Pictures of Presidential Candidates

So, I received a lovely picture of President Bush and the first lady. I decorated it with a "Defend America: Defeat Bush" sticker and Greg decorated Bush as a devil and the first lady as a clown. We put it up on the laundry room door. I then received a similar picture of John Kerry with John Edwards (no first lady-to-be). It seems more appropriate not to put the wife on the picture, but who wants to see Dick Cheney, he scares children and you can almost see his horns.

The picture of Bush fell down and is on the kitchen floor. Out of superstition, I'm reluctant to pick it up. I have a feeling that Greg is too. He cleaned the kitchen spotless, but the picture remained on the floor. I believe it will remain there until the end of the election. Hopefully, there won't be a dispute.

Elite screamer

There was a man in the high limit pit the other day that would scream when he won. He would scream from the time when he discovered his win until he got paid. It wasn't a typical victory scream. It was a constant, ear-piercing wail that scared customers. Some customers even complained that it gave them headaches. He had been told several times over a couple of days that he needed to stop. At one point, a craps supervisor came over and told him he couldn't scream like that anymore. How bad do you have to be when a craps supervisor comes over because you are too loud? Pretty bad. Anyway, after the supervisor left, the man said, "Who is he to tell me what to do? What was that a $50 suit? I mean seriously." Apparently, expensive suits = authority and inexpensive suits = no authority. How much does he think floor supervisors make anyway? FYI, floor supervisors make less than the dealers. (Pit supervisors are a different story though).

The Blank of Blank

So, I thought it would be fun to write a little story, being that I like writing. My problem, of course, is that I suffer from a 10-year stint of writer's block. I was thinking the best way may be to write based on previews that I've seen. The previews for a lot of movies are often better than the movie themselves. I usually already have a story in mind when I go to the movies based on the preview. My idea is never the same as the movie and because it comes from me, it happens to be infinitely better.

However, I haven't seen any good previews lately. So, I decided to take two words from the dictionary at random and then place the words in the following format: The "Word 1" of "Word 2". The rules were that I couldn't dispute the words no matter how much I despise them or even if they were improper syntax. I would not allow prepositions though. Face it, "The on of in" is difficult to write a story about. I could then write a story around the title using it as a catalyst for creativity.


The title I ended up with is "The Poop of Mann Act". I really was horrified with the first word. I'm already too poop-centric for words and people find it irritating. I certainly don't want to write a story about poop. Luckily, I ended up with the second definition as in the phrase "poop sheet". Mann Act turns out to be an interesting thing for my finger to land on. The Mann Act is an act of congress (1910) making it a federal offense to participate in the interstate transportation of a woman for immoral purposes. This unfortunately requires research to write a good story. I'm just doing this for fun. Ah screw it.

Touche!

Jesus thinks you're a lazy shit. Even if He wanted
to hang out with you (which He doesn't) He
knows that He'd have to come over to your
house, which probably smells funny.


What does Jesus think of you?
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The Bubsy

We've had three golf tournaments come through the Golden Nugget over the last three weeks. Golfers are perhaps the worst group of people in the world. They are obnoxious and for the most part non-tippers. In fact, when there is a golf tournament we are packed, but usually end up making less than when we are much less crowded. The latest tournament is called "The Bubsy" after the founder, I guess.

The dealers on "whore watch", noted that the whores were working double time. As soon as they would come down, they would go back up. Also, there were quite a few whores that accompanied the golfers at the tables. The ones that didn't get whores went to a strip club called the "Spearmint Rhino". Sorry about my use to the word "whore", but if you know me, you know I like the word. It is one of the stronger words in the English language. I try to use it as much as possible.

I had one golfer that came to my table with about $200 in chips. He asked for a marker (credit line). I called out for one and the floor person said that he would be right there. He was very busy, we had a ton of "Bubsy's" come in and the marker system was in chaos. So, I shuffled. After I shuffled, the golfer looked at me angrily and said, "where is my marker?". I told him that there were some problems going on with the computers and if he wanted to bet more than the $200, because we could wait. He said that he didn't want to bet more than the $200. He played two hands and won them both. He looked at me frustrated and threw his arms up indicating that his marker still hadn't arrived. I replied that I was sorry and the floor person was very busy. He played more and more and won an amount that totaled more than the marker amount he requested. The floor person came over apologizing. The golfer yelled at him and said that he was too late. All this anger and he never even needed a marker. What a waste of perfectly good anger.

