"You've created a whole criminal culture,"

via Wired (highlighting is mine):

Refusing to Fold, Online Poker Players Bet on Prohibition Repeal

WASHINGTON -- Anyone who thinks poker isn't a game of skill should see Boy Wonder playing Texas hold 'em online from his D.C. apartment. The 24-year-old sharp starts with six tables. Then eight, then 11. He folds. He checks. He raises. New windows pop up on his monitor like whack-a-moles. Boy Wonder doesn't even break a sweat. This is a job to him.

Well, it was a job. Last Monday, he laid down his poker career to become an internet consultant. His roommate, Johnny CIA, had already done the same thing. They're hardly alone. A law passed last September by Congress outlawing financial transactions between online casinos and American banks and credit card companies has had a profound effect on the poker players in the United States. In less than a year, according to players and industry insiders, the Unlawful Internet Gambling Enforcement Act (UIGEA) has pushed online poker into the shadows and saddled a national pastime with a prohibition-like status that many compare to the booze ban in the 1920s.

"There was mass panic when the legislation came out," says Boy Wonder, who asked to be identified only by his screen name because he fears the IRS might target him. "(The Act) scared away the novice."

The novice used to pay the rent for Boy Wonder, who started playing poker full-time after graduating from Haverford College in 2005. He earned around $1,000 a week playing in $1/2 and $2/4 limit games, which specify the amount a player can bet during rounds of play. But now the game is more trouble to him than it's worth. "It's unstable," he says.

Some major sites such as PartyPoker.com ban Americans altogether. But others like PokerStars.com and FullTiltPoker.com don't, and determined players have found ways around the legal impediments. Boy Wonder and Johnny CIA describe pre-paid VISA debit cards sold through foreign middlemen that allow Americans to pay online casinos. Some gamblers bankroll friends that have existing credit. Americans can also set up offshore bank accounts or sign up for foreign credit cards. Some use phone cards. There are many ways to keep playing. Many are legally dubious.

In January, the FBI arrested the Canadian founders of NETeller, an online money transfer service based in the Isle of Man that was popular among poker players. Last week, a federal grand jury in Salt Lake City charged seven people and four companies with bank fraud, money laundering and racketeering for concealing money transfers for gamblers playing online.

"You've created a whole criminal culture," says former New York Sen. Al D'Amato. D'Amato is the chairman of the Poker Player's Alliance, a 500,000-member grassroots group of poker enthusiasts working to overturn last year's law. Instead of controlling and licensing the industry, D'Amato believes, UIGEA has only created the conditions for shady operators to flourish outside the reach of law. "Just like prohibition," he says.

Equally troubling to D'Amato and a growing group of federal lawmakers is that UIGEA, which then-Senate Majority Leader Bill Frist (R-Tennessee) tacked on to a port security bill in the dead of night, gives the government too much control over the personal liberties of citizens in a digital age.

"The fundamental issue here is a matter of individual freedom," Rep. Barney Frank (D-Massachusetts) said at a news conference last month. Frank introduced a bill that would re-legalize online poker and gambling and regulate the industry, requiring that all gaming sites build technological safeguards to prevent underage and compulsive gambling, crack down on cheating and protect user privacy. Better sites already use this technology, but lawmakers believe that without oversight, dishonest services will emerge, and the government will divert important resources to stop Americans from gambling on them.

Legalizing online gambling under a federal umbrella could raise around $3.5 billion a year in tax revenue, according to the Poker Player's Alliance. It might also get the U.S. out of hot water internationally. In March , the World Trade Organization ruled that America's online gambling ban has unfairly closed U.S. markets to offshore casinos. The U.S. Trade Representative's Office fought the ruling by arguing that restrictions on remote gambling were needed to protect American morals, but that argument fell apart when the WTO noted that the U.S. allows online betting on horse racing, which is supported by a powerful lobby and managed to carve out an exemption from UIGEA. The WTO ruling clears the way for lawsuits from online gaming countries such as Antigua and Barbuda or even the United Kingdom.

