Goldilocks says...

...this bed is TOO soft!

Proof!

My brother happens to be in Vegas this weekend as well. This is him and Herself at Buzio's, in the Rio.

I promised my Mom he would eat...

Our room

Our oasis from the stink, which only serves to remind us how much WE stink. I love Vegas so much that apparently I always block out my memory of how much cigarette smoke there is, and how you WILL smell like an ashtray about 15 minutes after you land.

Nice room, though.

Peter wins! Almost.

After a highly controversial play that will likely have repercussions for the remainder of the trip, Peter fought back from the brink to take second place. Yours truly saw very few playable cards, but went out on a respectable straight flush draw that didn't pan out. Blurgh.

First tournament...the Luxor

Just bought in to my first poker tournament of the trip; this one goes fast, so lots of all-in action expected. Wish me luck.

The adventure begins!

We are at the airport, ready to go to Las Vegas! Peter brought a chip from last time, so we can hit the ground running.

I'll live post for the rest of the trip; check back often to watch the shenanigans unfold.

The line...four weeks later...

We're at the mall (blurgh), and I'm in awe that there is STILL a
line. I wonder if Apple is shooting themselves in the foot, rationing
out the iPhones like this?

Will check the stock price on Monday and see.

Things the Coinstar machine decided not to count

Coinstar rejected the following items; the machine and I were both surprised to find these things in my coin jar:

A Hello Kitty keychain fob, a paperclip, a five peseta piece from Spain, a Darth Vader collectible coin from 7-11, and a button.

Just so you know, I've never been to Spain, I am not a thirteen year old girl, and I have no idea when I was last in a 7-11. The mysteries of the coin jar continue to elude me.

If Christ leaves Bethlehem traveling 60 MPH...

Standing here on the train, getting a little creeped out. When people read their Bible, that's one thing. When they highlight and underline as they read? Yikes.

What are you studying for? Is the Rapture your (very) final exam?

The WildMan Cometh

I am very excited to see that Thomas "WildMan" Denny will be fighting on national television this coming Saturday in the Elite XC "Saturday Night Fights" on CBS. Now, if you are a regular reader of this blog, or if you know me at all, you may be saying to yourself, I had no idea Brendon was a fan of mixed martial arts fighting? You would be correct; I am not a fan of the sport. But I am a big fan of the WildMan. He is the star of one of my favorite poker stories. Here it is.

A couple years ago, I was playing a poker tournament at Mandalay Bay in Las Vegas. We had been playing long enough that the opening jitters were gone, we had lost a table or two, and we were at that stage where people were starting to relax and talk a little more. I had a decent chip stack, so I was more than happy to loosen up and chat. However, there are two consistent questions at Vegas poker tables that I am not a big fan of answering, mostly because of the perception that comes along with both.

Question number one, where are you from? And question number two, what do you do for a living?

When I tell people I am a lawyer, you can imagine the grief that usually comes along with that. When I tell people I live in San Francisco, you can equally imagine the grief that comes with that. Put the two together, and it's a non-stop laugh riot.

So the questions were working their way clockwise around the table, and were fast approaching. Do I lie, and take a chance? Hell, I've been bluffing all morning...what's a couple more? Or do I tell the truth, and let the fun begin?

The guy to my right had been keeping the hood of his sweatshirt up most of the morning, giving him a vaguely Phil Laak-type table presence. He was playing pretty well, mixing up his play and getting aggressive when he needed to. The "what do you do for a living" question got to him, and I'm thinking I need to decide whether to lie or not, when this guy pulled down his hood, revealing a neon green mohawk, along with crazy sideburns shaved to make him look like the devil. He looked around the table, and very calmly said,

"I'm Tom...and I'm an Ultimate Fighter."

The questions never got to me.

For the rest of the morning, every guy at the table sat in child-like wonder as "the WildMan" talked about what it's like being an Ultimate Fighter (not much money until you get a real name for yourself), what his training regimen was like (brutal and regular), whether he would beat up people in real life (no money = no punchy), and so on. He was a real gentleman, patiently answering question after question, and I think he even signed an autograph or two. My favorite moment was when he and I got involved in a big pot; I ended up taking it down after some semi-bluffing that let me catch up on the river, and he acknowledged the bluff. My response was simple: "This felt is the ONLY arena where I have a prayer against you!" He seemed to get a kick out of that.

I had a great time chatting with the WildMan, and I am very excited about his getting national, network television exposure. Good luck on Saturday, Tom, and best of luck in the future as well.

Jimmy Dean...James Dean...

Inspired perhaps by Jen's love of the 80's song, I recently finished the book Rock On, by Dan Kennedy. The book is supposed to be a mostly non-fiction recreation of Dan's work for Atlantic Records in the 90s, and how he sort of slacks through a year and a half making a salary most of us would dream about to work in the music industry, and yet be as far away from the creativity of music as possible. Dan worked in marketing, which explains the lameass description on the cover as this book being like The Office meets This is Spinal Tap. It is difficult to express in words how tired I am of that description of anything. I guess it's like Cliche meets Lazy Writing.

