My high school chemstry teacher was a tortured soul.
He loved science and I really believe that he loved teaching. His minor obstacles were that he was a bit of a nerd and that he taught in an all boys school. His major obstacle was that since almost all of us went to catholic grade school that our combined understanding of science consisted of...." cause God said so."
So every day he'd walk in expecting to share with us the beauty and wonder of basic chemistry and he's be greeted with glassed over stares and kids sleeping in their seats. The only break in the monotony would occur when we'd go into the lab and that would turn into a circus of people literally setting creating little paper cities and action scenes and then setting them afire with godzilla like bunson burners and rubbing alcohol. Oh yeah, and someone figured out that you could shoot porceline boiling chips with the rubber band strap from your safetly goggles...in what became known as the "Jimmy Sciolia eye incident".
He was a robust man and he hung in there pretty well, but ever man has his limits. The story that follows is the one that cracked him. Obviously it wasn't the last time I saw a grown man throw a slobbering, tiwtching, angry fit, but it may have been the first. I know it's the only time I've even seen a man grow a vericose vein in his forehead...while I sat there and watched. In some circles they call that a stroke.
We were to review the metric system and had been given a homework assignment to learn all the prefixes milli-, centi-, kilo-, etc etc.
The teacher walked in, drumming up all the enthusiasm he could muster...." who knows what kilo means ?"
One hand..that of the only smart kid in the class, Bob McClusky, shot into the air.
" Yes, Mr. McClusky ?"
" One thousand."
" CORRECT !!!", you could visibly see the hope growing within him....maybe TODAY was going to be the day that he got through to us. " Who knows what centi means ?"
Again McClusky's hand went in the air.
" Not you Mr. McClusky, someone else." and then he started randomly calling on people.
" Uhhh, 10,000 ?"
"No," somewhat dejected he kept asking.
" Ummmm, a million ?"
" No...no...no....centi...you know like centimeter...a centimeter is this big", he gestured with his fingers, " and a meter is THIS big" and gestured with his arms, " So a centi meter would be like ....?"
"Ummmm, like.....one......one-seventh or something ?"
" Bahhhhhh...the metric system is in multiples of tens...TENS...you know TENS...HUNDREDS...THOUSANDS !!!!" Now he was on the verge of yelling. He had everyones attention and was starting to freak us out a little. The man was not exactly stable.
Finally after a few more guesses, someone finally got it.
Lord knows why, but he had to try one more time, " Who knows how big a Nonometer is ?"
Now we were really scared...because not even McClusky raised his hand. Nanometer ? I never even heard of that shit.
We all looked around in great fear. The only one unplussed was Kurt Schussler who continued to sleep with his head on his desk. But nothing really bothered that kid, he pretty much slept though most of our junior and senior year.
" Nanometer ? ........NANOmeter........", his impatience was growing exponentially..." NANOMETER...
He strolled up the aisles...growing increasing imtolerant and his voice rising with each repetition.
When he got next to Schussler it was almost too much for him to bear. Here he was, pouring himself into his profession...trying to better us...and we were a bunch of unappreciative idiots....and as if it couldn't get any worse, here was a kid sleeping...SLEEPING ! in class.
He stopped at Kurt's desk and giving him a chance to at least pretend that he was awake and paying attention stood behind him and yelled...and I mean YELLED...
"....NANOMETER......NANO.....NANO.......NANOOOOOOO !!!!"
Started Kurt's head popped off his desk and 'answered', " uhhhh, SHAZZBAT ?"
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Hot Gril in the house
That's the message that was written, in sidewalk chalk, on my stoop when I got home last night.
My drinking companions suggested that perhaps it was the boy who wrote it. And although I do belive that the boy does have a touch of pimp-sytle in him, I recognized the lettering as that of my 7 year old daughter.
Hot Gril in the house.
I'm done for.
More later.
My drinking companions suggested that perhaps it was the boy who wrote it. And although I do belive that the boy does have a touch of pimp-sytle in him, I recognized the lettering as that of my 7 year old daughter.
Hot Gril in the house.
I'm done for.
More later.
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
swimming in the gene pool
I come from a golfing family...which is rather odd since its never been a particularly wealthy family. But for one reason or another golf has always been in our blood. My great uncle was an accomplished golfer, my Uncle is currently a pro, and my brother is a profession and he's playing in the PGA Buick Championship this weekend.
So the natural question for the family is which kid in the next generation is going to carry on thr tradition. ‘The Boy’ is the natural choice as he's really good at hitting stuff with a stick and for a young lad he's seems to be naturally athletic. With that in mind my parents bought him a set of junior clubs.
Two weeks ago I started giving him lessons. I took him outside, showed him the grip and stance and let him have at it. Frankly, he wasn't very good. Typically male, he was more interested in smashing the ball as hard as he could and didn't care where it went just as long as it went far. After a few minutes he grew totally disinterested and instead of hitting balls he went out into the field and asked my to hit the balls so he could try and catch them. ( They're whiffle golf balls )
The whole time this was going on, my daughter was standing to the side drawing with some sidewalk chalk. She's usually reluctant to try anything new and usually disinterested in sports so i was surprised when she asked, " Hey Dad, can I give that a try?". I gave her a club, showed her the grip and stance and gave only one piece of advice...." whatever you do going back or forward, the only thing that really matters is that you return back to this starting position when you hit the ball"
Instictively, she figured out that if she didn't move her wrists or elbow that it would be much easier to return back to the starting position...a lot easier than benting and twisting all that stuff. So straight armed and with a limited turn she started hitting the 7 iron out to the boy. As she gained confidence she started swinging with a little more vigor and I was impressed with what she was able to do for a first try.
I should note that women naturally make better golfers than men. If you randomly took 25 men and 25 women, gave them 3 months of golf lessons, and then held a tournament...a tournament where you had to keep score the right was and didn't cheat of have nonsense like 'mulligans' I'd put my money on the women every single time. Women are more patient, they're controlled, and they have a tendency to focus on being percise and staying in between the lines then they are about power and mashing and acting like knuckleheads. Men pretend that they dislike women golfers because they're poor golfers....actually they dislike women golfers because the remind men of how rediculous they really are.
Anyway....
The following week we had lesson number two and introduced the driver. Again, she did well and really enjoyed herself. But this time the boy was chasing butterflies and throwing rocks at rabbits so the two of us had a chance to spend some extra practice time.
Last Saturday I had an hour free and I asked her, " Do you want to go to the range and hit some real golfballs ?" We went over to the range and it was packed with hackers and college kids. When she saw the scene she said, " No Way !" As I may have mentioned before, she suffers from performance anxiety and there was no way that she was going to hit balls in front of all those grown men.
" Ok", I offered, " I'm going to hit some balls then. Just bring your clubs and watch." and I bought a bucket and we headed out.
After a while she built up her confidence and asked to try a few. I teed one up and she tentatively poked at it. A few balls later she forgot about her surrounding and started to tap them out there 20 or 30 yards and was enjoying herself.
" Ok, I'm going to show you something else." I instructed, " When you get to the point where you can't go back and further, I want to you turn your hips like this." and demonstrated.
She stiff armed it back, turned her hips, came down through in a steady and percise motion and CRACK...the ball flew about 40 yards with a nice arc. A huge smile gerw across her face.
After a while I took out the driver. " Now do the same thing...nice and steady...except this time after you've turned your hips...if you want to go a little bit further bend your right arm just a bit."
She thought about it for a little while and took a handful of practice swings timidly, checking back each time with me to see if she was doing it right. " Don't worry hon, you're doing fine, just try it...if it doesn't work go back to doing what you were doing."
Finally, she grabbed a ball...placed it on the tee and stood there for a nervous moment. Then she set up her grip...aligned her stance.....and with a furrowed, concentrated brow……made the most beautiful, slow, long, arcing motion I've ever seen. CRACK...pssssssstttttttttt...the ball sailed out to the 75 yard marker starting dead straight and having just the slight hint of a draw to get that little extra roll.
I stood there mouth agape.
She turned to me and said, " get another bucket."
No shit.
I think we found the next generation and he's a girl.
So the natural question for the family is which kid in the next generation is going to carry on thr tradition. ‘The Boy’ is the natural choice as he's really good at hitting stuff with a stick and for a young lad he's seems to be naturally athletic. With that in mind my parents bought him a set of junior clubs.
Two weeks ago I started giving him lessons. I took him outside, showed him the grip and stance and let him have at it. Frankly, he wasn't very good. Typically male, he was more interested in smashing the ball as hard as he could and didn't care where it went just as long as it went far. After a few minutes he grew totally disinterested and instead of hitting balls he went out into the field and asked my to hit the balls so he could try and catch them. ( They're whiffle golf balls )
The whole time this was going on, my daughter was standing to the side drawing with some sidewalk chalk. She's usually reluctant to try anything new and usually disinterested in sports so i was surprised when she asked, " Hey Dad, can I give that a try?". I gave her a club, showed her the grip and stance and gave only one piece of advice...." whatever you do going back or forward, the only thing that really matters is that you return back to this starting position when you hit the ball"
Instictively, she figured out that if she didn't move her wrists or elbow that it would be much easier to return back to the starting position...a lot easier than benting and twisting all that stuff. So straight armed and with a limited turn she started hitting the 7 iron out to the boy. As she gained confidence she started swinging with a little more vigor and I was impressed with what she was able to do for a first try.
I should note that women naturally make better golfers than men. If you randomly took 25 men and 25 women, gave them 3 months of golf lessons, and then held a tournament...a tournament where you had to keep score the right was and didn't cheat of have nonsense like 'mulligans' I'd put my money on the women every single time. Women are more patient, they're controlled, and they have a tendency to focus on being percise and staying in between the lines then they are about power and mashing and acting like knuckleheads. Men pretend that they dislike women golfers because they're poor golfers....actually they dislike women golfers because the remind men of how rediculous they really are.
Anyway....
The following week we had lesson number two and introduced the driver. Again, she did well and really enjoyed herself. But this time the boy was chasing butterflies and throwing rocks at rabbits so the two of us had a chance to spend some extra practice time.
Last Saturday I had an hour free and I asked her, " Do you want to go to the range and hit some real golfballs ?" We went over to the range and it was packed with hackers and college kids. When she saw the scene she said, " No Way !" As I may have mentioned before, she suffers from performance anxiety and there was no way that she was going to hit balls in front of all those grown men.
" Ok", I offered, " I'm going to hit some balls then. Just bring your clubs and watch." and I bought a bucket and we headed out.
After a while she built up her confidence and asked to try a few. I teed one up and she tentatively poked at it. A few balls later she forgot about her surrounding and started to tap them out there 20 or 30 yards and was enjoying herself.
" Ok, I'm going to show you something else." I instructed, " When you get to the point where you can't go back and further, I want to you turn your hips like this." and demonstrated.
She stiff armed it back, turned her hips, came down through in a steady and percise motion and CRACK...the ball flew about 40 yards with a nice arc. A huge smile gerw across her face.
After a while I took out the driver. " Now do the same thing...nice and steady...except this time after you've turned your hips...if you want to go a little bit further bend your right arm just a bit."
She thought about it for a little while and took a handful of practice swings timidly, checking back each time with me to see if she was doing it right. " Don't worry hon, you're doing fine, just try it...if it doesn't work go back to doing what you were doing."
