Getting to the office a few hours before most people show up gives a chance to stroll thru a mostly open parking lot and a few moments to take in scenery without glares of possible mental health problems from another corporate drones. No cars zooming thru the front road, sprinklers saturating the bits of grass between the concrete dividers, and a smoke monster waffing thru the edges of once sizable marsh that now has a center of ledger balancing for an unnamed retail store standing in the middle. It's a scene out of your favorite zombie movie, 28 Days Later sticks out in my mind despite my horrible attempts at a British accent. The pavement is calm, no other walks of life within an corrected eye-sight radius just morning calm before the storm of deadlines and deciphering emails from people who speak English as their second or third language.
Its the quiet walk that allows 10 minutes of reflection, breathing the fresh air before stuffing one's self into a cubical with pumped in freon to battle the near-summer humidity. Before retiring last night I got to watch my son's first at bat from a thrown ball on the camcorder we had purchased around Christmas time but have only used sparingly and looked in disgust. There he was holding the bat a little bit differently than practiced in the backyard over the last couple of years, knuckles not making the straight line, knees looking a bit stiff, and eyes more focused on the pitcher rather than the softened red-stiched ball they use. He would swing a total of ten times, feebly fouling off a few like Nick Punto having to face Mo Riveria but mostly finding air. No stomping, no throwing the bat, just continued patience of trying again and again to get one between the chalk.
But, that wasn't my source ire watching the video. It was the little figure in the polo shirt on the third base line behind the fence. It was the father of that kid with gestures of WHY, turning around not understanding the seemingly smooth swing not connecting with the ball, embarrassed with his child's lack of skill as other parents tried to watch and wait for their little tikes turn.
The embarrassment was on me. I hated that person for not encouraging his son more, the fact that the much more mature baseball player wore the number three on the purple shirt with gold lettering that cost $5 more. The player who could have packed it in after five whiffs instead gutted it out until he was directed to the bench and told to try again the next loop thru the numerical order was the man on the field not that selfish s.o.b. wincing in the background.
Maybe it's due to this new parenting step of seeing my little athletes run around outside my body with my last name and wanting success before years of practice, wanting the natural home run swing and dedication to the sport laid out on a particular day. The horrible feeling of becoming "that dad" when all I wanted to see was a smile on his face made me wonder if showing up for the games is a good idea. My negative presence could not have helped in the least, only damaging the passing of the love of the diamond on to my son and daughter. Time will tell if the asshole in the stands can take his son at face value and encourage what is there instead of trying to force what isn't.
Good thing there's a blog to talk to myself without worries of a doctor trying to cram Clonazepam down my throat. And being able to reflect on a short walk is more therapy than that $250/hour master of the DSM could offer. Now the part will reside in the father growing up to be the nurturing parent versus heckling fan.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Opposite of sleep
If this were a poker post, I'd throw in a thought about lucksacking my way to a win with the bloggers this weekend. No, not in the BBT 5, as the talented pen of Jeremiah Smith erased me in the long line of bad luck I've had in these tourneys with another bad beat. Thanks again to Al Cant Hang and Poker From the Rail for their great set up in sending a few bloggers to the WSOP on their dime once again.
Instead I spent the weekend that was supposed to be "let's-let-daddy-catch-up-on-sleep-weekend". Well, everyone who said life slows down after marriage and kids can lick my humidity induced sleep-deprived taint that does not feel quite as bad as the adolescent shown below (thank you Olivia Munn and Attack of the Show for providing some laughs but damn that sounds painful):
The humidity did not help my "day off" in which I got to play parent for four kids from 6am - 1pm at my parent's home which still employs the "open the freezer door for air conditioning" standard. Fine for persons with access to pouring themselves a drink every 15 minutes, not so good for a 6 month old toddler or persons who had to calm said screaming toddler.
Not fun.
Continued fun on the day consisted of watching my daughter "play" t-ball for the first time. Still dazed and confused like a med student forced to take their MCATs from a reflection on a funhouse mirror as "Paradise" is blown thru 5 18-foot speaker towers, I was a looking forward to watching my baby tune up for her future ticket to college via softball. Instead, of some Pete Rose-esque hussle I got to watch this:
Except Ramirez actually keeps his cap and glove on and doesn't demand his hair be put up in a different pony tail every five minutes. Sit on the infield? Check. Throw glove? Check. Pout? CheckCheckCheck. Need a drink? This one I don't really her because it was hot, but the kids did get a break every ten minutes while she took one every five. Thanks to the Patti LaBelle diva showcase on the field, daddy and the family did not get the promised dilly bars from Dairy Queen on the ride home, instead we were treated to more crying and whining.
But, like any responsible parent after tucking in the offending child, a loooooooong pull off a handle in a relaxing chair made the silence sound like a peaceful orchestra playing a sweet, airfilled melody to let the torn body heal up for June which is shaping up to be just as crazy as May. If anyone has a handy replacator I could use about three of myself next month.
Instead I spent the weekend that was supposed to be "let's-let-daddy-catch-up-on-sleep-weekend". Well, everyone who said life slows down after marriage and kids can lick my humidity induced sleep-deprived taint that does not feel quite as bad as the adolescent shown below (thank you Olivia Munn and Attack of the Show for providing some laughs but damn that sounds painful):
The humidity did not help my "day off" in which I got to play parent for four kids from 6am - 1pm at my parent's home which still employs the "open the freezer door for air conditioning" standard. Fine for persons with access to pouring themselves a drink every 15 minutes, not so good for a 6 month old toddler or persons who had to calm said screaming toddler.
Not fun.
Continued fun on the day consisted of watching my daughter "play" t-ball for the first time. Still dazed and confused like a med student forced to take their MCATs from a reflection on a funhouse mirror as "Paradise" is blown thru 5 18-foot speaker towers, I was a looking forward to watching my baby tune up for her future ticket to college via softball. Instead, of some Pete Rose-esque hussle I got to watch this:
Except Ramirez actually keeps his cap and glove on and doesn't demand his hair be put up in a different pony tail every five minutes. Sit on the infield? Check. Throw glove? Check. Pout? CheckCheckCheck. Need a drink? This one I don't really her because it was hot, but the kids did get a break every ten minutes while she took one every five. Thanks to the Patti LaBelle diva showcase on the field, daddy and the family did not get the promised dilly bars from Dairy Queen on the ride home, instead we were treated to more crying and whining.
But, like any responsible parent after tucking in the offending child, a loooooooong pull off a handle in a relaxing chair made the silence sound like a peaceful orchestra playing a sweet, airfilled melody to let the torn body heal up for June which is shaping up to be just as crazy as May. If anyone has a handy replacator I could use about three of myself next month.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
If I win does that make me a slut?
This was not skill, this was getting hit with the deck. Great group of bloggers I'm assuming as I saw the twitter feed announce the tourney so I joined in. I apologize for the lack of posting around here as three weeks straight of working at the bullseye and on SCOOP has left me with a half of brain cell which I'm killing at this moment via Captain and Coke.
Be back soon.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Coming up after the plunge
There's the anticipation of a big event. The waiting for the excitement, exhaustion, and unknown to take place at a future date. Much like intaking a deep breath before plunging off the high dive, the thrill of letting gravity do it's thing before crashing thru the cool water and remaining under the liquid until the lungs burn for some air.
For some time now there was two weeks blocked off my calendar as it was last year during the Spring Championship of Online Poker or SCOOP as it may have been mentioned 15 millionteen times here. While it was just another gig for my friends, for me it marks the two times during the year that I get to hold my breath and play a part that while it becomes increasingly familiar still is foreign and exciting for someone who usually spends a day doing very rote work on set timetables. My name next to theirs is like a list of words and you're supposed to find which one is different or doesn't belong in the string. They are professional writers and rightfully so as time and time again their craft is appreciated with our admittedly small niche market of poker fans who still get the thrill of having those hundred thousand dollar turn cards described to them.
