I’m in the market for a new car and while I’d LIKE to buy a little red Corvette, that isn’t on the list. Come to think of it, Corvettes really aren’t little, are they? The ones I saw at the car show were long, undulating beasts. No, I’m looking for something a bit more practical, something that’s reliable and fuel efficient. The car I’ve targeted is the Nissan Altima, which looks pretty sharp, isn’t too pricey, gets good mileage, and is well-reviewed on Consumer Reports. I was headed out to test drive some today but it started pouring and looks like it might rain again, so tomorrow might be the day I kick some tires.

I’ve asked you dear, dear people for your advice in the past, so why not ask again? Any advice on buying a new car? Any opinion on the Altima? Or any other vehicles in that class? Thought about the Honda Accord hybrid as well (not a Prius fan) but I don’t think I drive enough to justify the higher price. I drove a Mazda 3 and a Mazda 6 while in Vegas and I liked the 6 quite a bit. Of course, in comparison to my Chevy Cavalier with 112,000 miles on it and no A/C and no radio (it hasn’t worked since I got home) a pair of roller skates would probably be an improvement. I kinda dig the Altima coupe, but the sedan would be more practical, I think. And I’m nothing if not practical. That’s why I get all the chicks, heh heh heh…

Heh.

I want/need a new car. What I don’t want to do is deal with buying the damn thing. I’m not a haggler. I’m not one for arm-twisting. I’m not going to buy something I don’t want and I’m not going to pay thousands more than I’m budgeting because of a slick sales pitch, but that doesn’t mean I’m not dreading the experience. I try to focus on that happy day when I drive off the lot in my new car. I’m trying not to think about dealing with the folks at the dealership. Oh well. I resisted the sales pitches of at least three hookers and one stripper in Vegas. Of course, I was less successful negotiating at the Rhino…but that’s a tale for another day.

I’ve been busy since I got back from Vegas. Went to the lake for 2 days, and yesterday a very special friend came into town for the Jimmy Buffet concert. She got in around 2pm and we decided on a late lunch. But where? She likes Atria’s, which is a small chain of restaurants here in the ‘Burgh, but she also likes Marzoni’s, the brewpub that’s literally a stone’s throw from my flat. We were both thirsty, I was in the mood for a chicken salad, so we decided on Marzoni’s.

I sensed something was amiss when we drove up and the parking lot was empty. It wasn’t that unusual for there to be a lull between lunch and Happy Hour at 4pm, but the empty lot was ominous. We parked, walked up to the door, but when I pulled on it there was a metallic THUNK. And that’s when I saw the sign:

Closed. It’s closed. And I missed the last day it was open. I got back from the lake that night and even thought about stopping. A salad, a beer…be a nice way to reintroduce myself to the place. But I was tired, I needed a shower, and as I drove past the lot the joint was packed. I figured I’d go Monday or Tuesday, so I stopped at Wendy’s instead. Wendy’s, bah.

I slumped against the wall. "Are you OK?" she said, with real concern. She loves this place too, and knows how much I enjoyed having a brewpub within walking distance of my home. Closed. I couldn’t believe it. It was only open a year…we didn’t have enough time together. To be honest, I had some fears that I’d come back from Vegas and find the place shuttered. It did good business at lunch, and seemed to do OK at dinner, but on the days when I stayed there past 7:30 it was pretty deserted. Good food, good beer, but I think the place was too big (and the space wasn’t used as well as it might’ve been). It also didn’t get a big chunk of the nighttime bar crowd, as most people probably thought of it as a sit-down restaurant.

I’m in mourning. I have a glass Marzoni’s growler sitting on my kitchen counter–it’s just a souvenir now. I was a member of their mug club, and while I got my money’s worth I’m gonna miss out on five months of freebies and extra suds. And what suds. Their Pale Ale was a masterpiece.

There is a Marzoni’s still open near Penn State. I checked Google Maps and it’d be about a two-hour drive. A two-hour drive compared to a two-minute walk. My heart, it’s broken. The area around my apartment has gone through a boomlet over the last year or so. A couple of big shopping centers have opened, a strip mall is going through major renovations. I think the Buffalo Wild Wings up the road stole a lot of Marzoni’s action…and I hate Buffalo Wild Wings. There’s a little bar in the strip mall just by my flat, I guess I’ll stop in some day for a taste, but it’s just a bar. No brick-oven pizza, no sweet-chili wings, no chicken salad.

