This website has been designed
for years of use. Every effort has been extended to make this the best
website ever. It will not discolor or become brittle with age. Links are
hardcoded into the html, in the method traditionally used for the best
websites, and will not result in 404 pages, as so often happens with
websites held together with glue. This website displays flat for easy
viewing. This website is not harmful if taken internally. In fact, this
website can be safely used as a non-habit forming sleep aid. I hope
you enjoy this website. -- Gracie
Logan
August
24, 2007 -- The Poker Dome
When I
cancelled my home game tonight because too many regulars were out of town
or engaged in other activities, I was a little disappointed until I
realized Al's Riverchasers game
was on at 9. It had been too long since I played a blogger-related event,
so I signed up.
I was
cold-decked for most of the tournament, yet somehow, I busted out poor Mr.
Dank of BuddyDankRadio when my sevens ran up against his nines. He
immediately got on the air and cursed the hand. But sincerely! I raised
preflop to 2k and he went all in for an additional 1600. I figured him for
overcards and thought it was a coin flip. Everyone else folded, so I
called.
I
didn't mean to hit a 7 on the river, but there it was. He got me back
later when I tried to play Dancing Queen on his internet radio station,
but he mocked it and cut it short.
I'll
call us even.
Though
my Abba was taken away from me, I ran into some stupid dumb luck and ended
up final tabling, ultimately busting out in third place. I wasn't
displeased.
Oh, I
almost forgot. I signed the papers on a geodesic dome today. All that's
left is the appraisal, inspection and closing. (See? Buying a house is a
valid reason for not posting regularly. It's not like I've been lying on
the couch for a couple months eating Cheerios straight out of the box and
watching The West Wing. Really.)
Countdown
to the Poker Dome: 43 Days
August
5, 2007
It was 20 years ago today . . .
Technically,
it might closer to 25, but I stopped counting. You should too.
Awhile
back, I registered my dorky-ass on Classmates.com and since then, either
by contacting or being contacted, I've reconnected with a number of old
friends. The resulting correspondence alone has been worth the price of
admission, but this week, the lovely Renee wrote telling me she was in
Florida and not very far from me. Using Google, I mapped out a restaurant
in between our two locations and we hooked up. (Technology!)
In the
same manner that 20 some-odd years slipped by me without my permission,
the two hours we spent having drinks flew by in about 20 seconds. Renee, I
could have stayed all night.
I
couldn't post that shot above without also posting a couple from the olden
days. It shouldn't be hard to pick us out of the ancient line ups below.
(I nearly forgot I blonded myself. Oh, the 80's.)
July
29, 2007
Right Now
Right
now, outside, the full moon is rising over tall mossy oaks, casting an
filmy gray haze straight through air thick with humidity and a stentorian chorus of night frogs. This impossibly fragile light,
dispatched from a star and bouncing off a moon, reaches the ground beneath
my feet, creating shapes that remind me of wild animals and tombs.
And
though her body has been moldering in the dirt of Los Angeles for the last
17 years (section D, plot #81, Westland Memorial Park), her voice,
broadcast through my radio over time and space in a manner as astonishing to me as
moonlight, is alive. She's keeping me company in my kitchen as I make a
simple meal of steamed spinach and seasoned
fish.
"I've
worked with a lot of great glamorous girls in movies and the theater. And
I'll admit, I've often thought it would be wonderful to be a femme fatale.
But then I'd always come back to thinking that if they only had what I've
had - a family, real love, an anchor - they would have been so much
happier during all the hours when the marquees and the floodlights are
dark."
July
25, 2007
Ain't Nuthin' but an O(kie) Thang, Baby
Even after seven
adventures with poker bloggers, I still find it exceedingly difficult to
write up a proper post detailing the shenanigans. I generally just post a
couple photos and link to the real write-ups. This time will be no
different.
Except they got all the
good pictures, too. Make sure you look at them. I do have some
incriminating video to share once it's all processed. If I have my way, The
Time Warp will become the '"last call" song of all poker-blogger
gatherings.
Here are some thoughts
from the weekend, in no particular order.
What with my phenomenally
weak-tight play accompanied by many tells, it was only sheer luck that
oossuu754 Giglied in the tournament before me. (Kat had, a few hands
previously, crippled me when I flopped the nut straight where I checked
and she turned the A10 boat.) Then it was due only to my donkitude that
oossuu754 and a couple of others relieved me of close to $60 in the cash
game. I'd blame it on all the poker-blogger karaoke that was going on, but
that would be unfair. So I'll blame F-Train. He tilted the crap out of me
by rigging the Chinese Poker game so that I'd end up owing him and Mr.
