Ribald Tales of ECVS or "Get to the fucking point!"
So the closed the Garden State Parkway and made it a parking lot.
It felt like I was going to Woodstock.
I was within miles of Atlantic City and my car was in park in the left lane at mile marker 40; 200 feet past the "No U-Turn" crossover.
I know there are backroads to AC, but I don't remember where really. It's been 13 years or so since we went exploring the sites in Absecon, the hometown of one of my college roommates in an attempt to do some underage gambling... certainly I can't be expected to remember names and street signs from then, can I?
I open the cel phone and hit my speed dial.
"Jack" I say to a good friend of mine who is biding his time doing DSL sales at a local ISP, "do me a favor; go on mapquest and see how the hell I can get off the parkway and into Atlantic City. I'm near Absecon -- just before exit 40."
I know Route 9 is around here somewhere...
"If you can get to exit 44, you can jump around, do some zig zagging and end up on the AC Expressway..."
"Cool." I drop the family sedan out of park, spin around on the wet grass and moments later, after siting for 40 minutes, am barrelling up the GSP looking for exit 44... which doesn't exist on the northbound side.
So I bring her up to Exit 50, ten miles the wrong way, and jump on Route 9.
I should say that I'm a big fan of the books on tap for long drives like this. Actually, I'm a much larger fan of Old Time Radio, but I lost my cassette adapter for my Rio, so I had to make do with some tapes I found at the local Dollar Hut -- "You'll Never Make Love in this Town Again" the story of sexual excess and hot action in Hollywood and "Confessions of an OJ Juror."
Anticipating I don't know what, I listen to "You'll never..." on the way down, and instead of getting "hot steamy tales that make Lady Chatterly look like a prude" I get a feminist diatribe about the evils and sickeness of male executives in Hollywood. No party-girl tales of sport fucking... but instead, rather sad "I fucked my life up on coke and 'ludes and had to turn to hooking for some arabs..." This tape would color the rest of my experiences in some subconcious way...
I finally pulled into the Sands at about 4:10. A full two and a half hours later than I had planned. I had a stack of inviations to get to the Fallen Angel booth, and the show was ending in 50 minutes.
I am convinced that there are fates that conspire against me ever getting to the show floor...
I hope a 6 dollar cab ride the 10 blocks to the Convention Center and register, pay by $55 entrance fee for waiting for on-site registration and get my mispelled nametag.
Walk in the doors and look for Norris and Peter. Can't find them.
Finally, I find the Fallen Angel booth -- I walked past it a hundred times, despite the fact that it was in front of the entrance when I walked in.
So I saw Alexandria Silk, and she is still the cutest, most bubbly gal around. If so many of the other girls are coke fiends and miserable as we're led to believe, Alex certainly seems to be the exception to that rule
So, I drop the invites off with her, ask her if she's Norris and/or Peter and she tells me the good news that "they left about a half hour ago. You just missed them."
I walk around to see who else is around. I have Jack's digital camera with me to capture the sights, but I feel too much like a goober to take it out of its case. I guess, in the end, I'm embarassed to be an SFB and would rather afford the performers their space. Sure, it's lame... I feel like I should be in one of those drug ads for medicines you can't figure what they're for ("If you're scared about leaving the house, or being attacked by a garden hose... If small kittens frighten you and dried leaves make you wet your pants, you may want to try Propeciantirysielsyl. Side effects occurring in less than 4% of all respondents include bleeding from the eyes, seamy rectal discharge, cramps, stomach upset, unpredictable loss of limbs and fatal brain seizures. If you this this drug is for you, ask your doctor about us.")
Where was I? Yes, walking around with camera in the bag. I walk past the AVN tabe and see Kernes and Gene Ross sitting around. I think and then rethink my plan to give them an invite to the bar. I leave stunned by how much more yellow Gene's "hair" is in real life than in the pictures. I mean, nothing against the guy, but it's corn yellow... my picture from afar that I took the next day doesn't do it justice, and it's blurriness (the picture's, not the wig's) does it even less.
Passed Margold, standling lonely at the FSC table while some folks had the blonde du jour singing something for them.
there were some dancers cavorting on a bed with each other and the occasional video store clerk from Masspequa; all of which is being broadcast to a jumbotron the next booth over. Could have been netcast for all I know since that seemed to be what they were hawking.
Finally, after my second lap I ran into Peter who was waiting for Bill Caits to go back to the hotel. We chatted, I tried to recognize people -- I miss more than I know these dayes, tho I did see and recognize Christi Lake and Rebecca Lords.
