The Lost Weekend

Hey Gang!

Sorry that I haven't posted any bloggy goodness since early Monday morning--usually I try to say something interesting on my day off, but I spent most of it in bed nursing a bit of a hangover, and just wasn't feeling up to sitting in my chair and staring at the intense glow of the monitor. A man's got to know his limitations, and apparently I'd forgotten mine.

Monday was a lot of fun--Eddie B and his wife Regina were in town for a quick visit, and we got together for lunch at one of my favorite spots, the Grand Luxe Cafe at the Venetian. They'd never been there before, and were suitably impressed. And of course I had the Asian Nachos for lunch. They're so damn good that I just can't help ordering them every time I go there.

After lunch, Eddie doubled the tab by feeding sixty bucks into a dollar WOF slot, where we got a grand total of one spin (using my forehead, of course) for 25 credits. Lame.

Since they had never ridden in my new truck or visited the Wynn, after that we headed off to the valet to kill two birds with one stone.

The Wynn is still as nice as ever, and lurking around there on a Monday afternoon was quite enjoyable. Eddie's first amusing understated comment was It's a little different than the Desert Inn, don't you think?

We visited all of the restaurants on site, perusing the posted menus, and decided that on their next visit we'd have to have dinner at Daniel Boulud Brasseire.

We also enjoyed the view of the lake and the waterfall, and were intrigued by the statues of naked people frolicking in the water. That led to Eddie asking the inevitable hypothetical question asked of How much would it take to get Mikey out there to pretend he's a statue? Suprisingly, the answer was 'a lot less than you'd think...'

After wandering a bit, we decided to chill out and enjoy the afternoon sipping cocktails in the Parasol Up bar, which is always a great time. Unfortunately, I'd forgotten to bring any good cigars, but it was still fun to sit in there and reminisce about old times and all the fun we had in Vegas Back In The Day.

We stayed for two rounds and lots of good conversation, but Eddie wanted to give the tables a try. So we found a $10 single-deck game and sat down. Eddie changed up a hundy, but I just pulled the lone twenty out of my wallet, slapped it down on the felt and told the dealer Money plays!

My Ace/Eight looked good against her seven, and it was nice to win the first couple of bets. Of course, I should've walked once I had $55 in checks, but no, she went on a streak and took it all back, including the original twenty-spot. Of course it didn't help that we had a guy there at the table playing that oh-so-original 'never bust' strategy, which of course led to more than one person at the table asking if he was on Steve's payroll.

I didn't get angry or berate the guy, after all, it was only twenty bucks. I just wish I was wearing my t-shirt that says Yeah, We Already Know You Have A Small Wiener, You Don't Have To Keep Reminding Us By Standing On 16.

Oh yeah, it exists, but I'd opted for a more subtle Captain Morgan t-shirt that day instead.

We stuck around long enough to see Eddie's hundred disappear into the rack, but after that we headed out. They were going to a show that night, and I had to work, so I dropped them off back at the Luxor before heading home and getting ready for my evening.

Monday was actually a pretty fun night at work--it was mellow, none of the usual stiffs found my table, and the plan was to go out and get silly afterwards because it was somebody's last night before going on maternity leave.

One of the best things about working in a casino is watching the human drama unfold before me. Getting paid to see people make complete fools of themselves is just a perk of the job. It's like I'm the poor man's Simon Cowell, and sometimes I even get away with making smart-assed remarks, too.

But my last table of the night was just a priceless experience. I was dealing a $10 shoe game, with only three players. One of them was a pretty attractive (the beer goggles needed a very mild prescription) 40-something lady, obviously playing for the free drinks and the attention. At third base was a serious old dude with a bankroll, and sitting next to the milf was an out-of-town conventioneer who was definitely on the prowl and wearing his newest "I'm going to Vegas" Hawaiian shirt.

Mr. Hawaiian shirt immediately got on my bad side with his dumbass comments, and it took me about three minutes to realize that he was putting the hard sell on Old Hotness, pretending he was an expert on all things Vegas and gambling-related, while Grandpa just sat at third base smoking his cigarette and shaking his head at the asshattery on display.

A few minutes later I dealt the lady a blackjack, but I had an Ace showing. As I waved over the table asking for insurance, the wannabe Ladies Man started hopping around in his chair and insisting that she take even money.

Seriously! You have to take even money here! Tell him you want even money! Do it! and so on...

She gave me that What should I do? look, so I told the guy Chill out bro, let her play her own hand, and then told her Only guys with no sack take even money. It's a sucker bet and you've only got ten bucks at risk. Always go for the payoff.

Grandpa started laughing at my answer, and when I checked the mirror there was no ten in the hole.

Hah.

Yeah, good advice there, dude... I said as I paid the lady her fifteen bucks.

