You can't leave....

...but rest assured, you're still free! Just like Iraq!

That's funny, I don't feel very free, or great, or happy these days.

That's only because you haven't listened closely enough. DHS knows better than you, you're not smart enough to know what is best.

From "US Citizens to be Required 'Clearance' to Leave USA"

“Think this can’t happen? Think again…it’s ALREADY happening. Earlier this year, HSA forbade airlines from transporting an 18-year-old native-born citizen, back to the United States. The prohibition lasted nearly six months until it was finally lifted a few weeks ago.”

Please read the entire article, and take the time to at least browse the pdf at its conclusion.

If the future still doesn’t look bright enough, here is some more good stuff about the recent undermining of the Posse Comitatus Act. From the article, “Bush Moves toward Martial Law”:

"In a telling bit of understatement, the Senator from Vermont noted that "the implications of changing the (Posse Comitatus) Act are enormous". "There is good reason," he said, "for the constructive friction in existing law when it comes to martial law declarations. Using the military for law enforcement goes against one of the founding tenets of our democracy. We fail our Constitution, neglecting the rights of the States, when we make it easier for the President to declare martial law and trample on local and state sovereignty."

Again, please, if you have any love for country and your (vanishing) freedoms, take the time to read and be properly outraged. Inform others who do not yet realize what is happening underneath our collective nose. For those who immediately dismiss this stuff out of hand, please take note that all of this is documented and referenced. This move towards martial law was signed at the same time as the You Have To Let Us Torture People or The Terrorists Are Gonna Kill You Act Military Commissions Act, so why no public ceremony trumpeting the wonders of the John Warner Defense Authorization Act of 2007, as well ? It is not wild lunacy; it is fast becoming more and more of a reality. It is a bitter pill to swallow, and continues to be with each day that passes, but the unpleasantness of the current reality is NOT a good reason to ignore it and remain willfully ignorant.

Or perhaps you would just like another dose of state-sponsored opiate.

It’s your choice, for now.

Temperature Changes

It's 65 degrees and I'm shaking like Nicole Ritchie being confronted with a plate of southern-fried food. It's a mundane thing, but a bit surreal when I think that I would literally have been shirtless in the same weather just seven months ago.

Acclimation, bitches.

***********

Why are we, at this very moment, sitting on Iran's doorstep?

I'm sure it has nothing to do with the elections, or Karl Rove's oft alluded to pre-election "suprise." We're simply being prepared, by running "exercises" to ward off an imminent threat. Right? Never mind the fact that they are, at minimum, five years away from even one nuclear weapon. Never mind the fact that exercises such as these always seem to preclude another false flag event. Gulf of Tonkin, anyone?

Over the next few weeks, I wonder what the suprise could possibly be?

Suprise! We've begun Bomb the Brown People: Episode III.

Suprise! Another election was stolen, but we swear it wasn't us. Let's foster unity, not division. Hey, look over here, we're at war again! Oh no! Be frightened, the Brown People are coming! Never mind, look over here instead, we're declaring Saddam guilty. Execution Pay-per-View in two weeks. Tune in and begin the 9-11 healing.

Suprise! Don't want to stay in your 'Free Speech Zone' because you're pissed off about the elections? We have a new series for you to watch, and perhaps participate in (if you're lucky) called Martial Law & Order. Hey, who said "martial"? It's social distancing and it's for your safety. Ripped from the headlines, indeed.

You know, you're right, it may all be bullshit and it could end up that nothing happens. We may be able to clear both Houses. The Dems may act responsibly (though I'm not at all confident thanks so much Nancy Pelosi) and begin impeachment proceedings immediately. But with only the words of the current wise and benevolent leaders to hold to, words that up to this point have been proven to be half-truths or outright lies (aren't those the same?), would you bet on it? I'm not a big fan of situations that are coin-flip, at best, and I'm sincerely hoping the same is true of you, as well.

If that coin lands on the wrong side, acclimation is gonna take on a whole new meaning..

Still think everything will just work itself out?

Haven't heard much anything about this by way of the mainstream propoganda machine. Just one more in a spectacularly long list of failures by "professional" journalism to serve the purpose for which their occupation is intended.

Indeed, a search for the John Warner Defense Authorization Act of 2007 yields no results from the public servants that are CNN, MSNBC, NY Times, Washington Post, et al. A search of these sites, specifically, for any information yields zero results. (Other major news outlets also yield little to nothing in the way of substance on this and other very important Constitutional issues--while my search was certainly not exhaustive, and there may be some coverage out there from the majors, it is with near certainty I submit that none of them will offer anything substantive or insightful, save Keith Olbermann, one of the few mainstream professionals still in possesion of both his brains and his balls.)

It's difficult for me to imagine too many things that could be more important than the issues of our fundamental freedoms and protections being stripped away from us with ever increasing boldness. But hey, what the hell do I know? Checking out the website of the "professionals" tells me what is truly important in the news. The current banner headline on MSNBC U.S. News front page:

DRIVEN BY TRAGEDY
NBC: Cop makes roads safer by catching 200 drunk drivers in a year.

Well, damn. I just read the article and I can't remember the last time I felt this safe and wonderful. I can't believe I was so worked up about the above. Perhaps it was the signing statement from Mr. Bush (the "B" is for Benevolent) stating that he wouldn't be adhering to any pesky oversight or accountability.

The signing of this new act will be another wonderful device to add to the Emporer's toolbox as he, his family, and his friends continue their benevolent Protection of America. Just don't dare point out that he's nude, it makes him testy. Not to worry, though, good citizens. There's nothing like a few good secret "dunkings" to lift the spirits.

We now return to your regularly scheduled dose of DoubleThink.

