Matt and I had our first adventure on Spirit Airlines heading to Phoenix on a Friday morning. While they don’t have Precheck, they charge for carry-on bags (we checked a shared bag for cheaper), and there is indeed no leg room, we decided it was worth it for a really cheap flight. I just wouldn’t use them for anything over three hours or so.

We landed in Phoenix around noon, picked up our bags, and Matt’s parents arrived to pick us up shortly thereafter.

The in-laws had been there for a while, having rented their friend’s condo in Scottsdale for the entire month of January. Neither Matt nor I had spent any time in Arizona – we’d both only crossed the border at the Hoover Dam – so we were looking forward to seeing more of the state. Also, Minnesota was horrendous and cold, and this was the weather in Scottsdale:

We went to the condo, unpacked, and hung out. My mother-in-law mentioned that the condo had fruit trees, where we could pick our own grapefruit, lemons, and oranges. I love that.

There were a ton of shops and restaurants near the condo, so we walked over to a place called Blanco’s to get some food and beers. (The in-laws kept calling it Blank-ohs, so we didn’t get it til we arrived.) We sat outside in the glorious weather, and were joined by a couple of Matt’s parents friends from South Dakota. (All the snowbirds tend to congregate in one place, after all.) We had guacamole and tacos, and were pretty impressed with the food there.

We hung out at the condo for a while, discussing our plans for the next day. We were headed to the Grand Canyon, and Matt’s dad wanted us to book the hotel we’d picked out in Tusayan, so we didn’t have to make the drive there and back in one day. We looked it up on Hotels.com and saw that it was totally booked, which seemed strange in January. I expanded the search, and found that that was the case with almost everything there – Tusayan was almost full. We finally decided on a hotel that looked pretty motel-ish but had good reviews and was cheap, so I booked two rooms and we were set.

Around dinner time, we headed down to Old Town Scottsdale. It was about three miles down the road from where they were staying. It was 6pm, and they wanted us to see a legitimate cowboy bar, the Rusty Spur.

‘Legitimate’ was no joke… there was a guy on stage playing country music, and people wearing unironic cowboy hats hanging out. The in-laws did some dancing, and we had a beer.

Then it was dinner time, so Matt and I did some quick online research about which places might have vegetarian food. A few blocks away, we found Tommy V’s Urban Kitchen and Bar. Matt’s dad had been paired with one of their servers when he was out golfing earlier in the week, so we were seated in his section.

The food was really good, though the place was busy and super-slow. After dinner, we decided to walk over to The Mission for a cocktail before heading back. On the way, Matt’s mom stopped into a shop for souvenirs, and I took crappy pictures of Old Town at night. It’s really cute!

The Mission was insanely crowded, but they managed to find us a table out on the heated patio. We had a margarita there before heading back to the condo.

Back home, the in-laws headed to bed and Matt and I went to sit in the hot tub for a hour or so before heading to bed. I’ve mentioned before that a hot tub in the desert is the greatest thing ever, and I stand by that assertion.

I got up Saturday morning and went downstairs, where Matt’s parents informed me they weren’t going to the Grand Canyon after all. His dad had come down with a cold, and really didn’t feel like making a long roadtrip.

I figured we had no chance of getting a refund from the hotel for the reservation within 24 hours, but I gave it a try anyway. The hotel said I had to call Hotels.com. The lady at Hotels.com was super-friendly, and said since I was a high-level member, she would give me a refund for one of the rooms. That made me an even bigger fan of their service.

Matt and I packed and got on the road around 10:30 and headed north. The second we got on I-17, Google started warning me that there was an accident ahead. I did some research, and discovered that we didn’t really have any options. There’s one big interstate through the desert mountains, and that’s it.

We reached the traffic jam about 20 miles ahead, and sat. Then we sat some more. I spent my time laughing at and imitating every single saguaro I saw. Seriously, look at them. They’re awesome.

There’s not much to look at besides the cactus until you get up into the mountains. An hour later, we’d made it about 10 miles and the accident had cleared. There was rest area near the peak, so we pulled off to use the restroom. So did everyone else who’d been stuck on the highway for an hour, so we ended up waiting in line at the bathrooms, too. The parking lot also contained the smashed remains of the car that was the cause of the slowdown, piled on top of a tow truck.

Finally we were on our way at normal speed. We exited shortly afterward at Hwy 69, heading toward Prescott. I hadn’t really known much about it until we arrived in Arizona and read all the tourist magazines, but what we learned is that it was an old west town where Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday used to hang out, and therefore Matt had to see it.

Also, there’s a street called Whiskey Row.

Prescott was an adorable little town centered around the old courthouse plaza. Whiskey Row had a line of awesome oldtimey saloons and touristy shops. Before we visited those, though, we needed some lunch.

We walked a couple blocks up the hill to Prescott Station, which had an extensive menu and good beer list. My chile relleno came with soba noodles for some strange reason, but it was delicious.

After lunch, we walked down to Prescott Brewing Company, which faced courthouse square. The place was packed at midday, but we found a couple spots at the bar. We didn’t have much time to hang out, but there was enough time for a sampler.

Then it was time to visit Whiskey Row. We’d researched the bars there, and picked one that was particularly history. Matt had to get his picture outside his namesake bar first, though.

Then we headed into The Palace, which still had the swinging doors that Wyatt Earp used to walk through.

The place was mostly empty, but all the seats at the bar except one were full. The three stools next to that were occupied by some Confederate soldiers in full uniform, drinking Coors. No, really. Union soldiers. And one of them got up and offered me his chair.

See, here’s surreptitious proof of the soldiers. The staff were dressed in period costumes, too. It was great. We ordered beers, and hung out in the Old West for a while.

Then it was time to head out. We’d tried to time it so that we’d make it to our hotel near the Grand Canyon before dark, but we’d have to hurry to get there.

We headed back north on Highway 69, and saw a lot of the middle of nowhere in the desert. We reached I-40 (back on Route 66 again!) and headed east. We stopped to pay a million dollars for gas in Williams, and then exited I-40 to go north toward the Grand Canyon. The sun was starting to set.

Our hotel was in Tusayan, a little town a mile south of the entrance to Grand Canyon National Park. As far as we could tell, it existed solely for that reason, since it was all hotels and restaurants. Since the park passes are good for a week, we decided to drive up to the ranger station and buy a pass so we didn’t have to deal with it in the morning. Then we made a u-turn and went back to Tusayan.

We found the Canyon Plaza Resort right away because it was gigantic. I was nervous because it was one of those old motel-style buildings, but our room was actually very clean and the bathroom had been recently redone. In addition to the outside door, we had another door facing in on the atrium, which led directly to this magical place: the Wintergarten.

(No, I have no idea why there’s a bar called The Wintergarten at a hotel by the Grand Canyon.)

