Missing Out On Another Trend

Ok, I've been hearing bits and pieces for years, but now it's coming from all directions, constantly, and I can't escape it.

I blame the Hawaiians. Seriously--WTF?

I'm talking about SPAM, not the email kind that promises you a bigger johnson or riches from Nigeria, I'm talking about the pork by-product stuff that comes in a square can, that staple of Polynesian culture that I always assumed was most popular with the our-house-came-with-tires crowd. Seriously, when I think of SPAM, I picture dirty little barefoot kids playing in the yard next to the up-on-blocks-Camaro wearing only a diaper and a Kool-Aid mustache.

I don't know why, but it seems that lately, SPAM has gained in popularity and lost some of the stigma surrounding it. I'm still not on that particular bandwagon, nor do I anticipate ever jumping on, and I don't think it'll become mainstream until 1) I see it on the hood of a Nascar Sprint-Cup car on Sundays, 2) People in reality shows are seen eating it voluntarily, or 3) Word gets out that it's part of the buffet in the green room backstage at the Oprah show.

But it's out there, nibbling at the edges of my consciousness. Living in Vegas, we have a huge influx of Hawaiian tourists every year, and many of the hotels and restaurants that cater to them have extensive menus featuring SPAM in many of the entrees. Staying downtown last week, I couldn't escape it. But I'm not anywhere near the point of being hungry enough to order a bowl of Ramen noodles with SPAM in it, even if they call it by a fancy exotic-sounding name like saimin. If times are that tough, I'm eating lettuce leaves spread with peanut butter.

I can't escape it at home, either. Not that I have any on hand, but when I'm sitting in my boxers surfing the internet, drinking coffee and daydreaming about cocktail waitresses, palm trees, sailboats, and a huge bank account, I run across the Suburban Housefrau, blogging about her love of SPAM! That one caught me totally off-guard.

And in a recent Anthony Bourdain No Reservations episode, he was in Hawaii extolling the virtues of this once-derided mystery meat, even going so far as to gorge himself on sashimi made with SPAM. I know, it's not a stretch for him, he's all about the pork products, but still, I think it's that yellowish gelatin that slides out of the can with the meat that keeps me from indulging. It's not really bacon fat, something everybody loves, and the color just doesn't scream 'natural meat' whenever I see it.

Maybe the shape has something to do with my disdain for it, also. Meat is not square in nature. Steaks are steak-shaped. Hamburger is in bulk form until I shape it into a patty. Even my roast beef that I get at the local deli is naturally roast-beef shaped until it hits the slicer. Sausage links and hot dogs don't really count because we know of the casings--and we've all been eating hot dogs since before we were old enough to know better. A big gelatinous salted meat-cube sitting on a plate just doesn't look or sound very appetizing to me, that's all.

But I guess I'm kind of a food snob. I stopped eating bologna (baloney?) once I started working full-time several years ago. And I stopped drinking beer in cans after I got out of college. I haven't bought Ramen or Mac & Cheese in at least a dozen years. And I really don't want to find myself sitting on the couch watching daytime TV, snarfing on a SPAM-on-Wonderbread sandie anytime soon. If I do, you'll know that my cosmic scooter has run out of gas at the intersection of Rock and Bottom.

I remember back in the day--1990 to be exact--when I spent six months up in Alaska being a whitewater rafting guide. One of my fellow boatmen, a dude named Byron who spent his winters smoking weed and being a ski instructor in Jackson Hole, always carried around a backpack with him wherever he went. Granted, it was Alaska, so he didn't look out of place.

But one day, my curiosity got the best of me and I asked him why he carried the backpack every day and what could possibly be in it. Well, he dumped it out on the living room floor to show me what all he had. It was basically a mini-survival kit. There was a roll of duct tape, a knife and compass, some first-aid gear, spare wool socks, a bundle of nylon rope, a lighter, a bottle of Yukon Jack, and last but not least, a can of SPAM.

Dude, what's up with the SPAM?, I asked him.

Well, I've carried that with me for three years now, he said.

Why?, I asked.

It's my reminder that life ain't too bad. As long as I'm never hungry enough to have to open that can of SPAM, I know I'm doing ok.

I had to chuckle at the simplicity of thought, but the man was a sage in rubber boots. He was right, and I think we all can agree--As long as we never have to open a can of SPAM, life ain't too bad.

Mikey

The Table of Happiness

Ten diners, ten pizzas. And one salad. Oh hell yeah.

This past Sunday night, a few of the remnants of the March Madness contingent gathered at Grimaldi's for an epic feast. Yep, it was so good that between the ten of us, ten different pizzas hit the table. Not that we finished it all--far from it, but we sure had a helluva good time trying. And the leftovers the next day were a wonderful way to relive the happiness.


Those of you who have yet to partake in the wonderful nirvana-on-a-metal-tray that is Grimaldi's, you really don't know what you're missing out on. Sure, some of you northeastern pizza snobs may scoff, but when you've lived in places like Nashville, Idaho, and Alaska, where good pizza just does not exist, it's almost a religious experience when you finally sample that perfect slice for the first time.

In my not-so-humble opinion, there is no better pizza in Las Vegas, or the world, as far as I'm concerned--if there is, I have yet to taste it. And second place is just a distant speck in the rear-view mirror, too.

So why not gather nine of your good friends and spend the evening gorging on the Food of the Gods (whenever They tire of ambrosia...) It's even better when they separate you from the rest of the well-mannered patrons and put your group out on patio where you can offend the least number of people with your loud laughter and colorful banter.

Damn that was a good time. I can't wait to do it again!

Mikey

Stud

Now that the football and college hoop seasons are over, it's time to start thinking about baseball. And of course, that means that I'm all over the box scores, news, and highlights of my favorite team, the St. Louis Cardinals.

Yeah, they might be a little thin on pitching right now, but with Albert Pujols swinging the bat, they've always got a chance. He's the Big Papi of the senior circuit. But as awesome as he is, he's not my favorite player on the roster. That honor goes to the comeback player of the decade, Rick Ankiel. Seriously, if you don't know anything about the guy, go check out his wikipedia page.

Long story short, back in his early career, he was a pitching stud, just mowing down everybody his first year in the bigs. But something got into his head, and he started throwing so wildly (five wild pitches in one inning at one point), that he got bounced out of the majors and damn near out of baseball completely.

So he gave up on pitching, and re-dedicated himself on being a hitter and a position player. And he worked his way back into the majors, where his clutch play late last year earned him lots of highlights on ESPN and several standing ovations at Busch Stadium. And he's started off this season on fire, already having two home runs in the first four games, and leading the team in RBI's and slugging.

