June 26 2002

Diane, who reads all of these pokerhistory notes, and suffered through last month's, asked me if anything interesting happened during this game.
I said, 'NO!."

I take it back. I wandered off to work (first I stopped by Dave's to unclog that gutter mentioned on page 10 - that was fun because his son Daniel and two buddies came out to see why I was flushing out the downspouts, so I hosed them down) and thought about the previous night's game. I decided there was a bountiful plenty of fascinating anecdotes.

Let's start with Rob's driveway. It's sixty-seven and a half feet long and not straight. The first few times I backed out of his driveway, I ran over grass, tall reflective markers on metal poles spaced every few inches, and almost into his mailbox. The mailbox would terminate the drive if it were a sensible straight line. It wasn't until I bought my new truck, the one with two tinted rear windows that makes it nearly impossible to see out the back (okay, add sunglasses and you'll get my drift) that I mastered his driveway. Now I look in my rear view and slalom onto Blanchard road. It's a quiet street; I haven't hit anyone yet.

Last night, Dwight asked, "What idiot designed your driveway?" To which Rob responded, " Susan." I thought a. Dwight didn't know it was Susan, and
b. Rob lied when he said Susan, it was the the builder who had decided to add a curve. I was wrong on both counts. The reason Dwight asked that question? Rob was installing a new mailbox.

From mailboxes to flat on one's back. Brian's older brother fights in those bare knuckles, almost anything goes tournaments. Now how cool is that? He had just returned from Mexico where, in his first fight, he lasted twenty-two seconds. He woke on the canvas, looking up, wondering why there were people yapping at him.

It has happened before, but this night we had eight people show up. Rob's friend Stu, who lives down the street from me came, as did all the other guys, including the heretofore reported as probably dead, Bryan. Even Dave -after pizza-of course. This changed the game, for the better. We played fewer seven card games, guts games resulted in higher pots, even the old favorites seemed different. Ninety-nine for instance. If you were dealt a hand with no safe cards you had to wait seven turns in hopes of getting one before the pile reached ninety-nine. Like waiting for the call from the governor that never comes.

Speaking of penalties, Brian (I don't know how he keeps up with these things) told me that the Russian hacker, the same notorious guy that extorted Chathouse out of some serious dollars, was arrested in Rhode Island. The moron flew there in response to a setup by the FBI. Talk about getting what you deserve- ten years.

Earlier we had a spirited conversation about Andrew, and whether he was the single unluckiest guy or was simply getting his just desserts. In a car (maybe he should stay out of cars) with his friends, stopped by a cop at two in the morning, just because the driver failed to dim his lights. When the car was searched following a bogus, I smell marijuana claim, that revealed, well marijuana. I said, and Stu ageed, that Andrew just can't catch a break. Dwight responded, 'What kind of idiot...."

I've had nights where I haven't won a hand, but last night, I think, reached a new low. At the end of the night, Brian looked over at me, after splitting low with me on an Airplane hand (Bryan won high) and said, "This is the only game I've won all night." He's exaggerating, he only won one third of a game. I didn't add, that that hand I split with him, was my only win too. One third of a game.

Bryan left The Back Store and is now an independent agent, working for Sequoia. I said, "You mean like the SUV?" He said, "No,like the tree."

Driveway full of cars, including Stu's two wheeled vehicle.

A full house?