High On Poker

It was 7:30am on a Saturday. The last time I was up this early on a Saturday…well, I don’t remember the last time. I was probably doing the same thing though.

In the dark of my apartment, I fumbled around for my glasses. Bespectacled (I’ve been wanting to use that word for a while now…SCORE!) I entered the hallway, where a pile of laundry sat on the floor.

This was my poker gear, the clothing set aside for a day at Atlantic City. The night before, after packing my poker backpack, I laid the clothes outside my bedroom so I could get dressed quickly and easily tomorrow morning without waking up wifey Kim.

I dressed quickly and made myself some breakfast. Within 30 minutes, I was at the corner, suited up, packed up and ready to go. Alceste drove up within a few minutes.

I first met Alceste through the I Had Outs girls, or perhaps through F-Train. I also spent some time with him at the old Ship It Fish mixed games from a year or so back. Since college, the opportunities to meet new people are less frequent. In a way, they are also less necessary, since the majority of my days are no longer spent partying. But through poker, I’ve met more people in the last three years than through any other activity. Well, maybe I met a few more as a lawyer, but I don’t consider many of them friends.

Alceste had offered me a ride to AC after reading a post from a few days prior. He was heading down with KJ, another guy I met through the NY poker social hub that is Dawn Summers. We were to meet Bacini Mary in AC. She had gotten a head start the night before. Dr. Pauly, AlCantHang and probably some other folks were also in town for the Borgata Open, a series of poker tournaments. So, we made our way from NYC to AC, a 2.5 hour trip. We arrived in 2.

Alceste, Mary and KJ had plans to play the $300+40, $100k Guarantee 11am tournament. On the drive, I toyed with the idea of joining them. My ‘bankroll’ is fairly, um, shallow. I have only funded it with poker winnings, and I have made several big deductions over the years, as part of my “If poker doesn’t mean more money to enjoy for wifey Kim and I, what’s the point?” rationale. On one hand, I had played two $340 tournaments in the past, both WSOP Circuit Events, and each time, I was confronted with the reality that $340 tournaments and $100 Showboat tournaments attract the same quality players. And I’ve made the Showboat tourney my bitch. On the other hand, in both of my past forays, I was card dead, and when the blinds catch up to you in that situation, there is only so much you can do. That and suckouts, bad beats, second best hands, blah blah blah. Basically, I could lose the $340 tournament on one bad luck hand entirely out of my control. In a cash game, I can rebuy. But in a tourney, it’s all over. That finality hung in my head as we drove to AC.

I joined Alceste and KJ on line to register. It was about 10:30 and with 30 minutes until the event started, I was anxious to get signed up. The line had at least 50 people in it, and while there were several employees handling registration, until I confirmed it with my own eyes, I could’ve sworn by the pace of the line that there was only one. I hung out with Alceste and KJ for 10 or so minutes, chatting about online poker and other light topics until I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Have fun guys. I’m going to play cash.” If there is one thing I hate about poker, it’s the waiting. When I wait to play, I play poorly. I’m like a teenager getting overexcited about his first experience with the ole love box. By the time I get to actually participate, I’m so raging with excitement, I tend to blow my load prematurely. For the kid, it means embarrassment. For me, it means a buy-in…or a tournament.

I made the long walk from the event area to the poker room alone. I prepared mentally for the game. I was wearing my old school poker uniform: my now tattered Superman t-shirt, camo cargo pants, my hunting motif baseball cap, sunglasses and a new hoodie. I had considered dressing more, well, normal for the game, but instead, I decided to go back to my old poker mindset, in which I play the role of loud mouth jokester. I want people to not take me seriously, so they don’t notice how I seriously extract their chips from their stacks. Oh, and they leave happy. No need to piss off the customers.

It was still before 11am, so the poker room had plenty of open seats, even though Borgata’s huge room was more than buzzing. I grabbed the 7 seat in a 10-handed, 1/2 NLHE cash game and bought in for $300. I stuffed my bag under my seat.

