As if you needed an excuse.

My boss is really into post-apocalyptic movies and books.  If it’s dark and dreary (or has vampires in it) he loves it.  He recommended that I read Cormac McCarthy’s The Road a long time ago but it wasn’t until I saw the movie No Country For Old Men (based on a McCarthy novel) that I decided to pick it up.  I hate seeing a great movie knowing I could have read the book first.

You see, the movie The Road comes out this fall.  I know it will be good because it stars Viggo Mortensen, and he doesn’t make crap.  I’ve tried to steer clear of any spoilers because I’m now reading the book but what I do know is the general story.  It is, of course, a post-apocalyptic story about a man and his son heading south to avoid the freezing cold of the coming winter.  From what I’ve read in the first 25 pages, the event occurred several years ago and the man has survived much longer than most.

The book very quickly goes from dismal to scary.  On page 5 is a phrase that so closely aligns with how I feel about my kids that I wish I’d written it.  The man is watching over his son while he sleeps and he says, “If he is not the not the word of God God never spoke.”  At this point I was very in touch with the man and thought how much we are alike.  I put the book down for a break when the man asks himself on page 29, “Can you do it?  When the time comes?  Can you?”  Clearly this is not the world I live in.  The thought of saving your child from unspeakable horrors by ending his life - that deserves a break.

It’s another one of those, “what would you do in the same situation” type of books that I love and love to talk about.  Feel free to leave me your impressions of The Road.  I promise not to read them until I’ve finished the book (which will likely be very, very soon at the rate I’m reading it).

Update:
Finished the book in one  day - a new record for me!  I do recommend it but it is not for the faint of heart.  Very emotional for fathers of young kids anywhere.  The large print and style of writing makes for a nice quick read - you could probably get through the whole thing in one transatlantic flight…

I really don’t know if I have a knack for Texas Hold ‘em poker or if I’m just extremely lucky, but out of a total of about 8 rounds I’ve won 4.  They weren’t all with the same group of suckers, either.  Granted, we’re not talking about $100 buy-ins or the WSOP here.  It’s just a bunch of guys wasting time and not ever more than $20 per guy (I promise, dear).

My latest victory came on Friday night.  The lights at the Roblin Lake Dome, ahem, wouldn’t come on so our slowpitch game was canceled.  The boys thought an impromptu game of poker might sate our need for something macho to do.

I’m clearly not the right guy to give advice, being that I’ve only played a total of 8 rounds in my life, but the one tip I’ve found that really makes my position stronger is to only have three types of bet:

1. The check or call (you don’t always have to spend money)
2. The silo bet (is strong but doesn’t require any time or thinking to count)
3. The all-in

By limiting my plays to these three types of bet my opponents don’t have the opportunity to examine my reactions.  I know that I’m either going to call, push a silo or push all-in.  If I have to decide how much to bet and then worry about what kind of message I’m sending whether I’m too high or too low I’m clearly going to lose.  I would be out of my element in a hurry.  I’ve found that my opponents really get no read on my betting and I’ve really only been beaten by poor cards or bad rivers.

I also don’t think that revealing my methods will hurt me in the future.  The guys I play against don’t really get out (on the Internet) much.  Besides, this tip can’t help you read my cards or my face.  I’ve watched a fair amount of WSOP and celebrity poker on TV but I will never play enough poker to know, or care, what a good or bad bet is.  I have a hard enough time remembering the blinds and what beats what.

Best of luck to everyone not at my table!

I write this blog post for and about my dad.  He may not read it right away (or ever) but there are some things I think he should know.

I was gassing up my truck this morning to the tune of a small country’s GDP when I caught a whiff of the fumes.  I was instantly transported back to every summer Sunday morning of my youth, filling up the boat.  There was an hour every Sunday morning when my dad and I would head down to the boat before everyone else to get ‘er ready.  We’d take the top down, stow the life jackets and the cooler, and then we’d take it around to gas up.

