1/24/98 - Nowhere Fast
Alright, are you all ready for the first big exciting update from the road? Have you been waiting with burning anticipation all week to read about all the interesting things that no doubt have happened to me since I turned the car westward and hit the gas, speeding off into the wondrous unknown and to a better future?

Well, you're plum out of luck, because I'm still here. My plan, as I said, was to leave early last week, with the intention of arriving in Vegas early this week, so that you'd get one update from the road, and then one reporting on my triumphant entrance into the MGM Grand, the Christic outstretching of my road-weary arms, and the frightening primal scream of victory which I would then release, causing several skimpily-clad cocktail waitresses to drop their double scotches. But instead, you're stuck with another boring Intro from the now-infamous Apartment 13.

Here's the updated plan. I'm now leaving tomorrow, January 25. By the time you read this, I'll probably be on the road. If I can average about 600 miles a day, I should arrive in the fabled desert oasis by next Friday or Saturday. But don't feel cheated, I'll still do a quick update from the road, to say "hi" and test my phone card. Hopefully that'll be up here by Sunday, so check back for that very special feature.

Part of the reason I postponed my departure was to get my new sponsor's page up and running, and get all the legal details worked out. Make sure you check out the special announcement regarding this new development, which is sure to lend an air of credibility and a hint of soy sauce to this rather lowly-regarded page.

Speaking of lowly-regarded, let me just say a quick "hello" to the other writers with whom I've graced their own place on PWC. Hi guys! How ya doin'! Clash, buddy! Things going alright? How's that apartment of yours? Did you have a nice Christmas vacation, even though you didn't visit me? How's that drinking problem coming? Super! Glad to hear it. Hey, Liz! Baby! Still lookin' as good as ever? Got any new ideas about how the government should be overthrown? Gettin' out much? How's the love life? Gettin' it good on a regular basis? Great!

Say, guys... anyone gonna write any new columns in the next year or two? Just curious! No pressure! Don't worry about my reputation or anything, I'm sure it doesn't look bad at all when you advertise regular features on your page but the only one that ever gets updated is your own stupid column, which you already ran out of jokes for and now have nothing at all to write about in it other than your boring experiences driving across the country. So please, whatever you do, don't worry about me, and the commitment you've made to me, and the fact that, thinking about what this webpage could have been, I cry myself to sleep every night, which is going to cost me money when the landlord tells me I have to pay for the cleaning of the tear- and drool-stained carpet, since as you know, I'm still sleeping on the floor. Okay? Okay.

If you're wondering about the status of my $4000 which I ended up with after withdrawing all of my life's savings, well, it's down to about $3500. In addition to regular living expenses, I've had to blow some cash getting ready for the trip. I took the car to get a tune-up, which ended up costing me more than I wanted, mainly because I know nothing about cars.

The way this place works is, you drive your car up, then get out, then sit in a room for 20 minutes reading Woman's World magazine until they call you out to your car, where a mechanic will wave his hands around the engine, and rattle off a list of things that you'll need to buy or replace, or else you'll just be innocently be pulling out of a donut shop one morning and all of a sudden your car will explode, which is very inconvenient because jelly stains are hard to get out.

So there went a couple hundred right there. Now I'm starting to get worried that I won't have enough cash to live on once I get to Nevada. I figure between gas, food, and motel rooms, I'll be down to $3000 or so. Hopefully I can swing a reasonable hotel room out there for a couple weeks to get settled, but that'll still be around $500. I'll keep $1000 to gamble with, and try to make it last a while. Who knows, I might hit it big real quick and then I'll be set!

Don't worry, I'm not that stupid. I've learned, by way of some rather unfortunately experiences over the years, how to stretch out the cash in Vegas. I tell people all the time that Vegas is the greatest city in the world, but you have to know how to work it. The entire town is based on manipulation. Every single flashing light, every single colored plastic chip, every single cocktail napkin is there to manipulate you, twist your perceptions, blind your intellect, and ultimately remove the cash from your pocket. Most of this is obvious, but having the knowledge is still no insurance against ruin and misery. Being manipulated can be a lot of fun initially, so no matter how prepared you are, you just might find your own strings being pulled before your know it. In fact, bank on it.

