I deserve a break today (but I'll wait until Thursday)

I've discovered the key to being a good parent.
Sorry, but it's not the time you spend with them.
Sorry, but it's not God.
Sorry, but it's not good clothes, good schools and a good place to lay your head.
Oh, all those are important. But they're not the key.
The key is the break.
If I know a break is coming, I can work for weeks on end without complaint. I can take all the fussing, sussing and fighting. I can take anything. I can go without sleep and run like the wind for many days in a row. I can do anything.
But only if I know a break is coming.
Well, it's coming.
In 24 hours or so, I'll be on a plane.
Viva Las Vegas.
Baby.
Thursday morning, I'll arrive, and by noon, I'll be at the poker tables. Then some buddies who are turning 40 arrive Thursday night, and it's time for a nice dinner and whatever else happens.
I don't have to plan anything.
Friday, we might even go to see Steel Panther.
I don't get many breaks. And this one's only a couple days long.
It's all I need. It's not the break itself, although that's awesome.
It's the fact that it's coming. And close.

One dog day at a time

We went to a psychiatrist last night. Ha ha, no, it wasn't for me.
It wasn't for Jayden or the twins, either, though I've been tempted. The wife? She's the only real stable one in the house.
No, it was for our dog, Denali.
We wanted a husky when we walked into the animal shelter eight years ago. I'd always loved them, and they'd be perfect for the name I already picked out. Plus some of my best friends had one and I got along with her better than most of my girlfriends, despite her about as much attitude as many of them.
But we walked by the cage, and he met our eyes and started wagging his tail as if it was a metronome, and by the time he had finished with his back and forth, he had our heart.
We knew there would be some issues. He shuffled on his butt, as if he was afraid of someone booting him there. It took some work, but underneath all that fear was a sweet, loving dog who wanted to please, played ball with the best of them and lay with us at night on the couch.
When he bit the first person, a jogger, about four years after we had him, it didn't seem that seem that serious. He didn't hurt the guy, really, and he was running right at me. I honestly didn't blame him.
However, the next time, it was a friend. Again, not serious, but it was like that once or twice a year. And then, two weeks ago.
My sister-in-law's mom and dad came to Kate's parents. And they just walked in the door.
That was the thing. If you spent a little time with him, Denali would be in your lap in a few minutes. But if he didn't know you, and you walked in the door, he'd bite you. And this time, it was serious.
He bit her so hard, in fact, she had to go to urgent care. Thankfully it really wasn't that bad, but there were two puncture wounds, and we know it was terrifying for her. Frankly, it would terrify the hell out of me.
We were ready to put him down.
I called our vet, who I've known for years, and he recommended a behaviorist. That's who we visited last night.
She's made a career out of reading animals. She'd probably make a pretty good poker player, as she's a master at reading non-verbal clues. But she's a mother of three and very busy. Her time is in great demand these days.
I could see why right away.
She taught us how to defuse his anxiety, as that's what was causing the bites. I agreed with her. It seemed that first year never did leave him, no matter how much we loved him. She taught how to help him relax, mostly with food, and how to establish his own area where he can feel safe.
It will be some work, but there is hope now that our dog, really our first child, can stay with us and leave his demons behind.

Five things I don't want to hear another smidge about

1. Stories about how the economy is affecting businesses. I don't need to read a single word about how the economy is hurting the ketchup industry or the diaper industry or the tampon industry. Editors are just getting lazy now. Things are bad. I get it.
2. That batshit woman who had eight kids. Let's not reward her heinous act by feeding her obvious, disturbing need for attention any longer, OK?
3. "The Bachelor." OMG. He DUMPED ONE WOMAN FOR ANOTHER. Holy Cow. That NEVER happens in relationships! He had a change of heart? What a BASTARD! Come on, people, let's pick up our jaws off the floor and move on, shall we?
4. How newspapers are dying. Thanks.
5. American Idol. Unless Change 100 is writing about it.

Things will get better....right?

Downswings happen. We know that as poker players, right? Everyone loses at some point. That's why we have bankrolls. They're there to absorb the hard times.
That's what gets me about everyone's utter lack of faith in the economy right now. That's what the bailouts are for. We're just using part of our nation's bankroll to help with these hard times, until the cards come our way and the economy gets better.
But I am beginning to have serious doubts, try as I might not to worry.
I never doubted my ability as a poker player before this two-month downswing because I have the bankroll to play at the level on PokerStars, but what if, I thought, these hard times are more of a trend than a symptom? What if it's going to be like this for the year, until the UIEGA gets repealed and the fish come back? What if nothing happens?
The same thoughts about our economy crawled through my mind this weekend during the annual Colorado Press Association convention. The Rocky Mountain News went under Friday, leaving Denver with one newspaper and rumors of the Post doing just as poorly. The room for the awards ceremony seemed empty and sullen. Everyone spoke of hard times.
I'm facing a different situation than many of you. I'm not too worried about being downsized, even though all our salaries were cut last week. When I won three awards at the ceremony this weekend, including two firsts, my publisher and editor were sitting right next to me. They know I'm important.
I just don't know if our industry will survive. It is, literally, like being the captain of The Titanic, as cliched as it sounds.You might be important to the ship, but that's not all that great if it goes under.
Regardless, lots of companies are going through the same thing, and I could not help but wonder if our nation's bankroll is enough. I don't know what kind of a reserve we have, but what if we go broke? It's happened to even the best poker players. I pictured our nation as a Mad Max wasteland, with people fighting over busted-out homes and sticks with fire. Really.
I want to believe that we will pull out of this, and that this is just a painful readjustment of what we can live with as a nation.
I've never carried any credit card debt, my cars are paid for, and my three kids are clothed, fed and have plenty of toys (they are still whiny as hell, but you can't have everything). We do this on a teacher's and journalist's salary, the two professions lowest on the scale with college degrees. I'm not saying this to brag. I'm saying this because it is possible to have an economy where everyone lives comfortably without relying on credit to power it. Granted, my life isn't fancy, nice or stuffed with luxury. But it's comfortable.
I like what Obama is doing, but I also know he's a poker player, and it does seem like a risk. Even if it is smart, we all know that getting our money in good, that playing smart, doesn't always work.
It's a new month, March. And I had a terrific session Friday, wiping out half my losses in one night. Then I went and played some live poker with friends, and despite suffering four awful suckouts, including almost all my chips to a literal one-outer, I cashed. Then I went home and wound down with some Omaha and won again.
I went to bed last night feeling good about poker and my game again. I'm just looking for the same encouraging sign for our country.

My new killer rock band

Facebook fun with Gracie. I could not resist posting it because 99.8 percent of all Memes are really stupid. But this one is not.





We TOTALLY look so prog/thrash metal, maybe with a dash of punk.

How did I do it?


1 - Go to "wikipedia." Hit “random”
or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first random wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to "Random quotations"
or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four or five words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to flickr and click on “explore the last seven days”
or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days
Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use photoshop or similar to put it all together.

I'm a hobbyist

I doubt I'll be participating in the BBT4.
I think it's a wonderful opportunity for us, and I give props to Al for setting it up. But there are three good reasons why I probably won't take part.
• It's expensive - It sucks up time and a lot of money to play the whole series, and I can't devote much of either to a series that I have an outsider's shot of making much of an impact on anyway. I'm a decent MTT player at best, and against a large, tough field that will surely show for this, I don't have much of a shot.
• Poker is a hobby now, and maybe not even a serious one - I'll still read books about it and watch it on TV, but I'm not playing as much as I once did. The Mookie is almost always the only MTT I play during the week, and I think I'm probably going to devote one day a week to cash games. I'm a little discouraged at the coolers and bad beats I've taken lately, but more than that, I'm also in a general downswing and have found the games to be much tougher than ever before. I'm a good player, but there are thousands of good players online now, and I'm tired of fighting so hard for just a bite of fish every once in a while.
Poker's not gone from my life, not by a long shot, but it's no longer a large chunk of it.
• The general "feel" of these BBT4 events - The douchebag factor seems to really crank up for these things because the stakes are so high and it attracts a lot of players who aren't in our regular group. I love the Mookie partly because I know the players and hardly any of them are douchebags. This is the consequence of having a high-stakes series, and though I think it's worth it for all of us to pay that consequence, I personally don't want to be a part of it. I got really tired of the fighting, nasty comments and overall douchebagness of last year's series, and I just don't want to go through it again.
You might see me at a couple of these events, but for the most part, good luck to all and win some seats - I want to have someone to pull for in this year's WSOP.

Four apparent and obvious rules of having multiples

1. They can be easily categorized, like library books, kittens in a litter or cartoon characters - Like one is "the active one," "the naughty one," "the tester," "the funny one" or "the smart one."

I find myself doing this, too, to others' credit, but I really need to stop. Labels aren't good for anyone, especially girls. It's OK to say "Allie is more independent" because she is, but it's not OK to say "Allie is the girly girl of the two."

2. If you have twins or triplets, you MUST watch "Jon and Kate Plus 8."

OK, OK, we do watch it, and I enjoyed how they raised several issues of having multiples that we go through, too. But I got a little tired of this show. It seems like they have taken it over and do shows on how they prepare dinner and things now rather than really did deep into their relationship. And I love it when Jon stands up to her, but that doesn't happen nearly enough.

3. If you have multiples, you automatically agree with any attempts for parents to have children with a doctor's help, including in-vitro fertilization, implantation, or warm KY Jelly. This, of course, includes that crazy-ass woman who was determined to have eight children at once, raising her total to 14, meaning she now has more offspring than a feral barn cat.

