Pre-Game show
I have been struggling over the past four days to write you the coolest blog ever. I’ve spent countless moments playing with words and phrases that be both cool and elegant to describe my journey in England thus far. But I fear that all this contemplation has been for naught…since with less than two days to go before my next episode is due I have yet to find a clear, cool, concise and communicative way to tell you how it went down. So I guess I’ll just tell it like it is (was).
I began my road trip in Phoenix with the Gammas. That’s Gamma Phi Fraternity for all of you that didn’t attend Duquesne University. Each year we pick one Steelers game to road trip to. It’s basically an excuse to drink your face off and look at women. Yeah, I know… I should have outgrown that kind of shit when I graduated. Well the only thing I can tell you is that we, as men, need this yearly outing. It’s completely non-judgmental and the only goal is to have as much fun as possible; besides, if we as men get together and do dumb shit then we are much less likely do to it around the women we care about (yes, there are few women that I care about).
I have an abbreviated trip because I have to leave to go to the UK. That’s right, the motherfucking UK! I had enough of all this ball licking and the “please program me” dance I am forced to do every quarter…it’s time to take the show on the road.
The soon-to-be massive, multi-leg journey began in my roommates room (Johnny Sabado if you’re nasty). We did some damage to the number of buds from a bumper crop of izm he had (fair skinned people: izm=weed). We talked about a bunch of shit and I told him that I‘ve got to get this fucker made…next thing I knew I was on the Super shuttle and on my way to LAX (my favorite fucking place!)
The first hop was to Phoenix and I have to tell you it was a bit weird when I touched down. Cause last time I was here I was madly in love with a certain employee of the state of Arizona, but it’s amazing what a pound of weed and some hotel porn can do to your memory. I had a single mission here in AZ; I wanted to get stupid drunk with my brothers and get Arizona back for all the shit it’s done to me over the years. Am I bitter?… probably, do I care? No, not one bit. I mean I took my fair share of licks when I was last here and now that I am a world famous director I need to make some of these little people pay. Ok, that wasn’t really my motivation but it sounds fucking good.
I have no real love for the Phoenix airport, I mean what is the fucking deal? They freed the slaves a minute ago, why the fuck do I still illicit so many looks when I walk through the airport? Well at least it’s not too fucking hot. It was a 45 minute flight to PHX and then I hopped a cab and then I was in my hotel room. I washed my balls and drank a coke and I sent my brothers a text.
COOPRDOG
What it look like?
MARC
This ain’t LA… speak English.
COOPRDOG
Yeah whatever. Where you guys at?
MARC
Hooters… get your ass over here, ASAP!
COOPRDOG
See, that’s what I love about the Gammas. Drinking and sports is all that matters. And if you aren’t drinking with the brothers then you are in violation of the Prime Directive and hence you will be talked about.
I snatched a street map from the check-in desk and I was out the door. It was a weird and vertigo-ish feeling as I walked to Mill avenue, 5th and Mill to be exact. Though I hadn’t been to Tempe in years it all came rushing back. There’s the post office… “The” post office. One night almost 10 years ago I thought I was going to die on the Southwest corner of the intersection, right in front of the Post office. It was 1997, the heyday of The American Scream. I don’t really have the space, time or memory to correctly explain The American Scream to you. All I can tell you is that The American Scream was originally a group of slam poets (though we didn’t “slam” in the traditional sense) which included myself, Disco Captain (the genesis for the character Disco in SLZ), Canuppa and Eden. Canuppa was a Native American, Eden was technically a white boy – but he listened almost exclusively to be-bop and hard-bop and had a thing for Ginsberg, Disco was a guitar prodigy who loved Captain Beefhart, Zappa, Funkadelic and a bunch of other cats I won’t mention. And then there was a young Cooprdog, fresh out of the 215 fleeing a hostile ex-girlfriend and a possible incarceration for parking fines.
We used to all about peace and love and dairy queen ice cream and sock-less hippy chicks. But all that peace and love shit died a horrible death one night at a slam, when I got attacked on the mic (verbally) by another poet. I remember Arizona because it is where I lost my innocence as a writer and my idealism as an artist. It was that seminal event to caused me to becoming increasingly political. In a matter of hours the American Scream went from peace and love to subversive literature and first amendment rights. This approach didn’t exactly go over well with the Mormon’s or the Christians and they weren’t exactly lining up to hear a Native American, a neo-classical beat poet, a Philly revolutionary and Western Pennsylvania musician turned soon to be icon scream on their love of unconcealed weapons and detest for the Spanish language. We found ourselves being mysteriously skipped on the sign up list to read at open mic’s. They ran out of time at the guaranteed spots, wouldn’t let us read as a group at the student run spots. It was obvious to us that we were being denied the right to speak our words, our minds, our politics our version of events in the hottest fucking place on earth (ok, maybe not technically – but goddamn does it get hot in August in Phoenix). Undeterred by the unfailing hegemonic structure and detest of all things multi-cultural, we decided to take it to the street.
We would walk around Tempe talking to other street performers and such, flirting with the crowd that didn’t really consider themselves a crowd (well… not to hear poetry).. and then we’d just pick a corner, drop our bags and our sketch books and take turns reading. For the first 30-50 minutes you could expect a pretty serious heckling. This is a hard drinking college town with asshole cops who really don’t like native American, long hair, hippies, hip-hop, dancing bears or anything else that doesn’t carry a gun and vote Republican. But if your words were sincere, and you had courage, sooner or later someone would stop and listen. You ideally needed just one person; because if one person stops then two of three other will stop to see why the first person stopped. So it’s essentially about timing, saving your hottest, dopest, most political shit for when the people were listening…to give them a reason to listen more. It’s a real trial by fire but we were the kings of it. We had a following of homeless teenagers who loved to hear us spit. In the back of my mind I always felt like I was teaching them. Like Duquesne University and Economics and all the things that cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars had a practical purpose.