Finally, she grabbed a ball...placed it on the tee and stood there for a nervous moment. Then she set up her grip...aligned her stance.....and with a furrowed, concentrated brow……made the most beautiful, slow, long, arcing motion I've ever seen. CRACK...pssssssstttttttttt...the ball sailed out to the 75 yard marker starting dead straight and having just the slight hint of a draw to get that little extra roll.
I stood there mouth agape.
She turned to me and said, " get another bucket."
No shit.
I think we found the next generation and he's a girl.
Monday, June 26, 2006
whew
Well, that's taken care of (from below) thank goodness. I'll spare you the details.
So yesterday I played 2.5 hours in a tournament where the top 11 played for the chance to play to get into the World Series of Poker. With 15 left I was second. I had a bad beat and knocked down to 8th...then floated around near the bottom.
A friend came onto the IM and was watching along and encouraged me to go all-in in a situation where I should have known better and I busted out in 12th and got absolutely nothing for my troubles.
Of course I flipped my lid.
I was on the verge of smashing the computer and I was seriously afraid of doing something stupid like yelling at the kids or Mrs. Flick or whatever which would be a huge asshole move. So I thought...FUCK IT...I was going to take it out on the lawn.
So I ran upstairs grabbed the mower and opened the garage door only to find out that it was raining and had been raining for a while ( its always the same weather in the poker room). FUCK ! So in a fit of rage I grabbed the electric hedge clippers and the extention cord and in my shorts and barefoot started thrashing the shit out of the bushes and hedges all around the house.
It was actually quite theraputic.
Well in my rage I got entangled in an particularly stubborn evergreen. Taking that as a personal affront I went after the bush hard, just wailing away. In my haste I didn't realize that the extention cord had become wrapped around both my bare feet and the tree and when I cut a big swath out of the tree the clippers went right into the extention cord.
There was a HUGE flash and POP ! and the cutters went dead. I pulled the clippers out of the tree and attached to the end of them was the half split cord snapping and crackling.
Well my emotional state went from rage to pure panic pretty quickly as I realized that I was standing barefoot in the rain holding a live wire at the end of some hedge clippers.
So I started screaming for the boy who was in the living room watching TV.
After wailing for 30 seconds he appeared at the door, " HOLY COW DAD !!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT ?"
" UNPLUG THAT CORD !"
He walked over to the outlet watching me the whole time. When he got there he stood there.
" UUUUUUNNNNNNNPPPPLLLUUUUUUGGGG TTTHHHHHEEEEE CCCOOOORRRRDDDDD !!!!!"
He reached for the cord, paused, looked back and me and said, " I'm not touching that....I don't want to get electrocuted...YOU touch it."
I figured I could go one of two ways. I could yell or I could be calm. Stick or carrot. Honey or swatter. My biggest fear is that if I yelled that he would run...and I don't mean run and tell Mom...I mean run inside, lock the door, and say " fuck 'em, Mom can always remarry". So I went the other approch, " buddy....pal...Daddy's sorry he yelled. You're fine, you can't get hurt...please unplug the cord so I don't die here on the lawn and have all of my friends laugh at me on the internet"
Thankfully, that did it.
So I'm down one WSOP entry and one extension cord.
So yesterday I played 2.5 hours in a tournament where the top 11 played for the chance to play to get into the World Series of Poker. With 15 left I was second. I had a bad beat and knocked down to 8th...then floated around near the bottom.
A friend came onto the IM and was watching along and encouraged me to go all-in in a situation where I should have known better and I busted out in 12th and got absolutely nothing for my troubles.
Of course I flipped my lid.
I was on the verge of smashing the computer and I was seriously afraid of doing something stupid like yelling at the kids or Mrs. Flick or whatever which would be a huge asshole move. So I thought...FUCK IT...I was going to take it out on the lawn.
So I ran upstairs grabbed the mower and opened the garage door only to find out that it was raining and had been raining for a while ( its always the same weather in the poker room). FUCK ! So in a fit of rage I grabbed the electric hedge clippers and the extention cord and in my shorts and barefoot started thrashing the shit out of the bushes and hedges all around the house.
It was actually quite theraputic.
Well in my rage I got entangled in an particularly stubborn evergreen. Taking that as a personal affront I went after the bush hard, just wailing away. In my haste I didn't realize that the extention cord had become wrapped around both my bare feet and the tree and when I cut a big swath out of the tree the clippers went right into the extention cord.
There was a HUGE flash and POP ! and the cutters went dead. I pulled the clippers out of the tree and attached to the end of them was the half split cord snapping and crackling.
Well my emotional state went from rage to pure panic pretty quickly as I realized that I was standing barefoot in the rain holding a live wire at the end of some hedge clippers.
So I started screaming for the boy who was in the living room watching TV.
After wailing for 30 seconds he appeared at the door, " HOLY COW DAD !!!! WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT ?"
" UNPLUG THAT CORD !"
He walked over to the outlet watching me the whole time. When he got there he stood there.
" UUUUUUNNNNNNNPPPPLLLUUUUUUGGGG TTTHHHHHEEEEE CCCOOOORRRRDDDDD !!!!!"
He reached for the cord, paused, looked back and me and said, " I'm not touching that....I don't want to get electrocuted...YOU touch it."
I figured I could go one of two ways. I could yell or I could be calm. Stick or carrot. Honey or swatter. My biggest fear is that if I yelled that he would run...and I don't mean run and tell Mom...I mean run inside, lock the door, and say " fuck 'em, Mom can always remarry". So I went the other approch, " buddy....pal...Daddy's sorry he yelled. You're fine, you can't get hurt...please unplug the cord so I don't die here on the lawn and have all of my friends laugh at me on the internet"
Thankfully, that did it.
So I'm down one WSOP entry and one extension cord.
the horror the horror
last night....Ron's back....have a few beers to catch up.....have a few more beers...and wings... then eagles touchdown ice cream....wake up this morning....staff meeting....barely functional....so I make really really strong coffee....now sitting here.....beer, wings, ice cream, coffee....all building to a creshendo in my colon.....co-working in bathroom for a long long time...dying....my shit my pants....dying...can't hold...it.....oh god...
Friday, June 23, 2006
What if Tiger Woods only played pitch and putt ?
Played pub poker again.
The first hour I just sat there. I played on hand and won it. And in almost every instance I could accurrately predict what the players involved in the hand had. All I had to do was wait for some cards and I was going to start to clean up.
Then the moved me to another table.
At my new table was a young kid with a pile of chips so high you could barely see him behind it. He was brash, cocky, friendly, and had a polite southern manmerism. To complete the scene he had a cute young girl hanging on his arm. He looked almost exactly like Tom Cruise in The Color of Money.
This kid was good. Real good. The first hand I was there he busted out two people. In the next two rotations he dominated the table, losing only one hand and busting people out left and right.
For some reason he gravitated toward me. And since I didn't play one hand the whole time, we had a chance to chit chat about his hands and as good as he was, I thought I had a pretty decent read on the way he played. Again I was just waiting for some cards.
After a while of just waiting I was starting to get short stacked. Finally, on the button I got KQ....not a great hand but I wanted to finally see a flop if I could. So when it got to me I raised to 20 chips...which was the standard raise. Since I had been sitting there not playing everyone respected my raise and they all folded around...until it came to the kid.
Now I purposely didn't do anything different...didn't give off any tell that I can figure out...but the kid paused for a second...smiled....looked at me and said, " Friend, I have an ace...and I think you have ...hmmmm...King Queen..which makes me a slight favorite...so I'm going to put you all in."
King Freakin Queen. He named my hand EXACTLY. Without having any information that I can come up with. Thats like babe Ruth calling his homer. I mean WTF ?!?!?
What the hell is that kid doing playing pub poker ? I mean I'm playing pub poker because I'm poor, and married, and I suck. That kid should be on the next bus to Atlantic City...and only there long enough to get his ass to Vegas.
The whole experience has me tripped out. I'm freaked that I have some tell that I don't know about, or that the cards are marked, or that the kid has psychic powers.
The first hour I just sat there. I played on hand and won it. And in almost every instance I could accurrately predict what the players involved in the hand had. All I had to do was wait for some cards and I was going to start to clean up.
Then the moved me to another table.
At my new table was a young kid with a pile of chips so high you could barely see him behind it. He was brash, cocky, friendly, and had a polite southern manmerism. To complete the scene he had a cute young girl hanging on his arm. He looked almost exactly like Tom Cruise in The Color of Money.
This kid was good. Real good. The first hand I was there he busted out two people. In the next two rotations he dominated the table, losing only one hand and busting people out left and right.
For some reason he gravitated toward me. And since I didn't play one hand the whole time, we had a chance to chit chat about his hands and as good as he was, I thought I had a pretty decent read on the way he played. Again I was just waiting for some cards.
After a while of just waiting I was starting to get short stacked. Finally, on the button I got KQ....not a great hand but I wanted to finally see a flop if I could. So when it got to me I raised to 20 chips...which was the standard raise. Since I had been sitting there not playing everyone respected my raise and they all folded around...until it came to the kid.
Now I purposely didn't do anything different...didn't give off any tell that I can figure out...but the kid paused for a second...smiled....looked at me and said, " Friend, I have an ace...and I think you have ...hmmmm...King Queen..which makes me a slight favorite...so I'm going to put you all in."
King Freakin Queen. He named my hand EXACTLY. Without having any information that I can come up with. Thats like babe Ruth calling his homer. I mean WTF ?!?!?
What the hell is that kid doing playing pub poker ? I mean I'm playing pub poker because I'm poor, and married, and I suck. That kid should be on the next bus to Atlantic City...and only there long enough to get his ass to Vegas.
The whole experience has me tripped out. I'm freaked that I have some tell that I don't know about, or that the cards are marked, or that the kid has psychic powers.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
crazy random shit
Here's some crazy random shit while I go through withdrawl.
I sent all my poker money to a buddy and here is our recent IM conversation:
FLICK: hey, send me my money
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: no way
FLICK: good on ya...just testing
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: this is not one of the designated time periods
FLICK: no seroiusly, send me my money
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: hey I can't I can only disperse it at the designated times
FLICK: damn you're good at this
which is a lot better than when I tried to get my bookie to stop taking bets from me which went like:
Me: Hey Jack, listen, I have a gambling problem. If I call you and tell you that I want to place a bet, please don't take any bets from me.
Jack: Ok
(two days later)
Me: Hey Jack, it's Flick. I want two dimes on Denver giving the points.
Jack: You said I'm not supposed to take bets from you.
Me: Fuck that.
Jack: OK, two dimes....Denver and the points.
Me: What the fuck....I told you two days ago that you're not supposed to be taking bets from me !
Jack: Dude. I'm not your fucking therapist or your mother, I'm your bookie. I take bets, that's what I do. So what do you want Denver or not ?
Me: Ummm, Ok Denver giving.
Jack: Two dimes ?
Me: Yeah. Two dimes.
BTW Joe Montana drove KC 91 yards in the final minutes to beat Denver in that game in one of the most spectacular quarterback matchups that I've ever seen.
But BOO fucking HOO. No one likes a bad beat story.
As a follow-up to yesterday's crisco story I was telling someone about another time that I had some weird shit in my hair.
I was Kenickie in a high school production of Grease and yes I had to sing " Greased Lightning" ( oh yeah, well fuck you for laughing)...but the point of the story is that it was a 4 day run. And on the last night as we were making final preparations we ran out of hair gel. With only 20 minutes to go to show time there wasn't a chance to get some more and in an act of desparation I grabbed the best thing that i could find which ended up being Vasoline. I actually worked pretty well.
