Las Vegas 2002


August 7, 2002 Las Vegas, Nevada Report by Kasia
DK FANS IN LAS VEGAS – THE LAST DAYS OF ROME Part I – Las Vegas (I promise there is a con report somewhere within the four corners of this document.) Before emigrating to "Little Beirut" (Portland, Oregon), I spent the better part of my teenage and college years in Central Florida. Being a teenager in a place that is perpetually sunny would have been surreal and plastic enough even without the presence of DisneyWorld a mere hour and a quarter from my home. DisneyWorld is supposed to be our Dream of America, and it reflects many Americans' zeal for uniformity and uncomplicated morals. Walt Disney was a big fan of Cleanliness and Order, which manifested in more than just well-loved, mass-produced entertainment with racial overtones. (Sorry – it hurts but it's true.) He was responsible for lowering the minimum wage on at least one occasion, and also testified against his pro-labor employees in front of Ashcroft's – I mean McCarthy's – House Un-American Activities Committee. If you’ve ever visited DisneyWorld, you might have also seen Epcot Center, which when it opened was lauded as a glorious tribute to major world cultures. What it really was a big outdoor shopping mall with some theme restaurants that all smacked of Marriott Food Service fare (synonymous with institutional food), and a few attractions that didn’t last long and were designed to move you briskly along to the next Shopping Experience. Once again, Epcot also reflected middle America's sheltered Dream of other nations. Las Vegas is a lot like DisneyWorld. It's fitting that another extreme neatnik, Howard Hughes, chose this synthetic place to establish an almost hermetically sealed home. The Strip (love the double entendre) itself is like Epcot Center with, as we used to say in college, Boobs, Babes, and Beer (and lots of gambling). That’s it. The grandeur of the big, theme hotels is—fittingly—achieved through smoke and mirrors, much like the magic of Siegfried and Roy, whose airbrushed faces dominate the billboarded landscape. Behind the faux luxe decor and Potemkin Village façades are normal office interiors and the everyday stuff of a large-scale business (and marketing) endeavor. Unfortunately, the smoke and mirrors themselves are very real. Cigarette smoking is permitted just about everywhere à la 1975, and the omnipresent cameras lend the only authentic atmosphere—sort of Orwell meets disco and porn. I hope I don’t sound too cynical. Maybe I can blame it in part on reading Fast Food Nation the previous week, which is about the behind-the-scenes world of not only fast food but processed food in general—with a few jabs at Disney thrown in (that's where I looted some of the above dirt on Walt). I did have a wonderful time, and enjoyed the spectacle of it all. Sometimes I wish I had the luxury of not seeing these kinds of things in context, like when I was a kid. But now I always have in the back of my mind things like the staggering amount of diverted water and other resources that go into making a place Las Vegas sparkle in the desert. Not to mention the human element, like all the low-paid workers and the gambling addicts. So, Las Vegas is interesting and fun for about one or two days in a social-sciency, decline of Western civilization kind of way, hence the title "Last Days of Rome." (And yes, I do get the irony of proselytizing about fake environments and bankrupt forms of entertainment when, apart from the primary purpose of meeting my new friends, I came here to celebrate a TV show. I can’t answer that one yet.) Part II – A convention diary Day One (Thursday) It was 75 degrees in Portland when I left and now in Las Vegas it is 105 and rising. I call for the hotel shuttle from the pay phone but the airport slot machines are noisy and I cannot make out the directions for finding my ride. At last, I find the well-hidden escalator by winding through the typical labyrinth of slots and a few desperate-looking people trying to hit it big before the last call for their flights—or maybe they just arrived and couldn't even make it to the baggage claim area without getting a fix. My roommate (the fabulous Arden!) arrives shortly thereafter and there is hugging and general excitement. At 6:00 we head out to PHQ at the Hilton (Peep Headquarters, aka Shelley and DNash’s room). The Hilton is home to the convention and a permanent attraction called The Star Trek Experience. The Hilton is also where Elvis actually lived and performed during his Vegas denouement. Toward the end of the weekend, there is some kind of Elvis impersonator convention going on at the hotel – a kind of rhinestone-studded Vegas holy grail! It is truly exhilarating finally to meet everyone. We launch the DK:RHIB (Red Hot in Black) film fest, starting with the pilot episode of The Immortal (the big crowd-pleaser). We have about six different shows and movies, but we are so chatty that we only get through one or two each night. Suffice it to say that this first night we are so rowdy that a neighboring room calls hotel security. A guard in a fake sheriff's outfit (everything really is fake here!) shows up at the door to tell everyone to keep it down. (At 9:30 p.m. in Vegas—a little surprising). Day Two (Friday) Arden and I prowl a few of the large hotels to see what all the fuss is about, starting with Caesar’s Palace. We learn very quickly that everything in Vegas is an excuse to get people into a theme park shopping mall, eat institutional food in a theme park restaurant, and then do nothing else but gamble. Gone are even the days of the cheap buffet and free drink! I feel kind of gypped but still totally morbidly fascinated at