It was during one of these performances that I honestly thought I was about to die. It was a little after 11pm on a Tuesday night and Mill avenue was pretty dead. We like to read when the foot traffic was low because it was that much harder to attract a crowd. But we had it down; we’d defeated slam teams from all over AZ and ones from LA and NYC that were travelling. We took all comers and that regulated us to the outside of art and the outside of society. It was safer here, for there is much solidarity among the dissent population. On the night in question we had no crowd. The hottest of hot shit couldn’t stop a slug and get him to listen, so we started to freestyle and point out shit and people on the street to see who could keep their flow going. I remember how a pack of 4 or 5 homeless kids walked past us. In the late 90’s the phoenix homeless kids had lots of piercings and game boys and always had a cup of coffee…kind of a charmed existence if you are from the east where the homeless dig through the garbage and urinate in the street…but hey… what do I know? The last two stragglers of the group is a couple and the boyfriend stopped to listen to Disco. His girlfriend pulled his arm but he didn’t move… he wanted to hear the end of the verse. Eden shot me a look to tag team and I refused…I knew that Canuppa should go next. These kids did a lot of drugs and he had the trippiest imagery of any of us. Like a football team Canuppa chimed in on a code word (we had many words and phrases that we collectively used to refer to each other’s pieces and to run our poems like a cipher (you know…black guys, rhymes, nodding heads). Canuppa rocked it, so much so that the rest of the pack returned to the quickly forming poetry circle. The looks again shot around The American Scream and again I denied my turn. Eden needed to go next. He was the youngest of us and arguably the deepest. This was one of the earliest examples of my love of producing. It has always been an instinct for me… to know who to show the crowd next…to keep the vibe consistent.
Eden’s words reverberated off the hot pavement and into the dark night. We now had a crowd of nearly ten people cheering and ushering us to give them more…and then I saw him. Call it my homeboy sense, my Philly instinct, my “been in too many bad neighborhoods”-consciousness all of them actively describe how I knew that something bad was coming right at us. On the opposite side of the street about a block and a half up I see this black guy. Now black men are pretty rare in AZ cause the heat makes us melt. I could tell by the speed and type of gait that he was carrying that he had some heavy shit on his mind. It’s the same way people walk after the lose a pick-up basketball game or after their car has been towed; they know they have to do something quickly, but don’t know what it is. I suddenly realized that this guy was crossing the street and walking right at us. It was all very surreal, like I was watching one of my own films or something. He had this bag in his hand and something about the bag really bothered me…but I didn’t know what. Before I could signal or so much as speak to my peoples he was on top of us. He raises the plastic bag which his hand is in and points it at one of the homeless kids.
DUDE WITH HIS HAND IN A BAG
“You wanna follow people around? You wanna fuck with people!!!”
The homeless kids attempt to scatter but he points the object in the bag at each one that attempts to move. I distinctly remember thinking how one of the reasons I’d left Philly was all the gun violence. And now, here in the desert at something like midnight on a Tuesday I’m about to be shot dead with my three good friends and a bunch of homeless 16 year olds that I’ve never seen before. He stood there berating them, his hand shaking, his voice cracking… I was sure that at any second he was going to go down the line and just start killing motherfuckers. I was the only black guy on the street besides him and I found it odd that he never looked at me, never leered at me never let me know that if I interfered that he’d kill me. I’d been in this situation a few more times than I’d like to mention and the would-be shooter is always quick to stare down any hero’s in the vicinity.
I was the closest to him…maybe 2 feet. And the more I squinted at the hand and the bag the less and less it looked like he could have a gun in there. I was thinking that I should just grab his ass. I’ve got 2 inches and nearly 30 lbs on this guy and I’m going to get the drop on him…but would I be able to live with it if he did have gun and someone got shot and killed cause “Big Trouble in Little China” is one of my favorite movies. I opted against the “rolling around on the floor fighting for the gun” scene and used the greatest weapon I had…
COOPRDOG
Hey man… hey Dawg.
DUDE WITH HIS HAND IN A BAG
Why don’t you just shut the fuck up.
COOPRDOG
Ok, but check it out. I know your pissed at this dude cause he took your shit or fucked with you in your sleep or whatever. (the guy looks right at me)…but do you really have to cap this kid right here, right now??? …cause my boy Eden was reading some dope ass shit and your really harshin’ the mellow…ya dig?
…after about three seconds of silences he drops his hand and just walks off, mumbling to himself. We all shook our heads in amazement and suddenly everyone thought I knew voodoo or some shit. A spontaneous conversation about karma and the universe erupted…and then Tempe Police pulled up and everybody had to get ghost in a hurry (Tempe cops ain’t nobody’s friend…so fuck what you heard). We’re ducking and dodging around corners and alleys as this police cruiser tries to catch a glimpse of us. We decided to split up and make our own ways home cause he’d really have to decide who was a better catch the Native American, the guitar rocker, the beat poet or the black guy. Sadly it would be one of the last times I’d see the other members of the American Scream. In less than 5 weeks 3 of us would leave the state…it seems that all my real relationships are fleeting.
All of those memories can rushing back as I sat 5 stories about that intersection with 18 fraternity brothers who at one time or another were known more than their fair share of drunk escapades and some fighting. All of the things that I thought I had to forget, that I thought that I had to let go to be an adult …I found myself returning to, to be an artist. The Gamma weekend was money because all I had to do was shut the fuck up and drink. I should point out that I actually set foot in a Hooters. That many not mean much to most of you, but I am a feminist. I’ve avoided Hooters my entire life because of what it means, and what it stands for. And a simple request from my pledge captain…and I complied without hesitation. I am still very much a fraternity man.
I drank like a fish and cursed more people than Michael Richards could doing a stand-up gig in Rikers. I stumbled back to the room and promptly passed out. Saturday was nothing but drinking. We ran through the first waitress in about 5 hours. I drank something like 6 pints on the first tab. It was $300 and something divided like 13 ways… are you kidding? We were known for making waitresses tired with our huge drink orders.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted her. Blonde, 5’4” a little thick… laughs a lot.. and I don’t want to be crude…but her kids will never starve. I had a sole mission to just talk to her. Of course the Gammas are hatin’ on me. Taking me to task and asking me why brothers like fat girls?
COOPRDOG
She’s not fat, she’s cute, curvy, voluptuous… she can wear a skirt and likes to get her hair pulled.
GAMMAS
How can you tell?
COOPRDOG
She’s not wearing a ponytail because she likes ponies.
The brothers erupt in laughter that is so loud that the entire bar looks over at us. I should have never quit stand-up.
My sole mission now is to get close to her, to make something happen. Shit I’m about to leave the country and I have so much shit that I’ve yet to deal with in LA…I kind of need this. I suddenly remember the story about the young Bull and the Old Bull. You know the one where the two of them are standing on the top of this hill looking at a bunch of cows that are grazing at the bottom. The young bull says to the old bull
YOUNG BULL
Why don’t we run down that hill and fuck one of those cows?
OLD BULL
Why don’t we walk down the hill and fuck them all!
Well I’m not getting’ any younger so the slow move was the plan. And what do you know.. we’re losing yet another waitress and she asks me to pick the new one. Now I’m not new to the game; a woman is not going to let you abandon her for a more attractive women so you can sleep with her. With that in mind I began to play the game.
