The first is Vicodin. This is a narcotic, which works by binding to opioid receptors in the brain. The upshot of this is that pain is reduced. The first time I tried this I was completely underwhelmed. It wasn't even that effective at reducing the pain, and I didn't feel like I was doing illegal drugs at all. I've gotten better highs from the adrenaline rush following a close call with my zipper fly. The following morning I woke up at 4:30 AM and I couldn't get back to sleep, since I slept so much the day after my surgery. So, I tried another Vic and slept like a rock for the next 5-6 hours.
Last night I was having allergy problems, so I took a Zyrtec-D with my bedtime Vicodin. That was an interesting experience. I don't know the neuroscience behind the response, but I had crazy-ass dreams all night, and I kept waking up feeling paranoid or something. I was on the brink of sleep and wakefullness the whole time. My body temperature skyrocketed and I was soon wearing only shorts, with all my blankets strewn to the side, and a single tissue remaining as my only covers.
The hostel is located on the north end of the strip, just south of the Bail Bond District, right in the heart of the Wedding Chapel District, but quite a bit north of the Normal People in Las Vegas District. You know if it's not a nice neighborhood because most of the windows are made out of plywood. 99 out of 100 of the cars are 1984 Luminas, and the other one is a brand new Hummer. Hmm... I wonder what that guy does for a living.
Why is it that, when sharing a bed with someone in a motel room, sarcasm is the only way to communicate? No one has ever actually said, ``Hey, could you move over some? I don't have much room here.'' No, sarcasm seems to be mandatory in this situation: ``Oh, do you have enough room, your royal highness? Because there's still a 6-molecule overlap between my body and the bed, so if you'd like I'll slide over some more, go right ahead. While I'm awake, can I get you a Nutrageous bar or give you an erotic massage? Christ.''
In the airport, they have a display of things which you mustn't take onto any airplane. Next to every item in this display is a placard telling you the object name and the reason for its banishment. For example,
Item: Gun
Reason: Shoots bullets
They also have a chainsaw in this display. Under the chainsaw, the placard says:
Item: Chainsaw
Reason: Contains flammable material
Am I reading this correctly?! The gasoline inside the chainsaw is the big dealbreaker? Not the fact that it is a giant metallic saw capable of cutting through trees and infidels? Should I be expecting to see this:
Item: Howitzer
Reason: Has sharp edges
The groom's brother, who was also the best man, had told us he didn't want to do a cliche bachelor party with strippers and the like, because the groom was a fundamentalist Christian preparing for a career in the ministry. Somehow the best man didn't think his brother would mind the round-the-clock drunkenness, hours of gambling, and erotic nightclub dancing. Well played, my friend.
However, once we were there, I think it was inevitable that we would end up at a strip club, and we did. I had only been to one strip club before this, in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, and I figured they all looked like that one. In the U.P., we had 10 guys on a ski trip, maybe 1 or 2 older than 21. No one at the club seemed to mind that fact, as we probably doubled their alcohol sales for that month in our one night there. Anyways, the club in the U.P. had like 3 "dancers", and they took turns "dancing". Walking into the club in Las Vegas was like a kid walking into a candy store, assuming that kids like to have sex with candy. There are like 3 strippers per square foot in this place - they're so numerous that you are not even sure where to look.
You see, a man's brain is programmed to reflexively snap the head to look towards any naked woman that it sees. Inside this strip club, your head just starts snapping back and forth every time a new naked woman walks by, and it is completely out of your control. Every five minutes or so, your neck will get extremely tired. At this point, you need to go into a corner and just stare at the walls, so that your neck muscles get some time to recover.
There are a few funny things that happened here. First, a dancer asked Jared if he wanted a lap dance for $20. He tried to talk her down to $10, and in a very insulted voice she told him "$10? Reno is that way!" (pointing North with her nipple tassles). Then, we (Read: I) bought the groom a lap dance. I figured since it was us forcing "sin" upon him, he was not culpable and God would just add the punishment onto my already eternal sentence. Another stripper, undoubtedly down on her luck due to her old age and unsightly appearance, came over to me thinking I must be a big spender. Now, at this point all of us had settled down in seats to watch our friend awkwardly receive a lap dance. But this woman wouldn't leave me alone, and kept persisting that she wanted to dance for me. Finally, I got fed up and said: "FINE. If you really want to dance, go ahead, but I'm not going to watch you."
