Tour De Dork

I haven't been doing much exercising and, like everyone else, have decided to turn things around for the new year.

On Wednesday night I noticed that the local gym was having a cycling promotion and thought that would be right down my alley. You have to ride the exercise bike at the gym varying distances, three times a week for 6 weeks. No problem.

They also accumulated your time over each of the "stages" and had a prize for the fastest riders. Even better !

Except....week 1 is from the 25th to the 31st, which gave me two days to get the first three rides in....AND the gym closes at 1 pm on New Year's Eve.

Undeterred I figured that I could ride two courses last night and one course this morning at 6 am.

I got to the gym last night with about 1 hour before close and looking at about 45 minutes of ride time. The first course was only 3.5 miles in distance so rather than waste time on a warm-up, I figured I'd get right into it. When I was fit ( and younger) I could hold 300+watts for an hour, so I'd just do this first course at 275 watts, a modest pace, get through the first course as a good warm-up and then really light it on first for the second ride.

I sat down, hit start and started pounding away at 275 watts. " Hmmmm, something must be stuck", I thought and looked around. No, nothing was stuck. Apparently in the couple of years that I've stopped riding seriously, 275 watts has become difficult.

Undeterred I pressed on holding 275 watts and watched my heart rate go up 155....165.....172.....173..... the last mile I was up out of the saddle grunting and dumping waves of sweat on the poor old man out on a leisurely ride on the bike next to me.

Finally I stopped the clock at 9:40 and lay slumped over the bike, making a spectacle of myself, and doing my best to not throw up all over the gym floor.

Before I could start the next course I had to find someone to take dowm my time. After some searching I finally found the guy who works there spotting someone, " Hey can you give me hand ?"

" Can you wait until after I'm done spotting this guy ?", he asked.

" I really can't", I said, " I have to do another ride and I just need you for a second, I"m sorry."

So the guy stopped what he was doing and followed me back to my bike, " What seems to be the problem ?" he asked.

" There's no problem.", I said, "I just need you to record my time so I can do course number two."

" Huh ?", he looked at me funny

" For the Tour De Gym...my time....I want to ride a second course, can you please record my time ?", A pool of sweat was, literally, forming around me and I was still panting.

He raised his eyebrows, sort of smiled, and raised a finger. " Hang on", he said, and walked into the back room.

He came back with a three ring binder and asked, " THIS Tour De Gym ?" he asked pointing at the cover of the book which read TOUR DE GYM.

" Yeah, EXACTLY !" What was this guys problem ?

" THIS Tour De Gym ?", he asked a second time, except this time, with a big smile on this face, he was pointing at the bottom part of the cover which read....

starts JANUARY 25, 2010.

" Yeah ", I said, " exactly."

They applaud...

...then go to work on Monday.

Merry Christmas

No Sophia its FIGGY pudding....FIGGY....with an "I" not an "A".

Merry Christmas

Out with the old king, in with the new

It looks like a big ole Bush-Obama Alley-Oop.

Bend over America.


Barack Obama, a once-in-a-generation political talent whose graceful conquest of America's racial dragons en route to the White House inspired the entire world, has for some reason allowed his presidency to be hijacked by sniveling, low-rent shitheads

The point is that an economic team made up exclusively of callous millionaire-assholes has absolutely zero interest in reforming the gamed system that made them rich in the first place.

Typical night

After some stressful days I was really looking forward to a quiet Monday night spent watching Allen Iverson's return to the Sixers.

Around 7 pm, after organizing the kids, checking their homework, feeding them, cleaning up the kitchen, and the half dozen other things that need to be done, I settled in and watched the introduction to " You Six-ahhhhs Stahhhh-tahhhhs !"

Right before tip-off my daughter informed me that she needed me to edit a paper she wrote. I told her that it would have to wait but was informed that (a) it was due the next morning and (b) it was about her pledge to not do drugs and delaying the process might lessen her committment to a drug free lifestyle. ( she's effectively manipulative like that)

She after 10 minutes of instruction I finally got her to email to me so that I could edit it on my laptop and still watch the game....and of course finish the online poker tournament that I had open and read my emails.

So still hanging onto some sense of relaxation I started editing the document when the boy walked in, " Hey awesome Iverson !" and plopped down next to me. He started his usual routine, figiting, tossing a ball up and down, chewing on the fingernails and sticking his head in front of my screen to see what I'm doing and reading aloud ( alternately) the anti-drug screed and my hole cards usually in the form of a question.

" I'm committed to a drug free lifestlye... ( shuffle)... Jack - seven you should bet right ?..( toss the ball)..alcohol is bad...(knock something over)..why did you fold ?...(pick a wedge)... Oooo Iverson just scored, isn't he on Memphis ? Hey where did the poker screen go ?"

Its like living with an epileptic Alex Trebek.

Finally I couldn't take it, " GO OVER THERE AND STOP MOVING !"

I finished the email and sent to my daughter. Of course she couldn't get the printer to work.

I went over to the printer, started working, and a face appeared two inches away from me cheek to cheek, " Hey, do you know what the problem is ?....(shuffle)....Did you check the printer cartridge ?...( bounce, bounce)....Is there paper in it ?..."

" OUT ! GET OUT ! GO UPSTAIRS !!!!"

" Geeze,. what's wrong with him", and the boy headed upstairs.

I just about got the printer working when I heard SMASH..." OW!" and my daughter and I ran upstairs to find glass shards everywhere and the boy bleeding and running his hand under the kitchen faucet. " Ummm, I cut my finger"

He had been tossing a Christmas ornament around like a ball and in broke in his hand.

" GODDAMMIT !", I started freaking out. " GET OVER HERE."

I threw two band-aids on the kid and my daughter started in on me, " Did you put neosporin on it ? Mom says if you don't put neosporin on it that its going to get infected ? I saw you didn't put in on, he's going to get and infected finger, Yourgoingtogetandinfectedfingeryoubetterputsomeneosporiinthererightnow...or I'm telling Mom !"

That's when I really lost it. I started screwaming and speaking in tongues and chasing kids around. When my wife finally got home she found noe kid hiding in the basement, the boy in the bathroom off the kitchen, and me on the kitchen floor with a dustbuster picking up glass and talking to myself.

" What's going on....", she started...

" DON'T ASK !"

That's when I heard the following. FLUSH.......FLUSH.......FLUSH......"UH-OH".

" Open the door"

" I don't want to open the door"

" OPEN the door"

" I really don't think its a good idea that I open the door"

" OPEN THE DOOR"

" OK, but I don't think that its going to go well"

The boy, holed up in the bathroom, had decided that rather than run the risk of having to deal with the maniac outside the bathroom, that a more reasonable solution to running out of toilet paper was to tear up a toilet paper roll and wipe with that. He hadn't accounted for the "flush factor".

I left him with a trashbag, a pair of gloves, and a plunger before I left for the bar.

So What

Why do you think Myrtle Beach has all those strip clubs and Cialis sponsors all those PGA Tour events.

Golfers are horny baby...yeahhhhh.

Pretty much everyone knew this was going to be the story 4 days ago. Can we all move on now ? **



** Unless my wife is reading this, in which case I find this whole sorrid afair to be disgusting.

A. I.

I like how he breaks it down like a cross over right around 2:37

surprise reaction

Anytime everyone is mad at you you've done something wrong...
unless you're a politician...
then if everyone is mad at you, you're probably doing something right.

I watched Obama's speech tonight as a bit of a skeptic. He's been a disappointment to me so far.

But I was plesantly surprised but what he had to say. What I like was him making some definative committment to transparency, the settings of deadlines, and broad vision. I still don't believe that he's likely to deliver, but it was nice to see such a significant departure in rhetoric.

So my first trip was over to Fox to see them lambaste him. Those guys barely made a stink. Then O'Reilly came on said a few words and spent the rest of the time talking about the hair style of the chick who snuck into the White House.

Then I went over to MSNBC and pretty much everyone over there half heartedly busted Obama's balls. Olberman couldn't even get excited.

i think perhaps he's stumped them all with reason.

Strap yourselves in

52 hours sober

something has to give

hide your women and show shovels

this is almost a haikuu

For all you sucker MC's perpetratin a FRAUD

You're the kind of guy that girl ignored
I'm drivin Caddy, you fixin a FORD

while waiting for parent teacher conferences..

...I saw this in the hall.

I laughed through the whole conference.

smooth criminal

Starbucks was empty ( or so I thought) today and I walked in giving the girls behind the counter the usual rash of shit, " get me my coffee...what's taking so long ?!" which is typcial of the friendly banter I have with my dealers...I mean coffee vendors.

