Around the World in 150 Days, Day 8, I Like to Live Dangerously
April 14th, Honolulu: I wake up needing to urinate horribly, but I'm still so tired I just lie there for a while wondering if perhaps I can just fall back asleep for a while and let it be. I couldn't fall asleep until somewhere around 4am last night, even though I tried to get to sleep at 2am. That just happens some nights, and it's been like that for a long time. The best explanation as for why is that my brain won't shut up, won't stop bombarding me with thoughts and things to consider. I've found the best way to slow it down is to write, to put all my thoughts in a place where I know they're permanent and can't be forgotten but no longer need my attention. That or get high so I can't think anymore. I wrote nearly 20 pages last night but I still ended up wasting over an hour staring at the ceiling before I gave up and went outside to read for a while.
After failing to fall back asleep I get up and make a dash for the bathroom. When I come out Cade and Kari inform me that the 'shark people' called on us to cancel again. Where it gets interesting is that they also said that we have to show up for the 11am trip and naturally Kari refused because it was way too early. The 'shark people' said that if we didn't show they'd charge the credit card anyway, and Kari told them that if they did she'd contact the Hawaii business bureau and start some action against them. They gave up after that and everyone went back to sleep. I decide that'd be a good idea too and return to the bedroom, and although I lie there for a good 45 minutes again fail to fall asleep.
When I get up properly Cade and I decide to go to Makapu beach, where I'm sure not to get injured because there are no rocks at the bottom. Kari's not feeling well so she elects to stay behind, so we change into our swim wear and head out.
Makapu is about a 20 minute drive outside the center of Honolulu, but the waves and sea floor conditions are vastly superior to those of Waikiki. However, it seems like the beach is really only known amongst locals, and on most visits there's rarely more than a couple dozen people hanging around, plus the spattering of hardcore surfers. The waves aren't barreling very much today but they are pretty large, and after lying around in the sun we hit the water.
I'm not a stellar swimmer but not totally useless at it either. My biggest problem with swimming in the ocean is that my eye's tolerance for salt water is basically zero, and if I get any in there I'm temporary blinded and I can't open them very well. Because of this, I normally stay fairly shallow and just jump over waves instead of duck diving under them, as Cade tells me I should do.
For a while things are ordinary and Cade and I swim around slamming into waves and acting like general morons in the water like we normally do. Then rather suddenly I find myself surprisingly far out and a moment later Cade is yelling at me to dive under the next large wave. I decide to try and go over instead, and it slams me under and takes me for a spin. I come up blinded and the next wave hits me instantly, sending me back under again. I come up struggling for breath and open my eyes just in time to see another wave slam into me, knocking the air out of my lungs completely. I try to concentrate on pushing up towards the top and when I break the surface I try to take a huge breath in, with mixed success. I look at the wave in front of me through my stinging eyes and start swimming as hard as I can towards the beach as it slams into me again and knocks me under. By this point I'm nearly totally out of air and the thought "I wonder what the odds of my drowning are?" crosses my mind as I feel the pressure tighten in my airless lungs. I somehow make it back to the top and see that Cade has found his way near me
"I need out of here now Cade!" I yell at him and grab for his shoulder.
Another wave crashes into us and puts me under again as I swim as hard as I can towards the beach. I manage to find my way to the surface again and I hear Cade say
"You're good, I got ya here."
Luckily the next wave that comes in is much smaller and I manage to swim it much further in towards the beach as I grasp on to Cade to make sure the current doesn't sweep me back out. The next wave is even smaller and I make it back towards an area of the beach where I am basically walking out. I am gasping for air 100 times harder than at the end of our three mile run last night, and I get to the edge of the beach and then plop down in the sand and try to catch my breath. Cade joins me a moment later
"I told you to duck dive" he says
"Lesson learned" I retort. Oh well, I like to live dangerously, a statement I back up by staying out of the water for the rest of the day. I spend the remainder of my at the beach on my towel trying to get a tan.
In the evening Cade, Kari and I go to dinner at a Vietnamese place. The discussion of my swimming incident comes up, and I tell Cade I'd guess there was a roughly 5% chance of my drowning. He says he thinks it was closer to 15. I think he's probably over estimating, but either way I'd say I'm running pretty good on my trip so far. Christ, I would look so retarded if I got myself killed on day eight of a 150 day trip.
Bond18′s Guide to Style
This article is a result of a few guys in BBV4L asking me to write about fashion, and will hopefully be interesting and educational.
I personally subscribe to two universal rules of fashion:
1. You should look and feel comfortable in your clothes: At the end of the day, you should wear the clothes you like wearing and that best present who you are to other people. Whether you realize it or not, your choices in clothing tell people things about you and odds are you'll want your clothes to be some kind of representation of your personality or what kind of person you are. There's no 'right' or 'wrong' way to dress, it's all about preferences. If you wear something that somebody else decides to needlessly hate on because it's not their preference, either ignore them knowing you feel comfortable, or casually tell them "This is how I roll, so you and your opinion can go fuck yourself."
2. Your clothes should be appropriate to your setting: There's a little catch to the above rule about just wearing whatever the hell you prefer; it should be appropriate to where you are or where you're going. If you show up to the beach in a tuxedo, or to 'The Oscars' in shorts and sandals, you've earned whatever glib remarks people shoot at you. The traditional fashion rule is that if you aren't sure what's appropriate for the venue, it's better to go over dressed than under. It's not illegal to show up anywhere wearing anything you want (provided it's not nothing) but it comes with the consequence that people will think you're a clown or tool if it's way too little or too much.
The style I'll be discussing here is mostly a result of personal fashion tastes, mixed with things I've read and discussed, plus some common sense. My style preference leans towards the formal side though not overly so, and I often wear a suit and dress shirt with open collar with no tie with a decent pair of dress shoes. My preferences are the result of a childhood spent with a fashionable father, my obvious idolization of James Bond, and reading GQ/Esquire since I was in my early teens. Many will find what I write here to not be applicable to their personal tastes at all, and in that situation I'd encourage them to totally disregard what I've written and wear whatever they like.
First let me discuss a few basic guidelines I prescribe to.
1. Your style should be noticeable yet subtle, not gaudy and excessive: Whenever I flip through fashion magazines I inevitably see a vast array of designer advertisements. I believe a number of even very high end designers clothes to look way too flashy and attention whoring, or as I say when I remark about them to a friend "This designers stuff looks like he brought in a bunch of Euro Trash and had them vomit on his clothing line." I recommend avoiding overly bold patterns, very bright colors (unless you're somewhere they're appropriate), or any accessories that are too blinged out. Example: I think giant gold watches littered with jewels look retarded. You can spend $20,000 on a watch if you really want, but it shouldn't be something that's going to blind people next to you and inspire muggers to target you.
