To Drunk to Read

By Royal Hopper

 

How does a man end up in the women’s restroom laying on the floor? To drunk to read ???? So determined to meet that perfect certain someone they will follow potential candidates anywhere ???/
Well you’ll have to ask that gentleman at whatever hotel he ends up being trespassed from on his next trip to the City of Sin.

A red heel and an abandoned drink glass resting on a counter near the front of a Las Vegas hotel

 

Random dancing
Don’t you just love people who sing random songs in random places at random times and for random reasons and without reason cause or meaningful skill break into dance.
If the answer is No, then you probably shouldn’t ever come to this city, the city of sin  ever.  People here sing songs and break into dance at the oddest times even when they are stone cold sober and doubly so_

 Man Nagging

_ when they are not.  I discovered a new term this week and a new social paradigm. Have you ever heard of Man nagging. Apparently this weirdness occurs when one man in a platonic friendship with another is a constant nag. Going on and on like some stereotypical nagging wife of chauvinist mythology of decades past. I saw this occur Saturday when one man was nagging his friend so intently that even the nagging man’s wife or girlfriend that was standing nearby seemed to cringe in sympathy.  I guess what comes around does truly go around even if it is not in a totally symmetrical way.
Of all people it seems NASCAR fans are the biggest Man Nags….. On the planet. The NASCAR fans were here in Vegas all week Man Nagging each other and drinking until they couldn’t see and apparently couldn’t read..

 

Stayin’ Alive Stayin’ Alive ah ah ah ah Stayin Aliiiiiivveeee
In one way or another it seems the 70s are returning in style, in fashion and in force to the City of Sin. Even the New York Times sees the 70s coming back.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/10/arts/music/a-band-called-fun-with-a-period.html?nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_20120310

 

This week as I was sitting at the pool of the hotel where I work I thought I saw my mother striding determinedly across the pool deck with a clip board in hand and rocking the retro let it be decade fashion to the freakin Sin City hilt.
  She had that 70s soccer mom trying to look cool in the face of disco, nylon and feminist self expression.
This woman was wearing the same faux hipster hand made red white and blue nylon pullover sweater, the same Soccer Mom Feaux Hippie Chic rayon blouse beneath it with the same abstract 70s designs, the same knee high leather boots; ( I hate semi colons) and the same blue jean shorts and the same black tights. (You should have seen the outfits she handmade us for Christmas and made us wear can you say The Osmonds meet the Wizard of Ozz.  I knew you could)
 Of course I immediately realized  this woman was not  my mother. My mother is not Asian, was in fact at least 30 years older than the woman I was looking at and being a good Baptist would never wear short shorts or black tights even in the cold.


Also I doubt this woman even knows who Willie Nelson is much less expends much energy denying that the Red Headed Stranger ever smoked marijuana on the White House roof.
(Does anything represent the 70s more than smoking a J in the White House)

Peacock Rock
This week’s epiphany is based on the simple fact that all the weirdness you see in the City of Sin keeps it from being a bland city of sin. These days everyone is, untucked, sweat shirt and cliché Wal-Mart frumpy. Even the slick guys are kind of boring these days with their buzz cuts and designer sun glasses. 
Being plain is the chic thing now and sometimes it sucks. I’m no Peacock as a rule, I don’t strut the look unless I’m on a stage of some kind but Las Vegas should be a place where you at least occasionally see something unique.
For that reason I salute the man I saw wandering around that very same pool in a long black coat, black shirt, black pants etc, etc. when all around him were dressed in standard pool side cliché wear including standard muscle boy buzz cut with the look at me I’m cool sunglasses.
. I’m not sure if his couture was some kind of neo Goth  styling or he was a doorman from another property who was stopping by on his lunch break but I salute his Gothic boldness.
  I don’t smoke but I salute the couple I saw toking huge stogies side by side rockin that cliché Vegas image to good effect
I salute the couple with the wedding party decked out in the 1920s style new York gangster theme even to the point of effecting a fairly accurate New York accent, their Aussie origins only being revealed when one of the party stopped to take bows.
Remember those brightly colored homemade get ups your mother and/or grandmother wore and dressed you in  in the crazy, hazy days of the 1970s. For those of you who are not old enough to remember the 70s fashions take my word for it, they were hideous. but in the bland under and sometimes over dressed ambiance of the early 21st century, I kind of miss it and wish all those bright goofy bigger than life fashions would come back, well except maybe for the puce  leisure suits and disco jogging outfits.
They can stay in the cultural graveyard  along with bad toupees and wide collars and tie dyed mullets.
On the way home another protest sign at a corner of Flamingo and again only the fact they were standing in the street made anybody notice them.

Such is life in the City of Sin.

Til’ nest week

Take Care

Did I mention I hate people who are happy all the time

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