What's in a name? The Imperial Palace

The last time I went to Las Vegas, I had the fortune of staying in a timeshare leased by my fiance's parents. It was commodious, clean, and quiet with a beautiful view of the Las Vegas desert in the not-too-far distance. (In case you're wondering, we stayed at Hilton's Grand Vacations Club adjacent to the Las Vegas Hilton). The drawbacks to the timeshare were the same as its principal advantages: there was no casino and no massive crush of crowd that you'd experience at strip hotels like the Paris. It was like a monastic oasis, yet it was easily accessible to the Las Vegas Hilton (and therefore the monorail down to the strip).

On this latest vacation, though, we decided to go on the cheap. I'm not too sure I'd advise doing Las Vegas on the cheap. It rightfully conjures images of dead prostitutes shoved under your mattress or of seedy, middle-aged men leering drunkenly at you as they lurk at the run-down bar next to the elevators to your room.

We managed to book a room at the Imperial Palace for $83 a night- not a bad rate for the height of tourist season and for a hotel located literally in the middle of the strip. We got to the hotel around midnight, and then began our historic wait in line. After an hour and a half of standing and staring at the hotel's seemingly last two employees, we were told that we had two options for our pre-booked room: either we take a room in the motel behind the IP, in which case we would indeed get a nonsmoking room but would not get the two double-beds we had requested (weeks before), OR we take a smoking room in the basement. We chose the latter option for lack of a better one.

The hotel is poorly laid out, even by Las Vegas standards. We were dropped off by the taxi in the back of the hotel, and it took us twenty minutes to find the front desk. By some miracle of modern engineering, we took an elevator up to the second floor, then got on a different elevator to go down to the first (as instructed), only to end up precisely where we had started. (Note: there is a secret bank of elevators behind the main elevators that never gets crowded. If you're foolish enough to stay at the IP, or if you're only using a room by the hour like most of the IP's clientele, use these elevators).

The room itself didn't smell too bad, although we had to walk through more than one stink cloud to get there. In the middle of the night, when the other guest stagger back to their rooms and light up one last smoke for the night, the stench wafts in and begins to choke you.

Our view was phenomenal in its awfulness. We were nearly subterranean, so there was a massive air conditioning unit outside our window. If I peered hard enough and craned my neck to the right, I could catch a glimpse of a portion of the building's exterior- a few balconies overlooking the pool.

The shower screamed and had all sorts of calcifications crusted to the shower head. The air conditioning unit had few controls, so the room was frigid and draughty. The lighting in the room consisted of two 60-watt light bulbs- not too bad if you're only there for an hour or two.

Thankfully there were no dead prostitutes under the mattress.

Perhaps I'm being cruel. After all, this isn't just another forum for ranting about an unpleasant experience. I could go to TripAdvisor for that, right?

This all leads me to think about the power of naming- what's in a name?

The Imperial Palace- of course an Oriental reference, but taken out of context the name is just as intriguing. Las Vegas is in itself an exercise in imperialism, as anyone who has ever been there could easily tell you. Look at the names and themes of the hotels, imperial powers all: Caesar's Palace, New York, New York, the Paris, the Luxor, Excalibur, Hooters (can't you take a joke?). Then there is the branding of imperialism on the buildings and in the stores: Hilton, Trump, Bally's (the model for Dodgeball's tellingly named Globo-Gym), Tiffany's, Cartier, Prada. Not an explicitly governmental sort of imperialism, certainly, but no less potent for that. Imperialism conjures great power, and who doesn't want to be around greatness? Imperial? Sign me up! Palace, as in an abode of royalty. As in the great pyramid, or Le Tour Eiffel, or the Colosseum. Las Vegas has imperially appropriated all of civilization's greatest imperial achievements in miniature. What could be more imperial than that? Las Vegas has out-palaced everyone. Take that, Queen Elizabeth.

Staying at the Imperial Palace, though, I didn't feel great or on top of the world. I could veritably feel the achievements of civilization crumbling all around me (lots of crumbling on this trip, apparently). A misnomer to the core. I was the one who had been conquered, appropriated, enslaved like chattel as I waited in a motionless queue. A facade of greatness. What could be more American than that? Standing in the Imperial Palace, you could feel the walls begin to shake from the impending implosion. I felt like the statue of Ozymandias in the desert, covered with sand, uselessly proclaiming the wonders of my vanished civilization. Las Vegas in the distant future, just dust and sand.

Las Vegas: National Star Trek Convention and Star Trek: The Experience

I'll make no bones about it: I'm a huge Trekkie.... always have been, always will be. I remember growing up watching Star Trek: The Next Generation beside my older brothers on the couch. We watched that show religiously. In the days pre-TiVo and DVD, my brother Chris would record each and every single episode on our VCR. That was quite a sacrifice then, as it involved literally chaining himself to the VCR (there were no such things as wireless remotes, so he could only venture out in a five-foot radius from the TV, as far as the chord on the remote would stretch). As the only girl and youngest child, it was easy for me to feel left out of the fray- my two older brothers had friggin' everything in common with each other. So I unconsciously sought out any way I could to bond with them, to feel like I could be a part of their infinitely cooler crowd. Star Trek was one of the ways I could fit in- it was accessible to me in ways that, say, hockey just wasn't.