Read and THINK

Link to quoted commentary (please click and read)

"Among things Congress and the media should challenge is George W. Bush’s false claim that the United States does not torture. In an article published at the CommonDreams.org site, journalist Molly Ivins reports that in one case of death from torture by Americans, the military at first said the prisoner’s death was caused by a heart attack. Ivins adds that the coroner later said the heart attack occurred after the prisoner “had been beaten so often on his legs that they had ‘basically been pulpified.’”

" As Jonathan Turley said on Olbermann’s program, “I think you can feel the judgment of history. It won’t be kind to President Bush. But frankly, I don’t think that it will be kind to the rest of us. I think that history will ask, ‘Where were you? What did you do when this thing was signed into law?’ There were people that protested the Japanese concentration camps; there were people that protested these other acts. But we are strangely silent in this national yawn as our rights evaporate.”

Future generations will wonder why the U.S. Congress and mainstream press helped Bush build up an imperial presidency and eliminate constitutional protections. If they’re able to sort through the administration’s fallacies and lies and clearly see what went wrong with America during this time, they’ll wonder why there were so few Molly Ivinses, Keith Olbermanns and Jonathan Turleys.

Coming generations will also ask why by comparison there were so many who failed to notice the obvious holes in Bush’s logic and why so many turned a blind eye to his numerous false assertions and cruel policies. They’ll wonder why so many supported, whether by direct action or by silence, the Bush administration’s changing the fundamental nature of the democratic Republic we were given by America’s founders, based on the flimsy excuse of fighting a war on terrorism -- a “war” Bush defines falsely and fights ineffectively.

Generations to come might ask why this president who lied so often, about Iraq and other critical matters, was ever entrusted with enough power to damage this country’s founding principles and wage endless, unprovoked war on other nations. If Congress and the media would ask these questions now, they might prevent Bush from doing further harm. This might save many lives, prevent much unnecessary suffering and possibly steer this country out of its present darkness."

Finally, it is not inconceivable that in the not too distant future that this man could be accused of terroism. After all, anyone who opposes the current foriegn policy must be a terrorist smpathizer and not concerned for the safety of the American people.

Kidding Me

A couple of posts back, I said that I would be back in about 10 days while I worked on a certification.

It’s been a bit longer. I had my usual crap that made the usual token effort to be witty or inventive or some other desirable writing adjective, but then the new online gaming legislation (or, “The Children may die solely because of your moral deficiency so we’re going to take the time to harness our infinite wisdom and caring to save you from yourselves and the terrorists” Act) was craftily inserted as a rider during the night. The result? An upsetting disruption of my personal enjoyment derived from a game I have enjoyed with admittedly decreasing frequency. My head slowly shook in disbelief as it tilted forward yet again in resignation.

You have GOT to be kidding me.

That was my mantra for the next few days, both internally, and when I could not hold it in any longer, externally. Then it dawned on me. I was angry, not resigned. I suppose that one could postulate that this was the first or second stage of……something. Pulling most of my bankroll due to the new fear of losing it, with the thought that I was taking the only course of possible action, I failed to realize that I didn’t feel a single bit better, even though I had ostensibly done the “smart” thing. Whatever stage it was, I’ve been stuck in it’s throes for a very long time, not just for the last couple of weeks or months. One of my favorite activities, after all, is sitting and watching whatever network news happens to be on, cursing at the constant stream of fluff but never truly acknowledging the desperate need for something real and true that lay at the root. The increasingly pervasive ocean of straw man arguments and liberal sprinklings of various other logical fallacies being accepted as analysis and wisdom is something I have long despised.

The push and pull of wisdom and foolishness, truth and lies, have always been a fact of life, but it always seemed to swing back into balance (or a reasonable approximation thereof) at the right time before all hope seemed lost. It is something that I believe we have always aspired to; you can see its thread in the history of our entertainment, ignoring for now the other areas of our history where such things have been exemplified. It is comic books and it is movies, it is heroism and nobility, honesty and integrity, freedom and liberty. We tout our own virtues, never failing to remind anyone who might question that we are undoubtedly “the greatest of all time.” When Muhammed Ali said it, it can be very reasonably argued that such an assertion was indeed true. Increasingly, though, every time such things are paraded from the mouths of our wise and fearless leaders, I cringe just a bit more than I did yesterday, because I know in my soul that while this statement cannot be true in its absolute sense given we are human, we shouldn’t be anywhere close to saying it with a straight face at this point.

You arrived at this tangent just because they made it tougher for you to play online poker?

Yes. No. I suppose it depends on how you look at it.

After eulogizing (for the most part) one of my favorite hobbies I stayed online to search out more articles and in-depth information so I could throw a hissy-fit in what would be a glorious and raging new post. Not planning on finding such a treasure trove of information (which is, in itself, a fundamentally retarded attitude, considering I was on the INTERNET) I dug down to the info I was looking for about the latest prohibition fiasco, but found that I could not stop there. It’s here that I think most would state something having to do with holes and their various depths. Online gambling prohibition led to the Military Commissions Act of 2006, and from there it was off to the races. Ironically, while the hole is admittedly deep, it is much, much wider. The truth about so many things lies right underneath our very noses underneath a few flimsy layers of (oh so tasty!) emptiness and distraction that we can’t, or won’t, put together. We have, as a people gone from ignorant and/or apathetic, to actively ignoring and/or shutting our eyes to what we know (or should know) to be true.

As if we have taken up physical residence on the pages of George Orwell’s 1984, the fearmongering and outright lies are so pervasive they have become the New Truth. It truly seems, now, that the constant smoke and mirrors from our heavily complicit government and media has finally turned the tide past that so very difficult to distinguish “point of no return.” On top of the already steaming pile of lies and increasing oppression, we have now reached what I believe to be the absolute tipping point.

Quite literally, Habeas Corpus has disappeared.

More truthfully, the one major support beam we had as a people has not disappeared, we have given it away. Not only have we simply given it away, we did so while cowering, begging for the protection of our “betters.”

