fun with pictures
"I'll have the Number 1, please. I said the Number 1. And, um, supersize that for me, okay? I said Supersize that. What? Fine, Biggie Size it, or whatever you call it. What do you mean you don't Supersize anymore? Are you kidding me? Let me talk to your manager. (Pause) Excuse me, this young lady over here says that you don't Supersize anymore! Why not? Oh really?! No, I don't want an Adult Healthy Meal with a free pedometer, I want a fucking Big Mac, Supersized! No, I won't calm down! This is bullshit! You know what I'm going to do, I'm going to go get my video camera and document this bullshit, that's what I'm going to do. And you know what I'm going to call it? 'Supersize Me' Motherfucker! What do you mean there was a documentary with that title already? I'm calling your bluff, you minimum wage making bitch! Do you know who I am?? I'm Michael Moore, and I'm HUNGRY!!! (Calms self) Fine, just give me three Number 2's instead. Please."
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b at 3:31 PM
hand over fist
So this weekend was... interesting. Yeah, that's the word. Interesting.
Let's start with Friday, shall we? We shall. I spent Friday night in Hoboken. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you'll remember that I haven't had the best of luck in Jersey. I mean, this is the state where somebody tried to start with me by saying "nice hair," so needless to say it's always an interesting time. Well, I would like to report that not only did I make it through Friday night incident-free, I also had an amazing fucking time.
We started out at a bar near the PATH called
Texas, Arizona. It was a pretty cool bar, but what made it amazing was the fact that it featured the WORST cover band ever. Ever. See, they seemed promising when we walked in as they played a decent cover of "Where The Streets Have No Name," but things only went downhill from there. At one point they played back-to-back songs by Maroon 5. Let me say that again. Back-to-back songs by Maroon 5. Yep. After "This Love" was over, they went right into that new schlocky piece of shit ballad. Now, in many states this would be considered an Act of Terrorism, but for some reason in
Texas, Arizona it wasn't. My friend Mark and I were disgusted and realized something had to be done. So, we walked up to the stage, stood directly in front of the lead singer, and made wincing faces every time he tried to hit a high note. After they finished, we shouted out requests.
"Play Five For Fighting!" "Breakfast At Tiffany's!" "Play some Evan and Jaron!"
They ignored us, and instead played some Dave. So we left. But not before I signed my friend Dan up for their mailing list. In the words of Borat, Niiice.
Friday night ended with some good old fashioned dancing. And by old fashioned, I mean drunkenly grinding the shit out of friends to hip-hop music. A new dance move was added to my ever-increasing repertoire, too. It consists of dropping down to one knee and pointing to the girl's ass that I'm dancing with, all while either snarling and biting my lower lip with conviction, or just puckering my lips and nodding my head. It works either way. I think I saw this in a rap video once, but Friday night I officially claimed the move as my own. So back off, yo.
Flash forward to Sunday. I had my second Fantasy Football draft in as many weeks. Instead of doing this one in Atlantic City, it was held at my friend Rob's place on the Upper East Side. Same difference. The day consisted of all the elements one needs for a fun fantasy draft: Wings, beer, off colored jokes, and the VMA's. The most shocking event of the day? Somebody drafted Anthony Thomas in the 3rd Round, a pick that was so unbelievable, nobody even made fun of the guy until after the draft was over. We were too shocked to even respond.
What we weren't too shocked to respond to was the VMA's. Now, since everybody at the draft works/worked at MTV, watching the show was especially painful for all of us. The show left us longing for the days of Pearl Jam with Neil Young, the revolving stage with the Beastie Boys and Green Day, or even Puff Daddy featuring Sting. (okay, maybe not Puff Daddy featuring Sting, but you get what I'm saying) I didn't actually see the whole show, but from what I hear, nothing interesting happened. Before it started, we talked about how MTV was going to one-up itself after last year's lesbian kiss. I predicted that midway through the show, Britney was going to walk out on stage and get Fisted by Ashlee Simpson, but to the best of my knowledge that didn't happen.
Well, on camera, at least.
