I just came back from Las Vegas, and the tone of the town never ceases to amaze me. A city always has a vibe, and for the most part, it's almost always the same. There are exceptions, but Vegas is by far the most different in the US.
It's not about prostitution. That's actually illegal in the city limits. In fact, these days there is a remarkable shortage of people passing around the hooker cards you would have seen ten years ago.
You can still smoke in buildings, which is unusual, since I come from one of the first states to adopt anti-smoking laws inside of buildings, even in bars. But that's not what it's about.
It's not even about gambling, which you can do almost anywhere now. The state of Illinois has opened up to the idea in a major way, and you're hard pressed to find a bar that doesn't offer gambling in some way. Which isn't to take away from the fact that Vegas has a slot machine for any intellectual property--even THE WIZARD OF OZ and THE WALKING DEAD (and I'm sure there is a slot machine dedicated to THE FOUNTAINHEAD somewhere)--but it's just not that special anymore.
No, take a walk down the Strip, and you'll feel a different energy from any other city in America. Everyone's drunk and happy just to hang out in a city where you can get anything at any time. Hell, there's an M&M store, and it's not just a little corner shop. No, it's a giant store with several levels, and they pump the smell of chocolate out into the street to entice people to come on in. At any given hour, you can find some drunken woman hanging off of the statue of the yellow M&M guy from the commercials that they have outside. Nearly all of those women are not concerned with their mini-skirts riding up to give a pervert the chance to see what kind of panties they wore tonight, just so long as their friends get pictures they can post to Facebook later.
In any other town, everyone would be on guard, but in Vegas, almost everyone has a license plate issued from out of the state of Nevada (unless it's a rental car). This truly is a party town. Granted, there are still homeless people asking for money, but it's not enough to drag the vibe down. The out-of-towners won't allow it. They might even encourage it.
Showing posts with label las vegas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label las vegas. Show all posts
Saturday, November 22, 2014
Thursday, November 13, 2014
GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #114: RADIO SILENCE FOR THE NEXT FEW DAYS
While most of my writer friends are heading out to BizzaroCon for the weekend, I'll be heading out to see my family in Vegas. I'm sure I'll pop in here and there, but for the most part, expect radio silence until Tuesday, maybe Wednesday (since when I get back, I'll be undergoing oral surgery). I'm not going to be writing, either, not even GF. I'll probably write in my travel journal, but that's it. In the meantime, behave yourselves, and don't die. I like you all, and I'd be sad if you weren't around anymore.
Now I've got to get to bed. The cab is coming at 4 in the damn am.
Part of me hopes that the oral surgeon will prescribe pain pills for me. Another part of me hopes she won't. I know I can easily turn into a junkie. I'd suck cock for Dilaudid, hands down. The pain pills don't do much for me, unless I triple the dose. Then? I'm very happy. But I have maybe ten pain pills left from a surgery performed a year ago. I'm pretty sure that's evidence that I haven't turned into a junkie. Yet.
She won't do it, though. She told me the procedure is 10 minutes long. 20, tops. She'll just numb my gums a little--A LITTLE--before she cuts a piece off the roof of my mouth and grafts it on to tooth #26 (so my receding gums don't look quite so scary anymore). That doesn't sound like something she'll give me pain pills for. She'll probably advise aspirin. Fuck.
Now I've got to get to bed. The cab is coming at 4 in the damn am.
Part of me hopes that the oral surgeon will prescribe pain pills for me. Another part of me hopes she won't. I know I can easily turn into a junkie. I'd suck cock for Dilaudid, hands down. The pain pills don't do much for me, unless I triple the dose. Then? I'm very happy. But I have maybe ten pain pills left from a surgery performed a year ago. I'm pretty sure that's evidence that I haven't turned into a junkie. Yet.
She won't do it, though. She told me the procedure is 10 minutes long. 20, tops. She'll just numb my gums a little--A LITTLE--before she cuts a piece off the roof of my mouth and grafts it on to tooth #26 (so my receding gums don't look quite so scary anymore). That doesn't sound like something she'll give me pain pills for. She'll probably advise aspirin. Fuck.