We had a beer in the room, and then went over to the Wintergarten for another one. I asked our server how late they’d be open that night – it was a little after 7:00 and strangely quiet for a Saturday – and he said, “Oh, pretty late, depending on how long people are here. Probably 8:30 or so.” That kind of set the tone for the evening.

I noticed even walking around our room that I was kind of off-balance, and realized that it was due to the altitude. The South Rim of the Grand Canyon is at about 7,000 feet, which did not cooperate well with my inner-ear-related vertigo. It wasn’t too bad, just strange.

While it had been very pleasantly in the 70s during the day in Scottsdale (and a slightly-chilly 50s at night), such was not the case at the Grand Canyon. It was in the 30s, but we were prepared with winter coats and mittens. We walked a couple blocks over to a place called Sophie’s Mexican Kitchen, because it had the word “vegetarian” on the sign.

There were a few people in there, and a couple that came in directly behind us, but it was definitely quiet. We had prickly pear margaritas (delicious) and dinner (acceptable), and by the time we were ready for our check, they were flipping chairs up onto tables. It wasn’t even 9pm yet.

So then it became a contest to see if we could find another place open for a drink in Tusayan. As we walked down the street, three guys came out of the steakhouse nearby and set off, obviously on the same mission. They crossed the street to another mexican restaurant, but we decided to head for the fancy resort (The Grand Hotel) at the end of the “strip” (it’s about three blocks long). We figured they had to have a cocktail bar there, or at least something at the restaurant. I was semi-teetering along the way, not due to drunkenness but altitude-based vertigo. What a strange sensation.

They did indeed have a bar. It was western-themed. I sat on a saddle.

The bartender was really funny, and had moved from Portland. We had a drink there and hung out talking, and were glad there were still other people sitting at the bar. The massive restaurant closed, and a few people came in for very complicated nightcaps (there was a lot of Baileys involved). Matt ordered another drink, and then suddenly it was last call. Their last call was no joke, either… around 9:45 the register basically shut off and wouldn’t let our bartender enter orders or do anything but print checks. It was kind of amazing.

We headed back to the hotel for a beer in bed, where we discovered the many Japanese channels on our hotel TV. We ended up watching Cat TV, which was an entire show following house cats around a farm in France, narrated in Japanese. Amazing.

We got up bright and early the next morning, to get to the Grand Canyon before “the rush”. (We didn’t really expect a rush that time of year, but you never know.) We checked out of the hotel, grabbed a drive-through breakfast, and headed into the park. The sun was just coming up.

I parked the car in the gigantic parking lot near the main visitor center. There were very few cars there, so that was a good sign. We grabbed our cameras and headed toward a nearby overlook for our first-ever view of the Grand Canyon.

It was not disappointing. I got choked up when I saw it.

We walked along the trail by the visitor center, taking pictures at each stop. There were very few people around. It was cold, but not terrible… when the sun came up, it was around freezing.

The biggest crowds we saw were at this overlook by the entrance. There were a bunch of people with selfie sticks taking photos of themselves. And by ‘a bunch’, I mean 30 at most. It was kind of amazing.

Bally was impressed, too.

Here are a couple panoramas!

What we’d learned about the Grand Canyon is that January is a pretty questionable month there, weather-wise. It’s very likely that the roads to some of the more remote overlooks are closed in January, so you can pretty much only stick around the visitor centers and Grand Canyon Village. We got incredibly lucky, because all the roads were open.

The other huge plus to going that time of year is that during the high season (March to November), you can’t take those roads to the overlooks. You park at the visitor center, board a bus, and ride to each of the stops along the way. But in the off-season, you’re on your own. I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t have been able to get to half the things we saw if we’d have had to wait for buses all day.

From the visitor center, we drove on through Grand Canyon Village and onto the road to Hermit’s Rest, which heads westward along the south rim of the canyon. We stopped at most of the overlooks along the way.

From the first overlook, you can see Bright Angel Trail. There were plenty of people walking it already, and I did not envy their climb back up.

It didn’t take long for us to notice the effects of altitude: we just had to try to climb back up the stairs from the overlook. We were gasping by the time we got to the top.

God, it was gorgeous there. Especially in the morning light.

There’s no good way to get the appropriate perspective in your photos, either. It’s so gigantic. (I still have trouble believing that the Colorado River was actually a mile below us.)

We drove to Hopi Point, then took the trail back to Powell Point. (All over the overlooks are connected by a walking trail, most of it paved.)

There’s a monument to John Wesley Powell there, commemorating the first (white guy) explorer to boat the length of the Colorado River.

From those two stops, we decided to drive all the way to Hermit’s Rest. I didn’t really know what to expect there, but it was awesome. Also, there were two other cars in the parking lot. It felt almost like we had the park to ourselves.

We went into the building there, and saw the fireplace that people had been warming themselves at for a hundred years. There’s a shop in there, too, so we picked up the requisite souvenirs of our visit.

Matt plugged a quarter into the telescope so we could check out the view.

He’d read that you could use those telescopes as a telephoto lens for your camera, so I tried it out. Um…. nope.

We walked down the trail behind the building, which led to the trailhead parking lot, where there were a couple campers parked. There was also this array of bones, which wasn’t at all creepy.

I wanted to steal the walking sticks there. (I have a fetish for those little medallions you can buy at any national or state park as souvenirs, which you’re supposed to attach to your walking stick. I have zero need for them, but I really want them.) Matt said I couldn’t, lest we get murdered by the campers or the people who left the bones there.

Then we filled our bottles with Grand Canyon spring water. It was deliciously mineraly.

We went back to the car, and went to see the stops we’d passed along the way. First was Pima Point, which we had to ourselves.

Those railings are there to protect you, but they’re kind of beat to hell:

We found our initials carved in a tree!

Then there was The Abyss, the best-named overlook.

Once we’d seen all the stops along the Hermit’s Rest road, we went back to Grand Canyon Village and parked the car. We walked down across the railroad tracks to visit the mules. The guy in front nickered ‘hi’ to us, which was adorable.

Then we crossed back along the tracks (which were still somewhat ice-covered, due to being in the shade) and went to see a train parked there, and the station.

We realized that the buses parked there with a bunch of bus drivers hanging out meant that the train was arriving, so we stayed to watch it pull into the station. I really want to take the train sometime.

Then we walked up the hill to see the hotels. Climbing two flights of stairs at altitude is not a fun adventure, and makes you feel hella old.

El Tovar is the fancy old lodge-style hotel with rocking chairs on the front porch. We sat in one, and then went inside to take a look.

It’s chock full of dead animals, as expected. Apparently the cocktail lounge there is really cool, but it was closed for renovation. We decided to move on.

Next door is Bright Angel Lodge, which also has a very outdoorsy appeal. I liked their lobby better, because it reminded me of all the up-north cabins in Minnesota.

We decided to go have a beer in their lounge instead. It was the opposite of fancy, but it was oldtimey and comfortable.

