Failure of the Day: Vacationlandia
The miracle of Las Vegas is that it very nearly pulls off the most sought after vacation of all—the vacation from yourself. It’s a sort of electricity hypnosis: Your senses are overwhelmed by the onslaught of the dazzle, and everything you see and feel and hear tells you that you are not in your usual matte world of responsibility. And all of a sudden, spending $50 for a giant cocktail exploding with plumes of dry ice smoke seems like a great idea. And the amazing thing is that it actually is a great idea.
Chris, god love him, loves him some pirates. We stayed at Treasure Island and our room overlooked their Buccaneer Bay pirate show (four times a night—5:30, 7, 8:30, and 10—ask me why I still know that by heart; go ahead, ask me), which had been tarted up considerably since we last visited, and it now includes a whole ship full of pole dancers. Thus, the Thanksgiving tone was set: it was one of those old-fashioned strippers and blowing shit up holidays.
Which is not to say there were no moments of pure loveliness; Chris and I renewed our wedding vows the day after Thanksgiving. Did I mention that the ceremony was on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise at the Star Trek Experience? It was. Are we the coolest people you know? We are.
When Lindsay asked the borg "Can I take your picture?" the borg replied, "That will depend on your abilities." Yes! The borg are grammar nazis!
James and Rachel wore Spock ears for our ceremony, Alex had "gentleman" races with Chris to see who could get to the doors first to open them for us, and Lindsay ran to the gift shop and bought me a pair of sequined gold slippers when my Bandolinos with the 4-inch heels ceased being any kind of good idea. I won $94.75 on a quarter machine that I was only sitting at because it was 7:05 and I was waiting for Chris, who was… well, see the second paragraph above and take a guess where Chris was.
Pirates, boobies, love, all the shrimp you can eat and all the borg you can flee... I'm not sure there's any more one can ask of a vacation.
Chris, god love him, loves him some pirates. We stayed at Treasure Island and our room overlooked their Buccaneer Bay pirate show (four times a night—5:30, 7, 8:30, and 10—ask me why I still know that by heart; go ahead, ask me), which had been tarted up considerably since we last visited, and it now includes a whole ship full of pole dancers. Thus, the Thanksgiving tone was set: it was one of those old-fashioned strippers and blowing shit up holidays.
Which is not to say there were no moments of pure loveliness; Chris and I renewed our wedding vows the day after Thanksgiving. Did I mention that the ceremony was on the bridge of the Starship Enterprise at the Star Trek Experience? It was. Are we the coolest people you know? We are.
When Lindsay asked the borg "Can I take your picture?" the borg replied, "That will depend on your abilities." Yes! The borg are grammar nazis!
James and Rachel wore Spock ears for our ceremony, Alex had "gentleman" races with Chris to see who could get to the doors first to open them for us, and Lindsay ran to the gift shop and bought me a pair of sequined gold slippers when my Bandolinos with the 4-inch heels ceased being any kind of good idea. I won $94.75 on a quarter machine that I was only sitting at because it was 7:05 and I was waiting for Chris, who was… well, see the second paragraph above and take a guess where Chris was.
Pirates, boobies, love, all the shrimp you can eat and all the borg you can flee... I'm not sure there's any more one can ask of a vacation.
posted by Nancy @ 12:25 PM
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