Yarrgh, verily: Part deux

[Please go here for part one of this series.]

While I admit there seems to be an overtly sexual overtone to the above photo from Las Vegas, I hasten to chastise anyone who might think this Vegas post is intended to appeal to our basest, most prurient instincts.

No no no no no no no! I'm talking about the beauty, brutha. I'm talkin' about the scenes, like the night scenes ...


Some pretty darn artistic airport scenes ...


Some cool bar scenes ...


And the new Vegas trend: Flair bartenders. Every hotel now has the combination of flair bartenders and dueling pianos. The latter don't represent as well in blog format so we'll focus on the former.

I am now ALL ABOUT flair bartenders. Not being a bar guy, I do need something to keep me interested if I can't hear the TV - which has always been my downfall in bars, introvert that I am.

Flair bartender guys are like having a circus act right in front of your face. Instead of just pouring drinks they try to toss the bottles around and do all kinds of mixologist-magician stuff. It is a hoot, I must say.


This probably looks a little crazier and more risque than it is: In reality, you can't swing a dead cat in Vegas anymore without some flair bartender trying to direct-pour a swig of liquor down your throat.


It does tend to overwhelm one. After awhile you get like Marlon Brando sitting in the back of the cave, intoning: "The flair, the FLAIR ..."



The "oxygen bar" is another Vegas thing which for all I know is years old although foreign to me. This shot does not fully capture it (one must be circumspect in photographing strangers - a lesson one does NOT want to learn the hard way ...)

The basic deal is you sit at a bar with multi-colored canisters arrayed across it, and you somehow inhale stuff while the bartender rubs your back. One of the reasons God put other guys in the world, I believe, is so that I would not have to try these types of things.


You don't go to the "bathroom" in Vegas, matey: You go the the shrine, as it were. And in every step of your ablutions you have the assistance of a kindly gentleman who, for example, will remind you immediately upon washing your hands, "How about a paper towel, sir?"

Bathrooms and tips: A concept requiring further honing.


Yarrggh, I say, that be a ship full of wenches! ("Wenches," in case you did not know, really means "waitresses," so please get your minds out of the gutter.)


Aha, a fight, and tacky and poorly acted, too. How it warms this heart o' mine to see those whose thespian talents are so benign.


Hmm, me pirate voice has left me for a spell, the reason why I cannot tell ...


Their eyes look like cats' eyes: I guess that's what struck me about this one.


Here methinks a bandit be about to leap from the shadows, and therefore all good men must watch carefully.



I've always been a sucker for the coconuts, ever since I was a little boy.


And yes, in case you haven't figured it out yet, this is where I spent last week. Nice hotel, I must say.


In sum, being a pirate is hard work, and it is not a vocation for everyone.