2. You should be conscious of the style of those around you: This is something I struggle to find a balance with. I hang out almost entirely with poker players, and most of them dress very casually (this is not an insult directed by anyone, it's simply their preference.) If I were to walk around in suits 100% of the time I would look ridiculous hanging around a group that's in jeans and a t-shirt, therefore I keep the more formal wear for places where it looks more appropriate, namely casinos and high end restaurants. For every day wear I still aim a little more fashionable than the group, but I try to find balance by wearing jeans and a casual button up with decent shoes so I don't look so vastly out of place.
3. The color of your belt should roughly match the color of your shoes, no black on brown combinations: As far as socks, they are mostly determined by your shoes or pants color, you can kind of go either way. Black shoes can handle black, grey, blue, or generally dark colored socks. Brown gets brown, tan, pale green, and generally light colored ones. For other colors of shoes, use common sense.
4. Don't over pattern: Generally, if your suit has a pattern (be it pinstripes or something else) your shirt should be without one. There are a few ways to match pinstripes and pinstripes that can look good, but it can be difficult to find an appropriate balance. This is mostly done by having the suit with wide and soft pinstripes and the shirt having more thin and noticeable ones. Don't mix and match patterns, such as a suit with pinstripes and a shirt with squares, that just looks messy. Also, I personally never wear any shirt or suit with a square pattern on it, as I believe this is a look for older gentleman.
5. One traditional fashion rule, which I'm less fussy about than most, is that light colored suits are for during the day, though dark ones can be worn whenever (but if you're Humphrey Bogart, you get to wear a white dinner coat at bar time.) That said, I think this is probably an excessively nity rule, and if you're wearing a light suit during the day and go change into a dark one you're probably going a little too far.
6. I aim to buy and wear things that are fairly timeless. What I mean is that I don't want my clothes to be overly trendy looking, and if one day I look back at what I wore at 24 when I'm 44 I won't think "My God, I can't believe I actually dressed like that." Not only will this mean you get more wear out of your clothes, but you don't risk things coming in and out of fashion heavily and you suddenly feeling that you wasted your money.
7. I personally don't wear vests, and they seem to currently be out of style. I think the only people who currently look appropriate wearing a vest are older gentleman, however now and then I'll see a guy wearing a dress shirt and vest but with no suit jacket, and if he has broad shoulders it can look smart on him. This is rare though.
8. No black shirts on black suits, unless you're in the mafia.
Now let's discuss the specific articles:
Suits: I believe that no article of clothing can make a man look good like a well made suit. Take an average looking, average shape guy, and put him in a well made designer suit tailored specifically to him with the appropriate accessories and he'll suddenly look very sharp.
When it comes to suits you really do get what you pay for. It takes very little interest in clothing to be able to notice the difference between a guy wearing a cheap suit and a well made one. I would say if a person only has room to pay for one really quality aspect of their wardrobe, it should be suits. Shirts, shoes, socks, accessories; these can all be obtained cheaply in the right places or the middle ground stuff can look fine when combined with the slickness of a quality suit.
When you buy a suit you are mostly paying for three things; the material quality, designer name, and the amount of man hours spent on hand stitching. The higher quality suit, the more hours spent on hand stitching. Cheap suits are fused together with glue, which means they don't drape and contour well over the body and they will eventually 'bubble', which means after enough wear and cleaning you will notice small bubble like spots pop up and stick out all over the suit. Even some well known designers use glue fusion on the cheaper lines of their clothing, so do your homework and make sure to avoid this. If you're out clothing shopping, you can ask the shop assistant about this. They might tell you that the glue is fine and all that bubbling stuff is exaggerated; don't listen to their shit they're trying to sell you something (perhaps someone in the fashion industry can come in and elaborate on this, who knows perhaps the process has gotten better but until I see something conclusive I'll aim to avoid them.)
Having a suit tailored to fit you seems like a must, and even an average suit will wear much better when this detail is given attention. When it comes to buttons, anywhere from one to three is acceptable, but two is the standard. Three is a little bit 90's but can still be pulled off nicely (they look best on tall men), and one seems to have regained style, but I think this may be one of those things that winds up falling out of being fashionable in the not so distant future. When you wear a three button suit you wear it with just the middle button done up, or occasionally with the top two buttons done up; if you have just the top on it places considerable stress on the button plus it looks a little off balance, and you only button all three if you work in a funeral parlor. For the two button suit, the consensus seems to be you only button only the top button, though when I'm out in a windy day and don't want it blowing everywhere I'll button both. If you can't figure out the one button suit I advise you to get a vasectomy in order to maintain quality control on the human race.
When it comes to lapels (which are the part of the suit that runs down from the shoulders towards the buttons) I prefer a more long and thin one, which seems to be the modern style that also has been around and looking good for decades. Additionally, long ones have the benefit of making you look a bit taller. Here is an example of a long lapel suit by Z Zegna:
There's no golden rule about them, but excessively short or wide ones look pretty dumb in my opinion. You also don't want them to be too thin either, but most aren't. There are some that are both long and wide, which I'd recommend avoiding because then it tends to dominate the suit and if not made properly can flop around and make you look very stupid.
If you truly want the ability to show off the quality of your suit, get one where the buttons on the sleeve can actually be undone and unbutton the very bottom one on each sleeve. This designates quality because even on many very expensive suits the time isn't put into the hand stitching for this feature, and by leaving the bottom button undone you are essentially flaunting the quality of your suit. Unfortunately, only pretentious English gentleman and people who have read this article will know what you're doing.
When it comes to what altercations to done on a suit I recommend doing the following:
A. Have the sleeve length such that when wearing an appropriate dress shirt you are showing roughly ¼-3/4th's an inch of sleeve. If you wear cufflinks all the time, you can go a little more in order to show them off a bit, but this length seems to be the standard. I prefer about half to a three quarters inch.
B. Have the trousers at a length that they comfortably drape over your shoes but do not risk touching the ground, as this will quickly damage them. When you are standing there should be a slight bend in the pants about two inches above your foot where the fabric folds in from contact with the shoe. The tailor will pretty much get the length correct for you here.
C. If possible, have the breast pocket opened up so you can wear pocket squares if you so choose. These can sometimes provide a nice way to add variety to your look without going so far as wearing a tie.
D. The tailor will likely take care of this for you, but a suit should wear fairly thin on you (as is the style these days, and in my opinion, looks the best.) How thin you want to go is up to you, but don't go too far as it will cut down your mobility in the cloth. That said, suits that wear thin tend to look more tailored and slick on the whole, assuming you have the kind of physique where wearing one is appropriate.
