Whatcha Working On, Big Bubba?


January 2, 2004

No Time? No Sleep? No Problem!

After flying into Columbia, SC, and then driving 1400 miles into and all around Florida in a Starbucks-hopping frenzy, I found myself in Gainesville, FL at 10:00 PM, with 401.4 miles to the Days Inn in Rome, GA, and 11 1/2 hours until the start of the tournament. If I drove the distance in 5 hours I could theoretically sleep for 6 1/2. Before I left, I e-mailed Erskine letting him know I'd be there no matter what, even if after 9:30, so he wouldn't drop me, and I also followed up the e-mail with a voice mail.

I had barely managed a couple of hours of sleep the night before, so I was beyond exhaustion. But a few cars were moving up I-75 at 80-90 MPH, and focusing on keeping pace with them helped. I also focused on mini-goals, like reaching the Georgia line, and then reaching 100 miles. I didn't quite make 100, though, before reaching the welcome center in Georgia and deciding it was too dangerous to try and drive the 55 miles to the next rest area. So I pulled in and set my alarm for 5:00 AM, which would leave me 4 1/2 hours to drive an additional 317 miles.

At 2:00 AM, I felt better after having slept about 3 hours. I got back on the road, but unfortunately fog had rolled in during those three hours, and this slowed me down, as I had to limit myself to whatever speed the pickup ahead chose to drive. Thankfully, the fog let up and them became intermittent after some hundred miles, and I was able to make better time.

Around two hundred miles, I began to feel the waves of fatigue that signal that I might no longer be able to force consciousness, and I had to take the next exit and rest at a gas station. I don't think I really sleep in that hour, but I felt better nonetheless when I started driving again at 5:20 and was able to roll through Atlanta. Ordinarilly I would not have passed up breakfast at the Flying Biscuit Cafe, but I feared crashing again if I sat down and had a big meal. So I just grabbed some Ick-Fill-Shae and pressed on.

Before exiting I-75 I passed near my cousins in Acworth, but I figured it was too early on a Saturday morning to give them a call or drop by. And at 43 miles from Rome, I didn't figure I'd have the energy that night to drop by anyway. Maybe on the way back to Columbia, depending on my Starbucks schedule.

Erskine congratulated me on arriving on time, and I thought about trying to sleep for 30 minutes, but I didn't think I'd be able, so I just tried to get past my fatigue and made the rounds, greeting people I hadn't seen in months, like Jim Pate from Birmingham and Charlie Alexander from... where is he from, anyway? While I had Jim's attention, I tried to offer a little grafteroo if he would include some special words in the next word list. Cool words like YAT, TOID, MOOF, SPUM, TLEEP, SPOOBY, MASTOR, SCHMARF, UNPLANNIC, COGRAVITY, COGELITATE, CROCOGENIC, MJUJUNATION. To keep non-Scrabbling observers guessing, you know. Jim didn't seem very receptive, though, and I suspect if you ask him, he'll deny the conversation every took place.


Will Cooper, Master of Disguise

I'm always afraid to exchange my opening rack for fear of letting my opponent have a big play. Like Mady Garner's DEIFY for 32. Of course, I drew into abingo, LAMPREYS, but she came back with HOODIES and I couldn't catch up. Rats! A crappy start after having recovered my rating in Parsippany. And I thought HOODIES were supposed to be reserved for dark-skinned folk like me. And Eminem.

My game against Will Cooper was a close one that I might have won with a better endgame. I played my DANIO for 28 first, hoping he would challenge, but instead he score 25 with SHINE under the D. I was focusing too much on my play and the possibly challenge, and not on his counterplay. I don't understand why my ability to see several moves ahead in chess is not carrying over as easily into Scrabble.

As I located the table for my third game, I spotted a player who looked a lot like the Will Cooper that I had just played, but was dressed differently. I experience momentary confusion, thinking there were two players that looked alike, or maybe twins, or maybe that Will had somehow had time to change clothes. My cloudy, fatigued mind struggled to reconcile the evidence before my eyes. Finally, I overcame my hesitation and just asked the guy to explain the mystery. The answer was simple. He had removed his sweater! D'oh!


Anger Managment

I was blown away by David Moerdorf, but what was significant about our game is that I managed to keep from getting angry as the tiles fell into place for him. Even when he blocked my last bingo line and then managed to go out with UNALIKE (through the K), I was chilly chill. Perhaps it was that I was too fatigued to get angry, or perhaps I was finally learning to accept that blowouts will happen.

