#Las Vegas pioneers

[slots-a-fun]

Las Vegas Before the Stardust

Before the Stardust’s debut, Las Vegas was already transforming from a desert town to a bustling tourist mecca. Discover how the Strip emerged, the impact of the Hoover Dam, and the post-war boom that set the stage for this iconic casino.

Long before the Stardust Hotel and Casino lit up the Las Vegas Strip with its iconic neon glow, the city of Las Vegas was a much different place. The history of Las Vegas before 1958 reveals a tale of transformation, ambition, and reinvention—themes that would come to define the city’s identity. This post explores the journey of Las Vegas from a small desert town to the glittering entertainment…

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout: New Vegas Day: Christine Royce wins the Costume Contest!

Say hello to the winner of the Costume Contest at Fallout: New Vegas Day! This is the same Christine that Obsidian and us posted about earlier! 💜

Congratulations! They really went all out on this, going as far as shaving their head!

[kply-industries]

[nooklingposting]

Back from Vegas, didn't get a picture of every Casino I wanted but I'm happy with these

Bonus Ultra-Luxe content under the cut

[coolthingsguyslike]

[pixelpapi]

las vegas - (1979)

[vintagelasvegas]

List: The Oldest Bars in Las Vegas

Atomic Liquors at dawn in 1993. Photo by Valentin Wuebben.

Tracking the oldest standalone bars in Las Vegas is a complicated by the matter of a few of them changing names, locations, or having fuzzy math in their own history. This list is not carved in stone but as far as I can tell the standalone bars 50 years and older are ....

ATOMIC LIQUORS (917 Fremont) – opened 4/17/54. We have a longer piece covering Atomic’s history and sources for this date.

DINO’S LOUNGE (1516 S Las Vegas Blvd) – They’ve had this name since ’69, but the bar dates back to this location as Ringside Liquors since ’53, and at a previous location since the late 40s. (The last 4 digits of Dino's phone number date back to the 40s.) Their motto “Getting Vegas Drunk Since ’62” refers specifically to the business’s incorporation date. '53, '62, '69 are all correct dates depending on the details.

HUNTRIDGE TAVERN (1116 E Charleston Blvd) – circa ’62, after starting at a nearby location, 1320 E Charleston, in ’54. Founder W.L. “Buzz” Holst and family opened several drug stores and bars including the next one on this list.

DECATUR LIQUORS (546 S Decatur Blvd) – ’63

4 MILE BAR (3650 Boulder Hwy) – ’63

TAP HOUSE (5589 W Charleston Blvd) – opened as Wild Bill’s Bar in '65. It went through a few names in the 70s and has been known as Tap House since ’85.

CHAMPAGNE’S CAFE (3557 S Maryland Pkwy) – opened under a different name in ’66; Champagne’s Cafe since ‘96. It was originally Sundown Liquors and Cocktail Lounge opened in ’66, a liquor store up front and a lounge in the back. It was combined into one room that exists today and was previously known as Jerry’s Inner Circle (’68), Huey’s Saloon (’77), Jerry’s Saloon (’87), Ole Inner Circle (’93), and Champagne Charlie’s.

FRANKIE’S (1712 W Charleston Blvd) – Frank August opened Frankie’s Cocktails in '68. It’s been known as Frankie’s Tiki Lounge since 2009.

HARD HAT LOUNGE (1675 S Industrial Rd) – ’70. Their “Est. '62” motto works as a reference both to their ’62 building and to the beloved ’62 mural in the bar which came from its previous location under the name Bourbon Street Lounge. The building was home to The Coffee Pot and Squaw's Corner, until the owners of Bourbon Street Lounge moved here and opened Hard Hat Lounge.

STARBOARD TACK (2601 Atlantic St) – also opened in ’70 according to some records, or ‘71 at the latest. Their website says “since ’72.”

Elsewhere ...

Pioneer Saloon (Goodsprings NV) - Built by George Fayle circa '13, without a doubt the oldest bar in Clark County, Nevada.

Gold Mine (Henderson NV) - "Hendertucky's Oldest Tavern," was licensed to Henderson councilman Giles L. Franklin in Sep. '65.

Not quite on the Oldest Bar list ...

70s/90s: Double Down Saloon (4640 Paradise Rd). There was a bar here called John John’s Cocktail Lounge here in '74, then it was called Dreamworld which might have been a disco. For many years in between it was a restaurant rather than a bar. Double Down opened in ’92.

80s: Sand Dollar Lounge (3355 Spring Mountain Rd). Similar to Hard Hat, the motto “Est. ‘76” may refer to the building complex, but Sand Dollar Lounge opened in ‘83 and there was no bar, lounge, or music venue at this location prior to Sand Dollar.

90s: The Hideaway Tavern (3369 Thom Blvd). Their motto is “Friendliest bar in town since ’62,” however Hideaway opened in a new building in the 90s. The ’62 date refers to the property history. In ’63 (not ’62) a building was relocated here from downtown’s “old ranch” aka the Old Mormon Fort State Park. The old ranch was established in the 1800s but building that was moved was part of a restaurant which was constructed in the 50s. At 3369 Thom Blvd was repurposed by Larry LaPenta as into a restaurant called Lorenzo’s, later know as Old Ranch House Supper Club, and Larry’s Old Ranch House. It was demolished in the 90s, and replaced by a new building which opened as Larry’s Hideaway. After a change of ownership it became The Hideaway Tavern. The changes to the structures can be seen in USGS aerial photos, and Clark County Assessor dates The Hideaway Tavern to ’93.

Missing any?

This started as a post on Vintage Las Vegas Instagram. Thanks to CityCast Las Vegas: An Inside Look at the Oldest Dive Bars in Vegas.

4 Mile Bar, '86. Photo by Chelsea Miller. Neon in Nevada Photograph Collection (PH-00225), UNLV Special Collections.

[dropoutconfessions]

I’m an OG Dropout fan (made an account the first day it dropped) and I remain a big fan to this day. But one thing that’s always bothered me is their stark lack of disability representation.

In all of d20 so far I can only think of a few PCs who are (Jan De La Vega from ASO, Zee from TUC2, Lydia Barkrock from FH, and Mira from Neverafter). I think they’ve done a pretty good job of having people at the table who are neurodivergent/have mental health issues (ADHD, Autism, Depression, Anxiety) so the representation comes from an authentic place. But to my knowledge, there has yet to be a single player at any D20 table who has a physical disability.

Dropout seems to pride themselves on being inclusive. They’re a company who hires talent from a diverse array of backgrounds, because they understand why that’s so important. Especially because cishet white folks have been the face of Nerd/Geek/Fandom spaces for much of history, despite often not being the pioneers.

