Sunday, March 30, 2008

Disturbance In The Force

Can you feel it?

There are some rumblings on the streets of G-Vegas. If the rumors are true, a certain semi-famous TV news anchor makes his storied return to the felt at tomorrow's Gucci Rick game.

I'm not sure what it means to my live bankroll, but I do know what it means to my fun factor.

Cue Gabe Kaplan-based show theme music.

Thursday, March 27, 2008


StB has generated some recent controversy with his Circle of Blogger Hell posts. He claims some of the early poker bloggers are treated like "rockstars." Well, let there be no doubt, he's 100% absolutely correct. As proof, I give you first: Kerry King

Now, BadBlood

Sunday, March 23, 2008


Man did I come home from the dog track in bad mood. And I'll be honest, it wasn't even about losing money that aggravated me. Here's what got to me.

During the first down, the dealer was cool. I doubled my buy-in without much risk and was rather talkative at the table. It had something to do with my mother's successful plan of having plenty of vodka for me upon my arrival. That's probably her best asset. Providing me alcohol.

I continued having dirty martini's at the dog track, even though they were room temperature and made in a fashion conducive to taste as horrible as possible. But I persevered nonetheless.

The table wasn't very talkative and there was a piss-poor player in the 4 seat who was going broke quickly with his assault on passive play. Mr. check-call I named him. He finally won a pot and said to the dealer, "I can't tip this hand, I need to make my money back first."

It was at this point that I took this opportunity to tip for him. I'm good like that sometime. The dealers need to get taken care of and when they don't, I don't mind stepping in. It's a freakin' dollar for crying out loud. Also, it's just good karma. At least for most people.

After the first 30 minutes were up, in sat the next dealer. An older woman with a penchant for obeying rules to the letter. Before her first deal, she said to me, "Only one earbud is allowed."

"Are you serious?" I asked.

"Yes, if you're going to listen to an mp3 player, you can only have one earbud in."

Wow. Serious downer. The previous dealer made no mention of this rule and as I'd find out later, neither did the next dealer.

But, not wanting to be a jerk, I complied. With a smile. It was forced, but I smiled still.

Meanwhile, Mr. Check-call had built his stack from about $27 to $500 thanks to some fortuitous anti-aggression. Then he did something so contrary to the nature of the game I was trying to build that it set me off.

I was in a hand with him and called a river bet, rather sure I was behind. He showed down a winner and I mucked.

Then he said it.

"Can I see his hand?"

I said nothing, but thought to myself, "You have got to be kidding me." I tipped the dealer for him, I paid him off on his river bet, and now he wanted my hand retrieved from the muck and exposed for all to see?

My mood never recovered. These jackholes have no concept of proper poker play, no concept of proper poker etiquette and no concept of the sheer amount of luck that they need to win.

It was the seed from which my hatred in my previous post grew.

Saturday, March 22, 2008


I should probably go to bed.

But I'm not going to.

Mrs. Blood and I went down to the Fort Myers Dog Track for what would end up being 3 hours of poker. I played the 1/2 $100 buy-in NL game and she went to the 2/4 limit game. When we signed up for each game, she was 11th on the list and I was 3rd. She got seated first.

I have a confession to make.

I pretty much hate all poker players. Except of course for the friends I play with. Those peeps are good peeps. But in general? Most random poker players are pretty much pathetic.

What does that say about me? I willingly sit down with those people on occasion and try to take their money.

Tonight, there wasn't a player at the table who I thought was any better than I was.

So yeah, I lost.

I lost to players who needed to hit that 2-outer on the turn or catch runner-runner to win. Those players flock to these games and bury themselves in the sand, acting as land-mines to the players who think they can out play them. Like me.

But I can't.

Not in the short-term, anyway.

Deep down, I'm not even on tilt. I don't even care that I lost money tonight.

It's just that my hatred for the average poker moron grew another notch.

