BPM
Smith Blog: Rants from a DJ... Author... Journalist
Entering media salt mines, see ya in 5 days!
As always in May, I gotta cover a global commodities event
for the day job as a financial journalist. Instead of getting trashed
on Vicodin and hiding behind Prada shades for a long flight to Montreal
it’s happening right here in San Francisco. Yae! Monday to Thursday
it's nonstop CEO interviews as early as 7:30 am, press conferences,
cocktail parties and private meetings that run as late as midnight all
over the SFC, meaning I’m rolling 15 hour days. Boo! Upside is this
absurd schedule forced me to check into the Sir Francis Drake, one of
SF’s most elegant and storied hotels, and I’m flossing the Loro Piana
and Pierre Cardin suits all week. Yes, time to play dress up.
Downside for my fellow bass- and lit-heads: I am taking a hiatus until
the WORD’N’BASS Show this Friday (May 9) at 10 pm, streamed here
and broadcast locally on 104.1 FM. So there’s no editorial updates this
week, even though I got some cool announcements including from DJs Lantz
and Sasha &
Digweed, and kick ass novelists Seth Greenland
and Patricia Wood. Maybe you
heard about Patricia’s latest news. If so it’s time to gloat: I told you she
was the next big thing!
I was hoping to have a relatively clean first draft of "Bistro de Mars"
completed before this conference because the World Series of Poker is
coming up fast, they just held
a press conference to inform us some damn thing, and once
this poker grind resumes my novel writing pretty much halts. Didn’t
happen. But I’m thisclose to finishing the WIP! So, at the end of this
week I’ll exit the media salt mines disheveled and ready to drop some
bass bombs, finish the novel and then hit some poker tournaments before
flying to Vegas in June.
Since a 60 hour workweek
is gonna leave me trashed, you could be amused
listening to my Friday night Electro and Drum & Bass train wrecks -
scratch that, studio sessions. Meanwhile, need some DNB to tide you
over? Check out the many archived mixes on my audio page. Also, here’s a set
that local DJ Aye~n performed
with MC Colonel at the 2008 Winter Music
Conference and the World of Drum and Bass.
__________________________
Novelist Ray Loriga is brilliant, Kayne
West is a tool!
"You know what, fuck you
and the whole fucking staff!!!" - Kayne West, to Entertainment Weekly.
I tell anyone who will listen that Spanish author Ray Loriga’s "Tokyo Doesn’t Love Us
Anymore" (Grove Press) is the best novel of
the past decade. This story about a "chemical" dealer in the
future who erases clients’ bad memories yet is haunted by his own past
is gritty, engaging and most importantly, entertaining. Not enough
novelists get this last part. It shocked me that Tokyo actually got
mixed reviews, with Publisher Weekly saying it "feels cobbled together
from the work of past sci-fi masters." Bullshit!
If Ray took the Kayne West
approach, he’d rebuke any reviews that don’t
pander to him with, "You're fucking trash! I make art. You can't rate
this." That’s what Kayne ranted on his blog yesterday after
Entertainment Weekly only gave him a B+ in a concert review.
Afterwards, he entered his walk-in closet and proceeded to bash his own
face with 200 pairs of Florsheims while screaming at his personal
assistant to get shining. Now! Shine 'em bright! Damn… Bitch better
wear
a Depends diaper at his next performance.
Just imagine if a brilliant author like Loriga - who makes real art,
not bubble gum pop-rap targeting a mass audience of hip hop wannabes -
started ripping the asses of book reviewers like that. PW would counter
by sending one of their 300 lb. bat wielding literary goons. What, you
didn’t know they’ve got a staff full of ‘em? Word on the street says
they picked up an unemployed Barry
Bonds and he’s finally got a job. Uh oh, he's on a roids rage
now. PW just plopped him into a yellow cab. Watch out authors, he's
coming!
Update: Just saw an interview Ray did in Spanish. Since I studied Spanish in college (finished two years of credit in three years flat, woohoo!) let me translate. "You American reviewers can all die! You die right now!"
Update II: Ray has a Myspace
that he never updates, it just plays quaint Spanish music. Apparently
he's now living in NYC. Wonder what's cracking. If I had a Myspace I'd
say whatup, but I don't have time for that. Too busy looking at
hot women pretending to be kids in granny drawers
and scouring gossip blogs for news on my precious Lindsay Lohan. Speaking of that,
I've decided Natalie Portman
is my new favorite actress. Because she was in this French film "Paris,
Je T'Aime" that I saw at some indie theater in Palo Alto last year and
now plays a poker hottie in an indie film called My Blueberry
Nights. It just opened in Vegas and hopefully it will bomb
so I can buy the DVD in a discount bin. Don't you just wanna spank her in
this photo that was shot on set?
__________________________
Iced coffee buoys writing, heat wave
survival!
"Hope is a fickle bitch
who fades away." -- latest excerpt from WIP novel Bistro de Mars.
Another heat wave has hit the SF Bay Area and unlike my neighbor Monica I didn’t spend Saturday
afternoon strutting on the beach in a bikini. And I’m not spending
tonight getting drunk at a dinner party in SF’s Mission District with
everyone else celebrating Elizabeth’s
birthday. Instead, I’m in my cave squeezing out the last few chapters
of my novel "Bistro de Mars." This puts me in a bad mood so I’m
blasting out lines like the one above.
Maybe it's sleep deprivation. I got little sleep due to another late
night mixing drum ‘n’ bass
in the studio and got rousted this morning by some loudmouth
jerk who wouldn’t STFU at 7 am. Since there’s a solution for
everything, I came up with a new coffee recipe that cures tiredness
while supporting organically produced goods and sustainable
agriculture.
BPM Smith’s Soy Coffee Smothie
2 cups Peet’s
Gaia Organic Blend, cooled
1 cup organic soy milk, or if you must, whole milk
1 tablespoon local honey
10 ice cubes
Blend on puree 1 minute
Drink that and you’ll take off like a rocket. But don’t think I’m a
lightweight who downs just two cups of Joe and thinks he’s rolling.
This recipe works best if you first brew a whole pot of coffee and turn
off the burner so it cools gradually to room temperature. This way,
you’ve already drank plenty of cups when it’s an ideal blending
temperature. Enjoy!
__________________________
It’s 420 so here comes the Drum 'N' Bass!
Some folks like to spend the 420 holiday chilling out
smoking a Blunt with guys like Kid Loco
and Tarwater. I prefer mixing
Drum ‘N’ Bass and dropping the lows extra high -- real high, know what
I mean? And so this year’s 420 DNB mix
comes to you unfiltered and raw, kids. As you might
remember, this continues a ritual where I posted a 420 mix last year
and the year before
so we may as well call it a tradition now.
Uh oh. Tradition. Understand that in my book, once something becomes a
tradition it must continue forever. Which means one day I’ll be 80
years old and still living on a diet of Peet’s Coffee and Marlboros,
still deluded enough to think I’ll become a boxing
legend, and still mixing DNB in the studio late Friday
nights. Probably in an Elvis jumpsuit instead of an LRG tracksuit
though. Or one of those fluffy white robes and a Depends Diaper,
sitting on a rocking chair and scratch scratch scratching! Whatevs. PS:
Happy birthday, Michelle.
__________________________
Publisher ‘doesn’t pay enough,’ disgruntled
writer nukes Lonely Planet!
Years ago I'd heard that Lonely Planet paid chump change
to its authors so it shouldn't surprise anyone that this guy Thomas Kohnstamm
is claiming he got less than minimum wage. What is surprising is he
wrote a book "Do Travel Writers Go to Hell?" cataloguing his adventures
blowing their meager advances on drugs and partying. And BTW he didn't
travel to Colombia to write that Lonely Planet guidebook because
"they didn't pay me enough." Instead, he got some chick he was dating
to tell him stuff like where to go aside from cocaine dens.
Normally these type of literary pissing contests don’t become headline
news but this thing was on the CNN homepage today. To me it's an
amusing story that raises so many ethical issues I'm not even gonna
break all of them down. One thing that's a certainty, there's plenty of
journalists who will confirm
or refute the truthfulness of his claims not only about Lonely Planet
but of Kohnstamm’s book itself, which Crown imprint Three Rivers
Press is publishing in a few weeks. This dude seems to
portray himself as
quite the jet setting Cassanova. Watch, soon the Smoking Gun’s gonna
report he’s a pale nerd living in his mother’s basement "working" for
less than minimum wage as a tester for the latest version of Grand
Theft Auto.
__________________________
Shout-outs to DJ Rap and all smoking hot
British babes!
Maybe two people were surprised DJ Rap
took down the Best Drum ‘N’ Bass track at the 23rd Annual International
Dance Music Awards in Miami. Girl’s been crushing it since way back, so
I don’t know why when I first got into DNB in ’99 folks sniped about
her as "that model" turned DNB diva. She won an IDMA for "Brave New
World" that she cut with Kenny Ken,
beating out my boys Noisia.
