I am staying at the Palms this weekend
(where despite covering the resort since its opening in 2001, I never spent
a night before) to blog the Fangoria Trinity of Terrors. The convention did not
start until late Friday afternoon, and I spent most of the day doing what I
should like a good Vegas worker bee.
By afternoon, I could feel the vibe change that takes place in a
casino when a big convention arrives. One example: At a late lunch, actor
Malcolm McDowell was sitting behind me eating alone. Still, I was in work mode:
made arrangements to interview Holly Madison for the print Buffet at her
Halloween party at Studio 54 at MGM Grand tonight, started drafting two stories due
Monday to Weekly, etc. And yet it was Friday afternoon (quickly becoming Friday
night) in Vegas. And, with my being actually inside a resort, my focus kept blurring. Staying in the hipster Palms, in the
party capital of the world, Vegas, on a holiday weekend, with a very special
woman and festive Halloween convention-goers who had nothing on their minds but
fun (and in some cases, as with any convention, business too), there was a viral effect on my ability to concentrate on work.
My
first distraction was business, though not mine, exactly. A publisher met with my companion to discuss a book she is thinking of writing. We were at the
center bar of the Palms, a reasonably priced gathering spot for all inside the casino. Soon, by total
chance, I got a call from a male friend from L.A. who was in town only for Friday night. He quickly came to the Palms to meet us long after I should have been back at the convention. Everyone was having a drink or two
(except me). Did I mention the spirit was infectious?
To me, the key to
covering Vegas is to know when to leave the party and get back to work. More than that, as a
writer, I also try to always remember that I am not actually an invited guest to this party
(metaphorically or literally) that is Vegas, but rather am a paid observer of the town's
business model: sell the world on a place with a manufactured and marketed
permanent party where regular rules of etiquette and in some cases law do not
apply. And, at core, that invention of Vegas, that image, collectively is Sin City. And so
for a writer trying to observe Vegas, on some level, that means not giving into
the pleasures of a town that art critic Dave Hickey calls "a heart's
destination" for tourists and residents. Hickey is right; this is my "heart's destination," and last night abstention lost in that conflict with work. I never made it back to the convention.
The truth is that keeping away from Vegas distractions is on most occasions
relatively easy for me. I neither drink nor gamble. And last night did not
change that. But Vegas has more temptations than the obvious vices that keep me without a state income tax.
Last night, I had
two people who matter to me in Vegas and those two really did
not know each other well. Vegas is the perfect place to change that. Did I mention it was Friday night?
In a
broader way this bonding potential is the business value civic leaders argue that conventions in Vegas provide. This is a place you can do serious business, while getting face time with the people you may in this age mostly deal with by texting,
Twitter, Facebook or old fashioned e-mail.
The urge for fun took over for me before the sun set. And like a tourist, I
expressed it by spending far more money than I ever intended, hundreds of
dollars, by treating my friends to a meal at Nove, the high-end Italian-style
restaurant at the Palms with executive chef Geno Bernardo. To give a base of
comparison for this meal against my usual habits and plan: My first meal at the Palms
after checking in was from the hot dog place at the food court.
One of the things the Palms does well is to cater to everyone from the rich and
famous to the locals who want to play low-limit slots for hours while enjoying free
drinks. On some level, many tourists fall into general categories. And last
night I behaved like a specific type of tourist who is drawn to the Palms; I acted like one of those weekend warriors who, despite earning little, come to Vegas
every few months to live it up like a king and then face the bill after getting home. Nothing was too good for my friends
at Nove!
As someone who covers Vegas professionally, every day, every night, every
year, I don't often go rogue and spend time experiencing the Vegas mind-set
that brings so many of my readers here. Last night I had good friends, good
times, and this morning woke up worrying about how I am going to pay for it all. And, of course, I awoke to how little of the work I planned to
do I actually got to doing. How Vegas. And good to know that after a relationship of more than a decade together, well, Vegas,
I still love you. If I could do last night over, I would not change a thing.
Photo credit: Sarah Gerke
