I AM CRANKY!

No, really, I am. I think most of it has to do with being up too late and being really hungry. Solving one problem will exacerbate the other so naturally I have chosen the third, crappiest way: postpone a decision and blog!

First: Thank you kindly, Cathy, for commenting. It is always good to see you come by, especially when it means my little comment box gets a morsel of joy. I did indeed know about Dear Old Craig's list, and am hoping very much to find a magical car and other, cheaper magical things with it.

Second: Nowedidnt.com has now planted the tiniest of roots, acknowledging its own existence to the rest of the world and tentatively hoping to become something more than a one-page greeting to passers-by. If you're feeling frisky, link to it on your site (better yet, ask your friends to link to it) and watch as the hits stimulate hopefully-interesting responses from the nascent webpage. A link is available in the sidebar if you don't feel like entering the URL yourself

Third: I am irked. There were like seventeen things I wanted to say and now I'm stuck on three. Perhaps increasing the numbers will make things come to mind.

Fourth: Nope. Nothing yet.

Fifth: Oh! Here we go: I'm not depressed after all! I'm bipolar (type II with rapid cycling)! So now I'm taking new drugs and recognizing my hypomanic episodes for what they are. Sweet! Note, though, that if somehow keeping this knowledge out of the public domain means an easier and cheaper life for me, I will take it away. But I don't think it will matter--and even if it did, these pages are archived in Google's memory so that there will always be an original copy of this entry for those who know how to look. I wish I didn't have to worry about these things now.

Sixth: Both Mike Huckabee and Nate Silver have recently misused the word "infer", writing it when they meant "imply". This is a very, very bad thing. Do not fall victim to this spreading plague.

Seventh: Related to the fifth, health insurance is going to be a bitch. If I want the barest possible insurance, which provides me with nothing but a $5000 deductible for medical expenses (with 0% coinsurance--the amount I'm responsible for paying--above that) I have to pay $100 per month. The price barely changes if coinsurance above $5000 is increased to 20%. And these are the prices without bipolar disorder. These prices would be much lower if not for the fact that insurers know that people who seek insurance are more likely to actually receive payouts than people who don't seek it. Self-employment is a bitch.

Eighth: Self-employment also sucks because it prevents me from financing a car and causes trouble for anything where I have to provide proof of income. Tax returns would normally be valid for such circumstances but I don't have any returns that show a decent income. Putting costs upfront like this is a severe strain when your income is feast-or-famine like mine. It upsets and stresses me.

Ninth: I got a new cellular telephone, but I got it from a semi-shady company called Wirefly. Everything is all right so far except that I had trouble activating my first phone--because I was being an idiot, as it turns out--so I had them debit me $250 so they could send out another phone before they received the old one. The money will be credited back to my account upon receipt of the phone, which will probably happen. Unfortunately, at least one person in the world had Wirefly tell them that the return box came empty, so they did not refund his debit. This makes me nervous. And stressed.

Tenth: The hardest part about playing poker is having to remove yourself from it when you start to run hot--also known as going on tilt or playing badly. The problem isn't so much knowing when to leave, but suffering the emotional drain of leaving and waiting. And while knowing when to leave is easy, knowing when to return is very difficult. Emotional resilience means better play within matches and allows for more of them, but the façade of resilience feels very similar and can crack in the right situation, meaning at the least that I must once more detach, wait and reattach. This leads to yet more stress in my life, which I try to relieve by focusing on other activities, which decreases playing time, which decreases cash. To combat this problem I think I need to play more large tournaments instead of the one-on-one matches.

Eleventh: It's looking like the date for going to New Hampshire will be between April 7 and April 15. I'm sad that I won't get to see Eric before then, as he's spending his Spring Break working in Lubbock. It used to wrack my soul to think of Eric, John and Travi gradually drifting away. Somehow we seem to click in a way that I don't think everyone will experience in their lives, and that I worry I won't experience again without them. Something was inherently right about our little coterie. I hope I can see John at least once more before I go, and I'm fortunate to have Travi and Tae here--though that fucking Korean never bothered to call me while his girlfriend was in town. I still feel an intense melancholy when I think about the distances that grow between us, but I still harbor a few fleeting hopes and I know that the situation is hardly improved by lamenting.

Twelfth: To reverse the progressive darkening of this entry, I saw Watchmen on Saturday, and enjoyed it very much despite not having read the comics. It was long, but it was tight. If you ask me it could have used more length for character development, but I doubt that would have made very many other people happy. I also saw The Wrestler with Travi a few hours ago, and that was also a very nice film. Few characters are so bluntly poignant as Randy the Ram. Oh, and I thought it was based on a true story. Evidently it wasn't. Shoot.

Thirteenth: <3 Danielle. Also, <3 goats.

Hasta la byebye, ladies and gentlemen. Don't forget about the website-that-may-be, nowedidnt.com.

