 Vegas |
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It will probably come as no surprise that it's rather hot in Las Vegas in June. One of our cabbies insisted that it gets way hotter, but I think he might have been lying.  We stayed at Circus Circus. There! Now you know. This accommodation was decided by others with whom we were traveling, so we just rolled with it despite my older brother's aforementioned intense insistence otherwise. The room itself really was not bad. My fear of blankets and comforters follows me wherever I go, but I walked around barefoot and everything. It was cleaned every day, and we always had lots of towels. There was a hairdryer and soap and shampoo and lotion and a decent view. I really can't complain about the room. However, the casino itself was a hole into which I recommend unreservedly that you never set foot. The casino at Circus Circus, on the whole, is a repugnant establishment. What they say about how it is overrun with loud, smelly children is true. Once you get to your room, you'll be fine. (At least, we were fine on the seventh floor of the main tower.) But the navigation to such destination is precarious and daunting and mostly I just closed my eyes, held my breath, and let myself be steered through the madness while praying that a stroller would not sever my foot at the ankle.  (Disclaimer: I don't hate kids. I like kids. But this was too much. It was just -- too much. If you have been there, you know what I am talking about. It defies description.) We were greeted Thursday night upon our arrival to Vegas with the most abrasive cab driver who has ever driven on God's green earth. She scared me. We began Friday morning at the Circus Circus breakfast buffet, which I would suggest only if you are kind of in a rush like we were or are in fact starving to death. It was basically like Shoney's breakfast bar only far more vast and teeming with about a billion more kids. The America Is Scary shirt was rocked and has now spread its love from Canada to the dirty South to the West. We were revitalized by Starbucks in the Golden Nugget and I spent my first dollar in a slot machine. We relaxed for a little while in a bar/bowling alley. My feet do not get put inside bowling shoes nor can I actually bowl, so I just watched with a Sierra Nevada pale ale and some spinach dip and enjoyed the Belinda Carlisle. I decided that I don't think it's hotter in Vegas than it is at home, but it's definitely a different kind of heat. Cloudless and so dry that my eyes hurt and I couldn't stop licking my lips. After the bowling alley, I took a large nap interrupted only by the screaming children careening down the halls and headbutting the walls next door. That night we decided to walk down the strip, stopping at the Venetian, which smelled so good and whose slot machines sang in such lovely dulcet tones that I lay down on the floor and vowed never to return to Circus Circus. We ate red raspberry and tiramisu gelato down on the steps by the sleeping gondolas. I decided that staying at the Venetian would be like staying at one of the really fancy Disney World resorts like the Grand Floridian as opposed to taking up residence inside one of the jumbo hickory smoked turkey leg carts in Frontierland at the Magic Kingdom. We passed the Stardust on our way back and I babbled nonsensically about my love for the song of the same name. Looking back, I really spent a lot of time with my mouth agape, taking it all in like a slack-jawed yokel. It's really just a lot to see and process and is both pretty and ugly at the same time, isn't it? Saturday morning, we met up with some folks and ate tapas at Cafe Ba Ba Reeba. It was nice to sit in the shade and share tapas of citrus-cured salmon and cucumber bread, shrimp with garlic, olive oil, and red pepper flakes, beef tenderloin and blue cheese, and roast dates with bacon and apple vinaigrette. We then had teeny tiny chocolate cake, teeny tiny caramelized bananas with vanilla ice cream, and a teeny tiny bowl of white chocolate soup. My eyes are sort of rolling back in my head just remembering this. 