Another one of the golfers I had today turned out to have won a grammy. He won it for writing a Chaka Kahn song. What would people think? He was an older, white, non-tipping male golfer. That lifestyle just doesn't scream Chaka Kahn to me. How do you like your R & B? As white as possible please.

Our new Casino Manager is driving everyone crazy. He came into the high limit pit today and saw it was busy. He told the pit manager that he wanted a floor person on every game. To do that, he would have to have all of the floor people in the whole casino be in the high limit pit. It clearly isn't logical thinking and makes me wonder how he got this job. Also, it indicates that he doesn't trust the dealers. This isn't the first time that he has shown distrust. He once said to a floor supervisor to add up the total number of chips on a three-dealer baccarat game every hour, regardless if there were any players on the game. When asked why, he replied that he didn't trust the dealers. He said this in front of the dealers and appeared to be very serious.

The Most Common Wallet

The most common wallet that I see in the high limit pit is a rubber band. They always have a big wad of money in a rubber band. Probably, the money is too big for their wallet. However, I've seen someone with a bunch of credit cards and ID in a rubber band as well.

Maybe they are so rich because they have a rubber band as a wallet. Very rarely do I see money clips, but their are some.

Mr. Initials

We call him by his first two initials, but for privacy sake we will just call him Mr. Initials. Mr. Initials is a player who doesn't like to play with other people on the table. He only plays the six deck shoe by himself. He started about 4 months ago on a $10 table. He would win a lot and then quit. Then he went to $25. Again, he won and quit. Then he started going to the high limit pit. It got to the point that he was betting $1,000 or more at a time (up to $15,000 a hand). One night, I beat him out of $100,000, but the next dealer gave it all back plus.

Last week, he lost $500,000, which was all of the money that he won. He started over and is now to the $25 dollar table.

The Conspiracy against Bjork

Remember me complaining about the presentation of the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games? My problem was that they talked over everything including Bjork's song especially made for the Olympics. Of course, they didn't talk over the olympic hymn, the most tuneless, boring song in the world.

Today, I got the new CD by Bjork. I was very excited because none of the songs use instruments, just voices as instruments. (I, myself, experimented with that. That's not the point of this post though). And no, it isn't just like Bobby McFerrin, the media darling who created "Don't Worry, Be Happy". The world might have been a better place without that song in my opinion.

The song that was in the Olympics is on this CD. It is called "Oceania" and I like it. The reason why I think it was talked over is because it takes an evolutionist point of view. She sings from the point of view of the ocean and how we were born from her. (Yep, lyrics like these are very typical of Bjork). I wonder if they talked over her to keep people from realizing that the world does not have a creationist point of view. Perhaps, they figured Bjork was already hated enough by the creationists and it is better not to throw fuel on the fire. Just a thought.

Anyway, I can't get past the song, "Triumph of a Heart", which bricoleur can download from itunes now (just a suggestion, what's a buck?). I listen to it over and over. She really has a good, thick sound with all of the voices and, believe it or not, a great dance beat.

The Evil Empire of Fry's Electronics

So, yesterday, I had the day off. I've been thinking about various improvements to my computer and I've been thinking about Taco Time. There is only one Taco Time in Las Vegas. I think that their crisp meat burrito is the world's most perfect food, much like the incredible, edible egg. Anyway, there happens to be a Fry's electronics store near that particular Taco Time. I decided to make a day of it. Of course, some traffic accident prevented it from being a quick trip. Stupid drivers! Also, I found my fellow commuters to be rather unfriendly like when I needed to get in the next lane and they speed up to prevent me. What brings on that kind of behavior? Driving habits truly exaggerate one's own behavior. I think they feel that someone else is trying to get an advantage and they can't let that happen, oh god, no!

So, I get to Taco Time and my stomach is already a little messed up from my recent diet of candy corn and dots. I ate some of the delicious crisp meat burrito and mexi-fries. My stomach started to hurt a lot, making my Taco Time experience less than favorable. Apparently the second time I got food poisoning was from the exact same food from Taco Time (so the doctor presumed). That didn't stop me though. Yep, it's that good. Anyway, their new slogan sucks: "Taco Time. It really is." That sure is open-ended and an amateur comedian's dream. They also had on the bag: "Warning: May cause spontaneous fiestas." I thought that was cute, even though it verges on my hatred for X-treme, in-your-face attitude advertising.

