CARDRUNNERS

When I returned to Florence, I was immediately congratulated by any number of guys who I’d befriended on the trip.  As noted earlier, this was the golden age of poker – when any male between the ages of 18 and 28 was glued to his television on Tuesday nights for the WSOP, and knew dozens of poker players by heart.  Many of the guys on the trip had followed my progress online, and as I entered the cafeteria on my first day back, a whole crew approached me in line to chat about my experience and the score.  We were 19, and I was $4,000 richer.  And it felt great to be the center of attention for the day.

 

I had taken a cash payout in Deauville, and decided to stash the nearly 3,000 Euro in a shoebox in my room.  I don’t know if I ever told anyone about this little hideaway, but by the end of the trip, I would have over $10,000 cash in my shoebox.  How naive I was.

 

After passing out for a nap, I woke up around 7pm, cooked some pasta with my friends, and hit my laptop.  I was still anxious for more poker.  I had come so close, and I knew that I could do better.  My bankroll stood at $8,000 which seemed absolutely enormous.  So, I loaded up a few tournaments and got to playing, likely neglecting my schoolwork for the fourth straight day.  Around 10pm I was still in a couple of tournaments, and by midnight, I had cashed in both a $50 and $100 Party Poker Tournament.  I busted out of the $50 tourney soon after, but kept playing well in the $100.  I was making great reads, and good folds, which I could only attribute to my live experience just a few days before.  I could now visualize people behind the cards, and was making timely folds rather than carelessly giving away chips (as was my m.o. at the time).  With about 18 people left in the $100 Party tournament, I called a raise with 66 and flopped A66.  QUADS!  I slowplayed until the river, and managed to stack pocket aces for a huge pot.  It wasn’t long until we were at the final table, and after another hour of grooving to my iPod, we were heads up.  I will never forget the final hand – three betting pocket 8s, and flopping K7x.  I bet and he called.  The turn was a King.  I checked, and he shoved allin.  I had been chatting over AIM with my friend Chuck (danzasmack), and though I don’t recall exactly what I wrote at the time, I was extremely confident and typed something like “watch this,” before clicking call.  He had Ace-Jack and I won the tournament.  I had just won $9,000.  In two days, I’d made $13,000.  Thirteen.  Thousand dollars.

I told everyone I could find the next morning.  I mean, I was reasonable – I didn’t plaster a big sign on my chest, but if anyone asked about Deauville, I made sure to add “yeah, and I just took down a tournament on Party for nine grand last night.”  I think I made more friends than enemies, but my reputation as “that poker guy” in Florence had been cemented.  I wouldn’t say that the money  made me more confident in any way – but it did give me a purpose.  I had an identity.  All the guys on the program began to look to me for poker advice.  Some wanted $50 deposits into their accounts, others just wanted to chat about my experiences.  I’ve always had an easier time connecting with girls, but for probably the first time in my life, I had guys looking up to me.  I couldn’t bench press 200, and I didn’t play soccer, and I wasn’t quite as suave as any of them.  But to be male in 2005 meant to care about poker.  And there was now a clearly defined poker champion amongst their group.

 

One amazing thing about my poker story is that up to this point, I really had no clue what I was doing.  I made entirely incongruous, illogical bluffs.  I value bet poorly and didn’t protect my hands.  But somehow I was winning.  Call it the heater of a lifetime, or call it dumb luck.  It didn’t matter: I was unstoppable.  The next day I jumped from $3/$6 limit to $1/$2 No Limit.  My strategy was to leave $2,500 in my poker account and cash out everything above that at the end of the day.  I was several weeks before I ever dipped below $2,500.

 

After a few days of NLHE successes (and probably still within a week of returning from Deauville) my good friend Eric recommended an incredibly soft $5/$10 NLHE game ($1,000 buyin) that he’d found on a site called JetSetPoker.  He was crushing the site, so I decided to take $1,500 and take a shot.  Again, I simply had no idea what I was doing.  I lost the first $750, and got the next $750 allin on the turn with bottom two pair against a turned flush.  Obviously, I won.  That first night on JetSetPoker, I made $3,000.  By the end of February, I’d made close to $25,000, and was convinced that I was on my way to becoming a poker pro.

 

Having money in college is quite beneficial.  Having money on study abroad is even more useful.  And, well, having money in Florence, Italy is just downright exhilarating.  I didn’t blow through my bankroll – not even close.  My parents taught me well, and I respect the value of a dollar.  But at the same time, I had basically binked off $25,000 overnight and felt that I deserved some enjoyment from it.  I don’t recall the exact sequence of events, but I picked up a number of Prada sneakers from the Prada store in the center of down.  That weekend, everyone took a bus out to the designer outlets, and I bought Ferragamo sunglasses, Dolce shirts, and more and more.  I actually didn’t spend all that much money.  It just felt incredibly liberating to have no concerns, and no restrictions.  Money was no longer an issue.  I could do what I wanted, and go where I wanted.  I didn’t need to plan tight budgets, or schedule all my meals at the cafeteria.  It was weird for me to see so many of my friends calling home and begging their parents for more money.  Someone close to me recently suggested that “money is the root of all potential.”  This is undoubtedly true.  It is also the root of many other things.  I disagree with the notion that it is the root of all evil, but wonder if it is the root of insecurity, and discomfort. 

 

Given that most of the kids on my trip came from affluent backgrounds (even if they had run out of money) there weren’t any schisms rippling from my poker successes, which was incredibly fortunate.  I tried not to be arrogant, and would only talk about actual figures if someone asked me.  I tried to help out anyone who wanted poker lessons.  And I tried to treat my friends well – a meal here or there, a bottle of wine here or there.  And when certain people wouldn’t pay me back for loans, or split hotel rooms, I let it slide.  I felt like it was the least I could do given all of my good fortune.  But March would bring a different story - and although I began to further define my personality and identity, poker would no longer allow me to pluck money off trees...

Deauville was unlike any city I had ever been to.  Straight out of a James Bond movie (and probably featured at some point) it rests two hours north of Paris and is accessible only by train, or…helicopter.  Since my arrival, Brangelina amongst a myriad of other celebrities have put quaint little Deauville on the mainstream map.  But in spring 2005 it was untouched, idyllic, and magical.  Deauville would soon become home to my dreams, my despair, and my heartache.  All caused by a silly game of poker.

