If you've been reading the report so far, you'll know what my favorite breakfast is and yes, I had it again. The country throw-up gravy was extra gray today, so it was really a beautiful thing to behold.
I've been getting some special requests from my readership to try Loco Moco for breakfast and one of these days, it is going to happen. Really, it's on the to-eat list.
Had my coffee at the bar before brekkie (no 'extras' today) and dumped about $80 into double double bonus. After eating, I camped out on a $5 blackjack table.
Bought in for a hundo and had to endure the most ridiculous people in the world at that table. On the right to me was the guy who most of the time didn't play basic strategy, but relied on hunches. And when he lost, he pointed out that what would have happened had he played correctly wouldn't have worked either. When he did play correctly, and lost, he complained that it didn't matter that he played right, he lost anyway.
This guy split sixes against a ten. More than once.
I refrained from kicking him in the shins but it wasn't easy.
You'd think this guy was losing every hand, he complained so much.
On my left was a woman who knew basic strategy, but also refused to play it most of the time and also deliberated whether to hit or not for minutes at a time.
At one point the dealer had to clear some cobwebs from under her arms.
I endured, and lasted about an hour and a half, coloring up with a $40 profit on the session.
Round two of the slot tournament happened and I really blew at it. I got two thousand some odd points and I knew there was no way I was in the money. Only the top eight got money out of 171 combatants. I finished in 80th position. (I actually didn't know that there were that many positions but I'm willing to try any of the ones that don't involve being suspended from anything.)
Then I did some blogging for you fine readers, and checked the room to see where any of the North American Veeblefetzer size 7 grommets that I make were in use. I found a set of them inside the plasma TV assembly! We're everywhere, you better believe it.
Today I was to head out to the Neon Boneyard - that collection of vintage (and not so vintage) Vegas signs that are awaiting restoration. They are critical examples of different periods of American design, and literally historic signposts in the evolution of Las Vegas.
I had sort of a plan but cut it very fine - I'd pre-booked the noon tour (you must book in advance) and at ten past eleven was looking for bus routes online. I found what I thought would work - the 113, which I could catch outside Walgreen's, 2 blocks east. I hauled ass down there, bought water and sunscreen, got my day pass from the machine and was at the stop at 11:30.
Time went by. And more time. And more. And no bus.
Didn't Fitzgerald's tower used to be green? Now it is black and occupied by drunk giant women with very poor senses of balance. |
It's actually very walkable from Fremont Street to the Boneyard but in the heat and sun I didn't want to risk damaging my carefully preserved grommet manufacturing plant complexion.
Turns out they have water and sunscreen available at the boneyard. Live and learn. I started slathering up with the stuff I'd bought, and some ancient great grandma held out her hand for some.
"I like yours better than the stuff they have."
I gave her a squirt of sunscreen. She held out her arm.
"A bit more here."
Another squirt of sunscreen.
I was really worried that she would ask me to do her back or something.
The tour started with our guide ("Bill") giving us some background and history. It's obvious that Bill knew a lot about not just the history of the signs, but the architectural background and design significance of these relics of post-modern communication and advertising. That's all great, but I really couldn't wait to get into the actual Boneyard and start breaking some bulbs and smashing stuff up.
We finally got our asses inside. It was high noon and sunny and 90 degrees. I was pretty happy to have sunscreen. They didn't let us touch anything. So anal! But we could take pictures, as long as "Bill" was included in each and every one of them. Whatever.
I loved the tour. I think it would have been cooler if they hadn't placed everything 'just so' - a walk through a really random dumping ground of these saved pieces of art would have afforded more photo ops for someone who has a keen eye for babes and rusty signs like me.
They've placed things so there is a walkway through and so there are nice 'sightlines' around the various pieces. It's kind of contrived, you see, but still extremely, extremely cool, if you like rotted out old crap like I do.
Tour Guide "Bill" (smaller figure on left) |
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Unimpressed local resident poses for picture. |
After the tour was over, I used some patented Royal Flusher Stealth Technology (reaching around a gate with my Kodak Brownie camera) to grab the first EVER pictures of the O'Shea's signs in their new habitat away from the strip.
Next I played the "If I had started walking now would I have gotten to Fremont before the bus" game and ended up waiting almost half an hour for the goddamned 113. It arrived, and it was a four minute ride. It was pretty hot, I'm not sure I really wanted to walk that much more in the direct sun, so a waiting for the bus was a very mature choice on my part.
I don't know what's wrong with me these days.
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