At this point, I believe that I’m beginning to edge my way into a new stage, a stage where I can honestly say “thank you” to Bush & Company for pushing me in the direction I should have gone long ago. Part of these past weeks have been spent considering whether or not I should even post something of this tone. That is the wrong question. The problem with this question is the fact that I now have to ask myself such a question. Why is this question now a serious consideration?

The answer is one of my greatest shames.

I have been willfully ignorant in favor of my own comfort. I have repressed what I know (and hard, verified science demonstrates) to be truth for what I have known is emptiness. The things we have done over these last years are not indicative of a “great” people, or the “best” society. These circumstances have been largely brought about by the cancer of our own complicity. I will say it now, as a veteran who took an oath to defend against all enemies foreign and domestic, as a citizen, as an American: I am ashamed of myself and I am ashamed of us. We are, at best, a mere shadow of what we were as a people. If we don’t begin speaking long and loud against the current and coming tyranny, we will never be again.

Some of you will be horrified at these words. I’m sure that there will be plenty of derision thrown my way. But I’m also sure that if just one person wakes up, even a little bit, because I took the time to speak up, then I will be just a bit closer to being able to live with myself again, a bit farther from coming up short when I turn inward. In speaking, I finally know the freedom that is now gone.

The freedom we must fight with our collective voice to get back.

Just another assault on the citizens...

Yet another fine example of our "democracy" at work. Pet projects being tacked on as riders at the last minute...

Seriously, why is this shit allowed to go on?

Back in 10

Huge thanks to all who left the wonderful comments about Mrs. Head’s art. It provided a wonderful psychic boost for which both of us are eminently thankful. And I was right; she seems re-energized towards getting back on the art horse, as it were.

**********
There still hasn’t been any poker because the workload is heavy and over the next two weeks will be even heavier than normal (120 hours in 10 days). Bleh. There just isn’t enough time to do all of the fun stuff. I did have some spare time over the Labor Day weekend, but couldn’t resist the siren song that is God of War on the PS2. Just the fact that I only recently began playing this game a couple of weeks ago is a pretty accurate indicator of just how behind I am on “fun.”

It’s looking like my mother will shortly be a guest of Harvard Medical because no one can figure out what is wrong with her and she’s still having heaps of potentially life-threatening problems. Over the last week my father nearly died, again. It looks as though I’ll shortly be involved in a lawsuit against the property management company we recently rented from. Life still seem to be nothing but a circumstantial mess, but there is some positive in that the tenant/landlord laws in Arizona a pretty clear cut so it looks like we’ll be receiving a decent amount of money in the near (I hope) future. Why would I still continue to write this boring ass crap when it’s been trumped time and time again that no one wants to hear about it?

Because that’s what is happening.

That being said, there only remains the choice of keeping it short and sweet or trying to “flower it up” in an effort to give the impression that I have some writing skillz. I’m simply too tired and too busy to do the latter. I wrote the above to simply remind everyone (and myself) to appreciate the continuity that does exist in their lives. While certainly not a new message, it’s worth stating if for no other reason than to inspire a “geez I’m glad that’s not me” moment in others.

As a poker blog, yep, this space may be dying but it’s not dead. It’s simply changing. Into what, I’m not sure. It may come back around to more poker – maybe sooner, maybe later, maybe not at all. That’s part of the reason it exists in the first place, to work it all out.

Give your continuity a hug. I’ll catch ya in 10 days (ish).

Three states really the same

It seems that the Bloglines subscribers to this space are steadily decreasing. It’s depressing, but understandable *sigh*. That being said, I greatly appreciate anyone still taking the time to stop by and peruse. With the “poke” having left poker to become more akin to rape-r, none has been played since the last post, I’m definitely not in the right frame of mind and frankly tired of seeing my bankroll get chipped away while I try to get right. I have been watching on TV though, the current favorite being High Stakes Poker.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to figure out that I did indeed have GSN, but I finally happened upon it a few weeks ago and gleefully sought out HSP to record. Through watching it over the last few weeks, I’ve noticed the growing feeling that this is real poker, which of course makes tournaments feel a bit more…artificial somehow. This is nothing new, Barry Greenstein and other notables have talked plenty about the same thing, but the realization certainly seems worth mentioning, as I guess most things are when you really begin to realize them for yourself.

That’s enough of the blathering about this goddamn game of which I know so little.

We are now into the paid programming portion of the evening. Literally.

Every work evening between 2 and 4 AM that is all that is on the tube. Most of the time it’s not a big issue as I’m too busy to really pay attention or care, but on those rare occasions when I can sit back (like now) I find myself in one of three states:

State #1—The Paid Programming Pain. This leaves me highly annoyed and looking around at the telephone cords and Ethernet cabling, trying in vain to come up with inventive ways to hang myself. Muting is no help, the inane banter continues in my head even when the sound is gone.

State #2—The National News Pain. When watching the paid programming just isn’t enough self-inflicted punishment one can always (as a certain well-known Ewok is fond of saying ) “kick it up a notch” by turning on CNN. Whether it’s another story that jumps on the “should not have EVER been a story but what the hell we’ll hype it anyway because there aren’t any other important things to talk about” JonBenet reporting bandwagon or wonderful tales of yet another government fuckup and/or lie that will be completely ignored and go on completely unchanged, there are plenty of seeds to harvest a bountiful crop of depression and frustration. To be fair, you could turn on most any news channel for the same effect. BBC is still a small antidote, but even that isn’t nearly what it used to be.

State #3—The MTV Pain. Ready for the ultimate in extreme self abuse? Do you feel like your IQ is just a bit too high? This channel is custom fucking designed for your purposes. I don’t even feel the need to elaborate on this one. Tuning in for 2.3 minutes is really all the explanation one will ever need.

Thank you Chuck Norris for Walker Texas Ranger. Without your reruns coming on at 5 AM, I’d never know the back-from-the-brink-of-despair smiling pleasure that comes with indulging in pure TV cheese (“TV cheese” being Spanish for high good vs.evil action drama).

