Barcelona Rocks!

OK... that's a lame title. I know. But, it's kind of appropriate because this is a really cool city.

Paula and I spent our first full day here... much of it on what turned out to be a lame bus tour, and found that there's just so much of this city to see that you can't do it in a few days.

It seems like within in minutes you can go from the shores of the Mediterranean to the mountains or anywhere in between. The architecture is an amazing of really old buildings and really modern stuff that somehow works. The sidewalks are jammed with people and all sorts of cool shops, stands, and street performers.

Once off the bus, Paula and I spent a couple of hours wandering around the zoo, which is located almost in the heart of the city. It's really more of a big park with animals hanging out. In fact, at many of the displays - the monkeys especially - we couldn't figure out what was keeping them in their habitat aside from the collection of toys they had to play with and the free food. I mean, it looked like they could jump right over the rail and free run of the place. I'll try to post some pictures so you can get a sense of the place, since I'm sure I'm not doing it justice.

Another nice thing about this city - the food is good, which is especially nice after spending the past few months in Dublin where it's decidedly not. Dinner tonight was a really nice paella, followed by amazing gelato from a sidewalk stand, and then a night cap in the hotel bar. Not a bad way to end a day, if I do say so myself.

Speaking of which - I'm done for now. I'll be back later with stories, pictures and whatnot. Until then... Happy New Year.

Closed for the Holidays

It's December 26th, which means... well, not a lot for those of you reading this from the States. Here in Dublin, however, today is St. Stephen's Day, which means... well, it's another day when everything in town is closed. And by everything, I mean everything.

As you may have surmised, I stayed in town over the holiday weekend and I have to say, I've never seen a place shut down so completely. Stores were closed, which is a given, but there wasn't anyone on the streets. It was like a ghost town. Even the homeless panhandlers packed up their stuff and left for greener pastures.

Walking around the city over the past two days was one of the strangest experiences I've ever had. In the states, you can always find someone out and about, and can always count on a 7-11 or Store 24 being open to provide you with those last minute essentials you need. But here, that's not the case.

What was even more amazing than the last two days, however, was Saturday night. My buddy Ernest and I went out to Temple Bar to grab a couple of pints since neither of us had any other plans for the evening. Now, Temple Bar is always jam packed. I've never been there when you didn't have to push through the drunken crowds in order to get into one of the hundreds of completely packed pubs. It's a fun time, if you're in the right mood.

But on Saturday, even Temple Bar was quiet. The Porterhouse, a local joint that features great beer and live music, was essentially empty. There were maybe 30 people in the whole five-story pub, and the only tunes were the best of '80's hits being pumped through the sound system. All in all, not the most exciting night I've spent on the town.

Speaking of nights out, I'm sure I'll have few better ones in the coming days, as I'm meeting my sister Paula in Barcelona for New Year's. Hopefully, I'll remember to post.

When Not to Play

I’ve been playing a lot of live poker lately and for awhile, things were going extremely well. It’s not that every session was a winning one, but I was certainly winning much more than I was losing, and my bankroll was swelling nicely.

Of course, being on something of a rush I thought – as many of us do – that my game was dialed in. I knew the people I was playing against, my strategies were working, and I was in the zone. So, I did what any reasonable player would – I took a shot.

For me, this meant playing a $250 tourney with a $250 re-buy. As someone who’d never played anything greater than a $100 buy-in event, this was a huge leap up the ladder but I was feeling confident. Cocky, even.

And yeah, I didn’t even come close to seeing the money. I won’t go into details and I won’t make excuses but, after a few hours of play, I busted out just about dead center in the event. And that’s where my lesson started.

After busting, I didn’t really take any time to think about my play. I was hyped on adrenaline – and tilt – and all I could really think about was getting into a cash game to win my buy-in back. I mean, really, it couldn’t be that hard. I’d taken hundreds of dollars out of this game on a regular basis, I could do it again.

Except that, I couldn’t.

I bought in for about $150, and promptly donked that away in a few orbits. So, I decided to chase that money with yet another buy-in, which also vanished in fairly short order. Finally, when I was down to my last $20, I got up, walked away, and drowned my miserable day in a couple of pints.

Looking back now, I can see the events of that day much more clearly, and I better understand what caused me to blow away so much of my hard-earned bankroll. In short, I was playing scared.

I had built a bankroll that I was comfortable with… one that would allow me to buy into my regular tournaments and cash games without feeling strapped, and when I lost $500 of it on “a shot,” I suddenly felt crippled. I was relying on having that money behind me as an insurance policy. If I had a bad couple of orbits or didn’t cash in a couple of tournaments, I was OK, because I had plenty of cash to fall back on.

Except that, I didn’t anymore.

When I hit the cash game following my tournament exit, I wasn’t thinking clearly. In fact, I probably wasn’t even thinking at all. I was on auto-pilot and I had one goal; win it back. But, because I was so frazzled and shaken, I couldn’t fully concentrate on what was going on around me or who I was playing with, and I was simply another easy mark at the table.

What’s more, the consequences of losing additional cash following the tournament stayed with me for weeks. I hit a bad run all because I was feeling pressured to get back to where I had started.

So what happened next? I took a couple of weeks off. I stayed away from the cardroom, and didn’t look at poker table. I let my head settle, got more comfortable with current size of my bankroll, and started from scratch. And I played better.

Which brings me to this; there’s another time when it’s best to step away from the game, even if you may not realize it. When you think all you can do is lose.

For example, I was sitting back in a particularly juicy cash game the other night and had gone on quite a run – up nearly $1,000 in a $1-$2 game. I had a huge pile of chips in front of me, and was amazed at my good fortune. Things were great. I was on top of the world. I could run over the table as much as I wanted.

Except for one thing - I was scared.

I realized that after working so hard to accumulate all of those chips, I didn’t want to put them at risk. I was laying down very playable hands – against very playable competition – because I was afraid I’d take a bad beat or just overplay a hand that I shouldn’t. I tightened up, and the game no longer felt fun or easy. So, I did the smart thing – I waited for an opportune time, and walked away.

I had made plenty of money and had nothing left to prove at the table. Sure, I could have won even more had I stayed, but I wasn’t feeling comfortable anymore. Considering where my thought process was headed, I’m convinced it was the right move. I had nothing left to prove and felt like I had everything to lose.

I was up – a lot, and I was happy. What more could I ask for? In the end, I decided the answer was “nothing.”

Well, except for a couple of celebratory pints, of course.

Quick Impressions

Amsterdam is a strange city, and I'm not wholly sure I like it.

On the plus side, it's got a strong sense of history, culture,and a casual attitude toward drugs and sex that is completely unlike anything I've experienced before.

On the other hand, there's also a sense of - I don't know, menace, perhaps, lurking just below the surface. I mean, I've spent a lot of time in a lot of different cities, but it's been very rare that I've felt as on edge as I did wandering through the Red Light disrict Saturday night. And that was with a group of six or seven other people. I mean, it felt like you could get the shit beat out of you just for looking at someone a little funny.

