What could possibly not happen in that time? Well, let’s see what did.
To start was a six-day Super Bowl event I’d been planning for 18 months. Even with all the client frustrations and a greatly reduced crowd of 15 people, it was a huge success. It took place at Stadium Swim at Circa and the bill was around $10,000.
Shaq’s Fun House at XS at the Wynn the Friday night before Super Bowl Sunday was, in a word, wild.
I got photo-hustled twice, once on Fremont Street and once in the Bellagio self-park.
(I also needed a pinky ring for — what else? — Bruno Mars’ Pinky Ring at Bellagio and bought some fake gold from a “broke Saudi” who needed gas money to get home to San Francisco. It’s okay. I didn’t have to go to a jewelry store, figured it was fake, and got a “gold chain” too, all $100 for what was worth maybe $20.)
Besides, before this trip, I learned that Bruno Mars was opening an intimate lounge at Bellagio and his band The Hooligans was going to play over the first two weeks. I’m a huge Bruno fan, having seen him twice in Vegas and North Carolina. I had to be there, especially Monday night after the Super Bowl. So I booked several reservations for opening night and other nights.
And baby, I became a star. Worked the Bobby Vegas LVA journalist thing all the way home. It was so incredible, I decided to stay in Vegas for the Hooligans’ entire 14-day run or until I fell over dead. I was there for six out of the first eight nights, dancing up a storm with all sorts of hotties and getting a massage the first three days to work out the kinks. The band actually asked to take a picture with Bobby Vegas. But there’s a rule: What happens in the Pinky Ring stays in the Pinky Ring. So the house photographer took the shot and I still don’t have a copy!
Bruno got up and shook my hand the second night. I don’t remember what he said, but let me repeat that. Bruno Mars got up and shook my hand.
I danced with Janelle Monae and her girlfriend (well, okay, there were like 10 of us). I bonded with Jackie Wilson’s son Bobby and danced with Tina Turner’s goddaughter Gladys, who said I was the best dancer she’s ever been with. Two 40-something African American ladies asked me, “You’re from Brooklyn, right?” And a 20-something Colombian I was dancing salsa with said, “You’re Latino, right?”
The hosts all welcomed me back every night like I was the celebrity. I became an honorary Hooligan, spent oodles of money going to the Pinky Ring six times, though it was mostly from wins at video poker and roulette, and brought home tons of swag.
Then I got COVID.
More than a month later, I’m still recovering.
