I'm at HIMSS12, the big annual Healthcare IT conference, in Las Vegas this year. Thirty five thousand people came this year - a record - filling the meeting space at the Sands Expo complex at the Venetian and Palazzo hotels on Las Vegas Boulevard, the famous "strip." This part of Vegas is arguably the upper crust of the casinos and hotels, with the Bellagio, the Aria, Ceasar's Palace, the Winn and the Encore as neighbors and peers for the beautiful Venetian and newer Palazzo. Luxury suites, gourmet dining in restaurants run by the finest chefs in America, the most beautiful decor and casinos, the prettiest cocktail waitresses...
The crowds, the constant party atmosphere, the noise level, were getting to me after two days, so last night I sketched the huge red Chinese dragon in one of the lobby spaces. It helped me unwind enough to sleep.
Today, after day three, I returned to my room, changed into jeans and denim jacket, and headed out to get some air and some perspective. Quiet is what I needed, but that is not something you can find on the strip except in the few hours before dawn. I more or less leapt out of the hotel lobby and headed north. I met some co-workers headed for a restaurant, and I had enjoyed the two previous evenings of fine dining and conversation, but tonight I needed to pass and spend some time alone.
This morning I had picked up a pedometer from the Kaiser Permanente booth, the "Every Body Walk" campaign. The goal was to walk 10,000 steps before 5:00. Five miles. Not unlikely at a conference like HIMSS, and I had actually done 7800 steps by 5:00. As I headed north from the Palazzo, I knew I'd finish the last mile+ on the walk up the street.
As I passed the Encore, the Winn's twin to the north, I crossed into another Vegas. I had heard that the area up by the Needle was "sketchy," but I was surprised at the sudden transition to tatoo parlors, cheap buffets, liquor stores, and dirty sidewalks. The manicured gardens and surround sound show tunes of the streets near the Palazzo were replaced by gravel pits, barred windows, and garish neon signs. The people on the sidewalks were mostly indistinguishable from the pan-handlers who frequent the pedestrian bridges at the crosswalks in the posh part of town. The tall, thin guy on in-line skates with six inch wheels, rolling along while playing electric guitar on his portable amp was the most memorable, but nearly everyone looked care worn, tired, and ragged. The Riviera and Circus Circus casinos are the saddest I have ever visited, with more cigarette smoke created by fewer patrons, who sit like zombies in front of slot machines, or lurch to the bar and teller machines for more. I eventually realized that the most common trait among the denizens of the Riviera was a limp.
On my return, with my feet very sore, and a bit sobered by the gritty heartless concrete mess that is the north end of the strip, I met a women with two small kids who asked me not for money, but for a meal for the children. There was a Denny's a half a block behind me, so I took them there. Ruby had lost her apartment, evicted because she could not pay the rent. This was mentioned on the way to the restaurant, simply as a fact, not a complaint. I heard not a single complaint from her, nor from Ashley, her 11 year old daughter, whose big beautiful blue eyes, usually full of smiles, looked out of a round Latino face, with hair cropped so short I initially mistook her for a boy. The youngest, little four year old Steve, never said anything. Ruby told me that he had stopped talking entirely. We had a time keeping him from drawing on the furniture instead of the kid's menu. Since we Steves sat together on one side of the booth, it fell mostly to me to remind him that the crayons were for the paper only. Ashley wished for a pen, instead of the fat crayons, so she could actually draw or write, and I handed her one of my Prismacolor sketching pens. I explained how gently the felt tip must be treated, and she spent several happy minutes impressing her mother with the quality of her cursive. Then we discussed what the difference is between ketchup and mustard (Ashley thought they were the same stuff, just different colors). Except for Steve, who never said a thing, but just fidgeted and sat closer and closer to me as the dinner progressed, the other two made a charming effort to keep up conversation and to keep it light and positive.
Since I had already eaten earlier, at an outdoor hamburger stand, a wonderful contrast to the gourmet dinners of the previous two nights, all I ordered was water. Ruby ordered for Steve, and Ashley was so excited to be ordering whatever she wanted that she had a hard time deciding. She finally chose the egg slam, which she jokingly referred to as a heart attack. It was a burger, with hashfried potatoes, an egg, cheese and bacon. We had to keep the ketchup bottle from Steve - we were unsure where the squirting would go. When he got up and got one from a neighboring table I had to fetch him and gently disarm him. As hungry as all three of them were for the burgers (their reaction to the food when it arrived was a lesson by itself) they were obviously just as hungry for the conversation and for ordinary time with other people. We talked about South Carolina beaches, where they had once spent a vacation on Isle of Palms, recently enough for Ashley to remember it. We discussed blue crabs and I told a story which made Ashley laugh so loud she turned heads - no mean task considering the gloomy weary crowd around us. Ashley and Ruby discussed that it might not have been the best idea for her to trade her sneakers for the prettier sandals, because the sandals were already coming apart. We talked about whether dogs go to heaven, and how it could possibly be that God and Jesus could be the same person, a topic Ashley brought up out of the blue. When I told Ashley she could keep the pen, she clipped it to the front of her shirt collar like sunglasses. Our waitress, with a voice like Harvey Firestein, joked with me that I must be preserving my girlish figure, ordering just water. I think she didn't catch on until I was leaving, letting the family finish the meal after I paid for it, that we weren't actually a family. I excused myself because I was exhausted and still had over a half mile to walk. When I tapped on the window outside the booth and waved at them through the blinds, I saw Ashley giggle one more time.
My remaining 700 steps on the pedometer went by in a blur. I was heart broken over little Steve, who seemed autistic to me, and who would not get care. I was amazed at the bouyant sunshine of Ashley, still fascinated by everything, and charmingly open to everything. I contrasted her spirit with the crushed looking people I passed in the remaining blocks of the strip and grieved for the way life was likely to erase her smile. As I returned to the noise and money of the Winn and Palazzo I heard all the whining and complaints of people around me - people who were well dressed, well fed, and would be sleeping in expensive hotel suites tonight. I had been one of those tired, petulant, spoiled people just an hour before, and I know I will be again, probably tomorrow. But tonight I crossed the last pedestrian bridge, catching a full sized reflection of the Palazzo in the glass side, everything backwards, and with stars shining through the dark shadows at the bottom, looking as real as the facade behind me, the money factory hiding the other Vegas from thousands of visitors. An old cowboy busker was playing a tune on an accordian on the bridge near me and I put a dollar in his bag. I stopped to listen a bit and left after he played the first two verses of Amazing Grace. It took my breath away.
Oui, Etienne has been away from home every Tuesday since who knows when. Today he was home and could go, so he went. Et voila, instead of something he wishes to destroy before anyone can see (which is what he expected after so long an absence), there are some drawings that (as Etienne says), "bear a second look." These are the last three in the pad, and took 25 minutes each. Etienne reports that the model, with the nom charmant of Angel, lost all feeling in her left hand during this pose, but she bravely endured à la fin. Earlier drawings in his pad (oui, I "peeked") show poses tres jolie and tres active - Angel is a dancer and it is obvious from her posture and the way she lives to her toes and fingers.
Moi, what would I do with fingers and toes gracieux? Learn to fly, perhaps?
This last drawing is about the hands and shoulders, non? (Shoulders en Grenouille? Pas vraiment.)
Oui, c'est moi, Grenouille, and other sources of inspiration. Two compagnons joined us during Noël. Le coq verre vert which Etienne calls a "glass rooster" (he does not yet possess a name) and a trilobite noir (à ma gauche). The trilobite is l'homme antique in our ménage, reportedly 500 million years old. I must admit he does appear older than Etienne. Give the photo un clic and see for yourself.
