07/01/11
Philly's been great so far, the high point for me so far has been whipping an eight year old genius, lots of of people took photos of the fat weird guy locked in battle with the kid. The low point for Marla at least, was getting stuck in the worst Philly traffic jam, she ever seen, caused by the O'bama stopping for a water ice in South Philly. I'm not going to vote for him anyway, so he didn't lose my vote. Couldn't the presidential chef whip up a water ice?
I was retired from chess when we lived in Philly, I was recognized about sixty seconds after entering the chess area for my musical pursuits. Lots of players out here love to boast and brag, which is a healthy attribute, I don't see much in other parts of the country. There's a good percentage of players, who seem to constantly be whining and kvetching about everything from the AC to the table cloths, and to "the lack of organization." This is the biggest tournemant in the world. I cut 'em some slack.
I'm looking forward to ruining some more kids tournemant tomorrow. uuurrppp.
06/29/11
After a rather uneventful night in Knoxville, we got back on the road and headed for our current byway, Hagerstown Md.
We were booked in a nice "Country Inn Suites". Supposed to have a suite with a sofa-bed and pool. It's been a tedious 3 days and we were ready for some relaxin'.
A hundred yards away from the box like structure it looked a bit strange..something was not right. There were no cars around..a fact that ordinarily would be a blessing considering how the humanoids are really getting ugly as we get farther from Texas.
Shit! The place was closed. There were a couple signs on the door advising us the dump had been closed due to water damge.
Marla commented "That's a new one!"..my thoughts exactly.
Luckily somebody had taped a couple cheap, small signs to the door telling us the Ramada Plaza Inn would honor our reservation, which was a prepaid Orbitz affair.
As Marla located a phone number for the Ramada I gazed at the mall parking lot the troubled Country Inn sat in. Something didn't look right. Where were the customers? It was only 6:30 pm?? Where were the employees? There were few to see.
We finally found the Ramada Plaza hotel. It was on only a mile away. Marla went inside to negotiate our getting a room. Here's Marla to provide a few words on that experience:
"I explained to the desk clerk about our situation. She said they will match the price of the other place, only problem was, I didn't have the page of the reservation print out with the room rate (which was a about $30 less than what they were quoting). I asked her if there was a computer I could use, so I could reprint the page I was missing. She took me to the business center, and inside of a minute I had the needed info. The desk clerk, realized that I would be double charged unless my Orbitz reservation was canceled. Luckily I had written down their Customer Service number. She calls them, goes through umpteen prompts and finally gets a hold of a human. She explained that the hotel we had booked was closed and she was seeking a refund on my behalf. She had to explain this three times-- with her hand muting the mouthpiece of the phone, she tells me in a frustrating tone, that the person on the other end doesn't speak English very well. Great, turns out Orbitz has their Customer Service call center in India. To wrap up, I was handed the phone, at which time I was happily advised our credit card would be credited the amount from the flooded place within five days."
"What could have been a disaster, actually turned out pretty good. The indoor pool was huge, actually had a deep end (8 feet!) and the water temp was perfect. Of course what made the swim even better, was that we had the pool to ourselves for the entire time! Back to Phil as he has some comments on public pools and pool etiquette."
I wondered as I floated in the peaceful, empty waters, why do humanoids splash one another in pools? I've never had the impulse, even as a child to spend my precious time in a pool splashing others. Why is it that they can always be counted on to do this? What is fun about it?
We ate at a decent Bob Evans, also strangely and blissfully empty. A decent night of measured hotel drinking ensued after. On to the superbowl of American Chess, the World Open. We arrive today a couple days early. It's back to Philly for the first time since we left it. Not a lot of time to visit more than a few people there, I'm playing chess. Still the song runs through my head this Maryland morn:
"Hostile city USA..they call it Philadelphia Pa...bikers, crackheads thieves and scum..inhabit the worlds most dangerous slums"...ooh!
06/26/11
Marla and I are on our way to the 2011 World Open chess tournamet. I'm not saying I'm gonna win money, but this is the event to bring home the bacon at. The first prize in my rating section is frigging $18,000. The next 9 players get prizes in four figures too.
Right now we're at a La Quinta inn South of Little Rock's city center..presuming there is one. Impressions of Arkansas are in order. DAMN. I had forgotten how handsome and foxy Texan's are. I've been almost thankful for the minor stye in my eye preventing me from looking around too much. The motel is full of ugly and mis-shapen travelers. We observed an odd looking Granny Clampett type lady squatting on her hunches huffing down a smoke on the curb near our door. She was wearing a "Grapes of wrath" style housecoat; we couldn't tell whether she was 30 or 60.
The elevator bell is a flea market contraption that sounds like a petrified wad of chew hitting the bottom of a brass spittoon.
We saw one fellow motel guest who looks pale and marshmello like. His body bulged out in strange wads of fat. His clothing seemed like it was garnered at a prison yard sale. On his feet were strange plastic clogs that must've come from a backwoods flea market. They looked like they were melted on his feet like horse hooves.
The pool looked clean, but a swim seemed out of the question. The folks there looked mighty talkative and I was intimidated. What would I say to them?
We ate at a family owned place named Grandpa's Catfish. It was great.
Arkansas wants your tourist business. The rest areas and welcome centers have the cleanest shithouses on a regular basis I've seen nationwide. They're trying really hard, but shit. Even Oklahoman's and Minnesota stump jumpers seem chic in comparison.
On my way home later I'll be seeing the North part of the State for the first time.
Tomorrow, a town long considered by many people I know as one of the worst in the U.S.: Knoxville Tn.
If you have something to pray to, please say one for us.
06/24/11
Hooray. Your prayers have been answered. My new book "Escape From Cookieland" is now available as of today on Kindle.
It's time for you to quit being a cheap ass and buy a Kindle. People are talking about you behind your back. What's that? Think I'm kidding? You should hear what I'm saying.
Even if you're too goddamned spineless to buy one just now, you should borrow one from whomever you know that has one and select "Escape From Cookieland" by Phil Irwin.
The cost on Kindle is just $9.99 (you don't HAVE to own a Kindle, there are other devices that you can download to, see the Kindle website for list. ed.).
Here's some info about it by request.
Unlike "Jobjumper" and "Hostile City or bust" Cookieland has been revised over and over again. The punctuation habits I displayed in the past (such as using a jillion ..........'s per page) have been discarded. Why? Blame it on discussions on creative rulebending during my creative writing college courses.
Is it a better book because I stuck to the rules of grammar better?
