Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.

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A few more cosas from the no longer quite so recent Las Vegas trip:

One:
The week K and I were in Vegas was the start of spring break, so there were bands of alcohol fueled young men on the streets and in the casinos, though Vegas being not the friendliest of places for the under aged, they mostly appeared to be at least over 21. From what I�ve been told this is a time of year that dealers aren�t particularly fond of, something about poor tipping inebriated boys holding up games by arguing over small bets.

I generally ignored the young men, although when walking by a pack of them, I did occasionally play a game of �Who is the Alpha male?� For the most part, the answer was not the short, red-faced, white boy in flip-flops, cargo shorts, and stained greek t-shirt holding a margarita glass almost as tall as he was. For some reason every gaggle of boys was required to have one. A quota of some sort I guess.

Two:
There were some women in slightly outlandish clothes working a street corner handing out flyers for what appeared to be a topless review/show with a fetish theme. I�d seen posters for the show around town and while I had no real interest in seeing a show with female dancers in topless S&M outfits, I was curious about how they were advertising it. The posters were interesting in that they were trying to be racy, but not so racy as too scare off anyone. It was a sort of disneyfied version of titillation, meaning that sexy women interacting with other got a big push, while smaller images of men in revealing leather outfits and another of what appeared to be a male dancer mock licking the boots of a woman in a dominatrix outfit were shoved into the corner. Given the posters, I was curious what the flyers looked like.

The light turned red, so a crowd of us stopped right in front of the women. One handed out a flyer to a somewhat slovenly dressed African-American man, briefly flirting with him, and the other woman handed a flyer to a middle aged married white guy walking along the street with his wife. Ignoring the wife, the woman told married man that she would love to see him there. Then they both walked right pass me as they continued to work the crowded sidewalk.

It�s a bit stupid of me, but I felt sort of offended at being ignored. Part of it was that for once I actually wanted the dang porno flyer, but it was mainly due to their immediately dismissing me as a possible customer.

Again, I had no real interest in the show, but how did they know that? K joked with me for a while, listing various possible �failures� on my part, everything from looking too young to too gay. I don�t usually consider myself as being obviously gay, though perhaps I am. Maybe my not staring at their chests as I stood at the corner waiting for the light to change was a clue to them to not bother. If there had to be a reason, I�d much prefer being too queer to looking too young. I�ll be forty in a few years and that�s much too old to be considered questionably young.

Three:
I gave in to my innate geekyness and took the monorail (overpriced) to the Hilton and did the Star Trek experience thingie (way overpriced). I initially balked at the cost (about 34 bucks), but decided to do it anyway, for no real reason other than that I was already there. Supposedly the fee was high because it covered a museum (a collection of props from the shows & movies) as well as two, count �em two rides. Of course the real reason is that people will pay. Heck, I did, and I�ve already been there before, although not since they opened up the new Borg ride/movie thing, so that was my justification. Not that good a one, but hey, it served.

The 4-D Borg ride was interesting. Employees decked out as Starfleet officers rush you down corridors of a �space station� that the Borg are attacking, trying to get you to an escape shuttle/3-D theater. After loosing a few folks to the Borg, you get to sit for a �4-D� movie, where you get assimilated as well. Watching a movie of the Borg Queen and Janeway act snippy with each other made me wonder just how much money it took for the actors to agree to reprise their role for what amounts as an amusement park attraction. It also reminded me that it�s been a while since I�ve indulged in Janeway/7 slash. As far as I�m concerned, there�s just something about the Janeway character that�s always responded better to other strong female characters instead of the occasional looser man the show�s writers would make half hearted attempts to pair her off with.

After �escaping� the Borg and being dumped into the giftshop, I decided that I might as well do the other ride as well. It�s been so long since I did the Klingon thing that I forgot the best part of the ride (when you get �transported� into the future and onto the �real� Enterprise). It's a cool trick. Getting excited about being transported. Yeash, I am a geek.

There was a sign at the entrance to the place announcing that the rides may be delayed that night due to a wedding. There was no indication of what kind of wedding it would be, folks in Starfleet uniforms, a Klingon wedding? I wonder if there�s such a thing as a gay Klingon wedding?

Four:
We went to see Penn and Teller at Rio. They do a good show and are not only as snarky as you would expect, but also as talented. The show ends with a magic bullet trick where they �catch� bullets with their teeth, a good finale, but for me the best, and freakiest, act was one where Teller plays with a bear trap.

Rio is the casino/hotel with the mardi gras theme, where during an hourly show, floats hanging off of tracks in the ceilings make their way round the casino over the heads of semi-indifferent gamblers.

We got there early to pick up the tickets, which took longer than it should, because the two men in front of me (mid thirties white guys in wrinkled, well traveled suits) were arguing with the clerk at will call because she wouldn�t let them use a discount coupon to see a thing called Erocktica. I supposed they were too embarrassed to put it on their expense account. Just when I started grumbling under my breath about danged straight men too cheap to pay full price to see nekked boobs, they gave in and the line started moving again.

Even with the delay, there was time to kill, and not really being in the mood to gamble I wasted time people watching. Not that there were really that many there worth looking at. I ended up on the second level looking down at a set up where guests could have their picture taken with a tall boa outfitted showgirl, or a shirtless and low slung panted chippendale dancer. The photos were all safe boy girl pairings, or in the cases of middle aged women and their older mom�s, girl boy girl.

Like most of the Australian dancers we saw the next night, the chippendale guy was apparently chosen to appeal to so many different people that he really wasn�t that appealing. Not ugly by any means, but rather, blandly attractive. But considering the crowds that night, bland was better than nothing. Besides watching him interact with people was sort of interesting. Women he would talk to directly would act flustered at first then during the picture taking turn suddenly bold and grabby, while men posing with the showgirl would act the opposite, approaching her with swagger, but their boldness was all bravado. As soon as the camera swung in their direction, they turned demure and unsure.

More later,
nico

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