Worth 800 words

I’m glad I wasn’t 32 years old when I was in sixth grade. Back then, my classmates and I would be beginning our summer vacation. It would be a blissfull enternity of summer bike riding, looking for girls to kiss, and wondering if the girls in seventh grade would like us any more than the girls in sixth grade did. The three months before school started again took forever and that’s the way we liked it.

But if I’d been 32 back then, in addition to the potential criminal implications of me sneaking a kiss with a 13 year-old Andee Hill, my summer would’ve flown by in a second. Summer here in the Carolinas has already kicked off with a combination of drought days and hurricane nights. And it’s going to be over before I know it.

Here pretty quickly, I’m going to kick off my summer work season. I can’t say that I’m not looking forward to it a little bit. Still, there is a level of dread about leaving my family for so long. There is a slightly less, but still large fear about the amount of work and questionable working environment I’m about to enter.

Still, my buddy Pauly posted a picture on his poker blog the other day that reminded me of this time last year. It’s a pretty simple picture taken by the folks from LasVegasVegas.com, but it tell a lot of stories.

There’s a lot more to this picture than I can really express. It is, in essence, what I do when I’m on the road. That’s me on the far left. Standing behind me is Dan from Pokerati. That’s Pauly to my immediate left. B.J. Nemeth, formerly of CardPlayer magazine, is beside him. The picture completes with the girls from PokerWire and poker pro Adam Schoenfeld.

Things you don’t know by just looking at the picture:

That’s Jarl Lindholdt, a European poker pro, on the verge of potential elimination from a big-time tournament. I like a lot of things about the picture. First, look at everybody but Jarl’s eyes. They are all looking at the same place. They are all watching the center of the table where the final two cards will come out. What’s more, everybody is leaning (ever so slightly) toward the table. But look at Jarl. He’s not looking at the table. He’s looking at the dealer’s hands, as if he will be able to see the next two cards before they hit the table. There’s something about the picture that has a sense of pure…anticipation. Oh, Jarl ended up winning this hand.

Anyway, I’m 32 years old and getting ready to head back out to Vegas. I’m wondering, if New Orleans can be called The Big Easy, can Vegas be called The Big Hard?

Because, really, that would be quite fitting.