August 2004 Archives

A few random anecdotes and recollections that don't fit in any of the foregoing...

- Escort cards. A few of you may have read Guster's road journal entry from Las Vegas recently and noticed the escort cards that Brian (the journaler) mentioned, stuck into the chain-link fence conveniently pictured below the picture of the Hard Rock they didn't stay in. Well. Those are far from the extent of the escort card distribution over the greater Las Vegas area. Not only are they lodged in every fence, telephone pole, fire hydrant and crevice (of the non-buttock, non-cleavage type) on every street you walk down, but they're also handed out to you by a neverending cavalcade of...how to put this politely...people who appear to be recent arrivals to the country. Of course, I didn't stop long enough to converse with them, because walking by them is like standing at a urinal in the men's room - DO NOT MAKE EYE CONTACT. It's freaky, a sign of weakness, and will just end up with all sorts of shit you don't want happening.

Not that they just stand there passively, hoping your eyes will wander, though. Nope. Each and every one of them will attempt to insinuate themselves into your territory, holding the cards out so far that you nearly walk into their forearms as you make your way through the gauntlet. And in an ingenious attempt to get your attention, they smack the cards against the stack they're holding, or against their hands, to provide an audible clue that you, yes you, are in need of some whore-to-door service. So walking down the street is a veritable smackfest, almost like you're being applauded by complete strangers, holding cards with naked women, nipples covered by strategically placed colorful stars or dots or what have you. And they're not particularly discriminating about who they offer the cards to - I can understand them holding out cards to three strapping males (though the implication that we're in need of female companionship is a bit insulting, I guess) - but a father pushing a STROLLER? Then again, if you're pushing your kid in a stroller down the Strip, that may just be a sign that your priorities are slightly skewed. Either that or you're in need of baby supplies at the totally hooched-out CVS!

- Getting your picture taken. Apparently the photo industry is incredibly dependent upon Vegas visitors to stay afloat. We were offered commemorative photos at Star Trek: The Experience, on the roller coaster atop the Stratosphere, after stepping out of the Manhattan Express, after dinner at the sushi restaurant...ok, I made that last one up. But the amount of overpriced souvenir photo opportunities was a bit surprising. No thanks, I'd rather not own a picture of myself looking like I'm swallowing a blowfish on a roller coaster. Especially not a 10x12 for $25.

- Helicopter strip tours. I was unaware helicopters even wore clothes to begin with.

- Work the next morning. Our flight got in at all of 5:50 Monday morning, and my lovely wife was waiting for me at that ungodly hour. Remember, unlike Josh and Chris, I hadn't taken Monday off, so I had to work. Or rather, I had to be present at work, cruising as close to the ground as possible. I basically rode my chair for eight hours, trying to attract as little attention as possible...more or less the equivalent of having a few drinks too many and driving home in the right lane, five miles under the speed limit, sitting on the seatbelt and with the windows rolled all the way down to keep you as awake as possible. Got home at 5, crashed about as hard as I ever have, and didn't wake up until 7 the next morning. 14 hours of sweet, sweet slumber...

After a refreshing and low-key end to Saturday night, we thought we'd take the rest and relaxation a bit further while enjoying the surroundings at our hotel on Sunday morning, our last bit of respite at the Hard Rock before our eventual checkout that day. High on the agenda was visiting the legendary pool. Just kidding...that's the lake in front of the Bellagio. Not that the Hard Rock pool, or lagoon, as it might be called, is much smaller. Here's the first of four pictures Josh took from our balcony at the hotel, so you can fully appreciate the grandeur. In the middle of the first picture you can see the end of a waterslide - that's more the kiddie/family end of the pool; the passage at the bottom right runs all the way around to the "adult swim" area. Actually, under the big round roof, you can even swim up to a bar area and play blackjack...sitting on a chair IN THE WATER. Yes, you have your chance to lose money just about anywhere. I was actually surprised that there weren't little cylinders with fruits and numbers spinning around when you flushed your toilet after doing your business.

Even getting our space at the pool was a bit of an adventure - in true Vegas fashion, even your relaxation had to have something to do with overdoing it and being excessive. Sunday mornings, they have something called "Rehab", billed as a "hip, sexy beach club party" where there's a cover charge (for non-hotel guests), and supposedly massages, a grill and mixed drinks. We did get one ridiculously priced drink, and masseurs/masseuses were nowhere in sight. They did have an assortment of beach chairs already set up in strategic locations, but when we tried to take our place on them, we were informed in not so many words that we were not blessed with the recommended daily allowance of hipness and/or sexiness. As such, we were forced to sit off to the side where our painfully obvious (to them, anyway) lack of hip and sex would be less noticeable and offensive to the perceptive powers of those who DID possess criminally high levels of hiposity and sexitude (as well as criminally high quantities of money that enabled them to pony up the cover charge - $30 for men, $20 for out-of-state women, $15 for local ladies). We did manage to roast ourselves silly for a few hours before we had to head inside and check out. We bade a fond farewell to the Hard Rock, checked our bags with the bell desk, and struck out in search of new and interesting casinos.