Like I said - these are quick impressions, but they're all I've got so far.

Amsterdamage '06

I'm sitting at Dublin Airport with Oz waiting for my flight to Amstersdam. Even better - I'm posting from my Blackberry.

I'm not sure what to expect from this weekend, but mayhem seems likely. I'll try to remember/document as much as possible (or reasonable), but can't promise too much. Still, there should be entertainment value.

Let the Amsterdamage begin...

Not Grasping the Concept

Yes indeed, it's another of my infrequent missives from the Emerald Isle. I'll try to keep this short, as I'm in a little bit of a rant mode right now.

As I've mentioned before, I generally like what I've seen of Dublin so far, aside from the fact that the weather and the food could both use some serious improvement. Oh.. and the whole customer service thing? Yeah, not so much.

In fact, that brings me to my current state. After weeks of searching, I've finally found a suitable apartment. It's not quite as modern as I would have liked, but the location is incredible and the rent is almost reasonable so, overall, I can't complain too much. Well, at least not about the apartment. At least not yet.

What I can complain about is the banking system. Don't get me wrong, the people who work in the banks seem pleasant enough, but the system is in a word, fucked. Take the concept of online banking. I'm a big fan and have been doing my banking online for a number of years now. It's fast, convenient, easy. What more could you ask?

Well, here in Ireland, the answer turns out to be a lot more. First of all, logging into your account is a mind-numbing process. Sure, everyone is concerned about identity theft and I appreciate the bank looking out for my money, as limited as it may be but really, do I have to put in a PIN, a personal identifier code, and then either a phone number or birth date each and every time I log on? It's a little bit of bureaucratic overkill. Of course, that's nothing compared to what happens when you actually try to use the system.

Take today, for example. I need to put a down payment on my new apartment and since checking accounts here don't actually come with checks, doing this online seems like the best option. So, I jump through all the hoops to access my account and go to the Make a Payment section only to find out that I can't just click a button to add a new payee to my account. No, that would be simple. Instead, I have to call the bank and give them the details, and then wait up to five days for the payee to actually be added. WTF? Seriously.

What's even sadder is that, after talking to our company comptroller (who knows a little something about the Irish banking system), it turns out the Bank of Ireland's online interface is considered to be state of the art, by Irish standards. I promise, I'll never say another disparaging word about CitiBank's interface ever again.

Of course, the fun and games with the banking system is just part of the customer service problem over here. After talking with my colleagues, I fully expect to fight the same battles with cable and utility companies over the coming days and weeks. Who knew that a country where it's already dark and cold at 4:30PM had such a strong grasp of the "Manana" concept so popular in warmer, more relaxed climates?

When it comes right down to it, maybe I'm just being an ugly, pushy American when it comes to these things. I think I'll grab a pint and think it over while I wait for the bank to do it's thing.

...And There Was Much Rejoicing

Yes, believe it or not, people here in Dublin town did in fact follow yesterday's U.S. elections. And yes, there really was much rejoicing over the fact that Bush and his cronies had their collective asses handed to them by the general public.

To tell the truth, I was really surprised by how enthusiastic people over here were over the election results. As someone in a local card room said last night, "It's not that Americans are stupid, they're just fucking gullible. It's about time they got it right." For my part, I did point out that not all of us were deceived by the Republicans, but overall, I can't completely disagree with the assessment. I mean, we may not have really elected W to office either time, but we certainly didn't provide his opponents with strong enough margins that they could effectively argue that he stole the elections.

Anyway... all that aside, I happily raised a pint (OK, maybe two or three) to the American voters last night. And really, when was the last time any of us could say that?

Remember Me?

I know - it seems like every time I post something new I apologize for not posting in a ridiculously long time. So, I guess it only makes sense that I start by apolgizing for not posting anything new in a ridiculously long time.

Life here on the Emerald Isle has been busy, interesting, and just a little crazed. In short, it's been pretty much business as usual. So, without further ado (and what is ado, exactly?), here are some of the high and low lights of the recent weeks...

• Life at FTP has been absolutely nuts. As many of you probably know, the Republicans passed the Internet Gaming Act at the end of the last term by attaching it as an amendment to the Port Security Bill. I guess they're trying to protect the U.S. from the dangers of the Party Poker Cruise.
  
  Whether or not this new law is actually enforceable or even legal remains up in the air, but it is having a tremendous impact on the online poker industry. Some of the biggest names in the game - Party and 888 among them - pulled out of the states as soon as W put his name on the paper, while others, like FTP, decided to stay. In the short term, at least, that means we're growing faster than ever and are working our butts off to make sure the site stays up and that we can provide all of the games and tourneys that our new players want. It's crazy, but fun and I'm going to enjoy it for as long as possible.
  
  In other FTP news, we have finally gotten our visas and work permits which means we're actually here legally. It's nice to have that behind us, but now I've got to deal with finding myself an apartment. Which brings me to...
• Life outside the office. I've been living in temporary housing for the past 10 weeks which has been nice for the bank book, especially since all of the little day to day stuff around here is really expensive compared to the states. That said, I have been here long enough that I've gotten used to the fact that the ATMs spit out 50 Euro bills as a matter of course.
  
  Of course, the other banking stuff still makes me nuts. I mean, you can't deposit money into an account using an ATM and the banks are never open at any hour when you can actually get to them. Which brings me to weekends in Dublin. Don't get me wrong, I like a nice relaxing weekend as much as anyone, but it is nice to be able to get some things done. And when you get to a bank or go look for an apartment because no one shows them on a Saturday, it gets a little frustrating. On the other hand, I'm still amazed at the amount of partying this place does on the average Friday and Saturday night. Walk around at 3AM (which is a pretty common occurence) and you'll find crowds of people all over City Center. It adds a nice flavor to life here.
  
  Speaking of City Center, I've decided that this is the part of town in which I'm going to remain. The commute to the office isn't too bad on the LUAS and everything I want is within easy walking distance... shops, pubs, and the cardrooms. Which brings me to...
• Gambooling (as my friend Franklin calls it). I've been playing a lot of cards (I know, you're all surprised) and I've been playing pretty well (OK, now I know you're truly surprised). In fact, over the past week I've reached the final table in two tournaments, and went on to chop for first place in one of them. I've also done pretty well in the cash games. Of course, I'm sure I'll hit a cold deck sometime soon, but I'm enjoying the run while it lasts.
  
  Away from the cardrooms, I did a little gambling on the golf course today with Gitter and Wampler. It's actually been my second Irish golfing experience of the weekend (and of my time here) and it was a lot of fun. Aside from the weather, which on Saturday, consisted of lots of rain and wind. Still, it was good to go out and hit the ball, even if I was playing with borrowed clubs, since mine are still stuck somewhere on the docks along with the rest of my belongings (I can't get my stuff until I actually find an apartment).