And he's a likable guy too--I'm certain that a little humility is part of his make-up due to his struggles. But one can't help but root for a guy like that. And I'm glad that he's part of my team. I hope he has a helluva year and gets a fat multi-year deal before it's all said and done.

Mikey

No Fun At the Office

I'm glad the everyone enjoyed yesterday's video--I hope it made your workday go by a little faster.

I'm easing myself back into my routine at the casino, and it's not been too bad. The last two nights I've been on my favorite string of tables, and it's been pretty mellow. Actually, it was a little too mellow last night--around midnight, there were seven dead games in Chinatown, so the shift boss came over and closed them all at once. Ugh. I was hoping they'd do it gradually, because that meant that we were doing 20 minutes on, 20 minutes off for the rest of the night. That sucks. Thinking that we weren't going to make any money having too many dealers and not enough players, and it being my first night back in nine days, I left two hours early.

Of course, as soon as I got back in tonight, I saw that the main pit more than made up for the lost tokes in Chinatown, and we ended up having a $160+ toke day. Doh! Yep, I am an idiot and lost out on about $40 of that. So I promised myself--no more early outs for the rest of the pay period.

So last night, I was chillin' on my favorite games, making a bit of money here and there, laughing it up with my players, when suddenly I got hot and started killing everyone. Before I knew it, my Pai Gow game was dead, and looking around, I saw seven other dead games, too.

Not again! But they kept them open a little longer this time. Anyhow, once they finally closed my game, as I was counting down the bank, I accidentally dropped a couple of checks on the floor. I called out "Check down" and reached down to get it. When I did, I twisted my back that one particular way that wouldn't let me straighten back up again. I was immediately wrecked. So I sat back down in the chair and tried to twist a bit, but it was to no avail. Once my game was closed, I gimped around the pit like an old man who'd forgotten his cane while I emptied the toke boxes that my inconsiderate co-workers didn't do. I swear, I could barely walk.

This happens to me about once a year, sometimes twice, and sometimes a trip to the chiropractor works, sometimes not. Usually I just suffer for a couple of days and then suddenly it's gone and I feel like a million bucks. I can tell that this is a very mild episode, but at the time, it was like getting a sudden charlie-horse in my lower back. Since there was only an hour to go in my shift, and so many games were closing, I immediately broke my promise to myself and asked for an hour early out. They gave it to me, and I slowly shuffled that long beige mile back to my locker and the laundry chute.

Stopping to rest in the dining room, I grabbed a quick bite of breakfast before making that long trek to the parking garage. Surprisingly, the more I walked, the better I felt. So I didn't want to get in my truck, knowing that my back would tighten up again on the drive home. I was right--it did--and watching me trying to get up the steps to the front door once I got home was high comedy for whoever might've been watching, but it was nothing compared to watching me try and get my shoes off a few minutes later.

I just got these new absolutely awesome MBT work shoes, and they lace-up instead of slip-on like my loafers and man-clogs. So trying to get them off when I couldn't move my back was kinda like watching the last half-hour of just about every movie Jim Carrey has ever done. Lots of falling down and rolling around, not really accomplishing much. I finally got them off, swallowed two Aleve tablets, and I'm currently lying out prone, floor-blogging. If it wasn't so windy and chilly outside, I go sit my ass in the hot-tub for an hour or so, but that brisk walk at the end of it all might just do me in for good.

Maybe tomorrow night, instead.

I'm sure I'll feel much better tomorrow. Like I said--I can tell this is just a minor episode. Some sleep and some pain meds, and I'll be just fine.

Anyhow, besides throwing my back out, work was fairly enjoyable tonight. I dealt a lady a Royal Flush on Pai Gow, for a $750 payoff, which was cool. She's one of our nicer players, so it was good to see her win one. At the very same time, I had a complete jerkoff in seat seven pick up his cards and reset his hand after I'd set mine and was doing the payouts for the player in seat two.

I told him he couldn't do that, but he insisted on being an asshole about it, so I called the floorperson over. She flipped his cards over and told him not to touch them, and he started giving her some shiat, too, basically saying to her, "What are you gonna do about it?". So she called Security, and the shift boss over, and they had a word with him.

I went on break right then, so I didn't see the resolution of the whole situation, but when I got back, I saw him sitting at another table, and I saw the new floorperson take his beer away from him and say "You're cut off!". That was priceless, because he damn near blew a gasket at that point, but Security was lurking about, so he just left on his own, without the assistance of zip-ties or pepper spray. But seeing the floorperson yoink his beer pretty much made my night.

Other than that, it was a rather uneventful night at the ol' casino. Very busy early on, but uneventful nonetheless. And my night just flew by. I wish I could've stayed that last hour, but I would've been miserable, especially if I ended up on a pitch game. I think waving the white flag was the best course of action for me.

Hopefully, I'll be feeling better tomorrow, and maybe I'll feel inspired to do some writing. As it stands now, I really have *no* desire to write up a trip-report type of narrative about my March Madness activities last week. I had a fantastic time, but I think I'm going to skip the whole trip report theme this time around. It's a lot of work to write something like that, and since I was never really alone the entire time, all of my activities are going to be covered by everyone else anyways. And I've shared pretty much all the funny quotes over on T2V already, so writing six or seven paragraphs of back story for each one is not appealing to me, either. I'm sorry--I'm just not feeling it right now. It was a very long week, and surprisingly, I don't feel like re-living it just yet. Maybe I will in a few days, but don't hold your breath.

Mikey

Fun At the Office

Back in the day when I was working at Schwab, we had lots of fun, especially when it was slow. We set up miniature golf courses (that's all we did on Y2K day...), we threw footballs, frisbees, and nerf balls around, and there would be the occasional office prank. Hell, on Option Expiration Friday every month, the VP would wheel in a keg of beer as soon as the market closed.

But nobody in that building of 600 brokers had this much time on their hands, much less an entire department:




Looks like a fun place to work, until you realize they're all probably getting paid in stock options only...


Mikey

Made With Real Girl Scouts

Well, since I'm still on vacation, having a cocktail mid-week is not a bad thing. Even if I weren't on vacation, it still would be my night off, so experimenting with the cocktail shaker could be kinda fun.

I know, I had planned on going old-school with a traditional martini last night, but curiosity got the best of me and I found myself browsing over at DrinksMixer.com. That site has a cool feature where you can enter any type of liqueur you want, and it will search for drink recipes featuring said liqueur. It's kind of a fun tool, and it puts out some great ideas for entertaining.

