3.31 CONTEMPLATION
Contemplating life at The Bellagio
12.22 BLAST FROM THE PAST
GARRET MCNAMARA in Mexico photographed by Ben DeCamp
Two years ago, I no idea what Skull Candy headphones were.
DANE GUADASKAS in Hawaii photographed by Ben DeCamp
12.4 OPEN BAR
FREE ENERGY performing live in the Lower East Side photographed by Ben DeCamp
10.27 WE LOVE OUR CUSTOMERS
I haven’t had time to buy curtains for my new apartment. Pretty sure that’s a direct correlation to the neighbors across the alleyway watching less and less TV at night. Sure I prance around naked and models writhe around on the floor, but I actually need curtains because winter is here and I’m trying to block out the depressing site of all the dying vegetation.
My roommate lent me a blanket his grandma knit; she knits one for him every Christmas. It’s pretty evident I have few morals, but there’s just something about picturing a little old granny knitting away so some asshole like me can romp around with a girl on a hand-stitched heirloom. It clouded my conscience so I stashed it in the closet and vowed to freeze every night before racking up some bad granny karma. Curtains or not I’m still somewhat curious as to what that little glowing red light coming from across the alleyway is…
If I’m too lazy to buy curtains, I’m sure as hell not cooking dinner. Local businesses deliver anything and everything you can think of by strapping it to some poor bastard’s back and sending him off via rusty moped or janky bicycle. Chinese food, Thai cuisine, clean folded laundry and even groceries will show up at your front door.
The online grocery store not only sells vegetables, meats, and other pantry items, we discovered they deliver beer. They’ll even carry the cases up three flights of stairs to our apartment door. Our last order they sent some spray-painted U-Haul truck and 3 Spanish bros with weightlifting gloves and 9 moving boxes yelling incomprehensible profanities and denting the hallway plaster with 3 cases of Sam Adams. Typical company policy is to not accept gratuity, or check IDs apparently.
The Chinese restaurant is ½ block away from our apartment, yet we still order delivery. We’re not that lazy, I swear. It’s a science experiment. We’ll place two orders simultaneously, something similar like Shrimp Lo Mein and Pad Thai; noodle dishes that should take equal cooking time in any Asian country.
I think the Thai dude is 3 blocks away, but he has a shitty moped so it all evens out. Whoever gets to the top of the building first will get the other guy’s tip. They don’t even realize they’re in a race, but usually one comes downstairs with a huge grin while the other goes back to his respective restaurant really confused and pissed off. We probably seem bipolar in our tipping habits, but I think Chinese bro is getting the clue. From the time the food hits the wok, to the time he’s panting at my doorstep, his record is just under 7.5 minutes. He even throws in an extra fortune cookie because he knows I have a sweet tooth. Now that’s fucking service.
10.26 OPTIMISM
SUBWAY TRACK WORKER photographed by Ben DeCamp
ROLLOVER MINUTES
I was sitting in my underwear checking emails when my cell phone erupted into a vibrating seizure. This was supposed to be a relaxing end to an evening, but I had a gut feeling that this was going to be one of those Tuesdays where it gets really fucking crazy/borderline sadistic. Considering it was 4am, and an unknown caller; the prospects seemed entertaining. I answered. Turned out to be a girl I had met three weeks ago. She called off her wedding and wanted to shoot some photos ASAP, probably to drive the nail deeper into her ex-fiancé’s heart. The day after tomorrow sounded good, but she seemed flakey with her busy schedule. I wrote her off; I can’t stand thinking about girls more than 48 hours in advance. Ten minutes later she’s on the phone saying she packed an overnight bag and is on the highway driving down from LA. I started frantically looking for my roommate’s bottle of rum and fresh rolls of film. Slapped a little cologne on and met her in the parking lot of a downtown motel. She was smoking Virginia Slims, which should’ve been the tip-off that she was horny, but I was young and naive.
So we went through a procession of outfits, and each time she would change in the bathroom as if I hadn’t seen a naked woman before. Then she admitted she was 35, and then that she had a kid, which translates to early 40’s and several kids. That was bizarre enough for me; I did the hyena/gazelle maneuver: grabbed her by the back of her hair and latched onto her neck… She wouldn’t put out.
“What the fuck!?! You drove all the way from LA to suck on my roommate’s bottle of Captain and…”
“I’m dating someone,” she said.
“He’s a multi-millionaire. We’re flying to his house in Paris this weekend and I’m going to get my breasts done.”
Well obviously I couldn’t compete with that. She’s not even dating one millionaire, she’ll drive to LA and set up numerous dates throughout the day, but she doesn’t sleep with any of the guys. I’d soon learn that she just prefers young cock like mine. Not only did she bring two suitcases full of crap, she brought all kinds of other emotional baggage.
“When we broke up he took the TiVo box, all I wanted was to lay around and watch Sopranos re-runs. Do we have HBO here? Actually I’m tired, let’s just go to sleep.”
So I woke up in the morning and was fed up with the whole situation so I started finger-banging her for good measures, or retribution for the bullshit I had to put up with. I mean what kind of self-respecting hotel puts the ice machine on the sidewalk and doesn’t serve breakfast? She didn’t stop me; I saw it on the Internet once, so I maneuvered her into some awkward position and waited for a reaction. She freaked out, but just wanted me to put on a condom. Smart girl, she already made that mistake several times; one of her kids was the same age as me. I hope it all comes full circle and I take a picture of him dancing in a seedy night club. We’ll talk about how I slept with some older woman and laugh unknowingly about it over glasses of aged cognac. Anyways, I’m getting side tracked. So Mrs. Robinson and I did it in a smorgasbord of positions until the hotel maid started pounding on the door and demanding something in Spanish. I speak Spanish pretty well, but not through ten inches of drywall. I rolled over in a tangled mess of sweaty sheets and derelict clothing. The numbers glowed back in red: checkout was 4 hours ago.
