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World Series Curses
2016-11-05

I'm sitting on my couch, trying to catch up on the World Series of Poker. They started on day 4 this year with the TV coverage. It used to be so much more epic.

I'm at Palmers Bar out back by the fire. I'm talking to a girl whose eye has always caught mine. She writes her phone number down in my little notebook.

I'm at the Nightingale in Uptown watching the NLCS - Cubs/Dodgers. It's post-date with an acquaintance from many years past. She's still cool, but I'm not feeling it. So instead I went to a bar I can read at. But in this case I never pull out my book. Greg is here spending all his money on oysters. Turns out he knows way too much about food. Instead of talking to him I strike up another conversation with an Adrian whose grandparents lived and died without seeing the Cubs win a World Series. We talk about agile development and scrum development. That's her job from what I understand. I work within those parameters and I think about it some. Cubs win.

I'm sitting on my couch, watching the World Series of Poker and rewriting this NodeJS program. This is one of six programs we've been writing this year that are all one application. But this one it's just me, and I can merge my own code. I swear many months ago I asked if we could multicast between sites. We're in a rush to set up a production environment and we cannot multicast between sites. A user needs all their XHR requests to go to the same site and since they all go through an interceptor and are routed to a NodeJS server and then off to a VIP and rely on cookie propagation means I need to fix this bug that just now came to my attention about our NodeJS server not propagating cookies. We'll have to rip out the express-session middleware and I'll rewrite it and this is the most exciting World Series of Poker in recent memory especially this William Yassouf character who I've seen briefly on the European Poker Tour but he's not supposed to be this good at poker.

Late last night I was at Palmers and my ex texted me - "Don't worry about the lawn mower". A few days ago I had been scanning my Facebook feed and seen a bunch of pictures of her with her new boyfriend and unfriended her. I didn't want to see that. I sent her a message saying I think she's cool but I'm a sad motherfucker and her mom's lawnmower broke but I bought a new one and she can have that if she wants it and unfriended her. She doesn't want anything to do with me these days anyway. I message her back "I woulda got you that island." It was a thing between us.

I'm in a hotel room in Las Vegas lying down on a bed watching TV. It's the first break at the World Series of Poker Main Event. I'm getting destroyed. You could probably fold all your hands and make it to Day 2, but I have not done that. I've played back at the assorted poker pros at my table and a combination of me not knowing how to play these guys and bad luck has put me in danger of busting out of the Main Event on the first day. I come back from the dinner break and go broke on a hand where I stand up to a guy, he catches a big draw on the turn, he hits a flush on the river and I hit two pair and should absolutely fold but don't and so much for that.

This is the second time this morning I've woken up from a dream about my ex. She was mad at me, she was walking towards me taunting me and then trying to slap me. I was almost happy she was trying to slap me, because I thought maybe that could turn into an embrace. It was real sad and stupid. I said "It's okay, come here." She got angrier. I did say, "It's not cool to hit me though." It's 6:30 in the morning and I work in the burbs. Fuck it, I'll get up and bike to work. Haven't done that in a while.

I'm at a government building downtown waiting for Marshall. He's been protesting at the Sheriff's Office on behalf of the Standing Rock tribe and in opposition to the Dakota Pipeline. He's a 300 lb. Native American Man in a black t-shirt and red bandanna. Absolute sweetheart, unemployed and headed out to North Dakota to the front lines tomorrow morning. I'm treating him to the Minnesota Orchestra's performance of E.T. Front row.

I'm at a back table at Jackson's Hole, watching the Cubs in the World Series. Guys at the table next to me who showed up a couple innings ago start talking about L---. Is that L---? She's that cute little number from the pizza place. Did they say is or was? I hate how they're talking about her. And I'm worried that she came in and turned right around and walked back out because I'm just that toxic.

I'm sitting at the bar at the Town Hall Brewery and there are three empty bar stools to either side of me. Twenty people in the bar. I was reading "The Tin Drum" until I got drunk and gave up. It's turning into a sad book. I bought it 10 or 11 years ago at J. O'Donaghue's in Anoka. She used to pay me, but I spent it on books. I never read the Tin Drum, but I always kept it on my reading list. Saw it again while I was moving, and Tim said he liked it. So I bumped it to the front of the list. The prose isn't the best, but it's a devastating story. World War II in Poland on the border with Germany.

