“With great power comes great responsibility.” – Ben Parker in Spider-Man

Friday afternoon I get an out-of-the-blue call from the president/owner of a very well known Film & Television Production company. He invites me to come out and meet him in SoHo at around 9pm. A dynamite restaurant with dynamite service called Pastis. He would like to discuss a future project(s) that I might be right for. I was a tad nervous because I know the entertainment business and I know New York. I don't want to sound cynical (nor do I want to be naive) but there are a ton of bullshitters, posers, assholes, and yahoos out there all claiming to be somebody they’re not and they can do something they really can't (or won't). So when a rare moment happens and a person in power such as Peter (his name) says he intends to help me out it’s hard not to question if there is an ulterior motive. Thus far, I can find none.

Could someone in a top position such as his help someone move their career along just for the sake of simply being kind? As far as I know...yes. Although extremely rare - it does happen.

A quick back story on how we met:

When the show Lenny & Lou closed I was back to being unemployed. I am proud to say that I do have a decent work ethic. I hate not working. So in the middle of interviewing for fulltime jobs, I was working part time at a Real Estate firm helping my friend, Ariana out. It was roughly $150.00 - $200.00 a day on the weekends. Easy work. Good money.

One of the lovely sales agents at the company had to show a gentleman a penthouse under construction and naturally she didn’t want to go alone. She asked me to come with her. I obliged. As if me being there should make her feel any safer...

We went and waited for the man to show. He did. Looked like a regular gentleman in his 40’s. He introduced himself and made small talk while we waited for his friends outside the building's entrance. He asked where each of us lived. I told him the Upper East Side on 70th and 1st. He mentioned how he was familiar with the 'hood because of his treatment at Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center. Then I mentioned how I used to work there. He also mentioned he was in town scouting locations for some TV show he is producing. He also mentioned one of his friends that was (at this point walking down the block with another guy) a well known TV director. He worked on a documentary about 9/11. Peter talked about his direct experience with digging in the rubble days after the tragedy. His brother was one of the very few lucky firemen that was pulled out of the rubble soon after the collapse. “Incredible,” I told him, “I too am a 9/11 survivor.” I told him a very abridged version of my experience down there (blog to be published on 9/11/06) on that day which he found fascinating.

His colleagues show – he introduces one as the TV director and the other as his Casting Director. I thought to myself, "Shit, I am an actor. Who are these people? Should I ask for their cards?" But I refrained myself. I was there on business and not to network so I did the politically correct thing and never mentioned I was an actor. Thought that would be cheesy and inappropriate and I withheld the info. When we all went up to look at this soon to be a gorgeous multi-million dollar penthouse apartment I noticed he continued to engage me in small talk: Where was I born? where did I grow up? Yada yada yada. I asked him the same. Then when we were waiting for the elevator he asked me how long have I been in real estate. I looked at my watch and said, “Oh, since about 10 this morning.” He chuckled and asked what else I did. I sheepishly said, “Well I feel awkward telling you because I know you mentioned you were in the entertainment business, and well…I guess you can say I’m an actor.”

“Oh really.” His eyes lit up a little bit. “So are you in anything right now or working on any project(s)…?”

I said, “Well actually, funny you should ask, I have a small speaking part on The Sopranos that’s airing tonight.”

What perfect timing.

His eyes lit up a little more and asked what else have I done and I told him of this well made short film I did where I played young Steven Spielberg and that the film was inspired by the making of Jaws. He seemed just a tiny tiny itty witty bit impressed. But I think he was even more fascinated by my 9/11 story. He said how he’d like to help me out and he gave me his card. To my surprise I saw the name of the company on the card and I almost gasped. On the outside of course I remained cool. Normal. Indifferent. Quite different from what was going on inside. He gave me his phone number and told me to call him the next day. I did. We talked for quite a bit. Naturally in this biz and in this city you have to keep one eye open with every stranger you meet, especially the ones that offer to help. What’s the catch? What’s the agenda? What’s the M.O.? I asked him why he was willing to help me out and he responded by saying that he felt a certain bond with people, like myself, that was so directly affected by 9/11. He told me to keep in touch with him as he will be working on many projects in the near and distant future.

So I did the right thing and kept in touch every so often without being a pest. Without being eager. And without expecting anything. Maybe I would at the very least gain a mentor in the entertainment biz – an industry I really want to make my mark in. And to my surprise, and so unlike everyone else that came around before him with a million empty promises [which I am sure started out with the best of intentions] Peter has been a real stand-up guy. Not that common in showbusiness and I can't thank him enough for that.

Back to the present:

We meet up at Pastis in the Meatpacking district and it is packed. We go across the street now to Ono, the restaurant at the base of Hotel Gansevoort. We get a bit hammered on Lychee Martinis. Plenty of them. They were good. My stomach was empty and the three I drank were taking effect. We talked about the biz and the future project(s) I may be right for, the women in our lives [both the good and the bad], and then we mingle in the outside bar with some other patrons. It is now almost midnight and we have not eaten – [Vegas flashback]. He suggests the roof top bar at the Gansevoort before we eat [again – Vegas Flashback].

There is a long line to get into the hotel to go up to the roof. We go to the front of the line where a cocky bouncer is humiliating a girl by loudly claiming how her ID is fake and he is confiscating it and he will be calling the NYPD if she doesn’t leave. [flashback to when my ID was confiscated by some dick bouncer in New Hope Pennsylvania and humiliated me and my friends in front of the entire line].

