Pulled into Vegas on time and took the three-block walk to my digs for the next four nights. Checked in, unpacked and settled down for a nap.
Rested, I hooked up with my gal pal Barb and her man Al for dinner at Garduño's, an Albuquerque chain restaurant with two casino-based locations in Vegas. We settled down at the Fiesta Rancho Casino location. Barb impressed me with her long flowing hair, soon to be donated for wigs to help children with cancer.
Alas, the dinner was a major chile FAIL. The Hatch chile rellenos stuffed with Jack cheese were undercooked, and so little red and green sauces on top I could not discern a difference.
Sept. 8th, 2:41am – A few minutes before ten I decided to wander on Fremont Street for awhile. I could have easily gone to bed, but figured I should mosey a bit on my first night in Vegas.
Fremont Street had a plethora of tribute bands working the crowd. Alas I was exposed to a heaping helping of North America's ultimate tribute to Fleetwood Mac: Dreams. Ears still ringing, I sought refuge in a chain bar, Hennessey's Tavern on the corner of Fremont and Las Vegas, for some Guinness and grub. Despite the douchebags at the bar, I hung around for a plate of Irish nachos: sliced Russets, deep fried and topped with cheese, bacon bits, green onions and sour cream. The concept was sound, but a good number of the potato slices were limp. They must have crowded them in the deep-fat fryer.
Leaving full but far from sated I went north up to Ogden St. to check out the scene at one of my favorite downtown casinos, the Gold Spike. Alas, I left bitterly disappointed when I found my haven for the disenfranchised now caters to douchebags and posers. R.I.P. Gold Spike.
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11:06am – Morning observations: 1) If Bourbon Street is where America goes to drink and hurl, then Fremont Street is where she goes to ingest toxic levels of saccharine and die. 2) Just because you can drink a margarita out of a plastic football, doesn't mean you are hip and cool. It just means you have very bad taste. 3) White people being cute about Mexican culture makes me ill, like those Cinco de Mayo partiers with their plastic cacti and other shit.
While lounging in my room I peered out of my window on to the roof below just in time to find a comely hotel worker resplendent in jeans and workshirt with name-patch going about her duties. And she has dangling tools! I'm in lust.
4:45pm – Long bus ride on the Deuce down The Strip to got shopping at a south-side outlet mall. Ended up with some socially-abrasive nutbag sitting down next to me for the latter half of the bus ride. I hit a jackpot at the Converse Outlet Store. Chuck Taylor hi-tops for $14.99 a pair! I walked off with six.
Returned to my hotel room long enough to deposit my booty and head back out again to The Strip in search of Pink's Hot Dogs, a Los Angeles favorite, which recently opened up a joint in the Planet Hollywood Casino [see blog post].
Sept. 9th, 8:45am – That evening after a long rest at home I ventured downstairs to the casino's micro-brew joint, the Chicago Brewing Company and Cigar Lounge for video poker, a few comped micro-brews and a better-than-average deep dish pizza.
Dehydration and the late night meal caught up with me the next morning. Always remember to drink water frequently down here. Triple digit temperatures predicted for today. Oh boy!
3:26pm – Made a return trip to the outlet mall for some bling that Barb wanted as a gift and to acquire a $20 duffel to accommodate the six pairs of Chuck Taylors I had bought the previous day.
Hooked up with Barb for a fabulous lunch at Himalayan Cuisine on E. Flamingo, which now is called Mint Indian Bistro. We both ordered the veggie Alotta Pakoda with small salad for appetizer and ordered creamed spinach, an eggplant dish, rice and naan to share. A spectacular meal!
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Afterward I spent the afternoon wandering The Strip in the oppressive heat.
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 | Photos from the Picasa Web Album: Just Loathing in Las Vegas (now with less loathing) |
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