OK, so before you start legitimately complaining about the infrequency of my blog postings, I figured I would give you a sample of what a week in the life of yours truly during the World Series of Poker was like. It was to say the least hectic, and here it goes:
Saturdays/Sundays:
These were the days I was back in LA for the weekend, and they flew by so I had to pack a lot in. First on the list was running any errands I could handle on a weekend in preparation for being gone for the week. Stuff like laundry, dry cleaning, the car wash, the bank, paying bills, buying stuff to decorate the new pad, and lunch or dinner with friends to catch up. While at home, I usually tried to clear out the DVR or catch Netflix while playing some online poker (this way I didn’t feel completely unproductive) and just relax. On Sunday night I would pack, check in online for my Monday morning flight, arrange for a ride to the airport, and try to get a few hours of sleep in before it was time to head out. This usually meant an all-nighter.
Monday-Friday:
By this point in the week I was usually rockin’ a decent amount of scruff so first order of business here was usually to shower up and shave so I could make it through airport security like non-arabs do, and look halfway decent for the first ESPN 360 pre-game show of the week. Before leaving the house I would download my email and a Poker Road Radio show rundown to my laptop to look over on the flight into Vegas, and head out to the airport for an 8am flight on Air Greyhound a.k.a. Southwest airlines (Planes).
If you've ever called a cab for a ride to the airport ahead of time then you know how pointless doing so can be. When you call back to confirm or ask them where the cab is they tell you it's "in the area" or act like you never called, which means by calling you are guaranteeing that you'll be pissed off. What area? LA county? It's a big f'n area! My cab was generally MIA or somehow magically there ten minutes ahead of schedule trying to run the meter on wait time. It was the transportation equivalent of pouring spoiled milk into the last of my breakfast cereal.
Once dumped at LAX by some 300,000 mile, blown suspension variety of American automotive engineering (think Chevy Caprice Classic, Plymouth Grand Caravan, or Ford Crown Victoria as your prime suspects), I typically chose the slowest possible TSA security screening lane possible at LAX so as to put myself on morning commuter tilt, and cut it as close as humanly possible to missing my flight. The mandatory Mickey D’s colon-disrespecting breakfast pit stops probably weren’t helping the punctuality problem either, but I digress.
On one particular occasion I decided to get crafty and take the elevator to the second floor security screening and circumvent the serpentine line coiling across the passenger drop off area. Bad play. Apparently if you don't show up at the TSA podium on the 2nd floor without a stroller, car seat, or some other it's-cool-that-you-took-the-elevator-we-understand type paraphernalia you get the dreaded red "SSSSS" extra security screening scribbled on your boarding pass which essentially amounts to Sorry Sir Sucks you MiSSed your flight. Errrr. I did miss my flight that day. Karma.
Most other days however, I would end up sprinting to my gate the normal way and furnishing the at that point irrelevant “A” boarding pass to the agent who was paging me on final call as the last of the "C" group rolled in. I usually asked for a can of water (wtf is canned water all about anyways?) to quench the marathon runner spec thirst my gate sprint would leave me with, before I’d hit my no doubt middle seat and pretend I was going to stay awake long enough to do work - I snoozed through the flight more often than not.
Once I landed I’d try to beat the passenger herd belched out by the fuselage to Vegas airport's "convenient" tram to the main terminal (Trains). Of course only one of the two was working at any given time and brilliantly built to comfortably house about 90% of a 737s payload despite servicing an exclusively 737 terminal. "Aren't you glad you use dial?" No, I'm not...because then I can't even reciprocate everyone else's inconsiderate B.O.
Then it was time to do the cab thing again to the Rio convention center which meant navigating the world's hottest, longest, most second hand smoked out line full of conventioneer tools. Most of the time I would just walk over to the other curb and pay 3 times as much to ride in a town car with guaranteed A/C and avoid the wait. (Automobiles)
Once at the Rio I'd head over to the Poker Road Radio booth to prep the day’s show for about an hour. We'd go live from 11am to noon, then I’d generally grab a quick bite to eat at the completely devoid of healthy options "Poker Kitchen" (this coming from the same guy who ate Mickey D's for breakfast) and head over to the ESPN 360 booth to prep and shoot the pregame show for that day’s final table. After that, I’d meet up with Shronk (our show producer) to prep the next day’s show. That is of course unless I found someone to play Chinese poker with or a juicy looking high limit hold ‘em game somehow broke out, in which case I would generally neglect all professional obligation.
After that I’d hang out at the radio booth to handle my myspace email, poker road email, personal email, business email, and phone calls while listening back to the day’s show and perhaps playin’ on Full Tilt Poker. I’d space this out with a couple of laps through the tourney area to try and see what the developments were in ongoing events and book show guests for the week. Then it was a sub par dinner somewhere in the Rio, and a hike back to my room...well what would be a hike if I hadn't faked a leg injury at the concierge desk so I could get a comp-ed personal scooter (Rascal) to avoid the pilgrimages between the convention area and my room. Sweet. Once in the room I would watch some Euro Cup reruns on ESPN or matches off my DVR over slingbox before passing out to do it all over again.