Full disclosure: I didn’t vote for her. Because even though in politics
I always vote for the attractive woman over any qualified opponent,
when it comes to DNB, I take this shit seriously. Noisia fucking
owns it in the studio and on stage, where their go-go
dancers pound bottles of ale. Hot! That’s why I’m gobbling up as many
Noisia tracks as possible. They’re one of the few production crews
whose work you can randomly grab and they are all great.
But listen, DJ Rap deserves this thing. She’s a very worthy winner,
just like cutie pie Georgia Horsley
deserves to become the current Miss England. She celebrated by strutting her
stuff on some London street in a bikini. Two thumbs up, the
voters did the right thing. In related news, they* have now identified
who the next Kate Moss is and
her name is Rosie Huntington-Whiteley.
Not only is she smoking hot, but on April 18 she turns 21 which is
perfect - she can get smashed on martinis while I spank her! Check out these pics,
they are indeed SFW and gorgeous. Like all British women.
Unfortunately, these photos don’t include audio where she talks in a
cute British accent. What, you think I’m not trying? Eh, mate? Oi, oi!
Check back latuh, mate!
* My balls.
__________________________
Knicks fans finally have a reason to cheer!
Those of you who've been reading this little blog since we
launched three years ago know I'm a long-suffering New York Knicks fan.
There was even a time where I'd hit the Golden State Warriors vs Knicks
games and cheer on the NYK instead of my hometown team. Those days were
a long time ago.
The Knicks are a punchline to most NBA jokes because Isiah Thomas destroyed my favorite
sports franchise with awful trades (Curry
and Randolf tandem, WTF?),
overspending on marginal players (Richardson,
Jeffries salaries?), drafting journeymen talent in the first
round every year, and ruining their cap space for the next decade as
GM. As a coach he's worse. He gets outcoached every game, implements
absurd substitutions, mishandles the time-outs, doesn't bother to coach
defense at all, alienates his players who
now hate him (remember the players' vote he overrode?) and
sucks ass on all fronts of the game.
So, there's not been a damn thing to cheer all year. Now, the Donnie
Walsh era is getting ushered in Wednesday at 1 pm. I don't
know if it's good news, but I do know that many changes must happen
starting with new leadership. However, if they keep Isiah the Moron on
board, the shit at the MSG toilet bowl will continue to stink because
of his ineptitude on all levels of coaching and managing. Example:
In his postgame news conference on Tuesday - before Walsh's arrival
became public info - Thomas was, as usual, oddly optimistic. "I look
back and I look at what we started with and where we’re going, and I
think we have a very bright future. Also, I smoke crack every night and
scream at my puppy dog named Precious," he said* after the pathetic
Knicks dropped to 20-54. Yes, that's 54 ass whuppings this year already
and they're on pace to lose 60. Fire Isiah during the press conference
and catapult him into a dump truck on Broadway!
* He really said that, I promise.
__________________________
For once this is not a suckout story!
So there I was, the chip leader with 22 players left in a
preliminary NLH tournament at the World Poker Challenge in Reno. It was
after midnight, I had played poker for 12 hours straight (except for a
20 minute enchilada scarfdown at my old Mexican taqueria Beto’s)
and had won two big pots in the last 20 minutes. After bouncing a young
preppy who’d moved all-in pre-flop when my pocket aces held up against
his K-J, I had difficulty stacking and counting my chips. Racked up the
$500 chips in stacks of 10. What’s 500 x 10 again? Then I stacked the
$100 chips and built a rectangle topped with a pyramid of chips. I
counted them out loud, got flustered, guessed it was something over
$30,000 and told the old guy next to me: "I’m gassed out, man. Gotta
take a break, get an espresso."
"Take your time," he said. He didn’t want me at the table since I had
position on him with a bigger stack.
I staggered across the tournament floor that the Grand Sierra had set
up, passed a bunch of dudes playing cash games, drunken club hoppers
who nearly collided into me, and made it to Starfucks. Closed. Needed
espresso. Said in the cell phone that, "Those Starbucks assholes are
closed," and ignored it when a reply came: "Hello! It’s after midnight,
of course they’re closed."
The cafeteria had weak French Roast so I ordered a cup but they only
let you smoke at the bar. So I took a stool and watched in disbelief as
the TV showed Duke winning by just 1 point over some scruff 15 seed.
They killed my little $50 parlay that would’ve yielded 13/1 odds. A tall, brown
haired hippie who appears like a ghost at every single
major tournament I’ve played in the past year sat at the table next to
me. His friend smoked a cigar. I wanted to ask what kind it was,
remembering that I still needed to mail some Cohibas
to my homeboy Gartsu who's in
Iraq because the Army called him up last month, but was too
tired. They said nothing, just gazed at basketball and snapped looks at
the pretty girls who strode by in cocktail dresses. I lit another
Marlboro Light, drank more coffee and waved off the bartender.
Back at the table, it appeared that someone stole $10,00 of my chips.
No way could they have blinded off that many chips in 10 minutes.
Everyone seemed in a panic. There were only 19 players left, bubble
time since only the top 18 paid. Fold, fold, fold. Then the bubble
burst
and they either folded or went all-in before the flop. I tried playing
a couple hands by simply calling or raising three times the big blinds
with suited K-10 but everyone would fold with the exception of one guy
who, naturally, went all in. I folded. This style poker is crap because
even if you’ve got pocket aces your success or failure comes down to
luck.
Finally, I got A-Q and called, prepared to move all in if someone
raised. A manic-looking twentysomething moved all in, and the old guy
to my right moved all in as well. He’s the only one who had more chips
than me. He had solid game. I was suspicious. Yet the pot odds were
now hefty. Take down the pot and I’d nearly triple up, once again
building a huge lead and positioning myself to win the tournament
outright. It was a coin flip, yet do you want to coast into the top 10
or try and win this thing? "Call." Sure enough, twentysomething had
pocket 6s, we were virtually 50-50. Old guy turned over pocket aces. I
was fucked.
This is the lesson of NLH that ignorant donkeys
never learn: You will not ever suckout when someone outplays you. The
young manic fool who had overplayed his 6s sucked out though. He caught
another 6 on the turn, the aces had my stack covered, and I wished the
old man good luck. He was the best player in the tournament, always got
his chips in with the best hand. I had as well, until then. And busted
out in 14th place.
Walking to the elevator a sixty-year-old man with wiry hair and a
starched white shit rolled up and said, "I know you!" Turns out he was
a dealer at the WSOP Circuit Event at Harvey’s Tahoe last fall.
Apparently he remembered me because I’m the player who reels through
hotel lobbies at 1 am wearing a tracksuit and Prada sunglasses. Here I
was again. A player the next day asked where I’d went after taking the
chip lead. "You were gone a half hour." In a time warp. Hopefully next
time I’ve got a chance at winning a tournament I won’t have a
total physical meltdown, exacerbated by six double espressos, a 5-Hour
Energy shot and lack of food.
The next day, my man Mike told
me at dinner that he’s worked out every single day since February 2007.
Yes, he’s worked out 390 days in a row. He looks healthy as fuck. Also,
his boss, Senate Majority
Leader Harry Reid, can do 100 consecutive push-ups without a
rest. He demonstrated this in front of school children recently. How
old is he again? I also understand that Gus Hansen
once played poker for 72 hours straight, just to show that he could.
So, since my return from Reno I’ve decided to work out every damn day.
By June maybe I’ll be able to go 12 hours at this year’s WSOP without
crashing like a wimp. PS: RIP Art Aragon,
the original LA Golden Boy.
__________________________
The world's shortest fairy tale!
"Once upon a time, a guy asked a girl, "Will you marry
me?" The girl said, "NO!"
And the guy lived happily ever after and wrote novels, mixed records,
and played poker a lot and drank beer and burped loudly whenever he
wanted. The End."
I am back in the House
and will dish a full rundown about this latest Reno jaunt tomorrow.
This past week has taught a few lessons, including the fact I must get
back in shape, so I am donning the plastic suit
and running at Lake Merrit. Later kids.
__________________________
Dish Downtempo, accept the World Poker
Challenge!
Beginning this evening (March 19) I’m at the World Poker
Tour’s stop in Reno, where the Grand Sierra Resort is home for the next
week. The World Poker Challenge is my favorite WPT event because
they’ve got preliminary NLH tournaments twice daily, plenty of
satellites that can qualify you for the main event, and many ‘name’
pros participating in all of the above. Last year TJ Cloutier, Maria Ho
and main event winner JC Tran
played at my tables.
Online mag Card Player
covers the main event hand for hand in their live coverage section and
they’re also posting all of the tournament results here.