This one baffles me. Of course I am supportive of any parents who want to us whatever is out there for the joys of having children. I know a few who now have kids as a result. There are some miracles out there. But why does everyone assume that's how we had our twins? I've even been asked many times lately, "Why did you have treatments if you have a single son too." Is that was this batshit crazy woman has done, just made everyone assume that every pair of multiples was created in a test tube?
And EVERYONE who finds out we have twins brings up that woman. It's not the same thing, folks. Not even close. Not even remotely close.
That woman is nuts. Nuts! We aren't. Usually.

4. If you have twins, you must love to talk about them to complete strangers all the time, even while you're trying to have dinners.

Rock stars must be the same way, right? Who wouldn't want to answer whether our twins were "natural" while we're trying to eat?

The thin red line

What do you see in the photo?
Is it what you see when you're stuck in traffic?
Is it what you see when you're sucked out on for the fourth time that night?
Is it what you see when one whiny child runs one way and another runs the other, and the third runs the third way?
Does this thin red line represent the frustrations of life as they stretch your sanity harder than Gov. Schwarzenegger's facelift?
I used to see that, too.
Hell, I still see more than I'd like.
But I see something else. These days, I see it more than I ever have before.
I see serenity.
• • •
Last summer I almost ruined our home game with my best friends.
At our game was a likeable but loud guy who only got louder as he got more sloshed. He was also pretty bad, but he thought he was pretty good. You know the type. Those players are great for our bankrolls. We want them in our games.
Except when they hit.
He was hitting a lot. A LOT. And it was pissing me off. I was deep into my "It's not fair" whine in my head. It's not fair that I wait all night for a hand and he plays crap and wins all these pots and waaaaa. Well, poker is fair, more than we really realize, but sometimes it is not. And that night, when the flop came A-4-5, and I held A-5, I knew I was good, trapped him and got him to go all-in. He actually had a good hand, too, A-4, but I had him, until another 4 fell on the river.
I threw the cards across the table and stormed out. When I heard him talking about how I was being whiny, I came back in and said I was leaving. And I needed my chips. It broke up the game.
We recovered from the douchebag move, but it showed me that I let things get to me far too often. I lost $5 on that hand, so it wasn't the money.
It was the fact that I lost.
• • •
Well, I told myself I would not let poker do that to me again. I took a hard look at figured out pretty easily that when I was losing at online poker (I rarely got to play live because of the kids), I was a lot crappier to Kate and the kids than if I was winning. And I also figured out that I was the same way in our softball games.
I was Type-A, competitive and high-strung. I'll never apologize for that. It's partly why I'm successful. But you can overdo it. I was, of course, overdoing it.
It was time to change.
It was not immediate, and I knew it wouldn't be. But I did two things to help. Rather than using running and mountain climbing as a way to stoke that competitive fire, I learned how to throw the fire into running and mountain climbing. So instead of a catalyst, it became a campfire, a way to burn off all that nervous energy. It's helped. I honestly think it's one reason I had a great fall. It's one reason I continue to run better than ever. Running is a mental sport as well as a physical one, and that's something I really just learned last fall.
The second? I took a hard look at poker and figured out ways to resolve my anger toward the game. I played to my strengths, cash games, where, coincidentally, there aren't as many suckouts. I stopped playing daily, making certain nights of the week "movie nights" or whatever else I want to do. And when I'm at that home game, I play a LOT more hands. I play to have fun, not to win.
It's still a work in progress. But things are a lot better.
• • •
Funny thing is, when I changed my attitude about poker, it changed my attitude about life, too. For some reason, our incredibly difficult situation, our twins (now 21 months) and the toddler, wasn't so challenging any longer. At times, it was even a lot of fun.
As that happened, poker became a fun pastime again, an outlet. It will never be as healthy as running, but after I'm done with a session of poker, my mind is empty, not troubled like it was.
It could not have come at a better time. The kids test us continually, and I still don't always pass. Andie, especially, fusses almost non-stop from when I come home until they go to bed. It wears me down to the nub.
Last night, during a fuss, rather than yell, like I might of in the past, I lay down on the floor. She came up to me and I started tickling her. I st her with me and we watched "Monster Inc." with the gang. I played with both of them for more than an hour.
They went to bed happy girls.
• • •
Saturday night I had easily one of the worst poker sessions I've ever had. It was by far my worst live limit poker session.
I went to Black Hawk, where the limits are still $2-5 spread until July 1, when the new, $100 betting limit takes effect (note: thank GOD for that). We got there at 7 p.m., dodged all the people waiting in line at the buffet and got a new seat at a table that they opened up. Nine new players. Normally I'm glad to see this: It means you'll get a bunch of people who are there for a Saturday night (i.e. fish).
The only problem is, you have to wait a bit for everyone to loosen up. Poker can be like running in the sense that you don't want to bust out and steam off your energy. Players, just like runners, pace themselves.
So. Wanna guess when I got my good hands?
Wow. You're good. And after a tiny rush, when I flopped a set of 7s and had A-K a few times and won with K-J against a lady way overplaying K-2 (and had not very much to show for all that), the pots started growing after about an hour, and I figured it was going to be a good night.
And I did not win one pot for another six hours.
Not even scraps.
I got a ton of junk. The only exceptions were when I got A-Q twice, which ran into K-K both times.
Then these three hands occurred among the trash: I flopped trip 10s with Q-10 (played in late position) and raised it to the river, where an old man who didn't raise pre-flop showed me A-10. I flopped two pair with 9-10 and raised both times, and the two players who played every.single.hand. both got two pair with their weak Aces by the river. Then, desperate and on my second $100 buy-in, unheard of for me in this game, I flopped a K-high flush, invested $60 in it and lost to an A-high when he got his 4th diamond on the river.
When the guy showed down his Ace, I turned to my friend, angrily said "I'm done" and walked off.
But before I left, I told the guy "nice hand."
Poker sessions like that one used to infuriate me. They'd stick with me for days. Why me? Why? What did I do?
But the thin red line burned away, and what was left was the photo above, the one I took of a sunrise on a day climbing Longs Peak, my favorite mountain in Colorado.
That's the red line I strive to see now, more than ever, when poker, and life, wants to turn up the heat.

Three random thoughts for #500

• This is my 500th post! Holy crap! That's a lot of posts!

(You would think that I would really try to do something special for said 500th, but alas you get this).

(Check back in a couple days. I'm working up a post I actually like. And there's even a picture for those of you who don't like all those damn words).


• I'm going next Friday. Looks like we're gonna get hit with some serious snow. Yay Colorado.


• Remember when I was a force in the Mookie and actually made a final table and cashed every once in a while?
Yeah, me either.

I built a great stack, up to 10K, in the first hour and was out in 18th place thanks to a suckout (duh). I am more aggressive now - no, really - but I just can't seem to break through any longer.

To ski or not to ski?

Back in the day when I was climbing every weekend, before we had an anklebiter and then went for the two-for-one special on anklebiters, there were weekends I didn't want to go.
But I went anyway. I needed to finish the 14ers before Kate started demanding an anklebiter. There are 54 14,000-foot mountains in Colorado, so this was not an easy task. And I only had three, four or maybe five months to climb. I needed to take advantage of every summer weekend I could.
Now that I have anklebiters, I do things because I want to. Free time is at a premium and I'm not going to read a Jane Austin novel if I don't want to.
So Friday I am supposed to go skiing. It's all set up. Day care lady taking Jayden for the day (she already had the twins)? Check. CDs picked out for the trip? Check. Equipment all put out? No. Not yet. That's part of the problem.
The reason i didn't always want to go climbing is it's a pain in the ass. You have to drive to the peak, and that's at least three hours. If you're lucky. You have to get all your equipment together. You have to get up really fucking early.
All of this is true for skiing too. And not only that, but it's supposed to be snowing. It's supposed to NOT snow in Denver, but in Greeley, it is, which means not that great of a drive. And the drive is already more than a couple hours.
It's a good problem to have to be close to the slopes, but it's a problem nonetheless.
Money is not the issue. I bought a Four-Pass that gives me four days of skiing, knowing that even going twice pays for it. The problem is, I've gone once and do feel like I need to get my money's worth. And I don't know when, if, I'll get to go again. March looks out, almost completely. Maybe next weekend, but probably not. By April ski season is basically over.
I guess I need to go. Back in the old days, a day without kids, where I just stayed at home and watched movies or read or wrote, was a really boring day. I would have killed to go skiing then.
Maybe kids really are aging me. Now staying home seems like heaven.

Dear kids: Don't follow by example

Dear Jayden, Andie and Allie:

We need to talk.
I've noticed an increase in the pitch, tone and decibel levels of your voices lately. That's not good. Mommy and Daddy are very stressed, tired, irritable people these days. No, it's not because of you. Well, OK, yes, it is. But we love you. No, we do not wish your monster in the closet would eat you, OK? We like having you around.
Here's the thing, though. We, meaning Mommy and Daddy, refer to that voice as "whining." We also like to call it "fussing," "crying" and "OMGWILLYOUPLEASESHUTTHEF---UP?" And whining - we'll just call it that to make it easy on you - stresses us out more than anything.
Seriously. Your diapers full of poop that smells like a dead bird crawled up your ass three years ago? Getting us up from 1-3 a.m. OR sleeping through the night but waking us up at 5 a.m.? Your constant demands for juice, crackers, clothes, shoes, pacifiers? You getting into every tiny, little, odd, packed-away, well-organized thing you can find in the house and stashing it somewhere or just throwing it on the floor? Your messes after every meal that made us wish we had installed a drain in the kitchen so we could just hose off the table, the counters, the floor and your faces with a power wash? No. No No No No No.
Really, it's the whining. And let me give you a hint. Whining is not the way to get attention.
No, really, it's not. No, it's not. NO, IT'S REALLY NOT.
Sigh. I know. You've seen, in glimpses, all those stupid TV shows like The Bachelor, which Mommy watches sometimes, and all those people do is whine for attention. I have to apologize for the example most of us are setting. That's why we prefer for you to watch The Backyardigans, Little Einstein (though little Annie whines a bit too much, too) or Peep, with repeated viewings of Wall-E thrown in there.
Really. Seriously. Whining sucks. We work really hard to fulfill your needs. But there are three of you, and there's someone exactly like you who needs as much attention as you, let alone your slightly older brother. We don't need the whining to let us know you need something.
And now I'll stop because, kids, this post is getting pretty whiny.