Mary Ellen Weisskopf had some advice for me during our game. If you're going to exchange, draw blanks, she said. Can't argue with that advice. The two blanks allowed her to play PRiESTESs even though I had tried to block that open S on the triple column. Thankfully we ran out of tiles before her dramatic shift in luck allowed her to overcome my lead, and I was able to eke out my first win. And she was second in the division, so the win gave me some hope at least.


Murderous Headache and Red Rum

My head felt like it was about to burst as I left for lunch. I fumbled as I tried to open the bottle of acetaminophen, and I couldn't get the pills into my mouth fast enough. I wanted to spend the hour and half trying to sleep, but I had to first run to Staples to make a couple of copies of my scoresheet, because I didn't want to risk screwing up my tracking with an unfamiliar one. A red light prompted me to pull into Bojangles for some rice, mashed potatoes, and a biscuit, all of which could be easily eaten without a mess as I drove. I drove like a drunkard anyway, but it wasn't the food--it was that my aching head made it hard to see straight and focus.

At Staples, I demonstrated remarkable patience while waiting to pay 12 cents + tax for my two copies, but when the guy that had been holding me up pulled out his checkbook, that was it. I had to interrupt and ask the cashier if I could just leave a quarter for my two copies. As I left I cursed that check-writing time-wasting motherfucker for not having learned that using checks at checkout lines is so 20th-century, and essentially like stealing precious time from the other customers. Maybe that fool thinks himself immortal, but the rest of us have no such illusions.

Since I started playing Scrabble, I have taken particular glee whenever I notice a word used that I had previously seen only in Scrabble. Words like ET, TONY, and BYRE had all sprung out from the pages of various novels or movies in recent months. This time it was the radio, and BRIO, in reference to some aspect of a musical performance.

There were plenty of cute girls to be found here in Rome, of all places. Though one of them appeared to be a reporter, and another appeared to be here supporting her boyfriend. Or maybe he was just her brother. It didn't matter--I was so deep into my ratings obsession that little else could divert my attention.

I removed my blankets and pillow from my car and slyly skirted them past the desk clerk, hoping she wouldn't notice and wonder what that was all about. I tried first to sleep in a corner of the room next to a side door, but then somebody walked in past me and I realized the door wasn't locked after all. So I looked around and spotted a couple of swinging doors and opened them to see where they led. It appeared to be a kitchen, and though chillier than the playing room, it would work for me. I was glad that I could hear the voices in the other room, because this kitchen area was frankly kind of creepy. It reminded me of The Shining, the Kubrick version. I was glad that I would be discarding the five-dollar cheapie second blanket I had purchased, because the floor, and the walls, looked none too clean. Still, the privacy allowed me to close my eyes enough to recover some of my energy and make it through the rest of the day's games.


Being Awake Is Not Enough

While the little sleep I got enabled me to play without the screaming headache, playing well was something else altogether. I wasted no time in screwing up against Joann Burchett. I was convinced that RICY* was good, and so I lost my first turn. I was equally mystified later when I discovered DICY* was also phony. How in the world...??? Anyway, further mistakes led to a fourth loss, and my opponent's first win. I can't complain enough about how I hate helping an opponent break a losing streak.

Before the start of the tournament Toni Douglas flattered me by telling me that she enjoyed my writing. Then she flattened me on the Scrabble board. After building up a sizeable, yet surmountable, lead with HEARERS and TSARINA, Toni shattered my confidence and so rattled me with the phony ILLIEST* that, unlike when the Will I lost to, here I lost the will to work through. The endgame is always important, even in a blowout, even if the tournament is a loss, if only for practice, and I imagine the top dogs never quit trying. I'd have to learn to overcome blowout depression if I want to reach that level.

I picked up another game, against, Erickson Smith, but the game was close, and illustricated one of my weaknesses. Erickson got GONEV* past me because I could not remember which of the four (of GANEF, GANEV, GONEF) was the phony. There are similar groups of words that frustrate me, like JUBE, JUBA, JUPE, JUPA*, and I have no ideas for how to remember which is the phony.

My final opponent of the day, the top seed LaVonne Teague, wasn't feeling well and claimed she'd not slept the previous night. Musta been so, because she started off on the wrong foot by challenging my NEGATIONs, which just happened to be the first nine I had ever played in tournament! I maintained an 80-100 point lead for most of the game, and then at some point I started to run low on time, in part because I burned a lot looking for the double-double in AEIGNT? + E (in the middle), and in part because she was playing very quickly. I started giving up points by playing too quickly, and when she finally found her bingo, PARTIER, she came within 32 points. And here I made a mistake that could have costed me the game. I tacked an S to her bingo, but failed to realize that should could have gone out and stuck me with the Z and a lot of points to win. Only the fact that she challenged PARTIERS saved me. My victory was muted by the fact that I deserved to lose and only won because of her fatigue. And because, for the second time, I missed LOMEINS--so much for learning from past mistakes.

