I don’t expect Dennis Hof of the Moonlite Bunny Ranch to remember me, even if I’ve eaten In-n-Out Burgers with him and met him several other times. Have I had an HBO show? No, I haven’t. I am indistinguishable from the next person; I blend in everywhere I go.
Regardless, when I shook his hand last night, said, “Hi Dennis, I’m Gram,” I expected him to say something other than “Good.”
Ditto Ron Jeremy. Every year in Las Vegas, for the past five years, I have ridden in an elevator with him between 3 and 5 on the Sunday morning after the AVN show. It just happens that way. I could set my watch by it if I was in the habit of leaving a two-hour window for appointments. But I suspect he has no idea who I am, nor should he: he is like VH-1 in a local stations only cable package world.
But Sunny Lane, who accompanies these two everywhere, gives me the time of day.
“Thanks for all the nice things you’ve said about me, Gram,” she said.
So about this picture: it was a nipply 38 degrees just past midnight this morning, and a group of us were leaving the XBiz Awards.
But for the life of me I don’t know how those three other people got in the picture.
I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that those extra three (especially the guy) are the ghosts of California pioneers who were killed in a landslide on what would become Sunset Blvd. 300 years ago. The week has been spooky that way.
But another thing that only revealed itself after I took the picture was the cellophane wrapping on the heat lamp. What the hell is that all about? If it were a stripper pole, I’d understand it – you can just rewrap the pole after each dancer to reduce the risk of infection. Maybe those extra three people were the ghosts of strippers who’d died from contaminated stripper poles and fatal thigh chafing.
So even though I don’t travel in the rarefied circles of Hof and Ron, Sunny Lane always makes me feel like I’m just about to get lucky.
(And maybe you, too: Sunny Lane will be at the Bunnyranch from February 18 through 27.)