PokerLawyer

Substance Over Form

2012-02-13T10:26:00.000-06:00

Charles Mingus

Do you remember when you first started playing poker? Maybe you got to sit on your dad's lap around the kitchen table as he penny anted into a family pot. A literal "family" pot because everyone else around the table was actually part of your family.

Or maybe you were in your dorm room playing against your college buddies. Or on lunch break in high school.

Or maybe you didn't pick it up until after the Moneymaker boom and your first foray into the game was online.

Either way, if you're serious about the game - you study, you think about it, you talk hands with friends, you run flips through PokerStove, watch videos, get coaching, and likely track your play through a stat program like PokerTracker or on a yellow legal notepad sitting by your computer or on an iPhone app like PkrCruncher or PokerJournal.

Always looking to improve, right?

Good things, all.

But what about in other parts of your life?

Wouldn't it be great if we also worked as hard on the rest of the pieces of our lives as we do on our game, or our jobs, or our families, as the case may be?

It's easy to overlook the things that are not fun to work on...relationships, our health and basic exercise, the house (and crap like laundry - omg, have you ever noticed it is never ending...it just keeps piling up and no matter how much I like my favorite pair of jeans, I do have to wash them at some point. Not to mention the fleeting freshness that can be wrung from a pair of clean underwear. And don't even get me started on the laundry that piles up when you're responsible for an entire family's worth. Ugh...).

If you want to be good at something - anything - there are certain things that are true. You're going to have to work at it. You're going to have to be committed. You're going to have to make time for it, be dedicated to it, and maintain singular focus. Above all, you're going to have to work. Hard.

And in that process, if you keep to the simple, the basics, the fundamentals, you can, over time, craft something really beautiful. Across the spectrum of individuals working on the same thing, that something beautiful will be as different and as varied as imagination can fathom.

That's what's amazing about dedication to a craft. And it doesn't matter if the "craft" is medicine, art, music, the law, or poker. You spend a lifetime working on it - you're going to make something beautiful.

But, you can't get sidetracked. Disregard the fluff. Avoid the easy and/or the people who only say "yes" or tell you what you want to hear.

Watching the Grammys last night, I couldn't help but wish that someone had told some of that to some of the artists performing (um...Nikki Minaj springs immediately to mind because my brain is forever scarred after seeing that performance. But it could apply equally to Lady Gaga who sat in the audience with some weird fishnet over her face or the gal who showed up as a female cyborg or even Katy Perry and her Russell Brand dissing self).*

In the end, Adele Adkins walked away with a sackful of awards, all (six of six!) of which were bestowed upon her for one really simple, timeless, reason: she's got a true talent in a voice that doesn't need any digital enhancement or weird theatrics to entertain. It's honest, pure, and real.

It doesn't always happen, but sometimes we get lucky and see substance win over form. And that's what happened last night on the Grammys.

Simplicity. Honesty. Realness. These things resonate with us because it's what we want. In our lives, in our relationships, in ourselves.**

When I look at these concepts and then look at today's poker world, I see that the characteristics apply just as equally and simply. The "schtick" that creates a flash of excitement, whether it's branding like being "the brat" or "the kid" or "the magician" or "the mouth" or what have you, only carries you so far. All of those things are good for marketing. But they don't help you win tournaments. (that said, just look at the brat's (Phil Helmuth) results in this last year's series to know that he's definitely committed to working on his game and it showed, didn't it? And with the collapse of UB and lack of patching, there wasn't a lot of grandstanding going on this year...I mean, when I think about it, I didn't see any "brattiness". Instead, his play was textbook substance over form.)

Maybe that's the one true thing we can take from Black Friday. A lack of the ability to profit from anything other than just good solid play is requiring a return to just that...the basics.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Find what resonates with you and stick with it. It will change your life.

***

* I readily admit - I am old.

** Ok, maybe I'm only speaking for myself, but it's my blog so shut it.

Agendas

2012-02-10T14:13:00.002-06:00

Ripple Effect

Yesterday, I tweeted a link to a Rolling Stone article entitled One Town's War on Gay Teens. It's really long, but I think it's well worth your time.

Now...I'm biased when I say I think it's worth your time. I'm biased because I'm a big ol' gaymo. For some, that likely means my opinion on the subject loses all credibility, because how can I be objective? That position has merit.

On the other hand, couldn't I also be viewed as an expert? Kinda like - "BAM! After a lifetime of gaymo-osity, I hereby proclaim myself to be an expert! Take that you Nobel Prize winning Oxford Scholar!" Or something along those lines. Maybe. Or not....

I digress.

(the point is - it's worth your time because you're a human bean and the article has good things inside that are worthwhile for human beans to read)

After I tweeted the link, I got a response from someone who I believe took issue with the idea of governmental involvement. Specifically, she asked:

Where are the parents??? Rather have the prob solved by parents & school vs. politicians who ONLY SCREW THINGS UP!

I've been hearing this a lot lately and in many different contexts (and personally, I believe it myself) this notion of less governmental involvement (although I would like to point out that the public school district is an arm of the government). We definitely see it a lot on the campaign trail and it is certainly a principle of the Republican party.

According to Scholastic ('member them? That's the organization we all ordered books from as kids in (public) elementary school. Man, I love their mission page, 'specially that last paragraph), our current political parties are described thusly:

Republicans tend to take a more conservative stand on issues. They believe that the federal government should not play a big role in people's lives. Most Republicans favor lower taxes and less government spending on social programs. They believe in less government intervention in business and the economy.

Democrats are sometimes referred to as "the Party of the People," attracting immigrants, blue-collar workers, women, and minorities. Democrats tend to take a more liberal stand on important issues. They believe that the federal government should take a more active role in people's lives, particularly those who are in need.

But, what does any of this have to do with my opening paragraph and a story about kids killing themselves? I'm trying to get there, I promise. Bear with me.

As a human being, I have my own personal perspective that, as I've written before, colors everything I see and think and do. I can't help it. It just is. It's the same for all of us, no?

And a lot of that "is," for me, is a constant questioning. Of everything. I like questioning. I want to know more. I have so much to learn (s'why I dig the last sentence on the Scholastic Mission page: Good citizens may honestly differ on important public questions. We believe that all sides of the issues of our times should be fairly discussed — with deep respect for facts and logical thinking....).

As a lawyer, I have a deep respect for the law and recognize that, for all its flaws, it is sometimes the last best bastion against craziness that we have in this world. And even then, it's not always enough. Unfortunately, not near enough. (And speaking of the law and craziness, ya gotta, gotta, gotta watch this documentary.)

But here's the thing...in that minuscule, infinitesimal part of the universe, where law and humanity intersects, there is only you. And me. And a kabazillion other people. And how we get along begins with you. And me. And each of us.

What I'm trying, not very well, to say and convey, is that it's not enough to say, "Where are the parents???"

Along with that very pertinent question, I want to also ask, "Why is it ok for a public school district to adopt and advocate something called, 'No Homo Promo'*?" We, as a society, don't stand for that. Just like we don't stand for things like segregated water fountains for people of different races or the internment of a class of people based on the color of their skin or the extermination of a people based on their religious belief.

And that's the real issue, I think.

There are so many agendas weighing on us everywhere we turn. Talk radio. The Church (religion). Political campaigns. Twitter (or FB or any kind of social media, I suppose). The 6 o'clock news. School boards. Our parents. Our friends. THIS BLOG. *ahem*

What do you listen to? How do you listen? What do you learn?

Do we learn by what we see? By how we were raised?

Do we ever figure it out?

I don't know.

Love

Joy

Peace

Patience

Kindness

Goodness

Faithfulness

Gentleness

Self-Control

These sound like such excellent tenets, don't they? I want all of these things in my life, all the time. Like, now (oops...patience).

Did you also know they are set out in the King James Bible (Galations 5:22) as "fruits of the spirit against which there is no law"?

It's true.

But the thing is - I never, ever see any gentleness or kindness or love or peace or joy in play when I see the people from the Westboro Baptist Church picketing at funerals, or a Christian politician, like former Susan G. Komen VP, Karen Handel, talk about issues on her then-political platform, and I don't know how many fruits of the spirit were on display when Barb Anderson set out to get her "No Homo Promo" campaign adopted by the Anoka-Hennepin school board, but the end result seems to indicate there weren't many.

And that's my point.

These tenets...these "fruits of the spirit"...are universal concepts that we have opportunities to display every day, in every moment, and in every way. It begins the moment you wake up, and carries over into every interaction you have throughout the day, all the way to the dinner table and into the night when your head hits the pillow. And what I mean by that is this - your kindness and charity and peace and joy and love (or lack thereof, as the case may be!) gets imparted to those closest to you, usually your kids, your siblings, your family members, and co-workers.

But.

When you're a public servant, a governmental official, you have a different platform. And it can impact people on an altogether different level.

That's evidenced by what we saw play out in the lives of these kids from Anoka, Minnesota, in the face of such an agenda. And it happens every day.

As I said in my tweet: This is insane and has got to stop.

It really, really does.

Sorry for the preaching.**

preach/off and peace out.

***

* To be fair, that's a colloquial adoption. Anderson did not frame her crusade as a 'no homo promo,' that's just what it ended up being referred to after it was passed. But, dude, don't take my word for it - read the article.

** Have I told you lately I miss online poker?

A Contest and Contemplation

2012-02-08T14:04:00.000-06:00

So CheckRaze, a site for poker enthusiasts, sent me a tweet the other day letting me know that my blog had been selected for teh votingz in a category they're calling - "Favorite Poker Blog."

That's so cool - thank you CheckRaze, and whatever crazy person(s) suggested this blog for your consideration. (The check is ~~not~~ in the mail. Bankroll management, people.)

Getting a nod for blogging made me contemplative. I went back and looked at those posts I liked the most and what some of these stat programs say have been read by you guys the most. Since I've never done a year-end review or a look-back in the (relatively short) time I've been writing here, I figured now might be a good time for some of that.

So...here's what google statistics says are the top five posts from my blog since its inception on June 13, 2010:

RENAMED BLOG POST

"Renamed" b/c it was initially titled "xx SEX xx" and that's the only reason it got so many hits. In this post, I was basically railing against sexism and misogyny in the poker industry. Pretty, sexy, hot, smart, strategic, cunning, and also good at poker, are not mutually exclusive concepts. Word.

An Open Letter to Daniel Negreanu

Meh.

This whole interaction was interesting to me on many levels. 1 - as a fan (Daniel is one of the most entertaining figures in poker and he is the main reason I signed up for twitter (he was the first player I followed)), I couldn't believe one of the top ambassadors of the game was referring to another top ambassador in such an ugly manner. 2 - as a woman, I couldn't believe he'd used such a gross word. It reeked of misogyny (wow, I sense a pattern). 3 - as a person, I couldn't believe he was so reluctant to apologize, even if it was an unguarded moment caught on tape. Ultimately, he did quasi-kinda apologize "to women" in an interview with Kimberly Lansing, but his pride and hatred of Duke (which he squarely owns and seems quite proud of) kept him from apologizing to her. 4 - a lot of people dislike Duke and so that seemed to make the awful stuff he said ok (which kind of makes it worse, imo).

Daniel is a helluva poker player and his resolve to continually improve his game is admirable. What I like about Daniel is that he speaks his mind, but sometimes that seems to get him into trouble. I guess they don't still call him "kid" for nuthin'.