But you know what? If we did actually witness Ashlee Simpson Fist Britney Spears during the 2004 VMA's, I still think the last thought I had before I went to bed that night would be, "Jesus... Anthony Thomas in the 3rd Round??? Unbelievable."
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b at 9:17 AM
here's the rub
I decided I was going to write a funny-yet-insightful post today on relationships. I mean, I'm a pretty qualified person to discuss them, since I have been single for only a combined 2 years since the age of 17. Scary, right? Out of nowhere I became a Relationship Guy, and it's something I have not been able to shake. So, it's been kind of strange these past few months being single, and I think somewhere in that there's a very clever and amusing piece to be written.
Unfortunately, not today. Everybody's leaving work early, and since it is so nice outside I want to go play.
Have a good weekend, stay out of trouble, and don't go calling me on Sunday to bail you out of jail. Okay? That's all I ask.
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b at 4:20 PM
ted leo is awesome
So last night I got a little drunker on a Wednesday than I probably should have. It totally wasn't my fault, though.
Right after work, a friend of a friend was guest bartending at Second Nature on 13th & 2nd. Of course I couldn't let a friend of a friend down, so I headed over there, bringing my A-Game with me. The Roommate Eric met up, and together we proceeded to drink about a thousand $2 Coors Lights. That was a good start.
A little after 9 we headed over to HiFi for the Ted Leo & The Pharmacists "Shake The Sheets" listening party. This was a definite upgrade-- mainly because we moved from $2 Coors Lights to $2 Brooklyn Lagers. Mmmmm, Brooklyn Lager. The bar was pretty crowded, but not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I really don't understand how everybody in the world does not love Ted Leo. I really don't. It completely puzzles me.
But anyway, HiFi was a good time. The album sounded great (from what I heard), the beer was cold, and I finally got to meet the supercool and extremely attractive aeki tuesday. After a few drinks we ended up scouting out the people at the bar, pointing out the guys that we thought would be good kissers and the girls we could tell would be great in bed. Isn't it great how alcohol completely erases any potential awkwardness between two people? Yes, yes it is.
Throughout the night Ted Leo was walking around, so we got a couple of pictures with him. He was ridiculously friendly, and it was refreshing to talk to a musician who isn't just looking over your shoulder to check out who he's going to be forced to talk to next. Great guy, great musician. If you've never heard Ted Leo, put down this blog right now and go out and buy The Tyranny of Distance. Listen to it from beginning to end, and then when it's over, go back and play "Timorous Me" a few more times. Trust me on this one.
Talking to Ted Leo reminded me of the time I met Ben Kweller. It was my junior year of college, and the girlfriend and I got tickets to see an Evan Dando / Ben Lee concert at a place in Annapolis. A guy named Ben Kweller was opening. Out of curiosity, I downloaded a couple of his songs off Napster (God, Napster) and really liked what I heard. Anyway. The night of the show, the GF and I arrived early. As we were waiting in the lobby, I noticed Ben Kweller at a little table selling T-shirts and trying to get people to sign up for his mailing list. This was long before Sha Sha came out, so nobody had any clue who he was. The GF and I walked up to him and introduced ourselves. He was completely cool, and seemed excited that people actually recognized him. We talked for a while, until the bouncers opened up the doors so we could be seated. We wished him luck and made our way in.
One problem. See, the show was a 21 and over show. I was 21 at the time, but unfortunately my girlfriend was only 14. I'm just kidding, she was actually 20, but I really hope that you got nervous for a second when you read that. Anyway. The bouncer asked to see her ID, so of course she lied and said she left it back in Baltimore. So as the bouncer's giving us a hard time, Ben comes walking up and announces, "Don't worry about it, these 2 are here with me." The bouncer apologized, and sat us right down. Now how cool is that? Very cool. That's my go-to Ben Kweller story, and that's part of the reason I'll always love him.
So in summation. I love Ben Kweller and Ted Leo, and you should too.