Now, in addition to being known for the sinning and the craziness and the sex shows, m'hey-m'hey, Vegas is known as home to the World Series of Poker. While the main event is held at the Rio, where we'd seen Penn & Teller on Friday night, the final two days of the championship are held at Binion's Horseshoe. Binion's, and a few of the other older casinos that Vegas is known for (the Golden Nugget is another), are not located on the Strip along with the newer megaresorts, but instead in the downtown area, also known as Old Vegas. Most of them are along a street converted into a pedestrian area known as Fremont Street, which is actually covered by a high, arching roof, so you can casino hop without being rained on. Ingenious.

Our first stop was the aforementioned Golden Nugget, and upon entering, we quickly realized why this was Old Vegas (or as Josh dubbed it, "Crappy Vegas"). The carpets were more worn, the tables and machines were closer together, the dress was a bit more run-down, and the air was a bit more smoky. They did, however, have a $5 blackjack table with three open seats, so the musketeers sat down and bought in. The fellow sitting to our right mentioned that he'd been there for a few hours, and when he finally decided to stand up and leave after getting low on money, perhaps that should have been a sign to us that things were not going to go our way. Josh and Chris quickly blasted their way through their first $100 while I managed to hover between $20 and $50 for close to an hour. A younger guy came and sat down to our right, and pitched in for a bit. Being a $5 table, and since blackjack paid off 3-2, a $5 bet would win you $7.50, necessitating both $1 chips and 50-cent pieces. At one point, he was down to $9, and ended up with either a double-able hand or a splittable hand, but obviously lacked the extra buck to put down the extra bet. Having been in Vegas for a few days, and still being on my original bankroll, I was feeling a sense of solidarity with those of us playing against the house, so I kicked him a $1 chip to keep him in the game - and he promptly won and doubled up. Just good karma, I suppose. Unfortunately, it didn't help the rest of us, and we soon retreated from the Golden Nugget, licking our wounds and starting to think we might need some lunch.

Now, the odd thing about Vegas - though it makes sense once you think about it - is that restaurants per se just don't exist where the casinos are most dominant. There's almost no place you can walk down the street and peruse menus in the window, since of course casinos are much more lucrative than the food industry in those areas. Instead, restaurants are buried deep inside, making you walk past rows and rows of gamblers, flashing lights and the like before you get to your destination. We actually weaved our way in and out of a few casinos in search of one that was actually open (surprisingly, quite a few of them weren't open for lunch), before finally settling on a place down at the end of Fremont that was empty except for one family. Still, the food was decent, the drinks were cold, and lunch did its trick. Back to the hunt.

Next on the list to browse was Binion's, which, like the Golden Nugget, was almost depressingly as low-rent. We did take a spin through but didn't see any tables that interested us, and except for Chris placing a few long-distance bets for friends of his ($10 on black at a roulette table, and $10 on 12 at a craps table), we pretty much breezed through and back out onto Fremont. We ambled in and out of the Fremont casino, bypassed the hideous Mermaids altogether, and finally settled on the interestingly-named Four Queens - we weren't sure if it was a casino or a drag show (ba dum bump). They had this funky variety of blackjack called 2-6, where you can place a side bet based on the dealer's up card and your total, but most everyone was playing it as straight blackjack without the side bet, so we figured we'd give it a shot as our last hurrah before heading back to the Hard Rock to grab our bags and go to the airport.

Now - the 2-6 side bet is as follows: you can bet anywhere from $2 to $6 that the dealer's up card will be a 2, 3, 4, 5 or 6. If it is, and your first two cards total 9, 10 or 11, you double your bet. If your first two cards total 18, 19 or 20, you quadruple your bet. If your first two cards give you a blackjack, it pays off at eight times your normal bet. And the kicker - if your blackjack is an ace of hearts and a king of hearts, it's a forty-to-one payoff. Back when my brothers and I descended upon Foxwoods last summer, we were playing a variety called Spanish 21, which has a side bet as well (your up card matching the dealer's up card) so I was used to playing it, but I didn't start this time around until I started hitting one hellaciously good run of cards. About 20 minutes in, I had already won $50. An hour in, I had doubled my stash. At this point, I figure I'm playing with house money, so I put my original bankroll off to one side and start making big bets with my extra cash. And I keep winning. A monkey could have kept winning with these cards. I'd hit on 16 against a 9 and draw a 5. I'd hit on 12 and draw an 8. Every double was hitting. I won a few blackjacks and got some white $1 chips; they started going on the 2-6 side bet - I think I won a 2-1 payoff once, maybe even one 4-1 payoff.

And then it happened.

