Can, Bottled, or Tapped

Finally.

The open road.

It was an early start to a great adverture with loosely knit plans.  The cooler was stocked with some fine Minnesota microbrews from Town Hall, Great Waters, Fitger's, and of course Surly. A hop-filled travel log that was heading east on 94 towards Wisconsin to make rounds of places like New Glarus and Tyranena and maybe discover a few more on the way.

Photo Cred:  Rachellb.com

The snow finally made its way off the highways and the only thing slowing us down were the notoriously fickle Wisconsin State Troopers who lined every part of the highway from Hudson to Milwaukee.  My wallet was a little fat from some skillful lucky runs in poker so degenerate stops at a few tribal casinos was in order, especially since their poker rooms were allowed to spread no limit unlike the Minnesota rooms were. 

Tree, brews, friends, and most of all, no schedule.  No rigidly formatted APA-approved stamped papers to write, while I would miss their genuine hugs and smiles, no kids to shuffle off to their activity of the night, and no sudden must-make social gatherings to attend.  Just road, fermented hops, poker, and stories that are only told when a gathering of long-time friends meet, much like the yearly sojourn to Vegas for like minded poker writers.

The smell of a great plate of wings with a strong whiff of cayenne peppers and liquid smoke came under my nose as I was just around to dip it in a ranch with sprinkled Lowry's and pepper mixture when...

...it was time to turn off and go north on 169 and head to work in the dark.

Maybe this summer.

Definitely this summer.

But a choice will need to be made as I cannot do both.  A possible trip around cheesehead land in search of great frothy drinks ending with a possible baseball game in Milwaukee or Chicago.  Or taking another low-roller shot at the WSOP with possible backing and see all my writing friends toiling away along press row and setting up some late night hooker bar/pai gow/strip club goodness.

What the future brings it brings as being under a metric ton of snow this winter has left me daydreaming of letting go of my tightly-knit schedule for a week and remembering that while working hard gets you to where you want to go, it doesn't give the destination.

A different kind of recap

The past five days have been a chance to catch up on what has been hovering out me while I do my best Rodney Dangerfield impersonation minus the team of experts to write papers for me and the ability to pull off the triple lindy.

With the ladies doing their thing:

Color me amazed that she sat still for 20 minutes

I took the boy out for a guy's day (alas with no pictures, but a short video coming soon).  First, off a trip to Perkins for a hearty breakfast to soak up any remains of the previous evening's run to another victory in my favorite $5 PLO MTT for $200.  Quick aside on that:  It is now a multi-entry tournament at Full Tilt and while I don't buy all four entries, giving someone with an iota of clue for Omaha and making the final table one in three times (with a field around 250-300) isn't that tough. As seen with the FTOPS Main Event 7 out of 9 players were in for the max (6 entries), only two of them managed to get thru the massive 14K+ field to reach a shot at the $1 million prize (chopped by Blair Hinckle). 

Did I have 6 * $640 to maximize my shot at a win?  Hell no, at least I wouldn't put out a good HUGE chunk of my bankroll to do so.  But, I DO have the funds to buy in multiple times at the levels I'm comfortable with ($5-$10 MTTs).  People who satellite in are left with the same issues as if they won a ticket to a rebuy tourney.  But, the responsibility goes to the person who is in the satellite, not Full Tilt, not those who can afford to blow nearly $4K, know the rules before playing the game.  There's good (massive prize pools) and bad (elite players can play looser knowing they get more than one barrel), again know the rules and plan your game accordingly, for the record I had two entries of the 277 that signed up on Thursday night, one finished in 53rd after aces were cracked, the other won the whole thing.

Now after biscuits, gravy, chicken fried steak, gravy, homestyled potatoes, and you know it MORE GRAVY it was time to hit the road with the first stop at SkyZone.  After getting to the massive trampoline park we were greeted by a massive line of weird high school/toddlers mix and a clipboard stating the next jump time available was another hour and a half away.

No worries.

