Every six months or so, I find myself dropping 50 or 60 bucks into the world of online poker, perhaps just to feed the gambling monster that lies somewhere within me. I usually stretch it out for at least a week or so, but I always seem to bottom out eventually. Right now I'm down to $16.
I'm not much of a gambler; I can't be. I'd say I'm more of a dreamer. Dream of hitting it big with every hand. I become so involved with every up and down that I think I would lose my sanity if I gambled a lot. But that's okay... it's the ups and downs that make it fun. I just have to keep it in moderation.
I never read it, but in my list of favorites is this guy, a self-aware gambling addict. It serves as a bit of reminder why I only play poker every six months or so.
With discipline, it is possible to be successful at poker, but that's not for me. Gaming should be all about having fun, but man with only 16 bucks left, it's hard not to think about it being almost over, and start dreaming about hitting it big in six months.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Applefest
Applefest was this past weekend. For a very small art show designed to support a giant apple orchard, Tiff's second weekend went well. Same as last week, it was incredibly encouraging despite another wet morning.
This art and tradeshow business, and perhaps many others, are so dependent on, among other things, the weather. Come to think of it, pretty much everything is ultimately affected by the weather, from gas prices to food and water supplies. This would probably be a good time to bring up Hurricane Katrina, given the Superdome reopening and all, but instead, I'll I'll mention one of the more damn interesting-er things I've read.
People, very smart people, want to build giant high-rise buildings in inner-cities dedicated to growing all sorts of fruits and vegetables... and even raise animals. Vertical farming could be this great and wonderful way to save the world from killing itself from overpopulation. What I find interesting is how detailed and far along the idea appears to be. Plus the fact that it's virtually self-sustaining eliminates the impact of the weather, which now that I think about it, is a little freaky, in an end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it kind of way. Something about a food factory just seems dark and dreary with too many iron beams... like Communist Russia.
I would say that the apples outside where they should be... nurtured and hand-selected from the Stribling Orchard are ten times better than any indoor grown apple, but I've never tried the latter, which I feel fine about.
Instead of apples, we got apple cider. I love apple cider. I had forgotten how much I love apple cider. I think I'll go pour myself a glass right now.
This art and tradeshow business, and perhaps many others, are so dependent on, among other things, the weather. Come to think of it, pretty much everything is ultimately affected by the weather, from gas prices to food and water supplies. This would probably be a good time to bring up Hurricane Katrina, given the Superdome reopening and all, but instead, I'll I'll mention one of the more damn interesting-er things I've read.
People, very smart people, want to build giant high-rise buildings in inner-cities dedicated to growing all sorts of fruits and vegetables... and even raise animals. Vertical farming could be this great and wonderful way to save the world from killing itself from overpopulation. What I find interesting is how detailed and far along the idea appears to be. Plus the fact that it's virtually self-sustaining eliminates the impact of the weather, which now that I think about it, is a little freaky, in an end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it kind of way. Something about a food factory just seems dark and dreary with too many iron beams... like Communist Russia.
I would say that the apples outside where they should be... nurtured and hand-selected from the Stribling Orchard are ten times better than any indoor grown apple, but I've never tried the latter, which I feel fine about.
Instead of apples, we got apple cider. I love apple cider. I had forgotten how much I love apple cider. I think I'll go pour myself a glass right now.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Soda Update
Last week I drank a soda. I've actually had a few these past few days. I went without soda for 46 days. I had to look at a calendar. 46 days though, that's a long time. It may even qualify as a religious experience, nothing short of roaming the desert or parting a sea.
By the way, Mormons knocked on my door again. They love to knock. I answered in the mddle of a game of NCAA Football '05. Last time they came, Vince Vaughn was getting a hand job under the table in Wedding Crashers. Relentless little guys, I'm convinced they are hatching a plan to save my very soul as we speak. One of the guys had captivating eyes. At first it was kind of neat, but then his eyes started reminding me of that freaky stare of Rasputin, who survived something like seven assassination attempts before dying... which made me wonder how many tries it would take to assassinate this guy.
Not that I wanted to kill him, or anything, especially after my recent religous experience. I will admit at times the 46 days was surprising difficult. One day, early on, I broke down at a Denny's and bought a Fanta, which most might consider a soda, but I'm hoping that enough people realize how God-awful it is, and therefore disclain it as a soda; it's merely a soft drink. After that, 46 days went by pretty quick.
In the end, while I didn't really want any sodas, or soft drinks, I started wondering what it was that I was trying to do. What was I trying to prove? Surely though, 46 days prove it.
