Blue Vegas

A Vacuum in Vegas

Tonight I discovered that at least one and a half days' worth of photos are missing not only from my primary hard drive, but all three backup drives plus my cloud storage. In a situation like this, you might be tempted to imagine that the photos in question never existed, but thanks to my blog and Facebook, I know the photos were taken and, once upon a time, stored in the right place on my hard drive(s).

I know that I'm missing December 26, 2011, because that was the day Sylvia and I toured Fremont Street in Las Vegas. I remember shooting many photos on Fremont Street, including three that still exist on my blog or on Facebook: two of Sylvia posing with an Elvis impersonator, and one of Sylvia and I posing in front of a Christmas tree on Fremont Street.

I'm also missing all the photos of the Hoover Dam I shot on January 1, 2012 - but not the photos of the Grand Canyon I shot later that same day. I can almost see a complete folder disappearing, but I cannot understand a folder remaining in place, but all the photos of one subject disappearing from it.

My only hope of recovering these images is to check and see if I was still making CD backups at the time. I did this for several years, until I figured that an original and three backups plus the cloud was probably enough security.

Evidently not.

I'm unreasonably upset about this. Sure I'll be dead in three or four decades (if I'm lucky) and no one but me is interested anyway, but my photos are really important to me and to have part of a significant life experience go missing is really quite depressing. Not to mention infuriating, considering the lengths I go to to back up all my digital files.

Oh well. Entropy always wins anyhow.

Swirlpool

I spotted this unusual art installation when Sylvia and I visited Las Vegas in December 2011. The acrylic cylinder contains water that's somehow spun into a funnel. The effect was somewhat mesmerizing. 

Reflections on a Las Vegas Ceiling

When metaphor solidifies
Like sand that's slowed to glass
Is a poem still a poem
Or merely memory turned to mass? 

It Is a Cookbook

When You're Hot, You're Hot

Whew! It's a scorcher in Alberta's capital today - enough heat to knock out power at the corner of 124th street and Jasper Avenue and to incapacitate my afternoon bus right at that very intersection. Dead bus + no traffic lights = cranky commuters, whether on public transit or private vehicles.

Fortunately another bus rescued the two dozen or so sweaty riders belched from the doors of our fallen carriage, and despite what seemed an interminable delay escaping the gridlock on the west end of Jasper, I made it to West Edmonton Mall in time to catch a transfer home. (Normally I walk from WEM to our condo, but today I was worried I'd catch heat stroke, as I so often have in the past.)

As a creature of the north, I still find Alberta's hot summer days uncomfortable, even many years after I should have acclimatized. Since my body refuses to accept that it doesn't live in northern Manitoba anymore, I've had to take precautions such as drinking lots of water and staying in cool basements or air-conditioned offices.

How Many Times Has Earl Suffered Heat Stroke? (not a comprehensive list)

"I'll certainly be cool enough next to this fountain!"

1. Namao air show circa 1988 and again circa 1990 (rendered unto incoherence to the nervous glances of friends, skin tone: Afterburner Glow)
2. Las Vegas 2004 ("Boy, you look like a boiled lobster!" exclaimed one helpful southerner; incapacitated for one day, skin tone: Three-Cherry Jackpot)
3. Honolulu 2008 while listening to a Barack Obama campaign speech (skin tone: Republican Rage)
4. Mexico 2012 while touring Chitzen Itza (rescued by helpful Mayans and Germans, skin tone: Abashed Tourist)
5. Nelson, B.C. circa 1973 (vomited up pink ice cream, saved by parents, skin tone: Tantrum Toddler) 

Stay frosty out there.

"Hey now, someone tell that Canadian kid to put on some sunscreen."

The Art of the Nude Dude

Today I discovered that this blog is blocked as "pornographic" by at least one provincial government agency, denying countless employees the pleasure of surfing My Name is Earl (J. Woods) while at work.

I don't think any post on this blog can really be called pornographic, unless the definition has become so broad as to become meaningless. But in an effort to earn my disreputable status and to give more props to my friend Jeff, here's a link to his latest masterpiece, an artful nude that evokes the Roman Empire as well as a modern figure of masculinity.

