Found earlier this week on a shirt - a largemouth bass emblazoned w the flag. Of course I bought it.

Sweet Cory, courtesy of the GBP.

Morons on the Cable News Network talking about — aliens. Men from Mars. Outer space creatures.

You can tell the moronic youth have graduated to writing in the newspapers:
Shocked! How the oil crisis has hit the world

SHOCK! We ain’t even skimmed the cream off the world’s oil. Nor the rest of Gaia’s petroleumic wonders.

It is educational to watch my fellow countrymen who grew up with oil rail and kvetch down at the Losers’ Lounge. Last night’s Idiocracy was the helium-powered perpetual motion machine. Gravity and friction, the buggabears of every century’s PMs, didn’t even phase this moron. Probably because it’s got what plants crave.

I only renewed my health insurance today so I can get cheap meds. I absolutely don’t mind being gone when that shit rules the roost as it does. No one is gonna miss me.

…it’s called poker, I believe?

The World Series of Poker kicks off tomorrow, and even though my best poker days are behind ahead of me, I’m still in love with the game. The problem is that bootstrapping two different companies means very few pennies left over for fun and games. That’s why I quit drinking when Happy Hour is over.

When I quit, I usually come home and go to work on my labor of love, Pokerati.com. DanM and I met probably half a decade ago, because he was basically one of the other five or six guys on the internet talking about poker, and it turns out that the boy was from Dallas. Which means I could mooch off of him for finding games, which I did, and legally-questionable poker rooms, which I did, and play really bad drunk poker at his weekly freeroll tournaments held in a titty bar, which I did con mucho gusto.

For whatever reason, Dan and I hit it off, and we’ve been working together off and on in a techie-journo combo for a while now, and as a result, we’ve been extraordinarily heads-down pounding out his new site for the last two months. It’s fair to say that I’m personally proud of having been a part of the effort, because I think the new look is pretty rocking, and I think we’ve done some really coolio shit there, too, like the (gayly-named) Citizen Stack Tracker. That little feature lets you text in your comments, posts, pictures, videos (o lord, let them all be over 17!) over the cellular tubes into the internet tubes and onto Dan’s landing spot. Which means Pokerati has a great big jump on a lot of far larger places in getting the wisdom of the crowds social networking hogwash essentialitiness going.

But my larger point is — the 2008 WSOP is starting up, and yet again, I wish I had the baksheesh and fortitude to go withstand it all, but I don’t, so if you’re like me, go ahead and bookmark little Pokerati.com to keep up with from a nice weirdo non-payrolled perspective. You know, like blogs used to be.

And there are other poker-blogger brethren of mine out there doing this. I’ve drank beer / played poker / eaten a hot-dog / squinted at the completely-unexpected morning sun with these fine people, so by all means, add them to your feed reader, too:

• Mean Gene Bromberg
• Poker Prof
• Otis
• Pauly

I have no doubts that there are some I’ve missed that I actually read, but I’m on my fourtheighth Mike’s Hard Lemonade. Hell, I can’t tell you why I’m drinking malt liquor — I’m just sick of beer and hard liquor really makes my inside organs hurt really bad really more than beer. That ain’t the point — I’m more than happy to throw a link at you if I missed you. Nobody reads this anymore, though, you should know.

Truly, there are no finer words than this to a cardplayer’s ears though: Shuffle up and deal!

Jo-el Sonnier doing Tear Stained Letter:

Unlike Donnah, I love the video — very 80s-hilarious…

Close observers (HAH!) will recall that I found this one last year, Jo-el and Richard Thompson together, and I still love it:

I enjoy the ‘genius musicians just having fun’ vibe of that one. And talk about two people seperated by a common language - who was more confused? The Cajun or the Brit?

Somebody please come help Barry off the stage before he collapses from the stress and hard work of bringing you the Greatest! Show! Ever!

With all apologies to James Brown, James Brown fans, and any body with half a fingernail of photoshop skillz.

Sweet - bagpipes. Lots of bagpipes.

NASCAR really does rock — I just watched some replay of Tony Stewart and Juan Blahblo Monblahblah pounding on each other going down the backstretch. Lugnuts > 1, too. Of course, they have arbitrary work rules that hose things up, like “stay in contact with the tire all the way to the wall.” Whisky tango foxtrot, over?

I pay almost zero attention to American open-wheel roundy-rounds, because it’s been a seriously effed-up racing series for about a decade, what with CART, IRL, PBR, LMNOP, and whatnot. I’m glad they got all their petty rich-white-dude differences ironed out, because Americans need their own open-wheel racing series. It can’t compare to NASCAR, since you can’t really ram one of these delicate flowers into another one because the dude slammed the door on you going into turn 3, and you can’t really scrape the wall and stay on the track. But it’s still pretty good, cuz they go really, really fast, like about 5000 mph, and that rocks.

I like checking out the sponsors, too. Indy gets some kinda-sorta highbrows, but there’s plenty of crossover, too. I do heartily love the regional differences, though. Down here in Mexico Jr., Bill’s Tractor buys time. I’ve never ever seen a tractor commercial in the DF&W. And it’s followed by a commercial for Lear Jet…that’s Indy!

