BPM Smith Blog: Rants from a DJ... Author... Journalist

Weekend escape from biznis and thugs!

Yesterday in my day job I got a trader on the phone and before cutting into an interview asked how he's doing. "Burning out," he said. The beats I cover as a financial journalist are commodities and by their very nature the sector's a GD roller coaster. During the worst recession in 40 years? Remove a track at the top of Space Mountain, tumble head-first to the ground, pick yourself up, dump a bucket of ice or vodka on your head and climb back up there. We journalists ride the chaos with them because someone's gotta cover the Apocalypse.

That's why it's so important to leave that shit behind on weekends. Friday's WORD'N'BASS Show is the traditional kickoff into another, more relaxing and creative world. So I was stoked last night when we got new turntables to replace ones these certain Oakland thugs -- I know these jerks did it but they deny deny deny! -- stole from us. So I brought in a bunch of vinyl records by Noisia, DJ Absract and Klute that were getting dusty. The mixing probably wasn't my best but I sure as hell had fun. Ended up rolling an extra hour just for kicks. Won't know if the mix is worth posting till I rattle some windows in my car stereo en route to an overnight party with The Fam. Sunday I'm poolside in Prada shades getting sunburned like any good Irish American does in late June. I am so outta here Bay Area...
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Book publishers clean up nicely!
 
Man, I remember back in the mid ‘90s when I discovered the Internet. As an English Lit major -- before I'd even finished one novel -- I’d rummage around the writers chat rooms at AOL (remember when it was called America Online?) and gripe about how the book scene was a closed industry that's buying into the same old stale formulas and resistant to change. Well, based on two press releases in the last week there are signs this antiquated industry is finally waking up.
 
S&S announced a deal with Scribd a few days ago to get its titles flowing in eBookland. Today Penguin launched a new user-friendly website with audio, video and free excerpts in a bid to capture the short attention spans of today's Internet savvy consumers. If these two major publishers represent an emerging trend then it looks like the staid, insular book scene has jumped off its collective white tower and finally joined 2004 -- I mean, 2009.
 
We’ll have to see if this opens the floodgates to various publishers trying new things and saving the biznis from the doom that’s embraced the newspaper industry. There are many parallels. Book sales are down, profit margins are slim and authors complain about meager compensation, so don't bother trying to cut expenses by getting even cheaper. Meanwhile, readers who a decade ago cuddled up to their novels and newspapers are now on a train to social networking site and blog oblivion.

Is this newfound appeal to consumers too late? Ask me in 2010 when my novel’s on submission to these people. Because that is the acid test. That's when we'll see if they're gonna buy more turgid lines of formulaic crap or some real gritty prose that's got urban drama and a bit of literary flourish. Tha'ts when... What's this? DJ whatshername just broke up with Lindsay Lohan via text message? Sweet! Lindsay it's time to step up to this!
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No shortage of killers in the big city!
 
Remember a few weeks ago when my neighbor Ivarene Lett got beat to death in Oakland’s Van Buren Towers? This week I carpooled into The City with a woman who lives in the building. She, like everyone else, believes it was an inside job because security in that building is heavy. No way could random thugs break in. The building manager said "screw this" and upped the security even tighter. She changed all the locks without announcing it to anyone -- even the tenants -- leading to a bit of chaos for those arriving home late at night who were locked out.
 
A week after Lett’s murder I returned from a run on my beloved Cleveland Cascades to find a cop interviewing a bunch of people across the street. Cops creep around all the time so I gave it no thought until hearing a new rumor this week. Turns out they were taking reports after a hammer-brandishing thug beat another woman down and tried to carjack her. My neighbors, who are MFing pissed nowadays, tackled the bastard. Wish I would’ve been there to join the fun cuz I’d use his face as a punching bag! Now he’s in the jug but rumors have swirled in my Adams Point neighborhood since. Someone told me this week the basatard was Lett’s killer. Uh, read the newspaper folks, the cops already said weeks ago there’s no relation. So, there’s still a killer on the loose.
 
Cut back to San Francisco’s dot-com boom days of 2000. I’m a recent college graduate developing my chops in the journalism game. I wrote for this guy Rex Farrance at PC World for a minute before bailing to the tech industry in Silicon Valley. Rex was a bit flakey but more importantly he was knowledgeable and kind, the type of boss whose strengths totally outweigh his flaws and you end up liking. Sadly, he got killed by thugs in search of weed.

You never know what’s gonna happen in the SF Bay. Even folks at the studio are warning us to watch our backs when we come and go because, "This is Oakland after all." Sure. I've seen some weird shit late on Friday nights. A few weeks ago some dude got pummeled just outside the door. I ignored it and kept on mixing my DNB. Screw intervening, that's what gets you capped. But if one thing the murder of Rex Farrance showed us is in the big city your particular neighborhood matters little. The killers move around town like zombies staggering in the night.

UPDATE June 6, 3:30 pm: As I posted this blog an earthquake rattled hell out of the WORD'N'BASS HQ. Therefore, the risks of Oakland include thugs bashing your head in with a hammer, capping your ass with a 9mm, and Earth deciding to shake you down. That's life in California, baby.
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J.D. Salinger will beat you down!

The man is one of the last living legends and among a handful of authors I consider my "Original Masters." It's a short list. Hell, I named my precious Zoey after one of his books. But no matter how much you covet his work, don't screw with J.D. Salinger. Or he'll beat your ass down like a New York City pimp on Holden Caulfield! Some dude calling himself J.D. California wrote a sequel to his 1951 classic "The Catcher in the Rye." What? I know there are plenty of novels out there alluding to original classic literature but c'mon now. You can't write a sequel about a character who is a one-and-out. J.D. said so, back in 1980:

"There's no more to Holden Caulfield. Read the book again. It's all there. Holden Caulfield is only a frozen moment in time."

So the notoriously reclusive J.D. emerged from his cabin to throttle this impostor -- in court filings, because he wants nothing to do with us savage human beings in person. I normally favor freedom of speech straightup but not here. In fact I'll bet two pieces of my Whole Foods banana nut bread that J.D. wins this battle. J.D. is one of America's best novelists ever, he's by far our best living novelist, and he calls bullshit so GTFO, J.D. California! It's interesting this is happening because during a time when public consciousness is occupied with reality TV "stars," I sense considerable pent up demand for true icons like J.D. The shallow and vapid will eventually get replaced by people of depth.

I often wonder if J.D.'s in that cabin still banging out novels but refusing to release them so he can maintain privacy. I fancy maybe we'll get a novel a year out of him yet, when he no longer has to deal with unwanted fame. But we don't need fakes fulfillng that untapped demand. Want your dose of Holden, re-read the book. Two or three or four or five times. That's what I did, and when I finally put Bistro de Mars to sleep I'll read it again.
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Zoey is in the building!

While Americans celebrated Memorial Day getting sunburned and chugging Budweiser around barbecue pits I spent the weekend just outside Fresno picking up Zoey, the latest addition to mi familia. As you can see, Zoey is a beautiful blue and white mink Sphynx. Been wanting a Sphynx for months. Spent many hours researching this rare breed and talking to some eccentric "cat people" who had Sphynxes that I wanted to adopt. Pass, panned, GTFO! I dunno, most of them probably saw my email address, checked out the website and figured, "Screw that raver he'll snort rails off her bald head!"

I finally located Magical Purr Cattery in Clovis, CA, a boutique breeder that has show champions and was very accomodating. Catherine, a nice woman with laser-like attention to detail, decided I can handle a Sphynx. Cuz make no mistake, these breeders are't dishing their cats to any fool with a bankroll. Once I got a look at the queens and sires Catherine had it was ovah! We made this Zoey pickup a weekend-long event, taking in the NBA Playoffs at an epic Fresno joint World Sports Cafe (local note: It's owned by former San Francisco Forty Niners safety Tim McDonald), downing pints of Sierra Nevada Ale and frequenting lame hotels.

No matter where you stay in Fresno it's not exactly the Four Seasons, Vancouver. Picture leather-faced bikers lurking in hot tubs and round people in Bermuda shorts wolfing down banana nut muffins with piss water coffee chasers. Anyhow, Zoey is now in the haus and she is an amazing little cat -- sleek, affectionate and well-socialized. Can't wait for her to strut her stuff in a new pink sweater! PS: Thanks for the pic, JC.
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Make book and music awards a democratic process!

