Steve Wynn had a vision of what Las Vegas was to become. He brought to life several new innovations when he willed the Mirage into existence. His architects designed a never before seen layout for the hotel building consisting of three gigantic wings all accessible from the same bank of elevators, shortening the maximum walking distance from the elevator to your room. The casino was practically void of neon. He brought natural light into the casino with a towering dome shaped glass atrium. He filled the hotel with live plants ranging from palms to orchids. He added live animals from the shark tank behind the front desk to the white tigers and dolphins on display. And he built the famous volcano in front of the casino to attract passersby.
The Mirage wasn't merely large or stylish or head-turning; it was all of these things. Steve Wynn had transformed a patch of desert ground into a tropical oasis and had made it impossible for anyone walking past the Mirage to avoid coming inside, even with no cheap buffet. He had more than one-upped the competition. He had blown them away in every conceivable way, except one – value. The Mirage was always too expensive for my brother and I to enjoy as guests. Still, it created an inescapable draw for us. Though we couldn't afford to take advantage of its amenities, it drew us back to Las Vegas again and again, if only to smell the scented air of its casino. It also paved the way for a building boom that few cities on earth have seen.
Circus Circus had always been a gaudy spectacle. A walk through its casino often left me feeling a strong need to wash my hands. As one visiting friend remarked, "It smells like kindergarten." When I pressed my friend to expand on her assessment of the place, she said, "Well, you know when little school children go outside at recess to play on a hot day? And the way they all smell when they come back inside? And how they insist on rubbing against you? It smells like that." I have never been able to describe the place any better than she did.
Nevertheless, it was a cash cow that had catered to gamblers of modest means for decades with its R.V park out back and all-you-can-eat buffet consisting mostly of fried foods and gelatin desserts. The company that owned Circus Circus also changed the desert landscape forever by building their "Mirage" – Excalibur.
At its opening, Excalibur was the largest hotel in the world with over 4,000 rooms. At two people per room, the hotel could have housed 2% of the entire population of the metropolitan Las Vegas area on any given night. The hotel was twice the size of the Mirage, yet it cost less than half as much to build. Its construction was paid for entirely in cash – no construction loan required. Knowing the reputation of the company that owned Circus Circus, our expectations were low. My brother and I knew that the place would fail miserably. How could they possibly fill all those hotel rooms? Surely the place would go bust quickly. We had to see this monstrosity for ourselves.
Our first inspection of the hotel's exterior was exactly what we had expected to see. It appeared to be built from cinder block and it was topped with what looked like turrets made of plastic. It looked more like it belonged on a miniature golf course for giants than on the Las Vegas Strip.
Once inside the cinder block walls, we quickly figured out what had happened to all the neon lighting that the Mirage designers had decided not to purchase. It was everywhere here, spinning and flashing and making us wince. Most of all, I remember my brother's look of astonishment and his comment as he gazed upon the acres of grotesque casino carpet being trod upon by hundreds of gamblers. "There's a butt for every seat!" Little did I know how prophetic those words were. A simple joke uttered inside the Excalibur turned out to be the city's mantra for years to come.
Shortly after that trip, my brother moved to Northern California where he met his wife. I stayed behind in Southern California where I met Paul. My brother and I never got to take another trip that I can remember – just the two of us. Things were changing quickly in my life. And Las Vegas was about to evolve into something else for me besides a getaway destination. It was about to become my home.
To be continued…
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part IV
The next morning I left for my new home in California. But I now had a soft spot in my heart for Las Vegas. It was a place of unrivaled unreality, yet at the same time it was very real. It was an escape from the everyday where anyone could feel exuberant and glamorous – even become someone else for a few days, perhaps a Roman Emperor.
Over the next few years, living in California, my younger brother served as my roommate and best friend. An airline executive today, he was a car salesman at the time often working what he called “bell to bell”, meaning twelve hour days – sometimes longer. It was a job he was not ultimately cut out to do because his only interest was in providing customers with the best value and this was not the most lucrative way to operate. I was making a small hourly wage reviewing closed mortgage packages. From there I went on to become a waiter at a coffee shop. Neither of us ever had much money to spend and we often had days off together during the middle of the week when car dealerships and restaurants were less busy.