 

Exiting the Deauville train station, I was met with lush greens, fountains, and streets filled with love and character.  Deauville has never heard of a “chain.”  Every restaurant was family owned, every hotel boutique.  The biggest building in town – La Casino Barriere de Deauville – stood at the northern most point of the city.  Which, to give you a better sense of space, was a mere 12 minute walk from my hotel.  My hotel, the budget hotel in town was around $100 a night whereas the Casino had been $500/night.  On the Casino Barriere’s website, they had noted a strict dresscode, so I had brought two suits with me – naively assuming they would turn away any improperly dressed poker player. And though I would later see players dressed in tee-shirts and sneakers, I was always impeccably dressed: jacket, button-down, dress shoes, and tie.

 

I checked into my hotel a mere 90 minutes before the tournament was scheduled was start, quickly showered, changed into a suit, threw on a tie, and headed over to La Casino.  It was breathtaking.  Perched atop the end of the city, it looked like a castle to me, with glitzy lights out front, warm hosts at the door.  It was everything I had dreamed about.  I climbed the wraparound staircase to the second floor where I was met with massive pop-up billboards of Greg Raymer and Chris Monkeymaker advertising the “European Poker Tour: Season 1.”  This was what it was all about.   This was February, 2005, the heart of the poker craze.  I took my place in line behind a larger gentleman and a youngish looking blonde woman who both seemed to be quite “in the know.”  They acted as if waiting in line for a 2,000Euro event was just another day at work.  I couldn’t understand it – my nerves were on fire.  I was more excited than I could ever remember.  I still remember their conversation.  John Stoltzman (I believe it was) had just become the youngest winner ever on the World Poker Tour at age 21, and had sparked a controversy by not leaving a sufficient tip for the dealers (or so Mike Paulle apparently claimed in his blog).   This clearly meant that young people were going to ruin the game.  As it turned out, the larger gentlemen was Keith “The Camel” Hawkins, and the blond lady was a pre-fame Vicky Coren.  I knew neither at the time.  The only players I was aware of, let alone intimidated by were Marcel Luske, Noah Boeken, John Gale, and Justin Bonomo.  I barely knew anyone else.

 

The tournament started late, fortunately, as I hadn’t eaten since arriving in Paris at 5AM.  I didn’t dare eat anything that could upset my stomach, so I got French fries and broccoli.  I paid 25Euro.  A bargain.   I had brought a notebook with me, because I was under the impression that all poker players recorded their thoughts and hands in a notebook.  I remember writing out my game-plan, and promising to re-assess my table and plan at the end of every level.  I believe I told myself to be patient, not to risk more than 25% of my chips trying to hit flops early, and not to lose control of the pot.  Good players, I wrote, protected their stack before their hand.  Finally, with a scattering of frites left on my plate, we were 20 minutes from starting, so I closed up my notebook and walked into the playing room.

 

It was massive.  Dozens of tables, hundreds of players, and a buzzing excitement in the air.  Poker reporters milled about.  A press desk was setup on the stage with a half dozen laptops helmed by young journalists eagerly punching into them.  I was the second player at my table, and kindly introduced myself to the older gentleman immediately to my right.  His name was Bob Coombes and he would go on to the final table the event.  We became friends that day, each building up our stacks healthily, and developed a comfort and respect for each other.  He treated me like a son throughout the day, offering words of encouragement after losses, and some pats on the back after difficult calls.  I later found out that his wife was extremely ill with cancer, so I wish him the best.  I don’t know if he’s still around, but Bob was a true gentleman.

 

I won’t bore anyone with hand analysis, but I played well and ran well.  The fifth hand of the entire tournament I picked up aces, and managed to take about half of someone’s stack when they flopped top pair with Ace-Ten.  I continued building my stack until I suffered a massive beat.  I opened in early position with King-Jack suited and was called in 4 spots.  The flop came Jack-Jack-Seven, and the Big Blind open shoved $12,000 into $5,000.  I called and was in amazing shape against his Jack-Three…until a three hit the turn.  But I kept my composure, put my head down and just played the best that I could.  At the end of the day, I was 9^th in chips in overall, and had an excellent table draw going into Day 2.

 

I couldn’t sleep.  My mind was racing.  I analyzed everything I’d done wrong, and the things I’d done right.  I’d made some mistakes, for sure, but my gameplan had worked.  I was good.  I knew I was good.  All the hard work was paying off.  I was one of the chipleaders!  But I couldn’t sleep.  I should’ve slept.  But I couldn’t contain my excitement.

 

I started off Day 2 extremely well.  I was one of the biggest stacks at a table, and instantly felt comfortable with my tablemates.  I made a big call in the first hour that rocketed me into the chiplead.  I was on top of the world – and I felt great.  And then, disaster.  The axis of evil, ill-intentioned tournamet directors that they were, moved me to another table - a scarier table where things weren’t so easy.  In comparison to my new tablemates, I no longer had such a dominant stack.  Justin Bonomo, Anthony LeLouche, and Peter Dalhjuisen were raising and re-raising every hand, and I couldn’t just sit back comfortably anymore.  Nothing had technically changed, yet I’d lost my psychological edge as well as my confidence.  Without playing a single hand, I was a different player.  No longer naively arrogant, I was naively humbled.  And I would play poorly for the rest of the day.

 

I didn’t trust my instincts and held back on big bluffs, though they would’ve worked all three times I failed to pull the trigger.  I didn’t put opponents on hands properly, and my stack roller coastered throughout the day.  I managed to run well enough to make the money with a big stack, and then promptly lost a massive coinflip with Pocket Queens to Ace-King.   I was distraught.  And even though I still had 20 Big Blinds (which is a lot in tournament poker) my immature knowledge of poker tournaments convinced me that I was out, that things were borderline hopeless, and I basically had to win a bunch of hands to get back into it.

 

And so after the dinner break, I resolved to wait for big hands and get back into contention.  As I walked back to my seat, I overheard Justin Bonomo say to a friend: “The first hand back is the best place to steal the blinds, because no one wants to get involved right as they’re sitting down.”  And so, when Justin opened from mid-position, and I looked down at Ace-Three off-suit in the small blind, I knew what I had to do.  I had 12 Big-Blinds (a perfect re-steal stack), but I couldn’t do it.  My mind wasn’t in the game.  I stared at him.  He smiled feebly.  I knew what I was supposed to do.  But I couldn’t do it.  And I threw my hand into the muck.  This was representative of my entire second day where I learned some major lessons about poker – namely that confidence is key.  You need to trust yourself, your instincts, and your reads.  There will always be another hand, another tournament, and another deep run.  I don’t blame myself for playing the way I did – I was scared and overwhelmed.  But if I’d actually trusted myself, I probably would’ve gone a lot further.  As it was, I subsequently lost a coinflip or two and finished in 25^th place, good for close to $4,000.

