party

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PICS & VIDS

Girls, gambling, and guns. That pretty summed up Steve’s bachelor party, which Dan organized like a champ. It was easily the best Vegas trip I’ve made, although I actually saw very little of Vegas. It is still, to me, the quintessential heart of the Americana. The excess and pregnancy, wrapped in thick curtains of cigarette smoke, bespeaks the packaged American dream. It is a romantic place, and by romantic I refer to the zeitgeist of emotions over social conformity, the classic romance. Greed, lust, gluttony, in omnigrade amnesia, artificial, yet so good. After all, Vegas is a consensual place.

I was lucky enough to meet many of Steve’s friends whom I’ve never known, and I knew kin when I saw it. They were awesome people, from whom I felt privileged to rob money from at Hold’em. In the middle of the weekend, Saturday night, we even met up with Cindy’s side, the eleven girl doppelgangers to our ten. We went to club Tao in the Venetian (where we stayed) and it was a cool joint. I’m not much for clubbing, at least not that kind of clubbing, but it was fun. The other kind of clubbing, however, was damn fun, although I wasn’t able to bring back enough stories to get Xstine jealous. She had spent the weekend oogling at her Korean soaps man.

I miss Vegas already. I especially miss the old Strip, the cheesy neon vines that draped what was popular in the 80’s. Today’s Strip, while brighter, was made of LCD displays and yuppie casino resorts with high minimum bets designed to milk your money as fast as possible. Touristy. While Vegas has always been about spectacle, it seems some of the charm and nostalgia is creeping away. One observation explains it all: slot machines were uncomfortably silent until I realized that inserting coins was archaic, and game cards with digital readouts were rendering the excitement mute.

Anyways, the trip marks an important point for Steve, and I echo Freddy’s thoughts that “I learned a lot” on this trip. To me, it was astonishing how people so various and unconscious of each other can be brought together so smoothly through one person. It’s almost fractal how these friendships begin their cycles as Steve and Cindy’s peaks and transforms. Can there be a better argument for consensual excess? Should there even be one against? Sin city has the answers, and you’ll have to lose yourself there to find out.

P.S. The deagle is FUCKING AWESOME.

I've sent out eVites to all those I think would be able to make a housewarming party at our place Jan. 21st. If I missed anyone, and you'll be around, lemme know! We'll be decked out in costumes to hit up Guitar Hero while munching burgers. I'm thinking Gruyere-stuffed, hickory smoked, and splashed with Texas Roadhouse worcheshire sauce.

Speaking of the mighty game that is Guitar Hero, I'm nearly done with Hard mode, having just beat Bark at the Moon but still stuck on Cowboys From Hell. My arm gets brutalized halfway through that song, and my respect for the late Dimebag Darrell and the rest of Pantera bootstraps even as I sleep.

We also bought a Shun Elite santoku knife, MSRP $189.99, and the apples on our counter were literally quivering as I brought it out of its custom case and threw in the instructional mini-CD. I'll have a better review later, after I've hacked at everything in sight, but I think my cutlery addiction has been momentarily sated. It's made me a virgin samurai, as I live but three minutes from the Japanese market where the modern descendants of Edo buy their Engrished porn- "I Want Fuck You, Sister" comes to mind.