The Blind Paying the Blinds

Earlier this week, I had to travel to Kansas City for work. As an executive, it's important that I set a good example for our department by finding an inexpensive hotel. So, I had no choice but to accept a comped room from Harrah's North Kansas City. My sacrifice better earn me a gold star from the Morlocks in Accounting.

After a great dinner of veal spiedini at Mike & Charlie's, I headed up to the poker room. The usually busy room had only two tables of $1/$2 NLHE running, sparse even considering it was a Monday night. The players told me that most of the bigger action games had relocated to the recently opened Hollywood Casino at the Kansas Speedway, which apparently has several NLHE and PLO games at the $2/$5 and $5/$10 stakes most days Thursday-Saturday, with juicy $1/$3 NLHE throughout the week. Conversely, most of the regular low stakes LE games had settled in down the road at Ameristar, a move that has been in progress for some time.

It didn't take long to realize that making a big score was out of the question. Though my game was full, there were only three stacks over $300, and my opponents were mostly almond brokers. As is usually the case in these kinds of games, my profit came mostly on two hands. I got a courtesy double up for nearly $200 from a guy who declared he was playing his last hand and was racking up. I called his preflop raise with 87 offsuit, flopped the nuts on a rainbow 6-5-4 board, and maneuvered him into calling my river all-in with just pocket Yaks. My other big pot was picking off a stone cold four barrel bluff when I went with my read and went to war with my pocket 9s which were good against this yahoo's 84 of crubs unimproved on a Q-J-5-5-J board; calling the pot-sized $75 river bet was tough, but hearing the yahoo's sigh as I put in the chips made stacking his chips all the sweeter.

Towards the end of the session, an older guy wearing dark glasses took an open seat at the table, with a younger guy sitting down next to and slightly behind him. Because a player had busted out of the seat the hand prior, the old guy was sitting down in what would have been  the small blind, setting off this exchange:

Dealer:  "Do you want to buy the button?"

Old Guy:  "Sure. How much is it?"

Dealer:  "Three dollars."

[Young guy puts out $3 for Old Guy.]

[Dealer deals cards.]

Old Guy:  "Am I the small blind?"

Dealer:  "You bought the button, so you're actually the big blind."

Old Guy:  "I'm the big blind?"

Me:  "Actually, you're both blinds."

Young Guy:  "No, only he's blind."

[Crickets.]

Umm, yeah. Old Guy was blind and Young Guy was there to read his cards and the bets to him. I suddenly had a flashback to Dawn Summers' 2010 vacation to the Midwest, in particular where she had an entertaining encounter with a one-legged man in Des Moines. Considering it was pushing midnight, even I could see my "fox pass" was an omen, and I decided to rack up a healthy profit.

Me:  "Good night, and good luck, y'all."

Old Guy:  "See ya later!"

Indeed.

Dawn Summers Makes Me Say "Hmmm"

For reasons that will become apparent in a later post, I was doing some searches for a particular blog post by the inestimable and prolific Real Dawn Summers when I stumbled across this interesting quote from conservative political blog "Freedom Matters":

“Obama is all style. No substance. He’s all ‘I want to send children to the moon,’ and then when you ask how he says ‘Hope.’” – Dawn Summers

O_o

Well clearly there has to be a FAKE Real Dawn Summers who just happens to hold the opposite political views of the REAL Real Dawn Summers we all know and love. Sort of a matter-antimatter thing. Real Dawn v. Anti-Real Dawn.

But wait. What's that on the Dawn Summers blog Clareified, from way back in February 2008? A tormented blog post, you say?

I called up pearatty last night after watching a particularly horrific Hillary Clinton interview with George somethingsomethingopolis.

“I’m losing faith,” I cried, “maybe Obama is better.”

“Dawn,” she said, “Obama is all style. No substance. He’s all “I want to send children to the moon,” and then when you ask how he says “Hope.”"

That made me laugh.

He totally would say hope. That wanker.

Obama is untested to say the least. He’s 40, has won exactly one statewide election –where his opponent was a transplant from another state — and he didn’t even give a crap about that job enough to so much as finish a half of it before he decides no running the United States is what he’d be better at.

