Life on Kyle Anderson

When Everything Falls Apart

Wed, 20 Oct 2010 12:09:58 -0700

There’s hardly anything like the emotion of a girl who just heard her father is dead.

Vance White’s eyes. Somewhat related. (One of the few photos I have access to since my computer is out of service.)

What should we hold dear? Some things? Everything? Nothing? Most people won’t live to see the age of 100. Material possessions come and go for a myriad of reasons. And the Earth? Check back in 5 billion years.

Thoughts on Perspective

Mon, 02 Aug 2010 22:22:46 -0700

‘You won’t last six months in this town.’ - Anonymous

If you’re sensible, you take an indirect hint from the broke fuckers who spend half their lives wasting away at the blackjack table, pounding back cigarette after drink after sorrow.

“It’s always like this,” The stranger across the table from me says after yet another losing hand.

I was in the same boat as him, walking away from the cards with 2/3 fewer chips than I started with. Thankfully, the $60 I used to bet with all came from video poker winnings from earlier. No matter what, I told myself, I’m leaving here $20 up.

Greed got the best of me that night. Though ending the night with a profit, it was much less than it could have been. After hitting two four of a kinds on video poker, I had turned my initial $40 into $150 for $110 profit. Half an hour and two more free beers, and that dropped to $60 profit, and I cashed out. It was 4 a.m., and this is when I tried to sleep and couldn’t. So I tried my luck at blackjack at 6 in the morning. On a Sunday. Though I lost winnings, I convinced the pit boss to comp me breakfast.

There are two ways to look at this situation I put myself in. Either I could have won more, got greedy and lost, or I simply won $20, free food and drinks, and a night out. All of this seems to relate back to a concept I recently read about called the anchoring effect.

Golden Years

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 05:23:08 -0600

I can feel myself aging.

The same slippers go on the same feet every morning. It’s 6:30am, the only time I can wake up anymore.

I pour the same cup of coffee as yesterday and the day before. “Hello, Coffee-mate.”

What was I to do today? The sun was rising. The colorful but boring rays it cast onto the breakfast table didn’t matter. The rose bushes lining my backyard, once perfected by the old woman, didn’t matter. This shitty Folgers didn’t matter.