For the American Idol fans out there...

In honor of one of this month's top Google search referrals to this here blog ("Taylor Hicks Smoking Pot") I offer you this small piece of advice.

If you have last night's American Idol on Tivo, stop whatever you're doing, get high, and watch the end of Taylor's performance of
"Try a Little Tenderness."

In SLOW MOTION.

I promise a near-religious experience.

Split Open and Melt

I didn't think it would be this hot yet. But I was already craving air conditioning, something my 14-year old Saturn does not have. I mean, it has an air conditioner. It just doesn't work. About an hour into the drive, I made a mental note to check out JetBlue flights to Vegas for the WSOP because there was no way I was going to have a repeat of last year. I rolled down every window as I flew down the 60 freeway, blowing a kiss to JoeSpeaker as I passed the Spanish-tiled roofs of Moreno Valley and wound my way east toward Palm Springs. The foothills looked so tan and crisp that a single spark could ignite everything around me.

My home for the next couple of days was an old-school 50's style motel on South Palm Canyon. It was three stories high with a stone 50's style exterior and a pool at the center. The place was half-full, mainly by pale older couples peppered with a few hippie backpacker types. My room was on the second floor and had a view of the San Jacinto mountains and the dozens of palm trees that shaded each hotel along the road. Best of all, it had its own balcony equipped with a table and chair. That would be a nice place to write.

I got a lot out while I was there. It was the first triple-digit weekend in the desert so I'd jump into the pool to swim a few laps and cool off after every couple of pages. I wrote two openings and threw one out. Most of the time I was writing on that balcony in a dripping wet bathing suit but it worked. I didn't even attempt to hook up an internet connection until my last few hours there because I knew it would be far too much of a distraction. I was also surrounded by casinos. Agua Caliente was 2 miles away and Spa Resort Casino within walking distance. I'm proud to say I didn't cross the threshold of either, though I was itching for blackjack at 3AM while I was blocked on the second night. I know it's -EV but I still love it.

The drive back took twice as long as the drive out and it was even hotter. There was a jacknifed big rig on the 60 and I sat at a standstill on the freeway utterly melting in my car for almost an hour before forcing my way over to the nearest exit. I got off in Chino and was very lost, though it wasn't nearly the ghetto they say it is on The O.C. Thankfully my sister was in front of her laptop and was able to find me an alternate route home.

I got back into the poker swing Sunday night, cashing the Full Tilt $9K Guaranteed. I swapped 5% with JoeSpeaker and still owe him $2.20 for my efforts ;) Last night I hit up the Stars $3.30 Rebuy, finishing in 15th of 2196 for about $130.00 and a $10+1 MTT on Full Tilt where I cashed in 16th. Missing the final table of the rebuy stung a bit because I was playing really well, but I can take some solace in the fact that it was my deepest finish in a field that huge. I had over a million chips at one point and I don't think I've ever had that many in front of me in a MTT.

I bit the bullet and forked over $200+ for Final Draft yesterday. I had to do it before it got truly annoying to transfer everything over from Word. At least, for me, it's a 100% tax-deductible professional expense. For the uninitiated, Final Draft is Hollywood's preferred screenwriting software platform. I used to have a copy I swiped from work, but it was unfortunately installed on the laptop I had stolen last summer. Once I bust from (or win!) the $22 noon donkfest MTT I'm playing right now, I'll be right back on the horse.

Showcase told me this morning that he's "so done" with Stacee. She showed up at 2AM again last night after partying her ass off at the cool Hollywood club du jour, LAX and passed out in his bed. Poor guy didn't even get laid.

Luckily, his wingman is coming back into town.

Edited to add (4:22 PM): I didn't win. But I did manage to take second!


Final hand was a killer. At a 3-1 chip disadvantage (Spaker had just busted the 3rd place finisher for his whole stack) I raised with K7 on the button and he called with 58. Flop was 467. Money went in on the flop. You know the rest.

This hand helped too, along the way.



I'm gonna go sing karaoke now with Showcase to celebrate!!

Off to the Desert

I woke up to another gray morning in Los Angeles just a little while ago, checked my email, made my bed, and threw a change of clothes into a backpack. After a stop at 7-11 for some below-average coffee, I'll be on the road to my cheap Palm Springs motel where I'll be spending at least the next two days and nights writing. I think if I come back to the city with 25 more solid pages, I'll consider it a success. It also has a pool and I really hope it's warm enough out there for at least one swim.

In my absence, check out some of those fine folks over on the right. America's favorite donkeyfucker wrote a sequel to one of the most hilariously depraved posts of 2006 over on the Tao of Poker today. You won't be disappointed.

And if that's not your bag (though I'm pretty sure it is) my friend Drizz just had a baby girl! She's just gorgoeous and has an awesome name. He's also one step closer to getting laid again.

No word yet from the fast food gods, but Showcase was very happy with his callback audition. Fingers still crossed.

Back on Saturday...maybe Sunday...

Coming Out

I had just busted from a tournament and was about to shut down my laptop for the night when my cousin Bobby IMed me. It was pretty late on the east coast, so I figured he must have just stumbled home after last call at one of the bars he frequented. Bobby was a champion drinker. The last time I saw him two Thanksgivings ago, he got me wasted on some concoction called "Red Death" at a locals dive on the side of a South Jersey highway. The next morning I woke up in my hotel room covered in a red rash and flipped out. Turns out I had not caught a disease, but that the drink contained peach juice, peach Schnapps, or some form of peach, to which I am violently allergic. He had no idea about the peach in the drink or that it would turn me into unattractive blotchy girl and we had a good laugh about it as he drove me up the parkway to Newark airport that afternoon.

When "I love you so much...I have to tell you something" popped up in the chat window, I had an inkling of what was coming next. It wasn't going to be that he crashed his car, tried a new drug, or narrowly avoided arrest. I had waited for this day for a long time, though not nearly as long as he had. I was beginning to seriously doubt it would ever happen, given his parents' proclivity for all things Republican and rednecked.

"I am gay. And I know you know."

We were both so relieved and I was so touched that he trusted me enough to be the only family member he's come out to. Bobby and I have always had a close relationship even though we were raised on opposite coasts by two products of 1960's North Jersey. His father and my mother grew up together and though my mom eventually left the Jerz behind in her early twenties for a different sort of life in California, his father never gave a thought of leaving behind the place he was born. He taught at the high school he went to and raised his family in a small, conservative town down the shore. Thick-necked, beer-guzzling, sports-loving, and traditional to the core, Bobby's father would totally flip out if he found out. Though on some level, I'm sure he already knows.

Bobby asked me if I remembered when I figured out he was gay. I told him I knew the exact moment. I was maybe 17 and he was 12. He'd come out to L.A. with his family in the summer for a couple of weeks to visit and they were all dying to go on The O.J. Tour. The O.J. tour was something we native Angelenos had to do quite a bit of back in the mid- nineties when out of towners would come to visit. It began, of course, at O.J. Simpson's Rockingham house, continued to the now-defunct Mezzaluna Restaurant on San Vicente, and ended at the scene of the crime-- Nicole Brown Simpson's condo on South Bundy. While our mothers gawked outside with the rest of the tourists, Bobby and I stayed in their rented minivan, blasting the air conditioning on ourselves. He had just finished appearing in a musical theatre production back home and in the privacy of the car, he sang me his solo since I couldn't be there to see it in person. Being a total unabashed high school drama geek, I totally ate it up and introduced him to my 200-strong collection of Original Cast Albums the second we got home. Bobby got back on the plane to Jersey with at least three mix tapes.

If that wasn't a clue, his purchase of platform shoes a couple of years later might have been an even bigger red flag. But that was no matter. Bobby came out to me and a weight has been lifted from both of us. Both of us cried good tears at different points. Though I was psyched for his visit to LA in July before, it carries even greater meaning now. I can't wait to see him. He's got a hotel room on Sunset Blvd and promises to let out his alter ago, "Bobbo Downey Jr."

Bobby asked me not to say a thing to my parents and I'll keep my word. Now we each have a secret to keep-- he's the only member of my family that knows about this blog. He's the only one I trust enough to tell.