Yeah, me too. I can run the United States. Um…I believe in myself and stuff.
And of course, should the idiot wing of the Democratic party will out and nominate…ack ack ack…Obama, I will work as hard as I usually work at things, to see that he…umm…loses to McCain by as few votes as possible. (I tried typing beats McCain, but I was giggling too hard that I couldn’t see the keyboard.)

~Dawn Summers, "They try to make me like Obama, I say no, no, no."

o_O

So, while I was busy in Iowa caucusing for our eventual President, Dawn Summers was calling him a "wanker"?

I am so telling Obama.

Bob Loblaw on the WPBT

"There's more to life than strippers and booze and buckets of blood.  Why do you guys have buckets of blood?" 

—Michael Bluth (Jason Bateman), on Arrested Development

One of my favorite all-time TV comedies was the hilarious, and underappreciated, Arrested Development.  The show was filled with offbeat, zany characters* finding themselves in absurd situations, while cracking snappy one-liners.  Sounds a lot like the recent WPBT Winter Classic!

I arranged my annual Festivus solo trip to Vegas to coincide with the WPBT this year.  I figured I followed many of these folks' blogs, why not meet a few of them?  Not to mention their trip reports always seemed to involve a high degree of hilarity ...

So I departed Des Moines Thursday morning, landing in Vegas before noon.  My room at Planet Hollywood was not yet available, so I moseyed over to Aria to play some poker.  I ran into "Missing Flops", a Vegas lawyer who blogs on Vegas Poker Now, who was playing the 1:00 p.m. tournament. My poker session was pretty meh, but I did entertain myself by tormenting a hoodie.  This young kid would glare at me from under his hoodie anytime I raised or called his bet.  I had a decent read on his style, which was a basic uber-aggressive approach that might've been profitable three or four years ago.  So, I played a few pots with him, winning almost all of them.  One interesting hand I had some sort of suited gapper and limped UTG.  Hoodie raised to $15, got a couple of callers, so I repopped it to $75 straight; big glare and a muck.  The pièce de résistance was when I called him down in position with Q6 soooted for bottom pair after he three-barreled an unimproved Ace-King.  The glare after I rolled over that hand probably means I shouldn't expect a holiday card this year.  As I was walking back to Planet Hollywood to check into my room (themed around the forgettable—and for me, forgotten—movie Mimic), the Aria poker room tweeted:

@Grange95 thanks for coming out!

Unintentional comedy at its finest.

After checking into Planet Hollywood, I wandered down the Strip to play "flop a Royal" at Mirage.  I failed.  Then it was on to dinner with Poker Grump and Missing Flops at Dos Caminos in the Palazzo.  There was a great deal of merriment and some serious debate over poker and politics.  Then it was off to the Imperial Palace to check up on the WPBT crew at the Geisha Bar.

At this point, I was confronted with a horde of poker bloggers.  Lots of names and faces were learned and promptly forgotten.  Hey, I'm old now, it happens.  I do remember meeting Otis (resplendent in a white polyester sportcoat with faux suede trim), BuddyDank (central casting for any middle-aged slacker), Ian (central Iowa resident I had inexplicably never seen at a poker table before, and whose blogger name I forget; EDIT: It's NumbBono!), and Falstaff (a big ol' teddy bear who was carrying a pitcher of beer, but no glass.  Epic!).  The irrepressible F-Train made an appearance, and I also saw the famed Pauly at the nearby pai gow table, with a rowdy group of compatriots.

Although I'm a fairly outgoing person, being the newbie among a herd of old friends can be a little awkward.  So I wandered over to the IP's poker room.  I had to play some 2/4 LHE while waiting for a 1/2 NLHE seat to open, but that worked out just fine as Alaska Gal dealt me pocket Kings, flopped me a set, and I managed to get an old guy with KJ to think I was bullying him, resulting in a pot over $75.  Excellent!  I don't remember much of the 1/2 NLHE game, except that CaityCaity, CK, skidoo, Katkin, and Falstaff all put in appearances at various points in time.

