A Win, Finally

Dawn Summers, Alceste and I made an impromptu trip to the Borgata Saturday. After a 4-hour ordeal in the car that included me shaking my fist at some construction workers on the NJ Turnpike extension (who closes one lane of a busy two-lane highway on a Saturday afternoon?), we were each seated at different 1-2 NLHE tables.

Long story short, after about 6.5 hours of play I booked a small $200 win that could easily have been a $500 win, but for one 85-15 bad beat in the last half hour of play that Dawn has taken the liberty of blogging for me (although she got the flop action wrong, as usual). My reads were spot on all night, my aggression was better than last outing if still off, and overall I didn't make too many mistakes.

But let's talk about mistakes, because they usually make for interesting analysis.

In my first half hour at the table, I found AdKd in middle position and opened for $12. I should say that my hands were shaking a bit when I threw the chips out -- my fingers were cold and I had just finished a cup of coffee. This was remarked on, at the time, by the table maniac who would later double me up. In any event, I had only one caller, a Ron Jeremy look-alike (complete with overflowing gut barely concealed beneath a cheezy "Scarface" t-shirt), who had been playing at the table for the previous 25 hours and had about $1100 in front of him in five tall stacks.

The flop came Jh-Kc-Th. Not really a great flop for my hand, especially given that everything I had seen about Ron Jeremy suggested that he only played solid holdings. I bet $25, which he called. The turn was a blank, and I came out firing a second time for $50. He called again. At that point, I was confident that I had the best hand - if he had more than top pair, I would have expected to hear about it with a turn raise. He was definitely on some type of draw.

The river was another ten to pair the board. Not a great card, but probably not catastrophic. I couldn't show weakness with a check, because he could easily make a bet which I would have a hard time calling. I opted instead for a $50 bet. Sure, Ron Jeremy could raise, but at least I'm putting him to a more difficult decision than by merely checking. Ron Jeremy turned to me and said "Do you know that I had a gutshot royal flush draw? You know what that means, right?" He stacked off $50 in redbirds and threw them into the pot. "If you have aces, you have them." I showed him my slick and he showed AhKh.

To recap: Ron Jeremy flopped TPTK along with a 12-card draw to the nuts, and passively called all the way to the river. It was at that point that I knew I had to respect Ron Jeremy's post-flop raises.

I was also reminded of the quote from Abdul which sits at the top of Glyphic's blog: "Your opponent cannot fold if you do not bet or raise." I guess if Ron Jeremy thought I was on aces, and unlikely to fold, I can understand not raising pre-flop or on the flop (maybe), but his whole read seemed to be based on the fact that my hand was shaking slightly as I raised pre-flop. Also, while I can appreciate that the flop may have looked as dangerous to him as it did to me, with TPTK and a 12-card draw to the nuts, I would definitely have played my hand more aggressively -- especially with the luxury of an intimidating stack of $1100. Put me to a decision, and get more information on my hand. Waiting for the nuts is ok only if you know that your opponent is going to pay you off.

I think the lesson was twofold: play big hands more aggressively, and play to your table image. Based on later play, Ron Jeremy did not seem to be willing to make any moves with his stack unless he was sitting on a monster. He was the prototype of a tight-weak player. I saw him make a small ($30) river bluff once, in a small pot, that was called down by a guy with a tin star on his chest the size of the sun. He was completely wasting two of the best weapons in his arsenal -- his stack and his image.

Oh well, that's his problem. I'm just happy I finally broke the streak and booked a win.

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Read More

Because I live to serve, by popular demand, I present step-by-step instructions for adding "Read more..." tags to your blogger template. Please keep in mind that all of my examples use square brackets instead of, er, pointy ones. For your purposes, you should use, er, pointy brackets in place of square brackets:

Step 1 - Somewhere between the [style] and [/style] tags in your template, add the following:

[MainOrArchivePage]
span.longpost {display:none;}
[/MainOrArchivePage]

[ItemPage]
span.longpost {display:inline;}
[/ItemPage]

span.shortpost {display:none;}

This creates two new "classes" -- shortpost, for those one or two paragraph blurbs, and longpost, for those rambling diatribes.