I’m someone with Cerebral Palsy who is desperate for any representation in media, let alone a thoughtful/nuanced portrayal.

Don’t get me wrong, Dropout is leagues ahead of other media companies in how much it uplifts diverse voices. But there is still plenty of room for improvement. It’s disappointing to see how little thought Dropout has put into giving people with disabilities a much-needed platform, when their brand is one of inclusivity.

just to add to the list cause i remembered while tagging, Gunnie from ASO, Rick Diggins from Tiny Heist, and Sylvester Cross from Mice & Murder

[oscarpiastriwdc]

albums i would play for each driver on the 2024 F1 grid to expand their music taste

Max Verstappen: Graceland by Paul Simon - As a fan of classic and folk rock, I'd imagine Max has been exposed to Simon and Garfunkel and I think he'd enjoy the sprawling, detailed, careful expanse of Simon's solo masterpiece. Angels in the architecture spinning in infinity, etc etc

Checo Perez: Ramomex by Rebel'd Punk - One of the Mexican bands who pioneered punk music in the country, but Checo probably missed this release because he was too busy karting and moving to europe as a teen. It's never too late to have a proper angry punk phase, though.

Charles Leclerc: Ten Love Songs by Susanne Sundfør - Groundbreaking, life-altering pop music that pushes every boundary. This hits the sad songs craving and I think would interest him as a musician and burgeoning songwriter.

Carlos Sainz: Ultraviolence by Lana Del Rey - daddy issues. I just know he'd vibe out to Brooklyn Baby.

Lando Norris: Destiny by DJ Sabrina the Teenage DJ - I dream of sitting him down and exposing him to actually good, interesting, fun contemporary dj music.

Oscar Piastri: Speaking in Tongues by Talking Heads - He has that certain David Byrne swag and demeanor of someone who'd love the Talking Heads if only given the chance.

Fernando Alonso: 10,000 gecs by 100 gecs - At first the old man would be extremely confused but once he was on board he would be blasting The Most Wanted Person In The United States all day every day.

Lance Stroll: Talon of the Hawk by The Front Bottoms - that post that's like the problem is men are making podcasts instead of forming midwest emo bands. but it's men are becoming f1 drivers instead of forming midwest emo bands. I think some TFB exposure could be the spark of inspiration for a great career pivot.

Lewis Hamilton: Maps by billy woods and Kenny Segal - I fear Lewis might have been too worried about Merc's performance last year to have checked out this fantastic collaboration that was one of 2023's best albums.

George Russell: Contra by Vampire Weekend - I just saw Vampire Weekend live following the release of the new album and at the show there was a guy a few feet ahead of me in the merch line who had the exact same energy as GR. The mix of prep vibes and world music would work into his taste while expanding his listening beyond coldplay.

Yuki Tsunoda: GLOW ON by Turnstile - 100% a selfish pick, I want to mosh with Yuki in the pit of a Turnstile pit.

Daniel Ricciardo: The Panhandlers by The Panhandlers - A country supergroup I return to time and again, wistful and nostalgic, making you yearn for West Texas no matter where in the world you are.

Alex Albon: Pelican West by Haircut 100 - Funky British jazz pop, perfect for dancing and vibing.

Logan Sargeant: Crying, Laughing, Waving, Smiling by Slaughter Beach, Dog - I fear Logie might be too young or too norm core to have had a proper Modern Baseball phase (it's never too late logie! listen to Intersection!) but Ewald's 2023 offering seems like something he missed last year that's perfectly up his alley.

Valtteri Bottas: Merriweather Post Pavillion by Animal Collective - Weird and complex, I think he should throw it on while on a long bike ride and let his mullet fly in the breeze.

Zhou Guanyu: God Save the Animals by Alex G - no you don't understand i need him to listen to Alex G he would love it

Kevin Magnussen: Heaven or Las Vegas by Cocteau Twins - Ethereal music he can feel and let wash over him in a wave to relax and transcend the horrors of driving for Haas.

Nico Hulkenberg: Supernatural by Santana - dad music but make it funky and good

Pierre Gasly: Sex Dreams and Denim Jeans by Uffie - A perfect twist on early 2000s French electronic music, I think it'd remind him of the club while sounding entirely new and make him want to pick up a side dj gig of his own.

Esteban Ocon: Lescop by Lescop - French indie pop-rock! His most recent album is fantastic, but Este should check out Lescop's 2013 debut first.

following a conversation with @liamlawsonlesbian and her definitive book rec list i'm doing something similar for music (she bullied me into posting this sorry). large range in popularity/mainstream-ness of artists depending on the driver and what i think they're already listening to.

[tani-b-art]

What I find that absolutely sets A’ja apart is that she has a history of bringing championships to teams that never had one before!

With South Carolina, she brought the university’s first ever basketball title! I remember reading a part in her book where she said she had the choice to choose between offers from Tennessee, UConn and UNC. And of course these are choices she could’ve easily & immediately jumped on being that these programs already had their own histories of multiple titles or at least one on their record books. But she felt if she chose to go to one of those, yes, her name could potentially be among other greats of that college but then she wouldn’t be set apart. “I didn’t want to be just one of a million banners up in the rafters at UConn. I wanted to create history in my own backyard. I wanted my grandma to walk proudly across those campus grounds, and sit in the front row, and watch her granddaughter play for the first time.”

She decided to not take that route — an almost given route. Which would’ve been a tried and true pathway — select a college that’s won several national titles and more than likely, in her 4 years there, it’s sort of destined she would’ve won one herself and helped to add to that program’s trophy case with another. No, she took the unprecedented, untried path and chose South Carolina, her home. A university with no winning history in their basketball program. “We didn’t add to the trophy case. We built the trophy case.” And look at that — she’s forever immortalized on those campus grounds with her own statue! Her legacy is forever.

Same can be said about the Las Vegas Aces. There was no winning history there. There weren’t prior years of championships at all and she’d bring the championship back to the city or anything. No, A’ja made history, once again. Just like she made history at South Carolina. She and the Aces brought the city it’s first ever professional championship. She didn’t go to a team with an already established championship history for their organization just like she didn’t go to a program with an already established title history — neither SC nor LVA had a single title in basketball…she created history both collegiately and professionally.

I have a huge level of respect for athletes who do this. To me, that absolutely is incredibly admirable. Athletes who have the choice in deciding where they want to go and choose the untested path. Athletes that brought their organization’s first ever championship when there was none.

In my opinion, she’s in that very rare, selective echelon of players that go in the trailblazer category. They’re pioneers.

