Getting on the Treadmill

The home stretch.  Start up that Chariots of Fire song.  Well... in six months.

Much like that photo you see below with Otis and his mangled toe crossing the finish line of the Mastodon Weekend half-marathon and the slightly less-blooded foot of yours truly about 30 seconds behind in the orange circle, my time for running is coming to a close end.

No, not the new/old fitness craze that infected more than a few of my fellow degenerate friends, as that form of motion has been moved indoors for the duration of the winter as Minnesota tends to get cold during the time between Santa Claus and leprechaun visits.  Taking 20 minutes to prepare for a run by grabbing three insulated forms of Gore-Tex while staving off hypothermia and frostbite do not excite me.  Instead, thanks to a generous co-worker, I have taken up running on a treadmill for the first time. My humble observation is that the human hamster wheel feels much like having sex with a condom on.  If you’re doing it right you still get sweaty but you miss the extra sensations that outdoor running (and sex?) provides.  At least it will keep me in decent shape to start up again since this summer finishing a marathon seems like a fun thing to do.

Gibbs Rule #29:  Don't Suck (image credit)

Freed up time for training will come after finishing seven classes for my bachelor’s degree and a small bit of time for a celebration worthy of something that has taken over my life and thoughts for the past three and a half years.  At a stop light between Highway 169 and County Road 30 at 5:45am, before sitting down for a rare NCIS marathon with my wife, looking out towards the dimly lit backyard from my porch after a long night of reporting, all spots that usually bring a quick tear to my eye while thinking about a handshake and a piece of paper that will soon come into my possession. 

The dream was supposed to die after hopping on a plane from Sky Harbor airport to MSP.  The dream was supposed to die after getting knocked in the head and becoming an anti-social hermit for eight years.  But, after several drunken and sober fireside chats at the trailer cabin and a leap of faith with my finances six months separate me from that degree and that handshake that is so vivid in those daydreams. 

There is no end however.  The degree is not the end-of-the-road and time to kick up my feet on the L-shaped couch and start up yet another Gibbs versus the system viewing party or drink myself under that same piece of furniture.  Instead it’s just another piece of a second chance on life and making the most of it with self, my family, and my friends.  Definitely will not miss the strict APA formatting, late nights of researching dead philosopher’s thoughts on internet porn, or saying the words “daddy is busy with school right now”, those will pass into the same memories of 2am feedings of kids that are now in 1^st and 4^th grade.  Tough times that add to one’s exterior for the next challenge and one after that.  Much like running a 5K, then 10K, then a half-marathon, and with luck and hopefully no bloody appendages, 26.2 miles in around four hours 30 minutes.

A side note for Felicia…  I looked through 2005 and couldn’t find my deaf notepad, sorry.  But, I did manage to slide out of the house for some poker this past week at Canterbury Downs.  A little over two hours and ZERO drinks later my small entry fee was given to someone else after finishing 7/40 when the big blind woke up with a hand better than mine.  THE NERVES!

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.

The last .2 miles

“If you have the courage to begin, you have the courage to succeed”


- David Viscott

March 2010 I was sitting in a hotel room a few miles from downtown Greenville, SC wrapping up my first experience of the not-quite-AARP party known as “Mastodon Weekend”. It was not my first go around with these characters as for the last near decade people who prodded me to stop commenting and start writing for myself would meet up in random places such as Key West, Minneapolis, Chicago, Allentown, and of course Vegas for the annual WPBT.

During my last day there I would fire up my then non-infested Gateway laptop (DAMN YOU GOOGLE REDIRECT VIRUS!) and log on to the Rasmussen College online college screen for the first time.

It was scary.

I have not read a textbook in over 13 years at that point. All of my academic knowledge from getting an Associate’s degree was wiped from a mix of head injury, malaise, and an over excited worker from a back-alley strip joint after we compared inner thigh bruises. Needless to say, I was a true freshman again. No varsity letter, no multiple accelerated courses, no near perfect scores in Math and Science on the ACT test. Just a head full of rum and IPAs from Barley’s Taproom in Greenville checking out the new classes for which the next three years would take up nearly all of my free time.

In March 2012 there was another big change to my relatively straight-laced life as a married with children suburban warrior. People within the WPBT group had started running for fun/sport/competition as seen by the half-dozen brave souls that marched down Las Vegas Boulevard for the Rock and Roll half-marathon. As I stood on the curb in front of Mandalay Bay holding a six pack of Stellas for the runners, happy they attained their goals of not only finishing this grueling amount, but mostly surpassing their expectations.

Selfishly, I wanted that.

I miss competing in sports, which was given up for pursuit of academia. Nights were not spent coming home from a doubleheader at the softball field, instead my ass would make neat contours on the beige sectional with books showing titles such as “Business Ethics”, “American Literature”, and “How to speak like a doctor without knowing Latin”. Writing assignments, projects, mandatory discussion posts, accounting terms to learn for a CPA exam plus more. Add on kids activities, mending a marriage and meeting my wife for a second time and seeing her as my best friend instead of a source of stress and you got nothing but busy instead of living.

Then during a PokerStars tournament series I asked Otis about his running and how to start up. Which I did, and also tapped the running clean-up hitter of the WPBT group, Dan for tips on sticking with it as it was announced in the spring after a year layaway that Mastodon Weekend was coming back surrounding a 5K/Half-Marathon/Marathon run. I immediately, if not sooner, signed up. Academia be damned! The 5K looked to be a solid choice as I was slowly grinding upwards from barely looping a small half-mile pond to doing two miles without having to worry about holding in my Orange Chicken and beef fried rice lunch from the local Chinese joint where the part-owner knows me by name and order.

Soon, I was up at the cabin doing loops around the dusty grounds, usually dripping Captain Morgan sweat after drinking until 2am along the unpaved roads and being completely spent after a 5K. Usually running twice during the week and always once on the weekend, but no more than three miles as darkness and research papers piled on excuses. My goal was under 27 minutes for the Spinx Run with a further goal of under 26 minutes and beers going out to my coaches should I succeed.

