Saturday, May 26, 11:49 p.m.
Ever wonder what 4,500 drunk people look like from the air? High above the Palms’ Pool & Bungalows complex in the Hugh Hefner suite, I have a bunny’s-eye view of the proceedings below, which look something like the ants that have set up housekeeping in my backyard. Upon closer inspection down at the pool, unlike the ants, these revelers all carry frosty beers and drinks in defense of the searing heat radiating from the still-warm pavement.
Just the day before, more than 3,500 people packed Ditch Fridays (a vast majority from Southern California), gratefully ushering in Memorial Day weekend with every toast and each splash in the pool. Tonight, the pool is vacant and elegantly lit deepest blue, with pillow-sized sunflowers floating on the surface, clustering in the corner like a hippie bouquet. The Summer of Love three-day festival of DJs, scantily dressed women and psychedelic tie-dye has been set against the backdrop of Sin City by Playboy and John Huntington and Damian Sanders of Pimp ’N’ Ho and Club Rubber infamy.
Friday night at Playboy was deceptively calm early on. “I thought this was Friday night, Memorial Day weekend, but I guess not,” said one brazen bartender. During a discussion about fake boobs being built for pleasure or speed—I had to have it spelled out for me—I didn’t notice the room as it was steadily filling, 4 Real giving way to DJ Danny Love at midnight. “Summer of Love attire highly suggested,” read one ad, which explains the profound number of ladies sporting fuzzy bunny ears.
Upstairs at Moon, the roof was retracted and green lasers zipped through the escaping smoke. The Funkler (aka N9NE Group corporate director of marketing Michael Fuller) worked on his set with DJ Donald Glaude following fast on his heels. And in the VIP room, the Freak Wall—an expanse of mosaic tile that just beckons to be, well, freaked!—was in full swing with couples and ladies striking poses that screamed, “As soon as I get you through the door, that shirt is history!”
Moving inside Rain tonight from the pool, Beej is spinning with Eddie Halliwell on deck and Charles Feelgood coming on after. The stage has been transformed into a candy-colored assemblage of stripper poles and more giant flowers, with the DJ in the center of the action. Love-In Massive, as the night is called, looks like an Easter basket, or perhaps a tacky college dorm room. In other words, goal achieved. Ladies in tiny white skirts writhe in earnest and enjoy the fans that blow those skirts up to their diamond-studded navels.
Sunday afternoon, that stage has been broken down and relocated to the pool where DJ Dave Aude keeps the party going. A giant beach ball the size of a VW Bug makes the rounds. No one has slept, but sunglasses do wonders to hide the dark circles. “When it’s a holiday and you see everyone partying, I get a second wind,” says VIP host Pasquale Romano, who worked ’til 5:30 a.m. and was back at the Palms at 9 a.m.
It’s an ideal pool day, but I’m hiding out in the Right Gin cabanas, preaching my message that pale is the new tan, arguing the finer points of bikinis with the puckered, rusched bottoms (look ma, no wedgie!) and the fact that there should be an application process for wearing a G-string. Cedric Gervais takes over at 5:30 p.m., his heavy, housey beats setting the crowd off all over again, one final push. The pool explodes with splashing, sending tidal waves crashing onto the towels and flip-flops. As the sun begins its final approach toward the mountains to a slow, dirty remix of “Tainted Love,” I ask one hard-bodied pool-goer how his Saturday night was. He dips his shades to reveal a pair of sinister, bloodshot eyes. “It’s still going!”
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at [email protected] and visit thecircuitlv.com to sign up for Xania’s free weekly newsletter.