As a bit of an aside, there really isn’t anything else like Georgian Bay at 8 or 9 in the morning in the summer.  It’s glass calm, the sun is just coming up and you can feel the heat of it on your skin but it’s not hot yet, it’s quiet, so quiet, and then there’s that smell.  The sickly sweet fumes of gas and the Bay mixed together.  It’s not unlike an elixir of youth - or joy.  I think it is actually impossible to be upset or worried about something when you’re down at the dock, before the crowd, on the Bay.  Lesley, when I go, just spread my ashes somewhere down the South Channel.

With gas prices heading through the stratosphere I imagine that pleasure boating will leave the realm of the middle-class to be enjoyed only by the uber-rich.  That’s a real shame.  I know I’m not the only guy out there who spent his formative years bonding with his dad over the fumes of an old Starcraft.  Like most guys, my dad didn’t try to teach me anything about life when we were alone, that kind of information you had to glean from his actions and from eavesdropping at parties when I was supposed to be asleep hours ago.  No, the stuff I learned from him in the early mornings was more about him and the kind of father that I wanted to be.  He’d sit in the back of the boat, being my first mate.  He’d wince when I came in too fast in the early years.  He’d comment about my wake (it was always too big but I just couldn’t drive that slow).  But in the end, he always let me take the lead, make my own mistakes, and learn on my own.

In the later years he’d just open a book and read until we got to the dock.  He’d follow my instructions and then let me run the show for the whole day’s boating.  Everyone knew that I was running the boat.  I know he was paying attention though because he’d never fail to thank me at the end of the day for such a good boat ride.  Imagine that, thanking me when it should have been me thanking him.  As much as I liked driving the boat I think the thank you at the end of the day was even better.

I often think about the years ahead and how I’d love to move my parents closer to me and my family.  I don’t get very far before I think about Georgian Bay and what it has meant to me, my dad, and my family in general.  I was raised on the Bay.  I proposed to Lesley on the Bay.  I think I’m about as close to it as a man can be to a body of water.  The thing is that my dad was there for all of it.  So is it really the Bay that I love?

Happy Father’s Day, Big Isi (the BBP).

I picked up a copy of Atlas Shrugged at a book swap for 25 cents.  The paperback was old enough that the price on the cover said 95 cents.  I thought I had heard of the title before and there was a faint Spideysense tingling that it was important.  I started to read it an knew immediately that it was something I would remember forever.

(more…)

Alright, I’ve had enough!  Why is it that when it rains it pours and when it’s sunny it’s a darn heat wave?  With baby #2 now safely home and thriving (well, actually sleeping about 18-20 hours a day right now - go ahead, be jealous), I am now ready to dig back into my work.  What I’m finding is that, by the time I get really rolling it’s already on the dark side of midnight.  I’ve decided to appeal to The Man directly:

Dear Father Time,

You suck.  For the first 8 or so years of life I hated you because I was too young to do anything cool.  For the next 7 or so years I hated you because I was too young to drive.  Once I was finally old enough to drive I hated you because I wasn’t 19 yet.  From 19 until 29 I was pretty happy.  There, I admitted it.  Now that I’ve crossed 30 and have two kids I hate you again.  Sure, for the first 19 years of life I asked you to speed things up and to shorten the days but why did you wait 29 years to listen?

Since I’m a reasonable guy I’m not going to ask for much.  All I want is for one more hour in the day.  That’s right, just add a 25th hour in the day.  Don’t worry about watches or analog clocks - they’re on their way out anyway.

And don’t play around and just try to cram 25 into the space where 24 were before - I’m on to your ways.  I’m also on to something else that may influence your decision to climb aboard the 25 hour train.  That’s right, I know about the Tooth Fairy.  If you don’t want Mother Nature to find out whose pillow she’s been visting then you’ll find a way to make this happen.

Cordially yours,

Jacob