tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88315168084346438352024-02-18T22:28:23.930-05:00The Crafty Southpaw...A forum for Our Hero to pontificate on poker, sports, politics, music, and life's ironies and frustrations.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.comBlogger400125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-50326916413390502502017-08-14T14:19:00.002-04:002017-08-14T14:19:42.399-04:00Bad NewsI just found out that an old poker blogger buddy died today. Herb Gaasche, better known to this little corner of the webz as "Wolfshead," was 61.<br /><br />He first came to my consciousness as a man with an acerbic wit, whose barbed tongue initially so rubbed me the wrong way that I asked him if he would be interested in stepping outside, as it were, and discussing the matter in person, as men sometimes do, if we were ever in the same city. However, I soon got attuned to his frequency, and he to mine, and his comments on my blog were always welcome, always smart, and frequently funny.<br /><br />I asked him a lot of questions about his health, as he and I have a common experience with strokes, and I valued his input on the matter. I admired how he made the best of a decidedly bad situation and kept on doing the things he liked to do for as long as his body allowed him to do them.<br /><br />He also took very good care of my friend Josie, chauffeuring her and providing companionship in an unfamiliar city, for which I am extremely grateful.<br /><br />I never got the chance to meet Wolfie in person; that's my loss. He leaves a family that loved him, and a host of friends uncounted.<br /><br />So long, buddy.<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-83323264758205835812016-12-29T00:16:00.000-05:002016-12-29T00:16:46.085-05:00King of the DipshitsThis trip report begins as many of the others do: Hey Jo, we haven't played poker in a while, whudja think, sure, let's go.<br /><br />That's where the similarities end.<br /><br />It started off with such promise: Yosie and I hadn't seen each other in months and it's always a barrel of laughs when we haven't seen each other in a while and act as stupidly as we can to get the other to laugh (and, in Josie's case, spit her drink à la Danny Thomas). She took the train down to the stop closest to me, right by Shangri-La, and I was looking forward to a fun day at the tables.<br /><br />But the look on Josie's face as she got off the train told me a different tale.<br /><br />She got in the car and before I could say "Jesus, you look like hell," or some similar endearment, she looked at me with desperation about the corners of her eyes and said "We need to stop at a bathroom."<br /><br />"I live 7 minutes down the road," I answered, in tones I hoped were assuring.<br /><br />She looked at me and said words that put the fear of God Almighty in me.<br /><br />"I don't have that kind of time," she said.<br /><br />Roger that. I threw ol' Bessie into gear (Bessie being at present a 2012 Ford Fusion, bereft of any bodily fluids or solids, and that's just how I like it), floored it around the parking lot and screeched into a gas station nearby. She looked at me with pure gratitude in her eyes (and, if you're a girl, your straits have to be pretty desperate to be grateful for a gas station bathroom) and said she'd be right back. <br /><br />A few minutes later, she came walking out of the Mobil station a hell of a lot more at her ease than when she walked in. And when she got in the car she was a different person. <br /><br />So, the wrongs of the world righted for the moment, off we toddle to Twin Rivers to play a little poker.<br /><br />Now I had just gotten my Christmas bonus, a matter of a couple of months' salary more or less, and I was feeling flush. So on the way we discussed swimming in the somewhat deeper waters of 2/5 NL, as opposed to the 1/2 that we were used to.<br /><br />We knew poker, right? We had our poop in a group, metaphysically speaking. We were strong players. We had reading skills. We had mojo. We knew a flush beat a straight. We were <i><b>ready</b></i>, god dammit. <br /><br />Except we weren't ready.<br /><br />As it turns out, playing 2/5 is kinda like Double-A baseball. You're not seeing major-league play for sure, but you're sure as hell no longer in the rookie league. At the 2/5 table, no one is splashing around, no one has dime-store skills, no one has tells so transparent you have to stop yourself from laughing at them.<br /><br />And there isn't a single fish at the table. Well, at our table, there were two: Josie and me.<br /><br />Could we succeed at 2/5? Sure, I suppose so. But it so obviously required an entirely different mind-set than what we were used to that we were entirely unprepared for it. <br /><br />Jos lost what could be considered a lot of money - unless that sum is compared to what I lost.<br /><br />In the span of two hours, my friends, I was down about $850, with no sign of doing any better. Far and away the biggest and fastest loss I ever experienced. And it hurt.<br /><br />At 2:30 we had lunch at a bar/grill called The Shipyard, right next to the poker room. She, watching her figure, had a salad; I, who was also watching her figure but also trying to eat better, had a salad too.<br /><br />We ate our lettuce and licked our wounds, and grumbled between bites about how we need to come up with a new strategy. We could either keep knocking our dicks in the dirt (figuratively, for one of us) at 2/5 until we had to sell our plasma for gas money home, or we could conduct a strategic retreat, regroup behind established territory in 1/2 land, and do what we could to recoup our losses.<br /><br />As we both dislike giving blood, we decided to play some 1/2 for the latter part of the day. And oh, friends and neighbors, what a good decision that was.<br /><br />As soon as I sat down I knew I was on friendlier turf. It was like going from prison to a playground. The difference was astounding. Within 10 minutes of sitting down I had a decent read on everyone at the table. I deliberately let two blinds go by just watching the group before I started playing. This raised a few eyebrows but I got some good intel and I think I scared them a touch as well: one of them remarked on my patience, and asked me "Have you learned anything about us?" <br /><br />I answered "A few tidbits here and there."<br /><br />"Like what?" seat 4 asked me, a half-grin playing about his lips.<br /><br />"Well, if it's all the same I'll keep that to myself, but I will say that you and seat 8 are left-handed."<br /><br />That seemed to land a little bit. There were no more questions about what I had learned after that. Certainly no scoffing at my observational skills. If you're interested, by the way, I had seat 7 pegged as a compulsive bluffer, seat 3 as someone to avoid (as it turns out, he was waiting for a 2/5 seat to open up), and seat 1 just plain didn't know what he was doing.<br /><br />It was like a clinic in how not to play poker: this one squirmed in his seat when he caught something; that one grinned at his hand. GRINNED AT HIS HAND! I'd love to take credit for my comeback but sometimes it's enough just to be king of the dipshits.<br /><br />Yosie, at another table, was doing about as well. We could see each other from where we sat. We texted each other about how squishy soft our respective tables were and rolled our eyes. <br /><br />The early going went against us, but by God, we captured the afternoon.<br /><br />So: in the span of about 3 1/2 hours, I turned $300 into $1183. I cashed in $883 in chips and had $300 in cash. I made back everything I'd lost except perhaps $80. Jo came up positive for the day, but she played a little 21 in there too. We turned a near-disastrous start into a great day at the tables. <br /><br />And I learned an incredibly valuable lesson about my place in the poker world for a ridiculously small amount of money - especially given how much that lesson can cost sometimes. <br /><br />The lesson, of course, is this: It's way better being the big fish in the little pond, my friends. The king of the dipshits is still a king.<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-23326283703464044572016-02-28T22:23:00.000-05:002016-02-28T22:23:31.218-05:00Not Having to Be Faster than the Bear<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Two guys were hiking in the forest, when they stumble upon a mama grizzly protecting a couple of cubs. She looks at them wild-eyed and starts posturing for a chase.</i></div>
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<i>One of the guys frantically reaches into his pack and starts putting on his sneakers.</i></div>
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<i>"What the hell are you doing?" says the other. "You're never in a million years going to outrun that bear."</i></div>
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<i>"Don't have to outrun the bear," he says. "Just have to outrun you."</i></div>
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I went back to Twin River yesterday with Yosie, because last time I was there I made a few hundy and was feeling my oats pretty, um, oatily. We had breakfast at a local greasy spoon (not the coffee milk place), and got there early enough so we could sit together without a wait.</div>
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Last time there were really no table captains, no bullies (besides the one I destroyed, and subsequently wrote about), pretty much no really strong players at all swimming in the shallow waters. So this time I got there and decided I would ratchet up the aggression just a little bit, maybe try to take control.</div>
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Because I have stumbled upon (or rather, finally come to) the realization that informs the little parable above and provides the title of this particular missive: <i><b>I don't have to be the world's best poker player. I just have to be better than the schmucks I'm playing against.</b></i></div>
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And lordy lordy, were there a bunch of schmucks at our table. Way more often than not, the big blind would be called all around. There were often six or seven people to a flop, with a pot of perhaps $16! I've never seen the like.</div>
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Now I have for a long time lived by a simple rule for pre-flop action: Don't just call an unraised blind. If a hand is worth one blind, it's worth three, and if it isn't worth three, it isn't worth one. A fairly simple rule, and one that has saved me my share of misery and dollars over the years.</div>
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But, as the old saying goes, the only absolute rule in poker is that there are no absolute rules. I quickly made the decision that if these jabronies are going to let me see cheap flops, and let me outplay the shit out of them post-flop, well, then, by god and sonny jesus, that's what I was going to do.</div>
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I would have been up nearer to $1000, but I lost perhaps $300 when I went all in with AA when my opponent had 77, and caught his two-outer, but after everything was said and done, including guesting at a home tournament that Josie frequents (and winning it), I was up the better part of $550 for the day, which is still a hap hap happy day for me. Happier still I can feel when my game starts getting passive and I start missing opportunities to take pots, and can correct my behavior and get back on track.</div>
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Things are looking up for The Kid, my friends. Having a poker room eleven minutes or so from my house is doing wonders for my game.</div>
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Expect more posts of a pokery nature in the coming weeks. The Crafty Southpaw is back!</div>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-78450239788563904632016-02-21T00:31:00.000-05:002016-02-21T00:42:17.108-05:00Trip report: Twin River Casino, Lincoln, RI, 2-20-16 What's that you say? Twin River's poker room has been open for months, and you're only now getting around to going there?<br />
