8-Ball Break

I'm a horrible pool player. See? I don't even know if that is the right term for someone who tries to shoot pool! But, it's true - I do not have the Killer Instinct. I want to play well, but I also want my opponent to be happy. In pool, people are generally only happy if they win. Ergo, I want my opponent to win.

Now why on earth, if you are captain of a team, would you want such a player on your team? This isn't golf where a handicap is beneficial. It's pool, and this sort of handicap is good for nothing other than a general feeling of bonhomie. And bonhomie, as we know, is a fun word to say but has very few practical uses.

More important, and to the point, while bonhomie may make you popular, it also is likely to earn you diddly-squat in the money tournament.

Still, even for someone who wants their opponent to win/be happy, it sucks to lose on an 8-ball break. Maybe it's the suspense of that moment; the thrill of a potential win, the expectation of the loud clatter and clack that follows a good break, or the excitement that at least, here, at the beginning of the game, you have so many balls to choose from that not sinking a single one is just not a possibility even worth considering!

And your opponent breaks and you watch in horror and consternation (ok, it's pool, remember? nothing in pool is worth horror and consternation, those are of course exaggerations intended to lure the reader into a pivotal moment of heightened emotion) as the 8-ball slowly drifts towards the corner pocket.

Game-fucking-over. How sad is that?

And that is when you confidently walk over to the jukebox, pop in a dollar and press 156 for Don't Cha and then head to the snogging corner for a quick round of Kick Goodbar's Fucking Ass At Darts, which totally beats the snot out of an 8-ball break :-)

I Find Myself In The Strangest Places

I met a narcotics agent for the US Coast Guard this weekend, up north from San Diego where he is normally stationed. We shot pool for a while, then danced for about two seconds until Jody's friends stepped between us and told him I was off-limits. Young people are so controlling - I hate them.

I never read the news, but the sun was out the next morning, and I was sitting near the water at a posh restaurant, and I needed something to make myself look less loserish for being there all alone. So I picked up a paper and read...about the US Coast Guard.

Apparently, USCG is doing overtime checking radiation levels at local Seattle marinas in an effort to prevent a potential terrorist attack. Armed with belt-clip radiation detectors, they patrol the marinas and investigate any unusual radiation readouts. A high read-out could indicate the presence of radioactive material being smuggled into the country by a person or persons with evil intent...or it could mean someone put bananas on their Corn Flakes that a.m.

Turns out, bananas have a higher-than-normal amount of naturally occurring radioactive potassium. And you thought they were just good for leg cramps...

This seems a daunting task for Coast Guard officials. I mean, we have a lot of marinas, and a lot of small pleasure boats in those marinas; pleasure boats with likely a few bananas on board - we are, after all, Washingtonians - we ride our bikes to work; we do Bikram Yoga; we eat fruit.

I also learned that there is flooding in Cedar Rapids. Hello? It's called Cedar Rapids! Ok, I know that sounds completely heartless, and I seriously don't mean it to be, but if you live in a town named after fast-moving, turbulent waters...

This could be why I don't read the news - I am too easily distracted with the irony of it...

Maybe this time next year
You know I still may appear
To have my head up my arse
Like I did last year...

Where Your Treasure Is

Dear Jody,














Love, Mama.