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b at 6:05 PM
Yell At Me
I have never seen any of the
Star Wars movies
I think Led Zeppelin is highly overrated
I love the Yankees
I don't like Dave Matthews
I don't like people who refer to Dave Matthews simply as "Dave"
I wouldn't eat a mushroom to save my life
I have never seen any of
The Lord Of The Rings movies
I have never read a Harry Potter book
Hockey is marginally more enjoyable to watch than basketball
I'm already sick of the Olympics
The only impression I do is a Christopher Reeves impression
I think Pittsburgh is a 4th Tier City (and I've never been there)
I believe Pamela Anderson is my generation's Marilyn Monroe
I'd rather hook up at 'home' instead of 'away'
I think Pro Sports are infinitely better than College Sports
Aqua Teen Hunger Force is not funny. at all.
I have never seen
Sixteen Candles
I have never seen
Trainspotting
I have never seen
Scarface
I have seen
Just One Of The Guys more than 20 times
Anna Kournikova isn't
that hot
I'm actually not sure if I'm registered to vote
I hate cats
Hot dogs taste best plain
I don't like Radiohead, but I like bands that sound like Radiohead
I don't believe in recycling (because I like my shit new!)
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b at 6:30 PM
a funny long story
Growing up, I was a horrible Jew. It's true. In the eyes of the staff at Temple Beth Am in Pearl River, I was an evil little brat who was destined for Jewish hell. Why? Well, probably because I was a tremendous pain in the ass, that's why. I constantly skipped Sunday School, and when I did go, I was nothing but a distraction to my teachers and fellow students. But I feel like I had a good reason... I wasn't Jewish like everybody else.
It's true. See, while my mom was Jewish, my dad was an Italian Roman Catholic. So basically, I was a half-Jew. I know in the eyes of the Jewish religion I was a Full-On-Jew, but being in a mixed environment, I never felt like one. As a child, I learned about everything. While I heard the story of Yum Kippur from my Jewish mother, I was also taught all about Jesus and Santa Claus from my Italian grandmother. And to answer the question that's on all your minds, yes, I did celebrate both Christmas and Hanukkah. Suck it!
At the age of 11, I got thrown out of my temple. Not physically. They just asked me not to come back. Part of the reason was my constant absence and tardiness, but the other part had to do with the questions I would ask in class. Whenever my teacher would lecture about Moses and Abraham, I tended to raise my hand and ask, "So where was Jesus during all of this?" Or "How come we don't talk about Jesus? He was the son of God, right?" Was I really confused? No. Was I being a dick? Yes, yes I was.
Getting thrown out of temple meant one thing to me-- no more Sunday School! It was great. I was in heaven... well, not Jewish heaven, but some version of heaven that didn't kick me out. I loved life.
But when I turned 12, things kind of changed for me. My grandmother (the Jewish one) started talking about how nice it would be if I had a Bar Mitzvah. She wasn't being forceful or manipulative when she said it, she was being hopeful. As I thought about it, I realized that getting Bar Mitzvah'd would be a really great thing to do for my grandmother. I knew it would make her happy, and I wanted to make her happy. So I decided to go for it.
One problem. Nobody wanted me.
My mom traveled near and far trying to find a temple that would take in a 12 year-old kid with no knowledge of Hebrew, and whip him into shape in a year for his Bar Mitzvah. Things weren't looking good. But like all great Jewish stories, something magical happened. My mom was able to find a temple in Monsey, NY (former home of Bob Ross) that would take me in. One temple. One incredibly conservative temple. Yikes.
So here I went from a normal, reformed, temple in the Irish town of Pearl River, and was thrown into an environment where everybody stayed in during Sabbath and wore yarmulkes. It was complete culture shock, and I couldn't adjust. I began wearing Yankees hats on Sunday just so I could get out of wearing the skullcap. On the days I forgot the Yankees hat, I would casually knock the yarmulke off my head when no one was looking, and then pretend that it was an accident when the teacher told me to put it back on. And I did. They kept me in line. And as far as the smartass comments... well, they were much more infrequent. I actually only remember two instances. One resulted in me apologizing directly to God for making fun of the Hebrew alphabet
(there are 2 identical letters. there's no reason for that) and the second revolved around my question, "How long have we been praying for the messiah?
