Briefly....

So much to blog, so damn little time.

While it certainly doesn’t apply to every single person out there, 2005 still seems to continue being “less than stellar”. Send some well wishes in Iggy’s direction.

That being said, TJ Cloutier’s year seems to have spiked towards the good with a great win in the NL $5K Event. To stay current check out the following:

Tao of Poker, for real-time tournament reporting and updates on an ongoing white-trash apartment dwelling soap opera.

LasVegasVegas, the Poker Prof and FlipChip. In-depth coverage and lots of pictures.

PokerPlayer Newspaper, From the above-mentioned folks, a mish-mash of great poker stuff.

Score another one for the mighty Hollywood PR machine and uber-rich closeted gays everywhere. Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are officially engaged, so send your condolences to Pauly. This will indeed be a sad day for him, the love of his life just got hooked into some crazy Scientology juju.

I missed Helixx’s show last night, and I’m highly annoyed. Work and school is seriously cutting into my fun time, it’s just not right. If you didn’t know, he DJ’s and spins kick-ass stuff, so contact him to get on his mailing list for some musical goodness.

Go read the new article by BG. He’s worried it’s not very good. He’s wrong.

More in a little while….

The Calm Before the Storming: Day Two, Part II

[If detailed stories of food don’t interest you, you may want to skip this installment]

I love a good meal. I love hearing about good meals. Whether it’s prepared in a simple fashion or extravagantly, in a fine establishment or in the wilderness over a fire, a meal that manages to rise above the mundane reminds me that there is still some good left in the world. Perhaps I’m being a bit melodramatic, but I can’t help it. I love great food, and Mrs. Head and I were off to Elements in the Aladdin seeking another great dining experience.

It did not disappoint.

Décor

The theme of the restaurant is evident in the name, and they almost got it right. Almost. The décor was nice, but it was missing something, and we pondered what the reasons for this might be as we enjoyed some drinks and a nice selection of various crusty breads. As I looked around in search of the “missing thing”, it finally hit me. The restaurant had a nice layout, with adequate representation of all of the four elements, buuut, there were framed prints on the wall in various spots. In my humble opinion, this served to cheapen the look a little bit, because they honestly looked like some of the framed “fancy” art that one might pick up at Target. I’m not disparaging Target or any of its ilk, it just didn’t fit in here. I think that if they brought in some larger raw canvas paintings that were a bit chunkier in feel it would suit the place much better. Since I fear I may be creating too negative an impression, let me reiterate that this should absolutely not stop you from going. The décor was still very nice; it was just a bit “off”.

Other than that, everything was fantastic from the start. For those that care about such things here is a breakdown:

Cocktails

The quality of the first cocktail is of utmost importance as it will set the tone for the rest of the meal. If it ends up being substandard, it will put a dampener on all things following it and casts a blow to the spirit where there need not be one. Mrs. Head ordered a Cosmopolitan and I went with a solid standby, Grey Goose Martini with a twist, very fucking dry.

Mrs. Head’s Cosmo was proper, which is more unusual than you might think. Countless are the times that a Cosmo in a supposedly “nice” restaurant comes out red instead of pink and with a cherry instead of a lime. Egad. As I took the first sip of my martini, I was immediately satisfied; they got it right, as well. Some servers and/or bartenders look at me like I’m a rude and pompous dickhead when I utter the phrase “very fucking dry” while ordering a martini, but I refuse to order them any differently. It’s truly shocking how badly someone can mess up a martini, pouring what I swear are equal parts vermouth and vodka/gin, hence the “very fucking dry” portion of the order; the expletive makes them sit up an take notice. Besides, at $10-12 a pop I refuse to drink something made in a substandard fashion.

Appetizer

We went for the shrimp cocktail. All of the reviews of this restaurant said that the three giant prawns were fist size therefore justifying the slightly shocking $15 price. Not quite fist size, but damn, they were pretty big and delicious with a couple of different cocktail sauces. Given the choice again, I’d probably pass, not because it was bad, but because of what was on the way…

Main Course

It’s hard to really say enough about the main courses, they were heaven on a plate. Mrs. Head went for the seafood mixed grill which included giant scallops, more giant prawns, and a crab-stuffed lobster tail. If you dig on seafood, it doesn’t get too much better than this..

