April 13th, Honolulu: I awake at slightly past 10am, groggy and less than perfectly rested for the long day of tournaments that I’m about to engage in. I grab a quick shower, dry off, and get dressed in loose fitting clothing then go upstairs and turn on the computer in the living room. The SCOOP main event starts at 10:30am, and Timex has sent me a message that he’s okay with the idea of my playing in the $10,000 one after we discussed the possibility of it last night. However, I don’t feel particularly well rested enough to play in a tournament where every hand, street, and decision will be against a thinking player, so I opt to pass on the event.

At the height of my day I have roughly 16 tables going, attempting to balance them all on a single screen which I believe to be 26 inches, though it has a high resolution which means it can fit 12 minimized tables with almost zero overlap. The day is overall fairly uninteresting, and I bomb out of both SCOOP main events I do play in fairly early in more or less standard ways. I stop registering at the Stars $20r and $200r, and by the end of my day have only gone deep in a few. I wind up winning the $33 rebuys six max tournament on Stars for just over $4000, meaning I still likely lost a couple thousand on the day, but that’s pretty good for a Sunday.

After I finish playing we go to attend Easter dinner at Cade’s grandmother’s house. I’ve been there three times and she and the family are always the most gracious hosts. During the meal she and the family love to talk about real estate and investments, something I’ve had a few discussions about lately, which allows me to lead into a few thoughts on the subject.

Allow me to begin by saying I have very little knowledge and experience when it comes to investing, the markets, or the greater money movement game within the economy. However, my reaction upon hearing that an enormous sum of people got massively fucked by people they’d trusted to make good decisions with their money was something like “Well duh.” Poker serves as a nice microcosm for the greater market, and at their very core the game of poker and game of investing are exactly the same, you are moving money in an attempt to create +EV situations. When an inexperienced player sits down at the table the professional players inevitably have the edge because they have years and thousands of hands more of experience and expertise. When a casual investor decides to invest in the market, I question how he can expect to possibly find a reasonable edge playing against the professionals of that industry. At least in poker everyone’s control of the variance is equal, but in investing those with enormous asset control are able to create or manipulate action in their favor (Hi Jim Cramer!) in some scenarios, making the playing ground even more off center.

I sure as hell don’t trust any “experts” or advisors within the investing industry after my years spent in poker. How the fuck would I be able to tell if he actually knows what he’s talking about? I have no point of reference or the skill to be able to tell if he’s got a clue or not, and there’s nobody there I can trust to give me a straight answer because any advisor is inevitably trying to make money, even if our relationship is supposed to be a symbiotic one (yes I understand that many advisors are honest and excellent at what they do.) Within five minutes of speaking poker with someone I can extremely accurately gauge their skill at the game (unless they are purposely being deceptive) and I would imagine those high up in the investing world could do exactly the same. How would I ever know a potential advisor was actually looking out for my best interests and not his own bottom line when he’s the one with all the knowledge and experience? I find it very unlikely that through personal research I could ever get on the level that professionals would have without enormous time commitment, and so I refuse to participate in a game where I am incapable of guaranteeing my long term edge.

Any time you decide to invest your money in anything you need to think through every fucking angle. Investigate thoroughly and ask the hard questions. A friend of mine recently told me he’d been asked to invest in a movie, and asked if I wanted any part of that. I had no interest, and before hearing much told him he shouldn’t have any either, but told him to elaborate anyway. He said a guy he knew was high up in the film industry and looking for investments in a project film. I peppered him with questions:

1. Is he a friend, an acquaintance, or just a guy?

2. If this project is any good, why is he having difficulty finding investors, particularly since he would have run it by God knows how many people in the industry before hand?

3. Why is someone in the film industry asking a professional poker player for investments, particularly since the majority of the real world perceives us as illegitimate gamblers?

4. With no experience in the film industry, how could you possibly tell if the project is any good or potentially profitable?