Quick dash home since my cell phone is the equivalent of something you'd see during a 80's John Hughes marathon on TMC and fired up the laptop to make reservations for later in the afternoon to give us time for a movie before playing dodgeball on trampolines with kids.  To my surprise the boy picked out Gnomeo and Juliet over MegaMind, after which I demanded he do two shots of Jack with me for manliness.  But the movie didn't start for an hour so we killed time at the local Dave and Busters where I refrained from a little hair of the dog and focused on winning enough prize tickets for the stuffed orange gorilla he wanted.

King Kong acquired and a Chipotle stop for more alcohol soaking goodness, this time wrapped a tortilla and smoothered with sour cream and pulled pork.

The movie did not disappoint as I managed to stay awake and enjoy it unlike last time while at the IMAX theater up in Duluth when I somehow fell asleep to the Dinosaurs documentary despite the volume going to 11. 

Finally, hopped up on excitement we got to strap-on the blue boots at SkyZone to jump around like an idiot for an hour.  I lasted 30 minutes as my knees and dignity quickly fell in short succession.  My son however bounced his way around, up and down, flipping into a foam pit, and taking a Globo Gym-esque sized shot to the mid-section (he would have a tear and beg to get into another game five minutes later).  For $12 and an hour it was an awesome value. Then it was homeward bound for a pizza picnic (THAT'S INDOORS BECAUSE MOTHER NATURE INSISTS ON FISTING MINNESOTA LIKE A FIVE DOLLAR HOOKER IN THE BACK ALLEY OF HENNEPIN AVENUE). 

Sorry.

I really hate snow.

Back to family time, and no I do not have Tourette's but would take every ounce of patience not to forearm shiver someone who is excited by the nearly two feet of snow we've received in the last two days. 

SKIING YEA!  FRESH POWDER!!!1111 

*thump*

Find a three foot icicle and promptly fuck yourself.  After five months of winter "sick of it" doesn't cut it, swearing and drinking are my equalizers.

Ok.  Back to the family moment.

Pizza, yes.  Me and missus who returned home from their day and new nails enjoyed bacon, pineapple, black olives and pepperoni while the kids opted for just the pepperoni as we watched Despicable Me which despite a bad review from my sister-in-law was very watchable and I dare say funny.  Loved the The Godfather/head of horse scene that Gru gets after the girls are sent back to the orphanage.

Both promptly took to their beds while I barely remember getting into mine.  For one day, daddy didn't have to "get a paper done" or "work", no instead daddy got some time to refuel the parenting engine and let his kids know the real reason why he's behind that laptop all the time.

Wheaton's School of Hard Work

O Hai!


Not "back", just never gone and usually have my head stuffed in a textbook, directions on how to nuke dinner, or playing the ridiculously addicting Call of Duty:  Black Ops late at night.  Despite being a self-named gamer, I have never seriously played a first person shooter game since Castle Wolfenstein and even then it was nothing more than a fun diversion to my usual game playing on the Diablo series.

Well, I learned a lot in the past week.  Drinking a third of a handle of Captain Morgan in three hours almost proved disastrous as pictures have popped up from last weekend's ice fishing tournament that I have no memory of.  All I remember is laying down eating the best turkey and pepperjack cheese sandwich known to mankind while staring at the two moons of Mars, then waking up the next morning with thigh bruises, a hard hat, and a sore neck.  If I didn't know better I thought someone shipped me down to Key West for the night with a construction crew.

On the academic front, thanks to the readers here I have made peace with MR. APA with fifteen different letters after his name.  A little aside however as I was trying to understand his grading policy, I finally got him to admit what he was really looking for.  After asking about a course-long research paper and what the requirements were on length, girth, and thrusting motion he responded "I am not interested in the content, only want to see if it is in APA-approved formatting".

*thump* 

Jaw meet floor.

Yeah, my efforts to polish a paper to make these wingtips shine, I was being told to get my shinebox and stop fretting over a few sentences and just put them in the box correctly.  As I've repeated several times while going thru this academic journey to capture this allusive degree, my motivation is not the piece of paper (although its a nice side benefit much like getting paid to write about poker).  Its the learning.  I enjoy it.  For the years between being an eager corporate beaver looking to impress and bypassing those dark years of my head injury, leading to where today I refuse to sit around watching life go by any longer.  Wil Wheaton who is known to type readable words and make a funny via podcast once every era, recently felt the need to clarify calling out some slackers on twitter

"If high school was "boring" and college was "too hard", don't complain about your "dead end minimum wage" job, twentysomething."

