Hanging out a few months ago at one of the rooms in the Palms Fantasy Suites tower, I was talking with a pleasant Australian gent. He said his name was Ian and that he worked for CineVegas. I said I work for Las Vegas Weekly, both owned by the Greenspuns. "Do you know the guy who does that party diary every year?" he excitedly asked. "That thing's hilarious! The way he keeps going to every party and gets more and more tired and sick!"
He is me, I said. As the Weekly's appointed nightclub guy, and thanks to my editor's sadistic streak, each year I have to relearn Aristotle's admonition: "Everything in moderation" (yep, I can drink and read).
It's CineVegas. Welcome to my personal hell.
June 9, Ghostbar, Palms
I just can't get used to seeing this place in the daylight. It's about 5 p.m. and I'm in the Palms ultralounge, 55 floors over West Flamingo Road, and it might as well be noon. At night, sure. Packed with partiers, tourists, celebs and strippers, of course. But in the daylight? Just plain weird. I tell this to just about everyone I meet, including the Weekly's club columnist and force behind TheCircuitLV.com, Xania Woodman, who agrees with me, and Quentin Lee, a budding author and screenwriter, who's more concerned with his fear of heights.
Also milling around in the lounge and on the patio are local artist Jennifer Main, her boyfriend Jason Steiner and her gallery manager Larry Wait; Sean Daly with his new bride; and Chelsea Wilson from the Greenspun's weekly newspaper chain, the News Group. Johnny Brendan's there, of course, owner of the Brendan Theatres where the screenings take place; he's wearing a blue tank top, his multiplex muscles bulging. Dennis Hopper, CineVegas chairman, and Danny Greenspun, president of the Greenspun Media Group, are chatting. Trevor Groth, the festival's programming director, wearing what looks to be a fancy pair of bowling shoes (stay tuned for next week, readers, and you'll learn the importance of this detail) delivers a speech, followed by Mark Sternberg of the Hollywood Reporter, which is hosting the spread of great appetizers and drinks.
Damn it! They've got Perrier Jouet! What the hell am I doing drinking Stoli? Well, too late to turn back now.
June 9, Rain, Palms
Yep, I'm still here. After grabbing a quick bite to eat with Xania at Garduño's and attending the screening of Strangers With Candy, I'm waiting outside of the resort's dance club for the line to die down a bit before entering and chatting with 944 editor Matt Keleman and Where magazine editor Jennifer Prosser, proving Rodney King correct in that we all can get along. Matt suddenly realizes he's locked his keys in his car and he leaves to wait for AAA. Jennifer and I enter the club. These two events are completely unrelated.
Inside Rain, a sword juggler and two fire jugglers occupy the dance floor (though not at the same time—that could be messy) as the crowd files in, trying to avoid the stilt-walker dressed as a bird and DJ Samantha Ronson works the turntables. I lead Jennifer to my secret bar with the faster service and then we head over to the main bar where we run into the Las Vegas Sun's John Katsilometes and Weekly sales rep Lance Fronk and his wife, Jee Young.
If you're beginning to think this is some sort of media mash-up, you're right.
Monti Rock is there, because it just wouldn't be a party without him, and a woman walks by, an albino python draped over her shoulders. I get excited, thinking she's a friend of mine, Maria Garva, the Snake Babe. But, after staring into the woman's face for several seconds (which doubtless creeped her out more than any giant reptile could), I realize I'm wrong.
Bobcat Goldthwait walks by. I can't help noting this is his third visit to CineVegas in a row and wonder if he's angling for Dennis Hopper's job. Cast members of Strangers With Candy are hanging out in the main floor's VIP room and I run into club promoter of all things Latin, Mario Guardado.
Back at the bar, local film rep Shawn Lane is handing out tiny pads for Private Phone, a service that apparently sets you up with an unlisted phone number. Now, I'm not saying people are going to use it for having affairs, just that I know I'm going to have some explaining to do to my wife, Biana. Honey, there's the explanation.
Once Biana arrives, we make our way upstairs to one of the club's VIP cabanas where we find GMG sales reps Jeremy Ginsburg and Susan Wallace, with her New Orleans friends Billy and Kristi, and James "Fletch" Fletcher with AOL Vegas. A drink or two later, I pride myself on having the good sense to leave at 1 a.m. After all, tomorrow's another day, and another party.
June 10, Venus, Caesars
I'm not sure what this part of Caesars' pool complex looked like before (it's 5 12 acres, after all), but whatever the resort and Pure Management Group have done with it, it works. A long rectangle of blue water leads up to a red-light-lit bar area, and you just know that's where the crowd is at. Danny and Dennis are there, naturally, as is Skin City author Jack Sheehan, whose rough cut of the film based on his book screened that night. Also there is Ryan E. Alexander—with the law firm Callister & Reynolds that represents The Killers' interim manager, Robert Reynolds—my neighbor at the Strangers with Candy screening.
I run into Jason Leinwand, whose film Wrestling With the Past, is in the festival. He's also in the Sopranos' Last Supper show at Krave nightclub and is there with his fellow cast member Tracilynn Jones. Vegas magazine columnist Michael Shulman is present and accounted for, as are Stevie D., co-owner of PMG, Adam Frank of the W Hotel chain and the Palms' George Maloof. Johnny Brendan is milling about in another tank top, accompanied by his stunning girlfriend, who goes by Diva. Quentin is also there, feeling much more comfortable on solid ground. Everyone's knocking back Glaceau Vitamin Water, Tezon tequila and the latest product from Stoli Vodka: "Blueberi."
Tonight, Biana is with me, and after chatting with Clint Holmes' son, Brent, and his girlfriend, Shannon Agnew, we head over to a semi-vacant cabana. The other occupants are Jacqueline Piñol, star of what seems to be the festival's biggest hit, Danika, and her friend, Los Angeles jazz singer Jonny Blu.
We hear word the party is shifting over to Pure, and leaving behind the models swimming in the pool, Biana and I head over. Along the way, we meet Jacqueline and Jonny's friends, Torilynn and Kamme Jane from Newport Beach. Torilynn and Kamme are in full cowgirl gear, members of a country and western band called the Cactus Corral. Regardless of my surprise that Newport Beach has cowgirls, and presumably some cowboys to match, Torilynn and Kamme hoot and holler up a storm.
At Pure, we again run into Stevie and the indefatigable Alex Cordova, the famous mega-club's director of events and promotions. Pure is packed, as always, and while I learn that Dennis Hopper, Johnny Brendan and George Maloof have one of the exclusive VIP beds, Dennis has apparently just left as we arrived. My first reaction is that it's only 12:30 a.m., for crying out loud. Then I realize that the film legend is 70 years old. Hell, if I can hang at two parties in one night until after midnight when I'm that age, I should either get a medal or a chest to pin it on.