BY6 - What Winter Does



August 15, 1987

I debated a long time whether now was the right time to reveal my dark secret. I finally decided to take a shot. I've grown tired of being ignored, wanting people to listen. You can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.

My frustrations as a child were multifold. Even before I reached puberty, even before I knew what men and women do together, I found myself obsessed having a girlfriend. Presently, on ABC, there is a show called Modern Family in which a very young, chubby, Latino boy, Colombian I think, obsesses week after week over winning the affections of this girl or that girl. The girls are usually white, fair-skinned, and I can totally relate to Manny's disappointments.

I was also a very odd child, and not physically strong, and this resulted in a lot of bullying. My father was a hard man, and his response (not an unreasonable one) was to enroll me in martial arts classes. I suppose they helped my self-esteem, and my discipline, and I didn't really get picked on much anymore, especially not once I reached high school, a magnet school where all the other weird kids went. Still, my luck with girls never improved, and upon reaching high school I discovered there a girl with whom I had been obsessed in middle school, Katie Moulder. My inability to get anywhere with her drove my frustrations to greater heights still, and this combined with other normal teenage frustrations left me in a particularly unstable state.

It was around that time that I discovered the existence of sex, and the fact that I had zero chance of getting any of "that sex stuff" drove me crazy. I passed a lot of time by myself, walking in the woods behind our house, and exploring. Not as much as when I was younger, but I still liked finding new places to explore, especially construction sites. Always a lot of fun to be had in unfinished houses, and it was in one such house, sometime in the middle of the night, on the second floor, that I heard some odd noises. At that time, the southwest side of Houston where my parents live, was not dangerous, and I had no reason to be particularly frightened, but my life would be completely different if I had just been a bit more scared and walked away. Instead, I investigated, and when I peeked into a room I saw a young couple having sex, a boombox next to them playing Air Supply, probably the reason they did not hear me.

My sexual frustration finally boiled over, and my heart filled with rage at the thought of this boy getting what I could not achieve. Again, just a slightly different scenario would have produced a wholly different outcome. Had I found them in a field, or in a car, I would not have been able to do anything. But the thing about construction sites is that they have no lack of dangerous implements, including bricks. I did not think any further, I acted, and I took that brick and walked up behind the boy, and before his girl, who had noticed me by that point, could say anything, I smashed that brick down on his skull as his head was turning. And I smashed it again, and again, and again, until he head was unrecognizable and all that remained was the girl's screaming drowning out that crappy Air Supply song.

This was 1987, and I was already a TV junkie and a fan of cop shows in particular. I could have run off and hoped the girl would not be able to describe me, but by that point I was thinking again, and I knew I had to kill her too. She was in shock and in no position to resist. I took the brick with me, of course, and threw it in the bayou behind my house (for all I know it's still there), and I ran faster than I had every run before.

March 16, 1990

Though perpetually haunted by the memory of that night, I had long since gotten over the fear that I would be discovered. Given my penchant for coping with emotionally stressful situations by intellectualizing them, I'd done a lot of research on murder in the 2 1/2 years since "The Incident", and I was confident that the case was sitting at the bottom of some file cabinet, never to be reopened.

All my reading did help me cope, but it also had another effect. You cannot understand this until you have actually killed another person in cold blood, but the sense of power that washes over a person during and after the kill addictive, more addictive than any drug I can imagine. Once the fear of being caught subsided, and once I learned more about murder, and serial killing in particular, I began to feel an irresistible urge to strike again.

One of the things I had learned is that killing a person can be surprisingly difficult. My first victims had been caught by surprise, and that is why the boy did not have a chance to fight back. I did not give myself very good odds against another male who saw me coming, and that is why I convinced myself early on that the best target would be a homeless person. I was not going to find such a person in southwest Houston at that period in time, but by my senior year in high school I had access to an older Toyota Corolla. While not technically "mine", I was the only one who drove it. Like I said before, my father was hard man, and there was no way I would have gotten permission to leave the house after midnight, but both my parents worked a lot of night shifts.

During my original kill, there was undoubtedly a sense of thrill and power from the act of smashing the brick with my bare hands, but that was an act of passion. I am not an unsmart invidiual, and my rational mind easily determined that a brick was not the best approach. For a homeless person, in fact, the best approach was fairly gruesome, gasoline and a lighter. I did not have to drive long around downtown Houston, and at 4:00 AM on the nose I found a homeless man sleeping in an alley off a side street.

For all my planning, there was on thing I did not consider. As a child, I had been quite the pyromaniac. I lose track of the number of times I set the woods on fire, or the number of unfinished houses that I torched. Those stories are for a future blog--the point is that as soon as the man became engulfed in flames, that childhood glee returned, and I long to stand there and watch him burn. Nothing wrong with a man taking pleasure in his work. I did pull myself away, of course, (clearly, I'm not in prison right now), but I resolved that in the future I would find a way to be able to observe the fallout from my kills.

January 8, 1992

College was a busy and exciting time for me, and I had so much to do that I hardly ever thought about killing. Oh, I managed a kill here, a kill there, just to keep honeing my skills, and to sate the occasional bloodly, but my mind was on other things, namely girls. I was finally maturing to the point that I could recognize when a girl was interested, and in the fall of my third year I began some kind of relationship with a girl named Melissa Hubbard.

Melissa was also inexperienced--I think she had never dated anyone--and our relationship was very awkward. She stood me up once when I went to her dorm to deliver a birthday present, and she later explained she was afraid the relationship was progressing too quickly. I stopped speaking to her, but eventually a mutual friend intervened, and we started talking again. On the final day of that semester we took a walk around campus, and finally, in a dark corner, became somewhat physical. Our intimacy was fairly tame, but Melissa apparently had a very controlling father, and speculation was that over the break she had told him about me, and that he had forbid her from seeing me again. Actually, it wasn't just speculation. I had one huge clue--when I tried to call over the break, her father picked up the phone and said "don't call here again."

When we returned from break, I naturally wanted to find out what was going on. Melissa wouldn't explain though, wouldn't even talk to me. This drove me crazy, and I sought peace in the way that had been working best for me. By this time, I had a lot more experience, body mass, and muscle, and I decided to try strangulation. I factored in the possibility that I might not be successful, so I reduce the possibility of being identified, I drove 815 miles away from Austen to Littleton, CO, a suburb of Denver. Yes, the drive was long, but I needed the day to calm down (killing in a rage is a bad idea) and I needed a large population to choose from. I was succesful on the latter point, but the driving, usually meditative for me, did nothing to easy my pain. I seriously botched the operation, and though I finally managed to strangle my 8th victim, it was pretty messy.

April 8, 1993

After my messy experience in Littleton, I decided I needed to hone my skills even further. Practice, practice, practice--isn't that what they say? Fifteen months later, I had nearly doubled my count, and my sixteen victim turned out to be a very interesting kill. Up until that point, I had only killed at night, and I was feeling like I needed more of a challenge. I decided to try and kill somebody in broad daylight.

I didn't jump into such a venture half-cocked, mind you. I spent a lot of time planning. I purposefully waited until spring break so that I could travel to New York. My plan was pretty simple--push somebody in front of a subway train and get the heck out of there. No, actually, it wasn't that simple. To avoid being recognized, I spent the six months prior to the trip growing as much of an Afro as I could muster, and the weeks before the trip growing a full beard and moustache. I bought some dark sunglasses and a hoodie.

