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!

Life with panoramic views

Take one minute to see.

Take one minute to encompass yourself in your current surroundings.

I am a busy person during the summer.  Much of this was my own doing as returning to school and taking on extra work for PokerStarsBlog and Bluff Magazine were a chance to continue doing something that enjoy AND get paid to write in few puns about.  Yes, sitting an sweat bath of a porch at 1am writing about poker with nothing but gray boxer briefs, a muted AVP Women's sand volleyball on the screen (seriously, they have six feet of legs, able to jam a quick set, and are wearing less than your average Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition models, HOT!), all while 80s hair bands keep it real through the Bose headsets and enjoying it seems a little mentally imbalanced.

And even with three hours of sleep into a long day at the office, I love it.  Somehow I doubt corporate America would allow such under-clothed freedoms but I'd work for half of my undersized paycheck for the chance to debug a database or balance a receipt while performing pantless accounting.  

Despite the hurried schedule I took two minutes.  The first was my son's bedroom.  Sitting in front of me was my son's bed decked out in Transformers dark blue motif most of it strewn about since getting poker by his father that it was time to go to nana and pa's for the day.  While on his belly and knees bent, his feet came together to form a perfect triangle while deflecting all urges to take care of business before hoping into the dented Mini-Van.  My daughter to his left, curled up perfection that could do no wrong.  Her oversized K pillow that has retained most of the original sequins over the three years she has owned it, fuzzy leopard-print slippers and a world of dreams opening up now that is becoming of school age.  The back window had my fat cat peering thru carefully, not wanting the half-asleep girl to notice its presence or face getting mauled by the overexcited four year old. 

After managing to not run over Thumper is his 14,562 brothers and sisters, the kids were dropped off at my childhood home where a second minute was taken in.  90 degrees to the right was Muffy Robbins house, my first crush with her golden curly hair and about my only boy-girl interaction innocent enough where it was fun to be around the opposite sex versus coming up with new ways to get rejected.  The basketball hoop that her one-armed father constructed above the garage still hung and looked well-maintained by the new neighbors that moved in after Muffy took for the mountains of Colorado at age seven.  After 28 years I still don't know their names, but remember Jerry the father, her brother Benji, and Muffy's real name of Sarah.  While turning from east to west in a motion like that Sony panoramic camera commerical with Taylor Swift the Cul-de-Sac where I once played football on a daily basis, scuffing myself up, grabbing some TLC from mom only to go right back out there and gain some more scars.   Further to the side of the street is my baseball card collection, dancing in the make-shift stream during a flash flood in which I was attempting to transport from Matt Spitzmuller's house to my own but tripped as Don Mattingly's rookie card moved as effortless as his swing down towards the sewer never to be traded again. 

Reality set in quickly with my wife of nearly 10 years hopped up for quick kiss and a reminder that I had a dentist appointment right after work at 5pm but asked if I could grab a new headlight for her car before I started homework and a softball game at 8pm but not to leave before getting the kids in bed.

Life was a little more simple while playing strat-o-matic baseball and ghost tag into the night versus the cluster of reality that is shoved into a 24 hour day at the present time.  But, it's a good feeling to take the time to reflect and refresh before stepping back to that life you built for yourself.  Try it sometime.

It May Be Snowing, But I'm Not Cold

A kind reminder that the contest for dressing up The Wife as my NFL Sunday beer bitch is still open to whoever is going to blogger meet and drink in Vegas next month. Waffles certainly came on strong (as predicted) but there's time before I hit up the pro shop close to the dome for the final Vikings accoutrements she shall don while fetching countless Cap'n Cokes (or waters depending on late night Pai Gow/Craps/Skillet drunkeness).

Waffles like yes? Sadly, no sambas.

I tried to find heels for the shoe lover but all I could find were Crocs. Hmmm... ok that's just mean.

Cami? I like.

I'll even throw in a $10 NFL wager of your choice on any team except the Packers if both I and The Wife approve of your submission.

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Ever feel like you're supposed to say something, but know if you do the reprecussions may outlive the usefulness of the words. There's things at home that need to be said as I've been lost for sometime now, getting out of bed late at night to stare at the frost bitten ground and baren trees of the backyard to release thoughts that tear me apart daily. For unknown reasons the internal computer will not power down, constantly thinking of "why", "what if", and "why not" instead of enjoying the moment, the laughter, the now.

Home life has improved greatly since a year ago. The puzzle's framework is solid, but missing pieces continue to distort the final picture leaving an unfinished picture. Is it my unwillingness to live with status quo? Am I selfish for wanting reciprocation instead of a cold shoulder on most nights?