I then wandered back to P-Ho, intending to go to bed, but instead being seduced by the siren song of a juicy NLHE game.  There were a couple of young guys I would see several times over the next few days, as well as a crazy Asian guy fresh off a baccarat session.  This guy would buy in for $300, leave it in the rack, and then go all-in preflop.  After a few rounds of this, with most folks folding, I screwed up the courage to call him with 44 and a $100ish stack.  I doubled up.  A few hands later, I call again, with 66, and held up.  A few hands later, I call again with 44, and again doubled up.  The other guys, however, were not doing as well, finding hands like AK, AJ, and QQ getting shot down by the crazy guy's trash hands.  It was the most insane poker I've seen, outside several sessions at Bally's after midnight (crazy Gremlin poker there!).  The weirdest moment came when the crazy guy mentioned that he was waiting for his suite to be set up.  Apparently, he was a high roller, and was hosting a party that afternoon, so he was having a stripper pole and shower installed in the living room.  Clearly I don't do Vegas properly.

Friday morning rolled around ... well, Friday noon rolled around, and I headed out to find some poker.  I decided to see what Bally's was like in the daylight hours.  Apparently, just as crazy.  I was seated next to a weird dude who seemed wired.  In between jitters, he would run off at the mouth, sharing that he preferred heroin to booze "because it doesn't affect my poker game as much", and bragging he not only once starred in porn (maybe back in the early 80s), he also "once was on TV and used to date strippers".  He hit on a nice Swedish lady at the table, including using this gem of a pickup line: "You're from Sweden?  I love IKEA and Swedish porn."  Unfortunately, he also was a bad poker player.  When I flopped a set and had trapped a kid overplaying Aces, PornStar calls my massive check-raise saying, "I need to gamble here."  Yes, the poker gods do reward donkeys, letting him flush my set for a monsterpotten.  Le sigh.

I met up with my Brooklyn gals, Mary and "Dawn Summers" (too many blogs to link), for dinner at the Grand Wok at MGM.  Joining us were several of their NYC crew, including Ross, F-Train, and VinNay.  Dawn and I took competing pictures of each other at the table:

After dinner, it was off to the MGM poker room for some cards and hilarity.  Instead, there were 2,000 drunk cowboys dancing at Centrifuge Bar, creating quite the ruckus.  I did play for a short time, including a hand where Josie dropped by to say hello, and saw me crack Aces with 9h4h; what a hot and fiery good luck charm she is!  I stayed long enough to see some smoking woman-on-woman action between CK and The Wife, then bailed for the quieter tables at Mirage.

Error.  Turns out, the Mirage was hosting the official National Finals Rodeo party in its sportsbook.  The entire sportsbook and surrounding casino floor space was crammed with cowboys and cowgirls dancing the night away.

 

In case you were wondering, why yes, that is a giant cactus in the middle of the Mirage sportsbook!  Now, lest you think I'm poking fun, let me be clear.  I grew up on a farm in western Nebraska, was in 4-H and FFA, did my share of showing and judging livestock at the county and state fairs, and had an uncle with a big cattle ranch in the Nebraska Sand Hills.  So, although I'm not a big rodeo fan, folks that are rodeo fans—complete with cowboy hats, cowboy boots, western cut jeans, western style shirts, and big shiny belt buckles—are part of my original tribe.  The band was actually quite good, and ripped through a ton of old school country hits (my favorite that night was a version of "Louisiana Saturday Night" that pretty much had the whole crowd two-steppin').  Regrettably, cowboys also can be donkeys—and lucky donkeys—at the poker tables, and after dodging quad aces then being whacked by two horrendous four-outers (is there any other kind?), I decided to pack it in for the night.

Of course, I had to stop by the P-Ho poker room, since it was conveniently located by the elevators to my room.  First hand I ran second nut flush into the nut flush, but then the tide turned as I started pounding greyhounds (to prevent scurvy, of course).  For my big hand of the night, I had K8 of crubs, flopped trip Kings, rivered quads, and got paid in full on my river shove (a 2x pot bet) by a young kid trying to impress his girlfriend with his Ace-rag bluff.  Now that's a hero call!  Thank you, come again!  I also had the pleasure of sitting next to a young Hungarian guy who recited lines from Rounders.  Nothing quite like a Hungarian doing an imitation of John Malkovich ("Teddy KBG") doing a bad Russian accent.

