This is how I feel about variance.

I know that there’s really nothing to be afraid of, but it still scares me to death. If variance didn’t exist then I wouldn’t be able to be a professional poker player. The existence of variance leads to the inevitable downswing, and with proper bankroll management, these downswings should be sustainable.

I am nearly at the end of my tenth year playing poker professionally. In the past decade, I have had five significant downswings, each one bigger than the one before it. My tax returns show me as winner every single year, even with some extremely brutal downswings that lead me to too close to busto (examples here and here). Following every one of my “worst downswings ever” is one of my “best upswongs ever”.

So, cliff notes of what got me to this spot, and a general summary of why I haven’t blogged very much lately:

End 2011 WSOP, nothing’s gone right since April 14th, 2011. Go on greatest run of life, finish 12th in Main Event for over $200k in my pocket. Crush everything in life except relationship until spring 2012.  I ended that, bought a house, played some poker, everything’s perfect, and then it happens. BOOM. I get fucked three handed on a final table. No big deal, I can’t complain, I’ve won everything I’ve touched for 9 months.

Little did I know, that was the moment The Doomswitch Operator flipped mine.

These are my results and notes from this time frame:

As you can see, it started to get to me last fall. I had just sunk half my bankroll into a house and was very proud of it. I had filled it with tenants, but they weren’t paying rent. Things were fine though, I did this intentionally. I had backing for the big mixed game, and was about to receive an offer to co-host the HPT. I rejected the offer, asking for more money or to be able play in events as well, and both were denied. I lost about 75 big bets in the big game and my backing with it. I stone bubbled three tournaments, mercifully being gifted a half min-cash in one of them. I head back to Colorado for Thanksgiving licking my wounds.

The best thing to do in a downswing is to move down in stakes and work your ass off until the universe returns to a state of normality. Just before I left for my trip down to the minors I jumped wrecked my truck, snapping a tire off my axle.  Oh eff eff off.  No problem, I borrowed Kendra’s Durango while it was in the shop, she borrowed her grandparent’s truck, which has over 450,000 miles on it and has never left our county which has no stop light.

I cashed in zero of the small field tournaments in Blackhawk and I lost my ass to the easiest cash game in the country.

So, once again I had swung the entire spectrum.  From everything is going great to nothing’s going well except my relationship.  Determined to fix this, I launch a vendetta against The Commerce at the beginning of this year, the 2nd easiest games I know, and the place where I started.  I had a good New Years, got back into playing music live, and for the first time could claim that I made more money playing my guitar than anything else for a while.

They kicked my ass in LA.  I had one week of hope when I made back to back final tables, but then I went right back to losing everything I touched.  Kendra and I decided at this point to give the international thing a go via Rosarito, Mexico.  Spent some time chilling in Colorado, and then I wrecked Kendra’s truck.

It can always get worse.  At least this one wasn’t my fault, and nobody got hurt in either, so I’m still a long way from “it’s worse”, but Motel 6 feels like Skid Row compared to The Ritz.  Fortunately Kendra has full coverage, unfortunately State Farm was and still is giving us the dick, offering us about 60% of what it would cost us to replace the vehicle and not budging for months now.

Made all arrangements to head to Rosarito.  Stoked for this, I used to be close to fluent in Spanish, and I spent a lot of time in Baja Norte surfing during college.  I thoroughly enjoyed my winter of living in a ski town, playing online, and spending time on the slopes.  I’ve always wanted to do the same thing in a surf town.

Kendra and I made to Mexico with two surfboards on the roof of a banged up old Ford truck.  We have a bet between us on who will make the most money South of the border, me and my gambling habit or her and Miss Kay’s Food Service.  Spirits are high, and I’m sure that I can conquer variance through volume.  I’m motivated, eager, and about to get clobbered.

I’ve won 10 out of 30 days worked in the 38 since I got back online.  I’m stuck only $1,405, and that’s because I’m playing whiffle ball until this stupid losing streak breaks.  I’ve got one win, a couple of fifths, and too many heartbreaks.

I made it out surfing a couple of times until all hell was unleashed on my back.  For reasons that I can only speculate, all the muscles concerning my left scapula got tight, compressing bone on nerve, giving me the worst pinch of my life.  I spent over a week in constant pain ranging from 2-8 of 10.  It cost me sleep, health, work, money, and it just plain sucked.

It can always get worse.