We took off walking, picking up our Mystere tickets at Treasure Island and strolling through Caesar's and the Bellagio. I really liked the gardens at the Bellagio. We tried to watch the water show, but it was cancelled due to wind. Someone we were with dropped a very loud f-bomb while we we were walking along the path near the water where people were lined up for the show, and I noticed a young, fair-skinned, redheaded boy in a baseball cap blushing and looking chagrined at the profanity. And I shit you not when I tell you that it was John Stevens. I looked at him apologetically and kept walking, and when I looked back to ogle him, his head was down shyly. I think he was with his parents. John Stevens. My one Vegas celebrity sighting. It was not disappointing. I realize that he is allegedly in New York performing on tour right now, but it was either John Stevens or John Stevens' secret twin brother. Finally, despite resuscitation by a large frozen lemonade, the heat and crowds got to be too much, and I hit the wall. We took the bus back to the hotel and rested before the show.  I was mildly freaked out when Mystere first started because there was a deranged clown-type man dousing random audience members with popcorn and I sincerely thought I might lose my mind then and there because hearing people laugh at such a dumb warm-up act just gave me the gross-outs. Then the lights went down and the drumming and lights and flying and magic started, and it sounds so trite, but it really did take my breath away. I actually had and uttered audibly such thoughts as, "Isn't creativity wonderful?" "Isn't it joyous to be creative?" "Aren't we lucky to be alive?" "Isn't humanity beautiful?" "You're so beautiful!" And on and on. I'm so glad we saw it and it was mesmerizing, but I HATED the clown and the baby and have chosen to block my memories of those squirmy aspects of the show. We walked over to the Venetian again after the show and scarfed down some chicken sandwiches like we'd never eaten before. Then we decided to watch the water show at the Bellagio, which was really cool even though the accompanying music was "God Bless the USA." It didn't really go with the graceful display, but I had to confess that there's a small place deep inside that is inexplicably pleased by that song after all these years. I know. I hate myself. Somewhere in the middle of Saturday night, I was stricken with a heinous sore throat and stumbled down the hall in my pajamas in a desperate maneuver for the ice machine. I lay in bed and slurped on piece after piece, moaning. We hurried Sunday morning to the champagne breakfast at Paris, waiting in line only to be told we would be waiting in another line, so we said fuck that noise and had a pain au chocolat and leek and goat cheese quiche at another little place in Paris. I really did want to have the brunch, but life is just too short to line up with a crushing mob of ladies in red hats and purple shirts while your stomach growls in an out of control manner. We decided to walk to Mandalay Bay to see the sharks but it ended up being ten million miles away in a blurry haze of scorching heat despite appearing close, so we stopped at the roller coaster at New York, New York, even though I'm afraid of roller coasters and read sites about their disaster statistics like a morbid lunatic. It is good to face fears, though, so we rode it. And the entire time I thought I might die. I carved half-moon crevices into my palms with my nails. I think it would have been way better if not so damn rickety and jumpy and didn't slam you around so much that you feel like you might bite your tongue off or like one or more of your vertebrae might shatter at any moment. When it ended, every single other car had unloaded before I even opened my eyes. The attendant thought I had passed out. In the party pic, my chin was plastered to my chest and all you could see was the top of my head, which probably increased my chances for whiplash, come to think of it. It is one scary-assed roller coaster, in case you were wondering. Throughout that day, I spent approximately $500 on Ricola, Chloraseptic, Nyquil, Aleve, Halls, and Advil Cold & Sinus. I was so grateful to the woman in the gift shop who patiently pointed out these items to me while I squinted futilely as they hung blatantly on the wall for all to see that I shoved a tip at her even though she said it wasn't allowed. Thank you, gift shop lady. On our last night, we dined at the Steakhouse, otherwise known as the only good reason to enter Circus Circus. It was truly divine, and we had steak, asparagus, garlic mashed potatoes, strawberries dipped in chocolate, and the finest basket of bread I've ever shoved my face into. This was a good meal.  The rest of the trip contains experiences that cannot be captured on a Web site. I just mean that I can write about some of what we did and post photos of inanimate objects but not really about what it meant to me, what it was like to walk those streets, see those sights, and share those extended days and nights. That's just for me and for us. 
About this time in ...
© Copyright 2005 elb |
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