My first softball game of the season is this Sunday, 7 PM, @ Kiwanis Park in Tempe, NW field. Come down and watch our victory.
Technically, alcoholic beverages are not permitted in the park, but Gatorade bottles half-filled with vodka are unlikely to be noticed by anyone in a position of authority.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Official Notice
I've wanted to do this for years, and 2008 is the year. I'm putting in my official notice that I'm going for the World Series of Poker Main Event this year.
What does this mean for you? Well, I need to start training, so anyone who wants to help me with that is of course welcome. Also, the WSOP tournament rules do allow for sponsorships (bounded by the restrictions on pages 5-6), so I am willing to whore my body out for the price of admission.
See you at the final table.
What does this mean for you? Well, I need to start training, so anyone who wants to help me with that is of course welcome. Also, the WSOP tournament rules do allow for sponsorships (bounded by the restrictions on pages 5-6), so I am willing to whore my body out for the price of admission.
See you at the final table.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Starting the new year off right
New Year's Eve started off rather inauspiciously for me. I awoke at 8 in the morning on the floor of J and Stony's bathroom. I hadn't puked, but sometimes it's good to be reminded why drinking cheap bourbon is a bad idea. Both of the guys were asleep, and I was feeling pretty good, so I let myself out and walked back to my car, which was about a mile away.
On the walk, I was messaging my friend Roxy. Roxy moved out to Tempe in November, but unfortunately had to go back to Austin just before Christmas due to a family emergency. The emergency has been resolved, and she had been bugging me for days with "When are you coming out to Austin?", "My friend Misty says you should come out to Austin", "My cat says you should come out to Austin". So, after I get myself home and get a little bit more sleep, I check the prices for airline tickets. It turns out that the cost to fly on New Year's Eve just isn't that much.
So I tell her to pack her things, meet me at the airport at 8 that evening, and we'll get a rental car to drive back to Tempe on New Year's Day (after a little celebration with her friends in Austin). She thinks I'm kidding. But I'm firmly of the opinion that there's little point of having manic episodes if you don't take the time to enjoy them, so I assure her I'm serious, and I've bought the ticket, I've parked my car and am on the shuttle to the terminal, and finally that I'm on the plane and have to turn off my phone, see you @ 8.
The plane ride was uneventful. It would have been nicer if I was able to get some sleep in. I met Roxy and her friend Misty at the rental car counter. The man behind the counter, who looked to be mid-to-late 50's, managed to upsell me to the luxury model, a Buick Lucerne (Hey, we're going 1000 miles in this, we might as well be comfortable!), and then proceeded to insist that the ladies take me somewhere fun and interesting over the next couple hours, listing off the places that a rocker like me should be on a New Year's Eve in Austin. The three of them eventually decided that I needed to go to 6th Street, which is the equivalent of Tempe's Mill Avenue.
Misty went home to get ready, and Roxy and I caught up over dinner at a place called the Magnolia Cafe. We picked up Misty, had a glass of champagne-style wine, and went off to 6th St. It was a little like Mill Ave, with a lot more bars and a lot less people. Unlike Mill Ave, the only special event going on was every bar charging a $20 cover, so our bar-hopping was pretty limited. Still, we had drinks (I was severely limiting myself, because, of course, I did have a long way to drive), listened to music, talked with random drunk strangers, kept Roxy from starting fights with random drunk strangers, and generally had a good time. Midnight came and went, everyone cheered, toasted, and drank.
After dropping Misty off, we went over to Roxy's friend Fred's place, a single-bedroom apartment a little smaller than my dining room where Roxy had been staying. Roxy, inexplicably, hadn't packed yet. Well, maybe not inexplicably. Maybe the whole experience was a little too incredible and surreal, and she didn't really believe it was going to happen until it did. So she packed, said her final good-byes to Fred, shoved her cat Gigi into the back seat, and we were off.
Of course, by this time, we are both in need of food and caffeine, and at 4 AM on New Year's Day, Denny's is the obvious choice. And that place was packed. When we get there, we're told a 15 minute wait. There's also a group of 7 or so in front of us, dressed up as if they are trying to impress everyone with how rich and important they are. One member of the group, a Mediterranean-looking man in his 20's with greasy, slicked back hair and, as we were soon to find out, a Napoleon complex, was arguing with the hostess and the manager, apparently because he was so rich and important that he shouldn't have to wait at a restaurant that is obviously at capacity. After telling the manager, "Don't forget, you work at a Denny's, and therefore we're better than you", they storm out, freeing up the manager to seat the truly important people (i.e. Roxy and me, plus the people who aren't complete douchebags).
