Email grubby or grubette (unless you specify otherwise, emails may make it into future grub posts)
Look for grubette at...
I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.
Monday night, I was at Sunset Station and had my name on the waiting list. The bad beat jackpot was over $312,000 and the next day, the hand requirement would drop to Aces full of Kings.
At 8:45 p.m. I went to Panda Express (inside the casino). Had a tasty, no-MSG, two-entree plate and was not given a receipt. A sign on the register says if you don't receive a receipt, the meal is free. I waited for my receipt for 10 seconds, then read the sign to the cashier. She acted flustered, then tore the receipt and gave it to me. I didn't push trying to get a free meal, and instead just enjoyed my orange chicken and mixed vegetables. Later I saw she gave me the receipt of the customer in front of me, which meant she didn't ring up my order and perhaps pocketed my money. Technically, the sign was correct; it didn't say anything about being given the correct receipt.
I then decided to go home and play Party's bad beat jackpot tables (where I play whenever it passes $200,000). I had a hunch the Station jackpot would hit within the next couple days once the requirement became Aces full, and I'd planned to be there every night until it did.
The next day, I drove in and saw their billboard stating that it was now Aces full beaten. But it was false advertising and they jumped the gun, because it was actually hit the previous night... at 9 p.m.
(At the poker room last night, I got an earful of bad beat jackpot bad beat stories. One person said he was next on the waiting list. Then his first hand played at our table, he turned a royal flush, got a small pot (he beat my pair of Queens), and nothing else but a congratulations... though Pete the floor manager did check the back room to see if he could find any hats or shirts.)
Quad 4s was beaten by quad 10s and was dealt right at Sunset Station. Quad 4s received $35,630. Quad 10s received $20,630. Each tipped the dealer $500 (I found this out because of some general grumbling by other dealers as well as players crying cheapskate). Every player in all the Station poker rooms received $630.
There's so much back money in this jackpot, that rather than reset it to $100,000, they decided to begin at $200,000. And because it was hit and reset on Monday, the hand requirements dropped the next day (every Tuesday) so it's now quad 9s beaten.
With the dropoff in players, the player share could still approach $630 and I plan to put the bulk of my play at the Stations. I played all day and night yesterday, not particularly chasing the jackpot but trying to get all the loose money that was going into the pot from people who'd won $630 and were just throwing money around. The more bad beats, the more loose money. I'm also accumulating the 50 hours required to play in their $250,000 freeroll in September (where they expect over 2000 players, and every player busted in the first day receives $40). Which will also mean $50 in food comps.
While playing poker yesterday, the slot progressive jackpot went off for $125,000, which is the fourth time in less than a month that it's hit (it resets to $100,000 and must hit at $150,000). Everyone who had their slot card inserted into a machine received $50. I didn't.
The player to my right dealt the WSOP main event and was disgruntled because no one at the final table tipped. She said the dealers made less this year than last year, and it was half as big last year. I asked her what a good tip would be on $7.5 million, and she didn't say (she said Greg Raymer tipped $45,000). That got me thinking. For small jackpots, I would tip 10 percent. The higher they go, I would tip a smaller percentage. On $7.5 million, I'd probably give $150,000. If I won the $35,000 bad beat, I'd give $1500. If I get a $4.95 sirloin steak at Ellis Island, I tip $5.
On Monday and Tuesday I played Sunset's video poker tournament. Three sessions of 20 minutes each, and my score was pretty dismal, never even hitting quads. Out of the 250 who entered, I didn't make the top 200 for $25. They say the machines are looser, but they sure don't seem so.
Then I got to the reception late. One of the waiters was nice enough to bring out a small sample plate of appetizers, which I hungrily gobbled down with a Red Bull. The slot savages who got there early snagged the plant and teddy bear from each of the tables. My table was already picked clean by the time I sat down.
Tomorrow, mamagrub and Rich roll into town for the weekend and we'll be playing Sunset's slot tournament together. Hope for some better luck. I'd be happy if we were just on the board, which is $50.
Last weekend, grubette and her posse of eight people were in town.
Some highlights:
MGM Grand. Poker was unkind. KK lost to AKo with no Ace on board. At the next table, a guy in the 2/5 NL called an all-in, then accidentally mucked his cards. He didn't realize what happened until the dealer began pushing the pot to someone else. Raised a stink and with every increased decibel, another security guard surrounded him. He must have had experience being dragged off before, because he hugged his arms and refused to leave. He finally did. It was all over a $48 pot. A lesson in protecting your cards. Or in watching reruns of "COPS."
Free food court. Grabbed a middle-of-the-night snack at McDonald's. Doug's order came to just under $10. He gave the cashier $10, who must've thought it was $20 because he got back $10 and some change. Free food is twice as sweet as food paid for. At one of the booths, two women engaged in a heavy makeout session. There are birds trapped in this indoor MGM food court, which I thought were like the fake owls with bird sounds in garages to keep real birds away. Samir threw a French Fry at one of the birds and accidentally hit a customer in the head. He apologized. I thought it would be funny if he did it again, apologizing each time.
Nobu. An animatronic waitress, who made the word "sizzling" sound unappetizing like the word "the." She constantly tried to upsell us the family meal and was disappointed when we ordered individually, saying to Doug, "I'll just leave this menu here because I don't think you've ordered enough." She repeated the specials in a fast monotone drone that we were lulled to sleep and had no idea what she said. One person said she would be better suited for "The Apprentice." Unfortunately, we couldn't get away from the fixed 17 percent tip that she didn't deserve. Stones were at each plate acting as chopsticks' holders, which I forgot to snag for a card protector. As an appetizer, we ordered a $90 bowl of Kobe beef, where each slice melted in your mouth like a mother bird had chewed it for her hatchlings. And for that price, that better be what happened.
Bing pai gow. Next to craps, grubette's favorite game. Had a good time with the surly pitboss we'd had the last time grubette was in town. His name was the musical sounding Bing Ng. If he didn't want people poking fun, he should've worn a different name tag.
Collecting comps. grubette made her older grub proud by asking for as many comps as she could wrangle out of MGM. She tried for a cabana at the pool (which runs $200), she tried for a limo to Hard Rock. In the end, she settled for comps to the MGM buffet ($25 a pop). When they came back to her saying, "I can get you two comps to the buffet," grubette said, "How about eight?" She negotiated to six, then had them remove the additional meals at checkout. The secret about comps is, you have to ask. They're perfectly willing to not give you anything if you don't put them in the position of answering. Always ask. The worst they can say is no, and if they do, just ask how much longer you need to play to get what you want.
Hard Rock. The nicest dealers and cocktail waitresses. Not to mention the most attractive women at any casino. Dealer Teri looked like an older, rounder-in-the-face version of Katie Holmes. Doug thought Valerie Bertinelli. The perky cocktail waitress came by and I asked for a Captain & Coke. Then I asked... is it Coke? She said, "Of course, we don't serve any of that Pepsi shit." Hard Rock also comps shots of Cabo, which Doug was excited about.
$5000 craps. At Hard Rock, grubette, Doug and I played craps with a guy who put $5000 on the Don't Pass. He won on grubette's roll, then grubette colored up because she didn't want to play someone who was jinxing the table. On his own roll, he hit a few numbers and then hit the 7. He won $10,000 in a few minutes, tipped the dealers $500, and left. The dealers said he does this all the time. Later, grubette laughed when she saw the same guy at an ATM.
OD #2382. grubette and Mike saw paramedics rush into the men's restroom to help a guy who OD'ed at Hard Rock. That's the place to do it.
Counterfeit $100. At our blackjack table at Hard Rock, a commotion was made when someone dropped $100 and the "100" symbol in the bottom right stayed black at all angles (rather than green/black). It passed the marker test. I asked to buy it for $5. They laughed, but I was serious. In the end, they decided to accept the bill and pushed it into the box. If I were them, I would've removed it from the floor and had the bank take a look. Instead, they'll just pass it with all the other counterfeit $100s that are swarming Vegas.
