"I got my mind on my money and my money on my mind." - Snoop Doggy DoggMy middle name should be "Aloha" because I've been coming and going so many places, I don't know whether I should be saying "hello" or "goodbye." I just got back to New York City and in little more than a week I have to get ready and hit the road again. Atlantic City was a lot of fun, but it's hard living in a casino for two weeks. Thank God that Derek came down last weekend along with AlCantHang and EvaCanHang. They preserved my sanity. Also thanks to a timely Chris Halverson suggestion, AlCantHang picked me up a very exquisite bottle of scotch. The Hangs graciously hung out while I had to finish up covering one of the final tables. When the event was finally over, the Hangs kidnapped me for a night of drinking. We headed over with Derek to Harrah's to drink heavily.
I had been outside a couple of times a day, but only for a few minutes and never past the front lobby entrance. I never left the Borgata property for ten straight days when I headed over to Harrah's for the first time. There was a bar that featured live music and that's where they wanted to take me. AlCantHang's buddy Phil's band played there the week before. And they all went and had a fun time.
As soon as you walk into Harrah's you notice the atrocious floor. "It's like the universe puked on the carpet," explained AlCantHang.
As soon as I set foot on the casino floor of Harrah's I saw two awkward signs of desperation. Foreshadowing? An omen? Or just part of the usual Saturday night scene in Atlantic City? An old man busted at a slot machine and slowly limped off in defeat. The dejection on his face nearly kicked me in the junk. Immediately to his left, a tiny bald lady with just a few strands of white hair sprouting out of her age-spotted lumpy head took a huge drag of a Marlboro red and pulled the slot machine lever. The 100-year old broad was hooked up to an oxygen machine. One bad move and she could have blown us all to Ramallah.
We made our way to the bar as the band set up on the stage. There was a small dance floor in front surrounded by a semi-circle of small lounge tables and chairs. Behind that was the Cheers style bar and in the corner were more tables. Eva wanted us to be close enough so we could see the scene. I read on Al's blog a few days earlier about the type of people who came to Harrah's on a Saturday night to drink and dance. His buddy Tony described it as a "bad wedding reception." Fitting. It was more like horny and drunk forty-year olds dancing like retards.
As soon as we sat down, the same waitress from the week before popped up out of nowhere. The Hangs ran up a huge tab equivalent to the GNP of Luxembourg and tipped her accordingly. AlCantHang has every waitress paid off within a 87 mile radius of Philadelphia. The rules are simple: Keep the SoCo flowing and they made their biggest tip night of the year.
Al quickly recognized a friend of his.
"Holy shit, that's Vinny! Yo Vinny!"
Yep, Al and Eva knew the guitar player and the lead singer of the cover band. He had been in the band Crystal Roxx and wrote the infamous AlCantHang song. Vinny was there the night AlCantHang got his nickname and almost died.
"He should be dead," Vinny explained. "No one drinks that much and lives."
The center of amusement and entertainment for the night had to be a guy who looked like a cross between Frank Zappa and Max Cady, Robert DeNiro's character from the film Cape Fear. If you saw Cape Fear, you know how much of a slimeball that guy looked like. Our hero had a handle-bar mustache and a slicked back mullet-type of long hair. He wore a blue Hawaiian shirt and white slacks. He reminded me of a used car dealer who's a part time pedophile.
Vinny's band played a series of 1980s and 1990s cover songs. After they got warmed up, the freaky looking guy jumped up and started displaying his amazing drunken dancing skills. He pretty much humped anything that moved on the dance floor. It was as though he learned all of his dance moves from watching porno movies. He did things that resembled various sex acts as I laughed and shook my head at the same time. His main target was a 60 year old woman who looked like Bea Arthur. He humped her for three straight songs and looked hornier than Bill Clinton on the first day of Spring. During the band's cover version of Nelly's Hot in Herre, he repeatedly spanked Bea's ass as he humped her doggie style.
We all sat back and laughed and enjoyed the show. It was for free too. Just like Tony said, it looked like a bad wedding reception. I don't recall too much after a while. I know that the SoCos kept coming and everytime I looked down, there was a new drink. Eva befriended a hooker at the adjacent table and she had no clue she was a lady of the night until Derek clued her in.
The second band was this group of chicks from Montreal with three musicians. They sang 70s and 80s pop and disco tunes. Three of them were blonde and I'd do all three singers, not because they were blonde, but because they were French-Canadian and I was drunker than Jenna Bush on Cinco de Mayo. One of the singers looked like a healthy Tara Reid with hipster glasses. She was the sexy one. The other looked like a younger version of Diane Lane. She was the smart one. And the third one didn't wear a bra. I couldn't tell you what her face looked like because I stared at her nipples during their entire set.
I don't recall leaving Harrah's but when Derek woke me up the next day I was still drunk. Lucky for me the showers had benches and I sat down for a few minutes in a hot shower as I sobered up.
Drinking with Al past Midnight causes serious lapses in your memory. I lose spacial consciousness somewhere between 2am and 4am. That's the peak time for alien abductions and random drunk dialing where I spew out obscenities onto people's voicemails and call up ex-girlfriends and persuade them to divorce their husbands so they can go hiking in the Himalayas with me.
I'll be writing a few freelance assignment the next few days and trying to finish up the Vegas book before I head out to the Left Coast in 8 days. I'm trying to get Grubby to come out to California so we can hit the lesbian bars in Venice Beach to try to pick up confused starlets.
Recent Writing Music...
1. My Morning Jacket
3. Soulive with John Scofield
4. Miles Davis
5. Charlie Hunter Quartet