We’re witnessing pure greatness from a living legend who will become an all-time great…one of the greatest of all time. And she keeps leaving her indelible mark all over the league and sport with each passing season and each time she steps on the court. Iconic & legendary! She’s creating her legacy.

She’s an American, Southern treasure!

A’ja Wilson truly is writing her own history.

[whositmcwhatsit]

Chapter 3

AN: Well, this whole writing thing got away from me for a bit, sorry everyone! Thank you to my alpha @thatbanditqueen, who decodes my gibberish, and a big thank you to @vintageshanny, @ellie-24 and @be-my-ally for keeping me sane without even knowing it.

Here are the previous chapters since you'll definitely need to be remind yourself what it's all about!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

There was a sharp rapping at the door after lunch the next day. Sally had gone back to the room to change into her bikini and robe, deciding to brave the poolside because she was tired of looking like the washed-out spirit of some pioneer girl haunting the hotel.

Thinking it was Laura checking on why she was taking so long, Sally threw open the door as she went to the mirror and adjusted the bikini top beneath her loose peasant blouse.

“Do you think I should untie the straps on this thing? I don’t want to have white lines on my shoulders.”

The tall man standing in the doorway raised his eyebrows behind his sunglasses and flashed a wide smile.

“Uh, I don’t know that I’m qualified to answer that one, Miss,” he replied amiably with a shrug.

Sally whirled round, feeling her mortified blush tingle as it hit her hairline.

“Oh gosh, I thought you were someone else,” she mumbled lamely. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, my name’s Sonny. I work for-“ He pointed a finger up and Sally frowned.

“God?” Utah wasn’t a million miles away but surely they didn’t send missionaries to the Las Vegas casino hotels. That just seemed unfair on both sides.

“What?” He gave a sharp laugh. “No!” He shot her a look like he thought she was either dumb or crazy, maybe a mixture of both. But she wasn’t the one who cased the corridor like a secret agent before murmuring: “Elvis. I work for Elvis.”

“Oh.” She thought that he was maybe waiting for more of a reaction, but after worrying that he was a Mormon missionary, the fact that he was one of Elvis’ guys was a relief.

“Uh, anyway, my boss wanted me to bring you these-“ He whipped out the tickets for that night’s show. “And, uh, this.” He held out a small, dark green velvet case in his other hand. She took both and frowned again at his look of expectation.

“Do you… Oh, I don’t really have any cash on me right now. Hang on a second, I can check-”

“God, no.” He wiped his face with a big meaty hand and yanked off his sunglasses, fixing her with a look that she thought was supposed to be intimidating but just looked exhausted. “Can you open it please? I’m s’posed to let him know how you… acted.”

“No pressure,” she muttered, lifting the lid.

Inside was a gold bracelet interlaced around emeralds circled by little diamonds. It looked like something the Queen of England might wear to a soiree, not a teller from a bank in the middle of nowhere. Not without being accused of embezzlement.

All of that ran through her head as she stared open-mouthed. Finally, she remembered her audience and she glanced back up.

“Can you tell him that I was overjoyed and jumped up and down and was grateful?” she asked, worrying that she hadn’t accrued enough goodwill to get him to lie for her. “I am very grateful, really grateful, but this is… I’ve never even seen anything like this before, let alone touched it.” She tentatively put a finger to the metal; it felt cool against her fingertip.

“Yeah, I’ll tell him.” He slid his sunglasses back on and gave her a small smile and a nod. “I’ll see ya.”

Sally nodded back and closed the door, clutching the tickets and bracelet to her chest. “Well, that was weird.”

At the pool, Laura huddled over the bracelet, pulling Sally’s wrist close to her near-sighted eyes like she was a jeweler, appraising gems.

“You think they’re real?” she asked, tilting Sally’s arm to see the stones caught the sun. Sally looked around at the other people on the sun loungers, feeling slightly too conspicuous thrusting precious stones in the air.

“I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t even have to sleep with him.”

“Keep your voice down!” Sally hissed, snatching her arm away.

“I’m just saying, you’ve got to be careful playing hard to get, you know, Sal, they can get tired of it real suddenly.”

“That’s not what I’m doing. I wouldn’t do that.”

Sally could imagine that he would be able to see through that pretty quickly too. He seemed to do that, to see deeper than people thought he did, or at least it felt like he did when his eyes were on you.

Almost as if she was afraid of being caught, she glanced up at the towering white façade of the hotel. It rose up and disappeared into the shimmering heat of the endless blue sky. Somewhere, right at the very top, which she couldn’t make out from the bottom, he was there. She wondered if he was thinking about her. Maybe he was looking down at the pool… She felt her cheeks heat up and she had to look away just in case.

That evening, she and Laura were standing in line for the dinner show. At the front were the devoted fans who had probably started queuing while they were still at the pool.

“Imagine if they knew you what you got up to last night,” Laura remarked, wiggling her eyebrows. She seemed more excited by the cachet of Sally’s relationship, such as it was, with Elvis, than Sally herself was. “What? It’s okay to enjoy things, Sal, Jesus!”

Sally opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Emilio the maître de who had somehow picked them out of the crowd of heavily made-up glamorously dressed women.

“The Beatles fan… Sally, is it not?” He pecked both her cheeks and then grabbed her fingers, wrapping them around his crooked arm. “We have been told to take extra special care of you.”

Sally glanced back at Laura, who had snatched hold of her other arm, and pulled a face. They giggled as they were escorted past all the baleful looking people in front of them in the queue.

“It’s like being a movie star!” she whispered to Laura.

“Now you’re getting it.”

Sitting in the central booth again, they felt highly visible as the room rapidly filled and staff served dinner. Sally watched the tables beside the stage fill up, the biggest tippers sitting central, women only closest to the stage.

“You know, some people come all the way from Japan and England and Australia just to watch these shows. Not even on vacation, just to see Elvis. The other night, I was talking to some people from South Africa!”

“Well, older folks have more money I guess,” Laura murmured, sipping her champagne.

“It’s not just older people,” she murmured, hearing how defensive she sounded. Laura shrugged, but didn’t reply as the lights started to go down.

The show passed in a blur of lights, sounds and, of course, music. Sally could tell that Elvis was getting more comfortable on the stage with each show, the patter between each song was becoming longer, sometimes surreal, usually funny, and he was cutting up during the songs more, swapping lyrics, usually for something dirty. The audiences seemed to enjoy it, and he certainly seemed to thrive on that.

Joe appeared during the piano intro for ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love.’ This time, he didn’t ask them to come backstage, he just gave them a smirk and gestured for them to go ahead of him.

