104°F today. It's got to be 90° now at 2310hrs. No wind. And I'm sitting on my Mom's deck writing this instead of in the living room watching the tube with my aunt. I'm on my 3rd Corona, still trying to adjust to the two-hour time difference. And I'll tell you, Thumper's none too pleased either. Keeps threatening to override the ninja mind tricks.
I have a story.
I have a step-cousin who I will see this weekend. She's a piece of work. Well, she's almost finished writing a tell-all, and when I heard this news from my aunt, T skipped one, just for effect. Not that anything happened between us, but we were kids once, very young, she younger than I but both of an age where certain things begin to be noticed. Hers were more noticeable than her peers, which, she already recognized, brought her a lot of attention. And to insure that attention remained, she made sure that everyone of the opposite gender thought they might have a peak... or more. Um, I wanted a peak, for sure. Heck, we weren't even really related, so why not?
It would have been my first glimpse of that nature, but you will notice from the choice of verb tense it was not to be. It could have been, yes, if what she had wanted in exchange could have been fulfilled, and that was to receive a kiss from her step-brother. The one my age... not the one 14 years our senior.
Yeah. The older one. The one she eventually married after her first husband (a hunchback) died. Seems, or so I'm told, the diddling never faded.
Anyway, now he's dead and dating another guy. When an uncle of mine was asked about this new feller, the only response was, "He's nearly blind." It made perfect comedic sense.
Oh, there's more. A lot more. Institutionalized son. Another who is a psychopath with a sex change.
I'll be buying that book.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Away
I'm heading out for "home" tomorrow, bright and early. I may stay up all night in anticipation, in which case, you may hear from me again.
I asked, "Do you want me to come home?" Why that word, I don't know. Maybe to comfort her, that some things might stay the same as she loses loved ones.
This trip is going to be a sad and troubling one. So says my dreams this last week.
I may write here; I may not. I'll be writing something, as deadlines don't wait.
Here's the latest essay.
I asked, "Do you want me to come home?" Why that word, I don't know. Maybe to comfort her, that some things might stay the same as she loses loved ones.
This trip is going to be a sad and troubling one. So says my dreams this last week.
I may write here; I may not. I'll be writing something, as deadlines don't wait.
Here's the latest essay.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Acquired taste
There is no comfort to be found in the fact that 50% of my readership is in Las Vegas this week. I can't blame them for having more important things to occupy their time.
In a couple weeks it will have been one year since I dropped the old moniker. I lost 75% of my readership with that move, although the attrition has been gradual from 50%, which indicates that I am doing something wrong. Not that I expected to build viewership, especially after taking myself out of the loop.
I can hear one of my lost readers now: "You want to be liked."
To which I might reply: "No, I want to write in a manner that makes people want to read what I write. There's a difference."
Never mind the self-absorbtion.
Even google takes issue, but their spell check sucks anyway.
Wrung, wrought, wry.
***
I finally cracked the roll I need to effectively play at the level I've been at the past week. Lord (and this the Sabbath), it's not been easy, which is good, for the play is better. Yes, it is Limit O-8, so there are still the low chasers, but the nut case lagtards are fewer. Thumper says "Thank you." Of course, T needs to thank some single component of me, perhaps my brain that refuses a nickname, although to be honest (a component of said organ?), it does require some self-wrangling and still has a difficult time preventing an increase of a precursor, the pulse. After all, the only option available was stakes four times higher than previous play. The remaining solution was to limit variance, and therefore practice hand selection more rigorously than usual, so that I may gradually still the inevitable reaction with the mantra of "I played it correctly." (Deep breath.)
Tonight found me at a table with a 90% pre-flop raiser, position be damned. On the first hand I increased my stack by 50%. On the second hand I played an A3 low, and was down to 75% of my buy.
And I walked away up... way up.
In a couple weeks it will have been one year since I dropped the old moniker. I lost 75% of my readership with that move, although the attrition has been gradual from 50%, which indicates that I am doing something wrong. Not that I expected to build viewership, especially after taking myself out of the loop.
