December 15, 2021

Viva Las Vegas - Part 2 of 1

airplane.jpg playgirl_vegas_day01_take02 002.jpg Proof from Vegas (a pic from my camera looking out across the street from The Mirage)

So I’m flying to Vegas, typing my blog, which is strange, because what I’m writing now won’t even be read until I write some more, and once I land and can tell you about my first 12 hours in artificial neon lighting, none of what I’m thinking about on the plane will even matter.

It turns out that I am not the only one who is superstitious. I’ve learned this as I board the plane tonight. My little quirks, aren’t so abnormal or out of the ordinary. Just as we’re about to cross the threshold from moveable walkway to moveable transportation with wings, I say to M., the editor of the magazine I write for, “don’t look at me when I board. I have to touch the plane.” She smiles as if she understands my idiosyncrasies. “With your right hand?” she asks. And as I look at here with my Watchu talking about Willis? face on, we figure it out. Let’s just say I’m not the only one who has to touch the plane.

Where do you think we get this belief in our heads, the one that tells us we can do some silly maneuver to make sure things will be okay when we get up in the sky? Flying is beyond our control, unless of course we’re the pilot, but still, I touch the plane with my right hand upon entrance, my left upon exit, and I feel like I have control of my flight. I don’t think I’ll ever board a plane without placing my right hand on the side of the door, although I might have missed the touch once. But if I really, truly missed it, I know I thought about it the whole flight. And even now, I’m not sure I did. I try to do it inconspicuously, without drawing attention to myself because I’ve never wanted to explain this before. I’ve always been quiet about my superstition, even though I’ve had little quirks my whole life. I used to have to shut my eyes and wait for the clock to change, and hope that I waited just the right amount of time, because if the numbers didn’t line up the way I imagined they would in my mind, the things that I wished for would never happen. If I closed my eyes at 9:13 and predicted that I would open them again at 9:16, and I did, then everything would be alright. Otherwise, there was no telling what might go wrong.

Since most of the time I’m flying alone it’s easy to get away with the door/hand thing. Even if the passenger behind me may see me touch the shell of the flying machine, I don’t have to turn around and explain myself to them. But when I’m traveling with another person, and when my hands are full of suitcases and jackets and I know I’m going to stop for an unexplained pause before I get on the plane, I feel it’s in my best interest to tell it like it is.

Then, when you find out it’s exactly, I mean exactly what she does as well, you wonder why? Who knew?

So, I’m on the plane, an America West flight (730) that brings me back to two years ago January when I took the same flight to the same place for the first time. This is only my second time heading to Vegas, although I want to believe it’s my third. However, I can’t remember another time that I was there, even if I believe that I was. So as I type and think, was it really one or two times, I realize it doesn’t matter. Two years ago January is beginning to feel like yesterday, which, in and of itself, is amazing, since time flies, even on a plane where you can’t extend your tray table so that when the man in front of you reclines back as far as he can you have to type on your lap. Still I survive.

Why does he have to keep trying to push his seat back more? It's as far back as it goes asshole. Fuck! Okay, I’m over it for now. I’m on my way to Vegas, and will be there when you read this. There will be plenty of things to write about, since I’ve only been here once (twice?) before and since I’m working with people who are judging a supposedly hot man contest. Maybe I’m confusing Reno with LV, because I can’t imagine that I’d forget a second trip to Vegas. Even if whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, I think I’d still remember.
Now I'm in Vegas. Wanting to post some pic of me here to prove that I'm here. At the Mirage, well, that's where I'm staying that's not where I'm at right now. Now I'm at the Sapphire Club, which is apparently the largest strip club, at least in the United States. Brings me back to my days as Producer of the Gentlemen's Club Championships. A nightmare of a show, one that I never fully ever talked about. But since I cried after producing both GCC II and GCC III, it wasn't something I felt the need to discuss. Here, now, I'm not really all that involved in the production, which sort of feels good, since I don't feel the stress of a Producer.

Tomorrow night, this show, this search for some Playgirl centerfold, should be interesting. I'm not really sure what I'm doing yet, but yes, I am doing something.

Posted by jamye at December 15, 2021 05:13 PM