We were somewhere around Baker, near the edge of the desert, when the reality of our situation began to take hold. Twenty-four hours ago I had been at work at Anomaly, waiting to hear from the Australian Crew that would have been inbound to LAX, no doubt somewhere over the Pacific. The assignment before us: to meet the Australian members of the IAM family/APP attendees flying in, entertain them in Hollywood for the evening and depart for Las Vegas in the morning for the twelfth annual Association of Professional Piercers Conference.
At A Glance Author Stephen DeToma Contact Stephen [email protected] IAM Sacred When A month ago Studio APP 2007 Location Las Vegas I couldn't sit still; I had been thinking about leaving to drive out to Las Vegas for the Association of Professional Piercers Conference for weeks. The time had finally arrived and it was hard to stay focused on anything in the meantime. As the shop was closing up, we got word that the Koala Kids had landed, were ready and that we were to meet them at The Rainbow Room in Hollywood for some drinks. To break the ice, get to know each other. On our way to Hollywood from Pasadena, I couldn't help but think that the following week would test my metal in more ways than one and before you knew it, we were on the Arroyo Parkway, bound for Hollywood Babylon. Heather, Jon, Lili and I followed behind Shannon and my coworker, Tyler. The party had begun.
Upon arriving at the Rainbow, the crowd outside seemed timid, the vibe subdued. Finely dressed hipsters were in line waiting to be admitted after their money was collected. We breezed through and began looking for the Kangaroo Crew. For the uninitiated, the Rainbow Room is a monument to all things Metal, a throwback to the 80's rock scene on Sunset Boulevard. The place fairly reeked of Jack Daniels and Aqua-net. Back in the day, the Rainbow was host to many of the Sunset Strips greatest performing acts. The local clubs would let out and performer and groupie alike would head to the Rainbow for some food and the chance to be seen. This is Axle Rose's turf. Nikki Sixx's. Lemmy Killmiester's. The young and beautiful rub elbows with the old and destitute all under the watchful eye of tragically hip oldsters, failed actors and those who truly couldn't care. The Rainbow does not discriminate.
After making our way to the bar, it took no time to locate the Aussies. In a room full of people looking to stand out, it's hard to miss a handful of guys with large holes in their ears and even better, holy fuck, 2 beautiful off center Mandible piercings. Mr.Wayde Dunn, international scarification artist, had been spending a great deal of time drinking with us in the past couple of months, introduced the boys: Jake, Marcus, Ewan and Jack of the Hack Suspension Team. We quickly fell into a drinking rhythm and found a comfortable place to take a load off in an ox blood, patent leather booth. Conversation came fast and humorously, though my attention was diverted momentarily when Mr. Chuck Zito came walking through the room. It was a night that I didn't want to end; I was having so much fun with my new friends as well as old but 4am came so very fast. An hour later I was crawling in bed with Heather and cursing the next morning. The party had begun.
I awoke with a start. The kind of awake that feels like someone has slapped you in the face; and you can only simply lay there, stunned. I was acutely aware that we had slept far too late and that the whole day would suffer because of it. As fast as we could, we assembled the bags, packed the car, including our buddy Jon, who had spent the night on the couch, and headed South down US 101 bound for San Dimas California. We arrived, met up with the Koala Kids and repacked the our car, a Honda Element, which was to have only Heather, Shannon and I in it, had to be emptied to make room for the luggage that was to occupy it. Marines deploying to Iraq for an 18 month tour of duty bring less gear with them than these two lovely ladies brought. The Aussies had rented Dodge Magnum, an exaggerated American car, surely an omen for this trip. After applying 27 years of acquired Tetris skill to repacking the car, we were ready to rock.
"But our trip was different. It was to be a classic affirmation of everything right and true in the national character. A gross physical salute to the fantastic possibilities of life in this country. But only for those with true grit. And we are chock full of that, man!"
I had been driving for something like 2 hours. US Interstate 15 stretched out before and behind me for hundreds of miles. Earlier, we had received a text message from the Australian team that read "Were keen to check out Death Valley. Wanna Come?" Images of us driving in circles, depleting first the gasoline, next the water, finally the beer and being left for dead, buzzards picking our bones clean entered my mind. This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; had our travel companions made that grim connection? A pit stop at a roadside 50's themed diner allowed enough time to eat some hash browns and eggs, talk about Death Valley and quickly shoot the idea down.