I chose the Ely Ave/Court Sq/45 Rd station in Queens because it offered a good opportunity to switch to a different line, preferrably the #7 line to Grand Central Station. I traveled light, with nothing but a pair of nail scissors, razor and washcloth in my pocket, so I could shave as soon as possible. Finally, I wore two jackets, a bright red one covering up a dark blue one, so I could ditch the red and further change my appearance.

To make a long story short (and there's actually a lot more to tell), my plan worked out almost without a hitch. At 3:16 PM, when the rush hour was starting but not yet too heavy, a train approached as I stood behind a young woman struggling to balance several packages. That was just luck, that she was fidgeting about, because she was distracted, and it was all too easy, at the last second, to turn and walk away, shoving my arm out behind me as I did so. By the time people started to react, I was already walking up the stairs. My outer jacket, hoodie, and glasses were gone soon there after, and the #7 arrived just when I reached the platform. I was soon on a PATH train to New Jersey, where I had left my car, and I drove for 23 hours straight to get back to Texas.

September 22, 1996

In the aftermath of my bitter divorce, I needed something to focus on other than my memories of Jean, and I decided that occasional murders were not good enough. I resolved to become the greatest serial killer in the history of mankind. I had been quiet during the second half of college, and during my marriage, but with my renewed resolve I decided to see how many victims I could take out in one night. An ambitious plan, in my opinion admirable, but in practice very difficult. I had to decide between targeting individuals, or targeting groups. Up until then, I had never used a firearm. In fact, I had never touched a firearm. But attacking more than one person with a less powerful weapon was a risky proposition.

Once again I had to make extensive plans. I'll keep them as brief as possible. Drove to Ardmore, OK to buy a handgun, because I've found out about a dealer who asked no questions. West to Albuquerque, NM, where I found a gun shop that did a lot of business. I needed to be able to observe the customers as they left in order to find the right target. When a meek-looking man came out carrying a bag and driving a small Hyundai, I figured I had my target. I followed him back to his house and, as I hoped, he did not have a driveway and parked out on the street.

I kept driving, found a place to nap, and waited until 4 in the morning, at which time I returned to his car and slashed one of his tires. I then waited until the man got up to leave in the morning. It was still dark, and there was nobody else out at that hour, so it was easy for me to sneak up on the man as he worked on the tire, put the gun to his head, and force him to take me into the house and give me one of his guns. I could not use the weapon registered to me, of course, because it could be traced.

Back east, to Kansas City, where it was not difficult to break into several houses, kill everybody inside, bring my lifetime total to 42 by the end of the night. By hitting my victims hard and fast, and moving quickly across the city, I was able to finish and put hundreds of miles between me and KC before the police got wind of anything.

The Kansas City job had gotten more attention than I expected. I lay low for a good while, and as I listened to stories about how the police were speculating that a spree killer was involved, I began to worry that somehow the untraceable gun, which I had dropped into a sewer somewhere in Oklahoma, would be found and traced back to me. Ridiculous, of course--it was impossible to make the connection, but killing a coupla dozen people in one night will make anybody paranoid.

I resolved to never again use a firearm, and I decided to use my time off to bolster my martial arts training. I found a school where the sensei, Master Kobayashi, was willing to give me private lessons. After six months time, I was confident that I could handle almost anybody with just a knife or garrotte.

May 18, 1997

I visited the now-closed Starbucks at Preston Park Village, in Plano, TX, for the first time. The store had opened the day before and was located across a cinema parking lot from my apartment complex. I got into the habit of hanging out for hours every day, and that is where I had my idea to visit every Starbucks. A year later I took a road trip out to the west coast, and I started to think about the possibility that I would get publicity for my Starbucks project. That naturally led me to think about how much of a shame it was well on my way to becoming the greatest serial killer in history, and yet I got no recognition for this.

Then it hit me, an idea so brilliant that I amazed even myself. And it takes a lot to amaze me. Over a decade and over a hundred people killed, and I had found it for the most part too easy. Other than a few paranoid moments, I never felt that the cops even had a chance of getting close to me. Seriously, it's not like the police, even the FBI, are the best and brightest among us--they are just no match for somebody with a 160 IQ. They might as well be standing still, while I, like Hiro, slaughter my victims with impunity. Well, not exactly like Hiro--he's a pussy--the weakest character of the show.

Anyway, the greatest challenge I faced was that I could not share my exploits with anybody! What is the point of being the greatest serial killer in history if nobody knows about it. As far as I could tell, the police in the 23 different states where I had taken victims had never linked my crimes. Even in Kansas, it was never reported that the police were certain all the victims were killed by one person. Part of the reason for that is that in one household occupied by an elderly couple and three young children, I did not feel I needed to use the gun to get out quickly--I was able to dispatch all five with a knife in less than two minutes.

So, back to that challenge, and how it relates to my Starbucks project. It occurred to me, once I started posting photographs, that I could encode the details of each kill within my website, in such a way that only I could decipher the data. Brilliant!!! From that point on, everybody who viewed my Starbucks Everywhere site was unknowingly admiring my predatory prowess. Furthermore, to ensure that my works would one day be known and celebrated, I enclosed the details of how to decipher my website on a thumb drive which I keep stored in a safety deposit box somewhere in these United States. To ensure that the box is found, I have tattood on my left butt cheek directions to that bank and box, and I expect that the police should be able to gain access if I am every captured or killed. Sometimes I almost wish I would be caught, because there's nothing worse in life than being ordinary. I wonder if people would even believe it--somebody killing hundreds, thousands, and eluding the police for decades? Perhaps convincing the world that I exist will be the greatest trick I ever pull. When the extent of my decades of killing is fully revealed, the world will have to marvel at my genius. What I've done is going to be puzzled over and studied and followed... forever.

October 17, 2003

I arrived at the Timonium Scrabble tournament and met Marlon Hill for the first time. Outside on the sidewalk, Marlon questioned me about my single name, and my unwillingness to reveal my birth name. He suggested that I might be a serial killer. I replied that if I were a serial killer, I would not be giving so many interviews about my Starbucks project and appearing on TV. Marlon said I had a point. Oh, little did he know that he had hit the nail right on the head. Hiding in plain site actually works! Nobody would believe that a serial killer would activitely seek out publicity.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

6:00 PM - Left work and was pleasantly surprised to find traffic on US-1 south to be lighter than I expected.

6:30 - Detoured into Trenton to stop at Mommie Joe's, and first stopped at some random no-name gas station to feed my Fit. I paid with a card, and by chance I happened to notice that the pump requested a zip code when the attendant inserted my car (this only makes sense to those who know about the gasoline law in New Jersey and Oregon). Of course the attendant did not know my zip, but nevertheless he entered something into the keypad and proceeded. I asked, but he was coy. I wonder what the big secret it.

7:25 - Earlier that morning I'd had to shovel my way out of the drive, and with all that mess I'd totally forgotten to grab enough bottles of the blessed liquid. Not a problem, because Bound Beverages was just a few minutes off I-95, and even less of a detour than stopping at the house. Once I had my cases, all was right with the world, and I cruised on down to Silver Spring.

9:45 - Gassed up at the Chevron on Georgia Avenue. The stop brought back vague memories of the time I lived in the area.

9:52 - Called David to find out if he had wi-fi.

10:00 - Stopped at Caribou Coffee to steal some of their wi-fi.

10:15 - Found David's apartment complex.

10:30 - David met me outside, and he guided me to the the parking garage. According to David, the garage was just "two or three" blocks away. But David had a very liberal definition of "block", and by the time we returned to the complex and reached his apartment it was 11:00. Getting late.

11:30 - David finally finished studying, and I was able to go to sleep, with strong hopes of getting 8:00 hours.

