While Robert and I sat in a luxurious lounge in the Venetian, the soundtrack played something from “Phantom of the Opera”. After a few desultory jokes about that and “Cats”, we ended up talking about T.S. Eliot for a while. Right after that was when my dear friend in Canada, @radiantfracture, tweeted a reference to Eliot. (For my tweeties: Robert isn’t either Alphonse or Bunter. He’s Robert Wilson.)
Random sight: A drunken bride in full regalia having trouble hiking up her skirt on her way into a Ladies’ room in the elegant Bellagio hotel.
Shoe-shopping at 10:00 p.m. is fun. The salesman spent six weeks in a coma back in 2004. I have no idea how the conversation got that far, but he was interesting. Apparently his grandson weighs 22 lbs. That’s not so interesting.
At one point we walked past a guy who looked just like Simon Le Bon circa 1983, complete with paunch and pout. When we went into the next building, the soundtrack changed to Duran Duran.
Hotel billboard: Close-up of a woman’s breasts as she gets out of a pool. The caption read, “You’ll see lots of breaststroke, just not in the pool.”
At a gas station in Barstow, two truckers were talking. One said, “He told me he couldn’t loan out that DVD because it was so special to him, but if’n I wanted, I could watch it in the back of his cab with him. No way I’m sitting with him in his cab watching ‘Brokeback Mountain’!” Even though it didn’t work, I’ve got to give that unknown trucker credit; it was a better pick-up line than the ones we overheard in the casino.
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