As always, I was a sucker for the steak. There are few things on this planet better than a fine piece of dry-aged beef cooked to perfection, and when it’s done well I don’t have a bit of a problem paying nearly any price for the privilege. I went with the Applewood-grilled Porterhouse with ancho chili béarnaise. I’m sitting here trying to think up a way to do this entrée justice and words are failing me. I guess I’ll simply say that I was one of the better meat experiences that I’ve had in some time.

We coupled the entrees with a nice Qupe ’97 Syrah. Not too heavy, but still retaining a nice bold flavor. The sad thing was that the food was so unbelievably rich, we didn’t even finish the bottle and ended up leaving about ¼ of it. I was sad about that, but there was just no way that I was going to be able to fit a single thing in my stomach for the next couple of hours.

Human Head Verdict for Elements— (Out of 10) Service-9.5 Food-9.5 Décor-8.5 Highly Recommended.

[stay tuned for the Storming of the Castle]

The Calm Before the Storming: Day Two, Part I

It was wonderful waking up on Friday morning for a couple of different reasons. The first, and at first glance the biggest reason, was that I woke up feeling great. This seriously should not have happened considering the staggering array of alcoholic beverages and the amounts consumed. Must be the desert climate. Well, that or simple anticipation which let loose a bit of the adrenaline cure-all.

To me, though, there was an altogether more important factor that made the morning fantastic to wake to. It’s a special feeling, one that is all too rare in the life of a cubicle dweller:

I still had three solid days left in Vegas.

It was as though I was eight years old again and my parents had just come downstairs to let me know that not only did I not have to go to school today, but that today was actually Christmas and because of some funky magic it was going to last 72 hours. It was a great start out of the blocks with no false start, and I was picking up speed.

Staying true to my word, it was time go do some shopping with Mrs. Head. Before, when we were set to arrive on the originally planned Friday, the shopping trip was just going to be a hit and run. Since we had arrived a day earlier, however, I was mentally prepared for an extendo-shopping session, and it was exactly that. Out of all the places in Vegas a person could choose to shop, one could stand to do a lot worse than the Aladdin and I was simply thankful that Mrs. Head is not a Forum Shop lover. The thought of the Caesars shops with its crowds, the noise, and all things animatronic makes me throw up in my mouth just a bit. .The Aladdin is calm and easygoing. Perhaps it simply appeals to me because of my affinity towards most things Middle Eastern or my love of anything even loosely associated with the desert (NOTE: desert, NOT “southwest”). The fact that it is quiet and sedate could also be part of the reason it had to be rescued by Planet Hollywood, who knows.

Perhaps my affinity for this casino simply stems from the fact that I’ve had great luck on the Wheel of Fortune slots during my time there. While my love of slots certainly doesn’t reach Grubby-esque heights, I loves me a few spins on the Wheel of Fortune slots. I love them so much that I find myself periodically checking to make sure I’m not a grey-haired 57 year-old lady wearing oversize pink short pants and a fanny pack. It’s odd, this Wheel of Fortune obsession, because I hate the actual show with quite a passion and the wheel itself has only shown me glimpses of fortune but never quite gets me there. As I write this last sentence I can’t help but think of how much those damn machines are like your sophomore girlfriend. You always catching a glimpse but never quite get there. Back then I wanted a looser girlfriend; now I want looser slots. Hell, it’s probably for the best though, because if you get there you’re likely to keep coming back even if you know it’s no good for you.

The slot high carried me through the next five hours while all 5’6” of Mrs. Head proceeded to unleash a whirlwind of AMEX-presses throughout the complex. It’s still a bit hazy because towards the end I had to sit down, but I think Sephora had to call in extra staff to deal with it. Sephora=Porn for Women. Miraculously still riding my Christmas morning-like high, I ordered Mrs. Head a massage while she tended to natures call and scored some nice bonus points and a much needed rest upon return to the hotel. No, that’s not a euphemism. I really did need some rest because the hour was approaching for two things: A great meal and a $2-6 Spread Limit game that was even better.

Life Goes On. Dammit.

This week and next, the next installments of the WPBT II may be spotty, but rest assured I'm getting them written up ASAP, but for this week and next the schedule is tres busy. Stupid corporate sunsabitches.

I am happy to report, however that I'm back on the virtual felt with some decent results. Win money in cash games, enter MTT, lose buy-in to soul-sucking beat. Repeat. Not complaining, though. After a month away from the tables there is still some obvious rust that needs to be shaken off.