You tell me.
The book covers the period from my birth up to my high school graduation with a bit of setup before and after. Whereas quite a damn few memoirs I read are about people starting out as troublemakers winding up with nice houses, new young spouses and a second crack at being a parent after conquering their substance demons.
My story is of course different. I started out as a nerd, a wuss. My clean freak mama and yard martyr old man dragged me to an incredibly righteous evangelical church which the members considered the only true church..period! (Shit! There I go with the .....'s again! Oh well, this is only a diary entry).
In 7th grade the torment and taunting in school really kicked into high gear. The problem with me was that not only was I an egghead, I was a real textbook case nerd until I met a friend (my only one at school for a long time) who wised me up.
I wanted to die for a couple years. Once I laid down in the middle of the road even next to a sharp bend. My pal talked me out of it. I began having revenge dreams involving me going to school with a big damn gun.
Problem was, where could I get one? My mother expected my room to be neat as an army boot camp barrack, underpants folded neatly in just the right drawer. Where could I find a gun?
My folks laughed at me when I went crying to them with my tale of woe. They insisted that I had brought all the trouble onto myself.
Ironically, at the exact time I was a social leper at my junior high school, I was widely respected as a promising young whiz in the chess world. Quite a few adults thought I was a cool guy.
The reader will get to find out how I managed to survive in detail. Part of the story involves a deep discussion of my learning to drink daily in Europe during a 5 week school band tour. I haven't stopped since that trip. Well, I've taken a few days off here or there.
Essentially, as you can imagine, I morphed from a nerd and a high-water pant wearing, church attending geek into the sort of negative, cynical guy who goes around picking on others by pulling off vicious pranks. The last couple chapters of the book show me in full bloom as an ugly duckling who has grown into a vandalizing, boozing, recreational drugging cretin.
Fight anecdotes, beatings, high speed car chases, hanging out with stereo typical 70's stoners. The purity of the early chapters dealing with church camp and my early weakness are balanced out by the barbarity of my last couple years in school.
The toughest parts to write concern my chess activities. My tournaments and friendships I had in the chess world were all I had going for me for a couple years or so. Hell, my first beer ever was passed to me by a chess mentor.
In the end I passed on a music career and scholarship and even gave up chess to become the new, wicked me.
This book does not repeat what you've read in "Jobjumper" that occurred during the same years. They dovetail quite nicely. It was one of my goals from the start.
Incidentally, I don't feel that I had the worst parents or even particularly bad ones. There is a discussion on this important point that will show you exactly my attitude today about them. You might be surprised. Then again, you won't be if you don't breakdown and buy a goddamn Kindle and order "Escape From Cookieland".
06/20/11
The political forces are heating up the same stale piss stew, a bland inoffensive gruel meant to appeal to a broad base of diners, seasoned with deliberate lies when they think they can get away with it.
The sickest bastards out there are the ones who really get off on the political process, love the back and forth maneuvering and seem to treat it like a hobby rather than a necessary rolling in the mud with stinky pigs, groveling for a foothold, a greasy morsel of power.
The stereotypical characterizations of the Republicans and Democrats are well known and embarrassingly accurate. I've discussed my preferences here over the years; it's almost always a choice between sucking fecal matter down cold or warm.
As small parties accurately point out, the big two will NEVER solve key problems (such as funding entitlements) since they will have to take a hit at the polls. The general public seems to almost fathom this, but they buy into the argument that if you support an independent candidate, you're wasting your vote. Who can blame them? Short term you usually are wasting your vote backing a "3rd" party candidate.
In a perfect world (hah!) the two permitted parties would select a small committee of longterm declared nonpartisans with absolute power to carve out a fair solution to the untouchable issues. The solutions found would be binding for a pre-considered period of time.
Imagine them picking little old me? You may have to resort to mind altering substances to picture that one, but please try or at least bear with me here.
If selected to arbitrate I would demand independent committee members to join me from both the loco left and the waco right to assist me in carving up the mainstream political feast for the first and probably only time for any of us. There would be no running to other states to avoid decisions, no filibuster tricks. We wouldn't meet sporting shirts and ties in some public venue. I think getting together in an isolated place with a well stocked bar for those who want it would be preferable.
I would hire a small team of independent referees to monitor and research claims of any of the judges referring to "the people" "change" "hope" "decency" "morality", etc. Attempts to sway the committee members with commie-jargon or union balogna or religious babble or greedy, arrogant blather would not be permitted. Just like baseball, 3 strikes and you're off the committee.
The people assisting me would know, that without exception we had a time limit to our power. If even we couldn't get anything decided, we'd be out the door. No extensions of power, not for 5 minutes.
I think it would be fairly easy to hash out a solution to our entitlement problems, since none of us would have interest in future power or the opinions of those we piss off.
My first foreign policy plank would be a motion to announce a 5 year moratorium on foreign aide and a withdrawal of troops from the spreading number of wars we're involved in. Rather than apologize for not continuing our generosity, we would announce that after a 5 year period of taking care of our own affairs, bringing our financial house into A-1 order, those peoples around the world who prove their love for us and their willingness to be true friends and allies will perhaps be receiving aide when we deem our own accounts to be straightened out. In the meantime, got a tsunami drowning your poor, or a tyrant messing with ya? Call somebody else...for 5 years..maybe longer. We'll see. The main point to get across is the fact that we won't be buying other nations love henceforth.
We will be cleaning our slate of dated grievances that have been lingering too long. It's time to get back to square one and take a fresh appraisal of things.
We will no longer be the globes policeman; likewise, we won't be bankrolling recovery of other nations economies. Our military competence should be improved over the 5 year period. We won't be stripped bare of might or missiles. Our culture and pukey pop music and secular trends that prudish nations find so alarming are of course here to stay. The era of American apology is over. Take the U.N. and it's kangaroo court hokum off of our property.
A primary goal for our 5 year return to self interest as a nation will be returning manufacturers and manufacturing jobs back to our workforce.
It's my dream to see an absolute end to any laws or regulations effecting my toilet and bathroom in general. A measure will be passed declaring that shitting in peace is a basic human right determined by an individuals preferences. Commemorative coins will be issued to celebrate this fundamental right.
06/14/11
In between finishing off 2 original books at the same time and chess study for the World open coming up, I've been working my way through a fairly simple toilet reading accounting book and also a tax preparation text that is too heavy and bulky to study anywhere at home.
