Life at up to 30 Mbps

It's been tough again for me to write.  First, Boston, and then West, Texas, just took my heart.  And yet, the days keep coming.  The world keeps spinning.  Somehow.

The human spirit again proves irrepressible.  Still I wonder how much more we can take.

Some have said the thing to do is to live your life.  Go out.  Run another marathon.  Hop on a plane.  Blog.  And so, here am I.

The spring has found me busier than usual, which let's face it, wasn't very busy at all.  I've taken on some freelance work on the side, and have also started a lawn care business.  At present I have precisely two clients.  That may not sound like much to you, but it's about fourteen steps further than most of my ideas ever get, which in case you're wondering, is usually about the point where I think, "Hmm, that's a good idea, I should really look into that.  Woo, I'm sleepy.  Nappy time." 

It's all in the name of not only making ends meet, but perhaps even having them overlap a bit.  My apologies to those of you whose image of me was that of a kind of southern Kardashian, independently wealthy and making millions more from this blog.

Today, that image has been shattered.

The freelance job forced me to finally do something about my internet.  My AT&T DSL, which for years was decent, had in recent months been doing a dead-eye impersonation of dial-up.  Dead being the operative word there.  So as of this past Tuesday (martes, for my Hispanic readers), I'm on cable internet.

Oh. Em. Gee!

It's like I hopped in the DeLorean un martes tarde to go for a drive, hit 88 miles per hour, and boom!  Instantly I have been transported from 1997 to 2006.  And while I do kind of miss Hanson and Mark Morrison -- I mean, I think we all thought they were here to stay -- now my Netflix doesn't freeze five times during a half-hour show!  I never said anything before because it was so embarrassing.

I feel like I just got indoor plumbing for the first time.

To celebrate -- the internet, not the plumbing -- I watched two episodes of The Hills on Netflix.  Ugh, that Heidi.  Even in reruns, she just... ugh!  Don't get me started.  Oh, oh, OH!

And...

They brought me out a cable box.  See, I'd been getting my cable straight from the wall all these years, which evidently was robbing me of HD and limiting my number of channels.

Whatever.

The only thing you really need to get from all this is:  I've got SoapNet back!  So now I can watch my stories every night!

I haven't been this excited since... have I ever been this excited?

Probably not.  Especially when you consider there is a channel that shows WKRP In Cincinnati at night, AND there was an ABBA movie on last night!!!  I didn't even know there WAS an ABBA movie!!!  (Also, if I ever learn how to make that backwards B, I may just retire from the internets.)

Anyhow.  Naturally, I watched General Hospital the past couple of nights, and began to catch up with Luke, Laura, Scott, Dante, Lulu, Patrick, Brenda, Sonny, Nikolas, Michael, and unfortunately, Carly.  However, I'm still not sure how Stavros managed to escape the bottomless pit Luke pushed him into all those years ago?  That's seems a tad unrealistic, GH.

After that, The Young & The Restless came on.  Now I've never watched the show (honest!) but I left it there, just to see if I could catch a glimpse of Jason Morgan.  At first there were two old guys on there I didn't recognize.  Personally, they didn't look all that young or restless to me. 

And then...

There he was.  The gangster/coffee importer/main-reason-I-own-a-black-leather-jacket formerly known as Jason Morgan.  In all his perfect-hair glory.

I'll admit, it was tough.  I mean, this is a guy I modeled much of my life after.  At least, my stoic facade and my cool manner with the ladies.

It was like seeing an ex-girlfriend you dated for years, but now she's married to someone else, and he's a nice enough guy and she acts happy, but you know they'll never have what you and she had, and sure you made mistakes but who doesn't, your story wasn't over yet and how could she give up on that and settle for him when the two of you had so much left to do!  And why?  Because it's convenient???  Well love's not always convenient!!!!!!

So... uh, yeah.. it was a lot like that... 