5. Have you researched what percentage of films make a profit, and what the turnaround time to see it would be?

6. Would the books and accounting of the film be available to you, so you could see where your money is going?

7. Who the fuck is this guy again?

But maybe I’m just a paranoid nit. All I know is I aim to keep enough money in separate, federally insured bank accounts (federal government insures up to $100,000 per account, or two at the same bank) that things could never go that wrong for me and keep eyes in the back of my head when it comes to anyone who approaches me about money for fucking anything.

April 11th, Honolulu: By far one of the most interesting aspects of my around trip so far has been interacting with what I refer to as ‘normal people’ again. I consider ‘normal people’ to be anyone who exists outside the poker and general gambling world, and I do not use the term with any disrespect. If anything, the more time I spend in poker the more I wish I had a more active social life with normal people.

Up until a few months ago I didn’t have a single friendship with anyone in the entire country of Australia outside of poker; acquaintances maybe, but not a single friend. I only recently made some by joining another online community, the world of pick up. Up until that point, every casual and recurring social interaction I’d engaged in had essentially been within the poker world for what I now realize was a period of years. I still have some friends back home in Wisconsin who are well outside of it, but I haven’t regularly hung out with them since last I left Wisconsin in 2006.

Up until a few months ago I felt increasing nostalgia for the normal world. The thing about poker is that it’s a game that pits you against everyone else there, and it’s essentially your goal to bust and break them, to take everything they have. I increasingly think this mind set carries over to people’s social mentalities within the poker world, that many poker players would happily fuck each other over if they felt it advantaged themselves, sometimes even if they would call each other friends. Perhaps I am being naive and this is simply the way of the world, that it’s no different in any regular business setting, but I think the lack of rules and boundaries in the poker community makes it especially prevalent, particularly when combined with high levels of gambling, drug use, and a lack of women within the industry.

That’s not to say I haven’t made some very good friends that I consider quite trust worthy within the poker community, but I find myself viewing anyone outside my very close circle with a high level of suspicion and scrutiny. Above all though, I feel that because poker is not ‘fair’ (especially tournament poker) it is a breeding ground for envy and ego, and the combination of the two is poison to relationships. It kills me to admit it, but for a very long time there was a short list of people that I would feel more ‘happy for’ than ‘envious of’ when they did well in a major tournament. In my defense, I am nowhere close to alone in this.

Over the last few months I’ve attempted to alter my mind set on the issue. I try to think that if I consider a person a genuine friend, that I should always be glad to see them succeed, and if they’ve been especially crushing (AKA especially running good) lately then I’ll send them a compliment yet honest message that recognizes and admits to that twinge of jealousy, perhaps something that reads “Jesus man you are so sick, major congrats…now stop making me look bad you stupid fucking rich ass luckbox mother fucker.” Or if it’s a person I think has run above expectation and doesn’t seem to appreciate it, instead of just bitching behind their back I’ll just come out and talk to them about it and try to impart some understanding of variance (not that I haven’t been guilty on the unappreciative side.) Mostly though I’ve been trying to not concern myself with the results of others and spend my time focusing on self improvement, be it within my poker game or other areas of my life (because clearly, the answer to my issues is to become more self involved.) After having done this for a while I feel much better about my place within poker. I feel good when I see people I call friends or would consider excellent players and nice people do well, and I try not to be bothered by those that congratulate me to my face but wish ill of me behind my back. I no longer feel the need to speak poorly of others unless they absolutely deserve it, and if I feel the need to talk about another person’s poker game I try to phrase it in a way that is a direct criticism of solely their game, and not their person unless it’s somehow relevant. Don’t worry though; I’m not going to stop calling Mark Seif a scum bag Absolute poker cock swallowing piece of shit, or Shannon Elizabeth an evil D-list bitch, or Phil Hellmuth a self worshiping abrasive media whore who has a competition with himself to see if his personality or poker game can be more of a joke, any time soon.