The trouble came that night when I went to wash it out. After around 22 vigerous washings the shit was still in my hair....although my head was starting to bead water like the hood of a freshly polished car.
So someone told me that there was no way that shampoo was going to get the Vasoline out...but that mayonaise would. So panicked I gave it a try...and it worked !!!! Mayonaise get's Vasoline out of your hair...although I have no fucking idea how the person I asked know that...nor do I want to know.
The next question, natually, is what gets mayonaise out of your hair. And the answer to that is NOTHING. As an aside, mayo makes your hair full and manageable...unfotunately it also makes it stinky. So for the next week I walked around smelling like a ham sandwich. But damn did my hair look good. For a good 5 days I never stood still and hung out near the cafeteria as much as possible. The last thing you need in high school is a nickname like potato-salad head or some shit like that.
Anyway....
This is an email that I got in response to me tell a spammer to fuck off. You gotta give the dude credit for actually responding.
From: xxxxxxx.net Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert
To: "flick"
Subject: Re: Confirming Appointments Checklist
Date: Thu, 22 Jun 2006 12:08:13 -0400
You have been removed. No more shit will be sent to you.
Sorry for any inconvenience.
Best, Webmaster
----- Original Message -----
From: "flick"
To:
Sent: Thursday, June 22, 2006 11:38 AM
Subject: Re: Confirming Appointments Checklist
> please stop sending me this shit
>
> --- xxxxxxxxx.net wrote:
>
I sent all my poker money to a buddy and here is our recent IM conversation:
FLICK: hey, send me my money
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: no way
FLICK: good on ya...just testing
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: this is not one of the designated time periods
FLICK: no seroiusly, send me my money
DUDEWHOHASMYMONEY: hey I can't I can only disperse it at the designated times
FLICK: damn you're good at this
which is a lot better than when I tried to get my bookie to stop taking bets from me which went like:
Me: Hey Jack, listen, I have a gambling problem. If I call you and tell you that I want to place a bet, please don't take any bets from me.
Jack: Ok
(two days later)
Me: Hey Jack, it's Flick. I want two dimes on Denver giving the points.
Jack: You said I'm not supposed to take bets from you.
Me: Fuck that.
Jack: OK, two dimes....Denver and the points.
Me: What the fuck....I told you two days ago that you're not supposed to be taking bets from me !
Jack: Dude. I'm not your fucking therapist or your mother, I'm your bookie. I take bets, that's what I do. So what do you want Denver or not ?
Me: Ummm, Ok Denver giving.
Jack: Two dimes ?
Me: Yeah. Two dimes.
BTW Joe Montana drove KC 91 yards in the final minutes to beat Denver in that game in one of the most spectacular quarterback matchups that I've ever seen.
But BOO fucking HOO. No one likes a bad beat story.
As a follow-up to yesterday's crisco story I was telling someone about another time that I had some weird shit in my hair.
I was Kenickie in a high school production of Grease and yes I had to sing " Greased Lightning" ( oh yeah, well fuck you for laughing)...but the point of the story is that it was a 4 day run. And on the last night as we were making final preparations we ran out of hair gel. With only 20 minutes to go to show time there wasn't a chance to get some more and in an act of desparation I grabbed the best thing that i could find which ended up being Vasoline. I actually worked pretty well.
The trouble came that night when I went to wash it out. After around 22 vigerous washings the shit was still in my hair....although my head was starting to bead water like the hood of a freshly polished car.
So someone told me that there was no way that shampoo was going to get the Vasoline out...but that mayonaise would. So panicked I gave it a try...and it worked !!!! Mayonaise get's Vasoline out of your hair...although I have no fucking idea how the person I asked know that...nor do I want to know.
The next question, natually, is what gets mayonaise out of your hair. And the answer to that is NOTHING. As an aside, mayo makes your hair full and manageable...unfotunately it also makes it stinky. So for the next week I walked around smelling like a ham sandwich. But damn did my hair look good. For a good 5 days I never stood still and hung out near the cafeteria as much as possible. The last thing you need in high school is a nickname like potato-salad head or some shit like that.
Anyway....
This is an email that I got in response to me tell a spammer to fuck off. You gotta give the dude credit for actually responding.
From: xxxxxxx.net Add to Address Book Add Mobile Alert
To: "flick"
Subject: Re: Confirming Appointments Checklist
Date: Thu, 22 Jun 2006 12:08:13 -0400
You have been removed. No more shit will be sent to you.
Sorry for any inconvenience.
Best, Webmaster
----- Original Message -----
From: "flick"
To:
Sent: Thursday, June 22, 2006 11:38 AM
Subject: Re: Confirming Appointments Checklist
> please stop sending me this shit
>
> --- xxxxxxxxx.net wrote:
>
Jacktards Anonymous
Hi...my name is Flick...and I'm a JACKTARD.
Hello Flick.
It all started when I was born, if not sooner. Since then I just repeatedly do stupid fucking shit over and over and over and over and over.
Usually right after it happens I swear I'll never do it again. or that next time will be different. More recently I've just given up on lying to myself as it gets insulting after a while.
Now I just just recognize that I'm going to have another hangover, eat another donut, and lose another big fucking pot calling with 99 when i KNOW that the re-fucking-tard at the other end of the table has QQ. I'd do it all again...and the next time...same as this time...my head will swell and I'll freakout and if I'm lucky I'll insult someone to the point where they kick me in the balls 30 times.
You see, I am a jacktard.
At this point I figure it can go two ways. Either this acceptance of my situation will be the first step toward fixing my situation or that this acceptance will just drive me to the end.
My gut suggest that you call your broker right now and invest heavily in Krispy Kreme and Budweiser...this is going to get ugly.
PART DUEX
I was referred to this dude's blog. He had 20K in poker winnings and then donked it all off in one night. It was like reading my autobiography just with a few zero's added.
Now he's had to go get a job and start back at the beginning playing for shit basement money. This is my favorite post of the entire blog...
" No time for a real post today as I worked at my crappy new job until 10pm, got home (I have no car; I have to walk) at 11:00pm, played 1000 hands.."
I have no car...I have to walk....nuff said.
Goddamn. I think I have the second person for my new support group. Hell I may have found the president.
Then again, if we get a third i have a bad feeling that the support group meetings will just naturally transition into a regular weekly game.
Hello Flick.
It all started when I was born, if not sooner. Since then I just repeatedly do stupid fucking shit over and over and over and over and over.
Usually right after it happens I swear I'll never do it again. or that next time will be different. More recently I've just given up on lying to myself as it gets insulting after a while.
Now I just just recognize that I'm going to have another hangover, eat another donut, and lose another big fucking pot calling with 99 when i KNOW that the re-fucking-tard at the other end of the table has QQ. I'd do it all again...and the next time...same as this time...my head will swell and I'll freakout and if I'm lucky I'll insult someone to the point where they kick me in the balls 30 times.
You see, I am a jacktard.
At this point I figure it can go two ways. Either this acceptance of my situation will be the first step toward fixing my situation or that this acceptance will just drive me to the end.
My gut suggest that you call your broker right now and invest heavily in Krispy Kreme and Budweiser...this is going to get ugly.
PART DUEX
I was referred to this dude's blog. He had 20K in poker winnings and then donked it all off in one night. It was like reading my autobiography just with a few zero's added.
Now he's had to go get a job and start back at the beginning playing for shit basement money. This is my favorite post of the entire blog...
" No time for a real post today as I worked at my crappy new job until 10pm, got home (I have no car; I have to walk) at 11:00pm, played 1000 hands.."
I have no car...I have to walk....nuff said.
Goddamn. I think I have the second person for my new support group. Hell I may have found the president.
Then again, if we get a third i have a bad feeling that the support group meetings will just naturally transition into a regular weekly game.
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Oh deer
For the oldest daughter last week was track camp, this week swimming. While I enjoy being supportive and encouraging of healthy activities, I have to admit that I could go a whole life without having to hear the phrase " and now for event 49" again. 49 events ?!?!
In the back of that church last weekend there was a old metal stand that brought back a long lost memory.
When I was a kid my grandmother had an fancy ashtray that sat on a metal stand. That was back in the days when smoking was still cool...
when my parents would shove the three of us in the back of a toyota corolla, my sister sitting on the hump, and they would chain smoke for the 60 minute drive to my grandparents house while the three of us would have our noses pressed to the little wedge of a back window gasping for air
...yeah, cool..the good old days. Anyway, when I was around 3 years old I took the ashtray out of the stand and put the stand on my head and ran around with it on my head pretending I was a deer or a bull and entertaining my grandmother. In my excitement and my desire to crack my grandmother up, I lowered my head and, doing my best El Toro immitation, I plowed into the wall.
When I did that, the circular ring that comprised the top of the stand..and the halo for my antlers, slid over my head, past my ears and down around my neck where it hung loosely.
Now this was no immediate threat to my safety. While the circle was slighly smaller than my head, it was much wider than my neck so that wasn't a concern. But the impact of hitting the wall and the pain of having the shape of my head temporarily turned into a cylinder as the circle slid down around my skull did scare the hell out of me. I started running around the house wailing at the top of my lungs.
When they finally cuaght me and settled me down they then were faced with the task of trying to get this thing off my head. The problem was that the fact that it went on my head was just about impossible, but was coaxed by the blunt force of me running into a wall. You just couldn't recreate those forces to take the thing off without tearing my head from my torso....but that didn't stop my mother and grandmother from trying. One of them held onto me and the other grabbed the stand. First they started of gently...pull and twisting...all the while squishing my face and sending me in to fits. Then, as if tearing off a band-aid quicly to limit the pain to a child, they started trying to tear the thing off in a herky-jerky motion. Unfortunately in this instance the 'band-aid' just wouldn't come off. As a side benefit, I may have gotten an inch taller that afternoon...all in the neck.
Then came the lubricants...
Now I understand that desperate times take desperate measures...and now, as a parent myself, I understand how having a crying freaked-out kid ( in this case with a giant metal stand on his head) can really freak you out. But at that time I was convinced that they were insane.
My grandmother gave me some ice cream. And while I sat there eating ice cream...eyes all puffy from crying...and antlers still on my head....she melted down 4 sticks of butter. After I was finished and the butter slightly cooled, she any my mother greased my head up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Then they pulled some more. That actually worked to a certain degree and they got the thing as high as my cheekbones before the butter started to dry and cake all over my face. Encouraged and undeterred...but out of butter...they went for the Crisco. Soon my head was lathered in half a tub of Crisco and they were at it again...pulling and yanking and encouraging each other on.
Sadly for all involved...especially me...it didn't work.
So they did what every housewife in the 60's did when they were faced with an untennable situation...the called the fire department. No shit. So if you're ever in Central Jersey and you run into an old weathered fireman who tells some story about the time he had to take bolt cutters to some house, to cut an ashtray stand off the head of of some boy, whose grandmother had lathered his head with butter and crisco...he's not full of shit. And do me a favor and buy him a beer on me. I'll pay you back.
GOOGLE IMAGES OF PEOPLE WITH THEIR HEADS STUCK IN STUFF
In the back of that church last weekend there was a old metal stand that brought back a long lost memory.
