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xmag.com : April 2002 : The Gospel

The Gospel according to Viva Las Vegas - "the laziest gal downtown"

Viva

Ryan Adams: Rock Star!

 

Dear Diary:

 

About a year ago...A buddy of mine brought a Whiskeytown CD into Magic Gardens and asked me to strip to it. Usually I say "no fuckin' way," but he
compared it to Bob Dylan and I was feeling generous.
I didn't like it. It sounded like limp-dick indie rock.

August, 2001, NYC...A cutie-pie with a Southern accent ambled into the bar I was tending. I had just opened, and he and I were alone for a couple hours and got to know each other. He was in town with his girlfriend, Lucinda Williams, who was on The Late Show With David Letterman that night. He told me how much he luhhhved her and that he was the bass player for Ryan Adams and Whiskeytown. And that I was pretty darn cute.

October, 2001...I'm back in Pornland on a working vacation, and some broad I'm stripping with is dancing to limp-dick indie rock. After hearing it a couple times, I think, "Saaay, this is kinda like Bob Dylan!" I peek at her CD and see that it's Ryan Adams's Heartbreaker.

November-February, 2001...I move back to town and buy Heartbreaker and decide that me 'n' Ryan Adams are destined to marry. I ask around a bit among bands and New York acquaintances, and everyone says he's a prima-donna dick. But no one's a dick to me! Except Zeke.

March, 2001...Ryan's coming to town! So naturally I want to interview him, marry him, or at least get into the show for free. But for the first time in my life I get "NO" for an answer. In abject desperation, I BUY A TICKET. Five hours later, I'm takin' it off, and Ryan Adams and his band walk into Magic Gardens. Jeezuss! I stumble over and flirt and fawn and try not to propose. But Mr. Adams just broods and sneers and then scampers off to play Playstation. He generously leaves the rest of the band to me.

Later that evening...I'm wasted on whiskey and high on life. I take my new friends over to Mary's for last call where we hook up with one of my slutty stripper gal-pals. We all go over to the Benson and hang out on the beds and drink straight vodka and admire the upholstery. Then I start making out with my guy, and my stripper friend, feeling a mean competitive streak, asks for a condom.

Next day...The usual flurry of gossipy phone calls ensues. In between squeals of "giant bulbous cock" and "adorable Southern drawl," the guys call and put me on the Guest List plus three. The topic of conversation quickly switches from ass-sex to what-are-we-gonna-wear.

That night...The show's a show. Ryan plays a Telecaster. Eventually we're all cozily settled in on the tour bus. My girl's playin' fawning groupie slut and I'm doing my usual "So, what's Bob Dylan really like?" shtick when all of a sudden Ryan Adams blows in like a tornado! He's mad and has his arms full of Doritos. He wants to play Playstation in the back room where everyone's hangin' out and says to the roadie, "Get them out of here now! Tell them the guy who's paying for this bus wants to use it!"

The party's over. The guys just shrug their shoulders and ask me if I want to go with 'em to Lincoln, Nebraska. They're celebrating a birthday on the way with a bit of locally harvested opium, and do I have an I Dream of Jeannie
outfit? A tempting offer, but I wasn't gonna hang around Ryan's bitchy aura
for one more heartbeat. The guy's a prima-donna dick! Sure it's hard to be
so heartbroken all the time, plus he's short and people always get him mixed
up with Bryan Adams, but you'd think he could've managed one tiny little
hopelessly smitten glance in my direction.

In the end I gotta give it to the guy for providing me with my first-ever genu-whine "Rock Star" experience. Plus I think that stripper I took with me might have fallen in love. How nauseatingly cute. Somebody has to, I guess.

*

 

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