Step 2 - Find the [$BlogItemBody$] tag in your template. Directly underneath it, add the following:

[MainOrArchivePage]
[a href="[$BlogItemPermalinkURL$]"]Read more...[/a]
[/MainOrArchivePage]
[/span]

Obviously, you can change the text of "Read more..." to whatever you want. When you're done, it should look something like this:

[div class="post-body"]

[p]
[$BlogItemBody$]
[MainOrArchivePage]
[a href="[$BlogItemPermalinkURL$]"]Read more...[/a]
[/MainOrArchivePage]
[/span]
[/p]

Step 3 - In the text of each post that you create, you have to do one of two things:

A) If it's a shortpost for which you DON'T want "Read more..." to appear, at the VERY END of the post text, add: [span class="shortpost"] This will prevent the "Read more..." link from showing up. So, for example:

This is a short post.[span class="shortpost"]

B) If it's a longpost for which you DO want "Read more..." to appear, you have to add [span class="longpost"] and [/span] tags around the part of the post that you want to show up when readers click "Read more..." Here's an example:

Hahahaha! I have tricked the evil Dawn Summers into changing her template and completely screwing up her blog. Details to follow below.

[span class="longpost"]It all started back in '06, when Dawn was still loudly and belligerently claiming to anyone who would listen that she was 25 years old...

paragraph about me tricking Dawn.

another paragraph about me tricking Dawn.

...and that's when her pearly white smile turned into my alien baby. Great story, huh?[/span]

That's it. Obviously, this will screw up your archived posts a little, because none of them are set up to handle the new format (they'll all have a "Read more..." link at the end of them), but other than that it works pretty well. The key thing to remember is that you have to add either Step 3A or Step 3B to the text of every post.

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Fact or Fiction?

Poker content coming real soon. In the meantime, some things that may or may not have happened at the "Walker Payne" premiere and afterparty last night (up to you to decide what's true):

* At the Q&A immediately following the screening, Jason Patric told an audience member that she should look into therapy.
* I offered a friend a prop bet of $50 at the afterparty to tell Jason Patric he's a dick in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible. My friend accepted and succeeded before being escorted from the premises by a large black man named Barry.
* I accepted a prop bet to chug a vodka tonic for $10. I failed.
* I flirted with Amy Adams without realizing that she is an Oscar-nominated actor. [Ed. note: anyone who remembers my Phil Gordon story from Vegas last December can immediately assume that this story is true. Dawn Summers, you can stop shaking your head in disappointment now. What? How was I supposed to know?]
* Amy Adams introduced me to KaDee Strickland, who totally deflated my ego by mentioning how much I remind her of her 22yo brother.
* I offered a friend a prop bet of $50 to tell KaDee Strickland she's a dick in the loudest, most obnoxious way possible. He refused the bet, stating that his wife wouldn't be very happy if he got them thrown out of the afterparty.
* I walked right up to a Pulitzer prize-winning playwright, his Oscar-winning wife, and Bruce Dern, who were all seated around a small coffee table, and plucked a crabcake off of an appetizer tray, as they turned to look, without even acknowledging them. [Ed. note: I *did* recognize them, thanks.]

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Friendship

Living in New York, surrounded by amazing people, sometimes it's easy to forget just how remarkable many of my friends are. Then there are days like today, when their extraordinary talents are impossible to ignore.

Tonight, at 6pm, I'll be attending the world premiere of "Walker Payne" at the Tribeca Film Festival, a movie that was co-written by a good friend with whom I have drunk beer almost every Friday for the last 10 years. The movie features several notable Hollywood actors and, improbably, was partially filmed in the town in which my parents and brother now live -- Rock Hill, South Carolina.

I am proud of my friends and I love to support their creative endeavors in all forms. It is even more satisfying to see my friends succeed at those endeavors and to be rewarded for the skill, time and dedication put into them. It is rare enough for that to happen in this world, and when it does happen in such a visible manner, we should make sure to take the time to recognize it.

Tonight, after the premiere, I am 100% certain that we will drink. It's what we've been doing for the last 10 years and I think we're pretty good at it. We've been at it long enough to come up with our own rules for our home bar. While they are good general guidelines for life, they are also rules established out of comraderie and good times.

So in closing, I give you The Rules of Table 8, refined after 10 years of patronage during which Alex and I, and the rest of our crew, were often out of control. When we were in school, violation of any of these rules was punishable by a fine of 25 cents, which was added to the tip. Once we all graduated to the "real world", the fine was increased to a whopping $1 per violation.

