Off To See The Wizard

Mission 1. Hook up with someone as old as my mom (54) and as young as my sister (20) in a month.
Mission 2. Live a completely gay lifestyle (without the gay sex) for a month.
Mission Three: Closer than you think.

It is one of the most vacuous places in the world. The land where skin and night intersect with copious grandeur. Where lives are lost and misguided dreams are fortified. It is the city of loss. It is Las Vegas.

My thoughts are white with anticipation. I need this decadence. I need to be carried away. To have my near-thoughtful mind eclipsed by thoughtless and brilliantly lit imagery. To travel snake-like through the denizens of slot pullers, free drink in hand, watching their dreams float away as effortlessly as their cash.

I’m driving out tomorrow. I had a flight but cancelled it. I have a feeling that my relationship with my car may be coming to a close, and I wanted to take one last sunset ride through the desert together.

Unfortunately, by choosing the Zen highway, I will be miss out on one of life’s most fragrant moments, the Southwest Flight to Vegas. It is filled with an amazing array of near-blooming ladies of the night and the stripper scent that accompanies them. They fly in on Friday, out on Sunday. Within the confines of this unusual flying city there is a Mardi Gras mood that cannot be topped. It is a brilliant. Its jubilance can only truly be understood by the stark contrast on the Sunday morning flight back. An hour-long pilgrimage, filled with plastic tits and soured dreams.

But I need more than an hour to put things in perspective after leaving Las Vegas. Time to piece together the weekend, lost clothing and superficial reality. Besides, I’d rather say goodbye to an old friend, with the top down, hot wind blowing in my beard and Van Morrison riding shotgun than be filled with the saddened seminal scent of Sunday air travel.

The idea of Barstow has never seemed sexier to me than at this moment.

The sophomoric side to my personality would have to say the "most awesome" thing about Vegas is not the gambling or the beautiful woman. It's being able to drink on the street. There is a secular beauty in that simple act that this male beast finds exhilarating--Walking up the strip with beer-in-hand, warm desert air caressing my sunburn. That is a visceral moment that will flash before my eyes upon death. It is mystical and satisfying.

I have an idea of what my next mission will be, and am hoping this trip will solidify that belief. I expect this weekend to be as transitory as it is sensual. Vegas will play a big part in the countdown to my 30th birthday. I have a friend's bachelor party in July and I damn well might even go back again for my own fiesta.

See you on Monday, hopefully with some good stories about women I hopefully will "fall in love with" (don't worry, it won't be with the ex). Until then, here’s a clue to my next mission.