Through Hazy Eyes: Day One, Part III

Day One, Part 1
Day One, Part II

As I stood there surveying the barren landscape of the parking lot at Yama Sushi, the inner monologue of everyone else was nearly audible (or, being in the condition I was, it may have actually been audible) and it matched my own.

“I don’t think we’re going to get a taxi here.”

Someone (I can’t really recall who, exactly) was inside trying to get one of the staff to call us a cab. Not remembering who was on that particular errand in no way hinders the memory of the conversation as it was relayed to all of us while standing around waiting for a cosmic miracle involving transportation.

“Hi, can someone call us a cab?”

“Yes yes, you cab”

[slightly louder] “No no, we’re not a cab. You need to CAAAALL us a cab”

“Yes yes, you are taxi”

[even louder + hand gestures+ slower] “NO NO, we are NOT taxi, we need PHONE taxicab”

“Oooooooooh, I call for you”

A few minutes later the little waitress pops outside to let us know that a taxi will be there in 30-45 minutes. She returned to the restaurant, and as the door closed, and I mean the exact moment that the closing motion of the door reached its finality, a sketchy looking lady in some sort of Pontiac screeches up in front of us.

True to “It’s Vegas and strange shit is gonna happen” form, it began.

“You guys waiting for a taxi?”

[silence and lots of blinking]

“You guys waiting for a cab?”

“Ummm, yeah.”

“Well hop on in!”

Even by strange-ass Vegas standards this was not right. I frantically racked my brain for something smartass or snappy to say to the Super Hooker Serial Killer (SHSK), but I only stood there dumbfounded and blinking. This is usually the kind of strange thing that only happens after dropping acid, and since I hadn’t, I can only surmise in hindsight that, unbeknownst to us, someone on the same block was tripping balls. Thankfully, BigPirate (Wes) stepped in and responded…

“Aaaaargh, dearie! I think we’re too many for ye! No Thanks, grrrrrrr!”

[I admit, I took some editorial liberties with this quote, but the point of it is consistent with how it was actually stated]

With a quick shrug, the SHSK squalled tires and was on to the next potential mark. Everyone just kind of looked at each other and Wes spoke up again since no one else did.

“Aaaaargh, she must’ve thought this be our first trip to Vegas, Yohoho!”

[Again, editorial liberties]

Joe suggested that we could possibly flag down a cab from the street, and even though I found sitting down entirely more appealing than the idea of actually walking, I didn’t feel like doing it on concrete with nothing to drink for the next 30-45 minutes, so off we went. As our little crew walked along the street, the mood sank a little bit since there was not a single taxi in sight, but not too far off was a minor version of the transportation miracle we had been seeking.

The Bus Stand. Oh Joy.

Either Bill or Felicia had mentioned it earlier (perhaps both of them), and now we were pretty much out of options. My streak of nearly 29 years without ever taking the city bus was going to come to an end in Las Vegas, the best place for it, I suppose.

Being on the city bus was like being in a subway restroom on wheels. Stark and dingy, it lent to my assumption that someone had likely pissed on or underneath the seats on more than one occasion, and I found myself seated, sans protection. For the first time, our group was completely silent. I think all of us instinctively knew the unspoken rule:

Don’t show them your teeth. They might take it as a sign of aggression.

I was busy keeping the sketchy guy behind the Mrs. and I in my peripheral vision, while at the same time theorizing on the plotline of the romance novel that the giant lady in front of us was reading. That’s when it happened, we all noticed happy drunk dirty t-shirt lady with 1.3 teeth. Teefes. Toofs. Whatever, there were only 1.3 of them. For a split second I actually felt bad for her, she was obviously addicted to eating rocks. Then suddenly, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she reached down the neck of her shirt and whipped out the Red Dog tall can. Man, I thought that stuff went away to Yucca Mountain sometime in ’98. I vividly remember trying it once and thinking that it made Old English 800 taste like Dom. After a healthy pull, Boop!, back between the saggy tits it went. I remember looking over at Joe just as he grinned and said “Words are failing me”.

Dammit, they weren’t failing me. I grabbed Joe’s pad and quickly scratched out a note about the pervasive strangeness of it all so neither of us would forget it. Not likely that we would have, but hey, you just never know.

We must have stopped about five different times for pickups or drop-offs, and each time something strange and/or worn and/or dirty would board. As interesting as the Red Dog Lady was, I found Siegfried and Ron to be more interesting. OK, I give, it was just a random lesbian couple, or sisters, or both. In my mind, though, I immediately dubbed them S & R minus the makeup, showers, and tigers. Having reached the height of dinginess, it was time to disembark, and we all did so with great gusto and relief.

Funny thing, on the way to MGM we spied the Super Hooker Serial Killer from earlier at another bus stand. For a brief moment I thought maybe she had taken offense from earlier and had now decided to stalk us, but no, she was just busy selling VIP passes to some of the finer establishments in Vegas.

My feet hurt. Need Beer. Need poker.

We were very near to that wonderful MGM lion, where we would finally be shielded from the strange things wandering in the night.

[Christ Almighty, this is gonna hit a part IV…For those of you who may be averse to long stories, my apologies, I can’t help myself]

Through Hazy Eyes: Day One, Part II

Click here for Day One, Part 1

As I hung up the phone, I started to fish around for the spreadsheet so I could begin calling others, but true to my absentminded idiot ways, I realized it was still lying in the hotel room. Dammit. We decided at that point to just wander around the various properties and soak it all in just a bit and we would likely run into someone during the trek.

After cruising through Binions and The Plaza and not finding anyone, I began cursing myself for not asking Joe where he was playing at, but at that moment he called back and told me of their group heading outside. This was it, I was to meet my first group of bloggers. As we strolled up, Felicia was the first to speak.

“I don’t need to ask who that is. Look at that huge head!”