Wynn. My Red Bull & Vodka arrived in a tall glass. Ever since a Wynn cocktail waitress said I could take a glass home, I make a point to take a glass back every time I'm at Wynn, where I'll eventually make a set. Wynn's glasses are the best of any casino, shaped like an hourglass with circular etchings around and a white Wynn logo on the bottom. Too bad they didn't put as much thought into their poker room as they did their glassware. Saw Daniel Negreanu sitting first base at Casino War ($25 minimum table) nursing a Heineken and sitting with an Asian woman who wasn't Evelyn Ng. Having David Sedaris rude celebrity flashbacks, I got grubette to play at his table... but just as soon as she approached, he got up and left. He passed by us, but we didn't say anything.
Bellagio. grubette doesn't play slots, but this time she did and was seduced by the sweet elixir of the bonus rounds. She played and won on "Pick Your Fortune," where the bonus round of three gold nuggets takes you into free spins, where you collect pick axes and then pick away at a nugget for each axe you collect.
Monte Carlo. The first time I played, I hit a straight flush for a high hand jackpot of $300. I told grubette this as we entered and played -- her 3/6, Mike 2/4, me NL (which I wouldn't have played had I known NL doesn't count toward any jackpot). Quad 9s was hit at a table, then another quad 9s was hit at Mike's table. Then I heard "straight flush!" and looked over to see grubette cheering. Three high hands within two hours, and Monte Carlo only has a few tables. The floor came over to verify and tell her what the jackpot was (Monte Carlo's hands no longer display on their TV screens). He said, "$20." grubette was dejected. Then he said, "No, just kidding. $500." grubette screamed, "Are you serious?"
To be continued in September, when grubette next visits.
— —
Thursday, July 21, 2005
A friend o' Neil by grubette
The last time I went to Hustler, I drank ten beers, saw Phil Ivey, Gus Hansen and Johnny Chan playing in a back room, lost a few hundred and vomited. Not exactly the best impression of Hustler or Coors Light, but hey time passes and we forget. I've been playing exclusively B&M's since losing all real money on PokerStars and winning/losing $300,000 in play money there too (yeah, yeah it's fake but it still hurts).
Hawaiian Gardens has an awesome bad beat jackpot at $175,000 for six hours a day on $6/12 and up. And they started doing half kills. Be warned though, if you go there bring anti-bacterial something or another because the last two times I've gotten sick, it's been immediately following the handling of those dirty poker chips and hanging around dirty poker players.
I was in the area of Hustler last night, so I called my friend and asked him to meet me there. He wasn't at his phone, so I just left a message and went anyway. I got there and the parking lot was nearly empty! I thought there was action at this place. Saw the bonus tipping $40k (that's it??). Sat down, and hey my friend was at my table! He said he was stopping by to "eat dinner" there.. right. He had forgotten his phone and didn't get my message.
I was out of the hand when he got pocket 5's. Flop was K-Q-5. Turn was a Q and river was a K. His full house beat another's flush but not the higher Q's full of K's. Such a shame. He was busted out of money and left after only an hour. I promised to win his money back for him when I got K 5 in first position. Flop came 2 s. I checked, 3s bet, one other caller, I called. Turn was A. I held back and checked. 3s bet again. I held back raising and just called. River was a and I immediately bet out. 3s ranted and raved but called. The other caller hesitated, took off his glasses and stared at me. I stared back at him, saying, "I have a flush."
He said, "I know you do but how big?"
3s stood up out of his chair and started berating the dealer for allowing us to talk about our hand. I turned to 3s and said, "I have a flush"you asshole.
Flush guy folded and I said to 3s, "I had it on the turn"you asshole and turned up my nut flush.
3s threw his clubless hole cards up (one was an Ace) and started ranting, "You'll let me call the $8 but not him??!"
I repeated, "I had it on the turn"shit-for-brains calling with a pair of Aces and no clubs with four clubs on the board.
I nearly threw his $8 back at him. But decided to take more of his money. Except he got up, for the 10th time and went to the bathroom. He kept missing his blinds and annoying the crap out of the players and dealers, so I asked for a table change. I've discovered that it's good to table change when you're winning because eventually the table does get cold. I don't mind playing with dicks like that though.. the more hot they are, the more poorly they play.
At my table change, I sat next to a very pleasant Jeff who started telling me about his personal life right away. But in a nice way. He said he had just gotten married in Australia and then went to a Neil Diamond concert. I felt that an odd way to celebrate nuptials, but he said his dad worked for Neil. I asked in what capacity and he said, "He's Neil's manager. I've known Neil since I was a kid."
How cool is that? I love Neil Diamond! Grubby's and my piano teacher Mr. Burnett used to say his favorite song of all time was "Sweet Caroline" by Neil. Always thought about him when I heard that song. Sadly, Mr. Burnett is probably still teaching piano in his dank basement. Piano lessons were a pain in the ass in my opinion. Once I was done with my lesson I had to sit outside in the sweltering heat inside a Volkswagen Rabbit and wait for Grubby to finish his lesson. I remember watching mamagrub give Mr. Burnett a check every week for some ungodly amount, thinking I should really be enjoying something she's paying so much for. I quit piano way before Grubby did and I still can't play Für Elise. But I'm a helluva typist.
Anyway, I told Jeff, son of a Neil Diamond manager, about my last experience at Hustler, won a few hands and a big pot or two. I left $178 up, telling Jeff that I'd better get out of Hustler before I got too drunk, lost all my money and forgot how to get home.
Prophetically, driving home I missed my exit and wound up 20 miles outside of the coast, which is not a good thing because that's what I use as a directional north star. What a day to forget my driving glasses. Thinking I should pull over and ask for directions, I saw "Compton Shopping Center." Oh great, Compton! And here I was loaded up with a bunch of cash and couldn't see well enough to notice if I got carjacked. In CA, when the street signs change color you know you're in a different city.. Compton's are green.. next signs were blue, Paramount! Oh great, where's Paramount?! What direction was I going? I pulled out a freebie Triple-A map and saw Compton was east of Paramount and I needed to go south to the ocean, so I turned right and ended up back home, cash and car intact.
Next time, I'll stick with Hawaiian Gardens and Lysol.
— —
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Stripping the night away on my last $100
After the Charlie charity tournament, I've briefly popped back to online play to try to boost my poor numbers, which I'm going ahead and posting as well on the spreadsheet.
While adding money to NETeller, I found out something I hadn't known before.
I hate all the fees associated with NETeller and their debit card, but I hate waiting for the deposits/withdrawals to go through more, so I begrudgingly put up with the fees.
If you do a lot of transferring, it's worthwhile to get the NETeller debit card. Just to have it on hand, in case of a Scientology alien invasion or something.
Always needing cash in Vegas, the card's invaluable for getting immediate access. When there's money in NETeller to begin with, that is.
Once you apply for the card, they send it to you, but it isn't activated until you give the word. And if it carries a $0 balance (you have to deposit to the card from NETeller; the card doesn't give access to everything in your NETeller account), they can't charge their inane monthly $5 dormant fee.
The last time I'd used the card was March, and I figured my balance was so small that I'd just let the $5/month fee drain it to $0.
Being the cheap grub that I am, I didn't want to pay the $1 fee just to view my debit balance. The principle, you know?
But I found you can get around this by clicking "Deposit" and then "NETeller Debit Card" as if you're moving funds from your card back to your NETeller account. When I did this, it displayed my balance (which was surprisingly at $265 -- good thing I didn't abandon it altogether and let the $5/month fee take it all). A deposit to NETeller is free, so I moved the whole $265 back to my account in time to play the Charlie tourney.
A $1 saved is a $1 gambled.
By the way, the total fee you should be paying for a cash withdrawal is $3.50:
$2 to move up to $1000 from NETeller to the debit card $1.50 to withdraw cash from the card
And because it's the same fees no matter the amount, always try to deposit and withdraw the maximum.
Washington Mutual's ATM machines don't charge a service fee. Most don't allow daily transactions of $1000, but some do. Check around.
If you can't find a Washington Mutual (I once drove for 45 minutes looking for one, which used up the equivalent of that fee in gas), ATM fees are more expensive on the Strip than downtown. Ellis Island has one of the cheapest at $1.50.
Oh, and avoid ATMs at strip clubs. Unless you want to pay a $20 service fee, and wouldn't you rather put that $20 to better use?
§
At the Station Casinos, the bad beat jackpot begins at $100,000 and hits when quad 10s are beaten. Every succeeding Tuesday the qualifying hand drops by one.
Last weekend we were ending week 7, and the hand to beat was quad 3s. Next week, it'll be Aces full.
