Passport photos and more

I just got my new passport and I am absolutely disgusted with the picture.  Rather than hide my shame, I've decided to just show it to the masses.  First, here is my old passport photo:

I used to hate this picture, but now I like it because I can compare it to my new passport photo.  I think my new passport photo makes me look like Pogo, the clown.  Pogo, of course, was John Wayne Gacy, the infamous murderer.  Here is a picture of him:

I really should have chosen a color photo (you'll see why below).  However, I find his hat in this picture particularly disturbing.  Clowns are creepy.  It goes without saying this is especially true when they are mass murders.

And here is my new passport photo:

Luckily, the passport lines obscure the overall effect of the picture, but you can tell.  Yes, indeed, I do have my lower lip sticking out as if to pout.  The photo does also add many shades of red to my face adding to the clown-like effect.  If I don't think of John Wayne Gacy, then I'm liable to think of Droopy the dog. 

In other news, I picked up pizza today from Cafe Verdi.  (I know, I know, from the picture, I clearly don't need pizza).  Anyway, I like the Cafe Verdi pizza, it is cheap and it tastes great.  There are some drawbacks though.  First, the place smells horrible.  This isn't a problem if you take it to go.  Second, I noticed a couple of these hung up high on the walls:

Evil eye protection amulets.  Then I noticed that they spoke some sort of Eastern European language that I couldn't make out.  They're gypsies...dirty, foul-mouthed, mean, no tipping gypsies.  I hate gypsies.  I've had too many experiences with these horrible people at the blackjack tables.  I'm torn between my love of good, cheap pizza and the generalized hatred of an already persecuted people.

My tip

Last night, I had a group of gypsies playing at my $25 blackjack game. There was a father, wife, daughter, and son. The women were not allowed to play, but were just allowed to watch. Yep, gypsies are sexist. The father asked, "where are my cigarettes?"

The mother replied, "I thought you got them from the bar."

Father, "I thought you got them. I didn't get them."

Mother, "I didn't get them, they are your cigarettes. I'll go check the bar" Minute later. "There wasn't any there"

Father, "Any what?"

Mother, "Cigarettes. I couldn't find your cigarettes."

Father, "Why would I need cigarettes? I have some in my pocket." I laughed pretty hard at this, so did the daughter.

Couple of minutes later....the father asked, "Where are my cigarettes?"

Mother, "I'll go buy you some cigarettes."

Me..."You can get free cigarettes from the cocktail waitress, just ask for them."

The mother kept trying to go get cigarettes and the father said he had plenty a couple of times. Meanwhile, the daughter, the only sane was urging her mother to stay to get cigarettes from the cocktail waitress. The daughter lost, but the cocktail waitress brought back cigarettes before the mother came back.

Now, the son ended up playing by himself with his father watching. He did all the hand gestures that gypsies do and put himself into a little bit of a blackjack trance. He turned his $400 into $4,000 very quickly. When he lost a hand, he looked up at me, looked me in the eye and began speaking in a foreign language. He repeated what he was saying twice. I recognized it as a romance language that wasn't spanish or french. The only word I caught was "solamente". I grasped that and put it into my internal romance language translator and interpreted it as "only". Indeed, it is spanish for "only". I don't speak spanish, this just shows the power of my internal romance language translator. All bow to me. Anyway, I'm certain that it wasn't spanish. I just looked at him bewildered as I translated "solamente". He said, "Don't worry. It's a good thing." So, my tip was a gypsy blessing. No money. It better work or I'll be mad.