Day Two of the Vegas Vacation:

It was once said somewhere by someone that travel was a means to reconnect with one’s self. The draw of Vegas is not that. The lure of this town in the valley is to lose one’s self in its omnipresent decadence.

I don’t want to lose myself in a sea of booze, sex, and rock-n-roll. Hell, I can do that in Atlanta in one of the strip clubs or find someone on-line on Adult Friend Finder in my local area.

The purpose of my trip here is to reconnect with me. I know this touchy-feely claptrap is not your usual style of verbal prose from yours truly. Yet, I am consumed by a feeling that something has gone wrong with my development as a man. But, if you are reading this, you really don’t want to hear me whine or be all emo about my current state of affairs. You would be more interested in what I have been doing here.

Well, day two was a little more relaxed than day one. I spend most of the day reading a book on cross examination the patio of my host’s apartment, and listening to music on my iPod. Later in the day, I got the digital camera and took some random photos when traveling around town with M and J. I did not want to take pictures of Vegas at night. Most people do that already, and most establishments will not let take my digital camera in with me. Remember this thing is a digital SLR and not a simple point and shoot. In addition, my brother said that I take pictures of places and things and not of people. So, I took some pictures of random people on the street. It was funny seeing the sense of bewilderment on my subjects’ faces. Yet, the highlight of the day was finding Double Down Saloon.

Double Down Saloon is the anti-thesis of Vegas. It ain’t glamorous. It is bar that is not connected with the “Strip,” where all the tourists are at. It is tucked away amongst other buildings that are there for the locals. The place was small. It could hold at best about 100 people. It had graffiti and punk art all over the place. The two things that made me love this place at first glance was 1.) the bumper sticker that said, “I ♥ Mormon Pussy,” and the wooden sign that said, “Hippies. Use the back door.” Another thing that endeared this place to me was the $20 puke insurance and the house rule of if you puke it up, then you clean it up. This place had only two TVs in the place playing an assortment of indie cartoons of vile nature, concert footage from bands like GWAR and Madness, and other assorted spoofs on pop culture. The place was cash bar. No credit cards, no checks. This was a true dive bar. The people that were in there were obviously locals from the punk scene, if there is one in Vegas. Tattoos, piercings, and trucker hats were the staples of this place. It was nice to be in a place that was real and authentic.

One thing about places like Double Down is that they usually have a house drink that is the stuff of legend, hype, or terror. Double Down was no different. They have a drink called “Ass Juice.” The bartender refused to tell you what was in it. He would tell us that if you were allergic to alcohol, then we should not have any of it; also, he told us it had to be strong, it had to look like shit, and it had to taste good. All we can tell about this “Ass Juice” was a dark red, like blood, and not brown like the stuff comes out of your ass. M and I contemplated over taking a shot. J made fun of us of asking about it, but hesitating about drinking it. About four beers later, M and I had a shot of “Ass Juice.” It was sweet, fruity, and not what I was expecting. I was expecting a drink that would be bitter, sour, rancid, or just plain wretched.

The night ended at a local bar near M and J’s place called PT’s. It was a cool place. Good beer, good food, and the bartender was quite hot, despite her after-market enhancements to her original frame. I spend time talking with M about a lot of things and just enjoying the down time.

Oddly enough, by doing these anti-Vegas things, I am reconnecting with myself. Plus, I think I am getting used to the time change. I am only taking naps for about thirty minutes, and not two hours. I cannot wait to see what tonight brings.

Day one of the Vegas Vacation

Disclaimer – I am not your average dude. I am not your average tourist. I like to live and experience the town that I visit just as if I was a local. So, if you don’t see me doing what you would in Vegas or what you expect me to do while in Vegas, then go fornicate yourself. I am not here to please you or confirm to your preconceived notions.

I have not been on an airline since 1991, when I was a senior in high school. Back then, I was able to pack everything I needed for the trip in one suitcase. Now, I have one large suitcase, a small duffel bag, and a camera bag. I know this violates a man law somewhere.