2:30 - Walked to the bathroom and noticed David had left his door cracked. I assume it was an invitation for me, but I really wanted to get my eight hours of sleep.

Friday, February 12, 2010

6:36 - Woke up to discover that David had not lied--he had indeed gotten up early, and he was in the shower. One of my great weaknesses is that I cannot go to sleep if I need to kiwi, and by the time David finished it was too late--there was no more sleep to be had.

7:10 - Yum, yum, yum--fried eggs and David's beer bread. Good stuff.

9:55 - Neared the Whole Foods in Charlottesville, where Barry Keith was waiting. Before we arrived, though, I started to feel the pull of the Yuck. A few minutes later I spotted a sign for Yuck-fil-a, and the pull became to strong to ignore. David chuckled at my apparent lack of willpower as I made a sharp right into the shopping center.

10:05 - Barry was standing out in front of the grocery store, with more bags than I expected, but we were able to load them into my car thanks to the cleanup I had done before leaving.

11:30 - Stopped at the new Starbucks in Midlothian, one of the few in the U.S. I had not visited.

1:55 - Pit stop, Butner, NC, exit 191 (of I-85). I just needed to reheat my leftovers while I gassed up, but David needed food. He isn't big on fast food, but there was no telling when we'd find better options. David had never visited Bojangle's before, so I suggested that. It's not great, but it's something that everybody needs to do at least once while rolling through the south, in the same way that everybody should visit White Castle at least once when in the Northeast and Midwest, and Tim Hortons when in the Canadia.

2:05 - Looked up from the food on my lap to see the burgundy unmarked behind me flashing its lights. I quickly handed my food, resting on my laptop, to David, so as not to give the officer additional reason to ticket me, and when he arrived I asked "What's the problem officer?" as I fumbled around for my license. He gave up some cockamamie store about my having changed lanes without signaling, and going 75 in a 65 (I don't think I was going that fast), but I'm sure I was just guilty of driving while brown. Regardless, the officer was exceptionally polite, perhaps because I had a couple of white guys in the car as cover, and after asking a few questions he must have been amused by the Scrabble thing, because he let me go.

4:35 - Reached the Renaissance with plenty of time. And here David was all worried that he wouldn't be able to shower before the early bird.

Early bird, first round, Nandini Dickens, got bagged, by which I mean that I only win by 74 points. Meanwhile, Sam Rosin is chatting about how he lost two challenges and still won by 180. Great.

Next game, Dan Milton, possibly the luckiest player I've faced of late. Always the pedestrian bingo early in the game, and the momentum. Even worse, he misplays a rack of AEINRS? and gives up about 8 points. Despite this, he wins by 19. Now I'm sure of it--this guy's great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was John Milton, who portrayed the devil in such an admirable light in Paradise Lost. His reward for this deal with the devil, great fortune for all his descendants for eternity. The best part about this story--a couple of nights later, up in our room, I mentioned John Milton and Sam Rosin didn't know who he was. Geez, what are they teaching the kids in school these days???

Annotated Game

Before our game, Eric Harshbarger said that he owed me (for the Redeye). Well, he paid me back, with two early bingos, ACEROLA and cANO(O)DLE, but the game turned out to be close, not at all a rout. Endgame was very, very interesting.

Annotated Game

Great tiles for a devastating 235-point win against Matthew Bernardina that was not without its disappointment. I had A(D)VOcATE as my third bingo in a row, but just shy of the TWS. Under ordinary circumstances, I would not have played the bingo for just 62 because the odds of a huge counterplay were too large. But I was still lusting for that fourth bingo in a row, so I went for it, got zinged for 63, and did not draw my fourth. Bah.

Wow, how can I keep making the same mistake. I'd had (JETE)D* challenged off before, probably years earlier, but amazingly I deigned to try the play... against IAN WEINSTEIN!!! Combined with rather suboptimal play, I cannot make any claims about being outdrawn.

So I was out of the money, but the night was not without its amusement. Let me jump ahead a day and refer to something Cynthia Seales asked, or said, while she was wailing into me for calling her lucky. I think she implied that I thought low-rated players have no value. Jumping backwards a month, to the Redeye late bird, I faced a very low-rated player who played SNORKLE* against me. I didn't even hold, but once I simmed the same I was stunned to discover I didn't know the proper spelling of the word.

Returning to the present, I found myself across the table from Paul Avrin and in front of a rack holding KLNORS?. Slotting the K at 8L would create the possibility of a big counterplay, and I suspect most players would have agonized between giving the counterplay and giving up points. I, however, too the third option and played SNORKLe*. Yes, I was gambling that Paul would not notice the mispelling, and if my gamble worked I would have created a tactical (strategic?) advantage for myself.

My trap worked immediately, but in a way I did not expect. Rather than hooking an S or D, Paul played ROQUE!!! I was sure that SNORKLES* and SNORKLED* are no good, but could SNORKLER* be some freaky exception? I finally decided against it, and I picked up the extra turn. Not only that, but over the course of the weekend I was able to milk that story for a heck of a lot of laughs!

I did one thing wrong, though. Hoping to confuse Avrin, when I challenged I put ROQUE into the machine too. The effect was to make Paul suspicious, and he thus did not hook the S that he later had. Damn--as funny as it was to have him fall into my trap once, had it worked twice I would have about died laughing, and I'd be retelling the story for the rest of the year.

Saturday, February 13, 2010

7:00 - David's alarm of despair went off, and I woke up with a start and rushed to the bathroom, to kiwi before David got in there. Thinking ahead, about how much time it might take for the water to warm up, I turned it on. David thought I was planning to shower and asked to use the bathroom first, and I clarified that I had turned it on for him. David, though clearly intelligent and an International Grandmaster in chess, might not necessarily be smarter than me in certain situations. It should have been obvious what my intent was. No, not to give him an early Valentine's Day gift, but rather to ensure that he would not have to wait 5-10 minutes for the water to warm up (as has happened to me many times) and would get the @#^**#$@# out of the room quicker so I could try and sleep more!!!

7:02 - David enters the bathroom.

7:18 - David exits the bathroom, and Eric enters.

7:27 - Eric exits the bathroom.

7:29 - Sam starts to stir, against my hopes, and I doubt I'll get any more sleep.

7:36 - I give up on sleep.

8:14 - I marvel at how I've managed to get so lost in trying to find Harris Teeter's, ostensibly only a few minutes away. I finally find it though, intending to get some juice, fruit, and yogurt, then coffee and oatmeal from the Starbucks. Instead, I find, to my surprise, a hott breakfast bar offering eggs, cheesy eggs, potatoes, bacon, and biscuits, yummy yummy biscuits! Okay, so they weren't the best biscuits, not in a breakfast bar in a grocery store, but they were a sight better than most of what I find in the Northeast, that's for darn tooting. And and the price--$5.71! Back at the hotel, David and Sam had paid $15+ for there meal, and I can't imagine it was better.

Up first, Bob Linn, and right away excitement. I won by one-point, and later I'd discovered I'd caught a break when Bob gave up nearly 20 points when he played CARINAS (the first thing I see in that rack) rather than ACRASIN. Actually, never mind--ACRASIN would have opened up the 3x3 with a blank, an I, and a G unseen. I have to assume Bob saw the possibility of a lot of trip-trips. See, I am not a person who fails to give credit when it is due, contrary to the opinion shared by more than a few, including my next opponent.

On an unrelated note, this portion of this blog was written while watching The Book of Eli. I rarely take my laptop into the theater, but RottenTomatoes gave the film a mediocre review, and with my schedule the way it is these days I did not want to burn two hours.

