Viva Las Vegas, Part 3

Perversions & Pizza

Say, why not buy me a coffee -> https://account.venmo.com/u/Kevidently

“But I want to ride the gondola.” Was I whining? I might have been whining. We were inside The Grand Canal Shoppes and I was feeling a little punchy. You see, Vegas is enormous and everything is themed and confusing and neon, and so when we found our way inside the mall? plaza? casino? of the Grand Canal Shoppes, I was fairly certain we would never find our way out again. Jeff was thrilled because it was packed with atmospheric architecture, one of my favorite design styles. That’s where it looks like the outside when you’re really inside, and it’s especially effective at night. We were ostensibly looking for the Atomic Saloon show, a bawdy and ribald Western-style show Jeff didn’t know if I was going to like, but it was hidden in the bowels of the Shoppes and the gondola had caught my eye.

“It goes from inside here to the outside! Isn’t that neat?”

“Kevin, it’s not $75 neat.” He paused. “Wait, that’s $75 per person.” He paused. “Wait, that’s $75 per person unless you don’t want to sit with strangers. If it’s just us, it’s like double.”

The logic was sound but I was still put out. “I mean, I guess.”

This is when Jeff pointed out that we were going to Japan later this year, and that at Disney, they had a gondola bundled in, and it was a lot longer and a lot cooler than this thing. I capitulated, only because Jeff found us a Starbucks and I was finally able to eat something. Gluten-free was not exactly impossible to find in Vegas, but it was somewhat elusive. Speaking of whining: this was the first non-Disney, non-cruise ship trip I’d taken since my diagnosis, and I’m still not over the feeling that I’m being an asshole when I’m asking for assistance so my stomach doesn’t kill me. (And that’s not really hyperbole. Celiac isn’t like being sensitive to gluten. You don’t really get cheat days. It will literally kill me if I eat too much. It’s fun to be me!)

Hunger slaked, we finally made it to the Atomic Saloon theater, where I started having flashbacks to that time Jeff and I went to the Wild West show at Disneyland Paris and it was the worst thing I’d ever seen. They had sad buffalo roaming about. Unconvincing clowns and rodeo people singing classic Western songs they didn’t understand. The ribs were ok. Here, the initial saloon was dark and red and the bartender wore a black cowboy hat that looked like he picked it up from Stetson earlier that day. Eventually they let us up into our high box seat, and here is where our troubles began.

You see, the stage for the Atomic Saloon show is center on. The box seat up here on the left was tilted at such a way that seeing the stage was a little difficult. Even worse: this box had been designed for two seats, and yet there were four across our seating window. Two strangers had come in and sat in the front seats, meaning that unless we were willing and able to sit very creatively, Jeff and I wouldn’t be able to actually watch the show. Jeff complained to the management – this wasn’t just obstructed view, this was no view – and while he said he’d try to find us something else, we were stuck.

I decided to risk my back and lay my head down on the railing for the whole show. I ached a lot later but for me, it was worth it. The main guy shouldn’t have been my type with his shiny blue cowboy suit and Ryan Gosling face, but his voice caught me. Then there was the guy playing the sheriff, a dwarf actor who I was immediately in favor of. And because it was a sexy, dirty sort of show, my first thought was, Neither of these guys is going to get naked, but what if they did?

Reader: they did.

Normally, I would say that my lust was not the point of watching a show like this, but a show like this exists for lust to be exactly the point. Near the end, the dwarf actor (whose name, it turned out, was Tyler) swung on a rope swing in bikini briefs and a cowboy hat and a hot little mustache and nothing else, and I was quite beside myself. Jeff, actually beside me, was doing his finances. He couldn’t see anything.

I felt bad about Jeff’s experience, but he shrugged it off. Maybe seeing Western-style theater shows is not our thing? In any event, we were headed to our last stop for the night, a bar called Red Dwarf. We’d heard that it was vaguely Tiki with a space theme, and to not get our hopes up. We strode in and immediately got our hopes up. Was it super Tiki? No, but it was Tiki enough. Fish float lamps, check. Lighted pufferfish, check. Carved Tikis and hanging masks? Triple check.