Speaking of gays... Showcase got a callback for a fast-food commercial. He phoned me up the second he got the call from his agent and asked if I would come to synagogue with him. Church, synagogue, voodoo ritual, I'll do whatever it takes to get the man upstairs to give my boy some luck. His car just broke down (in the middle of an intersection...in Hollywood) and it's going to take almost 2 grand to fix it. We both agree that revenue from greasy sandwiches should pay for it.

I spent all morning trolling Expedia for a cheap rate at a motel out in the desert. I need to get out of here for a couple of days and make some significant headway on my script. Though I've been more disciplined than I really ever have as a writer in recent days, there's still a helluva lot to distract me around here. Tivo. Email. Phone calls. Showcase. My karaoke machine. Poker. Friends coming over. The can fairies that pick through the dumpster in the alley behind my building. I think a 48-72 hour binge in a room with nothing but my laptop, a gallon of Diet Coke and a view of the mountains might bring out the rest of the first act more quickly than it will writing here for the same amount of time. Then I can come back to the city and have 4-5 days for a rewrite before showing it to Charlie. I'm thinking tomorrow morning. I'd go tonight, but it's already 5:30 and I don't feel like sitting in gridlock on the 10.

That, and Showcase is on his way home from his callback. If it's good news, there's no way I'm missing the celebration.

Monday, Briefly

I sat here last night and tried to crank out a post, but my head was just empty. I've been writing far above my usual level of output and almost all of it off the blog , which is probably why. Now since I'm steaming from bubbling a double shootout on Stars, finishing third with first and second moving on to the $1M Guaranteed, I need to write fast and furious and get the tilt out before going back to work.

The screenplay is coming along. I'm honestly having a blast writing it. I talked to Charlie this morning and told him I was trying to finish the first act by the end of next week. He had just returned from a weekend in Mexico where he and his wife attended the wedding of an L.A. indie pop quartet's bassist. Badly sunburnt and sleep-deprived, he was moving the rest of his stuff into his new office at the HQ of the mini-major where he now has a production deal.

"I've got your lamp on my desk" he told me. I'd given it to him for Christmas the first year we worked for the Big Man. It was red and amber and gave off a nice glow in the office. When the sun would go down for the night, Charlie would call "glow time" and we'd turn off the overheads, pull up the blinds over the windows, turn on that lamp and have spirited arguments about movies for hours. I was glad he took it with him. It's a rad fuckin' lamp and reminds me of good times.

I played a lot this weekend. I got into the Full Tilt $40K Guaranteed via super satellite, but busted somewhere in the mid-100s of 418. I tried another Ladies' Bracelet Race as well, but I made a big mistake on a hand where I had AA on a J45 flop with two clubs. My opponent bet out small and I made a big raise, 6x her raise, which she called. The turn was the 3c. She checked to me and I bet about 1/2 my stack (mistake #1) and she called. The river is a 7, perhaps the worst card that could come for me. She pushes in the 525 she has left and I know she has a 6. There's that outside chance she's been calling me down with a jack, but I doubt it now with the sudden aggression. There's over 3000 in the pot. Could she really be that big of an idiot and just have a jack? Yes. Am I afraid of a flush? No. She would have pushed the turn and I would have gotten out then. Could she have been calling my PF raise with A6? K6? Yes. She's sporting a 53% VPIP. Pocket sixes? Totally. So many reasons to fold. But not enough. I made my second mistake and called. She had the jack. AND the six. Aiyah. I found AK on the next hand in the SB and ran into the BB's KK and that was it for me. Next....

It was a good week in MTTs though. I'm back in the black for 2006 as well as the month of May. My finishes are consistently deep and I'm rereading the second Harrington book to try and refine some of my late-stage play. I'm also zipping through Stephen King's On Writing.

Showcase just left for the evening. He's taking Stacee to the WWE Smackdown at the Arrowhead Pond. Believe it or not, he got the tickets because he's friends with the announcer. Showcase admitted to me a few days ago that he's totally sick of Stacee. She's the kind of girl who likes to be taken care of, and is used to it. He's not down with that at all.

"You need to help me find a cooler girlfriend," he begged the other night as I seared tuna steaks for the three of us.

"Because I really can't afford this shit anymore."

So close!

I was supposed to go to a Cinco de Mayo party in Venice Beach tonight with Showcase and Stacee but got waylaid by a final table in a Full Tilt multi. I was almost bounced in 7th place when I pushed very shortstacked with KQd and was called by pocket queens. But when CJ's on the rail and you're channeling the power of the luckbox, that three outer's gonna hit. And it did.

Weeeeeeeeeeee.

Heads-up play lasted exactly two hands. I went in outchipped about 2.5-1. Ladder folded to my button raise on the first hand. On the second one, he raised his button to 50K and I pushed in 176K more with 99. He instacalled with A4 and I was pretty happy about that, especially when the flop came KK3. But an ace on the turn ended my run.

$670 bucks or so for 2nd of 434. I'll take it!

Thanks to JoeSpeaker, Alan, and the Luckbox for sharing their mojo. And again to that wise friend, for telling me to stick to tournaments...it's working.

Play what you're good at

It's the simplest advice really, but at least in my case, some of the hardest for me to follow as a poker player. For not following it earlier, I've paid dearly and often.

When I first started playing, I didn't know any other players outside of the rotating cast of Hollywood douchebags I routinely faced and easily defeated in homegames. As I got more serious about it, my journey toward becoming a better player was an even more solitary pursuit. I read poker books and played online and went to Commerce on my own. And sometime last summer my eyes started wandering out my office window even more frequently than they had before and some spark within me was reignited and I decided to pick up a pen after putting it down for six years. Six years I put it down while I learned how to be a movie producer. And while occasionally I ached to write, I largely ignored that part of myself.

Poker was the thing that made me write again. All that time I was reading 2+2 in my office and sitting in staff meetings pretending to give a shit while calculating percentages on last night's bustout hand in tiny print on the front cover of that week's Project Status Report I was searching for answers, not just to the million poker questions burning in the forefront of my brain stem, but to a larger question entirely.

So I opened up Blogger and I started to write. I didn't care what any of it meant for the first time. I wrote about what I was passionate about-- poker. I found people just like me, going through the exact same shit with their games. Best of all, a bunch of those people lived right here in Los Angeles and they invited me to play with them. That's where I got really lucky. Because the best way to improve your own game is to learn from players who are better than you are. Murderer's Row had two tables full of them.

I recently had a long conversation about the state of my poker game with someone I met on one of those fateful Friday nights in HDouble's apartment. It wasn't our first talk on the subject. I'd sought advice about my game after my March slide, and asked him for some answers now that he'd seen me play quite a bit. He told me what I already knew, but needed confirmed-- that I'm a good tournament player and live NL cash player but I'm not a good limit player yet. He told me to stick to the online NLHE MTTs and play the live $200 NL at Commerce. It was great advice.

So what did I do with it? I turned around and played online limit hold'em again. I rationalized to myself that I needed to do it right now because it was supposed to be steadier money and chasing a couple of bonuses would be good for my bankroll. And then once I had my bankroll rebuilt, I could go back to what I was good at.

Guess what. It totally backfired. I donked off a lotta money at LHE. What good is allegedly "steadier money" if limit is not your best game? I didn't play badly but I wasn't playing my best either. You can totally have a 19% VPIP and a 2.5 aggression factor and still do that. I couldn't possibly play my best, no matter how shrewd I thought my reads were or how fishy my opponents. Because right now, to me, chips were no longer chips. Chips were money.

If that's not a cue to stop playing cash games, I don't know what is.

Back when Annie Duke played poker for a living, she went through a sick losing streak leading up to the birth of her youngest child. She was tired, emotional, in a bad headspace and had no business playing in the $1000-2000 game but pushed herself to do so and play through whatever personal crisis she was going through. And she crippled her own bankroll, eventually taking three months off from the game entirely.

I'm not taking three months off the game because I'm far too much of a degenerate to do that, but I am not going to play cash games at any limits resembling seriousness until I have a regular income again. It's time to take the advice I should have taken the first time and play what I'm good at. And what I'm good at just saved my ass and saved my bankroll with those two big cashes. So I'm going to keep at the MTTs, Stars 180s, and occasional $20SNG to try and generate a poker income.

Income...right. That would bring us to the matter of my career, or what's left of it.

