Vegas (baby)
When I think of Las Vegas, I think of weddings. That is because each of my visits to Vegas has preceded one.
I have been to Las Vegas four times. The first time I attended a wedding in one of the chapels of the Paris hotel and casino. At the reception, guests were taking bets as to how long it would last. New to Hollywood (and Vegas is like East Hollywood with more fat people), I was shocked that people would be saying out loud what I was keeping my mouth shut about. The marriage lasted nine months and the breakup somehow involved the band Ratt.
The second time I attended a convention with TAARG, who fell in love with me there and who pursued me until I married her six months later.
The third time was last May, when my pregnant wife and I passed through on our way to a wedding in Colorado. We had lunch at the Bellagio buffet. It was awesome.
Finally, this week my small family attended the elopement of our friends Alicia and Darcy. We drove from L.A., stopped in Baker, CA for food and gas, and got to Vegas in about five and a half hours. The wedding was quick and surprisingly Christ-filled for the chapel at which people like Britney Spears and Dennis Rodman have tied the knot, but there you go.
We stayed at the Paris Hotel. Our room, like most hotel rooms and rental cars, was better than what we have at home in several significant ways. There was a tiny sink next to the bar in our room in which we could wash off the ice cubes that had fallen on the rug. We don't have that here.
There was also an unused wing in our room, with a chair, desk, lamp, and several drawers. We felt bad not utilizing it for the length of our stay.
Despite all the uselesss fripperies, there was a charge to use the Internet. I tried telling the front desk that there were several sticks of furniture I would not be using in exchange for free Internet, but I got nowhere.
Because this was the Paris, in the bathroom there was a bidet. I understand that, at the Bellagio, the bidets shoot up much higher and have colored lamps and a soundtrack, but this one was fine. None of us used it except to use it incorrectly, anyway.
We ate at the Paris Buffet, which I understand is the best in Las Vegas. It was, in fact, very good. One of the things I dumped on my plate was garlic fondue. I can tell you I'm glad I fon-did.
But I did wonder about the type of person I might be in a few years, with perhaps more children in tow. Will I demand they eat shrimp and filet mignon at the Vegas buffets so I can be assured I got my money's worth?
"But we don't want shrimp, Papa," they might say. "We want noodles."
"You know how many fucking noodles you'll have to eat to justify 26 goddamn bucks a plate?" I'd scream. "Eat your fucking shrimp! You're ruining my life!"
"But we're only five!" etc.
"You're killing me!" etc.
We drove home the next day, through Silverton, Jean, Primm, Baker, Barstow, Hesperia, San Bernadino, Fontana, and Claremont. Things looked grim and less shiny. I thought about the Vegas convention I'm attending in January.
I have been to Las Vegas four times. The first time I attended a wedding in one of the chapels of the Paris hotel and casino. At the reception, guests were taking bets as to how long it would last. New to Hollywood (and Vegas is like East Hollywood with more fat people), I was shocked that people would be saying out loud what I was keeping my mouth shut about. The marriage lasted nine months and the breakup somehow involved the band Ratt.
The second time I attended a convention with TAARG, who fell in love with me there and who pursued me until I married her six months later.
The third time was last May, when my pregnant wife and I passed through on our way to a wedding in Colorado. We had lunch at the Bellagio buffet. It was awesome.
Finally, this week my small family attended the elopement of our friends Alicia and Darcy. We drove from L.A., stopped in Baker, CA for food and gas, and got to Vegas in about five and a half hours. The wedding was quick and surprisingly Christ-filled for the chapel at which people like Britney Spears and Dennis Rodman have tied the knot, but there you go.
We stayed at the Paris Hotel. Our room, like most hotel rooms and rental cars, was better than what we have at home in several significant ways. There was a tiny sink next to the bar in our room in which we could wash off the ice cubes that had fallen on the rug. We don't have that here.
There was also an unused wing in our room, with a chair, desk, lamp, and several drawers. We felt bad not utilizing it for the length of our stay.
Despite all the uselesss fripperies, there was a charge to use the Internet. I tried telling the front desk that there were several sticks of furniture I would not be using in exchange for free Internet, but I got nowhere.
Because this was the Paris, in the bathroom there was a bidet. I understand that, at the Bellagio, the bidets shoot up much higher and have colored lamps and a soundtrack, but this one was fine. None of us used it except to use it incorrectly, anyway.
We ate at the Paris Buffet, which I understand is the best in Las Vegas. It was, in fact, very good. One of the things I dumped on my plate was garlic fondue. I can tell you I'm glad I fon-did.
But I did wonder about the type of person I might be in a few years, with perhaps more children in tow. Will I demand they eat shrimp and filet mignon at the Vegas buffets so I can be assured I got my money's worth?
"But we don't want shrimp, Papa," they might say. "We want noodles."
"You know how many fucking noodles you'll have to eat to justify 26 goddamn bucks a plate?" I'd scream. "Eat your fucking shrimp! You're ruining my life!"
"But we're only five!" etc.
"You're killing me!" etc.
We drove home the next day, through Silverton, Jean, Primm, Baker, Barstow, Hesperia, San Bernadino, Fontana, and Claremont. Things looked grim and less shiny. I thought about the Vegas convention I'm attending in January.
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by Marty Barrett at Friday, October 21, 2005
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