Then it was time to make our way onward so that we weren’t driving the whole way back to Scottsdale in the dark. We first went to the visitor center, used the restroom, and got coffee for the road. Then we took the park road heading east toward Desert View. We’d seen a sign at the entrance saying the road going that way might be closed, but that was not the case.

I was glad we’d taken the other route first… there’s not as much to see along the way, at least until you get to the end.

The tower was really cool. It was built by the same people who built Hermit’s Rest.

There was more snow at this end, too. Unfortunately it had started to get overcast in the late afternoon.

From there, we continued on the highway out of the park. The exit leads to a very large Navajo reservation with awesome views of the mountains. I learned later that there’s fossil evidence of dinosaurs all over the place there, too.

We descended very slowly along the route back south. There’s not as much to see going that direction, and the desert is very scrubby. We stopped in Flagstaff to get a burrito, and then headed onward. We had considered stopping to see Sedona, too, but realized we’d be pretty late getting back to Scottsdale.

On the way, we were listening to the NFC championship game on Sirius, and heard the Packers get knocked out of the playoffs. That was satisfying.

We got back to the condo in Scottsdale around sunset, where Matt’s parents were anxiously waiting for us. We had pizza for dinner, showed them all the photos we’d taken at the Grand Canyon, and hung out playing cards, followed by another visit to the awesome hot tub.

The next morning, I got up and Matt’s mom and I took a walk around the condos to pick fruit. I took pictures of cacti, because I seriously love cacti.

They had orange, grapefruit and lemon trees.

Seriously, how nice is it to be able to pick your own citru? I can’t wait to live somewhere warm.

I hung out on the patio soaking up the sun, and then we piled in the car and drove to Talking Stick casino. The in-laws said they had amazing bloody marys. We had beers, since that’s not really our thing.

The casino and resort were really nice, and obviously fairly new. I was excited to read that they had craps there, but couldn’t find the actual table. I realized it was actually one of those craps machines with the giant Boggle-style dice popper in the center of the table, but that was alright since it seemed to work exactly the same as the normal game. Matt, his dad, and I sat down to play for a long time, and we all did pretty well.

Afterward, we headed into Old Town to do some more shopping. We covered a lot of ground, and I had to resist buying everything at the shop that had everything southwestern-and-Mexican that you could ever want. (Especially since we were sharing one checked bag.)

Since we were right by the Rusty Spur, we decided to stop in for a beer again.

Matt’s parents were tired of walking, so they took the car and headed back while Matt and I did more shopping. And by ‘shopping’, I mean we mostly went to the tiki bar. Hula’s was great.

Since we had dinner reservations that evening, we decided to take the bus back to the condo so we could change into nicer clothes. It dropped us off right across the street from the condo, and we went in to hang out for a while before leaving again.

Our dinner plans were at Culinary Dropout, which was halfway back to Old Town in the Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall. (It was this gigantic hulking fake-downtown looking thing, the kind that always makes me uncomfortable. We’d ridden through there a couple times, since the trolley stops there.)

It was colder outside than previous nights, and I was wearing my winter jacket. It was funny to see people in a vast array of covered-up; there were ladies in clubwear, and people wearing full-on winter gear. It’s basically exactly how Minnesota is when it starts getting into the 40s in spring.

The restaurant was great. It was noisy and the in-laws didn’t entirely get the menu concept, but their food and cocktails were excellent.

Matt and I had considered going out again after dinner, but decided to just ride back and hang out with his parents instead, since it was our last night. We played some cards again, and then hit up the hot tub for one last time after they went to bed.

I got up Tuesday morning and went out to the patio to knit. It was a little bit chilly in the 50s, but I was determined to soak up as much sun as possible.

When Matt got up, we went to say bye to our good pal, the hot tub.

Then we packed up our stuff and headed to lunch. We’d seen Diego Pops on the way there from the airport, and knew we had to stop in for a visit sometime. Especially since they had vegetarian tacos, which were great. (Not to mention prickly pear margaritas.)

Then we drove down to another spot I’d wanted to visit since I learned of it on the first day of our trip: Sphinx Date Ranch. They sold locally-grown dates, and a bunch of other food gifts. We bought a bunch of awesome things there, and had to figure out how to get it into our luggage. (I ate a date a day for two weeks after that.)

And then it was time to head to the airport. Matt’s parents dropped us off, and we headed to our flight. We took off right around sunset, and the view over the mountains was great.

It was so insanely cold when we got back to Minneapolis that we opted to take a cab to our parking spot rather than have to walk the two blocks from the train. Living in the frozen northland isn’t that great, in case you were wondering. That’s why we’re so glad to escape!

Matt and I headed to the airport bright and early for our 9am flight to Las Vegas. We landed shortly after 10am, the earliest we’d ever arrived there. (We’re fans of the postwork late arrival that basically just looses us onto the Strip.) We hopped the airport shuttle and picked up our car, which was a much larger Nissan than I’m used to driving; we wanted one with a trunk, since we’d be leaving it parked with our luggage quite a bit.

Our first important stop was the In-N-Out Burger south of town. We picked up our usual lunch and continued on the interstate to the Hoover Dam. Matt had never been there before, and I hadn’t been in years.

We got there within 45 minutes, drove through the questionable security check, and parked in the ramp. Having been in sub-20s weather in Minneapolis just a few hours earlier, the sun and warmth were a very nice change.

We jumped into the ‘dam’ puns as soon as we arrived. It’s an important tradition to uphold. (I was later pleased to buy some ‘dam mints’ at the gift shop, and I’ve been carrying them around ever since.)

The highway bridge had been constructed since my previous visit, and it made the view even more impressive.

There was a paddleboat tour sailing around Lake Mead north of the dam. I made a note to look into that on our next visit, because I’m pretty sure that would be awesome.

At the center of the dam, there’s a sign marking the border between Nevada and Arizona. I hadn’t noticed that before.

Since Matt hadn’t been to Arizona, we made a point of walking across to the other side. It was Bally’s first visit, too! We’re actually going to Scottsdale in 2015, but it’s not often you can just walk into another state.

We went back across the dam, made the obligatory gift shop visit, and went back to the car. I’ve never actually taken the dam tour, but we decided to save that for later. It’s a time commitment.

On the way out of the visitor center, we drove up to the overlook. Lake Mead looked very appealing from there.

I’d read that it was a more interesting route to take Lakeshore Drive through Lake Mead National Rec Area, so we decided to go back to Las Vegas that way. The desert scrub is pretty great to see, and also it’s easy to get down to the beaches. They’re rock instead of sand, but still scenic.

We stopped at a few more desert overlooks along the way. There seems to be a lot of mysterious industry going on out in the desert.