So I’m feeling pretty damn good right now.  My back isn’t sore very often.  I had my best day of surfing since college on Friday, really felt like the good ol’ days.  I had a satisfactorily winning weekend.  I’m about to take a road trip up the coast for my buddy’s wedding, come back to Mexico and finish up the SCOOPS, and then I’m off to the WSOP for the summer.  I’ve got plenty of run good stored up and lots of big events to use it over the next two months, so I’m looking forward to that.  I can’t do anything about the past, and I can’t control what happens after I’m all-in, but if I keep putting the money in good then my future will be fine.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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Last time I wrote I wasn’t sure where the heck life was going to take me this fall. I felt happier mentally, physically, and spiritually than I had in a decade, but wasn’t quite sure what was gonna happen next. I headed to Denver for a Phish fest Labor Day weekend and really only had one goal in life: to wake up alive Monday. I succeeded in my endeavors, had an awesome weekend, made it to my truck in the parking lot, and then got stuck again. I fired up the Ford, tried to figure out where to take it, and ended up sitting there idling. I knew that I wanted to get back to Vegas and work, I knew that I needed to be in Black Hawk for the HPT’s Mile High Poker Open, and I knew that I wanted to climb some mountains. It took that full 30 minutes for me to realize that I needed to be in Black Hawk just 9 days later, so if I wanted to work and climb, then I had my next several weeks covered.

I started the three hour drive back to the ranch. Booked a flight to Vegas for the weekend. I had lent several skillets from the ranch to the prettiest girl in Custer County the week before, I wanted to get those back and convince her to hang out with me. Pretty girls are elusive like elk though, and even though I was getting a higher response rate to my text messages than before, I still didn’t like my chances. Packed up all my gear, woke up in the morning, and headed for the mountains.

I wanted to climb several of the fourteeners (14,000+ foot mountains) in the Southern end of the Sangres, Blanca, Ellingwood, Little Bear, and Lindsey. After looking at some maps and doing some reading I knew my route, and I would have an opportunity to summit all of them except for Lindsey. A 90 minute drive from the ranch took me through La Veda Pass and over to the West side. I drove 45 minutes up a gnarly dirt road to 9,000 feet when it got to be too much for my truck, and I finally started hoofing it at 2pm. I hiked 5 miles and 3.5 hours to base camp at 11,700′ on the shores of Lake Como, finding myself at one of the coolest camps I’ve ever been to.

That evening I went to sleep with a sore throat and a runny nose. Even though it’s important to climb mountains early due to afternoon thunderstorms, it’s more important to take care of yourself and stay healthy in the wilderness. I slept until my body was done, crawling out of my tent at 9am. I looked up at Little Bear Peak only to see a shroud of clouds. Aww, c’mon. It’s never cloudy early, and that’s an awful omen for my endeavors to climb mountains today. I lazily started boiling hot water for my coffee and dehydrated eggs and bacon. By the time I finished my breakfast the clouds had parted, and by the time I was ready to begin my ascent I was standing under a bluebird sky. Had a wonderful day, took 4 hours to summit Blanca at 14,345, my highest point yet, and then another 100 minutes to make Ellingwood’s summit. A few hours back down to camp, and at supper time I was sitting next to the lake, still enjoying a perfect sky, loving the colors brought out by the fading sun to the West.

The following day I had a flight out of Colorado Springs at 9:30pm or so. The Springs is another 90 minute drive tacked on to the 6 hours it took me to get there, so my plan to climb Little Bear was pretty much shot. That and Little Bear has the most difficult standard route of any of the 54 14ers in Colorado and frankly scared the shit outta me. I slept in again, savored my coffee and dehydrated granola with blueberries, and eventually started hiking out. Everything was perfect. Toward the bottom of the trail I started seeing a bunch of people heading in, the name “Camp Gladiator” popping up lots. I came across a gaggle of girls, I already was flying down the hill and probably kicked it up a notch to show off, and ate shit right in the middle of the trail. I’m sure I looked awesome laying in the dirt, rolling on a backpack, trekking poles flailing in the air as I tried to regain my balance. When I finally did I was pleased to see that my truck was parked a mere 30 feet away, cause now I’m that guy who just hiked a dozen miles, climbed five thousand feet higher into the sky to stand on the summit of two of the tallest mountians in America, and nailed every aspect of it except for walking past pretty girls in the parking lot.

I needed to get the skillets back to the ranch, and I wanted to hang with Kendra, but she had to work and dropped them off at The Dome so I could pick them up. I did, drove back to the ranch, packed for Vegas, and drove to the airport. Zip to Vegas, land, head straight to the Aria, and just missed my seat in the mixed game. I wait an hour, but by midnight I’m pretty whipped from the day and catch a cab home.

Wake up the following morning very excited to work. I show up around 1pm and get the game started with Jean-Robert and Jeremy Ausmus. I’ve been so disconnected that I didn’t know he made the WSOP Main Event final table, and to this date I still don’t know who else has. We played $300-600 for most of the day, kicked it up to $400-800 when the game got awesome, I ran pretty awfully for the most part but was pleased to only lose $6k in the 12 hour session, especially after the $20k train wreck that was Cantu 1 outing me razzdeucy, making #1/#1 to 3/4 my #1/#2. The best part of the day was easily dialoguing with Kendra, we texted back and forth all day long.

