Evidently I'm 58% addicted to coffee...whatever that means. Click above and take the quiz yourself.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
The Price of Coffee
I'm sitting here in Starbucks wondering why they just went up on their prices. What's up with that? I now have to pay $1.73 for a cup of coffee, an increase of a nickel. Do they think money grows on trees? (Well, I guess money does grow on trees in a way, since money is made from reprocessed cotton denim fabric...but that's another story.)
I'm cheap. I admit it. I usually buy a cup of coffee for $1 from the local gas station and pour into my Starbucks cup so I can sit in here and look respectible. I don't want them to think I'm just in here for the internet access. However, on occasion, when I want to splurge, I'll actually buy their coffee. But now, I'm not so sure.
The manager tells me it's because the cost of growing and processing coffee has gone up, and the cost of milk and other things continue to go up, too. "We haven't raised prices in quite some time," he says with a straight face.
I wanted to tell him to use the extra money on a mop so they could clean up the men's room, but I decided to walk back to my table and drink the ice tea I bought across the street at the Taco Casa for 65 cents. Do you think I'm going to pay $2.11 for a glass of tea in a Starbucks cup?
I'm cheap. I admit it. I usually buy a cup of coffee for $1 from the local gas station and pour into my Starbucks cup so I can sit in here and look respectible. I don't want them to think I'm just in here for the internet access. However, on occasion, when I want to splurge, I'll actually buy their coffee. But now, I'm not so sure.
The manager tells me it's because the cost of growing and processing coffee has gone up, and the cost of milk and other things continue to go up, too. "We haven't raised prices in quite some time," he says with a straight face.
I wanted to tell him to use the extra money on a mop so they could clean up the men's room, but I decided to walk back to my table and drink the ice tea I bought across the street at the Taco Casa for 65 cents. Do you think I'm going to pay $2.11 for a glass of tea in a Starbucks cup?
The Thackerville Truck Stop
The Thackerville Truck Stop is like one of those places everyone has visited while traveling, a gas station and restaurant hybrid with a parking lot the size of a football field. Welcome to America's oasis for the truck driver.
A gas station on steroids. That's the best way to describe these places. The Thackerville Truck Stop is located near the Winstar Casino, just across the Red River in southern Oklahoma. You can throw a beer can into Texas from the parking lot. The interstate highway system provides the TTS with plenty of business, and gamblers who have lost their house payment in the Winstar poker room need a place to buy an aspirin. A gaming station is even located on the far side of the property--kind of a casino-light--a white shack facility offering slot machines. I guess they figure the Winstar's hundreds of slots aren't enough to keep the senior citizens on the tour bus happy. Why not offer them a slot while their driver pumps gas?
I became familiar with the Thackerville Truck Stop because I needed a shower. What better place to practice healthy hygiene than a truck stop? I knew they had a shower. A truck stop must have a shower. Truck drivers need to clean themselves.
As I entered the bath area looking for the shower, one trucker was washing his grease-stained arms in the sink.
"I just cleaned out that old air filter. What a mess!" He was probably about to turn 60-years-old and I was thankful he was just washing his arms.
Whoever designs these facilities must have a sense of humor. The cafe area always has canary-yellow table tops. The display area containing the snack racks is never easy to navigate. At the Thackerville Truck Stop the display racks and cases are set up like a rat's maze, blocking the way as you attempt to find the restrooms. Some New York marketing wizard who designs America's truck stops has decided to forget the maxim that a straight line is the shortest route from point A to point B. "Let's see if we can force people to stumble over the powdered donuts on the way to the bathroom so we can increase our market share."
I'm thinking to myself, "If I go right, I must run past the soft drinks and beer, but then have to turn upstream past the Honey Bun rack. I then must hang a sharp left by the chips until I reach the back wall. By nightfall I need to find the bathroom."
Man verses Wild, an episode on the Discovery Channel, featuring a southern Oklahoma truck stop.
I have fond memories of truck stops. Growing up in Texas you know about such places. When traveling with the family, we always found a reason to stop and visit. Sure, we needed gas. But we also enjoyed looking at the truck stop gift offerings. Need a hat with a truck on it? How about a t-shirt with the phrase "Will swap wife for beer."? I also remember the truck stop having an enormous selection of clever gadgets for your car or truck. Although I have never used fuzzy felted dice, and don't know why you would hang them from your rear view mirror, they have them. Want to place your coffee cup on the head rest of your passenger-side car seat? No problem. You might also want to hide your car key in one of those magnetic black box gizmos, just in case you lose the car keys while playing the slot machines.
