reloaded though and has $200 to play with.

UTG to 7$ and finds a caller 2 spots down the ring. Folded around to Kal-El who believing AKs has to be good raises it up to $15. Insta-called by UTG, but squeeze out our partner to make it HU. Flop is KT7, the pot has $40 in it and I bet $25 at it. Quickly, and I mean instantly, he is putting chips out and raises to 50. I look at him for a bit, without trying to be a prick. He doesn’t seem upset or looking like he’s trying to show me up for cracking aces. QQ? KK? Bullets again? AK, AT? I call, reluctantly. Turn is another T, and now I take a good long think. I can’t put a finger on it, but I feel like I am behind. I got the feeling the second he called my pre-flop raise. That sense may be wrong, and Waffles at my immediate right is telepathically begging me to call, but I just don’t have a good feeling. I check and he again bets into the cards 50 more into a $140 pot. I saw him play enough to know he’s not a maniac, and he has a full rack beside him. It looks as though he is aiming to get every chip into the middle, one round at a time. I am looking damn good with my hand. I should be in love with her, since I have 2 pair with an A kicker.

But I lay it down.

In retrospect, I played it too weak and never knew where I was in this hand. I wish I had raised bigger preflop and post-flop, so I could better understand him. My flop bet was small not because I was feeling scared or cheap, but because I didn’t have a computer to tell me what the pot size was, and I grossly underestimated what a 75% pot bet would be. He mucked of course. I would’ve too. When I tried to quietly compliment him on the hand, he turned to me and nearly shouted, “WHAT’s that, NOW?” Deaf as my leg. Sheesh.

But I said I was done talking about the poker. And I am, because this blurb wasn’t really about the hand itself. It’s more about the great discussion at the restaurant where Jules and D took turns opining on how they would play it, what considerations I had failed to analyze, how it could be thought of, and acted on, differently. Static and Kat then shared useful stories of similar situations and their results, while Waffles argued compellingly for the fact that I am a donkey and essentially dead money walking. Good times, good times…

And really that story is also about Don, and his willingness to play host time and again that weekend. He drove the Buggy out to the Excal, picked up our merry band and tourguided us to the Rock to spend a day just enjoying each other’s company and the phonetics of incessant chip tricks. As memorable as getting deflowered at the Fish Tank was, as frustrating as getting rivah’d as the Tourney was, and as migraine-inducing as drinking through to 3 AM at the Ex’ uneven excuse for a bar was, Sunday at the Red Rock made it all okay. It was simply a great day spent playing poker with friends. What the hell did I go to Vegas for, if not that? For a change I broke even after 4 hours of play. Okay, okay, not quite even thanks to the tubesock laydown I described above. But close.

BTW for those who have never had the pleasure, Jules is the loudest table captain I have met in my limited live experience. I was at ½ with Static, Waffles and Kat and I could hear and see her holding court and seriously fucking people’s shit up from across the Rock’s highly stylized poker room. Amazing and hilarious all at the same time. Kat & I were working off headaches for the first few hours and managed to make the most of it. Static, in a truly selfless effort to make me feel better about my useless game, decided to take one for the team and beat me to the First One Stacked label. I owe ya brotha.

Our boy Waffles was on fi-yah!, and got ridiculous amounts of respect at the table, raising with nothing and looking at a table of folds, even when in EP. This was in stark contrast to your hero who was raised and re-raised by a little old lady who took the Old Guy’s chair when he finally went busto. This senior citizen was even less fond of me than the first and she would sit out everything except the hands I played in, coming 9 or 10 BB’s over my open-raises, forcing me to lay down the few marginally playable hands I was seeing. I turned to Waffles and murmured, “Fuck, old people scare me dude.” He smiled knowingly and stated for the record, “Yeah man, stay clear of her, you are her BITCH”.

Sad…emasculating…true.

At last, and with no warning, she stood with a little difficulty, got her shit together and left without a word. I so happy to see her go, I almost gave her tongue on the way out the door. With the nearly-dead out of my way, I chipped up aggressively before the dinner bell rang (ie. Jules hollered at us several times) allowing Waffles, with a truly monsterous stack, and I to make our goodbyes and join the gang.

One interesting note: we made the mistake of announcing to the table it was our last orbit (Read: Jules told us in front of everyone we were allowed one more orbit or she’d break out the paddle. Again!) So the entire table started to push back at Waffles every hand, and push heavily, knowing he wouldn’t want to take a hit when he was almost home. Happily, I got the coup de grace, when he made a pair on the flop, bet it, and I monster re-raised him holding…

[can’tcha guess?]