Establishing the stars of electronic music is increasingly a democratic process. Along with the annual Winter Music Conference online voting we've got America's Best DJ where voting is a combination of online and in-person tallies. Loves it! The book industry should take a similar path by democratizing the votes for our biggest awards. Yeah it's happened a few times but invariably "popular" authors who churn out tepid formulaic trash win. How about opening the Pulitzer Prize, an established literary contest -- along with various media categories -- and letting us vote on who the best authors are? Half the time their judges blow it anyhow.

Make this like the NBA All Star game. Opening votes to the public automatically gives us a sense of ownership and in turn, buoys interest in the contest itself. Can anyone name the last three Pulitzer Prize for Literature winners? Me neither. Meantime, the ABDJ tour's expected to draw 150,000 dance music fans to its shows in a sign that if you just do it the public will follow. Everyone talks about how the book industry is shit kicking but aside from publishing more "sure thing" formulas what are they doing to reverse that trend? In the meantime, at least we can vote for the best DJs. Have your say at the ABDJ website.
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Another Oakland murder!

Television news crews were camped outside mi casa the other night. Because, months after completing the final draft of my novel Bistro de Mars, I finally finished proofing! No. But I pulled up to their satellite-clad vans bumping an album of Thievery Corporation remixes with the bass heavy and watched them tape an old couple loading bags into their trunk. What's newsworthy about that? A passing couple gave me a weird look, I figured because the bass was loud enough for the cameras to hear twenty feet away.

So I rolled up to Lilian Kim, a reporter with KGO-TV and asked what's the news? "A 97-year-old woman was beaten to death in that building," she said, pointing to the Van Buren Towers. "Do you live there?" No. This neighborhood's normally peaceful and safe, I told her. It's a nice part of Oakland. Problem with that is depraved motherfuckers know there's no money in the 'hood so they commute to "work" nowadays. When you're an urban dweller you just never know when violence will occur.

Ivarene Lett was a tiny five foot tall woman born the year the Titanic sank. She was an active woman who took a weekly exercise class and enjoyed cruising around our Adams Point neighborhood in her big Chevy. Who the hell would kill a 97-year-old woman? Someone on the hunt for dough. I'll bet it was an inside job or commuting thugs. After my chat with Lilian I walked along Lake Meritt and looked extra close at the people. There are freaks among us. Who are the innocents and who are the killers? I hella <3 Oakland. Haven't regretted even once moving here from San Francisco. But this city is always setting records. Ivarene Lett was the oldest murder victim in Oakland's history.
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Never visit the great outdoors!

After a week in Vancouver working as a financial journalist and breaking news instead of reading it, I was totally bummed to discover that Craig Arnold passed away. He's the poet whose disappearance in Japan was a bizarre mystery that sparked tons of media to actually cover a story involving a poet. It's a sign of our times that the only way for a poet to get media attention is by disappearing off the face of the Earth. Too bad this is how it ended. I know a novelist who is also researching volcanoes and recently traveled to a foreign country to check one out for her next book. She's safe and sound back in the USA now. Luckily.

It's a majestic experience visiting the great outdoors. Not enough of us urbanites go out there, really. When I take hot springs road trips in rural places I always try to remember that not everything is safe, even if it appears so. Maybe you'll fall off a cliff like Arnold or get eaten by a bear or drown like I saw happen to three people at Ocean Beach once. Now that summer's approaching we should all keep this in mind. Or, we should never visit volcanoes, forests or beaches and instead vacation in Vegas or Vancouver -- where I'm gonna return for the World Poker Tour this fall. During the past week I had no time for anything recreational and since 95% of people vising the great outdoors die I'm only visiting big cites from now on.
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BPM Smith is funny like a diseased pig!

I'm now on my usual last-minute packing rampage for this Vancouver biznis trip despite a bit of panic over the swine flu, which now has over 400 confirmed cases in the USA and 24 in California, prompting some to cancel travel plans and health officials to say chill the hell out. Got a group email yesterday from one of our East Coast guys stating he's not going due to swine flue concerns. Of course I replied-all to say this among other things:

"In any case I'll take my usual seat at the press conferences and cocktail parties, dressed in a pig suit."

Five minutes later our CEO replied-all stating that we should do what's best for our health and our families. Um. Didn't realize the CEO was in on that... Hours later after finishing my editorial deadlines I made final plans. Dinner reservations at my favorite Vancouver joints like Zin Restaurant & Lounge, call AMEX to ensure they're straight, collect paperwork and laptop computer shit that all traveling journalists gotta drag around. Now done, I burst out of my office door with an announcement:

"Oh my god, I have swine flu!" ... *golf claps*

There was only one journalist left in our San Francisco bureau, since it was way after the closing bell. Oblivion means my dumb jokes fall flat nowadays. See y'all Friday, May 8 when I'm back in the studio for the WORD'N'BASS Show.
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Oh Canada, you'd better serve Saphire gin!

After Friday night's WORD'N'BASS Show I've got time to sleep a few hours, pack the suitcase, hit Bacheeso's -- yae they opened a new shop near Oakland's Lake Meritt! -- for some eggs Benedict and haul ass to the airport. Just two weeks after my LA trip I am off to Canada but instead of poker and Disneyland this one's all biznis. Despite mixing records and writing novels at night I'm still a financial journlist during the day.

The timing is shitty. Everyone's in Vegas now for the Ricky Hatton fight. ESPN has a nice behind-the-scenes blog happening if y'all want details. While they focus on the fight, I focus on the important stuff. Like who the hell is that smoking hot blond following Hatton around? Well, my research (google rummaging) indicates his girlfriend Jennifer Dooley, who quit her job as a teacher to become his full-time pin cushion, is shadowing him as he does the publicity rounds in Vegas. She used to have small, saggy breasts but after he got KTFO by Floyd Mayweather he spent part of his multi-million $ payday on new boobies. Now she's a top-heavy tart!

Anyhow, I was supposed to hit Vegas for Fight Week and to reel in fish at the poker tables before Saturday's Hatton-Pacman bout but alas. Working like a jerk. So I'm outta here for a week in Vancouver. Boo. I shouldn't complain because there are worse gigs than four star hotels, cocktail parties, press conferences and working the media credentials like a motherfucker in my Lora Pianna suit. For example, I could be lost on a Japanese volcano like award winning poet Craig Arnold who is temporarily missing, disappeared or got vaporized by lava. Or I could be jailed in the UK and run into a naked Boy George all soaped up and leering in the jailhouse showers. That perv's in the jug for chaining some escort to a bed and beating his ass with a chain. Don't mess with Boy George!

PS: Why do the UK press still call him the former Culture Club singer? He's been a top House music DJ for a decade now with a bunch of quality albums.
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Happy 420 from Los Angeles!

My annual 420 Drum & Bass mix is going live a bit early cuz when April 20 rolls around I'm going to Disneyland! So at Friday night's WORD'N'BASS Show I mixed a blunted DNB set with all you smokers in mind. Meantime we're gonna hang at Amoeba Records in Hollywood tonight to celebrate Record Store Day, where they've got a bunch of bands and DJs spinning, then to Boardner's where they often have House and DNB parties and Newcastle Ale for us lounge lizzards who stake our claim on their cozy booths. Don't really know Boardner's schedule this weekend and could care less cuz it's one of my favorite places in LA that I always spend time at. Then it's another poker tournament at Commerce Casino with my former neighbor Chris, Pink's on Melrose and... Mickey Mouse. Time to grab the aviators and vicodin cuz our flight's about to leave. Ciao for now, and I hope y'all enjoy my latest DNB session.
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Amazon hates the gays!

Many of my bookish friends believe Amazon is taking over the world and homogenizing the literary landscape. The premise goes like this: Amazon is cheap, convenient and user-friendly so they're running independent bookstores out of business. Almost all indies that close shop blame Amazon and soon we'll only get books at huge chain stores or click our way to literary oblivion as alternative voices find it increasingly difficult to be heard in the vortex of Mainstream Book, USA.

Leftist conspiracy or common knowledge? Last weekend an ominous "glitch" or "filter" or "conspiracy" erupted when all the sudden more than 57,000 books that Amazon decided were "adult" titles got "unranked" -- and BTW nearly all the unranked titles were geared toward gays and lesbians. Y'all know authors trip on their Amazon rankings, right? Bigtime! Cuz if your ranking is low nobody will see your work, if it's high then you're rolling naked in piles of $100 bills. That's what rich authors do.