Yup, I had officially met Felicia, and that is completely her in a nutshell. If it’s in her head it will likely be spoken. Those with a fragile emotional constitution should steel themselves or just stay away. I tried to think of something snappy to say in return, but I had nothing. I was still kind of stunned by the fact that I was actually getting to meet the people that I had been reading for so long, and I was quite happy to see Felicia doing so well, so I just stood there and grinned like an idiot.

I got to shake hands with Bad Blood and his lovely wife. No joke, kids, that dude is packin’ some Howitzers and I immediately ruled out any arm wrestling challenges. Bill Rini was there and looking quite chipper even though he was passed out in Pauly’s room only hours earlier.

(Hereabouts, I’m still grinning like an idiot and haven’t said very much other than introducing the Mrs.)

Maudie reached out her hand in introduction, and in that split second I decided a handshake just wouldn’t do, so I hugged “The Pit bull of Poker Bloggers”. Honestly, how could you not hug Maudie? She rules.

Last, and certainly not least, there was JoeSpeaker. There’s not really much that needs to be said if you’ve read his blog for any length of time, and if you haven’t, get to clickin’, buddy. I will say that the first thing running through my head when we shook hands was, “This guy doesn’t look like a homo at all, am I missing something?”

Before I had time to think much else, another easily recognizable figure sauntered up. That’s right, sauntered. It’s really the only word that I think can be used here, since the word itself pretty well captures TheFatGuy, Scott. I’m not joking or being facetious when I say this; TheFatGuy exudes all that is easygoing and I immediately relaxed. I hadn’t really realized how keyed up I was until he arrived. All was well and getting progressively better.

(Face Update: Still grinning like an idiot)

Sushi was happening in a few hours, so most of the folks wanted to rest or wander around beforehand. The Mrs. and I needed alcohol, so after some deft persuasion on our part (ok, forget deft and for that matter, the persuasion part), Joe headed over to the Plaza with us for some cocktails. After a few stories about AJ (the cards and the kid), Joe had us half convinced that maybe breeding wasn’t such an awful idea after all. We also got to sit around and talk with Felicia a while longer while everyone was preparing to leave, something I was glad for since I had a feeling I wouldn’t get much of a chance to later on. I was right.

Pulling up to Yama Sushi, things just kept building. Waiting for us was PokerProf and Flipchipro, and I was again in awe of the fact that I was about to meet some more staples of the blogging community. BigPirate Wes was also in attendance with his friend Tim, and Wes promptly usurped my claim to the title of “Largest Head in the Blogsphere”. I think he was cheating, though, since he had lots of hair, which I plan on convincing him to shave at WPBT III so we can really see.

Sometime during the consumption of almost nine giant sushi rolls between the Mrs. and I, Gracie and Heather walked in with their posse. More introductions, more drinks, more sushi. There were also some 2+2 folks there along with Tanya (Miss T74) but I didn’t get to really speak to any of them since they were about three tables down.

Cigarette Break.

More drinks and sushi.

Repeat.

I shouldn’t have eaten so goddamn much and made myself completely miserable. You must understand, however, just how difficult it is to find sushi in Kansas that doesn’t have some sort of ham in it or isn’t deep-fried. Good sushi is a rare opportunity for us and we took serious advantage. We found out while paying that Al was held up and wouldn’t be making it, so everyone decided we would head out to the MGM. Once the decision was made, there was only one small problem; after scoping the taxi less landscape, we all just kind of stood there, everyone with the same thought….

“How the hell are we going to get there?”

[stay tuned….]

Ooooh, ith a Laday!

(The following guest post brought to you by Mrs. Head)

This will not be a true trip report, as I will leave those to the Mr. (wordy bastard), but I just wanted to say what an absolutely wonderful time I had meeting all of the bloggers (and of course, blogger wives!) from this, our first, but definitely not our last, WPBT Vegas trip. I can’t adequately express my gratitude that, during the whole weekend, despite the copious amounts of alcohol, I did not hear one person utter any of the following sentences:

“I seen him a minute ago, I think he went into one of them cay-sinos”

“We was gonna go to the buffet, but the line was too durn long”

“I would have boughten one of them purty fanny packs I saw people wearin’, but I done lost all my money already”

We live in Kansas, remember? Even while slurring, this was by far the most articulate bunch I have been around for a long time. That aside, this group was more fun, welcoming, unique and just all-around fantastic than I could have even imagined. What an amazing experience!

The only thing I would change is that next time I will make sure I am well “rested” for the girls-night out! See you all at #3!

Small Aside..

...to the others who attended the trip. Feel free to post any pics that may have the Mrs. or I in them. You may now continue with your trip report reading and composing.

Through Hazy Eyes: Day One, Part 1

My eyes popped open, it was just after 5 AM. Holy hell, I’m going to Vegas today. Mrs. Head woke up about 15 minutes later to me radiating anticipation somewhat like how I imagine Ted Kennedy radiates the smell of assorted spirits. She had to trundle off to work for a few hours, while I stayed back to do the “What am I forgetting” freak out packing ritual. I wanted to sleep some more. I knew that I should sleep some more, but my feverish brain was not having any of it; Vegas was only a few hours away.

The trip definitely could have started off better. After leaving the laptop bag containing all sorts of various trip necessities at home and fully annoying my brother who had to go back and get it for us, we finally made it through security without me being arrested or detained. This was primarily due to the fact that Mrs. Head had the “if you say anything about the lighter policy and get us in trouble I will stab you in the throat” look on me like a tractor beam. Of course, she was right to give me such a look. Let them have their policies; we’re going to Vegas, dammit. Once we boarded the plane, we had the best plan ever: Get some shut-eye during the 2.5 hour flight. That also, it seems, was not in the cards. Directly behind us sat two of the most misbehaved and ADD-addled kids I have come into contact with in recent memory. They would not stop kicking the back of our fucking seats. I was going to scream at their mother to make them settle the fuck down, but it turns out she was about the same age as they were and was saddled with the same issues, only she was trapped in the body of a 40 year old, so I obviously wasn’t going to get anywhere on that front. I also had to remember that I promised Mrs. Head that I would not get myself arrested or detained, at least until we arrived and were away from the airport. Leave them to their seat kicking; I’m going to Vegas, dammit.

