It's what I do

"It's what you do"

I'm not Kobe, LeBron, Wade, A-Rod, never the superstar, never a person who seeks the spotlight.  My father instilled that quality in me, for the past nearly 40 years he has been fixing elevators, getting called at ungodly hours to drive/fly somewhere in the Midwest region because some mechanic kid doesn't know the difference between the blue wire and the red wire and the building's contractor is bitching out the home office something fierce because they cannot complete their $50 million cubical maze without an OSHA sign off on the lifts. He puts head down, gets it done without flair, without demands, without extra needs.  He could expense bigger hotels, better meals, but chooses to pack a lunch/dinner with chocolate chip bars from my mom while staying in a place that's no more than a bed to lay down on after making things right at the job site for 12-14 hours then comes back home to be an on-call help desk.

He missed his kids growing up and just now at the age of 60 as started to get to know them.  I love my father dearly, always have, always will and I see little bit of myself in him.  Just the honor of someone appreciating my hard work is worth doing the job.  Some may call that being naive and those people would be absolutely correct.  But as long as I receive the satisfaction of doing something right, my reward may not be tangible but its worth more than anything currently parked in Paris Hilton's gargage. 

All my life, I just yearn for a chance.  My current employ, where I will probably retire from in the year 2035, has shot me down for several promotions due to a lack of a piece of paper that I currently am in the pursuit of achieving for both personal and professional reasons.  But when one has a disability there is always a nagging itch with each denial.  "Is it because I cannot hear?".  It's an irritation that grows with every rejection, and wondering "am I in the right business?", "should I be taking my talents somewhere else?".  Instead I put my head down and keep churning out productivity. 

I am not a genius, nor do I feel particularly talented at anything but I work harder than most as people who know my schedule get winded just reading it.  While sitting up in the metal bleachers at Field #1 behind my parent's home and Cedar Island elementary school directly to my right where I attended and teachers still asked about me 25 years later, I still wonder what I did to make such a lasting impression besides my unkept hair, ability to say "what?!?" every other word, and do my multiplication tables faster than anyone in the room.  Then I looked up at my boy finally showing some effort on the field, sliding side-to-side for grounders and showing a bit of the smooth batting stroke that got his father a place on a few baseball/softball teams.  Of course in my lap was a copy of Fundamentals of Corporate Finance and a rather dry chapter about WACC, betas, CAPM, and the cost of equity since my time was in short supply this week.  But, cool, nearly windless night made it perfect to sit outside and watch my son finally show some effort that I hope I can instill in him as my father did in me.

Hard work does pay off, it may take longer for someone who doesn't chirp about not getting "his due", but the person who doesn't ask for those extras shouldn't expect them, instead receiving the little satifsfaction like a son's smile after finally catching a fly ball, getting an insignificant grade on a college paper, or working long hours on a blog post that felt good to finish and not caring how many people read it because you were proud of the words put to print.

A good friend told me "it's what you do" and he couldn't be more right. 

And I'll continue to be a parent, a writer, a number jockey, a friend, a husband, a provider, a student until I'm ask not to.  When all those jobs are done and there's nothing left, I'll take myself somewhere to rest with a handle of rum in my hand of course.  But until then its time to get back to work.

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).

Where we talk about poker before writing about poker

Twitter went abuzz yesterday as US players who did not ask for the bank wire option payout from PokerStars got their checks.  Sure enough when I got home there was one sitting on the kitchen table underneath an ad from Aria and Harrah's.  WSOP time?  No, the check wasn't for that much but enough for a "free" ticket to Vegas and a decent hotel and since I still have a workable bankroll, the WSOP is a possiblity, more so if backers sprout up.

Should I stay or should I go? (if I go there will be trouble...  that much is certain)

Another shot at a WSOP tourney is food for thought, especially after the confidence boost from roaching my way to chopping up that O8 tourney at Binion's two years ago.  But, really I'd rather see my degenerate friends for a little school/work/kids/life stress relief and sling some chips.  Add on a nice extra paycheck from assisting with the SCOOP series that got off to a bang on Sunday with all three tourneys beating their guarantees.  Be sure to check out the recaps from your hard drinking working bloggers at PokerStarsBlog.  I'll be joining the team on this Thursday, working through the weekend, then starting up again on Tuesday afternoon through Sunday where some juggling in schedule between a fun run at Como Zoo that I forgot about will happen Saturday morning (those playing the high stakes PLO tourney that morning, please stretch your Euros a bit while I get some sunshine with the kids).  But, with the size of the fields thus far and the length of the tourneys there should be no problem trying to keep up with my daughter for a half mile and heading back to the reporting cave for some GAMBOOOOOOOOOOOOL! (6-max PLO is my favorite tourney to watch/report on).

Full Tilt unfortunately continues to have issues stemming from separating player/company funds as my meager bankroll there is still locked up and they can no longer sponsor that graphic you see on the right hand side of the blog.  But, it will remain there regardless.  They have supported us poker bloggers for too long to cut and run until the company itself asks for the ad to be taken down.  I sincerely hope things improve soon for my friends and a site that supported us throughout the years with freerolls and especially the Battle of the Blogger tournament series where my luck always seemed to be at its worst. 

UB/AP continues its fall into the abyss as they axed their US-based pros yesterday along with bankruptcy scares, raids in Costa Rica that spilled over to the wrong poker site, and unfortunately leaving a good friend who is one of the best in the business, out of a job.  He'll land on his Pittsburgh sports homer feet soon enough, but UB/AP deserves to die a quick death along with the millions they have stolen from poker players around the world.  Restructuring to capture non-US market players?  Minimal caps on cashouts (and not to mention a "check processing" fee)?  Why would any player with Party, Tilt, Stars available want to play on a site that has cheated its players (read all about the scandal with an upcoming book announced by uber-sleuth Haley Hintze yesterday), couldn't even figure out a decent RNG for a simple game like Keno, and saw its two biggest "stars" walk away at just the right time (strangely not a lot of talk about their seemingly innocent departure)...

