Further Vegas Adventures

A view of one tiny portion of the SHOT Show in Las Vegas.

Great last day in Las Vegas. The giant SHOT Show on its last day was less busy, so we had more time to talk shop. After the end of the show we headed to the opulent Bellagio to see "The Impressionist Landscape" art show on display there. No guns, no ammo, no Ted Nugent, just lots of amazing paintings from the 1800s--Van Gogh, Renoir, Millet, Corot. I found the landscapes most appealing of all. This was a nice antidote to a busy day of talking business. I didn't even mind using the gallery narration unit. It was a hand-held unit--sort of a combination nightstick and cellphone. You pushed the numbered buttons corresponding to the painting and heard the gallery curator's spiel about the artist and one or more of the works on display. And yes, she explained the circumstances behind Van Gogh's ear-cutting episode.

Later, Linda (BWD's ad. director) and I met Jeff Bouton, Leica's pro birder, for dinner at P.F. Changs, where we scored a really excellent table in spite of the maddening crowd. Likely because we looked like such high-rollers. After ordering and enjoying our entrees family-style (each plate passed round and round) we decided to adopt as our nicknames for the night, the name of our respective dishes. Linda would go by Ginger Chicken. Jeff became Orange-peel Beef. I, sadly, was Golden Honey Shrimp.

At 10:30 pm we decided to go birding on the Strip and the only place to do that was at the courtyard ponds at The Flamingo. A year ago, our late friend Jason Starfire had shown Jeff this peaceful spot where the banded, wing-clipped waterfowl on display are often joined by wild ducks. We found the spot, bought four beers, one for each of us and one in honor of Jason and for the next hour we enjoyed the pale-pink flamingos, Mandarin ducks, ruddy ducks, wood ducks, and a small flock of hooded mergansers.

The most photogenic and cooperative of the ducks at The Flamingo was this male ruddy duck.

The rushing water masked the sounds of the bustling city. A huge full moon shone down on us through the palm trees. We toasted our friend, who left us way too soon. We felt it was appropriate to remember him by doing a bit of midnight birding.

Midnight at the oasis, in the center courtyard of The Flamingo.

Now, it is Monday evening and I am headed east on a huge jet full of sneezing, coughing people (are planes ever full of anyone else in the winter?) Looking out the window of the airplane, I can see the snow-covered ground of the Midwest below me, uniform white rectangles bordered by gray, icy roads--square miles of farms. Out of the settling dusk I can make out the twinkling lights of tiny towns. At the horizon, the slight curvature of the Earth proves without a doubt that this planet is round and we're all just spinning in space.

I am headed home, eager for this journey to be over.

The Occupants of Seat 10-F

On Friday I boarded a US Airways flight from Denver to Las Vegas. Because I'd been a polite and patient customer while waiting for my boarding pass and for my luggage to be checked, Joyce, the friendly US Airways service agent told me she'd try to get me a seat with legroom.

"You're in luck Mr. Thompson. We have Seat 10-F available and I've put you in it. That's a window seat on an exit row."

I fly enough to know that getting this max-legroom seat at the check-in counter shortly before your flight is like winning $100 on a rub-off lottery ticket.

I had just settled into seat 10-F when a large man and his wife stopped in the aisle and he said:
"Sorry buddy, but you're in my seat."
Me: "Is this 10-F?"
Big Guy: "Yep and that's MY seat."
Big Guy's wife, to me: "You should check your boarding pass."
Me: "Here it is. 10-F."
Mrs. Big Guy: "Hey, honey, he's got YOUR name on his boarding pass!"
Me, looking at my boarding pass: "No, William Thompson, that's me."
The Big Guys: "No way! I'm William Thompson, too!"


They sit down next to me and we ring the call attendant button. A gate attendant comes on board to ask for my ID. She explains that I booked through US Airways and the other Bill Thompson, booked through AmericaWest. (Apparently all the kinks are not yet worked out in the merger of these two companies.) Since there were two Bill Thompsons booked onto the same flight for the same seat, the system had automatically deleted my ticket for my return trip. I handed her my driver's license and she sprinted off the plane. This activity sent a wave or worried murmuring and craned necks through the cabin. The muzak playing over the PA system had no effect whatsoever.

So while we waited for my identity to be established so the plane could take off, Big Guy and I made small talk.

Me: "What's your middle name?"
Big Guy: "Irwin."
Me: "Ouch! Mine is Henry."

We found out that our birthdays are only 5 days apart. He and Mrs. Big Guy live in Wyoming. They were going to Vegas for a real estate seminar. The conversation slowed to a crawl and I began to feel guilty for holding up the plane's departure. We were lucky that the flight (for once) was not full, so we all kept our exit-row seats.

[Little did I know, then, I was to spend an hour with a reservations agent once we arrived at Las Vegas, trying to get my ticket fixed.]

Soon things were put temporarily right by the Vegas gate agent, I got my ID back and we took off. Seconds later, just before I stretched out my legs and fell asleep, I took this picture of the Two Occupants of Seat 10-F, both named William Thompson.

The Las Vegas Diet

There are times when something you see or experience has the overwhelming effect of completely erasing your desire for food of any kind. Today I had three (3!) such encounters.This sign scared me as I washed my hands at a Mexican restaurant in Las Vegas. I was (understandably) unable to finish my chimichanga when I returned to the table.

Then there was this sighting of Ted Nugent at the SHOT Show, which completely ruled out an afternoon snack.And finally, this giant image of Wayne Newton made sure that I'd go to bed without eating a bite of dinner.

Viva Las Vegas, baby!