The LA Times says "Running with Scissors" by Augusten Burroughs, "Rubyfruit Jungle" by Rita Mae Brown, "Fun Home: A Family Tragicomic" by Alison Bechdel and many other books got their rankings eliminated. Why? Cuz they're gay! Meanwhile, "Tropic of Cancer" by Henry Miller, "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis, "Wifey" by Judy Blume, "The Kiss" by Kathryn Harrison, the photobooks "Playboy: Helmut Newton" and "Playboy: Six Decades of Centerfolds," all kept their rankings, despite their obviously adult content. Why? Cuz they're heterosexual! Well, few scream foul as well as the gays and after a shitstorm, Amazon said, "Soooo sorry, our mistake!"

By late Monday the AP reported Amazon's latest spin and that the "glitch" emerged around the same time that the American Library Association announced the death of Judith Krug. She's the head of the ALA's Office for Intellectual Freedom and founder of Banned Books Week, which features an annual list of the books most often criticized or removed. Oh, the irony. Meanwhile, Amazon has entered damage control mode and rounded up all their PR hacks to come up with new excuses. Glitch = busted.
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David Foster Wallace is alive!

Taxes are coming due real soon and the last person I figured to burst my oblivious bubble was author David Foster Wallace, who is whipping out a new novel from the grave! "The Pale King" takes place at an Internal Revenue Service office in Illinois in the 1980s and never got released. Why? Because nobody wants to read about the IRS! No. Writing a novel that's hundreds of thousands of words tends to make publishers nervous. Little, Brown and Company, which put out many of Wallace's works, has slated the never-published novel for 2010 publication and said it will include notes, outlines and other things. Oh man, I can hear the clamoring of academics at universities across America as they arm wrestle in a Battle Royale over the first available copies.  

PS: An accountant in the elevator on Tuesday said tax day is April 15. I said, "OMG! Kill me! Kill me now!" as he gave me the side-eye. Now I realize there's no reason to fear. Cuz I'll put a .45 to my head on April 14.
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"Can't we all just get along?!"

Rodney King, who became an iconic urban figure more than a decade ago for getting beatdown by some L.A. cops who were later ruled not guilty of assault, turned 44 today (April 2, 2009). I remember how significant he seemed back in the '90s, but nobody thinks about him anymore. I wonder what he's doing nowadays. Anyhow, you old schoolers remember the Rodney King Riots? In L.A. there was massive looting, Korean shopkeepers busting caps and a truck driver who got a brick smashed on his head.

Nothing like that happened in San Francisco. For us it was one big partAY. Punks and hippies marching on Market Street, blacks and whites and Mexicans cleaning out Copeland's Sports together, a bit of rioting, some petty crimes. Hell, one of my friends even looted the looters. Who's gonna report a robbery when the goods were already stolen amiright? All that stuff is represented in my 100% done (nearly, ha) novel "Bistro de Mars."

My sister Lis, a political activist and Cal undergrad at the time, wanted me to hit the demo-turned-riot but I was a boxer back then and couldn't miss practice. It dawned on me how serious this all was when my coach made a long speech about how we were each a different color but none of that mattered because we all had the same day-to-day struggles. In this gym, we were are all just fighters, he said. Outside, people judged each other on the color of their skin. Here, we were judged by our heart and our character. Maybe those police officers should have to box, because that would teach them about equality.

The other fighters looked down at the hardwood floor just kind of taking it all in. Most of them were black. As I watched Absen and Dwayne, a fighter from Richmond who had slickness but little punch, I tried putting myself in their position. What the Rodney King not-guilty judgment represented to them was this: You might have equal schools, you might get a real job, you could even become wealthy one day, but bottom line they’ll lynch your ass whenever they really want to.

Nowadays -- what with two wars, a recession, everyone losing their jobs, and yes we're all grown up now -- those days seem quaint. San Francisco sure as hell changed over the years. Back then a certain *ahem* 18-year-old could pick up a forty of Olde English at any corner liquor store and smuggle it into a nightclub. Try that today and the store clerk is liable to call the cops. And no way will any nightclub bouncer let teenagers pass the velvet rope, let alone with a forty shoved in their belt. Fun times are gone. Happy birthday, Rodney, wherever you are.
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Winter Music Conference not for writing stiffs!

The Winter Music Conference just ended, attendees of the annual electronic music blowout are nursing hangovers, and I missed it -- again. You won't even believe the number of parties I got invited to this year. They even put me on the guest list at Paul van Dyk's "private party." When a girl recently asked if I was going my first reaction was "Lame ass stays in San Francisco!" second reaction was "Too busy working like a jerk." Not just in these media salt mines documenting the recession, depressed commodities and bankruptcies.

No. I'm still proofing and chopping away at the novel Bistro de Mars. This stuff is such a grind my only relief is the weekly WORD'N'BASS Show and exercising like a madman. In other words, dropping bass bombs on the radio and lifting weights to blow off steam. Yeah, getting wasted on vodka amid heavy bass and hot babes in Miami is more fun but I guess this is what happens when you decide to juggle careers as a journalist and author at once. Hemingway should've told us this will beat a bitch down.
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Up the Irish, down the Shooting Stars!

St. Patrick’s Day always is a bit nostalgic. As an Irish American it's a day of celebration that evokes memories of The Fam's big dinners in which Grandma Smith cooked up the corned beef and cabbage and Grandpa doled out slices with his electric carver as I sat there licking my chops. Also memories of a closed Geary Street in SF where we got too wasted to drive and ended up cabbing to Lucky Penny for breakfast at 3 am. And who can forget that night in Sactown's legendary (insert four bar/clubs) with my man Ben on a spring break road trip?

Tonight I'm recovering from an all-nighter spent playing poker at Bay 101 in my latest attempt to qualify for the World Poker Tour. So I'll skip A Sides' party at SF Underground and instead chill with some CB&C and Boone's ale. No breakdown of how the satellite went other than I busted out at 5 am when my A-6 failed vs pocket 4s with all the chips in preflop -- the exact same hand that crippled pro Allen Cunningham in the $2k no limit hold 'em preliminary event right before the final table was set. Now the main event is underway and the WPT is providing live updates as the hands unfold here. Man is it a blood bath for Shooting Stars. 2007 champ Ted Forrest, Jennifer Tilly, Nenad Medic and Bay Area natives Antonio Esfandiari and Phil Hellmuth all got smoked like Cohibas early in Day 1.
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$3 million? In this economy?!

So much for the shit kicking economy putting an end to mega book deals. Remember the pilot who landed the jet in the Hudson River? Remember his name? Didn't think so. It's Chesley Sullenberger and his literary agent Jan Miller just cut him a two-book deal with HarperCollins imprint William Morrow worth $3 million. Jan knows how to work it! Instead of setting up a standard auction, she scoped out this pilot and saw he was way more personable than most authors or -- since he never wrote a GD thing let's be frank -- dudes basking in their 15 minutes of fame.

So, Jan dragged pilot-hero-wanna-be-author around Manhattan, introduced him to a bunch of publishers and let him turn on the charm afterburners. One editor who met him during these pitching sessions said, "he's the real thing." Yeah whatever. He's not an author so he's not the real deal. His ghostwriter might be though. Anyhow, props to Jan whose agency is Dupree Miller & Associates, located in Texas of all places. You've so gotta click the link, even though they mainly rep self-help books. Why? It's the first literary agency ever to bump House music on their homepage intro. And it's a nice track.
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Happy birthday James Ellroy!

Years ago my one-time partner in literary crime Jon said I must read James Ellroy because "you like crime so read 'Brown's Requiem' -- he does it great." Not "LA Confidential," not "Black Dahlia," read Ellroy's very first novel. So I wrote the title on a post-it, put it on my desk and there it stayed. "James Ellroy Brown's Requiem crime novel" gazed at me for four fucking years while I sat here writing my own sorta borderline crime novel "Bistro de Mars."

That post-it joined a small handful of such notes like "Love.bomb the ex model idealized innocence is destroyed" and "I ran to Reno to get away from shit" and "Blackout -> past reveal dirt w/ Nicole -> motive Doug to get cash, rob coke dealer, be free agent." I never read Brown's Requiem but am putting it back on my reading list because it's Wednesday, Mar. 4, 2009, James Ellroy turned 61 years old today, he once said some interesting things that I can relate to, and following up late is better than never.

PS: Jon what is up holla!
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The WORD'N'BASS Show's Internet stream is back!

