Finally, here’s the Las Vegas scoop. The story always loses steam over time. We’ll see how I do now.
Heidi and I cruised into Las Vegas on Thursday (Mar 2) for a long-planned kick back weekend. I think the highlight was dancing on the bar at Pink Taco next to Paris Hilton with my skirt over my head. Then some chubby tan guy named Sal asked me if I wanted to sit in his lap. Just kidding.
The only thing that would have made it 100% perfect would have been pool weather. But it was 60’s and I was outside without a coat which was good enough for me.
Heidi and I used to hang out in the 80’s rocker daze so this was like the Return to Greatness Tour. HA. More like the Can We Stay Up Past Our Bedtime? Tour.
I asked if she might want to stop by the Hard Rock or would that be too cheezy? And she said, “The cheezier, the better. Maybe there’s a band playing.”
So I check out their website and turns out, The Cult is playing on Friday night. Could we possibly be so lucky? We saw the Cult back in 1990 at the Universal Amphitheater.
Friday night we’re standing in line at the Hard Rock. A woman came up to Heidi and asked what we were standing in line for. Heidi: The Cult. The Woman: SHUT UP! I totally saw them in college.”
Show was sold out. We plodded along in a line that stretched around the casino. We pass a guy with a broom who is sweeping up a broken beer glass by a machine. The patron plays on, barely lifting his feet. I tell Heidi I saw a guy at our hotel who won 14,000 on nickel slots. We try to figure out how much this is. Not as impressive as it sounds. But, better than a sharp stick in the eye.
The line drags beyond time. Arrogant attorneys behind us. (“If he was smarter, he wouldn’t be a cab driver in Vegas.”) Everyone at Hard Rock looks like someone. I see a Bono-be, a Nikki Sixx-be, a David Spade-be (?, yeah, I know). The attorneys tell a story about the bar at the Hard Rock at 4am. It’s all high class call girls and super desperate men. One guy asks if they try to kick out the call girls and the other guy says, they’re like cockroaches. You step on one and three more come in.
We finally get into the club and zoom toward the front of the stage. We both have earplugs. This is how far we have come.
Above the stage is a sign that says: Humanity is Instrumental.
If anyone knows what that means, please email me.
There are huge screens up by the stage and Verizon is kindly hosting text messaging to the screen. Damn! Why haven’t I signed up for this? What could I get away with? The crowd is an odd assortment of the rote alpha male in uniform: jeans, starched buttoned shirt, untucked, and short hair spiked with product. 90% of the men in Vegas look like parodies of men in Vegas. A good number of women in absurdly tight pants, low waist with muffin top bulging over. There are goths with clove cigarettes, men with strange beard configurations. Not a lot of Heidi and me “we were actually there 16 years ago” types — but a few.
The band finally rolls out and to be honest, for the first 5 minutes it’s pretty Spinal Tap. The guys look like, “Fuk, I’m here to pay the rent.”
That spazzy girl that’s at every show is in front of us, pumping her fist with her now flabby tricep, flipping her hair and turning back to mouth the words to us. I wish I’d killed her 20 years ago when I had the chance. A guy with no hair grabs her ass.
The band comes to life after a few songs and the show is drop dead awesome. I remember almost every song. A highlight of the weekend. The only Cult I own is on vinyl. Maybe I’ll download that instant Cult show from the Internet.
Most of the weekend was spent wandering around shopping and finding food. We bought Heidi a pair of Dansko’s, the best shoes known to woman. Did you know there’s a store in LV that sells 4 floors of crap with M&Ms on it? And it was PACKED? Even George Lucas has sold his soul to the devil/M&M and you can find stuff with Jedi M&M’s (which admittedly, was kind-of cool). Also in the Aladdin shops they have a “show” which is a rain storm and I actually stood there and waited for it and watched it. Seriously. Like I can’t do that at home?
Later we made a new friend. We stopped for a refreshing adult beverage and met a charming Irishman at the bar.
We had a good visit. It was his first visit to the States. We had a great conversation, not interesting enough to summarize here but I will say that at one point he told us that they call Condi, “daughter of Chuckie.” HILARIOUS. I can’t wait to visit Ireland.
I broke even. Better luck next time.
