Official Slacker Handbook

by Sarah Dunn

  “Son of Sam”; terrorized New York City and corresponded in print with New York Daily News columnist Jimmy Breslin.

  Abducted, raped, chained, impregnated, and sometimes killed and cannibalized women in the basement of his Philadelphia home.

  “Upstanding” citizen who picked up young boys at bus stations, only to torture and murder them and bury the bodies in the basement of his suburban Chicago home. Crime was reported by his wife who complained of odors coming from under the house.

  “The Genesee River Killer”; strangled, butchered, and cannibalized eleven women. Was caught by police when seen casually eating his lunch while the nude corpse of his latest victim floated past him on the Genesee river.

  Convicted of murdering two women in a Florida college dorm and a twelve-year-old girl. Also linked to countless murders in Seattle and Salt Lake City, he was apparently upset with his fiancé for breaking up with him.

  The “Boston Strangler” gained entrance to apartments by masquerading as a handyman, then strangled his victims.

  Stalked attractive high school cheerleaders in New Jersey; buried their remains in the backyard of his mother’s Staten Island home.

  Convicted of only one, but suspected in the murders of sixty-one other babies at the Bexar County Administrative Medical Center in San Antonio.

  Warned parole board he would kill again when released from the Michigan State Perm for killing his mother, then killed a woman shortly after his release and dumped her body within walking distance of the prison gate.

  Inaccurately touted as the first female serial killer; confessed to killing seven men in Florida but claimed they were all done in self-defense.

  Head of “family” of California killers; claimed to have killed thirty-five people.

  Backwoods cannibalistic killer who terrorized Plainfield, Wisconsin; the inspiration for the Norman Bates character in the movie Psycho.

  Brutally slayed eight student nurses in Chicago.

  The “Hillside Strangler”; was convicted of killing nine young women in L.A. with the help of his sidekick, Angelo Buono, Jr.

  ANSWERS:

  Bonus: Richard Speck

  1n; 2l; 3m; 4p; 5d; 6c; 7b; 8h; 9r; 10p; 11f; 12k; 13i; 14s; 15o; 16j; 17e; 18t; 19a; 20g

  WHY WE SMOKE CIGARETTES

  Pithy Surgeon General warnings on packs a handy reminder of our own mortality

  Nicotine generates a relatively cost-efficient buzz

  Gives us something to fiddle with white we’re busy thinking

  Noxious secondhand smoke miraculously repels self-righteous Boomer ex-smokers we encounter in public places

  Daily brush with death can be invigorating

  ALCOHOLISM ON A SHOESTRING BUDGET

  LIQUOR CORDIALS: TURN GRANDMA’S CANDY BOWL INTO A TASTY HAPPY HOUR.

  TABLE SCORE: Any glass without a butt is fair game.

  THE FORTY: COST-CONSCIOUS CONSUMERS ALWAYS CHECK THE LABEL FOR THE WORDS “MALT” OR “MALTED.”

  BAR SLUDGE: Your friend the bartender might make you a drink out or the tasty alcoholic blend festering in the bottom of the speed rack.

  ROBO-DOSE: REMEMBER, AN OPEN MEDICINE CABINET IS AN OPEN BAR.

  Ah, Darts: Lowering Hour Leisure-Time Brow

  APPROPRIATE PASTIMES:

  Hemp vs. Coke: A Drug Primer

  HEMP COKE

  Cheap -EXPENSIVE

  Possession=misdemeanor in most states -POSSESSION=FELONY IN MOST STATES

  Chemical form of complacency -CHEMICAL FORM OF AMBITION

  Suited to the lazy, do-nothing lifestyle of the laid-back slacker -SUITED TO THE INTENSE, FAST-PACED LIFESTYLE OF THE RAPACIOUS YOUNG PROFESSIONAL

  Dealer is your friend/roommate/brother -DEALER WILL MAIN YOU FOR NONPAYMENT

  Food tastes great -YOU STOP EATING

  Music sounds great -MUSIC IS DROWNED OUT BY THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN DRONING VOICE