I was both distraught and grateful.  I called my parents and cried.  They congratulated me.  I called my ex-girlfriend and cried.  She, too, was caring.  But no matter how you looked at it, I’d nearly doubled my bankroll.  I’d learned a lot about the game of poker, and earned the respect of some of the biggest names in European Poker at the time.  I didn’t know what my next step would be, but I desired to make a splash and a name for myself in the European poker world.  Overwhelmed with emotion, short on sleep, and obsessively jealous of anyone still in the tournament, I boarded a train back to Paris to ultimately head back to school in Florence.  No longer just a low stakes recreational player, my life was on the verge of changing forever.  

 

I spent the summer of 2004 between my Sophomore and Junior years of college living in Seattle, in the quaint, upscale neighborhood of Capitol Hill which is where my girlfriend at the time lived.   Given that I had this full time job, it was expected that I would put in a full time effort – despite the fact that I was 19 years old, and it was my summer break.  So her parents, the kind souls that they are, set up an office for me atop their factory (they owned a bookcase company) and I worked 6 – 8 hours a day answering e-mails, handling conference calls while my girlfriend attended classes and met up with friends.  Everyone could see how unhealthy my lifestyle was.  I couldn’t.  I masked it with charm and smiles – with glasses of wine on the veranda, with lavish gifts.  But I was paralyzed.  Enslaved to my position.  I was suffocating from my own professional successes.

 

Soon after this summer, in October, 2004 I met Eric Kesselman (JDredd/PokerfaceMcGee) who would forever change my life.  I had been trying to get into poker but couldn’t beat the game.  I would always watch the Sunday Million (or whatever it was on the time) on PokerStars while I did my homework.  One player, JDredd made back-to-back final tables that October and casually typed into the chatbox “Hey Lee – Can I get a free t-shirt for back to back final tables?”  It was hard to forget him after that.  A week or so later, I saw a post on Rec.Gambling.Poker from JDredd offering rakeback.  PokerStars had listed his location as “New York” so I shot him an e-mail accepting his rakeback offer, and inquiring as to whether he offered private lessons.  I paid him $125 for an hour (which seemed like an unbelievable amount of money at the time) and he got me started playing $2/$4 limit.  It was the only lesson I ever purchased.  It took a while, but I managed to grind up a $5,000 bankroll over the coming months.  I owe Eric credit for the past five years of my life.  I would be an extremely different human being if I had never met Eric Kesselman.  More than that, I respect Eric.  I respect his decisions, I respect his passions, and I consider him a true friend.  I can’t wait to see him become a father.  He will raise an extraordinary family with his beautiful wife Asha.

 

After the summer, things begin to deteriorate around me – though I was much to blame.  I was having issues in my relationship, and dear little Angel was not generating much buzz.  That “suffocation” I described earlier could no longer be ignored.  Totally under the radar I began attending “study abroad” meetings.  But it wasn’t even about a foreign experience – I needed to get out, I needed to escape.  And so I did.  I was accepted into a study abroad program in Florence, Italy.  And with a mere three weeks notice, I bailed on my job as well as my on-and-off girlfriend.  That entire time period is just a huge blur to me.  Try as I might, I can’t remember it.  I am considering recovering all my e-mails from that period off my old computers, but fear that it might be too painful to reconnect with the intimate core of my former self.  I probably will at some point, though.  Better to understand than to forget.

 

I literally had three weeks before I headed to Florence.  I can’t remember exactly what I said to my boss Tina, but I think she understood – she let me off the hook.  Any conversations I had with my ex (yet still seeing each other) girlfriend are also a total blur.  I’m sure we fought, and undoubtedly there were tears.  But I packed up my things, and I got on a plane to Florence, all the while entirely unaware that this simple little country, its culture, its language, and its warmth would forever change my life.   In retrospect, it was one of the most immature, unfair decisions I’d ever made.  I hurt countless people, and disappeared from my friends, my job and my loved ones in a matter of weeks.  But it had to happen.  Maybe one day I’ll pay penance – but I had to escape, I had to breathe.  I had to learn how to live.

 

I only knew one person on my Florence trip, my close friend Holly Zoldan, and luckily she was placed in my house.  We lived at 35 Via Guido Monaco (I can never forget this address having drunkenly uttered it to thousands of cabs drivers) which was a four story building with six people on my floor.  My roommates were Chip and Matt, and much to our delight – the second through fourth floors were all girls.  This was going to be a good trip.  Everyone in the house bonded, and there were minimal arguments.  But more importantly, no one in the house was some Italian scholar.  Everyone was there to test the limits of their independence, feel freedom, or merely escape.  It was a good house to be in and I will never forget my memories.

 

I keep writing about how this trip changed my outlook on life, but haven’t gotten to the substance of it yet.  So: there were two major factors that redefined the way I saw the world - poker being one of them – hence, why poker “saved my life.”  I had felt suffocated back home, and in fact, it took me at least a couple of weeks to adequately detach myself from my life back home.  Upon arriving in Florence, I was still instant messaging with Tina Wells about job stuff, and still experiencing away-message manipulation from and to my ex-girlfriend.  A couple of the people on my program were pretty into poker, and found it really cool that I’d won $6,000 playing online, so I didn’t stop playing when I got there.  I remember that my hourly rate playing $3/$6 and $5/$10 limit was $38/hour, and I worked out that if I played 2.5 hours/day,  I would have more than enough money for my trip.  But I dreamed of playing in a televised poker tournament.  Remember, this was the Golden Age of poker:  Raymer had just won the WSOP, and poker as an industry was entirely raw.  There were some new PokerStars sponsored televised events called the European Poker Tour.  It was Season 1, and no one knew how it would go over – but I resolved to play in a tournament.  I wanted to live my dream.

 

I don’t think I’ve mentioned this during my story, but I’ve always felt like I lived a charmed existence.  That things fell into my lap.  That it was almost as if my desires and goals were fated to be realized.  And so, after multiple attempts through qualifiers, I still didn’t have a seat to the EPT Deauville in February.  And right as I was giving up, I saw a post in Rec.Gambling.Poker  with the subject line “EPT Seat for Sale.”  The winner of the final EPT Deauville satellite was only 17 years old, and not old enough to play the event.  He had pocketed the $1,500 in travel money, but the seat was worthless to him.  He was offering a $2,800 seat for $1,100.  I immediately e-mailed Stars and after 48 hours of convincing, I invested about $2,000 (including travel expenses) of the $5,000 I had to my name into playing the EPT Deauville.  Just four days later, I found myself alone in a train compartment, packed with three Korean students, with only a backpack and a laptop case to my name, on an overnight train to Paris, France.

Part 3 coming soon...