I know what I have to do to find another gig. I could make half a dozen phone calls in the next twenty minutes and set up meetings for myself with a sick collection of studio VPs, agents, and independent producers that I could meet with and schmooze and follow the Yellow Brick Road down Wilshire Blvd and end up with another D-job six weeks from now. I have a stacked deck of cards I could play in my situation and likely scoop a huge pot. But I've been out of the development world for three months and for the life of me, I cannot pull the trigger and make myself go back. I'd rather light myself on fire than go back into D-girl mode. I am so much happier being away from those people and that lifestyle. And after three months of just denying it to myself, I arrived at the conclusion I probably knew all along on some level since the moment the Big Man's Hatchet Boy took me out to the shed.

I'm not going back to development.

So I'm going to play what I'm good at.

Charlie told me something about Hollywood years ago that I remembered again as Pauly and I were driving down PCH in the rain a couple of weeks ago.

"If you really want to make it in this town, write your way in."

It's a gamble. But what in my life isn't?

Stacee and the 3:15 AM Orgasm

Just as American Idol came back from commercial, I heard a knock at the door. I wasn't expecting anyone. Peeling myself off the couch and away from the sounds of Katharine McPhee's warm-toned belt, I looked through the peep hole to find out who was there.

It was Stacee. She was clutching her new leather Gucci hobo bag and weaving heavily on top of her wedge heels.

"I need to use your bathroom," she said, as she barged straight past me and unevenly stomped across the living room floor toward the hallway. I heard the door to the bathroom slam and the sound of an extra-long stream of urine that could only have been brought on by some serious drinking.

Showcase wasn't even here. He was all the way up in Hollywood at the theatre where he was about to begin the closing night performance of the play he'd been doing for the last 2 months. Stacee had come up from Orange County to see his show. And, like many of her trips up the 405 from Laguna Beach to L.A., she did it bombed out of her DD-cup tits.

As Stacee continued to pee, my phone rang. It was Showcase.

"Your girlfriend's here. She's drunk and pissing in our bathroom."
"I know."
"You know?"
" I need you to put her in a cab."
"Does she know where she's going?"
"I think so. But could you make sure?"

I put Stacee into a blue and white Beverly Hills cab 10 minutes later. Her cherry-red BMW Z3 was parked crookedly in our driveway and partially on the sidewalk.

Two or three nights later, I awoke to screams around 3:15 AM. At first, I thought some poor woman was being attacked in the alley behind my building. Turns out, it wasn't that kind of mugging.

"Ohhhh ohhh ohhhh... pull my hair! Pull my hair! PULL IT!!"

The sound of bamboo on concrete intensified as Showcase's headboard continued to slam into the wall. Stacee moaned and screamed even louder.

"Oh yeah... that's it... ohhhh....ohhh... PULL MY HAIR!"

I heard my upstairs neighbor get out of bed (yes our walls are frighteningly thin) and start walking around. I wasn't the only one up. It was around this time that I realized that I had to pee. And that Stacee was sure to hear me if I got up. Whatever. I let her "finish" before creaking open my bedroom door and tiptoeing out to the bathroom.

Stacee was gone by the time I got up the next morning. She'd usually sneak out by 6:15 AM to avoid the traffic back down the 405. Showcase got up about an hour after I did and apologized profusely for the noise.

"She drove up here drunk off her ass in the middle of the night again, didn't she?"
"Yup."
"This girl is crazy, Showcase. Certifiable."
"Yeah, but when a hot chick shows up at my door at 2:30 in the morning wanting to fuck me, I'm not exactly gonna turn that down."

The happy couple had plans again that night. I was in my room, deep into a tournament on Full Tilt when Stacee arrived. She sheepishly appeared in my doorway. I mucked a J2 offsuit and waved her in.

"I'm really, really sorry about last night. I'm like, so embarrassed."
"Don't worry. No reason to be."
"Next time... I promise I'll use a pillow."

Eighth is Enough

I think I played some pretty great poker tonight. I stayed patient even while riding the shortstack and made good decisions. I only sucked out once (AJ flopped a straight and rivered a flush against AK) and in the end I got my money in with the best hand. There's only one call that troubles me, but the analysis will have to wait until tomorrow. 8 straight hours of poker and my back is killing me.

Uber-props to my sweaters: JoeSpeaker, Easycure, Alan, April and Chad.

Good thing I have a bag of blueberry kush to ease the pain and get me to sleep. After all, it's only a scant 12 hours before the craaaazy last minute turbo super to the Full Tilt $40K.

Of course I'd have liked to have gone further tonight, but for right now, it's enough. After all, one week ago I was playing on the last $15 in my Full Tilt account. Now it's pumped over a grand.

I needed that.

Liar's Poker

Titan allegedly has hand histories available now. At least according to their email newsletter they do. So I go into the software to check it out. There is no such function, at least not that I can find. So I try their online support and some girl tells me that they ARE there, but I'm just not seeing them. Last time I checked, I wasn't blind or retarded.

So Titan's advertising something that's not there. What a surprise. Guess my money's going back to Stars or Full Tilt.

The Ladies in the Hunt, Part II

A-A on the first hand always feels good. Syanpses fire in the happy parts of your brain, sending messages that this is it, this tournament's yours. It's your destiny. Damn those synapses. Bad synapses.

When I last left you, I had just won a $15 super satellite into the Full Tilt $40K Guaranteed after busting out of the Ladies Bracelet Race on a questionable hand. I was determined to redeem myself. I also reeeeaaaallly wanted the money. Over $11K for first. That would solve a helluva lot of problems.

I looked down at AsAc and raised the two limpers that were already in to 5xBB. Everyone folded back to the first limper, who called. The second limper folded. The flop came down 8 high and coordinated with two spades. I wasn't gonna fuck around and slowplay. The limper checked and I bet the pot. He called. The turn was a ten of spades. Not really what I wanted to see, but I have the nut flush redraw as well. The limper checks again and I bet 1/2 the pot.

And he checkraises me all in. Oh man... I have 1100 or so behind. He has the flush. There are straight draw possibilities out there but the T didn't make any straights. I think about a set of tens, but feel that TT would have either bet out or checkraised me ON the flop. It's the flush and I know it.

I muck my aces. Well that was a nice start.

I have 1100 left of my 2000 chips and have already been playing about three hours straight, including the super satellite that got me here. It aint gonna end for me on the first fucking hand. I vow to stay patient. And I do. I get KK a couple of orbits later and add 300 chips to my stack. TPTK with AT from late position gets me almost back to where I started, and I continue to chop out small pots for the rest of the first hour, going to break with close to T6000.

Then I almost lost it all.

I had the dreaded AA again on a KJ7 flop. My shortstacked opponent was the type who couldn't let go of TPTK and I put him to the test, reraising him all in. Only this time, he had top two pair. I suck out when the 7 on the river pairs the board, giving me aces up. With over 9K in chips, I'm now firmly in the top ten. Without a lot of cards coming my way, I managed to maintain my stack up to the early ante levels, when I ended up on the wrong end of a T2000 coinflip. JJ vs. AQ, and two aces on the flop. Boooo. I'm average again, with 180 of 474 runners remaining.

My M dwindled as I remained card dead in the all-important early ante levels. A lot of chips were moving around my table. With an M of 5 I pushed with A4, no callers. Again with QQ, no callers. Down to only 4000 in the 200/400/50 level, I found KK in the SB and reraised a loose MP player all-in. He called with Q8h and I was back to 9000 or so. I got the blinds with 66 on the button the very next hand and took T10328 to the second break. I was 34th of 93 remaining with an M of 9.

I hit two hands in the first level of the third hour. I flopped a straight from the BB with 35s and took down a nice pot. And then, there was the Sickest Hand I've Ever Seen. A screenshot's worth a thousand words in this case.


Yes, that is a one-outer you see on the river. Quad kings beat aces full after set over set on the flop. Had we been sitting at a live table at Commerce, we'd all be very rich now.

I was now living on borrowed time and magic voodoo in this tournament. I wasn't even supposed to be here. I wasn't supposed to suck out on that hand or fold those aces on the very first one, but I did. And now I had about 26000 and could do some damage.

I only played two major pots between the money bubble and the final table bubble. My 66 ran into a short stack's 88 and chopped out about a third of my stack, before I took out a medium stack with AA vs. his KJ. With about 60K, and the blinds up to 2000/4000/500, I had an M of about 7 and sat in the bottom third of the field with ten players remaining.

