Hit the deck!

By Xania Woodman

Thursday, April 23, 2009 | midnight

Sunday, April 18, 10 a.m.

At some too-perky-for-a.m. party promoter’s texted insistence, I reluctantly “Get up! Get up! It’s gorgeous out! Come drink by the pool!” Well, who can resist an offer like that?

Spring has sprung, and guess what—skin’s still in! It’s noon and indeed gorgeous when wingcouple Shalom and Bill and I arrive at M Resort’s Daydream pool, a cloudless 84 degrees with a slight breeze that comes and goes like the tides. Unhurriedly strolling to our cabana, I let the sun kiss my exposed skin for the first time in a year. That is if my floor-length dress, Armada SPF 60 “face and body shield” and chinoiserie paper parasol count as exposed. Whereas some people bring the party with them, I prefer to bring the shade.

It’s plenty shady yet still bright beneath the billowing orange canopy, the creamy travertine warm beneath my bare feet. Daydream is bustling but not packed, with the oiled and tanned sunning themselves like harbor seals, and the bluish-white folk dashing from shade patch to shade patch. I split the difference, lounging contentedly in dappled shade and soaking up the serenity in preparation for today’s second stop.

Same day, 3 p.m.

The tiny paddling pool atop the Venetian reminds me of a cardboard box of newborn puppies, all wriggling and climbing on top of one another. It’s the season launch of Sunset Sessions, a party that breaks the mold of both nightlife events and daytime pool parties by spanning 10 a.m. to 10 p.m.; throughout the day it picks up and drops off partiers like hitchhikers.

Time to play my favorite packed-pool party game: squat in an empty cabana till someone more important arrives, at which point the selfsame host who seats you there with all assurance of a heads up when you “gotta go,” only moments later comes barreling at you, bottle slip fluttering like a war banner. The server hustles you out the door and sweeps away all traces of your existence, making the new inhabitants feel very VIP indeed. I fall for it every time, a veritable travel agent on someone’s carefully laid out ego trip.

No sooner does the server trot off with my credit card and ID and our drink order than we are dismissed, my cards and I reunited 30 minutes later; I send a small search party out for the drinks. I sigh and apologize to the wingcouple. Still somewhat blissed-out from Daydream, we dive into the chaotic Tao Beach fray to catch an old friend’s performance.

Ravidrums and I go way back. Don’t ask me how far back, because I was likely a little drunkish. But back. It was his gold body paint that I went home wearing after many congratulatory post-performance hugs when he positively killed it at the Playboy Mansion years ago. Yes, he’s a big deal.

Upon arrival (sans body paint), he immediately sets to turning his rig around to actually face out to the crowd. 25 drums and four cowbells must be pivoted 90 degrees counterclockwise. I sip my hard-earned Poolside cocktail and scope out Ravi’s biggest drums for potential shade.

The ground and daybeds are littered with spent towels, cigarette boxes, tan accelerator and downed beach balls. On men and women big and small, pale winter skin is being debuted for the first time this season. It’s not pretty, but similar scenes are being repeated all over town as other urban oases open for the summer.

Ravi’s first set is fraught with sound issues, but these are all resolved by the second go-round. As DJ Paul Martinez flits from song to song, Ravi sticks deftly by him, wailing on his assemblage of drums, bongos, cymbals and cowbells much to the ladies’ delight; they form a little dance floor in front of him. When the system goes out again, Ravi continues, never missing a beat, so to speak.

After 5 p.m., Donald Glaude hits the decks, and a cool breeze sets in, as does a booze fog. Ravi jumps back on for an unexpected third set with Glaude, giving the crowd his last licks as the sun slips below surrounding buildings while, in the pool, Jailbaits 1 and 2 hump the railings and each other, much to the delight of 10-plus photographers. At the end of the day, a little camel toe keeps things light, don’t you think?