So Peter hands the bouncer his card, says the company he is with, and the overwhelming business they contribute to the hotel. The bouncer, again with his ridiculously cocky attitude, says, “I don’t care who you are. I don’t know you. Get to the back of the line and wait like everyone else.” So a tame argument ensues as he tries to explain further to the bouncer who he is. The bouncer rudely dismisses him and loudly exclaims [I am paraphrasing here] how he doesn’t give a shit. So Peter asks the bouncer for his name. He replies ignorantly, “Sal.” And turns away with a smug little smirk on his face. Peter bravely gets closer to Sal and says, “I want you to remember my name” and Peter states his first and last name while the bouncer gives him a cocky wave of his hand.

We walk away and Peter apologizes that I have to witness this. He gets on his cell phone. I see him in a brief yet passionate conversation. He hangs up and within a minute the manager of the hotel comes out and meets us. Shakes Peter’s hand and begins to escort us into the hotel. As we are about to enter through the revolving door, Peter yells out – and this is great – “He Sal!” [middle finger raised] “Fuck you pal!”

The look on Sal’s face was priceless. He immediately left the line to follow us in not knowing what to do. Sal pulled out his cell phone but then immediately closed it. I guess he didn’t know who to call. He stood there like a schmuck, embarrassed, a bit nervous and shuffling his feet (kinda like the girl he humiliated minutes before). My friend proceeded to tell the hotel manager the hundreds of thousands of dollars his company provides in business for the hotel. And they have a choice. Continue to pay the rude douche bag of a bouncer a measly $30k and loose his company's business or get rid of him and keep his business. Right in front of Sal - the manager told Peter he will have a talk with Sal but in the meantime offers us his card and comp drinks at the bar. Peter graciously declined – “Not while he’s here (pointing to Sal). Then Peter turned to me and said, “Come on, Todd, let’s go get some steaks!” I shrugged to the bouncer. I let a little “tsk tsk tsk” to Sal escape my mouth and then I smiled.

And so we headed back to Pastis for some midnight steaks. Each an 8 ouncer – while across the street, loosing his job was Sal the Bouncer.

Unfortunately, the dickhead tried to pull a power trip with someone that had some “real” power. And well, what goes around comes around. And so that’s how Sal the bouncer got himself bounced!

Posted by Todd Wall at 4:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I can't remember if it was my father or my friend's father that made a very bold statement:

"As you go through life you will realize that the number of people you can truly rely on can be counted on one hand --- minus the pinky and the thumb."

The statement I thought was rather cynical but I am starting to realize how true it is.

Not to sound self righteous but I would like to think of myself as one of those three fingers on everyones hand. Even the ones that don't seem to return the favor. Because of that, I go through life being let down more often than not. I want to change and be as cold and selfish as some of the people I have come across during the course of my lifetime but I just can't. When I am in need I find some sort of way to help out. Even if I can't personally, I try to find someone else who can help in my absence.

Two weeks ago a girl I used to sorta date who lives around the corner from me called me up out of the blue at 11:30pm. I thought maybe she was returning a message I left for her several weeks before but that wasnt the case. She sounded a bit distraught.

Turns out she was in a cab with no money and the cab driver was freaking her out with murderous banter. So, without question or hesitation, I hopped out of bed, put on some clothes didnt even grab an umbrella for the torrential downpour that was going on outside. I just wanted to meet her at her apartment so I can get money to her cab driver and make sure she was home safe. We went out for tea, caught up, she hugged me and thanked me and paid me back. She even asked if I wanted to come upstairs to hang some more but I decided to go back to my apartment.

A couple of weeks later I asked if she wouldn't mind doing a favor for me since she lives and works in the neighborhood. Real simple. Pick me up at the hospital after my Colonoscopy exam. I will be drugged and they legally can't release me without an escort. Not to be tit for tat, I did you a favor now you do me one - but I thought the favor I asked of her would be a no brainer.

At first I thought the test was from 2-3pm at New York Hospital which is right down the street from us. Super convenient. She said she would be delighted to be there for me and would rearrange her schedule to come and pick me up. Very sweet! The day before the exam I find out the procedure is at Lennox Hill Hospital which is several blocks away and it was from 3-4pm. I notify her and she says she doesn't think she can do it because she has way too many things lined up. One of them being her acting class which I know is very precious to her. Than she said to call her anyway and we'll figure something out. Very sweet again.

I do have a ton of friends, one lovely girl, Neva, who was willing to cut out of work down by the fashion district and catch a cab all the way up to the Upper East Side to make sure I get home o.k. and then head back to work. The offer was above and beyond and I will never forget her for that. I just didnt think what would be necessary since my friend was already in the neighborhood.

Anyway, my friend said she'd call me at dinner time to work out logistics for my Wednesday exam. No call. Surprise. So I called her at 9:30pm to go over the Ifs, Ands, and Buts of the day and what to do, who to call and how she can contact me. Couldnt get a hold of her. But the morning of the exam she sends an email saying saying, "Phone died. See you @4."

I am sure somewhere between the lines there was a "Good Luck, hope it goes well" but I guess I had to really look between the lines. Maybe under a decoder spy light. In her defense, she was probably in a super rush and simply didn't realize the mental agony I go through before these tests.

I get to the hospital and have to get naked and put on those lovely fashionable hospital gowns and sit in a FREEZING cold waiting room. Alone. I find out that the patient before me was late so my exam won't even begin until 3:45. This will now make my friend late to her class, or rehearsal or wherever it was she had to be.

