02.08.06 stack 'em

NP: "Slip It In" Black Flag.
NP: "Salvatore Amato" Bell Orchestre.
NP: "For The Price Of A Cup Of Tea" Belle And Sebastian.
NP: "Escher" Teenage Fanclub.
NP: "Laissez-Moi Tranquille" Serge Gainsbourg.
NP: "Cherry Cream On" Unrest.
NP: "Rend It" Fugazi.
NR: February 13 / 20 double issue of The New Yorker. The article on the Beijing alleyway is wonderful. The whole issue is great from beginning to (almost) end.



Walking to work. Put on "Slip It In" by Black Flag. I'm pretty certain I haven't listened to this record for at least 15 years. I was going to call my mom while walking to work. Decided that I couldn't call her immediately after listening to the line "Say you don't want it... You don't want it... And then you slip it on in." I need a buffer of at least fifteen minutes, in my best estimation.

Then I start to think about the first time I heard that record. I was probably 12, maybe 13. Certainly at least four years away from losing my virginity. I don't think I really had any idea about what they hell was going on. I'm trying to think if my friend Chad had discovered his father's old Playboy and Club magazines in his basement at this time. I don't think so. I can't even fathom how my teenage brain tried to analyze a song like "Slip It In." All wrong, I'm sure. (Not that I'm any better at it now.)

Work was pretty uneventful. Poker news in NYC is a bit strange: LLLL, RRRR, and DDDD all got raided and closed. It looks like AAAA closed voluntarily, as did another place I had never even been to, I guess I'll call it IIII if it even matters now. We're doing alright at BBBB... Soon we might be the only game in town.

I play for a couple of hours. Make one bad call, and have my QQ run into KK and I'm down $400, but really I feel like I'm playing well. All the Omaha Hi/Lo I've been playing online is definitely helping me to tighten up my game. I buy another $400 in chips. In a couple of hands I play A9 beautifully and have my top pair turn into second nut straight, and I get paid off on my re-raise all-in on the river by the third nut straight. A couple of hands later I flop a straight and take down a $200 pot. I play for a little while longer and get up from the table up $150. I felt like I could have played longer, but I didn't want to play all night. Instead I went home and won $500 playing online Omaha Hi/Lo. ($350 of which I donated back in an hour this morning stupidly, but... still... I made $900 in basically 36 hours, putting me back to basically even for the year.) A rollercoaster it's been, but I do feel like the Omaha is helping me to tighten up my game and make my ability to make marginal calls just a bit sharper.

I head to Veselka out of the subway. In there Eamonn's friend Parilla is sitting with one of his friends, both pretty drunk. We get to talking. He said he ordered some eggs and onion rings. I told him that I've been foregoing the french fries / home fries / onion rings for the potato pancakes lately. He says that that reminds him of a sandwich he's been craving. (Never does the story he then tells have ANYTHING to do with potato pancakes.) The sandwich is called The Stack and an ex-girlfriend first made it for him. It's a grilled cheese on white bread. And it's a BLT, minus the mayonaisse, with the bottom piece of toast removed. Then the BLT is smooshed on top of the grilled cheese for a triple-decker. It can then be dipped in mayonaisse or ketchup or whatever during consumption, a la a french dip.

It DOES sound like a good lunch. But here's the beautiful part: Perillo continues with his story. When he was 13 or so a friend of his started talking about how much he would love to have 2 girls in bed. This blew the 13-year-old Perillo's mind. "What would you do with them? I don't even understand or comprehend." He asks this friend what he would do with two girls. The friend replies "I'd take the first one and put her face down on the pillow with her ass in the air. Then I'd just stack the other one on top. I'd stack 'em."

Now THAT sounds like a delicious lunch. Or a kinky McDLT.

Strange how my day came full circle with the pre-pubescent thoughts of dumb boys.



A couple of Paris photos:


for when you are sick of all those shampoos that claim to shampoo, but then really don't.



awfully cute.




01.22.06 "im at veselka. they undestand me here."

NP: "Knock On Wood" Eddie Floyd.
NP: "B-A-B-Y" Carla Thomas.
NR: absolutely nothing. kinda weird. just haven't wanted to pick up anything.



txt message sent at 6:00 AM to Kendel: "Im at veselka. They undestand me here. Whew. Wow. Im drunker than yovve ever seen me. Concrentrating."

Omigod I got drunk last night. I've discovered a new drink. It's called "whatever anybody hands me, or whatever i pour myself while behind the bar at lit".

Apparently, it's delicious.