Mccarran Airport was not quite like I remembered it, which I should have expected considering the last time I was in Vegas was in ’01. On that trip we picked up our baggage and headed out the doors into the waiting air-conditioning/body odor of a taxicab. This time it was one door to get a taxi, another door for a shuttle. We tried the shuttle route first and were told it would be 30-40 minutes. Fuck that, let’s get a taxi. We ran out and jumped in the long snaking line that was the overloaded taxi stand and were greeted with the news that “the line is back there”. Huh? I tried to look. You couldn’t even see the end. I think at that point I would have had to take another plane to Nepal or something to get my spot in line. After uttering a larger and more profuse “fuck that” we headed back to the shuttle stand. At this point we were hot, sleepy, and becoming increasingly cranky. We landed at 2:30 and didn’t get to the hotel until 4 PM. Yeesh, I was seriously hoping this trend would end soon.

Thank God for the Golden Nugget. Despite its age and less-than-optimal location, my spirits immediately lifted as we made our way to the front desk. Its liberal use of creamy white goes well with the abundance of gold and dark woods everywhere, and the wonderfully huge windows everywhere lends the place a slightly tropical feel right in the middle of the desert. I had reached my oasis. As we walked past the café/restaurant on our way to the front desk, I thought that I spied Chris Halverson out of the corner of my eye and mentioned it to Mrs. Head. She said I should go back and see, but I declined citing reasons of not wanting to interrupt his meal along with my desire to bail trousers and air out my genitals (I cross-referenced this with his trip report and it turns out I had indeed spied my first blogger. He was apparently enjoying a Rueben at the time).

As we arrived at the front desk, I could feel a do-or-die moment approaching, the $20 front desk tipping attempt. When attempting something for the first time, there are always the usual questions…..Will I pull it off correctly? Will I be scoffed at and exposed? Should I really be doing this? As stated in a previous post, I’m well versed in the art of greasing palms (cocktail waitresses, bouncers, and bartenders galore), just never at the front desk, and for some reason it was making me very anxious. So, on my continual mission to impress the Mrs., I sidled up to the desk with my $20 folded and ready underneath my AMEX. As I handed it over I made mention that since we were on our honeymoon (wink), any upgrades that they could offer us would be most convenient.

The girl didn’t even blink. For just a split second I thought I fucked the whole thing up.

She proceeded to let us know that we would be upgraded to a deluxe room free of charge and we could even choose our view. Heeding Felicia’s advice about the noisy Freemont Street Experience we opted for the Mountain View. I made a quick note to thank Pauly profusely for the advice and we were off to our room, a king smoking that was quite nice considering how cheap it was.

After some genital airing and a quick shower, Mrs Head and I looked at each other. We had reached first peak on this roller-coaster, that moment when you are hanging in space and it really dawns on you that you are about to head downwards at a high rate of speed.

I whipped out the phone and spreadsheet and dialed JoeSpeaker.

“Hello?”

“Joe Speaker! It’s Human Head, what’s the happs?”

“Hold on, dude, I gotta call you back, I’m in the middle of rolling the dice!”

Oh boy, here we go.

[to be continued]

Touchdown

Finally back home.

Was I just in Vegas?

Must have been, I can't stand up and can barely type :)

Recap begins when I recover.

Still Alive

I was going to do update posts, but have been swept up in the whirlwind as well being perpetually ill-equipped. Good Lord, I'm honestly shocked I'm awake and alive....




Mrs. Head ran into this at high noon....oh dear.

The way is paved

Considering the fact that I spent all day at work yesterday, I figured I would have time to do a post. Nope, the IT gods thought differently, so here I am today banging one out so that I don’t get too far behind in the stuff I want to write about. Let’s proceed….

I finally played some poker on Saturday night when we hosted out first home game in about two months. I figured my play would be terrible since I haven’t played any poker for a bit over three weeks now. The good news is my game still seems to be in fairly decent shape, and I only made one glaring mistake. Funny thing about those damn mistakes, you know when you’re doing it that you shouldn’t be, yet you do anyway. Even though my game is still decent, the cards were not. I have since renamed our place “House of Two Outers”. Every single time we have a game, someone catches a soul-crushing beat when their opponent hits with two outs. Anyone know a shaman that can help me get rid of this crazy juju that seems to hang over our home games? I know that the two-outer juju hangs over all games, but a guy can dream, right?

Getting knocked out early in both of our tourneys wasn’t all a bad thing, though; since I could focus on what was really important: Vegas Training. It seems a liquor store close by heard about the intense pre-trip training, so they had a sale on Red Stripe, $20/case. By the end of the night I felt like Rocky Balboa after his first go around with Clubber Lang. Oof. Perfect timing though, since between now and departure I’ll be training with Apollo and should be in prime shape for the WPBT. Not Muhammad Ali of Drinking shape, but ready for a good fight.

And now for the news that’s had me busting at the seams…..

Like Halverson, I think that I’m due to fare well on this trip. I believe the poker gods (as well as other various minor deities) are truly paving the way for us. Lost in the home game=bad luck out of the way. Then on Sunday, the wife and I started getting seriously froggy (no, not a euphemism), so for shits and giggles she made a few phone calls to the airline we booked our package with, and what do you know? They were able to schedule our departure flight a day earlier. The cost? $50 total. You’ve got to be kidding me! I was screaming “Book it quick, before someone else does!” A quick call to the Golden Nugget to reserve an extra night and that was that. I still can’t believe it was that cheap to switch a flight; doesn’t it usually cost more than that? There is no way you can tell me the way is not being paved after reading that, c’mon. See you at Yama Sushi on Thursday, everyone. I’ll be the one attempting genocide on the Unagi.

