Blogging with a side order of pimp juice

Let me dust off the counters and spray a little Windex on the musky windows for a sec.


There.

All better.

When I started this blog back in the days when bloggers where no more than people who would trade hand histories while attempting to beat the quarter/half-dollar games at 888.Poker and PartyPoker, I never intended to spill out my live story here. Instead this became a place of solitude, a place to spill my burdens and a place to meet friends.

Those friends have done some amazing things lately and I was reminded quickly last night after putting the kids to bed and learning how to properly book a discounted notes receivable with a maturity date beyond one year. College student at 35?!? I had thought I was done years ago, set into my pigeon hole at the big bullseye, content with a marriage that wasn’t enjoyed but got the job done, and two kids that I was more concerned about versus getting to meet them and enjoy their presence.

I had stopped living.

But this little space and the people who still drop by despite Google’s iron curtain cloaking me from their massive search engine, saved me from putting my life in auto-drive and for that I thank YOU. As noted above my friends have pushed their lives forward and put a lot of their soul out for anyone to see in book form:

The Chosen by John Hartness

My original partner in crime at the PokerStarsBlog back in August 2008. We traded sanity and sleep to stay up late on Sunday nights/Monday mornings after Otis dropped in to offer us final table recaps of PokerStars’ biggest Sunday Major moving on to doing World Championship of Online Poker (WCOOP), Spring Championship of Online Poker, and Sunday Warm-up after Jen Newell thankfully came into the mix from the opposite coast to allow for some sleep before a ten-hour day of spreadsheets and databases. My hopes of the success of his book mirror his drive to get this work published (my long overdue purchase was made this morning, hopefully gets here before Labor Day).

Look back here for a review of the book in the next couple of weeks.  I may even find a proper kilt to wear while enjoying the book my cabin's deck.

Lost Vegas by Pauly McGuire

As I wrote on Lulu.com:

“As the people who wrote the forewords state, if you have never met Paul McGuire one would think his vivid stories from the World Series of Poker, Phish concerts, strip clubs and Las Vegas in general are fiction. Far from the truth. As the man who stepped away from a life chained to an Armani suit working on Wall Street and stable paycheck to becoming his own boss and in charge of his own destiny Lost Vegas gives a small glimpse of that life that many of us 9 to 5'ers would gladly trade in our mini-vans for. Mixing degeneracy and philosophical debates is not for the weak, and Pauly brings it every page with existentialist musings from chatting shop with his fellow overworked poker writers to the afternoon shift strippers who can't kick their adderall addictions. If you ever wanted a peak behind the Belliago fountains, Cirque du Soleil shows, and 5-star restaurants, here's your chance to see Vegas in a different light. You won't regret your purchase.”

Pauly is one-of-kind despite that New York Yankees cap on his head. I had never met someone who lives the moment more than him and inspired me to do the same after my two-wheeled epiphany of sorts. And if you want insight into how Pauly became one of the most respected writers (not just poker) came to be, along with his journey for the past five years grab a copy of the book and dig in. Honestly, I wanted some more Phish concert stories despite never hearing a single song simply from reading his personal site Tao of Pauly.

A true friend.  And whatever part of my readership here does not know about Doc’s ability to mix dead philosophers musings and Paris Hilton into a poem-like sentences should do themselves a favor and start reading both the book and the blogs (in that order).

Parenting: You're allowed to have fun too

It takes two people to create a child and a village to raise them, or just one father trying to juggle Maslow's self-actualization theory as it relates to business management while getting his daughter to finish her mini corn dogs in under 30 minutes.  Getting a blip of single parenting this weekend as the wife was whisked away with her girlfriends to a camp somewhere deep in cheesehead land.  Each time I can to slow down and enjoy watching our breeding efforts run up to the 15 foot tall giraffes at Como Zoo, or simply crack an egg ever so slightly against the new countertop its a lesson in learning to appreciate your kids.

Some parents brand their kid too often with the word "burden" across their foreheads in their younger years and end up trying to chase them down for a hug well after their legs and minds become too fast to catch.

Not me.

Extended weekends like these make me enjoy my two children for who they are and what they will become.  Despite not knowing the consequences of popping open a jar of peanut butter where the oils floated to the top and ended up spraying my work clothes like Peter North after a month long vacation, and being rushed to gather two kids and their respective sets of toys, clothes, and bodies for day care at five in the morning, I love it.

The feeling of being needed, or the third rung of Maslow's pyramid "Love and Belonging" was climbed this weekend, yes the Daddy voice made its appearance a few times over minor "she/he did it" moments but even more so the "thank you's" and hugs came in  regularly, unforced, and welcomed even at 6:00am following a night of online poker degeneracy which saw several deep runs in happy meal sized tournament that went for naught.

Seeing the pure smiles on their faces in the mini water park at Como Zoo as the temperature rose above 90 but my temper never did.  Instead of retreating to "you're wrong and I am right" tactics, instead I asked why did something that was conduct unbecoming my child.  No, I did not break into Staff Sargent Drizz like below:

I GOT YOUR ASS AND YOUR HI-C DRINK BOXES!!!!

Instead we enjoyed a day at the pool, the Zoo, the batting cages, and at the end of the weekend some quiet time laying out exhausted while watching Favre get a rude welcome back into the NFL and becoming more of a family than people I hand my paycheck and sanity over to.  Nothing stays double rainbows and orange desire scented Axe body spray, but with hopes there will be less quiet time in the corner and more pure embraces that make this old guy get out of bed with a purpose each day.