We exited from the northwest corner of the park, and headed back in the direction of Las Vegas. After a few miles, the desert started changing into this weird terraforming zone, where they were obviously in the middle of building a ton of new properties. We took a wrong turn and ended up in a golf resort neighborhood, which just made me angry with all its perfect green grass and fountains. It’s the desert, for god’s sake. Watering lawns is just wasteful.

We could see Vegas in the distance, so we knew we were headed in the right direction, but Google Maps wasn’t making it easy for us. It sent us down a dead-end road that ended in a future roundabout, and then couldn’t quite figure out another route from there. We finally found a major street that led us back to the south end of town, and from there managed to get on I-5. We took the loop around the west side, and exited to find a spot we’ve wanted to visit since we first started going to Vegas so many years ago: Frankie’s Tiki Room.

It was 3pm and full sun outside, so we walked into the nearly-dark room and were completely blind. We could kind of make out the back of the bar, and saw that there were a few tables with candles on them, but otherwise we couldn’t see anything in the room. We wanted to sit at the bar, but couldn’t even tell if there were people there or not. We had to stand around for a couple minutes before our eyes adjusted enough that we could find seats.

We had a couple drinks and lost $20 apiece on stupid video poker. Matt bought one of their souvenir mugs, which is shaped like a slot machine. We didn’t know it then, but it was the first one of a collection of new tiki mugs we’d get on the trip.

We unfortunately couldn’t stay all night even though we wanted to, because we had show tickets and a car to drive. We decided to head downtown to the hotel before going to get dinner, since it was after the 4pm check-in time. We found our way down to the Plaza, but the parking there was really confusing. We ended up parking in a flat lot a block down (rather than the ramp), and had to roll our bags through some road construction to get into the building.

The casino looked a lot nicer than it had on our previous visit (we’d had dinner at Hash House A-Go-Go a few years back), and the front desk staff was really nice. There was a beer bar in the lobby with a good selection, so we got a drink to take up to the room while we unpacked. We had a great view looking down Fremont Street, too.

Once we were settled, we headed back out to the car and drove to the SLS. I’d done some research, and discovered that Umami Burger had both 1) vegetarian food and 2) a sports book. Plus we wanted to see what they’d done to the former Sahara. The casino was waaay fancier than before, and basically unrecognizable from its previous incarnation. Umami Burger was fantastic, too: we had good food, excellent beer, and there were sporting events on about a billion TVs around us.

After dinner, it was time to head to the Rio for our show. On the way out to the parking ramp, we noticed something I’d seen and totally forgotten about on previous visits: there are footprints ALL OVER THE PARKING RAMPS IN VEGAS. Like on the walls, overhangs, and all over the ceilings. Seriously, look in any parking ramp in Las Vegas and it will look like humans were walking all over the ceiling. Why is that??

The Rio is one of the offstrip casinos we hadn’t been to before (and one I regularly confuse with The Palms, which we’ve stayed at). It definitely wasn’t as nice as I was expecting, and shortly after walking in we were harassed by one of those people trying to get you to play dumb games that are really a way to get you to buy a timeshare or something. (I don’t even know what their scammy bit is about, but it’s dumb and ends up with people littering their fake million-dollar bills all over the place.)

We had tickets to see Penn and Teller at 9pm, and since we had some time to kill, we figured we’d stop and get a drink to bring into the theater. We found a really nice-looking bar at an Italian restaurant down the hall, and got Manhattans to take with us. Then we headed to the theater, and discovered at the door that you weren’t allowed to bring drinks in with you. So we were the super-classy people slamming fancy cocktails at a table right by the entrance. We then went up to our seats in the balcony, and the show started shortly after.

I’d kind of forgotten than Penn is a weird libertarian-type, and was surprised that he managed to work a lot of those opinions into the show. Still, it was really great, and despite having seen them do numerous demonstrations of their tricks on TV, we still couldn’t tell how they pulled any of them off. It was pretty entertaining.

On the way out, we found these photos in the lobby. They disturb me every time I see them.

We drove back downtown and parked at the hotel (in the ramp this time, noting the footprints all over the place). It was close to 11pm (or 1am Minneapolis time), so we decided to go wander around downtown for a very short time before heading to bed. Fremont Street was crowded, the display was going on overhead, and a band was setting up near the hotel. We stopped into the Golden Gate for a drink, and then went to wander.

We ended up at Binion’s, just like we always do. It’s one of our favorite spots to gamble. I wanted to play craps, and ended up being lured to a table by a Canadian couple who saw me looking at it. Matt didn’t want to play dice, so he went to find a blackjack table. I talked to the Canadians for a bit before they wandered off, and then set to losing my money at that table. After a bit, the guy came back and we ended up talking about hockey forever; he was an Edmonton Oilers fan, and had no end of complaints about the fans’ bad attendance and the team just being bad in general. He was envious of the Wild being good, which is funny since that’s a fairly recent development. He also did a really good job of distracting me from craps, which meant I managed to lose $100 more than I thought.

When he took off, I grabbed the rest of my chips and went to join Matt for blackjack. He was doing very well, and I managed to recoup some of my losses too. By the time we decided to wrap up at Binions, it was of course really late at night (this always happens in Vegas). We walked back toward the Plaza and ended up standing and watching the cover band play at the end of the street. The scantily-clad female bartenders from the Golden Gate were up dancing on the bar, and the whole area was surprisingly crowded.

We finally made it back to the Plaza, and decided to stop and get a late-night slice at Pop Up Pizza in the lobby. Because not only did they have good pizza, they had a statue of a horse wearing a lampshade.

Despite our fairly early night, I got up Monday feeling terrible. My vertigo had gotten really bad, too, so I spent a lot of time feeling like the world was spinning. We packed up our stuff, checked out of the Tropicana, and loaded up the car.

We then headed back over to Caesar’s Palace to do some shopping and have lunch at the Forum Shops before heading out of town. Matt got some new shoes at the Nike Store, since it’s an obligatory stop every time we’re there.

Then it was time to get on the road. Matt was driving and I was reclining most of the time, trying not to be dizzy. This was his first time driving the Baker/Barstow route through the desert, so he got to experience all of it.

There’s a monstrous solar array out in the desert. I didn’t get a very good picture of it, but it’s massive.

The drive into the Inland Empire (or IE, for those in the know) was uneventful. The thing we noticed most is that it’s HUGE. Everything is so far away from everything else. It’s incredible.

We found our way to San Bernardino, and exited at the road formerly known as Route 66. A few miles down, through a rundown residental area, we found the Wigwam Motel!

(It was actually dark when we arrived, so I took these photos the next day. How awesome is this place??)

Due to the time of year, there didn’t seem to be many other people staying in the wigwams. The front office told us we’d be upgraded to a deluxe model; I didn’t know what the difference was, but we appreciated it.)

The wigwams were small but clean and well-maintained. I like how the windows are at floor level, too. The bed was so tall I could barely climb into it.