By the way, Mormons knocked on my door again. They love to knock. I answered in the mddle of a game of NCAA Football '05. Last time they came, Vince Vaughn was getting a hand job under the table in Wedding Crashers. Relentless little guys, I'm convinced they are hatching a plan to save my very soul as we speak. One of the guys had captivating eyes. At first it was kind of neat, but then his eyes started reminding me of that freaky stare of Rasputin, who survived something like seven assassination attempts before dying... which made me wonder how many tries it would take to assassinate this guy.
Not that I wanted to kill him, or anything, especially after my recent religous experience. I will admit at times the 46 days was surprising difficult. One day, early on, I broke down at a Denny's and bought a Fanta, which most might consider a soda, but I'm hoping that enough people realize how God-awful it is, and therefore disclain it as a soda; it's merely a soft drink. After that, 46 days went by pretty quick.
In the end, while I didn't really want any sodas, or soft drinks, I started wondering what it was that I was trying to do. What was I trying to prove? Surely though, 46 days prove it.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Haircut
So I'm not the old guy in the previous post. I'm there... in the way back to the left. This is me.
Or at least a couple of weeks ago. Good God I needed a haircut! Good God! And what's up with the face... I think someone told me to bite down.
So I went and got a haircut. Some crazy cool Asian guy cut my hair. As I entered the barbershop, it being empty of customers, the two barbers were reading a newspaper in the mysterious language of chinese letters and symbols. There's probably a name for that alphabet, some word that I should know. But the guy sat me down, and three broken english words later, started cutting my hair. I don't believe either spoke much English as not a word was spoken thereafter. There's nothing wrong with that, but I thought it funny that their nametags read "Jeff" and "James."
I've had people cut my hair in five minutes, which I'm fine with as long as it looks good. This guy spent forty silent minutes circling my head, my hair getting shorter and shorter by fractions of an inch with each revolution. At one point I thought maybe I was suppose to stop him when I liked it... that he'd keep going until there was nothing left to cut. But he stopped eventually, my hair being shorter than I think it has been in six years. Check me out.
Oooo... Tiff finagled a little before and after action. These are pictures a la my first haircut ever pictures - minus the tears and the green bench/brickwall backdrop. My Mom will appreciate it. And the haircut.
Anyways, after the forty minute haircut, Jeff spent five minutes massaging my shoulders. It caught me off guard, but man-o-man did it feel good. I was wondering if I would pay extra for it, or the long haircut... if maybe instead of a classic barbershop, I had walked into some asian salon. I started looking around for a Mrs. Jeff dressed in traditional Japenese opera garb carrying tea or saki in some sort of bamboo tray. But alas, there was no such lady, and the final bill was just 12 dollars. And the Bull Run Barbershop earned another customer.
Hume Day
Tiff had her first art show last weekend. She sells photography and greeting cards. It went very well for a first show, hampered a bit by rain. There was a lot of encouraging feedback, and we are both excited to keep going with it. Next stop... Markham, VA's AppleFest. This picture makes Tiff look very young and me look very old.
Note the beautiful and ingenious use of black wire crates. I can't take credit for the idea, but the tower is all mine. I've got big plans for using them in future shows.
Friday, September 15, 2006
Fashionably Fashionable
Opposite curiosity in the dictionary, is the word cummerbund. I always thought it was cumberbund, like it made it cumbersome to breathe, like a male corset. But it's not. It's cummerbund, almost with a forced lisp. No wonder fashion has a shortage of straight men.
Tiff and I have gotten into Project Runway. It began through Netflix, but as I mentioned we recently got cable. Cable is a devil of a device, especially OnDemand. We opted for a crazy deal on a big package, rather than the basic, unspoken, package that gives you ten channels. It was a few extra dollars a month, but we decided getting the Bravo channel, home of Project Runway, made it worth it. After getting cable, all the channels always play the same things over and over. Bravo is perhaps the worst of the bunch, always playing Project Runway. Always. There's a marathon every afternoon. Between that and their other hit, Queer Eye, it seems Bravo has a shortage of straight men.
Or maybe every other channel has a shortage of gay men.
Anyways, it's a great show. It makes me realize that I have no sense of fashion, but I work nights, occassionally with bleach, so who cares. It also makes me wonder what sort of craziness I would dress people up in if I were a designer. I'm thinking the time is right for the casual cummerbund. I'll start out with the piano cummerbund.