The three of us headed back to the hotel; Bill was nice enough to let me hitch a ride back to the Sands where we were all staying.
I checked into the hotel, lost $25 playing Let It Ride and settled into the room to watch some TV before heading back down at 6 for dinner with Peter.
Not having any idea where to eat is usually a bad thing, and the lack of people in Cooney's Corner might have tipped us off that it could be a bad choice, but we went in anyway.
It was nice enough, the food was good enough, but the service sucked.
A soup and a sandwich meal took an hour fifteen.
We hustled back up to the room to get the sign-in sheet, nametags and digicam and back down to the Copa Lounge where Peter and I had a drink (I, Abolut & Tonic; he, Heineken -- "the closest thing to beer I can get here") and waited for people.
Cluttered Mind was the first to show up, having ventured up from DC. Next came Norris with a bunch of balloons to mark our spots along with Brian one of the techs that help run rame.net and the other sites Norris watches over. Then Peter and I signed in.
>From there the bar started to get crowded. Peter and I being the bubbly
Some more lurkers and posters came buy -- the guys from Atomic TV, Andy V, Fred L, S. Brod, Spaceman J and the lovely SpacewomanA, Philip Hitchock, Misha, Gigit, Luc and Alex, of course.
Not signing in, but etched in my memory were Jim Gunn, Dirty Bob and Kevin Moore (of stunningcurves.com fame).
At some point, Norris was just passing the clipboard around to anyone who was close, so we got some autographs, tho I can't really say that these people were "at the party" -- Christi Lake and John, Scotty Schwartz, Ron Jeremy, Brandon Steele, Kaylakat...
Showing up at the bar, totally unrelated to our appearance there were Jill Kelly (who despite Becky's protestations, looked damned good), Dominque Simone, Juli Ashton, Serenity (I'm told, didn't see her personally), Anna Malle, Coral Sands, Kira Kener, Brad Armstrong and others that I either didn't recognize or have since forgotten.
Since it was a crowded bar, and I felt that these folks were on their off time, I, again, kept the camera holstered witht he exception of alone shot I fired off for SpaceWomanA, her posing with porn mascot, Scotty "Master Bates" Schwartz.
I wish I could say exciting things happened, but nothing really did. We just sat around and talked a bit, watched people a bit, mingled a very little bit. It was a far cry from last year's vibe, and it more or less sealed things up for next year's fete. We gotta get our own room.
I'll leave the only amusing anecdote of the evening to SpacemanJ who witnessed someone who may have had a bit much to drink acting in a manner peculiar to most of the grayhairs in Atlantic City.
I did get to have Alexandra sit on my leg for a little while after I glommed her seat (unknowingly, I swear!) to talk to Norris for a bit, so she could talk to luc for a bit. It was a nice friendly moment. If I can just state again for the record (like I gushed last year as well) Luc and Alex are just so damned *friendly*.
Finally, around 10:30 or so, Norris whisked Peter and I up to the 8th floor where the good folks over at Select Entertainment (www.selectent.com) were having a party. Select appears to be a bachelor party stipper provider service with some other areas of business as well. The Select gals (all natural tits, by the way!) were roaming the bar earlier in the evening, tho I had (and still have) no idea who they are.
Walking into the "suite" was like going back to college. Too many people packed in small rooms with inadequate ventilation.
The suite here was nothing like the suite we had last year at the Showboat. This was really 3 adjoining rooms with different furninture in each. In the middle room was a couch and a bar; the left room had two double beds, and the room on the right had a hot tub and a king size bed. The Showboat was more of a wide-open space with lots of room.
As we walk in, we notice everyone is more or less in the right room and crowded around the hot tub which is filled with bubble bath. Girls are doing something, tho no one can really tell what since they're so far away.
We mosey over to the bar for another Absolut & Tonic and run into Sinnamon. She was very sweet and recognized us and thanked us for all the hard work we do on the database in keeping everyone informed about what everyone's done. We made polite small talk (I'm making advances in this area) and went our ways.
We ran back in to Kevin and Jim and one of Jim's cronies whose name escapes me (an area where I am not making advances -- someone introduces themselves to me and a loud foghorn goes off in my head, blocking out whatever name they said, sealing their fate to be called 'buddy', 'pal' 'dude' and a million other variations).