Hmmm... indeed

Rambling man found dead in Abbottabad

So...  anything interesting going on in the last few weeks?

I'll remember my porch and Twitter locking my feeble laptop while trying to upload the May Day version of the Sunday Warm-up as Osama Bin Laden finally drew his last vile breath on Earth.  Looking up and seeing it was 9:30pm with only four players remaining and thinking about finally getting a decent night sleep to help battle this chest cold that has lingered for two weeks, but suddenly Twitter exploded with 100+ twits, twats, tits in a matter of a few minutes.  After armageddon was disproved and I put away the snide remarks to my wife about going out with a bang (h/t Chevy Chase and Aykroyd), I flipped over from the poker wrap to see that the world's number one terrorist would not be plotting any more.

This does not stop the religious abuse, the shoe bombs, the potential future 9/11-like attacks, in fact it may just piss off the lingering terrorist cells into doing something rash.  But, the head is severed from the body.  The thinking leader behind the reason you take off your shoes and get a free hand job before joining friends at McCarran airport for a weekend of Pai Gow, foie gras with unpronounceable flavorings, and ripping up $100 wagers on the 3am Tanzania/Turkey cricket tilt.

No more.

Oh, don't worry you'll still get your complimentary sexual healing from the TSA, but Bin Laden won't be laying out the blueprints any longer.  For the current time, intelligence agencies will seeing a fight or flight by the terrorist cells linked to Bin Laden.  Will they use this to paint an (un)holy martyr and rally around their fallen leader to enact something even more terrifying than the 9/11 attacks?  Or disperse into smaller acts of a car bomb here, suicide bombers there, slowly trying to gather enough steam for another massive attack?  Citizens like myself will have to rely on those whose names will never appear on a newspaper, faces that are unknown to any database, and hope those who crawl through the slime trails left by these holy pretenders find them before they find us hiding behind our Dodge Caravans.

There are no words that describe their sacrifice and I certainly couldn't write enough to properly thank them. No amount of money or materialistic items will ever be enough, but if you ever lucky enough to meet someone who has served this country without selfish thought, buy them a beer and thank them for allowing the biggest problem in your day is getting your daughter to eat her green beans or the ability to play online poker.

And to those who thought Obama was taking some kind of victory lap with that beautiful speech Sunday night?  Kindly place a large rusted spiked unlubricated object up your self righteous ass.  Obama did good, he did something right, save the bashing for when gas prices hit $5.00/gallon and ExxonMobile or BP comes out with another record breaking quarterly profit announcement...

Being yourself is hard work

"A friend is one before whom I may think aloud"

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This morning there was a Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich, hot from the microwave sitting aside from a tall glass of OJ which I've been mainlining for the past two week thanks to a chest cold.  It said "Turkey sauage, egg whites and cheese on a whole wheat bagel", my description was more "water chestnut (seriously are those things good for anything while baking???), on top of vulcanized rubber inside a colon blow patty of bread".

But, it was quick food since my lovely daughter decided to turn off the alarm clock while watching Trollz before retiring last night, thus me and wife snapped awake when the internal alarm clocks went off 15 minutes late.  I did have a few moments of reflection on a friend who found a big missing piece of his life and wrote about it yesterday.  If you read here, you probably know about one of the best pens on the west coast who is currently cursing his Kings for the quick exit from the Stanley Cup playoffs. 

He may be missing a hockey team, but found something 100x more important, his faith.  I wrote on twitter yesterday that a person should stay true to themselves if anything. If you read the archives here you'd see my struggle with marriage, kids, and myself over the course of nearly eight years.  But, it was the writing and friends that got me to the spot I find myself today.  No burning bush, no shooting star, I did not wake up suddenly and exclaim "HEY I'D LOVE TO HAVE NO FREE TIME FOR THE NEXT THREE YEARS AND GO BACK TO SCHOOL WHILE WORKING TWO JOBS AND TAKING CARE OF TWO KIDS!". 

Doesn't work that way.

As Joe Speaker describes the hints, the reflections in his great post, all people who have poured their hearts onto a page get something back from it.  A blog doesn't care about your chosen faith, color of your skin, your sexuality, if you enjoy using a toothbrush in a manner not recommends by three out of four dentist.  It is a blank page to let go, and show your readers who you really are behind that Armani business suit, the eaten up North Stars cap and stale smell of alcohol while leaned over a townie bar's chipped rail, or for most reader here:  a poker table. 

I have met the most amazing people through this medium.  People who wouldn't have entered my life if it didn't exist.  I've penned many sappy posts about them but the fact remains that my life was able to progress because of those folks, quirks and all.  Just like Speaker's true friends embrace his renewed faith in God, people accepted me at face value and that's never happened before. 

I've pretty much found my purpose in life.  Teach my son to spin a decent curveball, trying to teach my daughter that jumping off a roof may seem like fun but the landing is a bitch, and my wife that its ok to be herself and to start enjoying life without worrying about what others think.  I am a degen, and will always be.  Work hard, play harder is my mantra and will go to my grave knowing I gave this life all I had, and lived out all I've ever wanted.

I may not get the corner office, I may not ever reach Machu Picchu (go read Pauly's epic adventure in Peru and don't forget the photos at the end, breathtaking, even the receipt to use the bathroom), but I will get my college degree 16 years after I started it, I will get to Europe (even if I blow through my savings account for just one beer at Oktoberfest), I will walk my kids down the aisle while groaning at the promise of an open bar, and I will see Speaker again and hand a beer over to someone I geniunely respect for sharing a lot of himself yesterday and taking an actual leap of faith.

