Mastodon Weekend 2012: A Pause

It's not that I do not want to write about the surreal experience of the latest Mastodon Weekend and first completed Half Marathon in Greenville, SC with the people I consider my second family.

But, writing at the moment is limited to gigs (such as my recap of the semifinal match in the PokerStars All-Star Showdown between Galfond and Cates) from the man with the busted toe who finished a mere 12 seconds ahead of me at the 13.1 mile race (see below), and school work which you can sample my "work" on the lack of girls getting into physical and computer science positions.

The man in the circle would be me (Photo cred linked) 

But instead of an inward look at what that weekend meant to me (in due time because my chaffed nipples still rise from thinking about it) this is what I have been working on:

Females Chasing the Career Goal Line in Computer and Physical Sciences

Type “Sam Gordon” into a web browser and the viewer will see girl dominating the male sport of football.  She literally throws her nine-year-old male counterparts aside with speed and agility that they cannot match.  This is rarity seeing females play the very physical sport of American Football where hulking males grow their bodies to obscene sizes and pummel each other with hits that can rival a car crash.  Women for the most part do not want to tune their bodies in this manner thus only a handful of women even reach the college ranks, like Katie Hnida who plays college’s top rank of Division 1-A for the New Mexico Lobos.  Even then playing the mostly non-contact position of kicker as the sport of football is deemed desirable to males only.  What about activities that do not involve 300 pound people try to tear limbs from each other in pursuit of a goal line?  Take computer science for example as Tillberg and Cohoon state “the growing gender divide in computer science is one of the more perplexing phenomena on college campuses today, especially considering the rising number of high school girls taking advanced science and math courses” (Tillberg & Cohoon, 2005).  Like football, younger girls are taking an interest in the game more and more, so why would girls taking the advanced placement-type math and science courses not be drawn towards the computer science majors and careers? 

The answer lies within sexist and biased surroundings as most girls are not drawn towards majors like computer science because “prior research into choice of major or career generally has focused on personality factors that lead to a particular career path and identified ability, self efficacy, expectancy value, interest and congruence, and barriers and support as key components of whether a student chooses or rejects a particular major” (Tillberg & Cohoon, 2005).  Instead of allowing girls in high school and college to lean towards what they are good at objectively, they are subjectively pushed towards a major because of social factors instead.  This sort of peer and society pressure would dissuade would-be female computer science and physical science majors.  Thus, adding a layer of barriers for girls who have a genuine interest and talent for the computer and physical sciences to follow-through on a path that would grab an advanced degree and eventually work in these fields. 

Awards programs such as ADVANCE given through the Professional Opportunities for Women in Research and Education (POWRE) are meant to consider balancing career and family the most significant challenge facing women scientists and engineers today. Based on these results, institutions must seek to remove or at least lower these and other barriers to attract and retain women scientists and engineers” (Rosser, 2004).  The POWRE group notes in a questionnaire that “60.3% of the respondents name balancing work with family responsibilities as the significant challenge to women scientist” (Rosser, 2004).  In this case, women scientists tend to put raising a family more important than furthering their careers, following an entrenched sexual stereotype that women should be the nurturing sex versus the hunter and gatherer. 

Studies, such as the POWRE group’s, show why there are a lack of female computer and physical science majors. Teenage and younger girls are drawn and/or pushed towards believing that raising a family is more important than expanding their minds and developing academically towards a career that suits their talent.  Take the internet sensation Sam Gordon, if she were male showing this kind of dominance on the football field, there would be coaching trying to recruit her to train with them and hone her skills in hopes of parlaying that into a college scholarship or even a National Football League (professional American Football) contract worth millions of dollars.  Instead, Sam will likely play for a few more years until her competition’s physiques reach the point where her parents feel it is no longer safe for her to play thus wasting a potential talent.  How many girls testing high in science aptitude are turned away in a similar manner?  Lacking the parental or peer guidance to bring what could be a blossoming career in computer or physical science, many girls also let this talent shown at a younger age go to waste.

References

Rosser, S. V. (2004). Using POWRE to ADVANCE: Institutional Barriers Identified by Women Scientists and Engineers. NWSA Journal , 50-78.

Tillberg, H. K., & Cohoon, J. M. (2005). Attracting Women to the CS Major. Frontiers: A Journal of Women Studies , 126-140.

Monday Ribeyes

Came home yesterday to smell of steaks on the grill as the wife explained she was feeling nice and decided instead of Easy Mac N' Cheese a full steak dinner with roasted potatoes, ribeyes soaked in wine (I added a little Famous Dave's Devil Spit which completely kicks ass), and grilled corn-on-the-cob.  Due to the nature of our schedule, Monday - Thursday is usually a throw something in the microwave and rush back out the door dinner.  The surprise is how my wife expresses that I done something right recently but since I have the game of Revenge of the Nerds stand-in, I'll just keep scanning the credit cards to see if I've purchased a Mexican cruise for two in September before passing out after reporting last weekend.

The first weekend of the post-Black Friday SCOOP tournament series and while the numbers are down, they are cracking the guarantees with good amount of players for every buy-in level.  The production got a step-up this year as they've added a daily recap show called Inside SCOOP with Joe Stapleton and Nick Weathall commanding the microphone with interviews from the winners via Skype as well as Team PokerStars pros and Team Online.  Even got to see a few hands I reported on as Alexander "josio" Kostritsyn went on a tear last weekend collecting a 2nd, 2nd, 2nd, and 3rd in the high buy-in tourneys.  But, after two days off I'll be back in the fray tonight through Sunday reporting for PokerStarsBlog and getting to know my couch for the next five days.

I get four weeks vacation each year and for the past three years I have used two of those weeks to work for WCOOP and SCOOP.  To tell you the truth, it feels more relaxing and fulfilling to indulge in job that I love to do but don't have the necessary equipment (bad hearing makes live reporting juuuuuuuuuust tad tough) outside of being behind a laptop to complete.  I'm not a journalist, nor a writer, just a card player with a love knack for throwing a few readable puns together.  When I write for these series know that I enjoy the action, and give a little OW! when a nasty river card hits at 4:30am despite having zero personal financial consequence.  Unlike accounting where you're supposed to leave your emotions at the door, I'm a little colorful when it comes to poker or poker reporting, call it releasing the inner-degen, something I cannot or should not do while sitting in cubicalandia behind Dilbert cartoons and an outdated computer.