Best I can tell it comes down to letting go of greed. As far as I know nobody is completely free of desire (whoa, we’re getting into some Buddhist shit here) but what seems to corrupt people, to drive them to the social mentality I just spent nearly three pages raging against, is unbridled greed without any self analysis or perspective. Be it for money, or power, or fame, or women, or action, or what have you, there is inevitably something that we are all lusting for. I would never go so far to say that it’s unquestionably bad; after all it can be a very effective motivator, even to do things which are good actions. But when it twists you to the point that you can’t appreciate that which you are fortunate to have (and anyone in their 20’s or teens making six figures a year playing a silly card game during a recession is quite fortunate in my opinion, no matter how deserving or hard they worked.) So sit back and enjoy it, it’s a pretty good life to have. If you don’t believe me have a conversation with a normal person about what you do, unless of course their hardcore anti gambling, in which case they’ll just shake their head at you and inform you in a condescending tone that “The house always wins. You’ll lose it all.” That never seems to happen to me anymore though, and most seem enthralled and interested to hear more. And it’s very good to be talking to them again.

April 10th, somewhere over the Pacific Ocean: I groggily awake in my plane seat on what is April 10th in the Hawaiian Islands meaning I’m reliving a day as a result of passing over the International Date Line. I keep my eyes shut for a while and hear the clatter of my fellow passengers eating breakfast. I’m too tired to eat. I lay there motionless for 20 minutes or so until the captain comes on and informs us it is currently 8:43am (that’s 5:43am Melbourne time) and we’ll be touching down in Honolulu at approximately 9:07am. I slowly open my eyes and find John next to me finishing his breakfast, having changed out of his pajamas and back into normal clothes. I lean back in my chair and try to return to slumber but fail. A while later a flight attendant comes by, taps me on the shoulder, and hands me the glass of apple juice that I’d requested the night earlier on my breakfast menu, though I’ve already slept through the meal itself. After I gain moderate consciousness I go into the bathroom and change back into my suit in anticipation for landing.

The landing is smooth and a few minutes later we disembark. I’m one of the first people to the customs queue, which has three separate lines for US citizens. There are a couple people in the far right lines so I go to the one on the far left, directly in front of a booth which is occupied by a confused Asian couple having a translator attempt to relate a conversation to the customs agent for them. This lasts quite a few minutes, and eventually the lines next to me fill up but nobody gets behind me, perhaps because I’m in the wrong place or perhaps because they realize the Asian couple is going to take forever. Eventually a customs agent from one line over beckons me to come over, but a 30ish woman in the line beside me makes that sharp, annoyed exhaling sound that women make when they’re, well, annoyed by something. I turn to her and say genuinely
“I’m sorry have you been waiting quite a while? Why don’t you go ahead?”
“Yea! And the line is over here okay?!” she adds in an extremely bitchy tone. Now I’m left with three options:
1. Do nothing: Avoid conflict with her and her boyfriend because it’s the middle of a customs check point in an airport where causing a scene is always a bad idea.
2. Play it cool: Tell her “Lady, I play by nobodies lines but my own” (confession; having just awoke from far too little sleep I didn’t have the quick wit to think of this in the moment, regrettable since I now think it was the optimal move.)
3. Keep it real: Bark at her and her boyfriend “Are you always such a fucking cunt to everyone that’s nice to you!? Hey dude, I can see why you took her on the vacation, though I personally recommend leaving her here” (something I genuinely did think of at the time, and it’s been a while since I’ve felt like ‘c bombing’ a girl without it being a joke, but then I was never a morning person.)

I grit my teeth, swallow my pride, and decide letting loose a stream of profanities at a customs check probably isn’t worth the hassle no matter how satisfying it’d be. Hopefully she spends the 30 seconds she saved lying out in the sun and gets skin cancer. I stand there awkwardly for a moment and contemplate going to the now lengthy back of the line, but as I take my first step in the direction the lady who’d been behind her says
“Sir why don’t you just go ahead of me, you’ve been waiting too.” My God, what an angel.
“Thanks so much, have a great trip, cheers.”

