intertribal (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
intertribal) wrote2007-10-21 04:43 pm
intertribal) wrote2007-10-21 04:43 pm
glitters in the night
I saw a fruit bat last night. It was in the tree I was sitting under by the Yarra River. Good-sized, one of those cute ones with the fox faces. It was crawling amid the branches, looking for fruit, presumably, not minding the party boat-barges filled with teenagers that had just come back from a day at the races of the Melbourne Cup with their silly hats and puffy cocktail dresses. The bat fit better with the slowly spinning ferris wheel behind it, an older and cheaper pleasure. Supposedly Coney Island is going out of business and its rickety amusement park may have to close - too bad, in my opinion.
I also went into a casino for the first time in my life. I only stayed ten minutes. ID was not demanded from me - "not you, ma'am, you're okay" - and although at first I felt out of place, in jeans, it became apparent that all the rich socialites weren't actually gambling. They went to private rooms and restaurants and chocolate stores. The slot machines and card tables were populated with people from my socioeconomic class, or maybe even lower. Unhappy, desperate people continuously pressing buttons to make little fruit shapes swirl on a screen. It's like a nirvana of capitalism - monetary amounts are posted all over, 5 c, $30, and everything glows and blinks - cheap and superficial. It's fascinating, probably because I'm so detached from it. Even if I go to Vegas after graduation, I swear to God, I won't gamble. I was born in the year of the Rabbit, after all, and Rabbits don't gamble. Occasionally there's the sound of coins in a downpour as somebody wins something, but it's rare. The house always wins. The bouncers are black or Latin, the casino workers and waiters Asian. Behind me was a man on a cellphone: "I'm somewhere in the casino, I don't know where I am."
I also went into a casino for the first time in my life. I only stayed ten minutes. ID was not demanded from me - "not you, ma'am, you're okay" - and although at first I felt out of place, in jeans, it became apparent that all the rich socialites weren't actually gambling. They went to private rooms and restaurants and chocolate stores. The slot machines and card tables were populated with people from my socioeconomic class, or maybe even lower. Unhappy, desperate people continuously pressing buttons to make little fruit shapes swirl on a screen. It's like a nirvana of capitalism - monetary amounts are posted all over, 5 c, $30, and everything glows and blinks - cheap and superficial. It's fascinating, probably because I'm so detached from it. Even if I go to Vegas after graduation, I swear to God, I won't gamble. I was born in the year of the Rabbit, after all, and Rabbits don't gamble. Occasionally there's the sound of coins in a downpour as somebody wins something, but it's rare. The house always wins. The bouncers are black or Latin, the casino workers and waiters Asian. Behind me was a man on a cellphone: "I'm somewhere in the casino, I don't know where I am."