I know the loss of online poker for Americans sucks and people within our little niche circle are good work for little consequence like Karak who penned a great post about seeing the issue of legalized internet poker from the eyes of the morally right.  Adding the disclaimer that he is Christian and is completely honest about the beliefs from powerful political groups like Focus on the Family.  CK and Grange of course continue to do the leg work of hammering out rough, massive mounds of rocky lawyer babble into malleable, clean, easy-to-read sheets of information for the masses.  2+2 continues to have too have too many forum tards that want to spend more time flinging poo at company reps (but some it admittedly is justified as a simple one sentence explanation for the delay would sedate many people) versus having solution discussions, but luckily you can tap Karak or KevMath to sift through the muck to find the good stuff (yes, it does exist). 

Online poker and poker in general will continue to be part of my life until pen is forced to be dropped, and even then I'd find a way to put together a few sentences about this card game whether it be in a professional capacity or screeching my bow across the strings here.  WPBT get togethers will still happen, likely a smaller crowd but if you enjoy those weekends of stepping outside your skin, fellow degens will available long after Harrah's.com becomes the official online card room of the 2015 WSOP.  Why?  Because everyone needs to step out of their monkey suit, briefcase, stethoscope, laptop, fortran code, parenting skin for just a few days to realize how good they have it to be in that skin eating a juicy steak during a busy Monday, starting another busy week.  I'll be there in December, tournament or not to see these people, even if MGM insists on charge $11 for Cap'n Coke because the cowboys don't know better, because you never know when you'll be wisked away in a limo with five other guys with grins that reached LA to G-Vegas after a concert that touched your soul. 

Something you won't find banging at a keyboard at home, here's to hoping I see ya'll soon (a WSOP trip 06/26-06/29 is starting to get my interest).

Gambling Mexican Style with Refried Beans and Rice

If you like even an iota of sports you probably watched the exciting ending to The Masters yesterday and today thousands of bloggers will pummel you with Spaceballs quotes.  MAY THE SCHWARTZ BE IN THE HOLE!  HIS SCHWARTZ IS MUCH BIGGER THAN YOURS!  Somewhere Mel Brooks is gearing up the distribute Spaceballs the Loft Wedge and Spaceballs the Divot Repair Tool.

Just remember who set the trend before the South African even stepped up to the first tee at Augusta National.

This guy.  

Not really, I thought Bo Van Pelt and the rest of the crew from the Grand Ole Opry would gank the green jacket yesterday.

I looked up this morning and saw it was April already meaning time is not exactly slowing down for this multi-tasking white boy, but at I can open the windows now without fear of catching frostbite while typing up the Sunday Warm-up wrap at PokerStarsBlog.  Or mindless entertainment from DragonAge 2 which will be in place until the poker gods decide to stop the spankings that would make a submissive scream the safety word.  January to Mid-March = Awesome, Mid-March to yesterday = fuck you very much

Subtle.

See?  Poker whines can be condensed to small packages in which you owe no one a dollar and they don't hop screens to read about Paris Hilton's new favorite orifice to hide crack rocks on TMZ.  If I can find my Flip camera, I'll try to post a wonderful short documentary on How to Survive a Mexican Bathroom by drunk Drizz in which I don't remember a thing and my wife's photos from Facebook were the only reminder that I was there.  That and some bruises from trying to arm wrestle with a beefed-up gringo slinging $2 movies named Jhonny.  Oh, and extending my reach of degeneracy to the younger aged members on Nuevo Progresso as seen below:

It's no Mr. Cashman, but the slot machine does pay out just not to me

I put in a dollar (12 pesos) and sadly did not win enough to feed the multitude of beggers along the streets.  But I did have enough for a Mexican Mojito which consist of nothing but alcohol with a faint splash of club soda.  Faint as in pouring as long as your four year old's attention span while Phineas and Ferb are on and you're trying to ask them what they'd like for dinner.

Good day.

My Road to San Antonio

No Wilson Phillips. 

Sorry. 

That's reserved for the same special day out of the year before I come see my fellow degenerates in Vegas for stories that shall remain in a small, tucked away pocket of my 20 year old blazer (which finally got replaced because you never know if another interview might come up).

No new job unfortunately but last week's rollercoaster ended on a pretty big high as our annual full department meeting gathered for a wrap up of closing the books on 2010 and an award ceremony.

Foreshadowing here.  Subtle as a Blake Griffin dunk on a midget.

Yes, I won an Employee of the Year award out of 400 people, seven of us walked away with a silver star which if it was pure silver, according to Tao of Fear, I could melt it down and take over the island of Togo with my own badassed all-female volleyball playing assassin group ala Gaddafi.  Near tears and shaking after the applause and the requisite reading of my accomplishments for the year.  They chose to leave out my four- to-five hour Pai Gow bender at the Monte Carlo and walking away $5 down after consuming my weight in greyhounds, CapN'Cokes, and professing my love for Frank Caliendo.

Instead, a dinner after work at my favorite restaurant (Three Squares) with two well-behaved kids who did indeed eat all of their veggies, snacking on a curious "Minnesota" styled crab cake (shrimp and walleye, don't ask me but it rivaled the ones I had at Rick Erwin's while in G-Vegas last year) and washed down with two Surly Furious.  Of course.

Then despite flushing some more bankroll cash down the drain, I won the tptpoker weekly tournament after finishing second the previous week.  Yet lost money on the night because, I play dum.  Also, found me on top of their monthly leaderboard which will most likely go to waste since I'm 95% sure this next paragraph's activity will kill any reason why I'd want my laptop with me.

Vacation time in Texas.  It's near 90 there.  Here?  Not so much, as the dash read 18 degrees with the landscape still glossed over by a sheet of snow/ice and blades of brown grass fighting for air.  Mexican mojtios which contain creme de minthe, Malibu, and vodka with sugar (no mix) will toted around the border town of Nuevo Progresso for a dollar.  Golf will be played with minimal skill, and maximum usage of the beer cart chick.  And anything resembling work or school will be left in my porch outlooking the frozen backyard as I'm off this week at the PokerStarsBlog as well after an interesting night which Comcast decided to pull the plug on my connection with six players left in the Sunday Warm-up and as the Turbo Takedown was down to just two tables.

McFuckers.

