That's gonna sting

I'm just hanging out watching the tournament since I've already put my name on the list for the 1-2 no limit game. The casino is busy, as usual for a Thursday evening, and there are about fifty people in the tournament that had a fifty dollar buy-in. I'm not interested, really. I'm here for the cash game. A few other people walk in, and the list is still at about five. An Asian fellow with bright white, cheap flip-flops walks in. He gives the girl his name for the list and proceeds to wander around like nobody sees him.

I notice the one full table for the cash game loses a player. Ballsy mister white sandals thinks he can sit down and buy in before waiting his turn on the list. Hmm..I see that the dealer almost calls for chips, but the floor crew rightly catches him and corrects the near foul play. I don't like people that intentionally don't play by the rules. Noted.

I've been sitting at the table for about an hour or so, and I look down at this hand that's in the picture. I finally have something worth playing. I look up after taking a glance to see the kid cowboy two seats down go all in for $24. He had already lost a hundred bucks on the second or third hand played with pocket kings and had rebought for another Benjamin.

I am middle table, not last to act, and the Asian gunslinger on my left has yet to play. Poor kid is down and is already in, so I put him on a middle pair. Jcks or something. I've gotta call, since I have a good flush draw, too. I throw out my quarter. Gunslinger on my left quickly calls. It's just the three of us when it comes time for the flop; four, king, queen. Interesting, I say to myself. Gut shot straight draw may be worth it. Of course, Gunslinger bets fifty. Damn. Cowboy is already all in, so he isn't a factor. I say to myself I'll never win if I'm not in it, and I'll kick myself if the ten or ace comes out.

Mr. Gunslinger white-flops has been slinging chips since we all sat down to play, and has shown some carelessness. He won a hundred off the cowboy when the kid had the pocket kings earlier, but the poor dude was obviously pretty green. Gunslinger tossed chips up until now to the point where he was down a couple hundred and only had about a hundred more to bet before he'd be all-in. Of course, the next card is a seven. No help for a flush or straight, so I'm pretty safe unless he bets big.

"One hundred is the bet", says the dealer.

I say to myself, "Damn. I hate this game. Well, you're pot committed, you idiot. Now you'll go home having learned a good lesson." For some reason, I get the feeling the guy may be throwing money again just to chase me out. Inexplicably, I put in my hundred. The river comes.

"Ten".

Unbelievable. I can't believe how lucky I just got, especially when the Gunslinger turns over his pocket rockets (aces) and thinks he's won. He even reaches for the now giant pile of red chips until I say "hey, whoah".

He doesn't speak English well enough to talk in complete sentences, but he does understand "straight". He says, "Where?", only to sulk with his buddy for the next five or ten minutes while I pile my winnings in neat little stacks in front of me. I'm still in shock as I write this, but I've had my share of bad beats and bad luck, so I was due for some good luck. Poker. She can be nasty.

I lost a little of those winnings in the next hour or so because I started making stupid plays. I am getting better, but I need to get close to eliminating the "maybe this will go somewhere" hands that cost me ten or twenty a piece when I'm up for the evening. As long as I keep coming home on the plus side, it's all gravy.

The DNC

If you're one of the unfortunate many that watch Obama tonight and believe in what he says, you should really read this: http://mausersandmuffins.blogspot.com/ and think twice before voting in November.

Hamstrung

Recently, my beloved wife and I got into an argument over politics. I hated it. I'm the first one to admit that I'm a horrible debater. I just can't do it. I never had it in school and I don't have any training in the craft whatsoever. This would also make me a horrible politician. In this regard, it also makes me a poor advocate for my belief systems. I have a hard time justifying my views to those less informed, simply because I can't vocalize what I know. I know I'm not an idiot, but this kind of situation sure makes me feel like one.

I found a great article at The Cato Institute that makes my point perfectly against a socialist like Obama getting into office. My wife says the only reason I'm against him is because of his anti-gun views. This is far from the case, and he has several other flaws in addition to thinking he can stop crime by taking away the tools of law abiding citizens. The problem is that most of Americans that are behind him are in just that position because "he speaks well". He is a very crafty and gifted orator, but that does not qualify him to be the head of the greatest country in the world. Many of the democratic voters out there have no clue about the actual platform of the candidate or beliefs on government, they just like to hear him speak of "change", and unfortunately, this is good enough for a vote.

