Sunday, July 09, 2006

Geographic differences

As I type this, bloggers are getting mad drunk and putting tourists on tilt in Vegas while I play a $6+1 3-table tournament on Absolute. Yippee. (Just flopped a set of 3s on a K-3-K board with a bunch of callers from early position. Everyone checks. Queen on the flop. A pot-sized bet, I call, late position pushes, original bettor calls all-in and I call all-in, knowing I’m ahead but not feeling too good about it. A queen sashays in on the river. The guy with K-7 wins and I’m fricasseed. Noice.

At the request of the honorable Mookie,  I will provide an abridged version of the Pantera tour bus story.  Should anyone remember (or care), I will tell it in lavish detail at the next blogger ho-down, an event I will be loath to miss.

Here goes: I was not a Pantera fan before I met Phil Anselmo, the lead singer. I’m really not a fan today. I’ve never been into heavy metal. Led Zeppelin is the greatest rock band of all time and we’ll just leave it at that. But a good friend living in L.A. had become good friends with Phil. When he arrived in town on Phil’s bus the day before a show here, I hooked up with them. Strangeness ensued.

I must now take a prudent and, for the genuinely curious, unsatisfying chronological leap. “Nearly setting fire” to the bus might be a slight exaggeration. I guess there was a fair amount of smoke, but I don’t believe any flames erupted. Details are hazy. My next moment of consciousness saw me crawling out of a sleeping berth at dawn and discovering that the bus had just crossed into Michigan, barreling toward Kalamazoo.  I caught a very expensive 45-minute flight home that afternoon.

I attended another Pantera concert about a year later. The highlight of that show saw me wading into a roiling mosh pit holding a plastic cup full of $40-a-bottle Zinfadel cadged from Phil’s dressing room. I knew then what Sir Edmund Hilary must have felt when he climbed that hill: Damn, I’ve arrived.

Dispensing with all attempts at modesty, let me say this: A great number of people have since trekked to the Himalayas and climbed Everest. I think I can confidently state that no one else has since stood in a heavy-metal mosh pit holding a glass of quality red wine. That's rareified air indeed.

5 Comments:

Blogger iamhoff said...

You should've put your wine glass into a paper bag, to better fit in. Classic!

10:31 AM  
Anonymous mookie99 said...

Very cool story...thanks for sharing. Sounds like there are many more stories behind the story as well.

3:37 PM  
Blogger Iakaris aka I.A.K. said...

Ahhhh Hacker, mah boy...this is good shit. No, not nearly as good as partying like a rockstar in Vegas with both old and new schools.

But still. Good shit.

You are tearing the shit off the ball these days, man, at the blogger felt and in these friendly confines. Keep on keepin' on brotha.

We'll play live once I've paid the dues for Vegas...

11:34 PM  
Blogger slb159 said...

Funny, I sang at a Pantera concert when they opened up for Skid Row. Anselmo tosssed the mic into the crowd and I got to sing an entire chorus of "Walk" I was the lead singer in our band at the time and I heard myself through the monitors and all...great moment.

6:16 PM  
Blogger Guin said...

I hope you held up your pinky finger while aerating your glass!

You a wine fan? Love the stuff but I get a bit trashed after a couple bottles!

Keep on Hacking... you have been a terror at the tables.

5:26 PM  

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