And followed it up with this gem:

"On the other hand, if you're one of those kids who told me to go fuck myself, get off my lawn and go back to school. Work hard, because nothing worth doing is ever easy, and the more knowledge you have, the more options you have, so you won't have to spend your life in a dead end job that you hate. Trust me, you'll be glad you did. Maybe not now, maybe not in a year, but some time in the Mysterious Future when you're feeling cranky at the Damn Kids Today you'll be able to shake your cane at them with authority."

Bravo Mr. Wheaton, here's your shiny gold star and Magic: The Gathering 5,000 card set for $1,000,000 (but could you kick in the $14.99 for shipping and maybe the million as I'm $999,950.27 short) as you described my worthless ass a few years ago.  Unmotivated, unrewarded, looking for a hand-out, and not seeing what I had which was an incredible support system of friends and family and doing nothing by sitting on my ass singing "Nothing Else Matters" on repeat while plunking away at keys to whine about it.

Call it finding yourself, call it a revelation, call it admitting that your parents were right.  Just don't call it in anymore and try to make something of yourself if you don't like that person in the mirror.  And especially don't turn around to other to bitch about it, your self-motivation problems are not theirs.  I have found thru this blog and others I read on a daily basis that people are glad to help if you have a plan, a goal, an end-game.  No one is going to click that PayPal donation box if you don't write, why expect them to give a handout if your daily routine consist of sitting outside of a 7-11 ala Jay and Silent Bob wondering how you got there.

Bad luck happens, I know I've taken my share of bad variance, but I refuse to give up until my body can take no more.  Hopefully those twentysomethings Wil mentioned take a look at themselves, and notice there's a reason why he's got the cash (if you don't, I suggest going thru his blog's archives). 

It's called hard work (if you read his blog, my mind is BLOWN at how busy he is and that's coming from someone who starts his regular day at 4:30am and gets home from the library/kids activity at around 8:30pm).

 

Using a frozen lake as a bar

I did not have my ear removed ala J. Paul Getty III.

I am not suffering from any lasting effects of a disease.  Unless you count immaturity as a bad pathogen, or this headache caused by a mix of lack of resting and mother nature forgetting to take her Midol.

Healthy and still kicking.  Busy and loving it.  Annoying giving the middle finger to an otherwise stressful time of year.  Talks of Brooklyn Center, a suburb near the border of Minneapolis, is perhaps diving into their biggest potential for tourism by molding city orgs to built a Surly Brew Pub and allow them to flourish versus continue being contained by restricted barrel laws.  At the moment the city's claim to any fame is a rotting mall called Brookdale, which as a kid I spent many a weekends there but now it is riddled with empty space getting emptier, the surrounding businesses like the bar on the southern side of the complex has changed hands more than a collection plate at church.  Surly is offering tourism, potential jobs (the awesomeness of being nearly require to drink on the job?), and most of all tax revenue.   Don't mess this one up BC, although my and my friend's wife joked they probably wouldn't see much of us if it is built.

Truth.

Normally I take tonight to make an ass of myself online while giving away poker funds.  Tonight however due to tattooing APA-formatting tramp stamp style to my body and hoping to soak in the bibilography goodness via diffusion, it will be a night of killing online pixels via Call of Duty.  While my gaming chops are at an all-time low, the fun is needed to break up MR Jackhole's inevitible half-comments to my short four page research paper which sits neatly on a Microsoft Word document waiting to be to primped for the Sadie Hawkins dance.  There have been internal promises to read his grading with a bottle and shot glass nearby while reading phenomally bent prop betting stories like the one F-Train linked to last night concerning a huge running bet in which Ashton Griffin ran 70 miles in 24 hours for $300,000. 

I think Otis is off the hook for eating crayons now. STEAK AND EGGS BABY!!

Check back this weekend as Drizz goes ice fishing.  Kinda.  Actually I'm just out there to drink.  And not fall in, and spend most of my time in the heated fish houses which has the feel of being in a hot tub outdoors in the mountains but no swimsuits or boobs to ogle at. Imagining such shapes thru three inches of gore-tex is a bit of a stretch.