Two minutes of motivation

Did you run in high school? Play football? Basketball?
I get that question a lot, especially after hearing me talk *cough (brag) cough* about running my latest race or half marathon, and every time, I have to choke down a laugh.
Me? Are you serious?
I was never really an athlete growing up. I was picked on quite a bit growing up and as a result was seen as someone with about as much skill as a dolphin on a sidewalk. So this probably influenced my opinion of my prowess on the athletic battleground, aka "recess." I could kick a mean kickball, pin many a snot in tetherball and club anyone in raquetball.
But, yeah, those snide comments were mostly warranted. When we wrestled in gym class, I was pinned more often than the no-named guy in pink shorts who faced Hulk Hogan on "Saturday Night's Main Event." I was one of the more feared runners on the football field, but that was in band football. And I STILL can't dribble a basketball and run at the same time, which sort of limits what you can do on the court.
I was good at things that didn't require talent or skill. I became an accomplished mountaineer because I did it many, many times, over and over, and could learn about things like the weather and nutrition and pace and scrambling. I could bench press 300 pounds because I lifted weights, over and over. And now I'm a runner because I run, over and over.
It's not magic. It's just hard work. There are many, many, many of you out there who could smoke me on the course if you wanted to start. I hope to see you out there, and if you do, wave at me as you pass me by.
It's not the tiger's ability to run with abandon, jump with skill or pull down an antelope with one paw. It's his eye.
*Cue Survivor here*

A slow-rollin sucka

At the Mookie last night I was berated - mildly, but still berated - by a player who I respect and won't name here because I'm not into pissing matches.
It's a blind versus blind confrontation. It's folded around to us blinds. We're really just underway - the blinds are 25/50 - and we both have most of our chips from our starting level of 3,000. Actually, he has around 2,250, and I have a little more than my starting stack of 3,000.
He's an aggressive player, more aggressive than most, and we just had two confrontations last week, one when I made a questionable play but it worked, the other where he made a good play with Aces and I sucked out on him. I'm not really sure if that's important, but I thought I'd mention it here.

OK, so I have A-K unsuited. He raises me 3xs the big blind. I re-pop him to 350. I have position and I want to get more chips in the pot with this premium hand. Plus, to be honest, this is a move he likes to make with me a lot, and I wouldn't mind sending him a message to knock it off and win the hand right there.
He JAMS all his chips in.

So I had to think a while. When I finally called, he showed A-4 (sooted, of course), lost and then berated me for taking my time. I think he was implying that I was slow-rolling - and he even mentioned that - but mostly he was just amazed that it took any time at all for me to call there.
He called it a "snap call" many times.

Now, really? Is it REALLY a "snap call?" I wanted to think if it was worth a race so early in the contest, when a tight player (me) re-raises a guy and he jams all his chips in? What could he really have there? What do you put him on there? I figured at best I was racing and might even be facing KK or AA even if it is unlikely. Even if he has 77+ I'm racing there.

What do you think?

Keyed up

I got in the kind of trouble over Christmas husbands get into when their wives bust in on them spending a little too long on one of their old girlfriend's Facebook page.
My transgression? I lost the keys to our mini-van.
That left us with one copy. Kate then informed me that our mini-van apparently has the security system of K.I.T.T. If we lose the second key, not only will we not be able to start our car, it will cost $300 to replace it.
Apparently the auto makers are finding all sorts of ways to make money if the buyout doesn't come through.
Kate had a copy made, but would it start the car? Oh, no. That was just so we could get inside the car if we lock the kids in there "by mistake." I've been tempted to make that mistake lately, but that's another post.
So imagine my sense of panic when Kate could not find our last key Saturday morning. It was LOST. Lost, I tell you. Lost.
"We're..." Kate said. I would tell you what she said but Kate is a good Catholic girl and prefers keep her PG rating intact. I've blown mine a long time ago. So I'll finish. "We're fucked," I said.
We looked. And looked. And got juice. It's kinda hard to set aside a lot of time looking when you've got three little kids wanting stuff from you.
I should now mention here that Friday, I watched all three kids. Things were, as you can guess, a little hectic, and by the time I had stopped by McDonald's (breaking one of my vows that I would never take my kids to those places, it's interesting how we make those vows before we have kids and we figure out what it's really like to raise children), all three were in full fuss. Full. Fuss.
When they are in full fuss, they do not like Daddy leaving them in the car, even if it's because you are taking one twin inside in one hand and you've got the toddler by the hand in the other.
So, yeah, it's somewhat understandable that I might toss the key somewhere, like on the table, and worry about other things, like getting the kids in their seats, putting the grub on their plates, getting their bibs on, cutting up an apple, etc.
At least it was to me.
Kate thought differently.
"Um, maybe it's at the gym," I said with hope. I went to the gym milliseconds after Kate returned home Friday and it could have fallen out when I was doing crunches.
Kate returned from the gym and shook her head.
Upstairs. Downstairs. The movie theater? My car? The van? We were getting desperate. We called the dealer and pleaded our case. We needed our van, or we have no transport to take the kids anywhere. Daycare. Parks. We were stranded. Fucked, in other words.
The dealer said he could cut us a key, but we have to have the van towed there. OK. Not a terrible solution. I called the towing place and they were on their way.
Except as a last resort, I grabbed the cut key Kate had made. It won't work, Kate tells me. Lowe's said so. We'll see.
It started the car.
I come back, smug. Man I am good. See, I tell Kate. You should try it.
So we cancelled the tow, cancelled the appointment at the dealer and put off getting new keys until Tuesday. Life returned to normal, which is to say, only kinda chaotic.
We were reveling in our kinda chaos when Kate decided to go get subs for everyone. She put in the cut key and began to pull out of the driveway, and...
um...
the car died.
Really. Really? Really. This security system really is amazing. I guess we're protected against terrorists who would want to crash our mini-van into, um, our recreation center or the inflatable bounce place or something.
So we called the tow place again, called the dealer back, both could still help us, and I went to get the subs. Her mother was there. By the time I get back, Kate's gone at the dealer and MIL's got all three kids.
Kate called me at the dealer.
Guess what she found at the bottom of my purse.
Just guess.
One guess.
Man. You're smart.
We've taken to calling Allie "swiper" these days, as I've said in previous posts. Our theory is that she took the keys and stuck them in Kate's purse.
And though I was frustrated at this, I was also relieved.
After all, it got me off the hook.

We will, we will....

Enjoy the Super Bowl everyone. I've got my first race of the year, a 5K. I'm just hoping for under 23 minutes; I doubt I'll get a better time than that as I haven't hit the intervals hard for a while.

All work and little play

Sometimes I worried about what kind of a parent I was when I would dread - and I do mean dream - days like today, when I've got all three kids, all day long.
How could I dislike, even occasionally, hate spending that much time with my kids and be a loving parent?
Well, I thought about that, in bed, with the covers pulled to my nose, as my wife fixed them breakfast downstairs before she handed them over to me.
And I feel better about it.
It's not my kids. I love my kids dearly. I love nurturing them.
But the nurturing doesn't happen most of the time. Most of the time, parenting is work.
That's it. It's hard work. It's hard, exhausting, numbing, tedious, even disgusting work, sometimes for 14-16 hours, and it starts at 6 a.m. and doesn't end until 8 p.m. (if we're lucky, many times you work overtime in the middle of the night). It leaves little time with your partner - you're lucky to get in a half-hour during the day, and usually by then you're too tired to do anything about that.
Almost everyone I've talked to say parenting is rewarding, the most rewarding thing they've done, they say. I'd agree with that. But it's not always rewarding. In fact, many times it isn't.
This, I think, is especially true when you have twins. The nurturing usually gets replaced by more work. Reading a book is rewarding, but it's hard to do that when the other one is either trying to crawl up, too, or is playing with a socket. Dressing, diapers, feeding, whatever, take twice as long, and that cuts into the nurturing time as well. Throw in the toddler, and we're basically screwed.
No, it's not the woman who had eight kids, but you get the idea.
Getting up in the middle of the night for three years is not rewarding. Shit fits are not rewarding. And here's how my day started today. Literally two minutes after I had put Allie in a fresh diaper and dressed her in a cute overalls outfit, she exploded, shitting her diaper so hard I'm surprised it didn't lift her to the ceiling. It was everywhere.
Then, when I got through cleaning that up, I walked outside, and Jayden said, "I pooped." Same thing. He destroyed his pants.
If you can find anything at all rewarding about that, let me know. Because I can't.
The moments that make it worth it help salve everything else. But those moments don't come often enough. And now I have to go. I smell more poop, and the mall and its play area awaits.