Las Vegas Nearly Had a Life-Size Enterprise

Thanks to my friend Kyle for alerting me to this story revealing that Las Vegas was nearly home to a 1:1 scale U.S.S. Enterprise. As you'll read in the linked article, Las Vegas was one Paramount executive's approval away from going ahead with the project, which would have seen downtown Vegas as home port for an attraction physically larger than the Titanic and nearly as tall as the Empire State Building.

When Sylvia and I visited the Fremont Street Experience last year little did I know that we were standing where the Enterprise would have been, and that the Experience was actually the second-place finisher in the competition to revitalize downtown Las Vegas. The Enterprise project was first, but shelved because of one missing approval. Tragic! I would've visited every year.

Choked Over Cherry Coke

Cherry Coke is available only sporadically in Canada, so while Sylvia and I were in Las Vegas I bought two two-litre bottles and 24 cans of the bubbly nectar and brought them back over the border. Today my precious supply ran dry.

I have a weakness for Coca-Cola and "red" flavours - cherry, strawberry, raspberry. When I first encountered Cherry Coke in the late 80s, my Coke addiction took on a new, fruitier (though sadly, not more nutritious) dimension. Even then it was hard to find; I remember encountering it only in convenience stores and gas stations, never at the supermarket. Now it's nowhere to be found, at least in western Canada.

However, while stopping for lunch in Vegas I encountered Cherry Coke's precursor, the soda fountain staple known simply as cherry cola. In fact, I found the fountain concoction superior to the canned variety. Inspired, I scoured the Internet for a home-brewed cherry cola recipe, and discovered that it's as simple as adding 30 mL of maraschino cherry juice to a glass of Coca-Cola. It'll make the perfect beverage for my blackened Cajun strips. By the way, thanks to Jeff Shyluk for emailing me a very complex but clear method for that project. I haven't abandoned it!

With Eyebrows Arched

The first time Sylvia and I went to Las Vegas, this distinctive McDonald's sign captured my attention - a difficult task on the Strip, with thousands of businesses and services clamouring for every eye and ear. With ironic whimsy, I arched an eyebrow, Spock-like, and shot this photograph. I wish the lower half of the frame weren't so cluttered - I should have moved closer to the arch for a better angle of the sky - but I still love the way the red, blue and yellow - primary colours! - work together. The designers of this McDonald's knew that even their universally known brand faced stiff competition from all the other attractions, and they certainly came up with a way to arrest pedestrians. (But if truth be known, we did not stop for lunch.)

Iconic Signage

A friendly fellow tourist snapped this shot of me standing below the iconic "Welcome to Las Vegas" sign early on New Year's Eve. The shot hasn't been colour-corrected or otherwise fixed up, but if you click to embiggen you may notice something interesting: each letter in the word "Welcome" is affixed to a coin. I was already impressed by the sign's design, which perfectly captures and promises all the glitz and fun promised by the strip, but boy, that's attention to detail!

Megacity Zero Point Five

On December 31, Sylvia and I ventured to Las Vegas' newest megamillion-dollar development, City Centre. Situated at the midpoint of Las Vegas Boulevard, this massive shopping/dining/casino/hotel complex sports an extremely futuristic look that made me feel as though I'd stepped a decade or two ahead in time. The Aria Express tram seen here links the various sections of the complex. Here are some more views, shot from within the tinted blue glass of the tram:

Sylvia Meets the King

While Sylvia and I visited downtown Las Vegas (Freemont Street, to be exact) on Boxing Day, we ran into Elvis himself, sadly reduced to posing for photos with tourists for tips. We were all shook up, uh-uh-huh.

Carrot Top

When Sylvia suggested we see Carrot Top while in Las Vegas, I groaned a little. My impressions of the famously red-headed comic were mostly negative, gleaned from, I must admit, only a tiny helping of cultural osmosis. I pushed for Zumanity, but when we earned tickets to Carrot Top (and $50 in meals) at the Luxor, I knew the fix was in.

Before the show, we enjoyed some pretty good Mexican food at T&T (Tacos & Tequila, not "Tits & Tequila" as Sylvia lewdly assumed). Sylvia downed a pair of pomegranite margaritas in quick succession and was feeling a little under the weather by the time we were escorted to our excellent third-row centre seats. We wound up sitting next to Vinnie Paul and his band, which would become significant later.