When I was a kid my grandmother had an fancy ashtray that sat on a metal stand. That was back in the days when smoking was still cool...
when my parents would shove the three of us in the back of a toyota corolla, my sister sitting on the hump, and they would chain smoke for the 60 minute drive to my grandparents house while the three of us would have our noses pressed to the little wedge of a back window gasping for air
...yeah, cool..the good old days. Anyway, when I was around 3 years old I took the ashtray out of the stand and put the stand on my head and ran around with it on my head pretending I was a deer or a bull and entertaining my grandmother. In my excitement and my desire to crack my grandmother up, I lowered my head and, doing my best El Toro immitation, I plowed into the wall.
When I did that, the circular ring that comprised the top of the stand..and the halo for my antlers, slid over my head, past my ears and down around my neck where it hung loosely.
Now this was no immediate threat to my safety. While the circle was slighly smaller than my head, it was much wider than my neck so that wasn't a concern. But the impact of hitting the wall and the pain of having the shape of my head temporarily turned into a cylinder as the circle slid down around my skull did scare the hell out of me. I started running around the house wailing at the top of my lungs.
When they finally cuaght me and settled me down they then were faced with the task of trying to get this thing off my head. The problem was that the fact that it went on my head was just about impossible, but was coaxed by the blunt force of me running into a wall. You just couldn't recreate those forces to take the thing off without tearing my head from my torso....but that didn't stop my mother and grandmother from trying. One of them held onto me and the other grabbed the stand. First they started of gently...pull and twisting...all the while squishing my face and sending me in to fits. Then, as if tearing off a band-aid quicly to limit the pain to a child, they started trying to tear the thing off in a herky-jerky motion. Unfortunately in this instance the 'band-aid' just wouldn't come off. As a side benefit, I may have gotten an inch taller that afternoon...all in the neck.
Then came the lubricants...
Now I understand that desperate times take desperate measures...and now, as a parent myself, I understand how having a crying freaked-out kid ( in this case with a giant metal stand on his head) can really freak you out. But at that time I was convinced that they were insane.
My grandmother gave me some ice cream. And while I sat there eating ice cream...eyes all puffy from crying...and antlers still on my head....she melted down 4 sticks of butter. After I was finished and the butter slightly cooled, she any my mother greased my head up like a Thanksgiving turkey. Then they pulled some more. That actually worked to a certain degree and they got the thing as high as my cheekbones before the butter started to dry and cake all over my face. Encouraged and undeterred...but out of butter...they went for the Crisco. Soon my head was lathered in half a tub of Crisco and they were at it again...pulling and yanking and encouraging each other on.
Sadly for all involved...especially me...it didn't work.
So they did what every housewife in the 60's did when they were faced with an untennable situation...the called the fire department. No shit. So if you're ever in Central Jersey and you run into an old weathered fireman who tells some story about the time he had to take bolt cutters to some house, to cut an ashtray stand off the head of of some boy, whose grandmother had lathered his head with butter and crisco...he's not full of shit. And do me a favor and buy him a beer on me. I'll pay you back.
GOOGLE IMAGES OF PEOPLE WITH THEIR HEADS STUCK IN STUFF
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
odd mix
The other night I took the family out to Mount Joy for ice cream. On the way back we made a quick stop at the grocery store. Mrs. Flick and the oldest girl walked up to the doors of the store stood there for a minute and walked back to the van.
" Um, they're closed....they're shooting a movie in there."
Curious, I drove the van up to the windows so that we all could look in.
Inside we saw the expected...a camera man, some dude with one of those clapboards, sound equipment.
Then we saw the unexpected.... The 'actors' consistend of a fat Michael Jackson impersonator, a dude who looked exactly like Arnold in the Termintor except he was 5' 9", another Sly Stalone/Rambo impersonator, and someone I'm pretty sure might have been Jackie the Jokeman formerly of the Howard Stern show.
When the director yelled action, these hooligans started running around the grocery store with guns, diving and shooting.
I was stunned speechless, we were all stunned speechless..except for my 6 year old boy who said to no one in particular, " What the heck is going on...that's ridiculous" and then " What do they think they're gonna do... shoot the cookies ?"
In any event I can't wait for this movie to come out.
" Um, they're closed....they're shooting a movie in there."
Curious, I drove the van up to the windows so that we all could look in.
Inside we saw the expected...a camera man, some dude with one of those clapboards, sound equipment.
Then we saw the unexpected.... The 'actors' consistend of a fat Michael Jackson impersonator, a dude who looked exactly like Arnold in the Termintor except he was 5' 9", another Sly Stalone/Rambo impersonator, and someone I'm pretty sure might have been Jackie the Jokeman formerly of the Howard Stern show.
When the director yelled action, these hooligans started running around the grocery store with guns, diving and shooting.
I was stunned speechless, we were all stunned speechless..except for my 6 year old boy who said to no one in particular, " What the heck is going on...that's ridiculous" and then " What do they think they're gonna do... shoot the cookies ?"
In any event I can't wait for this movie to come out.
Monday, June 19, 2006
spelling and grammar
As you've noticed, the spelling and grammar on the site has a lot to be desired.
What you hopefully have also noticed is that it has gotten marginally better in the last six months.
If you check in here at night I think you're spared the worst of it. In the last half a year I've actually been going back in at night, re-reading the stuff and then editing as best I can. I've even been using the spell check from time to time.
The problem is that I write mostly everything during my coffee break at work and the main goal is getting it all out of my head and onto the screen as quickly as possible before the break is over.
So thanks for patiently putting up with the errors and changes in tense and I hope that it doesn't detract from the stories too much.
What you hopefully have also noticed is that it has gotten marginally better in the last six months.
If you check in here at night I think you're spared the worst of it. In the last half a year I've actually been going back in at night, re-reading the stuff and then editing as best I can. I've even been using the spell check from time to time.
The problem is that I write mostly everything during my coffee break at work and the main goal is getting it all out of my head and onto the screen as quickly as possible before the break is over.
So thanks for patiently putting up with the errors and changes in tense and I hope that it doesn't detract from the stories too much.
mission accomplished
The wedding went off without a hitch, no worries. Acutally quite a few worries, but no problems. Lots of mirth and merriment...yeah, lots of mirth.
The only two concerns that I had the entire time were:
- The priest looked a hell of a lot like Freddy Mercury and acted a hell of a lot like Freddy Mercury. The time we spent together in the back of the sacristry reminded me a lot of my youth. I made sure to sleep with one eye open if you know what I mean. The priest was a great guy, but when it came time for him to deliver his homily he climbed this ornate staircare up to a giant marble lectern that towered over the congregation and for the briefest of moments I swear he was going to start singing, " MAMA ! JUST KILLED A MAN....." That got me giggling and got me some angry glares from the matron of honor.
- The reception went well with one exception. Two of the chess players showed up. The older one Marty is a miserable wretch of a man. He's too normal to tolerate and of the other chess players and he's equal parts super-genius and inpatient bastard which makes it just about impossible for him to tolerate almost anyone else on the planet. His sidekick for the evening was a young Russan prodigy name Ivan who's spent the last 25 years with his nose in a chess book trying to become a grand master. The prodigy decided to take the year off of chess to try and experience some other things in life. Well I guess Saturday night was his opportunity to experience red wine...and lots of it.
Just as the reception was starting to break up he approached myself and Ron's ( the groom) brothers. With his russian accent slightly slurred he said, " I hear that you are an expert in the field of wrestling." to Ron's oldest brother who was an accomplished collegiate wrestler. He continues, " I want to learn of all things and I want to learn from the best people...so you must teach me of this wresting..I must wrestle you until I understand."
And then he assumed a rather aggressive stance.
Now this was a very bad idea. Ron has 40 brothers, all wrestlers, who spent their lives beating on each other in preparation to beat on other people, and all of whom, at this particular time, were jacked up after 4 solid hours of an open bar. The oldest brother, as politely as possible, suggested that Ivan NOT try to wrestle him. Undeterred ...Ivan advanced. I stepped between them in an attempt to avert disaster, but I had a pretty strong feeling that everything was about to go wrong and I was going to very sorry to be in the middle of the scrum.
Ivan was juking left and right and Ron's brother started to take his jacket off when all of a sudden there was a flash of movement.
Now I should preface this by saying that Marty isn't a small man. He's not fat, but I would put him in the huskey categoy. After Saturday night I think the most accurrate desciption of him would be 'nimble'. From across the room where he was trying to pick up some middle-aged Peruvian woman, he saw what was going down. Before Ivan could seal his own fate Marty was on the scene. He stepped into the middle of the circle that was forming, pushed me aside, sized up Ivan, and in one amazing quick and short movement punched him right in the ear.
I don't mean that he punched him in the head, or clapped his ears, I mean somehow and with tremendous accurracy he punched the dudes ear and only his ear.
It's stopped Ivan right in his tracks... " HEY ! WHAT ARE YOU...."
CRACK ....he nailed him a second time. And then Marty pointed toward the exit..." MOVE !"
" BUT I WAS JUST..."
CRACK....Jesus the kid was going to be all coliflowered if this kept up.
" MOOOOOVE !!! " and he pointed to the door again.
There was a hesitation and Marty drew his fist back...Ivan still holding the affected ear ran for the door.
With a knowing nob and a slight scowl he said " Carry on...as you were..." then Marty saundered toward the door and after his sage. Disaster averted.
The only two concerns that I had the entire time were:
- The priest looked a hell of a lot like Freddy Mercury and acted a hell of a lot like Freddy Mercury. The time we spent together in the back of the sacristry reminded me a lot of my youth. I made sure to sleep with one eye open if you know what I mean. The priest was a great guy, but when it came time for him to deliver his homily he climbed this ornate staircare up to a giant marble lectern that towered over the congregation and for the briefest of moments I swear he was going to start singing, " MAMA ! JUST KILLED A MAN....." That got me giggling and got me some angry glares from the matron of honor.
- The reception went well with one exception. Two of the chess players showed up. The older one Marty is a miserable wretch of a man. He's too normal to tolerate and of the other chess players and he's equal parts super-genius and inpatient bastard which makes it just about impossible for him to tolerate almost anyone else on the planet. His sidekick for the evening was a young Russan prodigy name Ivan who's spent the last 25 years with his nose in a chess book trying to become a grand master. The prodigy decided to take the year off of chess to try and experience some other things in life. Well I guess Saturday night was his opportunity to experience red wine...and lots of it.
Just as the reception was starting to break up he approached myself and Ron's ( the groom) brothers. With his russian accent slightly slurred he said, " I hear that you are an expert in the field of wrestling." to Ron's oldest brother who was an accomplished collegiate wrestler. He continues, " I want to learn of all things and I want to learn from the best people...so you must teach me of this wresting..I must wrestle you until I understand."
And then he assumed a rather aggressive stance.
Now this was a very bad idea. Ron has 40 brothers, all wrestlers, who spent their lives beating on each other in preparation to beat on other people, and all of whom, at this particular time, were jacked up after 4 solid hours of an open bar. The oldest brother, as politely as possible, suggested that Ivan NOT try to wrestle him. Undeterred ...Ivan advanced. I stepped between them in an attempt to avert disaster, but I had a pretty strong feeling that everything was about to go wrong and I was going to very sorry to be in the middle of the scrum.
Ivan was juking left and right and Ron's brother started to take his jacket off when all of a sudden there was a flash of movement.
