Intertwined...aka Mel Baby, can ya hear me?...aka i no likee A K, eh?

Melinda, my erstwhile Dulcinea, this post is for you. I can remain silent in good conscience no longer. My wife, grown concerned by my depressed affect and binge overeating has insisted I take action. Summoning what little will to live I still possess, I send this plea for help out into the ether, uncertain what response she shall meet, but confident I am acting with a resolve both intricate and necessary. We all miss you, princess, but I most of all. I would have you know that in your absence, Thirsty has gone on a post-fast and he is in risk of losing his membership in our hallowed Guild. Eric (the clever little Ewok who took to using your likeness as his screen icon) deleted his blog because he despaired you had been injured while visiting Japan! Those noble tributes acknowledged, still I say, none have missed you more than I.

In your absence I have been reduced to occupying this space with sordid tales of that meanish game of frat boys, degenerates and, of course, degenerate frat boys. I have tried to impress you with my feats of great worth – winning large sums of money playing this ridiculous game…enough for a plane ticket one might note…but not once did you stop by to say, “Hi there” “Congratulations, you total stud” or “I saw your picture on the Tao of Poker – Yum!”

Just silence. With all its painful implication. So wrong, as some might say when anything with less than a 35% chance to win somehow manages to triumph. So wrong, indeed.

Isn’t it clear that I am not a stalker, but instead a dashing, well-adjusted blog Artiste of great repute? And you? You are my Muse, my genetically diversified Japa Hapa. That is nothing to be taken lightly. Ask Kushibo!

But still nothing from you?

It doesn’t seem fair princess. If this oblique affair of letters and pixels is to continue, you need to put some effort into it. As I lie recumbent and resplendent on my Tempur-Pedic space bed, clad in vermillion smoking jacket, ivory gentleman’s pipe and nightshade Armani silk pajamas, I realize I desire only two simple things from you:

• I would like you to comment on this post. Even to tell me you think I am nuts, and must desist. Even to tell me you think the orange shirt I wore to the blogger's poker tournament was a bit much. [yeah, yeah, last time I link it, I promise...] Anything your heart desires, just comment.

• I would like you to mention me in your next post. Same rules apply. Even if only to tell me you’ve noticed my insanity, but you’ve had enough. As any who knows me will tell you, I require an unending stream of validation cheri, and its your turn to provide it. Why not? I know you read me, and you know I read you. You know that I, unlike most of your fan base, am not likely to be in possession of significant quantities of anime of a certain ilk. Okay there may be a few DVDs lying around, but those are for cross-cultural exchange purposes only. I knew you'd understand.

If you cannot find it in your bright pink heart to look fondly on these requests, I am sad to say princess, that our time together will come to an end. You don’t really want that do you? I don’t think so, but only you hold the answer.

If it turns out you can’t bring yourself to meet these requests - Adieu, Cheri, Adieu. We’ll always have Paris I suppose, but then so does everyone else.

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Requisite Poker Content:

A quick apology to mah boy smokkee. No, not for crippling your stack in the 20k. I respect you too much to apologize for playin’ ya hard, and I know you wouldn’t want it any other way. No I apologize for wasting those chips in a play a preschooler could’ve called a mile away . I busted getting all my chips in preflop holding AKo to a guy who clearly tried to tell me he held Aces. It was the same big stack you got broadsided by too. No excuses. I knew he had aces and that I should fold after he raised my reraise. I would’ve still had 1700 chips and been in the fight. Frustration trumped good sense, and I imploded. If I could give those chips back to you, I would, because I KNOW you’d have played more disciplined than that. I have affixed a sticker to my monitor that reads: You will fold AK. It couldn cost me any more money than playing it is.

As a player, I take some satisfaction in noting lately that I am exiting MTTs in one of two manners: either I am beating myself (see above) or I am getting unfortunate when I push when widely ahead. I am hopeful if I can just delete several simian impulses, I can improve and start getting deep consistently. I am obsessed I admit it.

Laytah.