I can hear one of my lost readers now: "You want to be liked."
To which I might reply: "No, I want to write in a manner that makes people want to read what I write. There's a difference."
Never mind the self-absorbtion.
Even google takes issue, but their spell check sucks anyway.
Wrung, wrought, wry.
***
I finally cracked the roll I need to effectively play at the level I've been at the past week. Lord (and this the Sabbath), it's not been easy, which is good, for the play is better. Yes, it is Limit O-8, so there are still the low chasers, but the nut case lagtards are fewer. Thumper says "Thank you." Of course, T needs to thank some single component of me, perhaps my brain that refuses a nickname, although to be honest (a component of said organ?), it does require some self-wrangling and still has a difficult time preventing an increase of a precursor, the pulse. After all, the only option available was stakes four times higher than previous play. The remaining solution was to limit variance, and therefore practice hand selection more rigorously than usual, so that I may gradually still the inevitable reaction with the mantra of "I played it correctly." (Deep breath.)
Tonight found me at a table with a 90% pre-flop raiser, position be damned. On the first hand I increased my stack by 50%. On the second hand I played an A3 low, and was down to 75% of my buy.
And I walked away up... way up.
Friday, June 22, 2012
Just because
A couple things:
Two weeks ago I noticed the tansy in town was just about to flower. I was thereby given notice to what I'd be doing the first day of good heat and clear skies this week. That was yesterday. I covered a fair amount of ground and added a few stray scotch broom and any blackberries in my path. I'll hit it again next week and again when I return from Illinois.
Crows give raptors an immense amount of shit. Blackbirds do the same to crows.
Lingering black smoke somewhere south of town when I returned home tonight.
New photo series on the horizon. So very formal and will hinge on simplicity. You guys will be the first to see it. But again, "horizon."
Two weeks ago I noticed the tansy in town was just about to flower. I was thereby given notice to what I'd be doing the first day of good heat and clear skies this week. That was yesterday. I covered a fair amount of ground and added a few stray scotch broom and any blackberries in my path. I'll hit it again next week and again when I return from Illinois.
Crows give raptors an immense amount of shit. Blackbirds do the same to crows.
Lingering black smoke somewhere south of town when I returned home tonight.
New photo series on the horizon. So very formal and will hinge on simplicity. You guys will be the first to see it. But again, "horizon."
Not like this.
Odd day but good. Did a studio visit in which the artist cried. (Nothing I did or said that was not taken with the generosity in which it was intended.) Walked into a room of strangers who already knew who I was.
Nor this.
You should see my back. I'll save you from the action shots of that.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
A little poker music
The review is up. I made mention, and what do you know? Presto! Rather like the moment I start bitchin' about not getting any cards and quad Aces appear. Minimally paid, but better than getting the pair cracked, that's for sure.
Now, to get them again...
In fact, I did. Twice in one game. And that pair thing doesn't much apply since it was in O-8. Instead, no scoop either time.
I told myself that I would make believe time is money with the funny bank roll, managing it, playing like it mattered, building, building, building until I had a sufficient ten percent to risk in any one session. And so, for the most part, I have done just that, allowing for occasional vagaries such as playing with or like drunks.
I am very near my goal that will allow me to test the waters at the next level. So close... so I dipped a toe.
I had heard from a source, exactly whom now forgotten, that the upper levels were in some ways easier, the skill level less an issue than one would imagine. Still, I can be cautious when need be, and since this game of poker engages my sense of pride along with my paranoid tendencies, once through the swinging doors, I do not amble up to the bar, no beeline, no sir, without having a look about, see who's packing, if I recognize a face or smell... A regular Tex Ritter, for although it's only make believe, that doesn't mean that it cannot be made to sound important.
Anyway, the play is somewhat better some of the time, yet enough of the time that I have not made headway in the few sessions I have sat. In 300 hands or so, I believe I am down ten BBs. Yeah, I know, nothing to complain about there.