Hopefully you’ll see my name cashing in a few of these but I’ll have to
convince them to use BPM Smith
instead of my real name. When making final tables the tournament
officials always ask for my birth name. C’mon, with a last name like
Smith do you think anyone gives a damn?
Since I’m outta here like Tupac in ‘96
there will be no editorial updates, so I've left a
little gold nugget for my fellow bass-heads: a new Downtempo mix that’s
got some fluid transitions, heavy lows and even a bit of uptempo.
Shoutouts to Star 69 Records for sending that phat album of Starkillers
remixes, which is included in the Electro part of this mix. And oh yes,
West Side Chemical
straight outta Oakland is in there too. Listen to it
here. Ciao for now, kids! PS:
No DNB beats
this Friday, see y'all next week!
__________________________
Weekend laziness, more of the same!
As usual, Friday was another late night mixing downtempo
and drum n bass. I just started listening to the downtempo and it’s
pretty solid, so maybe I’ll post it here.
Later this week. Later, because I am tired since my girlfriend rousted
me out of bed at 8 am by bolting out of bed so fast I couldn’t hold her
against her will like a cat. Her cat Sparkle?
Yeah, she cuddled, with an anxious get-me-outta-here-now look on her
face. So five or seven cups of coffee and I’m still too dull to deal
with anything techie like mp3s.
Also, the Bay 101 Shooting Stars poker tournament is about to start and
I still gotta qualify this weekend for my seat. Last year I was inches
away from making the main event but some old crap
guzzling jerk called a penalty on me a few slots before
qualifying, forcing me to sit out 10 hands that were the difference
between making it or not. This year, I am playing better poker, have my
temper in check, and curse far less than a year ago. I am serene. Yes,
tranquil. To further this serenity, I am off to catch a heavyweight
title fight and my GS Warriors at Ricky’s Sports,
where we’ll down a pitcher of Sierra Nevada ale, steak and fried
calamari. Wait a minute -- DNB, poker and sports? This weekend’s like
every single weekend. What's that? You say I should try something
different? I'm in a rut? Okay, how 'bout I mix it up by snuffing out a
Marlboro Light on my cheek and running in some good old
fashioned Oakland side
shows.
__________________________
Hunter S. Thompson is still The Man!
This is what I get for ignoring the inbox. While rummaging
through today’s spam and a few dozen potentially useful emails from the
past month, I decided to click the press release from HarperCollins
dated mid February. Glad I did! Turns out they released a new book
about one of my very favorite authors Hunter S.
Thompson. It’s almost like I don’t have to say another damn
word, since every book fan and budding author I’ve ever known is
nodding their head right about now.
Like lots of kids, I discovered "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas" right
after graduating high school and it forever changed me. Don’t watch the
fucking movie. Read the book. Rarely has an entire novel made me laugh
page after page and left me bummed that it had to end. So I quickly
snapped up "Hells Angels," "The Great Shark Hunt," "Fear and Loathing
on the Campaign Trail '72" and a bunch of other works.
Hunter S. also got me interested in journalism, a field I’ve worked in
nearly all of my professional career. I remember a guy at the College
of San Mateo’s student newspaper who acted and dressed like Hunter’s
gonzo persona Raoul Duke. Normally I would ridicule such a person but
no; I respected him in a way because his obsession with Hunter S. was
even stronger than my own.
Then, when Hunter blew his brains out in 2005 and I was feeling
nostalgic and sad, my old friend Govinda
gave me a copy of The Rum Diary,
a novel -- not NF, it’s a thinly veiled biographical novel -- that
Hunter wrote at just 22 years old. Much more sardonic and touching than
the stuff he’s known for today. Check that one out, before they release
the film version
starring Johnny Depp and your
perspective is tainted by Hollywood horseshit. His young protagonist’s
odd concerns about growing old made me think, yep, we’re all going in
that direction so we’d better live it up before we’re dead. Here’s the
suicide note Hunter S. left for his family:
"No More Games. No More Bombs.
No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years
past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy.
No Fun - for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age.
Relax -- This won't hurt."
__________________________
A Warriors player walks into an Oakland
store!
Tonight after escaping the media salt mines I'm at Whole
Wallet picking up some organic, non-roids raging meat, organic veggies,
organic chocolate chip cookies and organic French Roast when I spot
Golden State Warriors’ forward Mikael Pietrus
in the produce section. You all know I am a Warriors fan. In fact, a
Warriors game is the only thing that will drag me away from writing the
novel, working out and playing poker on weeknights. Tuesday night was
typical. I originally planned on writing the WIP as late as possible,
but found out my GS Warriors were scheduled to beatdown the
Seattle SuperSonics. So instead, I banged the keys until
7:25 pm, then hauled ass to my girlfriend’s house since I hate TV, will
never pay for cable, and therefore must watch games at friends’ houses
or sports bars. One minute after tip-off I totally forgot about the
novel, which is a slow grind to finish. And is weeks or months or years
past due. Oh well!
Anyhow, WTF was I talking about? Yes, Mikael buying groceries. I
actually cut him off in a race for plastic produce bags. He gave me a
startled look that said, "This is another rude American. I will hit him
over the head with a baguette! Oh no, he recognized me…" Once I
realized he was one of my Warriors rather than a random athlete in
understated blue workout clothes (no Warriors logos), my impulse was to
compliment him for not blowing that absurd 3 point shot he fired off
Tuesday night with two minutes to go in regulation, 24 seconds on the
shot clock, the Warriors up by a half dozen points, and Basketball
Strategy 101 demanding he burn the clock instead of launching low
percentage shots as soon as he touched the ball. He did sink the 3,
after all.
But I didn’t. Because I’m not acting like a fanboy to athletes and
besides, can’t a man buy groceries in peace without fans saying, "Hey
Mikael, good game! Can I get an autograph? On my forehead? How about on
my ass?" Yes, better to leave them in peace. Later, the butcher’s
grabbing me some ginger and thyme sausages and pork loins made from
organically-fed pigs that weren’t juiced to the gills on steroids and
growth hormones or worse yet, cloned fucking
pigs the corrupt FDA wants you to eat, plus some ground
beef. There’s Mikael again. He scuttles off. Finally, I’m in the bakery
section getting some organic chocolate chip cookies (mediocre) and
bagels and there he is again. Now they’ve got some tasty looking
croissants at Whole Wallet
and since Mikael is French, I can guarantee you he was getting some.
Croissants. Also a baguette to hit me over the head with.
__________________________
Cold Sunday musings on DJ mash ups, the
Oscars!
I met a local hip hop and dub producer Trinidad
in Oakland a few
hours before the WORD’N’BASS Show on Friday, scored his recent "Free
Dumb Vol. 1" and then worked it into my downtempo set. I’ve yet to
review the mix but if you missed the live stream
then I doubt you'll hear it archived in the audio section. My mixing
was
okay but after leaving the studio I realized that was one helluva mash
up. Typically my weekly sets are either down tempo and electro, or drum
& bass and jungle. Well, that set included down tempo, hip hop,
dub, house, electro and even some lighter DNB. A six genre mashup,
which isn’t really my style.
I’m not one of those purists like the British dude who sat in with me a
few months ago and said, "You’re mixing jungle and DNB together" as if
I’d committed some kind of faux pas. But once you veer into a half
dozen genres the beat variety usually disrupts the flow. Yes, I know
mash ups are big with these "celebrity DJs" like Paris Hilton, who I hear is spinning
at some cheesy Chicago club this week, but not me.
Since it’s once again cold as frozen dog shit here in the SF Bay, I
didn’t feel like going anywhere on Saturday night. If you’re on the
East Coast you can call a California wimp. Instead, I found myself
playing online poker with a Bass ale in hand at 2 am with the heater
blasting as rain poured outside. Since Lucky Chances’ daily NLH poker
tournament begins early, I suddenly realized there were two choices. 1,
hit the sack immediately, grind it out at the poker tables five hours
without breakfast and return home in the late afternoon wrecked.
Recover by downing several martinis while watching the Oscars and
talking shit with this girl J. Harvey
over at A Socialite’s
Life. 2, sleep in and hit Artichoke Joe’s Sunday evening
instead. Since I hate TV, the choice was obvious.
I’m prolly gonna regret this because since discovering Lucky Chances a
month ago, I’ve made two final tables out of four tournaments, placing
3rd and 10th to buoy my bankroll ahead of the upcoming World Poker Tour
frenzy in March, when the tour hits San Jose and Reno. The cards
haven’t been running especially hot, but I’ve navigated my way through
the larger fields at Lucky Chances in part because their tournaments
favor my tight-aggressive style.