We're five handed on two tables. Action is folded to the cutoff who raises to 28,000 leaving himself only 35,000 behind. I have AK in the small blind. Believing I'm a race or better, I push in and feel like eating glass when he shows KK. One of only two hands I didn't want to see, and the overraise made me think he didn't exactly want a caller. The board brings no ace for me and I'm bounced in 10th place for $545 bucks. The next money jump would have brought me a desperately needed $400 more. But I was playing to win. I was pissed off for hours after I busted, though the $545 was my best tourney score in months. No one's more critical of me than me.

I analyzed the hand with CJ in the gay chat box and I agree with him that I made the right move and was unlucky to run into what I ran into. Most of the time in that situation, I have the guy dominated or I'm racing with a lower pair. But with the luck I had early on, I suppose it was only justice.

And if I hadn't folded A-A on the first hand, well... I'd be close to broke now the way Limit Hold'em's been treating me. But that's a story for another day. One I really hope I won't have to tell before the ending's rewritten...

The Ladies in the Hunt, Part I

With the action down to 2 tables at the WPT Championships at Bellagio, two women are still alive and sporting healthy stacks in what remains of a staggeringly elite field. MIT Blackjack whiz-turned poker pro Erica Schoenberg started Day 6 (which commenced about an hour ago) with over $1.7 million in chips, while Miami law student Vanessa Rousso held close to $1.6 million. I'm always happy when the girls do well, so I'll be watching this one closely. No doubt both of them should emerge from this tournament with some sort of sponsorship anyway, no matter how much deeper they go. Neither player is completely new to the poker scene. Rousso has four cashes to her credit including the Ladies Event at the 2005 WSOP and a WSOP Circuit event final table. Though this is Schoenberg's first major finish, she is already a member of Marcel Luske's "Circle of Outlaws" and is rumored to be dating a young pro player. You may also remember her from GSN's "Poker Royale: Young Bloods" that aired last year.

That particular installment of Poker Royale was won by David Williams. Who is, no doubt, having one of the worst days of his life now that his starring role in Young Black Ass-Worship Slaves has been revealed for all to watch on the internet. Look, I don't have a problem with guys going to hookers. It happens. But freaky old ones with bad dye jobs who like having their feet licked? As Summer Roberts of The O.C. would say, "ewwwwww!"

My bad run at cash games just compounded upon itself late last week. Four days in a row where I hit my daily stop-loss and one where I surpassed it. I was starting to get seriously worried, but instead just quit Friday afternoon and did some writing and took my mind off poker. Saturday morning I was up early and checked out the tournament calendars on Stars and Full Tilt and decided to see what I could do on the $15 cash and one token I had left on Full Tilt. It was also my second to last weekend as a Silver VIP on Stars, and there was pretty much no chance I'd be repeating the points feat this month, so I signed up for the $2500 VIP Freeroll as well as the $14+1 Last Chance Turbo Super Satellite to the $40K Guaranteed on Full Tilt.

The turbo super was like a giant turbo MPS. Same lunatics, just more of them and all in one place. I doubled through twice in the first four levels and pretty much cruised to a seat by stealing blinds. So that was a nice way to start the day and it put a smile on my face.

As I continued to grind away in the Stars Freeroll (wow, a third of the field is gone in 19 minutes?) I grabbed my last token and signed up for the weekly Ladies' Bracelet Race. This would be my fourth attempt in as many weeks, all on tokens. I saw that Maudie was also playing and popped in the window to wish her luck.

I was second in chips through the majority of the tournament. I doubled with top two vs. top pair crap kicker when she pushed at me on the turn and I called. I also remember flopping a straight. Then there was that defining hand.

Blinds are 60-120 and I have around 7000 going into the hand. And before I write another word, let me tell you this is NOT a bad beat story, but an interesting mathematical quandry that I'd love opinions on. OK, so it's a four way limped pot and I limp along with 55 in the CO. I'm not looking to play a huge pot with 55 against that many opponents unless I flop a set. And that's what I did. Flop comes Qh Td 5d. The first two limpers check, and the third limper, a loose, fishy player in MP bets the size of the pot, 480. I raise to 1200, both limpers fold and the MP player calls. The turn is the 3d. Not good news for me, since a flush draw is a distinct possibilty. I feel like I have to bet here not only to see where I am, but to not allow her a free card. She was playing very passively up until now, rarely raised preflop at all, and the bet on the flop there could easily mean top pair with something like KQ or QJ, two pair with QT, a draw like KJ, or even middle pair along with the flush draw. I bet 1200, about 1/3 of the pot and she instantly raises all-in.

Now I know she has the flush. But I still have ten outs against a flush so it's time for some math. The 1699 left for me to call comes out to 4.5-1 on my money, though it's half of what I have left. If she has what I think she has, then I'm slightly worse than a 3-1 dog with one card to come. The math tells me to call and I call. If I hit, I'm a significant chipleader and can do some damage. If I fold, I'm left with a starving M and a steep climb.

The river is a 2c. That was a hard one.

Now it's time for push and pray poker. A lady whom I've literally only seen play preflop poker the entire tournament pushes in. I have 33 in the BB and figure it's a good a time as any to take a race. Her KJs flops a K and I'm bounced in 21st place.

Maudie went on to finish 4th! She put up a helluva fight and won herself some cash. Around the same time, I busted from the Stars Freeroll in 151st place of 1316 runners for the price of a Starbucks latte.

I had bigger mountains left to climb, however. The $40K was starting and on my very first hand, I was dealt A-A.

To be continued...

It's a High Holy Day in my world

To my friends, loyal readers, members of the WPBT, random Googlers and fellow degenerates, I wish you all a blessed, mellow, and thoroughly groovy 420.

I'll be celebrating the arrival of the sacred hour for my East Coast friends in about 20 minutes. And again in an hour and 20 for those on Central Time. And lest we forget our bretheren in the Rocky Mountain states, I'll be reprising the ritual another hour after that. And so on and so forth until the International Date Line has been crossed.

Toke on, my brothers and sisters. And may peace be with you.

(And for those who don't understand a word of what I'm talking about... well, check out this free instructional video)

Twenty Nine

My eyelids were heavy Monday night when we got down to four in the super satellite I was playing on Full Tilt. The whole reason I played it was because I couldn’t sleep. And as my opponent turned up his jackhammer to my Q2c on the 9 high rainbow flop I breathed a heavy sigh and fluffed up the down pillow behind my head. I’d get to fall asleep dreaming of cashing the $40K on Saturday.

But as many a bad beat story goes, a four fell on the river despite my 86% chance to win and I bubbled out. And now my heart was pounding and rage was coursing through my veins. Goddamnit. Yet another one blown. Worst of all, I was wide awake again and it was now 2:35 AM.

I lay awake in bed for hours, unable to quiet my thoughts. The sky wore the azure hue of dawn before I got my eyes to stay closed.

I’m turning 29 in a couple of months. 29 is still young and nothing to fuss over in terms of aging, but for a number of reasons this particular turn of the calendar has made me think a lot about the state of my life. Of course most of it has to do with the loss of my job and the very structured lifestlye that came along with it. I mean, getting fired by a sleazy Hollywood douchebag is enough to send anyone into a mini-tailspin and I’m pretty tough. But I was recently reminded that 29 was also the age my mother was when I came into the world. By 29 my parents were married, owned a home in Los Angeles, and had a daughter. They had a mortgage but no school loans, thriving careers and cabinets full of shit like pots and pans and matching china that people had given them as a reward just for getting married. Their parents were proud of their son and his wife and fussed over me like you wouldn’t believe, whether it was my Oma and Opa driving 5 miles down the 10 freeway every weekend to sit with me in the backyard or my Nana and Grandpa flying in from Jersey every couple of months to keep track of how the fuzz on my head was going from bald to red to blonde. They were 29 and already had a lot of serious responsibilities.

I look at myself at 29 and I feel like a joke compared to them. I have no job, no assets and few commitments. I play poker, write for no one in particular and like to get high. I have no desire or plans to get married or have children in the next decade, while it’s all my peers can talk about, think about or do. I’d live with a lot of regrets if I tied myself down like that before I’ve seen the world, written a novel, or produced a film.