Clean Slate

He can't see, he can't hear.

Uncoachable.

20(!!) years ago on a back field at Osseo High School, right next to the tin shack of a hockey arena that was reeciving a much needed face lift and second rink, there's a worn down baseball diamond.  The backstop is littered with uncut follage, the fence curls upward in places allowing passed balls to become free bases, the outfield is sparcely cut and has no fence allowing home runs to become very long doubles, and the pitching rubber slightly tilted upwards to remind the hurler to mind his delivery or be prepared to eat some gravel along with a chorus of heckling.

A tall, skinny sophomore who never played on the teams with button down jerseys, matching pants and stirups, or freshly polished shoes walked across the long stretch between the high school and this long forgotten place of play.  The benches were no more than a plank of warped wood on the open field, unsheltered from the errant foul tip.  But, Mr. Darby Carlson sat there waiting to begin choosing who would work their way from this blight to the concrete dugouts of the varsity field located right next to the gym exit.

"If it doesn't happen, I can hang up my glove for good"

Years of tears, disappointments, road trips, tubes of icy-hot all for a shot to make a school team which carried the weight of several recent state tournament appearances and players going off to play for college teams.  And here was the last chance as Darby had no thoughts of nepotism, no parental handshakes for their sons to walk on the team, no worries about pieces of plastic in my ears, a clean evaluation for the first time.

I wasn't the most gifted athlete, hell at best I was average.  But, good enough to wear a varsity letter my senior year because of honest coaches who saw that I had a talent of plunking batters throwing hard enough and working hard enough to pitch for this team three years prior.  A ray of hope that there are somethings you CAN work hard for and get paid off.

My naiveness of the current online poker situation is a mix of assuming too much and not knowing enough.  As I took the family last night to a local bar called J. Cousineau's, a long-time supporter of my days before responsibility, the cajun chicken sandwich and seasoned fries were unmarkable but decent bar food as the waiter certainly exceeded expectations and was very friendly and genuine. 

Surrounded by jerseys of Dino Ciccarelli, John Randle, and a flag from Bushwood Country Club signed by I'm assuming Carl Spackler right after his miraclous cinderella man shot, was a TV showing a different set of programming than the Yankees/White Sox tilt shown on the other ten sets.  TVG.com was playing as the 5th at Turf Paradise was calling the horses to the gate.  Listed below were the odds from the nine's 5/2 all the way up to the four horse's 85/1 (sired by Mr. Otis perhaps?).  OTBs are not legal in Minnesota, but holding a phone with internet capabilities for the first time, if I wanted to plunk a few dollars down on a horse that will likely fall before the announcer gets the word "OFF!" out of the microphone, I could.

Why could I wager here, but not on something with much better odds AND knowing I hold an edge?  If I'm faster, throw harder, work harder, why don't I get the spot on the team?  If I'm more knowledgable, better personality, have more drive to succeed why don't I get the job.

Naive.

World doesn't work that way dumbass. 

The difference between what should be and what is, is called life.  Deal with it, or get run over.  Finally after several years of tryout disappointments, the lanky kid who walked off that field with the tattered hand-me-downs of the varisty jersey package worn three years ago, including a turtleneck that was a better fit for the arctic circle, found a place on the sophomore team and finally realized what is, is, what didn't happen you can't control so after a good cry, its time to move on.

Finally the lesson sunk in after the favorite crossed the line and my kids were asking about a summer trip to Canterbury Park, and some friends with their heads on much straighter than my own via Twitter explained the gray parts of the online poker proceedings. 

The fight for online poker in the US isn't about who did what, or "freedoms", nor is it about what is right.  Its PR, its American Idol where phone-in votes count (some more than others), its about money and globs of it, high enough for Scrooge McDuck to make a second swimming pool vault.

It's about opportunity, selling the right idea to the right person at the right time.  Just like I managed to finally sneak onto the team from years of playing behind a wall of favorites, I managed to take advantage of the situation.  Will online poker advocates do the same?

April Snow Showers

In November when the first snow drops expectantly, resting gently on top the needles of the Nordic pines and bare branches of sturdy oaks, it's pretty.  Even a lifelong resident of this state will take sometime to prop two knees on the couch which overlooks a backyard in need of a landscaping manicure.  Watching the big flakes stack on top of each other, similar to being back in Mrs. Hughes' 1st grade class and outlining a tree in Elmer's glue then sprinkling glitter down the construction paper for an easy art project to put up on the fridge.

pic cred


However.

When the day on the 2011 Dilbert calendar claims it's one day after Passover, having to don winter coats and drive thru snow just might set off a rant about the weather.  A little bit. 

Much like the current online poker (in the US) collapse, it is better to take the stance of inevitability (but if you're like myself were hoping for the best outcome), read about those who can speak about the events with their awesome lawyerly knowledge (a gentleman with good taste in wine but bad taste in starting hand selections and the black widow herself), and make the best of a shitty situation.  The PPA has shown over the weekend of its misguided attempts and misunderstanding about what took place and how to react to it.  Thankfully within our little circle of poker media, bloggers, and players we're a pretty smart bunch.  I do not include myself, but those like Wicked Chops who took an excellent government messaging programs created by the PPA (they are good for something), and turned their OMG POKER IS NOT ILLEGAL!!?!?!!1111 message into a prose of understanding the big three potentially did something wrong and this should push those officials into doing something right by allowing the millions of players in the United States to play legally from their homes under a regulated and taxed platform.

And to those who think the government did not force the hand of these operators?  Five letters.  U.I.G.E.A.

To the hypocritical government that allows people to throw large amounts of money at Wall Street while day-trading, how exactly is that  different from betting on a 71% chance of fading six outs?  I know, old argument, same ol' rant, go collect your UPC label citizen.