There's plenty more to talk about, but I can't think of it all right now and I'm sure I've rambled on enough for one post anyway. Hopefully, I'll be heading back to the states in a couple of weeks, which will be a nice change of pace.

I promise to try and post more frequently, but don't hold me to it.

And Now a Word from Our Sponsor...

OK, it's been awhile since I've posted. There are lots of things I should talk about and a few I shouldn't, but suffice it to say, life in Dublin hasn't been too bad. I'm still in temporary housing, although I'm now near City Center, which is very nice. The weather is ever changable, the food is usually mediocre, and potatoes come with everything. Really. I'm not kidding.

All that aside, I do want to share this open letter from Full Tilt Poker regarding the new Internet gaming bill that Congress shoved through over the weekend. If you play online poker, this is important. Join the PPA. Call your Congressman/woman. Vote.

OK.. no more ranting... here's the copy:

An Open Letter from Full Tilt Poker on the State of Online Poker

As many people are well aware, the United States Congress recently passed legislation that aims to make it illegal for U.S. banks to process transactions related to online gaming.

We, like all online poker players, are dismayed and saddened by these potential regulations, and are doing our best to determine what these changes will mean to our customers. We are continuing to study this legislation and, until our investigation is complete, believe it would be wrong to comment on how these new rules will impact the ability for players to transfer funds to and from Full Tilt Poker.

In the short term, we assure you that your online experience at Full Tilt Poker will not change. You will still be able to deposit and withdraw money from the site using the same methods and payment processors as usual, and your money will remain completely safe and secure. We cannot predict how the online experience may change in the future, but we do not expect any immediate impacts from the legislation as the banking industry has 270 days to implement new rules after the bill is signed.

It is also important to note that, once signed, the new legislation will not criminalize individuals for playing poker online. Instead, the bill will eventually attempt to prevent the transfer of funds to online gaming. As poker is a game of skill rather than pure chance, we hope that it will not be affected by this new bill. Speculation aside, however, we will continue to work closely with organizations like the Poker Player’s Alliance to lobby for an exemption for online poker and for your right to play a truly American game from the privacy of your own home and computer.

While this last-minute congressional move has undoubtedly caused concern among our players, we want to assure you that Full Tilt Poker is legally regulated and licensed to offer its services to anyone around the world and that your day-to-day experience at the site will remain unchanged in all respects.

Full Tilt Poker

Escape from Glenogeary

So, I get a phone call about midday on Saturday. FHWRDH and facty are inviting people over for an afternoon/evening of poker/pizza and general amusement at their newly rented home down Glenogeary.

Now when I say "down," I'm talking about six miles from city center. In Dublin, that's the boonies. Really beautiful boonies, but the boonies nonetheless. Since I didn't have much going on, and haven't gotten to explore much more than the city center area, I thought this sounded like a fine plan, and headed out.

I grabbed the the 46A bus and made my way to Dun Laoghaire (I'm still not sure of the proper spelling), where I then transferred to the DART rail line for two stops. A 10-minute walk up the hill and viola - Chez Henderson. Now, this short journey took about 75-minutes in total, which I guess isn't bad by Dublin standards. Considering that it would be about a 20-minute drive though, it's a little slow by my usual clock. I did, however, get to ride through Monkstown, which is just outside Dun Laoghaire, and which looks like the land time forgot. Incredibly tight streets, ancient looking brick apartment blocks crammed together shoulder to shoulder. I half expected to see James Joyce wandering down the middle of the street carrying a pint and a writing tablet.

Speaking of Joyce, whose writing I have never understood, the Henderson's backyard is one of the best features of their home. Looking out to the sea, the Joyce Tower figures prominently in the view, as does the top of Dalkey Castle, just a few miles south. It's pretty incredible.

Inside the house, the view was reminiscent of an old Murderer's Row game, with Henry, Sophia, Ephro, Wampler, Shyam, and Ernest all in attendance. We sat down and played a casual tourney that Ephro took down, and then spent the rest of evening hanging out, bullshitting, and inventing a new game... Chinese War, which is too complicated and too unfinished to even begin describing here.

Somewhere in the middle of the evening, facty decided that she needs a new project, and that my love life - or lack thereof - would be a fitting challenge. I'm more than happy to let her run with this, although I'm still a little confused as to why she's decided I need to be set up with a nice Polish girl. I don't argue with Kate though, so I guess I'll just go for the ride.

Around 12:30 am, we decided it was time to bring the festivities to an end, and that's when some of the real fun started. Things get mighty quiet in Glenogeary after 11 pm, even on a Saturday. We called a couple of cab companies and, when we told them where we were, they immediately hung up on us. Brilliant, as the locals say.

After a few minutes of debate, we decided walking toward civilization would be the best bet, so we set out enmasse. The only problem with this plan was, none of us quite knew where civilization lay. We hit the main drag and the group promptly split, with Henry, Rick, Sophia and others turning right toward where they thought Dun Laoghaire lay. Ernest and I, took the path untravelled, and went left, wandering off toward parts unknown and, hopefully, Leopardstown.

Now, one of the nice things about Dublin is that you feel pretty comfortable walking around at odd hours, even when you don't know where you are. Ernest and I made our way toward Sallynoggin (I love the names of some of these towns), where we finally found a cab. All in all, it was entertaining if a little frustrating, and the one overwhelming certainty that came out of the evening is that the next time we play cards at the Hendersons, we're inviting at least one person with a car.

Observations

After a little more than a week here in Dublin land, I've noticed a few things and confirmed a few things I alway knew. For example:

• I hate public transportation. OK, as a concept, I guess it's OK, but practically, I despise it. Case in point - there's a bus that runs straight from my crappy temporary apartment to my office. In theory, this is perfect. In practice, however, the fucking bus shows up approximately once every 30 minutes, if you're lucky, and even less often if it's raining.
  
  Of course, there's always the LUAS, which is much like Boston's T. It's clean, reasonably fast, and affordable. Again, not bad. But, it's a 10-minute walk to the nearest station, which is always fun in the rain, and the train stops a good 15 minutes from the office. Again, practical it's not.
• Walking is a great way to learn the nuances of a new city. I've been doing lots of walking in the past week, and I've seen a fair amount of downtown Dublin already. Of course, Downtown Dublin is fairly small, so it's pretty easy to take a lot in on an impromtu walking tour.
  