Yestbay1 a few dollars. Cagey
New York
lawyers.
All in all, I was very
lucky that I didn't spend much time on the felt.
Mrs. GCox is a wonder.
She opened her home and spent what had to be hours cooking amazingly
delicious treats, all while entertaining us with her fabulous singing
voice. The hospitality shown by the entire GCox family (including Scamper,
the guinea pig) was astounding, and only to be rivaled by sweet sweet Miss
Maudie. She not only provided a place for FTrain and I to stay (in her
gorgeous house), but gave us welcoming gifts when we arrived!
Some of the best times
I've ever had were unplanned. When Maudie and Kat and I wandered away from
the GCox Lake House, I hadn't the foggiest notion I was heading directly
into one of the "those moments". The sun was setting, the lake
was that color that water gets at the end of the day, and the cacaphony of
a thousand crickets was all we heard as we sat there, happy to be together
after our own long and singular journeys.
The gayest excuse for
copping out of a dial-a-shot was provided this weekend. Upon dialing Garth
to share sweet alcoholic goodness, he said to me, "I can't. I'm at an
anime festival." I mean, seriously. Even CJ
fakes it.
[Anime Festival, or
Otherwise Known as Garth's Totally Gay Cop Out]
I am so round! I don't
get on scale often, probably due to all the non-representational photos I
post of myself here. That and my reverse anorexia had me oblivious to the
fact that I have become a meatball. So, I propose a wager. I lose 30lbs
before Vegas in December. For each pound I don't make it, I owe $1 to
anyone participating. If I'm at my weight by Vegas, that's $5 and a kiss
on the cheek for me. Email graciethemeatball@sheverb.com if you're in.
[Meatball] Oh hell no. You can check the links
above for photographic evidence of my cubbitude, thank you.
July
24, 2007
Dateline: Fort Cobb, Oklahoma
Again,
there's more to follow. In the meantime, the best updates and photos of
the Okie Weekend are to be found at the following approved locations:
July
23, 2007
It's true what they say about Oklahoma...
More to
follow...
July
17, 2007
The Spider Lord (And Some Other Things)
Item
Number One
This
neighbor I have has been driving me crazy. He's been showing up on my
front porch uninvited for days now and is not just expecting to be let in,
but demanding it.
I call
him, The Spider Lord.
Sincerely.
What is this thing? I've never seen anything like him (her?) in all my
years of bug wrangling in Florida. If you have any answers, please email
me, post haste, at whatisthespiderlord@sheverb.com.
I have no desire kill legions of its offspring, but I will if this
creature plans on poisoning first my ankles and then my heart and lungs
with his tiny bites. Or if he has unseemly intentions towards my dogs.
Item
Number Two
Is it
just me? Say you dial a number on your phone and you immediately realize
you've made a mistake. Maybe you clicked the wrong number in your address
book, maybe your chubby fingers were too clumsy for your iPhone, maybe you
simply knew you dialed a 5 instead of an 8 and disconnected the call.
Whatever. You hang up and try again. Moments later, while dialing the
number you originally intended, your phone rings. You kind of fumble it
because you're in the middle of dialing another number and then . . .
You
say: Hello?
They
say: Hello?
You
say: Hello?
They
say: You just called me.
You
say: Um. Yeah. I dialed the wrong number. Sorry.
They
say: Who is this? Who were you trying to reach?
You
say: Not you. Never mind. I called the wrong number.
They
say: Who is this??
You
say: Well, at this point, you say any number of things before hanging up
on this clearly desperate for some kind of, ANY kind of connection,
person.
Who are
these people? I've encountered them at least four times in the last year.
In each instance, I dialed a number in error. It's not like caller ID
hasn't been around for years and is some kind of crazy new technology,
right? When did people become unable to let go of wrong numbers? Is there
a new form of etiquette I'm unaware of? Am I required to actually speak to
the person I dialed by mistake, even if I recognize that mistake a split
second after I hit the last number? How can it not be clear to them that
someone goofed? There's no voicemail message. It's just a wrong number.
Let it
go, please and thank you.