But it sounds like I'm defending myself, and it's sad how us Trekkies feel the need to do that these days. Admittedly, we're going through a dry spell. There hasn't been a viable Star Trek show in years (we definitely don't count Enterprise, and one hell of a case needs to be made for Voyager). The last Star Trek movie, although it wasn't quite bad enough to deserve the term "abomination," could arguably be called a disaster, as it floundered at the box office and callously flipped the bird to long-time fans of the series. Thankfully, the franchise is being relaunched next summer with the new movie- which is, so far as I can discern, the only light on an otherwise somber horizon. A much needed light- long overdue.



Last year I went to my first Star Trek convention, the annual convention in Las Vegas. I don't know what took me so long (to go to Vegas or to a convention). This is when I first discovered for myself the spectacularly out-of-this world bar at the Las Vegas Hilton, Quark's (named for the bar in Deep Space Nine, or DS9).



Now, before I get started, I just want to clarify a point... I like Vegas. It's a fun town, and there are a million ways to have a good time there. But... in the grind of my daily life, it sometimes gets tiresome feeling like an outcast, dork, weirdo, etc. I'm not asking for pity, but the simple fact is that I feel like an oddity half the time. I just can't relate to the average person, and I'm not one of the pretty people. I like culture, philosophy, reading... I'm kinda erudite. I'm not a NASCAR or Toby Keith kind of girl, I don't hang with the plebes. That said, Vegas can be difficult for me to chew. The clientele is SO not my cohort- skinny girls in their Dolce and Gabbana mini-dresses chugging down margaritas by the yard, casting an orange glow around them from their spray-on tans. If I feel somewhat self-conscious in my daily life, in Vegas this feeling is multiplied by ten. In Caesar's Palace, I'm a friggin' cave troll.



Imagine my surprise, then, to find a bar where I don't feel weird or self-conscious. I'm surrounded by my peeps... freaks like me. We're quirky, we're unusual, we're the ones you don't invite over to play Beer Pong (which is your first mistake). The food's not great, but the drinks kick ass and the atmosphere is unparalleled. Finally, an M-Class bar in the galaxy... and in Vegas, of all places! (Okay, a Trek reference here and there won't kill you). The bar is made up to look like the bar from DS9, with "shops" on a promenade and replicators and a turbo lift... the whole nine yards. Words don't even begin to describe it. If you've ever seen the show, then you inherently know what the bar looks like. And the people- you've got Ferengi and Borg and Klingons and Vulcans strolling around acting the fool. For 99.999999% of us, this is the closest we'll ever get to being in the world we imagined while watching the show.



Last year was a great experience, and I planned on visiting Quark's bar every year for many years to come... Until, that is, the bomb dropped earlier this summer that Quark's is closing for business on September 1 after a 10-year run. I guess there aren't enough dorks in the world to sustain its business, and this fact makes me feel even worse than the news of the closure itself. What a lonely, lonely thought.... that there aren't enough people like you in the world. And suddenly I'm Odo- the lost, lonely changeling in a galaxy of solids.

The news of the closure periodically lurked over my shoulder during my weekend in Vegas like a death shroud with holes. I tried not to think about it, I drowned my sorrows in a "Borg Sphere" mixed drink- all to no avail. The sad truth was always there at the back of my mind, ready to pounce on me when I least expected it.

The convention itself was great fun- Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto were particular highlights of mine, as were Brent Spiner, Michael Dorn, Avery Brooks, Nana Visitor, and Alexander Siddig. But the absolute highlight of the weekend to me was the final appearance of the convention, five actors from Voyager up on stage together. I was sloshed at that point, so it was all quite entertaining to me (except for the fool who made Kate Mulgrew cry- that's right, I said cry). The actors were talking about their last day at the set and how things came full circle for them. Two actors found themselves leaving together down the same alley that that had taken when they arrived simultaneously on their first day. As they walked out of the studio, they reminisced about their favorite memories from their years of working together. Kate Mulgrew chimed in with a story of her own. She had been required to stay on an additional four days after the other actors had wrapped. As she was finishing her final scene, the crew was demolishing the set around her piece by piece. (Cue images of Michel Gondry's Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Joel to Clementine: "Look at it out here- It's all falling apart!" as the world self-destructs around him). As Kate delivers her final line and turns around, she notices that someone has already removed the captain's chair. And she thinks to herself, "I'm going to crumble." Then, she notices a shadow in the door. It's one of the other actors, Robert Picardo, who has come to comfort her, knowing how hard she'd be taking the loss. What a great anecdote, a fantastic way to end the convention.

As I walked for the last time through Quark's, looking around me sadly at the fantastical creation about to be erased from the world, I thought of Kate's story. It profoundly comforted me. I glanced over at my dad and fiance, at the crowd of assembled Trekkies dressed as the finest crew in Star Fleet, and I realized that the set might crumble around me, but that even when it does, these people will still be here. They're the shadows in the door frame, ready to encourage me when I can't go on. We all feel the loss.

In my travels, places have touched me deeply. They've spoken to me in a way that scripture never could, they have shaken me to the core and restored my faith in a greater purpose. But it's the people I have encountered along the way that have remained with me and have given me the strength to boldly go where I have never gone before.