So what am I doing there? An accounting dunce by trade, but a degenerate gambler and lover of cards/poker after the parenting pants come off at night. Maybe it's because my writing comes out fuller when speaking about subjects that touch me a little to provide a tiny spark for words. Yes, I still go "DAMN!" when someone busts on a nasty beat (but when writing final table wraps you secretly cheer for those eliminations). As with my prior experiences with SCOOP and WCOOP at PokerStars, this one was no different, I have the same happy exhausted face today after writing up 23 wraps and helping with Short Stack Shamus on a quick final table live blog for the Main Event (won by toetagU for $1.1 million).
Heck, I even played a little playing in four events and won a few a bucks after cashing in the PLO rebuy and the Main Event-Low all for a total of $30 in buy-ins thanks to a free ticket to two events and a satty win for a HORSE tourney.
Now there's been time to exhale, for me at least as my friends are already gearing up for their biggest assignment for the year with a little thing going on in Vegas for the next month and half. (according to the Harrah's countdown clock, just 10 days away?!?!). I wish them the best on their journey to the Rio this summer and hope they continue to entertain us with the sights and feels of the massive Amazon room filled with poker players playing chess while holding chips and other playing a slot machine with the five board cards to come.
I of course wouldn't be here if it wasn't for a certain G-Vegas suburban warrior who plucks me from the bullpen, hands the ball over and gives me a swat on the ass with some encouraging words as I stared down the next final table wrap like a middle reliever coming in mid-game. While I do not possess skull and crossbone imprinted glasses, I akin it to this:
Hey they even get the number right.
For some time now there was two weeks blocked off my calendar as it was last year during the Spring Championship of Online Poker or SCOOP as it may have been mentioned 15 millionteen times here. While it was just another gig for my friends, for me it marks the two times during the year that I get to hold my breath and play a part that while it becomes increasingly familiar still is foreign and exciting for someone who usually spends a day doing very rote work on set timetables. My name next to theirs is like a list of words and you're supposed to find which one is different or doesn't belong in the string. They are professional writers and rightfully so as time and time again their craft is appreciated with our admittedly small niche market of poker fans who still get the thrill of having those hundred thousand dollar turn cards described to them.
So what am I doing there? An accounting dunce by trade, but a degenerate gambler and lover of cards/poker after the parenting pants come off at night. Maybe it's because my writing comes out fuller when speaking about subjects that touch me a little to provide a tiny spark for words. Yes, I still go "DAMN!" when someone busts on a nasty beat (but when writing final table wraps you secretly cheer for those eliminations). As with my prior experiences with SCOOP and WCOOP at PokerStars, this one was no different, I have the same happy exhausted face today after writing up 23 wraps and helping with Short Stack Shamus on a quick final table live blog for the Main Event (won by toetagU for $1.1 million).
Heck, I even played a little playing in four events and won a few a bucks after cashing in the PLO rebuy and the Main Event-Low all for a total of $30 in buy-ins thanks to a free ticket to two events and a satty win for a HORSE tourney.
Now there's been time to exhale, for me at least as my friends are already gearing up for their biggest assignment for the year with a little thing going on in Vegas for the next month and half. (according to the Harrah's countdown clock, just 10 days away?!?!). I wish them the best on their journey to the Rio this summer and hope they continue to entertain us with the sights and feels of the massive Amazon room filled with poker players playing chess while holding chips and other playing a slot machine with the five board cards to come.
I of course wouldn't be here if it wasn't for a certain G-Vegas suburban warrior who plucks me from the bullpen, hands the ball over and gives me a swat on the ass with some encouraging words as I stared down the next final table wrap like a middle reliever coming in mid-game. While I do not possess skull and crossbone imprinted glasses, I akin it to this:
Hey they even get the number right.
Monday, May 17, 2010
SCOOP Main Event: I sucked but less than 17,469 others
While I won't be fullifiling the dream of hacking my SCOOP ME-Low write up with some third person narratives, I did manage to turn my freeroll from the media tournament into a 1719th place finish in the tournament. Good for most of a ticket to Las Vegas if I wished such things.
I do wish, but this string long nights is hurting my soften brain and the last thing I need is burn-out especially since I may have some extra duties coming around my door during the WSOP found a different source.
Coupled with two kids driving their mother thru a wall of wailing and finger wagging all weekend, and well a mental health day or two in Vegas might be the right tonic.
I do wish, but this string long nights is hurting my soften brain and the last thing I need is burn-out especially since I may have some extra duties coming around my door during the WSOP found a different source.
Coupled with two kids driving their mother thru a wall of wailing and finger wagging all weekend, and well a mental health day or two in Vegas might be the right tonic.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Work means some play
A little work and a little play this evening.
Yep, that's the Michael Mizrachi :)
Thanks to my lovely bride bringing the kids up to the cabin, I'll be home alone for the weekend while working SCOOP, and since it's a short night (NLO8 with 10 minute blinds) thought I'd treat myself to a tourney as well.
Starting table?
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
A different kind of redemption
Red: These walls are funny. First you hate 'em, then you get used to 'em. Enough time passes, you get so you depend on them. That's institutionalized.
Heywood: Shit. I could never get like that.
Prisoner: Oh yeah? Say that when you been here as long as Brooks has.
Red: Goddamn right. They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.
My first day back to cubical land there was an envelope with my name and my mailbox address with cube city. After plowing thru a mountain of emails of go-ons while I partook in a spring vacation of sorts, the envelope was getting lonely and needed to be opened since the usual plastic toys of de-motivation a rubber binder encouraging you to get healthy, a stuffed animal promoting the new baseball stadium, or a ruler with the words "You Measure Up!" (I know I do, and my wife loves me for it POW!).
Inside was a piece of paper folded over hastily twice with black and white lettering stating "YOU ARE APPRECIATED!". After opening the fold a business card fell out saying I could receive a free health pellet if I rung the bell down at the cafeteria. Inside the "card" was a "THANK YOU!" written in block 64 sized Arial Unicode font with the copied signature of a manager so far removed from my position I'd met her only thru large multi-departmental meetings.
Despite my fingers currently moving outside my conscious thought and still struggling to calibrate my body to an upright position after working a string of nights that blended into morning, I yearned to be on my couch eating triscuits at seven a.m. finishing up a piece on how someone took $11 and turned it into $45,000 by flipping over virtual poker cards for 16 hours. I don't have a poster of Marilyn Monroe or Raquel Welsh laid across my cell. Instead there's photos of my family that protect my hand-dug tunnel in which I move deftly back-and-forth from when I am called. Crawling through that tunnel while carefully dragging behind me in a waterproof tarp tied to my foot by a length of rope, whatever stream of pop culture and as many witty remarks one can make as the virutal cards fall the same but different ways.
Red: [narrating] Forty years I been asking permission to piss. I can't squeeze a drop without say-so.
Do I despise "working for the man"? Not at all, I enjoy the people here, I like the company otherwise I wouldn't still be here after being employed there for almost half of my life. Heck, I'm going back to school for a better position here. But, there are walls. Those walls file people into their places of expertise to carve out profit for the collective in the most impersonal way possible beyond the immediate co-workers which you share break times and grazing days of bringing in your mom's freshly baked banana bread for everyone to share. Beyond that you are an ID number, a slot under which accountants list you as a salary and insurance expense. Some people live their whole lives under that guise that the company appreciates them by receiving little trinkets and a free fruit cup. They work their 30 years, draw a pension to pay for cable, and move off to a double-wide in an Arizona retirement community to play bridge at the rec room for a dime a point on Thursdays.