Crossroads

I'm actually going to write about poker, since I have a lot on my mind and need to work through a couple issues through the writing.
So allow me to sit on your couch, will you?
I will finish the month down. But you knew that. No one starts a post like this one to say they've won thousands, at least without expecting to get a lime tossed at your head at the next Vegas gathering.
I have played at .50/$1 NL since September on PokerStars. Some of you might scoff at that, but it's the highest level I've consistently played since I started playing for real money back in 2005. I've always been a grinder, and a happy one at that, and felt no need to move up too far because I was making money and enjoying the game.
I moved up in September because I had the bankroll for it and thought I could take a shot.
Results, well, have been mixed.
I actually was ahead before this month. But not by much. It's been a hard month. Two full houses lost to better full houses. Suckouts. The usual. Blah blah blah.
But it hasn't just been that. I honestly believe the players are significantly better than I've ever played before. That could be the UIEGA (OU812?) act finally weeding out many of the fish. That could be because the players are just better in general - it's a long way away from 2005. But I think it might be the level. I see Supernovas. The other day I saw an Elite Supernova at my table.
I'm being pushed off many pots. I'm being outplayed, at least I think so. I've faced more tough decisions. I know it's not the money in front of me. I'm comfortable with the level.
But here's the thing. I'm wondering if I should put or move back to my killing grounds at .25/.50 NL.
Where I know I can win.
Probably.

I've also started playing Omaha (not that stupid game where you split every pot) and Razz, both at low limits. That's a great way to improve your overall game. It made me realize I've got a serious leak. I play way too many hands out of position. I always paid attention to position, but I didn't realize how important it really is until I played Omaha on a regular basis. This will amuse some of you, but I actually need to tighten up. I'm multi-tabling and making calls with shit like Q-J in early position, hoping to just see a flop, and then the flop comes Q-high and what do you do?
It also made me realize that playing those lower limits can just be easier. I'm playing $25 Pot-Limit Omaha, and I am not a terrific player, but man, i'm killing that game. I usually play shorthanded and people still just hand you money. They can't lay down anything, two pair, an overpair, and they chase flushes and straights on paired boards. Rookie shit. The stuff's that's made me money in the past three years.
The stuff I just don't see any longer at $100 NLHE.

So here's what I'm asking myself:
1. Why do I play? I love the game, but do I love the big pots, the larger bets and the fact that I'm pushing myself, or can I honestly play at $50 NL and be happy? Ultimately, yes, but will it be as exciting? I honestly don't know, especially if those tables are filled with the same nits who I'm seeing at the higher level.
2. I know I need to get better, and I know what I need to do. I need to work on taking advantage of my position, opening up my range in later position and tightening up early. Should I move down to do this, or will that be fruitless since I won't see the same level of player. I've said in the past I need to be more aggressive, but I'm serious about it now, and I don't even see it as being a lot more aggressive as being more opportunistic. I've just started on this with some decent results.
3. How much am I willing to lose to get better? My bankroll is super healthy for $100 NL, but poker is, ultimately, a hobby, and I don't need to blow a bunch of money to get marginally better at it. I can move up to the next level of play, but how much am I willing to do to get there, especially with modest goals in this game and many more important things in my life, like climbing, training, writing and my family?
4. Why bother with $100 NL, and why not just play $50 NL and play more Omaha, a game I am beating (if it wasn't for Omaha this month, I would have lost more than just a trio or quartet of buy-ins).

Competitive solatire

Before I discovered poker, I went through all kinds of games to ease my itch and find a way to quiet my busy brain for a few moments.
I went through Risk on my old black and white Macintosh, Cribbage, You Don't Know Jack trivia, but there was one thing that probably consumed me more than all others.
When I was in high school, Solitaire was my thing.
We used to greet each other as we filed into and out of the journalism room with "4K" or "7K!". That meant the points he/she scored on Solitaire on the tiny Macs we used to put the yearbooks and newspapers together. Calls like "All Four Aces" and "Boardlocked!" It was stupid to spend so much time on such a simple game. I was determined to never let it happen again, after I broke away from it from an intense rehab session of smacking my wrist with a rubber band every time I thought of it.
So I'm doing my best after discovering Game Duell .
Before you roll your eyes and think I'm just doing a shill post, I'm not. I just thought you'd want to know about this. It's a site that allows you to bet on Solitaire duels. You can play Solitaire, for real money (at low low low stakes). I played for a half hour the other day.
Somebody help me.

Gastrological gamble

I am a simple man.
Since I had kids, I am even easier to please.
A 3-year-old and two 20-month-old girls have forced me to give up many of the things I used to enjoy. I know I can't indulge in such hedonistic pleasures as sleeping past 6 a.m., a moment's peace when I get home from work or eating dinner sitting down.
Pleasures now come in the little things in life, like when I open one of the girl's diaper and I don't see something that looks like someone dumped a can of Hershey's syrup down her pants (unfortunately, it does not smell that way).
But now, this salmonella scare is making me question one thing I just can't sacrifice.
Peanut butter.
What do you mean peanut butter is going to make me sick? Or kill me? Or make me crap faster than flame from a rocket? I realize the jars are safe. But the jar is the puddin' in the pie. I want everything.
I stared at the Peanut Butter M&Ms, one of my favorite things in the world, in my cart Sunday as I was buying some lunch. I had just run eight miles, I sniveled to myself. I deserved them. But I kept thinking about cramping and death by potty (and all joking aside, people have died from this latest scare), and after a bit, I put them down.
So then I went over to the ice cream aisle just to look.
Ice cream just might be my biggest food vice. That or queso and chips. But I have basically given it up. It's fattening as hell, and every pound on my ass is one more minute in my races. We runners like to be lean, and I already have trouble being as lean as I can. Ingesting 850 calories in a bowl every night isn't a way to do that.
But I have been running a lot again, in preparation for two tough half marathons coming this spring, and I thought I deserved a treat, if I could something that sounded good. Hmm. Let's see.
Uh oh.
My favorite. Peanut Butter Cup. Double Churned, so it's half the calories, but you don't really notice that. Still....it's peanut butter.....
I am a poker player, so that means I am not a huge risk-taker. But I, like all poker players, do have a little gamble in me.
The bowl Sunday night was delicious. And so far, so good.

Targeting your opponents through their stack sizes

I wrote a story for Pokerworks on targeting your opponents through their stack sizes. You can check out the article here.


To summarize, I generally target big stacks and shortstacks in cash games because I think generally they play looser. But I'm interested to hear what you think.

Aces High

Except later I got this one too:









Omaha is easy.

Sweet! I think!

P.S. Except this was Razz. So not really.

The scavengers hunt

In many ways the twins are getting easier. They are finally - finally - finally - sleeping through the night, for the most part. I'll take for the most part.
They can entertain themselves for the most part, so we don't have to constantly carry one around. I'll take for the most part. In fact, I only want for the most part. I want them to rely on me occasionally. Or else I'm just a guy who wipes poop from their bottom and referees the increase fights over a plastic hot dog.
One thing, though, is harder, and it continues to drive me crazy.
It's the fact that I can't find anything.
We're constantly, and I do mean constantly, looking for juice cups, pacifiers and a special toy or 175 that continually get stuffed into dark corners, trash cans, under couches, in the shower and bathtub, in the toilet and behind the TV. For starters.
Now, given my slightly obsessive personality, I allow these things to bother me when they shouldn't. But they HAVE to bother me after a while, or else we would run out, and then we're supporting Target's toddler division by ourselves. Our house is already a potential treasure trove. Seriously, if a pacifier-driven toddler wants to become the next Indiana Jones, he could come to our house and explore. If he didn't find at least 125 after overturning our house, he needs to turn in his explorer's license.
Let's not even talk about our own stuff. Hairbrushes, toothbrushes, our cell phones, car keys and even my books (one of which found its way to their bath before we saw her with it) all disappear. We all Allie "Swiper" now because of the way she's constantly walking off with things.
This is probably hard with one, too, but it's especially tough with twins because you can't keep an eye on both of them all the time. Mainly you have to focus on the one who is in the most danger at that moment.
I have to make decisions like, OK, Allie is near the stairs, so I should watch that, and then oops, OK, Andie is now crawling up on the window ledge (don't get too horrified, the window is shut, at least most of the time), so she needs to come down, and oops, Allie just grabbed something sharp, and....you get the idea.
I'd write more, but the girls are demanding juice, and I can only see one juice cup.

When you do play online poker?

Just a quick thought. If poker really is exploding across the country, helping sites like PokerStars grow despite the obvious downturn of U.S. customers, why are we all continuing to play when it's likely more U.S. customers will be playing?
Shouldn't we take advantage of all that new fish across the seas?
The reasons are pretty clear, of course. We can't play poker at work (well, I could at one point, but that was before half our newspaper staff was chopped and I'm actually busy now). So we have to play at night. And a lot of us can't play in the early morning hours, and if we do, usually beer is the reason why.
But is anyone else with me on this? Are there times when the waters might be fishy instead of the increasing number of sharks that swim at U.S. hours? I'm still winning, but I do fear that eventually I'll be next, maybe as soon as the end of this year. So if I played at 6:45 a.m. before I went to work, would that be better?
What do you all think?

A rest in peace

My grandfather was fiercely independent. He lived by himself for 20 years after Grandma died, in a house way up in a woodsy, suspiciously Unibomber-like area and later in a trailer in Susanville, Calif. He bitched about almost everyone he encountered and was bluntly honest about their shortcomings.
He was also, probably, the best grandparent I had. His independence was who he was. It was a trait he passed along to me. And it didn't make him a bitter malcontent.
He slept in a trailer with my brother and I despite the torture it lashed upon his back. He was my favorite cribbage partner. He ppassed along his love of ice cream to me. He spent time with me when he saw us, and he did so willingly, with loud guffaws and heapings of "christ"s and "dammit"s.
That independence served him well for many years, as he still lived alone, in that trailer, happily, rather than waste away in a nursing home. He lived 92 years because of that.
Soon after my visit in September, a visit I'm now grateful I made, my first in at least a decade, shingles and his heart finally started to chip away at his concrete foundation. He entered the hospital and was forced to stay with my aunt. And the independence, which served him so well for so many years, was a prison.
He was miserable and slowly declined, slipping down into a life of tubes and medications and caretakers. Mom hated this for him. So did I. No one wants this for a family member. That's why we put our pets to sleep when they're on that path.
Mom called Saturday. Grandpa died. He died with my aunt by his side. Peacefully.
It will be a bit sadder without him in my life. But relief, rather than grief, fills most of my heart.