Ramble On

Entire weeks between posts is getting to me. I don't know why I've gone so long without it, but it seems the further along I get in this Married Years quest, I sometimes feel pressured to write something. Now, this isn't pressure initiated by anyone else, it's all me. Some sort of weird feeling that I'm letting people down, I guess. After mom told me she reads all the time and offered high praise (not really warranted) for my writing, I sort of neglected my baby.

Being busy at work hasn't helped much, nor has being busy at home. I used to spend two to three hours a day on my computer at home. Now, I'm a homeowner, and it seems there is always something to do. I came home this evening to mow the back yard and move some things around in the shop. The lawn was ridiculously thick because of all the rain we've received this August. It took only five days for it to seem like I didn't mow at all last Thursday.

I haven't even spent much time on my computer at work, either. We're losing a critical manager at the shop and I'll no doubt be needed for extra help, guidance, and consultation for whomever takes that position, whenever that may be. Until then, smoke and mirrors abound. I've also felt a sort of rebirth at work since I've recently brought on yet another young prospect. He's smart, witty, and has good character, but his immaturity rears up in the form of horseplay with my other help that is sometimes hamstrung by his ADHD. Keeping these two characters pointed in the right direction is almost a full time job in itself. I'm learning a lot from teaching, though, and that's rewarding, so I can't complain.

I got another book in the mail today, and yes, I'm a dork. I've been back on a reading kick lately, and stupid Amazon keeps coming up with these cheap reads. I got The Western Canon by Harold Bloom. Shakespeare, Dante, Cervantes. The Canon is a review of twenty six of the world's most respected writers and a few of their gifts to mankind. I've read a lot of what is in the Canon, but I know there is still more out there, and I'm sure this will only be one of many trips on my never-ending quest for more juicy knowledge. For five bucks, how could I turn it down?

I watched a pretty good show on the History channel with Karen last night. It was a show about a guy in pursuit of scientific proof of the existence of Noah, his Ark, and the Great Flood as depicted in the Old Testament. I really felt like a geek when one of the guys whom the host was interviewing said something like "the flood is the oldest story known to man" and I retorted, "Actually, Gilgamesh is the oldest known work". Of course, right after I said it, the host of the show said to the unknown guy that The Epic of Gilgamesh was the oldest known work and it is widely believed that a similar flood in that story is the source for the more famous one in The Bible. Gilgamesh wasn't generally accepted by readers because of what many say was an overtly homosexual relationship between the hero and his friend Enkidu.

I'm a sucker for anything historical, really, especially those involving religion or philosophy. The fact that people have built their lives around beliefs for centuries absolutely fascinates me. How could there be so many different religions and beliefs and everyone still think theirs is "the one"? Who knows if Jesus of Nazareth is the true Messiah? The Jewish people sure don't think so, and there have been countless 'messiahs' just like him throughout history. Judaism was well established long before Jesus' birth, yet so many millions think he is the one true savior. Fascinating.

On a completely unrelated note, I dug out my pride and joy hunting rifle tonight to get her ready for what is to come. October and November are just the beginning of cool weather enjoyment of the outdoors. I finished this rifle last winter, and have only a few small details to work on before she's ready for her inaugural hunt. I would have posted a picture, but the camera fought me mercilously with nasty, out of focus pictures until it succumbed to a dying battery. I poured every skill I have as a gunsmith into this gem. If I had commissioned another maker to complete such a work, the cost would have been in the ten thousand dollar range. Warm, rich, dazzlingly figured walnut with an ebony tip under hours of rubbed-in tung oil. Three hundred hours is what I've spent on her, and she'll reward me with a lifetime of pride in ownership. CZ Nash, Gunmaker. It will stand the test of time, just like good literature, and that can never be taken away.

Get Some Paper

I've been accused of being boring with my sometimes extended diatribes on personal finance, so I'm sure you've noticed my recent lack of said posts. Well, there's a particular website that I've been frequenting lately, and today's post was very appropriate for this particular time in my life. Karen and I don't currently have any little people running around the house, but many of our most dear friends (and of course, my sister Mandi) have them or are expecting. These same dear friends are also readers, so I thought I would share this informative article. Imparting a solid sense of responsibility early is an extremely important part of being a parent, and having recently bought a house and gotten married, I guess I should start practicing.