I know that these players feed the game. They feed the good players. They feed the winning players. Like myself.

I know they need to get lucky in the short term to distort their self assessments. I understand that.

But I don't care.

I honestly hate them.

I can destroy them 3 out of 5 times and be a winning player against them.

But I don't want to.

I want to win 5 out of 5 times. I want to be a dominating player against them. I want to crush them. Kill them. Because I hate them.


I got back to my parents place at about 12:30 am. I had to move my kids from where they went to sleep to their beds once we got back.

I looked at their sleeping faces.

I went to bed a winner nonetheless.

Thursday, March 20, 2008


- Let's say, hypothetically of course, that you've just had a brake job done on your car. As soon as you leave the dealership with those new brakes, you hear a sound coming from the front tires that you haven't heard ever before. What do you do? Do you turn around and have the mechanic take a second look at his work or keep driving? My answer is: I love my wife.

- These trips down to Florida take their toll sometimes. We get up at 3:30 am and I drive until about 9:30 am after which the Mrs. takes the wheel and I hopefully get to sleep until lunch time in the way back. It's not great sleep. The kids are wide awake and the sun is shining, but usually it's enough for me to resume the trek at the helm for the last four hours. We repeat this process on the way home. Without rushing to judgment, I can safely qualify these two days of driving as shitty.

- My mother called to make sure she was getting the right snacks for the kids. The conversation quickly changed to making sure she was getting the right alcohol for her son. MrsBlood + Her Mother-In-Law = Vodka

- My parents want to take my kids to the circus. I hate the fucking circus.

- It's a slow time for me with finding new metal. Thankfully, has a use, as bands post pre-release material on that site for junkies like myself to enjoy. Every time I see a new band I'd not heard of before that I end up really liking, I wonder why I'm so late to the party. My latest recommendation: Moonspell. Check out the two tracks from their upcoming CD on their myspace page: Night Eternal and Scorpion Flower. I keep playing those on repeat while playing razz tournaments with Otis. Bet none of you can do the same. It's a special kind of insanity to do both at the same time.

- Speaking of online poker, I want to clarify something just in case. If you've seen me at the tables and left a shout out or simple greeting, I probably haven't seen it. You see, I've turned player and observer chat completely off. I simply can't take it any more. It adds nothing to the game for me. In fact, it detracts from my enjoyment. If you want to chat, email me and I'll send you my new IM name. I just don't have it in me any longer to do it at the tables. It's not because I'm anti-social, it's because I'm anti-stupid. My endurance for the "lols," "fish," "donkey," "nice call (*#&," "!#@$ you!" "heads up for rollz!!!" and whatever else floats through the netherworld of that damn box of brainlessness is gone. Completely and utterly gone. Besides, I enjoy the quiet.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Travel Prep

Looks as though the family and I will be making our semi-annual trek to visit my parents down in Florida on Friday. I've told the Mrs. that we can go out one night to the dog track / poker room where she can "practice" for her upcoming trip to Vegas. Me? I'd like to avoid getting crushed again at the 1/2 $100max tables. That would be my version of practicing avoidance. Cue the poker rap.

We're also prepping our vehicle. You know, the tricked out Honda Odyssey minivan with the extra compartment to hold your manhood. Oil change, brake job, new tires and alignment all figure to put us $800 in the hole before we even leave G-Vegas.

As I wrote to Otis earlier today, that is un-joy.

Very far from joy.

But then again, money spent now is money saved later, especially if we avoid a tire blow out that causes us to roll over on Route 75. I suppose I'd rather avoid that then getting sucked out on.

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Li Crisis Fe

Rather than talk about coming down from my rush, which by the way is no fun, I thought I'd post something in a more positive spin.



April 18th to April 22nd.

Me + Mrs Blood.

The Signature at MGM Grand.

Monday, the 21st, I turn 40. (Did I just type that?)

Figure it's all downhill from there. Might as well spend some time enjoying the descent.