In front of me is a woman named Marcia, who is proudly displaying an album of photos she’s collected from her years as a founder of the “Tahoe Angels,” a group of fans that congregates at the American Century Celebrity Golf Championship every year. It’s a huge undertaking, as you can probably imagine, and one that would be an impressive feat of organizational tenacity even if Marcia were going for the golf, which she isn’t. In fact, for all I know, she actively hates the game; she’s just there to see one of the players. To my left stands a pair of men who spent the previous night on the floor of a casino. And to my right stretches a long line of people — mostly women that might be referred to as “cougars” — who have firmly committed themselves to standing, more or less stock still, in the middle of said casino for the next several hours. Next to me is famed producer and A&R man Peter Lubin, who is incredulously shouting, “You mean there are bootlegs of these shows?”

We are deep in Jack Wagner territory, we are in plain view of the stage where he will perform tonight, and excitement is in the air. It’s mingling with cigarette smoke and the scent of Social Security checks being pissed into slot machines, but it’s still there, and you can still feel it. (more…)