We looked forward each week to the Sunday L.A. Times which always had a section devoted to Las Vegas in it. There was usually some inconsequential fluff story about Las Vegas that was followed by advertisements for cheap hotel rooms. It was the first page we turned to and sometimes the only page we read.
Las Vegas was full of incredible deals. We stayed in suites at the Rio for $39.00. We stayed at Bally’s for $25.00 per night. We stayed everywhere a deal was to be had, developing a list of favorites as we went. Perhaps the best deal we ever scored was a room at Whiskey Pete’s on the California/Nevada border for $16.00 per night. When we arrived, we marveled at the brand new hotel rooms at Whiskey Pete’s, complete with shower gel – a new relatively concoction. We laughed as I insisted that my brother give me his $8.00 to compensate me for his half of the room, as if I was a gangster collecting on a large debt. Each time we went to Las Vegas we were amazed to find that the hotels clean, more than comfortable, and sometimes downright luxurious compared to our simple apartment.
We were the kings of the coupon books. We had loyalty to no particular casino and would go wherever we could eat and drink the cheapest, scanning all the marquees carefully for food and drink specials. We could eat so much food at a buffet that we swore the casino would have to turn out a light or two to recoup their profits. Along the way, we discovered that no matter how inexpensive, some buffets were not worth the price of entry. The cheapest buffet we ever found was a breakfast buffet for 99 cents. The buffet hostess gave us a number and promised to call us to our table shortly. We passed our time each losing $10.00 worth of quarters in a video blackjack machine. Once seated in the buffet we were disappointed to find cold food prepared without any care for its appearance or flavor. Our disgusting breakfast had cost us each $11.00. As we left that buffet feeling taken advantage of, my brother remarked, “I will not eat green eggs and ham.” That line became our mantra in the years to come as we sought only value for our money, rather than rock bottom prices. From that day on, we often enjoyed the breakfast buffet at Caesars Palace with its freshly squeezed juice, custom-made omelets, crispy bacon, and $5.99 price tag – no waiting.
Over the years, we became part of a tourist subculture that came to Las Vegas to take advantage of its cheap rooms, plentiful buffets, and free drinks. We slept in suites with floor-to-ceiling Strip views at the Rio. We sipped drinks in the Mahogony lined bar on the 34th floor of the Landmark. We drove down Glitter Gulch, marveling at the lights of The Mint. We took advantage of the spas and pools. We always came home rested and we often spent less than $100.00 each on an entire trip. We knew who had the best rooms, the best food, the cheapest drinks, and the lowest blackjack minimums. Las Vegas had become not only an escape from reality but also a way for two average Joes to unwind and feel like something better than average, if only for a short time. It was a place where we could go and forget about serving food and selling cars. It was a welcome respite from the daily drone of life. And then a man named Steve Wynn came along.
To be continued…
Over the next few years, living in California, my younger brother served as my roommate and best friend. An airline executive today, he was a car salesman at the time often working what he called “bell to bell”, meaning twelve hour days – sometimes longer. It was a job he was not ultimately cut out to do because his only interest was in providing customers with the best value and this was not the most lucrative way to operate. I was making a small hourly wage reviewing closed mortgage packages. From there I went on to become a waiter at a coffee shop. Neither of us ever had much money to spend and we often had days off together during the middle of the week when car dealerships and restaurants were less busy.
We looked forward each week to the Sunday L.A. Times which always had a section devoted to Las Vegas in it. There was usually some inconsequential fluff story about Las Vegas that was followed by advertisements for cheap hotel rooms. It was the first page we turned to and sometimes the only page we read.
Las Vegas was full of incredible deals. We stayed in suites at the Rio for $39.00. We stayed at Bally’s for $25.00 per night. We stayed everywhere a deal was to be had, developing a list of favorites as we went. Perhaps the best deal we ever scored was a room at Whiskey Pete’s on the California/Nevada border for $16.00 per night. When we arrived, we marveled at the brand new hotel rooms at Whiskey Pete’s, complete with shower gel – a new relatively concoction. We laughed as I insisted that my brother give me his $8.00 to compensate me for his half of the room, as if I was a gangster collecting on a large debt. Each time we went to Las Vegas we were amazed to find that the hotels clean, more than comfortable, and sometimes downright luxurious compared to our simple apartment.