That kind of put him on tilt, and he'd already lost a few hands, so he wanted to show off and started betting big. And man oh man, was it ever fun to turn over a bunch of four card twenties and twenty-ones over the next few minutes.

At one point, he put $250 out in the circle, and the gal just looked at him and said You're crazy!

Only about you... was his cheeseball response that caused the old guy at third base to almost choke on his cigarette. I couldn't help but laugh at that and just as I turned over another king to make my 20, I said to him, Man, that was a great line, mind if I use it sometime? as I took his chips down.

He was already in about $800 to me by then, and pulled out another $300 asking for change. By that time, even the old guy at third base couldn't help bagging on him and threw out a gem. Hey man, I know you're just trying to close the deal here, but there's a place down the road where you could get two Asian girls for three hours for the same price...

I was chuckling at that line when I got tapped out, and my week of work was over.

I got the twenty minute early push, so I changed, clocked out, and ran for the door, heading home to change clothes, grab a cigar, and head back to the bar in time for the party to get started.

It was a good time--the Usual Suspects were there, plus a bunch of other dealers that normally don't go out with us every weekend. Hell, it was the first time I'd been out in almost a month, too. But many shots were poured, toasts were made, and we laughed our asses off for several hours. And everyone must've been feeling a little frisky that night, because I woke up yesterday afternoon with bruised nipples.

Oh. Too much information. Sorry 'bout that...

I must be losing my touch, but I want to offer a piece of advice to all you youngsters out there who may be reading this. When the hottest girl in the bar offers you a ride home--you should never, and I mean NEVER, turn it down.

*Homer Simpson voice* Damn alcohol-induced bad judgement... Why must you mock me?

Anyhow. I had a great time.

I woke up yesterday, alone, just in time to catch Wilbon and Old Man Kornheiser on PTI. I then spent the afternoon lying in bed, drinking bottled water, and watching all the stuff I'd Tivo'd over the previous few days.

I also watched the final two hours of the WSOP final table on ESPN, and one thing strikes me as peculiar. Yes, Jamie Gold absolutely dominated the field, but he would've won a lot sooner if he would just shut the hell up and quit talking every time he made a big bet. It was almost cringe-inducing watching him give away too much info and letting his opponents fold instead of calling. He could've easily knocked out Allen Cunningham earlier if he would've just kept his damn yap shut.

Clearly he's never read The Art of War, or if so, he didn't remember that part about never interrupting your enemy when he's making a mistake.

I'm guessing that if he wouldn't have had such a monster chip stack, he couldn't have gotten away with some of the stuff he did.

Another thing--I'm no pro, but Hey-Zeus Farking Christo, if I have the absolute nuts of a hand, why in the hell would I ever go All In? That's about the dumbest fricking move you could make! Either check or put out a 'he must not want me to call' raise and let your opponent hang himself.

Good lord--this is professional poker?

Oh well, I guess you can't argue with results.

I don't know why it's got me so worked up into such a lather, but with moves like that, I can't see the value-added from having Johnnie Chan as a coach. Not once did Johnnie say "Damn Jamie, just shut the hell up and raise!" which would probably be the best advice he could give.

But it warmed my heart to hear, after all was said and done, that Jamie Gold only gets $6 million of his $12 million in winnings because the toolbag left a voicemail telling one of his business associates that he could have half of his WSOP winnings before the thing even started.

What a dumbass.

The only reason I'm down on the guy, and all nine of those losers at the final table, is because word travels fast in this town, and according to the guys that put out The Dealers News, not a single one of the guys at the final table left one thin dime as a tip for the dealers. Not a frickin' dollar.

I mean, seriously--every one of those guys became instant millionaires and they totally stiffed the guys providing the service. This is the first time that's ever happened. Of course, that's one lesson from Chan that stuck--he's a legendary stiff.

Now that I'm here, living on tips, I believe that there's a special corner of hell reserved for child molesters, people who create and spread computer viruses, and casino stiffs. They can all rot there as far as I'm concerned.

Once the World Series of Poker coverage ended and I calmed down from my bile-inducing wrath, I was feeling a bit hungry. A late-night trip to Del Taco for a Macho Burrito and two Big Fat Steak Tacos certainly took the edge off, and I spent the balance of the evening watching cool features on the History Channel, like the story of the Atlantic Intra-Coastal Waterway, and the efforts to dredge sand up and rebuild the beaches in Pensacola. Very interesting stuff to this armchair sailor.

Anyhow, that's pretty much the story of my whereabouts the past couple of days. I'm suffering through one of those 'I can't think of anything to write about' periods right now, but you all know that eventually enough stuff builds up in my brain and I unleash a monster. Not that I'm promising anything like that, just letting you know that I haven't felt particularly inspired to write anything lately.

Peace out and have a great day.

Mikey