Much like the paper cuts draped across my knuckles from the recent cold wind, they hurt slowly but not enough to ruin my day and its nothing that some peppermint lotion wouldn't cure.

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This story from Pokerati

Wow.

Just. Give. It. Up.

Everyone from the Treasury to the banking community tells you this is a bad idea EVEN THOUGH SOME DON'T LIKE GAMBLING, yet you try to push through a bad law DURING A BANKING AND ECONOMIC SHITSTORM.

Stop listening to the bible-thumpers for two seconds and use common sense. If people who don't gamble are even saying they don't agree with the way this law passed AND the rules behind it, why cram yet another horrible chapter to your presidential legacy.

The link is the actual article on the midnight rule making found at Pokerati. Would a punny 15 year penalty for Unsportsmanlike Conduct to William Wichterman seem appropriate?

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Tonight Mookie, tomorrow Evy Baby (I pwns jOO @ Guitar Hero!!!11oneoneone, actually no she'd kick my ass). Details are out there about the Bodoggie extra prize, I'll post em here tomorrow. Still a great tourney to play with the massive overlay and deep stacks.

Since We Love to Live Blog...

Since live blogging took over my life for the past weekend, let’s twitter-riffic my past weekend:

09/05/08 – 8:00pm Log on to PokerStars blogging platform fresh as a newborn after some tit-sucking. I’m first up with Event #1, no pressure leadoff after being called up from single “A” ball.

09/06/08 - 12:00am – Wow, midnight came fast and still plugging away. Alcoholism and self-loathing in the distant future.

4:00 am – Bio break, legs won’t function as I crawl to the bathroom and piss like a water fountain into the toilet

5:32 am – Not looking good for golfing as the final six have extremely healthy “M’s” and with several hundred thousand dollars on the line, I doubt they care if I get to go shoot 18 with my father-in-law an hour from now.

6:30 am – Otis is the man, and takes over for my limp (literally) ass as I stumble into my Greg Norman polo shirt and pillow soft khakis to pick up my brother-in-law for our annual foursome with our father-in-law out at Daytona Golf Club (September rates $27 with a cart for 18, awesome deal!!)

7:01am – First tee time and picture perfect morning with the sun coming over some farmland beyond the first green. The dew is a runny nose-like thick but makes it easier to read my horrible putts

9:23 am – After four three-putts but somehow hitting 7 out of 9 greens in regulation with zero sleep I decide something was needed on the turn. I blankly got an M and M cookie instead of a much needed drink.

11:14am - Bullshiting at the bar after the round for a hour or so is the best part of our annual get-together. My brother-in-law manages to chat about my exploit with an engaged chick right before I started dating his daughter for nearly 15 minutes. Thanks, bro remind me to tell a few stories next time.

12:45pm - Arrive at brother-in-law’s house for burgers and brats on the grill after finally getting some wake-up juice in me (Cap’n Coke of course, heavy on the Cap’n), I wake up enough to acknowledge that this swiss/cheddar burger is pretty goddamn tasty and my daughter is proudly wearing a sticker proclaiming her a junior crimefighter which I’m reminded of every two minutes which I steal a hug from her each time.

2:00pm - Hit the bed with the force of a pre-Buster Douglas fight Mike Tyson.

5:30pm – Wake up to take care of the kids as they were nice enough to take a nap with daddy, wife is scrapbooking until 11pm.

8:00pm – Watch Spongebob Squarepants with the boy as we assembled a fort of pillows, comforters, and state fair won stuffed animals for his “sleepover” in the porch.

9:17pm – Prep for tonight’s Event #4 2-7 Triple Draw with the lovely Change100. Thought about a nice Goose Island IPA, took a Lipton ice tea and a box of Triscuits instead

10:00pm – Settle in for the night purchasing Werewolves of London and Goodbye to You for the iPod while logging into PokerStarsBlog.com and the nifty hand replayer

10:25pm - Make first poker blogging prop bet ever on the finish time, Change100 sets it at 3:45PDT, I take the under for $5.

09/07/08 5:45am -- #@$%!#%@#@!, lose $5 when we’re four-handed. Ship it to Change!

6:15am – watch the most bizarre heads-up play I’ve ever seen, the eventual winner takes 15 hands in a row while both still had healthy Ms to the blinds. The other player just rolls over and dies as with no chop in place he wins the whole $24K

6:30am – Finish up with the final hand from Change100 wish her a good night and log off

6:49am – Kids are up, play around with them wondering who’s in my skin right now

10:07am - Feel much better after a two hour nap when the wife kindly feeds them breakfast and wake up for a little Super Mario World with Wyatt

1:03 pm - Took another quickie nap and set out to take care of my parent’s dog while they’re away, and watch some football after getting a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger from Wendy’s

1:41 pm – Jets vs. Dolphins or Atlanta vs. Lions?!?!?!?! As Speaker might say “Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.” I get to watch part of one game today and have to choose between FARVEFARVEFARVEFARVEFARVE and the Matt Millen fan club? Eric Hipple and someone who can actually play defense please report to the Lions camp immediately.

