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Tuesday, March 30, 2004
his star is about to fall
I think a lot about death, primarily now between 4 and 5am, there's really not much else to do. But about once every hour or so my mind slips to the most morbid of subjects for reasons that escape me. Often while driving, come to think of it. I'm always imagining a tire blowing out, losing control of my car, and flying sidelong into that tanker truck over there. A final major disaster and my insignficant existence is brought to a sudden end. Or cutting my tuna on toast in half, I'll picture slipping on a melted ice cube I didn't realize I'd dropped on the floor and falling face first onto a knife. There are countless scenarios I've dreamt up.
Before the Tim/Doug Journey got indefinitely postponed, we both seem to feel that I might die in the middle of nowhere through a freakish an unexpected turn of events. Maybe run over by a combine while sleeping in a Nebraska cornfield, shot in the stomach after stumbling into a backroom mob execution while looking for the bathroom, bitten by a rattlesnake or stung by a scorpion trying to put my boots on one morning. I think in this case the truth is NOT stranger than fiction, I'll probably go out on a hospital bed at age 78, racked with some kind of cancer.
It's entirely possible that my daydreamed demises are some kind of subconcious attempt to shock me into motivation. Carefully chosen otherworldy reminders that I'm shirking my heroic purpose in life... and it's probably not a surprise that I like that idea so much more. Because it explains that I'm here for something, despite not knowing what that thing is. But figuring that out is a story for another time...
I think a lot about death, primarily now between 4 and 5am, there's really not much else to do. But about once every hour or so my mind slips to the most morbid of subjects for reasons that escape me. Often while driving, come to think of it. I'm always imagining a tire blowing out, losing control of my car, and flying sidelong into that tanker truck over there. A final major disaster and my insignficant existence is brought to a sudden end. Or cutting my tuna on toast in half, I'll picture slipping on a melted ice cube I didn't realize I'd dropped on the floor and falling face first onto a knife. There are countless scenarios I've dreamt up.
Before the Tim/Doug Journey got indefinitely postponed, we both seem to feel that I might die in the middle of nowhere through a freakish an unexpected turn of events. Maybe run over by a combine while sleeping in a Nebraska cornfield, shot in the stomach after stumbling into a backroom mob execution while looking for the bathroom, bitten by a rattlesnake or stung by a scorpion trying to put my boots on one morning. I think in this case the truth is NOT stranger than fiction, I'll probably go out on a hospital bed at age 78, racked with some kind of cancer.
It's entirely possible that my daydreamed demises are some kind of subconcious attempt to shock me into motivation. Carefully chosen otherworldy reminders that I'm shirking my heroic purpose in life... and it's probably not a surprise that I like that idea so much more. Because it explains that I'm here for something, despite not knowing what that thing is. But figuring that out is a story for another time...
Saturday, March 27, 2004
red right hand
Occasionally Ben will clue me into an upcoming poker game at his house. Nothing serious, blue chips are a quarter, reds a dime, and whites a nickel. We all usually buy-in for $5 or $10 at a time, and play is friendly (fairly) and fun (always). Dealing calls the game as usually and we usually have the next guy shuffling another deck for the next game while we play. It's co-ed so conversation is varied and interesting. Some of the games we play :
Deuces, Jacks, Man with the Axe - Your standard 7 card stud game. Two's, Jack's and the King of Diamond are wild. The optional rule, one we usually use, is that a natural pair of 7's takes the pot. When you're doing a 7 card stud game (two cards down, four cards up and then one more down) and you see a 7 get dealt to someone, you gotta pay a lot of attention to how that player bets. If that motherfucker starts building the pot quickly, fold and get the fuck out of dodge. Conversely if you end up with a 7 and have another "in the hole", one of your down cards, then try and build the pot slowly without tipping your hat.
Follow the Queen - Usually you deal a 7 card stud game like so : two cards down and one card up for everyone, then a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, then the last card down and a final round of betting. For this game, Queens are always wild. Then as a Queen comes out during dealing the players their up cards, the next card dealt to the next player becomes wild until another Queen is dealt. This changes the second wild card at least once during the game and sometimes even twice. Unpredictability is fun!