Back on the road a short while later, the car was silent. The girls had curled up in balls like kittens and entered into a gentle slumber after our last stop for gas. After pumping what amounted to $45 into our little car, which should have normally cost me $25, a disheveled gentleman carrying a gas can over his head approached me. Waving the can he began yelling "Gimmie some gas?!" more of a statement than a question. I smiled and waved at him responding "Absolutely fucking not!" with a smile. The desert had made me bitter.
Later still, back on the 15 South, the sun had gone down and a distant light became apparent on the horizon. The though that entered my head was vocalized by a small voice from the back seat: "State Line" said Shannon in a sleepy voice. We weren't far now.
Within a few minutes the girls were both awake and ready to be out of the car. We cruised through the final 50 minutes of the trip bathed in light; first, by the State Line casinos, home to the budget minded vacationers with dreams not of showgirls and swanky lounges, but of cut-rate hotel rooms, buffets and retail outlet shopping. Beyond, a brief stint of darkness before the light of the strip began to make itself known. The golden electric glow began to wash over the car with increasing intensity, becoming the first intoxication that any traveler arriving in Las Vegas partakes in, regardless of whether or not they've sworn of drugs and alcohol.
The previous late night had made for a late start to the trip. We pulled off the freeway onto Tropicana Blvd, and left onto the Las Vegas strip at MGM Grand, quite literally into the mouth of the lion .Registration for the weeks classes had closed at 9pm and here it was 9:15pm. I had hoped to register the night before to save myself an hour sleep the following morning, but that plan had gone right out the window. After running the gauntlet of cab drivers, drunken tourists, bicycle cops and traffic lights suffering from attention deficit disorder, we arrived at the Riviera.
The combination of an evening of heavy drinking, a 4 hour, dehydrating trip through the desert, coupled with a hangover had sapped my enthusiasm. Arriving at the hotel Check-In desk, I was not in the best of spirits and more than anything, really just wanted to get to our room to have a quick shower before putting in an appearance at the APP members meeting. My hopes were dashed by a check-in clerk when I was told that the double room I had reserved a month earlier was not available. Having little energy to argue, I confirmed that we would, in fact, get the double the following day and we headed up to our room.
Our bags arrive first. With 3 people already in the room and Wayde expected later on in the evening, the room was looking smaller and smaller. With my text messages blowing up asking why I wasn't at the Members Welcome Party, Heather encouraged me to go make an appearance while she went to bat against the front desk. I was haggard; the drive had wiped out what the booze hadn't taken care of the night before and my energy level was suffering. I withdrew a pint of rum from my side bag, deposited it into my back pocket and made my way up to the penthouse; into the unknown.
I boarded the elevator. I don't remember exactly when Warren and Jean-Pierre boarded themselves, but I do remember looking up and thinking, holy shit! I recognize those guys! Meanwhile, Sque3z had been buzzing my phone for the last 20 minutes, demanding to know where I am. The door of the elevator opened to a silent floor. I wandered around the corner and when I found the penthouse, I walked into a room of confusion. Being a new member myself, I was only visually familiar with the board members and had little to no knowledge of any of the members. Surprisingly, the first person I bumped into was John C Johnson from Outer Limits, a friend I hadn't seen in quite some time. Immediately after that, I located my boss.
Sque3z was sitting in an arm chair away from the crowd with his daughter. A hug and a handshake later, I had a drink in my hand. Sque3z decided to put the kid to bed and I remained with my rum to observe the crowd. The penthouse was abuzz with chatter and laughter. High ceilings with enormous windows allowed the entire Vegas skyline to be viewed by anyone in the room. A DJ wearing a fake, plastic butt was encouraging the party goers to sing along with an old Sir-Mix-Alot song about the virtues of a large ass. I glanced around the room and with the exception of Warren and JP, I knew next to no one.
With my drink almost exhausted and my capability of introducing myself to new people at an all time low, I made an executive decision to pull the rip cord and bail out of the party."How long are you expected to stay at that thing upstairs?" I demanded of Sque3z via text message.
"Not long, why?" he replied.
"Good, meet me at the Splash Bar". I boarded the elevator, bound for glory.I checked in with Heather. After dealing with an uncooperative desk clerk, she finally found someone that would help us out. We were put into a single suite for an evening until our room could be arranged the following morning. The room was enormous, plenty big for all of our bags, a cot, a cooler full of beer and room to breathe besides. When I arrived at the new room, the girls were just finishing getting gussied up. Realizing my drink needed refreshment; I took a walk and located an ice machine. I topped off my glass with ice, filled it with Sailor Jerry rum and went to retrieve the lovely ladies.