Friday, July 9, 2010
THE RUMORS OF MY DEATH HAVE ONLY BEEN SLIGHTLY EXAGGERATED
[ONCE AGAIN, THIS IS A RERUN FROM THE MYSPACE BLOG. DON'T WORRY, WE'RE ALMOST UP TO THE NEW STUFF. I POST THIS ONE TO HONOR MARK TWAIN, WHOSE AUTOBIOGRAPHY WILL BE PUBLISHED IN A FEW MONTHS, 100 YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH.]
"My body is a road-map of pain." Jeffrey Combs said that in THE FRIGHTENERS, and now I understand how he feels. I have just returned from Vegas, and just about every part of my body aches. My back and shoulders are throbbing because it was the first time I'd gone for a swim in a decade. My face, forearms, and legs (from mid-thigh down to my ankles) are all sunburned. There are three small perforations in the palm of my right hand (and a tiny abrasion on my pinkie) from accidentally scraping my hand against the bottom of the pool. And my upper lip has been cut to ribbons because I tried shaving while drunk.
But it was worth it.
It was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be to get through security at Midway. I'd heard all sorts of horror stories, but the reality was that if you get there early enough, the only annoyance is waiting in the long line to check your luggage. I breezed through everything else, and the plane actually left on time! Shockingly enough, WE ARRIVED EARLY IN VEGAS! It was only by five minutes, but I remember from when I was younger that the planes NEVER ran on time, much less get to your destination early. The flight was even pleasant. It was Southwest, and I was able to get on early enough to find a window seat (because you never, EVER want to miss the show of taking off and landing; I have no idea how most people can ignore such an awesome spectacle), and I managed to get through most of Brian Keene's TERMINAL (yes, I was on a plane reading a book called TERMINAL, and I sadly did not get a single double-take), which is an excellent book, probably his best, and I recommend it to you all.
Vegas has changed a lot since I was a kid. A lot of casinos are gone, and a whole hell of a lot more have gone up. I remember when most of the surrounding area was nothing but desert; now, they're building over everything in sight. They're even carving into the mountains so they can build there, too. Very soon, Warren Ellis's TRANSMETROPOLITAN vision of America being one big city will be a reality.
Anyway, I had an excellent time while I was there. I didn't gamble, but I did go to a place called the OG. Strip clubs in Illinois have a variety of rules, first and foremost that you are not to touch the stripper, and she is not supposed to touch you during a lap dance (except in the usual, accepted way, of course). If you break these rules, a bouncer is waiting on hand to break you. Not so at the OG. While the room is waaaay too dark (I was stumbling around, trying to find my way to a table), and you can barely see the stripper on stage, the lap dances are awesome. You can pretty much do everything except fuck the girl on a table. For more details, contact me, and I've got a hell of a story for you.
I staggered drunkenly around Fremont Street, which is kind of like a 24/7 European street festival. The road is closed off, so you can just wander around, get hammered, and watch the show on the huge fucking screen they've built to run along the entire street. The shows I saw weren't all that great, but I have to say, good or not, the fact that you're watching a show on a screen several street blocks long is pretty impressive.
If you're ever out in the area, check out Hogs and Heifers, which is an excellent biker bar with bartenders that do the whole Coyote Ugly thing on the bar. If you're a woman, do yourself a favor and dance with them on the bar, and if they go to steal your bra, let it happen. Look above the drink shelves, and you will see generations of stolen bras dangling down. It's tradition.
Did I mention that every bar has Wild Turkey 101 out there? Here, there is only one bar, the Spring Inn. All the others have the 80 proof slop. Vegas is a Wild Turkey paradise!
I spent the rest of my time just hanging out with my family, either by the TV or by the pool (and my brother, Frankie, introduced me to an excellent video game by the name of DEAD RISING; there's a lot of bothersome exposition, but it's an awesome, if difficult, game and I recommend it to those of you so inclined), and surviving on a diet of Coca-Cola, Wild Turkey 101, and cheeseburgers.
I have the most unhealthy diet of anyone you're likely to meet who actually lives indoors, but not even my body could take that. Don't tell anyone, but the secret to my survival is exercise, vitamins, and Tang. Without these things, I would have died a long time ago from my various excesses. But the thing is, I had a cold last week, and I couldn't exercise, and when I went to Vegas, I didn't bring my usual vitamins. So by the time I was on the plane home, I was in desperate need of vitamin C.