Item
Number Three
God
bless the Garthmeister and
his super-fantastic real-time IMing of the 2007 WSOP Final table via his
PPV access during the writing of this post. There has been so much
outstanding coverage this year, that when I mention Garth, I feel guilty
about not also mentioning all of the friends actually working the entire
WSOP that deserve links and accolades and large sums of cash, but it's
late and I have to wrap this up and be asleep before Yang squanders away
any more of his massive chip lead. Plus, nobody's reading this anyway.
Item
Number Four
I'm
heading off to Oklahoma on Friday morning in order to bestow upon one of
the following lucky Poker Bloggers a most delightful bounty. Who among the
following will receive it?
It is
2am and I am officially exhausted. Please tell me to lay off the
PokerStars (and lynda.com and Julie's plants) and tell me to go to bed so
that when the sun rises, I can properly celebrate the anniversary of the
day that construction began on the Erie Canal, and the day that Walt
Whitman's Leaves of Grass was published, and the day that Joe Louis
won his first boxing match, and last but not least, the day that, after 381 years of
near-continuous colonial rule, the day that the Philippines was granted
full independence by the United States (as recognized by the mighty and
powerful United States, that is).
"When
I next realized that the Philippines had dropped into our laps I confess
I did not know what to do with them. . . And one night late it came to
me this way. . .1) That we could not give them back to Spain- that would
be cowardly and dishonorable; 2) that we could not turn them over to
France and Germany-our commercial rivals in the Orient-that would be bad
business and discreditable; 3) that we not leave them to themselves-they
are unfit for self-government-and they would soon have anarchy and
misrule over there worse than Spain's wars; and 4) that there was
nothing left for us to do but to take them all, and to educate the
Filipinos, and uplift and civilize and Christianize them, and by God's
grace do the very best we could by them, as our fellow-men for whom
Christ also died." President
McKinley
June
24, 2007 Temporary Forever
[Update
below]
Three
months. For three months my website has languished in this hacked together state
since I crashed it at the beginning of April. But as each weekend rolls
around, I have sixteen excellent reasons for why I don't have time to fix
it. The top two latest reasons are bronchitis and new MacBook
Pro. One might imagine a new computer would be incentive enough to
fix the site, but between the illness and reason number three (uploading
all my video footage to a computer that can actually display it and allow
me to edit) got in the way.
Between coughing fits, extreme
fatigue, and existential angst about where my consciousness will go when my
internal organs fail and my heart permanently stops beating, I was able to
produce the following:
I've
never been fond of websites that make excuses for poor design or lack of
content, so let me end my implied disingenuous apology above with assurances that
there is no promise of a new look or restoration of archives, and
conclude with a brief diatribe aimed towards people posting pictures on
the internet that are all fuzzy on the edges.
Please stop using fake
bokeh.
The word bokeh is derived from a Japanese word meaning "blurry"
or "dizziness". It is a relatively common term used for the
out of focus area in a photograph. This "circle of confusion" is
a result of depth of field, or the range of
distance around the focus of your subject. Depth of field is determined by
the f-stop on your lens. An excellent tutorial on all of this can be found here: Cambridge
In Colour.
When
you use freebie programs to create fake bokeh or blurriness in your photos,
it doesn't look artistic, it looks exactly like a freebie program
was used to create fake blurriness in your photos. It is unnerving. This is largely because the effect is
being used around the edges of a photo that contains an object that is entirely
contained within a single depth of field. I'm certain you had an idea in
your head of the photograph you wanted to take when you applied this cheap
alternative and frankly, that's fantastic. I simply implore you to lay off the fake bokeh and instead,
follow your vision and learn
how to take the photograph properly.
Thank
you, and good night.
Oh
wait! Before I go, a number of poker playing degenerates in the above
video, as well as a number who aren't (aren't in the video I mean, they
are all degenerates) are currently providing stellar coverage of the 2007
WSOP.
June
17, 2007: What I'm Doing .
. . (or It's All About The Gerunds)
Writing another extremely brief post that does not follow a
narrative and does not incorporate complete sentences.
Getting sick again, this time without a fever but with a hearty
cough and a husky Captain Janeway voice.
Wondering if my recent illnesses could be attributed to a
nutritional deficiency caused by my inability to eat meat due to watching
a This American Life TV episode about pig farming that wrecked me
completely.