I went back and forth with the girl at the counter until we were interrupted by some laughing. A good looking professional woman ( professional is in buisness woman...not prostitute so far as I could tell) was standing next to me laughing started chatting me up. We exchanged plesantries and out the door she went.

When I turned back around to get my coffee the girls behind the counter started howling. " SHE WAS TOTALLY TRYING TO PICK YOU UP !"

get outta here

" NO WAY MAN, AHAHAHAH, you were totally getting hit on"

So I turned back around to see the woman walking to her car and began to laugh with the girls.

Then I had an epiffany. I realized girls weren't laughing at HER...the girls were laughing at US.

Along the dividing line of "hip" there are cool young people and bungling has-beens...and I was on the wrong side of that counter.


Starbucks: The coffee is the $2. The shattered self image is free !

Don't Cry For Me Argenina

I woke my son up the this morning singing the theme to Evita in my best Ricky Riccardo voice.

" DON'T CRY FOR ME ARCH-IN-TIIIINE-JAAAA"

" ok I'm up already "


" THE TRUST IS I NEVER LEFT CHUUUU"


"cut it out !"


" ALL THROUGH MY WILD DAY AND MAD EXISTANCE "

" shut....up"

" I KEPT MY PROMISE "

" your so friggin weird "

" DON'T KEEP YOUR DEEES-TENSE "

" mooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm !"

Before my wife could yell at me for stirring up trouble or accuse me not knowing that Evita was a woman is said "Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to do! " and walked out the door.

I suspect they're changing the locks right now.

Losing my grip

I played with my father and uncle over the weekend at a beautiful but difficult course in New Jersey.

10 minutes after parking my car, I realized I was in New Jersey. 4 Italians stood on the tee trying to cut and light their cigars while 45 carts full of Asians patiently waited to go off the first tee. Finally the starter came out and suggested the gentlemen consider teeing off.

The four guys, of course playing from the back tees, proceeded to boomerang four balls into the woods and spent another 10 minutes calling the starter a motherfucker and blaming their shots ( not on their horrible swings) on being rushed off the tee. And you know these are the same 4 guys who would have called the starter a motherfucker if he wasn't chasing the people ahead of THEM.

Of course they never played their balls in the woods, but instead dropped four balls in the fairway as compensation for this grave injustice. I suspect they were lawyers and or Catholics.

Using duct tape and kite string I cobbled together a 40 on the front nine and headed into the back with the hope of breaking 80 on a really challenging course.

On the par 5 12th hole I hit a great drive and was sitting at the 200 yard marker with the hope of reaching in two and going either eagle or birdie when my approach shot clipped the tip of the thinnest, barest, single branch hanging just over the edge of the fairway and the ball dropped just short of the green. OK, fine then....no worries...I'll just chip it on, one or two putt and get out of there.

The area around this particular hole looked like the front lawn of the White House. As far as you could seen in every direction was a vast ocean of perfectly groomed, emerald green grass. The entire area was unblemished except for one spot....one singular silver dollar size spot of bare dirt in the entire expanse of land between the tee and the green...and it was the spot diretly under my ball.

Now I was getting a little bit pissed off.

Between myself and the hole was a sand bunker, and behind the hole was some deep rough. I needed to pick this ball off the dirt patch, clear the bunker, but have enough loft so the ball wouldn't roll off the back and into the deep grass. Its wasn't impossible but it was going to necessitate a very good shot.

I took a calming breath and addressed the ball. I locked in and drew the club back slowly and.....WHIRRRRRRRRR......CLUNK....WHIRRRRRRRRRRR. Right in the middle of my back swing, the cart girl came buzzing around and evergreen tree full speed and right past me. CLUNK my ball went on a line drive over the bunker, past the hole, and disappeared off the green in 4 inches of thick rough on the other side. Furious, I spun around to say something, but she kept going by with a smile and a wave. She headed over the the next hole to sell some beer to the guys ahead of us.

The bitch was wearing a Yankees hat.

So now I"m really steaming but all is not lost. If I could somehow get the ball onto the green I could still possibly get a par and at least a bogey. And that's the torture of the game - from eagle to bogey from 10 yards out. Again I tried to calm myself and stay in the moment. My ball was sitting down in the grass and the only way to get it out of there was to make a daring play. Despite a short distance to the hole, I had to open up the face, make a full swing, and get under the ball. Anything more than that and I would go over the green. Anything less than that and the ball would only move a few inches.

I took a half dozen practice swings to build my courage, got comfortable and addressed the ball. I drew the club all the way back and coiled myself for a full swing.....WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRR.....CLUNK. Right at the apex of my swing that Derek Jeter loving bitch came flying by again. My club slammed into the ground a good half foot behind the ball and the chunck of dirt went next to the hole while my ball moved about an inch and a half.

Angrily I spun around to see her driving off into the distance. Insane with rage I lifted my wedge over my head like a tomahawk and in an act of defiance hurled it at the cart. Now I recognize that I'm crazy, but I'm not criminal. I threw the club at the girl, but she was a good 30 yards away in a cart going 10 miles per hour. I've done enough 5th grade math problems concerning trains leaving New York and Boston to know that by the time my club got to where she was, she'd be another 30 yards away oblivious to my outburst.

What they don't factor in for 5th grade is that the train leaving Boston might suddenly stop if the conductor mistakes your yelling " Bitch !" for you yelling " BEER !"

What had been an outburst of protest was turning into criminal assault at 20 yards and closing. The wedge spun end over end, implausibly on a dead trajectory for the Yankees logo. My father and my Uncle, who up to this point had simply been observers were about to become accomplices and suddenly, thankfully, they started screaming.... " GO ! GO ! GO !" and vigorously waving at the girl to get moving.

" Wha...?"

" GOOOOOOOO ! For the love of christ, GOOOOOOO !"

The girl was oblivious to her fate, but the look on my fathers face and he started waving and running across the green must have been enough because she hit the gas and started moving again.

SMASH...the club hit the back of the lunch cart portion of the vehicle with a crash. The girl paused again, look around confused, and drove off.

My hope is that she assumed it was an errant ball, but just to be safe I tipped her $6 the next time around. And I congratulated her on the Series.

Enough about Floyd

Every morning my newsfeed informs me of Floyd Landis' standing in the Tour of Southland or whatever meaningless race is going on in the southern hemisphere.

Besides the absurdity of listing the result of anyone else besides the leader, it made me consider, " who the hell is Floyd Landis ?"

He gets treated as cycling royalty and gets mentioned as a rider of the same class as Contador and Armstrong, but really, what has the guy accomplished ?

The ONLY year that they guy achieve ANYTHING is 2006...the year he got caught cheating.

Other than that his two biggest results are a win at the Tour of Algarve...booya...and a local USCF event, the Boulevard Road Race...which includes as a winner Heath Blackgrove who ironically enough is winning the our of Southland although no one outside of his mother actually knows about it.

And this is the fundamental problem with limited punishment for a cheating peice of crap like Landis. He's a guy who cheated the sport, then cheated friends and family out the their money with his bullshit legal defense fund, and who took resources away from WADA and USADA's ability to catch other dopers while the dealt with his bullshit appeal after appeal.

And in the end, riders like Oscar Piero, Heath Blackgrove, and countless others scrape together a living in cycling anonymity - while Landis continues to prosper and financially benefit from the exposure garnered ONLY through results and notoriety he achieved while cheating.

OK, silly picture time courtesy Marcie (thanks!)

This Is Water - DFW

In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. And an outstanding reason for choosing some sort of God or spiritual-type thing to worship -- be it J.C. or Allah, be it Yahweh or the Wiccan mother-goddess or the Four Noble Truths or some infrangible set of ethical principles -- is that pretty much anything else you worship will eat you alive.

If you worship money and things -- if they are where you tap real meaning in life -- then you will never have enough. Never feel you have enough. It's the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you.

On one level, we all know this stuff already -- it's been codified as myths, proverbs, clichés, bromides, epigrams, parables: the skeleton of every great story. The trick is keeping the truth up-front in daily consciousness. Worship power -- you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart -- you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on.

Look, the insidious thing about these forms of worship is not that they're evil or sinful; it is that they are unconscious. They are default-settings. They're the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day, getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure value without ever being fully aware that that's what you're doing. And the world will not discourage you from operating on your default-settings, because the world of men and money and power hums along quite nicely on the fuel of fear and contempt and frustration and craving and the worship of self.