Then, I started getting adventurous and adding a little bit of distance each time. A half-mile to the 5K, doing two two-mile runs during the week as I started to see a little reduction in my waistline despite having the nutritional palate of your average Harrah’s buffet patron. More time was carved out, more hills conquered as I started using MapMyRun.com for logging the runs because as a former/current stat geek, I loved seeing the numbers behind each hill and turn around where I played T-Ball over 30 years ago.

One day instead of turning right toward the Junior High, along of row houses that double in value versus my own, I went straight. Winding around, uphill, and along the border of the city. The path was nicely carved out but I didn’t know that until I passed a small box of sand with a jungle gym and slide. Further down a steep decline the path curved into a stretch that could only be described as a top five place to hide a body in Maple Grove. Beautiful, but secluded without much foot traffic. After not being weighed down by a cement block for skimming from the mob, I passed through the lake/swamp area only to be met by not one but two inclines that I akin to the curves on Scarlet Johansson

And I made it. I stopped to walk two or three times, but I made it. Time did not matter, ability to feel anything below my belly button did not matter, seeing straight did not matter. I made it.

Not since I played hockey or baseball in high school had I felt this way about a sport because I worked my way up to this.

But, that run started something bigger. People prodded, if you can go that far, why not go a little bit more? And so in August, I started adding miles and pace because instead of running a 5K without much thought of time, I would cast into a group of runners for the half-marathon. After paying the sizable “upgrade” fee there was no backing out. A mile added to the long run each week. Pace added to shorter runs during the week.

Fast forward to this weekend’s Autumn Classic at Elm Creek. I signed up for a 10K to give me barometer of whether or not I have a chance to finish competitively in three weeks by breaking two hours in the half-marathon. I went with a goal of 52:45 in mind as this was a little bit faster than the goal (9:10/mile) for the half. It got crushed like a Vikings fan’s soul during the 1998 NFC Championship game. I finished in 98th place with a time of 50:31 (8:09/mile pace) .

Also in October I started my third to last quarter with the dreaded Advanced Tax Theory course that most accounting student spit in disgust when hearing its name called. Luckily the professor is armed with an understanding that tax is not the easy subject in the world and allows for questions of those seeing the other side of a tax preparation for the first time.

While getting that gold tassel seemed so far away back in that Hampton Inn hotel room, now the finish line with family and friends holding out a beer for me is just a few blocks away.

The Other Sport

Monday night in Golden Valley. The air was calm, the field perfectly mowed crosses, and the temperature was as perfect as baby bear’s porridge. Every reason for an old athlete to step into a pair of white size 13s with one neat black shoelace contrasting the other thin leather lace that was purchased at a gas station and more fit for a hiking boot. But, the player didn’t care. He was free to step away from parenting, school, and responsibility for the next two hours or however long it took to decide the balance of two fall beer league games. The teammates mostly other number crunchers for state’s biggest retailer shed their bullseyes for a softball on their chest that appears to be hit by Zeus.


The opponents, younger and wanting victory more than the mere act of showing up for entertainment or a break from the sometimes grind of ones parenting and career driven schedule. They fill up a cliché checklist of douchebagettes: flat-brimmed hat tilted at 15 degrees with nationally accepted sport s team that they don’t even watch, long basketball shorts perfectly pressed, arm tribal tat, and the need to yell “WHOOOOOOO!” after every hit, run, error, or out. They attempt to quash the fun, make the 15 minute ride to the park, alone for once, not worthy of taking free-time to regain a minute piece of younger days.

But, over the Jersey Shore-rejects black painted wire mesh dugout is a path. Neatly striped with green divider lines and encasing the two softball areas with a loop that also branches beyond the 300 foot marker in left over a railroad crossing and up a steep hill and disappearing into trees. The first baseman managed to scoop up a few throws in the dirt and found the arm cannon a little rusty but still able to fire an accurate bullet and steal the cocky kid’s thunder after throwing him out at home after a short-hop hit the side fence. He would launch a tirade worthy of Ozzie Guillen or Bobby Cox or Earl Weaver if you’re so inclined. The red never wavered, with an icy calmness of a man that’s all-in holding pocket nines and no card under a jack sitting on the board. But, the first baseman just jogged off the field to take another look at that path and the runners that he never gave a second look to.

These people seemed to just popped out over the past five or six months. Driving home, the bright pink jacket with ear buds and some kind of wrist watch she kept pecking at. The sweaty guy with strides that resembled a pee-pee dance shuffled up the back road bridges incline turning into work around 6am. Walking with the kids to a spot about two blocks from the home where they can throw a few rocks from a mini-peninsula into a pond, there’s a older woman who never fails to impress with a pace that shows she does this often.

As the game wore on, more yelling with faux Brooklyn accents, and despite the close score of 17-16 in the seventh and final inning, the activity of the path seemed more interesting. Four high school aged girls with running shorts and t-shirts proclaiming not “call me maybe” but rather “cross country” zoom by as the sun took a dip behind the swampy area beyond the opposite field’s fence. A older gentleman was being assisted by likely his middle-aged son from the adjacent assisted care building. But, there was no pity, maybe some envy that he was free to walk the path while I stood on the field fenced in with ten people that I am more accustomed to see in Vegas. While the teammates were great examples of people you’d want to sit in the back parking lot where the rules state not to imbibe in beverages, the other team made the experience as tolerable as sitting line for Space Mountain in the middle of the summer.  McKayla was not impressed.

Source


Moved on perhaps? Running, while not the most exciting thing in the world, has at least added a goal. Something to shoot for, something to reach, something to do besides meld with a laptop and couch as schooling nears its conclusion next June. Since the ball does not fly off the bat like it once did, nor the glove snagging a hard-hit liner that tails away from pursuing glove, this new endeavor gives the old athlete a new goal that can continuously be stored and re-newed at anytime.

