SPEAKING UP FOR SERENA WILLIAMS

I know that the rule is that you can't have your foot on the line when you serve.
But here's the unwritten rule: You never call a foot fault unless it's blatantly ridiculous. And the truth is that a lot of line judges don't even do it then. Players NEVER call foot faults on each other, by the way. I don't know what the hell I'd do if an opponent called a foot fault on me.
Calling a foot fault in tennis is like a second base umpire calling a runner safe because the second baseman didn't touch the base exactly when he should during a double play pivot. "Safe" is the technically correct call, but the runner is always called out.
Tennis has at least as many unwritten rules as baseball does, and I'm surprised I haven't heard many people talk about how the foot fault call was just plain weird.
It was extremely weird call at a curiously important time in the match. I wouldn't be surprised if money was involved somehow.
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WINTER SPORTS

Everyone has things that they just don't do.
I don't ski. For me, its expensive, inconvenient, uncomfortable, dangerous, time-consuming, and it seems that the more involved someone becomes in skiing, the more true all that stuff is.
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NEEDS

I want an animated TV reality series staring the smurfs -- with them being voted out of the village -- one by one.
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CIRCUMVENTING RULES

One time a guy asked me the best way to get into music and learn to play the keyboard.
I told him that you just sit down and make sound. But I rethought that and told him no, that I know a lot of keyboard players who don't sit down. So, the most important thing is to make sound -- in any position -- and to do it most every day for at least an hour or two.
But here's another route to developing performance skills.
You will need: 500 small marbles, 12 blank CDs, a CD burner, a CD player, a sheet of paper, a Yamaha PSR-630 with stand, bench, and sustain pedal, a 10-gallon bucket with lid, the Rolling Stone list of 500 greatest songs of all time, a black fine-tip marker, and a red fine-tip marker.
You can substitute a PSR-295 if you can't find a 630. But try to get a 630 -- it's a better instrument and it costs about the same.
1. With either marker, label each marble 1-492, dropping them in the bucket.
2. Put the lid on the bucket, and shake it up for a minute or two.
3. Remove the lid.
4. Reach into the bucket, and without looking -- grab a marble.
5. Using the fine-tip magic marker, write its number on the blank sheet of paper.
6. Place the marble to the side.
7. Repeat steps 4-6 491 more times, recording each marble's number on the sheet of paper next to the number before it -- in the order of the draw.
8. Return the marbles to the bucket, replace the lid, and store the bucket in a safe place.
9. Make five copies of your ordered number list, and store the five copies in five different secure locations. It's preferable that at least one copy be in a vault somewhere.
10. Take the original list, and use the black fine-tip marker to note 36 of your favorite songs from the list. Don't worry about being too precise.
11. Using the red fine-tip marker, select your favorite 12 songs from those 36.
12. Get a recording of the first of those 12 songs.
You'll handle the world better when that habit of dividing things into sets of 12 becomes instinctive. It takes practice since we didn't grow up like that. We learned to do it in sets of 10. That's a tradition that began long ago when people noticed that they had 10 fingers. So we started a number system based on the number 10. The fact that we do have 10 fingers is a good argument for the Original Sin idea and the possibility that God may be somehow teasing or testing us.
-- anyway --
13. Listen to that song, and try to play it -- note-by-note -- like you hear it being sung. Then try to figure out the lower notes, and then play the lower and higher notes together.
14. Repeat that process with the remaining 11 songs, and keep practicing until you can play them all without looking -- yes, literally, with your eyes closed.
Congratulations! You are now a cover artist.
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AIRPORT BOULEVARD

The old Austin airport used to be in the middle of Airport Blvd. But Airport Blvd. will take you to the current airport, too -- now off its south end -- that's total coincidence.
But it could be fate that I'm being tailed now by a man who looks like that guy from Natural Born Killers.
Hey, goat -- it's okay for me to text and drive. I got skills, and it's up to me if that's how I wanna roll. So slow down with yourself and your green Mini Cooper -- and your moustache that doesn't mean business.
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UNDERSTANDING NEW YEAR'S EVE

"You're going to Houston to watch them play?"
Yes, Kim -- I'd go see them play anywhere if I could. I'd watch them play anything. I'd pay good money to hear them do Christian waltzes -- it doesn't matter -- they're that important of a band to me -- so I will not be going skiing in Colorado.
Have fun.
Now I could understand her frustration -- that's not saying much -- most anything is understandable -- there are only eight things that I don't understand:
Lettuce
Marriage
High-maintenance dogs
Belly-putters
Those swiss-cheese shoes
Lane Kiffen
Marijuana
Wrist watches
That's about it -- so I can understand Kim. And eventually she'll have to accept my Houston plans, and she will come to understand me -- the way that little 7-year-old kid learned to understand that foul ball that almost hit us at the baseball game last week: He asked me to see it, and he held it, and he looked at it, closely -- turning it around and around -- and whatever he discovered, he came to understand at least one thing: It wasn't his.
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RULES

Two golfers were somewhere in Britain -- not too long ago --playing a match for some huge amount of money, and on the first green one marked his ball with a coin -- just like normal -- and the other one said that disqualified him -- referencing an archaic local club rule from the 18th century forbidding money on the golf course. The penalty for having money on the course was forfeiture of any match being played. Oh well. So the next time they played, the loser of the first match got revenge -- he carried his own clubs that day. He found an old rule that a player may not use an animal for a caddy -- and the other player had to forfeit the match because his human caddy was technically an "animal".
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THE CONTEST

Two fat women who don't really know each other -- with one little dog, each -- sharing a table on the Starbucks deck. I pick up bits and pieces of their conversation.
"How many?"
"I don't know. About a dozen."
I can't emphasize enough how small the dogs are. One could comfortably fit in a shot glass -- the other would have plenty of playroom in a thimble.
"Wow. Where do you keep them all."
"Here and there."
It was mind-numbing stuff -- complete with complicated coffee.
"Well I've only sold a few."
"Oh."
An important thing to know about the contest is that it was very close -- and, even more importantly, that it didn't end in a tie. Even though the winner was unannounced, they both knew who it was -- with absolutely cogent certainty.
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ETHICS

Al Davis is weird.
Al Davis isn't known for trying hard to play well with others.
But Al Davis is an honorable old-school dude. I know one when I see one. Al Davis is not a liar, and when Al Davis questions your character, then you have probably done something very, very bad.
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TASTE

