We had an out-of-town visitor recently, and her presence in our small house made me painfully aware of just how much television I sit in front of. Not "watch," necessarily, but just have on all the time. I need to get more books.
Anyway, when I am honest with myself, I have the television on a lot, but I actually don't watch that many shows regularly. I am trying to keep that number down, since investing in new shows requires dedicating more of my brain to names, subplots, etc. I just shouldn't have the time for that.
So anyway, my new show this season is probably going to be Lost, which has the best chances for keeping me interested. I love "stranded" stories, esp. the elements of how you would survive in a strange situation with very few tools, resources, etc. I am also a sucker for X-Files-esque monsters and mysteries, both of which are apparently going to be staples on this show. And finally, I really love the whole Lord of the Flies, create a new society, what happens when the cops are gone and there are no legal consequences to your actions, sort of story.
For now, I'm in.
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
Monday, September 20, 2004
I'm no Phil Gordon, part two
Okay, so after several weeks of hot poker action, and being the only one in our group not to win some money yet, I finally took home a pot at our weekend poker game! What a relief! I was really getting tired of being the guy at the table who knows all the rules, all the lingo, reads the books, watches the shows...and continuously goes home broke. Finally, the cards came my way, and I feel much better about how I played.
My biggest mistake of the night was actually against my wife. Here's the line:
I'm holding a Jack and 4, both hearts. Flop comes: Ace (hearts), Queen (clubs), and 9 (hearts). So two cards to go on the board, and a pretty good chance at the flush, right?
But I bet wrong. I should have gone after the pot more aggressively and scared everyone else out, but I limped in, slow playing it to see if I would indeed make the flush. What happened?
Turn: 9 of spades. River: Queen of hearts.
In other words, I make my flush on Fifth Street, but I also waited too long, and now anybody out there with a Queen or 9 has the full house, and I'm screwed.
And sure enough, my wife had the Queen. Probably should have gotten out, but I was pretty pot committed by then, and figured I should at least see if anyone made the boat, so I stuck around. She did. Grrrr.
Of course, she's been putting in our entry fee for the past four weeks, so since I've been playing with her money, I guess I shouldn't complain. Also, my take of the pot was enough to pay her back for the past four weeks, so I really can't complain.
I wish I had made enough to also pay off the parking ticket I got last week, the one she will now have to pay, but maybe I'll get lucky again this weekend. We'll see.
My biggest mistake of the night was actually against my wife. Here's the line:
I'm holding a Jack and 4, both hearts. Flop comes: Ace (hearts), Queen (clubs), and 9 (hearts). So two cards to go on the board, and a pretty good chance at the flush, right?
But I bet wrong. I should have gone after the pot more aggressively and scared everyone else out, but I limped in, slow playing it to see if I would indeed make the flush. What happened?
Turn: 9 of spades. River: Queen of hearts.
In other words, I make my flush on Fifth Street, but I also waited too long, and now anybody out there with a Queen or 9 has the full house, and I'm screwed.
And sure enough, my wife had the Queen. Probably should have gotten out, but I was pretty pot committed by then, and figured I should at least see if anyone made the boat, so I stuck around. She did. Grrrr.
Of course, she's been putting in our entry fee for the past four weeks, so since I've been playing with her money, I guess I shouldn't complain. Also, my take of the pot was enough to pay her back for the past four weeks, so I really can't complain.
I wish I had made enough to also pay off the parking ticket I got last week, the one she will now have to pay, but maybe I'll get lucky again this weekend. We'll see.
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Fun with high winds
Just dropped off our good friend at the airport; she visited for the last week, and now is headed home...and straight into Hurricane Ivan. Yikes.
When we lived in Alabama in '95, we lived through Opal, and I will never forget it: amazing winds and rainfall, a solid week afterwards without electricity or phones, and the realization that I would NEVER have made it as an early pioneer without air conditioning. God bless you, Mr. Carrier!
What has been interesting about watching all of the Ivan coverage on television was realizing that I never saw any of the Opal coverage due to the power outage. I wonder if the Weather Channel guys, in their cool black t-shirts and baseball caps, were set up just around the corner from our house, and we never knew it?
And by the way, do we need an intrepid reporter to lean into the wind, get his hat blown off, and struggle to talk into the microphone every time a hurricane comes? You can't tell me some of that isn't added dramatics.
It's hard to stand in one place. We get it, already.
