The History of El Rancho Common themes in movies filmed in the area include:. Man vs. Nature These hardships and conflicts often took the form of a person against the elements. The Cowboy Code The Cowboy Code is one of those elusive concepts to define yet immediately understood without definition. Learn The Cowboy Code. Morality Another theme that is portrayed in Western Movies is the code of the cowboy. Movie Stars Who've Stayed. Want to Film at the El Rancho Hotel? Get In Touch.
Stay With Us. Book Now. Highway 66 Gallup, NM Contact us Reach out to us below with any questions about your reservation or trip to Gallup. Name Email Address Message send. Follow Follow. Correlation does not equal causation, and for all I know the guy has been hip-deep in Ukrainian models somewhere offstage the whole time, but I suspect not.
I suspect he has been doing what he normally does: having arguments on the internet. It is the closest thing I've ever seen to a live-action Twitter flamewar. Later on, he takes part in a heated, well-attended showdown debate with star bitcoin maximalist Jimmy Song on the relative merits of bitcoin vs. Bitcoin Cash—the Hatfield-McCoy feud of this self-contained culture. It takes about 10 minutes to become a raging, cringeworthy shitshow. On stage, Ver gets angry and then flustered and petty, demanding to know whether his opponent has ever read Adam Smith cover to cover.
Ver loses the debate by any measure, partly because his brain is permanently set to spreadsheet mode, but mostly because he seems to have forgotten the iron law of performative debate, which also happens to apply to dating: The person who cares most always loses. All of this is distressing. I get to ask a question. The question does not compute. Instead both Ver and Vays try to persuade me that their coin is the best to invest in.
I find myself thinking about what some philosophers call prefigurative politics. For a lot of the men on this floating shindig, indeed, for a certain strain of libertarian-shading-to-far-right thinker, freedom simply means freedom from consequences. Lukewarm dishes of platitudes and heaving trays of blue-sky thinking are available at the all-you-can-eat-crypto-libertarianism buffet, but there is a rotten aftertaste. A grip in the guts. There are standing tubs of hand sanitizer in every flat surface—norovirus being the Ragnarok of the cruise industry—and yet it is impossible to feel uncontaminated.
The atmosphere of celebrity is especially infectious. And the celebrity of celebrities on this boat is Brock Pierce, who is another sort of idealist altogether. I meet him when he joins in the game of Coup I produced as a Hail Mary attempt to make friends with nerds.
Coup is a bluffing game where you confound your enemies by pretending to be richer and more powerful than you are.
A lot of people on this boat are very good at this game. I adore and suck at it. Everybody around Pierce seems to want to protect him, mostly from himself, and his own capacity to unzip his heart and home and ersatz kaleidoscope of crypto-spiritual philosophies to everyone he ever meets.
Where all life comes from. These are the people I feel the sorriest for.
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This does not go down as well as he hoped. Pierce really likes women—but then, he really likes everyone.
He even has forgiving words for his former business partner and erstwhile alt-right strategist, Steve Bannon. Pierce, who was also named in sexual misconduct lawsuits that were all settled or dismissed, denies any wrongdoing. Perhaps especially then.
Like Ver, however, Pierce does have an ethical center buried under the saucer-eyed crypto-mysticism. For many others on this boat, ethics are just another cumbersome set of rules and regulations. If he was anyone else, I would suspect Pierce was trolling this entire community to see how long he could talk like the back of a smoothie bottle before getting slapped.
This is a man who would be an excellent cult leader if he only had the essential malice and attention span.https://fardeaholimplah.cf
Still, when he invites me to leave the boat when it docks in Ibiza to come see the even-more-exclusive crypto conference-within-a-conference, of course I say yes. Growing up in the U. At the end of the summer season, the crisp breeze feels like one long, calm exhale. It takes us a long time to wind our way past farms and villages to the Futurama Blockchain villa—yes, it really is called that—for the second, even more exclusive conference.
Which is luxe and beautiful and utterly disorganized. Crypto-crats mill around in polo shirts, cranky and hungry. There are exquisite chocolates stamped with the branding of various ICOs, but no other food. Nobody knows where they will be sleeping, as there has been a problem with room bookings, but there are tens of thousands of dollars of Hans Wegner wing chairs studding the new-laid turf. Forgive me, I fell down an internet hole some months ago and got into the history of chairs. Not everyone here will appreciate classic Scandinavian mid-century design, but it makes my eyes water to see them stacked so recklessly.
Nobody talks about the glittering shitcoin-spangled future very much beyond the stand-up sales pitches. Back on land, fascism is seeping across the Global North and almost everyone here comes from some form of failing pseudo-democratic experiment calling itself a country, and none of this is mentioned, except as one more reason to buy bitcoin. Or Bitcoin Cash. I have met many people who believe the best way to survive the 21st century is to secede from it.
This turns out to be a problem later, when event organizer Miguel accosts me. Apparently I have accidentally overheard some sort of cryptocurrency related super-secret business deal going down. Or I would have, had I been listening. None of that, though, is getting through to Miguel. He gets aggressive. I play him my last few recordings to stop him yelling.
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I refuse to delete my notes about the inescapable sugar-scented fact that a lot of young women were hired to entertain the rich men in this scene. Miguel is panicking. My presence here is a problem. Someone has finally Googled. No amount of mathematics can delete human prejudice, and no ledger can logic away human cruelty.
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I hate it here and I want to go home. The world still needs hippies, insufferable though they are—and I come out of a culture where people open their homes to strangers, try to believe the best of each other, wear lumpy jewelry, and share whatever they have. This, still, is what the crypto-burners are about. I sank into it with relief. I may have got hammered and chalked some socialist poetry on the walls.
I may have listened to straight-laced, lost-looking businessmen tell me about their secret sexual predilections as hippies played the same songs hippies always play on the guitar at four in the morning. I may have fallen asleep in a puppy-pile of half-dressed futurists. I promised no more details.
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