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.



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.

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.

Poker Bloggers RISE-ing

This not a post, but is since well I'm typing here but not the one that I wanted to refute the notion of a book my wife is reading that claims money does not give individuals a life advantage over those who do not have such sums for better housing/education/brand-name soap.  I suppose life is what you make it, but money allows opens doors to the clearer path versus having to step on nails while finding a way to scrap by.

Wanted to throw a little link love for three friends that I hope to see this summer sometime and hope their newest ventures:

- Dr. Pauly is back with a novel that I've heard about ever since I met this soul several years ago at the Plaza as he continues to be one of the very reasons I don't shut-down this slice of the internet entirely while trying to fit 25 hours of work into 24 hours of the day. If Jack Bauer can do it, so can I.  And so can Pauly who after his success with Lost Vegas presents Jack Tripper Stole My Dog (book purchase linkage here) and I'm also pleased to see he is returning to Vegas for the WSOP this summer....  

- ...  and three of my friends will be working together for RISE Poker which comes at a time after Black Friday showing some hope to the post-US online poker wasteland that players have options (even if it isn't 12-tabling 6-max PLO until the handle of Captain says "please stop pouring me" at 2am).  F-Train and Change100 will be in Vegas for the WSOP along side Chops of Wicked Chops Poker fame rounding out their all-star WSOP coverage crew (if I'm missing anyone it's because its early in the morning and I haven't had my caffeine yet).

Ok, back to the grind and not mentioning my decent degen gambling weekend as I won a Vegas plane ticket worth of ducats playing slots and pull tabs...   a sign to go?

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).

Lucky for a reason

There are reminders that surround me daily of who I am, and what I wish to become.  Sure, the tedious studying of the human anatomy is better left to those like Dr. Chako who I'm certain could rattle off the names of the 8 cranial bones and 14 facial bones with no issue and his patients are better off with such expertise.  Sitting across the desk from myself however, I doubt once I gather up my bachelor's degree and hope to continue on to a CPA certification that you would care if I know the three layers of skin and their function beyond recommending a lotion with the cold weather turning your hide into something found at a leather store.

Well-rounded student I GET IT.  Trust me, yes I enjoy learning about the human body (ya'll got some gross stuff going on in there) but is it necessary that a 36 year old married guy with two kids to spend time on electives.  Its not like I'm looking to change majors, rush a different frat house, or have a change in heart about what I want to do in life.  Accounting is where I want to be, spreadsheets and databases get the blood flowing in the right places.  I need to move positions and quickly as currently the walls are closing in on me, feeling like wasted talent that could be doing more but instead forced to listen my career dying like my co-worker's persistent cough.

Phil Mackey, a local sports radio show host, co-creator of the Minnesota State Poker Tour (MSPT) and Minnesota Poker Magazine (where I was left off the recent top online players in the state list despite owning the 91st best player the state ranking by PocketFives HUZZAH!), and someone I had the pleasure of helping out on their poker blog for a bit (until I decided to return to school, still hope to cover an event the right way online) gets a lot of guff for having strong opinions and "getting lucky" to be in the position he is in at such a young age (read his recent post on the matter).  What these rubes don't see is how hard the man worked to get there and gave himself a chance to "get lucky".  Working in sports, getting to travel to the different venues on the company dime, seems like a great gig and it probably is but Mackey had a vision on getting there and went for it. 

Much like the very popular MSPT which is now going online at Bodog for qualifers (see the Minnesota Poker Magazine link above for details) it started with hard work and not much reward.  Look at Otis or Pauly, think they started their poker blogs with grandeur visions of cross-country tripping around the world being paid to watch and record millions of dollars sliding verticial along a poker table?  It's possible.  But it started with a love for the game, the they went out and made the connections to various people and sites and their given talents did the rest.

I was fortunate enough to meet Otis early on at the WPBT tournaments, chat on Yahoo, and share the experience of becoming a newly branded father and continue with parenting stories for years to come.  With some luck, I am able to call the final stretch for the Sunday Warm-up at the PokerStarsBlog and get tapped for SCOOP and the World Championship of Online Poker along side real writers like Shamus, defending PCA Women's Event Champ Change100 (hoping to peek at the screenplay before Universal snaps it up), Otis himself, Dr. Pauly, Writer Jen, F-Train.

Lucky?  Like a (insert worn out poker cliche involving river card here).

My co-worker constantly bitches about her life and her health but does nothing but stare at the retirement clock sitting on top of her PC while browsing thru homes online that she'll never buy.  Think I would be in this position if I'd stayed on the couch after my head injury?  Happy with a revived married life, two kids who can't wait to see their dad, and a side job that I love?  People like Phil Mackey, Otis, Pauly, successful writer John Hartness who despite working a full-time job is cranking out some kick ass novels, and even myself on a much lesser scale get there because they took extra shot, got out of bed when the floor was ice cold and fired up the laptop instead of giving up.

