tweet
December 3rd, 2009
do real men tweet? follow me @patdixon on twitter.
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Dubuque
December 3rd, 2009
The airport felt like a snack bar with a runway.
A guy named Scott picked me and he looked like a professional wrestler with his long, blond permed hair. 6′5″ went about 250. Played some high school football, tight end. Caught 7 touchdowns.
Jack Wilhite opened. Showroom was like a Hard Rock Cafe. Wilhite had 11 pairs of sunglasses on his amp and about the same number of costume changes in his 30 minute set. Highlight to me was the Angus Young costume.
This was at Diamond Jo casino. I won a huge pot when I hit top two pair on Ace/10. Guy wound up all-in with his Ace/Queen.
Tonight I’m killing time in Cedar Rapids. No NFL Network so I’m missing Jets vs. Bills. I got work to do anyway.
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I’m pleased with it
November 29th, 2009
A neighbor is concerned because her downstairs neighbor is making a lot of weird noises and banging on her floor.
I’ll keep you posted if anything else happens there.
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Coffee
November 27th, 2009
Two girls having a lively conversation. I can’t understand a word they’re saying. Why can’t teenage girls ever drink HOT coffee. It’s all about iced stuff, frappe’s or whatever the fuck they are.
Their socks are short and white and they agree on everything. It’s a lot like one girl having a conversation with herself. They look like twins.
I wonder if they’ll still be friends when they’re 28. 35. 40. I wonder what they could fall out over. They seem so compatible as friends with their matching socks, hairstyles and drinks. And voices.
This world is made for them now. They are so much more commercially relevant than I am, it’s not even funny. They are the coveted demo. Teenage girls who are either buying things they don’t need or having things bought for them they don’t need. And yet, they are the most superfluous of people, saying nothing of importance ever, doing nothing that matters. The one thing they could do to change the world is the one thing everyone says not to do and that’s get pregnant.
Charming girls. 13 years old. God bless them. I’m going to be like them someday, without a care in the world.
Tags: blog, coffee, Pat Dixon, Sponge Bob, teenage girls
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Friday after Thanksgiving
November 27th, 2009
Waking up out of town, you sometimes have to think for a few seconds before you move.
The quietness is cheap. Everywhere there’s the sound of things not making a sound. You look around and it’s like the soundtrack has been removed. And the sound of a ticking clock has been added. It’s clicks comically on the mantle to remind us of our impermanence. Then someone slurps something and the spell is broken.
It’s the kind of day where I want to tear my head off my shoulders, hold it like a football and run blind into the yard with my other arm out like the Heisman Trophy. Of course, no need to stiff-arm anyone, who’s going to approach a headless guy running in his own yard.
Tick tock.
Less than 24 hours I’ll be on a plane.
Tags: death, eat me, headless, Pat Dixon, Thanksgiving
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Wednesday 5:29 Starbucks
November 25th, 2009
Chubby, tall girl with no chin just walked by wearing tall boots and a red top. She was heading into the lady’s room to do god-knows-what. What an expression on her face!
My sunglasses continue their policy of resting on the table. My phone, also, sits quiet and attentive.
My earbuds have nothing coming through, but I keep them in to give the illusion that I’m cut off from my surroundings.
Over-caffeinated, dying to smoke a cigarette. 8 years and it crosses my mind daily.
No-Chin just walked out, apparently done with her disgusting doings in the lady’s room. She looks like the type who would stop up your toilet with her enormous stools.
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Pirate Rock Ship
November 24th, 2009
Whatever the name of this new Phillip Seymour Hoffman movie is. How to describe it? The words “piece of shit” come to mind, but they don’t seem 100% accurate.
Why dwell on the bad. This is a bad movie, but the lunch afterward was pretty amazing. Ankar’s Hoagies has the best shit. Great sandwiches, thick fresh onion rings, fat crinkle cut fries. And then there’s the Addam’s Family pinball machine.
If the words “6 Bear Kicks and an extra ball” mean anything to you, then you understand how nice it is to find this table. It’s a very popular game, but you just don’t see it around a lot. If you happen to wander into Ankar’s Hoagies on Brainerd Rd. in Chattanooga, TN, you’ll see my name at the top. Number one score. I got it last time I was there a few months ago, and I still haven’t been beaten.
If you haven’t been there, don’t torture yourself. I’m sure my score will be there for a long time to come.
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I can’t believe this guy missed that kick
November 24th, 2009
What the fuck?! He really pulled that kick to the left!
haha, boy he must feel like a real asshole. I mean, he totally blew it. He could’ve been a hero, but instead he’s a total loser. It all was riding on whether or not he kicked that ball between the uprights, and that was the one thing he needed to do. But he fucked. Up. Period. haha, what a fucking loser.
This is his job, after all. This is what he does for a living. Kicking is his specialty. Kicking it. That’s all they ask, just kick it and kick it right. But he didn’t kick it right, he kicked it left. WAY to the fucking left!! HA! Damn! He missed the net!!! I mean, he kicked it so far to the left, he missed the net!! I’ve never seen that before. And no one had a hand on it, that was all him.