  You have interesting thoughts about what it would be like to meet Aristotle -YOU BECOME CONVINCED THAT YOU ARE THE MOST INTELLIGENT, CREATIVE, POWERFUL PERSON OF THIS CENTURY

  Someone steals your pot? Get pissed off and ask him if he wouldn’t like to borrow your pipe as well -SOMEONE STEALS YOUR COKE? TIE HIM TO THE GROUND AND SLOWLY PEEL OFF HIS SKIN WITH A RUG CUTTER

  10 A.M. the next day: Wake up feeling puzzled and mildly disoriented -10 A.M. THE NEXT DAY: AT COKE DEALER’S DOOR AFTER PAWNING ROOMMATE’S STEREO FOR A HUNDRED BUCKS

  Long-term use makes you stupid -LONG-TERM USE MAKES YOU DIE

  The Chess-Playing Slacker

  ONE OF THE EASIEST WAYS TO VAULT YOURSELF UP INTO THE RANKS OF THE SLACK ELITE IS TO TAKE UP THE GAME OF CHESS. THE MERE ACT OF SITTING DOWN IN FRONT OF A CHESSBOARD WITH A LOOK OF SEVERE CONCENTRATION PASTED ON YOUR FACE IS ENOUGH TO GARNER INTELLECTUAL RESPECT IN SOME SLACK CIRCLES. IN OTHERS, UNFORTUNATELY, YOUR REPUTATION WILL ALSO DEPEND ON HOW WELL YOU PLAY. IDEALLY YOU’LL STUMBLE UPON A CAFE WHOSE SLACK DENIZENS ARE ALL TOO BUSY TO PLAY CHESS, PREFERRING TO DOODLE IN THEIR NOTEBOOKS AND STARE MEANINGFULLY OUT INTO SPACE INSTEAD. IF YOU ARE PERSISTENT IN SETTING UP THE BOARD AND PESTERING PEOPLE TO PLAY WITH YOU EACH DAY, YOUR STOCK WILL RISE DRAMATICALLY EVEN IF YOU NEVER UTTER A SINGLE “CHECKMATE.”

  Ah, Darts: Lowering Your Leisure-Time Brow

  APPROPRIATE PASTIMES:

  Darts

  Bowling

  Skee-ball

  Pool

  Pinball

  Masturbation

  Skateboarding

  Backgammon

  Poker

  Scrabble

  Pinochle

  Checkers

  Crossword puzzles

  Rolling bums

  Kickball

  Surfing

  Skiing

  T’ai chi

  Bacchanalian orgies

  Gin rummy

  Chess

  Video games

  Fooz-ball

  Celebrity Stalking

  INAPPROPRIATE PASTIMES

  Golf

  Duck hunting

  Skeet shooting

  Squash

  Fencing

  Croquet

  Shuffleboard

  Jogging

  Yoga

  Archery

  Tackle football

  Lawn bowling

  Ice fishing

  Word jumbles

  Smear the queer

  Cliff diving

  Body building

  Big game hunting

  Seven minutes in heaven

  Stamp collecting

  Arm wrestling

  Yachting

  MY HOBBIES

  -PICKING UP THINGS OFF THE GROUND

  -SITTING ON MY STEPS AND WATCHING THINGS

  -DRINKING JUG WINE UNTIL UNCONSCIOUS

  -LISTENING TO PEOPLE TALK FOR HOURS UPON END IN SMALL ROOMS WHILE UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF CAFFEINE AND NICOTINE

  -CALLING 1-800 NUMBERS

  -CREATING IMAGINARY WORLDS THAT EXIST ONLY IN MY MIND

  -STARTING FIRES

  -SLEEPING

  WANDERLUST

  PRETEND FOR A MOMENT THAT YOU’RE A COLLEGE GRADUATE WHO HAS BEEN MANNING THE REGISTER AT A LIQUOR STORE IN ANN ARBOR FOR THE PAST THREE YEARS. IMAGINE THAT YOU’RE THE SORT OF PERSON WHO OCCASIONALLY CRAFTS INSULTING LITTLE NOTES ADDRESSED TO HUMANITY IN GENERAL AND STICKS THEM TO THE STORE’S SWINGING GLASS DOOR. YOU LIKE JOY DIVISION. YOU FREQUENTLY WEAR SKI CAPS INDOORS.