Feeling flush, I dropped a $5 on the side bet circle. The dealer's up card came up a 4. Ok, good, I've got a chance. First card up is an ace - chances are even better. Second cards come around the table, bam, a king. I'm happy and get ready for the $40 payoff. But then the dealer turns to the pit boss and says "How much does this pay off?" Then I realized that both cards were red...and both were hearts. I'd just won $200 on a $5 bet. That just clinched it - I was bumping my bets up to $25, even $30. Doubling down without even flinching - I think I doubled on an 8 against a 6, got a 2 and STILL won. Chris and Josh were just drinking it all in. Josh got what would normally be a highlight hand at a blackjack table - he split aces, got another ace. Split that one, got ANOTHER one. Won two of the hands against the dealer's, so he was happy with that. At one point, I think I was up over $750 but when we decided to call it a day and cashed out, the final haul was $580. Needless to say, dinner was on me. A call home with the news yielded a "get the fuck out!", and needless to say, dinner will be on me with the wife as well. I also sprang for our cab ride back to the Hard Rock, where we retrieved our bags from the bell desk. As we made our last trek out the door, Chris noticed the familiar strains of Weezer's "Say It Ain't So" blasting from the loudspeaker (hence the title of this entry). We were leaving...and the Hard Rock was sad.

But I'm goin' back. Oh yes.

After a night like the previous - oxygen-fueled or not - I would typically sleep in until noon at home, but Vegas has such an inexorable pull that we were up and at 'em by 9 the next morning. Not to mention ravenous from all the exertion of winning several hundred dollars last night among the three of us. And being how this was Vegas, and the breakfast buffets being legendary, we decided to go out and do some hunting/gathering. The concierge recommended the Bellagio, so off we went. Since it was Saturday morning (we'd pretty much lost all track of what day it was by now), it was actually a brunch buffet, which actually was even better, since we ate enough for breakfast and lunch. And dinner. And about two and a half months' worth of meals after that. Dear Lord, did we eat. Of course, we had to justify the $21.95 per person, but stuffing ourselves silly was pretty much on the game plan. In fact, we were so famished for food that we somehow failed to notice a gargantuan eagle, stars and Liberty Bell display in the atrium outside the buffet that had been hanging there since July 4th. We saw it the next day when we returned to snap some more photos at the Bellagio, at which point we engaged in a "Was that there before? I don't remember seeing it...do you?" routine before finally satisfying our curiosity by asking a security guard, who gave us the bad news that we were just unobservant. Maybe we just refused to acknowledge its existence since it had been there for roughly six weeks beyond when it really should have been...but blinded by hunger is my story, and I'm sticking with it.

The line was fairly short (compared to the enormous throng that had gathered by the time we were done...of course due to its popularity, not the fact that we were there for hours on end) so we got in quickly. And the food selection was truly ridiculous. A fresh fruit bar. A pastry bar, not to be confused with the separate dessert bar. Belgian waffles, pancakes, omelets made to order (two separate stations, each of which could accommodate at least ten omelets at once, and offered a luxurious spread of ingredients, including lobster meat), and absurd amounts of the typical eggs, bacon, toast, etc. We each got an omelet and as much as we could cram on our plate otherwise - I got bacon, sausage, some poundcake, a blueberry muffin, an apple-cinnamon crepe, and probably some other stuff that my brain isn't letting me remember out of embarrassment. I do remember that I went back for a second plate, including a couple of mini-waffles and some fruit (partially for the health quotient, and partially so I could dump the berries on the mound of whipped cream that topped my waffles). For the coup de grace, we each got a glass cup of mousse...there's something about toasting two good friends with a glass of mousse that says "we're on vacation, and we don't give a shit."

Our sumptuous repast done, we waddled off in search of of the Excalibur, which Josh's friend had recommended as a good place for cheap poker. The Excalibur is a medieval-themed casino, so after crossing the bridge across the moat (we had to walk since ye olde moving walkeway was out of service), we were greeted by a flourish of trumpets, announcing our arrival to all interested parties (not many). Chris decided against poker, feeling that being $100 up already, he had the hot hand at blackjack, so we parted ways. Ye olde pokere roome...ok, I'm done. The poker room was at the back of the casino, away from the incessant hustle and bustle of the slot machines (also known as the suckers of time, money, and will to live...sort of like ringwraiths or dementors, but with flashing lights and annoying noises). The wait was surprisingly short - Josh and I put our names down on the list for 1-3 hold 'em ($1 minimum bet, $3 maximum bet/raise per round) and we were soon both seated at the same table, playing us some poker. Our dealers were extremely friendly, chatting us up the whole time and cracking jokes left and right. One of them randomly threw out a line in the middle of a hand - "My first wife died from eating poisoned mushrooms." The table kind of went silent, not really knowing how to react to the news. It was too random to be serious, but too serious to joke around about. A hand later, he came back with "My second wife died of a concussion...she wouldn't eat the poison mushrooms." Entire table just hit the floor laughing.