But, I wanted more when someone gave me a rock hammer a few years ago. I wanted to do something that maybe perhaps only a few people read but least it would have my name and my creativity (or lack of) listed under the by-line. It meant sacrifice of time and a few "no, I need to leave early tonight" but the return on the time investment cannot be measured tangibly. Getting personal thanks, being able to hoist a beer with those who were up with your in those wee hours and share a story related to the cards or how their daughter managed to paint half the bathroom with fingernail polish after passing out after a long morning half way through Cinderella on DVD (that one happened on Friday). You feel as part of a team, unlike the emblazment of a serial number connected to several passwords to perform work with zero personalization required nor wanted.
Red: [narrating] Andy Dufresne - who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.
I am honored to work with such folks as Otis, Dr. Pauly, Change100, Short Stack Shamus, Falstaff, Jen Newell, and F-Train who bring the poker news daily to your doorstep without possiblity of your neighbor's sprinkler or cutie wittle woof-woof rendering the paper illegible. These are professionals and importantly friends and for a couple of weeks a year that tunnel opens up for an amateur to slide thru and enjoy the open air. I hope you have enjoyed the coverage of SCOOP at the PokerStarsBlog thus far as week two is half way thru and I'll be starting up again on Friday.
Heywood: Shit. I could never get like that.
Prisoner: Oh yeah? Say that when you been here as long as Brooks has.
Red: Goddamn right. They send you here for life, and that's exactly what they take. The part that counts, anyway.
My first day back to cubical land there was an envelope with my name and my mailbox address with cube city. After plowing thru a mountain of emails of go-ons while I partook in a spring vacation of sorts, the envelope was getting lonely and needed to be opened since the usual plastic toys of de-motivation a rubber binder encouraging you to get healthy, a stuffed animal promoting the new baseball stadium, or a ruler with the words "You Measure Up!" (I know I do, and my wife loves me for it POW!).
Inside was a piece of paper folded over hastily twice with black and white lettering stating "YOU ARE APPRECIATED!". After opening the fold a business card fell out saying I could receive a free health pellet if I rung the bell down at the cafeteria. Inside the "card" was a "THANK YOU!" written in block 64 sized Arial Unicode font with the copied signature of a manager so far removed from my position I'd met her only thru large multi-departmental meetings.
My choice of poster: Jessica Biel
Despite my fingers currently moving outside my conscious thought and still struggling to calibrate my body to an upright position after working a string of nights that blended into morning, I yearned to be on my couch eating triscuits at seven a.m. finishing up a piece on how someone took $11 and turned it into $45,000 by flipping over virtual poker cards for 16 hours. I don't have a poster of Marilyn Monroe or Raquel Welsh laid across my cell. Instead there's photos of my family that protect my hand-dug tunnel in which I move deftly back-and-forth from when I am called. Crawling through that tunnel while carefully dragging behind me in a waterproof tarp tied to my foot by a length of rope, whatever stream of pop culture and as many witty remarks one can make as the virutal cards fall the same but different ways.
Red: [narrating] Forty years I been asking permission to piss. I can't squeeze a drop without say-so.
Do I despise "working for the man"? Not at all, I enjoy the people here, I like the company otherwise I wouldn't still be here after being employed there for almost half of my life. Heck, I'm going back to school for a better position here. But, there are walls. Those walls file people into their places of expertise to carve out profit for the collective in the most impersonal way possible beyond the immediate co-workers which you share break times and grazing days of bringing in your mom's freshly baked banana bread for everyone to share. Beyond that you are an ID number, a slot under which accountants list you as a salary and insurance expense. Some people live their whole lives under that guise that the company appreciates them by receiving little trinkets and a free fruit cup. They work their 30 years, draw a pension to pay for cable, and move off to a double-wide in an Arizona retirement community to play bridge at the rec room for a dime a point on Thursdays.
But, I wanted more when someone gave me a rock hammer a few years ago. I wanted to do something that maybe perhaps only a few people read but least it would have my name and my creativity (or lack of) listed under the by-line. It meant sacrifice of time and a few "no, I need to leave early tonight" but the return on the time investment cannot be measured tangibly. Getting personal thanks, being able to hoist a beer with those who were up with your in those wee hours and share a story related to the cards or how their daughter managed to paint half the bathroom with fingernail polish after passing out after a long morning half way through Cinderella on DVD (that one happened on Friday). You feel as part of a team, unlike the emblazment of a serial number connected to several passwords to perform work with zero personalization required nor wanted.
Red: [narrating] Andy Dufresne - who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side.
I am honored to work with such folks as Otis, Dr. Pauly, Change100, Short Stack Shamus, Falstaff, Jen Newell, and F-Train who bring the poker news daily to your doorstep without possiblity of your neighbor's sprinkler or cutie wittle woof-woof rendering the paper illegible. These are professionals and importantly friends and for a couple of weeks a year that tunnel opens up for an amateur to slide thru and enjoy the open air. I hope you have enjoyed the coverage of SCOOP at the PokerStarsBlog thus far as week two is half way thru and I'll be starting up again on Friday.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Scoopin to Truckin
Real life was put on the back burner for the past week or so, but still managed to squeeze a trip to the trailer, birthday party for my princess, and a mother's day breakfast for 20 that people surrounded me while I closed the books after working thru the night on some donkey who overplayed pocket deuces for SCOOP at the PokerStarsBlog.
I have a post about the past week swirling at the moment but remaining upright without a case of Sobe energy or other pharmmies that are on the FDA's approved list is a tad taxing at the moment.
Instead I encourage you to read something much more substantial and worth a few minutes to read and re-read: This month's edition of Truckin'.
If you read here (and maybe that guy in the #5 slot has wrote something here before), I'm sure there's a few familar faces popping up in this month's edition between the dick extension and tranny call girl ads:
1. Uncle Louie by Paul McGuire
He used to be full of life and love and generosity, but no more. These days, he was capable of saying horrendous things that made you feel like you were three inches tall. He had the madness of an angry blind dog... More
2. State Line by AlCantHang
It has never once failed me when I yell "OY!" and look like I'm going to eat your next born. People generally shrink away even though I barely reach 5-foot-nothing. Not once in my life had it failed, that is, until the "old dude" took a fucking swing at my gourd... More
3. If You're Gonna Lose, Lose Big by Broseph
I was starring at their boobs and I got the idea of maybe trying some threesome action. It's a tough bridge to cross, and I had no idea where to start. I decided to just start making out with Gwen and hoped that would work... More
4. American Hero by Dawn Summers
The skies were just this shade of pitch black at nine in the morning. The rain was slamming against my windows. And the wind, oh the wind huffed and puffed and tried to blow my house down... More
5. Self by Drizz
With a "normal" middle-income life that most Americans live grinding out work for the man and making enough scratch to satisfy the needs and wants, there’s hardly time to take a step back and enjoy this existence... More
6. In Between Fighting Souls by Tenzin McGrupp
My quagmire of a life resembles
A wretched Fox sitcom,
A Shakespeare play,
A black and white Woody Allen film.
Except that Joey Buttafucco is the lead actor
And stands forty-five pounds overweight... More
I have a post about the past week swirling at the moment but remaining upright without a case of Sobe energy or other pharmmies that are on the FDA's approved list is a tad taxing at the moment.
Instead I encourage you to read something much more substantial and worth a few minutes to read and re-read: This month's edition of Truckin'.
If you read here (and maybe that guy in the #5 slot has wrote something here before), I'm sure there's a few familar faces popping up in this month's edition between the dick extension and tranny call girl ads:
1. Uncle Louie by Paul McGuire
He used to be full of life and love and generosity, but no more. These days, he was capable of saying horrendous things that made you feel like you were three inches tall. He had the madness of an angry blind dog... More
2. State Line by AlCantHang
It has never once failed me when I yell "OY!" and look like I'm going to eat your next born. People generally shrink away even though I barely reach 5-foot-nothing. Not once in my life had it failed, that is, until the "old dude" took a fucking swing at my gourd... More
3. If You're Gonna Lose, Lose Big by Broseph
I was starring at their boobs and I got the idea of maybe trying some threesome action. It's a tough bridge to cross, and I had no idea where to start. I decided to just start making out with Gwen and hoped that would work... More
4. American Hero by Dawn Summers
The skies were just this shade of pitch black at nine in the morning. The rain was slamming against my windows. And the wind, oh the wind huffed and puffed and tried to blow my house down... More
5. Self by Drizz
With a "normal" middle-income life that most Americans live grinding out work for the man and making enough scratch to satisfy the needs and wants, there’s hardly time to take a step back and enjoy this existence... More
6. In Between Fighting Souls by Tenzin McGrupp
My quagmire of a life resembles
A wretched Fox sitcom,
A Shakespeare play,
A black and white Woody Allen film.
