Friday, May 6, 9 p.m., N9NE Steakhouse. It's loud. It's school-cafeteria loud. The décor is sleek and contemporary, with nothing soft to absorb the sound except maybe the fluffy baked potatoes. Equally hard, enhanced bodies of both the local and imported varieties mill about in attractive clusters. The long, rectangular bar is three deep on all sides, but as luck would have it, someone is abandoning their suede couch and we hungrily fall upon it. When our crab-stuffed 'shrooms and calamari with banana-pepper relish arrive, I swoon and poise to dive in.
Fork midair, I am informed by a very apologetic busser (he actually looks frightened) that Senor George Maloof is in the room and does not want us to eat seated at a cocktail table; we must dine at the bar. We all pivot at the neck to scope out the bar, which is now like a scene from Cocktail. Bartender Rian, who I'm pleased to report does bear a striking resemblance to Mr. Cruise, has assembled a coven of bewitching women—they lean far over the bar to order, coyly displaying their wares. Char, the new girl, is on her third day and is holding down the male contingency with stunning efficiency, keeping them ordering just so they may speak with the bubbly blonde beauty.
I turn back to the busser and challenge, "If you can find us a place at that bar, we will stand and eat." And damn it if he doesn't find us a spot ... inconveniently located in the middle of someone else's conversation. Our new neighbors are not happy with us and we feel somewhat self-conscious, but the appetizers and a glass of chilled sauvignon blanc smooth out all the wrinkles. We return to our cozy seats, sigh, and remark that we could stay here all night, enjoying the toned, tanned, upwardly mobile scenery, but alas, we have an appointment at the top of the world.
It may be spring in Vegas but at the top of the Palms, Ghostbar is locked in a chilly, windy winter. No matter, plenty of brave souls from Anytown, USA, have ventured up and out to listen to the funky mixture of rock, hip-hop, mash-ups and '80s music.
As is the custom, all seating is set aside for those possessing a raging desire for bottle service, or those like me, who are breaking in new shoes and pretending to contemplate bottle service just to get off their feet. The crowd is more diverse in age than downstairs but is straight-up tourist. A friend will later tell me that when the Palms' new Playboy-themed tower opens, they expect to boost locals attendance and finally be rid of the touristy stigma that has settled over the place since The Real World catapulted the place to household name status.
It is on the Ghostbar patio that I unexpectedly find entertainment. There is a hole cut into the patio floor with a Plexiglas panel, conveniently giving guests a glimpse of their potential fall into oblivion. I both giggle and wince watching a group from Not-Around-Here try to see how many people they can fit onto it before it gives while Bowie's "Under Pressure" plays in the background. When the elevator arrives to take us downstairs, we are engulfed by a fresh wave of new arrivals bedecked in Bedazzled bachelorette gear.
At our final stop, the enormous Rain nightclub, DJ ROB is spinning much the same sound track as Ghostbar but with a slightly greater emphasis on hip-hop and the occasional refreshing slip into house. The music strikes me with a resounding "eh?" but I shake my bum with everyone else to Gwen Stefani and the other top-40 staples. All around me, smiling tourists are getting exactly what they paid for: hot music, fire-spitting aerial displays, and the sheer size of the room. They are shelling out car payments to sit in the swanky water booths, comparing notes on what they recall from The Real World, and fighting bleached tooth and manicured nail to get up to the well-guarded third floor. Me, I'm just tucking into my glass of champagne and letting the pleasant party storm rage around me. All is as it should be on a busy Friday night in Vegas, but I feel like a voyeur, spying on their bachelorette party, their 21st birthday, their boys' night out. Tonight, as a local, I'm a rare bird in a very big, very shiny, very popular cage.
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at
[email protected].
Thursday, May 12
Drenched Thursdays at Rain, featuring DJ Scooter of San Diego
Tease at The Pussycat Dolls Lounge
Saturday, May 14
No. 7 DJ in the world, Christopher Lawrence at Ice
Sunday, May 15
Sign-ups for the D-Cup Caddy Girl Contest at the Green Valley Ranch Station Casino pool. Ladies, register poolside from 2 -6 p.m. and receive a goodie bag, a free facial peel and maybe even a breast augmentation (if you're into that sort of thing)
Beauty Bar opens to the public Downtown with El Vez performing
Monday, May 16
Chi at the MGM's Teatro, featuring Chicago house pioneers Jesse Saunders and Rory Mack
Tuesday, May 17
Tuesdays at Ghostbar featuring DJs Five and Create
Coming soon:
the return of Skinny Dip Tuesdays at the Skin Pool Lounge at the Palms. This year, swimming will be allowed and encouraged.
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