Luckily a Fonzie-like move of banging the router and shouting enough four-letter words to get applause from Sam Kinison got the connection back in time before the possible dash to my parent's house to write the rest of the story with four left, and close the books on the weekend around 2am.

And now, I bid adieu with without Carnie, Wendy, and Chynna, instead with my vacation arrival point in song:  San Antonio Rose.

Natural Caffeine

"... the solid ace became a solid pair of aces on the flop [5c][Kc][Ac] and a winning pair of aces by the river [5s][2h] as FlipFlopUK collected the remaining 17.5 million chips from the pot winning the entire $187,207.92 first prize after defeating the 6,153 player field!"

And scene.

Damnit Raiders of the Lost Ark had to start up now?  It's like the pool scene with Phoebe Cates or watching Andy Dufresne break out of Shawshank.  The Hovitos poisoned tipped darts, the gate of metal piercing Indy's "friend" as he tried to run off with the gold statue, being chased by a concrete snowball, and diving thru a spider web out of the tomb just in time to hand over the artifact to Belloq.

Will power finally turned up while finding the power button to turn off Indy's race thru the forest as the natives chased him. The article finally published as the Windows updates kept me up for another five minutes but that was ok because despite my utter hatred of snow there was a fresh three inches falling outside. 

All of the lights in the house were off and not needed to view my little corner of the neighborhood which was rightfully sleeping at near midnight on Sunday going into Monday.  The brightness of the powder illuminated the townhouses across the street, covered the black ice which showed for the past couple of weeks as Mother Nature can't decide if its time to thaw or hit our state with another icy blast.  It was sort of a ground level aurora borealis with a many layered orangish hue swirling around my kid's snow fort down the street that I would be traveling in five hours for work.

Pretty.

A quick few minutes of reflections on a busy month, interrupted by a sleepwalking seven year old grasping the black and orange oversized gorilla he won at Dave and Busters during our guy's day.  Picking up the not-so-little one and carried him and the primate back to the safety of his faded Transformers sheets.  Noticing he's getting bigger and requires two arms to grasp him down the stairs, yet still involuntarily squeezes tight as a side hug before tucking him back in.

You want to know what fuels my schedule?  Those squeezes.  The feeling of being needed without reward.  The feeling of not being viewed as disabled.  I'm just dad to my son and daughter, someone who provides and takes away.  Someone to cuddle with (for now).  Hopefully when the cuddling stops we can still be friends when school drama enters the picture. 

When its late and the glare of the computer screen informs me of two more pages of discussing the pros and cons of a Flat Tax system are due, those squeezes, those looks of adoration pack more caffeine than a six-pack of Red Bull.  They won't always be there, but the memories will.

Ginsu > Drizz

Ginsu knives.

The one standing made me its bitch, ow  
They cut through cans and STILL slice a tomato with the sharpness of Louis CK discussing father's day.  Human flesh does not mesh with Ginsu knives however as the human flesh loses the battle.  Badly.  And that person being a parent of two children ages four and seven with four boxes of band-aid cannot find out that does not have Dr. Doofenshmirtz or a Disney princess on the front.  So to save face and the embarrassment of reaching for a sharp blade and forgetting my recent anatomy lesson that while skin does amazing things (especially on Marissa Miller and she got to hang out with Captain Morgan!  So jealous) does not withstand a blade that if you call RIGHT NOW, you can a five-piece blade set AND no shipping and handling for just $19.99!  What they don't add are the band-aid costs as they are needed when a half-sleeping dolt reaches into the soap covered sink and splices his digit.

Despite Agent P battling the evil doctor on the same finger that holds a $10 wedding ring found in the back alley of Nuevo Progresso, Mexico, I bleed for my tens of readers who drop by.  You're welcome :)

Yesterday I did something that was put in the back closet with my Playstation 2 and sex toys nearly seven years ago.  Actually, that's my real closet this one was proverbial and at work and I doubt corporate rules allow anal beads in the workplace. 

I went on two interviews.

Informational only but this employee, this father, this mix of degeneracy and hard work finally decided another piece was missing and trying to obtain a job that matches my new found drive to make something more of myself but it wasn't to seek a bigger paycheck.  In the two interviews one paid more, one had a good vibe.  Vibes are good, money can be replaced by people who don't understand four card poker (quick poker tip to those trying to beat the Rush PLO games...  to beat the monkeys, you need to play like one to some extent, I suggest alcohol and a lot of buy-ins because my graph, while it ticks upward looks like something you'd go dashing for a defibrillator to correct).  The hiring manager looked beyond my obvious rust in this setting and spelled out a job description that fit my plans, and while the pay is about the same, the opportunities to advance and get to where I'd like to go (Australia, Key West, Keeley Hazells's cleavage) are there.  The second position paid more, fit my skills, but had the personality of bed lint. 

The thought of coming in and not talking to my co-workers on a strict 9-5 Monday-Friday schedule much like a cubical prison did not appeal.  I'd go back to being a collector if more cash and high-pressured job contained in three walls sounded sexy.  Cash is sexy, pressure causes acne and 50 page rants about parking spaces being too small at the Mall of America.  Plus like my job on the weekend, and similar to doing recaps I will feel like I'm contributing to something.  A small part, just like at the PokerStarsBlog, but a part that fills a need for readers nonetheless. 

I'll never be the phoenix, the BMOC, the lead actor, but rather I enjoy plugging in my two cents worth of sweat and watching something or someone become successful as a result. And to further my recent revival without hymns or born-again retreats its time to make it happen at work as well.

Oh, a quick personal note. 

Actually this has been all personal but the sentence came out and so it be. 

MR. APA managed to find enough right with my final paper after I researched the perfect APA-formatting template to fit my unneccessarily neatly crafted eight page research on job retention and I aced it.  A third straight Dean's List and 20 free tokens at Chuck E. Cheese IS MINE!



Using a frozen lake as a bar

I did not have my ear removed ala J. Paul Getty III.

I am not suffering from any lasting effects of a disease.  Unless you count immaturity as a bad pathogen, or this headache caused by a mix of lack of resting and mother nature forgetting to take her Midol.