I had heard tales of the Splash Bar for some time. It had all the reverence of King Arthur's Round Table coupled with the decadent debauch of a party organized by Caligula. We were to meet the Aussies at the bar, and now Sque3z as well. I felt that it would be a much more comfortable place to imbibe; I had a week to make friends, I surmised.
My initial impressions of the Splash Bar were not impressive. Immediately it occurred to me that, the whole time I had been picturing the Splash, I had imagined a lounge. When I was presented with a slot pit watering hole, I was a bit shocked. The shock was immediately replaced with a sense of awe. Seeing the forest for the trees, I saw nothing but modified individuals from end to end of Splash. It's hard to begin to describe the view from where I stood. I have been to tattoo conventions in the past but this was a very different sight. Immediately, I recognized tattoos, scars, stretched lobes; it was visual overload. Something interesting happens the first time you see someone you have only seen online right there in front of you, and its all the more intense when the are dozens of the fuckers as far as the eye can see.
I waded in about waist deep, testing the waters, but quickly fell into the deep end when I began to meet people, found old friends and continued to drink. Things get a little fuzzy here in my notes, but at some point, Wiz dragged me on a manhunt for water to quench his drunken thirst, and somehow we ended up across the street at McDonalds, roughly at 3:30a. We didn't find water but we did find double quarter pounders and orange Hi-C. For future reference, the only time that the Las Vegas strip seems to take any sort of break is at roughly 4am on a Monday morning. We had a few laughs and ran back across the strip to the Riv. I floated upstairs on a cloud of strong spiced rum and tried to sleep fast. I had registration to navigate in the morning.
"Those of us that had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts, we wanted strong drink."
My alarm had been set for 8am. My plan was to shower as fast as possible, get dressed and out of the room by 8:30a, have an hour to register and eat and be waiting in front of the classroom for the Orientation. The well laid plans of mice and men. At roughly 7a I was awoken by a drunken Australian deciding to call it a night. The following hour was something close to sleep, but only in the respect that I was in a bed with my eyes closed. The alarm went off like fireworks in my skull and I began my day.
I made it downstairs by 9a. Registration was first on my list of tasks, but after wandering around the lower level of the convention area, I was at a loss as to where the hell I was supposed to be. This was my first introduction to the dart players. I would wander as far as the Dart Registration, and just get completely discombobulated as I would be enveloped in a crowd of matching pub t-shirts, NASCAR racing caps and a hefty dose of the stink eye. No way was I in the right place, I told myself. I zigzagged all over the floor for about 20 minutes before I finally found help.
Luis Garcia was cruising along the hallway and I though, Luis! I met Luis at the bar last night! Didn't I? I did, right? I walked up and excused my intrusion and his response assured me that I had in fact, met him the night before. He quickly helped me get where I was going and he was on his way. I was to learn that Board Members had more on their plate that week than anyone could imagine.
Heading into the APP area the first time felt a bit like taking a walk through enemy territory. I kept thinking to myself, holy hell, people like this actually exist (I'm sure the thought was mutual). I had the impression that I wasn't surrounded by actual people, but instead, actors pretending to be real people. Just in the way you watch a reenactment of an event on television and think how forced and unrealistic it seems, such is how it felt to be among the dart people. They carried darts in cases of all shapes and sizes; from the smaller cases that looked like Trapper Keepers to ballistic nylon that looked more like they should be handcuffed to a government agent's wrist, access codes to intercontinental ballistic missiles contained inside.
I arrived at the registration desk. I had been told by Sque3z that my badge would be waiting for me at the desk and that I had full conference access. While waiting in line, two thought went through my head: The first was that, if the room could get screwed up, there was a chance that I would have to deal with the badge being screwed up and with 4 hours sleep at that. The second, no matter what anyone tells you, no matter how much you have had to drink, McDonalds food is never a good idea, especially at 3:30 in the goddamn morning. Luckily, the badge was there and I was on my way in roughly five minutes.
I sat in front of the conference room holding the orientation for about 20 minutes before it started. Probably the best tip I got through the entire meeting came from Alicia: Don't spread yourself too thin, remember to take a break because if you can't absorb anything in class it's pointless to be there. I left the meeting refreshed and ready to go.