While the meatheads head off to bang some bitches and pound some PBRs, and a good night is waved to my fellow victorious teammates, my thoughts are on tomorrow and practicing to reach 5KM in 27 minutes with good friends spanning this country waiting at the finish line. 



It is done for a reason

Ugh.  Wanted to hit up Al's new-ish poker site Face Up Gaming this weekend but ran into 6,000 words of homework and a double reporting night at PokerStarsBlog. 

There were real words and real bad grammar mistakes to be posted right here as well, but my laptop has been funky and locked out this site from posting as well as not hooking up correctly with Facebook. 

Reason for not posting lately?  My schedule yesterday:

4:30am - Wake up
4:35am - "Are you going to take your hands off my boobs yet?"
4:37am - "No"
4:45am - 5:15am Get kids dressed, in car, drop off at day care
6:00am - 4:30pm Work, work, WORK, work
4:55pm - Get home, throw clothes off for Mets vs. Dodgers game, put approprite coaching gear on
5:15pm - At ballpark to warm up the pitchers
5:30pm - 7:00pm Mets win 4-1 as they rally in the fourth once again as the other team's pitching staffs consist of 2 or 3 kids who can actually throw it within a city block of the plate, my staff has seven.  Suck it Dodgers from rich part of the city
7:30pm - Grab Leaann Chin's to-go (overpriced, under-flavored, but local chinese is already closing up for the night)
7:45pm - Wolf down food and go on a 2.25 mile run, purposely hitting big hills, and keeping a little under 9:00/mile pace.  Replace stress with sweat.
8:30pm - After shower, tell kids to head to bed
8:42pm - Physically remove kids from porch place in bathroom to brush teeth
8:46pm - Remind son that toothpaste does not go in sister's hair
8:48pm - Place female child in bed as daughter still requests Black Eyed Peas to sleep to.  (walk away dejected)
8:51pm - Place male child in bed with Bomb Bird Angry Bird head blanket, he demands AC/DC Live (faith in my spawns is revived)
9:00pm - Watched "Chopped" Grill Week and muse that unless Ted Allen tells me there's microwavable mac n' cheese or eggs in my basket, Geoffrey Zakarian is probably going to throw the plate at me

9:30pm - Start weekly homework that was neglected yesterday due to having fun with the kids and turning baking myself into the same color of that wild boar the Chopped chefs had to do something with
11:00pm - Body finally gives up as I wake up with my overweight cat staring at me judgementally
11:04pm - "Really??!?  Must you?!!?" 

Two weeks until summer time, no homework, all fun and maybe a little time for posting.

Scribbles From the Writer Formerly Known as Drizz

“Best of the lousiest and the lousiest of the best”.

It is the theme call for a local radio station KFAN’s “The Common Man” who brings excellent wit to his daily sports and off-topic talk show from Noon – 2pm. Growing up this exemplifies my wanderings into athletes as either was picking splinters out of my bony ass on an upper division team or one of the better players on the lower division. After a while and much acne, self-image, and depression issues, the younger version of me just gave in to mediocrity and only played on teams against inferior opponents, not stretching whatever ability my 110 pound frame could muster.

Academics came easier but eventually fell into the same category as the baseball diamond or hockey rink as trying to get laid (and failing like your basic teenage movie about the wonders of growing up as a sulking kid without a stereotype or direction) became much more important. Yes, the conversation with past me would contain several “WAKE THE FUCK UP YOU MOPPING SHITHEAD!”. Instead of going off to a foreign land like Tempe, Arizona with the sole intention of spending tens of thousands of American Dollars on 10-packs of soft Taco Bell tacos and gallon sized under aged marked up bottles of Karkov vodka to spend a year learning that application of one’s self is a direct correlation to how people treat you.

As I watch my boy take the hard turn on a raised go-kart track, cutting off the 34 year old mother who visited the Kalahari bar for the six-shot Grey Goose Green Lantern special a couple of times before sending a few four-letter words in the direction of my little Jeff Gordon, there I saw my motivation. Again while arguing with my wife of eleven years, something clicked, something unlatched like a series of tumblers finally unlocking as for the past years and especially for the past few months a shell of myself turned into asshole-mode (with the except of a certain weekend to celebrate one Bobby Bracelet’s journey to minivan-land).

It was finding the medium between working as hard as possible at the highest level and still retaining the mindset of the child inside of my adult form (which has many lumps BUT I’M WORKING ON IT!  ). I probably have drafted some 30-odd kick-ass posts from Twins baseball (suck, suck, but getting me interested with every game they score most than one run and SURLY BEER AT TARGET FIELD!!  (it’s not Furious, but the aptly named “Bandwagon”), and yes even a poker post or three as I played a few hours while in Vegas last month (and went home a losing poker player for the first time, RIGGED!).

But, life gets in the way, kids need their pizza cut in exact shapes, and and and and yeah excuses come out instead of pushing yourself to do what you should at the effort level that little person inside your headspot is telling you at least give. The result might not be there like me getting back into the sporting arena with running (28:00 at the Goldy’s Run 5K *flex*) or getting stuffed numerous times playing beach volleyball by people you would normally be wrapping the word “Spaulding” around their forehead but can’t since your vertical turned into more of a horizontal uplift powered by a Yugo motor.

At least I’m in the game again. Parenting, writing, athletics for never-were’s, and even a little poker despite our government’s best intentions on killing a hobby that started this little journey into typing more than 140 characters at a time.

Yesterday I wrote “Life should overwhlem you at times, because if it doesn't, it means you have given up”. It’s time to start earning the quote but this time keeping both eyes open for what I’m missing.  And stop being a dick.

I Have Never Been to Vegas for a Bachelor's Party

While I have made several trips to a city that I have a love-hate relationship with. One that has chewed my soul like a tough cut of beef and soothed me like a new episode of Big Bang Theory with original jokes of Sheldon being Sheldon, I’m up an hour before work because a swarm of angry bees invaded my headspot with words that needed to make some honey, or at least a piece of dried out honeycomb.