Artist: Margaret W. Tarrant

The Ivey Impact

Right before the WSOP last year, Phil Ivey touched off a firestorm by announcing on his FaceBook page that he would be foregoing the series and, ohbytheway, filing suit against Full Tilt Poker and his former business partners. Lots of people seemed to like this one, but it was really @Grange95 who got me thinking on it after he tweeted: "Ivey's lawsuit is 99.44% about Ivey's contract, non-compete clause, & funds on Full Tilt. Other players? Lip service." As true today as it was then.

Where's Nike? Where's Pepsi? Where's Apple?...indeed.

In which I bemoan the industry's inability to get its shit together on either the regulation front and/or the advertising/sponsorship front. But mainly - let's be honest - I was listening to Dennis Phillip and Paul Harris's Final Table Radio Show because Kara Scott was on. Just like the rest of y'all - don't lie. She and Paul Harris made some great points about product placement and advertising and viola...this post.

Pics Or It Didn't Happen - Vegas 2011 Photo Dump

One of my favorite posts of all time because a) photographic evidence that I got to meet the likes of Kara Scott, Jennifer Newell, Doyle Brunson, and my soul mate, AlCantHang, among so many awesome others; and, (b) Pauly commented and made my day.

What a damn fun time. Damn fun, I tell you.

My personal faves don't always deal with poker. Sometimes they deal with things like faith, loved ones, my passions, my problems, and the funny. Oh, and my parents. But of those that do have to do with poker, my faves are probably this, this, and this, and all of the Poker(Proust) Qs (Maria Ho, kevmath, Shane Schleger, and Kim Shannon).

You can vote, or not, as you're so inclined, at CheckRaze's site and this link here (to do so, you will have to sign in and give them your email address and I have no affiliation with them, for the record. Also - a "vote" is to comment, not necessarily to click on any of the links, it seems?). But if nothing else, I do hope you'll check out the really excellent blogs that are nominated, many of which are my personal faves (a few that I also follow that aren't on the list, but which totally should be and I encourage you to check out, are Stacey Nutini, Phil Galfond, pokergrump, and John Kim).

It really doesn't get much better than these folks:

Dan Michalski - Pokerati

Martin Harris - Hard-Boiled Poker

James Atkins - Atkinator

Matthew Pitt - Betfair Poker Blog

Pauly McGuire - Tao of Poker

Daleroxxu - Daleroxxu

James Guill - Pokerjunkie

Shane Schleger - Shaniaconline

Nathan Williams - BlackRain79

Bill Rini - Bill Rini's Poker Blog

To include me in with the likes of these guys is, let's be honest, kinda head shaking. But I appreciate it. And I appreciate you all for reading here. Thanks, guys.

Over and out for now...

***

Still a Beautiful World

2012-01-30T14:49:00.002-06:00

Desiderata

by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amidst the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs; for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals; and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially, do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be, and whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful.

Strive to be happy.

***

Turn the Camera

2012-01-24T13:08:00.001-06:00

I'm on the plane from Vegas. The ride in was hell. I wouldn't say I'm a white knuckle flyer, but even a little turbulence gets me antsy. So far, the ride home is smooth.

I have to admit, this was the first Vegas trip I embarked on that I wasn't fully gung-ho to start. I was missing my family before I'd even left. While I always miss them when we're apart, this time the ache was deeper and, honestly, it was such that I didn't want to go. A friend said, "Oh, that just means you're going to win big!" I hoped she was on to something and, since the tickets were already purchased and everything already planned, I carried on. I did finally admit to @txcardslinger how I was feeling, but not until we'd already taken off. Strangely enough, she said she'd been feeling the same way! And with that mindset we set out on our poker adventure.

Our mutual malaise about this trip got me thinking...neither of us have played much poker since Black Friday so we came in pretty rusty. Like so many recreational online poker junkies (fish?), we went from splashing around online with regularity (a generalization, really, because we were quite serious in our scheduling, tracking, studying, and endless discussing of teh online pokers), to twiddling our thumbs and jonesing for something to fill the void. To be honest, that scene of Ballz in The Micros bashing her head on her desk hits a little too close to home for the both of us.

Where there was once a time that we spent hours going over hands and spots, losses or scores, now there is just the aching void left from a daily habit that cannot be filled absent high-tech shenanigans. And what's the point of that? I'm no Tom Dwan. Why try to back door a way online if I'm only going to be playing regulars and pros anyway, you know? Seems really -ev to me, but...what do I know.

And I mean really...what do I know? The reality is that I missed the online poker boom of the Chris Moneymaker era. At dinner one night during this recent Vegas trip, I had the opportunity to visit with some people who did not miss out on that wave, but who also helped me see that, really, I have.

Poker isn't "over" by any stretch of the imagination and I agree with @PokerScar that Black Friday has served the industry with a much needed reset button, from which (over the next 3-5 years) a whole new landscape will emerge. But, if 3-5 years turns out to be how long it ultimately takes before the industry reboots, well, that "reset" has stolen years of really valuable training time from me that's very hard to offset with sporadic home games and tournament treks to Vegas (or Oklahoma or Louisiana, both of which are closer, but still require travel).

And let's face it, all those trips mean time away from home, away from my daughter and the belle. It's one thing to be doing that and be a Jason Mercier or a Vanessa Selbst. It's an altogether different picture when you're a middle-aged mom/partner with an actual job and responsibilities trying to do the same. Feels kind of grim, addictive-y, degenish. And, yes, quite pie-in-the-sky. But, hey, I'll own that...because sometimes I am grim, addictive-y, degenish. And I do love me some pie.

Thinking on these things on the ride home, I pull out the January 2012 Bluff magazine that I picked up in the airport and begin to read. Three articles really stood out.

One is a contemplative piece from Jennifer Tilly. Assessing her poker playing, she was reminded of some advice she gave a friend going through a bad relationship:

"...if you are unhappy more than 50% of the time you should consider [getting a divorce]." Lately for Tilly, it seems she's finding poker like that bad relationship. "Right now poker only makes me happy 30% of the time. So...maybe I should get out?"

In the same issue, her partner Phil Laak shares another viewpoint. In eschewing "the man" (ie, poker "turnys"), Laak has found revitalized joy in his cash game pursuits.

But even while sharing this newfound zeal for "cash games galore," Laak describes what I think is at the crux of things for the vast majority of those of us toiling in poker tourney grindage (and it's subsequent obscurity):

Binking a turny or two ruins you for life....What happens is that you get trapped by the memories of how sweet it was. That moment where you were the last man standing and made the maximum cheese. These memories overwhelm me and I break down time after time. I walk up to the cage, buy my ticket, and wonder why I am wasting my time.

Can you relate?

Sure you can. Every poker player I know can recount, sometimes hand for hand, the final table war he or she endured to take down the top spot. And as Laak points out, the memory of that glory is what keeps you going, buy in after buy in, bust out after bust out, time and time again.

Doesn't matter whether it was a $65 Nugget event or the home game in your neighbor's garage or the World Series Main event. That feeling of poker victory after hours (or days) of grinding is the holy grail for each of us. It's not about the money. It's about the blood and the guts and the sweat and the tears of the slog. At the end of it all, you just want to win.

Says Laak,

So why is it I torture myself? Because kids, I am also a sick man. I am a sadist, I am a masochist and I am all that lies in between. I play the next turny in the hopes that it will be the next big kill, the one where everything will just fall into place and I will dominate...I will win it.

I can relate. It's exactly why I play. Isn't it the same for you?

The third interesting piece is by Alec Torelli. Why this one stuck with me is because of a comment Jen Newell (@WriterJen) shared with me when I was whining about my lack of success one morning over breakfast.

It has to do with Stacey Nutini (@lasvegaspokers). If you're not following Stacey, go do it now and then go read her blog post about "nice guys (not) finishing last" and you'll get a sense of who she is and why Jen's comment is so spot on (and also why it all also relates to Torelli's Bluff article).

Stacey is "living the dream," which is to say she is attacking poker like she's a first year associate for Wachtell or an investment banker on Wall Street or a first year medical resident. Forget any negative connotations about the professions I'm using here; my point is, Stacey is busting her ass. Poker is not just her j.o.b., it's her profession. And she is doing everything in her power to become the best of the best, working just as hard - if not harder - than those white shoe traders, lawyers, doctors, and banker types (and those people work 24/7).

In her arsenal are sound bankroll management, game selection, continual poker education ("CPE"? Lawyers call it CLE), a monster work ethic, discipline, passion, and attitude. And to be the best, you've got to have all those things.

The reason I bring up Stacey is because Jen reminded me, in the face of my whinage, about Stacey's efforts and how she grinds these tourneys. And if she busts, she grinds cash, but mainly - she stays positive. It's hard, but she does.

From experience, I know she does - Exhibit "A", she busted a circuit event this past weekend and was able to come out and share a drink and some laughs and engage in conversation without body chopping any of us or sharing even one single bad beat story. Girl's got her head on straight and it's an admirable trait.

I'm glad Jen reminded me of that when I took to whining. Whining's easy. Moving on (next!) is where it's at.

And that brings me back to Torelli's Bluff article. In it, he discusses decision making and opines that making money isn't the only choice we should be considering when we go about our pokering.

While taking a picture for some tourists on holiday in Vegas, Torelli had an a-ha moment,

"Turn the camera," I repeated to myself. Brilliant. In taking a holiday photo, I realized my problem. I'm looking at the picture from the wrong point of view. What I should be considering when I make my decision isn't money, but happiness.

Such a simple switch in perspective, but one that can really mean all the difference...not just in your game, but also in your life.

Reading these pieces on the tail end of a short, and tough, poker trip helped me have my own a-ha moment. The bottom line is that playing poker makes me happy. I don't enjoy losing or the fact that luck (and/or one poor decision) can derail hours of solid play. But, that is the reality of tournament poker.

I may never bink the WSOP Main Event, but here's the thing - every tourney I get the opportunity to play *is* my Main Event. And moneying in any one of them is gravy on this bonanza I get to call my life.

Maybe my circumstances right now are such that I am just a serious recreational player. An on-going student of the game. More than a hobbyist, but not quite a professional.

And that's ok.

This trip has helped me see that my perspective on this whole endeavor is entirely up to me. Every chance I get to play, and spend time with people I've met as a result of my passion, is a bonus for which I'm thankful.

"Turn the camera." Brilliant, indeed.

Kim Shannon - The Poker (Proust) Q

2012-01-13T13:29:00.000-06:00

I think it's quite fitting that today is Friday the 13th, a day Wikipedia says more than 17 to 21 million people in the US become so paralyzed by fear that they "avoid their normal routines in doing business, taking flights, or even getting out of bed."

It's fitting because today's installment of the Poker (Proust) Q features Kim Shannon (@kimshannon) - the super hot vixen of the felt (and the Twitters) - who instills the same kind of Friday the 13th mind-numbing fear in her victims at poker tables all across the country.

If you follow Kim on Twitter (and if you don't, um...you hate the funny or what?), you already know she's hilarious.

What you might not know, though, is that she's a true poker balla, making her way at the table, and in life, with confidence, determination, and commitment. Unlike a lot of us who cheer and watch enviously from our deskjobs, she's actually making her living at the game. She grinds the poker tables - day in and day out - making grown men weep as they ship her their stacks.

Kim's strength is her cash play and she says her biggest score in one day was hitting the Bad Beat Jackpot at Harrah's in August of last year for nearly $30k. While her playing field tends to vary and is dependent on where the juiciest games are, you can often find her in Atlantic City. And that's where she'll be next week as she tries her hand at the Borgata Winter Poker Open.

