June 5, 2005

  • Why Gamble Anyway…

    My poker reports have lagged. Maybe I feel the repetition bores people. Maybe after my month of losing my reporting hit too close to home. Maybe I’m just lazy.

    But poker does continue, I mean just last week I found myself in the presence of Lord Helmet.

    The usual suspects attended this majestic battle of guts and wits.

    And you can always tell where one Mr. Mclane sits by his trail of MGDs.

    Which might or might not be related to the fact that he took almost all the money. I lost like ninety in a terrible display of rash calling.

    Thursday we played at Sean’s place, a locale that I had never enjoyed.

    I know, I know, not much of a pictographic montage. I guess it’s a good a time as any to admit, I’m losing my snap happiness.

    I don’t know what happened, I just don’t care anymore. Or maybe… who knows? Apathy, thy cruel and sly monster of the deep, why must you latch on to everything I do.

    I did catch Graham here,

    Who has never smoked a cigarette in his life. That is some serious non-smoking indoctrination his parents must have pulled.

    Which brings us to Saturday poker. For whatever reason, the Wesleyan Poker Ring has not been able to get their shit together as much to play. Then last week, they pulled a Nooner on my ass, on Saturday for Allah’s sake. I could not attend, for that time is sacred to sleeping next to a certain Mystery Date.

    So I just came late this Saturday, when they pulled the shit again.

    Look! The prodigal Lawson returned. Harris actually made it to a game. I was wondering if he was even alive.

    Orson and Emily hosted at his posh West Village temp sublet, and we played on the lovely veranda.

    Derek stared at Althea’s breasts.

    And was reprimanded.

    And here we get to the vicious truths about blogging (or any media format, for that matter), because no such scene elapsed. And yet, when I saw my pictures, the story line seemed to just invent itself. So watch out for phony narratives.

    And even the African Traveler, Olivia, made it out of her anti poker funk to pl--, I mean, deal, and hang out.

    Harris, took all the money in the first game,

    Along with Derek who rivered like a dream.

    I lost twenty, stupidly, to Harris in the first game, but made it back plus three on the second.

    What else can I really say?