There's saying you miss 100% of the shots you don't take, and you may miss nine out of ten times, but live to hit that tenth attempt.  And if the tenth shot is fouled off your shin, you walk it off and get back in the box for number eleven.  Because no one is going to hand you the career/life you're looking for.  Maybe this is why learning the functions of cilia and endoplasmic reticulum are worth a few hours at night. 

Sappy with a side of hash browns

Perseverance with bursts of joy.

If someone were to ask me what being a parent or a spouse was about I would answer with the sentence above.  It's about work, but it's a job in which no clock is punched, no annual reviews with scary upper management types who merely see you as a piece of paper with long winded self-empowerment words learned at another seminar.  There are no chances for promotion, no one trying to leap over your rung on the corporate ladder, just people who you choose to spend your life protecting and thinking about ways to improve their lives.

Even as I watched my stillborn son's pictures with pats on the back of condolence, our lives crumbling beneath a blackness of bad luck and apathy, we pushed on. 

Before the wonderful people who I call my dearest of friends scattered across the US, and soon-to-be invading the UK and Australia came into my life there was a void that they filled.  They gave hope, they gave themselves up, naked on a computer screen with stories of divorce, heartbreak, and also laughter, joy, and triumph.  They could gather together and out smart the monthly meeting of MENSA folks at the Holiday Inn off 494 and Plymouth Dr. or form a business with an army of lawyers, doctors, accountants, writers, marketing reps, and slimmed down news anchors. 

And they still continue to do so up to and beyond today.  As I have told many times in this space, my not-so-invisible "internet" friends inspired me to get off the couch and do something about my life.  Change is the most difficult of human emotions to force oneself into, as it means breaking outside of that warm Snuggie and getting up to face the cold floor.  It means pain, not a Brock Lesner right cross to the mid-section jolt of hurt, but perhaps trading a comfortable eight hours of sleep for four when a paper is due and the kids need help with their weekly spelling tests or enduring the blandness of financial statements. 

Last night many of those folks stood virtually behind me as I won a bit of cash playing poker (ok, it was the most I've ever won online).  This being a poker blog I should regal you with grand stories of check-raises and screenshots.  But, instead I'd rather talk about someone who was checking in during the tourney while doing squats and arm curls, a guy who gave someone a chance to write and it changed his life even beyond the job itself, to friends who gave a cheer for that King to fall with four players left, and that in 11 more months (or sooner if there's hope) I'll be able to shake their hands and buy them a beer or a double SoCo with a water back.  

Perseverance with burst of joy, you could say a poker player's biggest need is to push thru the bad days for one like last night, sometimes waiting years for a decent score.  Since I had lived thru bad days, weeks, months, or even a yearrrrrrrrr (ok I'll stop the Friends theme song before you folks develop an earworm), coming out stronger on the other side has given me the drive to start school, start being a better parent, being a better spouse, and maybe someday I'll get around to shaping up again to run a 5K.  I'm sure there are those reading this right now looking for a prop bet but it will have to wait a bit as learning tax codes and proper ledger entries comes first.

2011 has started off as 2010 left. 

With hope.

WPBT 2010: A question

Shock and awe.

Two things that kick start a day better than any RockStar/Red Bull/NoS/Triple Cap-Low Fat-Double McTwist.

Yes the Vikings won last night, yes I am happy as a fan and it is with hope that Winfield got the game ball for shutting down Vick in the first half.

But, the fandom of rabidly rooting for the Purple was put away like Favre's noodle several games ago before some supreme being decided that this once proud team in August needed a second helping of humility by popping the bubble and sending a Minnesota style blizzard to Philly with in three weeks. 

The football game wasn't the shock and awe and nor did that happen after the lights went out with a couple in their mid-30s going to sleep.   That was two nights ago.  No, the shocker (also not used) was my wife's annual planning of our Spring Break trip.  Since she has worked for a school district ever since I got attached to the short softball player with great legs coming thru her grey St. Cloud State mesh shorts, Spring Break has been the time to take a vacation.  Whether its a couple of nights up in Duluth, across the border for an indoor water park at Wisconsin Dells, or the most popular stop:  Las Vegas.

While the wife thru out Atlantis in the Bahamas a few times and looking at the price tags that would burn the remainder of my depleted bankroll that "BET MORE" during the WPBT got (yes more WPBT stories to come, sorry but there has been Captain to drink, sledding to do, and kids to unwrap presents with stories about getting 86'd at Sherwood Forest and chopping up the WPBT tourney will need to wait).  Aside from winning a PCA ticket like some Hollyweird blondes did (congrats again Change!!) that would be out and set aside for a bucket list or save for a year type thing. 

The thought of going did appeal to me especially with the frozen wasteland I'll be gazing into for the next four months, its easy to picture oneself sipping on a Mai Tai while watching bronzed asses bounce by and a symphony of waves crashing live instead on an iTunes playlist.  Wife turned her full attention towards going to Vegas of which got an reaction out of me that was nothing short of shock and awe.