Aside from Twitter, I haven't had the chance to "meet" Kim in person, yet. The times we've skyped or visited through our screens, though, her sincerity and sweetness have always come through. At the table, she wants to win; and, she's got a mind like a steel trap for the game. But underneath it all, while she's likely loathe to admit it, she's also got a heart of gold. If you look close enough here to her answers, you might just catch a glimpse of it.

Kim is the latest to go out on a limb and participate in what I call "my PPQ folly." If you're new to my blog, the Poker(Proust) Q is my modified take on the Vanity Fair Celebrity Proust Questionnaire. Like @kevmath, @MariaHo, and @ShaneSchleger before her, Kim stepped up to the plate and...well, I think she hit it out of the park. But, you be the judge.

You already know Kim is funny. You might not know, though, that she's also really brave and, truly, a loyal friend. I think she's great and I hope you do, too.

With that, here's Kim...in her own words:

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Waking up to the question "Bacon, or cunnilingus?" Happiness is having options, and the freedom to make choices.

What makes you laugh?
Things that are funny. Also, some things that aren't funny, like lolcats and HPV.

Where do you feel most at home?
In the poker room at Harrah's AC. Probably because for 30 days at a time, it IS home.

Of what achievement in poker are you most proud? In life?
In poker as well as in life, I am most proud that I have survived the last 24 hours, and am able to play for at least one more day. Wheeee!

What is your most treasured possession?
Demonic possession has always been a fave. But I'm also pretty fond of a Japanese stone that was given to me many years ago by my roommate and best friend, @bearzconfuzion. It's supposed to bring luck when you rub it - still waiting for that.

What is your greatest fear?
I'm deathly afraid of spiders. And soccer moms. ~shudder~

What trait do you most deplore in yourself?
I used to think I was a bit narcissistic, which is a horrible trait. Then I realized I'm just really fucking pretty. Brilliant, too. So I guess I hate that I'm so much better than everyone else.

What trait do you most deplore in others?
There are others?

What is your greatest extravagance?
I spend a lot of money on clothes, which is ironic because they never stay on for long.

Like lawyers, poker players are often considered excellent liars. Outside of poker, on what occasion do you lie?
Away from the poker table, I don't lie. Ever. Except when the IRS or my mother starts asking questions. Oh, and anytime I just don't feel like telling the truth.

When and where do you remember being your happiest?
Right here, right now.

If you died and could come back as a person or thing, what would it be?
I'd come back as Jesus just for the sake of irony.

What is your favorite journey?
I like the trip from the poker table to the cage the most, because it implies that I haven't gone completely broke.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Virtuousness.

Which living person do you most despise?
That little blonde girl in the Welch's grape juice commercial? I loathe that pretentious mini-bitch.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
If it's obscene, I overuse it.

What is your greatest regret?
Every step and misstep I've ever taken has been a learning experience. I don't regret a thing. Well, except for the waterslide incident of 1993. I regret that, for sure.

Which talent would you most like to have?
I'd like to be able to make people burst into flames with just a look.

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
My dog, Boo... Hands down.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
The absence of laughter. That and last call.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I'd be more patient. Now hurry up and ask me the next question. *looks at watch*

If you weren't a poker professional, what would you be?
A hooker. Either that, or a neuroscientist. It's a toss up.

What is your most striking characteristic?
My sense of humor has been described as "biting"... A bite and a strike are both means of assault, so I guess that would have to be it.

What do you most value in your friends?
Their piggyback ride giving ability. Definitely.

Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Helen Keller... She never listened to anyone, either. And she bumped into shit a lot, too. We're practically soulmates.

Who are your heroes in real life?
My roommates, Frankie & Sharon. They know why.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Underdog.

How would you like to die?
Crashing my spaceship into the sun.

What is your motto?
Nobody ever made a million bucks by not taking a shot in life.

What is your favorite NLHE hand?
Any hand that gets the other players talking to themselves. They don't call me the "Queen Of The One Outer" for nothing.

Who's a better rapper, Jeff Madsen, SrslySirius, or Prahlad Friedman?
Jeff Madsen, obv. Yeah, that pun is intended, again, obv.

Who *really* should've won The Apprentice, Annie Duke or Joan Rivers?
Joan Rivers will be dead soon, so either way, Annie Duke wins.

Who is your favorite Micros character?
Ballz. She's my doppelgänger.

What is your favorite karaoke song?Day-O. Day-ay-ay-o.

What is your best @AlCantHang memory?
Last time I drank with @AlCantHang, my boyfriend @OnAFoldDraw and I got roofied and totaled his jeep, then woke up in the police station. That night was AWESOME, because we lived through it.

Who wins in a baby oil covered death cage match between Jimmy Fricke or Vanessa Selbst?
If Selbst is covered in oil, I win. And by "win", I mean "have multiples". And that's all that matters.

@KaraOTR or Mila Kunis?
That's like asking "Beer or Beer". The answer, obviously, is...Doesn't matter, just GET IN MY MOUTH.

What is the best thing about Twitter and who is your favorite tweeter?
The best thing about Twitter is that I only have to tolerate people 140 characters at a time. My favorite tweeter HANDS DOWN is @SheBanggs. She makes me laugh til I pee. Okay, I was probably already peeing... But still.

Who is your favorite Main Event Champ?
Stu Unger. A man after my own high. I mean heart... A man after my own heart.

***

The Pursuit of Happiness

2012-01-11T16:08:00.000-06:00

What an amazing document - the United States Constitution. I’m not a constitutional scholar, by any means. In fact, the greater reality is that every time I open my mouth or pen some words, I reveal the depth of my stupidity. I really do. I’m sure I’m going to do a lot of that in today’s post, but maybe you’ll cut me some slack. I hope so.

I recognize that so much of how we see our world is colored by our experiences. It really is that plain and simple. Judges can’t help it. Jurors can’t help. Moms and Dads and people all over the world can’t help it. For each of us – everything we do and say and think and feel is but a consequence of our experiences.

I’m not much into politics. I find the subject really disheartening because I believe the only way change can occur is if people get behind causes and do something to create the change they seek. But because so much of politics today is intertwined with the machine of commerce, too much falls through the cracks. That’s why I believe “Change” can’t and won’t come from any government. Instead, I believe real change can only happen personally. Individually. Locally. One person at a time.

It’s why families are so important. Each person born is automatically (for better or worse) inculcated by those that surround them. Their parents and siblings, or caregivers for those without families, create the blueprint by which they end up seeing the world, at least initially. Families and caregivers are so important it’s why I think Mother Teresa, on the day she received her Nobel Peace Prize in 1979 responded to the question of “What can we do to promote world peace?” with “Go home and love your family.” Regardless of your views about Mother Teresa, I think she hit that one square on the head.

The subject of family is important to me. I grew up in a big, close-knit family, and I’m fortunate to have one of my own today. There’re just three of us in my nuclear family, but it never really feels like that because there are so many other family members involved, daily, in our lives and vice versa. We don’t always get along. We rarely all see eye to eye. But, at the end of the day – we love each other.

It’s for that reason that I get apoplectic when I hear politicians talking about things like family. Since we’re in the middle of the 2012 Primary, politicians are doing a lot of that lately, and to someone like me, it ain’t fun.

I don’t have the answers for what will make the world a better place or what’s right for you and yours. I only know what I deal with on a day to day basis and what makes up my life. And those things color what I think about when I hear these politicians.

I’m encouraged when I hear Mitt Romney close out a debate with a perfect sound bite - quoting the United States Declaration of Independence:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

It’s hard for me to stomach though when just a few minutes earlier, in response to a question about marriage, he says:

...something other than the relationship between a man and a woman, I think, is a mistake….we want to encourage, through the benefits that we associate with marriage, people to form partnerships between men and women and then raise children, which we think will – that will be the ideal setting for them to be raised.

Good luck with that, dude. Seriously. The world contains nearly 7 billion people. The United States contains more than 300 million of them. What constitutes a family cannot be defined and/or mandated by any government or politician or organization.

Regardless of what you think about gay marriage, how do you square his latter sentiments with those espoused in the Declaration of Independence? Especially when you consider that marriage is a right conferred by the government, which, as pointed out by Romney, conveys numerous privileges and benefits upon those who are able to marry?

When I watched the debates Saturday, I also did some tweeting. One of the things I tweeted was a reference to a United States Supreme Court case, decided in 1954. That case was Brown v. Board of Education. It’s a beautiful piece of work, so simply written, and it’s an opinion that helped usher in the Civil Rights movement and the creation of laws that still stand today outlawing discrimination against people on the basis of their skin color.

Because of that case and the subsequent legal requirements it engendered, most reasonable people, and certainly most children, can look around and go “duh, of course we don’t treat people differently because of their skin color. That’s just stupid.” How sad that it took the weight of the Supreme Court for this to come about, but it certainly solidifies the importance of the judicial branch of our government.

When I was in law school, I wanted to write a paper comparing the struggle identified in Brown with the arguments made regarding the state sanctioned right of marriage and how “domestic partnerships” are separate, unequal, and a violation of the Constitution.

I was lazy, though (and also not smart enough), to ever finish it. Also, I recognize that many people are offended by the comparison of gay rights to the struggle historically endured by people of color. I’m not a person of color and can never presume to understand what it’s like to be a person of color. Instead, I can only tell you what I believe.

And that is this: if race, which is innate (“you’re born that way”), and religion, which is absolutely a personal choice not discernible unless disclosed (“a choice”), are protected by our Constitution, then denying gays the right to marry is unconstitutional.

I haven’t put much thought into all this in a while, but of course these debates are kind of putting it back out there. So, this morning, I re-read Brown. I think the biggest problem I had with trying to make my argument is the contrast between the right that’s identified and ultimately protected in Brown – public education – as compared with the right of marriage.

The question comes down to this – is marriage a fundamental right?

While Brown squarely and securely addresses this issue with respect to state sanctioned education, there is no United States Supreme Court case that says the same for state sanctioned marriage.

But when I digest what Brown said about education, I’m reminded of that old classic The Sneetches by Dr. Seuss and I can’t help but feel that the gist of the Court’s reasoning (while inapposite in many ways) applies equally to domestic partnerships and the right of gays to marry.

Specifically, the Court said:

…in finding that a segregated law school for Negroes could not provide them equal education opportunities, this Court relied in large part on ‘those qualities which are incapable of objective measurement but which make for greatness in a law school.’….Such considerations apply with added force to children in grade and high schools. To separate them from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely ever to be undone….Segregation of white and colored children in public schools has a detrimental effect upon the colored children. The impact is greater when it has the sanction of the law, for the policy of separating the races is usually interpreted as denoting the inferiority of the negro group. A sense of inferiority affects the motivation of a child to learn. Segregation with the sanction of law, therefore, has a tendency to [retard] the educational and mental development of negro children and to deprive them of some of the benefits they would receive in a racial[ly] integrated school system.

Sadly, in 1954 America, the country needed the highest court in the land to tell them what any kid today knows is fair and just.

Today when courts make legal rulings, we often hear an outcry about “activist judges.” That perspective helps us see the importance of the other branches of our government. But I can’t help wondering if that same mindset had been around in 1954 (58 years ago when Brown was decided), or in 1967 (45 years ago when Loving v. Virginia was decided), what measures (akin to Prop 8?) might have been taken by the majority to disenfranchise the minority.

Can you see what I’m getting at?

All these cases took time, decades, even. But, ultimately, the law got it right.

Someday, it’s going to be the same for same-sex couples. It will. Because, ultimately, it really is simple.