My friends now watched in hilarity as this woman danced in front of me. Meanwhile, I kept my promise and did not watch her at all. I was looking around her, because I was here for someone else's bachelor party. So now, the other guys are laughing their asses off, because I'm ignoring a lap dance, and our other friend is getting a lap dance, and they were drunk, so everything seemed funny even though as I read it here it doesn't sound funny.
There is a game that goes on during a lap dance. Strippers, not content with their upfront $20, will bombard you with ridiculous compliments in the hopes of receiving great tips. The intensity of the compliment is inversely related to the distance of your hand from your wallet, i.e. the closer you are to your money, the more flattering they are. However, I discovered that one can also illicit intense flattery by being completely disinterested, as I was - I wasn't even watching her. So, I was just responding to her compliments with smartassery, which I thought was really funny, but unfortunately no one heard me. For instance:
Stripper: "Wow! You're really good looking - you should be in movies."
Me: "What are you talking about? I own mirrors, you know. If I was good looking I think I'd know about it."
Then, noticing that didn't work:
Stripper: "You're huge! I've never danced for someone this big."
Me: "I've seen pornography, and while I certainly have nothing to be ashamed of, I find that really difficult to believe."
Frustrated with her futility, she goes for the jackpot:
Stripper: "I used to think that Abraham Lincoln was the greatest American ever, but now I think it's you."
Okay, she didn't really say that last one. Or the first two. Come to think of it, I was drunk the whole time so it may have all been a dream. Anyways, if she really wanted a tip, all she had to say was this:
Stripper: "I think you're the best computer scientist in the world."
Me: "How do I arrange to have my paychecks deposited into your checking account?"
And that was my first Las Vegas experience. I don't anticipate going to any strip clubs this time, so hopefully I can maintain a positive balance in my bank account. I will be taking pictures and copious notes this time though, so I will post anything interesting that happens.
Do you have an explanation for why the holy-rolling crowd seems to leave you alone? You make some fairly inflammatory statements here toward religion (which I enjoy by the way), yet you never seem to get preached at for it. In my case, if I endorse a certain type/brand/style of bicycle, I often have two or three people who give me shit for it.This question intrigued me. Some of my regular readers may already know that I am not religious, and sometimes it may even come across in my writing. While some of it may be inflammatory, that is not my sole intention. Most of it is just goofy, so they probably figure it's not worth their time. But in the spirit of your letter, I'll try to stretch the limits of what I can get away with. Without further ado (except this) (and this - okay after writing this I need to add here that this could be highly offensive if one doesn't realize I'm completely kidding - most of my friends are religious, and most of them are wonderful people):
Zeus bless.
In other news, a recent book contends that Abraham Lincoln may have been gay. He apparently slept in the same bed with a man for several years. Well, he probably got up occasionally to pee. Unfortunately, it is his homosexuality that ultimately led to his assassination. Originally, he was scheduled to go to a boat show on the night he was killed, but he insisted on the theatre.
Anybody who does any history at all knows that events like this happen in threes, and if there only seems to be two just wait. So it is just a matter of time before we find out something new and surprising about another beloved historical figure. Here are some possibilities:
I've actually heard that the crow is one of the more intelligent bird species, and some even have the ability to talk as well as other intelligent abilities. In fact, in unreported results, a remote control was placed in the bird's environment, and the birds were able to control a television. Two of the crows universally turned the channel off of Fox News, saying they found the commentary "Too loud. Caw! Too loud. Caw! Strawman. Caw! False dichotomy. Caw!" I couldn't agree more, except with the "caw" part, as there is no need to resort to vulgarities. The other two crows spent all their time bowling, driving around in pick-up trucks, and calling poor people lazy.
In barely-there bombs, she's a taste-free pain. Let's crown her the Tacky Temptress of Wisteria Lane.Oooh, that sounds like fun. Let me try: "In homo-snobbery fashion critique, his pithy remarks are biting. In a just world, one would be imprisoned for such terrible writing."
I, too, have had many brilliant ideas that have started with the greatest intentions but ended in the trash heap. One of these was a role-playing videogame based on Perfect Strangers. Which one do you want to be? Larry or Balki? It's your choice! Go through the day as a power-broking Chicago businessman dealing with the annoying yet lovable quirks of your foreign-born cousin Balki, or experience the wonder of being an immigrant in the United States, getting American expressions hilariously wrong and in general working your "fish out of water" schtick through a series of wacky hijinks. Unfortunately, this idea did not catch on, supposedly due to the fact that I have no experience making videogames, and that Perfect Strangers hasn't been on TV in 15 years. My own personal theory is that, like Leonardo inventing the tank, sometimes a culture just isn't ready for the ideas of its foremost thinkers.
