Blog Six: Snaby Plays Poker

I've got Mrs. RickJay, a.k.a. Snaby, Snabes, Snabalicious, and the Girl With The World's Prettiest Feets playing poker. Just for play money, but it's fun.

I entered a $2 tournament the other day and finished about 250th out of 1900 people, so I'm quite pleased with that. I was knocked out on a well played hand too. Of course maybe the average $2 tournament is 95% fish and I was just lucky, but I thought I played very well and I continue to entertain ridiculous fantasies of being a professional poker player and never having to go back to work.

My trip to Connecticut was tiring. Eight hours there and back. On the way I listened to roughly the first half of Stephen King's fifth Dark Tower book, "Wolves of the Calla." The narrator spoke for about eleven hours and nothing happened. It was excruciating, with all the standard Stephen King cliches, including a mystical black female who continually uses the words "sugar" and "honeychile" to refer to other people, references to children having sex, characters showing up from other King books, inner-dialogue of no purpose or point, and as is typical in his worst books, people TALKING about doing things, but not doing them. It was horrible. He even managed to work in rural Maine even though the book is set in a fantasy world. "Calla" is really just Maine.

This weekend; helping out Dad-in-Law at his booth at the Cottage Life show, some homework, probably some Scrabble. All in all, sounds like a good weekend.

But the highlight day is Monday: OPENING DAY!!!!!

Blog Six: Office Space

Went into the office today. Normally, of course, I either work at home or at the customer's, but one a week or so I have to go it to do various crap.

I was there five hours and was maybe as productive as I'd be in one hour at home. Everyone wants to talk, talk, talk. The new office (we moved in February) sucks, too, which doesn't help, and in all honesty I have to admit I go to the office to do inefficient stuff. If it was easy to do I'd have done it at home.

In other employment-related news, TCB (my sister, remember?) apparently may have a gig in Calgary. This would necessitate massive expenses and giving up other jobs for a 3-month run. It had better pay pretty damned good to be worth it. Mrs. RickJay's job is going extremely well, knock on wood.

Bridget Jones has another guy on the line, from simcoe or some damned place. He has tattoos and peircings. Poor Bridget has not yet moved past her "Hugh Grant" stage and into the more advanced "Colin Firth" stage.

Tomorrow morning I'm off to Connecticut; the next blog shall be from the USA!

Blog Five: Meh

Pretty quiet Easter Sunday; as nothing was open and no good movies are out there was little we could do. Mrs. RickJay has already commenced working on the back yard, with grand plans of garden expansion.

We met Bridget Jones for lunch, which proved more difficult that we'd planned as even some restaurants were closed. We settled on Turtle Jack's, which is, as near as I can tell, the same restaurant as Kelsey's, Jack Astor's, Crabby Joe's, and any number of other restaurant chains; all laid out the same, all selling more or less the same crap for more or less the same inflated prices.

This week, I drive to Connecticut. Yeah, it's about a seven hour haul. Woooo.

Blog Four: Easter

Today we made the Brighton-Kingston trip. We got the first two toys for BabyRickJay, a giraffe that plays Brahm's Lullaby and a bunny. The bunny was from my grandmother, the giraffe from Flakey, my father-in-law's (henceforth Dad-Brighton) girlfriend. I call her Flakey because she's a flake. There was this hilarious exchange upon greeting her:

FLAKEY: "So do you put your hand on her every day (demonstrates placing hand over belly) and say `Bless you, baby, be well'?"

ME: No.

F: Oh.

Like, what the hell is that? The baby is eleven weeks old. It doesn't know a lot of English; I'm not positive but I don't even think its ears function yet. I don't think a New Agey little mantra's going to help as much as, you know, making sure Mrs. RickJay is healthy and rested and has waffles when she needs them. And I'm not playing Mozart to the fetus to make it smarter, either; that's a stupid urban legend. If I am going to play any music to the baby, I'm going to play the Stones, AC/DC, and the Hip so it grows up to be cool.

I am, incidentally, a skeptic. I do not believe in ESP, ghosts, Ouija boards, UFOs, alien abductions, telekinesis, auras, chemtrails, dowsing, homeopathic remedies, fairies, the Loch Ness Monster, or any other pseudoscientific baloney. If you want to believe in that crap go right ahead; it's your right to do so, and it's my right to make fun of you.

We then went on to Kingston, and had a very nice pork roast cooked by Dad, who has gotten into cooking since he retired, and is very good at it.

Then we drove home and now I'm blogging in my office, kittens crawling over my feet, Mrs. RickJay an arm's reach away listening to Simon and Garfunkel. Ahhh. This is where I belong.

Blog Three: Group'em!

Playing more online poker today. I started off getting smoked but I'm up a few bucks now, mainly due to lucky cards. I am still not a good player. Still too aggressive.

Today is a lazy day, resting, as tomorrow is a travel day. I anticipate few truly lazy days after BabyRickJay hits the scene so I may as well enjoy them while I can.