Tonight, tonight, it’s on tonight.

I don’t want your boring life.

And I don’t want your nine to five.

Or anyone to tell me how to live my life.

-         
- Festival Song, Good Charlotte.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjue7xWPq5c


There likely aren’t many people who’ve tried to quote Good Charlotte in any serious piece of writing.  But consider the context.  Years before they dated the Hiltons, or lived a rich and famous lifestyle, Benji and Joel Madden were my heroes.  All of 16 years old, I moshed and crowd-surfed, danced in a sea of thousands – adhering strictly to the rhetoric.  They were young punks.  Drawing on the gospel of Sid Vicious and the Ramones, they were living the dream.  Their van was their home, their wealth non-existent.  But they loved every single second of their life – and it radiated on stage.  I wanted to be like them.  I wanted to be different - I was supposed to be different.

 

To most, the thought of being a doctor or a lawyer is desirable rather than repugnant.  But I was surrounded by doctors and lawyers.  Surgeons and businessmen.   I recall being paired up with a local Japanese businessman my senior year of high school for a round of golf.  He was mostly proud of his six children, as he explained to me in broken English:  “Three went to Harvard, one to Princeton, and one to Yale.  My youngest daughter…she go to Brown…she the dumb one.”  He didn’t smile – he wasn’t joking.  This was not how I was going to live my life.

 

In eighth grade, I found theatre.  This was a year or two before I found punk rock which, to this day, is the rhythm of my soul.  I had suffered through severe acne during middle school, causing me much insecurity, but in theatre I found an outlet.  In my first audition, I landed the lead.  I’d never sang songs, or tried to act.  But I was the lead.  And though in retrospect, my performance was a travesty, I’d found a way to differentiate myself.

 

As it turned out, I actually had some acting skills, got picked up by the best agent/manager in the region, and over the course of high school did a number of small gigs in commercials, television shows, and independent films.  But as much as I loved acting, I felt I’d be doing myself a disservice to devote my life to a single craft without trying to understand the entirety of the world.  So despite some serious consideration towards the Tisch School of the Arts, I decided against a university life dedicated to theatre.

 

And as my best friends went off to Harvard, Princeton, Yale, and *gasp* Wesleyan, I went to NYU’s Gallatin School of Individualized Study – a small division of about 800 students from the whole of NYU.  And It was there that I learned our school’s mantra: Harvard MBAs end up working for creative, energetic Gallatin graduates.  At Gallatin, titles weren’t important.  It was about the way your mind worked.  A running joke around our school was that instead of being financed by tuition, our school was fueled by hopes and dreams.  This was the perfect place for me.  A respectable institution where I made the rules, I was in control, and the idea of students bucking the trends – rather than leaving professors aghast – was mandatory.

 

So where does poker play into this?  And how did it save my life?  It would seem like I was well on my way to live a life defined by personal aspirations rather than social ones.

 

Well, as with any story, the path is never straight.  And while I should’ve spent the entirety of my time studying philosophy, and the foundation of governments, I perpetually felt the drive to be a greater success.  In New York City it’s hard to adhere to a lifestyle devoid of career or drive.  Everyone is always going somewhere – in a rush to do so.  I recall my boss in my first “important” internship at Teen People telling us that if needed to, we could take a year off after school, but that we’d lag behind our peers on a career path.  Were we okay with that?  Even the boy who had gone to lengths to be different began to worry, that to be too different, was to be a failure.

It didn’t help that, try as I might, I couldn’t avoid career oriented successes.  My Freshman year of college I snagged an internship at Arrow Films, an independent film distributor.  And though unpaid at the time, there was added value through important networking and my first foray into glitzy movie after-parties.  For example, my boss at Arrow Films, John Cusimano, is now married to the one and only Rachel Ray.  And though I’m sad to have lost touch, I learned important lessons in making myself indispensible to any organization I was associated with.

 

Soon after, an absolute twist of fate brought me in touch with Tina Wells, CEO of Buzz Marketing Group (www.buzzmg.com) who took my 19-year old precocious self under her wing and made me her Director of Interactive Marketing.  I – no joke – had an office on 34^th street at age 19.  And after doing small consulting gigs with a few clients, we landed a big one.  An upstart 16-year old recording artist on a flashy new record label.  Bankrolled to the max, they wanted to turn young Angel (her actual name) into America’s next sensation.  And at Tina’s recommendation, I was offered a full-time role, on a full-time salary, despite still being a full-time student.

 

And before I knew it, I was thrust into a major role – running her street teams, and promotions.  Overseeing and managing the development of her website and all interactive elements.  In between classes, I would field conference calls.  Some days, I’d have to take a 45-minute “bathroom break” to make a conference call that I was obligated to be on.  Before and after classes, I’d be rushing uptown – to our office, to the Sony Records building, to meet with my graphic designer.  And some weekends, I’d have to bid the college bars goodbye for a flight out to Los Angeles to meet with the CEO of the label.  It felt, at times, like I was living the dream.  But it slowly began to dawn on me that “the dream” had been entirely re-defined.

Part 2 coming soon...

 

Not since last summer's WSOP have I felt so overworked and exhausted.  Basically 200 of you buggers applied for my job, and that's been a lot of work.  In addition to all the applications, I've received over a hundred e-mails from people with questions about my role at CardRunners.  Given that each e-mail has probably 5-6 questions, and I spend 15-20 minutes per response, it's been a slow response.  Most likely, I am not going to be able to get through all the e-mails people have spent me, so if you're waiting on a response for me just send in a resume to careers@cardrunners.com and I'll try to respond later.  We will not be accepting resumes after this Wednesday 2/11, so make it happen by then.

I've spent the week trying to spend as much time as possible with friends and also just thinking over some major life issues.  I have a three hour convo with Raptor today about life stuff which basically made me realize how little I actually know about anything.  weaksauce.

Last Thursday I went out with Nutedawg and his awesome girlie Kim.  They were hella bummed (or pretended to be) to learn that I'd be leaving Chicago at the end of April, so that made me feel super awesome to be loved, especially because I haven't known them that long.  I find them to be a really genuine couple, as in they're both pretty brutally honest people and speak their mind.  I find that to be refreshing and impressive, especially because I'm often too nice and get run over.

On Saturday I was home in Washington, DC for my god-sister's bat mitzvah.  She is this amazing girl named Lee, and I even remember when she was born! (i'm old).  As probably the most religious person at the entire event (they are not an observant family) I got to lead all the blessings.  For some reason there were two cups of wine on the table at the party so I basically said into the microphone "The two cups of wine symbolize how we Jews like to roll."  I don't think it made much sense, but the 12 year olds understood what I was getting at and I made some fans.  Then I blessed the bread and some 12-year old yelled out "Challah!" and he said it like "Holla!"  I do that a lot with my friends, so he instantly jumped into my Top 5 12-year olds on the planet.