Let me tell you, coming down off a horrible drinking binge and not being able to sleep it off sucks. I tried my absolute best to fall asleep on the plane, but this is an impossible task for me, even when sober. I don't know how people do it. I used to weight 306 lbs., but I'm down to a very manageable 220, and I still couldn't do it. (Incidentally, the bathrooms on airplanes suck for anyone who weighs more than 120 lbs. I had the booze shits on the way back, and I could barely fit on the seat. My knees were pressed together, it was that bad.) There were some people on the plane that had to be 300 lbs. or more, and they were sleeping like babies. How?!
The flight attendant was a guy who looked a lot like my high school art teacher, who in turn looked a bit like Sean Connery with a ponytail. I bothered him throughout the entire flight, begging for more things to drink. There were no juices, and the energy drink sounded like a bad idea, so I asked him for water about every fifteen minutes. I was very well hydrated, but what I really needed was my Tang. I felt scurvy starting to set in.
Another of my current pains: my neck, because I couldn't sleep on the plane, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't even read, my situation was so bad. I just had to ride it out, much to the displeasure of the poor woman who had to sit next to me.
But I made it home, and as soon as I got there, I drank down a gallon of Tang and Crangrape and whatever else has vitamin C in it that I could get my hands on. I then proceeded to pass out.
When I woke up yesterday afternoon (I'd gotten in during the morning), I unpacked and noticed something that I'd forgotten about. You see, when I arrived on Friday morning, my step-mother had a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 waiting for me, and it wasn't a fifth. No, it was a huge motherfucker. Go to my comments [ON MY MYSPACE PAGE], and you'll see that she posted a picture of me in their pool. Look at the right side of the picture, and you'll see the bottle. I finished a good portion of that sucker, but nobody else drinks Wild Turkey around there, so my step-mother told me to take it back with me.
I remember thinking, "That's probably an airline violation." But what's the worst that would happen to me? They'd take it away? Sure, that's bad enough, but still, I won't be going to Guantanamo Bay for it.
So we packed it, and now I have the remainder in my bedroom, waiting for the weekend.
It took a while to recover from everything, but even so, I still felt good enough to go out and drink with Jay, Stephanie, Cindy, Kari, and Lindsay last night at Doc Ryans. They used to have dollar pints on Mondays, but now it's $1.50. I'm weeping on the inside.
But I'm alive. So stop telling everyone I'm dead.
"My body is a road-map of pain." Jeffrey Combs said that in THE FRIGHTENERS, and now I understand how he feels. I have just returned from Vegas, and just about every part of my body aches. My back and shoulders are throbbing because it was the first time I'd gone for a swim in a decade. My face, forearms, and legs (from mid-thigh down to my ankles) are all sunburned. There are three small perforations in the palm of my right hand (and a tiny abrasion on my pinkie) from accidentally scraping my hand against the bottom of the pool. And my upper lip has been cut to ribbons because I tried shaving while drunk.
But it was worth it.
It was actually a lot easier than I thought it would be to get through security at Midway. I'd heard all sorts of horror stories, but the reality was that if you get there early enough, the only annoyance is waiting in the long line to check your luggage. I breezed through everything else, and the plane actually left on time! Shockingly enough, WE ARRIVED EARLY IN VEGAS! It was only by five minutes, but I remember from when I was younger that the planes NEVER ran on time, much less get to your destination early. The flight was even pleasant. It was Southwest, and I was able to get on early enough to find a window seat (because you never, EVER want to miss the show of taking off and landing; I have no idea how most people can ignore such an awesome spectacle), and I managed to get through most of Brian Keene's TERMINAL (yes, I was on a plane reading a book called TERMINAL, and I sadly did not get a single double-take), which is an excellent book, probably his best, and I recommend it to you all.
Vegas has changed a lot since I was a kid. A lot of casinos are gone, and a whole hell of a lot more have gone up. I remember when most of the surrounding area was nothing but desert; now, they're building over everything in sight. They're even carving into the mountains so they can build there, too. Very soon, Warren Ellis's TRANSMETROPOLITAN vision of America being one big city will be a reality.
Anyway, I had an excellent time while I was there. I didn't gamble, but I did go to a place called the OG. Strip clubs in Illinois have a variety of rules, first and foremost that you are not to touch the stripper, and she is not supposed to touch you during a lap dance (except in the usual, accepted way, of course). If you break these rules, a bouncer is waiting on hand to break you. Not so at the OG. While the room is waaaay too dark (I was stumbling around, trying to find my way to a table), and you can barely see the stripper on stage, the lap dances are awesome. You can pretty much do everything except fuck the girl on a table. For more details, contact me, and I've got a hell of a story for you.
