|random thoughts and thoroughbred selections|
|"All life is 6-5 against" - Damon Runyon|
Saturday, May 22, 2004
IMDB: Conrad Bain
I was flipping around a little bit tonight on TV. OK, a lot bit. And I'm wondering if the actor Delroy Lindo is a poor man's Laurence Fishburne, or a poor man's Ving Rhames.
I was up in small town Northern Lower Michigan today, and there was one of those truly "General" stores. If you called them with just about anything short of pork chops in mind to ask if they had it, you'd probably get an answer of "Yeah, probably. Why don't you come on by and look around?" Anyway, they had some impressive stuff in stock.
I didn't know this, but ERTL apparently makes/made a line of Dale Earnhardt action figures. Yes, Dale Earnhardt the driver. But no, not quite Dale-Earnhardt-the-Driver. Dale Earnhardt the Turkey Hunter. Dale Earnhardt the Deer Hunter. Dale Earnhardt the Bow Hunter.
Isn't that taking hero worship to an absurd level?
Well, this coming from the guy with the three foot tall Voltron figure displayed prominently in his living room. On his bookcase. I'm 29 and single ladies...
In case you were wondering, it's not just Dale in a camo outfit. It's that and so much more. You get the weapon, and you get the ten-point buck action figure. Or, of course, the turkey.
The store also carried $9.99 pre-packaged shirt-and-tie combo sets. The ties look like they're made out of fancy Christmas wrapping paper. Still, $50 and you've got a whole week's wardrobe taken care of.
Yes, "Fast and the Furious" is just "Point Break" with cars. Let me ask you this... Is Vin Diesel in the Swayze role an upgrade or a downgrade? Paul Walker versus Keanu Reeves? Jordana Brewster is just about as bad in the love interest role as Lori Petty was. Was Ali Larter busy? Isn't that her kind of part?
By the way, Vin Diesel's real name is "Mark Vincent." I wonder if when you get as famous as Vin Diesel is, which is precisely between "yeah-that's-what's-his-name" and "you-were-great-in-that-action-movie-what-was-it-called-again?," do you begin to demand that your buddies and family call you Vin instead of Mark? Is that an ego thing, or is it because you only hear the stage name out in public?
Last thing on "Fast and the Furious..." Do you think Michelle Rodriguez will ever be in a movie where she doesn't play the tough as nails chick who kicks some guy's ass along the way?
Rosario Dawson > Michelle Rodriguez - just so's you know.
I love Univision. While I could easily go on and on about the hot chick quotient vastly outpacing any network this side of Spice on the cable box, I really just enjoy trying to figure out "WHAT THE FUHHHH?" is going on half the time on this channel. I turned it on today, and there was some sort of Marilyn Manson dressed dude who had peacock feathers coming out of his shoulder pads, some big breasted chick in pleather pants next to him, a midget in pleather, and a statue of an alien fetus that spit out what appeared to be cran-apple juice. "WHAT THE FUHHHH?" They went on and on in a talk show style with an audience and everything for like fifteen minutes, and even sang a song together, sans midget, to close out their segment. It was then followed, same show mind you, with two "commentators" sitting and discussing fake "live" news reports that they'd cut to. One dude was dressed like Colonel Sanders, the other in all black. Both were wearing rubber wigs and moustaches. Then a sketch with a fat guy about to get car sick, although he never does. I could follow it about that far.
Then again, I'd probably be car sick driving in Mexico, what with all those signs written in Spanish, and also having to worry about that whole kilometers to miles conversion.
Anyway, half the fun of Univision has to do with their (Univision's) sense of humor. I've come to the conclusion that Mexicans are funnier than Canadians, as whatever it was I was watching was much, much funnier than "This Hour Has 22 Minutes" on CBC ever has been.
The small town I was visiting today also had one of the more impressive Dollar Stores that I've seen. They had quite the pharmaceutical section. Would you trust a $1 box of "Hemorrhodial Suppositories?" Worse yet, how's about a Dollar Store $1 special on Home Pregnancy Tests?"
"Up to 32% Accurate!"
Burger King has an impressive new Chicken Sandwich on the menu that puts them in the running now for best chicken at a non-KFC/Lee's/Church's franchise. That being said, it's only a distant second to Wendy's Spicy Chicken - plain with two packets of Hot Chili Sauce.