"Turn off the TV," Kim said. "Haven't you had enough of baseball?"
But I haven't had enough of baseball. I have a mad fondness for ESPN. There are only three things that'll make me turn off the ESPN.
Softball
Charity donation ads
Competitive eating
That's all I can think of -- so I'll keep the baseball on. A few months ago, I even sat through a softball game because all the women stuck in the dugout started doing their call/response shouting together -- stuff like:
This slice of pizza is so uncool!
Is the pizza old?
No, fool!
Is the pizza cold?
No, it's hot!
Just how hot?
Wicked hot!
Hot like what?
Hot like Shannon!
Shannon at the bat!
Shannon at the plate!
Hotter than pizza!
Hotter than the sun!
SHANNON DON'T WAIT!
HIT A HOME RUN!
GO, SHANNON -- GO GO GO!!
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REJECTION ON SLAUGHTER LANE

She was walking east, and I was walking west.
She had a bunch of jewelry, sunglasses, a short dress, and a miniature poodle.
And just when the three of us came within about five feet, the little bitch peered up at me and started growling.
"Come here, Alexa -- stop," she said.
Have you ever read Pride and Prejudice? One of the great things about it is the honesty of the women. It's all about how much money the bachelors have.
They make that perfectly clear.
Keeping that same spirit of Jane Austen, I'll be clear, too: A woman's ownership of a high-maintenance dog is a fundamental turn-off for me. Alexa and I wouldn't be good together.
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U READ 2 MUCH UR STRANGE

I just got that text from Kim.
Well, I am strange. Here are 18 strange things about me:
1. I make my best effort to use standard English when texting -- just to be original.
2. I judge other people by how they text.
3. And how they talk with me.
4. And sometimes I tell them -- just to see how they respond to that.
5. And I pay attention to how much sense people make.
6. I'm disinterested by folks who can't carry on a good conversation with me -- I don't usually play with them. Not out of arrogance; it's just simple disinterest.
7. I read and write for fun.
8. I read a lot of writers that most people have never heard of.
9. And reread them.
10. And take notes on the stuff.
11. I read what other people have written about them.
12. I go to lectures to hear people talk about them.
13. I go to meetings with people who do the same thing -- and we have long discussions about what we've read and heard.
14. Over Mickey's Fine Malt Liquor, occasionally
15. On Tuesday afternoons, sometimes.
16. When someone somewhere happens to mention the name of one of those writers, I say "Who's that?" and ask them to send me a text about what they wrote -- immediately -- that's 140 characters or less, buddy -- and make it good, because it's a test.
17. And I wait for the text.
18. And that's no joke.
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BIG METAL BROTHER

So why does the automatic toll booth camera photograph my car AFTER I feed the change machine instead of before?
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THE DEFINITION OF CLUTCH

So far this season, Albert Puhols has seen 22 pitches with the bases loaded. He has swung and missed at 2 of them, and he has hit grand slams on 5 others -- making him two-and-a-half times as likely to hit a grand slam as he is to swing and miss in that situation.
That is clutch.
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GLUTTONY

I just told this guy that I did not want to go to the Golden Corral. He seems reasonable in all other aspects except this one.
I think it was St. Thomas Aquinas who said that gluttony was the worst of the seven deadly sins -- but it may have been someone else.
When do you ever eat "all you can eat"?

SEVEN WEIRD THINGS ABOUT AUSTIN

38th Street and 35th Street intersect.
Lamar Boulevard has no beginning and no end -- it just fades into other roads. There is a distinction between North Lamar and South Lamar, but opinions differ about where the division happens -- some say its at 6th Street, and some say its south of the river.
Town Lake is really the Colorado River, but nobody knows where its boundaries are, either. It runs through the middle of Austin, and everyone would say that the Congress Avenue bridge passes over it, but does Interstate 35? You'll get different answers. They might say that it runs over the river, and not the lake.
The official name of the Congress Avenue Bridge is the "Lady Bird Johnson Memorial Bridge". Nobody calls it that. Its probably the largest structure in the world named after a woman who wanted it torn down.
The places that were considered bad neighborhoods twenty years ago -- they're now unaffordable. The places that were considered good neighborhoods then -- they have now ascended to Heaven.
It's illegal to smoke in Austin bars and restaurants. It's fully illegal before about 9pm. From about 9 until around midnight, it's still fairly illegal. After midnight, it's a matter of who cares and who doesn't.
Any famous band has probably played here at least once.

SIX INFREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS ABOUT WORDS

What is literature?
If someone writes something, and at least two other people have a critical discussion about it -- then that is literature.
What is a critical discussion?
People talking about what some writing means. The discussion is grounded in some sort of philosophy involving the world outside the text.
Can't you just talk about a piece of writing as it is, without choosing to treat it from a particular philosophical position?
A lot of people say no -- that's impossible -- and they can make some convincing arguments supporting that.
What makes writing "good"?
If someone pays money for it.
How are good writing and literature related?
They're not. Plane tickets are good writing -- but not literature, since we don't have critical discussions about their text. Restaurant menus are often literature, but not good writing, since you get the menu to read for free.
So what's the higher objective -- good writing or literature?
That depends on the goals of the author. The more he appreciates money, the more he should produce good writing. The more he appreciates thought about his writing, the more he should produce literature.

CLASS OF 1999

Why do all these alumni parties happen on summer afternoons --it's too hot -- so we went back to her apartment right by the Ole Miss campus, just on the other side of the railroad ravine -- she still lives there even after 10 years -- her apartment has hardly changed -- and because we didn't know what else to talk about, we started talking awkwardly about her little stubby brown plant, set on the floor of her window-free, dark bathroom -- and she said she loved it because it was so cute -- with my telling her to face reality -- it was puny and dying without light -- and her telling me to shut up -- and my reiterating my concern for the plant -- for her sake, mainly -- telling her that it really would die -- that all plants die without light -- and if for some reason it didn't, then it was really a fungus and not even a plant to begin with -- and she said how dare you call my plant a fungus -- and that I haven't grown up or changed at all since college -- and I told her I'm sorry -- but she started crying anyway -- and we drank the rest of the 151 left over after the bananas Foster I had fixed. And the next thing I know we're going an uncomfortable distance down a road off Highway 6 between Pontotoc and Tupelo, headed to some dive-bar she knows about on the far side of nowhere -- a place filled with those sorts of people who think your time is best spent satisfying God, Mama, and Uncle Sam -- in that order, pretty much -- and there's no reason to do anything else -- and if you spent much of your time pursuing other goals, then you're either selfish or misdirected or an agent of Satan or Satan him/herself -- but in any case, you had to be reformed -- and they never told you that even if you cooperated, fully participating in the reformations -- that you could never gain their full acceptance even then -- since you had been more flawed than others who always did have their full acceptance -- and another thing they don't tell you -- or themselves -- is that they'll lose respect for you if you cooperate with them -- at all -- that's understandable -- from everyone's viewpoint -- since every man should know exactly who he is and what he wants and never change that -- and to that point, I am who I am, and I know the key to the good life: Time Management. That's it. Scout's honor. Have a good day.