Maybe something new will move in there soon. Newly-renovated building, good location, plenty of parking. I hope so. Because every time I leave my apartment I have to drive past the place, and I’m gonna get thirsty every time I look at it. I’m thirsty right now. Too many tears will do that to you. Sigh.

So this morning I got on the scale. I was trying to lose weight before I went to Vegas, did good, and then I did not so good. I knew that spending nearly two months sitting in a chair, drinking a lot, and hitting the buffets would not help me shed the tonnage. My hope was to at least break even and then start anew when I got home.

I forgot about it on Friday and was gone all weekend. So this morning was the moment of truth. I had a number in my head–if I was below that number, I’d be relieved. That would mean that I was back where I started from, not a bad thing after all all that time in Vegas. I didn’t mind starting again from square one–I just didn’t want to start from square one plus ten pounds.

Got on the scale. The digital numbers flickered and…

I lost eight pounds while I was in Vegas.

It doesn’t make sense. The only aerobic exercise I got was walking from the Amazon Room to the casino. I drank a good bit. I ate…let’s not talk about what I ate. So what happened? I think, perhaps, that I didn’t eat and drink as much as I thought. Too often I ate one big meal and starved myself the rest of the day. And there’s no doubt that I was radiating energy as I cranked out posts during tournaments.

There’s also this–I must really have some lousy habits when I’m home. I think I eat OK and I get some exercise while I’m here. Might need to review that a bit and add more exercise and subtract more Yuengling from my swinging bachelor lifestyle.

So, that made me a happy guy. Those eight pounds, that’s like found money. HItting quads, twice. I’m a month or two ahead of the game now. Eight pounds down, only…forty or so more to go. Heck, if I could find a way to spend a whole year in Vegas I’d be sleek as an otter.

Maybe it’s the buffets that did me right. Chinese for lunch…no! Broccoli! Skim milk! Then an hour on the bike before my beach volleyball game tonight!!

Nothing like writing up a post, packing up the computer, driving to the lake, unpacking the computer, and realizing that you never hit the "Publish" button. I was 30 minutes away from an internet connection and at some point my computer belched and I lost the post. Technology. It underachieves.

I left one group of friends when I flew home from Vegas, and spend the weekend with another group of friends up at the lake. Yes, I am a lucky dog. I’m also a tired dog. I think I’m back on Pittsburgh time, though last night I conked out in a chair while we were watching TV and woke up around 2am in the pitch dark. I honestly didn’t know where I was. Not in the Vegas condo. Not home. Where? Enjoyed a moment of actual panic before I figured out where I was.

Home again, and time to get back to a normal life. Need to go grocery shopping. Have a volleyball game tomorrow night. Gotta pick up Ernie the Cat. On Tuesday. Maybe Wednesday. Thursday, at the latest.

Got lots of pictures to post. But I think I’m gonna take the rest of the night off.

My flight’s at midnight, I’m pretty much packed, and I have a bit of time to kill before I turn in my keys and whatnot and head to the airport. I woke up this morning at 7am, thanks to a phone call from my Dad. "Where are you?" he said, and I slurred, "Uh…what?" He thought my flight was landing this morning, not tomorrow, and was waiting for me to call from the airport to say I’d landed. But no biggie, as I went back to sleep and woke up feeling refreshed.

Had dinner with Pauly and Change and Dan and Jen last night, and a good time it was. Had some fantabulous wine, had something called a "lobster scramble" which was pretty damn good. Pauly and I agreed our steaks weren’t done quite to perfection, but still, an awesome meal. Then we played the 10pm tournament at Treasure Island after showing up at 10:30. I doubled up early when I flopped a flush draw and gutshot to my opponent’s two pair and made my flush on the turn. Won a race with Tens against A-J, made the nut flush with A-K and got paid off, and stole enough to make it to the final table. But once we were down to 7 or so I went card dead. Top 5 paid, and after one guy hit a two-outer to stay alive he knocked me out on the bubble when my A-K was no good against his Q-J. But it wasn’t all bad–we’d done a $10 save for sixth place so the tournament only cost me $15, and I got more than that amount of fun out of it.