Healthy and still kicking.  Busy and loving it.  Annoying giving the middle finger to an otherwise stressful time of year.  Talks of Brooklyn Center, a suburb near the border of Minneapolis, is perhaps diving into their biggest potential for tourism by molding city orgs to built a Surly Brew Pub and allow them to flourish versus continue being contained by restricted barrel laws.  At the moment the city's claim to any fame is a rotting mall called Brookdale, which as a kid I spent many a weekends there but now it is riddled with empty space getting emptier, the surrounding businesses like the bar on the southern side of the complex has changed hands more than a collection plate at church.  Surly is offering tourism, potential jobs (the awesomeness of being nearly require to drink on the job?), and most of all tax revenue.   Don't mess this one up BC, although my and my friend's wife joked they probably wouldn't see much of us if it is built.

Truth.

Normally I take tonight to make an ass of myself online while giving away poker funds.  Tonight however due to tattooing APA-formatting tramp stamp style to my body and hoping to soak in the bibilography goodness via diffusion, it will be a night of killing online pixels via Call of Duty.  While my gaming chops are at an all-time low, the fun is needed to break up MR Jackhole's inevitible half-comments to my short four page research paper which sits neatly on a Microsoft Word document waiting to be to primped for the Sadie Hawkins dance.  There have been internal promises to read his grading with a bottle and shot glass nearby while reading phenomally bent prop betting stories like the one F-Train linked to last night concerning a huge running bet in which Ashton Griffin ran 70 miles in 24 hours for $300,000. 

I think Otis is off the hook for eating crayons now. STEAK AND EGGS BABY!!

Check back this weekend as Drizz goes ice fishing.  Kinda.  Actually I'm just out there to drink.  And not fall in, and spend most of my time in the heated fish houses which has the feel of being in a hot tub outdoors in the mountains but no swimsuits or boobs to ogle at. Imagining such shapes thru three inches of gore-tex is a bit of a stretch.

I will not be working this weekend, but last weekend's Sunday Warm-up had some heavy star power when four Team PokerStars pros were among the final 24 including Daniel Negreanu. But it would physist, metal rocker, and overall hottie newly minted Team PokerStars pro Liv Boeree taking home the $148K first prize after an aerial dogfight with James mig.com Mackey, you can check out my recap at the PokerStarsBlog or the video recap at PokerStars.TV . 

One of the bigger ones I've covered, hope I didn't screw it up.  Cheers to enjoying whatever and whomever fills your glass.

WBCOOP at PokerStars

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.
Registration code: XXXXXX 640181

Home blogger team gotta defend their turf yo!  See you at the PLO8 tourney at least.

2011: The Search for Perry

Fresh year, fresh quarter of school, and fresh snow for all!  Including our friends in G-Vegas who unfortunately lack the snow removal tools to deal with the white, slippery stuff.  It's a sliding scale of course as people in the northern states and Canada-land are used to the delays, hourly shovelling, and the bitter cold of the winter months whereas those south of the Mason-Dixon line may not have city wide plows, salting trucks, and a general tolerance for such weather.

 image credit

Dead birds, mass flooding, and the Packers somehow winning a playoff game have the conspiracy/Armageddon nut cases in a frenzy as 2012 approaches.  If the world is ending prior to my 2013 graduation from college (current GPA a double flex worthy 3.98, ladies form the line to the right, I've been told there's plenty for everyone) why not party it up?

This year will be busy if not more than last year when I stretched myself to the limits by returning to school on top my daily routine which tires most people out just reading it.  The plan is to stay the course, continue to find pockets of fun underneath the wave of swimming lessons and Income Tax code books that outweighs a pan of lasagna for 10.

Last year took me to G-Vegas for Mastodon Weekend which was the perfect kick off for returning to school.  A weekend without my fingers being frozen while waking up, bars that don't force their employees to wear flare and served awesome beers, and most of all like-minded friends who shared themselves and dropped their professional suits in the garbage bin full of empty Yuengling bottles and strapped on the degeneracy wear to tear up downtown Greenville. 

There was making sure I had the funds for such hijinks as I helped out the PokerStarsBlog for the PokerStars SCOOP and WCOOP tournaments, trading regular sleep patterns for final table wraps about people winning six, even seven figures online.  My love for cards and watching the action got me thru the wee-hours of the morning and kissing the wife go to work at six a.m. and finishing up while dishing out Fruit Loops and bacon for the kids.  Reporting on poker is something that gives me a little extra spark as my regular job lacks forward thinking and being able to shove a few puns and use active thinking while writing helps bring some energy to a rather drab cubical life. 

Then the circus came into town for a Twins game, golf, and gallons of Surly Furious as Gentle Summit invaded downtown Minneapolis where we got Speaker and his newly minted lovely wife Emet addicted to the local brew.  StB sailed in from Milwaukee and DonkeyPuncher found the ability to board a plane semi-sober and stumble down Hennepin avenue with us.  I was lucky enough not kill everyone with my "sunglasses at night" trip from Canterbury Park and even walked away with enough money to cover the weekend's lap dances and Drizz drooling over 2am beers and wings expenses.  This summer however I vow to best Speaker on the golf course despite having the inability to swing a club for the next five months and will remember not to partake in that seventh NewCastle on the back 9.

After our usual kick-ass summer at the cabin/trailer, the fall months quickly brought December and my month to unwind from a stressful year.  Birthday, WPBT, four day weekends, New Year's parties, two weeks off of school, basically an off-loading of every deadline, every six page double spaced paper with appropriate APA formatting and reference page, every "I DONT WANT TO EAT THAT!!!!1!!!", every argument with my better half who I lean on more than I should but she stands tall despite being a foot shorter than I.  Every inch of stress gone, ready to reload for 2011 as the only memory still not on paper is the kick ass Black Crowes concert that may be Truckin' worthy once I finish it.

2011 brings something to look forward to versus something to be endured.  I've already hit the ground running with a spring break trip in the works, and a long time friend dropping in from Philly to make sure I get my alcohol and poker quotient in for the month year.  If I survive the AlCantHang experience again, you'll read it here.

Story behind the story

Yeah, I need a haircut thanks for noticing.

Wow, was so busy this weekend hardly noticed that we're TWO DAYS AWAY from the 2010 WPBT Winter Classic kicking off.  Yes, I may have mentioned it here sixteen sextillion times but it bears repeating because such awesome people not named me will be there and I hope you, the reader, are one of those people.