To myself and my family this will hurt the elasticity of my bank account.  Less going out, less fun, and unfortunately, less seeing my dear friends scattered across this country.  While all is light and fluffy at the present time, it will be tough to see that things will run as they have in the past for much longer (although if it could last until I walking down the aisle with my accounting degree in hand next year that would be super-awesome).  Personally, I have no desire to pick up a second job other than the one I have currently.  I work for a friend who tends to make people reflect on things profoundly with each carefully crafted paragraph and descriptions that give the five senses a tingle, especially after hearing the porch floorboard creak exactly one step from the recliner on the west wall when getting home yesterday. On a working basis, there's no one I'd rather lose a little sleep for, especially for the fact that he took a leap of faith with this very green blogger and trusted him to come through over the past three years. That trust is worth more than he'll ever know regardless of how this bad situation shakes out.

Change is coming, eventually the snow will melt along I-94 and the pines lining my property line. The big three will have their day in court, and next week the family cabin/trailer will be opened for another season of deckside drinks while brushing off the grime of the suburban shuffle and other petty life worries.  I was told during my interview feedback session that my best quality was my tenacity and ability to adapt to change. 

Here's my chance to prove it.

Red Dawn Online Poker Style

Honey Badger vs. Wolverines who wins?

Sigh.

Last weekend was a blind-side tackle from a defender people knew was on the field but didn't know how hard or when he would hit.  If you want the meaty portions of the lawsuits with excellent commentary and legalese CK rocks it with a three parter check em out here:  Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I'm sure the people who read here also have penned their tears of online poker in the US going poof and watching helplessly as our friends from places Not America are able to continue their hobbies, or in some cases, their living as a professional card player.

Me?  I was shocked by a text message as over the weekends I tend to stray from checking Twitter, poker sites, and blogs too much due to school and spending time with the kids.  Now armed with an old Blackberry to replace the phone I lost in Texas, I could check Pokerati and other sites while in line for the 2-liter pop bottle ring toss at the local school carnival (I won a bottle of Grape Crush if you must know).  And while my kids tried their luck on the lollipop tree hoping for a colored tipped stick good to trade-up for the little stuffed animal, my thoughts were on those most affected by the government's rash decision to blitz the "Big 3" with criminal charges.

Surly these companies had some sort of plan should the shakedown come down especially after Jon Kyl in his rabid anti-fun anti-logic brigade snuck the UIGEA into the books several years ago.  We can't stop two rich women from abusing the financial laws to the tunes of nine figure sums, making the already super-rich into being able to take over a decent sized country (h/t to Change100) but the US can crackdown down on people trying to have a little fun in the comforts of their own homes or a coffee shop, or even a few who are skilled enough to make a living from poker.  Even worse are the people who may lose their jobs as accountants, analysis, computer programmers, and something that closer to home, the poker writers.

Who exactly is hurt by online poker, where's the seedy back-alley drug exchange taking place?  Sadly I don't have the time to go into a long rant other than to say my government continues to adhere to policies that become the fight of the few who hold the power versus the word of the many.  This is still a democracy right?  Word of the people and all that?

No.  It's become something else.  A nation where two women can make more money then 99.999% of the world could dream of spending by twisting a few words and filling out the right forms, and a righteous team of feds can take away the hobby of millions and jobs of thousands because they couldn't get their flopped flush to hold (sorry had to use at least ONE poker pun).

I love my country, and much like a 4 year old who got send to bed early last night due to a bad attitude, I may be pouting right now but I hope with some sleep and dreams, things will be better in the morning.

Misplaced Sour Grapes

Minnesotans live through the five to six months of winter for days like the two that passed way too quickly with several hours behind a desk when a multi-colored disc golf driver should have been putting a dent or three into trees at the Elm Creek Park reserve course.  The wind, minimal.  The skirts, short.  The sun hitting like someone set the outdoor thermostat to Perfect.  While I groaned at the piles of dead grass freshly raked by my wife knowing my two hands currently on a steering wheel would be wrapped around a similar rake for the next two hours, once I opened the door to the car and felt the warm blanket of my work-in-progress backyard there not enough hours in the day.

Pine needles, plastic golf balls, and crushed leaves were unearthed in the spring cleaning of sorts that becomes less and less each year as we discard the remains of the previous owner's wayward ambition to cover the spacious backyard too many trees that competed with each other for space and light and instead caused mass woodicide ending up in the Hennepin County compost site several year later.  Never met the man as he was divorced six years from the woman who sold us the house as she probably hid a snicker while selling and not informing us of the aborted attempt to recreate a green nursery in the backyard which was covered by three feet of snow at the time of the sale (won't mention the unusable driveway, torn roofing, and million other things the $250 home "inspector" managed to miss).

But, this was a happy time.  Wife threw some hamburger patties on the grill which gave my nose an erection making it harder to concentrate on the task at hand as seen by the several little scrapes along my shins this morning that feel like I hid a rabid squirrel done there.  Add a little Famous Dave's Devil's Spit BBQ sauce and I was in need of a tissue or two. 

It was a good feeling, yard work done, school work slowly being chipped away while the Twins showed a couple of a rays of life in defeating the Royal while a mid-week adult beverage was most welcomed.  While sifting through Twitter making a 30 minute Finance assignment into two hours, there was talk about an article posted at CardPlayer which I was anxious to read, but not for the sunny reasons that I'd rather be on the open deck at 10pm.  