As far as brands go, the very highest quality suits you can get are created by Saville Row tailors from England or extremely high end Italian designers, such as Brioni (James Bond often wears both of these in the movies.) These will run you roughly $5,000 to $10,000 per suit, and obviously no real person can afford them. For suits that look good, wear thin, and hold up well I've become a large fan of Zegna. Their high end suits are around the $2,500 area (sometimes much more) but their Z Zegna line was created for young men and is more in the $1,000 area. However, some parts of a Z Zegna suit are fused with glue, though they also include hand stitched parts as well and I own several of them and have not had any issues with bubbling over multiple years of use. Many high quality suits will go on sale at places like Saks Fifth Avenue or even the outlets themselves during a sales season, and can be obtained considerably cheaper than the prices I've quoted (often about 30-40% cheaper in some cases.) I own only a couple of suits that I paid full price on.
Ties: I personally rarely wear ties. This is because they are the mainstay of the 'professional world' and I take a certain degree of pride in not having to participate in their formality. However, you will either occasionally have an event where a tie is mandatory, plus every now and then I'll mix one in for varieties sake. When matched up appropriately a tie can really make an outfit come together nicely.
When it comes to choosing an appropriate tie just use common sense, don't have some gaudy pattern that is excessive and stands out too much. Don't match your tie precisely to the color of your shirt either. Your tie should share some degree of coloring with either your suit or shirt, but again not match them perfectly. If you have a suit and shirt with pin stripes, go with a plain pattern tie. If you have a suit and shirt with no pattern, get a tie with squares or pinstripes.
As far as which knot, go with the Windsor or Double Windsor. Just trust me on that, you can 'Youtube' how to tie it. I'd recommend getting some crappy tie to practice with until you get good at it because if you're not naturally good with knots and shit you just might wreck a tie putting pressure in the wrong places trying to get it right.
Shirts: First things first, you need to figure out your size. Shirts measurements are in neck width and sleeve length. For example, my shirts are '16, 34/35'. This means a 16 inch neck and 34-35 inch sleeve. If you're not sure what yours are, either try a bunch on and see what fits appropriately or just have a tailor measure you. When the top button is closed, your shirt should be snug but by no means suffocating you. If it's not tight enough it hangs loosely and looks sloppy. Your sleeves should come down to the very end of your wrist but not start spilling over onto your hand, which is not only bad fashion but will get annoying when you try to use them. You also don't want them too short because they will wind up hidden beneath your suit sleeves. Don't think for a fucking second about getting a short sleeve dress shirt, unless you want to look like one of the schmucks from 'Office Space', though it will afford you an opportunity to make the 'O Face' reference.
The modern style in shirts seems to be a more slim and tailored look. I'm personally a big fan of 'Hugo Boss' and 'Zegna' shirts, which both often fit this way. These will run you roughly $100-$200, though again you can get them cheaper on sale sometimes. It's hard to explain a shirts quality of fit precisely, so if you want to see what I'm talking about I suggest you go somewhere like Zegna and try on one of theirs, then go to a department store and try one of their generic ones. I promise you'll notice the difference, both in quality of construction and fit.
There are numerous types of cuffs on a shirt, the standard which has one button, the shotgun which has two buttons, and the French cuff, which is what cufflinks are inserted into. In my opinion cuff links are a very sexy look and should be worn whenever appropriate, so I aim to get French cuff whenever possible.
Also pay attention to the collar on the shirt. I personally prefer collars that run in the middle of length and height. I think short collar shirts look dumb and will fall quickly out of fashion, and very high collar ones just flop around and make you look like you're stuck in the 70's. Here's an example of a short collar shirt:
Like I said, it looks pretty dumb, but his Javiar Bardem in 'No Country for Old Men' haircut probably isn't helping.
Here's a good example of a more moderate collar shirt, which as you can see pops out of the suit nicely without garnering too much attention:
When you wear a collar with a tie you obviously button it up to the top. Without a tie I recommend you undo the top and second button. If you only undo the top it's a bit on the conservative side but can absolutely look good in many situations. If you unbutton the third one you look gay, and I'm not trying to be insulting.
Shoes: As I mentioned before, your shoes should match the color of your belt and of course, fit into the overall color ensemble of the outfit. The classic is leather material, though occasionally some suede shoes can look good with formal wear.
Jeans: With dark jeans you go with a darker shirt/shoe (or possible jacket) ensemble, and with light obviously lighter. That said, dark jeans are a bit more versatile than light ones, and you can wear a light shirt with them just as easily (I often like dark jeans with a white shirt.)
The cut should be on the slim side but not overly thin unless you want everyone to know how much you like punk rock. Here's a decent example:
You want to be able to move around, but a baggy look is going to look dumb when the rest of your clothes are on the form fitting side. Make sure they aren't too long, as again they'll drag along the ground and get torn up.
You can go with either laces or loafer, though I often prefer loafer since they take half a second to put on and I don't have to worry about laces snapping or getting dirty or any shit like that. I prefer longer, thinner looking shoes, but it's important to note that shoes shouldn't be so long and pointy that they wind up looking 'elfish'.
The tip can be either on the round or square side, and it's not terribly important but I recommend finding something congruent to your overall look. If you're a fat guy with soft, round features I'd recommend going with more rounded shoes, and if you're a thin guy who prefers sharp looking clothing go for more square tips or sharper round tips. Here's a good example of a more long, thin Zegna shoe that I own and find to be very versatile:
Just remember, overly long and thin shoes that curl up at the tip will have people asking you "How's Santa?"
Cuff links: Like most accessories just make sure your cuffs are tasteful and not tacky. I'd recommend staying away from very bright colors or gem stones, and I personally won't even wear gold colored cuffs. My favored look here is something silver or steel, and if it has coloring it should be congruent with my outfit.
Watches: As I mentioned before, a lot of guys like to use a watch to show off but I think giant, blinged out watches are overbearing and for guys who would like to get their watch stolen. I won't even wear a metal band watch, as I think leather is a classic and handsome look that feels more comfortable on my wrist. That's not to say you can't get an extremely expensive watch if you want, but there are ways of going about this that people who know quality when they see it will recognize yet realize you have the subtlety to be understated in this area. I personally don't bother with expensive watches because it's exactly the type of thing I tend to lose, and these days I'm not wearing one at all. Jack Strauss once said something to the affect of (and I'm paraphrasing) "I used to want a Fossil, then I wanted a Movado, then a Rolex, and then a Cartier. Then I realized the true luxury was in not having to know the time." He was a clever guy up until the day he dropped dead right on the table.
Well that's all I can think of to go over for now. If there's any questions just fire away.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 7, Rocky Water
April 12th, Honolulu: Kari and Cade wake me up around 11:30am. It's an hour drive out to the shark diving and the boat leaves at 1pm. Kari has brought us coffee, so I lay in bed for a moment collecting myself then peel myself out of bed and start downing the iced something or other she brought me. I feel pretty good after 10 hours of sleep.