Is there anything Hot Sauce doesn't make better? Well, Visine perhaps. I wouldn't imagine a dash or two of McIlhenny's mixed in is going to help matters any.
The rain here has been ridiculous lately. I can't remember the last time I saw more than an hour of sunshine. I saw a news clip from Taylor, MI - across the state from me - where the flooding was so bad that a car was floating away, and it took five people in chest deep water to push it somewhere to safety.
Norman Fell, Jerry Stiller, and Conrad Janis were all onscreen together when I flipped over to AMC's showing of "Airport 1975." I got Conrad Janis confused with Conrad Bain and looked him up (Bain) on IMDB, and found out that Conrad Bain, television's Mr. Drummond, has an identical twin brother named "Bonar."
I would have enjoyed an identical twin brother named "Bonar." Certainly would have taken some of the heat off of me in grade school and Junior High.
I flipped by that Nick and Jessica Variety Hour on ABC tonight. I saw Jessica Simpson doing a duet with Jewel. Two blondes, two ridiculously wonderous racks. It's patently unfair that they can put them together on TV without having them play fight while washing a car, breaking into an impromptu lingerie pillow fight, or just flat making out.
It's been a long day...
The Birthday Poem Below, Translated from English To Italian and Back To English Using BabelFish:
To Your Aunt, That it is turning 60
Auntie of the auntie, odierno the day
When the AARP reductions in price come your sense
You are still to two years from the government controls
and for this birthday, they are irritateed
In order to obtain something to you,
perhaps a chalice?
Or perhaps it obtains to your husband a sure Cialis?
Perhaps fascicoler? your pills in this box it of the calendar
As Alzheimer is turning your brain towards cliffs
a passage of the bus really have been able to show it like
In order not leading your automobile in the crowds appreciate a plow
a day to the thermal station with a great modification of prices
Can help it to be similar less than hag
For hour all that you obtain it is this desire of birthday
But before you diami the ol ''posh-pish-pish, '
In the trapunta of your life they are but a point
And is one trapunta large mighty you old female crusty.
It's 725PM EST...
If you have Univision, please tell me what it was that I was watching. There was some sort of Marilyn Manson dude doing a talk show, and now some sort of dude doing a Colonel Sanders impression next to a guy with a rubber wig on doing some sort of news commentary.
Goddamn, even when there aren't amazingly round assed women gyrating on this channel, it's still wildly entertaining...
No Limit Charity Event
Hesperia, MI (benefitting the Hesperia High Boys' Baseball Team)
$40 gets you 300, rebuy for $15 gets you 300, add-on for $10 gets you 500.
Total players: 35
Total expenditure: $80
I don't have a lot to say on this one, other than pointing out that I did tread water quite nicely with the bullshit cards I was being dealt all day long.
I finished 15th or 16th. I don't know. All I do know is that I'm scared to log on to PartyPoker right now, as I'm likely to get 83o another fucking dozen times today the way my luck has been going.
I made it to level five in the tourney, watched at least 2/3 of the players playing spend at least as much money as I did (entry, two rebuys, one add on), and outside of the two all-in bets I made (both losses, one real early - thank you rebuy - one to bounce me), I didn't play one hand past the turn.
Not one lousy hand.
99 was my best set of hole cards. Never once had a suited Ace paired with anything higher than a three. Never had a suited King with anything higher than a seven. Didn't have any other pairs dealt to me besides 99. I actually got dealt 83, either suited or off, at least ten times.
Why can't those be Aces?
With 1000 left, blinds at 200/400, and being one of the three short stacks at my table, I had blinds rapidly approaching. I knew my next playable hand was going to require the all-in bet. I wanted to do it from early position to hopefully either get a bunch of folders if I wasn't strong, picking up the blinds, or more than just double up.
I was two out of the BB, and got 67s. Fold, fold, and I'm all-in. It folds to the BB, who thinks and calls. A6o.
Wouldn't you know the other two sixes hit the board? Out kicked. Dammit!
I can't really even say I played this tournament. I folded my way to 15th place, six out of the money.
I had fun, but damned if I wasn't disappointed that it turned out the way it did. None of us play cards just to fold. It's frustrating. And that was my day. Just frustrating.
Google Search: where can I find an appropriate poem or birthday greeting for my aunt turning 60
If you're coming to me, as someone obviously just did, to find an appropriate poem or birthday greeting for your 60 year old aunt, you've come to the wrong place.