Composing an angry letter to Ira Glass. Not about pig farming, but
about a recently aired This American Life radio show called "Duty
Calls". TAL has always artfully danced around the edges of smug and
arrogant when their subject matter moved into dark, seedy themes that
might be considered "shocking" to their "NPR"
demographic. It is what they do and though sometimes transparent, I
imagine it's the only way they can communicate some subject matter to
their target audience in a non-alienating and emotionally effective
manner. But in the entire existence of that program (that program I have
adored for many years), I have never before heard someone so unknowingly
exploited as the alcoholic mother in the piece, "Duty Calls". I
have yet to finish listening to it because it was so disturbing to me.
Maybe it gets better and maybe at the end the son explains himself and his
selfish, self-serving conduct. I don't know. I'll finish the letter to Ira
when I feel I can stomach finishing the episode.
Feeling very much like Christmas has been cancelled by not
attending this summer's poker blogger gathering in Vegas and missing out
on all aspects of the 2007 WSOP.
Debating about writing of the woman I saw while driving to work the
other day. The woman who, in the pouring rain, opened her car door,
flipped the driver's seat forward, and then tipped her bald-headed baby
forward and stuffed him (her?) head-first into the backseat of her car.
(While I, in utter shock and nearly causing a head on collision in the
on-coming lane, realized at the last second that it wasn't a baby, but a
watermelon and a cantaloupe stacked together.)
Editing a goofy movie on my brand new MacBook Pro. It's called
"The Last Bradoween" and features Maudie dong naughty things to
Pauly, as well as absolutely nothing about pig farming or exploiting
someone's alcoholic mom.
Waiting for the boys of summer to send me a photo! Poker bloggers
are in Chicago this weekend and I was the recipient of a dial-a-shot
tonight when I was told a photograph was staged outside the Music Box
Theater. The Music Box Theater! One of my favorite places on this planet!
I can't wait to see it.
June
3, 2007
Top Ten Not-So-Horrible Things About a Summer Flu
10. Wolfgang Puck's line of organic soups
9. Guilt-free pajama-clad lounging
8. Being trapped on the couch and/or bed between sleeping dogs
7. V-8 Splash Diet Berry Blend
6. The West Wing - The Complete Series Collection on DVD
5. Nyquiladas
4. Walter Issacon's Benjamin Franklin
3. Did I mention the pajamas and dogs?
2. Eight to ten hours of sleep interrupted by two hour naps
And the number one not-so-horrible thing about a summer flu . . .
1. Winning prop bets on how many points my temperature rises after walking the dogs
May
20, 2007
Imagine
you have KK one off the button and the entire table calls. Then imagine you
raise and the entire table folds except for the person UTG. Now imagine the
flop comes down Qh10c9c and the person UTG checks to you. Let's just say
you bet the pot
and then that person pushes you all in. You would fold, right? You would
fold thinking that their QQ or 1010 or 99 tripped up, or they hit their
straight. You don't call them, and you don't get all WTF when they turn
over AA and wonder why on earth they simply called a raise preflop.
Right?
You want
them to do that every time. Yes?
The
question is two-fold really. A.) You want that player to make a such a
move and, B.) You want the common sense to fold to the all-in on the flop
under the aforementioned conditions. (I didn't fold. I called and was
busted.) Please tell me.
Because poker is really making my heart hurt and if I don't learn
something, it's all for nothing.
In more
pleasant weekend news, an armadillo posed for me out on Paynes Prairie and I
made manatee mohitos.
While
that kinda looks like spinach in a glass of ice water, I assure you it is
quite tasty.
And
don't forget, the good
doctor has requested our assistance next weekend. If I'm playing, you
know there's dead money in the pool.
May
17, 2007 -- Everyone knows it's Windy
AND
WINDY HAS STORMY EYES (THAT FLASH AT THE SOUND OF LIES)
I am
having a serious dispute with Poker right now. We had this deal, see? I
give up time-consuming Peeps (cheap SnGs on FullTilt where a couple of
winners spend well over an hour to get a token into a $24+2 tourney of
their choice) and I simply play $3/6 limit for five minutes to earn the
equivalent of a token plus a little extra, and Poker just lets me get away
with it.
Under
this deal, my tourneys were essentially free, my bankroll was padded, and
I didn't pester Poker (or the internet at large) with maudlin tales and
promises (lies) about how I'm going to read a book or install Poker
Tracker in order to improve my game.
After
three losing sessions at $3/6, however, I'm beginning to suspect that
Poker has reneged on this deal. I now find myself down more than six
"tokens" and suddenly, I have to consider serious bankroll
management issues what with the UIGEA
preventing me from supplementing my FullTilt funds with my PokerStars
funds (or may they rest in peace, my frozen Neteller funds). I'm loathe to
drop down in the limit games, but I am considering a switch to the lower
No Limit tables. Something I've never done, and would likely require some
study and personal stats tracking in order to be successful at.
