Friday, December 03, 2004

He's in! 

"Bright light city gonna set my soul,
Gonna set my soul on fire."


Not much to post about today, except one major announcemnt from my guys.

After talking and persuading and cajoling and pushing..... All it took was for DJ Scuba Steve to step up to the karaoke mic and sing Viva LasVegas.

It's official. Lewey is coming to Vegas!

That brings the entourage crew up to 6 and we should seriously consider making sure Sam's Town has enough booze. I know I know, what are the chances that a casino will run out of booze.

Don't tempt me. I'll try it.

Now only if Landow hadn't tried to do battle with Bambi in his SUV.....


Not much else going on.

Thanks to Maudie for posting her pic of the hammer last night. If not for the pic, I never would have known that I played last night.

I wonder how I did.

And another fine example of the wacko lives me and missus lead.... she finally got herself home last night this morning at the butt crack of dawn. Did you know that there is a 5 o'clock in the morning? At least she didn't have a $1,200 tatoo on her ass of fat Elvis. (I don't think she did, I didn't really check, just going on her word)

Viva Las Vegas!


Thursday, December 02, 2004

So last night I was 'sitting' at a 25NL table on Party....

Holy shit Al! Don't tell me there's actual poker content today!

Yes, my faithful reader, I actually hopped on and played in the great aquarium that is PartyPoker (BONUS CODE IGGY). I have generally been piddling around PokerStars with my puny bankroll but found myself with one of the magic emails.

By the way, before I even go into my Party story, let me tell you about Tuesday night on Stars where I came up with a brilliant new strategy (yes, I was sober).

I sat in on one of the smaller limit games, posted my blind, then like an idiot realized that I was playing O8. Eh, I posted my blind, might as well see the flop. Bing! Flopped a boat, all high cards. Capped to the river and I scoped the pot.

And I left.

I sat at the next table, posted my blind, and limped with A3. The flop comes out AA3 and bing! another boat on the flop. It holds up and was capped all the way to the river (by someone the BB with 24off. I quickly pointed him towards party poker where he belonged).

And I left. Again.

Figuring I'm onto some "formula", I sat another table and damn skippy if I didn't catch another boat on the first hand. Not on the flop and not capped to the river. But three hands, three tables, three boats.

So I left.

On to table number 4. Nothing. So much for my "formula". But it was pretty cool anyway.

Let's get my ADD cluttered brain back to last night. I sent an IM to the Boy Genius this morning....

AlCantHang: I played on PartyPoker with Iggy last night. That should tell you two things.
BG: you're hungover
BG: and you're 50 lighter

Close. I don't feel particularly hungover (not for lack of trying) and I only lost my initial buy-in.

To Iggy, of course.

I was playing the part of table bully for most of the time. I couldn't help it. There were some really weak-ass players and I was catching some cards. Even when I didn't, if I was in the hand with a W.A.P., I would take a shot and he would fold right up.

Now I know. KNOW. That Iggy is just sitting around waiting to catch a big one and punish me for my insolence. Before he can get to me, I somehow managed to not go broke when my AA got mangled by JJ and aggressive Al betting away in early position.

Then the hand. My mind is a little fuzzy but I know where I went wrong. I have ATs (after I announce that it was time for me to crash). I raise, two callers including Iggy. Low cards on the flop with two sixes and 2 spades. Aggressive Al bets out with my overcards and the nutflush draw. We lose the first guy and Iggy just calls.

At this point, big ol' flashing lights should be bursting. Iggy has been raising and showing crap hands to loosen up the table. And he just called.

And ace on the turn gives me top pair and I'm still no my draw. Another bet, and cold call from Iggy.


Except that voice in my head never got through the Soco.

A ten on the river. I didn't hit my flush but I had two pair. Warning bells aren't working and I make another decent sized bet.

Iggy types in chat, "You don't have anything Al"

And pushes his triple digit stack in. My last chance to get away from the hand. But I'm not that good. All I remember is him throwing his money around with crap cards and it just never occurred to me that he was holding T6o.

Never. Not once.

I call, he wins, I'm broke. Again.

So I managed to not go broke when my AA got cracked by JJ. But that deadly hand of T6o did me in.


It was a blast getting back on a blogger table. I played with UWannaBet for the first time. Also, SirWhatchamacallit (that's your name until I can figure out how to spell it properly) and PokerGeek were there also.

UWannaBet came to our attention at the table when he won with, and showed the Hammer. When he typed The Hammer in chat, we knew we were amongst another of the blogger crew.


"Is that all the poker content you have today?", you ask with a smart ass grin on your face.

Yeah. I suck. Get over it.