First, there aren’t as many donkeys as there are at AJ’s, so the
suck-outs aren’t as frequent or brutal. Second, the blinds increase
slower, enhancing real poker play instead of forcing the short stacks
to go all-in pre-flop out of desperation. Again, this reduces the
number of absurd suck-outs. Last, there aren’t re-buys, so many of the
donkeys are eliminated due to Darwinism. Sooner the fools bust out the
more logical play flows late in tournaments. So, long story short, I
fully expect to bust out near the cash bubble tonight against some
moron who I force all in, having him dominated by 85% and then he’ll
catch an improbable river card. But hey, it’s good practice for Bay 101
Shooting Stars.
PS: If you’re watching
the Oscars go check out J. Harvey, who is "live blogging" all evening.
Talking shit with her will ease the pain of watching red carpet train
wrecks, talentless famewhores and the general misery of TV!
__________________________
Drum ‘N’ Bass in the house, D.Kay knows
jazz!
It’s been a minute since I’ve posted a new Drum ‘N’ Bass
mix here, but if you’ve caught any of the live Friday night
streams you know I’m cooking fresh beats all the time. Did
some record shopping and was stoked to find new full-length albums from
some of my favorite DNB producers like Nu:
Tone and D.Kay. Nu:
Tone’s latest is what you’d expect, he’s still working that Jump Up
style we all love. D.Kay has actually done what few people are able to:
surprise me. His stuff in the past was always fast, melodic and bass
heavy, which is why I’ve made him a staple of my DNB sets from Day 1.
But D.Kay, whose birth name is David
Kulenkampff, has thrown us a curveball in this new album
Individual Soul. He actually brought in a bunch of live musicians,
adding guitars, sitars, sax, woodwinds, vibraphones, trumpets -- all
kinds of shit! The result is off course more jazzy and softer than his
usual productions. So I decided to open up last Friday’s mix with him
because frankly, the opening is the only part where I’m down with
slower, jazzy DNB. But have no fear, the hammer drops hard and never
lets up 10 minutes into this set.
Cuz my boys BSE and Noisia slow down for nobody,
bitches! Hope you have half as much fun listening as I had mixing this
set, which was a perfect start to the three day weekend.
Which is over. And I’m now slaving away in the media salt mines as you
read this, guzzling Peet’s Coffee and calling various commodity traders
for the latest scoops while this very mix bumps in the background. PS: Did you see my precious Lindsay Lohan's latest photo shoot?
Smoking hot. Freckles. Loves it! They are NSFW but you must see
this.
__________________________
Fight night with the fellas!
Tonight my very favorite boxer Kelly Pavlik fights a rematch with Jermaine Taylor, who he beat last
year for the undisputed middleweight championship. The fellas are going
to BBQ here in sunny California, bet the fights, and play poker
afterward till late. Normally I’d play a Sunday NLH poker tournament,
especially since it’s gone great so far in 2008. Made three final
tables in eight tournaments played including one win and third place
last weekend. I will bet heavily on Pavlik and use tonight's earnings
to buy-in to a tournament on Monday, not Sunday, because I plan on
being too hung over to play after tonight's action. While I’m waiting
for Saturday night, I’m watching a heavyweight eliminator between Nicolai Valuev and Sergey Liakhovich out in Germany.
One of my homeboys in Russia just sent the live stream, which you can watch for free
here. It includes several good undercard bouts you can watch
as well. Thanks, Stalin.
__________________________
Another Cesar piping beats!
His name sounds like the ubertalented
author but instead of writing beautiful prose, Cesar hit the 104.1 FM studio last
night and churned out some interesting music in lieu of my homeboy Abdul’s show The Annals Jazz, Blues
and Other Things. My girlfriend listened to him and said this morning,
"He doesn’t sound like Abdul." No, cuz he’s not Abdul. But when I
entered the studio he and a sidekick sure had it, uh, smoky in there
like Abdul’s been known to do. Nice guy, Cesar is. A kick ass trumpet
player from what I hear. So while I’m missing my main man from Friday
nights, we’re in good hands during his absence.
Meanwhile, some jerks stole our turntables. If I catch them their asses
will get a thorough fisting! Until they’re a hotter mess than a wedding in the
projects! Luckily, I knew about this before the WORD’N’BASS
Show and spent a couple of the Benjamins earned from last week’s final
table on a ton of drum & bass CDs. Good stuff from some of my
favorite producers like Noisia
and Electrosoul
System but you know how the mixing goes when you’re DJing
new material without knowing the tracks’ structure beforehand:
transitions and flow are off a bit. Another way to compensate for my
beloved turntables was the mp3 player and an extra CDR, so at least I’m
still working off four stations. But I need to put the needle
on the record soon, help! PS: Check us out Sunday for an
announcement on the other Cezair.
__________________________
The bus will tear your donkey ass up!
I got a call from my studio sidekick Abdul, who does a classic jazz show
Friday nights before the WORD’N’BASS Show
kicks off on 104.1 FM. He tells me the other night he’s
riding the bus home after our shows with his stack of music. When he
goes to exit, the
driver -- who was probably drunk -- closes
the fucking door on him, catching his foot and sending him crashing
face down to the pavement in the rain. He fractured his hip and is now
rehabbing on pain killers so who knows how long he’s going to be away
from the studio. Since Abdul is hardcore and the show must go on, he
lined up a trumpet-playing friend to sub for him. This is why I
don’t ride the bus, train, BART or any other public transportation. If
you’re not getting tortured by a smelly bum in the next seat or the
screaming infant down the aisle, the driver will whup your ass.
Since he’s busted up like Brittany Murphy
on coke and pills, I wanted to bring some Peet’s coffee to
Abdul but am too selfish and played a NLH tournament at Lucky Chances
instead. Made my second final table of 2008 and should’ve won it
outright, but three brutal suck-outs burned me into a short stack once
the final table began. Twice my Ace-Paint got beat by bullshit hands
A-7 and Q-10 unsuited. Naturally, these were all-in pre-flop for big
pots and could’ve
crippled me but I fought back each time to keep my stack middle of the
pack. Just before the final table, an aggressive Filipino moved all in
for $16,000 and was called by a short stacked dweeb in sunglasses who
read his bluff
(unsuited 9-10, ha ha) and took down the pot with suited connectors.
Filipino grumbles to me, "That was a donkey call." Then I pocket suited
A-10, raise $6,000 and he goes all in. I knew he didn’t have shit and
called. Sure enough, he turned over unsuited A-5. Victory? No, he
sucked out like a leech and I asked him, "So do you still think that
guy’s a donkey?"
__________________________
James Nae go away!
The downpour has finally stopped here in the SF Bay. Yes,
the sun is out once again but author James
Nae, best known for raining lies on the book scene in his
best-selling "memoir" A Million
Little Pieces of Shit, is already spinning gullible media on
his upcoming novel that launches in May from HarperCollins. Says the NY Post:
Frey has been busy since the
literary establishment turned on him two years ago, when his
best-selling memoir, "A Million Little Pieces," was found to be
embellished.
Embellished? That’s a soft word. More like it was found to be full of
hot runny bullshit! Dude has been busy spending those millions he made
from acting like a tough, macho junkie who served time in prison and
rose from the ashes to pen his story. Lies! If you’re a part time
drinker you’re no junkie and spending one night in the drunk tank isn't
hard time. I am not reading this new novel. There’s a Million Little
Authors who are 10 times the
writer Nae is whose work gets 1/10 the amount of publicity
of his literary turds. You know media across America are gonna ride his
nuts come May. But not here at little old WORD‘N’BASS. FTBITTTD. It’s
time to throw down. Nae.
__________________________
Everybody big up debutante Patry Francis!
Novelist Patry Francis
can forever mark January 29, 2008 as the day she leaped from being just
another writer to yes, a full-blown author. Her first novel launches
today, and the excitement of such days are something that
long-suffering novelists like me cannot speak of from experience. But
I’ve got enough imagination to guess: Relief. Elation. Redemption.
Finally, she’s got validation for all those hours spent grinding away
on her computer while everyone else was getting loaded during martini
hour. Payoff time, baby!
Penguin imprint Plume is being a bit coy about the premise of Patry's
novel "The Liar's Diary" in their press release.
Is this the story of a friendship between women, tale of a teenage
killer, adventures of a fortysomething sexpot, or is it procured from
someone’s diary? The book trailer
here doesn’t really give the answer. I guess we’ll have to
read it to find out, but it’s safe to say that when a novel includes
copious pill popping, promiscuous sex and forbidden liasons, I am down
with it. Throw in a corpse or two, please!
Those who have checked out WORD’NBASS with any kind of regularity over
the past three years know that I love supporting debut novelists.
Patry’s entry into the publishing world is one that about 300 of my
fellow bloggers, authors, and publishing industry professionals are
helping spread the word about. It turns out that the best day of
Patry’s writing life is bittersweet. She’s been diagnosed with a
terrible illness that prevents her from doing the standard book tour
and promotional stuff that should mark her big day, so we all decided
to big up
Patry all at once. Congratulations, Patry! PS: Thanks, Karen.