10 troubles with twins

I made this as a part of my annual movie of my kids. Enjoy. Or not.

I need a vacation from this vacation

Vacations are supposed to be times to relax, to chill, to let the stress of the year seep through your pores.
I'm not sure why, then, most vacations are spent on visiting family.
When, you know, you bring the kids.
This vacation was anything but relaxing. The kids have taken whine steroids and are now overdosing on Linda Blair-like behavoir after being shuttled to strange places for the last week. If I escape with any semblance of my sanity, and my hearing, after we get home on Friday it will be a minor miracle, not walking on water, but definitely on par with a three-pointer to tie the title game with no time left.
I came down with a bug or got food poisoning from Taco Tico - not sure which, though I am blaming Taco Tico for now - and suffered the seat blows for several days. The good news is I really didn't eat nearly as much as I planned. The bad news is I didn't run nearly as much either, and when I tried running today, well, it sucked. I felt like I'd never laced up my shoes.
No doubt, this was a fun trip, and there's still a couple more days to go. It's always nice to see the rents, even in separate places, and they all were a big help with the kids. Kate and I got some time to ourselves, though we were, ahem, interrupted today in the morning by the toddler.
But vacations, I think I'm learning, are not designed to relax. They are there to remind you that life at home, though it may seem like a grind, is really pretty good.

Saturday's session from hell

Poker on the Kansas City boats on Saturday night was one of the worst sessions I've ever endured. It was the kind of session that makes you wonder about the future of poker, your style of play and even why you play at all.
The first hour, at the Ameristar, started out great, despite the fact that the best player at the table was directly on my left. I flopped two sets and bet them aggressively, and I was $100 up when I listened a little too much about how Harrah's was taking over the poker scene and decided to give it a shot. The players at my table were all tight, solid slingers, and I wanted easy money.
Just my luck, then, that at Harrah's, I was seated at a screw-tight table, where I didn't get paid for a flush, most of my rare pre-flop raises gathered the blinds and nothing else and no one else was doing any better. I doubt the dealer made more than a few bucks in tips during their half-hour shifts.
When a few young, cocky but cool kids (you know the type, if you don't, you haven't sat at a poker table for very long) sat down, it helped loosen things up, but by then I had endured a series of coolers that left me a little beaten down.
I flopped trips with A-10, only to lose to A-J. My pair of Aces with A-Q got bumped by a straight with crap cards on the turn. TPgreatK, with a J on the board, gave another guy two pair. I had A-Q three times and A-K twice and not once did it hit, and neither did my straight and flush draw with J-10 sooted (15 outs twice my ass). I dumped A-K once when a guy re-raised and showed me K-K. I was through flopping sets despite seeing at least 20 small pocket pairs and calling some raises with them.
I finally lost the rest, not much, when I flopped top two pair and lost to a flopped flush when the guy played 8-3 of hearts.
I bought in for another $200 and raised with A-J and got two pair on the flop, with A-J-5. The youngest, cockiest guy looked very interested, so I checked and let him bet it for me. He obliged. There were no flush draws out there, so I just called. I did the same on the turn, only when he bet $30, I raised to $80. He instantly pushed and instantly called. I knew I was ahead. Sure enough, he showed A-5, I flipped over A-J, and I didn't notice he was on a spade draw until the last one fell and the dealer pushed the pot his way. Runner, runner flush.
I wasn't pissed at him. He had a hand. But I was a bit whiny inside at that point. Really? I managed to escape all those other beats with the minimum lost. I had endured a shitload of coolers, and I played the last hand well, trapping him despite my extremely tight image. It was my chance to be rewarded for my patient, observant, egoless play.
Poker, at times, is a very cruel game.
I considered my options after I lost my stack again. I finally decided to buy in again, looking at the session as an opportunity to build my mental strength, the way the last three miles of a 15-mile run prepares me for a half marathon. I was determined not to tilt.
I managed to do just that, mainly because you can't really play 10-5 (well, I can't, anyway) and 8-4, and I slunk away at midnight. not really sure what to think.
My tight style was the same style that I saw in Vegas, and the same style I'm seeing now, even at the 1-2 NL tables. I'm wondering if that's all we might see for a long time, with the economy the way it is. You're just aren't going to see people who don't mind blowing $200 for entertainment because they saw poker on TV.
And I can't battle the aggressive style exhibited by those cocky young kids without cards, and those only come so often (or not at all), and even when you do outplay them when you (finally) get a hand, your hand won't always hold up.
It makes me wonder if I'm going to have to change the way I play.
But I'm not worried about that now. I don't know if I ever will. Poker is a recreational hobby for me. it's a profitable one, to be sure. I made more money this year than even two years ago, when the tables were much easier to beat, both live and online.
But it is a hobby, and with my never-ending duties as a parent, and my responsibility to myself to run and climb mountains, I can't take the time to truly study the game to put me at an elite level and dominate tables without cards.
That's OK. Sessions like Saturday's don't come very often. Or if they do, I might have to take up video games again.

An avatar I wish I had

Can you name the video game this is from? You probably can if you were any kind of a gamer.

Review of Pokersoftware.com

There are probably 786,639 Web sites that analyze poker Web sites in the hopes that you'll click on one and give them a piece of the referral pie, but there's one big reason why I liked PokerSoftware.com.
It analyzes the tools you use to play poker, not just the sites you play on.
There's plenty of that, too, if that's what you're actually looking for. You can find reviews of many of the top poker Web sites in the world. One thing I liked about that is the rating is a "community rating," not just one hack's thoughts, so you'll get a truer picture of what all poker players think about the site.
But the soft goes way beyond that. There are ratings of poker tracking software, some with reviews of programs I've never even heard of. I actually learned a lot from reviewing this site, and I can honestly say that doesn't happen very often when I'm asked to write a post about a new poker site. Again, these are listed by community ratings, so you'll get a truer picture of what the users are saying about it.
The site lists the tracking software by an initial description, then bullets some of the highlights of the program, and finally gives a more detailed review below. And those reviews appear to be honest as well, as some of the community reviews were pretty harsh and probably won't be included on anyone's marketing report for that company.
You'll also find video reviews of products and Web sites, and that's also another feature I've never seen on any other site.
But there are reviews and product descriptions of table selection software and tools, odds calculators, buddy lists and SnG tools. You can even find some descriptions of bankroll managers and lots of other software that I've honestly never heard of for poker tournaments and tools to make you a better player.
The reviews aren't as detailed as they could be, but the sheer volume of information on the site means you'll learn a lot even after you've spent hours looking at all the descriptions.
If I'm ever in the market to improve my game, and lord knows I need that, I'm going to head back to PokerSoftware.com. I've got a lot to learn, apparently, and the site will help me find the tools I need. I'm glad I was asked to write a review of this site, as I actually got a lot more than a little extra green to blow at the tables.

And to all, a good night (maybe)

Before a car trip to California to see our grandparents, Mom used to take us to Toys 'R' Us and instructed us to pick out something that would keep us busy in the car for 12 hours a day for two days.
Our choices were, shall we say, limited.
They were, as far as I can remember:
1. An Etch-A-Sketch
2. A Mad Libs book.
3. Another riddle book where you'd run a magic highlighter over the phrase and it would give you the answer, presumably after you'd give it the kind of thought you'd give the million-dollar question on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire with your only lifeline being a phone call to that dorky girl in high school who always had carmel corn in her braces but would let you copy her chemistry homework.
4. A game where you'd push a button that would make a colored piece of plastic floating in water land in a basket.
5. Dozens of books like "Charlotte's Web," "The Great Brain" or one of Stephen King's early offerings (I read him at a pretty young age, which explains a few things).
Or there was the alphabet game, the license plate game or 20 questions.
Eventually, the games deteroriated into "Will you stop touching me", "Stay on your side" and "Punch the brother in the arm."
Good times.
Today, on our car trip across Colorado to Kansas and home, where I'll spend my next week or so playing a bit of poker (report to come later), spending time with Mom and Dad (in separate houses, alas), seeing old friends, enjoying a night or two out away from the kids with Kate and wolfing down as much barbecue as I possibly can, we had more entertainment in the car than I had in the house when I was their age.
We have a built-in DVD that plays a constant stream of "The Backyardigins." They do not have a Game Boy but probably will soon. I had my laptop, which played Season 4 of 'The Wire.' (And this show really is fantastic, if you haven't seen it you must right now. Seriously, stop wrapping last-minute presents and watch it. Your family will understand).
In the end, it wasn't enough, and the twins went into nuclear meltdown in the last half hour. They're still only 19 months, and Pablo and a Moose who only wears a sweater but no pants can only take you so far. Even Jayden seemed to wear down after the 7th hour, asking Kate, "Mom, can you go faster?"
On a side note, don't you wonder what Mary and Joseph did with baby Jesus on those long trips on the donkey? Or did Jesus just wave his hand and they were there? Did you ever wonder what Jesus was like as a baby? Was he fussy? You would think the son of God would be a good baby. Or maybe God was testing Mary, like he did Job, and made Jesus get up at all hours all the time.
Anyway, I have to admit, I was a bit jealous of my kids. I wish we had that entertainment. Those hours just seemed to drag on.
Then again, I don't think I'm as jealous as my parents, who admit that they wished like hell they had something to shut us up.

Two bits gets you three holy tosses

"Chuck-A-Jesus"

That's how my toddler pronounced Chuck-E-Cheese at his first-ever visit today.

