Of Gin Players. Yes anyone who plays gin knows what I am talking about. There are all kinds of sayings and phrases many of which I can’t put on here.
When David Sonnenmair is not yelling at me for my rookie Gin player mistakes he is often spouting off a host of Gin sayings that most non gin players would never understand. If you feel you are worthy to learn this secret language of gamblers, read on.
This may be the first Gin Glossary every published on a Television News Site:
Are you baiting? - Tricking someone into giving you a card you need.
You’re Cut - When you have less points in your hand then your opponent.
You sitting up on me? - Waiting for your opponent to knock so you can cut him.
Not a smart knock. - When you are cut by your opponent.
You missed Gin - What David says to me at least once an hour. (When you have Gin, but don’t see it, even though everyone else in the room does.)
Is that a new go? - When you forget to turn over the knock card.
Frish? - When you want a new hand. I often say “Fresh” because that makes more sense.
Play like a man. - When someone watching you tries to trick you into making a dumb throw.
Out in all three - You lost all three games.
Even in Boxes - You won just as many hands as your opponent but probably not as many points.
Do you want to turn? - Do you want to start a new game?
I got players. - I have some of your cards that I can play off in your hand.
Save what you can - I lost big, you better not lose big too!
We write - Your partner won more points then you lost.
You under the count? - Your partner won so many points you need to decrease the points in your hand so no matter what happens, you write.
What would Harry do? - When you are faced with a tough decision try to model your game off the greatest gin player of all time, the famous Harry Ballou.
I am very impressed with my man Mike Snyder and his quest to get down to a trim playing weight of 190 pounds. (See his plan here) I currently weigh a tubby (for me) 178 lbs.
But last month I did lose 5 pounds, most of it in my face. For some reason when I stop going to the gym, my face blows up like the Mighty Mouse Float at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. I end up with more chins then a Chinese phone book. (See below)
Now my weight seems to be coagulating in the “fat tire” that surrounds my waist. They call it “stubborn belly fat” on the Relacor Commercial. But my belly fat isn’t just stubborn, its down right disobedient. I have a better chance of chasing the rebels out of Fallujah then I do getting rid of the fat cells around my waist.
I try running every few days, but that doesn’t seem to do a thing except make my knees hurt. Maybe it’s because I live off pasta and bread. Mike says he is going to cut that stuff out, good luck I say! Bread to me, is like water in a desert and I eat pasta for breakfast.
My doctor told me, at 178 pounds, lap band surgery is out of the question. I told him I would pay him double to just go ahead and do it. Needless to say I need to come up with another plan, maybe putting rocks in my pocket at the next Lap Band qualifier, will help get doctors approval.
I figure we could turn this into a ratings stunt. Have Mike and I weigh in on the News at 10 each night, both of us wearing speedos when we step onto a giant scale like the one on “The Biggest Loser.” We could make it kind of a boxing “fight night” weigh in scene with both of us taunting each other.
Nahhhhhh…. Come to think of it, I like eating too much. I’ll learn to live with losing the battle of the Belly Bulge. Until I my “eat till I drop” attitude changes, I’m rooting for Mike! And sadly eating another fresh italian roll from Eatzi’s.
I just flew back from New York today on a jam packed American Airlines flight. I know families going on vacation have no choice but to bring their kids on board, but why does it always seem the kids need to sit right behind me? And if they are not behind me they are in front of me. I know I sound like an old curmudgeon but the constant karate kicks to the back of my seat gets old. I am confused by the fact that sitting in an airline seat turns every three year old into Rocky Balboa working over a heavy bag. And just when the kicking seems to subside, the kid in front of me will start screaming at the top of his lungs.
It appears the worst kids are the little rascals in nursery school. They have just enough of a vocabulary to annoy everyone within 10 rows forward and back. “What’s that?, Plane! WOW! Mommy,” each word yelled as if they were trying to get the Captains attention behind those closed doors.
Other kids feel the need to taunt every passing cloud with a high pitched screech as if that cloud is some absurd cartoon character on nickelodeon. The kids need to realize the clouds do not talk back!
I do feel for the parents because the kids, forced to sit for 3 hours, end up acting like Ruprecht the Monkey Boy bouncing all over the place like Steve Martin in Dirty Rotten Scoundrels.
And forget about babies. They start crying, its all over. Their poor mom knows everyone on the plane is boring holes through her seat. Annoyed passengers feel as their stares will somehow stop the baby from emitting that awful crying sound that can drown out a jet engine.
I do have a solution, ”family flights.” What a concept! The flight attendants can dress up like Sponge Bob or Mickey Mouse. The only passengers allowed to book seats are those traveling with kids under 10. The in flight movie can be some bizarre Wiggles film.
Don’t get me wrong, I like kids, especially when they are NOT on my flight!
With Summer now upon us a few things come to mind, especially living in Texas:
100 Degree hot as Hades temperatures.
Sweating during my live shots and always being thirsty.
Never having to pee.
Crazy angry criminals doing wild things.
Being Lazy.
Eating Watermelon.
In fact my favorite part of summer is the sweet taste of natures candy! I can eat an entire 3 pound watermelon is one sitting. I usually cut it in half, take a giant spoon and dig in. Biting into the greatest fruit on earth is pure pleasure. Though my only requirement is a spoon. I just don’t like burying my face in the melon, getting my face all sticky and staining my collar with watermelon juice.
I was never one to spit out the pits. I eat them right along with every bite. I thought I was the King of all Watermelon eaters until I saw “Baby” Trent go to town! I first learned of Baby Trent’s love of watermelon after hearing the slurps from across the street! Check it out:
People don’t like politicians because they can be phony and disingenuous. I’m not saying Sen. Clinton is phony and disingenuous, but to the public it WILL appear that way. I actually feel sorry for Hillary. She spent more then a year of her life in a knock down drag out fight with a man who she tried to portray as naive and inexperienced.