PARADOXICAL UNDRESSING

I've just learned that just before people freeze to death, they experience a sensation of extreme heat, and often take off their clothes. Doctors call this phenomenon "paradoxical undressing".

100% OF PUTTS LEFT SHORT DON'T GO IN

It may not be the most important principle in golf, but it's in the top four or five.

THE DRINK OF CHOICE FOR GOOD GROOMSMEN

An outdoor wedding reception now. 105 degrees -- people are complaining about swarms of flies, but none are around my table.
I am sitting here with Kim's little cousins, I think -- drinking black coffee and having just finished my 25th ham sandwich, when Kim finally sits down with me.
"They look like monopoly dice -- are they good?"
"Beyond good."
"You look like James Bond," she said with a hug.
And I did look like James Bond, sitting up straight there in my formal wear -- freshly shaven -- tan and fit from all my summer outdoor activities -- I thought about telling her that the only thing this James Bond was missing was a quality woman -- but I didn't tell her that.
"I'm glad things have changed since yesterday when you called me a dork," I said, guzzling more black coffee.
I don't believe in putting things in coffee. There's just something morally impure about it. I used to put things in my coffee when I was younger -- just like everyone experiments with this or that -- but I'm a grown man now. I like to go all the way and get an Americano every once in a while so I can most fully experience the bitterness.
People change. Just look at Kim's family, around us at this table here. Ten years ago, her brother was a baseball champion, her sister was working at Sugar's and her mother was in jail. These days, the brother is on drugs, her sister is reading Proust, and her mother is a veterinarian.
I tell everyone that I need more coffee, and I leave the table to go get it -- good strong black coffee -- that's how James Bond drank it. Okay -- James Bond never drank coffee -- but if he had, I'm certain that it'd be black.

GERONIMO REX

I want to write about Barry Hannah. What do I write about when I write about Barry Hannah, hummmmm.
He's a writer, a real one -- I don't know why he came to mind now. I took a course from him at Ole Miss -- writing short stories, and I don't know if he read much of what we wrote for our assignments, but I didn't pay attention to that back then.
Later he got cancer.
He beat it.
He always used to play tennis at the city courts by the university. I played all the time, too -- and we saw each other there a lot, sometimes at strange hours like 10am on a schoolday Tuesday or 4am Sunday, but it was mostly in the late afternoon -- normal time. And I'd see his smooth, old-fashioned one-handed backhand. And he'd tell me that he didn't understand my two-handed backhand -- thoughtfully -- while looking into space -- the way that someone would tell you they didn't understand suffering or war. It was great. And he'd smoke during court changes and drink from tennis ball cans filled with wine -- I looked over at his court one day and called him the picture of health.
And that time when he did a reading at Square Books, I really don't know why I jumped up from my seat and shouted --
"I love you, Barry!"
The bookstore crowd was silent -- everyone was looking at me -- it was two or three seconds of awkward silence.
But Barry -- at the podium, ready to talk about his book -- he ended the tension.
"But is your love complete?"

BASTILLE DAY WAS YESTERDAY

According to cancer statistics,
Lance Armstrong is not alive,
and he has not won the tour de France seven times
Viva Le Lance! And viva la clowns -- the people in the clown suits who were running with him -- how stylishly French and non-boring that was.
Bastille Day represents the ideological foundation for all other independence days
But the clowns made me pleasantly confused -- almost as confused as I was a few years ago when that woman told me that nobody in jail is innocent because we are all born with original sin -- as a bare minimum.
I don't know what freedom is. Janis Joplin says its just another word for nothing left to lose. I don't know what that means; it confuses me, too. It works -- maybe -- but I don't necessarily believe that -- it doesn't get me excited.
The clowns got me excited.
Independence days get me excited.
The Bill of Rights gets me excited.
If you've forgotten about the Bill of Rights, here's a quick summary:
I can say and write pretty much anything. I can have weapons. My house won't be used by the military. If the police don't leave me and my stuff alone, they need a good reason. Should they accuse me of being a bad boy, I don't have to answer to them (and since 1969 they have to tell me that). They can't hold me for long without good evidence that I'm a bad boy, and they have to let me know why they think I'm bad. They have to offer me an free lawyer that says I'm not. A jury has to sort things out -- and the jury has to do it quickly. If the jury punishes me, they can't be cruel. If the jury decides that I didn't do anything wrong, then that's that -- forever -- no matter what. Finally, if my state government gives me rights in addition to these, the federal government can't do anything about it.
Lance, Joplin, the clowns, the Bill -- they're all so exciting.

THE SECRET OF SUCCESS

The next time someone asks you to name as many smurfs as you can -- on the fly -- alternate them with names of the Snow White seven dwarfs, and see what happens. Your answer should be something like --
"Brainy, Sleepy, Hefty, Dopey, Smurfette, Grumpy, Lazy . . ."
-- and if you are told -- like I was -- that Smurfette is not a smurf, but a smurfette instead, don't even bother arguing with them -- just know that you're above those kind of tricks.

GETTING CHANGE FROM JOHN UPDIKE

Today I was looking through the UT library catalog for Updike stuff, and headlining the bibliography was "Updike,John(1932-2009)", and it didn't really register at first -- but then I was like -- what? -- he's dead?
And he's been dead for SIX MONTHS??
I'm so out of the loop -- it's the result of not hanging out with that crowd anymore -- choosing instead to roll with degenerate gamblers and music people -- it's really no surprise, I guess -- I don't suppose many of my friends even know who John Updike is -- much less his work.
I saw him a few days before Christmas 1999. I was in the post office after-hours in Beverly Farms, Massachusetts -- trying to package and mail something complicated -- I forget what -- and I was wrapping and sealing and writing and stamping -- and he walked in -- and I waved a wrinkly dollar in the air.
"Do you happen to have change?"
He nodded his head toward the change machine -- directly in front of us -- it was about the only thing in the room other than a table and chained papermate. "Does it not work?"
"My dollar is too worn out."
"Ummm," he said.

CLOSE ENCOUNTERS OF THE 3AM KIND

Wow!
She hits me like a sweet, unexpectedly soft rock -- reminding me of Cyndi Lauper in her prime -- wearing a paisley top with short short plaid pants and a hot pink bandana, tied in some complicated scouting knot, going in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out of her wild dirty blond hair -- I want to have seven or eight children with her, her choice -- seven or eight -- immediately -- what do I say to her? -- how can I most effectively channel the spirit of Barry White, and not just stare -- I've never seen anyone like this woman in Whataburger now -- alone, eating a honey-butter chicken biscuit, and sipping black coffee.

