18 March 2000
I get sentimental about objects.
Las Vegas has chewed holes in my feet. My new shoes played a role, too. I bought a pack of Alexis' brand and smoked one, a cool, cool smoke that made me want to die. Vlad bought the same kind.
We got here this afternoon and tried in vain to find a room. Everything was booked. These are the biggest hotels in the world and every single room was allegedly filled. So we decided to just stay up all night and then go our separate ways in the morning, him with a four-hour drive back to LA and me with an indeterminately long drive to wherever it is I'm going next.
This was Bad Idea No. 1,034 for the current fiscal year. Vlad came to his senses and we checked the Luxor and they had a nice, expensive room waiting just for us. This is where I wanted to stay in the first place and now we're here, gathering our thoughts, going over plans with laser pointers and dry erase markers. Sweet, sweet dry erase markers.
Actually, Vlad just burst into the room and sang: "Fre-e-e-esh as the day is loooooong."
I simply must run, so this'll be brief but that's OK because what do you say about Las Vegas, anyway? Writing about Las Vegas is like singing about broken hearts. I at first typed "broken hearst" hurrah!
But you know complex elaborations are in the works.
The Luxor, the first hotel I ever stayed at in Las Vegas and by far the best of all the big hotel-casinos, just because it's primarily an absence of light instead of light overkill. It so struck me that I put it in my second aborted (but completed!) novel, filling it with sadness and bomb threats. It's the black pyramid with the beam of light coming out the top, FYI.
Today's Facial Hair Report:
Spiky like the bark of the Joshua Trees that pepper western Nevada.
Trader Joe's Sparkling Dynamo. Basically carbonated pineapple juice and unbearably awful, esp. when consumed lukewarm, or even hot-warm, like I had today. Avoid unless you're scouting around quickly for something to fling into a spurned lover's face.