Afterwards, I met up with Angie, a friend of mine who pierces at Visions in Massachusetts. She introduced me to 2 amazing ladies, Sailor Cher and her boss Sofia from Ms Deborah's Fountain of Youth Tattoo in Florida. The ladies had a few laughs and before we knew it, it was time to head to class again.
That day, I attended Woods class, one I was specifically looking forward to. It was a little technical for me, but I still was able take a bunch of information away from it, specifically the choice of oils used in conditioning, general care and specific types of wood in relation to the human body. In the afternoon, Initial Jewelry Materials. This was easily one of my favorite classes all week. Some people I spoke with said they found it boring or simply covering the same ground that had been walked to death, but from where I stand, I saw it as a refresher course and something that needs to be fresh on the mind. The banter shared at the head table was amusing as well. Initial Jewelry Size and Style was immediately after; put together by Danny, one of the newest Board Members. He did a great job getting through a class that he later admitted expecting much fewer attendees. At the end of the classes in the late afternoon, I wandered out into the hall with my head spinning with knowledge, but surprisingly, catching my second wind.
The second wind lasted roughly the time it took me to get from the classroom to my hotel room. By this point in the day, the hotel had moved us into our actual twin room so I had to navigate my way there. The girls were going out to the supermarket to get food for the room and I decided to stay and take a nap. I slept fast. Soon the girls were back and it was time to head back up to the penthouse floor for the Conference Opening Party. We hooked up with the Aussies at their room; we reloaded the rum stores and got a few drinks in before heading upstairs.
The trip to the top of the Riv was a much different one this time around. I had relaxed a bit. I had some sleep, a little food and I was ready to get going. When the doors opened to the penthouse floor, it was a chaotic scene. The hall was filled with cigarette smoke and people enjoying cocktails, which we quickly navigated through to find the ballroom. Once inside, panic once again set in. Large rooms full of people I don't know always worry me for some reason. It was clearly all of the same people from the Splash, but somehow, the environment had made it threatening to me. I needed a drink.
We found a few friends and made the acquaintance of a few new ones. An interesting turn of events was that, many of the people I had made friends with the night before, but had forgotten due to drinks, lack of food and sleep as well as an influx of new information, came out of the woodwork. Zid, who was easy to pick out of the crowd by his curled handlebar moustache, became my drinking partner for the evening.
In the corner of the ballroom, there was what can best be described as a surf board carnival ride. An inflated air mat, such that would be found in the bottom of a kid's bouncy house was below a surf board attached to pneumatic lifts. Someone would mount the surf board and attempt to ride it while 2 working stiffs attempted to knock the rider off. On the empty floor surrounding the surf board ride, there were inflated beach balls. Didier Suarez of Enigma attempted to ride the wave and got bombarded with beach balls for his efforts. This exchange of beach balls between the surfers and the spectators erupted into a small riot. Anyone who has played dodge ball or bombardment in school would instantly recognize the scene; people running to the center of the floor to retrieve ammunition and quickly running back to relative safety to reenter the fray. Once more into the breach dear friends; beach balls hit me in the head, threatened to knock over my drink (which I refused to put down while continuing to throw and avoid beach balls) and at the fevered pitch of the whole escapade, a ball was drop kicked into the chandelier. Out of nowhere, a small man in a suit and hotel credentials came walking into the middle of things. Quickly, the game was shut down; its all fun and games until you break mom's favorite vase, after all.
That bit of reality injected into the game was enough to send people in search of other entertainment. While a few of the participants began a Sumo-style wrestling match with the balls, others gravitated towards the hall looking for a fix of nicotine. Reloaded with fresh ice and rum in tow, I followed Zid out the door. I rediscovered the girls here, and for them, the smoky hall was too much. They opted to head to the more relatively ventilated space of Splash. I remained upstairs for a short while, hung out with the Omerica boys, shared some rum and handed out a few slaps on the ass.
Drinking with your fellow conference attendees becomes almost a sort of casual sex and bears the same reaction the next morning. Some people walk by you with not a word to say; is it due to a bad taste left in their mouths? Do they not remember you? Do they hate you? Or can they simply not remember your name? The good ones are the ones that, without any hesitation, come running up to you the next day and say "holy fuck! Last night was so much fun! What was your name again?"