YOU CAN'T FIGHT CRIME ON A FULL BLADDER

I've seen the brightest minds of my generation -- well, not really -- they all hide it -- it's stylish to hide it -- and they're so inconspicuous -- with nobody telling them when they've had enough Lone Star and Ziegenbock or whatever -- why is it pragmatic to tell them?
Patrick -- I remember when your dad took you to play bridge with us, little kid -- now you're older -- too cool for that -- too obsessed with all the things your Fender can bring you -- but separated from music like those church people we talked about and agreed were separated from God, back in '03 -- I remember when we were in Atlanta just before Christmas that year, talking about how some people are conditioned to see music as just accompaniment, with the words as the root -- and feeling sorry for them -- because we knew that music is more universal than lyrics -- that music is the real root -- that they can say their words are primary if they want -- but they're not -- they'll never be -- and the primacy of the music is something you just have to understand -- impossible to explain to someone who doesn't get it. I really liked it when we played music back then, and we talked about guitar -- talking about my not using a pick -- and you looked at me in hardcore disgust and whined that people can't grind out metal without a pick -- wondering how could anyone even THINK about playing serious music without a pick -- a shiny, idealized pick, maybe -- that my music was unacceptable, and that I should burn, and that the more seriously I took my art, the better person I'd become -- you genuinely hated me, kid! -- do you even remember that? -- why did we enjoy it so much jamming at Eeyore's a few weeks ago? -- why were we so happy? -- why are you now content with my pickless playing -- why didn't you even mention it -- your change in attitude -- who acts in the baddest faith -- you for growing up, or me for complaining?
Why are you not outspoken anymore?
I remember the time when we saw that Jack Nickleson-One Flew Over the Coocoo's Nest picture on the wall of the pool hall -- and you asked me what movie that picture came from -- and I said One Flew Over the Coocoo's Nest -- and you looked at me eyes-to-eyes, shocked and impressed -- and challenged me, "Who directed 'One Flew Over the Coocoo's Nest?'" -- and I said let me think -- and you told me Stanley Kubrick -- and I said good guess -- and that even though I didn't know who directed it, I didn't think Stanley Kubrick did -- and you said that the director was indeed Stanley Kubrick -- you said so confidently -- and our discussion didn't go any further.
Those three little by my doorstep are still singing sweet songs now, a little before 7 in the mornint. And everylittlething really will be alright -- I'll keep you in mind -- and your neighbors like you nearby who'll soon have a hangover -- and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more and more in time to come -- with each guy abandoned his edge like you did -- quietly drinking himself to death on local beer.

CAFE LEDET

It's the kind of place that's sort meant to make you uncomfortable -- without music -- people sit expressionless at tall thin cherrywood tables a foot in diameter and set for four -- I listened to some gal speaking loud French -- with slight grammatically mistakes -- probably purposefully, just to see who notices and corrects her and becomes her next friend. It's that kind of coffeeshop -- a fashionably unpleasant, clean, dim-lighted place -- so frustrating --
that the place happens to be right next door to me.

AUSTIN 911

The only time I care about hockey is during a time like when whoever wins will get the championship, or when there's national pride at stake like in the Olympics or if I happen to be playing it for some weird reason -- that's actually happened before --
Or if I must PRETEND to like it -- that was the case a few nights ago.
Some poker players were in town for the ROT rally from the Dallas area, and I was at a friendly game at their hotel room. They seemed to be decent players. It was a fairly normal poker night, except for four things:
They had the hockey on --
Intentionally --
Giving it attention --
And they were discussing the game!
I didn't get that scene at all.
My German professor in college mentioned one day that all German words starting with the prefix "ver" had bad connotations -- and I asked him about "verstehen" -- and how was it that understanding could be bad -- and he said that verstehen was one of the worst words of all because understanding implies responsibility, and that's such a profound burden -- and I said what -- and he said I would understand when I get older and if I developed any moral sensibilities -- and I said okay. I think I made a C in there.
I'm glad that I didn't understand the hockey scene in that hotel room.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

Thirty-five years on earth -- wow. I'm officially not a little kid anymore. I should have figured out a few things about life by now.
Life is like a poker tournament. Some make the money, some go out early, and it's always good to have fun playing the game. I don't know about the purpose of life, but I'm pretty sure that it's not contest to see who can get through it making the fewest mistakes. Some people play poker like it's that kind of contest -- they usually have issues.
Life's too short for fast food -- except for Chick-Fil-A. They're good. Chick-Fil-A could bring a howling rooster to my table and probably find a way to make me enjoy it. The guy who started Chick-Fil-A also founded a summer camp where kids sing these lyrics to the tune of the Battle Hymn of the Republic:
I wear my pink pajamas in the summer when it's hot
I wear my flannel nighties in the winter when it's not
And sometimes in the Spring time
And sometimes in the Fall
I jump between the covers with nothing on at all
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
With nothing on at all.
You gotta love Chick-Fil-A -- no other choice.
Life is different after you follow Davis Blaine for a while. Is he still doing magic?
Life is weird when someone wishes you happy birthday and starts talking about astrological signs.
That's about it.

THERE IS NO HAPPINESS LIKE MINE

Out on the balcony a couple dozen floors above 3rd street -- sunset time -- drinking something with dry vermouth and something else -- over-looking downtown Austin -- swinging on a pleasantly unusual chair-hybrid-hammock type thing -- feeling the breeze that makes it seems about 10 degrees cooler than the 80 degrees showing on the Amtrak thermometer --
There is no happiness like mine -- I've never experienced satisfaction like THIS satisfaction -- and, surprisingly, it doesn't have much to do with the idyllic setting --
It comes from a computer "beep-cling" -- notifying me that I've just finished downloading all 249 episodes of The Love Boat.

VALUES

Any day that the Red Sox win is a good day for civilization. If the Yankees lose on the same day, its a GREAT day for civilization. If the Red Sox beat the Yankees head-to-head, then we might as well be back in the Garden.

