land shark

Last night we all went to Delmonicos, an old T.Daddy bar where the six of us were the only gringos and people literally came up and asked us what we were doing there. Answer: Drinking $2 Coronas and running the pool table. By which I mean, the British photographer and I played two games of pool, each of which lasted nearly 45 minutes, because she and I are so bad and our opponents were so drunk.

When I was about nineteen I actually managed to become mediocre at pool, under the grumpy tutelage of this badass bass player for a hardcore band who became so disgusted with the lame, flirty pool my old roommate and I played, she started bringing us to Walt's Game Room in Winooski for lessons. Any pool skills I developed were probably born out of fear that the badass bass player would beat me up if I didn't get it together, and once I stopped playing regularly, I immediately reverted to my previous level of suckatude. But I decided last night that I either need to get better at pool or stop playing entirely.

So I've made the obvious choice and am going to devote the rest of my time here in T-D.A.D. to developing my game. At 8:30 a.m. you will find me not at my desk (who am I kidding; I am never at my desk by 8:30), but at Delmonicos practicing my soon-to-be-killer bank shot. When I go on the national circuit (or whatever it's called), I'm going to use my winnings to take Chris on a Princess Line cruise.