Alan Ilagan

The amazing sculptures of Richard MacDonald, as seen at the Bellagio.

The surprise for Kim went off without a hitch (no thanks to the ineptitude of the staff at the Tao). I had called them twice about insuring that the reservations were for three, but that one guest was a surprise who would arrive shortly after they were seated. I had them write it as part of the reservation that they were to only mention TWO people when they arrived.

After checking in at The Venetian, the first place I stopped was Tao, to go over the plan in person, and to again make sure that they only mentioned a reservation for two when seating Kim and JoAnn. The woman at the desk even added another special note to the reservation, so I was confident that if we had kept the secret to this point, the surprise was all but insured.

So what does the hostess say when Kim and JoAnn arrive? “Reservations for 3, correct?” To which JoAnn quickly says, “No, only 2.” Thanks Tao. Fortunately, Kim didn’t even notice, and when I showed up at the table we got the jaw-dropping reaction that we had waited months to see.

Tao more than made up for its blunder with the dinner – which would be the finest we had during our stay in Vegas. I tried the Chilean sea bass for the first time in my life – and I don’t think I can have any other fish from now on. It melted in the mouth, perfectly rendered with a light seasoning that served only to highlight the succulent meat. I didn’t even notice what Kim and JoAnn were having, so enamored was I with the sea bass.

After dinner, we strolled a bit along the strip, but with the heat, and the onslaught of jet lag, we called it an early night. Any notion of late-night partying and gambling in Vegas flew out the balcony-less window.

{The Venetian at Las Vegas}

I am sitting in V Bar at the Venetian, my subtly-scented home for the next few days. It is my first drink in Las Vegas – a grapefruit cocktail concocted by the bartender upon my request. Not too sweet, but not too terribly tart. The day is hot. As luck, and poor planning, would have it, Las Vegas has had three consecutive days of record-breaking heat (think 110 degrees) that looks to continue for the duration of my stay. On a good day, I hate the heat. When it gets to the high 80’s I’m uncomfortable. In the 90’s, I’m miserable. And in the 100’s, there’s no telling what atrocities I’ll inflict on an unsuspecting public.

Everyone told me not to worry – that this is a dry heat, not as sticky. Well, everyone is full of shit. 104 degrees is still 104 degrees – dry, wet, or soaked in gin. This is the kind of heat that hits you in the face as soon as you leave an air conditioned area. It’s difficult to describe if you’ve never been in it. Most of us have had that hot summer day moment in a city, when a bus or subway train stops in front of you, and the intense heat from the engine hits you right in the face, and it’s awful. Then the bus or train moves along and there’s the relief of coolness immediately afterward. Well, imagine that intense heat around you ALL THE TIME. It is relentless, it is energy-draining, and it literally left me with a headache after a few minutes of walking around outside. Still, Las Vegas, or so I was told, is not about what’s outside, but what is in…

After touching down at the airport and getting an initial thrill from seeing the Strip right there – big, bold and brash in the midst of the desert, and then watching it get bigger and bigger as we approached, my first impression was that it was, actually, largely unimpressive. It had immensity, it had bold, bright neon colors, but mostly it had the blatantly hollow and unmistakable air of FAKE to it. There was nothing real or authentic here – and while that may be the whole point of Vegas, it’s something I could never quite reconcile.

What’s the point of recreating Paris or New York or the canals of Venice (and all pretty badly) and pretending it’s beautiful, or even an approximate version of the real thing? And why would anyone come to the desert to see such a theme park? The same notion of paltry imitation I felt from Epcot Center as a kid is back again in adult form. Or supposed adult form, as the baby carriages and screaming children were rampant everywhere we went. Someone once likened Las Vegas to a Disneyworld for adults, and I can see that. Though as someone who never fully loved the Disneyworld experience as a kid, I was similarly underwhelmed here.

A word on the accommodations: The Venetian Las Vegas, and its sister property The Palazzo, are, on the surface, pretty enough. They’ve done their best to recreate the charm of Venice, from the Gondola rides (at $16 a pop, and electronically-guided) to the baroquely-gilded ceilings and archways, painted garishly in Renaissance-like scenery. The grand hallway off the lobby is a sight to behold, as is the immense scope and size of the front courtyard, but it rings of emptiness, of façade.

As for the room itself, it was billed as a full-on suite, and it was. My sixth-floor location looked onto the roof of the rest of the Venetian complex, and not much else, so any stunning vista of the strip was a world away, replaced by endless vents and ducts and fans. When I checked in I had asked for a higher floor so I could take photos and do them a little promotional favor, but they weren’t having it.