We were the kings of the coupon books. We had loyalty to no particular casino and would go wherever we could eat and drink the cheapest, scanning all the marquees carefully for food and drink specials. We could eat so much food at a buffet that we swore the casino would have to turn out a light or two to recoup their profits. Along the way, we discovered that no matter how inexpensive, some buffets were not worth the price of entry. The cheapest buffet we ever found was a breakfast buffet for 99 cents. The buffet hostess gave us a number and promised to call us to our table shortly. We passed our time each losing $10.00 worth of quarters in a video blackjack machine. Once seated in the buffet we were disappointed to find cold food prepared without any care for its appearance or flavor. Our disgusting breakfast had cost us each $11.00. As we left that buffet feeling taken advantage of, my brother remarked, “I will not eat green eggs and ham.” That line became our mantra in the years to come as we sought only value for our money, rather than rock bottom prices. From that day on, we often enjoyed the breakfast buffet at Caesars Palace with its freshly squeezed juice, custom-made omelets, crispy bacon, and $5.99 price tag – no waiting.
Over the years, we became part of a tourist subculture that came to Las Vegas to take advantage of its cheap rooms, plentiful buffets, and free drinks. We slept in suites with floor-to-ceiling Strip views at the Rio. We sipped drinks in the Mahogony lined bar on the 34th floor of the Landmark. We drove down Glitter Gulch, marveling at the lights of The Mint. We took advantage of the spas and pools. We always came home rested and we often spent less than $100.00 each on an entire trip. We knew who had the best rooms, the best food, the cheapest drinks, and the lowest blackjack minimums. Las Vegas had become not only an escape from reality but also a way for two average Joes to unwind and feel like something better than average, if only for a short time. It was a place where we could go and forget about serving food and selling cars. It was a welcome respite from the daily drone of life. And then a man named Steve Wynn came along.
To be continued…
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part III
Encouraged by my recent good fortune, I succumbed to the Dunes’ enticing marquee and walked into the closest annex of the Dunes casino, an extension of the main casino called the “Dunes Oasis”. In later years, I heard locals refer to it as the Dunes “O’anus”, but it was the first time I’d ever seen the inside of a large casino so it was exciting to me.
The entrance to the casino was flanked by neon palm trees. The vibrant carpet inside was dizzying. In years to come, my younger brother and I often wondered whose job it was to look at a swatch of wildly colored carpet, and place an order with confidence, “We’ll take three acres of the pink and orange stuff.”
Each side of the main Dunes Oasis interior walkway was lined with gaming tables. I stood looking at the top of one of them, trying to understand the layout. There were no other players at the table. The dealer could tell that I was apprehensive so she said that she would be happy to teach me to play. Nervously, I followed her instructions and plunked down a few dollars to exchange for chips. The table minimum was high - $3.00, but I bravely sat down at the table anyway, putting myself in the dealer’s hands. I don’t remember now whether I won or lost, but either way it was fascinating and I had finally had the chance to sit at a real blackjack table and play!
I left the Oasis with renewed confidence and made my way toward the big daddy of them all – Caesars Palace. Years after my first visit, I read a book that explained that “Caesars Palace” has no apostrophe in its name because the casino was not the Palace belonging to a specific “Caesar”. It was a palace that belonged to all who entered its doors, and we were all “Caesars” – emperors to be adored and worshipped with excess. Though gigantic compared to its neighbors, Caesars only had one gaming area with tables. There was also a high limit slot area, some less expensive slots scattered around, and of course their famous newly built sports book with its theater sized screens. The whole place was much smaller than what is considered today to be the acceptable size of a casino aimed at local players.
The main gaming area was a round room, called the "Olympic Casino" which still exists today I believe. The ceiling had rows of crystals hanging in lines that met in the center of the room’s opulent domed ceiling. The dealers all wore medallions with the likeness of an emperor on them. Some of the customers wore these medallions as well, but only a few. It was immediately understood that to wear one these medallions meant that you were a VIP – an invited guest of the casino.
