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Week 2 on Stands, Week 1 Right Here!

November 21, 2006

The new issue of Night Life is on stands which means it’s time for another Monday online update! Week 2’s column is a reprint of ‘A Dying Breed’ with notations, an old favorite from the book First Person, Last Straw. Night Life also ran my review from Pharoah’s Night Club entitled ‘Drink Like An Egyptian’, which is in the back in the adult section. Enclosed below you’ll find the inaugural column, ‘Drop Your Socks and Grab Your Reading Glasses!’ along with the review from Madamoisselle’s 7th anniversary, ‘Hello, Yellow Brick Road’. Lindsay’s brother is over to find the glitch on my computer, so I’ll keep it brief. Happy reading!

Big Words I Know By Heart Week 1: Drop Your Socks And Grab Your Reading Glasses! 


Okay, fellow Buffalonions, this has been a dream of mine for a very long time. Lock up your daughters, shield your children’s eyes and stash old, easily offended people in their respective rest homes, because this is gonna be one helluva bumpy ride for the next twelve months. Night Life has lost their marbles and officially given me enough rope to hang myself with. Some of you may be familiar with my work, some of you won’t be, so let me bring you up to speed as quickly as possible and we’ll jettison off into the future together.
Credentials and Shameless Plugs: My name’s Tom Waters. I just turned 31 in October and I was born and raised in Buffalo and I have no intention of moving anywhere else. Warts and all, I love it here. I’ve been writing humorous essays for almost 20 years now, and my high octane rants and sentimental musings have been described as ‘a jolting read’ (Anthony Violanti, Buffalo News) and ‘(painting) a picture of an intelligent man with many gifts’ (Brian Bogucki, ArtVoice). In the last five years I’ve been freelancing like a banshee in town for the likes of The Buffalo News, ArtVoice, The Buffalo Beast, Alt, and the long dead Buffalo Beat (rest in peace) and longer dead Boys Night Out (farewell). I’ve also been published on the super information highway that the kids are so fond of in Acid Logic, Dream Forge, Worldwide Freelancer, The Circle Magazine and so many others that I forget sometimes.
As far as national magazines, I got a notch on my belt for Filmfax’s tenth anniversary issue, Too Much Coffee man, and a handful of other small quarterlies. I’ve been writing bar reviews, strip club reviews and interviews for Night Life magazine for the last five years. It’s been a wonderful ride and I consider Night Life a home of sorts. I submit a lot of short essays to the Buffalo News edited for space constraints and watered down so as not to offend the mainstream sensibility. We won’t be doing that here. If you don’t have a sense of humor, get the hell off of this page right now and don’t come back! I’m not kidding. I’ll wait until you leave. Okay then. I’ve also been doing interviews and book reviews for the last five for ArtVoice. We’re more like ships in the night but they’ve given me a lot of discipline journalistically. That discipline will be promptly thrown out the window every week in this column. And I wrote and published three collections of humor: Born Pissed, Zany Hijinx, and First Person, Last Straw. My fourth baby is out this spring and I’m shooting for a target date of April 1st, which seems fitting. It’s called ‘If They Can’t Take a Joke’.
The troublesome problem as a freelance writer is and always has been my manic depression. How consistent can you be when you write a hundred and fifty pages in six months and drop off the face of the earth without the desire to write a word for the next six? I don’t lean on the bipolar thing like a crutch; it’s more like a religion for me and Buffalo’s perfect for manic depressives. The seasons almost set it off for me at this point. But over the years it’s been frustrating to gain so much ground publicly only to lose it the second you disappear from print. Gaining an audience is a privilege, and I’m going to do my best to grab your attention and hold it. So what’s the solution? A weekly column. Even when I’m down for the count, so to speak, I’ve got over a thousand pages of material to draw from, and the ridiculous thing is that only a fraction of my real work, the essays, has seen the light of day in Buffalo. That’s all going to change starting right now. If I’m going to do this column, let’s make a commitment. I’m going to give you twelve months with the option for renegotiation after the first year. I make no apologies with my writing and I’m not going to spoon feed ideas down your throats like cattle. I won’t insult your intelligence like that. We’re a sharp, sarcastic people, so when I’m pissed, you’re gonna hear about it. If something or someone around here makes me happy, drops me a line or (ideally) buys me a drink, I’ll give you your due props.