The saving grace is that the manipulation machine that has been so carefully crafted and manufactured over the years is so huge, so inconceivably monstrous, that it is vulnerable to the tiny speck of a well-prepared individual. It's exactly like Star Wars. Vegas is the Death Star, and it will destroy you without remorse, and with brutal ferocity and haste. But if you can be Luke Skywalker, you can beat the machine, and then hopefully get in Leia's pants.

I'll save some of the Rebellion's more helpful hints for later Introductions, because I'm having to write this goddamn thing on my laptop, and I don't even have a table to put it on anymore, or a chair to sit on, so I'm lying here sprawled out along the floor in the living room, and I think my back is starting to get carpal tunnel syndrome. Also, there's still a very thick layer of cat hair that my departed friends left behind on the floor, which is sticking to my clothes and getting in my eyes and mouth and making me very ornery.

The diet I was on has temporarily stalled due to the fact that I have absolutely nothing to do all day, so I've been spending most of my time at my favorite local establishment, the one place on the entire east coast of the country that I will miss.

The name of the place is the Olde Towne Tavern and Brewing Company, and it is located in Gaithersburg, Maryland, about a half mile east of Route 355 on Summit Avenue. It is a small-town brewpub of the highest order, featuring up to eight of their own beers on tap, some of which are absolutely world-class. The place also has a restaurant which offers much more than the standard "pub grub" you might expect. Calamari, filet mignon, and other delectations highlight the menu. This has been an unpaid advertisement.

Anyway, that's where I've been for the majority of the past three days, faithfully hunkered in the corner spot which I've long since claimed for my own. All the bartenders know me, though none knew much more than my name until lately, since I've tended to stick pretty much to myself during my time there, preferring to fixate upon the luscious amber beverages which they insist on putting in front of me.

But I'm on my way to Vegas, baby. I'll be wheelin' and dealin' with the big boys, so I've gotta hone my social skills into the formidable weapons which I'll need to swim the neon ocean in style. Last night I decided to practice...

"Hey Fred!" (To protect his anonymity, I'm changing the bartender's name to "Fred" in this story, instead of his real name, Pete.)

"Hey Bob!" (To protect my anonymity, I'm changing my name to "Bob" in this story, instead of my real name, Xavier Emerson Langenmueller III.)

"How `bout a beer, Fred!"

"You got it."

"Say, what's new with you, buddy?" (Pete's real name isn't "buddy", either.)

"Not much, man. How `bout you?"

"Well, I'll tell ya. Got some wacky stuff goin' on right now. Real sorry to say this, but this is probably gonna be my last time here. See, I've always kinda had this dream, you know? I got this thing about Vegas, man. I love that fuckin' town. But like, I was gettin' so tired of livin' here, I was just goin' nuts. You know? So anyway, I said, goddamn, no time like the present, right? So I took all my savings, and I'm heading out there tomorrow. Yeah, buddy, just gonna drive all the way across the country and see what's out there. Y'ever do anything like that? Yeah, I guess it's kinda scary, I mean, what if I'm makin' a big mistake here? Just throwing everything away on a whim, on the chance that maybe I'll find some sort of fulfillment or happiness out there. But damn, man. I just gotta try it. But like I said, it means I can't hang out here anymore. I tell ya, this is like the only place in this whole place that I'm gonna miss. I just wanna thank you, man, for being my bartender. Y'know, I never talked to any of you folks much, and now I'm kinda sorry about that, because you're real good people. Anyway, I better be headin' out pretty soon, gotta pack the car up and get ready to go. If I get back into town, though, you know this is the first place I'm comin'. Make sure you tell all the other guys `bye' for me, alright? Hey. You're a good man, Fred. Thanks again."

"That'll be $3.50, Bob."

Why is it never like it is on TV? If we were on TV, we would have streched that conversation out for thirty minutes, stopping only for a minute or two in the middle, and we would have said a lot of funny things, and there'd be a bunch of fake Santa Clauses hangin' around, but then right at the end, something weird would happen and we'd all realize that one of them was the real Santa, and then we'd all get a peek at what we'd be doing next week. But I guess it's not like it is on TV, is it?

Probably just as well. On TV, everyone in Vegas ends up getting shot.

Pinback's Web Central

---

This page and the contents therein (except where otherwise attributed) are copyright (c) 1997, 1998, by Ben Parrish.
That was in case any of you devious types were thinking of stealing all my cool stuff. So there.
This page is Lynx Enhanced, and here's why.
This webpage adheres to the specifications set forth by the Optimal Web Layout (OWL) Committee.