I didn't immediately want to go.  In fact I actually argued against the idea.

BAD DEGEN BAD!

This last WPBT trip ruined the Vegas experience for me.  It was like the best sex with the hottest partner you could ever imagine and then turning to your fleshlight stroker with Anal Queens 15 in the background and just turning over to go to bed.  The things I got to do on that trip three weeks ago will never happen again for mostly monetary reasons, but certainly the luck of each scene playing out to its perfection.  The dinner, The Crowes (which I have a bottle of Captain waiting this weekend to write it up properly minus embarrassing stories which will remain in the minds of those who attended), The wink of the leftover Asian hooker at 5am (not found at a Steel Panther concert), Betting without concern of losses, The Sunday football games, The flight of a golf ball heading towards Red Rock national park, The WPBT tournament run, The birthday Pai Gow binge, The first class seat, and the perfect mix of degenerates and professionals one could possibly gather.

How do I top that?

Or perhaps how do I not try to top that and enjoy the moment with the love of my life while laying out at the MGM Grand pool with an overpriced mixed drink in hand?

Work (recaps not spreadsheets) and online poker funds acquired via recent strong lucky play will cover the trip's cost but it won't be the same.  Maybe I just answered my question, different but same, after all there are other ways to reach euphoria than ordering your sixth round of drinks off the 61 year old former Miss Golden Gate Imperial Palace waitress who you genuinely questioned the sustainability of her out of place looking fake tits and if they would make it back for round seven after five hours of getting cold decked playing Pai Gow dealt by a former North Korean water torture specialist named Kim. 

I don't doubt I'll have a great time with the wife, but my hesitation about going back to Vegas was nothing short of eye-opening. 

WPBT 2010 Day Two: The Bankroll Sleeps with the Fishes

The morning after a bender can be awesome, or be spend on a floor curled up naked trying to soak up the coolness of the surface wishing to die.  Since I was not plied to drink whiskey/scotch on my birthday, the awesomeness of being still buzzed while going to Starbucks in the morning started the day just right.

After picking up an overpriced hot chocolate it was time to truck down to the IP where various WPBT'ers that were sane enough NOT try to survive five days of this drink-a-thon were filtering into thru the perma-busted front doors of the Imperial Palace (seriously guys, five years is enough time to make the brass door to your dump swing open).  After a leisurely stroll from MGM to IP I happen to see a Badger fan grabbing his bags from the front door and kindly told him that his kind is not welcome here. 

I think I woke him up, had I know I'd had a Miller Lite tallboy in hand for him.

Walked into the cloud of despair and menthol smoke that is the IP with StB and found my lunch date Kat, who was checking in near the blogfather himself.  After a quick check of plans I was going to get my first blooming onion.  No, dear reader not this kind of blooming onion (writer's note : OWWWW!) but this kind over at the Outback Steakhouse.  Ok, whomever came up with the ass thing needs I guess lots of lube.  Anyway, the four us checked down to Casino Royale walking past the Ben and Jerry ice cream stand that my hungover nose sniffed some Chunky Monkey that would have sated the Greyhounds and Cap'nCokes swirling in my stomach, but alas there was slabs of meat and fried onions to eat! 

And the lunch was a perfect example on how to enjoy this weekend.  See people who know, or don't know, grab them for a bite to eat, some Pai Gow, a two-minute quickie in the back bathroom stall and get to know them behind their writing voice.  Most of the time you'll see the same person describing their lives on the internet except with facial expressions which completes the picture.

After a non-anal intruding lunch in which I did not drink as a lemonade with a big burger and fries built the greasy base for my second long Pai Gow session of the trip.  Up and down with Kat and CK as bloggers filtered in, I believe I met Numbono for the first time who was immediately chastised for not placing a redbird on the bonus circle (OhCaptain would also receive such a warning but getting him to play a -EV game was hard enough). Several hours passed and with slight win (near even with several drinks is known as a Win-Gow so coined by Aussie Garth).  If I played to win free drinks, then call me a hundredaire, otherwise I won back lunch money despite betting a quarter or more a hand.

Soon it was time to go back to the room and get overdressed for the fancy dinner at Picasso.  Yes, I overdressed with a blazer, button-down shirt, slacks, and loafers but that was my choice as I don't spend $200 on a dinner.  Ever.  That and I'm a dork, will always be a dork, I embrace my dorkism.

