Please note: Parts of this blog that are bolded have been 'edited' for quality and classification concerns. If you are reading this, you are also entering into an agreement not to tell my beautiful, innocent nonna anything incriminating.
I come to you today from my Chicago hostel 'the getaway', fresh from a long run along the North Avenue Beach, feeling fatigued, old, a little sun burnt and, most importantly, happy. Content.
I have a really, really good feeling about this place.
Today is my first day on the east coast and what should be a whole new experience compared to the last two weeks spent under the sun and bright lights of the west coast and Las Vegas.
My time on the west coast was like one really long Beach Boys song.
San Diego provided everything I hoped it would. Beaches, new friends, great times with old contiki friends AJ DePaolo and Max Carpinelli and an intimate hostel that featured poker nights, pub crawls and enough drinking games to permanently damage my liver.
Los Angeles provided all of the cheesy tourist attractions, crazy people, beautiful sights, another good hostel, fun theme parks and more great people.
I've passed the halfway point.
My bank account is just holding its head above the water, my suitcase has just about kicked the bucket and my t-shirts are beginning to look like they've been washed by a 25-year-old guy with no idea about how to correctly use a washer and dryer. Despite that, Holiday Dom and I are soldiering on.
I was sitting in a restaurant last night, looking at a slightly out-of-shape American guy, who was holding hands with his beautiful girlfriend.
While I sat there, trying my best not to storm over there and shake his hand, I had a thought.
This guy, who was also sporting a ponytail and wearing a Star Trek t-shirt, has clearly used all of his luck (or money) in life getting that amazing girl, who had a smile that lit up the whole room... have I used up all of my luck on this trip? Or can I carry this on for a while longer?
Time (and maybe a second Collingwood premiership in five weeks time) will tell.
Talking of the need for luck, I turn to my four days in Las Vegas... what I remember of them.
After a month of solo travel, I was joined by my cousin Ross Marotta in Los Angeles and armed with enthusiasm, pluck and that excitement that I now know comes from ignorance and stupidity - we flew out of LA and on to Vegas early on the morning of August 28.
I think the best way to provide a commentary of the trip is in running diary form. Without further adue...
Day 1
10am: Arrive in Las Vegas. We are greeted by slot machines, excited elderly people armed with their pensions and advertising for machine guns, sex shows and David Copperfield - that was all before we can make it out of the airport.
Arrive at the world-famous Bellagio.
How can I put this in perspective... after four weeks of staying in hostels, sharing bathrooms, bunk beds, mysterious smells and 'do it yourself' breakfasts, this hotel was what I'd imagine heaven to be like. The artwork and surroundings were intricate and breathtaking, the service was beyond anything I've seen and the lobby was filled with people in quiet awe.
12pm: After doing a few adult things like jumping on the bed and trying on the robes, we decide that it's time to gamble.
12.34pm: We get drinks for free at the table. Dear lord in heaven, we get drinks for free at the table!
4pm: After a short stint of gambling and a high-priced lunch in which we paid $8 for a glass of tap water, we head out for a bit of shopping and spend my some of my first winnings.
It's at this stage that we got a sharp reminder that we are in a city that's been crammed into a desert. It has to be at least 45 degrees (celsius) outside. The heat hits us like a punch to the face.
6pm: Now, the plan was to have a little flutter, then go to a local night club... but we never got that far.
7pm: After tracking at about even for an hour and enjoying the free drinks, I go on the run to end all runs. Every decision was the right one, chipping up was always the right move, every big bet pays off and somehow, in amongst bumping fists with the dealer, celebrating with the rest of the table and tipping everyone that came within five metres of me, I look down and see that I'm around one thousand dollars up.
10.22pm: As we bump fists with the dealer, she remarks on how soft Ross' hands are. For the rest of the night he was 'soft hands' Marotta.
10.40pm: I become 'that guy' at the table. I can't lose. I've never had a run like this in my life. Everything I touch turns to black jack. I'm in the gambling zone. We are not leaving this table to go to any night clubs. I'm not leaving this table ever again. I'm going to buy a house and raise my kids at this table.
12.30pm: The casino decided that enough was enough and changed dealers on me. Around $1200 in winnings turned into around $900 so it was time to see what else the town has on offer.
1am: So, armed with a little over $900, free drinks and a high from a night of fun and success, Ross and I decide that enough is enough for one night and that we should hit the sack early. I have a few glasses of water to make sure I'm not too dehydrated, I then stand up and complete my straight and competent walk back to my room. We don't go anywhere else, I don't spend any of my winnings on silly things.
Day 2
11.30am: Where am I? Why is there an un-eaten pizza over there? What time is it?
12pm: After having the night recounted to me and finding most of my $900 in winnings still intact, I decide that it would be a good idea to take advantage of the lavish hotel gymnasium, which is complimentary to guests.
Doing a workout the morning after your first night in Vegas? Mistake.
4pm: After some more rest and a little gambling, we hit up the hotel buffet.
Following weeks of Subway, hostel barbecues, cheeseburgers and whatever the closest vending machine has to offer, this buffet was like a gift from God. Lobster, pastas, prawns, juicy steaks, fresh broccoli - I filled my plate three times and only stopped eating when the button on my pants broke.
7pm: We get ready for The Lion King Musical. Luckily enough, the show was in town and it's something I've always wanted to see.
Good sign.
The show is amazing. The intricate costumes, the atmosphere, the performance - the whole thing transformed me into an excited 8-year-old kid again. After the show finishes, we head back to the Bellagio.
10.30pm: More free drinks, more gambling. It's at this stage that I realise how much fun it is to gamble with the casino's money. That big win on the first night has allowed me to have stress-free fun in a place that can easily eat up your life savings in a haze of drinking, attractive waitresses and the hope of hitting that jackpot.
11pm: Ross returns from the ATM: "Even the bloody ATM machines, the one machine that is SUPPOSE to give me money, won't do it. I'm done for the night."
Day 3
5am: "Dom, wake up. Dom... it's 5am. Get up."
5.50am: With the winnings from the first night, I was able to comfortably afford a limo and helicopter service that would fly us over the city and on to the Grand Canyon.
The limo arrives at 6am to pick us up and we pile in like a bunch of excited, sleep deprived, hungover primary school kids.
7am: After checking in at the airport, we meet our pilot and I bravely get in the helicopter.
The flying over, then landing inside, the Grand Canyon is one of the best things I've done with my life.
Once you reach the floor of the canyon, there are no need for words. You shouldn't waste any time talking when you have to take in the perfection of the natural phenomena. The pictures taken will never do the site true justice, but God help me, I thought I'd try anyway.
A small meal is consumed and we confidently get back in the helicopter and fly back to the strip.
10.30am: With the last night in town ahead of us, we catch up on sleep and re-charge the batteries for one last big night.
7pm: Starting our tour of all the hotels and casinos on the strip, we make it around to three or four before settling in at the Paris Hotel, playing black jack with dealers that were modestly dressed women.
4am: After five solid hours of drinking and gambling, it's time to go. Vegas is done. We head back to our rooms and catch our last few hours of sleep before jetting out of town the next morning.
Vegas. In one small dose, I had an amazing time that I'll never forget. But even though there was so much we didn't do, staying there for any longer than three nights would be too much. Too much on my body, too much on my wallet, too much for my sense of decency.
There is just too much of whatever you want on offer. There's a reason why everyone walks around with that look of quiet awe - Vegas is a fantasy world that we aren't suppose to experience in any kind of extended dose, unless, like the Star Trek fan with the ponytail, you have a lot of luck on your side.
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