I will not be working this weekend, but last weekend's Sunday Warm-up had some heavy star power when four Team PokerStars pros were among the final 24 including Daniel Negreanu. But it would physist, metal rocker, and overall hottie newly minted Team PokerStars pro Liv Boeree taking home the $148K first prize after an aerial dogfight with James mig.com Mackey, you can check out my recap at the PokerStarsBlog or the video recap at PokerStars.TV . 

One of the bigger ones I've covered, hope I didn't screw it up.  Cheers to enjoying whatever and whomever fills your glass.

I am not APA approved

Two of my friends are going thru two types of stress right now.  Mrs. Chako has quantity stress while the good doctor Chako tangles with quality stress.  Anyone would gladly take quantity over quality in this case as we're not talking about football or sex.

Being a busy person myself quantity stress is a part of my life now and will be until March of 2013 when I fly down to Florida to don a cap and gown, with probalities of trekking to Key West as a self-release from three years of work-schoo-familyl-work-school-me time-school type schedule and work myself into a rum-induced coma along Duval Street.

Unforunately, one of my professors continues to press quantity stress into quality stress with needling that irks my personality.  I am a firm believer in quality work, that if the product's quality outweighs a structured outline then it should be graded as such.  Not Mr. APA-jackhole.  Oh, the citations are super-neato spiffy now thanks to Lightning and his wife's suggestion (the citation creator on Microsoft Word worked like a charm THANKS!).

The assignment "Describe a personal situation in which YOU had to overcome cultural differences in communication".  Not a problem since my company merged some of its duties overseas and I have daily emails/calls/IMs from the crew across the Atlantic.  This interview-styled paper would be a snap.  Of course when I receive such papers back there's no mention of the quality, only the quantity has it has been for this quarter.

"You cannot use first person verse" was the only comment.

This is poo.

Thankfully Otis gave me a sample of writing from personal experience without using first person verse which I will be attempting to use for future assignments, but outside of Bobby Bracelet's third person mastery I was a bit stumped as to how to go about this.  It's a PERSONAL experience, not writing from someone else's experience and breaking down their prose.  Also, not one mention of the content.  It's almost as if the professor skims the paper (entirely possible) for APA-related errors and moves on.

I don't half-ass assignments, I write them as if someone is paying me to do so but if this is how the education system works (for this guy at least) and this professor is forcing me to play his game, so be it.  You will receive what you ask for:  robotic, monotone scribble BUT in perfect APA formatting.  Sir.

This is killing half the reason I returned to school. Yes, pretty paper with official seals and Dean of Whatsamatta U's signature on it is the end-game, but feeling good about the work produced, writing for a purpose much like I do on the weekends, is what I really wanted.  I gave up on floating thru the remainder of my breaths four years ago after hitting rock bottom for myself, my kids, and most of all my wife.  Sure days filled with a bland 9 to 5 job, Call of Duty, porn, alcohol, bars, and take out pints orange chicken with cream cheese wontons sounds great, but I wanted more and my friends and family deserve more.

And despite the professor's will to blacken my return to school, I'll play his game for now and prevent the quantity stress from becoming quality stress. 

Bringing on the Pimp Hand

I'm going to be link happy today because well, I need to write for school and a side job for the walking party himself.

First off, Dr. Pauly steps over to Poker From the Rail at Full Tilt to give his thoughts on the summer festival of poker love otherwise know as the World Series of Poker.  Check it out here:  Dr. Pauly and the 2011 WSOP Schedule.

Next up Grange has been crushing the law books for humble folks like myself who want to know more about what roadblocks are ahead in this uphill battle for legal virtual felt poker on United States soil.  Read his latest:  The Intersection of Law and Online Poker - Personal Jurisdiction and feel your brain expand a bit in the process.  Do not however, follow his advice on NFL team teams to root for tomorrow ( NO PACK NO!!! ) nor how to play 58 offsuit in position (he will never live this down, until of course the Packers win tomorrow and we're forced to bow to Rodgers Nation and do the Raji for a year.)

If you don't read these two blogs already, I suggest stepping up your 9600 baud modem to something more modern.  Or zombies may eat you.  Hyperbole and a Half and The Bloggess think somewhere between the box, the moon, and that back corner seat of  a muni that no one sits in. 