  Also, I've been able to see some neighborhoods I know I might want to live in, and a few I know certainly don't. For example, right next door to Ranellah (I'll figure out the proper spelling one of these days) is another neighborhood named Harcourt. I wandered that way today thinking it was worth checking out. It was, but only because it's the first hard-scrabble part of Dublin I've really come across. Tenements, grafitti, clapped out cars. Definitely not a neighborhood I'm going to consider.
• California has softened me when it comes to dealing with weather. It's not that I don't enjoy weather and, in fact, it's sort of nice to experience something other than 85 and sunny every day (or, more recently before I left, 100+ and sunny). Still, I've forgotten how annoying having to walk moderate distances in the rain can be, especially when you're carrying a computer bag and your dinner.
• Driving in Dublin is going to be an experience. Of course, I'm not ready to buy a car just yet, but I can see it happening sometime in my future. That said, I don't have a lot of experience driving on the opposite side of the road, and it's going to take some getting used to.
  
  As for a motorcycle, which is the form of transporation that I think would actually work best here for many reasons, the aforementioned rain may well put a damper on that plan. As miserable as it is to walk in the rain, riding in it is even worse.
• The combination washer/dryer is another great sounding idea that, in practice, sucks. Sure, the clothes get clean, but they don't get dry. Ever. Also, I can't figure out for the life of me why it takes three hours to do one load of laundry. At least I'm not using quarters.
• Drinking here is a sport. More than a few years ago, I'm sure I could have been competitive. As it is now, spending a Friday night in the Temple Bar and Grafton Street areas of town is certainly fun, but inch-for-inch, I think this is the most densely packed bar scene I've ever experience. And I'm not just talking the number of bars crammed into this relatively small area - I'm talking about the number of people crowding into each of these establishments. It's an amazing scene.

There's more, of course, but I'll save it for later.

Until then...

Line of the Week

The scene: A Thai restaurant in the Leopardstown section of Dublin.
The time: 10PM, after a long night at work.
The players: Me, my co-worker Ernest, and a waiter with a strong and unitelligible Thai/Irish accent.

Ernest and I walk in carrying backpacks. It's pretty obvious we've come straight from work. We get to the table and are about to take our seats.

Waiter: You bawk?

Ernest & Me: Huh?

Waiter: You bawk?

Ernest: Did we walk? No, we took a taxi.

Waiter: (Emphatically) Did you bawk?

Me: Yes, we just came from work.

Waiter: Do you speak English?

Ah... Dublin.

Feet Don't Fail Me Now

I think it's safe to say that I've done more walking in the past four days than I have in the last two I lived in Los Angeles. Dublin is a walking city, even when you're heading for the public transportation. It's enjoyable enough, especially as a newcomer, but my shins feel like they did when I used to run track. Yeah, it's safe to say I'm a little out of shape. The good news is, that if I stay away from the beer (yeah, right), I'll probably drop a quick 10 pounds just by doing my daily commute.

Still, I've covered a good amount of ground in the past few days. I took the LUAS to the office on Friday, which is very much like riding the T in Boston. A 10 minute walk to the station, and 15 minutes on the train, and I was still a good 10 minutes from the office. My boss met me at the other end and gave me a ride to work, but until we get a shuttle running between the end of the line and the office, I'm thinking I'm looking for other transporation.

Which leads me to the bus. My co-worker Chharlie (yes, he does spell his name that way - don't ask me why) took a ride out to Blackrock on Saturday to attend a Bar-B-Que thrown by one of our Irish co-workers. He's living in a really nice, very new house and, aside from various people from the office like FHRDH and his wife Facty, the party was attended by a number of his family and friends. To say it was a gregarious crowd would be an understatement.

After a few hours of Guinness and grub, a few of us decided to head back toward city center and try our luck at one of the local casinos. A few hours of Pot-Limit Hold'em turned out to be a profitable way to spend the evening, and led to a 3:00AM walk back across the city to my dingy temporary apartment. It's kind of amazing to see how lively the city was at that hour, as tons of people were still gathered on the sidewalks hanging out around some of the city's afters-hours clubs. I'll have to check those out sometime in the future.

Today was spent doing more walking... another trip to LUAS led me to DunDrum and the biggest mall in Ireland where I quickly blew my winnings on some necessities I forgot to pack. Upon my return home, I quickly went out again and took a 10 minute walk (everything seems to be within reach of a 10 or 20 minute walk) to Baggot Street, which seems to lie between Ranelagh and Ballsbridge where I found a local Tesco supermarket so I could buy a little food and some laundry detergent. Exciting stuff, I know.

Anyway... I'm back trying to figure out the strange little combo washer/dryer that lives in my kitchen and typing this rambling note for all three of my faithful readers.

They'll be more to come... I think.

Welcome to Dublin

It's been about 36 hours since I've arrived in Ireland, and I'm slowly beginning to adjust. I certainly haven't been here long enough to form anything more than quick impressions, but I thought I'd share some of what I've discovered so far.

• It's expensive. Of course, I was warned about the fact that Dublin is a "pricey" city, but still, it does surprise you when a quick pasta dinner at a local cafe costs about $20. It was tasty pasta, sure, but $20?
• The people are truly friendly. And no, I don't mean in that service economy sort of "Please, we're trying to make this experience nice enough so that you don't realize you just paid $20 for a plate of pasta." No, I mean, these people are genuinely friendly. They're more than happy to engage you in conversation at any time about anything. It's going to take some getting used to.
• Walking is a viable, if somewhat challenging, method of transportation. The city isn't that big. You seem to get to many places within 20 or 30 minutes and the scenery on the sidewalk is quite pretty. That said, you do have to be alert enough to dodge the occasional bike/motorcycle messenger who zoooms onto the sidewalk or zips through a red light, as well as the drivers who believe it is perfectly fine to park half of their car on the sidewalk.
• It really is a lot like Boston. The weather is similar, as is much of the architecture. And the accent is spot on, as long as you remove the words "wicked" and "pissah" from your vocabulary.

Tomorrow, I'm off to spend my first day in the office. If I can find it.

A Little of This... A Little of That...

I'm not really sure why I'm posting right now. I really have very little to say, but I'll say it anyway. So, what follows are a few random thoughts:

• More than a week after leaving Vegas, I'm still occasionally surprised to find myself reflecting back on Speaker's remarkable Hammer crack of my Kings.
• It's really fucking hot here. I mean, Africa hot.
  
• More than a week after leaving Vegas, I'm not surprised that I'm still running bad, despite taking some money off a big-time tournament winner in a recent home game.
• CarMax is a great thing.
  
• With just a few weeks to go until I completely uproot my life, I'm alternating between this strange combination of excitement, dread, and general WTF-syndrome when I think about all the shit I have to do before I move.
• Being called "less donkish" than you used to be is surprisingly complementary.
• A cold beer would taste really good right now.

Jacked, Hammered, and Generally Beat Down

Yes, I'm back from Vegas. And, as much as I love the town, I've got tell you, I haven't been this happy to get out of Dodge in quite awhile. It's not that I had a bad time in Vegas, or that I played badly. I didn't and I didn't. It's just that for the weekend, fate decided to make me the Honorary Hanel (a.k.a., Bad Beat Cover Boy).

