Liquor Up Front, Poker In The Rear.

I'm posting now, because after work I head straight to the Sidekick's for Poker Night.

Thank God.
Online Poker can only slake my addiction so much. The feel of the cards, the witty banter, the social aspect with people who aren't a bunch of anonymous assholes - that's what Poker is to me.

I can't wait.

I hope we play 7-2. (I'll kick ass.)
All-In with Pocket Queens!


Later.

Staple of My Youth.

Things that make this a great Eighties Video:

• Hot Chicks. (In school uniforms no less!)

• Big Hair - both guys and girls. (Imagine the hairspray budget on that shoot, eh?)

• Sweet guitar solo about 3 minutes in.

• There's a story to the video - not much of one, I agree, but there is a semblance of structure.

• Did I mention the big hair?

• Pants so tight you can tell if the guitarist is Jewish or not.

• Never heard from this band again.

Later.

Movie Madness

I'm so far behind on my movie viewing.

Between what I've bought on DVD and saved with the good ol' PVR, I have about nine or ten movies that I have - but still haven't seen yet.

Quite sad, really.

It's tough to find two free hours nowadays. I like the Sit 'n Go Poker because it's usually less than an hour. I can squeeze that into my day. But movies? Don't make me choose between Poker and movies.

If I had the time, movies all the way.
(Unless it's live Poker - than I'm not even looking at the TV.)

The way I see it, God won't let me get into heaven until I've seen every movie I own. (He's not a cruel God - he won't take me before then.) So what does this mean, essentially?

I'm never going to die.


Later.

Buried.

I can feel it sitting there.

It's a half inch to the left of my nose, and I can feel it.
And it's a monster.

Why, I ask you, do I still get zits at 35 years of age?

Zits are for teenagers. Young punks who don't know any better, and are more worried about the hair on their balls than the condition of their faces. Trust me, I'm not worried about my balls (anymore), and my face is where I make my money. A zit is not a good thing.

I feel ripped off. I paid my dues. I Clearasiled this mug from '87 to '91. Kept it in tip top shape. So why am I paying the price now? I am I going to have to be one of those pansy fucks who worries about exfoliating properly? I don't think so.

I'm going to wait until this gusher ruptures (I'm not forcing it) and then I'm going to wage an all-out war with my friends Soap & Water. Once this malignancy has been cleansed, I can be human again.


Wish me luck.


Later.

The Bowling Alley Dream.

Have you ever had a sexual dream of someone you never expected to?

One of those dreams that just comes out of left field, and when you wake up you are shaking your head in disbelief?

It's happened to me a couple of times, but the strangest part of the dream is where it occurs: The Local Bowling Alley.

Why there? I have no idea. I used to bowl for a bit, so I am familiar with the surroundings. But it's the least sexual place I could ever think of. That, coupled with the fact that I'm having an erotic dream about someone who I never thought of that way before, is what makes the dream seem so weird.

I never thought I'd visualize myself pounding away on a scoring table. (But as I type this, it does seem oddly appropriate.) And with a girl that I've always looked at as a friend is almost as strange.

The first time I had this dream must have been five years (or more) ago. It was so strange that I had to tell the Sidekick about it. He laughed, and so did I. It was an inside joke that was reffered to periodically over the years.

And then it happened again.

I told the Sidekick again, just because of the absurdity of it. Same setting, different girl. I don't recall ever dreaming the same thing over and over again, and it was the repetition of it that really threw me. I'm wondering what my subconscious is trying to tell me.

To top it off, I made the 7-10 split. (if you know what I mean.)


Later.

The Schizm.

This Video, in fact, this artist is where the Sidekick and I truly disagree on music. He scorns this as much as I scorned the Hip.

Hahaha Mother Fucker - watch it now.


Later.

Skip It.

I'm skipping tonight.

And not just rope, either.

Trust me, I don't have anything relevant or entertaining to say right now. I'd try to force it, but you just can't compel the caliber of stuff you guys are used to.

Am I right?

Hello?



Later.

Sit 'N Go.

I'm Addicted.

I used to just play online at random tables.

But the general public - when playing online Poker - are a bunch of schmucks. It drives me nuts just to play five minutes. I just couldn't deal with the high level of retardation.

Then I found Sit 'n Go tournaments. They don't take as long as the regular tournaments, because instead of 8000 players, there are anywhere from 9 to 45. The play is a lot more serious than regular table Poker, and the games can be done in quick enough fashion that I'm not in front of my computer all night. (Like that's a change, right?) Plus, the games crop up every minute or two, so I don't have to plant my ass in front of the monitor at a special time.

I've been doing really well in them. I've won 3 and placed "in the money" in at least eight or nine. I've only washed out early 3 times, and one of those was a ( horrible)bad beat. So I'm proud of my play. I don't think I'll go back to regular online Poker unless it's just to kill time.