Now, one of the things I'd always been told by my poker-playing friends is that poker is basically a game of attrition. Essentially, you're going to throw in 80%-90% of your hands - meaning it's not nearly as fascinating as TV makes it (now there's a surprise). I had the good fortune to have two full houses within the first 15 minutes, which made me a good chunk of change, but then I unfortunately got impatient and started playing some bad hands, which slowly started sapping my money. I won a few smallish pots, but in the end, lost around $75. Chris came back, up another $150 at blackjack, and once he returned, Josh and I decided to call it quits after one of us won another pot. Three of us on the table went in on a flush draw...I was stupidly playing a 3-high, the other guy flipped a queen-high, and Josh plunked down the king to win the pot and finish even or a bit over.

Rather than go off in search of another blackjack table, we decided to take in some more of the sights of the strip while we still had some daylight, and after cashing out, it was just down the block to a ride on the Manhattan Express - the roller coaster at New York, New York. Not the greatest coaster in the world, but for the cheesiness (and long lines) that surrounded it, it actually ended up being better than we had expected. The most comical part of the experience - other than the seemingly endless parade of "just-married" couples in line - was the video warning us not to carry anything in our pockets, even change (as illustrated by the comical video of coins falling on the tanned belly of a bikini-clad woman sunbathing...underneath a roller coaster, of course, where the best sun is). The ironic part? The ride costs $13.50. What are you supposed to do with the two quarters you get for change?!

From there we crossed the street, trying to check off a few more things on the checklist Chris' friend had sent us. Next on the list was seeing the lions at the MGM Grand. They're hard to miss, boxed into an enormous Lucite enclosure in the middle of the casino - two lionesses slowly padding around inside. Apparently they were used to the attention and actually appeared to thrive on it - instead of the typical "I'm bored and not moving unless you have a ham hock in your hands" attitude, they were actually moving around quite a bit, giving everyone a chance to see them up close and personal. In some cases, a bit TOO up close and personal. See, there's a covered tunnel that runs through the middle of the enclosure, but to provide maximum visibility, the top is also made of Lucite. The three of us wandered around into the tunnel and suddenly noticed one of the lionesses coming down smack on top of us. She stood there long enough for me to notice that her paw was larger than my hand, and then flopped down on her side right on top of the tunnel. The other one soon joined her, and the two wrestled for a little bit, biting each other playfully and giving quite a show to the big crowd that had since accumulated in the little tunnel.

Walking out the MGM Grand put us back on the strip, and the itch hit us once again to find some blackjack action. Unfortunately, by now the evening was fast approaching and most of the tables had ramped up to $10 minimums. We walked in and out of the Paris, the Aladdin, Bally's, the Flamingo and Harrah's (our first walk down that half of the strip) with no luck. We crossed the street to the Mirage, took a brief gander at the tiger (singular, not plural, and not white), found no $5 tables, and decided to grab some dinner instead, back across the street at the newly-opened Margaritaville Cafe - the groom is a big Jimmy Buffett fan, so it was only natural to stop by and get some chow. The place was packed so we were seated up on the rooftop balcony, overlooking the strip and perfect for some people-watching (some did more watching than others). Josh was served the wrong food first but it was rectified eventually and we stuffed ourselves silly with dinner despite me not completely having recovered from brunch yet.

To digest things a bit, we went for another stroll, continuing our assault on the eastern side of the strip. We moseyed by the ridiculously enormous Venetian and its accompanying Guggenheim (Hey, culture! In Las Vegas! We skipped it.). One more item on the checklist was at Treasure Island (or as it's known now, "TI") to see "The Sirens of TI", a nightly show involving the sinking of a pirate ship which apparently used to be pretty cool but has devolved into utter camp. Unfortunately, we were brusquely informed that we had to be there at least 30-45 minutes beforehand to get a seat, and were summarily shut out. A quick browse of TI's floor didn't yield any $5 tables, and after coming to the conclusion that we were unlikely to find any, we left it up to Josh to make the call as to what to do. He decided that while he wasn't interested in playing, he was happy to watch and just cheer us on from the sidelines, so we sat down at a $10 table and plunked down our $100 bankrolls. The cards were good to us, even though the dealer a) wasn't interested in speaking, and b) used an automatic shuffler, which doesn't provide the natural break time of the ending of a shoe, but I managed to double up and cash out for $230, putting me up $55 for the day. Good times. After that it was off to gawk at the opulence of the Venetian and then a few quiet drinks before crashing back at the hotel. Yeah.

Maybe this is why I didn't succeed in teaching.

...

Naaaaaaaah.

After last night's cop-out and a brief breakfast at the Starbucks downstairs, we were ready to officially "do Vegas". Feeling ambitious, we walked to the strip, with the Aladdin as our destination. While Vegas has many shows - most of them cheesy, as evidenced by the advertisement of Carrot Top as "Entertainer of the Year" (and yes, I'm making those quotes as big and obvious as possible...I don't remember voting for him - did you? Check that, don't answer. If you did, you're not allowed on this site anymore) - there were very few that any of us been interested in. Actually, other than a precious few names, most of the local, non-touring acts were overly-promoted "magicians" nobody outside of Vegas had ever heard of. However, Penn & Teller had recently begun nightly shows at the Rio, and their kind of show is right up our alley. Josh wisely booked tickets far ahead of time, and upon picking them up at the closest Allstates Ticket booth at the Aladdin, we found out that we were in the FIFTH ROW. Good stuff.

