One more photo blast

Sorry. One more photo blast. One of these days, things at the Chamber of Horrors my workplace will settle back into a somewhat manageable level of chaos, and I can get back to writing for fun rather than profit.

We went to Las Vegas this summer. Twice.

Check the eye rolls at the door, please. It was fun. It was, dare I say, relaxing. If you consider a constant auditory parade of Rihanna and Katy Perry relaxing. (It's kind of like a wild 36-hour trip to a total immersion Pop Culture Camp before humbly crawling back to the relative comforts of NPR.)

I think I've said this before: My date and I have changed our approach to Vegas over the years. Now we go for the three Ps -- pool time, people watching and perishables (ie, the grub). Our trips did not disappoint.

We went with Dr. and Milady Poophead, the Seattle out in-laws, in July. They're a swell pair to travel with.

This is Mrs. Poophead chatting up a cab driver.
The woman can break down even the most crabby cabby.

Hey kids -- a mini TV on the bathroom faucet
advertising Cirque du Soleil.
It's the latest rage!

A bulldog walked into a bar in Vegas, , , ,

Everything seems just a little larger than life in Vegas.

I rest my case.

We returned somewhat spontaneously in mid-September, sensing our warm, sunny days in Bermtopia were quickly becoming numbered. Just a more few days of the hot, dry desert sun, please.

Much better, thank you.

A big boxing match was slated for Saturday at the MGM, where we just happened to be staying. Let's just say the boxing crowd was a bit different than the pharmaceutical crowd, who swarmed the MGM when we were there in July. (Although we certainly learned firsthand why our box of Zyrtec costs $15 when the convention hosts basically "bought" -- and closed -- three of the pools at the MGM for an private afternoon-evening fete. Sadly, we had tickets to "Jersey Boys" and could not attend.)

The pharmaceutical reps wore lanyard name tags.
Boxing fans didn't.

And just when we thought our Vegas lives were complete,
look who stopped to say "Good-bye" as our cab turned out of the MGM

ELVIS IS IN THE HOUSE.

Signs of the times

You can come to Vegas to drink yourself silly, lose buckets of money and publicly make a fool of yourself in a hundred different ways -- spectacularly unwise choices in bathing suits and chanting, loudly and drunkenly, as you walk through the mall being two of the most popular modes of Vegas idiocy we've seen this visit -- or you can take an hour out of your busy day and go look at aging, rusted out neon signs at the Neon Boneyard Park.

That's what we did -- the aging, rusted out neon signs, that is. One of the best Vegas decisions ever.

I can take no credit for discovering this quirky little nonprofit museum, which has collected and preserved -- not restored, mind you, but preserved -- many, many of Las Vegas' iconic casino and restaurant signs in a dry, dusty lot just east of the downtown area.

Got the tip from The Everywhereist, a most excellent mostly travel blog. I will leave Geraldine to share the down-low on the museum itself -- and jump to why this side trip was so wonderful.

We used to stay at this little place in the late 70s -- a little mom-and-pop motor park.
Now gone.

We've been visiting Vegas on and off, when the pocket book could afford, for almost 30 years -- my husband's family even longer than that. We REMEMBERED these signs in the Boneyard, we REMEMBERED the casinos -- the Dunes, Sahara, Sands, Desert Inn -- so rich and glamorous in their hey dey, yet razed to the ground without a thought for the uber casino resorts that today seem like small cities unto themselves. Not to slam uber casino resorts -- we're staying in one ourselves and loving every moment of it.

But if you have any history with Vegas, you can't help be haunted by the loss of some of its most timeless symbols and heartened that at least one plucky nonprofit is committed to saving a bit of its soul -- the neon sign.

The other piece to why this trip was so wonderful: It's pretty easy to take in Vegas as the Jaded Capital of World because, well, it is. So many -- not all, mind you, not all -- gaming employees, restaurant servers and hotel staff appear numb to flow of humanity streaming through their hotels and casinos. As well they should -- since a goodly chunk of their guests have opted to be boors for the time they spend in Vegas and casino personnel generally get the short end of this stick.

The Neon Boneyard volunteers are a stark contrast to the Las Vegasites (?) who deal black jack, take your drink orders and chase down your requests for show tickets. They are thrilled we have come to Las Vegas. They are thrilled we have come their museum. And they love what they do.

 Despite a posted temperature of 96 degrees at 10 a.m., the volunteers are smiling, milling around offering free bottles of water (donation appreciated) and making wry jokes about filling out their disclaimer. They wear floppy hats and sensible shoes. They are real people.

Thank you, tour guide Mitch!

They have lives, families and job, and have taken time away from them to share a special passion with us: A city's history and the hundreds of aging, rusted out neon signs they have rescued -- the bright souls -- of Las Vegas.

Sin City Confidential or. . . .Sneezing Las Vegas

We spent last weekend in Las Vegas following Gonzaga University's men and women's basketball teams at the West Coast Conference tournament. I decided, on a whim, to document our adventures with my new smart phone rather than the point-and-shoot.