Except that Joey Buttafucco is the lead actor
And stands forty-five pounds overweight... More
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Perfect Game Thrown
Just as Dallas Braden was getting the 27th out of his perfect game, I was doing something that I haven't done in recent times. Ok, probably longer than my kids being born or growing arm pit hair for the first time.
Making the final table, five places paid
After a long grind six handed with me having to shovel manure to steal blinds I found pocket queens
You're serious, the 15 aces in the deck didn't hit?
Yes sir, playing in the same tournament I'll be covering at PokerStarsBlog
Saturday, May 08, 2010
Vegas Turns Four
Cheers to you honey. May your Tinkerbell pinata be filled with candy and money and your screams be muted for just one day because daddy is a bit tired this week.
Wednesday, May 05, 2010
2010 SCOOP Mid-week check in
Sorry if I've neglicted these pages but SCOOP is in full swing meaning late nights and early mornings while covering this madness puts a crimp on other activities.
Here's what I have worked on thus far (and one more write up due for Event #8 which at this point isn't finishing any time soon):
Event #1-Medium
Event #2-Medium
Day 1
Day 2
Event #4-Low
Event #5-High
Event #7-Low
Be back soon folks with something more than the air I'm puffing right now.
Here's what I have worked on thus far (and one more write up due for Event #8 which at this point isn't finishing any time soon):
Event #1-Medium
Event #2-Medium
Day 1
Day 2
Event #4-Low
Event #5-High
Event #7-Low
Be back soon folks with something more than the air I'm puffing right now.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Smells Like Baseball Season
The softened baseballs came out of the much worn equipment sack yesterday. On a white metal hanger hung the number 3 with my last name on it. After fitting his purple hat with the city's name and logo on it, my son took the field for the first time this year. Cub baseball is the buffer between the tikes running the wrong way after hitting a ball from a tee and the groaning of watching the coach's son walk 15 batters in a row while proud papa keeps encouraging him to hold the ball like an egg and breathe thru his eye lids. The coach seemed confident and knowledgable, especially since he'd taken his 12 year old son's team to state championship and a tournament win in Iowa the past year.
It's my hope my son decides to listen to the guy and pick up the game that carried my stick figure-self thru some tough times growing up. He's not the best nor the worst on the team, but definitely needs an upgrade from the plastic glove obtained three years ago from nana and pa.
Half way thru the practice, just as my wife arrived, my daughter expressed a need for a bathroom break. Luckily my parent's home is right behind the practice field and with a dash made the stop with time to spare. After picking some "flowers" on the return trip she bounced back to the mini playground aside from the barren ice rink and elementary school. The son was dilgently learning the alligator method of covering up grounders while his partner decided to give his best impression of Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams and throw the ball in every direction that was only catchable by Ozzie Smith.
"Dave, I think you better check on YOUR daughter" said the wife.
I was enjoying the move in practice where my son got to line a few hits as his offense is much better then the glove work, but as I turned towards my princess squating under the metal bleachers, much like McD watching Teddy turn over those aces, I knew what had happened. Crying, and a very long walk ensued to clean up what could only be described as taco meat in her Dora underwear that had been left out for two weeks in the sun. After six years of this why my brain clicked on this song is beyond me:
Aside from the accident, baseball season looks to be a good one this year. But, hockey is still being played and Mr. Alex Ovechkin if I may have a word about your epic choke job. Karma is a bitch.
It's my hope my son decides to listen to the guy and pick up the game that carried my stick figure-self thru some tough times growing up. He's not the best nor the worst on the team, but definitely needs an upgrade from the plastic glove obtained three years ago from nana and pa.
Half way thru the practice, just as my wife arrived, my daughter expressed a need for a bathroom break. Luckily my parent's home is right behind the practice field and with a dash made the stop with time to spare. After picking some "flowers" on the return trip she bounced back to the mini playground aside from the barren ice rink and elementary school. The son was dilgently learning the alligator method of covering up grounders while his partner decided to give his best impression of Mitch "Wild Thing" Williams and throw the ball in every direction that was only catchable by Ozzie Smith.
"Dave, I think you better check on YOUR daughter" said the wife.
I was enjoying the move in practice where my son got to line a few hits as his offense is much better then the glove work, but as I turned towards my princess squating under the metal bleachers, much like McD watching Teddy turn over those aces, I knew what had happened. Crying, and a very long walk ensued to clean up what could only be described as taco meat in her Dora underwear that had been left out for two weeks in the sun. After six years of this why my brain clicked on this song is beyond me:
Aside from the accident, baseball season looks to be a good one this year. But, hockey is still being played and Mr. Alex Ovechkin if I may have a word about your epic choke job. Karma is a bitch.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Self Intervention
In a former life there would have been nothing to do this weekend except attend my niece's third birthday party, eat some ice cream cake, and sit in front of a computer screen yelling at the virtual cards dropping in favor of someone that was not me. Those days of free-time and want of such mindless time are over, thanks to the awakening of sorts that repeats every day. Some people hate the fact that they HAVE TO go to work and feel it's an obligation versus a chance or a learning experience. It took my thick head several years of self-loathing while swimming in depression to see that the numbers on the computer screen are not what a job is about.
It's the people. Watching, studying, and ultimately learning from their experiences and chatting about their daily lives help me figure out what I wanted to do with my own course. Was staying in a safe, mindless data-entry job until I hit 65 in the cards? My past self was ready for that. No life at home to speak of, might as well stay with status quo and end up with the 14 karat gold watch and retirement cake while 100 people I've barely met sit in uncomfortable chairs spilling over my "career" of plunking numbers into Microsoft Excel boxes.
Safe. But not life. No, life is working 4:30pm to 3:30am on a Sunday (go check that out at the PokerStarsBlog if like such poker recaps) because there are friends to visit in dark casino bars and VIP rooms that momma doesn't need to know about. Life is playing softball in the rain and mud with co-workers to see them without their corporate masks and fake smiles on, and hoisting a macro-brewed beer after losing terribly but enjoying the day of getting out to the field and being an 11 year old with an oversized jersey and underdeveloped arm hoping dad will decide on treating the family to Angeno's after the game again. Life is studying to learn more about the work field that chose you so data entry becomes data analysis and the rusty academic gears shine a little light in an otherwise grey economic time.
There is no end game. No more searching for June 24th, 2039 to get that sheet cake from Byerly's with "best wishes on retirement" splattered across it and a most likely passed around card with scribbed "enjoy the golf course" notes written within. Afraid of reaching that point of being shoved along and not striving to make the top tier traveling team as I did in my youth, never chancing disappointment, never willing to say "yes, I'll do the extra work" because of something that happened in elementary school is stunting growth and making excuses for a life path that only one person can guide. Not control, no one controls their life, many aloof self-important people with titles and lofty egos may think so (see Big Ben Roethlisberger for an example). No, you can guide yourself to places, much like returning to school may lead to a better, more rewarding job in my field of choice. It's not your dream job, but it's mine, and I'm happy to the fact that I did not end up like this guy below when my degenerate side could have easily slipped into a black hole of mindless gambling:
Check out this link from Intevention and a child prodigy turned into a $5 blackjack gambling addict that blew thru $500,000 by age 25.