My friend Brad (no not that Brad) chose a life of God and yesterday while on Facebook as he does from time to time while trying to interject on my life of “sin” to bring the word of God to my world. Which causes a free-thinker such as myself to step back and wonder “am I doing it wrong?”.



Then I remembered, that I am unburdened from such thoughts because there is no absolute right and wrong. The person in the mirror is the person’s rules that I follow or choose to live by. He is basically a tape recorder for which every single piece of life has already been drafted in a book containing a hymn, a verse for life’s entire context. And that’s OK. If a man chooses to feel guilty from placing their penis into a woman or a 120 ounce bottle of Heinz ketchup that he picked up at Costco because John 3:19 says so, that’s OK.



My parents still trying to nudge (not push) to get me to “go to church” because they claim my children need it. They are the most caring, loving, unselfish people I will ever know but if I were to ask why and explain why I chose to be human and life my life without knowing what will happen next it may cause a riff similar to a gay man or woman trying to explain their sexuality to homophobe.

I don’t want to be “saved”, I don’t want play a verse when I’m feeling like shit because I got too drunk and yelled at people, I don’t want to be part of the Borg, an un-thinking being of a collective.



There are some religious people who get it right. They craft those words into their own interpretation and go from there. Which is how a human should live. They should be “in sin” and free to meander within their own rules, not someone else’s. Be free to fuck up royally and learn from it. I know I certainly have. Life is not a sitcom as people like Brad would like to believe, scripted with a laugh track unyielding to life’s unknown future. I have no idea what is going to happen this weekend, and I don’t want to know because playing out the future in present time does not allow you enjoy that tingle of sitting at a bar after too many tequila shots talking smack about your favorite football teams with a toothbrush salesman from Ohio and a stripper with a giant ying-yang tattoo emblazed across her ass.



I wish Brad the best on his journey through life as he already knows what’s going to happen. Me? Well, you get to read about those flaws here as I have a blank page and perhaps a couple of front row seats to Thunder Down Under in my future.



One more day.

Senior Challenge

It was a common Freshman college night. Not getting laid again, getting bullied by the 21 year old from New York who stayed in the Freshman dorm because he wanted to knock around some feeble Midwestern kid trying to make heads and tails of all the sudden freedom he was exposed to. Prior to this, his life was nothing but responsibilities, go to school, take the advance placements courses, play baseball, work part-time job 15 minutes away, pray 85’ hatchback Nova does not break down, do homework, rinse and repeat. 37 year old soon-to-be Senior looks back at the 18 year old Freshman and shakes his head at the kid walking into the two bedroom dorm surrounded by fellow drunks as another tequila race was being set.


Four shots of Cuervo , three Gold, one 1800 at the end. Which after slamming back the last one to “win” the race made the Freshman proclaim victory and defeat all in a span on 15 minutes after receiving high fives like he just hit a game-winner from the top of the key, the Freshman’s body was not attuned to just alcohol normally flipping through a weekend night in Karkov with cranberry juice or making a Keystone Light beeramid.

After a night of projectile puke in nearly orifice of the bathroom, the Freshman was slowly learning about peer pressure. The Senior now more mature (HA!), more experienced would turn down such challenges but still reserves the right to make a fool out of himself at any given time because frankly that is what he does. It took a head injury, near divorce, two children, and life rebirth to figure out that it’s ok to go balls to the wall, it cleanses the soul to let out the person behind the corporate job and loving father and loyal husband just don't try to down a bottle of tequila while doing so.

Pic cred



But, there’s a difference between the Freshman and the Senior. One gave in to peer pressure without an end-game, just throwing his body at whatever, whenever. The other thinks before giving into a rum filled dream-like state or taking on a challenge. Now, it’s the Freshman’s turn to laugh at the elder and shake his head at the quest before him. Old, creaky, numb, the Freshman could spirit past the elder statesman backwards and shout insults normally reserved for Sunday morning AWA Wrestling with Mean Gene Okerlund separating The Animal and Baron Von Raschke’s deadly CLAW.

About a month ago there were whispers of a possible Mastodon Weekend revival but with an event open for those who have flocked to the healthier side of degeneracy and started running. The Senior had been watching the Facebook updates of his friends for over a year shaking his no as the pursuit of a college degree has drained nearly all free-time and energy to workout. “Sally ran 3.9 miles in 28.43mins burning 279 calories! As told by Nike WingTracker!”. This time the peer pressure would come from not booze fueled prop bets but summoning my expanding ass to stand up and carve out enough time to attempt to laugh at The Freshman. Granted he weighed 120 in full hockey gear and could run a sub six-minute mile without breaking a sweat while the Senior takes nine minutes for the same distance and nearly collapses into a slushy salt lick.

So it’s on. Even if the gathering does not materialize, the peer pressure of running has tipped over my last empty shot of tequila, as for the past two weeks I have hit the icy roads six different times in my hometown to find what many of my friends have enjoyed. A quiet cadence of putting foot in front of New Balance-filled foot, watching bare snow-lined tree come and fade as another corner is turned until the legs cannot give anymore.

The Senior looks at the Freshman with a glare that says “challenge accepted”. The goal? To run a half-marathon by next year with no stopping after the Senior become the Graduate.

See you on the path.



WPBT 2011: The Attack of the Re-served Fish

24.

image cred


The next day was spent with an itinerary, a mission, and on objective. No, pale, taller Jack Bauer was not going to stop a terrorist plot unless Al-Qaeda was going to hit a golf course, casino, or a wonderfully delicious Japanese restaurant tucked into a strip mall inside Vegas’ adjacent Chinatown.

The only explosions would be coming from a borrowed driver as F-Train was kind enough to pick up three people of Nordic stock in myself, Pebbles, and Bam-Bam along with my now awake and caffeinated roommate Joe Speaker were ready to destroy the course and clubhouse bar (in some cases one more than the other). Not everyone plays slots at 3am half-drunk in their pajamas before golf?