I'm always game for a technology challenge.

In hindsight, I think my decision to use the cell phone camera was fueled in part by delirium, courtesy of whopper head cold that took possession of my ears, nose, throat and all sinus cavities approximately 12 hours before we were wheels-up to Vegas.

Timing, as they say, is everything.

Here are a few highlights as seen through my virus-clouded eyes. (Most are straight-out-of-the-phone. Overall, not crazy about the quality but what happens in Vegas, well, happens in Vegas no matter what camera you're using.)

The Las Vegas airport, McCarran International, is the only one I've ever been in that comes equipped with slot machines. Lots o' slots. Even though I've been through this airport more than a dozen times, it still cracks me up.

I mean, why would you plant yourself in front of an electronic money sucker when you can peruse gift shops hawking "My Mom Went to Vegas and All She Brought Me Was This Stupid T-Shirt" in every bilious color of the Bad-taste Rainbow -- or search for a botulism-infested chicken salad sandwich with a "Purchase by" date of Dec. 31, 1946, for your next in-flight meal.

There is a wide array of entertainment choices in Las Vegas.

Sorry, boys. We're going to see Cirque du Soleil.

(And, I was NOT quivering with lust when snapping this fuzzy foto -- I was actually swaying like a Vegas palm tree in a dust storm thanks to airplane sinuses.)

Once we got to the hotel/casino, I made three new friends right away -- Matt-Matt-and-Mike-from-Denver-Denver-California (or some combination there of) -- at a blackjack table. We were all Gonzaga graduates -- separated by about 35 years, conservatively speaking.

They were Hipsters. I was snot. I mean NOT. Nevertheless, we bonded.

Every time we crossed paths during the weekend, I was greeted with loud, heartfelt, but slightly tipsy, "Hello, Mrs. Be-eeeeeeee-eeeeeee-eeeee'z!"

I couldn't take a picture of them because you can't take pictures in a casino gaming area, but I did bring home a suitcase filled with smoke-saturated clothing, thanks, for the most part, to a single cigar, roughly the size of the Hindenburg, that Matt One was smoking.

I'm getting a little whiff of it now. And that's after two loads of wash. Thanks, Matt-Matt-and-Mike, for the memories.

We found ourselves in The Bellagio (probably one of the most beautiful hotel in Vegas) for a performance of Cirque du Soleil's "O."

This would be the theater lobby -- and the theater itself.

This would be a Cirque du Soleil performer.

I could SO do this if I wanted to.

Somewhere along the way it's okay to say, "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas any more."

In between basketball games (yes, we managed to squeeze four into the weekend) there was The Pool. Once I got over the fear that the glare from my brilliant winter-white legs and arms would severely burn the retinas of fellow loungers, this heat-starved citizen of Bermtopia could not get enough of it.

Never underestimate the curative power of  a Vegas pool.
Or a Vegas gin and tonic.

There is nothing quite like a college basketball tournament. The students! The games! The fans!

Yes, that's a tuba player in the hotel lobby.

More hipsters. I. was. a. hipster. magnet.
I think it was my red nose.

And then it was time to say good-bye to the bright lights of Vegas. Oh, we'll be back. Hopefully, cold-free next time.

P.S. And in case you're wondering how to stop the spread of contagion. . . .

Genius.

Lost Wages

We leave Bermtopia tomorrow for a little get-away in Las Vegas.


Lost Wages.
Sin City.
The Entertainment Capital of the World.
The meadows. That's what Las Vegas means in Spanish.

In the early 1800s, when the southwestern part of the U.S. still belonged to Mexico, Spanish explorers used water from artesian wells supporting extensive meadows in the Las Vegas Valley. (Thank you, Wikipedia.) Today, the only "extensive meadows" you'll find in Las Vegas are golf courses. And pretty exclusive ones at that.


And an ironic historical footnote: For a brief time, in the 1850s, Las Vegas was a stronghold of the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints, serving as a "rest area," if you will, for Mormons traveling "The Mormon Corridor" between Salt Lake City and and California. They bailed in 1857, but it does give one pause to think: If the Saints had stayed, would Bellagio be a
Mormon temple today?

You decide.

Las Vegas became a railroad hub at the turn of the century, a staging point for the mining industry in the area. It incorporated asa city in March 1911.

Gambling was legalized there in 1931 and Hoover Dam completed in 1935, creating Lake Mead, the largest man-made lake in the U.S.

The Mob flourished in Vegas in the 1940s and 1950s (they probably still do, but just don't tell us about it) until Howard Hughes (think, The Spruce Goose) starting buying casinos and local radio and TV stations in the 1960s. That's when Vegas went legit. Rack Pack, we love you!!!!

(Nellis Air Force Base didn't hurt either.)

Today, only Macau surpasses Las Vegas in gambling revenue. Macau??

Well, we're not going to Macau. We're going to Vegas for basketball and -- and, well, for Vegas.