Clareified

Where does the good go

Archive for November, 2009

I wrote a poem you guys!

Sunday, November 22nd, 2009 by Dawn Summers

I wasn’t even trying or nothing! Eric asked if I wanted to play in a poker game and I replied:

No can do.
Have the flu.
Holy cow.
I rhyme now.

Maybe, I’m one of those people whose genuis is unlocked by fever! Nobel Prize in literature here I come!

Dear Kearns and Alceste

Saturday, November 21st, 2009 by Dawn Summers

I don’t know what kinds of names you guys were calling Belichick on Monday, but the Yale football coach “went for it” on fourth and 22, leading the game by 3 points. While the brilliant fake reverse punt netted 17 yards, it fell short of the first down and Harvard got the ball on our 30 and scored a touchdown. Yale got the ball back with 2 minutes and three timeouts left, but promptly threw an interception for a spectacular fourth quarter loss after leading the game 10-0 for three quarters. So now who’s the worst coach in the history of the world?
In your faces!
Or something…
My head hurts.
Who made me learn this stupid game? I hate you so much.

Bored board bored…think about it.

Friday, November 20th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Thanks for all the well wishes…I’m much less deathy today. Unfortunately, I am still visibly and audibly sick, so I can’t really go anywhere or do anything, but I’m not so sick anymore that I am perfectly content to lay in bed 23 hours out of the day watching cartoons.
But I can and do fall asleep without warning, so I’m stuck in the middle with flu.
Doo dooo. Here I am, stuck in the middle with flu.

Conversation of the Day

Friday, November 20th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Me: I’ve lost my sense of taste.
Fisch: Ooh illness has led to acceptance?

The Second Coming

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

I feel wretched.
I can’t see the doctor until tomorrow, made some poor choices about over the counter medications and now I’m afraid to sleep because there may be contraindications and I might not wake up. I’m kidding. Mostly.
FYI: Comtrex is the suck.
Anyway, I’ve already published my favorite poem about death, so I’ll just go ahead and republish my favorite poem. Or as Kanye West would say “Keats, Ode on a Grecian Urn is nice and imma let you finish, but Yeats is the best poet ending in “eats” of all time.”

I used to know all the words of this poem by heart, it is so ominous, yet full of a curious optimistic hope:
The Second Coming
W.B Yeats

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert.

A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

What was it making its way? The future? The apocalypse? Salvation? Who knows, but you can see it…anticipate it, even…All through college I would throw my hands up at any problem, shrug my shoulders and say “things fall apart.” What? It’s true. They do. Here today, stabbed to death in your bathtub tomorrow.
Also, the line about “the best lacking conviction while the worst are full of passionate intensity,” always makes me think about American politics. The Democrats with their never ending willingness to compromise; Republicans with their insistence of divine command theory. This is no way to govern. The center cannot hold. After 20 centuries, something better this way comes.

Not So Random Question

Wednesday, November 18th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Is Lady Gaga a white people thing, a young people thing or a gay people thing? #Iseriouslydontgettheappeal

Last conversation of the day ever

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Doris: How are you feeling?
Me: Like death. Goodbye Doris. You can have my Wes Welker jersey.
Doris: Um…you spelled BMW wrong.

Wow…this is just…

Tuesday, November 17th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

Wow.

Other people friend drama…

Monday, November 16th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

kinda makes me…German. Best part? A mutual friend told the guy AND HE responds in the comment section!