  Now, pretend you’re a college graduate who has been manning the register at a liquor store in Ann Arbor for the past three years, but one who—while still enjoying obnoxious little notes, Joy Division, and functional thermal outer-wear—also happens to be making plans to go someplace else.

  Chronic wanderlust is the ultimate psychic refuge of the responsibility-averse slacker. Once your vague dissatisfaction with life has time to crystallize around your slack surroundings—the skeezy smell in your refrigerator, the way your house-mate breathes—you’ll begin to plan your escape.

  The fact that you’ve alr
eady escaped the bulk of responsibilities and headaches that accompany normal life ought not alarm you. Normal life is what’s alarming. Normal life, when you stop to think about it, is utterly appalling.

  It’s an unfortunate fact of life that most of your fantasy travel plans will have to hinge on the tragic, untimely deaths of one or more members of your immediate family. These deaths must be mercifully quick and call for an absolute minimum of hospitalization and expensive nursing home care. In lieu of this, you will be forced to save up some money on your own.

  But don’t let that sobering note stop you from dreaming. Whether or not a given journey ever actually, technically occurs is not nearly as important as the amount of planning that goes into it. Exotic travel shows viewed on cable, phone calls made to bucket shop plane ticket vendors, drug-trafficking horror stories recounted by strangers you meet at cafes—these are the important things.

  You might consider Europe. If you do it right, you can swing two, maybe three years of avoiding reality with a bunch of Australians, busking in the Paris Metro and scrubbing youth hostel toilets for free room and board. It goes without saying that you would be able to write much better poems if you could write them while watching the sun slip behind a crumbling Doric temple. But, face it if you schlepp a backpack and three pairs of mildewy underwear around long enough, anything starts to look good. You’ll come back and settle down, quite willingly, to a life of hard-core reality. When you wake up in a sweat in the middle of the night, after dreaming about parking tickets or bridgework, you’ll say to yourself, “At least I have a drawerful of pristine undergarments. Perhaps I’ll even purchase some more.”

  YOU COULD BE EXOTIC AND GO TO JAPAN, BUT YOU WOULDN’T REALLY BE THAT EXOTIC BECAUSE JUST ABOUT EVERYBODY IS GOING TO JAPAN THESE DAYS SO NOBODY WILL BE TOO IMPRESSED, REALLY.

  RUMOR HAS IT YOU CAN EARN $50 AN HOUR TEACHING ENGLISH, WHICH SHOULD JUST ABOUT COVER THE RENT OF YOUR CLIMATE-CONTROLLED SLUMBER TUBE. AND YOU’LL HAVE TO EAT RAW FISH EYES, OCCASIONALLY, IF YOU DON’T WANT TO OFFEND YOUR HOSTS.

  YOUR BEST OPTION, CLEARLY, IS TO SET OFF IN SEARCH OF THE MYTHICAL AMERICAN LANDSCAPE ON A GREYHOUND BUS AND TRY TO WRITE A BOOK ABOUT THE EXPERIENCE. WHILE THAT PARTICULAR BOOK HAS ALREADY BEEN WRITTEN, WHO SAYS YOU COULDN’T WRITE A BOOK ABOUT ONE OF THE FOLLOWING:

  1. Setting off in search of the mythical American landscape by riding around on Greyhound bus and eating at old-time diners in small towns with weird names.

  2. Setting off in search of the mythical American landscape by riding around on a Greyhound bus and striking up conversations with colorful old people who live in small towns with weird names and hang out in old-time diners.

  3. Setting off in search of the mythical American landscape by riding around on a Greyhound bus and having sex with your fellow passengers.

