Frank's Back

I'M BACK! Where did I go? Well, you probably won't believe this, but I went to Burning Man out in Nevada. But that's not the unbelievable part. Brace yourselves. I GOT THE WRONG FUCKING WEEK! Yes, I flew all the way to Reno, rented a car, and then drove out into the middle of the damn desert. It was ninety something degrees out there and these guys were setting up their kinetic sculptures (giant rolling metal things cannibalized from scrap bicycle parts and junk cars). Don't ask me what the sculptures were supposed to be. I don't understand real art, much less the kind of shit that's put together with a MIG welder and a brick of hash. Anyway, these guys had vintage Airstream and Shasta campers with pink flamingoes and fake green golf carpets under the awnings. It was actually pretty cool, so I hung out for a couple of days. The two guys I became friends with, Rob and Rick, were gay lovers, but they slept in separate campers. "He's a slob," Rick had said. "I can't stand it. I WON'T stand it." Rob, very slovenly but cool, made a display of "accidentally" spilling his Gin Rickey on the green carpet. Rick went crazy and cleaned it up with a wet wipe while Rob spanked his ass smartly. It was funny at first, but after two days of bickering that was far worse than anything I had ever witnessed at home with my parents (think about the Costanzas, only with a Portuguese-Jewish twist), I had to split. So I packed up the rented Nissan Sentra and headed off in search of the nearest all-night casino buffet. Friend's, let me just say that Nevada is beautiful, haunting, lonely, and depraved. I found the all-night buffet. I found the brothel (legal in that state). I found the poker table and won a thousand, only to lose three times that. I found a great pizza joint that happened to be right next to a pawn shop. I found my way back to the casino. You might be interested to learn that, strangely, no matter how tired you might get, you can't fall asleep in those hotel rooms. I dare you to try. It's crazy! You drop on the bed at 4 a.m., only to get up completely manic and ready to go at like 4:15. I still fucking recovering. Anyway, I'm going to go to sleep. Tomorrow I'll write more and tell you about how I blacked out and then found myself in Eli, Nevada in a sleeping bag in the back of a pickup with a fresh tattoo and a 40 year-old showgirl named Desiree.