The Strawberry Blog

August 2006

I don’t know. Sub-zero or 4-star hotel…Vegas is just inherently depressing to me, I think. Not all of it, but certainly the interiors where poorly to exceptionally poorly dressed American families and single men tend to congregate—lobbies, halls, dens of monetary inequity—especially those. Casinos. It’s the A/C on overdrive and the buzz and ring of would-be bling—of Bling! far removed, yet…”just over there, Penny. Let’s go!” And The House of Blues ensconced in a gold palace. Aawww, The House of Blues tries so hard to just be a down home ramshackle jook joint. But each time it pops up with voodoo masks on faux wood, it’s just another reminder of corporate takeover (that said, the one in New Orleans has good greens and a killer turkey burger and sweet potato fries).
Why can’t I escape the pleated khaki? They are terribly out of place here at THE Hotel at Mandalay Bay, this homage to everything serenely paletted and divinely understated (except for the THE). The Khaki Mafia hound me. What next? Sleep with the fishes at Shark Reef?
However, that low, sinking, Vegas Interior feeling lifts as soon as I hit THE beach, out of doors, in search of THE wave pool.
And quickly lowers once more when one of the janitorial staff informs me that someone has just thrown up in it. And that last week someone left a little…“Miami Vice,” shall we say? We both grimaced, then she directed me to the clean pool where I surveyed it, deeming it safe. Clean. Serene. Mine. No floating turds, no last night’s meal on full display. Apart from foul play at aqua central, I feel very much at home here (from now on we’ll just refer to it as MY Hotel).
But where a little knowledge is a dangerous thing and ignorance is bliss…where does that leave too much knowledge? Too much knowledge of wave pools might just keep this swimmer in her suite tonight watching Spike’s “Levees”—reminded once more that last year’s fallen water is sadder and bluer than any resort pool debris could ever be.