I'm at Pizza Luce on a date with A----. She's a beautiful intelligent theater woman full of curiosity and self-reproach. I'm wildly attracted to her even when she's being weird and self-deprecating, so I give her compliments and try to make her feel good. We're kissing by her house and it's tepid. I ask her if she wants to hang out again and she says she's not sure. Yikes. Self-deprecating women I think aren't so into guys who worship them. She tells me she's been going on a lot of dates.

I'm at Butter Cafe hungover as fuck eating eggs and potatoes. We're releasing this application I've been working on for the better part of this year today. I'm working from home. I have a meeting with the bosses in 3 minutes and I can't find my headset. It's not in my bag. I forgot my headset. Goddamnit. I leave my laptop and eggs on the table, walk casually to the exit. Walk a little faster to my car. Quickly drive home, sprint through the yard, leap up the stairs, snatch my headset, bound down the stairs, pause by the kitchen because how can you ignore this dog, sprint back to the car, floor it to the cafe, walk briskly up to the door, casually stroll back to my chair, collapse in it. Dial up this meeting and put myself on mute, eat my eggs. Sneak in a couple sentences. "Yeah I think everything's in progress." The boss's council doesn't do a whole lot. Mostly status updates.

I'm sitting on my couch setting up Linux on the TV computer for my new roommate. As opposed to my old roommate who I've been trying to reach for weeks. He has a guitar amp of mine, or at least he had it at one point. I suspect he sold it for drugs. Not sure what to do about that, except continue to call and text him. All the more severe options make me feel shitty. I'll do em anyway,

We're putting out the go-to-market release of Thomson Reuters Regulatory Intelligence Feeds today. I did an unreal job on that project. My dev team got so much damn development done. And I killed it on all this non-functional work that was brand new to me. Replication, clustered caching, cross-browser third-party cookie compatibility, environment-specific product configurations, this JMS user-provisioning system we have that is definitely a functional requirement but I did that one, multi-site multi-server routing, authentication, encryption, a JMX approach to graceful shutdown of a database-driven batch processing application, thirty technical interviews, navigating four competing architects and a dozen different technical groups. Pushing my best work friend to get the user provisioning content work done in the nick of time. We got the final material subscription accepted by tax, finance, and two other groups whose names I never learned around 3 today. We were redeployed in production by 5. That was the last piece. At 7 I tried to use my work laptop to Skype into a Spanish lesson and it crashed. Now it won't start up. Seems awfully convenient timing.

I'm lying down in bed texting with my old friend Kahla who's living in Victoria these days. We just bought plain tickets to Costa Rica and now we're discussing what we could do there. We both suck at planning trips. She sends me pictures of Monkey Island. I want to explore a rainforest. I'm going to get a Spanish tutor and get back to work on learning Spanish.

I'm at a Skeletonwitch show at the Triple Rock by myself. I really like this band. I saw them play in a record store in Asheville, North Carolina ten years ago when I was bummed about a girl and driving around the country staying at strangers' houses. They have a new singer now but this music is still incredible. B--- is here and I make a point to tell her how awesome she is. She's a super-accomplished super-active bombshell of a punk rock woman and she's been posting depressing shit on Facebook and I just can't understand how somebody as universally adored as her could be depressed. It's scary too, especially because of Erik Petersen committing suicide this year. That really rattled me. And David Foster Wallace and Andrew et al. Everybody loved these people. But they couldn't be happy. That scares me.

I'm sitting by myself at the Town Hall Brewery texting with Becky about basketball. She's collecting basketball players. I prefer to think of basetball in the abstract, but she hangs out with these guys. She validates my theory that professional athletes are some of the best rich people in the world. Most of them weren't raised to be uppity assholes. Anyway I'm by myself at the bar. They're showing the Cubs World Series victory rally on TV, and turns out I'm happy for them. I've always rooted against the Cubs, but watching this there's really nothing to hate on. Just a bunch of grown men crying on eachother.

P.S. Added a couple pieces in the "Other" section - Why We Bowl and Losers

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