What surrounds the object, creates the object.

I could tell you about the Teach Me conference and how Ries and I gave a workshop to the cute and talented future artists of Italy. I could tell you all about that and how we got a hotel room in Giudecca and partied like maniacs all over the waterlogged city of Venice.

I could tell you all about the people I met, the food I ate, the drinks I consumed, the nudity that commenced...

But you know what? A picture speaks a thousand words.
And I'll leave it at that.

Another evening blurred: UPDATE #2

So last Wednesday I had dinner with these girls, "the girls." And my bike is Andreas bike, who is friends with Merche (right) so at the dinner I had to explain, rather confess, what happened to the bike. I had to tell her I got drunk and left it at the burger stand. I thought about lying, telling her it was stolen, saying I was mugged by a gang of children, that I got run over by a car and the bike was totaled.
I thought about many a different lies to tell Merche at dinner but in the end I decided that honesty is the best policy.
Of course, she was disappointed and slightly angry and said that I would need to pay Andreas for the bicycle.
I agreed, said I felt awful and embaressed and that I was gonna curb my drinking.
Then the primo piatto arrived and we moved on in topic.

However. Then Camilla said, "I think he passed, girls."
"Passed?" I asked.
"I think he passed the test."

It turns out that on their way home from my house on Tuesday night they passed the burger stand and the clerk said, "I think that's your friend's bike and it's unlocked."
So, like good friends, they took the bike home with them.
And like really good friends, they decided to let me either drown myself in lies or redeem myself through confession.
Since I chose the later, they agreed to return the bike to me.

And I've never been happier!
I may be a forgetful, irresponsible drunk. But I'm a lucky sonofabitch with loyal friends, and sometimes that's all the matters.

Another evening blurred: UPDATE

Occasionally, my drinking habit bites me in the ass. Whether I crash my bike and break a rib, lose my camera, wake up in a puddle of puke, or whatever... sometimes my drinking, how shall I say... sometimes my drinking impedes my ability to function like a normal human being.
And Tuesday night was no different.
It seems, as I only realized this last night, that I forgot my bicycle at the burger stand on the way home on Tuesday. We go to the bar, I have a few drinks, a few more, I ride to the burger stand while others walk, we buy beers, and then I walked with everyone back to my house. And I completely forgot about my bike.
Needless to say, I no longer have said bike.
And I feel awful. I mean, it wasn't even mine. I was just borrowing the bicycle.
Now, I have no bicylce. I some girl a bicycle.
All I have is a stinking shit pile of embarrassment and regret.
Terrible times, indeed.
I'm on the wagon from this moment forth. That's my penance.
God have mercy on me.

Another evening blurred

Jesus, what the fuck happened last night? It was just suppose to be dinner with friends. Then I don't know what happened. I remember playing foozball and kicking ass and getting free drinks at the gay bar and then some French man called me an asshole and my friends said it was time for us to leave. Then... let's see... oh, we hit up the burger stand and bought forty beers and a gang of us went back to my place for a James Brown dance-a-thon. Then people started passing out and Hansi and I kept draining beers talking science and philosophy and suddenly it was seven in the morning.


I can't believe I got out of bed today. I actually made it to work!
My co-worker Guillermo is laughing at me. He says, "You look like shit."
I say, "I feel like shit."
He says, "And you look bloated."
I say, "Fuck you."

Treviso Poker Circuit: The Final Table.

We had our final poker night last night. The Treviso Poker Circuit at Casino Rivero...
We've been playing almost weekly for the last nine months, and all in all it's been quite a rivalry. With five seats and two wild-card positions, last night's double-header seemed the appropriate way to conclude this year's tournament.

At the final table:
Hansi "countin' cards" Raber
Guillermo "straight face" Rivero
Daniel "false idol" Hirschmann
Mark "capitán huevos" Argo (pictured)
Ann "no bluff" Poochareon
Juan "princess" Ospina
and myself, Andy "lay off the juice" Smith

Generally, the house has a distinct and suspicious advantage so going into the first game last night we all keep a keen eye on Rivero. Soon into the game, Argo dropped Poochareon on a flopped straight and Ann tossed her chips across the table before storming out of the room. Hansi soon followed losing on a poorly played high card.
Then it was Rivero, Argo, and myself (Ospina and Hirschman having a seat at the final table already). Tensions were high as it seemed Rivero had higher stacks than Argo and me. And sure enough, after trading stacks for a few hands, Rivero took me out. He went all in, and I called. Like a sucker. Like a moth to a flame Rivero pushed me out of the game.
Not long after that, however, Argo took Rivero down with a well-played two pair. The house doesn't always win.