Which, if I am honest, is cliche and lazy writing on my part as well. Damn you, irony.

I love San Francisco

...and its myriad of fascinating, multi-culti advertising...



Limang just happens to be one of my favorite flavors.

Her britches

As you can see by comparison, the wee one is getting less wee by the day...

Success!

[This is us, when we finally arrived at the front of the line, waiting for the next available Apple store employee to sell us our fun new gadgets. This should also be the last photo I take with my old cellphone!]

After an embarrassingly long wait this afternoon, I am finally home, sitting on my couch, and blogging on my new 3G iPhone! How cool is this? I haven't quite figured everything (read: most things) out, but I have a sense I'll get better as the weekend goes on. For now, I'm typing with one finger and having a blast.

More soon...

Subconscious filthiness?

Where, when and how did smokers come to believe that it is completely acceptable to drop their cigarettes on the ground?

I was walking to work this morning when a smoker, walking with two other people, took her last hit and, without even looking, just dropped the filter, stepped on it, and went on her way. She never broke stride, never stopped talking; I honestly doubt she even thought about the actions, let alone the consequences. Neither of her friends seemed to notice, either.

What the hell? If she had watched me finish a can of soda and then just casually drop it to the ground, and then step on it, would she have noticed? Would she have cared? Would anybody?

Are smokers as a group so deluded that they believe the filters are biodegradable, when in reality it takes years for cellulose acetate (a form of plastic) to degrade? Or does the fault lie with the rest of us, who have come to see this as normal and give smokers a "pass" on littering?

I have already sparked a Larry David-esque discussion (read: friendly argument) on the train with a couple commuters who think leaving their newspapers on the ground is a form of recycling, so I guess it's time to start with smokers. Curmudgeon powers, activate!

If I ever become a stripper...

After my BART ride this morning, I have figured out my stripper name. I choose this name not only for the double entendre, but I also like the current-events vibe, given the heightened state of alertness in our country today:

"Suspicious Package"

Now on the main stage...

Job security

For anybody new to this blog who doesn't know what I do for a living ( which also, sadly, includes large portions of my family and friends), I practice dependency law, which is a specified area of the law that deals with the issues arising from and around foster care; more specifically, dependency law deals with the issues that arise when a child is removed from the home of her parents due to abuse, neglect, or other codified reasons that represent a danger to the safety of a minor, and said danger rises to the level that requires government intervention by removal of the child from the home. Needless to say, my job stories are hilarious, and I am a big hit at parties.

What is especially sick about what I do is that my job security is basically premised on the idea that parents and guardians will continue to beat, neglect and/or fuck their children so often and to such a level that my services will continue to be needed. That can mess with your head, to say the least.

So, pushing aside all of my guilt aside for a minute, and looking at things from a purely solipsistic and monetary point of view, I am so glad that NBC is airing awful, awful garbage like The Baby Borrowers. Thank you, NBC, for showcasing terrible parenting choices in primetime. Thank you for ignoring reputable and accepted data that shows that even three days away from their parents (which, to my understanding, was the length of time it took to film the newborn sequences) can be traumatic for babies. Thank you for making parenting a "game."

Ultimately, thank you for ensuring I can continue to pay my student loans. I appreciate it.

Believe the hype

Mario Kart for the Wii? With the optional "Wii Wheel"? Imagine how fun you think it is, then...double it.

Took some wrangling to get it home, but very worth it. I see us wasting many, many hours on this one. And regretting very few of them.

I guess "piss" isn't so bad anymore?

Picked up the book, Comedy at the Edge: How Stand-up in the 1970s Changed America, by Richard Zoglin, at the library on Saturday; I have been looking forward to reading this for a while now, especially after I read Steve Martin's autobiography.

As of Sunday, I have a new reason to appreciate the book. I cannot now lie and say that I was a huge fan of George Carlin, but I certainly appreciate anybody who champions free speech and free thought, and to do it as long as Carlin did it? That's just impressive.

Here's the man himself, with his seven dirty words. I remember reading the US Supreme Court case in law school that dealt with Carlin's bit, and I remember seeing part of the transcript that was used in that trial. Fun...filthy, filthy fun... :)

UPDATE 6-24:

Just finished the chapter on Carlin this morning, and thought the following quote on pg. 39 summed the man up very nicely (apart from using the word "virtually" twice in the same sentence):

Carlin's longevity as a stand-up was virtually unique among comics of his era - a top touring comic for four decades with virtually no boost from Hollywood, Broadway, or a hit TV series. It was a testament to his ability to stay on the edge, even as the hair and beard went gray. He evolved from white-bread media parodist to counterculture provocateur to curmudgeonly uncle to apocalyptic pessimist; but what remained constant was his eye for the world's inequities and absurdities, and the caustic eloquence with which he called them to our attention.

A nice send off.

When kittens try to check their email

Poor thing. Nobody ever taught her the home row. And then there's the whole "not having thumbs" thing.


More likely, she fell asleep on the keyboard. But the idea of her trying to check her email? That's just a lot of fun.