I’ve decided that I want to live on the highest southern corner of the tallest building in my hometown for the duration of my retirement.

The Ormsby House Hotel and Casino.

Ten stories closer to heaven.

When I was a kid, soon after construction was completed, I made a point of getting myself to the top of it to drop superballs and marbles and whatever else I could fit in my pockets.  It didn’t take long for me to be disappointed with the results but it was the furthest I’d ever been above the planet.  Breathtaking.  It was then that the idea of a permanent residence began to form in my head.  It wasn’t nearly as grandiose a notion as it is now.

It’s been closed for fifteen years for a remodel, but I’m confident it will reopen soon.  Walls will have to be razed and so, walls will have to be raised to make room for what I imagine to be suitable and private square footage.  It will cost a lot of money.  It goes without saying I don’t yet have the means but I remain undeterred.

There will be numerous venues for both fine and casual dining and at least a couple bars and cocktail lounges.  The windowless and clockless environs will quiet the preoccupations I have for time of day and the world outside.  After that, the most picturesque and historic walk in the great and storied metropolis of Carson City begins just outside the casino doors and extends forth for hundreds of feet to the north up highway 395 or Main Street, as we Carsonites know it.

I’m sure the neon signage on the roof will seep it’s subtle red glow into my windows at night.

The bedroom wing will face east.

I won’t mind taking the same elevator as the regular folks when I begin my day seeking the magical casino omelette and coffee or end it returning from a night on the town.

And then there will be room service twenty four seven.

I adore room service.

Grilled cheese sandwiches.  Chicken objects, breaded and deep fried with ranch dressing and ketchup served in those clever little stainless steel shot glasses.  Always a sprig of parsley for fresh breath and digestion enhancement.

A sterling silver tureen overflowing with bills of various denominations will mainstay the entrance to my apartments for the assortment of porters and waitstaff.

Robes and towels will be part of the deal and it goes without saying there won’t be any reason to take them off premise.  My drinking glasses will be enveloped in paper like new every morning and my mini soaps will all be replaced as though elves had visited.

I’ll open my widows at sunset to allow the inevitable Nevada wind to visit its indefatigable will on my papers, linens and drapery while I survey the fine city of my youth.

Opulence.

There will be periodic visits from local dignitaries and heads of the great state of Nevada given that Carson City is the state capitol.  I will dispense advice, provide counsel and offer wisdom.

Channel 8 KOLO will be allowed in my suites to film and interview.  A small parlor will be named after Tad Dunbar.  A monochromatic Barcalounger will be designated the honorary Jack Joseph  Memorial Throne.  The legs of various wooden tables will be known as O’Callaghans.

I actually stayed in the Ormsby House for the very first time on the very last night before it closed some fifteen years ago.  It was a very cold experience lacking any sort of romance or refinement but my vision for its potential was not compromised.

Finally there’s a pill on television that will melt my fat off without me having to do one other goddamn thing besides taking this pill.  I will live forever because of this pill at the very top of the Ormsby House.

No matter what consequences climate change visit upon us, I’ll be riding a mountain bike through the halls, around the gaming tables and through the kitchens until the end of time.

Drinks for my friends.

 

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