Frank's is not the only proposal that puts online poker back on the table. Rep. Bob Wexler (D-Florida) is drafting more narrowly-crafted legislation focused specifically on games like poker, mahjong and bridge that many players believe have been unfairly lumped with games of chance like roulette and craps. Indeed, a number of states already allow high-skill versions of poker such as Texas hold 'em, Omaha Hi Lo and seven-card stud, even if federal law does not. "We're looking at a standalone bill that would specifically identify poker and allow that and similar games without restriction online," says Josh Rogin, Wexler's press secretary.

Another measure , introduced May 3 by Rep. Shelley Berkley (D-Nevada), would commission a National Academies study to look into online gambling issues and other countries' regulatory frameworks. "If we banned every activity that someone had an issue with, that's all we'd be doing," says David Cherry, Berkley's spokesman. "We're setting up a cat-and-mouse game."

Cherry describes current U.S. law as "Swiss cheese." D'Amato, who grew up playing poker, isn't as gentle: "We talk about fair trade and free trade. We talk about individual rights. We're sanctimonious hypocrites."

For now, though, online poker players have been handed, as they say in the business, a bad beat. Stars like Chris Moneymaker and Greg Raymer cut their teeth in online poker rooms, then crossed over to win world championships in live tournaments. Their success fueled the growth of the industry. But today's aspiring sharks have had to temper similar dreams.

At least for one more night, however, Boy Wonder is in the clear. He's got trip tens and a fat fish on the line. He clicks. He bets. He wins.

The Dreamtime Podcast - Episode 35 - Cooking (and Drinking) with Bob

Today on Cooking with Bob, Mint Juleps! Rum and Coca-Cola! Barbecue! Beer! Figgy Pudding!

And Bob's Mom's Banana Chocolate Chip Loaf Bread!

American Life in Poetry: Column 112

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Not only do we have road rage, but it seems we have road love, too. Here Elizabeth Hobbs of Maine offers us a two-car courtship. Be careful with whom you choose to try this little dance.


Slow Dancing on the Highway:
the Trip North

You follow close behind me,
for a thousand miles responsive to my movements.
I signal, you signal back. We will meet at the next exit.

You blow kisses, which I return.
You mouth "I love you," a message for my rearview mirror.

We do a slow tango as we change lanes in tandem,
gracefully, as though music were guiding us.
It is tighter than bodies locked in heat,
this caring, this ardent watching.


Poem copyright (c) 2001 by Elizabeth Hobbs, whose most recent book is "A Craving for the Goatman," Goose River Press, 2003. Reprinted from "Poems from the Lake," Goose River Press, 2001, with permission of the publisher. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. For information on permissions and usage, or to download a PDF version of the column, visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.

36 Years Ago - Chadwick School

While doing some spring cleaning, Peggy came across my old yearbook from Chadwick School. We had thought it lost or destroyed in one of our periodic basement floods. Instead, it had been safely packed away in a box that had remained unopened since our move from the condo to this house, what 11, 12 years ago now?

Pictured to your left is the group photo of the staff of Chadwick School's 1971 yearbook, The Dolphin, all looking very young. As I remember, the semi-pro photographer, who later quit midway through the job, was very big on "natural" poses. Thus, this and many other group photographs where some people are posing and other people look as if they've wandered into the shot by accident. Our Yearbook Adviser was not pleased and after several clashes with the photog - himself a recent Chadwick grad, the remaining work was farmed out to two Chadwick students; a junior and sophomore as I remember who did, in fact, a much better job.

I may eventually post my individual class picture, although Peggy says I look geeky... And indeed I do. I don't remember anymore, but from the photo it looks like I was at the start of growing what would turn into the Fu Manchu 'stache I wore until going into the Army and had recently had an amateur haircut from one of the girls I was dating, probably at the demand of either the school or my Dad. Two of those girls are in the picture. But I won't tell you which two.

My Tag Says "Wash in Cold Water"

I hadn't even realized that the "Tag - Seven things About Me - Tag Seven Other People" meme was an internet thing, probably going to show how little I social network either in real life or virtually. I had judiciously avoided the game on gather - where I thought it had originated - even after being tagged by the ghost of Jimi Hendrix, or so he claimed. Anyway, like nearly everything on gather, a semi-huge battle broke out about the Tag Game among various factions for and again' it and, like nearly everything on gather, it was easier to avoid the whole thing by ignoring it... so I did.

