A K-Fed coincidence??
Saturday morning, I woke to the precautionary words of New Jersey Governor Chris Christie coming from the television in my room at the Wildhorse Resort and Casino. He was alerting his constituents to the dangers of hurricane Sandy, and I was reluctantly getting up for the day.
My mother, her dog (Noggie) and I checked into the hotel the night before, so I could attend the Northwest premiere of “Plimpton!” that started at 9:15 on Friday. We had reserved one of the dog-friendly rooms, but they must have over-booked them because none were available by the time we got there.
The mistake turned into our upgrading to a fifth-floor tower room and Noggie’s new distinction as a service-dog! So, as Christie was carrying on about Sandy, I was drinking my first cup of coffee. I sneezed ferociously, blowing it through my hotel-heater-dried nasal passages and began bleeding.
I only mention this because it drastically altered the course of my day.
After I got my nose-bleed under control, I took Noggie out for a little walk, lost $70 to the stupid slots, and ate a late breakfast; all in under an hour..
Later, badly in need of a drink, I was careful to avoid house-favored table games or dastardly slot machines and made my way to the hotel bar.
I made it to the bar entrance only to encounter a sizable line of people waiting to get in. I thought, “Great, here’s a line and probably a cover charge to see some band or crappy comedian. All I want to do is sit down and have a beer.” I couldn’t even get a six-pack and head back to my room because the casino’s on a dry Indian reservation, so the bar had a monopoly on the booze and beer.
I tried finding a quiet corner of the tavern where I could ignore whatever show was making it so difficult for me to get my hands on a cold one.
The place was packed, mostly with women, but I eventually made my way to the bar. I found the only barstool available and sat down to savor an IPA.
I soon realized that I was surrounded by pseudo-blonds. I wondered if a traveling Barbie bus from California had broken down outside the casino, and these wispy women were forced into the Wildhorse for the night.
Then American Storm happened.
Not Sandy. That storm hadn’t hit yet.
This was the all male revue of a storm that brought all the babes in from the woods.
I have seen my share of female revues before, but American Storm was my first all-male revue. It’s not a thing you can easily ignore. It was surprisingly entertaining.
I got a kick out of watching women gazing at buffed out hunks dancing poorly to terribly choreographed pop hits. The best part was when they brought an older lady from the audience up on stage, blindfolded her, and gave her a lap-dance. You could hear her giddy noises over the music. What a hoot! Good clean fun.
The women I sat near weren’t paying much attention to the show, so I thought that they were probably the strippers’ girlfriends or wives. They had the “been there, done that” attitude.
It turned out that they were there celebrating a wedding that took place earlier in one of the casino’s ballrooms. A few guys hanging by the bar were there for the wedding as well.
One of the guys started up a conversation. After some small talk, this guy said, “We got someone famous with us.”
I don’t care about celebrities but I vaguely recognized one of the guys in their party. So I said, “Do I even want to ask?”
Then he coyly hints around about Brittney Spears, so I’m thinking that Spears is hanging around somewhere in this estrogen-filled room. Then he says something like, “You know her ex?”
It took me a bit to get his name, I had to ask four different strangers-at some distance from the wedding party-before someone remembered him.
K-Fed. Kevin Federline. Maybe the most universally scorned of all the exes chewed up at the TMZ gossip trough. He’s the worst reviewed rapper ever, although he’s a good dancer.
A couple drinks later, and between shows, I decided that I should try to interview the K-Fed. Why not? I could manufacture a story on the fly. Gonzo style.
Federline was there for his brother’s wedding. I had been casually talking with other people associated with the nuptials so I approached and introduced myself.
We talked about nothing while he and the other wedding partiers took down shots and carried on. I knew that asking for an on-the-record interview might be a little weird, considering the situation. He was accommodating all the girls that came up to him for a picture and I thought he might go for it.
He did, with conditions.
I showed him my EOU student ID to prove that I wasn’t with some tabloid and I couldn’t ask him any questions about his exes.
The interview started out great with him talking about his lawyer and a guy from TMZ. I would tell you more if he hadn’t ripped out the first three pages of my notes.
I don’t blame him for being paranoid. I got the feeling that most of the interviews he’s done have backfired on him, so I let him do it his way.
His way was taking my notepad and writing down his responses to questions that came from nowhere. His favorite color is blue, although I didn’t ask.
Then he wrote, “I’m alway’s rolling wit Snoop. That’s my Uncle man. I love the O.G.” I have no idea what that was in response to.
He said that he spends his days with his kids, making sure they are doing well in school and, “My future consists of a heavy workout and making sure my family is going to be great….”
K-Fed showed me a picture of his youngest daughter, dressed like a little Rambo.
He wrote, “Victoria Prince is the love of my life. She caught the flowers. We are gonna get married. You wish you knew when…..and where…. Only the flowers know!!!”
That was the interview.
Federline, Prince and I hung out a little, off-the-record, after the non-interview. We had a good time together. They struck me as fairly regular people, and I wish them well.
Maybe I’ll contact him to get a legit interview, far from the loud backdrop of the American Storm. What do you think?