Before you know it, I'm back in the elevator on my way down to Splash. On the ground floor I find myself following a dart player with a team shirt reading THE LIVER IS EVIL, IT MUST BE PUNISHED in block letters on the back and under my breath, I chuckle. If one was to observe the Splash for a 24 hour period, one would see that during the daylight hours there are very few modified people and people of the dart, as well as the average tourist, rule the land. We are either sleeping off the night before or attending classes. But as the evening draws near, the influx of the pierced, the cut, the tattooed and the stretched begins to slowly push the dart people away from the bar to a point where only our tribe remains. By midnight, the bar is cordoned off and most people chose to simply walk around it.
On certain occasions it seems, either by drunkenness, curiosity or simply not having a stick up their asses, dart players would wander into the bar for a drink. Some of them were polite, some of them not. One such player was part of a French team hanging out at the one end of the bar. I watched as the all stood around and watched Howie from Luna Cobra, I believe it was, for a few minutes before asking to have their picture taken with him. He obliged politely; I thin walked up to him and asked if he would take my picture with the dart player; he laughed and took the camera from me. The French gentleman took a second but I think he got the joke. They were all quite good humored about the whole thing and then began rolling up sleeves and lowering necklines to show their own tattoos. Genuinely nice people. Smiles and handshakes were exchanged and at some point, I wound up on the opposite side of the Splash watching an impromptu human pyramid being constructed in between two sets of slot machines.
The view of the Splash resembles the view of a Civil War camp site. The banks of slot machines replace the tents; circles of people sitting in bar stools and chairs, chatting and drinking around an invisible camp fire. Every new addition, arrivals of late comers, erupts in a flurry of hugs and kisses, hand shakes and back slaps. It's time to reminisce and revel in the good company.
At some point, I bump into Peck, who has flown in late from San Francisco. After a big hug, we chew the fat and have a drink. Several other names and faces pass through the next few hours, finally ending with a drunken local, who looked like a cracked out version of Santa Claus's brother, singing George Thoroughgood songs to me. That was my cue to head to bed.
Tuesday began a quickly as any other. I was up and ready to go with a shot, though I could feel that it was going to be a rough day. I wandered down the hall towards the elevator and heard the ding of the elevator arriving or leaving, so I ran. I jumped inside, looked to my left and smiled at a nice young woman on her way to the classes, to my right, after a double-take, I found myself standing next to Fakir. With a head full of cobwebs and finding myself at a loss for words, the only thing I could think to do was to introduce myself. So many things were attempting to force themselves to the front of my brain, but by the time I could muster any words, the elevator opened and he was on his way. Such is life.
The hallway in front of the conference rooms looked like the injured/disabled list; refugees of the Battle of Bourbon Hill. I took my place among them and awaited Basic Male genital Piercing to open. As we shuffled inside, I'm still trying to shake the cobwebs off. As class begins, I manage. The class was wonderfully articulated by Elayne Angel, but as we took a 5 minute break to stretch, I could feel myself beginning to fade. No breakfast and no water had led to me feeling a bit woozy. Out of nowhere, I see Sque3z come walking up the isle, right for me, with an iced coffee in his hands. He passed it off to me, patted me on the back and was on his way. Even with all the stuff on his plate, he finds the time to make sure I'm still running strong. God bless you sir!
After finishing the two and a half hour class and attending the APP Members meeting, I decide to take the rest of the afternoon off. Wes had arrived while I was in class and we had made plans to hit Samba, a Brazilian steak house, for dinner, followed by a trip to the Star Trek bar at the Las Vegas Hilton. In search of Mr. Wes, I circle the exposition floor for the first time. To try and put into words the amount of eye candy in one place is a difficult thing to do, but needless to say, I actually had to step away from the displays for a few minutes to catch my breath. When I did, I found Wes.
We hit the steakhouse hard. It was the first real meal I had eaten in days and it tasted better than anything I had ever eaten. For an hour, the waiter continuously brought us an assortment of meat, served to us off of large BBQ skewers. Once we had eaten more than any two reasonable people should, we retrieved the car from the valet and headed back to the Riv to regroup.
The plan was to mobilize and head out towards the Hilton for drinks the size of basketballs at Star Trek. We rounded up a small party and moved to our new drinking spot. Along the way, the cabbie asked us how long we had been in town. We responded with "three days, are we locals yet?" It was true. It was hard to tell how many days and nights this shit had been going on. In a town without clocks it's hard to keep track of the time, much less the days. It's like stepping into an accelerator; a days worth of Vegas seems to put a weeks worth of wear and tear on your body.
