Personal Musings category archive

I admit that I don’t like organized gambling houses. Part of it is that I spell gamble l-o-s-e (except for that one Exacta I hit at Delaware Park) and part of it is that the odds are stacked.

The house does, indeed, always win.

In short, gambling at the slots and in casinos is a mug’s game, no matter whether you wear a tuxedo or a tutu to do it.

Commonwealth’s Attorney Harvey Bryant announced Monday that a special grand jury has indicted the owners or operators of 10 Internet sweepstakes cafes on criminal charges of illegal gambling.

The defendants face indictments as the result of an investigation that culminated with police raids of the businesses in September.

(snip)

Sweepstakes cafes occupy a murky area of state law. Some commonwealth’s attorneys, such as Bryant, have said they’re illegal, and some have said they’re not. Chesapeake has not taken action against them.

The owners say they don’t meet the legal definition of gambling.

I’ve read descriptions of how these “internet sweepstakes” work.

Whether or not they are legal is one thing, but there is no way they aren’t gambling.

Aside:

I have nothing against the weekly poker game amongst old friends that goes on next door.

A. People lie. Governments are made up of people. Governments lie. Liars don’t like getting caught.

And this surprises you how?

The amount of food that some persons manage to pile on their plates at an all-you-can-eat buffet, where you can go back for seconds and thirds and fourths if you can still walk, is truly astounding.

Were the same ingenuity applied to global warming, the problem would be licked by Tuesday afternoon.

A few days ago, I was unlucky enough to catch about two minutes of the Charlie Brown Thanksgiving special, the scene in which the colonists and the Indians are carrying their foodstuffs to the feast.

What a charming scene.

What is missing from the American myth of the first Thanksgiving. (Which actually took place in Virginia even before the Pilgrims arrived in Plymouth Bay, having missed their intended destination, Virginia, by some 800 miles. Probably just as well: in those days, Virginians had little patience with stern absolutists determined to impose their religion on others. These days folks like that get elected attorney-general, but I digress . . . .)

. . . anyhoo, what is missing is any recognition that, for the next three centuries, the colonists and their descendants occupied themselves with assiduously attempting to swindle, pillage, expel, and exterminate American Indians.

Shaun Mullen also seems to have some mixed feelings, not so much about then as about now.

Cabinet secretaries, top congressional leaders and an exclusive group of senior U.S. officials are exempt from toughened new airport screening procedures when they fly commercially with government-approved federal security details.

As a matter of policy, it makes sense, possible fantasies about some Manchurian passenger to the contrary notwithstanding.

As a matter of practicality, it might help explain why some don’t understand the restiveness about the institutionalized indignity of some TSA practices.

Back when the TSA first took over airport security, I was averaging more than one business trip a month, almost all by air. At Philadelphia, TSA was a significant improvement over the Wackenhut rent-a-searchers that they replaced: more polite, more efficient, more professional.

But, as my Freshman roommate once said about some of the senior class ROTC officers in his unit, “Give some persons a flat hat and they think they rule the world.”

After I got the loaf of garlic bread home (no, not that type of garlic bread–the other type, with honking great chunks of roast garlic mixed right in the dough), I noticed that it had directions:

Preheat oven to 385 degrees. Bake for 10 to 12 minutes.

What a brainstorm!

Another American half-baked marketing idea: Half-baked bread.

(It was actually pretty good. Half a loaf was better than none, and half a loaf is left over.)

When our high school track and football coach sensed malingering or horseplay, his most common response was to say, “Stop playing grab-ass and get to work.”

Now, in TSA World, playing grab-ass is work.

The kitchen floor is cleaner than it has been in a month and I’ve finished some computer tweaks I’ve been considering for some time but which required some Googling research.

My timing was pretty good; yesterday, the power was out for six hours, from 9:00 a. till 3:03 p.

Whatever it was, it was a power company thing, not a storm (it was a beautiful day) nor a rogue vehicle.