There were dozens of gorgeous cocktail waitresses working the crowd, all wearing what appeared to be roman togas that were cut short to show off their shapely legs. The head of each cocktail waitress was crowned with a perfect cone of hair whose end supported a long strands that hung down to the waitresses’ shoulders. It was years before I realized that these were actually wigs.
Betting minimums at Caesars Palace were higher than at the Dunes. The lowest I could find was an astronomical $5.00 per hand or spin of the wheel. I was far too nervous to play blackjack here, but I was intrigued by the roulette wheel. I understood nothing about the game, but I was sure that if I restricted my bet to red or black that I could feign confidence.
I placed a few dollars on the table and was handed a couple of $5.00 chips. I put one of the chips on black and surveyed the other players. The other players were dressed so elegantly. One older man and his wife looked like they had come from a black tie function. She wore an aqua full-length evening dress and had taken great pains to match her eye shadow. Carefully created grey curls hung down in front of her bejeweled ears. The other players bet wildly spreading their brightly colored chips all over the center of the table. Somehow, the croupier managed to straighten up everyone’s chips before the roulette ball fell into a slot on the wheel. While the players waited breathlessly, most puffed away on complementary cigarettes they had just plucked from a large highly polished wooden box that was kept full by the casino.
The ball fell and bounced around the wheel before coming to rest in a black slot. Some players whooped while others remained quiet and stone faced. The mounting tension was too much for me to handle so I scooped up my two $5.00 chips and made my way to the cashier’s cage.
To be continued...
The entrance to the casino was flanked by neon palm trees. The vibrant carpet inside was dizzying. In years to come, my younger brother and I often wondered whose job it was to look at a swatch of wildly colored carpet, and place an order with confidence, “We’ll take three acres of the pink and orange stuff.”
Each side of the main Dunes Oasis interior walkway was lined with gaming tables. I stood looking at the top of one of them, trying to understand the layout. There were no other players at the table. The dealer could tell that I was apprehensive so she said that she would be happy to teach me to play. Nervously, I followed her instructions and plunked down a few dollars to exchange for chips. The table minimum was high - $3.00, but I bravely sat down at the table anyway, putting myself in the dealer’s hands. I don’t remember now whether I won or lost, but either way it was fascinating and I had finally had the chance to sit at a real blackjack table and play!
I left the Oasis with renewed confidence and made my way toward the big daddy of them all – Caesars Palace. Years after my first visit, I read a book that explained that “Caesars Palace” has no apostrophe in its name because the casino was not the Palace belonging to a specific “Caesar”. It was a palace that belonged to all who entered its doors, and we were all “Caesars” – emperors to be adored and worshipped with excess. Though gigantic compared to its neighbors, Caesars only had one gaming area with tables. There was also a high limit slot area, some less expensive slots scattered around, and of course their famous newly built sports book with its theater sized screens. The whole place was much smaller than what is considered today to be the acceptable size of a casino aimed at local players.
The main gaming area was a round room, called the "Olympic Casino" which still exists today I believe. The ceiling had rows of crystals hanging in lines that met in the center of the room’s opulent domed ceiling. The dealers all wore medallions with the likeness of an emperor on them. Some of the customers wore these medallions as well, but only a few. It was immediately understood that to wear one these medallions meant that you were a VIP – an invited guest of the casino.
There were dozens of gorgeous cocktail waitresses working the crowd, all wearing what appeared to be roman togas that were cut short to show off their shapely legs. The head of each cocktail waitress was crowned with a perfect cone of hair whose end supported a long strands that hung down to the waitresses’ shoulders. It was years before I realized that these were actually wigs.
Betting minimums at Caesars Palace were higher than at the Dunes. The lowest I could find was an astronomical $5.00 per hand or spin of the wheel. I was far too nervous to play blackjack here, but I was intrigued by the roulette wheel. I understood nothing about the game, but I was sure that if I restricted my bet to red or black that I could feign confidence.
I placed a few dollars on the table and was handed a couple of $5.00 chips. I put one of the chips on black and surveyed the other players. The other players were dressed so elegantly. One older man and his wife looked like they had come from a black tie function. She wore an aqua full-length evening dress and had taken great pains to match her eye shadow. Carefully created grey curls hung down in front of her bejeweled ears. The other players bet wildly spreading their brightly colored chips all over the center of the table. Somehow, the croupier managed to straighten up everyone’s chips before the roulette ball fell into a slot on the wheel. While the players waited breathlessly, most puffed away on complementary cigarettes they had just plucked from a large highly polished wooden box that was kept full by the casino.