this point in the game. It's like watching Jerry Springer. The attractions are designed to last about 15 - 20 minutes so you don’t stay away from the gambling floor for too long. We walk through the "Forum Shoppes" (everything has an Olde English or French suffix to justify the retail markup), stopping nowhere until we spy an aquarium at the very end—the first living things apart from palm trees that we have seen all day. We sit for about a half an hour admiring the exotic fish; they truly are stunning. One little electric blue, striped fellow is particularly surprising. He bears symbols on his forehead that look stunningly like Einstein’s formula, E=mc2. You have to wonder at the probability of something like that occurring randomly in Nature. Eventually, the gargantuan fountain in which the aquarium nestles erupts into an automated dramatization about the fall of Atlantis and Rome (is the timeline a product of the temporal cold war?). It is silly and kitschy-cool, but I mainly feel sorry for the gorgeous fish and rays, who become agitated by the noise and vibrations from the thunderous loudspeakers and by the tremendous rumble of the mechanics inside the fountain. I'm not any sort of activist, but I still can't help but think that the exposure on an hourly basis is harming them and wonder if anybody at the casino ever even considered the consequences. For lunch, we meet up with our fellow fans at Todai for DKFaye’s first sushi experience. This is the first and only wholesome food of the weekend. DKFaye is a class act and a good sport with a really admirable poker face, downing her tuna sushi without even a wince. DNash is discovered to be an octopus fan, which provides some amusement for everyone else just because anything with suction cups is kind of entertaining. We prowl the Aladdin for awhile (yet more shopping but in a prettier, more subdued atmosphere), where Arden and I observe for the first time what everyone else already knows: Shelley is a woman possessed when she gets around slot machines. As Muse notes, her modus operandi is to buzz around from machine to machine, pollinating them with a nickel here, a quarter there. Unlike the rest of us, it seems to work for her pretty well! I try a few quarters but can't work up the requisite bloodlust; all the fun is taken out of it with my recent knowledge that even Lady Luck has gone fake; all the machines are now controlled by computer chips and the payoffs pre-ordained, even if your presence at jackpot time is not. We check out "Paris," where Shelley tries roulette. Riding up into the "Eiffel Tower" sounds fun, but like everything else the cost of admission turns out to be too rich for anyone’s blood. Arden and I head home with a touch of heat exhaustion. We’ve been out walking the strip since 8:30 a.m. On the upside, we get to see a really sweaty and frightening Elvis impersonator performing at Harrah’s while we wait for our hotel shuttle. I keep waiting to find an ear on the ground or see a portentous red velvet curtain—anything to confirm that I’m actually appearing in a David Lynch movie. At night, more RHIB film fest. Everyone is tired enough that the security guards do not come this time. (Aww!) We resolve to ask Dominic to do his evil Mallos laugh for us at the convention (which never materializes—see Sunday below). Day Three (Saturday) Arden and I arrive at the Hilton around lunch time to see The Star Trek Experience. We run into DKFaye and ReedMe, who inform us that hardly any of the volunteers showed up for the convention, so many of Dominic’s fans have offered their services. All the jobs are now covered so we go on the ride as planned. They have a small but enjoyable and recognizable collection of costumes and props, including a few things from Enterprise: uniform, phase pistol, communicator, PDA-type thing with inventory list on it, etc. There is a timeline of the ST universe, and the beginning now includes the Enterprise characters and mythos. You can have your photo taken in the Captain’s Chair (TNG era) or your mugshot inserted into a photo of the crew from your favorite ST show. Very cute. The ride is fun but I won’t spoil it for you here. The quality is good even though it doesn’t last terribly long (after all, there are slot machines waiting right outside the exit door!). On the way out, there is a little shopping promenade à la DS9. There is barely any merchandise for Enterprise, which is okay because none of us have any money, anyway, and a lot of us have resolved not to start collecting a bunch of stuff for the show. This weekend they are giving out limited edition "holographic" postcards for the new TNG movie, so we get a few of those apiece. We also see Brannon Braga pacing up and down, earnestly looking for someone. There are a couple of actors strolling the hall, doing a good job of being a Klingon and a Ferengi. We are famished and so we eat at the nearby Quark’s restaurant, which again is kind of institutional but a fun diversion. The wait staff is very friendly and funny but there is not really much of a ST atmosphere. The bar looks like it only seats about 8 - 10 people so we abandon our idea of having a party there on Sunday night. Later that night, we take two limousines of five people each (only $35 per limo for one hour) to see the sights, including the Fremont district in the old downtown and the Strip. Shelley instinctively rounds people up into two lines: one for the "rowdy" limo and one for the "mellow" ride. We laugh to see who jumps into what line without even thinking about it. Like any self-respecting vampire, Las Vegas really struts its stuff at night. The Colorado River lights up all that neon like the Fourth of Joo-ly. The