So I was in Atlantic City (for the first time) last weekend for a bachelor party, and we went to the Harrahs pool party on Saturday night. We bought a table, drank bottles, and saw no models. But, we did see Mr. Belding. When we walked into Harrahs and sat down at our table, our private screen was showing old re-runs of Saved by the Bell; like Zach convincing Kelly to come study at his house and Jesse and Lisa climbing through the window to ruin Zach’s plans to slow-dance with Kelly instead (so innocent) re-runs. Of the 11 guys I was with, most of us really enjoyed having the show to watch, but a couple guys looked puzzled and asked why the show was on? I embraced the randomness, but eventually we put ESPN on so we could watch highlights. Don’t worry though, the projection screen above the DJ kept playing SBTB.
Then, everything made sense. Mr. Belding (Dennis Haskins) was introduced on the DJ stage. I thought this was awesome, and hilarious. But then, I looked a little closer at Mr. Belding, and got incredibly sad. When he made the rounds and I shook his hand, I got an up close and personal look at what I was afraid of. Mr. Belding looks like he eats only burgers and pizza, drinks every single day and night of the week, and permanently lost his Golds Gym membership card. I wondered how many kids at the pool party even knew who he was. Someone in our party said that they were convinced he had diabetes. So seeing Mr. Belding reminded me of a couple of things that I’ve thought about before — the length of a celebrity’s career, and what they do when it’s over.
When Mr. Belding was on stage, I pictured him waking up that day in his hotel room, hungover, chest burning, and the lump of his belly covering his waist and blocking the view of his legs. I’m sure he was slouching. I imagined what was going through his throbbing head — was he looking foward to his guest appearance at Harrahs pool party? Does he consider this his job? To make a buck I guess you do what you have to, but I don’t think Mr. Belding aspired to make appearances for wasted teenagers, I mean, 21 and ups, at an Atlantic City casino. But, what else is Mr. Belding supposed to do? His career as an actor is over. If you can’t act in anything anymore, but you’re an actor, what do you do? Same goes for musicians — like Bruce Springstein confirmed at his Super Bowl halftime appearance a couple of years ago — when it’s over, you do Super Bowl slides.
But seriously, if you build your career to do one thing, and you can’t do it anymore, what do you do? I guess if you make enough money, you do whatever the hell you want to do. You don’t need to work for money, but ambition certainly doesn’t disappear, does it? But now we’re veering off into personal motivation. This article is also veering off a bit. I guess the non-celebrity version of Mr. Belding’s ending is called retirement. But there is something especially sad about a public figure completely losing his or her appeal, publicly. It’s a deterioration that reminds me of getting old. So thanks Mr. Belding for bringing me down at the Harrahs pool party on Saturday night. But to be honest, I watched Shame on the train ride into town, which could have been the true contributing factor to this melancholy post.
two dope boys in a Cadillac 