When we lived in Alabama in '95, we lived through Opal, and I will never forget it: amazing winds and rainfall, a solid week afterwards without electricity or phones, and the realization that I would NEVER have made it as an early pioneer without air conditioning. God bless you, Mr. Carrier!
What has been interesting about watching all of the Ivan coverage on television was realizing that I never saw any of the Opal coverage due to the power outage. I wonder if the Weather Channel guys, in their cool black t-shirts and baseball caps, were set up just around the corner from our house, and we never knew it?
And by the way, do we need an intrepid reporter to lean into the wind, get his hat blown off, and struggle to talk into the microphone every time a hurricane comes? You can't tell me some of that isn't added dramatics.
It's hard to stand in one place. We get it, already.
Wednesday, September 08, 2004
BETTER than flying cars!
The Jetsons promised us flying cars by now, but I think this is even better:
Netflix and TiVo are rumored to be considering teaming up and allowing members to download movies from the Netflix library directly to their TiVo box. What a world.
This, of course, means that the paltry amount of cardio I get walking to the mailbox to mail my red envelopes back will have to be replaced somehow. I must resolve to walk to the refrigerator more often, but come back with less. Balance will be achieved.
Netflix and TiVo are rumored to be considering teaming up and allowing members to download movies from the Netflix library directly to their TiVo box. What a world.
This, of course, means that the paltry amount of cardio I get walking to the mailbox to mail my red envelopes back will have to be replaced somehow. I must resolve to walk to the refrigerator more often, but come back with less. Balance will be achieved.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Somebody set up us the bomb
So in the spirit of my last post RE: my love of reruns, I thought I'd link to one of my favorite internet-phenomenon-from-several-years-ago and breathe a little new life into it. Come on; if VH1 can do I Love the 90s, surely I can get away this?
Seriously, this time we mean it: All your base are belong to us.
Deal with it.
Seriously, this time we mean it: All your base are belong to us.
Deal with it.
Monday, August 30, 2004
Dreaming of reruns
I think I really want TiVo.
I worry that, right now, I watch too much television. And by "watch," I mean "stare at that box till something else better comes on, then stare some more." I'm often just flipping around till I find something even moderately watchable (read: not good in and of itself, just better than the other dreck). Interesting fact: especially in the early afternoon, that is usually something on the E! network. Surprised me, too.
So here's my theory: with TiVo, I may actually watch less television, since I would know that I could turn it on, go immediately to something I want to watch, do so commercial-free, and then move on with my life. Granted, what I usually want to watch are reruns of Seinfeld or The Simpsons (IMHO, both still better than any other scripted show on TV), but that's my right as an American, yes?
As soon as I get a job and can afford TiVo, I'll test my theory and publish my results for you. The New England Journal of Medicine awaits.
I worry that, right now, I watch too much television. And by "watch," I mean "stare at that box till something else better comes on, then stare some more." I'm often just flipping around till I find something even moderately watchable (read: not good in and of itself, just better than the other dreck). Interesting fact: especially in the early afternoon, that is usually something on the E! network. Surprised me, too.
So here's my theory: with TiVo, I may actually watch less television, since I would know that I could turn it on, go immediately to something I want to watch, do so commercial-free, and then move on with my life. Granted, what I usually want to watch are reruns of Seinfeld or The Simpsons (IMHO, both still better than any other scripted show on TV), but that's my right as an American, yes?
As soon as I get a job and can afford TiVo, I'll test my theory and publish my results for you. The New England Journal of Medicine awaits.
Wednesday, August 18, 2004
Should I feel dirty watching the Olympics?
Misty May, member of the US Olympic Women's Beach Volleyball team, has a mole on her left inner thigh.
I really shouldn't know this. Her doctor should know this.
But I know this because when NBC flew to Greece for its Olympic coverage, they forgot to pack their shame. Their coverage of Women's Beach Volleyball has been the most overtly sexual thing on my television ever since my wife made me call the cable company and tell them we were getting Cinemax for free.
And just in case NBC's slow-motion replays of the women diving into the sand from every angle aren't enough for you, there's more. In between games, the venue actually has female cheerleaders in even more revealing swimwear (not easy to do) dance suggestively while the atheletes take a break.
Maybe I should be outraged, maybe it's a celebration of women taking control of their sexuality, or maybe it's just sex-marketing business as usual. Let me know what you decide. In the meantime, I'll probably be making disapproving comments...but probably not changing the channel.
And Misty? I'd get that looked at, if I were you.
I really shouldn't know this. Her doctor should know this.
