XCIII: The Hangover

This past Friday she packed us . . .

John is short.

And took us to Las Vegas. Much to John and Jim's delight, if not mine.

We stayed at the Bellagio and had a nice enough view:

Of the famous fountains as well:

Had a late dinner at Sensi and quite enjoyed the pork jowls. Though John didn't eat as much.

Some kind of ginger martini.

Brought a little something back for Jim as well.

The following day we went down to the Luxor for a couple exhibits. I actually quite enjoyed the first one, called "Bodies," which was exactly what it claims to be: preserved body parts on display. Very interesting and informative. Alas, no photos allowed, but here is one of The American outside the Luxor. She was chatting up Anubis.

Don't know what she was hoping to accomplish there.

We were also subjected to some sentimental clap-trap regarding a boat that sank some 100+ years ago.

I have a bad feeling about this.

No photos allowed in that one either, but they did give us assumed identities. She was Mrs. Henry Harris, also known as Irene "Renee" Wallach, which leads me to believe something nefarious must have been afoot. Alas, my characterization of French sculptor Paul Romaine M. L. Chevré went largely unappreciated, nor did it allow me the opportunity to find out what She was up to.

We let John be Frederick Fleet and spent the rest of the afternoon blaming him for things. Jim we booted to Third Class and didn't bother naming.

Lunch was at Bobby's Burger Palace. Could there be any more an American place than something called a "burger palace"? Then we went off to some bizarre miniature zoo that only had dolphins and oversized cats.

It's ridiculous how much she likes cats.

And now who is this berk she's hanging around?

I suppose, if nothing else, some of the features of Vegas are quite remarkable. Though The American has a tendency to get in the way of the view . . .

More big cats . . .

Here's one without her in it, only because she couldn't climb it without getting arrested (and she does have a sense of self-preservation, I've noticed):

What do you know? Another leonine statue.

Here is one that had surveillance, causing her to be on her best behavior (and admittedly, she does have a certain amount of respect for shrines):

There was shopping (a lot of bath salts and candles) and a stop for pizza. Because the burgers hadn't been American enough apparently.

Grimaldi's New York Pizza

Dinner that night was at Shibuya.

Look closely.

Which is in the MGM Grand.

Because we couldn't do without another lion.

Then we walked around while waiting for our next event. John had himself a flutter . . .

While we—

What in bloody blazes is this?

Then she dragged us to some kind of circus. It set John all wrong; our last run-in with acrobats didn't go particularly well. And we had first-row seats for this one. John was agitated for the remainder of the night, and I can't say any of us got much sleep. Oh, but the show itself was remarkable. KA it was called.

And something from the show followed us back . . .

Calls itself "Miga."

Anyway, we were set to leave on Sunday. But we had a walk in the hotel garden and a solid breakfast first.

Seriously, what is this thing and why is it following us?

And then it was time to be off . . .

Not the most comfortable, but better than Jim, who
was packed in with the dirty laundry.