Author: Wil

I played in event number eight of the World Championship of Online Poker yesterday. It was a rough outing for me, thanks to a couple of suckouts early on that put me on the short-stack for pretty much the entire time I played.
I live blogged it at CardSquad, and wanted to share the final update with non-poker-reading WWdN readers:

3:45 PM – Ryan is doing his homework on the iMac across the room from me. I just took a look at all the players who are still in, and it looks like I outlasted everyone on Team PokerStars.
“Hey, I outlasted everyone on Team PokerStars,” I told him.
“See? You are a winner!” He said.
“Unless you’re thinking in terms of the actually-having-something-to-show-for-it kind of way,” I joked.
“Wil! When I played baseball, you always told me that no matter if I won or lost, I should always do my best and feel good about at least playing,” He said. “So why can’t you do that?”
“Holy shit. He was paying attention when I told him that stuff, and it made it into his sixteen year-old brains. I think I’m going to cry right now.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Thank you for reminding me. I do feel like a winner.”
But I didn’t tell him why.

As a parent, all I want to do in my life is help my stepkids make good decisions, and hopefully develop into kind, compassionate, caring adults. A big part of that is teaching them to care less about the results of something, so they can enjoy the experience of doing it. This is entirely at odds with the parenting they receive when they are not in my care. It feels so good to know that my influence, which so often feels invisible, shone through a little bit yesterday afternoon. Poker is fun and all, but I could have won the whole thing yesterday, and it wouldn’t have come close to how I felt when Ryan spoke those words to me — words I wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t “lost.”

9/11 has become so politicized, sometimes it’s very easy to lose sight of the reality that a lot of people lost their friends and loved ones, four years ago today.
A visit to Dr. Pauly’s blog this morning put things back into perspective for me.
This is a moment of silence for them.

Anne and I are planting and working in the backyard today, listening to Coldplay (X&Y is awesome), and talking like dorks to our dogs.
I just got off the phone with Dan Goldman from PokerStars, who told me some HUGE news about today’s WCOOP event. From the pokerstars blog:

BREAKING NEWS: Barry Greenstein hits PokerStars Radio
The Robin Hood of poker is at it again. Poker pro Barry Greenstein will host PokerStars Radio tonight for the final table of WCOOP Event #7. Click here to listen when the tournament gets down to the final table.
As it happens, Greenstein is actually playing in Event #7 today under his screen name crazyplayer. In true Greenstein fashion, he plans to donate any winnings tonight to the Hurricane Katrina relief effort. In the continuing effort to help the ravaged Gulf Coast, PokerStars will match any contribution Greenstein makes with his winnings.
Click on “Tourney” then “WCOOP” then “Event #7” to watch the action.

I’ve got a post all about this over at CardSquad, for those of you who are interested in this sort of thing.
Now, I’m back to the yard. I mean, back to the backyard. To the future. Back to the future in my backyard.
Back to making a nice future in my backyard. Yeah, that’s it.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m on horror overload, and I don’t mean the cool guy-in-a-hockey-mask kind of horror. I mean the truly awful Colonel Kurtz kind of horror.
The last time I felt this way was about four years and five days ago, so I’ve made a conscious effort in the last day or so to actively look for and appreciate the things in life that make me happy, even if they’re little things.
I guess Great Minds Blog Alike, because I checked in on my pal (and incredible Just A Geek illustrator) John Kovalic’s Muskrat Ramblings, this morning, and discovered “REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL, PART III” where John lists . . . wait for it . . . three things that make him happy. Here’s one of them:

3) MY GROUNDHOG. Well, not “my” groundhog. But along with the wild turkeys, he’s been coming by the backyard pretty regularly, feasting on the nuts fallen from the trees. I half expect, Caddyshack style, him to start grooving to “I’m Alright.”

I’m picking up this ball, and running as fast as I can with it.
I now present Three Things That Make Me Feel Cheerful. By Wil, (Age 33).

1. When I get into bed each night, my cat, Biko, jumps up from wherever he is, and snuggles into the space between my neck and my shoulder. More often than not, I drift off to him purring. He also likes to sit on the edge of the bathtub while I’m shaving and talk to me. He doesn’t know that I can see him in the mirror, and it always makes me smile when I see him cock his head to the side, and reach out for me with his little white paw.
2. We call our dog Riley “Riley Monster,” because . . . well, she’s a monster. She’s twenty-two thousand megawatts of potential energy, wrapped up in 51 pounds of little white dog. She’s always happy, and if she could talk, she’d say things like, “I just wanted you to know that I love you!” or “Hey! I’ve been chasing a bug! (Because I love you.)” and “Do you see how good I’m being? Look at me sit here and wag my tail so fast it’s a blur. (I love you!)”
3. Yesterday, my friend Travis, who is the director and owner of the ACME called me, and invited me to participate in a show called NOW That’s What I Call ACME, Volume I. It’s a “best of” show, and the assembled cast is outstanding. I am so honored and lucky and grateful that he asked me to participate! The shows start in October, and run every Saturday until the third week of November.

So that’s my list for today. What’s yours?

I was working on a story about my childhood that features the constellation Orion when the phone rang. Caller ID said it was Anne.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Can you go outside?” She said.
“Sure,” I said.
“Okay. Walk out onto the porch, and look to the West.”
I got up from my desk, and made my way to the front of the house.
“How’s are my grills?” She said. We call our dogs The Grills instead of The Girls. I have no idea why.
I put on my I’m-talking-to-the-dogs voice. “How are you Riley?”
She jumped up at me and barked.
“Riley says that she’s got teeth,” I said.
“And how’s Ferris?”
“She’s got her pout on.” I said. “I think she’s been watching the Pods too much.”
“Or she wants to go for a walk,” Anne said.
“Maybe,”I I said. I can’t say the word “walk” or “around” or “go for” or any words that rhyme with them, because . . . well, The Grills are smarter than the average pooches.
I opened the front door, and walked out onto our porch. The smell of freshly-cut grass brought a smile to my face, if a sneeze to my nose, and the cool September evening was a welcome break from the stifling September days we’ve been having.
“Okay,” I said, “I’m outside. What am I looking for?”
“Just look up to the West,” she said.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I saw it: Jupiter and Venus, low in the pale blue sky, clear as anything.
“Do you see them?” she said.
“Yeah,” I said.
“The planets?”
“Oh,” I said, “I thought you meant the Kims, who leave their drapes open.”
“. . . what?”
“I’m just kidding. Of course the planets! Thank you for sharing that with me.” I looked some more. “You know what else is cool? Those tall palm trees across the street are silhouetted black against the blue sky, and the crescent moon is sitting right on top of one of them. It’s like a painting or something.”
“Oh! One of those seventies oil paintings with a really heavy wooden frame!” She said.
“Yeah, and a beach, and some velvet!” I said.
“And it’s in the living room, right next to that naked lady statue that hangs from the brass chain with oil dripping down wires around her!”
“Dude,” I said, “you just described my next door neighbor’s house from my childhood.”
“I think I just described everyone’s next door neighbor’s house from our childhood.”
Ryan called from inside the house. “Wil, I need some help with my homework!”
“I have to go help Ryan,” I said.
“Oh, with what?” She said.
“I don’t know, but I hope it’s not math.” I said.
“Yeah, math is hard,” she said.
“It sure is. When will you be home?”
“In about an hour,” she said.
“Okay, I’m counting.” I said. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
I hung up the phone, and looked up into the sky. Venus looked back, which felt very appropriate.