Saturdays/Sundays:
These were the days I was back in LA for the weekend, and they flew by so I had to pack a lot in. First on the list was running any errands I could handle on a weekend in preparation for being gone for the week. Stuff like laundry, dry cleaning, the car wash, the bank, paying bills, buying stuff to decorate the new pad, and lunch or dinner with friends to catch up. While at home, I usually tried to clear out the DVR or catch Netflix while playing some online poker (this way I didn’t feel completely unproductive) and just relax. On Sunday night I would pack, check in online for my Monday morning flight, arrange for a ride to the airport, and try to get a few hours of sleep in before it was time to head out. This usually meant an all-nighter.
Monday-Friday:
By this point in the week I was usually rockin’ a decent amount of scruff so first order of business here was usually to shower up and shave so I could make it through airport security like non-arabs do, and look halfway decent for the first ESPN 360 pre-game show of the week. Before leaving the house I would download my email and a Poker Road Radio show rundown to my laptop to look over on the flight into Vegas, and head out to the airport for an 8am flight on Air Greyhound a.k.a. Southwest airlines (Planes).If you've ever called a cab for a ride to the airport ahead of time then you know how pointless doing so can be. When you call back to confirm or ask them where the cab is they tell you it's "in the area" or act like you never called, which means by calling you are guaranteeing that you'll be pissed off. What area? LA county? It's a big f'n area! My cab was generally MIA or somehow magically there ten minutes ahead of schedule trying to run the meter on wait time. It was the transportation equivalent of pouring spoiled milk into the last of my breakfast cereal.
Once dumped at LAX by some 300,000 mile, blown suspension variety of American automotive engineering (think Chevy Caprice Classic, Plymouth Grand Caravan, or Ford Crown Victoria as your prime suspects), I typically chose the slowest possible TSA security screening lane possible at LAX so as to put myself on morning commuter tilt, and cut it as close as humanly possible to missing my flight. The mandatory Mickey D’s colon-disrespecting breakfast pit stops probably weren’t helping the punctuality problem either, but I digress.On one particular occasion I decided to get crafty and take the elevator to the second floor security screening and circumvent the serpentine line coiling across the passenger drop off area. Bad play. Apparently if you don't show up at the TSA podium on the 2nd floor without a stroller, car seat, or some other it's-cool-that-you-took-the-elevator-we-understand type paraphernalia you get the dreaded red "SSSSS" extra security screening scribbled on your boarding pass which essentially amounts to Sorry Sir Sucks you MiSSed your flight. Errrr. I did miss my flight that day. Karma.
Most other days however, I would end up sprinting to my gate the normal way and furnishing the at that point irrelevant “A” boarding pass to the agent who was paging me on final call as the last of the "C" group rolled in. I usually asked for a can of water (wtf is canned water all about anyways?) to quench the marathon runner spec thirst my gate sprint would leave me with, before I’d hit my no doubt middle seat and pretend I was going to stay awake long enough to do work - I snoozed through the flight more often than not.
Once I landed I’d try to beat the passenger herd belched out by the fuselage to Vegas airport's "convenient" tram to the main terminal (Trains). Of course only one of the two was working at any given time and brilliantly built to comfortably house about 90% of a 737s payload despite servicing an exclusively 737 terminal. "Aren't you glad you use dial?" No, I'm not...because then I can't even reciprocate everyone else's inconsiderate B.O.Then it was time to do the cab thing again to the Rio convention center which meant navigating the world's hottest, longest, most second hand smoked out line full of conventioneer tools. Most of the time I would just walk over to the other curb and pay 3 times as much to ride in a town car with guaranteed A/C and avoid the wait. (Automobiles)
Once at the Rio I'd head over to the Poker Road Radio booth to prep the day’s show for about an hour. We'd go live from 11am to noon, then I’d generally grab a quick bite to eat at the completely devoid of healthy options "Poker Kitchen" (this coming from the same guy who ate Mickey D's for breakfast) and head over to the ESPN 360 booth to prep and shoot the pregame show for that day’s final table. After that, I’d meet up with Shronk (our show producer) to prep the next day’s show. That is of course unless I found someone to play Chinese poker with or a juicy looking high limit hold ‘em game somehow broke out, in which case I would generally neglect all professional obligation.After that I’d hang out at the radio booth to handle my myspace email, poker road email, personal email, business email, and phone calls while listening back to the day’s show and perhaps playin’ on Full Tilt Poker. I’d space this out with a couple of laps through the tourney area to try and see what the developments were in ongoing events and book show guests for the week. Then it was a sub par dinner somewhere in the Rio, and a hike back to my room...well what would be a hike if I hadn't faked a leg injury at the concierge desk so I could get a comp-ed personal scooter (Rascal) to avoid the pilgrimages between the convention area and my room. Sweet. Once in the room I would watch some Euro Cup reruns on ESPN or matches off my DVR over slingbox before passing out to do it all over again.
Fridays, I would end the day with a flight back to LA for the weekend.
And that my friends, went on for 6 long weeks!
I am happy to be back in LA again. The weather is awesome and I can start my day off whenever I choose to wake up, instead of with a knock on my door and the word "housekeeping." Sweet.
And that my friends, went on for 6 long weeks!
I am happy to be back in LA again. The weather is awesome and I can start my day off whenever I choose to wake up, instead of with a knock on my door and the word "housekeeping." Sweet.
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