Juxtapose the question of whether marriage is a fundamental right against the precepts identified in the Declaration of Independence: the equality of all men, each of whom is endowed with unalienable rights, including life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

And then ask yourself – what could be a more fundamental component in the pursuit of happiness then falling in love and choosing a life partner?

I say it doesn’t get any more fundamental than that.

My partner and I have been together for nearly 17 years. My daughter is seven years old. When my brothers and cousins got married, the family celebrated and the parties were excellent.

I don’t need (or want) the state to validate the love that I am fortunate to have in my life. But I do need the state’s sanction if I want the same rights, benefits, and privileges of marriage that my brothers, my cousins, and every other married couple in the United States enjoys.

Denying me and my family that right, in the face of the Fourteenth Amendment or the Declaration of Independence or Brown v. Board of Ed, or…say, Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries, for example – it’s just wrong, guys. And you know it.

I just hope it won’t take 50 years for us to get it right. A bunch of geriatrics getting down at my reception ain’t really what I had in mind…

The Shuffling

2012-01-09T14:27:00.001-06:00

Normally by 7:30am, the lot has at least ten other vehicles. Given the rain and the chill this morning, I figured that would cut into some people's resolve. But as I parked, I was still surprised to see only one other car.

The park is big and my trail, one of several, covers about three miles of hilly forest.

I stopped after a short warm up trek to take my first picture for the Chronicle. As I did, I thought I heard some shuffling in the trees off to my right.

It was overcast and I couldn't see much through the branches. Standing still, I could only hear the rain drops, hitting and falling off leaves, trickling in streams at my feet.

I listened again...nothing.

"Probably a bird," I shrugged and pulled my hoodie back on.

Starting up again, I began thinking of what I needed to get done for the day and forgot about the shuffling.

A few feet later, I heard it again. I kept walking and tried to cock my head and ear to get a better hearing.

Rain drops. Traffic in the distance. My breathing. My footsteps.

Yet every other beat, a shuffle...

Barely noticeable, but just enough to cause me to look over my shoulder. Maybe there was a jogger back a ways, moving up to pass?

But, no. There was no one else on the trail behind me.

I started thinking about the lone car in the lot when I pulled up. Had it been a truck? Was it a van? What color was it?

I thought as I hiked. And listened.

Up at the top, I climbed the tower. The view far off is of a quarry. And further, of the highway and cars. Closer, however, only tree tops. I listened and looked.

No shuffling.

Just me. My breathing, and the rain drops.

As I made my way from the tower and into the narrow tree-lined path something fell behind me. Startled, I turned and saw a handkerchief, balled up and listing in the breeze. It was dry, but dampening quickly.

I looked around quickly and a niggling thought crept into my head...there was something familiar about that handkerchief.

As I knelt to pick it up, a rock fell out. And I saw the familiar purple and yellow flowers of the cloth I'd put in my jacket pocket on Saturday.

It was my grandmother's handkerchief. The same one I'd wiped Emily's brow with during our walk this weekend. The same one she'd used to wrap up the rock she'd found and wanted to save.

Neither of which I could find when I started my walk this morning, but which had apparently worked itself out of my pocket, shuffling up against me with each step, as I hiked. Until it finally worked itself out and fell.

No boogieman.

No 10-foot bears.

Just me.

My breathing.

And the rain drops.

***

Saturday in the Park

2012-01-07T17:11:00.001-06:00

I had some company...

***

Fannie Mae is the Devil

2012-01-06T12:06:00.001-06:00

So the belle* and I have been paying down on our home for nigh on nine years now. When we bought the house, we were required to have PMI (Private Mortgage Insurance), and we've been dutifully paying it all this time.

When checking out finances this morning after the trail, I noticed for the first time that we're finally paying more principal than interest per month and so I know that's going to make things move quicker. But my blood started to boil when I saw that we're still paying close to $200 a month in this damnable PMI. Even in the face of a 60% Loan to Value (LTV) ratio and 24 months of solid payment history. Turns out, if you have a loan through the devil (Fannie Mae), they sneak some language in their docs about "natural amortization".

What is natural amortization, you, of sound and reasonable intellect, might ask?

Who knows!? And seriously...who talks like that anyway? Lawyers and bankers and finance people, I guess. Well, I'm a lawyer and I don't talk like that and I think it's stupid. Maybe that makes me a bad lawyer.

This PMI requirement steamed me. So, I picked up the phone to call my bank for explanation. When I ask the nice man why PMI has not yet been removed, he starts talking about the requirements to getting it removed: the note must have an 80% LTV ratio. Check. 24 months of good payment history. Check. If those are met, the investor requires an appraisal/broker notice to ensure that the home has not gone down in value. Doh.

So, I ask him..."Well, hold up. Aren't I the investor? It's my home and as you can see, we're trying diligently to pay it off, which we're doing." If I want to have a weedy yard (which we don't) and pink flamingo stucco and a zoo living within (which we don't) and that makes some appraiser/broker assess the house as lesser in value - then what?

Well, as you can gather, I'm not the investor. And neither is my bank, which services the note. No, the investor is Fannie Mae.

And apparently, Fannie Mae and lawyers and bankers and other greedy finance people came up with the idea of requiring something called "Natural Amortization," which is defined as...um...well, as near as I can guess, I think what it means is that at the time you sign the dotted line on your note, they calculate when you'll reach your 80% LTV ratio paying just the required amount each month. I mean, that's what guy on the phone tried to explain to me anyway.

But of course, I had to google it and try to look up the term on my own.

I defy you to get me a googled definition of natural amortization (I know some smart ass..., I mean, someone much smarter than me, [@pokergrump?] is going to find this). Seriously. Even the 'Dictionary of Real Estate Terms' doesn't include a definition of natural amortization. My Black's Law Dictionary doesn't even contain this term.

Mother. Fuckers. WE'LL BE DONE PAYING THE HOUSE BY THE TIME NATURAL AMORTIZATION OCCURS.

So. We must put our fate in the hands of some appraiser/broker - of Fannie Mae's choosing - to value our home and decide whether or not we will be required to keep lining Fannie Mae's pockets with our $200 per month, $2400 per year, $21,600 over nine years, etcetera etcetera vomit die die Fannie Mae.

I could cut a ~~bitch~~ banker.

Credit is necessary, often. But stupid. Fine printed. Greedy. BS like this is just wrong. Do reasonable things different upfront oh ye financial institutions.

I can't go occupy a tent on Wall Street to show my contempt for such practices, and my support for #ows, but I can pay off debt, and that's exactly what we're doing. If that helps prevent the continued lining of Fannie Mae et al's pockets, then I'll keep doing it. And I encourage you to do it, too. Besides - there are excellent personal/individual advantages to this; namely, the pockets you line are your own.

Up yours, Fannie Mae.

Peace out.

(got this vid from my dad, EDIT 1/9/12):

Last but not least - the trail. It was nice today. I hope your day is nice, too.

***

* this term is an adaptation borrowed from @anotherdamn, whose blog you should totally be reading, on the regular

The Chronicle

2012-01-05T10:27:00.000-06:00

I got some great links sent to me as a result of my post on Tuesday and I thought it important to share them, in case anyone else is feeling a little out of sorts.

The first item is a NYT's opinion piece from Pico Iyer, that I received via @Laoch. It's so good, and I hope you'll read it. A taste:

We have more and more ways to communicate, as Thoreau noted, but less and less to say. Partly because we’re so busy communicating. And — as he might also have said — we’re rushing to meet so many deadlines that we hardly register that what we need most are lifelines.

Another item has some relation to what I noticed a lot of people posting on FaceBook and Twitter recently - the 30 Things to Stop Doing to Yourself. @two_isles came across this piece, specific to writers, that she was kind enough to send me (by Chuck Wendig (@ChuckWendig)). If you write, or want to write, I think you'll get something from it.

The last two pieces are actually video.

Take the time to watch this one. I come back to it often....It's a wonderful reminder - of many things. I feel/learn/see something new every time I watch it.

And finally, this item that I came across via Twitter. The creator, @docmikeevans, also has an incredible YouTube page. What's so amazing about the concept described in this video is the simplicity. The fact that we, as beings, just don't do more of it really blows me away AND tells me how lazy we are (ok - I'm just talking about myself here because I know how darn lazy I am...ugh).

So, it's this last item - and all of these things, really - that I was thinking of this morning on the trail. And I decided that what I would do, as kind of a self-motivator, and as a record keeping tool, is chronicle my daily trail walk by adding to the blog (and my instagram, PokerLawyer there, too) one picture a day from the trail.

The picture will be the chronicle. Whatever does or does not come out word-wise on the blog will just be my as per usual musings. I don't plan on posting on Sunday, and I won't always be in town or able to do the trail (ha - I do actually have meetings/work and it sometimes does rain/get way too cold), but for the most part, the goal is to move and the picture is for motivational/accountability purposes.

The only part I'm not sure of is actually taking the phone on the trail because even if I'm just using it for the camera and one photo, it's still a technological tether that I'm reminded of when it's on my person. I actually left the phone at home these last three days, so...we'll see.

At any rate, that's what's been on my mind of late. I'm looking forward to some poker with my buddy @txcardslinger later this month, in Vegas, and I'm hoping I can get two cases settled before then. Wheeee! Wish me luck ;-)

Oh...almost forgot...here's the first picture:

Since I didn't have my phone with me this morning, it's a pic of my backyard, but still. I hope you enjoy it because I had to, like, lay on the ground and all that, just to take it.

Have a good day, peeps.

***

What We Repeatedly Do

2012-01-03T15:34:00.001-06:00

What do you do with a blog when you feel as though you really have nothing to say?

The whole "I've got nothing to say" has been on my mind a lot recently. I jumped on Twitter the other day and was really surprised at the number of followers I have there. I'm flummoxed as to why people follow me and I'm finding that the more people follow me, the less I seem to have to say. Maybe it's stage fright. I should just post a song link and get over it...I'm sure I will (because if you follow me there, you likely already know I often, way-too-often, suffer from foot in mouth stream of consciousness diarrhea...sorry about that).

But what's a poker playing talky girl to do when she's not playing poker, and not doing much of anything, really?

I know the end of the year is supposed to be a time of introspection. A time to think back on what was good and bad, and a time to set goals. But somehow, in the midst of getting the house ready, and having family over, and celebrating Christmas and then the New Year, I failed to make any time for all that. We're into day three here, people, and I still haven't really done it.

Instead, what has been on my mind is how I feel I have nothing to say...and this continual looping thread of a line - "We are what we repeatedly do."

I guess I'm (finally?) coming to the realization that some (much?) of what I've been repeatedly doing is, well, not so good. And I want to change that.

Everybody hates resolutions, right? But goals are important. Having missed my goal in November for NaNoWriMo, I know how important they are (and I also know one thing I'd most definitely like to do, repeatedly, better - follow through on goals *ahem*).

So...here's my stream-of-consciousness-wanting for myself in the New Year:

Eat better
Be present
Put down the iPhone (or the FaceBook or the Twitter or the TV or the game) more
Walk the loop, every day
Read
Read some more
Be quiet
Think
Give
Get involved
Sing
Write
Follow through

Live.

And live some more. Repeatedly.

And then, maybe, you'll (me) have something to say.

The specifics, the quantifiable objectives, I'll save for me. But yeah...I think that's the gist of what I'm aiming for this year.

How about you?

And by the way, Happy (belated) New Year!

