May 29, 2017:
My options are: Privacy Please, Make Up Suite, and Anything Anytime. I'm not at all in the mood for whatever the latter might be.
Too many people. 40,000 attending the same conference. The sidewalks are jammed, the trains are jammed, the conference rooms are jammed. Lines for restaurants and for elevators and for everything else.
The worst are the aggressive street advertisers pushing pamphlets into your chest. I'm so surprised and threatened by one that I literally elbow him in the throat while throwing his fliers to the sidewalk.
It's not possible to reach the street without passing through an indoor mall featuring simulated weather. It's ridiculous and offensive. Those are the hotel's only doors.
In a week I see only one woman I'd definitely identify as a prostitute. They must be everywhere, all over the conferees; but she's the only one I'm sure of. Asian, leaving a room quietly, looking at me quizzitively in the hall.
My room has an enormous jacuzzi tub big enough for ten. I suppose it's a honeymoon room. I don't know.
The casinos are filled with cigarette smoke and desperation. No-one laughs. The people look stunned, or drugged.
I hate it. I'm desperate to leave, and when I do I find the passes west are closed so that I have to drive all the way north to Reno and another hotel casino for an unplanned night, before cruising down Donner Pass at first light, anxious to be home.
People like these places?