Well, May was pretty much a bust, huh?
I've been away most of the month; indeed, I am at this moment in a Las Vegas hotel, an ersatz New York where slots bloom like cherry trees. I'll be stranded here until the weekend when I return to my wife and my dog and a garden that I can hear mocking me over three time zones.
I have been meaning to throw out a few posts of our culinary visits in London and Paris, but frankly, I haven't had the time. This is what happens when those who have ignored you throughout the year now think that a vacation was an entirely unreasonable thing to consider.
On my television in this (rather nice) hotel room there are twenty channels beckoning me to buffets, the latest Cirque du Soleil titty-thon and Rita Rudner. Las Vegas must be where live comics go to die a slow death. But you have to like a city that reveres breasts. Oh yeah, and CNN is on, too.
The only things that seem to have any importance to the folks at CNN are the Dixie Chicks and hurricanes, which, by all accounts are bearing down on the East and Gulf Coasts with a menace fairly close to the Anti-Christ. It's June 1, for the love of Buddha, and the O'Briens are juiced as if it's the first day of Spring Training. You can feel the vibrating anticipation of death and destruction. I hear that Geraldo and Shepard Smith are already positioned and working up the requisite anger while covering themselves in surplus feces.
There is a lot of business being done in Las Vegas: real, actual business, but still, the suited faction is outnumbered by those adults who insist that throwing on a printed T-shirt is the highest expression of fashion sense. These cretins often have a child or two in tow. When I see this, I always wonder how one explains to a nine-year-old why mommy doesn't wear a thong in public. Don't get me wrong, I am in favor of thongs in theory depending on the attributes meant to be featured, but by the looks of most of Vegas' visitors, a little encouragement would lead to much ridicule and sickness.
With all the options available, can't we all agree that Vegas is not the best place for kids, whatever ESPN wants you to believe? And would it be too much to ask grown men to leave the ball caps and sandals at home and maybe dress as if they are not cutting the grass? And to the women, a bit of advice: a pair of Daisy Dukes does not look any better in a dark casino or in the blaring Nevada sun than it looked when you tried them on at JC Penneys. Dump them. There are nice fake asses to look at out here. We don't need comparison.
So June starts much like May ended, but with free cheap drinks.