Then these two girls come out of the tub and head for the left bedroom to dry off. We're in the center room and Kevin bemoans that "if I only had my camera" -- so I unholster the digicam and pass it over, and he started shooting some pictures. Over the course of the night, we'd shoot over 100 pictures between Kevin, Peter and myself.
In social situations like these, I am certianly not a leader; so if it wasn't for Kevin, you'd not have the wealth of pix at the RAME site (forthcoming). THANKS KEVIN!
The pattern of the night was basicially ogle at girls, lean against the wall, go into the big bedroom to see some g/g action (Jim Gunn chanting "Double Dildo! Double Dildo!") and take some snaps; trying to find the room wih the least people in it so it would be cooler by the laws of thermodynamics... it was a dirty job, but someone had to do it.
Well, that someone wasn't even us, really. As you'll see in the pictures, there were a TON of guys with camcorders and cameras there, enjoying their good luck and basicially getting in the way. I understand the life of the freelance photographer -- I don't fault Dr. X or the guy from Screw taking up so much room; but there were these guys with video camera who just basicially ruined anyone else's shot since they insisted on having their camera in the thick of it.
(However, it was funny watching these other guys holding the lamps up to focus the light on the action and provide the 'c-light' that was so desperately needed.)
Ron Jeremy was at the party for a while, enjoying a ringside seat on the chest at the foot of the king size bed. Dominique Simone found her way in as well. She seemed a little drunk and was laying on some guy when she grabbed some girl and pulled her down on top of them, as her tits spilled out of her dress. Wow, the implant scars are really defined upclose. How unfortunate.
Finally, about 1:00 or 1:30 or so, Peter and I sauid our goodbyes and headed back to the seventh floor where our rooms awaited.
My room had a gorgeous view of the top level of the Sands parking deck and the HVAC units.
Went to sleep, slept uneventfully and got up to go to breakfast. The buffet wasn't open when I went down, so I won $75 playing roulette and another $13 playing dollar slots as I walked to cash in my chips (two pulls, seemed like a good time to quit)
Went to breakfast, ran into Peter and Bill unexpectedly, had a decent if unremarkable buffet breakfast and went back upstairs. Turns out the show didn't start til 11 AM and it was 9:00 at the latest. So I took a nap.
Woke up, checked out, drove to the convention center. Walked in, found Peter, talked business with some people and made the circuit to see who was around.
Again, I couldn;t bring myself to use the camera -- even with Peter making fun of me... tho I finally screwed up the courage, breaking my cherry, so to speak, with Vanessa Del Rio.
Vanessa was poured into this bustier thing that brought her tits out to HERE and the guy ahead of us was trying to be flattering but kept bringing up age and time spans. To me, you don't say "You're the hottest thing for 25 years!" but you go with "You're hot in any age." Subtle, but why bring up the fact that her hottest contemporay was Marilyn Chambers? But she posed for a quick picture very graciously, even tho I'm sure I seemed like a goober.
Lather, rinse, repeat for Ron Jeremy who was nice enough to sign a slick for us "To all my buds at RAME: Let's all eat this!" with an arrow pointint to the chick's twat. Then we had to endure a sales pitch for "San Fernando Jones and the Lost Temple of Poon!" for only $30!
Like I would pay $30. I do have a "RETAILER" tag on, Ron. How can I resell porn on a $30 cost? I expect wholesale prices! :-)
Walked around the floor. Hands down, the most beautiful person on the floor was Tricia Devereaux. Holy shit. She could make you melt, just looking at her; plainly dressed as the business woman she has become, holding her snapple bottle and making small talk with some distributor or buyer. I snapped a candid shot of her just because. I didn't want to interrupt her, time was short, and just... <swoon> I dunno. And she looked so .. wholesome. Hair long, neatly arranged. Nothing like the sweaty fuck-crazed slut you came to know via her work with Rob Black. Just nice. Certainly doesn't look "sick" in any way, nor does John. John looks as healthy as he did when Heretic and I met him all those years ago. I grabbed a candid shot of him as well, tho from farther away...
>From there, a quick snap of Rebecca Lords and onto the New Sensations booth
With the snaps of Tera in the can, so to speak, I headed to say good bye to Kevin and out the door to head home for a 4:00 meeting I had back at the office.
The parway was wide open on the ride home and I sat thru "Confessions of an OJ Juror" my second dollar store tape -- it is amazing to hear these tapesm, read by the author who is obviously not a professional vocalist; and the poor guy just can't perform that well -- stumbling over words and the like...
Actually, I guess that seems kind of familiar...