Now, go read Pauly, LasVegasVegas, or for that matter any of the links on the left while I sit here and work like the enslaved monkey that I am.

Advocating for Vegas

While trying to ponder the best way to write up the next installment of the WPBT II, I read Bill Rini’s post this morning and thought that I would throw my two cents in, whatever that’s worth. Ummm, that was a retarded sentence, seeing as how I definitively stated that it was worth two cents. OK, OK, I’ll get to the point.

There are obviously a ton of possibilities for the location of WPBT III. New Orleans is a great town, lots of fun to party in, but the Harrah’s casino is so-so as far as the poker goes, IMO. I’d love to visit Tunica and see what that’s about, but it doesn’t seem like a place to bring people from all over the country. Having never been, though, I could be absolutely wrong.

I’m officially advocating Las Vegas, again. Why? Las Vegas has something for absolutely everyone. Players at all levels of their game have a cornucopia of choices when it comes to where they can play, from the lowest to the highest. Not so much of a gambler? There are plenty of shopping opportunities and shows to enjoy. Wanna play some low-limit –EV games? There are plenty in Vegas and that’s something you won’t find at the Harrah’s in New Orleans unless it’s 9 AM, and even then you’ll be lucky to find a $5 table. In short, it’s really hard not to have a great time in Vegas, no matter who you are. Like pizza and sex, even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.

Last, but certainly not least, fall or winter in the desert is wonderful. It will be interesting to see what the consensus ends up being, and I’m more than sure it will be a great time regardless of the location. Even if everyone decided to get together at the Greyhound station, I imagine I’d still show up.

With so many great people in one place , how could I not?.

Through Hazy Eyes: Day One, Part IV

Day One, Part I
Day One, Part II
Day One, Part III

The lion would not only be my savior from strange night-bound creatures, it would also lead me to more of the blogging elite. As we finally arrived at the poker room, I was shocked at how nice it was. Not that I’ve seen a ton of poker rooms or anything, but damn this was nice. Bazkar described it very well, and it was his write-up from earlier that I thought of as I surveyed the scene.

“I was immediately impressed with its size and the space between the tables. There is more than enough room and you definitely do not feel cramped. They could actually add several tables and still leave plenty of room for comfort. It's basically shaped like an arc with the cashier in the middle and they try and hold all limit games on one side with the no limit games on the other side. They have a table up top overlooking the sports book for high limit games that may come together.”

Of particular note is the last sentence, because it was here that the blogger mixed game would begin. High volume? Check. High revelry? Check. High Intoxication? Check check. High Limit? Nope, $2/4. Felicia must have some badass hookups, because getting that table was awesome.

I ended up in the 10 Seat, and going backwards sat PokerNerd, Felicia, Bill, -EV, Gracie, Stb, PokerProf, Maigrey, and Pablo (of Gracie’s posse). Again, I was a bit speechless as I began meeting a whole slew of new folks, and to top it off, even with the drinks I had thus far consumed I was still a bit nervous about playing with a table full of folks that actually knew what the hell they were doing.

We began with Hold’em so everyone could get into the swing of things a bit before starting into the less familiar games. -EV sat down with a gigantor stack and immediately began straddling and trying to introduce “the rock” to the game. He also handed me a nice lesson which would serve me quite well the rest of the weekend, although I don’t think he knows it (he will now).

Sometime during the first orbit (it was early) I found AKo. -EV raised in front of me and I simply called. Board 10 7 5 rainbow and he bets out. Since I whiffed the flop I decided to muck it, opting to go the big pussy route while he flips over A3 and rakes the pot. The lesson? Better stop playing like a weak-tight tard, or I’m going to get my ass handed to me. It’s fucking 2/4 for God’s sake, stop being such a ninny. I’m glad it happened early on; God only knows how long this diaper-wearing style of play would have gone on had it not been for that.

I spent a lot of time just treading water and trying to hold on to my chips as we inevitably moved on to O8 and Razz, just chatting with PokerNerd. I kept trying to remind myself that he didn’t especially like being called “Nerd”, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. It was “Hey Nerd” this or “Check it out, Nerd” that, and each and every time I would utter an inner “D’oh! Stop calling him Nerd!” I hope he wasn’t too annoyed with me, I really was trying hard, but it rolled off the tongue so natural-like, I just couldn’t help myself.