But I'm here to help. Give this one a shot:
To Your Aunt, Who Is Turning 60
Auntie auntie, today's the day
When AARP discounts come your way
You're still two years from government checks
And for this birthday, I was vexed
To get you something, maybe a chalice?
Or maybe get your husband some Cialis?
Perhaps I'll sort your pills into this calendar box
As Alzheimer's is turning your brain to rocks
A bus pass really might show you how
To not drive your car into crowds like a plow
A day at the spa with a big price tag
Can help you look like less of a hag
For now all you get is this birthday wish
But before you give me the ol' "posh-pish,"
In the quilt of your life I am but a stitch
And it's a mighty big quilt you old crusty bitch.
The lack of updates this week is due to getting absolutely hammered at work with all sorts of crap hitting me from all different directions. Ultimately, it's not a bad thing. I'd rather have something to do than nothing to do, and with our program we're responsible for, the more business the better for the company, but a moment to breathe every now and again wouldn't be too much to ask for.
I'm coming home exhausted lately. Just spent. Playing very little online poker, instead just wrecking out on my couch until it's time to hit the sack.
I did manage to reconnect this week with two college roommates who I haven't spoken to in awhile. Mike is moving up from Florida to take a job in Chicago after being asked to resign from his previous position because of a smoke machine and a fire alarm. It's not as good a story as you're imagining, so I'll leave the rest up to you. Mario, who I hadn't spoken to in over a year, also called and will be back nearby this summer, so I'll at least get to see him, Stinky, Mrs. Stinky, and the new little Stinky Ivan over these next couple of months.
After fighting through depression these past few years, I can't tell you how excited I am to see some old friends again. Part of my problem with this depression was (and it is a was at this point) that all my good friends are thousands of miles away. I'm in Michigan, and the people with whom I'm closest are in California, New York, Utah, Florida, and Oregon. Add to that the fact that I'm generally a sociophobe, and I don't really get out to meet people very often.
Here's one stupid and/or endearing fact about those who I call my best friends:
Nate - Filleted his fingers into a brutally gruesome deformity on a jigsaw when he was pulling graveyard shift factory work during the school year. He has a finger that is the spitting shadow puppet image of that fuzzy old picture of the Loch Ness Monster.
Mike - Gave a girl, probably a year before she ascended to the level of "total whore," a key, then showed her the fresh tattoo he got of a broken heart with a keyhole, hopefully to talk her into a relationship. He got real lucky when he didn't end up bagging that girl. She, by the way, slept with Andre from the first MTV "Real World" cast (NYC), and so therefore, I'm only about three degrees of separation from Martha Quinn (which, by the way, is the same number of degrees between me and GW Bush).
Stinky - Ate more Burger King than I've ever seen a human being eat before or since at one sitting on a lost summer night in 1994 or 1995. If memory serves, there were two double Whoppers, two large fries, two large onion rings, a big pop, and another sandwich. Upon finishing what was on his tray, he then went up for a piece of Butterfinger pie. If you have to ask what prompted this binge, you obviously didn't go to college (or you went to BYU).
Dan - To this day has never let me sing the Jack Bruce part in "Sunshine of Your Love" when it comes on the radio. We duet, he gets the good part.
James - Won our bet to see who'd lose their virginity first, but only by less than a month. Actually called me to tell me about it less than one hour from when I lost mine.
Amy - Played on the same high school softball team as the girl who was the friend of Angela on "My So Called Life." The petite long haired hippieish girl. Said she was a bitch.
Jesus, I know I'm missing someone here, but my brain isn't working well tonight. Eh, for now this will do. Momentarily, and just above, I'll be typing up my NL Hold Em Charity Tournament results for today. Don't miss it!
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
HOLD THE PHONE PAULY
My Wednesday morning online edition of the Detroit Free Press has the announcement of Coltrane drummer Elvin Jones' passing on the front page.
Who died first?
Shit, Randall on Monday, Jones on Tuesday. Dammit.
Tuesday, May 18, 2004
Anna and the King Queen Suited
If the question hadn’t come from a six year old with moon pie eyes and no concept that the mountain of chips in front of me at the moment meant more in the context of the game than the piddling little stacks of the others hunched over the coffee table playing Hold Em, I might have been prone to give the question the ol’ roll-my-eyes-and-audibly-sigh treatment.
“He is honey,” Anna’s father, Joe, replied. “Look at how many more chips he has than all of us.”