The ball fell and bounced around the wheel before coming to rest in a black slot. Some players whooped while others remained quiet and stone faced. The mounting tension was too much for me to handle so I scooped up my two $5.00 chips and made my way to the cashier’s cage.
To be continued...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep
Yesterday, the weather was so spectacular that we just had to get out for a drive in the mountains. We came across a herd of bighorn sheep, the Colorado state animal. According to the web, they are found only in the Rocky Mountains. Aren't they beautiful?
Friday, January 16, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part II
With less than a hundred dollars to my name, I couldn’t afford to gamble. But I had never been in Las Vegas before, so I had to try at least once didn’t I? I made my way down to the motel’s small casino where there were about twenty slot machines to choose from. It seemed that no two were alike. The whole process of gambling intimidated me, but I assumed that I would need to buy a roll of quarters from the cashier. The universal ease of playing a slot machine had not been lost on me.
I made my way to a slot machine and begin inserting quarters and pulling the handle. Within a few pulls, three red 7’s appeared on behind the glass. I had hit a jackpot! A large casually dressed woman sidled over to me to tell me that she had been playing that machine all weekend and asked if she could borrow a few dollars of my jackpot. I declined and put all my quarters into a plastic bucket so the cashier could change them into folding money. I walked out of the little casino with eighty or ninety dollars that I didn’t have just moments before! I was all alone and surrounded by neon. I felt grown up – invigorated – excited by the possibilities of the night. Who knew what I would see and experience?
I walked toward the Strip from the motel. In those days, the Strip was much smaller, but seemed even more out of place against the suburban streets that surrounded it than it does today. The whole city had maybe 400,000 residents. Any building that was more than ten stories tall looked mammoth compared to the surrounding small suburban structures.
When I reached the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard, I was like a deer in headlights – neon headlights. The buildings themselves were not particularly impressive; but the marquees were a sight to see! The Dunes sat on the site where the Bellagio stands today. Its marquee must have been twenty stories tall. The whole thing was lined in red neon whose bulbs were illuminated in succession making the lights appear to snake up the sign's humongous support beams ending at a point at the top shaped somewhat like a spade on a playing card.
The top of the marquee advertised the showroom’s latest topless review. It had a name that exuded electricity, excitement and burlesque – all in two words. The show producer’s name was proudly displayed over the show’s name as if that would make it even more compelling to come and see the show. I had never heard of this show’s producer but I was sure that everyone else had.
There were no pedestrian bridges allowing people to stroll slowly from casino to casino, just throngs of people and cars all converged on the same intersection. All of the people were very enthusiastic and you could tell there was something different about this crowd. Cars and people jostled through the intersection seeing which group could push the other out of the way. The lights of the marquees danced and sang. Bally’s, The Dunes, The Flamingo Hilton, and Caesars Palace all jockeyed for position enticing customers with food, drink, shows, and loose slots. There was a charge in the air that was palpable. There was an unspoken promise being whispered to my subconscious by all that surrounded me; a promise of earthly pleasures and excitement just waiting to be plucked as easily as picking up a penny from the ground.
To be continued…
I made my way to a slot machine and begin inserting quarters and pulling the handle. Within a few pulls, three red 7’s appeared on behind the glass. I had hit a jackpot! A large casually dressed woman sidled over to me to tell me that she had been playing that machine all weekend and asked if she could borrow a few dollars of my jackpot. I declined and put all my quarters into a plastic bucket so the cashier could change them into folding money. I walked out of the little casino with eighty or ninety dollars that I didn’t have just moments before! I was all alone and surrounded by neon. I felt grown up – invigorated – excited by the possibilities of the night. Who knew what I would see and experience?
I walked toward the Strip from the motel. In those days, the Strip was much smaller, but seemed even more out of place against the suburban streets that surrounded it than it does today. The whole city had maybe 400,000 residents. Any building that was more than ten stories tall looked mammoth compared to the surrounding small suburban structures.