And the jackpot was $259,000. The highest it's ever been.
To put this in perspective, the slots Jumbo Jackpot was half that -- $126,000. That one also starts at $100,000 but must hit by $150,000. Whenever the jackpot nears the $140,000 mark, tons of eager slot minions are seated slapping that "Spin Reels" button. If the jackpot hits while you have your player's card inserted, you get $50. It hit last week, and over 4100 people shared in that lucky local's fortune by each receiving $50 of freeplay.
There are five poker rooms in the Station Casinos web: Palace, Boulder, Texas, Sunset, and Santa Fe (Green Valley is expected to be added soon). I don't know the exact figure, but let's say at capacity there are about 400 people playing poker.
Once the bad beat progressive hits, the losing hand receives $35,000 and the winning hand receives $20,000. At other casinos and online, the remainder is split among the people at the table who witnessed the bad beat.
At the Station Casinos, something lights up, or a bat phone rings, to let them know. Because the remainder is split among every other poker player at all five Station poker rooms.
That means each person playing poker would receive about $500, or 10x what a slot player would receive. And the poker player doesn't have to playthrough the bonus money before cashing out.
It's no wonder the poker waiting list is a mile long.
I don't usually go bad beat jackpot mad, but when it's over $200K (live or online), expect to see me living at the casino.
On Saturday, I found myself at Palace Station, the Station Casino closest to the Strip (off Sahara near Crazy Horse Too). I was there to kill four birds with one stone: I had $30 in free slotplay, I had my Saturday gift to pick up (car floormats), I could use my points for a free buffet, and I could sit and fold to do my part waiting for the jackpot.
The day started well, as days usually do when you wake up and haven't yet gambled.
My $30 of freeplay turned into $55, with a few spins of break-even video poker play and one pat quad hand. I immediately cashed out once I'd played through the $30.
Went upstairs to the The Feast (all Stations call their buffets Feast) and saw a line of 35 hungry people. I flashed my blue platinum player's card and cut to the front of the line, to many complaints. I just stuck my tongue out at them, thinking, hey, if you'd lost thousands of dollars "earning" your platinum status, you could cut too. No sympathy from me.
I only made two visits to the buffet, and ended with handscooped strawberry ice cream with hot fudge sauce. When I left, I passed some of the same people who were waiting in line before.
Mike (who holds the blogger record for three trips to Vegas in six weeks) and his friend John stopped by and added their names to the poker waiting list. The players weren't going anywhere, so we had time to kill.
Both had never played pai gow before, and recalling the last time I'd played with Pauly and Senor (who were also pai gow virgins), we'd taken Caesars Palace for almost $300, handily paying for our earlier steak dinners at The Palm.
Alas, variance reared its ugly head and we all turned up losers at the $10 table with a dealer who amused herself with heavily accented comments that I didn't understand, kept asking her to repeat, then finally gave up and just nodded whenever she said something. I lost $200, Mike lost $100, and John lost about $70.
All in the span of 20 minutes. You're really not supposed to lose in pai gow.
Meanwhile, another player had just sat down, put out a $5 fortune bonus side bet, and immediately hit a straight flush, 50:1. We somehow couldn't bring ourselves to smile at his good fortune of green chips.
I felt bad about falling off the poker wagon, but I justified it to myself as entertainment when friends were in town. True, there were other forms of cheaper entertainment, a lesson I would impart later that night.
Before I entered Palace, I had withdrawn $500 from the ATM in crisp, sequential $20s, and that's all I had to spend. Well, not spend, but win with.
The buffet was free, tip was $2. Video poker was +$55. Pai gow was -$200.
$353 left.
Time for poker.
We went to Mirage and got in a tight 3/6 game. An annoying woman to my left scolded another player how she would never play Q-10 unless in position. And I guess in position means being on the button, because later when she had it, she raised. Or maybe position means being under the gun, because when she got it again, she limped.
When people talk "strategy" like this, I get pleasure out of beating them so either the talk will stop or increase and tilt.
But it wasn't meant to be. Won all of one pot, which I bluffed bet when it was checked to me on the flop. John picked up some good pots without showing.
Otis and Pauly stopped by in time to observe my final hand. I had trips on the turn, which also gave someone a runner flush draw which he hit on the river and then check-raised me. What nerve.
I took my remaining four blue chips and joined them at the bar.
Playing video poker and blackjack slots for drinks, the games were tighter and costlier ($1 minimum) than other places off-Strip. For awhile, a couple casinos tried banning free drinks for slotplay at the bar, but the uproar was enough that they reinstated. How dare they try to tamper with the free drinks! Vegas wouldn't be Vegas without it.
Lost $40 on two drinks. Should've ordered a couple more and played slower.
Mike called out to Otis and made a craps gesture. Otis said, "Dice?" and his eyes lit up like he saw The Hammer UTG.
We found ourselves transported to the craps table and after an hour we were all up between $100-$200. Then the 7s started coming and within 10 minutes we all ended down.
But no other game has as much excitement where you can freely scream without anyone batting an eyelash. We even joined in the other table's screaming.
Time for a drink break, and we met up with the PokerStars crew and hung out at the sportsbook bar.
Some were into bikini bullriding at the Frontier, but the majority nixed the idea. One was the feature of an open relationship story, so I had high hopes, but later she revealed it was a hoax.
The plan was to drink and then play poker. We never got to the poker.
Otis and Pauly bet on the dog races (with real dogs running obstacle courses), and then it got to be that time.
By the time everyone had left or gone to bed, it was 2 a.m.
I had $100 left. Pauly said, "Well, we have two options. We can storm the Castle or... go to a strip club."
I said, "We could just as easily lose in poker." I checked my wallet. "Which would you rather do, lose $100 in poker or lose $100 at a strip club?"
When strip clubs are mentioned, there really aren't any other options.
Crazy Horse Too was the destination. My $100 went a little further than Pauly's because many strip clubs are free to anyone who has a Nevada driver's license (a tip if you're visiting Vegas: get a fake Nevada license, it'll pay for itself just in free admission).
First order of business was finding seats and getting drinks.
We headed to Cleopatra's Lounge, a darkened area near a bar with more empty seats than the main area. On the way over, a stripper grabbed my crotch and asked how I was doing. I think she knew.
I had my eye on a Natalie Portman lookalike who sat in front of us, but she was one of the customers. She was lip-locking the guy she came with, and Pauly said her guy later bought her a couple lapdances. I missed that completely, and Pauly said I was busy.
Besides Natalie, it was a full hour before I found anyone I was interested in.
I'm selective with my strippers. Particularly with $100.
Pauly, however, sampled everyone who approached him (including a pair with matching tanlines that Pauly said, "Best $80 I spent in my life"). After one finished, he said, "You are a true artist. But you knew that."
His name was Steve that night, mine was Dave. My occupation was going to be a professional log roller from Milwaukee, but none of the strippers had asked.
One introduced herself as Soria. "Like the disease?" I said, repeating myself like a hack strip club regular that needs new material (I don't have Pauly's strip club patter down). I turned Soria down after envisioning some crusty substance growing on my toes. When picking a stripper name, it shouldn't recall anything in a medical textbook next to an illustrated picture.
Then I saw a vision in a red evening gown. Like in real life, the girls you're attracted to tend to walk right past you. As she passed by, I all but Christian Slatered her to get her to come over.
She had a girl-next-door/Avril Lavigne look that must be my type. And combined with a personality (okay, any personality), she was easily my favorite. She said she was from Kansas City, lived in San Diego, and her name was May. "May I have this dance?" I said, and after hanging out for a song, she got right into it at the start of the next.
The red dress didn't do her justice. "Does the dress come off?" (told ya -- no patter), and out of the dress, May was very becoming. A large tattoo was splashed on her stomach and an unnerving one on her back had two eyes that looked like they were watching me. Like the Mona Lisa. A cartoon cat was stitched on her panties: "It's my pussy."
She had a unique talent that I hadn't experienced before, where I could swear she had some sort of silent vibrator in her mouth. And she put it to good use. I had another dance to confirm.
Half an hour later, I was telling Pauly about her stupid human trick, and her ears must have been burning, because she showed right up. I had to let Pauly test out her talent, and after the first dance, Pauly also had seconds. He told her that we knew each other from med school and that I was a well-known surgeon. Sure beats log rolling.