Our own present culture has harnessed these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort and personal freedom. The freedom to be lords of our own tiny skull-sized kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talked about in the great outside world of winning and achieving and displaying. The really important kind of freedom involves attention, and awareness, and discipline, and effort, and being able truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them, over and over, in myriad petty little unsexy ways, every day.

This Is Water, David Foster Wallace

How do you stack up ?

Remember the President Council on Physical Fitness tests you did in school as a kid ? Yeah the ones where you could just about do all the stuff except for the pull ups...and then you'd get pissed because the all the girls had to do was the flexed arm hang.

Anyway I looked those up yesterday.

Standards for 17 year old to meet the 85th percentile

Boys
55 sit-ups in 1 minute
8.7 second shuttle run
6:06 for the mile
53 push-ups ( not timed but continuous)
13 pull-ups

Those friggin pull-ups got me AGAIN !

Here the link for all the standards.

Home Run

IOZ consistantly hits it out of the park

As benedictory aphorisms go, "every vote counts" is right up there with your mother telling you that everyone is special and your coach reminding you that it doesn't matter if you win or lose, it's how you play the game. Obviously some poeople are more special than others, and no one remembers the sportsmanlike conduct of Dallas in Superbowl X. The conceit of representative democracy, particularly when linked to state capitalism, is that procedural participation makes citizens into shareholders. There is a certain truth to this. But just as getting a yearly proxy statement and invitation to the annual meeting does not confer upon each small investor even marginal influence on the direction of GE, or whichever, nor yet does the franchise offer citizens much more than a semiannual opportunity to pretend that they matter, should they so desire. And, hell, that is part of the bargain. The small investor becomes a shareholder in order to gain benefit even though he holds no particular authority, has no say, exerts no influence, and bears no special responsibility. He's just along for the ride, but for the PR purposes of our so-called free markets, we are willing to entertain the ritual but un-literal truth that each shareholder is an "owner." Meanwhile, most shareholders haven't even got so direct a link as the independent investor, but simply gain by membership in some larger, institutional investment pool, some mutual fund or pension plan or what have you. Our democracy tracks similar lines via voters and affinity groups, and so long as the percieved value of our tiny shares is on the increase, we are content; when it decreases, we are not; but at no point do we have any say in the decisions made by those who actually own the joint.

and now your funny picture

funny pic of the day

There's happy...

Then there's Little Kid Happy

The kid's got skills

I'm coaching flag football. We have one kid...every team has one kid...who has no idea how to play. Somehow the kid who doesn't know how to play is the same one who raises his hand to ask 100 inappropriate questions.

me: "This that's the play we're going to run...does anyone have any questions ?"

Kid: "My Mom makes me call her new friend Uncle Jack, but he's not really my Uncle. Do you think that bothers my real Uncle ?"

me (frantic): "...ABOUT THE PLAY !!!...does anyone have any questions about THE PLAY !"

Yesterday there were no port-o-pots so we asked the kids before the game, " Does anyone have to go ?" Unanamously no one had to go.

5 minutes into the game I get a tug on my sleave, " Sir ?"...he calls everyone taller than him "Sir" like that chick who follows around Peppermint Patty. " Sir, I have to go to the bathroom."

" Can you hold it, the game just started ?"

" Ummm, yes"

We went all the way through half-time and started into the third quarter when I got another tug, " Sir I have to go to the bathroom"

" Kid we just ended halftime...why didn't you go then ? Can you hold it ?"

" Ummmm, I don't think so. I really really have to go."

So while the other coach took care of the team I ran the kid off to some bushes, " OK go here."

" Are you sure this is ok ?"

" Yeah kid hurry up", not only did I have to get back to the game, but as a general principal I don't like to find myself in the bushes with a little kid and his pants down.

" Ok sir", and the little kid pulled his tighty-whiteys down and started peeing.

I had my back turned watching the game and heard what sounded like a garden hose. I turned around a bit to see what could only be describe as a yellow version of the St. Louis Arch. The tiny little 3'6" kid was peeing OVER a 6 foot bush.

" HOLY SMOKES KID !"

" Yeah sir, I said I really had to go"

The boy continued like that for another minute before I finally gave up, " I gotta get back to the game. When you're done, clean yourself up and come back to the sideline.

" Ok sir", and I left him standing there like the Fountain of Trevi.

kill da waaabit

Everyone around here hunts. And they all are always asking everyone else about hunting... " Did you hunt... are you going to hunt... where do you hunt..." or its " this one time at hunting camp..."

For the non-hunters, like myself its quite an awkward and annoying time, because eventually the conversation comes around to you. When you admit that you're NOT a hunter and you're amongst hunters it can only go one of two bad ways. They either think that you don't approve or hunting and they start getting argumentative and defensive. The other option is they just think your a big deer humping pussy.

Its taken about 35 years, but I've finally figured out a means to coping with this issue. As soon as I see the conversation going that way I ask..

" When you shoot something, does it give you an erection ? Because the main thing that keeps from hunting is the fear that the rush of killing something will give me a boner and I'll spend the rest of my life associating sex with killing things....and that's a long dark road that I'm not quite ready to head down at this point in my life"

No one talks about hunting with me anymore.

how bout a Fresca ?

After a brief break I decided I'd give online poker another try.

This time however, I figured I'd waste all my time for goodness instead of badness. I've decided to donate half my winning for the next year to a small girl in Africa who's name I got from the local church.

Yesterday afternoon I won the girl a goat.

After a couple of vodkas last night, that was downgraded to a pair of sandals.

Hey, to a barefooted girl a pair of sandals is as good as a goat ! Anyway, what are you doing ?!

couple of random thoughts

* Steven Wright has a joke where he says, " you know that feeling where you're leaning back in a chair...and you go a little too far and you start to tip over...and at the last minute you recover ?.....I feel like that all the time"

I just had that feeling after twice punching in the wrong security code for mac-card with one of the old ATMs where the card goes inside the machine and then eats it on the third mistake.

Of course the first millimeter where your ass was supposed to touch the toilet seat that was left up in the middle of the night always qualifies as well.

* I had a great discussion with a guy about the evolution of the nerf basketball hoops. Somehow, without the benefit of the internet, coaching, playgroups, or classroom aides, kids all across America figured out how to play basketball in their bedrooms. Amazingly enough the natural evolution of the game seemed to have occurred regardless of geographical location or economic background.

- It started with a half opened door making a space between the door itself and the wall of the closet, with any round object slightly smaller than the triangle formed would work.

- The upgrade was the coat hanger shaped in the form of a hoop, with a balled up pair of socks serving as the ball. The catch here was the attempt to affix the coat hanger to something, usually a doortop. Duct tape was the universal choice, but still then, with the weight of the socks always exceeding the tensile strength of the wire hangar, the rim needed constant attention.

- Eventually, that Christmas, someones Aunt would breakdown and you'd find yourself in the big time with a full on Nerf hoop-set. For the life of me I don't know why, but I have the guttural feeling of love for the nerf basketball that is evenly balanced by my disdain for the nerf rim. There must have been something about that rim suppressed that might necessitate hypno-therapy. Then again, maybe some things are left well enough alone.

Some people played standing up, others on knees. Acceptable forms of dribbling include both the palms up flat handed tap as well as holding the ball palms down with a simulated dribble. In either dribble case, a flinch or a pause meant that you lost your dribble and had to shoot or pass.....passing of course was achieve by throwing the ball against any wall and inciting a scrum.

There usually always was some sort of line of demarcation, sometimes officially enumerated, sometimes through loose, unspoken agreement, where the offensive player could take an uncontested shot. If Princeton funded a study of my childhood bedroom, I suspect they'd find that the universal shooting for shots taken at the far end of the second curtain rod was exactly 50% uncontested. That might go slightly up for kids over 11, but could be easily regulated by feinted punches to the groin or the random barking of incoherent insults.

* That nerf/hoop conversation lead the the curious case of how "Jingle Bells Batman Smells" made it East Coast to West Coast, North and South...with consistent lyrics, in just 10 short years from the TV series inception until my first recollection of the song in the winter of 1976. But perhaps that a blog post for another time.

ABSURD

Here was the competition...

Denis Mukwege, a physician in war-torn Congo who opened a clinic to help rape victims.

Hu, a human rights activist and an outspoken critic of the Chinese government, was sentenced last year to a three-and-a-half-year prison term for "inciting subversion of state power" ahead of the Beijing Olympics.