LARGE FLIGHTLESS BIRDS ARE PEOPLE TOO

LARGE FLIGHTLESS BIRDS

"Let's go to Chango's," Kim said.
I started spending a lot of time in Austin beginning in the summer of '04 -- it's a pleasant little city -- walkable, bikeable, complete with a good variety of TexMex -- except for the fact that surprisingly many places don't offer my kind of tacos.
When I order tacos, I like crispy corn tortillas filled with ground beef or steak with cheese and sauce. I'm not fond of soft tacos. I'm not very particular about the kind of sauce, and there doesn't have to be any at all -- if the meat is spicy enough. Wouldn't you consider my taste rather standard?
But so many places can't satisfy it. Chango's can't satisfy it, and that's why I'm not eating there tonight.
My girl, my love, my moderating force, my bow from which I shoot my arrow into the world, my teammate in four-way-truth-or-dare-scrabble, my cleaner, my partner, my cute squawking emu -- how do I tell her no?
"No," I said.
"Why not?"
"I don't like the food there."
Hence the conflict, and yet another example of the difference between men and women when facing such an issue. A man would probably suggest somewhere else to eat. We'd eventually agree on a restaurant, and the whole matter would end in a good meal for both of us.
Now with Kim, she won't talk to me for a day or two, and even afterward, she'll never admit to there being a disagreement to begin with. And long, long after this latest failure to peck away at my will, the whole matter may never be resolved at all.
But here's the good part: You see, I had these same situations at 15 and at 25 that I do now at 35; I've become better at handling them. Tonight, I know that I don't have to get over anything -- There's nothing for me to get over -- because I'm not the one with the problem.
She wanted us to go to Chango's tonight. That's her problem. I just finished great crispy tacos without her at La Morada -- genuinely enjoying myself. My patience with her problem will be just as genuine -- when I hear her complain later. And if that sweet squawk ever turns bitter, I'm sure she can find another nest.

THE ELECTRIC KOOL-AID POKER TEST

When I walked into the poker-room, the first thing I noticed was an aquarium as the south wall -- not an aquarium by the south wall -- but a 20' X 12' X 2' aquarium built as the south wall -- full of water and pretty coral and sand on the bottom -- with just a lone, exotic thing swimming around slowly -- grinning, I swear -- and colored like some pipe-hitting abstract expressionist painter had gone marine.
"Swell fish," I said.
I had never been there before. Good poker players at this 1-2 no-limit game -- all of them -- and I had the good luck to catch a couple of flushes on the first two hands, doubling my stack -- then coasting for an hour-and-a-half before --
I pick up jacks on the button. Everyone lumps in, and I raise to $25, and I get two callers. The flop come 8-7-5 rainbow, and it checks around to me. I'm all in for $88 more, and after about a minute of -- I don't know -- thought, maybe -- the player on my right calls with 9-7. He rivers a 6 for a straight.
"Thanks, her name's Beatrice," the aquarium guy said.
"She doesn't have any friends?" I ask.
"No. She attacks and eats up anything else I try to put in there. I've quit trying."

ARETE

Alright now, Fellas -- what's cooler than being cool?
Ice Cold!
I can't hear ya-- what's cooler than being cool?
ICE COLD!!!!
Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright, Alright --
Ok now, ladies -- -- Outkast
Kim and I had dinner, and then I made us dessert.
-- peeled two bananas and cut off the ends. Cut them up into 3/4" slices. Very slowly, over medium heat, sauted a stick of butter, two teaspoons of cinnamon, half-a-cup of dark rum, a little banana liquor, some brown sugar and a shot of lemon juice.
Pulled out a big 2-quart homemade pottery bowl. Added four scoops of rich vanilla ice cream, drizzled with chocolate syrup. Poured in the sliced bananas and sauce on top. Poured half-a-cup of bacardi 151 on all that, and set it on fire.
-- not really the kind of thing you'd whip-up for a midday snack alone --
Got a huge spoon and shared it and the bowl with a good woman. That's civilization, my friends. Do it enough, and someone will build a temple in your honor.
We finished dessert and I snuggled up with her. Some guys would play some Barry White right about now, or maybe James Taylor. But Kim's got herself a real man-
I turned up the volume of the national spelling bee.
"Cacolet"
"That was soooo much sugar in that," she said.
"You ain't seen nothing yet."
"Could I have the definition?"
"A calcolet is a mule-carried military assistance unit for the sick or wounded -- calcolet."
I suppose you might find other means of setting the mood -- better ways than tuning the TV to hear little kids spell unimaginably obscure words -- one after another -- well, I've got my game and you've got yours.
"Could I have the part of speech, please?"
"'Calcolet' is a noun."
"What's the language of origin?"
"French."
"Are they're any alternative pronunciations?"
"'Cal-co-LAY' or 'Cal-CO-lay' or 'Cal-co-LET'."
The boy looked anxious. It was as if his whole purpose in life was to spell words like calcolet -- and strain to do it.
"Could you use it in a sentence?"

100 MILES EAST OF THE OCEAN IS STILL TOO CLOSE

The phonecall came from out of the blue.
"Good to hear your voice again. They told me you were in town."
"I'm going back to Austin tomorrow," I said.
"Can you believe its been 10 years?"
The past isn't dead -- it isn't even past. -- William Faulkner
Suddenly, we're in the desert -- sitting on the burning sand, with the mean sun pounding us from a cloudless sky. There is a little wind, but it doesn't feel good -- it only serves to blow the sand in our eyes. We're just sitting there Indian-style, face-to-face, staring through each other -- speechless and emotionless. Even the cactus plants around us lack character -- they're the kind with just one trunk -- none have the up-reaching arms you might expect.
All I could do is hum a little Jerry Jeff Walker -- If I could just get off of that L.A. freeway without getting killed or caught . . .

POKER PLAYERS BY THE DRINKS

We're all looking for tells -- here's a strategy that I use: You can tell a lot about a person's poker by the drink in front him or her -- I've listed seven types of players -- based on the drinks -- in increasing order of ability (decreasing order of fishiness.)
BOTTLED WATER
So your opponent has ordered bottled water. His plan is probably to show the world that he has arrived for serious poker, and that nothing can interfere with that. Just watch -- he probably won't smile or talk at all. But his poker is probably lame. He doesn't push much at all, even when the situation calls for it -- you can bet him off most hands. None of this applies if the water was unordered, taken from his own bag -- see below.
IMPORT BEER THAT YOU'VE NEVER HEARD OF
Be careful, though -- there is a small chance that he actually likes the Korean nutmeg kyonga-bishu, and not just drinking it as a poser. That's probably the case if you see him have two or three of them.
SOFT DRINK
Maybe he's just thirsty -- you can't read much into it. You may have to actually watch him play cards to get a feel for his game.
ANYTHING BROUGHT IN HIS BAG
The fact that he has a bag shows planning and preparation for the event. He also plans to be at the table for more than a little while. If the player brings the bag to a bar or casino, and drinks something out of it, move him up two levels, because that shows not only planning, but calculated risk-taking skills and the gumption to make his own rules -- he'll usually set the betting tempo in the few hands he plays.
STRAIGHT WHISKEY
Beware -- this man has come for your money. He is a no-nonsense, right-to-the-point player who goes directly after what he wants.
MILK
Any man who drinks milk at the poker table must be feared. I do it myself a lot. The first time I saw someone drink milk during poker was at Bally's in Vegas about three years ago. He was about 50 or 55, and was doing very well -- we took a break for lunch and ate together and talked about the hands -- he remembered every hand for the previous two hours -- completely. And we talked about New Orleans. And he was pleasant -- and he genuinely wished me well in the afternoon session. Milk was his drink of choice. Whole milk.
BRANDY
This player is just like the straight whiskey guy -- with the added advantage of not getting drunk as fast.