WAITRESS
So you have to choose.
COOPRDOG
Why do I have to choose?
GAMMAS
Cause your black and if we don’t let you choose you’ll sue the fraternity for discrimination
The table erupts in laughter.
WAITRESS
(Laughing): Nice friends… and you know you want to pick, you’ve checked out the ass of every waitress in here… so why are you pretending??
GAMMAS
Oooh! She caught him….busted motherfucker!
COOPRDOG
I’ve been looking at the scores on the other games.
WAITRESS
Is that what they called it back in the 70’s or wheneverthefuck you graduated from school.
GAMMAS
Ouch!
GAMMA #1
That was ugly
GAMMA #3
Time! Damnit call time!
WAITRESS
So what’s it gonna be cutie. Stacy or Sharon?
Now, she’s surrendered names but I have reason to suspect she’s told me the wrong names or given them to me in the incorrect order. I’m wise to the games ladies…and I’m ranked. You must think you’re talkin’ to Krispey or some shit (yes, I have a friend named after a dough-nut… what about it??)
COOPRDOG
You know I don’t like to pigeon hole people.
WAITRESS
Ginger or Mary-Ann…Cooprdog, it’s not that hard?
GAMMA #2
He’s a fag from Cali so…if you mention the professor or Mr. Howel you’ll probably get a better reaction.
The table howls and cries with laughter at the comment.
COOPRDOG
I prefer the term gender neutral….you closet queenies.
GAMMA #5
Listen I haven’t been in the closet since you came home from work early….
More laughter from the table of drunkenness.
WAITRESS
Listen. I would really love to sit here and listen to all of you deny your lover for each other but I’ve got pick up my son.
GAMMA #3
Kids?...how old are you?
GAMMA #6
Told you we should have went back to Hooters. They’re hotter and they tend not to speak.
COOPRDOG
Ok..ok… what are their names?
WAITRESS
Blonde or brunette, I’ll make it easy.
COOPRDOG
Is she a real blonde?
GAMMA #2
Is she willing to prove it for $20 and a ride home?
WAITRESS
You’ve got a cute face, why don’t you ask her. I’ll send Stacy over.
The waitress walks off.
GAMMA #1
You get laid just cause you’re black don’t you?
COOPRDOG
That’s a rumor?
GAMMA #9
Yeah but what if she likes small cocks?
COOPRDOG
Listen the only person I know that likes small cocks is your mom.
GAMMAS
OOooooooh!
GAMMA #9
Ok, he got me…I’m not fucking with Cooprdog no more. Where’s the fucking beer wench!!
And such is life with the Gammas; quick witted answers, cracking wise, gay jokes, jokes about your mom…you come to expect it all when you are hanging out with them. The next thing I knew Stacy was standing in front of me. I could tell that a conversation had been had and that certain things had been decided on. Women amaze me with this.. can’t we just play it out and see how it see how it goes down without all the “wishful thinking” and “I know how men are” shit. I mean c’mon.. do you really know me… do you really know me. I doubt most of you could decide what the first thing I do when I wake up. And no, it’s not beating my dick. The first thing I do is scratch my balls and then I beat my dick (it’s really more complicated than it sounds…trust me.)
Anyway so I’m on like my 9 billionth pint when I decide to make a move (you know it’s better when I am drunk baby… why you trippin’??). I don’t want to fuck Stacy, I want to marry Stacy. Ok, that’s kind of a lie cause I can’t even handle the commitment that comes with winning a Goldfish at the state fair (yeah, like I hang out at state fairs… whatever). But seriously I’m not just trying to take her home and fuck her once; I’m trying to take her home and fuck her several times over an 8 hour period (c’mon…you know that’s funny). Anyway I am mesmerized by her jean skirt and her tight black T-shirt encasing a lovely chest. But ogling leads to drooling and that’s never good (unless you're asleep in Algebra class). I decide to go on the offensive.
COOPRDOG
Can I order food from you?
WAITRESS STACY
I’m sorry you want to order food?
COOPRDOG
No! I want to know how your boyfriend feels about you closing every night; I’d like to order some food.
WAITRESS STACY
(smiles): I don’t have a boyfriend.
COOPRDOG
Really, I find that hard to believe.
WAITRESS STACY
Why is that?
COOPRDOG
I just don’t think that kind of thing should be possible. I mean if I was in charge.
WAITRESS STACY
You’d take care of me forever. What would you like to order?
GAMMA #4
Frost warning!
COOPRDOG
Cheese burger and some fries please.
WAITRESS STACY
I’ll be right back with that.
And she was off. Ok, it may not seem like I’m on top of shit, but trust me…I’m a regular around these parts. There’s more small talk and ribbing going on till one of my brothers decides to ask me about the film.
GAMMA #3
Don’t ask him… he won’t shut the fuck up about it
COOPRDOG
That’s right, I never shut the fuck up about the film… because film is my life.
GAMMA #5
So it’s going well?
COOPRDOG
Well I’ve managed to not succumb to my credit card debt and to screen once every four weeks so how much can I really complain about?
GAMMA #7
That’s it…. That’s all you’ve got to show for it is not getting run out of town?
COOPRDOG
Well no, I’ve got a lot of shit to show for it but I don’t think my web traffic and my number of Google pages is really going to do it for you guys.
GAMMA #1
You’re right, it’s not.
COOPRDOG
Listen, I’m in the hunt. I’m not some Venice beach dreamer who’s never so much as written a script let alone produced one that’s talking about his “film career”. I made a big movie, it screens often, people seem to like it…and I have had 3 or 4 conversations about getting a check for $4MM… that’s more than most.
The next thing you know my burger has arrived. I decide not to flirt and just play it straight.
WAITRESS STACY
Cheeseburger?
COOPRDOG
Right here
And she walks off.
GAMMA #2
I think he lost his nerve.
GAMMA #7
Listen, just because you are a pussy, doesn’t mean you have to act like a pussy.
Can you imagine what pledging was like? I used to get pulled out of bed in the middle of the night for this kind of treatment “Sing…motherfucker…Sing!!!”
COOPRDOG
Listen at least I’m willing to pull the trigger every once in a while…how many of you even know where your shotgun is?
GAMMA #4
My wife is keeping it safe at home for me.
The table erupts in a loud chorus of laughter. We’ll be gettin’ tossed out of here as soon as the sun goes down. The Guinness was really starting to run through me. I adjourned from the table to find the pisser. And on my way back I kind of bumped into Waitress Stacy (ok, that’s a lie, I was stalking her… but whatever). She was putting an order into the POS terminal at the end of the bar…now is the chance to make my move.
