It's Friday, and for two days in a row, I've shown up at work unshaven, in T-shirts and jeans. That's two days more than the Brotherhood of National Metrosexuals allows its members but I'm too dizzy and nauseous to care about losing my membership, and besides, my right thigh still aches from bowling until 3:30 in the morning Wednesday. It's Part Two of my annual CineVegas party diary and time for a recap.
June 12, Light at Bellagio
I have yet to get a nap in, and have had about five hours sleep, having stayed out until dawn only to get up to drive my friend Tom Roderick down to Mandalay Bay to pick up his bags and take them over to the Luxor. Tom urges me to go home and get some sleep but I'm too wired. There's nothing to do but watch my wife, Biana, sleep and wait for nightfall.
Biana's still too pooped come party time, so I'm going solo. I find Light's Jake Saady and get ushered inside. It's only 10 p.m. and the club is fairly empty. By 11:05, the place is packed. I meet Steve Mahone, director of Radiant, having its world premiere here. Steve has a theater background and Radiant's genesis reads like the plot of an Andy Hardy film, with him and his theater pals sitting around one day and saying, "Hey, we should make a movie!"
Maybe it's seeing two blondes close-dancing and close-spanking each other on one of the podiums, but I manage to step in gum. I scrape most of it off my heel but the rest is stuck good. Then I come up with a pretty brilliant idea. Tearing off a bit of a cocktail napkin, I put it on the gum and voila! At least now I can walk without sticking.
Celebs spotted: Mark Zupan, Murderball star;
oddest note: "bachlorette stickers."
June 13, Voodoo Lounge at the Rio
Biana's still tired from the weekend ("I don't care, I learnt from last year! I have a real job and they don't have sympathy for me when I go out to parties.") and I haven't had a nap so I'm alone again, hitting the afterparty for The Aristocrat. On display is a hot-pink stand-up bass and a piano, waiting for Penn Jillette and Mike Jones, respectively. I pick up one of the ubiquitous Cuervo and ginger-ales but I'm soon at the bar, having discreetly placed it in the trash and instead ordering a concoction of Level vodka and other stuff. None of the bartenders knows the name so we christen it Jake's Next Level, after Jake, the biggest bartender there.
Terese Kelly and Cheri Watkins, a local publicist, are there. They get a huge kick out of introducing me to folks, and are so good at it and have so much energy, I name them Fox Force 2. I shake hands with Alissia Miller, one of the stars of Charlie's Party and a ringer for Courtney Cox, only hotter; Barry Sisson and Jessica Lieberman, the film's producers; and Catherine Cahn, the film's writer-director who came up with the idea on the eve of her 30th birthday.
Steve and Judy Thorburn are there, too. Judy is one of the local Movie Chicks while Steve is the creative force behind Trippervision, DVDs for ... well, something that involves swirling colors. Judy doesn't need swirling colors since her acrophobia kicks in as soon as she steps onto the patio. I hear someone thumping a bass inside. Penn and Jones are diving into "So Nice To Come Home To." Penn's not bad at all but can't hold a soul patch to Jones. And both are light years better than a woman in a candy apple-red wig who starts keening to the song—until Jones shoots her a look that is probably against the law in half a dozen states. As Aristocrat director Paul Provenza walks by to tip Penn a dollar, I head out, my legs beginning to shake. I really, really need a nap.
Celebs spotted: None;
oddest note: "high heels w/flashing lights inside from Wal-Mart."
June 14, Tangerine at T.I.
No naps. Tangerine is sparsely populated and destined to stay that way. Blame it on the gale-force winds that force the cancellation of the Sirens show or blame it on the weak, little out-of-town filmmakers who simply can't cope with our take-it-for-granted 24-hour Vegas lifestyle. That said, I'm so tired I can barely form coherent sentences and I find myself unable to control the volume of my voice, much like Austin Powers when he gets thawed out. Luckily, I still have my inner monologue. I hope.
The folks who are there seem mellowed out: Terese, the Charlie's Party folks. But as exciting as all that is, I decide to head home after watching one of the burlesque dances. OK, two of the burlesque dances.
Celebs spotted: Does Doug Elfman count?
Oddest note: "miniature Fr & Hal. pastries."
June 15, Skin at the Palms
Wasn't I just here Friday? No matter, I arrive just in time to find out that I missed Ann-Margret being handed an award by Tony Curtis, who was toasted in song by Clint Holmes for his 80th birthday, who was then applauded by Bo Derek. That leaves me with getting the names of the showgirls (Ashlee Wathen, Monet Costea, April Kidwell and Rachael Mortensen, who is also a Weekly Swizzle cover girl). I meet DJ Hollywood and spot Danny and Robin Greenspun and Johnny Brenden.