Two or three seats to my right was the big stack, an Italian kid who looked like one of the Gotti boys from that A&E show. He looked like a dousche, but he had a BIG stack. It was no surprise he was on my right. I scoped the table looking for the sweet spot. The 1 seat was an Asian American kid with a decent stack and shit load of cockiness. He was also one to watch, but it was the Eye-Tal-EE-Un kid that caught my attention. The Asian kid was likely a gambler. The Italian kid likely would try to push people out of pots with his big stack. Between the two, the Italian seemed more profitable.

That last paragraph may seem absurd to some of you, but I always size up my players immediately, and usually via visual clues like clothing, nationality, gender, attitude, and body language, come up with a general theory of their personalities, and by extension, their playing style. As play wears on, I refine my reads. It’s just the natural course of things.

I won my first hand of the night with a little bit of luck. I had K6o in the BB, and by the time the action got to me, there was a bunch of limpers. I checked. The flop was T64. I checked my middle pair and a player bet $10. There were three callers by the time it got to me. I couldn’t believe that my 6 was good, but with $50 or so in the pot, I decided to call for $10. The turn was a blank and everyone checked around. The river was a 6. I bet out $20. It folded to a geriatric man (he was beyond old) in the 4s who called. Everyone else folded. I tabled my K6 and took down the pot. It was nice to get an early cushion.

While I folded away, I chatted lightly with my table mates. Specifically, I chatted up the Italian kid. He actually started it. As I sat down, he asked, “Have you been playing all night?” I may’ve been yawning or otherwise looked exhausted. I considered a lie, but opted for the truth. “Nah, just drove in this morning. I was up early. How about you?” He answered, “Yeah, I’ve been here for hours.” “Looks like it’s been good so far.” I motioned to his stack. Sometimes, I like to point out people’s success at the cash game poker tables. For the right type of player, it can actually set off a weird paranoia. For others, it causes overconfidence. Either way, it certainly can’t hurt. In Gotti’s case, I think it caused a bit of embarrassment of riches. To help him, I took a bunch of his chips.

With KTh, I decided to call a preflop raise to $12 from Gotti, who was in MP. I had position, either on the button or the cutoff. The flop came down with three low cards, two of which were hearts. Gotti bet $25, so I decided to call. The turn was a duece of diamonds. It didn’t help my hand. Gotti bet $25 again, which set off signals in my head. Betting the same amount on two consecutive streets can often mean weakness. I thought I might be able to take the pot away by raising. As a backdoor plan, if he were to call a re-raise, I’d be hiding my flush draw, in case it hit on the river. That would likely net me more money than just calling and hitting my flush, since if I just call and my heart hits, he’d be wary of the draw. I raised to $75, $50 more than his bet. He called. I tried to remain internally calm. The river was a heart. BOOM! He checks, and I bet $150. I figured that a large bet would look more like I was just trying to push Gotti off of the hand. I guess it worked. He called. I showed my flush. He showed two black eights. He had an overpair to the board…except for the flush draw. Ironically, I had more outs than I knew.

After that hand, I was sitting pretty with a nice cushion of profit.

Over the course of these series of posts, I’ll probably go through another dozen hands or so, so I’ve decided to break up the report into multiple parts. I tried to record all of the memorable hands over the 9 hour session, so while you may see some odd hands like K6o winning money, these things tend to happen over a really long session. Overall, though, my play was selectively aggressive. I rarely bluffed, if at all, and I only played marginal hands for a limp.

It wasn’t much longer after my KTh victory when I was dealt TT. And by not too much longer, it may’ve been 5 minutes or 30 minutes. Time has little meaning for me at the poker table.

With my first premium hand of the day, I opted for a $12 raise from EP, hoping to thin the herd of limpers. I got what I wanted. My only caller was the Crazian gambler in the 1 seat. He had been pushing all-in a lot with his stack, which at one point was under $100, but was now probably closer to $200. He played aggressively, and I hoped to use that to my advantage.

After the Crazian’s call, we saw a beautiful flop of T42, rainbow. With top set (the nuts) and no serious concerns about draws, I checked to the Crazian. He checked as well. The turn was a Jack of Clubs, creating a club flush draw. I checked again. I still didn’t have anything to fear. If he somehow hit a backdoor flush through my passive play, well, I’d deal with it when that came. Crazian finally took the bait, betting $15 into the pot. I took my time, trying to act like I was upset but I couldn’t believe him. I then raised to $50. He took the bait once again, announcing “All in” to which I simply said, “Call.” He asked immediately, “Do you have a set?” The river card came down as an offsuit blank. “Yep, Tens.” I tabled my hand and he mucked. In hindsight, I should’ve made him show, but I knew I had the hand (and all of his chips) lock, stock and barrel. He rebought for $100 or maybe $200, and for that I was glad.