But I know this because when NBC flew to Greece for its Olympic coverage, they forgot to pack their shame. Their coverage of Women's Beach Volleyball has been the most overtly sexual thing on my television ever since my wife made me call the cable company and tell them we were getting Cinemax for free.
And just in case NBC's slow-motion replays of the women diving into the sand from every angle aren't enough for you, there's more. In between games, the venue actually has female cheerleaders in even more revealing swimwear (not easy to do) dance suggestively while the atheletes take a break.
Maybe I should be outraged, maybe it's a celebration of women taking control of their sexuality, or maybe it's just sex-marketing business as usual. Let me know what you decide. In the meantime, I'll probably be making disapproving comments...but probably not changing the channel.
And Misty? I'd get that looked at, if I were you.
Monday, August 16, 2004
I'm no Phil Gordon
Damn...I watch Celebrity Poker Showdown religiously, have seen Chris Moneymaker win the 2003 WSOP several times on ESPN, and have even read Positively Fifth Street by James McManus. So shouldn't I be better at poker by now?
Answer with a question: how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.
Actually sat down and played for the first time this weekend, and was the first one out. Had a blast doing it, was basically losing my wife's money since I'm still unemployed, and picked up a few things about my own game and the playing habits of the others at the table.
I'll do better next time. But for now, off to practice. Wish me luck.
Answer with a question: how do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice.
Actually sat down and played for the first time this weekend, and was the first one out. Had a blast doing it, was basically losing my wife's money since I'm still unemployed, and picked up a few things about my own game and the playing habits of the others at the table.
I'll do better next time. But for now, off to practice. Wish me luck.
Friday, August 06, 2004
My religious/cancerous experience
There are film snobs, wine snobs, music snobs, and so on. I am not a cigar snob per se, but I can talk the talk, and I finally got the perfectly legal chance in Aruba to enjoy the producto de Habana that I have read so much about: a sweet, sweet limitado edicion Cohiba cigar. And afterwards, I have never come closer to considering violating the trade embargoes of the United States.
For those of you who are not cigar lovers, skip this paragraph. For those of you who are, I have to say it was the most perfect cigar I have ever enjoyed. Beautiful brown maduro wrapper, springy to the touch, nice torpedo tapered-head (not a true torpedo, but close), and I would guess about a 40 ring. After lighting, it kept a uniform coal the whole way through, and burned evenly and slowly. The draw was phenomenal, and the aftertaste was like slightly overcooked popcorn, never bitter, even towards the end. Being the first cigar I have smoked in years, coupled with its flawless flavor, I was truly blown away.
While enjoying it, I thought of my old friend Russ from Alabama; we taught together for a year, and after school on Fridays would sometimes go to a local smoke shop, walk into the humidor, and pick out something new. Then we'd head to a bar around the corner, fire up the cedar, and enjoy a good smoke, a good beer, and some good company. Good times.
I wonder whatever happened to Russ; I hope he's doing well wherever he is, but for a few minutes last week, he was in Aruba with me enjoying a fantastic Cohiba and laughing about the students.
I still can't blow smoke rings.
For those of you who are not cigar lovers, skip this paragraph. For those of you who are, I have to say it was the most perfect cigar I have ever enjoyed. Beautiful brown maduro wrapper, springy to the touch, nice torpedo tapered-head (not a true torpedo, but close), and I would guess about a 40 ring. After lighting, it kept a uniform coal the whole way through, and burned evenly and slowly. The draw was phenomenal, and the aftertaste was like slightly overcooked popcorn, never bitter, even towards the end. Being the first cigar I have smoked in years, coupled with its flawless flavor, I was truly blown away.
While enjoying it, I thought of my old friend Russ from Alabama; we taught together for a year, and after school on Fridays would sometimes go to a local smoke shop, walk into the humidor, and pick out something new. Then we'd head to a bar around the corner, fire up the cedar, and enjoy a good smoke, a good beer, and some good company. Good times.
I wonder whatever happened to Russ; I hope he's doing well wherever he is, but for a few minutes last week, he was in Aruba with me enjoying a fantastic Cohiba and laughing about the students.
I still can't blow smoke rings.
SPF 85?
So explain this to me:
We spent four days in the Caribbean. Every day, without fail, I applied a sunscreen lotion with an SPF of 45 (for reference, mayonnaise is about a 40), was NEVER in the direct sun for more than 10 minutes, and I still got a nice, pink sunburn.