So instead of being worried about myself and the procedure which always poses some sort of risk (last time my father had it done, the scope perforated his intestine and he wound up in the hospital for 2 weeks), I was worried about her. Sending her texts of exactly where I was, leaving her messages of the number on the floor where my exam was taking place and instructions if she gets there and I am late and she has to go - to leave a message with one of the nurses. Her phone was dead so I couldnt contact her. Nor was there any effort (that I know of) on her part to contact me. My mind and emotions wandered to a place of anger. But then I started to feel guilty again for feeling this way. In fact all I could think was how angry she will be at me for asking her to do me this favor and how I was going to make her late her appointment. Guilty. Why? I dont know. Maybe I was just being a martyr. I know I've been late for class, or rehearsal or whatever. But I still felt bad. I know how precious these classes are to her.

I checked the waiting room one more time at 3:45pm to see if she happened to have been in the waiting room. Maybe she came a little early. Anyway, no one was there. I had to put my phone away before being escorted down a long corridor and into the room. As I am walking down the hall with a nurses aide on either side of me, I can hear a sergeant's voice in my head shouting "Asshole Walking!" and I chuckle to myself.

The procedure room is even colder than the waiting room. All white. So cold. So sterile. Filled with machinery emitting a constant low humming drone. Did I mention it was cold. And sterile. The anesthesiologist and nurses are starting the IV. An oxygen tube is placed up my nose. They remove my gowns. I am lying on a gurney facing the florescent lights hanging from the stark white ceiling. Naked (with a blanket covering me). I am being poked and prodded. Before the drug drip is started I had to sign papers claiming I am aware of the risks involved. I sign. I am told to roll over to my side as the lights dim. Maybe I am just a big ol pussy but it was very emotional. So sad. So lonely in this room. Knowing nobody is out in the waiting room. My parents didn't even know I was having this done. Actually I told them a while ago but they forgot. But I easily forget birthdays and anniversaries so I dont fault them at all. I almost start to cry. I can feel the lump in my throat. Self pity starts to overcome me and spread like a deadly virus. Part of me was so sad that I felt that I almost wouldnt mind if I didnt wake up. I know thats a bit dramatic or melodramatic but hey, this was how I felt at that moment. Didnt care about anyone or anything. Just wanted to go under peacefully and leave everyone and everything behind. I pretended I was an inmate in the execution chamber. Wondering if there really was an afterlife. What death was going to feel like. If anything.

I was a mere a specimen on a table in a lab. Tubes coming out of nearly every oraphus. The drug starts to kick in. My emotions were the only thing that made me feel human. And every possible emotion hit me almost simultaneously. anger, rage, sadness, euphoria, envy, amusement - heck, I even laughed as I started to go under. I was happy to be leaving consciousness...

The exam ends. I finally wake up in recovery. My first thought was not about myself or the exam but about my friend. Nobody heard from her, nobody stopped by for me. I asked everyone one who passed by if someone left a message. Anyone for Todd Wall??

"No. Sorry." They replied. "No one."

So I sat there in recovery with the other sick patients for 2 hours. That sucked.

The doctor came in and said he took a couple of biopsies but that according to what he was able to see, everything looked good. I was told I had to wait another hour before I could leave but I snuck out. I was so hurt, depressed, tired, angry, and antsy (from the tons of drugs they gave me).

I stumble home. Reading all the wonderful texts from a couple my true friends wishing me well, asking to call them when I am able. Rob, Alex, Neva, - Thank you.

I fell asleep when I got home and later in the night my friend called right before she has to go into the subway to see if I made it home o.k. I did. Thanks.

She said she called the hospital and they told her that I wouldnt be ready to be released until 5:30pm. What would have eased my mind is if she just thought to leave a message for me somehow. But she didnt.

Did I expect her to coddle me the whole day and night? No. Not at all. I didnt even want her to miss any part of her scheduled activities on the count of me. And I made that clear to her as well. So what did I expect? Maybe a little something more than just an email saying, "Phone died. See u @4."

This may seem harsh and I have no idea what was going through her mind and there are two sides to every story - but as far as I could tell, and based on my experience of the situation she didnt understand the scope of what I was going through nor did she seem to care...much.

Just to make it clear. I cant read minds so this is only a very broad and very negative speculation. She did call the next day to see how I was doing. Maybe this was all I should have and could have expected. After all who are we to each other...really.

The truth of the matter is we are no longer close. We rarely talk except when we run into each other. So she really was under no obligation whatsoever to me nor I to her and because of this I should not have been affected so much by this experience.

But I was.

The reason being is that I know what I would have done if the same situation was reversed and she was the one that needed me. I most likely would have made a call to inform the powers that be that I would be a little late because I am helping out a friend. And if she fought me on this, I would have insisted. But thats just me. Maybe I care about the wrong people. Or rather, the people that are simply wrong for me. Which will bring me to my next blog Ode to my Ex.

There are certain types of people in each of our lives that are just very rare as I am learning. These are the people that understand that doing favors for friends means having to sacrifice something with little or no hesitation. A favor thats done because its simply convenient is more like a nice gesture in disguise.

If someone doesnt seem to find you valuable enough to make any small sacrifices to help you out when it is needed - well - even though they may still be considered a friend - they certainly can't be counted as one of those precious fingers on that one precious hand.

