08.15.2002 - Why You'd Want To Live Here

Though the nights are immeasurably different, days in Vegas aren't all that different than days in Davis when I don't have to work. I wake up around the crack of ten and spend the next few hours wholly or partially submerged in the pool, occasionally taking a break to check my e-mail or shove some form of sustenance in my face. The only difference is that, according to meteorologists, Vegas is officially hotter than Josh Hartnett's testicles. Thus, my immobility in Vegas is dictated by the heat, while my immobility in Davis is controlled by my status as one of the ten laziest ass clowns in the United States. Maybe I should move so I can feel better about myself.

I don't know what it is about the Vegas sun, but I always tan quickly there and I'm able to stay out in the sun much longer without burning, giving my skin a nice Chicken McNugget coloration. It's funny that I need to go to Nevada to get the tan that makes me look Californian.

After loafing around for a good six to eight hours, I finally got showered and headed down to a Mexican Chain (or is it Chain Mexican) restaurant with my extended family for dinner. I should have passed, because it ended up giving me some intense stomach problems.

This did not, however, keep me from throwing on some slacks and going out that night. Vegas waits for no man, violent gas or no.

My goal this evening was to hit any casno of note that I had missed for one reason or another on my previous two visits. This involved much walking and not really settling anywhere. It's just as well, though. I wasn't really into the gambling, drinking by myself was making me feel more pathetic than frivolous and I certainly can't talk to anyone without a wingman.

The obvious solution was to hit one of the several thousand strip clubs in Vegas, but somehow, I resisted. Apparently the lure of comically large saline boobies isn't enough to pull me away from the bright lights of multi-million dollar casinos.

I know. I'm disappointed in myself too.

My travels began at the Aladdin, which, frankly, didn't do much for me. The only interesting thing about it is that, like Ikea, The Aladdin is a circular maze in which exits are incredibly difficult to find.

Once I finally found my way out, I hit a couple smaller casinos before heading south, first to the Bellagio, then to the Monte Carlo (which seemed to be holding some sort of cute Asian girl conference), then back to the car and on to the Mandalay Bay.

The Mandalay Bay wins the contest for best smelling Casino. It went from smelling like rum to smelling like coconut to smelling like cucumbers. Though I didn't really dig the scene there, the aroma kept me fairly pleased as I got lost trying to find my way out of yet another joint.

I went from the Mandalay Bay to the Luxor, which has the coolest entrance of all the casinos. I stepped out of the tram and was greeted by a mock up of the Sphinx and the strong, black exterior. The interior, however, wins The Smokiest Room in America award. The smoke machine in the dance club had apparently gone haywire and that, combined with the dense layer of cigar and cigarette smoke made breathing nearly impossible.

Somehow, the last casino on my trail, The Excalibur, turned out to be a worse experience. This is the only place on the strip that actually seemed like a hotel. Everything was cheesy and smelled sterile. I felt like I was at a Rennaissance fair with maids and free drinks. I got out of there right quick.

So, with my Thursday, I accomplished my goal of having seen every major casino by the end of the night, stayed out until half past four and amazingly spent less than five dollars. Apparently I can get shit done here. Maybe I will move.

If only it weren't so gotdamned hot.

-- Jeffy

This is Part Two of the whole Vegas shebang. Use the back arrow for the last episode and check back soon for the rest.