Thursday September 18th, 2003
Cousin Pete Visit
Everyone knows a legend. Most people don't know the type that is famous enough to get their own names like Loraina Bobbitt or Martha Stewart. Most people know the type that starts out as, "That guy/girl who" One such legend is my cousin Pete, who I saw tonight for the first time in over a year.
In true Pete fashion I got a call yesterday letting me know he was flying into Los Angeles from Australia in less then 24 hours. When I finally got off work around 8ish I drove to his hotel near the airport. For those unfamiliar with Los Angeles this is not a good area. Surrounding LAX are the places rap artists mention in their songs because it's instant street credit to be associated with these little pockets of hell on earth. It is to say, "You and your gang with your knives and guns don't bother me, I'm from Crenshaw, my baby's momma packs a bigger gat than you." Driving down Century Blvd. in Inglewood, I could easily see why.
Waiting in the lobby, Coors in hand, Pete was reading a Maxim and watching Simpson re-runs on the lobby television. Most people have a few stories of the coolest and wildest times in their lives and there's usually one guy who seems to be in all of them. Pete's that guy. He's the frat party equivalent of "The Wolf" from Pulp Fiction. When he arrives the party kicks up a notch and everyone goes home with a story, usually ending with a naked chick, a police officer, or public urination. If they're really lucky it involves all three.
My cousin welcomed me with a gift from down under. A bottle opener made from a real kangaroo paw. Keep in mind all of the kitchen dishes and utensils are owned by my roommate. The only exception is a small box in my closet consisting of three plates, two bowls, a Denny's mug, and now a kangaroo paw bottle opener that some hapless marsupial sacrificed so that I might enjoy the occasional frosty beverage. All of my roommate's kitchen utensils are stainless steel with black handles. The paw might clash a little bit. It looks about as strange and scary as anything I might imagine. Now I just need to find a kitten leg can opener. Graciously accepting his gift I jumped into my car and we started driving. Unfamiliar with Inglewood we drove around looking for a bar, pool hall, or someplace to chill at 10pm on a Thursday. Eventually we ended up at a casino.
This casino looked exactly like what you'd expect a casino in Inglewood to look like. In the card room a sign was posted that read, "English speaking only." It was written in both English and Spanish. Being poor we ended up going to the only $2 table in the place. We waited for about ten minutes before a chair finally opened up between the ninety year old Morgan Freeman with the oxygen tank and a ghetto fabulous woman with nails so long she had a friend helping her with her drink. I learned a lot of things at that table, like you can blow through $20 in ten minutes and that a tattoo of a spider web on the right elbow means you've done time in prison. Both things I could have easily gone the rest of the night not knowing.
With little else to do we returned to his hotel and proceeded to play pool and exchange stories of the events that had occurred over the last year. He started out with stories of exotic women he's been with all over the Southern Hemisphere and what countries he's been visiting. I countered with stories of how I was poisoned by ex-lax brownies and had an article published about me stating that I'm the biggest loser ever to live.
After a couple games we decided to venture out yet again to see what the area had to offer. Three blocks from the hotel was a large orange sign promising, "Live nude girls."
From the outside it looked like a bad film cliché where you'd expect to see coked up whores begging open shirt pimps to give them a little more time to come up with the money just before they're given an open handed slap by a fist full of rings. I was reluctant to go only because I didn't have any money. Pete gave me two twenties and said he owed me for the two weeks he slept on my couch before he left for Australia over a year ago. I accepted the money and we proceeded to enter the belly of the beast.
As I've stated before (See Journal June 28th) I'm not a big fan of strip clubs. I don't pay money to go to a restaurant and smell the food so why would I pay money to watch naked women dance? To be honest I've been to strip clubs a grand total of three times in my life. Both of the other two I was in a group of six or more, and for some reason obligated. Pete walked in and sat in the last chair in front of the railing next to the stage door. Twenty single dollar bills in hand I followed.
Untouched over the last forty years like a disco strip club time capsule, I half expected the first girl to come out on roller skates to "Dancing Queen." Instead a teenage Catherine Zeta Jones gyrated to "Closer" by Nine Inch Nails. Pete seemed to be a connoisseur of strip clubs. He liked Catherine because she looked like the kind of girl no one would ever believe was a stripper. I was taking our drinks from the waitress as the next girl came out. I turned back to find a middle aged accountant shaking her flesh kittens in our general direction. "That reminds me I need to call my mom." Come to think of it Pete never really had any tact. At one point a blonde cheerleader type was licking her lips and leaning over the railing in a very seductive manor. She opened her mouth and I waited to hear her say, "Meet me out back in five minutes" or "Take me back to your place." Instead all she said was, "Are you guys related?"
The night concluded with a late night rendezvous with Jack in the Box and a discussion about what stories would be off limits at Christmas. As I drove home I reflected on the evening. A normal evening of video games and Stargate SG-1 re-runs turned into a night of pool, drinking, strippers, and gambling. After a night like that I expect to see credits roll and a preview of what poor loser Pete will be helping out in the next city. I'm sure Pete's somewhere right now saving a bachelor party from certain destruction. I on the other hand spent my Friday night typing up this journal entry and revising my site.Related articles:
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