__________________________
Miguel Migs is back, better than ever!
There’s a reason why San Francisco is synonymous with
House music: we’ve got producers churning out beats that make you
bounce but with a soft touch that keeps the edge off. Miguel Migs is one reason why The
City is a vibrant club scene locally and respected by House aficionados
globally. He’s got a remix
of his critically acclaimed 2007 album "Those Things" coming out soon
that is straight up banging. I so can’t wait to plug this CD into my
car stereo, which has brand spankin’ new woofers with even heavier bass
than before. I must feel the bass vibrate up my spine, not just hear it!
Click here
to enjoy some of Migs’ totally addictive and funky house tracks. What
do I think about that track ‘Mesmerized?’ Hells yes! It will mesmerize
you till your head involuntarily bops nonstop and you end up hitting
repeat, repeat, repeat. When "Those Things Remixed" drops in April it
will be the perfect soundtrack for Spring road trips. You know I’m
gonna bump it full blast while hauling ass to Reno for the 2008 World
Poker Challenge.
__________________________
Watch out, the apes are chasing bananas
again!
Today was Martin Luther King Day and naturally, I spent it
acknowledging human rights and playing a no limit hold ‘em tournament
at Lucky Chances. It was my first time visiting this casino,
appropriately located across the street from a cemetery. Dead money
lives here because, like most tournaments in the SF Bay, it’s populated
by suicidal gamblers who continually move all-in before the flop. These
people think the strategic game of poker is a game of chance, like a
roulette ball hitting your number. Some dude with the SF Fire Dept.
consistently moved all his chips in with the worst hand and proceeded
to brutally suck out on his opponents over and over. Another dude
caught a lucky river card and instead of sheepishly raking in his
chips, said: "That’s what I’m sayin’!"
That’s not my game. During these tournaments of apes chasing bananas, I
tone down my normal aggressive style and pick off the maniacs who
make outlandish bets at the pot. For several hours I
observed, played only hands I knew were winnable, and had
the best of it every single time we went to a showdown. You’re not
usually
among the chip leaders playing this style but you’ll survive deep into
the tournament with a big enough stack to make people worry. After
getting moved to table 1, I took down a few pots with starting hands
like A-Q and even J-9, where some guy tried to bluff me on
the flop and I moved all in with just a pair of 9s, forcing him to fold.
After 137 cadavers hit the rail, there were just 18 players left and I
decided to raise pre-flop two hands in a row. My chip count
totaled a healthy $14,000 but I dislike coasting to the final table,
where you’ll
likely cash but end up so short stacked you’ll have no chance at
winning the tournament outright. The first pot I took down, the second
one my suited A-J got busted by a reckless player who (of course!)
followed my
$4,000 pre-flop raise by immediately going all-in, gambling his
tournament life with just pocket 10s. I took a calculated risk and
called. Catch one of two overcards and I'm the chip leader, but
Ace-Paint never hits for me in a race. Ever!
In related news, a guy in San Mateo got his brains bashed
in at TGI Friday’s last night. It was the first slaying
there since 2006, and all 10 of the city’s police detectives are now
working on the case. SMPD Lt. Mike
BruniBacardi said, "Oh my Gawd, a killing! Now we can’t waste
tax payers' money by staking out someone’s NLH home game for months and
then raiding them!" Yes, the pigs actually
went "undercover" to this home tournament after "several
neighbors complained about weekly parking problems." What happens when
cops and suburban busybodies have no real crime to deal with? Their
panties get in a bunch over shit that’s none of their business. Here’s the poor guy
who got busted for no reason. Give him a shout-out, he could use some
cheering up.
__________________________
Here come the Breaks!
Back in ‘99 when I returned to San
Francisco after a stint
in Reno -- first to try my hand at boxing and when that failed, to get
an education -- it seemed Lantz
was DJing half the parties we hit. His energetic sets were always one
of the highlights of the night, which wasn’t surprising considering
homeboy has been doing this since ‘94. Weeks ago I promised y’all we’d
soon have another one of his Breakbeat sets and finally, yes it’s here.
It’s got everything you want in a phat session of beats: smooth
transitions, wicked remixing and heavy lows. Enjoy!
__________________________
Bjork a star, will beat your ass!
Despite the emergence of electronic music since the late
90s as a major force driving the music scene globally, there aren’t too
many of our artists given the full paparazzi treatment. You know, where
their photos are snapped as they pass through airports to their latest
gigs. Bjork is an exception.
And photographers beware, if you snap her pic she’ll beat your bitch
ass down! According to the AP:
"Bjork, who is in the northern
city of Auckland to perform at the Big Day Out concert on Friday, tore
"New Zealand Herald" photographer Glenn Jeffrey’s shirt after he
photographed her arriving at the airport early Sunday."
This isn’t the first time she went bonkers on a photographer. Maybe
this is just cuz I had pre-teen fantasies about Bjork back when she
fronted the Sugar Cubes, but I
think it’s kinda hot. Hey Bjork, anytime you want to rip off my shirt
and fire a few left hooks and right crosses you know where to find me!
We need more paparazzi ruckuses to get mainstream coverage of our
scene. How about DJ Fresh,
who is known to harass people
after a night of excessive ale, running over a few bell hops
next time he hits the USA? Then he can hitup the Fairmont Hotel
bar, break two champagne glasses on the heads of the paparazzi and have
them arrested for trespassing. It’ll be huge!
__________________________
Enter the salt mines, undead!
Yeah, it’s been a slow rebound out of the post-holiday
blues here at WNB. First, because this site’s server had some weird
downtime due to a technical glitch and they had to move it
temporarily to another server where I couldn’t update with shit. Also,
I am still trying to finish my novel Bistro de Mars
and it’s taking longer than expected. A month ago I thought the finish
line was 10k words away and every thousand words later my gut tells me
it’s a helluva lot longer than you think. Another 10k so get to work,
jerk!
Today was my first day back in the office since vacation, which I spent
visiting family, drinking British ale
and playing poker in Reno. Not necessarily in that order. In Reno I
killed at the cash games and took down eight pots on ridiculous bluffs
in just two hours at the Eldorado poker room. Won more pots bluffing
than playing legit hands. One time I fired off
chips before the flop, on the flop, the turn, and finally got one last
stubborn guy to fold on the river. I didn’t even have one pair. Also
won a no limit hold ‘em tournament by folding and attacking at the
right times. At the final table I had suited A-K and raised to $2,000
pre-flop. An Asian dude to my left moved all in for $4,500,
and a hipster who I knew was a bit reckless moved all in for $10,000.
Having a stack of about $16,000, I told him: "You want to gamble, so
I’ll gamble with you." He showed unsuited A-Q and groaned when I
flipped over Big Slick.
Later, when there was only four of us left they tried splitting the pot
but I told them we had to play it through. Eventually, I was heads up
with a middle aged woman who played very aggressively at the final
table and had double my chipcount. But she fell apart after I won five
out of six hands to take the lead with a mix of bluffs and raises off
solid cards. You cannot crack under pressure in poker, but this woman
seemed to go into panic mode right away and said, "I’m horrible at
heads
up." Soon, she committed virtual suicide by moving all in every single
hand pre-flop. After folding to a couple of these absurd all ins, I
took her out with just Q-10. Inventory
time: three out of my last four
poker road trips have been profitable with the only exception the World
Series Circuit Event. I've posted net profits on two Reno trips and one
in Vegas since September.
Oh yes, a quick side note for my fellow Bay Area travelers: Do not
drive to Reno this winter unless you know the sun’s gonna shine. Many
of you were hating life in the rain here in SF, but a fucked up
blizzard dumped 10 feet of snow on the Sierras in two days
and burst a levy that flooded Fallon, Nev., last weekend. We drove
through it. The journey home was pure misery. My girlfriend, being an LA Woman
and unaccustomed to bad weather like snow, had no idea how to
drive in it. She veered off I-80, ignored it when I said, "You’re
driving off the road," over steered, and before you know it we’re
backwards on the freeway looking at all these cars driving toward us.
Instead of concentrating on fixing this mess, she burst into tears. My
thought process consisted of: "Fuck!" Lesson: never let girlfriend
drive car in snow. Be a gentleman and drive, even if you're jacked on
Vicodin, five espressos and no sleep. Anyhow we made it through,
exhausted but not dead. It’s sure good to be home. Even if it's back in
the media salt mines.
__________________________
Last call to shop till you drop!
"It’s back to Oakland,
baby, Merry Christmas." Warriors forward Stephen Jackson, after scoring 29
points to beat the Cavaliers in Cleveland Sunday night.