Wimps.

Meeting up with Dr. Chako and friend we split up into a foursome (Doc, Pebbles, Bam-Bam, and Doc’s friend) while I taught F-Train and Joe Speaker on the finer points of the Lebron James outline to perfect golf.

a) Win lots of money performing well in the regular season

b) Shut down like a five year old who didn’t get their naps and refuses to eat the asparagus

Long Drive? Check. Closest to Pin? Check. Skins? Check. Raving Speaker on giving me strokes and shooting near par for the first time in my life? Youbetcha.

However when the second half came and like Mr. James' ability to flop in the playoffs, so did my swing, my shoulder, and my chances of winning as Speaker’s brand of golf billiards using poor, defenseless winged animals as rails would prove to be victorious this day as dusk rapidly approached and many beers and stories needed to be consumes within the spacious bar/clubhouse.

Back to the strip after nearly paying for my round thanks to Speaker’s Taylor Made Burner driver and a lofty 6 iron that sailed with the majestic flow of a seagull about to land on a sea-hardened wooden pier. Quick change and we were off again, this time for what has become a tradition for myself and many WPBT’ers. A nice sit down meal that does not involve 70s rockers, salad troughs, or former Penthouse Pets dancing behind frosted screens (lets make this one a reality, but they better serve excellent hot wings).

A green rectangular sign stating “Chinatown” similar to “Maple Grove” when I drive home was past as this was my first adventure or even knowledge that such a town existed next to the monuments of gambling. Raku meaning “Charcoal Grill House Enjoyment” according to the website has an alternate meaning that would be shared by those who sat down at the very table pictured on the front page of the website.

“Stuffed”

A wave with an undercurrent of food soon graced our table as many pleaded for a second or third stomach as giant pitchers of Sapporo were the only constant along with the banter consistent with just intelligent minds pouring over fish made six different ways and in some cases remade. Personally, there it was only my second time being forced to use chopsticks, the first being a family meal with a Korean friend but his mother was kind enough to take two tongue depressors with a spacer and tape them together as his soon-to-be restaurateur younger sister giggle at the American trying to pick up squid with them.

I will leave the culinary critique to those that actually have eaten or cooked with half the ingredients used on Chopped, and are used to fine dining as my experience with dinners that cost as much as my family’s weekly grocery bill is limited to these yearly splurges. Make no mistake, I soaked in every ounce that I could in conversation, atmosphere, and beer. And despite the lack of a fortune cookie at the end of the meal, Raku is for you. Then again the people surrounding this table could make the buffet at Excalibur seem like a Michelin award winning spread.

My memory is a little fuzzy by this point as the next memory is waking up SOBER (getting old?) for the WPBT tournament at Aria. And that will need to wait for another day.



Death and Rebirth of a Salesman

I wrote this after reading Death of a Saleman for the first time.  Yes, I'm probably the only 37 year old on the planet who has never seen a play or read this masterpiece.

But, it hit the spot. 

Here's what I wrote for the discussion in class:

What scared me after reading Death of a Salesman is I saw a little of Biff and Willy in my own life. Willy for the way he works himself to the bone, feels empty inside while grinding out a living because there is no ultimate happiness. Willy: “I know it when I walk in. They seem to laugh at me” (Klinkowitz & Wallace, 2007, p.2341) . No matter how many awards I have won at work, grades achieved, or even the smiles on my kid’s faces, I always think someone is still laughing at me. Despite irreplaceable friendships it was not always like that, it felt forced like I shoved myself into other people’s lives instead of being invited. The grind that Willy was on is similar to what I face. Getting up daily at 4:30am, home after 5pm, and I am typing this around 10pm because after helping with dinner, folding laundry, and tucking the kids in bed I finally get a chance to read a story that touched me a little bit. Sure, my life is nowhere near the mess of Biff or Willy as I have great group of friends, loving wife who does not blindly follow me, but there’s a emptiness, one that make me wonder why I’m still fighting the insecurities of yesteryears and the prospect of not fulfilling the grand life my parents thought their genius son should have (much like Willy talking up Biff too much).




Biff : “I am not a leader of men, Willy, and neither are you” (Klinkowitz & Wallace, 2007, p.2388). It took a head injury, and several years of depression to realize that I enjoy working and that becoming a manager was not the end game, but instead finding work worth doing would keep me hungry to be alive. Writing has a cathartic effect; I can splash my dark feelings onto a page and cast them away like a minnow on a hook ready to hit the lake. Luckily, I stuck with it long enough so I can earn a little coin for my words on the weekends writing about a game that I enjoy due to its social aspect and now after several years at Target there’s work waiting for me in about eight hours that someone cares about, including me.



I could have taken the easy road like Willy, but instead I found the ability like Biff to take stock in who I am, versus who people want me to be and start anew.

2011 WPBT: Here We Go Again

Whitesnake firmly in your ear now?  Good.  Keep it in while reading.

I feel like a smoker having to sneak out behind a building under a rock just to take a drag and bathe in Febreeze before jumping back into cubicallandia.


Yes it’s been awhile, a long while, and like most people my schedule has taken a turn for the busy going on busier after wrapping up Event #48 of the Turbo Championship of Online Poker at PokerStarsBlog Sunday afternoon, there was still a two-hour audit risk assessment memo to write for one of my classes.

A couple of ice cubes in a tall glass with rum and Diet Dr. Pepper cured the nerves enough to sleep. But, nearly two month ago (TWO?!?!?) holy shit time does not stop. Ok, at the beginning of December likeminded individuals gathered once again in the land that Steve Wynn, Fried Twinkies, and $500 Captain and Cokes can be guzzled to your heart’s content.