A gas station on steroids. That's the best way to describe these places. The Thackerville Truck Stop is located near the Winstar Casino, just across the Red River in southern Oklahoma. You can throw a beer can into Texas from the parking lot. The interstate highway system provides the TTS with plenty of business, and gamblers who have lost their house payment in the Winstar poker room need a place to buy an aspirin. A gaming station is even located on the far side of the property--kind of a casino-light--a white shack facility offering slot machines. I guess they figure the Winstar's hundreds of slots aren't enough to keep the senior citizens on the tour bus happy. Why not offer them a slot while their driver pumps gas?
I became familiar with the Thackerville Truck Stop because I needed a shower. What better place to practice healthy hygiene than a truck stop? I knew they had a shower. A truck stop must have a shower. Truck drivers need to clean themselves.
As I entered the bath area looking for the shower, one trucker was washing his grease-stained arms in the sink.
"I just cleaned out that old air filter. What a mess!" He was probably about to turn 60-years-old and I was thankful he was just washing his arms.
Whoever designs these facilities must have a sense of humor. The cafe area always has canary-yellow table tops. The display area containing the snack racks is never easy to navigate. At the Thackerville Truck Stop the display racks and cases are set up like a rat's maze, blocking the way as you attempt to find the restrooms. Some New York marketing wizard who designs America's truck stops has decided to forget the maxim that a straight line is the shortest route from point A to point B. "Let's see if we can force people to stumble over the powdered donuts on the way to the bathroom so we can increase our market share."
I'm thinking to myself, "If I go right, I must run past the soft drinks and beer, but then have to turn upstream past the Honey Bun rack. I then must hang a sharp left by the chips until I reach the back wall. By nightfall I need to find the bathroom."
Man verses Wild, an episode on the Discovery Channel, featuring a southern Oklahoma truck stop.
I have fond memories of truck stops. Growing up in Texas you know about such places. When traveling with the family, we always found a reason to stop and visit. Sure, we needed gas. But we also enjoyed looking at the truck stop gift offerings. Need a hat with a truck on it? How about a t-shirt with the phrase "Will swap wife for beer."? I also remember the truck stop having an enormous selection of clever gadgets for your car or truck. Although I have never used fuzzy felted dice, and don't know why you would hang them from your rear view mirror, they have them. Want to place your coffee cup on the head rest of your passenger-side car seat? No problem. You might also want to hide your car key in one of those magnetic black box gizmos, just in case you lose the car keys while playing the slot machines.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Worst Analogies Ever Written?
(Thanks to Macarry at Scribd...)
Worst analogies ever written in a high school essay
* He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
Joseph Romm, Washington
* She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
Rich Murphy, Fairfax Station
* The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.
Paul Sabourin, Silver Spring
* From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.
Roy Ashley, Washington
* Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge
* Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake
Ken Krattenmaker, Landover Hills
* Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
Unknown
* He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
Jack Bross, Chevy Chase
* The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Gary F. Hevel, Silver Spring
* Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."
Russell Beland, Springfield
* Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
Jennifer Hart, Arlington
* The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
Wayne Goode, Madison, Ala.
* They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth
Paul Kocak, Syracuse, N.Y.
* John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
Barbara Fetherolf, Alexandria
* His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge
* The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
Unknown
Based on an unoriginal article in the Washington Post.
Worst analogies ever written in a high school essay
* He spoke with the wisdom that can only come from experience, like a guy who went blind because he looked at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it and now goes around the country speaking at high schools about the dangers of looking at a solar eclipse without one of those boxes with a pinhole in it.
Joseph Romm, Washington
* She caught your eye like one of those pointy hook latches that used to dangle from screen doors and would fly up whenever you banged the door open again.
Rich Murphy, Fairfax Station
* The little boat gently drifted across the pond exactly the way a bowling ball wouldn't.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* McBride fell 12 stories, hitting the pavement like a Hefty Bag filled with vegetable soup.
Paul Sabourin, Silver Spring
* From the attic came an unearthly howl. The whole scene had an eerie, surreal quality, like when you're on vacation in another city and "Jeopardy" comes on at 7 p.m. instead of 7:30.