Some Loose Ground Rules: First and foremost, this is going to be interactive (or else). Like every writer alive, I have a tortured and fragile ego that needs constant feeding and attention. I thrive on feedback. So at the end of every month, we’ll devote a week to answering fan mail, hate mail, constructive comments and topics that you guys come to the table with. Want to hear me sound off on an issue? Email it in. Think I was way off on something and you want to throw in your two cents? Email it in. I just set up a yahoo account, so direct everything via email to ‘bigwordsmailbag@yahoo.com’, lower case, one word. Don’t be childish, either, or I’m coming after you. The first week of every month, I’ll write a context sensitive column tailored specifically towards you, Buffalo. And for the other two weeks in the middle of the month, I’ll either show you some of the new vitriol or nostalgia I’m pounding out or we’ll print something uncut, uncensored and too hot for tv from the archives. No matter what, I promise that we’ll keep it interesting.
And ‘Big Words I Know By Heart’ is multi-faceted. I’ve got an email newsletter that goes out twice a month that’s been going strong in the three hundred to five hundred free subscribers neighborhood for the past five years. Boom. Instant install rate. You better speak loud and proud, founding members, so that Night Life knows you’re around and that you count. If you want to get in on that action, email me at the new address (once again, ‘bigwordsmailbag@yahoo.com’) and I’ll be more than happy to add you. There’s also a web site that’s been chugging along to the tune of over 10,000 hits for the last year. Not an astonishing number, but a modest success that’s going to keep climbing. So we’ve got three arms: one in print, one online, and another via email. Plus the books, which I’m going to nag you into buying for a very, very long time.
With every article that’s been printed in The Buffalo News (and there’ve been quite a few), I always get an equal volume of fan mail and hate mail. Fifty fifty right down the middle. I’m cool with that. I am not the literary equivalent of vanilla ice cream, and I do not appeal to everyone. I’m coarse, outspoken, bombastic, controversial, childish sometimes, offensive, obnoxious, downright pissed off and occasionally high brow to the point that people think I come off as condescending. I understand that not everyone has a flexible sense of humor and that some people in this town hold onto their belief systems so tightly that the slightest ripple or threat to their values tears them to pieces and drives them to send me retarded postcards. That is unacceptable. Let’s play fair, here, all right? If I don’t come down to your work and knock the dick out of your mouth, be nice enough to take up your beef right here in the column. This will be a democracy, not a one-sided, railroading, Bill O’Reilly-like fascist media dictatorship of liberal blathering.
Night Life’s demographic (on the other hand) and mine are almost symbiotic. I appeal to sexually deviant, drunken men with a good sense of humor and a head on their shoulders and the women who love them. And a few other people. I’m still going to write bar reviews and strip club reviews once a month, but other than that, I’m all about this column. I’m getting too old to go out every week, I’m in a committed relationship, and my liver needs to regenerate a bit for a rainy day or two. That, and there’s so much more that I write about and I don’t want to get typecast. Boobs and beer are both phenomenal past times, but there’s more to life than that, so better or worse, you’re going to see the whole puzzle instead of two pieces in my warped and neurotic head. Buckle up, Buffalo, because it’s going to be a bumpy ride. We’re going to do something different. We’re going to do something fun. And we’re going to piss a whole lot of people off at the same time. I’ll see you all next week, and the week after that, and the week after that. Let’s start some trouble.
Excelsior!
Tom ‘masthead’ Waters

