True Stories From IM Chat Transcripts

BG sports guy's nfl column is finally up
BG hardly a column though
BG it's like a blog post
AlCantHang well he's written more this week than any week in recent memory
BG all about freakin baseball though
AlCantHang it is baseball post season, if you hadn't noticed :)
BG it can't end soon enough - i want my new season of THE OC
AlCantHang oh god

True stories.

God I hate baseball. This is coming from the same guy who, in ninth grade, constructed a two man roto-league from scratch and hand-calculated statistics on a daily basis (yes, over the course of an entire season) with his friend. This is coming from the guy who used to have over a dozen Ellis Burks rookie cards painstakingly protected from any chance of wear or rounded corners.

I really hate baseball.

I realize baseball won’t just go away, and that one of the major networks apparently must carry these playoff games. Why does it have to be Fox though? It’s the “New Fall Season” for everything but 80% of my favorite network programming. Because of freakin’ baseball. I’ve got two weeks to wait for new episodes of The O.C. I have three to wait for The Simpsons and King of the Hill.

I need baseball to be over with so I can get back to what matters. That being, of course, what Theresa intends to do with the baby that is presumably Ryan’s, but probably belongs to that lanky dude with the peasy mustache who used to kick her ass. What is Marissa going to do to get Ryan back? Or is she just going to go all slutty drunk and turn into a fictional Hilton sister? Where did Seth sail off to? Can he get Summer back? And more importantly, can he get her back in that Wonder Woman outfit?

These are the things I need to know. And if it wasn’t for Major Freakin League Baseball, I’d be two episodes deep right now.

Damn you Major League Baseball.

Sign Me Up

I’ve never really done volunteer work before.

Actually, that’s not entirely true. I did once answer phones on the Salt Lake City Easter Seals Telethon circa 1990. I wrote about that incident awhile ago.

But lately, if you don’t count my community theatre experiences, I’ve done exactly zero charity work.

My mom, on the other hand, is a charity’s best friend. Her pet project currently involves sitting on the board of our county’s Hospice group, and planning a silent auction in February.

Where then do I fit in?

Well, in an effort to try to create some unique “prizes” for the people to vie for, my mom called me and asked me to donate my time. In the kitchen. Cooking dinner for six at someone else’s house for a dinner party.

This comes with a $100 gift certificate (presumably for supplies) to the local grocery store, so I’m curious to see how much this package with my name on it goes for.

I’m pretty adept in the kitchen, all things considered, but I come complete with no credentials that would impress anyone who’s never eaten my cooking previously. I did stipulate that I am only willing to cook Italian. God forbid they ask for steaks and have a shitty grill and I fuck up their charitable contribution.

Anyway, I’m curious to see how this thing is going to go. I can do some stuff really well. Chicken/Veal Parmagiana / Picatta for instance. Lasagna. Tomato basil sauce. There are some things I’ve done really well in the past, but am gunshy to do for people paying for my services due to level of difficulty. My stuffed braised beef rolls, risotto, and pork lentil soup fall into this category. And there are some things I just simply can’t do well enough to feel comfortable, like bake pastries, make anything requiring dough, or cook with mushrooms.

That being said, from the files of “always leave on a high note,” I make kickass cannolis. No two ways about that. I don’t make the shells, but the ricotta cheese mixture inside is a piece of cake, and awfully tasty.

I’m flattered as hell my mom thinks enough of my cooking to put my skills up for bid. With any luck, maybe I can talk some friends into bidding on this and letting me sit in for dinner with them. I’ll bet I go for at least $50.

No write-up

I’m not writing up the blogger tournament.

Thanks to Iggy for getting us over to PokerStars and all, but when you’re the first blogger bounced out, you don’t really want to talk about it.

What’s enormously sad is that Mr. Runner-Up had less chips at my table than I did when I felt I had to make a desperate all-in maneuver.

All other poker bloggers > BG

Yeesh.

Hack-ro Economics

This article was one I found interesting. It compares the cost/benefit analysis of executing murderers with an assumed cost/benefit analysis of executing computer hackers and virus writers.

As with any economics discussion, assumptions on data is a large part of the argument, but one fact with which I wholeheartedly agree is summed up at the tail end of the article:

As for myself, I hold that the government's job is to improve our lives, not to impose its morality… But this essential point remains: Governments exist largely to supply protections that, for one reason or another, we can't purchase in the marketplace. Those governments perform best when they supply the protections we value most. We can measure their performance only if we are willing to calculate costs and benefits and to respect what our calculations tell us, even when it's counterintuitive. Any policymaker who won't do this kind of arithmetic is fundamentally unserious about policy.