Half an hour later we're in Kari's car, blasting songs out of her 'Ipod' through the stereo system and singing along as loud as we can in preparation for the karaoke we intend on going to tonight. It's a gorgeous day out despite the forecast again calling for rain, which it has for the last three sunny, perfect days. Hopefully the light allows me a closer inspection of the sharks, which will no doubt cause me to yell "CHAAAAAAARK!!" in a Humberto Brenesesque accent.
We arrive a little before 1pm at the dock, park the car, and walk over to the boat. We're about 10 feet away from the boat and I'm fairly certain I overhear the guy in charge telling the people in front of us that he won't be able to take them out on the boat today. However, when we go up to him he informs us to go talk to the guys on the other boat.
We approach the guys on the other boat, who are currently unloading the passengers from the voyage they just took out. After five minutes of standing there while they move out the people and various equipment the guys eventually turn to us and explain that because of conditions they won't be able to take us out today. Cool of the other guy to dump the responsibility of telling us on to them. We discuss how sometimes when they tell people they won't be able to take them out because it'd be dangerous they get mad for having wasted an hour long drive out to get them.
"HOW THE FUCK DO YOU NOT ENDANGER MY SAFETY!?!" I yell jokingly at them, which they appear amused by. They suggest we simply spend our day getting wasted on the beach instead. I tell them I like their style. After we walk away I regret not asking them if they have any weed, since they seemed super cool and the types to whip some out and smoke me up on the spot.
We walk over to a nearby beach to hang out for a while, though apparently it's covered in rocks underneath the water and the current is so strong that it's not recommended we go swimming. Three enormous sea turtles wash up on the shore and just sort of sit there basking in the sun relaxing, at least until a couple little kids come along and start poking one of them with a stick. Kari goes over and asks them to stop, and tells them if they don't "You'll wind up killing the turtles." The kid holding the stick instantly snaps it in half upon hearing this.
Kari goes to sleep on the beach for a while and Cade and I walk over to a grassy area to practice the seven basic blocks of Kung Fu that I was taught when attending a session at his school the other day. I've spent the last few months doing some boxing training, but increasingly find other forms of self defense fascinating, plus awesome ways to get a work out. My session at the Kung Fu school gave me a huge respect for what I now realize is an extremely lethal defense form.
After a while we decide to go over to Honolulu's most popular beach, Waikiki, so we can actually go into the water. There's pretty bad traffic so it takes an hour to get there, and once we park I run off to the bathroom and tell Cade and Kari I'll find them later. After I walk out I take a stroll down the beach checking out the eye candy, and notice a cute strawberry blonde who is reading lying next to another girl. I walk up and say to her
"Excuse me, I know this is very forward of me, but I saw you as I was walking along the beach and thought you were really cute so I wanted to come say hi, plus I already know we have something on common."
She stares at me blankly for a moment and I point to her book then say sarcastically
"I too can read."
She seems mildly amused so I take a seat and introduce myself. I ask what brings her to Hawaii (the answer will obviously often be vacation, it's simply a way to get in a normal conversation) and she answers vacation. I ask where from and she tells me Melbourne Australia. It may seem weird to come all the way to Hawaii and wind up hitting on a girl from Melbourne, but on the plus side it gives me plenty of material to go forward with.
I wind up chatting to her for a good 15 minutes. At no point does she seem totally enthralled by our interaction, nor does she seem disinterested. I try to crack some jokes, which have mixed results, such as when I ask what the origins of her name 'Phillipa' are
"It's the female version of Phillip."
"No I mean, what kind of ethnic origins."
"English I guess?"
"Ah so your one of the guys who shot all the aboriginals huh?" (Upon later consideration, I doubt most English-Australians would find that particularly funny)
"Actually I'm from New Zealand" (Something she'd told me about 10 minutes earlier.)
I ask her about coming to karaoke with me and my friends that night and she says karaoke isn't really her thing but she'd be down to hang out sometime during her trip. I am without a phone on the beach (don't ever be without a phone during a pick up attempt) so she suggests she add me on facebook. She asks for the spelling of my last name, which network I'm on, and then I hang around and keep chatting for a while. Two things to be learned here; first of all I made a huge mistake by not getting her information as well. I'm so used to whipping out my phone and telling the girl to put her number in there that I blanked on this aspect, as when doing a pick up it's really unlikely that a girl will get in contact with you even if she found you intriguing, because that's just how girls are. For example, I would never allow a girl to take my number and not give hers; it's just a total waste of time. Second, even after you close the contact information you should still hang around for a while and keep chatting (which I got right.) If you bail the second after you get a number/facebook-add you wind up making the girl feel like you didn't have that much actual interest, that you simply run around collecting numbers as quickly and efficiently as possible. While the conversation in this particular approach went pretty well overall (though not great) I'd be pretty surprised if she actually bothers to add me, the consequence for my forgetting to get her information.
After I walk off I find Cade and Kari about 50 feet down on the beach and we hit the water. Unfortunately Wakiki also has quite a few rocks below the surface, and I naturally wind up getting my foot slammed into some fairly hard at one point during my swim. When we get out of the water Kari isn't feeling well so we call it a day and head back to Cade's house.
In the evening Cade takes me for a three and a half mile run down near the beach, which I surprisingly complete without too much difficulty or feeling much out of breath at the end. I haven't been that good about my diet or exercise in Hawaii, so it's good to get back into the swing of things. Hopefully once I get to Vegas I'll recommit myself in the Bellagio gym, but I have a feeling I'll wind up just getting drunk instead.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 6, The Game
April 13th, Honolulu: I awake at slightly past 10am, groggy and less than perfectly rested for the long day of tournaments that I'm about to engage in. I grab a quick shower, dry off, and get dressed in loose fitting clothing then go upstairs and turn on the computer in the living room. The SCOOP main event starts at 10:30am, and Timex has sent me a message that he's okay with the idea of my playing in the $10,000 one after we discussed the possibility of it last night. However, I don't feel particularly well rested enough to play in a tournament where every hand, street, and decision will be against a thinking player, so I opt to pass on the event.
At the height of my day I have roughly 16 tables going, attempting to balance them all on a single screen which I believe to be 26 inches, though it has a high resolution which means it can fit 12 minimized tables with almost zero overlap. The day is overall fairly uninteresting, and I bomb out of both SCOOP main events I do play in fairly early in more or less standard ways. I stop registering at the Stars $20r and $200r, and by the end of my day have only gone deep in a few. I wind up winning the $33 rebuys six max tournament on Stars for just over $4000, meaning I still likely lost a couple thousand on the day, but that's pretty good for a Sunday.
After I finish playing we go to attend Easter dinner at Cade's grandmother's house. I've been there three times and she and the family are always the most gracious hosts. During the meal she and the family love to talk about real estate and investments, something I've had a few discussions about lately, which allows me to lead into a few thoughts on the subject.