**********
Last, but certainly not least, I’m trying to push Mrs. Head into selling some of her paintings a) because we just don’t have the wall space to hang all of them anymore, and b) I’m of the mind that they kick ass. My opinion, of course, could be biased. Like any artist, she doesn’t really like her own work so I’m taking the reigns and putting it out there.

Here are a few of them.

Shoot a comment or email to talk price, and help me convince her to start painting again—she hasn’t done so for quite a while and really should resume, like, yesterday.

Another 10

10 minutes. Let’s talk some poker.

Boy, I just had to gloat about the wondrousness of the new Stars HORSE games. Why could I not remember to just keep my mouth shut and say that things were simply going well? Even though it was truly forgetfulness on my part, the poker gods didn’t give me a pass and punished me but good.

Word around the campfire is that they teamed up with Murphy to make the reaming extra special.

Trips, three of a kind, meet river straight.
Full House, meet quads.
Quads, meet straight flush. Go ahead, meet a second time just for good measure.

In the interest of full disclosure, there have been portions of my losses over the last two weeks that can definitely be attributed to Corky-esque play on my part after having a miniature Sir Waffles meltdown. After donking off one of my tokens on a pure (purely idiotic) bluff I was able to arrest the downhill slide and just walk away for a while. I’ve been able to play briefly a couple of times since then, and while the decisions are much better the results are still cornholeiscious.

I must remember to always take my time and think, “Make the best decisions you know how to make.” Hell I should make a sign or something. Perhaps I could put it on a bat and have the Mrs. hit me with it.

So much easier said than done, and doesn’t ease the pain one iota while losing.

I’ve thus far recognized a very bad symptom that has slowly been developing—I’m seeing The Nuts everywhere. If I don’t hold the nuts myself, a seriously nagging voice tells me that someone else does even though it’s rarely true. When I finally make a decision that I’m being bluffed, OOP, there’s the nuts. My reads have actually become worse and it’s becoming very discouraging. I’m not sure whether this is just a symptom of the recent losses plus tilt, or something more insidious. I’m also not sure what to do to ease these seriously counterproductive symptoms—Any advice is most certainly appreciated.

For now, I figure that all I can do is play through it and keep trying to remain conscious. Keep focusing on making good decisions.

Oh yes. I’m sorry poker gods (and Murphy). Seriously, I am. Can you quit with the 2-outers now?

Just Ten

A Ten Minute Friday. Or Early Saturday. I can’t keep track.

I can’t stop not blogging. I find myself wanting to, but something always manages to keep me away. With this in mind, I’ll be biting off of everyone else who does the ten minute writing exercise….thingy.

Shit, 9 minutes left.

I hate home improvement/handyman bullshit; it’s way too much like real work. However, in the spirit of trying to at least pull something positive out of the overwhelming negativity of the day to day of late, I will say this: It goes along way in helping soothe the stress/frustration/anger of said day to day. Once I realized “Hey, I’m too fucking tired to be too pissed off” I thought maybe I should try and step it up and do more. Then I realized that despite the benefits, I still hate it—just like I know not smoking is good for me but the chances of me actually going through with the “not” portion is a ways off. I also realized something else…..

That Bob Villa guy must’ve been full of rage to do as much home improvement as he did. It’s really the only rational explanation.

(now that’s just idiotic)

4 minutes left. How did five minutes just go by for one paragraph?

I’ve had to deal with nothing but non-stop bullshit from telco’s and their mind-numbingly idiotic inner workings just to get a fucking trouble ticket put in on a circuit that went down. It belongs to PacBell. Which is really SBC. Which is really AT&T (it’s all ATT now after the re-merging of everything, putting us basically right back to where we were before the Bell breakups-I continually question whether any breakups actually happened).

But AT&T can’t help me. On this particular circuit they will only take tickets from Wiltel, aka Level III Communications aka fo fuck your mother you stupid fucking telco. So I have to call them instead and they will call ATT to put in a ticket. Forget logic, that never worked for anyone. I’ll take “Why is this considered okay in any way” for $2000, Alex. A call to Wiltel and, oh fantastic, they don’t even take any calls until 6AM. But I can leave a message. And now…..

I’m still on hold with Avaya, and have been for the last hour and fifteen minutes.

And people wonder why there are random acts of violence. All I know is there are some weeds in my yard that are gonna get FUCKED UP when I get home.

0 minutes left.

A New Lease

I don’t have to be back at work until next Wednesday night. Cue serotonin.

While I’ve never been accused outright of being gay, there has certainly been speculation on the extent to which I’m in touch with my feminine side. I abhor hunting, do all of the household cooking, have mad ironing skillz, own more shoes than my wife, and couldn’t really give two shits about football (try as I might). However, as of yesterday the scales have been balanced, at least somewhat.

With so much work to be done on the new home, over the last month I’ve been acquiring some tools. Not a big deal, you say? For a guy with nothing but a shitty drill, some bits, and a few screwdrivers to his name, it’s a pretty big deal. As of yesterday, I can finally rest in the knowledge that I have a decent compliment of proper tools. An air compressor, compound mitre saw, and this. Alongside some other assorted smaller power tools and a fantastic find on a trimmer (seriously, you should get one of these; I used to use this one when I owned a lawn service and they are the heezy—you can see the weeds and brush shaking in the soil at your approach) I have secured the lease on my testicles for the next five years, with the option to renew.

I’m fairly bleeding testosterone, and will likely have to go piss on something soon.

***********
There have been a few snatches of poker, too. I seem to be bubbling a lot over the last few days, but it’s cool for once. It’s amazing how much easier it is to stave off tilt when the reason for bubbling is a brutal beat vs. a donktastic play.