Saturday started off with the awesome WPBT tournament at Aria.  Since this didn't make it into my prior writeup of the tourney, I did want to mention I got to play for a bit with Chilly (who I knew from back in the day when I went to college with he and his wife), and also got to briefly meet the legendary Al Can't Hang (who is much smaller, quieter, and saner in real life than one might imagine).  EDIT:  I failed to mention a really interesting fellow I met during the tournament and later played some cash games with:  Travis, a/k/a "OnAFoldDraw".  Funny guy, good player, looking forward to hanging with him more next year.

After the tournament, I found myself walking over to MGM with Katkin, Dr. Chako, and The Wife to play mixed games.  The Doc and the Wife are awesome folks, very friendly and entertaining.  The Wife grew up in small town Wisconsin, so we found plenty to chat about.  For example, she had 50 or so people in her high school graduating class, while I had 7.  The mixed games were more donking than playing.  I did flop quad 9s in hold 'em against The Wife, and later tilted a fat guy with bad "Flock of Seagulls" hair into leaving the table after I kept calling him down when he tried to bluff (dude, bluffing in 3/6 limit? riiiigghhhttt).

The reindeer games came to a close when CK invited the Chakos and me to a comped dinner at Lemongrass in Aria.  This was a fantastic dinner, as we shared a couple of appetizers and four spicy Asian dishes.  I would highly recommend eating here with your Aria poker room comp dollars.  Even better than the food, however, was the company, as my dinner companions regaled me with amusing stories of prior WPBT hijinks as well as tales of their family lives.  That two hours was easily the highlight of my trip, and made me glad I had moved my Festivus trip to include the WPBT.  Good folks, those three.

After dinner, we cabbed it to Imperial Palace for some poker and to see who might be at the Geisha Bar.  At the bar, we saw Miami Don with his Golden Hammer trophy; a well-deserved win for a guy who had dominated my last table.  Pauly and some of the WPBT old guard were holding court, and I managed sightings of Astin and Katitude, two people I would love to chat with briefly next year.  Funny thing, I had pictured Astin as a brawny, outdoorsy guy, and in reality he's a sharp-dressing young professional type.  Katitude, though, fit my image of her.  Both seem to be pretty easy-going and entertaining.

I wandered over to the IP poker tables, where I lost a big pot to Grubette (at least, I think it was her), when my AcTc flopped top pair and a flush draw, and the turn card gave me altos dos pairs.  Regrettably, it also gave Grubette her gutterball Broadway, and I failed to improve.  My own fault though, for not raising enough on the flop.  However, I could hardly be gloomy because The Wife mentioned she was straddling at her table, which somehow led to her straddling me and giving me a lap dance during a Dealertainer rendition of "Achy Breaky Heart".  There were dozens of guys jealous of me at that point!

The evening progressed with other friends joining the action at various points, including Dawn, Mary, and CaityCaity.  There was one weird guy at the table, who dressed like he was touring with some bad 80s band.  The only other memorable hand of the session was when, for only the second time in my life, I folded Kings preflop.  A older, nitty guy had raised big, I reraised, and he proceeded to shove without hesitation.  I assumed he had Aces, and I also wanted to protect my ~$450 stack.  He rolled over ... A8 soooted.  Wow.  I play so bad.  (For what it's worth, the only other time I folded Kings preflop was under similar circumstances, but with far deeper stacks; I was wrong that time, too).

I headed back to P-Ho, where the late night game was in full crazy mode.  Two young guys at the table were trying to prop bet on all manner of stupid stuff, like whether the next person to walk past a certain spot would be male or female.  Thankfully, the louder one was a bad player, and donated ~$1,500 to the table.  Strangely, when the song "Danger Zone" came on, it turned out he not only had no idea the song was in the movie Top Gun, he had never even heard of Top Gun!  Kids these days ... However, this did lead to a hilarious remainder of the session, as we nicknamed the three young guys at the table wearing sunglasses "Goose", "Maverick", and "Iceman".

Sunday was much more sedate.  I skipped the WPBT festivities at Lagasse's Stadium in favor of sleeping in followed by a fun lunch at Hash House A Go Go with "Local Rock", a frequent poster on AVP.  I then tracked down Dr. Chako and The Wife at the Venetian/Palazzo compound in order to say goodbye.  This was followed by a rapid shopping trip for something to pay the spouse pass; I ended up getting the sig other a watch, since it was from a trendy designer he likes, it travels easily, and I about threw up in my mouth at the idea of spending $150-$200 for a shirt he wanted.

