These pages are filled with high matters which no one solicitious of the future of American culture can afford to overlook.

Hey clouds, quit being so majestic. I’m trying to be annoyed by Miami traffic over here.

We finally reach the Keys when a nearby star nearly destroys my left retina.

Here is a picture of the sun setting over Big Pine Key. Note the modern dancers posing as fisherman along the bridge.

Some say the 19th century guest house we stayed in is haunted by the ghost of Cuban cigar heiress Enriquetta Marrero. I submit that the eerie moaning that awoke me at 5am was nothing more than a poorly hydrated Philadephian.

Cowboy Bill’s welcomes back Al Can’t Hang!

Settling in after a long drive.

Jason says the band is from Nashville. I believe him because their sunglasses are non-ironic.

Jason and Rachel: OMG 2 CUTE

Back in the saddle again. (The “saddle” is what happens to you when you try to keep up with Al).

Cock fighting is illegal in the Continental US, but fluffy puppy fighting prevails on Duval St.

Poker on the front porch: Rachel is not buying what Pablo is selling.

Poker on the front porch: Jason assures Rachel she made a good laydown. Pablo probably had quads.

Okay! Birds!

Sunday brunch. Do not ask Rachel about the ladies room.

Seriously.

Don’t.

Southernmost point of the United States. Right behind my khaki-clad ass.

Hammock store!

Coq au vin!

I would like to live here, please and thank you.

Sunset fun, take one.

Change iPhone photographers. Sunset fun, take two.

Al snaps a picture as the sun sets on the eve of his birthday.

That one cloud is really screwing up this shot. God.

People we don’t know on a boat, probably having more fun than you.

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Truckin’
September 2009, Vol. 8, Issue 9

1. Tangerine Rockets
by Paul McGuire
Lennie was an international legend. His father walked away from a plane
crash and passed along some of those good luck genes over to Lennie . . .
More

2. The Red Pill
by Sigge S. Amdal
She dropped the face and began to cry, as tensions rose around me. The
waiters stopped waiting tables, people stopped talking; they were just
exchanging knowing glances and judgmental comments . . .
More

3. Fine Tuning
by Milton T. Burton
He looked perplexed. I slipped my hand beneath my coat, came out with the
little silenced .22 Magnum auto, and shot him right in the center of the
forehead. The hollow-point bullet exited the back of his skull, making a
colorful little jet of blood and brains as it went . . .
More

4. On Scoring
by Human Head
One look at the eyeliner, eyebrows, gold hoops and herringbone chains, and
I knew this was the Angel we were supposed to see. As she drew closer to
the door, the tattoo’s left little doubt. She didn’t say anything. She just
looked at me . . .
More

5. The Joys of Gambling
by Johnny Hughes
Saratoga Springs, New York in August was the gambling capital of America
in the 1920s, with the horses, the spa waters, large and ornate casinos, and
America’s wealthiest citizens in a gilded age, when money and wine were
treated like water . . .
More

What a Long Strange Trip It’s Been . . .
From Dr. Pauly McGuire’s Laptop:

The September edition of Truckin’ marks the return of the Human Head after
a four year hiatus. I’m enthralled to have him back in the mix. Everyone’s
favorite Norwegian word wanker, Sigge, returns for a second month in a
row. We also have a couple of Texan scribes in Johnny Hughes and Milton T.
Burton. And of course, I have a story inspired by a recent trip to Colorado.

Thanks for telling your friends about Truckin’. May you will increase your
karma ten fold! The contibutors here write for free and you’ll be doing me
a huge favor by helping get the some publicity.

If anyone is interested in being added to the mailing list, or perhaps you
are interested in writing for a future issue, then feel free to contact me.

I have to sincerely thank the writers for sharing their bloodwork. Thanks
for taking this leap of faith with me. And a special thanks goes out to
you, the reader, for your loyalty and support over the years.

Be good,
McG

With my hands, I made clay pets. Malleable and obedient, they did what I wanted. But then I baked them to a hard and fragile state. Ears, tails and beaks now break off at any moment if not handled with care.