But I had a bottle of Peppermint Schnapps on hand, and I really don't know what to do with it besides mix it with hot cocoa. Yeah, I was drinking it late-night at the poker table last weekend, taking a huge ration of shiat from both Doc Al and Terry about it, but I don't care. It takes the late-night chill off, and it tastes damn good too. But I didn't know what else I can make with it, so I was browsing around looking for ideas.

After a few minutes of browsing, I stumbled onto something that sounded excellent, a 'Girl Scout Cookie'. It was a simple recipe, too--just three ingredients, equal parts of

Kahlua
Bailey's
Peppermint Schnapps

Sounded good to me, so it was off to the kitchen to give it a try. Not only was I excited to use my new martini glasses, but it would be the first time I got to use my new cocktail shaker (the one with the lid that I can actually remove!).

The first order of business--chill the glass. So I filled it with ice and let it sit on the counter while I rounded up the bottles. Then I filled my cocktail shaker about 3/4 full of ice, secured a tall shot glass, and added one shot each of all three liqueurs.

Lid on, shake shake shake, and viola!, it was done. I was amazed at how quickly the shaker chilled that boozed down. The metal went from room temperature to icy-farking-cold in about three shakes.

I dumped the ice out of the martini glass, and poured in my newly-mixed Girl Scout Cookie martini. Of course the recipe called for garnishing with chocolate shavings or something like that, but the only shavings I have on hand are at the bottom of the bathroom sink, so we just skipped that step...

The first sip was as good as I expected. Being a martini, it has a little bit of a bite to it, but it's still kind of sweet. However, when you realize that you're drinking three shots of straight liquor, well, don't plan on operating any heavy equipment for the rest of the evening--it'll sneak up on you. So I grabbed a jar of cashews from the cabinet, and took my drink to the living room, where I happily sipped and nibbled while I watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain.

Forty-five minutes later, when I tried to stand up, well, I realized that I wasn't cut out of the same cloth as those swanky thin-tie wearing hepcats of the late 50s and 60s. A three-martini lunch would kick my ass for the rest of the afternoon. For dinner? Forget it. I was thinking of a refill, but the rational side of my brain kicked in and told me to make a sandwich or something, since the cashews were the extent of my nutrition for the day. Instead of another martini, I made myself a roast-beef and Swiss sandie on an onion roll, content to drink orange juice instead.

But that was several hours ago. And I don't really have to go to bed anytime soon. And I still have that Cuban cigar in my humidor. And it's still a really nice night outside.

I think it's time for another cookie.

Mikey

Clean Living, Revisited

Ok, maybe a few people took me too literally in that last post, but 'clean living' is a pretty nebulous concept with 99 shades of gray in the middle. I won't be giving up cigars, booze, late-night hot tub adventures (although, there wasn't much adventure going on there), ogling the cocktail waitresses, or the occasional lunch at Grimaldi's with my boy Lars.

I'm just sayin' that it's nice to be back in my own bed, not living out of a suitcase, not eating a club sandie from room service every day (damn we ordered a lot of those...), and not having to worry about a gambling bankroll.

Sometimes dull is good, and right now, I'm cool with it. I've got another day-and-a-half before my vacation ends, and if I don't do anything but catch up on sleep and burn through all the crap on my DVR, then I'm ok with it. This past week was a helluva good time, but I need to decompress a little. I remember after the 'original' March Madness gathering, how awful it was that after spending six days in Vegas acting like a drunken fool, I got home from the airport around midnight, and then had to be back at work at 8:00 am the next day. Oh good lord never again!

And the past two years, I've only taken partial time off during the festivities, so I kind of had to temper my participation, knowing that at night I'd have to be back at work. Not this time, baby--I enjoyed it to the fullest and I'm recovering nicely knowing that I did it "right". It was a true vacation, even though I was never more than 15 miles from home.

And I still have a couple of cigars in the humidor, and a shelf so full of booze that I can't find room for all of the bottles--some have had to take up residence on top of the fridge. So I'll have to indulge at some point, but it'll be in a more relaxing manner. Luckily, I actually came out a few hundred bucks ahead this year, so I got a jump on the month's expenses, filled my gas tank, bought some groceries, purchased some new work clothes, and with the last $15 or so, I bought a set of martini glasses. So tonight, I shall enjoy the nice weather outside, sipping a proper Bombay Sapphire martini, with a spritz of dry Vermouth and a couple of olives, while smoking the last of my Cuban cigars. And try to figure out just at what point I became my grandfather...

Mikey

The Party's Over...

Hello everyone.

The Madness officially ended for me around 5:30 this morning, which was about the time I stumbled out of the Mirage for the last time and made my way home. I slept like a corpse, and I'm guessing that's probably what my breath smells like right about now.

I won't be moving very fast for the balance of the afternoon, I can tell you that much. But taking a look at my surroundings, it's obvious that I had a good time--there is laundry, luggage, and all the assorted detritus that comes with a week-long Vegas vacation strewn about my room. My camera is dead. My cell phone is beyond dead--it was completely dead when I got home, so I put it on the charger before falling into bed. And I just realized that the charger wasn't plugged in. So I'll be incommunicado until sometime late this evening.

My last night of the Madness was a bunch of fun, but I think I may have overdone it just a bit. I let Angy talk me into going to Carnaval Court with her and Sin, and I knew going in what I was in for, so I shouldn't be surprised. But we also took a beatdown at the Mirage tables beforehand, so it set the tone for the rest of the evening. Not to say we didn't have a great time, but the dice and the booze kicked our asses. Regardless, it was great to be able to see Angy and Sin one last time before calling it a week.

I'll start writing about it tomorrow. Today is recovery day. After a quick lunch of Ibuprofen and bottled water, I'm going to start cleaning up the mess in my room, then run an errand or two, and maybe do a bit of grocery shopping. No more booze, cigars, room service, or breakfast at the coffee shop for me--it's back to my normal style of clean livin'.

Mikey

Missed the Anniversary

I don't know if any of you realized it, but 27 years ago yesterday was a momentous day in both U.S. history and the world of Hurricane Mikey.

In case you have forgotten, March 30th was the anniversary of the day that President Reagan was shot. I was in eighth grade at the time, had 7th period gym class, and had just changed into my gym clothes when they made the announcement over the PA system. Of course, some jackass did a "Woo Hoo!" and took an immediate verbal beat-down from one of the gym teachers, and then got to spend the entire hour running laps around the basketball court. Dumbass.