THE MASTER OF PANIC

Whatever superstar comes your way is overrated -- by definition.
The Master of Panic is the best coach in basketball -- that's all there is to it. The Orlando Magic sure mix up some sticky-sweet extraterrestrial candy. Lord Phil Jackson can take all that Buddah-nature and shove it up his ass. Here's a koan for Him: What's the sound of one hand fouling?

THE GOOD LIFE

I was brought up to honor all people and nourish my sense of wonder and curiosity -- and I do.
But when this woman with faded teal polyester and bad hair and a bloody mary became nasty to me at the table tonight in a free pub poker tournament -- what can I do?
Life will give you all the bullshit you choose to honor.
I can honor the polyester and the hair, I guess -- and maybe even the bloody mary -- damn -- I'm curious how drinking a bloody mary at 11pm could possibly be honorable at all. I can honor a lot.
But her criticism of me is unacceptable.
I honor all people. Just because she's human, that doesn't make her a person. Personhood must be earned. I'm curious what the level of that bar is -- I wonder if she's there yet. And when I'm curious about what cards she's holding, I may well look at her and ask her, "What cards are you holding?" That's what I did tonight -- it was the best I can do to satisfy my curiosity.
And the best that she could do is call me a jackass. Well, I truly am a jackass. World class, in fact. She's so right. I live on my own terms -- pretty much -- and because of my lack of attachments and obligations, I don't have to answer to anyone at all, much less some drunken teratogeness sitting across a poker table from me. My freedom is not some curious fluke -- it's a plan. And if I should ever change that plan and get some sort of overseer, be assured that whomever it might be -- they won't need to lose a lot of weight.
Sometimes I see a fat woman and wonder whether the fat is permanent or temporary. I didn't get a straightforward answer when I asked her. I guess I have to be around her long enough to find out, or channel my curiosity elsewhere.

A LITTLE MEMORIAL DAY GOOD LUCK

I got the bad beat jackpot, babies! My 5-high straight flush lost to an 8-high straight flush, but I feel like a million bucks (or at least a few hundred).

TIMELESS VALUES

I met a guy at Qua who holds a game in a suite at the Holiday Inn on hwy 183 about once a month or every six weeks or so. Every player pitches in about $9 or $10 for the nightly suite rental, and there is no rake. This seems like the perfect set-up for a bunch of friends -- but there's one problem --
They come from a different world.
They're not little green people with bug-eyes or anything -- but they're alien nonetheless. I roll in a world where:
1. It does not matter what brand of whatever liquid you drink at poker.
2. It does not matter what you wear to poker.
3. The host sets the rules, or at least knows the rules.
4. An 8:00 tournament begins no later that about 8:25.
-- among other things
But not in that world.
For instance, who considers what sort of watch you wear to be important? Who considers possession of ANY watch to be important? Maybe its the same sort of people who consistently put out free bets like 7 and 11 and 13 -- they almost always wear a watch -- pay attention next time -- they're usually watch-conscious.
It truly is a different crowd at the Holiday Inn. I always go back -- not for the company, but because I've always walked away a little ahead -- and everyone's nice -- I guess -- in their own way.

ANIVERSARY

Twenty-five years ago today, I was at the '84 World's Fair in New Orleans.
I was 11.
That was the day when circumstances forced my parents to explain to me the difference between a streaker (I'd never seen one before then) and a nudist (a concept that I was familiar with through my liberal childhood education).
It had to do with the idea of what we do for attention and what we do out of conviction and and what people do with no thought at all.
It taught me a lot.

POKER AT TONY'S

This is a neat table -- six hyper-aggressive players and me -- sitting under the marble-eyed gaze of a ceramic owl -- perched on the patio's stone pedestal -- imperfectly painted -- with half of its nubby left ear broken off by some move or another from apartment to apartment to apartment to apartment again -- he'd be the most formidable poker opponent -- wise and hard with only an ear and a half for smack.
That bird would surely know what do do with this Q-9.

I surely don't.

BRINGING WEATHER TO LIFE

It's all about demographics.

Over 20% of all televisions tuned to The Weather Channel at any given time have been set there for over three hours.
The Weather Channel has a lable for this demographic -- they call them "weather-involved".

GIVING BACK THROUGH POKER

The woman at the corner of this 1-2 PL Omaha table is fat -- and inexperienced in poker -- or at least in Omaha -- and she isn't paying much attention to anything except her cell phone.
"I don't have a lot of money,"she said.
Some people can be best described as weak -- simply "weak". The idea of strength and fitness is so important. It's the most important thing in life. The people who don't recognize that don't deserve contempt -- but they sure do deserve most everything else that comes their way.
You know, some people actually name their children "charity".
My nut flush lost to her gut shot straight flush draw. That's 56 bucks to charity.

FOUR-WAY STOP AT JUSTIN & WOODROW

I'm headed south--
Stopped--
While noticing the cedar limbs--
Overhanging the road ahead of me--
Swaying in the wind--
Covering & revealing and halfway covering again-
That damn ol' Austin skyline--
Just elaborate enough to fit the definition, but so
small--
that it looks about the same from any angle.

The woman on my left pulled up in an '84 Chevette and stopped at exactly the same time I did. Should I be using any of my poker skills in this situation? It sure feels like a poker situation as I'm looking at her sunglasses that cover her whole little face from forehead to lips -- and um trying to read her. Just go, little girl -- end this awkwardness. Put the pedal to the metal or the plastic or formica or whatever the floorboard of that junkheap is made of -- go -- now -- don't just sit there -- I'm not moving -- you have the right-of-way.
The only one having fun is a grinning, sweaty fat man-- jogging diagonally across our intersection -- grasping a half-eaten peach.

POKER HAIKU #17

This is the last one --

The final poker haiku --

They have jumped the shark.