Watch the facial tics while he plays and the inability to control himself. This is someone who TAUGHT pre-meds at the age of 18 and was well on his way to obtaining a PhD before I had even thought about doing something other than Cyndi or hitting lead cashier status at the bullseye. The above video on Gabe's addiction to gambling didn't sway my wanting to sit down with Mr. Pai Gow, Speaker, and Otis this June at the Gold Coast somewhere north of 4am sipping on greyhounds and trying to get the ice queen pit boss to ship some free breakfasts our way. In fact, it made me want to work even harder toward making that happen.
Why?
Because watch the casino clips. Watch the clip at the end with the barren apartment. Watch how self-centered this prick gets when mommy won't bail his ass out of debt again.
He's alone.
Something I used to be years ago, curled up in a blanket of insecurity and unwillingness to try to stretch. I may have been married for nearly ten years and a sperm donator for over six but feel like it's only been a few years since I became a husband and father. If Gabe teaches you one thing, take away this: talent can only open doors, turning the knob, opening the door, and walking thru is up to the person who poured themselves a bowl of Frosted Flakes and fried up some bacon and eggs this morning because they were hungry.
It's the people. Watching, studying, and ultimately learning from their experiences and chatting about their daily lives help me figure out what I wanted to do with my own course. Was staying in a safe, mindless data-entry job until I hit 65 in the cards? My past self was ready for that. No life at home to speak of, might as well stay with status quo and end up with the 14 karat gold watch and retirement cake while 100 people I've barely met sit in uncomfortable chairs spilling over my "career" of plunking numbers into Microsoft Excel boxes.
Safe. But not life. No, life is working 4:30pm to 3:30am on a Sunday (go check that out at the PokerStarsBlog if like such poker recaps) because there are friends to visit in dark casino bars and VIP rooms that momma doesn't need to know about. Life is playing softball in the rain and mud with co-workers to see them without their corporate masks and fake smiles on, and hoisting a macro-brewed beer after losing terribly but enjoying the day of getting out to the field and being an 11 year old with an oversized jersey and underdeveloped arm hoping dad will decide on treating the family to Angeno's after the game again. Life is studying to learn more about the work field that chose you so data entry becomes data analysis and the rusty academic gears shine a little light in an otherwise grey economic time.
There is no end game. No more searching for June 24th, 2039 to get that sheet cake from Byerly's with "best wishes on retirement" splattered across it and a most likely passed around card with scribbed "enjoy the golf course" notes written within. Afraid of reaching that point of being shoved along and not striving to make the top tier traveling team as I did in my youth, never chancing disappointment, never willing to say "yes, I'll do the extra work" because of something that happened in elementary school is stunting growth and making excuses for a life path that only one person can guide. Not control, no one controls their life, many aloof self-important people with titles and lofty egos may think so (see Big Ben Roethlisberger for an example). No, you can guide yourself to places, much like returning to school may lead to a better, more rewarding job in my field of choice. It's not your dream job, but it's mine, and I'm happy to the fact that I did not end up like this guy below when my degenerate side could have easily slipped into a black hole of mindless gambling:
Check out this link from Intevention and a child prodigy turned into a $5 blackjack gambling addict that blew thru $500,000 by age 25.
Watch the facial tics while he plays and the inability to control himself. This is someone who TAUGHT pre-meds at the age of 18 and was well on his way to obtaining a PhD before I had even thought about doing something other than Cyndi or hitting lead cashier status at the bullseye. The above video on Gabe's addiction to gambling didn't sway my wanting to sit down with Mr. Pai Gow, Speaker, and Otis this June at the Gold Coast somewhere north of 4am sipping on greyhounds and trying to get the ice queen pit boss to ship some free breakfasts our way. In fact, it made me want to work even harder toward making that happen.
Why?
Because watch the casino clips. Watch the clip at the end with the barren apartment. Watch how self-centered this prick gets when mommy won't bail his ass out of debt again.
He's alone.
Something I used to be years ago, curled up in a blanket of insecurity and unwillingness to try to stretch. I may have been married for nearly ten years and a sperm donator for over six but feel like it's only been a few years since I became a husband and father. If Gabe teaches you one thing, take away this: talent can only open doors, turning the knob, opening the door, and walking thru is up to the person who poured themselves a bowl of Frosted Flakes and fried up some bacon and eggs this morning because they were hungry.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Back to the Beach To drink at 5
See what I did there?
The BBT5 officially kicked off for me last night as part guilt and part degeneracy got the cards in the air at 9:00pm CST for The Mookie. A long-standing blogger tournament named for a house which is probably rivaling the Duggars for most kids produced in shortest time frame via one birth canal. Wherever you are Mookie, salute to you and your family in the future.
While my lack-dazzle play and catching a few cards preflop got me three hours deep and into the money, someone short stacked as I shoving Snowman-Tater Legs into my King-rag and flopping two pair was my undoing. No fuss, no muss, little money, little sleep. While the invitationals on the weekend seems like a better shot of earning one of 24 TOC seats in which the big prizes of WSOP seats sit, my weekends will be taken up with reporting on poker while taking a week off of "normal" work at the bullseye versus playing it. My participation may vary to prevent burn out but kudos to Mr. Cant Hang who put together a structure to give away the awesome prizes put forth by Full Tilt.
Your participation, dear reader, should be towards the two open events during the week (see BBT5 link above for details), unless of course you are an active poker blogger yourself and have a golden ticket to the invitational.
Tonight is normally reserved for poker on the non-sober side but with the rabid 3am to midnight shift of human activity yesterday, I may need to be a pussy and fall asleep before sleep falls on me. Besides my wife needs encouragement on the beach volleyball courts while various women in different stages of beachwear, bounce around with an open bar in visible crawling range.
The things I do to keep a happy marriage, where's my "Bestest Husband EVER" award?
The BBT5 officially kicked off for me last night as part guilt and part degeneracy got the cards in the air at 9:00pm CST for The Mookie. A long-standing blogger tournament named for a house which is probably rivaling the Duggars for most kids produced in shortest time frame via one birth canal. Wherever you are Mookie, salute to you and your family in the future.
While my lack-dazzle play and catching a few cards preflop got me three hours deep and into the money, someone short stacked as I shoving Snowman-Tater Legs into my King-rag and flopping two pair was my undoing. No fuss, no muss, little money, little sleep. While the invitationals on the weekend seems like a better shot of earning one of 24 TOC seats in which the big prizes of WSOP seats sit, my weekends will be taken up with reporting on poker while taking a week off of "normal" work at the bullseye versus playing it. My participation may vary to prevent burn out but kudos to Mr. Cant Hang who put together a structure to give away the awesome prizes put forth by Full Tilt.
Your participation, dear reader, should be towards the two open events during the week (see BBT5 link above for details), unless of course you are an active poker blogger yourself and have a golden ticket to the invitational.
photo cred: SI.com
Tonight is normally reserved for poker on the non-sober side but with the rabid 3am to midnight shift of human activity yesterday, I may need to be a pussy and fall asleep before sleep falls on me. Besides my wife needs encouragement on the beach volleyball courts while various women in different stages of beachwear, bounce around with an open bar in visible crawling range.
The things I do to keep a happy marriage, where's my "Bestest Husband EVER" award?
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
Exiting Pleasantville
Make everyday interesting, push it to the max, rock out with your cock out, don't settle for less, be somebody, if your boat doesn't come it swim out to it. Life is a bunch of sayings that one could attribute to live to, one of my favorites with a tip towards poker of course, "life is not holding a good hand, life is playing a poor hand well". But, why get wrapped up in words designed to sit on a saying-of-the-day website for the server's eternity or the foreword of the latest New York Times Best Seller, instead why not hop into a 1961 Ferrari GT California and live a little, eh Cam?