But, first life threw me a nasty curveball, or rather Comcast did.  It looked like a waist-high batting practice pitch after leaving the lanky pitcher's hand.  The day was cold even by Nordic standards but the kids still went out to pave a decent run on the sledding hill in the backyard while mother and father enjoy Vikings football after it looked grim for the home team early on.  Favre threw one pass for an INT while taking a shot that I heard from the Metrodome Mall of America Field 15 miles away.  Then T-Jack predictably jump passed his way into a pick six.  But, the defense got its angry on and treated the Bills Quarterback Fitzpatrick like toddler toy and Sidney Rice ascended many time while coming down with the ball to play like the team they were supposed to be winning 38-14.

While the game was on, I managed to finish a project for school, and turned on the poker machine.  Full Tilt was unkind to me, or specifically PLO Rush poker was lancing my bankroll $25 a time while I dinked around in a couple of MTTs, busting early in 4 of 5 of them.  Finally, sane me stopped playing PLO while I still had chips in a $5 Rebuy PLO8 MTT before taking my handle of Captain Morgan 100 proof acquired as an early birthday present down from the cabinet.  While I didn't crack the bottle, I did crack enough aces on the way to chopping up the tourney for plane ticket type money (sorry no tourney recap, you'll have to read on for one of those...).

An hour later I tried to log into the PokerStarsBlog site and get an error message as I started my preamble and wanted to set up for the night's Sunday Warm-up that I was covering.

No bueno.

Power surge?  Na.

Complete shutdown and reboot?  Three times.

TO THE CLOUD!! *cue wavy dream music*

Instead of polishing up the final table write up while wrapped in my Captain Morgan blanket and a rough Steelers/Ravens game on, I had to throw on 15 layers because Minnesota is cold in the winter (errr, autumn, yeah right) and head over to my parent's house as they are my back-up and are used to their son stumbling in at weird hours.  However, I was stone sober and rushed to my old room to set up shop and....   NO CONNECTION!  Except for PokerStars which ran just fine, however anything thru a browser was met with an error message.

But I had an out, my dad fires up his hard-lined work computer and says to just work off of there since his browser worked just fine.  Yes!!  Victory is mine internet goblins, gimme the +4 Staff of Awesomeness!

But wait, what's this?  A firewall that doesn't like poker words?  No publishing site access, No PokerStars, back to square one. 

So I text a probably sleepy Otis about the issues (I found out this morning, all of the Twin Cities metro area was down, lucky for that hard-wired account or I'd been really FUBAR'd), and get on the phone with the one person I know would be up.  Enter Bluff Magazine nominated Short Stack Shamus into the fold.  Since I couldn't publish it, and I knew he would be up doing the Sunday Million I had a plan.  Finish the wrap on my laptop since I could watch the tourney and write it out, transfer the document and screen shots to a disc, put disc in dad's computer, then email it to Short Stack to publish. 

Brilliant!

Except Yahoo mail was also behind the firewall, no likey connection.  *insert John McEnroe you can't NOT be serious*

Ok, dove around in dad's computer for an email account, hack the password (shhhhhh), and mailed off the Sunday Warm-up wrap in time for consumption for the masses!

Oh, my fuel light came on, on the way home so I had to stop and catch a handful of frostbite before returning to my snoring wife who has a bit of a sore throat and slept sparingly.  Fun night?  Youbetcha!

Please enjoy the wrap, and thanks again to Short Stack!

Two days folks.

Coming out of my WCOOP shelter

**Warning this gets rambling and make no sense, much like Paris Hilton's existance or my daughter's tantrum at dance class last night which was trigger by UV40 rays and lack of gummi bears in the school's vending machines**

Returning to normalcy.

Or what I once thought as normal, the shower, breakfast, 9 to 5 job, the cube, commute, dinner, ball game, kids, bed.  Many stick themselves on this wheel and don't stop to break it enough until the wheel spins too fast and their lives become a really boring reality show that would get worse ratings than a Tiger Woods talk show on fidelity.  Every September for the past three years, I have been invited to enjoy sleep deprivation, breakfast at two in the afternoon, and a break in my "normal" routine while playing the part of online chronicler for the PokerStarsBlog along side some of the best in the business (Otis, Dr. Pauly, Change100, Shamus, Jen Newell, F-Train, and a computer program called Kevmath who will take over the world by 2014 or at least break the record for most posts at 2+2 and Twitter).

On most nights/mornings last week I sat on my couch drafting about the latest tournament and trying to find a little something interesting about its players.  One was quite easy when Team PokerStars pro Jason Mercier used full-on aggression plus a little run-good at a final table to take down his first WCOOP bracelet.  It gave a little something extra to root for going into the wee-hours of the morning.  Unlike Otis and Change100 who had to battle labor disputes and roaming dogs on the way to work in Buenos Aires, I just had to pack up the kids, replenish my supply of Wheat Thins or Triscuits, and battle dozing off before the six a.m.final tables hit.

But it wasn't about the poker, it wasn't about the millions being thrown around during the WCOOP or the extra paycheck that will be redistributed in Las Vegas over at Cheetah's, Gold Coast's Pai Gow pit, and most likely the Geisha Bar at Imperial Palace during the WPBT in December (you have signed up for the Up For Poker last longer challenge correct???  Free money people, and you can laugh at G-Rob after busting him!!).  No, working the WCOOP is about friendship, its about stepping outside the comfort zone, it's about being called upon to do something that isn't drafted in some dusty 15 volume tome of corporate suck.  Here's the story, go write it.  That's it (and of course there is some structure but mostly to get the maximum amount of readership and so the good writers of the blog have future work).  Unlike every job I've ever held from planting trees at parks, to frying frozen tacos at Jack-in-the-Box, to sitting in a secluded mail room with millions of invoices everything had structure with no sense of creativity.  No injecting sour cream in the tacos to make them taste better, or finding a new filing system for the invoice, just do your job like a robot and move on.  Granted my career and schooling choice of becoming an Accountant frowns upon "creativity" as seen when Accountants *ahem* use there skill to "find" and "report" debits and credits in ways GAAP does not intend.  Nonetheless, I enjoy finding the numbers and putting the in the right places, much like a final table story at the PokerStarsBlog, I have been proud to be a part of the team for the past three years. 