Now I should preface this by saying that Marty isn't a small man. He's not fat, but I would put him in the huskey categoy. After Saturday night I think the most accurrate desciption of him would be 'nimble'. From across the room where he was trying to pick up some middle-aged Peruvian woman, he saw what was going down. Before Ivan could seal his own fate Marty was on the scene. He stepped into the middle of the circle that was forming, pushed me aside, sized up Ivan, and in one amazing quick and short movement punched him right in the ear.
I don't mean that he punched him in the head, or clapped his ears, I mean somehow and with tremendous accurracy he punched the dudes ear and only his ear.
It's stopped Ivan right in his tracks... " HEY ! WHAT ARE YOU...."
CRACK ....he nailed him a second time. And then Marty pointed toward the exit..." MOVE !"
" BUT I WAS JUST..."
CRACK....Jesus the kid was going to be all coliflowered if this kept up.
" MOOOOOVE !!! " and he pointed to the door again.
There was a hesitation and Marty drew his fist back...Ivan still holding the affected ear ran for the door.
With a knowing nob and a slight scowl he said " Carry on...as you were..." then Marty saundered toward the door and after his sage. Disaster averted.
Friday, June 16, 2006
wedding weekend
Wedding is tomorrow and I just remembered that I'm supposed to give a toast of some sort.
The way I figure it people only remember really bad toasts and really really really good toasts. So all I have to do is avoid either of the above and I should be solidly forgetable.
The posted odds of me getting to the speech sober are about 3 to 1, so I think I'll go short and sweet. Best wishes, good luck, lots of kids, etc etc.
This has disaster written all over it.
The way I figure it people only remember really bad toasts and really really really good toasts. So all I have to do is avoid either of the above and I should be solidly forgetable.
The posted odds of me getting to the speech sober are about 3 to 1, so I think I'll go short and sweet. Best wishes, good luck, lots of kids, etc etc.
This has disaster written all over it.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
The Stock Market
I hear the stock market isn't doing well lately.
I'd have no idea.
I'm sure there's some money somewhere for my retirement that has something to do with stocks or bonds or something of that nature, but the whole things seems both shifty and addictive and those are usually a bad combination for me. When I was young I was councelled by the father of a close friend, " With your disposition should probably start doing drugs...they'd probably mellow you out a bit and keep you out of jail...that being said you should never ever ever ever ever do coke. If you do coke you'll be dead in a month...probably from your father shooting you while you try to steal his television set...you can't handle coke...or the stock market".
So I got that going for me...which is nice.
But the bru-haha about the market this week makes me remember the other thing that Ron and I found in Larks apartment when we visited him last.
Along side of the rubble, the army surlus cargo net, the arsenic, the hip wader with the rusty golf clubs in it, and the empty Foster oil cans, was a stack of Wall Street journals, some stock certificates, and notebooks full of scribbling in red and blue ink.
BTW did you ever notice how much crazy people scribble in notebooks ? I think a lot of crimes could be solved if the police started staking out stationary stores.
Due the the fact that the guy was living in squalor I was a bit surprised to see Larks have such an interest in the market so I asked, " What's the deal with the Wall Street journals and the notebooks ?"
Larks lit up like a Christmas tree.
" Oh...YEAH ! I'm into the stock market now. I came into some money recently and needed to do something with it so I started investing."
Came into some money ?....I say, don't ask don't tell probably works best there. And while I was shuttin up I figured best not ask if perhaps replacing some golfball busted windows or having some food in the house might not be a better 'investment'...but I know better than to interrupt a man on a roll.
" So I get these Wall Street Journals from the doctor's office downstairs at the end of the day and I pour over them to find good stuff to invest in."
Now since I don't know anything about the market and was curious, " So what do you look for ? Article on certain people...or do you like certain writers ? I mean doens't everyone read the same stuff anyway ?"
" OH..no...I've enver really been into, you know, reading and such. What I is open up all the pages with the symbols and numbers and lay them all out over the floor and table and then I stare at them for about 5 minutes or so. Then after a little while I start to see it," and he started gesturing with both his arms...one high in hte air making a circle and one low on the other side making a circle and then bringing them together. " I start to see things."
" You mean like one of those 3-D poster things.", I asked
" YEAH !!!! Something like that", he continued, " What I see is like way down here you have oil futures...and they're going up. And then I see up here that corn is low and pigs futures are high. And I see that theres a tractor factory that has a low stock and it starts to come to me. They ship pigs in trucks and corn in trains. And if oil is going UP then pig farmers are going to do shitty cause it going to be more expensive and people will be like ' fuck it I'll eat chickens' and you can get chickens anywhere. But corn is on trains and oil doesn't affect that much so all those chickens will need corn to eat. So BAM corn is going to do well. And you know what happens when corn farmers start to make money...they going to be all like, 'I'm going to get me a new fucking tractor' and so I figure I'm buying tractor stocks cause that shit is going up."
That kind of thinking is just tough to dispute.
So I asked, " well how are you doing ?"
" Well the red is bad and the blue is good. And you can see at the beginning there was more red than blue...but the last month I'm getting better at it and I'm on a roll lately....now none of these things in the book are anything that I own. This shit is like Microsoft and IMB and shit...too expensive at this point...I'm working my way up to that."
"What are these certificates then ?"
" Oh yeah, this is some shit that I bought about six months ago and it's made me some good money." and Larks pulled out the certificates and handed them to me.
" California Speculators ?" I read aloud.
" Yeah...I only had a little bit of money so I started looking at these really cheap penny stocks for these small companies and I found these guys."
" Well what do they do ?" I inquired.
" That's the interesting thing. I bought this shit cause I KNEW that with all the shit going on in the world that there wasn't going to be any oil coming from the Middle East anymore, at least not cheaply, so I figured that if I could get in on the ground floor with a company that did oil exploration and if they hit an oil well in California...you know there's got to be tons of oil out there with te tar pits and shit, then I might be able to cash in..."
"And ?" I asked
" Well I kinda fucked up."
" What do you mean ?"
" Well I was figuring, you know California Speculator...was like those old '49er dudes...you know gold speculators...except I fucked it up because those guys were PROSPECTORS....not speculators...so I was thinking that the company was all into searching for oil and shit like that...but it turns out that they have nothing to do with that at all."
" Oh shit...well what do they do ?"
" They're a rewal estate company that buys up land all over california and hopes that rewal estate prices go up."
"Oh...so it hasn't done well for you ?"
" That's just the thing. I bought this shit in January and then remember all those crazy ass rain storms and mudslides and shit in California ?"
" Uh..yeah ?"
" Well this company bought a whole bunch of land...not ON the coast...but right behind the land on the coast. And when all that rain came it started a bunch of mudslides. And those fucking mansions fell into the ocean....and all of a sudden all that shit land that we bought turned into ocean front property. And those sold it right back to the rich fuckers to rebuild their mansions on. BAWHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA Can you believe that crazy shit ! BAWAHAHAHAHAHHAHA ! So long suckers. That shit is like double what i bought if for. I made like three hundred bucks !"
So like I said, I'm not one for the stock market. At least with the poker, you know that the other guy is trying to screw you and there's no hard feelings.
I'd have no idea.
I'm sure there's some money somewhere for my retirement that has something to do with stocks or bonds or something of that nature, but the whole things seems both shifty and addictive and those are usually a bad combination for me. When I was young I was councelled by the father of a close friend, " With your disposition should probably start doing drugs...they'd probably mellow you out a bit and keep you out of jail...that being said you should never ever ever ever ever do coke. If you do coke you'll be dead in a month...probably from your father shooting you while you try to steal his television set...you can't handle coke...or the stock market".
So I got that going for me...which is nice.
But the bru-haha about the market this week makes me remember the other thing that Ron and I found in Larks apartment when we visited him last.
Along side of the rubble, the army surlus cargo net, the arsenic, the hip wader with the rusty golf clubs in it, and the empty Foster oil cans, was a stack of Wall Street journals, some stock certificates, and notebooks full of scribbling in red and blue ink.
BTW did you ever notice how much crazy people scribble in notebooks ? I think a lot of crimes could be solved if the police started staking out stationary stores.
Due the the fact that the guy was living in squalor I was a bit surprised to see Larks have such an interest in the market so I asked, " What's the deal with the Wall Street journals and the notebooks ?"
Larks lit up like a Christmas tree.
" Oh...YEAH ! I'm into the stock market now. I came into some money recently and needed to do something with it so I started investing."
Came into some money ?....I say, don't ask don't tell probably works best there. And while I was shuttin up I figured best not ask if perhaps replacing some golfball busted windows or having some food in the house might not be a better 'investment'...but I know better than to interrupt a man on a roll.
" So I get these Wall Street Journals from the doctor's office downstairs at the end of the day and I pour over them to find good stuff to invest in."
Now since I don't know anything about the market and was curious, " So what do you look for ? Article on certain people...or do you like certain writers ? I mean doens't everyone read the same stuff anyway ?"
" OH..no...I've enver really been into, you know, reading and such. What I is open up all the pages with the symbols and numbers and lay them all out over the floor and table and then I stare at them for about 5 minutes or so. Then after a little while I start to see it," and he started gesturing with both his arms...one high in hte air making a circle and one low on the other side making a circle and then bringing them together. " I start to see things."
" You mean like one of those 3-D poster things.", I asked
" YEAH !!!! Something like that", he continued, " What I see is like way down here you have oil futures...and they're going up. And then I see up here that corn is low and pigs futures are high. And I see that theres a tractor factory that has a low stock and it starts to come to me. They ship pigs in trucks and corn in trains. And if oil is going UP then pig farmers are going to do shitty cause it going to be more expensive and people will be like ' fuck it I'll eat chickens' and you can get chickens anywhere. But corn is on trains and oil doesn't affect that much so all those chickens will need corn to eat. So BAM corn is going to do well. And you know what happens when corn farmers start to make money...they going to be all like, 'I'm going to get me a new fucking tractor' and so I figure I'm buying tractor stocks cause that shit is going up."
That kind of thinking is just tough to dispute.
So I asked, " well how are you doing ?"
" Well the red is bad and the blue is good. And you can see at the beginning there was more red than blue...but the last month I'm getting better at it and I'm on a roll lately....now none of these things in the book are anything that I own. This shit is like Microsoft and IMB and shit...too expensive at this point...I'm working my way up to that."
"What are these certificates then ?"
" Oh yeah, this is some shit that I bought about six months ago and it's made me some good money." and Larks pulled out the certificates and handed them to me.
" California Speculators ?" I read aloud.
" Yeah...I only had a little bit of money so I started looking at these really cheap penny stocks for these small companies and I found these guys."
" Well what do they do ?" I inquired.
" That's the interesting thing. I bought this shit cause I KNEW that with all the shit going on in the world that there wasn't going to be any oil coming from the Middle East anymore, at least not cheaply, so I figured that if I could get in on the ground floor with a company that did oil exploration and if they hit an oil well in California...you know there's got to be tons of oil out there with te tar pits and shit, then I might be able to cash in..."
"And ?" I asked
" Well I kinda fucked up."
" What do you mean ?"
" Well I was figuring, you know California Speculator...was like those old '49er dudes...you know gold speculators...except I fucked it up because those guys were PROSPECTORS....not speculators...so I was thinking that the company was all into searching for oil and shit like that...but it turns out that they have nothing to do with that at all."
" Oh shit...well what do they do ?"
" They're a rewal estate company that buys up land all over california and hopes that rewal estate prices go up."