The accounting author tries to make jokes but isn't funny at all. He uses the usual businessperson lingo that I loathe. I'm learning what I need to though. The tax text is a different species. It's pretty deep, as complicated as an intermediate chess book. The author of this one doesn't try to be funny, yet includes enough odd tax case studies that render it exciting reading much of the time. It's a frigging long book and I can only absorb about 25 pages at a time. It's a more difficult task than I expected, but that's ok because I'm learning more than I planned on too.
My drinking has been pushed back to a 4:30 or 5:00am start time due to the fact that I've been visiting Elvis from midnight to 4:00 keeping him company on his nightowl babysitting stint. His wife sleeps until 8:00 am or so and tags in for her turn.
My Grandson has a nice disposition already. The humanoid pattern of sleep, eat, drink and shit has been easy for him to master. He doesn't seem to mind noise and music and video game sounds at all. Shit, he seems to be a budding little night person. He also shows no preference as of yet that El and I can detect of preferring one hand to the other. My blood Father (who of course will get to see him soon since he's working in San Antonio) myself and Elvis are all ambidextrous to a great extent. It's a bit too early to be toasting and smashing the table with beercans over something like that, but what the hell.
I don't want to risk driving home from Elvis's pad at 4:15 am with alcohol in my system. No problem, I've learned to get drunk in an hour or so pleasantly while doing my 250 golf swings. Yeah, I'm still drinking Ol' Grandad instead of Beam. I'm not quite ready to wear those corny Grandpa T-shirts you get at tourist traps, but if I can salute the little bugger with whiskey without drawing attention to myself, why not? Urp.
I'm aware of the fact that I'm leading a pretty mind-blowing life with all the discovered blood relatives, scores of 'em and now a Grandson to carry on the name of my adoptive Father, Bob Irwin from St. Joseph Missouri.
What'll happen next?? Urp?
06/09/11
Running against the pattern of my bad days usually getting worse, Monday 6/6/2011 started out damn horrid and got better. Yeah, my first Grandchild was born: Henry Aron Irwin..aka "Hank". This only happened after a period of time I spent early in the day in living hell thanks to a hick town jury duty summons.
I couldn't cancel out of it, since you can only reschedule it once and I had originally been called in during the height of my gov work season. The biggest headache is due to the fact that I needed to be at the jury joint at the excruciating hour of 8:45 am.
How barbaric. Morning shifts are ok if you're used to it and if that's what floats yer weiner. I hate doing anything at that hour, since I know I'm going to be dead tired. How can I simply tumble into the sack 8 hours before I'm used to sleeping? I can't stand tossing and turning, don't like to take pills, have outgrown drinking myself to sleep (the stiff drinks only make me want to stay up).
I managed to get a bit of shuteye, but I felt like shit, sober but half dead.
Why don't they have night juries for night owl criminals?
I was assured that the county building parking lot was huge; it was jammed...HAH! I had to park in a 2 hour zone several blocks ahead. What a humiliation having to worry about parking in a hick town like this.
I was told I'd be waved in through the door no matter what was in my pockets, no heavy security. HAH! It was as bad as at the airport.
When I finally got in I was directed to a hallway with some cheesey chairs which served as overflow to a main room. Soon people began standing in a line beginning right after me. How rude. It's not enough that we give of our time, they can't have chairs.
Worse, there was no fucking clue what was going it, what was expected of us. After sitting for about 15 minutes crammed like a sardine into a sweaty hallway with too many bodies, I spoke up first of anybody there.
"What's going on? Did I miss some sort of orientation? Aren't they going to tell us what they want from us? Will I be allowed to move my car?"
I stopped a woman with a nametag who assured me we would be oriented in 10-15 minutes. A half hour later they began reading names. Local rubes began filing into a courtroom. In a bit, I was left alone out of a hundred or so people called. I approached a baliff and asked why my name wasn't called. I was assured if I stood outside of the courtroom she'd get right back to me. 10 minutes later, I asked a Deputy if I had been
forgotten. He entered the courtroom and asked another deputy lady what was up. She came out into the lobby long enough to chirp "you're free to go!"
"Uh...will I get in any trouble for nonappearance?"
"Nope! Free to go!"
I turned and walked a few steps slowly then started booking down the hallway before they changed their frigging minds.
HHmm...why was I excused? It wasn't my apparel, I was wearing my new jeans and belt. There was a droopy drawer idiot there who was called.
Perhaps it's due to my employer?!? I'm just a clerk, but those 3 letters are ominous looking to many people. I noted that the summons card indicated that certain government people were exempted from duty.
I got home, ate an omelet cooked by my vacationing Wife and was told that my Daughter-in-law had broken water and a birth that day was imminent, though several hours off.
I napped and we eventually went to the hospital at 7:30 pm where we were ushered into a modern waiting room where the in-laws were eating pizza and yakking pleasantly.
Elvis was described in wondrous terms as a virtual rock in the delivery room.
We were complimented for raising him right, but shit, I was at a band practice when he was born. I didn't want to be in the room during a Caesarian carve-up and back then I wasn't expected to.
Anyway, he never lost it. That afternoon, I predicted a birth time of 9:00 and modified it to 8:50. The actual time was 8:54..I nailed it.
He's a fine kid. I've been down there a couple times over the intervening 48 or so hours and have held him a couple times. Hank begins to cry softly when he wants something, but appears to be very contented for the most part. In contrast, you could hear the next room kid squawk all night.
I woke up from a nap with a dream inspired resolve to quickly issue my long delayed and near abandoned country album book on Kindle.
The kid may grow up wondering who all the damn Hanks are everybody keeps bringing up and since about half of them are covered in my book it seems like the right thing to do suddenly.
I wanna thank those of you who keep asking about that specific book. It must see the light of day in spite of the fact that it was rejected by Nashville. I insulted too many hippie psuedo-countryrock icons I guess. Those passages will remain in the final edit we're working up, of course.
Oh yeah, "Hostile City or bust" is now loaded onto Kindle. Marla is well along on making the final corrections to "Escape from Cookieland" which only needs a couple final pages to be complete. It's my bad childhood memoir, from the blank generation 60's-70's era that has been on the shelf for a couple years also. I gave a few sections a real working over in January and am ready for it to see the light of day on Kindle while we send some packets out to print publishers. Urp.
06/06/11
Even a really bad day can turn around with a nice long nap.
The day I got to Stillwater my eyes were burning read from fatigue and my nervous system was shot to hell. After a meal, the stress of making a huge mental error and rushed trip pretty much vanished. The pioneer folk I hail from had to be able to bounce back from one misery to another, over and over and fucking over merely to survive. Here I am a miserable man who experiences happiness rarely, but still keeps bouncing back.