It was true. Even a kid who couldn’t go from ten to eleven without taking her shoes off should be able to see that. I was easily holding a three-to-one chip lead over any of the other five people playing at that moment. As a matter of fact, in the span of the first ten minutes of the tournament, I had knocked out Mr. Seventh Place when he called my lowly pair of fives with his lowlier Ace high, and had completely suckered another player into an unspectacular sixth place finish when my pocket fives flopped a set.
You give me a lead like this one, and I’m not likely to lose it.
“I wanna be on his team.” Joe gave Anna a look of mock devastation as she sidled up next to me on the ottoman on which I was perched. “He’s gonna win,” she announced. She climbed up to my ear to confirm, “You’re gonna win, right?”
“Naw kiddo… We’re gonna win. You’re on my team now, right?”
She smiled and picked up the cards I was just dealt. A ten and a deuce. Off-suit. She gave a furtive glance around the table to make sure no one would be looking when she peeled them off her chest to take a peek. One look, and she whispered back to me, “Are these good cards?”
“No Anna, I would say those cards pretty much suck.” Joe shot me a quick, we-don’t-want-her-saying-‘suck’ look. “I meant, stink. They stink. These cards are terrible. Throw them in the middle.”
She obliged and asked again, “Are we still winning?”
I nodded and asked her back, “What’s your favorite game?”
She thought about it hard for a moment, finger scratching her temple to prove to me it wasn’t an easy decision. She finally replied, “Chutes and Ladders. That’s my favorite game.”
“Well, you know that in Chutes and Ladders there’s only one winner, right? That’s the one that gets to the finish line first.” Anna was nodding her agreement. “Well, in this game, I try to take everyone else’s chips. That’s how you win here.”
“And are we going to win?” She was talking in a hushed voice again, making sure no one could hear our secret “let’s try to win” strategy.
“We have to take your dad’s chips to do that. Should we beat your dad and win the game?” Joe smiled and asked Anna, “Don’t you really want to play on Daddy’s team?”
“No Daddy. I want to win.”
So smart, in fact, that I gave her a chance to prove her mettle on her own terms. After she had taken my hole cards and given them a good look, I asked her, certainly loud enough for anyone at the table to hear, “Do I throw two chips in the pot, or should I throw those cards away?”
She picked up the cards again and studied them intently. “You tell me,” she said. “You look at them.” It was obviously a decision of tremendous magnitude for her.
“I don’t want to look,” I told her. “You’re on my team, right? I trust you. Go ahead. Do we throw two chips in to play, or do we throw them into the middle?”
She grabbed the cards off the table for the third time, sweeping them up and clutching them to her chest in one quick motion, lest anyone get a glimpse of anything on the other side. She peeled the corners back and saw the cards again. Her brow furrowed, and she looked back to me for an answer. I hadn’t seen the cards, so all she got was an encouraging smile.
Still protecting the hand, she came right to my ear and whispered secretively, “I’m going to throw them away. They’re not very good.”
I grinned. “Go ahead, throw them away.” She carefully slid them underneath another set of discards in the middle as she had seen me do previously.
When the hand was complete, Dan, the dealer at the time, couldn’t resist. He fished my cards out of the muck to find my hole cards, which he proudly showed to the rest of the table.
I poked Anna in the ribs and gloated, “Good move! You’re good at this game!” She giggled and was beaming proudly.
A few hands later, we pulled the same trick. I was under the gun, and hadn’t yet looked at my hole cards. She had already swiped them off the table for a glance, as was her habit.
“What do we do with these Anna? Should I put two chips in, or throw them away?”
She only thought for a moment before asking, “Can we throw more than two chips in if we want to?” There was an audible groan from the table. If a six year old knew to raise, what kind of trouble were they in?
“Sure Anna, how about six chips? Sound good?” She nodded and sat back to watch how the others were going to counter her brilliant strategy.
Joe was next, and knew he was playing his hand directly against his daughter. “I’ll call you Anna.” She smiled and clapped when she realized someone was going to lose money to her. Everyone else had the good sense to get out of the way.
Flop came out KQ4 rainbow, and I was first to act. I’ve played blind before, and I put out a fairly strong bet to get a feeler for where Joe was at. He took one look at my bet, saw his daughter beaming eagerly, and didn’t need Caro’s Book of Tells to know he was beat.
