breaking the darkness, waking the grapevine

I just won a whopping 2,000 in fake chips on PokerStars.net. Caught a heart on the river for the flush. It was immensely emotionally satisfying to have beaten those other sorry bastards. Who, besides teenagers off for the summer break, would submit to the shamefulness of free, online poker at 2:00 AM on a Thursday morning?

The vast volatility of Poker is one of the more unappealing aspects of the game to the financially prudent, particularly in No Limit Hold ‘Em. I made off like a bandit upon the first glimpse of the newly acquired filthy lucre. Playing any more would have surely sapped the remnants of my allotted luck. Despite whatever skill may be involved, it is a game based very largely on dumb luck.

Tonight I went and hung with the usual faction at Shirey’s aunt’s house after what I’d estimate as a two-week hiatus- the same house where Caroline’s party was hosted. I swam in my khaki-shorts. My Animals shirt no longer fits me, if it ever did to begin with. I wasn’t feeling up to par when I first arrived, but gradually overcame the nasty mood recession that had plagued me all day up until that point. So I enjoyed myself, and I think most everyone else did too.

Afterwards I got picked up from Giep’s house and my Dad and I went down to the quarter to see if we could see the moon. Practically every night the moon is in coarse view, this wino sets up shop adjacent to Café Du Monde with two bulky metal telescopes and charges a few bucks for people to see whatever lunar or stellar details they’d like. My dad discovered him while working at Du Monde a year ago. By the time we got there, the moon had vanished, gone over the horizon or destroyed by the empire, we didn’t bother to ask. There is also a large tree just across the street that could have concealed it in its overgrowth. We hadn’t hiked but a block from Du Monde when homeland security dumped its bucket of ice water on our collective erection, casting a spotlight from their creeping patrol car on us like stray dogs. They wanted to bust me for curfew again, but I don’t think they can when your parent is with you. Such a feat might even prove too illogical for the New Orleans Police.

We proceeded on to Bourbon where we passed the late Sing Sing bar, now closed down with its doors bound in chains, where my father had performed on a few occasions before its untimely and unforeseen closure. I exaggerate of course, as the bar had only been open for about two months. It takes a hardened and knowledgeable entrepreneur to succeed in the tediously delicate practice of small business inception. Especially in a wildcard area like the French Quarter. There is just too much competition. The average Quarter vagrant, if there is a default, can be found along with others peppered around the cross-streets, nestled into their niche, working modestly in quiet desperation, or meandering around the area aimlessly in their leisure. Further down the street we happened upon Rockbox, one of the more prevalently known bands of the quarter. They were midway through “Blister in the Sun”, a Violent Femmes cover. You could still hear the ruckus two blocks later.

I fear the clanking of the keyboard may wake someone, but that hardly seems possible. I’m going to sleep now, I’ll post this tomorrow.