Your Las Vegas

Friday night I was persuaded by my friend Grace to go see The Hangover, that new film set in Las Vegas about four guys who have a bachelor party so wild that they wake up the next morning with no memory of it. While I thought the movie itself was funny, I have a feeling my enjoyment of it was a little hampered by the lack of distance between the Friday night screening and the previous weekend's foray into the actual Las Vegas.

The Hangover is set in the 'nicer' part of Vegas, over in the Bellagio/Cesar's Palace neighborhood. We, on the other hand, were staying at the Golden Nugget, right on Glitter Gulch. Old town Vegas isn't like most old town centers with pedestrian thoroughfares. Those places usually have attractive historical facades, trees, places to sit and good-looking tourists.

Glitter Gulch, as it's name might suggest, was a place full of tragedy. Not the sudden, unexpected tragety, but the long-living, chain-smoking, crack-addled kind of tragedy that is really so much more depressing. This was a place shouded in nicotine and despair.

There were a few moments I have to preserve:

1. We are at the check-in counter. The girl behind the desk informs us that the pool has been closed. The following exchange takes place between her and my mother: "Is there another pool in the area? Do you have some kind of agreement with another hotel?" "No." "Well, I guess I might as well give my children cigarettes." We are mortified.

2. One look at the lobby, and I understand why Las Vegas is so popular with expatriates from the Emerates. They also would know not to go somewhere called Glitter Gulch.

3. We kept seeing members of the Griswald Family Reunion wandering around. We know they are part of the Griswald Family Reunion because they have "Griswald Family Reunion" T-shirts with their names (Chet, Bud, etc.) emblazoned on the back. I kept seeing members of the Griswald party and thinking about the prospective benefits of eugenic councelling. Yes, I know, that makes me a terrible person.

4. My sister, brother and myself were all waiting in the gift shop for mom and dad to join us. I get a text from Shaun that says 'It's 7:30. Are you being a slut yet?' I text him back: 'I'm with my brother and sister in the gift shop wating for our parents to come down. What do you think?'

5. My sister doesn't have her ID. There goes our plans to see the Chippendales dancers.

6. We do actually see some Chippendales dancers posing for pictures. I am still a little mortified that I retold Margaret Cho's joke about the Chippendales dancers to my dad and my brother. ("It doesn't work for women.")

7. My sister and I did end up having some fun time bonding and comparing guys as we wondered around. I think she wishes I were more adventurous. I know she's eighteen, but I still refuse to buy her cigarettes.

I think my parents do no research ever before they go on trips. It reminds me of the time my dad wanted to take us to Seattle for Christmas, not because we know anybody there but because it seemed "like a cool place." A month after settling on those plans, he realized that Seattle in winter was a bad idea for everyone (though I probably would have been fine, sicne I live cold weather).

With Vegas, mom and dad came away from the trip grossed out and depressed. I wanted to scream at them "What did you expect? It's called Glitter Fucking Gulch!" I have managed not to yet. I think if I ever do vocalize my thoughts on the subject I'll include something along the lines of: "The only reason any sane person would go to Glitter Gulch is for some sick kind of anthropology study."

I know both of my parents are smart people, and it makes it that much more frustrating to see their questionable judgement in action. If I learned one thing from this trip, it's the same I learn from all the others: This is my last family vacation. At least for a while. Till then, I will revisit The Hangover and probably enjoy it a lot more once the taste of real-live flesh-and-blood Las Vegas is finally washed all the way out.

Today, Utah. Tomorrow, the World. Actually Vegas.

The Utah part of our trip is coming to an end. We will be saying goodbye to Big Love state and spending a night in, yes, Las Vegas. My first trip ever to Las Vegas, and I am spending it the same way I spent my first trip to UK and all my trips to Florida - with my family. It's getting harder, but I'm still not complaining.

I find it a little embarassing that I've lived in California all my life, lived in Los Angeles for five years, and know people who hop the state line all the time to see friends and family, and still I have not been to Las Vegas. My ex-boyfriend went once while we were dating and texted me saying 'We need to do a dirty weekend there one time.' A couple I know got married there, and I still hold a (petty, I know) grudge that I wasn't invited by them or any of our mutual friends. I know about the whole Lucky Luciano/Virginia Hill/Flamingo Hotel debacle from 1947. I've seen Sister Act, Austin Powers, Showgirls and that episode from season one of Six Feet Under where David gets gonorrhea from a male prostitute. I plan to see The Hangover on DVD at the latest. That's the closest I've come to the city where everything stays... in that city.

This is the trip where I bust my Vegas hymen. I don't know why, but it feels like a big deal. I'll say it: I feel lame. I feel like I should be hitting the strip with my man friends, getting really drunk and touching gogo dancers in their private areas. I want to meet a handsome stranger, or two, and go back to their hotel room. I want to not worry about editing myself in front of the people who bore me and are helping my pay for college. Vegas is the kind of place where you're never supposed to even think about that.

If I'm lucky, I'll either see a show or hit some 18-and-over club with my sister. I'm not saying it can't work, I'm just saying I'm not holding my breath. Maybe I could argue that this trip doesn't count. We'll have to see how it goes.

There is a silver lining to this Vegas trip. There's a great line at the end of the movie Hamlet 2 where Steve Coogan is imparting some words of wisdom to a Tuscon-born student: "You know, Chuy, you're going to have an amazing life. Because wherever you go, it'll always be better than Tuscon." I kind of feel like this trip will be a really great one, because whatever we do, we won't be doing it in Utah.

*Sassy*

Touch-Down in the Big Love State

Today was the first day of a three-quarters of a week trip into the middle of those United States. It's a long story as to why I'm here, and just explaining the itirerary looses people, but suffice to say that I am, at the moment of this writing, in Cedar City, Utah, and twelve hours ago, I was in Burbank, waiting for a flight to Las Vegas.

Oh, and I'm with my family. And I've had a soar throat and dry, stuffy nose since Tuesday. I found myself saying "It hurts to swallow" to friends when they ask me how I am. They open their mouths to say something tacky about that. "Don't!" I say preemptively.

I'm not complaining. Really. This is what not complaining looks like.

One thing I'm definitely not complaining about is the scenery. We drove the 15 from Las Vegas through Mesquite and across the boarder to our current location, and the mountain ranges we passed through were truly stunning. My brother was trying to get me to watch the Robin Hood TV series (on MY laptop) but the only time I could take my eyes off of the a view outside the back passenger window for any extended length of time was the shirtless male bondage interlude in episode two.

I couldn't focus on the terrible dialogue and slightly better costumes. I was too busy planning my post-apocalyptic remake of 'Hidden Fortress,' to be shot in those amazing red and pink and beige hills. Plenty of shirtless male bondage oportunities there.

Cedar City closes up early, as I suspect most towns do in this part of the world. We stopped in a convenience store that closes at 10 PM. Before that, we were at a Mexican restaurant that closed at 9. The whole place seems to be devided into quadrants of track homes, each with a church in the center. Each church is red or brown with a white colonial spire. As far as I can tell, you can't really walk anywhere.

Watching Comedy Central in the hotel room, I have one question: Why are the Girls Gone Wild adds so loud and so freakin' long? Those aren't TV spots, those are . It's reassuring that, deep in the heart of Utah, you can still see them deviding up segments of The Colbert Report, South Park and The Daily Show. Wherever you go in America, you can still find Comedy Central. When the world ends, there will be cockroaches, Comedy Central and Starbucks.

The hotel has Comedy Central and Adult Swim. And a fitness center that's open twenty-four hours. I will get over this cold. I'm not complaining.