Longer Than I Thought

--UPDATED LATE MONDAY NIGHT--


I had a fairly busy day on Sunday, and I tore my house completely apart looking for a couple of pictures to use in my Road Trip post. Seriously, it looked like a bomb went off in the dining room. On the plus side--I found my guitar books that I thought were lost and gone forever! Eventually, I found the photos, too, but damn, it took a couple of hours out of my day. And AC came over last night to watch the Vikings/Cards game and such, so that also took a chunk out of my writing time.

Anyhow, this thing is taking longer than anticipated, even after spending several hours on it both on Saturday and on Sunday. Right now it's almost 1:00 am on Monday morning, and I'm still typing away. But the horizon is still a blur, so it probably won't be up first thing in the morning.

Sorry, but thanks for your patience. I'm trying to make it good.

Mikey out.

**Update**

It's 11:00 pm on Monday night, and I'm still writing. It feels like it's turning into a book... I worked on it for several more hours today, but I'm also sprinkling in a few pictures here and there, so that's what's taking so much time. If work is slow tonight, it'll be up sometime by Tuesday afternoon, I'm hoping.

It's Coming...

Hey Gang--

I'm diligently working on the road trip story I promised--it'll be up for y'all first thing on Monday morning. My only hang-up right now is that I can't seem to find the only two remaining photos from that era that I wanted to scan and post. I know they're around here somewhere, so I'm sure I'll find them eventually, but right now, it's bacon time, and the Titans/Colts game starts in about ten minutes.

Just wanted to let everyone know what's going on, that's all.

Y'all have a lovely Sunday!


Mikey

Going Against My Code

Damn. I've been living in the desert for far too long--the better part of the last twenty years. So even though I'm thick, my blood is thin and I'm a total wuss when it comes to the cold. And while temperatures hovering in the mid-30's may sound like a heat wave for you poor unfortunate souls who live in places like Wisconsin, Minnesota, and Ocanada, we desert dwellers are bundled up in whatever warm clothing we can scrounge up and find ourselves begging the sun to come a little closer whenever we venture out into the elements.

I feel especially susceptible to the cold this year, too. Just walking to the mailbox and back (maybe a quarter mile at the most) makes me feel like I've contracted frostbite on my nose. And sitting in the corner of my sectional couch, I can feel the cold air creeping in from the two windows on that edge of my living room. This apartment is pretty poorly insulated, I've found out. I guess I didn't notice too much in the summer, but now that it's winter, it won't hold warmth at all. Of course, part of the problem has to do with the fact that I chose a unit that didn't have any direct sunlight in the afternoon, just to save on utility bills.

Well, instead of bitching about the heat, now I'm bitching about the cold. And I took it as a point of pride that I haven't turned on the heater in almost five years. It was against my code, I said. I live in the desert--no heater needed. Well, screw that. It's been so cold in my apartment the past couple of days that I changed the name from the Batch Pad to the Igloo.

Until yesterday, that is. I guess I just got tired of whining about being cold, only having two pairs of wool socks, and having to bust out the sleeping bag to lie on the couch and watch TV (those Mexican throw blankets just weren't cutting it). So I did the unthinkable. I turned on the heater here in the apartment. And then I slept like a baby.

Oh, I turned it off again in the afternoon, but around 11:00 or so last night, when it was 31 degrees outside, I cranked it back on. And as I'm typing this, it just kicked on again and my bare feet are quite happy about it.

Now I don't need to take a long hot shower, make a pot of coffee, or leave the oven open once the biscuits are done in order to warm up. I guess I was just being stubborn and I really liked the sound of having an electric bill of less than sixty bucks. Oh, it might go up a little these next couple of months, but I'm much more likely to turn off the heat during the day--I'd never turn off the air conditioner at all during the summer.

It's funny, because twenty years ago, I was living in one of the coldest places on FSM's green earth--Rexburg, Idaho. Seriously, that place was brutal. It's in the middle of the high western desert, sitting at about 5000 feet in altitude. And the wind never stopped blowing. Not only that, it always seemed to be blowing in your face no matter which direction you were walking.

I was there for three years, and I remember in 1988 it snowed for the first time on Labor Day weekend, and the last snowstorm was the second week of JUNE, nine months later. I don't know how Dougie lives up there--I'd go crazy. I guess the people up there are a hearty lot. I'll never forget the morning that it was minus 40-something degrees, minus 70-something with the wind chill, there was about three feet of snow on the ground, and they wouldn't cancel classes. Screw that. Leave the winter wonderland to the elves.

Even worse, when I left Idaho, I ended up in Alaska for awhile. After those experiences, living in the desert sounded like a fine idea to me, and as far as I'm concerned, it has shaped my overriding philosophy to this day: If palm trees don't grow there, Mikey don't go there!

Soon enough, we'll all be complaining about the heat again and wishing summer were over. I mean, why can't it just stay between the mid-fifties at night and the mid-eighties during the day? That would be perfect!

Oh well, I guess the cold serves it's purpose in making it feel like the holidays are upon us, but all of this talk about using the heater just serves to illustrate the one big bummer of my otherwise wonderful apartment.

I don't have a fireplace.



Mikey

Ain't Nothin' But A Chicken Wing...

Falcon Rob made a very timely post recently, and I went to make a comment, but it took on a life of it's own and got just a little too lengthy, so I deleted it and brought it over here. Besides, I know you guys go ga-ga for any food-related topic, so here I am showing the love to my readers.

Some of you already know that one of my favorite foods is buffalo-style wings. I love love love hot wings. Can't have pizza without having wings (Well, Grimaldi's is an exception. It stands alone atop the food hierarchy). But as far as appetizers go, or even as an entree, it's one of those foods that I never get tired of.

Yeah, you know how sometimes you're watching the game and you just don't feel like ordering a pizza? Or as much as you love a good ol' American cheeseburger, you just not in the mood for it? Or as tasty as bacon is, sometimes you just don't want to put up with the hassle of frying up a batch? Yeah, we all get that way, but I've never said I just don't feel like having chicken wings. Like free beer or a threesome with cheerleaders, I'm always up for it.

Back in Phoenix, there were several great places to go for excellent wings. Long Wong's in Tempe was probably the best, but then again, it was on Mill Avenue, so parking was a pain in the ass, and the restaurant was about the size of my living room, so seating was an issue, too. But they had killer wings, and their 'suicide' style was like taking a blow torch to both ends--not for the faint of heart. If, in a flash of drunken bravado, you decided to man up and put down a dozen... well, you spent the better part of the next 48 hours drinking cold milk and sitting in a tub of ice water feeling like you'd been violated by the bastard offspring of a pineapple and a branding iron. Trust me, I know.

On the other hand, their regular 'hot' wings were pretty damn hot, but very tasty. Enough to give a heat buzz without killing you, but enough kick to let you know that you're not as tough as you think you are. Also, if you could get a seat in the restaurant on the weekend, you'd usually be treated to live music by up-and-comers like The Pistoleros, The Refreshments, and The Gin Blossoms. Good times!

As legendary as Long Wong's was, I frequented a few other places. For a long time back in the mid 90's, I used to hang out at a place called Papillon's II in Mesa. My roommate was a cocktail waitress there, and it was a great football bar on the weekends. I can't remember what they were called on the menu, but their house recipe wings were to die for. They slow smoked 'em over hickory and mesquite out back, then crisped them in the fryer, and then dipped them in some sort of honey-bbq sauce with just a hint of habanero. Oh good lord they were awesome. I was good for at least one order of those every week during football season.

But my favorite spot was Native New Yorker. Back in the early days, there had maybe three or four restaurants around town, but now they seem to be everywhere down there. Not only was it a killer sports bar, they had excellent food, too. The big selling point, almost 20 years ago, was the ten-cent wing special. Yeah, they were pretty small, but for a dime, who cared? They had excellent sauces, and my favorite were the 'honey bear BBQ' and the 'honey bear hot'. Both were great.