Friends Forever

There are friends in the world that are dedicated. There are friends in the world that would do anything for you and love you every day of the year. Days when you're sad, and days when you're happy, this particular friend is always there to greet you with a wag of the tail and maybe even some jumping, barking, and licking. When you've had a bad day, your smile inevitably comes back when you come home to your furry friend.

Nine years and eleven months is how long Karen's friend was able to do this for her. Living in a duplex nearly ten years ago, Karen had no idea her life would soon be so full of joy because of a dog she thought just might be vicious enough to chew her up and spit her out. Nah. Not Yuengling. Looking like a Pit Bull, but probably some sort of Bulldog mutt, Yuengling was homeless. Hungry, skinny, and with a nasty skin condition, she also had something else. A big heart. Lucky for her, Karen's is bigger, and it didn't take long for Yuengling to start getting meals that were left outside for her because of that bigger heart. One evening of whining outside K's door was all it took for Karen to take this big galoot in and embark on a friendship that would change this poor dog's life forever.

Through many visits to the vet and a ton of love, Karen would always take care of Yuengling. Aching teeth, arthritis, skin rashes, you name it. Karen was there for her little Yuengling. No matter what it was and no matter the cost, she had a friend. Yuengling had payment- her love and slobbery kisses.

Her friend had to leave her today and it was one of the saddest things I've ever seen. I hated seeing my K hurting. My heart bled. People should have friends forever. Especially friends like Yuengling. She'll always be with us, though, under one of the big trees in the back yard. Always in Karen's heart, and where she needs to be. Home.

Who Knew?

If anyone had told me ten years ago how far my dearest and only sister would come, I would have laughed and laughed, probably near rolling on the floor. Well, she comes up with some gems nowadays, and I've got to point everyone in the direction of her comments on my previous two entries: "Gears Turning" and "Baked and Broken" Please read them both. She posts under her brotherly-love-given name of Mandroni but is formally known as Mandi or Amanda.

Craig and I had recently spoken briefly about Tony (Mandi's dearest- overseas in Afghanistan) and getting him some things from home. Craig thought it would be a good idea to send some things over from home since he doesn't have any family fighting for his country and my family is the only one he knew in the cause. Send most anything, and if Tony can't or won't use it, his men and women at arms will. Go to AnySoldier.com for tips on items to send or other addresses for other heroes.

LTC Illya Chisolm

HHC 27TH BCT-J3 PLANS

APO AE 09320

He's the one on the left with the M4, not the goofy-hatted Afghan trainee with the Kalashnikov.

Love you to death, Mandroni

Look! You prompted a rare two posts in one day!

CZ

CZ

Gears Turning

Typing isn't exactly coming easily today since I have an ill-shaped Band-aid (yes, with Steelers logo) on my finger that was just recently adorned with a ring for which it is so named. Last night I was working on a Dana 44 differential, in the process of tear-down, when I was loosening the bearing caps for the ring gear holder. One came loose with more gusto than anticipated, trapping the tip of my finger between the wrench and a very sharp tooth on said gear. It didn't hurt too badly, but made an interesting three-piece split in the left corner tip from the pressure. I've not had that type of injury before, since most of my smashings come with severe bruising and pain, not really blood-letting. There was barely any blood even though the wound proved to be about the depth of an eighth of an inch or so. The only real fluid was the white blood cell-filled fluid that my body was sending to the area in large quantities to prevent infection and facilitate healing.

It doesn't hurt today, and I'm trusting that the Neosporin that I applied underneath the bandage will help it heal in a few days' time so I can get this thing off. The quicker the better, because you never realize how much you use such a seemingly useless fingertip. Oh well. I'm pretty used to personal injury and my mom can attest to many stressful hours in waiting rooms over broken limbs and open wounds. I just chalk it up to a fun childhood full of new experiences.

I got on here today because of a recent quote I found whilst perusing the wonderful worldwide web. It came from a personal finance page I recently found, and ironically was written by a pastor.

Sometimes being who you want to be means choosing to do work that pays less than you could make by being someone you don’t want to be.