In the wood panelled outer dressing room, Sally recognised some of the stars in the crowd, there were the actors from the Mod Squad, over there was Glen Campbell, but there was only one face she was looking for. She stayed back as the inner dressing room door opened, there was a glimpse of fleur-de-lis wallpaper, and Elvis came out.

Sally thought he looked anxious as he emerged, but even as her brain was registering it, his face relaxed into his usual charismatic smirk and he scanned the room. She averted her eyes, her stomach fluttering manically, and tried to look casual. She twitched a nervous smile at a stranger across the room and looked around for Laura, finding her beaming up at a tall, tanned older man.

Shaking her head, Sally turned back and almost banged her nose on Elvis’ chest.

“Oh!”

“Snuck up on ya, didn’t I!” He looked pretty pleased with himself even as he grabbed her forearm so that she didn’t stumble back. He pulled on her arm a little harder, tugging her towards him so that he could lean down and give her a lingering kiss on the cheek. She felt a wave of goosebumps ripple up her spine as her hand brushed against his suit jacket and his cologne tickled her nose.

“You did, I almost pulled out my pepper spray.”

“Pepper spray?! Hell, that ain’t no good, honey, that’s just seasoning. We oughta see about getting you a gun.”

“Oh, no thank you,” she replied, pulling a face.

“Not a big one,” he reassured her, like that was the problem. “You know, they make ‘em small enough that you can just put it in your purse.”

She envisioned fishing around for a mint or lipstick and shooting herself instead.

“I think I’m more comfortable with the pepper spray.”

Elvis pulled a face that told her that he wasn’t, but luckily they were interrupted by one of his famous guests, who leant right across her to shake Elvis’ hand and pat him on the shoulder. Sally moved back before she was elbowed. She almost stepped on the foot of a man behind her who was wearing a jacket covered in Elvis pins. It was a comedy of errors as she shuffled and circled and edged out of everyone’s way. She found herself pressed up against a decorative carpet that hung against the wall, overshadowed by a dark wood cabinet. It didn’t feel that different from the showroom, standing at a distance, watching him say his lines and his audience beaming at him. Even off stage he was still always giving a performance.

After about half an hour, the tall man who had delivered her bracelet- Sonny- gave her a pleasant smile and asked her to come with him. She glanced over at where Elvis was explaining something with animated hand gestures to a rapt group of men and women. The group let out a loud collective laugh as Sally grabbed Laura and they followed Sonny from the room.

“Where’s Elvis?” Laura asked as they walked along the bland tiled corridor towards the elevators.

“He’ll be coming along,” Sonny replied, pausing to introduce himself. Laura’s eyes lingered on him a little longer and Sally looked down to hide her knowing smile.

The elevator ride felt like an interrogation as Laura questioned Sonny on himself, on Elvis, on Hollywood, and anything else that caught her attention. Laura’s enthusiasm was unphased by Sonny’s stoicism, even after he mentioned his fiancée. Sally envied her friend’s confidence and self-assurance. Laura was the top saleswoman back home every month because she had a knack of dragging customers into conversations and building rapport with them so that when she mentioned that she was worried that they were not sufficiently covered by insurance, or that they could get that home renovation done now if they just signed up for a little, low-interest home loan, they felt they were being advised by a friend. If anyone had told Sally that one of them would get noticed by Elvis while on vacation, she would have bet all her cash on Laura.

Up in the Imperial suite, Sonny brought the women a drink and settled them in the den like they were his house guests. He seemed to have succumbed to Laura’s charms, sitting beside her on the couch and stretching out his arm behind her. Sally clutched her drink and surveyed the room, pretending to be intensely interested in the chandelier as Laura giggled quietly off to her right.

Finally, the door of the suite burst open and half a dozen guys strode in together. They all seemed to be talking at once, laughing at some in-joke. Elvis appeared amidst the group and the corner of his mouth twitched up as he caught sight of her. He made a beeline for her as his entourage peeled off and headed in different directions. Joe handed him a bottle of water, still talking to him, but it didn’t slow Elvis’ stride as he came and stood in front of her.

Without a word, he took the drink from her and placed it on the side table, then grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“C’mon, honey, let’s go hide.”

Sally bit down on her lips to stop herself grinning like a cartoon as he tugged her along behind him. He took big strides so she had to half jog in her heels to keep up and she kept her eyes on the floor to make sure she didn’t trip on the thick carpet or any hidden steps.

In the bedroom, he slowed down as he purposefully closed the door, leaning on it for a moment before he turned round and smiled at her. She shivered involuntarily at the light twinkling in his eyes.

“Hi.”

“Hello,” she giggled and he bit his lip as he moved toward her, his eyes taking her in with an almost predatory hunger. His lips pressed softly against hers even as she felt him gathering her up, his hand around the back of her head, the other on the small of her back, sliding up as he pressed her into him.

Sally almost sagged in his arms as the anticipation and tension she had felt since leaving him passed liked waves from her body. She didn’t realise he was moving the both of them backwards until the side of the bed hit her calves and she made a squeaking noise against his mouth as she wobbled. Elvis’ grip of her tightened even as her arms tensed around his athletic frame, trying to keep herself upright.

Elvis pulled back from the waist up, his eyes opening slowly, thick black lashes flickering against his cheeks, as if he didn’t want to quite let go of the kiss. It only made her want to launch herself back at him, but she suspected he knew that.

“Man, I been thinking about this ever since I saw you in that dress,” he murmured, his hand dragging around her waist from her back and his long fingers tickling underneath the short hem.

Sally had already worn all of her good outfits to his shows, so she had borrowed a green mini dress from Laura and had spent most of the evening tugging it down.

“You wear this for me, honey?” His warm breath tickled her neck as he leant in to pepper her jaw and throat with soft butterfly kisses. “You ain’t trying to get me in trouble now, are you.”

At the same time, her thighs tingled with goosebumps at the feel of his callused fingers trailing up to the edge of her underwear beneath her skirt.

Part of her was protesting that this was too fast, that he was too much of everything: too experienced, too rich, too famous, too handsome, too Elvis for her. She was so far out of her depth that drowning was inevitable. The problem was that he made drowning look both exciting and pleasurable.

“I wore it because it matched my new bracelet,” she said, slipping her fingers through the opening of his jacket, warmed by his skin and the feel of the coarse chest hair against her fingertips. She could feel the thudding of his heart reverberating through his rib cage and sternum.

His chin dimpled as he peered down, grabbing her hand and pulling her wrist up for examination. She gazed at his face as he inspected her wrist, his left eyebrow twitching with self-satisfaction. She loved the creases at the corners of his mouth, how they made his full lips look sullen even as she knew he was suppressing a smile. It felt like a secret between them.

“You like it, baby?”