That mention last week about having good news for The WORD'N'BASS Show was not a poor attempt at coyness. I just wanted to make sure not to screw it up since those who have known me a long time understand that the "B" in BPM Smith stands for Break It Bitch! Anyhow, our sound engineer at 104.1 FM has fixed the live Internet stream, bringing all our shows back to a global audience. Woohoo! Seems to me some of the old schoolers there actually like being exclusively on the FM dial but not me. Who wants to have only folks in the SF Bay listen when there is a world of DNB heads in need of heavy bass? The stream is once again live 24/7 here, so you listeners in Europe can feel free to send email shout-outs once again.

In related news, I received my new drivers license from the DMV today and am disappointed. My pic actually looks good. Now when cops pull me over for no reason they will see a smiling dude with neatly combed hair in a new LRG jacket. Boring. I liked presenting officers, club bouncers, and airport Nazis the old bedhead-suffering corpse with a crazy smirk and bulging cocaine eyes. Their double takes provided comic relief during times of stress.

UPDATE 2/28/09: Alright you can keep the B for Break. One listener said the stream timed out during last night's show but the glitch is now fixed. I understand it worked on new laptops but now those of you running dinosaurs can hear too.
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What are 'frivilous titles,' or, another tale of book industry Apocalypse!

Here we go again. The latest book-industy-is-a-corpse-and-we're-all-starving-vultures story hit the SF Chronicle's website, where Oakland's own Novella Carpenter wrote a tirade bemoaning the economy, slumping book sales, and the terrible fortune that her upcoming book from Penguin Press faces -- plug alert, she's gotta promote like a motherfucker in this economy, y'all! An unnamed publishing exec out in NYC rounds off her conclusion:

She knows that if her books don't sell, her job security may be compromised. She is confident other cost-savings will be implemented before job cuts take place. Instead of hours-long lunch meetings at high-end restaurants, for example, editors, authors and agents now settle for coffee or in-office meetings. As for the future, Kate's publishing company isn't going to be acquiring any frivolous titles.

Notihng new here. Forget about the recessionary "doom and gloom" economy, today's catch prase a commodity trader mentioned in my day job. This is what I wanna know: what are "frivolous titles?" That pink-covered chic lit novel about the woman who's dealing with a breakup and buying clothes? The 666th novel about a disgruntled yet dedicated CIA agent solving a mystery in which failure would kill him, his wife, son, grandmother, and finally, an entire US city? Or the edgy novel about a tranny who robs banks by holding a gun to her head and threatening to kill herself, accompanied by her pug dog Precious who barks, "Only unmarked $100 bills!"?

I'd like to think the edgy novels stay and the generic formulaic ones are frivolous. But I am not so sure about this book publishing industry. If I'm wrong, well, they're driving another nail into their own coffin. We need more trannies.
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Lady Sovereign returns!

When Grime rapper Lady Sovereign did a North American tour in support of her debut album "Public Warning" I jumped on her bandwagon because she had skills and brought the UK sound to mainstream American audiences. So naturally, I am stoked to find her back in the studio working on new material. Here's a video for her catchy new track "So Human." Isn't she cute? Now everyone knows I'm impartial to British women artists but I am not so sure about this one. What's up with her tackling fashionistas while looking like one herself? Her delivery is meticulous and smooth as always but The Cure sample is causing flashbacks of middle school horror. Excuse me while I peg my cargo pants, hairspray some spikes and sprain an ankle while skateboarding a halfpipe in checkerboard Vans. If this isn't hard enough for you, check out some dark tech bass/DNB beats from Volko and Prohypnol.
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Chop off Chris Brown's hands!

During the dot.com peak I knew a girl who was smart, talented and gorgeous. One of those rare women who cause whiplash when you roll into a swanky restaurant and men turn around to stare while shoving proscuitto wrapped shrimp down their throats. When we came out of dot.bomb I returned to San Francisco's media salt mines and she stayed in Silicon Valley, eventually meeting a "bad boy" type who charmed her and one day started beating her. Man, did I wanna drive down to her pad and beat the shit out of that punk. Men who beat women need severe legal penalties, not this pat on the hand BS cops invariably pull.

So tonight when I cracked a Samuel Smith's Winter Welcome Ale and settled into some gossip blog reading, it was a bummer seeing a police photo of pop singer Rihanna taken after R&B wanna-be rapper Chris Brown beat her ass. Makes me sad for Rihanna and also inspires a reminder: Men who beat women should have their hands cut off. This way, the only beating they'd issue is with their stumps! Plus, future victims would quickly ID wife beaters because they couldn't shake hands at "hello." A vivid warning to stay away. That pic going public renders meaningless Brown's earlier statement when some newly hired PR hack announced he's "sooo sorry, kind of, whatever."

Statement: "Words cannot begin to express how sorry and saddened I am over what transpired."

Translation: "I am so pissed they discovered I beat the crap out of this bitch on the regular..." *don't admit guilt... don't admit guilt, it transpired, like when you step on dog turds on the sidewalk.* "BTW, how are my CD sales doin'?"

Statement: "I am seeking the counseling of my pastor, my PR exec, my mother, my gimp and other loved ones."

Translation: "I have a MOTHER. Y'all have mothers, right? Just think about that. I have a MOTHER, just like you. Feel sorry for me yet? Thanks!"
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Today is Presidential!

Normally on the Monday of a three day weekend I wake early and play a poker tournament but not today. Instead I got my beauty sleep, posted a phat drum & bass mix by San Francisco spinmeister DJ Noah, hit up the Revolution Cafe and hooked up with a girl who dished keys to our new studio and had good news for the WORD'N'BASS Show that I'll post later this week when it's finalized. Then I donned my Prada shades, cued up the iPod and proofed 13 more pages of my novel Bistro de Mars fueled by this DNB mix and one of their excellent lattes. Then I returned home, pounded a Hyper Growth Formula shake and lifted weights to the smooth beats of Apace Music's "100 Drum & Bass Anthems."

If you're annoyed by such productivity have no fear -- slovenly nights must always counter productive days. I'm now gonna drive six whole blocks to Philadelphia Cheesesteak, buy "Saw II" and III DVDs and down Samuel Smith's ale while enjoying a double feature of carnage and torture. I've seen the original and part IV of this horror franchise that the Valentine's Day maniac was reportedly obessesed with, and tonight is a theme of killa killa killa! I will not let that insane fool taint Jigsaw, the demented Saw protagonist. Nothing beats a night of beer, sadistic killers and transfats.

In another bit of good news, my precious Hayden Panettiere broke up with some clown named Milo Ventimidgetlia. Oh happy days! Why'd she kick that bum to the curb? Because Panettiere, 19 and in need of a thorough spanking by BPM Smith, "is young. She likes to go out in the Hollywood scene and that's not his style." Age is just a fucking number! Hell, what happened during my LAPC outing? After the tournament I spent the rest of the night at Boardner's of Hollywood. Trip before that? The Cabana Club. Hayden baby, it's time to step up to this!
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Ladytron, Goldfrapp and Christina Aguilera? GTFO!

Electro bands Ladytron and Goldfrapp are well known for pioneering the genre and bringing it to a somewhat mainstream audience out in Europe. Love 'em! I even work Goldfrapp into my Downtempo sets on occasion. So naturally, I was horrified to read they're in talks with plastic pop tart from hell Christina Aguilera about collaborating on her fourth album. Don't do it! Yes, she pays but no, your artistic credibility is not worth selling out like this ladies. I hate it when these hacks prop up their sagging careers by hiring actual talent to help them churn out musical diarrhea. GTFO Christina!

Anyhow, in case you don't know what I'm talking about, here's the best Goldfrapp song ever. That leech with plastic tits and busted up makeup face probably saw this video and wishes she can be Goldfrapp. I'll bet this thing doesn't go down. Pop culture vultures have repeatedly tried to drag her into their realm of nonsense in recent years but she keeps kicking them to the curb. I even heard last year some stupid TV show "Big Brother" tried getting her to move into a house with a bunch of B-list celebs but she said no go. Because she's an artist, not a famewhore.
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DNB, Techno, Lounge producers fucking remix Christian Bale!

Yeah, Christian Bale was on fire in last year's "Batman" flick but as everyone knows by now he's a fucking asshole! Don't need to mention his F-bomb tirade at a cinematographer during the filming of the latest "Terminator" flick. Thankfully some Drum 'N' Bass, Techno and Lounge producers stepped up to plug our bleeding ears with some phat remixes. Checkout Jossip who compiled a bunch of them.