Here's a fact you may find amusing.  This actually started out to be a Music Monday post.  I know, normally I post those on Tuesdays.  But anyway, that just goes to show you how much I procrastinate, er, like to plan things out in my head for a few days before actually getting around to doing them.

It's one of my endearing qualities. I like to pretend I have several.

Monday was Glen Campbell's birthday.  As I was googling and listening to some of his music, I hadn't realized how many songs he'd done with a positive, upbeat message.  Sure some of them were a bit hokey.  But after the previous week the world had seen, I was in the mood for some hokey.

This is a song called "I Will Never Pass This Way Again."  It definitely has a bit of a gospel feel to it.  The time stamp is a little distracting, and the audio and video are a tad out of sync.  Hey, it was 1973. I'm sure it was a crazy time for us all.



I also came across Glen's version of "MacArthur Park," a song I've loved from the first time I heard it.  I really like Waylon Jennings' version of this, but it wasn't Waylon's birthday, so...



"I will taste the wine while it is warm / And never let you catch me lookin' in the sun..."

Is "bitches" a derogatory term?

The boys of summer -- who actually show up in early spring and somewhat overstay their welcome through mid-fall -- have arrived.

Baseball is here.  Which means fantasy baseball is here.  Which means it's time for Bone to spend hours, yea, minutes, researching, surveying, and creaticizing, all in an effort to come up with the best, most clever team name in all the fantasy league.

Mission... accepted.

There has been a long-held conception that if I spent as much time and mental energy on drafting and managing my team (say, for the entire season rather than losing interest sometime in mid-June) as I do naming my team, then maybe their results would be better.

And I must admit, even I was starting to question whether that might be the case.

And then last year happened.  Dusty's Spring Field happened.  Possibly the most dominating season in the history of history happened.  

I won my league by 29 points!   While I'm sure most of you are familiar with fantasy baseball rules and scoring, there may be a couple of you (*cough* Renee *cough*) who have no idea what I'm talking about and who are, in fact, only "skimming" this post as we speak.

So to put that in some perspective, I finished 29 points ahead of the second place team.  Meanwhile, the difference between the second place team and the last place team was only 28 points.

A legend began to grow about my fantasy baseball adroitness.  I considered retiring.  I mean, from such great heights where else could I go but down?  Besides, if you recall, we were all pretty sure the world was going to end last year anyway.  

But then, I remembered a lesson learned from those athletic conquistadors of my youth -- Brett Favre, Michael Jordan, Brett Favre again.  And that is: never go out on top.

And so, I'm back, for one more run.  Or two.  Until no one wants me in their league anymore or they carry me away from the keyboard with a career-ending carpal tunnel injury.  That's how I wanna go out.

Now, without further adieu (because really, that was quite a bit of adieu, doncha think?), I present this year's finalists:

Dusty's Spring Field ~ Yes, I briefly considered keeping Dusty's Spring Field for a second year.  Why mess with a good thing, right?  Plus, as Michael Scott once said, I'm not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.  In the end, I decided Dusty's Spring Field would have to be retired into the Bone Hall Of Names, just like all the fantasy team names before it.  That's the rule.  And if I can't abide by these rules I've made up, well then I have no idea what any of this is for.

Son Of A Bleacher Fan ~ Meet Dusty's Spring Field's offspring: Son Of A Bleacher Fan.  This would probably be my new team name in 2013, if not for that little Yahoo! Sports rule that limits team names to 20 characters.  SOABF has 21.  Though I suppose I could eliminate spaces.  But then that'd just bug me the whole season, like someone sending me an email saying, "Your so funny."  I just. Can't. Let. It. Go.

Cafe Latos ~ Not horrible.  This is the contestant in the Final 12 on American Idol that isn't a bad singer, but that everybody knows isn't going to win.  Just doesn't have "it."