"Oh...so it hasn't done well for you ?"
" That's just the thing. I bought this shit in January and then remember all those crazy ass rain storms and mudslides and shit in California ?"
" Uh..yeah ?"
" Well this company bought a whole bunch of land...not ON the coast...but right behind the land on the coast. And when all that rain came it started a bunch of mudslides. And those fucking mansions fell into the ocean....and all of a sudden all that shit land that we bought turned into ocean front property. And those sold it right back to the rich fuckers to rebuild their mansions on. BAWHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHA Can you believe that crazy shit ! BAWAHAHAHAHAHHAHA ! So long suckers. That shit is like double what i bought if for. I made like three hundred bucks !"
So like I said, I'm not one for the stock market. At least with the poker, you know that the other guy is trying to screw you and there's no hard feelings.
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
good talk
My buddy Joe just turned me onto this. It's written by a NYC bouncer.
Good stuff.
http://standingonthebox.blogspot.com/
Here's a taste :
Stupid, silly life
You know what I don't understand? And I'm being serious here. I don't understand for the life of me how I've managed to stretch this blog into two years of telling you people about bouncing in fucking nightclubs. It's times like these where I sit back and say to myself, "You must be a very fucking talented guy, because you pretty much have the stupidest fucking job on the face of the earth, yet people still want to read about what happens there."
You know what happens in clubs? Nothing. Nothing happens. A few thousand people stand around and get fucked up. Sometimes, they go back to the bathrooms to take leaks. Other times, they go back to the bathrooms to do coke or get blowjobs. Afterward, they go back to where they were, and they stand there for a few more hours. Occasionally, they dance. The men look like retards when they dance. The women don't, so the men follow them around and try to encourage the sex.
A mating ritual ensues. This ritual has made me realize that the people I'm dealing with at the club are several steps down on the evolutionary scale. The women shake their tail feathers. The men strut and preen. Sometimes, they fight over women. Animals do this too. These people can eat a fat dick.
When they fight, we throw them out. Outside, they say a lot of really stupid things. Sometimes they say things that are so stupid that I come home and write them on my website. They're all experts in the use of the double negative. None of them did nothing. All of them did something. I listen to them for a while, and then I get tired and want to go home and go to bed.
When that would happen, I used to take the train home. Sometimes I took the subway, but then I moved and started taking the Long Island Railroad. You take the Long Island Railroad from Penn Station, which is a place that sucks. At 4:30 in the morning at Penn Station, every drunk from every bar and club in Manhattan is waiting to take the train home to Long Island. In Penn Station, they shout, they fight and they throw up. They're socially unacceptable. They made me very tired, so I decided it was time to start driving to work. This meant I'd be putting a lot of wear on my car, and spending money on gas, but it beat sitting around Penn Station with a bunch of drunken Guidos. People who make too much noise in public places are called "cocksuckers."
click on the link to see the rest.
Good stuff.
http://standingonthebox.blogspot.com/
Here's a taste :
Stupid, silly life
You know what I don't understand? And I'm being serious here. I don't understand for the life of me how I've managed to stretch this blog into two years of telling you people about bouncing in fucking nightclubs. It's times like these where I sit back and say to myself, "You must be a very fucking talented guy, because you pretty much have the stupidest fucking job on the face of the earth, yet people still want to read about what happens there."
You know what happens in clubs? Nothing. Nothing happens. A few thousand people stand around and get fucked up. Sometimes, they go back to the bathrooms to take leaks. Other times, they go back to the bathrooms to do coke or get blowjobs. Afterward, they go back to where they were, and they stand there for a few more hours. Occasionally, they dance. The men look like retards when they dance. The women don't, so the men follow them around and try to encourage the sex.
A mating ritual ensues. This ritual has made me realize that the people I'm dealing with at the club are several steps down on the evolutionary scale. The women shake their tail feathers. The men strut and preen. Sometimes, they fight over women. Animals do this too. These people can eat a fat dick.
When they fight, we throw them out. Outside, they say a lot of really stupid things. Sometimes they say things that are so stupid that I come home and write them on my website. They're all experts in the use of the double negative. None of them did nothing. All of them did something. I listen to them for a while, and then I get tired and want to go home and go to bed.
When that would happen, I used to take the train home. Sometimes I took the subway, but then I moved and started taking the Long Island Railroad. You take the Long Island Railroad from Penn Station, which is a place that sucks. At 4:30 in the morning at Penn Station, every drunk from every bar and club in Manhattan is waiting to take the train home to Long Island. In Penn Station, they shout, they fight and they throw up. They're socially unacceptable. They made me very tired, so I decided it was time to start driving to work. This meant I'd be putting a lot of wear on my car, and spending money on gas, but it beat sitting around Penn Station with a bunch of drunken Guidos. People who make too much noise in public places are called "cocksuckers."
click on the link to see the rest.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
I've been to the mountain ( complete)
I used to think I had a bit of an anger management problem. You know...you chase a guy around with a snow shovel, you threaten to rape a man with a phone, and you ALLEGEDLY bean a little kid with a baseball and you start to think that maybe, just maybe, you're a little off kilter.
After Friday night, I'm not worried anymore. I'm a piker...a poser...a hack. I've been to the mountain and I've met 'the man', the Babe Ruth of freaking out.... the Tiger Woods of temper tantrums....I've met Andy.
The last couple of times that I've played pub poker I've had people point to this guy while he plays darts, " see that guy over there...never play poker with that guy." and " You should see that guy at the bar play poker, no wait maybe you shouldn't".
So Friday night I got invited to play at a home game with a bunch of people that I really don't know very well at all. And into this house walks the much revered/reviled Andy, and a buzz went through the rom, " OH NO...HE'S NOT HERE ?!??!"
But for the life of me I could not understand what the problem was. The guy was really nice. He was loud for sure, but there wasn't a friendlier guy in the place. He walked up to me as the newcomer and introduced himself, he made a couple of jokes, and made me feel welcome.
The only thing that gave me pause was when he pulled me aside to give me his warning, " Listen pal..glad to have you here...but let me tell you something about this game...we ONLY play good cards. If you're going to play BAD cards you're not going to be welcome back. So just play good cards and we'll all have a good time."
I really didn't want to stir the pot, but I had to ask, " Don't get me wrong, I hope to play the best poker that I can...but wouldn't you WANT me to play bad cards ? I mean if I play bad cards and you play good cards you're likely to take all my money. Isn't that the point ?"
He got very serious for a second, " NO ! We're here to have a good time. If I win I win...If I lose I lose...I can take losing to someone with better cards than me...but I cannot STAND to lose to someone who gets LUCKY !"
(long pause while I pondered this) "Ummmm....OK"
So finally we sit down to play, 8 men and 1 woman and Andy starts to distribute the chips. He gives us 100 chips with the blinds to start at 1/2. So I said, " since you prefer to eliminate luck out of it, why don't we start with more chips ?"
Andy thought about it for a second and said, " Good idea. We'll make the chips worth 100 each instead of 1 each...so we're all starting wtih 10,000......and we'll make the blinds 100/200"
" But that's the same....nevermind...good idea". Now dear reader, do you see what I have to put up with ?
Anyway we start playing and about 20 minutes while the cards are being dealt one of the cards flipped over.
" RE-DEAL" the young women next to me said.
" NO !", said Andy, " Just keep dealing, that's how we do it here."
" Well I want a redeal" to woman said and with that she flipped over her card too exposing a king, " Now you have to redeal".
Well out went good time Andy and entered the Andy of legends. At the drop of a hat he went from loud and friendly to loud and asshole.
" YOU FUCKING BITCH. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO PLAY BY OUR RULES THEN GET THE FUCK OUT. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE."
WHOA WHOA WHOA everyone at the table jumped up to calm him down...easy big fellah.
" No, I'm just saying right is right. And this bitch is disrespecting me and the game. She doesn't know how to play poker."
and in deminishing degrees this continued for the next 45 minutes
" you don't know how to play....I'm right and you're wrong just admit it....blah blah blah"
The entire time the woman was unplussed...just sitting there drinking her beer playing cards.
Finally Andy knocked out 3 players and had the biggest ship stack at the table. Then he was happy as a clam. His good cards beat their good cards and all was well. There were 4 people left Andy, another guy, me and the woman.
The woman was down to two chips...$20. Then she doubled-up, then doubled again, then again, THEN AGAIN ! and the next thing I know she's tied with Andy for the chip lead. Then the following hand happened:
FLOP A 8 8
she checks...he checks
TURN whatever
she checks....he bets....she thinks about it for a while and calls
RIVER whatever
she checks...he bets big....she thinks...thinks...then goes all in...
Andy quickly called, jumped up and said, " HA ! I have the 8 ! Three 8s !"
And smooth as butter she says, " I also have the 8..........and an ace. Fullhouse"
BOO-YA
The room went completely silent and Andy..now completely red and veins in his neck bulging got up to walk out of the room.
" Wait a second" I said.
I counted up all of her chips and his chips while he painfully waited...standing to leave and biting his tongue. And it was worse than busting out...when all was said and done he had three chips left. He was going to have to continue to sit there and play at least one more hand.
You could cut the tention with the knife as the chick slowly and silently gathered up her chips...her massive pile of chips....and started stacking them.
Mind you, there was NOTHING Andy could say. She played 'GOOD CARDS', she had the best hand. And she knew , we knew , and he sure as shit knew ..he was totally outwitted and outplayed in the hand. With all the courage and strength he could muster, and between gritted teeth, Andy muttered, " ...nice...hand..."
And the woman, who had been sitting there for over an hour taking his shit smiled ever so gently and said,
" Yeah it was wasn't it"
and then to make sure that the knife went all the way in...
" And it's a good thing that I don't know how to play poker or else you'd have _NO_ chips."
Now have you ever seen the Buggs Bunny "Nature Boy" cartoon where Bugs gets the canibal dude to flip out with the whole "unga bunga thing ?" or have you ever seen someone set afire while being stung by a swarm of bees ?
Well neither of those things is even close to what followed.
Andy started running around the basement screaming and throwing his hands in the air. He was yelling and you could make out most of the swear words, but it was mostly speaking in toungues. I'm sure that if he were an older man that he would have stroked out or had a seizure.
Then after much coaxing by everyone else in the room and some physical restraint he would calm down to the point of hyperventilation.
And as soon as that would happen she would lay into him again... " Damn !!! Flopped the nuts and you walked right into it. You never saw it coming. Checking on the end was a nice touch too huh ?"
And he'd go again. By the end he was quite litterally foaming at the mouth.
Finally, after about 10 minutes of a complete coniption fit the owner of the house, the dudes best friend, came down into the basement and threw him out ! "You're a great friend and all but you're out of your mind and you have to leave."
The last thing I could hear was the dude upstairs sobbing and tossing stuff around the backyard.
Meanwhile the chick sat there smiling to herself...and quietly stacking her chips.
After Friday night, I'm not worried anymore. I'm a piker...a poser...a hack. I've been to the mountain and I've met 'the man', the Babe Ruth of freaking out.... the Tiger Woods of temper tantrums....I've met Andy.
The last couple of times that I've played pub poker I've had people point to this guy while he plays darts, " see that guy over there...never play poker with that guy." and " You should see that guy at the bar play poker, no wait maybe you shouldn't".