(A: Thousands of years.) Okay, so what makes you think he's going to come this week?" Aside from that, I was an angel.
As my 13th birthday approached, I buckled down and did what I had to do. I put aside my pre-teen angst long enough to learn what I had to learn, and readied myself for my venture into manhood. I was golden. About a week before the big event, my mom had to meet with the rabbi to get a few things in order. She arrived at the temple that morning wearing a sweater with Rudolph and Santa on it (yes, she's Jewish, but she also loves Christmas) and sat down with the man. As the conversation began, things suddenly took a turn to the bizarre. To the awful. To the terrifying. Here's what went down:
Rabbi: Okay, so everything looks to be in order.
Mom: Great.
Rabbi: Oh, one last question. I'm assuming Bob was circumcised by a moyel, correct?
Mom: Um, well, he was circumcised by a doctor.
Rabbi: (removes his glasses) We have a problem.
Damn right we have a problem. The rabbi proceeded to tell my mother the 2 options. Are you ready for this? Get ready for this. To get Bar Mitzvah'd, I could either:
a) Get some blood drawn from penis using a needle. or
b) Be re-circumcised
Read that again. Yep. Those were my options. Prick the prick, or give it a trim. Now, whenever I tell this story, the first question that people ask me is, "How do you get re-circumcised???" And to that I say, I have no clue! I guess that meant that they would attempt to remove more skin, thereby leaving my 13 year-old penis to look like some bizarre Florida palm tree.
So what did I choose? I picked
c) Get the Fuck out of there, fast.
The next day, my mom and I went through the phone book and found a Rabbi that would Bar Mitzvah me. A few months later, the event went off without a hitch. I read the Torah in Hebrew, I made my grandmother happy, I got some great presents, and most importantly, my penis remained untouched. And sadly, it still does to this day.
Shalom.
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b at 7:04 PM
why protest?
So the Republican National Convention is one week away, and that means that protesting the Republican National Convention is also a week away. For those of you in New York who were thinking about protesting, but couldn't decide whether you wanted to or not, I thought I'd list
Why You Should Protest
- Because Democrats are hot
- At any given time, you're just one sausage hut and bouncy castle away from it turning into one really hip street fair
- David Cross, Eddie Vedder, Janene Garofalo, and dozens of other liberal celebrities will be there... in spirit
- Because if you don't, how will you find out which bar in the East Village the cool, post-protest after-party is going to be held at?
- If you don't create a massive disturbance, disrupt the NYPD, and present the fear of violence, then the terrorists have won
- I hear Protest Sex is even better than Blackout Sex
- It's your Constitutional Right. Well, you know what else is your Constitutional Right? Abortion. So if you don't have the time, just go abort something instead!
- You can break out that "Bush Sucks" sign from last year's Gay Pride Parade
- Because this will be your last great opportunity to declare your hatred for our insanely evil, war-mongor President... assuming he doesn't eliminate term limits and name himself President-For-Life
- Keith from
Six Feet Under dissed the Bush administration last night. And if Keith doesn't like them, we shouldn't like them
- I'm assuming Air America will be handing out free T-Shirts, if they can afford it
- It's more fun than actually registering to vote
- Well, if the Yankees don't get their pitching in order and remember how to hit, this could be the only parade we have in New York this fall
-
Own genre of music? Check. Unique sense of style? Yep. A war that they oppose? Absolutely. Let's face it people,
Hipsters are the new Hippies. So make like your groovy parents and protest this motherfucker!
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b at 2:55 PM
back
Well, as you may or may not have noticed, I didn't post anything after Monday last week. There was a death in the family, and needless to say, blogging was the last thing on my mind.
But now I'm back. I'll post again later, but I just wanted to let you all know where I stand.
Thanks.
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b at 10:43 AM
oh wow
This might be the best thing to ever happen to the internet:
The Sports Guy + Chuck Klosterman
In my mind, this pairing is like
The Bens of the written word, only enjoyable. I'm in heaven.