Success in a creative field lies at the end of a much harder road. I chose a lifestyle for myself that is largely a gamble. Showcase too, and we remind each other of the implications of such a choice constantly. We chose to sacrifice a lot of ourselves to a brutal industry, exchanging freedom and money and time for a shot at the moon. It’s a very conscious choice. And it’s getting to me. Goddammit I want my pots and pans. You know... metaphorically.

OK, what do you mean sacrificing money? Struggling actors, sure, but d-girls? I’ll let you all in on a little secret. Junior studio executives don’t pull down big bucks. Most of them pull down barely moderate bucks while the rich assholes they slave for might have six or seven figures in random unsigned checks on their desks at any given hour. And most of these junior execs only got those barely moderately paying gigs after 3-4 years of indentured servitude as assistants for around 600 bucks an 80-hour week.

Seeing the real money in Hollywood is not all that dissimilar to seeing the real money in poker. For most the path is fraught with years of low limit grinding, slipping and falling, stopping and starting before attaining any sort of traction. Then, some of those players do manage to put together that bankroll and move up to the 10-20 game and some even find out that they can hack it at that level. Maybe they keep moving up, maybe they don’t. A lot of them will get sick of it. More will go broke. And the luckiest few will hit that really big money with a tournament score, much like the young Hollywood hustlers who set up obscure Japanese horror remakes at studios and find themselves with instant legitimacy as producers when the film opens to $30 million.

My life, my career, my finances were all well on track toward that sort of legitimacy before I became a casualty of the Big Man’s midlife crisis. There’s a large part of me that mourns that loss of the little stability I had and constantly worries about the future and she does a daily battle with the other side of me that is in many ways, happier than she’s been in years. But mostly I’m just fighting the sting of having lived on the razor-thin edge of a gambler for so long, both in Hollywood, and in poker.

After living essentially paycheck to paycheck since I got out of school, I finally lucked into some money early this year. Had I not lost my job, the combination of a fantastic 2005 tax refund and a few other financial windfalls would have eliminated well over half my debt. Debt is a sandbag that’s been around my neck since I was 18 and signed my first loan and credit card applications. Instead, I’m living on the money I thought could shoulder some of that burden as I decide what the fuck direction I’m going to take my career. It’s not like I’m going to be out on the street or anything, but I feel like every time I find myself with even the slightest surplus, I quickly find a way to let it slip through my fingers. Bad financial karma or something. I seem to play poker the same way. The days I win the most are more often than not followed by the days I lose the most.

After a terrible March, I had a nice first half of April where I got myself up about $550 just grinding 3-6 LHE. Tight, aggressive ABC poker. I was very pleased with my results, especially on Titan where the 6 max tables are ripe for the picking. Then I got an email from Party with a 20% bonus offer and moved $500 over there to take advantage of it. But the 6 max there just killed me. I lost everything back that I’d earned this month. So I’m back to being down half my bankroll and looking back up at the climb I’m facing and see the sand slipping through the hourglass of the time that I have to do what I’m doing right now and wish so badly that I could make money from poker right now because God Almighty would it make things easier for me. But these swings are going to happen, they aren’t unusual, and I have to just find a way to shake off the accompanying stress and tilt if I'm ever going to get myself to be successful at this game.

And in Hollywood.

It’s on days like this that I wish I could be one of those people who are satisfied with simpler things. A simpler life. But I know I never will be. Perhaps that’s the real struggle.

Reptilian Kismet

There are many reasons I love my sister. She's a quiet, gentle soul. A budding financial genius who dog-ears Money Magazine and Tivo's Suze Orman in search of her next great stock buy. A tough cookie who hauls a 40-pound camera 15 hours a day on the shoulders of her buck-ten frame.

But this revelation was truly special. I sat next to her at Easter dinner after not having seen her for a month or so.

Me: "So, are you ready for the movie event of the summer?"
Sis: "You mean...SNAKES ON A PLANE?"
Me: "SNAKES ON A PLANE!"
Sis: "SNAKES ON A MOTHERFUCKIN' PLANE!"
(beat)
Dad: "The fuck kind of piece of shit movie is that?"

You all now have serious competition for my +1 to the premiere. I take Stars and Full Tilt transfers...

The Vegetable Bet and Highway One

Don't forget! Tomorrow is the WWdN: Change100 Invitational on Poker Stars. $10+1, 5:30 Pacific/8:30 Eastern. I won naming rights last week when my AT crushered Wil's A6 with a spectacular 10-on-the-river resuck after he spiked his 6 on the turn. I'll be there. Hopefully my A-game will decide to wake up and come along for the ride.

*****

The decision to drive Highway 1 was fairly last minute. I sensed we were both a little bored with L.A. and that between Pauly, Stacee, him and me, Showcase was feeling the need for a little breathing room in our apartment that was definitely not built for four. Two days away would do all of us some good. Once Pauly threw out renting a car, I was sold. There was no way I could do all the driving myself (I drive stick and Mr. New York never learned) and the chances of my car making it up and back untroubled was akin to hitting an open ended straight draw with one card to come. We rented instead at probably the poshest Budget rent-a-car establishment in the known universe-- their Beverly Hills outpost across the street from CAA (agents to the stars... and Shane Nickerson). With all the rows of Beamers, Mercedes, and convertibles I was crossing my fingers for an upgrade, but we got a Honda instead. Meh. Though it is probably the easiest thing I've ever had to drive.

San Francisco is 385 miles from Los Angeles and it can take anywhere from 5-10 hours to get there depending on your route. Northbound we took the 5, a clear fast shot right through the heart of Steinbeck Country. Typically brown and ugly, the landscape was brushed with color for spring, from the neon yellow flowers covering the mossy hills to the trees such an ashy grey that they reflected almost purple off the fresh green grass behind them. Or maybe I was just really high.

We got up there in 5 1/2 hours, a decent pace. After checking into the hotel, we headed toward Union Square for dinner. Pauly must have been reading the map upside down because instead of staying on Market St., we turned up Leavenworth and found ourselves on one of the Tenderloin's sketchiest three-block stretches. Dozens of addicts, pushers, homeless guys and assorted lunatics lined the edge of the sidewalk as we booked it up the 20% grade. I saw an old black woman smoking a crack pipe right there on the street and another dude rolling a blunt right next to her. When we finally turned onto O'Farrell, the neon-lit porn theatres and the masturbators that emerged from their revolving doors were almost a welcome sight after the scene we'd witnessed on our way up the hill.

After walking around the city for a while, we had dinner at a diner near Union Square. I could see the new H&M across the street and drooled at the thought of a shopping spree as I dug into my strip steak. Pauly ordered his typical carbohydrate-laden feast-- a bacon grilled cheese and cheee fries. Believe it or not, this was actually a small meal for Pauly. But of course there was a rationale behind it.

"What, no burger?"
"I'm saving room for cake."

Pauly hates vegetables. He hates them in a way that I have never seen a human being hate vegetables before. If any portion of any item in his order contains vegetables, they are picked off. Lettuce and tomato on a burger? Not for Pauly. Bok choy and bamboo shoots in the Chinese food? They'll be removed before he takes a single bite. I've seen him take onions and tomatoes out of pasta because the pieces are too big.

By the end of his first visit to Los Angeles, I hadn't seen a single vegetable pass his lips and proposed a serious prop bet. For $4000, Pauly would have to eat nothing but vegetables for a period of seven days. Potatoes do not count. Tomatoes do not count-- they are a fruit. So are avocados. Dressings would be strictly portioned and rationed. And only water-- no iced tea. Veggies only. I didn't think he'd last beyond 24 hours.

We never settled on exact terms or a time for the vegetable bet, but as I stared at the broccoli florets and sliced carrots that accompanied my steak, a smaller-scale angle came to mind.

"How much for you to eat this entire side of broccoli?"

Pauly stared at the plate for a moment while calcutating cash vs. veggie EV.

"A hundred bucks."

"I'm not spending that much."

I grabbed a bread plate and placed a thick slice of carrot and one of the larger florets onto it's gleaming white surface.

"What about this? How much for one broccoli and one carrot?"

"$5."

"Deal." I spat out the word faster than calling an all-in with AA preflop.

Pauly's face contorted in agony as he chewed the offensive broccoli and I laughed my ass off. Best $5 I've ever spent. Video evidence exists but I'm pretty sure it'll never see the light of day.

