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Wednesday, November 22, 2006

Rage on, my friends 

Redemption in Raging Solo

In Vegas, one's opportunity for a solo rage is ubiquitous. For as long as he wants or as long as he can stand, he can prop himself up on the shoulders of friends. And when he is ready, he can step out into the dry air, blink at the lights, and start to walk. Where he stops--if he stops--is of little consequence. What matters is that he rages solo. It need not be a trip-long or even night-long event. It can last as long or short as he wants. It can be sober or drunk. It can start at one end of the strip and end at the other or it can start on one side of the street and be only bound by a crosswalk. What matters is the rage. It can cost $1,000 or $1. It just doesn't matter.

Raging solo--define it as you like--is the key. At the end is redemption. And with redemption comes a whole new way of looking at things.

Otis in comments
Otis writes. Much too good to be relegated to the bottomless pit of the comment section so I've moved it up here for the great unwashed masses. I will be raging solo, in packs, in odd places, and quite possibly in places if ill repute. The Vegas summer gathering kicked off with a monster 36 hour bender that saw me miss two, not one, but two opportunities for breakfast while we tanked it up hard at the Sherwood Forrest. The first indicator something was amiss was when I commented that there seemed to be an awful lot of kids wandering around the floor at the odd hour. Iggy was kind enough to point out there it was nearly 11am and the bartender we started drinking with had gone home after his shift and was now back serving us. Again. Same bender.

But this time around I will take the advice from Otis. There will be some solo rage time. Not sure when, where, or how, but it might be advisable to keep clear of me during that time. Alcohol poisoning can run up quite a bill at the hospital.

"This is one race of people for whom psychoanalysis is of no use whatsoever."
Sigmund Freud on the Irish
Time for some proper therapy.

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Happy Thanksgiving to everyone, be careful if you stroll out tonight on the Amateur Night to end all amateur nights. Moronic, inexperienced, ridiculous beginners out in the bars and on the roads. Duck the drunks and look out for J.Johnny LawEnforcment.

Cheers and rage on!

This post is brought to you by Ram Jam - Black Betty.

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Not sure if I can make it tonight, but that doesn't mean you can't head on over.

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Tuesday, November 21, 2006

Fear and self-loathing in Las Vegas 

Not the most original title but can you do. I planned on getting all philosophical on your ass but can't manage it. Someone went kungfugee on my skull last night with an amber bottle and I can only think about the end of the day, some large greasy mess of food, and the big TV.

But I will tell you something.

This trip will either be my redemption or my demise. Either way, people are getting fucked up. As Lewey is fond of saying, "The liver is evil and must be punished."



Is Milwaukee Steve looking at the beer or the girls?

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Monday, November 20, 2006

I'm a weak weak man 

"What the hell were you doing with a bottle of holy water in the refrigerator?"
unknown random guy
I have no possible way to put that quote in context but can only say it was uttered by an older gentleman who proceeded to explain how his wife beat the everloving crap out of him. Tony and I were sitting at the bar watching the end of the Eagles season when this occurred and we didn't even have the stomach to start pouring vast quantities of booze down our gullets. We just stood up and left.

And went out to see Casino Royale. Eva Green = yummy.

Rule #435,871 of Fantasy football - do not draft a star from the team you support. It will properly fuck up both seasons when he goes down.

Rule #435,872 of Fantasy football - when bouncing FFL lineup information off the Boy Genius, always go the other way.

This week I'm crushing an FFL game where I lost McNabb early and losing another game where I had Drew Brees throw for 510 yard with two hammer touchdowns (72 and 27 yarders). I guess if you have to lose McNabb, having LT2 and a monster game from Lee Evans doesn't hurt.
No more fantasy football posts until I win one of the finals. Move along.

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On the poker front, just because I feel the need to press my luck and royally piss off the poker gods....

I'm officially on a heater. I spectacular one too. You guys can have your tourney's, I'll be here grinding away. Nothing like doing a little reading to get your O8 game back in line.

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Ah screw it. I can't resist the peer pressure. I think Drizz will be getting a little more than tipsy on his birthday.


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Sunday, November 19, 2006

Ace of Spades 


If you like to gamble, I tell you I'm your man,

You win some, lose some, all the same to me,

The pleasure is to play, makes no difference what you say,

I don't share your greed, the only card I need is

The Ace Of Spades


It's a lovely Sunday morning. My head is clear of any trace of booze which is an odd thing on it's own but it's been a slow week. "The company" has seen to it that all blogspot sites are now verboten from work which makes it a little tough to read most sites that do not have a full RSS feed. Good news, looks like major work project is just about wrapped up. Bad news, you know damn skippy there's another major cluster fuck right behind it. So I've got that going for me.

Not much other things going on right now to get my blogging muscles too terribly excited over. I have a couple stories in the pipeline for Pauly's Truckin' but I've been saying that for two months. I started the "Al puked on a hooker in Amsterdam" story but can't quite finish it. Shame, that's a good one. Maybe I'll just tell it the next time we all get together and get it out of the way. Next time you see me, ask "what the hell is the deal with hooker puke story" and you'll get it. I promise.

My only other decent ideas seem to come at the most inconvenient times. Like when I'm just about to fall off into the lovely void of sleep or when I'm sitting on the loo. Neither time if very conducive to writing long missives on the current state of this or that or the other. I long ago realized that no one is ever going to come knocking on this blogdoor for any serious writing or show up here looking for anything other than the occasional humorous thought buried beneath the drunken slop which makes up 99% of this steaming pile.

But if you want navel gazing, you've come to the wrong place. There are those who do it much better and more often than I. One practice I never want to get into.

If I actually gave a rats flying ass I might have taken advantage of the huge traffic increase after the Dead Iggy post. But I don't. Extra readers just mean that sooner later someone is going to demand real content. I'd rather spend my time worrying about my next meal and my next drink and my next smoke. A philosophy student recently did a $2 analysis of my lifestyle and somehow came up with "ultimate hedonist" in relation to how I live. Just because I told her my philosophy could be summed up in three words. Fat and happy.

One out of two ain't that bad.

Instead of writing the past couple of days (or even going to the bar for the most part) I've hopped back into some books I've been planning to read but have ignored recently. I finished up Flags of Our Fathers by James Bradley which I found completely by accident. BigMike, Caucci, and I went out to see the movie in the theaters when it opened and I was surprised when I found the book sitting in my bookshelf at my parents house a couple days later. Without going into a ton of detail, it's the story about the raising of the flag on Iwo Jima and the men involved. It made for a kind of choppy movie but a fantastic read. Pick it up.

I've started reading Roll the Bones: The History of Gambling by David Schwartz which has been sitting on my coffee table for a couple of months since it was sent to me for a review and Chinese Takeout by Arthur Nersesian which Pauly shipped along to me from his library of orphaned books.

Does this spell the end of my wicked wicked ways? Am I going to turn into a book worm and no more booze, hotties, and digital cameras? Hells no.

I'm just trying to get my feet back under me after the occasional shot to the body and punch square to the nutz. I also fear that I'll be that guy in a couple weeks sitting at my desk cheesed off that everybody else is partying down in Sin City when I miss my first blogger gathering since the beginning. Not a pleasant thought so I'm doing as much behind the scenes as I can to get there. No promises.

Cheers my friends, and thanks for putting up with my convoluted ramblings. It's Sunday morning, what else would you expect.

Go sign up for the Blogger Big Game tonight on Full Tilt. 9:30pmET this evening, buy-in $69+6.

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