I actually managed to finally use the swimming pool I've gaped at so many times. Godamn, it was EMPTY, making it perfect!
I didn't see any other chessplayers about the grounds. I had a second meal for the last time in days, scoring a 1/3rd pound bacon cheeseburger at Braums. I knew the next day started early, damn early so I began imbibing early. The frig worked so good it seemed my chief worry would be rather my beers and waters and diet Sundrops and little apple juices might freeze. The shower was good and the toilet functioned well, the seat was well attached and an extra roll of suitable ass gaskets was handy.
Let the games begin.
The next morning I padded down through the lobby to the tournament room in my slippers with eyes crusted over from lack of caffeine. I shelled out my entry fee and Oklahoma chess association membership dues. I pointed out that my allegiance was clear; my Texas association membership has expired. I was treated fairly well at my last Texas event, but know I've been laughed at behind my back at others. Yes, I chose not to play in an event in Dallas the same days a city hundreds of miles closer to home. Such is the hospitality and superior tournament organization by the Berry Brothers of Stillwater.
I hobbled over to the breakfast buffet area which was closed, but still dispensing coffee from airports for the needy. I grabbed 2 cups and took them back to the room to suck down during my final opening theory prep.
In the end, my first round pairing made the last minute fine tuning obsolete. I wasn't being paired down to play a bottom feeder, but rather one of two Grandmasters entered: GM Atalik who began life in Turkey and has faced world champions.
We faced each other on board 1 upon which was a beautiful wooden set provided by the organizers. The board was separated from the rest of the tables. I shook the GM's hand, he was as cordial as I could hope for, not gushing, but polite. He created an interesting game with some slightly exotic opening moves. I blew a pawn around move 18 or so, but managed to set up a fort in the endgame in which my pieces attempted to serve as a fence to keep his out and prevent him from winning. It took him many moves to crack through, but he did. I felt pretty good since I hadn't collapsed after losing a pawn but instead creating some sort of opposition.
My next game was with the lowest rated player entered. He was hardly the worst. After winning an interesting game in which I pulled off a successful attack, we talked for a bit. The fellow claims to play world class competitive foosball, which is a game I gave up long ago but once enjoyed.
The beer tasted fine back in the room that night. My "board vision" (as they refer to your general temporary ability to read the action naturally) was fine. I managed to play well enough the next day. In my first game I played a guy rated a bit higher than me. I got off to a great start and had a much better position. Unfortunately, I blundered a rook for a bishop which can be fatal. In some cases, like this one the bishop works its ass off and keeps up with the opposing rook. The board was covered with tangled pawns and the game just died out eventually with no opportunity for him to crack through and use his superior material. I felt like a shithead for the blunder, but like a player in good form for holding the draw. Later that night I beat a player rated lower than me, but still a veteran and dangerous, in a good game played all over the board, lots of complications which I handled.
So far so good.
On Sunday I dodged a real bullet by defeating in fine fasion a 10 year old who is rapidly improving, well on his way to being a master. My good form continued, I clobberedhim. Later that night I was paired with a strong expert, a guy in his early 20's I presume from Missouri. Halfway through a tense, exciting game I realized we had played and drawn in Chicago a few years ago. We both played second rate openings, with his inaccuracy being a bit less than mine. I opted for a sacrificial attack which was fun to play, but didn't get me the point in the end. Oh well, its fun to have the initiative.
I had a sandwich stashed in the frig for after the game, since I knew there was no way out of having to get up at 7:30 am for a brutal mandatory early round. So far it was a fine tournament. If it had ended then, I would have brought home money. I ate and drank, tossed and turned a bit, but managed to show up for the next to last round on time.
My opponent looked like hell. He outrated me just a bit and was about 10 years older. My opening preparation overwhelmed him. He was clearly destroyed after about 20 moves. his army being crammed into a tiny amount of space.
I won a couple pawns and appeared to be coasting to victory.
He made some last ditch desperate tactical shots and I'll be goddamned if my overconfident, non-vigilant mood didn't let him not only back into the game, but into a position to crush my balls, which he did. The guy whooped it up a bit after winning which was tacky, but he was clearly as tired as most of the other players and myself..I think he just slipped and forgot his manners. It was a traumatic, devastating loss.
The problem was, there was still one more game to be played, but I withdrew from the event on the spot. If I had some sort of support team, like many if not most of the players they could have rallied my spirit, but I'm a lone wolf.
I reckoned that a strong tournament on my part brought to a crashing halt by fleeting overconfidence was a fine note to prepare me for the World Open a few weeks off in the distance. Losses are what we learn from, not victory's. If I blow a money game at the World Open, it won't be because of letting up in a "won" position. I listened to a lecture at "chesslectures.com" in which the strong master delivering it described several situations he had been in almost identical to my debacle.
I calmed my nerves with some post event beers and huge bourbon and waters washing some more fine Braums chow down.
The next morning the hotel was empty of chessplayers after 4 days of constant battles over the board and sometimes between the players and their spouses who were tired of swimming with the kids and ready to go.
For me, it was time to pack and head to a rest day, well deserved in Thackerville Oklahomas "Winstar" casino.
Little did I know I'd be fighting off the desperate amorous attempts of a female casino employee, obviously turned on by my rustic charms. More about that next time. Urp.
06/03/11
When I left off last time, I was in a Days Inn located in Gainesville Texas (look it up if you don't know where that is) being forced top hit the road at 11:00 am, having been denied the customary extension to my checkout.
Now there are extensions and there are extensions. A tax extension will cost you $$$ (interest).
Though undoubtedly appealing to pee wee's like you, A penis extension offer is likely a scam. An extension to ones checkout time is the fundamental indication of whether or not the staff really gives a shit about whether you patronize their establishment again.
My score at requesting extensions is something like 150 yes and a mere 3 no. That's right. Almost no hotel or motel outfit says no if you hit them up at the right time with the right tone of voice and haven't made too big a monkey out of yourself during your visit.
Professional establishments not only expect it, they work with your future request when setting policy. The Stratosphere Hotel in Vegas will allow folks with afternoon flights to pay a partial days stay fee to keep their room until 5:00 pm. They'd rather have you sitting at their tables than on some uncomfortable bench at the airport.