Then there are the HORSE games. I’m barely competent when it comes to HORSE (and that’s even a stretch) but most of these folks make me look and feel like a onewiththeuniverse HORSE Master. Holy hell, I can’t believe the suckitude and I’m oh so thankful for it.

**********
Being the epitome of the deeply retarded and wholly inexperienced handyperson, I leave you with the following:

While purchasing some birch wood (for trim) at Home Depot yesterday, I noted that the price was $1.89. All I could think about was how my brother told me that trim could get pricey, and to be careful. I put 8 10-foot boards on my cart and just stood there, staring at the price.

I thought he said this was going to be expensive.

After five minutes or so, I headed to another aisle to get some quarter round pieces and found that they were priced at $3.79/length. Once more I stood, staring at the price.

Why the fuck is this crap more expensive than this birch wood?

So, I did what all retards do. I stood and stared some more. Then I went back to where I got the birch and stared at that for a while. Like an Abrams being attacked by a Daisy pellet gun, the obvious just didn’t sink in. Obviously I needed the audience that the checkout line would provide.

I sauntered up to the register in a euphoric tool haze. The lady rings up my stuff and I look at the register. Birch wood, 80 feet, $140. Pellets still bouncing off of the armor….

“Hey, those boards were only supposed to be $1.89 each. Why $140?

“That’s by the foot, honey.”

Negotiations on the aforementioned testicle lease were set back by a full day. I looked up and resigned myself to the giant Milwaukee’s Best can that would surely be dropping on my head at any moment.

Wood is sold by the foot. Don’t be like me.

Jeopardy

August 11^th. Good Christ, already?

Time flies when you’re not having any fun. What the hell. It flies, fun or no.

I’ve been spending all of my time angling and working my ass off for a promotion at work. Given the short amount of time that I’ve been there, pulling it off will be quite a coup. The bump in pay will most certainly help, as well, since (for reasons we still cannot fathom) Rachel still hasn’t landed a new job (and hara kiri is looking attractive when compared to her current one). Hell, she can hardly get a fuckin’ interview and it’s driving both of us insane. She’s a goddamn MBA, goddamn smart, and just a generally goddamn great fuckin’ employee.

I married the girl with the worst employment karma EVER. Seriously, it boggles the mind. Both of us are obsessing about it these days.

There has been a slight stench following us everywhere we’ve gone about these last couple of weeks. It’s as though a stinkbomb of abject depression and despair is threatening to break through the oh-so-thin invisible barrier currently holding it at bay. Like a overfilled something about to break, its heaviness grinds us down. Our souls are starting to feel like a mistreated and too often worn pair of sneakers.

My friend from way way way back visited us this last weekend, and I think he said it best……

“It’s like everything and everybody in this city is trying to fuck with you at once.”

Indeed, sir. Finally, someone can see. At least it says that I’m not completely crazy and that there are some strange karmic/cosmic shenanigans afoot. If this is karma, why can’t I remember the thing(s) I’ve done so bad to create such annoyance?

I must be torturing baby seals in my sleep. At this point, it’s the only explanation, really.

**********************
Almost forgot a tiny bit of good news in the pile.

Alex, I’ll take “HolyShitgodsparemeI’msofuckingboredwiththiskindofupdatethatnoonereallyneedstohearabout” for $1000, please.

Your answer: Last weekend I actually went 3/4 on PeepSex Tourneys, and it would have been 4/ 4 had not my AQs been brutally sucked out on by A10 on the bubble. A bit of confidence has been restored. It was getting ugly there for a couple of weeks (at least by the reckoning of my completely statistically unsound and micro-tiny sample set).

What is Human Head poker content?

That is correct, you have control of the board..

Don't let me find you....

If I ever come across the previous owner of this house in the flesh, there's a bitch slap in her future.

I can almost hear the conversation.......

Husband/Girlfriend/Boyfriend/Repairman: "Hey, I know that the sink is all the way over to the right, but I think that we should put that light you want right in the middle of the wall. Seems like the best thing to do in this spot."

Previous owner: "Hey, good ideaaaa. Ooh, let's do that. You're right, I think that would be really cool." (switches to inner monologue)---> Man, that'll be awesome. This will really get across the message that my style is eclectic while at the same time remaining cute.....

**barf**

Christ, I've got a lot of work ahead of me.

Weakest. Bull. Ever.

The last few days have been fantastic. I can here the cries all around, “But why?”

I’ve had the rare opportunity to spend the last couple of days rolling in a mostreal (that’s most tight and real, for those of you who haven’t studied up on advanced theoretical ebonics) ’06 Ford Taurus.

Trying to keep all of the honeys off while cruising to work was quite a gauntlet, adding at least an hour onto my nightly journey—they were practically bouncing off the windshield, giving rise to the consideration that I may require a police escort. The only window of import while rollin’ that bad boy like fuckin’ Benz was the rearview as I blew past everyone around me like rocket fueled butter. I could almost hear the panties sliding off in my high-speed wake.

Fuckin’ hell.

A question for you, Mr. CEO of Ford. Have you ever driven one of these? Ever? I mean, have you actually spent any time with one?

I never want to hear Ford complaining about lack of vehicle sales again. I would rather have gotten a rental from the kid down the street, the one who makes homemade soapbox racers--out of cardboard and his own excrement. My first vehicle was a ’72 Chevy Luv pickup with a manual choke and more miles than three of the same model should ever have. I drove that truck for a solid year and at no time was I as embarrassed as I have been during the past three days. Children were passing me on bicycles, peppering me with derisive loogies. At least the Taurus of a decade ago, even then universally derided by any denizen of cool, had an engine that could go up a hill at a decent clip. There wasn’t even a tint on the windows to partially conceal (within legal limits, of course) my crushing shame.

Imagine how you would feel driving down the street, people thinking that you support George Bush, use AOL, and consider wallpaper borders to be a generally fantastic decorating idea. Oh wait, I guess the first (if not all) are true of you.