Someone allowed this cockjob (who will not be linked for his fabulous poker skills as self-described at the bottom of the "article") to post a long winded rant, mostly about Team PokerStars pro Vanessa Selbst (who is likely more interested in repeating as the NAPT Mohegan Sun Main Event champ at the moment with fellow NAPT title holder and tournament destroyer Joe Tehan close behind).  The lovely Change100 was kind enough to do the dirty work and unearthed this filth probably while doing a little research for the current assignment, which is ringside at the NAPT's final table or possibly researching for the next gig while joining up with her soon-to-be two-time published writer Dr. Pauly in Lima, Peru.

Unfortunately, I got the edited version which likely cut out the juicy parts but left the ignorance of a player who had to bloat his "tournament winnings of 300K" from the actual 230K over six years (thanks for the research Mr. Schleger).  Honestly, if you think 230K = 300K either you hired an accountant from Enron or there's a 100% possiblity that you have stuffed your boxers with a sock in the past ten years to impress the ladies.  Luckily I don't have an issue with wang size nor telling people my actual poker winnings (enough to take trips, but not near enough to fathom playing for a living), just the fact that showing my sizable package to other ladies besides the TSA would catch the ire of the one person I enjoy showing it to.

But this isn't about me its about someone who took a misguided rant to a major part of the poker media that was better left on a personal blog or even a forum post (or if this guy had any fucking clue not written at all).  While Vanessa is due a huge apology, not the half-hearted disclaimer which currently sits a top of this 3am milky bowel movement after eating an undercooked $2.99 Grand Slam breakfast, the secondary problem is Cardplayer ALLOWING this to be published un-edited.  When I write for PokerStarsBlog it stays professional for the most part with some (funny probably only to me) puns to lighten up the poker hands because honestly, a little spice is needed even for the best cut of steak.  As it should.  "Calling out" those in such an ignorant manner should have their pink polka-dot blankees taken away, especially when ranting about players who are wildly more successful than the author!

pic cred

For several paragraphs (and this is getting too long as it is) the author continuously shows his inability to understand that sometimes the best hand doesn't win in poker like its a bad beat thread on 2+2 circa 2001.  Wake up kid, start typing up your resume because you ain't gonna make it in this business by waiting around for Aces.

If anyone has the unedited version of his post I'd love to see what was changed.

Gambling Mexican Style with Refried Beans and Rice

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

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

This guy.  

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

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

Subtle.

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

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

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

Good day.

Spaceballs: The Vacation Recap

$369 Round-trip from Lindbergh Terminal to McCarran on December 8th.

This pricing is courtesy of Orbiz.com *start deep announcers voice* where our price assurance guarantees you never pay more than the lowest stated fare! 

Or plan degenerate gatherings too far in advance.

Wow.  Didn't take long to hop off one vacation think about the next now did it?  If I were to reach into the DSM-IV to reach a prognosis for the past month Manic-Depressive would leap from the couch and bill me $200 for the hour with a handful of happy pills.

First I didn't get a promotion, then won an employee of the year award, then went on vacation in a shitty mood, got drunk several times, shitty mood did not improve, finally resolved shitty mood, enjoyed remainder of vacation, came back to work in zombie-state, got yearly review, received a mark reserved for the top 1% of employees, and got to play with kids.  I think avoiding the PLO Rush ring games for the next month will prove to be wise.

If anyone could find normal out there lurking behind mediocre, I'd appreciate if he'd drop around for a chat because my handle of Captain at home is going to take a hit unless someone quieter days come without group-think level existentialist discussions about life, marriage, and parenting bouncing around in my head. Throw in this new pressure with school and being the BMOC at work (while still in the pint-sized cube of course) and there’s something that has to give.



But, it doesn’t. Stretching is something mentioned in this blog more than once and I’ll continue doing so until Reed Richards leans back and says “DAaaaaaaaaaaaamn!”. Oh, I’ll also be using my annual poker reporting card to join the PokerStarsBlog crew once again for full coverage of the 114 events (!) of the 2011 SCOOP tournament series.



Sleep? For pussies. Luckily, I find an extra tank of natural Red Bull when musing about the scary turn card, so weaving some rather interesting workdays into the normal routine shouldn’t hurt.



Well, nothing that a caffeinated drink and bowl of Fruity Pebbles can’t solve. Yes that’s a double negative, but my blog is a grammatical train wreak anyway and nothing that Denzel Washington or any college professor of the verse could solve. Or hope to repeat for that matter.

Ok, vacation. The Spaceballs short-short version.

Flew to San Antonio
Drank.
Mexico.
Cards.
Mexican strip club (seriously, $100 gets you all the syphilis you could want to gather up with an endless bottle of Sol in your hand).
Mexican bathroom video (may post, may not, definitely don’t remember doing this)
Golf (windy and humid but struck the ball well including several drives that did not anger the local's roofs and windows)
Pouted, then pouted again
Hashed things out with wife
Happy again
Drank
Drove to San Antonio
The Alamo (awesome history lesson wish I had more time)
Riverwalk (tell me why there are no rails next to the river with $2 beers and Sangria specials?!!?!?)
None of your business
Twins lose to Yankees again
Raising Cane’s chicken strips at 10am (I’d gain 30 pounds if this place was near me)
Read Falstaff’s Hard Day’s Knight vol. 1 on the flight home (well done again sir)
Hugs from two kids and promptly pass out after tucking them in

Word.

My Road to San Antonio

No Wilson Phillips. 

Sorry. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

McFuckers.

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

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

Home Game Full Moon

It was not 75 with a cool breeze sitting off the front porch being served cold cervezas.  There was no newly minted news anchors or like-minded degenerates sitting on my left and right.  Instead, my left foot was near frozen after coming back in from taking the garbage out and two kids needed tucking in after watching an Animal Planet special on desert animals.