Chomping at the bit to get back into action Saturday, I found no games. My text messages yielded no results, so I wandered down to the Bellagio to try and stir up some action. I found a seat in a $40-80 mixed game, and wasn’t terribly pleased with this because I’ve gotta win a lot of bets at $80 a whack to get un-stuck $6k. There was nothing else going anywhere though, action is action, and I was in town to work.

About 20 minutes later this 60 ish year old dude that I’ve never seen before strolls up, asks what we’re playing, and says, “I don’t play any of that split pot bullshit, I play razz. How bout you and I play some razz heads-up?” Well this is a strange request. I’m far from being a heads-up specialist, but I’m pretty good at razz, and I’ve never seen this guy in my life, so… how big do you want to play, sir? “I have thirty-five thousand in my pocket and I want to use it.” You got action! I’m going to my box to get money, I’ll be right back. Frank! We’re starting a game.

I get a bunch of flags, come back expecting to play something in the neighborhood of $400-800, decide that I’m gonna try and talk him into adding stud to the mix too, and zip back to the poker room. I catch him walking out, he says Frank is being an ass and saying that we can’t play heads-up, I tell him that the rules of the Nevada Gaming Commission make it illegal to just play heads up, but we can start heads up, and if somebody wants to join, we’ll request that they don’t, and if they do, then we’ll just quit and try again. He accepts, we discuss limits, he says, “I don’t play any of that limit shit, we’re playing no-limit.” No limit razz? My head explodes a little. Ok sir, how about we play $100 ante, $100 bring-in, no-limit razz. “Sure, but you can bring it in for whatever you want.” Okay sir, you got me there.

Frank writes up a plaque, we make the minimum buy-in $15k, and the guy never ever buys a chip, just used $100 bills like the man Lancey Howard. The third hand went like this. He brings it in with a king to $400, I make it $1200 with a seven, he calls. He beats me out of $5k that hand, I ask if he wants to double the stakes, he gladly accepts saying something about how he was getting bored with the $100 ante, and proceeds to whip me for another $10k. I get into the game for $35k before finally winning some pots, and it takes me about an hour to win back all my chips and get him to pull another 10 out of his pocket. On the last hand I put him all in on 6th street betting slightly more than the pot showing 325J vs his Q74J. I had 95 in the hole, and wasn’t pleased with him calling at all. On the 7th card he says, “A six is good.” Well, that sucks, because it’s impossible for me to make a six, but I caught a six, and say I have a ninety-six. “That’s good too.” The dealer pushes me this $50k pot with $100 bills sticking out of black and yellow chips like a koosh ball. He stands up, says nice hand, I’m still getting a massage, and can’t believe this just happened. After I finish counting everything I got him for just around $27k, and once again found myself out of action but much happier about how my weekend was going. Kendra asked how I was going to celebrate, my first instinct was to go buy a boat and take it out on the lake, instead I went out with my friend Steph and some of her friends to Red Rock for a CD release party followed by more live music at Toby’s

The following day Jared talked me into going to the lake, which wasn’t too hard considering that there still wasn’t action in town and I was basking in the glow of yesterday’s razz match. Stayed out there until Monday, got back on a plane, and returned to Colorado Springs. I drove straight to The Dome where Kendra was working, stayed until closing, and she asked me if I wanted to hang out longer. Heck yes. Suddenly the best catch in town wasn’t so elusive. We sat on a picnic bench in the beer garden out back until 4:30 in the morning. She introduced me to Katt Williams, I introduced her to Mitch Hedburg, we laughed lots, and finally went our separate ways. Call me when you get back to the ranch so I know you’re safe please? That led to another half an hour on the phone, and I went to sleep smiling extra.

I picked Kendra and her black lab Lindy up shortly after noon. We went to our friend Nate’s restaurant for breakfast and decided to spend the rest of the day in the mountains with a loose goal of ending up in Salida for dinner. Pick up stuff for a picnic in town, drive North, and start discussing where to go. There are two roads into the Sangres North of town that neither of us have been on. Her idea for how to choose which one to go up? Flip a coin. Atta girl. Heads for Hayden Creek, we pull off highway 50 and into the dirt up the mountain. More and more I saw things I have in common with this girl, from what we like to do to our goals and everything in between. The day was beautiful, rain falling on and off for our drive up the East slope through fall colors on the changing Aspens and Oaks. We hit the pass and didn’t find a good place to picnic, plus it was raining, so we continue down the West side, and it didn’t take us long to find what we were looking for.

