Vegas, Baby
December 5, 2003

If you’re packing for a trip to Las Vegas, and the first thing you do is to make sure your mechanical pencil has enough lead, you’re a geek -- and that’s what I did. You’re a geek, I suppose, even if you never use said mechanical pencil -- which I haven’t. Technically, then, what it really makes you is a neurotic geek -- so I’m a neurotic geek, I suppose, but the description isn’t complete without factoring in procrastination.

I put off packing so long that I was throwing things into my suitcase and running through the house screaming, “I didn’t pack pants!” just minutes before the cab arrived. One might think that I’d pack those along with my tops first -- but I was very focused on my mechanical pencil.

It’s hot pink. (.7 lead)

So here I am in Vegas, pants and all, hanging out with Shack and the TWoP crew. It’s hard to meet a group of people for the first time and not fret endlessly, but all the worry for was not and it’s been a blast. Two days down. Two days to go.

Among other things, I saw the Blue Man Group, finally. Sara also knows one of the blue men, so the two of us even got a back stage tour and played some of the percussion pieces. Really it was too wonderful, though I couldn’t help thinking, “Wow. I really suck. This is embarrassing.”

I’m endlessly happy that I got to meet someone from the Blue Man Group. People’s lives fascinate me, especially when they’re passionate. So I couldn’t help but to wonder during the show, who are these people really. Who are they off stage? He, at least, seemed authentic -- which is the same feeling I’ve gotten from the TWOP folks too. Of course, there’s also a little bit of suck that comes with meeting authentic people and knowing there’s a good chance you’ll never see them again. That happed on the Renaissance Festival too. But, live in the moment. That’s what they say.

As for the Blue Man Show itself, I liked it. The advertisments would have you believe it’s much more special effects focused than it is in actuality. Not, that the effects aren’t great, mind you. The real highlight in my opinion is the interactivity with the audience. Volumes and volumes could be written about performer-audience interaction, and maybe it already has. But for now I'll just say, “I’m tired of spoon-fed lemmings!” You can’t have life fed to you through an IV. Do you hear me lady-that-was-sitting-beside-me? Do you hear me?

Did she take part in the happy birthday shout-out? No. Did she sing “White Rabbit?” No. Did applaud? No. Cheering? Definitely no. Did she do the paper-thing? No. (You have to see the show before you’ll understand about the paper.) Did she laugh? No. In fact, I’d be surprised if she smiled at all. And if she hadn’t occasionally writhed in her seat occasionally, I would have asked the usher to check her pulse, or to at least drag her away.

A few years ago, EPCOT had a Millennium parade that wound through the streets at intervals. It was a spectacle, with some people manipulating huge stick puppets that were four or five times their height. And I’ll be damned if some people were so uncomfortable that they couldn’t be bothered to look at the performers. I know sometimes people are in a hurry, or get embarrassed but the performers would bend their puppets down right in front of various people who would keep on walking without ever cracking a smile And it happened a lot. Busy or shy, I don't know; but smile maybe? Just a little?

Anyway, for my own part, I got to try a climbing wall for the first time. The experience was an interesting contrast to the rock climbing trip Madison took me on for my birthday last year. There was a definite incline to that rock face in North Carolina, whereas the wall here is completely vertical. I got three quarters of the way to the top before my arms and legs were shaking too much to go on; and even as I write this I’m sore. But I’m addicted now, and there’s a climbing gym at home…

I also got my hand Henna'd for the first time.

With respect to the recent past, Nanowrimo kicked my ass (33,000 out of 50,000 words complete). A novel in a month; it sounds extraordinary, but it’s really not. If you aren’t familiar, the Nanowrimo goal is fifty thousand words, which translates to about 1600 words a day. If you enjoy writing, it’s not an enormous undertaking. Not unless you miss days, the cumulative effect being quite a bother.

So cutting right to my point (because I’m tired at 4:34am), the failure was a metaphor for my life. At least, that’s one of the things I took away from the experience. Most large accomplishments involve daily effort. And unless you’re training for the Olympics, they don’t often require a lot of effort. Like staying healthy? 15 minutes at the gym will do it. More is great if you love it, but a sliver of effort goes a long way with exercise -- and I'm out of the habbit again. Resurrecting an abandoned musical instrument? And hour a day is perfect, but 30 minutes is just fine if you do it every single day -- and I don't.

It’s not a new idea, of course. I’ve thought about it before now, and others have said as much long before my time. But, Nanowrimo reminded me again: Time is blasting past me like a hurricane, and every day I miss my life is irrevocably diminished. I’m sick of it. I’m fucking sick and tired of it. Somehow it seems I’m way too old to still be learning how to live.

Oh, and the dessert place downstairs (in the Paris) is to die for.