Ahhh, another sleepless night as my crack-addled body clock told me that I should be settling down to watch Buffy while every other sense told me it was an unholy, cow-milking hour of the morning and I should be asleep, goddammit! My circadian rhythms had lost the plot and were tangoing when I needed to be waltzing.
But this did make things interesting. After all, Hunter S Thompson wrote 'Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas' under the influence. Startling quantities of sleep deprivation allowed me to see the city through his eyes.
God help me...
So what had I been up to? The journey was interesting... (I fear I'm going to use that word a lot. Imagine it being said in a way that implies that 'interesting' is rather like having your intestines removed with a fork.) I spent 24 solid hours in cabs, airports and planes only to arrive in Las Vegas 5 hours after I left Melbourne. Gotta love crossing the international dateline.
I pulled my usual "can't sleep, clowns will eat me" trick on the 13 hour flight from Sydney to Los Angeles. United Airlines then chose to punish me by inflicting 'Head Over Heels', 'The Wedding Planner', 'Sweet November' and, as part of their June Julia Roberts retrospective (did she die while I was midair or something?), 'Notting Hill'.
I am the gods' plaything.
It's the little things that remind you how far away you are from home:
- a bar in LAX asking if I wanted a large or small beer. I wonder if they upsize for an extra 75 cents?
- the tinny calliope of slot machines as soon as I got off the plane in Vegas
- dressing that morning for 59F (14C) only to arrive to 103F (42C)
- an AUS$90 cab fare--good thing work was paying for that...
The hotel was gigantic. I got lost and managed to lock myself out of my room within the first hour. Back in my room, phone calls were made to various friends and loved ones informing them that I had arrived in one piece, or to arrange to come and play (and keep me awake so I could acclimatise myself to the time difference.)
Saint Nightwalker had popped down to Vegas to catch up. He had tagged one of the natives, Kari, while I was hunting down Pugugly (who isn't.) I found a shuttle bus to the strip and flirted shamelessly with the driver to convince him to drop me off at the Luxor instead of the designated drop off point.
I have since concluded that Vegas is one of those cities I am never going to understand. There are places in the world that speak to my soul. Vegas wears mirrored sunglasses while it babbles meaninglessly at me to hide the fact that it is searching constantly for who's next. Someone who is deceived by the shiny exterior, the all you can eat buffets, the glitz, the glamour. Someone who doesn't see the irony in replicating Venice in a desert or allowing guests to sleep in a scale model tomb guarded by the Egyptian god of the dead.
I wandered into the Luxor and immediately felt overwhelmed. I felt very, very small as I clutched the hotel guest phone. I needed rescuing from sensory overload. "Where are you?" asked 'Walker.
I looked around.
The Valley of the Kings?
Next to a coffee shop?
Inside a great honking pyramid?
"I have no fucking idea..."
We managed to meet somewhere in the middle. I was engulfed in a hug and taken back to his room, ostensibly to see the view but really to act in an advisory capacity while he had a fashion crisis. Or perhaps so I could find his uncorrected proof of 'American Gods'.
Show-off.
Then it was off to the one place I could find that sold drinkable beer on tap. Mind you, trying to sink a pint ("That's not a pint! This is a pint...") of Caffreys at a bar with built in slot machines has to be experienced to be believed.
Pints were sunk. Scotches were savoured. Attempts at traditional British cuisine were made, introducing me to a fellow soul who knew the importance of tomato sauce for dipping chips in. Tomato ketchup indeed...
Kari arrived and cider was added to the drinkies list. Kari is a lovely, bubbly thingie to whom I owe beaucoup Tim Tams for her astonishing skills as a hostess and guide despite the utter catatonia of one of her guests. However, I was sufficiently conscious to engage in a hearty round of "Let's pick on 'Walker."
Kari took me on an emergency tea run and then it was off to see the strip.
What can I say? It was more than my mushy brain could process. Everything is gigantic and brightly lit. I did my best to take it all in and not drool idiotically on the upholstery. Kari and 'Walker kept up a running commentary as we drove along, occasionally checking to see that I hadn't slipped into a coma on the back seat after being awake for more than 36 hours.
Finally, I had to call it quits. I had reached the point where lights made me flinch and I was incapable of coherent speech.
Of course, do you think I could sleep once I got to bed? Yeah, right...
Sunday, I attempted to reboot my brain and prepare for my presentation on monday. My co-presenter, Mike, and I did our best to rehearse and revise between yawns. That night, I drugged myself silly to get some rest. And let me tell you, there is nothing more relaxing than waking bolt upright at 3am utterly convinced that you are back at home in your own bed and you will never make the conference in time. Really leaves you feeling refreshed and perky in the morning.
Despite a serious case of butterflies and abject technology failure (a major usability conference and do you think we can get a web connection up and running? hah!), it all went well. My voice held out, barely, nobody left halfway through and they laughed at all the jokes.