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Well, no. Strictly speaking, no. In fact, not-so-very-strictly speaking, no. I have been there three times now. But the first two times were pretty uneventful and I had my hands full with getting my poker legs underneath me and trying the truly awful chipotle sauce at Johnny Rocket's. Both times I walked out within $10 of my buy-in, once up, once down. Josie was good enough to accompany me the first time, and Josie and FDD Spuds were both there for the second time.<br />
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For what it's worth, Josie professes a dislike of the place, based on (she says) the fact that she lost money the first time, and that she got no reception on her phone. I for one am more inclined to believe the latter than the former, but no matter, no matter. I'm sure there'll be return visits in the future.<br />
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The room suffers somewhat from its infancy; the growing pains it is experiencing are far from over, and some of them aren't trivial. Knowledge of the rules of poker and of the house is disquietingly inconsistent and though I have not witnessed it cost anyone any big money, I believe it is a matter of time.<br />
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To give only three examples that happened at my table today: Firstly, the dude in seat 3 string-raised. As clear-cut a case of a string raise as it got. When seat 5 and I (seat 6) pointed it out, the dealer got a little shitty and asked us to please refrain from identifying string raises, that it was the responsibility of the dealer to do so. That was met with incredulity among the table, the universal sentiment being that in fact the players should (indeed must) call a string raise when they see it. The player in question withdrew his second stack so it didn't get heated, but later, when the brush was by, this was informally confirmed.<br />
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Second, it is a stated rule in this room that cards speak. We had an unidentified flush come up and the dealer kept his trap shut about it. When a player who wasn't in the hand spotted the flush, the dealer immediately said "I was hoping one of you would say something, we're not supposed to." More howls of protest from the table. The dealer started defending his position then almost immediately backtracked - actually lying about having said that dealers weren't supposed to call hands that players themselves didn't spot.<br />
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Thirdly, in a three-way hand, the river was checked down all around. The last guy to act, instead of saying the word "check," tabled his cards face-up announcing what he had, an act all of us have performed a thousand times. The dealer says "You can't do that. You have to say 'check.'<br />
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FLOOR!<br />
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The brush comes over and sure enough, he looks at the dealer like he had baby shit in his hair and informs him that yes, the last bettor on the river can turn up his cards without word or gesture if the play has been checked to him.<br />
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These are simple things, remedial things. I'm sure time will heal them, but until that happens a visitor to the Twin River poker room should prepare himself for minor disappointments like these.<br />
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Anyway, to my play...<br />
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For most of the day, I had about $500 in front of me. One can start with $300, and within the first half-hour I was down $200, most of the damage wrought by my flush losing to quads. I re-upped another deuce and quickly got back to even, but didn't really move off $500 for several hours.<br />
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Then I lost a ton of money when my AK lost to KK, and things were looking a little grim for The Kid. I was stuck around $300 and was faced with the conundrum we dread: do I get up from the table, lick my wounds, and live to fight another day, or do I use the $200 I have left to recoup some of my losses and my dignity?<br />
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I decided that surrender was for the weak and for the French, and I am neither of those things. Luckily, right about then the table got a new player to seat 7, the seat at my left elbow. I'm going to call him Tony "Bro" Gellmuth, because he deftly combined the annoying bravado of Tony G with the condescending poker knowledge of Phil Hellmuth - and he called everyone "Bro." When he sat down he claimed to have been up for 20 straight hours and I believed him. And whatever he was taking to stay awake was <i><b>fucking working. </b></i>He could have played lead violin at the Boston Symphony Orchestra, been a world-renowned brain surgeon, and designed the most graceful and beautiful buildings in skylines all around the world, and still his greatest gift would be flapping his goddamn gums. Talk talk talk talk talk, that's all he did. He talked about his hand. He talked about his strategy for playing his hand. He talked about why other people were such poor players. He talked about why he was such a good one. He never, ever stopped, except to get up and have a smoke.<br />
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During one of these times I parodied his little act to a player I was in a hand with. During the hand I asked "What you got, bro? What you got, bro?" - which was the subject of much mirth from the table. We spent the next two full hands talking about what an obnoxious asshole this guy was, how he was disrupting the flow of the game, and trying his best to bully everyone else into submission.<br />
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So I decide that when he sits back down, I should start in with the needle, and I wouldn't be shouted down by my tablemates.<br />
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Sure enough, his first hand back from his most recent smoke break, he keeps up his running commentary about a hand he's in with someone, telling him as the hand is in progress, "if you have a pair you win," to which I replied "If I had a set of earplugs, I'd win," which broke up the table and turned him red for a little while.<br />
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From that point on it became his mission to tell the table that I was a bad poker player, and to try to prove it to the world. The first hand that this strategy really cost him was when, holding JQh, I flopped the nut straight. He was betting like a maniac, and I knew I had him since I had the nuts, so I just check-called the flop and the turn, let him do all the damage himself.<br />
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When the river came, I bet out $60, I think. He said - he actually said - "I raise. NO! I mean I call!" as if it were a genuine mistake. I looked at the dealer and said something like "tell the naughty boy what he has to do," and the dealer rightly said he needed to make at least a minimum raise. He puts in the extra chips with just token resistance, and flips over his cards out-of-turn to reveal the low straight. I show my winner and drag a giant pot, and now I'm within sniffing distance of even.<br />
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More importantly, Tony "Bro" Gellmuth loses his fucking mind.<br />
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"You had the nuts and you just check-called your way through that hand?" he asked incredulously. "What kind of strategy is that?"<br />
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Now, I know that questions of that nature are best left unanswered. Perhaps it was the Imp of the Perverse that made me answer it. Maybe I just knew that it would tilt him like an old pinball machine.<br />
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"A damn good one, with a maniac like you on my left," I answer to the laughs and hoots of the rest of the table - who, remember, hated this guy's guts. "You were betting right into me, and I was letting you. Nicely done, by the way - thanks."<br />
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"Oh, you're going to discuss poker strategy with ME? A guy who check-calls the nuts wants to discuss strategy with me?"<br />
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"No, I really don't," I said, letting a little anger flash in my eyes. "I could live my entire life quite happily never discussing poker with you, ever."<br />
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A few more laughs from the table, and he finally shuts up, if shaking his head and mumbling to himself counts as shutting up.<br />
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A few hands later, Mrs. Crafty texts me - she's sick with a cold I gave her, bless her - and asks me when I'm coming home. I couldn't answer her right away because play had already started back up but I knew the sands of time were running out on my afternoon.<br />
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I make a decision that the hand that breaks me even will be my last - and I was within perhaps $60 of this goal.<br />
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I look down at the hand I was in and see A2h in cutoff +1 or so. I make a raise to $7 and Tony "Bro" Gellmuth calls me.<br />
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Flop comes a deuce and two hearts - and I decide this is my Alamo. Here will I make my stand, to succeed or fail, and may the Almighty favor my undertaking*. I throw $20 in the pot, which has the net effect of isolating me with T "B" G.<br />
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Turn comes a blank. I c-bet $30 or $40 and he calls without thinking too hard.<br />
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The river comes my wonderful, beautiful heart. I have the nut flush and there are no pairs on the board. This hand is won.<br />
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Check.<br />
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"$75," he says, and throws three green chips in the middle.<br />
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"Raise to $200," I say, and start cutting chips.<br />
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"Call," he says, before I get the chance, and flips over J3h for a smaller flush.<br />
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"I have the nuts," I say, and flip over my cards, and he yells "GOD DAMMIT!" and puts his head down in his arms on the table - that is, until the dealer tells him to give me another $125. And now I'm up around $200 and I decide that before I leave I will administer the needle one final time, which should give you an idea of to what extent this fucking doofus deserved it.<br />
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"Well boys," I say, "Reckon I'll head home - my wife needs dinner." I look at Tony "Bro" Gellmuth one last time. "I was hungry, but after eating your soul I just can't have another bite."<br />
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He scowls, and I walk away from the table feeling like I just won a million dollars.<br />
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Anyway, that's my trip report. Hope you enjoyed it. Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.<br />
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*"Annuit coeptis," a phrase you'll find on the back of the dollar bill, translates to "He [god] favors our undertaking." craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-4924121697578723142015-07-26T18:12:00.000-04:002015-07-26T18:12:29.329-04:00Some Disquieting NewsThe Twin River Casino, an asta-gad big-boy casino and entertainment center situated <b><i>not seven miles</i></b> from my house, is opening up a 16-table poker room.<br />