When I asked the desk manager at the Winstar Casino a few days ago for an extension (of course I NEVER do this in person...think about my appearance) she hesitated just a second or two as if flipping through a card file of bookings before giving a sunny, warm "yes Mr. Irwin!". They probably at one point rolled back the noon checkout time to 11:00 am so they could grant people like me an extension with a smile as if they really care.
A few places in sought after resort areas will print "checkout time 11:00 am..no exceptions!" on their guest services bulletin, but usually they will give it to you anyway. Of course if you're the sort who complains about smelly carpets in a haughty, overloud manor or if you travel with a crew of beer monsters, bellowing at in-jokes and slapping each others backs alot and hugging frequently while bombed, tossing cans around the grounds and belching like a pig or if you pay in cash and have lots of prison tattoo work, you probably wont have the luck I have had over the years getting extensions.
Anyway, the bitch at the Days Inn wouldn't grant me a holy fucking extension. Screw 'em. I got up, drank a couple cups of their shit room coffee that squirts out of one of those by the cup brew makers and tried to shit out the chinese food from the night before. After showering I gazed in the mirror and could tell from several feet away that my eyes were bloodshot. Screw 'em.
I put that place behind me and made it about 50 miles before stopping at a Love's travel plaza for some real coffee in decent quantity. If you want to be efficient about utilizing the caffeine in your coffee, drink it as you drive rather than an hour before when you're still at the motel.
I gassed up a bit south of Oklahoma city. It was a nice clear day with temperature in the 80's. When I climbed back in the Charger I looked at my eyes again in the rearview mirror. Yep..still red. I needed some real goddamned sleep.
Luckily the cutoff to Stillwater takes you around the city center. It was a fairly pleasant drive gazing at the low rolling yellow-green hills. I listened to Limbaugh rip into Obama. No music. I began to mentally
06/01/11
So there I was, trudging along with the rest of the rush hour I-35 South traffic just a half hour from home after my chess week away in Oklahoma. After having my nerve checked over the board by a 10 year old genius, a Grandmaster from Turkey, a flirty waitress at a casino and an epic, over the top memory malfunction that almost jeopardized the whole trip, some jackass in a grey Ford truck ( brand new as if he was a student and Daddy bought it for him) was so close on my bumper we might have swapped paint.
It being that particular time of day that traffic is heaviest, there was no way I could pull over into the next lane to let him by, thereby emasculating myself in front of the world even if I wanted to. I gave my brake pedal a quick tap to try to signal the guy that he was right up my fucking ass and that I wasn't going to pull over, in fact we might all be called upon to slow down or stop...and he should be prepared.
9 out of 10 drivers will back off or pull around you blaring on the horn giving you the finger. This green horn was the 1 out of 10 who take the ol' brake-tap as an insult, a sign of my disrespecting him. Fueled perhaps by a youth spent listening to too many wigger horseshit rap cd's or perhaps due to him simply always getting his way, he stomped on his accelerator on got right...on...my..fucking...Chargers...black ass. I'll give him this, I've never...ever had another driver that close to my tail. This went on long enough so that most of the cars around us slowed down, changed lanes and purely got the fuck out of the way of the likely collision.
So, what do you think I did? Pull over for him? speed up? Tap on the brakes again? Gradually slow down?
What would you have done? I know this...if my Wife was in the vehicle she would've been screeching so loud at me I probably would have spun out of control.
For me, it was just a continuation of the weeks man to man competition, the war of ego's, strategy, brute force and swagger, old salts versus young snots. More on this "duel" later.
I know many of you may get sick of reading about my pomp and egghead ways. Nothing I can do about that. I do try to leaven the bragging with some occasional examples of outrageous absent-minded-professor like imbecility. With gusto I shall reveal here that even though as a chessplayer I planned everything I'd take on the trip down to the last opening manual with psychotic relish. Provisions were acquired considering the slightest nuances of the tournament schedule. I was proud of myself, covering each prospective hole in my opening repertoire.
Everything was going great until I was leaving the Asian buffet with my darling wife on Wednesday night about 7:00 pm. What brought my munitions officer strut to a screeching stumble on my ass was the sudden realization of the fact that...it WAS 7:00 PM on WEDNESDAY night!! I was supposed to be in Gainesville Tx checking into a Days inn, not making my final checklist checkoff for the next day.
Man, I flipped for awhile. We drove home and Marla called the motel to make sure they had a 24 hour desk and that they wouldn't sell my room out from under me. With affirmative replies on both counts, we calculated that I could be up there by 2:00 or 3:00 am. Marla pointed out that I'd get to miss out on Ft. Worth traffic. I was a bit worried in a vague way and seriously regretted eating a big meal before taking the wheel, but what the hell are you gonna do? I was so sheepish for about an hour there you enemies reading this to keep tabs on me would have really gotten off. Yunno; the big chessplayer, the IQ 142, the cum laude graduate, covering a zillion details ahead of time and missing what day of the week it was.
I can laugh at myself looking back. Ha ha hee hee.
Thanks to the fact that I had already done everything for my trip except put the rags in my bags, I was under way by 7:45 believe it or not. I had gotten cash, beer, whiskey, chess books, toiletries, a gigantic can of nuts, case of water, etc taken care of a day ahead of time.
My paranoid ways of being a day ahead served a purpose.
Another concern was the weather. Tornado's had just passed through the area I'd be staying in that night near the OK-TX border. The tournament organizers in Stillwater weren't concerned. Indeed, when I was in town I never heard a mention of this particular storm, the locals are just frigging used to it.
There's a time for handclapping and jaw-jacking and playing tourist and wearing funny hats and making fart jokes and all...and then there are times when it's just get in the goddamn car and drive, no fooling around or horseshit or even happy music. I drove listening to talk radio with a sober look on my face. Traffic was light. The disaster weather had perhaps cleared the roads of tourist traffic. Making good time I stopped once in Hillsboro Tx for coffee and not again until Denton Tx., about 30 miles out of Gainesville. At A Phillips 66 truckstop I alighted a rather clean stool and blew a few farts that had built up on the stoic drive. I arrived at a jam-packed motel at 2:15 am precisely.
The cow behind the front desk didn't exactly display Texas hospitality when she refused my request for an extended checkout. It rarely happens. Cumb dunt. I needed some alcohol and relaxation in the worst way. Or was it the best? I already had realized that in the future I might choose to make that drive at night just like I did.Only a handful of hardcore travelers mopping the sweat off in truckstop mensroom whore baths.
I needed to get up at 9:30, didn't need a hangover, so I drank exactly 5 beers and had 2 bourbon and waters and got to sleep at 5:00 am after watching ESPN and some late night poker. The plan worked. I had survived for that day.
