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So I know I haven't posted much lately. Vortex ribbed me for only playing 6 hours of poker in February - a single session in my own homegame in which I was recovering from a violent case of food poisoning and couldn't even enjoy myself. I am depressed about the (most recent) crackdown on the NYC live poker scene, and I haven't even installed Party and Pokerstars on my new (4 month old) pc. I hope Party hasn't confiscated my account since I last logged in. Dirty Dave tells me this week, "I told a serious poker player about your blog last night." Man. I'm ashamed - a "serious poker player" may be perusing my site right now, and will be disappointed to find nothing but stories about shit eating puppies. Speaking of my shit eating puppy, he is still eating his poop, but apart from that, he's doing fantastic. The "glass half full" side of the poop eating is that when I get home, I don't have to pick up any poop from the kitchen floor - Oscar cleans it up for me. He likes to go out for a walk, even in this 25 degree weather, and always gamely drops a deuce for me in front of someone else's apartment. Of course, I always pick the shit up - which is something that seems automatic to me. Yet, as Mrs. Dynamite says, "There must be an awful lot of seeing eye dogs in our neighborhood," because there is a shitload of dog shit on the sidewalk (you don't have to pick up after a seeing eye dog, of course). Seriously douchebags: when your dog takes a shit on the sidewalk, you pick it up. That is non-negotiable. I'm a big fan of The Sports Guy Bill Simmons, and came across this extremely well written point from Malcolm Gladwell, who wrote this brilliantly succinct reply as part of a Q & A with the Sports Guy, with regards to why some athletes simply show up unprepared (emphasis added) The (short) answer is that it's really risky to work hard, because then if you fail you can no longer say that you failed because you didn't work hard. It's a form of self-protection . I swear that's why Mickelson has that almost absurdly calm demeanor. If he loses, he can always say: Well, I could have practiced more, and maybe next year I will and I'll win then. When Tiger loses, what does he tell himself? He worked as hard as he possibly could. He prepared like no one else in the game and he still lost. That has to be devastating, and dealing with that kind of conclusion takes a very special and rare kind of resilience. Most of the psychological research on this is focused on why some kids don't study for tests -- which is a much more serious version of the same problem. If you get drunk the night before an exam instead of studying and you fail, then the problem is that you got drunk. If you do study and you fail, the problem is that you're stupid -- and stupid, for a student, is a death sentence. The point is that it is far more psychologically dangerous and difficult to prepare for a task than not to prepare. People think that Tiger is tougher than Mickelson because he works harder. Wrong: Tiger is tougher than Mickelson and because of that he works harder. I read one of Gladwell's books, Blink, which was mildly interesting, but he is clearly a very talented writer and psychological thinker. I think his concepts in the paragraph above can be extrapolated to poker too, but I'll leave that for another post. The Big Show comes to town tomorrow. until next time, KD

Tags: strong, shit, poker, pick, dog

The Big Show came to town this weekend. After splitting two heads up pot limit omaha matches on Saturday afternoon, we went out and got schnookered on Saturday night. Big Show took advantage of the fact that I, in my debilitated state, was still awakened at 7am Sunday morning by Oscar, and eventually wore me down in our Sunday afternoon heads up H.O.R.S.E round robin. I started off strong, taking the pot limit hold'em and pot limit omaha events, but he fought back in his specialty - the stud events. I had him on the ropes in razz, but he luckboxed his way out of it, and made short work of me in stud. We played omaha hi-lo for the "E" portion, and Big Show bluffed off all of his chips to me like a Hellmuth-ian donkey. Unfortunately, his meager hand held up, and he claimed the H.O.R.S.E. title on my home turf, sending me into Sunday evening mega-TILT. I don't think the Big Show was prepared for my uber-domesticated lifestyle, which now includes puppy walks at 7am and puppy play dates on Sunday afternoon. Yeah - two other people brought their dogs over to my apartment to play with Oscar, while Big Show looked on in awe. Who knew Kid Dynamite was such a softie. Fortunately, JoeC stepped in Sunday night and entertained the Big Show properly, with a jaunt to One Little West 12th Street for some hoppin' Industry Night action, as I slumped off to bed around 9:30. Oy vey. until next time, -KD

Tags: big, show, sunday, omaha, afternoon

" I've got the biggest dick in the world. Twelve inches of thick black cock . " 6:20am and this is the first thing I hear when I walk out of my apartment. My immediate thought is, "Dad? Is that you?" But alas, it's not my long lost father. It's some dude who looks like he could be normal, ranting at no one in particular. I'm in front of him, walking the same direction as he is, and we pass a woman loading luggage into a town car, like she's going to the airport. Johnny BigDick leers at her "Oh yeah Sistah - work that trunk, " and I can hardly contain my laughter. Unfortunately the next words out of his mouth, I fear, are directed at me: "I love sucking white boys' cocks." Normally this may be a good thing to hear, but in my neighborhood, and this time, it is usually not music to my ears. The chances of these words coming from neighbors Liv Tyler, Famke Jansen or Gisele are somewhere between slim and none (akin to catching perfect-perfect to scoop a pot - only much much worse), while the chances of them coming from a 5 foot 6 inch gay black man are pretty fuckin' good (like having a super wrap straight draw + flush draw with overcards in an Omaha pot that makes you a big favorite). I make it to work, and in the afternoon I fire off an email to Chris asking him if he's played at our club lately. He replies that not only is the club still going, but he played last night, and there were at least four BIG TIME action players splashing around, issuing brutal beats. I quickly shoot off another email to The Vortex, imploring him "You have to go play live - I hear the game is sick. I can't play because I have to take care of Oscar after work." Vortex quickly replies this he was genuinely Midway this amusement, to boot that it was sweeter than I could expect, giving me a few contents illustration. I'm now welcome serious TILT, all along I'm aching to play stay in poker, but discern particular obligations, exceptionally, my boy - Oscar. Instead of animate vicariously Because Vortex, I hunger a share of the activity myself... oh thoughtlessly. twin term, another dollar. -KD