  SLACKER PILGRIMAGES

  AUSTIN

  Austin, Texas. Ground zero of the slack zeitgeist. And, not coincidently, the setting of Richard Linklater’s ground-breaking work, the film that gave Those You Dare Not Give A Name a name. Journeying to Austin after your eleventh or twelfth viewing of Slacker is sort of like walking through Salzburg after watching The Sound of Music. (Although you would never watch The Sound of Music except, perhaps, at gunpoint, so the analogy only goes so far.)

  Anyhow, go ahead and peddle your plasma at Pharma-co, hit Les Amis and Quackenbush’s, and walk in the footsteps of the Slacker slackers:the Pap Smear Pusher, the Dairy Queen Photographer, the Handstamping Arm Licker, the Sadistic Comb Game Player, the Tea Cup Sculptor, the Traumatized Yacht Owner, the Sidewalk Psychic, the JFK Buff, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera…

  Graceland

  LIKE YOUR DARK GREEN BOWLING SHIRT, GRACELAND WAS ONCE SO UN-HIP THAT IT WAS HIP. SOON THEREAFTER BOTH GRACELAND AND YOUR BOWLING SHIRT WERE SO HIP THAT THEY WERE UN-HIP. THE TIDE HAS TURNED ONCE AGAIN, AND WHILE YOU SHOULD PROBABLY WAIT A FEW MONTHS BEFORE PULLING OUT THAT BOWLING SHIRT, REST ASSURED THAT IT IS ONCE AGAIN SAFE TO VISIT THE KING.

  IT’S TIME TO EXPERIENCE ELVIS AS METCLICHÉ, WHICH IS DIFFERENT FROM YOUR EARLY EXPERIENCE OF ELVIS AS ELVIS, YOUR LATER EXPERIENCE OF ELVIS AS BLOATED SELF-PARODY, AND EVEN YOUR RECENT ENCOUNTER WITH ELVIS’S IMAGE STARING BACK AT YOU FROM INSIDE THAT FLOUR TORTILLA. HE IS TRULY THL POSTMODERN ICON—DEFINED BY ABSENCE, IRONY, SIMULATION, AND APPROPRIATION—AND A TRIP TO GRACELANO WILL SET YOUR PHILOSOPHICAL SLACK MIND SPINNING.

  GUATEMALA

  Guatemala could well be considered the slack traveler’s paradise, a cheap and exotic little gem that is often overlooked by uptight bourgeois vacationers who are frightened off by tales of cholera and roaming bandits. If you see yourself as a jet-setting slacker who doesn’t want to shell out the dough for a plane ticket to Tibet Guatemala’s unique cultural grab bag of beaches, jungles, drugs, and impoverished natives just might be an ideal compromise.

  Your Guatemalan Experience will be enhanced by the sequence of immunizations that must be updated before your departure—polio, tetanus, typhoid—as well as the required gamma-globulin shot.

  You would do well to put reports of blatant human rights abuses out of your mind while undergoing the medical preliminaries, and you should always remember to keep a sharp eye out for paramilitary activity when poking around ancient Mayan ruins.

  NORTH AMERICAN PSYCHIC ENERGY HOT SPOTS

  A good psychic vortex is hard to find, but for some strange reason they seem concentrated in the Southwest, which is good news for you, the wandering slacker. It’s possible to make the rounds—Chaco Canyon, Cathedral Rock, Bighorn medicine wheel, Mt. Shasta, etc.—without crisscrossing the continent, and an impromptu harmonic conversion convention is often just around the next bend.

  A PILGRIMAGE SCHEDULED FOR THE SUMMER SOLSTICE CAN PROVIDE YOU WITH SOME MUCH-NEEDED INSIGHT INTO THE EVER-CHANGING DEMANDS OF THE GODS. YOU PROBABLY REMEMBER THOSE HALCYON DAYS WHEN IT USED TO BE OKAY TO JUST TOSS A VIRGIN INTO THE VOLCANO AND BE DONE WITH IT. NOT ANYMORE. NOW A BUNCH OF EARTH MOTHER-TYPES WHO HAVE GOTTEN IN TOUCH WITH THE GODDESS INSIDE THEM ARE FORCED TO DRAPE THEMSELVES IN LAVENDER GAUZE AND SELL EACH OTHER HANDICRAFTS.