FACE CARD

There are some players that you make money playing with. Then there are . . .
Some you enjoy --

Some you learn from -- And some who are just there.
And then there are players that I can't talk about

-- it'd be a big tell.

THE NUTS

I'm sitting here at this 1-2 no-limit cash table, and it's a battle of the blinds pre-flop. I call, and the big blind checks.
The flop is 2-4-6 rainbow.
How do you judge the quality of a home game? How can you determine if one scene is better or worse than another? It isn't by the caliber of the players -- some of the most enjoyable poker takes place in front of donks. It isn't by the supplies -- I've had a lot of fun betting with thin plastic chips.
You can tell the most about a home game by looking at the attitude of the staff assisting with it.
There's a woman in the corner by the large potted plant. She's the bartender. She gives massages for tips. She has a thin build with shoulder-length brunette hair and a calm, intelligent demeanor. She's wearing one of those torn-cloth, bohemian skirts that were really popular in Europe in the early part of the decade. She's the type of woman that might ask you something about art history and make you nervous.
The turn is the ace of spades.
She just sits there in the corner with her legs crossed and one foot in the air, kicking to the music in tempo -- perfectly.
It's the ace of diamonds on the river.
"See the woman serving drinks?" big blind asked.
"Yeah."
"We're moving to Italy on Thursday. Her parents are buying us a villa."
That's when I knew he thought like me.
"All in," I declared.

OWNERSHIP

The poster in the video store tells me that I can "own No Country for Old Men for just $14.95".
What makes us human? The ability to create and appreciate art. That's the best answer I know of. But a good argument can be made that the defining human characteristic is the ability to appreciate and seek ownership of art.
And before I get too frustrated with that notion, I look in the mirror.
You know why I love golf? It isn't the exercise -- you get to burn more calories in almost any other sport. It's not the players you meet -- amateur golf is filled with world-class jackasses -- it isn't the convenience -- golf is time consuming and expensive.
I love golf because it's the only sport where you have total ownership of the ball. Total ownership -- and whatever control there is doesn't belong to any opponent.
Your golfball is all your own -- all the time.
That's profoundly satisfying.

EL PATO

Never bet against the duck. Even when you think you might win, never bet against the duck -- even if it seems to be a sure thing, never bet against the duck. You can't clean your ball when it's on the fairway, Kenny Perry -- ain't that a shame. It doesn't matter if you're the most qualified to win, you didn't beat the duck. Even on a proposition for the duck to waddle down the fairway and win the Masters, never ever bet against the duck. I don't care what Sergio Garcia thinks is fair and unfair, he didn't beat the duck. You can call the duck ungraceful -- but nobody beat the duck on this day. They call the duck lucky -- a non-English speaking lucky ducky -- but nobody beat the duck today in Georgia -- the day of Angel Cabrera -- the Day of the Duck.

R.C. FOWLERS

I pulled up to Fowlers for a TFPL freeroll, where I've never had much luck. The payout is winner-take-all $1 per player, which usually amounts to about $50 on a good night, and I've managed to take it down only once or twice in the three or four years I've been going there.
At about 10:00 the karaoke starts and players can sign up and sing for a few thousasnd bonus chips, with me always going for non-standard songs from standard artists, and a poker director who always starts the game off with bar-supporting encouragement like "be sure to take care of your waitress -- she has six children at home alone tonight," or "help out our waiter -- he needs to make bail for his girlfriend."
I go to Fowlers on Mondays because it's right down the road from the four corners Starbucks -- the only place in Austin where you can find tight ska, smart women, hot sweet raspberry tea, and convenient parking -- its almost like civilization. I got there a little before the 6:15 tournament tonight, sat outside with my fourth or fifth tea of the day and caught up on a little ESPN mobile.
Walking in from the back deck, just as most people have been seated, a bunch of more or less familiar faces, some poker players, some folks impersonating poker players, the waiter who always remembers everyone's name leans over and and asks if I want a refill, and since I can never have enough good strong tea . . .
The host interrupts, "Be sure to tip Chad well -- his third male enhancement surgery is tomorrow, and this one is not -- I repeat NOT -- covered by insurance."
Livin' the dream.

THE EASTER PARADE

.It's the start of Easter weekend, on a day cloudier than the weather channel said it would be, listening to the flow of the Masters on the radio, going to stock up on supplies, riding through the HEB parking lot, driven by a man who was apparently raised by dingos.
Growing up, I was made to read three books a week from the library -- and write a report about them for my parents to read, and to some extent verify, and I did that for years, because they kept me away from school until I was 13, and I had to do something in the manner of book learnin', they figured, giving me a stylish liberal education which I was thankful for -- a thanks which grows more profound with each passing day -- and one of those books was Winning Through Intimidation by Robert J. Ringer -- and one of his main ideas is that everyone is out to take all your chips and you should be out to take theirs, but it's good to be sly about it and choose your battles, because if you're serious about never taking any kind of bullshit from anyone at any time, then you'll likely be dead or in jail because of it -- and possibly both.
That's a valuable lesson. The driver should have learned it by now -- he's older than I am -- he responded to the following question incorrectly.
When a woman walks in front of your car moving through the grocery store parking lot, you should
A. Lay on the horn until she moves.

B. Yell "move!!" out the window.

C. Both A and B.

D. Wait for her.
His answer was C.
Mine is D, anad I hope yours is, too.

The Boston townies has a useful communication skill, involving the use of "wicked" as an adverb. They can differentiate with surprising precision among statements like "That's a rather big basket of eggs" and "That's a big basket of eggs" and "That's a very big basket of eggs" and "That's a wicked big basket of eggs."
"You're wicked rude," I said.

GREG NORMAN

I just finished watching the Wednesday pre-Masters par-3 contest. My favorite part was when Greg Norman made the ace on #6.

He's famous for taking a six-shot lead into the final round in 1996 and then choking to let Nick Faldo win his third Masters. Greg Norman managed to get invited this year because he made second or third in last year's British Open -- he choked in that one too, letting Paddy Harrington take it. I wonder how he'll do this weekend.

I remember watching him being interviewed in 1996 right after he lost. He said something to the effect of, "oh, well -- my life will go on." And it did. $$he got into the golf course design $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ business and $$$$$$$$$$$$$$ has his own brand of turfgrass$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and several $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ real $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ estate $$$$$$$$$ developments $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and wine producing $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ land in $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ Australia $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$and $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ endorsements $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ and golf equipment lines $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ the $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ man $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$has $$$$$$$ made $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ so $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ much $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$ money.

Here's a perspective of how much money:

Tiger Woods has won about 80 million in total prize money over the years. Greg Norman paid that for a boat.

And he got to marry Chris Evert Lloyd.

He is my hero.

