Is this your card?

Our day yesterday began with a workout in the hotel fitness center.  As I pedaled the stationary bike, I wondered if the level of activity around me was normal for that particular fitness center, or if it was a New Year’s Day crowd bent on keeping resolutions.  For whatever reason, we had company.  So we did a little exercise, then we headed back to the room for a pair of showers and a bite to eat.  We had great plans today to eschew the monorail and walk about on the Strip.  It is a whole different perspective.  I spent a lot of time walking around, saying, “No, thank you.”  

I don’t want a flyer for a museum exhibit.  No, thank you.

I don’t want to go on your tour.  No, thank you.

I don’t want to engage in chit chat with a stranger that will invariably become a sales pitch.  No, thank you. 

I’d rather not pose for a photo with two showgirls.  No, thank you.

I would prefer not to take your trinket/leaflet/beaded bracelet as a signifier of my interest in your religion.  No, thank you.  

At least I said thank you.  It’s nothing I want to get used to, but walking on the Strip and fending off the hucksters and hustlers is probably a rite of passage for any Vegas visitor.  We did a fair amount of wandering, and were looking for a good lunch option when we ran into a “robot bartender.”  Don’t mind if I do.  We use a touch screen pad, tapped a credit card, and a robot arm started the job.  It fetched the glass and used a series of ceiling-mounted bottles to dispense measured shots of liquor.  The arm went to a dispenser for mixers and ice and it poured our beverages into cups.  Cas took a little film of the ordeal, but I mostly watched in delight.  The robot arm was perfectly adequate, but what it had in efficiency, it lacked in charm and local color.  A human bartender engages in conversation and occasionally, over-pours.  

Still, with several thousand steps registering on the step-counters and a robot-made drink in hand, we sought out a lunch option.  That many steps into the day and a workout done, we were actually pretty hungry, so we found a sandwich shop and went about the business of people watching some more.  News on that front: The sequin-per-person count, which ballooned on New Year’s Eve, was way down.  The number of people walking around in pajama pants was on the rise in the late morning and early afternoon, much to my dismay.  I am by no means a fancy dresser, but I am quite consistent.  I was brought up to look presentable in shared public spaces, so I always brush my hair and I never wear my in-the-house-only clothes to an out-of-the-house location.  

Naturally, our next move was to go up in a really tall thing and look out.  Eiffel Tower replica, anyone?  We went into the Paris hotel and casino and eventually found out how to buy tickets to go up to the observation deck.  Unlike the observation deck at the Strat, this one was open air.  (Pro tip, there’s a kiosk to buy tickets as well as a scannable QR code.  Do the kiosk.  The QR takes you to Ticketmaster, who charges you an extra fee.  It’s only $1.50 per person, but to heck with Ticketmaster, am I right?). 

With the kiosk visited and the tickets ready, we headed up to the beautiful but unnecessary bridge that takes folks to the elevator.  You have to walk away from the base of the tower to an escalator that takes you to a bridge.  The very French-looking bridge takes you right back to the base of the tower, just up a floor from where you bought the tickets.  I mean, I get what they’re going for, but it does’t make any sense.  

The elevator ride up was pretty quick, and the physical space at the top was kind of small.  We settled in on a spot at the railing, having verified on the Internet that the Bellagio fountains start their first show of the day at 3 pm.  We stood there, looking down at the pool of water at 2:55.  Serendipitous timing, if you ask me.  We managed to stick around up top for the 3:30 show, as well, then we lined up to head down.  As we were waiting, a couple was ushering their frightened son out of the elevator.  They assured him it was safe and everything was fine, but the poor kid had psyched himself up.  He was terrified.  And then, he and his dad were back on the way down with us.  When we got down to the pretty, unnecessary bridge to the escalator to the ground floor, started to plan our evening.  Before we left Dallas, we managed to discover that the Rio Hotel and Casino, in addition to being home to the Penn & Teller Theater, is host to a Kiss-themed glow-in-the-dark miniature golf course.  Of course we played.  Like we had a choice.  It was quite entertaining.  I guess I like Kiss as well as any other long-haired guitar rockers from the era, but the people who constructed this feature were absolute fanatics.  Fun fact- there’s a wedding chapel in there, too.  How about 19 holes and a few vows?  Then, maybe you can Rock and Roll All Night, but keep your energy up, because in addition to loving and honoring in sickness and in health, you have to Party Every Day!  

With the mini golf complete, we made our way to the permanently fixed Penn & Teller Theater.  They have a whole space named for their act, and they do a ton of shows.  When we got to our seats, there was a man seated, playing a grand piano, and near him, a tall fellow plucking away at a stand-up bass.  The bass player had to head out, though, as he needed to prepare to work with his partner, Teller.  I had no idea that Penn Jillette was so musical.  

The show was spectacular.  It was as surprising and irreverent as the tricks were impressive and logistically unlikely.  Cas and I have a few suspicions about how some of the tricks were done, but who really cares?  They were good tricks.  The wow factor surpasses the importance of the wool remaining firmly pulled over our eyes.  Penn has a habit of pulling from the audience, and we were seated on the main floor in Row G, alphabetically seven from the front, so my biggest fear was the same as a lot of unprepared students in classrooms across the country- I didn’t want to get called on.  We both managed to avoid walking onto the stage or participating in the act. 

We woke up this morning still talking about the show, wondering aloud how some portions were done.  But never mind that- it was a spectacle.  Here’s where we sat:

Now, we’re on for an unstructured, unscheduled day.  Today was supposed to be our trip out to the Hoover Dam, but that’s on for tomorrow.  Today’s tour was cancelled, so we got a pricier trip tomorrow at no additional cost.  Sounds like a good deal to me.  So today, we buy tickets on a city bus and head out.  We can see the Mob Museum or maybe the Neon Museum, then tonight, we’re thinking maybe the big Ferris wheel is in our future.  More on all of that later.  For now, photos: tinyurl.com/Dunapvegas