It's been several years since I was last in Loss Vegas, when I birthed the idea behind a brilliant song in the process of being composed... "You Can't Go To Las Vegas For Three Days"... but I haven't had the opportunity to complete the ongoing project, so I am going for research purposes to freshen up the reasons that "You Can't Stay In Las Vegas For Three Days", or was it "You Can't Go To Loss Vegas 4-3 Days" and a voice saying '7-11, Craps'.... anyhoo, hopefully I won't end up sitting on a couch with no cushions in a crackhouse this time... since I'm taking the fam'... chances are I won't be in much of harm's way... To be fair, I'm a pretty big dude, so when I'm drunk.. I feel pretty invincible; but don't get me wrong... I know I'm not 'brick-proof'. But along story, shorter and less entertaining than being there...it's still one of the strangest experiences I have ever had -
Like all good stories... I was really drunk and hanging out with a guy I met at a bus stop. We started talking baseball... well, first of all, I never shut up...then to get me talking baseball, it's over!
So me and this dude...we'll call him Carlos, because that's what he told me his name was, we start walking down the Strip (I started the night on Fremont St and walked south, ditching my Mom in the process) and I met this dude around Stratosphere
and kept walking south on the East sidewalks. Looked like a regular dude in town just looking for a party... so we talked baseball, drank beers at every casino and I bought a pack of cigarettes, and I shared them with my new friend... Carlos, whose Dad is a Dentist in Southern Cali... asked me questions about managing his 401k and IRA (I gave him NO ADVICE, if you were wondering...) we were getting personal tales of triumph and mischief, et cetera and so forth...Well, we walked the whole Vegas Strip all the way down to Mandalay Bay and Back up, and we stop at every place we see, walk through, find a bar, get a drink, smoke a cigarette and go to the next casino. We don't gamble but we pay for drinks, it's called playing the "liquor slots" - you spend less than you would lose gambling, and ya get wasted and before ya know it you're out of cigarettes...
Well, we keep stumbling northbound and we come upon a convenience store...a white Kansas-looking girl in overalls comes over to Carlos and starts going all Tennesee (I was kinda close) surfer-drawl Spanish...he starts talking back to Her (we'll call her 'Her' since I forget her name) and suddenly is calling me a "cracker"!!! He's asking her if she thinks I'm a cracker!! Her starts calling me a cracker!!!
I'm like 'wait a minute', I thought to myself we were cool, we were buying each other drinks, we're out of smokes and he is calling me a 'cracker'? I don't understand what's going on... I'm intoxicated, unaware of my physical location and being verbally assaulted!!!
Carlos explains in a very simple manner that basically I "crack him up", that's why he "likes hanging out with" me and he says he was saying "crock-ah" (I don't know how it's spelled) which was he said was Spanish for crack??!!?!?!?
then you find out Carlos is a crackhead! I must be naive or totally stupid... longer story, shorter... Carlos bought the crack from Her, but Her didn't have anything to smoke the crack in...high comedy... around the corner is Her's friends... who conveniently DO have a pipe from which they could consume the 'rock' aka "crock-ah"... right there in the apartment right next to the convenient store...down a dimly lit alley...with a couch that had no cushions...
...as drunk as I was, this was not the place in the world I wanted to be... so I was gone... as I walked away... I could hear Carlos asking Her for some "other favors"... I walked back up to Fremont St...
Yeah, I met some interesting people on the way back... the smelly dancing homeless guy with the radio headphones... sure they were wet from your dance sweat and the music was unintelligible, you shared a song, you sure enjoyed that beer and that moment and so did I... you weren't so crazy, you had working batteries in that radio!!! But I wasn't so crazy, either! I sensed it was time to leave when you might have grasped the notion that I was so drunk that you COULD have bashed my skull that beer bottle and taken my wallet... but I was ready to go home anyway... I had more Vegas than I had wanted, I didn't gamble (any money), got as drunk-to-slightly drunker than I had intended, watched a guy go from Dodger Fan to Crackhead (what's the difference?) in a little over 3 miles and 20-odd casinos, walked the whole strip, and only spent about $45!!! (that includes cigarettes!! Everyone feels compelled to smoke there)
Point is... we left the next day and I got to visit California for the first time...in a VERY hung-over state...(punny) "You Can't Stay In Las Vegas For Three Days" was hatched... or as what I think Las Vegas' theme should REALLY be... "What Happens In Vegas... Never Happened".
Eventually you'll be back, some day... 3 weeks 'til
"Vegas, Baby!"
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