Lee's favorite band is The Killers so for her present I've been trying to get her backstage passes and onto their tourbus.  Typically one can buy anything with money, but the music world is somewhat different.  SO - if anyone happens to know The Killers or anyone at their label, please let me know.  I will love you forever, if you can help me set up an amazing experience for her.

Anyways the bat-mitzvah was super duper awesome and was at this gorgeous restaurant in Georgetown called Sequoia which is right on the Potomac River.

Anyways now I'm back in Chicago.  I'm going to spend tonight reading and writing, and doing my thang.  I've been listening to a lot of my high school pop-punk/emo songs lately, and I felt I'd paste in one of the best ones ever.  It's also pretty sweet that it features THE SHERMINATOR!

A bunch of you have probably read Taylor's blog by now which notes that I'm leaving CardRunners in April.  I don't know why he got to post about it before me, but he's always been more efficient than me

In honor of why I'm leaving CardRunners, I felt like I should brainstorm all the reasons my job royally blows and leaving right now is the opportune time:

• Well paying
• Economy is terribad.  Might not ever get another job ever again
• Get to spend everyday with one of my closest friends
• Get to chat with and hang out Brian T, Brian H, Cole, David B, Taylor and other poker giants
• Get to sweat the same bunch and learn so much
• Get to promote a product which has made me hundreds of thousands of dollars and which I truly believe in
• Get to direct a large marketing budget, be creative, analyze statistics, vary messaging
• Get to travel the world representing a brand I'm proud of
• Get to spend loads of time at the WSOP, and WSOPE, dealing with the press, meeting with producers, talking to people about CardRunners, selling the CR story to anyone who will listen.
• Get to harass our Red Pros to remember to wear their logos all the time
• List could go on and on and on

For all these reasons, I've decided that I simply can't take it anymore!!!  Maybe if the job had a few more perks, I could be convinced to stick around....

But yeah, it's really hard to explain why I've made this decision, but basically it's time for me to move on.  I have a complicated personal life and a lot to figure out with my future.  It's very possible that I'm making one of the biggest mistakes of my life, but on the flip side, if I don't take the time to focus on my personal life, that would be a far more egregious error.

I have loved (almost) every minute of my time at CardRunners.  And by almost, I mean that there were a few minutes over the summer at WSOP when I hadn't slept in 96 hours when I was just a weeee bit stressed out, but yea.  Other than that, it's been an amazing ride.  I have learned so much about the world, people, the industry.  And there's no doubt in my mind that CardRunners will remain the industry leader in the poker training industry for a long, long time.  We have worked tirelessly to be well positioned, to find amazing promotional relationships, to treat our friends well, and to earn a reputation as a major industry player. 

Taylor and I have spent a lot of time lately reminising about how far we've come in my two years at CardRunners.  I still remember my first interview and all my irrational, impractical ideas for the company.  But the one fundamental initiative I've always held firm on was to ensure that we were positioned as the premier brand in the industry.  I don't want to give away too much of our strategy in public, but it's clear that we've achieved that.

I also want to say that Taylor Caby is one of the sharpest, most capable young businessmen I've ever met.  Taylor is just indescribably good at running a business.  He is annoyingly logical, annoyingly fair, and annoyingly understanding.  When the rest of us freak out because a database crashes, or a press release went out late, Taylor just sits there munching on his Pita Pit sandwich laughing at the rest of the world.  And it's not because he doesn't care.  It's because he sees the bigger picture - he knows that you tried hard, knows that you did your best.  And knows that there's no real use in anger for anger's sake.  He'll implore you to improve and focus, but he'll never blame you for trying. 

Anyways, if you're into marketing and love CardRunners, don't hesitate to apply for my position.  It's kind of weird inviting people to come and take my job.  But that's the way it's got to be.  E-mail me at ezra@cardrunners.com with any questions.

This is an extremely sad post for me to write.  But I know it's for the best.  I have other things in life that demand my focus and attention.  I've given CardRunners two years of enthusiastic service, and I'm looking forward to the next stage.

Love,
Ezra

I am on a pretty big poker heater and after a pretty brutal start to January am up probably $30-$35k in the past 10 days.  And yet, it's these types of runs that remind me how utterly unfulfilling gorging oneself on money truly is.  I'm always surprised by this: think of what I could get with $5,000?!  If I had an extra $50k, that's equivalent to a down payment on a condo!  But it's never what I'd hoped.  It's just money.  It's not pleasure, it's not fulfillment, it's not happiness.  It's just money.

And, annoyingly, I'm not ignorant of its importance.  Sometimes I wish I were one of those bearded college kids who run off to Vietnam right after college to teach English for $150/week.  They live on Ramen noodles, single-ply toilet paper and grungy apartments.  But, I dunno, just seems like a simpler existence.

Lately I've been thinking about reality.  Not in some metaphysical sense, like: omg, am I in the matrix?  No, that's silly.  But within our physical realities, which mode of considering our world and purpose is the proper one.  Is running off to Malaysia to teach English in any way a superior or inferior mode of living life than getting a great job on Wall Street, living in a beautiful SoHo condo, and sending your two children to Dalton?

I don't know the answer, and I'm grappling with this.  What is our proper course of life?  Is any single path superior to another?  Should we choose the one that feels right?  Or the one that our conscience tells us is proper.  Do we have an obligation to make the most of our talents, or can we be content enjoying our lives?  Are we required to improve the world - or can we simply utilize our talents to enjoy what little time we have here.

And why do I think like this?  Feels like a lot of pressure.

POKER

So like I said, the beginning of the month was pretty brutal pokerwise.  I didn't play at all in Israel.  Well, I did and I lost $3k.  Then I came home and auto-lost $5k.  Then I kinda mucked around for a bit getting back to even, winning small/losing small.  Then I had a weeklong stretch with 7 days straight of $10k swings - either up $6k to start, ending down $4k, or just a +10k or -10k day.  It started to wear on me so I took a couple of days off, came back and made $35k in a week.

That's kind of how poker works sometimes.  You never really know when you're running bad or simply playing bad.  During my $10k swings, I was just sorta inherently tilted and playing super high variance poker.  I don't think I played poorly - but I was shipping almost any draw.  I was shipping overs in 3-bet pots vs small flop raises - think KQ on T99 and getting snapped off by 77 (which isn't that bad, frankly).  But anyways, once you get a little momentum going in your game, things always seem to come together. 