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b at 1:02 PM
i am dumb
So even though I have a college degree, and I do a decent job swallowing and breathing without hurting myself, I've come to realize that I am incredibly dumb. It's a sad fact, and the worst part is, I think I'm actually getting worse. When I was a kid, if you asked me, "what's the dumbest thing you've ever done?" I had two answers.
1. I put honey in a microwave to heat it up. When I took it out, it was bubbling. For some reason, I stuck my index finger right into the bubbling honey. It burned the shit out of me, and my whole family laughed about how incredibly stupid it was for me to do that. Yes, yes it was.
2. Late one night I was extremely tired. In the kitchen, I grabbed a glass and a bottle of Diet Coke. I began pouring the Diet Coke. It took a few seconds for me to realize that the glass was upside down, and Diet Coke was spilling everywhere. We all had a big chuckle.
Okay? That was it. Now, after having gone to college, those two things wouldn't even crack my Top 50. It would take me hours to write about all the incredibly idiotic things I did in college, and continue to do today. I mean, you're talking to a guy who:
-ended up in the back seat of a car with 2 hookers in Inglewood, CA
-got drunk and showed up at Irving Plaza the day before
The Thrills show I thought I was attending
-once said (without realizing it) at a comedy show "I see we have a diverse crowd tonight... they're all sitting in the back," about the Black Student Union
-bought 4 red do-rags, distributed them to my friends, and proceeded to drive around a scary part of LA, only realizing that maybe some gangs might have a problem with that after it was too late
-saw
Dude Where's My Car sober
And those are just the first 5 things that popped in my head. There have been much, much worse.
Why am I writing about this? Well, today, August 16th, I got myself all ready and excited to see
The Libertines at the Bowery Ballroom tonight. I even called my buddy Dan last night to finalize the plans. Everything was set.
Oh yeah, one problem. The Libertines show is tomorrow night.
Now, normally I wouldn't beat myself up over something like this. However, I did the exact same thing LESS THAN 3 MONTHS AGO! The only difference being, when I went to see The Thrills, I actually left work early to go to a bar and pregame before the show. We drank a few beers, did a couple of shots, and walked over to Irving-- only to find the gate was closed. The show was the next night.
And you know what the worst part is? I have the date listed right here on My Blog Is Poop, in my
where i'm going section. Clear as day. You can't miss it.
Well, you can't.
I, apparently, can.
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b at 6:22 PM
trying not to have fun
On the plane ride home from Las Vegas, I made an important decision: I was not going to have fun for 2 weeks. Looking out the airplane window, as the sun set below the clouds, and the sky was transforming into incredible shades of purple and pink, I had an epiphany-- I am a fucking wreck. Okay, maybe I was being a bit melodramatic. However after 7 straight nights of drinking like crazy, gambling away my money, and talking to prostitutes, one thing was certain: I needed a break.
When I got off the plane, I told my friends about my new
"No Fun" policy. They both agreed that after our crazy vacation, there was no way that we could keep up the drinking and partying in New York without falling into a deep coma and eventually dying in our sleep. No way. Two weeks of
No Fun, starting Monday morning.
Some people found it funny that I was referring to it as a
No Fun period. They would say, "Why not just say that you're not going to drink for two weeks." Well, because I'm being realistic here, that's why. Living in New York, it's hard to go an extended amount of time without drinking. I don't mean to sound like Dudley Moore, but it's true. There are always things going on, especially when you're working in an office. Birthday parties, going away parties, 'the cops don't consider me a suspect' parties. Everything. So I was well aware that there would be casual drinking in my immediate future. The No Fun policy was put in place to assure that the casual drinking didn't become the kind of drinking that results in me falling asleep on the subway and ending up in Coney Island. I didn't think it was too much to ask of myself.
Well, I was wrong. Wednesday night, I attended a going away party for one of the writers here at work. I managed to only drink a few beers, and left with nary a buzz. I was very proud of myself. Well. Then last night came along. I planned on going to see Morning Theft, but after working a little too late to make it, I decided to meet a couple of friends uptown at
Brother Jimmys for some dinner. Just a little dinner, that's all. Yeah right. The three of us split 4 or 5 pitchers before it was all said and done. And I'll be honest-- it was Fun. Dammit!