Interesting concept, government taking care of its people without imposing morality. Wonder if that would work here in America?

Economics was without question my favorite set of classes in college. Once grounded in the basics of micro- and macro-econ, it’s only a small leap to begin to discuss public policy in black-and-white, cost-and-benefit terms.

What got me interested in this Slate article was another written by the same author under the subject of “Everyday Economics.” By now, I’m sure you’ve read about the woman on the plane with the 14 Middle Eastern “musicians,” who spent all flight worrying the ever living hell out of everyone else on board with their behavior. In this article, titled “The $100 Terrorist Insurance Plan,” Landsburg hypothesizes that airline passengers should be ethnically screened. However, these passengers who are identified by name, country of origin, appearance, or color as more likely threats, should be compensated $100 by the airline for the fifteen to twenty minutes of inconvenience they had to endure being singled out for questioning. And further, airline passengers would – in theory – gladly pay an additional $7-$10 per ticket to cover the cost of this profiling.

Landsburg states, “Paying people for their inconvenience is a good idea first because it is fair, and second because its very fairness makes it a plausible alternative to the current policy of pretending that old Midwestern women are as dangerous as young Middle Eastern men.”

Amen.

Almost makes me want to change my name to Mohammad Jihad.

Almost. I don’t fly that much.

I don’t get it…

Michael Moore spoke Wednesday in Utah.

That’s not the part I don’t get.

What I don’t get is why Moore speaking to students at a university would lead to some of the actions described in this paragraph (quoted from the article):

Before the speech, Moore was asked if he felt safe in Utah County - a reference to a month-long backlash that included angry letters, a student-government recall petition and a lawsuit filed Monday to void his speaking contract.
"Why wouldn't I feel safe here?" the Midwesterner said. "I haven't seen a lot of Utah gangs. I haven't seen a lot of Mormons with chains and knives."

Angry letters? OK. I know Moore is a guy about whom one apparently must have a strong opinion. A student-government recall petition? This is teetering on the brink of ridiculousness, but what’s a university without a protest? A lawsuit filed to void his speaking contract? Unreal.

It’s not as if Moore is spewing hate and encouraging violence against his fellow man. Frankly, even if he were spouting hateful rhetoric, he still has a right in this country to be heard, last I checked. I’m interested to know who exactly filed this lawsuit (turns out it was a resident of the town in which the university is located, not a student or affiliate of the school) to keep him from speaking to students (who, to make a wide sweeping generalization, are some of the most liberal voters – and non-voters – in the country) at this university. This article from the Provo Daily Herald states that the university’s president invited Sean Hannity to speak in order to balance out the propaganda. Well, the article doesn’t say that exactly, but Hannity did accept, and already spoke at the college a couple weeks ago*.

So why are people so afraid of Moore? Why is nearly every speaking engagement of his that you hear about “balanced” by some other group from the right wing setting up shop too?

If you don’t like what someone has to say, turn your TV off. Don’t pay money to go see his movie. Turn the dial on your radio. Skip his piece on the Op/Ed page of the paper. And don’t go to his speaking engagement.

I can’t believe this doesn’t go without saying…

*According to this article, the lawsuit trying to void the speaking engagement of Moore’s was filed on the grounds that the student council at the university didn’t have the authority to pay the $40k speaking fee, plus $10k for Moore’s travel, to bring him to the school. The week before, Hannity spoke at the university, waiving his speaking fee, but it still cost the university – ready for this? - $50k to bring him out. So it’s OK to pay $50k for a conservative to come out, but $50k for a liberal? Better get the courts involved. One more article about the guy and the lawsuit for you here too.

I’ve never even been to Omaha…

…but I managed to finish a hit-and-run session up about 40BB in 45 minutes last night at PokerStars.

I’ve recently begun to become intrigued by Omaha, specifically Omaha Hi, as it seems more difficult a concept than Hold Em, and could add another skill to my small repertoire. So, with my entry fee paid for Iggy’s next WPBT event, I had a few bucks in my account left to blow over there.

Why not give $.25/$.50 Limit Omaha Hi a try?

At my peak, I was +55BB. I was judiciously choosing good starting hands, flopping the nuts or draws to the nuts, and hitting card after card. With the combination of low limits and passive players, I was sweeping small pots with two check/calling me to showdown almost every time.