I got home from school a couple of hours later and had to do my paper route for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch. It was an evening paper at the time, while the now-defunct Globe-Democrat was the morning paper. Anyhow, the papers were sitting in the driveway next to the garage when I got home, and the first hour consisted of me sitting on the floor, rolling them up, and either binding them with a rubber band or stuffing them in a yellow plastic bag, depending on the weather. As I recall, it was a rubber-band type of day.

I didn't turn on the TV, but was listening to the radio--my old favorite station K-SHE 95. Of course, they weren't playing much music, it was all news updates. I distinctly remember them announcing that James Brady had been killed, and then about a half hour later, they issued a correction that he hadn't been killed, but was in deeply critical condition.

Of course, being the evening paper, and having been printed several hours before, there was obviously no news whatsoever in print yet--everything relevant was on the TV and radio, and everyone was consumed by that on that afternoon. But I still had to deliver my papers, so I loaded up my huge canvas tote bag and started doing my walking route around the neighborhood.

About 3/4 of the way through my route, I saw a bunch of my friends riding their bikes at the new construction site across the road from our neighborhood, so I walked over to talk to them for a bit. Of course, we were all told not to play over there--it was supposed to be a dangerous area, and one of my buddies had broken his arm there two weeks before. There was a huge hole where a basement had been dug for a new home, at the base of a large mound of dirt. So we'd ride our bikes off of the dirt hill, down into the 'basement', across the 'floor', and then jump out of the hole on the opposite side, Evel Knievel style, flying about ten feet before trying to control our landing, and having to make hard turn before careening down an embankment next the road below.

It was tricky, and parents freaked out whenever they saw us doing it, as did a few of the local cops, who kept catching us and telling us not to do it--it was much too dangerous. But being 13 and 14 years old, we knew better, and kept riding our bikes over there.

Anyhow, everyone was jumping and showing off, so I set my papers down and used one of my buddy's bikes since there was an impromptu who-can-jump-the-furthest contest. We had a few good showings, but nobody went crazy because you had to account for the possibility of flying off into oblivion and getting run over by the traffic on the road below, so the trick was finding the magic landing spot that was further than anyone else's but still allowed you enough space to remain on the bike upright and off the road.

I, however, disregarded all thoughts of personal safety and went for the world record jump. It was a beauty, too, but about halfway through the air, I realized that I would never stick the landing. So I tried to swing the bike around in mid-air, but my foot slipped off the pedal, and I came down in a heap, with all of my weight and the bike landing directly on my calf.

SNAP. Obviously I had just broken my leg.

Oh holy shiat did that ever hurt. I hit the ground and me and the bike both rolled over the embankment. I was writhing in agony while my buddies all had that oh crap we're in trouble look on their faces. I didn't cry though, and got mad props for the next month because I went down like a man, but my buddy Keith cried like a little girl when he broke his arm there a couple of weeks before. As I was lying there, unable to move, a couple of the other guys took off in an effort to save their own asses, because once word got out that I'd gotten hurt while playing there, some of them would have to take a beating just for being in attendance.

Just a few minutes later, my dad drove by so one of my buddies took off on his bike and chased him down and told him to come back and get me. I had managed to scoot myself down to the side of the road, and my dad found me there, covered in dirt, twigs, and leaves, with a left leg that didn't work.

It was all I could do to stand up and take two steps to the passenger's seat in the car, even with my dad and one of my friends helping me. They grabbed my tote bag with the rest of my newspapers and tossed it in the back seat, and my dad and I drove around delivering the rest of them before heading to the emergency room.

My dad was working for a medical equipment company, so he had some sort of free parking placard that we used to park right in front of the doors of the hospital. He went inside, and just a minute later re-emerged with two nurses and a wheel chair.

They got me into the emergency room, and immediately took me in for an exam and X-rays. I remember it being kind of surreal because there were portable TVs everywhere in all of the rooms so that the staff could watch the news. I also remember them cutting the leg of my jeans all the way from the cuff to the hip and seeing my nasty distended lower leg for the first time.

Not good. It turns out that I'd broken it in two places, but just above the ankle, so I'd get away with only a knee-high cast.

Of course it hurt like a sonofabitch, but I recall the heat from the plaster cast made it feel much better. The entire time I was lying there in the treatment room, we (the doctor, nurses, and I) watched that same disjointed footage over and over again of President Reagan outside the Washington Hilton, where you couldn't see anything but people piling on the assailant and the limo speeding away, which Eddie Murphy made even more famous on Saturday Night Live with his Who Shot Buckwheat? parody.

Anyhow, they gave me a walking cast, a set of crutches, and a bottle of Tylenol with codeine, but said I wouldn't be able to walk for at least a week.

They were right. I spent the next six days on the couch with my foot elevated, and when I bathed, I had to use the tub, but could only sit sideways because the plumbing was on wrong end of the tub--the wall was on the left, so I couldn't use the tub normally. Yep, it truly sucked.

But both the President and I were up and walking around just a week later. I still had to use crutches for another week or so, but soon thereafter could walk on my own. The thing that pissed off my dad was the fact that I had to cut all of my Levis up to the knee to be able to wear pants, and once the cast came off, he had to buy me all new jeans. Well, that, and I broke the cast two more times that month and had to go back in and have a new one put on each time. He didn't like that too much.

But six weeks later, the cast came off for good and I was almost as good as new, except one leg was all pale and scrawny looking compared to the other one. President Reagan was back in the Oval Office, and I was back in gym class.

And that dangerous hole in the ground never claimed another victim. They poured the concrete foundation less than a week after I crashed and burned on re-entry, hauled away the dirt mound, and then put up a fence, too. We had to find a new spot to ride our bikes if we wanted to injure ourselves.

Nowadays, if I get hurt, it's usually from falling down while drunk or bumping my head into stuff. My days being fighting gravity on bicycle ended for good back in March of 1981.

Mikey

Home Again

I finally got out of the hotel and was able to sleep in my own bed last night--it was wonderful. Not that staying in a hotel is a bad thing, but it's nice to be home again.

The Madness is winding down, although a few of my favorite buffoons are still in town. I may be heading back down to the Strip this afternoon if the weather is nice, but at the very least I'm supposed to have dinner with Angy tonight--one last night of fun before she heads home tomorrow. At least that's the tentative plan--another one may manifest itself, however.

And speaking of dinner, about ten of us went to Grimaldi's last night, which was a blast. Not only was the pizza great, as usual, but we had a huge table out on the patio and laughed it up the whole time we were there. As always, the Vegas gang is good for a lot of laughs.