Cordoba, who leads Colombians for Peace, an organization whose aim is to facilitate peace negotiations between the government and the country's leftist FARC guerrillas. She has been at the forefront of efforts to peacefully end her country's half-century-old conflict, which is rooted in deep social divisions.

bin Muhammad, a philosophy professor in Jordan who advocates interfaith dialogue in the Middle East, a region shot through with sectarian violence, and Samar. She currently leads the Afghanistan Independent Human Rights Commission and serves as the U.N. special envoy to Darfur.

Wei Jingsheng, who spent 17 years in Chinese prisons for urging reforms of China's communist system.

And the award went to OBAMA !?!?!?!...for....

"his extraordinary efforts to strengthen international diplomacy and cooperation between peoples."

REALLY ????!!!!

Listen, I voted for the guy. I was happy to have him in there instead of McCain, and would have given myself paper cuts of the scrotum if that's what it would have taken to get Bush out of office. But WTF has Obama accomplished in THIS country, let alone, in the efforts of world-wide peace ? Basically, in the 10 months the guys been if office he really hasn't done jack shit. Thats fine. But don't give the guy a cookie for it.

You think they'll present him with the award at Guantanamo, when he finally gets around to closing it ?

words of wisdom

Whenever I get asked to fix someone's computer and the error message on the screen includes the phrase "....xxxxxx.dll " I preemptively smash my balls in a desk drawer and plan on having lunch delivered.

Sore subject

I'm sore every day.

One year, almost to the day, I decided to stop being a fat bastard. For one year, I've diligently exercised, I've lost a bunch of weight, I've taken better care of myself.

And for one full year, every day, I'm sore.

And I'm pretty f-ing sick of it.

Now to make matters worse, I did a 10 mile trail run a week ago while fighting off a cold and ended up spending 4 full days in bed.

Yesterday I went and did a light 3 mile jog ( mind you in the last 2 months I've completed a half-ironman, did well in a 3+ hour adventure race, muddled through a hard 10 mile off road run, and trained average of 12 hours a week)..anyway...I did a light 3 mile jog, I was winded, and I woke up today sore as hell.

Shit, I threw darts last night with the boy and my arm is sore.

So I'm starting to wonder if perhaps there's some environmental condition in my home that's slowly poisoning me, is there really what I have to look forward to for the next 30 years (or so) I have left on this planet ?

See I like being fit, but I don't remember every being this miserable when I was a drunk fat bastard.

Tyson

I watched the Mike Tyson documentary Tyson last night. The movie is very well done and I'd recommend it to non-fight fans as well as boxing enthusiasts.

The movie is a long form interview of present day Mike Tyson interspersed with fight footage, home movies, and interviews from the past. The movie isn't really at all about boxing, but rather a look at the evolution of Tyson as a man.

I think the thing that has always made Tyson a captivating character is the contrast of him as the most vicious and deadly powerful fighter in the ring against his childlike qualities outside of the ring.

Self-admittedly, Tyson has limited capabilities in dealing with the world, but this movie shows that he's hardly stupid. If anything he's overly self-aware and honest to a fault. While much of his behavior is inexcusable, taken in full context of his life's story, its at least understandable.

At 19 years old Mike Tyson was the greatest fighter in history. Period.

By 30, he was washed up.

Now 40, he has the tired reflective tone of a 80 year old.

And all through it, he's never lost the emotional weakness and vulnerability of a 12 year old boy.

I can't help but think of the parallels between Tyson and Michael Jackson...the difference, at least as shown in this movie, being Tyson's attempts to address his demons. At the end this 90 minute piece, you get the sense that he'll always be the underdog in that battle, but you still can't help yourself rooting for the champ.

cyclingnews - thumbs down

This is old news, but I've just gotten around to being pissed off enough to mention it. Cyclingnews.com redid their site and it sucks.

I had been a regular customer back when I was on dial-up and they were called Bill's Cycling Pages. At one time I was a paying advertiser on the site.

I've lived through a couple of site revamps without complaint, but this latest change is just terrible. And I'm not alone, their forum is filled with threads of people complaining. The site loads crappy, the results are difficult to find and mislabled, and its really cumbersome to navigate.

What I find most ponderous is the fact that despite everyone's displeasure, they're continuing to stick it out with this current format.

The only one that seems to really like the new format is Velonews.com , Their readership is up 30%.

relationship...isn't that cute

ESPN reported that Leipheimer's relationship with Lance Armstrong had played a major role in his decision to sign with RadioShack

HA

DENVER (AP) - A federal warning to beware of campers in national forests who eat tortillas, drink Tecate beer and play Spanish music because they could be armed marijuana growers is racial profiling, an advocate for Hispanic rights said Friday.

pretty neat

If you have a few minutes, this documentary is interesting

Busto to Robusto

Its over, start learning Mandarin

So sad I can't help laughing.

This is Sheila Jackson Lee, the Congresswoman who asked if the Mars rover could go over and take a look at where the astronauts planted the flag....who complained the Hurricanes were never named after African-Americans.... and who recently got popped for using public funds to attend the Michael Jackson memorial....

talking with ...

Greta Von Sustren...who's the only woman I've ever felt comfortable describing with the word 'douche'....

about S.J Lee talking on the phone at a public meeting ( I"m sure you've all seen the clip of that )

Anyway, you gotta check this out. Von Sustren uses the word " dis " a couple times, totally because she's talking to a black person. S.J.L. apparently hasn't been in touch with 'the people' in quite a while as she has no idea what "dis" means...and the two of them blather on in the most surreal way.

Who's going with me ?

GEORGE “THE ANIMAL” STEELE COMING TO CLIPPER MAGAZINE STADIUM
Wednesday, August 26, 2009

The no-holds barred wrestler famous for biting his opponents and eating turnbuckles is paying a visit to Clipper Magazine Stadium. George “The Animal” Steele will be a special guest for the Barnstormers’ game against the Bridgeport Bluefish on Aug. 26 at 7:05 p.m.

Steele, who was elected to the Professional Wrestling Hall of Fame in 2005, will be signing autographs, taking photos and throwing out a ceremonial first pitch. There will also be a meet and greet with fans in one of the stadium’s luxury boxes.

Steele retired as a full-time wrestler in 1989, although he has made cameo appearances through the years. During his heyday, he was best known for his flying hammerlock move and the Neanderthal persona he created as part of his act inside the ring. The Florida resident has a Master’s degree from Central Michigan and has dedicated his post-wrestling life to fighting dyslexia and Chrohn’s Disease.

Tickets are still available for this one-of-a-kind event. Just log onto www.lancasterbarnstormers.com, call 717-509-HITS or visit the Clipper Magazine Stadium box office during regular business hours.

weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

I took one too many sleeping pills and drank a beer last night.

Now I"m filling my gullet with coffee and letting them battle it out.

I've been in the paper like 7 days in a row now and not once has it been for assaulting someone. I'm saving that for keeping the streak alive.

Big meeting today at 1:30. Hopefully the sleeping pills, beer, and coffee will have sorted itself out by then. Its really hard to negotiate from a position of strength when you've passed out and shit yourself.

Head down

Wish I had something interesting to tell but its been a heads down grind all week.

I'll see what I can do about that tonight and tommorrow. Maybe I'll finish with a fury.

Nationalized Health Care

In an odd series of events I just noticed the following.

This is the the Rod of Asclepius.



Asclepius was the son of Apollo and was the practicioner of medicine in Greek Mythology. The symbol represents healing.

This is the Caduceus



Thisis a symbol of Greek god Hermes the messenger of the gods, guide of the dead and protector of merchants, shepherds, gamblers, liars and thieves. This represents theft, commerce, deception and death.

Interestingly in the United States, somehow, these two symbols were switched. The end result is that in America, the Caduceus symbol for theft, deception, death and commerce is now the symbol for medicine.

Perhaps even more remarkable is that we're able to trace the source of this confusion. The "patient zero" of symbolic misuse. I present to you...



The U.S. Army Medical Corps Branch Plaque. The 1902 adoption of the caduceus for U.S. Army medical officer uniforms popularized the symbol throughout the medical field in the US.

Sad, but not surprising

http://raincoaster.com/2009/08/05/george-sodinis-blog-the-plan/

At the risk of catching your ire I'm going to say that I'm not all that surprised that this incident happened. Obviously its tragic, and obviously the guy who did it is a twisted prick. My point is, he's not the only twisted prick.