Some would say it's karma. I say, Speaker pushed all in with best hand at 4AM - I mean, of course my poket Ks are going down to the Hammer when he turns the open-ended straight he made on the flop. He had me dominated before I put a chip in the pot.

Of course, getting Hammered - figuratively, literally and well, I can't think of any other way, is just part of the chaos that is Blogger Weekend.

Yes, I suffered many a bad beat in my hours of play. No, I won't recount them here. If you were at the tables with me, you saw them for yourself. If you weren't you don't want to know about them. Still, despite the misfortune of my weekend, I'll be back as soon as possible.

And, as long as Hanel shows up, I'll be fine.

Vegas Baby!

Yeah, yeah - it's the world's most overused headline. Still, it works. And that's where I'm heading in less than 24 hours.

Yes indeed. I'm escaping the oppressive summer heat of the San Fernando Valley for the oppressive summer heat of the Strip. At least I'm not paying for the air conditioning. For those of you who care (and I doubt there are many, if any at all), I'll be sitting down at the great blogger tournament on Saturday with a bunch of people who can, at best, be described as degenerates. And yes, that is a complement. Trust me.

Aside from that, I'll be stopping by the Rio to check out some of the WSOP action and to kill some time with the folks at the FTP suite. Watch this space for stories of random drunkeness and donkishness.

Until then...

Ch-Ch-Ch Changes

Yup - that's right, there's news out of Studio City. Actually, the news is that I'm getting out of Studio City fairly soon.

I'll be trading the sunny confines of Southern California for the dank overcast of Dublin. That's in Ireland, by the way... not Ohio. (I've been there, done that, and don't plan on doing it again.) Anyway, now thatI've made the decision to pick up and move, I actually have to pick up and get moving, which I really hate.

The move date looks like it's going to be August 13th, which is awfully close. I'll provide more information once I have it to give. Until then, I recommend developing a taste for Guinness if you plan on visiting.

No More Rafe Last Jokes for Me

I was watching his progress throughout the day, and damn if he didn't come through. If you don't know what I'm talking about, check out PokerWire to find Rafe Furst's smiling mug sitting behind a mountain of cash and, more importantly, his first-ever WSOP bracelet.

Congratulations Rafe - and thanks for ensuring that Perry is no longer the only Tiltboy with a bracelet.

Bellagi-Oh Yeah!

Yes, yes, I know, it's been quite some time since I've posted anything. Not that anyone cares, but still, I do notice.

Having just gotten back from a what was basically a Vegas day trip, I figured it's time to write something. And Vegas being Vegas, this seems like the topic. I actually didn't travel to the desert for fun, but rather, for a meeting with the good folks at CardPlayer in regard to the upcoming WSOP. (You do know about all of the ways you can still win seats at the WSOP at FTP, don't you?)

Brief plug aside, the fact that the meeting was at nine this morning meant that it was only reasonable that my boss and I travel to Vegas on Wednesday afternoon. Which we did. Now, like any sane (?) person, I love Vegas and everything it stands for. I mean really, it's a city of such extreme excess that even the most jaded among us (me included) can't help but give in to the lavish displays of opulence that dot every part of the city from the statues outside of Caesar's to the statuesque beauties lying by the pool at the Hard Rock. I mean, if you can't beat it, at least enjoy yourself while your losing, right?

Ah, but here's the rub... I walked away with extra money in my pocket on this little excursion... an occurence that, sadly, doesn't happen every time I'm in town. Thanks to the fine people in my office, my boss and I hit town on Wednesday afternoon and each checked into very tasteful rooms located a mere 17 floors above our favorite room in the place; the Poker room. Of course, because this was a work trip, we didn't head right for the tables. But we did get there.

Now, for those of you don't know, the Bellagio spreads all sorts of games at all sorts of levels, most of which far exceed my meager bankroll. Still, they did have a nice $2-$5 No-Limit game going that I was more than comfortable playing in. After a few short minutes on the list, I took my seat just 10 feet from the glassed in room where the Big Game is played, thankful that none of the top-tier pros was in the room to mock me as they walked past.

On my first hand, I picked up A-K and, of course, rasied. Being the new guy, I got absolutely no respect (shut up Bill), and picked up three callers. When the flop came 7-7-9 and three people bet, I dropped my hand. An auspicious start, to be sure. My $200 buy-in lasted for a few orbits until I picked up A-10 on the button. When I flopped top two pair, I bet, and got called by one of the table's two big stacks. The turn brought a blank, and I pushed in my remaining $100 into the pot. The big stack called and caught his two pair when the river brought a king. Damn!

Still, I wasn't ready to call it a night yet, so I did the one thing I promised myself I wouldn't; I reloaded. I dug into my pocket and pulled out the "extra" $200 I wasn't going to touch and bought right back into the action.

Now, being $200 isn't my favorite thing in the world, but I tried hard not to think about the money so much as the fact that I was just playing with chips. I played tight, raising with the couple of good hands I caught, and trying to limp with playable hands like 7-8 suited. If the pot got popped, I usually dropped my cards and looked for a better spot. After an hour or so, I managed to drag myself back to about even on the night and was feeling pretty good about my game. Yes, I was still down about $50, but that was acceptable for an evening's entertainment.

When my boss cashed out, I decided to stick around for awhile more which, as it turns out, was possibly my best decision of the night. I picked up K-Q twice in the blinds, and got into pots cheap. On one hand, I flopped broadway and picked up a nice $150 pot when one of the big stacks tried to buy the pot on a bluff. A couple of orbits later, I flopped two pair with K-Q and picked up another $200 when my opponent called my all in with his two pair of Q-10. Suddenly, I was in positive territory.

From there, I played awhile longer, picking up a few pots here and there, and steadily increasing my chip stack until I had doubled my buy-in for the night. As the clock was pushing 1:30 in the morning, I figured that was as good a time as any to cash out and book a win.

Now, if I can just do this the next time I play live...

I Am What I Am

Years ago, when I first started studying journalism, my professors hammered home the importance of a very basic concept: Impartiality. For any journalist – make that, any good journalist – this is one of the key tenets of the business. Having opinions is fine, but they have nothing to do with the job at hand.

Have to cover a Republican fund raiser even though you can’t stand the candidate? Too bad. Have to spend the day talking with a member of Operation Rescue even though you’re pro choice? Have a nice time. Report on Midnight Mass even though you’re a Muslim? Allah will forgive you, as long as you get the story.

In short – journalists don’t get to choose the stories they cover, unless of course, they have a built up seniority within the organization, in which case, they get to pick and choose the plum assignments in the best places on Earth. Like Baghdad.

Listening to the news today, I’ve been hearing a lot about the U.S. camera crew that was caught in the suicide bomber attack. It’s a tragedy, to be sure, and my heart goes out to their families. What’s more, I’ve worked with Kimberly Dozier, and she is one of the best – and nicest – people I’ve met in the business. She was based in London while I worked in New York, but we spoke on the phone often while at CBS News/Radio, and she was always one of the great correspondents to deal with. Professional, reliable, friendly, and not above telling a good dirty joke or story when she had the time. I wish her a speedy recovery, and all the best.

