Canadians in Vegas

Thor's outfit. Or what The-Youngest wants to wear to school to smite his enemies
Thor’s outfit. Or what The-Youngest wants to wear to school to smite his enemies

After ‘The Avenger Experience’ was all over, we met up with the shopping queen at the hotel’s hot dog restaurant where The-Youngest ate 2” of a foot-long hot dog and one fry of his gigantic plate of fries. I ate the rest.

It’s become my worst eating nightmare. I hate paying $12 for a hot dog, but I hate leaving 90% of it behind, so I scarfed it down.

Sure it’s yummy, but it’s also bad news for weight loss. Bad, bad news.

However, the boyz were super excited to tell The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World all about their adventures. They love doing stuff with her, and since she wasn’t there, they needed to tell her everything that they did. And why. With pictures. And sounds. And waving arms or stomping feet (like when they stomped imaginary ants on the floor.)

Like me, it’s only really an adventure if you can share it.

Judging from the look on her face, I think she was glad she didn’t come. I mean, 90 minutes of reading about comic book stuff and looking at Avenger displays, yuck.

Food, glorious food. But a foot-ling hot dog proved too much for one bo
Food, glorious food. But a foot-long hot dog proved too much for one boy

When it came her time to tell what The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World did, she was more excited about the clothes she found for the boyz than for herself. Now The-Youngest will look incredibly handsome when he goes to see the Beatles, Love.

Despite us just having lunch, though, it was actually 4pm. Time is different in Vegas. It’s a little odd.

But we were all feeling a little tired, a little footsore and so we retired to our room. I phoned to figure out how to get our tickets, The-Youngest watched Teen Titans on the cartoon network, The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World ironed everything in sight and The-Oldest discovered that he forgot to bring pants.

Pants!

Who forgets pants?

Oh, he had sports shorts, (you know, those mesh-fiber things people normally go to the gym in), but nothing fancy, nothing that was really appropriate for an evening out. He tore apart his suitcase and even looked in the laundry bag in case he actually wore some and, ah, forgot about it.

No matter. It was Vegas. The-Prettiest-Girl-in-the-World looked amazing and so very beautiful by the time she was ready to go. With his new clothes, The-Youngest looked like he ruled the world.

Cirque du soleil Beatles - Love at the Mirage. All you need is love, love, love.
Cirque du soleil Beatles – Love at the Mirage.
All you need is love, love, love.

We were officially set for the Cirque du Soleil Beatles – Love.

We took the tram there, collected our tickets and stood in front of the Beatles sign for a picture. Looking awkward and confused when we tried to take selfies, someone came up to us and offered to take our picture. Older fellow. Like older than me, which is old indeed. Dressed in shorts.

He asked where we were from. “Vancouver,” we said. “Canada.”

I’m never quite sure what to tell Americans. There’s a good chance they may not have heard of Vancouver. Or Canada. Or what the capital of their country is. But the older fellow said, “Ah, yes, Canada. You have igloos up there, don’t you? It’s very cold, isn’t it?

“Well, not exactly where we live,” I said. “We’ve got a lot of rain and TV shows.”

“Oh?”

“And where are you from?” I asked. Maybe Kansas or something?

“Cloverdale,” he said with a great big smile. About 10 miles from where we live.

The bugger.

We ended up having the best conversation with him, then parted ways. Funny how we met only one person in all of Vegas and he was from Greater Vancouver!

But now was Beatles Time. The-Oldest couldn’t be still. He was so excited.

Would it live up to the hype?

What Writers Do on a Vacation in Vegas

You got time for a confession?
You got time for a confession?

Confession time. I hate everyone, and everything at 6

I hate everyone, and everything at 6 am in the morning before I’ve had coffee.

I do not leap out of bed and think, wow, what a wonderful world, I’m so grateful to be alive. I think, why no one has invented an intravenous machine that pumps hot coffee directly into your veins?

Everyone is still asleep when I get up and it’s hard to sneak out to do writing because The-Prettiest-Girl-In-the-World has momma-hearing, (and that means she detects the exact moment my breathing changes.) After thumping around, I kiss her on the forehead and tell her I hope she gets back to sleep.