COOPRDOG
What are you doing…typing a paper?
WAITRESS STACY
What… did you just remember that you forgot to hit on me cause red meat distracts you and now you are trying to make up for it?
COOPRDOG
This is just a reconnaissance mission. It’ll be all “shock and awe” when I really put it on you.
WAITRESS STACY
(Laughs): Oh you’re a live one.
COOPRDOG
Wait till I get a few more pints in me.
WAITRESS STACY
Shit! I have to get these wings on that table.
…and she runs off. Now in the world of men anytime you don’t get beat up, robbed, shot or shut down…it constitutes a win. But of course I was in full view of the Gammas so… I’m about to be rated. As I return to the table it starts…
GAMMA #8
That was fast.
GAMMA #4
He got shot down
GAMMA #1
You gotta get your hands up or you’ll get pummeled when you come in for contact.
GAMMA #5
Stick and move…stick and move!
GAMMA #3
Really.. what happened?
COOPRDOG
That was just a hello flirt, I’m just testing the defense.
GAMMA #6
You can’t fucking catch so why does the defense matter?
The table again howls with laughter.
COOPRDOG
Fuck you I have a bionic implant so I’m all better you bunch of bitches.
Waitress Stacy walks by and smiles at me.
GAMMA #1
Can I ask you something? Why do brothers like big white girls?
COOPRDOG
Cause they can really suck cock and can keep their fucking mouths shut.
GAMMA #1
C’mon… dick sucking is dick sucking.
COOPRDOG
Spoken like a man who doesn’t get his dick sucked a lot.
The table laughs..
GAMMA #1
Seriously though… anytime I see a black guy
GAMMA #5
You mean both of the times you saw a black guy…
GAMMA #1
Ok, yes… other than Cooprdog I don’t know a lot of brothers, but what is the deal.
COOPRDOG
Big girls like it rough, and they are often over looked. And I like a big ass.
GAMMA #5
You mean a fat ass
COOPRDOG
No, I mean a phat ass…
GAMMA #6
Seriously what the difference? Is there a difference? I watch a lot of BET and none of that shit makes sense to me.
COOPRDOG
Ok, first of all… stop watching BET. I’ve been black most of my life and I have no idea what half the shit on the channel is. Ok, listen to me…I like boyshorts, skirts that hang a certain way, big thighs…and I like to spank bad girls.
GAMMA #7
So it’s about the spanking?
COOPRDOG
Listen, if I drink too many Guinness and I spank a petite chick to hard I might be looking at like 10 years.
All the Gammas burst out laughing.
COOPRDOG
I’m not joking. I heard a black guy farted in front of a cop and they charged him with attempted murder…. These are not jokes man, this is real shit.
It was at that point that I really had to piss again. The bar was starting to fill up and it was getting harder and harder to do my drunk man stumble. On my exit from the pisser I saw Stacy and it was on..
COOPRDOG
Hey…
WAITRESS STACY
This out to be good.
COOPRDOG
Look, I can’t keep pretending like I have to piss every 20 mins trying to get an excuse to talk to you.
WAITRESS STACY
You’ve been doing ok so far.
COOPRDOG
Listen, full contact drinking is no laughing matter. My motor skills are only going to decrease as the night progresses.
WAITRESS STACY
So what do you do?
COOPRDOG
I’m a filmmaker
WAITRESS STACY
Really?
COOPRDOG
No bullshit. I make movies.
WAITRESS STACY
So, what… you act?
COOPRDOG
No.. writer/director/producer.
WAITRESS STACY
So you write well?
COOPRDOG
Depends who you ask, but generally yes.
WAITRESS STACY
(grabbing her tray): Well think of something really funny to tell me… and if I laugh..we’ll talk.
…and she walked away. Sure, that’s probably a blow-off, she probably has no intention of sharing a soda with me let alone 5 hours of hard fucking (ask around ladies… I bring the pain)
As I walked back to the table of Gammas my mind was swimming with ideas. I mean I wasn’t particularly worried about what I would say to her, I’m a writer…I can write shit off the top of my dome if need be. My real issue was that I had to prove myself. That yet again I was in a situation with an attractive woman and I need to show that I’m better than most, that I’m worth the trouble. Please…most women aren’t worth the trouble… but as a man I still give a them the benefit of the doubt.
And again I’m caught up in my own shit in my own psychosis instead of what’s really going on in real life. I decide to chill the fuck out and drink my pint. If I came up with something, then fine; if not… I’ll probably avoid another ridiculous relationship where I wake up one day and realize that she really doesn’t give a shit about me. Three pints and 20 jokes later I made my move.
I stood up from the table with a purpose. I didn’t tell my brothers where I was going and I didn’t tell them when I was coming back. I made eye contact with her as I walked toward her across the bar. I thought about when I’m directing, about how if I can just get the actors to move to their marks and if Det. Budd can keep the shit well lit.. then we might get a good shot.
She kind of smiled and I knew then that it was understood by the entire bar, by then entire western hemisphere that I was about to sink or swim.
COOPRDOG
Ok, so… I’ve got your funny anecdote.
WAITRESS STACY
Oh?
COOPRDOG
It’s really a joke so… don’t hold it against me.
WAITRESS STACY
Lemme hear it.
COOPRDOG
Ok, so what’s the difference between a new server and a weed whacker?
WAITRESS STACY
What?
COOPRDOG
A weed whacker only gets into the weeds once a week.
She burst out laughing and grabbed my arm and said “that’s really funny”. She smiled and then had to run to a table to get some AZ motherfucker another bud light bottle (domestic beer will never get you fucked). And now I’m in feeling even weirder. Because, I was asked as a writer, called on the carpet as a writer to see if I could produce, and I did produce. I came up big with a tasty line and accomplished the mission. And I have no joy, no accolades, no feedback; this is what sucks about being a writer. Your hottest shit is always taken for granted, that is until you are dead. (technical note: The aforementioned joke is in the public domain. I am referring to my ability to reference a joke that was relevant to wait service, short and sweet…and would indicate that I’m worth the trouble.)
I had maybe three more conversations with Stacy. She gave me her email. As much as I wanted to live happily ever after with Stacy, she’s 21 and still in school and looks a lot like Jill, who looks a lot like Jamie. Both of which I met in Arizona and I think we know how both of those relationships played out.
Apparently we hit three more bars and then some late night food, none of which I remember because I was really fucked up.