Above all else though, Kimberly earned my respect because she is what she is: A top-notch reporter willing to ask the tough questions and go to the tough places in order to report on the story she’s assigned. She never flinched from taking an assignment, and in fact, had to volunteer for duty in Iraq. In what in many ways remains a male dominated field, Kimberly has bigger balls than many of her colleagues.

That’s why I’m even more amazed when I hear people talking about how “women shouldn’t be reporting in combat situations.” The fact that Kimberly is a woman (and a very attractive one, at that) has nothing to do with what happened to her on Monday. Had she been a man, she would have been just as injured or, in the case of her cameraman and sound engineer, just as dead. It doesn’t take strength or stamina to report from a war zone, it takes guts. And Kimberly has more than most. I know damn well she has more than me because I have to tell you, if I was still reporting, you couldn’t pay me enough to wander around Baghdad with a microphone.

The idiot who blew himself and that city block up today couldn’t have cared less that Kimberly was a woman. She was a target - a means to an end. Kimberly understands that, even if the general public doesn’t. I’m not saying that makes what happened today any less tragic or deplorable, but as somebody who’s had the concept of impartiality drilled into them, I’m saying that what happened to Kimberly is no better or worse than what happened to her colleagues, the soldiers she was traveling with, or any of the thousands of people who have been killed and injured in Iraq over the past three years.

Kimberly is what she is: A professional reporter covering a horrific war. And, as I said, earlier, I am what I am too. In an age and culture defined by labels and affiliations, I try hard not identify myself too closely with any one group or ideology, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have opinions or know where I stand on the political spectrum. The truth is, even though I’m a registered Independent, I’m a whole lot more liberal than most of the people in this country.

Should prayer be allowed in school? I don’t think so. Should a woman be allowed to end an unwanted pregnancy? Of course. Do I believe in the death penalty? It depends. Do I think this administration’s plan of giving tax cuts to the richest 1% of the population is really the solution to our myriad of social ills? Not on your life. Those are just my opinions, whether you agree or not.

Have another take on the issues? I’ll be happy to sit down with you over a coffee or a beer and talk about whatever you want. Will I proselytize in order to sway your opinion? Probably not. Will I expect you to argue passionately for your point of view? Of course. Will either of us change our minds? Doubtful. But that’s what makes America great – we can all have our points of view and agree to disagree. (Unless of course, you’re talking about the current administration, in which case, doing anything other than towing the party line is grounds for investigation, indictment, or public humiliation. But that’s another topic for another day.)

I’m a product of the coasts. I grew up in New York, went to college in Boston, and have lived in California for almost nine years now. I grew up around liberals and I generally like them. Aside from a short time in Ohio, I’ve never lived in the middle of the country with the people that George W. and his cronies call “real Americans.” Maybe I’m missing something, maybe I’m not.

That said, I’m moving soon, and hope to gain a whole new perspective on America. Maybe I’ll learn something new or see the country in a whole new light. Maybe I’ll change. I’m not sure.

For now though, you can call me any of the following: American. Agnostic. Liberal. I am what I am, for better or for worse.

I'm Not Dead Yet

I've just been taking a really long nap. OK, that's not true either, but it sounds a whole lot better than saying that I've just been too busy/lazy to write anything new, which is much closer to the truth. Of course, intermittent Internet connection issues haven't helped the cause either, but that's just an excuse.

Still, I figure I should write something. So, without further ado, here's a quick update. It's thrilling, I know.

• I went to Phil Gordon's Put a Bad Beat on Cancer party at the White Lotus in Hollywood last week. It was a good evening out to help a very worthy cause. Aside from hanging out with some of my co-workers, I got to watch some very good professionals like Annie Duke and Layne Flack lose the shirts off their backs to some very lucky amateurs.
  
  What's more, being a Hollywood party, I got to meet some very cool celebrities, including two of my favorite actors, Hank Azaria and Josh Malina. My favorite moment of the night, however, came when I introduced myself to Annie and told her that I worked with her brother Howard. Her response - "Oh, you're part of the evil empire that's trying to ruin my life. My respone - "Why yes I am. It's nice to meet you." You've gotta love it.

• I've begun the slow and relatively painful process of sorting through all of my stuff in preparation for my next big, life-changing move. If you know what I'm talking about already, all I can tell you is that I don't know when I'm packing up, but August is looking like a safe bet. For those of you who may not have heard, I can't go into details here. Drop me an email though, and I'll be happy to fill you in.
  
  
• I actually went out and hit golf balls the other day. It's been way too long since I've picked up a club, and to tell the truth, I was pleasantly surprised. My game may not have deteriorated to total crap - although, it was never much more than that to start with. I'm looking forward to hitting the links a lot more in the near future and may even invest in some new clubs. Exciting, ain't it?
  
  
• My friend Andrew Cohen started a great new blog covering all sorts of fascinating legal issues and the big cases of the day. I guess that's no real surprise, since he makes much of his living by working as the legal analyst for CBS News. He's definitely worth a read.

Alright - that's the short and sweet update. It's warm and sunny here in LA, as it's supposed to be, and I have the day off, so I'm getting away from the computer again.

Repping for the Home Game

I spent a few hours online today playing in the Hammer Out Cancer charity tournament on FTP. It was a pretty strong turn out, with about 60 bloggers - and me - playing and raising some money for cancer research.

I won't go into all the details, but I think I did a solid job of representing the Murderer's Row crew, finishing fourth overall. In Hanel-like fashion, I got knocked out when my pocket Queens got cracked by a set of 8s.

Aside from playing with a bunch of blogger loons, the most fun came when people figured out who I am. I guess people really do read Rini and Hanel's blogs.

And Now for Something Completely Different

If there's one thing that most people can get behind it's the fact that food is pretty good stuff. OK, if you're a Hollywood actress, you may disagree, but other than that, most people I know like to eat.

In fact, one of my friends likes food so much that she's started her very own blog about all of the odd things she's eating nowadays. And, living in San Francisco's Inner Richmond, there are lots of odd things available just outside her door.

So, for online food fun with Fawn, check out Possibly Edible.

The 21st Century Sedar

Just a little humor that got passed my way.

The Two-Minute Haggadah
A Passover service for the impatient.
By Michael Rubiner

Opening prayers:

Thanks, God, for creating wine. (Drink wine.)

Thanks for creating produce. (Eat parsley.)

Overview: Once we were slaves in Egypt. Now we're free. That's why we're doing this.

Four questions:

1. What's up with the matzoh?
2. What's the deal with horseradish?
3. What's with the dipping of the herbs?
4. What's this whole slouching at the table business?

Answers:

1. When we left Egypt, we were in a hurry. There was no time for making decent bread.
2. Life was bitter, like horseradish.
3. It's called symbolism.
4. Free people get to slouch.

