Flipping through my notes, tired eyes squinting, I read: "gold body painted models @ red carpet." Was that the first party? Thinking hurts. Then an image pops up into my head of said half-naked women. Nope, wrong party. More flipping, going backward through pages and cocktail-and-shrimp-fueled nights smeared across my consciousness. God, this is only the fourth day, not even halfway through CineVegas' nine days/nights of parties, I think. Here it is: "showgirl/trade show models in pink body suits < painted on."
Having to rely on which half-naked women were wearing what color body paint to tell one night from another means it's either time to call it quits or order another free drink. We both know what my choice is going to be.
June 19
Flamingo and Las Vegas Boulevard
Party officially started 15 mintues ago and wife and I are stuck in traffic.
More precisely, Biana is stuck in traffic and I'm stuck alongside her, since I have no idea how to drive a stick-shift and have managed to live comfortably with this deficincy for the last eight months. It's opening night party for CineVegas, a film festival that's the baby of Robin Greenspun, who's married to Danny Greenspun, who is my boss' boss' boss' boss. Also the one-year anniversary party for Vegas magazine, co-published by my boss' boss' boss.
Bottom line: No getting drunk.
Casesars Garden of the Gods Pool Oasis
Yegads, is this place huge! Later on, I find out it's 4 1/2 acres, three pools and two spas (thank you, Google!), but it feels twice that size. At the foot of the entrance's steps are Ruth and Ryan, twins they tell me, both blond and tall and thin and with nothing but pigment covering their torsos and I guess it must be a cool night but I'm keeping my eyes firmly on theirs. Eyes. I really wish Biana were with me but this is no-spouse allowed, and to my credit I'm not really looking that close because I first think the body paint is some sort of skin-tight fabric.
The Sun's Tim McDarrah rescues me from myself (What do you ask half-naked, twin-sister models? "What's your major?"). Tim introduces me to Larry Edwards, who plays Tina Turner in La Cage over at the Riv. Now I'm back in my element, having spent the last four years in San Francisco. Tim and I are both impressed that Larry's lei is made from real flowers—nothing fake there.
The party is truly astounding, if only for its size. There are go-go dancer of both kinds (real and implants); shiny, new Caddys of every sort scattered about; the requisite miles of gourmet food (why'd I have that burger at Applebee's earlier?); and bars overflowing with high-end liquor and champagne.
Oh yeah, there are filmmakers, too. Along with the 12 editions of bundled glossy paper, this party is about them. They're pretty overwhelmed. Mitchell Altieri, writer and director of Lurking in Suburbia, asks if all Vegas parties are like this and I have to say "kinda." It's like Mark McGwire: it might be natural, it might be on steroids, but either way, it's still impressive. Mitchell and I have lived in the same towns (San Francisco an Petaluma), so we compare notes and jokes. He makes me promise to call him next time I'm there so we can go for drinks.
No one falls into any of the pools and I can't find anyone making out in the bushes. At midnight, it's over, and it's off to the Algiers, where my long-suffering but wonderful wife is waiting with friends.
Celebs spotted: Daisy Fuentes giving a speech; George Wallace's back walking away from me; Miss February 1999 Stacy Fuson (our HR director's favorite Playboy bunny of all time) and Miss August 2001 Jennifer Walcott; some Sopranos people (I don't have HBO); Doug Elfman (does he count?); the Scintas; Josh Duhamel surrounded by all sorts of pretty young things; Frank Marino; Clint Holmes.
Oddest note: "Snackus Maximus"
June 20
Whiskey Beach, Green Valley Ranch
Another pool, another chance for people to fall in, another night of me going home disappointed. Biana is with me this time, which automatically makes this party 100 times better than Caesars, despite it being smaller. It's hosted by Premiere magazine and the free cocktail is called Dig, made with Ciroc and Hpnotiq, an addictive combination for both of us. A small red carpet is flanked by half-naked models covered in gold paint. Like every heterosexual male, my first thought is: "That's how Goldfinger killed that girl!" Second thought is: "Boobies!" Being a guy, I'm then distracted by one of three ice sculptures with fire coming out of their tops. "Ice! Fire!"
There are several events going on, including the Maxim Hot 100 party and Lili Claire Foundation fund-raiser, which help explains the small turn-out.
Plus, someone tells me that there's some sort of film thingy going on in town.
We meet a trio of guys from the Silver Lake Film Festival on LA's east side. Christo Dimassis, Roger Mayer and Greg Ptacek are on the prowl, looking for fresh celluloid. We talk about what movies have buzz, what's involved with putting on a festival, what's up with Vegas real estate, and if Danny Greenspun going to show. Then Biana mentions she works for a mortgage company and Roger excitedly says he used to work in finance and Christo and I roll our eyes.
Celebs spotted: Bobcat Goldthwait looking like an emaciated bird of prey; a flash of Nikki Cox stepping over a velvet rope (stupid, distracting ice sculptures!); Josh Duhamel surrounded by pretty young things; Perry Caravello, Don Barris and Tony Barbieri screaming and laughing into a TV camera; Michael T. Weiss.
Oddest note: "strawberries in choc tuxes"
June 13
Crustacean and Prana
For some reason, this party starts at 10 p.m., but arriving early means no wait at the bar (free Vinuva wine and apple martinis served in urine-sample cups) and no wait for food. I've finally arrived at a party hungry and Biana and I fill up our plates and grab a booth. We're sooned joined by our Silver Lake pals as Clint Holmes, Gordie Brown, Cook E. Jar, Penn Jillette, and other notables blast the restaurant and club. Christo and Roger introduce us to Ivan Barron Van Norman (honest, that's his name), a filmmaking student from Orange County. After Ivan explains his movie—a zombie western—we're joined by film critic Judy Thorburn, her husband, Stephen, and Kelly Hohman, a new Cher impersonator in town. Ivan gets introduced to her, and to Trevor Groth, CineVegas programming director. I'm not sure who Ivan was more excited about meeting, but I last saw him chatting with Kelly.
Celebs spotted: Dennis Hopper looking much smaller than I imagined; Josh Duhamel surrounded by pretty young things.
June 14
La Contessa, Lake Las Vegas south dock
Again, we're early but that's because a CineVegas-related Q&A in town wrapped up late. The lake, the community, the yacht—everything is gorgeous. Belly dancers mill around, as do Maria "Snake Babe" Gara and her husband, Steve. I interviewed Maria, an honest-to-gosh snake handler, a while back and introduce Biana to them. We spend far too much time chatting, and for me, drinking a delicious mango-vodka cocktail, before having the best Middle-Eastern food I've ever had—and I once spent a summer making falafels for a demanding Israeli. Upstairs, in the portside aft or something like that, Jeff Ecker, the man behind Paymons and The Hookah Lounge, is puffing away on mango tobacco and praising the passing women, while downstairs, I try and explain the disaster that was the San Francisco Examiner to Elvis Mitchell, ex-Timesman. The too-short voyage ends with Maria passing out glow ropes to anyone who wants a helicopter ride back to the Strip. Me! Then I hand it back. Damnit, we live on just the other side of Sunrise Mountain and we drove. Well, Biana drove.