This was the first time I'd been to a strip club wearing shorts. I highly recommend that as your choice of attire.
After we ran out of money, we exchanged stripper perfume and body bling with mozarella sticks and steak & eggs at Wild Wild West, which is where my final few ATM dollars went.
Playing poker or strip clubs. Not a hard decision at all.
Thought you might be interested in the underpinnings of Poker Grub.
I've tried various ways to bring extra cash to the site. Affiliate banners and Google AdSense, primarily. I turn down every advertising opportunity that I receive, mostly because the emails are spam and not worth pursuing.
Poker Grub brings in very little from the poker links. $0 is received through casino links. Yet with ads placed at other places (mostly 2+2 and sites off AdBrite) running $600 per month, it was costing money to sustain the site.
AdSense pays once you hit $100, and after a month I was far from receiving the first payment, so I removed it. Selling Poker Grub's soul in exchange for a bombardment of hack poker links just didn't seem worth $100.
The PokerRoom banner, which pulled in zero real-money signups, was the last to go.
I also won't be linking up any of the online poker sites I may post about in the blog, nor will I be mentioning reload bonuses, which you can find at many other places. I'll still keep the list of poker sites, which contain affiliate links to online sites. If you click any of those links, sign up, deposit, and play at that site, it will help Poker Grub survive and will be much, much appreciated.
I'm still advertising Poker Grub at other places, dropping ad costs to $150 per month, or roughly what the site pulls in to make it break-even.
I may try little things here and there. 'Cause if I can sell out in exchange for a livable monthly income, don't tempt me because I'm all for it (hint, hint, you multimillion-dollar site out there who wants exclusivity).
But for now, we'll stay ad-free.
In place of ye ol' blinking PokerRoom ad is now How's grubby doin'?, which lists my poker results beginning July 1, 2005. Since I'm no longer playing online, it's a peek into all of my poker play, which until now has been untested (in my prior spreadsheets, I'd combined all live casino play -- including all gambling games).
This is drawn directly from my new Excel spreadsheet, listing daily and hourly rates and a constant tally of where I stand. Offline, I update it daily on my own, and for the blog I'll update it every time I post something new or every few days, whichever comes first.
If the numbers are good after the next couple months, I'll reduce live play and supplement with online play and will also list those results. There's more money to be made online and in a much shorter span of time, but I need to kick myself into discipline and I need to work on my reading skills. Plus I can try out more bluffs and techniques that don't work online. I'm learning all sorts of tricks and plays than I ever could online, none of which would even work online. But believe me, I'll be welcoming the cheaper rake, multiple tables, rakeback, increased hands, and ABC poker when I return to online.
I'm uncomfortable revealing this exact data and I may pull it after the first few months. In general, when I haven't posted in awhile, it's usually a sign I'm running bad. If I'm losing, I don't feel like posting. Now like a reality show, you can delve into this data and find out for yourself just how bad (or good -- let's stay positive).
Another reason for providing this is that I realize it may help some people when considering whether a poker career in Vegas is viable swimming in low limits. Certainly these first six months have shown me a definitive answer in the negative direction, but I wasn't giving poker a true shot, instead sacrificing table hours for blackjack and slots.
Posting this data will also help me play my best. Knowing others are keeping tabs will force me to sit up straight and put in the hours. davidross's and Lord Geznikor's posts were so interesting because they listed exact numbers. Not many people do, and for good reason.
Like any of my writing, what I write in this blog is what I would like to read myself, and if I were a reader, I'd really be curious how much money I'm making or losing.
Poker was for fun before, now it's for real.
§
I just could not figure out why Blogger was tossing in a huge blank space after each blog title when the sidebar didn't interfere on archive posts using the same exact code.
Viewing Poker Grub in Firefox also messed things up with the background border. Couldn't figure that one out either.
Jeez, and to think this kind of problem solving was what I did best in my job.
So I threw in the towel and redid it. Maybe to the good or maybe to the bad and it certainly won't win any awards, but in any case it was time for a change.
I kept the garish colors and get a perverse pleasure in forcing you to view that bright silly wallpaper that makes sense if you're on acid or wearing 3D glasses (in a scholarly view, it's an ironic commentary on other blogs that have background wallpaper). The logo I took from the ad I ran on 2+2, which is no longer there because $200 per month was getting too much. It may change to plain orange or another grubadelic wallpaper image if I can find one. But after the current logo being up a couple weeks like graffiti, I'm growing to like it.
I'll play around with the photo, changing it every now and again. Currently it's of the bridge between New York New York and MGM, where hundreds of people blocked pedestrian traffic waiting to see July 4th fireworks that never materialized. I was one of the patient people waiting downstairs on the Strip.
The Bad Habits photo that appears on the How's grubby doin'? page is a downtown Vegas cigar shop across from Neonopolis. It speaks to my predilection for blackjack and slots and will hopefully remind me to stay away.
I'll probably eventually change it to something more Vegas-y (Vegas-ish?) yet less recognizable as Vegas if that makes any sense. I don't want to go with the overused "Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas" sign or the Strip or typically what you think of when you hear Vegas. Though I may very well fall back on those icons if I can get a good picture.
Hands of the Week is pretty much defunct, but I like the photo and the hand discussions within each link, so I'll keep it.
And if you've been waiting for a new post from grubette, stay tuned!
One day I'll update the sidebar items to match the layout. Considering I haven't updated or added to the blog links since October, it'll probably be later than sooner.
However, fill out this form if you want your blog added (or changed or deleted). I'll try to update at least, oh, every month or so. The form will get my attention more than email because I'm so swamped with spam that I automatically delete anything containing "link" in the subject.
— —
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Math comes in handy sometimes
River Belle* just changed their signup bonus to something much more lucrative than what it was previously. If you haven't already signed up or if you haven't already deposited, I would hop on this one, because if you look at the terms & conditions, you'll see that blackjack is accepted, which it rarely is in online casinos these days. I expect them to remove this condition eventually, and what I'm about to tell you won't help any. (Once you accept the t&c, they're obligated to stick to it, but just to be safe I would copy and paste the t&c and tuck it away somewhere once they do change it.)
The new offer is deposit $50 and get $300, which is doled out at $10 for the next 30 days. You need to login each day for the $10 to register. You don't need to play. But you must login each day, or the bonus will forfeit.
What they're counting on is you giving in to the urge to play with that $10.
But you won't, because you're not me. You'll wait patiently until the 30th day, when the last $10 is credited, giving you the full $300 to play with.
River Belle uses the spiffy Viper software, which has an autoplay option. The wage requirements before cashing out is 20x the deposit ($50) plus bonus ($300), or $7000.
Go to Vegas Strip blackjack, which has a house advantage of 0.3606 percent. Meaning, for every $100 wagered, the house will win 36 cents.
Set your bet to $1 and autoplay for 7000 hands. They've corrected their strategy table so that it plays perfect basic strategy.
Because of splits and double-downs, this will playthrough over $7000 and depending on your Internet connection, will take about five and a half hours (let it run overnight or while you're at work).
Because of the high variance in blackjack, it's best to resist any temptation to watch as it plays. Turn off the monitor and return in a few hours. You're looking at the final result, not what leads up to it.
Now here's why the bonus is +EV (expected value).
Warning: math ahead.
EV = bonus - (wage requirement * house advantage) EV = $300 - (7000 * 0.003606) EV = $274.758
The standard deviation (the measure of variance) for $1/hand is sqrt(7000) * 1.14, or $95.38.
67 percent of all results fall between plus or minus one standard deviation, which means you can expect to win between $179.38 and $370.14, and the risk of ruin is 0 percent.
Even at $5/hand (if you want to be daring), the risk of ruin is still 0 percent: the SD is $213.27, and you can expect to win between $61.49 and $488.03.
Too good to be true?
Here's something else: with the Viper software, you're able to select your currency. Which includes British pounds.
With the exchange rate being about 1.89 these days, a deposit of $94.50 (not counting the 1.9 percent NETeller fee for the conversion) will get you a whopping $567 bonus.
Choosing pounds will effectively boost this bonus offer by 89 percent.
The only bad thing? It's for new River Belle players only. (There's another similar offer via their multiplayer casino, but there's no autoplay option there.)