Nowadays, when you order wings at most places, you get six, or ten, or maybe an even dozen and you're good to go. But back there, the wings were so small that ordering 20 or even 30 was no big deal. Reverend Dave and I would go in there and lay waste to about fifty wings (five bucks!) and a couple of pizza puffs and call it a day. Oh, and they served beer in pitchers there too (do places outside of Vegas still do that?). And they'd bring you a big silver pizza pan to use as a bone-plate.

Anyhow, one day back in the early 90's, I was spending my days working at the Pointe Hilton down on South Mountain, and attending classes at ASU in the evenings. We were in the employee dining room one day, eating their excuse for wings (doubtless leftover from some banquet in the ballroom the night before), when my co-workers and I started talking about how we would rather be at Native New Yorker plowing through a pile of good wings and having a beer instead of the leftovers and ice water that were provided for us.

One thing led to another, and by the time the lunch break was over, the challenge had been laid. We were going to see if anyone could eat 100 wings.

The rules were as follows:

-At least fifty of the wings had to be 'hot' or stronger
-One hour time limit
-After you finished, you had to sit for an hour in the restaurant without puking
-A non-participant would judge each discarded bone to ensure that as much meat as possible was consumed from each wing, no cheating by leaving a bunch of meat behind.
-If anyone actually ate a hundred, they didn't pay (By then the price had gone up to twenty cents, I think). Those who failed got stuck with the bill.

As it turned out, there were four of us up for the challenge, with another three or four observers coming along just to watch the train wreck.

Once it was decided, word spread around at the hotel, and the following Wednesday, about fifteen people headed over to the bar after we got done working for the day.

My strategy was simple. I ate a big dinner the night before, kinda as a warm up, and then I didn't eat any breakfast or lunch the next day, so that I was good and hungry. Also, I wouldn't eat a scrap of garlic bread, carrots, or celery, and drink nothing but iced tea during the contest. No Coke, and definitely no beer. As far as varieties went, I ordered fifty hot ones and fifty honey-bbq. Some of my competitors ordered a few pitchers of beer, and one guy was nibbling on a piece of bread while we waited, so I knew I had him beat.

Of course, once the wait staff figured out what was up, it was a full-on your-attention-please contest in the restaurant.

The fog of time has erased the play-by-play details, but I started off putting down as many hots as I could, and when my mouth was sufficiently on fire, I changed over to the honey-bbq long enough to cool the flames. I went back and forth like that for the first fifty or so, and it went pretty quickly. Around sixty I was starting to feel it. At the seventy-five mark I was definitely uncomfortable, and a couple of people had dropped out by then. It was just me and one other dude.

I remember that he made it to 89 before he gave up, and he didn't make it the full hour, either. When he threw in the napkin, I had only five or six wings to go, so I even as bad as I felt, I knew I'd make it. When it got down to the last fifteen or so, I put them in a line, biggest to smallest, and ate the biggest ones first. Only having a couple of small wings left by then, I managed to force myself to eat them.

As soon as I finished, with about ten minutes to spare, I swore I'd never eat another chicken wing as long as I lived. I felt like crap, but at least I didn't feel like I needed to get sick. I did, however, unbuckle my belt and unbutton my pants, Al Bundy style, while I sat there for the next hour. Eventually, I was able to drink a small glass of beer in celebration, but once my time was up, I drove straight home and stared at the ceiling for a few hours in a food coma.

Looking back, it was one of those ideas that guys come up with that sounded good at first, but in reality pretty much sucked. The other three guys all felt like shiat, too, and one guy actually got sick there at the restaurant. I was just glad that I held it together. There were no ill effects at all, except that I got a whole lot of reading done the next day, IYKWIM...

Surprisingly, even after that experience, I'm still a fan of buffalo wings. Of course, I didn't go back to Native New Yorker for a couple of months, but it's a distant memory now. As far as the prices go, I'm sure that their wings probably go 'on special' for fifty cents apiece now, maybe during Monday Night Football and such. Another such challenge like the one I participated in would likely cost the loser a small fortune. Oh well, that was a long time ago in a neighborhood far far away.

Nowadays, I don't have a must-do place for wings. BWW is just ok, as far as I'm concerned. It's good, but it ain't that good. Plus, the one nearest my house here in Hendertucky is slow as shiat and they always fark up our orders, so I've just stopped going there. A few weeks ago, I bought a bag of frozen, already sauced, wings at Costco--the kind you just throw in a 400 degree oven for twenty minutes or so, but they aren't any good. What little sauce is on them comes off onto the cookie sheet when you bake 'em, and unless you burn the shiat out of them, they don't get crispy at all.

So I'm leaning towards just getting a counter-top deep fryer with my next little windfall. I had an old roommate about ten years ago who had one, and we made the best homemade wings ever--Frozen wings, peanut oil, a little seasoned flour, Frank's Hot Sauce, and some butter. That's it--and they were damn good.

Rob's idea of using olive oil sounded intriguing, I'm sure that brings out some good flavor, but with the low smoke point of olive oil and a hot cast-iron skillet you really gotta babysit 'em. I'd probably end up burning the house down. So I'm gonna wait to make homemade wings until I get a proper deep fryer.

But that brings us to last night. Since it was such a slow week at work, I've been just hanging around the homestead at night on my days off. But AC had a day shift yesterday, and his gal was working again last night, so after he got off work he stopped at a local place called Chicken Bonez and picked up a bunch of good grub and brought it over. We had both hot wings and lemon-garlic wings, plus sides of baked beans and macaroni salad.

The wings were very very good--some of the best I've had. In fact, we were talking about it, and this may just be our go-to place for wings now. Unfortunately, they don't deliver. But the lemon-garlic ones were surprisingly good. They were dry and crispy, like a bunch of miniature extra-crispy drumsticks from KFC--dry in a good way, not dripping with any visible sauce. But the spices were mixed in with the flour, so it was like eating really good fried chicken--it tasted like it was made by a big fat grandma in a flowered dress for a church picnic, that's how good it was. Oh hells yeah, we were diggin' it. And we both really liked the side dishes, too, so it's definitely going in the rotation.

And AC had brought so much that there were plenty of leftovers for the weekend. I can't wait to eat that stuff cold for breakfast on Sunday.

Mikey

A Little Update Follow-Up

Ok, here we go:

Dave P--Keep your shirt on.

Tara and Josie--We'll talk, soon...

Kellee--I'm not a big fan of the wings at Villa Pizza. They're small and they seem kinda dry to me. Napoli on Warm Springs has the best delivery wings (I think they have another restaurant out on W. Sahara, too). They're huge, juicy, and they don't skimp on the sauces. Manhattan Pizza in Whitney Ranch has good wings, but their pizza sucks like crap on a stick. And believe it or not, I'm not a big fan of Buffalo Wild Wings, either. And since I know people are wondering, no, there are no wings on the menu at Grimaldi's. I'm contemplatinggetting a countertop deep-fryer and just making my own whenever the urge strikes.

RVP--Yes, I'm fully aware of all three of those outlets that you mentioned. Remember, I was coming to Vegas for a long long time before I ever lived here, and was also an admin and moderator over on Sonya's T2V site for a few years. Plus I hear about all kinds of locals-only deals fairly frequently, too. So I know where to find the bargains if I get the itch.

Rob-- Yep, it's mega-slow all over. Strip, Downtown, Off-Strip... This town feels like Detroit minus all the burned out buildings. All of my friends are crying poor right now. On the other hand, I'm really looking forward to the Rose Bowl this year, too. I just hope Oregon wears those flat-black non-reflective Mad Max helmets that they used against WSU. They might have the ugliest uniforms in all of Division I, but those black helmets look bad-ass.

All You Mayo Snobs--Miracle Whip kicks ass. All other opinions are invalid. The science is settled. Google it!

Everyone Else--I'll leave it to Kellee to give the opening night reviews of Aria. I'll get down there at some point, but it'll be after the dust settles a bit.