The next morning we had the famous 18 Sweidish pancakes at Sears Fine Food on Nob Hill. Pauly ate all 18, of course. I only managed 14. We got out of the city around noon, taking the 280 down to the 92, a small state highway that cut through some creepy forest and spilled out onto Highway One in Half Moon Bay. I took over the wheel in Santa Cruz, just before the road's twists and turns got hairy. Though the sky was dark and it rained off and on throughout the nine hours it took us to wind our way back down to Los Angeles, the coastline still takes my breath away and reminds me how lucky I am to live here. Pauly took a ton of pictures I hope he'll post soon and both of us got in some solid thinking time as we passed the bowl back and forth and jammed out to Widespread Panic, Jimi Hendrix, and the Grateful Dead.

The Doc went back to Vegas on Sunday and after dropping him off at the airport, I went over to my parents' for Easter Dinner. My mom cooked this sort of frightening ghoulash that I picked at and my sister and I polished off a bottle of Pinot Noir between us. Of course, I got the expected grilling. What are you doing/what are you writing/how's the job search/are you still playing poker all the time. You know, the usual.

On a stranger note, my father has developed an obsession with the film Pride and Prejudice. My sister's conservative estimate of the number of times he's viewed it since purchasing the DVD was in the low thirties.

I managed to sneak away after dinner to play in Easycure's Hammer Out Cancer tournament on Full Tilt. I made an early exit when I pushed in over the top of Drizz's T272 preflop raise with 77. He had AQ and flopped an ace, sending me to the rail in 50th place. No points for me from this one. Boooo. Though I was happy to see that both McGrupp brothers final tabled!

So after a nice hiatus, I'm back to grinding LHE again with a little bonus-whoring thrown in. I hope to have a nicer-looking version of one of those gay Poker Patterns graphs for you at the end of April.

Until my next meltdown...

A Bounty and the Bronze

This was a nice surprise. I hadn't made a final table in about a month, and finishing well in a blogger tournament always makes it a little sweeter for me. I didn't think I was going to be around to play the WWdN tournament, but my lazy unemployed ass turned out to be on the couch taking a 4:20 smoke break just prior to start time. Then I saw that Mrs. Spaceman was playing and that sealed the deal for me. Realizing that dinner was going to have to wait until after the tournament, Pauly jumped into the fray as well.

I was way card dead to start off. I donked off maybe 300 chips on a failed steal attempt early on before getting my first double-up. With the action folded to me in the cutoff, I opened with AKo. DoubleAs pushed over the top of me from the BB. My read was that he thought I was stealing again and I decided to call thinking my AK was good. Dude shows THE HAMMER!! That takes some serious stones. I was up to 2700 and DoubleAs was riding a short stack, having me slightly covered before the move.

Then, the first of two of the biggest suck-resuck hands I've ever seen. My stack was halved when I got in with 88 vs. KK. I read him for AK or AQ when he made a stop-and-go push on a low ragged flop with two of one suit, but was surprised to see he had the goods. The turn comes... AN 8! The river A KING!! NOOOOO! What a mindfuck. Don't put an 8 up there and then yank my suckout away! Back on a short stack, I got some chips back when I busted CJ. My ace-crap dominated his ace-crap and his luckbox powers couldn't activate in time.

Then I grabbed the motherfuckin' brass ring. I busted Wheaton, baby.

Wil raised from the SB with A6. I had AT suited in the BB and thought I had the best hand. Wil was relatively short and would open with a pretty wide range there. I reraised him what I thought would put him all-in, but my math was shitty and it turned out to be $500 short of that. Wil went all-in for the rest of his chips and I called. The flop came blanks, but Wil hit his 6 on the turn.

"Put a ten up there," Pauly called from the couch.

And the ten hit.

Join us next week for the change100 invitational.

I more than doubled my stack around the bubble time. There were maybe two or three big stacks and the rest of the field were riding Ms from 5 to nonexistent. I was also totally starving by this point, visions of succulent medium-rare filets dancing in my head. By the time we hit the final table I had about 21K.

We went from 9 to 3 very quickly. 23skidoo took out a lot of the remaining short stacks and had BoobieLover and I outchipped by about 2-1 each. This next hand turned out to be my whole tournament. Boobie Lover folded his button and I completed in the SB with J3. 23skidoo checked with 69o. The flop came down J T 7. I made a pot-sized bet and 23skidoo called. Turn came an 8, filling his gutshot. I fired 4800 at the pot and he pushed in. I only had 7700 behind, but just knew I was beat. I folded and he showed the hand. That call from him on the flop was sketchy to say the least. I ended up pushing a couple of hands later with A7 from the SB. 23skidoo called with A9 and sent me to the steakhouse....er...rail.

I'll take the 78 bucks. The steak was good too.

I've made back about 1/3 of my March losses just grinding it out at LHE. I made some money clearing that $100 Party bonus and acting on the advice of a certain wise Texan, I took some of that profit over to Titan where I'm clearing another $400 in bonus at their juicy 6 max tables. Doing well there so far. I'm staying away from tourneys for now, though I have two tokens at Full Tilt and will likely use them for Bracelet Races.

Just realizing now that this weekend is Easter and that means dinner with and probing questions from my family. And potentially several hours inside a Catholic Church. Aiyah.

The Doc and I are hitting the road tomorrow. Northbound, to the city by the bay and back to Los Angeles along Highway 1. I think Showcase needs some space and I'm always excited to get out of the basin, even if only for a couple of days. I have some thinking to do on this trip. When I get back and Pauly returns to Vegas, I need to start one of two big writing projects. One is a long-gestating idea of mine I'd write as a longform novel. The other is an old idea of Charlie's that I've been thinking of executing as a screenplay, more as an experiment than anything else.

We shall see.

Six Days, Seven Nights

Rumors that I've kidnapped America's favorite nihilist doctor are only slightly exaggerated. Pauly has indeed been recovering from his nasty bout with tonsilitis and boosting his immune system by popping steriods and breathing in the soupy, chemical-tinged air that hangs over the Los Angeles basin. Showcase and I are always happy to have the company, and most nights he's out anyways with his Gucci-clad, alcoholic, sex-crazed Orange County girlfriend. Last week Stacee showed up here to pick him up with a $2000 purse slung over her shoulder. I didn't know whether to vomit or drool.

Pauly blew into town with the rain on Monday. I picked him up in Long Beach just as the sky opened up over the 405 freeway. Traffic was mercifully light and we made it back to my place in plenty of time for Iggy's Blogger WSOP Satellite on Poker Stars. The little man is so fuckin' money he threw in over $200 of his own coin just so he could send two of us goofballs to the show. I'm hard pressed to think of a more generous guy. As the tournament got underway, I finished up a batch of garlic meatballs and got them ready to simmer in a happy little sauce born out of a dark roux, onions, cayenne, and beer. They were ready just as we went to the first break. The meatballs went onto french bread lined with provolone and creole mustard and I nursed an average stack as I dug into my first bite. The deep stacks format was the nuts and still feeling the sting of an awful March I was playing some super-patient poker. Unfortunately I busted out before I even got through the first half of the sandwich. I got all-in with KK vs. TT on a 7 high flop and he turned a T.

Booooooo.

Hiatuses are good and everything. They can help you refocus or at least de-tilt. However, I discovered a few days ago that I had a Party Bonus that was about to expire and I still had about 650 hands to rake in order to clear it. I mean, a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks. But Pauly convinced me of what I believe was a good decision-- to take all of Tuesday off from poker. I still had over a week to grind it out. And it was still raining.

We saw Thank You For Smoking that afternoon in Century City. I'm in love with the swank new theatres there, though my familiarity and comfort level with the place is irreperably damaged. I must have seen hundreds of films in the old Century 14 over the course of my lifetime. I had my parking and pre-cinema food-fetching routine down to a seven-minute science. I suppose I'll adapt eventually.

The film was fantastic. Sharp, funny, great performances. Even by Katie the War Bride. Very well-directed. A film I'd totally wanna make. Seeing it almost reminded me of why, at one time, I was ready to stop at nothing to produce great films. Almost...

Maybe I just need to write a great film. Or at least a commercial one.

On Wednesday Joe Speaker invited us out to his cavernous Moreno Valley home. Pauly managed to get us lost along the three minute drive from the freeway off-ramp to Speaker's house.

"Dude just keep making rights."
"But what street do I turn on? Rambla Marino?"
"Yeah, Rambla Marino."
"I made that up. You so weren't paying attention."

