So Little Love, So Much Sin
Experienced alone, life is barely worth living. Many may contend with that statement, but as
one who has experienced a great deal of it alone, I can say with a good deal of
certainty that this mode grows old quite quickly. When one is young, one gets their fill of
it. It is magical for a while, and after
too much comparison, and too much loneliness, life enters a state which may be
deemed unworthy of continuation. It is
when life becomes a treadmill, when no advancement is possible, when living on
a fixed income, when paying rent brings one no closer to a greater goal, and
this is particularly at its worst when one realizes that they are the last ones
left in this position at their age, and it becomes increasingly hard to find
anyone that can identify with similar deficiencies.
While a good deal of my income had been disposed of
by February 2008, I was not so broke that I felt different from my peers, in a
curiously more desperate state, yet. I
did not feel like a person of “arrested development” as I do now. I had looked forward to our trip to Las Vegas
for Molly’s 6th Birthday. She
was born February 29, 1984—so while she might have been turning 24 years old,
she was celebrating her sixth birthday—a particular specialty that she is lucky
to be able to exploit. One real birthday
every four years puts considerably more value on the otherwise vaguely
depressing yearly-occurrence of growing one hash mark older. For a month or so, we had been planning the
trip. It would be Molly, Sycamore,
myself, Erin, Nathaniel, Jara, and Kenny, until Kenny dropped out at the last
second because he didn’t want to sleep in the same hotel suite as everyone
else. I believe I ended up paying $120
for my share of the two nights at the hotel.
What hotel?
Anybody who has been to Las Vegas must have some interest in hearing
about what hotel (casino) you stayed at.
It was the Flamingo, which I was very happy about, as I had been a fan
of the film Bugsy and enjoyed seeing
how Las Vegas sprung from this single, legendary establishment, and was quite
pleased that my first real visit there would take place on these hallowed
grounds. I had told everyone at work
that I was going to Vegas, and two of my co-workers gave me a dollar or two to
gamble with in their name. I drove home,
carried all of my bags (after a little deliberation deciding to bring the
Ghost, despite fears of the state checkpoint at Barstow on the way back), and
retrieved my iPod boombox because Molly’s car did not have an iPod connection
and we did not have many CDs to pick from.
She was borrowing her parents’ Toyota Prius, a very nice car to travel
long distances in. I waited for a while
outside of my apartment for Molly and Jara to arrive in the car. They did about twenty minutes later than I
was expecting them to, and we drove to Westwood to pick up Sycamore, and then
officially began the trek to Las Vegas.
The ride was between 4 and 5 hours or 4 ½ and 5 ½
hours, somewhere in there. We stopped at
a place for gas relatively in the middle of nowhere—the last service station in
California before Nevada—and gas was $5.00 a gallon there. We went inside the general store and it was
filled with odd knick-knacks. There was
a coin operated fortune teller/genie not unlike the one in the film Big which vaguely freaked me out. Sycamore bought a shirt there advertising the
fact that it was the last exit in California.
We headed back on 1-10 E and he made an on-the-go playlist from my iPod
and we enjoyed ourselves, arriving perfectly as his playlist ended, as I had
tried to urge him to estimate. We had
also listened to a playlist that I had created which contained all of the songs
mentioned in my first novel, Daylight
Savings Time, and formed a kind of original motion picture soundtrack to
the imaginary film adaptation I had pictured in my mind, and Jara, whose father
was a cinematographer, whose most famous work was the excellent Glengarry Glen Ross, found my total
imagining of the most specific details (playing Black Flag’s “You’re Not Evil”
as the last shot of the film would jump to black, with the credits starting to
roll) compelling. She also enjoyed the Public
Image Ltd. Song “Albatross” which was the beginning of our weekend bonding—I
might have pursued Jara romantically during that weekend if we had the
possibility of a bit more privacy and if I had felt more strongly about her
than I did. But there would be vague feelings
of togetherness, as we would be on a weekend trip with three other couples, and
were the only two single people in the group.
When we arrived at the Flamingo, Jara and I were told
to wait off at the side of a balcony.