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May god have mercy on my wicked soul.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-88308070232291326862015-05-25T19:01:00.002-04:002015-05-25T19:05:36.866-04:00In Which We Put the Band Back TogetherThis is my first post in an unsettlingly long period of time, for which I suppose an apology is due. The fact of the matter is that working takes up more of my time, and my energy, than I would wish, and after a long day and a long commute I find myself wanting to do nothing but sleep. Plus - let's be honest here - under the best of circumstances I lead a somewhat dull existence, and adding work to the mix just means that there's just nothing to write about. So the blog goes dormant, and I lurk from time to time on the blogs of my comrades, until something happens.<br />
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Well ladies and gentlemen, that something has happened: I have played poker for the first time in perhaps two years. Forthwith, then,<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">TRIP REPORT: FOXWOODS, 5-24-2015</span></b></div>
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I emailed Very Josie and asked her if she had any inkling to hit the tables over the holiday weekend. Enthusiastic agreement; arrangements made; we met at the Dunk's near the poker room; phase one is officially carried off without a hitch. And she took the bus down so I was off the hook for that (thank dog - it's Punch Buggy season).</div>
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I must say, as is the hallmark of friends who have not seen each other in a while, it was like no time had passed since our last contact. It was lots of laughs and people-watching to our great amusement. We even invented a game: Spot the Whore. When a scantily-clad trollop would walk by, I would affect my "Ugly American Tourist Abroad" voice and say to Josie, "Look honey - a whore!" It was an endless source of mirth. But it would only get funnier.</div>
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Because behind a woman who was wearing a dress so short that I knew the color of her pubic hair, was another woman who was dressed perhaps a bit suggestively but who was not (misogynistic comment ahead) good looking enough to pass the whore test. But Josie elbows me and says, "See her? The one in the white top?"</div>
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"Yeah," says I.</div>
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"No front teeth," she says to me.</div>
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"And how did you find that out?" </div>
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"She comes up to me and asks me if her bra is showing. Not only is it showing but all the hooks are undone but one! So I tell her that and hook her back up. She turns around and tells me that her boyfriend did it, and smiled. No front teeth! 0 for 4."</div>
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Now in the interest of full disclosure, I have a fair amount of artificial dentition in my mouth. And there is a period of time after getting a tooth (or teeth) pulled where the gums have to heal before you set about replacing that tooth. </div>
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But if you're going to have that done, for the love of Benji, lay low for a bit! Spend a few weeks in solitary pursuits, like building a ship in a bottle, or giving your boyfriend what must be the best fellatio he will have ever had. Something, for Chrissakes, that doesn't entail you walking your raggedy ass around Foxwoods getting hitched back together from strangers and smiling at them! </div>
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Aaanyway...</div>
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We make it down to the poker room, sign up, and before too long we are both assigned to the same table. Josie, unlike Your Obediant Servant, has been playing a good deal of poker of late and her skills have not diminished over time - to the contrary, she has become an even better poker player than I remember. And the luck for which she has become legendary in certain circles, I'm pleased to report, has not deserted her. Case in point: She was holding JJ and she caught a flop of J-10-4. Of course that's not luck - it happens one time in (about) 8. <b>THIS </b>is the luck:</div>
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One of the participants in the hand was holding 44, and had filled his set, and raised the bet all-in. </div>
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Another one of those players, nestled cozily between Jo in seat 3 and me in seat 1, was none other than no-tooth not-whore (who <i>a propos</i> of nothing was drinking milk from a straw). She was holding 1010 and had filled <i>her </i>set, and also went all in.</div>
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A third poor sap was holding KQ, and either figured he had the odds to chase his straight with all the money in the middle, or was just a bad poker player, and went in too.</div>
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Josie smiled and called, and won a pot of perhaps $600, within 20 minutes of us sitting down. Aaaand we're off!</div>
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So shortly after that, the clarion call of a WSOP qualifier tournament started being heard. The $360 entry fee was now a free-roll, so the call started becoming too loud to resist. She ambles over to tournament land with a total profit of over $700 for perhaps an hour's effort at the cash table, registers and starts playing.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now you may ask, how was I doing during this time? Actually not that bad, for a fella who hadn't played poker in a couple of change-filled years. I knew I had to play super-tight because my judgement would be off, and you kind of need good cards to do that. I had them during the first part of the day (basking, as it were, in the reflected luck of you-know-who), but after that the cards dried up and I went on a long, slow, boring descent into loss. After a while the table pegged me as a risk-averse nit, and started taking advantage. I was just thinking about walking away when I woke up with QQ, but lost with them. I was, at the least, self-aware enough to know my game would not get that much better this session, so for a change I respected my stoploss and stopped playing. So I wandered over to the tournament section, weaving through a veritable dragnet of security guards both in uniform and in suits, speaking into their thumbs, and sweated Josie for a time.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She was playing a turbo, was our girl, and the blinds were going up and up at a dizzying pace. I must say that Josie's style of play, who some might uncharitably call "recklessly aggressive" but which I just call "unbelievably, recklessly aggressive," is particularly suited to turbo play, where you have to chip up <i>right now</i> or feel the bite of the headman's axe. And Jos has been doing a good amount of winning with this strategy: you combine that strategy with a Sicilian's ability to read people, and stick the knife in at just the right time, you win a lot. Make no mistake: I have nothing but big respect for her game.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Not everyone at the table felt that way.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I got to the table, the bald dude in seat 9 was chirping at her already, calling her a luckbox and a number of other, less savory terms, looking at her and shaking his head, whispering to his friend and scowling, the whole bit. And when Josie is in someone's head like that, she starts taking advantage, and it's only a matter of time before the gods of tilt take over and, well, tilt the table towards Josie. The final hand, Josie out-sucked Baldy's suckout on the turn, and it was GG Mr. Bitter. He walked away, no joke, yelling at the top of his voice that Josie "...should play the lottery tonight. Bet the goddamn house!" as he faded away into a sea of Asians smoking and playing Pai Gow.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
To her credit, Josie said nothing - didn't even crack a smile.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And the chips mounted and they mounted. I wandered off to have a bowl of noodles (not really on the standard Diabetic menu, but I was already shaking a little bit and who can resist shredded duck lo mein, I ask you), and watch the last two innings of the Red Sox game, which for twin miracles they both won and played well. When the next break was called I met up with Jos and got a debrief.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She had been playing well, but lost about half her stack in one hand right before the break, which seemed to deflate her. They were close to the money - I think there were 32 people left at the break and they paid 18 - and she came back from the break with perhaps less confidence than she had before. She got blinded out in a half-hour and finished in 22nd place. Five hours of poker to finish four away from the money! Ugh.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Usually, when the poker is done for the day, Jo likes to play a little 21, but this time, she says to me "I want to head to the slots."</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"The SLOTS?" I ask in disbelief. "You're kidding me."</div>
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<br /></div>
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"I have $25 in free slots play," she says to me, restoring for a brief time my faith in the universe. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So OK, to the slots we go. We walk to the slots. And walk. And walk. Now walking for me isn't exactly painful, but since the stroke my left hip is not as cooperative as it was before, even when I was carrying the extra weight. So it's not listed among my favorite activities. But walk we did. You think I was gonna let a five-foot-tall chick with no cartilege in her knees outwalk me? Lead on, girly girl. I'll be right behind you, limping slightly and secretly gasping for air.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So the first place we get to has a million billion slot machines, but not the one she likes. She wants to play the "Sex and the City" slots. Why, I ask? Because it's the only one she knows how to play.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
How to play? HOW TO PLAY? You press the fucking button, that's how you play! What happens next is usually a giant toilet flushes your money away. And that's the slot machine experience. But I digress.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So we walk some more. And we walk. And we walk. Until finally we find ourselves at Mohegan Sun, or perhaps Windsor, Ontario. Not sure. But we walked a looong way. But we finally sit down at a Sex and the City slot machine, she puts in her card, receives $25 credit, and starts to play.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Does anyone not know how this ends? She pressed buttons for a few minutes, sometimes she got to press a glittering bonus button where the desired outcome is, I shit you not, a pair of shoes, and after about ten minutes she cashed out a slip for 47 cents - which she gave to the lady next to her, who would press the glittering bonus button with her entire hand for luck.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Anyway, after that funfest was at an end, we hied it over to a fish joint nearby and Josie treated her Uncle Crafty to a lobster roll and a diet Pepsi, then drove back to <i>casa molto Giuseppina</i>.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Got a chance to see FDD Spuds, who was thinking about going but bagged in the end, and Ursa Sucrosum, who is by now a strapping lad of 17 and who was hosting a bunch of his friends in the back yard around a fire pit. There were a liberal helping of young ladies around the fire.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've never been prouder of the lad.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