Deep Fried Favre

You probably felt it after getting off the bus or out of your car while walking towards the building of your employer this morning.  It was darker out, the winds nip a little more as the oppressive humidity rolls somewhere behind the nearest Starbucks.  While the leaves have not changed colors, Fall is around the corner as noted by the annual state get-together known as the Minnesota State Fair commercials.  Minnesotans can always count on the major TV channels and StarTribune to send bright photos and images that seem to waif the smells of cheese curds and bacon on a stick thru their respective mediums.

Eight days until Snelling Ave. becomes a parking lot while waiting to slide, hopefully into a grassy parking lot or one jump across the road to the many residents who open up a side business for two weeks hoping to syphon a few bucks from parking or make-shift lutefisk stand before they enter the fairgrounds.  This fair go'er grew up marking the date on the calendar, getting up at the crack of dawn to sit in the parking lot before the fairground roared to life to have cake donuts and milk from a thermos off the back door of the station wagon with his brother and sister.  My further memories of the Fair are consciously lost from the head injury but something down deep wakes up my senses when it's time to visit the 4-H buildings and see the Princess Kay of the Milky Way carved in butter.

Photo Cred (Jannorris.com)

Even with the Twins making a late-season push towards not only a playoff spot, but a potential World Series berth with a powerful lineup and suspect starting pitching (nice job for the sweat Baker, you need to treat Thome to Manny's after blowing that four-run lead), the Fair is coming.

Even with Favre-gasm Dos exploding ESPN into FavreCenter yesterday and most of this morning.  This rabid fan of the Purple and Gold needed new Calvin Klines after the buildup on Twitter with three star players very noticably missing from the practice field on Tuesday morning.  Was the defense collapsing because Jared Allen drove his pickup thru a bar in Minnetonka at 3am?  Did Ryan Longwell mistake a block of cement for a pop can?  Did Steve Hutchinson finally decide to live like a Northern Minnesota native in the mists of Lake Vermillion catching smallmouth bass and drinking pitchers of Schmidt Light at the Kwazy Wabbit?  No, they were in Mississippi giving a Hellmuthian escort (but I doubt Hutch look that good in a bikini top and boy shorts) 

How to pissed off Mean Gene despite the presence of boobs

Yep, Brett Favre is back.  Today is a press conference where he'll ride in without his beloved John Deere and give Minnesotans one more year of excitement followed by heartache that we have come to terms with as sports fans in this state.  Wanted?  Definitely.  Needed?  Does T-Jack get your hopes of a ring up?  No.  And Tarvaris if I could, your quote yesterday said "I don't care if he's back", actually you should. if you want to be the starter next year or if some asshole like Sean Payton tells his players to purposely injure the AARP rep behind the center.  The PR correct answer was:  "It's great that I'll be learning from a future Hall-of-Fame quarterback with hopes of leading this team in the near future".  Say what you want through the grill of your facemask, but when faced with the media keep those comments to yourself, as now you'll get painted as a cancer to a potential playoff/Super Bowl contender.  Sad that you haven't learned the PR game or controlled that sawed-off shotgun of an arm spraying balls like pellets from its barrel.

For the next eight days the prize is on the Midway of the State Fair not the bat of Jim Thome saving the day, or talented media whore turning me unwillingly into a fanboi (damn you Favre!).  Nope, I'll be sitting in that patted down grass parking lot waiting for the box of donuts to passed to me.

After the all-you-can-drink milk and Sweet Martha's Cookies are gone all bets are off and the Helga Hat comes out of the closet :)   SKOL!!!!

Minneapolis Summit 2010

I'd like to thanks the folks who dropped by our humble little state this weekend and experienced just how quickly the weather can change here.

By numbers if your will...

Number of miles on my car:  234
Number of miles driven with prescription sunglasses on at night:  37
Number of miles that I should have stayed downtown:  13
Number of dollars won at PAI GOW at Canterbury Park:  350
Number of dollars my wife gets to see:  0
Number of Newcastles while golfing with Speaker and Edinburgh USA:  5
Number of Newcastles I should have had:  3
Number of strokes on the front nine:  47
Number of strokes on the back nine:  yeah about that many
Number of lost golf balls on Edinburgh USA's signature 17th:  4
Number of former volleyball teammates with third nipples I ran into downtown:  1
Number of hours of I was unaccounted for Friday night:  2
Number of slices of Pizza Luce's signature pizza I had:  9
Number of lesbians met:  5
Number of Sarah McLachlan songs Donkeypuncher sang with the lesbians:  2
Number of consecutive games of cornhole won:  11
Number of visits to Sexworld:  1
Number of visits to Sexword that I remember:  0
Number of longest drive on Saturday at Theo Wirth (in yards):  342
Number of times I flexed afterwards:  3
Number of final winning score at Theo Wirth:  94
Number of visits this year to downtown prior to Summit:  2
Number of trips downtown this weekend:  6
Number of chicken wings consumed from Runyon's on Wednesday night:  23
Number of mustache rides offered by women:  2
Number of dollars won by fading A's rookie Chris Carter:  5
Number of beers consumed on Friday:  dont ask
Number of Captain n' Cokes consumed on Friday:  *whistles*
Number of friends I'll miss until December rolls around:  too many

Come back soon folks, even if it's while here on business for a quick slice at Pizza Luce or a pint.