Yet, here's a complaint: Legalize this shit, will ya? I do miss the Real Deal.
My bro-in-laws played a couple WSOP events. No word as to how they did, so I suppose I can guess. Still, I should make the effort to indulge tales of bust-out hands, at least from the one who I know plays the game well and has no inclination to spin tales.
And yes, good thoughts go out to those of you who are or soon will be there making a mark.
Now, to get them again...
In fact, I did. Twice in one game. And that pair thing doesn't much apply since it was in O-8. Instead, no scoop either time.
I told myself that I would make believe time is money with the funny bank roll, managing it, playing like it mattered, building, building, building until I had a sufficient ten percent to risk in any one session. And so, for the most part, I have done just that, allowing for occasional vagaries such as playing with or like drunks.
I am very near my goal that will allow me to test the waters at the next level. So close... so I dipped a toe.
I had heard from a source, exactly whom now forgotten, that the upper levels were in some ways easier, the skill level less an issue than one would imagine. Still, I can be cautious when need be, and since this game of poker engages my sense of pride along with my paranoid tendencies, once through the swinging doors, I do not amble up to the bar, no beeline, no sir, without having a look about, see who's packing, if I recognize a face or smell... A regular Tex Ritter, for although it's only make believe, that doesn't mean that it cannot be made to sound important.
Anyway, the play is somewhat better some of the time, yet enough of the time that I have not made headway in the few sessions I have sat. In 300 hands or so, I believe I am down ten BBs. Yeah, I know, nothing to complain about there.
Yet, here's a complaint: Legalize this shit, will ya? I do miss the Real Deal.
My bro-in-laws played a couple WSOP events. No word as to how they did, so I suppose I can guess. Still, I should make the effort to indulge tales of bust-out hands, at least from the one who I know plays the game well and has no inclination to spin tales.
And yes, good thoughts go out to those of you who are or soon will be there making a mark.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Review
The guy who sits at the bridge most every day with his "Work Wanted" sign was doing some with a big plastic bag nearly full in hand, he was bending over to pick up some garbage near his station. "Look!" the passers-by shout, "He's found a job!" Not me. I imagine him picking the trash up during his vigil only to place it down again before he leaves of an evening. Something to do...
Once a week and at an appointed hour, I sit in the car and wait in a parking lot. Occasionally the back door of the house across the alley will open and a woman will walk out into her backyard. Last time she was carrying a rug to shake out. Since her back was turned to me for the chore, I took photos. This time she brought along tools for gardening. "Oh good!" I thought. "I can get more action shots." She set her supplies down and picked up a large sheet of clear 3-mil plastic. It was old, torn and repaired with duct tape. Facing me, she shook it out, and beat it into a smaller, folded square. Then she repeated the process.
I watched a vulture sift through the piles of freshly mowed grass along the freeway. Just for a second, for I was traveling at 75 mph. I wished it luck in feeding its clutch and thought of chores awaiting.
And yes, I did mow, but not before changing the oil in both the lawn tractor and my orange baby, Tragedy. Some tall, some not so so high, and still more that barely needed it. No carrion that I am aware of; however, the preserved mouse in the oil catcher was a surprise.
And then there's family. An uncle died. My mother's youngest brother. He rode it hard and sometimes took me along, details of which would provide insight beyond what I am prepared to share. He should have been dead thirty years ago, except for the stock from which he came and what hard men oftentimes beget.
The wife says I must visit my brother's grave while there. If I go...
Curious: the review I wrote this week is about art that deals with mortality. It was supposed to be published three days ago.
Once a week and at an appointed hour, I sit in the car and wait in a parking lot. Occasionally the back door of the house across the alley will open and a woman will walk out into her backyard. Last time she was carrying a rug to shake out. Since her back was turned to me for the chore, I took photos. This time she brought along tools for gardening. "Oh good!" I thought. "I can get more action shots." She set her supplies down and picked up a large sheet of clear 3-mil plastic. It was old, torn and repaired with duct tape. Facing me, she shook it out, and beat it into a smaller, folded square. Then she repeated the process.
