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."