Now I hear her quoting Sen Barack Obama, saying “Yes we can!” She must be cringing inside. Maybe seething is a better word. Even her campaign website says “Thank you, Support Senator Obama Today.”
No matter who you support, Hillary, McCain or Obama you feel a sense of sadness for the loser. It’s hard to watch someone try and lose gracefully. In fact, it can be painful to watch. It reminds of post game interviews in the losers locker room.
Months ago when Obama and Clinton debated in Texas, I said after the debate that I thought the two actually admire each other. I still believe that is true. Still, after a brawling for the nomination, I can only imagine how uncomfortable it must be to finally sit down together and talk about the future of the party now led by Barack Obama NOT Bill and Hillary Clinton.
The conversation might go something like this:
Clinton: Barack, I didn’t really mean all those things I said about you having the political experience of a third grader.
Obama: It’s OK, I said some mean things about you, I’m not going to apologize for that though, because I’m the nominee now and your NOT!
Clinton: Speaking of that, I hear your going to need a running mate?
Obama: Yea, I think I’m going to go with someone who didn’t try to make me look like a fool in front of the entire country.
Clinton: See, your showing your inexperience, that was just politics not personal!
Obama: How about this for politics… Kneel Before Zod!
My Blackberry goes off about once every two minutes or so. If for some reason ten minutes pass without receiving an email, text message or phone call, I quickly declare my Blackberry broken. At 11 minutes, I am on the phone with the NBC5 IT guys! My name is Grant Stinchfield and I am addicted to my Blackberry. And clearly I’m not alone. (That’s NBC5’s Quincy Thomas and Ellen Goldberg, both addicted to their Blackberries)
The other day at FBI headquarters in Dallas, the guard made me leave my Blackberry in the car. I spent 20 minutes at a press conference without any way to contact or be contacted by the outside world. Not only did I start to sweat at the prospect of being “Out of touch,” but I started to get “phantom vibrations” on my hip where I usually wear my phone. Yes, I have a problem.
I take my Blackberry on vacation with me. My boss often emails me to, “Get off your Blackberry.” But vacation wouldn’t be any fun without it. I would find myself stressing out about what I am missing. With the Blackberry perched comfortably on a beach towel, I can relax. Yes, I have a problem.
When I play golf, my Blackberry sits proudly in a cup holder in the cart. On silent mode of course, but still with me. Even on a Sunday afternoon, I check my phone for messages while driving down the fairway of nearly every hole. I know I won’t have any messages, it’s Sunday after all, but I still feel the need to check. Yes, I have a problem.
I think part of the addiction is due to “Lottery Syndrome.” I’m waiting for that one message that will change my life forever. Maybe one day I will unholster my blackberry and there will be a message from a top New York agent telling me the New York Yankees want me as the new radio voice of the most successful sports franchise in history. Maybe I’ll get an email from NBC News telling me, I am to head straight to New York to host my new show “Grant’s Rant” on MSNBC. Maybe, my wife will text me telling me her long lost aunt just left her 5 million dollars.
My Blackberry allows me to dream! Sadly it doesn’t allow me to sleep, the pinging of emails through the night may keep me awake, but it’s music to my ears.
Head to any Mavericks game and you will see dozens of young women in the stands holding up “Dirk will you marry me?” signs. There is now evidence the big man may actually be interested in American Chicks. I first saw news that Dirk has taken a babe on the Front Burner Blog. They quoted the news first reported in the German newspaper Bild. I can’t read German and I’m not really sure what it says but it appears to be a question and answer segment with All-Star Center about his new American love.
Here is the Text:
BILD: Sie haben seit kurzem eine Freundin, eine Amerikanerin…
Nowitzki: Stimmt, aber darüber rede ich nicht gern. Nur soviel: Es ist alles noch sehr frisch, ich kann noch nicht sagen, was draus wird. Wir werden uns wahrscheinlich erst in ein paar Monaten wieder sehen, wenn ich nach Dallas zurückkomme.“
I tried to translate the above German text myself:
Bild: Yes, you have been seen kur-ousing with woman, an American!
Nowitzki: Stymie that talk. My derriere is red and itchy from her germs.
I couldn’t figure out the rest, but I think it has something to do with a “weird” situation, a warden, his lawyer and making “Par” in Montana. He ends with saying how he would rather be with women in Zurich than Dallas.
Take away the beer, booze and bikinis, Lewisville Lake is a boring place. Why would anyone want to spend their time here? I really have no idea what the boating craze is all about. Don’t get me wrong, I love a party, but spending 8 to 10 hours tied up to 300 other boats is not fun to me, it’s claustrophobic. There are plenty of pretty girls here, but they are quickly overshadowed by the hundreds of loud and obnoxious 20-something drunk men.
I guess in my old age, I’m now a curmudgeon. But even in my wild college days I always liked to take my own car so I could leave when I wanted. Once you step aboard a boat, your trapped until the rest of the crew says it’s time to go home.
Each Memorial Day for the past five years I have visited Party Cove, each year it looks the same. Sure we get flashed, but it’s usually by someone you don’t want to get flashed by. I never really get to experience the fun to the fullest because I am always riding with two Denton County Sheriff’s Deputies. It always surprises me that the Party Cove goers still let loose as much as they do even with “The Law” watching.
I’m not one to wear my hat back words, which appears to be a pre-requisite for young men to party here and I don’t wear muscle shirts either. That leaves me on the outside of Party Cove, which is fine by me. Especially when the party breaks up. It’s the equivalent of driving home at 2am. The only ones still out probably shouldn’t be driving, a boat or a car!
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