Victor, part I
"When I was a kid, we didn't have these toys. We had to go experience reality in the face rather than through Apple-colored glasses."
"When I was a kid?! When I was a kid?! Haha! You mean the limit hold'em era? I'm pretty sure our era dominates yours, old man."
"Oh, I don't think so."
"It's a mathematical fact." He fires yet another under-the-gun raise. "We have the same planet by and large, give or take a few rain forests. But we have a host of other options. Since options by definition have a non-negative value, the surfeit of said options enables my generation's reality to lord over yours."
His math is correct. Time for a chop-block attack. Also might wanna throw in some geek talk to try unbalancing him by making him think he has underestimated the old guy.
"You assume the option pool is monotonically increasing, but there are options expiring all the time. Moreover, the homogeneity of the present-day option pool begets an imbalanced life portfolio." Self satisfied I am.
Dammit. I can't even think one step ahead. That used to never happen.
(!) "When I was a kid, I turned on the TV and watched a man walk on the fucking moon! If that even happens in your lifetime, you'll be grayer (if you're so lucky) than I am now." Picking up pocket jacks, I three bet him.
Score! He doesn't say a word and retreats to the cold comfort of his iLose. Mentally, I start doing a little Hitlerian jig, but am interrupted shortly therein as he holds up his iPad. The action is folded around to him.
"You mean like this?" He swivels the display before me. Thereon does Neil Armstrong step off a ladder and into botched-synonyms history.
"It's not the same. Live it was a total mindfuck."
"You mean you were on the moon when it happened?" He puts out a big four-bet.
"Um, no, I mean..." I mumble off while focusing on the chips he just threw into me. Meekly I fold my jacks. He shows 42o.
I don't say anything for a while, and the rest of the table seems quite happy with that.
Several orbits later, the sting had subsided and I had forgotten even what it was we were discussing, but then some other part of my brain took over and I blurted.
"What are you talking about?"
"Van Fucking Halen. I saw Van Halen May 7, 1984. Van Halen at the peak of their rock powers. David Lee Roth in the lead. Eddie was still just a blow monkey back then rather than the wino he is today. Place goes dark. Dah-nah-na-na-na-na. Dah-nah-na-na-na-na. Nah-na-na-na-na-na. Unchained!"
He starts tapping on his iPad.
"Haha! I was there this time." Apparently my brain was calculating one move ahead while I was sulking.
"You were in the band?"
"No, I mean I was there. Live."
"So you were a watcher. And instead of watching in the comfort of your living room, you were packed in like buckyballs with five guys' dicks rubbing up against you and the sixth hurling his Jack 'n' Koolaid. Honestly, I don't know how my generation handles missing out."
I briefly thought of pissing on his momentum by adding, "and passing the overcompressed, underconscious bodies overhead," but questioned whether that would really buttress my argument.
I remained silent for quite some time.