Sally shot him a look of disbelief. “Of course, it’s beautiful, Elvis, so beautiful, but you shouldn’t have. It looks expensive.”

“That don’t matter,” he murmured, frowning. “It looks pretty on your little wrist here.” He dipped forward and pressed his lips to the bony part of her wrist. Sally’s whole arm twitched at the heat and velvety softness of his mouth and her stomach fluttered as his pout continued its path round to her pulse point. His hair brushed against her jaw and throat as he leant over pressing kisses up the delicate skin on the inside of her forearm.

“I -uh..” She dropped down onto the bed, even as she was thinking that she was starting to feel a little lightheaded from holding her breath.

He looked like he was holding back a laugh as he asked, ‘You okay, honey?”

“I meant to do that.” She frowned, daring him to contradict her.

“Uh huh.” He nudged her legs open with his knee so that he could step closer and she could feel her skirt sliding to the top of her thighs as he drew in, his thumbs on her jaw tipping her head back so that he could kiss her as he slowly and gently lowered her back onto the bed, his tongue teasing its way into her mouth.

“Well,” he said, pressing his knee into the mattress right at the apex of her thighs, the pressure of him answering the ache beginning to throb there, “I might not get around to the next show, but-” He lifted a mischievous eyebrow. “It’ll be worth it.”

It took every drop of restraint in Sally’s being not to grind down on his thigh, but her self-discipline was almost immediately undermined by Elvis pressing down on her, and she let out a sigh mixed with a moan, catching a glimpse of his smirk before he kissed her again. Yet again, he was performing exactly the show he knew his audience enjoyed.

Trying to find some sense of balance, she let her hands glide down from his shoulder blades, feeling the mechanics of his lean muscles working beneath his suit jacket, and cupped his perfectly round ass. She felt him pause for a second, before he tried to cover his surprise by moving with even more authority, rolling his hips and driving a moan from her that had her turning her face into his neck and hiding in embarrassment. He didn’t seem to realise this was what she was doing as he shuddered and showered kisses on her throat and shoulder, pulling back her neckline as far as it could go so he could taste her pink, sun-kissed skin.

Sally felt his teeth clamp down lightly on the muscle in her shoulder before he drew back, depriving her of his spicy warmth, so that he could shrug off his suit jacket. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything underneath and she couldn’t stop herself reaching out to touch his skin, running her fingertips up his sides and making him twitch and hiccup a laugh before he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her head. Her bracelet bit into her skin from the pressure, but she didn’t fight it or protest.

“This okay?” he asked softly, his face looking suddenly very boyish and vulnerable. It was unexpected and helped ease some of her nerves as she gazed up at him and nodded. Her lips were swollen and tingly, seemingly a side effect of being in close proximity to him, and she bit down on her bottom lip, trying to stop herself from panting too needily. He groaned, mumbling about how she was going to be the end of him, and sank back down into kissing and rubbing and pressing against her as she shivered and writhed and pressed right back.

Sally’s skirt was now somewhere around her waist and her restraint was buried somewhere in the sand outside of Las Vegas along with everything else that people from this city found themselves forsaking. She hooked her fingers into the tight waistband of his pants and tugged impatiently even as her tongue was sliding against his.

“Hey, whoa whoa, easy, baby,” he mumbled into her mouth. “We got plenty of time. I got you to myself all night, right?” She nodded dumbly. “That’s right, we made a deal.”

Despite his words, he walked his fingers up her thigh and her breath stuttered in her throat as he slipped his thumb into the warmest, wettest part of her. His eyes crinkled slightly and his mouth fell slightly open as he studied her face, which she was desperately trying not to screw up into unflattering expressions as he circled and dragged the pad of his thumb over her slippery skin, flooding her with sensation, before slowing and ebbing back, letting her breathe and float for moment. He seemed to take her efforts to be quiet and composed as a personal challenge, shifting his hips to get more comfortable and pressing himself against her thigh, before pulling out his thumb from the leg of her underwear and insert his whole hand into the front.

“S’okay,” he whispered, panting softly, as he played her like an instrument with his delicate fingers and she bit down on a whine. She could see where his mascara was beginning to smudge below his eyes as they both lost their cool both figuratively and literally.

Sally felt sweat trickle from her hairline down behind her neck and she shifted slightly. Elvis glanced up from where he was watching the movement of his hand and his heavy-lidded eyes seemed to assess her. In one smooth movement, he rolled onto his back, his hand still working in her underwear, and reached over to grab a pillow from the top of the bed.

The next thing she knew she was being thwacked lightly in the face with it.

“No, wait, that ain’t right,” he remarked dryly, picking it up again and smirking at her disgruntled expression beneath. “Lift your head, honey.” She clasped her hair in one hand and raised her head so that he could tug the pillow into place with his free hand, grunting slightly as he tried to keep himself up at the same time.

As soon as he was satisfied she was comfortable, he leant back over to kiss the air from her, increasing the pressure of his fingers as they began to sink into her while his thumb strummed at the bundle of nerves, making her twitch and writhe.

“Oh God,” Sally breathed, clasping at his neck and the damp tendrils of his hair. She couldn’t decide where to touch him, still not able to believe that she could. Her hands moved from his neck to his shoulders to his back, brushing his narrow waist, kneading his perfect ass and squeezing his thighs.

As the knot tightened in her belly, her muscles tensed and she began to moan freely, losing her inhibitions, she palmed at the firm bulge in his pants. He growled softly, pressing his face to her chest and resting his warm, sweaty cheek against her decolletage, scratching her with his sideburn. It felt like he was everywhere, leaving nowhere for her to retreat and hide, making it impossible to stay calm and demure, giving her no way to hold it together.

His fingers prodded deeper, causing the swell of the waves of pleasure in her gut to break and ripple through her body. She whimpered into his damp hair as stimulation so intense that it was almost painful rolled over her, making her thighs clench and her toes curl. The aftershocks made her twitch and he huffed a laugh into her temple, giving her pussy a scritch like it was actually his pet.

Sally shot him a disapproving look, a little embarrassed at how completely he had taken her apart with just his hand. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he wasn’t responsible for what he did.

While she slowed her breathing and felt the unwelcome return of her inhibitions, Elvis hovered over her, straightening her underwear and diligently pulling down her skirt. He moved up, adjusting her neckline and pulling the shoulder of her dress back into place. Sally hoped they hadn’t stretched it, because she knew Laura would make her pay for another and she suspected it wasn’t from a catalogue like Sally’s own dresses.

“All better,” he pronounced in a soft, babyish voice, looking down at her body. When his eyes returned to her face however, he snorted softly. “Up here’s a different story though, baby, up here you’s a mess!”

