We had open studios at cca a few weeks ago:
I try to not even talk much during critiques anymore. One of my teacher's said that I had to learn to not be as "flippant". Another said that "I have no taste, and that this graffiti, street, stuff is played out." But to each their own really.
Besides getting my ass handed to me at school, I've been able to supplementing my income over the last six months by buying and selling old crap and gambling. It's not that most prestigious way to make some cash, but it's nice to know that I can make some decent picks. The vintage stuff is mostly women's accessories, jackets, and jewelery. The gambling might just become a problem. I know that no one stays in the positive forever. And it's about control. And control is something I'm still trying to learn.
For one of my classes we have to attend two open public meetings. The first "meeting" I went to was $1 days at Golden Gate Fields(obviously, it was really for me more than anything), to which my teacher said that my second meeting had to be free. I choose to go to Gamblers Anonymous, although I think AA would have been appropriate. (All names have been changed.):
It was 7pm on a Monday evening and I had been having whiskey sodas while watching basketball games I had placed several large wagers on. I met my bookie Alex through a mutual gambling friend. We met once a week at a nondescript burger joint in San Mateo to settle my account. Alex hasn't been his usual cheery, affable self since my month long hot streak.
I found the GA meeting through the website directory which located the closest meeting to my house. It was only one town over in a Presbyterian Church in Room #201. Having arrived at the Church, I walked into the main chapel which was being occupied by a Boy Scouts of America ceremony. It had been raining and my sneakers squelched every step I took. I asked a grown man in a Boy Scout uniform where 201 was and he pointed upstairs and to the left.
Room 201 turns out to be the Sunday School Children's room. I am greeted by Adam who is the person in charge of the GA meeting. Adam wears glasses and a polo tucked in, a large gold band on his wedding finger. He shakes my hand and asks me if it's my first meeting. He then gives me a handful of literature and pamphlets. He returns to setting up children's chairs in a semi circle around a table with John, who is the secretary for the meetings. John is in his 50s and bald, sporting a thick mustache. He is short, thin, and twitchy. He would later announce several times that it was his 17th year addiction free and that they would be having a get together on thursday replete with coffee and snacks.
Adam takes his place behind the table, giving him a more "official" role as meeting director. Eventually we are joined by two other men and three women. Adam then bangs his hand on the children's table like a gavel to call order to the meeting. I tried not to laugh audibly. Adam reminded us that GA meant that all members and their stories remain only within the room. The first half of the meeting consisted of going around in a circle and reading out sections in a yellow pamphlet. I felt like I was in grade school again.
I consciously made an effort to seem defeated, I didn't want them to think I didn't belong. We went round and round reading out of the yellow pamphlet. There was a question section where 7 out of 20 affirmative answers confirmed that you were a degenerate, compulsive gambler. I easily doubled the score. After the reading section we are told to break for five minutes, but not before a collection plate was passed around. "Our group meetings are self-sustained and funded" Adam reminded us while we all reached for our wallets.
The second portion of the meetings is the sharing section. Everyone gets to go around the circle and share any thoughts, stories, or just to talk in general. John talked on and on forever about nothing and then reminded everyone about his party. Adam admitted that if he were ever to gamble again he would bet everything he had. A man in his mid 30s had just went past 90 days. An older mexican women relapsed and promised it wouldn't happen again. A man with a family said that he had been sneaking out all hours of the night to get his fix on. And then it was my turn.
"Hi my name is Daniel and I'm a compsulsive gambler."
"Hi daniel" they returned.
"I guess when you kind of grow up around gambling, you just don't really see anything wrong with it. It's just a way of life, something that's normal. And I guess it's not until you're a little bit older that you experience a lot of the perils. And sometimes those things get out of control. And things have been getting a little out of control recently. And I guess that's why I'm here."
They all clapped for me while I lied through my teeth. Adam picked up a special keychain and passed it around the circle. It was my official token into the group. Adam slammed his hand on the table again to announce the end of the meeting. John stopped me on the way out and dribbled on about GA and the importance of coming to the second meeting. He reminded me again of his party. I shook his hand and tried to muster a smile. Adam thanked me for coming and said he hoped to see me soon. He reminded me that his number as well as other sponsors were readily available if I felt like relapsing.
The buzzer on my phone goes off. It's a text message from my bookie Alex.
"You're down _____ this week, should we meet at the usual place?"
I suppose everyone's got problems.
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