Just as we park in this alpine meadow the rain stops. We spend a couple hours hanging out there, and then continue our drive down the hill. About a mile later the road turns nasty. There are several spots that I have to get out, scout, and move some rocks around. It’s raining again. We get to one gnarly spot that I’m not very happy about, but my only option is to continue downhill at this point because throwing it in reverse isn’t going to happen here. She’s spotting me on the passenger side, I’m creeping downhill, and I feel the entire ass end of the truck come off the ground. We’re in the air. Instead of freaking out, she says, you’re good! Keep rolling! I do and we were, eventually we make it out of the mountains, and were welcomed by a complete double rainbow from the sun peeking out from under the clouds. It was just as magical as our chemistry and connection, and I was thoroughly enjoying the best first date of my life.

We drove to Salida. She was headed to New York the following week to be a bridesmaid in her friend’s wedding, I became her plus one, and we booked a flight. The following day I drove up to Black Hawk for the Heartland Poker Tour’s Mile High Poker Open at the Golden Gates’ Casino. There were four day ones. We were scheduled to play 12 levels or down to 30, whichever came first. With 8 minutes left in day 1a I was short but happy to still be in. We busted somebody in 31st, the floorman said we’re just going to play through level 11, and then I got two kings, losing all my chips to two queens to bust with minutes to spare. Rats.

Tried again the following day. Ran a flush into a bigger flush, got nitrolled, and fired shell three. This one went much better and I ended the night with heaps, very excited to have the next two days off. My choices were to hang around Black Hawk and grind that 30-60 game or drive back to Westcliffe to spend an evening with Kendra. Not a tough decision in the slightest; we had spent hours on the phone while I was at the Ameristar, swapped hundreds of texts in those two days, and made our relationship official and committed.

I had time to kill before she was off work that night so went fly fishing on the Blue River with Jen from the HPT. It was gorgeous, I love this time of year in Colorado. The weather was warm enough that I could wade in the river. I didn’t ever see a fish, but fishing is about much more than catching fish, and it was a successful day. I made the drive back down, hung out until she needed to go to work, and then headed back to Black Hawk.

Day 2 began Sunday at noon with a hundred some odd players still in. I was near the top of the chip counts, 74 were being paid, and we had to play down to 6. There were four of us circuit pros still in, David Baker, Chris Tryba, and Chance Kornuth. We all swapped some action, and we all had high hopes. I eventually busted thirty somethingth for $5300, missing a $1k pay jump by one spot, but also losing my chips to Chance. I started drinking, they were all still in. Chris busted 20 somethingth, Chance and David made deep runs, but Chance busted 7th on the final table bubble.

The folloging day I was hanging out around the final table when I get a text from Kendra saying that she just walked into the Golden Gates. What?!? Awesome! She had conspired with Jen and the whole crew managed to keep it a secret. Jen put her to work quickly taking pictures at the final table, and the whole HPT family welcomed her whole heartedly. It was awesome. Jen tells me that I thought Cory was perfect for me, but I was wrong, Kendra is perfecter. I can’t agree more. David ended up busting 6th to a very gross two outer when all the money went in on the turn.

We drove back to Westcliffe the following day, she worked, and we packed for New York City. She managed to get Wednesday night off so we could head up to Denver a day early to catch Andy Grammar, Mat Kearney, and Train at Red Rocks. Neither of us have ever seen a show there somehow between our 25 combined years in Colorado and were both very stoked for it. It was everything we hoped for. Had a nice night in downtown Denver, woke up lazily the next morning, had breakfast, and headed to the airport for NYC.

So now we’re on the flight home. I had a fantastic time in NYC. We didn’t do anything touristy, but no worries, I’ll have plenty more opportunities to do so. My heart hurts thinking about the looming need to get back to Vegas and resume working. I feel stronger for her than I did for Cory or any other woman I’ve ever been involved with. I’m once again upset that I can’t work online still, because I wouldn’t have to be apart from her if I could. I don’t mind it all though, because I still feel better mentally, physically, and spiritually than I did a decade ago, and now I’ve been blessed with beautiful love on top of it.

Mike at the ranch gave me some sound advice. “Well done kid, she’s a good one. Don’t fuck it up.” Yes sir!

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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This is the best way I know to take you through the adventures I’ve been on the last six weeks. Enjoy!

Wendy, myself, and Carl at my favorite viewpoint on the ranch. This is on the center ridge line in the previous picture.

Dusky Grouse

This is on the West side of Medano pass. There was a big fire there two years ago, this shows the resiliency of the Quaking Aspen tree. They are one of the largest living organisms in the world, entire groves sharing the same root system. Since everything that we perceive as a tree is really a branch, the Aspen loves fire, clearing the forest and leaving the trunk of the Aspen underground, ready to send saplings skyward.