The laptop was on to check my school email account and sign up for next quarter's classes and run through the personal accounts to delete messages from Adam and Eve and other companies who don't share my wife's opinion that my dick is long enough.  Twitter came on for a debate by various poker friends over the Two plus Two forums and their utility in the poker universe.  It is a great tool, vast amounts of information on just about any topic you could think of within the 52 cards in play.  But, it is also bloated to the point that non-regular users without a direct link to a certain article would be lost to find information on.  The last time I went diving into the forum without a link, I was searching for others having issues with Full Tilt/Stars check cashing problems.  30 minutes later I finally found a thread, despite trying to use the search function which normally I would feel fairly competent at, or even would brag that only the Cray-5000 supercomputer known as KevMath would be a faster researcher than I.  Great information, needs a slim-fast weight loss program.

Moving on.

While the virtual spittle was flying The Mark hopped on to catch a fish looking for some home game action.  The G-Vegas degens above such BadBlood and GRob were enjoy a peaceful southern evening under a half moon while I worried about catching frostbite thanks to a state that doesn't know it's almost April and decided to dump a half a foot of snow on the three million of us already suffering from cabin fever and quashing my plans of testing out my new disc golf set this weekend.

Thanks to PokerStars and their Home Game set-up I was able to sit at The Depot in G-Vegas to play some six handed PL Hold Em'/Omaha.  While I'd rather be downing a half bottle of Captain while losing music prop bets to the table, this filled in nicely regardless of outcome.

The outcome of course was brutal for one table member as I was logging in, BadBlood was all-in after a flop gave him an around-the-world wrap versus Grob's two pair.  Ship buy-in #1.  Happened a short while later with another big, favored draw against Grob's flopped set.  Turn, makes broadway for BadBlood, River ships quads to your new G-Vegas news anchor quietly awaiting his new desk.  Ship buy-in #2.

This went on for the ~2 hours of play with Grob of course giving several words of encouragement for the run-terrible heavy metal fan.  Then after dropping my son off in bed for the third time after the shadows spooked him again, I came back to BadBlood open raising the button for the 10th out of 10 time on my blind while I held 9-6-6-7 and Grob in the small blind making the call.  Badblood had a fresh $50 stack while I luckboxed into a little under $70 and Grob was over $200 with $.25/$.50 blinds.

*puts on reporting cap*

Why don't you take those quads and shove em' up your ass!

With the fixed blinds at $.25/$.50, resident table pinata, BadBlood44, made the raise to $1.50 as GRobman and Drizztdj in the blinds both called to see a coordinated 9c-6d-6c flop.  GRobman, sporting Trey Anastasio's mugshot, made a quick check as did Drizztdj who was fighting connection problems.  BadBlood44 followed through with a $4 bet as both the blinds found the courage to make the call.  Turn card came the Kd as again both blinds turtled up to the muscle bound man on the button as BadBlood44 shoved out $7 and was quickly called again.

River card was the Kc completing a potential stack busting flush, as GRobman starting listening to some Phish bootlegs he picked up at Langerago and checked, Drizztdj came to life and shoved out a pot-sized bet and BadBlood44 equally as quick shoved in the rest of his stack as GRobman said "whatever dude" and folded quickly while grooving to "AC/DC Bag".  Drizztdj holding 6-6-7-9 for the flopped quads quickly called and the half-moon outside may have really been a full one as BadBlood revealed not only the second nuts, but the second nuts made twice showing the flopped top full and rivered top full K-9-9-T and had to watch yet cooler and another buy-in ship outside of his reach.

First drink on me next time we meet sir.

The Candidate

The rain would hit the hood of a ski jacket that had seen its better days.  A cigarette burn just below right second pouch, a reminder of the last time the garment actually saw a slope of snow other than its front yard.  The dark blue color fading sightly, but not so much to match Tar Heels baby blue.  The crackle of rain off the hood amplified by hearing aids sounded similar to the omnipresent fresh popcorn maker which was used last on Sunday night as the family has taken to watching "Family Game Night" on Hub network while munching on the freshly popped corn with too much cheddar seasoning.

Its rough coming back after rejection, walking through puddles towards the office. If you followed my Twitter feed yesterday knowing that another candidate was chosen for the promotion I applied for.  Knowing from the first syllable and tone of voice with the recorded message that it was not positive, then listening to a very ambiguous HR rehash of the reasoning left me more confused than hurt.  While at the time my plans were to punch a few kittens to alleviate any inner-pain, sorting through the interview and whether or not it was worth the feline violence seemed better for the Meow Mix crowd and any karmatic retribution. 

Luckily I have an awesome supervisor and friends who offer their experience as mine in this situation is extremely limited.  She offered a few explanations that fit the mold of how the interview went without even being there.  As you know, I am very excitable, something I try to can at times but it's me and well, not gonna happen.  I may have been too knowledgeable, too eager, too much for the job which was a small promotion, but nonetheless, one that would mark another step towards overcoming the darkness that plagued me for years.

Couple that with nearly dusting off my online poker bankroll on the weekend and you've got two days worth of suck.  But these are VERY minor, personal problems (well, not the dusting because I'd never done that before in such a I-dont-give-a-shit way).  But, this is a personal blog not a news outlet, a political sounding board, or a place that cures hunger, just me and a boring suburban life that takes enough twists and finding a few words along the way to enter on the Internet.

Will I be applying for another position?  Yes.

Regrouping first to get the details and next time not coming off as used-car salesman trying pawn off a Pinto as a Maserati Quattroporte while interviewing.  The first equation that came to mind was best qualifications = best candidate.

Wrong.

If my personality doesn't jib with those who work in the department, it doesn't matter how productive my cube may be if the rest of the time sits there seething.  Just its their petty problem, but one the supervisor doesn't need if it can be easily fixed by finding someone who fits the need both talent and personality wide.  Keeping an open mind to that rather than finding an excuse an hour to belittle the deserving person who did get hired will keep petty jealousy next to the stapler in my middle drawer.