05/24/11
I watched all the tornado coverage on the weather channel last night with special interest. Shit, I'm heading up to Stillwater Ok. to play in a big chess tournament this weekend. I hope I don't pull up to the hotel it's being held in and see a pile of rubble. I wonder if Quality inn would refund me if that's the case? If I find out in time i'll stop half way and play at an event being held in Dallas. I just emailed the event director and told him to keep me posted if the have to move the shindig to a red cross ward.
I'm much more paranoid about snow and ice and shitty, crowded concert venue conditions than tornadoes. I rolled over and went back to sleep during an L.A. earthquake. I handled the Mt. Saint Helens eruption in stride. Watching the destruction in Joplin made me a bit nervous though.
You may ask...why am I driving past an event in Dallas to go to one in Ok?
The extra gas cost is made up for by a lower hotel and food factor. The thing that pisses me off about the Dallas tourney is the fact that their event requires me to play in a pissant "reserve" section wherein the best people are at my level. In Ok at the North American Fide open (Fide is the world chess federation) I'm choosing to play in it's an all play all event..one big section..which is what I grew up on. I'll probably play a couple experts and a master like last year and mow down a few lower rated rubes too.
I need to add, the Ok players made me feel really at home last year. The kid factor is there, but not dominant. I'll play maybe one or two whereas it could be like a junior scholastic event in Dallas with me taking on all the little jerkoff talents with their coaches and support systems.
This event is my main practice for the World Open coming up later this summer. In that extravaganza I could win up to $18,000 playing exclusively against people in my rating class. Shit, for that kind of money I'll forego playing good players for that tournament.
I've been studying chess to a frigging fault the last month or so. I've never been better prepared. I bought a copy of the library chess calculation book that sent me into an over-the-board meltdown in a San Antonio event a few years ago. Yep, I've finally conquered it. I've been playing 40-50 games at all times on Gameknot letting my opening repertoire really sink in.
My 100 pussyass golfswing's per night has been buffed up to 250. Urp. I'm serious about having the tournament of my life at the World open and am ready for the dress rehearsal in Stillwater. Look out all you pencilneck geek farmhand chess hayseeds. I've got blood in my eye and a burr in my fanny.
05/21/11
Oh shit, it must be the rapture. Our refrigerator stopped working Thursday evening and I almost had to drink warm beer later that night. Wait, if it were the rapture, it would have stopped today the 21st I think; but fuck, why in the hell would it be a sign of the end of days and the emptying of the graveyards as the living faithful and the souls of the dead are blasted upwards (??...is heaven upwards?) to paradise and an afterlife of their souls (they won't have their earthly bodies) singing praise to gods greatness forever and ever, whilst the rest of us on earth are left to deal with 666 and his cronies (666 can't be Bin Laden after all, how's about the IMF pervert, or the Pres. who sold out Israel exactly one..or was it two days before the rapture..if that's what it is??).
On Thursday night we wound up having a perhaps final carnal feast as we had to cook up frozen goods that wouldn't wedge into our meager coolers. Gazing outside now in the very wee hours,
I don't perceive anything as being different. I didn't hear Gideon's trumpet..just some deafening bass thump from some morons truck.
I almost can't wait to hear the sappy, insulting excuses the devotees who vouched for this prophecy day's legitimacy. Imagine how many people spent money, sending it to nutjob cult churches who were eager to put folks funds to use.
Fact is, the real snaperoo hoax is only on the horizon; even more kooks and followers of holy, double secret prophecies of ancient, dead civilizations (why are they considered worthy authorities if they couldn't even survive?) are already prepared to accept your credit card to get you up to speed on the 2012 end of time.
Fuck, we already blew our money on a burned out fridge part.
We live next to a graveyard of course, so I'd better put some shoes on and investigate to see if anything holy has occurred. UUrrpp...imagine a Three Stooges short featuring the boys digging graves in a cemetery on rapture day and getting the be-jesus scared out of them by corpses floating up out of the ground to the sky?? "Hey Moe... Hey Larry!! Whoop whoop whoop whoop..."
05/17/11
As a form of exercise and golf technique practice, I've decided to take 100 golf swings at least per day. Intimidated by the bugs and the heat, I've declared to my better half that I intend to roll the furniture back and take my swings in the living room. Hey, I told her, the only thing I could hit is the overhead ceiling fan; shit, I'm not gonna follow through to the point of smacking it. She gave her reluctant consent, like a TV sitcom spouse who knows better and wants me to experience the pain of being wrong. What do you think? Am I gonna bust anything? Huh?
Nutty the cat ate so much catnip tonight he knocked over some plants in a window trying to get to some bugs through the glass. He really wasn't freaking out much differently than quite a few loaded drunks and druggies who walk upright I've known. Urp. He did feel ashamed after I had to shoo him away and inadvertently laughed at him. I made it up to him whereas I'd just laugh at some stoner walking into a clear patio door.
A baseball hero of mine from childhood died today: Harmon Killebrew. He was an incredible slugger. During the 10 years or so Elvis and I played video baseball we had him on a couple of our teams. As I reminded El today, we had a "kill-a-brew" rule that when Harmon cracked a homer you had to empty your glass. Shit, a few times he sent so many over the fence that we got too groggled and later admitted to each other were secretly hoping for a flyout or a timid single. Believe it or not, he was an Oregonian. He overcame that handicap (hell, he was from Eastern Oregon..not Snoreland) in grand style. RIP man.
Now come the Texas sized shots!!
05/14/11
It was a fairly decent week. No sandbags piled up by the local river, no tornado's around here. The library has been bulging with new books I want to read. That's a nice change of pace. I'm almost done with the Frank Brady Bobby Fischer "Endgame" bio. I recommend it to my chess cronies but even more so to interested non-chessplayers. There's no chess content, you needn't know anything about the game. The author needed to walk a fine line between praising Fischer the young genius when necessary and Fischer the elder, a bullheaded Jewish-anti-semitic kook, who cackled on live radio on 9/11 and called for more buildings to fall. He lead a fascinating life ranging from 5 star hotels and telegrams from a President to living in the same bum haven L.A. skidrow digs Bukowski was so familiar with.
I beat a very, very good chess player online in a slow correspondence game in 8 moves this week. It's an old trap I won a sweet final round tournament game with when I was 12 years old. The guy back then was a real smartass. He came unglued when he lost. My opponent this week handled it with dignity...well, as much as you can huck out there losing in 8 moves. I only recently re-added this opening to my repertoire for my big summer tournaments. So far I love it.
