Wednesday, February 14, 11:58 p.m.
This time last year I was at the Romance lounge at the top of the Stratosphere having a tearful Valentine's Day blowout with my then-boyfriend. I now call it the Spat at the Strat, a sort of amorous rumble in the jungle that was quickly forgiven but in the long run, never really forgotten. As Liza with a Z says, maybe this time? I'm not gunning for the Weekly's sex-columnist gig, but on nights like this ... one can afford to be a little introspective.
V is also for V Bar, which is where on Valentine's Day I go to distract myself by celebrating a few of the things I heart, like fashion, cocktails, art, people-watching and good music. Midnight Snack is a mash-up of all these things. "We're making it up as we go along," says Douglas Gibbs, as he rolls in the pedestal on a dolly. It's been five weeks since he and fellow resident DJ Jason Lema relocated their popular Midnight Snack event from Firefly tapas restaurant to the Venetian's venerable V Bar. At one point there was food, too, but the smoking ban has done away with the chocolate truffles that put the Snack in Midnight Snack. "It's kind of ironic how it turned out like that," observes GM Hilarie Sandoval.
The lights come up slightly, and Joey da Juice begins to spin a more ambient set as the first of the models begins her walk through the crowd, is helped up on the provided pedestal by her handsome wrangler, then down to the DJ booth and back again. Tru Talent has provided the models tonight and Glam Boutique the fashions, most of which feature large metal appliqués over mod micro-dresses. The slender being cuts a wide swath through the crowd, making sure everyone gets a gander. As this is an equal opportunity show, one male model, bald and bold, takes a flying leap onto the portable runway, and it skids for one breathless moment as a wave of "Whoa!" washes over the crowd. Behind them, five pieces of artist Jada Fire's work are displayed and have already brought in numerous offers. Perhaps inspired by her sensual photos and paintings, couples begin making out here and there, one confident stallion going so far as to grab two handfuls of his own butt for the amusement of the ladies in his booth; they whinny and neigh in approval. Percussionist Cayce Woody takes the cue and starts in on the first of his three sets. Organically, the crowd gravitates to the front of the DJ rig, and I'm torn between watching the next fashion show and the herky-jerky moves of the sneakered dancers with their MAGIC convention credentials still whipping around their necks as they battle to DJ Frenchy's energetic, uplifting house set. On the dance floor it's like mating season for the fashion and music industries.
Today has already been a battle between red and black, holiday and anti-holiday. In my closet earlier the question was to wear red or black (black). My Valentine is working tonight (black). On her way out, Jada kisses me (red) ... on my eye (black). A gent at the bar asks if he can buy me a drink in honor of the holiday (red!). "You're in Vegas!" he says, as if to congratulate me. I don't have the heart to tell him I live here—every day is a holiday!
Xania Woodman thinks globally and parties locally. And frequently. E-mail her at
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