Browsing the pamphlets on the hotel desk, I read that they recently received another 5-diamond AAA award, which seemed at odds with the two blown light bulbs in the bathroom and hallway, as well as the electrical outlet which the front desk tells me to simply reset, as it occasionally goes out. The holes in the pillowcases were disappointing, as were a few questionable stains on the couch, but those are nit-picky items – just unexpected for all the five-star billing that they’re so keen on advertising.

Overlooking all of that, I was determined to have fun, and to surprise my birthday mate Kim. The whole point of this trip was to meet up with JoAnn and Kim, and surprise the latter for her birthday. JoAnn and I hatched the surprise dinner at Tao a few weeks ago. We weren’t sure we could do it – a secret like that is too good to keep – but after putting an embargo on all things Vegas in FaceBook and my website, and only telling a few close friends of our plan, we looked set to pull it off. I dabbed on some of Tom Ford’s ‘Italian Cypress’ cologne – hey, when at the Venetian… and made my way down to V Bar to await the appointed moment.

Next to me, a woman with a 20’s-style bob, decked out in a sparkling, spaghetti-strap sequin dress, sits next to a man whom I assume is her husband, and whose outfit pales in comparison (a rather touristy striped polo shirt and khakis). I wonder if she is the slightest bit disappointed – her face is made-up perfectly, a slash of dark lipstick matches the severity of her bob. Her black earrings sparkle, catching what little light surrounds us.

The bartender has made an admirable effort, so I stay for one more drink before joining the girls at Tao. From the tray of nuts he has placed before me, I take a single walnut. It reminds me of Gram – and there, in a strange city, by myself at the bar, this melancholy memory makes me feel even more alone.

There is an exquisite joy – and sometimes grave pain – in being out of one’s element in a land far from home.

Everyone expected me to go completely crazy in Las Vegas – part of me even thought it might happen. Vague premonitions of uncomfortable jail-cels and ribald bald men hung dimly on the horizon, while more practical plans to only carry a modicum of cash on me at any one time were set in motion. Yet deep down I knew I wouldn’t get carried away.

Here’s the thing: when I’m in Boston or somewhere I know well, I can afford to get a little crazy and out of control. When I have someone else with me, watching and seeing that I don’t forget my man clutch or camera, I can let go and let loose. When I’m in a new city or a place I don’t know, and on my own, I have to be somewhat responsible and in charge of my senses. While I had JoAnn and Kim with me some of the time, I was staying alone, and couldn’t go totally crazy. So I didn’t – and it made for a much better trip. No lost hangover days, no groggy mornings, and no regret.

It may make for less exciting reading on your part, so I’ve interspersed a few shower shots for supplemental entertainment. See, I was thinking of you the entire time… And without further ado, here are my misadventures in Las Vegas…

While I’m at play in Las Vegas, the weekend will be stocked with posts promoting the upcoming ‘StoneLight’ online premiere. It will be loaded into The Projects page come September, and will kick off the Fall season on www.ALANILAGAN.com.

If you have no interest in my promotional nonsense, or black-and-white photography, or male nudity, then allow me to kindly direct you to click away from here until next Monday, when we’ll be back with a bang-up Madonna Timeline featuring the first Madonna song I remember. However, if gravestones and gratuitous male nudity are your thing, stick around…

For my virgin visit to Vegas, I’ll be staying at the Venetian. They teased me with the shopping, enticed with the gondolas, gave me pause with the wax museum, but had me at the suites. Having read a number of hotel reviews (especially those in the New York City area), I’m always struck by those travelers who claim their accommodations aren’t that important because they only intend to sleep there. I am the complete opposite – as I get older, I find the place where I’m sleeping is the most important part of a vacation, and it can make or break whether the trip is a good one or not.

Like real estate, it also comes down to location, location, location – and while anywhere on the strip may be a good location, there are differences – or so I’ve been told – between a place like the Bellagio and a place like Circus Circus. I’m in no place to make a judgment call until I get there and compare for myself, but I trust my friends. So for now, I’m ensconced at the Venetian. A more complete review on it will follow upon my return.

When it came to packing for Las Vegas, I was presented with a conundrum: 100 plus degree heat and industrial-strength air conditioning. Two extremes that demanded some nifty fashion foot-work. Like the two sides of Vegas – seedy, trashy, dirty, sleazy raunch versus upscale, clean, chic and stylish flair – it would be difficult to reconcile how to keep one’s cool while looking hot.

The only thing I knew to do was follow in the foot-steps of the King.

Blue suede shoes. That’s all I got. The rest is up for grabs.