Hello, Yellow Brick Road: Madamoisselle’s 7th Anniversary Party

It’s a Wednesday night and I’m at Madamoisselle’s writing my first club review in over ten months. I came out of partial retirement for their 7th anniversary party. It’s hard to believe it’s been seven great years. Returning from the last tour of duty are the lovely Lindsay and longtime party guy Intentionally Bald Mike. We saunter in and I say hi to my old buddy Bill, one of the managers. Bill leads us up to the V.I.P. area so I can wish partial owner Mark Whipple a happy anniversary and many more to come. By way of gift, I give him a copy of my last book, First Person, Last Straw, which includes the Mary Carey interview I conducted at Madam’s three years ago along with the review from Opie and Anthony’s infamous appearance in Angola. Thanks to Mark I got to meet O & A, along with legions of famous adult mega stars over the years. A free book is the least I can do. Mark introduces me to Irene Rudan, one of the other owners. Goddamn, it’s good to be back.
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: Every time I walk into Madam’s, it feels like I’m coming home. I spring for our first round and I get a double of Knob Creek, a bottle of Blue Light, a Blue for IBM. and a Cosmopolitan for Lindsay. We grab our drinks and decide to circulate on the lower level near the other bar. Oh, did I mention that there were women taking their clothes off on stage? Well, there were. There’s a delectable blonde with a long, bob-style pony tail in a white lace outfit making love to the pole who reminds me of actress Sky Blue. The song ends and Victoria, a hard bodied black chick with blonde hair takes the stage. My buddy Ed shows up and I just know that all hell is gonna break loose. Wandering around on the floor at any given time are a gaggle of smoldering blondes, brunettes and redheads in various states of undress. Intentionally Bald Mike motions my attention to a redhead with high, striped pantyhose who couldn’t conceivably be any sexier. I haven’t seen a free buffet line so packed since Vegas, and from the smell of the chicken wings, I can see why.
Venus and Victoria walk onto the main stage. One is a voluptuous black fox with a delicate black lace affair and the other is a blonde barely legal with tight pants and an athletic body. They shake and shimmy to some strange techno remix that sounds like a cross between the music in ‘Burnout: Revenge’ and ‘All The Leaves Are Brown’. While IBM is sporting for the next round, the blonde dunce bartending clears my $20 Kentucky bourbon before I’m done with it. Poor skills, bartendress! For the second song of the set, one of the dancers approaches the top of one of the two main stage poles and performs a zero gravity drop that ends inches from the floor. That’s talent.
We grab a smoke, pop back up to the VIP area, order more drinks and ogle a delicious brunette with a hula skirt on stage. I make a play for some wings now that the buffet table has thinned out and the server gives me crap about trying to take my own wings with the tongs. My bad, pal. After being issued three wings, I send IBM on a mission to get additional wings for my fat ass. They give him two. Great. So I send Lindsay and she comes back with three. Four more trips and I’ll have a single order. The wings are incredible, though, and I’ve had my share all over town, so I know. Another set starts with Marilyn Manson playing over the loud speakers and the toned redhead with the phenomenal Pippy Longstocking pantyhose takes the stage. IBM’s got a thing for women aged 18-22, so he’s all over that. He’s in his glory.
We grab another smoke and pop back in to chat with Ed and his longtime friend Dan The Boozeman, who’s always giving me free cigars. We do a shot of Jim Beam and chat about old times. Headliner Alicia Chase comes out in a Dorothy (from The Wizard Of Oz) print dress and instantly loses the dress to reveal a life-altering pair of 33 Cs to a dance version of ‘Ease On Down The Road’ from The Wiz. As far as boob men go, I’m a terminal case, so she has my full attention. Alicia’s got a red bow in her hair and ruby red slippers. That’s hot. Very hot. For the second song, the DJ busts out with ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go Go’. Alicia bends over to collect a tip and I can tell she’s au natural. They lay down tarp on the stage for the 3rd song and fill a kiddie pool with baby oil. She starts working a streamer to the tune of ‘Somewhere Over The Rainbow’ and starts painting her boobs with body paint in various colors while squatting in the kiddie pool, drenched in body oil. Lindsay knows that it’s a good thing when we do the exotic club reviews because she gets the works when we get home.
Dan The Boozeman and I are holding up the rail when Carol, an adorable blonde, saddles up to the bar and we do shots of Jack Daniels. My buddy Josh Boyardee (he’s going to cooking school) shows up. In the event that I didn’t mention it yet, I employ aliases occasionally to protect the lecherous. Josh and I talk about Madam’s brilliant business move from full-figured hotties for staff dancers to just past legal, perfect ten type girls. There’s been a definite shift for the better in terms of the talent, and it was great to begin with. ‘Gotti’ Brian shows up with his buddy and I’m too plowed to write anymore. There’s a toned, small breasted blonde who works it to INXS. Perfection in motion. Josh and I make our way to the center stage and offer up our folded dollars to another black hottie with strap-hose on that accentuates her big, toned booty. Baby got back! This is all too much. As an weathered old pervert of 31, and after multiple shots and beers, my brain has reached sensory overload. It’s time to go home. IBM wants to finish his drink before we leave, so I make a return trip to the buffet table and carve off a Flintstone’s sized hunk of prime rib and shovel it into my drunken pie-hole. We make our way into the night and another review is down. Thanks for seven consecutive years of raising the bar in live adult entertainment, Madam’s. Buffalo wouldn’t be the same without you. Madamoisselles is located on 777 Aero Drive (corner of Rein Rd.).
Feeling it in the morning,
Tom ‘buffet whore’ Waters
Tom Waters’ third book, First Person, Last Straw is available from www.authorhouse.com, amazon.com and through your local bookstore. For uncut reviews, interviews and other nonsense, visit ‘Big Words I Know By Heart’ at www.tomwaters.blogspot.com.

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