When I arrived back in Park Slope, I passed by the brand new bar,
Commonwealth, that opened up 2 blocks from my apartment. I peaked in to check out the crowd, and of course, two of my friends just happened to be hanging out there drinking. When one of them said, "Let me buy you a beer," what I meant to say was, "No thanks, I have work tomorrow, and I'm 4 days into my
No Fun period, but thanks." However, it came out more like, "Sure." And unfortunately, I had some more fun. Dammit.
So the
No Fun experiment has been a disaster. I'm performing at
Joe Franklins' tonight, and if all goes according to plan, immediately after I step off stage I'm going to walk to the subway, head to Brooklyn, and spend the night laying on my couch watching HBO On Demand. That's the plan. That's what I'm going to do.
But just in case, give me a call on my cell if you want to hang out. I might end up in the East Village.
Call it a hunch.
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b at 6:04 PM
"I am a gay American."
Best quote ever?
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b at 3:18 PM
the kid
So my friends and I love fantasy sports. LOVE THEM. We started early on in high school, and our leagues have only become more competitive and intense ever since. In fact, in two weeks we're heading down to Atlantic City for a couple of nights to draft our fantasy football teams in a conference room in the Taj Mahal. We don't fuck around.
Currently, we're in the middle of our 19th week (of 22) in our Yahoo Fantasy Baseball League. Not to brag, but my team has been Incredible. Dominant. I don't want to say anymore, because I don't want to jinx it, but just know that things are good. But anyway. The reason I'm talking about fantasy sports, is because of Ken Griffey Jr. Every year, it's become a big joke in our league: Who is going to draft Griffey? The guy was on the MLB All-Century team 5 years ago, but ever since then he's been more fragile than... than something that's really fragile (i'm tired). Well, after having a great first half, it looks like Griffey is going to miss the rest of the season. Here is the post on our Yahoo message board from Griffey's owner, my friend Dan:
Ken Griffey Jr. 1969 - 2004
by: C.T.U. Aug 12 7:25am
Ken Griffey Jr., one of the most recognizable sports personalities of his generation, was found dead yesterday in his Cincinati duplex. The Ohio coroner ruled Griffey's cause of his death as a case of acute multiple hamstring tears. He was 34 years old.
Griffey was the dominant force of professional and fantasy baseball throughout the 90s, but injuries over the past five years had stunted his brilliant career.
Nevertheless, year after year fantasy owners took a chance on the brittle superstar with the hope he would return to his former self. His death now ensures Griffey's stock will drop even further in 2005.
"Even though he's fucking dead I think I'd grab him if he was still sitting there in the 12th," said stunned but not shocked fantasy owner Dan Hanzus. "I mean, this guy was hitting 55 bombs a year when I was in high school."
Hanzus then went off on a tangent, attempting to re-connect with his lost youth.
"I mean, 1998 wasn't that long ago man," he continued. "I don't know about you guys, but the Senior Show was a blast. And that girl Melissa...she had some rack. I wonder how she's holding up?"
Griffey is survived by his wife and three children.
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b at 12:07 PM
sister act
Okay, so I'm really busy in the edit today working on a package about the Scissor Sisters for
Best Week Ever this Friday. Watch it.
So since I'm not going to have time to write anything worthwhile today, just
check this out. It's funny. But it's the Onion, so of course it's funny.
And maybe, just maybe, the whole text problem was fixed. I think I fixed it. I might have fixed it. Maybe. I mean, I hope I did, because the sleepless nights are adding up.
Let me know.
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b at 5:47 PM
this just in pt. 2
Okay, it turned out just to be rain. Not a tremendous hovering alien space craft hovering over our city, as I originally believed it to be.
Please continue on with your regularly scheduled reading.
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b at 2:48 PM
this just in
Okay, please allow me to be the first blogger to report that it is strangely dark outside right now. It's 2:37, but it looks to be like 9:30.
I'm scared.
Developing...