Sure one minute your wife is berating you on a workday at 3am over the overweight cat's ability to ask for food by strategically placing hairballs in high traffic area for maximum squishatude. Then the following day she mentions in between bites of Filet Mignon and twice baked potatoes she hopes you'd join her for Patron body shots and reverse cowgirl action out on the deck tonight. Some people need pharmaceuticals to get through their day others need to jump from 15,000 feet or watch reruns of Ellen with a heaping bowl of Orvell Redenbacher's new instant kettle corn sitting besides their encyclopedia-sized sudoku puzzle book.
Personally, I've given up on "normal". Here's what my normal schedule used to be:
4:30am - Up for work
6am -4:30pm - Do said work, dream of Vegas and WSOP
5pm - 6pm - Play with kids
6:pm - 6:30pm - Eat
6:30pm - 8pm - more kids time
8pm - 8:02pm - Try to get wife "in mood"
8:03pm - Get slapped, go play online poker
8:04pm - 11pm - Play break-even poker by winning last hand of the night to make back three buy-ins lost
11:30pm - 4:30am - sleep, dream of not normal things
This doesn't happen anymore. Instead there's school, there's going on walks, there's going to the gym, there's sitting down with the kids with a learning book of sorts or in the backyard teaching my son the art of the hanging curveball which some All-Conference switch-hitting going to a D3 school douchebag will eventually tag onto Hwy. 81 so that return ride on the bus sucks and even more than lonely one to the ball field.
Yes, the suburbs can be a vortex of suck. There's zero flavor along Hemlock Lane, all of it is pre-determined, pre-planned Pleasantville black-and-white perfectness. Bland to the core, born to be mild! But, it's home so instead of settling into that block of time used up above for five days a week, we go out and find little blocks of weird or fun. Disc golf has finally brought a family activity in which we all can participate, with the exception of my daughter who has spent the last 18 hours wailing more than an extended Eddie Van Halen solo riff due to what I could only describe as D.O.R.A. (Deficient Oral Retraction Action). For parents, D.O.R.A. usually occurs if a child (age does not matter) does not receive the recommended daily allowance of sleep or Cartoon Network personality shaped fruit snacks.
And remember:
Based on this, and if my body makes it through Sunday's attempt at four final table write-ups in the same night, and SCOOP for the first three weeks of May, I'll be bringing the freak show to Vegas to root on Speaker's attempt at poker immortality after his bracelet race win. Or at least to provide some rays of light to those on media row for a few nights of Pai Gow, bowling prop bets, and degeneracy at the hooker bar.
Sure one minute your wife is berating you on a workday at 3am over the overweight cat's ability to ask for food by strategically placing hairballs in high traffic area for maximum squishatude. Then the following day she mentions in between bites of Filet Mignon and twice baked potatoes she hopes you'd join her for Patron body shots and reverse cowgirl action out on the deck tonight. Some people need pharmaceuticals to get through their day others need to jump from 15,000 feet or watch reruns of Ellen with a heaping bowl of Orvell Redenbacher's new instant kettle corn sitting besides their encyclopedia-sized sudoku puzzle book.
Personally, I've given up on "normal". Here's what my normal schedule used to be:
4:30am - Up for work
6am -4:30pm - Do said work, dream of Vegas and WSOP
5pm - 6pm - Play with kids
6:pm - 6:30pm - Eat
6:30pm - 8pm - more kids time
8pm - 8:02pm - Try to get wife "in mood"
8:03pm - Get slapped, go play online poker
8:04pm - 11pm - Play break-even poker by winning last hand of the night to make back three buy-ins lost
11:30pm - 4:30am - sleep, dream of not normal things
This doesn't happen anymore. Instead there's school, there's going on walks, there's going to the gym, there's sitting down with the kids with a learning book of sorts or in the backyard teaching my son the art of the hanging curveball which some All-Conference switch-hitting going to a D3 school douchebag will eventually tag onto Hwy. 81 so that return ride on the bus sucks and even more than lonely one to the ball field.
Yes, the suburbs can be a vortex of suck. There's zero flavor along Hemlock Lane, all of it is pre-determined, pre-planned Pleasantville black-and-white perfectness. Bland to the core, born to be mild! But, it's home so instead of settling into that block of time used up above for five days a week, we go out and find little blocks of weird or fun. Disc golf has finally brought a family activity in which we all can participate, with the exception of my daughter who has spent the last 18 hours wailing more than an extended Eddie Van Halen solo riff due to what I could only describe as D.O.R.A. (Deficient Oral Retraction Action). For parents, D.O.R.A. usually occurs if a child (age does not matter) does not receive the recommended daily allowance of sleep or Cartoon Network personality shaped fruit snacks.
And remember:
Based on this, and if my body makes it through Sunday's attempt at four final table write-ups in the same night, and SCOOP for the first three weeks of May, I'll be bringing the freak show to Vegas to root on Speaker's attempt at poker immortality after his bracelet race win. Or at least to provide some rays of light to those on media row for a few nights of Pai Gow, bowling prop bets, and degeneracy at the hooker bar.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Battle of the Blogger Tournament: El Cinco Edition
Gotta be in it to win it.
Skip over to Poker From the Rail or Al's place on the internets for the details.
After staying at till 3:30am this morning with another glorious crash-and-burn before the final table in a $2 rebuy ($2K to the winner, I got $34 and a headache worthy of two bottles worth of Excedrin for 29th place), my attendance will hinge on being awake for the 6pm CST start time.
Especially after doing a 5K run at 9am this morning at Midway Stadium: Home of the St. Paul Saints that does not allow people to do the Wave nor can you wear a necktie (true statement, disclosure found at the front gate). Perfect weather outside, made even better today with only a breeze passing through. The "Running of the Pigs" (as of 2:00pm Sunday the stats/photos were not out yet but I finished in 30:25 which included me walking almost a dozen times) started out with the son and daughter units doing a quick half-mile run. It wasn't a competitive run with medals but we try to get the kids to finish as fast their little legs can carry themselves. Instead we were treated to Kyra giving up half-way through and watching Wyatt run backwards while doing some sort of parade princess waving to the crowd despite being in last place.
Now, time for that nap as Pavano just got tagged for a few runs as I envy the folks enjoying the game and beautiful weather at Target Field.
Skip over to Poker From the Rail or Al's place on the internets for the details.
WSOP Seats Now Available
After staying at till 3:30am this morning with another glorious crash-and-burn before the final table in a $2 rebuy ($2K to the winner, I got $34 and a headache worthy of two bottles worth of Excedrin for 29th place), my attendance will hinge on being awake for the 6pm CST start time.
Especially after doing a 5K run at 9am this morning at Midway Stadium: Home of the St. Paul Saints that does not allow people to do the Wave nor can you wear a necktie (true statement, disclosure found at the front gate). Perfect weather outside, made even better today with only a breeze passing through. The "Running of the Pigs" (as of 2:00pm Sunday the stats/photos were not out yet but I finished in 30:25 which included me walking almost a dozen times) started out with the son and daughter units doing a quick half-mile run. It wasn't a competitive run with medals but we try to get the kids to finish as fast their little legs can carry themselves. Instead we were treated to Kyra giving up half-way through and watching Wyatt run backwards while doing some sort of parade princess waving to the crowd despite being in last place.
Now, time for that nap as Pavano just got tagged for a few runs as I envy the folks enjoying the game and beautiful weather at Target Field.
Saturday, April 17, 2010
We Be Frolfing Yo
In times past a morning where I'm not hussling the kids towards the kitchen table for Fruity Pebbles and eggs, there would be online poker to be played.
Instead I'll be enjoying some disc golf at Elm Creek today. Yes, there's a fee and I'll find out if it's worth it.
The weather is too nice, and this whole getting-in-better-shape doesn't stop at the inclined bench press and glider machines. No, there's only so many repeats of Sportscenter and yelling at the computer after some bad beat that's happened too many times to care.