Five Three O.

How good a friend am I? I didn’t it show it, allowing our boy to go out in a blaze of well earned respect. All kidding aside, he dominated. Nice job, brotha. And seriously, Waffles is the kind of guy you can travel with. Anyone who likes to get out there on the open road, knows that’s just about the biggest compliment you pay someone. Great hanging with you despite your relentless observations of my inadequate understanding of NLHE.

Actually that day started well too. As I chase the staircase turns that is this recollection, I am brought to comparing my Turkey Sandwich dinner (very good) at the Rock to my Champagne Brunch Buffet at the Bellagio (fucking sumptuous). I had asked Kat the night before what she had planned Sunday and was informed she and J were going to see an Ansel Adams photography exhibit at Bellagio. That’s just my sort of thing, so I invited myself along. Kat being the total sweetheart she is called me Sunday to make sure I was still interested. I was, and on a lark got Waffles to come too. He didn’t seem all that interested, but I knew he’d be good for a story or a laugh, and he didn’t disappoint.

The Adams exhibit was well-conceived, cleanly presented, but unintentionally ironic. Some very smart people I know struggle with the concept of irony. One of my many pretensions is that I have a pretty well developed sense of it. Bellagio provided a humdinger example when they painted a quotation of Adams’ in huge letters on the greeting wall of the exhibit. The gist of the quote is that true works of Art are fundamentally independent of context. They can and should be an experience for the viewer that exists without need for an explanation.

To the right of this Insight you could pick up your handheld audio-guide. At the push of a button, it would whisper in a painfully overacted voice all sorts of mundane details related to the photograph in front of you.

Now I doubt any of you signed on for an Art Exhibit review, but since you might still be here: the very famous picture Aspens (thanks for the link Kat), which shows a line of light slicing along a darkened copse of trees which run away from the picture’s meridian, truly haunted me. The reproductions I have seen do not do the actual photograph justice. In presentation, it seemed a reflection on our mortality, and by extension the mortality of the very living world we occupy. It brought to mind the idea of iridescent futility; Life as beautiful and doomed. If all we can do in our limited scope is strive to make or become a beautiful thing…well, that seems like a pretty good use of any one partially lit tree standing both alone and amongst its many brethren, in a forest condemned to imminent shadow. The picture is worth looking at if you are ever afforded the opportunity.

So you can see, anyone capable of having deep thoughts like that at 10:30AM was gonna meet the Bellagio champagne brunch with a consuming passion. Or passion for consuming. And I had good company – the girls and Waffles joined me in hitting that smorgasbord at least twice, and I have to admit I may have sauntered by once more. Basic and total decadence is how to envision it; with lunch and breakfast merging into an obscene hybrid filled with cantaloupe and the like (you’d love it Marge). I had at least 4 desserts, but had become such a glutton I couldn’t even store mentally what it was I was shoveling into my…er…cake-hole. Cake, maybe? Whatevah, it tasted good, and so did its four siblings. Add four glasses of champagne to that mix and you’ve got a guy who’s going to be working off a food coma and a migraine for most of his ½ session. Fortunately, I always travel with my extremely personal physician, and he cleared me for flight in due course. Buffet goot. Indeed.

Could anyone still be reading this? The mind boggles. But there are two more things I want to put down for my own recollection years from now. These are simpler to relay and in fact are interconnected.

Saturday night, when Waffles had disappeared to do God knows what, D and I found time to shoot the shit with Hoy (God how I want to call you Hoyzano now!) for an extended period at the Ex and then up in his room. Out of all the people I met that weekend, D and Hoy came off in person exactly as I had imagined. Between them you can get a friendly but pretty robust Cash Game v. MTT debate going at the drop of a hat. So running a hand or two from the tournament by both of them was great. In addition, Hoy and I are at similar stages in terms of career and child-induced sleep deprivation, which will give any two people plenty to talk about. I’ve been a fan of his posts since before I had a blog, and getting to know him has only improved my impression of him. If more evidence was needed, I just want to say how adult I think both his and Felicia’s posts have been on the issue of their misunderstanding. The prose in both their posts is restrained yet warm and sincere. And I totally second Hoy's remarks about Felicia, for whatever that's worth. I personally have pored over her archives and learned from them on numerous occasions. I'm glad her most recent post sounds like she's recovered from having her feelings hurt by friends - isolation and alienation are exquisitely painful experiences for anyone to bear. Felicia, I for one was bummed we never got to meet. Next time, hopefully.

