I got bumped from my flight to Chicago. Now I get into that fine city 2½ hours later than planned.

Which means no dinner meeting.
Which means getting up early to nail down the last particulars outstanding and rehearsing the pitch.
Which means killing time here in the fabuloso Lost Wages airport.
Which means two hours here at the Gordon Biersch drinking $8 beers and eating $9 sammiches.
Which means my nice clothes are crammed into my over-stuffed suitcase for two extra hours and the creases get permanent.
Which means I get a $300 travel certificate from American that I will never use because I have 14,000,000,000 miles on American and could spend the rest of my life flying for free, but my wife hates flying.

I’ll certainly do a trip report, but for now, just know that nothing succeeds like excess. My liver hurts just from watching the young bucks and does pound the various spirits like Prohibition starts tomorrow. My bohunkus hurts just from thinking about all of the poker played by the young bucks and does, who have no apparent problem iron-assing it at the limit ring games.

But, I’ve got not a single regret about making the moves necessary to get here. Meeting the people behind the blogs and all of the attendant conversations made the weekend a roaring success…even if I am coming home the same way I left — a lifetime loser at the game of poker.