The 2011 WPBT continued the tradition of meeting fellow degenerates that disguise themselves as people who have their shit together by cloaking their bodies with professional –looking fabrics, massive vocabularies, and college degrees. Yet, we all meet up to take off those things for three to four days in the desert to be people again. Stripped down to a bunch of smiles and real life, no hiding within an Armani suit or perfect hand gestures learned at a corporation’s build-a-better manager seminar.

You get to be you. And if that you happens to enjoy playing slot machines at 4am with a rum and coke in your pajamas, rock the flannels for all they’re worth.

My WPBT started quickly as after I touched down and waited for my roommate to saunter in from California, a little slot play was needed and after losing $50 or so, I was just about to go back up to the room when some magnetic force pulled me to the Rockin Olives bank of slots at the Monte Carlo. While chatting it up with a local who had plenty of cash but chilling after his friend the MLB headed back home, I was more interested in asking questions about his friend. Yes, he has worked a World Series, yes some players are actually pretty cool to chat with, and yes he gets great seats whenever he wants.

Then, my machine started going nutso immediately after breaking the drink seal (since I did not get the 1st class upgrade like last year). JACKPOT! Jumping, overtipping, hand-shaking commenced immediately as I get too excited about these types of things, when working in accounting you can’t too excited about the large numbers in the ledgers since they will never be yours. After filling out my first W-9 it was time for a quick drink at Sherwood Forest.

Quick because the AlCantExperience was bored and needed large drinks and large betting at the Palms for the Pokerati PLO/NLHE game. After a double SoCo/water back for him, usual for me as well and catching up with a friend who’s success I was very happy to hear about (Epic Poker) as we made it into the game for a few hours as one of my favorite reads on Twitter @Alexpokerguy was minding his own business, and politely tapped me on the shoulder when a group of bridesmaids with EPIC ASS gathered in the adjacent high limit slot room. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

After another drink at with Al, it was time to head back to the Sherwood Forest for craps (lost but won because I was surrounded by a table of WPBT go’ers who actually knew what they were doing), and settled in for some PAI GOW with Speaker, Maigrey, Chilly who watched me bet on another guy’s bonus spot and hit a straight flush, then 30 minutes later I hit my own with the seventh card being the same color but different suit and one pip off of a seven-card straight flush. It is my unicorn, and one day I will catch it.

Anything that happened from there to rockin my PJs at 4am before golf is a blur and I apologize if I got 86’d again because you people make this guy too happy just to be there.

I won’t say when the recap on golf, tournament, meeting up with my brother, Raku, LOSING MY VOICE, Rock and Roll half-marathon with several NAKED GUYS and several deep chats will appear on this page. But, I can say.

Thank you for your support. And boobs.

Play Solid Poker

To become a profitable poker player when you are playing on Poker Stars you need to know which table image you give off to your opponents. If you are seen as a loose player, it means more people will call you more often, according to the pros at Poker30.net. When this is the case, you need to learn how to use this to your advantage. Knowing what type of table image you project is key. If you want to move up levels, you need to know exactly what hand your opponent thinks you have, as well as know what hand your opponent can call you with. A good way to practice this is to play for free on http://www.playsolidpoker.com/pokerstars-net/ today. For example, if a tight player raises in early position, the likelihood is he has a very strong hand, and most players would fold, unless they also have a big hand. Being able to master these poker fundamentals, as well as other skills you can find on PlaySolidPoker will help you improve you game and hopefully take you up a level.

WPBT 2011: Hold On

Ah yes, it's Carnie, Wendy, and Chynna before she became a WWF wrestler, Playboy model, and porn star (don't look up the last one you may need a Sham-wow full of industral-grade bleach to wash those images away.




Good morning for one last time before the annual WPBT takes over Las Vegas trip, like the Muppets Take Manhattan only smaller buildings and more drinking.  Not sure if I'll ever "mature" as the gray stubble shows up in my bathroom mirror more often these days, but that's just an age thing and cannot be stop unless I find Jean Claude Van-Damme's time machine and tell my 16 year old self to buy some Apple stock and stop drinking tequila sunrises during parties because its not attacting the ladies like he thinks it is.

Can you tell I haven't slept much?  Excellent, we can be friends again.

To see the friends that I hold most dear that I can't hold since they are selfish enough to live in far away lands like Milwaukee, Greenville, foreign countries such as California, and something called Can-a-da.  Never was good at geography, advanced calculus, or making pie crust.  We will rock the town once again, to cheer those running, whether it be with 40,000 others in the Las Vegas half-marathon, or from the police after trying to motorboat the Eastern Bloc tall blonde pai gow dealer at 2am from the Gold Coast who doubles as a high-end escort that specializes in something called Nipple Eroticism. 

Yes, kids it time to take down the cowboys at the table, cheer for Whiplash, and try to pack years of friendship into four days of degeneracy.  My plane touches down around six tomorrow night, and once again I hope to be seated in first class making my money back on the free libations trying to keep up with the sloshed housewive of a car tire baron that does nothing but watch Ren and Stimpy re-runs and yells PAI GOW at random times.

Hold on for one more day.

WPBT Time 2011: The Race for the Stella

Wasn't Kim Karadishan still a blushing bride on Sept. 15th?

My story of busy, busy, busy do not need to be retold but the announcement of the WPBT and my immediate if not sooner acceptance to subject myself to good food, better friends, and comfy wheelchairs took place nearly three months ago.

This space along with getting back to the gym and curing stupidity will all happen as soon as my college agrees that I rule and hands over that piece of paper that signifies that I can in fact sink 10 straight beer pong shots while completing the end-year journal entries for a parent and a foreign subsidiary that uses a different currency.

Monte Carlo will be home base this year as they blessed me with a redonkulous rate thanks to the birthday efforts of me, Otis, GRob, F-Train, Doc Jeff, and Absinthetics around of table of Pai Gow betting some chips over the course of several hours upon lifting our collective heads off the felt notices only a couple of guys from Brooklyn playing blackjack on a nearby table and vacuum cleaners sucking up the lost souls.