The final annoying thing is that I always play a ton when I'm losing.  Maybe 5% because I'm slightly degenerate/masochistic, but more like 95% because I'm just so competitive.  And now that I'm in the midst of my heater, I just can't get myself to play.  To be fair, Taylor said something to me recently that made my think about my approach to poker.  He was over, games looked amazing, but I didn't feel like playing.  I hemmed and hawwed, and was like, okay, not gonna play, but I normally can't turn down games this juicy.  He responded: "well, then you're a slave to your computer - you should take advantage of the freedoms pokers affords"  Freedom vs slavery.  Hmm.  Thanks TC.

DALLAS

I'm flying to Dallas at 7:45 AM for some CardRunners meetings.  I was pretty excited about heading down to Dallas, wearing shorts, and walking around in tee-shirts.  Then I looked at the weather report.  WTF - 35 degrees?  That's like 12 degrees warmer than Chicago.  Umm, seriously?  Not cool.

CHASE BANK

Gotta give some props to Chase Bank.  I finally got fed up with Citibank and their major runarounds.  Let me put it this way - I have a pretty decent chunk of money in my Citi checking account and they refuse to issue me a credit card.  Now, admittedly, I've never had a credit card, because I'm super lazy/stupid.  But I still don't see why they wouldn't give me like a $1,000 credit line when I have many multiples of that in my checking account.

Anyways, I walked over to Chase, deposited an amount equivalent to 25% of my Citi account and they auto-approved me for a $7,000 credit line (no annual fee).  I also get cashback rewards, I get 4 free non-Chase ATM withdrawals/month, a free safety deposit box, $15 incoming wires (Citi is $30), etc etc. 

Also, my account manager was named Jameson which is a sick name.  His good friend is a pro poker player and a member of CardRunners.  He told me he's been playing on Full Tilt lately and even knew who Durrrr was - that is hella cool.  I guess I won't have any UIGEA-related wire issues with Chase bank.

Unless Citi really steps up to the plate soon, I'm gonna bolt my whole balance.  I hope they read this.  I've asked multiple times for them to waive my foreign transaction fees.  They never hook me up.  Suckage.


Okay, it's 9:30PM but I'm going to go to bed because I'm (1) super lame and (2) gotta wake up at 5:30. 

Heart,
Ezra

Dear Grandpa Art:

I remember you asking your doctor if you would live to know who the 44th President of the United States would be.  I'm so sorry you didn't get to see this historic day.  But believe me, your country - who you so proudly served as a naval officer, as a scientist, and as a citizen - made the right decision and turned out in millions to express their pride. 

It would've meant so much to you.

Love,
Ezra Moses

------

In other news, I'm still too lazy to write a real blog entry.  So I had a funny conversation with Krantz (pr1nnyraid) and thought I'd just post it here.  Maybe you'll find it funny, maybe you won't.

Things you need to know:
1. Krantz is roommates with Emil (whitelime)
2. Siddur is a hebrew word which means Jewish prayer book.
3. I'm not actually scary religious.  Was just trying to be funny.

Krantz (4:39:16 PM): dont tell emil
Krantz (4:39:22 PM): but hes gonna get bad beat at plo within the next 5 min
Krantz (4:39:47 PM): i want it to shock him out of his seat
Krantz (4:39:51 PM): its going to be a 2 outer
ezmogee (4:39:57 PM): haha wtf?
Krantz (4:39:58 PM): there are so many ways to get 2 outed
ezmogee (4:40:02 PM): lol
ezmogee (4:40:14 PM): where r u even playing?
Krantz (4:40:39 PM): i havent
Krantz (4:40:49 PM): been reading and being all businessman
ezmogee (4:40:51 PM): are you drunk
Krantz (4:40:54 PM): ]and watching emil play plo
Krantz (4:40:57 PM): nah im not drunk
Krantz (4:40:58 PM): just crazy
ezmogee (4:41:03 PM): YOU ARE KRAZY
ezmogee (4:41:09 PM): will you stop being businessman
ezmogee (4:41:12 PM): just throw in the towel
ezmogee (4:41:14 PM): admit defeat
Krantz (4:41:33 PM): fine
ezmogee (4:41:36 PM): k
ezmogee (4:41:37 PM): ty
Krzant (4:41:46 PM): now i can go to mexico like i always wanted
ezmogee (4:41:53 PM): OR BACK TO IZRAEL
Krantz (4:42:30 PM): thats an idea
Krantz (4:42:39 PM): ima go to tel aviv and not comin back without a wife
ezmogee (4:43:52 PM): TEL AVIV IS FOR HEATHENS
ezmogee (4:43:56 PM): i am wearing a kippah right now
ezmogee (4:44:00 PM): ive become SUPER jew
ezmogee (4:44:05 PM): i am like so so relig
ezmogee (4:44:08 PM): and im not even joking
ezmogee (4:44:11 PM): i am like scary religious
Krantz (4:44:13 PM): really
ezmogee (4:44:16 PM): yea
Krantz (4:44:19 PM): praying 3x/day?
ezmogee (4:44:21 PM): i keep kosher now
ezmogee (4:44:26 PM): i would pray 3x day
ezmogee (4:44:30 PM): except i dont own a  siddur
Krantz (4:44:36 PM): lol
ezmogee (4:44:37 PM): but kippah, shabbat, and kosher
Krantz (4:44:40 PM): overnight that shiz
ezmogee (4:44:44 PM): linky?
Krantz (4:44:47 PM): i bet you could get a sick siddur
Krantz (4:44:48 PM): i duno
ezmogee (4:44:52 PM): i went on mega tilt
Krantz (4:44:55 PM): hold on gonna google luxury siddurim
ezmogee (4:44:57 PM): trying to overnight ugg boots
ezmogee (4:45:05 PM): my credit card kept bouncing
ezmogee (4:45:08 PM): so i went on mega tilt
ezmogee (4:45:11 PM): dropped like 4k
ezmogee (4:45:15 PM): next day i walk out my door
ezmogee (4:45:19 PM): walk to the grocery store
ezmogee (4:45:24 PM): theres an ugg store on the next block
ezmogee (4:45:27 PM): i go on mega tilt
ezmogee (4:45:30 PM): drop another 4k
Krantz (4:45:56 PM): lmao
Krantz (4:46:05 PM): uggs for you or shira?
ezmogee (4:47:54 PM): for me
ezmogee (4:47:57 PM): my feet are cold
ezmogee (4:48:00 PM): i live in chicago
ezmogee (4:48:04 PM): its cold as a mug out here
Krantz (4:48:47 PM): you guys must be productive since its so cold
Krantz (4:48:55 PM): i guess i have to go someplace colder
ezmogee (4:49:19 PM): i got the funniest email from taylor last night
ezmogee (4:49:31 PM): it said "hi. im not going into the office tomorrow bc of MLK day.  i suggest you do the same."
ezmogee (4:49:41 PM): it wasnt like day off - it was a suggestion of a day off
Krantz (4:50:22 PM): lol
Krantz (4:50:24 PM): awesome
ezmogee (4:51:12 PM): have you found any siddurs yet
ezmogee (4:51:19 PM): i am only looking for >500$
Krantz (4:51:22 PM): i cant find a store
ezmogee (4:51:23 PM): i am just that holy
Krantz (4:51:29 PM): only pictures of sweet leather ones
Krantz (4:51:43 PM): http://www.thechassansplace.com/gifts/pc/catalog/s...ezmogee (4:53:03 PM): that is sick
ezmogee (4:53:04 PM): how much
Krantz (4:53:11 PM): its just a picture
Krantz (4:53:16 PM): priceless imo
ezmogee (4:53:20 PM): LOLZ
ezmogee (4:53:37 PM): in other news, why are cardrunners banner ads so sexy?
Krantz (4:55:19 PM): new ones?
Krantz (4:55:24 PM): i havent seen new ones if so
Krantz (4:55:27 PM): the old ones though
Krantz (4:55:29 PM): they gangsta
ezmogee (4:55:31 PM): they are sexier than barack
Krantz (4:55:39 PM): i like the truly free poker training banners if thats what youre talking about
ezmogee (4:55:43 PM): YES
ezmogee (4:55:47 PM): TRULY FREE pls
ezmogee (4:56:08 PM): anyways, can i post this IM convo on my blog
ezmogee (4:56:16 PM): in eric lieu of actually posting
Krantz (4:56:30 PM): its funny, you guys came up with that just as we're about to unveil our REALLY EXPENSIVE model
ezmogee (4:56:43 PM): REALLY EXPENSIVE?!
ezmogee (4:56:47 PM): BRILLIANT IDEA WATSON
ezmogee (4:56:52 PM): PEOPLE HATE FREE
Krantz (4:56:56 PM): we gonna see what our shit is really worth
ezmogee (4:57:08 PM): $26.99 imo
Krantz (4:57:19 PM): psh round numbers *****
Krantz (4:57:21 PM): $26