Shopping done, I returned to the Venetian to play some $1/$2 PLG (pot limit gambooool).  Also at the table were entertaining WPBT degenerates Drizz, Falstaff, and Katkin, along with a rotating assortment of crazy Canadians, a scary Scandi, and an alliterative Asian.  The game was great fun, and I even cashed out a nice profit.  One cooler hand I tweeted, where I flopped Kings-up with a flush draw and turned Kings-full:

Falstaff and I get it in on the turn, my Ks full of 8s vs. his KQ76. He calls for the Queen. I cry. #PLG #wpbt

There was another big hand, this time where I folded on the flop to monster three-way action.  I folded a monster draw that I think should have been a call, but I'll post the hand later for comments.  Anyway, a little before midnight, Katkin and I cashed out and went to Noodle Asia for some food and interesting poker and politics chat.  If you ever have a chance to sit down with Katkin, do it.  Fascinating fellow.

I headed back to P-Ho, popping into Imperial Palace briefly to say goodbye to Dawn and Mary.  The P-Ho late night game was in full crazy swing, yet I couldn't get much traction.  My final hand of the trip involved me getting it all-in three ways on the flop with Ac2c vs. CaityCaity's 99 and some young ET's 88.  Final board: Qc56c79.  Yup, not only did crubs not get there (thanks so much, CK), but Caity's set gave ET his miracle straight.  Yup, I run awesome.

During this trip, I had experienced every kind of negative variance.  I lost to 2-outers, 3-outers, and 4-outers.  I was outflopped, turned, and rivered.  I was outdrawn, but couldn't hit my monster draws.  I ran into set over set, straight over straight, flush over flush, boat over boat, and yes, even ran into quads.  Still, Vegas did have one last bad beat waiting for me, even after I put away the remnants of my Vegas bankroll.**  I got into a cab Monday morning to head to the airport.  Upon learning that I play poker, my cabbie proceeded to suck five minutes out of my soul by regaling me with his brother's bad beat story.  For those who care, his brother was supposedly playing $5/$10 NLHE at the Venetian, flopped quad Kings, and lost to a rivered royal flush (the other guy had QJ soooted and flopped the open-ended straight flush draw).  The cabbie was outraged the Venetian didn't have a badbeat jackpot, "like the Orleans, or other good poker rooms".  Please, join me in lighting a candle to the poker gods tonight in memory of this guy who now is apparently also driving cabs, trying to rebuild his poker bankroll.

I returned to Iowa to find single-figure temperatures, sub-zero windchills, and snow.  But, a happy Berkeley was there to snuggle up and keep me warm, and it was nice to actually get home.  Still, my Festivus/WPBT adventures were a ton of fun, and I look forward to next year when I can see my all my friends old and new, and hopefully meet more of the WPBT folks.  Notables on the "to meet" list:  Bayne, BadBlood, Iggy, StB, and April, though I quite likely met at least some of these folks and had no idea who they were.  

And next year, my 85 offsuit will hold up.

------------------------------------------------------------------

* My favorite character name on the show was "Bob Loblaw", an attorney who also wrote a blog, "The Bob Loblaw Law Blog".  Say his name out loud and you'll get why his character always made me crack up.

** Actually, I ran well enough that, although it was a losing trip, most of the big pots I lost cut into my profits for that session, rather than into my initial buy-in.  Still, a small losing trip could've been a monster winning trip had the poker gods been just a bit more kind on a few key hands.

Friday Fun (v.1.16)—Dawn Summers, Crocodile Hunter

It's been awhile since my last link dump, but the interwebs have been in their autumn doldrums.  But, here are a few items worthy of your time ...

* * * * *

As you will recall, last month, "Dawn Summers", n/k/a "Stephane", a/k/a "Wilma", went on an epic, whirlwind vacation-crimespree with her sidekick, MadBrooklyn.  The full and unintentionally hilarious report of the misadventures of two New York gals on the backroads of the Midwest is now posted, in serial format.  The Iowa segment is my favorite, but you should start at the beginning and read the whole story.  It starts slow, but picks up hilarious momentum once the gals leave Denver, and civilization as they know it.