Still feels pretty shitty, doesn’t it? Feeling like a champion buttdart always does. Perhaps you should think about that the next time you decide that making something like the ’06 Taurus is the way to go.

And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Mr. Audi CEO. It was your goddamn car having to be serviced that forced me into that living hell in the first place.

Move Complete!

No red on the monitor + weekend duty = Time to post.

Up to this point, the first step in getting home in the morning has been to take a right out of the parking lot from work. This morning it was with great joy that I looked right, cursed the poverty and squalor of our former neighborhood, and turned left towards home.

When I was younger, there were a few years when our family lived in a wonderful (and quite large) old house. It’s hindsight that allows me to use the word wonderful, as back then I couldn’t have cared less and wasn’t necessarily expected to. However, once we left that house for ostensibly greener pastures, there were quite a few years where my mother went on and on about how much she missed our old house. The kid that I was wanted to wrap her head in duct tape (minus the death-inducing consequences of such an action, of course), but taking that left turn away from rental hell brought the realization that the man I am now finally understands the depth of her disappointment. It never ceases to humble me when I realize (for the umpteenth time) that no matter what I think I understand today, next week or next month or next year will bring a new clarity that reinforces the fact that I’m never nearly as smart as I think I am.

It should only take a few hours before I forget and continue traveling down the usual path of wild pontification, thus bringing things back on their more usual track.

**************
Sitting in the new house amidst the scattering of boxes and unfinished improvement work that must be done, our bodies and minds wracked with the exhaustion brought on by the exertions of the last few months, we kicked back watched Dave Chappelle’s Bloc Party. Not sure why the reviews were so tepid, I found the thing highly entertaining. And when the Fugees came out at the end?

Jeans, meet cream. Just awesome. Watch it if you haven’t yet. (I’m still mourning the fact that there won’t be a Season 3, even though I must admit it he quit at the right time)

**************
Since Vegas there has actually been some poker, as well. My roll took a larger than normal hit a couple of weeks ago at the 7-Stud tables on both Full Tilt and Stars. Disappointing, yes, but the games were SO FUCKING GOOD. I’ve always read about players in situations where they may be losing but stay seated anyway because of the quality of the table, and this was exactly where I found myself. Capped pre-flop most hands, no one folding, etc., it was just fantastic. All except the losing part, that is. People raising before the river with one out, and hitting. Multiple times. It was certainly a crappy way to get back into the swing of things, especially since these tables were a step up from the usual. Not a step up in quality play (I was surprised to find it was actually worse in this instance), just in stakes. Methinks the extended poker break I’ve been on over the last few months was one of the best things that could have happened. Even though I was getting killed by the world’s thinnest draws, tilt was nearly non-existent for once. I look forward to tackling those tables again.

And now, for those of you with infinitely more poker knowledge and experience than I, I give you the following:

After arriving home from work a couple of days ago, I found myself wanting to play poker for a bit instead of sleep. At the same time, I felt I was too sleepy to play for actual money, and lo, there was an email about the Moneymaker Freeroll on Stars in my Inbox. Sure, why not. I’ll bust and then go to bed. 3.5 hours later there are less than 100 people left, with the top 50 getting into the Round 2 freeroll. The far and away chip leader is directly to my right, playing like an ass and possessing card rack qualities to which I can only aspire. I am 37^th out of 56 and have just under 8 BB’s. I’m in the big blind and get A7o. Folds around, and here comes the min raise. I push since a) I know I’m ahead, and b) the guy just folded to someone else who re-min-raised his original min-raise on the previous hand. Of course, he calls with K2o, sacrifices a kitten to the cardrack demons that live to torture pure hearted individuals like myself, catches, and IGHN 5 places away from my seat into Round 2.

The first thing I said to myself was, “Right play, wrong result.” However, I’ve been thinking over the last couple of days that this line of thought may not be correct. Should I have tried to just hang on into the seat given my placing? I’m certainly not unhappy with my overall performance given the fact that I waded deep through a field of 10,000, but I would like to know if my move was idiotic, or rather, the degree to which it was idiotic because the more I think about it the more I’m convinced it was the height of stupidity.

(One of these days I’ll actually get the time to sit and read my Harrington books that I bought so long ago)

Does it have to be over already?

It’s three (or four?) days later and I can’t believe it’s over already. Seriously, how did it fly by so fast? The answers (drinking, sleep deprivation, drinking, gambling, and some more drinking) are obvious, but knowing the answers leaves me no less flabbergasted.

I’m finding it difficult to write about this, our (mine and the Mrs.) third drunken gathering. Try as I might, accurately conveying the enjoyment of getting together with everyone seems futile and done in much better fashion by others. With that in mind, I’m eschewing the standard trip report in favor of keeping it simple.

The trip kicked ass. They all have, and I expect the next one to be no different. If anyone reading this hasn’t made the pilgrimage, don’t repeat the mistake when the next opportunity comes around. Show up to the next and be reminded that there are still some people in this world who don’t suck.

**********
Even though I didn’t play any poker on the trip (favoring instead massive –EV silliness), I’m happy to report that I’m back online playing a bit of poker with some shockingly decent results considering how long it’s been since I’ve logged on. However, I’m fully expecting the poker gods to begin taking the 2x4 to my junk very soon.

**********
Moving is going to happen on the 25^th, so things will remain sparse here until that’s complete and all of the loose ends are tied up. I will try to keep sneaking in for a post here and there when I can, though.

It’s 4 AM, 102 degrees. Daytime conditions are less than optimal, to be sure. Yesterday (or is it today? Hard to keep track on 3^rd shift) I nearly stuck my head in the oven because it was cooler than peeking out the back door. It is making the dogs look as though they’re losing the will to live, which is amusing/sad because it’s impossible to explain the situation to them given they have brains the size of a Brazil nut.