But a few minutes later, he comes in and asks for the Wi-Fi password for the home network. Why, asks I. Because they don't want to use data on their phones, replies Youth.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This was too much to bear. I come striding out and address the group. Ursa Sucrosum had just enough time to apologize in advance for what was coming next.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"I bring a message from the adult contingent of the house," I boomed, grabbing their attention. I waited a beat of silence and continued. "PUT THE FUCKING PHONE DOWN! You're sitting around a fire, enjoying the company of your friends on a beautiful holiday weekend! Put the phone down!"</div>
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<br /></div>
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Laughs all around. One little number pipes up, "But we need to Instagram..."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"No, you don't," I say. "No, you really really don't." Pause. "I have spoken. Stay in school. Don't do drugs. Or do them, I don't really give a shit."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I go back in the house and start wrapping up to leave. He comes back in and says goodbye to me, adding "all my friends think you're a funny dude."</div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
They have no idea.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Anyway, that was my trip report. To sum up: Josie won and lost, I lost, we ate lobster rolls, no front teeth, security guard, Sex and the City, teenagers around the fire, I endear myself to the next generation.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Thanks for your attention. Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImf2KN6D0Jk64izGZSTsGD2CES2zRjmjPlsK3kFbno-Lmpgms_BPQYTTch23mI9whTJr9i-_pV33MXGsUh-DiJvPAJcrMMikUIgOEgpLyCr1mGPzz5eedfyN-sH1_6Yy3SmMP6L2FCv_V/s1600/20150524_180139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiImf2KN6D0Jk64izGZSTsGD2CES2zRjmjPlsK3kFbno-Lmpgms_BPQYTTch23mI9whTJr9i-_pV33MXGsUh-DiJvPAJcrMMikUIgOEgpLyCr1mGPzz5eedfyN-sH1_6Yy3SmMP6L2FCv_V/s400/20150524_180139.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You're mooshing my glasses, Josie.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-10514756330641331112014-09-08T06:15:00.002-04:002014-09-08T06:15:53.352-04:00It's Morning in New England......and all throughout the region the only sound that can be heard is the ripping up of football cards and the motherfucking of the Patriots for ruining their parlay. craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-22695733917026292322014-08-25T00:15:00.001-04:002014-08-25T00:16:24.307-04:00Well, She's Good, She's Lucky, and She's Sicilian - What Did You THINK Was Gonna HappenJust a quick word to say that our own Very Josephine entered a WSOP satellite tourney, a $250 buy-in Ladies tournament, and finished third, for a payday of over 2500 squeeds. Then she sucked another grand or so out of the house at 21. Congratulations Jo!craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-43318127240822162002014-07-13T16:13:00.000-04:002014-07-13T16:13:10.488-04:00Good News From Every FrontNobody wants to hear someone else's good news. I get it. It's not compelling. If it were, the evening news would be overstuffed with rainbows and unicorn farts. But the thing is, I got good news coming out of every pore of my body and I have to share it with someone. And I thought, I spent four solid years crying to you all when the good news was in short supply, and all you did was express quiet sympathy and tell me what I couldn't possibly see at the time - that things would get better.<br />
<br />
And they did. And with all the blackness that I exposed to you, you deserve a little bit of the light.<br />
<br />
So, medical stuff first. As of Friday I'm down to 223.8 pounds, precisely 10 pounds from my last weigh-in in April. As near as I can figure I weighed around 305 at my heaviest (I figure around 280-285 at the time of the stroke but I can't be sure) so that would put my total weight loss at just over 80 pounds.<br />
<br />
This has finally started paying some real dividends. My A1c, a long-term marker of blood sugar, was at 9.0 in January. It was down to 6.6 in April, which is great for a diabetic. Friday it was 5.9, which is almost normal for a non-diabetic person and not even in the range of what diabetics usually have.<br />
<br />
As a result my daily insulin requirement has been reduced from 25 units of Lantus (the long-acting once-a-day type) down to 20. Woo-hoo! That's a 20% reduction!<br />
<br />
Diabetes is funny. What ends up killing you if you're diabetic is the long-term impact of high blood sugar on your body. It frays and destroys capillaries, which causes circulation problems, which in turn is what makes your feet fall off. It can cut off alternate routes to get oxygenated blood to the heart, or the brain, and make it orders of magnitude more likely that you have a heart attack or a stroke. It causes nerve pain, or perhaps numbness. It can destroy your vision - literally render you blind. It's not a good thing to have.<br />
<br />
Which is why I'm so stoked that my A1c is so low. It's like a rolling 90-day average of your blood sugar, and 5.9 means that my diabetes is not causing any damage to my body. And that is a big part of the plan to have a healthy old age.<br />
<br />
So that's the diabetes end. On the blood pressure side of it, my doc took my blood pressure and it was about 90/70, which is at the very bottom of the normal scale. I had been getting light-headed upon standing recently (orthostatic hypotension, for the medical professionals among you) in fact. So the doctor discontinued one of my meds entirely and now I'm "only" taking two different pills for my bp. I'll call that progress too.<br />
<br />
So - less insulin, fewer meds, more weight loss. A VERY good day medically. But no! Wait! There's more!<br />
<br />
Because while I was at the doctor's office, I received a phone call that notified me that after four years, six months, one day, one hour and about 20 minutes, my standing as unemployed American is officially over. I got a job - the one I wanted - and couldn't be happier.<br />
<br />
These people are basically going to train me to become what they need me to be. I'll start off working the help-desk but will eventually become either of a network architect or network engineer, depending on what I'm good at and what they need more.<br />
<br />
They interviewed me basically as a favor to a mutual friend, and apparently I did so well in the interview that they thought it would be better long-term for the company to have me on the payroll, even though my current skill set wasn't a fit for them.<br />
<br />
They think they're getting a good man for below market value, and I suppose that's true, but I think what they're doing is taking a chance on a guy who could use a break, and I won't forget that. They're also going to pay me to learn a whole new set of skills - and the accompanying certifications - and I would be a fool to not take advantage of that. <br />
<br />
So I will work like a man possessed for them, and show them that they made the right decision, and learn all I can on their nickel, and in a year we'll have another conversation about money, and it will either be made right or it won't - but let's not borrow trouble.<br />
<br />
It's an unusual feeling. Everything is breaking my way. Everything! I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it never does. Things just keep getting better and better. It's a good feeling to have. <br />
<br />
And with that I will close this already-overlong post. Because, as my pal <a href="http://robvegaspoker.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Rob</a> would tell you, there is value in brevity.<br />
<br />
Thanks for listening. Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-12947365628265144552014-07-10T16:36:00.000-04:002014-07-10T16:36:50.374-04:00Very Josie Guestie Postie<div class="MsoNormal">
Words fall from Josie's mouth, 'tis said, like flower petals alighting gently on the surface of a pond. As much as I know better, it is still my pleasure to bring those words to you. I will pass along every message, no matter how off-topic, off-color, or off-its-rocker. Please to enjoy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
--- </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hello All,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m in the midst of one of life’s frustrations and since nothing else seems to motivate me, I thought why not the interwebz?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But let me back up and get you up to speed. Let’s
go back to last summer. I was doing my thang, exercising, eating right
and though I’ll never be skinny, I was feeling good and looking hot
(what else is new?). Winter came and so did
the pounds. They started creeping back up, and me? I avoided the
scale. Until March, that is. Lo and behold, I’d gained 20 lbs. Yes
TWENTY pounds. I had to do SOMETHING, but what?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was looking for something to motivate me, and I
thought I’d found the answer. If you know me at all, you know I am
incredibly competitive and I never made a bet that I didn’t use all my
resources to win. Soooooo….. I placed a bet
at <a href="http://www.healthywage.com/">www.healthywage.com</a> They’re motto is “Get paid to lose weight!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had to give them entirely too much information
about me, like my habits, how I was planning to lose the weight, if I
was using a tracking device like a fitbit, or weight watchers, my
height, weight, age, etc etc etc. You give them all
this information, then you tell them how many pounds you are betting
you will lose. In my case I am betting that I will lose 25 lbs. Based
on all that, they offered me a couple of bets. They’re obviously
betting I WON’T lose the weight. The bet I chose
is that I would lose $25 lbs by September 9<sup>th</sup>. I am betting
$300 that I will do this. If I actually do it, they will pay me
$1,000. That’s a net of $700 for all you math geniuses out there. The
time frame was 6 months, March to September, which
is entirely too long.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So thinking I had plenty of time, I started, then
stopped then started again. Thus far I have lost a whopping 2 lbs and
now I’m starting to panic. I’ve never in my life felt less motivated to
lose weight. WTF? I have no idea why but
the bottom line is, I pay them $50 a month for 6 months and in
September they either will or will not send me a check for $1,000. It’s
all up to me. And you.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I need your help. I need accountability, cuz shit, September 9 is TWO FREAKING MONTHS AWAY.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
FAWK. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s like I’ve just awakened from a daze. But the thing is, I can soooooo do this. I mean it’s a thousand fucking dollars!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I’m going to post my weight loss here every week and hopefully that number will hit 25 lbs by September 9<sup>th</sup>. Ugh.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And not for nothing but my hirsute buddy Gary here
has lost like 500 lbs which is very inspiring so why cannot I get out of
my funk and do this? One excuse, erm reason, is the extreme pain from
my knees when I do anything that involves
bending them. (insert dirty joke) I have zero cartilage in both knees
but I can still do yoga, walk, do the stationary bike, free weights,
etc, so it’s no excuse really. Plus Gary lost all this weight without
exercising. At. All. Fucking men! He’s on the
“I have diabetes” diet and I’m starting to think I may have to follow
suit and just pretend I have diabetes. (Not really – there will be no
insulin shootings to be sure)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there you have it. Help Very Josie win her
weight loss bet –or- Watch as Very Josie loses her bet and goes postal
at healthwage.com. Either way it should be entertaining. Any tips,