* * * * *

Given Dawn/Wilma's fear of animals, including mouse-eating chickens (seriously, read the trip report!), it's probably best if she avoids flying in the future.  You just never know when a crocodile will hijack the flight and kill all the passengers.

* * * * *

On a more serious note, there have been several tragic youth suicides in the news recently, related to bullying and taunting based on their real or merely perceived gay orientation.  One gay college student, Isaac Katz, wrote a gripping essay for the St. Louis Post-Dispatch on the experience of being taunted at school and facing a homophobic, and nationally famous, father at home.  The short essay really captures the experience facing many kids today, and hopefully will make some folks think about how they may inadvertantly make life difficult for gay youth, or even youth just perceived as gay.

* * * * *

The philosophy major in me loved this article on trolleyology, a field of ethics that explores the psychological differences between sins of commission and sins of omission.  Just to be clear, if you hit a bad suckout to crack my monster hand, I will gladly tie you to the trolley track myself.  Well, as soon as Iowa gets trolleys.  So, the important take-away point for y'all is to avoid playing poker against me within driving distance of San Francisco.

* * * * *

Via Andrew Sullivan, awesome memos regarding censor panels' suggested changes to two of my favorite movies of all time:  Monty Python & The Holy Grail, and South Park:  Bigger, Longer & Uncut.  For The Holy Grail, the censors failed in attempts to remove the classic line, "I fart in your general direction," while in South Park, the negotiations over which profanities and obscenities made the cut is hysterical.

* * * * *

Via the DailyWh.at, here's an entirely too cute and overly peppy dog video of the day.  People who train their dogs like this must be stopped, as they give a complex to real dogs, like my Berkeley, who runs around like a maniac, unless biting my feet to get treats.  Still, pretty entertaining ...

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, "MadBrooklyn" World / "Dawn Summers" Does Des Moines

If you ever find yourself in Des Moines, Iowa in a dim-lit, near-vacant 70s-retro dive bar at 1:30 in the morning on a weekday, drinking Schlitz and Tangermeisters* with two Brooklyn gals you picked up at a seedy hotel eight hours earlier, debating whether pet chickens will eat mice while a one-legged grungy neo-hippie reads your aura, it's safe to conclude you have made some poor life choices.


















My poor life choices—at least those relevant to this story—began last year when I joined the Twitter Borg.  A couple of the poker bloggers I follow—BWoP and F-Train—would occasionally engage in Tweet warfare (Tweetfare?) with a mysterious "RealDawnSummers", a lady smart enough to be a bigshot NYC corporate attorney, dumb enough to be a Patriots fan, witty enough to unleash a good zinger, clumsy enough to blunder into a better zinger, goofy enough to wear Liberace shoes, and nitty enough to uber-tilt.  In other words, "Dawn Summers" was eminently qualified to be a friend, foe, foil, and crAAKKer victim, all rolled into a sharp-tongued, angry-fisted package.  A few football and poker tweets later, and we were cyber-friends and life-enemies ("cyferlenemies"?).

Dawn breaks out the famous Liberace shoes at the Meadows ATM. 

For the past week, Dawn (a/k/a Stephane "Vanna" Clare) and her friend Mary (a/k/a MadBrooklyn) have been enjoying a whirlwind vacation in the Midwest.  Between seeing all the usual sites—Devil's Tower, the Big Rock Heads, the Grotto, the Arch, and the inside of various police cars—Dawn and Mary made an overnight stop in good ol' Des Moines, mostly to see cows and tractors, but also to calm their poker withdrawal shakes.  I directed them to "Living History Farms" for a little afternoon farm culture, then picked them up at the murder motel for a night of poker hijinks.

First off was dinner at Jethro's BBQ, in their newly opened location across the street from the Meadows ATM.  Of course Dawn (a/k/a "Wilma") made a scene when ordering dinner, complaining that there was no corn on the cob.  Now, there was a perfectly tasty jalapeño cream corn side dish, but no, Dawn wanted her corn on the cob!  Get used to disappointment.  Dawn ended up with BBQ babyback ribs that were, in her own words, "the best ever!", and somehow managed to leave a happy camper.

Dawn, in a rare happy place.