By far the best effort is at the bottom of the page, where a Lounge remix is both amusing, chilled out and haunting. Downtempo beats are juxtaposed with Bale's uh, vocals, striking images of Afghan dog fights and an odd floating kid's face. Dog fighting makes me sad. The DNB is below-par IMO. Dude should've looped the dialogue more and where the hell is the bass anyhow? All DNB must have rumbling bass lines! That Techno remix is the shizit -- in terms of sound quality his remix is maybe the most polished of the three. I don't bother with rap and other remixes cuz they usually suck. Hip Hop is quickly dying thanks to an excess of fake thug R&B monotonous material made by clowns who should get back to real Hip Hop or shoot themselves in the head.
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Degenerates don’t care about the recession!

"A lot of them are gambling addicts." -- Poker dealer, on players in LA.

Am back in the WORD'N'BASS haus and back to the routine of proofing Bistro de Mars at local cafes, hitting the gym and digging through my records. Well, there’s also that little thing called work but no suprises there -- the economy still sucks and so I'm writing more bad news.

Wherever I travel the routine follows. I hit up Amoeba Records' Hollywood store for a boatload of new DNB, drank organic coffee at some joint I cannot remember, swigged Newcastle ale at my favorite bar Boardner’s of Hollywood, and downed two double espressos, one latte and a 5-hour Energy at Commerce Casino, where the poker action was heated. Whomever says the poker boom is over doesn't know shit. Every tournament at the LA Poker Classic is drawing huge fields, and local business reporters are kind of stupefied given we’re in a recession. It’s amusing reading their stories speculating why poker tournament fields are growing when unemployment is rising and everyone's supposedly broke.

Hello? Poker players are the most degenerate gamblers around. Skilled or unskilled, they know the best players can win cash and since most poker players are deluded about just how awful their abilities are, they keep playing till they go busto. I busted out of the LAPC on a suckout when some idiotic chick called my pot-sized bets all the way down to the river when -- you got it -- an improbable card hit, saving her pretty ass from getting fisted as a 4/1 underdog.

This exhiled me to the cash games, where I reloaded the bankroll by repeatedly check-raising the flop. One difference characterizing LA's poker scene today vs. last year is there's more scared money. Dudes fold quicker in cash games because they're afraid of losing the rent money but you'll never stop donkeys from stampeding in tournaments. Then there's the flip side. Sometimes their "pot odds" logic -- if there's already significant money in the pot gambooool! -- makes them play hands in which they're way the fuck behind. Just as Michelle was pulling up to the Commerce Casino I decimated the table when my big pre-flop raise with pocket kings got five callers and then everyone shoved all-in on the 8-9-Q rainbow flop. It took four racks to drag those chips outta there. None of them had an ace in their pocket.
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See ya Chongo and Bistro, time for another poker road trip!

When the Finland Suomi hockey jersey, LRG tracksuit, Prada shades, Peet's Coffee, APEX bars, supplements, vitamins and Vicodin go into the suitcase it can only mean one thing: Another poker road trip. The LA Poker Classic at Commerce Casino prompted this, despite the endless project called proofing my novel "Bistro de Mars" and my man Ricardo Carpenter's Chongolized Film Festival 09. Totally forgot it's this Saturday! But after seeing what tournament director Matt Savage said about Event #1:

"I can only tell you that we ended up with 1,592 players, smashing the record for a Los Angeles tournament. First place is $124,985 with 100 spots paid..."

I promptly booked the Virgin Airlines tickets (best airline ever, I will put a bullet in my head before flying Southwest ever again) and a 2008 Charger to roll in style in La La land for the next several days. So Bistro will have to wait. One mistake I made during the intermittent frenzied writing sessions of 2008 was bailing on the poker circuit for two-month stretches. Yes, the writing got done but it killed my game and rust resulted in a month of bleeding cash before I could get it straight. No more.

Besides, there's no rush given the book publishing industry is in the doldrums, they're buying fewer novels, laying off editors and, hell, even the Washington Post's long-standing Book World is dead meat. Besides, my day job contacts on Wall Street say this recession will last until fourth quarter 2009, when things will begin to improve and today's fear and panic -- "OMG! I can only buy sure thing novels with a predictably drab hook!" -- will subside. So publishers can now anticipate the end of the economic Apocalypse, and Bistro. When it'll go to auction. Ha.
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BS1 reminds why I <3 vinyl DNB!

Remember when Drum 'N' Bass label BS1 relauched after falling off the face of Earth from, say, 2002-2006 and signed phat producers like Kubiks? Well, they signed Blame to remix some tracks, I just heard one and it's MFing sick! Full news to follow soon on the homepage; meanwhile listen to this gorgeous track. Yes, it's a new vinyl release available worldwide at the end of January. I have a feeling those UK DJs are already having wrestling or soccer or curling matches to see who can first slap it on their decks since it's now on "promo." I <3 vinyl DNB.
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Publishers pan McGuire roids rager book, Margarito taps Mosley's ass (NOT)!

I love it when family members dish dirt on their famous $iblings but someone please tell Jay McGuire his brother Mark McGwire is not famous anymore, he's just an old busted methface! Jay is shopping a tell-all book about the former Oakland A's slugger "The McGwire Family Secret: The Truth about Steroids, a Slugger and Ultimate Redemption," stating Mark used both steroids and human growth hormone during his career. Well, all the big publishers panned it because Jay can't write his way out of a paper bag, everyone hates him for selling out his brother, and guess what? It ain't 2005 anymore!

Sure, Jose Canseco's book "Juiced" was a home run. But this BALCO stuff was still fresh news and it came straight from Jose's slackjaw. Ironically, I'll drive right by the BALCO office in Burlingame tonight enroute to watch Antonio Margarito beat roids rager "Sugar" Shane Mosley's ass. Unlike athletes who had their Olympic gold medals scrapped in the wake of their cheating, Mosley never got punished. He was juiced on EPO, "the cream" and "the clear" when he "won" a fight over Oscar De la Hoya in 2003, but the NSAC doesn't care. The win stays, and Mosley has since banked millions. Let's hope Margarito, a 100% clean athlete, mashes him like refried beans tonight. Unlike baseball, the cheaters in boxing get punished with a thorough ass fisting and if Mosley's off the juice he's a dead man walking. Meanwhile, I'm off to my man Dave's for a night of Mexican food and beer, boxing and poker. Ciao!

UPDATE Jan. 25: Mosley outpunched Margarito and knocked him the hell out in front of the biggest crowd to watch any event at LA's Staples Center. Did I say Margarito was 100% clean? Not exactly. He tried loading his gloves with a cast-like material and got busted. So ultimately, the BALCO roids rager beat  the Plaster of Paris mugger. One cheater KOed another cheater. But judging by the more than 20,000 fans who showed up, boxing's sure popular in SoCal.
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Happily American!

Well, Obama made it through his first day as the 44th President of the United States without anyone bombing a landmark or getting coked to the gills and crashing a stolen '74 Cadillac Coup de Ville through the White House gates - with a bomb in the trunk. Eveyone I know is more optimistic about where this great country's going than they've been in many months. Since I'm feeling a bit patriotic, I found the contrast in Thailand's treatment of Aussie Harry Nicolaides pretty damn stark. He's a writer who self-published a book and was sentenced to three years in jail for a passage that insulted the insane country's royal family.

Think about this for a second. You write something bad about a public figure and your ass is getting pounded in jail for over 1,000 days by a train of Thai sex perverts. This thing even has news reporters scared of getting charged if they quote the offending 12-word passage. Chicken shits at CNN admitted it! I don't care that many Americans have no medical care, no pensions, no future without accruing crippling debt for an education. Here in the USA we can write whatever we want and remain free. Well, except ransom notes for Lindsay Lohan who is tied up in the attic writing bad checks. And letters threatening to kill everyone who was responsible for La Pequeña losing the Hot Slut of the Year award. And holdup letters when at the bank packing a .45. So avoid these three things and write away, fellow authors!
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All hail Adrienne Kress and La Pequeña!

Okay, time to change up the pace here. First, it's rare that I cover fantasy books because my tastes trend toward gritty literary fiction but I do enjoy reporting on hot women authors. And because Adrienne Kress is smoking, I gotta give shoutouts for her novel "Timothy and the Dragon's Gate" from Weinstein Books, a sequel to her last novel "Alex and the Ironic Gentleman." Adrienne announced on her blog that her latest work launched at bookstores across America today (January 13). Isn’t she cute? Therefore, Timothy and the Dragon's Gate is a guaranteed awesome book. Check it out!