Posted by Todd Wall at 2:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

PROLOGUE

I am in my 30’s and I have never been to Vegas before last week. For that I am ashamed. I was the only one out of my inner circle of friends and girlfriends that hadn’t experienced Vegas and was told that July 4th weekend was the best weekend to go out there. Since I am single, I have some money in my pocket, a fulltime job as well as residual income from previous acting jobs, and no real responsibilities to anyone other than to myself I figured, fuck it, now’s as good a time as any to experience Vegas. The best way to experience Vegas, I knew, would have to be with my friend Howard. Why? Because he is sort of a Vegas expert. How do I know he's an expert? Well he has been going out there on average 3 - 4 times a year for the past 8 or 9 years. I think by all the United States Judicial Courts’ (are there any other kind?) standards, that number qualifies him as an expert on Las Vegas. By expert I mean he knows all the hotspots, the people who work AT the hotspots, where to stay, how to spend, how to party and how to live out there and make the most out of your condensed time pushing your body to the absolute limit without actually dying or slipping into a coma.

I must say I was a bit nervous going out there for 5 nights and 6 days with a guy I haven’t hung out with often. I didn’t know what to expect. He told me a week in advanced to start training for our trip. Training? Yeah. Training. Eating healthy, exercising, trying to increase my alcohol tolerance and at the same time getting plenty of rest. All the things that Vegas will take away. So as you can pretty much guess, it was a long intense weekend…of partying. All those who know me well know that I am not really a party guy. Friendly. No doubt. Can hold a conversation with just about anyone, anywhere, at anytime. And that's what people love about me. But a partier? Nah. Not me. So, yes I got damn sick out there. But not as much from the amount of alcohol consumed as it was from the intense heat, lack of sleep, food, and water to keep my body nourished and hydrated.

HOWARD

In order for you to understand why my weekend was so intense you have to know the dude I went out there with.

Howard. Can party. He seems to know everyone on the scene and everyone seems to know him. He talks low which forces people to lean into him. There is some power in that. Unlike me who has such a loud fucking voice, people tend to back away when I speak. But I speak with passion and excitement and I am very animated, while Howard speaks with a calm smooth intensity. Very focused energy. Kind of like the energy in the atom particle - moments before the Big Bang happened putting the Universe in motion.

I met him while I was temping for Marsh & McLennan. After 9/ll the survivors that were working down there (me among them) were relocated to midtown. The company took on a slew of consultants to work on the Disaster/Recovery effort in the IT department. Howard was one of those consultants. So I knew him since early post 9/ll.

We are almost polar opposites on the surface. He parties like a great big cock and I party like a nicely groomed vagina. Everyone that we met out there (which was quite a lot) seemed to ask the same question. "How is it that you two are friends?"

He used to be a bouncer. I used to get bounced. He loves the club scene. I hate it. He loves to party hard. I like to party soft (note the 'vagina' reference above). He loves house/trans/rave/Hip-hop music. I hate it. Well, I do like some hip-hop. He loves to dance. I kinda like to dance to good hip-hop music but Howard is quite good at it. He can bust a move and I have heard many people tell him so while I was out there.

He also has a liberating "I don't give a fuck" attitude on the surface. Me? I give a fuck. In fact, I give way too much of a fuck. But that is starting to change a bit. The amount of fuck I give is starting to decrease a bit.
He sees no woman or I should say NO ONE as above him even though they may be taller. Which is more often than not the case. Howard is not the tallest guy and doesn't have the most hair (shaved head) but damn does he have game. Good game. And women love him. I love him. But by the same token he has very little patience and tolerance for people and as I said before I probably have way too much. Don't worry though. I am starting lose my patience with all of you as well.

He can be a very scary guy too. If he wants to be. A Pitbull. The slightest thing can set him off. He is short and stocky and has that slightly off-center psycho element about him that if you are going to get into something physical - just hope you have 911 on speed dial. That was the first number I stored on my cell when I landed in Las Vegas. 911.

But also know that Howard is the nicest, most generous guy and loyal friend. He is an intense planner and seems to live life with a day to day itinerary. And he takes pride in showing people, mainly his friends a really good time. It’s actually a huge priority for him to make sure whoever he’s with is having the time of their lives. As awesome as that is, it also creates unneeded pressure. But better that then the opposite, someone who could give a rat’s ass.
The guy also has your back in any situation. Someone I know I can count on and I hope he knows that he can count on me as well. I don't think there is any limit to his loyalty but I suspect that if you cross him, a 2nd chance is as hard to get with him as it is to get season tickets to the New York Giants. Like at the end of Titanic I found out the point in his life where the proverbial ship snapped. Aside from all the joking around, the laughter and drunken stupidity we shared with people out there (mainly women), we also had a chance to bond with some serious heart to heart talks about our lives. Now before this blog starts to sound like Brokeback Mountain II, as I am suspecting some of you fuckheads are thinking, I'll just end this section by saying we all have our own personal tragedies. Some worse than others. And these tragedies and heartbreaks that we experience tend to mold and shape our personalities and how we tend interact with other people – whether they be strangers, lovers, friends, or family. For better or for worse.

Until this weekend, we were little more than acquaintances but little less than really close friends. We just had different lives. Until late last year, I have been in a serious relationship for as long as I've known him. I was very domesticated. Doing all the things that couples do and he was doing all the things that a single man should do. So I have been out of the "scene" for quite sometime. When I landed in Vegas I was thrown into the wild. Imagine taking a domesticated cat to the jungles of Africa and releasing him there. My survival skills were a little rusty but by the end of the trip I was a wild animal. Or maybe still a cute domesticated cat that simply made friends with the other wild animals out there. I don't know.

