Midget Breaks Out of Handcuffs

This is a Vegas story

Dr. Price

I read Doyle Brunson's blog and like the guy quite a bit. He's getting older, of course, and over the past few months, it seems he can't post an entry without referencing how tired he is. It is a bit depressing.

He also began talking about politics this year. Fortunately, he isn't trying to tell his readers who to vote for. He is not a partisan political participant. He doesn't preach. Much.

He did make a statement in his blog this morning which is a myth that has been perpetuated as long as I can remember:
"If you don’t vote, you don’t have the right to complain about the economy or anything else."

This is absolutely wrong. You have the right to complain, bitch, grouse, bemoan or grumble about whatever you want, even if you have never voted your entire life. You just don't have the right to be heard. That goes for people who vote, as well.

You don't have the right not to be offended, either.

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While watching the season 2 finale of Mad Men on AMC, I noticed an ad for another original series running on that station (as I am sure some of you have.) The premise seemed interesting to me, so I downloaded season 1 from a torrent site.

Breaking Bad is about a high school chemistry teacher who has to work two jobs to support his family. In the first episode of the series, he discovers he has lung cancer and doesn't have long to live. Through a series of turn-of-events, he goes into business with a former student creating and distributing meth.

Breaking Bad stars Bryan Cranston (Malcom in the Middle) and Anna Gunn (Deadwood) and is set in New Mexico. The show is quite original and though I have seen two episodes, I still haven't formed a solid opinion about the show. I am intrigued enough to continue watching. A full report is most certainly forthcoming.

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Here's a return to the pictures I purchased in the estate sale. The back of this photo merely says "Dr. Price". This would make a good caption contest subject.

Halloween Post 2008

I had planned on posting a small rant here about Halloween today, and then I noticed this post. Though they beat me to the punch, I must soldier on.

I don't hate Halloween per se, just the stupid parties. I don't hate costumes or disguises on their own, I just find it to be ridiculous when a large group of people congregate in said costumes at a designated time of year. While it isn't exactly a group-think contrivance, it is perilously close.

It is also dull and contrary to what those "clever" revelers think, unimaginative.

I find it much more interesting to dress up when people don't expect it like Phil Laak did in this year's WSOP.

What is worse are the costumes that are concept costumes, like this one posted on the White People site.



What a fucking tool.



You're dressed up like a clown
Putting on your act
It's the only time all year
You'll ever admit that

-Jello Biafra

New Addition

I had another action packed weekend. Saturday found me returning to Zilker Park to watch the Lads play again. This time their opponent was the St. Olaf Hensmen from San Antonio. The Hensmen turned out to be a much tougher opponent than the Mongrels and our heroes went down in defeat.

Some of us headed over to the Saxon Pub to watch the Texas/Oklahoma State game. We missed the first quarter but were able to get a table in front of one of their new HDTV's. Oddly, that was only my second time to ever set foot in the place.

One of the guys from the team (who was out of town when they played the Mongrels) was a guy from APD, named Sgt. Brill. I had never met him but recognized his name as he is the Ombudsman for the Allandale neighborhood. He and I have traded emails over the past 18 months regarding noise ordinances and other perceived nuisances. (He replaced Officer Crowder.)

He sat near me at the pub and after a few beers, I started talking to him about neighborhood issues that concerned me. He waved me off telling me he was off duty. I persisted (gently) and he ended up moving to an open seat further away from me. That was my signal to check myself. How embarrassing.

At least UT won.

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It looks like I have a new kitty. This was one of those situations where I was in the wrong place at the right time and ended up taking the homeless gato in. My decision was influenced by the 6 beers I had been drinking and a very cute girl pleading the case.

His name was Mr. Buttons. Ummm, no. He now goes by Morrissey. I just need to make sure Luke knows he is a family member.

I Spy

In our lifetimes, most of us have felt the chill of the warden's stare, like the time in high school when my mom walked in on me bathing a mannequin.

Yesterday, I made a return visit to Houston's bar. I just wanted a belt of whiskey and a bowl of their delicious tortilla soup. I didn't want to cause a ruckus with my presence there. (Long time readers will recall that I was banned from that establishment.)

So I donned a straw cowboy hat and some over-sized glasses. I was instantly incognito.

I strolled into the bar before the after-work crowd could assemble and found a seat in the middle. In the past, I typically sat at the end next to the television if the bar was empty. I didn't want to repeat past trends with my behavior.

There was only one bartender when I arrived and I didn't recognize him, so I knew he was new. I decided to order my usual drink and relax before placing the soup order.

A short time later, two of the regulars that I was friendly with entered the bar. I was tempted to yell out their name, but caught myself in time. I had to stay nameless.

One drink led to three and I started to loosen up and get chatty with the bartender. I learned Greg was a grad student at one of the local universities and had a wife and baby girl. We both shared our distain for Jerry Jones and a certain type of urban music. The alcohol was lifting any inhibitions I had and I was about to tell him my little secret about being banned when the owner walked up to the bar with a plate of food from the kitchen and sat down across from me.

I clammed up and just stared at my drink. I allowed the nearby conversations of the patrons to fade in and out of my cognizance. It was a good 5 minutes before I looked up and sure enough, the owner was eye-balling me. I looked away casually, beads of sweat forming where the brim of the straw hat met my brow.

A few minutes later, he took his empty plate back to the kitchen and asked Greg to join him. Greg returned immediately and asked for my ID. I had already given a fake name and realized I was about to be busted. Thinking quickly, I told him I left it at home. I was then told he couldn't serve me anymore. What!?! We were just getting to be buddies and now this?

I got the check and fished around in my wallet. I didn't have enough cash and had to put it on my check card. My name is on the check card of course. I was about to confess when the owner walked up.

This dog-eyed gentleman possessed the gate of a wagon train cook and a police lieutenant's snarl. He imediately asked me to leave. Such astonishing effrontery surprised even me.

I paid the bill and left, all the while feeling the aforementioned chill of the warden's stare as I left the premises.

And yes, I am going to try this stunt again, but with a better disguise. Like maybe this one.

Now its war!