I've come from the land of the Rat Pack with a message of Hope. I hope to get back there soon.

Vegas is a kind of medicine for a flagging soul.  But be warned, 'tis a dangerous narcotic.  It is fine in small amounts for whatever ails you, but too much and you become an addict.

I do gamble, but for small stakes and for fun, not for profit.  I like seeing shows and walking about the various shops.  I buy strange souvenirs, and watch the people.

The best people come out just after the sun rises.  And they're not in the casinos.  They are out on the street.

Two guys, several blocks apart, talking to nobody and dancing down the street.  I considered introducing them to each other, so at the very least, it would look like they were having a conversation....with dancing.

Two women, trying desperately to flag a cab on the street; not realizing that it's illegal in Las Vegas for cab drivers to do street fares.  Flagging and cursing; flagging and cursing.

Joggers.  I admire their tenacity to run in even the early morning heat, but I most admire the funny clothes they wear.

People staggering into the early bars.  People staggering out of the same early bars.  The ones staggering out look the happier.

People walking around with these huge, foot-long glasses of various alcoholic drinks.  Those are the people I want to find in the morning, and follow them around doing a marching band cymbal solo.  Just for fun.

Oh, my GOD the food.

If you're ever at Bally's....try the Steakhouse there.  It's old school, and I will dream of that lovely cut of beef for a looooong time.  Or, the Chicken and Bacon Club sandwich on Sourdough bread at the cafe in Paris.  Ooh.  La. La.

Now, I'm back to reality.

Pity.

But if occasional trips to the City of Sin is the only vice I have remaining.....PLAY ON.