Its not worth laying down the full extent of an argument, even if I had one that was more than a series of passing observations, but I will point out that:

- We live in a commercialize, media riddled society that has convinced everyone that getting laid is perhaps the most/ only important thing in the world.
- All other objects and goals in the pursuit of getting laid are shown to be fulfilling no matter how arbitrary or contrived that they are. Hell, if you believed what you see on TV ( and you're supposed to) washing your hair with the right shampoo gives you an orgasm. That's going to leave a lot of shampoo customers disappointed.
- We have a system of largely un-defined/over define/and contrarily defined gender roles. For white males, that's compounded by the MSNBCs of the world telling you that you're an evil bastard and part of the problem and the FOXNews of the world telling you that you're being put upon and an endangered species.

Now all of that means shit so long as you're a grounded person and have a support system of family and friends to give you some guidance and perspective. Unfortunately the system, by design or happenstance is evolving in the opposite direction.

- We're becoming more and more isolated. While all the communication available to us has made surface interaction readily accessible, its come at the expense of meaningful dialog and relationships.
- The family structure has basically eroded into nothingness. You could fill books on both reasons and examples. You could fill another 20 books assigning blame. But the point is that extended families basically extinct and the nuclear family is quickly becoming the exception.


I believe that there's a growing segment of the population that feels disenfranchised and powerless. They're lost and lonely. In many cases they're made to feel that way by design....that makes them better marks for business, government, and religious manipulation.

This is what Obama was striking at when he talked about people taking refuge in religion and guns, without even recognizing that he wasn't part of the solution, but an extension of the problem. Many of those people will fill that void playing Second Life or WOW. Many will seek refuge in their churches and cults. Many will seek refuge in their political parties. But I fear that some will lash back at society, and when they do it will be in way of misdirected violence.



* before you let any of that pissed you off or freak you out, please keep in mind that's just the offhanded opinion of a guy who yells at little kids at the pool and gets massages at the mall. Its not like I'm George Will...or even Curious George for that matter.

loose lips

Saturday night I had a few too many cocktails. While Sunday and Monday were no treat, I think I got away Saturday night mostly unscathed. I didn't remove any articles of clothing, I didn't threaten anyone, the only thing that I can recall doing inapproriately was telling a story to an elderly couple that I inadvertantly ended with the punchline, " MOTHERFUCKER !"

The story I was conveying had just happened the night previous, last Friday. As any regular reader already knows by my ranting that day, I was particularly stressed out. I left work looking for trouble and when my wife called and asked if I would meet her and the girls at the mall, trouble was going to be easy to find.

I walked up to the mall bar and asked, " do you have any single malt scotch ?"

The 21 year old college girl behind the counter looked back at me blankly, " ummm single what ?"

I repeated myself and she dug around in the well for a while and found me a bottle of Glenlivet, " How would you like that ?"

" Scotch and water please."

To my astonishment, she then picked up a soda glass, filled it with ice, poured some scotch over the ice, then proceeded to fill the glass with water, stopping only when I started screaming from across the bar. To add insult to injury, as I sat there mouth agape wonder what to do, she plopped a bill in front of me for $7.

The head waitress (which at this place meant another 21 year old, but this one had probably been there for more than 6 weeks) walked over and asked if there was a problem.

" Yeah.", I answered, " Do you think that you might be able to strain this into another, perhaps smaller glass, without ice ?"

" Sure", she said. Then strained out the drink into a second soda glass handing me what was, essentially, a half filled glass of slightly tinted water.

Miserably, spitefully, I downed the swamp water and followed it up with a couple of Yuenglings and dinner with the wife and kids.

After dinner, Mrs. Flick had a couple of things to get in the mall and so off we went into that hell hole. She's veteran enough to know that I was going to be a royal pain in the ass, so as well walked by one of those massage kiosks she said, " Hey listen, while the girls and I are shopping, why don't you get a massage ?"

" A mall massage ?", I asked incredulously, " no way."

" Come on. Your options are to walk around looking at little girls clothes or this. Go ahead, it will relax you."

After some further dialoge, she walked over, had a brief discussion with the Chinese dude in blue doctor scrubs and then came back. " See that guy over there, he'll take care of everything."

Begrudgingly, I walked over to the guy, " OK, where do we go ?"

He looked at me puzzled and pointed over to this contraption about 10 feet away.

" HERE ! right here ?!"

He nodded and pointed again.

Right there in the middle of the aisle with Friday night shoppers walking back and forth was this massage kneeler. " You have got to be f-ing kidding me." I looked back at the guy and he stared happily back at me.

" Ah fuck it, lets do it", I figured I'm face down on that thing no one can see me, what the hell. He put down this paper thing, like a toilet seat cover, I shoved me face in the hole and the dude started pounding away at my back.

10 minutes later he tapped me on the shoulder. " Ok, we're done ?", I asked.

" No no...over more", he replied in broke English. I couldn't understand what he was talking about.

Finally a younger Chinese girls walked over and in a little better English informed me, " You wife, she get you foot massage too. 10 minute each foot"

" Ok, fine, he told me to get up.", I started back to the massge contraption.

" No, you go over here", the girl grabbed my arm and pulled me around to the other side of the kiosk where I was surprised to see a lazy boy/ barko lounger chair with a footstool. " You sit"

Kinda stunned I sat in the chair. I looked down and the Chinaman pulled off my shoes and sock. Then he pulled on these giant gloves. The only time I've seen gloves of that type were on an Animal Planet show where they were impregnating horses. And just like on that show he started lubing the gloves up in this vat of oil.

" You lay back now see !", and with that hit a button that send the barkolounger in full recline mode.

So as most of you probably have gathered, I have a tendency to be an extremely self conscious person. Some might say that it borders on paranoid, and those people are being polite. So laying akimbo, with the top end of me half way into the northbound aisle of the mall councourse, and the south end of me being rubbed by a lubed up Chinaman in latex is not what I would described as a comfortable moment for me.

" Hey...uh Fong...do you have a curtain or something ?"

" No ! You lay back now !"

" How about a couple of those paper towels I can put over my face or something ?"

" Ha ha, you funny ", apparently thinking that I wasn't serious about the towels.

With that, Fong pickup up my left foot to his eye level holding it in his left hand. He reared back with his right hand like a prize fighter and WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP WHAP, hauled off and punched me as hard as he could...six times right into the base of my heel.

" HOLY SMOKES !", I yelled startled. Then all of a sudden, for the first time in weeks, my left leg went totally relaxed. Holy crap that felt good.

I looked down at Fong with my eyes just about bugged out of my head and he looked back at me with a knowing grin, " You lay back now, yes ?"

So whats a brother to do ? There's really no middle ground in a scene like that. As uncomfortable as the situation was, I really had to choices. The first was to call the whole thing off, the other was to just go with it. I figured screw it, the situation was so surreal I'd just go with it. It was going to take about 17 more minutes then it would be done and over, and really I was starting to feel better.

I put my hands on my belly, laid back, closed my eyes and started to relax.

At first I could hear the voices in the background, " hey look at that dude getting a massage.......watch out for that dudes head....."

breathe in breathe out...ignore the voices...

" hey that guy is letting another guy rub his feet...heh heh"

breathe....ignore....and sure enough it was starting to work. Pretty soon the voices all blended into each other as they passed by. Fong was rubbing the tension out of my feet, I was breathing nice and easy, and for the first time in forever I started to relax and let the stress of life flow out of my body...starting to find my happy place.....

Then....


" BOOOOOOOO !"

Instinctively, my eyes popped open. Two inches from my face...literally nose to nose, was my next door neighbor with her brood of kids and husband in tow. " Har har har har......I saw you laying there and I just HAD to do that, ha ha ha" she giggled like a mental patient.

Which leads me back to the beginning of this story, end of that story, and a new dynamic between my neighbors and I as I sat up in the chair sending her reeling back and yelled, of all things, " MOTHERFUCKER !"

my weekend

- bad scotch
- Chineese man rubbing my feet
- kayaking
- eating a roasted pig
- 12 beers ( plus or minus 6 beers...and probably not the minus part)
- 2 hours on the bike
- 3 hours on the can
- still crusty on monday

After reading my posts from Friday, I think I'm the only one who didn't see this coming.

don't P in our ool

I've been under a decent ammt of work stress lately, and between training for a long triathlon and having allergies I've been under a great deal of physical stress. Home stress I don't even want to talk about except to say that no one warned me about the 9 year old boy "moronic" phase. In any case.....sooner or later something had to give.

Last night I went to the pool which, in general, already has be on the edge. The pool situation is stressful enough because you have to go through the locker room of naked old men which I've already documented at length.