*Note: I've posted my affiliate link above, though because of a past bonus opportunity I'd posted last year, I don't get anything from it. If this works for you and you'd like to give something back, sign up to a poker site via one of these links -- and if you're looking for another good casino bonus, check out Casino-on-Net which has a 100 percent bonus up to $200, with a low wage requirement of 10x (but no autoplay).
— —
Friday, July 15, 2005
Melts in your basket, not in your hands
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.
— —
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Pacing Palms, losing Luxor
Into their second issue, it's one of the worst poker magazines out there, but free is free: to get a complimentary year-long subscription to Top Pair, email your snail mail address to toppairmagazine@cs.com and mention you heard about the offer at the WSOP (which is where I heard about it).
§
The Palms ran some 44 poker tournament events concurrently with the WSOP. If you busted out of the Series, you could just head 'cross the street to The Palms. Or take an $8 cab ride.
On Sunday, I entered their final event in the nonsmoking ballroom next to the poker room. It's too bad this space isn't permanently used for tournaments, because they did a decent job running three tourneys simultaneously without confusion. I expect them to do it again soon, hopefully not a full year from now.
131 entered for $125, top prize was $5102, and 10-18 paid $125.
Three people went out at my table in the first level. Before the first break, I had a great run of cards. Then I was cold-decked and could do nothing but steal blinds, though I could rarely do that as people did it before me. Tried ramping up the aggression after we were all in the money at 18th place, but as people dropped like flies, I realized I could probably sit back and coast to the next level.
Whaddya kidding? I'm not the sit-back-and-money kinda player: I want to win. I grabbed whatever opportunity I could and if I didn't build up a stack, at least I stole enough to survive another round of antes and blinds.
Made it to the final table, where they took down everyone's names for a neon-colored flier that they post on the Maloofs' refrigerator door. They also awarded a t-shirt to everyone, advertising a Winners' Circle at the sportsbook, without any mention of the poker room. I suppose if asked, I could pretend my horse won.
Down to nine people, I have KK and raise all-in, which is basically a bit more than a call because I'm so shortstacked. Chip leader raises 3x to isolate, which works and I'm hoping for no Ace.
He shows JQo, even better.
When my KK tables, a former dealer and poker player for 30 years says, "He always has those," back at another table when I doubled-up from him when he raised with K9o. I shrug, feeling good about the cowboys.
The dealer burns and turns the flop, which is 8-9-4.
I think I can actually double-up now and sit through one more round of antes and blinds.
The turn is 7.
The table's rooting for me and I feel good. I'm thinking how wonderful it would be if the shortest stack goes on to win the tourney. If I can just build up a few more chips, I know I could bully my way up there. One guy says, "The only thing that can hurt you is a..."
And no sooner does he say that does a 10 slam on the river.
Dang.
I was oddly unemotional about the beat, probably because I knew he had to call my puny raise to try to knock me out. And if I were him, I would've done the same thing. That's just the way it goes.
$190 for ninth place, which meant for four hours I received $65, a $5 comp (which I used to pay half of the $9.25 ticket to Dark Water at the Brenden Theatres), a t-shirt, and a Palms ballpoint pen that I stole from the tournament desk and which ink ran out a day later. I would've walked out with my glass, too, but the cocktail waitress who looked nothing like Jenny McCartney came around and snatched it up, perhaps anticipating my stay would be short-lived.
Wish I'd jumped on these Palms tournaments earlier. The competition is pretty lacking (surprisingly... or perhaps unsurprisingly, many had played in the main event and busted out early) and I enjoyed the structure.
I had had dinner before I played the tournament but was in the mood for Sonic to drown my sorrow. Fortunately there was one across the street and at 2 a.m. it hadn't yet closed.
My Panda Express dinner was quickly forgotten, and I found myself ordering a second dinner of Sonic-sized tots, a toaster chicken sandwich with bacon and cheese, and a cherry limeade. Once it was delivered, the outdoor lights and music shut off: I was their last customer.
Not having any real place to go and rather appropriate with my mood, I ate my fast food in the car in the dark.
§
After the comfort food, I was still awake. Decided to check out Rio to see how things were going over there.
Passed signs for Access Broadway, which looks to be a singing and dancing competition for kids. Signs read that there was a fee to observe. As if poker players would be interested in prepubescent teens singing tunes from A Chorus Line.
At 2:30 a.m., the place was dead. The main event players had packed up to get some sleep, leaving a few cash games running.
It already looked like they were readying the dismantle job. The regular brushes were gone, as was the waiting list on the nifty overhead display. Pieces of paper were taped to the podium listing limits and table numbers in black magic marker. There was no waiting list and all tables were first-come, first-serve. Just wait for an open seat and sit down. In other words, a chaotic mess. Maybe they had the equipment on lease for just a few days.
With no empty seats at the 4/8, I went to Luxor to gather up more hours for the freeroll that never happens.
On Friday, I had played 7.5 hours there and lost $500.
I was skittish about it and thought perhaps I should just cut my losses and skip the free money, but what's another 6.5 hours?
And the answer is: $700 more to the bad.
This is all in the freakin' $50 min/max NL game (you can rebuy another $50 whenever you get $1 under).
You know those drunk tourists who sit down and rebuy after rebuy after rebuy? I was that person, only I wasn't drinking and I'm not a tourist.
Had two horrible sessions there, both with a guy from Toronto at my table who won a seat into the WSOP through a $10 qualifier online (Tigergaming) and every hour made sure to talk about his bad beat when he busted the first day.
When he busted me for the third time (83o vs. my QQ), he said, "If it's any consolation, I busted out of the World Series with QQ." It's no consolation to me, buddy, but no wonder people called him if that's how he was playing. (He raised UTG, I reraised, he called, flop was a 3 and he called my all-in because he "didn't believe" me, then hit two pair.)
I left Friday $500 in the hole and returned two days later not wanting to have anything to do with no-limit. Unfortunately, once the 4/8 game broke there was nothing to play except for 2/4 and NL... with the same guy there in his $250 shades (that someone offered to buy for $10... though that someone was me).
I built up to $150 and look down at QQ. He makes it $20 to go and I ask him in a mock-angry way if he was the same guy who busted me with 8-3. He says, "Yeah dude, sorry, eh? You gonna call because of that?"
I say no, I'm going to raise.
And I went all-in. Maybe a dumb move. But I didn't want to see the flop, and the pot was big enough with another person's $20 in there.
He plays with his chips, and I tell him I'll show him if he folds. He shrugs this off and calls.
He has AKo.
It's good.
I rebuy again, build up, lose, then have to start all over again.
My final hand was a bad hand to go out on, and it was perhaps a steaming hand because there was information there that I chose to avoid. A guy from Ireland (we called him Dolph) limps $2 and I raise to $15 with 99. A woman who had been there for half an hour and hadn't played a hand calls. Dolph raises $30.
Bells are going off because this limp-reraise was the first of Dolph's. I'd done it earlier with AA against him (he called with A4) and I figured he wasn't bluffing.
But could he have AK? And what was that woman going to do?
I call, the woman calls (putting her all-in), and the flop is undercards. I was hoping at least one overcard would appear so I could get away from it.
But I still could have, I just chose not to.
Dolph bets the rest of my chips, $45.
Turn is Q. River is K.
Dolph looks at me with a blank stare. Billy, a guy from Shreveport next to me says he wants to see all the cards. I hate players like him because that rule is for possible collusion, not information. But he was a talker and a guesser. He wanted to prove to another guy that he was right in all his reads. He put Dolph on pocket Kings.
I show my 99. The woman shows 10-10. And Dolph, he slowrolls two Kings.
Billy leaps for joy and says he knew it.
That was it, I was out of there. I didn't even care about the final hour I needed for the freeroll, I would end up tilting more the longer I sat there.
Besides which, I had no more money.
§
I pride myself on reading people well (though the final hand above makes this statement a bit hypocritical). Making good folds, raising to protect my hand... problem is, with people buying in for $50 that's the equivalent of one hand of blackjack, the money isn't significant enough for them to drop on a flush or straight draw. Or any pair, for that matter. Even with one card coming. Even against a $100 raise.
And sure, I want them to call my raises when I'm favored to win. I'm just frustrated that that percent isn't working in my favor for a change.
I know things would be different at a higher limit. But with my rapidly shrinking bankroll, I'm stuck with these limits and all I can do is grit my teeth and rebuy $50, then another $50 immediately. It pains me to think that I could have ended with the same result if I'd sat in a $500 NL game. Like when I was playing slots and blackjack, I was never willing to make the big giant bet, preferring the slowburn torture of small bets that would only lead to the exact same loss but in a longer period of time.