My next stop was Fry's. Now, people here in Vegas always talk about Fry's with a kind of reverence in their voice. "If you can plug it in, they have it and for less". That's pretty much true, although they didn't have apple computers, just the ipod. They also didn't carry Dell. They do have a computer geek section with motherboards, cpu's, and everything to build or fix a computer. They also have, again, anything that plugs in like vacuums and electric can openers. You get the idea. It's a huge warehouse. I hate it, not because of the excellent selection, low prices, or even the in store cafe, but because of something much, more sinister.

I think I'm the only person in the world that this pisses off. It pisses me off so bad, that I actually shake if I think about when it is happening. Costco and Sam's Club does it, too. They check your receipt and purchases when you leave. Now, Costco and Sam's Club are memberships, so I figure that if I don't like it, that I don't have to go there. Fry's is not a membership, yet they check your receipt when you leave. Think about what they are doing. You are required to submit to a search of your personal items when leaving the store. You bought it, it is yours. They can't keep track of you on your way from the checkstand to the door. They have to check your bag at the door!! It's 20 feet maybe! It doesn't seem like a big deal, but what is next? Search your pockets, your purse, your body cavities. The government doesn't have that power to search you like that. They have to have probable cause.

Now, Greg brought up the point that you get searched going to Disneyland now or the airport. That is different. You have the choice to not submit to the search and not going to Disneyland. When leaving a store, you don't have a choice. You can't stay there.

Unfortunately, I didn't press the issue. I waited like a sheep in line to show my receipt and left. I was too shocked. Corporations are taking more and more liberties with our rights. I'm all for theft prevention, but get a little more creative than that.

Computer Quandry

So, I got to looking at ipods last night. They require me to have Windows XP and a firewire or USB 2.0 port. All of this, I can do. Now a much cheaper Dell DJ does not require me to have Windows XP. Now, that's a savings of $100 right there. They lose some in the cool factor, but they are functional at a reduced price.

Dell must have my number though, because today an ad showed up in hotmail. The ad was for Dell and it says "today only" and they have a pretty kick ass computer on sale with monitor for $349. (By kick ass, I have to compare to my computer and almost anything is kick ass). The computer they offered does need some upgrades that I could do later, but it has a good start. I am resisting though, it is so hard. ($150 of that price is for Windows alone, so really the computer is only $200. Holy cow, a computer for $200...I never thought this day would come). By the way, I'm not an ad for Dell.

This is one of the reasons that I can't buy an Apple computer. Apple computers are never on sale for $349.

Shuffle of Doom

I was in the high limit pit today on a $200 blackjack game. It started with a young, russian man who was betting $225 and not tipping. I could tell because he would put his $12.50 on top of his bet after a blackjack. I changed my shuffle to what other dealers swear will destroy a person and I did a pretty good job of taking the majority of his money. Let that be a lesson to always tip. Everyone on break congratulated me on a job well done. It is always good to free up the tables for people that do tip.

The next person and the only other person I got was a man from Tulsa, Oklahoma. He complained constantly, even when he pushed. In fact, he was up $2,000 and would still complain. He was swearing and throwing his cards. To his credit though, it was about an hour before he said, "un-fucking-believable" and then the standard "you're killing me". However, his anger was never directed at me, but at the cards, so I never changed my shuffle to the shuffle of doom. He was tipping very rarely, $5 here and there, but the potential was there for him to be a good tipper.

At one point, he had two "8's" against my "9" with $600 up. He talked about what to do for about 10 minutes. He debated about whether to split them or just hit. He took out his card and consulted it. He went over statistics in his head. He tried to remember what cards had come out before. He consulted his son-in-law who said, "just make a bloody decision" (he was from England). He asked the floor supervisor, who said to split them. He hemmed and hawed and then split them. The card that came next on his "8" was a "3" making it a possible double down hand. This caused the floor supervisor and another dealer to break out laughing imagining another 10 minutes for a decision. He doubled down and got a "10". On his next hand he got a "10" to make "18". I, of course, busted. He then began to tip me every hand at $10 a pop. All in all, it worked out. End result: He made $10,000 and the dealers made about $600.