“Noooo!” she protested, her hands going up to her hair, feeling the damp frizz and knots as he gave a cartoonish cackle and nodded. She pouted and reached up, vigorously ruffling his hair and pushing it in his face. “There, now we match!”

There was a pause and her stomach dropped as she thought that maybe she had crossed a line, but then he laughed and shook his head, swiping his black hair out of his eyes before he swiftly straddled her and obliterated any hope she had that her hairdo was salvageable. She wrinkled her nose and blew a lock of hair off her face.

“You made me do that!” he informed her. “I didn’t have no choice.” He did one of his patented sullen smirks as he picked up a long lock of her hair and laid it across her forehead like a monobrow. His laughter vibrated through her and his thighs tightly clamped her hips as she batted at her face and knocked her hair away.

“You are a public menace,” she informed him.

“You ain’t the first person to say that,” he nodded. “First person with a bird’s nest on their head to say it though maybe…”

In spite of his playful tone and the calming endorphins flooding her body, she was starting to feel self-conscious and she tried to roll over and escape his grip.

“Okay, let me up.”

“Honey, I’m just teasing. It ain’t that bad.” The expression on his face contradicted his words. She shoved at his thighs, trying to push herself free, and quickly discovered when her hand slid up that she might have been a mess, but she was apparently an exciting mess.

It was another twenty minutes of rolling around on the bed before she made it to the bathroom to examine the damage to her hair. It was as bad as she had feared, and she rooted around in the drawers and cabinets looking for a brush or comb to attempt triage. During her search, she found three pistols, some amber bottles of medication with a range of names printed on them, and a photo of a cute blond-haired baby, before she finally found what she was looking for.

Two hours of curlers and teasing and half a can of hairspray wasted, she vigorously brushed her abused hair into long brown curtains on either side of her face and wet some tissue to wipe away her smudged and smeared eye make-up.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Elvis was laying on the bed and he did a double take as she came out.

“What?” she asked, pausing nervously.

“Nothing… Nothing, honey.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You just look different with your hair all down like that.”

“I didn’t have much choice now, did I?”

“No, I guess not.” He rolled off the bed and somehow made it onto his feet before he hit the floor, striding over to clasp her head in his hands and kiss her almost chastely. “It looked so pretty before though, honey.”

“Thank you?”

He shook his head sharply. “I mean, you’re still pretty. I don’t even know what I’m saying, man. Sorry, baby.” He kissed her again, this time with more force. “Every time I get up on that stage I think I must shake something loose up there, losing my damn mind. You’re pretty, you’re beautiful, honey.”

Before either of them could speak again, there was a gentle tap on the door.

“E, it’s time.” The guy’s voice was no louder than speaking volume and clearly audible through the door. Sally was horrified, thinking about what they might have heard on the other side of that door. Elvis didn’t seem bothered though, just annoyed that their time together had to end, but then he was probably used to all of this.

“I gotta go to work, honey. Sold my soul to Kirk Kevorkian for a hundred thousand a week and I’m starting to think I’m the one that got snowed.” One side of his mouth twitched up into a half smile as he rose, but she didn’t quite understand what his expression was trying to convey. And in in an instant, it was gone.

“You coming to the show?” he asked with a bashful smile.

“If that’s okay with you?”

At this, he cupped her face in his large hands and kissed her, nipping her bottom lip between his teeth before pressing his forehead against hers.

“You ain’t real,” he told her, to her confusion. “There ain’t no way you’re real.”

“Funny,” she replied, “I think the same about you.”

As he walked her to the main door of the suite like they were on a surreal date, he told her not to bother coming down to the stage for a kiss at the midnight show.

“Oh,” she murmured, a little deflated. “I did exceed my allocation after all then?” He gave her an amused little frown.

“The way you talk, honey! Naw, I just got something else in mind. Don’t go messing with my plans, now, okay?” He gave her a peck, motioning to someone behind her. Laura reappeared, straightening her dress slightly and looking sheepish. Sally looked from her to Sonny wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The midnight show, her fifth now in three days, confirmed that the tummy flip when Elvis appeared on stage was a permanent thing. Meeting him, talking to him, hadn’t lessened her wonder and awe at his talent and energy. If anything, seeing him up close in the flesh and learning more about him only made that huge presence he projected seem that much more impressive.

“Does it bother you?” Laura asked curiously, pouring herself a glass of champagne from the magnum resting in an ice bucket. They hadn’t ordered it, it had just been presented to them with the assurance that there was no charge.

“What?” Sally asked. Laura nodded towards the stage where Elvis was crouched down in front of a couple of women who were giving him a gift. He gave them both deep, effusive kisses, going back for seconds from one of them.

“Why would it bother me?” she laughed. “if he didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have got to kiss him.”

“Exactly,” Laura said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Sally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the show.

Elvis didn’t introduce Love Me Tender until later in the set, leaving Sally wondering what he was talking about when he said he had a plan. When he finally started the introduction, she suddenly became vigilant, like she was waiting for an ambush.

At first, nothing seemed much different, Elvis sang a little, kissed a lot and the band persevered, playing verse after verse. Then, after walking to the wings, he just… didn’t stop. She watched his dark head drop down into the crowd and pandemonium broke out. People- women- were charging down from the back of the showroom, the audience were laughing and whooping as girls called Elvis’ name and begged to be able to touch him.

“God, they’re going to eat him alive!” Laura laughed, as they both craned their necks to follow the knot of people moving through the crowd.

Sally watched as people tried to climb over tables just to reach out and touch his arm as he passed by. He was being jostled by the press of his own bodyguards and then the fans begging for kisses. Her eyes widened as she realised the procession and growing mob were heading toward their booth; blue uniformed security guards were already appearing behind her, ready to marshal him through safely.

A beautiful blond managed to step into Elvis’ path as he almost reached the back of their booth. Sally and Laura had turned in their seats and were kneeling up on the red velvet cushions, watching the circus. He clasped the blonde’s face, just as he had done Sally’s only an hour earlier, and kissed her on the lips. Sally wondered if maybe she should be feeling jealous, but the truth was that she really just felt empathy with the woman, understanding how exciting and delicious it was to be kissed by him.

Despite the pressing and the chaos, he managed to pause at their booth, his tanned hand replete in gold rings gripping the white scrollwork to fight the momentum pushing him on. He gave her a lopsided grin as he leant in.

“How’d you like my plan? Seemed a good idea at the time.” He almost stumbled as he was jostled from behind.

“Not bad for a public menace,” she grinned, wrapping her fingers around his sweaty neck and almost sighing against his soft lips. A security guard stepped closer as if she was an overexcited fan that he was going to have to drag away, but she drew away before he could reach out and grab her.