And finally, Pauly’s post talking about which actors would play which bloggers got me to thinking. No, not about what minor celebrity would play me, that is for everyone else to decide. Thinking about movies made me think that if your life was a movie, what would the theme song be? What would be playing during the training montage (you know you have to have one of those)? Feel free to add places for theatrical scores/music where they would appropriately fit in to your existence. This should keep you busy for at least 10 minutes between now and Vegas. Good Christ, I’m so excited.

Yes, you heard right. I’m so excited…and I just can’t hide it (no no no no)

Anticipation

It’s funny how as we age, different things in our lives take on an ever changing significance. When I was in the sixth grade, the most important thing in my life was whether or not I was going to get the Air Jordans I wanted that would surely rocket me to popularity, fame, and fortune (I didn’t get them). It seems silly thinking back on it, but not that silly, because I’m still a shoe freak, only now it’s not for the fame or fortune my footwear could potentially bring, I’m simply neurotic.

OK, given the fact hat I’m still a freak for shoes, perhaps that’s not a good example since I own more pairs than my wife. (Did I just inadvertently let slip another secret shame?)

Birthdays and Christmas, those were always significant. When you’re growing up you plan your entire existence around them. As you head through the middle of your life, they aren’t nearly the big deal they once were, for you or anyone else. Then, as you head towards life’s twilight, they begin to take on increasing significance again, because well, who knows how many more you’re going to have? I think I’ve hit the middle stages, because it took until yesterday to realize that I’m going to be turning 29 in Vegas. If I would have realized this earlier, I would have booked our trip to arrive on Thursday instead of Friday. Now, I’m kicking myself, but I have an idea: Everyone should buy me lots of presents to make up for my oversight. What? Ok, maybe you’re right; an idea that only benefits me isn’t really that great for you. What was I trying to say? Oh yes…this realization has reawakened a singularly wonderful anticipation that I thought was long gone. Something tells me I’m not going to easily forget number 29.

Gene and Daddy, if you happen to peruse this page, this is my exhortation to you to take Iggy up and come to Vegas, dammit!

Here is a flowery and all too lengthy itinerary for those who aren’t tired of reading such things yet:

Friday, June 2

7 AM—Begin freaking out that I’m going to forget to bring something important. Things I might also be freaking out about may include, but are not limited to, suddenly having the vocabulary files in my brain corrupted and being unable to form an intelligent sentence upon meeting everyone, arriving in Vegas to be greeted with the realization that during the plane ride some unspeakable monstrosity has grown out of my forehead rendering me unlookatable (see:hideous), or I have simply booked my trip a week early or late.

11 AM--- Arrive at the airport. Yeah, I’m one of those punctual early freaks, too. This will also allow me time to debate with the Gestapo **aherm, oops** TSA/Homeland Security personnel about the logic of banning lighters but allowing matches on the aircraft. If you don’t see me the entire weekend, it means I was a little too vigorous in my debate and am now vacationing in a room with no windows.

1:10 PM---Get pissed off at the passive aggressive schmucks that should be boarding with Group 3 who start crowding the line trying to get on early even though they have barely even begun boarding Group 1. It will be annoying because now I will be forced to make a soccer mom feel like an ass because she didn’t think anyone would call her out on her bullshit. I will then be even more annoyed that she doesn’t feel like an ass, she will still think this is perfectly OK and that she can’t believe I’m so rude. Fuck her, and her parachute pants and fanny pack.

1:45 PM--- Take off. I hope.

2:25 PM--- Arrive in Vegas, forget the rest of the world exists.

3:10 PM--- Arrive at the Golden Nugget, hope that the $20 under the credit card works some magic in getting us some sort of upgrade. To boost the magic, we will tastelessly make out and make sure everyone within 25 yards is aware that we are on our honeymoon.

3:25 PM--- Enter suite (I’m thinking positive), drop bags, and make a mental not to thank Pauly for the tipping tip. I always make sure to grease palms liberally when in Vegas, but for some reason I never considered doing it at the hotel desk.

4:15 PM--- Head out and peruse Freemont a bit, then off for the obligatory shopping.

8 PM--- Dinner at Elements in the Aladdin. I always like to have at least one outrageously expensive meal while in Vegas.

10 PM--- Grab helmet and mace. Storm Castle.

After this, God only knows……

Due to the schedule, I likely won’t make it to the Rio until/unless the bloggers reach the final table. And since I kept completely forgetting amidst all of the WPBT satellite brouhaha, here’s a shout out to Poker Nerd wishing him good cards and a strong bladder during Event #2, which he got into through Full Tilt (Bonus Code: HHead).

*sigh* Five more days. Must settle down. Don’t want anticipation to peak too early….

Early Twentysomething Follies

I have never passed out, puked, or fallen down in a bar. I’ve come close a couple of times in my early twenties, but it never happened. Now, I’m not sure if it counts as a bar, but it did happen once at a strip club in Vegas. As we edge ever closer to the auspicious blogger gathering, for some reason this one shameful incident is all I can think about. So, in an effort to exorcise the demons, I thought I would regale everyone with the story.

My first ever trip to Vegas came shortly after my 21^st birthday. We had just returned from Prince Sultan Air Base in Saudi Arabia, and needless to say, I was more than overjoyed to be back in the land of plenty. In hindsight, I certainly wasn’t ready for the city of plenty.

I was more than pumped when we all arrived at the Casino Royale. Never let it be said that the military doesn’t put their people up in swanky places. What the hell, I guess it’s better than having to stay on base, eh? We had a ton of old-timers in my shop, and they couldn’t be more stereotypical. As soon as the bags were placed in the rooms it was time for some alcohol and nude ladies.

