The Killers, The Pussycat Dolls
The Pussycat Dolls Returned My Coat
Pure Nightclub, Las Vegas, NV
Ok so here's what happened. I get in to Pure at Caesar's Palace and immediately find a nice innocuous bench on which to stash my coat for the evening. After a couple of laps through the crazy crowded room, I weasel my way on to the balcony-ish place, which is the PERFECT vantage point to observe this crowd and the band.
This audience is comprised of marketing executives, product managers, vice presidents, partners, and underlings who have managed to gain access to this corporate party during the CES show. They've had a hard day of meetings and booth duty, and they're ready to cut loose with the help of free alcohol and quality entertainment.
There I am on the balcony watching guys try Dancing 101 and leer at the go-go dancers. One guy is particularly fabulous in that he is making eye contact with and dancing near a dancer who is on a platform 4 feet above his head, all while TALKING ON HIS PHONE. This prompts several other people to whip out their phones and join him on the dance floor. My friend and I are busted several times for our overt pointing and laughing at guys in suits who dance like nutballs. My friend has video documentation, which I'm pretty sure could be worth something someday.
After The Killers finish their excellent set, during which at least 25 people take photos and/or video and/or text message with their fancy devices, my friend and I wander up the stairs to check out the rooftop deck. We pause at the glassed-in mezzanine that overlooks the lounge. As we look down we watch a gal (I'm assuming she's a dancer but since she made me mad I'm now calling her a stripper) lay MY COAT over a bunch of purses, scoop the whole thing up, and head toward a door.
I run downstairs to intercept her, but POOF she is gone. For the next hour I scour the place for the girl and my coat, to no avail. The people in the VIP lounge are sympathetic and helpful, because that's what makes them "P", but still no coat. I resign myself to sitting down and enjoying another friend's breakup story (the young ones find their own lives so very complicated). We note two of the Pussycat Dolls sitting near us. As they get up to leave, THERE IS MY COAT, just four feet from where it was pilfered in the first place.
Of course there is no way to prove it, but what I like to believe is that these girls heard about my missing coat, had harsh words with the stripper, then casually returned it to me like the class acts that they are. Ten minutes later they were doing a hot burlesque show in front of aforementioned gawking technology executives. Happiness ensues. I receive one of their gloves. And after that we danced.
Pure Nightclub, Las Vegas, NV
Ok so here's what happened. I get in to Pure at Caesar's Palace and immediately find a nice innocuous bench on which to stash my coat for the evening. After a couple of laps through the crazy crowded room, I weasel my way on to the balcony-ish place, which is the PERFECT vantage point to observe this crowd and the band.
This audience is comprised of marketing executives, product managers, vice presidents, partners, and underlings who have managed to gain access to this corporate party during the CES show. They've had a hard day of meetings and booth duty, and they're ready to cut loose with the help of free alcohol and quality entertainment.
There I am on the balcony watching guys try Dancing 101 and leer at the go-go dancers. One guy is particularly fabulous in that he is making eye contact with and dancing near a dancer who is on a platform 4 feet above his head, all while TALKING ON HIS PHONE. This prompts several other people to whip out their phones and join him on the dance floor. My friend and I are busted several times for our overt pointing and laughing at guys in suits who dance like nutballs. My friend has video documentation, which I'm pretty sure could be worth something someday.
After The Killers finish their excellent set, during which at least 25 people take photos and/or video and/or text message with their fancy devices, my friend and I wander up the stairs to check out the rooftop deck. We pause at the glassed-in mezzanine that overlooks the lounge. As we look down we watch a gal (I'm assuming she's a dancer but since she made me mad I'm now calling her a stripper) lay MY COAT over a bunch of purses, scoop the whole thing up, and head toward a door.
I run downstairs to intercept her, but POOF she is gone. For the next hour I scour the place for the girl and my coat, to no avail. The people in the VIP lounge are sympathetic and helpful, because that's what makes them "P", but still no coat. I resign myself to sitting down and enjoying another friend's breakup story (the young ones find their own lives so very complicated). We note two of the Pussycat Dolls sitting near us. As they get up to leave, THERE IS MY COAT, just four feet from where it was pilfered in the first place.
Of course there is no way to prove it, but what I like to believe is that these girls heard about my missing coat, had harsh words with the stripper, then casually returned it to me like the class acts that they are. Ten minutes later they were doing a hot burlesque show in front of aforementioned gawking technology executives. Happiness ensues. I receive one of their gloves. And after that we danced.
posted by The Fanalyst at 1:59 AM
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