I’ve sure had enough of the Grrll!!1! Pwer Danica Patrick chatter. I never knew there was so much active misogyny keeping wymmin from racing cars, and that’s the impression any random non-gearhead would get from pretty much everything pre-game. I guess it’s harmless and feel-good, though. Whatever makes peeps go fast and keep watching.

OK, so we’ve had a pit road fire and a couple of crashes so far. Good times.

HALFWAY+ UPDATE: Some more crashing. Humbling to learn that two racecar drivers I grew up watching have, ahem, grandsons in this race: Marco Andretti and AJ Foyt IV. And some more crashing. I like how the IRL crash dudes just trot out there — they don’t require 60 support vehicles to form an impenetrable barrier around a guy picking up a piece of sheet-metal, like NASCAR does. A wrecker and a truck seem to pretty much get it done. About another 6000 over-focuses on Ms. Patrick, who’s kinda cute, and growing on me with a fresh picture on the teevee screen about every 30 seconds. I hope my grandsons have more talent and ambition than me. “Let’s check in with Danica again…”

DANICA 500 UPDATE: Danica’s out, so they cancelled the rest of it and declared a National Period of Pouting.

Wow. I really thought I was gonna have two loins in that cryovac pack, but it’s just one enormous 4.85 lb Godzilla pork loin.

So, as best I can recall, I need to get this thing up to 150-160°F internal. And it’s not a real fatty piece of meat, so I’m going to smoke at about an hour per lb. (my default) at about 250 and see where it gets me. I’m also going to just cover it in cheap bacon and hope that bastes it, some. Might have to wrap it in foil, too.

This could be a disaster. Or awesome. Or both.

UPDATE: Mmmm…bacony!

Note To Mr. Stanley: I didn’t do no exercising before this one.

Ryan Bingham’s Bread and Water song on video, since a lot of people don’t think music without a video exists. That slide guitar makes me smile…

Via…

8 Types Of Annoying People You’ll Find Inside Starbucks

When you order coffee, it shouldn’t sound like you’re giving the pass code to a missile defense system. If you’re lactose intolerant, on a strict diet, and can’t handle a full dose of caffeine, how about instead of ordering a “non-fat, grande, soy chai latte with a half shot of espresso and no foam” and then stand in front of the pick up window and pace like one of Michael Vick’s pitbulls watching Vick pull out the rape stand after losing a fight, you just grab a glass of god damn water and drink that. Last I checked that won’t give you exploding diarrhea or anxiety… unless you’re at the Starbucks in Tijuana.

I go to Starbucks for the same reason I go to Whataburger or Taco Cabana — they’re reliable. I’m always going to get what I want, which is hot, thick, fairly-tasty black coffee, served in a sturdy cup. However, at any place that is reliable, you get a certain amount of types who frequent it, too. The one described above is the one I detest the most - the picture with it looks like I’d detest that type, anyway, no matter where I encounter it.

One I’d add. that drives me bat-shit berserk, is the type who stands at the cash register gaping at the way-overly-complicated Starbucks menu board as if they expect our Savior, Jesus Christ, to appear there. Or maybe He already has appeared there, and they’ve been struck dumb. But that’s not it, because they eventually mumble out an order to the serenely patient order-taker. Generally, it’s not as over-complicated as outlined above, either, just shakily unsure of what they’re asking for. If I didn’t know that the physics haven’t been worked out on this yet, I’d swear they were teleported from another dimension with instructions to bring back what their superiours have reason to believe might just solve an existence-threatening crisis in that dimension, and they only have one shot at it. And they only had a couple of days of basic English instruction.

Sbux doesn’t help here by having a menu board that’s about 20 feet long with pretty small type and no obvious eye-catcher that says “Hey, here’s the stuff served in cups! All the rest is extraneous, higher-margin geegaws!”

To their credit, the Whataburgers of the world have taken to putting pictures on their menu boards to assist non-English-reading Americans, and most cashiers (around these parts here, anyway) can translate “numero cinco” fairly rapido. There’s no obvious answer like that for Starbucks, though…how do you picture a chai or a skinny latte?

My solution is a walk-up station for regulars like me who know what they want and need it quickly so they can get on about their day…like a 10-items-or-less or self-check deal at the Wal-Mart. A cup dispenser, perhaps, and a big old urn of regular and high-test. 7-11 in Dallas was pretty good about this, but there ain’t no 7-11s in South Texas - they’re all Valeros, and their cups disspitate heat more rapidly than Peltier cooling (flimsy, too.) All their coffee tastes the same, as well, whether it’s Ethyl or unleaded or whatever fruity crap they’re pushing that day.

I also have to say that the real solution is for Americans and others to become more conscious of their surroundings and politely not enter the order line until they know what they want, but I’ve given up on convincing people not to be obliviously-rude a-holes to the strangers they encounter along life’s path. It’s somehow become devalued among our populace, almost as if everybody is now a NooYawker or something.