Another good practice tonight. I've written a total of 5 brand new songs music wise in a couple months. The last couple seem particularly full of zip. My new metal guitar not only looks great, I don't need a distortion unit to get a ballsy sound. I was enjoying the practice so much I spontaneously ripped my ear protection headphones off to hear my lovely compositions bareback. I try to do that on stage for dramatic purposes. No drama at play in our living room practice; just some great fresh songs to shutup anybody who might think we're gonna coast on our laurels like many other veteran combos. Oh yeah, a bad book warning. I got a chapter or so into a book that was so poorly written I had to get off of my reading perch and fire up the computer to see what Amazon readers thought about the piece of shit. About 40% of folks hated it. One reviewer nailed it: great subject, horrible writer. I have to wonder who penned the opposing 40% rave reviews...relatives of the writer? The publishers promo crew? The book is "The Mad Ones" by Tom Folsom. Man, I really wanted to read this book about gangster Crazy Joey Gallo. I guarantee you it's poorly organized, clearly not proofread and not worth $1 to me. Good thing it's a library book. I suggest budding writers get a copy from their library and see how not to write a book. I feel a bit bad for the writer, but shit, he's working with a huge publisher. I bet he's living a swinging life in NYC as a hip writer. Fuck 'em.
05/09/11
I'm at the city library in the quiet room. I'm supposed to be studying an accounting book or working on my fiction book, but I'm still a bit rattled from the drive over here. I got trapped behind a do-gooder driver who both drove 15 mph under the limit and compounding his idiocy by slowing down to wave people in front of us, making me suffer through some long red lights.
Gazing at that grinning imbecile in his frigging SUV sideview mirror put me in the worst frame of mind, that mood in which I realize that for awhile the humanoid faces I see are going to disgust me big time.
I don't like their features, their hairdo's and particularly I am suspicious of the big plans they have that they're racing somewhere to fulfill. There is rarely anything in this burg that is more important happening than my simple existence and daily creations, ranging from this diary entry to my brackish bowel movements. What's happening tonight?? Me..or maybe me and you if you're visiting. Don't count on you being part of the equation unless you come prepared to hoist your end.
I enjoy my tinted car windows and only wish they were mandatory for others; really heavy, dark tints so I can traverse about the town without having to be horrified by the mugs of John Q. Dumbass and his ilk.
I'm starting to feel a bit better. I removed my glasses and can't even focus on the features of the handful of broads in here studying with their energy drinks and their uniform hair and flip-flops and all.
Hey, drink idea. At a Mexican restaurant working on my 2nd margarita yesterday I realized how the mix was a lot like the applesauce I ate a couple weeks ago. What's to stop us from mixing tequila with our applesauce..?? HHmm? Ever try it?
Food with booze in the same vessel. How about peanuts in beer glasses? Whiskey and corn flakes? Does that really work? Booze coleslaw dressing? Any ideas?
Let us vow to eat our booze and thereby usher in the final apocalypse. .
05/05/11
I rested my mind for a couple days only after a rather early annual furlough from work a week ago. Mental idleness can turn your...er, MY brain to mush if its not preceded by some stimulation. I immediately dove into chess study, having 3 big tournaments this summer including the frigging "World open". I located and began wading through a dull (aren't they all by nature?) accounting book as a review of ancient college study. I'll be taking a serious tax prep course in order to qualify for a quantum leap at work. With my well over 10 years of data entry experience and a degree and accounting and tax prep I'll be working much more of the year and earning a fuckload more. Lucky thing I'll still be able to wear sweat pants to work and look like the bearded phoney homeless beggars.
On the book front, I still have a finished book that we need to make last second corrections to and my first fictional work which is well along.
Whats that? Oh, we've been practicing 4 brand new R.V. songs for a new full length cd. Tonight I woke from my nap after the driving range and trotted over to my faithful recorder, guitar/pedal arrangement and nailed a 5th. Late summer we are planning to debut the 6 person power lineup.
Today's sermonette is inspired by the frequent nasty comments I read and hear about aging white rock stars. Now of course, they never state out loud WHITE rock stars, but they never criticize blacks no matter how old they are for continuing to play. If I'm missing out, please rub my nose in it.
What the shit do you expect guys who've done nothing else all their lives to do? Even if they make our ears and abdomens hurt often, they consider themselves "artists"; if you take an artists art away, what do they have left? It's like the theme from the great movie "The Wrestler".
I'm damn sure of one thing; even at the age of 75 most white aging rockers are cooler than the dipshits from the media who lipoff about them, no matter their age. They're just frustrated hacks who NEVER had it for five minutes.
I've never been a fan of over hyped "hot" bands; the concept of "buzz" nauseates me. Go ahead and lap it up. Give me some established longterm, proven talent, some dude pushing 60 or 70 working his ass off to make the same handful of ancient hits sound fresh, white or black or what have you. Coe. Blowfly. Tom Jones. The Dolls. The Stones. ACDC. Urp.
05/02/11
A Texas triple shot to the death of that fucking scumbag Bin Laden. Bottoms up. Urrppp.
The coverage of the event has been pretty silly at times and I'm just the guy to make a few points that can't be made by major media sources, no matter how much their employees might like to.
The most obvious contradiction has been commented on; that would be Sec. of State Clinton trying to sell the public on a claim that the Pakistani's helped us with this mission. Yeah, sure.....what a load of camel manure.
A total naive moron might believe that, whereas a scheming hater of the U.S. would pretend to be shocked at our not tipping off the Paki's ahead of time.
The story wasn't 20 minutes old last night when for research purposes I hit the internet..one of my chess discussion sites with a huge international audience. I claimed out loud to Marla that already I'd be able to spot claims that our actions were "illegal" and that there was actually a conspiracy at hand, that we had faked the story somehow.
As far as the international haters go, you can quickly sniff them out even though they may use very smooth, Euro style rhetoric. The key phrase to look for is "international laaw". Almost without exception, internet geniuses citing international law are what Ayn Rand referred to simply as "collectivists". I've made minimal attempts to exchange thoughts with several of 'em over the years. They actually believe we should all clearly be consulting U.N. guidelines exclusively in matters of foreign policy. Of course, these are the same folks who won't be happy until we dismantel our country and our evil wealth and share it with the rest of the world. Don't believe me?? Are you at the right site?? It didn't start with U.N. baloney about global warming. We are clearly at odds with the U.N. collectivists and have been for a long time.