Allow me to begin by saying I have very little knowledge and experience when it comes to investing, the markets, or the greater money movement game within the economy. However, my reaction upon hearing that an enormous sum of people got massively fucked by people they'd trusted to make good decisions with their money was something like "Well duh." Poker serves as a nice microcosm for the greater market, and at their very core the game of poker and game of investing are exactly the same, you are moving money in an attempt to create +EV situations. When an inexperienced player sits down at the table the professional players inevitably have the edge because they have years and thousands of hands more of experience and expertise. When a casual investor decides to invest in the market, I question how he can expect to possibly find a reasonable edge playing against the professionals of that industry. At least in poker everyone's control of the variance is equal, but in investing those with enormous asset control are able to create or manipulate action in their favor (Hi Jim Cramer!) in some scenarios, making the playing ground even more off center.
I sure as hell don't trust any "experts" or advisors within the investing industry after my years spent in poker. How the fuck would I be able to tell if he actually knows what he's talking about? I have no point of reference or the skill to be able to tell if he's got a clue or not, and there's nobody there I can trust to give me a straight answer because any advisor is inevitably trying to make money, even if our relationship is supposed to be a symbiotic one (yes I understand that many advisors are honest and excellent at what they do.) Within five minutes of speaking poker with someone I can extremely accurately gauge their skill at the game (unless they are purposely being deceptive) and I would imagine those high up in the investing world could do exactly the same. How would I ever know a potential advisor was actually looking out for my best interests and not his own bottom line when he's the one with all the knowledge and experience? I find it very unlikely that through personal research I could ever get on the level that professionals would have without enormous time commitment, and so I refuse to participate in a game where I am incapable of guaranteeing my long term edge.
Any time you decide to invest your money in anything you need to think through every fucking angle. Investigate thoroughly and ask the hard questions. A friend of mine recently told me he'd been asked to invest in a movie, and asked if I wanted any part of that. I had no interest, and before hearing much told him he shouldn't have any either, but told him to elaborate anyway. He said a guy he knew was high up in the film industry and looking for investments in a project film. I peppered him with questions:
1. Is he a friend, an acquaintance, or just a guy?
2. If this project is any good, why is he having difficulty finding investors, particularly since he would have run it by God knows how many people in the industry before hand?
3. Why is someone in the film industry asking a professional poker player for investments, particularly since the majority of the real world perceives us as illegitimate gamblers?
4. With no experience in the film industry, how could you possibly tell if the project is any good or potentially profitable?
5. Have you researched what percentage of films make a profit, and what the turnaround time to see it would be?
6. Would the books and accounting of the film be available to you, so you could see where your money is going?
7. Who the fuck is this guy again?
But maybe I'm just a paranoid nit. All I know is I aim to keep enough money in separate, federally insured bank accounts (federal government insures up to $100,000 per account, or two at the same bank) that things could never go that wrong for me and keep eyes in the back of my head when it comes to anyone who approaches me about money for fucking anything.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 5, A return to normalcy
April 11th, Honolulu: By far one of the most interesting aspects of my around trip so far has been interacting with what I refer to as 'normal people' again. I consider 'normal people' to be anyone who exists outside the poker and general gambling world, and I do not use the term with any disrespect. If anything, the more time I spend in poker the more I wish I had a more active social life with normal people.
Up until a few months ago I didn't have a single friendship with anyone in the entire country of Australia outside of poker; acquaintances maybe, but not a single friend. I only recently made some by joining another online community, the world of pick up. Up until that point, every casual and recurring social interaction I'd engaged in had essentially been within the poker world for what I now realize was a period of years. I still have some friends back home in Wisconsin who are well outside of it, but I haven't regularly hung out with them since last I left Wisconsin in 2006.
Up until a few months ago I felt increasing nostalgia for the normal world. The thing about poker is that it's a game that pits you against everyone else there, and it's essentially your goal to bust and break them, to take everything they have. I increasingly think this mind set carries over to people's social mentalities within the poker world, that many poker players would happily fuck each other over if they felt it advantaged themselves, sometimes even if they would call each other friends. Perhaps I am being naive and this is simply the way of the world, that it's no different in any regular business setting, but I think the lack of rules and boundaries in the poker community makes it especially prevalent, particularly when combined with high levels of gambling, drug use, and a lack of women within the industry.
That's not to say I haven't made some very good friends that I consider quite trust worthy within the poker community, but I find myself viewing anyone outside my very close circle with a high level of suspicion and scrutiny. Above all though, I feel that because poker is not 'fair' (especially tournament poker) it is a breeding ground for envy and ego, and the combination of the two is poison to relationships. It kills me to admit it, but for a very long time there was a short list of people that I would feel more 'happy for' than 'envious of' when they did well in a major tournament. In my defense, I am nowhere close to alone in this.
Over the last few months I've attempted to alter my mind set on the issue. I try to think that if I consider a person a genuine friend, that I should always be glad to see them succeed, and if they've been especially crushing (AKA especially running good) lately then I'll send them a compliment yet honest message that recognizes and admits to that twinge of jealousy, perhaps something that reads "Jesus man you are so sick, major congrats...now stop making me look bad you stupid fucking rich ass luckbox mother fucker." Or if it's a person I think has run above expectation and doesn't seem to appreciate it, instead of just bitching behind their back I'll just come out and talk to them about it and try to impart some understanding of variance (not that I haven't been guilty on the unappreciative side.) Mostly though I've been trying to not concern myself with the results of others and spend my time focusing on self improvement, be it within my poker game or other areas of my life (because clearly, the answer to my issues is to become more self involved.) After having done this for a while I feel much better about my place within poker. I feel good when I see people I call friends or would consider excellent players and nice people do well, and I try not to be bothered by those that congratulate me to my face but wish ill of me behind my back. I no longer feel the need to speak poorly of others unless they absolutely deserve it, and if I feel the need to talk about another person's poker game I try to phrase it in a way that is a direct criticism of solely their game, and not their person unless it's somehow relevant. Don't worry though; I'm not going to stop calling Mark Seif a scum bag Absolute poker cock swallowing piece of shit, or Shannon Elizabeth an evil D-list bitch, or Phil Hellmuth a self worshiping abrasive media whore who has a competition with himself to see if his personality or poker game can be more of a joke, any time soon.
