Ripoff!

My $130.00+ math book does not, in fact, speak the answers to me...or come with a built-in calculator, even. Ripoff! The good news is that, because this edition is brand new (it's copyrighted 2010, if you can believe it), I can pass on said textbook to one of my brothers should he decide to take the same course. (He might...he has to have math classes to fulfill his degree plan, and this would be a free book to him.)

Another ripoff of late: Scrabble Slam. This card game sucks. You have to use both sides of the playing card, for starters, because there's either a letter or a blank printed on each side. Also, you have to deal out all of the cards at the beginning of the game. That would be fine if you had at least four players but, with fewer, there are just too many cards to hold AND see clearly.

Oh, and the basic premise is to change the current, four-letter word to some other, four-letter word, and do it quickly - you race against the other players instead of taking turns like civilized adults. Mom and I are in complete agreement that this was a big, fat waste of my five dollars. Too bad, because I was really hoping to be able to kick Mom's butt at SOMETHING even LOOSELY related to Scrabble.

On the other hand: the dice version of Phase 10 is a lot of fun. If you like Yahtzee! and Phase Ten, consider this to be their unholy lovechild. A lovechild with a mostly-useless score pad (the sections are really, really tiny), but a fun lovechild nonetheless.

Things Mom Does Better Than I Ever Will

Mom has this aggravating habit of being better than I am at, well, everything. Except, maybe, blogging, but only because she doesn’t have a blog. Now that I’ve written that, she’ll probably go get a blog, come into my bedroom, and force me to add her to my blogroll at fingernail point. (Seriously – she has these wickedly-sharp fingernails. Just waving them within five inches of my face is enough to make me do pretty much anything she wants.)

Scrabble
I was eleven or twelve when Mom brought home a brand-new Scrabble board and asked if I wanted to learn how to play. She explained the basic concept of the game, then slapped a fake-wood rack down in front of me and told me to draw seven tiles. While she chain smoked – and, by the way, got cigarette ashes all over the board, which is totally like just about every other activity we did together when I was growing up – I tried to figure out what I was going to do with a rack full of vowels. Seriously: How do you make a word with E-I-E-I-O-U-U? (Keep in mind that I wasn’t even a teenager at the time and, therefore, did not see diddly squat in that rack. Actually? I still don’t. Because, despite lots of Scrabble playing over the years, I still kind of suck at this game.)

I tried “Oui.”

“That’s, uh, French or something," I said when Mom raised her eyebrows into her hairline.

“We’re Americans. Use a real word.”

“But it IS a real word.”

“Not in this country it isn’t.”

Oh, and she didn’t tell me that I could exchange tiles. Oh, no. She sprang that on me a few plays later, when she said, “Exchange four,” and neglected to put down a word.

“Hey! You can do that?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said, in her, “If I were being any more sarcastic, the awesomeness of my sheer talent would melt your preadolescent face,” tone.

“You never said anything about trading tiles.”

“Well, now you know.”

Soon, it became very obvious that Mom had no intention of going easy on me. She had never, in my life, soft pedaled where games were concerned. You either beat her fair and square or lost. Why? Because she didn’t want to insult you, that’s why. The one time I kicked her butt at chess, I knew that I had earned the victory. And believe me, legitimately beating up your Mom’s chess pieces is way cooler than winning because she threw the match.

While I stuck to the few words that I actually knew back then, Mom let loose all of the words that she’d picked up over the decades. I was playing crap like “kick” and “forge,” while she was laying down epics like “ballooning” and “xylophone.” The final score was…well…lopsided at best, considering that she had three digits to my two.

This butt stomping continued throughout my teen years. Even though my vocabulary kept growing, and even though I eventually found enough brains to read the “Q without U words” suggestions printed on the inside of the Scrabble box’s lid, Mom kept improving her game at the same time. She laid down things that couldn’t possibly be real words. “Ti”? What was that? (A tree, or something, apparently. And really a word, at least according to the folks who produce the Scrabble dictionary.)

Even now, I can whip up on her only when she has a migraine. And that’s because I challenge the gibberish that she lays down. Sorry, but “aaoiuer” isn’t a word, at least not in English.