Of course, since we picked the tickets up at ten, we had a considerable amount of time to kill before the show, which began at nine although we were urged to get there at least an hour early to guarantee our seats. So off we went again in search of the monorail. We wandered through the shops next to the Aladdin for a while, then walked through the Paris casino, all the way into the far end of Bally's, which felt like miles. These casinos are just sprawlingly enormous...I felt like any minute we'd have one of those golf cart things they use to carry people between gates of a terminal when they're late for a connecting flight. No such luck, although it was nice to not have to walk around in the 104-degree heat outside. But comparatively, it really didn't feel that hot (it was 88 earlier today but so humid, it felt MUCH hotter than anything we felt in Vegas). After reaching the end of the earth, we finally came upon the monorail station, which of course, led to another rerun of that famed Simpsons episode.

The purpose of the monorail, other than reliving one of the more popular animated offerings, was to take it to the end of town featuring the Stratosphere. The Stratosphere, as its web site will tell you, is a hotel, resort and casino, but the reason it's so well-known in Vegas is the 1100-foot tower shooting up beside it. At the top are three thrill rides - the "High Roller", a rather tame roller coaster that just happens to be 900 feet above the ground; the "Big Shot", akin to the "tower of terror" rides that basically strap you into a chair on a tower and shoot you hundreds of feet in the air; and the "X-Scream", which puts you into a modified roller coaster car and dangles you over the edge of the tower several times. We opted for the first two rides but observed for a bit - there are two observation decks, one enclosed and one open-air. The enclosed one has a clear overhang so you can look straight down at the ground below...and also see the X-Scream toppling over above you. It was enough to convince us we'd made the right choice. The High Roller was tame, but the Big Shot was enough excitement for all of us - the platform is at 921 feet and it rockets you up to 1081 feet at its highest point. It then drops you back down - making you airborne for a few seconds - and then makes a few more passes before finally lowering you back to safety on shaky legs. Basically, it was a good thing we hadn't had a substantial breakfast, because we would have left it 1081 feet above Las Vegas. After snapping a few shots (now with photographic proof!), we headed back groundward for lunch (some gigantic slices of pizza) and then our first gambling experience.

On our way down the escalator from the upper floor, we passed a SPAM slot machine, which Josh unfortunately failed to capture on film (they have every theme imaginable for slot machines...Rocky, Gidget, Enchanted Unicorn...and SPAM). Being so far toward the end of the Strip, and being more or less dependent on the popularity of the tower for its visitors, the Stratosphere casino was a bit low-rent, making it a good place to start. We were able to quickly find a $5 blackjack table with three empty seats, and each tossed down $100. Chris had been gambling a few times before and immediately started in with $10 and $15 bets. It was Josh's first time (I think) and he went with the minimum, while I bounced between $5 and $10. It was actually weird not to be hemorrhaging money like my Foxwoods trip last summer - they had $15 tables and we were frequently putting down a $5 side bet as well, so back then, $200 didn't last all that long. But I kind of hovered around $100 the whole time, Josh made a little bit, and Chris, by dint of his bigger bets, made a good chunk of change. A couple hours later, we all stood up from the table and hadn't lost a cent. I ended up making all of a buck - which I tipped the dealer with (he'd been very friendly a nice, not always the norm with Vegas dealers - some of them are all-business, non-speaking speed dealers from hell). We all agreed that even if we'd lost a few dozen bucks, it would have been well worth it, as we'd been entertained for a few hours at basically no cost (the free drinks are nice, I must say).

From there it was a couple-block walk to the Vegas Hilton (not one of the Hilton sisters, contrary to popular belief) for Star Trek: The Experience (prompting a raft of Spaceballs-esque jokes - Star Trek: the Toilet Paper! Star Trek: the Flamethrower!). Josh was the resident Trekkie, though I did watch my share of Voyager in college. They had a huge display of Star Trek material, including an absurdly long timeline of the Star Trek history, various comm badges, many of which were labeled "courtesy of Enterprise Archives" or some such silly notice. But the real attraction were the two rides - Klingon Encounter (a walking tour of several realistic sets, followed by a "ride" actually projected onto an omni theater dome) and the Borg Invasion, billed as being in "4D". I guess that since it took time, we really did travel in the 4th dimension as well. We did get our super-snazzy 3D glasses, and after getting chased around by an extremely slow Borg ("Hurry! He's very slowly gaining on us!"), we were ushered into the "passenger bay" of the "Enterprise" as we flew into the "heart" of a "Borg cube". (must...stop...quotations...looking like...Zagat entry...) Unfortunately, our windshield shattered and some electronic bugs flew in and around before being vaporized - and we actually got splattered with some wet, jellylike stuff. Not sure why we were paying to basically get sneezed on. We even got quasi-assimilated into the Borg, complete with our seats seizing up behind us and poking us in the back and rear end. Josh got some laughs by yelling "I'm being violated!". Fortunately, we were able to blow up the Borg cube and escape safely. Hooray, the universe is safe again. Overall a bit of a cheesy experience, we all agreed.