Aussie Garth brought his wickedly smart and beautiful G with him, as Kat, Gracie, SWEET SWEET PABLO, the walking party AlCantHang, and my fellow Minnesotan who also avoided the 5th largest snow fall ever in our state, OhCaptain made up the dining party.  For the next two hours we were pampered by the staff, as well, we were the only ones basically in the room!  But, the dinner, the conversation, the wine guy's two minute speeches on the clear liquids in front of us, the Bellagio fountains behind, all painted a masterpiece that even the Cubism master with baseball team's list of surnames would have had a tough time creating.  Right before the chocolate lava cake I excused myself to the restroom and upon coming back a familar face walked past to the same destination.  After sitting down and enjoying this sweet ending to wonderful meal it was none other than Antonio Esfandiari who was celebrating his WPT win at the same casino and the only other table still there after we posed for pictures outside the restaurant.

Our band of eight would return to the IP where bankroll-geddon happened that evening while managing to blow through a little too much at craps, Pai Gow, and my dirty secret of playing slots left me fat from dinner, and remorseful that I did not just jump into the poker fray (where someone got 86'd) or the Geisha Bar for less costly things like $4 pitchers of Coors Light.  But this was the weekend of "Bet More" and if I lost most of my bankroll I going to do it without whining about it (so pretend I didn't write this paragraph). 

Back to the MGM at around 5am where tomorrow would be about fairways, greens, and mixed games with the blogg...  oh wait I didn't play and instead was blessed with music and hurried limo rides, more on that later.

2010 WPBT Day One: Bet More, Win More Drinks

Here we go!

Most of my birthday on Wednesday was spent in a non-blog worthy way.  Staring out at the snow in the backyard while wrapped in a Snuggie (Yes, I'll own up to wearing one, as flaccid as it may seem they work) and plowing ahead with school work thus leaving little to none for the extended weekend of blogger debauchery.  After finishing up a statement of Cost of Goods Sold with a side of cheesy hash browns it was time. 

The theme of this trip was "Bet More", not just placing a different colored chip in the Pai Gow betting circle or hitting max bet on a slot machine, but to do the things I would normally skip due to cost.  After saving up my funds from working at the PokerStarsBlog and catching a few cards at Full Tilt I had the bankroll to say "yes, I think I'll have that or do that".  While my last few trips to Vegas haven't been bargain bin adventures, this one for the WPBT Winter Classic would have zero boundaries (well, at least ones that wouldn't have me signing divorce papers in three months). 

I showed up at Humphrey International Airport (otherwise known as Terminal 2) about four hours early and was greeted by a very pregnant desk worker for Sun Country.  "You know he's supposed to have the same birthday as you but didn't want to come out today".  Despite the nine pound bowling ball dropping within 48 hours she managed to to give great service and inspired by the theme I asked "do you have 1st class available?".  For just $109.00, I got bumped up to 1st class, granted this is not Delta or United but 1st Class is 1st Class meaning no cramped seats with senor dickhead ramming their seats into my lanky legs.  Plush seats, COCKTAILS!, a hot meal that didn't suck, and the ease of being able to stretch out my frame all well worth the cost.  While I did want to take full advantage of the free drinks, there would be a crew assembled on the ground ready for alcoholic libation offerings to the Pai Gow gods and I didn't want to sprint out of the gate, literally.

So to pace myself I just ordered a drink whenever the well-to-do mid 50s lady next to me did.  Eight drinks later (paced myself with a lush, well played Drizz) we're feeling pretty good and hopping in a cab for the strip.  After a nod to the driver for telling me that he would forego the highway without being told it was time to hit up the MGM Grand and the West Wing room that awaited.  Frosted windows for the toilet and shower, huge king sized bed, TV on the mirror?, and enough pillows for a six year old to make a fort, the bags were quickly dropped off as Badblood was down in the poker and The Mark were already tilting cowboys in the poker room.  Once the slot machines gave me a hint that playing them would not eat up time before Pai Gow was to be played late night ($100 gone in five minutes), I decided to try my luck in the poker room.  Normally I'd sit down with $1,000 at 2-4 limit and have more fun making chip castles instead of actually making reads and check-raises, but instead I sat down and play a little 1/2 NLHE (which is foreign to someone that plays strictly PLO and PL/NLO8 cash games). 

Enter Otis, Dr. Jeff, and 1/2 of G-Rob who's transformation was phenomenal, losing 100 pounds from the last time I'd seen him at Mastodon Weekend. They had a poker jones to sedate, so I grinded at my table picking my slot losses and diving into Cap'n Cokes with nothing to stop it.  The water backs allowed for more consumption as proud poppa Ryan from Absinthetics dropped in to join our merry band on the road to drunken Pai Gow as I left over 1/2 buy-in up and was ready to get my Pai Gow on!

Cock blocked by the Asian pit brush who wouldn't lower an empty game to $15 (on a slow Wednesday night) we were quickly tag teamed by two well-dressed gentlemen who represented a den of ill-repute.  Right in the middle of the gaming floor, not off to a corner or behind the Starbucks but five feet away from the stick handler shouting "SEVEN OUT!".  Promises of limos and boobs caught the attention of BB and The Mark as the remainder of us took to the strip in search of Dragons and Bonus Hands. 