I could hardly believe it, once more, Dan Milton, aka Uncle Scroogetiles. Three times, that I could remember, he had luckbagged me, and during that game (or maybe the early bird), he made it clear he did not appreciate my bitching about his luck. But what does he really expect, when he always gets the easy bingo down first. I mean that literally--I have our last six Quackled games right in front of me, and twice I bingoed first, GOONEYS (had to take a chance on that one) and RELIQ(U)ES, while four times he bingoed first, W(A)TERING (a bad play--he should have played TW(A)NGIER), HArRIES, COOTIES, and FORTIES.

But this most recent game, his luck was just off the hook. I came back from FORTIES by winning a challenge, MERL, and I took a 53-point lead with RAVElIN. Scroogetiles wasn't worried, though, because he knew that his luck would prevail no matter what. In fact, he was so sure of this that rather than bingo along the lone feasible line, he decided he would give me a chance to block and played SKI for 32 instead (I'm speculating here--I didn't see his rack). Then, when I did block, with the highest simming play, Scroogetiles played with a rather egregious demonstration of what luck is--four, count 'em, four power tiles burned on one four-tile underlap, SEXToNS for 120. Unreal, man.

Annotated Game

Again, giving credit where credit is due, Joey Mallick broke away from a tied score with the only bingo available, a solid expert find, pIVOTMAN.

In a manner similar to Scroogetiles', Greg Heideler demonstrated that luck trumps word knowledge. He lost an early challenge, LOTTE, counts for nothing, yet was able to pull both blanks and a couple of gimmes, DEFUNDs and INVITAL for the 1-point win. Equity dropped (by me) in those two games--37 and 22. My opponents dropped more than that just on their lost challenges!!!

My 1-3 record left me appropriately demoralized, and all the energy I could muster for luck was to drive across the road to the mall, with David and Sam tagging along. As I expected, there was a Yuck-fil-a in the food court, and my despondent self was powerless to resist its pull.

Besides my low morale, I was also low on time because I had some research to do and e-mail to my supervisor, in exchange for taking Friday and Monday off. Thus far he had not said anything about all the time I was taking off for Scrabble, but I worried nonetheless that the time I was devoting to my planned Big Year, and my competition with WANCEEEEEEEEEEEEEL would stretch his patience.

I thought things might start looking up when I managed a 1-point win over Joel Sherman despite being double-blanked...

Annotated Game

...but then I moved on to another double-blanking, by Lou Cornelis, aka Doctor Cornelius, for a 17-point loss. That made three games without a blank, and I felt that the lousy tiles I was drawing were hurting me in ways that even my game-saving powers could not compensate for. Why had my sweet, dear blanks left me, I wondered, and I feel this song pretty much echoes my sentiments.

Another version

As I expected, my 2-4 start resulted in my being Exiled in Scrubville. In an ordinary tournament I could have used this as an opportunity to run up the spread, but my tiles continued to suck. I finally drew a blank, to bingo first, against Johanne Cohen, and despite her blank bingo I mantained the lead and momentum on a very tight board. Three esses were still unseen, however, and Johanne drew all of them to break the board open and score a messload of points. I barely escaped with my life.

Annotated Game

After our game Cynthia Seales, rather indignantly, took me to task for grumbling about her luck. We got into a pretty heated discussion, to the extent that Jeremy Jeffers and Johanne had to tell us to take it outside. I don't know what she was so insulted about--she was amazingly lucky. I'm not talking about OOZE for 48, because it was my fuck-up that gave her the counter play (I missed (K)IWI), but SPANGL(E)D followed by FELONY for 51 followed by a blank on her rack--that's lucky. She blew a bunch of bingoes with that rack, including DIABAsE (that's a gimme), playing (R)AIDABlE* instead, and I had to struggle mightily to find the courage to clean up my rack with GUC(K) (leave AGIR) and hope she did not find the double-double BADInA(G)E. She didn't, and had to wait another turn to bingo, but even though I got down GRAINIE(R) and AMATEUR(S), Cynthia was still leading... before a 51-point YEH!!! Come on now, that's clearly lucky. To manage the win from that far down I had to resist the impulse to score and rather create an additional line so that I could bingo. Managed the second blank, for AnNEXIN(G), and the win. Lucky to have the blank and X and a 119-point bingo, sure, but I had to make the right play for that endgame to work out.

Annotated Game

Regardless, Cynthia really seemed to have a beef with the "lucky" label. She didn't seem to understand that being lucky doesn't mean a player isn't any good. I wouldn't have beaten David Gibson and Ian Weinstein if I had not gotten lucky, and I wouldn't consider if an insult if they pointed that out. Facts are facts, man.

Sam and David joined me for dinner again, and our plan was to try something different from the food court, Maggiano's. But when we arrived we discovered something that had eluded all of us--it was Valentine's Day! Ugh--of all the day's in the year, V-Day is my least favorite. I hate V-Day even more than I love April Fool's day. For some reason, even with all the girlfriends I've had, I've never managed to have a sweetheart on February 14th itself. I thought I might have a shot in the new decade, but apparently shared interests and common personality traits cannot overcome the Curse of Loathsomeness that has apparently been put over me. Come on now--serial killers need love too!!!

But, I digress. The point of it's havin geen V-Day was that Maggiano's had a special dinner going, and a three-hour way. The line at The Cheesecake Factory was out the door and halfway to the parking lot. California Pizza Kitchen was not far away, and they also had a wait, but he were able to order to go and return to the playing room with plenty of time.

Oh, I almost forgot an amusing moment. As we hunted for food, somehow Sam brought up the topic of the Starbucks in Bernardsville. I remembered that during my visit I had passed through a residential area, and I had spotted a girl walking along the sidewalk. I couldn't be sure she was old enough, however, and that dissuaded me from offering her a ride, pretty much a rule with me. From experience I've learned that if a girl gets into a stranger's car to begin with, she probably pretty open-minded, if you know what I mean. Sam asked me if this ever worked, and I assured him that it did. What I didn't mention is that once a girl is in my car, there's a more than fair chance that I'll be able to increase my kill count, especially if it's nighttime. Oh, don't get me wrong--I'd still try to fuck her (consentually, of course). Even a serial killer's gotta have priorities. But if I could get the twofer, why not?

I ended up parking in the wrong place for CPK, but I'm glad I did, because up on the roof of the parking garage I saw the funniest license plate I'd ever seen... "COMELORD". I'd have to say that plate along made the trip to Charlotte worthwhile.

Okay, so despite it's being V-Weekend, it was just the opposite sentiment that followed me around for those days. First Uncle Scroogetiles, then Cynthia Seales, and then, as I tried to enjoy my pizza, Sherrie Saint-John, who finally went off the rails. Up until that point I had felt that she actively struggled to hide her animosity towards me, and to maintain politeness. Saturday night, though, she went off on me about sleeping in the car, about how I chose to spend, or not spend, my money, and even about my breakup with Rebecca. It almost seemed as if she had a bet going with somebody to see if she could make me blow my top.

Besides her presumption in telling me how to live my life, her rant about my sleeping in my car was absurd to the highest degree. "When are you going to grow up," she exclaimed, completely obvlious to the obviousness that camping out in a car at night presents infinitely more opportunities for stalking the most dangerous game. What opportunity would I really have to stalk my prey in a hotel??? Seriously, if I killed one of my roommates or some other guest or employee of the hotel, don't you think the police would be a little suspicious. Come on, Sherrie, think!!! No, it was out in my car, hidden and unexpected, in the middle of the urban jungle, in the wee hours of the night, that I had the best opportunity to find my prey.

