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March 3, 1999

Smoking waitresses and sensory overload

I figured I must be in Las Vegas. Breakfast was $1.50 for a ham slice and scrambled. I was given back 50 cents in nickels to stick in the slots. Then the waitress got out a cigarette and started to smoke.

Lydia and I had driven down for a weekend of solitude and open space in Death Valley. We had enjoyed the three million acres of the national park, looked at the desolation from ZabriskieÕs Point, enjoyed touring the poor manÕs Hearst Castle named for Death Valley Scotty, eaten a barbecue put on by E Clampus Vitus, and enjoyed the creosote bushes and Joshua Trees of the Mohave Desert. I even bought an Indiana Jones hat as a souvenir.

On the way there weÕd enjoyed an overnight stay in Tehachapi, where the two most important things are the womenÕs prison and the railroad loop crossing. Tehachapi is the summit, the place where it takes the railroad 30 miles of track to negotiate what a crow flies in 16. The restaurant had a working model of the railroad, and the entire community seems to be choo choo happy.

This is the part of California where the population per square mile approaches one. ItÕs where you see a car, then wait an hour to see another. ItÕs where you might panic if you count on the gas station in Shoshone, only to discover itÕs closed until the tanks are replaced, which might be never, and the nearest open station is in Nevada. As long as we were so close, we decided to go see Las Vegas, even though IÕd managed to make it to this point of my life without such an experience. ŌSo closeĶ meant a three hour drive, kind of like saying that as long as weÕre passing through Pacifica, weÕll make a side trip to Sacramento.

We went by way of Pahrump, a desert community known mostly for a blithe lack of concern for zoning regulations and for being the home of syndicated talk show host and UFO advocate Art Bell. Pahrump is a place where a tree is a rare treat and dust is a way of life. ItÕs also the home of Terrible HerbstÕs Casino, Chevron Station and grocery store. I canÕt imagine anyone living in Pahrump, but itÕs growing like a weed. After driving so many miles in solitude, Las Vegas, where the traffic backs up behind every stop light was a real contrast. A few miles of the Strip and I went into sensory overload. New York, New York is too much, too much. CaesarÕs Palace reminded me, not of ancient Rome, but of the Victor Emmanuel Memorial, no sense of proportion, just excess. Bellagio was also a bit much.

I do recommend the Pastrami Sandwich from GreenbergÕs Deli in New York, New York. The Motown restaurant next door is over-priced.

We enjoyed ŌStar Trek The ExperienceĶ at the Hilton, even though we didnÕt buy a ticket. We talked with a couple of Klingons in QuarkÕs Bar, decided not to spend $500 on a Starfleet uniform, and brought home a DirectorÕs version of my favorite Star Trek movie, and a Tribble for Lydia.

Then we walked back to our motel, a lonely stroll I do not recommend after dark. No one walks in Las Vegas. In fact, I would suggest taking a taxi to where your car is parked in the hotel garage.

IÕm looking forward to my next Vegas visit. But a suggestion! YouÕll enjoy your trip more if you donÕt gamble. I know I did.

Paul Azevedo took the biggest gamble of his life when he bought a home in Pacifica. He thinks it was a winning toss of the dice. For more of his opinions, check out his website, http://www.thereactor.net/

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