Speaker has a swannnnnk big screen TV and something called the YES network, a satellite channel which broadcasts all the Yankee games. Tonight they'd take on Joe Speaker's beloved Oakland A's. Over pizza and beer, Pauly tried to explain baseball to me in terms he knew I'd understand-- the language of a degenerate gambler.

"See, that pitch there? That's like Jack-ten suited in early position. It looks good but you don't want to mess around with that hand out of position. He shouldn't even be swinging at that. Just... let it go by."

The Yanks went out to an early lead, but blew it and lost 9-4. Al Can't Hang gave us a dial-a-shot somewhere around the 5th inning.

Thursday afternoon we had lunch with Wil at the Pasadena Hooters. Our waitress was dumb as shit. She carded both of us when we ordered our beers and though she had no problem locating my birthdate on my California Drivers License, Pauly's New York State model proved a bit more difficult for her to decipher. Pauly took it back and led her to the red-stamped 9-20-72 that sat atop his home address.

"Bronx? Is that like, a city?"
"It's a borough."
"I always thought it was THE Bronx. Not just Bronx."
"Well... it is"
"Then why does it say 'Bronx?'"

There really was no easy way to explain it to her.

After devouring some wings, we headed over to Lucky Baldwin's, Wil's favorite neighborhood dive bar. Wil had a pint of Guinness and Pauly and I sampled a Belgian beer called Stella. Unfortunately, I forgot to feed the meter on my way from Hooters to the bar and ended up with a $35 ticket on my car. Not my first, sure as hell won't be the last. Unlike jaywalking citations from douchebag cops, parking tickets don't tilt me. I accept them as a fact of life in Los Angeles.

Showcase turned 29 on Friday. After spending the day hiking in Topanga Canyon and smoking freshies on El Matador beach, Pauly and I returned home to find impromptu party preparations well underway. Showcase had bought out the local 7-11 and was filling dishes with gummy bears, Reese's Pieces, M&Ms, and powdered donuts. Within half an hour, our tiny living room was packed with friends, the air completely bathed in a cloud of sweet smoke. Pauly took quite a liking to Showcase's new vaporizer and by the end of the evening was as faded as I'd ever seen him. I was pretty messed up myself and at one point had to take a BG-like "rest my eyes" break in my room, away from the crowd.

I'd been cooking so much for Pauly that he decided to return the favor on Saturday morning. He made me a truly spectacular breakfast-- crisp bacon and Eva Can't Hang's special french toast topped with sliced stawberries. I was really impressed. Most guys say they're gonna cook for me and I'm ready to head for the hills. This was quite lovely and unexpectedly delicious.

After devouring my meal I fired up Full Tilt for the second Ladies' Bracelet Race. I was rivered out of three pots where I got in ahead-- overpair vs. underpair ended in a 2-outer hitting, AJ lost to AT when the T hit the river, and 44 fell to K8o when the K came on the river. I ended up 25th of 71 and on mild tilt.

Our week ended on a high note. Joe Speaker's real estate guru Mom scored us tickets to the Angels-Yankees game for Sunday afternoon. The guys were psyched and I put my own mother on tilt when I told her of my good fortune. We met up under the big red hat outside the stadium gates and Speaker walked up hand in hand with his super-cute date, the child who will rule the world, little A.J.

Devastating. Watching him tear into a wad of pink cotton candy with an ear to ear grin made my heart melt.

It also happened to be "rally stick" day. You know, those inflatable things that drunk morons hit together when they want some overpaid douchebag to hit a home run? Well, A.J. was in love at first sight. Joe Speaker blew them up for A.J. and he instantly started pounding Pauly in the head with them and laughing maniacally. Watching Pauly relate to a child was definitely interesting. He talks to them like real human beings. The two of them had quite the critical discussion of The Chronicles of Narnia.

Speaker has A.J. well-trained in terms of American League baseball.

"Who are the Yankees playing today, A.J.?"
"The stupid Angels."

The stupid Angels lost 10-1. Sweeeeet.

What, a whole week in Los Angeles without a celebrity sighting? Not a chance. This morning I spotted American Idol's Taylor Hicks (aka the gray haired guy with Joe Cocker's voice) eating at the end of the counter at Nick's Coffee Shop as Pauly and I waited for our food. He was with a metrosexual-looking guy and they looked over what looked to be a binder full of music. As he walked up to the register to pay his check, a blonde girl in a teal Juicy Couture track suit shouted out, "We love you Taylor! Don't listen to Simon-- you don't need to diet!"

I was genuinely star-struck. And I don't usually get that way. There's just something about catching someone right at the height of their 15 minutes that makes my heart flutter.

Just another week in L.A.

And I cleared that bonus too.

Oh Mandy...

Yeah, I played poker this afternoon after saying I wouldn't. Needless to say the entire surface area of my skin stings right now after a spanking from a girl named Mandy. Though it was nowhere nearly as sexy as I would have liked, or you guys would like to believe.

But first, let me throw on my pimp hat and get some business out of the way before I launch into any sort of story. Why was I playing poker this morning? Because Full Tilt kicked off their "Bracelet Race" series of WSOP $1500 qualifiers with a special Ladies-Only tournament. These are running from now until July and there is a special points race for female bloggers. Here's the info I got via email from the Full Tilt Folks:

Introducing the Female Blogger World Series of Poker Challenge on Full Tilt Poker (FBWSOPCFTP). You can win World Series of Poker Seats and bragging rights as the top female poker blogger!

Full Tilt Poker is introducing "Ladies Only Bracelet Races" on Saturdays at 5:00pm EST. These $24+2 No-Limit Hold'em Tournaments guarantee at least one $1,500 Prize Package to the 2006 World Series of Poker Ladies Event on July 9th. This Prize Package includes a $1,000 entry into the event, as well as $500 in spending money.

Females are the fastest growing demographic in online poker, and this is your opportunity to turn a $26 buy-in into a World Series bracelet, as well as a chance at the $10,000 Main Event. Additionally, because we value our female poker players as well as the power of poker blogs, we would like to make a special offer to the female poker blogging community. That's why we have developed the Female Blogger World Series of Poker Challenge on Full Tilt Poker. There are four steps to participate in the FBWSOPCFTP:

1. Play the $24+2 "Ladies Only Bracelet Race" at www.fulltiltpoker.com during the month of April. The tournaments will be every Saturday at 5:00pm EST, so there are five during the month of April.

2. Earn points by finishing well in each "Ladies Only Bracelet Race":

1st place: 100 Points
2nd place: 75 Points
3rd place: 50 Points
4th place: 40 Points
5th place: 30 Points
6th place: 20 Points
7th-9th place: 15 Points
10th - 18th place: 10 Points
19th - 27th place: 5 Points

3. Blog about the FBWSOPCFTP. Try to make at least one blog post per week relating to the standings, talking trash about your fellow bloggers, recapping your play in a tournament, or anything you creative people can think of.

4. Send an e-mail to WSOPladies@fulltiltpoker.com with the url of your blog and your Full Tilt Poker screen name by April 7th. Also, your blog must have at least 1 post published before April 1st, so that players who do well in the tournaments don't just start a blog in order to become eligible for prizes. Also, the contest will be cancelled if we don't get at least 10 participants.

What do you get for finishing on top of the standings?

1st place: A $200+16 entry into our World Series of Poker Qualifiers during the week. 1 out of every 60 players in these tournaments receive a $12,000 Main Event Package.

2nd place: A $69+6 entry into a World Series of Poker Satellite tournament during the week. These satellites can get the player into either our $1,000 + $60 World Series Qualifier every Monday night, or into our $500 + $35 "100 Seat Guarantee" on July 16th.

3rd place: A $24+2 entry into a "Ladies Only Bracelet Race" in May.

The "Ladies Only Bracelet Race" tournaments will continue into the summer, leading up until the actual Ladies Only Event. If the FBWSOPCFTP is a success in April, we hope to start from scratch in May and do it all over again.

Compete in the FBWSOPCFTP.because you are probably better than Jennifer Tilly.

I don't know much I'm into trash-talking other bloggers, but I'm up for some healthy competition and a few prizes! I have a special place in my blackened little heart for the Bracelet Races-- I won one last year, freerolling my way in to the WSOP after taking out Rafe Furst's JJ with my Hilton Sisters. And I have the T-shirt to prove it.