The Sloppy Joes of Doom

Everyone at work that had the sloppy joes, myself included, got sick. I feel nasty and vomity. Just thought I would share that with the world. Avoid the sloppy joes. I should have known. They were an odd color. The good news is that it isn't like food poisoning, which I've had two horrible times. That's the worst.

Why Sona's Passport has her as 4 Years Older than She is

Sona was 15 in Afghanistan, spending her time in school and borrowing her grandmother's romance novels. Her father was a 4-star general in the Afghanistan army, but there was opposition growing in the communist party. One day, her father called and told the family, mother and seven children not to go out, trouble was brewing. They had a party planned for Friday and they canceled it.

Later that day, her mother called her father's post. The phone was answered, "Slaughterhouse". She hung up. While they were eating diner, they listened to their cousin on the radio that read the news. She reported an attack by the communist party on the Afghanistan army. She listed the names of the people who were executed, she came to Sona's fathers name and then stopped. She passed out. Sona and her family stopped eating and ran outside cursing the communist party.

Her father was lined up against a wall with other army officials and told that if they joined the communist party they could keep the same rank and be released. He spat on the floor and was gunned down in a machine gun execution.

From then on, when extended family came to visit, their house was surrounded by Afghanistan army men with machine guns with several inside the house as well. They slept in clothes with shoes on, in case, they would be taken to prison in the middle of the night.

Sona's mother bribed government officials a lot of money for fake passports with fake last names. Early one morning, the mother gathered everyone and they sneaked to the airport, praying that no one would recognize them. They went to Germany. Sona's father was friends with the German ambassador to Afghanistan. He arranged a hotel for them and then had the government buy them a house. They eventually got their names corrected in their passports, but their birth years remained incorrect. Sona's says she is 4 years older than she really is. Her sister, who is 9 years older than her, has a passport that says she is 8 years younger than she really is.

The second most common way to complain

So, today I had a woman who said sternly as she was losing, "You're wearing me out." That's not the second most common way to complain which I also heard today. The second most common is "You're killing me!" Really? It looks more like suicide to me.

This is truly amazing

This looks like a magic trick, but it isn't:

http://www.albinoblacksheep.com/flash/fold.php

I'm going to have to try this!!!

The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time

"The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time" by Mark Haddon has caused a stir in Salt Lake City according to my friend there, Carrie. You can read about the controversy in a humorous essay here:
http://rationalistswearingsombreros.typepad.com/rationalists_wearing_somb/2004/08/a_curious_incid.html

Carrie told me that to get a copy of the book you had to ask for it at the bookstore and they would get it from the back. The reason why it was banned: They scanned the book and found that the word "fuck" appeared in it several times. That's it. That's all. They should ban half the books in the world if they are going to be so strict, but they picked on this one because it made it to the Salt Lake City Community Book Club reading list or something like that. The funny thing is that this was also released as a children's book in Britain (although, I'm sure that they took the bad word out).

I quite liked it. It was a delightfully fast read. It is written from the perspective of a 15 year-old boy Asperger's syndrome (a mild variant of autism). The best part, I think, is that you, the reader, can figure out what is going on before the boy does simply by the fact that he is unable to easily interpret the emotions of others. It really makes you appreciate the ability we have to process information haphazardly and read the non-verbal cues from others. It also puts you in awe of a very logical mind.

My mother read it as well and said that it really reminded her of some of the autistic children she had taught.

I also read an interview of the author and he said that people are coming up with their own emotions for the book. Some say it is sad and they weep through the whole thing and others say it was charming and at times funny. I just thought it was interesting and didn't assign emotions to it.

Police Report

Well, I scanned them in for fun and now you can read of when I was shot. You may notice bricoleur making an appearance as V/4 (victim 4).

There are some discrepancies that I would like to point out though. You will note that I was not interviewed for this police report. First, I never said that "we have no money". I would have said, "we don't have any money" but I didn't even say that. In fact, I was pulling out my wallet when V/2 was saying that. I had even set aside money in the motel room in case we were mugged. My parents didn't raise a fool. Second, and I have to use politically incorrect language now, they didn't say "Do them, do them now!". I pointed out to V/3 that the two were yelling at the gun holder, "Shoot them you nigger!". V/3 responded that they wouldn't have said that because they were all black. Then it hit me, she really was from Utah. It was a small deviation from what happened, so I never officially complained, but the first mistake bothers me. I'm not that stupid.

