A Side Order of Schadenfreude, Please
In case this is the only poker blog you read (unlikely, or it should be unlikely) the latest WPBT tournament is at 9PM tonight at PokerStars. $20+2 to play and the password is "thehammer". There were only 26 signups when I ponied up last night, but I think that can partially be explained by the fact that Stars is a very reliable site and folks know they can amble up at the last minute and climb aboard. It is a school night, and perhaps some Left Coasters aren't signing up early in case they get caught at work, but I remember thinking that the last Hold-Em event might hit 75 and we ended up with, what? 156? So if you're reading this and want to play, join in on the fun. So far the bloggers are undefeated, tho the last few times it has been a close-run thing. I haven't been playing much lately, and when I have been playing I've not been playing well (though I have gotten more than my fair share of luck), but I think I can make another deep run.
Uh, anything else...oh, continuing my screed about journalism and the First Amendment from yesterday, if you're so inclined read this
post by Jeff Jarvis at BuzzMachine. It's titled "Journalism is a verb, not a noun". Good stuff.
I'm not a famous writer (yet), but I went to school for writing and worked on our school newspaper and as the years go by I wonder from time to time about the people I knew. Every so often I'll Google a few names, see what they're up to. Of course, what I'm hoping to find is nothing--what wounds the ego of the frustrated writer more than hearing that some other writer is doing well? So far no one that I know is famous, per se, but a few friends/collegues/vague acquaintences have done well. I would've been a lousy newspaper reporter (I know that because I was a lousy newspaper reporter in college) but a few friends had those particular skills and have made a nice career out of it. So I don't hate them too
much. A few work in television, a few for magazines. Bully for them.
But so far as I can tell no one I knew from school has written a best-selling novel. Let me correct myself--a woman I went to high school with has written a series of romance novels (Gaelen Foley, and my wife gives them a big thumbs up). But Gayle doesn't count because we didn't go college together--these are my rules. If I found that someone I took classes with or worked on the Collegian
with wrote a well-recieved novel...it might break my fragile spirit.
Because that's MY gig, see. True, I haven't written a novel yet (at least not one that I'd let see the light of day) but I do have this irrational but ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING fear that I'm gonna walk into Borders one day and be confronted with a display of books written by KVC. Or CD. Who are KVC and CD? They're two guys I had fiction classes with who won prizes for their writing at Penn State. In contests that I entered. And didn't win. Because they did. Need I say that, in my humble, humble opinion, they could not carry my fictional jock? Must I say that, 15 years later, this still rankles? To the point that I will not type out their names for fear that they might Google themselves, find their way here, and enjoy a smug moment savoring their past triumph over me?
Dammit, now I'm not gonna be able to rest until I Google a dozen names or so and pray I don't see an Amazon link. Such petty jealousy and envy are beneath my dignity--but fortunately I've learned over the years how to squat way, way down low. See you at the tables tonight, I'm probably gonna be in a fine fucking mood.