Honestly, I have never really been a fan of strip clubs. I can’t stand the idea of paying a (most of the time) subpar female an exorbitant sum of money to tease me with something that I cannot, in fact, actually get from her. I always felt my money was better spent at a club, where I could spend less than half that amount and likely get laid out of the deal, but I digress. Come to think of it, the only times I have been to any strip clubs were during TDY trips when I was in the military, either in Ft. Walton Beach or Vegas.

Even though I wasn’t naturally inclined to go, I wasn’t about to decline, lest I become a pariah in my workplace. I was just getting over that “new guy” hump and cementing a fairly high position within the social hierarchy of our shop. The place in question? Little Darlings. Not the best, but certainly not the worst strip club I’d ever poked my head into.

I’m not sure what the deal is these days but at that time, even though they didn’t sell alcohol inside, you could bring alcohol and the bouncers would keep it outside for you in their little podium. Pay the cover and you get a cup, which you could fill with the alcohol you brought and bring inside. Well, lo and behold, there was a Texaco across the street, they have alcohol! Let’s get some and then we’ll be back. My friend Jay and I ran over and began shopping.

Here’s the thing: Jay was a really cool guy, but also a bit insane and a bit of an alcoholic. He was seven or eight years older than me, but we got along well because he was a “G” from way back and I was a “G” from not so way back. The difference between us was that I was growing out of it, and I knew Jay never would. While perusing the vast (yes it’s true, VAST) alcohol selection offered by the Texaco, our eyes both spied something I wish to this day we wouldn’t have: Cisco.

(For those of you that are unfamiliar, Cisco is a fruity and syrupy alcohol consumed in mass quantities by idiot teenagers and winos. It is commonly referred to as “liquid crack”. It’s really cheap and will get you FUCKED UP.)

Jay and I each bought two bottles. Strike One.

Return to club. Commence drinking. We figured, “Hey, why fuck around with a stupid cup? We’ll just hang outside and swap gangsta adventure stories while we drink and then we’ll head inside.” After the first bottle the crackification began, and the idea of some nuded up chicks started to seem much more appealing.

Jay: “Hey, let’s hurry up and finish this second bottle and hurry up and get inside.”

Me: “Good idea, lets do this.”

We chugged what was left of our second bottles. Strike Two.

I proceeded to roll into the joint feelin’ fine, my game was tight. Heading over to the area of the club where everyone else was, I got a look from one of the waitresses. You know the look, the one where not a thing is said, but you know “It’s On”. The evening was shaping up wonderfully. After hanging out with everyone for a few minutes, a couple of the dancers came up to me wondering why I hadn’t talked to their girl yet. In the interest of keeping my game tight, I threw off some bullshit about how I was busy but would join her in a bit, which I did after giving it another 15 minutes or so. Yeah I know, I was a regular Don Juan. I chatted her up for a while, but the club got a small rush and she got busy having to attend to other patrons drinks. She promised she would be around later and we could make some plans since she got off at 2. Nice.

Wandering back over to our group I found that someone had ordered a pizza and that sunuvabitch looked awesome. I can still taste it to this day, tons of meat and jalapenos, absolutely delicious (isn’t it strange the stuff we remember?).

I had two big slices. Strike Motherfuckin’ Three.

That pizza seemed to be just the thing that the Cisco was waiting for, because it proceeded to beat me around like a pimp, slappin’ a hoe. I could barely walk or speak. All I really remember is that time started moving really fast, and I had to throw up, so off to the restroom for me. After calling Ralph on the Big White Phone, the pizza started talking. It said, “You need to sit on the throne, NOW.” The pizza was talking sense, and I sat.

The next thing I remember is the supreme effort it took to raise my head. Someone was pounding on the stall door, it was my boss (who incidentally was an extremely cool guy) checking to make sure I was alright. I told him I was OK and headed back out. It was only after making it back to the group that I realized (because one of the guys told me) that I had been absent for nearly 90 minutes. O God, no wonder my legs were numb. For the record my power nap did nothing to dilute my shitfacedness, in fact it seemed worse than ever. It was, in fact, worse than ever, a fact confirmed when one of the guys who relayed the fact that while I was napping Jay had eaten an ashtray. No, I’m not kidding. He ate half of an ashtray.

No biggie though, I still have outs tonight! Where’s that waitress? Aaah, there she is, and I saunter over to resume our conversation, because as luck would have it, it was only 40 minutes or so till she got off. I wish I could tell you what I said during that conversation, but I can’t. My best friend Jonbo caught snippets and later told me it wasn’t pretty. My game had ceased to be tight, Mr. Cisco unraveled it completely. Needless to say, after that conversation the invitation from earlier was summarily withdrawn. Oops.

That was over seven years ago, thank God I’ve grown up a bit and learned from my mistakes. What’s the moral of my little story? Dunno. Perhaps the message is stay away from the Cisco. Maybe the message is to always remember to pace yourself. Like I said, I don’t really know. I just wanted to type out a story and get it out of my head. Aaaah, the freedom that comes with another expunged secret shame....

Every. Single. Hand.

Even though I haven’t played any poker for the last few weeks, I’ve still managed to learn something (or rather, had it reinforced) that I thought I’d share. Normally the Mrs. will sit and play a SnG or two on most evenings, a few of which I watch. Among many of the things that I’ve taken away from watching and trying to critique the play is this:

Every single hand matters. Every. Single. One.

Many of us who play in the low level monkey SnG’s (myself included) have a tendency to pay less than full attention during the first 3 levels of a tourney while the monkeys battle over insignificant blinds and knock each other out. I mean, why should we? What’s the point? Who wants to get beat out of a huge pot when the blinds are only 20/40?