But, I've been tagged by a friend, and that makes it a horse of a different color, as the doorman to the Emerald City says. But I got a couple of problems. Uno: I'm not sure I can come up with seven new things. Hell, I mean that's what fhb is all about, and after 3+ years, there's not many new stories left that you O Constant Reader haven't already read - or in Peggy's case, heard. But I'll try. Dos: As I said, I'm not all that much of a social butterfly, I don't think I even know seven people who would understand what this is all about, let alone those who have blogs to continue it. So, I'm afraid that part of the tag game will remain unfulfilled here.

But in the spirit if not the letter, seven (or maybe less) things you probably didn't know about me unless you're Peggy.

1. I'm a 1 1/2-finger typist. Back in the day that they offered typing classes in my middle/high schools, it was considered a "girl's trade," like "homemaking" and not offered to us virile young men-types, who were supposed to take such useful classes as "Shop." I never learned how to formally type, ironic given my trade, doubly ironic since I spent the final days of my Army career as a "clerk-typist." I type with the middle finger of my right hand and use the index finger of my left to press the "Shift" key. The one time in college I tried to learn formal QWERTY typing, I became like the proverbial centipede who was asked how he kept all those legs in order... and never walked again. But, unless you're a professional typist, I'd lay odds I still type faster than you.
   
   
2. I learned how to fly when I was 13 years old. My Dad taught me in a Cessna 180 seaplane on Long Lake in Maine during one long-ago endless summer. We had to put a pad on the seat and blocks on the rudder pedals. I never bothered to get a license because my father had let his instructor's license expire and I would have had to go through all the formal crap and why bother. While I've done both in a seaplane, to this day I've neither taken off or landed a plane on land.
   
   
3. When I was young I was regularly mistaken for Cat Stevens. Now I'm regularly mistaken for George Lucas. Make of that what you will. And I mean mistaken, not "Hey, you look like..." I've had people get angry at me because I wouldn't sign an autograph. In one case, I did. That autograph probably now goes for a few hundred dollars.
   
   
4. My draft number was 79 in 19 and 71. They drafted up to 125 that year. For those of you who don't know what that means, go here.
   
   
5. The first time I ever got drunk was on a vile concoction called raisin jack, which my boarding school roommate and I brewed up after I discovered the recipe in a book about prison. One batch blew up in my closet, forcing me to launder all the reeking clothes. The hangovers would last for days.
   
   
6. My nose was examined by Tom Jones' doctor. So, I'm reaching, what the hell. But it was. Jones had flown the doc up to Maine to treat him for a sore throat. I was in the room next door being examined for a constant nose bleed. The Doc was the leading nose/throat man on the East Coast, and came over to express his opinion. Tom himself later stopped in to shake my hand, not an easy task leaning far back in an examination chair and covered in blood as I was.
   
   
7. The first story I ever wrote was titled "Screwy the Screwed-Up Screwdriver." I'm not sure how old I was, but young enough to bemuse my teacher with it. It's somewhat frightening to me that I can still remember not only the title but whole sentences from something written around 45 years ago, but can't remember whether the cat is in or out five minutes after I've seen him.

So there you go, Miss K/M. Realize I wouldn't have done this for just anyone.

American Life in Poetry: Column 111

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

As poet Felecia Caton Garcia of New Mexico shows us in this moving poem, there are times when parents feel helpless and hopeless. But the human heart is remarkable and, like a dry creek bed, somehow fills again, is renewed and restored.

Drought

Try to remember: things go wrong in spite of it all.
I listen to our daughters singing in the crackling rows
of corn and wonder why I don't love them more.
They move like dark birds, small mouths open

to the sky and hungry. All afternoon I listen
to the highway and watch clouds push down over the hills.
I remember your legs, heavy with sleep, lying across mine.
I remember when the world was transparent, trembling, all

shattering light. I had to grit my teeth against its brilliance.
It was nothing like this stillness that makes it difficult
to lift my eyes. When I finally do, I see you
carrying the girls over the sharp stones of the creek bed.

When they pull at my clothes and lean against my arms,
I don't know what to do and do nothing.

Reprinted from "Northwest Review," Vol. 44, No. 3, 2006, by permission of the author. Copyright 2006 by Felecia Caton Garcia. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln.

