My Friend Who Shall Remain Nameless For Reasons of National Security suggested that I start doing a "Where's Auntie?" feature. My impression is that he thinks I do a lot of strange and random crap, and I haven't even told him about the afternoon I spend learning about 17th century herb gardens.
This past Saturday I went to Foxwoods for the Green Corn Powwow. In the previous years, the event was held in a field far from the casino, with lots of exhibitors, a huge tent for the dancing competition, and a rodeo ring for bull riding. This year's Powwow was definitely scaled back - another sign of a bad economy, I guess - and it was held at the MGM Grand Hotel at the Casino.
Here's the thing about the Army Dude and me: we have different body types. When we were sitting outside listening to a Native American storyteller, I was warm and toasty and happy, while the Army Dude was rapidly wilting. When we went inside to check out the vendors and then the Casino, the Army Dude was comfortable and I was in Stage I of hypothermia.
I mention this to explain what we were doing in the unending frigid twilight of a gambling casino on a beautiful day. It's because I'm a saint, gentle readers. A sarcastic saint, but a saint nonetheless.
The only indication that the MGM Grand Hotel has a link to a long and glamorous movie-making history is the movie-themed slot machines. I just had to have my picture taken with Elvis and Ann Margaret in Viva Las Vegas, little knowing until I looked at the picture earlier this morning that there was a mullet of Billy Ray Cyrus proportions to my left. I jumped up and down with girlish glee. My friends, you don't see a mullet like that every day.
The Army Dude did a fine job taking the picture, but I cropped it because I look fat from the waist down. (Madras shorts: cute in person, not photogenic. Let this be a lesson to us all.) I did a big favor to the lady on my left, also. I'm a giver.
Dude, the place is dark. The only place you can see outside at all is in the walkways between the buildings or in the faux-downtown dining-and-shopping area. When you look out those windows, you see miles and miles of forest. Then you turn a corner and you're in the dark, standing next to waterfall that smells of chlorine cascading over a bunch of fake rocks. It's bizarre.
The Powwow part of the day was really interesting. The rest of it was too cold, too noisy, too smoky, and had too many flashing lights for an old maid with a cat. When we got back to the Army Dude's house I had to lie on the couch, close my eyes, and listen to the crickets for a while. This prevented me from being able to help him cook dinner.
I said I was a saint. I never said I was stupid.