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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780786885596 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Hachette Books |
| Publication date: | 03/15/2000 |
| Pages: | 256 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.19(w) x 8.00(h) x (d) |
| Age Range: | 13 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
VEGAS
There's a guy who lives in Ohio. One morning, he hears a voice in his head. The voice says, "Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas."
He ignores the voice.
Later in the day, he hears the voice again. "Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas."
Again, he ignores the voice.
Soon he hears the voice every minute of the day. "Quit your job, sell your house, take all your money, and go to Las Vegas."
He can't take it anymore. He believes the voice. He quits his job, sells his house, takes all his money, and flies to Las Vegas. As soon as he steps off the plane, the voice says, "Go to Caesar's Palace."
He goes to Caesar's Palace.
The voice says, "Make your way to the roulette table."
He goes to the roulette table.
The voice says, "Put all your money on red 23."
He puts all his money on red 23.
The dealer spins the wheel. It comes up black 17.
The voice says, "Fuck."
I've been living in or visiting Las Vegas since I was nineteen years old. It's my second-favorite city in the world, next to Cleveland. Gambling, babes, booze ... all the great things in life are there, twenty-four hours a day.
Oh, and if you get up in time after a night of boozing, throwing dice, and chasing skirts, you can also catch some of that fabulous sunshine that Las Vegas is famous for.
The best thing about Las Vegas is that no one pretends to be responsible for your behavior like they do in the rest of the country. There's no meddling self-righteous liberals or right-wing Christian demagogues telling you that you can't do something fun with your own time and money. If you can afford it, it's yours. Sex, gambling, drugs, Sigfried and Roy ... they're all there for the taking.
And, it beats the pants off of Atlantic City. I guess Atlantic City is okay if you can't afford to fly to Nevada, but man ... don't even try to compare the two. It's no contest.
Las Vegas has sexy showgirls in bikinis hanging out by the pool. Atlantic City has old ladies in parkas with buckets full of nickels, bitching their way through the casinos screaming, "Where's my bus? I have a coupon! What can I get for free?"
There really is an inordinate amount of old people in Atlantic City. During the weekdays it's like a retirement village. Nothing against old people, mind you. It's just that in Atlantic City they're so damn s-l-l-o-o-o-w. Ever get stuck walking behind old people in a crowd? No matter how hard you try you can't get around them. Jump to the left, they lean left. Juke to the right, they lean right. Then, out of nowhere, they'll just stop. It's like they have a sixth sense about getting in people's way. They should be guarding Jordan.
A hundred people standing behind them with someplace to go, and they stop right in their tracks, like their batteries went dead. Like the guy decided, "I tell ya, Marge, all my life it's been left, right, left. Well, the hell with it. I'm not walking anymore. Let them come to me."
Besides cranky old people who jam up the aisles, Atlantic City is also home to the friendliest people in the world. What a giving, helpful breed those Atlantic City folks are.
They'll spend all day playing quarter machines, the most popular type of slot machine in Atlantic City. Quarter after quarter after quarter tossed down a metal tube so they can spin three wheels and see pictures of some fruit. They don't even want to win half the time, they just want to get rid of their quarters.
Then, they'll go out to the boardwalk, see some poor guy who's starving, with nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep ... "Got a quarter?" he'll ask politely.
"Go fuck yourself," says the friendly Atlantic City tourist, holding his bucket of quarters close to his body. "This is my gambling money."
A friend of mine sums it up best. He said that the difference between Las Vegas and Atlantic City is the difference between getting conned by a beautiful call girl and getting mugged by a crack head.
* * *
Las Vegas is known for its stupendous stage shows. Many of these shows feature trained animals. Now, God knows I'm no animal rights nut, but there's one thing that sickens me about animals being on stage entertaining a showroom full of Vegas tourists.
The trainer will have the animals jumping through fire, doing flips, sitting up ... you know, really putting on a show. And then, the trainer takes the bow!
To me, that's like having Eddie Van Halen's guitar teacher come out at the end of one of his shows. "Thank you, I'm responsible for everything you saw here tonight! Thank you!"
Since first seeing this phenomenon, every time I see an animal that attacks a trainer on one of those TV specials, I think, "Well, no wonder. The Supremes should've done something like that to Diana Ross a long time ago."
