Saturday, June 2, 2012

Vegas Has Me In Its Grip

Its after midnight and I have been up for 21 hours without sleep.  I am sure this is why I lost $6 at the 1c slot machines and I smell like an ashtray.

Seriously, they should stop people smoking in here.  Maybe some people want to smoke and play but other people do NOT want to smoke and the people who don't want to smoke get so they can't breathe.

Its a thick pall out there and I feel like I need to use one of those indian nose teapots to get the smell out of my sinuses.  Even my non-smoking room smells vaguely smoky, probably from the non-smoking refugees being forced to hole up here with their smoke-stenched clothes.

I am going to hang out at the Luxor again tomorrow.  I had the greatest sushi rolls for dinner.  They were from a restaurant called RICE & COMPANY.  The mango and avocado roll was sufficiently good that I want to go back there tomorrow.

Oh, I saw the first burlesque performance tonight.  It was the Legends Night - meaning women who performed burlesque in the 50s, 60s and 70s performed.  Their abilities at this point varied widely but the spirit and the skill they brought entranced the audience and most received standing (and hooting) ovations.

Some are celebrities in alternative culture - one performer *Haji* had been in Faster Pussycat, Kill Kill and other Russ Meyer movies.  All had been fabled performers in the history of burlesque and the world of 'exotic' dance.

106 (Fahrenheit)

This afternoon I went down to the strip.   It was so hot outside that the soles of my shoes became tacky on the asphalt.   When I smiled, my teeth became so dry that my lips stuck to them.

It was so hot outside that my hair, which was wet from the shower, was dry before I had walked 3 blocks.

It was so hot that just one side of me became sunburned waiting for the bus.

It was so hot outside that the plastic frames of my sunglasses burned my face and made a rim of sweat across the bridge of my nose.

It was so hot that I could have burned my finger on the big silver WALK button at the intersection.

It was so hot that the guy a the refreshment stand was selling everyone TWO bottles of water instead of one.

It was great.

The cabbie was Sarajevo said it was the first really hot day of the year.

At the Luxor

That intersection

Its all about the pool

I know we are very Seattle people now, Josh embodies the NW idiom of wearing fleece all year or going out in a t-shirt in winter, but jolly geez, heat is good for the bones.

I think we might have to retire to Florida, or South Africa or Australia.... someplace with a pool and blue skies and helicopters buzzing overhead and slushy margaritas that come in a 24oz cup shaped like a beach babe with a straw out of her head.

I know there's a lot to do in Vegas but I am having trouble leaving the pool.  Seriously, I didn't even NAP despite my early start.  The pool at the Orleans is particularly lovely today, being populated by many burlesque performers and fans.  Tropical tattoos, boys with lovely ginger sideburns, girls with fake flower sin their hair and waists synched into 1940s dresses with thin belts, glossy high heels by the pool (even I!) and a particularly voluptuous girls in a blue sequenced skirt-kini make the pool culture culturally diverse.

I tried one slot machine with one dollar but it whirred and at my money. Natasha and I were a bit disappointed and have vowed to try the 1c machines next.

Kellie has gone out on the Hoover Dam in a boat with alcohol and friends.   If she returns I shall see her tonight.

See if you can make out the lettering on the lifeguard seat
I am now going to catch a city bus to the Luxor to explore and see the Titanic Exhibition.  Apparently, I can touch a piece of the Titanic.

Friday, June 1, 2012

Vegas, Old Lady!

I did a writing course years ago and the only thing I can remember from it is that every good story follows the cycle of conflict, crisis and resolution.  So, here's my crisis:

Its 3.30am and I am heading off to Vegas for the first time.  I don't think I am a Vegas person.  I am sure there will be a chorus of disapproval and I am open to persuasion, but really?   Vegas?  I'm plump, in my 40s, am not a bachelorette or a bridesmaid, don't gamble, don't have a single pair of non-yoga shorts and it cost me about $50 to get a bikini and underarm wax (I know, TMI).

I'm not even convinced I'm really going to get on the plane.  I have a ticket, but its not like the old days when you travelled with a leather folder containing tickets in triplicate.  My ticket is a crummy printout of a confirmation number with color separation from my old printer.  It doesn't feel official.  Even the boarding pass lacks the credibility of cardboard.  Its like an important receipt that I keep misplacing.  I might blow my nose on it by mistake.

I caught the Airporter Express to the aiport.  It wasn't very express.  They picked me up at 3.30am and after collecting Michael and Richard (I know their full names and home addresses since they were illuminated on the dashboard for the whole trip (beneath mine, creepy) we arrived shortly before 4.30am.  Michael and Richard weren't chatty but the driver enjoyed telling me about his lifestyle working the 3am-1pm shift.  He likes gardening.  He naps when he gets home then stays up till 7.30pm.  I imagined stories in which serial killers locate victims by riding the Airporter and remembering...

Michael and Richard huffed quietly in the row behind me.

I spent the trip staring out the window at things, noticing how the darkness makes interiors bright while daylight hides them.  The rental car wash depot looked like a machine with its gizzards torn out, pipes and lines bursting bright in the artificial light and a huge plane drifted silently over the interstate to land at Boeing field.

Now its 5am and the concourse coffee places are opening and the noise levels .  We board in half an hour.  Announcements have started.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to our morning service to Las Vegas.  The flights is completely full so if you do not need your handluggage during the flight, we are offering courtesy consignment. We guarantee it will be at the baggage claim within twenty minutes of arrival.

The lights are coming on in Hudson News.  Out of sight, Bloomberg News is alternating between soothing ads and aggressive market news.

Nobody cares.

I have yet to find a crisis beyond the fact that I am going to bash the guy sitting next to me if he doesn't stop his ipad chiming belligerently with a noise like a metal spoon hitting glass.  CHING!!!  CHING!!!

I am going to consign my bag.