Pinky Spud and the Unwitting Felons on Holiday: Vegas, Baby!

Day 2: Steady as She Goes, Captain

Yes, Photos are still broken. Please refer to the following!

Preface: OOOHHH WHAAAT A BEAUTIFUUUL MOOOORNING! OOOHHH WHAAAT A BEAUTIFUUUL DAAAAAAY!! No thunderheads as of yet, but who knows. Sitting here watching the wind change directions (a la American flag in the parking lot far below) makes me think the possibility is still there. Other than that the sun is shining, and the clouds are fluffy, white, high-velocity cotton balls streaking their way toward the strip. Far out over the mountains more clouds sit, seemingly motionless, with a hulking, grey-stained front moving up over and behind them. But should we talk about the weather? Should we talk about the government? [/R.E.M.] Coffee and breakfast time.

Over 13 hours later: Oh what a day. In so many ways.

To start we went down to The Titanic: The Artifact Exhibition, which currently has its home in The Luxor. I can’t properly conjure words to describe how cool it was. At the beginning of the exhibit, each attendee is handed a boarding pass with a name and basic history on it. I was given the pass of Mrs. Wilhelm “Elna” Strom, and “I” was accompanied by my daughter Selma and my brother, Ernst Ulrik Persson. As we entered we were told to keep these people – as they were indeed real – in mind, and that at the end of the exhibit there would be lists of names: lists telling us whether the passenger we became survived. Elna was in steerage, as was the passenger my mom adopted: we promptly voiced our predictions of our imminent demise in the colorful language we tend to prefer. But we’d a ways to go yet: there were hundreds of artifacts to admire and dozens of stories to read accompanying them. The crowning jewel of both was the Big Piece, which, if you don’t know what that is, go look it up. It’s seriously cool. Here, I’ll give you a head start. The end of the exhibit came suddenly, and there the wall sat. While my parents’ passengers miraculously survived and Elna’s brother Ernst escaped with his life, I/Elna, along with Selma, died in the catastrophe. The adoption of a passenger was a poignant and moving choice, and to whoever thought of it, I salute you.

Next we wandered, ending up in the Excalibur, which is connected to the Luxor via underground moving walkway. We had every intention of buying tickets to Tournament of Kings, a Medieval Times-like affair for those of you who have been to the Disneyland area, but their only off day, naturally, was the day we intended to buy tickets for. We made up for it by playing some skee-ball in the Fun Dungeon arcade and subsequently winning a stuffed unicorn. That was pretty triumphant.

After cruising back to the Luxor for showers, etc. we took to the strip (via rental car, convenient-o!) and made it to Treasure Island. It appears to be under renovations in the front, so everything that identifies it as piratical is rather covered up, which was a minor disappointment. On the other hand, I personally was too pumped about the impending Cirque-tacular goodness to mind all that much. We cruised a bit, killed some time, sat down really early, met the man who drummed for Michael Jackson for thirty years (no joke, he signed a pass to the premiere of This Is It for my mom and told us that he’s going to drum for the Cirque show dedicated to the King of Pop, The Immortal), and the show began.

Like every Cirque show, Mystère was an extravaganza of music, color, light, and movement. What fascinated me the most was that my very first thoughts when it all began ran along organic lines – that this was a jungle of fantastical beings with a hint of magic. All this remained true, but as the stage began moving and changing and the fog rolled out the world of Mystère gained an industrial core, the organic driven by the mechanic. Similarly, while the creatures were indeed fantastical and were wild and free, the two I am tempted to call the Red King (in official terms, the Red Bird) and the Yellow Knave (the Yellow Chicken) seemed to be jungle royalty as much as the darling pets of the Puppeteer/Announcer (Moha-Samedi). In this world driven by brass there existed both the green light of the growing world as well as the red light of fire or furnaces.

But enough of impressions and poetry. The question everyone seems to ask about Cirque shows is “so what was it about?” A photo lady roving the crowd before the show began was asked just this, and she deftly responded, “I don’t know. By the end of it, you’ll tell me.” I think this is the best answer anyone can give, because each Cirque show, whether pseudo-linear like Varekai or timeless like Alegría, means something different for each viewer. My mind spun the show into the dream of the young girl who appeared near the beginning, pet snail in tow, and her sleeping-subconscious creativity gives life and breath to the wild jungle of the industrial world which blossoms all around her. Other people will tell you differently. If you’ve seen Mystère, please comment. Tell me your version of the story.

After Cirque we popped across the strip to The Venetian, which comes in as a close second to the Bellagio for my favorite Vegas location. The interior of the building is modeled to look like high noon in beautiful Venice, complete with gondola rides, restaurants, and shops. [photo] Each building, we were told by our own excellent gondola-navigator David, was modeled directly after an actual building in Venice. The exterior I guarantee was modeled after the Doge’s Palace. [photo] Once we attained our goal of a gondola ride, a much-anticipated event (may I also note that David was pleasant, a soccer fan, born and raised in Madrid, Spain, funny, and had an exquisite singing voice), we made a b-line for Canaletto, Ristorante Veneto, which was modeled to look as though one is dining under open Venetian sky. It was shockingly five-star worthy, with excellent service, and some of the best Italian food I have ever consumed. (The Cannelloni de Pollo was FANTASTIC.) Their espresso was, of course, spot-on.

With that we wandered, slowly, but with our noses pointed home all the same. Not that I passed up the opportunity to demonstrate the awesomeness of the Luxor. [photosphinx] [photopyramid] As for the weather, the wind appears to have finally died, and though there was no thunder or dramatic storm to clear the atmos, we are allegedly due for some much-needed sun very soon. Here’s hoping it’s tomorrow – there’s a swimming pool calling my name. Goodnight, or Goodmorrow, all, and I’ll see you on the flipside.