We hauled our stuff in, and then headed off in search of dinner. Matt was starting to get hangry, and I still felt crappy so I didn’t really care about food. We’d picked out a place about 15 miles away (because NOTHING in the IE is close), and I gave directions as he drove. We got there to find it was totally packed, with a 45-minute wait. We decided to go elsewhere.

Also, it was really cold there at night! I was wearing a dress and freezing, so I hated even being outside.

Our second plan that night was to go to Hangar 24‘s brewery, so we decided to try that and see if maybe they had food there or something. They didn’t, but they did have a gigantic beer selection. We got all the samples.

By the time we were done we were really hungry, and I felt really crappy, so we decided to just find a grocery store, get some sandwich makings, and go back to the Wigwam. You’d think this would be an easy prospect, right? But no, you have to drive a million miles, and then you find a grocery store that’s like a castoff discount bulk grocery store that only has everything in mega-packs, and you have to drive to another store another million miles away. But finally you’re at Trader Joe’s, and things are looking up again. (I’m pretty sure this Trader Joe’s was still technically in San Bernardino, even though we were 20 miles from the hotel.)

Having obtained food, we went back to the Wigwam to eat, and I went to bed right away afterwards. We needed an early night for once.

So here’s the Vegas stuff I have decided to tell you about! The rest you will have to imagine with your twisted little minds, amigos mios.

• It’s not that I didn’t lose the money I gambled, but I took a really really long time doing so on video poker. I make up in luck what I absolutely lack in card-counting ability.
  The people around us didn’t seem as amused by us yelling, “FIVE OF A KIND!!” as we were.
• I don’t think I’ve ever laughed as hard in my life as I did playing Dance Dance Revolution. I was out on the street hopping around like an idiot, trying to devise a communication system based on arcade game dance moves.
• Aerial acrobats are freaky, but still not as freaky as buskers. Or giant clowns.

  

• I screamed my fucking head off on the rollercoaster at New York, New York. LOVED IT.

  

  I also went on the Big Shot on top of the Stratosphere, the thing that catapults you up a pole like you’re going to shoot off the top of the building. I didn’t scream like I wanted to on that, because I was with three drunk fratboys:
  Attendant: Check your pockets for anything loose. Is that a cellphone, man?
  Drunk Fratboy #3: Dude, that’s my DICK!

• Paul took us to tapas at Cafe Ba Ba Reeba at the Fashion Show Mall, which apparently used to be superghetto but is now fantastically equipped with stores like Diesel, Quicksilver (see my Hawaii travel journal for my feelings about surf shops), and Paul Frank (the Julius monkey is way old, but the skully and Wienermobile and pirate shit rocks hard).
  Two things of note:
  1. I’ve never been able to go out for tapas. It’s usually 100% meaty. This was unbelievable. The drinks were just ok, but I’m not complaining because I take 4 sips of a martini and I’m good. to. go. Cheap drunk!
  2. I LOVE PAUL. You don’t realize how much you miss someone until you spend time with them again. We reminisced like a couple of old-timers. He remembered all the stupid jokes we used to have, even some I’d forgotten. It was so awesome to see him again.
• I think we saw all the casinos on the strip except the trashy ones I’d seen before, like the Boardwalk, the Frontier (free bikini mud wrestling!), and the Barbary Coast.

  

  My favorites are the Aladdin (the shopping), Caesar’s (the shopping), the Wynn (the most insanely opulent and miraculously least-tacky), New York New York (the entertainment), Paris (the insane gaudiness), and Mandalay Bay (the restaurants).

  

  MGM struck me as the stupidest, but maybe because I had to walk something like two miles through its vast cavernousness to a Starbucks that was technically right across the street from my hotel.
  Have you ever really noticed casino carpet?

  

• BTW, Americanos cost $4-5 in Las Vegas. Fuckers.
• We had a great view of ass from our room at the Tropicana.

  

  Also, Tom Jones on the giant video screen at MGM. He wasn’t there til next week, though. SIGH.

• Walking around in 100-degree weather after dark is disturbing. It’s fine during the day in the sun. One day we walked from the Tropicana, at the south end of the strip, to the Stratosphere and back. Ouch.
• The Fremont Street Experience would be most excellent if you were totally baked, dude. Otherwise, it’s just bizarre.

  

  I’m a little sad that the cowboy is under that gigantic big-screen-TV-canopy-thing now, too.

• On Monday, we went to rent a convertible. They were out of Mustangs, and only had Sebrings. Shudder. David the Budget Man pointed at the parking lot and said, “What about that one? It’s a V8.”
  “We’ll take it,” I answered.
  Two hours later, Hot Park Ranger Man found us in the middle of the Mojave Desert, our Bright Red 50th Anniversary Edition Thunderbird Convertible parked half on the road, half on the sand, just past a wash-out, with both doors and the trunk open, music blasting, roaming in the scrub looking for scorpions (me) and taking photos of the approaching storm (her).

  

  He said, “I seriously hope you girls are turning around and heading back.” Perhaps we seemed a little unprepared for desert survival?
  Was it the flipflops?
  He hung out for a while and told us the travails of a park ranger, which are basically that he wants them to mark more hiking trails in the park (there are currently two, even though the reserve is something like 90 million square miles of nothingness), and that his job is mainly to keep people from dying in the heat. Which apparently they do at an alarming rate.

  

  It was actually only in the 90s in the desert that day, due to the occasional rain. We wandered not too far from the road on the hiking trail closer to I-15.

  

  

  I spooked jackrabbits and white chipmunks from under fallen Joshua tree branches as I crept up to this broken-down shack at the intersection of the railroad tracks, near the Cima Store (WE ARE OPEN! KNOCK LOUDLY!).

  

  There was rusted sheet metal and old pre-pulltab cans scattered around it for a hundred feet, and a pile of untorched kindling in the middle of the crumbling floor.
  We raced through the desert from Baker, California to Las Vegas, never going under 90. It was so Fear and Loathing, minus the beat-up sun hat.

  

  And the ether.

I got up and logged to Priceline to book my room for Los Angeles. $35 at the Hilton, which meant that I was spending more for crappy hotels in the middle of nowhere than I was for nice hotels in big cities. Jay came home with my car, and told me that I not only needed to get a replacement gas cap (the car wasn’t the performance vehicle it normally was), but my headlight was burnt out. Dammit. He was heading out of town for the weekend, so we said goodbye. I drove over to the auto parts store and had both the gas cap and headlamp installed within 10 minutes, for a total of $25. From there, I got on the Bay Bridge and headed east.

Outside Oakland, it’s all rolling hills, dry grass, and wind farms. I loved all the windmills lined up along the tops of the hills. They were cool and menacing at the same time. The farther I got from the bay, the warmer it got. It had been 50 degrees and misty in SF. By the time I exited 520 in Manteca, it was in the mid-80s.