Once the chips and cocktails started flying at a higher rate of speed, Dr. Pauly entered and I finally got to meet the estimable writer and degenerate hero. My hazy factor is up to about a 6 out of 10 and everything is a becoming quite a whirlwind, so I try to refocus on playing some halfway decent poker and call for Stud. Punctuated by a giant groan I immediately found out that –EV does not really like Stud, so he quickly grabbed Mrs. Head and told her to play the game with his chips until another was called, which was very cool of him to do.

More drinks flying.

More chips flying.

Being in the eye of the storm, it took me a minute to notice some dude standing there chatting with Felicia. The obvious height deficiency should have clued me in, but haziness over the eyes was inching ever closer to a 7.

More chips, more drinks. That short dude keeps lookin’ at me. Hmmm.

The next thing I know, the little person was beside me with a tiny outstretched hand…

“I know who this is, how are you Head?”

As I took the tiny hand and uttered a greeting, he must have notice the hazy confusion in my eyes…

“I’m Iggy”

Holeeeee Shit. The game immediately became a secondary concern by the distance of approximately 100 miles. I knew it was going to happen sometime, but it’s still pretty surreal when you finally meet the king, knowhutimean? A big moment for a 3^rd generation blogger, that’s for sure. I think I ended up getting dealt out since I ignored so many hands while I chatted for a bit with dwarfish greatness, and I knew that no matter what happened in the next few days it had been worth it to make the journey.

And the hits just kept on comin’….

As Iggy departed for more meeting and greeting, I tried to shake off a bit ‘o haze and get back to the game, but then another tap on the shoulder came….

“Hey Head, nice taste in music, bud.”

Helixx! Yet another person in my long list of must meets, and one of the few people I knew I could talk to about trance music without inquiries as to whether or not I’m Hari Krishna.

It was time for the game to become permanently secondary. I could play poker anytime, and I knew that I would play more later on in the weekend. Right now it was of paramount importance to hang out and have some drinks with all of these people that I read on a daily basis and get to actually know at least a few of them, so I racked up and made my way out onto the balcony.

If I tried to go into an account of the great conversations I had just in this first evening alone, I swear it would be enough content to truly fill up a novel, but I won’t. Some conversations are simply best when you’re there and then left at that. Hanging out on that balcony at MGM with Pauly, Derek, Helixx, and Iggy (replete with booster chair) makes it really fast and easy for the entire world to become secondary.

Drunk on booze, adrenaline, and sheer joy, I was meeting folks left and right. I finally got to properly meet Professional Poker Player Chris Halverson, who at the time was flooshing Al in the dark. It was nothing but pleasure as I got to shake hands with the S.C. Crew--Otis, CJ, and G-Rob. Somewhere in the midst of all these hours that were speeding away, I met the CantHang’s and was into my fourth or fifth double SoCo with Al. Good Lord, the Haze-o-Meter was climbing past an 8.

As I made my way to the quieter and much less frenzied bar behind the poker room, I spied Joe Speaker at a $4/8 table with a giant pile of chips and a peculiar look that was at once very drunk and very satisfied. I didn’t know it yet, but this is the look one takes on when shintorn drunk and rock solid in the knowledge that you can still play poker much better than the other monkeys at your table, and your chip towers reflect it. Heh, all I could reflect on at that moment, though, was how surprised I was that he wasn’t asleep since there was some sort of important tourney he had to play in within a few short hours time. Apparently, the world had become secondary to him, as well.

The last few hours of my evening were spent at that little quiet bar behind the poker room, where I got to commiserate with Pauly, Derek, Iggy, Maudie, and Scott some more. It was here I would meet my last few folks of the evening, Texas April, Bob, and BG, who had arrived late because of various instances of travel bugfuckerry perpetrated by the smooth operations that are the airlines.

I bought what I knew would be a final round of drinks for the evening as the haziness inched its way past 9 and Heavy Head Syndrome began to manifest itself. As the Mrs. and I made our exit for the evening, I surveyed the festivities and wonderful people surrounding me and thought that if I could design my own personal heaven, this would certainly have to be included as a part of its landscape.

We weren’t in Kansas anymore, I realized with a sigh. Thank God for that.

[Day 2 on the way..]

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.