3-5 was definitely not what I had hoped for my first day, but it was not a complete disaster. I had beaten the #1 and #2 players, and as of round 6, the three players I beat held the 2nd through 4th positions, and I had yet to play the lady in first place. And in Atlanta, I think I won all seven games on the second day, so I yet had hope for recovery and a 10-5 record.


Finally, That Long-Awaited Rome Night Life!

Outside the hotel, some sneaky Scrabblers decided to have a little fun with the sign. The next day, I noticed someone had restored the sign--some people have no sense of humour.

I had survived four more games, but my built-up fatigue was hitting me big time, so I drove no further than behind the movie theater next to the hotel and wasted no time in falling asleep. After a couple of hours I heard voices outside. I peeked out the window to see a couple, possibly killing time while waiting for a movie at the theater next door, and playing with a rubber ball and having a discussion about where the girl wanted her life to go. I thought about pointing out to them the fact that I was sleeping in the car as an example of where she didn't want her life to go, in the Chris Farley motivational speaker vein.

Since the pair had not even noticed me getting up from the back seat and observing them, I didn't figure them to be the street savvy type that might try to jack me if I went back to sleep. But I was mighty hungry, so I went ahead and droved off. I usually shun Mexican food in favor of South American, but for some reason I got a craving for crappy Mexican food. No matter where my travels had taken me, even as far north as Fargo, ND, I had alway been able to count on a crappy Mexican restaurant within a stone's throw. So it miffed me that in the bustling metropolis that is Rome, GA, I had to drive more than a mile to find one. However, once I entered, I knew that I had hit paydirt--this place would score very high on the crap-o-meter. The karaoke was the first clue. And then the lack of flautas on the menu set the tone for the meal.

While suicidal tendencies run in my immediate family, I've never caught that particular bug. But if something was every to push me over the edge, it might be hearing some prepubescent kid's heartfelt rendition of Martina McBride's "Independence Day". Then somebody else take's on Sarah McLachlan's "Angel"--I thought that if I didn't get my food soon I'd ended up having all my favorite songs roont.

The "food" arrived, and I took one look at the plate and knew that it was prime crapola. Gristle and fat pretending to be meat, refried beans with the consistency of thick mud, and an overabundance of sour cream that attempted to disguise how little lettuce (and no tomatos) they had provided. I meant to take a photo to help others avoid find the place (Portales), but I was in such a rush to get away from the karaoke that I forgot.

On the way back to my parking lot, I spotted another restaurant that had been closer, but with a much smaller and hard to see sign. They probably served real food and didn't need a sign.

When I returned to the parking lot at 10:30 I noticed that the movie theater appeared closed. 10:30!!! What kind of a movie theater closes that early on a Saturday night???


Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet--I'm Hunting Wi-Fi

In the wee hours I awoke restless after having sleep quite a while. I decided to go hunting for a wi-fi signal. Whenver I did this I was reminded of a coworker who used to spend his lunch hour driving around looking for wireless Internet signals. This was before wi-fi exploded and became cool, and I thought his behaviour fit the very definition of geekiness. But who am I to talk? Anyway, at the corner of Brahman and Broad, in front of a sizeable residence I found a pretty strong signal and was able to check my e-mail and CGP. I wondered how long it would be before the one policeman in Rome would get around to driving past that street and questioning me. And just as I finished up, there he was, but he didn't bother me.


Invasion of the Parking Lot Snatchers

I returned to my parking lot to discover that there were more in fact more cops in Rome than I had thought, and that a group of them had decided to invade my rest area. So I drove on in search of another quite place to crash, but this was pretty easy in a small town like Rome, where the streets were virtually empty during the wee hours.


January 3

Local Color

I awoke early enough to drive around town looking for a place that was open for breakfast. No luck, so I settled on the Waffle House, where I spotted a few other players. I'm not sure if they noticed me, and I was off in my corner writing anyway. Though their waffles are consistently mediocre, the Waffle House typically offers up something in the way of local color. In this case, it was the waitress who asked me "Whatcha working on, big bubba?" I couldn't forgive her for being cute, because she was anything but, but I went ahead and forgave her for the thickness of her accent. I figured she couldn't help where and how she was raised.

Before heading to the hotel, I went to the Barnes & Noble for that swill they pass off at Starbucks coffee. It's supposed to be the same stuff they serve at real Starbucks, but it never tastes the same to me. Barista was cute, though.