At gather: Maria Muldaur - Naughty, Bawdy & Blue

If the gig at gather doesn't produce anything else, it did give me the pleasure of hearing Maria Muldaur call me "darling." Here's a clip from my latest column, an interview with Maria on her latest release, Naughty, Bawdy & Blue.

***

Maria Muldaur is in a RV on her way to her next gig somewhere in Iowa when her cell phone rings.

"So, where's the show?" I ask.

"Clear Lake," she answers, which gives me pause. I've never been to Clear Lake Iowa, but the name brings a flood of memories from books and movies anyway. A skinny young man in horn-rimmed glasses, an improbable rock star, blasting out a Bo Diddley beat; teenage girls in pleated skirts doing coordinated dance moves, a heavy-set guy thumping a tambourine, dancing onto the stage, surprisingly light on his feet; now a grinning Chicano kid coming out and adding his guitar to the mix. And the orchestra keeps the beat going, the horns lifting Not Fade Away higher and higher as the group laughs, unplug their guitars, and wave goodbye to the audience as they walk off-stage one-by-one.

"Thank y'all! See you next year," the last one, the tall, skinny guy, calls back to the crowd... and they're gone.

Clear Lake is one of those iconic rock places, like Max Yasgur's farm - or maybe the Altamont Speedway. It was the last stand of the Winter Dance Party of 19 and 59.

"Whoa," I say, back in the future but totally thrown out of interview gear. "Buddy Holly territory."

"Yeah," Maria answers. "We're even playing the same place, the Surf Ballroom. But at least we're not flying out."

Link to full article

Stuck in the Middle at the Wheaties

As you may have noticed, I don't blog about poker all that much anymore. Not that I haven't stopped playing. I actually have fairly healthy bankrolls at UltimateBet and FullTilt. PokerStars is another story. Yesterday was the second time since the start of the year that I've had to recharge my PokerStars account - a feat that's become less difficult once I discovered Visa "gift debit" cards could be used to make deposits at on-line casinos. No fuss, no muss. Highly recommended if you're looking for an easy way to get money in. Money out is still problematic, but even my healthy UB and FT accounts aren't fat enough yet for me to be exploring ways of taking money out.

My game went sour on PokerStars at the beginning of the year, partially I think because my dwindling bankroll forced me to give up everything except the Wheaties Tuesday night tournament and then I got into an evil circle of not getting into the money, posting the $11 buy-in, not getting into the money, posting the $11 buy-in... and so on. When you only have around a $75 stake to begin with, it doesn't take too many $11 buy-ins to make your money go away unless you win something. Usually, I had been able to offset the Wheaties spend with the occasional SnG win, but I found it was easier - much easier in FullTilt's case - to get in the money at SnGs at FullTilt or UltimateBet than at PokerStars. And because there's now no easy way to move money between various poker sites, I'm now faced with lopsided bankrolls among the three.

For awhile I was playing crappy in the Wheaties, getting knocked out fast. I settled myself down, but then had the misfortune of running into the same crazy two Tuesdays running who - two Tuesdays running - succeeded in knocking me out of each respective tournament with terrible suckout hands, all while proclaiming how drunk she was while doing so. That put me on tilt so badly that I stopped playing at PokerStars altogether for a few weeks. When I came back the crazy was gone, but she had taken the rest of my luck with her. I've tried everything - I stopped chatting; I deliberately played hands the reverse of how I would normally play them; I gambled; I played as tight as a tick; and variations of all thereof.

The "problem" with SnGs and tournaments, of course, is that you can play beautifully for hours at a time but the bottom line is that only certain finishes are going to pay any money, sometimes only the top 3, sometimes the top 9 or more, depending on the size of the field. In recent Wheatie weeks I've been placing consistently in the top 20 - not too bad in an average field of 60 - but still far out of the money. I don't think I've even seen a final Wheaties table since February.