On the flight out to Vegas, my child-like wonder came back to the forefront of my mind. I was looking out the window when the plane was taking off, seeing the familiar soil of my native Georgia become smaller and smaller. After we reached 38,000 ft. (almost 7.25 miles up), there was nothing but beautiful crystal blue sky, and a sea of white clouds below. The blue sky reminded me of how I have always envisioned the ocean to be or what I have seen on National Geographic specials. The clouds were pristine white, and reminded me of the sermons on how the blood of Christ would make all us one day. I apologize for the detour to the religious recesses of my childhood, and now back to something more mundane, or in some corners, foolish to consider in polite society.

During the flight, I had to partake of the lavatory at the back of the plane. While I was washing up, I began to wonder. Where does this “stuff” go? There has to be a limit on how much waste this plane could hold. I mean the heavier this plane got, the less fuel efficient it has to become. Do they dump the waste while in flight or do they pump it off, after the plane lands? If they do dump it, I would hate to be the poor soul that got hit it by it because if you did, you must have done something to deserve it.

I am staying with some friends of mine that have moved out here to Vegas. They are gracious to put up with me for the week. However, I never thought I would learn to live out of a suitcase (or two) and sleep on an air mattress. Well, here I am, and I am doing it.

Vegas is a town with a severe case of ADD. There is so much going on at one time. To be honest, it was a tad bit overwhelming at first. The primary thing that gave me solace was the mountain range that is to the North of Vegas. It is stark in colors, and it ruggedness. A wonderful contrast to the glitz, the posh, and the slow, warm glow of electric lights that make up Vegas proper.

My friends and I had lunch at a local sub shop (or regional franchise of a local sub shop). I did not have my brother’s digital camera with me (Sorry, Leroy), when I saw my first real roadrunner. Immediately, like the overgrown child that I am, I started doing my best imitation of the Warner Bros. Cartoon character. Yet, it was wonderful to see wildlife in this city, even if it was a small bird.

I am not a wine drinker. Never really got into the stuff. However, after starting to watch Wine Library TV with Gary Vanyerchuck, I have decided to venture out and expand my palette. So, I drank some wine at the Italian restaurant for dinner last night. Granted, it was the house red wine, but I gave the wine a swirl, a sniffy-sniffy, and took a chance. It was not something that I think Gary would have approved of or had Mort linked it up, but I started to understand in some small way why people have so much love and passion for wine. I will have to try some more when I get back home to Georgia.

As for the restaurant, this place had character. It would have fit well into the movie Swingers. The real treat was not the food, which was good, but was the company I was with. My courteous hosts and their lovely friend, K. Hey, I cannot give out names to these people. I do have a sense of class and want to respect their privacy. K was quite attractive. The only problem was that she had a migraine headache, and it limited her ability to enjoy the evening. Yet, I hope that I made a good impression on her. I would like to see her again, before I leave.

After dinner, we spent a good a bit of time looking for a place to go and celebrate M’s (one of my hosts) birthday. It reminded again of the movie Swingers, when they went to bar and party hopping because the places weren’t cool. Unlike the movie, our problem was find a place that would serve alcohol after 11pm and would not object to our manner of dress. Let me rephrase that, object to J’s and my manner of dress. M and K were stunning in their dresses, and complemented each other perfectly. M in black and K in white. It took all of my self control not to drool in the presence of K. God, I am that pathetic, ain’t I? Finally, we ended at the Venetian and saw the burlesque show at the Forty Deuce. I made a mistake when I posted about it in my Twitter feed. Hey, what do you expect from me? I had a half of a decanter of red wine, two shots, and about four beers, when I posted. The real highlight of the night was the three piece house band (drummer, bass player with an upright bass, and sax player) cranked out an intense rendition of “Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin. It made the routine for the dancer, who was a damn knockout, even if she had short hair.

Adjusting to time change is a real bitch, especially when you are recovering from a hangover. So, to alleviate this problem, I started reading a book called “Your Witness” by Steven F. Molo and James R. Figliulo. In full disclosure, I was contacted by a representative of the publisher of said book. It was for me to read and blog about. Hell, I don’t mind getting free stuff, but I will give my honest opinion about the book. Right now, I am liking it, but I am have read the first five chapters of the book.

The only real thing I have to do when I am here is to take pictures with the digital camera. If I don’t, my older brother will be really disappointed in me. Plus, I am rusty, and I need to work on my skills. Anyhow, I will talk to y’all later.