Balls and Walnuts
more than you ever wanted to know
The land of butts and big hair
Cigarette butts, that is. I went to a casino last night with my dad — one of the dozens of casinos which have sprung up in recent years far, far from the Strip, solely to cater to the locals — and we shot craps. Or, more accurately, I gave him a twenty and told him to wager it for me (because, my luck? You don’t want to know.)
Good news, I won twelve bucks. Bad news, I had to be in a casino to do it. Fifteen, twenty minutes in that place and I smelled like an interstate trucker’s ashtray. Meanwhile, a steady stream of good Midwestern Folk coursed by, women sporting Peggy Bundy hair-dos, men in mullets. On the wall, management had posted color photos of all the people who had won big in their casino — “Cleotis, $5,000, Keno” beneath a wizened gap-toothed fellow grinning over a sack of cash. Literally, a sack of cash.
Most of yesterday we spent shopping, with pilgrimages to New Balance, Banana Republic, Kid’s Gap, and Barnes and Noble. We had a good lunch at P.F. Chang’s (upscale Chinese, nexus of Vegas power-lunchers), and I made salt water chicken for my folks, my sister, and my brother-in-law. (This recipe is so awesome, no one in my family complained about the chicken. Not even my mother.)
Today, depending on when Jake wakes up and how fast the weather turns fiery, we may get over to Red Rock Canyon. I’m also going to go hang out with one of my classmates from residency, who practices here. Tony Roma’s for dinner tonight.
The desert air sucks moisture from stones. I wake up with my eyes burning, throat thick, nose . . . you don’t want to know what’s up there. Nose bleeds soon to follow, I’m sure. How do people live like this? Without pounds of natrium and yards of linen bandages, I mean; although, I guess that’s not living.
Maybe I should just go see the Celine Dion show, thereby putting myself out of my misery once and for all.
D.
One thing most casinos do well is the Sunday brunch buffet. If you can dodge Peg, check it out.
I hated the desert. It sucked all the moisture out of every pore. It was like walking out your front door into hell.
You know, one of the smartest things Canada ever did was to give you guys Celine Dion. And we’re not taking her back, you know. She’s your problem now. Maybe you can pawn her off on Germany, like you did with David Hasselhoff.
Can you imagine the offspring of Celine and The Hass? Dare you even try?
They tried to get France to take her by virtue of her speaking French…but Celine actually prefers the US.
Knowing Celine it’s easy to see why.
The desert air sucks moisture from stones. I wake up with my eyes burning, throat thick, nose . . . you don’t want to know what’s up there. Nose bleeds soon to follow, I’m sure. How do people live like this? Hah! And you’re not even there when it’s 115 in the shade. On a really nice day, a hot dry wind blows in, along with a ton of sand, and scrapes the skin off your face.
Welcome to my world. Life out here is like living in Ron Popeil’s super-duper food dryer.
The first time I ever encountered real humidity was in New Orleans. I was like, “Gasp, I can’t breath. I–need–gills.” And then my skin unwrinkled and I felt a decade younger.
Ya know, if you did see Celine Dion it might help you come up with an demented evil space alien character for your writing. Canadians knew what they were doing when they sealed the borders…
Yeah, but it’s a dry heat. 😉
So’s my oven, and I’ve seen what it does to meat. lol
I have a friend who lives in Phoenix and he’s often trying to get us to move down there. Up here in the Midwest (Go Mullets!) it hovers somewhere around 100ËšF in the summer, before heat index. Once the gazillion percent humidity’s added in it’s like boiling in hades, but we sweat. Which helps. When visiting my friend in Phoenix the sweat gets sucked right out, the air’s so thirsty. I’ll take humidity anytime, thanks. Even when I can see the air, it’s so humid…
Did I mention, Go Mullets!! ? 😉
My one and only female roommate as an adult had a mullet – still trying to figure out why she’s been attached to that one ‘do’ for so many years.
Okay, I’m hooked. What is salt-water chicken, and how do I prepare it?
Sounds like you had a great time. Gambling to my own father is choosing the biscuits and gravy over a sausage and cheese biscuit at his local fast food restaurant that serves breakfast. The old dear also started sweeping out the local lumberyard at age 15 and wound up owning the place in his thirties or forties. Retired from there. Sometimes I marvel at his stick-to-it-iveness, and other times I wonder if he ever regretted not branching out and taking chances outside his realm of understanding. But then I think back and am eternally grateful that his love was just as steadfast as he was/is. I never went without anything, even though he did at times. And not a day has passed that he hasn’t told me he loved me. I’ll take a gamble on that kind of parent any day. *grin*
Good blog. Got me to thinking about a lot of things. Have a great weekend, Doug.
My favorite Celine Dion bit was when she was on Celebrity Deathmatch, and turned out to be an extraterrestrial.
Pat, Tam, I don’t ever want to see above-100 temperatures again. I’ll take my Pacific Northwest weather, thank you very much 😉
Obviously I don’t live like a normal person, but I’m going to ask you anyhow (I’ve never dared ask anyone before). Why would you go shopping at chain stores (“New Balance, Banana Republic, Kid’s Gap, and Barnes and Noble”) when you’re on vacation???? Don’t you have these places near home? I’ve just never understood that activity; but then I’ told I’m wierd anyhow.
Hope you’re enjoying vacation 🙂
Ya know, I thought I’d read all your blog posts, but 2 days prior to this one must’ve escaped me. Thanks for directing me back to the 12th. *doh* I beeeeen sick *sniff* so gimme a break. That recipe DOES go onto my “I can do this” list.
Leslie, I live in the boondocks. If I want to buy clothes, I have to go to Fred Meyer (sort of a combo grocery store/department store). The only other choice is Walmart! If I want books, I have to shop online. Our nearest good bookstore, Borders, is in Eureka, 70 miles south down windy roads — it’s a 90 minute drive. Also: in Vegas, if you don’t gamble, don’t like has-been performers or magic shows, and you’ve already visited Hoover Dam, there’s not a heckuvalot else to do but shop. We went to Red Rock Canyon on Friday to do some rock climbing, though — that was, as usual, a blast.
Lyn, don’t feel bad, just make the chicken and enjoy 😉
Had to laugh about your description of the people on the wall in the Santa Fe. Funny stuff; you made me laugh out loud, and I don’t do a lot of that these days. Heard about the Italian restaurant you guys went to Saturday night.
You learn really quickly not to pick your nose in Las Vegas; you’re inviting a nose bleed if you do.
Had great fun on that shopping trip and in P.F.Chang’s.