I've got to go, there's one starting ...... now.


Later.

It Ain't Easy Being Pretty...

You know, I've always had a problem with the A-Team. It's bothered me since 1982, and I thought I'd get it off my chest.

- It's not the improbable plots.
- It's not the sub-nuclear style explosions in which no one dies.
- It's not the fact that they had to drug a black guy to get him on a plane.

My Problem?

Hannibal "gets the girl" in most of the episodes.

With a piece of ass like Faceman hanging around, why would any woman in her right mind pick crusty old Hannibal to swoon over? I bet he smelled like Old Spice and Ben-Gay. Just because the motherfucker was Banacek don't mean shit.

How much disbelief do they want a ten-year old to suspend, anyway?

I can accept the crazy guy flying the plane. I can see why nobody but B.A. drove the van. I can even see how the U.S. military can't find them for 10 years. But to believe that the buxom farmer's daughter thinks cigar smokin'- safari jacket wearin' Hannibal is the hottest thing going?

Too much for me.


Later.

97.3 FM - "The Shit."

After having to listen to the (local) radio at work all day:

1. I'm convinced that if Green Day took a shit and recorded it, it would still get massive airplay.
2. I want to punch the local D.J. in the nuts, and then kick him in the face as he's doubled over in pain. Possibly twice.
   
3. Canadian content should mean Sam Roberts, The Trews and even The Hip. Glass Tiger? I don't think so.
4. My rage slowly built up as they announced the Top 5 at 5 were "wicked" songs from 1983. Ray Parker Junior? Kiss my ass.
5. I couldn't get my iPod on fast enough. Dead battery? No Cd's in the car? Someone shoot me.

Later.

I'd Rather...

1. Play Poker than go to work. Although if Poker was my work, I'd want to play Golf.
2. Have a hot coffee than a cold beer.
3. Have no blankets than too many - I'm just that hot.
4. Listen to music than watch T.V.
5. Watch Movies than watch T.V.
6. Walk barefoot over hot pavement than listen to a Port Alberni story.
7. Have no phone than have no e-mail.
8. Lose my keys than my mind.
9. Leave a list at Nine than force myself to find something for number Ten.

Later.

Last Gasp.

So I go back to work tomorrow.

It's not a bad thing.

I've enjoyed my holidays, but I've come to realize that I need the interaction with people outside of my normal friends and family. (I know Mom- don't talk to strangers, but I need this.) It's good for the soul to interact with others - doesn't matter if you've never met them before, or just haven't spoken to them in a while.

And that is the plus about my job. As long as I'm on time with the things I need to accomplish, and the customers are being taken care of, I have time to chat. (And those who read this know that I am a talker.) If I was a logger I'd only be able to talk to trees - but then having my salary twice over is a slight compensation.

The great thing is that I get to choose who I'm going to talk to. Although I do get roped into some unwanted conversations occasionally, I've become quite adept at extracting myself from the gravitational pull of boring speech. (Hint: feign ignorance - if they think you are dumb, they don't want to talk to you.) I like to talk to people who stimulate me. (Get your head out of the gutter.)

So going back will be a nice thing. Talking to my Son everyday about who he thinks the coolest Transformer is can be a bit wearing. (Optimus, in case you were curious.) I need to talk above a Pre-School level.

I'll be in Aisle 4.


Later.

Thrown Clear.

I've always been horrible at wearing my seat belt.

I was born in the frozen tundra of the north, and it wasn't until I moved to B.C. at age 12 that I ever encountered a mandatory seat belt law. (Up north, if you are in an accident they figure you will came into contact with soft, fluffy snow at some point.) It boggled me, and in my rebellious nature, I refused to do what "The Man" told me.

I received a lot of fines when I got my Driver's License.

My explanation? I plan to be Thrown Clear.

See, once I've been ejected from the car, I'll be away from all the dangerous pieces of burning metal. I'll be able to get assistance, or go back into the wreckage and attempt saving any potential survivors. Me not wearing a restraint is so that I may help others.

Why don't the cops see it that way as well?

Bastards.


Later.

It's The Beer, I Fear.

I golfed well today.

What's surprising about that, you ask? Well, I was half cut while I was doing it.

I got invited to go for golf (and beers) from my boss, so I accepted. I did well last time I golfed with the Sidekick, so I figured it couldn't go too bad.

After the 1st beer on the 2nd hole, things started to loosen up. My swing came around, my chipping was brilliant, and my putting sucked like usual. After polishing off beer #4 on hole #8 I was feeling no pain.

(Yes, I'm a chubby guy - but I'm a lightweight when it comes to booze lately.)

Now, two hours later and having stopped drinking, all I have is a shitty headache.