Mikey

Friday Morning Update

Well, I got a few hours of sleep last night, and woke up early this morning, and I'm feeling pretty chipper for it being seven am.

I think the pot of coffee might've had something to do with it. I've already finished the whole thing. Oh, and just because my life sometimes serves as a warning to others, I need to share a little info with y'all--that caramel apple creamer goes much better with plain old Folgers than it does with the high-priced hazelnut stuff that I usually drink. Now you know.

As much as I wanted to go out and stir up some Vegas-style buffoonery last night, it just wasn't in the cards for me. I had a lazy day lurking around the house, then I strolled over to AC's place at six to watch the civil war between OSU and Oregon.

As I was walking over there, I heard somebody walking behind me saying Excuse me, excuse me... I turned around expecting somebody to see somebody trying to bum some money, but I was pleasantly surprised to see a cutie little blonde gal coming toward me.

I must be a bad person, because the first thing that came to mind was--Hey, this is how pornos start out! Either that, or I'm just a typical guy.

Yeah--what's up?, I asked.

She smiled and asked me if I smoked. My mind reeled with the possibilities, but I had to tell her no. Thinking quickly, I asked if she needed a light (I always carry a lighter with me). She laughed and said that she didn't need a light--she needed a whole smoke!

Unfortunately, I was unable to provide, so that was the end of our encounter, as she wandered back over to her apartment and I turned back toward AC's place. The funny thing is, about half the time I'm out and about, I usually have at least a pack of Marlboro lights on me (or Newports, back when I was hanging out with Kimmy on a semi-regular basis). Most of the gals I run around with smoke, and a lot of times I'm packing for them, and when Angy, Sticky, and Sin are in town, I've always got a pack on me, too. It made me wonder how my night might've turned out if I'd had a pack o' Luckies in my pocket.

Anyhow...

When I got to AC's place, he'd already ordered a pizza and some wings from Villa Pizza, so we didn't have to wait long for dinner to arrive. Yep, it was good, as usual. And those of you who didn't see the game, well, you missed one of the better college football games I've seen all year.

After the game, we got on the computers and did a little work--I was helping him format some stuff and get some paperwork in order, but that was a relatively quick job. While I was doing my thing, he fixed a couple of Crown & Cokes on the rocks. The original plan was to sit out on the patio and smoke a couple of cigars, but it was much too cold to do that (Hell, it was 31 degrees outside when I got up this morning). As far as I'm concerned, it might as well be the blizzard of '77 in Buffalo outside--my blood is too thin and I'm not leaving the house again until it warms up a bit.

Anyhow, instead of sitting outside freezing our asses off, we decided to watch a movie instead. I'd never seen Beerfest, and have been taking a ration of shiat from everyone else who's seen it, so that's what we watched. It was mildly funny with a couple of laugh-out-loud moments, but not nearly as good as Super Troopers.

By the time the movie ended, his gal had gotten home from work and I had three pints of Crown & Coke in me, so I packed up my gear and stumbled back to the Batch Pad. If memory serves correctly, I think I went straight to bed.

I got a few good hours of quality sack-time in, and I'm up and raring to go today. Although raring to do what, I do not know. I logged onto my bank account and saw that my big $57 paycheck had been deposited, so I'm tempted to head down to the Bellagio and live like a high low roller for about a minute and a half.

Actually, I was going to make a batch of biscuits and gravy this morning--it's a perfect day for some warm stick-to-your-ribs comfort food, but after that pot of coffee, I've pretty much lost my appetite. I had a Pop-Tart with my last cup, so I'm pretty much set until later this afternoon. Then, of course, it's chicken salad time again.

I guess I'll have to find something to keep me busy today... Road trip, anyone?

Mikey

Feels Like Friday To Me

Wait--it's only Thursday? My work week, such as it is, is over. So I only have one word for you working stiffs out there:

Suckers!

Heh. Actually, at this moment, I'd be totally cool with being a working stiff again. I only say that because the pendulum has swung back the 'famine' side of the matrix, and 'feast' is a distant memory. Lucky for me I got all the obligations already taken care of, otherwise I'd be really pissed about my eight-hour 'week'.

Yup. Eight hours.

Now, before y'all get too upset and start feeling sorry for me, it was still a pretty good eight hours. I'm not gonna go hungry or homeless. But it just illustrates, to me, how I'd feel like I were filthy stankin' rich if I were to ever somehow work a forty-hour week. On the other hand, since things are slow in the casino biz right now, I can't really go out and spend money and have a good time like I'd prefer to do. This weekend is going to be very low-key and mellow. I won't be playing poker, I won't be hanging out with any of my gals, and I won't be trying any new restaurants, that's for sure.

Tonight, I'm gonna head over to AC's house and help him with one of his projects, and we're gonna probably drink a few beers, order some pizza, and watch the Civil War game from Oregon. (And yes, I will be packing a band-aid with me). I may also scrape together a few bucks and lay a bet down on the Tide this weekend. I was thinking of betting the money line, but unless somebody from the Tuscaloosa mafia goes all Nancy Kerrigan on Tim Tebow in the next 48 hours, it's probably wiser to just take the points instead.

Otherwise, I have no plans except for the regular rotation of football, reading and the usual household chores. I've got my fingers crossed that maybe I can pick up another shift this weekend, but unless somebody calls out sick, I doubt that's gonna happen. Maybe I'll feel inspired and write about a road trip I took 19 years ago...

We'll see.

Mikey

The Victoria's Secret Catalog of Food Porn

I forgot to take pictures when I was making it, so you'll just have to use your imagination. But last night, I made another batch of the World's Greatest Chicken Salad.

Let me brag about it.

First of all, I used to cook chicken breasts in the crockpot with a touch of garlic and butter, and that was damn tasty. But it took way too much time, especially if you want your chicken salad sandwich right now.

But once I discovered the canned chicken breast chunks at Costco, I started using that, instead. So I opened up three cans of that, drained the water off, and put the meat in a big Pyrex mixing bowl. To that, I added a generous dollop of horseradish, some garlic salt, black pepper, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, a sprinkle of paprika, and the underrated secret to great-tasting food, a healthy dose of white pepper.

Once I stirred all that together, I took a large handful of cashews and gave them a rough chop, and then added a can of pineapple tidbits (drained, of course). The last thing to go in the bowl was a couple of tablespoons of Miracle Whip. Then it all got stirred together and I let it sit, covered, in the fridge for about an hour, just to let all those flavors and spices get to know each other a little better.

By then, I was good and hungry, so I made a sandie with some nice fresh whole-wheat bread. Seriously, it's a damn good sandwich, especially served with some grapes, an orange, and some Maui onion kettle chips. I think the only thing that might've made it a little better was if I would've had a croissant instead, but I like wheat bread, so I won't knock any style points off for that.

That was last night. I made another sandwich as soon as I got home from work early this morning, and then fixed another one for lunch today. And I'll probably make one more before I go to work tonight.

Like a big pot of spaghetti, I'll be eating it all week long--it's that good.

Oh, and for those of you who feel the need to tell me that I should've added chopped celery or pickle relish? That's blasphemy--and I won't have that in here!


Mikey


PS: Why the McRib? Because, just like Heidi Klum, everybody loves the McRib...

Oh The Weather Outside Is

... not bad, actually. Yeah, it's cold--like 40 degrees, but it's clear and there is no wind. Plus I was just up on Whitney Mesa, a piece of property I'd own if I were a billionaire, and there was a huge full moon setting over the Strip. Just an awesome view.

Beautiful, even.

Anyhow, I'm just sitting here waiting for the coffee maker to do it's thing and brew me up a pot of the good stuff, while I try to come up with something interesting to tell you folks. Actually, instead of the usual 'good stuff', I'm making a pot of regular Folgers instead of my normal Don Francisco Hawaiian Hazelnut. Why? Because I just got back from the store where I picked up a bottle of caramel apple coffee creamer, and I wanted to try it out with regular coffee.