After I packed and washed the linens and towels I headed out to Silverton for dinner. The buffet wasn’t open until four, so I played some video poker and watched the Britsh Open highlights. I started off good and was up around $5 when I made quad nines. Nice. I was just about to book a $20 win when I was dealt two aces and…voila! Quads again! And quad aces pay off 400-1, so that was a nice $100 payday. The way video poker has gone for me this year it was a nice way to rebound.

I’m so ready to go home, but I also really don’t wanna leave. This kinda feels like home, in an odd way. Though I’m sure when I get HOME home I’ll be glad to be there. I thought about staying here through Saturday–I’m glad now that I didn’t. That’d be too much time to kill. Odd, I’ve been in Vegas for nearly seven weeks, and I spent about ten hours total on the Strip. Just never got down there.

Time to take out the trash, fold the sheets, and get get ready to go. Maybe a last trip to South Point, have one last beer…we’ll see.

Yesterday we covered the last day of the World Series of Poker Main Event. 27 players entered, nine remain. I won’t reveal any details about what happened, both because I know some people like to be kept in the dark and because, well, I don’t wanna. I spent 12 hours or so reporting on what happened and if you couldn’t be bothered to read what I wrote, the heck with you.

For some reason it meant a lot to cover the Main Event to the conclusion. Last year I was off the last two days of the Series, and as a veteran I wanted to be there to close it out. I didn’t go into the last day in a good mental state–a well-known online player busted out on something of a sick hand and in my report I completely screwed it up. The info was given to me correctly, I rushed to get it in so I could catch up on other stuff, and I butchered it. The player then went off on his blog about how we messed up reporting the hand (my mistake made his play look really bad) and that blog post spawned a huge thread on 2+2. All that Sturm und Drang because I screwed up. Nice to know people are reading, anyway.

It really bothered me because I’m not supposed to make mistakes like that. I’m not perfect, heavens knows, but this was a layup and I missed it. I kept making little mistakes I don’t normally make and I couldn’t reset the circuit breaker in my brain. I don’t even remember what I did at the end of that night, I’m not sure if I went to South Point for a beer or if I went straight home. Everything from the last week is all blurred together.

Yesterday went a bit better. I was set up by the secondary feature table, I wrote some nice little color posts, and the day seemed to fly by. When we got down to 10 all the players moved to the ESPN TV table, where Change100 had been set up all day. There wasn’t room for me over there and she had things under control, so just like that I was…done. Over the last week or so quite a few members of the crew have seen their tours of duty come to an end and now there really wasn’t anything for me to do. I could write up a color post or two, maybe take some pictures, but at that point I was superfluous. I made myself useful by getting Mickey a bottle of water and I found a good vantage point to watch the final table play out.

I was tired. Good God, was I tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Making things even more bizarre is that yesterday the the company I worked for during the series and the company I blog for had, um, a little tiff. One is threatening to sue the other for something that happened during the Series, I won’t say anything about if for about 50 reasons but it’s a fairly big story in the poker world right now. "Mom and Dad are fighting again!" I typed in our Skype chat when the story started circulating around the Amazon Room. I’m not caught in the middle, exactly, I just wear both hats during the WSOP and it was all a bit surreal.

Surreal. That’s how the last few hours of the Main Event felt. I stood next to WSOP Commissioner Jeffrey Pollack and took a few pictures and waited for the thing to end. It’s a universal truth among poker media that the thing they root for the hardest is a quick end to the night. We all have our favorites and quietly cheer them on, but what we cheer for the hardest is for the tournament to end. Someone has to win, someone has to lose. So let’s not drag it out an unseemly amount.

As play went on and on and on last night I started to toy with the idea of leaving. Change had both hands on the steering wheel. I really didn’t care who got knocked out. I could pack up my gear and steal away into the night. And then sleep like the dead. It all sounded so delicious…too bad there was no way I’d actually act upon it. I was there when the WSOP started–I was sure as hell gonna be there when it ended. If I’d left I never would’ve forgiven myself. You see the thing through. No way I was going home to sleep when people I knew were still working. Nope. I shook the cobwebs out of my head and went back to watching poker.