We built up quite a hunger resisting the Borg takeover, so we treated ourselves to a nice dinner at AJ's Steakhouse, one of a half-dozen restaurants housed in the Hard Rock (including the tastefully-named Pink Taco). And a NICE dinner it was. Two filets and a prime rib, two helpings of garlic mashed potatoes (mmmm...) and one quite-large bill later, we were quite satiated and ready to rock at the Rio with Penn & Teller.

Upon arriving at the Rio at the prescribed hour, we noticed two large boxes on stage, one clear plastic, and one wood...along with half of the audience. A jazz pianist and upright bassist provided some background music, and urged...well, not urged; his voice was too sedate to be considered urging. Rather, he politely suggested that interested parties come up on stage to inspect the boxes, which would later be used in a trick during the show. "Now is the time to come look at some boxes. Bring a friend, bring a loved one...don't miss out on the Penn & Teller box-viewing experience. Be able to go home and tell everyone that you looked at some boxes. But please, for your own safety, do not attempt to get IN the boxes." And of course, with each wave of people going up on stage, despite the warnings, at least one person per song did attempt to get in the boxes...and was politely hauled out by stage personnel. One drunk girl - at least, I hope she was drunk, given her whacked-out behavior - made at least five separate sorties to the stage to inspect the boxes various times, even dropping the lid to the plastic box once to derisive applause from the audience. We made the one requisite trip to confirm that they were, in fact, boxes. The performance itself was a mixture of magic, comedy (including the titular quote to this entry), social commentary and some well-placed riffs on Vegas and other local performers. All in all, a great time. I won't give away any of the tricks, but if you've ever been remotely entertained by these guys in the past, I highly recommend the show if you're in Vegas.

The show let out at around 10:30, and although we were a bit tired from walking around all day, we thought we'd hit the strip for an hour or so before heading back to our hotel. We ended up at the Monte Carlo, one of the biggest we'd walked through yet. It doesn't seem that large from the front, but it's very deep, and had oodles of blackjack tables. Our kind of place. But since we'd already played blackjack earlier in the day, we had a hankering for something different - and Chris taught us how to play craps. Or rather, how to lose money at craps. It seems complicated at first, but once you've been observing for five or ten minutes, it's much easier to understand - basically, the roller rolls a number (called the "point") other than 2, 3, 7, 11 or 12 to start (let's say it's a 6). A 6 then pays off for the entire table when it's rolled again. You can bet on any other number to come up (say, a 4), and you win more money if that number is rolled. Once the point hits again, it's off, and the shooter then rolls another point (let's say it's an 8). If a 7 is rolled after the point is set, everyone loses, but until a 7 is rolled, you can keep winning. There's more to it than that, but that's basically what it comes down to. We watched Chris play for a while, then Josh and I chipped in, and promptly lost money rather quickly as the rollers hit a bad streak. Rather than playing to the bitter end of our $100 bankroll, we picked up and made treadmarks to a $5 blackjack table, where we promptly made our money back thanks to another nice (but not all that chatty) dealer - I had lost $70 at the craps table, but by the time we were done, I was back up $30, cashing out for $200 total. Oh, and it was 2am by then, and we barely realized it. As I later found out, they apparently pump oxygen into the casinos to keep people more alert. Only in Vegas.

They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but then how the hell do you blog about it? Screw that.

So, the setup: my friend Josh is getting married in a few short weeks, and he asked me to be a groomsman. As part of the wedding party, it was then my duty to accompany him on his bachelor party, and he selected Lost Wages as his destination. Since neither he nor his best man Chris gave a shit in particular about their jobs at the time the trip was planned, it was decided that we�d leave Thursday evening and come back Monday morning. So in effect, three full days in Vegas, spread over four days of the calendar. I could see I was going to be reeeeeal useful at work Monday.

Left work at 4pm Thursday to make it to the airport by 6. A bit of hairiness in the tunnel on the way to Logan, but made it there just fine. We flew Song, which goes directly from Boston to Vegas, and which also happens to be a quasi-frills-free airline. They give you headphones to listen to the TV (satellite stuff, pretty cool) but have to pay for the movies (Shrek 2 and one other which escapes me). They offer free drinks but you have to pay for food (Chris got the �Ol� Feast�, which consisted of a small bag of Doritos, some cheese sauce, some salsa, and a box of Hot Tamales cinnamon candy�all for the bargain basement price of $6). But they did have a music trivia game that you could play against anyone else in the plane � I ended up with the high one-round score on the flight until the very end, and learned some important but useless stuff about Solomon Burke, whom I�d never heard of until that very flight. Though anyone who first deemed himself the King of Rock and Roll (performing with a robe and scepter), and then retired to open not *a* mortuary, but a CHAIN of mortuaries on the west coast is ok by me.