Last night was the usual. I played well, made it past the first break with an average stack for the field. Unfortunately at the same table was a player who was on one of those golden rushes that you see occasionally in poker games - he or she could literally not lose a hand. And with a stack around 3 times the size of the rest of the table, s/he was able to play a lot of hands. With a pair of 7s, I just called the a min raise, as did the player and one other person. A seven hit on the flop, giving me Trips. I decided to run a check-raise trap and checked. The first better throws 400 at the pot. The player threw in a pot-size raise, which I had expected, as s/he had been doing it all night, scaring people off. I went All-In with around $2k. The other two players folded. The Big Stack called and showed a pair of 9s... and a possible straight draw with a 7 and 8 on the board. Runner, runner, as they say. a 6 hits the turn, meaning I now have to avoid a 5, 9, or 10. Too many outs for this guy and a 10 hits the river and I'm gone.

Could I have played it differently? Possibly, but I think he would have forced me into an all-in anyway. Just calling his $1200 raise would have committed over half my stack, and I doubt I could have laid down those trip 7s even facing a straight at the turn. I had to bet that s/he didn't have a strong enough hand to make an additional $2,000 a worthwhile investment, and I was wrong.

Anyway, that was last night Wheaties - and I think my last Wheaties for awhile. I'm going to take a shot at the Mookie at FullTilt - Wednesdays at 9, and see what that brings. For PokeRStars I'm going back to single- and multi-table SnGs for awhile. As you can see from the graphic above, courtesy of SharkScope, I've actually done pretty well at those.

The Ol' Ball Game - The Sea Pups and Slugger at Haddock Field

Peggy and I went up to Portland for our 23rd anniversary last weekend, staying overnight so we could use a gift certificate to Vignola that my brother Lee had sent down. Vignola, located in restaurant row in Portland's Old Port, is highly recommended, btw, if you're in the mood for high-end Italian. I had the pork and veal meatballs with porcini mushrooms, tomato and pancetta and Peg had the grilled quail. Both were excellent.

A little weirdly, Vignola shares a basement kitchen with a "sister" restaurant, Cinque Terre, located a building away, which serves even higher-end Italian from the looks of its menu and prices. Vignola which is positioned as "casual" in their marketing, seems to be the Jan to Cinque Terre's Marcia Brady, but it was a fine choice as far as we were concerned.

Earlier in the day, we finally went to a Sea Dogs game, something we've talked about doing since the Pups, as I nicknamed them long ago, were a Marlins affiliate. Now they're the Red Sox's AA team, and they were playing New Hampshire's Fisher Cats last Saturday, giving us even more of an excuse to go - if we needed one.

As I've mentioned before, I'm not as rabid a baseball fan as Peggy. I like the Sox, but can seldom get through a full game on the tube. We'll maybe go to one or two live games a year, dependent on how many freebie tickets come our way from family and business. But, even with subsidized tickets, a trip to Friendly Fenway can put a serious dent in your pocketbook. Parking costs are outrageous unless you can come in by way of the T. You can easily lay out $40-50 for food and beer for two - and we're talking ballpark food and watery, lukewarm beer. You take an average-sized family to a major league park and you're talking an expensive day or night.

Plus - and I don't want to go into a rant about Fenway, because I actually do I kick out of going there - but it ain't a family ballpark all that much, advertising hype aside. It's mostly a park for testosterone-infused 20-somethings, too many with foul mouths on them, and listening to the constant F-bombs being dropped can quickly get old.

So, it's kind of nice to step back in time, and get something closer to what going to a ball game was probably like in the `40s and `50s. At the Pups' Hadlock field (which again, we had quickly twisted into "Haddock Field" for all the obvious reasons), you're almost sitting on the players, no matter where you're sitting. The place was crawling with kids and family, not surprising when general admission is $6 for adults and $3 for kids. Even box seats go for only $8 and $7.

The announcer comes on and tells you "no swearing allowed," and happily, there isn't. The game isn't bad, probably no one would consider it up to pro standards, but no one seems to much care either. We're all just having a good time.


The Pup's pitcher, a guy with the wonderful baseball name of Charlie Zink, throws an interesting knuckle ball which seems to have the Fisher Cats confounded for the six innings Charlie stays in. A reliever almost throws the game away with a handful of pitches, quickly bringing the to-then-scoreless Cats into the game with five runs. But the Pups' manager apparently wakes up from whatever reverie he's fallen into and seeing that an 8-0 game has turned into a 8-5 game in a matter of minutes, relieves the reliever with a new pitcher who gets Our Boys out of the inning, bloody but unbowed.