Another great idea I had is "Kegs o' Kool-Aid," in partnership with my friend Adam. Our personal research had shown that people love drinking stuff out of kegs. Currently, the only beverage regularly served out of kegs is beer. But drinking beer makes you feel weird and say things you don't mean, like that you think Prince would be hot as a chick, or that you are kind of curious what human flesh tastes like. Kool-Aid does not suffer from this problem, tastes delicious, and is much easier to make. Unfortunately, this idea was also a failure, as "big beer" crushed our idea in the early stages. By early stages, I mean when we first got drunk and thought of the idea, then passed out and forgot all the details.
There are many good reasons for switching your allegiances to the greek gods. For one, there is the expression "Greek god." As in, "Have you seen Samp with his shirt off? He looks like a Greek god." This is because all of the greek gods had sculpted physiques, and were generally considered to be quite hot. Through all of your worship, you can be staring at images and icons of the ancient equivalent of bodybuilder or supermodel. Plus, greek gods always walk around in the nude, oftentimes covered in hot oils that undoubtedly have pleasing fragrances. Why not choose a belief system that allows you some erotic imagery in your visualizations of god? Going to church would be fun again, although you'd have to bring plenty of change for use in the 25-cent movie theatres. Compare this to Jesus, who can't even be bothered to shave or wear proper shoes. The choice is easy.
The second reason to convert to Olympianism is that greek gods will interfere with your life all the time. This can be seen in either The Iliad or The Odyssey, both of which read a hell of a lot better than "the good news," by the way. The Christian God used to fuck with people's lives all the time, but he stopped as soon as he had finished his book. Meanwhile, the Olympian gods descend from Mount Olympus whenever they feel like it. Maybe they smell a lamb roasting on a spit and want to get a taste. Maybe they want to shoot some lightning at some battle weary soldiers returning from Troy on a ship. The Christian God, in his entire history, only personally inseminated one woman. Greek gods do that shit all the time!
That brings up another point. Sure, the Christian God claims we were made in his image, but then why is he so perfect while we're not far away from flinging feces at each other like chimpanzees? With the greek gods, there is no doubt - those assholes are just like us. They're always fighting up on Mount Olympus, and have voracious sexual appetites (as mentioned above), they get jealous of other gods, they scheme and plot against each other, take opposing sides in wars, and so on. It could be the greatest reality show ever on television.
I always feel like the oil change people are trying to sell you a lot more than you need, like a used car salesman or a Burmese hooker. So, the last time I got my car fixed they told me that the next time I got my oil changed I should change my fuel filter. I figured I could trust them, because they knew they wouldn't get the work. So, I was prepared to splurge at my next oil change. The guy says, "This air filter looks like it needs replacing - should we do it?" Oooh! I need that! I said yes. Then he asks about the fuel filter. Hmmm... maybe that's what I needed to be replaced. I said yes again.
By now this guy was probably thinking I would say yes to anything. "How about this piece? It's the fuel reuptake manifold decompressor, and it's the original from the manufacturer." I don't know why this is a solid argument for replacement - there are probably a lot of parts on my car that are original. But it was only $5 or $10, so I said yes again. Then he tried to get me to replace another part! If someone were actually naive enough to believe everything they said needs replacing, they would just keep asking you to replace other stuff. By the time you left, you would be driving an entirely new car. I'm surprised he didn't say, "And while we're at it, should we replace the transmission? Now, it is $1500, but without it your car is liable to explode, sending deadly shrapnel hurtling towards the nearest kindergarten. It's your choice. You could always wait until your next oil change, if you don't mind all that innocent blood on your hands." Capitalism sucks.
But to wish you a happy new year is just going out too far on a limb for me. For one, I don't know what kind of stuff really makes you happy. Maybe you get a kick out of torturing puppies. Maybe punching old homeless women really makes you happy. In these cases, wishing you a happy new year is a horrible mistake. In fact, in those cases I hope you have an unhappy new year. But you can't always tell what makes a person happy. And it could change over the course of the year, as they might sustain head trauma, especially if they try to eat any of my egg rolls. Can you imagine the guilt I would feel if, because of my wishes, you went on some kind of killing spree that left you insanely happy?