I'm a little bummed out right now--about fifteen minutes before my alarm was set to go off last night, my phone was ringing. It was the floorman at work telling me not to come in because the last game had just broken up. That sucked. I'm finally on the schedule for four days this week, and so far, two of them have passed and I've only worked two hours. I need the next two nights to be good, and maybe get called in this weekend, otherwise it's gonna be a pretty lean week for me.

So instead of going to work, I sat up and watched three episodes of The Unit that I'd recorded yesterday. That was one of my favorite shows, but CBS canceled it this season. Somehow, a couple of weeks ago, I stumbled across it on a channel I don't watch very often, BET. So I set my DVR to record all episodes. Besides, I came to the party late--I missed the first couple of seasons altogether, so all of the ones I've recorded so far are all new to me.

After working my way through those, I watched a little leftover SportsCenter and the first hour of Mike & Mike before heading off to the grocery store. Not wanting to go over to Wallyworld, I drove over to the newly remodeled Smith's on Sunset & Sunset (those of you familiar with Henderson's oddball geography will know what I'm talking about).

It's all nice and new inside, and they had it totally decked out for Christmas, too. And in the middle of the night, the overhead music seems especially loud. Luckily I'm not one of those scrooges who always complains about Christmas music--I actually like it as long as I can dodge that god-awful Paul McCartney song--so I enjoyed the vibe. And the big promo aisle in the middle of the store had been coated with a few cans of Christmas-flavored air freshener, so it was a complete sensory experience.

In fact, it standing in there for a few minutes, it really took me back a couple of years to the two Christmases in row that I got to spend in Nashville. The smell reminded me of Cyndi's house, as she always had potpourri simmering and scented candles burning. It would be dark by the time I'd get out of the office, then I'd meet Amy for some Christmas shopping and goofing off, and after that I'd head over to Cyndi's place and usually go out to a nice dinner with her and David. Afterward, we'd just chill out and watch a movie or listen to music. Always a good time. I really miss that, too.

But I'm here again this year, so I'm kinda feeling like Andy Dufresne doing time in Shawshank. Except instead of the 'sisters', the economy is the one sticking it to me.

Anyhow...

I forgot to mention my dinner with Linda the other night. Since I had to work all night, and be on call the entire next day, and Linda Lou was stuck on an airplane all day, neither one of us were able to celebrate Thanksgiving like normal people do. So we got together Wednesday night and went out to dinner together.

Both of us have been wanting to try Casa di Amore for a long time, so we saw this as our opportunity. It's an old-skool Italian joint over on East Tropicana (right next door to the machine-gun rental place, now that I think about it).

I guess it's been there forever, but I'm not sure. Even if it hasn't, the place just oozes that old-Vegas ambiance. It's brick-walled with stained-glass windows, so it's a little dark inside. There's a moderately sized dining room with a bar in the corner, and that's about it. The cool thing about it is that the walls are all adorned with huge black-and-white pictures of Vegas in the 50s and 60s, so that right there makes it tops in my book.

The menu is basic 'red-sauce joint'--not exactly cutting edge, but that's not what it's about. It's your parent's Italian restaurant. And I mean that in a good way.

They had some really good-sounding daily specials, and we almost bit, but we ended up ordering off the menu, instead. We started off with some twice-wrapped prawns--basically mutant-sized shrimp wrapped in prosciutto and cheese, then wrapped in pastry dough and baked. There was a ramekin of some sort of sauce that came along to provide a little zing, but even plain, it was a very good dish.

I think Linda ordered the eggplant Parmesan, and went with veal Parmesan. Both entrees were served with a side of pasta. I think spaghetti is the standard side dish, but Linda changed hers up and got rigatoni or something like that. Looking over the wine list, I saw that they offered Macmurray Ranch Pinot, something I'd had a few weeks before at the Lee's Wine Experience. So I ordered a glass of that to go with my dinner. Additionally, we got a basket of their garlic loaf--I think I could've just had that and a bottle of wine and I would've been happy.

A little side note about the wine--Macmurray Ranch is a winery that was owned by Fred Macmurray of 'My Three Sons' fame. (I learned all about this at the wine experience). Anyhow, they have two vineyards, one in Napa/Sonoma, and one on the central coast. I tried Pinots from both vineyards that night, and found that I liked the cheaper central coast variety more than the more expensive Napa variety. Anyhow, when they brought out the glass, I could tell that it was the expensive one. Not that it was bad--it was still very good--but I was impressed with myself that my palate had become educated enough to tell the difference between wines from the same winery. A few years ago, all red wine tasted the same to me. Now, I've come to appreciate the different varieties from different vineyards and different regions.

Anyhow, I snapped a couple of photos. I would've taken more, but the restaurant is kind of a low-key place and I felt kind of odd taking pictures.





The food was excellent--I wouldn't hesitate to recommend the place to anyone looking for a decent Italian restaurant. Like I said, it's not fancy or cutting edge and there's no celebrity chef on staff to make it all trendy, but it's still a solid restaurant, and it's actually kind of romantic, if that's what you're looking for. They even have live rat pack-style crooner music every night, too. So we'll be going back again.

I think our tab came to just under $90 for the two of us--pretty reasonable for two appies, two entrees, and a glass of good wine, so if you ever find yourself looking for a decent off-Strip dinner destination, you can do a lot worse than Casa di Amore.

Anyhow, that was the highlight of my Thanksgiving weekend. I ended up working all night on Thanksgiving, so my turkey-day was just another day in my book--work and sleep, that's all.

As far as this week goes, there ain't a whole lot going on. The last couple of times that I've gone out to play poker, I've been running really bad (my last session, I got rivered eight different times by somebody catching a four-outer or less), so my plan is to take this weekend's poker bankroll and buy a couple hundred shares of some cheapo stock, and stay home watching football instead. Gonna take a break from Lady Luck for awhile, I think. (Remember kids, when I win, it's skill. When I lose, it's bad luck... heh.)

Now that I've run out of household projects, I've got to find something else to keep me occupied. Thankfully, I've still got a stack of reading material on the nightstand. I suppose I could curl up on the couch, light a candle or two, turn on some Christmas music, and plow through a couple of books while I wait for the phone to ring.

Mikey

PS. The verdict on the caramel apple creamer? Two thumbs up!

I Call Bullshiat!

Was it just me, or did sitting around trying to watch football yesterday seem like an exercise in extreme futility? I mean, I wanted to enjoy the games, but the national media beclowned itself all day long with the breathless, and constant, Tiger Woods coverage.

Seriously--it reminded me of the Saturday Night Live parody sketch of Buckwheat getting shot.

We don't have any real info to share, but we just can't help ourselves, so we'll just keep running the same footage over and over again on and endless loop.

Ok, so at first, when the initial update came in saying that Tiger Woods was 'injured in a car accident and was admitted to the hospital in serious condition', I, like the rest of the TV-watching world, sat up and thought, Whoa!

But then, as more and more info trickled out, I realized that this was either a non-story or that the car accident was just a very minor detail in part of a much bigger story.

First of all, the facts that we were given:

-Accident happened in the middle of the night
-Single-car accident
-In a subdivision
-No airbags were deployed
-He hit a fire hydrant and his neighbor's tree

No big deal, that shiat happens all the time, especially in households with teenagers. But then there are other, more interesting tidbits:

-He had cuts and scratches all over his face
-Blood in his mouth
-His wife 'rescued' him by smashing the rear window of the SUV with a golf club and "pulling him to safety"
-Alcohol was allegedly not a factor
-When the cops showed up, he was lying in the street fading in and out of consciousness.


I definitely call bullshiat on the no-alcohol bit, especially if he was passed out in the street. Unless, of course, he had a seizure or some sort of other medical condition that the general public doesn't know about. Or his wife went upside his head with a frying pan and knocked him the f*ck out, like Deebo in Friday.