The room was only in the name of one couple, and we were packing six
people in there. They didn’t want to
appear suspicious, so we waited, and Jara and I talked about French cinema—Contempt in general—and she asked me
about my first novel, she asked what it was about and I said it was about the
experience very similar to the one we were currently enjoying, it’s just kind
of this collection of moments that involve waiting, standing off to the side,
smoking a cigarette on a balcony, because I was soon to find out that smoking
would be allowed almost anywhere in Vegas.
The room was procured and we moved on up to it. We unloaded our stuff on the floor, with the
signing couple getting the bedroom in the suite. I laid down my pink air mattress, took out
the Ghost, and proceeded to pack some up.
Everybody partook, and I looked down the window from how high up we were
and I started to freak out a little bit.
I realized it was going to be one of the best places to be high,
ever. So, we had some cake, listening to
some music, and headed down out onto the Strip.
Molly had wanted to go to a strip club at the end of
the night and to get a lap dance, so we had that on the agenda, but we were
told not to gamble at our hotel, so we walked to Paris first of all. Mind you, we arrived around 11:00 PM or so
and got going around midnight. We
gambled for a while there and it was my first experience. I mostly stuck to slot machines and blackjack
touch screen games. I felt like we were
at Paris later, but I guess it was about 2 AM, and the lighting on the inside
was great, I felt like I was in a slightly different world. We played for a while and I sat at the bar
for a second. A couple of women sat on
opposite sides of me—one older, larger, and black, and one my age, larger, and
white. The older one started a
conversation with me, and I was just trying to get my drink, for free or really
cheap, and I sort of enjoyed the attention, I must admit, and considered how it
might be done. But the older woman asked
me, “What am I 100% of?” And I said, “I
don’t know. Black?” The girl my age said, “Woman, You’re 100%
woman.” And the older woman said, “That’s right.” I felt that it was a faux pas on my
part. However, the older woman asked if
I was her (the younger one’s) friend.
And I said I don’t know, and then she said, “I’ll be his friend if he
wants me to be.” The temptation was
quite strong, though this girl was not the most attractive. I can imagine it would have been fun if the
venue were right. But I was with
friends, so no. We left Paris.
We walked across the street to Caesar’s Palace. We played a little bit, had another drink or
two, and walked around the city some more.
Then we all took a cab to a strip club.
I can’t remember the name, I want to say it was something like
Scores? So we went there and Molly and
Erin got their lap dances and it was very sexual and Nathaniel tried to buy me
a lap dance and I told him thanks, I really appreciate it, but I didn’t want
it, and I went to the bar to get an expensive drink. Another hooker came up to me at the bar and
we talked about how I was from Chicago and she started talking about the mob
trial, or so I thought. Something
related to the ongoing mob trial of like 2006—2009. But I don’t think it was anything so
sophisticated, I think we misunderstood each other—maybe she was talking about
Al Capone. Anyways, she lost interest in
me after a while, maybe I didn’t seem interested enough, and I wasn’t. We left not too long after, and we got back
around 4:30 or so and I smoked before going to bed. I’m not sure if Jara partook, but if she did,
she was the only other one.
Before we enter into Day 2 in Vegas, I should do some
journal transcription. Notes written
shortly after the trip will be more likely to provide an accurate description
of the events than my distinct memory of things that happened over a year ago.
There are also 3 poems/songs I wrote about things
that happened there.
3/3/08
Elements of vegas trip to
mention in a short story about it:
-how long it took to leave
-Mike’s comments about it
being like the beginning of a horror movie, the gas station with $4.50 gas, the
fortune telling machine in there, the last stop Cima Rd. t-shirt he bought for
7 dollars
-standing waiting on the
Flamingo hotel outdoor raised walkway with Jara, discussing how the situation
was like my novel, stationery, waiting, not knowing what’s coming, and then
describing Contempt for her.
-drinking the rum we bought in
Baker by the giant thermometer.
-etc.
Etc.
