Today I’m supposed to be off-grid. I am supposed to be headed to Las Vegas, land of gratuitous sights and sounds… and well, everything. I am not. I want to be, but since Satan sneezed on my house last week – we now serve as hosts for biological demons. My semi-annual Las Vegas visit is on hold. So much for searching out those small details necessary for my story. You know, the one that takes place in the landscape outside the strip that I’ve been wrestling with for two years now.
The purpose for this particular venture is simple: I need to stand in the desert and just listen. The environs sound different, smell and look different too, depending on which month of the year you visit. This new and improved strain of rhinovirus sucks. I’m ready for a change of view and some much-needed R&R and research in Las Vegas is supposed to make that possible. Bah.
I had a lot on my itinerary, including the above-mentioned Valley of Fire (phlegm), xeriscaping, an old mine site, a visit to Rhyolite, gangsters and molls, fast cars, outlandishly huge modern art, and an endless stream of fascinating people pouring in from around the globe. Next time, darn it!
Since I don’t want to toxify the entire airline – or blow out my eardrums – I’m just sitting at home. Poor me. Sad me. Whatever. Guess I might as well pull out some old forgotten manuscript and practice my editing. Once I get to Sin City and back, there will likely be some touristing and museum posts. Stay tuned intrepid readers. Peace out.