GREETINGS and salutations, race fans. It's been a long, long, long time and I have been remiss in my duties of keeping you posted. Just when you started thinking, Gee, what happened to that guy? OR Gee, I'm glad that guy isn't "updating" me every flippin' week. VOILA! Here I am. Nice to see you again, OR sorry about all this.
The week before the week I did my two-fer to Vegas and Phoenix, I went to Charlotte to see a man about a horse. Or about a job with our company as our North Carolina representative. I had some good photos of Charlotte, as well as some stellar snaps of a nice industrial plant south of Raleigh, but, for some inexplicable reason, I can not find the photo file right now. If I find them, I will post them. All I can say right now is: North Carolina is cool. Poetic, huh?
At any rate, two weeks ago I did a double header to Las Vegas and Phoenix. I slipped the Phoenix trip into the Vegas trip because it is cheaper for me to fly to Phoenix from Vegas than it is from North Carolina. Vegas is what it is. I think I have already mentioned my opinion of Craptacular Lost Wages. However, allow me to say that there seems to be a nicer and easier feel to the Wynn than pretty much any other place in the town with the possible exception of "The Hotel" which is directly behind Mandalay Bay. The Wynn has this fairly jaw dropping water wall off it's main casino area. The bar between the slots and the water wall is expensive but nice. Like everything else in Las Vegas, you are on display when you drink there. Our Vegas rep and I had a drink while waiting for our reservation at one of the Wynn's restaurants... I forget the name. The surprising thing was that the price was actually very decent for the quality of the food. We were not approached by any prostitutes either, which can be a little bit uncomfortable without a salad fork in your hand and much more so with one.
When I left the Wynn, I went to the valet area where I dropped IT off. Wynn was busy like most places and there was a wait for the ride. As I stood there under the oversized lamps that look a lot like the thing my dad had on our cabinet TV back in the '70s, I could hear the tires screaching in the parking garage beneath us. You would hear this screaching and then count to four or five before seeing the headlight patterns on the wall of the up ramp. The valets were reving the living urine out of these Hummers, BMWs, Escalades, etc. And yet, not one of the patrons failed to tip the kid who had just tested the handling on their very exensive vehicle. While waiting I saw the same tall, sunglassed prostitute that I had seen earlier in the night. Her date this time around fit the same demographic as her earlier date: Short, balding and on the cusp of senior citizenship. Busy night all the way around at the Wynn. I waited for the squealing of my rental car, but the squealing never arrived. I guess that you can rod the living piss out of a Toyota Corrola and still not squeal the tires. I laughed. And no, I am not sure how to spell "Corrola." I laughed again as all the people waiting for the Italian, German, British and American luxury cars looked at me like an interloper in their midst. I walked fast but not too fast, as if to say, "That's right, baby. The really, really smart money." I tipped the kid and took my time playing with the GPS system while the window was still down. DESTINATION... pause... "CITY OR STREET ADDRESS"... Then I rolled up the window and drove slowly away. Of course, like everything in that town, it was all an act. Why? Because earlier that evening, when we finished din-din and said our goodbyes, I strolled over to the sports book section of the casino and gave Mr. Wynn $10 through one of his minions. What for, you ask? That my beloved and somewhat cursed Seahawks will make it to the SuperBowl. "Smart money," my butt. Oh well. I can frame the ticket and say at iffy cocktail parties with iffy conversation, "I placed a bet with my bookie on the Hawks." Imagine the stares one would get?
The next day I flew to Phoenix and back to Vegas in the same day. My sole purpose was to find a rep for Arizona for us and I had some hot leads. I ended up on Camelback and not too far from Scottsdale. I actually enjoyed it much, much more than the last time I was there. And, I have always dug Scottsdale due to the Frankster's establishing Taliesin West out there. I won't tell you my deep seated beliefs about Frank's personal side, I wouldn't want to offend you too much in one sitting, but suffice to say that even the most insane egomaniacs (not to be confused with those crased breakfast fans -Eggo-maniacs) can do some amazing things.
Anywho, the trip was a bust for finding the rep, but successful for determining who not to hire. And, a nice and kind soul gave me a heads up about one potential hire who couldn't make it and that individual looks promising. So, I will probably be in Phoenix again soon.
I drove past what I think was a gas station. My favorite form in the formal world of architecture, the three side pyrmidal form, was self-evident in all of it's past and neglected present glory. I only had five seconds to get two crappy shots off. I post them here for you anyway. This started me thinking about the house addition I just designed for a friend. Not a three sided form in sight. Same could be said for the drawing and painting studios I am designing for my own little utopia outside of Raleigh. The three sided form must be used with discernment, I thought. You shouldn't just pull it out willy nilly like some museum designers seem to be doing lately. Or mess with it's formal characterizations, like a lot of goof balls have. No, dang it! It needs to be handled with care and made into something important. Like a 1950s gas station type of building. I was just thinking this thought and one about getting back into the architectural game on the original side of the pencil when I rolled up behind the van that is photographed above. DESIGNER/DRIVER... And a third career contender raises it's monotone white head! Hmm.... For now, I think I will stick with the gig I have. It's a great gig. And besides, without it, who would send you email telling you the blog has been updated?
I flew back to Vegas. The next morning, flying out on my way home to NC, I snapped the photo in negative above. The stools in front of the slots look like tombstones. Another "deep thoughts" moment.
Until next time, keep your design intent pure and your van's tire pressure checked.
-Gulliver
Disclaimer: There is nothing wrong with Eggos. You don't have to be crazy or insane or even stupid to enjoy them. They may even be healthy -if you use organic syrup and have been wasting away at some base camp in the mountains for a few weeks.
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