*Hands cover my face*

A Tale of Two Plays

Monday, November 16th, 2009 by Dawn Summers

This post belongs on either my poker blog or my football blog. However, I make poor decisions, as you are about to see. Plus, I like to take my once a year shot at making a convert to poker and football out of Kaz, Tae and pearatty.
So, here we go. Hey! Stop that stopping reading. I see you.
Last night I was in a deepstack tournament in Atlantic City playing for a $14,000 first place prize. I had been catching cards AND playing well. Through nine hours, I amassed a fairly large amount of chips. I was winning at least two hands an orbit and doubling my stack every hour. This is how you win tournaments. However, even after 9 hours, there were still 60 people out of 260 left and we were 30 eliminations from making any money at all.
And then the Patriots game started. My poker concentration plummeted. But that’s another story. This is the pertinent story: I am in the small blind (one of two forced bet positions.) Five people limp to me, so for a discount and a huge pot, I complete and match the Big Blind bet with T8.
The first of five community cards, the flop, are TdTh5d. I have trips, a really good hand, but a third diamond could hit at any minute and well, too bad for my trips. I am also the first to act, so I check: deferring my decision until I see what everyone else does. One guy puts out the minimum bet and everyone, except me, folds, I raise him huge. He thinks so long that I get to see the Patriots intercept Peyton Manning. Yay! I hear the old guy say “all-in.” To be honest, I don’t even know how many chips he has (that is a bad thing) I figure, based on how long he took that he has two diamonds and just decided to gamble.
I call and turn over my ten.
Brady is marching down the field.
I look away from the table, but my head snaps back when the table says “oooh.”
He does not have a draw.
He has a hand.
QT.
My hand, much much better kicker.
Oh well.
The next two community cards are dealt. I lose.
“Does he have me covered? Am I out?”
I’m not out. But I have about a quarter of the amount of chips I started with. It’s late. This is a devastating blow. Everyone at the table has me covered now…Patriots score!
Yay!
Ok, universe, I can accept busting as long as the Riots win this game.
The universe seems to think that’s fair because the Colts go three and out, scoring NO points AND the Pats score AGAIN.
I make my peace with my choice and just starting shoving my chips in the middle, so I can go bust and watch the game.
Nope, everyone keeps folding to me and I get about half the chips I lost to the old man back from the rest of the table.
3 people bust by halftime.
I am 27 eliminations away from cashing. The Patriots are up by two touchdowns.
5 more bust.
Then 10.
Then another ten.
I am TWO away.
Colts score, but whatever. There’s a shade over two minutes left in the game…
One more busts.
ONE more player and I cash in my first deepstack poker game EVER.
Holy crap.
AND THE PATRIOTS LEAD!
Uh oh…it’s 4th and short. STILL MORE THAN 2 minutes left. 2:06. (Basically, if the Patriots can hold on to the ball unto 1:59, they can essentially kneel on the ball, run the clock and beat the Colts by six.)
Belichick and Brady have a decision to make.
They can kick the ball away (punt) to the Colts, play 2:06 minutes of defense. Or, they can try to hold on to the ball for 7 more seconds and seal the win.
I am out of my seat. A guy at a table across the room, yells:
“Don’t worry sweetheart, the Patriots have won.”
“SHUT UP. Don’t jinx it,” I yell back.
I sit back down, turn my back to the TV.
The dealer deals out the cards.
The first player to act, and aggressive player, who I haven’t seen show down a hand yet, raises.
The next guy folds and then me.
I have pocket queens.
Aggressive guy has me covered. I am ONE away from cashing. I could risk it all right now and shove all my chips into the middle and let the cards fall where they may.
I turn around, Brady is back on the field. NO PUNTING!
The Patriots are going to go for it!
They need to hold the ball for SEVEN SECONDS!
6…5…4…
LEMON.
They miss.
But the play is under review…so…back to my decision…I call.
Dawn punts.
It folds to the Big Blind and he stands up and starts yelling at me because he can’t see my chips.
I am now in a bad mood because I think the refs make a bad call against the Patriots and now the Colts have the stupid ball and now I have pocket queens and instead of putting it all on the line and going all-in, I just called and now everything in the universe is unfair and stupid.
“My chips are right in front of me! The FLOOR SET THEM (Cause she did after another guy complained he couldn’t see them earlier), I am not even sitting in front of them because I’m watching the football game, so if you have a problem –”
He doesn’t let me finish.
“—No, no…I’m sorry…you’re right, you’re fine…I’m just thinking…okay, I call.”
I have him covered, but the raiser has us both covered.
Three of us are in this final hand right before the last person busts without any money. Number one loser.
The community cards are 7 5 2.
The Big Blind, yelly guy, checks.
Raiser bets about half my stack.
This is the problem with punting. I still don’t know what to do now. I fold.
Big Blind also folds.
Colts score with 21 seconds left.
Someone else busts out.
Patriots lose, I cash.
But the Patriots went for it. My favorite headline screamed “All Guts, no Glory,” across a picture of Belichick’s face.
I, on the other hand, played scared. No guts, fiery shame. Money in my pocket.