So Friday night I got invited to play at a home game with a bunch of people that I really don't know very well at all. And into this house walks the much revered/reviled Andy, and a buzz went through the rom, " OH NO...HE'S NOT HERE ?!??!"
But for the life of me I could not understand what the problem was. The guy was really nice. He was loud for sure, but there wasn't a friendlier guy in the place. He walked up to me as the newcomer and introduced himself, he made a couple of jokes, and made me feel welcome.
The only thing that gave me pause was when he pulled me aside to give me his warning, " Listen pal..glad to have you here...but let me tell you something about this game...we ONLY play good cards. If you're going to play BAD cards you're not going to be welcome back. So just play good cards and we'll all have a good time."
I really didn't want to stir the pot, but I had to ask, " Don't get me wrong, I hope to play the best poker that I can...but wouldn't you WANT me to play bad cards ? I mean if I play bad cards and you play good cards you're likely to take all my money. Isn't that the point ?"
He got very serious for a second, " NO ! We're here to have a good time. If I win I win...If I lose I lose...I can take losing to someone with better cards than me...but I cannot STAND to lose to someone who gets LUCKY !"
(long pause while I pondered this) "Ummmm....OK"
So finally we sit down to play, 8 men and 1 woman and Andy starts to distribute the chips. He gives us 100 chips with the blinds to start at 1/2. So I said, " since you prefer to eliminate luck out of it, why don't we start with more chips ?"
Andy thought about it for a second and said, " Good idea. We'll make the chips worth 100 each instead of 1 each...so we're all starting wtih 10,000......and we'll make the blinds 100/200"
" But that's the same....nevermind...good idea". Now dear reader, do you see what I have to put up with ?
Anyway we start playing and about 20 minutes while the cards are being dealt one of the cards flipped over.
" RE-DEAL" the young women next to me said.
" NO !", said Andy, " Just keep dealing, that's how we do it here."
" Well I want a redeal" to woman said and with that she flipped over her card too exposing a king, " Now you have to redeal".
Well out went good time Andy and entered the Andy of legends. At the drop of a hat he went from loud and friendly to loud and asshole.
" YOU FUCKING BITCH. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO PLAY BY OUR RULES THEN GET THE FUCK OUT. WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE."
WHOA WHOA WHOA everyone at the table jumped up to calm him down...easy big fellah.
" No, I'm just saying right is right. And this bitch is disrespecting me and the game. She doesn't know how to play poker."
and in deminishing degrees this continued for the next 45 minutes
" you don't know how to play....I'm right and you're wrong just admit it....blah blah blah"
The entire time the woman was unplussed...just sitting there drinking her beer playing cards.
Finally Andy knocked out 3 players and had the biggest ship stack at the table. Then he was happy as a clam. His good cards beat their good cards and all was well. There were 4 people left Andy, another guy, me and the woman.
The woman was down to two chips...$20. Then she doubled-up, then doubled again, then again, THEN AGAIN ! and the next thing I know she's tied with Andy for the chip lead. Then the following hand happened:
FLOP A 8 8
she checks...he checks
TURN whatever
she checks....he bets....she thinks about it for a while and calls
RIVER whatever
she checks...he bets big....she thinks...thinks...then goes all in...
Andy quickly called, jumped up and said, " HA ! I have the 8 ! Three 8s !"
And smooth as butter she says, " I also have the 8..........and an ace. Fullhouse"
BOO-YA
The room went completely silent and Andy..now completely red and veins in his neck bulging got up to walk out of the room.
" Wait a second" I said.
I counted up all of her chips and his chips while he painfully waited...standing to leave and biting his tongue. And it was worse than busting out...when all was said and done he had three chips left. He was going to have to continue to sit there and play at least one more hand.
You could cut the tention with the knife as the chick slowly and silently gathered up her chips...her massive pile of chips....and started stacking them.
Mind you, there was NOTHING Andy could say. She played 'GOOD CARDS', she had the best hand. And she knew , we knew , and he sure as shit knew ..he was totally outwitted and outplayed in the hand. With all the courage and strength he could muster, and between gritted teeth, Andy muttered, " ...nice...hand..."
And the woman, who had been sitting there for over an hour taking his shit smiled ever so gently and said,
" Yeah it was wasn't it"
and then to make sure that the knife went all the way in...
" And it's a good thing that I don't know how to play poker or else you'd have _NO_ chips."
Now have you ever seen the Buggs Bunny "Nature Boy" cartoon where Bugs gets the canibal dude to flip out with the whole "unga bunga thing ?" or have you ever seen someone set afire while being stung by a swarm of bees ?
Well neither of those things is even close to what followed.
Andy started running around the basement screaming and throwing his hands in the air. He was yelling and you could make out most of the swear words, but it was mostly speaking in toungues. I'm sure that if he were an older man that he would have stroked out or had a seizure.
Then after much coaxing by everyone else in the room and some physical restraint he would calm down to the point of hyperventilation.
And as soon as that would happen she would lay into him again... " Damn !!! Flopped the nuts and you walked right into it. You never saw it coming. Checking on the end was a nice touch too huh ?"
And he'd go again. By the end he was quite litterally foaming at the mouth.
Finally, after about 10 minutes of a complete coniption fit the owner of the house, the dudes best friend, came down into the basement and threw him out ! "You're a great friend and all but you're out of your mind and you have to leave."
The last thing I could hear was the dude upstairs sobbing and tossing stuff around the backyard.
Meanwhile the chick sat there smiling to herself...and quietly stacking her chips.
Monday, June 12, 2006
gimme 24 hours
The hangover from last week is just about gone and I have a heck of a story from Friday night to tell. Gimme until tomorrow and check back in...Flick is swamped.
Oh yeah, someone reminded my of another former bet of mine. That I could open a book of matches and light a match...all with my toes. Haha I won that one....beat that !
In the meantime and until tomorrow, he's some nutty Japanese to hold you over. If you get to the dude getting slapped in his face, you might pee yourself.
Gaki no Tsukai ya Arahende, a Japanese show in which contestants suffer more and more outrageous tortures without being able to utter a sound.
Oh yeah, someone reminded my of another former bet of mine. That I could open a book of matches and light a match...all with my toes. Haha I won that one....beat that !
In the meantime and until tomorrow, he's some nutty Japanese to hold you over. If you get to the dude getting slapped in his face, you might pee yourself.
Gaki no Tsukai ya Arahende, a Japanese show in which contestants suffer more and more outrageous tortures without being able to utter a sound.
Thursday, June 08, 2006
Two annoucements
#1 we have a new office record. If I haven't mentioned it, we have a guy in the office who's head is hollow. I don't mean he's dumb...he's not. His head literally had giant cavernous spaces. And much to my chagin his snack of choice is the pretzel...and the crunchier the better. So the new record is that I could hear him eating from 19 feet 8.5 inches. And so not as to undermine the magnitude of this record I should note that the crunching was heard not only at that distance but also around a corner and up a carpeted hall.
Of course I wouldn't do it, nor do I approve of it...but I can see why people go postal. It's not to far a walk from where I stand on a daily basis.
Oh yeah...and I need to mention this as well....
I'm playing in the
Of course I wouldn't do it, nor do I approve of it...but I can see why people go postal. It's not to far a walk from where I stand on a daily basis.
Oh yeah...and I need to mention this as well....
I'm playing in the
PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! Texas Holdem .Registration code: 9674743
Burt Hoovis
It was with great surprise when I read that Burt Hoovis finished 175th in the Red Rose 5 miler this past weekend with a time of 36:39. It wasn't because that time was fast...or because that time was slow...mainly I was surprised because Burt Hoovis is dead. Maybe i should explain.
Sometime in the late '70's to early '80's an unnamed collegiate cross country team rented a house in a small Pennsylvania town. That house remained the cross county house up until around 2000 when it was torn down and turned into a parking lot.
In the interim, the site became renown for ( and not necessarily in order) great fitness, drunkenness, debauchery, and the loss of much virginity...both male and female I might add. My brief time living there included chasing off a burglar, being attacked by a bat in the living room, and waking up underneath of both a pool table and a 200lb shot put chick...both at the same time....and I was only there for a long weekend.
Some time in the early 80's someone from the house signed up for Penthouse. Rather than use his real name, he used the name Burt Hoovis. Where he got the name no one knows...but amazingly there is no legal record of anyone ever having that name. There have been Bill Hoovis', Bob Hoovis', but extensive research shows that Burt Hoovis may have been the most perfect fictitious name ever created. Anyway, soon after this Burt started ordering magazines, 13 tapes for a penny, and various marital aids. As Burt grew bolder he started ordering stuff to be billed later, then eventually signed up for the phone and electric bills. In the end, Burt may have defaulted on more mail order items and utility bills than anyone in the history of Western Pa.
By the late 80's the number of bill collector calls and certified letters was getting unmanageable. Something drastic had to be done. And after a team meeting with much discussion and hand wringing it was announced that ...tragically...and much too soon in his young but fruitful life....Burt was dead. There was, of course, a full wake, many tears, and a couple of virginities sacrificed out of respect.
But out of the ashes a Phoenix bloomed and it bloomed in the form of the Burt Hoovis Memorial Run and Chug. This annual event was a 3.1 mile run around the town with stops along that way the required the participants chug 8 pony bottles of beer. The course was a figure 8 making to participants do a double chug half way in the court yard filled with spectators. The event, understandably was also decorated with copious amounts of vomiting. I had the pleasure of participating on one occasion and despite not being much of a runner finished in the top 12 due to my advanced chugging abilities and my willingness to continue running while vomiting all over myself. I was, however beaten my two men dressed in panties and bras, and by one competitor who purposely ate a huge bowl of chili at the start and who stopped to admire his own handiwork at chug station 3.
I still wonder what normal townspeople must have thought when they were driving their kids to soccer practice only to periodically pass men running full cry down the street in bra and panties and other men vomiting all over each other. I mean, if you live in a college town you must see quite a bit...but that's still got to be a challenge to explain to little Jonny.
So over the last 15 years the house has gone...I hear that the Run and Chug has taken a hiatus...and most of the guys who were involved in the whole thing are now in their 40's, fat and balding. But every once in a while you'll open the paper, or see something on the net, and it will bring a little smile to your face and a little song in your heart...
" Burt Hoovis is everywhere, Burt Hoovis is everything, Burt Hoovis is everybody, Burt Hoovis is still the king"
R.I.P.
Sometime in the late '70's to early '80's an unnamed collegiate cross country team rented a house in a small Pennsylvania town. That house remained the cross county house up until around 2000 when it was torn down and turned into a parking lot.
In the interim, the site became renown for ( and not necessarily in order) great fitness, drunkenness, debauchery, and the loss of much virginity...both male and female I might add. My brief time living there included chasing off a burglar, being attacked by a bat in the living room, and waking up underneath of both a pool table and a 200lb shot put chick...both at the same time....and I was only there for a long weekend.
Some time in the early 80's someone from the house signed up for Penthouse. Rather than use his real name, he used the name Burt Hoovis. Where he got the name no one knows...but amazingly there is no legal record of anyone ever having that name. There have been Bill Hoovis', Bob Hoovis', but extensive research shows that Burt Hoovis may have been the most perfect fictitious name ever created. Anyway, soon after this Burt started ordering magazines, 13 tapes for a penny, and various marital aids. As Burt grew bolder he started ordering stuff to be billed later, then eventually signed up for the phone and electric bills. In the end, Burt may have defaulted on more mail order items and utility bills than anyone in the history of Western Pa.