A funny story: Once, these five rabbis talked all night, then it was morning. (Heat soup now.)

The four kinds of children and how to deal with them:
Wise child—explain Passover.
Simple child—explain Passover slowly.
Silent child—explain Passover loudly.
Wicked child—browbeat in front of the relatives.

Speaking of children: We hid some matzoh. Whoever finds it gets five bucks.

The story of Passover: It's a long time ago. We're slaves in Egypt. Pharaoh is a nightmare. We cry out for help. God brings plagues upon the Egyptians. We escape, bake some matzoh. God parts the Red Sea. We make it through; the Egyptians aren't so lucky. We wander 40 years in the desert, eat manna, get the Torah, wind up in Israel, get a new temple, enjoy several years without being persecuted again. (Let brisket cool now.)

The 10 Plagues: Blood, Frogs, Lice—you name it.

The singing of "Dayenu":

If God had gotten us out of Egypt and not punished our enemies, it would've been enough. If he'd punished our enemies and not parted the Red Sea, if would've been enough.

If he'd parted the Red Sea—(Remove gefilte fish from refrigerator now.)

Eat matzoh. Drink more wine. Slouch.

Thanks again, God, for everything.

SERVE MEAL.

Michael Rubiner writes for movies and television. His work has appeared in many publications, including The New Yorker, the New York Times, and Rolling Stone.

A Small Sunday Post

I know, I haven't written anything in the past week, but truth be told, I don't really have much worth writing about right now. Actually, that's not completely true, but I can't comfortably write about the things that have been on my mind as of late, so I'll leave you with a few little pieces of information.

In case you've missed it, here's a link to CardPlayer's coverage of the new gambling bill that Hanel put up at his new home. If you've ever played online poker, it's worth reading. When you're done, make sure you visit the Poker Player's Alliance.

As for my game, it's been going reasonably well. I made good money in playing live last week, and despite a tough run on the world's fastest growing online site, I recouped a good deal of my losses playing on my old standby site, UB. I even placed seventh in a small tourney last night, which was a nice accomplishment. The little bit of money it added to my bankroll didn't hurt either.

Three Years and Counting


March 31st, 2003. It's the beginning of a horrible, yet important four-month period of my life. It's the day I started chemo - a process I don't recommend. Unless, of course, it can help save your life.

Three months earlier, I was diagnosed with testicular cancer at the ripe old age of 35, which is very much on the high end of the scale for this disease. Sad to say, the diagnosis didn't come as a complete surprise, as the little bump I thought I felt in my left nut a few months earlier steadily grew into a painful, marble-sized tumor that I could no longer ignore. So, a trip to Dr. Sacks (and really, could your urologist have a better name?) at Cedars Sinai and, five days later, I was on the table having the growth - and my nut - removed.

Surgery wasn't such a big deal, other than the fact that I had to come to terms with the fact I was losing a part of my anatomy which, to tell the truth, I was rather fond of. Still, considering the options, I have no doubt I made the right call. The surgery did also lead to what is probably the most bizarre conversation I've ever had in my life. I mean, how many times are you going to find yourself talking to your surgeon about whether or not you want a prosthetic testicle?

Surgery started at about 7AM, and was over within 90 minutes. By 3PM, I was slowly and painfully climing the stairs to my apartment. I'll spare the grizzly details, and just say the recovery was shorter and easier than expected, and subsequent visits to Dr. Sacks showed the hormone levels that had been completely knocked out of whack by the cancer had dropped to normal levels. Things were looking good, and I expected that I'd have to go through a short, two-round course of chemo to knock out any potential bad cells that were still lurking in my system. I wasn't looking forward to the prospect any more than I relished the thought of surgery, but again, it seemed a small price to pay for some peace of mind.

And then, I got the x-ray.

I had an x-ray taken before my operation, and it showed some small spots on my lungs that my doctor chalked up as scarring from a past infection. They didn't appear to be anything to worry about, especially since my bloodwork looked so good. Still, before the chemo, they had me take another x-ray just to be sure and - son of a bitch - the spots had multiplied. The fucking cancer had managed to spread to my lungs and lymphnodes. No more short course of chemo for me. I was getting four rounds of the juice to thoroughly kill all the ugly little buggers floating around in my body.

Oh joy, oh bliss.

The first day of chemo was pretty scary, to say the least. I was ushered into a large room filled with sick people hooked up to all sorts of differnt colored IVs. Some were sleeping. Some were listening to music. Some chatted with the nurses and other patients. And all of them looked like they wanted to be anywhere but sitting in the collection of ratty La-Z-Boys that cluttered the floor.

My friend Fawn sat with me as my nurse, Summer, told me what I was in for. I'd be coming in for five straight days and would be there for at least six hours at a time, as the chemicals had to enter my system slowly to prevent them from burning my veins. Yikes, indeed. The following two weeks would be "considerably" easier, as I only had to come in once a week for a single - yet large - shot. Assuming that all went well, this routine would last for 12 consecutive weeks.

To say I was overjoyed by my situation would be an over-statement. But still, my options could be a whole lot worse.

The first couple of days went by without too much discomfort, but I was amazed at how quickly the drugs had an impact on my system. I'd come home from the treatment center and try to go for a walk, only to find I was short of breath by the end of the block. Damn, that shit was strong.

By the end of the first week, I didn't even have the energy to do anything more than fall into bed by the time I got home. And food? Forget about it. I had no appetite, which is not conducive when you've been told that you have to eat in order to keep your energy up. Energy? Hah!

Still, I made it through the first round without too much undue stress or discomfort.

And then came round two. One day in, and I knew I was in trouble. I mean, vomiting is one thing, but spending hours sitting on the floor just wishing you could puke is truly misery. Oh - and my hair started falling out. I'm not talking about a few hairs, either. I'm talking about clumps. On the pillow in the moring. Clogging the shower drain. Flying down the street in a stiff breeze. The damn stuff was leaving my head faster than George Bush runs away from a reporter.

Of course, I did the only reasonable thing and shaved my scalp and what was left of my beard. (I am a very ugly bald man, by the way.)

Still, I soldiered on, dragging my ass to the chemo center each day, and dragging it home each night. My system, as it turned out, was very receptive to all of this tortue in the fact that I was responding to the poison very well. The spots in my lungs and lymph nodes were shrinking faster than expected, and my prognosis was deemed "excellent." Yea for me.

Two more short weeks and I was ready for round three. Almost. I had become anemic, which meant that I got a week's respite from my treatments as my red and white blood cells needed some time to recover. To help the process, I got a shot of something called Neulasta, which spawns the growth of red blood cells in your bone marrow. It also hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, and left me immobile in bed for two days as my bones felt someone was pounding on them from the inside.