Touched down in Vegas around 9pm, and after a DAMN short cab ride � our hotel and the strip in general is frighteningly close to the airport � we were in the thick of things. We stayed at the esteemed Hard Rock Hotel (and Casino, of course), which is a couple of blocks off the strip. Not that far, you�d think�except these blocks are the size of Missouri. Enormous. The hotel itself is quite new and quite swank, and has huge neon-lit phallic guitars sticking up out of the front entryway. The door handles are guitars, there�s rock music pumping out of the speakers everywhere (on the main floor, in the bathrooms, in the casino, in the elevators, out at the pool), and of course the place is littered with music memorabilia � from Pearl Jam guitars to a kilt worn by the lead singer of Korn to Britney Spears� schoolgirl outfit from her first video, to a suit with lightbulbs worn in a Monster Magnet video�truly excessive but truly cool. Sort of a running theme for the weekend.

After settling into our room, we realized how ravenous we were, and decided to find a sushi place. Opting against going to Nobu in our sandals and T-shirts (despite the bell desk�s recommendation, I doubt they even would have seated us), we instead went to Hamada�s, a place on the next block. We would have walked except for the little torrential downpour that had started since our arrival. Josh actually started to walk while Chris and I just watched him take two steps, get soaked, and then go for a cab instead. The cabbie was a genial guy � we asked him if it rained a lot here, and he cracked �Yeah, can�t you tell by all the lush vegetation?� After mentioning we were in town for a bachelor party, he offered us his card and a free ride to a �titty bar� (his words, not ours) if we called him later. Refreshing bluntness�another running theme. That and our taxi policy � always buckle up. �What would Tom Glavine do?� More like what does he wish he�d done? We wolfed down about six orders of sushi and three rolls (after I poured half a container of soy sauce all over the tablecloth), and then hit the town.

The Flamingo (created by Bugsy Siegel and the setting of the 1991 film "Bugsy", starring Warren Beatty and Annette Bening) was just a block away but it was still rainy so we cabbed it again; by the time we got there, it had let up so we decided to walk the strip a bit. Saw Bally�s, Paris and the Aladdin, crossed over to the Bellagio (where we saw the fountains for the first time), and then walked down past New York, New York and the MGM Grand to the Excalibur. There�s a tram that runs from the Excalibur to the Luxor and on down to the Mandalay Bay. We were actually in search of the monorail (What�s it called? Monorail! Once again� Monorail!) but we settled for the duorail (birail?). There�s apparently a shark reef at the Mandalay but we got there too late to see it. Took the tram back to the Luxor, walked around inside a bit (it�s a huge pyramid with a Sphinx as the entrance, though word has it that it�s badly built and already starting to show stress fractures), then walked from the Luxor back past the Excalibur and actually all the way home � way the hell longer than we expected. Since we were all exhausted, we figured there�d be plenty of time later to stay up super-late, and I volunteered to sleep on the floor. We pretty much conked out immediately. Vegas, night one, over and out.

...is aptly named. Just got back from a long weekend in Vegas at Josh's bachelor party; also in attendance was his best man Chris. Much more later, but I leave you with three appetizers...

1) 40-1 odds are verrry nice when they pay off.
2) We had the MGM lions right on top of us.
3) "But it's a dry heat" now means something to me.

We interrupt this reminiscence of the distant past to bring you a reminiscence of the more recent past.

Been a while since my last Scrabble entry, and about as long since I had studied, or even played. Unfortunately, it showed by my performance. This was my third National Scrabble Championship - I finished 12-19 in Providence in 2000, 13-18 in San Diego in 2002, so I was aiming for at least a 14-win showing this time around. This NSC's slate called for 30 games instead of the usual 31, so it was in an 8-7-8-7 format over four days, with the aforementioned best-of-five finale coming on the fifth day.

Day 1 did not start off well. Game 1 was actually against a player from the local club - I got away with CASTILLO (LOCALIST was both good and playable) but not much else as he ran away with a 160-point win. Game 2 I managed 405 points but still lost by 72, and game 3 was tight but also unsatisfying as I stumbled to an 0-3 record with a 34-point loss, lining up a game against the top-ranked player in my initial group of 8 (the first 7 games are a round-robin in a group of 8 players selected to make them more or less evenly distributed ratings-wise). He, of course, thrashed me by 201 to drop me to 170th out of 176 before our first lunch break.

Next up after lunch is a player by the name of Charnwit Sukhumrattanaporn. Yes, Charnwit Sukhumrattanaporn. Over the last four or five years, there's been a contingent of players from Thailand, many of whom barely speak English, but can certainly wipe the floor with you across a Scrabble board. They know enough for typical game play - announcing scores, figuring out who's going first, etc. - but extended conversations are mostly nonexistent, unless it's with their compatriots, which grow more numerous every tournament. I'm amazed at their ability to play at such a high level in a language so foreign to their own. I somehow manage to draw well this game and bingo with HOOTIER at the very end of the game to win by 40 and nab my first win of the day. Unfortunately, it was also my last. I did manage to get my opponent some money in our next game - a $25 prize was awarded in each division to the person winning with the lowest score. I held him to a 294...but he held me to a 274. Bleh. Tight game all around, very tough board to play. The next game was not so tight, as I suffered a 184-point whipping at the hands of one of Canada's top players to fall to 1-6, and then Mark Przybyszewski and I battled another close game, which I dropped by 39 to finish a wholly unsatisfying day at 1-7.