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b at 2:37 PM
it just keeps on going
So I've gotten several emails and comments from people saying the border on the right side of the screen is cutting off some words. Now, when I heard this, I immediately fell into the "it's not you, it's me" mode. However, after consulting the great
Scott Stereogum on the issue, I have come to the realization that it is, in fact, you. But we'll get through this together, I promise. Just stay strong. It might take a little redesigning, but I'll do what I can to bring you
My Blog Is Poop in its entirety. I've often been told that the final three words on each line are actually the funniest ones, too. Someday, you'll see that for yourself. I hope.
Speaking of funny, starting tomorrow I'm going to be posting on the
Best Week Ever Blog. Ch-ch-check it out.
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b at 5:49 PM
vegas, 11 years later
The hardest part about going to Vegas in your mid 20's is trying to do something other than drink excessively, gamble excessively, and whore around excessively. It's damn near impossible. In fact, it's so damn near impossible, that it seems that nobody even bothers to try until they're married, born again, or 30. Since I don't foresee any of those things happening to me for a loooong time (except maybe the born again thing), my future Vegas trips are destined to be absent of Broadway shows, sightseeing on the Strip, and the Hoover Dam. Oh well. That stuff will have to wait until I turn 30... assuming Vegas is
still around when I'm 30.
Before I turned 21, there were two trips to Las Vegas with my family. The first one came when I was 13, and we were visiting my Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin out in Colorado. It happened to be the same summer that the Pope came to Denver, so we made like good Jews and hit the road, nomad-style, to get the hell away from the hundreds of thousands of people who were going to invade the city.
We drove straight through Utah, because there was absolutely no reason to stop, and ended up in Vegas. We stayed at Circus Circus, and I was in 13 year-old heaven. In no time, Vegas became my favorite place on Earth. Part of the reason was because while the grownups gambled, we were left alone in the tremendous arcade for hours at a time. I probably played 8,000 games of
Street Fighter 2 that weekend, and I'm hardly exaggerating (
I kicked ass as Chun-Li). At 13, that was an ideal way to spend my time. That was part of the reason I loved Vegas. The other part had to do with the fact that on every street corner there were free newspaper receptacles, full of little magazines containing pictures of naked girls.
Now, I never had a big brother, so by the age of 13 I think I had only seen one or two Playboys, ever. I mean, we had Cinemax, so it wasn't like I was completely in the dark, however I never owned or obtained any porno mags. And believe it or not, to this day, I've never owned a porno mag.
(Okay, wait, that's a lie. I currently own exactly 1 Playboy magazine, but that's only because I had a class at Towson with the girl on the cover. Have I mentioned how much I loved Towson?)
Anyway, I'm getting distracted. The point is, here I was at 13, walking down the Las Vegas strip, just picking up magazines with pictures of naked girls and nobody even blinked. In Vegas, they were probably just glad that I wasn't roaming the casino bars late at night with a jar full of allowance money asking what it would get me. I mean, back then if a hooker asked me if I had any fantasies I wanted fulfilled, I probably would have answered, "Free Street Fighter 2" and meant it.
Nowadays, the trips to Vegas are a whole lot different. Instead of a dollar buying me two games of Street Fighter, it's used to tip the bartender for one beer, or tip the naked girl who just shoved her breasts in my face. I don't even blink at the nudie magazines, and the hours alone in the arcade have been replaced by hours alone at the Black Jack table. And I guess the biggest difference of all, is when we left Vegas 11 years ago, I turned to my mom and said, "That was a lot of fun," as opposed to turning to my friends and saying, "I'm in so much pain right now, I don't know if I'm going to make it."
Vegas. Fun for all ages.
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b at 11:12 AM
how to make a hooker laugh
So we returned to the Mandalay Bay after a successful night at Studio 54. Details of the actual night will come later, but I wanted to tell this story first. Okay.
After putting Dan to bed (and by "putting Dan to bed" i mean "laying Dan next to the toilet"), Brian and I decided it was still early enough to head down to the casino and have a couple of drinks. We found a bar in the middle of the casino that was fairly crowded, so we settled there. As we scouted out the crowd, you couldn't help but notice some odd pairings. Hmmm. Why is that young black woman talking with that old, balding white man? And why is that tall, skinny blonde also talking to some old, balding white man? And why is that Hispanic woman talking with yet another old, balding white man? Hmmm. If only I were moderately intelligent, maybe I'd be able to figure it out. Luckily, Brian did. They were whores.