The nice thing about Mom, though, is that she’s a gracious winner. The phrase, “In your FACE, weenie child o’ mine!” has escaped her mouth only once, and that was only because we were wagering on the game's outcome. (I had to do dishes because she whipped up on me. Had I won, she would have given me...fifty cents.)

Poker Players' Money Seized

Yesterday was not a good day for Americans who play poker on the Internet. I'm unhappy, to say the very least, about this whole "Let's take their money - without a warrant, no less! Because we're the feds!" crap.

The Poker Players Alliance has released a statement explaining what in the world is going on:

[NY] PPA Statement on Southern District of NY Action Against Online Poker Players - PPA (06/09/09)

Publish at Scribd or explore others: Law & Government Business & Law poker pokerplayersalliance

Games We Are No Longer Allowed to Play

Mom hates when my sibs and I use our imaginations. This was very true when we were children and our little minds were slowly developing. You would think that Mom would have encouraged us to imagine, to pretend, to explore and interact with each other, but you’re wrong.

There is, to this day, a rather-long list of games we are no longer allowed to play – because Mom instituted a lifetime ban on all of these, for one reason or another. Why? Because she’s mean, that’s why.

The Hitting Game
When we were teenagers, Middle Brother came into the living room and made an announcement.

MB: I’ve invented a new game.
Me: Yeah? What is it?
MB: It’s called “The Hitting Game,” and the rules are…well…there really aren’t any rules.
Me: There have to be rules. Otherwise, it’s not a game. It’s just us hitting each other.
MB: Oh. Good point.

So, MB concocted the only two rules that The Hitting Game ever needed.

One: We had to warn each other that the punch was coming.
Two: If the victim blocked a punch, he or she got two free shots.

It was understood, without need to say anything aloud, that we would limit our punches to each other’s upper arms. Obviously, hitting each other in the face would have been crazy. Bicep bruises, on the other hand, are just cool.

So there we were, a couple of weeks after MB invented The Hitting Game, hanging out in the living room like the adolescent slugs that we were.

MB: Hope it hurts! [Yelled as his fist connects with my bicep.]
Me: Ow! You suck.
Another Brother: Incoming! [Shouted half a second before his fist collides with MB’s arm.]
MB: Ow! Now you suck.
Me: Duck! [I believe that my knuckles bashed into MB’s bicep right as I finished yelling this.]

Mom, who was trying to read – oh, yeah, her life was insanely exciting when she was trying to rear all five of us – closed her book and walked into the living room.

Mom: That’s IT! I am SICK and TIRED of this game. There will be NO more Hitting Game EVER.
Me: Ever?
Mom: EVER. Not even when you’re all as old and decrepit as I am.
MB: Aww, fine. Hey, guys, I just invented something. It’s called The Punching Game, and-
Mom: NO. No Hitting Game, no Punching Game, no Kicking Game, no Frogging Game, no Indian Burn Game, no Maiming Game, NOTHING.

After the briefest of pauses, during which MB came down with a case of the giggles, Mom realized that he was thinking of a loophole in her previous, seemingly-all-encompassing statement.

Mom: Oh, and that includes The Circle Game. NO GAMES THAT INVOLVE ANY SORT OF BODILY CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER. NONE. AT ALL. EVER.
MB: Crap!

Acting
My sibs and I are no longer allowed to let our inner actors and actresses shine. We’ve been banished from amateur theater for life, because our Mom is a mean person who, apparently, despises drama.

Or maybe she banned acting because my sibs and I got the idea to pretend that we were heroin addicts going through withdrawals. While we were shopping at Walmart. On a weekday, right after the senior citizens received, and cashed, their Social Security checks and flooded the store.

Apparently, twitching and demanding chocolate in a screeching, wailing voice is not amusing. I would disagree, of course.

However, Mom made her position very clear by grabbing my arm and hissing, “You will NOT embarrass me” right in my ear. When she gets pissed off, she spits. The saliva just sprays everywhere when she’s hissing, or yelling, or even just talking if she’s angry enough. So I ended up with a rather-slimy ear hole and a very-strong urge to give up acting forever.

Twenty Questions
Why, you ask, are the now-adult offspring in my family no longer allowed to play a simple question-and-answer game? What in the world would our dear mother have against this interactive, interesting, amusing way to pass the time?