Day 2 treated me a bit better, though not before playing the 39th-ranked player in the country, who beat me up to the tune of 496 points. I think that woke me up, as I went on a mini 3-game winning streak, 402-330, 414-295 and 373-313. This shot me all the way to 4-8 and 150th place...which would prove to be my high-water mark of the tournament. Two middling losses followed (98 and 81 points) though I did finish the day with a win and a 5-10 record.

Day 3, someone had apparently put a "KICK ME" sign on my back, as I reverted to my ways of Day 1, with a 1-7 record. With the exception of a 166-point loss, though, most of the losses were just close enough to be frustrating, including one against a Thai player that really hurt. He ended up with a blank on his last rack that enabled him to make an unblockable outplay with the Q that gave him a come-from-behind win by 13. My one victory came against someone who unfortunately had a worse record than me, which is the bad part about playing so poorly - everyone you're facing has had a hard time of it as well, so wins don't end up as satisfying as you might want them to be, due to the sympathy factor.

Day 4 was the day I'd been waiting for all tournament - despite starting the day with a 6-17 record and having the unsavory prospect of 20 losses staring me in the face, I managed to pull out a 5-2 final day, including a last-game exclamation point of 495, my high game of the tournament (for comparison, probably 80% of the players in my division had at least one game over 500, and five even broke 600, with a high of 622). Started off with two wins in the morning, and then after two losses to the same person (odd pairings at the bottom of the division), I went undefeated in the three afternoon games to finish at 11-19 overall, "good" for 157th place out of 173 (well, 172 - one unfortunate player went 0-8 on day 1 and dropped out).

More studying next time!

We now return you to your regularly-scheduled pre-dated show reviews.

Spent the past week in New Orleans at the National Scrabble Championship. Did shittily (more on that later), but some of you may have seen this story in the "Offbeat" or "News of the weird" or "Strange but true" section of your local newspaper or AP feed. In the words of Iñigo Montoya, lemme 'splain.

About ten years ago, a Holocaust survivor was horrified to find that the second edition of the Official Scrabble Players' Dictionary (OSPD2) contained the term JEW, as a verb, meaning "to haggle". They notified the Anti-Defamation League, who in turn complained to Hasbro (Scrabble's North American manufacturer). Despite the English language actually CONTAINING THE WORD IN QUESTION, Hasbro decided that JEW, and dozens of other words deemed "offensive" should be removed from the next edition, OSPD3 (including such patently dangerous words as BOOBIE, GRINGO and FART). Of course, this is silly, since in Scrabble, words are merely tools for scoring - I actually had a player from Thailand, who spoke little to no English, lay down FUCK against me in one of our games without batting so much as an eyelash. At any rate, the National Scrabble Association (NSA) pushed Hasbro and Merriam-Webster to create a list of words only - no definitions - that would be used as the official source for tournament Scrabble play. Thus the Official Tournament and Club Word List was born.

Fast-forward a decade, to this year's announcement that none other than ESPN wished to make a one-hour special condensed telecast of the NSC finals. Well, except for the fact that there ARE no finals - the winner has always been determined on win-loss record, with cumulative spread (the number of points by which you defeat your opponents) serving as the tiebreaker. But this is ESPN, so they contrived a best-of-five finale, and also made the provision that since certain words could not be broadcast on television, that they could not be used in the finals. The only problem is that this list was either never prepared, or never agreed upon by ESPN and the NSA, or never provided to the finalists, or some combination of the foregoing.

The 400 or so of us that had gathered to watch the finals on closed-circuit TV didn't even notice it at first when Trey played LEZ (a slang term for "lesbian"), since we were so inured to the OSPD3 exclusions. Then suddenly Joe Edley (three-time national champion) throws his hands up in the first row and shouts "Hey! He can't play LEZ!". The players certainly didn't notice; it never dawned on the word judges, and for about a minute, nobody in the room knew what was going on - was play going to continue? Did someone alert the players/judges/TV crew? They immediately called an emergency meeting of the Advisory Board (who oversees general aspects of tournament Scrabble) as well as the Rules Committee.

As the article says, LEZ eventually did come off the board, but not before ESPN pretty much decided they didn't object to the word. I thought (only half-jokingly) that someone might have to put in a call to GLAAD to see what their opinion was on the matter, but ultimately - and rather ironically - the NSA was the one that made the call to censor their own game. A very strange situation indeed. In the end it didn't make a difference, as Trey won his third straight match, but it certainly made for the most interesting finals issue to ever arise...