-Paris, prostitutes, 100%
black answer, regretted
-Scores-girl not interested
in Chicago mob trial—Rico?
-lunch at French restaurant
how long it took
-hot tub, how Erin spoke
beautifully at length about closet gays in Virginia, and swingers and orgies.
-dinner at food court
-frustration at size and
getting lost
-New York, NY, talking to
Kristin at Brooklyn Bridge
-Need to see Tigers at MGM
Grand
-Erin hugging me goodbye
-smoking inside
-Venice slot, Tabasco slot,
Wheel of Fortune slot, Red White and Blue slot
-Inclinator vs Glass Back
-Pissing off (name excised)
-Feeling dumb.
-Circus Circus buffet
-Barstow incident (story
worthy?)
As you might be able to tell, we are right at the
French restaurant part. We went there
for lunch on Saturday. We met up with
Adam & Jenny on Saturday too—they were Molly’s two British friends. They were an item. The French restaurant would not have been my
first choice, but I agreed to go there.
Nothing would have made me upset.
I was very happy on the first night, and the first afternoon. There was still a lot to look forward
to. But, we were a large party (8) and
the service was some of the worst service I have ever received in a restaurant
period—not that they were mean to us, but the food took an absurdly long time,
and wasn’t that good anyways—not that I remember, at least. We walked around the Strip during daylight
after that and there was talk about going back to the hotel to use the pool and
I had to be like, “Yes, this is very important, let’s do it NOW,” in order to
get everyone on the same page. Don’t get
me wrong—I enjoyed Adam & Jenny’s company—but when they became added to the
group, it became significantly more difficult to plan and implement our next
chosen activity to attack. The pool
turned out okay—we couldn’t go swimming in the regular pools because they had
closed, but everyone just wanted to go in the hot tub anyways. I had brought my white bathrobe, and my white
sunglasses, and my camouflage flip-flops, and my Hunting Accidents: A Brief History of Guided by Voices book, and
everyone thought I was so fashionable that someone took a picture of me in my
full regalia and I felt very cool. But I
would be lying if I didn’t mention that small rifts were forming in our
group. Slight annoyances from one person
to another that would not be taken all that seriously, but which would
determine what mattered in the greater scheme of things when it came down to
who you could spend all of your time with and never get sick of their routine
behavior.
In the hot tub, Erin and Nathaniel somehow got onto
the topic of how they had gone to a bar in Virginia that was filled with closet
homosexuals. To hear her speak about the
phenomenon was a little uncomfortable, but compelling at the same time. In the sense that, she was discussing men who
for whatever reason had to live a straight lifestyle, in a hot tub with four
guys who were not gay (3 of them had girlfriends—one of them did not and so
probably elicited the most suspicion), and how nothing homophobic in the
slightest passed from anyone’s lips—in this sense the conversation was
uncomfortable yet compelling. From there
it moved onto swingers and orgies, which grew increasingly uncomfortable for
me, as Erin talked about couples going to do it, and single people going to do
it—the tone was probably just one of conversational interest, freedom of speech
and articulate impression, but I could not help thinking of Erin as a sexually
charged being that maybe might have an open relationship and do me, and this
made me uncomfortable and excited, and nervous, and regretful that I had been
unable to (and have been unable to, at this writing) maintain a long-term
partner in the world of bodily pleasure.
Still, the way she spoke with such understanding about closeted gays,
and the way she spoke so openly about supposedly deviant behavior without any
trace of irony, mockery, or hypocrisy struck me as mature, informed,
progressive, and comforting. That is the
only time I remember someone expressing themselves unthinkably and honestly—or
one of the very few times—on these kinds of matters in my life, thus far.
Later, after showering and changing, we headed out
for New York, NY, the casino that had the roller coaster.