Poker
is so much goddamned work. "Do
you see why?"
AND
WINDY HAS WINGS TO FLY (ABOVE THE CLOUDS)
Heavy
and warm Floridian breezes have shifted these last few days to air out my
smoky town, making the notion of my state (and beautiful swamps and
hammocks) burning to a crisp swiftly become a distant memory. Due in a
large part, to my myopic view of the world.
If I
can't smell it, it is not happening near me.
Come to
think of it, this aptly describes how I feel about taxidermy and cooking
fish in a microwave.
WHO'S
REACHING OUT TO CAPTURE A MOMENT
A
couple of weeks ago (days before the fires set in), I took over 100 photos
at the Florida Museum of Natural History's Butterfly Rainforest. Please
send thanks to your appropriate deity that I'm only posting one of them.
ONE. You and your internet connection are so phenomenally lucky. (Curse
your deity of choice if you hoped I'd post the butterfly procreation
photos. Because right now? My hard drive is bursting with butterfly porn
and you are totally missing out on it.)
May
12, 2007 -- The user assumes the entire risk related to their use of these
data.
Got
that? Entire risk. Assume it, please. Preferably, however, after a couple of drinks
and we get to know each other a little better.
One
minute the sun is shining here and there is not a single cloud in the deep
blue sky. The next? Suddenly it feels
like the rapture is right around the corner as the smoke moves in and
covers you with a blanket of charred eiderdown. There are moments, in
fact, when it is so eerie that it would not surprise you in the slightest
to see zombies stumbling out of the woods.
May
10, 2007 -- Oh Lawdie, Tagged by Miss Maudie
I generally avoid memes, but this one seemed small enough to be manageable and unstructured enough to do what I please with it. Plus, I was tagged by
Maudie for crying out loud. I'd give her
a kidney, half of my liver, and all of my eggs if she asked me for them.
The meme is Seven Things You Didn't Know About Me, but I have augmented it to Seven Things You Wish You Didn't Know About Me.
I cry during turbulence and during particularly difficult dentist appointments. While humiliating, this can result in numerous free and adorably tiny containers of vodka/floss from sympathetic flight
attendants/dental hygienists.
I have such extreme performance anxiety that my signature has devolved into a partial loop followed by a wavy line just in case someone has to watch me sign something.
I can't eat food that has been touched by hands if I saw it being touched by hands.
I am pretty good at fake-eating meals that have been prepared for me in someone else's home.
I am an atheist and don't believe in magic, yet I am fairly certain I can control the speed of traffic lights, lines in a grocery store, and really bad sexual encounters by simply willing them to go faster.
I have deliberately held off on the urge to poop for up to six hours because the
resulting sense of relief is so much more exquisitely
satisfying.
I am silently judging you.
I must now pass this meme to seven others. Please forgive me!
May
8, 2007 -- Lots of smoke and a little poker . . .
When I
left work yesterday, I saw what appeared to be a massive volcano erupting
in the distance. We had some heavy smoke a week ago from the Georgia
fires, but this looked much closer to home. While I didn't have my Canon
Digital Rebel in the car with me, I did have my point and shoot. I
couldn't help myself and drove towards it.
After about fifteen or twenty minutes, I
had no idea where I was, but it became clear there were two huge fires,
not just one.
Heading into this sleepy little hamlet
(which turned out to be Hampton, Fl.), I felt like I was driving into Armageddon.
I was able to get pretty close. This fire
was burning on the north side of the road and there was another fire on
the south side. All those cows out there in the field? They were just
standing there. Eating! Like an inferno wasn't taking place just beyond
those trees! Like they couldn't even hear the roosters crowing all over
the place! (The roosters completely spooked me. I never saw one, but heard
dozens as I drove along this road.)
Because I was driving the entire time and
couldn't pull over, it was impossible to get shots of the helicopters
flying around. Or photos of all the police cars and rescue vehicles
blocking many of the roads that crossed the one I was on. Or pictures of
the people just walking up and down the road with walkie talkies. It's a
complete shame because the atmosphere was just chaotic and surreal and I
haven't the time to capture it with words.
This was the only road not blocked off at
the entrance. Despite having this important looking street sign, it was
actually just a dirt road leading into a farm or something that looked to
be directly in the path of the blaze.
