Two Some Odd Years Later, an Introduction

Seems I'm overdue here for this post. Two years plus overdue. So, here goes...

Welcome. Welcome to whatever the hell this is. Or isn't.

But what you're about to read here is true.

Facetious at times, flippant, whatever. But it's what's on my mind, or at least what I want to talk about right now. Or right then. Whatever.

The point I'm trying to make is this... It's my truth, and by that, I mean what you're seeing here is my version of that truth, my version of reality.

I guess where I'm going with this is that there is a reason I keep my anonymity here. It prevents me from having to write emails like the following, written in response to someone I haven't talked to in quite some time, whose name I specifically buried somewhere in the archives in an attempt to say hello, should she Google herself in the future. She did, and wasn't very happy with me as a result.

Here, read on...

(Edited)

Just so's you know, I don't really think anyone outside of immediate family and somewhere around 165 strangers a day read my website. And no, I do know that you were never "my girl," but you absolutely were my "pining forever crush d'jour 1992." Nice, by the way, that you figured out it was me behind the curtain, although I'm not sure that was a tough leap to make.

The only one of the guys of yours in college I ever met that I wanted to crack across the kneecaps was the dude who looked like the sensitive dude (Brian Krakow) from "My So Called Life." And it wasn't because he had you and I didn't, it's that he looked so goddamn much like the guy on TV that he was just some derivative dude usurping some Wednesday night ABC prime time fetish. Or so I thought.

Anyhow, don't be pissed off (or try really hard not to be). Let me try to put some of this in perspective. Kind of like "High Fidelity," but more like the genius Albert Brooks movie "Mother," I've been really self-analytical about my past, and have found that venting about what a freaking tool I am/was/am has been helpful in reconstructing any sort of self-worth I might have had left remaining after my marriage. Which was ugly and emasculating to say the least. So I try to put whatever I can down in words. Trust me, it's not all about you (not that I was assuming you were assuming it was). It's no secret I had a massive crush on you for the first little while up there, but that was par for the course for me, as growing up in Utah did absolute wonders for my ability to relate to women on a real, human being basis.

I don't regret putting things in perspective on here that may have pissed you off a little bit. Whatever we actually were (and that was easily good friends), my immaturity at that time, and inability to deal with people on a real basis constructed a lot of different things in my head and heart (and again, not just about you - my friend J would probably have gotten an emotional restraining order on me, had one existed) that weren't real, but were real enough to me at that point.

See, it's all about mental health. You've got your world, and I've got my psyche to deconstruct in front of hundreds of strangers on a daily basis.

I'm not apologetic. I don't want to be, and don't need to be. Am I pulling names off, hoping Google catches up quick? Yeah. Absolutely. Lesson learned. But this is my spot to work out the kinks. If I want to do that publicly, don't begrudge me that opportunity.

And again, welcome.

And a good time was had by all…

Congrats to Iggy for winning the Monty Memorial at Pacific last night. I guess since we all know online poker is rigged, the tech support people at Pacific made sure Iggy was properly compensated for all the crap he was dealing with after last Sunday’s dropped ball.

I kid, I kid…

I tried to take good notes on the action at my table last night, I really did. Here’s some highlights of the early action.

TABLE TEN
2 – BG
3 – MonteChristo
4 – G8RENGR
5 – Maudie
6 – KnoxTN
8 – Ash Gosain
10 – Carter Rabasa

>> AA on the button early, setting the tone for decent button hands coming to me straight away. With the blinds at 10/20, I see everyone fold to me, and I make it 2xBB to go. Monte and G8R fold. First big hand of the night for me, and I get no action.

>> After one orbit, everyone is within T60 of their starting stack, tight table so far.

>> ATs in the small blind, and Carter makes it 50 to go. AQ2 flop, and I’m liking it. I check, Carter bets 30, I check-raise him to 60. I get my set on the turn, and we both check. 9 on the river, but three diamonds. I bet 60, Carter folds, I’m now up T130 to 1630.

>> K8s UTG, four of us see the flop. 984 rainbow gets a check around, and when the 6 comes on the turn, G8R makes a play we all respect on a board that ugly.

>> My notes tell me I lost a pot to Carter when he paired his five on the river to beat my pocket fours. Sigh…

>> Nice button hand for me with JJ. I make it 4xBB (120), and Carter comes along for the ride. 866 board, I make a pot sized bet and Carter folds. I’m up to T1700 now.