I got back to my hotel about 5AM. I was catching a shuttle in 90 minutes to fly to Manchester England…not a bad night when you really think about it.
COOPRDOG.
I began my road trip in Phoenix with the Gammas. That’s Gamma Phi Fraternity for all of you that didn’t attend Duquesne University. Each year we pick one Steelers game to road trip to. It’s basically an excuse to drink your face off and look at women. Yeah, I know… I should have outgrown that kind of shit when I graduated. Well the only thing I can tell you is that we, as men, need this yearly outing. It’s completely non-judgmental and the only goal is to have as much fun as possible; besides, if we as men get together and do dumb shit then we are much less likely do to it around the women we care about (yes, there are few women that I care about).
I have an abbreviated trip because I have to leave to go to the UK. That’s right, the motherfucking UK! I had enough of all this ball licking and the “please program me” dance I am forced to do every quarter…it’s time to take the show on the road.
The soon-to-be massive, multi-leg journey began in my roommates room (Johnny Sabado if you’re nasty). We did some damage to the number of buds from a bumper crop of izm he had (fair skinned people: izm=weed). We talked about a bunch of shit and I told him that I‘ve got to get this fucker made…next thing I knew I was on the Super shuttle and on my way to LAX (my favorite fucking place!)
The first hop was to Phoenix and I have to tell you it was a bit weird when I touched down. Cause last time I was here I was madly in love with a certain employee of the state of Arizona, but it’s amazing what a pound of weed and some hotel porn can do to your memory. I had a single mission here in AZ; I wanted to get stupid drunk with my brothers and get Arizona back for all the shit it’s done to me over the years. Am I bitter?… probably, do I care? No, not one bit. I mean I took my fair share of licks when I was last here and now that I am a world famous director I need to make some of these little people pay. Ok, that wasn’t really my motivation but it sounds fucking good.
I have no real love for the Phoenix airport, I mean what is the fucking deal? They freed the slaves a minute ago, why the fuck do I still illicit so many looks when I walk through the airport? Well at least it’s not too fucking hot. It was a 45 minute flight to PHX and then I hopped a cab and then I was in my hotel room. I washed my balls and drank a coke and I sent my brothers a text.
COOPRDOG
What it look like?
MARC
This ain’t LA… speak English.
COOPRDOG
Yeah whatever. Where you guys at?
MARC
Hooters… get your ass over here, ASAP!
COOPRDOG
See, that’s what I love about the Gammas. Drinking and sports is all that matters. And if you aren’t drinking with the brothers then you are in violation of the Prime Directive and hence you will be talked about.
I snatched a street map from the check-in desk and I was out the door. It was a weird and vertigo-ish feeling as I walked to Mill avenue, 5th and Mill to be exact. Though I hadn’t been to Tempe in years it all came rushing back. There’s the post office… “The” post office. One night almost 10 years ago I thought I was going to die on the Southwest corner of the intersection, right in front of the Post office. It was 1997, the heyday of The American Scream. I don’t really have the space, time or memory to correctly explain The American Scream to you. All I can tell you is that The American Scream was originally a group of slam poets (though we didn’t “slam” in the traditional sense) which included myself, Disco Captain (the genesis for the character Disco in SLZ), Canuppa and Eden. Canuppa was a Native American, Eden was technically a white boy – but he listened almost exclusively to be-bop and hard-bop and had a thing for Ginsberg, Disco was a guitar prodigy who loved Captain Beefhart, Zappa, Funkadelic and a bunch of other cats I won’t mention. And then there was a young Cooprdog, fresh out of the 215 fleeing a hostile ex-girlfriend and a possible incarceration for parking fines.
We used to all about peace and love and dairy queen ice cream and sock-less hippy chicks. But all that peace and love shit died a horrible death one night at a slam, when I got attacked on the mic (verbally) by another poet. I remember Arizona because it is where I lost my innocence as a writer and my idealism as an artist. It was that seminal event to caused me to becoming increasingly political. In a matter of hours the American Scream went from peace and love to subversive literature and first amendment rights. This approach didn’t exactly go over well with the Mormon’s or the Christians and they weren’t exactly lining up to hear a Native American, a neo-classical beat poet, a Philly revolutionary and Western Pennsylvania musician turned soon to be icon scream on their love of unconcealed weapons and detest for the Spanish language. We found ourselves being mysteriously skipped on the sign up list to read at open mic’s. They ran out of time at the guaranteed spots, wouldn’t let us read as a group at the student run spots. It was obvious to us that we were being denied the right to speak our words, our minds, our politics our version of events in the hottest fucking place on earth (ok, maybe not technically – but goddamn does it get hot in August in Phoenix). Undeterred by the unfailing hegemonic structure and detest of all things multi-cultural, we decided to take it to the street.
We would walk around Tempe talking to other street performers and such, flirting with the crowd that didn’t really consider themselves a crowd (well… not to hear poetry).. and then we’d just pick a corner, drop our bags and our sketch books and take turns reading. For the first 30-50 minutes you could expect a pretty serious heckling. This is a hard drinking college town with asshole cops who really don’t like native American, long hair, hippies, hip-hop, dancing bears or anything else that doesn’t carry a gun and vote Republican. But if your words were sincere, and you had courage, sooner or later someone would stop and listen. You ideally needed just one person; because if one person stops then two of three other will stop to see why the first person stopped. So it’s essentially about timing, saving your hottest, dopest, most political shit for when the people were listening…to give them a reason to listen more. It’s a real trial by fire but we were the kings of it. We had a following of homeless teenagers who loved to hear us spit. In the back of my mind I always felt like I was teaching them. Like Duquesne University and Economics and all the things that cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars had a practical purpose.
It was during one of these performances that I honestly thought I was about to die. It was a little after 11pm on a Tuesday night and Mill avenue was pretty dead. We like to read when the foot traffic was low because it was that much harder to attract a crowd. But we had it down; we’d defeated slam teams from all over AZ and ones from LA and NYC that were travelling. We took all comers and that regulated us to the outside of art and the outside of society. It was safer here, for there is much solidarity among the dissent population. On the night in question we had no crowd. The hottest of hot shit couldn’t stop a slug and get him to listen, so we started to freestyle and point out shit and people on the street to see who could keep their flow going. I remember how a pack of 4 or 5 homeless kids walked past us. In the late 90’s the phoenix homeless kids had lots of piercings and game boys and always had a cup of coffee…kind of a charmed existence if you are from the east where the homeless dig through the garbage and urinate in the street…but hey… what do I know? The last two stragglers of the group is a couple and the boyfriend stopped to listen to Disco. His girlfriend pulled his arm but he didn’t move… he wanted to hear the end of the verse. Eden shot me a look to tag team and I refused…I knew that Canuppa should go next. These kids did a lot of drugs and he had the trippiest imagery of any of us. Like a football team Canuppa chimed in on a code word (we had many words and phrases that we collectively used to refer to each other’s pieces and to run our poems like a cipher (you know…black guys, rhymes, nodding heads). Canuppa rocked it, so much so that the rest of the pack returned to the quickly forming poetry circle. The looks again shot around The American Scream and again I denied my turn. Eden needed to go next. He was the youngest of us and arguably the deepest. This was one of the earliest examples of my love of producing. It has always been an instinct for me… to know who to show the crowd next…to keep the vibe consistent.