Sounds to me like this was a big-ol' domestic disturbance where Elin was kicking his ass and took a golf club to his back window as he was driving off. I mean seriously--if he didn't hit anything hard enough to deploy the airbags, um, why couldn't she just open up one of the doors to 'rescue' him. Smashing out the rear window and dragging him out the back? Puh-leaze. How stupid do you think people are?

Knowing what few details of this as we do, my guess is that there was plenty of alcohol involved, there was a huge fight, Mama got a few licks in and then took a driver to the back of the SUV as he was trying to get away. And the shock of rear window shattering, coupled with his already agitated, perhaps inebriated, state, distracted him long enough to crash his vehicle down at the end of the driveway.

Are we to believe that he just had a craving for a Gordita and some loaded nachos, and was just heading out to get his fourth-meal on when he lost control and Kelsey Grammared his way into the neighbor's tree? And if the airbags didn't go off, how did his face get all jacked up?

But the biggest question mark in the whole thing is wifey and the golf club. Seriously, she heard the accident from inside the house, grabbed Big Bertha, and came running to the rescue? Something does not compute. If he drove into a tree--not even hard enough to set off the airbag--how did she hear that from inside the house? Hell, one time my neighbor backed out of the driveway and into the streetlight when I was standing in the garage, and it sure as hell didn't sound like an accident, at least one serious enough to cause me to grab the sticks and go all Office Space on his rear window.

And I'm guessing the local neighborhood security folks, along with his publicist, are doing what they can to help cover up the more sordid details. In the meantime, as long as the folks at ESPN are ramming this story down our throats all weekend, I'd like to see a picture of the SUV and hear what the responding officers have to say.

Otherwise, I'd wish they'd just shut the fark up about it and let me watch football in peace this weekend. Because like most of the rest of the world outside of Bristol Connecticut, we don't give a rat's ass about Tiger Woods until Easter weekend at Augusta.

Mikey

The Anti-Christmas List

Christmas cards? Who needs 'em. I'm sending a few letters out this year, instead. Here's what I've got so far:


Dear Cox Cable--

I do not want digital home telephone service. I don't care what it costs, how much you say it saves, or how great it is. I don't want it, and I will never buy it. Please quit trying to sell it to me. You're wasting your breath, and you're killing too many trees with all that shiat you put in my bill every month trying to get me to buy it (and I just send it back to you, anyways). And your stupid 'bundle-eaze' commercials are not only annoying as hell, but I can't imagine anyone wanting to sign up for your service after seeing one. Please, just stop. Take all that energy and expend it on making my TV service more reliable.

Sincerely,

Mikey



Dear Best Buy, Casual Male, and other retailers of your ilk--

Please stop asking me for my phone number, zip code, or email address whenever I make a purchase at one of your stores. If I say 'unlisted', leave it at that. I'm not giving it to you, and you're never gonna get it. BTW, if you haven't figured out that 60613 is the zip code for Wrigley Field and not Henderson, Nevada, well then, what does it matter where I live, anyways? Do you really believe that I'm road-tripping out here from Chicago every time I shop at one of your stores? Besides, if I'm paying cash, I want you to treat me like you're a hooker and my name is 'John'. I want to get in, get out, and get on my way as quickly as possible. You don't need any of my personal info.

Sincerely,

Mikey



Dear Amazon.com--

I love your service and prefer to do most, if not all, of my shopping with you. However, please stop trying to sell me a Kindle. I don't want one, I don't need one, and I certainly don't travel enough to recognize the utility of such a device. I will probably never buy one. I prefer to do most of my reading curled up on the couch, or in my bed, with the soft glow of an incandescent bulb providing the illumination, enjoying the tactile experience of a real book. Perhaps the next generation enjoys staring at a computer screen all of their daily interactions, but I'm over 40 years old and do not. Please direct your marketing efforts to a more receptive demographic. However, if the graphics technology exists sometime in the future where one could discreetly download, say, certain magazines of an adult nature, we may do some business at that point. I'm just sayin'.

Thank you,

Mikey



Dear McDonalds--

I haven't been a regular customer of yours since whatever animal that you make the McRib out of went extinct. But just so you know, whenever I *do* make the occasional visit, NO--I don't want fries with that. Or a pie, now that I think of it. If I wanted fries, I'd order them. It's not like I'd forget to order a side with my double cheeseburger. I know that most of the population of the world just loves your French fries, but I'm not one of them--I'm just not a fry guy. However, rest assured, that if I ever do decide to order a side of French fries with my meal, I will happily purchase them from one of your fine establishments. But on that matter, I, however, will be the one to initiate contact, if you don't mind.

Thank you,

Mikey



Dear 'Dex'--

There's this thing called the 'internet' now, and on this internet, they have this thing called 'Google'. If I want to find something, I think I'm just gonna use that from now on. You can stop leaving phone books on my front porch. They're just gonna end up in the dumpster anyways. If you insist on passing them out, might I suggest partnering with the fine folks at Cox Communications. Maybe the people who buy their digital telephone service may find the need for a phone book at some point, but I haven't used one since I needed to find somebody willing to sell me flashcubes. Or maybe talk to the people at Amazon and see if they'd be willing to put it on their Kindle device. Then it wouldn't sit in that little cabinet above the fridge, unused, for years on end. It would probably save a few trees, too.

Sincerely,

Mikey



Dear Manhattan Pizza--

Your pies are not good. Please quit leaving menus on my doorknob. Take some of that marketing budget and order something from Villa Pizza instead, so that maybe you'll get a better idea of what a delivery pizza is supposed to taste like.

Thanks,

Mikey



Dear John Barr, Geico, and Progressive--

Your commercials are so stupid and annoying that you're probably losing more business than you attract. Because of your advertising efforts, I will never use your products, and I'm sure I'm not the only one out there who feels this way. Please, just fire your entire marketing department and start all over from scratch. Trust me, it won't hurt your business. Or at least take an entire fiscal quarter off from advertising and put all that money back against your bottom line, pleasing your shareholders and giving the rest of us a break. That's a win-win right there. Also, could you please forward this letter to your colleagues at Kay Jewelers, too? Thanks!

Sincerely,

Mikey


Dear WalMart--

If you're going to present yourself as a 24-hour super-center, please make sure the entire store is accessible 24 hours a day. Roping off the dairy section so you can buff the floors every morning between 3:00 and 4:00 am isn't helpful to those of us who choose to do our shopping at that time of day. Creatures of the night need milk too.

Thanks,

Mikey

PS--Sorry about the footprints.



Dear John Mayer--

Just stop. Seriously. Please--just stop. We're begging you.

Sincerely,

Mikey



Dear Lee's Discount Liquors, Costco, Fausto's Mexican Food, Home Depot, M Resort, and Spearmint Rhino--

Y'all are doing a fine job. Keep up the good work.

Happy Holidays!

Mikey

Bunker Mentality

Damn. Just when I kicked that nasty flu bug that took up residence in my chest a few weeks back, I catch a mild head cold. No, I'm not sick sick, but I've got the sniffles and a little bit of nasal congestion. Nothing that heavy doses of vitamin C and Zycam can't handle, but I'm still not feeling 100%. Hot coffee seems to help a bit, too.

Thankfully, I was still functional enough to pull a full shift at work last night. And by full shift, I mean six hours. I hardly ever work eight hours unless I get called in early. But I'll take a busy six hours anytime--I was locked down the entire time with no break. Last week I worked a total of eight hours in three days--that's how slow it was--but this week is looking absolutely stellar compared to that. With picking up a shift on Sunday and having last night's game go all night, I feel like I'm back to normal again. Still, December is a slow month for the off-Strip casinos and locals joints, and I'm guessing that it's gonna be a lean month until the day after Christmas, then it'll pick back up again.

Because of that, I'm scaling back, holing up here at the Batch Pad and reading, watching movies, and working on puzzles and such. I went pretty much the entire last weekend without spending any money, and I'm hoping to be able to do the same thing again this Thanksgiving weekend. And even though the holidays overall are a slower time for us, the casino is usually pretty busy on Thanksgiving weekend. So I guess I'm hoping to grab an extra shift or two if I can. If not, no big deal--I'll relax a bit.