And in this magnanimous spirit now upon us all, I vow to think twice the next time I have the urge to call someone a taint-hound. Even if it is in jest. Ah....taint-hound. Ya know, I made that word up. It will be in the dictionary in a few years, God willing. But have to say, I got no love for giving the world this one-of-a-kind creation. Talk about blogger ingratitude... Felicia, I know you know that's a joke.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Hoy and I then proceeded to kill a fair bit of time at the Ex’ bar, neither of us really in the mood to play given our run to date. I made our boy relive his Hachem story – I told him he should’ve told the Champ when he accidentally put Hoy All-in minus one chip, “You just Me’d me.” I thought this was pretty funny, in fact it’s making me smile while I type. Hoy nodded indulgently, which was cool of him. As Peak has pointed, sometimes its possible to be too clevah.

We hung with Hoff, who is another down-to-earth awesome guy to drink and kill time with. I also gotta give props to Falstaff who looks just like I predicted, and wears a knowing, amused smile when he sits at a table. I appreciated him breaking away from the Ex’s Big Boy game to say hi – look forward to wasting more time together next time.

After an extended tour cycling drinks, Hoff and then Hoy decided to call it a night. Because I had crashed the night before, I was still going strong at 1AM, but was now out of people I knew to talk and drink with. What to do? Well Hoy had wandered over to say GN to Iggy and Pauly who were at the middle of the bar holding court. Why not? I wandered over and introduced myself while Hoy was still taking his leave. Gotta say, the guys whose party this was were very cool hosts. Iggy bought us a drink and told stories about what it used to look like at these things. There was an interesting discussion of something Jordan wrote before I started reading blogs concerning unmentioned A-Lists, B-Lists and the likes…I had to keep from smiling at the idea that there were some of us new enough to the thing to have not even registered in anyone’s head as an entity, let alone having their blog making the lowest rung of such lists! I have to look that post up one of these days. Jordan, I’m not sure if you stop by here, but if you do and can point me in the right direction, I’d be curious to read it. Your ideas were much discussed in a wholly positive way.

So Hoy and I had a very memorable time shootin’ the shit with the BlogFather, and whatever expectations I had, they were certainly turned on their head by the reality of meeting this particular Wee Folk. To anyone who has never been to one of these things, meeting Iggy is an experience that will probably make the trip worth your while all by itself. The Rooster also drank with us before getting back to work. In a nutshell, he is the mothafuckin’ man. He’s got the Phil Ivey eyes of a table-slayer, and the kind of smile you see when you’re watching your stack move south for the winter. It was very cool meeting him, and trying to get my head around the limits he plays. Someday? Probably not, but let’s delay rationality for another day.

While Iggy had to tend the flock of people who were dying to get a word in with him, I got the chance to spend some quality time with the man some call the Bracelet. Bobby and I both work in the same field, on different sides of the ball, so that gave us a fair bit to shoot the shit about. He is also another great guy, with an excellent sense of humour - no surprise to any Diary readers out there. I tortured him into retelling his personal Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner, which he did so patiently and with good humour. The fact that he had to do it twice more for newcomers, and did so with the same aplomb says a lot about him. Please do not ask him the story if you meet him. It must be murder to keep going over it. Learn from my drunken insensitivity. He also tells the story about ForPeyton with a quiet selflessness that is very impressive. It’s an example of doing good for its own sake, which is rare enough these days. If you haven’t supported the cause, and I haven’t yet either, but will today – consider it. As Kurt Vonnegut once observed, whatever this thing is, we’re in it together. I also told him I am going to photoshop my head onto that picture with Ava Fabian, but then I remembered I am a moron and don’t know shit about photoshop. I guess depending on how you worded it that could be ironic too. Close at any rate.

Now if meeting Iggy and Bobby didn’t make the trip +EV, meeting Pauly definitely would. I’ll try to tread a careful line and avoid fawning or sounding like a fanboy. But the fact of the matter is that Pauly is about as cool as anyone should be, but very few would be in the position he’s in. He was just slightly more blasted than I was at the time I met him, but he was engaging, friendly and made sure everyone present was having a good time, feeling like part of the party. Frankly, I was a little surprised. Back when he was recovering from being sick and had moved out to LA for a break, his writing read a little bitter and cynical. Truthfully, I wouldn’t have been shocked if he came off like one of those newly famous idiots the Travel Channel is minting with regularity. Instead, he was better than advertised. I get why everybody raves about this guy now. What’s not to like about somebody tough enough to make their living doing what they love, and smart enough to enjoy it? Now here’s hoping he can really crush the PLO field.

