Mean Gene
Mean Gene
Pittsburgh's most decorated poker blogger, which I admit is like being the best shortstop in Greenland

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My Articles

Presto, the Arlo, & the Hammer
An Online Code of Conduct
The Ethics of Ratholing
"The Professor, the Banker..."
"Ace on the River"

My Columns

Lose the Shades
If You Can't Say Something Nice
Whither the Kicker
The Lady is a Champ?
Covering the WSOP (or not)
Statistics, Luck, and Poker
Poker and New Orleans
Managing a Bankroll
How To Tell A Bad Beat Story
Telling Lies
The Power of Poker Tracker
Advanced Card-Handling

My Greatest Hits

5 Things To Do Before I Die
Cafeteria Nostalgia
Mean Gene's Dubious Dating Tips
Poker and Business?
There's No Such Thing As Luck?
Isabelle, Je t'adore
No Shirt No Shoes No Service
Well, The Food Was Good
Good Morning, Mr. Matusow!
The Weekend of our Discontent, I
The Weekend of our Discontent, II
Books That Left Their Mark
Ode to a Fish Sandwich
Bill Simmons Ain't the Poker Guy
The Sports Guy Still Ain't the Poker Guy
Again, The Media Tackles Poker
Five Years After 9/11
Hitting Pretty Girls in the Face
Sixth-Graders Suck

Fellow Poker Bloggers

Guinness and Poker
Cards Speak
Tao of Poker
Up for Poker
Boy Genius
Chris Halverson
Poker Grub
The Fat Guy
Todd Commish
Poker Works
Bill Rini
Bad Blood
Love and Casino War
Double As
Lion Tales
Paul Phillips
Daniel Negreanu
Poker Nerd
Poker Nation
Poker in Arrears
Human Head
Sound of a Suckout
Chicks With Chips
TP's Table Talk
Royal Poker
This is Not A Poker Blog
Chick and a Chair
Go Be Rude
Poker Cheapskate
Poker & Other Stuff
Seven Two
Musical Poker
WPBT Online
Isabelle Mercier
Cardschat Blog
Amy Calistri
BJ Nemeth
Annie's Blog

Poker Sites

Cardschat Poker Forum
Barstool Sports
Card Player
Internet Texas Hold-Em
Poker Pages


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    Monday, May 16, 2005

    A Brief Stroll Down Nausea Lane

    My computer grows ever more senile, to the point where it takes me an average of 20 minutes to get online from the time I sit down at my desk. The damn thing froze every time I tried to shut down, so I'd have to hit the power switch when I was done, and then go through the whole "scanning for errors" deal every time I wanted to use it. That takes a good five minutes. And then Windows has to load and after that I'd have to go into my system tray and shut down a dozen or so programs and/or spyware that I can't get rid of. Thence to actually log on, only to have my system lock up at least half the time before I so much as checked my email. Digital age my ass.

    Well, I've read a few folks who use Firefox as their browser, not IE or Netscape, and since IE has given me so many headaches I need a CAT scan I decided to give it a try. And I like it. Like the tabs function. Like how easy it is to sort bookmarks, compared to IE's Jurassic method. And--here's the really good part--my computer actually now goes into standby mode. I can turn my laptop off, hit the power switch, and it comes to life raring to go. And this past weekend it only crashed once instead of 7 or 8 times. This will literally save me three or four hours of me raging against my machine.

    During this happy online time I watched a bit of the final WSOP satellite, and congrats to Joe, who will be wearing his WPBT Hoop T-shirt at the table. That's the shirt I'm thinking of getting (yes, I haven't shopped at Maudie's yet) and it seems to bring good fortune. Yes, I think that's the one for me.

    Let's see, what else. Oh, yes, my friends Matt and Kris celebrated their...seventh wedding anniversary yesterday? Congratulations. Though I must say that what I remember most about that day was eating the second most disgusting meal of my life. Oh, not at the reception, the grub there was fine. No, I mean what we groomsmen ate (or tried to eat) beforehand.

    Picture five guys in tuxedos trying to look suave and debonair. We were about an hour away from leaving for the church and we were hanging around the house Matt had just bought, and drinking, but just a little. It slowly dawned on us that we were all hungry, and that we wouldn't be eating for another 4 hours at least. What to do?

    Matt had only been living in the house a short while, and as he and his bride would be in Hawaii for 2 weeks he hadn't stocked the larder. The pickins were slim, unless you like drinking salad dressing out of the bottle or really savor good tap water. Ordering pizza was out, as we'd probably have to leave before delivery. Again, what to do?

    I think it was Scott who burrowed into the freezer, and came up with a box. A box of something. A box of something covered with frost that, when you shook it, made some noise. Food! A quick glance revealed that it was frozen fish patties. I forget the brand, and even if I knew it I probably wouldn't reveal it for fear of ending up in litigation, but I believe the box was yellow. Anyway, fish is food. Fish is good food. We put those patties on a sheet and stuck them in the oven, despite Matt's reservations. The fish was pretty old, he warned and had been inexplicably moved from apartment to house, meaning it might not be at the peak of freshness. Or the trough of contamination. We pressed on.

    If I recall, I did not take the first bite. That was Scott. He took a bite, made a Scott face, and expectorated into a napkin. "That's SO bad," he said. Everyone tried except me, and everyone thought it was hideous. Matt came up with a brillant idea--put barbacue sauce on it. That's Matt's solution to any culinary challenge, bring on the BBQ, and nine times out of ten his move is sound. Not this time. I selected an isoceles triangle of fish, sauced it, and took a bite.

    Without a doubt, the most vile, disgusting thing I have ever had in my mouth. The fish was not so much fish as a vaguely aquatic jelly; the breading tasted as though the filets had been dipped into the dust that once filled Tutankhamen's sarcophgus. The sauce tasted fine--that wasn't the problem. The problem was that the sauce, combined with the gelantinous goo and the ultra-dry breading, turned what was in my mouth into what I can only describe as a "clot".

    Swallowing was not an option, and I spat the horrid mess into a paper towel. "I need to shave my tongue," I groaned. We threw the rest of the mess in the trash (no biohazard container was handy) and went back to listening to our tummies grumble.

    Somehow we made it to the reception, I making an attempt to ease my hunger by getting three helpings of Communion (just kidding). I do recall that when we got to the reception we groomsmen hit the cookie table, and we hit that cookie table hard.

    You may be asking what my most disgusting meal might have been, but that's a story I'm going to save for another day. My digestive system can only take so much nostalgia at one time. get this widget Please visit Pokernews site for more poker news, poker strategy articles or poker rules.

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