Rules of Table 8
1. There's no mocking the Ale House.
2. There's no mocking the staff.
3. Mock the music all you want - it sucks.
4. Never mention an ex-girlfriend by name. You shouldn't be talking about your ex anyway.
5. Use of "finger quotes", "hand parentheses", "thumb commas" or any other type of body punctuation is not allowed because it is uber geigh.
6. Do not talk about how much money you make (this rule was instituted because, week after week, Alex used to say "I make $8,000 a year!").
7. Muscle-making is not allowed. Sam.
8. Removing your shirt is not allowed.
9. New rules can only be instituted if approved by at least 3 "O.G." members of Table 8.
10. In order to be O.G., you had to be here in 1996.

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Scene From My Life

Stay or forever go
Play or you'll never know
Your spirit's divided
You will decide if I'm all you'll be waiting for
--Royksopp

Right now, weather.com tells me that it's 63 degrees in Brooklyn. 63 degrees, just after midnight, with a light breeze blowing in off the harbor. The breeze is cool enough to chill my skin without chilling me as I sit on my stoop in a short-sleeve shirt drinking an Abita Beer Fleur-de-lis Restoration Ale, my umpteenth beer of the day (I've lost track). There's no doubt at all that it's one of those nights in Brooklyn. One of those perfect Brooklyn nights capping a perfect Brooklyn day.

The day started with 70-something degree sunshine and a bike ride exploring Brooklyn's maritime past. From my house, I set off to the south to Red Hook, a neighborhood heavy with industry, docks and warehouses that is virtually cut off from the rest of Brooklyn by the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway. Red Hook is "old Brooklyn", in the sense that it's far enough from transportation that yuppies like me haven't invaded to gentrify the neighborhood. Civilization is most definitely present there, but Red Hook hasn't lost that gritty New York edge that has disappeared from, say, most of Manhattan. Red Hook is, in every sense of the phrase, a mixed use neighborhood.

From there, I reversed course (though not on the BQE as Google Maps would have you believe) to the Brooklyn Navy Yards, with a quick spin by the Brooklyn Navy Yards Commandant House, now a private mansion of the type that is almost unfathomable in this town. The mansion was described pretty well by a New York Times reporter in 2003:

This mansion, originally the home of the Brooklyn Navy Yard commandant, has been converted to a private residence, largely hidden behind high brick walls draped in ivy. The mansion's driveway, off the Evans Street cul-de-sac, is visible through an ornate wrought-iron gate. A vintage Bentley and other old cars are parked in the driveway.

The house itself is white clapboard Federal style, with a pitched roof and a huge greenhouse; it was the commandant's house from 1806 until 1966, and was declared a city and state landmark in the 60's. Despite the house's seclusion, it imparts a regal air, as if it were a Newport waterfront mansion dropped inexplicably from the sky.

A Newport waterfront mansion in Brooklyn. Who knew?

Arriving back home, I grabbed a quick shower and shave before heading on foot back to Red Hook for a friend's birthday party, at the Red Hook Bait & Tackle Club, a nautical themed bar. There were many of us. We stayed, we drank, we ate some of the best key lime pie you'll catch north of the Florida Keys. We all rued the lack of garden for outdoor drinking, before moving to a bar next door that, well, HAD a garden for outdoor drinking. Minutes slipped into hours and although I never forgot I was in Brooklyn, it was easy to believe I could be in LA.

The breeze started blowing in off the harbor around 5pm, just as the Queen Mary 2 was departing from the Red Hook cruise terminal for ports unknown. Eventually, some in our party decided food was a good option, and so we boarded the B61 bus (no subway in Red Hook, you see) for the Cobble Hill-stylings of "Pacifico", a Mexican joint housed in a building that looks like it has stood there for the last 200 years. Tasty Mexican food and a pitcher of strong margaritas were consumed. With good company, a full belly and a nice buzz, life seemed pretty damn good, and again my thoughts wandered to LA.