Cozart's Concerto ~ I liked this one a lot.  Actually I wanted Cozart's Cowhide Concerto, but again the 20-character limit.  However, after consulting with my IMAEIC (instant messaging & email inner circle), none of them seemed very thrilled. Cozart's Concerto is the American Idol contestant who finishes 4th but has a much longer career than Kris Allen... I mean, the winner... ever will.

The Fountain Squares ~ Getting away from the players names' theme, I decided to go in a city-of-Cincinnati direction.  Again, none of the IMAEIC seemed all that impressed, but don't be surprised if this one pops up again somewhere down the road.  It could be a possible name for my future band, should I ever learn to play an instrument.

And now, the moment you've all been skimming for.  Two of the three members of my IMAEIC immediately picked this name as soon as they heard it.  It must have been a lot like how Elvis's mom reacted when Vernon was calling out possible baby names... "Howard?  Vernon Jr.?  Elvis?"  There was no need to hear the other names.  Either that, or they were just trying to pacify me so I'd stop bugging them about it... Hmm, I may have to rethink my inner circle.

Anyway, your 2013 Bone Fantasy Baseball team name:

Queen City, Bitches!

(pause for confusion/consternation)

Well, except apparently Yahoo! doesn't allow commas in their team names.  So instead of calling my fellow competitors the b-word, it's like I'm calling my own team the b-word.  

Of course, I didn't really intend it in a derogatory manner.  More in a fun way, like "What up beyotches? We gonna hang at the hizzouse and get crazy up in here tonight?  What what?"  (Imagine me saying this as I'm throwin' gang signs. But like a nice gang, one that helps old people and does good deeds.  Actually, I guess that's the Cub Scouts, isn't it?  Do they have a sign?)

But assuming for a moment that it were a derogatory term, I've just gone from insulting the rest of the league to insulting myself.

Sonovableacherfan!

"The only one who could ever reach me / Was the son of a preacher man..."

"Last week, on The Bible..."

With the Bible ended and our brackets busted, our thoughts turn to the swelling spring -- flowers, showers, and the new season of Mad Men.  A nation takes solace in the fact that evil Duke has been defeated for another year.

For some reason, hearing the phrase, "Last week, on the Bible..." never failed to crack me up.  At the same time, the promo for the final installment that said, "The Bible ends tonight," kind of freaked me out a little.  Let's just say I was more thankful than usual to see the sun rise that next morning.

I wonder if the History Channel has considered the limitless possibilities for Biblical reality-show spinoffs.  Real Concubines Of Gomorrah.  Joshua & Caleb Take Canaan.  Pimp My Chariot.   So You Think You Can Prophesy?  Cash Camel.  Survivor: The Flood.  Lamech Is 147 & Single.  Mesopotamia's Got Talent.

Sticking with our odd Jewish/Christian religious theme, I went to see Jerry Seinfeld... on Good Friday.  I received the tickets as a birthday gift, and was pretty excited to see "An Evening With Jerry Seinfeld" printed on them.  However, that was a little misleading.  Turns out it's an evening with Jerry Seinfeld and like three thousand other people.

Our seats were in row Y of the balcony, which meant there was only one row in the entire arena farther from the stage than us.  So it was more like An Evening With Nosebleeds... and this mysterious Jerry Seinfeld voice booming from somewhere in the vast darkness below.

Nonetheless, it was good to relax for a solid ninety minutes and watch someone else trying to be funny for a change.  The opening act, Tom Papa, provided non-stop laughs.  I actually thought he upstaged Seinfeld a little.  Also disappointed that there was no "If anyone has any can't miss ideas for new sitcoms, please meet Jerry backstage at this time" announcement.  So I didn't get to pitch my brilliant show idea, which I cannot share with you at this time for nebulous reasons.

After the show, we ate at Chic-fil-A.  They were piping some religious-sounding music through the speakers.  Not that there's anything wrong with that.

Continuing with our new "joke" theme, I did have one April Fools' Joke (Is it fools, fools', or fool's?) played on me -- by Nephew Bone.  He called me Monday.