OK, then…carry on…that’s all I got today, probably. Gonna smoke a 5lb pork loin I found on sale about a year ago, and watch a lot of racing motorsports…F1, Indy 500, NASCAR Coca-Cola 600. Nice day for gearheads.

Found it via Kramer…

Energy Watchdog Warns Of Oil-Production Crunch - WSJ.com

Meanwhile, politics and other forces are delaying projects that could bring more oil on-stream. Continued fighting in Iraq has stymied efforts to revive aging fields, while international sanctions on Iran have kept investments there from moving forward. Rebel attacks in Nigeria and political turmoil in Venezuela have cut into both countries’ output. Big non-OPEC producers such as Mexico and Russia, which have either barred or sidelined international operators, are seeing production slump. The U.S., with a legal moratorium barring exploration in 85% of its offshore waters, is struggling to keep its output steady.

That’s the supply-side. “bring more oil on-stream.” Supply is being reduced by not the availability of Texas tea, but “politics and other forces.” Well, the market, or demand, will eventually steamroll those circle-jerks. It might be hard or tough to get through them, and I feel bad it’ll have to happen, but I feel really bad that I paid a mortgage for eight years and got shafted by the drop in sub-primes and lost about $100,000 in value in six months. C’est la vie, I says to myself, and back to the grindstone.

Demand, well…demand is going to grow. Only a dipstick believes it won’t, or that it’s possible to curb it. Or that it’s worth curbing it. I guess we could retreat from air-conditioning and Google datacenters and personal mobility, but — you go first.

This is another discussion I’m tired of having. When our pocketbooks are overstretched to the point that we don’t give a damn if there’s a platform in sight of Key Westers and we have a refinery down the street, we’ll elect some politicians who will do something about it instead of moronically jaw to the news-show cameras for the teevee. Or not. Maybe the view from the Kennedy compound will be more important to future generations, and they’ll be happy with their daily ration of soy.

Brought to my attention by Peak Oil theory pointer-outer John Robb…

I can officially state that this is the best brisket I’ve made in this smoker, and I haven’t even sliced up the flat yet. That ice chest trick is pretty cool, and works a charm. Now I’ve got brisket grease all over my keyboard.

This man inspired me to buy a brisket last night and smoke it today. I’m probably going to do more like 14 hours of smoke, though 18 would be optimum. I started at 5:30, as in

• Slapped the crap out of the alarm clock
• Tried to get out of bed and stumbled into the wall
• Hit the coffeemaker start button
• Went outside to inspect the smoker
• Went back inside to put on some pants
• Went back outside to set up the firebox and start the charcoal
• Got one swig of hot black coffee down and hit the Aim-N-Flame
• Put out my eyebrows with a crusty kitchen towel that’s been laying here since November
• Scared the crap out of myself by trying to walk through the sliding glass door and seeing my reflection and thinking “WhoTF is that in the kitchen?“
• Got the smoker up to about 350
• Put el brisketo on
• Sat down and started looking at what happened on the internets overnight
• Went back to check the temps and airflow, shut the vents to drop the temp from 450
• Started another pot of coffee
• Success - we’re running at 210-220

I am quite not a morning person. I should be — it’s gorgeous to watch the sun come up, and to enjoy the birdies singing. And I as I slide down the age slope toward that inevitable dirt nap, I can’t sleep any longer than six hours, anyway. But good lord, all that stumbling around, the groggy non-functional brain, the itchy eyeballs…blech.

I’m still trying to get a handle on this dang smoker after 10 months. I can get the little things right, like ribs, pork loin, chicken, etc., but I still don’t have a good feel for my briskets. Last time I smoked, I did two briskets, one for me and one for my partner. He loved his, I was less than happy with mine.

I’ve got two competing philosophies here: one is to just make the best brisket I can, and the other is to make the best brisket I can with nothing but wood and smoke. The first school of smoke, the Pragmatic School, says that you should just go ahead and wrap your brisket in foil after 4-6 hours, and let it cook the rest of it’s allotted time, which you could just as easily do in the oven so you don’t have to mess with the firebox no mo’. The second school of smoke, which we’ll call the Purist’s School, is that foil should never enter the picture — it’s low heat, and lots of smoke, and if you can’t do that, just turn in your apron, and go eat at Dickie’s or Bill Miller’s.

As of now, since I fancy myself a manly man, I’ve moved more to the Purist School (which way, by the way, lies utter madness), but I’m going to try a trick that an old pitmaster told me once. He’s from the Purist School, but at the end of his cooking, he wraps el brisketo in foil and puts it in an ice chest and lets it sit overnight. Apparently, the foil / ice chest combo lets the temps drop slowly enough that there’s still some cooking going on internally, but it’s no longer starting to burn up on the outside. So, that’s what I’m going to try — we shall see.

UPDATE: Photos have been requested:

The Official TFG Smoker

The firebox on the Official TFG Smoker

King Brisket

Only three or four more hours to go.