And the promotions! Hey, there is something happening every minute at a Sea Pups game, let me tell you, buddy. You got what seems to half the school population of Maine marching out on field pre-game to be acknowledged as part of "most improved student day." You got flying lobsters, tricycle races, basketball toss contests, baseball throw contests, a different contest going on every inning change. You got a family winning an upgrade from G.A. to box seats. You got little garbage can characters wandering around the aisles to remind you to dispose of your trash properly. You got Oakie the Acorn in the stands who almost got clobbered by a foul ball. You got entire rows being awarded free pizza because a Sea Pup batter knocked the ball for a double.

And you got Slugger - pictured above - the hardest working mascot in Double A, who arrives chauffeured in his own John Deere cart and proceeds to work the crowd for a full seven innings, shaking hands, passing out autographed Slugger cards, all while being escorted by his own bodyguard as he travels back-and-forth among the fans. Slugger culminates his game by - in close order - stomping a fan's Yankee cap; leading the crowd in a rousing traditional Take Me Out to the Ball Game; and then finishing with what is apparently a tradition at Haddock Field, a full-blown singalong version of YMCA, complete with arm gestures spelling out the letters. Tired but triumphant, Slugger calls it a day at the eighth inning. The Sea Dogs win the day, and Peggy and I decide we'll catch a repeat performance in June when the Pups visit the Cats in Manchester.

On Sunday we'd take a quick trip through Stroudwater village, an area I'd all but forgotten until Peggy saw a magazine about one of Maine's oldest settlements and asked me if I knew where it was. That open-ended question triggered another "when I was but a sprout in Maine " speech, because I did, in fact, know where it was very well. I promised to take the ever-patient Peg back in the Summer when things are prettier and the 252-year-old Tate House is open.


We wound up the trip with a drive to Ferry Beach and Camp Ellis in Saco since we wanted to check out the damage from the last N'Easter. Back when I was but a sprout in Maine, my family lived for a time in Ferry Beach in a little Cape Cod on Surf Street, which, as the name indicates, was parallel to the beach.

The old house was still there, but most of Surf Street, already damaged by earlier storms, was gone. You can click on the picture to your left to get a better image. You're looking up the "street" maybe 50 yards away from where I used to live as a kid. Where you see sand leading up to the blue house used to be asphalt. And that house looks like it will need to be torn down. Most of the underlying foundation is damaged. The storm literally demolished six other houses in the area.

Reports have it that Saco won't allow the houses that were damaged to be rebuilt. The owners claim that the Camp Ellis breakwater - which you can see to the left in the background - is in dire need of repair and once fixed will stop further erosion. Or maybe reverse erosion, I guess, as the beach is reclaiming what used to be dunes, beach pines, roads and homes.

Our favorite restaurant for steamers - Wormwoods, where my dog Butchie used to go to drink with clamdiggers - was still intact, and, after making sure of that, we headed home.

American Life in Poetry: Column 110

've talked a lot in this column about poetry as celebration, about the way in which a poem can make an ordinary experience seem quite special. Here's the celebration of a moment on a campus somewhere, anywhere. The poet is Juliana Gray, who lives in New York. I especially like the little comic surprise with which it closes.


Summer Downpour on Campus

When clouds turn heavy, rich
and mottled as an oyster bed,

when the temperature drops so fast
that fog conjures itself inside the cars,
as if the parking lots were filled
with row upon row of lovers,

when my umbrella veils my face
and threatens to reverse itself
at every gust of wind, and rain
lashes my legs and the hem of my skirt,

but I am walking to meet a man
who'll buy me coffee and kiss my fingers--

what can be more beautiful, then,
than these boys sprinting through the storm,
laughing, shouldering the rain aside,
running to their dorms, perhaps to class,
carrying, like torches, their useless shoes?


Reprinted from "The Louisville Review," (No. 59, Spring 2006) by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2006 by Juliana Gray, whose most recent book of poetry is "The Man Under My Skin," River City Publishing, 2005. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska, Lincoln. For information on permissions and usage, or to download a PDF version of the column, visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.

Dreamtime Episode 34 - He Was a GraveYard Smash

A goodbye to Bobby "Boris" Pickett, who passed away last week at age 69.