"Hey Uncle Bone, it's snowing!"

"It's snowing at your house?"

"It's snowing at everybody's house, Uncle Bone!"

"Oh no!  Are we gonna build a snowman?"

"Ha ha, April Fools!"

Can't believe I fell for that one.  (He says, knowing he'd fall for it a thousand times more.)  Plus, Nephew Bone has verbal apraxia, so the words are a struggle and a lot of them aren't clear, which increases the heart-melt a hundredfold.

I got him a toy golf set for Easter.  I figure it's never too early to gauge his interest/try to nudge him forcefully down the path I have chosen for him.  Work with me people, I'm trying to groom a future golf partner here.

He was way more interested in hiding the eggs this year than hunting them.  Of course, then he runs around the yard directing you and pointing to where he hid the next egg. Which actually wouldn't be a bad quality to have in a golf partner. "Hey, Uncle Bone.  Your ball's over here.  In this briar patch.  Behind this hundred-year-old oak tree.  Again."

Once in awhile you have an epiphanic moment where you realize life is not at all how and what you thought it might be. It's not necessarily worse or better, just different.  Far different.

I had such a moment when I found myself squatting and pretending to "lay" a turquoise-colored Easter egg in an attempt to make a 4-year-old laugh.  In all my forethought, scheming and dreaming, I somehow never saw that coming.

Life: The biggest April Fools' Joke of all.

"I'm April's fool / I play by her rules / She treats me any old way she wants to..."

Could I still...

(I posted this earlier today at Poetry Wrecks. Then after a bit, I decided I kinda liked it, which is rare. So I'm cross-posting it here. I haven't been finding time to write as much as I would like. Perhaps I need to look harder. Here's wishing you all a Happy Easter.)

Hello, friend
Could I still call you friend
It's been so long now
Days melded
Into a blur
Of weeks and half-years
Ofttimes I have thought of you
Fondly, always
Heartbreakingly, sometimes
We are bonded
By our humanness
And divided by the same
There are reasons I know
And others I never
Why this must be the way

Oh, friend
Would you still call me friend
On fitful days I go
To the one place
I know I can find you
And when I see you there
A smile breaks
Across my tired face
Silent and still
In virtual shadows
I remain unseen
To know you are well
Soothes the scar
And tempers the void
Slightly
Briefly
A lonesome raindrop
On dry, forsaken ground
Sweet, but short-lived
And never enough
But it is all I have

Goodbye, friend
Could I still call you friend

"And if you think that I could be forgiven, wish you would..."

Letting my emoticons out

My weekend could best be summed up by that wise old proverb.  Lemme see if I can get this right... Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Make a man put together a push mower, and he'll never buy anything that reads "some assembly required" again.

But alas, all's well that ends with only two or three pieces left over.  I would tell you more about my productive weekend, except that I've just been reading a provocative news blurb about how the thing people find most annoying about social media is those who brag about their fitness routine or latest diet.

They were followed by those who post pictures of every single meal they're about to eat, people who "check-in" at every place they go to, online game players (Farmville. Holla!), smug couples (dislike!), and excessively proud parents.

Wow, that really puts a crimp in my plans for today's post.  However, there are a couple of things that crossed my mind Sunday afternoon which I am able to share with you today.  After all, a man has a lot of time to think while mowing the lawn with a mower which mysteriously seems to be missing a critical part.

Firstly, it struck me that in all the years we've known each other, I've yet to share with you my extensive mental collection of emoticons.  And at my age, I feel that is important to do because, well, at some point it may become socially unacceptable for men of a certain age to still be using winky faces.

Let's start with the least famous, most underrated, underutilized emoticon of them all.  Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the high-five:

o/\o

Also known as the Eiffel Tower.  And occasionally mistaken for an anteater.  Or, a rather stubby phallus.