We did hit a few turbulent moments during our stay, (his digital camera got ripped off; I got real sick and a few others not worth mentioning).

So. Come to Vegas with us.

VEGAS

Thursday, June 29th. I Worked a full 8 hours and went straight to the airport. I was flying JetBlue out of JFK and Howard was flying continental out of Newark. Our flights were leaving within a half hour of each other. Both our flights were delayed by 2 hours. So we were texting each other from our respective runways at our respective airports within our respective aircrafts. "Have a safe flight, see you in VEGAS!!"

I am not a good flier. So the funny text messages from my lovely friend, Liz really helped to keep me from becoming agitated. Well that and the Xanex. Well 2…and ½ Xanex. So I was good. So good, I felt I could have flown the fucking aircraft myself. But that was not part of my JetBlue package. When the rep asked where I’d like to sit I requested the cockpit but the fuckers gave me seat 14A.

Once we took off the flight was smooth. I had peanuts, soda, and “Blue” chips. I pissed and slept throughout the flight but never simultaneously. [clap, clap]

We meet up at Las Vegas Airport a little before midnight Thursday. We head to the Hard Rock Hotel & Casino (our hotel) and quickly unpacked, shit, showered, shaved, changed and we were out the door by 1am. We went to a place called JET and met up with one of Howard’s connections - the floor manager, Leo. We had fun. We drank, danced, talked to some girls, danced with them, and drank with them. We left at 4am to go to another place. When we walked out, the sun was up. And everyone’s day was just starting while our night was just ending.
It is officially well into early Friday morning and…shit - forgot to sleep. And we forgot to eat. Damn.

We went back to the hotel. Took a nap for a about a couple of hours but had to be at the hotel's pool by 11am to claim our cabana. We did. So we drank some more that day. Ordered some finger food. Admired the pool. Swam in the pool. Met some more people. Drank some more. Until around 6pm. We go back to the room. Napped for 1 hour. Had to be at Nobu by 7:30pm. This was to be our "Last Supper" until Monday night/early Tuesday morning. It would have been great to have a Da Vinci like artist to paint us at our last supper. But there were no renaissance painters on hand. Just a bunch of cute touristy girls with digital cameras. I would be the innocent Jesus figure and Howard - sorry bro - would most represent Brutas in this “Last Supper” scenario! He had a mission to introduce my body, my mind, and my spirit to Vegas life. His life. A place where most people who know me would say I didn’t belong.

After dinner we went to Tao (a night club - Duh) where we had our own table/VIP service at the club. Lots of loud music, lots of girls dressed to the nines (don't know what the fuck that statement means, "dressed to the nines?" Why not “to the tens” - it's a higher number. Wouldn’t that make girls dressed to the tens hotter than the girls dressed to the nines?? - who knows. Who cares). They were dressed in a very UNdressed sort of way. Hot. But sort of stripper hot. Not necessarily classy hot. Bummer. We met lots of people that night who helped us finish our 2 bottles of Grey Goose Vodka and Captain Morgan's spiced rum.

We stumble back to the room at around 5ish on Saturday morning. I think. Slept for a couple of hours and yet again had to be at the pool by 11am to reserve our Saturday cabana. So we are at the pool. My blood has been replaced by alcohol, and CO2. Our gorgeous cabana girl started our morning off with a shot of I don't know what. But it was Pinkish Red and it came out of a plastic syringe.

Forgot to eat again. Shit.

It is now 11am Saturday morning and in the past 48 hours I have had but one full meal and a total of 6 hours sleep. My blood alcohol content is probably off the charts and it’s not even noon.

MOM - I can feel you getting woozy reading this. Take a couple of deep breaths and pop a Paxil or two before you read the rest.
DAD - I can feel your pride.

O.K. So now I am officially sick. It is Saturday morning or early afternoon. I am already drunk, naucious, weak, shaky and very dizzy. I am a bit scared. I forgot that I had Crohn’s Disease that I had to nurture. I neglected my poor disease. But then again, fuck my Crohn’s! What did it ever do for me except cause me physical pain and psychological grief. Although it did get me out of work early a few times.

Back to my point – right now at this time I feel violently ill and I fucking hate Vegas. I want out. I want to get back to New York City so I could relax. I want to go home. Please! Somebody rub my belly. No more. Toddy wants no more. No more girls in bikinis. No more alcohol. No more house music. No more $20.00 ATM fees... I am fried. I am done. I am so burnt.

But I had to suck it up. I am a man. And by God Howard was going to make sure of that if it was the last thing he does before he slips into his own dehydrated / low blood sugar / sleep deprived / alcohol induced coma.

What was nice about the cabana (aside from the flat screen TV, couches, lock safe, and constant wait service - was that it had a nice cool mist coming out of these ducts hanging over the roof. You could actually lay outside and you wouldn't get fried from the heat...as much. Laying out with this beautiful mist blowing on you. It was nice. I mostly stayed by the cabana that day. Every once in a while throughout the day, I would down a bottle of water and dive into the pool and try to “accidentally” grab some boobage while I was at it. This was a measly attempt to hydrate my body. But I mostly stayed back.