Christmas is practically here and as always, I waited till
the last possible minute to do massive gift buying. While my precious Vanessa Hudgens
was busy looking cute in her velour tracksuit and begging
BPM Smith to spank her two times, I procrastinated shopping. Instead, I
spent the weekend dropping drum & bass bombs, taking in Warriors
basketball and pale ale with my homeboy Pete at George &
Walt’s, and busting my entire apartment to shrapnel while
searching for Choriza. Why is
it when you allow your iguana to free roam they always choose the worst
possible time to disappear for three days straight? No way in hell was
I leaving the SF Bay without her safely returned to her heated cage for
a Christmas feast of mustard greens, mango, French beans and alfalfa
sprouts.
The Fam’s annual Christmas party is four hours away -- boring drive
alert! -- but our feast will thankfully include meat, tons of side
dishes, and Mom’s homemade cookies as we attack piles of presents. This
gluttony comes after last week's proscuitto wrapped prawns, cranberry
blue cheese salad, steak in port wine sauce, Deb's chocolate torte, and Cuban
Punch Coronas paired with a 1970 Warre's
port. As usual, Nick
is rolling up in his RV. He'll surely have it decked out in red and
green lights, bumping phat beats and stocked with Celebration Ale.
We’ve got big love for the parents, aunts, grandparents and all, but
one key to a harmonious holiday is making sure you’ve got your own
little party vehicle to take breaks from the socializing. Time to wish
y’all a Merry Christmas and start making the gifts look like a pack of
drunken, blindfolded elves wrapped them. PS: Remember to drive safe!
Update: After tonight's Warriors
game I did another round of shopping and bought tons more stuff. First,
I scored Grandpa a too-stylish shirt and accidentally set off a
clothing store's alarm, causing "shoplifter panic" by ignoring the
security guard's plea to come back. It's a good thing I did cuz the
countergirl had forgotten to cut off the tag. Que this holiday
conversation: "Merry Christmas, Grandpa... No, I don't know why this
huge security tag's here. Usually I just steal items that aren't
protected." At Borders I ran into Pete,
and we decided a perfect present for your mother is strong coffee like
Peet's Holiday Blend. I also told him about my new
coffee experiments of mixing my own blends -- brewed three pots today
(yesterday) with mixed results. Back to shopping: scored my nephew "The
Christmas Kitten" by some children’s author. The hard work completed, I
then bought myself
"Trainspotting" and "Reservoir Dogs," on DVD and a bunch of Jazz CDs.
"Mulligan meets Monk," a live album by the highly underrated Cannonball Adderley and one of the
greatest live jazz performances ever recorded: "John Coltrane Live At
The Village Vanguard."
I’ve spent hours
searching for this album at stores and finally lucked into it
tonight when I’m supposed to be shopping for others. Mi casa is now flowing with these
majestic jazz classics on random. Vanguard includes Coltrane doing the
phattest rendition of his song "Spiritual" you will ever hear. In fact,
this was my studio sidekick Abdul’s
sound theme that kicked off his weekly show until he lit a joint on it
one night and ruined it. He’ll sure be excited about this score. It’s
now 1 am on Christmas Eve, I’m drinking martinis and thinking
about not wrapping these presents. Oh, there goes Frank Sinatra singing "The Little
Drummer Boy!" Time for another round of Saphire/Cinzano martinis and a
Marlboro Light. Later, kids…
__________________________
Christmas cigar dinner... hangover pending!
You know it's the holiday season when three consecutive
posts involve liquor. Due to another late night mixing Drum
& Bass, I am slow to start preparing for tonight, when I
am hosting our 13th Annual Christmas Cigar Dinner. We started this
event sophomore year in college back when I lived in Reno, my so-called
boxing career had crash and burned, and we were trying to live a
champagne lifestyle on a beer budget. It’s always smoker-friendly
throughout -- hell, oftentimes I burn a cigar before and after dinner -- and we
shoot craps for presents instead of doing those boring gift exchanges.
You want the loot you gotta shoot!
This event has
evolved over the years to where it's typically six to eight guests,
martinis quickly concede to many bottles of vintage wine from
chardonnay to zinfandel to port paired with recipes from the legendary Escoffier
Cookbook, I bust out the two humidors with Cuban smokes
and the party doesn't end till 3 am or later. Since there's still
shopping to do, I am sitting on lots of content that there’s no time to
post. In a couple days we’ll have an exclusive new mix from
Lantz and a holiday shopping list that y’all can use to jack
up your credit cards and score some awesome gifts for the book and
music fans in your life. Happy holidays!
__________________________
Back to the Bistro and decking the halls!
Last weekend we enjoyed four different British ales, Quintessential
gin added to the carnage, and you know things are out of
hand when someone says, "Oh, no! Did you break your nose?" No, I
didn’t. Since nobody will believe the truth, let’s just say I was
pissed Ricky Hatton
got KTFO and got drunk enough that when someone threw a beer
bottle I forgot to duck. That split my nose open like a geyser, so I
couldn’t even wear Prada shades on a sunny day like Monday, when it was
back to the salt mines, bitch! Despite this, I feel good and am
resuming the daily schedule of workouts followed by an organic
soymilk and fruit smoothie, and two hours of writing "Bistro de Mars."
Yes, it’s taking too long but nobody said writing novels was easy,
right?
It really feels like the holiday season now. Downtown San Francisco is
decked out with wreaths for the shoppers, our regular watering hole Thirsty Bear
has red ribbons everywhere and the white lights are illuminating one of
my favorite restaurants the Flytrap.
Meanwhile, I am preparing mi casa
for our yearly Christmas Cigar Dinner. My old school pals know how we
roll: five course French dinner, different wine with each course, my
pal Deb will create one of her
legendary desserts, then we’ll smoke Cuban Partagas and Cohibas. And
no, I’m not saying how we got ahold of these glorious cigars. But the
humidor is stocked, baby.
__________________________
Bigups to the Brits, Hatton, DNB and
Boddingtons ale!
"Quite impressive. But
not as good as me on 15 pints of Guinness." - Boxing champion Ricky
"Hitman" Hatton, on Floyd Mayweather’s recent appearance on "Dancing
with the Stars."
Ever since climbing onto the Drum N Bass
train in 1999 I’ve had an affinity for British culture. After all,
London is ground zero for DNB and my favorite genre is still king in
Great Britain while here in the USA it’s pretty much an "underground"
thing. Tonight, one of my favorite boxers Ricky Hatton takes on pound for
pound champ Floyd Mayweather,
and up to 25,000 Brits are now in Vegas for the action. I so wish I was
there! But Ticketmaster fucked me by not processing my tickets and
selling out in 10 minutes, flat. Originally me and my homeboy Dave were gonna hit Vegas anyhow
just to take in the vibe, play countless
hours of poker and party hard with these Brits whose
pre-fight ritual of all night drinking puts American
football tail gaters to shame.
Oh well. We’ll have a great time downing our Boddingtons, London Pride
and Bass ales with some damn tasty British cuisine while watching on
PPV instead. Here’s my prediciton: Hatton breaks down Floyd with a
vicious body attack and wins by TKO. For an interesting take on all the
pre- and post-fight action check out the UK coverage
and skip our American boxing writers since aside from Michael Katz they don’t know shit. PS: Thanks for your awesome British
food recipes, Savitri!
__________________________
A thing called a Dead Man!
Last month’s writing rampage closed with a wimper. The flu
hit big time, I wrote nothing during the last two days of November, and
the month’s word count for Bistro de Mars
ended at 13,509. That said, Bistro was never really done in the spirit
of NaNoWriMo,
where you’re supposed to begin and complete a 50,000 word novel in 30
days flat. I just use this thing to buoy the progress of my WIP* and so
without actually ‘winning,' I feel somewhat victorious. I
also feel feverish, have a terrible head ache and sore throat, and have
to DJ a party tonight that I’d committed to weeks ago. Never cancel a
show. So, I will guzzle another Theraflu, take a disco nap and show up
despite my wretchedness. Since I was supposed to post a Person, Place
and Thing from this novel, here’s the Thing. A corpse, which is another
word for me today:
"He peered left and right, left and right, then stood up from a crouch
and gazed in the direction of Fillmore. "Dead man," he said when
catching our puzzled looks. Sure enough, at the bottom of the Hayes
Street hill lay the body of a thickset black man as if floating in a
pool, arms stretched and legs spread eagle. We couldn’t see any blood.
But he was as still as death. An eerie and cold sight that evoked
images of gangland slayings in mafia movies. Only this was the
Fillmore, where young black men lived their last moments on the
streets, not in restaurants or social clubs. Always on the streets,
where there was no honor, nobility, or respect for those who have
passed."
* Authorspeak for Whacked and Insane Project.
__________________________
Back in the saddle a bit richer, tore up!
"I’ve got so many $100
bills I get sick of counting them."