Nailing Customer Service

Daddy Day Care has been in service for the past three days while the wife enjoys a city with more doctors per capita than lawyers, Target cashiers, and McDonald's drive-thru specialists combined while attending a conference for work.  Holding up the weather beaten home fort as been more a test of which side of Harvey Two-Face was going to come out of the kids the next minute.  Picking the kids up garnered whines of wanting the window down despite the humid Minnesota air being thick and hot enough to slow cook a 64oz. ribeye.

(photo cred: stuffwelike)

Heads:  We love you  Tails:  We'll just break your laptop and soul

Add in another chunk of tree missing my house but squarely falling in a neighbor's yard and the air conditioning deciding that 86 degree is an acceptable temperature while trying to figure out the differences between double-declining and straight-line depreciation methods and my patience remaining could have filled one of those four holes on a button.

Yesterday after a brief flash flood and just as quickly clearing up for swimming lessons, I placed each kid in the car ready for the dreadfully humid Brooklyn Center pool.  "Hmmmmmm"  I thought after getting the newly minted seven year old situated with his Pokemon guide book (yes I used exactly six "M's").  The back tire was a little low as in "yeah, that would blow out on I-694 if you don't get some air in it".  After having the transmission in the mini-van during the coldest day of the year, why not go for the mother nature yearly double and get stuck in the same place only this time sweat your balls off instead of fighting hypothermia.

The culprit bend nail was found quickly as my mechanically inclined father had an air compressor and was able to fill it up but not plug the hole.  The ride was smooth, and swimming lessons were enjoyable as my son looked like he finally mastered the doggy paddle well enough to move up a level, and the daughter did not drown the teacher so I'll call that a win.  At 6:15 my sister mentioned a tire place right on the way home which I would attempt to sneak in to take care of this nail since I'd need all four Firestones working in perfect harmony for this weekend's meeting of degenerates. 

First stop:  Discount Tire Co.  I could see an emptyish parking lot next to Home Depot and figured this quick fix would take no more than 20 minutes.  The garage bays were still open but as my flip-flopped kids walked towards the tires showroom the hours were from 8am - 6pm.  Really?  Do people's car problems only happen during business hours? 

Just unlucky I guessed and went towards an auto repair corner of Brooklyn Park that I remembered.

Second stop:  Firestone Complete Auto Care  Garage bay still open as seen after deftly moving thru all the possible auto care places and arriving 20 minutes before closing.  Might get gouged here but the thorn in my steed's hoof needed removal.  The chrome-domed "manager" had to unlock the door to tell me they 1) wouldn't take in the car  2) don't do plug/patches, only patches  3)  he was late for his Call of Duty pizza and beer night.  But, made a suggestion to hit up Tire Plus down the road.  Hulk not like, Hulk smash.

Third stop:  Tires Plus  My brother once worked for this fine company (for two weeks) and left due to its complete lack of professionalism such as hand tightening lug nuts and denying anything wrong when the wobbly car came back in.  But, I needed a quick fix and with only one car up on the lift and about four mechanics around, I figured there was plenty of time since they were open until eight.  Again, the kiddies strolled inside as the barely out of high school manager type who spent a little too much time inside the cheese curds deep fryer explained they do not do plug/patches and it would take over two hours.  Pointing out the glut of mechanics and lack of cars got me a blubbery spew of apologies but no advancement.  Hulk want hit something.

(photo cred: here)

Last stop:  Salvation.  After driving around the small town of Osseo (which is nearly inside of Maple Grove) and no mom and pop shops open, down County Road 30 I spied some small businesses tucked behind some pines.  Maple Grove Auto Service spelled out in bubble popping red letters had a business hours sign stating they were open until nine and like Princess Leia's message to Obi-Wan:  They were my only hope.  Fearing for the worst and getting polite, complete service was unexpected to say the least.  $.50 cans of pop and a genuine smile went a long way since my kids decided that sitting quietly was not in their nature.  20 minutes later, plugged/patched, $17 invoice in hand and peace-of-mind driving ahead.

A lot can be said about large corporations forgetting the smallest business tenant of personal service trumping short-term profit margins.  True, Maple Grove Auto Service could have bent me over like Bree Olson in No Holes Barred #19 but instead they gained a positive customer, a positive review, and a little faith that my quaint suburb hasn't been completely engulfed in vapid pre-packaged franchises.

Drizz with hair!

At one time, or rather for all of my school years and getting rejected by the ladies there were hair products used and haircut done by a profession rather than a $9.99 set of clippers at Chez Drizz.

Fest your eyes on such creatures below:

Sorry for the crappy resolution but it's the best the free add-on scanner would do.

The first decade of friendship

I posed this question on Twitter, and its relevance is because I will be opening the box tonight for just the second time in ten years...

For those who are or were married:  you pair a lot of money (most likely but not universal) to have a professional photographer come to your wedding and snap photos, including of course the shot of all of the groomsmen trying to get the lace garter off the bride.  How often or how many times have you opened the box or photo album since those nupitals words were read?

Tomorrow, a flashback, and a look forward for two people who have been through a lot and will continue enjoying getting up at 4:30am each morning to see to happens the next day.

I love you Kari, and while I lose myself from time-to-time you are always there to point the way back to where I want to be.

