Heed not Steve

Stuck A Feather In His Cap…

…and called it macaroni salad.

a work in progress

Happy Birthday, America. I hope, with each year, you grow wiser and kinder.

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Escape!

Oh, I forgot to mention the biggest adventure of our Las Vegas trip.

Well, it’s not that big an adventure, really.  But…

Okay, anyhow.  Between the Cosmopolitan and the Bellagio, there’s a hotel called the Jockey Club.  It’s a short, square, glass building dwarfed by its neighbors.

I’ve always been fascinated by it.  The rooms, seen from the street, have to me a sort of sad, 60’s, Mad Men meets Death of a Salesman vibe.  I imagine it’s the sort of place where the occupants still use shoe horns (with carved horn horse heads, of course) and drink highballs for brunch.

It’s probably not like that, but, that’s how I imagine it.

The last couple of times Lucie and planned trips to Vegas, we looked at the Jockey Club as a potential place to stay.  But, we’ve always opted to stay elsewhere.

So.

On the second day of this trip, as we headed to the Flamingo for breakfast, a guy on the corner, outside the Cosmopolitan, asked us where we’re from.  We told him, and he grabbed another guy who offered us a two night, three day, stay at the Jockey Club.  He was friendly and not too slick.  He threw around comps for shows and gambling and the hotel stay, all for just taking a little tour of the Jockey Club.  He told us the Jockey Club is trying to get more exposure and hoping to bribe people into checking it out and maybe returning.

That all sounded fine, and we were definitely curious to see the hotel.  But, we were also hungry and wanted to get breakfast.  So, he offered another comp for lunch at a Brazilian steak house.  We asked how long the tour would take and he sort of hem/hawed around it, giving the impression it’d take about 15 or 20 minutes.  He said we could start right then.

Fine.

We followed him to the hotel, while he filled out some little form.  He just wanted our names and a phone number (he insisted we could give a fake number.)  At the hotel, he said, “We’ll skip the lobby,” and he walked us up some stairs, from some nondescript driveway, into some nondescript door on the second floor.

We followed him through a maze of nondescript, white hallways.  At some point, he mentioned a little this or that about time shares.  He also pointed out a check box on the form where we had to acknowledge the presentation might go up to 120 minutes, then assured us with some hand waving it wouldn’t likely take that long.

Then, he took us into a room with a bunch of tables and salespeople types.  He left and someone else checked over the form and checked our ID’s.  Then that person took us to a room with a bunch of cushy, square love seats and coffee and snacks.  They asked us to have a seat and wait for yet another person.

As we waited, we got a coffee and shared a clementine orange.  Around the room were other couples, sitting and waiting in their own cushy, square love seats.

We realized we were likely in for a two hour, hard sell, time share, sales pitch.

Lucie suggested we just leave while we could.  We had a concert that evening and a two hour sales pitch would seriously infringe upon our day.

I hesitated, initially.  What if they stop us?  What if they ask where we’re going?  What if we’re confronted?

But, ugh, a two hour sales pitch.  No thank you.

We got up and walked.  Coffees in hand, we walked right past a group of anonymous, polyester blazer wearing, time share trappers, into an elevator area with a little desk.  No one paid any attention to us.  We didn’t know exactly how to leave and we surely didn’t want to ask anyone.

Instead of taking the elevator, we went the way we’d come in, back to the nondescript, white halls.  As we walked, we saw Mr. Friendly, busy with one of his forms.  We didn’t want to talk to him, so we ducked into a side hall.  At the end of the hall was an exit door.  We jinked right on out of there.

It turns out it was the same door we’d originally entered.

We scurried down the stairs, out the drive, and back onto the strip.

Yes.  We scurried.

escape!  freedom!

So, you know; of course, we didn’t get any of the comps.  And, later that day, we tried to pick a route back to our hotel which would avoid Mr. Friendly, only to take a route which put us exactly at his corner.  Luckily, he wasn’t there.

Also, the breakfast restaurant we’ve always liked at the Flamingo is no more.

Alas.

But, hey.  Free coffee!  And, we almost, sort of, nearly, got to see some of the interior of the Jockey Club.

We were tempted by curiosity and free stuff, but we sprung the trap.

Nice try, Jockey Club.

A highball to you.

Cheers.

What Happens…

Hey, Steve, you may be saying, we haven’t seen you around Burger World lately.  What gives?

No?

Well, I’ll tell you.

Lucie and I went back to Las Vegas.

Yes!

Initially, we’d planned the trip to maybe meet up with another of my Air Force buddies and his wife.  He’d wanted to join us in Vegas, back in December, but he wasn’t able to get stateside for it (he lives in Guam.)

Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to make this trip, either.

Still, Lucie and I had a tremendously wonderful time.

We stayed at the Cosmopolitan because they have rooms with soaking tubs and private balconies.  It was pricey, but the financial cost was mitigated a bit by my recent AARP membership.

Yeah.

I joined AARP specifically to get the discounted room rates.

The financial cost was mitigated; the emotional cost was severe.

Alas.

But, I’d do it again!

We slept in and lounged poolside and soaked and ate.  In between the lounging and soaking and eating, we saw Janelle Monae in concert.  It was a terrific show.

We also saw Dita Von Teese perform.  That was great fun; although, for the first fifteen minutes or so, we had to cope with an overly amiable and obnoxious drunk fellow named Owen standing near us, trying to engage in the same three conversational topics over and over.  Eventually his date/girlfriend got tired of his nonsense and shut him down.

We also met at a Tiki bar for a quick drink with a group of friends who were in town for a trade convention.

The one thing we didn’t really do much of is gamble.  I think we went down about five dollars total in video poker.  Maybe ten.

I enjoyed the trip very much.  I didn’t count a single macro.  I didn’t do a lick of exercise (except for all the walking.)  Speaking of walking, on this trip, even though we had our car, we used the ride sharing service Lyft quite a lot.  It’s a very convenient way to get around Vegas.

Anyhow.  Often, after a couple of days, I’m ready to get out of Vegas and go back home.  This time, I was sad to leave.

vegascosmoroom

our swanky digs…

vegascosmobed

private balcony…58 floors up!

vegascosmosoak

we discovered we love to soak

vegascosmochand

in the casino with a giant chandelier

vegascosmocat

the Cheshire ceiling cat spying on us

vegasboozeshakes

booze-shakes and burgers!  I’m only just recovered enough to eat again…

vegascosmoview

the view from our balcony at night

vegasloveselfie

Thanks, Sweetie for a fantastic trip!

 

‘‘Tis Of Thee

summer wind
welcome go
away

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018

It Brings A Drop Of Machine Oil To My Optic Sensor Array

beepity
boop boop beep –
robo-poem

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018

Three Lines

we speak
again
of summer

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018

Daylight to Burn

this first day of

summer sneaks in

behind the sun

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018

Hydration


nearly summer
already
so thirsty

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018

Dear Extrovert, You Know That Feeling You Get When Someone Makes You Pose For a Photo Even Though You Aren’t Dressed For It And You Don’t Feel Up For It, But They Insist Anyhow, Then They Hold The Camera This Way And That And They Fiddle And Fuss With It And They Take Forever While, The Whole Time, You’re Held There, Trapped, With A Rigid, Painted Grin Of Pretend Spontaneity? You Know That Feeling? For A Non-extrovert, That’s Sort Of How Every Minute Of Face To Face Social Interaction With A Stranger Feels.

cheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
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eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeese!!!

Paradise Flame

sunset
fire
on fire

—-

© Steve Mitchell 2018