The problem with not getting called in to work on a four-day weekend is that I get bored, and of course my first choice of activities is to go out and play poker. It's been a grind lately and I haven't been having much fun, so we'll see if the depth of my boredom will overcome my desire to not go out and play. I'm not afraid of losing any money, but maybe I just don't feel like taking the chance, if that makes any sense.

Here's my dilemma... Let's say I get to the end of my work-week on Friday morning, and since all the bills are paid up, maybe I've got an extra five hundred bucks burning a hole in my pocket. For a long time, whenever I had extra cash, my first thought was What can I spend this on? But now, every time I get any extra money, the little angel on one shoulder tells me to send it to E*Trade, but then the little neon devil on the other shoulder keeps whispering Then what? What are you gonna do for the rest of the weekend?

Ideally, if I had the discipline and a more hermit-like outlook, I'd send every stinkin' dime I make into the investment account and spend my days holed up here on the computer writing my manifesto like the unabomber. But then what if one of the gals calls me up on Saturday night and wants to go out--it's not like I can just go to an ATM and get money back out from that account immediately. And I hate to cry 'poor' when an opportunity for some high-quality Vegas-style buffoonery presents itself. And also, after hanging out in the house for two days straight, it begins to feel like a jail cell and then I need to get out and do something.

Maybe I just need to find a hobby besides poker. Something cheap that I can do outside the house. The only problem is, in my vast experience of 42 years, every hobby is expensive. Golf? Yep. Guitar? Oh dear god, if I only had back half the money I've spent on that over the years... Shooting? A new gun is definitely not cheap, and ever since the lefties took over, the price of ammo has gone through the roof. (I sold my .45 a few years ago during the really lean times, so now I've got nothing but an empty holster and 80 pounds of .45 ACP in a surplus ammo can sitting out in the storage closet).

I suppose I could take Eric's advice and pack up the truck with some firewood and head up to Mt. Charleston with nothing but a bottle of rum, a sleeping bag, and a good book, but winter has arrived in the mountains, and I'd freeze my ass off up there. Besides, I'm on call all weekend, so I couldn't really do that anyways. I need to stay within a half-hour of the casino, just in case.

I guess I could just take my camera and go on a little photo safari around town and post some pics here. I did that once a long time ago and people seemed to enjoy that. I dunno--we'll see how the weekend goes. If it looks like it's gonna be a busy one, then this whole discussion is a moot point. Same thing if this head cold gets worse.

In the meantime, I'm just gonna lock myself down like it's Defcon 2 outside and the Russians are massing their tanks at the Fulda Gap. I've got a DVR full of movies, a shelf full of books, and a pantry full of canned goods. If the phone doesn't ring, I can survive quite nicely in here for a good long time.

Mikey

Oh Dear God What a Boring Post.

Re-reading last night's post (the one directly below this one) in the light of day is certainly a humbling experience. Good lord, what a hot mess. It's clear that I was both extremely tired and extremely bored when I wrote it. My apologies for making y'all suffer through that on a Monday morning. If I could refund your time, I would.

I suppose that this morning's coffee has given me a clarity of mind that I didn't have last night. (By the way, have y'all tried that peppermint mocha creamer? It's damn good!).

Anyhow, I'm thinking of revising my code (it's more like guidelines, anyways) about not using the heater because I live in the desert. I use the heater in my truck all the time, and as far as the home heater goes, it shouldn't be about the money because I've never been accused of being a cheapass. Maybe it's just the principle of the thing. But the last two nights, I've been curled up under a blanket in the corner of my sectional, watching TV for hours on end when I couldn't sleep. And if y'all remember the pictures of my living room, there are two windows right there in the corner, too.

So while I was lying there last night, I could literally feel the cold air creeping in and washing over my face, like the fog of death and destruction from so many scary movies. But I'm one of those people who likes to sleep in a cold room under a pile of blankets, so it didn't bother me too much at the time. However, waking up with the sniffles this morning has caused me to re-think my whole no-heater philosophy. That, and maybe I should do something to seal the obvious gaps in my living room window sashes.

On the other hand, a pot of hot coffee and a dose of Zycam has made me feel whole again, so I'll probably do nothing about it and learn my lesson the hard way.

Oh--remember my rant from a couple of weeks ago when I was so pissed at ESPN and Cox Cable for denying me the opportunity to see the last half-hour of the final table at the World Series of Poker? Well, last night, I'd gone to bed early, but once I realized I was wide awake, I got back up and went back out to the living room to watch some late-night TV. As I was scanning through the channels, I landed on ESPN2, and saw that they were re-broadcasting the final table match-up, and I'd just stumbled in to the point about a minute and a half before the recording cut off. Nice--and looking at the clock, I saw that it was the bottom of the hour, so I knew I'd finally be able to see how the thing went down.

Of course, about twenty minutes later, with maybe ten minutes left in the broadcast, the damned cable went out. I shiat you not--suddenly I was watching nothing but a screen full of gray static, presented in beautiful 1040i High Definition.

I was so f*cking pissed at that moment that had I been independently wealthy or still watching my old TV, I would've chucked the remote through the screen. Instead, I just said some very bad things about the people at Cox Cable--something, I believe, about what they do with their mothers...

After the initial burst of anger, I spent about a minute or two rebooting the cable box, and that seemed to do the trick, and as it turned out, all I missed were a couple of the insufferable commercials that they play over and over on the Worldwide Leader of lame advertising (the Evil Empire, messin' with Sasquatch, etc). It came back on just in time for me to see Darvin Moon get hyper-aggresive at exactly the wrong time and lose it all to Tony Romo's little brother.

Seriously, has there ever been a more-lucky and less-deserving champion? Maybe Jamie Gold, but damn, after watching that, I felt like the two worst players at the final table lasted the longest. I know that there is a huge luck factor involved whenever you play hold-em, (believe me--I'm one of those people who swears that whenever I win, it's due to skill, and whenever I lose, it's due to bad luck!), but it seemed to be way out of proportion this time around. Skill, apparently, took a back seat this year.

But who am I to complain? I just came down from one of the luckiest runs I've ever had, so I know what it feels like to be running better than I should. Still, four grand is a long way from eight-and-a-half million, and even though only a handful of people saw it happen, it was nice to get a taste of what it's like to be amazingly lucky at the poker table.

Now if I could only transfer some of that out into the real world, I'd be set...

Mikey

A Mellow Weekend Winds Down

Here it is, the middle of the night, and I can't sleep. I guess all this time on the graveyard shift has reversed the polarity of my system, and I'm just used to being a creature of the night--albeit with much lest angst than Edward Cullen and his ilk.

My goal for the weekend was to spend 72 hours away from the casino, but plans, like a leaky roof, sometimes fall through.

Awhile back, I submitted the paperwork to change up my direct deposit, and send a good chunk of money to my E*Trade account every payday. Well, when I logged on to my bank account on Friday morning, no money had been deposited. Now, it had been a really slow couple of weeks for me, so I figured that maybe I had such a low take-home amount that all of it went to the investment account. So I logged on to E*Trade to take a look. Nope, no new money there...

Hmmm... No paycheck? Suddenly I began to feel like Milton from Office Space, except that I never had a cube or a stapler to begin with. So I called down to the payroll department, and found out that this was the pay period that they 'tested' my new-to-them account, so I would be getting no direct deposit. I had to hike my chubby ass down to the casino and pick up a real-live paycheck, something I haven't done in over four years. Oh, and I was instructed to also ask for a direct deposit stub, too. WTF? I didn't quite understand, but agreed to ask for both.

When I got down there on Friday afternoon, yep, I had both--a paycheck and a direct deposit stub. The paycheck was pathetically small, the worst one I've ever gotten (but then, it's been kinda slow and I hadn't been called in for an extra shift in three weeks), but the direct deposit stub was interesting in that it had both accounts listed on it and it simply said that the account was validated.