Smells Like Favre Spirit

A little more than a year ago, the air musky with a hint of despiration smelling like Great Aunt Lovey's den.  Once the center of attention in year's past and as soon as that afternoon now contained a tired group of on-lookers and even more depleted group of players.  The raised poker table had six players left from the 2009 Binions Poker Classic Omaha Eight-or Better tournament as the clock turned into the single digits of the morning.  A far cry from the high rolling pros who called this casino home for the month long endurance series called the World Series of Poker for three decades, now forced to offer local grinders and discount tournament players a series at 1/10th the cost of the bracelet chasers and "famous" pros. 

A deranged woman who like someone just tossed her puppy into a microwave fidgeted back and forth with a sack of papers that became more and more of mess with every meth-addled step.  From my vantage point in the four seat, a group of scribes had rolled downtown from the Rio and decided to cheer on a half-deaf kid from Minnesota playing the one game he felt comfortable enough to sit with anyone.  Despite their tired faces, the smiles gave me a greater high than oxy, ecstasy, and Jesus ever could.  If you want to get into those writers shoes for a brief moment I highly suggest reading this post, then clicking here to buy Dr. Pauly's Lost Vegas. 

Hop over here for the skinny on the book

The blinds were at the point where no one had more than 10 big bets, and I was facing a raise in the big blind from the Hawaiian kid in the eight seat whom I chatted with a bit on the other tables.  A drink a hour was the pace but I was doing the Captain and Cokes more for the caffeine at this point and looked down at a ragged low hand.  Calling left me with three big bets and slighly more than his stack, and missing meant two more orbits as the prize money ramped up steeply (for me, remember I'm used to getting excited about final tables in chicken nugget buy-in online tourneys) from $1,000 to over $3K for fifth with $8,500 to the winner.  I made the call and as the dealer laid out a two low, all heart flop I checked my cards to see a lowly pair, a VERY weak low draw, and one heart but the Aica, HI native told me that he'd rarely played O8 and liked NLHE more.  So, immediately I cut out a bet and put on my face of granite.  A little sweat, a peek toward Otis, Mean Gene, the lovely CK (who finished 8th), Al Cant Hang, and F-Train and they all knew I was full of shit, but that didn't matter and would probably earn me a drink or two later.  For a few minutes my opponent hemmed and hawed, tried to half-muck his cards in order to get a reaction from me but once the pot got pushed I carefully slid those rags to the dealer and two hands later the Hawaiian was out and we were on break coming back to 50K/100K blinds and I'm holding just enough to squeak by an orbit without playing.

This isn't about that night which was probably one of my best gambling rolls I'd ever been on, and despite drinking for a solid 15 hours, three more 60-minute intervals of booze and Pai Gow would come because one does not refuse a drink (or four) from Al Cant Hang or the chance to watch an Otis  Degree All-In Moment at the Pai Gow tables with a greyhound resting in your hand. No, it's about the bluff I pulled which unfortunately is rare (because I suck playing poker sober) but the situation warranted it, unlike Mr. Brett Favre, my bluff did not cause the world's largest sport station to turn into a montage of my playing career.  One peep from "sources" and instead of Phil Mackey chatting on ESPN1500 about Vikings training camp and the resurgent Twins who looked strong against the Rays this week but fell short, he had to field questions about number four returning to the purple today instead of after week one of the preseason for the length of his noon to two spot.  Then at five p.m. with dinner at my parent's place, Sportcenter dribbled out Ed Worthless live from the Favre compound and another 25 minutes of filling up my favorite show with bloated "Favre is retiring" themes.

photo cred: here

You could have sucked up 100 days of oil spill with that vortex of hot air.  Good grief people, I about as rabid Minnesota Vikings fan as you can get and I'm sick of it.  After the news came out I fully ready to publish a Onion-like parody with Favre pulling off the biggest practical joke ever by screwing over the Vikes in last season's finale with the interception that erased a missed FG by Gary Anderson as the most painful Minnesota sporting memory, arm and arm with a laughing Ted Thompson behind the scenes shouting GREEN AND GOLD FOREVER from his trusty John Deere riding lawn mower in the middle of Lambeau.  But, the man gave me the most exciting year as a fan ever.  Even more than 1998.  For that he gets a little shred of respect and hope that the media circus pulls up its tent stakes quicker this year.

Just play or don't play Brett.  Either way, thank you.

Wild Thing. You Walk Everything.

The second white spray painted line was drawn with a little hitch over a recently tar-patched crack.  I looked down to make sure my gazelle-like stride would not exceed the make shift foul line.  "Three balls for five dollars, throws must be made from behind the line" barked the carny with curly auburn hair and black metal rimmed glasses. 

County fairs are an off-shoot of major league baseball's minor league system.  Each major county in Minnesota has one as I'm sure the same could be told in other states, but only a few states could rival the grandness of the Minnesota State Fair (three weeks, reallly?!!?). These county fairs are usually run by the D-crew of the state fair, carnies traveling the US trying to catch on with a bigger company or make enough to move on to the next city/county celebration.  We dropped by the Anoka County Fair this weekend to watch my brother turn my grandmother-in-law's old chevy into a metallic wrecking ball for five minutes.  Demo derbies are a sight to see if just once in your life.  The fans in the stands are most likely those from "Fight Club", those who fix your cars, serve dinners, deliver your mail, people who some snootier sort wouldn't notice unless they took their asses out of their $2,000 personally plated iPhones for two seconds.

