Archive for July, 2007

Here are some vids that I wanted to post before I get to the nitty-gritty of all the cool stuff that’s been happening.

The first one was created by my friend Eric, who also doesn’t have a job. The “clever twist” at the end doesn’t ring true for me, as many of you know, but the overall essence of it captures just how sick I am of people asking me about work just to make small talk. Work is often a necessary evil, but small talk doesn’t have to be. STOP THE SMALL TALK. I think I should make my own follow-up video about how retarded small talk is. I think I’m too lazy to actually do that. Here’s Eric’s video.

My second selection was given to me by Shubha. It kind of makes me miss the office environment in a sado-masochistic kind of way. I like swearing at my coworkers, but I hate Bud Light. Here’s the video.

Suit: Hey, who has the best pizza, you or the guy down the block?
Pizzeria owner: Fuck you!
Suit: I’ll have two slices, please.

–Near Orchard & Houston

The Nu Hairs I was raving about in an earlier post weren’t very fun or easy to maintain, so I decided to go all the way with the bangs. Good thing I had a trip to Austin planned so Havi at Hairy Situations could continue to right my wrongs.

I asked my friend Joe
I asked my friend Jake
They said it was Fhqwhgads

As you can see from one of my old Big 10s, something about dyeing my hair a crazy color makes me want to reference this cartoon. Everybody to the limit!

And by “mind,” I mean “transformer under Grand Central Station.”

I was on the 6 train (which goes through Grand Central) when it happened. We passed the stop because “other trains were backed up,” but news had traveled that there was an explosion before I even got off the train. When I exited one stop later (at 33rd Street, where I live) and walked to Lexington Avenue, there was a HUGE plume of smoke billowing from the ground. Going to the roof now…

There’s a picture from my roof. I was going to try to get a shot of all the gridlock along Third Avenue, but they started blocking traffic further and further back, so it never became a complete parking lot.

When I got off the train, I saw an abnormally large amount of people milling around Park Avenue. There are usually a lot of people out this time of day, but the amount of people outside today was noticeably larger, and they were milling. I kept walking to Third Avenue and then I saw what happened. Yow. I really hope not too many people are hurt.

I don’t think anyone knows the number of people affected yet, but I’m told they evacuated the station and all the windows on that block were blown out. Here’s CNN’s coverage so far.

I’m Kathy Sanchez, Channel 4 News, Keeping an Eye on You.**

***

*Human Giant
**Trigger Happy TV
***Could I possibly use any more random references?

Ha ha! No “Transformers: The Movie” references.

D’oh!

For the last couple of months, some Mexican lady has been blowing up my phone in attempts to contact her (likely estranged) daughter. It’s obnoxious as hell. I’ve probably wasted an hour of voicemail minutes checking her messages, but she never calls at a time when my phone is on and accessible so I can tell her to stop calling me.

Every message begins with a heavily accented “Hello [indescernible name], it’s Mother. Please call me…” etc. The woman sounds stressed and frantic, but from my experience that’s just how older Mexican women talk. (Especially when they’ve stolen your favorite necklace and you call to confront them. I’ll tell the story sometime, I swear. Actually, I won’t, there’s been too much build-up and it’s not that interesting. Anyway.)

I know I should feel at least a little bit sorry for this dumb old coot who just wants to talk to her daughter. But I don’t. If her daughter wanted to talk to her, she would have given her mom her own number instead of mine. And if the daughter at some point changed her mind and decided she felt like talking to Mama Looney Tunes, she would have called her. This is so not my problem.

You’d think after leaving 100 messages on someone’s voicemail, you’d realize that something was wrong. I don’t remember who said this, but it’s true and I will repeat it: Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

As you would probably expect, my 4th of July was bad as hell and you wish you had been there. There was music, chillin’, and in-house grillin’. Most importantly, there was a splendid view of one of the best fireworks shows in the country. While most common folk hike out to the East River or flame it up on the West Side, I climbed a short flight of stairs to my rooftop, conveniently situated right across from the fireworks display.

If there was ever a time to have this sweet setup, it was yesterday. It had been raining for most of the day, so walking out to one of the barges would have been especially miserable. Also, we learned about two hours before the fireworks began that yesterday was the first time in eight years that people were allowed on the roof on the 4th of July. Had we received this information earlier, we probably wouldn’t have invited all of our friends over with the promise that we’d have the best 4th of July celebration ever.