Boy, what a fucking jackass. The snap was perfect, the hold was perfect, his timing looked fine. Snap, hold, step, kick and (fart sound). What? What the fuck was that? That was the kick?
The coach didn’t even ice him. He let him kick it the first time. What a great read! He knew. That must really add to it, the opposing coach took one look at you and said “He’ll miss it. Let him kick.” Ha, wow.
You know, I’ve probably seen a few thousand field goal attempts. This was the sorriest one I’ve ever seen, and that’s saying something. If field goal kicking was a special Olympic event (and, for all I know, it is) well…you can see the analogy I’m making. It’s an insult to retards to take that analogy any further.
It’s not like anyone’s asking you to throw a touchdown pass or anything. NO, heaven’s no. You could never do that. Those can actually be tough, I mean, that’s why it’s worth TWICE what a field goal is worth. Just kick. And not directly into the stands at your left. Kick it forward. Idiot.
Ha, did you see that? What a shitty kick. Fuck.
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tips for surviving the holiday!
November 24th, 2009
Could it be Thanksgiving already?
The answer, believe it or not is “yes, it can.”
Here are some tips for surviving the holiday!
1. If you’re still reading, what the fuck is wrong with you? What “survival” is actually at play here? I mean, what’s supposed to be so stressful about visiting with family and loved ones?
2. What kind of spoiled asshole country is this? We’re getting together with the people we know best, friends and family (for exactly one day!) and while we do it, we’re eating ourselves into a coma with nothing but the most delicious foods, the sweetest desserts, playing games having fun.
3. And what do we do? Complain about what a hassle it is?
4. People in shittier countries will never have a meal so good.
5. But then again, yeah, it kind of sucks.
6. Just ironic that the day for gratitude is met with such a shit attitude, know what I mean?
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KATG poker night
November 2nd, 2009
Arrived around 4:15. Ray Devito wasted no time announcing to everyone that I was there to ruin the fun. I have this reputation as a card nazi. The reason is because I like to play and don’t enjoy looking down at my Jack/Nine off-suit for more than 3 minutes while people like Ray Devito tell a story about some shit that happened at Sacapuntas or get into a side conversation on the way to urinate or get a beer. Why get together to play cards if you don’t want to play the game? I’m all for conversing, all I’m asking is for a little multi-tasking, a little priority for the game.
And here’s the other thing, when people hold up the game, I’m the kind of asshole who will say “You’re holding up the game.” So, right, I’m a fucking nazi. But play cards, asshole.
So, the water was poisoned early for me, thanks Ray.
Players included Keith, Chemda, Ray, myself, Victor Varnado, Myq and Myqa Kaplan-Fox, Mexican Felix and Alabama Angie, Jeremy the stickler and the rest, all together 11 players, two tables for some reason.
Let me tell you something about Myqa Kaplan-Fox, she’s one of those players who wins a hand and then stands on the table and calls everyone bitches. The word “biotch” was used copiously. I support that sort of behavior. It’s an about-face for me. I used to get very annoyed with excessive celebration. I’ve downgraded that reaction to condescending bemusement. I suppose you have to take your celebrating where you can in this life. If pulling a decent-sized pot at a friendly poker game makes you want to whoop and yell like you’re at a pep rally, then enjoy it with all your little heart. God knows, we’ll all be dead soon enough. Well, not soon enough maybe, but still pretty soon. At least she usually knew when it was her turn.
Chemda, although also a very loud player, makes most of her noise when someone raises when she’s got a drawing hand. Chemda has only two kinds of hands: awesome hands and drawing hands. No folding hands. She folded pre-flop maybe 4 times in three hours. How she still had chips after I was busted I’ll never know. Oh, yeah, I lost by pushing my pair of queens at the wrong time. But that can happen to anyone.
Jeremy is one of these loose-raising type guys. To his credit, you can’t really put him on a hand which is a nice way of saying he plays rags routinely. But that’s how it’s done.
I only played a few hands with Keith, so I can’t really say what kind of player he is. I think he’s kind of opportunistic in terms of position, which is a standard good move.
So, forget all that. I know what you really want to hear about is the food. Chemda, god bless that woman, put out some truly amazing quesadillas with all the right shit in them. Then some true fucking award-winning chili and she made these huge pots of mashed potatoes that stick to your ribs when you just look at them wrong. Thick, and seemingly all-real spuds in pots. With herbs. Wow and damn. Thank you for that!
Great fun was had by all, but mostly by whoever won. I was eliminated by Victor when he slow-played his pocket aces and I over-bet my queens. When he moved in, I was pot-committed. Happens. It was right after we’d combined the tables and I hadn’t watched him play. But then, with a snakey-player like I assume Victor is, I probably wouldn’t have put him on that hand anyway.
When you get right down to it, I’m not a very good poker player. My chief skill at cards is probably KNOWING WHEN IT’S MY FUCKING TURN and NOT HOLDING UP THE GAME, RAY!
As always, THANKS to Keith and Chemda for putting opening up their home, putting out delicious food and hosting an awesome card game. They are the F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgeralds of Jamaica.
Tags: Chemda, KATG, Keith and the Girl, Keith Malley, Pat Dixon
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