When I reached the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard, I was like a deer in headlights – neon headlights. The buildings themselves were not particularly impressive; but the marquees were a sight to see! The Dunes sat on the site where the Bellagio stands today. Its marquee must have been twenty stories tall. The whole thing was lined in red neon whose bulbs were illuminated in succession making the lights appear to snake up the sign's humongous support beams ending at a point at the top shaped somewhat like a spade on a playing card.
The top of the marquee advertised the showroom’s latest topless review. It had a name that exuded electricity, excitement and burlesque – all in two words. The show producer’s name was proudly displayed over the show’s name as if that would make it even more compelling to come and see the show. I had never heard of this show’s producer but I was sure that everyone else had.
There were no pedestrian bridges allowing people to stroll slowly from casino to casino, just throngs of people and cars all converged on the same intersection. All of the people were very enthusiastic and you could tell there was something different about this crowd. Cars and people jostled through the intersection seeing which group could push the other out of the way. The lights of the marquees danced and sang. Bally’s, The Dunes, The Flamingo Hilton, and Caesars Palace all jockeyed for position enticing customers with food, drink, shows, and loose slots. There was a charge in the air that was palpable. There was an unspoken promise being whispered to my subconscious by all that surrounded me; a promise of earthly pleasures and excitement just waiting to be plucked as easily as picking up a penny from the ground.
To be continued…
Las Vegas Through My Eyes – Part I
Las Vegas has had a major impact on my life. I experienced it both as a tourist and as a resident over the course of twenty years. For better or worse, it’s part of the fabric of who I am.
Yesterday, I read with sadness that the Folies Bergere in Las Vegas is closing. The Folies Bergere was the last of two traditional Vegas revues with gorgeous topless showgirls and fantastic costumes. When I first began visiting Las Vegas some twenty years ago, shows like this not only provided entertainment, they made the audience members feel glamorous as well. They were unlike anything that could be experienced anywhere else in the United States and they had an effect on me, along with the rest of the Vegas experience, of removing me from the reality of daily life. They transported audience members to a gentler time when people still dressed up to go to dinner. It made me nostalgic and I thought I'd write about some of my experiences in Las Vegas and how I watched it evolve over the years.
I first experienced Las Vegas while passing through on my way from Denver to Los Angeles. I had just turned twenty one and I was flat broke. My younger brother had an available bedroom in his apartment in Southern California and had invited me to come and start a new life. Real estate was booming in California and I quickly landed a job shuffling mortgage paperwork for World Savings in Costa Mesa, California while I was still living in Denver. On a July Friday afternoon, I loaded up my convertible with what few possessions I had and that night I hit the road.
My mom had booked a room for me in a motel that she had seen from her hotel window during past trips to Las Vegas. The motel had looked clean to her and it was cheap. I drove all night long through the Utah desert and arrived in Las Vegas just before noon the next day. I hauled my television and my microwave upstairs to my motel room to keep them from being stolen. Those of you who remember how heavy even small appliances used to be will know that this was no easy feat. I cranked up my noisy wall air conditioner and quickly passed out from exhaustion. Several hours later, I woke up refreshed and ready to see what I could see of Las Vegas that night, knowing I had to hit the road in the morning. I had a new job to start on Monday and I still had three hundred miles to drive.
To be continued…
Yesterday, I read with sadness that the Folies Bergere in Las Vegas is closing. The Folies Bergere was the last of two traditional Vegas revues with gorgeous topless showgirls and fantastic costumes. When I first began visiting Las Vegas some twenty years ago, shows like this not only provided entertainment, they made the audience members feel glamorous as well. They were unlike anything that could be experienced anywhere else in the United States and they had an effect on me, along with the rest of the Vegas experience, of removing me from the reality of daily life. They transported audience members to a gentler time when people still dressed up to go to dinner. It made me nostalgic and I thought I'd write about some of my experiences in Las Vegas and how I watched it evolve over the years.
I first experienced Las Vegas while passing through on my way from Denver to Los Angeles. I had just turned twenty one and I was flat broke. My younger brother had an available bedroom in his apartment in Southern California and had invited me to come and start a new life. Real estate was booming in California and I quickly landed a job shuffling mortgage paperwork for World Savings in Costa Mesa, California while I was still living in Denver. On a July Friday afternoon, I loaded up my convertible with what few possessions I had and that night I hit the road.