Your humble writer blogger will be covering the Sunday Warm-up at PokerStarsBlog tomorrow during the Super Bowl but the peace and quiet will make up for missing out on my buddy's chili.

Have a great weekend folks and remember NO PACK NO!

Mister Mister

I had my own DYKWTFIA moment the other day and frankly to throw in a movie line "I'm too old for this shit".



It was bound to happen and perhaps a few of you academically inclined people out there who stand in front of students giving your knowledge on a subject of choice, could tell me the right way of going about this:

The college I attend online suggest a website called Noodlebib to record all citations and give the wonderful people who teach us about the Nodes of Ranvier, Myelin sheath, and Schwann cells credit for their knowledge much like a picture on a blog.  For my first year I ran into zero problems using the site and getting credit for doing so.

Enter the crabby professor.

Yes, he had a bio page at least a page long that was filled with books released, academic titles unknown to myself and 99.9% of the world, awards, created cold fusion, and probably got a blowjob from Raquel Welsh in London during his wild and crazy days at Oxford while on a Fulbright scholarship.  Bravo.  *golf clap*

Yes, you win the prize sir

.


For the first five weeks of this class I get papers returned saying "not in APA format" as the only deduction in my grade.  In other words, the paper was fine but because I didn't use 13.75 Wing-Dings font and 5.29" indentations while using a school recommended website, I lost points.

I do not like this.  Again, 12 classes taken, zero problems.

So I type a quick email asking if he could point out the errors of the program so I appease his anal retentive ass.  I may have used other words after all this is a Professional Communications class.  I get the reply:

"I did not tell you to use Noodlebib, you are responsible for knowing how to use citations in APA format" signed MR. Johnson (bolded on the email as in DYKWTFIA!?!?).

Frankly, I don't care about the nit-picking (and I MAY have replied with his own assignment directions to use Noodlebib putting it in quotes, I heart pointing out things like that) and its bad because even in the corrected copy even he did not cite correctly, that's besides the point.  The point is the MR part as I started the email using his first name.  This is not high school, I pay to go to college, I am 36 years old and the last time I referred to a male as mister it was accepting my baseball letter from Osseo High School from Mr. Anderson (I think that was the coach's name) about 18 years ago as a 130 pound waif of a senior with a live arm, bad skin, and no self-respect.  For you professor and teacher types out there, and well anyone who enjoys "status", do you require or want to be called Ms. Mrs. Mr.? 

Now I have a big exception for Doctor, you earned that and fully deserve that in front of your name even after you're unable to solve the puzzle on Wheel of Fortune with all the letters turned over.  Mister is a title you get for having a dick or in this case being one, I suppose some doctors are dicks but they were not born with knowledge of the body and earned the title through a mountain of student loans, long study nights, and ramen noodles.

The question I have for the 20 or so people who probably know me personally, how does one respond so I don't have a big bullseye on my head for the remainder of the class?

  Do you know how popular I am?!!?!?

The gift that keeps giving

Image credit

When I finally looked up there was a 30 foot floodlight post with chipped brown paint standing tall hovering over me.  The sounds of the skating rink were a little different than I remembered growing up even if the little warming house still remained the same.  Sure the vending machine changed a bit from a quarter to $.75 with one of those new fangled dollar acceptors connected to it.  But the wood benches, puke spackled rubber floor and multi-colored brick interior with a lingering smell only hockey players could enjoy (or tolerate) still made up the hexagon shaped building.

I laid back for several minutes listening.  To the wind which brought a sharpness to an otherwise tame Minnesota early evening.  To the skaters which I could hear every c-cut and snowplow stop in the ice and could tell if they should be running down to Dave's Sport Shop on the other side of I-94 for the best skate sharping in town.  My kids were directly ahead of me but half of a football field length ahead of me on the "practice rink" on which if a hockey stick appeared the husky lady would don her Maple Grove Park and Rec jacket and give a few shouts until the heathens put away their warrior spears made by Reebok instead of Christian Brothers now.  The slap of the puck sounded differently as well, the wobbly mis-fires much different from the shots that rattled the back of the make-shift red pipe and fence goals.