I staggered drunkenly around Fremont Street, which is kind of like a 24/7 European street festival. The road is closed off, so you can just wander around, get hammered, and watch the show on the huge fucking screen they've built to run along the entire street. The shows I saw weren't all that great, but I have to say, good or not, the fact that you're watching a show on a screen several street blocks long is pretty impressive.
If you're ever out in the area, check out Hogs and Heifers, which is an excellent biker bar with bartenders that do the whole Coyote Ugly thing on the bar. If you're a woman, do yourself a favor and dance with them on the bar, and if they go to steal your bra, let it happen. Look above the drink shelves, and you will see generations of stolen bras dangling down. It's tradition.
Did I mention that every bar has Wild Turkey 101 out there? Here, there is only one bar, the Spring Inn. All the others have the 80 proof slop. Vegas is a Wild Turkey paradise!
I spent the rest of my time just hanging out with my family, either by the TV or by the pool (and my brother, Frankie, introduced me to an excellent video game by the name of DEAD RISING; there's a lot of bothersome exposition, but it's an awesome, if difficult, game and I recommend it to those of you so inclined), and surviving on a diet of Coca-Cola, Wild Turkey 101, and cheeseburgers.
I have the most unhealthy diet of anyone you're likely to meet who actually lives indoors, but not even my body could take that. Don't tell anyone, but the secret to my survival is exercise, vitamins, and Tang. Without these things, I would have died a long time ago from my various excesses. But the thing is, I had a cold last week, and I couldn't exercise, and when I went to Vegas, I didn't bring my usual vitamins. So by the time I was on the plane home, I was in desperate need of vitamin C.
Let me tell you, coming down off a horrible drinking binge and not being able to sleep it off sucks. I tried my absolute best to fall asleep on the plane, but this is an impossible task for me, even when sober. I don't know how people do it. I used to weight 306 lbs., but I'm down to a very manageable 220, and I still couldn't do it. (Incidentally, the bathrooms on airplanes suck for anyone who weighs more than 120 lbs. I had the booze shits on the way back, and I could barely fit on the seat. My knees were pressed together, it was that bad.) There were some people on the plane that had to be 300 lbs. or more, and they were sleeping like babies. How?!
The flight attendant was a guy who looked a lot like my high school art teacher, who in turn looked a bit like Sean Connery with a ponytail. I bothered him throughout the entire flight, begging for more things to drink. There were no juices, and the energy drink sounded like a bad idea, so I asked him for water about every fifteen minutes. I was very well hydrated, but what I really needed was my Tang. I felt scurvy starting to set in.
Another of my current pains: my neck, because I couldn't sleep on the plane, no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't even read, my situation was so bad. I just had to ride it out, much to the displeasure of the poor woman who had to sit next to me.
But I made it home, and as soon as I got there, I drank down a gallon of Tang and Crangrape and whatever else has vitamin C in it that I could get my hands on. I then proceeded to pass out.
When I woke up yesterday afternoon (I'd gotten in during the morning), I unpacked and noticed something that I'd forgotten about. You see, when I arrived on Friday morning, my step-mother had a bottle of Wild Turkey 101 waiting for me, and it wasn't a fifth. No, it was a huge motherfucker. Go to my comments [ON MY MYSPACE PAGE], and you'll see that she posted a picture of me in their pool. Look at the right side of the picture, and you'll see the bottle. I finished a good portion of that sucker, but nobody else drinks Wild Turkey around there, so my step-mother told me to take it back with me.
I remember thinking, "That's probably an airline violation." But what's the worst that would happen to me? They'd take it away? Sure, that's bad enough, but still, I won't be going to Guantanamo Bay for it.
So we packed it, and now I have the remainder in my bedroom, waiting for the weekend.
It took a while to recover from everything, but even so, I still felt good enough to go out and drink with Jay, Stephanie, Cindy, Kari, and Lindsay last night at Doc Ryans. They used to have dollar pints on Mondays, but now it's $1.50. I'm weeping on the inside.
But I'm alive. So stop telling everyone I'm dead.
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