Fly On The Windscreen - Final

Well I guess everything dies, baby, that's a fact
But maybe everything that dies someday comes back
So put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty
And meet me tonight in Atlantic City
-Bruce Springsteen

I've been thinking a lot about this blog recently, which is probably a bad sign. It seems when I spend a lot of time thinking about writing, I do very little actual writing. What I really need is five Red Dragons and an obnoxious friend to tell me, "There is no think, there is only do." The friend must be obnoxious, of course, because otherwise I might start talking about doing, which is the only thing less effective than thinking about doing.

That's why I'm not going to talk about the girl I met at the wine-tasting/Erin Bode show the other night. Despite the fact that I've conversed with her one (1) more time than most every other girl I've ever met while drinking.

Other than my wife of course. You guys think you have reason to wonder if your wife is reading because you write some paean to youthful indiscretions? (And yes, I still think of that post when I get sucked out on, Chill.) Not that I'm worried that she'll find out I was chatting up some girl at a bar, since she saw the initial interaction as it happened and somehow has a talent for knowing when I'm interested in someone. Where did she learn to read those signals anyway? But I need to keep her out of my flirtations and dalliances, because she's more attractive and more fun than I am, and I can't handle the competition.

Mostly, though, the last couple weeks have been a real bummer. Not that there's been anything truly soul-crushing, or even soul-grinding. More like hundreds of tiny soul-nail-files, probably those nearly-useless metal ones attached to soul-nail-clippers, slowly rubbing ineffectually at some of the more sensitive areas.

Earlier tonight I wrote an overly melodramatic piece on my closest ever brush with real live dying. Believe it or not, it happened less than 12 hours ago. By the age of 35 - usally by the age of five I suspect - most people have had to deal with the loss of someone close. Holding a hand in a hospital room, or a sudden sad phone call from your parents, or just finding Tiger curled motionless in a corner. Not me, though. I grew up without pets, without family, and without tragedy. Some of my friends say this has left me with an epic fear of death, but I know this is ludicrous since I am obviously immortal.

Well, I'm immoral, and I drink lots of tea. I think it's probably close enough.

Anyway, I deleted the pubescent gothic ramblings for a lot of reasons, not least to spare you, dear readers. Much like the posts I've deleted over the last few weeks on topics ranging from coat shopping to dieting to my wife's yearly descent into December despair. It seems strange to me that I have difficulty talking about poker when it's going well and difficulty talking about life when it is going badly.

From this, and the utter lack of content for the last few weeks, you might correctly surmise that my poker game has been ticking over nicely since leaving the confines of nine-to-five-dom. November was officially my Best Month Ever, buoyed largely by the twelve-hour days I spent cruising the PartyPoker 2/4 and 3/6 BBJ tables while the jackpot climbed to nearly $700K over Thanksgiving weekend. I simply cannot believe how juicy those tables get once the jackpot climbs above $300K or so. I raked in over 5BB/100 for those six days or so. That, my friends, is the kind of win rate that may just keep me unemployed.

Last night I took my first shot at 5/10, after I noticed a couple of my tagged fishies sitting in the same big pond. I was up over $200 at one point, but bled a little back off and cashed out 17 BB ahead. That's a damned good session for a low-limit grinder who's still struggling to get his head around 3/6 most nights, but I can tell I'm not ready for that limit yet. Oh sure, I'm rolled for it (by the 300BB bankroll rule, if not by my own ultra-conservative 1000SB rule), but I still find it difficult to drop $50 on a hand when my AKs whiffs. It's good to know, however, that I'm not hopelessly outclasses up there. And only a year ago I couldn't imagine calling 50c bets on the turn and river, so I'm sure I'll get there eventually.

Finally, a few odds and ends from the last post. First a much-belated thanks to Chilly for inviting me and ToolOfTheMan for hosting the Little Willie Invitational. I had a lot of fun and managed to play some decent poker while I was at it, taking first in the initial event and bubbling in the second when I slow-played my aces right into Little Willie's flopped straight. I came home from the event and put down some notes on the important hands of the night, then started writing them up properly before becoming inevitably distracted and eventually washing out the details in a fog of bong fumes. I did get the first three hands written however, and not wishing to lose my purple poker prose completely I present them here, unedited and in all their self-aggrandizing glory.

L1 AJs in SB, folded to Tooloftheman on button, who raises to 3xBB. I put him on a steal and make it about 3x that. Chilly in the BB calls quickly, and now I'm a bit worried. Hands like AK, KK, and QQ fill my head - hands that scare me. Tool makes a comment about his steal not working out so well and folds. The flop is A42 two hearts and I quickly check. Chilly does the same, and something tells me it was a big pair. The turn is another blank, I bet about half the pot and it's mine. Any memory of what you had, Chill?

Somewhere shortly after this, Little Willie finds himself first out of his own invitational. I don't remember the exact betting, but he somehow pushed all his chips in with pocket 4s on a ragged flop, only to find that Travis had flopped a set. Doubtlessly it sucks to go out first when you can't even come back next time for revenge. He acquitted himself admirably, however, and by the time we had set the table back up and sorted out the chips the tears were mostly dry.

L2 I'm in mid position when TotM sticks in another standard raise. I look down to find the Hilton Sisters. I look to my right, and my gut says AK. "So, um, you're name's [ToolOfTheMan's real name, which I actually do remember], right?" He assents. "And this is you're place?" Again an affirmative. "So are you going to kick me out if I keep reraising you?" He thinks for a moment, but apparently this is (barely) within house rules, so I triple his bet. It's folded back to him, and he calls easily. The flop is Qxx all spades, and Tool hardly thinks before stacking up a pot-sized bet. I do some math for a while, but there's really only one option. "Dude, I'm all-in." Although he is warned that the "dude" is probably a tell, he calls with AsKc and I dodge the spade and knock him out. The Host and The Honored Guest, finding themselves at loose ends for the moment, begin setting up for Dial-A-Shots.

Things got a little fuzzier after that anyway. I remember shots of cranberry vodka while someone had Otis on the phone, and another because we couldn't get ahold of Al Can't Hang. I know that eventually someone got Dr. Pauly on his cell, but I demured because he was doing a Dial-A-Hit and I didn't have the equipment to match him. Next time I'll sneak in my Ryot Kit for such an eventuality.

For me, that would have been a better option than beer and shots anyway. I'm usually able to remain relatively sane (if not stable) on hard liquor (read: girlie frou-frou drinks), but beer (or cider, more accurately, since I can't drink beer) tends to make me talkative, goofy, loud and more than a bit obnoxious. This works out okay in bars, but not so great in friendly poker games. I'm pretty sure I failed in my goal to avoid embarrassing myself, but perhaps I will serve as a valuable object lesson for other bloggers not to invite random net-douchebags into their (or others) homes.

On the subject of which, I have received exactly zero (0) messages and zero (0) linkages regarding the proposed St. Louis Blogger/Reader Open, so I suppose we're going to call it cancelled for now. Or maybe I should just declare myself the winner and move on, since everyone is obviously out-classed by a professional of my caliber. Actually, I'm guessing that this has something to do with my sporadic posting, obnoxious behavior and general lack of self-promotion. If I manage to correct any two of those things, I'll try again. Although I have to admit that I'm willfully ignoring the implied commentary by my current home game line-up, in that none of them have expressed interest either. Oh well.

Y'know, I'd do a lot more of these if I didn't spend three hours writing them.

posted by Captain Freeman @ 6:32 AM