Except one.

I was dealt 2255 down, and saw a board come out K82 rainbow on the flop. Bottom set scares me a little bit, especially with five other players seeing a capped flop. With six dollars already in, I helped two others cap this round too. The next two cards were effectively blanks, but again, in Omaha bottom set is a scary proposition. All three of us left in the hand basically check/called at the large pot to show down for $13 or so.

Amazingly, my set of deuces held. Unreal.

Al sat down with me briefly, and the second he did I started showing nothing but second best hands all the way down. From my peak of +55BB, I was happy to get up from the table +40BB. By the way, at one point a few hands in for Al he was aggressively pushing a hand to showdown that proved to be a loser. I missed what he mucked, and he typed in Yahoo chat to me, “You didn’t tell me this wasn’t Hi/Lo. I flopped the nut low.” Oops.

I obviously still have the training wheels on, but I learned a few things about Omaha.

>> Bottom set is scary.

>> If you don’t hit your set on the flop with Aces down and multiple players in the hand, it might be best to lay it down.

>> If the board pairs something you’re not holding, and you haven’t made a set (or more realistically, top set), you’re screwed.

>> If the board shows three of one suit you don’t have two of down, you’re screwed.

>> If there’s a double gutshot looking board and you don’t have the gap cards, you’re screwed.

In other words, it seems like there were more full houses, straights, and flushes shown than in Hold Em, so two pair isn’t going to get you much of anywhere.

I’m really intrigued, and can’t wait to give it another shot.

Low Spark of High Heeled Boys

I’ve decided that I wish I could sing like Steve Winwood.

Not the “Higher Love”/”Valerie” Steve Winwood, who fell into that same Lite Rock trap that consumed Clapton and that guy who used to sing for the Doobie Brothers. I’m talking Spencer Davis Group/Traffic era Winwood. Back when a skinny white English kid could emulate Ray Charles and get away with it.

Undoubtedly, a guy could get more pussy were he able to sing like Marvin Gaye, Al Green, or Sam Cooke. Problem is, a guy simply can’t get pussy if he’s an average looking white guy who has a noticeably odd voice for his look coming out of his mouth.

Another reason why Barry White could only have looked like Barry White. No chance you plug that larynx and those vocal cords into Art Garfunkel and sell a million records.

In coming to this determination, I had to analyze exactly what kind of pussy I wanted to leave myself open to. Case in point, I consider Roger Daltrey to have quite probably the perfect rock and roll lead singer voice of all time. Problem is, I don’t like girls in acid washed jeans with teased hair named Randi who reek of nicotine. I could have chosen a guy like Neil Diamond, who has a showman’s voice and a penchant for teetering on the brink of cheese, but I don’t want to be limited to banging soccer moms and have legions of fans with AARP memberships. Maybe you think about someone who’s currently popular like Justin Timberlake, but I’m pretty sure I’d end up in jail with all those 16 year olds throwing themselves at my feet. “She told me she was 18 officer!”

No, it’s got to be Winwood’s voice. If you make it just funky and soulful enough, you can get all kinds of women kneeling at your feet. Euphemistically, and otherwise. Black, white, Latina, Asian, it’s all OK by me. The closest comparison I could draw would be that Dave Matthews guy. He’s probably like a latter-day Winwood from the Traffic/Blind Faith days, and is a great example of how to build a fan base from every race, creed, color, age, whatever.

I’d just suck a whole lot less than Matthews, that’s for sure.

Andie MacDowell can suck my balls

But BG, what’d Andie MacDowell ever do to you?

Nothing, except suck.

Andie MacDowell resides gleefully atop my list of FIVE ACTORS/ACTRESSES THAT SHOULD NEVER GET CAST IN MOVIES AGAIN.

She’s #1. #2 is Breckin Meyer, who is not funny, not charming, and too little to be a leading man or everyman. #3 is Loren Dean, who inexplicably got the lead in that terrible movie “Mumford,” which didn’t feature Andie MacDowell, but was so bad that I had to double check to make sure she wasn’t in it. Biologists have botanists on call in case they can ever prove that this guy is, in fact, made of solid teak. #4 on my list is Sean Astin, who has been trading on his genius father’s name for too many years now. Plus, he was in those terrible “I’m an elf, you have a sword, let’s go on an adventure” trilogy of movies. And #5 is Andie MacDowell.

That’s how bad I can’t stand Andie MacDowell.