Chicago - Another 7 stud game where the only trick is that the lowest spade in the hole splits the pot with the winner, however every player has their lowest card in the hole as their wild card for their own hand. So you really only half to see what you've got in your pocket and what's showing of everyone else's hand in order to make a decent play. The catch is paying to have your last, 7th, card up rather than down. Cause if you have a low card in the hole that really sets up a nice hand by it being wild, then you want to pay the fifty cent or dollar for that last card up in order to keep your sweet hand.
Other card terminology - Aces are also known as Bullets. Eights are also called Snowmen. Kings are also called Cowboys and an Ace-King pairing in the hole is called Big Slick.
Occasionally Ben will clue me into an upcoming poker game at his house. Nothing serious, blue chips are a quarter, reds a dime, and whites a nickel. We all usually buy-in for $5 or $10 at a time, and play is friendly (fairly) and fun (always). Dealing calls the game as usually and we usually have the next guy shuffling another deck for the next game while we play. It's co-ed so conversation is varied and interesting. Some of the games we play :
Deuces, Jacks, Man with the Axe - Your standard 7 card stud game. Two's, Jack's and the King of Diamond are wild. The optional rule, one we usually use, is that a natural pair of 7's takes the pot. When you're doing a 7 card stud game (two cards down, four cards up and then one more down) and you see a 7 get dealt to someone, you gotta pay a lot of attention to how that player bets. If that motherfucker starts building the pot quickly, fold and get the fuck out of dodge. Conversely if you end up with a 7 and have another "in the hole", one of your down cards, then try and build the pot slowly without tipping your hat.
Follow the Queen - Usually you deal a 7 card stud game like so : two cards down and one card up for everyone, then a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, one more card up, a round of betting, then the last card down and a final round of betting. For this game, Queens are always wild. Then as a Queen comes out during dealing the players their up cards, the next card dealt to the next player becomes wild until another Queen is dealt. This changes the second wild card at least once during the game and sometimes even twice. Unpredictability is fun!
Chicago - Another 7 stud game where the only trick is that the lowest spade in the hole splits the pot with the winner, however every player has their lowest card in the hole as their wild card for their own hand. So you really only half to see what you've got in your pocket and what's showing of everyone else's hand in order to make a decent play. The catch is paying to have your last, 7th, card up rather than down. Cause if you have a low card in the hole that really sets up a nice hand by it being wild, then you want to pay the fifty cent or dollar for that last card up in order to keep your sweet hand.
Other card terminology - Aces are also known as Bullets. Eights are also called Snowmen. Kings are also called Cowboys and an Ace-King pairing in the hole is called Big Slick.
Saturday, March 20, 2004
oh baltimore, ain't it hard just to live
After having some dinner with Bret at Kiku Sushi last night in Federal Hill and then drinks around the corner at Turner's (i liked our swede-russian bartender Yana) I headed home. 395 southbound out of the city was shut down by police and a road crew or something and I got dumped out on Hanover street and took the wrong turn into Westport/Cherry Hill.
Scary.
Luckily I made it out alive and found my way back to 295 somehow and then home but man, I must've wandered around the ghetto for a good hour. That bit of liquid courage I had sure went a long way.
After having some dinner with Bret at Kiku Sushi last night in Federal Hill and then drinks around the corner at Turner's (i liked our swede-russian bartender Yana) I headed home. 395 southbound out of the city was shut down by police and a road crew or something and I got dumped out on Hanover street and took the wrong turn into Westport/Cherry Hill.
Scary.
Luckily I made it out alive and found my way back to 295 somehow and then home but man, I must've wandered around the ghetto for a good hour. That bit of liquid courage I had sure went a long way.
Friday, March 19, 2004
the piano has been drinking
I spent this Patty's Day bartending in a cold parking lot across the street from my friend Ben's new resturant, opening in about a month or so. I'm kind of bitter about that whole scenario since him and his partners agreed not to hire their friends, which means I'll probably be able to walk into a job as a waiter but won't get to pour drinks. I'll have to work my way up to that capacity.
