Tuesday, April 22, 11:30 p.m.
Just four days away from my 30th birthday, I’m feeling rather old. Not quite as old as dirt, but old. It’s dirt’s birthday tonight, in fact, and in an odd twist of marketing, it’s to Moon I go to celebrate Earth Day.
Every second party these days seems to be celebrating the birthday of someone, whether we care or not. Pop stars, reality-TV stars, actors and Playboy Bunnies—all are cashing in on their image for cool cakes and a little attention on their birthday. That is, if “a little attention” means full-page glossy ads and a brief period of time spent at the top of some club’s marketing agenda. My own very public nightclub birthday will be May 5 at CatHouse. Yes, when you’re feeling as old as dirt, a little attention is nice.
I wonder how Mother Earth is feeling about her birthday attention. At 4.5 billion years plus one, suddenly 30 isn’t looking so bad! The Nevada Conservation League—the political branch of the conservation community, which endorses, helps to elect and holds accountable conservation-friendly candidates—has a table set up outside Moon’s entrance. But it’s not all for show. Every $5 donation made tonight buys the benefactor a drink ticket. If you do the math, that’s not a bad deal. I’m not the only one who thought so; $5,000 will be raised tonight for the NCL’s efforts.
Nursing a dirty martini next to the DJ booth inside Moon’s Satellite Bar, DJ Jack Lafleur is getting amped up for his set while I chat with his sort-of mentor, Daniel Sahlin (Jack: “He gave me my DJ training wheels”), recently back in town and thinking of stepping back behind the wheels again himself. Jack slips an advance copy of his three-CD set, Trilogy, into my hands and then goes to work.
The club staff seems relieved to be out of their uniforms and into breathable organic cotton American Apparel T-shirts that declare, “Green is the new black.” I collect a fistful of tonight’s fliers, which were printed on Lotka paper made from the bark of the Daphne bush. According to the staff, if I plant the flier, flowers will grow.
Nightclubs are by their very nature guilty of tree abuse, printing between 5,000 and 20,000 fliers per week or per event to get the word out. The fliers end up everywhere except the recycling bin—on sidewalks, on cars and eventually soggy wet on the bar the night of the event before they make their way to the garbage.
Another club even gave me a briefcase containing thousands of fliers. It was meant to look like money for a cute promotion, but with 40 of us receiving these cases, was it really worth all that?
N9NE Group, on the other hand, is going green, offsetting 100 percent of the total calculated carbon dioxide emissions associated with its annual electricity, refrigerant and natural gas use in 2007 and 2008 for six of its venues at the Palms (including Moon). That’s like planting more than 19,000 trees. Just then I spot another flier on Jack’s table and shove it into my purse with the others. Doing my part, I’ll plant flowers.
At 12:05 a.m., Jack is just warming up, but the room has completely filled in, and the space in front of his rig has become a dance floor. Tonight he’s just a guest, but Jack is finally starting to spread himself around town a little, though strategically, now doing a Thursday afterhours at Drai’s called After Life in addition to his Sundays in Body English’s Parlor and his return (though solely as a DJ) to his home at Rehab. As one Hard Rock staffer put it, “Jack is back!”
Getting into Jack’s set, Daniel begins to dance a little and jabs one finger into the air rhythmically. “If I use one finger, I like it. If I use two fingers, I really like it! I’m giving respect to the DJ.” A harder track comes on; I’m guessing it’s something closer to his Swedish taste in house. Daniel’s second finger flies up into the air.