I didn't dare drive down there and
potentially disrupt whatever was going on at the end. Oh, but I wanted to,
though.
Driving away, I stopped at a beat-up old
gas station that was bustling with activity and spoke to one of the
attendants. He didn't want to talk about the fire, but said, "We
ain't never been so busy before," with such a mixture
of enthusiasm and unease, I imagined he was going to find himself
tormented by the internal conflict of it all late that night as he fell
asleep. While there, I should have taken a picture of him instead of my
stupid face. He was far more interesting.
All the above took place yesterday. The two
fires merged overnight to overtake 2,000+ acres and remains only 35%
contained. A third fire has broken out and there may be more. Today,
tremendous amounts of smoke settled over Gainesville. I woke up this
morning to the inside of my house smelling like smoke. This is what
it looked like where I work today. (Keep in mind there are no clouds in
that sky.)
The light was orange and anxious.
Visibility was less than a mile in areas.
Right now, ash is piling up on my car
outside.
Everything smells like a fire . . . my
clothes, my hair, my dogs. Going outside leaves your eyes burning and a
scratchy feeling at the back of your throat. While I've heard of many
evacuations, so far no structures have been damaged and there are no
casualties. (News reports have not mentioned the cows though. Or the
roosters.)
Some of those chunks of ash are enormous.
Due to traveling, having visitors, fires
and my kicky new job (where I spent the afternoon on my knees with a hot
nurse and that is not a lie), there hasn't been too much time for poker
lately. But I have had four recent spectacular tournament runs. Two
resulted in final tables and two left me out within the first hour. Two
were played seriously and two were played while mucking around on the
internet and sorting photos. All were played with other poker bloggers. I
have to say, the amount of derisive table chatter has increased to a
nearly intolerable level. I am truly confused by the lack of introspection
and the heaps of blame for poor results placed on others. These players
are erecting huge roadblocks to their own success and while I am baffled
by this sort of self-sabotage, personally, opponents stuck in that mindset
do nothing but assist my game. I welcome it and hope very much that it
continues. I can always disregard the chat window. (But I will never
disregard you, my beautiful invisible internet friend. I love you
and can't live without you. Now go fix me a martini.)
April
22, 2007
April
16, 2007
Here are
some things I've seen recently that do not involve my tax return, my new
job, or that horrific call I made during Miami Don's Big Game on FullTilt
tonight.
This is not
my lucky quarter.
These are
not my impossibly delicate blossoms among brambles.
This is not
my weird head with a broken ear.
This is not
my happy spring bee.
This is not
my yellow meadow.
This is not
my bare shoulder lit by heartbreaking afternoon sunlight.
These are
not my curious and beloved friends.
But this is
me. Distorted and possibly wishing for something different, but also maybe
liking things the way they are.
April 1,
2007
When I
first hosed my website late last week while trying to overwrite an
index.php file on theinsult.com without realizing I was FTPing into
sheverb.com, I comforted myself with the notion that at least my archives
were intact. But the more I looked at the nearly eight years of content
I've accumulated, comfort swiftly turned into disappointment and I found
myself wishing for the hard drive version of a raging house fire that
gutted everything.
There is
something exceptionally freeing about starting over with nothing. As
someone who has given up everything and moved halfway across the country
not once, but twice, and who has changed her legal name more often than
she's changed her haircut, I'm a big fan of reinventing
oneself.
The problem
with reinvention, however, is that for me, it never works.
Invariably,
I end up with the same half-assed version of myself I always have been,
I'm simply in a new location surrounded by new people and missing the old
people.
It is high
time I stop running and accept my mediocrity.
(And accept
my marginal poker skills, my inability to commit, my desire for instant
gratification without putting forth any effort, my love for baby animals
of the sea, and my adolescent need to publish, without censorship, every
thought in my skull.)
This all
means something significant and profound if you live inside my head. If
you just clicked through a link or an RSS feed, however, aside from the
new design, it is business as usual here. It's just me pretending, once
again, that I'm on the verge of my last and greatest creative
breakthrough. The one that will make me finally complete and fearless of
death. Entirely immortal, really. With special powers. Like the ability to
infect people with the desire to give me cash and erect statues and
libraries in my name.
____________________________________
And the
nominees for best April Fool's post of 2007 go to...
Amy
Calistri! For "Manajawins Tribe Converts Bingo Hall to Online
Poker Facility Due to UIGEA Loophole!"