Yes, I still enjoy the game. Yes, I'm still a fanatic that loves the fact that I get to report on the game. But, a balance must be there, instead of posting a "I'm burnt out" post every 6 months there's more important things to do.
Like hitting this monster 694 foot hole in under 10 shots:
See you at the tables tonight perhaps when the sun goes down so does my ass after having some fun outside today.
Instead I'll be enjoying some disc golf at Elm Creek today. Yes, there's a fee and I'll find out if it's worth it.
The weather is too nice, and this whole getting-in-better-shape doesn't stop at the inclined bench press and glider machines. No, there's only so many repeats of Sportscenter and yelling at the computer after some bad beat that's happened too many times to care.
Yes, I still enjoy the game. Yes, I'm still a fanatic that loves the fact that I get to report on the game. But, a balance must be there, instead of posting a "I'm burnt out" post every 6 months there's more important things to do.
Like hitting this monster 694 foot hole in under 10 shots:
See you at the tables tonight perhaps when the sun goes down so does my ass after having some fun outside today.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
It's Go Time
I was looking at a slightly larger guy in the mirror last night. Sweat poured down a maroon t-shirt emblazed with a tacky saying from a particular brand of rum that the author is fond of. The time was a little after 8pm as my son would be playing with the few kids left in the well-stocked child care area of the gym (seriously, back when I was a kid you were lucky to play with a full inflated ball now you get ball crawls, computers, movies, they probably have live entertainment there too), it is time to pick up the aging, hurting body for parental duties. On the left was a women in her mid-forties who's sports bra and pant set looked like she ran face first into a cotton candy machine, the peppy lead trainer with short blonde hair, perfectly filling her sleek black warm-up gear was chatting non-stop while massaging her female client on the cushioned tables.
Why was I sitting cross-legged on the green yoga-like mat doing stretching exercising like 17 years ago when the lanky 120 pound kid with zero self-esteem was warming up to throw a few innings for the Osseo Orioles the next day? Just staring at the guy in the reflection who's grey hairs have started to form on the left side of his chin, why are you doing this? Well kid, you never tried. Maybe once, making that leap from the soft, velet blanket of home, Minnesota, friends, parents and shoving off to a college where your economic and social background were so vastly different you never had a chance. The academic part was easy, too easy that you slipped into a shot glass every other night, and instead of learning the lessons of life you figured out how to cut lime dead drunk without missing digits afterwards.
But this is now. Now we're going outside that comfort zone again, this time it's not a big-time Pac-10 school surrounded by Sigma Chi alpha males and 22 year old freshman with a chip on their overgrown egos. We're not sitting on the couch figuratively or realistically, going to the gym, getting an education, doing more at work, and most of all being more active with the kids and wife. No longer are the ties to staring blankly at a computer screen night after night, but doing so with a purpose. Like tonight's late-night poker binge that I save for every Thursday, it has a reason.
Stress relief. Chat with friends unseen except via their blogs and twitter. Hey, maybe even make a few bucks like this guy who won a bracelet race or play Al in heads-up PLO and get swore at for a good half hour while tipping back my favorite beverage.
No more "I can't" and more "I'll try" or "I'll do", much like accepted the biggest poker writing assignment to date for myself starting May 2nd at the PokerStarsBlog for SCOOP. This will be a test of juggling school, work, and testing my family how they'll function with a guy sitting in his green flannel pajamma bottoms emblazed with fuzzy dice and four leaf clovers with the broken elastic waistband describing how a check-raise eliminated 5th place for $24,589.31 while the sun creeps up through the porch's windows. They did it before during the maddness of live blogging the WCOOP when things weren't looking good for a 10 year wedding anniversary, they'll do it this time not for the money, but for better reasons.
Because they like seeing me truly happy for the first time in my life (and I'd be even happier if I get a degeneracy pass to skip off to the WSOP this summer for a weekend of Pai Gow, lifting sullen bloggers spirits, and hang out with those friendships I value greatly...).
[Side Note: Here's a must read from Big Pirate. Inspired writing on faith.]
Why was I sitting cross-legged on the green yoga-like mat doing stretching exercising like 17 years ago when the lanky 120 pound kid with zero self-esteem was warming up to throw a few innings for the Osseo Orioles the next day? Just staring at the guy in the reflection who's grey hairs have started to form on the left side of his chin, why are you doing this? Well kid, you never tried. Maybe once, making that leap from the soft, velet blanket of home, Minnesota, friends, parents and shoving off to a college where your economic and social background were so vastly different you never had a chance. The academic part was easy, too easy that you slipped into a shot glass every other night, and instead of learning the lessons of life you figured out how to cut lime dead drunk without missing digits afterwards.
But this is now. Now we're going outside that comfort zone again, this time it's not a big-time Pac-10 school surrounded by Sigma Chi alpha males and 22 year old freshman with a chip on their overgrown egos. We're not sitting on the couch figuratively or realistically, going to the gym, getting an education, doing more at work, and most of all being more active with the kids and wife. No longer are the ties to staring blankly at a computer screen night after night, but doing so with a purpose. Like tonight's late-night poker binge that I save for every Thursday, it has a reason.
Stress relief. Chat with friends unseen except via their blogs and twitter. Hey, maybe even make a few bucks like this guy who won a bracelet race or play Al in heads-up PLO and get swore at for a good half hour while tipping back my favorite beverage.
No more "I can't" and more "I'll try" or "I'll do", much like accepted the biggest poker writing assignment to date for myself starting May 2nd at the PokerStarsBlog for SCOOP. This will be a test of juggling school, work, and testing my family how they'll function with a guy sitting in his green flannel pajamma bottoms emblazed with fuzzy dice and four leaf clovers with the broken elastic waistband describing how a check-raise eliminated 5th place for $24,589.31 while the sun creeps up through the porch's windows. They did it before during the maddness of live blogging the WCOOP when things weren't looking good for a 10 year wedding anniversary, they'll do it this time not for the money, but for better reasons.
Because they like seeing me truly happy for the first time in my life (and I'd be even happier if I get a degeneracy pass to skip off to the WSOP this summer for a weekend of Pai Gow, lifting sullen bloggers spirits, and hang out with those friendships I value greatly...).
[Side Note: Here's a must read from Big Pirate. Inspired writing on faith.]
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Ooooooooooooooh Yeah!
I'll be purchasing this from my favorite movie, before the doc gets his hands on it.
In "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," before taking a daylong joyride with a rare sports car, the title character asks, "If you had access to a car like this, would you take it back right away? Neither would I."
Ferris did not heed his best friend's pleas to return the Ferrari. But, in real life, Matthew Broderick, who played Ferris in the 1986 cult classic, might not have driven it in the first place.
While Ferris famously described the car as "choice," Broderick has some choice words for the faux (hold that thought) 1961 Ferrari 250GT California Spyder, which will be put up for auction in London by Bonhams on April 19.
That's right, the car in question is not actually a 1961 Ferrari 250GT California Spyder. In reality, it's an MG that was modified to resemble the GT. Or, as Broderick calls it, "a kit car."
"We had a real Ferrari that we looked at in the garage, but when we drove, it was not real, and that's what this is," Broderick told New York Magazine at the opening night of Broadway's "The Addams Family."
Broderick went on to describe what the future owner can enjoy. "My memory of that car is that it often didn't start. That's all I remember." He continued, "Which I probably shouldn't say; I don't want to bring the price down. But, uh, it was unreliable, that car."
The auction house is hoping that the car will go for between $45,000 and $60,000. In 2008, an actual 1961 Ferrari California Spyder sold at auction for just under $11 million.
But, I'm sure the newly employed Californian radiologist would rather have the real thing.
Image from Yahoo.com
In "Ferris Bueller's Day Off," before taking a daylong joyride with a rare sports car, the title character asks, "If you had access to a car like this, would you take it back right away? Neither would I."