Arriving at the Hilton we went directly for the bar. I ducked into the bathroom and when I returned, we had been seated with a group of attendees, the only one of which I recognized was Didier. The drinks at this bar truly have to be seen to be believed but needles to say, several were consumed and everyone got a bit silly. We sat around and talked about things that people talk about when they've had too much to drink. We closed the bar and slowly made our way back to Splash, laughing all the way. After Heather and I hung out for a bit and found that the majority of people were headed out to points unknown to us, we decided to call it an early night and snuck away to try and get some much needed rest.
"The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride"
Wednesday morning, Basic Female Genital Piercing. As I'm waiting in line to enter, I think to myself, three days might just be my limit on the Riviera. Clocking in on the top of the list of things I was tired of at this point was the fact that it smelled like someone, once upon a time, had shit in our air conditioner. Right about the time we would try to go to sleep at night, the air had a faint smell of dirty diapers. Combine that with beds that felt like an autopsy slab, pillows almost as soft (mental note: next year, bring my own) as well as one hum dinger of a food court and I was ready to get going.
Female Genital Piercing was just as engaging as Male Genital Piercing and defiantly did not feel like a two hour class. In the gap of time before I was to attend Surface Piercing, we headed over to the Peppermill Lounge to get a late breakfast in an attempt to eat more regularly. Located a short stroll from the aforementioned food court, across a gravel strewn parking lot, the restaurant looks like the inside of a slot machine. The lighting comes from either pink neon or what would appear to be black lights, instantly causing disorientation no matter what level of sobriety the diner is in. The dining room is decorated with more fake plants than the tiger habitat at The Mirage and serves breakfast plates the likes of which could feed a small army. After refueling and decompressing a bit, we headed back for the afternoon classes.
The afternoon consisted of Surface Piercing, History of Modern Piercing and finally Natural Aftercare. Surface class was led by Luis Garcia as well as Sque3z; listening to Luis, all I could think about was how suited his voice would be to a nationally syndicated radio talk show. Once again, the banter between the two facilitators only increased the entertainment, and I walked out of class with a smile on my face due to the discussion as much as the wisecracks that were lobbed back and fourth across the room. History class will be the one that I will clock in as my favorite class of the weekend. The lecture delivered by Paul King was smooth, informative and just so much fun to listen to. I had made sure to sit close to the front of the class in all the classes I took, but this one just blew me away. I was constantly leaning forward listening to everything intently.
Natural Aftercare was taught by John C Johnson. I walked into class and saw Johnny standing in the isle with a look of concern on his face. I patted him on the back and with a stressed voice he said to me "Oh man, I hate that you're here right now, because I am nervous as hell". I assured him that he would do fine and then took a seat at the front of the class with Wiz and watched as Mr. Johnson knocked it out of the park. I had been particular interested in learning more about the natural aftercare and I wasn't disappointed. Even if he didn't cover the practical application of Gypsy Tears as a topical antiseptic.
Wednesday night and class was over. Craving fresh air and a change of scenery, Heather and I began a long walk to find some pizza. We remembered seeing a place about half way down the strip and started walking, only to arrive there 15 minutes after they had closed. Neither one of us were in a big hurry to head right back to the Riv, so we kept walking and finally settled on Subway, more out of convenience than desire. The gentleman behind the counter should have been wearing a mask and brandishing a gun with the price we paid, but it was something simple and safe.
One of the things that will never read in any Visitors Guide or see on the complimentary literature is that Las Vegas has an expiration date. It's certainly different for everyone but generally, more than a few days is enough for even the toughest customer. Ten gallon hats wandering around the casinos at 3:30 in the morning with cigarette smoke spewing out from underneath them. Midwestern farmers daughters standing gape mouthed with beers clutched to their chests watching as you walk by with the rest of the freaks. Constantly ringing bells and flashing lights. Free show tickets, discount coupons, hooker cards, it all has a limit. From a distance, the streets and sidewalks in Las Vegas seem to be strewn with diamonds, but as you get closer you begin to realize that it's simply the broken glass from an unknown number of rock glasses and champagne flutes, discarded and forgotten. Such is the way most things are when you focus your gaze a bit closer on the city.