When I'm in Las Vegas, the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino is one of my favorite places to stay (along with Caesar's, and everywhere else I perform. Or anyplace that gives me a free room). It's off the strip, packed with great-looking men and women, small enough to not get lost in, and across the street from a first-class strip club. Add to that the constant blaring of great rock and roll music throughout the casino (even in the elevators and underwater in the pool!), and you really can't go wrong. You'll feel young and horny the whole time you're there.
The Hard Rock also has the most pandering corporate slogan I've ever heard: "Save the Planet." You can't get away from it. It's on every sign, every chip, every matchbook. "Save the Planet." Like you can really save the planet from people in the first place, and if you wanted to, you could do it by drinking and gambling at the Hard Rock. "Hey, not only am I getting shit-faced drunk and picking up cute chicks, I'm saving the planet!"
And what the hell does it mean, "Save the Planet"? Save what planet? How? Who? Why? When? What will it cost me? There's no pamphlets at the door, no nothing.
Save the Planet. Scramble the eggs. Burn the toast.
Every time I play craps there, when I roll the dice I yell "Save the Planet!" Then, win or lose, I loudly announce, "I don't care if I win or not, I just want the planet to be safe," while I count my hundred-dollar chips. This usually brings a tear to the eyes of the environmentally sensitive pit bosses and stickmen who work there.
Maybe they think that the slogan will take the sting out of losing your money there. "Hey, it's okay. Hopefully, some of this money will go toward saving the planet." I'm surprised that losing there isn't tax deductible.
If you ever find yourself at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, ask one of the bartenders or card dealers what you can personally do to make the planet a safer place. But wait until they're really busy. Then interrupt them and ask, "Excuse me, miss, but how can I do more to save the planet right now?" Believe me, they won't mind. Concern for the planet is better than a tip at the Hard Rock!
Once, I stumbled upon what I thought was the real reason the "Save the Planet" slogan exists. Concrete, irrefutable proof that the Hard Rock Casino really cares. There's a row of slot machines off in the corner of the casino with a counter above them, spinning down the acres of rain forest left in the world. At first, it looks like another row of mega-jackpot machines, but then when you read the fine print you discover their real altruistic purpose. They're not there to take your money. They're there to Save the Planet! I think that they reset it every so often just so they don't look stupid when it gets down to zero after a week.
They claim that a "portion" of the proceeds from those machines will go directly to help save the rain forest. Of course, no one ever plays them. They're busy saving the planet in some other way, like playing video poker, or "accidentally" grabbing someone's ass.
Maybe the Hard Rock could rework the roulette tables so that every time someone wins on a red number, they don't get the money. They send the person's winnings directly to the hut of some poor family in the rain forest. Or if you get a blackjack, the rain forest wins! What do you need the money for, you greedy prick? What's the matter? Don't you care about the environment?
And why only the rain forests? Is that all we need to do to save the whole planet? What about the deserts and the oceans? What about Bosnia or South Central LA? Why do only the rain forests get all of the "Save the Planet" money?
I wonder how much of the planet has actually been saved since the first Hard Rock opened its doors to the public? After all, there's Hard Rock restaurants all over the world. I guess the planet must be pretty safe by now, wouldn't you? (Except for the trees that were chopped down to build more Hard Rocks, that is. All of their bars are made of the nicest wood....) When can we stop saving the planet? I must write the Hard Rock and ask them that. "Dear Hard Rock, just for my records, how close are we to finally saving the planet? And, once it's safe, will you be changing your corporate slogan to reflect the planet's saved state? Like 'We Saved the Planet,' or 'If It Weren't for Our Hamburgers the Planet Would Be Dead Right Now'?"
Meeting eager-to-please, open-minded sex partners seems to be the main activity at the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino. On the weekends, it even ranks higher than gambling. How that helps to save the planet I don't know, but I'm all for it. "Hey baby, sit on my face and save the planet."
A more appropriate slogan for the Hard Rock would be "Get Laid and Gamble." It would even look better on all those T-shirts that tourists line up for an hour to buy. Say it out loud for me. "Get Laid and Gamble." There. Doesn't that make you want to go there and spend your money more than a silly slogan like "Save the Planet"?