The cliches never miss:  the biker with the sweat-soaked red hanky on his head with a generous beer gut stretching that 99 cent wife-beater for every taiwanese made fiber with a heavy sleeve-less leather jacket over the top.  The very pregenant 16 year old holding a baby while alternating hands to take a drag on a Red.  Various assortments of breasticles popping out of multiple exposed bra straps and jean shorts tight enough to look painted on.  The wirey old leathered tanned guy that weighted 80 pounds before breakfast was in the pits offering his services for a fee or a bottle. 

The sparks fly as two cars race to the middle of the slicked, muddy track to smash the watermelon in the middle, good for $50 and basically your entry fee back.  One such race for the melon left its driver dazed enough to take down her fluorescent orange stick signaling she called it quits.  But, being knocked out first wasn't the end of the disappointment as race was stopped while seven firemen and women tried to extract the 300+ pound driver from the car.  No idea how she managed to get in, but getting out required the jaws of life, an exposed ass crack and mega sling-shot sized animal print thong that I will never be able to un-see, and perhaps a Daddy-size can of butter flavored Crisco.

After taking a crippling blow to the radiator, my brother finished 6th out of 13 cars, good for $25 and a deal at the cheese curd stand.  After being beaten down for two hour in the heat it was time to blow money on the midway before heading to friend's place for previously feathered animals on a grill.  As the story left off above my first three tosses were of the Ricky Vaughn pre-skull crosses glasses variety and almost managed to miss the entire giant inflatable batting cage-like structure.  "Four balls for $5 and you automatically win a small prize".  After dumping off my walk-around poker bankroll at home because having several hundred dollars bills in your pocket at a carnvial seems less than smart, I had three singles to my name.  My wife of 9 years 361 days (see what I did there?) offered the extra two bucks for male ego purposes. 

The length was a little beyond the 60' 6" and flat with a hole where the catcher's mitt should be, but I trying to reach back to 1993 and throw a low to middle 80 mph fast ball and get the auto-win as posted "Male:  Any pitch over 75 mph wins".  I found those days are WAAAAAAAAAY behind me after tossing three balls under 65, and my fourth was no better at 62 and hitting the outlined right handed batter in the helmet.  Fifth and sixth pitch had Harry Doyle going: Juuuuuuuust a bit outside ball six.  Wife with arms crosses and a father having to decide between which kid he wants to hear whine because the other one got the auto-prize, I toed the line one more time.  This time a kid in a blue Minnetonka jersey stood in the box with the only catcher brave enough to catch me wearing the black and orange of Osseo high school behind the plate as I dropped my arm and let the ball fly versus trying to do some John Daly twist before throwing....

"Double Winner!" the kid in the yellow polo shirt cried.  The dejected Minnetonka Skipper batter walked back to the dugout as I handed over two multi-colored inflatable hammers to happy kids after the perfect strike down the middle hit the hole with a thump and $10 wasted let an old man smile like the 120 pound kid with the jersey that barely fit and belt that required extra holes 17 years ago.  I don't know if the carny had a button for the speed gun to display a number of his choosing but it was enough to walk away with an empty wallet and a former athlete's pride intact.

A note to financial planner Michelle Bachmann

Hi there Michelle.

Photo cred at her website

I heard you were busy yesterday during the hearing on Internet Gambling Regulation.

Your quote:

"With our economy struggling as it is and unemployment hovering around 10%, this bill rewards offshore gambling corporations at the expense of American workers," Bachmann stated. "This legislation will kill American jobs and open up another revenue source for an already reckless and bloated federal government. We should be putting forth legislation that promotes responsible behavior and sound financial planning. This bill completely misses the mark"

I'm afraid my dear YOU are the only one "missing the mark".  The bill, if you bothered to read it, is to bring regulation and most likely those offshore gambling corporation back home creating jobs in *gaps* America!  Yes, home of the Freedom Fries, Nicole Scherzinger, and people who pay your salary might play online poker.  Your babbling about the unemployment rate makes no sense because online gambling didn't just spring up yesterday.  It was there for the boom and bust of the economy, and it will be there for the next boom and the next bust.  If someone's flush draw doesn't get there, the person does not lose their job.

It is not going away.

Tell me madame representative do you understand how many people these offshore gambling sites employ?  Did you bother to try to understand there are potential jobs coming home for those who were forced to move away when the UIGEA was slipped underneath the Watergate hotel room's door?   Those jobs include many different sectors:  advertising, marketing, accounting, management, IT, and even some writing jobs for us bloggers who manage to wrest away from our crippling Red Bull and Atomic Fireballs addictions. 

Promote responsible behavior and sound financial planning?  Oh, like my 401k which took a 40% nosedive in the past two years?  Or how about my underwater mortgage that I have dilegently been paying on and improving for the past four years but the property value continues to sink despite adding a new roof, new driveway, new windows and siding, and stainless steel appliances and a rockin' hardwood floor in the kitchen that doubles as a slip and slide for my kids when they get bored.  Does this shock you that a loving husband of ten years, doting father of two for seven years, who holds two jobs and goes to school full-time might play online poker and has not resorted to knocking over the local Chuck E. Cheese for game tokens?