By the way, yes I did just take a crap on the Tolkien trilogy. I sat through the first one because I thought I might get laid at some point. As soon as I figured out she wasn’t going to give it up, I came up with every excuse in the book not to waste eight more hours of my life with director’s cut special edition hours of boring footage restored DVD collector set viewings.

Sticking with the celebrity theme, Esquire magazine listed their “sexiest women” in their new issue. In order,

1) Angelina Jolie
2) Halle Berry
3) Britney Spears
4) Jessica Simpson
5) Beyonce
6) Charlize Theron
7) Jennifer Aniston

Really? OK, my take on each then.

Jolie: I couldn’t agree more. Easily the sexiest celebrity out there. There’s no one I would rather spend a freaky weekend with than Jolie. Yes, she scares me a bit, but that’s part of the allure.

Berry: Yes, she’s still beautiful. But can we all agree that at this point Gabrielle Union has lapped her as the most beautiful Black actress in Hollywood? Berry is edging into Michelle Pfeiffer “nice looking almost middle aged lady” territory now, which isn’t a bad place to be. It’s just that she’s not as sexy-hot as she was three to five years ago. Pre-Gabrielle.

Britney: Come on now. If it wasn’t for doing dumbass crap to keep one’s name in the media constantly, we’d have forgotten about her a long time ago. I find British soulstress Joss Stone infinitely more sexy than Spears. At least Stone has talent.*

Simpson: They’re not laughing with you honey. I’m really torn on this one. While I’d pay incredible amounts of money for a private lingerie show starring Jessica, she’d have to be limited to uttering only the following phrases: “Do you like?” (and the variant, “does daddy like?“), “This one makes me feel like a bad girl.” “Am I a bad girl?” (and adding, “tell me I’m a bad girl”), “Yes,” “Don’t stop,” “It’s so big,” “Right there,” and “Oh god.” In that scenario, maybe.

Beyonce: Every time I see this girl, she gets better looking. While it seems like she’s been in the spotlight forever, did you know she’s only 23? Wow. No complaints here.

Theron: I love the fact that she hasn’t gotten implants. She’s notoriously small-breasted, but unbelievably beautiful. I’m a big fan of natural beauty, and she’s got that in spades. Sexy? Absolutely.

Aniston: I think if I were to make a list of the 100 celebrities I’d like to sleep with, I’m pretty sure Aniston wouldn’t make that list. I’m not sure why she’s top seven anything. Seriously.

*This, of course, comes back to haunt me in the Kournikova/Finch argument that I seem to get myself into more often than I’d like. Yes, I’m a hypocrite. I don’t give a crap that Kournikova has no talent because she’s hot (and hotter than Finch by a mile). On the flip side, I don’t give a crap that Britney is hot, because she has no talent. So sue me.

So, building off of the Esquire list, I’m swapping Union in for Berry. I’m bouncing Britney and Aniston, and am torn on Simpson. Staying thematically consistent, I’ll replace Britney with Joss Stone, who’s maybe not as physically sexy as I could choose, but that voice of hers kills me. I’ll then swap Katie Holmes in for Aniston so I can stay with the “TV Actress Who Has Done One Good Movie” theme.

Unfortunately, typing the paragraph above about Jessica Simpson has fried a few mental images into my head I’m not willing to give up right now, so she stays. Frankly, reality TV and/or crappy musicianship doesn’t give me a whole lot else to choose from. Simpson (yes Jess, you are a bad girl, and daddy like) stays.

For now…

Vegas on my mind

I think we’ve reached that time of week where all I want to do for a couple hundred words is wax openly about how much I can’t wait to get to Vegas.

Fifty One Days, by the way.

I had a dream last night about Vegas. I dreamt I was in Circus Circus playing in a NLHE tournament with only nine participants, including my brother. Since he and I are getting into Vegas at 8AM local time on Friday, we’re likely to be the first of the blogger crew in house. So it’s 930AM, and I’m one of four remaining players left. I get dealt AQo, and Bob looks at his watch and then over my shoulder at my hole cards (he’s out at this point). “It’s almost 10. We’ve got to go meet Otis.” He then looks at the dealer and says, “He’s all in,” and pushes my chips into the middle.

I’m incredulous, and my opponents all call. The guy to my left has 62o, but pocket Aces and pocket Queens are what the others have, so I’m screwed and bounce out.

Stupid Bob, pushing my chips in. Otis can wait dammit. The rest of the dream was muddy, and I don’t remember anything else.

