Wednesday, January 21, 2009
I Could Not Find Elvis
Maybe I’ve seen too many television shows, or my imagination is more vivid than my reality and my expectations loftier than a Southerner should be allowed, but I left Las Vegas disappointed that I was unable to secure a sighting of Elvis. I couldn’t find him on the strip that personifies all things Vegas, or in the colorful crowd of our hotel lobby, or even as an extra in the Cirque de Soleil’s aquatic performance of “O”. (I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that Elvis was a pretty good swimmer.)
Maybe we frequented the wrong places. Gambling is not something either of us enjoys so we didn’t spend much time in the casinos. If I am going to willingly place some dollars into the hands of another, I’m expecting a sassy pair of shoes in return. Fanny pack-wearing grandpa and cigarette- smokin’ maw maw camped out at the black jack tables didn’t concur with my economic theory.
(Although, at one hotel, a BMW sitting high on a ledge above a row of slot machines beckoned those with fists full of quarters to try their hand at winning the ultimate driving machine with just the slightest pull of a simple lever. I wasn’t interested; however, throw a Kate Spade purse or a pair of designer jeans in place of the BMW and I’m certain I would have coughed up a few coins for the joy of retail rewards.)
We also didn’t visit any nightclubs, possibly missing the man in blue suede shoes shaking his tail feathers on the dance floor and snarling at the record-scratching DJ. (You know that Elvis had to be APPALLED that someone would purposefully scratch vinyl. He would demand that the DJ stop that wasteful nonsense as well as instruct him to PULL UP HIS PANTS BECAUSE NO ONE WANTS TO SEE YOUR DRAWERS!)
My husband and I were probably the lamest visitors of all time to scope out the crazy town of Las Vegas, aptly and accurately referred to as sin city. I continuously worried out loud to any that would listen that the return of Jesus might find us all left behind if we didn’t catch the next flight back to the Bible-loving South as quickly as possible.
Which, now come to think of it, is probably exactly where Elvis was all along.
The next trip? I’m headed to Graceland…..