When I got there at 12:30 to help them set up for the event it might have been in the low 40s, a temperature that couldn't really be felt with all the running around, movings kegs, sweeping and cleaning out the coolers. I hadn't eaten yet and Bill and Lewis, the partners, were roasting a full pig over a makeshift firepit of cinderblocks and a broken down wooden palette. Heiko, this annoying 17 year old kid, and me got the beer cooler out of warehouse down the street and cleaned it up real nice with cold water. It was the same taps we used at Ben's old joint Planet on the Corner, where I got my start in the "service industry", so there was a pleasant nostalgia that my old team and I were back on the clock.
By 3pm we had most everything set up, running McHenry lager, a local brew, out of two taps but lacking the nitrous tank to pour Guiness from the tap and the proprietary tap that Harp uses for their coolers. So that came out of a keg on the pavement behind the bar that I had to pump whenever someone ordered (pain in the ass) and Guiness came out of cans on ice. I realized later, when night fell and the temperature dropped, that the only thing worse than working out in the cold was plunging my hands into buckets of ice to dig out cans. My fingertips would freeze and my hands would shake as I pulled the wad of cash from my coat pocket and thumbed through it for a customer's change, arrrrgh. Then Karen would order a beer and literally look over my shoulder as I poured it, saying "I don't think you're doing that right..." At least the fed-up glances I gave her seemed funny to her.
But it was fun and a lot of folks from the Mobtown Players showed up to eat pig and throw back my carefully constructed car bombs. Even an old pal, Gavin Elder, showed up to play music with a few other local musicians. We shut down at 10:30pm for noise ordinance reasons and everyone moved on to the pubs and bars nearby. We finally got everything put away by about midnight and moved over to the Islander when I spoke to my old pal Maker's Mark a good three times before last call cut my reward short. I sold 400 some dollars in a few hours and walked with $113 of the $153 I made during the evening after tipping out to the "kitchen". That was some hard-earned cash right there, son.
I spent this Patty's Day bartending in a cold parking lot across the street from my friend Ben's new resturant, opening in about a month or so. I'm kind of bitter about that whole scenario since him and his partners agreed not to hire their friends, which means I'll probably be able to walk into a job as a waiter but won't get to pour drinks. I'll have to work my way up to that capacity.
When I got there at 12:30 to help them set up for the event it might have been in the low 40s, a temperature that couldn't really be felt with all the running around, movings kegs, sweeping and cleaning out the coolers. I hadn't eaten yet and Bill and Lewis, the partners, were roasting a full pig over a makeshift firepit of cinderblocks and a broken down wooden palette. Heiko, this annoying 17 year old kid, and me got the beer cooler out of warehouse down the street and cleaned it up real nice with cold water. It was the same taps we used at Ben's old joint Planet on the Corner, where I got my start in the "service industry", so there was a pleasant nostalgia that my old team and I were back on the clock.
By 3pm we had most everything set up, running McHenry lager, a local brew, out of two taps but lacking the nitrous tank to pour Guiness from the tap and the proprietary tap that Harp uses for their coolers. So that came out of a keg on the pavement behind the bar that I had to pump whenever someone ordered (pain in the ass) and Guiness came out of cans on ice. I realized later, when night fell and the temperature dropped, that the only thing worse than working out in the cold was plunging my hands into buckets of ice to dig out cans. My fingertips would freeze and my hands would shake as I pulled the wad of cash from my coat pocket and thumbed through it for a customer's change, arrrrgh. Then Karen would order a beer and literally look over my shoulder as I poured it, saying "I don't think you're doing that right..." At least the fed-up glances I gave her seemed funny to her.
But it was fun and a lot of folks from the Mobtown Players showed up to eat pig and throw back my carefully constructed car bombs. Even an old pal, Gavin Elder, showed up to play music with a few other local musicians. We shut down at 10:30pm for noise ordinance reasons and everyone moved on to the pubs and bars nearby. We finally got everything put away by about midnight and moved over to the Islander when I spoke to my old pal Maker's Mark a good three times before last call cut my reward short. I sold 400 some dollars in a few hours and walked with $113 of the $153 I made during the evening after tipping out to the "kitchen". That was some hard-earned cash right there, son.