Kansas City Here I Come

I used to look at Christmas as Rankin-Bass specials, lights on people's home and the latest cartridge for my Atari 2600.
I still enjoy the specials, though I think I might be the last generation to do so. And I like the lights, too, though I don't put them on my house, not yet, not until the kids don't require 24-hour surveillance. But Christmas means a lot more now.
It's a chance to get away, get some help with the kids and, most of all, go home.
Vegas was a wonderful getaway, a desperately needed getaway, but even tonight, I found myself having a tough time with the kids around 6:30 p.m. tonight, just before their bedtime. I need a long, extended break. Grandparents are wonderful for their extra set of hands and the chance to get out of the house, and I need that. Kate and I both need that.
It's a chance to run at sea level, too, and eat great food (and that French restaurant sounded awesome, but I don't think there's anything better than a plate full of Kansas City barbecue).
We leave on Christmas Eve.
The anticipation grows. There are some memories to be had, sleep to be won and some space to be enjoyed.

Sunset to Sunrise

I, like many, approach a trip to Las Vegas as an opportunity.
I use it to practice being someone else.
There's a reason for the slogan "What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas." Quite frankly, there aren't many things you can take away from a Vegas vacation and have it be a positive influence on your life.
Then again, most don't attend a get-together with bloggers.
There were two questions people asked me when I told them I was going to spend four days in Vegas. They're pretty standard. What will you be doing, and who are you going with? The first was easy. I don't know, but I'm sure I'll play poker. This year I also told them I was going to see Steel Panther. You'll hear about them a bit later.
The second is a little tougher, so I just told them they were other bloggers. That's a no-no in Vegas, but outside in the normal world I think it's OK. Pauly may disagree.
I stayed up late - or early, depending on your definition, as one day sunset crept into sunrise and I went to bed as the sky turned pink and Mandalay Bay glittered in the first light. Usually I'm getting up to face a girl (or two) bouncing like popcorn in her crib and a toddler who wants to wear his Wall-E underwear today.
I ate poorly.
I ignored my running after Friday, when I snuck in a cool jaunt with KuroKitty/Pokercat Friday morning.
I drank quite a bit more.
I didn't worry when I slept little.
Mostly, though, I let myself go.
I didn't worry about what angle someone might be working on me.
I didn't care what anyone thought of me.
I didn't fret about melting into a group of people I've only met one other time in person, and I allowed myself the space to fit comfortably inside.
I chilled the fuck out.
Many of these trip reports contain blow-by-blow accounts of their weekend. Those are fun to read because of the fractured nature of the gatherings. People you know splinter and find one of the millions of possible adventures these get-togethers offer, only to come back to together and share it with us.
But that's not what you'll find here. That's not who I am. Sometimes my adventures are on display, as my half marathons and trips up Colorado's highest peaks, when I believe others will benefit from that. Other times my journey is my own, shared with a select few, and that's enough.
The memories have already been thrown in the crock pot and are simmering. I'll pull them out when I need a smile, like when a two-outer hits, when a run hurts or when one of the kids is throwing an especially impressive fit.
Thursday night at the Geisha Bar with some of the people whose talents I respect about as much as anyone's, meals and poker with some of my favorite invisible Internet compatriots, my skilled (lucky) run to 6th place in the blogger tournament (when I cashed all my suckout chips for the year by hitting two-outers three times, including two times when I hit quads on the river) NFL Sunday, and, of course, Steel Panther with Blood and Dr. Chako and The Wife and Stb and Otis' brother, will stay in storage with me for a long time. If you have any space in your heart for hair metal at all -and Def Leppard sold 10 million copies of two albums so I know you do, even if you don't want to admit it - you have to see this band at the Green Valley Ranch. As a bonus, you can play poker at easily some of the most profitable tables I've ever enjoyed after the show.
Those memories are nice, but that's not all I want to take away from this trip.
As I've said before, I am a loner in many ways. I am a private person who is generally uncomfortable around people. I rarely trust anyone. I rarely let them beyond my barriers. I see little value in small talk. I prefer to take time getting things accomplished rather than spend it "chatting" with someone.
Resolutions are about improving yourself, and rarely do we stick with them. Some do stick though. I'm a runner now. A close friend finally kicked cigarettes last year. But, like anyone, I need to improve myself.
So now I have two New Year's Resolutions.
The first is to be more patient with my kids. They're my little ones, and they're supposed to try my patience every day. If they don't, they're not exploring or asserting themselves, and they will need both those traits all through their lives. I don't want to squelch them. I want them to thrive. I will try to let them thrive more often, even if it costs me another gray hair that day.
The second is the golden nugget I will take from this trip. I will try to let more people in.
I will talk to strangers. I will call my sources far more than I do. I will try to be more of a family member when we're at Kate's parents.
I will enjoy people's company.
This is easy to say now. I'm coming off a high I get few times in my life. When I can now say that I'm not going to say bloggers, I'm going to see friends, and not just a few.
I know I will not completely change because I don't want to completely change. I love the fact that I can spend hours by myself without the need to text or yahoo or IM or call someone on the phone. I did spend some time in my room during this trip, and it was wonderful.
I know I will also relapse. That's part of the process. I'll shutter people away. But rather than just accept it because "that's just who I am," I will fight against that, for maybe the first time in my life.
Because when I fight that urge, and I let myself be free among friends, good things happen.

Conflict

I missed my first flight to Vegas.
This will shock friends of mine who see me, correctly, as an anal planner.
It doesn't shock me as much as I thought.
I'm still conflicted about leaving my wife and three little ones for four days of mindless fun. Part of me really, really wants to go, was dying to go, but the other part will miss everyone dearly.
Still, I've been raising my voice a bit too much with them lately. The grind has hit bone. As much as I love them, it has.
It will cost me an hour of Vegas to miss a flight. I consider that penance.
I'm already missing everyone.
Maybe that's the point.

Goals for Vegas

I do have some goals cause that's just how I roll, God forbid anything just flows in my world. These can, of course, change at a moment's notice.

1. Get in Thursday at 11 a.m., head straight to the MGM and play 1-2 NL all day, possibly with Blood and StB.
2. Thursday night, Geisha Bar at the IP to meet Joanada, welcome Kat late, drink, hang out, listen to CK do her funny Asian accent. Try to get to bed before 4 a.m. Possibly fail.
3. Friday morning/late morning run with PokerKat. I ran 8 miles today and my body is really feeling the punishment (see below) I'm putting on myself for Vegas. Despite this, one Friday run with PokerKat can't hurt. If anyone else wants to join us, please comment. We'd love to have IG or anyone else along.
4. Friday afternoon, greet Jordan, play poker I hope at a place I have not played before. That includes Caesars, Bellagio (probably out of my league), Palms, Rio, Hard Rock.
5. Friday night, MGM Mixed games, then Steel Panther with Blood and StB. Woot!
6. Can I has some PaiGow with Drizz for a bit late that night? Me hopes so.
7. Saturday watch Jayhawks (maybe), then Saturday tournament. Bust out in first hour.
8. Saturday night go to German place to eat with Biggestron and others. Then probably play poker.
9. Sunday NFL day? I have no idea how this works. I'm sure I'll be filled in.
10. Leave that night. Kiss kids and wife hundreds of thousands of times Monday morning.

Punishment

Thursday, when I fly out to Vegas (less than 48 hours away whooooooooooo), will be the first day in almost two weeks that I'll take a day off from a hard workout.
Most of those days were filled with running, through snow, up hills and at sweat-inducing speeds, even in the bitter cold that's blanketed my state.
Today was one of the toughest workouts. I took part in a running analysis at the University of Northern Colorado. It's a biomechanical running study at UNC, and I volunteered because I'm only in my fourth year of running, like, ever, and as a result I've never had much coaching beyond what my friends tell me and whatever advice our leader can give me in between watching 40 other runners during our track workouts.
So I'm pretty excited to get some tips on my form.
I think that's where I am right now. I can't really train much harder than I am, given my three little kids. I could watch my diet more, but I'm fairly lean as it is. I could sleep more, but that's up to my girls, not me (and no, after 18 months, they are not sleeping through the night yet).
The trial was 10 three-minute intervals ran at a speed a little faster than a tempo run. He wanted me to run at a "6" on a scale from 1 to 10, with 10 being the hardest. For me that was eight miles an hour, or about a 7:30-per-mile pace (I think; I hate math). On the third minute, he would put the treadmill at an incline, and either I was supposed to run through it or tell the guy to back off until I was running at the same effort when the treadmill was flat.
My light shirt was soaked at the end of the trial, especially after the last two, when he bumped the treadmill up to 15 degrees. That may not sound like much, but it was brutal, trust me. It was all I could do not to fall off it.
My reward for the hard work will be an hour (!) of analysis about my form and other tips on how to improve as a runner.
I'm all for it. Anything I can do to avoid feeling like I do right now will be welcome.
Really the only thing that will help with that is rest, and I'll get plenty of that in Vegas.
Well, rest from running, anyway.

A girl after my own heart

The girls have talked a lot lately, far ahead of Jayden's schedule (though you wouldn't know that now; quiet moments are rare in our house). They can say book and Daddy and doggie and lots of other words.
Yesterday I was showing Allie seven inches of powder falling outside the house.
Today as we were getting her ready for day care, she looked out the window.
"Snooooooooooooooo," she said.
My heart melted.

Hey hey have you read the news?

