Every Dark Cloud has a Silver Lining, and Other Nonsense
While I wouldn't recommend getting whatever goddam skin disease that is now running its course all over my body, there has been one good thing to come of it. I've been on a pretty big dose of steroids the last few days, and it's made my aching right shoulder feel 100% better. It looks like I don't have a rotator cuff injury, probably just tendonitis or something similar, and rest and strengthening should help. We had our first indoor volleyball match Monday night and I was blasting away with no knee-buckling pain. True, on match point my spike sailed long, but up to that point I was playing better than...ever. Let's see if this lasts once I stop looking like one of the lepers on Molokai.
Actually, and this is pretty sad, I'm at the bar after our game and we're all enjoying our beers because we played well, and this good-looking chick walks by. I give my friend Rick the high sign to give her a look, he does, he nods with approval, and we go back to our conversation. As she walks back I look up and non-committally smile, and she suddenly looks straight ahead, and I realize that I look like I just fell off a motorcycle face-first. Think I'll set the polite flirtation aside for a few more days.
Went to the lake last weekend, played a bit of poker, even won a bit. Didn't start off too well--I played tight the first game, couldn't get a hand better than J-2, and ended up I think 3rd. I believe that's the game where Neil beat...Scott, Neil needing and hitting a trey on the river to make his wheel and beat Scott's two pair. I think that's what happened. Not that Neil or Scott would know either, as they'd been playing Asshole for 3 hours and were on their way to getting crocked.
Game 2 I decided to mix it up and play fast and loose. And got knocked out in last place when Frank called my King-high bluff with 3rd fucking pair. I had to sit there for like an hour while the game wound its way to the finish, which is the big reason why I tend to play tight in these games--I don't wanna sit there for an hour waiting to get back in the game. I might not play poker again for many a moon, and I don't want to just sit there watching. That's what the 20 videotapes full of poker tournaments are for.
Frank, after finishing second more often than the Buffalo Bills, Minnesota Vikings, and Utah Jazz combined, finally won one. He had about a 16-1 chip lead and road that to victory. I think he knocked everyone at the table out, which would become a recurring theme for the weekend.
I thought everyone had had enough, but no, we played one more quicky, and this time I won. I don't know how--it was getting on 3:30AM, I'd had 13 Yuenglings and I was the most sober person there. Neil was dealing us 2, 3, sometimes four hole cards. I finally beat Mark (who was the only other person still operating above caveman levels) when the hand I held was better than the one he had. I've no goddam clue what happened. I was drunk.
The next day was a nice day. Went on the jet-ski a little (yes, it's also a cure for poison ivy, along with hangovers), ate a lot, drank a lot. Took my anti-itch medicine (may cause drowsiness!) and had one of those 90 minutes super-intense dreams that makes you believe there really are parallel universes. One I washed the fuzz out of my mouth it was time to start drinking again. Ted made lasagna, which I enjoyed with a frisky little Shirraz, and we all sat down to watch Texas-Ohio State and the NASCAR race.
Took my usual mid-race siesta, watched a few hundred left turns, and then we retired to again play some poker. This time it was Scott's turn to run roughshod over the table. He called Neil's big bluff, took Vince's chips, ransacked Mark's stack. When all was said and done he had me outchipped about 4-1, including a towering stack of the orange $500 chips we call "creamsicles".
But I wasn't cowed. Because I was up against Scott, and not Debbie, Scott's wife, who was in Brazil (Brazil?) on business. With Debbie 9,000 miles away in the goddam Amazon I felt pretty good about my chances. Especially as I started getting some cards. I limped with JJ, had the flop come 8-9-10, and check-raised Scott all-in to take a nice little pot. The gallery didn't like this--they all wanted Scott to polish me off so they could get back in the game, and Neil began a quiet chant of "Deathblow...deathblow...deathblow..." to egg Scott on.
But those who know him know that Scott needs no egging. After I raised he put me all-in with A-5, which was a bad thing because I held pocket nines. I made a full-house on the turn and we were back to about even. We swapped chips back and forth (including an all-in bluff I made holding jack high, jack high
) and I even managed to survive making an idiotic "value" bet that cost me $2500. But with a small chip lead I called Scott's preflop raise with 8-6 of spades, and saw the flop come 5...7...9. Been awhile since I flopped a straight like that, and when I saw Scott grab his stack and angrily shove it in I thought it beneath me to slowplay. Victory, she was mine.
We then reloaded and Scott went nuts and knocked us all out in about 15 minutes. In that time he held KK, QQ, pocket tens (twice), 77, and 33. I went out in third when my A-5 ran into his cowboys. I think he had more pocket pairs than non-pairs during that game. The Poker Gods sometimes show mercy, too.
So it's 3AM, everyone's asleep, what to do now? How about watch This is Spinal Tap
, which is one of the best "3AM and I'm drunk" movies ever made? I've seen the movie a dozen times, I have the album...the word "genius" is used too often in our society, and perhaps it's still hyperbole here, but "Tonight I'm Gonna Rock You Tonight" is STILL the greatest song title in the history of rock music. A movie that funny, that spot-on in it's send-up of rock bands, and the music is actually worth listening too (if only to roll around the floor laughing).
OK, felt bad for not posting the last few days. But since the last few days all I've wanted to do was have Scarlett Johansson caress my skin with 80-grit sandpaper I found it difficult to sit down and type. Back to work.