My hearing aids have brought new sounds and experiences into my life since dropping a third of a Honda Civic on the Paparella  Ear, Head, and Neck Institute in exchange for those noises heard above.  Some people stuff a pipe and smoke its contents to feel, hear, and smell different things, I have molded plastic in my ears so I can do the same.  The crunch of the snow while extracting my body from the snow bank to join my kids on the pleasure rink and pick one up to hear "go faster daddy!" as I go a little slow than I did as a lanky 130 pound center who spend plenty of time avoiding goons who were, well my size now but probably didn't have the 10 years of bar fly experience in high school.

We would visit the double-sided hockey rink twice last weekend and both times the new music of the place gave me the pause to sit back and let the sounds come in.  That and I found out quickly my 36 year old body can't take more than three rushes up and down the opposing red lines without being completely wiped any longer.  Even nearly two years after shedding a tear inside my car after receiving this wonderful gift, the present still gives and will continue to do so. 

Change starts with getting out of bed

Thundercats, thundercats, thundercats, HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Let's see we brought back Transformers and "found" Megan Fox, who will profit and become the lust of males once Cheetara makes it to the big screen?

The WBCOOP kicked off with a PLO on Monday afternoon which like most hard working cubical-bound workers I was not able to attend.  Last night, I was bound to my headless chicken schedule that had me going from a 10 hour day at the office and exiting the new Maple Grove library at closing time with a fictional tax return done for Bob and Amy Booth who will be receiving $1,337 Sklansky Bucks in the mail from the IRS or Mason Malmuth thanks to me finding an extra deduction for washing Amy's nursing uniform.  Tax deductions?  I jump on it.  Still hoping to play the PLO8 tourney tonight (nope, skating classes for the kids), and definitely the Thursday night round when my textbooks are shoved aside to let my inner degen before my body gets crippled into something resembling responsibility *shudder*

I see Michelle Bachman once again spouts the evils of ObamaCare (see third or fourth video) last night and continues her waffling ways of demeaning BIG government while continuing to tell gamblers they should not be allowed to spend their money the way they want to while fighting the repel of the UIGEA.  America is not Burger King Ms. Bachman, you can't have it your way and expect the country to run.  As I learned yesterday as I spoke with a co-worker about religion (I know, shouldn't do that) that according to her Muslims will be continuing their blood-thirsty war until all other's are wiped from the earth.  And using my face reading skills, she was dead serious.  The uninformed people of the US, and there are many, are the greatest threat to this country.  Even I regret to know nor understand the inner-workings of our government and politics in general but I do understand that neither "party" is working for that middle ground and that goes for the State of the Union speaker last night as well.

To expect everyone to wake up educated on what is going on is a practice in futilely.  Much like trying to teach Waffles tilt-control or bankroll management, the majority of this country is lower-middle income God-fearing people who believe what they see on the TV, and do not research the vast amount to information available on the internet to see if a story is true.  If their pastor, rabbi, other person-of-the-cloth says its true and dangummit it MUST BE!  The hypocrisy of things like holding a state lottery and not allowing gambling, or politicians like Michelle Bachman who slam big government (rightfully so) but offer no solutions (maybe she does but in all the videos I have seen of her its nothing but finger-pointing versus a platform). 

Nothing will change here until someone steps up to solve the problem.  My wheels have been spinning career wise much like Ferris Bueller's Ferrari when him and Cam tried reversing the mileage so I did something about it.  The bachelor's degree doesn't guarantee me a job, far from it, but at least there is no glass ceiling from the position I want "Supreme Overlord Galxicia King of the Spreadsheet" if you must know or "Staff Accountant".  Instead of sitting in my current position waiting for a hand out, waiting for divine intervention, I got active.  Most people in this country think a higher title, more money, is being "active" or "winning".  Absolutely wrong.  It's feeling good about where you are, and where you are going.  Two years ago I probably would break down from my schedule, weeping how bad I have it.  Instead, I look at how lucky I am to have a house that stands and keeps people warm, I have two kids who are disease-free, I have a wife who is trying to fit into a bikini again because she wants to feel better about herself (she still has a great ass), and me, finally breaking free of the martyr mindset and enjoying my long nights stiffing thru Latin names for the muscles of the body and seeing just how lucky I am to be learning, advancing, and best of all working towards being a better person.