Why does God want me to burn?
We spent four days in the Caribbean. Every day, without fail, I applied a sunscreen lotion with an SPF of 45 (for reference, mayonnaise is about a 40), was NEVER in the direct sun for more than 10 minutes, and I still got a nice, pink sunburn.
Why does God want me to burn?
Thursday, August 05, 2004
Ahhh...MUCH better...
So, we're back from a great vacation in Aruba. When we were planning a vacation several months ago, here's what we decided:
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for culture, learning about the indiginous peoples, etc. But not this time. I just wanted to relax, and so here's just about everything I learned on this trip:
We'll take a trip involving museums next time.
- We DID NOT want to learn anything, see anything, or tour anything. We didn't want an itinerary, and we certainly never wanted to set an alarm clock for fear of missing any of the "sights."
- We DID want to roll out of bed every day at the crack of noon, lay on the beach reading trashy novels and drinking rum-infused frozen cocktails, only leaving to eat and sleep.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all for culture, learning about the indiginous peoples, etc. But not this time. I just wanted to relax, and so here's just about everything I learned on this trip:
- The people of Aruba speak four languages; their native Papiamento, Dutch, English, and Spanish. I can understand one of those.
- However, Dutch isn't really that hard of a language to figure out. For example, "Pannekuikhoos" is "Pancake House." I figured that one out quick.
- Balashi is a local beer brewed in Aruba that in any other climate would probably be considered fairly weak. However, I found that after a day of 90 degree weather and the accompanying dehydration, this was the little beer that could.
- Europeans hate cinnamon, and don't understand why Americans like it. If you order cinnamon on your pancakes at the Pannekuikhoos, the Dutch waitress will shake her head and laugh, and remark that she has heard that Americans even have a gum with cinnamon in it called "Beeg Red." How can you hate cinnamon?
We'll take a trip involving museums next time.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
The Four Month Headache
Finally home after several days of living out of a cooler in a hotel room in Oakland while taking the California Bar Exam. Of course, being me, several things went wrong, most notably the "inexplicable" failure of the software, meaning that I had to hand-write the entire three-day exam. I haven't hand written anything longer than a thank-you card in the last decade; I hope to regain feeling in my right arm in the next few days.
I have shelter, running water, and way too much food. Compared to most of the population of the world, I have absolutely nothing to complain about and am living the good life. But complaining is way more fun, and I have a headache that makes think a ruptured aneurysm might feel cool and refreshing right about now. Bad joke, I know, but that's about where I am right now.
Good news: it's over, I leave for the beach in about 5 hours, and my wife says she'll still love me if I fail this thing.
Bad news: if I do fail, I have NO idea what to do differently to prepare.
Worse news: we don't get the results till mid-November, plenty of time for me to convince myself that I'll be taking this thing again in February.
Pray for Mojo.
I have shelter, running water, and way too much food. Compared to most of the population of the world, I have absolutely nothing to complain about and am living the good life. But complaining is way more fun, and I have a headache that makes think a ruptured aneurysm might feel cool and refreshing right about now. Bad joke, I know, but that's about where I am right now.
Good news: it's over, I leave for the beach in about 5 hours, and my wife says she'll still love me if I fail this thing.
Bad news: if I do fail, I have NO idea what to do differently to prepare.
Worse news: we don't get the results till mid-November, plenty of time for me to convince myself that I'll be taking this thing again in February.
Pray for Mojo.
Friday, July 23, 2004
"However, in an inexplicable twist of law..."
Finally just about lost it last night; while practicing some multiple-choice MBE questions from my PMBR book, I finally got to a Contracts question that I knew. Finally found one that I didn't need to narrow down to the two best choices, then flip a coin. Finally hit one out of the park. Answer C, no doubt. Final answer, Regis.
I think you know where this is going. I flip to the back, and it's answer A. That was enough to take me to the brink, but the final shove was the "explanation" for why A was right and C (Brendon) was completely wrong. And I quote:
"Choice C is a correct statement of law, and would be a good answer. However, in an inexplicable twist of law..."
I won't bore you with the rest...okay, I'm not sure I can bore you with the rest because I don't understand the rest. Apparently, if it is inexplicable, we can't understand the rest.
I lost it. Test me on things I know, and I get it wrong: fair enough, I blew it. Test me on things that are inexplicable? That's just plain mean, and I would love to know what they are testing when they do things like that. Jerks. At this point, I'd prefer that somebody come over to my house, introduce himself as the embodiment of the Bar process, and proceed to kick me in the testicles a few times.