I think that is why I used to over-indulge when I drank in my youth. It wasn't that I'm not a socially responsible person, it's that I was trying to avoid the discomfort of the headache. It's not the greatest excuse, but I'll stick with it.

But if I continue to golf at this pace, I might have to take up drinking as a regular pastime again.
Does anyone have any Advil?


Later.

Day Off With Pay.

Went to Nanaimo.

Won $150 at the Casino.

Enjoyed the taste of Swiss Chalet.

Got back late.

Too tired to blog.

Feel my pain.




Later.

The Pause That Refreshes.

Nothing to say tonight.

Just got back from Poker (broke even) and don't have a single thought in my head.
The Holidays are going by way too fast and I'm trying to enjoy my last weekend before I have to go back to work. (C'mon B.C. Lotto!)

A night off isn't too bad, right?

I knew you'd see it my way.


Later.

Power the 9.

Today was a good day.

The sun was shining, the breeze was light. The Sidekick and I strode upon the Greens and Fairways like two Gods out for a walk amongst the wonders of the world.

Basically, I golfed today, and I did well.

Notice I did not say great or fantastic, but only well. It's been 473 days since I last put club to ball, and at times it really showed. I putted okay, and I did have at least one amazing chip shot. (It almost cost the Sidekick a buy-in at the Ripple Rock.) It was just nice to get out and enjoy the weather and the game. I didn't realize how much I missed playing until today.

I might even have another game set up on Saturday - my Boss wants to take me out - so I hope I can improve upon today's performance and still have a good time. (Minus all the Kevin Smith quotes - The Sidekick's the only one who I can converse with in RedBankese.)

I'll start getting addicted all over again - I know it.

Fore!


Later.

I'm More Dangerous..

Than a kid's toy from China.

Seriously - I don't worry about lead in the paint on toddler toys, or swallowing hazards from Batman playsets. Why? Because my kids know not to eat paint and stick Robin's bat-a-rang in their mouths.

There's problems with Polly Pocket as well. (Lawd! Not Polly!) Your child could swallow one or more of the magnets that are embedded in them. (If your child works hard enough to dig the magnet out, should they not get the reward of twisted bowels that go with it?)

Parents just have to watch their children, and show them what is acceptable and what isn't. If you suspect your child may eat a magnet or ten, don't buy toys with fucking magnets in them. One of the first things a child should learn is : Don't eat what you don't know.

But lets blame China and the Manufacturers. It's a lot easier to cast doubt on them than it is to look in the mirror and see what kind of parent you are. It's almost to the point where wrapping your child in foam is a viable parenting option. Pay attention to your kids and what they do.

But keep an eye on Korea, too. You never know if they are going to attack our youth by putting radioactive screws into the Buck Rogers Commando Playset.


Later.

P.S. Read the article? Beaver County? That would be a sweet place to live.

My Lawn.

I tamed and slew the mighty beast,
The verdant field of green.

It chopped it down and watered it,
It's got a lovely sheen.

Weeds were whacked
And bags were filled
As I worked long and hard.

Afterwards I cleaned up
And went out to the yard.

The sun beat down upon my head,
The sweat upon my brow.
I knew I'd be done someday,
If not, I'd buy a cow.

The grass is so much greener
Upon the other side.
I'm sure he cheats at watering,
That Motherfucking Guy.

But now my work is done,
And I can rest and play.
The lawn is good for now at least,
Until about Friday.

Until that time I'll nurture it,
Treat it with love and care.
It's sad that my lawn gets cut
More than my own hair.




Later.

607 Pages I'll Never Get Back.

I just finished reading the last Harry Potter book.

(That's not true. I finished reading it last night, and only got around to writing about it now.)

After I was done, I closed the book, turned off the light and went to sleep. I didn't stay awake, pondering the hidden meanings or outcome of the book. Why? Because I found it to be the most underwhelming book I've ever read. My main thought after finishing it was "Meh."

I've avoided spoilers and leaks - I stayed away from message boards and anything even remotely considered to be speculation in regards to this book.

But everything I thought would happen in this book did happen. Everything I suspected after reading the previous volume came true. It's not that I can see the future, it's just that J.K lost the ability to put a twist in her books. She was so married to the characters that to have anything else happen would have been inconceivable.

Don't say that Dumbledore dying in Book Six was a twist - him passing on was the same as Obi-Wan taking a lightsaber to the chops in A New Hope. He was better as a mentor from beyond than as anything else .

Read it yourself and you'll see.

Maybe I got caught in the hype. Maybe I was expecting too much from what is, essentially, a kids book. But I think I was more impressed that the Little Engine made it up the side of the mountain than I was in the conclusion of this book.

My first thought was my best thought, and I'll say it again:

"Meh."


Later.