We then made the arduous three-minute trek to the Meadows ATM for some gamboooling.  Because it was Wednesday, the weekly Ladies Night Tournament was under way, with a majority of the players being, well, not ladies.  Dawn and Mary passed on my $20 prop bet for entering and final-tabling the tourney, so we had a ten minute wait until a tournament table broke and a new $1/2 NLHE cash game was opened.  We passed the time chatting with a nice regular player, Michelle (@chelmc23) who came up and introduced herself as the president of Dawn's Des Moines fan club; yup, Dawn is famous even in Iowa!  Apparently, Michelle was searching for online advice on playing Omaha Hi/Lo, and was somehow misdirected to Dawn's blog (well, one of her many, many, blogs).  See, Google has flaws.

Once the game started, it was hilarious to watch Mary and Dawn develop whiplash and TMJ disorder from reacting to the incredibly bizarre play at the table.  Overbets, underbets, bad bluffs, curious calls, our table had it all.  Dawn had a rollercoaster session, making some money when her AA held up, but then stacking off to Mary in a weird hand.  It had limped around to me in the big blind, so I made it $17 to go with 77.  At least seven of us saw a flop of K-J-T rainbow.  I checked, someone bet, Dawn went all-in for ~$125, someone called, Mary pushed (having the table covered), and some other short stack pushed as well.  I was shocked—shocked!—when Mary rolled over AQ, possibly her weakest starting hand of the session.  Dawn rebought, and I gave her a courtesy double-up when we both flopped flushes, only hers was the nuts.  I should've known she had a big hand, since she pulled a reverse-Meat Tank, keeping a leftover rib in the fingers of both hands, while calling my initial flop bet with her palms.  I'm such a bad player.  Le sigh.

Mary, however, gave a clinic in tight-aggressive play, somehow averaging one hand per hour, yet always having the nuts and getting paid off when she hit, while getting everyone to fold to c-bets even when she missed.  Clearly she knows that Jedi mind-trick thing.  Early on, she drug a big pot when the flop came out K-8-4 rainbow.  When Mary four-bet all-in, the only question in my mind was whether she had a set of 8s or a set of 4s.  Her opponent apparently wanted to know as well, calling with AK.  It was 88, obv.  A couple of orbits later, Mary collected another monsterpotten when she got it all-in preflop with—well, you really don't need me to tell you she had the pocket rockets, do you? 

Mary's tower o' chips (background).

"This is not the flop you were looking for!"

"Call my bet.  Now go about your business."

As for me, well, I had an up and down and down session, losing a little by missing a couple of combo-draw semi-bluffs, botching a couple of big hands with bad reads, and generally missing flops with good starting hands (AK, AQ, small pocket pairs, suited connectors ... whiff, whiff, whiff, whiff).  I did raise with KQ once, and flopped Broadway, only to chop with Michelle who had made the ridiculous play of calling me with ... KQ.  But I did pull out a crAAKKer command performance for Dawn.  A guy in between Dawn and Mary opened in middle position for $22.  A couple of callers to me in the big blind, and I find the lovely 84 of crubs.  Now, I only had a little over $100 behind, so I thought about folding, until I remembered our dinner conversation about Julius Goat and his brilliant poker insights in his Stupid/System.  As Mr. Goat notes:  "The key of poker is to be the one to call, and thus according to that math guy, to have the hand of greatest strength."  That's right, by calling, I could dramatically improve the strength of my hand.  Plus, it was crubs, and I clearly had a lot of outs.  I was actually a favorite!  So, I called, and five of us went to the flop:  8s7c4s.  Donkey Kong!  It checked to the preflop raiser, who bet $50.  Folded to me, and I pushed.  Another guy called.  Turn was:  4d.  Yahtzee!  There was irrelevant sidepot action.  River was ... who cares, some irrelevant baby card.  Preflop raiser bets, other guy folds (spade draw, combo draw ... don't know, don't care, he'd already paid me in full).  Preflop raiser shows Kings, like they're any good.  I roll over my canoe, and Dawn stares at me, then giggles.  She kept on giggling so much, she had to wrap up her head in her hoodie for a few minutes so as not to laugh in the face of the guy I just crAAKKed. Though, in hindsight, I think that would've been pretty sweet.