Still, after a couple of days and a shit-load of Advil, I felt almost human. I even managed a ride to Santa Monica one afternoon to meet my friend Steve and his fiance for lunch. I didn't really eat, but I went to lunch. A victory in my book.

Of course, my respite was short lived, as I was back in the La-Z-Boy just a few days later for next batch of poisoining. And let me tell you, as bad as round two had been - this was worse. Much worse. Not only did the drugs wipe me out faster than ever, but I developed a hacking cough that got so bad it would cause me to throw up.

Think about that for a second. Coughing so hard that your body decides to upchuck whatever food you had in your system. Or, if you have no food, the acid and other crap that's floating around in your stomach. At this rate, I didn't think I'd survive round four, let alone get there.

Thankfully, however, round four never came. By the end of round three, there was absolutely no sign of cancer left in my system. I was clean and, more importantly, I was done. Eleven weeks after I started, it was time to let the recovery begin.

Slowly, my stamina - and my hair - started to return and, by the end of the year, you'd be hard presed to tell I had been through chemo. Even better, my check ups continued to look good, which meant that within another 18 months, I would officially be considered cured.

Looking back now, nearly one year after passing that landmark, I can recall parts of my ordeal with astonishing clarity. Other days - and weeks - are nothing more than a fog. Still, I got a lot out of the experience, aside from life. When I first got diagnosed, I was amazed at the number of people who offered to drop everything and fly to LA to help me out. I didn't take anyone up on their offers (aside from my family members), but my friends' phone calls, letters, jokes, and general support throughout the course of my chemo made a huge difference in my recovery.

I've thanked them all before, but at this time of year, I feel it's only right to say it one more time.

Thank you.

Consistency Isn't My Strong Suit

Yeah, I know, it's been awhile since I've posted anything. Not that anyone is really reading this anyway, but still.... Things have been a little crazy over the past week, and I'm not sure I can post all the details right now. That said, it looks like there are some changes on the horizon.

After a week filled with craziness, I decided to unwind a little by playing at my co-worker Ernest's home game. I finished middle of the pack in the tourney, which isn't too bad considering I didn't catch a starting hand better than pocket 5s during my entire run. The cash game afterward... that was a different story altogether.

There were a few people I knew at the table when we started, fhwdh included, and a bunch of people who I didn't know. Most of the guys were really loose - betting big pre-flop with marginal hands, so I mostly tried to stay out of the way. Todd, who was sitting to my right, was getting hit with the deck too, catching As, Ks, AK suited, and the like practically every hand. He was racking up chips at a pretty good pace, and wasn't scared to put them in the middle.

Finally, I caught pocket Qs in the big blind, and raised. The board came out 5-8-9, and Todd bet. I called, figuring he couldn't be playing 6-7. The turn came 10, and Todd bet again. Figuing he was playing something like A-K or A-10, I put him to the test and pushed all in. He called my $50 raise and showed a A-7, and I took down a killer pot.

I stayed out of the action for the next orbit or so until I caught A-K spades in early position. I raised, and got called by Todd again, who had built up another nice stack by this point. The flop came 7s-10s-qs, giving me the nut flush and a royal draw. I checked, Todd bet and I just flat called. The turn brought another Q, and Todd pushed all in. I called and he didn't even bother showing his bluff when the river brought a blank.

All of a sudden, I had more than $400 in front of me after buying in for $50. I played a few more hands when my phone rang, and HDouble's wife Sofia invited me to join them and Ephro at a local strip club. I figured things couldn't get much better at the table, and why not blow off some steam looking at attractive women, so I joined them at Fantasy Island which, truth be told, is really a bikini bar.

A couple of beers later and Sofia walks up to me with an attractive brunette trailing behind her. Next thing I know, I'm heading off for a private dance courtesy of Sofia and Ephro.

We stayed until last call, and then headed around the corner to a true strip club. The atmosphere sucked, and truth be told, we were all pretty tired, so we left quickly after overpaying for a bottle of water each and debating whether one of the dancer's had implants or not. (I'm still not sure, but if she did, it was the best looking job I've ever seen.)

I wandered home around 3AM, and decided that I may as well take advantage of the hour to call my cousin Liz in London. After an entertaining hour on the phone, I finally crashed around 4, and am just now getting my body clock on something close to a normal schedule.

The rest of the weekend was pretty uneventful, and my string of bad beats continued online. Still, I can't complain, considering Friday's results.

So there it is... my first post in awhile, and my first Hanel-esqe poker story. Now I can truly say my weekend is complete.

Yeah... I've Got a Lot to Say so Far

And, if you believe that... well... thanks.

It's going to take me awhile to start feeling like posting here regularly is part of my routine. I'm sure it will take even longer before I feel like I've got some kind of voice, or that I'm writing anything worth reading. Ask some of my friends, and they'll tell you that will probably never happen.

Yeah... I love my friends.

Still, I feel like I'm typing just to type right now. It seems like I'm wasting time... mine by doing this and yours, if you're actually reading this drivel. I'd apologize, but you are here by your own choice so....

Thanks for stopping by. If you're brave - or dumb - enough to come back again, maybe I'll have something more interesting for you next time. But I wouldn't count on it.

Welcome dear reader into... well, into I don't know what. The first of what I'm sure will be numerous - if sporadic - entries in this exciting new blog. A momentous occasion, to be sure, but let's not worry about the party favors just yet.

So, where to start? Tradition would say at the beginning, but a screenwriter (or a wannabe, like myself) would say start where you want.

That doesn't really help much, does it? Oh well.

I guess I'll start with the name of this blog, "Standing on the Edge of my Mind." First off, I can't claim this as an original title. It's actually a line I stole from one of my favorite bands, The Call. It's just got a ring about it that I've always liked, and for a blog, I think it's kind of fitting. So, to Mr. Been and the boys - thanks.

Actually, I almost called this little slice of cyberspace "The Reluctant Blogger" because I wasn't sure I wanted to jump into this world. In fact, I'm still not sure, but, seeing as how I work with a number of bloggers and how I'm supposed to be some kind of writer myself, I figured "What the hell."

Speaking of work, I am currently a consultant to world's fastest growing online poker site where I spend my days (and more than a few of my evenings) talking about - and playing poker with - some very bright people who I am lucky to enough to call my friends. In fact, thanks to this gig, I've managed to become a regular in what's become known as the hardest home game in Hollywood or Murderer's Row where I get to play (or suck out on, depending on who you ask) some of the most talented poker players and bloggers around, including Henry, Bill, Hanel, Ryan, and Kent. All in all, not a bad group to hang around with. While I'm sure this blog will talk about poker once in awhile, I'll be the first to tell you I'm no one you want to take advice from. Rini will be the second.

What this blog will talk about remains a mystery, even to me. I'm guessing it will simply be a place where I can rant, keep in touch with friends and family and, hopefully, entertain a few people along the way.

So, welcome again dear reader to the edge of my mind. Feel free to look inside, but remember, I make no promises about what you'll find.