I pass through customs without further altercation, and after collecting my bags wait around outside to see if Cade is picking me up. After waiting a few minutes I realize he might not have bothered coming since two days ago I wasted his time when my facebook message didn’t reach him before he went to the airport to find me. I go to a nearby pay phone and call his cell. He sounds half asleep on the other end and tells me he’s still in bed. I tell him I’ll grab a cab and see him in 15 minutes.

When I get to his house I end up rousing Cade and his lovely girlfriend Kari out of bed. They both greet me with a hug, and within minutes we’re back into our old ways of accusing each other of wanton homosexuality. When I grab a shower a few minutes later I find my insults to be supported by the contents within, 19 bottles of hair and skin product. I bet he has skin that Ed Gein would kill for though.

After I finish cleaning up Cade’s mom Jada arrives home and we decide to head out to ‘Dim Sun’ for lunch. I haven’t eaten breakfast so by the time we reach the restaurant I’m devouring food the second it’s placed in front of me, manners be damned. Nobody seems to mind when I explain that I haven’t eaten in 12 hours.

We decide to spend our day at the beach slash aquatic nature preserve that Cade volunteers at, ‘Hanama Bay’. Unfortunately the weather is overcast and gloomy, and it’s questionable whether the temperature is much above 70. Still, I didn’t come to Hawaii to hide inside (except for SCOOP main event day of course) so we go for it anyway. As I inch into the bay I realize it’s freezing, so I stand motionless for a few minutes then convince myself the best way to make it feel better is sprint through the water and leap in with reckless abandon. It’s about mid leap that I remember than ‘Hanama Bay’ is mostly filled with rocks and corral, and a second later my knee harshly scraps some rock, opening up a nice wound. This coupled with the crappy weather and total lack of eye candy at the beach makes for a less than spectacular outing, though any time spent with Cade and Kari is always fun. They’re such an awesome couple and I love them both to bits, but Christ do I seethe with envy watching them carouse about when I know I’ll be banging my hand to sleep.

In the evening Cade has arranged for us to attend the concert of an ‘environmental rock/punk band’ at a local club. I haven’t been to a punk rock concert since I was 17 and ran around the moshpit slamming into people as a form of camaraderie. Now at 24 I watch the pit from afar, feeling both too old and too tired from the lack of sleep to get in there and get my ass kicked. When did I get so dull? On the plus side, this Friday night we return to Cade’s house at 10pm and sober, as opposed to last time when we got back at 3am with me raging drunk, slamming into the empty water cooler bottles outside then picking one up and singing into it at some absurd volume.

April 10th, Melbourne Australia: I arrive at the airport over two hours early for a domestic flight on a Friday afternoon. The place is practically abandoned, and although I’m not flying business until I get to Sydney I decide to queue up in the ‘Business/Qantas Club’ line because the lady behind the desk looks bored and clearly won’t turn me away just because my connecting flight is economy.