>> This hand bugs me, because I’m pretty sure I’m right regardless what G8R claims. KJo in the SB, three of us limp. 82J on the flop rainbow. I go 90, G8R makes it 180. I hesitate, but call. Q on the turn, and I check. G8R makes a play at it for 400, and I grudgingly fold. I’m almost certain he didn’t have it. He says in chat he had AJ, but I’m positive it was a bottom pair.

>> KQo on the button, with Gosain and Carter in the hand. Gosain made it 150 preflop (3xBB) to go, and we see J32 on the flop. Carter goes for 50, I lay it down and Gosain calls. Lucky too, K on the turn and Gosain pushes all-in. Carter lays it down, and I’m glad I didn’t have that decision to make.

>> 57s on the button, my favorite hand. I wanna limp, but KnoxTN makes it 100 to go. I call, as does G8R. 568 on the flop. Knox makes it 325 to go, and I’ve gotta run away, even though I hit a pretty nice flop there.

>> BadBlood is moved over, now in seat 7. I’m sitting with 1105.

>> A9o on an AKT flop that apparently I was the only one to hit, took 400.

>> My favorite hand of the night… And Maudie might kick herself a little upon reading this. TT UTG. I make it 2xBB (200) to go. Maudie re-raises to 400. Folded to me, and I push 1000 all-in. Maudie thinks and lets it go. Whew.

>> Carter is gone, Poperek in seat 9.

>> Maudie doubles up on Gosain, pushing all-in on AT versus QT. She hits her Ace, and is now up to 2300.

>> K7s on the button, and it’s G8R and I. 54J on the flop, he checks to me and I bet the pot. He folds. Nice. 1730 at this point.

>> KTo UTG. I make it 2xBB, and Poperek calls. 227A9 board checked to the river with three diamonds, and I fold to his bet. I don’t care what he had, I’m sure I was beat.

>> This hand hurt me… QJs in the BB. Poperek limps, and I make it 2xBB to go. He calls. I hit a Jack high flop with two diamonds. I bet the pot. He calls. Blank on the turn, I bet and he calls. Diamond on the river, and I check, he bets something like 300, and I have to call this one with top pair. I was convinced he didn’t have any pairs better than Jacks. I was right. 58d gave him a rivered flush, never hit any semblance of a pair before that. Dwindled me down to 830, and really pissed me off in the process.

>> A couple hands later, I see A8s on the button, and try to limp in for 150 (with 1000 or so). G8R pushes all-in behind me for 1000, and BadBlood calls. I decide now’s as good a time as any, with T225 coming off every orbit, and blinds ready to raise shortly anyway. I’d rather try to triple up substantially with A8s than double up with half my stack with AA or KK after one more orbit. So I push. I was third best, competing with AQs (G8R) and JJ (BadBlood). No Aces, Queens, or Eights, and BadBlood knocks two out.

57th out of 77. Not thrilled, that’s for sure.

And then there were two

So, there was another home game on Saturday night, and I’ve been thinking about my style lately. I’m really quite good at being patient in the context of our games, but taking risks isn’t something I generally do a lot of.

That was something I went into Saturday with the intent of changing.

I took a nice chip lead early when my pocket eights made their set on the flop. DH called my pot sized bet, but with two hearts on the board, a flush was a concern. I saw a diamond on the turn, and pushed all-in. DH called again, and when no heart came on the river, I knew I was good. Sure enough, he had Ax of hearts, and I took his chips.

That was my only sizeable win of the night.

Problems started hitting me a little later when my loose-aggressive play starting slapping me around. In a couple of multi-way pots, there were a couple of boards I hit with bottom pair or nothing that didn’t look dangerous. For example, let’s say I had A3. Flop hits 883, and there were four of us who all saw a pre-flop raise (marginal) to see it. I’d bet the pot, and freaking Dwight would raise me. Happened three times to me, and if you know one thing about Dwight, if he raises you, he’s good. So I try to make a play, he actually catches a monster, and all of a sudden he’s got some idiot betting into him. Three times.

Luck of the draw I guess.

Aside from taking DH for all his chips early, my other highlight was slightly embarrassing. Three-handed, I catch the hammer in the BB, and catch a 7 high flop. My brother goes in, I re-raise him all-in, and he calls with 78. I catch my 2 on the turn for two pair, and knock him down to 1300 or so. It was ugly, but it’ll work.

After my brother went out, I went heads-up with MH, who had built a helluva stack. I needed to double up on him twice to bring it even. First hand in, I call all-in before my second card hits my face down first. MH asks if I’m going in blind, I say yes, and he looks anyway. He calls with AQs. Damn. I look down and find KQs. Neither of us catch a thing, and that’s that.