ATHENIAN DARTS

I know everyone who comes to my Wednesday night poker game. Some people I'm familiar with more than others. I found out that one of them threw the javelin in college.
On my personal ranking of things to do with one's time, that ranks just in between jazz piano and professional golf. It's in the top ten -- in any case.
So we come to a showdown where I shove everything all in pre-flop and he calls me for about $25. I'm confident today. My Q8 might hold up, I thought.
"Have you ever played Athenian darts," I asked.
"What's that?"
"it's a cross between darts and the javelin. It's played outdoors. Players stand forty yards away from a dartboard the size of a ferris wheel and throw javelins at it."
"Bullshit," he said.
"No -- seriously -- it's big in Australia. There was a big movement to get it in the 1956 Melbourne Olympics."
He just looked at me -- with eyes like a badly bred dog. No laugh, no grin, no response -- nothing.
I was glad to take down the hand, but the win was like aerosol cheese -- tasty, but artificial and lacking the genuine fulfillment that comes with the real thing.

LOSS

My friend Jason that I grew up with died overseas on March 15th -- I just found out today. He's about five years younger than I am and the first memory I have of him was in his parents' kitchen, with a radio on talking about New Orleans traffic, his asking question after question about the traffic report, with his mother answering patiently and his big sister telling him to shut up and everyone eating cereal with plastic spoons and styrofoam bowls because that's how we rolled in '79.
I have some questions.
What is mankind's place in the universe? To search for & create truth and beauty. What is truth? Truth is what works. What is beauty? The appearance of truth in art. How can I apply that to my life? Recognize that form follows function. When does a boy become a man? It's when he gets a taste for women. When does a man become a grown man? It's when he refines his taste in women. How do you know how well a man sees himself? Look at the woman he's with. How can you tell how a woman feels about herself? You can't.
When did civilization end? Allan Bloom said that happened when Schubert died. Maybe it ended when Jim's diner did away with its smoking section. Anyone who knows Jason understands that it ended on March 15th.
What are the most important qualities in a man?
Jason was a speedbump on my road to poker glory. He never appreciated my game. The last time I played with him was in 2007 in Tunica over labor day weekend. He won more than I did.
Jason had his own lexicon in poker and in life. Like, the sentence "Goat took me for a single with two stinky berries uptown." was a actual remark from Jason in ordinary conversation from that Tunica weekend. In standard English, that translates to "I lost $100 in a hand to a guy who drew a runner-runner heart flush". His opponent was just an acquaintance ("goat") -- the opponent wasn't a really good friend since he wasn't given the status of "dog". The heart suit is the "berry" suit, and anything that happens post-flop happens "uptown".
We were little kids with my parents way back -- watching the Edwin Edwards Baton Rouge victory party on TV in '83 when we saw someone passing out ballpoint pens with "Edwards '87" engraved on them. We talked about that. How weird that was. '87 was so unbelievably far off. Edwards played craps -- he only played craps. That's the only kind of gambling he did.
How many kids dream of becoming a famous cornerback or safety? None -- they're put on defense, and then they start saying things like offense just draws crowds and that defense is what really wins games -- that having a solid defense is most important. Of course, no team has ever won without scoring -- and it's amazing how easy that is to overlook when you're some defensive secondary guy trying to justify your place in the universe.
That was his idea.
I didn't sleep last night. I cried more than I ever have, I think. I can't ever talk to him again. That's going to take some serious getting over. His email address is still in my phone. Form follows function -- I have to get rid of it. Later.
What are the most important qualities in a friend?
The most important qualities in a friend are loyalty, mental toughness and organizational skills -- in that order. He had me beat in all three -- he always did.
God could not have created a man like Jason. There was no loyalty like his loyalty. If he likes you, he'll do anything for you. I don't mean almost anything. You have never had fun like the fun we always had partying. I absolutely guarantee that. Mardi Gras '95 -- what are the words? There are no more words.

Carnustie in the Car

On the drive over to a 1-2 game the other night, Gene said that he wasn't going to play anything other than premium hands -- and he didn't -- even in a heads-up battle with the tightest poker player in Texas, he chose not to shove in $10 or $20 to protect his top-top.
"I just stuck to my gameplan," he reflected.
John Van de Velde stuck to his gameplan at the British Open's last hole in 1999. All he needed to win the tournament was a 7 on the hole. But he took out his driver on the teebox, and after about half-an-hour of the weirdest golf ever televised, he finished with an 8. All his trouble was caused by his failure to adjust to the situation -- the goal was to win, he needed to change his club and shot selection to play more conservatively and take advantage of his cushion.
And Gene should have played that hand more loosely. He should have been more pragmatic. But "pragmatic" is seldom used to describe people without cardsense-- even less often than French golfers.

St. Patrick's Day

What if you're on a 52-48 draw? What should you do? It depends on the situation, of course -- and what if you're still confused -- what if you've taken everything into account about the chip stacks, the aggression levels, the grins, eyebats, twitches, the stitches in the upholstery holding you above ground, the kings and aces, the faces around the table, the odds, the drawing odds, the pros at odds with the cons, the window reflection, the voice inflection-- what if you still can't decide?
What if you still can't choose a move -- no matter how hard you think about it?
Rob's principle #97: In any confrontation, you should always take into account your opponent's knowledge of British history.
I have a vintage bright orange leisure suit that I don't wear much. Whenever I wonder if this guy or that guy knows his British history (which is surprisingly often), it's a good idea to wear it -- and the best time to wear it is on St. Patrick's Day.
Poker at my place -- it was uneventful. Green beer and orange rayon don't mix.
Five ripe rows of green veggies grow in my garden a quarter mile west -- my call was stressed hours ago, let's go, lepresschan, take flight -- many wise bites forever obey tasty decrees my planted things make for fruitful lives and wisdom's sake-- come restore brawn -- remake presence in the glowing, growing herbs -- sing galic and run west -- loudly, quickly -- respond with me -- our dry lives can too be fun when we chase St Patrick's setting sun.

GRAMMAR

One-two no-limit at Pete's -- I'm all-in for my last $29 and I get eyed-down by two opponents and a fat ivory-white mama cat lying on the shaggy carpet nursing her three smoky grey kittens. And though I haven't been paying much attention, I did notice that a while ago, the kittens were sucking on different nipples.
"Why are you continually staring at me?" I ask the dirty guy across from me.
"What're you talking about? I'm not constantly staring at you," he replies.
So, they eventually take all my chips and like always, I tell the world that I'm still a good person.
What is a good person? It means being able to make proper use of the words "continually" and "constantly". Unlike cat nipples, they are not interchangeable.