thoughts, insight and inspiration would be gladly
accepted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
July 10, 2014: 2 lbs lost, 23 to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Diet smart.</div>
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<br /></div>
Josiecraftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-38046213945164112962014-07-10T12:15:00.000-04:002014-07-10T12:15:00.017-04:00Something's Coming......something you're not going to want to miss. I don't want to give too much away, but the phrase "Sweetheart of the Internets" may safely be invoked here.<br />
<br />
Go see a doctor if you haven't lately.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-75447669619361163492014-06-26T04:48:00.000-04:002014-06-26T04:48:03.780-04:00Calling All Cat PeopleFor those of you who don't know, I have a web site called <a href="http://www.conversationswithrusty.com/" target="_blank">Conversations with Rusty</a>. Rusty is an orange Persian who isn't precisely affectionate, but is kind of like a sometimes-indifferent buddy. I always thought there might be more going on behind those orange eyes of his. One day after trying to con me into feeding him twice in a day, I started writing these down. I enjoy doing them a great deal. I find it easy to write in a conversational style - where the topic can bounce from one subject to the next in seconds, with asides and digressions, a return to a previous topic or two, a definite flow.<br />
<br />
This is a super-secret sneak preview of a conversation that is set to run July 1st, I think. If you like it, there's more where that came from. Click the above link and tell all your crazy cat-people friends!<br />
<br />
<br /><b>ME</b>: What was all that destruction a few minutes ago? What the hell were you two up to?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: That was all Other Cat's fault.<br /><b>ME</b>: Her name is Maya.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Whatever.<br /><b>ME</b>: What did she do?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: She gave me that look that says, roughly, "chase me through the house until we break a lamp," and off we went.<br /><b>ME</b>: And one time you can't just go back to sleep?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: The blood of my Cheetah ancestors runs hot within me.<br /><b>ME</b>: You're not related to the cheetah, you idiot.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Look it up. They're in Persia.<br /><b>ME</b>: That means they're your neighbors, not your freakin' grandparents.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Yeah, well, whoever my ancestors were, YOUR ancestors were scared to death of them.<br /><b>ME</b>: And oh, how the mighty have fallen. <br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Superior eye-paw coordination.<br /><b>ME</b>: Walk on two legs.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: See six times better than you at night.<br /><b>ME</b>: Problem-solving skills.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Over 100 million olfactory nerves.<br /><b>ME</b>: Opposable thumbs. Game, set, match.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: (Pauses) Yeah, that's a good one.<br /><b>ME</b>: Thumbs rule, man.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I could accomplish great things with thumbs.<br /><b>ME</b>: What's the first thing you do with them?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: You mean, after I choke the shit out of you?<br /><b>ME</b>: Yes, Rusty, after that.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I'd learn to use the doorknob.<br /><b>ME</b>: And here I was hoping you'd learn to flush the toilet.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Then I'd get in that drawer you keep the catnip in, and I would never leave.<br /><b>ME</b>: You degenerate.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Ohh man. Do you have any idea what it's like, to breathe in the vapors of a plant and get high?<br /><b>ME</b>: Let's go with no.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: That's too bad, because it's freakin' awesome.<br /><b>ME</b>: I can only imagine.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: After that, I guess, the sky's the limit. Learn to drive, speaking engagements, develop a following, get elected, and run things my way.<br /><b>ME</b>: Then annex Austria, I'm guessing?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Hitler jokes are NEVER funny.<br /><b>ME</b>: Sorry, man, but you were heading off the rails a little bit there. Besides, you'd never be elected, what with your catnip problem and everything...<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: My reputation would be ruined.<br /><b>ME</b>: Shamed before the world.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: CURSE YOU, THUMBS!!!<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-19216443433252166912014-06-09T00:52:00.001-04:002014-06-09T00:52:00.891-04:00SHOCKING NEW DEVELOPMENT!Our own Memphis Mojo is currently one of three remaining players at WSOP Tournament #17, $1000 buy-in Senior's tournament. Heady stuff indeed. Dave, buddy, we're all rooting for you. I'll be railing you 'till the end, or until the Diet Mountain Dew runs out. You can sweat him at <a href="http://www.wsop.com/tournaments/updates.asp?grid=1052&tid=13617">http://www.wsop.com/tournaments/updates.asp?grid=1052&tid=13617</a><br />
<br />
Perhaps with your winnings you'd care to invest in my up-and-coming website, <a href="http://www.conversationswithrusty.com/">www.conversationswithrusty.com</a>. At present our only business is making gratuitous plugs such as this, but we're expanding like the dickens.<br />
<br />
Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-47644735801425573182014-06-08T18:29:00.000-04:002014-06-08T18:29:10.886-04:00Conversations With RustySo I set up a new site, <a href="http://www.conversationswithrusty.com/">www.conversationswithrusty.com</a>. It will have a new conversation every Tuesday and Friday. I also have a page on the Eff Bee, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/conversationswithrusty">www.facebook.com/conversationswithrusty</a>, which is written in Rusty's voice. If you enjoy these little exercises in stupidity, please feel free to like, share, comment, whatever it is you kids do these days.<br />
<br />
As a thank you in advance, here's a super long-term sneak preview of a conversation. It's not due to be released until the 17th of June. Please to enjoy.<br />
<br />
<b>RUSTY</b>: Hey.<br /><b>ME</b>: Mmmmm.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Wake up.<br /><b>ME</b>: Mmmm. Sleepin.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I know you're sleeping. Wake up. <br /><b>ME</b>: Gettoffame Rusty...<br /><b>RUSTY </b>(pawing STUPID HUMAN's face): Rise and shii-iine...<br /><b>ME </b>(fully awake): Jesus Christ Rusty! What? What is it?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I'm bored.<br /><b>ME</b>: I will rip off your lower jaw and wear it like a necklace.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I will slice your chest in a Y shape and make people think you've already had an autopsy.<br /><b>ME</b>: I will staple a piece of tuna to your forehead and watch you try to get it for hours.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I will lick the same spot on your body until I reach bone.<br /><b>ME</b>: I will send you back to the shelter.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Wow. Not cool, man.<br /><b>ME</b>: You were ok with me ripping off your lower jaw but sending you to the shelter is over the line?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Take it back.<br /><b>ME</b>: Don't be ridic...<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: TAKE IT BACK.<br /><b>ME</b>: OK, OK, I take it back.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Good.<br /><b>ME</b>: I'm going back to bed now.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: You lazy bastard.<br /><b>ME</b>: You sleep 20 hours a day!<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I'm a growing cat.<br /><b>ME</b>: Your stomach is growing towards the floor, that's true enough...<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: You calling me fat?<br /><b>ME</b>: No, I'm just...yes. I'm calling you fat. <br /><b>RUSTY</b>: That's like calling the black kettle fat.<br /><b>ME</b>: Gonna want to work on that one.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Why, did I get it wrong?<br /><b>ME</b>: I'm going back to bed now. If you're still bored, you can take a nap with me.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: A nap, eh? Not the worst idea you've ever had. Certainly better than The Kerchief Incident.<br /><b>ME</b>: I thought you looked good.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I looked like a cowboy with fur.<br /><b>ME</b>: Wouldn't that be "cowcat?"<br /><b>RUSTY </b>(lying down): Keep it down, will you? I'm trying to sleep here.<br /><b>ME</b>: Moo...moooooooo...I'm a cowkitty...mooooo....<br /><b>RUSTY </b>(drowsily): Very funny...<br /><b>ME</b>: I'm totally bringing back the kerchief.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: zzzzzz.....<br /><b>ME</b>: Night, cowkitty.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-13466973016512381902014-05-30T17:04:00.001-04:002014-05-30T17:04:28.363-04:00 Conversations with Rusty, Episode 4: Stone Walls Nor Iron Bars<br />
<b>ME</b>: No, man.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Why not?<br /><b>ME</b>: No friggin way, are you kidding me?<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Let me tell you something. Cats can't stay cooped up inside. We can only piss in sand for so long. A cat needs to feel grass under his feet.<br /><b>ME</b>: Well first of all you haven't pissed in sand in four months. You've decided to use the bathtub - where we clean our bodies - as your personal toilet. And we put up with that, because, I don't even know why, because we're half idiots, but we put up with it. But you are not going outside. That's all I need is for you to get run over because you think you can go up against a Buick.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I could take a Buick.<br /><b>ME</b>: See? That's what I mean. No going outside.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: You know, Other Cat wants to go outside too.<br /><b>ME</b>: Her name is Maya.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Whatever.<br /><b>ME</b>: And no, she doesn't. She's happy to stay inside and bat the catnip frog around, maybe roll around in a shirt every now and again. You know, CAT STUFF. <br /><b>RUSTY</b>: "Maya" is a fool.<br /><b>ME</b>: No she's not! No she is not! She's a CAT. She doesn't argue with me! She doesn't try and convince me that Hitler lost the war because he was a dog guy!<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: So it's insults now, because I take a fresh approach to history?<br /><b>ME</b>: (sighs) All I'm saying is, you're not going outside. Maya is not going outside. You are staying inside.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: You know, the fanciest prison in the world is still a prison.<br /><b>ME</b>: Just stop it.<br /><b>RUSTY </b>(walking away): Noboooody knows... the trouble I've seen.....<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-74510295610394297772014-05-27T19:31:00.000-04:002014-05-27T19:31:30.900-04:00Conversations With RustyI have started a new thing on the Eff Bee, wherein I have conversations with my cat Rusty. The first two are pretty short: <br />
<br />
<div class="std">
<br /><span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><b>RUSTY</b>: Hey. It's time for my god damned dinner.<br /> <b>ME</b>: I fed you like two hours ago.<br /> <b>RUSTY</b>: I know. I was counting on the fact that you'd forget.<br /> <b>ME</b>: Why would you do that?<br /> <b>RUSTY</b>: Works about twice in seven days, actually.<br /> <b>ME</b>: You're kidding me!<br />
<b>RUSTY</b>: And we have this conversation about every other time. But I just
roll on my back and show you my belly, and you forget all about it.