Anyway, I was glad when the time for the Night Bird to start finally rolled around, tired though I was. Speaking of tired, I actually felt more tired that night than I had during the Redeye. Weird.

I was gladder still when I finally managed to run up the score against a weaker opponent, this time Charlene White. FINALLY!!! After suffering through an inability to destroy my lower-rated opponents during the Redeye late bird and the Charlotte early bird, I was relieved to be able to wale on my early opponents. First up, Charlene White, and the board turned ugly fast. Charlene allowed herself to get low on time, and on that board she just collapsed and went over by 7 minutes!!! First time I had seen that, I think.

Next, Katya Lezin, who opened strong with bEANIES and scared me into getting aggressive. I slotted C(A)MP next to the triple line, without holding an S, for 34 points, and then I managed to hook the I, UNWIND for 44. Then I picked up two extra turns, (PEAR)T, and REhOUSE/O(LOGY). At that point a win wasn't a given, and Katya might have beaten me had she played INOSITE and then drawn ZAX for 101 points off my (D)ELATION. Instead, she tried ISOTINE*, and I was able to pick up four the the five remaining power tiles for a 232-point win.

Next, Eric Harshbarger, and after (M)ORTISED I picked up a blank, which I was not able to use for 7 turns, by which time I had picked up the second blank. While I futzed around, Eric slowly caught up, and had I not managed ToTeMIN(G) when I did, Eric would have closed up that last line and the endgame would have been interesting indeed.

Final game of the night, Joey Krafchick, and my run came to an end. Aargh. Why did it have have to be to the kid??? The only thing I hate more than children is losing to them!

Sunday, February 14, 2010

4:38 - It finally happened. No, I didn't crawl into bed with David or Sam (although I'm sure some busybody douchebag would love to go running to Sam's dad with that news). Rather, I failed to avoid to wall just outside the bathroom. Each time I walked out I could barely see, and I after avoiding that wall about five or six times I finally smacked into it.

6:30 - One hour 'til David's alarm of despair was set to go off, and I spent much of it worrying that I would not be able to fall asleep again (which didn't help me fall asleep).

7:15 - Decided it wasn't even worth trying, not for 15 minutes more.

Sam and David accompanied me as I again got lost on my way to Harris Teeters, and they were all to glad to mock me for that. But they had to admit that the breakfast bar was a far superior value.

First game of the morning, Barry Keith (at that point still designated as a scrub because I had no idea he would go on to make the finals), and I quickly started grumbling to myself about how my tiles were still crappy. Then, in the mid-game, I played POTTLE for tile turnover and drew into BUSYiNG. I then proceed to make a blocking play without realizing that it set up ZO(N)AE or ZO(N)Es for 66 at the same time that a potential ZE(B)u was sitting in the lower right. With two Vs in the bag, losing was a definite possibility, and I was essentially saved from my blunder by the fact that I did not draw one.

Annotated Game

My tour of Scrubville continued, with Jeremy Jeffers as my next opponent. The fact that I'd not had a great draw in nine games worried me, and I decided to get aggressive right away and try VOGUERS. It was good, and I was doubly relieved when I saw Jeremy, after his lost turn, play a blank bingo. Jeremy went on to draw the second blank, but I, and perhaps the tile gods, managed to frustrate all his chances at a second bingo.

Mediocre tiles aside, my my explosion tour of Scrubville continued into fifth round, and for a fifth time I had to fight for the win, against Diana Grosman this time. Had I not challenged off ENAMORE(R)*, my win could have gone the other way.

After struggling mightily against five straight weak(er) opponents, I was relieved to finally find a passage out of Scrubville and face Bradley Whitmarsh. I've already acknowledged his superiority (so all you haterz can stop saying my blog is always negative), and I expected a tough game, but it really couldn't be much worse than what the weaker players were throwing at me.

Our game was cool, but first I have to mention first that Bradley Whitmarsh is unquestionably the Alpha Dog of the Tournament for his 8-hour drive from Pittsburgh.

Annotated Game

With nearly 2 hours for lunch, I considered getting some sleep, but I decided I wanted some good food. Looked up Pollo Inka and called the number, but it was disconnected. Called up Taste of Havana next, and they were open.

Waited for Sam and David, and David invited Stefan and Terry to come along. We decided all of us could ride together, and as the three of us piled into the back, Terrry apologized for their car's messiness. David and I glanced each other and chuckled, because we both knew that no amount of clutter in their car could compare to the biohazard that my car was. You readers shake your head in shame, I imagine, but just try living in a car for nearly 2 1/2 years and see how clean you can keep it. Most of the time I just brush off comments, but sometimes my feelings are hurt. One person, in a particularly viscious thread on FARK, or maybe Slate, called my card "disgusting". Another person claimed to have taken three showers after riding in my car. And another said she went to get STD-tested after having the misfortune to enter my car. I find that one hard to belive.

After a peaceful, positivity-filled ride, we reached the correct address, but it took a few minutes to find the right restaurant. I was looking for Taste of Havana, but the place had moved to a different unit and changed its name to Conga's Cuban restaurant. The others didn't much care, but I had a memory of a good meal from that other place, and I walked all the way over to the next parking lot looking for it.

Conga's turned out to be underwhelming, but that wasn't the interesting part of the meal. No, it was rather that, after all these years, Terry finally lost it and laid into me (perhaps an exaggeration) over some meaningless bullshit about my using the terms "stressed" and "cynical" in relation to her. Looking back on the years, I found myself surprised that we had never had any kind of face-to-face argument before that (that I can remember), only an e-mail... I don't even know what to call it.

I left Charlotte with a burning desire to produce my next video, a recreation of that lunch in either interpretive dance or kabuki theater, but I ran out of time. Don't worry, one of these days you'll get to see me dance, maybe even sing, and if I can figure out a way to get myself naked in the video and make it relevant, I'll throw that in too (a treat for the ladies, you know).

Drama with Terry is, of course, no news, and would not be worth mentioning except in the context of the rest of the weekend. First Dan Milton, then Cynthia Seales, and then Sherrie. At the time of that third incident, I genuinely and honestly had a thought, that this weekend was nuts with the bitching at me, and that the next logical step would be for me to get into it with Terry. I swear I'm not making that up. For starters, everything in my blog is literally true, just like the bible is literally true. Second, who would make things up in a blog. On a related note, who would engineer incidents just to create material for a more interesting blog? That's was David would (jokingly, I assume) later suggest, but that's just silly. The point of all this? That god wants me to blog. In fact, god is so interested in my bloggging that he, like Jacob, actively interferes in people's lives in order to give me more interesting stories to blog about.

But lunch was not all about irritations. First of all, the movie playing in the restaurant, perhaps one of the greatest in film history, Walking Tall starring Duane, "The Rock" Johnston. Next, I must give propz to Stefan for his choice of music on the ride back, Camera Obscura. Terry and David implied it was some kind of girly music, but Sam, sensitive young lad that he is, and myself thought it was good. I'd heard Camera Obscura before, as the song of the day on NPR, but I had neglected to follow up. Thanks to Stefan, the group moved up a few notches on my list of music to pursue. His driving's still crazy though.

During lunch Sam called his dad who reported the standings, and I was amazed to find out I was in fourth place!!! Apparently my romp through Scrubville, combined with my win over Bradley, had not been a waste of time. That record earned me my third date with Ian Weinstein in three weeks time, and my tiles, including two blanks, were finally good enough to compensate for my my suboptimal play.

