Welcome to Disneyworld for gamblers, alcoholics, smokers and the FILTHY rich
Vegas.
It won't surprise most of you that there are slot machines in the airport. The airport itself is like the parking lot at Disney, a short distance from the main attractions, not on the outskirts like other respectable cities. Still, it has a grotesque, glittering beauty that even I enjoy even looking down my nose at it. American greed and larger than life appetites rising from the desert floor. Times Square on steroids, the smell of cigarettes everywhere. The oddly compelling sight of seeing cowboys and hippies and Aspenites and New Yorkers and every kind of average American converging on one stretch of electrified nowhere.
Let's talk about Wynn Las Vegas where Paul and I are staying and for whom Team Milne shoots regularly. You could say that the decor is an attempt at understatement. That translates roughly into Willy Wonka meets a W Hotel. (Pictures to come, I forgot my card reader).
Luxury has evolved a bit since I last experienced it. The mini bar automatically charges your room if something is removed for 60 seconds. The LCD display on the phone (about 3x5) displays my name on it (alternately with Paul's), as does my key card. The vanilla brioche french toast comes with Plugra butter. A pedicure, which I did not end up scheduling, will set you back $90. I plug my iPod into the clock/radio/cd player. I haven't even seen much of what the place has to offer, but I'm tempted to skip it all to luxuriate in the magnificent bathroom complete with plasma TV. Everything is tatooed with the Wynn logo and it's ALL available for purchase, down to the Warhol prints on the wall.
No one here has to know that I'm excited that Wednesday is pay day. I might go pretend to be interested in buying a Ferrari dealership on the premises. You never know, it's Vegas. A millionaire is born every couple minutes.
It won't surprise most of you that there are slot machines in the airport. The airport itself is like the parking lot at Disney, a short distance from the main attractions, not on the outskirts like other respectable cities. Still, it has a grotesque, glittering beauty that even I enjoy even looking down my nose at it. American greed and larger than life appetites rising from the desert floor. Times Square on steroids, the smell of cigarettes everywhere. The oddly compelling sight of seeing cowboys and hippies and Aspenites and New Yorkers and every kind of average American converging on one stretch of electrified nowhere.
Let's talk about Wynn Las Vegas where Paul and I are staying and for whom Team Milne shoots regularly. You could say that the decor is an attempt at understatement. That translates roughly into Willy Wonka meets a W Hotel. (Pictures to come, I forgot my card reader).
Luxury has evolved a bit since I last experienced it. The mini bar automatically charges your room if something is removed for 60 seconds. The LCD display on the phone (about 3x5) displays my name on it (alternately with Paul's), as does my key card. The vanilla brioche french toast comes with Plugra butter. A pedicure, which I did not end up scheduling, will set you back $90. I plug my iPod into the clock/radio/cd player. I haven't even seen much of what the place has to offer, but I'm tempted to skip it all to luxuriate in the magnificent bathroom complete with plasma TV. Everything is tatooed with the Wynn logo and it's ALL available for purchase, down to the Warhol prints on the wall.
No one here has to know that I'm excited that Wednesday is pay day. I might go pretend to be interested in buying a Ferrari dealership on the premises. You never know, it's Vegas. A millionaire is born every couple minutes.
posted by Kelly K. at 11:16 AM
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