But you can add to that a couple of factors which occur 100% of the time. They are;

* The pool's dumb policy of only maintaining two lap lanes even during peak hours. This means that you always have to share a lane. So when you get on deck, you have to wait until some old fart meanders his way across the pool doing the elementary back stroke and hope that you can catch him and let him know that your sharing his lane so he doesn't bean you or so that you don't knock into him in the deep end and drown him. And then once you're in a lane, they'll inevitably fill and some person will pull their chair up the the edge of the water and alternate between asking everyone, " do you have much longer ?" and then huffing and rolling their eyes when you reply, " suck my pull buoy".

* There's always a water aerobics class going on. This means fifteen 82 year old fat women who wrap themselves in those floatie noodles and bob around like dead manatees to the sounds of the 70's. Add in the fact that every one of them has been hermetically sealed in perfumes purchased by their grandchildren and cheap eyebrow make-up and what you end up with is a stinky, choppy, disgusting soup of a pool.

Last night was made worse by the following

- My lane partner was a woman in her mid-60s. Half the time she did this weird sort of sidestroke with a giant scissor kick. The effect of which was that I got the worlds creepiest beaver shot whenever I had to pass her northbound. The other half of the time she put these flippers on and swam freestyle really really fast, and passed me multiple times much to my humiliation.

- There was a special needs kid wandering around the pool. He looked to be in his early 20s. He was at least 6 foot 5" and weighed, no exaggeration, 400 lbs. He was like a black George "The Animal" Steel...complete with the lazy eye and everything. He was a nice enough kid and for whatever reason took a shining to me. So whenever I would stop between sets he would start to wander over to my lane and stare at me absently. I was torn between trying to be nice to the kid ( and not look like a douche to his super hot mom on the deck for blowing him off) and getting my workouts in. I already HATE swimming, and want to get it over with. At the same time I don't want to be known as " that dude who hates retarded kids". Pretty much that's all I could think about while I was swimming.

- Finally there was this family of Chinese kids. Appropriately enough there were like 700 of them and everyone of them was acting like they were throwing a seizure. Every once in a while one of them would start screaming to high heaven and it would startle me, the life guards and everyone else, assuming that someone was hurt or drowning. The mother of the brood, of course, just sat there oblivious... probably content that she wasn't in labor for more than a 10 minute stretch of time.

The whole thing came to a head when this college age girl came in to give a swim lesson to this little 4 year old girl. They set up right next to my lane in the corner where the lap lane met the open wasteland of manatees and screaming Asians.

After a set I stopped to catch my breath and I could see it coming. It was like a perfect storm of madness. At the same time that the college girl was trying to get the 4 year old to swim to her from the edge of the pool, the 400lb retarded guy started making his way over to me, and the Asian kids started an all out Tienanmen Square revolutionary assault on each other with kickboards and noodles, whooping it up the whole time. It was a giant wave of flesh, and splash and noise and cheap perfume stick and I ....coudn't....fucking....take it.....any.......more.


" HEEEEEEYYYYYY ! HEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYY !!!!!! " I screamed at the top of my lugs, my voice echoing above the din of kids screaming and bad disco.

" CUT THAT SHIT OOOOOUUUUUUUUUTTTTTTTTTT !!!!!!", I pointed at the biggest Chinese kid, " They're trying to have a lesson here and I'm trying to swim and you need to stop freakin screaming and BACK UP !"

I eyeballed the retarded guy. Well I eyeballed one of his eyeballs anyway. " Not you buddy, you're good. Just watch out for the little kid."

Then I put on my goggles and swam 300 meters.

When I popped my head up again, I had the place to myself. So I guess in the end it pretty much all worked out for the best.

My job

Hello, I'd like to answer a few of your questions:

First off, no you may not have a speed bump. I could give you 5 good reasonable reasons why the suggestion is dumb, but you'd ignore all of those and tell me how you saw one someplace else ( that was a speed table..at a crosswalk, btw) and you'll refuse to understand why, so lets just cut to the chase. The answer is no.

You'd like a "children playing" sign on your street ? You mean there are children playing on YOUR street ? Oh you must be so lucky, I don't think that happens anyplace else.

No, if it "saves one child " its still not probably worth it...whatever IT is. If we eliminated all cars then no child would ever be struck by a car. Would that be worth it ? What's that you say ? Car's are also useful for productivity ? Car's increase efficiencies ? In some cases cars actually save lives ? Oh, so what I hear you saying is that we should evaluate the merits of an idea on a sound and objective evaluations of the facts and not some knee jerk emotional reaction ? OK, I AGREE.

I'm sorry that you wont be voting for me next time. I'll try to manage my disappointment with the fact that my position isn't elected, its appointed. And yes, I do think you should go over my head to the local Congressman. He'll why stop there ? I'd also suggest you contact the White House and the Vatican. While you have them on the line, see if any of them have a few moments to explain 6th grade civics to you. In the meantime I'll be hanging out with my Old Boys Network talking about who we know, not what we know and working on behalf of whatever party you're not affiliated with.

Yes, if you're black whatever I do is all because you're black. Unless you're some other race, than thats the reason. White Christians, just realize that the whole system has been set against you and give up already. In short, nobody gets a break.

Just so you know the official order of meaningless attempts to influence my decision are
a) repeating yourself 4 times,
b) screaming loudly
then
c) hollow threats

And finally......OH YOU'RE A TAXPAYER !!!!!!! You should have said so when you first walked in. Please have a seat and I'll get to you right after the air breathers.

I like this story

How to get picked out of a vegas poker room

Rounding the corner in front of the Flamingo, my friend and I run into Dustin Dirksen, high-stakes online professional and full on LAG-tard.

After the initial hellos and handshakes, Dirksen, beer in hand, jumped straight into his latest Las Vegas story.

At around 2 a.m. on a Monday night, Dirksen and his friend were sitting at a $1/$2 No-Limit table at O'Sheas.

As you would imagine from a player who plays games with a big blind equal to the entire buy-in at a $1/$2 table, he can only play the game for so long until something sticky has to hit the fan.


After some half-a-dozen Newcastles and some ridiculously aggressive action, the two decide to put it all-in and flip for their stacks. Wanting to flip with just his friend, Dirksen asks the entire table if it would be cool for him to pay everyone $2 for them to all fold next hand, letting him and his friend flip unhindered.

Everyone agrees, Dirksen pays the players $2 each and the cards get dealt. Dirksen and his friend push their stacks and the whole table folds to the button who looks down to pocket aces.

Instead of laughing and mucking the aces face up, he announces "call," and moves his chips across the line.

Dirksen, in a state of disbelief, tries some diplomacy and reminds buddy-aces that he agreed to fold, and accepted the $2 to do so. Buddy says he's all in and pushes his chips across the line.

Dirksen, matter of factly, informs the guy "no you're not," and pushes his chips back to the rail.

When buddy moves his chips across the line for the second time, Dirksen's composure starts to go south. Pushing buddy's chips back to the rail a second time, Dirksen tells the guy that he's not all in, and he's going to get punched in the face.

Buddy, whose girlfriend has been sitting behind him the entire time, starts to argue about the hand and the threat, bringing his girlfriend into the mix.

Dirksen, starting to lose it, tells the guy that not only will he punch him in the face, but if he doesn't fold the hand, he'll punch his girlfriend in the face as well.

Perhaps it was the nearby Vegas casino security, or the fact that Dirksen is not a particularly intimidating guy, but buddy-aces was not having any of the physical threats. Unperturbed by the face-punch warnings, buddy pushes his chips across the line for a third time.

The whole scenario being a matter of principal, it was at this moment Dirksen felt he should kick it up a notch.

After informing buddy one more time he's not all in, Dirksen grabs buddy's chips and throws them on the floor. Looking the guy in the eyes, he yells:

"I will knife you in the parking lot."

Regardless of the fact that:

A) He had no knife

B) It was an obviously drunken rage-induced threat

C) O'Sheas doesn't have a parking lot

The passion and persistence (or outright lunacy) of his argument pays off as buddy agrees to fold.

As you can imagine, casino security isn't too fond of players issuing death threats on the casino floor. The floorman and a couple of security guards ask Dirksen to leave the property after his 6-3 offsuit loses the pot.

Always funny

As the Toto Turns

Evil Genius

Lance had someone leak that Andy Schleck might sign for his new team, but that Frank is not invited because he might inhibit his brothers progress.

1. Andy isn't going anywhere since he's contracted through 2010 so the whole thing is a lie at face value.

2. Lance just created, out of thin air, the accusation that somehow Frank is inhibiting Andy's progress...despite the fact that Andy seems to have progress quite well with his brother around him his entire life. This will now be a question that both brothers will be asked over and over and over again, proving to be a distraction.