Once that ordeal was over (and I'd had a nice cup of tea), I was meeting, greeting, boozing, schmoozing and behaving like a consultant in Las Vegas on the company dollar. Mike and I were keeping a jar. We'd add $1 to it for every "Are you English?" or "Do you know the Crocodile Hunter?" comment. We expected to be able to get very, very drunk with the funds at the end of the conference. And if I heared another damned Tom Jones song, I was taking hostages.
Nothing of real note happened during the week. Lots of boring people blah-ing boring things at me while all I could think about were the crystal clear waters of the pool outside. Mind you, had I walked outside into the sun, I would have burst into flame and been reduced to ashes before I even crossed the paving to the pool's edge.
Mike (co-presenter) asked me what I was doing Wednesday night. "Um, you know those internet people I was telling you about? Well, some of them are coming to take me down to the strip. Want to come with?"
Mike: "Have you met these people before?"
Tree: "Nope."
Mike: "Do you know much about them?"
Tree: "Nope."
Mike: "Hmmm... do you even know what they look like?"
Tree: "Nope."
Mike: "How will you recognise them?"
Tree: "They'll be the other people standing aimlessly in the foyer wondering what the hell we look like."
I'm getting somewhat used to the look he had in his eyes...
Pug and Denise were easy to spot in the foyer. They had the same "I have no idea who the hell I'm looking for. Gawd, I feel like a right twonk." look on their faces that I'd just described. Gazes met, grins appeared, introductions were made and we were on our way.
We cruised the strip before heading for the Stratosphere, a big, pointy, Seattle needle-type doodad that gave us the most breathtaking views. Lots of photos were taken, lots of stairs hiked up and lots of knuckles whitened on my part as the roller coaster that circles around the tower made it shiver and shake. Then it was off to the extremely tasteful Peppermill.
Apparently this paean to good taste appeared in the movie "Casino". Consider the time period that film was set in. The Peppermill required no set dressing...
How to best describe it... it was a hissy-fit of blue corduroy banquettes, chromed, illuminated handrails and fake cherry blossom. The crowning touch? A jacuzzi-esque, illuminated water feature in its own conversation pit complete with burning gas flames spouting out of the centre.
Nice.
In the spirit of things, we ordered gigantic fluffy cocktails. I played dealer and handed out Tim Tams. It was amusing to watch. Pug looked at his suspiciously while Denise opened hers and took a bite. Her eyes widened. "Mmmph... this is good." Pug took a bite of hers and then informed her in no uncertain terms that she wasn't getting any of his.
Muahahahahahahahahahahaha. Two more victims... I mean customers.
Quotes you had to be there for:
- Ooooh, bottoms!
- Oh look, the Arc de Triomph. Of course...
- Let's play spot the hooker.
By that time it really was an unholy, cow-milking hour of the morning, Pug and Denise had a babysitter to pay off and Mike and I were fading fast. They very kindly returned us to our hotel (even though it was a bazillion miles away) and we didn't even get lost.
I think i'm destined to have adventures on America's highways. Last visit, I watched a truck jack-knife in the snow in front of us as Jinx, Margret, Lucy Anne, Reg and I drove back from ConCat. This time, I was hurtling down the freeway to Las Vegas airport in a shuttle bus when a tire blew out.
Eeeep.
Fortunately the driver got us safely to the side of the road and we sat waiting while the tire was replaced. We were a little rattled, but beyond that, all was good.
Uneventful flight back to LA. I discovered that not even codeine-laced cough syrup can make me sleep on a plane. Can't sleep, clowns will eat me...
Los Angeles
I'm cursed.
I am cursed to never, ever be met at LAX. Not even if I promise a copy of Neil's "Ghastly Beyond Belief" to the first person to meet me when I get off the plane. It's never going to happen. It's just one of those things.
I hate LAX.
I hate LA traffic.
I hate them with a passion that burns deep within my soul.
And I don't even live there.
West kindly picked me up from the airport with 'Walker as her chief navigator. So yes, they found both the airport, and me, eventually. Sushi, camera equipment and parking were arranged in short order.
First things first. I scuttled inside Book Soup to buy a copy of American Gods. Yes, I'd held out all this time, even though there were shiny new copies at all the airport bookstores. Then I worked my way down the signing line, meeting and greeting thingies and explaining that the Mononoke Kodama t-shirt I was wearing was available over the internet and no, you can't have it.
Hugs were exchanged, Tim Tams were handed over, Delerium gave me beautiful Ygddrasil-like tree earrings, I got my photo of Kari, and then we were ushered into the room where Neil was speaking. Just. Michelle, Adriana (of The Well) and I were the last people allowed in. The rest of the queue had to wait outside and listen to Neil speak through a PA.
It was hot and stuffy and I was too short to see much, but listening to Neil read is always a pleasure. He read the bit about Los Angeles that was kind of icky, but good. He then did an abbreviated Q&A, running through the most frequently asked questions, before accepting questions from the audience.
