So I'm staying in the Las Vegas Hilton, which is directly across the
street from the convention center. To get from my 7th-floor
far-east-wing room to the center of the action, I only have to walk 12
miles. You see a lot of stuff on that journey--slot machine zombies,
frozen in time; some fairly righteous facial hair; despair. By far the
most excellent thing I've noticed so far is the Las Vegas Hilton Barry
Manilow gift shop.
The Hilton, of course, is where Fat Elvis performed 837 consecutive sold-out shows, performing before a cumulative 2.5 million people. The Vegas Hilton is the site of greatness! The King's castle!
And now, well, there's this:
Yes, that is a fridge stocked to bursting with Barry brand agua. Refresh. Re-hydrate. Manilow.
I don't know about you, but nothing evokes the quenching power of cool,
fresh mountain spring water like the He Who Writes the Songs. Drink
deep of Manilow, America. Savor his essence. I know I will.