A couple months went by and I hadn’t heard from her. Can’t blame her; I mean if I was a heavy drinker and a girl brought over a near empty bottle of shitty rum, I’d be pissed too. This old guy I occasionally hang out with once told me, “It’s not how many girls you sleep with, it’s how many invite you over for a 2nd time.” The phone rang…… These days unknown callers get my heart racing, it could be a variety of possibilities from death threats, pleading drug addicts, to jury duty. How do these fucks get my #? Regardless, it was her again…my stomach dropped. “Want to go to Vegas at the end of the month? My treat!”
TAKE YOUR DAUGHTER TO WORK DAY
“Daddy why are we standing outside? I’m really cold.”
“This is my job honey.”
“Why can I see her special spot?”
“Oh. Uhh, she’s just trying to look pretty.”
“Why are there balloons in her shirt?”
“The boys like those.”
“Can I pop one?”
“No, they’re special balloons.”
“I want magic balloons Daddy! Is she a clown too?”
“No honey, she just wears makeup to look pretty.
“Mommy wears makeup. What are those boxes she’s walking on? It looks ouchies.”
“Mommy is special. Girls wear those to look taller.”
“I like how tall I am… Daddy! Daddy! Why does that man have a knife?”
“Oh that’s a bad guy. Stay here I’ll go take care of him.”
“But Daddy if he has something sharp, and you don’t… aren’t you really really scared?”
“No honey, this is my job. Sometimes we get hurt, but we are big boys, we’re tough. Go play with your dolls over near the boys taking car keys from the fancy people.”
[5 minutes later]
“Daddy someone just gave me this little Ziploc baggie full of white powder. Is it candy?”
“Whoa! Umm…some people think it’s candy. That one is a bad flavor…be a good girl let me take that and hold onto it for later.”
“Daddy, don’t eat my candy!!!”
[brink of temper tantrum]
“Jesus fucking christ! Where’s your mother?!”
“I want my mommy!!!!!!!!”
“Mommy isn’t here.”
“MOMMY!!!! Ahghhghhghh”
[tears streaming down face, latching onto the red velvet rope]
“Honey, you’re making a scene, just calm down, and we’ll get some candy.”
“Aghhghghg CANDY!!!!!”
“Fuck will you shut up!”
[sniffling]
“But I’m on the guest list”
“What?”
“Daddy, that’s what the girl with balloons said, and you smiled at her. Will you smile at me like that?”
“Umm, sure honey.”
“Daddy, are you coming to school tomorrow to talk about your jooooooob???”
“Probably not, it’s 2am, you’re going to be sleepy tomorrow.”
“But WHY???”
“I need to sleep.”
“But WHY???”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Daddy, then why don’t you work during the day like the other daddies?”
“Daddy has a special job.”
“Can I get a glass of milk before I go to sleep?”
“Sorry, we don’t serve that here.”
“Daddy, I think you’re bleeding.”
“Oh don’t worry honey, it’s just a surface scratch, his knife didn’t penetrate my Kevlar tank top.”
“You’re the best daddy ever! Good night, love you.”
[passes out]
“Oh fuck, you can’t sleep there, that’s the VIP line!”
SPANISH SPEAKING GERMAN SHEPHERDS
I recently went to a party that was like an optical illusion. It had huge sponsors fronting all kinds of money and little fucking key chains I probably didn’t want anything to do with, but I think if you stared around cross-eyed long enough some deranged dog would jump out of a bush like in those Magic Eye books. I never really understood Magic Eye, I mean the one time I tripped out on PCP was way better than the book because not only was I chilling with a bear or sloth (it’s not important right now) there was a damn palm tree growing out of the my Costa Rican hotel room wall. Why I didn’t go outside to hang out with real palm trees still escapes me. I would just sit near the bay window and watch the little lava rocks puff out the volcano cone like fireworks and ignite the derelict palms at the base. We were blazed out of our minds and on a Spanish school trip which basically fronted as the Central American Chronic Tour.
My Jewish/Lebanese friend, who was addicted to listening to Ibiza techno on his Walkman, somehow schemed that rolling up blunts in layers of cellophane and Vaseline wouldn’t allow a professionally trained dog’s nose to smell a whiff through his rudimentary cover up. I wasn’t really sure why we were bringing weed into a country that grows it in the jungle, but I digress. It was a royal fuck-up in the making, and we started sweating every time that Spanish-speaking German shepherd came within fifty feet of our one-way ticket to prison. So later in the trip we were beyond starving; with no 7-11 Mecca nearby; we did the obvious; called the front desk. Yea, we know the kitchen is closed and it’s 3 am, but bring us 5 cheeseburgers, 20 rolled tacos, 3 liters of coke and some ice cream motherfucker! Make it happen!!!
15 minutes later a knock on door was followed by an entourage of Costa Ricans carrying towers of white Styrofoam boxes. Where did all this shit come from? It didn’t matter; we ate it all till one-by-one we passed out. The next morning I couldn’t figure out why everyone was smirking and staring at me while I was standing in line at U.S. Customs. Maybe I was just overreacting and having flashbacks from the PCP. The German shepherd did kinda look like the sloth and what kind of asshole landscaper puts a fucking palm tree in an airport? Must be a Central American thing. Falling coconuts kill 80+ people per year. But most likely, the glaring eyes had to do with the bold swastika dominating my forehead.