I turned over KQs, and high-fived my teammate.
As the next hand was dealt, Anna was curious. “Did we win?”
I mussed up her hair a touch and replied, “Just that hand Anna, but with your help, we’ll beat these guys yet.”
At that moment, she got that look in her eyes like pure ice water was flowing through her veins. She glared the table down, swept the hole cards to her chest and only gave them a cursory look before letting the rest of the table and me confidently know who was now in charge.
“That hand sucks. Throw it away.”
Best wishes and prayers and blah blah blah to the family of the freaking deceased
If the rumors are true, Tony Randall died this morning.
This puts me $5 down to Pauly. Dammit!
Monday, May 17, 2004
Skip's Italian Food Blog: Fried Dough:
Please, for the love of god, whoever is responsible for my unbridled glee upon reading that post, please take ownership of your masterwork.
Just so you know, my name is not Roger Chamberlain, and I am not a 44 year old man from McClean, VA
Click and read, just click and read. By the way, did they have to mention they found porn magazines? I mean, isn't that assumed?
A Challenge To Pauly McGrupp
You're an admitted incorrigible gambler. I'm well on my way.
I'd like to issue a challenge to you to for a weekly wager.
We'll pick something absurd. Whether it's the weekend box office gross of the fourth week of release of Spider-Man 2, or betting an over/under for what percentile Iggy can finish in his next multi-tourney, the hype and level of interest for a friendly $5 wager could be off the charts.
My first proposition: Pop Culture Passings. Pauly McGrupp, starting with this Wednesday's newspapers, will the next celebrity to pass on to the pearly gates be a musician, or an actor? (of course, we'll wait for the next actor or musician to die to pay off this bet)
$5 and pride is riding on your decision. I'll be happy to take whichever side you choose not to.
Are you man enough to play my little games?
I caved in to my commitment to not drink pop last night. It was getting close to 9PM, and if this tournament ran late (it didn’t), I didn’t want to be asleep at the switch. My first inclination was to run out for a Red Bull, but someone had left a nearly full two liter of Mountain Dew in my fridge, so I thought I’d just drink that instead. Really, what’s the difference anyway? Red Bull is technically a pop, so I haven’t really given it up entirely.
These two pint glasses of Mountain Dew represent the first two glasses of pop I’ve had in over a year.
They also represent the best excuse I have this morning for only getting five hours of sleep last night. Well, the Mountain Dew and the constantly barking dog from across the street.
About 11PM that little sonofabitch started up. I had just crawled into bed, still giddy from my good showing in the tournament (not to mention the $120 win), and the dog went off like there was a prowler in the yard.
Of course, my dog was on the bed with me, and was desperately looking out the front windows into the darkness trying to spot the little barking bastard while huffing under his breath.
It was like your stereotypical New York street scene being played out in the neighborhood last night. With the nice weather, everyone had their windows open, and the dog kept going. Someone yelled, “QUIET!” from their window. That was followed by a “SHUT UP!” from the opposite direction. Then, there was a big bellowing “NO!” from one of my neighbors. That didn’t shut the dog up, and neither did the three loud barking sounds someone made from another nearby bedroom window. I guess I see the logic, maybe the dog is barking because he’s lonely, so let him know someone is out there for him. Still, do you want to be washing your car on Saturday when your neighbor comes out and says, “Gee Frank, that dog was annoying last Sunday, but did you really think barking back at him was the answer?”
I just stayed in bed, hoping that either the dog, caffeine buzz, or both would cease long enough for me to catch some shut-eye.
1130 passed, then Midnight. The dog is still barking.
Finally, about 1230AM, I finally get to bed.
And my dog wakes me up at 535AM by licking my hand. He’s a licker, and if you don’t want something licked, don’t get it anywhere near him. He’s been known to sit in the same spot on the couch and lick the same wet spot into the cushion for a half an hour. Yeah, he’s strange.
And it’s a little strange to roll over at 535AM, throw an arm into his territory, and be shocked awake by your dog. So shocked, that it’s pointless to try to get back to sleep.
Of course, it was nearly pointless to wake up this morning anyway, as the cable was out and I didn’t get to see my Pistons highlights.
Well, whatever. I’m just dragging ass today. Always a fun feeling.