That's right, I'm bringing the high-five back.  Those other emoticons don't know how to act.  Why this emoticon is not more widely used is beyond me.  Truly one of the great mysteries of our time, right behind D.B. Cooper, and National Treasure.

Let's look at a few others:

:-/  Mister Empathy/Dismayed

:-(  Mister Frownie  (I use this one a lot.  I'm not as happy as you might think I am.)

:'(  Shedding a tear 

:''''''''''''(   Bawling  (Notice how the more tears you shed, the longer your face becomes.  Thus the expression "Why the long face?")

:'-)  Tears of happiness  (Never use this.  It only confuses people.)

>:(  Angry  (Or an unhappy king, though I've yet to find a use for an unhappy king.)

(_|_)  You've just been mooned.

<><  Fish

><  Kiss  (Or the slightly less popular, fish with its head cut off.)
 
:-P  Tongue sticking out/joking/flirting

:-P*  Tongue sticking out to catch a snowflake

*o)  Snowflake in eye  (And the other eye... apparently missing?  May you never have cause to use this one.)

:*)  Snowflake on cheek  (Do I have too many snowflake ones?)

* ≠ *  No two snowflakes are alike  (Obvs.)

@--->---  Rose  (Doesn't really get you out of as many virtual jams/doghouses as you might hope.)

(|)  Sideways hamburger  (Or, flat-head screw.  Again, somewhat difficult to find a practical use for this one.)

Well, I think it's pretty clear I could go on forever.  Unfortunately, there's not enough internet.

I would only leave you with one thought for the day:  If we can't communicate with a cleverly-arranged series of dots and symbols, we're no better than the cavemen...

Hmm, actually didn't they draw pictures on the cave walls?  Therefore, we're exactly like the cavemen.  So that example really doesn't work.

OK, so let's change that to "Even the cavemen (and cavewomen, although I don't see how they could be expected to draw after being drug around by that bone in their hair all day) realized the easiest and clearest way to communicate was through a series of pictures and symbols."

There.  Much better.

o/ ?

Oh, there was one other thing I wanted to share with you.  Remember when I did that Music Monday post?  No?  It was only five months ago, I don't see how you could have forgotten.  Well, in my mind it was going to become a semi-regular feature.  In reality, suffice it to say, it did not.

Anyhow, here's a band one or two of you might tolerate.  You know, kinda like you do me.  They're called The Hold Steady. It's hard to believe I've not shared them with you before now.  But when you only do a Music Monday post once every five months... well, suddenly it becomes easier to believe.  (And yes, I'm vaguely aware this is Tuesday.)



"She was a really good kisser / But she wasn't all that strict of a Christian / She was a damn good dancer / But she wasn't all that great of a girlfriend..."

Spring hopes

Sunday was spring.

There was hope in the air, so I breathed some in.  It felt good for my soul, so I breathed in some more.

I walked in the park.  People were stirring.  I guess they wanted some hope, too.

Suddenly, it seemed like this winter had lasted forever.

Wanting to take full advantage of the new weather, I fired up the grill for ribs, mushrooms, peppers, and potatoes.  After supper, we roasted marshmallows over the fire pit, then gathered around it for warmth as the night air grew chilly once again.

No matter how many years I file away, that first burst of spring always feels fresh and new all over again.  I think it always will.  I hope that it always does.

How does one describe that feeling?  How do you write a spring day?  For it is nothing you can hold in your hand.  It's something far better lived than imagined, breathed in than read, experienced than not.  But better it be written, than forgotten.

Just as September has that one day every year where fall announces its arrival with the first hint of a chill in the air, March has its own day, and spring, its own news to declare -- tidings of warmth, and yes, hope.

Sunday was that day.

Winter's cold had returned by Monday morn, but it was a different cold.  A sunny and bright crispness, rather than the usual gray and drear.

And there was hope.  The hope of spring.  The hope of something better.

And I knew that winter wouldn't be long.

