Greatest. Weekend. Ever.

I left the office in D.C. Friday night at 6:00pm and got back in the office this morning (Monday) at 9:00 am.  In between, this happened:

 

And, as Sunday drew to a close, I cashed this:

. . . which [nearly] paid for dinner here:

. . . and followed it up with a few glasses of Malbec here:

 . . . and then hit McCarren for the Red Eye back to D.C. at 11:59 pm. 

After sleeping a grand total of ZERO (0) hours Saturday night, I was asleep before the plane left the gate . . .

Not a bad way to spend a weekend.

Fuck Poker

Seriously, fuck poker.

After three years of fairly regular play, I conclude that $1/2 NL is bullshit.  Pure bullshit.  It's a fun game to play on occasion; but it's a roll of the dice.  It's bingo.  The Government is right; at least at low limits, poker is a simple game of pure chance.

I played an hour at MGM tonight, and got stacked for my third consecutive session of $1/2.  I sat around 1:00am with $200 and quickly ran it to $330 after picking off a couple of bluffs.  Then, in two hands, I lost it all.  The first hand I raised a limper to $10 with KJ.  Flop was K47.  Villain was short stacked.  He checked, I bet, he called.  Turn was another K.  He bet, I shoved (putting him all in for another $40 or so), and he slow rolls pocket 44 for the boat.  OK.  Nice hand.

The very next hand I raise 4 limpers to $14 with TT.  All call.  Flop is K5T with two hearts.  It checks to me and I bet $45 One caller.   Turn is a small heart.  Villain leads for $45.  I look at his stack and see about $60 red birds.  I shove.  He tanks and calls, and after a blank on the river, turns over 63 hearts for the flush.  And, bonus for me, he had two $100 bills under his stack, which I didn't even notice (use to playing east coast where cash does not play).  Stacked in two hands.

I guess the lesson is to start playing 63 suited for $14 preflop.  And then calling $45 on the flop with a six-fucken-high flush draw.  Or, maybe I should be calling raises with J3 or T2 (the hands that beat me last session at Borgata).

I mean, if I'm not getting beat by jackasses playing and hitting shit hands, I'm getting bluffed off pots by jackasses "value-betting" (in their own minds) mediocre hands (e.g., the dude who check raised my low straight on the river at Showboat a few weeks ago, with three to a flush and a higher straight on the board, and showed two pair...).

I might as well grind the Tarzan slot machine . . .

50 and Counting

Ticket Master released some additional "cheap seats" this morning for Saturday's show at MGM Arena -- a mere $250 face value.  It's the Stones, and Keith Richards might be dead in 6 months (assuming he's still actually alive).  So, I pulled the trigger.  Seats in the same section, same row are currently selling on Stub Hub for $1,300.  Insane.

 

Worse case scenario, I can scalp the ticket, grab the $777.00 combo below for dinner at Le Burger Brasserie at Paris, and still have enough left over for a $1/2 buy-in next door at Bally's

 

Vegas.  What a town. 

A Quickie in the Desert

I logged on to my USAIRWAYS account this morning and, out of pure curiosity, checked out how many miles a trip to Vegas would cost this weekend.  24,000 miles for the 8:35 pm direct Friday night and the 11:59pm redeye Sunday night.  A mere 24,000 miles.  Um.  OK.  You have me somewhat interested.

 

Logged on to my MLIFE account next.  Three free nights at NY, NY.   Interest level RED.

 

Checked the weather at www.noaa.gov:  90's and sunny Saturday/Sunday.  Of course.

 

End result, ten minutes later, I'm leaving for the desert in three days . . .  I mean, there really was no choice.  Only question now is whether to take the comp at NY, NY or spend a little cash and stay at a place with a decent pool and better looking hookers.       

 

Monday morning at the office is going to suck... hard.  But, you only live once . . .

Eaten by the Fish

Saturday was just one of those days.  At least, that's the story I'm sticking to.  I refuse to believe I am as bad a player as the results would suggest. 

 

After a losing session Friday night at Showboat, I rolled over to Borgata Saturday around noon, and immediately got a seat.  About 10 minutes in, some dude that resembled Johnny Depp from Fear and Loathing (Sunglasses and Hawaiian shirt and all) sat down with his girlfriend.  The dude didn't know how to post, and made a huge production of it.  His girlfriend sat silently (apparently, at least smart enough to know that anything she said would target her as an even bigger fish).  They both bought in for $100.  Within a hand or two, it was readily evident just how bad they both were.  Hunter lost his first $100 when he called flop, turn and a $55 river bet on a T 9 K 2 T board with . . . a 9.  He reloaded and lost his second $100 about 20 minutes later when he again called down with middle pair.  His girlfriend, for her part, lost a quick $100 and reloaded as well.  I was just foaming at the mouth waiting to get into a hand with either.  I ended up getting into a hand with both.  Neither ended well for me.