I would like to thank 'Walker personally for asking Neil to tell the Alan Moore story. I can die happy having heard Neil say the words "Well, well, well, there goes Neil 'Mr Scary Trousers' Gaiman."
The line seemed to fly by (although I'm sure it dragged interminably for the man himself) and before I knew it, I heard a British accent boom "Tree!" behind me and I was up. Yes, I went fan girl (for more than one reason!), yes, I babbled, no, I do not have the first clue what I said. But it was wonderful.
By the end, there were a Tuesday of thingies present (Michelle, 'Walker & West, Sir Bastard, Endless and myself). We got a chance to talk to a thoroughly worn out and somewhat haggard looking Neil for a bit (who graciously put up with us), get hugged (or prop him up as the case may be) and draft shopping lists to give to Tree because she finds the most astonishing things back in Australia. (Hey, I thought the 'Signal To Noise' CD had been released in the US. Australia is usually the last to get anything.)
So, by the end of the signing, what did I learn?
- yes, flying from Australia allows you to get as many damned things signed as you like
- do not interrupt Neil and there is always someone more interesting to meet
- what makes you think Neil wrote a Duran Duran book?
- imploding black holes of cute (Maddy and Sky and Winter McCloud dressed as fairy princesses)
- if you offer for Neil to lean on you and rest for a bit, be prepared for him to take you up on it (he's not a big man, but I'm just a little girl and I wasn't quite ready for an armful of Neil!)
- yes, Neil understands jetlag very well, thank you very much
- Neil appreciates the 'Ghastly Beyond Belief' repatriation program
- Emma Bull will not accept kidneys in exchange for a copy of the first Flash Girls CD, but she's happy to take Tim Tams
- Scott McCloud can spell my name! (but he signed 'Reinventing Comics' to Tree anyway)
- don't worry if Tree goes missing, she's just holding court outside
- Tree has a natural talent for finding stuff, be it rare Neil-abilia or Australian toaster biscuits (English muffins--neither English or Australian)
- "Good grief, Neil R Gaiman..." (Neil's response to his byline on his first printed short story)
The poor man finally escaped our clutches into the night and we headed back to the complimentary room West had for us. She even fed us. We love West (and she thoroughly earned her copy of 'Ghastly'.) Then all of us thingies were tucked in our beds, while visions of Neil signings danced in our heads.
San Francisco
Road trip!
Being the absolute goddess she is, Michelle drove Sir Bastard and I back to San Francisco in morphe_s, her little silver Beetle. Again I was safely ensconced in her living room (sleeping in the bathroom may have triggered Hello Kitty acid-flashbacks).
She took me out to the SFMOMA to try and replace my umbrella where I saw this (and yes, the other side says 'ground'.)
I saw something that made me laugh on the way to the SF Palace of Fine Arts. It's probably only funny to fellow Aussies though... the Palace is beautiful, extraordinary and has the Exploratorium. Michelle, Sir Bastard and I were like two-year-olds. The six-armed god we got to make in the photographic room was cool.
Somewhere in the whirl was the odd goth night out with hypnotic pigtails, Fourth of July with Michelle's family (who aren't anywhere near as weird as she made them out to be), yummy pizza, Indian and Japanese and a pub-alicious night with Tyg, Kali Nichta and her boy Zero.
My bad cab karma followed me again in San Francisco, but eventually I made it to...
New York
Long, dull, delayed flight notwithstanding, there was a delicious and delightful Morgana waiting for me at the other end with fried chicken and other goodies at 2am. Have I mentioned what a goddess this woman is?
We visited the Guggenheim (bad architect exhibition) and the shop at MOMA (my umbrella, wheeee!), shopped, caught a fabulous burlesque show called The Blue Angel, booed at A.I., experienced my first good Mexican at Mexican Radio, had high tea at an English café and milky tea at a Japanese tea-house, ate good sushi and went to see Washington Square.
Amongst other things.
Then it was off to catch the train to connecticut. I snapped this as the train went over a bridge. At the time I thought it was remarkable because it is quite good for a cheap and nasty point and click camera pressed against a train window. Now I think it is remarkable for the two tall smudges on the left...
Connecticut
Well, Jinx's cats obviously remember me.
Continuing the burlesque theme from New York, Jinx took me to a high class joint where I got to demonstrate a proper body roll to a scantily clad young man and won the raffle.
It was nice just to kick back with Jinx, her family and friends and have a quiet couple of days with lobster and beaches and carnivals and movies.
But I was rapidly running out of time and money, so it was time to head back to New York, catch dinner with Lucy Anne and Rocky and make my way back to LA (and finally getting met at LAX with a side trip to Santa Monica courtesy of 'Walker and his friend the raptor) and home again.
Melbourne
Just when you're thinking "How can she possibly squeeze in any more thingie goodness?", Margret arrived on our fair shores not long after I did.
I demonstrated the pleasures of yum cha, the fairy tree, The Astor, girlie kitchens, sticky date pudding, pumpkin soup (ok, ok, squash soup) and the insistant rock.
Yep, just another thingie day!
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