I’ve got a virus in my boot. So said Mr. Kim the computer guy. It probably dropped down there from my nose. He said it’ll cost me $2,456 to fix it. This is Vegas. I talked him down to eighty rather easily so I get the feeling it didn’t actually cost him anything to repair it. He probaby turned it on and it worked. Sharing my virus with my boot did however clear my sinuses. I am now fit for sin city.
Last night I caught the Blue Men show. Three gentlemen covered head to foot in blue paint. I was left with the impression that audiences in Vegas will watch anything on a stage. I’m sure the elderly ladies in front of me didn’t enjoy the gunk spurting chest wounds, the head thumping drumming, or the audience mocking. But, to a granny, they agreed, “That was some show.” Not one of them prepared to admit the emperor was butt naked.
On my sinful agenda for Vegas was a flirtation with a leggy showgirl. In my mind I would buy her small glasses of ginger ale masquerading as fifty-buck cocktails, get mugged walking her to her Chevy and be beaten half to death by her wide-receiver fiance. It’s another one of those life fantasies like rescuing a crippled German shepherd from a burning building but not surviving yourself. But showgirls are all in shows and the Burlesques don’t start til ten. My bedtime. So last night I watched Friends and went to sleep.
In the daytime all the showgirls are asleep. I walk around the casinos and watch the daylight beer drinkers pump twenty-dollar bills into the slot machines, waiting for excitement to drop like quarters into a metal tray. Those were the days. I discovered, as I blew $2 of my own in under a minute, that there is nothing inately stimulating in throwing money away. I later had a similar lack of feeling as i dropped my left over yen into the toilet. Tomorrow I shall stand at the poker and roulette tables and study the faces of the losers there.
So it is my second evening in Vegas. I am booked to watch Cirque du Soleil – Love. Have you noticed how prices go up the more French words are used? As soon as a hotel has a concierge you know the bill going to hit le roof. There are currently four unique Cirque de Soleil shows around town, each more Frenchly daring than the last. I am well enough now to drink again. I am in a genuine Italian out (in) door restaurant, pre-show, in the evening shadow of a huge Italian fountain beneath a huge fake unmoving cloud-filled sky. I’m on my third Samuel Adams Octoberfest and feeling frisky. The table in front of me just filled up with three absolute babe Muslim girls with nothing showing but heavily made-up faces through which to squeeze all their sexuality. What are they doing here? Since when did Vegas become the next stop after Mecca? Isn’t makeup decadent? Aren’t there rules? They’re with their mother. They aren’t showgirls but I can’t resist the temptation to brazenly flirt …with the mother.
The Moore bloke said I have to include some tenuous book-related content in these blobs so here it is. I went to Barnes and Noble at Mission Center to sign my books today. They didn’t have any. A whole shelf of Alexander bloody McCall Smith but not one CC in the place.
Wait. Did the mother just smile back?