3 days in the desert

By day, Las Vegas is windy and everything smells like fruit. At night Frat guys wander around at night and yell "WOO!" at you, and one thousand Mexicans try and physically put into your hand flyers for prostitues. Everything is a copy of something. I got lost on the casino floor of our own hotel. Female statues have enormous (nippled) breasts and male statues actually have penises. Every outside surface is covered with advertisements for Cirque du Soleil, or Rita Rudner, or George Wallace (whose face vaguely disturbs me).

And with the right people, it's ridiculously fun. By a strike of unbelievable luck, Dane was ordered to a secret government conference there at the same time Casey flew Braden & I out to surprise our mom for her birthday, which we found out just a day or two before departing. And in violation of our third amendment rights, he was even quartered with us for a couple nights.


[pic link to flickr set]

We saw the Hoover Dam, and almost went to the Grand Canyon but it was too far. The fountain at the Bellagio (yeah, the one at the end of Ocean's 11) was really great. But I think my favorite part of the trip was when, on the third day while Braden & I were wandering around one of the larger, more snooty malls, we happened upon a small little art store (the Centaur Gallery) which had on display & for sale something like 500 original Chagalls, and almost as many Picassos, weirdly among some original Leroi Neiman paintings and some pop art by Steve Kaufman. When we strode in I went right over to one of the Chagalls, and being amazed by it I moved in a little closer to examine the craftsmanship, and a salesman came up to me and said "You must be an artist!" because I look poor, and appreciate art. I took it as a compliment anyway.