Area Code 702; Day 1

Setting the scene for the above photo: 6:13 AM; Pop Tarts, banana, decaf cappucino, and and the drone of CNN Airport - never was there more inane programming. At least it helps blanket the chatter from the Rhodes Scholars sitting around me, aptly debating all the low-brow issues of the day.

Yes, that's my 727 above. Because I'm typing this now from the desert, the craft proved itself sound. Despite the fact that it's avionics were first brought to life before the world knew the name Lee Harvey Oswald, we were still able to get the wheels down without incident. Most of those on the flight seem to have 'peaked' in that era as well, and had there been the terrible need to rush the cockpit, there would not have been too many able to join me.

Terminal 1 at McCarran is still looking ratty, such is charter travel. Outside shockingly sunny to a Tundra dweller like me; low 80's I suppose. The strip seems to have grown to the south, otherwise it's all strangely familiar.

Mirage this time. Where I've stayed in this town is the way I count how many times I've been here; (counting on fingers here) Imperial Palace, Luxor, Paris, Monte Carlo twice - I guess this makes six. The room photo on the hotel's website is shockingly like mine, except I have a view of the freeway and whatever mountains are to the west. Checked in way early, got some lunch, and spent some time by the ol' pool. Now some time to roost before dinner down the street.

Got the mysterious wi-fi working on the laptop thing, so I was able to check out the result from Villa Park. Although I like 'Boro's Hasselbaink and Viduka, bravo to the Hammers for making it to the FA Cup final on Marlon Harewood's strike. Too bad the guy's not in shape. Live it up today, Hammer, for on May 13th you're going down.