The annual film festival like Sin City's mini Sundance, on a smaller, more B-list scale. Still, fun folks and parties abound.
Last night's kick-off soirée was at Privé. On my way into the VIP section I was interviewed by the Independent Film Channel. They asked me, among other things, how Privé ranked in terms of the Vegas nightclub scene.
I didn't lie. I'm not a huge fan of the joint -- but the Planet Hollywood nightclub is OK. I mean, it could be worse... it could be Tabu. Or in the Fiesta.
But I wasn't about to say it's up there with XS or Blush or Tao or even Lavo. Heck, I even like LAX better.And like my thoughts about Privé, I'm not going to hold back from sharing the lesson I learned last night: The vast majority of L.A. guys suck.
If the largely L.A.-based crowd demonstrated anything last night, it's that L.A. guys are short and reek of desperation. Well, the ones at this party did, at least. They couldn't handle their liquor, either.
It's not that I have anything against L.A. I actually quite like the city, depite its brutal traffic and materialistic ways.
Still, I am hard-pressed to recall a party where I was hit on so much and by such a large collection of low-quality fellas (yes I use the term "quality" loosely; I'm sure they were all nice/successful enough people). And I say this after attending the saus fest otherwise known as the Playmate of the Month party last week -- which was, coincidentally enough, in L.A. (And yes, I fielded more than my fair share of offers that night. But that's not the point. All of said offers were, as all of those I received last night, declined, ever-so-politely.)
Unlike the fairly savvy set of guys at Foxtail last week, however, the vast majority of last night's selection had no chance whatsoever. Not that that stopped them.
Perhaps it's because they were out of their element, on vacation, and didn't hink they had to worry about anyone recognizing them again.
Vegas does, after all, make people think irrational things and behave in irrational ways.
I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it rendered the guys shameless.
Is it that these shorties (and oldies, and douchies) actually thought they had a chance? Because they didn't. And don't. It should be obvious... but somehow, it (apparently) wasn't.
I still had a good time, though -- with the smattering of fun cool locals who were there, I mean.
Highlights: The three cute guys in attendence; realizing the standard issue L.A. guy uniform consists of jeans, a black blazer, Chuck Taylors and artie/emo hair (nerd glasses optional); some hot chick asking me if my friend, Sarah, was my girlfriend, and when I explained that she was my friend but not my girlfriend, she replied "Oh, sorry, I was going to hit on you, but never mind..." (I get a kick out of being confused for gay -- don't ask); the open bar (not that I drank); the gift bags (even though I didn't get one); talking about perogies and singing "Who Stole the Keeshka" with my newest flaming Ukrainian friend; the room being the perfect size for the VIP reception; the music not being too loud or shitty; the fact that CineVegas is officially underway.
Lowlights: Perceived gender imbalance; male dinosaurs hitting on me (the rules are simple: if you're older than my boss you're too old and if you're older than my dad you're downright dillusional); groundhog guys who refused to take the "I've got to go find my friend..." hint and kept reappearing; their running out of gift bags; having to pay for Red Bull; having to go home afterward and write until 5:30 a.m.
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