Although Kiss is still being sewn into the same costumes to go on tour, the world is changing, my friends.
A new Idol has been crowned. There's a shiny big new casino down the street from me. I can't keep up with Facebook anymore. Nothing works quickly enough for me. I'm a Twitterholic. That's not even fast enough, though. Patrick Swayze is dead. No, he's not. Yes he is. No, it's a rumor. Damn you, Twitter. He's aliiiiiiiiive. You know who I can't stand? Celebrity-twitterers who blather on but don't follow anyone except other celebrity-twitterers. Unfollow! How many social media experts does the world need?
I lay in bed at night, fantasizing before I fall asleep..... awww yeah. I fantasize about hiring a company to come to my house and take away allllll my junk. All I need are a few pieces of furniture, kitchen stuff, clothes and a washing machine for them - what's with all this other crap that just orbits my life all the time? When my fantasies have changed from career aspirations or Hawaiian vacations or Adam Lambert, to calling 1-800-Got-Junk, then I'd say that's a big neon sign pointing to the need for personal change, wouldn't you?
So here's the thing with the casino. Now, I love Vegas, but I've only been there twice and both times were for spectacular wedding spectacle. And Atlantic City, that's where I stop by on my way down the shore. Both of these places are like little planets unto themselves. Places where I can get drunk and act a foo and see super weird things and people and nobody knows me, then I can return to life on earth. Last night I prepared for the preview-to-opening-the-new-Sands by styling my hair like Chrissie Snow and donning a top that reminded me of Peggy Bundy, then I went to the slots parlor. I was all nervous with excitement after all the years of witnessing public battles over the land use. The band was playing "Bad Girls," badly, really, really loudly. I drank a few g&t's. I glimpsed Emeril Lagasse in his new restaurant's kitchen, plating food while wiping the sweat from his forehead (using the same hand.) Then I saw dozens of people I knew, not just socially but also professionally. I wouldn't normally dress up as a tacky sitcom character, drink, gamble, and then go talk to these professional acquaintances, and yet, there I was. My interplanetary escape hatch is becoming my reality.
I think I just hit my tipping point, or is that a camel with a broken back walking toward me?
Sing it for me Madam:
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