New York New York lacked any love, but the Monte Carlo had the perfect nearly empty $10 table with we would set up shop for the next 5-6 hours.  Multiple drinks, multiple attempts to crack the hard-lined brush that refused to join in on the jokes, as we sat for a bit when F-Train hopped into degeneracy and betting amounts increased while the action surrounding us decreased.  As in none, save for a couple of guys in the adjacent blackjack table we were the only ones still playing Dragon hands while listing to a live band that didn't suck.  Think the pit boss could take her heart out of the freeze slide us a comp for such play?  No.  While denied Steak and Eggs, we would not be denied multiple bouts of white-boy dancing after the dealer turned up Pai Gows.  As the crew dispersed it would be me and Otis enjoy a non-freezing walk back to the MGM with my birthday dance done, and day one of the WPBT in the books.

Call it a filling appetizer for more to come.  I thank those who my birthday an enjoyable one, but the fun was just beginning...

Five days away from home

This is what I'm currently looking at...

This is what I'll be looking at seven hours (photo cred)...

And this is what you get if you bust me from the WPBT tourney, hope you're thirsty!

Russian Imperial Stout that kicks yo ass!

Wilson Phillips is here with a public service announcement

It is here.

Much like those days of yesteryear if you celebrated Christmas, sitting in your bed Christmas Eve with eyes wide with anticipation and it didn't matter what was or wasn't underneath that Douglas Fir, just the thoughts of ripping thru that Target-bought wrapping paper to get at something new, something exciting, something that hasn't been broken in yet.

WPBT-eve is upon us degenerates, you read the stories, you've seen the heartbreaks and triumphs, and now you get to see those friends once again or perhaps revel in the absurdness of the Geisha Bar at 2am for the first time.  It's the ex you never had sex with, the one with the Playboy model body, brain of a astrophysicist, and knows the the Kama Sutra in 15 different languages. She still pops in your dreams despite laying next to the love of your life, call it a guilty pleasure that you will never act on, but gets you through the night.

Go in this weekend with zero expectations, go out with new friends, and a story to tell your grandkids. There's no need to try to keep up with AlCantHang (as a "seasoned" drinker myself, I suggest finding other mountains to climb), but definitely shake the man's hand for getting Full Tilt Poker to not only add $1,000 to the WPBT poker tournament at Aria on Saturday, but got well-known pro Alex Outhred from Deepstack U to hand out a tutorial before hand for just a fraction of the usual $150 price tag.  And if that wasn't enough, as most people know we gather on Sunday to watch football (someone will be forced to wear Packer gear and not like it, we won't mention such things).  Lagasse Stadium served us awesome last year and we'll be doing again this year on Full Tilt's tab.  Drinks are your responsibility so I suggest finding Al under a SoCo bottle and slipping him the money up front.

PokerStars as mentioned several times is putting up the hammer challenge, the last longer, and the OG-blogger knockout bounties.  Which puts me in an odd spot of needing to start drinking much earlier since my best poker is played under the influence, not to mention I should be able to go a little further than second out this year.  Perhaps Mr. Outhred could spare me from a repeat (although I did win $700 playing craps shortly after...).

Tomorrow is reserved for birthday silliness, so if you can find me (not an easy task) I'll be the tall, chalk-white guy mostly likely double fisting Cap'n Cokes and $2 Win-Place-Show bets while playing Pai Gow but not making airplane noises.  No, we won't be doing that. 

But if I can get GRob to go on Color Wheel Tilt at Excal again, it would be the best birthday present evar.  That and taking home the golden hammer on Saturday.

Just one more day folks...

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.

I'll wipe that smile right off your face

Is it time for Wilson Phillips yet?

No?

Sigh.

It's the home stretch to the 2010 WPBT Winter Classic where smiling is actually encouraged and won't get you a press conference beat down by our many illustrious poker writers for many different outlets.  Seriously?  Smiling?  I understand one question about the smirk, he answered cordially but to keep needling the guy and a team who just played awful football for 60 minutes is akin to having TMZ on your press pass.  Yep, just like those "reporters" who walk up to random celebs with hot-button questions "So OJ how's the right hook coming along?" "Paris do you prefer to use the left or right nostril?" "Hey!  Mr. Gibson could you tell us how you REALLY feel about Jews?".  Report, don't become part of the story.  Of course I did not attend J-school and since my poker reporting is done in the comfort of a Snuggie with a laptop and a Cap'n Coke sitting aside from the couch, I can't completely know what was going thru the mind of that reporter after last night's Monday Night Football game.

