Category: Personal

A few shots and a couple drinks buoyed my spirits Saturday night.

Generally, I try not to drink too much in a given evening. I place a high value on keeping my wits and stomach contents about me. However, circumstances sometimes call for a change of plans. I picked her up and brought her to Philly, then we began meeting up with others. It’s hard to define in that evening at which moment my respect for her began disappearing, but the alcohol certainly numbed the moment.

I’m just glad I didn’t have to drive her home. Another point for alcohol.

The point at which you start plotting against good friends for no good reason is a warning sign. That’s the sign you seriously need to stop for a moment, reflect on your sanity, and perhaps make an adjustment or two.

I reached that point this weekend. I’m not particularly happy about it, nor do I know what to do yet. I’m just aware that there’s a need for some change to get me moving in a better direction.

Alouette, gentille alouette
Alouette, je te plumerai
Je te plumerai la tete
Je te plumerai la tete
Et la tete
Et la tete
Alouette
Alouette

Last night I hosted the MNDC Poker Night, a semi-irregular event when we get together to drink and play poker instead of heading out to the area bars. I composed this poem after everyone left as the “minutes” from our meeting…

‘Twas the night of MNDC poker, and all through the house
the players were gambling away everything, even their spouse.
The cards were all dealt with tender-loving care
In hopes that piles more pennies soon would be there.

The players were nestled, all snug in their beers
While sounds of Jud’s cell phone sang in our ears.
And Dave in his sunglasses and punked out hood
Had just finished intimadating us as we finished our food.

When at the refrigerator door there arose such a clatter
Jess sprang from her chair to see what was the matter
“Four Guinii” came Cindy’s loud cheer in a flash
As Jud sprang to grab one in a sudden mad dash.

But, for a moment, we pause for those not here,
CB, at home, car troubles keeping her there.
Whiney, too busy with her new boy companion
while others, no less important, who were not a-gamblin’.

With the cards dealin’, so fast and so quick,
I knew in a moment it must be Dr. Dave’s patented wrist flick.
More rapid than nickles, the pennies they flew
As the players sought to make their piles improve.

Full house, Two Pair, and Three of a Kind!
A straight, a flush, who can come from behind?
As the cards and the coinage continue to fly
Everyone stares each other down with the old evil eye.

What’s this? It’s Sarah, she won the first round
As Jud’s pile of coins are slowly whittled down
Kiki stared me down, in the one hand of blackjack,
But I didn’t give in, splitting the pot in my comeback.

As we played game after game of Texas Hold ’em,
Dave, the dealer, continued to fold ’em.
Cindy, to Jud’s right, without fanfare or hollers,
Went on to beat us all by picking up almost two dollars.

Finally, we turned, with a tear in each eye,
Made our way to the door to say farewell and goodbye.
But I heard the group sing, as they walked out in to the cold night,
“Prince Ali! Mighty is he!” and it was quite a sight.

I pride myself on my sense of direction. Usually if I can find myself someplace, I can unfind myself there as well. If I drive somewhere once, I’ll be able to get back. Landing in a foreign city I can quickly find out how to get where I need to go.

When I enter the boundaries of the town of Princeton, my sense of direction disappears down a deep void. Streets familiar cross in unpredictable ways. Turning in one direction takes me in a direction wholly opposite where I want to go. I can enter the town from four different directions, but I am never sure where exactly I’ll end up. It’s always luck, not skill, that I eventually end up where I want to go.

Only in Manville can they repave a crummy road and not make an improvement.

With the election out of the way, I’m hoping to have a chance to make a few of those updates on the website I’ve been promising since the Summer. I have a few ideas, and it’s time to start working on them.

Unfortunately, media attention on Iraq rarely finds its way to the root of the problem. However, an AP article from early October gives a more clear picture of the true nature of the fighting there.

BAGHDAD, Iraq – The U.S. military is fighting the most complex guerrilla war in its history, with 140,000 American soldiers trained for conventional warfare flailing against a thicket of insurgent groups with competing aims and no supreme leader.

The three dozen or so guerrilla bands agree on little beyond forcing the Americans out of Iraq.

In other U.S. wars, the enemy was clear. In Vietnam, a visible leader – Ho Chi Minh – led a single army fighting to unify the country under socialism. But in Iraq, the disorganized insurgency has no single commander, no political wing and no dominant group.

U.S. troops can’t settle on a single approach to fight groups whose goals and operations vary. And it’s hard to sort combatants from civilians in a chaotic land where large parts of some communities support the insurgents and others are too afraid to risk their lives to help foreigners.

Can we win? Maybe, but not without an overhaul of current strategy.

Bryan sent me a link to this helicopter game a week or so ago. I just topped a score of 4753, and I think it’s time to retire.

As the clocks shifted and our sense of time warped, as it does semi-annually, my own sense of time shifted as well. Hyperdrive, you might say. The chores, the preparation, the meetings, all are on the verge of piling up for November. The month itself is never long enough, and always seems overflowing. Like an end-of-the year February.

There are moments of downtime in the next four weeks, but they don’t appear to come where I need them.