Hopefully, things go a little better for me than they did at the table in my dream.

I remember two Januaries ago in Vegas for the Super Bowl, we were on one of those interminably long escalators in the MGM, sandwiched between this ridiculously hot girl in low rise jeans, and four drunk twenty-something guys who quickly figured out this girl spoke little to no English. For about two and a half minutes, they described in vivid detail what they, and every other male in the joint (raising hand), were going to do to her. Unfortunately for them, I was the one right behind her, one step below, staring eye-level into that magnificent ass.

Bob and I also went to a comedy show (at the Improv, which is in one of those casinos on the strip) and were seated in the rear of a small table with a “couple” who were also enjoying the show. She was a quiet and pretty girl of about 19-22, dressed borderline provocatively, and he was a mid-40s guy who looked like what I’d assume a pedophile does.

It was immediately obvious she was compensated company.

This is why I don’t think I could ever bring myself to have sex with a prostitute. There’s no way I’d want to stick it where that guy had stuck it before. And god knows how many other disgusting and filthy slimeballs had been in there too.

You could boil the girl, and shrink wrap her for my protection, and I’d still be conscious of that fact.

There’s an obvious double standard at play when talking about girlfriends though. I dated a stripper in college who had been around the block (twice, and down the street, turned the corner, continued for about six miles, turned around, and then took the long way home), and I didn’t seem to mind that other guys had mined that shaft before. But knowing that this prostitute (no, not the stripper ex) wasn’t in a position to really say “no?” That’s enough for me.

I’m glad prostitutes exist though. Vegas would be poorer without their unintentional comedy.

If I did order up a prostitute, I’m thinking the encounter would probably go a little something like this:

BG: Hi, uh… you must be, um…?
WHORE: Khrystall. Pronounced like the champagne. And your name is…?
BG: McGrupp. Paul McGrupp. Write that down, OK?
WHORE: Sure sugar, whatever you say. You wanted two hours, right?
BG: Sure, yeah. Paul McGrupp is paying you for two hours of time. Here you go.
WHORE: OK, Paul…
BG: Uh, that’s Pauly. Dr. Pauly.
WHORE: Dr. Pauly… Should we get started? (Starts taking off her top)
BG: Whoa! Don’t we ever just talk anymore?

And then I’d piss away $400 talking for two hours about how her father never gave a crap about her and how her uncle molested her or something.

See, I couldn’t even get laid by a prostitute in my own mind. This is how sad I am. I mean, how sad Dr. Pauly McGrupp is.

Ring the Alarm

Man, am I having fun blogging today.

Actually, there’s a sincere possibility that my blogging volume goes up over the next few weeks to few months, as I’m entering what is a likely 90 day lull in my job that will topple over into the new year. Not only do I get a lull, but the last two weeks in December will basically be me in an empty building at my desk for eight hours without an incoming phone call to worry about.

So blogging then becomes my only outlet. Especially when Al goes on vacation.

You guys are going to be royally sick of me, if you’re not already.

I met one of my suppliers’ contacts for the first time today, after a few months of infrequent phone conversations. She looked nothing at all like her voice. From hearing her on the phone I had assumed she was older, bigger, and ugly. On the contrary, she was actually a fairly good looking girl about my age.

So, as is the case every time I see a girl with about a dozen years of my age in public, I gave her a quick “Would I?” once-over in my head.

I had to pass. Her voice is probably best described by the adjective squirrelly, and I don’t think there’s any conceivable chance that I could have a 30 minute phone conversation with her, let alone the hours and hours women seem to demand on the phone at the onset of a new relationship.

Not to mention the bedroom talk wouldn’t sound quite right.

So, let’s go over my list of pre-requisites one more time, just so I can make sure we’re all on the same page.

1) Must not have a squirrelly voice
2) Must be able to spell, not be confused by homophones, and use reasonably proper grammar
3) Must be able to laugh at terribly inappropriate jokes and absurd humor
4) Must be able to eat a meal like a human being and not like Tracey Gold or Karen Carpenter
5) Must not have controlling mother
6) Must be OK with gambling
7) Must have a job and no expectations of one-sided support
8) Must be able to hold down one side of a conversation (corollary – Must be able to hold down one side of a conversation without faking it and proving you don’t really know what you’re talking about)
9) Must have a modicum of self-confidence
10) Must have a smile I enjoy seeing

Really, that’s about it. Am I asking for too much? I don’t think so.

