…is worth every penny, as pure entertainment.
It’s been a couple
three years since we last visited Disneyland for Grown Ups, and it is still the
most entertaining place on earth. There's a grand variety of professional entertainment (Willie Nelson, sold out, Dana Carvey
and Jon Lovitz, sold out, some guy named Keith Sweat, pass, Keith Sweat? from
 |
| The giant sentinel guarding the entrance. |
the original Perspirations? Donnie and Marie, um, oh, they’re off right now,
that’s ok I mean darn it!), but the tourists who come to LV, they are the real entertainment.
We begin with the Las Vegas Debutante Parade. While in LV, Mimsy and I maintain our ‘old
people from the Midwest’ schedule, that is, we are heading out on Midwest
morning time when many of the previous evening’s revelers are attempting to
return to base. This trip, that included
a gaggle of highly inebriated debutantes who found themselves stranded (OMG!)
in the middle of the night (OMG!) outside our 22nd floor door. There was a highly emotional and generally
senseless conversation that reached an emotional and clueless crescendo --like an old ScoobyDoo cartoon adventure--when
the leader of the pack (a.k.a. the “quaggle” or “queen of the gaggle”) cried out
in exasperation “GIRLS--SOMETHING’S WRONG!!! I’ve searched
this whole floor… EVERY F&%kIN’ ROOM STARTS WITH 22!!!
THERE IS NO 2319!!!”
Later that morning, as we headed
out, we were treated to the Miss Las Vegas Runway Walk. This is where pairs of
young women, dressed to the nines and in unequal states of inebriation, test
their homing instincts. The more highly impaired of the two is linked to a
designated walker, the one who is less smashed.
Trudging along zombie-like, the impaired ones cling to their handlers,
their survival instinct in full deployment, telling them that should they let go they have no hope of
finding nor passing out in a bed.
We also witnessed a new phenomenon: the late night indoor
drunk driver. This antique degenerate came flying
around the corner of the main floor hallway on his Rascal pedal to the metal, barely conscious and
wholly unconcerned and unaware of pedestrians. We pressed against the wall as he flew by,
oblivious, careening toward parts unknown. We hoped he would not encounter a gaggle of
zombie girls. Oh, the humanity…
 |
I was certain the High Roller would be
a failure. It has instead become one of
the best know Vegas attractions.
|
This was the week leading up to Super Bowl (or “The Big
Game” if you are not a licensed user of NFL properties), so there was an influx
of young men arriving throughout the day on Friday. This group is a walking social evolution
study. They are partial towards wearing backwards
baseball caps, making them look like big hairy ten year olds, strolling along
with cans of beer, held out in front of them, like the morning coffee brigade does
with their Starbucks, except this is all hours, morning, noon, and night, everywhere
they travel. They also wear sunglasses
at night and inside to reinforce their display of machismo and tend to be
donned in pastel polo shirts, mismatched shorts and rubber Nike shower sandals. It’s “a look”. They are generally genial as they amble about
in small pods. When they gamble at a slot machine, there is a predetermined
formation : one gambles, two stand behind the gambler to watch and grunt while
swigging their beer, and the fourth member, who displays aggressive verbal
traits, waves his beer in the air and
stomps around screaming encouragement like “HIT THAT MOTHERF&%KER, MAN”
and “F&%k YEAH,BITCH” and “YEAAAAAHHHHH, BABY” and, of course,
“WHOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!”. This all takes
place while he is being ignored by the rest of the pod, raising the question of
whether he is a pod member or just a young vagrant in search of a pod. Further study will be required.
Older folks are fun, too. One senior couple displayed their “assume the
position” slot mode. The gentleman admonished
his spouse (yes, ladies, he was being an asshole) “THE SYSTEM! STICK TO THE
SYSTEM! LEFT HAND ONLY!” as he took up his
position standing behind her, slightly askew to her right, supervising as she
awkwardly fed the ticket into the machine-- left handed—pausing at the
choreographed moment to allow him to
light his lucky cigarette (do they still make Lucky Strike?).Then and only then did the woman begin to push the wager buttons- left handed only- as
he supervised and smoked.
They got crushed.
Maybe they need a new system. Maybe
she needs a new partner.
 |
How I remember my room
number since it's not on the
key card. Take a picture. I
don't really need to know
anything anymore if I have
my phone.
|
Mimsy killed it at the slots, winning about 2:1 what I
lost. That’s our system. I just shut up and try not to do too much
damage. She wins, I should stay on the
sidelines reading the “Welcome to Exciting Las Vegas” ad magazines.
We migrate from one casino to the next. At one point, we had to pause for Mimsy to
rest a moment, and we happened to be at Casino Royale. We plopped down at one
of those enormous old Wheel of Fortune games, the kind where the players sit
around the perimeter of the wheel that must be 20 feet in diameter. In a couple of minutes, I won a spin of the
big wheel as Video Vanna clapped and offered encouragement.
BAM—I won $100! Nice,
huh?
Not more than a two minutes later, Mimsy hit a spin of the
big wheel and BAM BAM--won $200.
You got yer winners
and you got yer losers, see? Stick ta da
system.
Other sightings:
·
the security guard in one of the casinos on our
early rounds radioing to his supervisor “we’ve got a sleeper-we HAVE a sleeper”,
as he prepared to roust a comatose drunk left over from last night
·
the guy trying to celebrate a straight flush big
win at Mirage, with words of
encouragement from his pal “maybe you can buy back the guitar now”
·
a hooker throwing a fit when her young client
demanded she return his leather jacket as she departed MGM, 8:30 a.m.
·
two old queens throwing a hissy fit at the
airport, 5:00 p.m. Hilarious.
·
the unfortunate maintenance crew at Linq
Promenade assigned to vomit patrol, and finally
·
a woman at McCarren Airport security loudly
protesting “PROFILING!!!” and nobody-neither
TSA nor travelers- giving a shit.
I love Las Vegas.