Best I can tell it comes down to letting go of greed. As far as I know nobody is completely free of desire (whoa, we're getting into some Buddhist shit here) but what seems to corrupt people, to drive them to the social mentality I just spent nearly three pages raging against, is unbridled greed without any self analysis or perspective. Be it for money, or power, or fame, or women, or action, or what have you, there is inevitably something that we are all lusting for. I would never go so far to say that it's unquestionably bad; after all it can be a very effective motivator, even to do things which are good actions. But when it twists you to the point that you can't appreciate that which you are fortunate to have (and anyone in their 20's or teens making six figures a year playing a silly card game during a recession is quite fortunate in my opinion, no matter how deserving or hard they worked.) So sit back and enjoy it, it's a pretty good life to have. If you don't believe me have a conversation with a normal person about what you do, unless of course their hardcore anti gambling, in which case they'll just shake their head at you and inform you in a condescending tone that "The house always wins. You'll lose it all." That never seems to happen to me anymore though, and most seem enthralled and interested to hear more. And it's very good to be talking to them again.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 4, Aloha bitches
April 10th, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean: I groggily awake in my plane seat on what is April 10th in the Hawaiian Islands meaning I'm reliving a day as a result of passing over the International Date Line. I keep my eyes shut for a while and hear the clatter of my fellow passengers eating breakfast. I'm too tired to eat. I lay there motionless for 20 minutes or so until the captain comes on and informs us it is currently 8:43am (that's 5:43am Melbourne time) and we'll be touching down in Honolulu at approximately 9:07am. I slowly open my eyes and find John next to me finishing his breakfast, having changed out of his pajamas and back into normal clothes. I lean back in my chair and try to return to slumber but fail. A while later a flight attendant comes by, taps me on the shoulder, and hands me the glass of apple juice that I'd requested the night earlier on my breakfast menu, though I've already slept through the meal itself. After I gain moderate consciousness I go into the bathroom and change back into my suit in anticipation for landing.
The landing is smooth and a few minutes later we disembark. I'm one of the first people to the customs queue, which has three separate lines for US citizens. There are a couple people in the far right lines so I go to the one on the far left, directly in front of a booth which is occupied by a confused Asian couple having a translator attempt to relate a conversation to the customs agent for them. This lasts quite a few minutes, and eventually the lines next to me fill up but nobody gets behind me, perhaps because I'm in the wrong place or perhaps because they realize the Asian couple is going to take forever. Eventually a customs agent from one line over beckons me to come over, but a 30ish woman in the line beside me makes that sharp, annoyed exhaling sound that women make when they're, well, annoyed by something. I turn to her and say genuinely
"I'm sorry have you been waiting quite a while? Why don't you go ahead?"
"Yea! And the line is over here okay?!" she adds in an extremely bitchy tone. Now I'm left with three options:
1. Do nothing: Avoid conflict with her and her boyfriend because it's the middle of a customs check point in an airport where causing a scene is always a bad idea.
2. Play it cool: Tell her "Lady, I play by nobodies lines but my own" (confession; having just awoke from far too little sleep I didn't have the quick wit to think of this in the moment, regrettable since I now think it was the optimal move.)
3. Keep it real: Bark at her and her boyfriend "Are you always such a fucking cunt to everyone that's nice to you!? Hey dude, I can see why you took her on the vacation, though I personally recommend leaving her here" (something I genuinely did think of at the time, and it's been a while since I've felt like 'c bombing' a girl without it being a joke, but then I was never a morning person.)
I grit my teeth, swallow my pride, and decide letting loose a stream of profanities at a customs check probably isn't worth the hassle no matter how satisfying it'd be. Hopefully she spends the 30 seconds she saved lying out in the sun and gets skin cancer. I stand there awkwardly for a moment and contemplate going to the now lengthy back of the line, but as I take my first step in the direction the lady who'd been behind her says
"Sir why don't you just go ahead of me, you've been waiting too." My God, what an angel.
"Thanks so much, have a great trip, cheers."
I pass through customs without further altercation, and after collecting my bags wait around outside to see if Cade is picking me up. After waiting a few minutes I realize he might not have bothered coming since two days ago I wasted his time when my facebook message didn't reach him before he went to the airport to find me. I go to a nearby pay phone and call his cell. He sounds half asleep on the other end and tells me he's still in bed. I tell him I'll grab a cab and see him in 15 minutes.
When I get to his house I end up rousing Cade and his lovely girlfriend Kari out of bed. They both greet me with a hug, and within minutes we're back into our old ways of accusing each other of wanton homosexuality. When I grab a shower a few minutes later I find my insults to be supported by the contents within, 19 bottles of hair and skin product. I bet he has skin that Ed Gein would kill for though.
After I finish cleaning up Cade's mom Jada arrives home and we decide to head out to 'Dim Sun' for lunch. I haven't eaten breakfast so by the time we reach the restaurant I'm devouring food the second it's placed in front of me, manners be damned. Nobody seems to mind when I explain that I haven't eaten in 12 hours.
We decide to spend our day at the beach slash aquatic nature preserve that Cade volunteers at, 'Hanama Bay'. Unfortunately the weather is overcast and gloomy, and it's questionable whether the temperature is much above 70. Still, I didn't come to Hawaii to hide inside (except for SCOOP main event day of course) so we go for it anyway. As I inch into the bay I realize it's freezing, so I stand motionless for a few minutes then convince myself the best way to make it feel better is sprint through the water and leap in with reckless abandon. It's about mid leap that I remember than 'Hanama Bay' is mostly filled with rocks and corral, and a second later my knee harshly scraps some rock, opening up a nice wound. This coupled with the crappy weather and total lack of eye candy at the beach makes for a less than spectacular outing, though any time spent with Cade and Kari is always fun. They're such an awesome couple and I love them both to bits, but Christ do I seethe with envy watching them carouse about when I know I'll be banging my hand to sleep.
In the evening Cade has arranged for us to attend the concert of an 'environmental rock/punk band' at a local club. I haven't been to a punk rock concert since I was 17 and ran around the moshpit slamming into people as a form of camaraderie. Now at 24 I watch the pit from afar, feeling both too old and too tired from the lack of sleep to get in there and get my ass kicked. When did I get so dull? On the plus side, this Friday night we return to Cade's house at 10pm and sober, as opposed to last time when we got back at 3am with me raging drunk, slamming into the empty water cooler bottles outside then picking one up and singing into it at some absurd volume.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 3, 24 going on 14
April 10th, Melbourne Australia: I arrive at the airport over two hours early for a domestic flight on a Friday afternoon. The place is practically abandoned, and although I'm not flying business until I get to Sydney I decide to queue up in the 'Business/Qantas Club' line because the lady behind the desk looks bored and clearly won't turn me away just because my connecting flight is economy.
Most people view airports and flying as a huge hassle. As a result they often bring attitude with them to every encounter they have at the airport, particularly with staff. I see things differently; the people who work at the airport have the ability to make your life either totally miserable or considerably more comfortable. They take attitude from rushed dickheads all day, and even those who are nice are normally transparently attempting to get something. To my knowledge there's no ultimate trick to getting comps or upgrades at the airport, but if you're polite, engaging, and build some rapport with the person helping you they just might go out of their way to set you up. It's with this mentality that I approach the business class desk
"Hi, I'm not traveling on business until I get to Sydney but is it alright if I just go ahead and check in here?"