A Mixed Morning

Never underestimate the power of chance to screw you at the last possible moment. I really needed a win against Jerri Bergeron, who was in second place. And I started off well, exchanging my AILNRTT rack to draw INEARTH. Then I played a defensive game and maintained a bingo lead. I was plagued with vowelless racks but continued to block until finally I was forced to exchange just as she opened a spot for her ENSUrES. The rack I dumped included the Q, and when I played DOSER off her S, I drew back the Q. To make matters worse, she had the remaining T, the remaining U, the blank, and the remaining As, and there were only six tiles left in the bag. There was absolutely nothing I could do, and it completely sucked. She managed to win by 11 with the Q stick, and I felt more cheated than I had in a long time, even more than when Moersdorf blew me out, because I felt that I had worked hard and deserved that game.

By contrast, I have no idea why I lost to Robert Gillis. My draw wasn't that bad, and I didn't see any obvious mistakes. Later, it was explained to me that he's just really really good. Even later still, I learned that Robert is also on the dictionary committee, and I regretted having missed the chance to lobby him for my words.

I had my best draw of the tournament against Margaret Swanson, drawing both blanks an a natural for three bingos. This was the only game so far during which I never felt in danger of being caught, and it was a welcome relief.

I had been looking forward to chance to redeem myself against Charlie Alexander since we played in Lafayette. In that game, I made one of my silliest blunders, missing the TWS and playing my blank for a total of seven points! This time around, after starting strong with SLIVERS and racing to 100-point lead, I thought I might just have him. Learning from an earlier game, I played the true GONEF for 30, and was impressed that Charlie found HYGENIST* through it--so impressed that I let it go despite the missing I. I still had a good lead, but then he played gRUELING and I saw my victory disappearing as I was stuck with crappy tiles to go with my blank. But at the last moment, a hail Mary play, GRINNERs, won me the game. Whew!


Getting Jiggy With It

I didn't want to leave Rome without a taste of the local cuisine, so for lunch I went back downtown and settled on the Partridge Restaurant, where it appears the entire elderly population of Rome goes on Sundays. The only patrons anywhere close to my age were a toddler and a couple of adolescents. Oh, and everybody was white. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I can't help but notice when I find myself in the middle of a crowd that is 100% unalike (is that correct usage), at least on the surface (ignoring the fact that we are all more alike that we are different). Reminded me of the first time I walked into the Pancake Pantry in Nashville.

I got a little jiggy with my vegetable plate and ordered stewed tomatoes for the first time in my life. Then I got even more jiggy in the bathroom and brushed my teeth with the underhanded grip that I usual save for special occasions.

Afterwards, I waited for my check for about 15 minutes before I flagged down the waitress and learned they operated on the honor system. I guess what they save on paper allows them to provide a good value like including the sweet tea along with the vegetable plate.


A TOQUET Moment

After building up a 150-point lead with the double-double REGrINDS/G and the 90-point QAIDS/ENS/PAD that caused Kaaren Dolinsky to groan, I started to panic after she cut the lead with the phoney ENROUTE* and then play KID at B2 to set up the S hook. I couldn't block the hook, and so I started to fumble around. Then something freaky happened. She tried to play DE/DI* and I challenged it off and somehow got the idea that she didn't have a bingo in her rack (instead of just not being able to play it). At the same time, I had CUTLERY (CRUELTY) on my rack, and I became fixated with MONT*, wondering if it was a good hook. I burned so much time that ended up getting nervous and giving her a hook for a higher-scoring bingo. My confusion continued, and I continued to set her up, seemingly going out of my way to make the only moves that could possibly lose me the game. There's a term for that, but it escapes me. In golf they'd call it the "yips". I think it starts with an F--what is it??? Thankfully we ran out of tiles before she caught up.

After the game, I had a d'oh moment as I realized that Mady Garner that I had seen for the last two days was the same person that I had e-mailed early last year about the Pigeon Forge tournament.

I split my final two games, both rematches against Charlie and Margaret. After our game, I asked Charles if he had really thought he could get a phony four, WANI*, past me. I hope to be at the stage soon where no fours get past me.

Anyway, 7-8 was definitely disappointing, but I did not feel shattered. I guess I was more focused on reaching a certain new Starbucks by 7:00, so I sped away in haste, not in anger. As I drove towards Atlanta, I listed to a Fresh Air interview with Charlize Theron about her role in Monster, and I thought that I would need to dedicate some time to catching up to all the movies that were stacking up while I was extending my streak. After Fresh Air, I was treated to My Word, a radio program about the language that, during my travels, I have only heard carried on very few stations. In fact, the last time I heard the show was after the Atlanta tournament in September.



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