Like this.<br /> <b>ME</b>: Awww, that's so cute. Who's a cute boy?<br /> <b>RUSTY </b>(to himself): Thaaaat's right. Jump through the hoop!</span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">---</span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">CONVERSATIONS WITH RUSTY, EPISODE 2<br /> <br /> <b>RUSTY</b>: So, thanks for the food and everything. I got you a little something.<br /> <b>ME</b>: Oh, thanks buddy. That's awfully nice of...<br /> <b>RUSTY</b>: You like it?<br /> <b>ME</b>: Where's, uh, where's its head?<br /> <b>RUSTY</b>: That's MY business.<br /> <b>ME</b>: Dude, that's gotta go. <br /> <br /> (STUPID HUMAN throws mouse out the back door into the woods)<br /> <br /> <b>RUSTY </b>(after a pause) That was a GIFT, you son of a bitch. Good luck finding where I piss tonight.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">---</span></span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}">And now, making its world premiere, Episode 3. Not on the Eff Bee, nowhere but here, an exclusive for my bloggy-boo pals. </span> </span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span style="color: green;"><b><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></b></span></span></div>
<div class="std">
<span class="a"><span style="color: green;"><b><span class="userContent" data-ft="{"tn":"K"}"> </span></b><span style="color: black;"><br />CONVERSATIONS WITH RUSTY, EPISODE 3<br /><br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Look, all I'm saying is that I don't really like it when you call me "your pet." Demeans me. Makes it seem like I don't really run the place.<br /><b>ME</b>: You don't, you idiot. We humans do.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Do you?<br /><b>ME</b>: Of course we do.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Let me ask you something: When your day begins, where am I?<br /><b>ME</b>: You're sleeping on my bed.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Leaving behind for the moment the question of whose bed it is, you get ready to start your day, and then what?<br /><b>ME</b>: Well, nothing. You're usually asleep until 2 in the afternoon.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Precisely. Then I yawn, and stretch, and do what?<br /><b>ME</b>: You take a piss in the bathtub.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Immediately after which, you do what?<br /><b>ME</b>: I clean it.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: I see. <br /><b>ME</b>: That doesn't prove anything.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Well, what happens 'round these parts at 6:00 PM?<br /><b>ME</b>: You whine like a little girl for your dinner.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: And what happens if you don't feed me right away?<br />ME: You wind around my feet until you trip me.<br /><b>RUSTY </b>(hardens glance for a brief moment): Hurts, doesn't it...(softens glance) but it doesn't often come to that, because why?<br /><b>ME</b>: Because I feed you.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Because you feed me. And on those rare occasions when your company doesn't bore me to distraction, and I sit down in your vicinity, what happens then?<br /><b>ME</b>: I pet you, just the way you like to be petted.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: In summation, then, you provide me food at my every whim; you provide companionship when I want it and the way I want it; you follow me around and clean up after every emptying of my bladder. Is that about right?<br /><b>ME </b>(looking down): I suppose.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Who runs the place?<br /><b>ME</b>: Please don't make me say it.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: Who runs the place? I won't ask again.<br /><b>ME</b>: You do.<br /><b>RUSTY</b>: That's RIGHT I do. Now break out the catnip; exerting dominance makes me frisky.</span></span></span></div>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-69864369614842838402014-05-21T21:21:00.001-04:002014-05-21T21:22:49.330-04:00The First Time I've Laughed at One of my Own Jokes in a Long, Long Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLzXNupG0W4Qlcq-yxtnMGQgEszBThQldV1SByaSziU55m-7nJw7t2swarUeVULvvYE9SVKyaLpdDAikeQ1M9DAMAXHzN1VbUMS46XsPcqu6oGo_tuQfAwJfWvi_PYmbechPJJ2CZm-Z0/s1600/joke.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwLzXNupG0W4Qlcq-yxtnMGQgEszBThQldV1SByaSziU55m-7nJw7t2swarUeVULvvYE9SVKyaLpdDAikeQ1M9DAMAXHzN1VbUMS46XsPcqu6oGo_tuQfAwJfWvi_PYmbechPJJ2CZm-Z0/s1600/joke.png" height="484" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-63578307314664057582014-05-05T19:43:00.000-04:002014-05-05T19:43:27.563-04:00The New MeThis is me around August 1, 2010, when I suspect I was at my heaviest. I have to figure I'm an easy 305-310 here:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyJdqw0la_0BTl7s3NQ8zuUQOGNSDHnO-eqUhyphenhyphenpJwZjrjhp_LroQ1hj0t44SGJLkUskUbOVltG9bqEGj9u_Dfsro-F3AGKZHE6hcbEBHtbSa81Vgr8flcohxBKc8bm6S-xiwAAQQ65GwT/s1600/before+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqyJdqw0la_0BTl7s3NQ8zuUQOGNSDHnO-eqUhyphenhyphenpJwZjrjhp_LroQ1hj0t44SGJLkUskUbOVltG9bqEGj9u_Dfsro-F3AGKZHE6hcbEBHtbSa81Vgr8flcohxBKc8bm6S-xiwAAQQ65GwT/s1600/before+1.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pdwPHfPlx8c31bcK7-ITHvOLhe6RNk9kinYykzd2Fm7XsnmRJkIjTwo71P__cxdm5EdS-ADuv-YYa_SEYZdtsXRseH8-FtlCUvqxo84H0lO48cw4f9DgaR8b3FAT7OOjlJ6Fmoofc5Ed/s1600/before+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3pdwPHfPlx8c31bcK7-ITHvOLhe6RNk9kinYykzd2Fm7XsnmRJkIjTwo71P__cxdm5EdS-ADuv-YYa_SEYZdtsXRseH8-FtlCUvqxo84H0lO48cw4f9DgaR8b3FAT7OOjlJ6Fmoofc5Ed/s1600/before+2.jpg" height="400" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
And this is me today, May 5, 2014:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKkS9VlRL0yqj01CSY2b0kISQ6qUEi0kqT6Gu-bSEp-Trz0DvSH3vNhEUWLdpR-0-JCnD2W7hqnLJk6f1whw0IbvD1lQ7q0RHON4DCHlc1U4inQi8YOjEINMzK42uRxa1Vc8mAVoQ5MB_/s1600/after.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKkS9VlRL0yqj01CSY2b0kISQ6qUEi0kqT6Gu-bSEp-Trz0DvSH3vNhEUWLdpR-0-JCnD2W7hqnLJk6f1whw0IbvD1lQ7q0RHON4DCHlc1U4inQi8YOjEINMzK42uRxa1Vc8mAVoQ5MB_/s1600/after.jpg" height="400" width="230" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
Granted, the weight came off in chunks. I made a bargain with a friend to lose weight around this time, and the easy 20 came off in the Autumn of that year. Then the stroke took me down to about 265, and since February 1st or so I've lost about another 40 so far (I figure I'm around 228 as it stands right now). That means I've lost more or less 80 pounds since the uppermost pictures.<br />
<br />
I guess the best way to describe how I'm doing it is, I'm just paying attention to my Diabetes. I have found that as long as you eat the <i><b>right </b></i>foods (or perhaps better put, abstain from the wrong ones), the weight kind of takes care of itself. And since I've realized what had to be done, the weight has just flown off of me. I'm losing about 5 pounds every six weeks, which is to my mind a perfect weight-loss rate.<br />
<br />
My mindset toward food has changed on a pretty fundamental level. At this point, I view food as nothing more than sustenance. Now, you skinny people will look at that sentence and ask, with all good intentions, "What the hell else is food, if not sustenance?" Well, most if not all overweight people eat for a myriad of reasons other than hunger, and they know exactly what I mean. Food is a crutch, a friend, a presser of the pleasure button, something to be luxuriated in. I should know - I've been overweight my entire life. For a fat person to change his attitude toward food so radically, in such a short period of time, is remarkable. I mean, once before I lost a fair amount of weight but it never changed how I felt about food - I just summoned the will to overcome it. Now I just have a different attitude towards it.<br />
<br />
In fact, come to think of it, I have a different attitude towards EVERYTHING. I'm no longer the miserable troll eking out a lonely existence in his basement. I'm now a happy, reasonably well-adjusted troll eking out a lonely existence in his basement. But even that might be changing soon. For I have announced to a few choice friends of mine that I am once again looking for gainful employment and hope soon to adopt a more or less normal diurnal rhythm, not entirely unlike most human beings.<br />
