Blind man’s bluff

Since Tuesday, I’ve written a whole lot of words about my trip, and have been sorting them out this afternoon. I just can’t seem to wrangle ’em into post shape, yet. I wanted to lead off my posts from back home with BIG thoughts and FEELINGS about my EXPERIENCE, but let’s have some fun instead, for now.


From the audience, from left to right, Messrs. Esfandiari, Chad, and McEashern. Somehow, I like Norman (Chad) a little better, or maybe dislike him a little less is more like it, after seeing this. If only poker TV were as good as this more than once a year, with nearly real-time play, and  shockingly in-depth, insightful, enlightening commentary by Antonio. Sigh.


.15 Seconds of Fame?

Last night, I finally got a chance to start watching the (DVR-ed) broadcast. This is from the same pre-show segment as the first pic. That’s my dear friend Case by my side (in the background/audience there) – he came in from LA to watch. He looks as if he’s brought his blind friend Jamie to the WSOP, right?

So many ways to think about seeing and being seen. A minute or so before or after I shot the picture, and a few moments before the trio left the stage (for a soundproof booth at an undisclosed location to watch on a screen while we watched it live), the camera caught me. When I took my shot, I was looking at them in a way one isn’t supposed to, sneaking a peek behind the curtain. The camera had no interest in me, and I’m guessing, not counting my wife, Anja, and me in the living room, (along with dogs and cat, but even they didn’t care about my cameo), absolutely zero of the millions watching around the world noticed me. Yet there I am, not noticing that I’m being seen by an eye that isn’t looking at me.

That’s about as best I can parse it for now without my brain starting to hurt. That’s a lie, my brain hurts.

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