What's In a Name?

Off and on for the last couple of month's I have written quite a bit about my new place -- The Apartment I called it. Most of the words I have written recently had to with the view. Now that summer is in full swing the the sun has reversed course heading back south towards the Golden Gate and the fogs of San Francisco are around most days. So my view gets lots of natural variation. Today I wish to muse about what I call this place in Berkeley. I really thought The Apartment worked just fine with no references to the Billy Wilder, Jack Lemmon, Shirley MacLaine academy award winning film of the same name.

But last week, someone who really knows The Apartment referred to it as The View and that got me thinking. The Eyrie came immediately to mind but that was just way too precious, it led to Roost and Perch, Promotory and Massif which allowed Amy to wonder if caves ever came with views. I growled at that suggestion, briefly considered Grizzly Peak and put the whole idea aside until last night when I wrote this line in a story -- "he lived life with a glimpse and a glance."

Seems as if there must be some ocularly infused eponym that is just right, not too hot, not too cold. So I am open to suggestions, a prize for a winning linguistic turn.

Until then, I am signing off from The Apartment - the one with The View and this my 100th blog post of 2010.

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Getting a Closer Look

Even though the thumping at first reminded me of mortar fire, (I just finished a great book on the Vietnam War) I quickly realized that some community on the western side of the San Pablo Bay (that's the north end of the SF Bay to non-locals) had decided to go with fireworks on Saturday night (3rd). Since I had just set-up my new Zhumell 20x80 Super Giant Astronomical Binoculars with optional adjustable tripod, I was quickly able to zoom in on the show. I must say it was pretty cool and the big red, white & blue finish was extra super special cool. After the final flashes had gone out I was surprised by how long it took those last audio echoes to reach me in Berkeley.

I was going to get out my old slid rule and do some calculations when I decided it was better just to look up the nearest fiery attractions for Sunday night the 4th of July. I was fairly sure that San Francisco would hold it regular show from Pier 39 but I suspected that Treasure Island would block the lower part of my view but I was really more concerned with the foggy overcast that really hasn't burned off the past several days and really regroups as the solar heat decreases in the early evening.

I wondered if there were any East Bay displays, lo and behold there it was Berkeley 9:30 PM off the Berkeley Pier. That puts a big display about 2.5 miles from my elevated perch and I still have the SF fireworks in the distance.

So the new toy is fine tuned, banana bread is defrosted, Oohs and Aaaahs are at hand.

[8:30] one hour to go and the overcast (undercast?) is really coming in. I think the San Francisco fireworks will just be faint glows in the mist. As of right now I can still see the Berkeley Pier, but this is going to be an interesting pyrotechnical evening.

[10:15] Muted is seldom a word used to describe fireworks, but that is the perfect descriptor for tonight. The top third of the Berkeley display disappeared into the clouds. Many of the mid-range starbursts had their tops or bottoms dissected. Geometrically this was a display like no other I have seen but am betting those waiting in line to get out of the Marina parking lot might feel a bit dampened. Mother Nature has her way with us yet again.

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Lay of the Last Minstrel

Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd,
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
                   -Sir Walter Scott

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Courageous Cat

Today's post is all about inter-species communication. The black feline in the picture is Vlad who resides at M's house. The picture was taken by the next-door neighbor, who is the owner of the very large twenty year old parrot. Vlad is a wise animal and is fully aware that the parrot is larger than he is and has a very sharp beak. But sometimes he just has to hop the fence and ponder the possibilities of 'what if'.

I am going to make this a long weekend, so today I leave you with other furry and feathery images.

Enjoy the weekend.

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The (Poker) Shrink Speaks Again

A year ago I offered these same advisory comments to my friends in the poker media regarding the inevitable World Series of Poker burnout from long hours, bad food, poker playing and ridiculously high standards for tournament reporting that no one reads. I received several laudatory comments from my writing buddies, but no one actually took my advice. While I don't miss being in Las Vegas for six weeks in the roasting heat, I do miss my friends among the players, tournament staff and media. So, today I want to (re)remind everyone that total exhaustion is not a requirement of the impending WSOP Main Event.

Rule #1: Rest! 

Resting does not include clubs (night or gentlemen's). You might consider some exercise, again that would mean a gym not a gentlemen's club. The big parties are in full swing this week; the barbeques are fine, the all night drunken rolls with or without running Twitter commentaries are not. Those of you who will not take this advice, please do twitter away all the details, drunken tweets are always great for next day prop bets.

To the players, remember you are the one who said:

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity."

"I have been running bad the whole series, but now the main event is here."

"I am going to focus and be prepared to play" is not a line that should be followed by ". . . another round for the table."

Yes, Las Vegas is a lot of fun, lots and lots of fun. But not the night before your Super Bowl. This really is the World Series of Poker and if you are good, skillful and lucky; it will last nearly two weeks, you really think it is wise to go out and party the night before you or your backer upchucks ten thousand dollars?