It appears to be more delicious than the only-missing-two-bites veselka bacon-egg-and-cheese that was still sitting here on the table when i woke up (at 4 PM) this afternoon, and also more delicious than the only-missing-two-sips coffee milkshake sitting next to it.

I have one brutal fucking hangover. I think I owe the Veselka guys an apology, but then again maybe I don't, because I was definitely very very drunk, but I think they were just laughing at me. The txt I sent Kendel is fucking hilarious. I can imagine me concentrating on trying to write the word "concentrating" properly. And failing.

Did i mention the jagermeister? yowza.

But I'm happy because I finally had a good night of poker. I played the $225 tournament at AAAA. Only 12 players this week, as so many players are in Atlantic City for the World Poker Tour circuit event down there. Third hand into the tourney I have 10 10 on the button. A raise in front of me to 75, I re-raise to 300 and he calls. Head's up. The flop comes J 8 8. He checks. I bet 500. He thinks about it for a while, and he calls. The turn comes a 9. He checks, I check. The river comes another J. He bets a little, I fold. He shows me pocket 9's. I show him my 10s and tell him "good call" and I'm pissed. I just lost over half my chips from this idiot making two bad calls in the same hand.

I fight and I fight, and eventually I double up on the other small stack, and when the tourney goes to 10 players I have 1600 in chips... right where I started. I play tight... I play well. Eventually the pocket 9's asshole is shortstack, I have 10 10 in late position and make a big enough raise to put him (now in the big blind) all-in if he chooses to call. He calls with KQ, the flop comes with a 10, and I knock him out. A bit of sweet revenge. Throughout the course of the tourney I get pocket 10s five times, and never once get JJ, QQ, KK, or AA. At the final table I never once get AK. Strange.

Eventually it comes down to three players. I'm the short stack of the three with about 4000, one guy has like 9000, and the other has 5000. Then I take 3000 chips off the big stack, and the next hand the other guy at the table says "I'm getting bored. You guys want to just chop this three ways?" First place was supposed to be $1200, second $800, and third $400. We're all pretty even, and I could use the money and I think we were all pretty evenly matched... we all agree. Tip the dealers $50 each, and we each take $750 for a nice little $525 profit. I had made $50 in the 1-2 game beforehand (all on a complete stone-cold bluff on a player that was so obviously on a flush draw that it was easy to execute), so I walk out up almost $600.

And, of course, I still want to play, but I don't want to play the 1-2 game there. I walk out, walk all the way to the East Village in search of food. I think I'm in the mood for Italian, but I can't really think of anywhere except Lavagna, but if I'm going to Lavagna I'm going to want wine, spend too much money... I just can't think of what I want. I eventually pick Stromboli pizza for the bacon tomato and garlic slice. In there I bump into Julie from Northern State, and we end up talking about poker for a half hour. I think about taking her to AAAA (she has never played no limit in a card room or casino), but eventually I decide I want to go to the new club DDDD, run by the former PPPP folks. They just opened this weekend, so I don't want to take a new player. I bid Julie good night and walk over to DDDD around 11:30.

I walk in and there are two games. 1-2 NL, and 20 40 half kill omaha hi low. Now, I've been playing all that online pot limit omaha hi low, but I shouldn't be playing 20 40 ANYTHING, especially if it's half kill. Technically you should sit down with $1000-$1200 for a game like that. In other words, everything I have in my pocket. I buy in for $500. I pick up some nice hands, and am up $400 in like 45 minutes. I think about leaving, but felt it would be too much of a silly hit and run. So I play. Over the next two hours, I go back down to even, then down. And then down some more. I buy in for another $300 when I have like $80 in front of me. At one point I'm down to $200 in front of me. And then I go on a terror. I pick up a bunch of nice hands and start picking up pots. The table goes down to 4-handed, and I start scooping some pots with second nut low and middle two pair high. In a 4-way pot on the button I raise with A2spades in my hand, and the flop comes two spades and two low cards. The turn is a low spade, the river is a blank that doesn't pair the board. I get one caller, he has A2 and I quarter him for a big pot. I take a bunch of heads up hands against Bobby G who ends up busting out at 10 minutes before 3:00 AM, saying he's going to go get more money, and the three of us at the table say "don't bother... we're going to get out of here at 3:00". I look down and I'm up $380. I walk out of there at 3:00 on the dot, I'm up $955 for the night, and I'm ready for a drink. I walk to LIT listening to Stax Singles Vol. 6. The MP3's above are from that disc and they come back to back. The greatest walking music ever. The backing vocals on "B-A-B-Y" are all whoozy and awesome. I show up at LIT, don't see Erik or David, and buy a Bud. It's the last drink I pay for. By 6:00 AM I'm pouring myself Jagermeister shots, getting my own beers, serving other people drinks, carrying Foss around over my shoulder, selecting songs on David Cross's Itunes, and did I mention the Budweiser and Jagermeister? I did, didn't I?