best part by far is the long string of wedding chapels, including our favorite, the Graceland. We hop off at Treasure Island to try to catch the free pirate ship show (the free part is very important), but the size of the crowd is overwhelming. We unanimously agree to skip it and head back. Almost everyone is tired from the heat, from feeling under the weather, or from volunteering all day. We wind our way back to our shuttles via the Venetian, which is really pretty but has amusement-park blue water and smells like a whole lot of chlorine. Day Four (Sunday) Arden and I get up very early (for me!) to get to the convention hall to see if we can help set up the breakfast. Gayle and Kathy are so organized that there is not a lot left to do, but we try to be of help by taking tickets and watching the auction table for awhile, which feels good because we had wanted to volunteer a little the day before but were not needed. The charity auction includes several items that Dominic personally helped obtain, including two of his own scripts autographed by the entire cast and containing his call sheets (Shadows of P’Jem and Dear Doctor), and photos to be autographed and personalized for the winning bidder by Jolene Blalock and Scott Bakula and delivered by Dominic to the auction organizers. We have some pipe cleaner baby chicks as well as marshmallow Peeps™, and use these to decorate the table for Dominic’s fans and also the one where he will be sitting. (Later he reportedly makes them do a little dance, which I do not witness because I am too busy cowering with embarrassment because I have been identified (ahem!) as the party guilty of putting peeps on his plate, which I guess is kind of pushing it if you think about it, the poor guy). It is exciting to watch as the actors, who all donate their time, begin to arrive, including Nana Visitor, George Takei, Aron Eisenberg, Philip Anglim, and Max Grodenchik. Dominic later arrives with his girlfriend, Jilana, who is very beautiful. None of the fans from Dominic’s message board draw his table, but we all sit together nearby. One of the Reed Ragers, Gabrielle (Gabinka) does get to sit with him. The two charities represented that day are Save the Children (Dominic’s) and another that provides college scholarships to students who are recovering from serious illnesses. A law student recuperating from Lymphoma speaks, as does Gayle on behalf of STC. She explains that one of STC’s projects is to make small business loans to single mothers in developing nations. Each woman in a group receives $20 to pool toward a cottage industry like small farming or crafts. If she repays the loan, she is eligible for another. The philosophy is that the mothers’ well-being and prosperity will have a long-lasting, trickle-down effect on their children. When it is time for the actors to circulate among the tables, DKFaye is Dominic’s escort around the room (lucky thing!). Dominic sits with us for a few minutes and tells us a little bit about Minefield, the episode they just finished where he wears the EV suit almost the whole time. He says he nearly had to give up, it was so grueling. The suits are actually sealed and functional, with an unbearably heavy battery pack and working oxygen. He chats with us for a few more minutes and then it is time for him to move on. The whole thing is over really quickly and it is hard to remember everything that happened, just like any event that's highly anticipated. Aron Eisenberg comes over next and teases us mercilessly, about everything from the admittedly silly name "peeps" to the fascination a few of us (Shelley in particular) hold with all the hooker calling cards and brochures we have been collecting from hawkers on the Strip. (It is fascinating to walk in a crowd and see which women they pick out to give these to. Hint: apparently, they think that peeps with blonde hair would have a greater interest in these services. The flyers make great souvenirs and remind me more of Las Vegas than just about anything you could buy there.) Aron is a very funny person. He also tries to introduce our table to a nearby group of male fans, but we aren’t having it. Before Dominic leaves, he allows us to take some photos with him, both group and individual. Even though he seems pretty tired, he is kind and patient. A few people get to meet Jilana, too, and everyone is impressed with her, not that it's any of our business, of course. Unfortunately, the morning is naturally a little rushed, so there is not enough time to meet everyone. After the breakfast is over, we wander around the dealers' room a little. I want to meet Matt Winston ("Daniels") because DKFaye and ReedMe met him the day before and enthused about how fun and friendly he is. Unfortunately, he isn’t in today. Arden has the mission of obtaining Judson Scott’s autograph for a friend, which she finally is able to do after much perseverance. There are a few other guest stars from Enterprise there, including Vaughn Armstrong (Adml. Forrest) and the Klimaszewski twins (Butterfly dancers) (I am probably the only person there who knows how to pronounce their last name). After lunch, and a music video of the Enterprise cast, it is already time to go see Dominic and Anthony perform. They are both full of boundless energy, and I think Anthony upstages even Dominic in that department. If someone could harness it, we could probably get rid of nuclear power for good. He is great at interacting with the fans, even calling up one woman in costume (the "Green Lady" as he calls her) to take a picture with him because he is so wowed by her outfit. They both respond to a question about what previous jobs they held before becoming actors. Anthony