Somewhere in a special spot of heaven reserved for beloved monsters like Frankenstein and the Wolfman, the ghoulies and ghosties are doing the Transylvania Twist.

Episode 34 - He Was a Graveyard Smash

Dreamtime, btw, has made it to the NY Times, or at least a subset thereof. Eric Asimov, chief wine critic for The Times, discusses the pleasure, culture and business of wine, beer and spirits at his blog, The Pour. Scroll down to Mr. Asimov's blogroll, which you'll find on the right, and nestled amidst links to various wine and foodie blogs stands "Dreamtime: Blog on Bob Dylan's Theme Time Radio Hour"

Mr. Asimov is obviously a man of impeccable tastes.

American Life in Poetry: Column 109

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

One big test of the endurance of any relationship is taking on a joint improvement project. Here Sue Ellen Thompson offers an account of one such trial by fire.


Wallpapering

My parents argued over wallpaper. Would stripes
make the room look larger? He
would measure, cut, and paste; she'd swipe
the flaws out with her brush. Once it was properly

hung, doubt would set in. Would the floral
have been a better choice? Then it would grow
until she was certain: it had to go. Divorce
terrified me as a child. I didn't know

what led to it, but I had my suspicions.
The stripes came down. Up went
the flowers. Eventually it became my definition
of marriage: bad choices, arguments

whose victors time refused to tell,
but everything done together and done well.


Reprinted by permission of the author. Copyright (c) 2006 by Sue Ellen Thompson, from her book, "The Golden Hour," published by Autumn House Press. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. For information on permissions and usage, or to download a PDF version of the column, visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.

Lawmakers Starting To Question Online Gambling Laws

via Techdirt:

Is the tide turning in the war over online gambling?

A few recent developments suggest that efforts at stamping out the activity (which was always an impossible goal) may be losing steam. Last year, the state of Washington passed a rather draconian bill that made it a felony to gamble online; in fact, the it even went after people who merely discussed online gambling on their websites. It looks like lawmakers realized that they went overboard, and have now reversed that law, essentially making it legal again to gamble online for recreational purposes. That, in itself, doesn't make it much easier for people to gamble however, since there's still the federal law which has made getting money into an online casino a real pain.

The good news there is that a bill has been introduced in congress to repeal the ban. According to the bill's sponsor, Representative Barney Frank, there's significant support for the new law, though it obviously has a difficult road ahead, since it will need approval from the Senate (where rules make it very easy to stall legislation) and a signature from the President. Still, it's very rare for the government to repeal bad laws, so just the fact that movement is happening in this direction is a good sign.

And for an additional 5 quid, you can get a flogging, too!

via BoingBoing

A new theme park inspired by the work of Charles Dickens aims to transform a 70,000-square-foot warehouse near London into a teeming -- and family-friendly -- corner of Victorian England...

... The indoor attraction includes a central square of cobbled streets and crooked buildings, where staff dressed as pickpockets and wenches will mingle with the crowds. Visitors who pay the $25 admission charge -- $15 for children -- will have the chance to see the Ghost of Christmas Past in Ebeneezer Scrooge's haunted house, be hectored by a schoolmaster at Dotheboys Hall -- the dismal school from "Nicholas Nickleby" -- and peer into the fetid cells of Newgate Prison.

Tourists can also have a meal in the cafeteria, which has resisted the temptation to offer "Please, sir can I have some more?" 2-for-1 specials. The little ones can play in Fagin's Den, an area for preschoolers named after the gangmaster of the band of thieves in "Oliver Twist."

Link

American Life in Poetry: Column 107

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Houdini never gets far from the news. There's always a movie coming out, or a book, and every other magician has to face comparison to the legendary master. Here the California poet, Kay Ryan, encapsulates the man and says something wise about celebrity.


Houdini

Each escape
involved some art,
some hokum, and
at least a brief
incomprehensible
exchange between
the man and metal
during which the
chains were not
so much broken
as he and they
blended. At the
end of each such
mix he had to
extract himself. It
was the hardest
part to get right
routinely: breaking
back into the
same Houdini.