“See ya later!” Elvis called over his shoulder, taken by the current. As he was swept on, she only heard the word ‘deal’ float back through the screams and whooping and laughter.

Turning round and smiling at Laura, Sally licked her lips and savoured the salt there. 

Tag list:

@itsnotthatserious03 @everythingelvispresley @bigromansgirl-blog, @sillybookmarks, @returntopresley

As always, shout out to the Elvis harem: @thatbanditqueen, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @missmaywemeetagain, @peskybedtime

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout: New Vegas Day: Matthew Perry

A tribute to Matthew Perry was added to the General Store wall in Goodsprings, which we spotted at the Fallout: New Vegas Day event.

Rest in peace, Matthew Perry. You'll always be in our hearts and memories!

[kply-industries]

I was confused as to why there's a casino called "California" in an old clip of Las Vegas from the 60's. I mean, California is a bordering state, weird theme.

So I looked it up, and it's still there. And the first thing it tells me on their website is, "Aloha spoken here", because they're leaning heavily into a Hawaiian theme, I guess. This is very fucking confusing, and I'm jealous of their convoluted theming.

[balanchine-ballet-master]

The Story of the Original "Tea" Dancer

There was a delightful story in the Times on February 4th about George Lee, on whom Balanchine created the Tea variation in The Nutcracker. Here it is.

From Ballet to Blackjack, a Dance Pioneer’s Amazing Odyssey

George Lee was the original Tea in “George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker.” A documentary filmmaker found him and a lost part of ballet history in Las Vegas.

By Siobhan Burke Feb. 4, 2024

Among the blaring lights and all-hours amusements of downtown Las Vegas, in a sea of slot machines at the Four Queens Hotel and Casino, George Lee sits quietly at a blackjack table, dealing cards eight hours a day, five days a week, a job he’s been doing for more than 40 years.

Lee, 88, was likely in his usual spot when the filmmaker Jennifer Lin was sifting through old photos at the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts in 2022, wondering what had become of a dancer with a notable place in ballet history. Pictured in a publicity shot for the original production of “George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker,” in the role known as Tea, was a young Asian dancer identified as George Li.

For Lin, a veteran newspaper reporter turned documentarian, the picture raised intriguing questions. In 1954, when the photo was taken, it was rare to see dancers of color on the stage of New York City Ballet, the company Balanchine co-founded. Who was this young man, this breaker of racial barriers, this pioneer? Was he still alive? And if so, what was he up to? “I became absolutely obsessed with trying to find out what happened to George Li,” Lin said in a video interview.

In just over a year, that obsession has blossomed into a short film, “Ten Times Better,” that chronicles the unexpected story of Lee’s life: from his childhood in 1940s Shanghai, where his performing career began; to a refugee camp in the Philippines, where he fled with his mother, a Polish ballet dancer, in 1949; to New York City and the School of American Ballet, where Balanchine cast him in “The Nutcracker” to “Flower Drum Song” on Broadway, his first of many musical theater gigs; and ultimately, to Las Vegas, where he left dance for blackjack dealing in 1980. (He changed the spelling of his last name in 1959, when he became a United States citizen.)

The film will have its premiere on Feb. 10 as part of the Dance on Camera Festival at Film at Lincoln Center. Lee, who last visited New York in 1993, will be in town for the occasion, an opportunity for long-overdue recognition.

“So many years I haven’t done ballet,” Lee said over coffee at the Four Queens on a recent Sunday, after his shift. “And then suddenly Jennifer comes and tries to bring everything up. To me, it was like a shock.”

George Lee today. He has been a blackjack dealer in Las Vegas for more than 40 years. Photo: Saeed Rahbaran for The New York Times

But Lin’s interest has been welcome. “Jennifer is so perfect, she knows exactly everything,” he said. “She knows my background more than I do.”

Lin was not the only one who had been searching for Lee. In 2017, while organizing an exhibition on “The Nutcracker,” Arlene Yu, who worked for the New York Public Library at the time and is now Lincoln Center’s head archivist, was puzzled by the relatively few traces of him in the library’s vast dance collection.

“I think I’d tracked him down to 1961, but after that, it was really hard to find anything,” she said. “Whereas if you look at some of his peers in ‘The Nutcracker’ in 1954, they went on to careers where there was a lot more documentation.”

Lin’s fascination with Lee emerged through her work on another film, about Phil Chan and Georgina Pazcoguin, the founders of Final Bow for Yellowface, an initiative focused on ending offensive depictions of Asians in ballet. The role of Tea, a divertissement historically rife with such stereotypes—in Balanchine’s canonical version of “The Nutcracker” and others—has been a flashpoint in those efforts. Chan, too, had been struck by the 1954 images of “The Nutcracker,” which he came across during a library fellowship in 2020.

“I’m like, wait, there’s actually a Chinese guy,” he said — as opposed to a non-Chinese dancer with the saffron makeup or heavily painted eyes or even the artificial buck teeth worn in some old productions. “Who is this guy? And why do I not know about him?”

The "Tea" variation in The Nutcracker at City Ballet in 2015. The dancers are Ralph Ippolito, Claire Von Enck, and Baily Jones. Photo: Andrea Mohin for The New York Times

Lee, in his heyday, was a dancer to know. At just 12, he was already winning public praise. In a preview of a recital of the King-Yanover School in Shanghai, the North China Daily News called him an “extremely promising young Chinese boy, whose technique is of a very high standard.” A reviewer wrote that he “already may be said to be the best Chinese interpreter of Western ballet.” (Lee saved these newspaper clippings and shared them with Lin when they eventually met.)

Born in Hong Kong in 1935, Lee moved to Shanghai with his mother in 1941, when Shanghai was under Japanese occupation. During World War II, his father, a Chinese acrobat, was in Kunming in western China; he died in an accident on his way to visit Lee in 1945.

Lee’s mother, Stanislawa Lee, who had danced with the Warsaw Opera, was his first ballet teacher; as a child, he would follow along with her daily barre exercises. Shanghai had a significant Russian population, and with that a robust ballet scene. To earn money, Stanislawa arranged for her son to perform in nightclubs—“like a polka dance, or Russian dance, or sailor dance,” Lee said. The clubs would pay them in rice.

Little George Li in his Shanghai days. Photo: George Lee private collection via the NY Times

Fearing the Chinese Communist Party’s takeover in 1949, the two evacuated to the Philippines. An expected four months as refugees turned into two years. In 1951, an American friend of Lee’s father sponsored them to come to New York, where he introduced Lee to the School of American Ballet, City Ballet’s affiliated school.

