I Learned a Lesson

Here’s the thing:

The other day, I learned a lesson.  It wasn’t fantastic, or life altering, or really even that important.  And, in the greater scope of things, it was about as unimportant as lessons can get.  But I still learned it. That lesson?

I should never go to casinos.

Now, I’m not talking like I’m going to develop a gambling addiction and blow all my food and rent money on the sure bet or all on black or some system that will guarantee that I will become a rich, rich man.  I’m not silly enough to fall for those ploys (though just for sh*ts and giggles, I was tempted to put it all on red and take the wheel for a spin).  You and I both know they are a fairy tale and an urban legend all rolled up in one.  No, what I learned was on the other side of the coin.

Casinos are boring for me.

You see, two weeks ago, I celebrated my thirty-first birthday.  That doesn’t make me an old man or anything, but due to certain aspects of my life, I felt it was time to experience certain things and get those same things out of my system.  These things included such adventures as visiting a strip club (I’ve still never been to one), eating at some sort of breasturant, and, as I said, going to a casino.

So I talked to my wife, and we agreed to do all those things this year.  Of course, she thought I was being foolish, but being the fantastic woman she is, she decided to go along with it.  We invited several of our friends because groups are more fun and waited.  Come the Saturday after my birthday, we pack up and make the hour trek to the casino everyone around here loves.  Being my first time, I packed $100 for both K and I.  Felt it was a good amount for the both of us to have fun, but we wouldn’t feel all that bad if we came home with nothing.  Toss in another $40 for food (Subway) and gas, and we were off.  By the time my feet hit the casino floor, I had a cool $215 still sitting in my wallet for the two of us.

And that’s where it stayed.  Not that there wasn’t enough to try and seperate me from my hard earned cash, but rather, none of it was all that interesting.  I’d been looking forward to spending a couple of hours on the poker tables, but not only did I fail to recognize ANY of the poker games, the minimum bet was far too high for my casual interest.  K felt much the same way when it came to slots.  Toss into the mix that neither her nor I could figure out how the slots worked, we rapidly got bored.

Thankfully, only one of our friends could come and she hadn’t even brought any money with her.  She was just there for the fun and company.  So after about two hours and my wallet all of $15 lighter, we left.

Then blew a goodly sum at the local arcade.

The moral of this story is two-fold:

One- I am not a gambler.  Least not at a casino.  I still have many fond memories of playing poker around a table at one of my friend’s houses, bull session in full swing.  Those memories I will treasure and would love to relive.  But those are different than going to a casino and throwing your money to the house.  No, I think I’m done with casinos.

Two- I am a giant kid.  For crying out loud, I spend a good two hours at an arcade.  The three of us were the oldest people there without kids.  And I was ok with that.  Frankly put, I want to go back.  That Area 51 game is calling my name.

 

What do you all think?  Have you had any experiences at places that people said were a blast, but you ended up being bored out of your skull?  Tell me about them.

Here’s the Thing

Here’s the thing:

Every time that I start thinking about or planning a blog post, those three words seem to start each idea.  Do they need to?  No, but they do all the same.  I don’t get it, but those words seem to center my thoughts and allows me to focus on whatever it is I’ve decided to talk about.

Which is, oddly enough this week, those three words.

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Mine Your Own Tweets

I need to consider this some days.

Lemon Shark

Break out your spinning wheel. With all the straw stuffing your Twitter timeline, you can find some serious writing gold.

Look at your tweets because there’s a story there. Possibly many.

Right there. See that? It’s the beginning of a blog post. Maybe even a personal essay. It could be turned into some flash fiction.

Mine your tweets. You’ll find some gems in there.

Scroll through your Twitter account. Tweeting doesn’t carry the same pressures as other types of writing. They’re often spontaneous, unfiltered thoughts.

Tweets have your voice, your experiences, your opinions. And something about the content made you want to put it in writing and publish it.

Not all that glitters is gold, though, right?

So let those zingers and one-liners be. If it fit into 140 characters neatly, leave it alone. Or pin it to your profile page. But don’t drag it out and drag us…

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