"Oh sure sir, that's no problem. Can I have your ID?"
"Of course...so I'm quite a bit early for my flight today, do you have any book recommendations for me?"
"What's that?"
"Well the flight isn't until 3:30 so I'll be needing a book to kill the time. Any recommendations for me?"
"Hmm let me think...have you read Angels and Demons?"
"Oh yes, read it and loved it. What'd you think?" (This part is important, it's one thing to just ramble on about shit when talking to people who can help you, but they won't feel invested in the interaction until you give them a reason to be.)
"Oh I haven't read it yet but I'm hoping to, people tell me good things."
"Did you enjoy the Da Vinci Code?"
"Oh yes quite a bit."
"Ah then you'll love Angels and Demons. I think it was probably better."
"Yea, that's what I keep hearing. Have you seen the movie?"
"Well no it's not out yet. I think it's one of those big summer release type things in the States."
"Oh right, like the new X-men movie. Do you like that series?"
"Are you kidding? I love em. They definitely picked the right character to continue the series with, Wolverine is so cool."
"I know! He's so..."
"Angry" I interject with a smile.
"Yes, that's right. One sec here I just need to call about your seat on the Honolulu flight."
She gets on the phone for a while and has difficulty getting through to people. She's stuck on hold for a while so we continue talking about books and I mention that numerous people have recommended 'The Wolf on Wallstreet' to me, and that they're turning it into a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio. She's definitely a Leo fan. Eventually she gets through to someone and then turns the computer my way and asks which seat I'd like. She tells me which one I should take that will get me the most room, which is a lone seat along the window.
"Ah perfect then, plenty of room to stretch out and I won't bother anyone with my smell."
After the seat is sorted she calls up to the Qantas Club lounge for me and lets them know that despite my not being on business class here in Melbourne that I will be in Sydney and therefore they should let me in when I head up there. She directs me how to get there then I thank her for everything and remind her to enjoy 'Angels and Demons'. I walk over to the airport 'Subway' where I grab a sandwich, buy two books at the neighboring book store, then head up to the Qantas Club lounge where I enter without issue and find a nice couch to whip out my laptop and start writing on.
The flight to Sydney is uneventful and arrives slightly early. The transition to the international terminal is easy and when I get there I ask around about the best place to eat. There are only a few options available and they all appear to suck, but then I remember that the lounge upstairs probably has food. When I arrive not only am I happy to find that I'm correct, but there's also free booze as far as the eye can see. I'm laying off the beer and hard stuff these days for the diet, so I grab the bottles of red wine and go to town while eating some kind of goulash. It tastes better than the name gives it credit for. I aimlessly browse the internet between bursts of typing, and find that the girl I was seeing has indeed deleted me from facebook like she said she would last night. Great, now my friends list is an even bigger sausage fest.
By the time I'm done writing I'm half drunk and eying the clock. I decide not to risk it this time and head off to my gate 25 minutes early. The flight is already boarding when I get there and I grab a seat and wait for the line to dissipate while I read. When I board I finally look at my ticket and realize I'm on the window seat of the first row. It's my first time in business class for an international flight, and I'm thrilled to find the seat is enormous and stretches out considerably.
I start chatting with the guy in the seat next to me. His name is John, and he works in the furniture business. He tells me he's going to Hawaii alone just to kill a few days and get some sun, which is pretty damn balla for a guy who looks to be in his late twenties. He asks what I do for a living which results in a half hour discussion on how exactly one plays poker for a living and what I did to get myself to that point. He explains all the perks to business class to me and elaborates on how to adjust my seat, which according to the diagram on my arm rest appears to be incredibly complex.
At some point one of the attendants comes by and offers us pajamas. At first I decline because I don't really wear pajamas, but then I remember it's either that or sleep in my suit so I reconsider and get changed in the bathroom. Just trying to change clothes in the bathroom makes me wonder about the logistical nightmare that attempting to have sex in there would be.
Before I settle in to sleep I restart the conversation with John. He tells me he's 24 and guesses my age to be 21, and is rather surprised to find out we're the same. John laments that at such a young age both his knees and back are fucked while his hair is simultaneously thinning and graying. I'd have believed him in an instant if he told me he was 30. Fortunately, I show nearly no signs of age, unless perhaps I haven't shaven in days. My hair seems to have maintained all its color and thickness and at times I still even have slight acne break outs. A few weeks ago in a bar some girl told me thought I could pass for 17 and a week after that a guy at a downtown slots casino wouldn't let me enter despite presenting my Wisconsin ID. The legal age of entrance is 18. I was not able to talk my way past that one.
Mostly we discuss how 24 is a strange age, a transitional age. Up until a couple years ago your life was on a pretty set course for most people, and you likely had a large group of friends you'd been familiar with for years. After school people tend to break off and start doing their own things, getting into careers but often beginning to question if the direction they've taken is the correct one. I imagine by 30 most people likely have a pretty solid idea of what they'll be doing with their life or career, but maybe not. Hell, I even have a few friends who are intentional parents at this stage. When the fuck did that start happening? If I had a kid right now I'd wind up playing his Xbox more than he did. I'm wearing pajamas and play a card game for a living.
Eventually our conversation dies down and I lay back into my seat in my pajamas and slip the blindfold over my face. The plane is fairly quiet near the front. I fall asleep without too much trouble.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 2, The Taxman Cometh
April 9th, Melbourne Australia: I wake up a little before 10am. That's not a good sign if I hope to play the SCOOP main event in Hawaii, as the event goes off at 6:30am Melbourne time, meaning I'm three and a half hours off the sleep schedule I need to be on. I went to meet up with another couple who work at 'Crown' with the girl I'm seeing after dinner last night and we wound up staying out till 11pm, which for my recent sleep schedule has been an ungodly late hour. When we got home I was exhausted and passed out instantly, something I decide to make amends for it in place of my morning run.
After breakfast I jump on my computer and waste some time browsing the internet before telling myself I should use this opportunity to finish my taxes. Actually doing the taxes themselves using the TurboTax software is fairly simple and straight forward, but going over all the live tournaments I played during the year, figuring out what % of profits went to backers, and then looking up every online tournament I played under them and working out the profit on that (which I must subtract from my yearly profit total online) is where all the bitch work comes in. It takes hours to look and add up everything and when I finally enter all the information into TurboTax it informs me that I owe Uncle Sam a disturbingly high number. Christ I wish I was a real Australian, thank God I only have to pay the federal taxes.