 

My first hand was against the girl.  She limped and I raised to $10 with AQ.  She called.  Heads up to the flop of 337.  She checked, I bet, she called.  Turn blanked.  She checked, I bet, she called.  River blanks.  She checks.  Now, I know she was calling down light with everything.  Still, she had put $60 into the pot already.  There were no draws.  She could have a mid-sized pocket pair.  But, something just didn't smell right.  I checked back, and she tabled J3.  Good times.

 

Later, it was Hunter's time to best me.  I raised to $12 preflop with KJ and Hunter calls.  The flop was A Q 7 with two spades.  I bet, Hunter called.  Seems familiar.  Turn is a T hearts.  Broadway.  I bet, Hunter calls.  River is a spade.  I bet, Hunter calls and tables T2 spades for the flush.  Yes, he played T2 heads up for $12 pre-flop.  Well, I guess they were suited.

 

I played 2 hours without winning a hand.  Several of my losses were big hands.  This screencap of my notepad reflects my contemporaneous suffering:

 

Of the hands above, the Cowboys was the most interesting.  As indicated in the notes, I raised to $12 preflop and got calls from two limpers, one of whom was a solid player.   The flop was 8 T 9 with two diamonds.  He donks out for $15, and I re-raised to $45.  He shoves $165 on top.  My gut told me he had a monster draw.  I really felt like I was ahead . . . at least for the moment.  Ultimately, I folded.  He showed his flopped straight.

 

I reloaded twice -- a sign that I felt I was not playing bad poker, but rather, just getting unlucky.  I had just topped off again (in for $500) when I finally dragged my first pot:

 

I'm sitting on $289 or so, and looked down at QQ in the hijack.  A woman raises to $10 from early position and gets a call from a solid player.  While I'm thinking about how much to raise, the button slides $10 forward and calls out of turn.  Interesting.  Given the two calls and his inclination to enter the hand, I decide to repop to $55.  The button is the only caller.  Again, interesting.  He was inclined to only call $10 in position; then he decides to just call $55 with two people behind.  And, I did not think he was a particularly bad player from what I had seen.

The flop comes down K 7 2.   Yes, it's fun playing QQ post flop out of position.  I opt to check, and button checks back.

 

Turn is a 5.  I check again.  I figure I'm either way ahead or way behind, so I want to keep the pot as small as possible.  Button bets out $50.  I insta-call, trying to look unafraid. 

 

River blanks and Button bets out $100.   There's $330 in the pot, and I'm getting 3/1 for a call.  I fairly confidently rule out AA or KKK, as I have to assume this player would have four-bet preflop with that strong a hand (particularly with two players yet to act).  AK might make sense.  But, even here, is he calling $55 preflop hoping to hit his hand?   In the end, I make the call, and he tables TT.  Nice to get a little bit back . . .

 

I ended cash play for the weekend down $435.  Not the weekend I was hoping for.

 

***

 

Saturday night, I decided to spare my ego any more destruction, and opted to play the 7:00 at the Showboat.  It got 150 runners (factoring in rebuys), which is about par for the course.   I played well, and built a decent stack.  With blinds at $2,000/$4,000 and around 50 players left, I looked down at 99.   After one limper, it folds around to the woman on the cut-off.  She raises to $24,000.  Pretty big raise from that position.  I read her as not wanting much action.  The way this tournament works, you really need to run deep to make any real cash.  I don't want to play 7 hours to win $100.  I want to be busting out or chopping.  I opt to shove my 99.  The woman calls and tables AQ. 

 

Flop is KJ 4. 

Turn is a 9.  Set.  Nice!  She's down to 4 outs.

River is . . . of course . . . a T.

 

A fine finish to a brutal weekend!

 



 -P3

Hello Again $1/2 NL

It's Saturday morning.  I'm grabbing coffee at the Club Lounge at the Sheraton AC before heading over to Borgata to grind some cash for the afternoon.

Last night, I rolled into AC around 7:30.  I briefly thought about playing the Revel 8:00pm.  But Matt Harvey was dueling Stephen Strasburg on the TV at Tun Tavern.  Poker could wait a bit.