Now, since most of you do not have breasts, there is a co-ed blogger WSOP satellite happening at Poker Stars on Monday, April 3rd at 6 PM Pacific thanks to our favorite diminutive uber-blogger Iggy. We need 50 to send one of our own into the lion's den so get yer asses registered! I know all you degenerates have accounts so what the hell are you waiting for!

Lastly and most importantly, Easycure is hosting a WPBT Circuit Event with a nifty name. "Hammer Out Cancer" with your favorite bloggers on Sunday, April 16th at 6 PM Pacific on Full Tilt! The buyin is $10+16 with $15 of the entry fee going to the American Cancer Society. Check out this post for further details. This is a cause incredibly close to both Showcase and I. He lost his dad to cancer 10 years ago and both of our moms are recent cancer survivors. I'll be playing for sure, and I'm going to try to convince him to stick his dead money in there as well ;)

So... yeah... about that hiatus...

15 minutes before the bracelet race was to go off there were only 21 people registered, meaning a huuuge overlay. I rolled my eyes, said what the hell, and signed up before running out the door to pick up a burrito for lunch. I'd need sustenance if I was going to commit to this. When I got back, we were just getting underway with only 54 runners. Anything under 63 represented an overlay, so I was happy about that.

It was only 3 or 4 hands before I got my first girl on girl stripper question and was "outed." It also turned out that one of my tablemates was Rick Wampler's girlfriend. Rick is a fellow member of Murderer's Row and a very good player himself. The rest of the table must have thought we were nuts as we started bantering about kicking the crap out of certain douchebag poets.

Rick's GF: "He's not even a good poet?"
change100:"He's a douchebag poet."
Rick's GF: "Does he write greeting cards?"

I was fortunate to double up early. I had chopped out two small pots and picked up KJo in the CO. I made a standard raise and the BB called. Flop came KJ2. I check-called the flop and check-called her push on the turn with K3, doubling to 3600 chips.

With a nice stack like that, I wanted to stay out of trouble for a while. Avoid coinflips. Pick up pots on the flop. It was about that time that the lady on my left started making my life very difficult in this tournament. Mandy B was on my immediate left and really didn't like having her blinds picked on. If I made a late position raise, she was over the top. If I raised from the SB she pushed in and if I completed from the SB, she raised. If was after 4 or 5 of these moves from her that I decided that if I ever got AA in this tournament, I was going to limp and trap her ass. I'm an aggressive player, and if there's one thing aggressive players hate, it's having another aggressor on your left. NLHE is much less fun under those circumstances-- the only way to defend against it is to become a trapper or a push monkey. Neither is a way I enjoy playing this game.

Near the end of the first hour, I lost my first significant coinflip with 77 vs. AK, but got those chips back pretty quickly when a MP player raised to 500 and I moved in for 2000 with KK. She called with QQ and my kings held.

A few rounds later, a loose short stack with an affinity for ace-rag hands pushed from EP for 1100. I had 3400 in the BB and called with JJ. I'm in great shape when I see her A6, about a 2-1 favorite. But the flop came 6 6 8. I'm back down to 2000 and none too happy.

I had a stack I needed to be stealing with and Mandy made it impossible. There was no way to put in a raise without having to be prepared to commit every chip I had. I started praying for a seat change, but being at Table 1, I didn't think that was happening. It was about then, when we were down to two tables, that people started popping in the chat box congratualting Mandy on her WSOP Main Event seat and her WPT seats.

Now I knew who she was. Mandy B was Amanda Baker. She's won seats online to Foxwoods, Borgata, The L.A. Poker Classic, the Poker Stars Carribean Adventure, the WSOP, and God knows what else. I'm also pretty sure she's dating a pro player. And she's on my left. Great. Just my luck.

The only way I was going to double up at this stage was to trap someone big time or play push poker with my 10-12 BB stack. The action folded to me in the CO, I looked down at two beautiful aces. Oh Mandy... well you came and you gave without taking... your chips are coming my wayyyy...I limped in for 200. Mandy raised to 860. The blinds folded and I called. Flop was Q high and uncoordinated, something like Q 7 4. I pushed my last 1400 and she instacalled... with KK. I wasn't expecting a hand quite that strong. Evidently Miss Mandy wasn't just aggressive, she was also a card rack. So needless to say, my trap didn't quite contain the bite I would have liked. She didn't back off one iota.

I was very card dead after that. We were 6 or 7 handed on two tables and the ante had just hit. I was pushing with anything I could pick up... KJo, A8s, etc. I was still under 3000 and needed a double up in a hurry if I was going to be any factor at the final table. I found 22 UTG+1 and pushed all in with an M of 4 and 150-300/25 blinds, but Evil Mandy woke up with 77 and sent me to the rail in 10th place. Booooooooooooooooo. Of course she went on to win the tournament and stick another notch in her already crowded belt.

With a different flop for that A6-JJ hand and a better table draw, who knows what I could have done. I think I played the best I could.

So I have 10 points in that contest, ladies. Catch me if you can, beetches.

Now back to your regularly scheduled hiatus.

Here Comes Your Nineteenth Nervous Breakdown

I just folded a J2 offsuit and quit my cash game after losing another $110. It's going to be the last hand I play for a while. I've lost over half my bankroll and I think the only way I can control the bleeding is to stop altogether. Maybe for a few days, maybe for a week. Maybe until I feel like it again. I just don't belong anywhere near a deck of cards right now.

Thank you everyone who wrote such lovely words to me after the my last post. You made me cry good tears. The support means the world to me. Most of the people in my life will never come close to understanding my frustrations with this stupid fucking card game, and I'm incredibly lucky to have you all in my corner.

I tried a couple of different things today. I played a Stud Freeroll on Stars to sharpen my chops for the WPBT- POY stud event that is on the horizon. Check Byron's blog for further details. I'm very inexperienced at stud. I hope I get another lesson from Pauly when he comes back to L.A. (And please send him good wishes... poor guy is in Vegas with tonisilitis! How much does that suck?)

From there I went back to the game that has done the most for me... the Stars 180-person SNG. In my first one I played tight, chopped out small pots early and then went card dead before picking up AK. A loose raiser on my right opened the pot for 3BB and I re-raised all-in for 12BB with 75-150 blinds. I was right about having the guy on my right beat, he had AT, but the SB woke up with QQ and I lost the race. So no real disaster there. I think I'd make that play again.

I fired up another 180 shortly thereafter. In the second level, I picked up JhJs and made it 90 from MP. The SB called and the flop came T K J, two hearts. I bet 180, he min-raised, and I called. Turn is 2h. Not the best card for me, but I do have the Jack of hearts. I move all-in for 1029 and he calls his last 900, turning up KsQc. Of course the 9 arrives on the river for him. Good donkey... thank you for fucking me in the ass... now here's a treat for you. I busted three hands later when my all in with TT was called by QJo who flopped his Q.

I also played a Stars Deep Stacks Limit MTT during all of this. It really is like watching paint dry. 3 1/2 hours to go out in the middle.

Next was a $11 NLHE Full Tilt multi. I'm playing a conservative game early and in the third level or so, I see a free flop from the BB with 47o. There is one LP limper and the SB in the pot. Flop is J43. The SB checks, I throw out a smallish bet, about 1/2 the pot to see if I can just pick it up right there. The first limper folds and the SB calls. I put him on a jack or a draw like 56. The turn is a 4, making me trips. I bet 2/3 of the pot and he raises to 780. I have 1275 behind.

What would you do? I'll share the conclusion of the hand in a later post.

I need some time off from this crazy game. And I need to re-approach it as serious recreation instead of a potential solution to my tenuous income situation because I'm simply not skilled, disciplined or consistent enough for that to even be a factor. I have to get back to my life, whatever that is. I have to decide if I'm going back into the business. And if I wasn't to go back, what would I do?

I should see some movies tomorrow. And see how they make me feel. I'll also be posting Part II of last week's Vegas-to-L.A. adventure and you'll finally all find out whether or not I made out with Nikki the stripper.

You guys are also in dire need of a Showcase-Stacee update... they're still together. Though I'm beginning to think she's a leeeeetle psycho. He's up in the Berkeley this weekend for a bachelor party with all of his old fraternity brothers.

And with the house to myself, I'm going to get high and watch the last 7 episodes of 24.