Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Nothing Particular.

I got a new chair in my office, and it is fucking ruining my life. You see, my previous chair, while nasty looking, had become part of my person. It fit me right, like a favorite hat. Sure, it was all sweaty and dirty, well-worn and owning strange smells. But still. It was my chair.

This new chair has all this lumbar-support bullshit, and it makes me sit up like church. I can’t get comfortable in the thing. And it is forcing me to type with proper posture, which makes me a sad working stiff. This is making me most miserable, and is contributing to my general feeling that this whole work-path thing is a leech on whatever energy I have to dedicate to whatever I am supposed to become.

Because I know it certainly can’t be this. Because this is… a really shitty sitting experience. Seriously. Posture prison and shit.

I played Texas Hold ’em in a little tournament this past weekend. For those who don’t know, Hold ’em is a card game where everyone involved pretends that a huge amount of statistical skill is required to win, and that the original psychological element present in all the five-card varieties of poker is for old people and Old West movies. Really, it’s just a way to simplify the original game so that anyone can play. And anyone can be led to believe that they could destroy Kenny Rogers if he were to show up at the table. Drop some “pocket jacks” on his ass and punch him in the face.

Well, when Craig plays, it’s all about the bluff. I try to bring that shit back into the game. Not because I want to re-hash the glory days of saloon five-card, where sharks got leaded, but because some of us are honestly UNLUCKY in cards. Statistically speaking, if you are always dealt bullshit cards, you will eventually be forced into a bluff (or you'll just get bled dry by the blinds), and then you will lose (and possibly cry as a result). And since I never get good hands, thereby never giving anyone reason to believe I have a good one once the bluffing commences, I lose with record-breaking speed. It is a wonder to behold.

Deal 1: 8 and 2, off-suit. Fold.
Deal 2: 3 and 10, off suit. Fold.
Deal 3: 5 and 10, off suit. Fold.
[Jesus, how did that dude get 2 aces? Shit ]
Deal 4: 2 and 7, off suit, Fold.
Deal 5: 3 and 8, off suit. Fold.
[A straight? How the hell did he do that, again?]
Deal 6: 8 and 2, off suit. Fucking fold.
Deal 7: 5 and 10, off suit. Fold and start thinking about naked chicks instead.
[A flush? Seriously? That guy just busted out a full house last hand. Fuck.]
Deal 8: 2 and 7, off suit. Fold before it even gets to my bet.
Deal 9: Fold without looking at cards to save myself some effort.
Deal 10: Jack and 3, off suit. Is that a face card? It’s been so long… ALL IN!!!!
Stand up, and lose to full house guy, who slaughtered beat my Jack-high hand.

So sweet.

So I suck pretty bad at Hold ‘em. Because the reality is, you MUST get good cards at SOME point if you are to ever win. And I rarely get decent, let alone good cards. So there’s that. I have no idea why I just typed all this shit out, but I’m not deleting it now.

My left knee is sooooooooo shot right now. I went jogging two days in a row, which sounds vaguely healthy, but not really. One has to have the right physical fitness to begin with, otherwise you’re just mashing all your joints together for no good reason. Tall or top-heavy folks are not built for running the same way as other runners are. Even beyond that, the theories fold all over on top of each other, spawning a whole industry of work-out guru types who make a killing off of "tailoring" individual exercise regimens for dedicated skin-sweaters. There’s a science to fitness, and that science is apparently really complicated. As in, you can exercise too much, too highly, too strongly, with incorrect frequency, at an improper heart-rate, and under the wrong moon-sign… and you’ll do nothing more than break your body and speed up your march to death. It’s true. Exercise can be the worst thing you will ever do to yourself, if executed improperly. Worse than china-binges, an all-Cinnabon diet, or joining the military. Well, maybe not the military, but you get the idea.

I’ll be back on the trails tomorrow though. ‘Cause I’m smart like that. Plus, I feel that this left knee is simply being a little bitch, and you can’t bow down to a little bitch by doing whatever its whiney ass demands. Right? Right.

And that goes for internal organs too. Like, say, a cry-baby liver for instance. Yes.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005


An old friend of mine just contacted me about a friend of his who is in desperate need of a liver transplant. Her liver has shut down entirely, two months from her wedding. She needs a complete liver IMMEDIATELY in order to survive. I'm talking DAYS not weeks.

Forward the link, or email if you have a direct connection to a transplant.

Please check it out, and do whatever you can. Not having a spare liver of my own, this is the best I can do.