So I wandered up to the payroll department and they assured me that all was well and everything would be back to normal next time around, no problem at all.

While I was there, I *briefly* considered wandering over to the poker room, but then I remembered what a grind the last few sessions had been for me, so I just bailed out. I went grocery shopping, instead, and then spent the rest of the evening at home, clearing out the archives on my DVR.

Saturday was a sleep-in and be-a-slug day, and I was rewarded for my slothfulness with three incredibly fun games to watch--UConn/Notre Dame, LSU/Ole Miss, and Cal/Stanford. Of course I started the day watching Ohio State put the beatdown on Meat-chicken, and I'm sure that Buckeye Nation is damn happy that they're going to Pasadena and won't have to face another SEC team in their bowl game. They might have a chance to win one this year.

Anyhow, after all the games, I stayed up for most of the night watching all the JFK assassination shows on the History Channel and Discovery, finally calling it a night around five in the morning. At 9:00 am on Sunday, my phone was ringing--it was the poker room. One of the full-time dealers was sick, and they wanted to know if I could come in.

Hell yeah I could, just not right away, if at all possible. At first they wanted me at ten, then at one, but then I got a call back a few minutes later and they settled on having me come in at noon. I was cool with that--it gave me enough time to set my alarm and get another hour and a half of sleep.

I wasn't completely happy about waking up again, much too soon for my tastes, to Sonny and Cher singing I Got You Babe from the alarm clock, but what's a brotha to do? I got to make a living. So I got up, shuffled out to the kitchen, poured myself a bowl of Special K, and sat down in front of the Colts game for about fifteen minutes. I couldn't sit around long, as I had to shower, shave, and get my tired ass down to the poker room.

There was just one game going when I got there, and for a minute I thought it would be a real short day. But within just a few minutes we had three full games going, and a waiting list for a fourth. That's always nice. So my day went by pretty quickly, and unlike graveyard shift, I got a few breaks here and there. Instead of walking the beige mile back to the dining room, I just put on a jacket and went to the sportsbook to watch football for a half an hour. Oh, and hot dogs were only a buck from the hottie manning the cart, so bought one of them and sweet-talked the cocktail waitress into bringing me a bottle of water.

So my day at work was actually fairly enjoyable, and I got cut loose after about six hours when the swing-shifters started showing up. I'd made a decent day's wages, so I was cool with hitting the exit. No, I wasn't tempted in the least to stick around and play, either. Usually, I expect to win every time I play, but lately I've just been breaking even or walking out twenty bucks in the red. And one time, a few months back, I remember working all night, then playing for a couple of hours and losing a hundred bucks in the morning game. One of the other dealers chirped in and said Man, that sucks, you just worked all night for free.

Well, not quite, but the words stuck. So I decided right then and there that I'm not gonna stick around and play after my shift with money that I just earned. And I almost always empty my wallet before I go to work--so it's easy to keep track of exactly how much money I've made at the end of each shift--so any cash on hand when I leave work is brand-new to me. And that stays in the wallet.

So I came straight home, pretty tired, actually. And hungry, too. That lone hot dog didn't do much to curb the appetite, so I made a bowl of soup and ate the rest of my cornbread from the other day, then watched the Eagles/Bears game. However, it was nice to use my dining room table for something that it was actually designed for.

I thought I was pretty tired, so I went to bed early, but only got an hour's worth of a catnap before realizing that I was wide awake again. So here I am, pounding away at the keys in the middle of the night, trying to make the mundane sound interesting.

The rest of this week is gonna be pretty mellow, so I'm guessing that posting will be light. On the other hand, I'm having dinner on Wednesday with Linda Lou, so that might give me some interesting material to work with. And I've got a dinner invite for Thanksgiving, but it's way over on the west side, and I'm on call that day (and I'm guessing that at least one of my co-workers will probably call out that day, so I may stick around close and try to score an extra holiday shift). Besides, since I've got no family around these parts, Thanksgiving has lost some of it's luster for me, so dining with mostly strangers doesn't really appeal to me that much. I dunno. Maybe I'm just feeling a little grinchy right now, but at this moment, I don't really want to go.

But that's the news from here. I wish I had some good stories to tell, but the muse ain't singing and I haven't done anything wild, crazy, interesting, or foolish for several days... But give me some time--the smart money is on 'foolish'.

Mikey

Dinner Time

So I'm having dinner with Linda Lou on Wednesday night... If y'all want me to do a food-pr0n review with pics, send in some suggestions.

A few caveats:

No sushi, or restaurants from funkified places like Russia, India, Egypt, or Ethiopia. I believe the green-lighted countries of origin would be China, Thailand, Mexico, USA, Ireland, Italy. I think seafood in all varieties is off the table, too.

I'm leaning to Casa di Amore on Trop, or China Mama out in Chinatown. Maybe Garduno's at the Palms. Any other suggestions?

Oh, and it can't be over-the-top expensive, either.

Mikey

I Lead The Dullest Life Ever

Ok, so taking the pulse of Hurricane Mikey Nation, it seems that you folks want stories about 1) Strippers and Hookers, 2) Poker, and 3) Food.

Hmmm...

Well, as far as strippers and hookers go, not much of that going on around here. I suppose I could have Reverend Dave on as a guest blogger--he's got much more experience in that particular arena. Heh.

And poker has been a grind lately, too. No big wins, no big losses, and no really interesting stories either, unless y'all want me to rehash some of the bad beats I've taken over the last couple of sessions. But I don't really wanna do that. In fact, even though it's Friday night in Vegas and the local rooms are gonna be full of people doing their damnedest to give away their money, I'm taking the night off. I'm just not feeling it right now.

As far as food porn goes, well, I haven't had the inspiration to try anything new and exciting around the kitchen right now, either. (Well, maybe I'll make some coconut rice and teriyaki chicken at some point this weekend, but that's about as exciting as trying out a new brand of peanut butter). I'd like to try a new restaurant, so maybe I'll revisit the old list and see what's out there. Maybe next week I'll try something new. At some point, I'm supposed to get together with Linda Lou for dinner, so that'll be a great way to kill two birds with one stone.

Otherwise, I think that maybe I'm just kind of in a funk right now. All the household projects are done, I'm kinda bored with poker, and I just don't have much else going on that captivates my imagination. Tonight, my plan is to stay home and clear out the DVR--I've got several hours worth of WWII in HD to watch, plus a few more shows I've recorded over the past month or so that I haven't gotten around to watching.

And now that I've got a proper dining room table, I'll probably spend several hours this weekend working on that unfinished jigsaw puzzle from over two years ago that's been sitting in storage ever since I moved out of the Man Cave. I took the box down out of the closet this week, and I want to get back into it. I really like doing jigsaw puzzles--it's relaxing, but it stimulates the ol' melon at the same time. And I like the challenge. I've also got a few books to read, so I think the next few days are gonna be spent here at the homestead, being mellow.

Speaking of puzzles, I'm probably gonna buy another one this week that I've wanted for quite some time. It's a 2000 piece monster of this exact picture:


It's a French training ship, called the Belem, and I actually had this same puzzle about ten years ago. Unfortunately, at the time I also had two cats, and boy did they ever love to chew on the pieces and bat them around the house. So that was a fruitless endeavor. I lost so many pieces to the felines that I just gave up and tossed out the entire puzzle after about a month.

Anyhow, I have no more cats (and no, I'm not getting another one and certainly wouldn't spend my time blogging about it), so I think it's safe to try again.

So while the rest of you folks are out enjoying your weekend, I think I'm just gonna be holed up here at the Batch Pad for a few days, pursuing quieter activities, maybe watching a few football games and just chillin'. I feel like I need to recharge my batteries.

Mikey

I Got Nuthin'

Gonna Wake Up Sore

Happy Monday, hurricaners and hurricanettes! Yes, I know it's still Sunday night as I'm posting this, but I know that most of my readers prefer to slack off here on Monday morning at the office. So to you folks here on the company dime, welcome! Stickin' it to The Man feels pretty good, doesn't it?