It was a cruel end for one of the players, and I felt bad for being so happy that it was over. The player eliminated was one I was pulling for, and when the last card was dealt I was hoping it would be one he was looking for, even if it meant we had to be there until the dawn. But it wasn’t, he was out, and as everyone was cheering and clapping and hugging each other because his dream had come to an end he stood there shaking hands with the other players. Cruel game, at times.

We went to the Hooker Bar afterwards, me and Jen and Pauly and Change and Otis and Dan and Spaceman and various other scribblers. Otis asked how I felt, and when I said "Numb" he said he knew exactly what I meant. My emotional batteries were drained. I wasn’t happy, or relieved, or satisfied. If anything I felt nostalgic, for an event that’d ended an hour previous. I couldn’t believe it was all over. Where did those 47 days go? This year seemed to go by a lot faster than last year. I also said last night that "if I had to wake up tomorrow and cover a poker tournament I’d eat my gun". Not that I have a gun, but you get my drift.

We had some beers, talked about our plans after the Series, talked about getting together for dinner. This is a part of the gig I love–hanging out with these strange, smart people, bullshitting and drinking. Pauly and Change headed out and I was about to do the same when Otis said, "Pai Gow?" No, not this time. I was completely fried. It was pushing 6AM. I needed rest. Then Dan said he was going. And Spaceman. And his flight was in just a few hours so…come on…

We walked over to Gold Coast, the sun already way up, We found an empty table and settled in. I was nervous about returning to the scene of the Great Pai Gow Massacre, but the cards treated me well this time around and I won about $80. I also drank too many greyhounds and got fairly polluted. "You’re pretty messed up, huh?" Otis said, and I nodded. The last round of greyhounds arrived and I did something smart–I didn’t drink it. We got up and went to the buffet for breakfast, and that probably saved my life. Food, water, and time. A good combination when you’ve had a few.

Otis headed to the Palms and Spaceman and I walked back to the Rio. That’s when I remembered that I hadn’t cashed in my chips. So a trip to Gold Coast is in the offing tomorrow. No big deal, as I planned on going to the Rio one last time before I leave. After I wished Spaceman bon voyage I walked down the long hallway toward the Amazon Room, marveling at how different it feels now that the Series is over. For the last week or so they’ve been tearing down displays and removing signage. The Poker Kitchen closed, the booths outside the hallway were broken down and carried away. Inside the Amazon Room it was much the same–as the field was reduced they removed the tables and chairs until it looked like an aircraft hanger. As the stakes grew larger the spectacle grew smaller. And then just like that, poof, it was over. That’s all. Say good night. Go home.

When I finally reached my car it was around 10:15. I thought about taking a cab but judged I was OK to drive. It’s a fairly straight shot, I’ve driven it just about every day of the Series, and I felt in control. I passed Mandalay Bay on I-15 and realized how bone-tired I was. I cranked up the volume on the radio and sang along to keep myself wide awake. When I parked in the garage I almost conked out right there. I dragged myself upstairs, peeled off my clothes, and crawled under the covers. It was just a bit past 10:30. Damn Otis.

I lay there for a few minutes before the exhaustion overcame me and thought, "It’s over. Thank God." So why do I feel kinda sad that it IS over? I think in part it’s because, well, the World Series ISN’T over. They still have to play the final table in November. We were all talking about that last night, how last year we had a champion, we knew who won. It feels like we haven’t fully done our jobs yet. We need closure. And we aren’t gonna get it for four months.

I’m still wiped out. I thought about going down to soak in the hot tub but I don’t even have the energy for that. Tomorrow there’s a barbecue for the PokerNews crew here at the complex where I live, and then hopefully I’ll get together with some friends for drinks and/or dinner. Thursday I fly home on the redeye. That last day I’ll probably head to the Strip, wander around a bit, then get home to pack. It’s bizarre–I feel like I’ve been here forever, and I feel like I just got here. I’m going to miss this place, I’ll miss South Point, I’ll even miss the Amazon Room. But I can’t wait to get back home. The grass is always greener, I guess. Or maybe I’m just too tired to even think straight about that. 