Today my newspaper laid off three people. I'm relieved to have dodged the bloodletting, but I'm sad for the loss. We lost some good people today.
I always wanted to be a writer, ever since I wrote a speech for my fifth-grade English class, and though it only got me a B+ (making me feel a bit like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story"), I remembered my mother saying, "You know, you're lucky because you can write."
Writing was always easy, even when math was hard, Chemistry was granite-hard and Geometry was downright impossible (I squeaked out a D in that class, probably because I didn't talk in class so the teacher felt sorry for me). I really actually should not say "easy" because writing is never easy, but it was something I could do.
I couldn't really do anything else. I was a horrible athlete, so I'd have to set aside hopes of multi-million-dollar contracts. I hated (hate) gladhanding, so my political career would have to be limited civil disobedience like not paying the meters in protest of all the bad parking on my college campus. I couldn't make it in the military, so I had to settle for saving the world by killing billions of aliens in "Halo."
But I remember taking journalism I in high school and thinking, "Hey. Writing. I can do THAT." And though I wasn't very good at first - maybe, if you read my stories or this blog, you might wonder if I've ever improved - I got better and decided that newspapers were something I could do for a job. I didn't want to write a novel. I wanted to make money writing. And so, when I was a junior in high school, I knew exactly what I wanted to do for a career.
All my friends went through 15 majors by the time they were sophomores, but I stayed with journalism. It was what I wanted to do.
After 15 years in the business, I still can't imagine doing anything else. The pay is still bad, and the hours can be tough, but the job, meeting people and writing great stories and occasionally covering breaking news is still damn fun. I wouldn't want to spend an election night anywhere else but a newsroom or out that night working on an assignment.
Yeah, journalism has many problems, and this business is filled with assholes, but I still believe in this profession.
I love my job. How many can really say that?
Now I'm left pondering if there won't be a job for us any longer in 10 years. Maybe five. I can't imagine newspapers just dying. But then again, I can't imagine doing anything else.
I'll be 40 in three years. Starting over at that age seems pretty tough to me. But I may not have a choice.

Free is the new half-price

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker!

All bloggers can play in this exclusive online poker tournament.

Registration code: 187996

I don't know how many of these I'll make, but I hope I can make some.

Superstition

I don't believe in superstition. It's a crutch for the weak to say that they forgot their lucky bloody rabbit stump and that's why their hand lost to a three-outer on the river.
But I do believe in variance. I am, in fact, a follower of it, and that leads me to practice some superstition.
The problem with being on a hot streak, as I've enjoyed lately (well, I WAS enjoying it, but I'll get to that in a bit) is I know eventually it has to end. That's an incredibly cynical way to look at it, but I've always believed that cynicism really is just a comfortable relationship with the truth.
I've played enough poker to know that the good times eventually end. That's especially because I'm a solid, tight player who relies on cards more than I should to determine whether I have a good session or not.
Sure, I play my cards and play them well, but I still have to have the weapons to kidnap chips, and my weapons come more from good hands rather than super-powerful-retarded-aggressive play.
So because of this, rather than most players who can't wait to hit the felt when they're hot, I hesitate to play. I fear that bad session that I know is right around the corner and may spoil the golden, happy aura that surrounds me when I run hot.
It's probably cost me some money. Poker can be pretty self-fulfilling, and if you think you're going to lose, the chances are you will lose. But also when you're hot, you're playing with confidence, and by not playing, I'm not taking advantage of that confidence, which, unfortunately, deteriorates along with my luck.
All of this is a good way of saying I found myself somewhat relieved last night when I took the worst beating of my life. I lost six buy-ins before making a really good comeback and finishing only a couple down.
When I was in the throes of it, I did not win a pot, not even the blinds, for almost five hours.
So why was I relieved? Well, just as I believe good fortunes end, I also believe you put in your time for a bad session, and once you've paid that tax, your fortunes will reverse again.
That's variance, the God I follow.
And what better way to burn off a bad session than to your friends, during a Saturday night poker game, with Arena Rock on the tube, queso in your bowl and, best of all, $5 worth of chips in front of you?

Turkey Haze up in my brain

I finally did well in the Turkey Trot today, known as the Thanksgiving 5K with a ton of hills. I ran 22:27, my third-best time ever in a 5K, at 7:13 per-mile.
And then we decorated the house, put up the tree and watched football.
And we chased around the kids at my brother-in-law's house and ate and ate and ate and, ugh, what do they call that stuff in the turkey? Trip-two-what? Tripgohfan? Trip.....
ZZZZZZZZZZZZ

Four observations from $5 limit poker

I went up to Black Hawk with two of my best friends and home game players Saturday for some $5 limit poker. It might be the last time I play it.
Colorado voters approved a law that changes the betting limits from $5 per bet to $100 per bet. That will completely change the game, as you might expect, and I doubt I'll ever play it when there's other options.

• As you might expect, $5 poker can be extremely frustrating, as it's almost unusual when your hand actually holds up. You feel like a child tip-toeing through Serbia when you play A-A, as that hand rarely holds. A $5 limit just isn't enough of a threat to drive players out, and many are there to have fun, not play real poker, so they'll play anything, and you'll see crazy, crazy things. I can't tell you how many times I saw small pocket pairs carried to the river through a board of overcards and raises, only for the donkey to hit his miracle set/full house on the river.
Still, the game can be profitable. If your hands DO hold, you can drag huge pots. Last night I dragged huge pots with pocket pairs such as K-K twice. My queens were the only hand to get cracked, by a set of 9s, and that was only once.

• Poker is filled with douchebags, and as much as I love live poker, I hate spending more time with these people than I do with my kids, even if it's for only one day. Just one example was a guy, wearing white cowboy boots and a Miami Vice beard, who would flash his neighbor his cards before folding, and the tablemates, after a while, told him to show everyone else his hand. He refused. The floor was called for the fifth time in an hour to that table - apparently he'd already gotten into it a few times - and the floor told him to show. The floor, rightly, said show one, show all was a universal rule in poker. The guy argued with him for at least 10 minutes about it. If I was the floor, I would have kicked him out. Another guy wore an eye patch and bitched ruthlessly when people drew out on him. I called him Blackbeard.
But it's also filled with interesting people. I met a black guy at the table who was calling everything, I mean everything, and getting miracle card after miracle card. He took a lot of shit at the table, but the thing was, whenever someone took a huge pot off him, he was a gentleman about it and always said nice hand.
He later told me he was in Colorado to bury his mother and for therapy - his daughter in college was killed in, I think, an auto crash recently. l later shared my pizza with him. He won maybe 40 pots that night but left $200 down.

• I was down probably $50 and almost ready to leave when I was dealt Q-Q. I raised, and four called. This was not unusual despite my tight image. The board came all low cards, rainbow, so I bet when my opponents checked, and two called until the young kid who was loose but a decent player raised me. He had pulled this all night,so I gave him a look and re-popped him. I didn't see him having K-K or A-A because he didn't re-raise me, and I didn't think he had a set, but I had to find out. He sighed and called. He check called me to the river and mucked, and that pot put me up $30 for the night after 11 hours of donkey poker. I'll take it.

• Poker is a lot more fun with friends, even if you have to take each other's money occasionally. I didn't even mind when they did. I'd rather lose to them than the douchebags.

A productive day at work

OK, let's see...sit down at desk, check my email, check personal e-mail, check yahoo/blog email, tell April I'll trade with her.
Look at list of things to do today.
Pull up Facebook page. Wow. Lots to do. Harvest crops in farm, plant new crops, plow, plant trees given by generous friends, make snarky comments on friends' walls, escape from kidnapping, check notifications, check notification that just appeared, send apple trees to friends who farm, send derby gifts, accept drinks.
Call agent of country music star to find how why he hasn't called. Agent says she doesn't know. Finish checking e-mail.
Dig out Halloween candy and eat a piece. Candy is SUCH a bad habit of mine. Think about this, then dig out another piece. Chew piece of gum to prevent third piece of being eaten.
Start to read blogs. Breeze through a few, read a great post by Drizz, enjoy afterglow for a second.
Check personal e-mail again. Say hi to a friend over e-mail.
Finish Facebook farming. Farming is hard work! Ponder picking a team for Fantasy Sports Live. Reject idea. That can wait until Friday.
Call Fort Lupton planner for story. He's out of the office. Shit. Country music star calls from Colorado pass. His phone breaks up every third minute. He calls back two more times.
Check Facebook again. More farm gifts, more snarky comments from friends, more drinks.
Check it one more time. Yes, I'm obsessive.
Talk with co-workers. Check email again. Pee. Get water.
Throw a snowball back over facebook.
Actually work. Get story written.
Check Facebook again. Sweet, my wheat. Harvest.
Call Dad. Say hi. Tell him we got Jayden a big bed. Yes, he's excited. Who wouldn't be excited about a Cars comforter and a Wall-E sheet set?
Lunch. Read Metallica article in magazine.
Check Facebook when I get back. Check e-mail. Call a source. Turn in photo request.
Dream about live poker Saturday (Colorado casinos, my birthday present). Dream about Vegas poker for just a second. Snap back to reality.
Call subjects for my long year-long project.
April and Betty Underground have accepted my friend request on Facebook. Celebrate. Write thanks to BG and April.
Edit board meeting. Discuss. Pontificate. Try to act smart. Succeed. Sorta.
Read message from April. Dream about Vegas again. Think about what I'm going to do tonight. Get call from wife. Tell her I"m working out. Yes, I'll be home at 5 p.m. I have no idea what I want for dinner.
Check e-mail again.
Sigh over Dow Jones report. Read Google news about it. Stop reading. It's too depressing.
Work. Get photo request turned in. Call source for fun story about how soon is too soon for all the Christmas stuff.
Check Facebook again before you to that. OK, you've done that. Now work. OK.
OK, I'm done with that. Read blogs, done with blogs.
Facebook? Dammit, why did my co-workers introduce me to that?
Get interview with town planner finally. Man, I only have 45 minutes to write that story before I have to leave? Where does the time go?

