Winning with a Jack on the river

I've recently been learning how to play poker, Texas Hold'em specifically, and I crossed a weird line today. I read my first poker-related news report and liked it. (Check it out here.)

I don't know how it happened, but I actually enjoyed reading about each big hand that lead up to a former Hollywood agent making $12 million by playing cards.

Part of this is the chef's fault. I watched him play poker online for a while and before long, I was shouting advice to him from the couch. Finally, he showed me how to log in for my own games. We only play for fake money, but it still feels great when I win a hand or knock someone out of the game.

I'm getting the hang of some of the lingo, and my favorite hand is Ace/King suited. The fact that I have a favorite hand is probably enough cause for some intervention.

Speaking of addictions, this is day 11 on the patch with no cigarettes.

See you at the tables.

Reunion countdown: 10 days to go!

Oh. My. God.
75 people, including about 20 kids under the age of 5, are coming to the high school reunion picnic next week. In South Arkansas. In August.
They'll have to invent a new term for heatstroke after we're done.

Bless his heart, the chef has agreed to help me cater this sunny shindig. He's never been to El Dorado, Ark., before, and I'm not sure he knows what he's gotten himself into with all this. It's going to be hot. as. balls. (Sorry, but no other phrase really covers it.)

Ah, well. It'll be good to finally meet all of my high school buddies' sweethearts and babies.

Nine years, 347 days down; 10 days to go.

That was my favorite year

If you talk to me on Wednesday, you'll have to lean in close.
I'm going to the Dixie Chicks concert Tuesday night, and I expect to be completely hoarse the whole next day. I know every song in the band's book, and I'm gonna sing them all at the top of my lungs -- sort of like karaoke, except no one will have to listen to me. (Well, except for my concert buddy, Trillian. Sorry, babe.)

Shout!

Know what's funny? Watching a bunch of stoned girls sing the James Bond theme song using only the word vagina.

VA va va va va VA VA va va va va VAH va va VA-GIN-A!! dum da dum....

I almost fell on the floor laughing when I saw that bit last night during a preview of Shout! The Mod Musical, an off-Broadway show that opens tonight.

The play is about five women coming of age during the 1960's, and it follows each woman's storyline as they sing songs that were popular in England back then. I knew about half of the songs, but I think my Mom would recognize them all.

I loved Green Girl's sweet-n-slutty role, but Red Girl was definitely the funniest, even though I saw the understudy in the role.

The show gets a little sloppy with the British accents, but the singing is powerful. I got chills during Yellow Girl's rendition of "A Preacher's Son."

Take your mom or aunt to this one and see if she can keep from clapping along during the last few songs.

Quote of the day

Oh, man. Direct your browser to The Show with Zefrank immediately. He's the cutest nerd imaginable, and he never blinks. I'm completely hooked on his daily video blog because he just slides the jokes right in with the news a la "The Daily Show."
I was watching an archived piece and snorted my diet coke when he said, "Global warming, like herpes, will go away if you ignore it."

Thanks, Ronie, for the heads up!

Burning flame

As I was sitting down to bitch about how hot it was in the city today, "Abracadabra" came on the radio.

Every time you call my name

I heat up like a burnin flame.

Burning flame, full of desire

Kiss me baby, let the fire get higher.

So I smiled as the last of my teeth melted instead of griping. But it was hot. 96 degrees with an index of 105. That's warm for this big pizza oven of a city. I think my blood is thickening. In New Orleans, I sometimes woke up drenched in sweat, even though my house was air conditioned. The temperature down there can hit 90 before the sun comes up.

But here, well, I've gotten used to using wimpy deodorants. I rarely sweat through my shirts, and I sometimes throw a sweater in my bag to combat my always-freezing office. The heat got me a bit today, though. I walked about 30 blocks in the sun this morning, and I definitely needed something stronger than SECRET by the time I got to the office. Oof.

Still, it was cooler here than my family's home in South Arkansas. They're probably having people drop dead in the Baskin-Robbins parking lot.

Grin and bling it.

The lesson here: don't go cheap on your grill. Add that to the list, folks. It's just not worth it to save a buck on mayonaisse, mattresses or your tooth rocks. You'll be disappointed every time.

Six Feet Under

Warning: Spoiler Alert! If you've never seen Six Feet Under in its entirety, stop reading now, go put all five seasons at the top of your Netflix queue and start watching immediately. You'll thank me later.

I missed the entire Six Feet Under phenomenon when it aired on HBO the first time. Thanks to the miracle of Netflix, I too have just had my emotions wrangled by all five seasons of this amazing show.

John and I would watch at least two episodes on the nights we received the Netflix delivery, and we watched four in a row more than once.

I really miss the characters, even though they pissed me off more than I thought television could. In the end, I thought Brenda was the most admirable and Claire the most matured.

I played "Transatlanticism" by Death Cab yesterday and cried all over again.

A question for those of you who have already seen season 5.... was Maggie pregnant when she was on the phone with Ruth? If so, Nate had the strongest swimmers in history!