But I'm just waking up right now, spending my morning sorting through the pictures on my camera, trying to remember the when and why to most of them. Oh, and out of 96 photos I took this weekend, a good ten percent or more will likely never see the light of day. What happens in Vegas and all that...

After dealing with all of the pictures and such, I've got to dump a couple of duffel bags worth of laundry into the washing machine, hoping to wash most of the casino funk off of the last week's worth of clothes. Sadly, smoke and stale booze are edging out stripper perfume as the dominant flavor of my dirty laundry.

Once the chores are done, I get to go back out and play one last time. But then I get to relax for three more days. I'm loving this whole 'vacation' thing.

Mikey

Still Alive

Yep, I managed to survive most of the week's buffoonery, but I haven't been near a computer in several days.

I should start updating again on Tuesday or Wednesday. But in the meantime, I'd rather drink, gamble, and carouse that sit here and type.

So I'm out!

See ya later this week!


Mikey

Off The Grid

Ok gang, the last little bit of preparation is just about wrapped up, and I'm chillin' here at the house until I pick up Dougie in a couple of hours.

So blogging will be very sporadic until at least next Monday. Oh, I'm packing the laptop, but how much updating I will do remains to be seen. For the most part, I'm just using it as a music-delivery system. But if I get some free time, or if I'm awake and coherent in mornings before the days activities get underway, I'll post an update. But that's a big if...

Y'all have a good one!

Mikey out.

Down to Just Watching the Clock Now

Wow, my first day of vacation was completely uneventful and relaxing. Almost dull. But not quite. It's never a dull day when Angy calls, and she called while she was packing, panicking like a crazy woman because she couldn't find her 'Beach Crazy' shirt I made her about a year and a half ago. She was planning of wearing it to the poker tournament on Saturday, but somehow, it was missing in action.

I suggested that it's probably still in the suitcase from the last time she wore it, back in July.



I only post that pic because I know she hates it--but it's one of my favorite pictures of her. And she's offline until sometime tomorrow afternoon, so there's nothing she can do about it. Heh. Of course, when she *does* finally see it, I'm probably gonna get a beat down with a sparkly high-heeled shoe.

So I was on the phone with her while she tore up her house looking for this shirt, but she finally gave up, knowing she'd be up all night and forget to pack something really important like a cellphone charger or cigarette lighter if she focused on finding the shirt. So I got online and accessed my account at the Hurricane Mikey shirt vendor's website, and her custom shirt was still in the archives, so we did a rush-order and instructed them to Fedex it to the Imperial Palace tomorrow.

Whew. Disaster averted.

Other than that, we just chatted a bit while she packed--she's as excited as everyone else is for this week, and while I may have been the original-gangster-founder of the Madness as we know it, Angy is truly the center of the March Madness universe--everything revolves around her. And I mean that in a good way. I may be the big green olive in the Vegas martini, but she is the glass. Without her, there is no Madness--just a bunch of drunken morons stumbling from poker table to poker table, drinking directly from the bottle.

I couldn't even imagine having March Madness without her in attendance.

Anyhow, we had a fun-filled conversation, just like we always do, but we had to end it or she'd never finish packing. After that, I got back into the chatroom with a few of the other buffoons, and the anticipation was palpable. But there was a mellow vibe as everyone was distracted by last-minute to-do lists and finishing off the last of their packing. Besides, everyone wanted to go to bed early, hoping to catch some precious sleep before they hit the ground running tomorrow. It seems like everyone has early-morning flights, too, so that contributed to the All Quiet On the Western Front vibe that I sense tonight.

As far as my preparations go, I'm pretty much ready to go. I just have to pack up the speakers from my computer system and finish one more load of laundry. I finally got my truck gassed up, washed, and super-detailed this afternoon. Kikky tipped me off about a good car-wash spot here in Henderson to take it to, and she was right--they did a great job and the price was more than reasonable. Hell, the truck hasn't been this shiny and clean since the day I drove it off the showroom floor. And it was filthy--I hadn't vacuumed it in months, and the exterior looked crappy because it has sprinkled about once a week for the past four months, leaving a coat of mottled dust all over it that just got worse with each passing week.

But now it's all purty.

And I'm ready to go.

I was munchin' on another pimento and cheese sandwich while chatting with the buffoons earlier tonight, and Dougie said he'd just finished dinner--the last thing he was going to eat until we're sitting down at Grimaldi's tomorrow afternoon. I guess that means we're getting close.

Damn, it almost feels like Christmas Eve around here.

Mikey

Such a Wuss

I feel like a huge dork this morning.

I got off work two hours early, as per my original plan, came home, and like a moron immediately fell asleep. Yeah, I know I need to bank as much shut-eye as I can, because starting tomorrow, I'll be running a deficit, but I *really* wanted to fix myself a tall rum & Coke, head out to the hot tub, and smoke a cigar, spending a couple of quality hours envisioning all of the heady possibilities that this week might bring..

I suppose I can still do that tonight, but that moment that I got cut loose from work, as exciting as it was, just fizzled away. I guess today is a do-over. Besides laundry and housecleaning, I've got no plans today other than to clean my truck and get gas. It'll take me about two minutes to pack a bag once the laundry is done, and I don't have to be anywhere until I fetch Dougie from the airport early tomorrow afternoon. Then I start living like a drunken tourist for the balance of the week.

My last night of work was rather enjoyable, if somewhat slow. Sunday kicked off our official slow period at the casino, where we make no money until after tax day. Our tokes on Sunday night were way down--back to the bad old days of 2007. April is a shiatty month at my casino, and this week seems to mark the beginning of that slowdown. Glad I'm on vacation.

On the plus side, being so slow last night gave me ample opportunity to flirt with the future Mrs. my favorite cocktail waitress while sitting at my dead tables, and I've got my break schedule figured out so that as long as I don't do the first full hour of dealing at 7:00 pm every night, our late breaks overlap and I can hang out and visit with her. This only took me about a year to figure out, but hey, some days I'm lucky to remember to put pants on before I leave the house.

Can you say the word "smitten"?

Of course, we were talking about my vacation and all the buffoonery that is planned, and how I'm going to be living like a tourist and gambling and such all week. She told me that if I should win the Megabucks, she would 'gladly be my slave'... Of course, that comment pretty much put me off my game for the rest of the night, but I managed to respond with something smooth and un-crass while in the meantime my head was temporarily filled with visions of Jabba the Hut and Princess Leia in her metal bikini...