Well…you see…it all started when the five of us decided to play this amusing game on a road trip to San Antonio. This is a 300-mile (one way) drive, which takes Mom about six hours. More if she gets stuck in Austin traffic, which happens just about every time because Austin, like Mom’s driving, moves way too slowly.

The problem with twenty questions was that my sibs and I were blatant, obnoxious cheaters. Unless you have flawless integrity, it’s rather easy to change the correct answer, right? Of course. If I started off thinking of a cow, and one of my sibs guessed that I was thinking of a cow, I would tell him or her “Nope” and start thinking of a horse.

In all fairness: my sibs did this right back to me, which was fine because this made the game more fun. When one of us was almost 100 percent certain that another sib was cheating, the accusations – and, eventually, the fists of doom – flew.

Sib: You’re cheating!
Me: No, I’m not.
Sib: Yes, you are! You couldn’t have been thinking about a horse the whole time.
Me: Yeah, I was.
Sib: No, you weren’t. I asked if the animal was edible and you said “no.”
Me: French people eat horse all the time.
Sib: You suck!

Then, I got punched right in the arm, and Mom decided that she’d had enough of this stupid game.

Mom: Let’s play the Shut the Hell Up game.
Me: How do we play that?
Mom: You all shut the hell up until we get to San Antonio or I’m dropping you off at the next exit.
Me: Can we have some money for a movie if you do that?
Mom: No!

So…if my imagination is stunted for life, you can blame it all on my Mom. This is obviously her fault, you know.

2009 WSOP schedule; Main Event table

This year’s World Series of Poker dates are finally out. I notice that the powers that be are delaying the Main Event final table until November – just like they did last year. To be honest, I’m not entirely sure of how I feel about this move. Though I did enjoy watching the “November Nine” play out the last hands of that epic tourney last year, I do have some reservations about the idea.

The Pros:

The Main Event is as close to being a live event as possible with the delay. The WSOP starts in May. By waiting until November to play the FT, ESPN can quickly edit the footage and broadcast it within a day or two of the action. This beats the snot out of learning, in June, that X player won – then having to wait until November to see how he got there.

There was, admittedly, tons of hype around last year’s FT. We can reasonably expect even more excitement this time around because viewers now know what to expect. It’s easier to look forward to something when you already know, from last year’s experience, that it’s insanely exciting.

The final nine players get more money. Endorsements and other sources of income flowed last year. They should do the same this year, what with poker still being hot and all.

Speaking of money: more than a few people bet on the outcome last year. I imagine that there will be plenty of wagering among friends, coworkers, poker players, et cetera this year as well.

Exposure…can’t argue with that at all. Not everyone knew anything about last year’s November Nine, but there were plenty of casual poker/sports fans talking about the phenomenon. Perhaps this year’s following will be even bigger.

The Cons:

I didn’t genuinely care that much about any of the players last year. Yes, one pro was at the FT (David Rheem), but not many casual fans recognized him. Now…had Phil Hellmuth, Jr., Jennifer Harman, or Daniel Negreanu made the FT, the reaction would have been insane.

We’re going to have to wait to see the outcome on ESPN regardless of when the FT plays. I’m patient, and like the “close to live” advantage of delaying the FT. However, some fans are less patient than that, and really prefer to just get things over with.

FT players have months to review previous episodes of ME play and study each other. They can also consult with poker coaches to change and improve their own strategies. There’s plenty of time to adapt to the FT. This is a disadvantage because poker is about changing on the fly. Part of the sheer joy of these games is figuring out tells and other signs as you play the game. You just don’t get that with the delayed FT.

Overall, though, I’m down with this way of doing things. ESPN and the WSOP are doing a pretty-good job of bringing in new fans with this move. The results were entertaining and exciting last year, and I expect this year to be no different. Now, if only we could get some big-name pros at the FT. That would make the ME almost perfect as far as I’m concerned.

Cowboys Got Stomped Hard Yesterday

Oh, my. If I were a Cowboys fan, I'd be in the fetal position, weeping, right now. What a curb stomping - and the Cowboys are officially out of the playoffs now. Tsk.