Ferris did not heed his best friend's pleas to return the Ferrari. But, in real life, Matthew Broderick, who played Ferris in the 1986 cult classic, might not have driven it in the first place.
While Ferris famously described the car as "choice," Broderick has some choice words for the faux (hold that thought) 1961 Ferrari 250GT California Spyder, which will be put up for auction in London by Bonhams on April 19.
That's right, the car in question is not actually a 1961 Ferrari 250GT California Spyder. In reality, it's an MG that was modified to resemble the GT. Or, as Broderick calls it, "a kit car."
"We had a real Ferrari that we looked at in the garage, but when we drove, it was not real, and that's what this is," Broderick told New York Magazine at the opening night of Broadway's "The Addams Family."
Broderick went on to describe what the future owner can enjoy. "My memory of that car is that it often didn't start. That's all I remember." He continued, "Which I probably shouldn't say; I don't want to bring the price down. But, uh, it was unreliable, that car."
The auction house is hoping that the car will go for between $45,000 and $60,000. In 2008, an actual 1961 Ferrari California Spyder sold at auction for just under $11 million.
But, I'm sure the newly employed Californian radiologist would rather have the real thing.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Shooting Lefty Until Righty Feels Better
First link for "More Masters News" on Yahoo.com?
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Good thing the front page actually had more praise for Lefty among the major newspapers and web-zines instead of someone who finished in a tie for fourth. Personally I'll admit to being a huge Tiger Woods fan, the glut of focus on the golfer is starting to reach Brett Favre heights (by the way Brett, any time you're ready sir, no need to drop by Jay Leno's set). The real test for Mr. Woods will be at a golf tournament where the security and decorum measures are not aligned with a Presidential State dinner.
Some busty attention whore running across the 14th fairway at the TPC of Scottsdale to get 10 minutes of web fame is going to happen in time with "reality stars" carry zero shame to gain Youtube hits. It's going to happen, not if, but when. One will hope that the 76 year old golf ranger will run down the chick before someone's iPhone or pocket recorder picked up at Target for less than $100 films the lead story for the week on Sportcenter. I wouldn't even be surprised if she has a website tramp-stamped on her back.
---
White ball golf aside it was a weekend to be outside as Minnesota's weather was nothing short of perfect all weekend. I managed two rounds in between the normal running around that a family does. Normally that meant plunking down $50-$75 on a round, plus drinks before, during, and after with losing a half dozen balls to various places in which water resides. Instead I paid zero green fees, walked at my own pace with my family (ok, my daughter's little legs got a bit tired and needed a boost), and I even made a few pars. Disc Golf has been the choice of stress relief lately, thanks to a unknown shoulder injury that feels like a torn rotator cuff but a dull pain of an overworked muscle, I have had zero desire to play "real" golf and softball for that matter.
The first round was at Central Park in Brooklyn Park which has a nice 9 hole layout that's fairly open and includes a great wide-open downhill shot from the top of a sizable hill. Throw in a park for the kids to wander off to, and you've got free family entertainment.
Next one was over in Plymouth at Plymouth Creek where the setting was carved into a forest, and reminded me more of the Timmons Park course I played while in G-Vegas last month. This 12 hole run was very challenging as there were shots over water, aside from water, and some godless person put in this 480 foot monster hole in which I had my best drive of the day of about 180-200 feet AND STRAIGHT!, but only reached the ladies tees and contained a very small window of fairway that did not produce wetness. This course even came equipped with juniors tees with signs pointing the direction of the basket. One, small note if you do visit the course that hole #1 is at the far of the parking lot, as pointed out by the stroller toting family that was teeing off hole #10 when I arrived with wife, daughter, and son who held his own orange Innova disc.
You will need to listen to my dirt filled adventures here since my shoulder doesn't feel like it's going to heal up any time soon and well, I'm having a blast playing! Go for a second round? Free! Only cost your dignity of watching your disc hit a tree over and over.
---
Today notes the start of a brand new ball park in which I was allowed by wear Twins colors to work. The broadcasting started a 5am as Kirby get a statue and after 10 hours of hoopla, they'll actually play a game (why against the Red Sox and not a divison rival??). Just saw Frankie "Sweet Music" Viola is going to be here with... Shannon Stewart? Ok, not who'd I with but someone from each of the pennant winners will be on hand to get the flag flying as the 2010 World Champions flag will be hung by Joe Mauer of course. Oh, they have to play out the season. For shame. I thought I'd get my $20 from Pauly just based on the quick start by the best lineup this franchise as seen since 1991.
Free Tiger Woods PGA Tour®
No Download or Console Required. Play Right in Your Browser Online.
TigerWoodsOnline.EA.com
Good thing the front page actually had more praise for Lefty among the major newspapers and web-zines instead of someone who finished in a tie for fourth. Personally I'll admit to being a huge Tiger Woods fan, the glut of focus on the golfer is starting to reach Brett Favre heights (by the way Brett, any time you're ready sir, no need to drop by Jay Leno's set). The real test for Mr. Woods will be at a golf tournament where the security and decorum measures are not aligned with a Presidential State dinner.
Some busty attention whore running across the 14th fairway at the TPC of Scottsdale to get 10 minutes of web fame is going to happen in time with "reality stars" carry zero shame to gain Youtube hits. It's going to happen, not if, but when. One will hope that the 76 year old golf ranger will run down the chick before someone's iPhone or pocket recorder picked up at Target for less than $100 films the lead story for the week on Sportcenter. I wouldn't even be surprised if she has a website tramp-stamped on her back.
---
White ball golf aside it was a weekend to be outside as Minnesota's weather was nothing short of perfect all weekend. I managed two rounds in between the normal running around that a family does. Normally that meant plunking down $50-$75 on a round, plus drinks before, during, and after with losing a half dozen balls to various places in which water resides. Instead I paid zero green fees, walked at my own pace with my family (ok, my daughter's little legs got a bit tired and needed a boost), and I even made a few pars. Disc Golf has been the choice of stress relief lately, thanks to a unknown shoulder injury that feels like a torn rotator cuff but a dull pain of an overworked muscle, I have had zero desire to play "real" golf and softball for that matter.
The first round was at Central Park in Brooklyn Park which has a nice 9 hole layout that's fairly open and includes a great wide-open downhill shot from the top of a sizable hill. Throw in a park for the kids to wander off to, and you've got free family entertainment.
Next one was over in Plymouth at Plymouth Creek where the setting was carved into a forest, and reminded me more of the Timmons Park course I played while in G-Vegas last month. This 12 hole run was very challenging as there were shots over water, aside from water, and some godless person put in this 480 foot monster hole in which I had my best drive of the day of about 180-200 feet AND STRAIGHT!, but only reached the ladies tees and contained a very small window of fairway that did not produce wetness. This course even came equipped with juniors tees with signs pointing the direction of the basket. One, small note if you do visit the course that hole #1 is at the far of the parking lot, as pointed out by the stroller toting family that was teeing off hole #10 when I arrived with wife, daughter, and son who held his own orange Innova disc.
You will need to listen to my dirt filled adventures here since my shoulder doesn't feel like it's going to heal up any time soon and well, I'm having a blast playing! Go for a second round? Free! Only cost your dignity of watching your disc hit a tree over and over.
---
Today notes the start of a brand new ball park in which I was allowed by wear Twins colors to work. The broadcasting started a 5am as Kirby get a statue and after 10 hours of hoopla, they'll actually play a game (why against the Red Sox and not a divison rival??). Just saw Frankie "Sweet Music" Viola is going to be here with... Shannon Stewart? Ok, not who'd I with but someone from each of the pennant winners will be on hand to get the flag flying as the 2010 World Champions flag will be hung by Joe Mauer of course. Oh, they have to play out the season. For shame. I thought I'd get my $20 from Pauly just based on the quick start by the best lineup this franchise as seen since 1991.
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