The artist formally known as Poker Shrink, now just "The Shrink" talked about "normal" in a blog post that smacked me a bit as I overwork myself to retain my little world of normal, but instead of the upper-middle income family he speaks about in the post "Dis-ease", my world of going back to school full-time while holding down a full-time job, two kids with multiple activities, a wife, and a part-time job that keeps me glued together, I work hard just to survive.  There are no real "extras" except the occasional jaunt to meet up with my dearest friends and authors across the nation.  Whether it be in Las Vegas, G-Vegas, Chicago, or a $100 cab ride to Philly's airport while still trying to figure out why I craved a TastyKake and a WaWa sandwich, these things keep me "normal".  A little hip check to the routine keeps everyone fresh, and without the above, I would sink into the same abyss my co-workers at my "normal" job suffer.  They are set in their ways, counting the days to retirement, some even with a little clock that has five years, 345 days, 21 hours and 15 mintues on it. 

Why?

Sure they're older but why live to die?  Despite the shit hitting the fan yesterday during 24 hours of nothing going right including flushing half of my online bankroll in the toilet, paying for a $48 slab of lasagna then blowing up with the wife as she picked it up when I explained I ordered the single serving and she got the wrong order, then having both kids decide to mimic daddy's deaf ears and filter only for sentences containing:  "treat", "play", "movie".  My mind went spinning for most of Sunday afternoon into Monday, but I finished up the final write up around 8:30am Monday morning, calmly put together a skillet (no, THAT kind of skillet) and let the crazy wash off before returning to "normal" today.

Hugs were given, invoice for the work sent in, and Excel spreadsheets about to filled by the college student who is now done with 2/11 quarters from fulfilling a hole that I never wanted to admit was there.  The degree won't make me "normal" but it will push me to continue being weird by trying something new and giving a reason to not settle for my present cube. 

Accounting for thongs

Why I'm writing a mere four hours after finishing up my first leg of ten recaps for the 2010 WCOOP at PokerStarsBlog is beyond me.  Something piqued my interest while getting gas before work and before long I drafted the bestest blog post EVAR!

Yeah, must like my dreams where I'm a stallion in bed listening to Anna Paquin and Jessica Biel scream out my online name and take pots off name branded poker pros half-crocked on Captain and Coke in Bobby's Room at the Belliagio, the post sounded better as the meter on the pump hit north of $40.00 and the cashier who was probably as awake as I, reminded me to pay inside.  But, across two islands of gas pumps was a guy in a non-descript car with overalls and a patch with his name on it.  It said "Steve" in red stitching as he probably worked in the nearby industrial park specializing in putting things together or repairing them for folks like myself who have a comparable power tool dexterity of a zebra.  Steve drove off while I purchased a much needed energy drink after finishing up this morning's Event #13 final table wrap and heading in for a full day at the office with Event #16 awaiting me when I return home in ten hours.

It hit me after seeing Steve as to why I returned to school.  More money from a better job sounds a like a cop-out and it is.  Money should never been someone's driver for lofty aspirations, unless you're a poker player outside of a friendly home thus money is the only reason you should be sitting down.  No, an enlightened bank account didn't get me to go back and learn how to separate partnership's capital accounts with salary and interest when one partner puts up X amount of money and the other puts up Y amount (which is less than X) while Mr. X works 50 hours per week at the business and Mr. Y spends more time at the local rub and tug while claiming to be networking. 

Sadly, it was not for my family and friends.  As I give ever little ounce of myself to my two kids and wife along with dear friends who's followed my sappy tale of woe here for nearly six years, there a little piece of me that is finishing up quarter two of 11 towards my bachelor's.

I want to be able to do something.

Steve the mechanic can probably hop under a car or machine press and fix the problem because of past knowledge and knowhow.  I can tell you in under four seconds how many outs you have with three board cards and if the guy in the nine seat is drunk enough to call you.  I can whip up a simple database or fancy spreadsheet, maybe make a few people laugh with attempts of humor and self-pity while having the writing amplitude of a half eaten Pringle.  No, I wanted more.  And I feel selfish now that it took Steve to make me realize why I'm lugging around those textbooks, staying up late to complete computer lab assignment when my head should be next to my wife's. 

I want people to come to me for help, and I want to be able to sit down with a tax return, or ledger and just let the number flow much like my words seem to do in satisfactory ways while writing about poker.  Note, I LOVE writing about poker, I LOVE the game and will never lose that, but becoming an Accountant or at the very least having an accounting degree means the world to me.  Laugh if you will, accounting is a noble profession in my mind, but it's not going to get the ladies La Perla lacy underthings saturated (I'd plug in "moist panties" here but a good friend of mine says those are the two worst words in the English language).  Some people were built to inspire, others to annoy, and me, I just want to do.  I want to be Steve, minus the grease, better pay, and some stock options so I can retire before my Viagra years kick in.

Nine quarters from now we'll see if that pocket protector with my name etched in midnight blue is waiting for me.

Saying No Is Hard To Do

When I pulled into the open company parking lot this morning with just eight cars that would soon become over 500 and used a turn signal with nary another automobile running and had to back track to retrieve my awful picture badge after reaching the revolving door of the building it was another reminder.  A hint of the wear-and-tear that my eyes tell and body laboring a bit after a good stretch of work and school has left me in need of a disconnect.

It killed me to turn down someone who I doubt I've no to in two years, as I had to tell both gigs this was planned a month and a half ago.  No PokerStarsBlog, no Bluff Magazine, no laptop, only a cell phone with a number that only a few know will be open for texting me to share a drink or give me a conversation topic for the late night bonfires.  My black Toshiba Satellite will rest on top of the $2.99 beige foam support on the couch where my ass imprint is quite profound after two months while covering SCOOP, extra PokerStars Sunday Majors reporting, school. and the World Series of Poker.  No working thru the night and into this dark cubical where the lights haven't been lit as the parking lot mentioned above remains relatively bare.  General ledger analysis and highlighting text will need until next week when school starts up again.

This weekend was cleared to give my wife a husband for a solid five days since our real 10th year anniversary in a few months is surrounded by family obligations, work, and school.  Being off-the-grid will give no excuses to miss out on the Saturday four-man best-ball tourney or taking four kids in my golf cart up to the clubhouse for the best $1 swirled ice cream waffle cone you can find within 15 minutes of the Wisconsin border.  While it killed me to say no to work projects that I love, my son gave me a little perspective of how much I've been heads-down on my 15" monitor this summer.  He asked "daddy, do you have to go home early to work again?". 

"Not this time buddy". 

I'll see you Tuesday, and with any luck, I'll be rested but hungover.