New Yorkers Brooklynites are in touch with their city in a way Angelenos never will be. I was telling someone I met at the birthday party that nobody moves to New York to move to Brooklyn; you move to New York to move to Manhattan. Unless you grew up here, it's only after you've soaked up Manhattan for a while and start to have a feel for "the city" that you realize that there are other parts of New York City and, in fact, Brooklyn is pretty damn awesome. As someone with designs to eventually move back to Los Angeles, this realization gives me some pause. I've always been so sure that my path lies back to those mild 70-something degree SoCal days, back to those walks along the Venice boardwalk with a cool breeze blowing in off Santa Monica Bay, back to those nights spent throwing back beers beneath the comfort of heat lamps in gardens connected to the back of West LA lounges. And yet, after Brooklyn days and nights like today, I wonder if moving back to the City of Angels is right for me. There's no doubt that part of me desires the change -- 12 years in the same place will do that to you -- but another part of me lives for the fact that this town has bones, and those bones sing to me in a way that the gloss and veneer of Southern California never will.

Who knows. I've never been one for cold feet, and even now I'm barrelling down the path that leads back to Santa Monica at full bore. The likelihood that I wind up back in Southern California is pretty high. And yet, I've definitely begun to wonder if leaving behind what I have here is the right choice for me. Somehow, I doubt that I'll ever be part of a photo like this in LA:

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Iggy Said There'd Be Days Like This

I've always been good about losing in poker. It's a must if you wanna be successful.
--Iggy

Losing is one of the most difficult aspects of playing successful poker. Even if you play perfectly, you can still have losing days, and that's difficult for many people to wrap their heads around. The corollary to this is that many people have a tendency to blame their losses on "luck" or "variance", rather than bad play.

I've played live NLHE six times since early December -- in AC the week before the WPBT Winter Classic, twice at the Winter Classic, in AC in early February, at the Commerce in LA, and in AC this past weekend. Six times is not a huge sample, I realize, and yet I'm 0 for 6 in booking a win. My total losses over that period are not a small number.

That's not to say it has been all losses. I booked solid wins in the 10/20 Borgata game in December, the 9/18 Commerce game in February, various home games, and even picked up an $1800 NLHE tournament win at the Sahara during the Winter Classic. But specifically playing cash NLHE, it's been a train wreck. There is no question that not all of my losses are a result of bad play -- thinking it through, I can say about one-third were the result of bad beats -- but there's also no question that I haven't been as sharp as I'd like to be. Trying to look at it as objectively as possible, the flaws I've identified (aggression is off, reads are slow, not listening to my "poker sense") all tie back to the same fundamental root cause: lack of practice.

And yet, I hate playing online, and I hate playing NLHE online most of all. Unless Donald Trump decides to move Atlantic City an hour north up the Garden State Parkway, I either have to take my chances with the handful of small underground clubs still operating in NYC or consider giving up NLHE cash games for a while.

Some hands for consideration from Saturday's disaster in AC, in increasing magnitude of sketchy play:

Hand No. 1

Showboat, 1/2NLHE 60/300. I have $240 after a couple of pre-flop raises that were called 800-ways and missed the flop. (This was when my table was still "good" with three or four donators. They all wound up busting or leaving before I got any of their money, sadly.)

I'm in the CO with Ah5h. Four limpers to me, I limp, and the button raises to $15. There are two callers by the time it comes back to me and I call as well.

The flop is 5s-7h-Jh, hitting me about as hard as I could hope. It checks to me and I decide to test the button's pre-flop raise by leading into him for $50. He responds by immediately pushing in. It folds back to me.

I have him on an overpair, obviously. QQ-AA. That gives me two fives, nine hearts, and possibly three aces as outs. PokerStove tells me that I have 49% equity given his range, as I'm a slight favorite if he has KK or QQ and a small underdog if he has AA. I have to call $175 to win $335, giving me pot odds of very nearly 2-to-1. Even though I don't like racing my stack on a coin flip, the pot is laying me a pretty good price, so I call. He shows AA and my hand doesn't improve.

Bad result, but my read was correct and I just didn't catch. The call was +EV, so this one wasn't all that terrible, except for my willingness to race my stack on a coin flip.

Hand No. 2

1/2NLHE. We're at the Taj now.

QQ in the BB. Five limpers to me before I raise to $20. The only caller is UTG, a fairly tight player. The flop is 9h-5h-6d. I bet $50 and he raises me to $100. My poker sense started nagging at me. He limp-called $20 and was now raising me on a junkish flop. In fact, I mused aloud "Really? Hmm, I could be in trouble here." I figured he was wired up, probably on a range of 99-AA. Calling his raise was a no-no; my hand would only get more difficult to play as more cards came out. It was raise or fold. Overriding my spidey sense, I pushed, and he called and tabled KK.