Oh, and I really didn’t grab boobage. Some of the boobage did happen to be in my way a few times and I tried to dodge them. But it required too much effort to dodge such big fake boobies. So when I saw big fake boobies coming in my direction I’d just position myself in a suicide stance and allowed the boobies to smash into my face and body.

Going off on a tangent here that’s partially made up. Back to my story.

I stayed back and napped while Howard roamed the wild. Every hour or so he'd come back with a set of girls. I swear to God. It was like a poppa bear going out to hunt and bring back food for the baby cub(s) that was sleeping in the den. I bet you can guess who the cub was in this scenario. Just to be clear, I was not hooking up with these girls. Just entertaining them.

Now here comes my favorite story. He brings back 3 women to the cabana. ALL nurses from New Orleans. They were real sweet and felt great compassion for my situation. So much so that they offered to bring me back to their room to hook me up to an IV for a 1/2 hour to replenish my fluids. They swore it worked much better and much faster than just drinking water or Gatorade.

O.K. Can you think about that for a moment? I mean these are nurses! Registered nurses! Women in healthcare. Women who work in hospitals. Women who take care of the sick. Nurses. Who party so hard when they come to Vegas that they actually bring their own fucking IV's with them. How hardcore is that!? All I have to say to that is: “Vegas, baby. Vegas.”

So as the day wore on, I started to feel a little better but still couldn't hold in any food or drink. I was very shaky and at this point I just wanted to stay in for the night. I was sick, exhausted, cranky and I suddenly felt I was not having a good time. I wanted to go home. But I couldn't.

So after a 1 hour nap in the early evening we had to get ready. Again. To go out. Again. To a club. Again. To drink. Again. I wasn’t ready but we did go out. We went to a place called Triste. It was a cool looking club with a massive rock waterfall inside the club. It was a sort of indoor outdoor feel kind of like the city of Rivendell from Lord of the Rings where the elves lived.

The problem was they overbooked the reservations and we lost our table. So did a lot of other people. This caused a commotion on line. The bouncers were assholes, the promotors were assholes, the chicks were bitches, the men were dicks. What more can I say. There was not much love in this club. We got in and it was time to start putting a little alcohol in my body. But this time I always had a bottle of water with me so I would keep myself hydrated as I drank. Smart. Right? On the bright side we saved lots of money and I really was trying not to drink much this night. All in all, despite not having a table we still met a couple of people that were nice, and we did have a pretty good time. At this point I’d say the way I felt was now probably reaching the 60% mark.

We get back to the hotel at around 4:30 or 5am and we decided to gamble a bit. Black Jack we played. I eventually cashed out my whopping $60.00 earnings while Howard stayed. I went to bed because I knew we had Rehab the next day.

Forgot to eat again. Damn it.

Rehab is an absolutely insane pool party thrown at the Hard Rock every Sunday. You know what? Insane is too passive of a word.

It starts at 10am and goes on until 7:30pm. Not sure what time Howard came back to the room, maybe 8:30, 9am? Soon after he went to bed the phone rang and it was his wake up call. All I heard was him mumbling shit like, "Oooh man, oh fuck. Ooooo shit. Fuck. Ugh. Ugh. Oh fuck" He had to drag his exhausted, drunken, beaten down body down to the pool and try to hustle for a cabana for the hottest pool party in the country. It would be a near impossible feat.

Howard. Props to you man. You did it.

He did it. We had a cabana on the best day to actually have one. So he comes back to the room in triumph and euphoria and crashes for about another hour. We have to now leave the room and get to the cabana by noon or someone else may flash a wad of 100's to the pool staff and we could just as easily loose it. So we get there and we set up.

Oh fuck. Forgot to eat again.

REHAB

This time a girl that Howard met in Vegas last year, whom he has kept "relations" with decided (along with her friends) to go in on the cabana with us. They were fun girls. And funny. And naturally they all thought I was funny and I was still not feeling 100%. More like 75% now. Where are those nurses?? Where are those IV's?
Rehab, I must say is probably the craziest pool party EVER. EVER. I was surrounded by INSANELY gorgeous girls (a lot of them were strippers by trade and were just getting off work to show off their new bathing suits. Or birthday suits [?]. I don't know. It was sensory overload for me. Imagine a computer with a 1 gig hardrive – then downloading 5 gigs of porn onto it LOADED with viruses and unlimited pop-up ads. Yup. That was me. Almost couldn’t deal. Wanted to crash but I stayed headstrong.

There were also lots of normal, smarter, and classier looking women. Lots of the men were chizzled. Tan. Obnoxious. Showing off their bling. A little dumb sounding but so were the girls. Maybe that's the point. Every once in a while - you need to just dumb yourself down a bit. Since I hate rave/house music so much it was such an awesome refresher when they'd play a recognizable song, from a recognizable band that actually played recognizable instruments and sang recognizable notes and melodies. And when that happened I perked up even more. 80%.

My lovely friend from college, Liz, bought me a Yankee hat before I went out there. I remember walking into the casino from the pool and the Yankee game was on. And just as I walked pass the bar toward the bathroom, A-Rod hits a grand slam homerun. A group of people ran up to me after seeing my hat and hugged me. The guys were giving me pounds (when you clash fists). Screaming, “New York’s in the house!” And, “Yankees!” Girls tugging on my hat. I just screamed back at all of them and then headed toward the bathroom to drain my lizard.

So hop, skip, and jump to later that night.