At least that wouldn't be "inexplicable."
I think you know where this is going. I flip to the back, and it's answer A. That was enough to take me to the brink, but the final shove was the "explanation" for why A was right and C (Brendon) was completely wrong. And I quote:
"Choice C is a correct statement of law, and would be a good answer. However, in an inexplicable twist of law..."
I won't bore you with the rest...okay, I'm not sure I can bore you with the rest because I don't understand the rest. Apparently, if it is inexplicable, we can't understand the rest.
I lost it. Test me on things I know, and I get it wrong: fair enough, I blew it. Test me on things that are inexplicable? That's just plain mean, and I would love to know what they are testing when they do things like that. Jerks. At this point, I'd prefer that somebody come over to my house, introduce himself as the embodiment of the Bar process, and proceed to kick me in the testicles a few times.
At least that wouldn't be "inexplicable."
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Go...Joe...Char-bo-neau!
I should let you know at the beginning that I am not a fan of baseball; I find it dull and tedious, like watching golf or Emeril. However, I have some surprisingly positive memories of baseball from my childhood that surfaced this morning.
I was leaving for school and flipping past ESPN2's morning show Cold Pizza when I saw that they were broadcasting from Cleveland's Jacobs Field, a beautiful ball park that took the place of the gargantuan Municipal Field I grew up with. The interviewer was talking to a bald guy I didn't recognize until he said the magic name: "Super" Joe Charboneau!
Here's why that meant something: the Cleveland Indians, despite brief glimmers of hope, are losers. So when even a mediocre player comes their way, the fans embrace him like the Second Coming. When I was a kid, Joe Charboneau stormed into Cleveland like a rock star. For the couple years (really only one full season) he played before getting injured, he inspired t-shirts (I had one!) and even a song that I immediately began singing out loud this morning, much to the delight, no doubt, of my still-sleeping spouse.
As I am studying for the Bar, it's nice to have a positive memory like rooting for Joe Charboneau with my brother and my babysitter, who even took us to a game once (I didn't catch a ball, but I think I had a hot dog, and I bet it was pretty tasty). I need to call my brother and share this with him.
It's also a little disconcerting that I have a tough time remembering laws I studied last night, but can instantly recall the words to a song I heard on the radio over 24 years ago. Come on, brain! I thought we were in this together!
I was leaving for school and flipping past ESPN2's morning show Cold Pizza when I saw that they were broadcasting from Cleveland's Jacobs Field, a beautiful ball park that took the place of the gargantuan Municipal Field I grew up with. The interviewer was talking to a bald guy I didn't recognize until he said the magic name: "Super" Joe Charboneau!
Here's why that meant something: the Cleveland Indians, despite brief glimmers of hope, are losers. So when even a mediocre player comes their way, the fans embrace him like the Second Coming. When I was a kid, Joe Charboneau stormed into Cleveland like a rock star. For the couple years (really only one full season) he played before getting injured, he inspired t-shirts (I had one!) and even a song that I immediately began singing out loud this morning, much to the delight, no doubt, of my still-sleeping spouse.
As I am studying for the Bar, it's nice to have a positive memory like rooting for Joe Charboneau with my brother and my babysitter, who even took us to a game once (I didn't catch a ball, but I think I had a hot dog, and I bet it was pretty tasty). I need to call my brother and share this with him.
It's also a little disconcerting that I have a tough time remembering laws I studied last night, but can instantly recall the words to a song I heard on the radio over 24 years ago. Come on, brain! I thought we were in this together!
Friday, July 09, 2004
Against my better judgment...
So, all I really wanted to do was comment on Jen's blog, but to do so I had to register, and by registering I apparently get a blog of my own.
You ever go to the grocery store, and all you want is a bag of salad, but then you get to the checkout counter, and it turns out that today only, if you buy a bag of salad, you get a box of croutons for free...and you really didn't want croutons, but then you feel silly not taking them, because after all they're free, and who turns down free croutons?
That's about how I feel right now.
And who knows...maybe it'll turn out I like croutons after all.
You ever go to the grocery store, and all you want is a bag of salad, but then you get to the checkout counter, and it turns out that today only, if you buy a bag of salad, you get a box of croutons for free...and you really didn't want croutons, but then you feel silly not taking them, because after all they're free, and who turns down free croutons?
That's about how I feel right now.
And who knows...maybe it'll turn out I like croutons after all.
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