Bizarre ankles

So, in a strange twist of fate, my sister twisted her ankle about 10 days after I did. She did this without foreknowledge of my ankle. It could have served as a warning for her. Her bruising is identical to the bruising on my foot. The bruising did get worse, as did hers. Her swelling is lower than mine though. She always takes pictures of her injuries, so you can have a gander.

Employee Appreciation Week

That's right, a whole week. There have been cute posters around the employee area that says in honor of employee appreciation week we were getting candy on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday. Tuesday, we were suppose to get Mounds bars, because we deserve "mounds of praise". On swing shift, they ran out. Apparently, a lot of the maids took large quantities home. It also turned out that they were the "fun size". What's so fun about "fun size" anyway? We all felt pretty under-appreciated on swing shift.

Today, we were suppose to get Crunch, because we "crunch the competition". They ran out. Tomorrow, we were suppose to get Hot Tamales (the candy), because we "sizzle with customer service". They will run out. So, I think I will go out and buy the regular sized versions of these and feel appreciated.

The appreciation we did get was on Monday, because they served gyros. By the way, people who did not grow around a large greek population do not seem to know how to pronounce "gyros". In case you don't know, it is "yeer-ohs". It has nothing to do with a gyroscope, so I think it is appropriate that it is not pronounced as such. I remember a mexican serving me a gyro in New York kept trying to correct my pronounciation of gyros. That made me mad, because I was saying it correctly and he was an idiot.

Hmmmm....yum

You are Rosy Perfection Salad!! Though your name
may be innocent and cheerful, your jello-sweet
exterior hides a foul, sinister core.


What Weight Watchers recipe card from 1974 are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

I thought these were cute, so I entered in other answers and put them under the replies for you to enjoy. Take the test first and then come back to see what other's are available.

The Most Common Way to Complain

Well, it is not really a complaint, but I hear it a lot. When a player loses, they will exclaim, "unbelievable"! For some reason, this exclamation really bothers me. Unbelievable, really? I think of politicians as unbelievable, but cards can't lie. I want to say, "I didn't think it was unbelievable when you got twenty, so what is all this shock about anyway." What saying "unbelievable" implies is that I'm somehow dealing to them crookedly. Of course, if this was the case it would only be to the players advantage to tip. That way the dealer gets a cut and would deal in your favor. People who say "unbelievable" usually are the same people who do not tip or after winning $1000 throws in two dollars as a tip. Now that's unbelievable.

Another dealer was telling me about a woman that she was dealing to that won a lot of money. Then she started losing and became very irate. She would throw her cards at the dealer, bitch and of course, say "unbelievable". While this was happening, a very by-the-book female floor supervisor put a note in front of the dealer. The note read, "What is this bitch moaning about? She's up $4,000." Sure enough, when the woman left she took the chips that she had in her purse out. She colored up $4,800.

What comes up must...(one and half hours later)

I wasn't looking forward to coming back to work today. I just didn't feel like I had two days off and I didn't want to get back to the grind. It didn't help that I was behind someone all the way to the fifth floor of the parking garage going really slow. I showed them, I made it to the elevator before them. I was watching the elevator floors go down. First, the 5 was lit up then 4...3...2. Then what do you know, there was a lack of the number 1. In fact, in place of 1 was a jerky stop of the elevator. Did I cause this? I didn't want to go to work so badly that I caused the elevator to stop? Was it instant karma for hating the person in the slow car in front of me and then beating them to the elevator. There is no air conditioning in the elevator. In the summer, it is usually hotter in the elevator than outside. Luckily, today it was just warmish.


I pried open the doors and wouldn't you know it, I was perfectly stuck between floors. I checked out my options on the panel. There was the alarm button, but that just alerts people in the area. I usually ignore the alarm button when I hear it. I gave it a buzz anyway. Below all of the buttons was a red sign saying, in case of emergency call 555-4854 (except it was a real number, not one I just made up). I opened up the phone door and there wasn't a phone at all. There was a speaker box with a red button and instructions to push it in case of emergency. Is being stuck in an elevator an emergency? I actually paused and then thought what other kind of elevator emergency is there? "I think I broke my leg, please send help." or "I think terrorists have taken over the garage". Probably, the most common emergency is getting stuck. I pushed the button and I heard a phone ringing.