Tiff and I have gotten into Project Runway. It began through Netflix, but as I mentioned we recently got cable. Cable is a devil of a device, especially OnDemand. We opted for a crazy deal on a big package, rather than the basic, unspoken, package that gives you ten channels. It was a few extra dollars a month, but we decided getting the Bravo channel, home of Project Runway, made it worth it. After getting cable, all the channels always play the same things over and over. Bravo is perhaps the worst of the bunch, always playing Project Runway. Always. There's a marathon every afternoon. Between that and their other hit, Queer Eye, it seems Bravo has a shortage of straight men.
Or maybe every other channel has a shortage of gay men.
Anyways, it's a great show. It makes me realize that I have no sense of fashion, but I work nights, occassionally with bleach, so who cares. It also makes me wonder what sort of craziness I would dress people up in if I were a designer. I'm thinking the time is right for the casual cummerbund. I'll start out with the piano cummerbund.
I Could Do Hindu...
I'll follow the theme of the last few posts: So I'm in the middle of Life of Pi - who knew I was such a reader. It's an odd little story that has been slow going partly because I've been all-sorts-of sick this week and partly because curiosity keeps getting the better of me. (I just stopped to look up the word curiosity; I'm pretty sure I know how to spell the word ironic.) I've stopped a couple of times to learn about Hinduism.
I'll sum up my take on Hinduism by saying it has a lot of great ideas, but loses points for all the big words. I remember a brother-in-law once saying that he'd probably be Hindu if it weren't for all the gods, but not me, I'm okay with all the gods. I'm okay with the Brahman, the karma, the dharma... but once you bring in words like mahabharata and upanishad, what you are trying to say quickly takes a back seat to enjoying the struggle of pronouncing the words.
The book is getting interesting though... I'm trying to figure out what happened to the cat.
I'll sum up my take on Hinduism by saying it has a lot of great ideas, but loses points for all the big words. I remember a brother-in-law once saying that he'd probably be Hindu if it weren't for all the gods, but not me, I'm okay with all the gods. I'm okay with the Brahman, the karma, the dharma... but once you bring in words like mahabharata and upanishad, what you are trying to say quickly takes a back seat to enjoying the struggle of pronouncing the words.
The book is getting interesting though... I'm trying to figure out what happened to the cat.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
My Superpowers are Tingling
My superpowers are increasing. It probably is related to my zen-like low-stress stance on most everything except tire pressure - which freaks me out - but I'm becoming more and more attuned to the world around me.
On Sunday, for instance, I got as this week's briefcase to work, The Lovely Bones, which I knew nothing about but had heard good things. It's a pretty good book, where in the first few lines the narrator is abducted and killed. And then yesterday, as I was going to the mechanic to check my tire pressure, "Elliot in the Morning," the best radio personality out there, does this long bit about Johnny Gosch, a kid abducted in 1982 who was the first kid on a milk carton. It's a crazy story involving some great conspiracy theories, including Republican sex parties and Jeff Gannon is Johnny Gosch's witness protection name. Elliot generally steers clear of anything controversial, but got to talking about it because the mother received photos of her son as a boy last week, turning them over to police on... Sunday. CNN broke the story.
I don't get CNN as I don't have cable, which leads me to the second case of my superpowers. It happened yesterday afternoon, right after I woke up. My girlfriend and I were talking about ordering cable, a luxury we haven't had in 2 and a half years of bunny-year-rotation-frustration living together. We actually called a few days ago to order it only to be put on hold for forty minutes; we hung up and watched a movie. As I was resenting the idea of being put on hold again, someone knocked on our door. She was selling cable. In 2 and a half years we have not seen a single door-to-door salesman, and she was selling cable. She'll install it this afternoon.
Now I can watch CNN when I hear the Jeff Gannon has come down with the bird flu. Or more importantly I can switch from ABC to NBC without swearing at a rain cloud. Maybe this will add to my zen-like low stress, increasing my superpowers. If nothing else I can just watch a lot of TV.
On Sunday, for instance, I got as this week's briefcase to work, The Lovely Bones, which I knew nothing about but had heard good things. It's a pretty good book, where in the first few lines the narrator is abducted and killed. And then yesterday, as I was going to the mechanic to check my tire pressure, "Elliot in the Morning," the best radio personality out there, does this long bit about Johnny Gosch, a kid abducted in 1982 who was the first kid on a milk carton. It's a crazy story involving some great conspiracy theories, including Republican sex parties and Jeff Gannon is Johnny Gosch's witness protection name. Elliot generally steers clear of anything controversial, but got to talking about it because the mother received photos of her son as a boy last week, turning them over to police on... Sunday. CNN broke the story.