Roy Ashley, Washington
* Her hair glistened in the rain like nose hair after a sneeze.
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge
* Her eyes were like two brown circles with big black dots in the center.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* Bob was as perplexed as a hacker who means to access T:flw.quid55328.com\aaakk/ch@ung but gets T:\flw.quidaaakk/ch@ung by mistake
Ken Krattenmaker, Landover Hills
* Her vocabulary was as bad as, like, whatever.
Unknown
* He was as tall as a six-foot-three-inch tree.
Jack Bross, Chevy Chase
* The hailstones leaped from the pavement, just like maggots when you fry them in hot grease.
Gary F. Hevel, Silver Spring
* Her date was pleasant enough, but she knew that if her life was a movie this guy would be buried in the credits as something like "Second Tall Man."
Russell Beland, Springfield
* Long separated by cruel fate, the star-crossed lovers raced across the grassy field toward each other like two freight trains, one having left Cleveland at 6:36 p.m. traveling at 55 mph, the other from Topeka at 4:19 p.m. at a speed of 35 mph.
Jennifer Hart, Arlington
* The politician was gone but unnoticed, like the period after the Dr. on a Dr Pepper can.
Wayne Goode, Madison, Ala.
* They lived in a typical suburban neighborhood with picket fences that resembled Nancy Kerrigan's teeth
Paul Kocak, Syracuse, N.Y.
* John and Mary had never met. They were like two hummingbirds who had also never met.
Russell Beland, Springfield
* The thunder was ominous-sounding, much like the sound of a thin sheet of metal being shaken backstage during the storm scene in a play.
Barbara Fetherolf, Alexandria
* His thoughts tumbled in his head, making and breaking alliances like underpants in a dryer without Cling Free
Chuck Smith, Woodbridge
* The red brick wall was the color of a brick-red Crayola crayon.
Unknown
Based on an unoriginal article in the Washington Post.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
A Dealer Visits Starbucks
We spoke of many things, the dealer and I. She visited Starbucks while I was working on my laptop.
I often see dealers from the Winstar at Starbucks, many will pull by the drive-thru window on their way to work and wave at me--sometimes I'm out on the patio; more often I'm near a window and they see me typing away on something, I'll glance up and they'll smile.
This particular dealer is one of the best at the casino. She takes her job seriously and enjoys it. We talked about playing the game, and she gave me a glimpse into the world of dealing a game that brings out the best, and the worst, in people.
She told me of one player who lost a $700 pot, only to call her a "bitch" and then follow her into the dealer's breakroom still on a fuming tilt. "As if it were my fault the guy went all-in and was outdrawn on," she said.
Then there's the guy who gave up a $100,000 a year job to become a "professional" poker player. "What an idiot," I added. Very few persons make it as a real professional, making their living just playing poker. I've heard estimates of less than 5% actually derive all of their income from poker. Most professional players you hear or read about have other sources of income outside of poker. The smart ones play poker full-time but have other business ventures or investments outside the game itself. To give up a nice job to turn "professional" is the move of an amateur.
"I'm a better player because of my dealing," she continued. "I can usually tell what cards someone has. I've seen thousands of hands and hundreds of players and it all teaches you something." Many current poker pros were once dealers, so it makes sense. The more hands you see, the more players you observe, the better your understanding of the game will be. An internet player can play thousands of hands very quickly, and that's why so many young great players have come from online gamerooms.
I told her in my opinion, some dealers need more training. We agreed that dealers have to begin somewhere, so in a casino you'll have a mixture of seasoned, well-trained, dealers and those who are just starting. New dealers will make mistakes, as do some veterans. Dealing is not easy.
"Dealing pot limit is the hardest game," she said. When someone wants to "bet the pot", the dealer must know how much is on the felt. It is difficult to track the chips. "I have to add it all up in my head and it can get really hard," she said.
I told her about a dealer I recently had who was actually giving players lessons and making comments about the board cards during the hand. "I really don't want someone, especially dealers, telling others how to play or give advice," I said. "It's my money that's at stake. And I don't care if it's $4 or $4000. Dealers need to keep their comments to themselves." I told her I think some dealers forget they are not to socialize and be a player's best pal or friend. I can see how it would be tempting for a dealer to become friendly with regulars, and even talk about the game in progress. But it is a big problem when dealers begin to offer their opinions on certain cards or game strategy.
