I Have Fun Everywhere I Go

I have no tolerance for pot dealers
who insist on sharing a bowl every time they conclude a transaction.
I don’t need to seal my drug deals with shiny happy-people vibes; that’s
what I bring the money for. But that’s just me; when it comes to harnessing
good vibes, I’ll take the mayhem of Altamont over the "brotherhood"
of Woodstock every time.

Mike Edison’s memoir I Have
Fun Everywhere is the perfect summer reading companion for anyone
who would rather lace their weed with the Ramones than with the Byrds.

I Have Fun Everywhere chronicles Edison’s
twenty-something, ’90s rampage through the second tier publishing world
of male-American fetishes (wrestling, porn, drugs), his first-person
explorations into rock n’ roll excess (through numerous European tours
with numerous punk bands), and a sliver of a love story that feels more
like a kick in the balls than a kiss on the lips.

The book kicks off with Edison dropping
out of NYU film school, and discovering wrestling. In his stoned view,
wrestling is a pure art form, a performance art for the masses that
plays on classic archetypes. A few wrestling fanzines lead to the editorship
of Main Event, the flagship publication of the wrestling scene.

The Main Event gig doesn’t pay much, though,
and Edison soon broadens his literary wings by pumping out the ragged
porn novels that used to be a staple in Times Square sex shops before
Giuliani and his Disney squadron stormed the city walls.

Through it all, Edison continues
to rally his various punk bands through small European tours that
produce just enough money for the plane tickets and the drugs
on the road. It’s a good life that keeps on giving and eventually leads
him to his dream job, publisher of High Times magazine.

At High Times his first mission is
to push the magazine out of the hippie squalor of irrelevance in which
it is living, and bring it into the new decade.

"The first person who suggests
putting Bob Marley on the cover is gonna be looking for a new job," he says to his new staff, by way of introduction.

A generational clash is inevitable,
and the lines are clearly defined by footwear — black Gen-X Chuck
Taylor high-tops against Boomer Birkenstocks.

"YOU CAN’T BE THE EDITOR OF
HIGH TIMES," a High Times veteran yells at him during a meeting.
"YOU DON’T EVEN LIKE THE BEATLES!"

No Gen-X memoir is complete without
a good dose of manic depression and bi-polarity. While Edison struggles
with constant near-mutinies in High Times, he falls in love and moves
in with a bi-polar chick who manages to finish law school between bouts
of self-loathing.

If there’s one thing Edison knows,
it’s his audience. A bunch of dateless wrestling fanatics with punk
music in their stereos, boutique buds in their bongs, and porn on their
TVs, have little tolerance for a story that ends with the redeeming power
of love. In their lore, every woman is a Yoko. An empty, heartless,
sexual succubus.

(Porn lovers also like their women
dehumanized, and Edison complies by replacing his girlfriend’s name
with a simple ________.)

After finishing law school, _______
fails to invite him to the graduation.

"I really appreciate everything
you’ve done for me," she tells him. "But I don’t need you
anymore, I can do it on my own."

It’s a harsh blow, but Edison is
not one to stay down long. After a lost weekend in Vegas, he returns
to New York with a new mission: make the High Times movie.

"How could it possibly fail?"
he asks.

Let us count the ways…