3. The Saxo Bank team in general will be questioning Andy committment to the team and wondering if there's some truth to the rumor, undermining the teams strength.

Additionally, after Lance spend the entire Tour screwing with Contador, offering him little to no help, turning most of the team against him, and having no unified plan from day one.....Lance Twitters that Contador isn't a team player and is disrespecting the team.....the TEAM mind you, that Lance has already left, the team who's thunder he stole during the tour by having his new team announcement, and the team who's logo's he arranged to have faded.

- he pulled a Karl Rove, just take the thing that you're most guilty of...then accuse your opponent of it. Unreal.

The good news is that no ammount of evil manipulation is going to change the fact that WADA is going to keep testing Lance over and over and over, that he's going to have to ride clean, and that he's going to keep getting the results that he got this year......and there's nothing that eats that bastard up more than being an also-ran.

bye bye love

At the time that Alberto Contador and Astana are supposed to be taking advantage of the publicity and value in winning the biggest bike race in the world, Lance steals the spotlight by redirecting all of that attention to an announcement that he is starting a new team.

Lance is the kind of girl who would wear white to someone else's wedding.

But today will be a day of reconning. Expect to see Contador helping Frank Schleck or Kloden move into third place, and watch Lance get bumped off the podium.

Plus there's no way that Lance can climb the Vonteaux quickly with Bob Roll's giant retarded head up his ass.

or so I've heard

Being in a race with half fitness is like being in a strip club without any singles.

Have we learned nothing ?

There is a disconnect between the way that I think and the way that the people who sell cars, houses, and loans think. Unfortunately, that disconnect triggers the need for me to punch someone in the face so quickly that its never afforded me enough time to work past it.

Previous attempts to purchase such items have resulted in me walking out of closings, insulting people, and in one instance threats of physical violence.

I think the problem is that most people walk into the office with the mentality, " I can afford $xxx.xx per month, what can I buy", and so that's the only position from which the lenders/sellers are used to working.

So I ask questions like, " How much is that car ?" and they reply, " How much are you looking to pay a month", then I flip out.

Recently I've been attempting to refinance my mortgage to no avail.

I have one mortgage with 7 years left on it, and a second, much smaller mortgage, with something like 20 years on it. What I'd like to do is combine those two loans into one loan. The questions I have are rather simple;

1) What's the rate I can get on a fixed mortgage for a 10 year term

2) If I accept that rate, what the comparison between what I'll pay over that 10 year year ( total money paid) versus what I'm going to pay under my current arrangement. NOT EACH MONTH....TOTAL !

3) If a lower rate is offered by me paying a point or two, what does paying the point save me over the length of the loan ?

See I don't see how any of that is difficult.

I can provide the ammts and terms of the loan I currently have.
I have excellent/perfect credit
I meet all the wage and home equity requirements.

You don't need my social security number.
You don't need to know how much I'm willing to pay.
You don't need how much money I have in the bank or where or I work or any other personal information.

If the information you provide looks like its a good deal for me, then we can go through all that stuff...just give me the numbers.

WHY WONT YOU GIVE ME THE NUMBERS !?

super pissed

I'm totally fired up.

I took a half day today to take my son to his golf tournament and the little shit just mailed it in.

No effort.

On his final shot he putted it in the hole without even taking the flag out, which (and he knows this) is a two stroke penalty.

I was seriously contemplating drowning him in the pond right there, but another father talked me out of it. He didn't disagree with the idea in general, but thought that there were far too many people around for me to possibly get away with it.

Goddamn I'm pissed.

what the hell is going on ?

Can anyone explain yesterdays stage to me ?

Saxo were driving it into the climb. That much I get. They have the best climbers and they think that by making it hard and positioning their guys, that they'll have the best chance of taking advantage of a climb that wasn't really all that hard on its own.

But when Saxo absolutely drilling it, why would Milram come to the front ? And what the hell was Liquigas doing. Neither of those guys have a dominent climber. And if someone is already doing the race, why contribute ? The reponsibility of doing the work was on Astana, Saxo, or maybe even Ag2R. And neither team really did much of anything except get their jerseys on TV for the 3 minutes they were pulling anyway. Maybe that was the point.

Then the attacks started and things got really weird. COntador attacked, and Armstrong !!! pulled him back. The when Contador and A. Schleck got away it was (first) Kloden and Armstrong leading the chasing group behind. And eventually F. Schleck attacked and effectively helped two other riders close the gap to his brother. With Garmin, Liquigas and Columbia riders all in that group, why the hell would the two teams with guys up the road initiate the action ? Baffling !!!

Then after the stage Armstrong, who might be in better position for the overall than before, conceeds the race. If Contador crashes, gets sick or has a bad day, Armstrong is poised to win this thing and is already starting to pack his bags.

Oh yeah, can yesterdays stage finally end this nonsense about Evans being a grand tour contender ? I mean really.

The angry wife

You know how you can have a disagreement with a buddy, but then you patch it up and all is forgotten...EXCEPT...while your buddy has gotten over it, his wife still gives you the cold shoulder whenever she sees you and wont let it go ?

That's what I think of whenever I see Frankie Andreu interview Levi "the garden gnome" Leipheimer.

I just found out that Leipheimer dropped out of the Tour last night. Big deal.

He's perhaps the worst bike driver out there, falling over in straight aways, finding himself out of position in the splits, and generally getting in the way.

He hasn't produced a result in any race of significance pretty much ever, and the limited result he has had have come about as a result of him following wheels and never taking the inititative ( the coverted Tour of California excluded of course).

Bye Levi, don't let the door hit you in your bruised and road rashed ass.

Radio Gaga

typo

Typos worse than usual yesterday due to typing under duress.

Yes kids are here. The boy also won his age group for the mini-golf...twice...and beat me the one time. I haven't heard the end of it since. I'm considering drowning him, but he swims etter than me too.

4th of July at the Jersey shore is like Christmas for North Jersey drunks. After a quiet week almost alone, it started yesterday...Guidofest 2009 "Fuhgetabadit!"

Its kinda weird, all the chicks are super hot and all the dudes are superbuff, like life down here is one giant Abacrombie commercial...right up until someone opens their mouth, then is sounds like a Mid-West high school production of West Side Story.

" Hey Tony, whadafuck choose dewin tanide ?" - And that was one of the chicks !

It kinda reminds me of the old karate films where the voiceovers dont match the mouths.

Anyway, Happy 4th to you. Pitch a horseshoe for me and try not to burn off any hair grilling.

limited access

Seems like the only way I can get online is if I stand in the middle of the road with the laptop in one hand and a wire coat hanger with a ball of aluminum foil on the end in the other hand. And its tough to type when you're dodging cars and looking like a junk yard statue of liberty.
Almost one week down and all members of the family still alive, no stiches or broken bones.

Highlights so far.

- I yell at some old lady at the Taj on Monday night. I'm not sure if it was the same old lady that I yelled at two years ago at the Trop, but just in case I ended my tirade with " ..and I thought we covered this the last time I yelled at you at the Trop !". She left 5 hands later.

- Some old Puerto Rican dude tried to hit me with his cane. I honestly have no idea what I did. We were playing 2-4 limit holdem, he made a bet, I folded, then he started screaming and weilding his cane in a quite aggressive way. He was yelling in incoherant Spanish. I odered him a rum and coke which he refused to drink out of spite.

- I won a minature golf tournament, hitting a hole in one in the first playoff hole....against a stoned 16 year old kid. I've been shopping all week for a big gold chain to hand the trophy from for when I go back next week to defend my title. ( and yes I yelled suck it when I sunk the ace to win the match)

- I haven't been drunk yet - and I've exercised every day. I plan on revesing both those trends in about 15 minutes. When I'm nice and hammered I plan on drunk dialing Stick and yelling at him in incherant Spanish.

sunburned head

Alas the perils of thinning ( not balding Mr. H-stick, thinning !), I have sunburn on my head.

Kid golf tourney #2 yesterday. The boy opened with a par, then went double, then bogey and lead the thing after 4 holes.

Then he went 10 - 10 - 5 - 13 to send his chances south and his father into a fit. I found that, given the right circumstances, I am one of "those" Dads. I aint saying I'm proud of it, I'm just taking stock.

All in all he did fine. He improved by 9 strokes and handled himself better than his old man.

I took him out to breakfast this morning and he was having a great time until we opened up the sports section and he saw that his score and placing were in the paper. I distracted him by asking him what states were on the quarters he was holding in change from the newspaper.