What about those times when you had to let a pot go because you didn’t bet your 55 on a 238 board and a confirmed donkey overbets out at you, making folding the best decision because you no longer have the odds? Granted, you only spent T40 on the hand, but you missed out on a T160 pot that adds up pretty quick when you take a few of them. And the whole time that little voice in the back of your head knows you would have taken the pot down had you simply thrown a bet out there, but you weren’t sure about making the bet because you didn’t pay close enough attention on previous hands.

Most all of us have heard the theories about a butterfly flapping it’s wings in Brazil that ends up setting off a tornado in Texas (or some variation of this). Those few insignificant hands that we don’t pay attention to or misplay out of carelessness can make potentially huge differences in the later stages of a tournament. Those two or three pots that were pretty small (between T80 and T140) in the early stages could end up making all the difference while you get blinded waiting through cold cards. If you get beat out of a big pot it could save you an exit. I’m not necessarily saying you should be taking a ton of unnecessary risks and habitually make marginal plays in these early stages, but pay attention more than you normally would in the early stages and your almost guaranteed to find spots where you can take down a tiny pot here and there with little or no risk, instead of just letting it go.

No one can play absolutely perfect poker, but we can always try. And by trying just as hard in the early stages when it isn’t very convenient or fun just may be that necessary edge to get you the win you so richly deserve. Don’t let those donkeys take your ten bucks.

(Now if I can just follow my own advice, everything will be dandy)

(Oh yea, here is a funny link to do with that butterfly business I mentioned)

The many names of....

Since many were kind enough to comment on my blogger introduction question, I’ll just dispense with any mystery or formality.

Just call me Head, it’s the easiest and what many of my friends call me.

Or, you can call me by my Christian name, which happens to be Jeremiah.

Or, as I am called by my Islamic brothers, Jerebdullah Ali X.

Or, my Native American moniker, Head Like Planet.

More comfortable with alter egos? Super Vanilla Bear

My medieval name? Sir SwearsaLot (Sir EatsaLot will also be accepted)

Super hero name? Shit, I have no idea. (I wonder what my special power would be. Protecting the earth from the tyranny of bacon?)

Don’t really give a shit one way or the other? Then I’m just that one dude who types out some strange shit on his blog when he doesn’t want to do schoolwork and there’s nothing but crap on TV.

Pre-trip Musings

The Vegas posts are coming fast and furious now. Here, let me add yet another. The anticipation running throughout the household is now palatable. Here is about the only serious question I have regarding the upcoming degenerate extravaganza.

When meeting a fellow blogger for the first time, what is the proper way to introduce oneself?

Really it’s a nonsensical question, but it keeps popping into my head because I have an inordinate fear of fucking it all up.

As we get closer to the inevitable, I find it increasingly amusing to watch the reactions that various people have when we tell them about heading out to Vegas?

O Wow! Going to see some shows, do a bit of gambling, and relax for your bitrthday?

This usually prompts a ‘look’ betwixt the wife and I…

No, we’re going for three days of drinking, gambling, and little sleep with a bunch of other poker bloggers.

Huh? What’s that?

Here’s where I think about explaining, but then just say fuck it.

We’re gonna go get drunk and play poker with a bunch of other degenerates from the Internet that we’ve never actually met in person before.

Cue quizzical look. They have no idea anymore whether or not to think this is a cool thing.

Umm, great. Trips to Vegas are always fun, have a good time...[trails off]

Cue my own smug feeling that I’m about to meet a great group of folks with the higher concentration of smarts and cool than one is likely to find anywhere else. This morning I thought of what I imagine to be the best description of this auspicious occasion:

WPBT II: The drunkenness of Mardi Gras minus the pageantry but plus the hookers and other strange shit.

One last thing I wanted to throw out there. I am continually shocked to find that the WPBT does not have some sort of alcohol sponsor. Hell, it truly boggles the mind as to why they’re not lined up outside the building throwing money at all of us, but I digress. I was thinking that as a contingent, we should make it an official goal to have an official alcohol sponsor no later than WPBT IV: The Search for Clean Pants. What alcohol, though? Beer or Liquor? Guinness and SoCo? Maybe we should just get a casino to sponsor the contingent and then they could flex their casino muscles to bring in the other sponsors…

Bloggers, so hot right now. Bloggers.

A bit of explanation

Starting off, I got a heads up from Baz concerning the latest Lord Admiral Card Club Radio Show , where I actually got a mention! Thanks for letting me know, and huge HUGE thanks to Stackstown for the pimping. Getting mentioned is great and made me feel like a bit of an ass (which seems to be a near daily occurrence at some point or another) when I checked out my link list and saw that I had Stacks but not the podcast site linked up. I corrected this oversight post haste, and stuck you guys on the top of the list. I have the last five episodes downloaded but have simply not listened to them yet, so having it at the top will remind me to get on it lest I get too far behind. Plus, it’s just fun to listen to and deserves to be up there. One thing is odd, though, and I wonder if this happens to anyone else: Every time I listen to the show I find myself thinking something along the lines of “Holy shit these are real people!” Of course I know that all of the folks that I read are real, but actually hearing them makes it more so, somehow.

Again, many heartfelt thanks for the mention.

Some of you perhaps are wondering why there hasn’t been much in the way of poker talk present on these here pages recently, so I thought it might be appropriate to offer some sort of explanation, and leave the ‘2005: Banner year for getting knocked up’ post and other random shit for another day.

Yes, yes, I’m busy, this is not news, so is the rest of the planet. More specifically though, on top of all the busy B.S., I have found that for the last 2 ½ weeks I can’t seem to bring myself to sit down at a table. I’ll sit and watch Mrs. Head play a SnG or two, but even watching her hasn’t tempted me to play. Normally, when this occurs (as it has twice before over the last 18 months) I go play a bit of live poker in K.C. and it re-energizes my desire to play the game. I would have already done this, but we’re so damn close to Vegas I figure I’ll just wait until then.