The rest you know.

It's after midnight now, and I'm just starting to feel like a human being again. My brain cells still hate me.

I told Mitch about my poker, and then told him later about the drunken end of the evening. His response: "i'm gonna have an intervention for you but i can't decide which type to do first. you need so many..."

so true.




a reflection of a reflection of a reflection of a budweiser sign.




01.21.06 nothing funny

NP: "Pardon My French" Get Him Eat Him.
NP: "Fake French" El Guapo.
NP: "Love Goes Home To Paris In The Spring" The Magnetic Fields.
NP: "Paris Rag" Masa Sumide.
NP: "Dear Spirit, I'm In France" Oxes.
NP: "Open Air" The Oranges Band.
NR: last issue of The New Yorker. A short story by Samantha Hunt that seems to be set within a half hour of where I grew up. My jaw almost dropped when a reference was made to a roadside "Crystal Cave" sign.



Finally got off my ass and got some photos from the Franz Ferdinand tour up online. I'm not very happy with how they turned out, in general, and I wish I had taken more, um, "candid / life on the road" kinda shots, but... At least there are a few shots that are salvageable. Here they are:

franz ferdinand tour photos


I also finally finished up "The Megan Brown CDs" project. My niece Megan turned 12 in August, and i felt this was the time for a more formal introduction to good music. Me being the foremost authority on good music, of course. And, of course, this means I also ignored pretty much every genre of music that I'm not versed in, so it ends up being a list of punk / indie / alternative songs of the last 30 years. The entire playlist was determined by figuring out exactly how many songs fit on 30 cds (down to the second, pretty much), while still allowing for data to be burned onto each cd: all the songs are ripped as mp3s and contained on the disc, so that Megan could drag and drop the files straight onto her MP3 player, if she so chooses. And, of course, the order of the songs on each cd was painstakingly selected. Not working straight through, but the project still isn't actually finished. I've been sending her a new cd approximately every 12 days, so that it will take her a year to get all the cds. And I only just now finished the final eight CD's running order. I still need to burn those eight, but in the meantime, here are the tracklistings for the entire series:

Megan Brown CD #01 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #02 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #03 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #04 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #05 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #06 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #07 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #08 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #09 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #10 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #11 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #12 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #13 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #14 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #15 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #16 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #17 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #18 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #19 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #20 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #21 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #22 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #23 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #24 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #25 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #26 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #27 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #28 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #29 Track Listing: click here
Megan Brown CD #30 Track Listing: click here


01.20.06 s'more bloody awful poetry

NP: nuthin'.
NR: nuthin'.



Those two poems I made reference to the other day:



Perspective

They passed like strangers,
without a word or gesture,
her off to the store,
him heading for the car.

Perhaps startled
or distracted,
or forgetting
that for a short while
they'd been in love forever.

Still, there's no guarantee
that it was them.
Maybe yes from a distance,
but not close up.

I watched them from the window,
and those who observe from above
are often mistaken.

She vanished beyond the glass door.
He got in behind the wheel
and took off.
As if nothing had happened,
if it had.

And I, sure for just a moment
that I'd seen it,
strive to convince you, O Readers,
with this accidental little poem
that it was sad.

Wislawa Szymborska
(Translated, from the Polish, by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.)
(From The New Yorker a couple of weeks ago)



tonight

"your poems about the girls will still be around
50 years from now when the girls are gone,"
my editor phones me.

dear editor:
the girls appear to be gone
already.

I know what you mean

but give me one truly alive woman
tonight
walking across the floor toward me

and you can have all the poems

the good ones
the bad ones
or any that I might write after this one.

I know what you mean.

do you know what I mean?

Charles Bukowski


01.19.06 nothing funny

NP: "The Smile You Smile" Van Morrison.
NP: "The Man Comes Around" Johnny Cash.
NP: "Do The Strand" Roxy Music.
NR: last issue of The New Yorker. Dragging my feet on this one. Doing too much Sudoku and not enough reading.



some photographs:




How can you tell if someone's a New Yorker? Check out their spelling of "Broom".



Found this on the floor of St. Dymphna's a while ago. Poor Kevin.



I don't know if the homeless guy sleeping within noticed the irony of his selection of boxes.
[click on image for a larger photo.]








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