Bad day for a beaver. Chew a tree down only to have it fall into another tree and be irretrievable.

Coming into the Great Sand Dunes from the East

Mule Deer bucks on the ranch.

Upper Lake of the Clouds

He’s a lumberjack, and he don’t care.

Common Garter Snake

Yellow-bellied Marmot

Commanche Lake

Pica

Clients around a campfire in Commanche Basin

Alicia filled in as a cow for Cowboy Weekend

Did a 5 day packtrip to the hot springs with 7 ladies, this is on Cotton Pass at 12,750′.

Hiked to The Orient Mine to see 250,000 bats pour out of an old mine shaft, this was my view of the San Luis Valley on the way up.

Thursday evening in Horsethief Basin. That night one lady dreamt of life with the Ute Indians who proliferated the area pre-Western culture. Barb heard horses galloping by when all our horses were soundly picketed in the meadow. Another gal dreamt of being strangled. We woke to a strange fog and rain that stuck with us for the rest of the day.

Out safely at Gibson Trailhead.

Hanging out at the bowling alley in town, I step outside with my friend who wants a smoke, and we see the first elk in town that anybody’s ever heard of. He was freaked out.

Led a 3 day to Lakes of the Clouds the next day, decided to attempt to climb Cloud Peak on day 2.

I made the summit! My view from the top, starting Northeast and moving right.

Couldn’t identify this guy. Female Red-Tailed Hawk is my best guess.

It feels really good looking at a mountain and being able to say, “I stood on top of you!”

Moonrise that night, took an 8 second exposure at f6.3 to get this one.

Base camp at Upper Lake of the Clouds

Hope you like.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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Five weeks ago I was stoked to be at the ranch and convinced that my mind was brewing on the quandary of which direction my life should be moving. Generally when I’m presented with decisions, I go with my gut reaction, knowing that buried in the deep, dark recesses of my brain are answers that I can’t conceive of logically, and a brain power that can analyze all the information available faster than I can list the facts that I’m aware of. If I don’t have a solution quickly, I generally let it stew, and eventually the optimal direction is made clear.

Instead of pondering beaches in Costa Rica in the fall or check-raising Jean-Robert at the Aria, my energy has been consumed by matters of the soul. A little over four years ago I wrote this blog wrestling with merging my spiritual side into my poker career. I experienced a lot of hurt from the Christian church and was very turned off by them. By 2009 I realized, after pursuing poker hard for three years, that becoming “successful” and financially secure for the first time in my life left me less happy than when I was penniless living in a tent. I embarked on a two month odyssey by motorcycle unsure what I was seeking, yet I found it in my mind with the stillness and loneliness on long rides. Then after 7 weeks on the road I returned to Custer County for the first time since 2005 and realized that I knew where my heart was happiest all along.

I took those lessons and insisted on balance in my life. I got into poker first for the freedom to spend summers in the middle of nowhere, to be able to take trips and experience life as counter culture to the 9-5 paradigm as possible. I did that for several years before anybody heard of me, and I knew that I needed to return to that balance. In these endeavors I fed my soul, and I returned to feeling like the happy Bryan that I missed from my early adulthood.

Consistently I have wrestled with these spiritual questions in my mind, and I have learned that there is a teacher in my soul. In the Christian church this looked one way, and when riding on horseback through the Sangres it looks another way, but there is a common trend in removal of the distractions of life to hear the still, small voice within. Is that voice God? My own spirit? Some other source of energy? Simply my own mind? I really don’t know, but the more I learn about the spirit, the more I realize that I don’t know.

This ultimately lead me to a major point of conflict with the Christian doctrine, or any other doctrine that claims that their way is the only way. I declare horseshit. This universe is so big that we cannot fathom it, even though it can mostly be explained through scientific means. How then are we as mere mortals to speak authoritatively on the issue of God, who most religions say is omnipotent over the universe? And then for one party to claim that they’re right while every other is wrong just blows my mind. It’s this root issue which I feel causes the issues I’ve had with the church and causes the judgement and pettiness that comes with the congregations.

I’m not saying that the church is bad. Honestly, if I had a family right now and we chose to be active in a church it would probably be the Christian one because it is what I am most familiar with. Just because they are wrong in certain instances doesn’t mean that they’re wrong everywhere. I think any religion needs to be taken with a certain degree of awareness, mostly being that a religion is man’s attempt to reach God, and being driven by a man we know that directions will not be sought.

I stewed on the topic of the soul for many years until I started dating Cory early last year. We both worked at Forest Home for a number of years having met each other back in 2000. We both experienced hurt and repulsion from the Christian church, but she had recovered and evolved much more quickly than I. She spent many hours of academic study in the history of the Christian church and basically pieced together the history of the religion, and how although much of it may be divinely inspired, all of it has been influenced by humans. Having a strong spirit within her though she pressed on, comparing the various faiths of the world with what she was hearing from within. It turns out that there are many common threads throughout the religions and faiths of history, and through that knowledge she has come to peace spiritually. It looked like a funny mix of Catholic tradition and New Age energy stuff, but it worked for her, it worked for her soul.