I debate nearly every day on whether or not I should sit, if for no other reason than to try and keep my game as sharp as possible, but I always come up with a “no”. I will get in a few sessions before we leave, plus I plan on going through SSHE (yet again), but by and large sitting down without bringing my best game and having my head in it will do more harm than good. This is especially important given the fact that my online bankroll is only around $1100 after dropping $400 or so on more toys, which is a nice segue into the other reason I haven’t played for the last couple of weeks….

I have become re-obsessed with video games and all things related. Granted, I have been obsessed with video games to varying degrees since I was about 7 years old and there have always been peaks and valleys with the obsession, but right now I seem to be peaking again. More specifically, I recently bought a Nintendo DS and have been playing the hell out of it, replaying a lot of my GBA games which look great on it (I think this has something to do with the brightness of the screen, but I digress), and playing a bunch of new Xbox games I have recently acquired, including Jade Empire, which is a kick-ass game. If you like RPG’s at all, you can pick up nearly anything from BioWare and it will be great. They are one of the best RPG development houses out there and Jade Empire is simply another in a long line of great titles. Also, as if you fellow video game lovers out there didn’t already know, this week is E3, so a lot of spare minutes here and there have been spent hopping over to GameSpot to get the latest. If you don’t know what E3 is, it’s like I told the Mrs. last night: E3 is like a week long super bowl for gamers, where all of the biggest companies present the newest and coolest stuff they’re working on, tell a bunch of lies, get us all hepped up, and then rarely live up to the expectations that they’ve fostered. Nevertheless, it’s tons of fun and always finds me being a sucker.

So, there you have it. I do have some actual poker posts in the pipe, I just need a bit more time to let my thoughts gel on the various subjects I have been pondering concerning the game. So, even though I haven’t been playing, I still think about it every day and I am continually getting tons of poker goodness from the other great bloggers out there. You all continue to help me keep my game as sharp as can be without actually playing, so thanks for that and thanks again for stopping by. Now I have to get back to my steaming pile of work and school whilst I try to ignore the Vegas anticipation that is near to killing me :)

The incredible shrinking days of our lives

I can’t believe I actually snatched a few minutes to write up a quick post. It’s definitely true when they say there just aren’t enough hours in the day. I’ve tried to take a more Zen approach and simplify a bit, but it’s like a bald, slightly tubby Hercules battling the Hydra. I “simplify” one thing, and several more non-optional things spring up in its place. This must be the wrong career field to try and go the simple route, meh.

Of the three times in my life that I’ve been to see a psychic, all of them told me that I was a slave in a former life. I find this odd for several reasons, the first being that all three said the same thing. Perhaps it is part of a psychic script they all use. The second thing I find odd is the fact that I also seem to be a slave in this lifetime, albeit one with a white collar (or if I’m feeling frisky, cornflower blue). Looks like I’ve still got some more shit to work out on the karma wheel, but hey, it explains a lot about my violent reaction to overbearing and unreasonable authority.

Not really sure why I felt compelled to share that, but there ya go. Oh, and should you think I am a supernatural, New-Agey looney toons type, I only take about 5% of all the psychic stuff seriously. (Why 5%? I try to never totally discount something, even if it is likely to be completely ludicrous. Well, unless you’re counting the people who say that poker is all luck and no skill, or Orrin Hatch. I totally discount those).

Well, I was gonna write more, but time is up. More tomorrow on how 2005 seems to be turning out to be a banner year for getting knocked up. (No, Mrs. Head is not pregnant, perish the thought)

Just some stuff

Goddamn I’ve been way out of it for the last couple of days. So out of it, in fact, that I completely spaced the final WPBT WSOP satellite. My bad. I guess in a sense it’s a good thing considering the way a certain badass motherfuckin’ card player was mowing folks down on the way to the top spot. AlCanSeetheFuture indeed.

I have come to the conclusion that nearly every single person in my town is lost. Sure they live here, but they have no idea where they’re going. Three separate times yesterday, someone came to near full stop so they could get over into the lane that they needed at the last minute, and one of those time was on the fuckin’ highway! I really need to find a way to get a hold of some ‘fuck you’ money so I can ram these people when it suits me. I think some of them just get into there car and drive simply out of habit, going twenty and deciding at the last moment that they have to turn in the most inconvenient spot.

So here’s my safety tip for the day: If you fuck up and miss your turn or exit, just keep going to the next one. This way, you and everyone else will go on living, and my head won’t explode. Seriously, these people are going to be the death of me.

With Vegas sooooooooooo damn close now, has the idea of Storming the Castle made any progress, or is everyone going to be hanging at the Rio watching our folks?

I also have a tentative bounty to offer, but I haven’t decided if it is it. I’m thinking I will offer a copy of one of my favorite CD’s. Tenacious D. No, not the rock one that came out a while ago, that one was pretty lame for the most part. This is all of the notable audio from all the Tenacious D episodes along with all of their songs done acoustic, the way they were meant to be.

In search of the Sasquatch, that was a kick ass in search of…..

D'oh! Sunuva...

Fun stuff to talk about, here we go…

Per BG and Al’s email extravaganza yesterday:

Most Likely To See The Grand Canyon - When you book your wife as your traveling companion to Vegas there Head, you should know damn well you're either going to be seeing the Hoover Dam on Friday with G- and Mrs. Rob, or holding shopping bags while your wife claps with giddy glee when AnimatronicZeus makes a proclimation welcoming you to your personal hell at the entrance to the Forum Shops. Good luck with that, maybe we'll get to see you when we go to Vegas in December.

While not quite right on the head of the proverbial nail, it was definitely a glancing blow and not a complete miss by any means. But I must take this small opportunity to defend the degenerate honor of the lady. Let’s see, first off. not booking Mrs. Head as a traveling companion will 99.5% of the time not be an option, and honestly, I really wouldn’t have it any other way. Why? The idea of taking a trip to Hoover Dam or the Grand Canyon makes her throw up in her mouth a little bit, that’s just my kind of lady. Besides, seeing those landmarks is what Discovery HD theater is for.