And what else? Too much by far. I haven’t sung Carmen’s praises nearly enough, but fortunately I have Waffles for that task. We divide praising D & C between us, ya see. Yeah, yeah, he got the better looking one…what can ya do?

Now I know this has been long, and essentially written for my own benefit. I know I met people I really enjoyed meeting that I haven’t written about here. Believe me when I say without a doubt that was one of the best parties I have evah been to. In three days I didn’t meet one person I wouldn’t be happy to spend time with. Yeah, I passed on JelloShot - a man has to know how to stay out of trouble – but aside from her, no exceptions. Forgive my omissions, exaggerations and don’t hold my exhausted fingers against me.

Okay, I am all typed out. I’ll put links in another time. It may be a while before I post again, I am spuh-hent!

Cya.

If you think it's a bad idea, it likely is...aka QJo=Donkey...aka why play poker for 3 hours just to prove to everyone you are stupid?

Very quick one. Well, quick for me.

Can't blame anyone or anything but myself and my terrible decisons in crunch time for the Mookie bubble. Maybe the dumbest two hands I've played in quite a while. Sorry, I meant CLEARLY the two dumbest hands I've played in quite a while. Surpassed only by the cash game exit 40 minutes later which had me frustration-pushing AKs into Slb's bullets fairly declared preflop, when the flop gave me no help. Thank God that was 25NL, not 100 or worse. That table sensed me steaming and raised/re-raised me every hand I played until I delivered a tilt special. Nice work, boys.

Buying myself a bubble for the low, low price of all my 8k chips: Mid-size stack with 10 to go, only 5 at our table, been playing for 3 hours, and I raise it UTG for no discernable reason with QJo. Just did not have to play that hand, and situationally I can't justify it. Terrible position to steal, worse position to play. D U M B. Mrs. M as a shortstack senses I am FOS and with K8 calls, leaving my previously workable stack decimated. Even better is my A9o exit that was escorted to the door by JJ. No I mean actual Jacks, not our boy. But still. EDIT: just checked in at Mookie's - it was kings. But I'm not gonna change things and unlink JJ; he's just to freak nasty to mess with.

No excuses, other than that I was pretty tired all day - which ain't much of an excuse any way you look at it, and hadn't been planning on playing. So why did I? I missed hanging out with you bastards. Don't regret it a bit. Got over my bad run with cowboys too, having them hold up twice in one game. So that's something.

My mood was much improved this AM because my girl updated. Please stop and help her with her current dilemna. Please be nice, she's having a tough day.

Can't make the Not, so it looks like its MATH where I try to redeem myself. I'll try to get the second half of Vegas up today.

Latah.

Incompleteness as the inevitability I'll have to live with...aka Stacked and Stacked again (and that's the good news)...aka Vegas Baby!

Standard Disclaimer with Ammendents, on Advice of Legal Counsel:
This shit is long. Although it’s agreed in principal that people are at least vaguely curious as to what the guy whose blog it is has been doing since the last time they stopped by – even I can see you’d have to be pretty fucking curious (ie. morbidly obsessed with me) to find what follows worth the time investment. Just how long is it? I haven’t even written one word of it and felt the need to begin with this caveat. Forewarned is forearmed, or so they say.

Just Some of the Indictable Offenses You Will Find Below:

1. A painfully detailed trip report, redeemed only by the welcome absence of any actual details. Instead, prevarications and generalized dissembling will stand-in as needed.


2. Hand histories accompanied by a poker logic that might be amusing if the regrettable transfer of wealth from a blameless child’s college fund was not intimately associated with aforementioned logic.


3. A bad beat. Yep. For Real. I got royally fucked at the WPBT and I am gonna write about it, whether human retinas ever indulge those pixilated photons or not. It’s therapeutic. Or so I am told, and will soon find out.


4. Lengthy encounters with old and new schoolers alike and me stuck with nauseatingly pleasant things to say about all of them. Fuck, we’re good people. Well…maybe not me, but the rest of you are totally solid.


5. An abundance of cursing that could easily be avoided by someone with an imagination, a vocabulary and any kind of self-restraint. Nope, 2/3 just don’t cut it on this one.

Okay, so that’s the disclaimer. Now for the pill.

Well, almost. First some housecleaning with random thoughts in no particular order - just the way a post should be edited.

Here’s A List of People Who Didn’t Come to Vegas Despite Me Personally Telling Them To…aka Slow Folk I Like Anyway:

• Fuel: Sure it takes balls to call a guy whose game is so A-list he won his WSOP-ME seat months ago slow, but that’s how I, yah know, roll.