Photo Cred: ParkThoughts

Update to the last post:  I finished 12th in the PLO8 MTT after I was unable to keep my eyes open and opted for sleep.  Bad degen.  A decent shot for another small score but this week's schedule is brutal.  A full financial analysis of PartyGaming is due which was taken on due to being curious about the aftermath of leaving the US player base.  Profits down of course, but not as bad as you think.  I'll publish the numbers here after handing in the assignment.  Then, a 5-6 page essay comparing two short stories, along with normal weekly assignments, and trying to work ahead for next week since I don't feel like doing anything related to school in Vegas.  Oh, and there's taking the kids to see Santa at the Mall of America all day Friday
where I have two all-day passes to Nickelodeon Universe readied as a gift for daddy going away to spend a few days with friends.

If you see a spare me currently wandering around the back bank of slots at the Gold Coast or giving away money at the Flamingo's $2/$4 game at 5am nursing a hot chocolate, send him back to Minnesota, I could use my clone for this week. 

In case this is your first or fifth WPBT Winter Classic, is it imperative you read Dr. Pauly's guide to surviving the weekend.  Leave passing out on an off-strip Pai Gow table while Xi is trying to collect your losing bonus bet to overworked parents and veterans of such degeneracy.  We're used the five second naps and snapping awake with zero consciousness and appearing to function normally when the four year old is asking for help after turning the sink into a giant tub of cherry flavored kool-aid and playing Barbie's beach house from the sides.

8 days folks.

Saturdays with Dr. Pauly

If you ask me why I'm up at nearly midnight watching Mallrats on a night I was resigned to head to bed early.

I have no clue, I really don't.  But, I can tell you what I did at a more reasonable hour:

That would be me, luckboxing my way thru this courtesy of Dr. Pauly.  The Turkey cup wasn't a choice as my old ass was passed out by 9pm the previous evening, but PLO + kids giving daddy a little time to play = good decision.

Wow, Shannen Doherty was hot!

Anyway Dr. Pauly was putting up a signed copy of Lost Vegas (NOW 15% off!!  Head over to Lulu for details, or click the link) and while I was planning on asking the good doctor to sign the copy I purchased a few days after it was published, a second copy for a Christmas gift would be perfect.

Since a recap of the action is better suited for people who can write such recaps and I'm still baffled as to why I'm still up grinding in this $5 PLO8 tourney, I'll leave it that I got lucky and won.  Period.  Exclaimnation point. 

In light of the Gophers (football, not hockey, not basketball, but FOOTBALL) winning tonight I'm going to allow someone else to claim this nightcap because I will be covering the monthly promo tourneys at Stars tomorrow, and I hear a gathering of likeminded degens is getting rather close.  Good night and may the wraps be with you.

11 days.

Life imitates smartphone

While skating last night with the kids as they attempt to gain mobility on Minnesota's most known surface, there were strands of little kids in various hockey and bike helmets in various stages of ability.  The chair-user, the future Gretzky, and the kids having the ability to stop which mine don't thus run the risk of having their faces find out just how hard the boards and plexiglass really are.

Then there was this guy...



Since our two little ones had adjacent lesson times with a half-hour practice time in front of each one, we got to spend an hour whipping around on the ice and I got a few loops with carrying the kids that they enjoy.  But, THAT guy above is real.  It's not a fuckin commercial.  He laced up his skates, most likely his kid's too, and stood on the ice Twittering to his little heart's content.  Not once looking up from his smartphone to see a smile on the kid's face or chase him/her until they would get caught.

The sad disconnect of the digital age is real, I know it because I'm at home pecking away at school work while the kids are up when I should be explaining that you go up the ladders and down the chutes and to stop trying to take five spaces when a four is spun.  At least my intentions are somewhat benefiting the kids with potential higher earnings and a father who is trying to become a better person by not standing around looking up nude Bristol Palin pics as life skates by.

Instead of saying the cliched "thanks" next week:  I thank my kids and wife for being understanding of the need to return to school, to be with friends in far away places, to allow me to be myself and not forget how big of a dork I am.  I thank my friends for the same reasons, whether you read here or not, just the occasional text message or even a "tweet" that makes me smile even when you're just as busy as I.  I thank my father who now has seen more injuries cutting down trees than his two Purple Hearts while serving in Vietnam, how you and mom selflessly give without any reward other than a fading embrace from a rushed son and grandchildren. 

To those who help me purchase my hearing aids last year, I thank you and another round of drinks awaits in Vegas in a mere 20 days, as I can't wait too see everyone again and hear their tales versus reading them.

Checks and chips

Trying to keep my eyes open on the ice-slicked roads of Minnesota this morning thanks to winter's regurgitation of snow overnight on Friday, there was more than a few odd sights on my ass-crack of dawn commute.  The gray with white flecked bunny with ears seemingly lopped off, perhaps from a gang initiation which must have included darting out in front of a tired suburbanite at five a.m.with hopes that his green tea fix kicked in enough to dance his truck around around those short, fast legs.

No squished bunny, he'll survive enough to terrorize the neighborhood by knocking over a few gas stations before meeting his maker by a vigilante Ford Probe's front right tire. 