Annotated Game

Next, Joey Mallick, and just like against Ian, I found myself with two blanks on my rack early. This time around, I felt it more advantageous to play (PLOTZ)ERs* for 54 rather than the bingo, and after the game several players expressed surprise that Joey let it go. I did bingo next turn, RESILIn(S), but Joey came right back with COUNTIE(S) and proceeded to rout me. Too bad I didn't know (S)LImSIER, because that would have left Joey in a tough spot. The loss, sucked, sure, but I didn't really think I was going to go undefeated that afternoon, and I walked away with another amusing story ((PLOTZERs*).

For the third game in a row, both blanks appeared on a player's rack, but this time they were on John Luebkemann's, and he managed the triple-triple. It was still early enough for me to recover from the 100-point deficit, but I just couldn't manage the tiles nor board vision.

Annotated Game

I was out of the running for the finals, that was certain (unless I could win by about 700 points), but the day still turned out pretty good. After 2-3 previous games against David Gibson in which I felt outdrawn, I finally pulled both blanks and managed hold the momentum for the entire game and then bingo out to win. Yeah, I felt a little bad (not really) about beating David that way, but I was extremely pleased about what the win could do to my rating (if I didn't blow it on Monday).

Annotated Game

Time was short for dinner, and the food court in the mall was closed, so Sam and David and I went with CPK again. Halfway during the meal Joel Sherman arrived to order some food to go, and while he waited he sat down with us and did a nihilistic deconstruction of my video from a few weeks earlier. I could be wrong, but I think he was trying to compare my video to Picasso's blue period. Personally, I think I was more influenced by Jackson Pollock myself, with touches of Heidegger cum Marshall Mathers.

Back at the raunch, it was Wesley (Wes) Eddings up first in the second half of the night bird. Midgame I broke away from a tied score with a 68-point ERECT(I)ON, then an extra turn (V(R)OU*), amd finally the phony GONIUMs* for another 174 points added to my spread.

Four bingos against Greg Heidler, and by the time that game ended my spread was so high I felt pretty good about finally boosting my number of tournament wins to six, just one shy of Whitmarsh. Had to get past Joel Sherman though. After an early TEREDOS and steady scoring for the next five turns, my chances looking pretty good. But then Joel plopped down UNSMART, (H)IrELiNG, and WATERM(A)N in a row, then TAPPERS three turns later, and I was sunk. Demonry in full effect, no doubt. Meanwhile, somewhere in the hotel, a maid cleaning a room did a double-take and wondered what all the symbols, candles, and animal parts were about.

Final game, for second place, Joey Krafchick, a much easier time, and I picked up $145 thanks to Brad Whitmarsh's failure to catch me on spread.

Monday, February 15, 2010

12:22 - Chatty McChatterstein and Young Spazzy still hadn't shut the @#$%& up.

1:52 - Some dumbfuck misdialed our room. The phone rang just once, but that was enough to wake me, Eric, and a very confused David up. Sam seemed to sleep through it. Lucky bastard. Later that morning, while David and Eric were in the shower, I could hear Sam snoring while I failed to fall back asleep.

4:36 - Can't remember what happened.

6:36 - Actually managed to fall asleep again, for all of a few minutes.

7:00 - David's alarm of death went off. This time I didn't have to rush into the bathroom, so I hoped fervently that I could fall asleep again. Unfortunately, after three nights of sleeping in a room, where I could not hunt for my next victim, I was anxious with bloodlust, and I just couldn't sleep. Most people don't realize just how addictive killing can be.

7:29 - David finally exited the shower and spurred me and Sam to get up so we could go back to Teeters. I quickly washed my face and went downstairs to warm up the car.

Went into that final day with hopes of running the table and hitting 1900, but Brett Haughney derailed me right away with three bingos in four turns. Worst thing about that game is I would have had a chance with a 59-point X play if it hadn't taken four turns to draw the critical O. When I finally did, of course Brett took the spot.

After the game, Brett admitted he had "drawn everything", but that wasn't really true. I missed the two bingos in ACLOSTU, and that is an unacceptable mistake at the level I wish to play in.

I did some blogging while I waited for my next opponent, and I had gotten to the point in my blog at which we stopped in Midlothian, and I pulled out my Coolpix so I could see the timestamp of the photo I had taken there. I set the camera on the table, and I thought it was turned off but apparently not, because there was a light green LED light blinking. I didn't notice, because I was blogging, but at some point Sherrie came over to ask me some more probably-inappropritate question(s) (can't remember what it was). She looked down at the camera, gave me a look, and asked "are you recording this." "No," I said, a little puzzled (I wasn't even sure if that camera has a microphone), and Sherrie's reply made it clear that she did not trust me. I personally found it absurd that she would think I'd be recording some random piece of conversation that just happened to occur while I was trying to focus on blogging and simming. Jeez, Sherrie, I'm a serial killer, not a spy. But hey, some people think Barack Obama was born in America, not Kenya, and some people think humans actually landed on the moon.

Better tiles against David Koenig, for four bingos and a 425 score.... BUT I WAS FREAKING OUTDRAWN ANYWAY!!! You decide.

Annotated Game

As I expected, my losses resulted in a return to Scrubville, and I hoped to finally recover some spread. I mean, after 18 rounds of crappy draws, excluding my games against Gibson and Weinstein, my luck finally had to turn around. Right?

Wrong. #21 Robin LaPrelle, aka Smokey Robbinblanks, put the nails in the coffin that held my fading hopes, with freaking 8 power tiles, both blanks, and all around ridiculous luck.

Quick lunch at the mall. You can already guess what I had. Yes, after three losses I was demoralized and had no willpower to resist the Yuck. Sat down at a table next to David Gibson, Joey Krafchick, Sam and David. I didn't realize that Sherrie was also sitting there until she arrived, and shortly thereafter she proceeded to criticize me some more, this time for my Tradewinds tea. My mental response was immediate--"DON'T TELL ME WHAT I CAN'T DO!" Jeez Louise--the one thing in the world that keeps me from ending it all, and she has to go and criticize it. And still with the sleeping in a hotel versus sleeping in the car thing--jeez, what is up her butt with that issue??? Does she have stock in some hotel chain?

I was slow to eat, and after most everybody had left, Joey Mallick, and later John Luebkemann, sat down at the table. Somehow the topic of my blog came up, and John suggested that I should write a book. I agreed, but I confessed that I had not yet had the discipline to actually sit down and write. I commented that when I finally went back to prison (something I'm expecting imminently), I would strike a plea bargain that allowed me a laptop and Internet access, at which time I'd finally be able to devote time to writing. John's reply was that my scenario didn't sound much like prison. Hey buddy, I've been to prison--it's not nearly as bad as depicted on Oz, or all those NPR reports about overcrowded California jails.

Anyway, at some point Joey quickly asked John if he could walk back from there, pushed away from the table, and walked off. He left a full hotdog, about a quarter of another, and some fries uneaten. When it appeared he was not coming back, I asked John what that was all about. It did not occur to me that Joey might have been offended by all the prison talk, but I guess it's possible given his feelings about profanity (I can't remember if I used any).

I don't know if Joey still reads my blog, but I sure hope he doesn't freak out when he learns I've been a serial killer for decades. I think it'll be okay, because Joey seems to be very logical and detail-oriented, and he will of course notice that my code, listed below, does not allow me to kill anybody I know. Thus, if you are reading this, you are probably safe.

The Code
* Never kill anybody whom you know directly, or anybody known by anybody you know.
* Never kill anybody in the same city where you live.
* Never kill before 9:22 PM.
* Never kill a stranger with whom you have had an interaction, no matter how minor.
* Never kill when you are not in a calm state.
* Never shoot video of your kill and then post that video on YouTube.
* Never kill with a firearm.
* Never kill if a hamster in the room.
* Never kill within three hours of a meal (because the act interferes with digestion).
* Never kill on September 22.