• Eric: FYI you & Fuel each owe me diez Washingtonians for settling our bet with D. After the trainwreck that was my cashflow in Vegas, I am waiting on you so I can buy groceries. Milk, Bone-Daddy, Milk. It does a body good.


• Wes: Find a way to take yourself off the Spammer’s list man, or I am gonna be forced to comment several times a post. And you bettah believe I will. That trophy is mine, all mine, so you may as well get it engraved now.


• Hacker: Yeah, you were running wild at the tourneys in my absence, but really belonged down southwest with the big boys. You were made for Vegas, Hack, you know that.


• Chris & Mookie: These guys get a pass ‘cause who doesn’t love a family guy? I won’t regale them with tales of the incredibly hot Thai cocktail waitress at RedRock who mashed her rack into the back of my head twice while serving Waffles. You both know the second time had to be on purpose. Sure it’s a spectator sport for me too, but boobie-mashafication is a victimless crime as far as I’m concerned. Like I said, I won’t bore you with it. I’d have put an emoticon there, but then I'd have to take a steel-toed boot to my own genitals. Use your imaginations if so inclined.

And also this before I begin to tell some true lies:

The Coolest Thing That Happened To Me in My Absence:

• Without a doubt, having a picture of me playing poker posted on the Tao of Poker just four months after I started a poker blog, and playing in my first true MTT. For the curious, that’s me 3 down from Amy Callistri’s cleavage, waiting on the two-outer rivah that will send me running in tears from the WPBT Summer Classic. Years from now when I have my WPT Fallsview title, I will look back at that photo as starting the revolution.

But about the trip...

Vegas was great.

In fact, it was that true rarity of travel events; a journey that exceeded expectations at all turns. To echo my boy D, those of you who knew it would be so were absolutely correct. Those of you who hesitated because you worried you wouldn’t know people, you must make the next one. Nobody cares if you’re new, old or no school. If you like and write about this bizarre, soul-sucking time-eater we call poker - you’re in. That simple. The great and powerful Oz (well perhaps it was another Little Person) had never heard of me or this interstate urinal that passes for a blog, but it didn’t stop him from buying me a drink (despite the fact he hated my choice - a Corona to chase my last jack and coke - mea culpa Iggy) and shooting the shit with our crowd for a good couple of hours on a late Sunday evening at the Ex.

It was that kind of nirvana: more come as you are, less territorial pissings.

But it began with a flight dogged by an early self-consciousness concerning the tedium of movements we all have to make in order to travel. A restlessness that held no hope in the promise of lasting significance was close upon me. To be cleaner about it: I wanted to arrive the moment I set out, but as usual reality proved far tougher to chew through.

The late night I booked prior to takeoff and the 3-hour time difference began to mess with my head as soon as I touched down. The first sign of exactly where I had mailed myself was easily interpreted. Along with the initial, unflinching blast of Nevada atmosphere, came the long-suppressed yearning for a cigarette and her attendant nihilism. Even the oxygen in Vegas encouraged self-destruction and poor decision making. Yet I wasn't paying enough attention to this distant early warning to foresee what lay ahead. Rookie.

After that bleak cab ride in from the airport, one which I spent ruminating on the observation that The Strip during the day looks like a 6-Flags before sundown: underdressed and undisguiseably artificial, I hit the MGM. I unpacked and celebrated the absence of my usual crew of noisemakers by taking a solid one hour nap. Unsurprisingly, I awoke sleepier than before and tried a shower to try and light this candle on my first EVAH trip to Vegas.

How strange is it that at 35 I was making my inaugaral trip to Vegas? It’s strange. Nevah played poker in a casino before either. Weird. Although I suppose there’s no better place to get deflowered than in Vegas. If Pauly’s right, it’s happening on the hour every night in BasinCity, so who am I to fight the tide when it’s ripping? That’s right, no one at all.

Lunch followed my meetup with Don. Though we have pretty different backgrounds and stories to date, D and I seem to have been friends for-evah. Meeting him just confirmed what Chris and Mookie have already posted about – he’s the real deal. We had lunch at the studio café where I ploughed through a passable cheesesteak and then got down to business playing ½ at the Fish Tank. D already covered how my first stack went bye-bye, so I’m going to save my bad beat tale for later. I won't even get into stack #2, where a guy rivers the nut flush over my already made not nut-flush. Yeesh! The fates took pity on me briefly when I got to meet everybody’s favourite pokergirl, Carmen, who took a photo of me my wife really likes, before departing to prepare for her first encounter with Waffles.

