Imagine, if you will, that you were invited to a get-together at someone’s house. Appoximately 50 people were invited, not including the hostess and hosts. Imagine alcohol is being served freely, along with all manner of spicy snacks. Now imagine that you are chained to chair less than two feet from the bathroom door for the entirety of the party… say, 2 hours plus taxi time for takeoff and landing. Welcome to my flight home, where I got to smell shit for two hours. Highlight of the trip: the door to the bathroom was tough to slide into the LOCKED position, and an OLD lady went in. A minute later a man strode up and, seeing the door was unlocked, flung it open before I could utter the action-movie-cliched, “NOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooo!” Well, now everyone can see grandma sitting on the pot. Huzzah. Second highlight of the trip (and when I say ‘highlight’ I mean something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy): a rather pretty woman went in there, and when she left the most godawful smell escaped with her. blech. The moral of the story: don’t ever, ever fucking sit in the last row of a small airplane next to the bathroom.
Last night the family ate at the new Japanese Steakhouse/Sushi restaurant in downtown Racine. It’s called Shogun and it’s across the street from Kewpee’s, which I found… not odd I suppose but strangely amusing. I’d like to take a time machine back to 1988 and stride into Kewpee’s and tell Dave Kristopeit, “Hey, in 17 years the only restaurants left in Racine will be Kewpee’s and a sushi joint.” Then I’d like to say, “OOOOOooooooOOOOOOOHHHHH, I’m the ghost of the future, and I’ve come to tell you that your son will go to college for 4 years, and when he is done he will be… A PROFESSIONAL GAMBLER! bwahahahahahaha!”
Another funny story from Racine: last night I was playing some online poker and I had a few bad beats so I was gonna close up shop and go to bed. It must have been around 10:30p; when I got up to leave my brother said, “Hey, can you leave that so I can play?”
“On my account?” I said, knowing full well he didn’t have his own account– at least not one with money in it.
“Yeah, if I lose any I’ll pay you back when I get paid on Saturday,” he responded.
I agreed and let him have the computer. We both noted that there was $135 in the account before he started. I then slept, if somewhat fitfully.
When I awoke this morning I was checking some news sites when my mom said, “You know your brother was up all night playing poker.”
“Wow,” I said, “he must have done rather well. Let’s check the account.”
Upon logging on to my Pokerroom account I was greeted with the following:
ps– If you’re in Racine this week, holla at me. If you need my cell, ask on whazzmaster.