"Hello?" a man's voice answered.
"Hello," I replied.
"Hello," a man's voice answered.
"Hello, I'm stuck in the ele...."
The speaker box interrupted me with, "This is the Clark County parking lot south. Elevator number 2 has stopped and is in need of assistance."
I waited for it to finish and said, "Did you get the message?"
"Yes," he replied and than in an accusatory tone, "Who is this?"
I wanted to say, "Does it matter? Do you really care?" It seemed like such an odd question. However, I replied, "My name is Patrick."
He said that someone would be there soon and that he would call back to check on me. Check on me for what, I wondered. What would I say? "You know, actually could I get some ketchup." I don't think that I would have the option of needing to be checked up on. I'm stuck, not much is going to happen. Perhaps it was in case I started freaking out or something.

I passed my time frantically waving to passing co-workers on their way into work. (There is a window in the elevator, so I wasn't just waving at the wall). No co-workers thought to look at the glass elevators though. As promised, the man called back and I requested that he call the Golden Nugget and let them know that I was stuck in the elevator. He agreed. I guess it is good that he calls to check up.

While waiting, I saw a pimp avec ho walking down the street. Every once in a while, a passenger in a stopped car would notice me not moving and I would wave. I felt like a strange art exhibit. The best thing I saw though was a female clown. She was wearing a horizontal red and white striped shirt and her face was painted with a sad expression. She was driving some sort of town car. While she was stopped at the light. She pulled out a lacey handkerchief and blew her nose. Such a sad clown she was.

Isn't this the type of situation where you are suppose to reflect and have an epiphany of some sort? Well, that didn't happen. The guy called back and this time I could see him talking on his cell phone, looking up at me from the sidewalk. He had on a tan security uniform, not like the one's from security in the parking lot. After he "checked up" on me and he left, I looked out of the window to see a security guard in a blue uniform. He asked me as best as he could why I didn't call him. He looked quite angry. This is just what I need. Some strange parking lot politics to get in the middle. How was I suppose to know and how was I suppose to call him. There was just only a button. Did I push it wrong? I said there was only one button and he motioned that he was going to talk to me later. Just what I need, a tongue lashing. I decided that he wanted me to call the number above the speakerbox, but there was no phone and I don't have a phone and screw him anyway.

The nice security guard called again. Since, I have recently started smoking again, I asked if it was OK to smoke. He said there were no "no smoking" signs, so go ahead if there is ventilation. There was ventilation in the form of a fan blowing hot air and so I had a cigarette.

After being in the elevator for 1 and a half hours, I got out. The blue uniformed guard was not there when I got out, so I feel like I got away with something. What? I don't know.

Work seemed understanding, however, it is a no-fault system. No-fault takes the "human" out of "human resources". In other words, I will be written up for being late. The only way to get out of not being written up is by having a doctor's note saying it is unavoidable. They do like me there though, so maybe I won't get written up. We'll have to see. I also missed out on an hours worth of pay. That really sucks, especially on a Saturday when tips are so good.

The Battle of the Squashes

I bought this absolutely beautiful turban squash. Now, turban squash, in case you didn't know, is so horribly ugly that it is beautiful, kind of like pomegranates I also bought a sweet dumpling squash, which is small and cute as far as squashes go, like an mini-albino pumpkin. I put these masterpieces of nature upon the counter of the kitchen to display them along with a butternut squash that I bought earlier. (In case you didn't know, I love squash. They keep forever and are delicious with copious amounts of butter).

Now, I'm not going to name names, but someone in this apartment put the squashes in the cupboard. Fine, I thought, so this person doesn't think that nature is beautiful. Well, this same person went out and bought yet another squash. An undecorative spaghetti squash, boring and yellow with no bulbous shapes protruding or anything to give it character. Where does that abomination go? Why, on the counter of course. I showed that person though. I put all the squashes and a red onion displayed on the counter with a note above it that says "Such a beautiful, bountiful harvest". I should add an exclamation mark. Let's see that person put it in the cupboard now. Ah ha ha ha.