Carrot Top is a prop comic. His stage is a simple affair, just a bare backdrop and several large chests containing his self-constructed props. To my surprise, I found Carrot Top's act not only hilarious, but also warm, honest and self-effacing; he really seems to genuinely appreciate his audience.

Near the end of the show, Carrot Top noted Paul's presence and came over to hand out whiskey shots. Because of our proximity, the comic offered Sylvia and I libations. I passed, but Sylvia took the offered booze with great enthusiasm, the act washing away her nausea: "I love you, Carrot Top!" "Aw, I love you too, sweetheart!" Very kind.

As much as I enjoyed myself, my greatest pleasure came from Sylvia's delight at the comic's clever antics. And no wonder she loved it; it was a legitimately great show. Highly recommended.

Time Shared, Time Stolen

Today Sylvia and I found ourselves trapped in a time share presentation. What seemed at first an invitation to brunch turned into a pretty intense sales pitch - one that lasted four hours, mainly because we're too darn polite.

Now, that being said, the folks making the pitch were very professional and we never felt unduly pressured. They were, however, extremely persistent and even convincing; the time-share option seems, on the surface, a reasonable way to save money on vacations...if you take a lot of vacations, that is.

Once we made it clear we weren't interested, the time-share folks gave us tickets to Carrot Top and a $50 meal voucher. We shall soon discover if the price of admission was worth the time...

Rime of the Addled Consumer

They call it Boxing Day, but in these conservative times perhaps the annual festival of consumerism should be renamed Ultimate Fighting Day. Oh, we're all polite enough, crammed together in malls air-conditioned to the freezing point, bumping and jostling with strained smiles that don't touch the eyes, but how we all wish we had the stores to ourselves.

Hours later we escape, bags laden with half-price treasures that we'll cherish for a year or two or five if we've made a particularly good choice. We collapse exhausted by the binge, bloated with luxury, sated for another year. But the cravings will return, dooming us all.
Sent from my iPhone

Desert Xmas

The streets are quiet, but inside the gilt towers of marble and glass the hopeful ones feed their hungry masters-of-the-moment. Others queue for festive buffets, bemoaning the wasted hours in line. The tourist cameras flash futilely in the neon gloom, capturing only bright formless blurs. We glide among them, unnoticed, carefree, with no agenda.

Outside, the air is crisp, the skies clear, the sands quiet. Santa has come and gone, and the desert sleeps.
Sent from my iPhone

Script Fragment

While on the road yesterday, Sylvia and I felt the call of nature. I sped up a little in search of relief. It occurred to me that if a police officer pulled us over for speeding, the conversation might go like this:

"Sir, you're 15 kph over the limit."

"I know, I'm so sorry. My wife and I really need to pee..."

"Sir, what's worse; peeing your pants or killing yourselves in a car crash?"

"You're right, of course. You'd be dead and you'd probably pee and poo yourself anyway."
Sent from my iPhone

The White Tiger

Tiger, tiger, sapped of might

Trapped in lights of neon white

What immoral wish or whim

Could cage your noble soul within?

I shot this photo while visiting Las Vegas in 2004. The strip is a monument of tragic magnificence. Opulent but impoverished. It's seductive; you can't help but marvel at the tremendous scale of the engineering, the marketing, the dream that's being sold...that you too can live in a gold and marble tower, your every wish fulfilled, nothing to do but feast on luxury.

The tiger looked sad, and on impulse I took a photo, and by doing so I became an accomplice, no better than any other gawking tourist.

La Nuit de Faux

In film, cinematographers will sometimes shoot "day for night." That is, they'll film a scene during daylight hours, even though the action in the scene is supposed to occur at night within the context of the story. With the right lighting, lenses, filters and post-production techniques, sometimes you can get away with it without the audience noticing. (If you're Ed Wood, you're less likely to successfully master the illusion.)

The photo above might seem as though it were shot on a starry Paris night, but in reality I shot it on a sunny afternoon in Las Vegas. (It's the half-scale replica of the Eiffel Tower at the Paris casino.) The "stars" are actually dust grains that were captured when I scanned the film; rather than cleaning them up with Photoshop, I decided I liked the odd day-for-night effect and left them alone.