I will say that I did not have a great poker experience in Vegas. I got stacked twice playing ½ getting my money in well ahead both times, only to be rivah’d both times. However that shit pales mightily in comparison to Saturday's cockpunch. My exit at the blogger tourney was nothing short of revolting – I played the hand exactly as I would have if I could have seen John’s hole cards, would have been near the chipleader, but instead got handed my scrotal sack sans testes. I’d like to think I took all the card deadness and beats I worked through over the three days like a man, but I wasn’t watching myself. For example, it’s entirely possible some of you heard me whisper MothahFuckah when Tuscaloosa John (a very nice guy, but also a guy whose number I had the entire time we played together) did me in. If so, let me state for the record it was directed at the river, not my tablemate. Chalk it up to inexperience and please excuse the gaffe.

Back to MGM. I had a headache and was seriously questioning whether I even wanted to be in Vegas, if all I was going to be was a donator, or worse - another schmoe stuck in the Probability Matrix and unable to catch a break. However, a realistic bankroll saved me from despair. I had allotted 5 buy-ins for the weekend, which allowed me to feel like I was still okay, and with a change in the wind I might be able to turn it around before the end. I broke from the Tank while D was still hard at work, and decided to walk around outside in the Nevada afternoon and see if the heat could make me vomit or go blind from a migraine. The answer turned out to be “no, but very close”. The experience left me so dehydrated and head sick I essentially passed out in my hotel room and didn’t wake up until 3AM Vegas time. I caught Carmen’s phone message, still have it in fact, which summed it up succinctly.

“Iak! Where are you?! Get the fuck down here – everybody is here!” Is there anything cooler than a beautiful girl using the word fuck? If there is, I’m not aware of it.

How new was I to Vegas and hanging with bloggers? I mulled over wandering down there but guessed that at 3 AM there’d be nobody left. So I went back to bed, and missed the party of the blogger calendar year. Everybody was in fact there. And stayed there until the dawn’s unforgiving gaze found her way to the FishTank. What a retard. I missed meeting the Progenitor, Pauly, Change, Speaker, TheRooster, Felicia, Al & Eva, and of course, all of the people I tend to think of as our crew. Even now, all I can say is, “You Fucking Retard.” And worse, what a lousy precedent to set. Waffles & Jules would both site me as a bad influence when they retired early Saturday night, presumably independent of one another…(I keed, I keed!)

Saturday morning, I met the Legend some call Waffles. He was one floor down from me at MGM, so we cabbed it over to Caesar’s together. Aside from stiffing me on the cab fare, I have to say Waffles is a great guy to kill time with. His take on the world is dry enough to make a decent martini from. He seems genuinely surprised by the popularity of his writing, but I think that we’d all have to agree that few people out there lay it out as honestly and carefully as our boy. Plus unlike me, he’s a true blogger, posting 5 times a week and putting out a boots-on-the-ground version of his life that some of us are just too neurotic to master.

Waffles and I played Meet 'N Greet at the door to the poker room. We ran into many people I have read on and off over the last 6 months – none of whom had ever heard of me or my site (no shock there), but every one of whom knew who Waffles was and got a surprised, often impressed look on their face when speaking to him. I thought to myself as I waited for D and Carmen, “I am E, hanging with Vince at the QB premiere”. I have to say that just the idea of that comparison still makes me smile.

Caesar’s poker room is elegant and cleanly tailored, but what an opaque sign-in process – could not have been more keystone coppish if they deliberately tried! Of course, that is not in any way meant to besmirch the tournament organizers, who did an amazing job. April, I am very sorry I was too distracted to introduce myself and say thank you for putting this great time together. Everyone I met there was having as much fun as I was - and that was a shitload, for lack of a more evolved description. Thanks.

I can’t say much about my tournament play itself, primarily because I was booted only 2 hours after it started. I was pleased with my decisions and my ability to put the players to my right on hands with decent accuracy. I stupidly did not recognize that StB was sitting at my table from the get-go, in the 2 seat to the left of Carmen, with me clear in his sites in the 7 spot - but thankfully I picked up on his stone cold killer vibe early and then avoided him like he was exhaling bubonic spores. Suffice it to say, when I got all my money in it was an honest stack, around 3900 or so, and I got it in good with an opponent who had me covered by just a hair. KK v. QQ decided most unkindly by the last arrow in the bolt.