The following morning, after a reasonable nights rest and sleeping through my alarm I was up and ready to rock. I had taken the previous night off to get some much needed rest in anticipation of the banquet that was to go down later on that night. I headed down stairs and hooked up with Sque3z and caught a cup of coffee together before heading off to Stretching class, in which he would be one of the teachers and I would attend. Friday was to be a busy morning with the addition of an additional APP Members Meeting to conclude the discussion that had started on Tuesday. After feeling very much like the new kid in the first meeting, the prospect of the second frightened me a little bit (are we seeing a pattern here? I'm kind of a wimp like that). Despite these facts, the meeting went off and different ideas for a nation wide APP advertising campaign were discussed, a topic that certainly could not be contained in two one hour meetings. It was decided that a message board/forum would be developed to allow members, as well as non-members, to remain vocal in the remaining 51 weeks out of the year. From the meeting it was a short hop over to Bedside Manner. Wandering down the halls, I saw Didier heading towards a classroom and knowing that he was one of the instructors, I followed. He stopped short at the door and turned with a confused look on his face and greeted me. "I'm just following you to the class" I said. "Pfftt, don't follow me man, I have no idea where I'm going" he replied with a chuckle. And so it was that moments later, we were in the smallest classroom, packed to the gills with people in each and every empty space listening to George and Didier going over the finer points of keeping calm and pleasant control over your work environment as well as witnessing the finer points of the two of them breaking each others balls.
One thing I will say about the teachers from all the classes: There seemed to be an overwhelming sense of humility about them. That is, no one got up with the holier than thou attitude of, I've been here since day one and welcome to what's what. Rather, there was a sheepish look on most people faces coupled with a sense of confusion. That may not be the right word but it's the first one that comes to mind. It's only in the sense that people seem confused, due to their humility, that anyone would be more qualified to teach the class than anyone else; that and a healthy dose of respect and responsibility for the job that had been handed to them.
After evacuating the small classroom, I immediately posted myself outside the very same door in anticipation of the first roundtable I was going to take all week: Modern Rituals, led by Rocky Rodriguez, Fakir and Corey Lolley. I had anticipated hearing Fakir speak to the topics at hand, having no experience with the other two speakers, but what I got was a very different experience altogether. Once the circle began and Corey and Fakir had spoken for a few moments on the subject at hand, Rocky led things in a very different direction than I had expected, speaking more to the history of the rituals that people have been performing, mainly with suspensions. At more than a few points, the room became tense when people who participated in and enjoyed the performance aspect of suspension met with the force of belief coming from Rocky, a Road Woman and Sundance Leader herself. The discussion was enthralling and before we knew what had happened, we had run over our allotted time and had begun to cut into the next class. I walked out of that room wishing I had been able to speak up and add my own flavor to the stew, but there was a lot already being said at the time.
So then what? The following class was going to be Avoiding Piercer Burnout, but all I could think to myself was that the best thing for this piercer to avoid burnout involved some food and a nap. After some rest and a bottle of water, I was able to take a shower, get changed into a comfortable button down shirt, shorts and flip-flops (the banquet was to be Luau themed). I got back in touch with Angie and we made plans to head up to the banquet together. 30 minutes later Angie, Sailor Cher, Sofia, Shannon, Heather and I were in the elevator bound for the penthouse yet again. We were greeted by various dancers, given leis and admitted into the ballroom.
After finding a table with enough open chairs to accommodate us all, I turned my attention to a long lost friend; a bottle of rum. The first portion of the evening seemed to simply be a decompression of sorts. Light conversation before dinner, some more drinks and then on with the show. The buffet was actually quite good and seemed like there were plenty of options for those who choose not to indulge in meat, a team which my Heather is a part of.
I decided to take my rum fueled legs for a walk and wandered about talking with those people I knew or had made friends with over the course of the week in Vegas. I wandered over and bothered Corey for a few minutes told her how much I enjoyed the roundtable and she was lovely enough to tolerate me until I wandered off to chat up someone else. I spent a few more moments telling Fakir the story of my first suspension and he shared with me a great deal of insight in just a few moments that I will keep with me until the time comes for me to execute the ideas that were discussed. At some point, my drink became light and I headed back to the table for a refill and began to discuss tattoo history with Sofia, a conversation I was quite enjoying.