As Lee narrates these twists and turns in the film, one memory anchors his recollections. Before they immigrated, his mother issued a warning. “You are going to America, it’s all white people, and you better be 10 times better,” he recalls her saying. “Remember that: 10 times better!”

The footage of Lee in his 20s suggests he took that advice to heart. In television appearances — with the company of the ballet star André Eglevsky, and in a number from “Flower Drum Song” on the Ed Sullivan Show — his power and precision dazzle.

“He was good; he was really good,” Chan said. “Clean fifth, high jump, polished turns, stick the landing—the training is all there. He’s already 10 times better than everybody else.”

In a 1979 interview heard in the film, the former City Ballet soloist Richard Thomas, who took over the role of Tea, raves about Lee’s peerless acrobatic jumps: “He was wonderful! Balanchine choreographed a variation for him that none of us have ever been able to equal.”

As Lee remembers it, Balanchine spent 15 minutes with him in the studio. “He said, ‘What can you do good? Show me what you can do good,’ so I show him something,” Lee said. “I did things like splits and double turns, down and up, turn again like a ball, and that’s it. He picked up some things and put them together.”

George Li as a student at the School of American Ballet. Photo: George Lee private collection via the NY Times

He recalled that during a “Nutcracker” dress rehearsal, the City Ballet makeup artist put him in full yellowface, and Balanchine insisted he take off the makeup. “He is Asian enough! Why do you make him more?” he remembers Balanchine saying. Lee was costumed in the Fu Manchu mustache, queue ponytail and rice paddy hat often associated with the role, now widely critiqued as racist caricatures. But he said he didn’t take offense. “Dancing is dancing,” he said.

Lee performed in “The Nutcracker” as a student; he was never invited to join City Ballet. But he clearly excelled in his classes and onstage. For that, he credits his strong foundation of Russian training in China — and his mother’s exacting standards. He can still see her standing in the studio doorway at the School of American Ballet, observing closely.

“She was watching the class and then would go home and tell me, ‘You did this wrong or that wrong, you got to do it this way,’” he said. “So I really worked hard, and I was good.” (His favorite teacher at the school was the demanding Anatole Oboukhoff: “He always wanted more, and that’s why I liked him very much.”)

To make a living Lee turned to musical theater, performing in shows like “Baker Street” on Broadway and the cabaret “Carol Channing with her 10 Stout-Hearted Men,” which opened in London. He pieced together jobs for more than 20 years, often unsure of what would come next.

Lee in flight in a production of “Flower Drum Song” in Las Vegas in the early 1960s. Photo: George Lee personal collection via the NY Times

He was dancing in a Vegas revue, “Alcazar de Paris,” now in his 40s, when a blackjack dealer friend suggested he go to dealer school. “I can’t dance all my life,” he remembers thinking. He decided to give dealing a try and soon landed a job at the Four Queens. Aside from four years at another casino, he has worked there ever since.

In December 2022, he got a voice mail message from Lin. With her reporting skills and some crucial assists from Yu, she had determined that he lived in Las Vegas. Of the five phone numbers she found for George Lees, four led nowhere; his was the last she tried.

When they finally connected, she put her other project on hold to focus on his story; she and her small creative team had a final cut by November. “George is 88, and I wanted him to be able to enjoy this moment, where people recognize him for his dancing,” she said.

As he prepares to return to New York, Lee said he felt gratified, most of all, for his mother.

“I’m proud for her that I didn’t let her down,” he said. “It makes me feel better to look up at her and say: ‘Look, mother, now you see what’s happening, what you did for me. You gave me all the good foundation, everything. Through you, I’m here now.’”

George Lee today. Photo: Saeed Rahbaran for The New York Times

[bitter69uk]

Born on this day: brash, charismatic and sexy rock’n’roll pioneer Chuck Berry (Charles Edward Anderson Berry, 18 October 1926 – 18 March 2017). I managed to see him perform just once – at Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender 2010. The consensus was that the then-84-year-old Berry sounded like he was struggling; on the plus side, from a distance he still resembled a brown-eyed handsome man, and it was a spine-tingling moment to see him do his signature duck walk. He also still exuded a genuine whiff of sleaze and danger. My favourite song of his will always be the hushed eerie blues lament “Stop and Listen.”

[octuscle]

Headed to the airport and thought I got on to the flight to Las Vegas but ended up on the flight to South Texas International Airport, not sure how that will work out for me, any ideas?

Las Vegas! A weekend of raucous parties. Gambling. Alcohol. You even had tickets to see Celine Dion. It was supposed to be an orgy in colorful LED and neon lights. And now you are standing here at this airport. The crickets are chirping. The men are wearing cowboy hats and boots. And you are wearing pink hot pants with matching chucks. And sweetie: The glitter top is really too tight for you, you should get yourself a size bigger.

And what should you do now? Take a rental car? You don't have a driver's license! One of the cowboys looks at you questioningly. He spits out his chewing tobacco and asks you something. After a second you think you have guessed what he asked you. Whether he can take you into town. Since you have no idea what else to do, you gratefully accept.

"An? Hare fahwar thuh rodeo?"

You think the question is a joke. But anyway, you say yes.

"Ah thought so. Yawl look lahk uh man who knows how tuh handle uh horse. "  

You giggle silly and hysterical. You wanted a unicorn tattoo once. But you were too scared of the needle. You pull yourself together. And say that you love animals.

"Say, Ah know yawl… Dja go tuh Sharyland Pioneer Ha Skoo?"   

"Pete? Fucking… Sure, we were in the same class together."

Pete doesn't make a face, just takes his right hand off the wheel and high-fives you. You ask if you can have some of his Copenhagen.

"So? Tell may, Connor. Iz chur luggage at thuh hotel yet?"

"Saddle, chaps and vest are delivered in advance", you answer. "But thuh rest uh mah luggage iz still sumwhere between Saint Louis an hare."

"Bro, let's go pick up chur stuff at thuh hotel. An then yawl come tuh may. Thayure's plenty uh room at thuh ranch. An Ahl defnutly hav sumpn fahwar yawl tuh wear."  

"Fuck, great, bro! Yawl know Ah hate thuh city. An Ah hope yawl hav sumpn tuh ride in on thuh ranch. Ah need sum trainin' before thuh rodeo."

"Hehehehe, is yawl tawkin' bout may, thuh Mexican stable boy or wunna thuh year ode stallions."

"Raht in thet order, bro!"

Fuck, you guys have never talked to each other that much. Not all junior high, not all high school. What luck you met Pete, you can't imagine better preparation for the rodeo. The hottest ass in South Texas. And the wildest stallions. I wish you the best of luck!

Thanks to @cowboyupcowboy2016 for the hot pic!