This is the part about poker that makes it gambling and luck and not just calculated odds. This is why poker appeals to many more people than the grinders and rocks.
This is what makes it incredibly infuriating.
And it's also the part that often makes me want to throw in the towel and give up poker completely.
Pretty much like I did on that final 99 hand.
— —
Friday, July 08, 2005
Surrounded by hookers
I don't know how many drinks I had with AlCantHang matching 3x or 4x (he doesn't just drink me under the table, he drinks me under the carpet), but it was the most amount of drinks I've had in one day since I've been in Vegas. As I'm writing this, my pores are rebelling against the mix I had as a dinner substitute -- Captain & Coke, pina colada, strawberry margarita, Bay Breeze, Red Bull & vodka, White Russian, Kahlua and creme -- all drinks I usually order, though usually at the rate of one of the above per night. (Yes, along with my music tastes, my drinks of preference also are in line with a teenaged white girl.)
Put another way, two drinks per hooker would be about right.
Because that's what we did last night the entire time the WSOP main event was going on: play break-even 25-cent video poker, drink free drinks, watch the bevertainers climb the slot machines to sing and dance, and wait for the ladies with the high heels, small purses, and STDs.
Once I got to Rio and picked up some free loot from the Lifestyle show (which I'll be re-visitng today because all the stuff was subpar, except a thermos from AbsolutePoker, a card weight from Bodog, and best of all because it's edible -- a chocolate bar from FullTilt), I immediately ran into Otis and Al just as they were headed to the hooker bar. Otis mentioned they'd pass the tournament slots and would probably find me there, and there I was behind them.
After I referenced Al in the previous post, I went to his site to grab his link and read that he was going out of town. Wonder where he's going, I thought, as I hopped in the car to head to Rio. I didn't skim the rest of his blog, figuring I'd catch up later on.
Little did I know he was going to Vegas and was already here.
I won't question these coincidences, but I remember playing two SnGs last year with Al sweating me without me knowing it. Both times I sucked out (one on a two-outer) to win. Al does bring the luck.
We sat at the Shutters Bar, the first bar down the long hallway from the WSOP, had a few drinks, and played Jacks or Better for one quarter per hand until the dinner break when Otis and Pauly joined us. Otis bought a round of drinks, and we had dial-a-shots with iggy and BadBlood.
Then it was back to Al and me, drinking and looking to get jacked... in video poker, that is.
We were disappointed by the hooker representation and were about to leave to the WSOP when Erie sat down looking elegant, and Al launched into an entirely believable story that I fell for involving a shrinkwrapped Porsche. It achieved the goal of widening Erie's eyes, enough to hook-her so she'd wait up for us.
We excused ourselves to go check on the boys and walked the mile it takes to get to the WSOP, narrowly avoiding all the teenyboppers in town for a tapdance competition that Rio oh-so-wisely decided to schedule simultaneously next door. It's still to be seen whether the nine-year-olds will be corrupted by the evils of poker, but maybe we should be worried Greg "Fossilman" Raymer might slip on the tapdancing shoes during his break.
Al and I gathered in the 160,000-square-foot room that once seemed so big but with all tables filled for Day 1A of the main event, turned into a New York City studio apartment. We sweated Paul Darden and Chris Ferguson's table, only because it was the table by the rail and we couldn't push through because Nicole Richie's security guards were in the way.
Saw Jesus suck out on another player with pocket Jacks when he spiked his two-outer, much like Pauly did against Shannon Elizabeth the previous night.
StudioGlyphic arrived from a long day of poker at Wynn. Poker? It occurred to me that I hadn't played the game in two days.
Chatted with Dan at Pokerati, then sat on the bleachers watching the final table with Fossilman and his googly-eyed sunglasses (on sale at the Lifestyle Expo for $6.99). Forget those glasses, I want these Willy Wonka glasses:
We got bored, saw the cash games deep in waiting lists, then parked ourselves back at the hooker bar, reclaiming our favorite seats once they emptied.
Erie didn't wait up for us, her loss.
I tried Deuces Wild, then switched to Keno. Thanks to Al's luck, I hit 7 of 10 numbers twice for a 120-coin payout ($30). Twice. Not bad for a 25-cent bet.
Al was forced to play max credits to comp his double shots, which was good timing because he hit quads twice and a gutshot straight flush. I covered the card he needed to pull, and we yelled for an 8 to appear, and there it was. You just have to ask and you'll get it.
At some point, we looked around our surroundings and I whispered to Al, "We're outnumbered." Al nodded with a smile, already aware.
The game of "spot the hooker" did no good, because they were all hookers and made no pretense that they weren't.
Like the big black beetles that swarm the grounds of Vegas, Shutters was suddenly swarming with hookers. And hookers who were as loose as the video poker machines. A Thursday night, the start of their weekend.
They sat on either side of us, they sat in between us, they stood behind us, they bookended two at a time, they kept our seats warm when we left to the restroom.
We called Otis and Pauly to annoy them to skip work and come join our party. Well, not a Party but a party. Sounding dead tired, we were surprised they even picked up.
A girl named Kimara (who later revealed her real name once I said I was a local -- that seems to be the secret handshake with hookers, and once they find out you live here, they relax and talk to you normally and maybe even offer discounts) sat in between us and inserted a $20 and ordered a mineral water.
"Want a glass?" Oscar the bartender asked.
"Sure," Kimara said.
"A nine-inch one?"
"I wouldn't take anything less."
Kimara was the friendliest, and unlike the others, seemed to give her full attention. A typical hooker found in the wild will have the eyes of bumblebees -- simultaneously, they look at you, the bartenders, the video poker, possible johns with more money, hotel security, and their cohookers to see how they're doing.
One blonde in tight jeans had her hand on mine the entire time she was trying to work a guy (he didn't bite, though she did).
I leaned over Kimara and loudly congratulated Al on his fake jackpot win.
"How much was that, Al? Two, three thousand?" I said.
"Three," Al said.
"You know you can ask for a win-loss statement."
It didn't faze Kimara in the slightest, as it did Erie. Kimara's been around the block and knows all the tricks. Tricks, as in, well, tricks.
Kimara had a friend (hookers always travel in pairs) whose name was Chase. "Chase, like Manhattan?" Al said.
Chase gave a customary chuckle while scouting the casino for johns.
I said my nickname was Wachovia.
"Huh?" said Kimara, and I had to explain. Though that's probably an East Coast-West Coast thing than an empty brain thing.
As the poker players began to file out like zombies, we left our new friends to meet up with Pauly and Otis.
Kimara gave us her business card where she works a day job at a mortgage lending company.
If she can't screw us one way, she'll find another way.
— —
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Hell hath no fury like religious relatives (who aren't related)
I've somehow fallen into being chronically late. When I was working, I pushed my start time later and later, thanks to the job's flexibility and my not being a morning person. Toward the end of my tenure, I never used my alarm clock, arriving whenever I woke up, anywhere between 11 and 2 p.m. Keep 'em guessing, eh? If I happened to arrive at 10 a.m., my boss would ask sarcastically if anything was wrong to be there so early. Subconsciously perhaps I was hoping to get fired so they would be the ones to push me to move, but I always did my work, got my hours in, and was rated highly in my performance evaluations, and my arrival time was never mentioned.
Without a job, I don't know what I spent my time on to make me late for the airport this past weekend. I was working on the blog, munching on Jalapeno kettle chips, and uploading MP3s to the iRiver, and suddenly it was 4:30 p.m.
I'd intended to park at Green Valley Ranch or Sunset Station because they had garages (to get away from the heat) and free shuttle buses to the aiport. That day was also free mystery slot play (up to $100), and I'm happy anytime I can take money from the casino without putting up any of my own. The return trip on Monday would also get me a free $30 in slotplay and $20 in table play without having to make a special trip to the casino.
But I couldn't get to either one in half an hour and didn't want to risk traffic. And I still had to take a shower.
So I accepted the fact I'd have to pay $12 per day, drove to the airport, and parked in long-term parking. Only I couldn't, because it was all full. People escaping Vegas on Independence weekend? How dare they.