I'm not sure if anyone else has experienced this.

When you travel internationally, and return to the USA, one (obviously) has to go through passport control.  Passport control is typically a large room with multiple lines for returning residents and foreigners.  You're generally in a dull, lifeless room waiting to get up to the desk of a passport control officer.  Fair enough.

At some point after 9/11, they instituted a law whereby no one is allowed to use cell phones in this room.  Still, everyone does.  And while you're on the phone, airport staff (not officers - these guys aren't wearing official uniforms or badges) come by and tell you to shut off the phone.  They're not nice about it, and there's no rationale.  You're just told to hang up the phone.

On my recent trip home, my flight was 1.5 hours late and the passport control lines were super long.  I figured (correctly) that I would miss my connection so I got on the phone to start working on plans and trying to re-book.  About 10 minutes into my phone call, an airport staffer came over to me.  The conversation went like this:

STAFFER: Hang up the phone
ME: Can I have a couple more minutes?  I'm going to miss my connection and need to rebook.
STAFFER: Hang up the phone
ME: How else am I supposed to not lose all my money from this ticket?
STAFFER: Hang up the phone
ME (frusterated): If you arrest me, will your office help me rebook my flight?
STAFFER (not sure what to do): Sir...please...hang...up the phone.

I'm pretty confident that these guys are given a script which are they explicitly warned not to deviate from.  It was very clear that this guy did not have the power to arrest me - and he seemed really confused when I basically forced him to improvise a little.

I feel bad for coming off like a tool here, but I just don't get this law.  Here's why:

1. What possible security risk could a cell phone be in an already ultra-high security room with military officers in close proximity.  No one is going to start a riot.

2. Why not throw up a cell phone field within this room so that all phone calls are monitored for suspicious conversations.  Thus if Joe Terrorist decides to call Jane Terrorist to ask when the bomb is going off, we'll actually now.

3. When people land after a 10 HOUR TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT everyone in their right mind wants to call their loved ones.  Wouldn't it make more sense to forbid cell phones while still on the jetway?  Isn't that more of a security risk than in a sterile room?

If anyone works in airport security and can explain this law to me, I would love to know.  The only POSSIBLE explanation I can come up with is that they don't want people on their phones when they get to the passport window because it will slow the lines down.  So then why not tell people to get off their phones or else they can't go to the window?  I just don't get it.  I repeatedly am made to feel like a criminal for using my cell phone in these rooms - I always try to hide it and/or go on speakerphone.

Can someone explain this to me?

Ezra 

Holla Back:

I am home in The United States of America, sitting in a rundown airport Holiday Inn near JFK International Airport.  My flight home from Israel was 1.5 hours late, and I then got hit with a 1.5 hour passport/customs line (ugh!).  So even though I'd budgeted 3.5 hours from touchdown until my connecting flight to Chicago, I missed them.  Delta was kind enough (shockingly) to move me to tomorrow for free so props to them.  I've never had an airline offer to give me something for free before (I assume they'll charge me like $85/bag just to even the score).

I've got  a whole bunch of things to write about so I guess I'll get started.

YESHIVA PROGRAM

Because no one really likes to hear religious ramblings, I'll spare you all, but will say that I'm really glad I went on this trip.  Whether there is a God, whether there's not, whatever.  It was nice to get in touch with my traditional roots and learn more about the fundamental principles of Judaism.  As little as 150 years ago, all Jews were super observant (the scary kind you see walking around with black hats and suits and long earlocks and 27,000 children) although today most Jews are "modern" and you wouldn't even know they're Jewish.  So it was interesting to learn how that process happened, what more observant Jews think about it all, and exactly how the classical/traditional religious world works.

If nothing else, I learned to see the world a little differently.  I learned some useful tools for self-introspection, and remembered how much I love learning and school.  It's so weird...I really liked high school and college, and I'd always assumed it was because I enjoyed the social aspects of both - but being in a rigorous Yeshiva program, studying ancient texts in Hebrew for 8 hours/day was really liberating.  My mind feels the cleanest and most efficient it's been in a long time, and I'm excited about my newfound clarity.  I basically spent all of my time in classes and when I wasn't in classes, I spent my free time writing, reading, or attending optional classes.  I played MAYBE  1.5 hours of poker and lost like $3k.  Poker is silly anyway.