When imitation is not really the highest form of flattery

Andie was watching me soap up a washcloth and squeezing it all over her and Allie during their bath. She grabbed a washcloth, and before I realized what she was doing, squeezed the washcloth full of water all over me.

Small privileges, unfulfilled

Saturday's holiday photo shoot at Sears was pretty much a disaster. We'd coax, say, Andie on to the sled, and then Allie would run away. Rinse and repeat. We got, maybe, three shots of the girls together, and they have their pacifiers/heroin needles in their mouths because they would not let us take them out.
Understandably, they were a little nervous, and understandably, I know it's hard to hold still when you're 18 months, and understandably, the Sears photographer pretty much just sat there and expected all of our three kids under 4 to pose and smile and be darling little babies, but man I was frustrated. Kate picked out great outfits for the girls, and I got Jayden looking snappy, and I had to settle for a pretty lame shot. We were, quite frankly, lucky to get one.
You get what you pay for. Sears is $10, and you get 36 prints. we had a limited amount of time, in an unfamiliar studio, and that's probably not going to yield a classic shot for three active little demon children who think sitting still is a crime. We can't afford a $175 studio fee, or the prints that would come later. I was kind of wishing for her, since she takes such great shots of her kids. I do fairly well, but a posed, nice shot of the three of them together takes a real, expensive professional, probably in our home, where they are comfortable.
The bigger issue is I have long surrendered to the fact that since we have twins (and a toddler), many of the little pleasures of being a parent aren't available, like, I dunno, getting a nice photo in a simple, inexpensive studio. All the parents and their adorable little singletons were mobbing the studio, and every time, they were getting great shots of their little reindeers. I mean, the thing is, you're going to have moments when your singleton runs around, but you'll also have moments when they are quiet and smiling. We certainly had those moments with one or even two, but three was next to impossible.
Sunday morning Andie came up to me and handed me a book. The girls are just now really getting into reading. I picked her up and read her a story. She loved it, loved the individual attention and the book and time on my lap, and she grabbed another and held it up.
I would have loved to spend a half-hour or more with her doing that, but I heard noises in the other room. Allie, of course, was in the bathroom, pulling toilet paper off the roll.
When I got that solved, Andie was headed upstairs, and the chaos continued. I've learned to surrender to the chaos. Sometimes, though, the grind hits bone.

Review of Lock Pocker

A stroll through Lock Poker sure brought back the good old days.
You remember them too. We used to play on all kinds of poker Web sites, and we didn't care if they were good or bad, just if they had some fish and there was a bonus to chase.
Well, Lock Poker, God bless 'em, is a new site giving online poker a go, and it's accepting U.S. players, and just for those two facts alone, it's worth a look in this age. And it's handing out deposit bonuses. It makes me weepy with nostalgia just thinking about it. I even had some jackass challenge me to a heads-up match at "high stakes" at the .10/.20 tables. All, the good old days.
Speaking of, I was playing at those levels because that's all the money I could afford there, but also because plenty of good action, the only good action I could really see on the site.
To be honest, reminiscing and a good bonus are really the only reasons to play on Lock Poker if you're a higher limit player. The software isn't bad, but it's not that great, either, and you can find better software on the more popular sites. The players are decent enough where you can expect a lot of grinding sessions. And there aren't a lot of live games at the higher limits.
However, if you're still a low limit player - welcome to the club, by the way, here's some wine from a box in a paper cup - you might want to give Lock Poker a try. There were a lot of .10/.20 No-Limit games going on a Friday night, as Lock poker operates on the Cake Poker network. That included a TON of 6-max games, which are fun and quite frankly I need to play more because it tends to get the sand out of my vagina. I was four-tabling the games at one point and could have managed more. It was a blast and another return to the good old days, when I would be all proud of winning $5 on the night.
As with many other poker sites trying to get its name out there, Lock Poker does offer a couple interesting carrots.
First of all, you can collect gold chips to redeem for tournaments, and the more gold chips you have, the easier it is to get FPP points to get them. Grinders like me appreciate that.
Second, you can chase after gold cards.
The site's Random Number Generator (RNG) will release one Gold Card from the vault each time it reaches a certain amount of rake. If the Gold Card released matches one of your hole cards, you're golden even if you have folded out of the hand.
The first player to collect a full 52 Gold Card Series Deck will win the grand prize $52,000 cash Jackpot! If no player reaches that milestone, the site will award the $52,000 cash prize to the player that comes closest. Understand? I'm not sure I do, either, but it seems kinda neat.
Ultimately, I hope Lock Poker can make it. I'd love to see more poker sites dipping a toe into what is sure to be a shitty market, if for no other reason than to keep it viable. Lock Poker doesn't have much to separate itself from the big boys, but then again, give it a look for another stroll down memory lane, maybe for the last time ever.

P.S. Bloggers, if you're considering a review, Lock Poker has a $500 minimum for cashing out with checks, so I'm not sure how to get my money out now, given that I don't have an E-wallet XPress account. Has anyone done one of those? I am tempted to grind it up to $500 to cash out. That could be fun. Waffles thinks I should just try a $100 SnG. That's tempting too. What would you do?

I'm a peepin' tom techie with X-ray eyes

I was in my blue surgical cap, on the table, surrounded by instruments that could probably turn me into a superhero if something went wrong, when the nurse handed me a stuffed red alligator.
Wow. Really? I was already a little nervous. I didn't know this was going to be so bad that I was going to need a stuffed animal to calm me down.
But I was getting Lasik done. They mess with your eyes. Most people, including me, don't like that. If you tend to get freaked out at things like the scene in "A Clockwork Orange," then you might not want to keep reading. I wasn't even going to write about this, but LJ requested it, in exchange for a poker lesson (she doesn't know that yet, and I would imagine her lesson will be something like "get your panties out of a wad and shove shove shove shove shove, but whatever).
The nurse dropped a waterfall of numbing medicine in my eyes. Keep 'em coming, I thought, and she did, one after the other. Then she told me to lean back.
"Make sure you hold on to Jorge the alligator," she said as the doctor put a patch over my left eye. "You're going to need to keep your hands down."
OH, not worries. I was stroking his plush head. I wasn't really scared - I had wanted Lasik for years and finally found some extra cash through writing for Pokerworks and starting a Health Savings Account at work - but I needed the comfort anyway. I turned down Valium - I'm not a big fan of meds, and I worried that the red light you're supposed to stare at would get me into a Pink Floyd-like state that I would find hard to leave.
Doc slipped on some tiny steel bear traps over my eyelids to keep leftie open. Then he put a suction cup over my eye and said, after a few seconds, "pressure on." Everything went brown. Then I heard a buzzing and he said, "blade on." He was cutting a flap in my eye so the laser could do its work.
This was, by far, the most uncomfortable part of the procedure, and it's not pleasant. It hurts a little, and it's kind of spooky, as my 3-year-old likes to say in the dark. The good news is it takes less than a minute. I'll trade a minute for the chance to pitch my contacts, which have caused me far more pain than high school girlfriends.
The laser came next, and that's not so bad. You get to stare at a little red light, and that's pretty trippy. I highly recommend it. You'll smell a burning - that's your eye getting cooked. But I didn't feel any pain. I thought it was kinda cool, and again, it's less than a minute.
Still, Jorge got some good lovin' when I smelled my eye.
Now that I knew what was coming, I think I calmed down a bit more when it was time for leftie. Eyedrops, pressure, brownout, blade, a bit of pain, freaky red light, laser, then he sponges your eye for a while, then you're done. It took 10 minutes.
I had to wait in the lobby for a half-hour for my ride to get there because they fit me in early. That was the hardest part. My eyes hurt, even with the ibuprofen I took, and the glare from the sun, even with the shades drawn, felt like white daggers. When I finally got home from Wal-Mart after filling a prescription, I was relieved to hit the hay and sleep it off. When I woke up three hours later, the pain had subsided considerably.
Today it's like looking through a slight fog, but I can see, even now. And I have my doctors, Icon and a trippy laser to thank.
Oh, and Jorge.

ome details:
• My procedure cost $1700. I have a pretty easy fix - my eyesight was about 20/100 - but I did have a little astigmatism.
• I chose a Lasik clinic because that's all those places do, and I figured it would be cheaper. I was right. I went with Icon Lasik, but I'm not sure if it operates anywhere but in Colorado. I thought they were careful and did a good job so far.
• I am already watching TV without my glasses or contacts for the first time since I was in the seventh grade. Amazing.

I'm outta here (for now)

I'm tuning out for a couple of days, for two reasons.
Firstly (I've always wanted to say that, it makes me sound smart even if it's a totally bad usage of English), this may be my only chance to see a WSOP Main Event final table and not know who wins.
I hope the 90-day thing continues next year to be honest. I enjoyed getting to know the players (I even got to interview a couple) and have developed a rooting interest. Plus this will be fun, like watching a real sport when I don't know what happens.
I also don't think the fact that we didn't hear as much about the final table players has as much to do with the 90-day idea as just the fact that there was, um, a whole lot of shit going on. Let's see, a historic election (in so many ways than just electing our first black president) and, oh yeah, the economy is kinda bad, isn't it. The mainstream media writing a ton about poker before the final table would just seem a little, ya know, frivolous (and if you're one of the great writers who covers the poker scene, relax, I'm not calling your job frivolous, in some ways I envy you, but that's probably how newspapers would view it).
So I'm tuning out until Tuesday, when I'll get to see for myself who win. At least, I hope I can see it, because...
Secondly, I am getting Lasik done Tuesday morning. I'm excited and a bit nervous at the same time. I'm ready to get rid of these glasses and pitch my contacts out the window. But it IS my eyes.
Wish me luck. And please don't blow it in the comments and tell me who wins. I know you're not that much of a douchebag, right?