Viva Las Vegas

Ahh Vegas. The only place where you can see fake New York, fake Paris,
and fake Deep Space Nine on the same day.

So far we have lost about twenty bucks to slot machines, not really with
the hope of winning anything but more like a sort of tribute to the city
for showing us such a weird time.

We have been twice awakened by the peircing fire alarm at the
craptacular Hotel San Remo, truly the worst hotel I've ever staid in.
We have had food both astoundingly bad (a gloopy shrimp scampi at some
hotel I have already forgotten the name of) and fantastically delicious
(orgasm-inducing steak at fake Paris).

I have done a good amount of drinking, but am still holding out for the
legendary fishbowl of rum and dry ice at the Star Trek bar at the
Hilton.

Two of the cooler things I've run across have been the circus acts at
the Circus Circus (which was otherwise kind of headache-inducing) and
the Seigfreid and Roy Secret Garden at the Mirage.

I have a new respect for Seigfreid and Roy. They are so cheesy it's
easy to write them off, but their animal habitats were quite nice, and
you could tell they do these things out of a genuine love for the
animals.

And as I was walking around desperately looking for something corny to
poke fun at, Brian goes on to tell me about how Roy's strength in
recovering from the tiger-related injuries has inspired Seigfried to recover
from his own concentration-camp related lingering anxieties. Sheesh.

I feel a little bit guilty having such a good, surreal, hedonistic
time. (Ahhh, so there's that liberal guilt I hear so much about...)
Someone should donate to the Red Cross to compensate for me becoming a
total capitalist while on vacation.