The Men That Don't Fit In

There's a race of men that don't fit in,
A race that can't stay still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and they rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain's crest;
Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don't know how to rest.

If they just went straight they might go far;
They are strong and brave and true;
But they're always tired of the things that are,
And they want the strange and new.
They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
What a deep mark I would make!"
So they chop and change, and each fresh move
Is only a fresh mistake.

Robert W. Service

Mike Dunne

Blog
1949-2007

The Royal Flush

"I'm never serious when it's time to play."

I'm sitting with two people playing poker and having the time of their lives while at it. Granted they're playing with pennies, which significantly reduces the pressure to win, but their attitude is a lot more fun than the game itself.

Speaking of which, Nadal was great at the Wimbledon finals this morning. He put up a good fight and a great attitude about his defeat. I suppose you're taught to put on a brave face, smile at your opponent, and console yourself with images of your own, not-too-far-off victory.

It's always amazing to see passion in form regardless of whether the outcome is victory or defeat. It could be a good hand of poker or a tough game of tennis because nothing beats a good sport.

Unless, of course you're at the mercy of five of the highest cards of the same suit. Then it's pretty much time to lose your poker face and hand over your pennies.

Musical Collisions

Every morning I wake up to music floating through my head. One song will play endlessly in a loop serving as a background score to my plans for the day that unfold slowly (and oftentimes incoherently).

Research shows that it's sort of like a cognitive itch. And to get rid of the itch, the brain rehearses the piece over and over again. The repetition aggravates the itch and the brain gets trapped in the loop.

And so this morning I woke up trapped in Ponchielli's Dance of the Hours. I suppose if one must be trapped, being caught between notes of a 19th century ballet favorite can't be all that bad. And although it's recommended to do everything to force your brain out of this repetitious tangle, I chose to succumb to it.

I headed to my CD player. Turned it on. Skipped through to Song # 9 of The Classic Experience, CD II. Hit the "repeat" option.

And put my mind at ease.