+$20 for the evening, and fun playing looser than normal, but I miss the days where I get to heads-up with a fairly even stack, or at least not being in a severe chip disadvantage. Seems like playing conservative has cost me lately, in that I’m nearly blinded out before I can take a crack at the leader. Of course, playing looser on Saturday wasn’t a good move either, as three mistakes cost me $1200, and a shot at being in better shape at the end.

Just Some Things…

First female project leader at Honda
helps make Life car ‘woman-friendly’

Honda has assigned a female project leader to spice up and redesign the interior of its Life minicar. And it’s paying off in increased sales of 37 percent in Japan for the economy car.

The redesign was led by 34-year-old Yasuko Matsuyama. And the new Life car has lured many women into showrooms because of its bright interior and vivid new body colors.

At Honda, leaders from sales, product development and manufacturing make up a vehicle project team. Matsuyama was the first female member of one of the teams.

She helped inspire change in the Life by giving it a bright beige interior and an instrument panel with easier-to-use knobs and switches. A beige tone was suggested over gray, to make the cabin look roomier. She pushed to have the car’s height raised to improve access, and for a large switch for the air conditioning control that would appeal to women.

Matsuyama also helped create three exterior colors – green tea, vanilla and caramel – providing Life buyers with a total of 12 options. Color experts outside Honda that were consulted included a fashion designer, a furniture designer and a creator of cosmetic products. Vanilla has become the most popular color among the 12.

After training at a plant and a dealer outlet, Matsuyama worked in market research for Honda. She visited Honda owners at home to observe their lifestyles and study their automotive needs. Approximately 80 percent of the Honda Life’s target customers are women. (Automotive News)

Women, here’s what people think of you:

>> You are tempted by shiny colors
>> Knobs and switches are too hard for a girl
>> You’re too dumb to find the air conditioner, so the switch needs to be bigger
>> We picked our colors after consulting a fashion designer, furniture designer, and someone who makes cosmetics. Unfortunately, Oprah, Bette Midler, Luke from General Hospital, and various telephone psychics were unavailable for input.

I learned something else today. This one is in all seriousness. The Arctic Tern is a majestic white sea bird that lives to be up to 25 years old. And in its lifetime, the Arctic Tern may fly over one million kilometers.

That’s pretty far. I heard that on the radio today, and was flat out wowed.

Don’t drink and drive. Or, if you’re going to drink and drive, make sure you’re bringing everything home with you at the end of the night.

Drunks can be so forgetful.

Sometimes I crack myself up. Take last night, for instance. Scott and I were talking in the tournament chat room about “Owning Mahoney,” which was based off of a terrible, terrible book called “Stung.” It’s about a Canadian Assistant Bank Branch Manager who gets in way over his head gambling. Phillip Seymour Hoffman stars, which prompted this exchange:

Scott: The guy who stars is really good, I like him a lot.
BG: But how hard is it really to play Canadian?
BG: You just aim for retarded and dial it up a notch.
Iggy: In which direction? Towards retarded?
BG: No, back the other way, the helmet on the bus becomes optional.

I had earlier called Chris Halverson a “Canuck,” and supported Scott’s position on Halverson’s Viking homerism by affirming that Minnesotans have a state-centric view of their world because “not everyone owns four chains for their tires to enable them to cross state lines.”

I had mentioned my house sitting gig for my dad, and that he had the digital cable on demand thing, which was pretty cool. I spent most of Sunday watching the HBO series “Entourage.” It’s a half hour show about a “hot young celebrity” movie star, and his three hangers-on he keeps in tow. They’ve really done a nice job with this movie in a couple of ways. First, it’s less about the movie star than it is about normal guy Eric who was plucked out of a restaurant night manager gig in Queens to ostensibly manage his friend’s career. Second, the star’s agent is played by Jeremy Piven, who knocks those egotistical asshole lines out of the park. Third, it’s got Samaire Armstrong as a love interest for Eric, who is easily top ten for my current celebrity crushes (you may remember her from such roles as “Anna” on “The OC.”). And fourth? Great guest stars. For example, in one episode Val Kilmer (dressed like fat Jim Morrison) played “The Sherpa,” a stoned-out hippie in an incredibly juicy part. Playing themselves you had Jimmy Kimmel, Luke Wilson, Mark Wahlberg (Executive Producer of the show), Ali Larter (why this girl isn’t ridiculously famous, I don’t know), Jessica Alba, and plenty of others. Check it out if you haven’t. I give it my BG SEAL OF APPROVAL.

