Call it cubical cleansing. Any chance I get to step outside of my four walls showing pictures of the kids and my four pound one ounce Smallmouth Bass at the 9-to-5 and report on the world of online or live poker is refreshing to the palette. The three a.m. final tables and mundane raise from the button getting the blinds to fold circus may seem boring, and at times repetitious because it is. There’s stories like watching a newly minted Team PokerStars Pro JC Alvarado take down his biggest score ever after winning the SCOOP-medium Main Event for over $500,000. Stories of that $5 rebuy qualifier cashing in his ticket for six figures may bring “why isn’t that me” trains of thought as most people who play online poker dream of hitting that big payoff thru years of six-tabling and reading countless tomes of card wizards proclaiming that math with show you the way to Lamborghinis and six-figure baccarat bets with oil barons in the back room at the Wynn.
Personally I enjoy the action, often watching a tournament far before my scheduled time to report the card slinging before the final nine (or six) divvy up the big pieces of the prize pool. My hopes are with the economy and product that the awesome team put out there these past 14 days was entertaining for the readers and spiffy enough for the brass at PokerStars to want us back.
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These pages have missed a few things while I was dancing with the Flamingo rocks at the $2/$4 tables. Actually, one does not dance he should just try to figure out how to fish fruit flies out of his drink, and hope the waitresses of yesteryear don’t infect him with the Vegas Monkey Virus despite being one of only two people at the table who tip with every watered down drink while six people call every flop and auto-mucking is in order if the crabby AARP spokesperson in the six seat even looks at his chips.
Still wrapping my mind around Vegas with the boy, one thing that I did not understand nor expecting was his unwillingness to do the things we had planned. Batman Legos on the PSP apparently had more pull then Circus Circus, watching Spongebob was more exciting than a chance to walk under Ginsu-sharp shark teeth. Not to say he didn’t have a good time, but there was a feeling that we were pushing him to have that fun versus enjoying the moment. There’s pictures on Facebook that transfer over to these pages for the five readers I have not met.
Perhaps the trip was another parenting lesson to be learned.
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My trip to Vegas was much like my home life, secured in the vapid air of suburbia with ADT alarm systems and housewives getting soused on Yellow Tail and Three Buck Chuck from Trader Joe's while playing bunco. Stayed on the strip, hotel partially comped, and had no problems with the 1972 Golden Nugget Slapback Blackjack tourney winner Ron House from Dayton, Ohio who left his wife and kids after winning $2,500 while passing through on a family trip to Disneyland now can be found at Bill's Gambling Hall scraping up discarded ten cent slot tickets at the Wheel of Fortune machines for a minimum Pai Gow bet.
For the real story of Vegas outside of the glitz and find out more about what happens to people like Mr. House, check out Pauly's new book Lost Vegas. It is a moral imperative to read it, you'll surrounded by twice as many virgins in heaven then allah promises those suicide bombers.
Want a taste for his writing? Go to the April edition of Truckin.
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