By the way, most of these are pre-reqs I’ve had my whole life. I added #1 today, and added #5 and #7 because of the ex-wife. #6 is fairly recent too.

As far as the “terribly inappropriate jokes” thing is concerned, for anyone joining us out in Vegas wondering what I’m talking about, have Bob tell his awful joke about what’s on his porch.

The Good News

I read today that the car that I drive, the venerable Buick LeSabre, is at the very bottom of the list of cars thieves want to steal.

I don’t know whether to be thrilled that I have one less thing to be worried about, or worried that I’m driving something that isn’t exactly thrilling.

Whatever, I could give a crap. In my too-often used phrase describing my car, “It’s like driving a La-Z-Boy.”

I’ve always found it interesting that the New Testament is sometimes referred to as, “The Good News.” “News,” by definition, is:

1 – a report of recent events
2 – previously unknown information

Since this all happened somewhere in the neighborhood of 2000 years ago, I think we can consider this somewhere on the other side of “news.”

This, of course, got me thinking about God and the afterlife. If you haven’t figured out, I consider myself a tolerant atheist, which means I don’t believe in any sort of higher power, heaven, or hell. Kirk Cameron believes I’ll burn, but I’ll take my chances. Anyway, if there were a God, I think that it’s likely he’d be supremely tolerant and would embrace all his “children” the same way in the afterlife regardless of their religious affiliation here on earth.

However, if I were God? I’d probably line everyone up at the gates, segregating one group (let’s say the Catholics), and letting them get in on an express line with VIP credentials while everyone else watched. Then, as the Catholics are spinning the turnstile, getting into the joint unobstructed, I’d have a bunch of hoops for everyone else to jump through that would be completely pointless for any reason save my amusement. Of course, they wouldn’t get the VIP credentials, which really wouldn’t mean anything different for the Catholics, but would simply serve to cause everyone else to stop and think about their choices here on earth a little bit.

Maybe not the Catholics. Maybe I’d pick a stranger group like the Seventh Day Adventists. Who the hell even knows what they’re all about.

I would actually be a pretty lousy God all things considered. First of all, I’d have too much fun with it. Most of my sense of humor is derived from the absurd, so I’d get off on the little things. For example, I’d rig ATMs to push the withdrawal money out just enough, but still have the machine grip it tightly so it can’t be taken without a struggle and possibly a crowbar. I’d change all the glue on the backs of postage stamps (just for a day) to dissolve completely when licked, and then make the post office send all the letters with taped on stamps back to sender. These are the things that make me laugh.

I’d also want to do the “smiting” thing more often than happens now, but find unique ways to send messages of my displeasure to those who deserve it. Mostly I’d wan to do low-level smiting. Of course, those who would bring significant pain and suffering to others would be dealt with severely, but what about the guy who’s weaving in and out of traffic in an effort to beat everyone to the next stoplight? I’d give him two flat tires. One at first, then he’d blow his second a quarter mile from changing the first. The woman who knocks a guy’s sweatshirt into a puddle on the bottle room floor and doesn’t apologize? She’s going to accidentally topple over a molasses display in aisle four and get sticky. Britney Spears? I’m going to make her fall in love with some doofus who has a kid, get severe acne, and have to flee to Bali to escape the constant torment the paparazzi is willing to inflict upon her…

…What? Oh, he is listening!

I’d be a terrible God because I wouldn’t want to deal with the prayers and incessant whining of my people. There is just more I’d want to do than help some family bless their Salisbury steak dinner, and don’t get me started about how annoying white people singing hymns is to me. If it’s not Al Green or Aretha exalting my greatness, I’m not listening. I’d pay too much attention to those in society who are inflicting inconvenience and small pockets of anger, making sure those me-first assholes are getting their just desserts. The important stuff would just fall by the wayside. No one would luck into a cure for cancer, there’d be no improvement to global warming and the environment, and people would just begin to understand that the set of footprints they saw on the beach weren’t mine after all. They were just the prints of some dude with a metal detector looking for nickels.

I might end up as a terrible God, but I do know this… I’d be the best shot the Lions have of winning the Super Bowl anytime soon.

Go Give It a Read

Pauly’s new edition of Truckin’ is out, and there is a contribution by me in it. It’s that hurricane story, so if you’ve read it, give everything else a look instead.

As a matter of fact, just go right on ahead and read everything else. It’s all good. And Molly, aka Gutter Ball, is offering $10 to everyone who reads her story, so make sure you read that too.

