Whenever I leave for the day, I turn off the air conditioning, or rather turn it up to 80 degrees. Electricity is expensive enough that if I'm not home, I may as well keep it off. I'm now spending about six hours per day haunting various casinos (whether eating or poker), so I'm kept plenty meat-locker cool there.

A couple days ago, I returned home wanting to dig into the candy bar that FullTilt had handed out at the WSOP lifestyle show (I never did return a second day, so all that I was able to get from them was the chocolate bar, a t-shirt, and a headshot from Andy Bloch).

When I went to retrieve it from my candy drawer, it felt like a sponge: it had all melted into a milk chocolatey mess that oozed out of its foil like gooey pus from a Band-Aid. Good thing it didn't contain a Golden Ticket. This didn't, however, prevent me from lapping up what became the equivalent of a shot of Starbucks' Chantico without the cup. Waste not, want not. I'm also one to lick the plate when no one's looking.

We've been having record high temperatures these days, and I didn't even think indoor temperatures would get high enough to melt chocolate.

I dug through the drawer and found Godiva truffles, Ghiradelli bars, and Nestle Crunches. They were all goop, and I threw them into the refrigerator in an attempt to re-solidify and become more easily edible.

Then I looked up and saw pyramids.

Over the past several months I've amassed a bunch of gift baskets, from online and live casinos alike. Luxor's gift baskets are pyramid-shaped and I didn't open them, instead placing them on the top shelf of my kitchen cabinets for decoration, possible gifts to people, and rations when I run out of snacks.

If the chocolate melted in the drawer...

Uh oh.

I cut into the first basket and had my worst sweet tooth fears realized: all the gourmet chocolates had become soup. Fortunately the wrappers contained them, and it didn't get all over the cookies, chips, crackers, bruschetta, salmon, cheese (which felt like a water balloon), almonds, pistachios, sausage, biscotti, pretzels, cheesecake, and other things I don't normally buy on my own.

Even better, there were no signs of bugs. When I first signed the lease and discovered they tacked on an additional charge for not being on the ground floor, I wasn't happy. Then when I saw just how many desert critters with multiple legs crawl around at night, those few extra bucks per month became very much worth not having to awake into a scene from Creepshow.

My refrigerator, which was empty except for Diet Coke, is now stuffed with gift basket food. Maybe I should throw out the cheese and sausage. Or throw a happy hour party.

§
I'm continuing to not do well playing live low-limit poker. I'm trying to play at least five hours a day and will stick to that schedule the rest of this month, but I may cut it short to go back online and try to build a bankroll there instead.

You can track my progress (what's the opposite of progress?) by clicking here.

In low limits, playing live should be more for fun and to try new things. Only one of those has come true and it surely ain't the first.

I picked up my $80 Luxor freeroll money on Tuesday while giving it back (and more) at the 2/4 table. 2/4! Jeez, I really suck.

Returned to Luxor on Wednesday for the drawing (the 15 hours that qualifies you for the Tuesday freeroll also qualifies you for the Wednesday drawing). The drawing is at 7 and I arrived at 6... two hours too late. Apparently they take attendance at 4 p.m. I missed out on another $60, but worse, I had yet another losing session at Luxor.

They were of the bad beat variety, not of the bad playing variety, so I don't feel I could have done anything differently.

The 4/8 was full and I want nothing more to do with 2/4, so when I spotted an empty seat at the 50NL that was in perfect view of the TV airing FullTilt's live tournament at Wynn, I said let the beats come. Being cable-less, I devour any poker TV show, even without sound.

And when I lost AA against 10-10 (uncoordinated rag flop, so I can't necessarily fault the woman for calling my big preflop raise and my all-in flop, but she lucked out and hit a 10 on the turn), I said mercy and left, completely forgetting to stick around to see who won when Kristy Gazes was heads-up with Ted Forrest (I was glad to hear Gazes won, I was rooting for her since Clonie Gowen sucked out on her).

I'm not superstitious. I happily stay on the 13th floor, walk under ladders, break mirrors, and kick black cats. In gambling, it doesn't matter to me who's dealing or where I'm sitting or which deck is being used. Or which casino I play.

