Group Hug...

My last night of poker was with the usual bunch…ten guys…four continents…six countries.

It’s hard to be sentimental about guys who would bluff, try to intimidate you and then cuss you when it didn’t work, but I’ll always miss them.

We didn’t play for a lot of money, we played for fun. And we had fun.

You don’t often find a poker group that you would trust every guy in it to watch your kids, but they are all trusted friends and confidants. It’s hard to imagine I’ll find another group like them.

I wish you all the best and at least one pair of aces per night.

And I’m not bluffing.

Video Game Idea: Driving in the Dominican Republic...

I had a Chevy Tracker while we lived here. We bought it at a good price and sold it at a good price…fair to all intended.

It had a few problems.

The windshield cleaning thing shot to the right of the windshield…I could put my hand out the window and get soap on it while driving. This wasn’t as useful as you might think.

The door handle for the passenger front door broke about six months ago…or may two years, I can’t remember (I’m usually in the driver’s seat). And with the kids having the safety locks on the back doors, we usually had only one working door…good thing it was the driver’s. But, the driver had to get out and open EVERYONE’s door.

The remote for the doors worked on the passenger side only. Sometimes it worked on the driver’s side, but it was hit or miss.

The driver side mirror was smashed in a game of chicken I played with a truck. I think I lost.

What I really needed this car to have was an intermittent middle finger in order for me to flash my displeasure on a regular basis. Just every four seconds or so. Would have worked out great. And this is a conservative estimate.

As it is, this country has given me tendonitis.

That Indian could have cried all the way to the bank...

I drove the car of a friend yesterday and it had a sunroof. I love a sunroof.

It’s nice to have some wind whistling around when you drive. You can wave to people, spit straight up, and learn simple aerodynamics by throwing beer bottles at road signs.

Some people think this is littering. I disagree.

I don’t recycle. I assume the people that go along the side of the road do it to collect bottles and cans (I just throw those out also) in order to turn them in to make money. This is me helping them out. What kind of person would I be if I hoarded all that potential cash in my car or just gave it all to one person? Share the wealth, I say.

If collecting stuff on the side of the road for money is your vocation, my right arm of philanthropy is what helps you stay liquid.

You’re welcome.

Golf as philosophy...

I thought I had a pretty good day going Saturday on the golf course. I was three-under par with five to play.

This would be good enough to win, I figured. I don’t know that I played it safe from then on, but I certainly wasn’t aggressive. I made two bogeys on the way in and posted a 70 (it’s a par 71).

I was disappointed I didn’t finish well, but it would be good enough to win.

Wrong.

Someone shot 66. So all the time I thought I needed to protect my “lead” I was really getting my butt kicked.

We do that with a lot of things. We try to hold on to something instead of reaching for something better. And in the end, we wished we’d taken the chance to be all that we could have been instead of all that would be “good enough.”

It was a lapse from my usual "playing it safe" that got me two wonderful children.

I hope I remember this…both on the golf course and off.

It was a really nice mop with a really good bucket...

To whom it may concern:

Cayenne Lemonade has been unavailable to post the past two days due to his preparing for Mother’s Day.

He is attempting to make up for three years of buying brooms and mops (and 40 years of bad perfume for his mom) for his wife with this years’ version of thoughtfulness, which will hopefully not include domestic products nor the standard statement…”I’ll move you to the Caribbean.”

This ploy has run its course. It never really worked anyway.

Wish him luck.

Losing the battle of wits, part two

The other night Gracie mentioned to me that there was a “Hippomotamus” in her book “Birthday Monsters.” Up until now, we haven’t been correcting her, but she’s old enough now to understand, so I said, “Gracie, it’s Hippo-POT-amus,” emphasizing the “P” so she could hear the difference.

She laughed and said she’d never heard of a Hippopotamus…THIS was a Hippo-MOT-amus.

We went back and forth for a bit until she said, “Daddy, Listen…”

She grabbed her “But not the Hippopotamus” by Sandra Boynton and turned to the first page.

(she can’t read, but she has it memorized)

“A hog and a frog cavort in a bog, but not the Hippo-MOT-amus,” she said with a triumphant grin and shut the book. “See, it’s Hippo-MOT-amus.”

Sources used:
Boynton, Sandra (1995). But Not the Hippo-MOT-amus, pg 1.

Stupid Proletariat...

Yesterday was a holiday in the Dominican Republic. It was Labor Day.

Labor Day around the world is a day for the workers to protest the injustice done them by management. People march in the streets and there are usually a few deaths associated with the protests.

What kills me about yesterday is that the holiday was moved to a Monday. May 1 is the traditional date for this holiday. So basically, management decided to move the day of protest for the workers. And the workers let them.

At least here, this is how management turned Labor Day around…from a day of gunfire and slogan-shouting to a day of hot dogs and beer.

Cheers.

Fixing all my problems...

I was getting ready for work this morning and the Golf Channel was on. They went to a commercial break…the sponsor was Charles Schwab.

Sponsors target their audience and place their ads where they will reach their potential customers.

(that’s what I understand from the book I’m reading entitled…How to sell radio advertising when your life experience (to date) has been making smart-ass comments and hitting golf balls)

So apparently, the people at Charles Schwab think that golfers need help managing their money. Should I be insulted?

Do beer companies think I need to drink more? Am I no fun sober?

By the way, the other sponsor in the break was Levitra.

I am not a crook...

I’ve always thought it would have been fun to be a confidence man.

Just for fun, not to hurt anyone or cheat anyone, but just to see if it could be done. The movie The Sting looked like a good time…except for the gunfire that seems to often accompany the life of the con man.

(maybe I’m doing it right now—I live in the Caribbean, have the complete run of a resort I couldn’t afford to visit on vacation and the company pays me to do it...and I have plenty of time to write silly blog posts..btw I also practice my golf swing with clothes on, in case you were wondering)

Anyway, the life of the con man looks like fun on the challenge scale, but in reality, it’s a bad deal. It hurts other people, both financially and intellectually. People can make more money, but how do they recover from their shame?

The other problem with the life of the con man is that you can’t really share your triumphs with anyone else. Famous con men are in prison or at the bottom of the Hudson River.

I got the Nigerian scam thing the other day. This version had the wife of a prince in the hospital. The funds for her life and death operation were frozen in the US (the Patriot Act), but she promised ten times the money in six months if I could see clear to pay for her prostate surgery.

I’ll have to think about that…

If it rains, I'll be ready...

I’ve been practicing my golf swing without any clothes on.

Mostly in the shower (this isn’t a nudist colony). I’ve only fallen once.

I didn’t hit is very well yesterday and I’m wondering what the deal is. So, I practice, I test, I try. I make imaginary swings. Feels pretty good.

I’ll play nine holes today and see how it works. With clothes on. On the golf course.

Maybe it’s my putting…