Coming up after the plunge

There's the anticipation of a big event.  The waiting for the excitement, exhaustion, and unknown to take place at a future date.  Much like intaking a deep breath before plunging off the high dive, the thrill of letting gravity do it's thing before crashing thru the cool water and remaining under the liquid until the lungs burn for some air.

For some time now there was two weeks blocked off my calendar as it was last year during the Spring Championship of Online Poker or SCOOP as it may have been mentioned 15 millionteen times here.  While it was just another gig for my friends, for me it marks the two times during the year that I get to hold my breath and play a part that while it becomes increasingly familiar still is foreign and exciting for someone who usually spends a day doing very rote work on set timetables.  My name next to theirs is like a list of words and you're supposed to find which one is different or doesn't belong in the string.  They are professional writers and rightfully so as time and time again their craft is appreciated with our admittedly small niche market of poker fans who still get the thrill of having those hundred thousand dollar turn cards described to them.

So what am I doing there?  An accounting dunce by trade, but a degenerate gambler and lover of cards/poker after the parenting pants come off at night.  Maybe it's because my writing comes out fuller when speaking about subjects that touch me a little to provide a tiny spark for words.  Yes, I still go "DAMN!" when someone busts on a nasty beat (but when writing final table wraps you secretly cheer for those eliminations).  As with my prior experiences with SCOOP and WCOOP at PokerStars, this one was no different, I have the same happy exhausted face today after writing up 23 wraps and helping with Short Stack Shamus on a quick final table live blog for the Main Event (won by toetagU for $1.1 million).

Heck, I even played a little playing in four events and won a few a bucks after cashing in the PLO rebuy and the Main Event-Low all for a total of $30 in buy-ins thanks to a free ticket to two events and a satty win for a HORSE tourney. 

Now there's been time to exhale, for me at least as my friends are already gearing up for their biggest assignment for the year with a little thing going on in Vegas for the next month and half. (according to the Harrah's countdown clock, just 10 days away?!?!). I wish them the best on their journey to the Rio this summer and hope they continue to entertain us with the sights and feels of the massive Amazon room filled with poker players playing chess while holding chips and other playing a slot machine with the five board cards to come.

I of course wouldn't be here if it wasn't for a certain G-Vegas suburban warrior who plucks me from the bullpen, hands the ball over and gives me a swat on the ass with some encouraging words as I stared down the next final table wrap like a middle reliever coming in mid-game.  While I do not possess skull and crossbone imprinted glasses, I akin it to this:




Hey they even get the number right. 
 

A different kind of redemption

Red: These walls are funny. First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, you get so you depend on them. That's institutionalized.



Heywood: Shit. I could never get like that.


Prisoner: Oh yeah? Say that when you been here as long as Brooks has.


Red: Goddamn right. They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.

My first day back to cubical land there was an envelope with my name and my mailbox address with cube city.  After plowing thru a mountain of emails of go-ons while I partook in a spring vacation of sorts, the envelope was getting lonely and needed to be opened since the usual plastic toys of de-motivation a rubber binder encouraging you to get healthy, a stuffed animal promoting the new baseball stadium, or a ruler with the words "You Measure Up!" (I know I do, and my wife loves me for it POW!).
 
Inside was a piece of paper folded over hastily twice with black and white lettering stating "YOU ARE APPRECIATED!".  After opening the fold a business card fell out saying I could receive a free health pellet if I rung the bell down at the cafeteria.  Inside the "card" was a "THANK YOU!" written in block 64 sized Arial Unicode font with the copied signature of a manager so far removed from my position I'd met her only thru large multi-departmental meetings. 
 
 
 

My choice of poster:  Jessica Biel

 
Despite my fingers currently moving outside my conscious thought and still struggling to calibrate my body to an upright position after working a string of nights that blended into morning, I yearned to be on my couch eating triscuits at seven a.m. finishing up a piece on how someone took $11 and turned it into $45,000 by flipping over virtual poker cards for 16 hours.  I don't have a poster of Marilyn Monroe or Raquel Welsh laid across my cell.  Instead there's photos of my family that protect my hand-dug tunnel in which I move deftly back-and-forth from when I am called.  Crawling through that tunnel while carefully dragging behind me in a waterproof tarp tied to my foot by a length of rope, whatever stream of pop culture and as many witty remarks one can make as the virutal cards fall the same but different ways.    
 
Red: [narrating] Forty years I been asking permission to piss. I can't squeeze a drop without say-so.



Do I despise "working for the man"?  Not at all, I enjoy the people here, I like the company otherwise I wouldn't still be here after being employed there for almost half of my life.  Heck, I'm going back to school for a better position here. But, there are walls.  Those walls file people into their places of expertise to carve out profit for the collective in the most impersonal way possible beyond the immediate co-workers which you share break times and grazing days of bringing in your mom's freshly baked banana bread for everyone to share.  Beyond that you are an ID number, a slot under which accountants list you as a salary and insurance expense.  Some people live their whole lives under that guise that the company appreciates them by receiving little trinkets and a free fruit cup.  They work their 30 years, draw a pension to pay for cable, and move off to a double-wide in an Arizona retirement community to play bridge at the rec room for a dime a point on Thursdays.
 
But, I wanted more when someone gave me a rock hammer a few years ago.  I wanted to do something that maybe perhaps only a few people read but least it would have my name and my creativity (or lack of) listed under the by-line.  It meant sacrifice of time and a few "no, I need to leave early tonight" but the return on the time investment cannot be measured tangibly.  Getting personal thanks, being able to hoist a beer with those who were up with your in those wee hours and share a story related to the cards or how their daughter managed to paint half the bathroom with fingernail polish after passing out after a long morning half way through Cinderella on DVD (that one happened on Friday).  You feel as part of a team, unlike the emblazment of a serial number connected to several passwords to perform work with zero personalization required nor wanted.
 
Red: [narrating] Andy Dufresne - who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.



I am honored to work with such folks as Otis, Dr. Pauly, Change100, Short Stack Shamus, Falstaff, Jen Newell, and F-Train who bring the poker news daily to your doorstep without possiblity of your neighbor's sprinkler or cutie wittle woof-woof rendering the paper illegible.  These are professionals and importantly friends and for a couple of weeks a year that tunnel opens up for an amateur to slide thru and enjoy the open air.  I hope you have enjoyed the coverage of SCOOP at the PokerStarsBlog thus far as week two is half way thru and I'll be starting up again on Friday.