I think I should have been able to get away here. I have in the past.

Hand No. 3

1/2NLHE at the Taj. This hand is probably the most interesting of the three, and also the most disgusting from my perspective.

I'm on the button with 6c7c. There are a few limpers before the hijack raises to $10. I call, counting on the early limpers to call behind, which they do. We're 5-ways to the flop.

4s-5s-Qc

A solid(ish) guy in MP opens for $25. He is not the type to bet a draw in a 5-way flop, so I give him credit for a queen. It folds to me (including the PFR), and I consider raising before thinking that I may have "invisible" outs in the form of spades, and would be better able to sell a flush bluff by calling and looking like I was drawing. I also had not been flat calling much on the flop so I saw some value to it as a scare tactic. I call. We took the turn heads-up, pot $100.

Turn is 7s. Perfect. He checks to me and I "bet my flush" for $50. He calls with no hesitation. Really? No hesitation? Does he also have a spade in there or does he not believe me?

The river is 9c. He checks again and I check behind. I wanted to bet, but I didn't see how he could fold. Given my read (queen), and that he called the turn, I thought he would almost definitely have to call the river. He tabled 88, which was good enough.

Obviously, I hate myself on this hand. Our resident NLHE cash game pro had this to say:

If you put him on the Q, I'd take a pot-sized shot at the pot [on the river]. The pot was $200 and he had over $200 left. I don't think that is an easy call even with a set. He'd have to have a great read on you. You mentioned that he was a solid player so I'd expect him to fold even if he is frustrated. I would've put him on a queen with a big spade or a set because those hands still have a redraw against your flush. It looks like he missed the river. I'd take a good look at him and to make sure he wasn't going to make a tilt-call or a calling station call and go ahead and bet $150-$200.

There's a time when I would have bet this river. I need to rediscover that time, that groove. I need to rediscover the time when I would trust my reads and not push my QQ into the tight UTG player's KK. Or, I need to stop playing NLHE cash games until I do.

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Upcoming F-Train Station Stops

April 8-9, 2006: Atlantic City, NJ
July 6-9, 2006: Las Vegas, NV for the WPBT Summer Classic
July 22-29, 2006: Los Angeles, CA (dates subject to change)

Congratulations to ScurvyDog, who won a $1500 WSOP seat in a Bracelet Race on Full Tilt last night. He joins Gracie, Wes, and Lucko as bloggers with seats in $1500 WSOP events, and we're still three months away from the WSOP. Who else is going to join them? I'd love to do it, but as you can see my travel schedule is not going to allow it.

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Bueller?

I'm considering an Ali-like return to the 15/30 ring on Party, despite my professed hatred of playing online. Anyone have any experience with Party 15/30 lately? Still as soft as I remember?

Edit: or, I could do a little research on my own and find someone asking the same question right at the top of the twoplustwo medium stakes forum. I'm still interested in any other opinions people want to throw my way though.

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Just a Little FYI

Don't listen to this guy or this guy or any of the other imposters out there.

*I* am Poker Champ.

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Satellite, Ho!

Or is the April Fool's joke that you posted a crazy ass true story on April Fool's, so that we all think it's a joke, but it's not?
--Dawn Summers

Remember, folks -- it's not a lie if you truly believe it.

Iggy organized a WSOP blogger satellite for tonight. I won't be able to make it, since I'll be busy packing, but that shouldn't stop everyone else from playing.

What: Blogger WSOP Satellite Tourney
Where: PokerStars - Private Tab
When: April 3rd (today!)
When part 2: 9PM EST
Cost: $30 +3
Game: No Limit Holdem
Password: socoshot

Confidential to HDouble: Anything by James Joyce. You might also try this blog.

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Hell of a Week

Quite a few shake-ups this week in the blogger world. There was the supposed "bad blood" between Otis and G-Rob that led G-Rob to defect to another site; the spoofed emails sent to BG; Joaquin closing down his blog in protest; and I think Ryan even got into the act.

Turns out they were all early April Fools pranks. Seriously - who pulls a prank before April Fools Day? Last year Blood did it correctly, writing up a story about slugging someone and winding up in the clink. DoubleAs wrote about losing his bankroll in a drunken stupor, and even I got into the act by writing that I was caught in a sweep of NYC underground clubs, arrested, and facing disbarment. All posted on April Fools Day.