(I heard a dealer, for example, make this comment to a player: "This is no-fold'em hold'em. People don't fold, they chase their draws. You should have hung in there." I gave the dealer a look and smiled, then I said, "Why don't we just all give each other lessons!" He could tell I was not a happy camper, regardless of the smile on my face.)
"I would get fired," the dealer told me while sipping on her cup of Starbucks Verona, "if I were talking about the play. You'll never hear me give anyone any advice."
After a while, my dealer-friend had to get to work and she left Starbucks ready for another day of dealing cards to some silly people who pluck down their money to play a silly game.
I often see dealers from the Winstar at Starbucks, many will pull by the drive-thru window on their way to work and wave at me--sometimes I'm out on the patio; more often I'm near a window and they see me typing away on something, I'll glance up and they'll smile.
This particular dealer is one of the best at the casino. She takes her job seriously and enjoys it. We talked about playing the game, and she gave me a glimpse into the world of dealing a game that brings out the best, and the worst, in people.
She told me of one player who lost a $700 pot, only to call her a "bitch" and then follow her into the dealer's breakroom still on a fuming tilt. "As if it were my fault the guy went all-in and was outdrawn on," she said.
Then there's the guy who gave up a $100,000 a year job to become a "professional" poker player. "What an idiot," I added. Very few persons make it as a real professional, making their living just playing poker. I've heard estimates of less than 5% actually derive all of their income from poker. Most professional players you hear or read about have other sources of income outside of poker. The smart ones play poker full-time but have other business ventures or investments outside the game itself. To give up a nice job to turn "professional" is the move of an amateur.
"I'm a better player because of my dealing," she continued. "I can usually tell what cards someone has. I've seen thousands of hands and hundreds of players and it all teaches you something." Many current poker pros were once dealers, so it makes sense. The more hands you see, the more players you observe, the better your understanding of the game will be. An internet player can play thousands of hands very quickly, and that's why so many young great players have come from online gamerooms.
I told her in my opinion, some dealers need more training. We agreed that dealers have to begin somewhere, so in a casino you'll have a mixture of seasoned, well-trained, dealers and those who are just starting. New dealers will make mistakes, as do some veterans. Dealing is not easy.
"Dealing pot limit is the hardest game," she said. When someone wants to "bet the pot", the dealer must know how much is on the felt. It is difficult to track the chips. "I have to add it all up in my head and it can get really hard," she said.
I told her about a dealer I recently had who was actually giving players lessons and making comments about the board cards during the hand. "I really don't want someone, especially dealers, telling others how to play or give advice," I said. "It's my money that's at stake. And I don't care if it's $4 or $4000. Dealers need to keep their comments to themselves." I told her I think some dealers forget they are not to socialize and be a player's best pal or friend. I can see how it would be tempting for a dealer to become friendly with regulars, and even talk about the game in progress. But it is a big problem when dealers begin to offer their opinions on certain cards or game strategy.
(I heard a dealer, for example, make this comment to a player: "This is no-fold'em hold'em. People don't fold, they chase their draws. You should have hung in there." I gave the dealer a look and smiled, then I said, "Why don't we just all give each other lessons!" He could tell I was not a happy camper, regardless of the smile on my face.)
"I would get fired," the dealer told me while sipping on her cup of Starbucks Verona, "if I were talking about the play. You'll never hear me give anyone any advice."
After a while, my dealer-friend had to get to work and she left Starbucks ready for another day of dealing cards to some silly people who pluck down their money to play a silly game.
Working the Numbers
According to GoogleMaps, it is 1,163 miles to Las Vegas. It also estimates it will take me 17 hours and 35 minutes to make the drive. If you do the math, the wizards at Google believe I will average just over 66 miles an hour on the trip. Yeah, right.
I'm more realistic than the googlewizards. I'm planning on two 10-hour days of driving, and that may be too optimistic. And if I decide to take some side trips, take a day to visit Santa Fe for example, then it might take me a week to make the trip.
What about gas? How much do I need to budget on gas and food? If I plan conservatively, I'm going to estimate 10 miles a gallon for my SUV (probably get more like 14-18, but I told you I'm planning conservatively). At 10 miles per gallon I figure I'm going to need 120-130 gallons of gas, if I don't take too many side trips.