YouBet.com thoroughbred betting - +$25
Home Game Poker - +$10
PartyPoker.com - +$11
OTB thoroughbred betting (+programs) - -($37)
PacificPoker.com Blogger Tourney - +$98
Cigarettes, beer, and Red Bull - -($15)
Burrito, Sunday - -($6)
Ice Cream, Sunday - -($3)
Total - +$83
Not too shabby for the amateur gambler.
Cable's out, it's 630AM, I've got 40 minutes to kill...
How about a tournament report?
The "hand history" over at Pacific Poker is really quite annoying. Can't get it emailed, and it is graphical in nature. So, this will be clumsy.
I got aggressive last night from the get-go, which seemed to put a lot of the competition on their heels. As a matter of fact, I built up a large portion of my stack with aggressive pre-flop raises outside the blinds, most often getting a series of folders around to me.
Let's just say I got real, real lucky that I had good cards and didn't run up against AA or KK even once using this strategy.
I said in chat that "the deck hit me in the head at about 920PM (one hour in)." Well, at 924PM, I started my run of good cards. Good cards, mind you, not great cards.
QTo makes two pair, +550
55 makes a set on the flop, +250
AQs lands a pair of Queens, +300
JJ makes JJJ22, +1339 (knocking Vanzylb out)
THE HAMMER, on a flop of 469 rainbow, +375
KT rivers a pair of Kings, +1576 (sorry NemoD)
88 rivers a full house, 888KK, +1692 (knocking MonsterD out)
(1023PM) AJs makes AA55, beating Otis' 99, +4240
At that point, I'm sitting on the chip lead at 8480 with four to play. Two hands later, rather than just folding like a pussy into the money...
A9s from the BB. Otis is first in and raises. Mean Gene and Bad Blood scoot. I push back all-in, hoping for a fold right there.
Otis is holding JJ. I don't know this at the time, and see the board come out beautifully for me:
I see my full house, I'm jumping up and down like Publisher's Clearing House just stopped by, and I see Otis raking the chips. Wha...? Dude had a two-outer at the end, but I must admit that I was definitely behind to begin with. If it wasn't for that flop and turn, I would have nothing to bitch about.
With 3500 left, I did manage to steal raise once to go to 5200, and hung in tight while Bad Blood got bounced. My big mistake came against Mean Gene.
He was playing the role of the aggressor beautifully. Gene battled his way back from a very low chip count (roughly 800) at the final table to make the final three, but was still low stack with about 4500. He was pushing and pushing those pre-flop raises to all-in levels, really making it difficult for Otis, Bad Blood, and I to play back at him.
So, I found myself with J2s, and Gene limping in from the SB. I check. Axx of spades flops. Gene checks.
I want that pot right now. I've got nothing, but hoping he's got less. I push all in, Gene calls with Kx of spades. I was drawing dead.
Two hands later, they took my legs out completely, as I was left with barely enough chips to call a BB.
Still, +$120 for the night is a very satisfying showing for me. I'm really quite pleased, and thanks to Iggy for setting this all up for us.
Sunday, May 16, 2004
Iggy's Pacific Poker Blogger Tournament
More to come tomorrow, but awfully pleased at my third place finish and +$120 in cash here. Otis and Mean Gene were battling last I looked for the title, and both are MUCH better players than I am, so third place holds no shame at all.
WOODTV.com & WOOD TV8 - Grand Rapids news and weather - Home
"Geez... He's got a ton!"
12,136 porn pics on the home computer, thanks to one West Michigan 13 year old.
In West Michigan, this qualifies as a crisis.
In Metro Detroit, they've got Fox2 News on the case, busting lazy city workers, or businesses that sell services and then up and disappear on the consumer.
We've got a hard-hitting expose that says - gasp - there's porn on your child's Internet.
I've only got one problem with this whole thing.
You mean to tell me there's been porn on the Internet all this time, and no one has said a word about it to me? My god, all the fun I could have been having over the last eight or nine years!
Could someone please let me know when gambling comes to the Internet? I think that might be fun to try at some point.
What'd I do?
Every once in awhile I troll the blog-i-verse by going to Blogger.com and searching through the 100 most recently updated blogs for new stuff.
Yesterday, on just such an excursion, I happened upon some dude's site, who happened to be talking about a subject close to my heart, Italian food. The blog, in his own words, is a place to talk about food and hopefully sell a few cookbooks he's authored.
Cookbooks, by the way, that cannot be found on Amazon.com, which is a pretty decent barometer of one's status as a published author, one would think. Basically, it's a blog with one guy and his cookbooks, presumably printed on his Gutenberg press in his garage.