After avoiding animals there was the Stephen King-like mist with a 16-wheeler coming over the top of a narrow bridge that I was attempting to cross at the same time taking up the entire width.  Luckily by the time Maximum Overdrive's figure peered thru the fog it became just another commuter that probably had his eyes open no more than me.  

Sufficiently awakened by new found alertness, I see its November 15th and we're only 23 days away from the 6th installment of the WPBT Winter Classic which only half of the field has signed up for the biggest giveaway we've had thanks to the wonderful folks at PokerStars.  Be sure go to Up For Poker's for the details on the last longer, hammer challenge, and my favorite...  bust an original player from the first WPBT tourney.  No, I was not one of those folks as my bankroll was in its infancy at the time, marriage was about as stable as Brad Childress' job, head injury still kept me under supervision, and my son was just drawing his first breath so running off to Vegas that year wasn't possible.  But, those who survived the first year's drinks at Sherwood Forest will be back and guarding their bust out prizes like a child's stuffed animal. 

Lately on the online front things have not been rainbows and perky tits waiting to serve you another Jag Bomb because you're just so darn cute (or probably because you're the only one tipping consistantly).  This weekend I had not one but two checks bounce from the major sites.  Full Tilt's check bounced after waiting A MONTH for it, offered no explanation nor any forebearing that processors were having troubles.  As you know my bankroll isn't big (see: name of blog) and we're talking about enough for a plane ticket and maybe enough money to bring my golf clubs with.  It wasn't until I wrote in after my bank informed me of the NSF check that an apology was given.  PokerStars however offered a pre-emptive strike telling not to cash the check (which I didn't) and gave a bonus on top of my withdrawl and the funds are once again back in my account (unlike Full Tilt who continues to drag their feet about this...). 

In the year of "bet more" since I had been doing not-so-bad at the tables lately, there was a little extra to enjoy an upper crust dinner with good foodie friends, whiskey with a Packer Fan and a husband to a Packer Fan, golfing with a soon-to-be groom, and still have enough for playing 3am Pai Gow with Hong and Dr. Pauly at the Gold Coast.  Those things will still happen, but this extra bit was my reward to myself for the hard work over the past year.  Going back to school full time with two jobs has been tiring especially when you add a daughter who thinks it's ok to get up at 5:30am on a weekend to climb into the freezer using a chair and phone book to gobble down 2.5 bars of Hershey's then proceed to bounce off the walls for the next five hours on a sugar rush while daddy tries to book a sale of a 20-year bond bought at 102, and sold six years later at 98.5 with an interest rate of 11% and coupon rate of 12% and writing a two-page compare and contrast essay on two poems (seriously, how do ya'll read poems, I'm baffled).

As the king of the deuce-four, PokerGrump, added in a recent post about cashing out at Bodog where he was given an ATM-type card instead of cash with a bunch of loopholes and fees attached to it (read the post as he explains all the fine print).  Is this the direction we're going to avoid the UIGEA?  Or until the government finally allows us to go back to the good ol' days of NetTeller and wire MY money as quickly as needed? 

We shall see as Bodog wrote to me a few days ago telling me I had more than happy meal money in my account to cash out should I not want to play there. Thanks to the cancelled checks I feel like I had just split the uprights for the game-winning 37 yard field goal and as the guys were carrying me off the field Rex Ryan comes over to laugh in my face as he called a time-out right before I was to get in the hot tub with the Dahm triplets and I needed to compose myself for another try.

Neither site has commented on the ability to try again, and the 2+2 threads on the matter do not show much light as to people receiving and clearing a second check.  As told, I "need" those degen funds before escaping the sub-arctic temps of Minnesota for the poker felts of Vegas.  The question is, will I be on a budget and just enjoy the fact that I'm surrounded by good friends that I only get to see 2 or 3 times a year, or will "bet more" be in play making airplane noises at Excal playing 4am craps?

Just putting a pen down and writing

It's taking out the overstuffed garbage with the last bit of your wife's BBQ meatball grinder tray that fed the dozen or so friends that came out to spend a day trading landscaping work for decent beer and food.  Standing in the driveway with a fading sunset and hues of dark red climbing beyond the wall between your place and those with net incomes that will be attained sometime close to retirement.  The delicate balance between being responsible and giving up is a juggling act that most people lean towards punching their time cards five days a week at the same time or with enough regularity that the in-house Starbucks barista has your triple no-foam mocha Grande espresso  ready before punching up Microsoft Outlook to see the balance of inane meetings and fake smiles for the day.
Getting in a routine is good for goal-setting and attaining.  Each day the work gets done to the point that the pile of dishes are not resembling something you'd see an art museum next to the human vagina project that the state paid $100,000 for someone to simulate menstruation every fourth week of the month inside of glass box.  Routine of sleep, work, kids, homework, sleep gets broken briefly with self-imposed time-outs for imbibing in a few adult beverages without worries that your essay on Anne Bradstreet's "To my dear and loving husband" written with the help of rum and a deep love for my fellow routine task-master.  She's more than that, my friends are more than that, I am more than that, there's needs to be a point of satisfaction and despite having everything I could possibly want, the bottomless hole of want never gets filled.  It's not a bigger TV, house, or cool phone that produces perfectly slow-cooked ribs with a touch of a button, and achievements won't slow this down either.  No amount of "employee of the month" or Dean's List certificates (although I'm a little proud of that fact and hope to continue to carry a nerdy GPA until graduation in 2013) will stop the cold chill feeling like I need more.