I watched a vulture sift through the piles of freshly mowed grass along the freeway. Just for a second, for I was traveling at 75 mph. I wished it luck in feeding its clutch and thought of chores awaiting.
And yes, I did mow, but not before changing the oil in both the lawn tractor and my orange baby, Tragedy. Some tall, some not so so high, and still more that barely needed it. No carrion that I am aware of; however, the preserved mouse in the oil catcher was a surprise.
And then there's family. An uncle died. My mother's youngest brother. He rode it hard and sometimes took me along, details of which would provide insight beyond what I am prepared to share. He should have been dead thirty years ago, except for the stock from which he came and what hard men oftentimes beget.
The wife says I must visit my brother's grave while there. If I go...
Curious: the review I wrote this week is about art that deals with mortality. It was supposed to be published three days ago.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Art doesn't imitate life. It mocks.
What lurks in the shallows
Yes, I know I'm an odd duck. That's what makes life fun when otherwise it would merely be endured.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Oblique Strategies
Encouragement. I'll take it. Run with it, even.
The dog knows that the last walk before dusk means dinner will be waiting upon our return. In that food takes precedence over companionship or exercise, her eye is always to the door and will beat feet back to it if not body-blocked and commanded to heel, this is, if "come" works at all to get her off the porch. Therefore, a leash is required. The pathos of this remedy is lost on the country dog.
There is something in this as I consider a new direction for my work, for the promise of a venue and a singular voice is not a little daunting, my relation to the audience somewhat schizophrenic and ambivalent. No doubt there will be some looking for payback, making it all more important to deflect with a strategy that breeds curiosity. Perhaps a collection of all the dog hair in the dungeon even though the mutt rarely visits.
It is not unlike Aces, limping early and folded to the Big Blind, or pushing late a limped-around and getting six callers. The element of surprise or strength diminished, the sting of a crack lingering. Yet, the lesson to be learned, although not entirely in our nature, is that the belaboring is unseemly or unbecoming.
Last week I bemoaned a setback at some free tables, all the while meeting with success at others. The bar is set pretty low, especially in the former. And, history has shown in these same games that a well-played strategy readily overcomes and keeps variance at a minimum. It is then no miracle that I am very near my goal, again a strategy, of having a sufficient bankroll to move up a level. Oddly, I have heard that these games, running contrary to the real world of cash, are easier. This, my friends, is a metaphor.
The dog knows that the last walk before dusk means dinner will be waiting upon our return. In that food takes precedence over companionship or exercise, her eye is always to the door and will beat feet back to it if not body-blocked and commanded to heel, this is, if "come" works at all to get her off the porch. Therefore, a leash is required. The pathos of this remedy is lost on the country dog.
There is something in this as I consider a new direction for my work, for the promise of a venue and a singular voice is not a little daunting, my relation to the audience somewhat schizophrenic and ambivalent. No doubt there will be some looking for payback, making it all more important to deflect with a strategy that breeds curiosity. Perhaps a collection of all the dog hair in the dungeon even though the mutt rarely visits.
It is not unlike Aces, limping early and folded to the Big Blind, or pushing late a limped-around and getting six callers. The element of surprise or strength diminished, the sting of a crack lingering. Yet, the lesson to be learned, although not entirely in our nature, is that the belaboring is unseemly or unbecoming.
Last week I bemoaned a setback at some free tables, all the while meeting with success at others. The bar is set pretty low, especially in the former. And, history has shown in these same games that a well-played strategy readily overcomes and keeps variance at a minimum. It is then no miracle that I am very near my goal, again a strategy, of having a sufficient bankroll to move up a level. Oddly, I have heard that these games, running contrary to the real world of cash, are easier. This, my friends, is a metaphor.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Psst
I can tell you folks. That's the upside to this thing here, and the quasi-anonymity of it.