Most people view airports and flying as a huge hassle. As a result they often bring attitude with them to every encounter they have at the airport, particularly with staff. I see things differently; the people who work at the airport have the ability to make your life either totally miserable or considerably more comfortable. They take attitude from rushed dickheads all day, and even those who are nice are normally transparently attempting to get something. To my knowledge there’s no ultimate trick to getting comps or upgrades at the airport, but if you’re polite, engaging, and build some rapport with the person helping you they just might go out of their way to set you up. It’s with this mentality that I approach the business class desk
“Hi, I’m not traveling on business until I get to Sydney but is it alright if I just go ahead and check in here?”
“Oh sure sir, that’s no problem. Can I have your ID?”
“Of course…so I’m quite a bit early for my flight today, do you have any book recommendations for me?”
“What’s that?”
“Well the flight isn’t until 3:30 so I’ll be needing a book to kill the time. Any recommendations for me?”
“Hmm let me think…have you read Angels and Demons?”
“Oh yes, read it and loved it. What’d you think?” (This part is important, it’s one thing to just ramble on about shit when talking to people who can help you, but they won’t feel invested in the interaction until you give them a reason to be.)
“Oh I haven’t read it yet but I’m hoping to, people tell me good things.”
“Did you enjoy the Da Vinci Code?”
“Oh yes quite a bit.”
“Ah then you’ll love Angels and Demons. I think it was probably better.”
“Yea, that’s what I keep hearing. Have you seen the movie?”
“Well no it’s not out yet. I think it’s one of those big summer release type things in the States.”
“Oh right, like the new X-men movie. Do you like that series?”
“Are you kidding? I love em. They definitely picked the right character to continue the series with, Wolverine is so cool.”
“I know! He’s so…”
“Angry” I interject with a smile.
“Yes, that’s right. One sec here I just need to call about your seat on the Honolulu flight.”
She gets on the phone for a while and has difficulty getting through to people. She’s stuck on hold for a while so we continue talking about books and I mention that numerous people have recommended ‘The Wolf on Wallstreet’ to me, and that they’re turning it into a movie with Leonardo DiCaprio. She’s definitely a Leo fan. Eventually she gets through to someone and then turns the computer my way and asks which seat I’d like. She tells me which one I should take that will get me the most room, which is a lone seat along the window.
“Ah perfect then, plenty of room to stretch out and I won’t bother anyone with my smell.”

After the seat is sorted she calls up to the Qantas Club lounge for me and lets them know that despite my not being on business class here in Melbourne that I will be in Sydney and therefore they should let me in when I head up there. She directs me how to get there then I thank her for everything and remind her to enjoy ‘Angels and Demons’. I walk over to the airport ‘Subway’ where I grab a sandwich, buy two books at the neighboring book store, then head up to the Qantas Club lounge where I enter without issue and find a nice couch to whip out my laptop and start writing on.

The flight to Sydney is uneventful and arrives slightly early. The transition to the international terminal is easy and when I get there I ask around about the best place to eat. There are only a few options available and they all appear to suck, but then I remember that the lounge upstairs probably has food. When I arrive not only am I happy to find that I’m correct, but there’s also free booze as far as the eye can see. I’m laying off the beer and hard stuff these days for the diet, so I grab the bottles of red wine and go to town while eating some kind of goulash. It tastes better than the name gives it credit for. I aimlessly browse the internet between bursts of typing, and find that the girl I was seeing has indeed deleted me from facebook like she said she would last night. Great, now my friends list is an even bigger sausage fest.

By the time I’m done writing I’m half drunk and eying the clock. I decide not to risk it this time and head off to my gate 25 minutes early. The flight is already boarding when I get there and I grab a seat and wait for the line to dissipate while I read. When I board I finally look at my ticket and realize I’m on the window seat of the first row. It’s my first time in business class for an international flight, and I’m thrilled to find the seat is enormous and stretches out considerably.

I start chatting with the guy in the seat next to me. His name is John, and he works in the furniture business. He tells me he’s going to Hawaii alone just to kill a few days and get some sun, which is pretty damn balla for a guy who looks to be in his late twenties. He asks what I do for a living which results in a half hour discussion on how exactly one plays poker for a living and what I did to get myself to that point. He explains all the perks to business class to me and elaborates on how to adjust my seat, which according to the diagram on my arm rest appears to be incredibly complex.

At some point one of the attendants comes by and offers us pajamas. At first I decline because I don’t really wear pajamas, but then I remember it’s either that or sleep in my suit so I reconsider and get changed in the bathroom. Just trying to change clothes in the bathroom makes me wonder about the logistical nightmare that attempting to have sex in there would be.

