bikini babes like saying “I appreciate your hands down my shorts but I’m gay…no, really.” Nevertheless, it did occur to me that, in the immortal words of Big Bird, one of these things is not like the others… Vegas does not suffer from bigotry — it is the least judgmental city in history. But it does have a dearth of gay infrastructure. The upswing of this, however, is the venues that do exist, such as Share, and parties like REVO Sundays at the Mirage, pull in every L, G, B, T, and Q for miles around, creating fantastically diverse crowds. To its credit, Vegas is well aware where it comes up short; gays and lesbians represent a whole new world to exploit enchant, and the city is seriously getting its gay on. The pool-party is a Vegas cornerstone, and with its iconic jet-black pyramid as a backdrop, the Luxor hosts Temptation Sundays, a vast gay aquafest as tactile as anything going on at the Palms. And for me, much more successful. Moving right along…
If poolside shenanigans aren’t your thing (eh, it takes all kinds), Vegas can still satisfy via its showstopping stage spectacles. Elton John is a frequent Vegas performer, and I don’t think there was one straight man in the Colosseum at Caesar’s Palace when I took in Celine Dion, whose candleflame-slender figure belies the fact that she hail-marys every note to the back row of the cheap seats with lung capacity to spare. At one point, singing in a waterfall, Ms. Dion’s five-octave range is as expansive as ever, and her legs go right out the door, but if you find yourself sitting smack-dab in a herd of drunk gay Canadians cheering on their country’s favorite daughter — like I was — change your seat. Put the usher in a hammerlock if you have to. But a show here, a party there, and a club way over there (Share is far removed from the Strip) is hardly in the Vegas spirit of now-now-now/ more-more-more, and this explains
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