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Saturday night at midnight on Paynes Prairie. The moon sets while Discovery launches 150 miles away. The night was so beautiful, I could not breathe. (Okay, fine. Shut up. You’re right. The not breathing part was due to anxiety.)

Organizing and cataloging meteorites on a Saturday night.

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One Year ago this weekend . . .
We lost Tim Russert, pundit reactions would irritate my dad.

Two years ago this weekend . . .
I was mad at Ira Glass about the show “Duty Calls”, I witness a woman toss a baby, and I patiently await photos from the Boys of Summer.

Three years ago this weekend . . .
One of my most embarrassing moments and some photos from the Keys.

Four years ago this weekend . . .
Dreamed about Lindsey Lohan and posted photos of poker bloggers at the Plaza.

Five years ago this weekend . . .
I became obsessed with Poker, Hula moved out.

Six years ago this weekend . . .
Posted a random list and a headless shot of Hula, the only photo of him ever posted.

Seven years ago this weekend
My father died.

Eight years ago this weekend . . .
I had an echocardiogram.

Nine years ago this weekend . . .
I re-watched “Twin Peaks”.

Ten Years ago this weekend . . .
I started an online journal.

To begin the next decade, I stayed inside all weekend while friends, internet-invisible and real met in Chicago, Bonnaroo, the Alcove downtown and at the movies. I justified bailing on all of these events with actual honest-to-god valid reasons, but after looking through entries tonight that I’ve posted (and not posted) over the last decade, I’m pretty sure a new battle with the ever-shrinking prison that is my agoraphobia is the culprit. Going to a store or the movies should not feel as daunting as jumping out of a plane.

But it does.

In fact, I find I’m increasingly uncomfortable even reading books or watching television about people who get on planes or stray too far from civilization. (Took me two days to watch “Into the Wild”. Two days!)

I’ve fought this particular demon and emerged triumphant before. I have a plan (that includes professional assistance) that I may or may not chronicle here.

Something that sustains me in the darkest hours of anxiety and fear is reading (and watching television) about people who successfully escape. I’m torn, because after ten years (and my foolish appearance on facebook and twitter), this “online journal” isn’t so secret anymore. There’s a good deal more personal shame and professional worry about revealing too much in 2009 than there was in 1999.

I am conflicted. Recording this particular journey here might help someone going through a similar crisis. Recording this particular journey here might also cost me my job.

That being said, it’s not all bad. Despite missing friends around the continent this weekend, I was truly happy at the dome. Florida storms and uninterrupted hours of quiet reading and contemplation, surrounded by the woods and wandering possums, armadillos and deer, accompanied by a chorus of night-bugs and frogs helped yank me out of the clouds of “me, me, me”.

I feel grounded.

Melancholy, but strong and hopeful.

As proof, here I am, strong and hopeful and not visiting a shower since Friday (not due to depression or laziness mind you, but in solidarity for my unwashed brethren at Bonnaroo), looking at the Kindle where much of this weekend’s reading has been done.

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Yes, another moon picture from my front yard. Was hoping it would be accompanied by the ISS passing by, but with unexpected cloud cover during what would be the money shot, it didn’t happen.

Now, if the moon or space isn’t your thing, poker is. I know this because Google tells me so. The top three search words for this site are, “moon”, “space”, and, “poker”. And frankly, I can’t think of anything more fascinating to search on outside of “Pauly Uncircumcised” or “Amy Calistri Interracial”.

OK, the above is a flat out lie.

Most people find this site by searching on “hoyazo euthanized”, and “waffles cosmetic surgery”.

With that in mind, go read the latest WSOP coverage linked to below. I can guarantee you I have enjoyed an adult beverage or three with each and every writer represented. I hope that does not reflect badly on me.

Al Can’t Hang
Poker From the Rail
Dr. Pauly
Pokerati
Wicked Chops Poker
PokerNews.com
Poker Stars Blog
Ultimate Bet Blog

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At 4am Saturday morning, volunteers working with the Gainesville chapter of Veterans for Peace set up their Memorial Mile again this year along NW 8th Ave. Thousands of tombstones were placed representing the soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan since 2001.

It is a powerful and upsetting tribute. As it should be.

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