Excuse me while I fold a king and a five in early position. There we go.

My favourite online hangout is the Straight Dope Message Boards, at www.straightdope.com/sdmb, where hundreds of the world's smartest humans discuss matters of earth-shaking importance, and lesser stuff too. I am one of the resident experts on baseball, as you might imagine. Today's discussions centred around the recent steroid scandal, which I frankly find too boring and irritating to discuss. It eventually became an argument over the Hall of Fame credentials of Mark McGwire, Jim Rice, and for some reason Vida Blue (in my opinion: Probably, no, and no.)

To hell with poker today, I'm quitting while I'm ahead.

I've also been reading Dr. Spock's Book of Baby And Child Care. Most of his advice is very good, but man, what a nut when it comes to vegetarianism. Screw that. I want my baby eating pureed Porterhouses as soon as possible. I'm going to be jamming chicken breasts, short ribs and pork chops into the blender the moment the kid's six months old. Meat! MEEEEEEEAAT! MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAT

Phew, got a bit carried away there.

Private message to my parents: TURBOT!

Blog Two: Kittens

Mrs. RickJay and I foster kittens for the local animal shelter, and we're currently on our fourth batch. There's a mother and four kittens, six weeks old now. They reside most of the time in my office (I work out of the house) and it's an interesting experience to have your feet bitten by tiny razor-sharp teeth when you're working. Or blogging.

Tomorrow's a civi holiday, and it's a quiet Thursday night in the RickJay household. Bridget Jones didn't come over as she is out drinking. Tomorrow is a rest day; Saturday we do the Family Tour, which involves driving to both Brighton and Kingston to see the various parental units and what siblings happen to be available. In addition to my sister, the Cheatin' Bitch, Mrs. RickJay has two sisters, who I will name Frowny (the middle sister) and Smiley (the youngest) because those names are funny. Mrs. RickJay's Dad is also in Brighton; he runs his own business. Mrs. RickJay's Mom is in heaven. My parents live in Kingston.

Tomorrow is also Good Friday. I am a baptized and confirmed Catholic and haven't been to Mass in... gosh, gotta be going on ten years, not counting the one we had during our comically useless marriage course. My family doesn't go either. I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in the Catholic church.

Some people I've read online, though, are really woop-woop-woop (twirl finger around your ear while saying woop-woop-woop for maximimum effect) about this. You get these people saying "I'm a recovering Catholic. I'm so racked with guilt from my Catholic upbringing. Oh, woe is me. But I am getting better. Pity me!" Oh, get over it, you weepy sack of crap. Like church, go on Sundays. Don't like it, don't go. If you have nothing to feel guilty about then shut up.

Actually, "Get Over It, You Weepy Sack of Crap" would make an excellent self-help book.

I'm intrigued with the editing possibilities on this blog thing, this is quite a bit more advanced than I'd thought. I can put text in colours, I can bold, and I can make lists:

Funny Words:

• Booger
• Nerdling
• Slapnad
• Ta-ta

Not bad, not bad.

Blog One: Introduction

March 23, 2005.

Since this is my first entry I'll give you the lay of the land and the dramatis personae.

I'm 33 years old. I live in Toronto; I have a wife, who's pregnant (due in October) and who will be referred to herein as Mrs. RickJay. She is the best wife in the world, absolutely without doubt or question; your wife is inferior. We live in a little townhouse with three cats and, three nights a week or so, Mrs. RickJay's best friend, who will be referred to herein as Bridget Jones. Bridget eats our food and farts a lot, but she's funny so we let her come over. MY best friend, hereinafter The Geek (because that name will piss him off) lives in San Jose, California. So he doesn't drop by much. I get out there once a year.

We also are visited often by my sister, hereinafter The Cheatin' Bitch, or TCB. She's an aspiring actress/singer. "Cheatin' Bitch" is actually a term of endearment. Long story.

I'm incredibly handsome and brilliantly intelligent. I am an international playboy, industrial magnate, venture capitalist, government spy, and master of interpretive dance. I have won the Wimbledon men's singles title, the Nobel Prize for Chemistry, two Academy Awards, and I was named People's "Sexiest Man Alive" in 1997, 1999, and 2000. I am eight feet tall, weigh 340 pounds, and I have fully bionic, adamantium arms from which I can shoot missles and laser beams.

I work in a job that forces me to travel a lot, which sucks, but otherwise it's a good job. It involves ISO 9001 so don't laugh, but if you have any questions... oh, nobody cares, who'm I kidding?

I love baseball. Love it, love it, love it. I play for a slo-pitch team, the mighty Free Agents. We're looking for sponsors. Drop me a line.

Now on to the mundane blogging.

I've been farting around with online poker, playing for play money, and reading various books and web sites about it. I'm come to a few conclusions:

1. The people who play online poker for play money are complete morons. I took them for all their play money almost effortlessly.

2. The people who write about poker sure know a lot about poker.

3. I am so not prepared to play for money yet.

More thoughts on poker in future blogs.