Kill American jobs?  Tell me Michelle Bachmann just how does this bill effect YOU.  It does not.  It effects me greatly.  With the extra income from writing about online poker I was able to return to school because my second paycheck allows me to pay the portion of the tution that federal education loans would not cover. In fact YOU are trying to kill MY job and my education in attempt to earn a bigger piece of the "American Dream" that seems to be your song-and-dance presented to rile up more vote.  Next time you think you are helping the American people and those who reside in your own state with unresearched spew like your actions and statement above, look at the toes you are stepping on to get there.  Please explain which American jobs are going to be loss when online gambling sites no longer need to flee to Isle of Man or Gibralter because of reckless politicans telling hard-working Americans how they should spend their paycheck.

I admit I have but one vote but I have a voice and if someone else reads this and agrees it becomes two votes, and so on. 

Sincerely,



A life-long Minnesotan

Life with panoramic views

Take one minute to see.

Take one minute to encompass yourself in your current surroundings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never bet against a drunk

As noted I purchased my flight earlier in the night before getting my drink on.

I play good poker while under the influence occasionally.

Note Mr. Craig's finish in 10th, I got my first Pro bounty in four years playing at Full Tilt :)  This paid for the trip I couldn't afford easily just five hours ago.  The donkey drunk gods have provided as I start to play Rush Poker cash, and lose a flopped  straight to a rivered  boat that called all-in on the turn.

$1 to everyone and something pretty for Maigrey at Sephora.

Off to the trailer/cabin this weekend for guy's weekend and come home for a night of fun at PokerStarsBlog starting off with the Battle of the Planets, then Sunday Warm-up, and finishing with the Audi TT giveaway:  Turbo Takedown.

Peace folks.

WPBT is da place to BE!

If you know about the upcoming annual blogger's attempt to drain every ounce of alcohol and donkey blood from the poker tables of Las Vegas during the WPBT Winter Classic  from the lovely April then prepare yourself to hear Wilson Phillips on Decemeber 7th of the year 2010 because I'll be there for my birthday this year!

Yeah, hopefully there's not the same results as last time that found my drunk ass in need of two wheeled transportation.  And this year I'm going early and staying at the lavish MGM Grand because those beds (should I ever go to the room) are a recharging station for the awesomeness of seeing my degenerate friends in their natural environment.

Wed 8-Dec-10


Minneapolis (MSP)
Depart 4:00 pm
Terminal 2 to Las Vegas (LAS)
Arrive 5:20 pm
Terminal 1 1,294 mi
(2,082 km)
Duration: 3hr 20mn
SY
Flight: 103



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



3Economy/Coach Class ( Seat assignments upon check-in More Information ), Boeing 737-700





--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Total distance: 1,294 mi (2,082 km)

Total duration: 3hr 20mn





Mon 13-Dec-10



Las Vegas (LAS)

Depart 6:05 pm

Terminal 1 to Minneapolis (MSP)

Arrive 11:05 pm

Terminal 2 1,294 mi

(2,082 km)

Duration: 3hr 0mn

SY

Flight: 104



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



3Economy/Coach Class ( Seat assignments upon check-in More Information ), Boeing 737-800





--------------------------------------------------------------------------------





Total distance: 1,294 mi (2,082 km)

Total duration: 3hr 0mn











Hotel summary



Wed Dec-8-2010 (5 nights)



MGM Grand Hotel and Casino



3799 Las Vegas Blvd S

Las Vegas, NV 89109

United States of America

Check in: Wed Dec-8-2010

Check out: Mon Dec-13-2010

Flannel Utopia Redux

While traveling along Hwy. 371 towards a group of towns in Northern Minnesota that are reknown for their rustic resort-type settings it was a chance to catch my breath for the two hour drive.  A ten-hour day at the bullseye ended with starting an overheated car thanks to the summer's blanket of humidity that produced ass sweats like I'd just finished a triatholon (which would never happen since 15 minutes on the stationary bike usually taps my lung's gas tank).  The ride was quiet thanks to the absence of kids in the car seats behind me, the road opened up once past the clog of cars in the city limits of the self-proclaimed "Halloween Captial of the World" Anoka, MN.  Not sure if that distinction is the best since Halloween has turned from innocent pillow covers stuffed with candy into skanks stuffing bras (not that there's anything wrong with that).

Becker, Big Lake, Rice (with a rather evil population of 666), the college town of St. Cloud, all past by before hitting the Baxter/Brainerd/Nisswa triage of resort towns.  Usually, since this is an even year, we would be soaking up the sun in Isle of Palms, SC while renting out two beach houses and watching my daughter chase crabs up and down the massive sandlot.  But, since "the economy" is in play we're taking in the odd years tradition of heading to my eldest uncle's house for a round of golf and pot luck spread while watersports awaited for those inclined to do so. 

The kids arrived at the hotel/waterpark before their father and were already an hour into double-tubing down the slides and getting knocked over every half-hour by this massive bucket of water.  Road weary but happy to get out of the monkey cubical suit, I would join for a bit before two poolside drinks and fatigue from a long three months of school/work/blogging took it's toll and rendered me unusable. 