This is the story of Cantay

It's completely unrelated to the story, but I would like to say that, having listened only to Aldhils Arboretum thus far, I feel confident declaring Of Montreal to be revolutionary, transcendent and sexy. It's all about music & lyrics & repetition & harmony (even if I'm tone-deaf), all skillfully woven into a lovely knit-sweater that I'd wear to a dinner at a nice restaurant.

But getting to the promised story, I'm sad to say that I was right again about Spring Break: one week sucks almost as much as nothing; I need at least 2.5 of those weeks to get sufficient recovery. Perhaps because of all the stress that I haven't had sufficient opportunity to relieve I'm suffering from insomnia coupled with my usual crippling compulsion to avoid homework.

I have become so tired of this same old routine, where the progressing school year sees me fall apart physically, emotionally and scholastically to the point where reaching the finish line is an accomplishment. How the hell am I supposed to handle graduate school? And how am I supposed to impart the workings of my brain on the young if I can't handle graduate school? Gah! Gah and fuck!

The onslaught of work that faces me is just so daunting that I think I'm going to take advantage of the counseling people that our dear University of Texas offers. I tried something similar at GW, but I've become desperate once again, and I have reason to believe that the general streak of competence that UT has displayed in relation to GW would extend here. Besides, even if I'm wrong, it doesn't fucking cost me $50 to try.

Of course, as some of you may know, Danielle is also coming Tuesday to visit me during her Spring Break, so I'm not entirely sure how the counseling thing will swing. It may or may not happen, but Christ if I'm not tempted to just forgo any further attempts at sleeping so I can show up when the center opens at 8:00. Ah, but how it will be good to see Danielle again. Insallah her presence will be therapeutic enough to leave me no need to bother with others, but I'm not keen on burdening her too much with this--she'll get more than enough of it because she's a good girlfriend even if I'm not forthcoming so I'd rather not pour it on.

But wait!

I know this entry has been reasonably depressing for all of you out there so far, but I have intentionally left back some very good news so that those who don't already know it might feel an upswing in their moods. While in a Vicodin-induced demi-haze that I put myself in due to the extraction of my wisdom teeth the day before, I played in a $40 tournament and breezed swiftly to victory once the field had narrowed to one lucky but talentless fellow and myself, collecting a $1,200 purse that became my new record cash. Three minutes after that tournament completed I entered a $100 tournament and won $2,200 in second place, shattering my hours-old record after a much more embarrassing heads-up defeat. It was very exciting. Sadly, though I played several more tournaments before leaving K-Town, I didn't cash in any of them.

But then when I came back to Austin on Saturday, without Vicodin, I entered a $100 tournament as soon as I set up my laptop. I was on the ropes most of the way and it didn't really seem things were going well, so naturally I went ahead and entered a separate $100 tournament to focus on after I died in the present one. As it were, however, Fortune favored me that day, and I rebounded to become one of the two tournament chip-leaders. At the final table I wove through to heads-up play against a player who played far too timidly but also got quite lucky. After half an hour of fighting I finally was able to crush him and claim $3,000. Hurray! Meanwhile, in that second tournament that I'd entered (and to that point largely neglected), I managed to make another final table and cling to enough chips to survive until 5th place, taking down $960 to pad my rolls.

This still doesn't mean Christmas presents for any of you, but damn does it feel good to get multiple large wins. My confidence in my poker-playing ability has never been higher. ^.^

And yes, this does probably make the whole school thing harder, since the irrational corners of my mind keep screaming, "You don't need this schtick. Become a professional!"

Yeah, counseling might be a good idea.

Cash is lovely

Especially if you win the cash by playing poker.

I just wanted to pop in and report that although I managed to choke, crash and burn when going heads-up for the tournament championship, I (only just) exceeded my greatest single cashout a few minutes ago, taking home 2nd place and $1,080.00, most of which will be used to replenish the severely drawn-down funds in my poker account from all the tournaments that I've recently lost in. Fortunately, however, the win was large enough that I'll be able to contribute a small portion into the Make Cantay's Life More Self-Sufficient and Less Stressful Fund.

Merry Christmas, boys and girls. If I win anymore, I might just start buying presents.

'Cause everybody's got to induce vomitting sometime

Ah, summer, a time of utter vegetation. It's nice, like recharging your batteries to use a tired metaphor. Apparently it doesn't make much room for doing anything productive--at least not in my case.

But I do play poker. Over at Bodog.com, in fact, if anyone would like to (please) join me. In the wee hours of Wednesday morning, I collected my biggest single payout ever by finishing 4th in a $50+$5 tournament and winning $912. My second-biggest payout ever happened somewhere around the 15th, where I won another, much smaller $50+$5 tournament and collected $900 even.

It's a wonderful feeling.

To celebrate my latest achievement, I thought it would be appropriate to get in contact with John and Travis and smoke the cigar that Danielle's father kindly gave me when I went up to the Shire between the 2nd and 9th. John refused, of course, claiming douchebaggery and grocery shopping in Houston. And Travis could come, but would only be able to stay out for a little while. And so I went to fetch my friend. We stopped off at a gas station to buy a couple of crappy cigars for Travi and his friend Raul, who we'd be picking up along the way, so that they would be able to join the party.