By the late 80's the number of bill collector calls and certified letters was getting unmanageable. Something drastic had to be done. And after a team meeting with much discussion and hand wringing it was announced that ...tragically...and much too soon in his young but fruitful life....Burt was dead. There was, of course, a full wake, many tears, and a couple of virginities sacrificed out of respect.
But out of the ashes a Phoenix bloomed and it bloomed in the form of the Burt Hoovis Memorial Run and Chug. This annual event was a 3.1 mile run around the town with stops along that way the required the participants chug 8 pony bottles of beer. The course was a figure 8 making to participants do a double chug half way in the court yard filled with spectators. The event, understandably was also decorated with copious amounts of vomiting. I had the pleasure of participating on one occasion and despite not being much of a runner finished in the top 12 due to my advanced chugging abilities and my willingness to continue running while vomiting all over myself. I was, however beaten my two men dressed in panties and bras, and by one competitor who purposely ate a huge bowl of chili at the start and who stopped to admire his own handiwork at chug station 3.
I still wonder what normal townspeople must have thought when they were driving their kids to soccer practice only to periodically pass men running full cry down the street in bra and panties and other men vomiting all over each other. I mean, if you live in a college town you must see quite a bit...but that's still got to be a challenge to explain to little Jonny.
So over the last 15 years the house has gone...I hear that the Run and Chug has taken a hiatus...and most of the guys who were involved in the whole thing are now in their 40's, fat and balding. But every once in a while you'll open the paper, or see something on the net, and it will bring a little smile to your face and a little song in your heart...
" Burt Hoovis is everywhere, Burt Hoovis is everything, Burt Hoovis is everybody, Burt Hoovis is still the king"
R.I.P.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
it's alive
Back at work today for the first time since last Friday morning.
I'm not sure what the worlds record for hangovers is, but I think I have to have at least put myself on the leaderboard with that effort. At one point I was pretty sure that the bachelor party had given me MS. My wife told me that you can't get MS from drinking, but what does she know, she's not a doctor.
I'm not a very good patient. One time I had a long wait in a doctors office so I started reading those brochues that they put out. Unfortunately the flu has all the same syptoms as every disease ever. By the time I got in to see the doctor I had convinced myself I had Lupus and when she walked through the doors I burst into tears. The doctor disgustedly informed me that by my reasoning I might also be pregnant. Thankfully I had neither.
Anyway, woke sore as crap this morning...but I woke...which was a step up from the last couple days where I just laid in bed suffering. But enough about me.
Today was the first day of no school in the Flick household. Like Travolta says at the beginning of Pulp Fiction, "It's the little things." Those of you without kids cannot appreciate what life is like to have to go to bed with children crying a screaming and then wake up with the same. It's like the Chineese water torture...just louder. So last night we jacked them up on sugar, threw the longest movie we had into the DVD player and locked them in a room...." Stay up as late as you want...just don't leave this room !"...then we went to bed. I woke up this morning, got dressed, and headed out the door with total silence. To honor the beauty of the moment, Mrs. Flick and I did not speak or turn a radio or TV on...we muddled around in silence giving each other a knowing smile and a nod.
I like hockey and I like basketball...but come on, enough is enough. It's friggin June and it's still on. I'm not alone. The Stanley Cup Finals game 1 was outdrawn by women's college softball last night. That should be a wake up call.
OK, this is a terrible post, I know. But it's the first day back...gimme a day.
DOG UPDATE: Dog still alive.
I'm not sure what the worlds record for hangovers is, but I think I have to have at least put myself on the leaderboard with that effort. At one point I was pretty sure that the bachelor party had given me MS. My wife told me that you can't get MS from drinking, but what does she know, she's not a doctor.
I'm not a very good patient. One time I had a long wait in a doctors office so I started reading those brochues that they put out. Unfortunately the flu has all the same syptoms as every disease ever. By the time I got in to see the doctor I had convinced myself I had Lupus and when she walked through the doors I burst into tears. The doctor disgustedly informed me that by my reasoning I might also be pregnant. Thankfully I had neither.
Anyway, woke sore as crap this morning...but I woke...which was a step up from the last couple days where I just laid in bed suffering. But enough about me.
Today was the first day of no school in the Flick household. Like Travolta says at the beginning of Pulp Fiction, "It's the little things." Those of you without kids cannot appreciate what life is like to have to go to bed with children crying a screaming and then wake up with the same. It's like the Chineese water torture...just louder. So last night we jacked them up on sugar, threw the longest movie we had into the DVD player and locked them in a room...." Stay up as late as you want...just don't leave this room !"...then we went to bed. I woke up this morning, got dressed, and headed out the door with total silence. To honor the beauty of the moment, Mrs. Flick and I did not speak or turn a radio or TV on...we muddled around in silence giving each other a knowing smile and a nod.
I like hockey and I like basketball...but come on, enough is enough. It's friggin June and it's still on. I'm not alone. The Stanley Cup Finals game 1 was outdrawn by women's college softball last night. That should be a wake up call.
OK, this is a terrible post, I know. But it's the first day back...gimme a day.
DOG UPDATE: Dog still alive.
Monday, June 05, 2006
lordy lordy
I'm hurting.
Yesterday's marathon hangover has bled into a full on cold. I'd been fighting it off for a week now and sort of hoped that drowning the germs in alcohol might kill them off, but I suspect that line of thinking went out with using leeches for bloodletting.
Anyway, the All Man Olympics for the bachelor party went well.
We played darts and drank...move to another location and played pool and drank...then basketball foul shots where we collectively went 10 for 70..oh yeah, and drank...then to bowling where we drank some more...then back to my place for a poker tourney.
Things went well collectively and for me personally right up until the end of bowling. From bowling we went for dinner and I soon realized the effect of 18 cans of Yuengling. Much to the chagrin of the waitress and staff, the group started getting a little surly during dinner and I think they were all glad we left. There's a fine line from clever and funny over to rude and crass. I figured that lines were for pussies and just right to full on jackass...and I think I may have been responsible for encouraging some others to take that walk with me. In the end we made it back to my house for the poker and all went well.
The highlight of the night was the bowling. We played as the little podunk bowling alley outside this beat down little town. While the town is a tad depressed it definitely has more character than teeth and the people there have a great ammout of pride. Saturday night is the big bowling night in town and the featured event is "Saturday Night Fights" where the bring the best 8 bowlers in town for a mano-en-mano slugfest. To hype it up they lower the lights, get a Michael Buffer type announcer, and do the whole introduction thing with records, nicknames, and the occassional costume. If Saturday night was any indication, they draw about 16 people to the entire event.
The difference this time was that we were there. Actually that's giving us too much credit...the real difference is that pitchers of Yuengling were $6.50...and we were there.
About ten minutes before they were to do all this the manager came up and let us know that we'd have to stop bowling for a second and explained why. Rather than just sit on the sidelines and watch, we figured that we'd get involved. The Columbia Bowl-A-Rama has never rocked so hard. We pounded on lockers, we screamed, we formed a gauntlet for the bowlers to run down and give high fives, we howled for "the wolf", and chanted for "the bandit", ....hell we even boo'd a guy...and he liked it. The 'pink panther' was so inspired he even did his version of 'the icky shuffle'.
So in the end the night was a good time. My plan of racking up 360 extra chips in beer points ( 20 chips a beer times 18 beers) was great in theory, but in practical terms seemed to be a bit of a liability at the poker table...apparently retaining your vision is more necessary than I anticipated. I, of course, finished in the dick spot ( 4th paying 3 deep) so if I don't die from pneumonia, we might have to give it another run.
Lemme know if you're in.
Yesterday's marathon hangover has bled into a full on cold. I'd been fighting it off for a week now and sort of hoped that drowning the germs in alcohol might kill them off, but I suspect that line of thinking went out with using leeches for bloodletting.
Anyway, the All Man Olympics for the bachelor party went well.
We played darts and drank...move to another location and played pool and drank...then basketball foul shots where we collectively went 10 for 70..oh yeah, and drank...then to bowling where we drank some more...then back to my place for a poker tourney.
Things went well collectively and for me personally right up until the end of bowling. From bowling we went for dinner and I soon realized the effect of 18 cans of Yuengling. Much to the chagrin of the waitress and staff, the group started getting a little surly during dinner and I think they were all glad we left. There's a fine line from clever and funny over to rude and crass. I figured that lines were for pussies and just right to full on jackass...and I think I may have been responsible for encouraging some others to take that walk with me. In the end we made it back to my house for the poker and all went well.
The highlight of the night was the bowling. We played as the little podunk bowling alley outside this beat down little town. While the town is a tad depressed it definitely has more character than teeth and the people there have a great ammout of pride. Saturday night is the big bowling night in town and the featured event is "Saturday Night Fights" where the bring the best 8 bowlers in town for a mano-en-mano slugfest. To hype it up they lower the lights, get a Michael Buffer type announcer, and do the whole introduction thing with records, nicknames, and the occassional costume. If Saturday night was any indication, they draw about 16 people to the entire event.
The difference this time was that we were there. Actually that's giving us too much credit...the real difference is that pitchers of Yuengling were $6.50...and we were there.
About ten minutes before they were to do all this the manager came up and let us know that we'd have to stop bowling for a second and explained why. Rather than just sit on the sidelines and watch, we figured that we'd get involved. The Columbia Bowl-A-Rama has never rocked so hard. We pounded on lockers, we screamed, we formed a gauntlet for the bowlers to run down and give high fives, we howled for "the wolf", and chanted for "the bandit", ....hell we even boo'd a guy...and he liked it. The 'pink panther' was so inspired he even did his version of 'the icky shuffle'.
So in the end the night was a good time. My plan of racking up 360 extra chips in beer points ( 20 chips a beer times 18 beers) was great in theory, but in practical terms seemed to be a bit of a liability at the poker table...apparently retaining your vision is more necessary than I anticipated. I, of course, finished in the dick spot ( 4th paying 3 deep) so if I don't die from pneumonia, we might have to give it another run.
Lemme know if you're in.
Friday, June 02, 2006
weekend schedule
I tried to come up with something to post to carry through the weekend, but the tank it empty. I seem to top off somewhere around 6 posts a week. Plus I've been almost sober for 2 days which doesn't help.
This weekend is the first attempt at the Post-Modern Pentathalon as describe in a previous post.
Tomorrow at noon we kick off with some golf, followed by darts, bowling, basketball shots, and then poker. There is a movement afoot to replace the basketball shots with either horseshoes or billiards. Actually to call it a movement is a bit strong...I just came up with idea last night.
Anyway, its all part of Ron's bachelor party. Yeah...I know...no naked chicks is a bummer. But so is divorce and spending time with the Duke Lacrosse coach.
OK, maybe we can fit a couple naked chick in. I'll let you know on Monday.
This weekend is the first attempt at the Post-Modern Pentathalon as describe in a previous post.
Tomorrow at noon we kick off with some golf, followed by darts, bowling, basketball shots, and then poker. There is a movement afoot to replace the basketball shots with either horseshoes or billiards. Actually to call it a movement is a bit strong...I just came up with idea last night.
Anyway, its all part of Ron's bachelor party. Yeah...I know...no naked chicks is a bummer. But so is divorce and spending time with the Duke Lacrosse coach.
OK, maybe we can fit a couple naked chick in. I'll let you know on Monday.
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