What are gas prices between here and Vegas? At gasbuddy.com, I found my answer. Based on that web site, prices go up slightly in New Mexico before dropping back down in Nevada. Prices in Texas and Nevada seem to be similar. I'm looking at $2.92 a gallon in Texas and Nevada. In New Mexico prices will go up to as much as $3.06 per gallon. Since I'm planning conservatively, I will budget my gas cost at the upper price of New Mexico gas: $3.06 a gallon.
If I need 120-130 gallons for the trip, at $3.06 a gallon, then my gas allowance is $367 to $397. I'm praying for no mechanical failure, of course. With luck I won't lose a transmission in the middle of the New Mexico desert.
What about food? I'm eating light. I'm on a diet. So that will help. If I pack some food and stay away from the McJunk food, then I don't need much money for eats. I bet $50 is plenty to budget for food over a two-day period.
Therefore, conservatively, I estimate my relocation expenses (gas and food) to be roughly $450.
I'm more realistic than the googlewizards. I'm planning on two 10-hour days of driving, and that may be too optimistic. And if I decide to take some side trips, take a day to visit Santa Fe for example, then it might take me a week to make the trip.
What about gas? How much do I need to budget on gas and food? If I plan conservatively, I'm going to estimate 10 miles a gallon for my SUV (probably get more like 14-18, but I told you I'm planning conservatively). At 10 miles per gallon I figure I'm going to need 120-130 gallons of gas, if I don't take too many side trips.
What are gas prices between here and Vegas? At gasbuddy.com, I found my answer. Based on that web site, prices go up slightly in New Mexico before dropping back down in Nevada. Prices in Texas and Nevada seem to be similar. I'm looking at $2.92 a gallon in Texas and Nevada. In New Mexico prices will go up to as much as $3.06 per gallon. Since I'm planning conservatively, I will budget my gas cost at the upper price of New Mexico gas: $3.06 a gallon.
If I need 120-130 gallons for the trip, at $3.06 a gallon, then my gas allowance is $367 to $397. I'm praying for no mechanical failure, of course. With luck I won't lose a transmission in the middle of the New Mexico desert.
What about food? I'm eating light. I'm on a diet. So that will help. If I pack some food and stay away from the McJunk food, then I don't need much money for eats. I bet $50 is plenty to budget for food over a two-day period.
Therefore, conservatively, I estimate my relocation expenses (gas and food) to be roughly $450.
I Hate Garage Sales
When my brother sent an email asking me to participate in a garage sale my first thought was, "I hate garage sales." But my Relocation Fund needs all the help it can get, so I agreed to make the one hour drive to his home for the weekend.
The sale went fine I guess, I did make a little money. It was a last-minute idea, so we didn't prepare for it at all--we just hauled junk out on the driveway and put up a couple of signs. We had our first customers within minutes of opening for business. I sold everything I had except a couple of office chairs. My brother unloaded a truck load of old furniture. And the best part we had a good time just hanging out.
I'm now ready to move when the time comes. I've sold or thrown away the junk I don't want to move with me, placing in storage the personal items I'd rather not mess with until I get settled.
It is amazing that we buy junk we don't need or use sparingly. Then we pay for storage to put that stuff away in place we rarely go to except when we have a garage sale to unload the items to someone else who probably doesn't need the assorted junk either. The great American recycling of one's used junk. The only people making money are investors who build storage facilities. I need to invest in a mini-warehouse.
The sale went fine I guess, I did make a little money. It was a last-minute idea, so we didn't prepare for it at all--we just hauled junk out on the driveway and put up a couple of signs. We had our first customers within minutes of opening for business. I sold everything I had except a couple of office chairs. My brother unloaded a truck load of old furniture. And the best part we had a good time just hanging out.
I'm now ready to move when the time comes. I've sold or thrown away the junk I don't want to move with me, placing in storage the personal items I'd rather not mess with until I get settled.
It is amazing that we buy junk we don't need or use sparingly. Then we pay for storage to put that stuff away in place we rarely go to except when we have a garage sale to unload the items to someone else who probably doesn't need the assorted junk either. The great American recycling of one's used junk. The only people making money are investors who build storage facilities. I need to invest in a mini-warehouse.
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