Temps like these make me think that my brain may be the size of a Brazil nut, as well, considering we moved here of our own accord. I know, boo-fucking-hoo.

I want to go back to Vegas.

P.S. Amazing job April, many thanks for all of the work you put in.

Escaping the Babble

Son. Of. A. Bitch.

Here’s a way to make some extra cash:

1) Find out which team I think should win in any given World Cup match

2) Load up bets on the opposite team

3) Profit!!

I thought Germany would pull it out today. Klinsmann has been helping them kick some ass, Klose has been a fantastic standout during the cup, they are hosting, they have (scratch that, had) a perfect record at Dortmund, and they’ve never beaten Italy in World Cup matches so that should have provided plenty of motivation.

Guess not. Commence rotten mood bender.

************

While there is certainly a litany of drawbacks to working through the night, there are several positives that make such a thing acceptable. One of these things (and top of my list) is that the night is quiet. It provides opportunity to focus on work that needs to be done instead of dealing with the unavoidable barrage of bullshit that seems to be a consequence of large groups coming together for “work.” If there is nothing pressing to be done, the night is good for contemplation and stillness in a world with precious little of either.

Unless, of course, the night security guard decides he’s going to be your friend.

The font of retarded babble that flows out of this guy is truly staggering. At first, I tried to humor him and remain polite, getting out of Dodge at the earliest opportunity whenever he gets going. It only took two weeks to get annoyed, which is actually a pretty long time for me. I used to enjoy venturing outside into the quiet (and much cooler) night air for a smoke as the clock continues it grind forward. Not anymore. I now spend many quality minutes just staring into the mirror trying to figure out what it is about my face that seems to express, “Hey, I’d just love to hear what you have to say!”

Over these last two weeks I’ve made efforts to give more obvious (while still maintaining some modicum of civility) signals indicating that I’m not interested in being pals. Walking past without making eye contact. Entranced by the goings on of my cell phone. Fake talking on my cell.

Nothing works.

Tonight, I had to hang up my fake conversation and not enjoy my smoke while babblespout gained momentum and I wished for traffic to throw myself in front of. Here’s a sample of the continuous (one-sided) conversation:

“So, most people might be embarrassed by this, but I’m not, I think it’s kind of funny. I almost locked myself in that closet right by you. You know which one I’m talking about? Anyway, there’s something wrong with the lock on that door, so I was like, I wonder what’s wrong with this thing? So I shut the door and figured I would try to fix it from the inside. All of the sudden I couldn’t get out! Luckily, I messed with it and finally worked, but I was in there for, like, 20 minutes. Still don’t know what’s wrong with it. There are a lot of batteries in that room. We had big batteries, well, bigger than that, on some of the Navy ships and subs I used to be on sometimes. One of the big battery rooms was next to the switch room we used to have to clean, man, that thing would get really dirty even though the room was mostly unoccupied ‘cuz of the dirt the diesel engines would always kick up. Boy, we had to clean that thing like every day sometimes…..”

On and on. I gave up with the polite nods and smiles, choosing instead to communicate my apathy by staring out into space. No dice. I turned my back to him, and still the stream of verbal diarrhea continued unabated. Frustrated and tired, I finally gave up with the nice. I cut him off mid-ramble.

“OK, well, I’m gonna go take a shit.”

He seemed perplexed by this. I walked away with a smile on my face as I raised a silent toast to my friend, the bathroom stall, last bastion of peace and quiet, my shelter from the babbling storm..

The Run Up

Per usual during the Vegas run up, it’s time to ask the question.

Are we there yet?

Less than 60 hours to go, 30 of which will be spent working, sort of. I’ve determined that I’ll be doing as little as possible this week as there are other, infinitely more important things to be thinking about.

There are the questions that get asked every trip. Questions like, “How can I tweak my drunken gambling strategy to maximize my chances of hitting the world’s most unlikely big money slot jackpot?”

Still haven’t hit on a definitive answer for that one, but I suspect it’s something along the lines of…Turn 70. Spend all money and free time sitting before the intoxicating reels until one of the following occurs: a) Death b) Jackpot (to be used to buy a few more years sitting some in front of said intoxicating reels).

Then there are the trip specific questions like, “Will my room at the Excal smell like someone spent a week and two days roasting elephant shit?”

Being a superstitious bastard, this is a big question. The last (and only) time I stayed at the Excal, Mrs. Head and I were dating. It was a spur of the moment proposition, one that couldn’t realistically be turned down, what with all of the underlying and oft unspoken “you snooze, you lose” pressure to perform in the dating arena. The happiness of our arrival was somewhat overshadowed by fact that it smelled as though someone shoved a diarrhea-afflicted baby in the air duct of our room and turned up the heat. I had some good gambling luck and some great love luck that came out of that trip. Five years later, this is what I wonder:

If my room at the Excal doesn’t smell like shit, should I be worried that there will be no luck? Can room odor accurately predict something that many would argue may not even exist? (I suppose that if I determine it truly should smell like shit and that I just won’t be happy until it does, it’s a problem I can easily correct without calling upon hotel staff)

**********

World Cup was nothing more than a giant disappointment this past weekend. Thankfully, exhaustion was such that I forgot to put any money on the games—which would have been money lost.

I’d like to know what the hell was going through Rooney’s mind. Also, someone should inform Ronaldo that just because he now holds the record for goals scored does not mean that it’s time to just stop playing. And where the fuck was Ronaldinho? It was as though the field swallowed him; one hardly even noticed he was playing. Both games had me searching out spare supplies of anti-depressants, even though it was obvious that both teams fully deserved to lose (which pissed me off even more because I’m bordering-on-vociferous anti-Portugal).

Germany and France is going to make a great final. If Zidane performs as well as he did in the Brazil game, Germany is going to have a rough ninety minutes. Of course, this is all running on the assumption that they will make it to the final. If Germany fails to triumph over Italy, I’m going to be in a seriously rotten mood for at least 48 hours.