-- Poker player at Circus Circus, before I wipe out his chip stack in
three hands and he requests a table change.
You know the holiday weekend is over when a ballistic pace in these
media salt mines has you on tilt before the closing bell. I cover
global commodities, not just US markets, so when most guys outside the
USA decided to hike prices intead of being thankful and gorging on
turkey that left me running like a madman all of Monday trying to catch
up. After writing too much at the day job I am now writing
"Bistro de Mars," so I won't likely update the homepage
as much as normal until December 1. Cuz the thousands of absurdly
prolific writers who are masochistic enough to have entered National
Novel Writing Month have left me in the dust. My stomach is tore up
from too much Peet’s Coffee
and chocolate covered espresso beans. I've got DJ Krush
with Toshinori bumping. And
the novel writing is underway.
As for Thanksgiving weekend in Reno, it was more of the same. Played
five poker tournaments, made just one final table. And beat a bitch
down at the cash games like three
transvestites on a McDonald’s! Saturday night was the best
single session, at the Circus Circus poker room. A bunch of calling
stations and loose players threw their chips away like they
were going out of style, I applied many of these
techniques at detecting liars, and took down pot after pot
because they didn’t suck out like they did in every fucking no limit
hold ‘em tournament this year. Man, it took two racks to drag all those
chips out of the room after just two hours of play.
This helped offset
the rage from busting out of one tournament when I hit a full house on
the turn and a fool put all his chips in – only to suck
out with a bigger full house on the river. Don’t even mention the cash
game in which I had Kings full of 10s and got crushed by quad Kings.
Shit was sick! Miraculously, I avoided going all in with that big a
full house simply because I was suspicious of the guy's re-raise on the
river and only called. Despite that madness, it was nice returning to
my beloved San Francisco with a wallet full of $100 bills.
__________________________
A place called Thanksgiving!
Ready, set, go! It’s mid-afternoon here on Thanksgiving
and the mass exodus from the SF Bay has begun. My neighbor Monica actually headed out on a long
drive to LA last night, saying she’d arrive in La La Land at like 2 am.
All across America, we’re hitting the open road that will lead us to
the benchmark of civilization: family. Before joining a million apes on
the freeway, I just realized I’ve yet to post a Place from my
semi-biographical novel Bistro de Mars.
Last time it was a Person called Hayden, this time it’s a Place called
Pacific Heights:
"We cruised down Fillmore, passing upscale restaurants, cafes, and bars
through the heart of Pacific Heights until reaching Pine Street. Pretty
girls dressed up in this neighborhood just to get a drink or four on
weeknights. They had dyed blonde hair and black overcoats that hid
their sexy bodies underneath cocktail dresses. The men all looked like
well groomed bastards five years removed from frat houses. It sure felt
like we were sharks cruising amid these fish."
Not exactly my part of town, but every novel’s gotta bring the
protagonist out of his comfort zone. Speaking of that, after hitting my
grandmother’s for an evening of gluttony with The Fam, on Friday I will
continue East to Reno, where four poker tournaments await. So I will
skip Friday night’s studio session and miss the WORD’N’BASS Show.
Yep, I’m outta here, bitches! Catch you all next week. Meantime, if you
need your dose of Drum 'N' Bass listen to last week's
session here. Have a
fun Thanksgiving weekend!
__________________________
Poker degenerate returns from Harvey’s!
I made it back from our latest WSOP adventure in time for
Friday’s WORD’N’BASS Show,
which is another way of saying I failed to make the Main Event and am
now reduced to watching live
updates here. My
poker playing, and chip stack, went up and down like a roller coaster
all week. Fared sort of shitty in tournaments and failed to cash in
three events. My play alternated from good (read bluffs and re-raised
appropriately, slow-played the nuts to maximize pots) to bad (flopped
two pair and called an all-in bet from the overall chip leader who had
flopped three of a kind). Naturally, since I suck out on nobody, he
sent me to the rail dropping an f-bomb. Yes, I committed that faux pas. Mainly due to anger
at myself because before calling, I said, "You slow played trip sixes,
didn’t you?" And still called like a donkey!
In the end, I burned money on tournament buy-ins but did okay at the
cash games. So many players hit Harvey’s Tahoe this week they had to
add a couple extra tournaments, and the cash games were filled to
capacity pretty much 24/7. I pummeled one of the pros, a regular on
televised tournaments whose name I can’t recall, so badly that after
the second beatdown I had wiped out his entire stack of chips and he
stormed off without comment. That’s what happens when you push
all-in before the flop and I’m holding pocket Queens, baby! It’s quite
pleasing sitting there at a table of sharks with a pile of chips so big
you can create a double pyramid out of them.
Suckout of the week.
Busted out of this event
despite having a perfect read on a bluffing moron who had just joined
our table. I raised pre-flop, he moved all-in, and I asked him: "Are
you a gambler? Because you’ve not been here long enough, or played
enough hands for me to know." He stared, I stared back for 20 seconds,
was positive I had him dominated, and called. Sure enough, my Ace-Queen
made his suited 8-7 look like dog shit but he caught a lucky 8 on
the river. Had I won that hand, I would've taken over the leader’s
position and been poised for my first final table at a WSOP tournament.
Lesson of the week. You
must eat organic fruit, trail mix, soy milk and Peet’s Coffee. Not fast
food, or you will turn into a zombie during these brutally long
poker sessions. Reeling from too many free WSOP hot dogs and pizza, on
our second day I stocked our hotel room with various organic goods.
As a result, I played 13 hours without crashing.
Mantra of the week. My
homeboy Dave has what he calls
a mantra:
"Play position and take your time." Those are words of wisdom. In
light of this latest WSOP meltdown, my new mantra is: "Do not call the
chip leader’s all-in bet unless you know
you’ve got the best hand." On future trips I am printing these
mantras out and hanging them on the hotel room’s wall.
__________________________
Tahoe is beautiful -- when it hosts the
WSOP!
Well, it’s 1 am on Monday morning and I’m here drinking a
Saphire and Cinzano martini (olive no juice) and packing for tomorrow’s
trip to Harvey’s Lake Tahoe, where Dave
and I are playing two WSOP Circuit
Events this week. Gotta wake up at 6 am, an uncivilized time
for any human, but the tournament begins at 12 noon. Our latest poker
road trip means the writing of my novel "Bistro de Mars" is on hold
till end of this week, which is not a concern since I’ve added more
than 6,000 words of solid prose in the past 11 days. This WSOP no limit
hold ‘em event likely represents our last chance at winning a major
tournament in 2007, so it’s time to bring the fucking heat.
I think we’re ready, despite impending sleep deprivation and a high
speed drive into the mountains, fueled by Peet’s Coffee and a few of my
recent Drum ’N’ Bass mixes. This is three late nights in a row between
tonight’s packing, Saturday’s boxing/BBQ/poker get-together with our
crew (Miguel Cotto won,
as predicted to anyone who would listen), and Friday’s WORD‘N‘BASS
Show, with me not sleeping before 2 am any night. After many beers, it
was pointed out late Saturday/Sunday that that I play shitty poker when
tired -- passive and uncreative instead of my normal aggressive style
-- so I’d better hit the sack soon. See you Friday when I’m back in the studio
dropping bass bombs, kids!
__________________________
Writing
a novel Saturday? It must be November! Launch parties in SF, NYC!
So originally I planned on rounding up the fellas tonight
for some Bass ale and T-bone steak while taking in the Joe Calzaghe
vs.
Mikkel Kessler super middleweight championship fight at Ricky’s
Sportsbar. But after sleeping in late as hell due to another
late night
of drum & bass, the writing front is way behind schedule. Because
NaNoWriMo began days ago and I’ve only got 1,301 new words written
since Nov. 1, punishment includes no fight night with the fellas.
Instead, it’s a night of bumping Kid
Loco, John Digweed and
laying
down as many pages of "Bistro de Mars" as possible.
You all will benefit from my shut-in ways cuz not only do you get the
scoop on former SFPD Chief of Police Prentice Earl
Sanders
courtesy of agent Jessica Kaye,
I will also post a brand spankin’ new
DNB set soon. The archiving of DNB and Downtempo sets have been
slow lately but I do hope y’all have enjoyed the live streams via my
audio page. Nothing’s better
than real-time because you never know if a
certain sidekick DJ will have stoney echo effects going while smoking
something that results in me laughing uncontrollably during the intro
while transitioning from Boards of
Canada to Tarwater and
trying... trying... to
state the track list. Cuz that kind of train wreck’s never getting
posted for the permanent record, kids!