So….well there’s only a few more things to tell about
the Vegas trip but it’s getting so late I should just stop and read for a while
and go to sleep. There’s the Luxor
Incident which I will recount totally and include the poem I wrote about that
too. And there’s the incident that ended
the night and the rest of the trip on a somewhat sour note. Soon, Think
and Grow Poor will be done, and my next book will be started. It is another memoir, more intense than this
one (it will be the story of my high school and college experience). I will try to make it more interesting on the
whole. I feel there are many elements of
this book that don’t work—like the dove-tail narrative chapters from the road
trip to L.A. to the road trip to L.A., and some of the dreams from the
beginning which I stopped and which don’t mean anything—except for the one
about Ashleigh. I do think of another
novel as a sort of spiritual sequel to S/M
entitled Resistance which is what I
feel I am constantly up against—resistance is the defining element to my
ability to live in a manner consistent with what I find to be deservingly
called bliss. Everyone deserves bliss,
and I really never get bliss, but have at least had it a few times and so know
the feeling. Resistance because jobs are
so hard to get, so hard to live on, and elements of living are such a mystery
to me, so impossible for me to cope with everything I can’t do that everyone
else can. I am a total loser.
Luxor is the giant pyramid with the Sphinx in front
of it. It definitely stands out more
than most of the other casinos in the area, and I along with everyone else
wanted to go there, though only after trying to find the elusive tigers at the
MGM Grand (they had been put away for the night). When we finally got to Luxor, I proceeded to
do my usual routine: find a bar, play touch screen blackjack for a while until
I got a drink, and move on. Well, a very
slight incident occurred which scared me.
I was sitting there, sipping a drink I had just gotten, and a few feet
from me two men in their mid-to-late 30s stood talking about something of which
I have no recollection. One of them was
talking a bit more vociferously than the other, and I happened to glance up at
him, whether by curiosity at his level of drunkenness or at some attempt to
understand why his language required the degree of emphasis it had attained. I will let the poem I wrote about the
experience speak for me:
Luxor Incident
Sit alone at the bar
Playing blackjack for
A drink, price reduced
Heard a really drunk guy
Make something sound
interesting
Turned around to see
The speaker stop short
Turned back to the game
To hear the conversation now
“That is a fag. Get me out of
Here.”
New neighbors
They never noticed
I remember the last slot machine I played was called
“Venice” and it was sort of soothing and a pleasant appropriate end to it
all. Later Molly and Sycamore and I
tried to find the elevator that curved along the inside of the pyramid and we
were crestfallen. Then we went back to
the hotel, and I asked Molly if I could smoke a bowl in their room since
everyone else had gone to sleep. Erin
and Nathaniel had had to get up very early the next day, and they had left us
at some point before we left for Luxor.
Erin had come out of nowhere and given me a huge, tight hug, and though
it was only a smell gesture, I do not remember feeling so loved by a person in
a long time. I asked Molly if I could
smoke and she said yes, and Sycamore pulled the sheet over his head and was
very upset with me. I got high and then
started apologizing happily, saying I was so sorry if I had pissed him off and
he said, something like, “It’s okay, it’s just not very considerate.” This was one of the few times in my L.A.
experience that I was ever upset by his attitude—the other time being when we
were practicing for our soon-to-be-defunct band and I was playing guitar noise
and he stopped me and said, “I don’t think any of our neighbors appreciate
hearing that, and neither do I.” I do
not hold these things against him however, and realized that people are often
temperamental.
The next day we went to Circus Circus (once I read a
law school sample personal statement about a girl who had babysat her brother
often at Circus Circus while her parents fed their gambling addiction) for the
buffet there with Adam and Jenny, and I was depressed it was all over. I’d mention the Barstow incident, but it’s
rather stupid.
Everything about this story was rather stupid, but
finally we have gotten to the end of it.
Thankfully we will not be compelled to worry about finishing it
anymore. I have no great philosophical
statements to make about the nature of L.A. as we reach this end, but I would
like to say, the opportunity is there, it’s just not very easy to get. Anything is possible there, but everything is
improbable. I know I was meant to be
there for a few reasons—to meet Ashleigh, to have the awkward pseudo-encounter
with Hodg, to meet Laura, to work where I worked—but I didn’t find what I was
looking for. If you believe your life is
missing something, move to L.A. I hope
you find what you are looking for there.
No comments:
Post a Comment