"You only need the light when it's burning low / Only miss the sun when it starts to snow / Only know you love her when you let her go..."

Lost souls

Once upon a blog, I began a writing prompt which came to be known as Three Word Wednesday.  It feels like a lifetime ago now.  The premise was simple: I would post three words, and people would write something -- a poem, short story, whatever -- including the three words in their piece.  After a few years, with forty or fifty people participating each week, it became a bit more than I could handle, trying to read and comment on each post every week.  But as I was thinking of ending Three Word Wednesday, another blogger, who I knew as Thom G, offered to take it over.  That was a few years ago.  Today I checked to see if it was still going on, and was happy to find it alive and well.  So I decided to participate, if only for old time's sake.  If you're looking for a writing prompt, I encourage you to check it out here.

This week's words were: brutal, grope, transfer.


"Thirty-six?"

I say it with a tone of disbelief.  All along I had taken her to be thirty-ish.  I tell her as much, I think.  Oh God, was my tone offensive?  I mean, thirty-six isn't old.  It's just, in a place like this...

Ah yes, I can see it now.  A little age in her face.  The lipstick slathered on a bit too thick.  I had been too preoccupied with her body to notice.  It's not hard to imagine she knocked them dead back in her day.  Not that her day has passed.  What am I doing?  Is any of this out loud?

"You want a beer?"  She saves me from my over-thinking.  Damn, I probably should be the one asking her, right?

"Uh, sure."

"What do you drink?"

Um, chocolate milk?  Mountain Dew?  What's a popular beer?  Name a beer, any beer.  I look over at the bar.  There must be twenty beer signs.  I pick one.

"Uh, Guinness?"

"Wow, a real man."  Uh oh, I don't like the sound of that.

She orders the drinks.  She knows the bartender.  I surmise she comes out to a place not all that different from this every weekend.  Maybe more.

Thirty-six and single.  I want to save her.  I want to tell her it's gonna be hard.  But who I am to say?  I'm certainly no expert on the topic.

The beers come.  I take a healthy gulp of mine.  Holy S-word!  That tastes like used motor oil!  Who drinks this?  Vikings? 

I feel like I'm gonna throw up.  I manage to hold it down.

"Um, I don't have any cash for the beer, but I could transfer some money into your account?"

What am I saying?  Who says that!  She giggles.  Is she laughing with me or at me?  "It's fine, really.  You have a card, don't you?"  I nod.  "You can buy the next round."

And I do.  I buy her drinks all night.  It's clear she can out-drink me, especially with me pretending to sip on my Quaker State 10W-40.  I want to drink.  I want to forget about life for a few hours.  Or a few days.  I wonder what she wants to forget.  Or who.

She's at ease here.  Alive.  In the dives and the bars.  Places that used to be smoky.  But for me, this is brutal.  I don't like the crowd and the noise.  But mostly the crowd.

Whenever I catch myself leering at her chest, I immediately divert my gaze to a nearby table.  There's a kid in a backwards baseball cap who looks to be about fifteen groping a blonde.  He's wearing a shirt that says "I never sleep 'cause sleep is the cousin of death."  And all I can think is I could so go for a nap right now.

I glance at my phone.  It's 11:35.  It feels like 3 AM to me! 

I'm beginning to survey the crowd and decide to myself who I could take and who I couldn't if a fight broke out.  I decide I probably have an unhealthy sense of how tough I am.  Once again, she rescues me from myself.

"You wanna get outta here?"

And once again, I'm thinking I should have been the one to say that.

It's the perfect situation.  She's at that point of being just drunk enough to be fun but still sober enough to be fairly lucid.  

And why shouldn't I?  I've never had a one-night stand.  The closest I came was making out with some girl in the gazebo at the park when I was sixteen.  She was hot, but I forgot to get her number and never heard from her again.

But I know me.  I'll get too attached too soon.  That's why I can't have a one-night stand.  It's not some ethical, gentlemanly choice.  It's that I can never leave it at one night.  I'll be in love before the sun comes up.