Shane Schleger - The Poker (Proust) Q

2011-12-09T13:26:00.000-06:00

I can't pinpoint the exact year I recall seeing Shane "shaniac" Schleger on my TV screen coolly and calmly playing some amazing poker, but I do remember that it made me want to be just like him. First of all, he's incredibly good-looking, with more than a passing resemblance to this year's People Magazine's Sexiest Man Alive (Bradley Cooper)*.

Second, he's really smart. He was published at the age of 17 in the NYPress, New York City's edgy and independent alternative to established weeklies, and his skill at writing is well-illustrated by the compelling work he routinely shares on his blog, You Can't Miss What You Can't Measure. If you're short on time, don't miss this insightful piece he wrote for Slate Magazine on what Black Friday meant to him, and many top pros.

Last but not least, he's a prolific, and witty, tweeter (@ShaneSchleger). I know many think @BJNemeth wins the internetz when it comes to debate on the medium, but I say Shane gives BJ some stiff competition. Either way, you can't go wrong following either of them.

Despite the chilling aftereffects of Black Friday (Shane, like many top online pros, has relocated out of the US in order to continue playing - right now, he's grinding it out from Rosarita Beach, Mexico), Shane has had a great year both live and on-line. If you're into stats - you can see just how well here and here. In addition, he was added to the Team PokerStars roster this year and has already won a seat to the PokerStars Caribbean Adventure, taking place next month.

Like @kevmath and @MariaHo before him, Shane was a great sport when I asked if he would participate in my PPQ folly. (In case you're new to my blog, the Poker(Proust) Q (aka the "PPQ") is my modified take on the Vanity Fair Celebrity Proust Questionnaire). Even in the face of the chaos Black Friday has wrought within the industry, Shane was kind enough to share some insight into some of the things that make him tick.

What I like best about Shane is his willingness to say what he means and mean what he says. He doesn't just "go along to get along", which is pretty rare in this world, imo. I think he's great and hope you do, too.

With that, here's Shane...in his own words:

What is your idea of perfect happiness?
"Freedom from the need to feel free."

What makes you laugh?
Self-effacement.

Where do you feel most at home?
Next to an ocean, river or lake

Of what achievement in poker are you most proud? In life?
Not too proud of anything, just happy to be here.

What is your most treasured possession?
My bicycle.

What is your greatest fear?
Being broke.

What trait do you most deplore in yourself?
Lack of discipline.

What trait do you most deplore in others?
Lack of gratitude.

What is your greatest extravagance?
Overpriced casual clothing.

Like lawyers, poker players are often considered excellent liars. Outside of poker, on what occasion do you lie?
When my mother asks how I am doing.

When and where do you remembering being your happiest?
Probably summer camp

If you died and could come back as a person or thing, what would it be?
A fly on the wall.

What is your favorite journey?
The journey home.

What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
Probably honesty since plenty of people seem to get by without it.

Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
"Right on."

What is your greatest regret?
Not going to college.

Which talent would you most like to have?
Musical talent

What or who is the greatest love of your life?
I can't name just one.

What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Immobility.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I would manage my time better.

If you weren't a poker professional, what would you be?
I hope to have an answer to that one day.

What is your most striking characteristic?
No idea.

What do you most value in your friends?
Accessibility.

Who are your heroes in real life?
Bob Dylan, George Clinton, JD Salinger.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Henry Sugar

How would you like to die?
Drowning or in a natural disaster

What is your motto?
Maybe, "Think right and you can fly."

What is your favorite NLHE hand?
Aces

Who's a better rapper, Jeff Madsen or Prahlad Friedman?
Prahlad

Who *really* should've won The Apprentice, Annie Duke or Joan Rivers?
Joan Rivers is a complete legend, one of the hardest working people in show business.

Who is your favorite Micros character?
I like to stay at least 1 year behind pop culture trends and phenomena, so I haven't caught up with the Micros yet.

What is your favorite karaoke song? (if you don't karaoke, what's your favorite song)
Positively 4th Street

What is the best thing about Twitter and who is your favorite tweeter?
The interaction, the call and response. And the bots that @j_e_d created, especially @bot_marley and @ro_bot_dylan. I consider @j_e_d to be my twitter soul-mate for creating those bots.

Who is your favorite Main Event Champ?
Peter Eastgate

***

* hey - what's good for the goose...amirite ladies?

Give it Your Best Shot

2011-12-08T10:10:00.001-06:00

Love this!

School Portrait (2011) from Michael Berliner on Vimeo.

via

Siri Meets the Hillbillies

2011-12-06T10:46:00.001-06:00

I couldn't help myself...

***

Faith

2011-11-18T12:24:00.001-06:00

Photo by Texas State photographer, Wyman Meinzer

Out of the ivory palaces,

Into a world of woe,
Only His great eternal love
Made my Savior go.

- Ivory Palaces

When I was in high school, I sang this song with my grandmother at the Methodist church in our West Texas town, pop. ~8000. Nannie was in the choir and played piano. She played beautifully, and learned new music well into her sixties, until Alzheimers robbed her of the ability.

We sang a lot of duets together, and I have really fond memories of those times. I love Ivory Palaces, and Ave Maria. Amazing Grace is my favorite because the harmony is so beautiful. Nannie grew up a Baptist, but became a Methodist after marrying my granddad. Church and faith was a big part of her life and so it was a big part of mine.

Her parents, my Mamaw and Pa, were Baptist. For 25 years, Pa taught a Sunday school class for fifteen year old boys; and later, he held a weekly breakfast meeting at the First National Bank for men who didn’t like going to church, but who loved my great-grandfather. I guess it was a sort of fellowship, breakfast, Bible study.

My parents were really young when they got married, and so I was lucky to have known my grandparents and great-grandparents into my adulthood. My great-grand parents lived through my graduation from college, and I had Nannie and Grandad (Granddaddy Rabbit) through law school. I think I’d still have Grandad today if he hadn’t died in an airplane accident in 2000. He was an amazing man.

I can distinctly remember being in my Aunt Carol’s kitchen when I was pretty young, although I can’t remember my exact age, but still in elementary school. Nannie was there. Carol, too. I was asking about heaven and hell, about Jesus and what it meant to ‘be saved’.

These things were on my mind and I was scared. That week, there was a big revival going on down to the Baptist church. It seemed to me everyone in town was there, certainly a lot of my classmates. I don’t remember my parents or any cousins, or even my brothers being there. But I was there. And I can’t even remember why.

The church was so white, the carpet a worn, deep green, and there were these long, soft, purple pads in the pews. Unlike my church, there was just a bunch of sitting and singing – no kneeling and repetitive praying, incense or crucifixes. Communion was grape juice (Welches – my favorite!) and a real piece of bread, not a wafer. And a man in a suit and tie was preaching, with passion and conviction, about sin and hell and the saving power of Jesus Christ.

Somewhere along the tail end of his preaching, the organ started playing. All around me, kids were crying and he was asking people to come up and be saved. One by one, people were walking up, head bowed, hands clasped, some in tears, some with smiles. I remember it being a beautiful moment and it felt very real to me.

I was scared, too. I was moved by the words, by the actions of those around me, by the things I’d heard the man say, and by what I was feeling in my heart. I didn’t fully understand what I was doing, but I walked to the front of the church. While two people came up to me to pray, I remember a sense of observation. As though it wasn’t me standing there…or it was me, but I was watching it happen, observing it all over my own shoulder. I prayed the prayer and I ‘was saved’.

And it felt good! But it was kind of scary, too…this notion of heaven and hell. What did it all mean? I knew I didn’t want to spend eternity in a 'lake of fire'. As a kid, eternity is unfathomable. Today, eternity is unfathomable. But still, I asked…what kind of people are going to hell? Why would God want that, much less allow it? How did it all work? As Carol made dinner and Nannie helped, I asked these things while getting milk out of the fridge.

Every summer, I went to Bible School at the Methodist church. It was a blast - lots of arts and crafts and snacks and singing and coloring, and of course, a lot of my friends were there. Plus, this was a place I associated with my grandparents. Safe, familiar, familial.

The hallways of the classrooms have a distinct smell, of books (hymnals and Bibles), and crayons, and candles. And on one end, a kitchen where the church ladies make amazing homemade lunches and desserts. Oh, it’s a good smell. On the day we buried my grandfather, I was overcome by that smell. Summer’s home on college breaks I would attend Rotary lunches there with him and my dad. That smell…it’s embedded in my DNA, just as is the smell of a West Texas sky in the face of rain.

One summer, I think it was the summer before high school, I went to a Methodist church camp. I was nervous, because all the kids riding up to the camp were older than me and they were so cool. All the girls were beautiful and worldly and funny, and I was just this lump. Although I was nervous, I was also excited, because lump though I was, I was in the mix! That excitement turned cold in a heartbeat when I overheard someone say the cabins only had group showers.

GULP.

There was no way I was undressing in front of any of these goddesses, and so I didn’t shower the whole weekend. If anyone noticed, they were kind enough not to mention it.

Mom was incredulous, unpacking my clothes. “What do you mean you didn’t shower the whole trip?” she questioned. At that point, though, what could she do? I ended the weekend with a long soak in the tub, glad to be home, and we never discussed it further that I can recall.

Other than that mortification and failure in personal hygiene, nothing about the weekend stands out.

I was a late bloomer in a lot of ways. I was in junior high before I realized why all my friends were so concerned with their hair and make-up and clothes, and boys. I still didn’t comprehend why I was not.

But, the why was starting to sink in. And it scared me. I didn’t want to be that way. Everything I knew about being that way meant I was going to be one of those people who ended up in the lake of fire.

And so, I spent more time studying the Bible and looking for loopholes. Something…anything…that would either change me or provide a way out.

As a family, we went to church every Sunday – without fail. But if you’ve ever been to a Catholic church, you know that it is always the same, week in and week out. Unlike all that singing and sitting and clapping and praying those other churches do, a Catholic Mass has a distinct and timeless order to it.

Having had a taste of how it was done elsewhere, as well as struggling with these feelings growing inside me, I rebelled against my parents and Mass every Sunday. I distinctly remember fighting with my mom one evening, in church, during a Veneration of the Cross ceremony.

All heated whispers:

“I’m not going up there, Mom.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not. That is a statue. It’s not Jesus. And I’m not kissing the feet of that statue. That’s idolatry, Mom.”

She could not sway me. As she and my dad and brothers walked up to the front of the church with the rest of the congregation, I walked to the back and watched from the door. Smug. Holier than thou. A know-it-all brat.

During this time, I had begun going to church with my friend, Marlene. I played guitar and she played piano and we both loved Amy Grant and God and music and singing and going to church and by our senior year, we were writing our own stuff, which we thought, no, we KNEW, was amazing.

To this day, I think my mom believes something was going on between me and Marlene. But there wasn’t. We were just kindred souls, looking for meaning and answers in our own way. Marlene really did love Jesus, and has gone on to be a teacher, still performing and playing and preaching.

My ‘preaching’ carried on to my freshman year in college. On one hand, I was the silly, always laughing and up for an adventure, goofball. Surprising, I know. On the other, I was questioning everything, because I was deeply questioning myself.

And I was struggling with the answers my self was telling me at every turn.

Away from home, I didn’t have to go to church every Sunday if I didn’t want to. Instead of partying or drinking, I gravitated to what I knew and ended up very involved in Campus Crusade for Christ. Still playing guitar and singing all the familiar hymns and LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT because Dyonna and Michele were there and godilovedbeingaroundthem.

