Teresa and I were
visiting Las Vegas for the first time in 2014. Riding a shuttle bus from the
airport to our hotel, I caught a glimpse of the Elvis-O-Rama sign. I was so
excited by this that I blurted out, “There’s an Elvis museum! Right next
to the dildo museum!!
Sadly, I later
learned that Elvis-O-Rama had closed years before. The “Museum of Erotic
History” or whatever is still around, but we have never gotten around to
that. Maybe we are waiting for a Groupon.
Later (2015?) some
sort of Graceland-approved Elvis exhibit opened at the Westgate, but we missed that too.
They say the Estate
of Elvis Presley makes much more money now than Elvis made when he was alive (
We will assume that he is not with us anymore for the sake of argument) But
they are making it hard for me to contribute to that when they don’t have something
going on in Vegas. Fortunately there are still a few Elvis impersonators
When I was a kid, some comic books would have ads proclaiming that you could “Throw your voice”; as I recall, it strongly implied that I could do things like make my mother think that my sister was talking back to her. Apparently they would send a non-rusty version of this device, and instructions of some sort. But what if someone asked you something? Were you supposed to keep a handkerchief or Kleenex handy to pretend to cough into?
This is some Jeff Dunham level stuff here. That would be most amusing to see what would happen if mom heard Evelyn say “I keeeel you!!” But I would have started cracking up and probably end up with this thing lodged in my trachea.
I see only three ladies, and apparently four guys came on this trip. You would think that that having the extra guy out on the lake instead of cramping their style would be a good thing? I would rather go fishing than hang around with these cranky fucks too.
We were mulling over where to go on vacation this year. I had a crazy idea, we have a box of random postcards (because that’s what packrats do)… My idea was to blindly grab a postcard from the stack, and go there on vacation.
It would be wonderful to go to Mrs. Henderson’s Crown Point Chalet. Alas, this postcard is almost 100 years old. Her health failing, she sold the Chalet in the late 1920’s, and opened a small dining room in Portland. The depression caused that business to fail, and Mrs. Henderson died broke at age 58. This is from the MountHoodHistory.com website. I am assuming that Mrs. Henderson was a widow.
She should have put a picture of one of those home cooked chicken dinners on the back.
Apparently some hippie took some newspaper articles and this deceptive invitation, and Mod-podged the hell out of this wooden cigar box.
You have to wonder if some Nixon supporters got all excited to read “You are cordially invited to attend the inauguration of Richard Milhous Nixon…” only to find that it’s just a come-on to round up some college students, pacifists, mothers of draftees, hardcore leftists, recreational protesters, and assorted filthy hippies. I don’t think it was too cordial either.
But what do I know? I was 8. Riding around on my Schwinn with the banana seat, getting my bell-bottoms caught in the chain. (I don’t know what happened to my chain guard)
The clean air authority here in Washington is offering a big rebate for replacing our wood stove insert, under certain circumstances. So I was down on the floor looking for a serial plate or something to identify this monstrosity.
This model has channels underneath, and the kids that used to live here, used it to store toys I guess. I found some sort of light-up Lego thing, a gear that probably goes with that, a Hot Wheels car, a plastic dart, some pink(ish) nail polish, and a pile of rubble. You would think the nail polish would have burst into flame. The reporters would ask the fire marshal what caused the fire, and he would shrug and say, “Maybe it’s Maybelline.”
UPDATE: February 13th; still haven’t gotten word about whether we qualify for the rebate. I got nothing but time.
Every so often, we get an itch to go to Las Vegas- get out of the rain. Not so much the gambling, just being able to walk outside after dark without a coat is a treat.
This sculpture up at Hoover Dam, always gives me the look- “Back to piss away some more money, huh? I knew you couldn’t resist.”
So I start looking at Youtube videos and airfare, hotel rates. I remember our first trip, it was March 17, everyone on the airport shuttle was dressed in green, mostly costumes like they were trying to get on “Let’s Make a Deal”. I think most of them were already drinking or drunk too. But on the return trip they were a pretty somber bunch. Having to return to reality is a drag.
My first camera was a Brownie, you opened the top, and looked down to line up and take your shot. The one I had didn’t have a lot of fancy settings, and while I did get a few good shots, I wasted a lot of film on shadows, glare, and yes, even my thumb.
It’s not just the film, I had to take the whole roll of 20 or 24 images to a little kiosk in the Valu-Mart parking lot, where a crabby teenage girl would collect my film and often sell me a fresh roll or two, depending on how much money I could hustle up. (Being in the fifth grade and having a girlfriend of sorts already, made it tough to rub two coins together.)
Then I had to pay for processing on the whole roll, it would be nice if they could just toss the obvious failures and only charge for the good pictures. But that’s not how the fotomat business worked.
I wonder what happened to those little parking lot structures. I could use one to store my rakes and shovels.