The Seat Of My Pants

Say Goodbye to Hollywood

Before parking it in San Diego for our final event, the FuzeCruzer made a brief stop in Los Angeles. Poorer financially but richer experientially following a jaunt to Vegas, I was excited to spend a little more time with my cousin Patrick.

A terrific windstorm had hit the area the day before, leaving palm fronds and tree fragments everywhere. It looked like all of Santa Monica’s trees had vomited all over the place. Isn’t anybody going to clean this up?

Halloween was approaching, and we decided it would be a good idea to put on suit coats and hit a few Santa Monica bars. Not surprisingly, striking up conversations with strangers while looking like total jackasses was pretty much only funny to us. But that was really all we were looking for. Patrick even added some black dye to his beard for “that extra Billy Mays sheen.”

I spoke about the Bills briefly with a good-looking girl from Buffalo at one bar. And it should be noted that, like many of the attractive people from that area, she had moved away before she was 25.

(One day Western New York will be back in the saddle, chumps. Then we’ll see who’s laughing!)

The following day MP invited Pat and I to see his bestie Trey do a show at a Manhattan Beach bar called the Side Door. Trey was dressed as the spitting image of Kid Rock, complete with trashy full-length fur coat. After his set we headed to my favorite thing in the world: a costume party.

Upon arrival at a beachfront condo, I realized Pat, MP and I would be the only ones not in costume. Pat had shaved his unseemly beard off the night before, and was in some ways already masked behind his own good-looks. MP has his ridiculous hair, which is really a 365-day-a-year costume.

I, on the other hand, had to think on my feet. Wiry guinea beard in tow, I was in no way attractive or even interesting-looking enough to pull off dressing like my normal, homely self. I ducked into the bathroom, and after a quick internal powwow, I removed my jeans and tied them like a sweater around my shoulders.

When I excited the bathroom a partygoer asked me, in my (thankfully clean) boxer briefs and old sneakers, what I was supposed to me. I told her I was “a pants-off dance-off.”

This seemed to meet with general party satisfaction throughout the night, and when pressed I was able to come up with several excuses as to why I could not actually participate in any dance-offs, and thus be exposed as an uncoordinated impostor.

• I only did break-dancing and “this condo has no cardboard to lay down”
• “Everybody knows you can’t dance-off to Ray J”
• “Can we wait until my instructors from Juilliard get here?”
• “I would, but the sea air just triggered my sciatica.”

So in the end everybody won. I don’t know when my life’s journey will take me back to La-La Land, but I sure have had some fun times there. Stay classy, City of Angels.

One Last Vegas Go 'Round

After our departure from scenic Des Moines, the FuzeCruzer set sail for San Diego. The trip’s beginning found me with a heavy heart, as this would be the last race-to-race journey for M.P. and myself, your ol’ boy Uncle Mitch.

But on the plus side, there are few nicer places in the lower 48 (nay, the world) than San Diego. Perfect year-round weather. Slender, tan, sharply-dressed citizens. A fun, funky downtown. It’s pretty much the exact opposite of my hometown of Rochester, NY.

Even better than our destination, however, was that our journey would take us through fabulous Las Vegas one final time. And by coincidence, my old tour comrades with Range Life Entertainment had once again pulled the van into Sin City.

Todd, Rennie, Brian and Dean were there beckoning for me. Also, my gambling addiction was beckoning, too. Plus the booze was making some noise. And Nevada’s best sandwiches at the Fremont Street Market were making their voices heard.

Let’s just say there was a large commotion urging me to Vegas. And I am far, far too weak a man to say no.

We started off passing from Iowa, the long way through Nebraska, and finally hit the Rockies. I’d never had the pleasure of driving through the Colorado Rockies, and it was really something. Going from moderately warm brushland to scenic foothills to snow squalls in the mountain passes and then finally to Utah’s relative desert toastiness, all in one day. What a country.

Passing outside Vail, M.P. yelled at me to look out the window. Standing about six feet off the interstate, on the wrong side of the guard rail, were a half dozen bighorned sheep. It was unbelievable. Just the sight of these remarkable, hard-to-see creatures, just feet from totally destroying our 27-ton voyager, was a terrifying pleasure.

After a night in Beaver, Utah we made it to Vegas. It was just as I left it. And just like 52 weeks earlier, as documented on this very blog, Todd had someone finagled his way to the same remarkable suite at the Venetian. There was the space age weighted minibar. The giant oversized bathroom with toilet phone. The six bearded men with about $200 between them. It was beautiful, odorous deja vu.

In one day I got to do all my favorite Vegas things.

• Dress like a total jackass: a white dinner jacket was involved.
• Gamble unprofitably on sports: the Redskins score a late TD to secure a “push”
• Drink beer for free: staggering gambling losses are worth it for a few Amstels
• Ham it up with vacationers: nothing like Midwesterners on a bender!
• Make ann ass of myself: karaoke singing Nelly’s “E.I.” with a stage full of German partyboys at Bill’s Gamblin’ Hall
• Get reminded of why I’d hate living here: I made a “friend” in my favorite casino, the El Cortez, who asked if I had any tests coming up. I said I wasn’t in school. He said “No, drug tests.” He then asked if I’d be interested in a “quick halftime pick-me-up” during the Redskins game. No, I’ll become a degenerate at my own pace. But thanks for asking, friend!

But before you could say “slumbering under a Venetian coffee table” I was on the road to L.A. for a quick hangout with my cousin Pat before we hit San Diego’s subtropical climes.

Thanks for everything, Vegas and Range Life. Who knows when our meandering paths will meet again?