So that’s why, when my family, including my parents and granddad and brothers came up one weekend to visit, my dorm room door was covered in scripture and pictures of starving kids from Ethiopia.

And it’s why, in the course of holding Bible Study one night, it was perfectly understandable that Michele and I would continue our discussion after everyone had left, under the covers and in the dark and ohmygodwhatishappening.

And reconciling that has been a lifelong endeavor.

I still question everything. Before, I questioned and clung and judged because I was afraid of who and what I was. Nannie (or maybe it was Carol or my mom) had a beautiful needlepoint piece on faith. I can’t remember it in its entirety, but a portion of the inscription read “Faith is the belief in things unseen…”

That’s hard (and, let’s be honest, CRAY CRAY).

That whole “loving your neighbor as you love yourself” thing is, too.

Like the hallways of that Methodist rectory and the scent of rain in a West Texas sky, these things are embedded in me. And they matter.

I have come to terms with who and what I am; and, for the most part, I am content. Still...I question and rail and judge and argue every day.

And these things are kicking up because my dad has cancer. Again.

He was in remission for a good while, but it’s come back. And every day for the past few weeks, and every day for the next month or two, he is undergoing radiation. Every day, five days a week, my parents carve out two hours. Dad, in the room getting poked and prodded and zapped, while mom prays The Chaplet of Divine Mercy.

And during this time, I’ve been going to choir practice with him and Mass on Sundays, where we sing.

And sometimes while we sing, tears roll down my face. And I am moved.

What I believed when I was younger is different from what I believe today. When asked to reconcile being gay to a belief in God (and, after all, being raised inTexas, I get this question a lot), I would always say that I am not presumptuous enough to know the mind of God, and I’d be reminded of a verse I clung to one night, in tears, really just not wanting to have to answer the question. It’s from Micah (6:8):

And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God.

Although I know my dad would say otherwise, I don’t have the answers.

I have only this moment, and the hope that my dad will get better and I will have more years with him and Mom in my life.

And faith. The belief in things unseen, and the never-ending struggle towards reconciliation.

***

RENAMED BLOG POST

2011-11-16T08:57:00.001-06:00

Edit 1/7/2012 - Dear visitors from:

SAUDI ARABIA

ABU DHABI

PAKISTAN

INDIA; and,

IRAQ

Nine out of ten hits to this page come from your countries. Instead of searching the web for things like "SEX" you could try banning Burkas and valuing your women a little more. Just a thought.

Now back to the original post:

The other day, while I should have been stringing words together and increasing my NaNoWriMo word count, I was surfing the internet. Without purpose, mindlessly checking out my Twitter feed, looking at Brandi Carlile YouTube videos, drifting and wasting time. I still haven't come to the end of the internet, even though I did run into this (thanks to @SusanMoon).

During this extended writer-malaise, I finished Caitlin Moran's funny and thought-provoking book, How to Be a Woman, courtesy a fine recommendation from @KaraOTR.

In it, Moran opens up a great "Pandora's Box of Minge," sounding off on wabs, and lesbian vampire dogs, and lap-dancing, and children (or not), and so much more. This is not a book to be read at night, in bed, while your love tries to sleep next to you. Unless you, unlike me, can withstand guilt-free the exhausted one-eyed dagger stare sigh-turn-rollover because - for the third time in fifteen minutes - you have startled the dog and shaken the bed trying to stifle your laughter with a pillow. I am incapable of the silent, motionless inner guffaw; and, hence, will never be mistaken for this woman (h/t @JenShahade).

During a break from Moran's book, I came across an interesting thread on 2+2's That's What She Said, in which the question was raised: "which woman best/worst represents the poker world?" There are some terrific people who participate in this forum and some great responses came out of this discussion. An array of viewpoints was shared on what makes a good representative - skill, contacts in the industry, personality, and *sigh* looks.

Familiar names were raised - Duke, Scott, Gazes, Selbst, Ho, Boeree, Harman, Johnson, Enright, Obrestad, Coren, Tilly, Liebert, Rousso - and some interesting exchanges, particularly about Selbst, came to light. More on that later.

Yesterday, I came across a blog post by Lee Davy (@Chingster23) in which some similar issues were raised. I initially balked when I read his statement that "there are no threads on the poker forum asking who the greatest female poker players are," but he's focusing on The Hendon Mob forum and not "forums" in general. I balked because over at TWSS, some of the greatest female players are posting AND discussing this very question. Also, we know it's only a matter of time.

Sadly, the gist of Davy's post is this: "if you are a woman, the beautiful face and a great figure will give you the edge over an average looking girl with a brain the size of Stephen Hawking" because nobody cares who the greatest female player is, "[a]ll the poker industry is interested in is if they fall into the "will" or "will not" category."

I really tried to give the benefit of the doubt here...maybe the question pertains to "will or will not" win a major. Or get a sponsorship. Or....oh, who am I kidding. You know as well as I do what the question really asks.*

Back to Selbst...

After reading Davy's post and re-reading the TWSS thread, I realize I made a mistake in my comments regarding Selbst. My mistake was I opined that Selbst is the best female representative of the poker world because of her results and her ability, but she is inappropriately hindered because people are idiots and freaked out by the fact that she does not fit society's standard wrt looks and the traditional female (whatever that is).

I was trying to make a point about the belief I (and apparently Davy and a lot of other people) have about the world. Conforming to society's standards for attractiveness matters. Disproportionately, however, that requirement weighs heaviest on women. We have to look equally good in a bikini, in the buff, in the office, in the kitchen, at the poker table, pretty much everywhere. Because, after all, it's not how good we are in the office or the kitchen or at the poker table, it's whether we "will" or "will not".

Think of Ginger Rogers if it helps - everything you fellas do, we (more often than not) do backwards...and in high heels.**

I love a good spread as much as the next person. Honestly, I do. But seriously, until I get to see some caffeinated meat-stick*** a la Patrik Antonius or Doyle Brunson or Christian Charder or Shaun Deeb or Daniel Negreanu or Scotty Nguyen or Tony Guoga or David Peat or Mike Matusow or Phil Hellmuth or Dennis Philips or Greg Raymer or Jamie Gold or Ben Lamb or Pius Heinz in PokerBoy, we really need to say bollocks to this notion that "women in the game, while also seeking those same laurels (needing to win EPT's, WPT's and WSOP bracelets in order to be ranked as a true great) will also be equally as aware that if their skills desert them that they can rely on their sexual attractiveness to help push them along."****

Moran truly said it best:

I have a rule of thumb that allows me to judge - when time is pressing, and one needs to make a snap judgment - whether some sexist bullshit is afoot. And it's asking this question:

'Are the men doing it? Are the men worrying about this as well? Is this taking up the men's time? Are the men told not to do this, as it's 'letting the side down'? Are the men having to write bloody books about this exasperating, retarded, time-wasting bullshit? Is this making [Daniel Negreanu*] insecure?'

Almost always, the answer is: 'No. The boys are not being told they have to be a certain way. They're just getting on with stuff.'

Hear, hear.

***

* I'm not implying these are Davy's personal views and this is not a judgment of him or his post. He's a savvy and creative writer I enjoy reading. Also, I could be wrong as to what the question is asking. I am not the sharpest tool in the shed.

** Bob Thaves quote about Fred Astaire: "Sure he was great, but don't forget Ginger Rogers did everything he did backwards...and in high heels."

*** I have no idea what a caffeinated meat-stick is, I just think it sounds hilarious.

**** Another quote from Davy's article.

***** This name/player is obviously interchangeable and dependent on your proclivities. Also, stop cringing.

The Table Captain

2011-10-31T22:34:00.001-05:00

I don’t like confrontation, but once it occurs, I have the unfortunate inability to keep quiet.

When I was younger, my mother tried to teach me that sometimes it really is for the best to remain silent…that there are some things better left unsaid/unexamined, or just plain ignored. My mother, however, has the enviable ability to “go invisible” when things get heated. It helps her avoid uncomfortable situations, but she didn’t pass that gift down to me. And, over the years, I’ve learned it’s just not a trait that comes natural for me.

I like to think I’ve got the gist of the lesson down pretty good; but, the sad fact remains that I’ve still got a lot to learn.

Just how much was highlighted for me this weekend when a brief, strange scene unfolded at the poker tables. Like a bottle rocket, my fuse was lit and my mouth took over – sending confrontation on a high burning arc that trailed off just as abruptly with one last sparkly outburst. When it was over, I was spent. But I also felt good. And I’ll tell you why…

Now - you might have heard that I went on a degen bender this weekend. And it’s true, I did. I have to thank @PokerVixen, @katewrightson, @thekeylime, and @WriterJen for all of the wondrous goodness it was. If you want to know anything about the true Vegas hook-up, I promise you cannot go wrong making friends with @PokerVixen. The “taking care of us” she engendered was matchless, and I had a super blast (thank you, Lori! And Jen, Kate, and Amy!).

When you think of Vegas degeneracy, you might imagine dollar bills and copious amounts of liquor, scantily clad strippers, and the occasional motor boating of said stripper cleavage. I’m not going to say there was none of that (or that there was!), but I do want to paint a clear picture of what Vegas degeneracy consists of for me.

It generally begins and ends with me sitting my ass in a chair at a table where $1/$2 NLHE is being played. And that’s usually where it ends, too – whether the trip is a two-day job, or a week-er. That’s right. The truth is out, I’m really boring. I am the female version of Dusty “LeatherAss”Schmidt (ok, without untold mirrions, but still…). The only liquor that passes my lips almost always comes with dinner and the only cleavage motor boating that occurs, well…if I told you, I’d have to kill you.

So, I’m sitting at a lovely $1/$2 NLHE table at the glorious Nugget. It’s 7:45 in the morning, hours after my unfortunate bluffing debacle with @PokerGrump’s famous 4-2 hand, @WriterJen’s running over of seasoned regulars, and @thekeylime’s winning of @PokerVixen’s friends’ Halloween party tourney.

I’ve been sitting at this table for 6 hours straight. I’m back at the Nugget only because I’ve outlasted the Binion’s game. Already short-handed with only 6 players, it broke after I won a $300+ pot with a nut flush from the snarly chip leader (who was playing 99.5% of all hands with a minimum $15 open raise). Raking that pot helped me regain that which I’d lost earlier to those poker beasts Grump and Jen.

Back at the Nugget, I’m the lone female and every man at the table is a gentleman. Some are quiet. Some are loud and drunk. All are sweet. We are laughing and playing and I am steadily, slowly, growing my stack.

Tex – a 7 foot, bearded oil man from Texas – had drunk countless Old Fashioneds during the time he sat with us. At 4:00am, his wife came down and I heard her whisper in his ear, “Honey, you told me to come get you at 4:00 if you hadn’t come to bed yet.” Her grey hair was mussed and she clutched her jacket like a bathrobe, sleep still in her eyes. He gave her a kiss, but she went back to the room alone. He was sitting in front of $800 at the time.

6:30am rolled around before he finally went to the room, empty-handed save for a clutch of pants in one hand, and a handful of cherries in the other that he carefully plucked into his mouth, one by one, as he walked away, laughing heartily at our fond farewells and cries to buy back in.

It was early morning poker and the room had been down to one table for hours. At 7am, a short, spectacled man with hair the color and texture of white cotton candy sat down in Tex’s empty seat. Within minutes, the dynamic of the table changed from one of respected competition to mutiny. I shuddered for a moment, imagining my Piggy to this guy’s Roger in a Nugget/poker version of Lord of the Flies.