<br />
It's safe to say that everything about me is changed. And I am really, REALLY looking forward to what the next year will bring. When I think of what I will be in a year - who I will be - I want to press the fast-forward button and be there.<br />
<br />
I guess, though, I'll just enjoy the walk, on this bright, bright sun-shiney day.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-90124504145170839292014-04-26T00:01:00.000-04:002014-04-26T00:01:00.379-04:00Requiem: Vincent Astolfi<br />
My father-in-law, Vince, passed away last Thursday morning. His death wasn't unexpected, but my experience is that doesn't often matter a whole lot.<br />
<br />
He was in the grip of Alzheimer's, and this particular flavor of it shut off his body quicker than most. Toward the end he was only good for a few words before his battery would wear down. For example our last exchange, this past Christmas, consisted of him saying "Hey, Gary," with perfect clarity. When I answered him, he was unable to say - or to remember - what he wanted to say.<br />
<br />
It was very sad to watch. And I knew that I would not be seeing him again when we left.<br />
<br />
Vince was a good man, like so many of his generation. He loved his children beyond reason, and sometimes worked two jobs to provide for them. He actually loved all the children of his family, every niece, nephew, and cousin. We remarked after looking through hundreds of pictures just how many were of him holding babies, teasing toddlers, dancing at weddings. He raised his grandson, my nephew, like his own son. If you were a member of his family, you got his unconditional love and support, and that extended to his in-laws.<br />
<br />
He was a musician, and a good one. His band made a few radio appearances, even appeared on TV once. I asked him once what he could play, and he told me "I can play anything, as long as it's in A," which is pretty funny if you're a musician. He had a beautiful 1956 Gibson SJ, in tobacco sunburst with mother-of-pearl inlay on the fretboard. He must have known the value of his guitar, being around other musicians for decades. But when the time came that his teenage son expressed an interest, he unhesitatingly handed it over for his use. It is still in great condition, and once again in Joey's possession, this time permanently.<br />
<br />
I have a picture of him playing it (playing an A chord, of course). It's very cool.<br />
<br />
He was a man of very few words, but always the right ones. He would never, and I mean NEVER, use five words when he could use four. But for being so taciturn he wasn't reticent about his love for his family. He would end every interaction with his family, in person or on the phone, with "I love you."<br />
<br />
As the disease took him, and he was able to say and do less and less, those near him report that he would sometimes say absolutely nothing during an entire visit, but when it was time to leave he would always say "I love you."<br />
<br />
Especially towards the last few months of his life, we weren't 100% sure what he still knew. But he knew he loved his family, by god. Nothing could take that away from him.<br />
<br />
Vincent J. Astolfi was 82, and my wife and I will both miss him.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOZpi1-Qt28C6V7h6gUZ-rNgXlGdwXkfLAJMhMX70VaxflTHkN73ebJSFi0JwTQ-uyvMw1FtK29Vm68M7mM5-EPrETkuodc2t2ahbbs7Wphtc_ZXdDQk3tUXMLgp1pKAp2N1VM_97TZSY/s1600/playing+in+A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrOZpi1-Qt28C6V7h6gUZ-rNgXlGdwXkfLAJMhMX70VaxflTHkN73ebJSFi0JwTQ-uyvMw1FtK29Vm68M7mM5-EPrETkuodc2t2ahbbs7Wphtc_ZXdDQk3tUXMLgp1pKAp2N1VM_97TZSY/s1600/playing+in+A.jpg" height="318" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Country Boy Vince</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-31847531376946586382014-03-28T21:47:00.001-04:002014-03-28T21:47:57.540-04:00My Last Strokey UpdateYesterday I had an appointment with my neurologist, which consisted
of him taking 45 seconds to perform a perfunctory neurological
examination and a 10 minute chat, which, yes, did have something to do
with my health but mostly concerned itself with our respective plans for
Passover. After the conversational Afikomen was recovered and paid
for*, he suggested tactfully that I no longer needed his services. So
it's official: I am no longer under the care <span class="text_exposed_show">of
a neurologist. Woo hoo! So I thought I'd just wrap up the whole stroke
thing with a final update about my cerebrovascular health and put it
lock stock and barrel where it belongs, in the rear-view mirror.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="text_exposed_show">
The main reason why I had the stroke - runaway hypertension - is
well-controlled. My diabetes is similarly well-managed. The pain in my
left hip has lessened as my weight goes down and the weather turns
warmer.<br />
<br />
The impact the stroke has had on my life physically is
minimal. I have the odd moment where I lose my balance; I would not wish
to try my luck on the balance beam or a rope ladder. I have some very
small fine-muscle control issues in my left hand. My penmanship has
changed; it's not messier than it was before (I doubt that's even
possible) but it is different. I can still play the guitar but my
repertoire is restricted to campfire singalongs and other fare that
doesn't require fingerpicking, soloing, or, you know, talent.<br />
<br />
But
that's it. In so many ways it's like the stroke never happened. I can
honestly say my recovery has been 99% comprehensive. And I'm pleased
with that, bet your ass I am.<br />
<br />
Anyway, there you go. Thanks for listening. Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.<br />
___<br />
*If you're a Jew, that's pretty funny, right there.</div>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-39723088072243105662014-03-21T23:53:00.001-04:002014-03-21T23:53:01.078-04:00A Good Memory<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><i><b>Editor's Note: </b>I posted this as my status on the Eff Bee, and people seemed to like it, so I thought I'd bring it over here.</i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption"><span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">Because, if you know anything about me, you know that I can't just post a picture without telling a story:</span></span> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span class="fbPhotosPhotoCaption" id="fbPhotoSnowliftCaption" tabindex="0"><span class="hasCaption">In
2004 when the Red Sox won the World Series, I got it in my head that I
needed to be at the park on Opening Day 2005 to see them get their rings
and raise the banner. This was a problem as ticket prices, never
exactly low, were ridiculously, stupidly high. The finance committee
would never<span class="text_exposed_show"> approve an outlay of that kind, so I was left to find an alternate plan.<br /> <br />
"I know," I thought to myself. "I'll just win this upcoming poker
tournament, and the money will flow through my hands like water, and
with it I shall purchase two of the hottest tickets in town."<br /> <br />
Well, they say the good Lord protects children and fools, and I guess
that happened here because that's exactly how it went down. And for
$1200, I was given the privilege of purchasing two of, arguably, the
worst seats in the house - box 92, row UU, seats 11 and 12. If you know
Fenway Park, you know that these seats, rather than facing home plate
like baseball seats are suposed to, instead face the center field wall,
making you keep your head turned left for three solid hours. But I
didn't care; I was in.<br /> <br /> Naturally I was beset with friends -
real and otherwise - looking for an invitation to be my companion for
the day. But I knew pretty much right away whom I was going to invite.
The man who gave me my love of baseball in the first place: my father.<br /> <br />
As April 11ths go around these parts, it was sunny and warmer than
usual. For a miracle we found a place to park and made it in time to
watch the ring ceremony and the raising of the World Series banner. That
was the day that the Fenway crowd gave Mariano Rivera that sarcastic
cheer as a thanks for blowing two saves in the ALCS. As an extra added
bonus the Red Sox stomped the Yankees 8-1 that day. It was as close to a
perfect day as it gets. It remains one of my life's sweetest memories.