This year's activites:  Golf, Food (off strip for the first time ever), Poker, Pai Gow, Drinks, Beer, More Beer, if I can find it the finish line for the Las Vegas half marathon to hand out well-deserved beers to WPBT'ers and a potential future in-law as my brother's girlfriend's brother mentioned to me that he is running with the chick that did her last half marathon in 1:11.  Oh dear.

See you in five days.

The Future of Blogging: Viable Media Outlet or Online Personal Diary

Advanced Composition.  Tough course, but opened my eyes and keyboard to some new twists to include while I'm writing.  If you'd like a gander at my final paper which is relevant to blogging and might be quite TLDNR for most, for others I hope its up to your standards of reading my words here and elsewhere.

Warning! ACHTUNG! CUIDADO!  This is not in APA-format so if you require such things and are not my professor, I suggest you ask for an Irish Hot Chocolate next time you're at Starbucks.

On with the show:

Titled:  The Future of Blogging:  Viable Media Outlet or Online Personal Diary?

    Just fourteen years ago a man named Peter Merholz broke up the word “weblog” to bring the world a new era in writing that played off the evolving usage of the internet. Little would people know that random musing on message boards and personal websites would turn into a viable source of journalism and profits. Today, there are over 152 million blogs in existence (Pingdom, 2011) where a person can learn about artificial limbs from a scientist, read the adventures of a first-time mom in suburban Los Angeles, or catch up on the latest video game rankings. But, have blogs become too cumbersome in the newest age of instant news (Twitter and Facebook)? Will they continue to bring debate to an open forum? Will blogs remain a viable way to writers to earn a living? As shown by the amount of major media outlets that continue to drive web-based advertising and hire bloggers, the medium of blogging will continue to a viable route for aspiring journalists, subject matter experts, and amateur writers to get their voices heard and paid for their words.


    The road to blogging for money is a long and treacherous one for those wanting to cash in on their labor. Many factors come into play for writers seeking a paycheck or recognition for their contribution towards a certain subject. Being an expert in a certain subject matter is often the road to becoming a paid blogger as search engines such as Google and Yahoo! look for key words and list the webpages according to their importance on the subject at hand. As David Hall from Search Engine Optimization (SEO) Inc. explains “To really understand the methodologies that are used to achieve top rankings, we should first put ourselves in the shoes of the engineers at Google. When a user types a keyword or phrase into the Google search box, that user is requesting that the search engine returns a list of webpages that will provide the answer or information the user is looking for” (Hall, 2011). Hall is explaining the phrase “if a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear, does it make a noise?” as it pertains to blogging. If no one knows you are writing, does it matter what and how polished your content is? Blogging is not all about drafting the next Hemingway novel, or banging out a 20 page presidential election synopsis, it is about gathering readers to you. Buried within those 152 million blogs may be the next Edward R. Murrow, Einstein, or F. Scott Fitzgerald putting out content that would land the person behind their laptop a Nobel prize or a fat publishing contract, but if no one is attracted to the web site how do you get a start?

    This author makes some side cash from a job for an online poker site which employs several bloggers to write wraps (or recaps) for their major tournaments. To get to this point, I spent several years writing about poker for a personal blog with no pay, no advertising dollars, nothing to motive myself except for my love of poker. Then, a small job opened up writing poker content at $5 a post, which was gladly welcomed as my name started to be included in this niche group of poker writers who were also being courted to cover the tournament circuits such as the World Poker Tour, and grandest stage of them all, the two-month long World Series of Poker held in Las Vegas, Nevada each year. Fast forward to today where there are several companies within this small community of gamblers, which employ these writers full-time to travel around the world and cover both live and online tournaments. Another success story would come from local Minneapolis blogger Aaron Gleeman who started AaronGleeman.com back in 2002 as a personal site to muse about his favorite pastime of baseball, and specifically the Minnesota Twins. After showing his expert grasp on the subject as well as entertaining non-baseball talk for years gathering several thousand followers, and appearing on different forms of media such as local sports talk radio and podcasts, he was tapped by the National Broadcasting Company (NBC) sports division to write for their baseball blog called “HardballTalk” @ http://hardballtalk.nbcsports.com/.

    Success stories are easy to find since they are front-and-center but knowing how those success stories came about is the key for future bloggers if they wish to find their way into making blogging a potential career. Having a passion for the subject matter is the number one key to good blogging and the easiest way to get noticed. Much like many literature and creative writing books will outline for those striving to improve their skill, without knowledge and an extra drive to write about the subject, the person reading the blog will feel that energy of lack thereof while pouring though a blogger’s recap of a recent scrapbooking convention. Anyone can write, anyone can start a blog as all it takes is an email address while signing up at one of the many blogging platforms such as Blogger, Moveable Type, or WordPress but if the blogger’s intent is to make living from their words, having the drive to continue writing well when no money is on the line is the key to connecting to and growing an audience.

    Not so fast, says Nick Denton whose name is synonymous with blogging as he owns several large complication blogs under his Gawker media umbrella such as: sport site “Deadspin”, “Lifehacker”, “Jezebel”, and the self-named entertainment/celebrity following blog “Gawker”. In a short interview by Dan Duray of the New York Observer, Denton says “I don’t really see a blog business” (Duray, 2011). Other writers such as The Awl’s Choire Sicha chimed in the same article “It always has been an embarrassing word, first it was embarrassing because bloggers were these dirty, horrible people, and then it was embarrassing because our grandmas have blogs, God bless them” (Duray, 2011). This is the slippery slope that bloggers can fall into, once you plan to crank out content, you need to stay on top of the subject of which is the source of the blog or the hundreds of other bloggers out there covering the same topic will shadow your work, thus devaluing anything published. People like Kevin from blogtipz.com can give you insight on how to achieve the goal of a profitable blog. ““Natural” bloggers find the task of starting a new blog, finding guest posters (to alleviate everyday work), and managing their collection of blogs easy. They have a set of procedures that they follow and adapt to achieve periodic goals. Overnight, they hadn’t become perfect, but by evolving their schedules and knowledge on each step of blogging, it became easier to match each of their previous goals and expand upon their previous figures” (Kevin, 2008). But, even a well-put together blog is useless in today’s blogging arena if the content is not fresh and unique, and despite using Kevin’s nine highlights of a successful blog and blogger: “perseverance, time and content management, the looks, contemplation, don’t exhaust yourself, honesty, good social and networking skills, persistence, and pessimism and/or optimism” (Kevin, 2008) a blogger can find themselves without an audience and without direction if they do not catch that lucky break of advertising dollars or getting a contract to write for a larger blog.