The route to Yosemite was pretty, but slow. It winds through little towns and produce farms. I stopped at a roadside farmer’s market and bought one of nearly everything. About 40 miles from Yosemite, the mountains start. On the steep parts, I had to turn off the air conditioning, and at that point it was over 100 degrees. With all the windows and the sunroof open, it didn’t feel that bad, but my back and the backs of my legs were soaking wet.

I stopped for gas outside Yosemite. I had to pee badly, so I locked the car and ran into the gas station first. Then I came back out and went to pump gas. When I pulled on the little fuel door, it wouldn’t open. It was stuck! I tugged some more, and it wouldn’t move. I thought maybe someone had bumped my car, and indented it or something. I yanked harder and harder, and finally it popped open. My car beeped and the doors unlocked, and I realized what had happened: the little door locks shut when you lock the car. I felt like an idiot. I looked up and saw a girl sitting in the car behind me, watching. I smiled and shrugged.

While the gas was pumping, I went to wash the windshield. The squeegee had the longest handle ever, probably for big trucks. I was hurrying, and paid the price for my reckless squeegeeing: I hit myself in the mouth with the handle. At that point, nothing stupid I could do could possibly surprise me, so I finished with the window, put the gas cap back on (at least I remembered that), and got back in the car. I looked in the mirror, and my lip was bleeding down my chin.

I got to Yosemite around 11am, and congratulated myself on the fact that my National Parks pass had already paid for itself. I drove up to about 6000 feet, then down into the valley. I stopped and hiked to Bridalveil Falls. The spray was a relief from the heat. There were lots of people there, wading around in the stream, trying to keep cool. The heat made visiting the pit-toilet restrooms an endurance test: how long can I hold my breath while peeing? How fast can I run away and find someplace to wash my hands? I noticed that all the tourists there were slow-moving, although maybe it was the heat. I felt bad barging my way through them to experience America’s natural wonders, but I had a schedule to keep.

I parked and walked to Yosemite Village. I shopped at the general store, which was annoyingly mobbed. I went to the deli and got the biggest, blandest veggie sandwich I had ever tasted. I picked it apart and drank my americano while writing postcards. While I was sitting outside at a picnic table, I looked up and a few tables over, a girl was sitting there with her sandwich, a notebook, and a stack of postcards, with a stuffed-full backpack by her side. My counterpart! All of a sudden, I didn’t feel so alone.

I finished lunch and took the rest of the drive through Yosemite valley, then headed back. The drive was slow and boring, and the heat wasn’t letting up as the sun went down. I distracted myself by talking on the phone, as usual. The view of SF coming back over the Bay Bridge was amazing. I was proud of myself for figuring out where to exit and how to get back to Jay’s without even looking at the map, and especially for getting a spot right out in front of his building. I walked to Whole Foods and got a tofu sandwich, which was just as bland as the veggie sandwich I had eaten for lunch. I did laundry, packed up my stuff, and loaded the car so I could get on the road as fast as possible the next morning.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

that was a whole lot of pms yesterday. i hope that goes away quick. anyway.

my nose and forehead are peeling today. my scraped hand is killing me. the skin feels tight, and i keep bumping it. also, i left my sunscreen at jay’s. i am smart.

i’ve decided the strangest places to travel alone are the national parks. they’re all family-oriented. it’s weird to see a group of fewer than four people here.

i hope my car will see me through. i worry even more when it’s so hot. me and chico, we’ve been through a lot together.

i think i want to keep this up when i get back. probably not handwritten, although my handwriting would improve. it’s too slow, but tactile, which is nice. hmm. maybe someday it’ll develop into that journal-writing project.

tomorrow night, la. i consider sf the midpoint of my trip, so that means that everything from here on out is technically heading towards home.

my pants are too big. they need a belt. go figure.

ok. i think that’s it from sf. what a strange feeling.

– – – – –

I got up at 6:30 and ran to Starbucks before heading out. My car was covered in what could only be described as humidity dust. It was in the mid-60s, but still insanely humid. I got on I-15, going the opposite direction from the rest of the traffic. They were going to work, I was going to Vegas. Suckers.

About halfway to San Bernardino, all the traffic on the interstate had to stop for inspection, even though it was a good 40 miles north of the border. The guard waved me through. I realized that this was a new potential career. Next time I go to Tijuana, I’m loading my trunk with illegal immigrants. So, like, never.

As I drove, I realized I was tired and sore. Not just sore, but sore everywhere. I had gotten used to that state, but it seemed a little more extreme that day.

Las Vegas hadn’t been on my original non-itinerary, because I figured I could get there anytime. However, having just read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, I kind of wanted to go. Specifically, I wanted to take that drive from Los Angeles, going through Barstow and Baker. It’s a thing. When I realized that I could take that same route heading up from San Diego, it was decided. So I got past Riverside on the way to Barstow, and it was starting to turn into desert. It was about 95 degrees and a steep incline, so I had to turn off the air conditioning to avoid overheating. My car paranoia was already in full swing, based on my track record and the intense heat. I figured that driving through the Mojave Desert would be the biggest test of Chico’s stamina to date. I wasn’t sure I was up to it, either.

I couldn’t take my eyes off the temperature display, which kept climbing upwards. All of a sudden, I was in road construction, on a narrow 2-lane highway with a concrete barrier on my left and a wall of semi trucks on my right. I panicked. I was having trouble seeing. I had to keep reminding myself to just breathe, because I was worried about passing out behind the wheel. Even though I was doing 70, it felt like this slow-motion creep uphill. I had never been so scared; I was convinced that I was going to die alone in the desert.

I think part of the problem was that I had gone from almost 0 to 4000 feet elevation in about 10 minutes. I knew I had had trouble with that before. Also, because of my weird eating habits on the road, I was on a blood sugar rollercoaster. I was honestly freaking out about my safety, so I grabbed my phone and called Heather, and asked her to talk me down. And she did.

When I got to Barstow, I pulled off at a truck stop, like she told me to do. I got out of the car and the backs of my pants were soaked through, dark green stains down the backs of my thighs. I was beyond caring. I went and sat in the bathroom for ten minutes or so, trying to calm down (which was an indication of my mental state, that I would prefer sitting in a truck stop bathroom). I bought a pop and commented to the girl at the counter that my hands were shaking because I was terrified of driving through the desert. She laughed and said that a woman had told her the exact same thing the day before. She asked if I had a cellphone, and told me not to worry, because I would be safe.

I felt a little better, having survived the first leg, and knowing I only had 200 miles to go to Vegas. I ate a banana and felt less shaky, so I got back on the road. Since I was past the big uphills, I turned the air back on. The engine temperature needle hadn’t budged the whole time, so I relaxed a little. I was going to make it to Vegas before 1pm. Apart from the freaking-out part, I liked the desert. I saw Joshua Trees and salt flats where they race cars. I couldn’t believe people lived in Baker, out in the middle of nowhere. I saw Primm, Nevada, one of those cities trying to make itself a mini-Vegas. I saw a huge waterpark complex that had closed, with some of the slides starting to collapse. I came over a rise and saw Vegas, and regretted just a tiny bit that I wasn’t approaching it at night, and seeing the neon. Instead, I saw smog. But, still. It was Vegas!