Poem copyright (c) 2004 by Kay Ryan, whose most recent book of poetry is "The Niagara River" Grove Press, 2005. Reprinted from "Poetry," November, 2004, with permission of the author. This weekly column is supported by The Poetry Foundation, The Library of Congress, and the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. For information on permissions and usage, or to download a PDF version of the column, visit www.americanlifeinpoetry.org.

We Would Like to Make a Contact

I have a special guilty pleasure weakness for The Carpenters in general, and this cover of Klaatu's Calling Occupants of Interplanetary Craft in particular.

I want one of these *so* badly

Peggy I need a

Vampire Killing Kit

The accoutrements for the destruction of the Vampire

This box contains the items considered necessary for the protection of persons who travel into certain little known countries in Easter Europe where the populace are plagued with a peculiar manifestation of evil, known as Vampires... Professor Ernst Blomberg respectfully requests that the purchaser of this kit carefully studies his book. Should evil manifestations become apparent, he is then equiped to deal with them efficiently... Professor Blomberg wishes to announce his grateful thanks to that well known gunmaker of Liege, Nicholas Plombeur, whose help in compiling of the special items, the silver bullets,etc., has been most efficient. The items enclosed are as follows...

1. An efficient pistol with its usual accoutrements
2. A quantity of bullets of the finest silver
3. Powdered flowers of garlic (one phial)
4. Flour of Brimstone (one phial)
5. Wooden stake (Oak)
6. Ivory crucifix
7. Holy Water (one phial)
8. Professer Blomberg's New Serum

via Wired, Boingboing and a host of others

Are mobile phones causing "colony collapse"?

Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD) has been much in the news lately. CCD occurs when a beehive's inhabitants suddenly disappear, leaving behind only queens, eggs and a few immature workers.

Nobody knows where the vanished bees go, but they're apparently either deliberately or accidentally dying far from their homes. Even more scary, the parasites, wildlife and other bees that normally raid the honey and pollen left behind when a colony dies will refuse to go anywhere near the abandoned hives.

Why? No one knows, but a new theory has it that CCD may be connected to cell phone use, kind of a variation on Steve King's recent book. From The Independent story:

"...a limited study at Landau University has found that bees refuse to return to their hives when mobile phones are placed nearby. Dr Jochen Kuhn, who carried it out, said this could provide a 'hint' to a possible cause.

Dr George Carlo, who headed a massive study by the US government and mobile phone industry of hazards from mobiles in the Nineties, said: 'I am convinced the possibility is real.'"

Another theory has it that GM (genetically modified) plants may be the culprit.

Albert Einstein once said, “If the bee disappeared off the surface of the globe then man would only have four years of life left. No more bees, no more pollination, no more plants, no more animals, no more man.”

We may be running out of time.

Biblioexpeditions

I've been shamefully neglecting fhb, I know, and I'm afraid it's going to continue for the next couple of months, at least until I finish my contractual obligation with gather in June. Between Dreamtime (new episode below, plug plug), gather, and the things I do to actually pay the bills, I finally hit a wall where there just wasn't any more Fred to go around.

But I'm caught up, at least for the moment, so here's an interesting thing I came across in today's Globe: BiblioExpeditions, a bookstore/literary tour equivalent of those buses that take you down to Foxwoods for a day of gambling.

Ride our luxury motorcoach on weekend adventures to fabulous independent bookstores and literary landmarks in New York City, Boston, Western Massachusetts, Central Connecticut and Southern Vermont.

I like the idea, and I wouldn't mind going on the June 2nd tour a, "a one-day literary adventure in Greenwich Village, featuring Strand Bookstore (80 years old this year!), McNally-Robinson Bookstore, Bonnie Slotnick Cookbooks, St. Mark's Bookshop, Housingworks Used Book Cafe, Bluestockings, and a dozen other fabulous bookstores. We'll be departing Amherst, Massachusetts at 7am, and returning at 11pm." At a sale price of $69 (regular price $99), it sounds like a bargain.

Dreamtime Episode 33 - Oh Baby, Me Gotta Go

How does Dreamtime fit in over 50 different versions of "Louie Louie" in a 14-minute show? Listen and find out. Starring Bob Dylan, Julie London, and even Your Host singing the religious version of "Louie Louie" - an experience not to be missed. I succeeded in making Peggy laugh out loud when she heard it.

Episode 33 - Oh Baby, Me Gotta Go