And they're getting a brand-new stadium next year, to better showcase their almighty suckiness. Too bad their slimy owner, and the City of Arlington's even-slimier city council, used eminent domain to steal the land from homeowners. At least if the Cowboys were a decent team, the victims could comfort themselves with the knowledge that they kind of, sort of, got ripped off for a good cause.

Oh, sure, the Cowboys aren't the first pro sports team to steal from innocent homeowners, but the blatant thievery, so close to home, really bothers me. I go to school in that city, and I lived on campus there for two years. Watching people move out of their homes, by force...listening to the idiots on campus gushing about how great it's going to be to not have to drive more than ten minutes to reach the new stadium...listening to the attorneys duke out the eminent-domain issue...ugh.

Jerry Jones should roast on a spit in Hell for what he convinced Arlington to do. And Arlington's city council should share a spit with him, the thieves. They're all scum-sucking oxygen thieves, and I hope that everything they touch turns to fecal matter.

Let's not forget the city's voters, who just barely passed the initiative to bring the Cowboys to Arlington. I don't know how many voters knew, or realized, that homeowners would be screwed over by the vote. But any of them who did know, and voted for the initiative anyway, belong right next to the rest of the scumbags.

Wow. That Team Sucks Hard.

The Detroit Lions are at 0-13 as of right now. Amazing. That franchise has never sucked this hard before. That's...that's pretty bad.

If they lose just three more games, they'll have a league record. Hey...even though they'll be known as the "losingest" team EVAH!, at least they'll have a record.

It's That Time of Year Again

Finally!

The 2008 World Series of Poker coverage begins tomorrow evening. Yes, I already know who won most of the events, as I followed the Web-site updates. But watching the coverage is still going to be awesome.

I'll be isolating myself in my bedroom with my Dr Pepper, cigarettes and remote for a couple of hours tomorrow - as I'll be doing every Tuesday night until we finally get to see the Main Event final table.

Once school starts for me again, I'll have to go buy a DVD recorder. I'll be in class on Tuesday nights. Oh, well. I wanted DV-R capabilities anyway for other programs, but this is a perfect excuse to spend money.

Trivial Pursuit is Funny

I recently picked up Trivial Pursuit - the Genus Edition from the early 80s - for sixty-eight cents. Yes, this is an old board game. There are newer, better versions of this trivia game on the shelves. But I found this for under a buck. In excellent condition. All the pieces are actually there. Nobody's kid peed or drooled on the game board. I have a complete, non-stained, non-ripped, non-chocolate-fingerprinted rule sheet. My copy even includes the original, non-messed-up plastic bag that holds all the itty-bitty pieces. Life is good.

The big problem with Trivial Pursuit is that I usually play with Mom. I love my mother, but she's weird. She's the one who passed the Weirdo Gene to me in utero. We are not normal people at all - and that really shows when we break out this game.

Me: Okay, Entertainment. "What is the sound of one hand clapping?"
Mom: About the same as the sound of me hitting you for not reading me the real question.

Mom: Entertainment. What Oscar category was removed in 1929 because it was not relevant?
Me: Um. [Loooong pause] OH! I know! "Best-looking Caterers!"
Mom: No. Title writing.
Me: That SO doesn't belong in the Oscars.
Mom: That's what the question said, yeah.

Me: History. What was once known as "America's Attic"?
Mom: Canada?
Me: THE SMITHSONIAN. What the heck do you mean, CANADA?
Mom: Well, it fits.
Me: Because the attic is where you put all the lame stuff that was cool twenty years ago?
Mom: Exactly.

I've never played this game with anybody who's, you know, SANE. I'm sure that our way is a LOT more fun.

Step Away From the Internet

Just a friendly reminder for us all (including myself): the Internet can kill you.

The Associated Press just reported that a Chinese man collapsed after spending three straight days playing computer games in an Internet cafe.

Three days. Then he collapsed of exhaustion and died, right there in the cafe.

And then more than 100 fellow customers left the place. Apparently watching a man game himself to death was enough to convince them that they needed a break.

Remember, folks: the computer is not the be-all and end-all of life. There are other things out there. The computer is a great tool, but it's not something that we should devote three straight days to using. Even if the game is that great, there comes a time to turn off the machine and go do something else.