urgent!

LW, call your dad!

old bay

pile of fairfax, va. crabs, incredibly salty seasoning. yes yes. it's all right to eat the guts, isn't it?

interesting argument today at dulles, on the shuttle from my plane to the baggage claim.
septuagenarian, testy, not possessed of an "indoor voice": Who's Dulles anyway? What's his name?
murmured chorus: John Foster.
sept.: What about Ulysses Grant? What was his middle name?
me, unable to resist: It was actually Ulysses.
sept.: What? What? It was an S. Ulysses S. Grant. Simpson.
me (drawing from numerous visits to HUG's tomb): His name was Hiram Ulysses Grant, but he disliked his monogram. He thought it was foolish, so at West Point he fabricated the S.
sept: Simpson! It was Simpson!

no change to the wad, placid stomach. np, obivously, "going to maryland," tmg

and L... hopefully the next time I'm spinning you, you're wearing a morgane le fay and we're on someone's rooftop. the sooner the better.

hittin'

went out 12th of 181 in a 50+4 MTT earlier; pushed Q9o on a steal into AK. the 9 in the window was just to mess with my head. even profitable poker bachelorhood is bleak, in its way. no dice on the efficiency in emeryville. but I did get a haircut today, and learned that the 33-stanyan muni goes from, like, my backyard to the barbershop in the castro. the muni is incredibly cool.

bank, 6.8k, yup, 6.8k
indigestion, don't ask
np, clipse

LW, let me know you haven't fallen overboard!

cryptic

(from underneath the tinfoil helmet)

EP, what do you think are the chances the military censors intercepted my last email to you, sniffed out the hidden subversive content, and locked you out? or maybe the message was blocked by the same people that ran us off the road?

standard beautiful SF weather, lot of visits from crystal. (as I wrote you in the aforementioned email, she got pretty angry at me for dancing incorrectly. (c: "why won't you spin me? why won't you let me spin? that's how girls dance, they spin!") they do not, apparently, manic david byrne stutter-step.

ok, here's the secret part; do you have your flash gordon decoder ring?
HT, SCH, tangled, ladytron, unrepresentative circs., tuna fish sandwich-soccer ball.

(for the lay readers... RKK likes to mix his alcohol and ambien; when he does, he often utters sentences like the above.)

miss you lots.

awesomer

managed 4th of 96 in a 20+2 MTT. nothing exceptional happened. busted with 88 vs T9. is it weird that I play better drunk? is it maybe because I'm more patient? (daniels, the wire: "I for one am a patient motherfucker.")

oy. tired. good tired though.

threshold

why I play poker:

5/10 online, MP raises, LP 3-bets, I cap KK on the button, they call. flop KJ8. I am against JJ and 88. beans and coffee! of course I did manage to bust out of a WSOP qualifier with 66 earlier today after I pushed a flop CR on T53 vs KT, cause I hate money.

I am sort of intoxicated here, since I am in quasi-bachelorhood, L on a boat somewhere in the pacific.

rollin, 5.1k
indigestion, n/a.
np, beirut, gulag orkestar etc. holy christ get this album.

dry, procedural

any comments on this?

20+2 MTT, 52 remaining out of 220, top 40 cash. I have 8k, 9th overall.
blinds are 100/200, folds to button who raises to 600 and has me covered, sb folds, I have AsAc in bb. I reraise to 1400, he calls.

flop (2900) QcTs3h

I bet out 1500, he pushes.

yeah, you all know how the story ends.

anyway, allergy season in norcal. meanwhile A very astutely observed that google chat status is the new .plan...

bankroll, a dismal $3.5k
np, we got it 4 cheap
indigestion, not eating, so it's ok