I called the bellhop at my hotel to find out which exit to take. I went to the north end of the strip, turned at Circus Circus, and I had arrived at my perfect oldschool casino: the Stardust. Home of the Wayne Newton Theater! I walked through the lobby, intending to go ask when check-in time was, but a sign told me I could do so at noon. Awesome. I checked in and ran to the car for my bags. Another cool thing about Vegas: free parking. My room was great, especially since it was so cheap. I grabbed the things-to-do magazine to look up shows, because I really wanted to see something while I was there. I briefly considered Wayne Newton, but then decided against paying so much money for a joke. I finally picked Jubilee!, and called to reserve my ticket. The guy on the phone said, “You know it’s topless, right?” It better be, dude. I hung up and flipped to the dining section of the magazine to examine my options. MGM Grand, featuring no less than 82,000 restaurants, seemed like a safe bet. Plus, it was at the other end of the strip, so I’d be able to see everything in between.

I fixed my hair, changed into something a little less ‘I’m-in-the-car-all-day-so-I-could-give-a-fuck-what-I-look-like’, and headed out. I got probably the best iced coffee ever at the little coffee counter in the lobby, go figure. When I walked out the door, I ran smack into a 115-degree wall.

I started walking. It was fine for two blocks, if a little surprising. After three blocks, my contacts had melted to my eyes. After four, my eyeballs had melted to my brain. All the ice in my coffee had long since melted. The passing buses gave off waves of heat that were physically painful to walk through. The wind was dusty. Thankfully, it was hazy, so the sun didn’t come out very often. I walked as fast as I could, but when I had to stop at intersections, I could feel the heat of the pavement through the soles of my shoes. I had never, ever felt heat like that before. It was miserable.

Also, things in Las Vegas were a lot farther apart than I had expected. I know now that the strip is 3 miles long, and I wish I had known that when I was walking it. However, it was fun to see all the casinos, and I stopped to take lots of pictures. Lots of them had water misters and giant fans set up near their entrances, so those offered a little escape from the heat. Walking past the doors was like torture, though, feeling the air conditioning blasting out into the street.

It took me almost an hour to get to MGM Grand. I had a headache and was feeling fuzzy. I walked in and immediately felt 100% better with the air conditioning, until I realized I was now completely damp and freezing cold. I started following signs pointing to restaurants. Rainforest Cafe? No. Maybe Spago – but it wasn’t open yet. I went past ten places, checking menus. There wasn’t even an attempt to have vegetarian food – even the salads were meaty. I was willing to settle for anything, since it was 2pm and I was hungry, but I could honestly find nothing. I walked the whole length of the casino, which appeared to be about the size of the Mall of America. Then I wandered back to the one restaurant I had intentionally ignored – Emeril’s. I had avoided it for two reasons. First, it was a seafood restaurant. Second, Heather’s deep, burning hatred for Emeril had rubbed off on me. I recalled the time we were driving down St. Charles Avenue in New Orleans, past his restaurant, and Heather spotted him standing in the front window. She let out a string of expletives that surprised even me. So, yeah. We hate Emeril.

They sat me at the back of the restaurant at a table immediately next to another couple, even though the place was almost empty. It was one of those restaurants that tries to act really upscale so you feel funny wearing Old Navy clothes, but then you realize you’re in a casino, it’s tacky by nature, and everyone else there is dressed like crap, too. They pull out the chair and put your napkin in your lap for you (which creeps me the hell out, actually) just so they can justify charging $35 for an entree.

I decided on the portobello-blue cheese burger, but then got suspicious, knowing the tendency towards meat in Vegas. When the server came to take my order, I asked him: it’s just a grilled mushroom, right? No actual burger? He seemed offended, and assured me that it was 100% prime-grade beef. He seemed to be drooling, reveling in its meatiness. I shuddered, and ordered a salad instead. I ate almost the whole basket of bread while I waited. They served me Diet Coke in a champagne flute. The salad was OK, not great. Emeril can go to hell.

The guy at the next table started talking about the food, because they were vegetarian, too. We thought it was funny that they put the vegetarians in the back corner together, probably to make it easier to ridicule us from afar. We exchanged stories – they were from Bermuda, in Las Vegas for their anniversary. They were appalled by the heat, too. We talked about food, travel, and having kids. He and I laughed really hard about Starbucks, and our mutual love of it: it’s not good coffee, but it’s consistent. Wherever you go, it’s exactly the same. He confessed his love for their raisin scone, which he pronounced ‘scoon’. I was charmed.

Just as I was finishing my meal, they started talking about their business: they were Herbalife salespeople. I took this as my cue; I wished them a very happy anniversary, and escaped before they could hit me up.

I stopped at one of the fifty or so Starbucks in the casino, bought coffee, and sat at a table to do the writing I would usually be doing during dinner. It was 4pm, and my show was at 7:30, so I decided that I would wander back towards Bally’s, touring all the casinos in between. Also, I’d try to scope out a place for a very late dinner, because I knew if I ended up looking afterwards, I was just going to be angry.

From MGM Grand, I crossed to New York, New York. It was pretty cool inside, but I got lost trying to get back out the other side. I was hoping to be able to work my way up the strip mostly staying indoors, and out of the hellish heat. No luck; I ended up walking a few blocks outside anyway. I stopped into CVS and bought a giant bottle of painkillers for the pounding headache I had since I had started walking earlier that day (as Heather pointed out, I was dehydrated, and the coffee was just making it worse. Of course, I didn’t realize that at the time). I crossed to the Aladdin and went into the shops entrance. After walking around for a while, I decided that this was my favorite casino. The shops were laid out in a big circle with the casino in the center. I thought that was kind of ingenious, as it allows you to buy souvenirs and window-shop while making your way from one entrance to another, without having to deal with the casino insanity. Also, it’s divided into four sections, each decorated in a different middle-eastern theme. I liked the giant couches for lounging and the simulated thunderstorm, which was mildly entertaining. From there, I went to Paris. It was one of the better casinos, too – the legs of the Eiffel Tower inside the casino were cool. I went into a couple shoppes and used les toilettes.