So I suppose the haunting question is what are we supposed to be doing? What is the purpose of our spirit, and what are the consequences? If I don’t believe that Jesus is God, does that mean that I’m going to hell? Is there heaven and hell? I’ve heard that the streets of heaven are paved in gold, but what does a soul care about streets or gold? Perhaps hell is metaphorical, and really if I’m bad then I’m coming back as a cockroach, which does sound kind of hellacious, but all the cockroaches I’ve seen haven’t seemed too unhappy. It really brings me back to a point of amusement because the unanswerable questions go on and on and on, but one barometer that I am well aware of is the contentment within my own soul.

I know where I feel happiest. I know where things aren’t good, and I’m good at getting out of those spots. Wendy believes that there are certain places in the world where your energy is simply naturally drawn to the energy of the place, and she would say that this corner of the world, the Colorado mountains, is a place like that for me. I don’t understand the explanations, but I do know when my soul says yes, you’re doing it right. Those are the times that I am happy within and out. That’s when I radiate love, communicating a contagious smile, and feel that I’m doing it right.

The very first tattoo I got is the Greek word agape at the bottom of my neck. I chose it because it was the word used to describe the way that Jesus loved people, unconditionally. It was something I wanted to spend my life striving to do, I saw it as the ultimate goal of Jesus and what should be the ultimate goal of the Christian faith. I regret the Ichthys shadowed behind the word, but ten years later I still strive to love others unconditionally, and have yet to find a greater purpose for my soul’s time here on Earth today.

I went to the chiropractor a few weeks ago for the first time in my life. I pinched a nerve or something in the muscle under my right scapula and it sucked. I had to do the roboto every time I wanted to turn my head. I saw this dude described by Barb as “The Magic Chiropractor”. He used muscle reflexology to diagnose where I had problems, put the arches of my feet back together, moved my pelvis, and popped a bunch of vertebrae into place. He said that his job was to put the body back together the way it was designed to be and then simply let the body heal as it is capable of doing. Relief of some pain in my muscle that brought me there in the first place that he didn’t touch came soon. Within 48 hours I felt the best I had felt in years, felling fantastic throughout my mind and body.

I have a hunch that my soul is a bit like my skeletal system. If my bones are put together the way they’re supposed to be, then everything else heals and feels good as it’s capable. Since the soul has to be the foundation of my being, if it’s put together the way it’s supposed to be, then won’t the rest of my life follow suit? The problem is, how do I put the soul back together? The more I seek the answer to that question, the more questions I have, yet closer to the answer I feel. I don’t know what I should be doing, but right now I feel like I am doing what I should be doing. I think that as long as I stick to that path I’ll be fine and the winds of life will blow me where I need to be.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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Saturday night at the rodeo dance I chatted with Travis the leathersmith here in Westcliffe, Colorado.  I was telling him about how I’ve been happier the last 24 hours than any other day this year, how much I love this place, am happy to be here, and how I want to end up here.  I mentioned that I love Vegas but am always happier in Colorado.  He giggles in a way that says duh, looks at me silly and says that it’s because I can’t be myself anywhere else.  I disagree, he shuts me down immediately, and says that since I’m happiest here, it’s impossible to be my complete self elsewhere. Profound, really.

I mean c’mon.  This is where I’m blogging.  The beer is cheap, the mountains are the best in North America, the people are friendly, and the energy of this place is captivating.  I can’t escape it, and I’m kinda tired of fighting it.

Things would be so much easier if I could work from here.  I could travel for tournaments and stuff obviously, but without being able to play online, living and working from here is pretty dang difficult.  It drives me nuts, and I feel like these next couple months of riding horses all about my favorite corner of the world should reveal where I’m going next.

I’m in a strange spot.  Default plan is go back to Vegas when it gets too cold and slow here, work, finish home improvements, and live life.  Not a bad default plan by any means, however part of me feels like I should take this opportunity I have to travel.  I’m jonesin’ to play online; a big piece of me wants to go South and spend my days surfing and playing online.  I fear the same spot as I was in last year though, I don’t really want to move to another country.  I love the Southwestern United States. I know I want to end up in Custer County, but I’m pretty sure I couldn’t pull off an off season single. I’m still happier in Frisco than I am in Vegas so the jist is that my heart needs to be in Colorado I suppose.