A quick sidenote. The Crazian was playing with his chick, who was sitting in the 2 seat. To my immediate left in the 9 seat was another friend of the Crazian. They had tangled in a few hands, and each time, the friend would say how the Crazian is playing, well, like a Crazian. Having your friend announce your shitty range is not optimal strategy. But, I guess not everyone is thinking of how to maximize and control their image.

That’s it for now. Expect more later, including a series of “hero calls.”

Until next time, make mine poker!

I appreciate everyone’s patience with me as I reduce my blogging duties to focus on my upcoming trial. I’ll admit that the lack of posts is due in large part to my lack of play. Lately, I want nothing more than to kick back and play some mindless videogames or watch some mindless television or my new favorite, sit out on my roof with an after-dinner drink while I clear my head.

My trial is coming up on Monday, and as we approach it, I feel more and more certain that the case will settle. My client seems to finally understand some of the pitfalls of his case and hopefully has accepted my explanation that a settlement ensures that he has at least some money even if it won’t make his life whole again. The alternative, naturally, is to try the case, but the difficulties with his case, coupled with the uncontrollability of a jury means that he sincerely has no chance of getting the amount of money he thinks will make him whole.

In the meantime, I’ve been slugging away, preparing the case while juggling my other cases. I expected my trial to be a lot more time consuming than it actually is. Apparently, a lot will be done on the fly if the trial does happen, so all I can do now is get my ducks in a row and expect a super hectic week next week. Or, it’ll settle and I will have the exact opposite, a very quiet week. It’s hard gambling between those two extremes, so I will hope for the best but prepare for the worst.

This weekend, wifey Kim made plans with her pregnant friend in Connecticut and another friend from Long Island. Wifey Kim and the LI girl will be heading to Connecticut on Saturday and staying overnight. Her trip conveniently alligned with what I expected to be a cramming weekend in prep for trial, but as I near the finish line, I am finding that I have time to build sandcastles. That’s when my mind starts working overdrive and I find myself considering another gamble.

Atlantic City.

The scenario, if it happens, will go something like this. Content that I can do no more to prepare myself for trial, I can probably catch a bus to Atlantic City around noon on Saturday for about $33. Once we arrive at AC, I get a voucher for $20 from the drop-off casino. I will cash that in and head over to a poker room. I can play all day and night at my own pace, and when ready, catch the return bus home. Assuming I catch a noon bus and arrive in AC around 3pm (more likely 2:30), I can get in a solid 6 hours and still catch a 9:30 bus home, arriving back to NY before midnight. Or, if I so choose, I can catch a midnight bus back or later, and sleep late on Sunday.

It’s a real gamble for a couple of reasons. First, the idea of heading to AC solo is a gamble. I’ve done it once before, but in a place where people are engaging in vices with reckless abandon and I am carrying a roll of cash, safety is always a concern. Second, this may not look good to the family and I don’t want to be the kind of guy who lies about his vice. Third, and probably the most important, if my head is elsewhere (the trial), will it affect my play? This is my greatest concern. Heading to AC for a few hours and winning some cash can be a nice day. Going to AC for a few hours and losing a lot of cash? Not so much fun, particularly when I need to shore up the confidence going into Monday.

Gamble gamble gamble. What to do? It’s not the worst problem in the world to have, but it’s definitely an odd one.

Until next time, make mine poker.

I had an interesting experience this weekend. Wifey Kim had made plans to see one of her friends on Saturday night for a little chick bonding time, so I made my own plans to see good pal Dave Ruff for a rare Dave Ruff home game. The game was slated to kick off at 5:30 pm on Saturday night, .50/1 NLHE, after which, we would watch the UFC fights on PPV at 10pm.

