Vegas pt. 2: always be fabulous

This is the last installment of my Vegas travelogue. We didn't really do much on Tuesday night or Wednesday morning, and we left on Wednesday afternoon, so anything I'd write would be along the lines of "We walked to this casino then that casino, we ate, we shopped, we gambled, lather rinse repeat."

One rather funny anecdote, though: when my dad and I were waiting for our luggage, an elderly woman came up to him and said, "Wanna see the hottest babe on the strip?" She handed him a picture of a woman in a bikini, and we were both like wut. Then I realized it was one of those novelty pictures where they Photoshop your face onto someone else's body, and it was HER face. We started laughing, and she sat down and basically flirted with Daddy-O until our luggage came. I want to be her when I grow up.

Considering the horrible, horrible price I would pay for my Vegas trip (i.e. the worst food poisoning I have ever had in my life, to the point where the Jesus & Mary Chain lyric "And the way I feel tonight/I could die and I wouldn't mind" seemed incredibly appropriate), would I go back and do it all over again?

Duh.

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I’ve been to Vegas at least a dozen times in my life, but I’d never been to the Liberace Museum.

It was time to remedy that shameful oversight.

So on Tuesday morning, a somewhat reluctant Daddy-O and I hopped into a cab. As we were riding there, I leaned over and said, “Oh, just so you know, Dad. I’ve read in a couple of places that the Liberace Museum is staffed by rabid volunteer fans, and some of them go APESHIT if you say anything about Liberace being gay.”

“Are you kidding me?!?”

Our cab driver nodded. “It’s true, man.”

Now, I was expecting it to be kitschy, but I had no idea. NONE AT ALL. If you’re a fan of kitsch, sheer over-the-top extravagance, Vegas history, closeted Polish piano players, people watching (the tourists included elderly Midwesterners, gay guys, and---I shit you not---a huge group of blind people), and/or fabulosity, the Liberace Museum is a MUST SEE. Worth the $15 and then some.
My words cannot possibly do this place justice, so on to the pictures.

The exterior:







A selection of the fabulous cars. Unfortunately many of my pictures didn’t come out well, because my camera was overcome by AWESOME and malfunctioned.











And, of course, you need a matching tool kit.





Costumes dripping in rhinestones, sequins, feathers, and fur:
















The world’s largest rhinestone. Yes!





Rhinestone hard hats!





Pianos!





(There were way more than two, but most of my pictures didn’t come out because you weren’t allowed to use flash.)

My glorious souvenir, which now sits on my bathroom vanity to remind me to always be fabulous:





And finally, folks, here it is. The picture you’ve been waiting for, the aforementioned Greatest Picture of Anyone or Anything Ever Taken. I'm not going to reduce it so you can fully appreciate its glory.





Your eyes are not deceiving you. That is a picture of my beloved 62-year-old father THROWING THE SHOCKER next to a wax statue of Liberace.

…hey, I come by my weird brand of filth honestly.