NEXT

Let’s get this out in the open right here, right now.

Anna Kournikova > Maria Sharapova

As a matter of fact, it’s not even that close.

You and I both know what we’re talking about here. I could give a crap if either ever takes another swing of a tennis racket. I’m talking pure looks and sex appeal here.

Anna K > Sharapova even if Anna was just waking up from a three night bender.

Kournikova’s going to look better at 35 years old than Sharapova will at any point of her life from here on out.

Why is this even a discussion?

(By the way? Sharapova upskirt, Sharapova deep throat banana, and Sharapova nipple slip. Welcome to my site pervos.)

It’s a discussion because TV and newspaper people are lazy. Too lazy to do anything but to find the most obvious angle they can on a pseudo-celebrity, then force it down our throats day after day, making people like me mad enough to discuss their ideas in real terms, thereby somehow validating that their argument or commentary does indeed have legs.

Up to her neck, yes, but that’s not my point.

The media thinks so little of the American public that they do everything they can to keep us distracted by the shiny object, rather than giving us credit as independent, free-thinking individuals. Point in fact? How about that I could probably give you an impromptu fifteen minute lecture on the love life of Ben Affleck, but were you to ask me to critically dissect the themes beneath the surface of “Rushmore,” a movie I’ve seen dozens of times, I’d have to retreat to the lab for another viewing and some serious note taking.

I blame the media for this. Art is too esoteric to be understood or available to the mainstream, so in its place we have Entertainment. No one needs to understand Entertainment, you don’t get extra credit on the test, and you don’t have to feel stupid about it if it comes up in conversation at the dinner table. Art is (or can be) complicated and challenging. Entertainment that masquerades as Art is obvious and facile. And because the media is lazy, and because the media doesn’t feel middle America can keep up, and because it’s the lowest common denominator we’re trying to convince to just buy the dish soap or four wheel drive truck, the media doesn’t feel the necessity to expose us to anything that we might feel challenged by or uncomfortable attempting to understand.

So what becomes easier to understand than, well, something we already understand? There’s a genius behind Anna Kournikova (and no, I’m not talking about Enrique Iglesias). “Anna Kournikova,” like so many other things in this society, has become a brand, or an expectation. “Anna Kournikova” can be summed up in four simple words: Barely Legal Sex Kitten. “Anna Kournikova” has nurtured this image, genuine or not, into something that is completely and unabashedly without nuance. She doesn’t let her tennis get in the way of “Anna Kournikova” the sex kitten. In fact, she admits it doesn’t even really matter.

And you know what? It doesn’t. Not really. With Kournikova, you know precisely what you’re getting. Image, beauty, and some understanding that she’s an image-savvy manipulator. She doesn’t talk much, so she’s uncomplicated. She doesn’t have a reality show, so she can maintain a base of mystery. She makes everything in her life secondary to simply being beautiful. For as many things that Anna Kournikova is not, there is one undeniable truth.

In her circle, Anna Kournikova is the prototype.

She’s prototypical not in the “girls want to grow up to be like her” sense, but prototypical in the “using image and media to establish personality” sense.

This is precisely why Sharapova is not the “next Anna Kournikova.”

As uncomplicated as Kournikova is, Pretty + Blonde + Russian + Teen + Tennis does not equal everything you need to know about Anna. At this point, that is the sum total of Sharapova. She may be an attractive girl, but she is closer to being the next Chris Evert Lloyd than she is the next Anna Kournikova.

Who Was Next Though?

Tiffani-Amber Thiessen (circa 1993) was the latter day Alyssa Milano, but in a strange twist, Alyssa Milano (circa 1999) became the latter day Tiffani-Amber Thiessen.

While Kirk Cameron’s “Mike Seaver” was not the next Richie Cunningham, Richard “Boner” Stabone was absolutely the next Ralph Mouth.

TV’s “Urkel” was not, in fact, the next “Screech,” but was instead the evolutionary This Guy (please click that link, c’mon…).

It’s been said before, but with his surreal record of dating starlets, Wilmer Valderrama is the new Scott Baio.

“Sex in the City” was nothing more than the next “Facts of Life.”

Through sheer coincidence, Jerry O’Connell is slowly morphing into today’s John Stamos (untalented actor who becomes only marginally more bankable based on who he’s dating, in both cases it’s Rebecca Romijin).