Eden’s words reverberated off the hot pavement and into the dark night. We now had a crowd of nearly ten people cheering and ushering us to give them more…and then I saw him. Call it my homeboy sense, my Philly instinct, my “been in too many bad neighborhoods”-consciousness all of them actively describe how I knew that something bad was coming right at us. On the opposite side of the street about a block and a half up I see this black guy. Now black men are pretty rare in AZ cause the heat makes us melt. I could tell by the speed and type of gait that he was carrying that he had some heavy shit on his mind. It’s the same way people walk after the lose a pick-up basketball game or after their car has been towed; they know they have to do something quickly, but don’t know what it is. I suddenly realized that this guy was crossing the street and walking right at us. It was all very surreal, like I was watching one of my own films or something. He had this bag in his hand and something about the bag really bothered me…but I didn’t know what. Before I could signal or so much as speak to my peoples he was on top of us. He raises the plastic bag which his hand is in and points it at one of the homeless kids.
DUDE WITH HIS HAND IN A BAG
“You wanna follow people around? You wanna fuck with people!!!”
The homeless kids attempt to scatter but he points the object in the bag at each one that attempts to move. I distinctly remember thinking how one of the reasons I’d left Philly was all the gun violence. And now, here in the desert at something like midnight on a Tuesday I’m about to be shot dead with my three good friends and a bunch of homeless 16 year olds that I’ve never seen before. He stood there berating them, his hand shaking, his voice cracking… I was sure that at any second he was going to go down the line and just start killing motherfuckers. I was the only black guy on the street besides him and I found it odd that he never looked at me, never leered at me never let me know that if I interfered that he’d kill me. I’d been in this situation a few more times than I’d like to mention and the would-be shooter is always quick to stare down any hero’s in the vicinity.
I was the closest to him…maybe 2 feet. And the more I squinted at the hand and the bag the less and less it looked like he could have a gun in there. I was thinking that I should just grab his ass. I’ve got 2 inches and nearly 30 lbs on this guy and I’m going to get the drop on him…but would I be able to live with it if he did have gun and someone got shot and killed cause “Big Trouble in Little China” is one of my favorite movies. I opted against the “rolling around on the floor fighting for the gun” scene and used the greatest weapon I had…
COOPRDOG
Hey man… hey Dawg.
DUDE WITH HIS HAND IN A BAG
Why don’t you just shut the fuck up.
COOPRDOG
Ok, but check it out. I know your pissed at this dude cause he took your shit or fucked with you in your sleep or whatever. (the guy looks right at me)…but do you really have to cap this kid right here, right now??? …cause my boy Eden was reading some dope ass shit and your really harshin’ the mellow…ya dig?
…after about three seconds of silences he drops his hand and just walks off, mumbling to himself. We all shook our heads in amazement and suddenly everyone thought I knew voodoo or some shit. A spontaneous conversation about karma and the universe erupted…and then Tempe Police pulled up and everybody had to get ghost in a hurry (Tempe cops ain’t nobody’s friend…so fuck what you heard). We’re ducking and dodging around corners and alleys as this police cruiser tries to catch a glimpse of us. We decided to split up and make our own ways home cause he’d really have to decide who was a better catch the Native American, the guitar rocker, the beat poet or the black guy. Sadly it would be one of the last times I’d see the other members of the American Scream. In less than 5 weeks 3 of us would leave the state…it seems that all my real relationships are fleeting.
All of those memories can rushing back as I sat 5 stories about that intersection with 18 fraternity brothers who at one time or another were known more than their fair share of drunk escapades and some fighting. All of the things that I thought I had to forget, that I thought that I had to let go to be an adult …I found myself returning to, to be an artist. The Gamma weekend was money because all I had to do was shut the fuck up and drink. I should point out that I actually set foot in a Hooters. That many not mean much to most of you, but I am a feminist. I’ve avoided Hooters my entire life because of what it means, and what it stands for. And a simple request from my pledge captain…and I complied without hesitation. I am still very much a fraternity man.
I drank like a fish and cursed more people than Michael Richards could doing a stand-up gig in Rikers. I stumbled back to the room and promptly passed out. Saturday was nothing but drinking. We ran through the first waitress in about 5 hours. I drank something like 6 pints on the first tab. It was $300 and something divided like 13 ways… are you kidding? We were known for making waitresses tired with our huge drink orders.
Out of the corner of my eye I spotted her. Blonde, 5’4” a little thick… laughs a lot.. and I don’t want to be crude…but her kids will never starve. I had a sole mission to just talk to her. Of course the Gammas are hatin’ on me. Taking me to task and asking me why brothers like fat girls?
COOPRDOG
She’s not fat, she’s cute, curvy, voluptuous… she can wear a skirt and likes to get her hair pulled.
GAMMAS
How can you tell?
COOPRDOG
She’s not wearing a ponytail because she likes ponies.
The brothers erupt in laughter that is so loud that the entire bar looks over at us. I should have never quit stand-up.
My sole mission now is to get close to her, to make something happen. Shit I’m about to leave the country and I have so much shit that I’ve yet to deal with in LA…I kind of need this. I suddenly remember the story about the young Bull and the Old Bull. You know the one where the two of them are standing on the top of this hill looking at a bunch of cows that are grazing at the bottom. The young bull says to the old bull
YOUNG BULL
Why don’t we run down that hill and fuck one of those cows?
OLD BULL
Why don’t we walk down the hill and fuck them all!
Well I’m not getting’ any younger so the slow move was the plan. And what do you know.. we’re losing yet another waitress and she asks me to pick the new one. Now I’m not new to the game; a woman is not going to let you abandon her for a more attractive women so you can sleep with her. With that in mind I began to play the game.
WAITRESS
So you have to choose.
COOPRDOG
Why do I have to choose?