    Another hurdle for bloggers is overcoming the negative connotations from traditional media and the public in general. Take noted sportswriter Rick Reilly’s comment about bloggers from a Newsday article republished by Deadspin’s A.J. Daulerio “If you suddenly change who you are, the other half will hate you. I don't really care what people holding down couch springs do or say" (Daulerio, 2009). This is the public’s perception of a blogger cranking out content in their parent’s basement drinking cases of Mountain Dew while playing World of Warcraft for 18 hours a day. But, even the skeptical Reilly has come along for the blogging ride with regular postings as a “columnist” at ESPN.com, and traditional media noticing the power of social media outlets being viable ways to get their voices heard with the decline of newspaper readership and advertising revenue. Mashable.com showed a huge drop in newspaper revenue from $37.8 billion in 2008 and $27.5 million in 2009 while online advertising revenue continues to increase (Parr, 2010). With these sorts of trends, bloggers, tweeters, and those who know their way around Facebook will continue to become more and more valuable to companies that are moving away from traditional media outlets such as television, newspapers, and magazines.

    Even the newly created social media writers are split up into different competitions between each other for media dollars and contracts. Writers on Twitter need to be up to the millisecond with trending information in order to stand apart from the 60 million accounts that are actively being used. Also, unless you are Shaquille O’Neal, Lady Gaga, or another famous celebrity, finding real followers to your Twitter feed could be too daunting to continue establish an online presence in that form alone. Same with Facebook, which is generally used to connect friends, unless your friends are in the media or publishing business, getting a six-figure contract from McGraw-Hill from a status update about a weekend keg party does not seem likely. The savvy blogger however can use these medium and conjunction with their blog and self-advertise. For example, noted blogger and co-creator of Grantland.com (which is owned by ESPN) Bill Simmons can tweet about the most recent articles on the website, drawing traffic from those who read him, or those who read him and re-tweet the links to their readers creating a reverse pyramid of readers and reaching thousands instead of relying on Google or Yahoo! to put those blog postings at the top of their key word rankings. Simmons could also hop over to his Facebook account and post a link with a description of best-selling author Chuck Klosterman’s latest musings on Grantland.com to entice those who do not use Twitter on a daily basis and capture even more readers.

    While blogs have lost ground to people’s fascination with news in under 140 keystrokes and uneducated opinions, they provide things that other social media mediums cannot. Blogs can be geared specifically to the writer’s content, whether is it a company website describing the latest products, or starving artist showing off his grasp on dark poetry. The freedom to shape those words and the message going out with no restrictions will allow blogs to live on as Facebook and Twitter become mediums to draw readers to blogs as sort of funneling system towards the real money maker. Without blogs as a foundation in the social media package, people are left with half quotes and no content, like having the ingredients for the perfect mixed drink without a glass to pour it in and drink from.


References

Daulerio, A. (2009, February 20). Rick Reilly Still Unimpressed With Blogs, But Wants Everyone To Know He Actually Likes The Sports Fella. Retrieved September 9, 2011, from Deadspin.com: http://deadspin.com/5157404/rick-reilly-still-unimpressed-with-blogs--but-wants-everyone-to-know-he-actually-likes-the-sports-fella

Duray, D. (2011, February 01). The End of Blogging. Retrieved August 30, 2011, from The New York Observer: http://www.observer.com/2011/tech/end-blogging

Graveris, D. (2011, January 1). Revolution and the Future In Blogging World - Art Direction Trend. Retrieved August 27, 2011, from 1stwebdesigner.com: http://www.1stwebdesigner.com/inspiration/revolution-future-blogging-world-art-direction-trend/

Hall, D. (2011, August 15). Relevance and Importance for SEO. Retrieved August 27, 2011, from SEOinc.com: http://www.seoinc.com/seo-blog/relevance-and-importance-for-seo/

Kevin. (2008, June 16). Principles to Achieve Blogging "Perfection". Retrieved August 27, 2011, from Blogtipz.com: http://blogtipz.com/2008/06/16/principles-to-achieve-blogging-perfection/

Parr, B. (2010, March 26). The Dire State of the Newspaper Industry [STATS]. Retrieved September 9, 2011, from Mashable.com: http://mashable.com/2010/03/26/the-dire-state-of-the-newspaper-industry-stats/

Pingdom. (2011, January 12). Internet 2010 in Numbers. Retrieved September 9, 2011, from Pingdom.com: http://royal.pingdom.com/2011/01/12/internet-2010-in-numbers/

Schwendiman, H. (2007, August 21). Direction, goals, and blogging. Retrieved August 27, 2011, from Hollyscorner.com: http://www.hollyscorner.com/blog/2007/08/21/direction-goals-blogging/

Not back, never left

Also, not a post.

Finals week.

WCOOP reporting.

Three soccer games.

Annual golf outing with father-in-law.

By Sunday.

It's a Red Bull hold the vodka week until Saturday night/Sunday morning when WCOOP Event #39 H.O.R.S.E. finishes up in the wee hours of the morning and it is time to relax (well, until next Wednesday and start over again).

I was told I could sleep when I die, I just hope not to die sleeping.  Work hard, play harder, make sure you have a luggage rack/wheelchair to get you home.

Nighters.