Thankfully, there are options in Vegas, and I drove to Hard Rock and parked in their garage, then took a cab to the airport. The cab hailer looked me over and said, "Northern California?" I shook my head and said, "Northern Ontario," forgetting I was wearing a t-shirt that said "Canada" on it. And the cab hailer either not noticing the shirt or discounting it.
Inside the cab, the cabbie asked, "Where you live, California?"
Obviously I must have cultivated a Northern California look somehow, t-shirt be damned.
I said, "Sorry, Alaska," because I'm in poker mode and practicing bluffs.
This resulted in a discussion about the weather, and I said that Alaska is actually warmer than you might think. I said that as I saw the clock/thermometer on the cab dashboard register 116 degrees and I realized even with the air conditioning, the back of my t-shirt was covered in sweat (I never knew my wrists could sweat, as my wrist mousepad is drenched in wetness).
Oh ho, surely not as hot as Vegas, I said, but it's daylight all the time and you see a lot of moose wandering the streets.
I then told him about the time a moose blocked me inside the car, and the only way I could get past him was by giving him a thermos of coffee, only it wasn't coffee -- I had emptied it the night before because I had to go to the bathroom and couldn't find any restrooms.
"You pissed in thermos?" the cabbie said.
"Huh-uh," I said. "Number two."
All lies, of course, and I'm not sure he believed me. I need to work on bluffing some more.
The fare was $7.50 and I gave him the $12 I would've paid for parking while saying he should visit Alaska in the summer sometime.
At the airport, I noticed the slots are now ticket-in/ticket-out, which makes for much more convenient playing than the messy coins. I don't have a desire to play unless I'm rated, so it's easy to avoid all the airport slots.
On the airplane, I sat next to a girl from New Zealand who kept rubbing bare elbows with me. I didn't mind it, so I kept my elbow where it was and didn't pull away. In Vegas, this would've cost me $20.
On the satellite TV, I watched "Poker Royale: Young Bloods" (no idea what the qualifying age was, under 30?) for the first time where David Williams was battling Erin Ness heads-up. I don't know how this Erin Ness chick got to be where she is, but one of the best poker players she is not. Ness played up her attractiveness which would be fine if she's using it to entice calls or folds, but instead she went into Shirley Temple mode whenever trying to decide whether to call herself. In the end, she isn't much of a poker player, getting lucky and making some bad calls because "Ohhh I want to play."
I have nothing but respect for Annie Duke and Jennifer Harman (I'm unfamiliar with the other female players), but having Erin Ness in the poker community must set off groans to all the female poker players who are trying to take the game seriously.
Throughout, the commentators talked over their table talk, and I'd much rather hear what the players are saying. When the commentators say, "Oh there's some flirting going on," debbiedimmit I want to hear that flirting.
To further distract, trivia would pop up on the screen saying, "Being from New Jersey, Erin is, of course, a Bruce Sprinsteen fan." They must have run out of things to say about empty-headed Erin, because this pop-up appeared twice.
If that weren't enough, JetBlue's pilot and flight attendants would come on and interrupt with their announcements that they think are funny ("arrival time is in 10 minutes, but we're trying to make it 9."") when really we just want to get back to our TV.
Close to the end of the show, I saw Williams with 3-4 and Ness with 3-2 and a flop of 5-5-2. Ness check-raises all-in and Williams calls.
And the turn is...
That's when JetBlue zapped the program while pulling up to the gate. (I later looked it up and saw that Williams missed his draw but ended up winning the tournament.)
Being cableless, I'm starved for poker on TV, so I was actually entertained watching the show.
I met grubette at the airport and we headed straight to hdouble's LA blogger home game, which was Omaha Hi-Lo.
Met the charming Mrs. HD, who should be on the poker shows instead of Erin Ness.
Not knowing anything about Omaha, I basically played every hand. And lost.
At least I know not to raise with the low. Last time I played Omaha was the first time I played Omaha when the bloggers were in town. We were playing Dealer's Choice at The Plaza, and I had raised a pot against AlCantHang. Felicia said, "grubby wouldn't raise with the low, would he?" Oops. Bad players don't just call, bad players raise with the low.
Played 11-handed around HD's nice poker table he got on eBay and paid almost as much to have it delivered. It has cupholders and the felt is nicer than many poker rooms'. At Rio, they didn't silkscreen their WSOP logo on their tables, which was a big mistake because after the first day of playing, all the logos on all the tables are now frazzled, with threads poking out everywhere that now actually catch the cards or cause them to flip. The thing looks like a hook rug.
After we were all beaten down by Omaha (grubette more than doubled her buy-in), we switched to a hold'em NL tourney that was a lot of fun. $5 bounties on everyone, and $20 to enter.
When Chris and HD were heads-up, HD laid down The Hammer that caused Chris to fold, but Chris was so far ahead in chipstack that he could afford to call down most hands.
Met up with Chris and HD the next day at The Bicycle Club.
Sat in a completely bewildering 200NL table. The play was going along in your normal, loose-aggressive way that I like so much about LA cardbarns (I was already on my second buy-in), until one person took a bad beat. He then tilted and raised all-in blind 12 times in a row.
12 times in a row. Blind.
He stated he would be raising all-in until he regained back what he lost. At first we didn't believe him, but true to his word there he went, as he calmly sipped his wild berry smoothie.
Incredibly, at least one person called him each time.
He lost the first three and kept rebuying $100 or $200.
Then he won two and had $450, all in one rack. He pushed and someone called him with 6-8.
Sure, the guy's going all-in blind, but is a coin-flip worth calling $450 with 6-8? Evidently God likes him better than the all-in guy, who managed to catch AQ but give the flop a 6 and nothing else.
The guy rebought and then had a series of wins (one hand two people called and he tripled up), getting to even -- $1200 -- before he resumed normal play.
He later cashed out at $1400.
I stayed out of everyone's way in all 12 hands, though had I called I would've won three. Still, I'm not that much of an action player to want to call all my chips on a blind gambling hand.
After the guy left, the table went back to LAG and I slowly built back my stack, though not enough to get even.
Hopped in a 300-500NL game that quickly broke.
Then went to a 100NL where a drunk guy was raising every hand. He at least looked at his cards. He later said, to someone who said he didn't respect money: "Hey, I make a lot of money in my job." And said that night he dropped $4000.
I pegged him as a high-limit player who was slumming it with us, trying to shake things up and tilt us with bad beats he might put on us.
He rebought about 10 times. But ended up cashing out $1400.
He was cliched but hilarious, and from what he said seemed educated. He adopted the sunglasses and poker pose, not missing a beat and standing up in heads-up all-ins, but I could tell he was doing it ironically. His posse of friends sat behind him, eating and drinking and dangling unlit cigars from their mouths. He'd show them his cards before he raised.
What betrayed him to me was when he folded to one guy. I overheard him say to another guy, "He needs the money; I saw him short-buy for $40."
I saw him do this again when heads-up against the guy. Just willingly giving up a pot to that one opponent.
It could either have been philanthropic or collusion, but I went with another angle.
I think he's a very good player who has a lot of money and was trying to build up everyone's chipstacks so he could outplay them and get his money back. The money wasn't important to him; the game was.
His table image was enough that he got the guy who shortbuyed $40 to call an all-in for $500 with a flop of 2-3-6 (two s). He ended up having pocket 6s and the guy who called had nothing but A8o, saying he thought the guy was on a draw.
What if he was? Was it still worth calling an all-in with Ace high? Especially after you turned your $40 into $500?
Something was fishy, but who knows if there was actual collusion going on or if the guy was just drunk and having fun.
Me, I was just happy to have my pocket Aces hold up, the only time I'd seen them that day. I limped preflop, knowing he would raise, which he did. Other people called, then I reraised all-in. Anywhere else from a guy who hasn't played a hand at all, this is a sign to fold. At this table with all that money in the pot, it's a sign to call.
I had about $80 and faced a terrifying four callers to the flop. Fortunately, the drunk guy went all-in which dropped the other players and put me heads-up. He had nothing but a gutshot straight draw, which fortunately didn't come and I quintupled up.
A later hand I had 99 and folded to his $25 raise and one caller. The flop was A-9-10 and both players had two pair (the drunk with A9). That would've been a huge pot had I not been playing so tight. My leak is, I would have called the $25 with KQ, which is only slightly better than 99, but which is a troubled hand if a K or Q falls. I'd much rather have 99, knowing I can easily dump on the flop if I don't hit.