Just one more (non-religious) note about the Yeshiva culture.  It is really beautiful how people treat their teachers and their studies at Yeshiva.  Obv the kids are normal - not saints - and still like to go out and get drunk, talk about girls, make stupid bathroom jokes, etc.  But when it comes to learning, it's so so so so different than an American University.  People get to class early.  When the teacher comes in, everyone rises out of respect until the teacher sits down.  People ENJOY going to classes, they spend their free time reviewing class notes with study partners.  Many of the students will spend free time from 9pm until like 1am studying and reviewing and trying to get ahead.  Again, no one's a saint, and I saw just as much Dexter/Top Chef watching as I did late night studying, but the culture is just different.  It's really fascinating.

TRAVELLING ISRAEL

If anyone was worried about me, well good.  You should've been.  There were bullets flying everywhere, I could constantly hear bombs going off in the distance, and I saw like 2 or 3 rockets flying through the sky before crashing into homes a couple of miles away.  We didn't have to wear bullet proof vests or body armor, but if you saw someone shooting behind you, you were told to drop and roll into the nearest bush.

Nah, I'm just kidding :-)  Israel is pretty darn safe. 

Here's a picture of a beautiful morning on Har Nof where I lived.  It was hazy and dewy so the clouds were floating low.  You can see them trying to rish up through the mountain air:



Here's another picture, on a brighter day, of the powerful desert sun:



We travelled around a little bit, including to a couple of northern towns called Tiberias and Tzfat.  They are gorgeous areas with a beautiful views of the largest water source in Israel called the Kinerit.  The Kinerit Lake is derived from the Hebrew word Kinur which means violin, because the lake is violin shaped.





One of my favorite moments was the final night of the Jewish holiday of Hannuakah.  On the final night, all eight candles are light on the Menorah and it just looks so beautiful.  There were probably two dozen individual Menorahs in the Yeshiva and we all stood around holding hands (eww cooties) and singing.  Shira made me a really beautiful glass Menorah (pictured below) while most of the other kids used basic stuff with real oil.  I think mine looks much much better and Shira really made me happy with this gift :)





THE TRUTH ABOUT THE WAR

Okay so here's the deal:  Obv the Israeli/Palestinian conflict has been front page news for the past two weeks or so.

If you guys know me, you've always known me to be pretty fair in my musings.  Even when praising Obama, I admitted his weaknesses, and commended McCain for his strengths.  So please don't think I'm too biased here.  For what it's worth, I find anti-Arab racism absolutely repulsive.  And I have experienced some degree of it.  Arabs are good people.  And I think that the Palestinians are fundamentally good people as well.  I think that both parties in the Israel/Palestine conflict have legitimate/reasonable rationales for their arguments for their fighting.  On a basic level, Palestinians belive the country of Israel to be illegitimate, having been granted by illegitimate means (United Nations) and Israel feels it has the right to defend itself from danger and attacks.  Totally fair.  I've never been one of those Jews who continually decries: THE MEDIA IS SO BIASED AGAINST ISRAEL!  Maybe they are.  I've never done a full study.  But I've never found myself personally offended by anything I've seen printed by mainstream media (NY Times, Wash Post).

But I felt that having been in the Middle East and had a lot of firsthand information accessible to me, I would pass along the following understandings:

1. Israel is not trying to hurt civilians.  Hamas is a highly creative organization.  To that end, they base their centers of operation WITHIN hospitals and schools such that all major attacks on them will force Israel to bomb hospitals and schools, generating sympathy within the media.

2. So why would the hospitals and schools not kick them out and claim autonomy?  I don't fully know.  But I assume it goes something like this: Hamas provides a lot of funding for these same schools and hospitals (they receive lots of illicit money from other Middle Eastern nations).  They then either threaten to pull the funding from these organizations, or to kill/remove the people who are trying to legitimately run these organizations.  I can't speak for the management, but I assume they see it is a necessary evil - a necessary tradeoff.  They get to run schools/hospitals, but have to allow Hamas to operate from within.  This works fine until Israel is forced to attack these public places to destroy weapons caches hidden within.

3. How do we know there are actual weapons there?  Again, when a bomb hits a building, there's an explosion.  Fine and dandy.  When there are weapons located within, buildings will experience multiple secondary and tertiary explosions as the weapons hidden within blow up and those explosives detonate.  Israel is streaming real-time video from its attack planes on a YouTube like channel if you believe these weapons caches are being fabricated?

4. Why is Israel blowing up civilian homes?  Again, it's similar to the hospital/schools thing.  Hamas goes to civilian homes and says something along the lines of: hide us and/or our weapons or we'll kill you.  Civilian Palestinians hide the weapons, and/or the terrorists in their homes.  What hasn't been widely reported is that the Israeli Army calls EVERY SINGLE HOME before firing a missle into it with fair amount of warning and says to the civilian owners "Your house is about to be attacked.  Please vacate immediately.  Your life is in grave danger if you choose to stay in your home."  Why anyone would stay is beyond me?  I've seen a couple of reports in mainstream papers where the owners say something along the lines of "After the phone call, the Hamas agents got scared and ran away.  But myself and my family had no where to go so we stayed.  Now my two sons are dead."  

I have some sympathy here, but it's really pushing my limits.  Are you telling me that you have NOWHERE to go?  No relatives?  No friends?  You can't run to a park for an hour to save two lives?  It almost makes you wonder if there is some subtext here - if these civilian deaths are desirable in anyway (Hamas pays the families of suicide bombers $25,000-$50,000 for each attack.  There may be similar bonuses for civilian casulties, pictures in the media, and/or interviews with reporters).  I am just speculating and I don't know.

5. Israel has killed ~500 people whereas under 10 Israelis have died.  This is true.  However, of those ~500 killed Palestinians, approximate 400 are Hamas agents.  This means that they are bonafide terrorists - no way around it.  And for what it's worth, most experts consider the minimal loss of Israeli life absolutely remarkable.  The Palestinians are firing 40-50 rockets into Israel on a daily basis.  This is about 600 rockets since the latest conflict started.  The fact that only one person has died from a rocket attack defies all odds.  There should be far more deaths in Israel.

Also, Anderson Cooper was on my flight home.  He was really cool, but seemed exhausted while talking about how his crew wasn't allowed into Gaza.  Still, he's dreamy.

POKER/LIFE 

As noted, I haven't played much poker lately.  I've been spending a lot of money on travel, and food, and misc. items so it's time to reel that in a bit. 

Not sure how much poker I'm going to play over the coming weeks.  It will be weird integrating myself back into normal life.  I'll keep you updated with how it goes...

Love,
Ezra Moses