Unfortunately, somewhere around noon, a severe thunderstorm warning was in effect for the NYC area, with threats of rain up to 2 inches per hour and wind up to 50 mph. All this was happening while I sat comfortably in my apartment, oblivious to the outside world. Wifey Kim, meanwhile, was off with her mom attending a baby naming or some such thing. She called me up at about 2pm to see if my plans had changed.

I thought it over for a tad and reconsidered the poker. Ruff lives in West New York, New Jersey. Just to keep it straight, that’s a town called W.N.Y. in the state of N.J. His apartment is just over the water, and I could get there in a couple of ways. One involves multiple trains and takes over an hour. Another takes one subway and a ferry, but takes about 40 minutes, on paper at least.

Given the threats of monsoon-like weather, I considered canceling on Dave. I had received a call from my mom, semi-frantic. I could hear the radio on in the background. She was in the car with my father.

From the radio: “One to two inches of rain per hour.”
Immediately after from my mom: “One to two inches of rain an hour!”
Radio: “40 to 50 mph winds”
Mom: “50 mph winds!”

I considered my travel options. There was no chance in hell I was taking the multiple train option, if for no other reason than the fact that it involved some complicated train lines. The ferry, meanwhile, meant being in the middle of the water in monsoon-like conditions. Maybe wifey Kim and my mom were right.

Me: “Okay mom, I won’t go.”
Mom: “You promise.”
I thought it over for a second and answered: “Well, I can’t promise. But I can tell you that I probably won’t go and I’ll be very safe.” I guess on some level, I knew how this would end.

I then called Ruff to discuss the situation. The rain didn’t seem hard from my window, but as my mom and wifey Kim told me, “It’s coming in waves.” Fine then. If the two most important females (hell, people) in my life were advising me to skip the game, how could I do any different. My conversation with Ruff:

Me: “Did anyone cancel yet?” I was scoping the scene to see if the game was going to break without my exit.
Ruff: “Yeah. One down. Only 6 left.”
Me: “Am I counted in that 6.”
Ruff: “Yeah. We need you.”
Me: “Ok, then. I’m there.”

There were two things in play. One, I had flaked on Ruff a couple of times in the past. My favorite instance was when I missed his birthday party because of a blogger freeroll. When I realized I had double-booked, I intentionally tried to bust in the freeroll, pushing recklessly for the first thirty minutes. The result was that I had a massive chip stack after a slew of suckouts, so I decided to stick out the game. At first, I texted Ruff that I would be late. Then later. Then not at all. I ended up taking 2nd for $450. I sent Ruff 20% or $90 as a birthday gift and a semi-apology. You can read about it in my post called The $450 Question. Basically, I didn’t cancel out of loyalty to Ruff and his game. I owed him at least this much.

The second reason why I didn’t cancel: poker. I haven’t been playing as much live poker as I might like, and I had been looking forward to the game for days. How could I not go?

I packed my backpack with the usual items: a hoodie, baseball cap, ipod, sunglasses, and bandana. I added a few extra items because of the weather: an umbrella with a plastic bag so I could place it back in my bag wet, a change of socks and a change of pants. I figured I might get a little wet. I then headed out of the apartment. I took the subway to 42nd Street and 7th Avenue, a short walk from the ferry port on 39th Street and 11th Avenue. Or so I thought. It felt a lot longer and from Google Maps, I just learned that I walked .9 miles.

.9 miles is no big deal, particularly in the light drizzle. I called wifey Kim while walking. “This isn’t that bad. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.” She reminded me of the fact that the rain would come in waves. I laughed it off and told her the waves would wait until I’m safely in the ferry. She also told me that my mom had called and sounded upset that I decided to go to the game. “I’ll call he when I’m in the ferry terminal.”

I kept walking in the light rain, passing by a teenage couple who seemed oblivious to the rain. They were on an abandoned street, him apparently pleading with her for forgiveness or something similar. I remember thinking it odd, since there was nothing around but a construction site. That, and they didn’t seem to notice that it was raining. As I turned a corner, the wave hit. My mom and wife were right. The rain started changing from a drizzle to a patter to a deluge. I started to run, sensing the change in rain. I crossed the empty street to find a small alcove, the only protection from the rain. I considered calling Ruff and canceling again. My pants were already fairly wet. My body was covered in sweat. The backpack was starting to soak through too. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

I waited in the alcove for a few minutes, hoping the rain would let up. It wasn’t. I decided to just go for it. I could see the terminal in the distance. I timed out the lights and went for it. I was inside the terminal in a minute or two, but the damage was done. My umbrella did squat. I was soaked.

