Bright Light City Gonna Set My Soul On Fire

I’m writing this entry from Las Vegas. It’s quite the town. I usually manage to make it out this way once or twice a year. Though I think this is the first time that I’ve ever come here for something other than gambling and booze. (And since I gave up the booze three years ago, there’s only gambling.)

This hotel I’m in is very swank–The Hotel at Mandalay Bay. It’s the new tower behind the original Mandalay. I’ll have to take some pictures of the room before I leave. But let’s put it this way: mini-suite for $170 a night. Nice.

I do, however, feel the need to let you know that I’m a big dork. So let me try to explain…

We had a nice dinner at Chartsteak at the MGM Grand, and then the friends that we’ve been hanging out with wanted to go to a club. They’re members of the Foundation Room which is the exclusive “club with in a club” at the House of Blues. So we went there. Unfortunately the bouncer (for lack of a better term) at the door wouldn’t let me in. I was wearing tennis shoes.

This kind of thing keeps happening to me. Look, I’m not a very classy guy. T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. That’s the way it goes. I have a couple of pairs of nice shoes for the right occasion. I have some button-down long sleeve shirts. I even have a sports coat but those are a “need to wear” basis.

I packed very light to come out here. My standard wear. I knew I was going to be spending a lot of my time at the convention center walking around. Those clothes are perfect for that kind of thing. I threw in some shorts in case we were going to hang out by the pool and I brought a couple of long sleeve shirts for a nice dinner like we had last night. And I brought my leather jacket. See I’m from LA. All you need is a leather jacket. You can throw that on over anything and you’re ready for any kind of event. I figured I had the bases covered.

In fact I had another run in with a bouncer at the Foundation Room in LA. A couple of years ago, it was summer and hot and I was doing whatever I was doing in the office. And I was wearing shorts. For the most part I don’t wear them to work but if it’s really hot, I might. Anyway, Cameron gets a call from a friend about going to see Cheap Trick at the House of Blues, and he asks me if I want to come. Sure. So we leave right then and I’m still in shorts. Cheap Trick is awesome, and afterwards when this friend of Cameron’s tries to take us to the Foundation Room to hang with the band, they hassel me over the shorts.

So back to last night. The bouncer won’t let me in. Everyone turns to me. I say, “It’s fine. Have fun. I’ll see you later.” They ask me if I can go back to my room and change my shoes, and I have to tell them that these are the only pair I brought.

“Well, what size are you?” Kurt, one of the guys we are with, is about my height.

“I’m like a twelve in most shoes.”

“Ok, come with me,” Kurt says. And this is where it gets all embarassing for me and where I feel like a dork. We go back to his room. And he gives me a pair of his shoes to wear. They’re not a perfect fit but they’re pretty close. We get to go to the club. I get to be the butt of lots of jokes like, “You should walk a mile in another man’s shoes. Oh wait-”

Maybe other people wouldn’t feel embarassed about someone helping them out like that, but I do. He loaned me his shoes. I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I could have easily had an appropriate pair with me if I’d thought about it. Maybe a part of it is because I’m not the classy guy. Whatever it is, I still feel like a dork.

Mom always told me to make sure I was wearing clean underwear in case I got hit by a car. I should probably ammend that to bring along a pair of dress shoes, just in case.