The Skillz Report

During this period, Arnell continued to provide food...and food...and more food. I could have easily knocked back three plates of lunch and dinner every night. But it was either show a little restraint, or have my plane back home tilting dangerously to one side. I chose the former...albeit with grace. (One thing I did not do with grace: respond to the news of Madison Bumgarner's injury, apparently suffered during our drive down. Sorry, kids. Uncle Skillz didn’t mean to scare you.)

That night, it was time to take in the Fremont Street Experience. The best way I can describe it is LOUD music, crowded streets, a pretty nifty light show, and peculiar attire. With the ziplines about 100 feet up above, you feel indoors and outdoors all at once. This must be what it's like to play in a domed stadium.
About that zipline: I'm sure it was fun for them, but for me, people flying through the sky like that at high speeds reminded me too much of the World Trade Center jumpers. 

Re-directing my eyes to ground-level took my mind off that horror—only to bring my attention to a whole new horror: men, several of them, taking in all the fun wearing only tighty-whiteys. Mingling through the crowd just like the clothed people, a couple of them even greeting us. There were also a number of scantily-clad females present who, let's just say, most people wished weren't. The unconventional getup is a staple of the FSE—picture a tamer, more concentrated Folsom Street Fair for an idea of the scenery.

(Also, I have a vague memory of “Elvis” wandering around. I addressed him as “Mr. King”.)

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