The Venetian Hotel reminds me oddly of Hearst Castle in its casual gaudiness. Everything is deliberately pushed over the top in a way that even Disney wouldn't dare. Anything less than excess seems out of place here.
The checkin process for the Venetian, sadly, fails to impress. I wait on line for 45 minutes as it crawls along, with everyone ahead of me seemingly having reservation difficulties. (Not to mention the five minutes per person to explain how to get to their rooms.) I am politely seething by the time I get to the front, but the nice young man at the counter counters by finding me a truly lovely room in the Venetian Tower.
The room is -- well, remember what I said about excess? The room is a suite, and is larger than some Boston apartments. Heck, the *bathroom* is larger than some Boston apartments. My regret at having to take this trip by myself grows -- it feels positively wasteful to have a room like this to myself. As I type these words, I am sitting in a living room that would seat eight comfortably, and which could certainly manage 20 for a movie-watching party.
I spend 20 minutes fighting with the alarm clock. Why is it that, the more expensive the hotel, the more impenetrable the alarm clocks? I mean, I've been a professional engineer for decades -- I am no slouch when it comes to figuring out devices without having to RT effing M. But after two decades of minutes, I give up and set the alarm on my cellphone instead. I crawl into the enormous bed, alone and defeated.
(No, I'm not really as down as that makes it sound. But failing to program the clock feels even worse when my body is telling me that it's 4am by now.)