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3:27 p.m. - 2005-03-07
Riches. I'm in dire need of riches.

It feels like I should be doing something else today.

Anyway, I continue to wreak havoc on the internet poker world. I entered a tournament to win a trip along with 98 other hopefuls last weekend. I figured my chances were slim. No matter how good you are there is a measure of luck you need to have to win a big tournament like that, and with my skills I need a healthy measure. As I get better I am beginning to realize that I actually am worse than I realized. Iím getting better but see that Iím worse. It is kind of spiritual. And frustrating.

Not really, I am finding that each improvement I make in my game opens up a whole new level of insight into the intricaties of it all. I think I am on the brink of becoming intermediate.

So back to the tournament. I sit down at the first table, and who is seated directly to my right? Paul Phillips. Internet millionaire, champion poker player and one of the professionals I admire very most in the game (a fact I imparted to him in the least homo-erotic groupified way I could muster). He has been at many final tables and won some very big tournaments on T.V.. And everything. A real pro.

Fucking bastard. He could afford to send every contestant in the tournament on the trip and not even feel it, but here he is trying to deprive me who scrounged up the $25 to enter.

Anyway, yíall donít give a fuck about poker, so let me just say that I beat Paul in a critical hand and for all intents and purposes crippled him while doubling up my chip count and moving into second place. He was knocked out shortly thereafter. Thatís two pros played and two who felt the hecka-wrath. I went on to make the final table, and was knocked out in 6th by a hand that had me a 95% favorite to win. The motherfucker got lucky and got the one card that could beat me on the river.

Okay. No more about that. I got a job offer last week too. It seems pretty fucking how the hell did this fall in my lap good. Job supervisor for a booming commercial construction company that is expanding to northern California. Mad loot. No physical work. Bossing folks around. Plenty of downtime to spend in the casinos. A lap-top. And best of all? All duties that I am more than qualified to handle, with the possibility of those duties expanding.

Yay, and shit. Naímean?

I got a hair cut. Fucking tidied my ass up quite a bit. I'd been wearing a cap and had taken to not shaving and since I now own and sport spectacles I looked, as one homeless man pointed out to me while begging for change, like Steven Spielberg. Thatís a look only someone as wealthy as Steven Spielberg should dare attempt. Maybe thatís why those motherfuckers jumped me, they thought I was responsible for that A.I. piece of shit*.

*please note that I have not seen the movie A.I., nor am I even positive that Spielberg made it, but I have many opinions on movies I have not seen based on my tendency to hate everything and am too lazy to fact check even though I am on the internet right now.

I got to hang out with Beta on Friday night. I like that woman a great deal what with her smarts and no-nonsense kind of attitude. We went to a new bar, for reasons discernable in her diary, and I noticed that there are a fair number of gay men in the Castro district in San Francisco. If you are a gay man and visiting San Francisco you might just want to check it out because I would wager you are likely to run into another gay man there. Itís worth a shot anyway. And the bar we went to was effin comfy too. Carpet and chairs. Beer and spirits for sale. And even though I would sit on the curb in the gas station parking lot and crack a foítie in order to drink in the company of beta, I think I could grow partial to a chair and beer on tap.

In conclusion, yes, I wish I were doing something else today.


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