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I read in Cardplayer that the World Poker Tour has ended it's alliance with PartyPoker (Party Poker Million) and Ultimate Bet (Aruba Classic). They will not be part of next season's calendar of WPT events. Why is this? WPT wants to promote their own poker site: WPTonline.com. Hopefully they won't fuck up this layup, and the stock will get back to a decent valuation. Other thoughts: Ted forrest is SICK . His card sense and ability to absolutely NAIL his opponent's hole cards, even when he's not in a hand is downright scary. I will not fuck with Ted Forrest. In puppy news, my boy Oscar is starting to lift his leg when he pees! Daddy is so proud - baby boy is growing up fast! until next time, KD

Tags: poker, fuck, ted, forrest, card

Monday on High Stakes Poker we learned that if you want to put Freddy Deeb on TILT all you have to do is accuse him of ratholing, or "going South." Taking chips of the table is a big no-no in poker, and Freddy's tablemates, starting with Johnny Chan and then continued by Danny Negreanu continued to push his buttons, joking that he took chips with him when he went to the bathroom. Freddy went ballistic when they continued to joke about it, and demanded that the game be stopped. Eventually Freddy was pacified after Sheik gave him a rose - how sweet. Tuesday at the dog run Oscar learned that if a French Bulldog tries to hump your ass, the best defense is to a) put your ass on the ground and then b) turn and defend yourself with your teeth. Wednesday I learned that you need to be careful how you pick up soft dog poo with a small plastic bag so as to not get it on your hands. Yep - poop on the hands - and I didn't even freak out - I'm officially a dad. Thursday I learned that I owe the IRS stacks and towers of checks. Fuck me. As Dirty Dave put it, "That's the price of being KD." Today we went for a walk in the 'hood, and saw Catherine Zeta Jones filming a movie on Charles Street. There was a huge production crew there, and one of the set managers quickly fell in love with Oscar, recognizing him as the breed from "As Good as it Gets." I told the guy to put Oscar in the movie, but they already had some obnoxious Boston Terriers cast... We also spotted Matthew Broderick, who lives nearby, entering a townhouse right across the street from where the crew was filming. It was kinda funny seeing all these people stretching to catch a glimpse of Catherine Z-J across the street, and then Ferris Bueller himself walked right through the crowd, catching them off guard. -KD

Tags: freddy, put, learned, continued, street

My boy is sick. I came home from work yesterday, and Oscar greeted me with barely a shrug. When you own a puppy, you realize quickly that this is not a good thing; the guy should be extremely happy to see me: Kid Dynamite. Pops. Dad. Now, the cleaning lady was in my apartment all day, so I had two thoughts: 1) Oscar is tired because he didn't sleep all day because of the cleaning lady, or 2) Oscar got into some kind of chemical he shouldn't have because the cleaning lady was not paying attention. This morning, when he was still lethargic, I realized it wasn't number 1. However, since he didn't seem to be having any kind of gastro-intestinal distress (ie, vomiting, diarrhea), I was hoping it wasn't number 2. I took two hours off at lunch today to take him to the vet. At the vet, the doctor explained to me, "First, we'll take his temperature." Hmm... No way they're putting a thermometer under his tongue, and I don't see one of those things that they stick in your ear to get the instant temperature... Uh oh buddy... Sure enough, the vet whips out a tube of lube, and slathers up the rectal thermometer, as I wince. Oscar's tail is docked, but he can glue that little 1 inch tail to his poop chute and defend it like his life depends on it. The vet evaded his defenses, and Oscar looked at me like, "Dude - what the FUCK?" Poor dude. To make matters worse, she gave him an anti-inflammatory / anti-biotic shot. Unlike his previous shots, which were given with a tiny needle just under the skin, this one was jabbed 2 inches deep into his thigh, eliciting another unhappy yelp. Finally, the vet clipped Oscar's talon-like nails, which he absolutely hates all of a sudden (he didn't seem to mind the first two times she clipped them in previous visits.) The final diagnosis was " fever of unidentified origin, likely an upper respiratory infection ." Bill: $122. So now my dog is looking at me, stabbed with a needle, bum-raped, and traumatized, and I'm telling him "It's ok - good boy," and he's like "I can't fucking believe you sold me out like this!" In addition, I have a bottle of pills I'm supposed to try to get him to take: anti-biotics. That should be fun. I hope the little fucker gets better. Here's a picture of him showing off his not so huge junk: -KD

Tags: oscar, vet, anti, lady, cleaning

Joke of the Day, courtesy of Bones, and with regard to Oscar's recent vet adventure: Q: What's the difference between an oral and a rectal thermometer? A: The taste ! ba dum bum CHING! -KD

Tags: taste, thermometer, rectal, oral, ba

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