I presume the only reason we managed to get up there was the fact that a movie was being filmed on the roof at the time of the fireworks. I’m not sure what they had to pay, but I hope it was something. You really shouldn’t stuff my narrow hallway with too-skinny pretentious film buffs for free. But thanks to those beautiful bastards, my already spoiled ass got to see the fireworks from the comfort of home.

Right before the fireworks began, the hallway was filled with extras. The security guard on duty told us we couldn’t go up unless we were in the movie. Suddenly, Jay, Tatyana, John, and I became movie extras, while Gus went downstairs to collect our two broken-footed friends. I’m really glad we invited them, because I’d hate for them to have to hobble around the city looking for fireworks in the rain on broken feet.

So everything worked out great, and victory was ours. Happy Roof Day!

In honor of Hammer Day (7/2, thanks April), and having slept till noon with no real plans for the day, I decided to play a no-limit Hold ‘Em tournament today.

For the last few months, possibly longer, poker and I haven’t been the best of friends. I’d keep going to its house (Full Tilt) for a nice visit, and it would rob me blind and beat the shit out of me. And as Ma and Pa Brady always said, a friend that robs you blind and beats the shit out of you isn’t really your friend. (By the way, if you decide to join Full Tilt, tell ’em PLATKAT sent ya!)

It seemed like no matter what I did in efforts to improve my play, nothing worked for me. Normally, I’m a decent tournament player. When that went south, I started playing limit more often, which was okay for awhile. But then that started to suck and going back to tournament play didn’t help. This made me say, “Fuck” many times… at least as many for each dollar I lost.

I decided to put down the game for a little while and picked up Hold ‘Em for Advanced Players again, as I could clearly benefit from a more thorough reading. Then I tried playing as I got further along in the book and that still didn’t whip my game back into shape. So I’ve been kind of putting it all off even though I need to finish the book so I can start another book. That’s right, when I procrastinate, it’s a full-blown non-effort.

But anyway, it’s Hammer Day. I actually went to Full Tilt this afternoon looking for a cheap Omaha game. Why cheap? Not just because I’m near broke, but also because I can’t play Omaha. I know the rules and I can tell the difference between a good hand and a bad hand, but I know a lot less about the odds that go with it and the type of play I should expect from my opponents. (But the games I play are so cheap, they attract enough crazies to make any style of poker game volatile for awhile.)

I’m not sure if it’s Hold ‘Em’s fault or not, but I’ve had a small fascination with Omaha lately. So many damn cards, so many more possible hands! And away we go!

Small problem: It’s not easy to find a cheap Omaha game in the middle of the afternoon. Everyone wants to play Hold ‘Em. Most of the people who play Omaha know what they’re doing, so they don’t mind paying a little more for a real tournament.

So I found myself in a 45-person dollar no-limit tourney. A couple of hours later I found myself winning it. Hooray! I have to hand most of it to getting better cards though. I wasn’t sucking out (I’m not that bad!), but my big game-winning hand was something so obvious, like AK against A8. Still it wasn’t all smooth sailing. I’d lost a big part of my stack earlier in the game with an AK to an AQ that rivered a queen. But that’s how it goes.

Having won enough money to buy a pizza, I decided to play a one-table Omaha Hi tournament for a little more and ended up taking second place. Pretty cool for having only the expectation that I’d make it to the first break. I had the hand history window open the whole time though, trying to figure out why a certain hand prevailed over another and what constituted a starting hand strong enough to bet pot pre-flop (or bet pot at all for that matter).

This brings me to a point I must ponder. I’m sure there’s a logic/mathematically-charged explanation for this question, but I’m going to ask it anyway. I originally planned to play Omaha Hi/Lo. In fact, given my luck at Hold ‘Em and inability to catch a hand to save my life, playing any Lo game was looking pretty attractive to me. Anyway, all the Omaha Hi/Lo games on Full Tilt were strictly limit. Not pot limit, just limit. I hate, hate, hate limit tournaments (you can’t bully anyone and they last forever), which is why I opted for a pot-limit Omaha Hi game. I still prefer no-limit, but there’s no such thing as an Omaha no-limit game on Full Tilt. Why? In smaller tournaments like the one I played, the blinds go up a little and the number of chips in play is so limited that you can often bet as much as you would if you were playing no-limit anyway. But still… why?

This goes out to you poker bloggers (the one or two who have more than a snowflake’s chance in hell of coming across this post), with whom I casually aligned myself with for all these years but surely disappointed and eventually alienated with week-long diatribes about my hair and pictures of my dog. I’m sure there’s a reason. I’m sure someone I know can tell me. And I’m sure I’m too damn lazy to do the necessary research to find out on my own. Come on, let’s see some Hammer Day spirit!