Anyhow... After that conversation, I went back to my last table of the night, a $10 Pai Gow game, and only had to do forty minutes before I got to say farewell to everyone that mattered. Once I signed all the requisite forms and punched out, I fairly skipped out to my truck. I took a moment before driving home to stop and look at all the lights of the Strip in the distance and think about how much silliness and good times I have on tap, hoping that this year's Madness tops them all.

Somehow, I think it will.

More later,

Mikey

Anticipation

Damn, I think this is the first time in the past three years that I couldn't wait for my workday to start. Why is that? Because it's my Super-Friday. Yeah, I work tonight, but once I step out of the casino at around 12:30 tonight, I'm on vacation and I won't have to go back until Thursday, April 3rd. That's like next month! I don't have much to do once folks start arriving except pack a bag and hit the ATM, so in my mind, I'm already on vacation.

And work will be easy tonight--I'm sure I'm back in Chinatown, and I'm getting out about two and a half hours early. When I left last night, the boss said she'd put me at the top of the early-out list for tonight--so Mikey gets first priority when the tables start closing down!

I cannot wait to get this party started!

This morning, I was futzing around on my computer, and I decided to put together a little March Madness anticipation slideshow, made entirely from pictures I had on my hard drive. It was thrown together in a hurry, and the slides aren't completely in-sync with the music, but it works.





If past performance is any indication, it's gonna be a helluva week!

Mikey

Time Flies When I'm Having Fun

Here it is late Sunday afternoon, and I can't believe the weekend is almost over--time seems to be moving in fast forward, which is a good thing right now. Work has been very enjoyable so far this week, and last night was no exception--I was dealing at three of my favorite tables, I was fairly busy, and I got to flirt with my favorite lady throughout the night, too. And I even got the half-hour early push, so it was pretty much a perfect evening at work.

Once I got out of work, I finally broke down and went to the grocery store--my cupboards have been bare for several days, but I was trying to stretch it out and not buy anything before next week, since I won't be home for pretty much five days straight. But I couldn't make it. I needed some milk, and bread, and stuff to make sandwiches, and something to mix with my rum. And although I've had no rum today, I just finished off my redneck-style pimento and cheese sandwich, and it was quite tasty. But I guess I didn't go totally redneck--I used wheat bread instead of Wonder bread. And I was drinking a glass of Coke instead of RC. And there were no moon pies consumed, either.

But once I got home from work and the grocery store early this morning, I had all kinds of grandiose plans to do some housework and get stuff done, but all I managed was a shower, loading and running the dishwasher, and doing a load of laundry before I collapsed in bed and snoozed for about eight hours straight. I shouldn't be surprised though--Saturday was a very long day for me.

I got up around 9:30 yesterday morning and called my old buddy Ed W. He was in town for the first weekend of the tournament with a couple of the guys he works with, and we'd made plans to spend the day together. When I talked to him, he was in the process of trying to do two things--drink an entire bottle of Skye vodka and walk from the Riviera to the Luxor. When he answered the phone, he was doing pretty well with the vodka aspect of the mission, but he had made it as far as Caesars Palace and had given up on the walking bit, and decided to catch a cab the rest of the way to Luxor.

I told him to give me about an hour to get showered and dressed, and I'd pick him up on the north side of the pyramid.

I got there a few minutes early, but he was outside waiting, already sporting his early-morning Vegas buzz. He hopped in the truck and we then made our way downtown to the Four Queens, as the plan was to grab a bite, watch some hoop, and spend the afternoon smoking cigars and catching up.

Luckily the Chicago Brewing Company and cigar lounge is a still-undiscovered gem in the middle of the hustle and bustle of Fremont Street, and we scored one of the five tables in the place. Lunch was pretty good--we ordered some southwestern egg rolls, garlic knots, and a club sandwich, along with a couple of tall pale ales. In addition to the good food and good beer, they had the Duke/West Virginia game going on the big screens.

Once we'd finished off all the food, we migrated twenty feet over to the 'lounge' part of the place and grabbed a couple of comfy chairs in the corner. We'd both brought the best from our own personal stashes, so we spent the balance of the afternoon smoking Partagas black labels, Series E's, and some Rocky Patel reserve sticks. All were very good.

We'd also ordered a couple of snifters of Grand Marnier, and the bartender hooked us up with two of the biggest damn servings I'd ever seen. Seriously, when she brought them out, I said It's gonna take me all day to drink that! I mean, there must've been eight full ounces of sinus-clearing happiness in those glasses. Not that we were complaining, mind you, it was just our initial shock of seeing such a generous pour.

But that's not what we started out doing. Nope, tradition dictates that whenever Eddie and I get together, we kick off the celebration with a shot of chilled tequila. Since we're both doing better financially than we were about ten years ago when we first started out, we've moved up the tequila food chain--no more 1800 for us like in the old days. We went with the Patron Silver this time around.

It was almost too smooth. Dangerous, even. There was talk of getting a few more, but cooler heads prevailed and I put the brakes on that idea since I still had to go to work later that night. But for a moment there, we considered getting flat out stupid and making another great Vegas memory. But I would've had to call in sick, again, and I just couldn't do that. So one shot was all we did. Ed, of course, was way ahead of me--he'd already killed a bottle of vodka before I picked him up.

But you have to wonder just how bad a situation has devolved when I become the voice of reason and responsibility for the group...

But things didn't get out of hand or too silly after that--we just had a wonderful mellow visit, smoking cigars, catching up on the latest news and gossip, and making plans for future vacations and buffoonery. Since Ed and his wife are expecting in late July (and the kid, Ed the fifth, already has a nickname--Cinco!), we decided to get together in early June for another weekend in Phoenix. I'm going to take some vacation and do a Friday-Tuesday road trip again, and this time we're going to have an all-night poker game like we used to back in the early days.

I'm really looking forward to that.

We had quite a few laughs while sitting there in the lounge, though. The late game was the UNLV/Kansas game, where everybody just *knew* that UNLV was gonna get waxed. But there were a few fans sitting near us in Kansas gear, and a few other people in the bar wearing the UNLV colors. The biggest tv near us was set on 'mute', and the closed-captioning was turned on. One of the Kansas fans asked the bartender (who was wearing a UNLV jersey), if she could please get rid of the close-captioning on the TV.

I chimed in with Yeah, because you know them Kansas fans can't read! which got a huge laugh from the rest of the crowd. It was all good natured though--everybody was rooting for Kansas to cover, even the UNLV fans (Hey, they're from Vegas, they're not stupid! Nobody had UNLV getting to the sweet 16 this year, so all they bet accordingly).

