every girl’s crazy ’bout a sharp dressed man


so much added money and action, if you consider yourself a pool player, you just gotta go



listening to
Pat Metheny & Charlie Haden
“Spiritual” from Beyond the Missouri Sky

it does a body good

obsessed with
finding a way to live without working
still dreaming



cold war

It’s become a routine. I come home, I try to open the jar. I eat dinner. I try to open the jar. I’m about to go to sleep, I try to open the jar. No success, yet.

Here is a picture of the rebellious fruit, taunting me from its protective glass fort. I think I may need to get one of those jar-opener kitchen gadget thingies.

damn you




Now that I am armed once again with a camera, I can document the snail’s-pace progress I am making with this project.

I outlined a section with one thickness of gold thread, but the effect is very subtle. Perhaps too much so. The gold thread is also very difficult to deal with as it keeps unraveling at both ends. I found a solution to both of these problems by doubling the thread and using two thicknesses instead. As a result, the outlining is more prominent, and once I’ve put in a few stitches and tucked in the ends of the thread securely, there is no more unraveling while I work.

You can see here that the double-thickness outlining on the left shows up much better than the single-thickness outlining on the right.

A close-up, after some additional work…

I’m still not sure if this will look all right when done, but there’s no turning back now.




I didn’t know this blog was that popular. Hello people in Slovenia! Now I really feel like I can’t slack off updating this blog on a regular basis. Dang. There goes being 100% lazy.



Friday, October 26, 2007


I played some barbox eight-ball tonight. I was really tired from work, so I pretty much sat around and observed. Here’s what one of the bar denizens was wearing. Note the retractable eight-ball chalk-holder. It’s awesome.

pimpin'... ...it

Here is another photo of the evening. One of the players in the bar had started woofing at one of the bar regulars, Patch. The woofer, who is not a regular, obviously didn’t know about Patch. Patch is a great drinker, and an even greater player. He may look like he’s falling-down drunk, but if you watch his stroke, it never wavers and his cue ball control is ungodly.

Let me illustrate concisely what happened:

Six shots of Jose Cuervo to show the world, no, really, you’re drunk: $30

Initial loss to opponent in first game of eight-ball: $20

aw yeah

When I left, the big guy had lost a couple of hundred to Patch, but gave no indication of stopping his wallet hemorrhage… Because, how good can an old, drunk white guy play, anyways?


I’m sure he found out.



Saturday, October 27, 2007


I woke up late today, and I wanted to do laundry, but someone else had taken the machine. My ancient apartment complex only has one washer and dryer, so that meant I’d be waiting for several hours before I would get my turn. I decided to go play pool.

The pool hall was busy when I got there, but I managed to get a table in the corner. I plugged into my iPod and then started happily whacking away at balls. I had the music up waaay high, so I didn’t notice a guy had approached my table until he was RIGHT next to me. I literally jumped. YIKES!

It was the myth, the legend — it was Trucker Yeti. This fifty-something guy looked like the love-child of a three-way between ZZ Top, Bigfoot, and the sterotypical plaid-clad trucker, complete with mesh baseball cap. His beard was impressively long, and may or may not have been a sentient being all by itself. Now you know why I jumped. He was saying something, and once I got over the fact that he had more hair on his face than I had on my head, and his beard was not going to jump out and strangle me, I took out my earphones.

“I would like to know, are you seeking a partner for your billiards enjoyment this evening?”

“What?” He was talking in the language of a foppish dandy. It did not jive with his furry appearance.

“Do you prefer to continue in your efforts solo, or would you perhaps allow me to join you in a game or two.”

“Um. I’m just here… to… practice. Alone.”

“Oh, that is an extreme misfortune.”

“What? Okay. Whatever.”

Trucker Yeti went back to the bar and I continued with practice. After I was done, I went to pay my time. I saw a friend of mine who is in his sixties (I think) at the bar and I sat down to chat a little with him. Trucker Yeti Dude came up, and addressed my friend:

“Sir, is this your girlfriend?”

“Uh, no.”

“Is she, perhaps, your protege?”

“She’s a friend of mine.”

“Just a friend?”

“Err… yes.”


You know what I really like about this exchange? The fact that Trucker Yeti didn’t even acknowledge my presence. I’m sitting there, listening to this exchange about me, but I guess my presence doesn’t count. I was waiting for Trucker Yeti to offer my friend a herd of goats and a wheel of cheese in exchange for me, but I guess I wasn’t worth that much.

I watched Trucker Yeti play some nine-ball later that evening, and I have to say, he played like… a Yeti. Actually, he played worse. He sucked absolute s—. Every other shot he jumped the cue ball. I’m amazed there were no fatalities. Jeez, with all that high-falutin’ talk and the nerve to not offer a herd of goats and a wheel of cheese for me, I was thinking he might be a world champion or something.

Well, he was a world champion.

A world champion jackoff.



Sunday, October 28, 2007


I finally commandeered the laundry room early this morning, and most of my day was spent cleaning house. I must say, there are few things as nice as jumping into a fluffy featherbed with down comforter, all packaged up in crisp, clean sheets. Aaaah.




One Reply to “every girl’s crazy ’bout a sharp dressed man”

  1. It’s not all bad 🙂

    That guy’s shoes are amazing – if I had the wardrobe to match I’d be out buying some right now…

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