Awesome.
Brian and I sat there, picking out which girls at the bar were professional hookers, and which girls just dressed like hookers. It wasn't easy, but man was it fun. In the end, we counted 7 hookers total, five shy of a Hooker's Dozen. But anyway, we were laughing and having a good time, when all of a sudden it happened; A Hooker sat down next to us.
She was a thick Latino woman, with gi-normous, *real* breasts. We would come to learn her name was Carmen. You know how we learned that? Because we ended up talking to her for about 10 minutes. Ten beautiful minutes. The conversation started like this:
Carmen: Hi, guys, you mind if I sit here?
Me: No, not at all. How ya doin?
Carmen: Good, having fun... fulfilling fantasies.
Me & Brian: Wow
Carmen: Do you guys have any fantasies you want fulfilled tonight?
Me: I do, but they actually all involve midgets and unicorns.
Carmen: (laughs) Wow. I've heard the midget thing before, but nobody's ever said unicorns.
And at that moment, I reached the apex of my life. I was able to say something to a Las Vegas prostitute that she had never heard before. Then I had sex with her.
Kidding. She ended up sitting with us for another ten minutes, long after we told her that we weren't interested in anything. She said she stuck around because we were making her laugh... yup, she was one happy hooker. I told her my name was Carmen too (full name: Carmen TeGusta), and that I was "a pretty big deal," a line from
Anchorman that I vowed I'd say to a girl before the night was over. Mission accomplished. Carmen left, and shortly thereafter, Brian and I decided to call it a night. As we walked to the elevators, we passed by Carmen propositioning a guy near the slot machines. And yes, seeing that made me feel a little jealous.
I miss you already, Carmen.
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b at 3:44 PM
making instant enemies
We arrived in Las Vegas at about 4 o'clock on Thursday, after 3 straight nights of partying way harder than expected in San Diego. After checking into the
Mandalay Bay, we proceeded to dominate the territory (aka- check the place out), eat some dinner, and one more thing... what was it?... oh yeah,
Blackjack!
After over an hour at the table, I left down only $20. Not a bad way to start the trip, considering last time I was in Vegas I lost 8 consecutive hands of Blackjack at one table in
The Palms. So, while I was the only loser out of the group of four of us, things were still pretty promising.
After gambling, it was time to get the night started. We originally set out to go to Rumjungle (at Mandalay) but the place looked kind of dead, so we headed down the strip to
Studio 54 at the MGM Grand. When we arrived, the line was huge. But, since I had about 3 gin & tonics and 4 beers in me, I decided to try something that I only do when I'm drunk. While my friends got in line, I walked over to the bouncer and pulled out my trusty MTV ID. I told the man that I worked with MTV, I was visiting Vegas with a couple of friends, and asked him if there was anything he could do for us. Now, I've used this trick in Panama City (when I was interning) and in San Diego last year, but I always figured I couldn't get away with it in cities like NY, LA, and Vegas. Well, I was wrong. The bouncer told me to get my friends, which might have been my single favorite moment of the week. Walking about halfway up the line, shouting "Guys!" and then signaling for the guys to come over, using an obnoxious two-finger "come here" motion. As we strolled right past the velvet rope, everyone else on the line hated us, and I loved every second of it.
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b at 2:57 PM
aw yeahhhhhhhh
Well, according to my last post, apparantly I went to Vegas last week. I guess I'm going to have to take my own word for it, as things are incredibly blurry right now.
Instead of wrapping things up in one incredibly long post, I'm going to update several times over the next couple of days, recapping the highlights (and lowlights) of last week. Originally, I was going to take the "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" approach. However, since that line is being used in commercials, "what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas" has been reduced to nothing more than a motto for people who like to "think outside the bun." So there will be stories.
Stay tuned. It's good to be back.
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b at 1:15 PM