He had comments turned on, and so I left something that was similar to the following:
"Skip (aside: that's his name, Skip, if I have one more reason not to like the dude now),
As a fellow, if only partial, Italian-American, and one that absolutely loves great food, I really enjoyed finding your blog (linked from Blogger.com) today.
I look forward to coming back and reading more about great Italian food, so keep writing.
Just so you don't doubt my validity as a lover of the food of Italy, if you told me I'd have to stock a bomb shelter for the next two years of living underground, at least half the shelves would be chock full of cans of San Marzano tomatoes, the best in the world.
A clumsy stab at humor, to be sure, but innocent enough, no? I didn't pimp my site, didn't swear, and was just trying to be nice and encouraging. After all, I'd bet more than a few of us with blogs were visited early enough in our writings with a similar post in the comments section. Someone just dropping by to encourage us.
I went back today to see if he had responded, and I saw "Post has been deleted by a blog administrator."
Asshole. That wasn't very nice of him. If you don't want comments, turn the damn things off.
Why should a still reasonably young man of 29, like myself, have to justify the desire to pork an Olsen twin to a 50 year old drunk woman? I thought that general lechery aimed in the direction of Mary-Kate and/or Ashley was not only understandable, but growing more acceptable as they approach high school graduation.
Anyway, the magic number for yesterday was 11 1/2. As in 11 1/2 lengths separating Smarty Jones from the rest of the pack in the Preakness. When Rock Hard Ten (jesuschrist is that an amazing looking horse - just enormous and sculpted like I've never seen) came off the second turn into the stretch with those huge strides, starting to gobble up yards and yards of dirt trying to make up ground, I thought for sure he was going to catch Smarty Jones and at least make it a struggle down the stretch.
Gary Stevens, the jockey aboard Rock Hard Ten said, "Entering the stretch, I knew I had another gear, but the other horse (Smarty) had about four more gears. We could be seeing some history in the making here. That horse is as good as any I've ever seen, and I've seen some good ones and been on some good ones, and I was on a good one today. Smarty really reminded me of Secretariat the way he pulled away."
You and me both, Gary. Even down to a cruising Stewart Elliott taking a peek under his shoulder to see if he had to urge Smarty harder against any fast closing competition. Rest easy Stew, you're eight lengths in front and separating fast.
I must admit, I was a little concerned in the first half of the race in regards to the trip Elliott was giving Smarty Jones. In the Derby, Lion Heart took to the lead alone and pressed the pace with his own agenda. In the Preakness, even with Sir Shackleton and Water Cannon, two other apparent early speed horses in the race, Elliott raced out near the front and pushed against Lion Heart to set the early fractions.
I needn't have worried.
Smarty Jones is going to win the Triple Crown.
Another home game, another disappointment.
From the files of "whattareyagonnado?" comes my exit from said home game.
In the third hand dealt, not even making it to 730PM, I'm dealt 89o. I had committed myself to playing a little reckless last night, especially with our small blinds early in the tourney (5/10 with 1125 stacks). So I raise from late position pre-flop. Two call.
The board is A89. All hearts, but check, check, and I come out pretty big, but not big enough to slam the door as both call.
Ace on the turn. Check, check, and I bet nice and big. Again, call and call. I'm worried about a slowplayed flush, and maybe that third Ace out there, but no one has showed aggression but me since the hand started, so I'm not letting up now.
Ace on the river. I've got the high full house on the board AAA99. First to act checks, and second to act goes all-in.
All-in on hand number three.
This is a guy who isn't a strong player generally. He'll check/call down to the river with 33 in the hole, even if overcards galore hit the board and betting is active. He's the type to make a move like this, potentially, with anything in his hand from Kx making the flush, to 55, giving him a lower full house than mine.
I think about it, and know that there are only a few sets of hole cards that can beat me. Ax, for quads. KK/QQ/JJ/TT for the higher full house.
I'm guessing it's probably 50/50 he's got me beat, and if I can get a substantial chip lead this early, I'll be unstoppable.
He's got the Ace. A4, to be exact.
I did manage to take the $5 game we started a couple hours later, which gave me a net +$10 for the night. The poker gods smiled on me in that game, actually letting me triple up in the first four hands.
But I'm still smarting from getting bounced so early.
Bill Simmons @ ESPN
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