Amateurs, this year. I thought you were pros.

--

Life has been pretty busy around New York, and that hasn't left much time for poker, especially now that many of the clubs are being repeatedly raided by the NYPD. Atlantic City is just far enough away to be a real PITA to get to when one doesn't own a car. It's a 3-hour investment each way, between the time needed to get to the bus station and the time spent on the bus with the dregs of humanity. No, really, sir, can you not touch me with that finger that you just had buried in your nose to the second knuckle? Thanks.

Since my hatred of playing online hasn't alleviated itself, I figured I needed a new hobby. At the same time, one of the servers at my home bar (10 years and running, thanks) got a new job tending bar at some small joint on the Lower East Side. She texted me on Monday and told me she'd be working until 8, and that I should stop by. Drinking is a hobby, right? Seemed like a good idea to me, so after work off I went. The new bar was even on my way home.

Katie's a great bartender. She's cute, she's young, she's laidback and she's very friendly. Best of all, she takes care of her regulars. She started pouring me double soco's as soon as I got there and didn't let up until after her shift ended shortly after 8pm. Total charge: $5. Total tip: refused. We kept drinking after her shift ended and I suppose that's where things started to get a bit hazy.

I don't remember how late we were out. It's a wonder I made it home at all. I do remember waking up at 10am on Tuesday and thinking "Fuck, I'm late." My tardiness was made even worse by the fact that the other attorney in our 2-attorney legal department was in Iowa the whole week for his father's funeral, and one of the paralegals was out with a flu. I slipped into work somewhere around 11am, not unnoticed, and tried to steel myself against the pounding in my head and to make it through the day somehow.

Late Tuesday afternoon, after a few Tylenol and a Gatorade, I got another text from Katie, telling me she had another shift at her new bar. After work, off I went again. This time, she was working until 4am, so the extremely cheap alcohol never stopped flowing. My wallet tells me she charged me $20. I seem to remember trying to tip her a couple more $20s, but there wasn't a chance that was happening. The end of the night was a repeat of Monday night in the same way that Wednesday morning was a repeat of Tuesday morning. Only on Wednesday, the clock read 10:45 by the time I regained consciousness.

More raised eyebrows at work. The owner popped into my office at one point and asked if everything was ok. I responded that everything was fine, he gave me a meaningful glance and we left it at that.

I made it through Wednesday unscathed and into work Thursday morning relatively close to "on time".

Thursday night, I met up several friends for drinks (independent of each other). The last was a good friend of mine from law school. She and I have been fairly close for a long time and also have a bit of an "understanding" with each other. After three hours of drinking (10pm-1am) we shifted to her apartment. I hope I didn't suck too badly, since I can't remember much of what went on. I guess she decided to let me sleep it off (or something), because when I woke up at 10:30 she was nowhere to be seen. Rather than go straight to work, I went home first to shower and change, as I couldn't very well go to work in the same clothes as the day before. I made it in some time after noon.

This brought a "nice of you to join us" and full-blown ranting lecture from the owner when he finally saw me on Friday, and in my irritable, hungover, sleep-deprived state, I snapped back at him, getting into a yelling match over things that had absolutely no bearing on my ability to arrive at work on time. In a storm of protest, I shouted "I QUIT!", grabbed my coat and left. By the time I realized what I was doing, it was too late. I shuffled off to my home bar, where Katie was willing to help me drown my sorrows with the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems. Eventually my Friday night crew showed up and we got our drink on even more. The night consisted of two other bars and then an "Asian party", where I think I managed to embarass myself pretty well by going around telling the ladies present that I was looking for Twinkies.

This morning, I woke up and realized that I no longer have a job. The job was one of the primary things tying me to New York, so after downing a 32oz Gatorade to get some fluids back in my system, I opened up my laptop and booked a one-way ticket on AA to LAX. I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of my stuff (I currently live with a close friend who recently split up with her boyfriend, so I can't just "throw her out" and take my stuff to LA), but I do know that on Wednesday of next week, I will officially be Hollywood sofa surfing until I get myself set up in a new place. And the best part of it all? Commerce is a lot closer to Hollywood than AC is to Brooklyn.

LA, did ya miss me?

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