Sometimes I feel like Doogie Houser sitting here typing into what is little more that a journal that no one reads. Doog's words were more elegant, no doubt, so what this really is is (see) Vinny's journal. Happy reading.

I have very little to report on in my personal poker journey. I still play a bit every few days, but have not won or lost any significant amount of cash for several months now. I hastily played in that 5000 FPP freeroll on pokerstars this last weekend. I played terrible and was bounced in the first hour.

I have made plans for Vegas trip number four in July. This time home base will be Bill's Gambling Hall (and Saloon) with the same cast of characters from last summer's trip. My goal for the trip is simple. Win. I figure I am due. I have lost money on the first 3 trips, so I have to win this time. Right?

Work has been a grind lately, but I have still been able to keep my wits about me despite working 70+ hours/week for the past several months. By the end of the summer I will have my doctorate degree and will be working at Emory. Fuck me I hate the heat. I will miss a lot about Milwaukee, but we are gypsy's and we must go on to the next adventure.

Better living through science

I once got in an argument about toilets with my dad. We were watching some program about environmentalism and the topic of mandated low flush toilets came up. He was adamantly opposed to the idea, and I suddenly knew things about my dad that were never intended. Namely, that he clogs toilets quite easily. The toilet at my parents’ home is a 70’s model which probably uses 7 or 8 gallons of water per flush, but clogs pretty easily. The talk of toilets that use 1.6 gallon per flush on the TV must have triggered an alarm in my dad’s head and lead him to think that these were 4 or 5 times more likely to get bunged up. Now, my father is quite smart, probably more intelligent than you or I, but he must have been burned badly by toilets in his life to take this irrational stance.

I too have felt the bite of poor quality toilets. Just this summer I made a midday visit to the bathroom at the Imperial Palace, and after doing my business I noticed the toilet didn’t totally flush. I call it a ‘hanging chad.’ I should have just left well enough alone, but I decided to go for the kill and I flushed again. Before I could buckle up, that thing overflowed and I had to hightail it out of there.

The toilets were I work are marvels of modern engineering. 1.6 gallon per flush and they never get clogged, even on the worst of days. People have waged war on those things, but nobody has ever defeated those monsters. The best you might hope for is a bit of toilet paper left after the first flush. You could easily flush a small child down one of these things. And these fuckers fight back. The flushing is so rigorous that it squirts back water. Like a bedee with attitude. You’ll get done, stand up and flush, and then you get doused with a bit of dirty-ass toilet butt juice.

How to get lost in Canada when you're dead.

I've always had a certain admiration for our neighbor's to the north. Some of this, I suppose. is a natural effect of growing up in northern Minnesota and playing hockey-their national sport. I also hold in high esteem the idealism of socialized medicine, the quirky comedians, safe cities, bilingualism, mounted police, cold climate, strong beer.

My GF and I found ourselves in Toronto, Ont (sensitive business) a few weeks ago. We went from MKE to DTW to whatever the fuck the code is for Toronto-Pearson. Filled out those silly customs cards. Made it through customs. "What are you here for?" We are here to assassinate your PM. "ok, have fun."

We hopped into the first available cab. Bags in check, we were ready to depart. "156 Richmond west, please." Newly minted Arab cab driver fumbles with his GPS for a few minutes and leaves without getting the GPS to link up. He heads toward downtown, manages to get off on an exit not too far from our hotel, but then his fucking head exploded. Calls dispatch, and I manage to understand only bits and pieces of what he says. We make it to the correct street, but he has no idea whether to make a left or right. He chose right, I was fairly sure that was the proper direction. He's not. At a stoplight he suddenly jumps out of the cab and accosts to poor lady behind us. Friendly as ever (from Manitoba, perhaps!), she tells him where our hotel is......the downtown Hilton is always so hard to find.

Beers and wings at the hotel bar made it better for that night. Beds were comfortable, but the next few days and ultimate result were forgettable. We were back stateside in a few days-via DTW (they have a nice sushi bar in the airport!).