Ok, sappy shit aside, people are not going to change much like my co-workers who are set in their ways, but that doesn't mean you have to blindly follow their road into perpetual apathy.  As a long-lost blogger who recently came back to pen some feelings about his journey and I feel exactly the same:

"So here I am, 7 years after I wrote the above lines, ready to start again. I have changed. My voice has changed, my style has changed. I still think about poker a lot, although I am not as immersed in it as I once was. I will be writing about life here. Hopefully you’ll join me for the ride."  - HDouble

Earning my yearly poker blog cred

With an added $325 from Full Tilt and PokerStars all thanks to the WPBT Luckbox last longer and added money by Poker From the Rail.  I hear some extremely talented writers drop by that site and write about poker, I think you should check out this post:  Aftermath of Winning for such an example of awesomeness.

Or lameness.

Because Al is downing hurricanes and stripper's g-strings while I'm hoping my car doesn't break down in the ass cold sub-human temps we are set to receive with zero lube for the next few days.  Actually the lube would turn into an icicle with painful results, so keep the Astroglide indoors for safe use with your 16 gear rabbit vibrator.

Many semi-busy bloggers *points at self* have the fancy graphic of PokerStars' World Blogger Championship of Online Poker blinking on their dusty online journals ready for the battle to see who's got game behind the swirl of horrible puns and barely readable metaphors.  Maybe a few of you can write, and some knock it out of the park with the funny (see:  Wolves by Hyperbole and a half and always tip your babysitter even they managed to not steal anything).

Pot Limit Omaha January 24     14:00 ET     Tournament ID 339187689 

No Limit Hold’em  January 25     19:00 ET    Tournament ID 339187690

PL Omaha H/L    January 26     22:00 ET    Tournament ID 339187691

No Limit Hold’em    January 27     14:00 ET    Tournament ID 339187692

8-Game Mix         January 28     17:00 ET    Tournament ID 339187695

No Limit Hold’em     January 29     15:00 ET    Tournament ID 339187696

There's your line up kids, fear not as I have zero chance of playing the first tourney because I am the lame and responsible type who will be pecking away at spreadsheets instead of winning a free trip to SCOOP.

It will be tempting to stay up for the Wednesday tourney of course because who needs sleep when a split game tourney is guaranteed to go at least 6 hours which is exactly when my alarm would ring my ass up for work. 

Lucky for a reason

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

WBCOOP at PokerStars

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.
Registration code: XXXXXX 640181

Home blogger team gotta defend their turf yo!  See you at the PLO8 tourney at least.

2011: The Search for Perry

Fresh year, fresh quarter of school, and fresh snow for all!  Including our friends in G-Vegas who unfortunately lack the snow removal tools to deal with the white, slippery stuff.  It's a sliding scale of course as people in the northern states and Canada-land are used to the delays, hourly shovelling, and the bitter cold of the winter months whereas those south of the Mason-Dixon line may not have city wide plows, salting trucks, and a general tolerance for such weather.

 image credit

Dead birds, mass flooding, and the Packers somehow winning a playoff game have the conspiracy/Armageddon nut cases in a frenzy as 2012 approaches.  If the world is ending prior to my 2013 graduation from college (current GPA a double flex worthy 3.98, ladies form the line to the right, I've been told there's plenty for everyone) why not party it up?

This year will be busy if not more than last year when I stretched myself to the limits by returning to school on top my daily routine which tires most people out just reading it.  The plan is to stay the course, continue to find pockets of fun underneath the wave of swimming lessons and Income Tax code books that outweighs a pan of lasagna for 10.

Last year took me to G-Vegas for Mastodon Weekend which was the perfect kick off for returning to school.  A weekend without my fingers being frozen while waking up, bars that don't force their employees to wear flare and served awesome beers, and most of all like-minded friends who shared themselves and dropped their professional suits in the garbage bin full of empty Yuengling bottles and strapped on the degeneracy wear to tear up downtown Greenville. 