I left after he left. No sense in hanging around when the action disappears.
Not even in Vegas is there this much action.
HD said matter-of-factly, "Hey, there's no slots. They like to gamble."
§
On Sunday, mamagrub arrived and we went to Uncle Willie's 80th birthday party in San Diego. grubette already had plans to go to Palm Springs, so she lucked out not having to join us.
I had planned a free couple nights at Luxor (a $75,000-or-a-Mercedes invitational drawing), a free concert by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and of course the Vegas fireworks, but I changed that to visit California out of a sense of family obligation.
Auntie Ruby called a month ago, though I didn't speak to her for another couple weeks. grubette gave her my number, which Auntie Ruby misdialed and got someone with my name, who was from Vegas and who was a playwright. What are the odds? At first she thought I was pretending I was someone else, then she realized she had the wrong number.
Still, she talked to the fake grubby for half an hour. I suppose she then felt satisfied enough with their conversation that she didn't need to try me.
I found out through mamagrub that Auntie Ruby's husband (Uncle Willie) was celebrating his 80th birthday and seeing how one of the reasons I moved to the West Coast was to be closer to family yet I've barely seen them (Uncle Willie & Auntie Ruby live in Cleveland and visit their grandkids every summer in San Diego), I figured I should be there. Particularly because they always made an attempt to visit us over Christmas. And particularly because he's 80.
I'm related to Auntie Ruby, and it was all of Uncle Willie's relatives at the Chinese restaurant where we took over five tables upstairs.
I sat at a table with complete strangers, and I may as well have been plopped into anyone's family reunion.
I did find out pretty fast that they were all deeply religious, having gone on Billy Graham's crusade in New York to spread the word in the streets and subway.
There's a certain Stepford quality to people involved in these things, and it's very much on the same level with me as Tom Cruise and Scientology. It's hinted at before you even speak with them: they're smiling all the time like they're striving to put on a forced sense of contentment. Or like an infant who has gas. And all the while they're denouncing others' views and beliefs because they weren't lucky enough to join their cult.
On the way out to escape, one of them caught me with a copy of the Gospel of John, probably sizing me up as a nonbeliever. I thanked her profusely and gave her a hug.
When people asked what I did for a living, where I lived, and who the heck I was in the first place, I would grade my acting as a C-minus. I attempted to lie about how I'm doing in Vegas (that Vegas is great, I have no regrets, etc., etc.), not even mentioning poker or gambling, thinking it would set off a flurry of how I'm sinful. More often I changed the direction of conversation and asked questions of themselves, which unfortunately had to do with religion.
And the Chinese food was awful. Each plate was placed on a lazy susan and each was increasingly bland. This could have been because of the Chinese restaurant or because the cheap dishes were selected. Knowing my family, I have a guess in mind.
A cake with strawberries was brought out (purchased from Albertsons), and was actually pretty good. We sang "Happy Birthday" for it, a song that should be abolished like "Hey Macarena." And because many people missed taking pictures, we sang it again. I didn't bring my camera.
If we all met at a $5.99 Vegas buffet, I would be more than happy with the food and could tolerate the conversation.
But I really would have preferred staying at The Bike playing poker.
§
I was happy to return to Vegas, and happier to find a free night at Excalibur waiting for me in my mailbox.
Called them up and booked immediately, then before even unpacking, went straight to The Castle for some long hours of poker.
Began the night with NL and across from me was a gorgeous Southern California Commerce gal wearing a halter top that had plenty of holding to do. Whenever she said she was cold, I'd glance at her and sure enough I couldn't help noticing her nipples were poking through.
Made poker a bit difficult to concentrate on.
In the room, the king-size bed was fine but I've slept on pillowtop beds and buddy, this ain't no pillowtop.
Brought along the camera hoping for photo-ops of the July 4th fireworks, and I stood outside in that confounded desert heat for 90 minutes waiting until 10 p.m. and they didn't appear. The next best thing I could've hoped for was to see the bridge between New York New York and MGM collapse, so I would've had a photo of that, but instead it was just hundreds of people hanging out waiting for fireworks (see above photo). Apparently the fireworks were set off at Hilton and downtown; Stratosphere let theirs go the night before.
Vegas does more for New Year's eve fireworks than July 4th, but alas, it looks as if I'll miss New Year's in Vegas again this year.
— —
Friday, July 01, 2005
Too little, hopefully not too late
Rabbit, rabbit!
I've mentioned getting back on the wagon before but tend to break my own promises to myself. I guess my own credibility isn't good enough.
July 1st is a good a time as any to begin grinding it out in good faith. It's all been fun and games and bad blackjack streaks up to this point, and now I really need to be making money from poker or get off my ever-widening bum and get a job. I've never really put in a set amount of hours per day or set a schedule, probably because I'm too busy wasting it away in other games.
My online poker accounts and NETeller are still empty, so I'll be attempting to grind in live cardrooms. I may try a different room each week for variety. For the near future, I'll be at Rio until the World Series of Poker ends. I'll also work on my game, reading books and trying different things at the table.
Unfortunately, my living and gambling bankroll has tumbled to such a critical amount that I'd be playing with scared money if I did anything higher than 6/12 (and with most Vegas rooms topping out at 4/8, I'll be going with either that or no-limit). Barring any more unexpected car problems, I'm good on expenses for the next two months and have paid my rent in advance those two months just in case.
Just in case of what? Just in case of temptation. I know my addictive personality too well that I'll spend everything I have in my pocket, down to the last cent. This has also happend with NETeller. Or a poker account. Or a credit card. Or a bank account. It's that bad. Another way I'm trying to avoid temptation is by changing up cash to casino chips and leaving the casino without cashing them in. This at least prevents me from sticking a hundred into a slot machine on the way in or out. And it forces me to return to the casino.
The goal is to grind out at least seven hours per day, every day (with a hopeful $100/day). If July's successful, I can lock in another month of expenses and then work on August. If August is good, I can think about upping limits in September while introducing online play again.
If July and August are bad... well, let's not think about that. Nothing like living month to month without a job to wake me up.
I'll document the numbers here, similar to what I did when I first started the blog. Hopefully it'll keep me in check knowing people are watching. (Though I'll still try to spare you from my bad beat and bad luck whining.)
This is something I really should have thought out six months ago. I would give anything to have those six months back (heck, I would accept taking back just the past three), and I'm really eating humble pie because I have no other choice.
But onward. Here's to a future steady diet of only poker this time and one less promise to break.
§
An hour ago, I saw Doyle Brunson take down Ming Lee for his 10th bracelet, tying Johnny Chan.
Ming's final hand: K-Q. Doyle's: 10-3.
Luckily, Doyle was one off his usual hand because the flop gave him a 3 and no more help for Ming.
Doyle also got lucky against Layne Flack. The flop was 10-9-x and Layne went all-in with K-10. Doyle called with K-9. Turn gave a 9 and bye-bye to Layne in fourth.
Out in third was Scotty Nguyen, whose J-Q didn't catch against Ming's 5-5.
Even the final table had a hard time getting cocktail service. Several calls were made, and by the time the server arrived and took orders, Scotty had busted.
I watched the server pass out drinks to Doyle and Ming as the crew dumped the Franklins on the table.
Scotty was always holding hands with his skanky girlfriend, and on his way out he gave an interview to a TV camera. As soon as he was finished, there stood the cocktail server waiting with his Corona! What balls to track a player down after he busted, and 15 minutes after he had asked for cocktail service.
I didn't see him tip her, but perhaps Doyle tipped for him. I don't feel too sorry for Scotty, as his third place win of $100K should be good enough to keep the girlfriend hanging on until the next event.
There's an electric feeling whenever I enter Rio nowadays. It's basically one big poker convention that will only get more crowded in the days to come.
The first thing I do is put my initials on the board ("GRB"), but inevitably I miss the cash games because I'm tempted into a satellite or end up watching the final table if there's an all-star lineup.
Tonight was the latter, which probably saved me money.
It's good to watch these live, because no cable means no ESPN.
Every time I see them play, I imagine myself sitting at that table wearing gear that says Poker Grub.
by grubette
Grubby's Hands of the Week
What is The Hammer?
5
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).
to appear, and there it was. You just have to ask and you'll get it.