* I don't know how to play chess.
* I don't know how to play poker.
* I've never made a bet.
* I've never gambled.
* I've never been to a casino.
* Not much would hold less appeal to me than going to a casino. But I would rather go to a casino than read an MFA story.
* I don't know any card games save one, which is Crazy Eights.
* It's also the only card game I have any interest in. I could actually play quite a lot of Crazy Eights. I played it on Cape Cod, and I associate it with the smell of brine, the Red Sox "Morgan Magic" in the summer of 1988, the pizza box from a couple hours ago still left out on the kitchen table of the rented house as the sun goes down over the bay.
* It's kind of no wonder I like Crazy Eights.
* I saw a photo today of Rickey Henderson, Wade Boggs, and Darryl Strawberry posing together somewhat recently. They all looked good. Fit. A lot of ex-athletes become these blobs. Strawberry did a lot to turn his life around and help people turn theirs around in following. He seems like a good man. This was on Facebook. And every last comment--there were hundreds--were nasty. Ridiculed them. Said they looked like worn out rockers who just got out of detox. I looked at the profiles of some of these people. What, in the first place, would possess you to say such cruel things? I think we underestimate how sick and broken almost everyone is. I think people are festering wounds on the inside. I think it's one out of many thousands of people who don't hate themselves. I think those who think they don't have often just found a way to shut off the light that would cause them to be honest with themselves. I think they distract themselves. And then, in the second place, I clicked on the profiles of some of these people making these comments. How do you put this? Do you think they were a physically attractive bunch? It wasn't exactly a 1:1 chin to person ratio. So what is happening here? It was just a nice photo of three middle aged guys who were fine ballplayers, and seem to be doing okay and put their arms around each other--probably at someone's request--and smiled.
* I have never read anything on Facebook or Twitter that made me laugh. There was Bob Kraft stuff yesterday, because as I wrote here, he's a sad, insecure, shallow man. I think he's deeply unhappy. That's why he tries to stage so much of his life. It's like when Brady came back to Foxborough this past season, and Kraft waited for him on the fifty yard line before the game with camera crews, and Brady didn't show up. I don't blame him. Kraft wants to be seen a certain way--he's not a secure enough man to be a certain way. Whereas, Belichick, who is himself a dick and a lover of cronyism and nepotism, at least had the grace to seek out Brady in private, so the two could talk, away from everyone else. No cameras. And Kraft just became engaged to a woman who is my age, which is gross, because it's not like Kraft is some genius and you're falling for his mind. I could get it if Kraft was Picasso, but Kraft is not Picasso. It's money and attention. Then you have to have him on you and jerk him off, too? Awesome. I'm sure that's a great time. He was married to his first wife longer than this woman has been alive. She was an eye doctor in Manhattan, and gave up her practice. Then again, I find it weird no matter how you look to be in your mid-forties and wearing belly shirts. I don't mean at the beach or at home. Like, out and about. At the event. Kraft has his billion dollars or whatever, but I can't see how a serious person would take him seriously. He's a fan boy and star fucker who got himself a star fucker, simply because of his money, and the low-rent definition we have, I guess, of what a star is. The news goes up, and one person after another makes a hand job joke. They're the same joke, They're never funny. They were not funny the first 10,000 times. The same two or three hand job puns. Why do people do this? Everyone thinks they are smart, funny, and busy. Chances are nil that you know anyone, or will ever know anyone, who is any of the three. It seems people want to think they're funnier than they want to think the other two things. It's embarrassing. People get into those comment sections, though, and they just start trying to do their material. Painful.
* How are people so stupid, or delusional, or full of themselves, or divorced from reality, that they don't realize the thing they're saying has been said a billion times before? And if it's been said a billion times before, in the same context, regards the same subject, in the same place, why are they saying it again as if they just came up with it? Do you think because it comes from you that it becomes special and unique and witty? Like you're this magic converter? "Oh, well, it's different if me, Johnny Four-Guts, says it."
* Is it?
* I've come to the conclusion that humans are just part of a stupid species. You're supposed to believe that they're the highest life form, and stand so tall above insects and the smart animals like dogs and pigs, but I don't believe it anymore. I actually don't. I think if you could get a printout on the daily thoughts of a toad, you'd see that those thoughts were more original and interesting than the daily thoughts of the average human.