The strip and casinos are dead at 6 am. Even the in-house Starbucks isn’t busy. The few who are up seem to be either rushing out with a suitcase, or staggering around red-eyed like they never went to sleep. There are a few nutbags at the hotel gym, I should imagine. Some at the slots looking tired and broke. I see one sad-looking soul at the bar (and I’m not even sure they’re serving anything.) But a casino is a spooky place without a lot of people.

Right now, I hate everyone I see. The thin guy in his expensive jogging shoes and high-tech sweat gear heading out for a run. The large black woman who’s closing in on 400lbs who has decided yoga pants are a good look this morning. The overly nice barista who tries to make happy-happy conversation with me when all I want to do is order a coffee, grande. The white-haired old guy who couldn’t figure out what to order despite standing in line for 10 freaking minutes and stands at the counter, looking at the board like this is his most difficult decision of his day and if he gets it wrong, he’s going back to the concentration camp or something, (spoiler alert, this will be me when I’m 200.)

Lacking a Tim Hortons or Dunkin Donuts, I guess a Starbucks will do.
Lacking a Tim Hortons or Dunkin Donuts, I guess a Starbucks will do.

I need coffee. Coffee doesn’t so much restore my faith in people as it moves my brain way from sleepy grumpiness to wide-awake creativity.

It really quite a transformation. I go from wanting to murder the guy who looked like he shined his bald head with a floor buffer to give it a blinding shine to reading the burlap sacks on the walls of Starbucks and wondering when the sack says “save the Amazon, use Jute” what the heck Jute is? A tree? A plant like hemp? What if I had a character named Jute? From the Amazon? Who wears burlaps sacks?

So, this morning, yes, not only will I write a bit, but I have to figure out how to make the tickets to the High Roller Ferris Wheel usable on my mobile phone. We’ve also brought tickets to the Beatles Love (Cirque du Soliel style) because The-Oldest needs a good music fix. He hasn’t been able to play his piano for nearly a week, listened to no classical music for at least two says, and I can see that his eye is starting to twitch.

Last night I failed to get those tickets on my phone. I was simply too tired to figure it all out. With more coffee, I hope everything becomes clear. Last night, The-Youngest, who listed the High Roller in his top 10 then asked, actually asked, if he could bring his iPad cuz it could be boring and he didn’t want to be bored on it.

This from the guy who bugged us for WEEKS to go on the High Roller.

I said, ah, that would be a no. No iPad.

New York, New York, in Las Vegas. The Holy Grail of the kid side of Vegas. Rides. Candy. Arcades.
I would actually love to visit the real NY one day, but for now, this’ll have to do.

Also planned for today…NY NY, mostly for the rollercoaster there, which (after supper), The-Youngest vowed NOT to go on because of his terrifying experience yesterday. He’s gone from literally vibrating with excitement at the mention of a rollercoaster to looking like he’s about to have his liver removed with a spoon and all his electronics sold to hobos.

But The-Oldest is dead keen on that coaster. He’s fearless on those things. Beyond fearless, really. He loves the speed, the exhilaration, the feel of terror and impending death.

He’s 13.

Then after NY, NY, we’re hitting the candy shops, a place that The-Youngest can talk to you about for hours. I kid you not.

The Hershey Store in Vegas, with a freaking WALL of Jolly Ranchers
The Hershey Store in Vegas, with a freaking WALL of Jolly Ranchers

“Joe, did you know they have giant jars of Jolly Ranchers that are just the red kind, but I don’t know if they’re actually the watermelon kind or the cherry kind or what, but it doesn’t really make any difference because I like them both, but I also like the apple ones which are green, and they have jars of them, too, and all the other colors, and I think, if I have enough room in my luggage, that I’ll get the green ones, cuz apple is my favourite and Joe, did you know that they have Hershey bars that are so big that they cost $50…”

Knowing how much time everything takes, we’ll have a full day. I suspect we’ll be spending hours in the candy store alone while The-Youngest debates which two jars of candy he’ll take home. Joe, did you know that on one hand, the watermelon ones are good in the summer because they taste like real watermelon, and that’s refreshing, but apple is kind of refreshing, too, and tastes like, you know, apple, which always tastes good, but then, again, oh, look there’re the jars filled with the blueberry ones and they’re my all-time favourite…

Fun times.

And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

After I’ve had my coffee, that is.