Second, I'm here enjoying a post-workout martini with the smooth tunes of Kid Loco and trashy gossip blogs when -- lo and behold -- a La Pequeña sighting! Everyone's favorite little tranny apparently has a bandwagon of fans now. She's competing with Spaghetti Cat and Rojo Caliente for the title of Hot Slut of the Year 2008 over at Dlisted. I don’t know who or what these other two are but La Pequeña needs your help. Voting kicked off Monday and she's a distant third place with 13% of the vote. Who are these people voting for a cat that eats spaghetti? That's not a slut it's a piglet. As I've mentioned several times before, La Pequeña is Queen of the World. This is her title! So hitup Dlisted and Adrienne's website. It’s a win-win for Hotness.
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Another indie bookstore bites the dust!

Back when my daytime employer in these media salt mines had its HQ on Market Street hitting Stacey’s Bookstore next door was one of my favorite lunchtime activities. Even after we hit SOMA I’d still often make the rounds, starting with a ham and cheese croissant at Boudin and ending up rummaging through Stacey’s bookshelves for the latest gritty novels. Better browse while you can, cuz Stacey’s is shutting down forever this March! The Chronicle says:

Stacey's had been hurt over the past decade by the rise of national chains, like Barnes & Noble, and Web-based booksellers, such as Amazon.com. The store's general manager, Tom Allen, said sales had dropped 50 percent since March 2001. But the final blow was the crumbling economy...

Ugh. B&N is like Starbucks, it gets the job done when you need their goods but will never replace the friendly neighborhood bookstore. The Bay Area’s now lost a bevy of indie bookstores. Last year we lost Cody’s Books, an institution to Berkeley bookworms. I remember when Kepler’s died a few years ago in Menlo Park. Long part of my book browsing circuit, I was shocked one Sunday to find them shuttered and a ton of notes taped on their windows from disgruntled clients. The place looked like a memorial for someone who got blasted with a .45. The local community held protests and eventually Kelper’s came back. Will San Franciscans try to do the same? Doubt it. Sad.
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Café rundown from Oakland!

Nowadays I'm proofing a hard copy of my WIP Bistro de Mars in cafes across Oakland. Hard copy means the bulk of this novel is done. But I'm damaged from thousands of nights spent in my hovel writing tales of San Francisco after spending the same number of days writing about big biznis. Too much writing, too many nights of blasting Trance music and staring at a computer screen. Last thing I need is another week or month or year spent proofing at the dining room table, away from the world. Enter the cafes.

In cafes my iPod distances me from the artsy fartsy dude sketching in a notepad, the marketing methfaces holding an impromptu meeting and the two hipsters on their first date. Cafes are the new bars since cocktails are another way of saying "let’s fuck" while a cappuccino appears far less lecherous, amiright? Anyhow, thanks to Michelle for uploading a ton of my DNB and Downtempo mixes on the iPod so I can concentrate during these sessions of blasting my manuscript with red ink.

First up was Hudson Bay Caffe on College Avenue, where I enjoyed a fantastic Cuban panini and a double cappuccino with perfectly integrated foam. They roast some quality organic coffees here but the tables are small and the old creepy book dude is two feet from your table. If privacy is your thing go elsewhere but if you’re all about the best cappuccinos and coffee -- served in real mugs instead of paper cups -- this is among Oakland's best. Thanks to my iPod and this Drum & Bass set I was able to block out creepy geyser and the cackling thirtysomething chicks nearby.

Onto the World Ground Café on Macarthur. I proofed 10 pages in an hour bumping a Downtempo mix on their pillowed chairs and drinking a giant double latte that's above average. It's 20 oz of liquid served in a big porcelain mug, which helps you ignore the black walls and floor. Maybe it wasn’t black; I was hungover but it felt black. Order a coffee or cappuccino to go and hit Full House across the street for some eggs benedict and poker inspired art. I always get coffee at World Ground first because Full House’s coffee doesn’t hold up to their great eggs Benny.

Jumpin’ Java Coffeehouse on Shattuck, a neighborhood they’re pitching as a new art locale. You might remember one block away some Oaktown hoodlums bum rushed The Nomad Café in a "take-over style" robbery. They got arrested. I’ve spent lots of time in this neighborhood and am pleased there are two good cafes here. Jumpin’ Java is a small, laid back joint where students and artsy types work on laptops. Their double cappuccinos are expertly made by a hot barista who looks like she’s from an African country. Like Hudson Bay, there’s not much space between tables so expect some dude twice your age to turn his pivot head and make small talk or ask for a date. Ignore him.

Coffee With A Beat, on Grand Avenue right next to Lake Merrit, is where the neighborhood’s young professionals, artists and slackers hang out. I ran into Dub MC Trinidad here. The last time I ran into him was in front of a liquor store where he gave me his latest tracks that I mixed into this set. It’s that kind of place. The staff is chilled out, meaning they’re not the best at making cappuccinos and don’t really care. But there’s plenty of square feet and large tables so guests can have privacy or socialize with equal comfort. If a trendy Asian dude starts pounding on the piano so loud it overwhelms your iPod, avoid beating him senseless. Turn up the volume. I did this and proofed 15 pages in one hour flat, fueled by their double latte and this DNB.
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A Happy New Years 2009 starts with DNB in your face!

I <3 vacation. In the leadup to New Years Eve I spent the days and nights in the studio mixing fresh Drum 'N' Bass, playing poker and proofing the novel -- my three favorite pastimes. Now that NYE is here, everyone is in pre-party mode before hitting the town and I’m here to help with all your heavy bass needs. Click here to bump my specially cooked NYE 2009 DNB mix, served just in time for the New Year. Now that I’ve brought this DNB live it’s time to switch from organic French Roast to a decadent aperitif called French 75. Before getting smashed I’d like to send out a virtual toast to everyone who’s enjoyed WORD'N'BASS.com for the nearly four years since we launched. Here's to a happy and healthy 2009, when all your dreams can happen.
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Marcus Sakey has competition!

Few thriller authors can hold a candle to my man Marcus Sakey nowadays but it looks like he has a growing list of projects competing for Ben Affleck's attention on the movie making front. Y'all might rememeber Marcus' crime thriller "The Blade Itself" was sold to studio Miramax with Ben's firm LivePlanet set to produce the movie version of his novel. Well, that's just one of many projects in the works now that Affleck's negotiating to direct the story of Arizona journalist Don Bolles and the events his murder provoked back in the '70s. According to the Hollywood Reporter, a group of elite national journalists that Bolles had been trying to organize at the time, Investigative Reporters and Editors, responded to the murder by convening dozens of investigative reporters in Phoenix from 23 different newspapers and launching an unprecedented crusade to finish Bolles' work.

How is it I never heard about this ruckus? Bolles was investigating political corruption and the mafia when he got blown the hell up after a source never showed for a meeting. While I'd rather see Marcus' Blade get its day in film, this sure sounds like an interesting story. And I don't normally like flicks about journalists anymore than I do ones about novelists. Cuz we're boring in movies. Journalists just make phonecalls badgering people for information and novelists sit around typing while bumping trance music and downing pots of Peet's Coffee. Anyone remember The Paper with that Mr. Mom dude starring? It made me wanna switch majors back in college, put a .45 to my head, or to the head of the journalism prof who made us watch that stupidity. Affleck better not screw up this story about the mafia, political weasels and killas.
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Vegas is dead, like colluding poker hags in 10 years!

"All I’ve been doing is smoking weed." -- Twentysomething British poker player, on his 23rd day in Las Vegas.

The crappy economy has led to smaller crowds in Las Vegas. After a week playing poker at the Venetian, Caesars, Bally’s and Montecarlo I’m shocked at how slow most rooms were. All over town, casino workers and cab drivers complained about how the economy has hit them bigtime. Between the buildup to Pacman crushing Oscar De La Hoya at the MGM and a major rodeo I expected lots of action but most casinos were dead. I even hit the Rio, home of the World Series of Poker, one night and there was only one table of no limit hold ’em so we just got drunk at the Irish bar that has replaced Tilted Kilt. Hell, I didn't even get propositioned by hookers for the first time ever. In all, Vegas is a cadaver. But there are still vultures. Like me.