Monday, March 15, 2004
amusing IM conversations
another: is it bad to kill the rich?
me: yes, trickle down economics
another: oh
another: damn!
me: the filthy rich however are up for grabs
them: riddle me this
them: why the hell am I not older
me: i think it has to do with the year you were born, i'm not quite sure
me: can i check on that and get back to you?
another: is it bad to kill the rich?
me: yes, trickle down economics
another: oh
another: damn!
me: the filthy rich however are up for grabs
them: riddle me this
them: why the hell am I not older
me: i think it has to do with the year you were born, i'm not quite sure
me: can i check on that and get back to you?
Thursday, March 11, 2004
pure comedy
So the Bush-Cheney campaign made the hilairous mistake of putting a Make Your Own Campaign Slogan app. on their website, prompting tons of amusing abuses. My favorite thus far, via this guy Dan,...
So the Bush-Cheney campaign made the hilairous mistake of putting a Make Your Own Campaign Slogan app. on their website, prompting tons of amusing abuses. My favorite thus far, via this guy Dan,...
Sunday, March 07, 2004
crayons and car insurance
When I was a teenager I remember desperately wanting to be liked by everyone, and when I was a kid, I remember desperately liking everything. Not even that, I remember LOVING everything. I think when you’re a kid, that’s so much easier. You have this tiny sphere of influences and experiences, it’s a breeze to just enjoy everything your parents let through the protective wall they build around you.
Now either I got over that, or I lost it, I’m not quite sure. The protective wall, definitely. The joy of living, comes and goes. The wonder at complicated things, well that only grew with the passing of time. As a person, I think you come to appreciate the things that never change. You want certain things to be predictable and taken care of so that you can explore other things, interests and people.
Kids don’t hate things. They dislike them, sure. But they really don’t know how to hate. The things that they dislike, they’re vegetables or teachers or things their parents make them do. They’re all things that they just don’t understand. We lose that. We grow to hate these things, people and ideas. We’re short tempered and jaded, if not stoic and defensive.
How do we get that back? How do we trim away the nonsense that we deal with and obsess over? How do we take our adult mobility and make it work with our old ideals? Is it possible?
Absolutely.
It has to be.
When I was a teenager I remember desperately wanting to be liked by everyone, and when I was a kid, I remember desperately liking everything. Not even that, I remember LOVING everything. I think when you’re a kid, that’s so much easier. You have this tiny sphere of influences and experiences, it’s a breeze to just enjoy everything your parents let through the protective wall they build around you.
Now either I got over that, or I lost it, I’m not quite sure. The protective wall, definitely. The joy of living, comes and goes. The wonder at complicated things, well that only grew with the passing of time. As a person, I think you come to appreciate the things that never change. You want certain things to be predictable and taken care of so that you can explore other things, interests and people.
Kids don’t hate things. They dislike them, sure. But they really don’t know how to hate. The things that they dislike, they’re vegetables or teachers or things their parents make them do. They’re all things that they just don’t understand. We lose that. We grow to hate these things, people and ideas. We’re short tempered and jaded, if not stoic and defensive.
How do we get that back? How do we trim away the nonsense that we deal with and obsess over? How do we take our adult mobility and make it work with our old ideals? Is it possible?
Absolutely.
It has to be.
Saturday, March 06, 2004
why being an adult sucks
because you're more likely to do the right thing. you start thinking big picture, you sacrifice the short term for a long term that doesn't exist yet, you end up with just a tiny morsel of pride to cling to because you acted in a way you felt was true. you develop convictions and stick to them. you cut out before the disaster. you make smarter decisions. you're more culpable when you screw up.
this is the end of fun.
because you're more likely to do the right thing. you start thinking big picture, you sacrifice the short term for a long term that doesn't exist yet, you end up with just a tiny morsel of pride to cling to because you acted in a way you felt was true. you develop convictions and stick to them. you cut out before the disaster. you make smarter decisions. you're more culpable when you screw up.
this is the end of fun.
album
permanent :joy division
literature
breakfast at tiffany's :truman capote
single
big casino :jimmy eat world
worthwhile
they're playing my songpop occulture
i kan't spell
dispositive
pitchfork media
oblivio
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