While I’m being a
homebody tonight you’ve got lots beats to catch. In San Francisco, Full
Melt is holding a record release party for two new albums on tap, Mr. Rogers’ album "The Ooze System"
that will be available for the first time as well as Ripple's "B.A.D. Vololume 1," a
compilation of San Francisco Bay Area Dubstep and Grime artists. It all
happens at Jelly's Nightclub - Pier 50, located at 295 Terry Francois
Blvd - San Francisco $10 door before 11pm / $15 after 9 PM - 4 AM...
Are you in NYC? Felix da Housecat
spins tonight (Saturday, November 3) in the official record release
party for his new CD "Virgo Blaktro & The Movie Disco." Operating
the decks alongside Felix da Housecat is a who’s who of New York City’s
most taste making DJs including DJs
Are Not Rockstars, Alexander Technique, DJ Cat, Alex English and
Dances With White Girls.
The party happens at Rebel NYC, 251 W30th St (Between 7th and 8th Ave)
in New York, NY. Doors: 9PM, $15 before midnight / $20 after midnight
with RSVP / $25 without.
Update: Calzaghe won impressively.
This moves him up to the world's No. 2 best boxer, pound-for-pound, and
he called out Bernard Hopkins
afterwards. Joe is now approaching PFP No. 1 Floyd Mayweather, who will crumble
on December 8 when another great British boxer Ricky Hatton spanks that ass in
Vegas!
__________________________
Homepage gets hit like an earthquake!
Apparently our homepage is so loaded with content it’s
beyond capacity and won’t let me post any of the sweet announcements
that recently came in until my tech support homeboy Joe archives it. So, a bunch of news
from literary agent Jessica Kaye,
Felix Da Housecat, DJ Krush and AK1200, plus my latest drum &
bass mix and a fresh new set from Lantz
will all have to wait till this weekend. Bullocks! Tonight, instead of
posting new content for y’all I am gearing up for this NaNoWriMo
stampede that kicks off Nov. 1 by rummaging around the net in search of
my precious Hayden Panettiere.
Turns out the adorable little actress is out in Japan, where she was
one of 22 surfers who paddled into the water and formed a prayer circle
to protest the 25,000 dolphins
killed each year in a grisly ritual slaying where Japanese
fisherman drive dolphins into shallow coves, then slash their throats
or stab them to death. Just as I’m sitting here thinking, "While others
in the young Hollywood set are out buying purses, Hayden helped spread
the word about something I didn’t even know existed. Girl’s got a
social conscience and... looks smoking hot in a bikini. Yes, a bikini
that’s wet, making you wanna spank her butt over and over, harder and
harder!" Wham!
A big fucking earthquake hits the SF Bay Area. The quake lasts so long
I actually hold down the desk lamp cuz it’s about to fly onto my head.
The news just said it was a tiny quake, just a magnitude of 5.6, but
they are liars. And Hayden is smoking. Yes.
__________________________
A Person named Hayden!
Sandra Kring, a
fellow writer who frequents Backspace
-- a message board that’s to literature as 2+2
is to poker (minus the insults) or Groundscore
is to Drum & Bass (minus the streaming midget videos) -- recently
started a thread where novelists must post one Person, Place and Thing
from their current projects. Loves it! Not only have I been enjoying
soon-to-be published excerpts by a bunch of kick ass novelists, this
little exercise makes you wonder how efficiently you’re actually
writing these elements. Since National Novel Writing Month is just
around the corner and this WIP will get done by Nov. 30, I’m gonna post
one Person, Place and Thing from my semi-biographical novel Bistro De Mars.
Starting with Person:
"Hayden*
ate nothing but super burritos and Big
Macs, and it seemed she had always loaded up on junk food before I ever
saw her. You’d see Hayden only at night, like an elongated shadow that
appears at particular times, and she was never plagued by things like a
sweet tooth or nutritional needs. She would observe me wolfing down a
brownie or crème brule with the derision of a construction
worker eyeing a homosexual. One time, she watched me nipping at a
crème brule and said, "Jesse, you’re as happy as a fag with a
bag full of dicks!" A natural smart ass, I had an immediate affinity
for Hayden. She had arrived from Brooklyn just a few months earlier but
we’d welcomed her as though introduced by long standing friends. In
reality, Hayden’s arrival seemed to trigger a theme, a harder element,
that gradually changed all of us. She had brought her machismo with her
from New York."
Since this is semi-biographical, Hayden’s a real live person. Who
created dozens of shit disturbances. Not too long ago I had a reunion
with some of my old school friends who together make up the setting of
Bistro, and after saying, "I always kinda liked Hayden, she had a hard
edge that I related to at the time," all of them looked at me like I
was crazy. Still crazy, that is. And they never called again.
* Replace a smoking hot cutie pie who must get spanked with a Puerto
Rican thug who must be dead by now.
__________________________
Absolute Poker is a bunch of weasels!
Here’s another reason why the fascist US government should
legalize online poker. Some weasels running Absolutepoker.com rigged it
so one of their owners entered a no limit hold ‘em tournament in which
he could see the hole cards of all of his opponents. ABC News
reports:
A network of professional
gamblers turned amateur sleuths followed the money in what appears to
have been a series of rigged online poker games, gathering what they
say is enough evidence to accuse a part-owner and former executive of
the Web site Absolutepoker.com of cheating by looking at other players'
digital cards.
If the online poker websites operated legally in the USA, the feds
could tax and regulate online poker and the stupid government would get
phat tax revenues while we poker players would have an honest game to
play. It would be a win-win situation for the players, government and
even the casino industry, which could have their own dot-com poker
rooms that would promote their bricks and mortar casino resorts. Doubt
that business model would work? Did Barnsandnoble.com
kill off Barnes & Noble bookstores? Hells no! Aside from the
obvious scams like at Absolutepoker.com, another long-suspected racket
is the prevalence of bad beats and carnage hands happening online
compared to casinos.
I’ve played at two different online poker sites and dozens of live
casinos and the carnage hands - where say in one hand you’ve got AA vs
KK vs. AK, or two guys with two different full houses and a third guy
with a flush end up in spectacular shoot outs - happen much more
frequently online. It’s a fact! Also, I've had just one four of a kind
in casino tournaments (The Legends of Poker) over the past three years,
yet have gotten them several times online despite playing far less
online than at casinos. Probability says I should’ve bagged more four
of a kinds since I’ve played far more hours at casinos than online. If
they had regulated poker sites operated and owned in the USA these
sketchy situations would miraculously evaporate.
__________________________
Beter go "all in" now because NaNoWriMo’s
two weeks away!
So Colleen at the
hold ‘em desk just said, "Come on down hon,' we’re doing it," and so
I’ll hitup Artichoke Joe’s Sunday night no limit hold ‘em tournament.
Hopefully one of these mental midgets won’t pull something stupid like
call after I raise five times the big blind pre-flop with suited Ace-7
when he’s got just 10-8. Cuz last weekend after flopping my pair an
idiot flopped two pair at The Oaks, sending me to the rail. I
am sick of this lame Bay Area poker scene and will probably make
another trip to Reno before November, when the National Novel Writing
Month kicks off its annual dose of madness.
There’s no way I can "win" NaNoWriMo
since I’m only using it to bolster the page count of my novel "Bistro de Mars,"
which has been nearly three years in the making. But it’s cool to have
solidarity with a bunch of authors who are writing like crazed
speedfreaks and feeling the pain of having no social life or
recreational activities for a month straight. So, since there will be
an embargo on poker next month it’s time to load up the bankroll now.
Better not suck out on me, bitches!
Update: This time an idiot called
with suited J-7 when I raised 5x the big blind with A-K. After flopping
top pair and the nut flush draw I moved all in but the fool had flopped
a flush, which has a 200/1 chance of happening. I am sick of playing
against these Bay Area idiots and am bailing to the World Series of
Poker Circuit Event at Harveys next month!
__________________________
Author Philip Roth will not blow his brains
out today!
Did I mention losing a huge pot while playing a no limit
hold ‘em cash game at the Bicycle Casino a couple weeks ago? I rivered
a full house, 6s over Jacks, only to go against four-of-a kind that
this frat boy punk lucked into. It was sick as fuck! Did I make my
prediction of the 2007 Nobel Prize in literature winner? They're gonna
announce the winner today and it will be Philip Roth.
If not -- and those Swedes make another politically motivated choice as
they’ve done over and over instead of granting their prize to the best
damn writer like they're supposed to -- Roth will probably feel like Daniel Negreanu did when he lost
$300K of cold hard cash in one hand of
poker to Gus Hanson when his full house went against
Hanson‘s four-of-a kind.
__________________________
Book awards season is here, bring the
ruckus!
It’s that time of year when the world’s "high brow"
authors begin fretting over who’s gonna bag the big literary prizes.
Over the course of October we’ll find out who wins America’s Quill
Award, the UK is in a tizzy over the Man Booker Prize for Fiction, and
from a global perspective, everyone’s looking at the Nobel Prize for
Literature. It