What’s Good

I had a pretty decent weekend playing poker online, mainly because I was trying to burn off what little money I had stacked up at two sites: Pacific and Choice.

Saturday afternoon my Spartans were way up on the Golden Gophers at the half, and running away with the game against the 20th ranked team in the country. Seeing as I had a few hours to kill before dinner, I logged into both of the sites to see if there was a multi worth playing coming up. Sure enough, a 2PM $10+$1 multi at Pacific fit the bill. It was a $2k guarantee, and with 45 minutes left to register, they only had 12 people signed up.

Overlay?

Well, no. By the time the tourney kicked off, 296 players had signed up.

I played pretty well I think, scratching and clawing my way through some terrible cards right off the bat and capitalizing when I did manage to have something reasonably premium to play. By the time the first break hit (55 minutes in), there were 77 players left (top 30 paid) and I was just a touch below the average chip stack left.

By the way, why don’t they do “median chip stack” rather than average? I know the math is easier for average, but median tells one a lot more clearly where they “stack up,” if you excuse the pun.

Anyway, if anyone else remembers the Pacific WPBT event, the main complaint was the way the blinds rose quickly, but for Saturday I didn’t mind so much, as I didn’t necessarily want to sit and play this thing for the next four hours for a shot at $32 profit. With only $11 of money I was intending to waste (or capitalize big with) invested and roughly 50 players left, I was able to double up, bringing me just shy of average again.

I figured it was time to make some moves, providing I got the cards.

Unfortunately, three hands later I was out. I raised from LP with 77, got re-raised by a lower stacked maniac, and pushed all-in, hoping he’d fold. He didn’t, and I got busted by his pocket Kings. I folded the next, and found JJ down with almost nothing left. I pushed, and some dude had Aces. Go figure.

42nd place out of 296, when only the top 30 pay. Ugh.

I tried to piss away the rest of my money on a $2.50+$.25 six handed SNG on Pacific, and successfully lost when an ATC player sucked out hand after hand in this thing. Whatever, I give a crap about $2.75 that I can’t cash out…

I redeemed myself at Choice last night though. I had $16 there that I just couldn’t manage to lose. I had run through a couple of SNGs in recent weeks, placing just high enough in them to get my money back. Last night, though, I ended up taking down a five handed $15+$1 SNG for a total win of $63. It was beautiful. I went up big early, lost a few big hands to go short stacked, and battled my way back to end up with a 3-1 advantage moving heads-up. Then I got Aces, the opponent moved all-in, and I bitch-slapped him into second place.

Gotta love rockets.

Now the question remains… How much of this money will Choice let me cash out? My money there really wasn’t my money, as Choice’s previous “financial difficulties” turned my actual $18 into a virtual $18 that I had to work off with 180 hands at $1/$2 (at least). While I’m comfortable with $45 cash back from those jackasses, I’m hoping they’ll give me the whole $63. I think putting $16 at risk in that SNG should be enough. We’ll see about that, but at least I now have my bankroll for PokerStars and the next WPBT event. Make sure you sign up over at Iggy’s using his link.

Other than that…

Man, am I hungry today. It’s barely 11AM, and I feel Ethiopian. I don’t even have the strength to brush the horseflies from crawling up my face. That’s how hungry I am.

This after a gorge fest yesterday for the Lions game with my family. On the menu: calzone, chicken wings, peanut chicken on a stick, Nutter Butters, peanuts, pepperoni rolls, egg rolls, garlic bread, cold lasagna noodles*, and turtle ice cream pie.

*Cold lasagna noodles are so good that all three of us brothers could have just those for an entire meal. I made a pound of these, and they were gone by halftime.

Anyway, the food coma yesterday was preferable to actually watching the game that was on TV. It was a predictable Lions collapse. I could have told you that they’d lose by double digits and look bad in the process versus Green Bay the second they walked off the turf in Atlanta last week. Add to that a motivated Packer team whose offensive coordinator suffered a heart attack (or something), and they were due.

Big time.

I did put my money where my mouth was to some extent too, taking an additional seven points on the Packer’s line in a teaser with six other teams. I got +9.5 on Green Bay, and was happy to take it. Unfortunately, I missed that bet due to Bengal incompetence. They had the ball, down 17, marching into Cleveland territory with only a minute left to play. One meaningless TD would have won me $40.

Freaking Browns.