But also:

“Is that a punk band?” Jeff asked, watching the setup onstage. One thing you may not know about my Broadway- and Disney-loving friend is that punk rock is his favorite music. Jeff doesn’t love going to concerts, but one time at Otto’s Shrunken Head, another Tiki punk bar, we caught a couple of acts during a 24 Hour Punkathon. So already, not seeing naked cowboys was starting to sting less.

Also, Jeff struck up a conversation with two men at the bar rather quickly named Luke and John, who were in town for a Warhammer convention. Jeff was as besotted with Luke as I had been with Tyler, with the added bonus of being actually able to talk with him.

As for me? I was fine. These guys were having their conversations, Red Dwarf had a great mai tai, and I didn’t mind standing to the side and being with my own thoughts for a little while. In fact, I—

“Kevidently?” I blinked. Looked around. What? Did I hallucinate? What was in this mai tai? “Kevin?”

Standing before me was a man I thought I recognized, a tall fellow with a goatee who seemed so familiar. “Hello? Yes, I’m Kevidently.” Introducing myself by my internet moniker has gotten so much more clutch since I stopped going by TravBikkle75 in my first AOL days.

“It’s me! Adam! You designed a logo for me! Oh my God!”

Oh my God! is apt! Consider: I had no idea I was going to even be in Las Vegas until the night before. Adam was going to Vegas from Detroit on a complete solo trip. Neither of us had communicated this to each other. We really only knew each other as client and designer, cordial and friendly but not much beyond that. What were the odds that he and I would somehow be in the same city, in the same bar, on the same night and even in the same part of the bar? He recognized me from my Bluesky profile picture! This was madness!

We enfolded Adam into the group, and with five of us, it felt more balanced and festive. The Implosions took the stage and the crowd went nuts. The singer was goth and loud and everyone else was, too. This was the rebound Jeff needed after the non-show show earlier, and included in the rebound was the pizza he ordered. Pizza, you ask? Well, Red Dwarf is known for three things: punk, Tiki, and deep dish pizza. Because they didn’t have a gluten-free variety (I had some chips), I sour grapesed it. How good could it be? It’s bar pizza. I know Luke and John had one and they liked it but they’ve been drinking and it’s a fun time and that’s probably it. Tasty by association.

Then the pizza arrived, massive and boiling with sauce and cheese. Jeff took a tentative bite. Folks: I have never seen Jeff react this way to food. To any food. We have tasted cheese in France. Beef in Tokyo. Mai tais at Trader Vic’s in San Francisco. Never have I witnessed Jeff go completely apeshit bananacakes on food like I witnessed it now.

“It’s so good!”

“What?” The Implosions were loud.

“IT’S! SO! GOOD!”

To compensate, I ordered a Zombie with fire. With a lot of fire. The hot bartender came up and just fanned the fire atop my drink for a good minute, no expression, mildly interested in the raw power he wielded.

As I took my first sip (spoiler: the Zombie is the drink at Red Dwarf), I spotted a woman walk into into Red Dwarf … with a dwarf. Not just a dwarf. Tyler, the hottie beyond from the Atomic Saloon show. OH MY GOD! DOES EVERYONE JUST COME TO THIS BAR?!

Determined not to embarrass myself or freak him, out, I dashed up to him and said, “You were so great in the show tonight!”

“Um,” he said.

“Atomic Saloon! You were awesome!” And then Jeff, who hadn’t been able to see the show, offered to help me out.

“You were so good! In the show!” I think we might have been slightly drunk. Tyler nodded to us and then went on his way.

The night crescendoed. The Implosions finished and we were ready for sleep. We had more Tiki excursions on the morrow and other Vegas venues to scout. We exchanged numbers with John and Adam, Luke flirted hardcore, and the bar boxed up Luke’s and Jeff’s pizzas. Jeff had a whole plan for having one slice a day so that he could savor the wonder and majesty of this pizza throughout our trip. We walked out and watched Luke and John get into one Uber and Adam into another, as Jeff and I – the only non-saints present – bundled into ours. It was only when we got back to the hotel that Jeff opened his to-go box … and discovered that Luke had taken his pizza instead.

“Oh no,” he said. “My pizza.”

“Jeff.”

“My Pizza!”

“Are you okay?”

“MY PIZZA!!!!”

And the night came down on Las Vegas.