The final table, one last game: I was very serious. I was determined. As the year's statistics read, I had a five or six game streak in the first half of the year, but couldn't seem to find it again for the rest of the year. And indeed, Argo had come up on top for most of the recent games. Yet again, Rivero had the house advantage.
Game on!
Poochareon dropped out almost immediately. And after a few hands Ospina seemed to have the highest stake while I had almost nothing. Raber took a big pot, then Argo after that. I went all in on a pair of sevens and survived. Hirschmann was the next to go, kicking a screaming after a losing a two-pair split down to the high card, which he didn't have. Chips circled the table for a while after that until Rivero and Argo went head to head. And Rivero took it.
Four remained: Raber, Ospina, Rivero, and myself.
Hansi folds on the flop and on Fourth Street Rivero goes all in. Ospina calls. I call too.
I took them down, knocked them both out, giving a significant advantage against Raber's meager stack.

Argo presented the cash prize of 70 euro and Raber and I went hand for hand, not much chip movement. Raber went all in on three different hands but each time I folded, not having the cards. The fourth time I called, and Raber took it, but I still held a bigger stack. A setback, that perhaps Raber could take advantage of? No. I went all in on the next hand, Raber called, and that was it.

I collected my winnings.

Thus concludes the Treviso Poker Circuit.

Make it stop!

I can't stop sneezing! I wanna die! Seriously, I think I've sneezed every four minutes this morning. What's wrong with me?
Atisshoo!
There! I just sneezed again!
Why me? Why this torture?
Supposedly, sneezing is caused by a bacterial build up in the throat, lungs, or nasal passages. Pollen, pet dander, dust mites, these things make you sneeze too. You sneeze to get that shit out of your system. But really, enough already. I've sneezed enough this morning to expunge a dust mite for every fucking grain of sand on this planet.
Researching "the sneeze" I found that the nose can mistake other things for nasal irritants. Stong odors, sudden chills, bright lights, and orgasms can make you sneeze. Great.
Oh, I also found a sneeze fetish forum. Fantastic.

I don't give a shit about what makes you sneeze or who gets off on sneezing. What makes you STOP sneezing! Someone help!
Atisshoo! Atisshoo!

Ok, wait, here it is, how to stop sneezing:
- Swallow your saliva when you feel the sneeze coming. Do this repeatedly until the feeling goes away.
Done. Doing it. I'll never stop swallowing my saliva.
-Hold open your eyelid. It is almost impossible to sneeze with your eyelids open.
Ok. I'll never blink or wink again.

I think it's working. I haven't sneezed in like six minutes! This is great! I feel l like a human being again. Finally.
But I sort of miss it. Now I want to sneeze! You never know what you had until it's gone, so true, so fucking true!

Oh God, why have you forsaken me?

Stay focused. Get Serious.

I pretty much drank away the weekend. Again.
And yesterday's rainy weather made it real easy to sleep in, watch a movie on the couch, take a nap, eat some pasta, make some phone calls, and watch another movie before calling it a night.
Hell, even this morning I went downstairs planning on riding my bike to work and discovered that my bike was gone. Some motherfucker stole my bike!
No. After about two seconds of rage I realized I had left it outside my friend's house on Saturday night. Duh.
I gotta ease off the juice.
Because really, I only have so many weekends left here, before I return to the states. And I have a long list of all the things I want to do before I leave. It's mostly writing and artistic endeavors but some of it is personal. Like... I think I'm going bungee jumping on Thursday. That's not on the list, but I thought I'd mention it.
Just having a definitive end to living here, working here, having a specific departure date has, as they say, lit a fire under my ass.
I've been slacking a bit. Sure, we launched the first issue of Chief Magazine, but I haven't had time to help Percy upload pics of our August adventures, and I've been slacking on this blog a bit. Not that Boraxx hasn't, in fact, he still owes me two drinks, and drinking at his expense on Friday night was pretty sweet.
I don't know exactly where I'm going with this guilt-ridden diatribe. Is it a pep talk? Is it an excuse?
No more excuses, that's what I'm telling myself.
But wait. Camilla comes to visit tonight. And if I know anything I know I'll be drunk again before you even read this.
It's not easy. The nature of being a writer calls for isolation. Writers can only produce (and often be happy) when isolated. For a drunkard this can be a challenge.
And I accept this challenge! Speaking for alcoholic writers around the world, I vow to battle my inner thirst and hold tight to my priorities. I vow to write and create each and every night. I vow to stay committed to the A.P. SMITH TCB MONTH OF THE CENTURY.

Cheers!

Life is better on holiday

I want to go back on holiday! I've been back for like two weeks now, and I think I deserve it.
It's raining today and I'm so far behind on some of my shit that I don't even want to start catching up. I want to swim in the sea and get drunk and eat squid. I don't want to be at work.
Maybe I'll quit.
Maybe I'll quit and run away to the coast where I'll recruit an army of child pick-pockets and live in a dry-dock boat near a secluded cove.
What if I took up a life of crime, starting with stealing a car and rampaging across Europe robbing and beating the elderly?
Criminals work, sure, they have "jobs," but c'mon, you and I know they're not working. They're not working like you and I are working. Or at least you. I'm at work now.
And this is what I'm doing.