Training with Bums

Note: This was written in the wee hours, but I was unable to post it due to being rudely interrupted and consequently deluged with issues for the last four hours of what turned out to be the longest I’ve worked in some time. I ended up being awake for Germany vs. Argentina, though. Words fail me, what a fantastic game. Anyway, here’s the already outdated post, for what it’s worth.

It’s been said time and time again, but I’m going to say it one more time.

Three cheers for the DVR.

At 7AM this morning I will be on the tail end of a 16-hour shift, oy vay. It’s been quite a while since I’ve been on a work bender like this. I want so badly to stay awake to see Germany put a beating on Argentina, but my body is already telling me that it isn’t going to happen. Of course, I then have to make sure I avoid any and all sports news until I’ve watched the game for myself, another challenge presented by third shift work that I hadn’t thought of. Challenge? Boy I have been spending way too much time at work….I’m defaulting to corporate-speak. What I meant was, my schedule is fuckin’ retarded.

**********
Yesterday I also realized that not reading any blogs for at least the last month meant that not only was I not up on community happenings, I couldn’t even remember where the tourney was (sad) so I stole away for a few to catch up on April’s site.

Republicans? In the same room? At the same time? Oh dear.

Blogger tourney + copious alcohol = Dare I speculate? Interesting and odd. Whatever the party rifts, I’m confident Al can/will bridge the gap with SoCo.

Why isn’t Al steering foreign policy? Someone should look into that.

***********
Third shift has been great for Vegas sleep training, but once again I find myself worried about my lack of alcohol training, as I’ve had nary a sip in months. It’s shameful, I know. The only other folks awake while I’m working at this time of night are the bums outside the Circle K who await the morning rush so they can beg enough money to buy a tall can of Steel Reserve Wild Bull XXX fine malt liquor for breakfast. So I was thinking……

Maybe, just maybe, I can train with them.

Think about it. The investment would be minimal. Hell, I could buy a case of that shit they drink to give as tuition and still have enough change left from my $20 to buy breakfast or some crack before I black out. I’d venture to say that if I lived through it I could get back into prime drinking shape in 72 hours or less.

I would have Volanda be my mentor. She’s a crazy lady the Mrs. and I have seen outside of the K a few times. I call her Volanda because that was the first name that came to mind when I initially saw her. I suspect her real name is Batshitfuckincrazy. Picture Shanene from Martin with half the teeth and coated in dirt and spandex, yelling that she’ll pay two bucks for someone to give her a ride up to 32^nd street, and you’ll have a good idea. She’s a living billboard that serves as a stern warning to those girls who might be thinking about dropping out of hooker school. It’s a known fact that hookers who complete their education make 43% more than hooker dropouts. It’s science.

I should hook her up with Big James (again, not real name). Big James likes to wander a two block area close to where I live. He’s approximately 47lbs (if he’s wearing a backpack of rocks) and has achieved the world’s record for Lowest Worn Pants. Big James, I think, is not nearly the criminal he would have passing motorists believe, as it would be seriously impossible for the guy to run from police ever. His pants are belted at approximately mid-calf level (Seriously, Mid. Fucking. Calf.), forcing him to take steps so tiny that old Chinese women seem like Carl Lewis by comparison. And he has a cane. Did I not mention the cane? Up and down the street he travels, twirling his pseudo-pimpcane that looks more like something stolen form a nursing home.

Big James and Batshitfuckincrazy. A match made in heaven.

**waves**

I’m moving to a different work schedule which should be a bit more relaxed…

--Human Head, June 06

Uhhh, yeah, that sort of didn’t happen. Well, the change in work schedule happened it just isn’t any more relaxed, go figure.

Good: I’ve been writing. Bad: The writing has been for work, on my own time. Good: It’s being noticed and is paying off. Bad: I’m likely going to get slapped by a midget and few others when we arrive in Vegas. Each week seems busier than the last, so much so, by the time a day of rest rolls around (default is usually Sunday) I don’t want to touch a PC or see another file that remotely has anything at all to do with Microsoft Office. Time has become the liquid that runs freely off the surface of my life and onto the floor. Can someone grab me a paper towel?

So tonight I said fuckit. I think third shift is gonna make for some good late night insanity. Plus, I’ll likely be awake for any conceivable weekday dial-a-shot. The only downside to that is I have to stay sober at work. ONLY downside? As downsides go, that one is pretty big. This is my third week on third shift and I’m finally getting adjusted to the night life, such as it is when you must spend it working. Thankfully, it’s a 4x10 schedule so the week cruises by pretty fast, and hell, its good training for Vegas.

Oh man, it’s so very close. The fact just hit me today, and I came into work tonight super-pumped (for lack of a more eloquent expression).

We just closed on our new house last week, which is another one of my many excuses for not posting. It’s a hell of an adjustment, paying triple the amount for half the space, but I won’t complain too much about that. Renting these last three months has brought about the determination that I would/will go to the ends of the earth to own rather than rent. Going back to renting, even temporarily, has been, well, fucking retarded and wholly nerve-wracking. Now that closing is done we’re actually doing the work that needs to be done (floors, etc) so it will be nice when we move in at the end of July. Yes, end of July. Repair work and the legal wrangling to break our lease will take every bit of that time.

Except for Vegas. A just in time and well earned relief.

Then there’s the other excuse, World Cup. Every spare moment has been devoted to watching the games I’ve recorded, which is as it should be. After all, it only comes around every four years and is, dare I say, exponentially more entertaining than the Olympics (that could just be me, though :))

That’s it for now, gotta get back to work (after I step out for a smoke). Hope I don’t get waylaid by a Tasmanian crackhead, and yes, it really is a possibility.

I’ve got stories in the pipe. They’re coming, I swear it. One more month should see my liquefied time gelling a bit.