The hearing aids will continue to pick up new sounds, and I continue to pick up experience until my name is called.  Now, the poker issue, that's a different post, maybe one for a place for such things.

Shamrocks and Blogger Shenanigans

In 2008 Carter "ckingusc" King was just about to take down the WCOOP Main Event for a lump sum that rivals what I may make for the next 20 - 25 years.  The WCOOP that year marked my first foray into actual poker reporting, the live blog we did had two shifts.  The first one was fairly easy as you'd work six hours and stop to be relieved by a second crew in the evening.  The second shift lasted much longer and required you to find some wit at 9am the next morning for the wrap.  I remember working a solid week and a half going to bed often at 8 or 9am and waking up a handful of hours later if slated for the afternoon coverage.

It was exhausting. 

And I loved every minute of it (especially when the prize at the end was meeting up with the equally tired boss man for Al's Bash and a for a sample of a Bash go to the master's site). For the first time I felt a part of something that required some skill, some creativity, something other than plunking numbers into spreadsheets and formulas.  There was a huge sense of pride regardless of the number of readers because it represented doing something I loved and getting paid to do it!

Fast forward thru my daughter exiting her crib and now demanding to be rocked to sleep by Big Time Rush (sigh) and a decision that leaves me in a similar state of hallucinations and confusion about what day it is it.  No, its not REX MANNING DAY, but rather March Madness which I've taken a preemptive strike and torn up my brackets while burning a few twentys that will make their way Otis' son's pocket before Wofford and Richmond break my heart (and wallet). 

Yes, yes we do

As of tonight after one more exam, I will have completed my first full year at college sans bong hits and 1800 Tequila Shot races that end with a body shot off a tri-delt (and with me finding a balcony to puke off of with two people making sure I don't flip over the edge because I'm smooth like that).  Granted it IS St. Patrick's Day and being a quarter of Irish blood I do owe a little bit to celebrate my Eire heritage with drink this evening.  But, instead of stumbling from The Local to Kierian's downtown among the ladies stretching the words "STARE AT MY TITS, I'M IRISH!!" across their chest that's covered with beads, LED-light shaped shamrocks, and plastic hats from Jameson.

No, instead I'll opt to losing my wits at home since this Anatomy and Physiology exam will most likely wipe whatever will power that is keeping this body upright at the moment because I can't feel a goddamn thing and while drunk women with bouncing chest distractions and friends is always a good time, a quiet whiskey on the back porch (with sweatshirt on, it's not that warm out) seems more approps today. 

As of right now, I feel like I'm sitting behind my laptop in the basement as I did three years ago, hitting "publish" one last time and feeling good about what was being sent.  Much like those long hours behind the keyboard writing about future poker millionaires, it's about pride and a future as I still love writing about poker three years later and I will have that college degree on my desk in two years.



Swirling in the void

To watch a person with an internal struggle is both horror and entertaining.  To be that person is both horror and entertaining. 

For the past few months my self-doubts and insecurities have bubbled up more than my mouth or the words I type on various websites would like to admit.  To the point of letting depression grasp what I have worked so hard to attain.  A loving relationship with my wife, two kids who want daddy to play with them at any given moment, gaining professional status and praise for jobs well done.  All good things.

Depression isn't really ever defeated in the sense of never coming back, more like pushed down a drain by medication, friends, family, and using the garbage disposal for several minutes to churn it into fine particals to be sent into the sewers.  But, it always comes back.  How much a person lets those dark, rabbit hole thoughts invade depends if others can see how much you're hurting.

We've all watched the Charlie Sheen live-action "mental illness" episode for the past month or so, and its a testament to those who let themselves go just how creative and entertaining such a thing can be.  His drug of choice is an eight-ball off a Brazilian hooker's ass, mine sits above the charcoal black stove with the words "spiced rum" across the label.  Granted for the most part, I am an upstanding citizen, I don't show up for work blitzed, never getting hammered around my children, choosing to sink into my rabbit hole of a couch a few times a week hoping the strength will be there to climb out the next day.

Robert Jordan (real name James Rigney Jr.), author of several very long books of Fantasy genre on the "Wheel of Time".  It's main character, Rand, struggles throughout the series with battles of the mind in a classic good vs. evil sense.  He enters "the void" to calm himself, and make the magic within to come alive.  Jordan can describe that "void" much better than I could ever hope to, it where creativity has no bounds, no social or moral eraser, just a continuous flow of words and ideas that leave others to marvel at its output.  If I ever took myself seriously as a writer, a bottle of Captain would sit right next to my black Toshiba with the power cord that looks like its been chewed by a hampster and pen whatever exits that void and it would be ten times better than the sober words you're reading right now.

I skipped out on a social gathering last weekend due to this.  While I didn't pen a thing, it was to be alone, with no noises to embrace the quiet.  Sure I had hair metal blaring in my ears and the ping of online poker on the screen, but they were hardly heard, barely a whisper to where I was really at.  Standing alone with no worries of final papers, getting a promotion, or pleasing my family.  Just is.  Breathing.  Stepping outside of all the petty, little nuisances of listening to ignorant people at work or in the line at Dunn Bros. Coffee.  No need for sex, or money, just is.

Would I go on another wheelchair ride if I had the means?  I do, but I wouldn't.  Something catches me now that didn't before.  People like Sheen don't have that proverbial safety net and society bashes him for abborent behavior just because its public.  If he blew those rocks where papparazzi lens couldn't reach he'd be an regular out-of-work actor bumming for a waiter job at TGI Friday's instead of the fountain of entertainment that he currently expells. 

People who don't give a fuck fasinate those who choose to live by society's rules.  I for one just spoke to a law enforcement officer yesterday for just the second time in the my life (the first time was when a small cub wandered through our neighborhood and sounded like a drunken burgular looking for my Millano cookies. 