Before I go any further, I gotta get something off my chest. I think that some of you folks out there in the ether really need to take a big ol' chill pill. Everyone seems to have overreacted a little bit, but some folks went head-first off the deep end. That was not my intention.

My little post about the lost Mojo was nothing serious--I thought about making another post about my weekend poker sessions, but there was nothing really interesting to tell--I didn't win big, and I certainly didn't lose big, either--I just treaded water all weekend and I think I came out down about $30, that's including about twenty bucks that went to the cocktail waitress over the course of two nights and also includes the redbird I tossed to my gal Sammi as I was leaving the M late on Saturday night. I just had a dull weekend at the tables--every win was followed by a loss, and I never really got over the hump the entire time. I wanted to write a clever entry, but the theory was much better than the practice, so I just posted the picture instead when the idea never got past the 'idea' stage.

However, judging from some of the comments and emails I've gotten, I've really sparked some controversy with the small-minded yet highly-imaginative set. Apparently, some folks seem to think that Karma gave me an ass-kicking that I so richly deserve. Those comments won't ever see the light of day, but they sure were fun to read.

So, besides my unproductive hours in the poker room this weekend, what else did I do? Well, as some of you may remember, I've had a few shipping boxes stacked up against the bar in my dining room for the last month, and my inherent laziness has kept me from doing anything about it. It's kind of pathetic that I insisted that I really needed a new headboard and dining room table, and then once I got 'em, I just let 'em sit for so long, not doing anything about it.

But no longer--my procrastination days are behind me and I was some kind of productive dude this weekend, although I started out as a slug on the couch. Since I was having no luck with college football bets, I've gone three weeks now without wagering on any of the games--and I'm enjoying them a lot more. And let's face it, what's not to love about seeing Notre Dame getting beat. Again.

Anyhow, I had the two TVs going, but I suppose I was feeling guilty for being such a sloth. So I busted out the tool kit, took out the utility knife, and started opening all the boxes. I was tired of looking at them, and maybe a little tired of being asked about it. So I dove in.

And these are the before pictures of my headboard:




Oh yeah, it was quite a mess in the beginning, and I have to admit--I was surprised at how long it took to put together. Even having the proper tools on hand and kind of having a feel for how stuff like this goes together (because of all the experience of furniture assembly I've gotten these past few months), it still took almost two hours to get it done. But most projects like this go more smoothly with four hands or at least a garage with a proper workbench. I was by myself and all I had was my dining room floor. So it took a little longer.

However, once it was finished, it turned out really nice.




It matches the bookcase pretty well, but the nightstand, not so much. Oh well. I was never going to be featured in any interior design magazine, anyways. But since I had the mattress and box spring up, I put in a new frame (this one with feet) and changed over to flannel sheets. Needed 'em too--it's been downright chilly here in Vegas these past couple of nights, and you all know that it's against my code to use the heater out here in the desert.

Also, if you look closely, you'll see that I had the box spring sitting up on the edge of the frame when I took the picture--that's why the bed looks crooked. I wouldn't have noticed otherwise. (Well, maybe I would have when I felt a little tilted and rolled out on the floor later on that night).

My plan was to get both the headboard and the dining room table done in one day, but that didn't happen for me on Saturday. By the time I finished futzing around with the bed, it was 5:00 pm, time for the Pitt-Notre Dame game, so I called it quits. And once the game ended, I took a shower, got dressed, and headed over to the M for the rest of the night.

When I got home, I slept like a rock for a good solid eight hours. Those flannel sheets and my fuzzy blanket worked wonders, and I was just a little too comfy--I didn't get up and hit the coffee maker until almost eleven o'clock in the morning. Clearly, I'd squared myself with my feelings of guilt for being a sloth the day before.

But my assembly skillz weren't limited to the bedroom and dining room. Oh no. Since it was still a chilly day outside, I decided that the best thing to have with my weekly dose of NFL was some chili and cornbread. Behold:



It wasn't quite done when I snapped that picture, but it was close. And yeah, I cheated on the chili. I didn't want to wait all day for a scratch-made crockpot batch, so I just opened up a can of Hormel instead, doctoring it up to my tastes. Normally, I only use it to top hot dogs, but we've already established that I'm lazy.

The cornbread, if not scratch-made, at least took a little more effort. I used a couple of boxes of old-skool Jiffy corn muffin mix, added the egg and milk per the directions, but also added a can of diced green chilies and a handful of cheddar-jack cheese. It turned out pretty damn good, but I think I'll skip the green chilies next time. I'll lose my commission as a Southern Gentleman if word ever gets out that I blasphemed the cornbread in such a manner.

As the day wore on, that shipping crate with the dining room table kept mocking me from the corner. I knew I had to do it, so late in the afternoon, I finally gave in and unpacked the thing.



The table itself went together in about ten minutes. The frame was already attached--all I had to do was mount the legs--eight bolts and sixteen washers. Of course, the bolts were pretty close together on each leg, so getting the upper one attached was kind of a knuckle-buster. Yeah, I drew blood. Again.

Thankfully this was my last household project, because I've already earned two purple hearts for wounds received in furniture assembly. One more and they take away my tools and make me a cook. And instead of a screwdriver and a hammer, I'm back to putting stuff together with a butter knife and the heel of a penny loafer.



The table might've gone together in a hurry, but the chairs were a cast-iron bitch. Ok, maybe a Malaysian rubberwood bitch, but still a royal pain in the ass. It's not that they were that complicated, it's just that the instruction manual was written by somebody who had no clue and probably knew they were about to get fired anyways. Seriously, Linda Lou and Suburban Hausfrau--y'all need to slap the shiat out of have a few words with some of your technical writing colleagues. The instructions were completely vague and left *much* up to interpretation, and the pictures were of no help whatsoever. It was a complete joke. And not a very funny one, either.

I think the first chair took me about an hour and fifteen minutes to put together, and after that I took a break, if only to make sure that the neighbors didn't think I was involved in a very one-sided domestic disturbance. The second chair was a bit smoother, but I goofed up and put the wrong-sized screw in two of the holes, and had to go back and take all eight of them out to find which ones were missing. Oh, and I also mounted the backrest backwards, so it was convex instead of concave. That was fun.

I finally figured it out on the third chair, and was cruising right along, thinking I'd found my rhythm. But no. One of the allen-bolts decided to strip, so I had to deal with that for about ten minutes.

By the way, whoever invented the allen-wrench, there's a special corner of hell for you. Each of these four chairs had ten bolts and screws that needed to be allen-wrenched, and at least two of them on each chair didn't want to go in without a whole lot of motivation on my part. And I swear, if I got a dollar for every time the damn allen-wrench fell out on the floor, I could afford to take the whole family on the cruise. Seriously--I did like a thousand crunches just from picking up that f*cking wrench off the floor every fifteen seconds. Not like my fat ass couldn't use the exercise, but damn, I should have a six-pack good enough to be an extra on Baywatch by now.

Eventually, it all came together. And it actually looks pretty nice, too. If you look closely, the chairs are not 100% finished--I still have to put the wooden plugs over the screw holes, but I'm gonna wait a few days and make sure everything is still tight before I seal 'em up.




It needs a centerpiece or a candle or something, but I'm just glad that it's over. Out of all the projects I've done this summer (TV stand, bookcases, coffee table, booze cabinet, headboard, dining room table) the out-and-out champion pain in the ass were those chairs. Good lord, what a job that was. Thank god I didn't get the bigger table that came with six chairs. I'd still be out there in the dining room swearing to the heavens and cursing the satan's spawn who designed them.

But it's all over now. My household is complete, except for a few wall decorations and maybe a kitchen gadget or two. But my big empty spacious apartment is now a comfy and cozy home that I can be proud of.

I think it's time to throw a dinner party!

Mikey

Like Austin Powers...

I seem to have lost it.


Mikey