Trying to find something half way interesting to watch on television has become quite a chore for me lately(Damn you Seinfeld).Last night was no different. Flipping from station to station I came to realize Texas Hold’em Poker is everywhere. I used to always say you could catch an episode of M*A*S*H at any time of the day. This can be now said of Texas Hold’em Poker. The one that has really caught my attention is the celebrity variety of No Limit Texas Hold’em. The term celebrity is being handled very loosely it appears. Last night I watched Paul Rudd? flop the nut straight on Mimi Rogers. Granted flopping the nut straight on Mimi Rogers does sound quite erotic to me , but at a poker table with Victoria Jackson, Daniel Baldwin and James Wuhl, not so much.Another unfortunate “celebrity” caught up in the Texas Hold’em craze is Kevin Pollack. Kevin doesn’t play , he announces this insanity. I always thought he was a somewhat funny comedian. To be wasting away analyzing James Wood’s decision to go “all-in” with a pair of twos perplexes me. It must be for the love of the game.

The movie Rounders starring Matt Damon was well ahead of it’s time it appears. Rounders came out quite a few years ago and centered around the game of Texas Hold’em. At the time is was one of my favorite movies . John Malkovic with a Russian accent is to die for. I threw in the DVD and watched. After watching the movie I noticed there was a special section explaining the rules of Texas Hold’em. It went on to discuss the small and big blinds. It even had a quiz. It also had a section on the terminology involved with Texas Hold’em. This is where I became disturbed. I’ll be the first to tell you I’m not very vocal in my support of gay rights. I do believe that everybody has the right to mate with whomever they feel an affection for. The Tunesmith has always had an affection for the ladies for those of you wondering.The language used at a Texas Hold’em table sounds more like a Santorum family reunion. When one is dealt two queens it is said that he is holding Seigfried and Roy. If I have a queen and a three in my hand, I have to make a decision on whether to play the San Francisco waiter. (Queen with a trey for those slower on the uptake.)I now can see why Nathan Lane , Rosie O’Donnell and Rupaul aren’t invited to Celebrity Texas Hold’em. Then again, maybe they are too big of a celebrity for that table.

Thank You Ray Lamontagne Tickets go on sale 7/30.

This is the summer of excitement in Pittsburgh, Jack.

I don’t know about you, but I’m still recovering from the Senior Olympics. Night after night of early bird specials, chasing handfuls of Geritol tablets with Pink Squirrels and doing Rob Roy bongs well past 9:00 at night—the whole city was partying like it was 1949.

And as if the Senior Olympics weren’t enough action-packed fun for one year, the Bassmaster Classic competition is now underway in the Steel City. The smell of Ben-Gay has hardly cleared the air and already another swingin’ event like the Bassmaster Classic has begun. Is this Pittsburgh or the movie “Animal House”? This is craziness, I tell you. CRAZY!

So grab your Bassport and a lawn chair this weekend, and head over to the rivers to watch people fish. It’ll be mad fun standing on the banks of a river, some 30 or 40 yards away from the action, trying to figure out if the anglers are using dough balls or chunks of Velveeta to reel in those big toxic bass. And each day’s events are over by 3:15PM, giving you ample time to go home to wet down your hair to get rid of that hat-head, splash on a little Aqua Velva and head over to Del’s in Bloomfield for the early bird. A day of watching people fish followed by a heaping dish of discounted rigatoni—now that’s living, baby. Summertime and the livin’ is easy indeed.

I know what you’re thinking. As much as you love to see this kind of vitality in the city, there’s a risk of experiencing a big letdown next year if local leaders can’t lure cutting-edge events like these again. But don’t fret. I have it on good authority that Pittsburgh is in the running to host the National Quilting Association’s quilting competition next summer. In addition, Tunesmith and I are working on a brand new electrifying event to take place next year in Pittsburgh. It’s going to be even more exciting than the Senior Olympics and the Bassmaster, if you can believe it. Picture this if you can: a bunch of people gathering in Point State Park and simultaneously drinking a cup of coffee. Now that’s what I’m talking about.

Once again, the Post-Gazette has run a column eerily similar in subject matter to something I wrote here on T&A six months ago. As you may recall, the P-G did this before.

Today, the P-G story is about rubber bracelets. The story begins, “Enough with the rubber bracelets!” and like the piece I wrote in January, finishes with a few ideas for new Pittsburgh-themed rubber bracelets. Perhaps I’m biased, but I think my ideas are better.

I’m going to contact the people at Ripley’s to examine the uncanny similarity between these P-G pieces and things I have previously written about. If the P-G runs a story about the origins of General Tso’s Chicken in its Food section any time soon, I’m either calling a priest or a lawyer. The P-G could save itself a lot of trouble if they just hired me. I think it’s about damned time.

The article ends with an invitation to readers to submit their ideas for rubber bracelets. I’m going to submit the link to my blog entry on the subject. I’ll keep you, the vast T&A readership, posted. Perhaps I’ll win a prize, like a P-G coffee mug. I can dream, can’t I?