As much as I hate a slogan that's as vague and obsequious as "Save the Planet," at least it's a more endearing corporate slogan than something like, "Fuck You, Give Us Your Money."
Hey! Maybe they could use that for Atlantic City. "Welcome to Atlantic City--Fuck You, Give Us Your Money."
It would be the first honest slogan in America.
CHAPTER TWO
BASIC HOME THEATER
A guy buys a big 200-acre ranch out in the country. One day, shortly after he moves in, he's relaxing on his front porch when a pickup truck comes rambling down the one dirt road to his house and screeches to a halt in front of him.
"Howdy neighbor!" the pickup driver says. "My name's Bill! I live next door and wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood!"
"Well, thanks Bill. That's right friendly," says the man.
"My pleasure," Bill says. Then, "Hey listen, the reason I drove over here is that I'm having a party this Saturday and I'd really like you to come. And it is sure going to be a doozy. There's going to be eatin', and drinkin', and fuckin', and fightin' ... I tell you, it's going to be great!"
"Well, that sounds just fine, Bill," says the man. "What should I wear?"
"Oh, it don't matter," Bill explains. "It's just gonna be you and me."
The first thing I did with my first paycheck from my first TV show (The Good Life, on NBC) was buy a big-screen TV.
At the time, it seemed like the most sensible purchase I could make. Of course, I had no money in the bank and my furniture was so ratty that even my stoner friends wouldn't sit in it, but who cared? A person could live without money or furniture; they can't live without a TV.
I started out small, with a thirty-five-inch Mitsubishi, from the same company that made Kamakaze aircraft in World War II. That's about the smallest you can get and still call it a big screen. I was only in a modest apartment then, so it took up the whole wall and looked huge when you walked in. I also wear my underwear a size smaller than I need to.
Of course, my television was made in Japan. All the good televisions are. The Japanese are great at making televisions, and it's darn near impossible to buy a TV that isn't made there. If there's a decent television brand that's still made in America, I sure can't think of it. If you know of a company that makes one, write them and tell them to advertise it once in a while.
Students in Japan also beat the heck out of American kids in important areas like science, and math, and not acting like an idiot in public. That's because American kids, instead of studying, would rather spend their time in front of television sets that are made in, er ... Japan.
I added to the thirty-five-inch Japanese Mind Bomb a set of the four cheapest speakers I could find (made in China), and connected it to the AUX part of my stereo tuner to get almost-realistic surround sound. Not as fancy as I wanted, and I worried that I would somehow be cheating my friends out of an important part of the home theater experience when they heard it. But believe me, when I turned it up loud enough, none of my stoner friends even noticed. In fact, in between bites of my potato chips, they complimented me on the clarity of the sound.
The first movie I rented to watch on it was Ben Hur, and let me tell you, it was fantastic. Believe me, nothing looks better on a big TV screen with Almost-Surround Sound than the homosexual give and take between Tony Curtis and Charlton Heston.
I've been watching a lot of old movies lately. That way, I don't have to see all of that annoying product placement stuff that they do nowadays. And it's always done so obtrusively. Yeah, like I always hold my Pepsi with the label out so the camera can see it.
That's Pepsi. The Choice of a New Generation.
Another thing that I started doing quite a bit of since I got my first big screen is playing Sega Genesis. I cannot beat one game on my Sega Genesis machine. On my old Nintendo, I could beat a couple of them, but not Sega Genesis. It's impossible, and I refuse to upgrade to a faster, smarter machine because of it. I'm not blaming the machine, mind you. I don't get mad at it, or throw things at the TV when I get frustrated.
But if I ever meet the guy who invented Sega Genesis, I'm going to beat the living shit out of him.
When The Drew Carey Show was renewed for a second season, the first thing I did, believe it or not, was something sensible. I bought a house. The place had been a rental for many years and needed a lot of small repairs, new landscaping, and a coat of paint inside and out.
So instead of doing all that, I went out and bought a bigger TV. I knew that nothing would impress my friends more, and I was right. I've spent thousands on landscaping, paint, and draperies since then, and all they talk about when they come over is how great the TV is.
My sink constantly backs up, half the lightbulbs in the house are burned out, and my toilet runs every ten minutes like it was busted by a Swiss watchmaker. Not a word from my friends, though. As long as I have a cool TV, I might as well live in a cave. In fact, I like to think of my house as nothing more than a glorified console for my television; the ultimate stereo cabinet.