was a DJ (Dominic tries to do a beat box and Anthony pokes fun at him). Dominic’s jobs included serial table-waiting and working in both a coal mine and a knitting factory. Anthony howls at the thought of Dominic knitting for a living. Dominic hastily clarifies that he did not actually knit—he cleaned the machines. The whole show is very, very entertaining. Nan, ReedMe, Arden and I get in the two lines at the beginning to ask them both questions (including Arden's request for an evil Mallos laugh), but even though there are not many people in line we run out of time. It is partly a function of a tight schedule and partly that a few people feel possessed to tell the actors all about their favorite episodes and how wonderful they are, etc. instead of simply asking a question. I feel my inner East European prison matron persona coming out ("just ask de qvestion!"), but I try to understand they are just excited and I manage to keep it under control. Still, while we are waiting we have a great view of Dominic and Anthony; it is pretty hard to complain. Before he leaves the stage, Dominic auctions off (and models) a large black and white poster for charity—a racy photo that was on his website for one morning a few months ago. It goes for just under $400 to a nice and awfully enthusiastic fan whom Muse and I meet later in Anthony’s autograph line. We encourage her to visit the website, so we may have another peep soon. An uber-peep, even. We listen to Nana Visitor and Terry Farrell while waiting for the autograph lines to dwindle. Both were enjoyable, though I get a little weirded out by some of the questions that fall into the "eek" department. This is only my second convention and I think I am finally seeing the 1% of fans that you "hear about." It makes me feel squirmy and uncomfortable so I have my usual socially inappropriate nervous response, which is to start giggling almost uncontrollably (thus earning an evil peep badge for the day for lacking sufficient compassion—not good for a Buddhist peep. I look over and see that Shelley is going to the hell realms with me—why does that not surprise me?—so at least I won’t have to make the journey alone. Anyway, my karma gets run over by my dogma and that is probably why I almost miss getting Dominic’s autograph for myself and two others who have entrusted me with the task—see below). A little digression: I hope all of this doesn't sound hard-hearted; actually the emptiness and loneliness that would cause someone to look to an actor or a TV show for so much inner fulfillment is palpably distressing. This also leads me to do some introspection about being a fan of another human being and whether that is an inherently parasitic stance to take. I don't think it has to be, but there seems to be a very fine line at the threshold where one crosses from mere enthusiast and pep squad member into what is nothing less than feeding off a charismatic person's life energy. This is the point where one really has to question our whole Western cult-level obsession with celebrity and entertainment, but that's for another day. Back to our story – I'm almost done! The autograph lines are astonishingly long and start getting mixed together, causing some confusion and stress for autographers and autographees alike. Some of Dominic’s fans volunteer to help out again toward the end (not to mention DNash, who was already assigned the task of being Dominic’s picture feeder—poor baby). Unfortunately, while some are busy working and others waiting patiently to be called, the back of the room is overlooked by the announcers and we discover that Dominic is getting ready to leave before we have even gotten in line. Of course, I was in the bathroom. Don't laugh; there's always one every year at the Oscars, too. Anyway, there is a rush at the last minute and barely enough time to get our items signed. He’s already missed one or more flights to try to accommodate everyone. Unfortunately there is no time to think, and I worry that by obtaining a last-minute autograph after he's already tried to leave once, I might have made him even more late. Everyone later agrees that we are very grateful for the charity breakfast, because without that we really would have not been able even to say hello to him or have a picture. I don’t think we’ll be waiting until the end of the autograph line anymore! That night we all feel so decimated that we simply bring sandwiches or pizza back to the room, decompress, and visit for awhile. In fact, everyone is so tired that most resolve to fly standby the next day to get home earlier. After getting refreshed, all ears are glued on Gayle as she tells us some truly fascinating stories about her experiences studying different fandoms and working with actor-related charity causes. Finally, it's time to say goodbye. I've had a great time exploring this little slice of Americana – Vegas, its lurid greed and waste, the convention, the elvises—everything. It's been a real pleasure to see Dominic in person and most of all to enjoy a rare opportunity to make about a dozen new friends all in one weekend. I have a little deeper understanding and appreciation for conventions. Sci-fi simply seems to be a convenient rallying point and common denominator for a lot of socially aware, smart folks and nonconformist types—about 99% of attendees. Okay, maybe 98%. And if you ask me, even though conventions are a little fringe, they're a whole lot more healthy and "normal" than many other fringe entities, such as beauty pageants, multinational corporations, or pretty much any dogmatic ideological group, for that matter. See you all next year—only next time, somewhere cold. Very, intensely cold. [end]