I received a call this evening. A local gallerist with a gallery that is nothing too special in the larger scheme of things. But the future sits in front of this guy like a big belly just begging to be rubbed. I recognize these things when I see them because there just ain't that much going 'round of what this fellow has going for him: brains, charm, passion and motivation. So, when he asked me if I'd do a solo show next year, I said yes.
"I assume you want the black room..." The walls and ceiling are painted flat black.
"Yes."
It's a huge space. I have no idea what I will do, and I find that rather exciting.
I received a call this evening. A local gallerist with a gallery that is nothing too special in the larger scheme of things. But the future sits in front of this guy like a big belly just begging to be rubbed. I recognize these things when I see them because there just ain't that much going 'round of what this fellow has going for him: brains, charm, passion and motivation. So, when he asked me if I'd do a solo show next year, I said yes.
"I assume you want the black room..." The walls and ceiling are painted flat black.
"Yes."
It's a huge space. I have no idea what I will do, and I find that rather exciting.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Devices
What I'd give for a better lens... But then again, I am more just a point-and-shooter... a gawker.
In an attempt to find healthier routines, I've taken to sitting by the pond a bit more, waiting for the birds to come drink. In my few ventures, it seems the Goldfinches own the pond. flying in just to check things out, without dipping a beak, and then flitting off into the tall grass again. There must be over a dozen. A lone Chickadee shows up fairly often, but not a tarrier, stays well in among the branches of the small trees lining the bank, and it has eluded an approximate focus.
Still, there is plenty of action out by the barns and paddocks, the fallow ground making for some excellent habitat.
I took the bush hog for a spin yesterday, making a path around the back ten and saw that a neighbor wished for me to shut 'er down for a chat as I rounded the corner behind his house. Nothing of substance except to maintain the bond of acquaintances, give him advice for trapping underground vermin, and to parry ailments. For the latter, he scored higher but showed mercy by allowing me to continue with my chore, and there but for the grace went I.
The fruit trees were next, the grasses very high. With a bounty of fruit showing, the area will merit a flat surface this year for a sprinkler. One tree is large. Though pruned, it was left to grow years back, and although topped, lower branches have been left dangling per the request of the wife for the deer's benefit. Therefore, the only way to mow beneath the canopy is to do it in reverse. (This makes for a good stretch of the back and neck muscles, and as I sit here now, I am reminded that I must work on these tissues more).
I have found that an hour or two in low gear goes faster with music, so I use my iPod and ear buds to entertain and dampen the diesel. Now, I'd prefer a pair of bluetooth headphones, but because the size of my head makes it near impossible to find a pair that fits — never mind the price — I try to arrange the length of cable from device in a pocket to ears so that it stays out of my way and avoids snagging on tools or whatever it is I'm working on.
Anyway, in order to get closer to the trunk of this big tree, I thought to move a branch as I backed in, putting it in front of and above me. Having achieved what I desired, I shifted into 3rd to emerge and steered to position myself for a parallel pass; and so preoccupied, I neglected deflecting the branch, which then hooked into the cable for the earbuds and yanked them from my ears. I managed to grab the cable as I continued to move forward, but it wasn't until I had gone several feet that I felt my shirt pocket for the iPod, which, of course, was gone.
Tractor tires and whirling blades close to the ground. I feared the worse and parked and disengaged the PTO. I searched the tractor as I dismounted and saw nothing. I looked under the bush hog. Nothing. I pulled forward a bit further to make sure. Still nothing. I kicked mowed grass and parted the stuff still standing. Nada. The initial excitement wearing off, I thought to be more thorough and returned to the tractor to have another look. I tried to hypothesize a trajectory and broaden my search. I wondered if that neighbor might have a metal detector. I considered the improbable and looked into the tree branches. I thought some more.
Both times I searched the tractor, I had done so from the dismount side. Perhaps a different perspective... Sure enough. Resting on the housing for the back axle.
Mojo was right. Being in nature does focus the mind.
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