It is so searingly hot here that my shins felt burned from walking against the hot air, and I worried about my tattoo while walking short distances. It was not this hot last year this time, because I arrived the day after the floods. Yesterday it was 110 degrees. I've been to Africa, and it wasn't nearly this hot. It is no longer "It's Africa hot"; now "It's Vegas hot."
Flight to Dallas/Fort Worth: communist-like hand out of AA "snack." Thanks. Blood sugar dropping. Seatmate on the window side was a genial white male, mid-twenties, with a University of Colorado binder. "Hey, how you guys doin'?" I spent most of the brief layover in line for a regular coffee, behind the people desiring double-caf, skinny grande lattes or whatever. "No, two shots of espresso." Look, goober - the world does not revolve around you and your fucking lattes. So I didn't really get time to eat.
Flight to Las Vegas: Rold Gold pretzels and a ginger ale. I weep for Santiago and curse the marines! No, wait - I cursed American Airlines and weeped for myself. Something like that. Our seatmate on the window side was a good ol' boy from Plano, a white male in his late twenties who was also going to Black Hat, and who wanted to talk. Y was the middle seat, and the default buffer while I read Mike Nelson's book Movie Megacheese. Y suffered through an inane, repetitive conversation about the O'Reilly C book. I kept reading in peace. I did not take out my laptop on either leg. In fact, I read and finished Fight Club from HQ to Dallas, then read and finished Movie Megacheese Dallas to Vegas, partly because I felt too weak to take my hefty laptop from the overhead bin. sigh.
Vegas. Very fucking hot. We determined that our hotel was unacceptable (me: "At least there's no blood on the walls.") after being in two different rooms within one hour. We made some calls, spoke to the Hilton, then drove over there and spoke with Brian from Lancaster, Ohio (on his badge). They did have rooms, but we requested that we be able to look at one of their rooms before we checked in. Brian spoke to the manager and we got a key to "one of our worst rooms" (so we wouldn't see a villa and get a matchbox). It was considerably better than the first hotel's rooms, so we checked in with Brian, and somehow got an executive upgrade in the process. Anyway, the room rocks, and we have an awesome view of the mountains (and the satellite dishes, pool, and golf course).
observation: A dude who looked like Elvis in his later years. Black hair, mutton-chop sideburns, sunglasses, an inexplicable blue oxford shirt with a white collar, black polyester-looking pants that were several inches too long, and no belt. He spent a lot of time at the ATM before going to back to the casino area.
Tuesday we were exhausted and passed around by 2000. We are very fucking fond of the Hilton right now.