"hmmmm", he looked them over, " Utah and Idaho. If you mixed them up that would be Ida-tah"

" Or," I offered without thinking, " Uta-ho". Then he laughed for like 10 straight minutes, catching his breath once in a while and saying,

" You-Da-Ho bawahahahahahah I know what that means bahahhahahah YOU-DA-HO !!!!!"

Man I wish I was 9.

its got a beat and you can dance to it

the latest skuttlebutt

So after Astana made its first deadline, it had to meet another deadline last week and wasn't going to make it.

Lance made arrangements so that when the team folded, he would immediately take over and have the team toe the line at the Tour in Livestrong/Nike outfits.

In the meantime Slipstream/Garmin/Chipolte entered negotiations to hire Contador away from Astana when the team folded, since the switch to Lancestrong/Nike would invalidate Contador's contract.

From reports Vaughters was going to get $2 mill from Hebalife and hire away Contador, the Astana Spaniards Benjamin Noval and Sergio Paulinho, and Contadors mechanic. Then put the best guys from Slipstream behind Contador to kick the crap out of Armstrong.

Armstrong ( allegedly) got wind of the deal and "miraculously" an unnamed American company gave...GAVE...the Kazakstan government enough money to pay their tab, thereby obligating Contador to stay on Astana.

Then Astana named their tour roster which includes all of Armstong's guys

Astana

Six riders confirmed: Lance Armstrong, Alberto Contador, Andreas Klöden, Levi Leipheimer, Yaroslav Popovych and Haimar Zubeldia.

Three riders to be selected from: Jani Brajkovic, Chris Horner, Benjamín Noval, Dmitriy Muravyev, Sergio Paulinho, Gregory Rast and Tomas Vaitkus.

I'd be willing to bet a fair amount of money that 2 the final 3 are Horner and Brajkovic. Then it just comes down to whether they're going to throw Contador a bone with one rider or just bone him completely and add Rast.

If Armstrong shows up for the prologue wearing a Darth Vader helmet, I won't be the least bit surprised.

a contrast in style

My oldest daughter has been sick and was going to sit out of last Thursday's meet. Once she got there, she had a little bit to eat and started feeling a little bit better. She asked if she could swim because she thought she could still place well in a couple of the events and score points for the team, and she didn't want to leave her relay partners a swimmer down.

Reluctantly we let her swim and she went on to win both individual events and her team won the relay. But what really impressed me was that, in addition to wanting to contribute and be a team player, after each of her heats she made sure to shake the hand of each of the competitors, even if she had to find them on the deck to do so. This isn't something that we taught her to do, its just the kind of kid that she is and it makes me incredibly proud.

And then there's the boy.

The boy swam in what can best be described as the remedial heat. The race doesn't count for team points and is used for new swimmers, swimmers with some sort of malady, or in his case, swimmers with a giant sinking head.

Somehow by the grace of god the boy won his heat, out touching a one legged kid in a 25 yard freestyle that took like 3 minutes to complete. When he looked over and saw that the other 4 swimmers were still going and that he had out touched Stumpy, he ripped his goggles off, started doing an end zone dance and let out a war cry " WaaaaHoooo !" He then climbed up on the deck and started doing 'the running man' dance, which sadly IS something I taught him to do.

So two kids*, but only one kids worth of class to go around.


* The youngest girl also swam, finishing first on one heat and last in the other. Both times the reaction was the same...nothing. She'd get out of the pool, find something sugary to eat, and then start eyeing up which dumpster was most attractive set on fire.

transcript

me: so this pumpkin headed weatherman comes into our office all the time

me: and he tries to act like a celebrity and is rude to our matronly receptionist
and she gets all upset and is afriad to say anything to him because she's afriad he'll say something to the bosses and get her fired
so I just told her that she has my permission to do something to him the next time he comes in
just so long as its so out of character for her that no one would believe that she did it
she's such a nice old lady, she couldn't think of anything
so I just told this 62 year old woman that the next time he comes in, that she's to shit in her hand and throw it at him - I'm not quite sure I've ever seen someone so astonished

neo: You're the one who's going to get fired.

me: nah fuck it - if she says anything to anyone I'll just deny is and say she's getting senile

me: who's gonna believe I told an old lady to shit in her own hand

Parenting 301

Takin it to a whole nutha level.

The boy had his first golf tournament on Wednesday. It was an open tournament for 9 and 10 year old boys. For 6 of the holes he averaged under 6 strokes a hole, and that pace of 54 would have put him in the top 3.

Unfortunately for him, golf is not 6 holes long. Its 9 holes long and on the "other" three holes he went 10, 15, and 18. Yeah 18 !!!

The 10 and the 15 were functions of him being in a sand trap, and with little experience in the sand trap, hacking away and taking 5 strokes to get out. Until he gets more experience and we're able to practice more, that's just going to happen.

But the 18 is the one that I think is worth mentioning.

The hole was a long par 4 over water. He hit his third shot just short of the water, in the rough, leaving himself about 100 yards to the hole.

My Dad and I stood on the other side of the water, watching him get ready for his approach shot.

" He's not going to try to hit his hybrid out of that rough is he ?", my Dad asked.

" This is not going to go well.", I replied.

You see, the rules prohibit and talking to the players. NO COACHING.

The boy wound up and PLOP, right into water.

He pull out a ball, dropped it back in the same spot....

PLOP ball #2 in the water.

I was writhing in pain as he dropped another ball, same spot, same club....

PLOP....#3.

He stood there for a second, thought about it and went back to his bag.

Whatever relief I felt was shot lived as he came walking back with a three wood. Instead of realizing that the shape of the club was the problem, he just assumed he needed to hit it 'further'.

Big swing and...

PLOP #4

another ball, another swing

PLOP #5

I stood there in pain, my heart aching for the kid. 5 shots in the water....10 penalty strokes, sitting 13 and he still had to go over the water.

He stood there for a couple of minutes trying to collect himself and assess the situation, when the light bulb went off. It was like in a cartoon and for a second I thought I saw an actual light bulb appear over his head and go off.

He walked back to his bag, grabbed a wedge and easily chipped it over the short side of the water. He chipped on, two-putted, and walked off the green.

As painful as that was to watch, and as difficult as it must have been for him to go through the embarrassment and frustration of that, sitting here with a couple days perspective makes me realize the positive benefits of the entire experience.

Had I been playing with him, and told him to put away the club, that lesson would have only lasted the fleeting moment it has every other time we've played. But having gone through that, the concepts of course management, club selection, and problem solving will stick with him the rest of sporting life. And hopefully the lessons of patience and persistence will translate to other areas outside the course.

For Dad, the experience was just as productive. As difficult as it is to see your kids struggle, sometimes you have to be willing to let them fail on their own accord so that they'll learn to succeed in the same way.

Thursday is tourney #2 and an opportunity for both of us to try again.

addictive personalities need apply

www.wgt.com

that's where I've been

Those Crazy Iranians

I've been watching, fascinated, by the developments of the Iranian elections. Well less fascinated by the elections, but more by the media frenzy and "objective" coverage.

So far I've learned that those Iranians are CA-RAY-ZEEE !

They have controversial elections



The fix elections for their hand picked candidates



People rioting in streets



Police beating the protesters



And these people want nuclear technology ?! They seems like exactly the type of people who would use "the bomb".



Bunch of religous fanatics if you ask me !

God Bless America !!!

The early days of computing

I was just telling someone a story about the first time I really tried getting online. How a buddy and I say there with our Prodigy, AOL, and Compuserve diskettes and dialed in with 2600 baud modem and sat there for like 15 minutes waiting for the first page of graphics to load up. This, of course, was before the world wide web, and pretty much the only thing you could do was post to a bulletin board/forum and send email. As no one we knew had a computer, email wasn't really an option.

But then I remembered that wasn't my first taste of the internet. About two years eariler I was talking to a guy who was telling me about this great thing coming called the internet and tried to explain to me how he could communicate, free of charge, with other college kids all over the country.

I remember telling him he was full of shit and quite possibly on crack...which in retrospect may have actually been true.

" Hang on," he said, " I'll show you" and then he proceeded to type at like 100,000 words per minute.....after a while he said, " here check this out, someone from Berkley is responding"

I walked over to the screen and patiently waited while a file downloaded then displayed, on the screen in full color, the image of a hot blonde getting teabagged.

" Wow" I thought to myself, " this internet thing has some real potential"

If only I had jumped on that train before it left the station.