Tee times at Crosswoods Golf Course for 12 of us were early enough to catch the stillness of what makes Northern Minnesota so great.  The lack of mosquitos and cars noises allow you to soak in the massive pines and oaks peppered with nature stealing those wayward Titlests into their forest homes (I donated more than a few).  My golf game mirrors my pitching "career", wild with flashes of brilliance.  The first with everyone watching the golf gods were kind enough to grant me a gentle fade, splitting the fairway 330 yards and leaving my team of four a mere 50 yards to the forward pin.  We won't recount the shanks after this because the mini-cooler of mass produced beer was emptied as quickly as we could fill it.  A 65 was carded but couldn't notch the young guns' 63 as they used Rodney Dangerfield's shotgun driver on every hole leaving themselves eagle putts when they should have been on the fairway hitting approach shots. 

After paying off the sidebets and getting most of it back for hitting a closest to pin on a Par 3, it was time for beer can chicken, off the bone ham, and desserts which fatten an ass by the chocolaty smells (I had thirds) back on Pelican Lake (pictured below).  Sadly mother nature was on the rag this afternoon and took out her fury in the form of tornado warnings and flash floods but that just gave us more time inside to catch up with my many cousins and chat about one's hockey teams as my uncle was well-known for coaching a AAA Junior team for many years and my cousin took helm shortly after to continue the tradition. 

(image from MinnesotaLakes.net)

The backroads leading towards the hotel and civilization made me wonder, in 20-25 years when that gold watch of retirement shows up and we celebrate a quick "thanks for working here, now please take your bloated salary out of here" sheet-cake party would I want to return to this blissful area or one like it just another two hours further north in Ely, MN (which I've writen before).  The sereneness of the area in the summer (don't mess with a Northern Minnesota winter unless you enjoy ice cubes for toes over six months)  could change my plans of becoming a snow bird and living half up north and half in the dry heat of Arizona or Texas. 

Then again, there's no guarantee that I'll play corporate survivor for the next 25 years and may find something else to my liking and end up down a very different path.  But, it will be fun getting there, that much I do know.

You Make the Call!

Safe or Out? (Photo courtesy of Neal Anderson)

The thing is I was more interested that kept his eye on the ball while catching it.

Couch: The Lost Time Machine

My apologies for blank space but the need to refuel writing outside of work that doesn't seem like work is very necessary.  Last night there was no hot tub, but a couch that was older than the two people sitting on it for most of the evening.  One every ten minutes or so, a four-year old would bounce up with a tired smile to curl up then take off without reason.  Besides the boarded up fireplace in the basement which shielded the nasty recent humidity front which cooled the area to be comfortable, was a large HDTV.  A relative relic now standing at six years old and weighs about 100 pounds but works well enough for the kids to have a place to watch Tom and Jerry re-runs or Monsters vs. Aliens on the dual VCR/DVD combo.  But, last night after my wife found some old VHS tapes we decided to take over the space for a short time traveling excursion.

The first was her playing in the 1990 14-year olds Minnesota State Softball tourney somewhere in northern Minnesota.  After seeing the dot matrix like white font with the year, date, and time as a constant reminder of OLD OLD OLD with every pitch during her team's defeat of 6-0, it took a quick look in the bathroom mirror with gray hairs sticking defiantly from my chin to confirm OLD OLD OLD.  As I hobbled back to the couch after pointing and laughing at its age thus tempting the structure to collpase, the second tape was put in

Mullets, fritzy hair, acne, indecision, depression, freedom, baseball, pep rallys, Grease:  The Musical, a future.  The 1994 Anoka Tornados Video Yearbook came across the screen and for the next hour finger-pointing at hair-dos, people my wife remembered included a sizable young man who was featured several times as royalty to the different dances took his life just one year after donning a faux-velvet crown and getting a stand-ovation as he walked across the basketball court floor.  The muscials shorts were well-produced, the clips of the debate team, foreign language, and every other student organization gave a short group "hello" to the camera along with the leaders nervously telling what future world problems they would solve (perhaps they could start with that BP oil spill and work their way to the US budget deficit

On a personal level I tried to remember my high school years as replays of the various dances came across the screen, and since my fawning over just two girls the entire time I walked the halls of Osseo Senior combined with the complete lack of confidence, I barely knew of all these after school dances, much less any after-school activity that didn't involve another round of advance math and science classes or baseball during the spring trimester.  The friends I shared locker space with are the same ones my kids play with their kids today.  Homely, for a guy who loves the bright lights of Vegas but I had my chance to break from my hometown if I so desired.  Being a freshman at Arizona State and holding my own academically but inside, fixing to jump off the top of one of those buildings if I didn't find something to latch onto, the decision was to return home and right the ship before I ended up like the gentleman above who took his own life despite being named a dream date by several girls wearing the school's maroon and white. 

The after the credits rolled and the couch returned us to an asleep child who needed a parent to take her upstairs to her beloved and ragged "K" pillow, and a mohawk'd one in Transformers PJs to his much faded blue lizard two kids had grown-up in different ways only to end up in a basement of a house built the year they were born to start the process again.  Will I be able to provide the push to my kids to achieve what they can instead of what is safe?  Can I help them find themselves so they do not have to endure the same painful adolescent years without a sense of direction and self-worth

For certain, they will get everything I know I can give them and perhaps things I didn't know I could get them.

LeBron James Signs With Detroit Lions

(AP) - Detroit, Michigan

*In a stunning turn of events Cleveland Cavaliers forward LeBron James has decided to leap across professional sports and signed this morning with the Detroit Lions.  The announcement came during the third hour of the "LeBron James Nokia Open Press Conference" sponsored by McDonald's just as they were going to show that highlight of James hitting a game-winning shot for the 16th time, James approached the stage set up in an undisclosed area of Detroit for fear of potential gate crashing by people frustrated from living in Detroit.

