Think of any of the iconic roads that drum up timeless images of Americana, and the list narrows down to a few: Route 66, Broadway, Pennsylvania Avenue.
And the Las Vegas Strip. What's more American than the glitter, glitz, and glam of Vegas?
Naturally, it was the perfect place to heartily celebrate America's 234th birthday.
I've talked about how much I just love Las Vegas. But, after getting lazy with my blogging, I never really go to talking about how my 4th of July weekend there actually was.
Answer? Awesome.
Now, I've been called crazy before, and I may indeed be. And I have done, and continue to quite regularly do, some crazy things. But one thing I am not crazy enough to do is jump out of an airplane.
Think about it: you're not even supposed to be up there in the first place (Do you have wings? Oh and then there's, umm...GRAVITY). So once you are up there, in relative comfort and safety, why the hell would you jump out?
So I was not as crazy as my friends who woke up at 6AM on the 4th to celebrate their liberty and freedom by freely falling out of a perfectly good airplane and plummeting 13,000 feet to the Strip below (let alone crazy enough to wake up at 6AM in the first place).
But my friends did go skydiving, and me and the other sane ones enjoyed our morning rest at the TroLo before heading over to Caesar's for some craps and pool time.
I don't love gambling, which is good, because if I did, I would certainly be even poorer than I am right now, what with my luck. I can never find the right balance; I'm either too conservative, or too liberal with my betting, or I never know the rules and nuances of the games well enough to win big. I mean, I dabble, but I'm not a huge fan.
Maybe I should be. My friends hit the craps tables, and hit 'em hard, racking up hundreds of dollars in winnings. I lost $4 in video poker and called it an afternoon. I should've just lit my money on fire myself, it would have done as much good and been far more fun.
So we rendez-voused with the Crazies (our friends who went skydiving) and headed to the Caesar's pool.
The Caesar's pool is actually like a seven-pool complex that is totally free and open to the public. It's probably about as ornate as Caesar himself enjoyed, although with a great deal of Vegas kitsch thrown in.
And I'm sure good old Julius paid a hell of a lot less for his drinks than I did.
Pool time means pretty brown skin time. I got my tan on, and was perfectly happy celebrating my 4th by relaxing, and drinking, all day by the pool.
Dinner was a purely American affair - burgers. Well, not just any burgers - the current trend in Vegas, and nationwide, seems to be boutique upscale burger joints, and Le Burger Bistro at Paris in Vegas certainly fits that bill. I mean, the name itself literally glitters with pretentiousness.
But it's delicious. Imagine: crispy, crunchy Chick-fil-A style waffle fries smothered in sour cream and guacamole, and covered with barbeque chicken, black olives, and fresh red onions. I hope that's what heaven is like.
And that was only the appetizer; with appetizers like that, it's no surprise I can't remember the damn meal. Context clues suggest I ate a burger, though.
We rushed through the meal, naturally, in order to make the Strip in time for fireworks. Now, we weren't entirely sure there would BE fireworks, or where they would be, or when. But it being July 4th, and it being Las Vegas, we were sure the show would be epic.
So we ran out there, and sure enough the sky was just beginning to light up above Caesar's. And we had the perfect spot, right in front of Bally's, to catch the illuminations.
If anywhere can put on a show, it's Las Vegas, Nevada. Bigger and better than any fireworks show I've ever seen, the sky was ablaze for more than half an hour, I'm sure.
4th of July fireworks on the Strip, that's pretty American.
It was too early by far to hit up the clubs, so we went in to Bally's, and I caved. We hit up the craps tables and threw some dice. Throwin' dice, that's pretty American too, right?
I ended up exactly even. If someone wins in Vegas, someone loses, and I wasn't winning, so I damned sure made certain I didn't lose either. At least I was sober enough to "know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em", so to speak.
The next move was uncertain. We decided to head over to Caesar's to hit up Pure, one of my favorite clubs in the world, when a suited man approached us on the bridge to the Bellagio.
Turns out the guy was a promoter for Bank, the club in the Bellagio, and we had been, in the words of one of my friends, "flagged as a good looking group of people". The promoter gave us free drink tickets, put us on the list, and we were set: to the Bellagio we would go.
Now, I know that it's this guys job to build up his club and get people in the door. But it sure does feel pretty damn swanky to be approached and flattered and given free drink passes to a club as nice as Bank.
Bank was preceded by some good old-fashioned pregaming at Caramel, the Bellagio's bar, with 2-for-1 drinks courtesy of Mr. Promoter (I still have "Bank Promoter" saved as a contact in my phone...you never know when you'll need to hop the line and jump over the velvet ropes in Vegas).
Then, no wait time in line and an elevator ride and $50 cover later (yes, I know, a bit steep. But it was Vegas, and the 4th of July, and, again, we were flagged as a good-looking group of people. Totally worth it), we arrived.
Bank is awesome. I've been to a ton of clubs all over the place, but this was just...cool. Nice atmosphere, a good DJ playing pretty much only songs I knew (it's like he stole my mental iPod), and great friends.
I just wished my pictures turned out better. The bubble-showers and free champagne were pretty cool.
A night of partying accomplished, we left Bank as a beautiful moon shone down, out-shining, it seemed, the neon of Las Vegas Boulevard.
What a great, quintessential 4th of July: pool time, burgers, fireworks on the Strip, throwing dice, partying hard. What's more American than that?
peace and love from the grand canyon state,
pb
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