Cringe

If you live in Southern California, and you, for whatever reason, end up taking the 5 to Orange County (which I don't recommend), you might find yourself driving by this sad looking casino called Commerce Casino. And just where it's located, and how it looks from the outside, you can tell that the people inside are like divorced dads and sad old ladies trying to win money to pay their medical expenses. It's the kind of place you'd rather not think about, much less stop by and check out, unless, of course you're a divorced dad or something (If you have an Oakwood Apartments complex in your city, it's the same general kind of energy). Once, my gas light went on near the Commerce Casino, and I've always had this fear that I'm going to end up gas-less and stranded on the side of the road without a rape whistle, and so I had to stop at the gas station behind the casino, which was uncomfortable, because, like I said, I'd rather not think about the Commerce Casino. So imagine my confusion/distress when I came home from work the other day and flipped on Rachel Maddow, who cut to a commercial featuring a handful of plain-Jane girls pretending to be slutty in low-cut black dresses talking about none other than the Commerce Casino. So I hit record. And then went back and transcribed the ad:

"So it turns out there's a casino right here in LA that I love!

It's got all the glamour of Vegas, the shopping is great, and it's a perfect spot to meet up with the girls which usually involves food.

The menu is great for Gina who's always on a diet, and Amber who (confessional low voice) definitely isn't (Amber is a slightly plump Asian girl, btw).

And the drinks - FABULOUS!

The girls love the new 3-card poker. But for me, it's all about the blackjack - not to mention the guys who play blackjack! (siddles up to a very average-looking guy with blonde hair).

Commerce Casino. It's my kind of place!"

Of course it's low budg. That's not the surprising part. But it made me think about the people who go to Commerce Casino and the kinds of people the casino is trying to attract. And how the ad managed to squelch the fun out of any activity that might actually be deemed entertaining (eating good food! drinking! hanging out with girlfriends! meeting boys!). This ad just made all those activities look so sad and prosaic. Like, it kind of made me want to get in my bed and cry - it was that depressing without at all intending to be.

And I got really depressed thinking about girls in their early twenties who move out to this city and work in accounting and wait for friday night, when they can throw on their black dresses and drink Cosmos at like the House of Blues on Sunset. And that's bad enough, people. It's bad enough that anyone should have to trek out to the Sunset Strip on weekends, or feel they have to. When I first moved to LA, my roommate for the first three months held a similar life-schedule. She worked, and went out to happy hour. She didn't read anything. And she didn't listen to music. Aside from Kanye West. And she owned more revealing black dresses than anyone I have ever known. They were all kind of the same - one in jersey, the other in silk, one in some sort of synthetic polyester blend. She went to the gym a lot. Does reading this make you cringe? Because writing it makes me cringe. Because I didn't like the way I felt when I was around this girl. And the commercial reminded me of her.

And I wondered about these girls in their early twenties, my old roommate and Gina and Amber (who is definitely not on a diet) who work eight to ten hours a day and then go home and microwave some dinner and I thought about what they must talk to their girlfriends about and the kinds of men they go home with after meeting them at Commerce Casino and The House of Blues and what they think about when they are alone in their apartments, or for that matter, not even necessarily alone, but having sex with the guys they met at Commerce Casino or the Sunset Strip who they don't know and will probably never see again. Or even what they think about at the grocery store, picking up a bottle of SKYY Vodka and tampons and diet pills and grapefruit and Kashi cereal. My roommate used to talk about Oprah a lot and this made me sad too, because the only books she had in her bookshelves were the ones that Oprah had recommended.

I could explore this issue for hours, but I can't right now. Because it makes me feel bad, for several reasons. People in this city are fine and probably more emotionally healthy than I am and I shouldn't cry for Amber or Gina. I know what a patronizing snob-bitch I'm being, okay? And the thing is I don't mean to be. Because Amber and Gina are okay. They have jobs and apartments and friends. They have people to hang out with. And just because they're not people I would want to hang out with doesn't mean that Gina and Amber aren't happy. Just because I require more from the experiences of eating and drinking and talking with friends and grocery shopping and pretty much everything for that matter doesn't mean it's right for me to impose my expectations or hopes or ideals on any of these women.

In fact, maybe the person I should feel bad for is myself, because I need so fucking much out of this life, out of every fucking little experience. Maybe Amber and Gina are perfectly content. And maybe if a commercial about a casino can make you think this much, the problem is with you. And so maybe I should stop thinking about them because that's really all I really ever do: think. And maybe that's half the problem