Yes, the long-awaited Vegas trip is almost here. Everyone is very excited, despite the fact that it is already 93 degrees in Las Vegas and our collective Swedish-Scottish heritage makes us uniquely ill-suited for such conditions. When it's raining haggis and herring, please feel free to call us for help, but don't expect us to set foot outside of the AC when the mercury soars above, say, 85. I guess that's part of the charm of Vegas, as I imagine it. No one is really suited to live in the middle of a scorching desert, and yet somehow our American (Italo-American?) ingenuity has made it possible for all but the palest among us to survive.
Connery has been promised the chance to see tigers, lions, and possibly sharks, so he's happy. Chip has managed to convince me that gambling really should take place when one is in Vegas, despite my near-pathological fear of losing money (another nod to the Scots, eh?), so he's happy. And we get to see a Broadway show AND spend time with an old friend of mine, so I'm happy. The only family member who is not happy is the poor, neglected cat, who tried as always to get into the suitcases and curl up atop folded clothes to convince us that she really needs to be included. She doesn't like it when we travel, even though the cat-sitters probably give her more one-on-one attention than she normally gets in a week.
And I'm not bringing my computer. That means no live-blogging of Siegfried and Roy or Celine. Sorry, folks.
Have a great weekend, wherever you find yourself.