One amusing side effect: when the power came back on, it reset the sprinklers, which normally go off at midnight. They went off at three and did it again today. (If I had my druthers, there wouldn’t be any sprinklers–they just encourage the grass to want cut.)

Ignoring the idiocy for a few days was relaxing, but it occurs to me that John Cole was correct. If you don’t pay attention to what’s going on as it happens, you will find yourself susceptible to the spit and spin and toxic spills that pass for the political process these days when it comes to decision time–and politics ain’t just a game, though a lot of folks try to game the polity.

It’s stuff that affect lives, such as Wall Street’s three card monte and the Great and Glorious Patriotic War for a Lie in Iraq.

The distressing thing about this story is not that it might have happened–the courts will figure that out–but that it would surprise no one if it did happen.

A part-time bartender at the popular McFadden’s Restaurant & Saloon in Northern Liberties has filed a federal lawsuit alleging the restaurant has deliberately discouraged nonwhite customers.

Court documents quote a text message by the bar’s general manager as telling a shift supervisor to cease a weeknight promotion that brought in African American customers. “We don’t want black people we are a white bar!” the manager wrote in October, the lawsuit alleges.

If someone is going to click “Not Sure” in one of those newspaper poll thingees, why would he or she even bother to click?

Never worked a polling place before.

Six hours at the polling place annoying persons as they arrived to vote.

Actually, I tried to be not annoying.

Most of the voters, I must say were quite polite. Many were pleasant. No one was actively rude, though a few were somewhat curt.

I had several interesting conversations and reached enthusiastic agreement with one conservative voter that broadcast and print coverage of local elections is deplorably deficient, making it difficult to learn about the candidates or the issues; with one Democratic voter that persons who are willing to vote Republican and expect them to be different from 2000-2008 think fantastickal thoughts.

I brought a camp chair with me, but didn’t get to use it for more than half an hour total. I haven’t been on my feet continuously for so long since I worked in a factory.

Afterwards, some of us gathered with Andrew to celebrate, if not a victory, at least the end of the campaign.

The battle is never won. It is always just one in the series.

An election is not an end. It is another beginning.

Afterthought:

I’ll read the returns in the morning. They won’t change from now till then. CSI: New York reruns are great for winding down.

I had a dream last night, oh boy.

I dreamt that . . .

Read more »

Are cats aware of their tails?

Do cats control their tails or do cats’ tails betray them?

I dreamt I was up all night repairing a car.

Now I don’t know whether I’m tired or rested.

One of the things that I have missed since moving to these parts is Drinking Liberally.

When I lived in the Greater Philadelphia Co-Prosperity Sphere, the regular Tuesday meetings of the local DL chapter recharged and invigorated me. The Philly DL bloggers who still have active blogs are linked on the sidebar, over there ————->.

It wasn’t the drinking (I can do that quite well on my own, thank you).

It was the liberally–the fellowship of kindred minds.

Some of the friendships I made there continue across the miles.

When I moved here, there were two DL chapters listed at the mothership–one in Norfolk and one in Virginia Beach–but both of them had faded away by the time I went looking for them.

Now, someone is trying to revive a local chapter.

See you there:

When: Thursday, October 28, 6:00 p. m.

Where: Croc’s Bistro & Bar, 620 19th St, Virginia Beach, Virginia (Map)

To quote one of my Philly DL friends,

“Come for the beer, stay for the check”

When persons idolize June Cleaver, they forget that Barbara Billingsley was a working mom.

This.

Torn between being sorry the Phillies lost and thinking that an extra-innings finish after an 8 p. m. starts would have been too late for me.

This kind of stuff really must end. It’s time to let go of the hate. If you are a Christian, another way of putting it is this: It’s time to live by the Gospels, not by Leviticus.

If you think that gays are icky, it just reveals that your mind is icky.

It’s called “Projection.”

It looks like it’s finally time to roll out the quilts.