A man tips his head back to get his dreadlocks out of the way and hoovers a sword. A seven-foot drag queen—introduced as a “bastion of beauty” – simulates sex with a random woman kidnapped from the audience. A man in a white wig strips off his pink shirt and dances around in leopard print briefs, singing Journey covers. I lower my camera to his crotch air-humping my face.
The cast of The Most Interesting Show in the World has to take it this far in order to keep our attention and live up to its billing. At Rok Vegas in New York-New York the city is all around us, a pulsing, spilling distraction.
“You’re missing it!” yells one woman to her two male friends, who are busy making out with each other on a couch in front of the stage. Behind them, a little Asian man in a gold lame space suit solicits laughter with a combination Michael Jackson mimicry/mime act/break dance.
After the show I’m inside the coed bathrooms littered with Zumanity programs; a man pulls a woman into a stall. Outside the club, two frumpy older women get their picture taken with a trio of showgirls. “You’re beautiful!” they rave to the feathery, sparkly, dragon women, totally enraptured.
On my way back to self-parking, I get utterly lost in the fake streets of New York, struggling over the winding, entwined cobblestones in my high heels. My fellow psuedo-New Yorkers provide endless amusement. They crowd around the slots and the ATM, sit at the “alfresco” cafes or belt out tunes with the dueling pianos. They come in every shape, size and color, much like real New Yorkers, and each one is a living testament to the joy of people watching.
Up on the fourth level of the parking garage, my car is surrounded by a Middle Eastern family, their dark faces swathed in silk scarves. They lean over the cement wall, delightedly taking pictures of the New York-New York rollercoaster as it swirls around its red track against the black sky.
To many people, Vegas itself is The Most Interesting Show in the World.