However, the nail was partially struck on one part of the above statement….shopping. Thankfully, the Mrs. fully realizes the intent and purpose of this trip and is only holding me to a trip through Sephora, which will be completed shortly after arrival so as not to interfere with the attendant festivities and force me into any heavy pimphandedness. She would like me to relate that she is quite looking forward to meeting everyone, including those she counts among her favorites, BG and Al. At this very moment all 102 lbs. of her is preparing to rip it up, blogger stylie yo.

And now, on to the secret shames…

Why I feel compelled to reciprocate secret shames is beyond me, but here I am, nonetheless. You would think that typing it out would be an easier thing than speaking it, but it’s really not. My hands are shaking a bit as I prepare, like some kind of lemming, to jump off the proverbial ledge…

Yesterdaywhile on the way to work there was a new BackStreet Boys song on the radio…..(deep breath)….and I didn’t immediately change the station. In fact, (oh god, it’s like an unpreventable train wreck) I found myself singing along with it. Unintentionally, of course.

For what it’s worth, upon my realization of doing this, I tried to throw myself from my vehicle while travelling 80 mph. Thanks to seat belt laws and the fact that there was no stewardess (or similar) available to show me how to work the buckle, this didn’t happen.

Sure, there are more shames lurking around in my life, but this one was particularly odious and difficult to lay bare, so I’ll continue later. Plus, since I have a few free hours I must ponder a suitable Vegas tournament bounty (excuses, excuses).

Have a great weekend, only a few more to go!

Scotch Questions

So, let me start out with a confession. Given the comments from scotch drinking notables like Chris, Mourn, and Gracie, I am obviously using entirely too much water. What can I say, I’m a rank amateur, with approximately a 1/3 water to 2/3 scotch mix. Here’s what I wonder: When taken neat there is the attendant bite and or slight burn on the palette, which is good sometimes (especially during cold weather conditions), but when toned down with water (hence no burn) does it really dilute the flavor that much that it makes a difference? On a scale of 1 to 10, how egregious is my scotch drinking crime? If I insist on using water and not drinking it neat, should I scale down a level from Glenlivet and others on or above its level until I gain a finer appreciation? I know it took me a while to really appreciate the finer vodkas and cognacs, so I expect that this won’t be any different.

Discussing liquor is fun. (Especially if there’s no poker to discuss)

Scotchy scotch scotch

I gotta get more on top of things, Wil beat me to the punch (as though anyone would have noticed if I had posted the link first, lol). I was going to link to the same article when I happened upon it yesterday, but I figured what the hey, it will be a good something for tomorrow since I’m not playing any poker at the moment. I promise I won’t go batshit about it here on these pages (at least for now, consider yourself warned), but pop on over and give it a read if for no other reason than to be aware of the situation.

If anyone gives a rats ass, here is my summary opinion of the latest goings on: We’re going to hell in a handbasket, one paragraph of bad laws at a time, and boy it’s really starting to add up to a crushing weight of bullshit. And seriously, I’m not saying that with any particular political party in mind, I think both are equally to blame. (OK, that’s not entirely true. I do think one is to blame more than the other, but not enough to make it worth focusing on)

Democrat or Republican, Liberal or Conservative, tree-hugger or tree-killer, I think we should all be extremely concerned.

Now, on to more pleasant things…..

I have discovered the wonders of Scotch. Glenlivet, to be more specific. It is the first bottle of Scotch I have ever purchased. You’re probably asking, “Why the heck did it take you so long?” I don’t really know. I only know that at the liquor store this weekend, I recalled many a post from other notable bloggers about their scotch consumption. Plus, the fancy bottles called to me with exhortations that I needed to partake in a more “adult” libation.

Fast forward four hours…..

I’m on my umpteenth scotch and water when I decide to take a gander at the bottle and find that it’s over half gone. Oops. I’m very drunk but strangely enough, quite lucid. I could get used to this. Scotchy scotch scotch, I love scotch. Given my drink of choice is normally a nice vodka or cognac, this is a big change, but one that I think will incorporate quite nicely.

However, my liver is frightened once again at fast approaching bend in the road. The Minister of Debauchery has planned a tournament after party in Vegas, and the venue will have forty different tequilas. After much consideration, all I can say is this…

[ HandiMan voice] Uh-oh! Sounds like trouble! [/HandiMan voice]

(If you don’t know or remember who HandiMan is, please refer back to the In Living Color archives)

Truly, it's one long session.

Go Wil. I was going to go on a long winded and emotional rant about this issue, but he says it better than I likely would have. Give it a read and become properly outraged. I’ve written so many damn letters to my reps my hand is turning into a claw and I’m near to joining the who gives a shit nothing is going to ever get done or improve ranks. Common sense is so yesterday.

The above is, of course, pretty illuminating as to the state of mind I happen to be in at the moment. My situation at work for the last 10 days has me feeling like I’m sitting at the table with a bunch of mediocre colluders and I’m holding middle pair with a weak kicker. The situation sucks and it pisses me off to no end, but for now I’ve got to lay down my hand and pick a better spot to defend. I want to stop the colluders at my table, but they go way back with the manager who isn’t going to kick them out of the poker room for any reason short of raping a small furry woodland creature directly in front of the general public. My hand is likely best at this point, but with two more to come I could easily get drawn out on and lose my entire stack. It sucks but I’ve got to beat my ego into submission and pick a spot where I’m more likely to take down the pot.

Poker is not only a great game. Using lessons learned at the table to cope with ludicrous amounts of workplace bullshit also makes it a great teacher when your righteous indignation is prompting you to do something that is, in the larger scheme of things, rash and unnecessary. So here’s the Thinking Big reminder of the day: It’s all one long session, and not just at the tables.