I’m covering the last day of the World Series of Poker Main Event. I won’t reveal any details in this post because I know there are people out there who like to be kept in the dark about what happens. Thing is, I really don’t care who wins at this point. All I want is for the tournament to reach the final nine as quickly as possible. For the tournament to end quickly four more people have to have their hopes of incredible wealth and immortality (well, poker immortality) utterly crushed. I don’t wish ill on anyone in the field and I hope only the best for them blah blah blah, but I so want four of them–any four will do–to come face to face with crushing disappointment. As fast as possible. Does this make me a bad person? No. I mean, I AM a bad person, prone to sloth and vice and envy, but four people have to bust ANYWAY. Why don’t we just cut to the chase, put the deck in the freezer, and give everyone an early night?

I’m tired, man.

It’s the days off that are killing me. Yesterday my section broke first so I was free to go around 3:30. Of course I wasn’t going anywhere, not with Iggy still playing in the Main Event and the money bubble approaching. I thought about eating, but Jen and I went up to the hooker bar for an afternoon cocktail and to kibbitz. She had a dinner date with a hunky German Supernova and we played video poker and sipped our drinks. I did a lot of sipping–I think I had like four beers. Thirsty I was. I was up around ten bucks, Jen had to use the facilities…and by the time she got back I’d lost my little all. I think I lost like 20 hands in a row. Nothing. Not even a pair. I think I may be done with video poker, really. Taken a bath this year. I went through my account and when I saw how much I’ve spent out here I nearly fainted. I lost HOW MUCH? Then I realized that I’ve actually spent money on things in Vegas not gambling-related. Like…food. Gas. The rental car. Cab rides home. So that calmed me down. Not gonna chase my losses. Bad money after good.

Anyway, Jen returned to work and I went to Buzio’s to have oysters for lunch. Nothing like a dozen oysters when you’re half in the bag, depressed and hungry. They brightened my mood and when I returned to the Amazon Room Iggy was skillfully guiding his stack through troubled waters as me and Otis and Pauly and F-Train watched like nervous fathers at their kid’s first Little League game. Here we were, a bunch of goofballs who started writing about poker four years ago for the hell of it, and now a bunch of us are covering the WSOP while watching the Blogfather cash in the Main Event. And so we complete the circle of pokerblogging life.

Iggy’s table was right along the far wall and so we stood next to one of the PokerNews desks and railed from there. Before the bubble burst every time Iggy put out chips we all leaned forward to see what the hell he was doing. In one hand he got called both before and after the flop and when he bet out again on the turn I focused my psychic energy on the other guy and shrieked "FOLD!! FOLD!!!" When he did I remembered to exhale and slumped against the huge inflatable Milwaukee’s Best Light Can next to us.

And then the bubble burst, and there was much rejoicing. And after the break Iggy hung on and made an extra $7K surviving to the end of the day. I actually missed his bustout today even though I was one of the bloggers on duty in his section. We were busy as hell today, and I was tired as hell. Last night we all went to the Hooker Bar and had a few beers and that was a good time. Just drink, bullshit, have some fun. Around 4AM we had to decide if we should call it a night or have one more beer (which probably would’ve turned into 5 more beers) and both Otis and Iggy said, "It’s time to go". And thank God for that. I got home around 4:45, and once again I fell asleep just as the dawn tried to slip through my bedroom blinds. When I woke up five hours later (it felt more like five minutes) I was bone-tired. Not hungover, I was good on that front, but I was beat. Wiped out.

And today was busy as hell, tons of bustouts, tons of stuff to put up on the blog. Because we lost so many players so fast they stopped play near the end of Level 4, so we all got to leave about 2 1/2 hours early. Instead of getting home around 2AM, I’m home now. No partying tonight. No drinking. No video poker. I’m going to bed.

If I can sleep through the lightning storm outside. Yes, it’s actually raining in Las Vegas. Hard, too. Lots of lightning, no thunder. I can sleep through that. After the last couple of days, and knowing what the next couple of days hold, I can probably sleep through anything.

Went to the big PokerStars bash last night at Rain. Yes, yes, I saw Isabelle and Dario going at it. You usually need to be at Talledaga to see a car wreck that goes on and on and ON like that. But I’m OK. I appreciated all the flowers.

Nightclubs that are dark as a coal mine with wall-to-wall people and noise levels approaching the deck of an aircraft carrier…that ain’t my scene. That was never my scene. Had a good time chatting with the usual suspects, but as the night wore on tempers started to fray. Two guys I work with got into a fight…well, I wouldn’t call it a "fight". One guy Pearl Harbored the other, and to be honest the attack on December 7, 1941 did not compare to the treachery of what happened last night. I’ll spare you the details, for now.