Scoopin to Truckin

Real life was put on the back burner for the past week or so, but still managed to squeeze a trip to the trailer, birthday party for my princess, and a mother's day breakfast for 20 that people surrounded me while I closed the books after working thru the night on some donkey who overplayed pocket deuces for SCOOP at the PokerStarsBlog.

I have a post about the past week swirling at the moment but remaining upright without a case of Sobe energy or other pharmmies that are on the FDA's approved list is a tad taxing at the moment.

Instead I encourage you to read something much more substantial and worth a few minutes to read and re-read:  This month's edition of Truckin'.

If you read here (and maybe that guy in the #5 slot has wrote something here before), I'm sure there's a few familar faces popping up in this month's edition between the dick extension and tranny call girl ads:

1. Uncle Louie by Paul McGuire


He used to be full of life and love and generosity, but no more. These days, he was capable of saying horrendous things that made you feel like you were three inches tall. He had the madness of an angry blind dog... More

2. State Line by AlCantHang

It has never once failed me when I yell "OY!" and look like I'm going to eat your next born. People generally shrink away even though I barely reach 5-foot-nothing. Not once in my life had it failed, that is, until the "old dude" took a fucking swing at my gourd... More

3. If You're Gonna Lose, Lose Big by Broseph

I was starring at their boobs and I got the idea of maybe trying some threesome action. It's a tough bridge to cross, and I had no idea where to start. I decided to just start making out with Gwen and hoped that would work... More

4. American Hero by Dawn Summers

The skies were just this shade of pitch black at nine in the morning. The rain was slamming against my windows. And the wind, oh the wind huffed and puffed and tried to blow my house down... More

5. Self by Drizz

With a "normal" middle-income life that most Americans live grinding out work for the man and making enough scratch to satisfy the needs and wants, there’s hardly time to take a step back and enjoy this existence... More

6. In Between Fighting Souls by Tenzin McGrupp

My quagmire of a life resembles
A wretched Fox sitcom,
A Shakespeare play,
A black and white Woody Allen film.
Except that Joey Buttafucco is the lead actor
And stands forty-five pounds overweight... More

Perfect Game Thrown

Just as Dallas Braden was getting the 27th out of his perfect game, I was doing something that I haven't done in recent times. Ok, probably longer than my kids being born or growing arm pit hair for the first time.

Making the final table, five places paid

After a long grind six handed with me having to shovel manure to steal blinds I found pocket queens

You're serious, the 15 aces in the deck didn't hit?

Yes sir, playing in the same tournament I'll be covering at PokerStarsBlog

Self Intervention

In a former life there would have been nothing to do this weekend except attend my niece's third birthday party, eat some ice cream cake, and sit in front of a computer screen yelling at the virtual cards dropping in favor of someone that was not me.  Those days of free-time and want of such mindless time are over, thanks to the awakening of sorts that repeats every day.  Some people hate the fact that they HAVE TO go to work and feel it's an obligation versus a chance or a learning experience.  It took my thick head several years of self-loathing while swimming in depression to see that the numbers on the computer screen are not what a job is about.

It's the people.  Watching, studying, and ultimately learning from their experiences and chatting about their daily lives help me figure out what I wanted to do with my own course.  Was staying in a safe, mindless data-entry job until I hit 65 in the cards?  My past self was ready for that.  No life at home to speak of, might as well stay with status quo and end up with the 14 karat gold watch and retirement cake while 100 people I've barely met sit in uncomfortable chairs spilling over my "career" of plunking numbers into Microsoft Excel boxes. 

Safe.  But not life.  No, life is working 4:30pm to 3:30am on a Sunday (go check that out at the PokerStarsBlog if like such poker recaps) because there are friends to visit in dark casino bars and VIP rooms that momma doesn't need to know about.  Life is playing softball in the rain and mud with co-workers to see them without their corporate masks and fake smiles on, and hoisting a macro-brewed beer after losing terribly but enjoying the day of getting out to the field and being an 11 year old with an oversized jersey and underdeveloped arm hoping dad will decide on treating the family to Angeno's after the game again.  Life is studying to learn more about the work field that chose you so data entry becomes data analysis and the rusty academic gears shine a little light in an otherwise grey economic time. 

There is no end game.  No more searching for June 24th, 2039 to get that sheet cake from Byerly's with "best wishes on retirement" splattered across it and a most likely passed around card with scribbed "enjoy the golf course" notes written within.  Afraid of reaching that point of being shoved along and not striving to make the top tier traveling team as I did in my youth, never chancing disappointment, never willing to say "yes, I'll do the extra work" because of something that happened in elementary school is stunting growth and making excuses for a life path that only one person can guide.  Not control, no one controls their life, many aloof self-important people with titles and lofty egos may think so (see Big Ben Roethlisberger for an example).  No, you can guide yourself to places, much like returning to school may lead to a better, more rewarding job in my field of choice.  It's not your dream job, but it's mine, and I'm happy to the fact that I did not end up like this guy below when my degenerate side could have easily slipped into a black hole of mindless gambling:

Check out this link from Intevention and a child prodigy turned into a $5 blackjack gambling addict that blew thru $500,000 by age 25. 

Watch the facial tics while he plays and the inability to control himself.  This is someone who TAUGHT pre-meds at the age of 18 and was well on his way to obtaining a PhD before I had even thought about doing something other than Cyndi or hitting lead cashier status at the bullseye.  The above video on Gabe's addiction to gambling didn't sway my wanting to sit down with Mr. Pai Gow, Speaker, and Otis this June at the Gold Coast somewhere north of 4am sipping on greyhounds and trying to get the ice queen pit boss to ship some free breakfasts our way.  In fact, it made me want to work even harder toward making that happen. 

Why?

Because watch the casino clips.  Watch the clip at the end with the barren apartment.  Watch how self-centered this prick gets when mommy won't bail his ass out of debt again.

He's alone.

Something I used to be years ago, curled up in a blanket of insecurity and unwillingness to try to stretch.  I may have been married for nearly ten years and a sperm donator for over six but feel like it's only been a few years since I became a husband and father.  If Gabe teaches you one thing, take away this:  talent can only open doors, turning the knob, opening the door, and walking thru is up to the person who poured themselves a bowl of Frosted Flakes and fried up some bacon and eggs this morning because they were hungry.