I checked for quotations from Republican leaders to see who was willing to giving due credit to Pres. Obama for pulling off this mission and for 1) not warning the Paki's and for 2) not trying very hard to capture the son of a bitch.
I saw some conservative partisan Repub's bitching that Obama didn't credit Bush in his initial spiel. Fact is, lots of the Repub's and Tea party leaders didn't credit Obama..at least in the statements I read.
Hey, for a few days I'm for once applauding my President and who knows..I might even knock back a blast in his honor. If he cuts off our aid to Pakistan in the near future, shit..I'll guzzle a double shot to him.
Now the conspiracy dumbasses. Goddamn, I know good and well many of you are in this category, since it's a topical, modern way of looking at things, as prevalent as reality TV shows to wallow in the conspiracy game. Hell's bells, many of you were raised on fantasy horseshit games and Sims scenarios (yeah, I'm a big Sims fan too) and all the TV double secret government agency shows that are almost as popular as reality shows.
The conundrum is, I don't advocate taking stuff at face value you are confronted with from the media. I'm fucking AGAINST that, but so many of you don't seem to know how to formulate questions and some sort of rational for separating the horseshit from the sweet potato's. I'm not the only voice railing against the insanity of assuming everythings a conspiracy. The Southpark guys understanding. Penn & Teller do their bit to try to educate you with their "Bullshit" show.
At work last week I got to talking to a guy who graduated from the super conservative Texas A&M. He's a church goer and a military vet. I had assumed he was the last guy who was going to get sucked into Alex Jones type bullshit. But, nope. He's just the right age...late 20's. He's into fantasy games and conspiracy theories in equal doses.
I didn't want to make a big argument at work. I simply told him, hey...can you at least pledge not to have any children until you learn how to tell the difference...using concepts worked up in your brain about when to suspect our politicians and media of conspiracy and when to keep your yap shut..??? Huh?? Please??
How about the rest of you??
04/25/11
I would rather spend a day at the mall with Mother..
I would rather attend an evening of whiteboy rap..
I would rather go through 10 job interviews sporting a suit and tie..
I would rather attend a hippie culture-fest..or a Michael Moore film festival
I would rather sit in a corner bound and gagged, blindfolded with ants crawling on me..
I would rather be beaten, bound and gagged, injected with cold or influenza germs and left facedown in a dogrun..
I'd rather eat sprouts, tofu and drink micro-spew wheat beer for a week..
I would rather deliver a lecture on the shame and evil of drinking to a roomful of evangelical church women who have recently separated from abusive drunk husbands..with electrodes stinging my body each time their suspicions began to raise I wasn't being sincere
I would rather be bound, mocked and kicked by a group of ex coworkers specially chosen for their hatred for me..with my pants yanked down around my ankles and hair and beard on fire...
...than watch that stinking snob parade this Friday.
I never gave a rats ass about Diana or Jacki-O for that matter for five minutes..dead or alive. I do understand why some natives from the U.K. will be glued to their TV's, er..females that is..or even a guy being pressured by his woman who watches it with a sense of humor....ok. Hey, if you're a pussywhipped dude and you begin weeping from the pain of watching with your main squeeze and run out of the room screaming or curl up into a fetal position, I'll consider you've learned your lesson and deserve no further punishment. I prescribe 10 "Married with Children" episodes of your choice for remedial therapy however.
If you watch the event with your friends with the express purpose of shouting obscenities at the screen, drunk, loaded or simply pissed off...good for you.
I don't suggest you watch it alone even for research purposes unless you're a confirmed cynic of many years. If you enter your local bar and see the regular crowd gazing respectfully at the screen in the corner this Friday during the telecast, either jump on the bar and protest immediately, or flee and never darken that inn's doorway again.
If you create a piece of home made apparel protesting the wedding's stupidity and wear it to work Friday..you are blessed. I will sing your praises from barstools forever...
04/18/11
With company in attendance last night, I drank so damn much beer and whiskey I could still hear it sloshing around at noon today. Seriously. Tonight we ate at an Asian buffet with Mr. and Mrs. Elvis. Since she has to watch her nutritional intake closely (being with child) we go there due to their apparent commitment to not using MSG. There's even a big sign and plaque stating this by the cash register. I wanted to load up food wise for the likely overtime coming up this week. Yeah, I could live off of fat for probably a month, but I still fool myself into thinking I need to eat.
I just finished off a fine book that seems quite relevant to our times. It's a bio of President Polk, a fellow who achieved during his administration all 4 of the stated goals he campaigned on. Not only that, he stuck to his pledge of being a one term President.
The author Robert W. Merry points out that Polk worked all but 5 days during the first couple years of his single term. The last couple years he only moved farther than a mile from the white house once. Rather than whine about it, he noted in his diary that future Presidents should be expected to work a similar schedule or in his view they would be letting the country down.
Many revisionists like to smear Polk as being a slimeball who fomented a war with a weak, defenseless, blameless nation (Mexico ) to fulfill his evil goals of conquest. Even Sam Clemens and U.S. Grant, two hero's of mine held that opinion. The author holds that while he was indeed eager to add California, Texas, Oregon and New Mexico to the union, there isn't any evidence to show that he actually did anything but respond to Mexico, which was an extremely dysfunctional nation at the time. It's like that old bit about if a puny little drunk takes a swing at you down at the bar, if you knock him on his ass, are you being a bully?? Quite a few pacifists would want you to turn the other cheek. I say balls to that.
Expanding our nation was extremely popular with the public at the time.
The author gives an example from an Al Gore speech in which Polk is smeared to demonstrate how it is open season on him right now, but frankly, when the likes of Gore is attacking a figure from history or our time I tend to assume the frickin' blowhard is just spewing nonsense again. Al Gores enemy is quite often my friend.
I'm more of a Lincoln and Washington guy, but Polk deserves respect for living up to his word to the voters 100% Even if you disagree with the man, you should respect that and his work ethic was something to behold. Urp. Yeah, I'd prefer a 2 day week for myself, but if you're gonna lead our country you need to buckle your seatbelt and work your ass off. No lollygagging should be tolerated.
Unlike the un-elected, but bigmouthed first lady we now are being treated to, Mrs. Polk supported her man behind the scenes and kept her damn yap shut. I think we'd be best off going back to that sort of set up again. First ladies or first men should be out of the picture in the same way you don't bring your fart wrangling old man or your cow-ass fishwife to your job. Am I right?
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