I even got into a tiff as I was leaving the joint. I bumped into Jonno, who ran the floor show for PokerNews last year, and after we screamed at each other for a few minutes I made one last circuit of the place before heading out. I fell in behind this group of guys and the trailing dude elbowed my hand. I was holding an empty Heinie bottle so I didn’t really feel it. Then he tightened up and elbowed my right in the sternum. Not HARD hard, but hard enough that I said something along the lines of "WTF?" He turned to face me and stuck out an arm to give me a shove, and I thought we were really going to drop the gloves. Then he looked at me, his brow furrowed, and it was obvious that I wasn’t who he thought I was. He turned back and kept on walking. An interesting choice, seeing as I might not have been a sleepy wuss but perhaps instead a drunken lout looking for a bit of the old ultra-violence. I had a beer bottle in my hand, he’d elbowed me pretty hard…it would’ve been nothing to bring it down on his crown with a most satisfying THUNK. And then to jump up and down on him until he was but a stain on the floor.

Instead I headed out, played a few hands of video poker to see if Matt was available to pick me up, and was rescued by F-Train. "Really?" he said when he saw me at the machine. "I mean, really?" Hey, I won fifty cents! Got a free bottle of water out of it. Before we left we found Otis on the rail sweating a $2/5 No-Limit game featuring several well-known pros, including Chris Moneymaker. He was trying to get into the game, and that’s pretty much the difference between Otis and most of us–we think about watching stuff like that, he thinks about actually jumping in.

Was in bed by 1:30am, woke up at 7 feeling great. No hangover (didn’t drink much) and only a bit sore after playing basketball with the PokerNews crew earlier in the day (only watched the soccer game). My Achilles is still a-killin’ me but that’s to be expected after not exercising for a month. I went back to bed feeling great…and when I woke up ten I felt bloody awful. Three hours of bad dreams will do that do you. I think it’s Vegas that messes with my unconscious. Maybe it’s the desert air.

Today the field was only 1,300 or so and all hands were on deck. And there really wasn’t much to do. I was snooping around, snapping pics, trying to find stuff to do. I asked Garry where we should reploy after all the tables in our section broke and he said, "Take off". The whole afternoon off! Went home and put on shorts and sandals, got a bite to eat (many bites, actually), did some shopping, spent some time in the pool and hot tub. Thought about heading to South Point to have some beers, play some poker or video poker, but I might table that. Tomorrow is gonna be a long, rough day. There’s gonna be 2,800 players for Day 2, Iggy among them.

After tomorrow all the players will be playing at the same time. No more split days. And the field will start to boil down, the storylines will start to develop and flesh out. Still a long way to go after tomorrow, still have to make the money. But by 1AM tomorrow we’ll have turned the corner. Well, a corner.

Guess who didn’t check the schedule to see that he was off today? Whoops! It actually turned out well, as I would’ve driven Matt to work anyway and then hung around to photograph Phil Hellmuth’s latest bit of performance art. He showed up to the Main Event dressed as General Patton (with 11 stars on his helmet, one for each bracelet, natch) and made his grand entrance. No tank, he just drove up in a jeep, followed by eleven lovely ladies dressed up as WACs. Can anyone spot the one who didn’t get the email about dress code?

So I may hang here and work tonight (to make up some of my Pai Gow losses) and then tomorrow we have a day off and the PokerNews freeroll. Might even play some hoops after the fit guys play some Euroweenies in soccer. Exercise–that’s a scary concept. I will be doing some SERIOUS stretching before that. Then hit up the PokerStars party (where I will be a good boy).

But that’s tomorrow. For tonight, dunno. Maybe have a beer or two if anyone’s up at the Hooker Bar. Maybe work a bit tonight. Maybe not. Yeah, I will, no heavy drinking tonight. Tomorrow’s the day for heavy drinking!

I booked my flight home today. I’ll be taking the redeye on Thursday the 17th and landing at Greater Pitt around 7:30AM. That gives me a couple of days to futz around Vegas after the Main Event ends. And then I’ll be home. Home. Still a long ways away.