"I have dream..."  began the 6-8 250 lbs. man who averaged nearly 30 points a game last season but managed to lose to a team that comprised of the 1978 All-Star team in the conference semifinals.  "And that dream is to draw Barry Sanders back to the Silverdome" continued James.  Quickly someone corrected He Who Thinks Too Highly Of Himself and told James that the Lions play at Ford Field the aloof All-Pro said "Ford?  Damn, I gots five of those in my fourth house's garage collecting rust, horrible pieces of *bleep*".

When asked what position James would play his manager Quincy Cuzo took the mic and explained his client "will be required to touch the ball 85% of the time while on offense and Matt Stafford would just have to suck it up".  No word if James has ever played football as researchers are hitting the phones of all Pop Warner and other junior league coaches from the Akron, Ohio area for the past 20 years.

Local Lions fan Rusty "Mad Dogg" Knutz who neighbors describe as "nails are as tough as him" had this to say:  "As long as I gets my McGriddle in the morning LeBob James can be mayor for all I care".  A mixed Knutz was asked to clarify his statement:  "Oh, he's gonna play for the Lions and he's not a wide reciever?!? hell it's time to show my Lions PRIDE" as he ripped open his unknown brownish substance t-shirt revealing a Lions logo which took up his entire chest.  The writer of this story refused Mr. Knutz's offer to show myself where the southernly pointing tail ended.

James is expected to sign for the deed to half of Detroit and "whatever cars have not been broken into" within that area.  No word on Brett Favre's reaction to this story.

*if you think any of this is true I suggest falling down three flights of stairs for clarity

Return to the land of the living

The ending was a beautiful half-painted orange-reddish ball on my right with that light reflecting off the glass of my workplace on the left as I crested over the final bridge and back to work after five days of being unplugged.

Relaxing?  As relaxing as a short family vacation can be, but sleep was made in bunches as having my laptop disconnected for five days certainly relieved me of stress as more important things like getting the kids up for a round of mini-putt or helping them on with their life-vests in the morning for the uncrowded pool.  When you're a parent you take your stress relief in bunches and try to enjoy them to the fullest.  Golf was rainy, but calm despite my ability to miss every five foot putt due to the crisp way a few drives came off my old set which is stored at the trailer/cabin.  There's very little that compares to watching the perfect flight of a golf ball or baseball when struck, if you don't play and think those athletes on TV are posing for the cameras, you'd be right about two percent of the time because I guarantee you if you're ever taken in the panoramic view of that floating sphere being lifted it's much like a decent sunrise to view.

Rest happened, plates with spare ribs touched by Jack Daniels were demolished, and I'm back to a crazy schedule while my friends in Vegas are in the home stretch as the World Series of Poker rages on with Day 1C starting up today.  Good luck in the trenches folks, may you wash off that donkey blood off before hitting up the Gold Coast Pai Gow tables for the next weeks.

As my present to myself for some sloth well-done, I snagged Red Dead Redemption after picking up my son's birthday present yesterday.  Hooked. 

Saying No Is Hard To Do

When I pulled into the open company parking lot this morning with just eight cars that would soon become over 500 and used a turn signal with nary another automobile running and had to back track to retrieve my awful picture badge after reaching the revolving door of the building it was another reminder.  A hint of the wear-and-tear that my eyes tell and body laboring a bit after a good stretch of work and school has left me in need of a disconnect.

It killed me to turn down someone who I doubt I've no to in two years, as I had to tell both gigs this was planned a month and a half ago.  No PokerStarsBlog, no Bluff Magazine, no laptop, only a cell phone with a number that only a few know will be open for texting me to share a drink or give me a conversation topic for the late night bonfires.  My black Toshiba Satellite will rest on top of the $2.99 beige foam support on the couch where my ass imprint is quite profound after two months while covering SCOOP, extra PokerStars Sunday Majors reporting, school. and the World Series of Poker.  No working thru the night and into this dark cubical where the lights haven't been lit as the parking lot mentioned above remains relatively bare.  General ledger analysis and highlighting text will need until next week when school starts up again.

This weekend was cleared to give my wife a husband for a solid five days since our real 10th year anniversary in a few months is surrounded by family obligations, work, and school.  Being off-the-grid will give no excuses to miss out on the Saturday four-man best-ball tourney or taking four kids in my golf cart up to the clubhouse for the best $1 swirled ice cream waffle cone you can find within 15 minutes of the Wisconsin border.  While it killed me to say no to work projects that I love, my son gave me a little perspective of how much I've been heads-down on my 15" monitor this summer.  He asked "daddy, do you have to go home early to work again?". 

"Not this time buddy". 

I'll see you Tuesday, and with any luck, I'll be rested but hungover.

Two Authors Two Books Today

Pauly's daily take on the WSOP is a must read.  Which makes he's opus on his journeys in Vegas something that should have been bought this morning.

Don't have the link?  I'll direct you to his site to provide.  Or click here for Lulu's site to purchase.

Kilt-donning, poem-slinging, home game crushing (ok two of those are correct).  Falstaff comes out on Lulu as well with his book Red Dirt Boy. 

Go now, go long, get the free shipping by combining the two!