I say ironically, because anyone that knows me well also knows that I'm not a proponent of organized religion. I think it can be a great thing in life if it is used properly. Unfortunately, like so many things in life, human beings tend not to indulge in things in moderation. This can also be the case when it comes to religion, and sometimes people can be so overjoyed with their discovery or way of life that they feel the need to tell everyone about it or try to 'recruit' new members into their way of thinking. Personally, I don't really believe in anything supernatural or religious, even though this, along with philosophy and mythology, are very intriguing subjects which I've read about and studied with a voracity that was unfortunately not matched by many other subjects of study in my young adulthood. This is very much a part of my limited attention span when it comes to newfound interests and hobbies to this day. I can't seem to stick with any one thing for very long.

Having K's family in town for the reception made me realize one boat I was on that had come into port for too long of a stay recently. I wanted to learn Spanish since it is the native language of My One.

I took a few classes at the community college, but didn't stick to it like I should have. Karen recently offered up her assistance with this goal, and I'm going to take her up on it. I could understand most everything her family was saying in Spanish, but I know I could do so much more. I feel I'm on the brink, rounding the corner to success before the last few miles on that road to being bilingual . I have the Rosetta Stone, and I have no excuses. Let's do it.

CZ

Baked and Broken

Crack!! It was a familiar sound. Like a perfect bone snapping in two. A bead of sweat dripped down from my face onto the broken area as I struggled to rip apart the remaining shreds of the limb from the main branch. These branches were the last of the remaining pile we accumulated a couple months ago. It had been hot, so they were long dead and dry, thankfully. Not too terribly hard work, but cause for a few thick limbs to stab me and draw blood in various places on my legs. Nothing a little Neosporin can't fix.

Eight thirty in the morning and I'm dripping. My shorts are soaked through, my t-shirt sticking to my body as if it were made of visqueen. The heat over the past two weeks has been near a hundred most every day. The forecast for today is 106 with a heat index nearing 115. That's ridiculous, and nobody should be out in it for more than an hour or so. I piled each limb into the back of the truck, and surprisingly, I'm not the least bit angry or disgruntled about it. You'll likely remember one of my past posts about the beginnings of said brush pile. It hasn't been pleasant.

Yesterday afternoon my wife pulled out a veiled request that is surely all too familiar to those of you out there that are married.

"Are you going to the dump tomorrow to take the last of those branches behind the shop?"

With a surprised look, "Uh, I wasn't planning on it, no. It's about a hundred and forty degrees out there if you haven't noticed."

"I just worry about the pile of dead leaves and wood back there being such a fire hazard."

Nothing was said after that, but I knew it was over and it made sense. Damn sense. Who needs it? Rick's auto parts is a salvage yard over on Old Highway 45. I had called Rick Friday because I'm looking for spindles and caliper holders from a mid seventies chevy truck or Blazer to fit onto a Dana 44 front axle that I'll eventually stuff under the front of my Jeep. I'm in no hurry for this, because I need to do other things first, but I thought I might as well kill two birds with one stone since the dump is a scant quarter mile away from the junkyard. Rick said he had a few early model Chevy trucks with complete front ends that I could come out and look at to see if they had what I need. I agreed and showed up this morning after unloading twelve dollars to my county tax coffer along with a truck bed full of broken limbs. Lucky me, there's a '73 Blazer that still has what I'm looking for bolted steadfastly to the knuckles. That's the bugger, though. Bolted up and exposed to the elements for who knows how many years adds up to plenty of surface rust and most likely a less than easy removal. After a little haggling and confirmation of the year model, I told him it was already way too hot for me to be crawling around in a junkyard unbolting heavy parts from an old axle. I'll come back and get them first thing on a Monday morning that doesn't melt me with a heat index in triple digits. I don't think people are exactly lining up for these pieces from a thirty five year old Blazer, so I think it's safe to wait until the oven is off.


Yesterday afternoon I went over to Gram's house to check on the pool and lounge for a bit. It was very pleasant around noon with a slight breeze blowing through the back yard. The wife declined to join me because of the heat. She grew up in Puerto Rico, but unfortunately, there isn't an ocean breeze in Gram's back yard. I was only able to tolerate an hour and a half of sweeping, scooping, and swimming before it started to feel like a furnace out there. When the water is almost the temperature of bath water, it's not much of a relief anyway.

I'm not sure what I'll do with the rest of my day, but I'm pretty sure there won't be much done in the area outside of my pleasantly cool, air conditioned home.