Before we realized it, the clock on the wall said it was 4:30 in the afternoon, and we had to wrap it up. We settled our ample tab, extinguished the last of the cigars, and finished the last of our ice water. I had to get back home and get ready for work, and Eddie had to get over to the Hilton to see his brother, who was also in town, having flown in from Austin.

We laughed our way out of the Four Queens, and I dropped him off a few minutes later. We said our goodbyes and promised to make good on a Phoenix get-together in a couple of months. Eddie then stumbled into the Hilton for another night of Vegas buffoonery, while I made my way back to Henderson to prepare myself for another night of working the felt.

Overall, it was a pretty damn good day. But once was enough. I'm glad that today I'm able to relax, catch up on my sleep, and get a few chores done. And if I can just make it through these last two work-days, well, then the party really begins.

Mikey

One Down, Four To Go!

Oh hell yeah, we're on the home stretch until my vacation starts! I cannot wait--not only for March Madness, but just the fact that I will get to spend NINE entire days away from work for the first time in three years fills me with unbounded joy.

Seriously, if the buffoons weren't coming to town next week, I'd happily take a hundred bucks out of the bank, buy a couple of sailing magazines and a book or two, use the rest on Pacifico, limes, rum, and Coke, and spend the entire week out on a chaise lounge at the pool. And I'd be a happy man.

But the buffoons are coming to town, so I guess I'll just have to drink complimentary booze all week while stuck indoors playing poker. Bummer, man.

Anyhow, Day 1 of the Final Countdown wasn't too bad at all--my workday just flew by last night. Yes, I was busy, as was the entire casino, and I had a lot of fun players too. No jerkoffs to deal with at all. I even got a visit from lurker/commenter 'Jazzguy' who showed up at my Pai Gow table right after I opened it, so it was a nice way to kick off the evening. He also played a little $5 blackjack with me later on in the evening before heading back to the airport. It sounded like he had a pretty good trip, too.

As the night wore on, I got bounced all over the pit from table to table--I was assigned to deal Pai Gow, Blackjack, and 3-Card Poker, but I ended up dealing dice for awhile also, along with Deuces wild to finish of the night. And since the last player left at around 2:10 in the morning, once I closed the table and dropped my tokes, I was outta there--I finally got that elusive half-hour Early Out that everyone covets so much.

After stopping for a Thirstbuster on the way home to wash down my amoxicillin horse pill, I spent an hour or so websurfing before going to bed. And I got a good six hours of sleep before the garbage truck woke me up. Yep, our apartment is the closest one to the dumpster hut, so when I sleep with the windows open (which is 90% of the time), I wake up every morning to the sound of the trash being emptied or a couple of leaf-blower jockeys making sure there is nothing on the grass outside my bedroom window. Oh well, it's not like I can't take a nap later...

But today is Saturday, and the landscaping guys have the day off. And there is nothing on my agenda today but basketball and housework, but before I attempt any of that housework stuff, there is a pot of coffee calling me from the kitchen.

Mikey

The Real Reason For The Season

Taking a break from the comfy chair in front of the HDTV that is showing nothing but college hoops all day, I have a chance to review my brackets.

So far, so good--I'm 7 for 7. But so is the rest of the universe, I suspect. My opening-day four-team parlay, however, isn't looking so good since Temple +7 was part of the mix (they lost by 11). Oh well. There's always tomorrow.

Anyhow, as far as my bracket picks go, I'm all about the chalk, baby! I've got Carolina, Kansas, Texas, and UCLA going to the Final Four, with Carolina winning the whole enchilada over UCLA in the final game.

As usual, I'm rooting for a Winthrop upset in the first round--I've been on their bandwagon for ten years now, ever since I met that one redheaded gal who was a grad student there and we spent basically spent four days straight in bed, doing nothing but listening to music and drinking wine. It was a pretty good week, and ever since then I've been a big fan of the Winthrop Eagles.

One of these days they're going to get out of the first round--and I'll be the first guy at the window cashing that ticket, saying See--I called this upset! to anybody who will listen. Of course, I've been calling for it for the past ten years or so, and have yet to cash in. I could've two years ago, when they covered against Tennessee in the first round, coming a last-second basket away from the upset, but no, my drunk ass didn't get out of bed in time to make a bet that morning, so I missed the opportunity.

And speaking of drunk asses and March Madness, I picked up Steve B from DC at the airport last night--he's in town for the first two rounds. He got in around 11:00, and afterwards we went to the Peppermill for our traditional Kick-Off-The-Madness chicken fried steak breakfast. Of course it was excellent, and of course I didn't come anywhere near finishing it, but it was great nonetheless. I also had a Bailey's & Coffee, but they used that new caramel-infused Bailey's, and that shiat is so thick that it won't mix with coffee--you can stir all day and in the tall glass coffee cups that they use at the Peppermill, you can see it--it remains in two layers no matter what you do. We called it a Tan & More Tan. And it's so thick that it's like trying to drink maple syrup. Not good at all.

But not only was the food great, but the company was a lot of fun, too. ATCMurph joined us, although I only learned recently that 'Murph' was a chick, and her real name is Ilene. I told her that if she insists on people calling her Murph, they're gonna think that she's a dump truck driver from Queens, instead of an air-traffic controller from Indy. Oh well, she took in stride. But the three of us had a lot of laughs over our late-night breakfast.

Once we gave up on trying to finish breakfast, we made our way downtown to Main Street Station. Steve did a quick check-in, and we made a visit up to his suite on his private elevator--really nice--so he could toss his bags and we could all use the facilities. After that, it was back down to the Triple Seven brewpub where we sat for a couple of hours drinking beers and talking about basketball and music.

Around 3:00 am or so, I hit the wall. We said goodnight to Steve, and I drove Murph back to the Flaming-O, and I came home and went to bed, where I remained until almost noon today. Since then, it's been nothing but college hoops and Michelob Light. But now I'm back to bottled water and maybe a quick nap--I've got to work tonight, and do five more nights at the casino before my vacation starts.

This week is gonna drag...

Mikey

No Longer A Secret

It appears that word is getting out. Grimaldi's makes a damn fine pizza.

Readers in Texas, take note.

Mikey

The Re-Education of a Poker Player

Hey, check it out--call the neighbors, wake the kids--Mikey actually has something to write about today!

So instead of sitting on my ass here at the house and doing nothing last night, I decided to get out, be social, and go play a little poker in anticipation of the T2V Donkey Invitational next week. The Silverton hosts a great tournament on Tuesday nights, they call it the Industry Night Poker Tournament, and all that's required is a casino ID card. And forty bucks. And dealers are some of the worst poker players ever, so I figured my chances were good.