School is still important (finals week!), I still adore all of my friends, I still love my family and give my life to them,  but for now my body is tired to the point of passing out at any given moment, tired of fighting physically and mentally.  Maybe a good bender would allow for the rest needed to refuel, but as I've found since this page was started seven years ago, releasing words from my rum-soaked head onto these non-edited pages is better than any bottle of lithium or an army of self-help doctors could do.

Stacking Papers

Today the pen came down and wanted to draft something about disabilities and lowered standards while over-cheering for someone like Corky from Life Goes On.

Or myself.

But, then the positive half of me said "shut the fuck up and have a drink you little bitch".

So I did.

Turns out there's good advice found underneath the self-wallowing, as in accept what people say, not what you perceive to be a participation medal. 

Yesterday, I shoved all self-doubt out the window for a period of 1.5 hours in order to chat about a job with three different individuals of separate corporate importance.  The results of the chats are not important, as we're not talking about a life-type changing position such as Craakker hammered down recently.  More of a Q*Bert disc to float me away from the purple snake of immobility and stasis while continuing this revival of all things progressive in my life. (*side note, damn you Doc, I played that game for almost two hours last night really wished I knew what Q*Bert says behind the !@$$#!@ when the snake gets him).  Q*BERT4ROLLZ?!?!?!

An interview something my monkey suit and tie have not seen for seven years, perhaps overdue, and certain during a time this body could use less stress not more.  But, neccessary.  New blood was needed, is needed, and just the attempt yesterday gave a much needed transfusion in my "career".  The word "career" sounds pretentious when referring to the types of jobs held by myself up to this point, perhaps after I stand in front of my family in 2013 with a cap and gown there will be a reason to take down the quotation  marks.

For now, I hoist The Mystical Cup of Collating Papers to Mr. Wil Wheaton, for showing that we're all human no matter what degree of "celebrity" one has attained and some of us can make other's day just by sitting at a desk with a devious smile and neatly alligned 8" by 11" pieces of paper in hand. 

Mr. Wheaton, stay awesome.

To the rest of my readers, I thank you for your continued support and don't make it too long until we drink together again.

Oh, to celebrate my lets-wait-for-a-month-before-hearing-if-I-got-the-job-and-cant-sleep-until-I-know Grand Casino Hinckley was kind enough because I spent too much money there last time to offer free lodging and side cash for my family to head up there tonight since the school district is intent on giving days off for Middle Name Pride Day and Johnny Appleseed Day?  *facepalm*

(Yes, I know it's the beginning of Lent, but my kids do not attend a Catholic/Christian school)

Natural Caffeine

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

And scene.

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

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

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

Pretty.

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

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

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

Billy Madison to Drizz: YOU BLEW IT!

My daughter's new favorite stuffed animal is a small shaggy purple dog named Barky.  Thanks to the good, quality people at Dave and Buster's the wife has performed minor surgery on Barky several times in the past month but some tears could be attributed to my daughter's not so sugar and spice and everything nice way of getting through the day with those toys. 

"Barky could walk around like Funky!" she exclaims.

The thought of an overweight shaggy purple dog with a belly swishing around like a half drained keg does seem amusing but impossible outside of Mary Poppins dropping in to make the medicine go down and utensils dance.

While her dreams are personal and not probable, mine focused too much on the real yesterday, making my attempt at rising up a rung on the corporate ladder end like this (couldn't find Billy Madison's clip which would have fit the bill better).

Yeah, I blew it.

My normally silver lispy tongue decided to not function yesterday as I stammered thru the HR interview with the wit of a contestant on Hillbilly Jeopardy.  Answers swirling in my head, taking the time to prep for the questions that I knew were coming, and instead approached some epic corporate fail with all the smoothness of a Jersey meathead trying to cold-call a one night stand at a country club.  Maybe the fiscially elite go for that sort of approach, but regardless I sucked, I sucked bad, and if by some small mircle I get the position it will solely on the fact that I'm tall because that's about the only message to cross the room yesterday standing a foot and a half over the lithe HR rep.

Concession on this position, not on the goal however.  That's a good thing.

What's on tap this weekend?  $5 million and a Lambo at PokerStars?  Much like Astin's point on twitter yesterday, I may take half my bankroll on Stars and give a shot at a guaranteed $1 million payoff and finish agonizingly in 13,271st place.  It's not every day a Lamborghini could be parked in the lower-middle income area of surburban Minneapolis.  A plus would be zooming out to Palo Alto for an epic race with Doc's Ferrari.  I'd need a Space Racer helmet and my lucky PokerStars monkey for props.

See it's ok to dream, even if its winning a poker tournament, having sex with (insert obscenely hot actress/porn star here), or having a stuffed animal down some Puppy Chow and piss all over your new iPad2.  It's the real ones that you bank some emotion on that hurt.  Throwing virtual money at cards carries nearly zero emotions at it.  Regardless of how high (like last weekend's drubbing of the Rush PLO fishes) or the lows like the previous three weeks of dusting cash like Dan Shak chasing gold futures, poker carries emotion only when friends are involved (again I apologize for my excitement at the WPBT but it will happen again so ply me with another drink and I'll lose some silly prop bet to you).

Son's mangled digit

The work dream will continue on another day, for now its back to the grind which isn't so bad if you look at how it could be sitting on a couch wondering where that next paycheck is going to come from, or how am I going to pay for my son's double fractured pinky.  Instead I sail on even waters, turning the sail in every direction until some wind catches it just right to start in a new direction.

Ginsu > Drizz

Ginsu knives.

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

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

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

I went on two interviews.

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

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

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

Oh, a quick personal note. 

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

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