But I may very well skip the $140 a week that Luxor pays to poker players in favor of someplace else where I don't continually lose. If not just to save face and embarrassment. Many of Luxor's dealers play out of uniform and many regulars play, and it would help to not be identified as the sadsack who keeps coming back to lose some more. The last thing I need is for people to take shots at me, knowing I'm running bad.

If there's one thing about Luxor, though, it's the friendliness of the staff. I'm impressed that the three people on the floor knew my name. When Eddie came around issuing new cards for next week, he wrote down my full first and last name from memory, and I'd last seen him a week ago and probably wouldn't have remembered his name if not for his nametag.

§
Later that night I also didn't do well, but for different reasons. I lost as usual, but had a blast doing so.

Got to Rio in time to see them striking the WSOP set and closing down the once-impressive poker room that will now go back to being space for meetings and trade shows.

I was just about to leave when I ran into April, and we headed to MGM to play 3/6.

While on the wait-list, we sweated a 3/6 table by the rail and picked one person to root for, giving bad commentary on the game as it went on and asking loud, ignorant questions (me: "Why do they put chips on their cards?" April: "I think it's for luck").

April sat at that table, and I waited until after "Velcro Man" was called before sitting at the table near the staircase. It was a boring, tight table, but I entertained myself watching TV that switched between women's volleyball, women competing in log rolling competitions, and dogs running an obstacle course. It all may have been the same looped footage, but I could watch all three indefinitely.

I doubled my buy-in and then Otis and the PokerStars crew sat down, then April, then Hank.

The table became loose but also friendly and talkative. No one had said a word before, when it played like a grumpy locals 10/20 daytime game. (Someone had asked, "Is anyone having fun?" and no one responded.)

Once the bloggers descended, most saw the flop, most chased, most drank, most raised with indiscriminate hands like The Hammer (that would be me who reraised Hank with it... and lost), and most chatted.

Intentionally not playing my A game and calling most flops and chasing, I went through my entire buy-in plus winnings, then rebought again. And again. I made up my mind that I was just going to lose everything that night. Including my sobriety.

The feeling at the table was similar to a friendly home game, except the longer we played, the more pots were passed from person to person, with the only winner being the rake that, with the dealer's tip, will continually whittle down anyone who plays long enough in low limits. At least there's no jackpot drop at MGM.

Lots of laughs, and I got a kick out of needling the dealers, particularly about their acquisition of Luxor and Excalibur. They were relentlessly professional, but also seemed to have a great time putting up with our antics.

Otis put off sleep that night, staying with us through the morning and even returning to the table after a short craps break. How could he not, we collectively gave him a loud round of applause when he won his first hand.

We befriended a guy named Anthony who had just moved to Vegas 11 days ago and was trying to play five hours of poker every day. He went over his quota by four hours and was still at the table by the time we all left. He said he was having so much fun he didn't mind losing.

Subjects included Jessica Simpson being fat, open relationships, feeding small children to the lions, asking to spin the wheel with my Aces cracked (the only wheel is at the Excalibur), Lance Armstrong cancer bracelets that I mistook for people going clubbing, and a guy at the 10/20 who had a huge wad of toilet paper sticking out of his pants.

No one was off-limits, not even Kalani the cocktail waitress, who began her shift at 4 a.m. and who we all agreed was hot, beer goggles or not (one of the dealers helpfully offered that she gets off at noon). Both from California, Hank bonded with her, and she stuck around our table to chat while keeping other customers thirsty. Hank asked her, "Are you hot? Someone at the table said you were hot and I won't mention who."

Blushing like teenagers in high school, we all avoided eye contact, taking a sudden serious interest in our card game while the pretty girl looked at each of us with an eyebrow raised.

After a disappointing round of Toasted Almonds, I got Kalani to bring special drinks of her choosing to each of us, and we had to drink it without knowing what it was (mine was bright red with a cherry in it).

This is how a poker game in Vegas should always be. Minus the losing, of course.

After my final rebuy, the table became 4-handed, April and Hank left to the 10/20, and I hunkered down to play the best I could.

Playing 6max tables online and hundreds of SnGs have paid off in shorthanded and heads-up experience, and I feel that's my best game. It's just too bad most people don't enjoy it and the table usually breaks.

April and I finally left at 8:30 a.m., blinking at the sun, similar to walking out of a matinee into the daylight. Daylight of 113 degrees.