But my God, that body.  And it will not quit.  The things I could do to her...

"Did you hear me?  Do you wanna go to my place or something?"

I want her.

I want to save her.  But I'm no savior.

"Yeah, let's get outta here."

Hell, I can't even save myself.

"Suddenly between sheets and eyelids / I am reminded why I don't do this / I fall in love far too quickly / I never want her to forget me..."

Curse of the grasshopper

This is the story of a boy who had no friends.  We'll call him... Cone.

Cone lived with his mother.  He was smart.  And even in those early years showed glimpses of the cleverness and impeccable timing that would someday make him one of the most hilarious people he knew.

Cone had but two flaws: An abnormal fear of grasshoppers, to the point where he would not come inside if one was on the screen door.  And he was highly competitive.  Sometimes winning backyard games by such a large margin and in such a dominating fashion that some of the kids would cry.  Especially those who were like five years younger than him.

Some called him a cheater.  Some said he shouldn't take the games so seriously.  Eventually, all of the other neighborhood kids wouldn't let Bone, er, Cone, join in any childhood games.

That's one sad story, eh?  Well, I have a confession:  It's not entirely true.

First of all, the boy's name wasn't Cone.  It's Bone.  And he wasn't a kid.  Well, OK, so that's debatable to some extent.  Also, they weren't childhood games.  They're iPhone games.  And lastly, he doesn't live with his mother.  And hasn't for a few years now, thank you very much!

But the grasshopper part, that's all too true.  I don't trust anything that can jump twenty times its length.  Big-eyed scary hopping freakazoids!

Am I making any sense?  The boy in this story is me!  And I'm running out of friends.

No, not real-life friends.  I never had very many of those in the first place.  But virtual friends, who are willing to play against me in Words With Friends, Scramble With Friends, Matching With Friends, Trivie, Ruzzle, etc.

Just last week, I challenged a friend's wife in Ruzzle.  It's basically the same thing as Boggle.  After one game -- a 2144 to 897 beat down -- she was all like, "You're cheating.  I'm not playing with you anymore.  I'm never gonna win, so what fun is that?"

Is that where this world is headed -- if we don't win, we just throw up our hands and quit?  If the Detroit Lions had that attitude, they'd have given up football thirty years ago.  OK, so that might not have been the worst idea ever.  Bad example.

Nevertheless, I'm mostly down to using the "Find a random opponent" option for new Ruzzle games.  Which is kind of the iPhone game equivalent of signing up for match.com.  You're basically admitting to the world, I can't find anyone to play Ruzzle with me on my own, I need help. 

I'm currently 72-1 in Ruzzle.  The one girl who beat me was a random opponent I'd beaten before.  She's probably one of those people who has nothing to do but play games on their phone, so they get abnormally good at them.

It's sad, really.

Words With Friends isn't quite as bad.  It doesn't keep up with your record, but I do lose a bit more often there.  (Though a cursory glance at my last ten games shows no losses.)  Still, I've seen my number of opponents dwindle over time.  What do I do if they all eventually quit playing me?  I mean, "friends," it's in the name of the game.  There's no Words Without Friends. 

I think we all know what happens to people with no virtual friends.  And it's not a pretty sight.  Turned back out into the real world, I could be forced to do unseemly things, like go out in public, make plans with people, and stop pretending I don't hear when someone speaks to me at the grocery store.

Oh no, I'm not ready for that.

But what am I supposed to do, not try?  Just completely ignore when someone leaves a triple word score wide open for me and play somewhere else on the board?  Pretend this is just a casual game for "fun?"

I can't do it, I tell you.  I can't!  It's against who I am.

Scared of grasshoppers, and slightly competitive in games and competitions that provide no real gain, financial or otherwise.

I'm Cone.  Nice to meet ya!

"And the games you'd play / You would always win / Always win..."