More what?  It's dark, shapeless, odorless, tasteless, it's carbon dioxide, there's no stanza to describe the more that is needed to feel whole.  Do you give up the routine that keeps you buckled down enough to enjoy those who are kind enough to put up with your quirks and earn enough monetary funds that society accepts you as a productive member.  I thought going back to school would fill a void, and it does on a resume and more to the fact that the cobwebs upstairs needed cleaning.  But, I've also learned that I will never be completely satisfied no matter the amount of small glimpse of joy like sex, a Vikings victory, or the feeling my kids or wife give me with an unconditional embrace.  The latter keeps me going at 11pm after getting up for work at 4:30am while trying to figure out the present value of a $400,000 bond with a 12% contract rate and 11% interest rate paying semi-annually and how to book it properly. 

Maybe someone at the Geisha Bar or a Pai Gow table while surrounded by my very good friends in one month could sit down with me under similar intoxication explain how they "got there".  Or least how they look at themselves daily in the mirror and say "I'm pretty ok with you today, so don't fuck it up".   I apologize for my usual no structure writing but I've found that my "Nuke" Laloosh form of posting is my voice since that's also the way I threw a baseball for the Osseo Orioles 18 years ago.

In the WPBT news "Team Procedure" captained by BadBlood is looking for a wing-man (or woman) to fill out their feeble attempts to overtake Team SKOL at the Up For Poker last longer portion of the Winter Classic sponsored by PokerStars.  My advice...  don't arm wrestle The Mark left handed, drink whatever is put in front of your with a smile, and if you want to keep your winnings don't join those two degens at the PLO table afterwards.

29 days, get my birthday presents ready folks, I have high demands.  Like smiles, drinks, and tales of Superpanchos while discussing who gets the dragon hand in Pai Gow.

A Rolling Moss Gathers No Wins

My favorite football team continues yet another epic collapse.  This isn't the 1983 season where Les Steckel dropped a 3-13 bomb on this franchise with coaching ineptitude unseen until, well, now.  Brad Childress has shown this year that he is a staff accountant trying to do the CFO's job.  Last year was an aberration in a few plays that went their way, no injuries to the ghost of a Hall of Fame quarterback and his favorite receiver.  No quarrels with star players that will quit on 3/4th of the plays as I'll give Favre credit here as being someone who will put his best effort forward despite a coach with granite in his ears and similar legs for moving in a different direction when the first plan doesn't work.

Image from http://www.footballbabble.com/

Then you have Randy Moss.  A true Viking, another future Hall of Famer who had returned to the team after a few games to seemingly take the place of Sidney Rice (who took some horrible career advice and delayed his hip surgery enough to take him out this all-star lineup).  He caught Favre's 500th touchdown, much joy returned to Mudville as with the unseasonably warm weather up here just kept getting brighter. Since I personally was not eating with the team on Friday, to expound on the catering incident isn't right.  I wasn't there and can only read about what happened and offer editorals like Sportcenter ran off for the past 24 hours.  It could be a product of the Vikings' PR machine trying to save its battered coach's face, but now that the owner of the restaurant is being quoted:

Tinucci's co-owner Gus Tinucci said Tuesday. "(Moss) he comes in, and I'm helping one of the guys and didn't look up, and all of a sudden I heard, 'What the (expletive) is this? I wouldn't feed this (expletive expletive) to my (expletive) dog!' And he's screaming it at the top of his lungs.

It's hard to think Moss' return had anything with wanting another shot at 1998.  Can we blame the coach?  After all it is his responsiblity to manage the talent, as it's the owner's job to make that talent available. Childress didn't sell the program to Moss, or Moss is just an insufferable prima donna bitch, or both.  Either way the season that could have been, is mired right now in confusion with a future that has a "must-win" this week, and the next, and the next, and the next.  If there's a poker analogy, the Vikings are stuck five buy-ins looking to get even and just mortgaged the house to get back in the game.  Playing scared isn't an option, they need leadership in that locker room, they need Jared Allen to rebirth Mullet Nation and find his competitive fire after getting married becoming that guy who says he can't come out with the boys tonight, they need someone besides Brad Childress who can't fire up a lighter soaked piece of wood with a spark hanging over the top of it.

/end rant

In other news, there's 35 days until my birthday party in Las Vegas.  I hope a few of you drop by as social media doesn't give what a drink and smile do.