Thus I wrestle with many conflicting desires, knowing that I’m stoked here, I still have an uneasy yearn to wander, and still seek to maintain the opportunity to perform my trade on the world’s stage. Good problems to have, but I can’t help to feel a bit lost.

I busted out of the Main Event on day 2, closing a disappointing WSOP where I cashed seven times and lost money. My horse and pieces all lost money. I was stoked to get to the ranch but had to stick around for Poff’s military ball. Had a blast at that, enjoyed the excuse to wear my tuxedo. That evening my friend from Frisco rolled to town with her family. That induced a Monday night out to Capo’s and downtown and Insert Coins that led to a rollaway at the Aria followed by a drive to Lake Mead. I was going to drive back to town Tuesday afternoon, pack up, and head to Colorado. Then my brother said I should come to the Christmas Party in the trailer park that night, and I agreed with him. We met a girl named Bobbi Jo who invited us on a boat ride, Jared had to work, I accepted. Then it was Thursday and I finally packed up and left, pulling into the ranch late Friday night.

I was supposed to be awake at 5:30 am to prepare for the shootout. We were hosting a group of photographers in the morning and evening. They wanted shots at sunrise of horses running by with the Sangres in the background, and we made it happen. By we I mean everybody else that works at the ranch. 5:30 was impossible for this kid that went to sleep at midnight thirty and had spent the past eight weeks waking up at 10:30am or later. I did however wake up to the sound of sizzling bacon at 8:30, and then the day went fast. We served breakfast for 30. A random jam session broke out. We did a two hour ride at noon. Drove to town to buy stuff to BBQ for the same group in the afternoon. Played music with the Bear Basin Band. Went to the arena to play with horses and cows during magic hour for the photographers. Roped my first steer from horseback. I’ve been trying to learn how to throw a rope, and I’ve got the throwing part down, but I’m like 5% accuracy on the steer on the stump at Cowboy Camp. This steer was also laying on the ground with it’s hind legs roped, making it an easy target, but hey, there ain’t no easy target when it comes to me roping things.

Had a blast. Rallied Mike and Willow for the rodeo dance, had a blast there too. Made it home safe, up bright and early the following morning (I still couldn’t make it up before eight, but I’m getting closer). Repaired a generator. Refilled a propane tank for the fridge, re-lit the fridge. We don’t have electricity or running water at the ranch, the only way to keep things cold is by burning propane and magically turning it into cold air somehow or ice. Did a morning ride. Rebuilt a fence. Went to the rodeo.

The thing is that normal life here is damn exciting. My dream is to own and run something like this; camp, ranch, outfitter, something that gets people outside and shows them the things that I’ve fallen in love with that makes me so happy. I love it here, I want to be here, I will be here, and for the time being summers is when I should be here. I’m happy pursuing poker, I know I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing, but when I taste the dream down the road it makes me want it now.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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Good news is that I bagged an 8th place for 17.5 points and $2k, good to make me closer to even and put me on my target number for the WSOP-C National Championship.  The bad news is the same; now I still have to sweat it a bit, and finishing 8th is always disappointing.  I busted early enough on a nice afternoon that I made it to downtown Philadelphia intent on spending some quality time in the neighborhood of our founding fathers.

It was great seeing the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, and wandering around the cobblestone streets that inspired this great nation we have today.  I couldn’t help but be sad though with the way things are today.  Our government is so far from where Benjamin Franklin and George Washington intended it to be that it makes me sick.  My feelings of patriotism were both stoked and quenched standing there; it’s so depressing to be in the midst of the ideals that founded this nation when the Constitution is daily dredged through the muck of liberalism and big government.  It hurts having my life affected by the policies of a federal government that should be doing nothing but protecting my rights to life, liberty, and the PURSUIT of happiness.

I feel like that’s where we went wrong.  Somewhere along the way people translated that statement to mean entitlement.  Like the government owes them happiness.  Somewhere along the way the government entered the business of legislating morality, because that helps make people happy.  Or is supposed to anyways.  As intended, this government would be 90% smaller and do nothing other than defend the Constitution and the States themselves, yet in this day and age we’ve all forgotten the 10th amendment, the last thing the founding fathers wanted us to be left with moving forward in the birth of this country:

• The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.

Anyways, it was a good afternoon. Here’s some pictures I took:

Independence Hall

Old Quaker Meeting House

Benjamin Franklin’s Grave in Christ Church Cemetery

I have no idea what this building is, but the marble work is amazing. Ribs on the lions and everything.