You ever have one of those drunken conversations where you sit around talking about nothing but poker? Oh, I guess it's just me.

Sorry. Back on subject.

Last night we were talking about the poker trip to Vegas coming up and what to expect. What's to expect everyone to be like, look like, DRINK like,....

I decided I'm going to make the pros feel more at home during the tournament by dressing like my favorite poker pros. And why not a couple at the same time.

Imagine this outfit.

Start with Phil Laak's sweatshirt. Pulled over my head of course.
Add Marcel Luske's upside down sunglasses.
Pull on a hockey jersey just as Mr. Negreanu.
I'd have to pull off the shoes for Annie Duke.
I'll have Johnny Chan's nasty looking orange.
Of course, top it off with Chris Ferguson's hat.

To really make it work, I'd run off crying like Hellmuth when I bust out on the first hand.

How's that for a look? Dick from Sam's Town is probably wondering what the hell he got himself into with this crew me.


Goddamn Al. What the hell got into you?

Good friggin' question. I'm blabbering like a madman, making no sense, and I gauran-goddamn-tee that I'm not even going to spell/grammar check this crap when I'm done.

How 'bout that?

I'm probably still drunk. That would explain why I don't have a hangover. Yet.

I feel like I played some decent poker last night with the exception of THE HAND. But I'm happy.

BigMike, Landow, and myself swept the trivia game last night at the bar and we drank the winning's as every proper drunkard should.

So that my friends is the impetus (oof, big word) for the drunken, rambling, spewing, steaming mountain of poo that I call Dead Money = AlCantHang.

Thanks to everyone for stopping by. As BG says. EIGHT MORE DAYS!


But wait Al, you can't leave with just that? You promised UWannaBet a pic.

Damn skippy. I almost forgot. God I miss the summer.


Tuesday, November 30, 2004

More random junk 

For Dr. Pauly, BG, and any other fan of Elisa Cuthbert. Today is her 24th birtday.



My god but this Vegas trip is turning into quite the spectacle. Proper drinkers, real bloggers, real poker players (or all the above). Writers, WSoP bracelet winners (do you think he'll be wearing it?) and soon to be WSoP winners.

and me.

I'm starting to wonder when I'll find time to play poker in between all the boozing and party-making. I'll guess I'll just make it up as I go along.

I'd like to reiterate my kudos to the Pauly, PokerProf, and Dick for running with this and turning a small gathering into an event. And how about Maudie with the kickass T-shirts.

All I can say is god help the bar at Sam's Town if I manage to make the money (or god-forbid) win. I know there are a bunch of bull-riding, stirrup-wearing, honest-to-god cowboys in town that weekend, but I promise you the liquor will flow up that place like never seen before.

But of course, there is no danger of me making the money. or even the second level.


From the AlCantHang research department (aka DJ Scuba Steve), can anyone ANYONE explain this item to me being sold at Walmart?

Oh Nuts, I've Been Neutered Gift Box

Go ahead, check it out, and tell me that's just not effed up.

Come to think of it, maybe I'll be one and give it to the first person knocked out of the Vegas tourney.

Better yet, I'll give it to the first person Felicia knocks out of the tourney.

Somebody stop me now.


I mentioned yesterday that I didn't really do anything this past weekend. Well, that was a lie.

Friday night, they wifey went out drinking with her friend. So what's a hippyheadbanger to do? Hop on YahooIM, start chatting with BadBlood about proper music, and sweat his games. I actually managed to get some O8 play time on PokerStars but that game is beginning to drive my bonkers.

My poor neighbors putting up with my system cranked to 11 (kudos to Jerry) and all variations on a metal theme blasting to the heavens.

We were trading songs like we were in the times pre-Metallica sellout, where they sued Napster and pretend like every early fan didn't come to know them via bootleg tapes.

If you haven't figured it out. Eff Metallica.

Anyway, I had a blast talking old school/new school metal and watching someone play some realy poker.

By the way, the wifey staggered in at 8:30 the next morning. Any wonder how I continue to live this lifestyle?


Man, work has been kicked my ass. Generally I start these posts in the morning before heading to work. First thing when I get to work, I proof read and post.

Not recently.

I need a job that pays properly.
I need a job that will let me work human hours.
I need a job that will actually let me leave my desk for lunch once a year at least.
I need to win the Powerball.


Last but not least, from the Irony department (and Scuba Steve again) come a sad story from my own backyard.

QUAKERTOWN, Pa. -- It's a glum day for optimists.

After 24 years of community service, the Quakertown Optimists Club is calling it quits. They're holding their last meeting on Thursday, citing declining interest.

"I feel sad," club president Bernard Kensky said.