Eventually, I ended up at Showboat and sat down for some $1/2 NL.  I hadn't played cash since Bally's Vegas a few months back.  But it's like riding a bike, right?  (I assume, if forced, I could still ride a bike...).  I was card dead from the get-go, but I managed to steal some hands to keep my stack even.  A few were simple continuation bets . . . One hand, I opened to $10 with 89 off.  I got two callers.  Flop came out fairly dry.  The dude next to me donks out for $18.  I raised to $56 and it folded around.  Fun game.

Yet, in the end, you still sort of need SOME cards to bank a profit.  I had none, and my stack started to dwindle.  Then I tortured AK from the button.  It folded around and I limped big slick against the big blind.  Flop came out K59.  I checked, and he bet.  I called.  Turn was a 5.  I checked, he bet, I called.  River was an A.  I checked, he bet, I called, he showed 75, I flashed my hand to small blind who offered, "you should raise with AK," I thanked him for his advice...

Only one hand really bothered me all night.  I don't recall the specifics of the board, but I had limped from early position with J8 spades (like any good poker player would).  Flop came out all hearts, and gave me a double gutter.  It checked around.  The turn was a T, giving me the straight.  I led out for $12 or so and got called in two spots - idiot 1, and idiot 2.  River put a higher straight on the board.  Hero, undeterred, led for $25.  Idiot 1 called.  Idiot 2, who was new to the table, raises to $65.  Hmmm.  With idiot 1 behind me, and with a flush and better straight on the board, I fold.  Idiot 1 calls.  Idiot 1 tables the 67th nuts, a/k/a top pair.  Idiot 2 shows two pair.  I get up and grab a beer...

Today is another day.

P3

Confession Time

Here it goes:  My name is not Pete P. Peters. 

 

In fact, my first name ain't even Pete.  My real name is somewhat unusual.  The kind of name that, upon introduction, often prompts a quizzical "Huh?" or a "say that again?" or a "there must be a story behind that . . ."  Alas, there is no story.  Just a gift that has kept on giving for 40 years.  Perhaps my parents thought too hard.  Whatever.  I'm over it.

 

However, some time ago, I stopped giving my real name during various quasi-social interactions, such as waiting for a table at a restaurant, or when placing an order at Starbucks.  "Pete" is just much easier.  Especially early in the morning.

 

Now, anyone who's been a regular at a local coffee shop knows that the so-called "baristas" take pride in learning your drink order and memorizing your name.  I suppose this passes as grade-A customer service.  For me, however, it's proven problematic over the years.  Several years ago, I'd frequent the local Starbucks on the way to work in the morning.  My usual drink at the time was a non-fat vanilla latte, and my name was Pete.  After a few weeks, the baristas would see me waiting in line and get my drink started.  By the time I hit the register to pay, there would be a non-fat vanilla latte waiting for Pete.  Except, some days I didn't want a non-fat vanilla latte.  And, quite often, I would forget that I was "Pete."  As a result, at times, I'd be forced to drink a beverage I didn't really want; and, I'd look like a goddamn jackass as I stood there, staring into space as the barista looked at me, repeatedly calling, "non-fat vanilla latte for Pete . . . non-fat vanilla latte for Pete . . ."  Some days, it sucked being Pete.

 

Things finally came to a head after a year or so.  I was hanging out with friends at a bar in Bethesda, Maryland, on a Friday night when I ran into one of the baristas from Starbucks.  This early-twenty-something girl comes over and starts talking to me.  I had no idea who she was.  I didn't recognize her outside of her element.  If I were in Vegas, I would have assumed she was a hooker.  But as soon as she called me "Pete," the proverbial light bulb went off.  We then had an awkward 10 minute conversation, all the while my friends were laughing their asses off behind my back, wondering why this chick is calling me Pete, and assuming she had me confused with someone else the entire time.  

 

Following our encounter, I made my own coffee in the morning and drank it in the car from a travel mug that inevitably leaked all over my shirt.  I started going to the Quartarmaine Roasters across the street. On occasion, I even went without coffee until I got to work.  But, I never went back to that Starbucks again.  Pete had blown it for me.  That fucker. 

 

Fortunately, however, I recently found another Starbucks close by.  I started going there regularly about 3 months ago.  These days, my order is a medium coffee and a turkey bacon sandwich.  When I walk up to the counter, I'm usually greeted with a "hey Pete, what's up?"  I pay with my credit card, which, incidentally, was not issued to any guy named Pete.  This, however, has yet to raise an eyebrow.  Some days, I wish I could order a latte and a sausage and egg sandwich; but the baristas are always on the ball, and my order is usually in before I even reach the register.  Pete is a creature of habit.  Soon, he'll have to find a third Starbucks in the area.

 

-TRT