Monday, April 13, 1998
Raisin’ Arizona proves to be one less than thrilling ordeal
COLUMN: Malt liquor, videotape, bowling form highlights of
vacation
After a five-day road trip through the Southwest for spring
break, I and my companions learned one thing: there exists no night
life in Arizona. Though our travels led us through Lake Havasu, the
Grand Canyon, Sedona and Phoenix, not much late-night revelry
occurred. However, we made do by what means we could.
For instance, the first night in Lake Havasu involved us
slamming back 40s, locked in our sleazy motel room, avoiding the
neighbor who paid rent for the space. He offered Theresa and myself
sodas back at his place earlier, but we suspected he might have
expected more than company consuming carbonated beverages had we
taken him up on the offer. Hence, we declined the invitation.
Barricaded in our $30 room, we played an exciting round of
hearts and lamented the lack of decent man-flesh. Oh, I get chills
recalling the vivacious evening of staring at the cracked,
whitewashed walls amidst silence, broken only by snippy comments.
After a day of driving on the road in a confining rental car, all
we really wanted to do was hang out in a miniscule room by
ourselves without even music to keep us company.
But never fear, oh faithful reader, vivaciousness did persist as
we got to the bottom portion of our over-sized bottles of rot-gut
malt liquor. Yes, we began planning the scenes for our upcoming
movie, which is as yet unrecorded. Though I seem to have misplaced
the seven-page, phone-message-sized script, I do recall several
important aspects to the plot.
First of all, we decided that numerous symbols would be flashed
on the screen at various times. Everything from Theresa’s jar of
Vaseline and handcuffs – representing a need for the special
division sex police (like they have on USA’s classy series, "Silk
Stockings") – to Jen’s blanky as an emblem of eternal good. Much
like "Twin Peaks," the symbols would not have to be explained to
the viewer. They would obviously just get it.
Then, all of us would get to be involved in our own melodramatic
death scene. Liz would get to roll in the dirt, at which point the
person asking her directions would make a mental note to himself
never to ask people rolling in the dirt for directions.
After a series of subplots, one involving someone trying to dial
733-3773-733-7733 on the telephone of a motel whose phone had the
numbers 7 and 3 broken, the murder mystery would be solved. The
murderers would be a gang headed by none other than El Nino.
This picture, if ever filmed, would actually be easier to follow
than the scene shot the next night in the Hellish town of
Flagstaff, which hit 20 degrees during our two-night stay. Let’s
not even mention the broken heater predicament.
In any case, this second night of our wild Arizona evenings
involved Jen, Theresa, me and a fifth of tequila. Add some limes
and salt and all you have to imagine is the time frame between
finishing off our goods and hanging our heads over the toilet,
praying to the porcelain gods.
Luckily, we have most of the event on tape, as Jen so artfully
left the video camera on at the side of the room. A whole two hours
of Liz lounging like a rug, myself sitting in one place for
eternity, moving nothing but my hands and mouth; Theresa lying on
the floor and Jen bouncing around in her new summer dress are
preserved now for eternity.
Basically, the educational film revealed several things: One,
none of us listen to each other when we drink. All we do is wait
for an opportunity to blab. Two, none of us care about what it is
we have to blab about. We just like to hear ourselves talk and
pretend others do too. Three, Liz makes an excellent rug. She
didn’t move for almost the entire video. Four, I am an idiot and
really have no idea what I’m saying, but I kind of knew that
already.
As if this evening weren’t entertaining enough, the next night
only got better. After driving back from the Grand Canyon over icy,
snow-covered roads which caused me to crack the front fender of our
rental car, we collapsed in our motel room where I began bawling in
the midst of a quasi-nervous breakdown. We refused to leave the
warmth of our motel room, so we ordered out for pizza.
Then, we really raised some Arizona hell.
Yes, we watched all two hours of the tape we had made the
previous night, to relive the tragic splendor of our drunken
boredom. And believe me, if you’ve never attempted to watch
yourself repeat the actions performed one night earlier, you just
don’t what kind of wackiness you’re missing.
We then watched the April Fool’s version of "South Park" and
actually laughed. That’s how starved for entertainment we were.
Yes, fellow readers, I dare say it was a high point in our search
for the lowest form of mindless diversions.
But never fear, the next day we moved on to Phoenix and had an
absolute blast. After driving through the various off-highway
streets of Phoenix, cruising for cheap motel rooms, we finally
settled on a splendid, upscale Motel 6. The search only lasted
about an hour, with all four hungry passengers about ready to rip
each others’ hair out.
However, after settling in our comfy abode, we opted to go
bowling. This proved to be perhaps the most eventful night-time
excursion of the entire trip. We decided that "extreme bowling" was
probably just a bit too intense for us, so we opted for just an
average bowling alley not too far down the road.
As we bowled, carpenters were refinishing the neighboring lanes.
Drowning out the tinny radio sound system, the melody of electric
saws and hammers serenaded us and the other two bowling-alley
inhabitants. It was a dreamy night.
We then hit Taco Bell, where the skinhead drive-thru employee
messed up our order. Next, we learned that Circle-K employees in
Arizona have to card every member of the car when you buy alcohol,
so we checked out 7-11 instead to buy our Budweiser. We left
Arizona the next day altogether.
Though the vacation afforded us spectacular views, mucho
relaxation, and a lot of integral bonding, we all decided: next
year – Mexico. That is, if we feel the need to suck up the night
life. If not, I’d be willing to give Arizona, that is, Southern
Arizona, one more chance.
VanderZanden is a third-year English student.Vanessa
Vanderzanden