Las Vegas

John and I didn't find an open flight to Las Vegas for his conference, so we drove--it was a lot of fun to be together and only took a couple of hours more than flying would have. Or less. He was presenting with Stacy and Cat (above, on the right) on using writing in wilderness experiences. They did a good job, if trying to give too much information in a one hour forum. I liked the whole conference, which was full of skinny, weathered 'experiential educators' from the US and Canada--and I guess from other places too--John met a woman from El Salvadore--who talked about sustainability and environmental ethics. It sort of overlapped teaching, therapy, and wilderness.

Joe B's daughter Zina was there too, with a friend from Wasatch Academy. We went out to eat and wandered around a bit--below, the waterfall inside the Venetian.

Cat took a photo of John and me in front of the waterfall at the Wynn:

Here's a picture specifically for Brett (and Ethan):

My favorite of the hotel/casinos is the Venetian, with its fake sky and fake canals:

The next night after everybody else had gone home, we walked two miles south along the Strip and had the Caesar's Palace buffet:

We saw the water show at the Bellagio, and their gorgeous botanical exhibit inside, and saw the volcano erupt at the Mirage, and caught the end of the pirate show at Treasure Island, which has inexplicably changed its name (like KFC) to "TI."

But outside our window, abandoned construction, great dead hulks of darkness at night:

Yesterday before we headed back home we had lunch at the Cheesecake Factory with Jordan from England 2007. It was great to see him, even though we missed Rose.

Las Vegas is just incredibly, deliberately tacky. White trash on steroids. It’s so offensive that it’s beyond comprehension—I’m stunned into silence. The polished bronze backsides of 8 or 10 dancing girls outside the front door of our hotel/casino, and people taking photos (usually of the women in their party) posing with them, for example. Why, as a woman, would you want to pose with a bunch of ladies’ butts? Is it funny or what? But I was strongly tempted to take a photo of them too, it was so obviously meant to be photographed. My feeling as an American or Westerner around the foreign tourists, is like having a dirty-minded, rich, half-drunk, out-of-control elderly relative present at a reception. “Oh my gosh, somebody put Aunt LV in the bedroom before she insults the Prime Minister. Not the bedroom where the grandkids are sleeping!” (because who knows what she’d do to them). On the other hand, the foreign tourists wouldn’t be in Las Vegas if they weren’t hoping to see her do something crazy.

There’s a lot of construction just north of the Riviera and across the street—gigantic buildings in various stages, but with no one working on them. The cranes are idle and nobody is around. It’s kind of creepy. There’s a place like that on State Street in Orem, where the exposed beams, half covered with tattered wallboard, whistle in the wind. (More or less). Ah the elections. (The end of a lightning swift neuronal pathway: stopped construction > bad economy > Wall Street sharks > Dems and Repubs both in their pockets > elect anybody it will be the same.) Do I really believe that? I voted (Democratic) this Tuesday, for Dems who in Utah County would have been indistinguishable from the Republicans. Not that a Democrat would ever win in Utah County.

To end on a happier note: Chris has loaded his entire CD "Fire in a Snowstorm" online, here. Sweet.