2:45pm – Start setting up with Stephen Bartley from across the pond who’s looking at a rather late evening/early morning with our shift. He’s already got a list of player to look for in this massive 7,000+ orgy. I manage to spot “The Bulldog” Orel Hershiser who would almost make the money while playing very decently as I followed him for awhile.

5:34pm – Wife announces no dinner for me as I didn’t answer my cell phone (thanks, hon) while Wyatt proudly displays his new #23 jersey for the local soccer club. I wrestle with both of them as they played for a little bit after banging out a quick post.

6:46pm - Find soccer pic on my cell phone, Wyatt is looking good, hopefully he gets his mother's striking ability versus my bad legs for the sport.

8:00pm – Kyra with her new Dora the Explorer PJs comes down alone for a hug and kiss looking more tired then me. But she actually provides me with more caffeine then a double espresso at Starbucks as we near the bubble in Event #6.

10:00pm -- The closers come in, as my brain feels like I just tossed a complete game in 95% humidity. Wish Stephen a great night, and trot upstairs to catch the end of the Bears/Colts game which Payton probably dominating…

10:21pm – Whoa, Payton is on the sidelines looking like his prom date is getting railed by the dance floor by the offensive line. Score one for Donkeypuncher’s Bears.

10:37pm – Walk out to the deck to stare at the backyard for five minute and wind down a bit. Still passed on the IPA, poor choice once again.

10:50pm – Wife is snoring, my head hits the pillow and the first wild weekend of blogging is in the books.

Living for Cheap Cigars at the Gold Coast

The closer the WSOP gets, the more I want to go again.

Even its just to donk off chips in the Venetian Mixed game and take my last $20 of a $400 buy-in and turn it into $100 playing Craps and Pai Gow and call it a win.

Or play Pai Gow into the wee hours with over-worked scribes at casinos long forgotten by the Strip.

To watch the amazing influx of pokery excitement that might be lost on those who toil long hours in the chip counting trenches. But to the causal fanboi like myself there's nothing like a long weekend glimps of pros, joes, and fishy smoes trading hardly earned cash across the Milwaukee Best Light pictured tables at the Rio. As Ferris Bueller once said "life moves pretty fast, if you don't stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it". I take those words to heart with every hug of my kids, every time I feel just a little too tired, every possible missed opportunity because I didn't ask on it. Sure, I had a push from a disabling accident that made me lose six years of my life, drifting while not caring if my wife left me, not caring if the fizz left my Cap'nCoke, not caring if a car ran a red light and took away the pain permanently.

Is that people need to feel like I do? Do you need a smack in the head to want a life versus a constant series of events that get you closer to the weekend?

My suggestion is find the nearest brick wall and go home a concussion. Even you feel alone, detached, unwanted, there's always something you can improve.

Yourself.

Granted I'm the furthest example of self-improvement as I've waffled the idea of further schooling for several years but financial and other pint-sized tax deductions remain more important. But, I have learned that tucking away money for the winter is a good thing only if it keeps a roof over your family's head and Hot Pockets in the microwave. Otherwise it should be used to go out and meet those imaginary internet friends in strange places (read those Weekend At Mookies trip reports coming in), or chase down a dream of holding cards at the same table as a red letter Full Tilt pro.

Whatever your end game is, try include some fun if you have a little extra cash before your mind gets too old, too rusted in your ways that you know exactly what is going to happen at 6:30pm CST Monday -Friday (Wheel....... of......... Fortune!).

This summer I'm taking three trips (just snagged my Bash tickets, anyone want a roomie??), but the fourth will depend on either luck, need, or want. The easy route is luck as I'm locked in for the Bodog TOC, and get a 1 in 18 shot at a WSOP ME package. The need will come from an invite to the WSOP to experience a taste of our hard-working blogger's work days or if I can trick someone into viewing my posts as worthy. The want will come from taking another risk of parlaying a little online cash into a WSOP bracelet seat and playing in the wild WSOP cash games where the real poker experience of the WSOP can be found.

There's one thing for certain: I will not being playing that damn Waffle Song on my iPod anymore. Ok, one more time, then its getting filed with every other cheesy pop ballad that has crossed these broken ear drums.

And one more thing. Razz sucks. That is all.