Last night we went to Dennis' favorite of the dive bars. Monday night seems to be open mic night everywhere in Vegas. Dennis warned me that it would be an older crowd, but I found it to be a lively one nonetheless. I forgot to bring my camera along, so I can't show you what you missed. I can, however, tell you that the dance floor looked like a cross between an Arthur Murray student exhibition and a Fosamax commercial, which is to say that there were a lot of elderly people swing dancing, even to Weber's "Music of the Night." *sigh* I've heard the same guy sing the same song a half a dozen times at this point. My question is this: if all of the performers out here are soooo talented, then why do they only sing the same three songs over and over again?
Anyway, I met a handful of new performers. Vegas is a very huggy-kissy sort of place. I was just about to say hello to one of the singers when she ended up swooping in for a kiss on the cheek. She caught me mid-word, and I think I ended up licking her. Oops.
The best in show for the evening turned out to be our waitress. She got up at one point to do some violent and sustained hip gyrations to the song "Wipe Out." It was impressive. I commented to one of our table mates my admiration, and my neighbor blithely informed me, "She was a pole dancer before this job." Forget the karaoke singers--get that girl a pole! I know true talent when I see it!
One of Vegas's most talented saxophonists (so I'm told since I've never heard the guy play) came over to me and asked me if I was a scientist. Apparently I was sporting a keen and intelligent look for the evening. "Unemployed philosopher," I corrected him. Instant approval. It's funny, but this may be one of the few places where the moniker wins you a hint of street credibility.
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