Once in the terminal, I bought my ticket and waited with the throngs of other daredevils, willing to ride a 10 minute ferry in the monsoon. I called my grandmother to wish her a happy birthday and then called my mom.

Mom: “What are you doing, Jordan?”
Me: “I made a commitment, mom. I have to be there. Besides, it’s a ten minute ferry ride and I know how to swim. His apartment is just on the other side, and if the weather is bad, I’ll stay at his place overnight.”
Mom: “Let me put your father on the phone.”
Dad: “Be careful Jordan.”
Me: “Okay.”
Click. My dad gets right to the point. After all, I’m an adult and it’s rain. It’s not like I’m a child and it’s a tornado.

The ferry ride was easy, if a tad uncomfortable due to my wet clothes. By the time I arrived in NJ, the rain hadn’t let up. I decided to wait at the exit until it died down. I saw two guys decide to run for it. About 30 feet from the exit, I saw one drop a gift-wrapped box. I called for them three times, but they couldn’t hear me through the rain. I decided to run for it. Opening my umbrella, I tried to steady it against the wind and rain as I picked up the box. I chased after the guys some more until I finally got their attention. My plan to wait was ruined, so instead, I ran to a small tent set up probably for a ferry shuttle. I hid out there while I called Ruff.

Ruff: “I can see you from up here.”
Me: “Yeah? I’m fucking soaking. I better win today. Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” It was the only piece of clothing I didn’t bring a replacement for.
Ruff: “Sure. I already lent Bridge some shorts.” Bridge is one of Ruff’s buddies, a good poker player too.

I finally got up the courage to run for it. It didn’t hurt that I was already saturated. Short of drowning, I couldn’t get any wetter. I dodged some puddles and plodded through others. Finally, I was at Ruff’s place, wet, but alive.

Ruff: “You don’t look wet.”
Me: “That’s because I am so wet, you can’t see the wet spots. It’s all wet spots.”

Upstairs, Ruff, Bridge and Al were hanging out. I hadn’t seen Bridge or Al in years since the last Ruff home game. Both used to work with Ruff. I threw my clothes in Ruff’s dryer and changed into my drier clothes. Drier, but still a tad wet throw my backpack.

After a while, high school bud Timmy Bones and Ruff’s other former coworker and Crazian, Yen, showed up and we began our 6-handed .50/1 NLHE game, each with $100 stacks. Early on, Yen remembered me from the earlier games. “You’re the crazy player!” I shrugged. Lately, I don’t feel like the “crazy player.” I feel more like the cautious player, a role that I don’t enjoy or advocate. It may have been my tough first half of the year or my lack of live play recently, but hearing Yen’s refrain got my juices pumping. At the very least, I could use the instant table image to my advantage.

Within two hands, I had almost felted Bridge, who was sitting exactly opposite me. He had raised preflop and I called with KQ. The flop was JTx, with two diamonds. He bet out and I called. The turn was an Ace of Diamonds. He bet and I raised. He called. The river was a blank. I didn’t have him on the flush, so I felt confident I was ahead. I made a big bet, hoping to appear like a crazy gambler. It paid off when he called. He had two pair, and I took the pot.

I continued to play semi-aggressively, tangling with Bridge a few more times. Meanwhile, Al, on my immediate left, was accumulating chips by betting at just about every pot he was in. Al isn’t a pro-level player but it was clear that no one had the goods to look him up, even if they were openly calling him a bullshitter. My stack dwindled until I was up only $30 or so, down from my high of about $70 or 80.

I didn’t keep notes, so I won’t go through many hands. However, I found myself down to about $45 profit when I decided to tangle with Yen, who embodies the Crazian gambler mentality. Yen had offered to drive me home, and since the weather was terrible, I decided to accept the offer. We were going to leave after the orbit, so I made a play for a pot and he called me down after flopping two pair with 83c. My single pair was no good, so I mucked and chided him for calling. I had worked out the math so that my unsuccessful betting left me up only $5. I announced it to the table and said that I had just enough for a few blinds.