Anyway, I got distracted from the point of my Joey story, which is that the weekend was turning out a bit ironic. It was V-Day, love and sweethearts and all that, but instead I was getting just the opposite from a bunch of peeps. What up wit dat? Could it be my blog? Joel Sherman flatly stated that everybody who reads my blog hates me, and David wondered out loud why XXX even bothers to read my blog, claiming that no good can come of it. How it stang to see my labour of love so disparaged.

I had expected my three morning losses to see me exiled to Scrubville again, but instead a faced Joey Krafchick again, he and all his exuberance. Oh, and his luck, too--did I mention his luck? I bingoed first, but my lead immediately began to sleep, and then Joey got TImELIE(R). Towards the end I managed to come back with 92 for UNHEARD, and my lead began to slip yet again. Then Joey got down EDUCTIN(G), and it looked pretty bleak for me with the bag empty and the other blank on Joey's rack. I'm still amazed I won.

Goddamn it I had a chance to take an early lead against Sam Rosin, but I missed MANICU(R)E. I eventually got a bingo and took the lead, but when he played WA(T) to open the board, I couldn't see the right blocking play. Holding AAEIINR, with no obvious way to block, I became too focused on ditching AI and did not even consider AA/A(W). That would have blocked, and it would have been worth leaving two Is to prevent the bingo (ASSHOLE!!!). Goddamn tunnel vision.

Annotated Game

Final round, Dr. Cornelius once more, but this time I was one step ahead, and I walked away at 4-4, 12-10, and 6-2, and the hope of at least staying even with my rating or not losing too much. I really wanted to leave right away, given the late hour and the snow predicted. But David had picked up 5th, and Barry 4th, and they appeared to want to stay. Add to that rush hour traffic, and a short detour to the Greyhound station to drop off Libero Paollela, and I was looking at a very late arrival in Silver Spring.

Because I didn't have to stop at that Starbucks in Midlothian again, we took the more direct US-29 back to Charlottesville. I was surprised at how fast it moved, but disappointed that I did not see any really appealing food options. Finally settled on Gretna, VA, where there was a Subway for David and a Chinese restaurant (Chef King) for me. I can never eat at Subway, see, not since I hearing horror stories from an acquaintance about the things he used to do to the sandwiches when he worked there. I will never eat at Subway, no matter how much I am tortured.

I did pretty well through Charlottesville, but the drive from there to Silver Spring was really hard. I don't know if David ever noticed just how tired I was, and just how much I was struggling to keep the car on the road. To add to my difficulty, because David was in the car, I could not employ some of the usual techniques that can help keep me awake.

Still, we made it, and I found the energy to push another 20 miles to the rest area on just short of Baltimore. A few hours later I woke up with the itch to kill somebody, but I've learned from experience that Baltimore is a bad, bad place for a serial killer to operate. The city is way too dangerous, way too many guns out on the street, and way too many cameras.

Opponents' Bingos

My Bingos

Missed Bingo Turns


#1 - W - Dickens    
0 AZO  
2.4 -EII (HITE)  
0 HM  
0 DIE(L)  
0.2 AD  
0.5 GAU(N)  
1.9 JOIN  
4.5 CO(DEX)  
2.4 BRA(W)  
7 VI(G)  
#2 - L - Milton    
0 T(E)DDY  
5 MAWN  
0.4 G(R)UE  
6.8 DEB  
8.4 OH LITHE (trying to make up time)
0 JAIL(S)  
27.3 mIR(ZA)S playing 4 bingo useless against Dan cuz he closes board
0 VEI(N)  
8 GALO(RE)  
0 (G)ENU  
#3 - L - Harshbarger    
4.6 -CDFHJN (X)  
0.4 ROUX  
0 F(A)UNA  
0 AQ(U)A  
8.8 FUN(K)  
2.9 W(A)IT  
3.5 DONEE BENDEE,DEBONE (miss spot)
2.5 INJE(c)T  
20.6 (Z)OA  
0 OM  
6 RI(M)  
3 Is  
#4 - W - Bernardino    
0 YE  
0 DEtAINE(E)  
0.7 A(D)VOcATE  
2.9 (V)ITTLE  
0 WONT  
2.5 QI  
35 JOKE  
0 ZOOS  
58 OPAH  
0 CRI(T)  
#5 - L - Ian Weinstein    
2.3 FUDDY 8H  
0 W(O)P  
1.4 W(O)P  
2.6 CHIN  
4.5 FA  
7.7 (P)EA  
36.1 lose turn ((JETE)D*)  
0 (BE)DU  
2 (TA)U  
0 V(AN)  
27 (M)A  
12 ZA  
7 (JETE)S  
#6 - W - Avrin    
0 SNORKLe*  
5.7 CR(O)CI  
5.6 ROM  
4.4 AIT  
7.1 AX  
8.3 FEM  
52.4 G(AB) not blocking is stupid--come on Quackle
53 TEST mistrack Paul

1 - W - 5.5 (88.1)
2 - L - 4.8 (63)
3 - L - 6.3 (94.2)
4 - W - 10.2 (132.3)
5 - L - 10.7 (192.7)
6 - W - 12.5 (162)