It all started, right as “Roger” was sitting down, when the 10-seat reached into the muck to rabbit hunt. He had been asking the dealer to run the hand after the 6-seat had raked the pot. In hours of play, it was the first time such a request had been made. Because he’s not supposed to allow the hunt, the dealer just spread out the remaining deck, but in a look-the-other-way manner that allowed 10-seat to pick out and look at what would’ve been the river card.

The whole time 10-seat was asking the dealer for the rabbit card, “Roger” was aggressively and LOUDLY saying “NO!” and “You can’t do that! We have rules!!” each gibe articulated with an angry finger-pointing at both dealer and 10-seat.

We’d been having a blast and 10-seat was oblivious. He reached in, turned the card over, and dealer then gathered and placed the cards into the shuffler, moving on to deal the next hand.

Roger jumped up, knocked his chair over, and said, “oh hell no, that’s not right. I want your job! I’m gonna have your job!” He pounded the table one last time and ran to the manager stand where we all watched him do what can only be described as tattle-tell. I mucked my hand, and watched this grown man, jowls flapping with each finger-point, berate the manager, the dealer, the table, and the entire world, it seemed. He sat back down after a several minutes of giving the poor manager an earful. A few orbits later, the manager dutifully came by and gave the dealer a weak but quick reminder to “just deal.”

Dealer did his job and admirably never skipped a beat. The rest of the table, however, was fairly undone. Not so much at that one incident, but because Roger then proceeded to share his views on life and poker, often at a player’s expense, hand after hand, orbit after orbit.

I took a break and went to the restroom.

When I came back, the entire table had erupted. Roger was standing up and again employing the aggressive finger point, but this time to the 7 seat, who was raking a huge pot and LOUDLY giving back as good as he was getting.

Roger ran back to the manager stand, this time demanding, “I want to talk to YOUR boss!”

I have no idea what the fight was about because I’d missed it, but I could ascertain that Roger wasn’t even in the hand, 7-seat had sucked out on someone, and when he retorted back to one of Roger’s gibes, Roger didn’t like it.

I muck again, and watch Roger tattle-tell to two managers this time. At the tirade’s conclusion, Manager #2 begins a slow walk of observation outside the poker room as Roger makes his way back to his seat. Once he sits, I discreetly get up and walk out to Manager #2 and tell her, “You know what, we were sitting here for 6+ hours playing, with no issues, until this guy showed up. Since he sat down, it’s been 45 minutes of non-stop cry babying. I don’t know what he told you, but he’s the issue, not these other guys.”

See?? For the life of me, I can’t keep quiet…

Manager #2 said “No worries, we’re just watching, if it gets out of hand, he’ll be removed.”

A few orbits later, 7-seat gets into a $600+ hand with the 2-seat (the 2-seat is on my immediate left and Roger’s immediate right). As the all-in is announced, Roger loudly starts cheering for 7-seat to bust, “Yeah, take him out! Take this sucker out! He’s an idiot!”

2-seat is heedless, watching rapt as his hand plays out. 2-seat has the nut flush on the flop, 7-seat has a set that boats on the river, and he rakes the pot. As he does, he’s loudly berated by Roger. He tries to respond reasonably, but Roger won’t quit, and that makes him mad. Pretty soon, they’re going at it pretty heavily and Roger starts telling him to “Shut up! I’m the table captain here and you’re an idiot. I AM THE TABLE CAPTAIN!”

That was pretty much it for me…

“Sir, no…YOU need to shut up. Everybody at this table has been playing together for HOURS until you showed up and since you’ve been here it’s been nothing but us watching a GROWN MAN ACT LIKE A CRY BABY. You are a grown adult man acting like a CRY BABY. YOU ARE NOT THE TABLE CAPTAIN and you need to SHUT YOUR MOUTH and play poker and quit acting like a cry baby. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Through several “yeahs” and grunts of approval, Roger responds like a champ, “No, YOU shut up!”

I could feel myself shaking, because I HAD JUST TOLD A COMPLETE STRANGER TO SHUT UP, “Sir, you are a grown man. Quit acting like a cry baby and SHUT YOUR MOUTH. You are NOT the table captain here. *I* AM THE CAPTAIN OF THIS TABLE. You need to SIT DOWN, SHUT UP, and PLAY POKER, or you need to find something else to do.”

BOOM!

I’m not kidding. It happened. I said that shit.

The whole time, the sweet, elderly, female dealer is all “No, no, ok, everyone stop! Stop it. Right. Now.” But no one can hear her and 7-seat is still racking chips and then all I can hear is the deal and the next orbit begins. Everyone silent, puffed up and indignant.

Cards are dealt, I muck and kinda sit there in shock, like “wtf just happened and did I really say that and what is that noise? Oh, that’s actual blood rushing to my brain and my heart beating like a thousand firecrackers blasting at once…”

So I get up and walk to the bar area and just kind of take a breather, as a cocktail waitress and one of the dealers comes up to me to talk about what just happened. I grab a water and cool off for a moment and see Roger walk off, leaving his chips on the table.

With Roger absent, I come back to my seat at the conclusion of the hand, and apologize to the table and the dealer, “Y’all, I’m really sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m going to apologize to him when he comes back and that was…” and was met with “Girl! Don’t apologize to that man! We were having fun til he showed up!” and “If you apologize to him, I will totally lose respect for you!” along with some curious looks from some of the quieter ones.

A short time later, Roger sits back down and routine, every day poker returns to the Nugget. Roger is quieter now, but soon starts talking the ear off the unfortunate 2-seat with tales of being a veterinarian (because he’d served in Vietnam…yes, he said ‘veternarian’, even after the 2 and 4-seats tried to explain to him the difference) and the virtues of Asian females, because they are “so polite and submissive” (his words, used even after the 4-seat was replaced by an Asian female).

45-minutes later, the female dealer returns. After a few orbits, she leans over and whispers “It worked, hon. He’s shut up now, ain’t he?”

Outwardly, I know I couldn’t help a slight grin. Inside, I was in full-on Cheshire cat grin mode.

A little while later, the crew (@PokerVixen, @katewrightson, @thekeylime) came by and tried to get me to meet a friend for breakfast, but…well, the game was getting good again. As they walk off, I’m dealt 8s and flop trips, and scoop a $500+ pot. I took that as a sign that no, I wasn’t going to hell for forcefully, and quite intimately, saying SHUT UP to a complete and total stranger.

By the time Jen came by for breakfast, I had the biggest stack I think I’ve ever amassed - I bought into that game for $200 and walked out with $895.

Over breakfast, I thought back on all the lessons my Mom’s tried to teach me over the years. I recognize there’s a time to be quiet and a time to speak out. I'm sure the game would have continued just fine if I had kept my mouth shut. It might have. And, someone might've also gotten shanked. I'm just saying.

I’m not proud of my outburst, but I can say I learned there is quite a lot of merit in bluntly staking out that whole Table Captain mentality…I’m just not so sure I ever want to obtain it in such a way again.

Several hours later, I visited the room again for a few hands at a different table one last time before meeting up with the Twitter crew for goodbyes. Roger and 7-seat were still going at it, but only over cards. And their stacks had clearly changed hands a time or two. By the time I left, it looked as though Roger was getting the better end of the deal.

As I walked out, Roger caught my eye and nodded. I smiled and nodded back. “I’ll see you next time, Captain. Keep a seat warm for me.”

He smiled and said, “I will.”

(Ok, so that last part didn’t happen, but I thought it sounded nice and kinda wish it had.)

Oh Vegas, I do love you so.

***

Love

2011-10-21T09:34:00.001-05:00

Spotify - all you can eat, baby.

2011-10-20T17:13:00.000-05:00

Artist: Charla Hayen

Sit through previews at the movie theater.

Step into an elevator.

Walk into a grocery store.

Flip channels on TV.

Wait on hold.

Sometimes it's filler you don't even notice...just cheesy muzak or classical strings droning in the background (or maybe you do notice it and just try to drown it out). Other times, though, you'll catch a lyric, a rising melody, and you're transported to another time and place.

I love music so much that I always want to know what other people are listening to because I feel like I can tell something about them by knowing (a) just how into music they really are and (b) what music they like. In fact, instead of business cards, I wish we'd all carry "My Top Ten Songs of All Time" around as calling cards. If nothing else, it would be an interesting way to learn something new about a friend, and maybe score some new music.

Over the years, I've listened on vinyl, 8-track, cassette, CD, and iTunes. But, I've lost my library a time or two along the way and it sucks. Has that ever happened to you? If so, you know it's the worst.

Seems today, all you need is an internet connection to listen to your favorite tunes (I sound like a geriatric even writing that sentence, but it's true) and the very best resource to do that is Spotify. If you're not using it - check. it. out. I'm serious. Don't keep reading - go sign up for it and get your playlists going (and then share them with me and I'll do likewise!)

My free trial period to Spotify's Premium service ended yesterday. I didn't even notice, though, because as soon as I spent a week playing with the program, surfing music, and creating playlists - I was hooked. I insta-signed up to keep my Premium service going (at a cost of $10/mo, $120/year) and I'm not looking back. Forward, maybe, because who knows how we'll listen to music five years from now, but I really don't see how Spotify will or can be topped.

iTunes is adopting a similar approach to storage via its iCloud service, but unlike Spotify (and yes I know this is a technicality given that I am paying $10/mo for Spotify), if you want to listen to the entirety of a song via iTunes, you pretty much have to own it, and to "own" (which is laughable, because if your device crashes, there goes what you supposedly owned, unless it was completely and religiously backed-up) it, you have to pay for it.

With Spotify, yes (if you go the Premium route) you'll pay $10/mo for your music, BUT it's all you can eat, baby, and any time/any where. And, if you eat like me, you know those $1 singles for new tunes that you want to add to your catalog anytime you get bored with what you're hearing can add up dangerously quick.

Even if you don't want to go that route, but like the idea of free and legal music - you can do the free version of Spotify. That means, so long as you have an internet connection, you can listen to your music. With the Premium, you get all that whether you have the connection or not.

The greatest thing about it, besides all the music (and sure, there are some catalogs not yet available, but if the Beatles can eventually get to iTunes, the White Stripes will eventually make it to Spotify) is that it syncs - like magic - with my mobile device AND my iTunes, and across every platform on which I listen to music!

In other words - Spotify is replacing my iTunes. I'm sure iTunes will serve as a complement, but seriously - unless it's music I've just got to have and it's not on Spotify (yet), I really just don't see the need to try to use them both.

Seriously, people. It's amazing.

I didn't start this post wanting to go on and on about Spotify, but maybe there's someone out there who's catalog just crashed. If that's you - check it out, you won't be sorry.

Test Blogging From My New Phone

2011-10-16T20:02:00.001-05:00

So I abandoned my BlackBerry today. I wasn't planning on it, but I'm a twitter fiend and I like to add pics to a lot of my tweets. Somewhere in the past few days, the camera on the BB broke. Possibly when I dropped it for the umpteenth time. Or maybe I took a picture of myself, crashed that system completely!

I was a shoo in for the new iPhone. But I dropped by my neighbor's first, to make sure the little one could hang out while I shopped. He mentioned the Samsung Galaxy S II and I had to check it out

I'm glad I did!

Got lots of great advice from the twitterverse and cnet was a great resource. In the end, the consumer reviews were raving. And when I compared all that with the price (about a $400 difference!), well - the Samsung won out.

The one thing I was worried about was the apps...so far, no issue. I even found a Blogger app, and that's what I'm writing this post from.

AwesomeSauce.

