The D

Years ago, in Vegas -- not for poker, but for an ultimate frisbee tournament, in the hotel elevator...

Woman (seemingly drunk, head tilted slightly upwards): So, you like the D?

Nate: What?

W (sd, htsu): You like the D?

N: What?

W: You like the D?

N (realizes he is wearing a Detroit Tigers cap): Oh. Yeah.

Elevator stops. N exits awkwardly.

I'm not sure why this stuck with me. Something about how she said "the D" I think, the repetition of those meaningless (then) syllables working hypnotically, like a watch swinging back and forth. "You like the D?" A koan.

Yesterday I moved my bed into my new place in Detroit, a fifth-floor loft across the street from Greektown Casino and directly above Niki's Lounge, "the place to find all the beautiful people in the city." I've assured my mom, who is afraid I'll be stuck up for my poker roll, that I'll either be in my apartment, in the casino, or sprinting across the street.

After a few months of lounging around, it seems like time to get serious about something, and for now that something is live poker. Unfortunately, it's a big pay cut from online poker. No matter how bad the players are, there's no way to overcome going from 1000 hands/hour to 30 hands/hour. With that in mind, commuting 45 minutes each way from Ann Arbor to the Detroit casinos wasn't going to work, so I bit the bullet and got a place in the city.

So, you like the D? I'm not sure if it's the kind of place you can like. From some angles, it looks like a city; from most, a ghost town. The young transplants are unbearably hip, the outlook almost unbearably bleak. The people who are trying are trying very hard indeed. They have some good BBQ. Well, I'm just getting to know it.