Finally, sometime between 4:30 and 5, we're on the road. The next 16 hours are spent talking, listening to music, watching the scenery, referring to slower drivers who got in our way as "douchebags", wondering about the lives of the people we meet along the way (what kind of daily commute does someone who works at an Exxon station 100 miles from the nearest dwelling have, anyway?), eating flavored, deep-fried sugar and starch, drinking caffeine, playing with the cat, and occasional sleeping (sometimes the passenger, sometimes the driver). Due to time constraints (I had to work Wednesday), we didn't stop much (and no trip along I-10 east of Tucson seems complete without a stop at "The Thing", but alas it was not to be).
Before we knew it, we were back to Tempe, and our trip was over. Certainly not the way I had expected to spend my New Year's, but it was the best I've had in a very long time.
On the walk, I was messaging my friend Roxy. Roxy moved out to Tempe in November, but unfortunately had to go back to Austin just before Christmas due to a family emergency. The emergency has been resolved, and she had been bugging me for days with "When are you coming out to Austin?", "My friend Misty says you should come out to Austin", "My cat says you should come out to Austin". So, after I get myself home and get a little bit more sleep, I check the prices for airline tickets. It turns out that the cost to fly on New Year's Eve just isn't that much.
So I tell her to pack her things, meet me at the airport at 8 that evening, and we'll get a rental car to drive back to Tempe on New Year's Day (after a little celebration with her friends in Austin). She thinks I'm kidding. But I'm firmly of the opinion that there's little point of having manic episodes if you don't take the time to enjoy them, so I assure her I'm serious, and I've bought the ticket, I've parked my car and am on the shuttle to the terminal, and finally that I'm on the plane and have to turn off my phone, see you @ 8.
The plane ride was uneventful. It would have been nicer if I was able to get some sleep in. I met Roxy and her friend Misty at the rental car counter. The man behind the counter, who looked to be mid-to-late 50's, managed to upsell me to the luxury model, a Buick Lucerne (Hey, we're going 1000 miles in this, we might as well be comfortable!), and then proceeded to insist that the ladies take me somewhere fun and interesting over the next couple hours, listing off the places that a rocker like me should be on a New Year's Eve in Austin. The three of them eventually decided that I needed to go to 6th Street, which is the equivalent of Tempe's Mill Avenue.
Misty went home to get ready, and Roxy and I caught up over dinner at a place called the Magnolia Cafe. We picked up Misty, had a glass of champagne-style wine, and went off to 6th St. It was a little like Mill Ave, with a lot more bars and a lot less people. Unlike Mill Ave, the only special event going on was every bar charging a $20 cover, so our bar-hopping was pretty limited. Still, we had drinks (I was severely limiting myself, because, of course, I did have a long way to drive), listened to music, talked with random drunk strangers, kept Roxy from starting fights with random drunk strangers, and generally had a good time. Midnight came and went, everyone cheered, toasted, and drank.
After dropping Misty off, we went over to Roxy's friend Fred's place, a single-bedroom apartment a little smaller than my dining room where Roxy had been staying. Roxy, inexplicably, hadn't packed yet. Well, maybe not inexplicably. Maybe the whole experience was a little too incredible and surreal, and she didn't really believe it was going to happen until it did. So she packed, said her final good-byes to Fred, shoved her cat Gigi into the back seat, and we were off.
Of course, by this time, we are both in need of food and caffeine, and at 4 AM on New Year's Day, Denny's is the obvious choice. And that place was packed. When we get there, we're told a 15 minute wait. There's also a group of 7 or so in front of us, dressed up as if they are trying to impress everyone with how rich and important they are. One member of the group, a Mediterranean-looking man in his 20's with greasy, slicked back hair and, as we were soon to find out, a Napoleon complex, was arguing with the hostess and the manager, apparently because he was so rich and important that he shouldn't have to wait at a restaurant that is obviously at capacity. After telling the manager, "Don't forget, you work at a Denny's, and therefore we're better than you", they storm out, freeing up the manager to seat the truly important people (i.e. Roxy and me, plus the people who aren't complete douchebags).
Finally, sometime between 4:30 and 5, we're on the road. The next 16 hours are spent talking, listening to music, watching the scenery, referring to slower drivers who got in our way as "douchebags", wondering about the lives of the people we meet along the way (what kind of daily commute does someone who works at an Exxon station 100 miles from the nearest dwelling have, anyway?), eating flavored, deep-fried sugar and starch, drinking caffeine, playing with the cat, and occasional sleeping (sometimes the passenger, sometimes the driver). Due to time constraints (I had to work Wednesday), we didn't stop much (and no trip along I-10 east of Tucson seems complete without a stop at "The Thing", but alas it was not to be).
Before we knew it, we were back to Tempe, and our trip was over. Certainly not the way I had expected to spend my New Year's, but it was the best I've had in a very long time.
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