My other two bets were ruined as well. One was tanked when the Titans/Texans failed to break the over of 45.5, and the other when Miami didn’t beat Buffalo.

To this day, I’ve never won a sports bet online.

Back to my Lions though. Two major Internet columnists, Peter King and Len Pasquarelli, both took the Lions to task – one overtly, and one not as much.

Pasquarelli’s column really irked me, as he absolutely rubbed the Lions’ noses in a perceived mistake they made not keeping Ruben Droughns around. The same Ruben Droughns who wasn’t good enough to get carries behind James Stewart. God, that makes me mad. It’s one thing to maybe question the Lions’ ability to nurture the talent they’re drafting, which is a legitimate complaint. It’s completely another to take the Lions to task for not keeping this guy around, who was unable to ever crack a non-descript group of backs in front of him. Pasquarelli puts it, ever so gently, like this:

(Note to Lions, who ranked 32nd in rushing yards in 2002, and No. 28 in '03, and whose three tailbacks combined for all of 18 yards on 11 carries in Sunday's loss to Green Bay: You screwed up.) So, you think Droughns might look good in a Lions uniform right about now, bubby? You betcha.

Kiss my ass Len, really. This is one of those “out of nowhere” situations, not a personnel mistake. Dick.

King slighted the Lions this week in his top 15 list, placing Houston and San Diego above Detroit. Just to recap, Detroit beat Atlanta, who beat San Diego. Oh, and Detroit beat Houston too.

It was a terrible performance, but this is a team above .500 right now. They won’t make the playoffs, but they’ve got a few more wins in them I think.

RELEASE THE PANTHERS!

I saw Team America: World Police this weekend, and strongly encourage anyone with a sense of humor to get out and see this movie. My five favorite parts of the movie:

ONE – The scene with the panthers
TWO – When Gary is debating joining the team and goes to all those DC landmarks with the country music song in the background (Freedom costs a buck oh five)
THREE – The very first hand-to-hand combat scene in Paris
FOUR – Puppet sex
FIVE – (tie) Spottswoode talking Gary into proving his loyalty / The “Pussies, Dicks, and Assholes” speech

Great stuff. Regardless of your political affiliations, if you have a funny bone, it’ll be tickled. Get out and support puppet cinema!

A Public Plea

Someone needs to suck it up and come to Vegas with the group.

That is all.

I’ve got magic powers

Yes, that’s right. I can turn invisible.

Unfortunately, not invisible enough to get into the girls’ locker room, but there are times where I’m convinced I’m unseen to the untrained eye.

I brought back cans to the grocery store on Saturday. If you’re not from Michigan, you probably haven’t had the pleasure of manhandling over one hundred sticky cans and bottles, and feeding them single file into the crusher for a dime apiece. Nor are you familiar with the awful odor and floor conditions of these areas.

Well, I’m at the store, feeding my cans into the crusher, and have my sweatshirt draped over the handle of the cart. This woman squeezes herself unnecessarily into the space between my cart and the wall to get another half step closer to an enormous open trash can to throw a bag away. As she pulls back from my cart, she knocks my sweatshirt onto the floor into a puddle of god knows what in the bottle room.

“Oops,” she mumbles to no one as she’s walking away.

I was fucking incredulous.

Same shopping trip, I’m coming out of an aisle (making the traffic-style wide left from the right hand side of the aisle I’m leaving - like one is supposed to), and this woman comes around the other aisle blind, wanting to make a left right into my cart. She takes a jab step forward as soon as I spot her, leaving no confusion as to whether she’s stopping. As she rounds around me, waiting patiently and smiling, I say “excuse me,” and she goes, “PMMMFFFT.”

Again, fucking incredulous.

As far as magic powers go, if this is what being invisible gets you (again, not into the girls’ locker room), then no thanks. Actually, I think that if I did have the ability to turn invisible the government would have kidnapped me and locked me up with Drew Barrymore and David Keith (or is it Keith David? I get those two confused) a long time ago. Maybe that “Flight of the Navigator” kid would be there too. That would be cool.

I remember writing something a long time ago for an Ain’t It Cool News contest. They were looking for original superhero origin stories, or more plainly, if you were a superhero, how’d you get your powers? I called mine “Flashback.” Flashback was a graduate student in chemistry who was experimenting with a potent form of LSD, something went terribly wrong in the lab, and all of the liquid acid seeped into my skin. It gave me the power to touch someone and give them a bad trip.

I thought that’d be pretty cool, so far as superheroes go.