Skipping past Writober and Nanoblomo . . ? Shit, I dunno. I'm as bored as you are.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Then Again, I Could Soundtrack This with Europe and Asia
I haven’t felt like writing. Period. Which, considering the amount of word-related stuff I’ve been blowing off, is kind-of an understatement. If the writing wasn’t directly related to petroleum cleanup*, ecological risk assessment, or plumes of drycleaning solvents, I was blocking it out. Or putting it off. Form letter(s) to family to accompany new pictures of Mia? Nope. Entries for correspondence workshopping? Nuh-uh. Blog posts? Sorry . . . er, well, not really, anyway.
Patricia recently told me that the domain this blog is on is set to expire next month. She asked if she should renew it, as (apparently) I’m the only one using it. The price is thoughtlessly cheap, but the possibility of shutting down this site is tempting. I mean, I have Vox, right? Maybe that would (further) motivate me to start an online (and limited print) poetry journal. And perhaps that novel idea that I’ve been passively telling people about (and researching . . . and planning).
I think I’m starting to realize I don’t have the time (or inclination) to keep it all going at once. As people younger, more interesting, and more talented than me shut down their blogs or go on indefinite hiatus, I keep I feel like I’ve overstayed my welcome.
Of course then I have a moment like last night when I was wading through post-home-game traffic and phoned in my order to a local indie pizza place. Two slices? (“We don’t sell slices any more.”) Okay, how about a 14-inch with meatball? This conversation took place around 7:55, when the girl taking my order couldn’t give me a time when my pizza would be ready. (“We’re really busy, so I’m saying 20 to 25 minutes.”) Reasonable. I arrived and paid for my pizza. Was told it would be another 5 or 10 minutes. This was about 8:20. My pizza was ready at 9:05. To be fair, the place was mobbed. Near campus. After a home game where “we” lost. But that pizza, voted “the best in town” was not the best in town. Oh it was pretty good, but not worth-an-hour-wait good. Not even an hour wait during which we were treated to arena-rock hits of the 80s. (Complete with “The Final Countdown” and “Sole Survivor.”)
So . . . pizza-hunting exploration stories will not save this blog. Just a FYI.
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
When the KKK Would’ve Been Good to Have
I play poker semi-regularly with three different groups of people. There’s the family game, which is fairly low stakes and easy to predict; I’m not the strongest player there, but I’ve doubled my money two of the past three times playing with them. Then there’s a game I’m new to, run by the wife of the guy who cuts my hair; played two tournaments with that group, finishing third out of eight and, like, ninth out of 12 . . . still have some figuring to do with them (er, obviously). But the most challenging group is the one that convenes every couple weeks at Mr. Glory Hole’s house.
Now they regularly play on Thursdays when Michelle has band practice, so I don’t get to play with them very often. And when I do, it’s always a leaps-and-bounds departure from the LAST time I played with them.
Anyway, I played with them this past Thursday because the Girls weren’t practicing. I bought in for my usual $25, while everyone else seems to be buying in for about $40. Early on, I held my own, getting some good cards and winning a couple decent pots. And then some more people showed up (including Aggressive-Player Couple) and it was mostly downhill from there.
How about the hand I lost $15 or $20 on? (I was playing an offsuit Anna Kournikova, and paired both on the flop. I was also on a flush draw. Big bets [not all mine] chased other players out, so it was me and the APC-male. He KNEW I was on a draw for the nut flush [with the ace of the flush-to-be suit], but before the River, I made a too-small bet which he thought about and called. The River? A 10, and not of the suit I needed. That [unbeknownst to me] gave him a set of 10s, which he used to take down my two pair. Ouch.)
My last hand wasn’t quite as dramatic, but I was forced to go all in with my pocket kings. Not a bad position to be in, except I was beaten by a guy with pocket 8s and an 8 on the board. There was no third king for me.
So, I was the first one out. Again. I told Michelle I’m not sure I’m cut out for that game anymore. But analyzing my downfall, it’s clear that my problem is timing my bets better, being more aggressive with my bets, and not always slow-playing good hands.
In other, less poker-y news, I love how the GOP and their supporters are screaming (to anyone who will listen) that the Democrats had the info on this Mark Foley page-seducing saga and leaked it to gain an advantage in the Mid-Term Elections. C’mon, Fatty Limbaugh, you KNOW how short the electorate’s attention span is (e.g., your dittohead listeners). Don’ t you think (probably not) that the Dems would be smart enough to wait until, like, a WEEK before the election before leaking that info to ABC?
I gotta say, I’m reading Jeffrey Toobin’s Too Close to Call right now, and I keep hoping there’s a different ending. Because the “election” of 2000 will go down as the turning point in our nation’s history. In a very, very bad way. Seriously, in 25 years, historians will look back and say that THAT stolen election was the first domino.
And speaking of certain anihilation, how about “Heroes?” Holy motherfuck, I’ve been blogging all about it within Erika’s comments. I CAN’T. BE. STOPPED.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
A Week in to the Last Five Years of My Life (as a Sponge)
This first week of being 35 has been a lot like any other week, quite frankly. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. As I approached 30 (looking at you, birthday girl), I was freaking out about all the things I was supposed to have done and hadn’t done. And the closer I got, the more I realized, “This is my life.” And so it’s been for five years now. I hope to change that, as evidenced by my first-ever “public” post on Vox.
I’m not too frightened of the near future, despite someone close to me seemingly going through a midlife crisis of sorts (and who has recently commented that his body started falling apart when he hit 35).
Mia’s keeping me young, though. Which seems strange to say (er, write). Every morning during breakfast and every evening after I finish watching the news and/or she has her bath, I ask her, “What do you want to watch?” Her answer, for the past month and a half, has invariably been “SPONGEBOB!” She has the three-disc first-season box set, which includes hours and hours of episodes. And now I can use some anecdote from Mr. Squarepants’ “life” to relate to my own. For example, Michelle and I relate pretty well to Mia’s favorite character, Plankton. There’s this great episode in which Spongebob plans to make Plankton less bitter/evil by being his friend and taking him to play at Jellyfish Fields. He starts trying to engage Plankton in a sing-a-long (“F is for friends who do things together / U is for you and me / N is for anytime and anywhere at all / Down in the deep blue sea”), and Plankton busts out his own version (“F is for fire to burn down the whole town / U is for uranium . . . bombs / N is for no surviiiiivors / . . .”). When I sing the “friendship” song from the episode for Mia, you can rest assured that it’s Plankton’s version.
Misanthropy: The gift that never stops giving.