The Venetian is the bomb. I ended up played mostly at The Venetian and Caesars. Next trip I'll hang mostly at the Venetian. This is due to their competent floor staff, lots of action, solid twice daily NLH tournaments and smoking hot waitresses who are friendly and dish my double espressos on the regular. They also dished carrot juice, orange juice, cappuccinos and Fiji water. Other casinos, which serve crappy coffee and soda, will have to make changes to compete in a players’ market. We’ve got the bankrolls and if they want a piece of it they should take notice of these things.

On Thursday I finally got my A game back during The Venetian’s noon tournament. After several hours of grinding, adding teaspoons of Emerald Balance green powder to bottles of Fiji water, an executive in town on business tried bullying me off a pot and I had to make a decision for my tournament life. I had raised 4x the big blinds pre-flop with suited Ace-7 and then fired off a half pot sized bet after missing the 4-3-Q rainbow flop but in good position. Of the four remaining players, got two folds and this one stubborn exec remained. He checked the 8 turn, I fired another half pot sized bet, he called. River was 7 and he shoved. Dude had more chips than me and my little pair of 7s with an ace kicker. After watching him for one minute I realized he was playing pressure poker and called. Sure enough, he had only pocket 5s. Big pile of chips came my way.

Stoned Brits are good table companions. Often in tournaments you run into guys who you kind of like and end up rooting on. A British poker degenerate in Rayban aviator shades was such a character. He talked a lot to his opponents during big pots and everyone thought he was drunk because he’d talk about his hand and what he thought others had. That’s not really in the rules. Turns out he’d been in Vegas for 23 days and counting, during which he’d smoke weed, play poker everyday and check into whatever hotel he happened to play at. As the tournament proceeded they broke down our table and he was moved elsewhere in the room.

Hag gets owned, flips out. I picked my spots carefully, playing small ball and avoiding huge pots until we were in the money. The British dude was one of the chip leaders when we met again at the final table, where a 60 year-old grouch to my left with a stack tried bullying me off a pot by moving all in before the flop. Once again, I sat there for one minute watching his face for tells. He clenched his jaw and wouldn’t look at me. I called with suited A-9 and decimated his stack after he showed A-8 offsuit and failed to catch an 8. The geyser flipped! He whacked the table and stormed off. British dude mimicked him with a table whack. Tournament director tried cooling off the old geyser and warned the Brit for taunting.

"I can’t believe the worst player at the table is the chip leader!" said old man when he returned.

"Excuse me? This is my eleventh final table this year. How many have you made?" I asked him. "I got enough game to call you down."

When I said he should only be mad at himself for getting outplayed, the tournament director warned us that we’d both take a penalty if we didn’t STFU. Shortly after this little ruckus, the Brit busted out in 6th place on a semi-bluff before the flop, shoving with A-3 offsuit and going against A-8. I picked off a retiree and another $80k with pocket 8s after he went all in pre-flop. Eventually it came down to three: Old grouch with a $400k stack, me at $350k, and a contractor from North Carolina wearing poker cliché baseball cap with sports sunglasses, who had just $150k.

Colluding duncecaps. I had outplayed both these guys at the final table but the problem was they started colluding. Grouch would either fold or shove all in when NC was on the blinds, a clear tell that the dude must fold. They didn’t want to run up big post-flop pots against each other. One time Grouch even told NC, "I keep catching cards against the wrong player," meaning what he really wanted was to catch cards against me, his nemesis. They both took turns firing chips at me whenever I was in the blinds. This was fine because all I needed was to catch good cards and tear down their stacks.

I eventually got pocket Kings and when NC fired half his stack I re-raised all in pre-flop. He called with unsuited A-3. He was a serious underdog but he flopped an Ace, taking $150k from my stack. Twenty minutes later, after a series of raise/folds between the three of us, I caught Ace-Jack while on the big blinds of $16k. NC called, I raised to $66k, he shoved all in and I instacalled. He flipped over unsuited King-3. He was done! Or should’ve been. Inexplicably, he rivered a 7 high straight, saved by total improbability and sending me walking to the rail. Naturally, the two colluders immediately chopped the remaining purse after my elimination.

I'm a loser, baby. After 9.5 hours of play I busted out in 3rd place, a decent but annoying cash. I hadn’t sucked out even once all day. Every time my chips were in I was either the dominant favorite or had bluffed at the right time to make opponents fold. My second tournament win of ‘08 was in the bag, but sometimes it doesn’t matter if you play perfect poker -- they’ll suckout anyhow. Still, I’m not gonna bitch anymore because this was my third consecutive Vegas trip with a net profit. Before my poker playing days, vacations were always fun money burners. Now it’s fun ending a vacation with more money than I started.
                          __________________________

Las Vegas again!

Cue up Elvis! I am once again hitting Las Vegas for a week of poker, cooling down from tournament blowups with casino bar martinis, and enjoying a quality dinner or two. Since these biannual trips began in 2003 I now have enough trips in the bank to offer some advice. Don't want advice? Go back to reading the literary talk of hot authors like Andrea Portes. First, keep in mind that all Harrah's properties will make you fill out tax forms at the tournaments you win. Some joints like Caesars, Paris, Bally's and the Rio are included. I always spend a good chunk of the week playing at the Mirage, which holds a sweet no limit hold 'em tournament on Thursday nights and has NLH sit 'n' go action day and night for various buy-ins. The MGM is rich in fish but I have horrible luck there. Busted out of a tournament flopping trips vs a full house. Same with Caesars. Top pair, top kicker (AK) with a flopped straight draw busted by two dudes who had both flopped straights. Absurd. I am not superstitious by nature but this, combined with Caesars' tax Nazi stuff will lead me back to the Venetian and the Mirage, whose Thursday tournament I blew to pieces during last summer's WSOP trip.

Also, dinner recommendations. The Montecarlo steakhouse and Rau's at Caesars. They are both the bomb. The Montecarlo is one of the few places serving fois gras and Rao's is Rao's. Legendary in NYC where you must get reservations one month in advance (not a joke, I tried and failed to get in). Also, the Tilted Kilt at the Rio for wine steamed clams, Bass ale, and smoking babes in extra short kilts that hopefully reveal tats above their asses. Um, anyhow... Eat steak but don't bother playing the Montecarlo NLH tournaments. What lots of folks don't consider is the rake these casinos snake from tourneys. This dude has catalogued all regular Vegas tournaments and the percentage of cash that is returned directly to the players. The difference is what the casinos take in the form of a rake, administrative fee, or whatever the hell they call it. Bottom line it ain't going to you so IMO it's worth paying attention to the percentages. The suitcase is packed, new tracksuit is tailored and stuffed with Vicodin, and the Ray Ban aviator shades are on. Time to endure airport terror, during which I will burst into tears or accuse security of stealing my canned espresso, or both. Be back in a week, when I'll post a new drum & bass set and a review of Behrouz' new album! Till then checkout the audio section for lots of Downtempo and DNB sets, along with Lantz' Breaks and Denise's House beats that are ready to blow up your speakers.
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Happy Thanksgiving!

So by now you’ve all drank a pot of Peet’s Coffee followed by two double cappuccinos and are ready for an evening of forced conversation over appetizers in your grandparents’ living room followed by tons of good ol’ American food. When you ask for martinis they give you bourbon or some old school liquor nobody drinks anymore, except Chevy Nova driving methfaces. Don’t complain! It’ll wash down the turkey, mashed potatoes, canned cranberries, mystery casserole and boxed wine that you can’t drink when sober.

After dinner, waddle out the front door, follow the sounds of blaring Led Zeppelin and escape into your brother-in-law’s RV. He parks that thing in front of Grandma’s to avert Family Overload, downing Sierra Nevada Holiday Ales as he furtively burns Camel Lights in private. Yes, FO is so universally understood it needs no definition. On Thanksgiving it comes in all shades, like the leaves of Fall or my face after running the Cleveland Cascades in a plastic suit. So enjoy your five pieces of pumpkin pie, be polite when answering questions like, "So when are you gonna settle down and get married?" and enjoy the holidays, kids!
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BPM is at Facebook not as BPM!

I ran into a girl recently who suggested I join Facebook. I said, well, I've got little old WNB for blasting out info but she said I needed to sign up anyhow to "keep in touch." So I did, and while this is not a BPM Smith the DJ/author thing -- it's my personal page -- anyone who is a member and wants to become my "friend" can click here and holla. Two weeks after joining I've decided I like this Facebook thing. My main concern was about burning time that I should spend rewriting and proofing the novel, or dwelling in the lab banging out fresh Drum & Bass.