Fuck. I mean seriously, Just Fuck. What can you do? When it’s not your turn, it’s not your turn. That was the recurrent message Vegas wanted me to receive in no uncertain terms. All weekend she smiled with the willing interest of a quarterback’s bored girlfriend, but demurred when I placed a hand on her waist. I simply hadn’t paid my dues yet, thus it wasn’t my turn.

And there you have it - what else can I say? Congrats to F-Train and everyone else who went deep and hard at it. Next year in Jerusalem, with any luck.

OK, TBC pronto, wherein I will focus almost exclusively on the people I met, photographed and got to know.

Later.

Is this it?...aka I briefly contemplate deleting the blog...aka certain people should be careful about badmouthing me - my Driver is watching them...

One last time into the breach as it were, before I learn what 100+ bloggers look like up close and personal - and spend the weekend fending off Waffles salacious double entendres.

I’d like to begin by stating the purpose of this post, in order to give it a clear direction. The purpose of this post is to recap some interesting things that have happened to either me, or people I know or read, in approximately the last ten days. I was too busy feeling sorry for my poor, tortured, over-worked, head-through-sphincter self for a period there to comment here on some noteworthy occurrences. Thus before I unplug to join with the HiveMind for the first time and receive new code from the Progenitor, I thought I’d correct the error.

To Wit, and in no particular order:

• Have I been doing this long enough to recommend somebody else’s blog without coming off as pretty damn presumptuous? Despite being an agoraphobic introvert, I’ll take the risk if it will get even one extra person to read Hacker’s vile character assassination of none other than I, dear reader. Written in the spirit of Thompson’s The Curse of Lono, it left me truly envious that I had not come up with it. What's that? You think I’m referring you to Hacker not to celebrate him, but simply because his post is all about me?

I’m hurt. And possibly busted. But it’s still funny as shit. And props to my hometown boy for taking down the jewel in the poker blogger MTT crown, The Mookie. I thought Chris looked dangerous from the shortstack, but it wasn’t to be. He’s got my vote for next week though, where I will finish an anemic 11th pushing with the powerhouse J7s.

• The truth is I did play live with Hacker and his gang in a terrific two-table tourney that had me figuring this is what playing the Big O must be like. Our host, a lean and easy-going guy named Terry has a great setup, and the guys where exactly the kind of characters who have made playing live a new priority for me. Dohar, Mailman, Chan, Gibron, Laslo, Jason – it was a pleasure. I would have told the story today, but Hacker’s fiction is far weirder than our reality, so as much I want to tell it now, I’ll leave my mini-trip report for another time.

• But there is a hand history I want to share with you: I busted holding the black kings UTG. My stack was 2100 and the blinds were 75/150 and I shot out 3BB hoping to find a caller. I had just pushed successfully the last hand and thought the table was set for a showdown with someone figuring I was FOS. I then got raised to 600 by an affable giant appropriately tagged Big Country. I have been in this situation 4 times in the last two weeks, felt sure he didn’t have two bullets, so sucked it up and pushed. He mulled and queried me from the long end of the table, while I just tried to pretend I was holding 4’s and send out that signal. Call, call, call. Country decided he had me covered easily and was getting 2:1 on his money, and so remarked, "this is not a great call, but I'm okay with it". He flipped JCc and agreeably stated, “just hoping I’ve got two live ones here, and I put you on a small to mid pocket pair”. I smiled, and mumbled “not so much”. The table hoots their approval for about the five seconds it takes for the flop to deliver two queens and send me home. Now while I like my play in this hand, from the point of view of the more important issue, ie. what was the result?, I hate the push and doubt I’ll ever do so again. As I learn and grow my roll, I keep telling myself what my mentor always preaches, “results, results, results…” One of these days I’ll get there.

• I miss Jules. Are you out there Darlin? Find a computer and let me know you’re still out there. Okay, I know that isn’t really an occurrence, but it’s funny because it’s true…(and yes, the New Yorker is stealing my ideas, Hoy)

• Is there an individual possessing a Y chromosome who hasn’t yet purchased the Alphabet of Manliness by Maddox? Even you think Maddox is an idiot, I guarantee you will laugh your ass off reading this thing. Hmmmm…that’s not an occurrence either? This post sort of sucks. But I can’t figure out why…

• One last thing: is deleting or pretending to delete your blog the new black? Cause if it is…no one told me. I’d have been more than happy to format these filings back to some semblance of normalcy. Just curious. In any case, welcome back Wes – I dedicate this post to you - can you tell? And Slb, what gives, brotha? It just ain’t the same without you. [clevah, clevah, no?]

