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.