Back to my buddies in the poker media. Repeat after me. Nothing happens on Day One, not Day 1A or 1B or C or D. There is no reason to further stress yourself out to report on anything but the funny hats and stupid costumes. Also no one makes the money on Day Two, not Day 2A or 2B. Lots of stuff happens but nearly none of it is worth reporting. Things get semi-serious on Day Three or maybe Four, so pace yourself and next year remember all the resolutions you made this year. You know: eat right, use the gym, don't play poker after a 12 hour writing day, finish your screen play and read that book on Omaha 8. But for now -- go to back to bed! 


Finally I would add that not hearing a single chip shuffle or someone yelling "Floor!" every five minutes is what most people call summer. 


Hang in there, it really is almost over.

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June Link Dump

Tis been a busy month with way more web information than I could post. So here is an end of the month link dump. First, something fanciful -- that map up there is called Food Wars, which shows the territories covered by the major food chains in the USA. Not at all what I expected.

Next, a couple of new blogs I find very interesting. My nephew Jake is in China doing a summer internship and has chosen to stay in touch via Tastes Like Chicken. Then there is my good friend Mira, who has literally leapt into the blogosphere with her and this part is true blog; already 13 posts in less than a month, now that is a blogger.

May I humbly recommend that you take about ten minutes to read this Conversation with God. No really. I found it very enlightening. I am sure there are several Mormons out there smirking because their faith has several similarities to this thesis. But do give it a read, ten minutes ain't that long.

For another dose of spirituality, one of my poker media buddies, Michelle Lewis, has a nice (non-poker) piece on the Meaning of the Number 9.

Having trouble focusing, try this little visual test from the NYTimes and this second one on multi-tasking. Let me know if they work for you, I scored 100% on both and methinks they may be underestimating us cybernoids.

I will wrap up with an Annie Lennox take on Bob Marley's Waiting in Vein.

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A Little Poker

This is a little poker story followed by some nostalgia from my days in the world of professional poker. For my non-poker readers, trust me, you will know when to stop reading.* 

Early last week the fire alarm system in my building was being worked on, which meant that the very loud clarion clanging cacophony  was going off just outside my door every five minutes. On the third detonation I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my keys and headed for the car. I really didn't have a destination until I was a block or so from the apartment when I thought of the Oaks Card Club in nearby Emeryville. Fifteen minutes later and I am slipping into an Omaha 8 seat and being greeted by the friendly table captain.

It takes a standard couple of rounds for the locals to ask where you are from and where have you played before. When I mentioned Las Vegas, the World Series of Poker came up and I was asked if I had ever played in the WSOP. Normally what would follow would be my admission to covering the Series for the last four years, which would lead to question about why I am not there this year and eventually the Matusow book comes up and -- well -- I have been there before and just wasn't interested in going there again, at least not that day.

"You ever been to the World Series?"

"Nope, never have."

As soon as I said it, I knew those were the right words. Most days I just don't have any interest in what I was so immersed in for the past five years. I do keep track of a few players at the Series, but those are my friends. I do read a few of the writers currently working the tournaments at the Rio, but again those are my buddies and I am more interested in what they write about away from the poker tables than anything that happens during the games.*

I covered the WSOP for four summers (Gold-Yang-Eastgate-Cada) and I look back at that I remember much more about the time away from the poker tables and infinitely more about the preliminary events than about the main event. Except for Mike's great run in the '08 main, while Amy and I were finishing the book.

For my media buddies sweltering in the desert heat, I offer this bit of historical pondering. Notice my years of coverage and compare them to yours, I think I perhaps didn't choose my tenure wisely.

(Jamie Gold-Jerry Yang-Peter Eastgate-Joe Cada)

(Robert Varkonyi-Chris Moneymaker-Greg Raymer-Joe Hachem)

(Scotty Nguyen-Noel Furlong-Chris Ferguson-Carlos Mortensen)

(Russ Hamilton-Dan Harrington-Huck Seed-Stu Ungar)

(Mansour Matloubi-Brad Dougherty-Hamid Dastmalchi-Jim Bechtel)

(Berry Johnston-Johnny Chan-Johnny Chan-Phil Hellmuth)

(Jack Strauss-Tom McEvoy-Jack Keller-Bill Smith)

(Bobby Baldwin-Hal Fowler-Stu Ungar-Stu Ungar)

(Johnny Moss-Sailor Roberts-Doyle Brunson-Doyle Brunson)

(Johnny Moss-Johnny Moss-Amarillo Slim Preston-Puggy Pearson)

I think only two of those groups might be more forgettable then my four year stint.

(Matloubi-Daugherty-Dastmalchi-Bechtel)

or

(Yang-Eastgate-Cada-??????)

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