Okay. Enough for now. I didn't get a chance to tell you what I think about the upcoming elections, or my World Cup picks (whatever the hell the World Cup is anyway - Soccer is for....well, you know). That's okay, I'll hit those next time.

Please visit my girl’s blog if you’d like to test yourself for erectile dysfunction. Melinda baby, I now know you read me and need me with the same faux-obsession I have for you. My next post is going to be all about you, princess, so stay tuned. And for fuck's sake, learn how to play poker, baby. There’s always a market for hot bisexual girls who can push hard on the turn. Tell BF I said hi, and remind him that sharing is caring.

Even Barney knows that.

Later.

Interrupting the Grind and finding I don't miss it a bit...aka Joy amidst the Wreckage...aka surreptitious movie reviews

Hope the holiday weekend is treating all of you well. I am also hoping this was the last Canada Day I spend away from Toronto, given I am moving next door soon. Does Benson & Hedges still host the Symphony of Fire? Could even something as iconic as that yearly spectacle have receded into the Toronto of my memories; withdrawn from its place in reality to settle for an honoured residence in the city of my remembrances? Why is it so easy to draw Milan Kundera to mind when thoughts like this come to mind?

Last night Cleveland experienced a literal thunderstorm that finely mirrored the metaphorical one I was waiting on for the last two weeks. The new backyard table I mentioned in the last post did not fare well for the challenge. I forgot to put the umbrella down before I went to sleep, and this morning found the mangled remains of a would-be missile strewn about the back wall of the garage. Salvageable it is not. But it does make for an interesting visual on a cloud-soaked Tuesday morning as I navigate the debris field clad in slippers and the inadequate shielding of terrycloth and Calvin Kleins.

Anyway, this storm has subsided, and the internal one tore free and clear Friday. Don has it right: freedom, however you define it, tastes good. For a creature of ingrained routine, it’s strange how quickly I have embraced the art of not doing what my clockwerk has been wound to do. At Hoff’s insightful suggestion, I created a daily schedule and a long list of goals of for the three months. It’s worked to get me up early, showered and hitting the day with that undeniable sense of urgency to really live these days. That way, when I’m up to tire high snow drifts and bathing in cancer-inducing radiation in the ElectroPhysiology (EP) lab this December, at least I’ll be doing it with a fully recharged battery.

And on the note of EP, I come to the slow child that is my poker game. It’s a sign of how much the game permeates the brain these days that I think of early position whenever someone at work mentioned the two letters used to describe the job we do. But just before I left work I was faced with the reality I can’t use job to excuse my poor play. Through a friend of a friend I became aware that in Cleveland, there is an EP fellow who plays at very high limits, 8 tabling to outrageous profits. This guy only picked up the game seriously 2 years ago. My friend who was on service with him saw him 4 table on his laptop at work to the tune of a few thousand dollars over the course of a morning!

Unreal. I have to fight every competitive instinct in my body that is screaming, “you need to crank it up dude”. Don’t know why I am wired that way, but there you have it. I can live with the 20 y/o phenoms taking the ball and running wild with it, but this guy is essentially me. He’s been going through exactly the same stuff I have been, in an even busier institution no less, and has learned to dominate the game. I don’t want or need to be that kind of player, but neither does he. He would really have to reach the upper tier for his day job to become a distraction. But just knowing he’s out there has created a dark ripple in the Force for me. Never met him, don’t even know his online handle. I just know he started with the same limitations I have. And he is so much better than me.

Ah, hubris... If the game is good for nothing else, it does provide a crisp reflection of my own considerable limitations and character flaws. As good a reason as any to keep playing.

One last, important bit of housecleaning before I leave to watch Superman Returns for the second time [it’s looooong but great nonetheless].

A recent discussion with people who I read regularly, and have grown to like in that way reading someone’s thoughts will sometimes allow, has forced my hand a bit. For the record, I want to state what I still think is pretty clear to anyone who takes time out of their day to see what I’m up to: the change I made in my banner is a commentary on the limited mentality of people who talk and think like that, not on a particular lifestyle. I considered the possibility it might offend some, but I was sure the small number of people who read this blog would know the origin of the joke and understand the intent. I was also pretty sure anyone who reads what I write would be able to get some sense of my nature; in fact that’s a big part of what I like about blogging. Now, I have gone back to original design – but I have to be honest; I am did so primarily because the the joke completed itself. I did hasten it a bit to show good fellowship with anyone out there who may have thought I was attacking them. I wasn’t. You’ll either take my word on that one or not. In any event, I am truly looking forward to meeting everyone in Vegas for what should be an excellent beginning to the Summer of George.

Hasta pronto.