There was making sure I had the funds for such hijinks as I helped out the PokerStarsBlog for the PokerStars SCOOP and WCOOP tournaments, trading regular sleep patterns for final table wraps about people winning six, even seven figures online.  My love for cards and watching the action got me thru the wee-hours of the morning and kissing the wife go to work at six a.m. and finishing up while dishing out Fruit Loops and bacon for the kids.  Reporting on poker is something that gives me a little extra spark as my regular job lacks forward thinking and being able to shove a few puns and use active thinking while writing helps bring some energy to a rather drab cubical life. 

Then the circus came into town for a Twins game, golf, and gallons of Surly Furious as Gentle Summit invaded downtown Minneapolis where we got Speaker and his newly minted lovely wife Emet addicted to the local brew.  StB sailed in from Milwaukee and DonkeyPuncher found the ability to board a plane semi-sober and stumble down Hennepin avenue with us.  I was lucky enough not kill everyone with my "sunglasses at night" trip from Canterbury Park and even walked away with enough money to cover the weekend's lap dances and Drizz drooling over 2am beers and wings expenses.  This summer however I vow to best Speaker on the golf course despite having the inability to swing a club for the next five months and will remember not to partake in that seventh NewCastle on the back 9.

After our usual kick-ass summer at the cabin/trailer, the fall months quickly brought December and my month to unwind from a stressful year.  Birthday, WPBT, four day weekends, New Year's parties, two weeks off of school, basically an off-loading of every deadline, every six page double spaced paper with appropriate APA formatting and reference page, every "I DONT WANT TO EAT THAT!!!!1!!!", every argument with my better half who I lean on more than I should but she stands tall despite being a foot shorter than I.  Every inch of stress gone, ready to reload for 2011 as the only memory still not on paper is the kick ass Black Crowes concert that may be Truckin' worthy once I finish it.

2011 brings something to look forward to versus something to be endured.  I've already hit the ground running with a spring break trip in the works, and a long time friend dropping in from Philly to make sure I get my alcohol and poker quotient in for the month year.  If I survive the AlCantHang experience again, you'll read it here.

Mrs. Gayle Homestead's Lottery Numbers Do Not Win

(AP) Limpson, MS ---  January, 5th 2011

The homemaker of six sits quietly on her wrangled porch.  White paint peels from cracks within the wood as screening hangs in certain places that show years of neglect.  "I've been meanin' to fix that up, and was already to have Hank down at Ace hardware do so but... but..." says the defeated Mrs. Homestead who couldn't bear to finish the sentence.

She will spend the next days of her life wondering what went wrong, was it punishment from God for tossing her fourth child in front of a Ford 150 that dodged  the little boy at the last moment to "knock some sense into him" after she found her cookie jar depleted of $1.56, today was supposed to be a day of redemption as her as her husband Bobby Joe who lays prone on the couch watching informerials smelling like a mix of raw eggs and Jack Daniels mumbling something about needing a sandwich and a Slap Chop.

"This was supposed to be the best day of my life, but those fancy folks on the TV FAILED TO PICK MY NUMBERS!" Gayle exclaimed

Yes, millions of sad stories like Mrs. Homestead will start pouring out today from the far reaches of the Catskill Mountains, to Tijuana, Mexico where you can find cheap ornaments like severed heads while entering the city, to the celebrations of THE OHIO STATE UNIVERSITY's silented victory party once the coaches, players, and fans found out they too had losing lottery tickets while winning a useless college football bowl game.  All saddened by the fact they will not be able to dance the dougie wearing ass-less chaps on their boss' desk this morning.

The $355 Million from the Mega Millions went to two tickets in Idaho and Washington when we told Mrs. Homestead about this she could utter a "fuck that shit" and headed back to porch swing with a pack of Newports and a fifth of Mad Dog 20/20 awaiting her to help cope with this solemn day.

Sappy with a side of hash browns

Perseverance with bursts of joy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

2011 has started off as 2010 left. 

With hope.

WPBT 2010: A question

Shock and awe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

BAD DEGEN BAD!

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

How do I top that?

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

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

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

WPBT 2010 Day Two: The Bankroll Sleeps with the Fishes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2010 WPBT Day One: Bet More, Win More Drinks

Here we go!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five days away from home

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

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

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

Russian Imperial Stout that kicks yo ass!

Wilson Phillips is here with a public service announcement

It is here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just one more day folks...