More of the Same....Shit I Forgot

Reeves mentioned the other day I failed to include this illuminating step and repeat of Holly. So be it. Here ya go!

NOTES FROM THE OLD FOLKS HOME, PT. I.

Life at 85 must be pretty rough when you're threatened by the possibility of a massive coronary infarction every day due to three chicks forcing you into an orgy. Such is the tragedy of Hugh Hefner. Instead of pissing away his days in diapers, like most of his contemporaries in their respective assisted living homes, Hugh spends incredible amounts of his life mugging for his adoring millions with the Girls Next Door in tow. But there is a certain loneliness to his whole Swinger game that made me wonder what it is that men truly yearn for. Because I'm getting married a week from tonight, I felt it was time I address what really goes on at the Playboy Mansion and what goes on in the minds of the men who are lucky enough to make it in the gates of the most famous house in America.
A little background. I was on assignment with Playboy Golf for the celebrity tournament/ finals in LA. Many men had paid $4000 each to play golf with someone resembling a celebrity or major NFL star and party a few times at the Mansion. It was one of the poorest paying/ greatest opportunity kind of things ever. I lost a ton of money by flying out to LA for a week and lost even more sleep editing the thousands of pictures that resulted, not to mention the nerve wracking paranoia that overcame my fiancee while I went off to wonderland. I never want to sound ungrateful, but it was more work than I ever care to slave away for ever again. Next time, I'm getting everything in writing. (More about that in Part II)

I'll skip the lead in and head right down to our day at the Mansion.

Fellow photographer Eric Menendez from Left Coast Girls and I were loaded on the first bus so that we could capture the awestruck tourists as they spilled out on to the grounds. Our illegal immigrant bus driver did not know how to get to the Mansion and we ended up pulling in third or fourth, much to the chagrin of the passengers who had waited for an hour to get on the first bus. I screamed to the public "Who cares?!? We're going to Hef's!" Everyone agreed and sat on their hands in anticipation. I felt the same electric nervousness that accompanies a child on their way to Disneyland for the first time. That analogy wound up encompassing the entire experience, completely chock full of Goofy.
When we arrived, we were immediately greeted by Kenneth Johannsen, Hef's party photographer. His wife is actually Hef's main photographer and Kenneth shoots all the parties. Upon coming off the bus, I already liked the guy. He was jovial, sincere and completely ego-less, not to mention that he was wearing a pink Polo shirt. Ten minutes on the grounds and I was completely taken by his charm and grace (captured above). Hardly what I expected from a guy who could have been a territorial rabid dog.
Upon walking through the ivy walled arches, I gasped in disbelief. The grounds were WAY smaller than I could ever imagined. I thought back to when Eddie Murphy walked in during Beverly Hills Cop II and it look like this HUGE estate. Funny how film adds 15 lbs. to everything. The other thing that sullied my glossy dreams was how run down the place was. The grounds are impeccably kept, but the house and trim all felt really worn. It is almost creepy how everything heralded back to 1982. (Hef spends time between his two homes, the other one being across the street. On this day, he had been evacuated well before the arrival of the drunken golfers.) The zoo borders on ancient. There are four enormous satellite dishes that stand like tombstones over the tennis court; the game room was soiled and worn thin like the felt on the pool table. And rotary phones...yikes! It was like we were walking through a museum that had collected entirely too much semen, alcohol and saliva and wasn't properly cleaned. And I speak as a kid who grew up around wealth. We were comfortable, but in comparison to the area I grew up in, I spent a lot of time checking out the details of those more fortunate than my family. So, in my mind, I'm very discerning when it comes to rich people's taste and habits. And in the first hour I was there, I realized that Hef taste has not changed in 20 some years. His formula is classic and nearly immortal so why bother changing a thing? The man was born in 1922 for Chrissakes! Why should he have to update his home to fit the needs of his guests? In reality, the guests only want to see the past and dream of the days Hef was 50 years old, banging twelve girls in the mirrored back room of the game house. I had this idea that the man, despite being almost as old as the automobile industry, was still a hipster, walking tall with his three 20-something year-old-blonde-fembots. My mind was still reeling with the realization that Hef was 85 when I ran into the Hedgehog himself, Mr. Ron Jeremy.
I had dinner with Ron, Alexis Amore and Ashton Moore nearly a year earlier in Chicago. We caused a stir at La Scarola. Ron was a delight and a gentleman, very warm and kind. There is an important note here: One of the promoters that evening that was at the table is the reason I met my future wife. In an effort to thank her for that evening with the whoring sluts and hairy dick, I myspaced her a note and spotted a hot Asian on her friend list. Not a few weeks later, I would be on my first date with En, the love of my life. Thanks Brandi!) So when I spotted him at the mansion I expected he would recognize me by my eye makeup. I even brought over fellow Chicagoan Sabrina who had been an apple of his glazed eye last spring. When we came within his musky forcefield, I couldn't take my eyes off all the shit in his hair. It was like a bird pooped on him last week and he forgot to buy a comb, let alone shampoo. Eric told me earlier in the week that last year, Ron pulled up in a Saturn sedan to the valet. Apparently the informercial racket doesn't pay him as much as George Foreman. When I got near Ron, I swore he was lost in a sad zone of downers. It was as if he was numb to everything, barely speaking audibly while thanking everyone for their admiration. Even after reminding him about our outing 11 months earlier in Chicago he showed no sign of entering reality. I felt very sad. While the sun was shining, I was beginning to feel depressed by these lonely polygamists. I went off in search of a playmate who would remind me I was at the adult Disneyland. Sure enough, this little vixen obliged, complete with Mickey Mouse ears...


To Be Continued after the Maui Wedding Experience...