And September Races Into History
There are times when I embarrass myself with my posts, but I am who I am. Thanks for checking in now and then, or not as your desires dictate.
I spent two weeks in Las Vegas getting tired while working all day in the sun (90 to 100 degrees), and now I’ve returned to this frozen wasteland (4 million degrees below zero, or thereabouts) I call home. I am HAPPY to be home. My cat, Marie, is even happier.
I was taking photographs, along with doing a bunch of other jobs, for a company event. No, I cannot post any of the photos I took because I do not own the copyright. It’s called work-for-hire in the copyright laws, and from my perspective, it sucks.
I (we, coworkers; not my cat) stayed at the historic Riviera Hotel. No, I did NOT see Frank Sinatra’s ghost, or anyone else’s ghost, wandering the halls, but I was using my imagination. In one of the hallways, near the REALLY EXPENSIVE steak house, I saw a photo of the swimming pool that was taken in 1958, three years after the hotel opened. Outside the fence to the south was nothing but desert sand. Today, it’s yet another tower of the hotel rooms, and beyond that are endless streets, casinos, golf course, airport and so on. The hotel is older than I am, and probably STILL in better shape. Okay, so the carpet was badly worn as you go around the corner by the tattoo parlor. And the ceilings leaked in a few places, umm, (think HEAVY RAIN). A little plaster, some paint, presto change-o, good as new). But really, you should stay there while it’s still standing. Mark, the manager, will be really happy, as will all the other employees who keep looking outside to see if big cranes with wrecking balls have pulled up to the door. Mark is a displace Montanan, too. I sound critical, but I did like the place. Not that I had time to do anything other than work, but it’s close to the Las Vegas Convention Center, and across from Circus Circus (if you’re into circuses). Everything else has been knocked down, or is half-built and waiting for Obama to go away. I think half the hotel rooms in Vegas, or more, are empty. I got to Vegas at 6:00 p.m. on a Wednesday, and Las Vegas Boulevard was nearly deserted compared to pre-Obama years.
The Queen Victoria Pub is a nice place to eat, but, really, the “Bangers and Mash”, and “Bangers this” and “Bangers that” and “Bangers whatever” doesn’t sound appetizing (it’s a type of sausage). I usually had the rib-eye, or was it New York, steak and Newcastle Brown Ale. Oh, and then there was this girl, who didn’t look anything like Petula Clark, but I thought of her as Petula anyway.
By the way, if you’re driving to Las Vegas, you really should drive highway 318 between nowhere and someplace called Hiko. First, you have to get to Ely, and I hear the locals pronounce it “ee lee” instead of using English and calling it “ee lye.” (Railroad buffs can check out the Nevada Northern Railway there.) Then take highway 6 west 20 miles or so to highway 318 South. Be careful you don’t take the road to Ruth, or you will be on the highway to Somewhere Else Nowhereville, Are We Still In Nevada?.
On 318, you will be following an ancient, and maybe sometimes current, river bed called the White River. Toward the southern end of 318 you will pass through the White River Narrows. I didn’t stop this time, but I did 12 years ago. Rocks!, BIG rocks. Narrow canyon. Beauty. Imagine Tyrannosaurus Rex trying to outrun a glacial dam break up north, and losing the race. Beauty. Check it out if you can. And don’t blame me if you are unimpressed with nature. Here’s a web site with more information than I ever knew before about the White River Narrows.