Monday, November 29, 2004

(Mostly) Sober Weekend 

Chatting around with Felicia on Friday and surfing the blogsphere, I came to a conclusion. I no longer feel any pressure to do well in the Vegas poker tournament.

From Otis: ""1:09pm--Bust out of the WPBT Holiday Classic and meet Al Can't Hang at the bar for a shot or five""

BadBlood earlier posted his "to do" list for Vegas: "Share a shot of SoCo with AlCantHang"

And of course, the good Doctor: "That's always a great experience, meeting new people with shared interests. Plus I get to get shithoused drunk with AlCantHang and Big Mike."

Now how's that for pressure?


Wednesday, aka amateur night, was mostly uneventful.

I hit the theater with the wifey and BigMike to catch the opening night of Alexander before Mike took off towards his family and complete hell for the weekend.

Now I'll let BigMike write up about the historical inaccuracies in the movie. Here's my quick review. Angelina Jolie sounds like a vampire but looks great and plays a great wacko. Maybe from personal experience.

Rosario Dawson. nekkid and looking yummy.

Other than that, it was 3 hours of my life that I'll never get back. Luckily, we decided to fill our bellies with sushi after the movie so that ended the night well.


Thanksgiving was as uneventful as a family holiday can get. Football, food, and family.

The only remarkable feat was my cousin deciding to deep fry a turkey for the first time. After downing a case of MGD. I'm happy to report that the turkey came out great, my cousin came out mostly unharmed, and my uncle did not need to produce his home owners insurance policy.


The rest of the weekend was spent leaving a considerable dent on my sofa, watching the Crossing Jordan marathon on A&E (good god y'all that chick is hot. Just my opinion here), watching the Spinal Tap marathon on IFC ("You can't really dust for vomit."), playing O8 on PokerStars, NLHE tourney's on Pacific, revisited Age of Empires II, and smoking an entire carton of cigarettes down to the filter all while ragging the BoyGenius because he had to work on Friday.

And mark it down under the bad husband column. Spinal Tap is another movie the wifey has never seen. I'm a pathetic excuse for a mate.


And then football Sunday rolls around.

I didn't have to work Thursday through Sunday. Did I bother drinking Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night? nah. Why not wait until Sunday so you can do the work hangover thing again instead of sleeping it off on the couch like a proper booze hound.

I was mildly surprised when the lovely Bridget annouced to myself and BigMike that we had just killed our second bottle of Soco mid way through the late games.

My Birds managed to knock off the Giants to lock up the NFC East title in their 11th game. Only two other teams have managed that. Now we'll see how they handle the Packers.

After the late games, the wifey poured me back into the truck, made a quick run through Wendy's drive thru, and I promptly fell dead asleep on the couch.

8 hours, two bottles, 2 packs of marlboro's, zero food makes Al a loopy boy.


I had no idea that Drizztdj, regular reader and frequent commenter, had a blog. Goes to show how attentive I am. Congrats on the second place finish in Grubby's tourney. Enjoy that DVD!

So go check out his blog.


I did get an interesting email this weekend.

Back in the ancient days when I was young and much more of a degenerate boozer (I just that by that fact that I drink more these days, but at least I'm a productive member of society. I think), I would spend each Sunday night with my friend Brad at this happy little dive called BT's Saloon. Short for Best of Times Saloon.

Well, this place was not currently seeing it's "Best of Times". This was the stereotypical dive bar. The bar was sitting along the side of a cruddy 4 lane road with nothing around it. When you walked in, you noticed the embedded stench of a million stale cigarettes. The drop ceiling tiles were mostly stained with watermarks that would never get replaced. You NEVER took the glass which was offered with your beer. You hoped the alcohol would kill any little buggers in your shot glass.

The pool tables were not level and the felt was torn. God bless you if you could find a straight cue stick. The tables in the seating area were ancient and the formica was peeling from most of them.

And we LOVED it.

We would hang out with our friends in Crystal Roxx, boozing like world friggin' champions, and acting like there were no consequences to living life hard and fast.

This was also the bar where the original version of the song "Al Can't Hang" was written. The song was written by the band because of my odd habit of drinking shots of Southern followed by nothing but water. As I wrote here for Pauly's Truckin', the nickname took on a entirely different meaning months later.

We had the same bartender every Sunday night. I fine gentleman by the name of Jack. He kept us neck deep in the booze and was always reading with another great story. I haven't seen Jack since either OSHA or the Liquor Control Board shut the bar down. Still not sure about that one, whether it was the occasional underage parties or the giant sink hole right next to the bar.

Anyway, on Sunday I got an email from Jack after all these years. Memories of benders past began flooding my noodled brain.

So I'm giving a big howdy to Jack, I hope you enjoy some of my stories.