And what a party it was! We drove to the park where we always used to play ultimate frisbee, where the benches were quite wet and the mosquitoes rather hungry. Once we arrived by the lake, I expertly bit off about a tenth of my cigar and lit most (but not all) of the other side. While trying to create but not even remotely approximating smoke rings, I managed to make my cigar nice and soggy, and there's only one cure for that. Bite off the wet part!

This happened several times while I was smoking that thing, but I didn't mind, especially towards the end, when a lack of oxygen to my brain or a nicotine rush or both made me feel rather buzzed. Unfortunately I couldn't really relish in the feeling because there was nowhere to sit except the sidewalk, which made a poor launching place for tobaccified saliva. As the buzz took full effect I started to feel a bit sick, and since my comrades were finished with their shorter, cheaper cigars, I invited them to get back into the car, where the mosquitoes dared not tread and the seats were soft and dry. And so I flung what little remained of my cigar into the lake like a jackass, and we went.

We dropped off Raul, and I implored Travi to join me for an after-cigar bite as we pulled into a gas station (incidentally the same one the cigars came from) so that I could put something into the car's nearly empty tank. Travi politely declined and I took him home, still feeling a little on the buzzed side.

When I got back I stumbled out of the car, feeling a bit more ill now than before. I made my way through the garage to the kitchen, where I fumbled for some Milanos and milk, which I figured would make me feel better. I passed my sister with a nod as I entered my room, sat down, and immediately felt quite nauseous. I eyed one of the cookies I'd laid out warily then quickly grabbed it and took a bite. I didn't feel better.

So I lay down. That wasn't too fun either, however, owing to the smell of smoke on my face and hair, and its taste, now mixed with Milanos, in my mouth. I half-wanted to fall asleep, but I knew that this had to be resolved before I did that--at least the taste had to be resolved, that is. It was getting worse by the minute.

I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and dump my milk. But as toothbrush touched teeth my stomach jolted, forcing me to pull the toothbrush away. I recalled that in my many bites of the cigar, it was possible and even probable that I'd swallowed some small bits. And I'd seen Sandlot. I knew what happened when you swallowed tobacco. I stared at myself in the mirror, knowing what had to be done. With the music from the song Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime running through my head with the adapted lyrics in the title of this post, I set to the task.

I could only bear to do it once, but I immediately felt a lot better. I brushed my teeth, did a full flossing, thus getting some small cigar particles out of there (yum!) and rinsed with dear sweet Listerine. Washed my face, came back to my room, ordered my computer to standby and went to sleep.

My mouth still tastes of smoke, and my shirt and hair undoubtedly carry a fair amount, and for some reason I woke up now, but I feel better.

And next time I will use a cigar-cutting method that doesn't involve teeth.

Hasta la byebye.

The road to serfdom is paved with good intentions

But that has absolutely nothing to do with why I'm here. Two things:

One more grade has been reported, and it is with great pleasure that I present it.

Globalization: A

It's lovely how classes can have such succinct names, yes? After checking Blackboard to see how I did and to see just where I fell on the grading scale, I calculated a 90.25% average, with 90% being the minimum for an A. Holy shit do I love cutting it close. I did get a bit more hopeful after I turned in the final exam when the professor thanked me for the second time in two days for my participation in the classroom. And thank God I participated, because that got me three extra credit points at the end that squirted me into w00t.

However, my final final is tomorrow. And I haven't studied contrary to plans, contrary to needs. It's Differential Equations, and the class is a bit of a motherfucker. I have no idea what I'm going to do in the intervening twelve hours between the present and my final, except that there will probably be very little sleeping. I may come by beforehand to give you an update as to the prognosis, but I will say right now that the final grade probability distribution breaks down like this:

A: 20%
B: 70%
C: 10%

And since I have been playing a lot of poker recently (profiting approximately $40 after playing in approximately 40 sit-n-go tournaments), I like to think of these percentages in their poker equivalents. So, the chances of me getting an A are about the same as catching a flush on the river if I have four of a suit on the turn. The chances of me getting a B are about the same as pocket kings beating AK off-suit before any cards are shown. The chances of me getting a C are about the same as QJ off-suit beating pocket queens.

Thinking of this does not help at all. Unless the situation is guaranteed to be 100% solid in poker I always have that feeling of apprehension especially since I've seen all of the unlikely events happen, sometimes to me. Poker gives you really weird feelings toward probability.

So we'll see what I do to make some of those percentages go up and down. ('Cause I know you're interested.)

In other news, Izmir hosted the latest protests against Islam in Turkish government. Over one million turned out, but at least a lot of them seem as hostile to military coups as they are to political Islam. This is good. I just hope that they don't start tacking back towards the military if the elections don't go their way, particularly since the polls suggest that the moderately Islamist AK Party will win the elections again.

Also, I'd like to ask the Turkish military to please be more reconciliatory towards the Kurds, both within Turkey and without. I'd be particularly devastated if you decided to take action without approval from your masters in the government.

Bol sans, Türkiye.