GAMMAS
Cause your black and if we don’t let you choose you’ll sue the fraternity for discrimination
The table erupts in laughter.
WAITRESS
(Laughing): Nice friends… and you know you want to pick, you’ve checked out the ass of every waitress in here… so why are you pretending??
GAMMAS
Oooh! She caught him….busted motherfucker!
COOPRDOG
I’ve been looking at the scores on the other games.
WAITRESS
Is that what they called it back in the 70’s or wheneverthefuck you graduated from school.
GAMMAS
Ouch!
GAMMA #1
That was ugly
GAMMA #3
Time! Damnit call time!
WAITRESS
So what’s it gonna be cutie. Stacy or Sharon?
Now, she’s surrendered names but I have reason to suspect she’s told me the wrong names or given them to me in the incorrect order. I’m wise to the games ladies…and I’m ranked. You must think you’re talkin’ to Krispey or some shit (yes, I have a friend named after a dough-nut… what about it??)
COOPRDOG
You know I don’t like to pigeon hole people.
WAITRESS
Ginger or Mary-Ann…Cooprdog, it’s not that hard?
GAMMA #2
He’s a fag from Cali so…if you mention the professor or Mr. Howel you’ll probably get a better reaction.
The table howls and cries with laughter at the comment.
COOPRDOG
I prefer the term gender neutral….you closet queenies.
GAMMA #5
Listen I haven’t been in the closet since you came home from work early….
More laughter from the table of drunkenness.
WAITRESS
Listen. I would really love to sit here and listen to all of you deny your lover for each other but I’ve got pick up my son.
GAMMA #3
Kids?...how old are you?
GAMMA #6
Told you we should have went back to Hooters. They’re hotter and they tend not to speak.
COOPRDOG
Ok..ok… what are their names?
WAITRESS
Blonde or brunette, I’ll make it easy.
COOPRDOG
Is she a real blonde?
GAMMA #2
Is she willing to prove it for $20 and a ride home?
WAITRESS
You’ve got a cute face, why don’t you ask her. I’ll send Stacy over.
The waitress walks off.
GAMMA #1
You get laid just cause you’re black don’t you?
COOPRDOG
That’s a rumor?
GAMMA #9
Yeah but what if she likes small cocks?
COOPRDOG
Listen the only person I know that likes small cocks is your mom.
GAMMAS
OOooooooh!
GAMMA #9
Ok, he got me…I’m not fucking with Cooprdog no more. Where’s the fucking beer wench!!
And such is life with the Gammas; quick witted answers, cracking wise, gay jokes, jokes about your mom…you come to expect it all when you are hanging out with them. The next thing I knew Stacy was standing in front of me. I could tell that a conversation had been had and that certain things had been decided on. Women amaze me with this.. can’t we just play it out and see how it see how it goes down without all the “wishful thinking” and “I know how men are” shit. I mean c’mon.. do you really know me… do you really know me. I doubt most of you could decide what the first thing I do when I wake up. And no, it’s not beating my dick. The first thing I do is scratch my balls and then I beat my dick (it’s really more complicated than it sounds…trust me.)
Anyway so I’m on like my 9 billionth pint when I decide to make a move (you know it’s better when I am drunk baby… why you trippin’??). I don’t want to fuck Stacy, I want to marry Stacy. Ok, that’s kind of a lie cause I can’t even handle the commitment that comes with winning a Goldfish at the state fair (yeah, like I hang out at state fairs… whatever). But seriously I’m not just trying to take her home and fuck her once; I’m trying to take her home and fuck her several times over an 8 hour period (c’mon…you know that’s funny). Anyway I am mesmerized by her jean skirt and her tight black T-shirt encasing a lovely chest. But ogling leads to drooling and that’s never good (unless you're asleep in Algebra class). I decide to go on the offensive.
COOPRDOG
Can I order food from you?
WAITRESS STACY
I’m sorry you want to order food?
COOPRDOG
No! I want to know how your boyfriend feels about you closing every night; I’d like to order some food.
WAITRESS STACY
(smiles): I don’t have a boyfriend.
COOPRDOG
Really, I find that hard to believe.
WAITRESS STACY
Why is that?
COOPRDOG
I just don’t think that kind of thing should be possible. I mean if I was in charge.
WAITRESS STACY
You’d take care of me forever. What would you like to order?
GAMMA #4
Frost warning!
COOPRDOG
Cheese burger and some fries please.
WAITRESS STACY
I’ll be right back with that.
And she was off. Ok, it may not seem like I’m on top of shit, but trust me…I’m a regular around these parts. There’s more small talk and ribbing going on till one of my brothers decides to ask me about the film.
GAMMA #3
Don’t ask him… he won’t shut the fuck up about it
COOPRDOG
That’s right, I never shut the fuck up about the film… because film is my life.
GAMMA #5
So it’s going well?
COOPRDOG
Well I’ve managed to not succumb to my credit card debt and to screen once every four weeks so how much can I really complain about?
GAMMA #7
That’s it…. That’s all you’ve got to show for it is not getting run out of town?
COOPRDOG
Well no, I’ve got a lot of shit to show for it but I don’t think my web traffic and my number of Google pages is really going to do it for you guys.
GAMMA #1
You’re right, it’s not.
COOPRDOG
Listen, I’m in the hunt. I’m not some Venice beach dreamer who’s never so much as written a script let alone produced one that’s talking about his “film career”. I made a big movie, it screens often, people seem to like it…and I have had 3 or 4 conversations about getting a check for $4MM… that’s more than most.
The next thing you know my burger has arrived. I decide not to flirt and just play it straight.
WAITRESS STACY
Cheeseburger?
COOPRDOG
Right here
And she walks off.
GAMMA #2
I think he lost his nerve.
GAMMA #7
Listen, just because you are a pussy, doesn’t mean you have to act like a pussy.
Can you imagine what pledging was like? I used to get pulled out of bed in the middle of the night for this kind of treatment “Sing…motherfucker…Sing!!!”
COOPRDOG
Listen at least I’m willing to pull the trigger every once in a while…how many of you even know where your shotgun is?
GAMMA #4
My wife is keeping it safe at home for me.
The table erupts in a loud chorus of laughter. We’ll be gettin’ tossed out of here as soon as the sun goes down. The Guinness was really starting to run through me. I adjourned from the table to find the pisser. And on my way back I kind of bumped into Waitress Stacy (ok, that’s a lie, I was stalking her… but whatever). She was putting an order into the POS terminal at the end of the bar…now is the chance to make my move.
COOPRDOG
What are you doing…typing a paper?