My mom had booked a room for me in a motel that she had seen from her hotel window during past trips to Las Vegas. The motel had looked clean to her and it was cheap. I drove all night long through the Utah desert and arrived in Las Vegas just before noon the next day. I hauled my television and my microwave upstairs to my motel room to keep them from being stolen. Those of you who remember how heavy even small appliances used to be will know that this was no easy feat. I cranked up my noisy wall air conditioner and quickly passed out from exhaustion. Several hours later, I woke up refreshed and ready to see what I could see of Las Vegas that night, knowing I had to hit the road in the morning. I had a new job to start on Monday and I still had three hundred miles to drive.
To be continued…
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
So This Is Winter
You know how the weather seems to stay clear until you wash the car? Well, as I write this I can’t help thinking that the Gods are getting ready to wallop Denver with mounds of snow and frigid temperatures because I wrote this blog. My, I’m self-important aren’t I?
Before we moved here, I was really uneasy about how we would deal with the winter season. We haven’t lived in a climate where average daily highs fall below fifty degrees in over twenty years. But we have had it really easy so far. Most all of the snow that has fallen has been restricted to the mountains, where the ski resorts and the Colorado River benefit. So far, we haven’t had more than two or three inches at a time down here in Denver. We did have a couple of days of cold, but it was quickly over, even warming up to the sixty degree mark.
I see on the news today that the Plains are dealing with unbelievably frigid temperatures – as low as thirty seven degrees below zero! Yet we are supposed to climb to somewhere just under fifty degrees here. Those of you in California and Florida may think that fifty degrees sounds cold, but those of you in the Midwest know that fifty degrees is practically barbecue weather.
And so we wait and we watch as the Midwest gets the worst of the winter season, wondering when our turn will come. And surely it will. For those of you suffering in the cold right now, our thoughts are with you. Stay warm and safe. And hey, you can always come to Denver for a weekend warm up.
Before we moved here, I was really uneasy about how we would deal with the winter season. We haven’t lived in a climate where average daily highs fall below fifty degrees in over twenty years. But we have had it really easy so far. Most all of the snow that has fallen has been restricted to the mountains, where the ski resorts and the Colorado River benefit. So far, we haven’t had more than two or three inches at a time down here in Denver. We did have a couple of days of cold, but it was quickly over, even warming up to the sixty degree mark.
I see on the news today that the Plains are dealing with unbelievably frigid temperatures – as low as thirty seven degrees below zero! Yet we are supposed to climb to somewhere just under fifty degrees here. Those of you in California and Florida may think that fifty degrees sounds cold, but those of you in the Midwest know that fifty degrees is practically barbecue weather.
And so we wait and we watch as the Midwest gets the worst of the winter season, wondering when our turn will come. And surely it will. For those of you suffering in the cold right now, our thoughts are with you. Stay warm and safe. And hey, you can always come to Denver for a weekend warm up.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Omen
Yesterday, Paul and I took advantage of the holiday to go skiing at Copper Mountain. We rented skis, bought $150.00 worth of "discount lift tickets", and drove two hours to the ski resort. We had a couple of very short runs just to get the hang of it again before taking a lift all the way to the top of the mountain. Following beginner trails, we slowly made our way all the way from the top of the mountain to the bottom, where we had decided we would get a cup of coffee and have a rest break. It was a great day.
Three hundred yards from the bottom of the mountain, Paul gently took his first tumble of the day. He had lost a ski, so as I approached, I stopped to retrieve the ski so that I could hand it to him where he lay a few yards down the slope. While I bent to get the ski, I expected him to prop himself up and dust himself off so we could finish the run. But instead, I arrived to see his nose scraped and swelling up and him unable to lift himself off the slope.
It seems he had fallen in just such a way that he hit shoulder first, with the face following along. The ski patrol had to bring him down on a stretcher/toboggan. Once at the bottom, he was taken by ambulance to the medical center where they confirmed that he had broken his arm in the shoulder area. Today, we are off to speak with the orthopedic surgeon.
Is this a sign of things to come? Well, happy damn New Year to you too!
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