Avg: 8.3

#1 - W - Linn    
0 AILE(D)  
14.6 DE(L)E QAD(I)/A(H)/D(O) (STUPID MISS!!!)
1.8 -ANQWW (EN)  
4.3 (A)ALII  
0 QI  
5 FAR  
3.4 MAUVE  
1.9 OW  
0 WEt  
#2 - L - Milton    
0 GLOAM2  
2.9 VEIN(Y)  
0 WAIT  
0 (F)AQIR  
0 MERL  
0.1 JA(G)G  
11.9 E(Y)E  
0.4 RAVElIN  
0 BEAN  
7.5 COP(R)A  
14 (J)EANED  
0 AD  
#3 - L - Mallick    
8 HOLK DHAK,KOHL (sucky, sucky, sucky)
0 BAA  
0 UG(L)Y  
0 QI  
1.9 -EEII (AEN)  
0 EX  
11.4 (RE)GS Quackle's plays crazy with three eses unseen
15.3 -GOOU (ANR)  
0 IT  
#4 - L - Heidler    
8.3 FUEL LU(C)IFER,FLUERI(C),(LOTTE)R hook (unsure)
0.5 MARC  
2.6 JAY 3I  
4.6 G(E)M  
0.4 -INPQUV (R)  
0 TA  
5.4 A(P)OS  
0 QI  
#5 - W - Sherman    
0 BIRD  
6.4 ADD  
0 V(I)RLS  
0.9 OI  
1.8 WIVE  
0 AH  
4.5 N(A)Y  
15.6 (N)UT  
6.8 EX  
6 SURF (afraid I've missed something)  
#6 - L - Cornelis    
9.7 (E)PIC  
2.1 N(I)LL  
37.8 lose turn (C)LAVATES*  
0 (V)AV  
0 B(A)ND  
5.2 IF  
0 DURN  
4.7 (MU)RINE  
12 (A)X S(E)X/S(EPIC)
0 (O)E  
#7 - W - Cohen    
0.4 EXEC  
0 TOE  
7.3 MIN(K)E (creates two openings)  
0 DIF/(EPEE)D*  
0 TAJ  
8.3 WOT  
0 RAZE  
6 OAF  
6 LOG  
10.5 -NUU (INRU)  
19.9 T(I)  
9.9 L(ID)  
1 (Q)UINT  
6 HEIL  
6 (D)EN  
0 (E)R  
#8 - W - Seales    
15.7 (W)IDOW (K)IWI (how did I miss that???),WI(N)DIGO
5.9 (Z)AIRE  
0 JUB(E)  
12.9 (F)OR trying to create openings
0 GUC(K)  
8.1 HUT CHUNTE(R) (closes up board--can't do it)
0* CORE (opens a 3rd line)  
0 AnNEXIN(G)  
#9 - W - Keith    
1.7 -IIIP (ARX)  
5.6 WAXE(D) GA(L)AX (why is ERW better than AGR)
3.4 TIE  
15.7 BR(I)AR  
0.9 POTTLE  
8.3 BUSYiNG miss better underlap
27.6 (K)AIN  
0 LOR(N)  
#10 - W - Jeffers    
0 NOH  
0 DAD  
4 C(O)X  
2.8 AMU  
0 Q(I)  
7.8 (J)EW W(AGON)!!!,(J)AW (duh)
1.2 VAN  
5.9 FRO (block)  
5.4 PIT (block)  
3.7 BI (block)  
0 BOO(N)  
2.3 YE (block)  
0 AG  
#11 - W - Grosman    
3.6 V(U)G  
0 DIC(E)NTRa  
0.5 OVENS  
0 YI(N)  
15.6 MUNI P(T)UI
0 ADEP(T)  
6.6 WOR(T)  
3.3 (a)X  
0* BEFIT  
8 (L)ED (R)E(S)EDA
0 AE  
#12 - W - Whitmarsh    
4.3 R(O)OFED  
2.4 PIL(L) PRI(L)L
1.7 CENT  
0 KHA(F)  
1.8 LOAM M(I)AO(W)s/A(E)/O(N)/(VODUN)S
0.1 J(E)ER  
1 Q(I)  
0 (J)O  
#13 - W - Weinstein    
2 PUB  
0.6 GAD (forgo bingo)  
0.1 EVacUA(T)E  
0 KIF  
8.4 COINS  
13.5 PARD GARDA (keep thinking its the Irish police)
2.1 Q(A)T  
0* MOVIE VOMITE(R) (unsure)
0 J(E)W  
0 TI  
#14 - L - Mallick    
0 BI(R)R  
3.1 (PLOTZ)ERs* (pass up bingo)  
1.6 RESILIn(s) RISIbLE(s),(s)LImSIER
3.1 HE(R)O  
7 DE(B) (creates D line) NE(B)
0 MOA  
0 AA  
15.8 D(U)G  
14 NIE(C)E  
0 TA(P)E  
#15 - L - Luebkemann    
0 CR(A)TCH  
0 APO  
0 LAZ(U)LI  
0 QIS  
11.2 O(G)EE  
10.4 TA(XI)  
--- K(A)B  
#16 - W - Gibson    
0.1 BE  
11.1 LATRINE RATLINE--1st screwup
41.9 VOW WINGOVE(R)--2nd screwup
5.8 ACTIN  
0 SHY  
3.5 OLEO  
0 JURY  
10.2 MU  
17 INEDItA  
#17 - L - Haughhey    
0 FIZ  
4.6 UNJAM  
46.8 OCTAL TALCOUS,LOCUSTA!!! (worst miss of tournamnet)
12.5 THRI(P)  
14 WET  
0 INIA  
0 (D)OUX  
5 YINS  
4.3 PUNG  
0 SO(B)BER  
#18 - L - Koenig    
5.9 TAFIA  
3.1 PO(S)Y  
3.1 V(A)GI  
6.4 Q(A)DI  
9 (I)LL  
#19 - L - Robbinblanks    
#20 - W - Krafchick    
#21 - L - Rosin    
7.3 HUE  
6.8 (L)OVERS (thought 9 pts was worth burning S)  
--- ZEE  
6.9 LEX  
0.6 A(N)I should have played AA to block
1.8 A(B)  
3.5 DAT(E)  
10.6 (G)OO NOO B1
0* RAI(D) triple-triple only chance to win
0 (Q)I  
#22 - W - Cornelis    
0.2 MEMO  
0.6 ZLoTIES  
2.5 Q(I)  
0 COY(E)D  
0 FI(D)O  
0 BOH(E)A  
7.1 KAPA  
18.4 LU(BE)  
0 (J)UT  

1 - W - 3.1 (39.7)
2 - L - 3.1 (36.8)
3 - L - 4.1 (53.7)
4 - L - 1.6 (21.8)
5 - W - 4.3 (56.1)
6 - L - 5.5 (77.5)
7 - W - 4.8 (81.3)
8 - W - 4.3
9 - W - 7.5 (90)
10 - W - 2.8 (47.1)
11 - W - 7.6 (113.8)
12 - W - 1.0 (16.3)
13 - W - 4.4 (56.8)
14 - L - 5.8 (75)
15 - L - 3.2
16 - W - 7.5 (90.5)
17 - L - 8.0 (87.2)
18 - L - 2.9 (29.3)
19 - L -
20 - W -
21 - L - 8.7
22 - W - 3.1 (36.8)

Avg: 4.7

#1 - W - White    
0.5 YOU  
2.2 -GMNTV (NZ)  
4.7 ZAG  
1.5 DOG  
5.3 ORA  
4 RAW  
0 ELK  
21.5 HM  
4 XU  
#2 - W - Letzin    
7.2 DHAK  
5 C(A)MP  
4 GR(O)TTO  
15.6 -OQ (EERS?)  
8.5 JAM  
14 SUQ  
0 ZAX  
0 F(EM)  
#3 - W - Harshbarger    
0 -GQT (ERST)  
8.9 FE(S)CUED*  
7.2 W(E)E(R)  
19.2 REAP  
1.6 (DE)LL  
0 NTH  
0 -DGNV (N??)  
5.4 ROW  
9.2 CAKE  
9.5 VITA  
#4 - L - Krafchick    
28.5 Z(O)A DANAZ(O)L
0 HA(I)R  
0 DI(V)A  
0 VAR(I)X  
0 QI  
3.9 OE (want the S(WEEPIER) challenge) (A)NAERObE
3.2 PU(T)T  
18 YEA  
0 (R)IOTS  
#5 - W - Eddings    
4.1 E(W)E  
5.9 EAU  
7.8 JUB(E)  
11.8 (L)AZE  
6.6 ERECT(I)ON  
3.4 PARD  
1.1 -IOOQ (AO?)  
14 (JO)INTS  
0 FAQ(I)R  
3 (E)X  
#6 - W - Heidler    
0.3 YUGA  
4.1 (I)VORY  
10.4 ZA  
0.7 VE(I)L  
5.5 TAT  
3 KAON  
0 (F)E  
#7 - L - Sherman    
0 AYE  
0 OAF  
4.8 IN(D)EX  
0 VI(V)E  
0 Q(I)  
0 FI(S)T  
0 JUN  
0 AU(D)IO  
12 CA(P)O  
0 ALIT  
#8 - W - Krafchick    
0.8 MM  
6.6 GE(n)II  
0 KIDS  
0 OOT  
0 (Z)OEAE  
11.3 LEX C(R)UX
6.6 SUQ  
4 CL(A)W(N)*  
0 J(I)G  

1 - W - 4.0
2 - W - 3.1 (47.1)
3 - W - 8.4
4 - L - 5.5 (72)
5 - W - 4.5 (58.6)
6 - W - 6.2
7 - L - 1.6 (20.8)
8 - W - 3.2 (38.1)

Avg: 4.6

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