Howard, a lady friend of his, and her friends hung in our room for a while and we ordered room service and rested before our Sunday night outing. A cool place called Light. This was one of my favorite nights here. We met up with Howard’s friend, Leo again and we were ushered to the front of the line, into the club, to a back corner VIP table. The place was really cool. Great vibe. We were treated very well. Even in the restrooms. Seriously. I went into the restroom and the moment I entered, there was an army of men cleaning the restroom in unison like sailors on the deck of a ship in a 1950’s musical film. While I was washing my hands, One guy was pumping soap while another was brushing the lint off my shirt with a lint brush!!! Goddamn! What’s next? A blowjob!?

We met tons of people there. Again, I hung back at the table and drank while Howard would go out and bring back people to the table in constant rotation. We consistently met the nicest people that night. I did make a little fau paux. He brought back three beautiful Asian looking women. I was talking to one. Nice conversation about the town. Then I asked her nationality. She says, “Guess!”

This should be fun, I thought. So I immediately said, “Japanese.” She says, “No.” Then I realized she was kind of tan so I guessed, “Korean?” She again says, “No.” “Vietnamese…[no]…Taiwanese [no]…PHILlIPINO!...[NO]…Chinese??” Exasperated she blurted out, “I’m Mexican!” [awkward silence]

Then I shouted, “OK – SHOW’S OVER! YOU’VE BEEN A LOVELY AUDIENCE! THANK YOU VERY MUCH AND GOODNIGHT! I’M OUTTA HERE. PEACE!!”

I got up and left. I took myself out of the game. No recovering from that one.

I sat by myself at the table to recover from my idiocy. Then Howard says, “Ok. You’re up Todd. It is now time to apply what you have learned. Go now, and don’t come back without some lovely women to share our booze with.” Yes it was juvenile. Very much so. But you know what? Fuck it! I am a nice single guy and I am going to enjoy this. So, I left the table and roamed the club. I was a baby cub on the hunt for the first time. Fifteen minutes later, I met Laura, Lauren and Erica. Three lovely women who happened to be from New York City. One who lives directly around the corner from me. Go figure.

As a side note, I think I met more women from New York City, in Las Vegas these 5 nights than I did living IN New York City the past few years. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. Just interesting. Do people become more approachable outside the city? Again, I don’t know.

I don’t remember what time we got back but I made sure I set aside Monday to tour Las Vegas. That was fun. A long day of cruising all the best hotels – The Belagio, The Mirage, Mandalay Bay, New York, New York and my favorite – The Venetian. What a breathtaking hotel. We had to be at the airport by 8am Tuesday morning. I wasn’t really up for going out that night. But fuck…we did.

We went back to JET. Everyone in Las Vegas seemed to be at this club. Paris Hilton was there. I was hoping to bump into her. Literally. I would have whispered in her ear, “Stick with me kid. I’ll make you rich.” Never happened. She was on her cell phone and her Sidekick. Simultaneously. Weird. I think she was texting her own sidekick from her cell phone and then responding.

Anyway. I had fun. Talked to some very obnoxious women. But a few nice ones as well. Met a couple more from New York City. Met some from London who seemed to really adore me. Right off the bat they got my humor. They were intelligent, cute…accents and best of all – drunk. They couldn’t stop saying how women in London would kill for a guy like me. Did I mention they were drunk? They probably would have told “Son of Sam” Berkowitz the same thing for all I know. Ah - but they were sweet.

I also saw a massive, massive, MASSIVE black dude at the bar. Probably 6’5” and maybe 290+ pounds. He was drinking a Corona. I had to mention to him that the Corona in his hand reminded me of one of those mini airplane bottles of liquor in my hand. He laughed. I laughed. Awkward silence. Then I challenged him to a fight. He laughed again. Awkward silence. I said, “I bet I have a bigger dick!” He cracked up and said, “Little white dude’s on a roll. Give me a pound, dawg.” We clashed fists and we went on our merry way.

We go into another room and I noticed a one-legged girl on crutches dancing with her boyfriend. GODBLESS THEM!! Then - two fucked up, scantily clad girls with major attitude are pushing through the crowd and without even being aware of anything around them but themselves they literally pushed the girl with one-leg and knocked her off balance. Without a moments thought, Howard grabbed one of the girls by the arm and screamed at her, “YOU JUST KNOCKED OVER A GIRL WITH CRUTCHES, YOU BITCH! PAY ATTENTION!!” They had such a look of confusion and even fear. Almost priceless. But without turning around to apologize they just pushed forward to get out of the room and out of the situation. Way to go Howard! The girl’s boyfriend was very appreciative.

So we finally get back to the hotel around 5am. We go to the hotel diner for meal number 2 of the weekend. It is 5am and we ordered buffalo wings to start, and bacon and eggs for our entree. Vegas. My appetite was back. I was feeling good. Now 95%.

Howard and I reflected on our stay in town. I really did have a great time. However, if I never step into a club again for the rest of my life, I may be o.k. Howard’s lady friend joined us not too long after we ordered.