That's totally unwarranted because there's hardly any time spent on that page, and it's cool because I'm in better contact with friends around the world who I don't call often enough. Also, I got in touch with two long ago friends who it turns out are fellow Bay Area poker degenerates. One keeps IMing reports when he leaves a poker room. Dude pulls all nighters and sends updates upon arriving home, after loading another $1k in his wallet. So it's a nice way of keeping in touch but there remains a problem: I can't recall the girl who insisted that I get a Facebook page "to keep in touch." So we're not in touch.
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Bring on the young degenerates!

Anyone who watched ESPN or reads the sports section knows that Peter Eastgate from Denmark won the WSOP and its $9.15 million prize. He's just 22 years old and broke Phil Hellmuth's record as the youngest winner ever. The kid's pretty damn good and beat my man Ivan in a four hour headsup battle. ESPN made it look like a 10 minute showdown but I could tell from Ivan's exhausted demeanor that it was a longer session. My predictions in the last blog were somewhat accurate. Montgomery didn't play as horribly as the leadup to the final table. Chino busted in 7th place with a taste of his own medicine: a suckout. He then cursed out a reporter who asked him how it felt going busto at the WSOP. What a bitch! And he was supposed to be the "pro?" More like an immature punk who cracked when he was overmatched. The reporter should've smashed his camera over Chino's head and asked him how that felt.

Ivan made Phillips his punching bag all night and bluffed him twice for huge pots until finally Phillips had to shove all in with a mediocre hand. See what happens when he doesn't flop the nuts? A superior player owns him, despite 300 screaming hillbillies from Hicktown, USA all dressed like Phillips: starched white shirt, red baseball cap. WTF? Ivan's as game as they come, but his audacity killed him in the end. He wouldn't stop bluffing at the young Dane, who caught cards and won it on a straight vs two pair. I've thought about what Eastgate's win will result in and it's good and bad. First, more twentysomething degenerates will hit poker tournaments flossing shades, hoodies and iPods with the belief that all you need to do is play aggressively and you'll win at poker. Bring 'em on! The flipside is this kid's from Denmark. I've already encountered Scans at major tournaments but that does little for the overall scene. What I want is more fish to fry at small to midsize tournaments and local cash games. Man, if a 22 year-old college dropout from America had won this thing it would go through the roof. My appetite for raw sea bass becomes ravenous just thinking about it.

PS: Those of you who play online poker are fucked. One of the last things the Bush Co. Nazis are doing before their asses get kicked to the curb is finalize the online poker ban, requiring US financial institutions to prevent the ballas from getting their payments by December 2009. This ban was a midnight addition to a larger bill about US national security as pork, and backed by the NFL lobby among others. Yet another reason why football is for drunken meatheads and Bush needs to GTFO.
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Nine million bucks to read!

Book industry participants often talk about how fewer Americans read nowadays due to the Internet, television, iPods, Crackberries and a bevy of other entertainment platforms. Sure, I'm guilty. My vices are literary message boards, snarky gossip websites, online electronic music (link to Lee Coombs is now fixed, sorry!) and live poker (never online, I'm old school like that). All these things both help and hamper the pace I can write novels, let alone read them. Help, because I must have beats to write anything at all. Doesn't matter if I'm banging out a news story or a 300 page novel, music is my bitch. Hamper, because how am I gonna write or ingest the boatload of novels we receive here at the WNB HQ if I'm busy scouring the Internet for the latest Bijou Phillips sighting?

Then there's poker. That it ruins writing is not surprising, considering I'll play 12-15 hour days for a week straight when on poker road trips and often burn half days playing local tournaments at Lucky Chances, the Oaks and Artichoke Joe's. Time burner, poker is. But what my literary pals don't realize is poker players are some of the most voracious readers anywhere. Example: my longtime friend Pete took up the game and has been a regular cash player at the Oaks for several months now. Pete, who rolled with me to AJ's last night for a no limit hold 'em tournament, whipped out three different poker strategy books at dinner. There aren't many literary types who lug around a few novels simultaneously, outside my man Jon.

Why do poker players read? Because they wanna learn about the game. I don't care how many websites you troll, sometimes you need the depth of a full-length book. Why do people read novels? Because they want to learn about different subcultures, cliques, civilizations and vicariously have experiences that they can't in their daily lives, in a language that's richer than the zombie written screenplays of shitcom America. The intense curiosity of novel readers is similar to poker players, yet it's more pure. After all, nobody's paying us literary aficionados $9 million bucks at the end of the road, like tonight's World Series of Poker Main Event winner. Man, if $9M isn't enough to inspire reading you may as well snort rails in the Oaks restroom and weep in your bottles of Sierra Nevada Ale. This is the dream of all poker players worldwide, and one of these lucky bastards is about to make the big score. Can't wait till the show begins at 6 pm PST on ESPN!

PS: I am in a poker news blackout because I want to watch tonight's tape-delayed show as if it's live, but have a prediciton anyhow. Überdonk Montgomery pisses off his stack on senseless bluffs, panics, and shoves all in with crappy cards to crash outta there in 9th place. Chino the Burglar's ability to merciliessly suck out after shoving with the worst hand falters, he's bust-o in 6th place. Truck driving hillbilly Phillips stops flopping the nuts or trips every single GD hand, gets stomped when he must play real poker, and finishes in 4th place. Ivan Dementedov schools everyone because he's the best player with solid aggression and reads on his opponents, becoming the first Russian to win the WSOP Main Event.

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Change, finally!

Today is the only time y’all will ever hear me rant about politics. But I’m sure relieved that Obama won. Yeah, even though I’m pretty apolitical I am stoked over this result. Am so goddamn sick of George W, the wars, wasted money on bullshit and the backwards sense of entitlement these clowns have. Kick their asses out of the White House and the Senate. This is not to say Obama’s administration is going to fix things right away but anything’s better than continuing the damage, and that’s what McCain represented. Let’s move on to a new era. It's not perfect going forward but at least we’ve got change.

My college buddy Gartsu, who is serving in Iraq where we are burning $300 million a day instead of financing public schools or assuring that Social Security will exist by the time you and I retire, sent over a vase this week. Thanks, Gartsu! I’ve been shipping him cigars and CDs of my DJ mixes. Last time I shipped him a box of Partagas, a box of Macanudos and this DNB set. Our soldiers can't drink, but they can smoke cigars. They gotta smoke with non-alcoholic beer because the Iraqis don't drink and our military doesn't wanna alienate them. Okay, great. Now you're running around packing M-16s trying not to get your ass blown up and you can't crack a brew at the end of a hard day in the war zone? Screw that.

PS: Am I the only one who thought SF Mayor Gavin Newsom gave a damn good speech in support of Prop 8? He brought his A game. You watch, he's going places. Hard to believe that just a few years ago he was viewed as the next JFK and on a fast track to national politics. Then he divorced his smoking hot wife and was found chopping rails, downing liquor and banging hot babes all over SF. Nothing wrong with that. He got re-elected despite the media frenzy and is living it up. In ten years that stuff will be long forgotten and they'll prime him for something big.
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Thank you, Moby and Emerald Balance!

I am always a zombie the first Monday after daylight savings time kicks in. Today I drank eight cups of Peet’s Coffee instead of the usual five and still had to grind it hard in the media salt mines just to maintain. Before long, 7 pm had passed and I was still writing my last story of the day hours after darkness had fallen in downtown San Francisco. The only thing that kept me from collapsing today was Moby’s people, who sent me the press release and link to his Myspace rave event. Thanks, Betty!

They archived some of the sets there, so if you missed it live then you can still listen. Glad to see Moby once again hitting his stride with the Techno beats, and happier yet to have used his rhythm to buoy writing -- both in the day job and as I sit here rewriting my novel Bistro de Mars. Everyone who knows me is aware that the beats must flow when I am writing or else the prose will not. Beats got me through daytime but tonight they were not enough. I felt as tired as a cokehead midget whore after a little people’s convention! Something extra was needed for another late night writing the WIP.

On the kitchen counter was this Emerald Balance that I’d bought on a whim. An addition to my ever-growing mad as hell collection of supplements. So, I added a teaspoon to my regular fruit and soy milk smoothie. It’s a very dense powder made of barley wheat, flax seed, beet juice, bamboo, gingko baloba, horsetail and a bunch of other obscure ingredients. Whoa… This stuff has m