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Utterly unprepared, my suburban parents were invited downtown for an evening “at the theater” by a business associate of my father’s. They returned howling. “We wanted to leave after the first twenty minutes,” my mother still recalls today. “I’d never heard a woman use language like that, but then a few more minutes passed and I was laughing so hard I thought I’d wet my pants.” A few days later, Dad hit the record shop and Bette’s renditions of “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”, “Delta Dawn”, and “Chapel of Love” went into heavy rotation on our family room stereo.

The Midler song that stuck with me most back then was “Friends.” The lyrics swing from desperation to celebration, from a fear of loneliness to a pride in fellowship. It’s a tune that I was always glad I shared with my folks. It was good to grow up in a home where Bette’s bawdy humor and earnest sentimentality were welcome. When I was 14, my dad and I went to The Rose together. When I was 18, our parents took me and my 16- and 12-year-old brothers to see Bette Midler live. (Two of us eventually came out; the third happily runs the grandchildren department of our clan).

Luckily, I was raised with family values that embraced the likes of the Divine Miss M. Since my twenties, there’s always been a part of me that wishes I could have been an out, proud grown-up when Midler first made a splash in the early 70s. Sure, I was on board before Beaches, but I was born too late for the baths.

In March of this year, I gaily marked my 43rd birthday with a trip to Las Vegas (America’s capital of excess) with my partner Miles. There, I tuned in to upscale echoes of the Me-decade that are apparent from one end of the Strip to the other: Beatlemania is in resurgence; ABBA is adored; Studio 54 still packs in the crowds; glamorous spas fill in for bath houses; and, of course, Bette Midler has taken up residence.

If, like me, you’ve seen Bette Midler live on several occasions, the Caesar’s show is still a winner. For Divine debutantes like Miles, it’s a massive jackpot: From “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,” to “The Rose,” to “From A Distance,” Midler covers three decades of hits in a show that’s entirely focused on her most crowd-pleasing material. Considering that on her last national tour, Midler played amphitheaters and hockey arenas that seat up to 18,000 people, the 4,300 capacity Colosseum, with its excellent sightlines, is as intimate a space as many fans will ever see her perform in. No seat is more than 120 feet from the stage.

What’s slightly problematic is that the stage itself is 120 feet across. The 5’ 1”—and phenomenally fit—Midler gamely covers this ground, working the breadth of the audience throughout the show, but even 20 Toni Basil-choreographed dancing girls and some massive pieces of scenery have trouble making the stage feel fully occupied. Yet, Midler herself is so fully present that the force of her personality elevates the show above its shortcomings.

Ironically, while the biggest production numbers range from amusing: an expanded chorus line of the wheelchair-bound mermaids that Midler’s been rolling out for years; to the hysterical: the rat-a-tat fusillade of dirty jokes she fires off in a Sophie Tucker extravaganza, the show’s strongest moments come when Midler stands alone on stage and reaches for the rafters with gravel-edged passion.

During a haunting “Hello, In There,” a ferocious mid-set rendition of “When A Man Loves A Woman,” and a “Wind Beneath My Wings” finale that managed to be moving despite its inevitability, I reached for Miles’ hand and I reflected back on the 1970s, when my parents kindly introduced me to the raunchy, sappy, irresistible Bette Midler. It occurred to me that what’s most remarkable about Midler’s performances isn’t that she can captivate Las Vegas, but that she can transcend it.

For three nights of 70s-inspired indulgence that we nicknamed “Bette, Baths, and Beyond”, my partner Miles and I stayed in a junior suite at The Signature at MGM Grand (http://www.signaturemgmgrand.com). Just completed last July, this private, gated complex offers a soothing counterpoint to the frenzy of the Strip with its luxurious no gambling, no smoking environment. Our room’s polished granite bathroom with whirlpool tub, plus incredibly comfortable Egyptian cotton bedding, provided the perfect oasis for morning sleep-ins after late-night carousing.

In the first sequence of The Showgirl Must Go On, Midler takes the stage atop a 2,200 pound tower of Louis Vuitton luggage, wisecracking that “this is just my carry-on!” After we unpacked, Miles and I decided that our opening night in Vegas should have a bit of French style too, so we headed through the Signature’s private passageway to the MGM Grand for a showstopping dinner at at L’Atelier de Joël Robuchon (http://www.joel-robuchon.com), and had one of the most pleasurable meals I’ve ever enjoyed.

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