We had to be at the airport in a few hours. I noticed a very VERY cute girl sitting by herself at the counter. So cute and so alone, I figured she had to be an escort. Some skeevy guy tried to pick her up and he failed. Miserably. Howard and his lady friend suggest I go talk to her while they went up to the room for a little boom boom. They suggested I do my incredible Scotch & Soda trick. So, I got up – walked to the counter and guess what. She spoke first. I’ll never forget her opening line... “What’s up?” I stared at her for a few seconds like a deer in headlights while I processed this question. Before I knew it we were in deep conversation. I glanced over at Howard and Lisa. They looked like proud parents. They paid the bill and went upstairs and I stayed and talked to Gina. A German Jew. Yes. Her name was Gina and she was a German Jew. Probably still is. And not only that. She’s moving to NYC to go to F.I.T. for fashion journalism. She looked like someone that would grace the cover of a fashion magazine rather than be a writer for one. But...I have to say, she was intelligent and focused, and did I mention very cute. I did do my Scotch and Soda trick by the way and she was floored and freaked out and very impressed. Aside from having been out all night and the fact that I had to be at the airport in an hour I would say I am feeling 100%! So after Gina gave me her number, email, and fax she whispered to me not to tell anyone but she’s 20...

CHECK PLEASE!!

Ah but she was sweet. It is now 7am, I say goodbye to the beautiful and very lovely young woman. I chuckled to myself all the way up to the room where Howard was finishing packing. I collected my luggage and we headed out. Having not slept in the past 24 hours Howard and I were stupid delirious. Cracking jokes from the hotel lobby all the way to his terminal at the airport. He was on an earlier flight than me. We gave a good handshake and a manly heterosexual hug and we parted ways. “Great time, bro! See you back in New York City!”

THE WRAP UP

So I am back in the greatest city in the world. New York City. I have no regrets about the weekend except for the fact that I didn’t pace myself the first few days. I have been eating like an absolute fiend. Non stop trying to gain all the weight and nutrients I lost out there. Thanks Howard for looking out for me and showing me an awesome time! But if I hear “Drop it Like it’s Hot” Yung Joc’s “It’s Goin’ Down” or “Dontcha Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me” one more fucking time I swear to God I am going postal!!!

A ‘friend’ of mine once said to me “You’re not going to find much love in the club.” And she’s right. But that statement I think more applies to guys like me and even girls like her. Because I witnessed PLENTY of love in the clubs out there. But it was between people of a different “ilk” so to speak.

These women, I’ve noticed, all seem to have a fierce look in their eyes while waiting on line by the velvet ropes outside the club. One is more provocatively dressed than the next. All of them sizing each other up. Who has the better body or the most revealing outfits? Who is getting the most stares? Who will be the better dancer? Who’s got nicer shoes? Nicer tits? Who will gain the most attention inside the club? And most of all, who will produce the most boners by the end of the night.

The men on the other hand had much simpler looks their eyes – “Damn! I’d like to fuck her.” Or just simply, “Let’s get drunk, have a good time and hope for the best!” That’s it. Hey, what can I say? We’re simple creatures.

Women, especially the ones that frequent clubs - love, Love, LOVE attention

It’s also funny to hear “normal” women put down strippers and say how much they hate the fact that men go to strip clubs. But I’ll be damned if I didn’t see ONE single woman out there that did not fight to get up on those platforms at each of those clubs so they can “pole dance” the shit out of each song. Just like a stripper.

And I was also amazed at how many women love to play “lesbian” and dance provocatively - grinding into each other throughout an entire song. Seriously. More then ¾ of the women in every club I went to committed this downright fraudulent crime against the Penis. How dare they?!

I do get it though. They’re thinking, “Guys love lesbians, we love attention, so let’s play lesbian, and torture guys (and real lesbians).” And they get angry with us guys who gawk and stare!? Labeling us as “pigs” and “dogs”!?

FUCK YOU! That’s like me dressing up in a pink bunny suit wielding a chainsaw and then complaining that people are staring at me.

Before I went to Vegas I had been hearing that the women were sooo much nicer out there than here. More approachable. Less attitude and just plain friendly. Even the insanely gorgeous, modelly ones.

But the bottom line - wherever you go you will encounter assholes and bitches, gentlemen and sweethearts. You go to strike up a conversation with someone and 1of 3 things will happen. You’ll either catch major attitude - and the person won’t even indulge you for a second. NEXT. The second is - the person will be courteous, answer your questions with monosyllabic answers and you’ll see their eyes darting all over the place subtly hinting that they prefer not to talk to you – but - will not be openly mean. The third and best scenario is – once you get past the “What’s your name, where you from, and what do you do questions - you’ll have a decent, fun, and maybe even an alluring and intelligent conversation that will either lead somewhere like the bedroom, a future date, relationship or just a simple kiss on the cheek and a genuine “Nice meeting you” smile.

I am grateful for all the highs and even some of the lows I experienced out there. Because it means I really lived life for a short time without a care in the world. Every once in a while I think we all need to do that. It’s really not that bad to just let loose every once in a while and act like a total idiot. So long as you don’t harm anyone in the process. Hell, I didn’t even think about my acting career (or lack thereof) the whole time I was out there. Then the day before I was to come back I got a phone call from the head of Orion Entertainment to set up a meeting to discuss a future project he said he had in mind for me. Well that put me in an exceptionally good mood. Duh. I do feel that if you want something really really bad…sometimes…it’s good to just let it go for a short period time. Allow it to come to you. And guess what, it almost always does and it’s when you least expect it. How’s that for a cliché?

And finally, although I am glad that I really lived life to it’s fullest out there I do realize that that life style is just not for me. I can’t say enough how happy I am that I got a chance to experience it and experience it with an “expert.”

Thanks Howard for looking out for me and showing me such an awesome time!

Posted by Todd Wall at 12:09 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)