The very next hand, I am dealt AKo, UTG. I raise $4 preflop, which was on the higher end of my preflop betting range. I was typically raising $3 or $3.50. It folded to Yen in the SB and he called. Ruff, in the BB, called as well. The flop came down, T3K. I was ecstatic about the King. It checked to me and I bet $10 or so. Yen folded and Ruff called. The turn was an Ace, giving me two pair. Ruff checked again, and I bet out $15 or $20. He raised. I stopped for a moment and looked at the board. I couldn’t fathom a QJ, although it was possible. I didn’t really know what he had, but I did know my loose image would affect his range. I still felt confident with my top two pair. I called.

On the river, Ruff bet out $40 or so. I decided to push all-in for another $25. After all, I was leaving soon and had announced it to the table. “I’m doubling up or going home.” The river was a blank and at showdown, I showed my top two pair. Ruff showed KT, for flopped two pair. The turn was a suckout…sorta. At least, it was a suckout insomuch as the KTx flop was a suckout. It’s all about perspective.

I may’ve won another hand or two after that. When we left, I was the big winner, up $136.50, $20 of which I gave to Ruff for food, beer and a donation to the UFC fight. Yen and I left before it started, but I was just glad to have an easy trip home.

When I got home, I called my mom first, to let her know I was safe. I mentioned how poker wasn’t just a hobby, but a passion. I find I’ve been using that phrase a lot lately. My mom said that she was concerned for me. I tried to explain it to her by being honest with myself.

Me: “I’m not playing poker because of the money. I play because I love the game. It’s not like I play for big money. I’m very responsible. It’s just that, as an adult, you only have so many opportunities to play games of any sort, and poker is a respectable adult game because of the money. It’s how I socialize. If Ruff wanted to meet at a bar to drink all night, I’d be less interested in going. It’s boring. But add poker, and it’s something fun to do.”

In reality, that is poker for me. A game. Something I enjoy doing for the sake of the game itself. The money just legitimizes my pursuit as something for adults. The money also makes the game fall in most people’s vice category. But I’m not most people.

Sometimes, when I play online poker, I feel myself getting bored with poker, or worse, disinterested altogether. I worry that the love affair is ending. Then I play live and I feel that pulse of adrenaline, when I get literally high on poker, and the love comes flooding back.

No live games on the horizon, but if I feel confident with my trial (coming up on Monday…and likely to settle on Monday as well), I may make a day trip to AC on Saturday. Wifey Kim has a baby shower or something.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Democrats: “Barack Obama’s DNC speech was amazing! He was persuasive, eloquent and tough when he needed to be. John McCain’s RNC speech was dull and themeless. It was just more of the same old speech from the same old Republican party that drove this nation into the ground over the last eight years. The right-wing nuts at Fox News should be ashamed of themselves for their blind support of John McCain!”

Republicans: “John McCain has the experience and leadership abilities to protect our nation from foreign threats and help the economy! Barack Obama’s DNC speech was all rhetoric with no substance. Change? What change? It’s just the same old liberal bullshit. The left-wing media like CNN is too busy kissing Obama’s ass to give fair and balanced reporting!”

Let those two argue for several months, both with their minds made up and their heels in the ground. Pull up a chair. If you agree with either side, just block the other one out and sing your Hallelujah or Amen. Agree until your heart’s content or alternatively until you heart is boiling in its own juices.

But it’s all a dog and pony show. I tried watching some of the McCain speech last night. Boring. I won’t even put forth a definitive political view here other than to say that I am bored of it all. Ok, Barack will ruin our nation. Fine, McCain is the anti-christ. Whatever. One of those fuckers are going to end up running our nation, and amazingly all of the discourse on the Internet, TV, radio, newspapers, conventions, whatever, is just theatre. Thousands show up at the DNC to jerk off to Obama. Thousands show up at the RNC to beat their meat to McCain. Good for you both, but it’s still just masturbation.