Before I settle in to sleep I restart the conversation with John. He tells me he’s 24 and guesses my age to be 21, and is rather surprised to find out we’re the same. John laments that at such a young age both his knees and back are fucked while his hair is simultaneously thinning and graying. I’d have believed him in an instant if he told me he was 30. Fortunately, I show nearly no signs of age, unless perhaps I haven’t shaven in days. My hair seems to have maintained all its color and thickness and at times I still even have slight acne break outs. A few weeks ago in a bar some girl told me thought I could pass for 17 and a week after that a guy at a downtown slots casino wouldn’t let me enter despite presenting my Wisconsin ID. The legal age of entrance is 18. I was not able to talk my way past that one.

Mostly we discuss how 24 is a strange age, a transitional age. Up until a couple years ago your life was on a pretty set course for most people, and you likely had a large group of friends you’d been familiar with for years. After school people tend to break off and start doing their own things, getting into careers but often beginning to question if the direction they’ve taken is the correct one. I imagine by 30 most people likely have a pretty solid idea of what they’ll be doing with their life or career, but maybe not. Hell, I even have a few friends who are intentional parents at this stage. When the fuck did that start happening? If I had a kid right now I’d wind up playing his Xbox more than he did. I'm wearing pajamas and play a card game for a living.

Eventually our conversation dies down and I lay back into my seat in my pajamas and slip the blindfold over my face. The plane is fairly quiet near the front. I fall asleep without too much trouble.

April 9th, Melbourne Australia: I wake up a little before 10am. That’s not a good sign if I hope to play the SCOOP main event in Hawaii, as the event goes off at 6:30am Melbourne time, meaning I’m three and a half hours off the sleep schedule I need to be on. I went to meet up with another couple who work at ‘Crown’ with the girl I’m seeing after dinner last night and we wound up staying out till 11pm, which for my recent sleep schedule has been an ungodly late hour. When we got home I was exhausted and passed out instantly, something I decide to make amends for it in place of my morning run.

After breakfast I jump on my computer and waste some time browsing the internet before telling myself I should use this opportunity to finish my taxes. Actually doing the taxes themselves using the TurboTax software is fairly simple and straight forward, but going over all the live tournaments I played during the year, figuring out what % of profits went to backers, and then looking up every online tournament I played under them and working out the profit on that (which I must subtract from my yearly profit total online) is where all the bitch work comes in. It takes hours to look and add up everything and when I finally enter all the information into TurboTax it informs me that I owe Uncle Sam a disturbingly high number. Christ I wish I was a real Australian, thank God I only have to pay the federal taxes.

On the plus side, I found that my 2008 totals over the major sites averages out to about 50% ROI at roughly $150 average buy in over a considerable sample. I’ve spoken to a lot of friends recently who I consider very good players (many better than myself) and quite a few of them wound up having a losing year in 2008. My best guess as to why is a combination of bad variance and not putting in volume, something a huge percentage of professional online players don’t do enough of in my opinion.

In the evening we go for Korean BBQ on Victoria Street and go play pool at ‘Princes’. The Australian version of pool uses tiny balls and a fast moving felt with small pockets that often have you bouncing right out if you don’t aim precisely or hit the ball there gently. I get my ass handed to me in all four games but explain to her that “If it weren’t for this pussy ass version of pool with these mini balls I’d be crushing you.” I’m going to need a new excuse when I start losing at pool in the states.

At nights end we lie in bed and discuss what happens now. The best explanation I can give for why it has to end is that “Sometimes you tell everyone you know ‘I’ll see ya in six months’ and never really show up again.” In the case of home, that was three years ago. I’d like to come back to Australia, I hope to, but it wouldn’t terribly shock me if I wound up stopping somewhere along the way and didn’t bother getting on the plane again. It doesn’t help that my permanent residency status in Australia is still up in the air. I suppose only time will tell.