Day Five of the Vegas Vacation
Okay, enough emo or introspective bullshit. Let’s get back to one of the few remaining things that I do well: eating, drinking, and telling a yarn or two.
I did one quasi-touristy thing while out here in Vegas. I walked a part of the strip with the tourists and had dinner in one of the hotel restaurants. Walking the strip was fun, strange and surreal at the same time. It was fun being around a lot of people, especially when they are from the four corners of the world. It was strange seeing parents bringing their young children (under the age of 5) to Sin City. I know that the city does its best to recast itself as a family friendly destination, but it is kinda hard to do when there are advertisements all around the strip telling you that a desirous female can be in your hotel room in less than twenty minutes for $35. Let me explain.
There are individuals that will have cards, magazines, and other pamphlets advertising this on various street corners along the Strip. However, they cannot talk to you directly about it to you. All these hard working ad men can do is make a shuffling noise with the cards or smack them against their wrists or wear a frame that hoisted the picture of the woman of your dreams (or the flavor of the week, day, or moment) above their heads. If you are interested in said exchange of services for cash, then you are expected to ask for one in a non-verbal manner by holding your hand out as to receive one. Now, this would work great if the ad men and the recipients of this advertisement all spoke the same language. Yet, the men and women (God bless America for its equal opportunity to peddle smut!) who were assigned the wonderful task could not speak a lick of English. Most of them appeared to be Hispanic in origins, whether they were here legally or not, I don’t know or care. Just when you thought it could not get worse about how blatant these guys were peddling the wares of these ready and willing concubines, it can. There are vehicles that hold large pictures advertising the same thing. That’s right my friends, there are vehicles that roam the Vegas Strip advertising prostitutes for your immediate consumption. Hell, I don’t think Domino’s thought their ad model would be bastardized in such a manner. Yet, they do share some similarities. The product is hot, delivered to you in less than 30 minutes, and more than likely will gone in a similar amount of time.
While I am on the subject of these “Hooker Cards” (a quaint term coined by M & J), what is the point of putting a star, a heart, or some other insignificant item hiding the woman’s naughty bits? Do they really think that placing these items in these strategic locations that it mutes the message of the cards where no one would really know that they were peddling? Come on people. What is really funny is that M & J have a nice collection of these “Hooker Cards” going and they are starting to build a collage out of said cards.
We were heading to the Diablo, a restaurant / bar along the strip. Along the way, we passed through New York, New York. It is a hotel modeled after the city of New York. It has a mock Statute of Liberty, a mock version of the Empire State Building, and other assorted things that remind people of NYC. Riddle me this, Batman. Why would someone want to go to Las Vegas just to stay in a place that looks like NYC? If you wanted to go to NYC, then go to NYC! How hard is that people? The only cool thing about New York, New York was the roller coaster that they have built into the hotel. However, why in God’s name should you have to pay $6 dollars to ride a roller coaster when you are staying at the hotel? I understand making other people pay the $6, but not the patrons of the hotel. Anyhow I digress.
The Diablo was a cool place. Good food, good house beer, but the prices were designed with one purpose in mind: to rip tourists off. I could have gotten a burger and fries of similar quality at another restaurant with the beer for $24. Yeah, you heard me right, the burger alone cost me $24. This is why I wanted to do the Anti-Vegas vacation because I knew if I did what all of you expected me to do, then I would be in the poor house in grand style. Sorry, I would like to break even or have a little bit of an estate when I die. I know that this capitalist part of me does not set well with the liberal friends that I have, but to quote the Atlanta Rhythm Section, “I ain’t going to let it bother me tonight.” What the Diablo lacked in good deals on their food and beer, they sure as hell made it up with the hotties that worked there. It took all of my will power not to completely distracted and maintain a conservation with M & J. Plus, it didn’t help that there were three MLB games going on the TVs at the same time. Wow, I am becoming that crass. Oh, well. On to more mundane things, such as the weather.
The weather out here is quite warm. It has been in the high nineties since my arrival. Yet, the humidity is quite low from about 5% to 30%. In Georgia, one of the many things that makes the Georgia summers intolerable is the humidity. You cannot sweat well in Georgia because the first three layers of sweat are stuck to your body. Out here, you sweat, but it evaporates very easily. I found out the hard way. M & J have a patio, and I have spent a good bit of my vacation out there reading my books. I would stay out there for about an hour, at first. I would come in and then crash on the couch and be out for about two hours. What I did not realize was that I was sweating profusely and was getting dehydrated. Other than that, the weather out here has been quite good, even though it rains everywhere in Vegas, but in the part where I was staying. It rather cool to see a a rainstorm going on in the distance. You can see the rain swirling through the air on its way to the parched earth below. Yet, an ½ to an inch of rain can cause flooding in this area. You know why? There is no drainage plan for this town. None. I have not seen a sewer grate or a manhole cover since I have been here. What the Fuck kinda of city planning is this? So, I am really grateful that the weather has been nice, and the M & J’s place is on the second floor.
One of my goals for this vacation was to hang out at the places where the locals go, and be treated as such. I have succeeded in said goal. Last night, M and I went to a bar called the “Dive Bar.” It was in a shopping center next to an abandoned or vacant Wal-Mart. There were a lot of people there, and they would have fit in nicely in Lenny’s in Atlanta or at the Double Down. Tats, Betty Page look likes, girls with glasses from the 50s, and dudes wearing t-shirts from the Creeps, Suicidal Tendencies, etc. Again, my kinda of place to hang and drink beer. When we got there, there was band called the “Voodoo Organist.” The music was a cross of lounge music meets punk meets rock. It was quite good. The singer and organist was playing a tune about if he can get a witness. Now, there were a few people waiving their hands in the hair to respond to the singer’s call. I wanted to yell out “Amen, brother! I’ll be your witness! I’ll testify about the wonders of the Lord Rock and how he has touched the very bottom of my soul and saved me!” Still, alas, I did not. I thought that if I did and just have gotten there, I would have looked like a tool and an idiot. M and I ordered some beers and sat at the bar. We had idle conservations with the locals, and then one of said locals asked us something that was quite amusing.
Yet, let me set the scene as to this local. I will call him, Mr. C for reason that will become quite apparent. Mr. C is a white male, mid 20s, about 5′ 10”, and 150 to 180 lbs. Random tattoos are on his arms and I believe one was on his neck. He was wearing dark jeans and a black shirt with some writing on it in white. He was wearing a hat similar to a fedora, but smaller and fuzzier. Mr. C was chatting with M, and then asked us if we had some “Yugi.” Both M and I were a little puzzled by this request, but I blew it off and continued to drink and watch Jessica Biel in the last incarnation of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Mr. C told M that “Yugi” was cocaine. M said politely that she did not have any and did not do drugs. Mr. C was accepting of this fact and went back to drinking his beer.
The “Dive Bar” lived up to its name. It was dark, it was hot, the beer was either in cans or bottles, it was a cash only place, there were so many punk rock stickers on the walls that the original paint could not be seen, and most importantly, the bathrooms were utterly disgusting. It ain’t a true dive bar unless when you go to the bathroom, and your feet stick to the floor due to the muck, the mire, the urine, the dirt, and whatever the hell else is on that floor.
I know that I have not posted pictures from my cell phone or taken a lot of pictures while I was here. I am not bothered by it. I came out here to enjoy myself, to rest, to relax, and not to try to have a vacation that lived up to other people’s expectations.
Anyhow, tonight, “THE DARK KNIGHT.” I am stoked about this movie. I cannot wait to see it.