On the plus side, I found that my 2008 totals over the major sites averages out to about 50% ROI at roughly $150 average buy in over a considerable sample. I've spoken to a lot of friends recently who I consider very good players (many better than myself) and quite a few of them wound up having a losing year in 2008. My best guess as to why is a combination of bad variance and not putting in volume, something a huge percentage of professional online players don't do enough of in my opinion.
In the evening we go for Korean BBQ on Victoria Street and go play pool at 'Princes'. The Australian version of pool uses tiny balls and a fast moving felt with small pockets that often have you bouncing right out if you don't aim precisely or hit the ball there gently. I get my ass handed to me in all four games but explain to her that "If it weren't for this pussy ass version of pool with these mini balls I'd be crushing you." I'm going to need a new excuse when I start losing at pool in the states.
At nights end we lie in bed and discuss what happens now. The best explanation I can give for why it has to end is that "Sometimes you tell everyone you know 'I'll see ya in six months' and never really show up again." In the case of home, that was three years ago. I'd like to come back to Australia, I hope to, but it wouldn't terribly shock me if I wound up stopping somewhere along the way and didn't bother getting on the plane again. It doesn't help that my permanent residency status in Australia is still up in the air. I suppose only time will tell.
Around the World in 150 Days, Day 1, False Start
April 8th, Melbourne Australia: I look over my two packed suitcases and carry on bag for anything I might have forgot. I recheck the list I created at the start of the day for things I had to get done and make sure they're all accomplished. They more or less are, so I zip up my bags and instruct Steven to make sure the place is spotless before Celina gets here in a few days or she'll kill me. I give him an hours wage and tell him that the remaining weed in the house is all his if he does as asked. He was originally going to be my ride to the airport as well, but after taking me to a movie the girl I'm seeing told me she'd like to drop me off at the airport too.
The traffic through the city is awful, though it frees up considerably once we hit the freeway out towards the airport. My flight is at 7:40pm and we get to the airport at about 5:45. She walks with me into the airport, and I go up to the Qantas international business check in to get my bags sorted
"Hi, I'm here to check in for the 7:40 to Honolulu."
She pauses and looks at me strangely "Um, do you have a copy of your ticket."
"I do." I take it out of my suit pocket and hand it over to her. She examines it for a while then looks at me befuddled.
"Sir did you mean to check into your flight to Sydney? The flight to Honolulu doesn't leave from Melbourne."
Suddenly my conversation with the travel agent rushes back. The ticket was booked for all major flights, but I'd have to book my own flight from Melbourne to Sydney, as well as the ones to Wisconsin and Nairobi to Mombasa. I'd remembered the later two, but for some reason blanked on the first one, which was now clearly the most pertinent.
"Oh I can't believe I did this. Christ I am so stupid it's amazing" I remark.
"Excuse me sir?"
"Yeeeeeeeeeeea, I don't have a flight to Sydney cause I'm a huge idiot. Is there anyway to get me to Sydney in time for the 7:40 flight?"
"You'll have to speak to our sales desk sir, its right down there."
As I walk out of the line the girl I'm seeing asks what happened. I explain to her and naturally she bursts into laughter. Who could blame her?
I walk over to the sales desk and explain the situation to the guy behind the computer. He tells me we'll have to take it over to the international lady down the desk. We walk over and he tries to tell her what's going on
"It seems the gentleman has a flight to Honolulu from Sydney at 7:40 but no flight to Sydney."
"What?" she asks.
"It seems the gentleman is a moron" I remark.
She looks at me apparently confused as to who I'm calling a moron
"I'm the moron, I thought my flight to Honolulu left from Melbourne. Is there any way to get me to Sydney in time or get me to Honolulu tonight?"
She starts looking through the computer and describing my options. There's a 6:30pm flight to Sydney but that won't get me there in time. I can spend $600 in fare differences, $300 on a flight to Sydney, and god knows how much on a business ticket from Sydney to Honolulu on Pacific airlines in order to get there tonight. Otherwise I can wait 48 hours and pay nothing except for a $130 flight from Melbourne to Sydney. I decide on that option and she books me a flight in the mid afternoon to make sure there is no recurring moron related fiasco.
"This is only slightly embarrassing" I tell her as she hands me my ticket for Friday. "Thanks for all your help."
I walk back to my girl and tell her "This was all part of the plan really, I felt like spending a couple more days with you but didn't want to come off needy so I organized this. Yep, all intentional. So what are we doing for dinner?"
We get back into the car and decide on steak for dinner, which means 'Rockpool' at Crown. She takes out a cigarette and asks "Do you mind if I smoke?"
"Do you?" I ask as I whip out one of the 'Bolivar' cigars from my suit pocket. The plus side to being the kind of person that's so forgetful that you fail to remember to book a connecting flight is that you also sometimes forget you bought Cuban cigars and left them in your pocket until an opportune moment presents itself. I light up in the car, roll the window down slightly, and celebrate my last 48 hours in Melbourne in carcinogenic style. I'll try this again on Friday.
Hey losing streak…
That's right, I put a serious foot up the ass of that losing streak by hitting four different five figure cashes in a three day span. It all started when I won the Tilt morning $100 rebuys for $14,553 three days ago, then won the Stars morning $100 rebuys the next day for $15,050 after getting very lucky when getting it in with AJo against QQ heads up for most of the chips in play and spiking an A on the turn. Then yesterday I got second in the morning Tilt $150 for $18,032, then somewhere in the area of eight billion hours later I finally busted out of the SCOOP $500 rebuys in 17th for $10,318 (though that tournament was under Timex.)
I obviously recognize that the major reason for these results was due to a major shift in variance in my favor. I didn't exactly lose a lot of coin flips during that period, and 80-20's were closer to 95-5's. Still, a winning streak inevitably has an affect on your confidence level, particularly after spending a month getting pummeled day in day out. Allow me to give you an artists rendering of this concept. Here's me four days ago:
I don't know if I should be betting here, umm, let me see, oh God, maybe I'll just check.
And here's now:
I FUCKIN RAISE MOTHER FUCKERS! BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!
While making that visual analogy it is important to note that I am in better shape than the Hulk, and would prove this were he a real person I could challenge to an arm wrestling contest and not merely a character invented by Marvel Comics with an anger management problem.
Anyway, as many people already saw in my BBV4L brag post, I'm being kicked out of my apartment. They sent me a double notice, first that the dog needs to be gone immediately or I would face a $1,500 fine, and second that I have 60 days to vacate the property because they are putting it up for sale. I assumed this was their polite way of evicting me, but who knows and it doesn't really matter. It's Saturday morning here now and I'll be leaving Melbourne for five months on Wednesday afternoon, so I'll just have my stuff thrown in storage and live at Stevo's balla ass house when I get back until I get my own place, hopefully in Eureka tower.
Until I leave I'll be at my house all day grinding, or at the gym. So if you want to stop in and say hello (or technically, goodbye) you know where to find me.