WAITRESS STACY
What… did you just remember that you forgot to hit on me cause red meat distracts you and now you are trying to make up for it?
COOPRDOG
This is just a reconnaissance mission. It’ll be all “shock and awe” when I really put it on you.
WAITRESS STACY
(Laughs): Oh you’re a live one.
COOPRDOG
Wait till I get a few more pints in me.
WAITRESS STACY
Shit! I have to get these wings on that table.
…and she runs off. Now in the world of men anytime you don’t get beat up, robbed, shot or shut down…it constitutes a win. But of course I was in full view of the Gammas so… I’m about to be rated. As I return to the table it starts…
GAMMA #8
That was fast.
GAMMA #4
He got shot down
GAMMA #1
You gotta get your hands up or you’ll get pummeled when you come in for contact.
GAMMA #5
Stick and move…stick and move!
GAMMA #3
Really.. what happened?
COOPRDOG
That was just a hello flirt, I’m just testing the defense.
GAMMA #6
You can’t fucking catch so why does the defense matter?
The table again howls with laughter.
COOPRDOG
Fuck you I have a bionic implant so I’m all better you bunch of bitches.
Waitress Stacy walks by and smiles at me.
GAMMA #1
Can I ask you something? Why do brothers like big white girls?
COOPRDOG
Cause they can really suck cock and can keep their fucking mouths shut.
GAMMA #1
C’mon… dick sucking is dick sucking.
COOPRDOG
Spoken like a man who doesn’t get his dick sucked a lot.
The table laughs..
GAMMA #1
Seriously though… anytime I see a black guy
GAMMA #5
You mean both of the times you saw a black guy…
GAMMA #1
Ok, yes… other than Cooprdog I don’t know a lot of brothers, but what is the deal.
COOPRDOG
Big girls like it rough, and they are often over looked. And I like a big ass.
GAMMA #5
You mean a fat ass
COOPRDOG
No, I mean a phat ass…
GAMMA #6
Seriously what the difference? Is there a difference? I watch a lot of BET and none of that shit makes sense to me.
COOPRDOG
Ok, first of all… stop watching BET. I’ve been black most of my life and I have no idea what half the shit on the channel is. Ok, listen to me…I like boyshorts, skirts that hang a certain way, big thighs…and I like to spank bad girls.
GAMMA #7
So it’s about the spanking?
COOPRDOG
Listen, if I drink too many Guinness and I spank a petite chick to hard I might be looking at like 10 years.
All the Gammas burst out laughing.
COOPRDOG
I’m not joking. I heard a black guy farted in front of a cop and they charged him with attempted murder…. These are not jokes man, this is real shit.
It was at that point that I really had to piss again. The bar was starting to fill up and it was getting harder and harder to do my drunk man stumble. On my exit from the pisser I saw Stacy and it was on..
COOPRDOG
Hey…
WAITRESS STACY
This out to be good.
COOPRDOG
Look, I can’t keep pretending like I have to piss every 20 mins trying to get an excuse to talk to you.
WAITRESS STACY
You’ve been doing ok so far.
COOPRDOG
Listen, full contact drinking is no laughing matter. My motor skills are only going to decrease as the night progresses.
WAITRESS STACY
So what do you do?
COOPRDOG
I’m a filmmaker
WAITRESS STACY
Really?
COOPRDOG
No bullshit. I make movies.
WAITRESS STACY
So, what… you act?
COOPRDOG
No.. writer/director/producer.
WAITRESS STACY
So you write well?
COOPRDOG
Depends who you ask, but generally yes.
WAITRESS STACY
(grabbing her tray): Well think of something really funny to tell me… and if I laugh..we’ll talk.
…and she walked away. Sure, that’s probably a blow-off, she probably has no intention of sharing a soda with me let alone 5 hours of hard fucking (ask around ladies… I bring the pain)
As I walked back to the table of Gammas my mind was swimming with ideas. I mean I wasn’t particularly worried about what I would say to her, I’m a writer…I can write shit off the top of my dome if need be. My real issue was that I had to prove myself. That yet again I was in a situation with an attractive woman and I need to show that I’m better than most, that I’m worth the trouble. Please…most women aren’t worth the trouble… but as a man I still give a them the benefit of the doubt.
And again I’m caught up in my own shit in my own psychosis instead of what’s really going on in real life. I decide to chill the fuck out and drink my pint. If I came up with something, then fine; if not… I’ll probably avoid another ridiculous relationship where I wake up one day and realize that she really doesn’t give a shit about me. Three pints and 20 jokes later I made my move.
I stood up from the table with a purpose. I didn’t tell my brothers where I was going and I didn’t tell them when I was coming back. I made eye contact with her as I walked toward her across the bar. I thought about when I’m directing, about how if I can just get the actors to move to their marks and if Det. Budd can keep the shit well lit.. then we might get a good shot.
She kind of smiled and I knew then that it was understood by the entire bar, by then entire western hemisphere that I was about to sink or swim.
COOPRDOG
Ok, so… I’ve got your funny anecdote.
WAITRESS STACY
Oh?
COOPRDOG
It’s really a joke so… don’t hold it against me.
WAITRESS STACY
Lemme hear it.
COOPRDOG
Ok, so what’s the difference between a new server and a weed whacker?
WAITRESS STACY
What?
COOPRDOG
A weed whacker only gets into the weeds once a week.
She burst out laughing and grabbed my arm and said “that’s really funny”. She smiled and then had to run to a table to get some AZ motherfucker another bud light bottle (domestic beer will never get you fucked). And now I’m in feeling even weirder. Because, I was asked as a writer, called on the carpet as a writer to see if I could produce, and I did produce. I came up big with a tasty line and accomplished the mission. And I have no joy, no accolades, no feedback; this is what sucks about being a writer. Your hottest shit is always taken for granted, that is until you are dead. (technical note: The aforementioned joke is in the public domain. I am referring to my ability to reference a joke that was relevant to wait service, short and sweet…and would indicate that I’m worth the trouble.)
I had maybe three more conversations with Stacy. She gave me her email. As much as I wanted to live happily ever after with Stacy, she’s 21 and still in school and looks a lot like Jill, who looks a lot like Jamie. Both of which I met in Arizona and I think we know how both of those relationships played out.
Apparently we hit three more bars and then some late night food, none of which I remember because I was really fucked up.
I got back to my hotel about 5AM. I was catching a shuttle in 90 minutes to fly to Manchester England…not a bad night when you really think about it.
COOPRDOG.
posted by Cooprdog at 9:50 AM
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