I head to the Gold Coast and the annual bowling afterparty. It takes over lanes 40 through 69, where I find Geyana Scott, fashion stylist and potential Fox Force 2 member; Amin Muhammad, Vegas.com help-desk manager; and Mark Riva, a music producer working with Geyana, who demonstrates her pipes for me with a few lines of "My Cherie Amour." I make some oh-so-witty cracks about Lane 69 while watching people dance to disco music while lights flash. One guy is bowling backwards and manages to get a strike. Eric Hua, the alley's referee, is chastising folks for running down the lanes and manually knocking over pins.
I put on some shoes and bowl a frame with Terese and Steve Mahone. I'm told I've got an old-school style, which somehow involves me going down on my left knee but my weight resting on my nearly 40-year-old right thigh. I might look good but the results speak for themselves: Steve, 112; Terese, 88; me, 43.
A sonic boom makes me look one lane over where I see programming director Trevor "Cannon Arm" Groth bowling with Susan and Trevor's parents, Deidre and Ray. Trevor has a style that can't be described, only acted out, but it works as he nails three strikes in a row. As I feel my thigh beginning to throb, I decide to head out. It's 3:30 a.m.
Celebs spotted: None.
Oddest note: "Pillow — Sam, Pillow II — Maggie."
June 16, Fremont Street Experience
I finally had a nap. All it took was complete physical exhaustion, cranking the AC to 70 and a beer. I'm feeling somewhat human as I arrive Downtown to yet another huge buffet that I again won't touch because I ate at home. The Sunspots, a vintage Vegas lounge act, is onstage as I await the arrival of 100 Folies Bergere showgirls, part of the Rhonda Fleming Centennial Legend Award. Yes, you read that right. I'm early. Which can mean only one thing. I step in some gum.
Rhonda, Johnny Brenden's step-grandmother, is presented the award, not only in honor of her once being a showgirl at the Trop, but also for starring alongside Burt Lancaster, Kirk Douglas, Gregory Peck, Ingrid Bergman and more. Not only is it touching to see Brenden beaming up at his grandmother, but also to see the excited showgirls—many of them long-retired—enjoying themselves. It's proof that under all the glitz, glamor and silliness of Vegas, there are real people who care for one another. I say as much to Zev Neuwrith, president of Gravure Commitment Jewelry, before we both go back to cracking wise about the Mermaids casino's erotic commercial of a woman eating a deep-fried Twinkie.
Celebs spotted: Dennis Hopper, George Maloof, Gina Gershon;
oddest note: "step and repeat."
June 17, Skin at the Palms
Wasn't I here Friday? Wednesday? I don't know anymore. Any benefits from my nap yesterday have been blown away by another windstorm. I'm reduced to watching the whitecaps in the Skin pool and keeping weight off of my thigh while my well-rested wife shakes hands with Mr. Happiness. Most of the festival crowd make their way into Rain but not the press. I'm not sure who's spinning there but poolside it's Michael Shulman, gossip-monger for Vegas magazine. We chat with Michael Aimette and John Hofmann of Turning Green, and Sylke Finnegan and Michelle Richter of the Golden Nugget, as Carrie, the Minnesota fiancée of a bachlorette party that crashed this soiree, rolls about on a couch. She and her slightly more sober friends Amy and Kathryn have no problems getting into Rain. That's it, I decide. I'm getting that breast-enhancement surgery.
Celebs spotted: Brad Puller, Amityville Horror and Texas Chainsaw Massacre producer, Brittany Holmes, Clint Holmes' daughter, and Brent Holmes, Clint Holmes' son (Brittany is much prettier).
Oddest note: "mermaids look cold."
June 18, Curve at Aladdin
Despite my downplaying of last night's party, it evidently was still fun enough for me to stay out until 3:30 a.m., of which my thigh is intent on reminding me about every five minutes.
It's the festival's wrap party and premiere party for George A. Romero's Land of the Dead. Which goes a long way toward explaining why Terese is on a podium doing her very best zombie go-go dancer. Other zombies wander about, annoying me. Curve is a honeycomb of rooms and having decomposing, slowly moving zombies blocking doorways makes me wish they could decompose a bit faster. But seriously, the party kicks ass. The food is great, the bar is open, dancers are everywhere, and the DJ has spiky hair.
Me? I'm just happy getting a cocktail in an actual glass as opposed to a plastic cup, and looking forward to sleeping in late Sunday, followed by a nap and an early bedtime.
Celebs spotted: George A. Romero, Yvette Brown of TV's I Want To Be a Hilton, Caroline Pierce, star of the upcoming erotic-horror film, Slaughter Disk.
Oddest note: "goosed by Moranda."