14 day return policy, so, we'll see if I feel the same after 2 weeks.

So far? So good. :-)

Talking Heads

2011-10-07T11:48:00.000-05:00

I love music, but sometimes when I get in the car by myself, I want to hear talking. It may be a by-product of working alone.

But, absent just picking up a newscaster reporting on the local news, there aren't many good choices out there for talk radio.

Lots of stations just pick up a national feed, like Fox, where you can hear the likes of Sean Hannity or Rush Limbaugh or Glen Beck or that Savage guy.

But I don't really like to be preached to or fed an agenda (or harangued, in the case of that Savage guy. Apt name, btw). Still, I listen to them occasionally because it makes me think.

Most of what I think, though, is that there's got to be a special place in hell for people like this. What purpose do they serve, except to sell advertising?

I mean, when I think about it, these people are paid a lot of money to give *their* opinions about the news of the day. And people listen to them. And often believe them. And then start repeating what they've heard as if it's gospel truth.

And it's not.

It's just a talking head. With an agenda. Selling time to companies with their own agenda (typically nothing more than to make money).

And all they do is foment unrest and dissent and anger and division, and, in many cases, hatred.

Words words words, blah blah blah, opinion opinion opinion...sigh.

The other day I was moved enough to call in to the local AM station. The talking head was going on about the ongoing Occupy Wall Street protest. He was berating the people out there and a guy called in who was supposedly a financial planner down in the South Texas. South Texas didn't have a lot to add, except to say he opposed Mr. Talking Head's position. So, Mr. TH asked, "what specifically are these protesters protesting? They're just a bunch of college kids with no concrete goals or plans or jobs and they want to be handed everything on a platter? Communists!" or something to that effect.

South Texas didn't really have any good responses, couldn't give specifics, and by the end of the 3-5 minute call, South Texas was agreeing with Mr. TH.

So, I called in. I was a little nervous because I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I at least had some specifics in mind.

Mr. TH took my call and I said, "well, I kind of take issue with your response to South Texas. You asked for specifics, and what I think these Occupy Wall Street guys are protesting is the Federal Reserve and the fractional banking system and..."

And, click, he'd let me say that much and cut me off to say "Yeah, they want the government to print more money to fund their special interest causes and who's behind all that?? Obama - who do they think's paying for all this?!? That's right people, they want to take from the rich without working for anything on their own!!"

Um. What??

So. What I learned is, don't call in to a Talking Head show if you have an actual concrete specific that could be argued logically because THs do not wish to be logical. They wish to be right, without challenge.

Where do we go to debate ideas any more? Is rational discussion a thing of the past?

*insert sad sigh here*

***

The Importance of Dads

2011-09-30T12:02:00.000-05:00

Twenty years ago, I was a different person. I was driving 50 minutes one-way every day of the work week to a dead end job that a monkey could do with its eyes shut. And some days, I did.

At home, I was involved with someone who was more lost than me. I’m a romantic and love the idea of love, so even though the relationship was just as dead-end as the job, I hung on for a sahara desert stretch of time that eventually turned my heart to dust.

In the middle of that lost time, I was so bored that I started playing guitar, writing really crappy/sappy lurve songs, and gigged occasionally in really run down bars in seedy parts of Dallas where Eagles covers and Melissa Etheridge played well. It would’ve been an ideal time to smoke lots of dope and coast. I had the coasting part down, but never did get into the dope smoking. Something about not being in school any more made it feel too degenerate for even my rock-bottom self to stomach.

I was living several hours away from my parents at the time and since they were none too happy with my living arrangements, I rarely saw them and spoke with them only under the direst of circumstances, usually compelled by my need for money.

I got myself into many a dire circumstance during that time. It’s like my subconscious self was doing everything in its power to destroy the carefully constructed semblance of sanity I’d built up around me so that I’d open my eyes and run like hell. For way too long, I kept that subconscious battering ram at bay with duct tape, bailing wire, and string.

At the time, I was driving an awesome old hand-me-down from my brother, which is pitiful given that I’m four years older than my brother. He was still in undergrad, working his way to medical school, with a baby on the way, a wife, a house, and a near 4.0 GPA.

The car was a 1987 Nissan Pulsar NX, aka “the Nix.” A two door, t-top job that was super cool to drive and had a stereo that was the best part of my daily commute. With hindsight, I understand why Boston’s “Feelin’ Satisfied” and “Peace of Mind” were on auto-repeat during my commute. I wasn’t and I was looking for some.

A fender bender during one of the day’s commute left my Nix drivable, but barely. The hood of the Nix had been damaged so badly that it wouldn’t close all the way. As many country girls are wont to do, I just duct taped and bailing wired that sucker down. Tight.

Or so I thought.

One day, as I was driving the back country road from my home to the interstate, my hood flew right off the car.

Whoosh! One minute it was there, the next it was a mangled blue blur careening over the top of the car like a broken kite attempting flight. I just knew it had smashed into whoever was unfortunate enough to be behind me. I gaped open mouthed into the rear view mirror expecting a pile-up. Instead, a cloud of dust was rising from the side of the road where the crunched cover was rocking, up-side down.

I remember slowing down to pull over and the guy behind me passing. I didn’t want to look. I could feel his eyes, I was mortified. Of course, I looked.

He looked back with blame, each shake of his head a reproach, “girl, what were you thinking?!” And I thought of my dad.

Well, I’d jerry-rigged the hood in such a fashion because I had no money to get it fixed in the first place. But desperate times call for desperate measures and so I set to work coming up with a way to handle the situation without having to call my folks for money. Instead of actually doing something, I made a list of business ideas I could start. I’m glad I no longer have that list because they were all horrible, but one I remember.

In Texas at this time, and certainly where I lived, there was a lot of construction work taking place. And where you see construction, there are always hungry, hard-working men. I’d often see two to three dented and nasty looking trucks surrounded by throngs of workers during my commute. They were selling food and no matter how ratty the vehicle, it was usually getting takers.

I knew absolutely nothing about this business, but I figured if I could come up with a solid business plan, I could get a loan for a vehicle and inventory and give it a go.

It was during this planning phase that I had a call from my parents. I still hadn’t done any research on my plan, so, of course, that made it a perfectly good time to bring it up with Dad. It kind of went like this:

“So Dad, I think I have a good business idea!”

“*Silence* What do you mean?”

“Well, I think I’m going to start a business!”

“You’ve already got a job. What do you mean, start a business?”

“Well, there’s all this construction in town and I’m thinking of getting one of those trucks and selling food to construction workers?”

“You mean like those girls that wear skimpy clothes and go out to job sites?”

“Huh?”

“Are you talking about a roach coach?!”

“What?”

“A roach coach!!”

“Dad, what’s a roach coach? I’m talking about a truck that sells sandwiches and drinks and chips and stuff to construction workers!”

I’m sure he asked about financing and numbers and inventory and costs and WHAT THE HELL I WAS THINKING and WHERE DID I THINK I WAS GOING TO GET THE MONEY, but all I can remember from the conversation was the utter horror and humiliating disdain with which my dad said, “roach coach?!” and “girls in skimpy clothes!!”

And that, dear readers, is pretty much how I think most decisions to apply to law school are made.

***

In Which I Whip My Hair Back and Forth...

2011-09-29T18:42:00.000-05:00

When I was a kid, the Scholastic Book Fair was something I always looked forward to. I loved poring over every page of the colorful 4-page flyer and reading the teaser description for books, all of which looked so interesting. Plus, it was fun haggling with Mom and trying to convince her as to *why* I needed all those books and *what a good deed* it was to be buying them (after all, it’s partly a school fundraiser, library/classroom stocker).

So I was excited this week when bitty one emptied her back pack and her 2011 version of Scholastic came fluttering out. It wasn’t long, though, before that 2011 version got crossways with my 1974 memories of same.

I thought I might see some Beverly Cleary, or E.B. White, or Wilson Rawls, or even that good old standby Theodor Geisel.

Instead, I saw several descriptions like these:

“Eleven year old David dreams of becoming a TV star. With a little help from his pet hamster, he creates “Talk Time” videos which he posts on YouTube and becomes an internet sensation.” …He learns some tough lessons, however, when a not-so-accidental video of him in his undies goes viral; namely, the value of a dollar, the importance of a PayPal account for processing credit card payments, and the over-arching need for good domain name selection. Will David make it to high school without being snatched by a skeevy, middle aged, married and balding internet troll or will his parents shut off DWTS in time to GET THEIR 11 YEAR OLD KID OFF THE YOUTUBE VIDEO MAKING INTERNET?

And…

“More than anything, Anjali wants to become a celebrity chef, but her parents think her passions are beneath her. Can she push past family beliefs and make her dream of a cooking reality TV show come true?” …because God knows that the only way to be a *true* success in this world is to BE A REALITY TV STAR, even if you do cook better than Paula Deen.

Or…

“Just 10 years old, Willow Smith already has starred in TV and movie roles, released a hit single and video, and won an NAACP award for outstanding new artist. Find out all about this rising new star.” …who is ONLY FAMOUS BECAUSE SHE HAS NOT ONE BUT TWO CELEBRITY PARENTS WHO ARE PIMPING HER OUT SOLELY BECAUSE THEY HAVE BEEN SUED BY PARENTS OF CHILDREN ALL ACROSS THE COUNTRY AFTER SAID CHILDREN REPEATEDLY whipped their hair back and forth causing multiple neck fractures, contusions, dental fragmentations, and, in at least one case, leprosy.

Also…

“These four best friends have a talent for getting in trouble. Will their smooth moves land them a sweet gig, or will they find themselves in a big time mess?” …if by “mess” you mean represented by an overweight, track suit and chain wearing, more than middle-aged hair dying, sex-crime having Manager who records their every move while on the bus (even when they are unawares, which is usually in the shower or in the bathroom or asleep) for the sake of the career he keeps telling them they’re going to have, then yes. They will find themselves in quite the mess.

Sigh…

I kind of quit reading the descriptions after that.

I recognize finding that elusive catalyst that sparks a child’s interest in reading is always a good thing. And, I’m all for that. But why does the so-called catalyst have to be so connected to TV (reality, at that) or the internet? Kids get so much of that as it is, they gotta get it from books, too?

ARGGH!

I’m old. The world is changing and my daughter’s part of a whole new generation. And she needs to be prepared.

But, not yet.

Not yet.

***

Date Night When You Have Kids

2011-09-26T11:40:00.001-05:00

Before my daughter was born, I worked in an office with floor to ceiling windows, co-workers, a break room, and an IT department that catered to our every technology need.

I remember a conversation with a co-worker one morning, as I waited for the magic coffee machine to create my perfect cup of morning joe.

"Kids are great. They are, but...just make sure you make time for each other. My husband and I try to have date nights, but it's hard. It's important, though, so do it. Ok? Do it!" said Elizabeth, with a touch of what I thought sounded like desperation.

I think I laughed and said ok and I'm sure I did an inside eye-roll at the thought of needing to schedule a date night.

Fast forward six years and I'm no longer eye-rolling, unless you count the eye-roll I give myself thinking on that memory.

Date nights are important. So if you're setting sail from that shore I left six years ago, let me share something with you: "Make sure you make time for each other. Date nights are hard to make time for but they're important, ok? So do it. OK? Do it!"

And remember - date nights are not supposed to look like this:

Otherwise, your date night ends up costing more than any casual Friday night date the two of you would have spent on each other!

Sadly, having just received an email from school, I speak from experience...

Come on!!!

Sigh...