I was wandering and abruptly found myself in Bally’s, quicker than I had expected. I stopped to pick up my tickets for the show, then decided I needed more coffee, and still had an hour and a half to kill. I crossed to the Bellagio. It was swank, but in that ridiculous Vegas way – so overdone that it’s obscene, and incongruous because all the tourists are still Bob and Ann from Omaha, and Bob is wearing a Hawaiian shirt. The lobby was amazing, and they were piping in flower scent. I was confused about the giant liberty bell, though. Why is it there? Weird. The Bellagio offered me no coffee, nor did Caesar’s Palace, or the Flamingo, or the Barbary Coast (ha). I decided to go back to Paris, because I had passed a coffee shop there where I could sit down for a while. I wound my way through the maze of escalators and moving sidewalks back to Bally’s. I had noticed a trend on this type of public transport, by the way: I radiate impatience. I must, because every time I would be standing behind someone on an escalator or moving sidewalk, they’d turn, look chastened, and move out of the way with a quickness. Sometimes, I was just standing there, being calm and trying not to curse them for being slow, and they could still tell. It’s funny.

I found the patisserie and got an iced latte. I sat and wrote for 10 minutes, then used les toilettes again, and headed over to Bally’s for my showgirls show. I went into the theatre and watched all the funny people finding their seats. As for Jubilee, there’s a lot to be said. If your fetish involves feather plumes, sequins, rhinestones, and impossibly-large hats, this is the show for you. (I was going to add ‘boobs’ to that list, but everybody likes boobs.)

So, the show opens with the big typical showgirl-style revue. There are breasts, and lots of them. Most of them are fake, and too many ribs are poking out beneath them. The men in the show are super-queeny, and it’s hard to buy them singing about how all they want is hundreds and hundreds of girls. The music is cringe-worthy, as is the choreography. All the musical numbers are those montage-style bits, really overdone and cliché. I’d think the show was making fun of itself, but I doubt that was the case.

Act 2 is the Long Twins. They juggle and contort themselves. There’s a too-long section where they wriggle in and out of garbage cans.

Act 3 is Samson and Delilah. In my opinion, this gem should’ve been saved for the finale, it’s that good. All the guys are dressed in leather-and-studs quasi-bondage gear, including those exaggerated banana thongs. When they dance, all I can think of is Party Boy from Jackass. There’s lots of simulated sex that’s supposed to look like dancing. Samson is a huge hunk of a man who stands at the side of the stage and flexes his pecs absently while watching the writhing. After Delilah seduces him and chops off his long, lustrous hair, the scene evolves into this bizarre S&M dungeon-type thing. It ends with Samson re-enacting King Kong – he escapes, knocking shit down and starting things on fire. Then he scales the gigantic bull sculpture, as smoke pours from its angry red nostrils. It starts breaking into pieces and collapsing very, very slowly, with Samson riding it all the way down.

At this point, I couldn’t hide the fact that I was in hysterics. Everyone else there seemed to think it was pretty damn good. When I looked at the program, I noted that the last part was labeled Scene VII – Cataclysm. You got that right.

Next up, act 4 is called ‘Fuzion’. It’s a very athletic, very aryan couple getting into various poses to the beat of German industrial techno. Their strength and balance is impressive. The fact that they’re doing a slo-mo ‘robot’ isn’t.

Act 5 is the Titanic, and it’s the pinnacle of cheesy. I was giggling before it even started. The costumes are terrible. The men wear candy-colored suits with giant white piping. The women have huge, overgrown muffs. (Ha! No, it’s only topless. Really.) They lipsynch really poorly. I was wondering if they were going to show tits again before or after the ship sank. The Titanic’s crewmen are putting on horrifying British accents, saying things like, “I say, old chap,” and “Jolly good.” There’s a song about French lingerie, accompanied by a fashion show (no, I have no idea, either). Then there’s a boiler room gangbang, and after that the ship sinks. And the really funny thing is, it sinks in exactly the same way as the temple fell down vis-a-vis Samson: breaking into pieces, falling slowly into a pit. You know, cataclysm. In the program, the note reads, ‘Nearer my God to Thee.’ Um. What?

Act 6 is Stoyan and Dmitri hanging onto sheets and flying around overhead. It’s not great, since they obviously once had hopes of making the Olympic team on the rings. They failed.

Act 7: The Finale. What can I say? It’s exactly what you would expect. Huge, feathered hats that make up 95% of the total outfit. Lots of boobs. A topless wedding ceremony. Some of the girls appear to have become trapped in chandeliers. There’s even an especially-painful standards revue sandwich: montages of pieces by Cole Porter, then Jerome Kern, then George Gershwin. The montages don’t work very well, because they do two or three lines of every song before moving to the next: it’s Broadway for the short-attention-span crowd. Or more accurately, to satisfy the audience’s belief that they came to see real entertainment, and not just to see a bunch of nipples. So, yeah. The show was over, and we clapped. I applauded the few apparently non-surgically-altered breasts onstage. You can tell by the jiggle, and their unashamed less-than-perfection.

I left Bally’s and headed back toward the Stardust. I cut through the Barbary Coast and Venetian. There were way, way more people in my way at that time of night. I couldn’t believe the number of people out, and the huge variety. It would’ve been excellent people-watching, but I wasn’t in the mood. Also, I quickly became irritated at the amount of drunk ogling. Everyone was drunk. Creepy guys making too much eye contact. I wanted to push my way through just to get away. It seemed to have cooled down a bit outside, maybe even under 100. All the lights were on on the strip, but I wasn’t noticing most of it. I just wanted food and sleep. I wandered through Treasure Island and found nothing, so I went back to the Stardust. It was nearly deserted, totally unlike the casinos farther down the strip. It was actually a relief until I encountered the crowd exiting the Wayne Newton show; they were probably the slowest people I’d encountered yet.

At the Stardust, I found a restaurant with food I could eat. So, of course, they had just closed for cleaning as I got there at 11pm. So I went to Tony Roma’s (Your Place For Ribs). Yeah, I know. It was sheer desperation, and I was determined to find something. That ended up being a side caesar salad and an order of mozzarella sticks. I was sure they would make me sick, but I didn’t care. I was in Vegas, the city where people do really stupid things. After dinner, I dragged my tired ass up to my room, wrote for a very short while, and went to bed, determined to sleep in the next day.

– – – – –

random notes from my travel journal:

california drivers hate letting people switch lanes. they speed up. assholes.

on mira mesa boulevard, a booth that has everything you could ever want: coffee, smoothies, cigarettes, and lotto tickets.

on the interstate, i saw a dumptruck with the message: happiness is a good dump.

road sign along I-15:
las vegas 76
salt lake city 526

holy crap! i ran out my glacier gateway motel pen! i want to die! moving on to the la hilton pen. ha.

at this point, i’m surprised i’m able to stop walking. it’s all i do lately.

people here walk so fucking slow!! aaargh!

why do i notice the heat on my eyes the most? is it the contacts? it’s bizarre.

the waitress just came up and said, ‘gosh, you write fast!’ ha.

being by yourself in vegas during the day isn’t weird at all. at night, it sucks. it’s the crowds and the drunkenness. you feel like meat. i don’t regret not being out wandering around the strip right now. i’d probably end up throwing punches.

– – – – –