Washington Square

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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Hello.  Long time no talk.  My bad.  I haven’t really been feeling up to writing lately, but for some reason in this gloomy twilight over lovely Chester, Pennsylvania, I do.  Hi

A lot of shit has happened between then and now.  I cashed in the Red Rock $1k.  I won the Caesars WSOP-C $1k for $55k and my 2nd ring, beating Eskimo Clark heads-up.  Two weeks later I chopped the Venetian $1k in entertaining style.  I battled back from stuck a bit to barely stuck when we went to the mattresses and got all the loot in pre-flop, my JJ v his AQo.  I said, chop the money?  He said sure, winner of the flip wins?  Yup.  I lost the flip and went home with $20k.  With a 5th place and a win in $1k’s at the Bellagio Five Diamond and a 3rd at the Venetian’s $1k in November, I put together a sick little heater in $1k’s this winter.

I started looking for houses time and was pretty happy to take all those donkament dollars and turn them into one.  I went to the Commerce for LAPC in February and made money mostly thanks to Ryan Tepen winning the $100r for fifty dimes.  Closed escrow on a house, an awesome place in an ideal neighborhood for $95,500.

All this awesome has been tainted though by the end of my engagement to Cory.  We entered our relationship committed to the idea that for a relationship to be successful, both people must be happy by themselves first.  Then, if they’re the right fit, they will be happier together.  If they’re less happy together than apart, then something’s obviously broken.  We’ve riddled each other with misery enough that I had to pull the plug.  It bums me out terribly, but it bummed me out way more to be consistently at odds with the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

That’s the whole point of dating and time though, right?  Don’t get married unless you’re 100% sure.  I did that once, and it was a big fucking mistake.  Why rush into something like that?  If you’re no good now, but think things can be worked out, then cool, let’s push it back a bit to make sure.  If we’re no good period, then hooray for us for being wise about life and not rushing into something that was wrong.  So, while I’m bummed that it didn’t work out, I’m happy that we figured this out now.  I’m stoked to not have a source of unhappiness in my life any longer.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t concerned about my relationship functionality being broken.  They’ve all ended in failure thus far.  Or the fact that I’m now thirty years old and do want a family.  But I keep reminding myself that there really aren’t many examples of successful relationships out there.  It’s gotta be something like 99%+ of all relationships eventually end, yet we all continue this pursuit.  What’s broken where?  I have no idea, but I really don’t understand why people get so bent out of shape over break-ups, or when somebody doesn’t like you back.  It’s not that big of a deal.  If it’s not working now, for whatever reason you can come up with, what makes you think it’s going to work later?  And why would you want to continue to pursue something that’s broken?

Perhaps I’ll be single for the rest of my life, but I’d rather do that than be less happy in a relationship.  Perhaps my paradigm will shift as I age, but I have a feeling that I’ll still be able to make friends at fifty.  Perhaps I won’t start my family until 50, but really, what’s wrong with that?  Certainly not optimal, not what I would prefer, but it has to be boatloads better than having kids with somebody who you shouldn’t have married in the first place.  Insert divorce here, broken lives, et cetera.  So again, I find myself wondering why I should be bummed about this?  I dodged a bullet.

Gavin Smith ran into Eskimo outside the restroom at the Wynn in March.  Hey, Eskimo, I heard that you took 2nd in a $1k recently.  Congrats.  ”Thanks, we chopped it.”  Eskimo?!  NO you DiDn’T!? “Yeah, yeah, we chopped it.”  Fine.  I bet that you didn’t chop it.  I still haven’t figured out why he would try and run that bluff.

With those 50 points I picked up in January, I did some math and decided that I needed to pursue points for the WSOP-C National Championship.  Myself and some other smart people came up with 90 as a target number but thought we’d probably be good with 80.  I headed to San Diego/Harrah’s Rincon to chase some points, booking an 11th and a 3rd for 40 points.  I celebrated cause I made it, and went to Vegas to remodel my house and move in.

I spent the end of March through last week doing just that.  A buddy of mine owes me $ and is a skilled craftsman.  He’s doing the work for me and I’m calling our debt square.  I’ve been busting my ass too, but there’s only so much I can do that I know how to do.  He’s taught me a ton this month and it’s been a pleasure watching him create the art that is my hardwood floor.  He’s very talented at wood floors and if I tried to pull it off, I wouldn’t have, and would have ended up paying somebody to do it.

Somewhere around when I started getting re-connected to the grid in April I heard that 90 points might not do it.  And then a couple weeks ago, 90 points was the cutoff, with twenty some-odd events to go.  Rats.  I very reluctantly purchased a ticket to Philladelphia to pursue points.  I’ve played four tournaments thus far, never doing anything in any of them, have lost money playing cash games, won money on neutral ev gambling (Wanna flip a coin for $500?  Sure.  Ship.  Double or nothing?  Sure.  Ship.), and have spent money on beer and ice hockey.  It’s been a fun trip thus far, greatly exceeding my expectations, I’m just hoping that I can come up with 20 points in the next 6 events so I don’t have to go to New Orleans.

Peace and good luck,

Devo

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