  Keep in mind during your travels that while you’re not necessarily searching for the doorway into the fifth dimension, if you trip over the front stoop you ought to walk on through. That, and remember that untapped electromagnetic forces can do wonders for painfully clogged bowels.

  (Rule of thumb: the people who are lying in the fetal position and humming take this stuff very seriously. It’s best not to laugh and point.)

  Prague

  It has been widely reported that in Prague, right now, it’s Paris in the Twenties. What is it where you are? Berlin after World War II? Romania under Ceaucescu? Europe during the Black Death?

  Prague is a bustling postcommunist metropolis that happens to be flooded with English-speaking slackers not unlike yourself. The influx of young Americans means that it is now possible to live there for months and speak nothing but English. It also means that what were once dirt cheap rents are inflating even as you read this. The city’s hopping jazz bar cafe scene makes it so you can do in Prague pretty much exactly what you do right now: sit around, drink coffee, and talk.

  If you fear rubbing elbows with poseurs and trust-fund slackers, Prague is probably not for you. The same goes if you’re looking for the sort of “authentic” travel experience that might find you sitting on a hillside talking to a shepherd in his native language of Tosk. But where else can you go where everyone you meet will have his own “moped accident in Greece” story and be working on a loosely structured, largely autobiographical Young American Abroad novel?

  vegas

  TRAIPSE THROUGH THE GULLET OF A $1 BILLION CUBIST-INSPIRED LION … WATCH EIGHTY TOPLESS WOMEN DANCE WHILE THETITANICSINKS ONSTAGE… SNORE UP A PILE OF ILL-GOTTEN GAINS … GET MARRIED BY AN ELVIS IMPERSONATOR… HEAD ACROSS TOWN FOR THE NINETY-NINE-CENT PRIME RIB …

  IT’S TIME TO ROLL AROUND IN AMERICA’S VISCERA FOR A WHILE, AND THERE’S NO BETTER PLACE TO DO IT THA
N IN A CITY THAT WAS FOUNDED BY GANGSTERS AND MADE FAMOUS BY ITS ABILITY TO ATTRACT CHUBBY OUT-OF-TOWNERS WEARING MAN-MADE SYNTHETICS. FORGET CHILDLIKE SENSE OF WONDER—VEGAS IS SCARY.

  SCARY, BUT CHEAP. AND IT IS THIS VERY QUALITY—THE ABUNDANCE OF FORTY-FIVE-CENT HOT DOGS AND SEVENTY-FIVE-CENT ICE-CREAM SUNDAES—THAT WILL MAKE YOU WANT TO KEEP COMING BACK. PLAY SOME KENO, TAKE A SHOT AT THE SLOTS, PERPETRATE A LUCRATIVE SCAM, AND THEN HIGHTAIL IT TO THE I-15.

  VIVA LAS VEGAS.

  THE DRIVE-AWAY

  Imagine for a moment someone stupid enough to hand you the keys to his automobile and let you drive it at breakneck speeds across dozens of state lines while three of your compadres entertain themselves by spilling beer on the upholstery and mooning passing station wagons.…

  Welcome to the wonderful world of the driveaway, the slack traveler’s dream come true. A driveaway is an arrangement wherein a bloated corporate type who needs his car transported from one city to another agrees to let you—a dues-paying member of the teeming masses—drive it, simply so he can swill martinis up in business class and not waste any of his precious time motoring through Kansas. Most driveaways are coordinated by driveaway companies, which consist of a man with sweat moons under his arms whose screening process entails looking you up and down and checking your license for a convincing hologram. You can find a company in your Yellow Pages, and while each will have a slightly different policy, the following general parameters will apply: