Warning - The following contains an observation that, if you've never noticed it before, may drive you insane. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, so read at your own risk.
I've recently become aware of the fact that women are unable to answer your question. They can and often do provide _an answer_ but are unable to provide an answer to the question that _you_ asked.
For instance... when asked something such as
- " What time does the movie start"
you'll typically get an answer similar to
- " We're meeting for dinner at 5:30"
Or go ahead and ask
- " what time are you coming home"
and you'll get
- " we have 4 stores to go to"
Go ahead and give it a try. Right now go ahead and ask any woman in earshot a simple question that requires a specific answer ( yes/no answers may not achieve the same effect) and see what you get.....go ahead.....SEE ! Freaky ins't it ?
Now go ahead and listen to two women talk...it's weirder yet. Since noticing this I've started paying attention and at times I'm stunned that they're able to comminicate with each other at all. I've sat and watched two women hold a 10 minute conversation without once making a direct reference to the same topic as the person they're conversing with....and then the two of them walked away completely understanding each other !?!?!
I'm starting to thing that it's a code they learn ( taught in the bathroom or in brazier shops or something) to keep us confused an uniformed. If so, it really is a waste as most of us don't pay attention to what they're saying half the time anyway.
Thank you to the well wishers from my problem of last Friday. There's still no resolution to the matter. I'm off to the doctor today for a cure. I hope to find some relief as it's getting pretty tough to hold a train of though and the constant dull ache is leaving me a bit confused. It's sort of like being high....if you replaced the really good feeling with your nuts hurting that is.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Friday, August 19, 2005
Bad Joke
The Lancaster Uralogical group has an answering machine that asks you to press #2 to make an appointment. Then it rings 5 times and goes right back to the menu..."please press #2". Over and over again since 8:30 am.
I made a committment to not turn this this blog into your typical blog-like bitch fest, but when your left testicle is the size of a well grown lemon it's tough to keep a positive mental attitude.
I made a committment to not turn this this blog into your typical blog-like bitch fest, but when your left testicle is the size of a well grown lemon it's tough to keep a positive mental attitude.
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Easy Come Easy Go
The other morning, getting ready for work, I threw on the computer and tuned into Ultimatebet.com to watch professional poker player Phil Helmuth play a high stakes heads-up game ( that means against one other person) live.
(OK, I know watching poker online is pretty pathetic...can we all just accept I have a problem and move on for now ?)
Helmuth is one of the most accomplished poker players ever and his opponent was a rich guy looking to tell his buddies, " Hey I played Phil Helmuth !". Theoretically, the guy should have been able to take a pot or two to brag about, but in the end he's essentially paying for the experience. The only problem is no one told the cards that. Time after time the fish would raise and re-raise and then catch a miracle card to win the pot. And each time after seeing the cards, Helmuth would flip his lid. I'm sure he got carpal tunnel from all the typing. At first it looked something like:
" I've been playing perfect for three hours and you're still in this. I can't believe how lucky you are" and " lucky catch"
but then soon degraded to
" **** you suck"...." I cannot believe you'd play that ****"
then finally
" fcukin assohole **** **** **** r4etard" and "ahahdhtfaewiavjnhwerafkasfdzxdfzf cfx"
What made matters worse is that knowing the fish was playing bad cards, Helmuth started to press..doubling his bets at every turn...and then the fish actually started getting good cards.
In the end Helmuth lost $30,000. THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS !!!!! I'm pretty sure I'd kill myself. At the very least I'd dislocate my leg so that I could kick myself in the nuts.
But that's the nature of gambling. I remember seeing a 70 year old guy walk up to a craps table that I was at and he had the 30 year old bombshell on his arm put $25 on the hard 10. It hit and he let the $175 sit on the table. It hit again ! He, the bombshell, her breasts, and the $1225 in chips all walked away happy as clams.
I also remember sitting at a blackjack table and getting a pair of 7s with the dealer showing a 6. I split the 7s...got more 7s...split them again...then double down on everything that would take it. I actually had to borrow $4 to make the last bet. Everything I owned was sitting at the table when the dealer turned over the 5 to a groan from the crowd that formed. The second 5 that hit the table sent a roar of approval from the crowd and even the dealer smiled for my good fortune. But I didn't smile, I knew...sometimes you just know..... and my lunch had already started coming back up into my throat before the third 5 hit the table and sent me looking under the floormats of the car for toll money home.
But the only thing less interesting than hearing of someone's success is listen to their bad beat story, so I'll have to beg forgiveness for my indulgence. Point is...well there is no point....but they didn't build a city in a swamp in the armpit of New Jersey because most people get lucky. So unless you're a 70 year old dude with chips in one pocket and blue pills in the other, just assume that you're there for entertainment.
And if you see a 6 foot 4 inch dude with a dislocated leg doubled over in pain, please say hi to Phil for me.
(OK, I know watching poker online is pretty pathetic...can we all just accept I have a problem and move on for now ?)
Helmuth is one of the most accomplished poker players ever and his opponent was a rich guy looking to tell his buddies, " Hey I played Phil Helmuth !". Theoretically, the guy should have been able to take a pot or two to brag about, but in the end he's essentially paying for the experience. The only problem is no one told the cards that. Time after time the fish would raise and re-raise and then catch a miracle card to win the pot. And each time after seeing the cards, Helmuth would flip his lid. I'm sure he got carpal tunnel from all the typing. At first it looked something like:
" I've been playing perfect for three hours and you're still in this. I can't believe how lucky you are" and " lucky catch"
but then soon degraded to
" **** you suck"...." I cannot believe you'd play that ****"
then finally
" fcukin assohole **** **** **** r4etard" and "ahahdhtfaewiavjnhwerafkasfdzxdfzf cfx"
What made matters worse is that knowing the fish was playing bad cards, Helmuth started to press..doubling his bets at every turn...and then the fish actually started getting good cards.
In the end Helmuth lost $30,000. THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS !!!!! I'm pretty sure I'd kill myself. At the very least I'd dislocate my leg so that I could kick myself in the nuts.
But that's the nature of gambling. I remember seeing a 70 year old guy walk up to a craps table that I was at and he had the 30 year old bombshell on his arm put $25 on the hard 10. It hit and he let the $175 sit on the table. It hit again ! He, the bombshell, her breasts, and the $1225 in chips all walked away happy as clams.
I also remember sitting at a blackjack table and getting a pair of 7s with the dealer showing a 6. I split the 7s...got more 7s...split them again...then double down on everything that would take it. I actually had to borrow $4 to make the last bet. Everything I owned was sitting at the table when the dealer turned over the 5 to a groan from the crowd that formed. The second 5 that hit the table sent a roar of approval from the crowd and even the dealer smiled for my good fortune. But I didn't smile, I knew...sometimes you just know..... and my lunch had already started coming back up into my throat before the third 5 hit the table and sent me looking under the floormats of the car for toll money home.
But the only thing less interesting than hearing of someone's success is listen to their bad beat story, so I'll have to beg forgiveness for my indulgence. Point is...well there is no point....but they didn't build a city in a swamp in the armpit of New Jersey because most people get lucky. So unless you're a 70 year old dude with chips in one pocket and blue pills in the other, just assume that you're there for entertainment.
And if you see a 6 foot 4 inch dude with a dislocated leg doubled over in pain, please say hi to Phil for me.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
conversation from a wedding this past weekend
Me: "No I don't have my kid in T-ball. At 5 years old it's a waste of time. They stand around and stare at the grass, they don't understand the game, and its a waste of time that they could be using to actually have fun and exercise. It's kinda ridiculous if you think about it. Why do you ask ?"
Him: " Oh...ummmm...because I started coaching T-ball this year."
So much for casual conversation.
Him: " Oh...ummmm...because I started coaching T-ball this year."
So much for casual conversation.
Random Story
My brother is an exceptional golfer. He was about one shot and 1000 joints away from making onto the PGA Tour fulltime. But don't feel bad that he's not on TV...he doesn't...he's lead a very full life and has had great success doing what he loves to do and has had a ton of fun along the way. The following stories is NOT an example of that.
My brother open qualified for the PGA tour a few times. What that entails is winning an early week tournament. That tournament is typically a one round shootout with 50-100 of the best local golfers as well as traveling professionals who don't have an automatic berth on the circuit. Each of the PGA stops has one of these qualifiers and usually the top 4 in the tournament get in...the competition is fierce. In each of these my brother shot 67 or better (!) in order to get in..he's no slouch.
So he open qualified for the Buick Open one time with a 66 against the best golfers in the NY metro area. He was psyched and hopefull and went into the event with a lot of momentum. This event was to have Tiger, Vijay, and all the other favorites and was to be televised. The event also comes just before the US Open so the field is on top of their game.
I had hoped to caddy for my brother for this event as I was slated to caddy for him if he got into the US Open but I had a conflict. Instead, my brother selected my Uncle...also a golf pro...to caddy for him. This was an important event and my brother wanted antoher set of professional eyes on the course with him.
Now the one thing you should know about my family...especially my uncles...is that we are all obsessive/compullsive. And most of that compullsion invovles gambling, drinking, and ....well more drinking and gambling. So while my Uncles all have found tremendous success and have been gifted with great talents....they all also come with the potential to find themselves in jail, unconsious, or in bed with the Sherriff's daughter(s) at anytime.
So round one doesn't start off so hot for my bro. He was two over for the first three holes as nerves got to him a bit. He did settle down and through 9 holes stood at a respectable 3 over. As he started the back nine a storm rolled in and the tournament went on a rain delay.
As my brother and uncle started into the clubhouse they were stopped at the door. My brother was allowed in, but my uncle was barred. The clubhouse was for players only. With Tiger and such inside, they didn't want any riff-raff in the building. My uncle explained that he was a playing professional. No dice. As far as the tournament was concerned, he was a caddy and could go hang out at the caddyshack ( there really are such things) or stand in the rain.
My uncle, of course, went for door number 3 and waited at the local bar. It was now noon.
The rain never went away and the tournament was postponed until Friday. My brother went back to the hotel. My Uncle decided to hang around with his new caddy friends for, you know, one more drink.
Friday morning came with 90 degree July heat. Since my brother didn't finish on Thursday he had to play early. He had to play 7 holes to finish Thrusday's round and then 18 hole for Friday's round. 25 holes of golf total in 90 degree heat...200% humidity.
And here came my uncle....and apparently that one more drink was about 400 ounces....of vodka.
Off they went, my brother shaking in his boots.....my uncle just shaking.
Well things didn't go so well. My brother could not make a putt and his second pair of eyes were a little blurry. After finishing thursday's round he was 6 over. Knowing that the cut was going to be 3 over he was going to have to play the second round aggressivly and shoot 3 under. It was going to be all or nothing.
"Nothing" won.
My brother's game cracked at about hole 24. My uncle cracked far before that...at some points literally unable to stand or hold the clubs.
So the point of this story is to paint what has got to be one of the most unusual pictures in all of Buick Open history.....
Here was my brother, in what was supposed to be one of his career shining moments...standing on the 18th fairway of a PGA Tour event.....cameras rolling....huge galleries....playing in the show.
Standing directly behind him was the high school kid the PGA hired to carry by brothers score. With great pride, the kid hoisted up the score for the Gallery to see...MIKE L. +15 .
.....and behind him, laying in the grass as if he'd just been shot, with the golf bag laying on it's side with a couple of clubs half-in half-out of the bag...tees strewn about was his caddy.
And they wouldn't let that guy in the clubhouse ?! The nerve !
My brother open qualified for the PGA tour a few times. What that entails is winning an early week tournament. That tournament is typically a one round shootout with 50-100 of the best local golfers as well as traveling professionals who don't have an automatic berth on the circuit. Each of the PGA stops has one of these qualifiers and usually the top 4 in the tournament get in...the competition is fierce. In each of these my brother shot 67 or better (!) in order to get in..he's no slouch.
So he open qualified for the Buick Open one time with a 66 against the best golfers in the NY metro area. He was psyched and hopefull and went into the event with a lot of momentum. This event was to have Tiger, Vijay, and all the other favorites and was to be televised. The event also comes just before the US Open so the field is on top of their game.
I had hoped to caddy for my brother for this event as I was slated to caddy for him if he got into the US Open but I had a conflict. Instead, my brother selected my Uncle...also a golf pro...to caddy for him. This was an important event and my brother wanted antoher set of professional eyes on the course with him.
Now the one thing you should know about my family...especially my uncles...is that we are all obsessive/compullsive. And most of that compullsion invovles gambling, drinking, and ....well more drinking and gambling. So while my Uncles all have found tremendous success and have been gifted with great talents....they all also come with the potential to find themselves in jail, unconsious, or in bed with the Sherriff's daughter(s) at anytime.
So round one doesn't start off so hot for my bro. He was two over for the first three holes as nerves got to him a bit. He did settle down and through 9 holes stood at a respectable 3 over. As he started the back nine a storm rolled in and the tournament went on a rain delay.
As my brother and uncle started into the clubhouse they were stopped at the door. My brother was allowed in, but my uncle was barred. The clubhouse was for players only. With Tiger and such inside, they didn't want any riff-raff in the building. My uncle explained that he was a playing professional. No dice. As far as the tournament was concerned, he was a caddy and could go hang out at the caddyshack ( there really are such things) or stand in the rain.
My uncle, of course, went for door number 3 and waited at the local bar. It was now noon.
The rain never went away and the tournament was postponed until Friday. My brother went back to the hotel. My Uncle decided to hang around with his new caddy friends for, you know, one more drink.
Friday morning came with 90 degree July heat. Since my brother didn't finish on Thursday he had to play early. He had to play 7 holes to finish Thrusday's round and then 18 hole for Friday's round. 25 holes of golf total in 90 degree heat...200% humidity.
And here came my uncle....and apparently that one more drink was about 400 ounces....of vodka.
Off they went, my brother shaking in his boots.....my uncle just shaking.
Well things didn't go so well. My brother could not make a putt and his second pair of eyes were a little blurry. After finishing thursday's round he was 6 over. Knowing that the cut was going to be 3 over he was going to have to play the second round aggressivly and shoot 3 under. It was going to be all or nothing.
"Nothing" won.
My brother's game cracked at about hole 24. My uncle cracked far before that...at some points literally unable to stand or hold the clubs.
So the point of this story is to paint what has got to be one of the most unusual pictures in all of Buick Open history.....
Here was my brother, in what was supposed to be one of his career shining moments...standing on the 18th fairway of a PGA Tour event.....cameras rolling....huge galleries....playing in the show.
Standing directly behind him was the high school kid the PGA hired to carry by brothers score. With great pride, the kid hoisted up the score for the Gallery to see...MIKE L. +15 .
.....and behind him, laying in the grass as if he'd just been shot, with the golf bag laying on it's side with a couple of clubs half-in half-out of the bag...tees strewn about was his caddy.
And they wouldn't let that guy in the clubhouse ?! The nerve !
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)