“The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood,
For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

(from W. H. Auden’s Funeral Blues, better known as the poem read in the funeral scene in “Four Weddings and a Funeral”)

I hate to be the one to break the news to you kids, but there’s nothing left to live for now that Lance Armstrong is retiring after having won a record 7th Tour de France. At least that’s what the press would lead you to believe. After all the hype over Lance’s latest bid at winning the Tour de France, I long for the release death will bring.

I don’t deny that Armstrong is a helluva athlete. His accomplishments in the sport of cycling are many. In addition, he’s “strong enough” to be Sheryl Crow’s man. But let’s keep this in perspective: he races bicycles. I don’t deny that cycling is a grueling sport in which true athletes compete, but how many races do these people compete in every year? I don’t know because I have better things to do with my life than follow the sport of cycling, but I would guess only a few. Plus, these races that are broken down into stages like the Tour de France are ridiculous. One needs an advanced degree to begin to understand the rules. I mean, it takes place in something like 20 stages, and everyone gets to rest in between stages. What kind of race is that? A marathon is a race; cycling for a few hours, then stopping to eat a meatloaf sandwich, defecate and sleep, and then waking up for another day of cycling is not a race. Perhaps I’m letting my fondness for Adrienne Barbeau cloud my judgment, but I’ll even go so far as to say that what is depicted in the movie “The Canonball Run” is more of a race than what Lance Armstrong does.

Yeah, I know Lance had cancer and faced something like a 50% chance of survival. But while stories like Armstrong’s and even Mario Lemieux’s are incredible and offer hope to those suffering from cancer, I don’t consider their stories heroic or courageous. To whatever extent being in top physical condition contributes to the likelihood of someone coping with radiation treatment and beating cancer, people like Armstrong have a leg up on the average Joe. Other than that, one’s likelihood of surviving from cancer has more to do with the type of cancer, how soon it is diagnosed and luck, so it’s not like Lance did anything deliberate or heroic to overcome cancer.

After this latest victory, President Bush called to congratulate Armstrong for “a great triumph of the human spirit,” saying the victory was “a testament not only to your athletic talent, but to your courage.” Great triumph of the human spirit? Courage? Lance Armstrong is so wealthy that he can retire at 34 years old. He rides a bicycle for a living (and it doesn’t involve delivering Chinese food). He goes to bed every night next to Sheryl Crow, who in addition to being a millionaire rock-n-roll star, don’t look too shabby. If that’s being courageous and a triumph of the human spirit, then I must have enough courage to storm Omaha Beach 20 times each day.

On the last day of school in 7th grade, my then-best friend was curiously absent. After taking attendance, our teacher announced that my best friend’s mother had died. She died of cancer, leaving behind a husband and 3 young children. She was 38 years old. She was one of the nicest people I ever met in my life, and every time I was around her, she made me feel like the most important person in the world. She was lovely. After being diagnosed with cancer, she knew she only had a few months to live, and in her last months she had to hide her pain and suffering to put on her best face for her children everyday. She had to prepare them as best she could for her imminent death, surely all the while dealing with her own pain and fear. She was courageous and brave. She showed what the human spirit is capable of. I don’t believe she ever received a phone call from President Reagan before she died.

I’m tired of the color yellow, I’m tired of Live Strong bracelets, I’m tired of Sheryl Crow and I’m dog-tired of Lance Armstrong. Let’s get on with our lives already.

The big story today is the incident where British police chased and shot to death a man directly linked to the investigations of the recent London bombings. For some reason, this event gives me a sense of gratification. It has nothing to do with any notion that this killing represents retribution for the innocent lives taken on July 7th. There’s just something gratifying about seeing the prim and proper British, what with their coneheaded whistle-blowing Bobbies too dignified and civilized to carry firearms, finally get pissed off enough to throw a few caps into someone. I get the same feeling when watching those rare moments on “All in the Family” when Edith finally stands up to Archie and gives him a good chewing out.

It’s also gratifying to see that the British also have to deal with idiot groups along the lines of the ones in the USA who purport to defend civil liberties. The Muslim Council of Britain demanded police explain why this man, reported as a “suspected suicide bomber” by Sky News, was shot dead at Stockwell station. “It’s vital the police give a statement about what occurred and explain why the man was shot dead,” a spokesman said.

Explain why the man was shot? Please allow me.

OK, so the guy looked Middle Eastern. That’s not enough of a reason to shoot someone or even suspect him of any wrongdoing. BUT, he was wearing a heavy, puffy coat (think George Costanza’s Gortex jacket) on a day with temperatures around 70 degrees AND wearing a backpack. Granted, the combination of looking Middle Eastern, wearing a puffy coat and a backpack does not make one guilty of a crime. However, if the police approach someone who fits that description and he takes off running down the stairs into a Tube station, Ray Charles would even see that this cat is guilty of something. The minute that dude took off running, I would have drawn my weapon too with the intention of taking him down ASAP.

I never sympathize with people who run from the police and then subsequently get the tar beaten out of them. If you’re not guilty of anything, there’s no reason to run. Cooperate with the police, don’t say anything more than you have to, don’t cop an attitude. Do as instructed, and most likely you won’t be beaten with a flashlight, tasered or shot.

Having said that, sometimes even after you cooperate, you still may get a good beating thrown into you. But that’s how life is. Sometimes you’re just going to find yourself on the receiving end of a good beating. Sometimes it’s just your turn. Life is messy like that.