Our conversation and drinks were interrupted by large painted men and young women dressed in grass skirts and large feathers dancing to a rhythmic island drum beating loudly. I more of less tuned this out, which was made all the easier by a fireworks display that was going off somewhere on the strip, and from the penthouse, you could see the bombs bursting in mid-air, a vantage point I never had the luxury of taking before. After watching the dancers give us a Disneyland style tour of the South Pacific islands, the members of the board convened on the stage and the speaking portion of the evening began. The members each took their turns addressing the crowd, speaking to points ranging from the execution of the conference to the remembrance of those loved ones that had passed away in the previous year and were not in attendance that night. At some point, we were graced with not one, but two streakers. The speaking portion of the evening concluded with the raffle and some lucky bastard winning the entire contents of the Industrial Strength display case.
After that, the music came on, but only a handful hit the dance floor. For everyone else, it seemed almost like the end of Thanksgiving with the family: Everyone's stuffed full and knows it's almost time to get going, but they'd rather spend just a little more time around the table bullshitting and telling stories. I bumped into Rocky as I was wandering around and ended up sitting at the table with her for damn near 45 minutes. I value that conversation the most out of any of the ones that I had that week. After exchanging information and saying goodbye, I wandered over to Alicia, Ms. President, and began to sing Rocky's praises, praises that were immediately sang back to me. I got a big warm hug from the President and really started feeling like the group I didn't feel a part of at the beginning of the week was starting to become more and more comfortable.
Alicia made her way out of the ballroom after that, probably to have a well deserved drink after the week she and the other board members had facilitated. I found my way back over to Sque3z as well as Randy from Virtue and Vice and chewed the fat for a few minutes, mostly breaking balls about how, despite having Sque3z's daughter pulling the raffle tickets, I ended up with nothing. We ended up closing the ballroom and heading to the Splash for the final hurrah.
The rest of the night was chaos. Arm chairs had been pulled into elevator cars and impromptu dance parties were erupting in others. The Splash bar was a scene of pure hedonism, drinks and laughter and all. Long, heartfelt goodbyes were exchanged, the kind that I am always so scared of, the ones that are so good because they hurt a little and that makes them count. Me? I shacked up with the Australians once again, this time they were joined by Duncan the Industrial Strength representative down under.
We drank until there was no more to drink and I even played the first bit of money in a slot machine, which quickly went away. At one point, a wise bit of drunken clarity was noted by our friend Dani: "You know what I think is funny? How every night the hotel employees and sheriffs make a circle around us and just watch!" And it was true. If one were to look around, one would see a line of suits and the occasional badge loosely standing in a perimeter around the slot pit encompassing the Splash Bar, acting nonchalant. At one point, a memorial toast was held at one end of the bar in honor of Mr. Josh Prentice, not being any sort of good at these things and having never met the man myself, I took the chance to slip away quietly to my room at about 3:30am.
Around the time I made it past the crowd, I realized Heather and I had a fellow traveler. Dani had joined us for the walk back up to the room in search of more liquor. We gladly obliged, though it took an additional hour and two concoctions made of Tang and Vodka to evacuate her from our room so we could sleep.
"There was only one road back to L.A. US Interstate 15, just a flat-out high speed burn through Baker and Barstow and Berdoo. Then on to the Hollywood Freeway straight into frantic oblivion: safety, obscurity. Just another freak in the Freak Kingdom."
Mercifully, Friday reared its ugly head. Having packed my bags while our inebriated guest was singing songs and mixing cocktails the previous night, all I had to do was manage to get down to the check out line and hope that I hadn't spent too much money as not to be able to pay for the room in which we had stayed. The scene downstairs was dreadful. Half dead conference goers shuffling towards the check out desk while a bus full of Japanese tourists shuffled towards the check in line; fresh meat for the grinder.
After checking out and collecting the members of our party, we steadied ourselves for the journey ahead. Adam had originally planned to stay in Las Vegas until Sunday, the crazy bastard. We had talked him into checking out with us and heading back to LA for the weekend, where at least there he could have some quiet time to reflect. And drink. We called the Element out of the garage, packed it up and headed back to City of Angels. And damn it, just when I was beginning to get used to it.
Afterward:
The APP Conference really is a special place and an amazing thing to be a part of. For a week, you are immersed in information, entertainment, and more importantly, community. Even if you were never to open to your mouth to a single other person the entire time you are there (which is unlikely) simply being in the environment of modified people is enough to make anyone feel at home. Going back to the real world was a difficult move to make. Despite the Vegas burnout, a day later in the real world, I was ready to head right back there.