I don't get CNN as I don't have cable, which leads me to the second case of my superpowers. It happened yesterday afternoon, right after I woke up. My girlfriend and I were talking about ordering cable, a luxury we haven't had in 2 and a half years of bunny-year-rotation-frustration living together. We actually called a few days ago to order it only to be put on hold for forty minutes; we hung up and watched a movie. As I was resenting the idea of being put on hold again, someone knocked on our door. She was selling cable. In 2 and a half years we have not seen a single door-to-door salesman, and she was selling cable. She'll install it this afternoon.
Now I can watch CNN when I hear the Jeff Gannon has come down with the bird flu. Or more importantly I can switch from ABC to NBC without swearing at a rain cloud. Maybe this will add to my zen-like low stress, increasing my superpowers. If nothing else I can just watch a lot of TV.
Monday, September 04, 2006
Giving to Charity
This weekend I gave a fortune to charity.
Every now and then at stoplights, there will be some crazy old guy with a fez hat on walking slowly from car to car with a large tin can in hand. I don't think they have to ask any more, people just give them money. They must be making a fortune, but I'm not too sure what the Shriners do with all that money. My guess is they blow it all on Cristal and cavier... the shriners be pimpin' all over the world.
With the exception of homeless signposts, the curbside collector is almost always these pastey old while guys with tassels on their head, so imagine my surprise when stopped at a light, I see a young, hatless, thirty-something, walking car to car with a giant rubber boot in hand. Instinctively, I started rolling up the window... for me this is the ultimate show of passive aggression. It not only is a polite signal that I will not be donating my money, it also affords me to freely say and think what I truly think of them. "Leave me alone, you walking traffic cone!" In my passive aggressive mind, I'd be shaking my fist emphatically.
My girlfriend, however, as I've said before, is full of surprises. She reached for her purse and began to search through it. With no bills in sight, she dumped, I'm going to say about, 40 cents of pennies and nickles into my hand. My mind automatically jumped to my change jar and my future llama - in my hand I held a virtual fortune. Before I could protest, however, her hand dove into the center console and returned with a fistful of change, doubling my stack. As Tiff picked out the non-change - life-saver, bottlecap, pen top - the top of a giant rubber boot appeared out my window full to the brim with dollars, lots and lots of dollars. I dutifully deposited my handful of loose change. "Every bit helps," the man's voice projected into my ear, as my heart sank with every muted clank of coin falling in his giant rubber boot. It will take months for me to collect that much change.
But wait. What else fell? Something had caught my eye. I turned to Tiff, she said, "I left a fortune for them" - we've had many a chinese fortune cookie in our days. "We gave a fortune to charity," she said getting her own joke.
***Like all good charity stories end: Please visit www.mda.org to learn more... I think that's what they were collecting for...
Every now and then at stoplights, there will be some crazy old guy with a fez hat on walking slowly from car to car with a large tin can in hand. I don't think they have to ask any more, people just give them money. They must be making a fortune, but I'm not too sure what the Shriners do with all that money. My guess is they blow it all on Cristal and cavier... the shriners be pimpin' all over the world.
With the exception of homeless signposts, the curbside collector is almost always these pastey old while guys with tassels on their head, so imagine my surprise when stopped at a light, I see a young, hatless, thirty-something, walking car to car with a giant rubber boot in hand. Instinctively, I started rolling up the window... for me this is the ultimate show of passive aggression. It not only is a polite signal that I will not be donating my money, it also affords me to freely say and think what I truly think of them. "Leave me alone, you walking traffic cone!" In my passive aggressive mind, I'd be shaking my fist emphatically.
My girlfriend, however, as I've said before, is full of surprises. She reached for her purse and began to search through it. With no bills in sight, she dumped, I'm going to say about, 40 cents of pennies and nickles into my hand. My mind automatically jumped to my change jar and my future llama - in my hand I held a virtual fortune. Before I could protest, however, her hand dove into the center console and returned with a fistful of change, doubling my stack. As Tiff picked out the non-change - life-saver, bottlecap, pen top - the top of a giant rubber boot appeared out my window full to the brim with dollars, lots and lots of dollars. I dutifully deposited my handful of loose change. "Every bit helps," the man's voice projected into my ear, as my heart sank with every muted clank of coin falling in his giant rubber boot. It will take months for me to collect that much change.
But wait. What else fell? Something had caught my eye. I turned to Tiff, she said, "I left a fortune for them" - we've had many a chinese fortune cookie in our days. "We gave a fortune to charity," she said getting her own joke.
***Like all good charity stories end: Please visit www.mda.org to learn more... I think that's what they were collecting for...
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