The new set was a sixty-one-inch Sony XBR. It looked great in the room with the peeling paint and burnt-out lightbulbs. I also bought a set of B&W THX speakers, a brand new Super-VHS VCR, and a top-of-the-line laser disc player.
It's more than a person needs, really, but what isn't? If we weren't all a bunch of vain gluttonous pigs, we'd be happy with nothing but bland food, plain-looking clothes, and adequate shelter. Then where would we be? Communist China, that's where, making cheap speakers for Americans, watching propaganda films on a twelve-inch, black-and-white screen and driving a Chinese version of the K-car. I shudder at the thought.
Americans don't want plain and simple and adequate. Neither does anybody in any country with money. We all want bigger and better and more. And not only that, it has to have a name that makes it sound like more than it is. That's why it's not called "a big-ass TV and some overpriced speakers" in the electronics store ads. Who would put down their hard-earned dough for something like that? Instead, they always give their products some sexy name and add unneccesary letters that remind you of sex. The "SX," for example. How many times have you seen that on an expensive electronic product (or a car)? Why not the "BJ," or the "69"? Or, better yet, the "SX BJ 69." I'd buy that, no matter what it was. "The All-New Dog Shit SX BJ 69." Give me two!
That's why it's never just a TV set and some speakers. It's a "Home Theater System."
Imagine, an actual theater in your own home. Don't we all dream of something like that at one time or another? Something so wasteful and unnecessary that we just have to have it? Like a Jaguar, or a Rolls-Royce, or two girlfriends?
The concept of a home theater is way up near the top of the pyramid as far as good old American conspicuous consumption is concerned. I mean, we already have theaters in America. Great ones, in fact. But to enjoy them we have to sit next to smelly strangers who might dress differently than we do, or might want to actually talk to us. Ick.
Instead, thanks to a happy step forward in corporate Darwinism, public theaters will soon become a thing of the past, like carpooling and mass transit. Now, we will have our own private home theaters. Good-bye expensive popcorn! Good-bye having to have our parents drop us off at the mall in the snow! Now, when the floor is sticky, I'll know exactly how it got that way.
We have our own individual theaters now.
It used to be just "the living room," but not anymore. With a big-enough screen and loud-enough speakers, it's a cineplex. Throw in a personal computer, a job you can do from home, and some mail-order catalogs, and you could probably live the rest of your life without coming in contact with another living human. Ever. Real Utopia at last, just like the book of Revelations promised us.
Of course, for those of you who might get homesick for the mall theater experience every now and again, maybe the Japanese could add some "crowd noise" buttons onto the remote. I suggest "Crying Baby," "Obnoxious Teenagers," and "People Who Yell At the Screen."
(When I first started making "TV money," I bought only one other stupid and unnecessary thing: an eighty-dollar laser pointer that I saw in a catalog. I don't know what I was thinking, but it seemed like a cool thing to have at the time. You know, it's a light. You point to things with it. It's made in America. I use it to mess with people's cats.)
Although having all of this equipment is really cool, it is also really expensive. More than really expensive. Ridiculously expensive. So to justify the expense, I told myself that I was going to buy and rent nothing but the finest that Hollywood had to offer: Academy Award-winning documentaries, THX-enhanced director's cut editions, and the best sensitive foreign films and dramas from the Sundance Film Festival.
You know what I watch the most of? Titty movies and porn.
What a waste of money this TV is when I'm watching that stuff. It's like paying five grand for fine china, and then not eating anything off of it but macaroni and cheese.
There's only one thing that's bad about having a big-screen TV, and that's the fact that everyone wants to come over and use it. It's worse than having a pool or a good-looking girlfriend. And if you say no, you're a prick. It really chips away at the dream of a life without human interaction.
And if you thought people talked a lot at the movies at the mall, hoo-boy. Wait till they're watching a movie with you on a TV in your own home. Yakity, yakity, yakity. And good luck getting them to leave, because unlike a movie at the mall, TV is never over.
Other than that it's the greatest. Buy a big-screen as soon as you can, and be sure it's at least a thirty-five-incher. Then get your speakers and cable hooked up and enjoy the show. And don't worry about little things like furniture. If I can live without it, so can you.