At some point in the evening's festivities, Dawn mentioned a friend had told her about the "world-famous 80s dance club in Des Moines".  Although my days of going out are well behind me, I do hear about hot bars and clubs, and I certainly wasn't aware of any 80s dance clubs.  The Dawn says, "It's called the 'High Life' or something like that."  I immediately laughed, because the High Life Lounge is about as far from 80s dance club as can be imagined.  The High Life Lounge is a retro-60s/70s themed place, looking like someone's old basement brought to life.  Dark wood paneling is on the walls, covered with old poorly framed photos and beer paraphenalia from Hamm's, Schlitz, and Miller High Life, natch.  Faux-wood Formica on the bar, small black and white TVs behind the bar, and old diner booths, tables, and chairs complete the "look".  They also serve lunch and dinner consisting primarily of old school diner food, but with some fun stuff like Velveeta grilled cheese sandwiches, fried chicken gizzards, and Spam and egg sandwiches thrown into the mix.  It's actually a fun, inexpensive, and popular local joint.  But "world famous"?  As I told Dawn, "I don't think 'world famous' means what you think it means."

Inside the High Life Lounge.  Classy, eh?

In any event, Dawn decided she wanted to check out the High Life Lounge, so we racked up around midnight and headed to downtown Des Moines.  Now the downtown bar and restaurant district has finally recovered after the flood of 1993, but even so, Wednesday is not exactly a major party night.  We arrived at the High Life and found it basically empty, except for a couple of guys at the bar, and the bartender.  Since Dawn had never enjoyed a Schlitz—never even heard of it!—I ordered one for her (Mary, as the big winner, actually paid).  So, we were peacefully debating the merits of using chickens for rodent control (Dawn does tend to warp conversations in weird directions), when Mary decided to take a picture of Dawn and me.  Somehow, the camera kept making my pale skin even more pale, to the point that my face was pretty much just a bright white blob.  Here is her best result:

Actual photo by MadBrooklyn, no photo-shopping.

As I posted on Twitter, Mary's camera made me look like a ghost, and made Dawn look like Whoopi Goldberg in Ghost.  However, the sig other saw my pictures of Dawn and proclaimed, "She looks like she'd be a hoot!"  High praise indeed.  And yes, Dawn is a hoot.  However, I'll lay even odds Mary murders her in a cornfield if they ever travel together again outside the East Coast.

What about the one-legged grungy neo-hippie?  Oh yes, I almost forgot.  So, as Mary takes a half dozen pictures, trying to get my face to appear on film (a very difficult task when photographing the soulless), a random guy—about mid-20s, scruffy, shaggy hair rubber-banded in back, flannel shirt—wanders over from the bar to offer some friendly assistance.  Turns out, he's not helpful.  But, he is entertaining, so I order Dawn a house specialty Tangermeister and we settle in to chat a bit more as the bartender starts putting chairs up on tables and generally uses a great degree of un-subtlety to indicate it's closing time and he resents our presence.  Now, when you see someone with a prosthetic leg, you generally have two reactions:  a) curiosity as to how they lost their leg, and b) a realization you shouldn't ask.  Dawn had only one of those reactions:

One-legged guy:  [trying to take picture] "Wow, you really do look like a ghost, dude!"

Dawn:  "So, how'd you lose your leg?"

One-legged guy:  [sitting down in our booth]  "Well, it's kind of funny.  I mean, you go out to a bunch of bars.  You wake up the next day, and you can't remember where you put stuff.  I mean, you think, 'I know I had it at that one bar, and I think I had it at the next bar, but then it gets kind of hazy.' "

So, as we finished our Tangermeisters, the one-legged guy had me place my hand palm up over the table, and he held his hand palm down above but not touching my hand, in an attempt to "drain my aura" to enable Mary to take my picture.  This was uncomfortably close to an exorcism, which would really destroy my poker ability, so I was happy when Mary distracted him with something shiny.  Alas, no successful pictures were taken, and we hurriedly finished our drinks and made our escape.

From their Twitter updates, it appears Dawn and Mary successfully navigated onward to Kansas City and their final destination, St. Louis (pronounced "Saahn Loo-ee"—trust me!).  But I am quite happy they stopped by to liven up Des Moines for one evening.  And I'm quite pleased they departed before permanently sucking me into their maelstrom of crazy!  I'm definitely looking forward to seeing them again in Vegas in December (note to self—bring extra bail money).

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* Tangermeisters are comprised of Tang mixed with Jägermeister.