So I got drove down there at 9:30, and there were a couple of cash games going on--one of them was a crazy 3-6 game with about $4000 in chips scattered around the table and four people involved in each showdown. I thought about joining the cash game at first, especially since I saw three people at the table who I knew--one was a buddy of mine I hadn't seen in about a year, and he was just there killin' time with his short stack. Another was a chick I know who works at the Monte Carlo, and she was drunk off her ass and donkeying off all of her chips every hand, and the third was this squirrelly little dorky dude with bad personal hygiene who I've played against a few times at MGM Grand and taken about a hundy off of each time.

It certainly looked juicy.

But I wanted to wait for the tournament to get started so I just checked in at the podium and gave them my buy-in and casino credentials. I got my receipt just a moment later, and found that I was the first one to sign up--table one, seat one. Ugh. I *hate* seat one--you can't see shiat at the table, and if you have a left-handed dealer, you can't see the flop when it comes out, either.

Lesson learned, don't be the first one to sign up for a poker tournament. Since I had a half-hour to kill, I wandered over to the pit to the Pai Gow tables. Of course, Vegas being a small town chocked *full* of degenerates, I saw three of my regular players who were taking the night off from my casino and giving Silverton a little action that night instead. So I sat down and joined them. And immediately got three Pai Gows in a row, putting an end to that little field trip.

Back to the poker room!

I only had to wait a few minutes before they got the tournament started, and there were only about 30 players signed up. The good thing about it is that there is a guaranteed prize pool of $1500, even if only fifteen people showed up.

$700 for first place
$400 for second
$250 for third
$150 for fourth

Not bad for $40, so I think I'm gonna make this tournament a semi-regular event. I believe the buy-in was actually $37 for $2000 in chips, plus a $3 dealer add-on for an extra thousand. The $40 was basically automatic, however--they didn't even ask if we wanted it or not, and I can't think of anybody except for cheapasses like Johnny Chan or David Sklansky who would protest, and luckily they didn't make an appearance this night.

I figured I was in trouble immediately because as soon as the first card was pitched I realized that I'd left my lucky Tabasco bottle card protector back in my truck. Dammit. Oh well, I just had to deal with it, I suppose. I ended up using my last $5 chip from the Pai Gow table as a card protector.

I actually started out doing really well--I dragged three pots without having to show my cards, and had the chip lead at my table, and that third pot was a stone-cold bluff with absolutely nothing that forced two other guys to fold. Heh. I will admit, however, that I was sweating a call, and was totally lucky that both of the other guys folded.

We'd been playing for about a half hour when the hand of the night came up. I was on the big blind with $300 already in the pot when I was dealt pocket nines. There were two callers and one raiser. He only doubled the big blind, so three of us went to the flop with $2100 in the pot.

The flop came out King - Nine - King, two clubs.

Jackpot! I flopped a boat, and I was praying that somebody had a King. I checked, and wouldn't you know it the other two did all the work for me--raising and then re-raising. I just called.

The turn was an Eight of Clubs. I checked again. Next player goes all in. Woot!

The other player decides that he wants to go all in, too. Since I had both of them covered, I was doing the happy-naked-muppet-dance in my head!

Since I was the one who called, they had to show their cards first. One guy had Ace-King for trips, and the other guy had Ace-rag of clubs, holding what he thought was the nut flush. But I had the boat, and a huge lead going to the river.

And guess what came out on the river? The case nine, giving me four of a kind and knocking those other two out.

Bam--monster chip lead for Mikey!

I nursed that lead for another hour or so, folding pretty much everything, letting the small stacks knock each other out, and then made my first blunder of the tournament. I had pocket jacks, bet out $1500, and got one caller. The flop came Queen - Eight - Three, and the other player came out firing for $3500. I had a decent-sized chip lead, and I antagonized for a good thirty seconds before folding, and immediately kicked myself as soon as I did. The guy showed me pocket sevens before mucking them.

Damn.

After that, I got a little more aggressive with my stack, playing 'big stack' poker and stealing a shiat-load of blinds. That helped because by then the blinds were up at $300 and $600 and everyone was happy to limp in. I was cool with that, because on my big blind I had Jack/Three offsuit and only had to check to see a three-way flop. It came out King - Three - Three. Again I was content to just check my trips all the way until the river and let everyone else to the heavy lifting.

Again I knocked out two players, and the one guy who had pocket Aces about lost his mind, bitching up a storm that I'd stay in with Jack/Three. I was like, Uh dipshiat, you're the one who let me limp in and see the flop for free--it's your own damn fault for trying to get action for your Aces!

Heh. What's the old line? Better to win a small pot than lose a big one? Yep, had he raised even the bare minimum, I would've been out of the water like Chief Brody on the fourth of July. But he didn't. I bet you'll raise with Aces next time, Hippie!

I bled off about another $2000 worth of blinds before we got down to the final table, and I liked my chances--Only had to knock out five more people to get to the cash!

But it was not to be.

On the very first hand, I had Ace-Queen. I raised three times the blinds, got one caller, and the short stack at the other end of the table went all in. I had him covered, so I went all in. The other caller had me covered by about $1500, so he thought for about ten seconds and also went all in.

My Ace-Queen was up against King-Queen from the short stack, but the guy who had me covered had Ace-King. Damn. At least there was an Ace and a pair on the flop giving me a second's hope that I'd be chopping, but no help came on the turn or the river, and I went out in eighth place.

Damn Ace-Queen. Sticky was right--it never wins!

Oh well. I had a great time, and it was $40 well-spent. I realized that I'm not nearly as rusty as I thought I was, and I even got a compliment from a couple of other players who said I played a couple of hands really well (in addition to that snarky Nice hand! after my jack-three cracked the aces).

I also saw some terrible poker on display. One guy had the stone-cold nuts with a straight-flush and went all-in on the turn, basically killing his action and severely limiting the size of his pot, especially since he had two other players on the hook who took their own sweet time deciding to fold. Had he made a smaller bet, he could've taken them both out, especially if the river brought help to their hands. I couldn't believe how stupid that was. And he was so proud of his straight flush that he showed it to everyone.

I believe the words Nice play genius... Thanks for saving me four grand! were uttered at that point, giving a chuckle to everyone else at the table.

Anyhow, it was a lot of fun, and even though I didn't cash, I certainly did much better than I thought I would when I walked in the front door.

I'm ready for the T2V fish fry next week!

Mikey