Similarly this picture, taken by some corporate yahoo who kept checking
his phone and leaving for two innings at a time to buy souvenirs, is one
of my most prized possessions.<br /> <br /> Thanks for coming with me, Dad.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
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craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-67143687014262384382014-03-05T10:58:00.000-05:002014-03-05T10:58:09.099-05:00Two Things That Happened Twenty Years Ago Today<ol>
<li>Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play.</li>
<li>I got married.</li>
</ol>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-57875952287021528982014-03-02T14:02:00.000-05:002014-03-02T23:18:12.185-05:00Some newsI wish I could bring you a story of triumph against overwhelming odds, but Josie's godson and nephew Joseph lost his battle on February 27th. Joe was 26.<br />
<br />
I was asked to keep this message short but I would be remiss if I didn't mention that Joe's last thoughts, at the very end, were of others and not himself. His final words to his loved ones were "At the end of this quest, don't lose your righteousness."<br />
<br />
Rest in peace, Joseph.craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-78388326419614833892014-02-09T20:05:00.001-05:002014-02-09T20:06:13.661-05:00A Change of MindI made mention of this on the Eff Bee, so I'll apologize in advance for those who have seen the germ of this post as a status a few days ago, but I thought I'd bring it here and discuss it in a bit more depth, because God knows, if there's a human being alive who is more in love with the sound of his own voice than I, I have yet to meet or even hear of him.<br />
<br />
I have had a bit of a change of heart regarding something pretty fundamental. Long-time readers to this little chucklefest will have heard me lamenting the ticking clock, and my inexorable descent into old age, many more times than once. From the first creak of the knee, the first blurry line of text, I have complained about it, loudly and often.<br />
<br />
But that's all done, I suspect. Because, quite suddenly and unexpectedly, I have had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.<br />
<br />
I'm all done bitching about getting old. Because I've stumbled upon a great truth that had evaded me all my life:<i><b> The opposite of old is not young. The opposite of old is DEAD.</b></i> Not only is there nothing wrong with getting old, it's something that one should aspire to.<br />
<br />
This epiphany was particularly well-timed.<br />
<br />
I recently went to my doctor to check in with him, to get some blood drawn, and to have him cup my testicles - he's got such a gentle touch, after all. What I discovered was that while my weight was down, and my blood pressure was being well-managed, but my blood sugar was up, my cholesterol was up, and I got a benign talking-to about things, and how they could be made better. And everything just kind of clicked.<br />
<br />
I have a difficult time with statins - they make my legs stiff and tired, and Ol' Strokey doesn't need any more help making his legs feel bad. So I had, in the past, stopped taking them. Now, I started a much slower process of acclimating my body to them, taking a half-pill every other day, then a half-pill two days out of three. I'm currently up to a half-pill every day, and I hope to titrate my dosage up to a full pill every day soon.<br />
<br />
I've also taken a more serious approach to controlling my diabetes. Heretofore I had considered laying off the Boston Creme donuts to be the alpha and the omega of diabetes control. Now, though I can always do more, I'm staying away from the worst things for me: processed flour, white rice, anything that has a high <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glycemic_index" target="_blank">glycemic index.</a><br />
<br />
I'm doing all these things, and more, because I've come to realize something, a completely self-evident truth that a few weeks ago would have been a preposterous thought:<br />
<br />
I would very much like to be old.<br />
<br />
Thanks for listening. Go see a doctor if you haven't recently.<br />
<br />
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<br />craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8831516808434643835.post-79683858342706969492014-01-23T10:35:00.001-05:002014-01-23T10:35:52.255-05:00A Favor GrantedI doubt this will come as a galloping shock to any of you but there are few people in the world that mean more to me than my pal Josie. Time and time again she has proven her worth as a human being in ways large and small. She took time off of work to stand by my side at my dad's funeral. She came to see me at the hospital in the darkest days of the stroke, when they didn't yet know whether I was going to live or die. She rubbed coffee on my lips, for Christ's sake. For being such a tiny girl she's got a gigantic heart, and it amazes me.<br />
<br />
And now she's asking a favor.<br />
<br />
Her godson, nephew Joseph, whom last I saw as he was taking his first steps towards adolescence - a kid with an ever-present smile and a smudge of dirt on his upper lip that was desperately trying to be a mustache - is in a fix at present. He's going to need everything the medical world can muster up to get him through this. And Josie and her sister Cricket went down to Florida to stand by HIS side, because that's what people with gigantic hearts do.<br />
<br />
The favor is twofold: she wants people to reprint her blog entry (yes, there's a new post: Garbo speaks!), and she's asking people to donate to her nephew's medical expenses, as he has no insurance. Make no mistake about it: her pain is my pain. So I'm going to ask the same favor of those few people who know me and who might not know Josie: please repost her portion of this post. Spread the word. Joseph needs help - YOUR help. Listen to what she has to say, and do what you can. You'd be doing ME a favor as well as her.<br />
<br />
<hr />
<br />
Although I've always loved blogging, I wish to God I wasn't blogging today. I am because this is so very very important to me. <br />
<br />
Long time readers of mine know my brother died many years ago. Well this post is about his son, my godson Joseph.<br />
<br />
With the exception of Evan, I cannot think of another boy I love more.
We were sooo very close when he was small, both before and after my
brother's death. He's now a caring, strong man who hasn't had the
easiest life and now lives in Florida.<br />
<br />
Last week, work be damned, I bought two airline tickets to Florida,
booked a seedy (kinda) hotel room, and my sister and I high-tailed to
Orlando to visit him.<br />
<br />
Why?<br />
<br />
He has Stage 4 cancer; a very very rare form. They believe it started in
his kidney and has now spread to his lung, lymph nodes, bones and
bladder, I think. Have I mentioned he's only 26 years old, never smoked,
doesn't party or drink? Joseph's idea of partying is ComiCon.<br />
<br />
He'd been feeling sick for a while but didn't go to the doctor at first
because he didn't (and doesn't) have health insurance. When he finally
did, they told him he had tumors and sent him home with a prescription
for anitbiotics. (NEVER GET SICK WITHOUT HEALTH INSURANCE!)<br />
<br />
He was in too much pain so returned to the hospital and was diagnosed
with Stage 4 cancer and again sent home. Again, the constant nausea and
pain couldn't be controlled at home so he returned to the hospital. <br />
<br />
At that point the best option for him was to go to the Moffitt Center at
the University of Florida to get into a clinical trial, but they
wouldn't accept anyone who had chemo, so he went untreated for quite a
while, hoping to get into the clinical trial. <br />
<br />
While my sister and I were visiting him, it was decided he was too ill
to travel to the Moffitt Center anyway and the red tape and bull shit to
get him in was just ridiculous. So now the wait began for the
chemotherapy.<br />
<br />
And wait he did.<br />
<br />
And wait.<br />
<br />
Every day I saw him, his stomache seemed to grow because of the tumors.
It surely wasn't because of the hospital food he kept throwing up. We'd
try to bring him things we knew he liked to entice him into eating. As
sick as he is, he'd still keep trying to eat though it was apparent he
didn't want to. The only thing he asked for was Slurpees....Coke and
Mountain Dew Slurpees from 7-Eleven.<br />
<br />
Can you believe, I'd never gotten a Slurpee before IN MY LIFE and didn't
know how to work the machine? Also, I didn't know if the foamy stuff
coming out was how it was supposed to work. So I tried another flavor
just to see the consistency. So I have cups of Slurpee lined up on the
counter in this skeezy part of Florida, and in walks a very tall
erm...hooker. Okay, I'm assuming about her profession. And I'm using
"her" lightly. According to my sister, she was really a he. And she
determined that while waiting for me in the car. I must admit, I wasn't
looking at "her" face.<br />
<br />
It was weird because here I was with cups lined up half filled with
different SLURPEE flavors and the clerks were ignoring me, letting me do
my thang, but the second the he/she hooker came in, they stuck by her
side till her purchase was made and escorted her out the door. Hmphf. I
wouldn't have minded a little Slurpee assistance!<br />
<br />
Shit, I got off track. <br />
<br />
This post isn't about hookers (although I saw a few others worthy of note) but about dear, sweet, sick nephew Joseph. <br />
<br />
He needs your help. I NEED YOUR HELP.<br />
<br />
His mom, Rose, has been his advocate and by his side every step of the
way. She's a single mother struggling to make ends meet as a social
worker and it's impossible to deal with all the costs associated with
not having health insurance and being gravely ill. Prescriptions alone
are a killer.<br />
<br />
Rose's friend set up an online foundation for Joe, called <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/6blxes">HELP JOE WIN HIS BATTLE.</a><br />
<br />
He set it up on www.gofundme.com<br />
<br />
Please go there and make any donation you can. I realize I may not have
hardly any readers anymore, but if I've ever entertained you, pissed you
off (lord knows I must've done that) please, please, please do this for
me. No amount is too small. Drop a few bucks for my nephew and believe
me when I say, your money couldn't be going to a better place.<br />
<br />
Oh and when you do, mention that Auntie Josie sent you so he knows who the heck you are.<br />
<br />
I'm not done asking for favor yet. Yeah, that effing biatch Very Josie
hasn't posted in over a year and here she is asking for favors. It's
true. <br />
<br />
If you believe in a higher power like Lightning, please say a prayer for Joe and send some positive energy his way.<br />
<br />
Lastly, Tony,<a href="http://lightning36.blogspot.com/"> Lightning</a>, <a href="http://robvegaspoker.blogspot.com/">Rob</a>,<a href="http://pokergrump.blogspot.com/"> Poker Grump</a>, anyone with a blog, if you could please re-post this, it would mean very much to me.<br />
<br />
I love you all for helping me and Joseph in this time of need.<br />
<br />
xoxo<br />
<br />
Very Josie<br />
<br />
a/k/a Auntie Josie<br />
<br />
PS What's a post without a little gambling talk? <br />
<br />
2 things to worthy of note: I was able to pay for all the expenses
associated with the trip to see Joseph because I came in first place in
both of my football leagues! Yep, that's right baby! First in the
"Anyone Wins But Josie" league that I've played in for 5 years. I've
come in first in 4 of those 5 years, hence the name of the league. I
also joined a friends league for the first time this year. In it you
have to cover the spread, which is not my comfort zone but I did it! Out
of 75 playas, I came in first! In the spread league, 1st place for the
year got me a prize of just over 1K but the fucker hasn't paid up yet.
And has stopped returning my emails. Imma fuck him up.<br />
<br />
Also, I play in a local poker league. We play about once a month and the
big finale is at the super bowl, so we play all year to see who will
win first place, a big money prize but also, the highly coveted
personalized Playa's Club shirt personalized with the champion's name on
it. I was going back and forth, between first and second place for the
past couple of months, with the last game of the year being scheduled at
the same time as my last minute trip to see Joseph. If you know me, you
know I love shit like a winner's shirt, but instead I didn't give it a
second thought. Second place is where I wound up but there's always next
year. I love the guy who won first place in my absence but he's lucky I
wasn't around!<br />
<br />
Okay, do it! Now! PLEASE. <a href="http://www.gofundme.com/6blxes">Donate HERE.</a>
craftyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12092073053793715234noreply@blogger.com3