As a kid, when I started to develop my love for debate, I would discuss religion and politics as a perfect jumping off point to deep discussions. My father always warned, “You don’t discuss religion and politics.” At the time, I thought he was warning me that those topics were private and taboo; that by discussing them, I was rude and invading others’ privacy. Now I realize the truth. It’s all very futile. 90% of you have already made up your mind about who you are (or, are not) voting for. The other 10% probably have made up their minds too, but like the label of being independent. They sure as hell must be leaning one way or another by this point.

Meanwhile, as I typed this, the Republican and Democrat from above have gone on to discuss the vice presidential nominees. My guess is that the Republican will praise Palin and smash Biden. Meanwhile, the Democrat will praise Biden and smash Palin. Let’s check:

Democrat: “Sarah Palin should worry more about her fucked up family and less about running for VP. This is the same woman who raised taxes just to build a $15M hockey rink for her kids in Alaska…Isn’t there ice already in Alaska? As for Biden, he’s the perfect choice for VP. He’s experienced and will help national security and the economy.”

Republican: “That Joe Biden is a hack, a racist and a plagiarist. Great pick, fucking Democrats. As for Palin, she’s a god damn hero. She fought corruption, terrorism (not one Al Queda attack has occurred in Alaska since she was elected into office!), and will lower gas prices by allowing mining for oil!”

And as they prattle on, I wonder to myself, why the fuck do I care? The president is elected via the electoral process. My one vote in New York, a state that will undoubtedly vote for the Democrats, will not change a damn thing. And I’m a freaking independent! Maybe the rhetoric from both sides is designed to mobilize otherwise dormant voting blocks or convince en masse the independents, but on a personal level, it doesn’t mean shit to me. Republicans will continue to wack off to their candidate, Democrats will continue to fellate theirs and the whole masturbatory political process continues.

I finally learned why my father didn’t like to discuss politics. It’s a fucking waste of time and energy. In the end, you just end up looking like a tool, preaching your version of the Bible to your own congregation and baiting trolls from the other side to throw some vitrol around. And the other side is doing the same thing too.

So, have at it, political masturbators. Just do me a favor and clean up after yourselves when you are done. I’m going for a beer. Let me know when this whole class president thing is done.

Until next time, make mine poker!

Good grief! I felt compelled to stick my head in the door just to give you all a wave (I originally typed that as “waive” because I am so mentally in the thick of the law right now) and a howdeedo. It looks like over the next two weeks, I’ll be running around like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to satisfy tough deadlines in three cases while I prepare myself single-handedly for my first trial. No complaints here other than those implicit in being busy. In the end, there is nothing to it but to do it, so that’s what I’m doing. It.

In the meanwhile, things will probably be pretty quiet here. I still expect to continue playing during these trying times, mostly because it helps me unwind and/or turn off the brain when I get home. But these random blog posts will probably be a little less often.

While I’m here, I might as well mention some of the fun I’ve been having online. I moneyed in a couple of recent tourneys for small, but respectable figures. I also began binging on token tourneys again. I won 3 of 3, then lost the two games I played using the tokens. It definitely felt like I was on a rush early, only to run into a brick wall. In both of the games that I lost, I took bad beats. It’s nothing new and, in fact, has been relatively few and far between lately (as has been my play), but it reminded me that this game is luck-based, no matter how one might feel about his current skillz.

I’ve also been binging on Poker Road Radio lately. The guys on that show have such a rapport that it is a pleasure to listen to them from both a poker and a talk-radio perspective. I like a lot of talk radio, so I know what I’m talking about. The chemistry is fairly natural, and aside from some key problems (sound levels, guys, look into it), they churn out an invariably good show.

Recently, they were talking to a player about bots. According to the player, Ali something, there are currently bots online that play average poker. They generally are relegated to the limit tables, particularly HU. He also said that as time wears on, bots will eventually take over online poker…the key is when “eventually” is. It may be a long while off.

Even so, the idea of bots, which never bothered me much in the past, has really turned me off of online poker. On one hand, I think that if you can’t beat a bot, you suck at poker anyway, so stop complaining about the bot and just get better. On the other hand, with the other scandals that have happened over the last few years, bots just feel like another straw on the camels back. And sooner or later, that back is going to break.

I’ve spent too much time on this already, so I’ll catch you all later.

Until next time, make mine poker!