A Day in the Islands

Ellis Island, Treasure Island, Long Islands...

I'm fighting a cold today, and as much as I'd love nothing better than to lay around in bed watching cartoons and feeling sorry for myself, part of me is contemplating a trip down to the local sushi-mongers and ordering a side dish of wasabi, just to enjoy it's magical sinus-healing powers. Personal experience also tells me that a shot or two of top-shelf tequila has a miraculous effect on minor afflictions such as the common cold, so that may be an option. However, the bottom line is that a package of Sudafed is cheaper than a bottle of Patron, even though they both have roughly the same effect. But you can't make a good margarita out of Sudafed, so the decision remains unmade.

I had an absolutely wonderful time with my friend Dawn yesterday. She flew out to Vegas for business on Sunday, but she didn' have any free time until Tuesday morning. So I picked her up at the Venetian around 11am for a day of diversion, Sin City style.

Our first stop was the Peppermill for breakfast. I had my usual (well, about 90% of the time) chicken fried steak and eggs meal that comes with the perfect hashbrowns and fantastic sourdough toast. And I kicked it off with a tall glass of Kahlua and coffee. Dawn had a steak sandwich and onion rings, having feasted on a bagel several hours earlier. Of course it was a great meal, but I think that the Peppermill is starting to cut corners. In the past, your toast would come with real strawberry preserves presented in a hollowed-out tangerine rind, garnish and all. This time I got Schmuckers grape jelly in a plastic cup. Not a trend that I'd like to see perpetuated.

Oh, and longtime readers know that it's taken me several tries to conquer the chicken fried steak and eggs breakfast. For years I have never been able to finish it. I know the secret now--I order my eggs over-easy instead of scrambled. With over-easy eggs, I can plainly see that I only get three of them. When scrambled eggs are ordered, they come in a small casserole dish that likely holds at least six. Three I can dispatch--six, not so much.

Dawn was kind enough to expense the breakfast bill (gotta love those foresighted Latin-speaking businessmen who came up with the concept of per diem), and while the waitress took care of that housekeeping chore, we planned our day. The first order of business was to head over to the Rio and undermine the concept of their Total Rewards program by crashing the Diamond Lounge and raiding the liquor cabinet.

Unfortunately, that mission was delayed by a little missing-cellphone drama. After searching our booth, the restroom, and the interior of the Ghetto Sled, Dawn came up with the idea to just call it from her cell phone. Like tearing my bedroom apart looking for sunglasses that are perched on my head, I felt a little sheepish when I heard it ringing from the depths of my shirt pocket.

With that, we were on our way.

Knowing that I'd be using the valet at some point, I was glad that I'd taken the time to remove most of the pteredactyl shiat from my windows (see previous posts...) earlier that morning. So we left the shabby-but-somewhat-clean automobile in the capable hands of the Rio's carparkers.

Our first disappointment of the day--the Diamond Lounge doesn't open until 4pm. Uh oh. What to do? Well, we'd talked about seeing a show that night, and she had a voucher for a couple of free tickets, so we hit the box office and decided to see The Scintas later that evening. Once that chore was done, we wandered the casino a bit and lost a few bucks trying to become instant millionaires on the Wheel Of Fortune dollar slots. That didn't work, again, so it looks like we'll have to take the long route to financial independence.

Not seeing many cocktail waitresses, er, bevertainers lurking about, and our desire to drink outweighing our desire to gamble, we decided to take our leave. After going to the valet stand and trading a buck and getting an old Lincoln Continental in return (I think the Rio got the better deal...), we made our way down Flaming-O to the Kmart of casinos--Ellis Island. I still had an all-you-can-drink coupon that expires in three weeks, and I'd be damned if I was going to let that one get away.

The bartender made little effort to mask his contempt for lowlifes such as ourselves taking up precious real estate, and told us that the coupon was only good for an hour and that we'd better tip.

What?

Yep, he made it clear that he expected us to take care of him for honoring our coupon! Whatever, dude. I even told him that I would since I too made a living on gratuities, and his response was Yeah, I've heard that before.

I wish I were making this up! And this conversation took place before we ever got a drink.

We finally ordered our beverages, and while he was pouring I made a show of leaving a $20 bill in front of me, just out of his reach. That kept the drinks flowing.

Dawn played some video poker, but I was content to just observe while sipping on my Captain and Seven. She didn't win anything, and after three rounds we decided to go use the matchplay that I had with me, also. I quickly exchanged the twenty on the counter with a five-dollar bill and we walked away from the bar, confident that Ellis Island won't be getting a Mobil Five-Diamond award if only due to their poor service.

Dawn played a slot machine while I took out $40 and my matchplay to use at the blackjack table. Didn't win a single hand, and Dawn's luck was much the same as mine. Our day at the Island wasn't much to speak of, and if they didn't have such great pizza, microbrewed beer, cafe specials, bbq, free drinks for casino employees after 3 am, karaoke, and homemade rootbeer, why, I'd never go back!

Deciding that we'd had enough slumming and wanting to get into the Christmas spirit a bit, we headed over to the Bellagio with the intention of visiting the holiday display in the conservatory. No valet this time--we headed for the parking garage. Security was tight and I had to pop the trunk and prove that I wasn't smuggling any Mexicans across their border. There was nothing back there but some empty cans of freon and power steering fluid, the flux capacitor, and a hiking boot that I can't find the mate for, so they were satisfied with the junk in my trunk and granted me access to the trendiest parking garage south of Spring Mountain Road.

Moments later we were enjoying the department-store-during-the-holidays vibe of the Bellagio Conservatory. The display was quite impressive, reminding me of wandering amongst Rose Parade floats. There were penguins and polar bears, dancing waters and a monster Christmas tree serving as a centerpiece. It was very well done and we had a great time watching the crowds watching the flowers.

Since we were right there, we decided to check out the menu posted outside of Michael Mina. It looked like a nice restaurant, but he seemed a bit proud of his prices. $75 for a lobster pot pie? Seems a bit steep, and for that price it better be enough for two and come with a live crab singing a calypso version of Under the Sea. Like Triumph the dog says...I keed, I keed... Of course I'm going to eat there eventually, I'll just have to forego my monthly Happy Ending visit to the Joy Luck Asian Massage and Wellness Center in order to pay for it. (I keed, I keed!)

After wandering the shops and diversions at that end of the property (By the way, I saw an awesome model sailboat on sale for a mere $700 at one of the stores where my money is literally no good), we headed for the casino for a little people-watching and maybe a little drinking. We walked all over the Bellagio, peeking into restaurants, hitting a few slots, and watching the Beautiful People. It was a great time, but there must have been some sort of union meeting or something that day, because we couldn't find a cockail waitress anywhere. We decided to hit a bar instead. Unfortunately, the Fontana Lounge was hosting a poker tournament, so we tried the Petrossian Bar. We couldn't find an open couch (What's with all these people? Doesn't anyone work during the day anymore???) and sitting at the bar didn't appeal to us, so we decided to move on, made our way to the garage, and left the Bellagio, thirsty.

It was after 3pm by then, so we figured we could go back to the Rio.

After fighting a bit of afternoon traffic on the Strip, we were back wandering around in the Rio, looking for that special machine that would remove us once and for all from the workaday world. We found one that held some promise, but in the end it only teased us before taking all of our money--much like those nice girls at the Spearmint Rhino. On a positive note, we found a cocktail waitress who liked our money almost as much as the slot machine did, and she kept busy by bringing us an endless supply of Long Island Iced Teas.

Soon enough it was 4pm, and we made our way to the Diamond Lounge. Luckily Dawn actually has a Diamond membership, so we didn't have to stoop to subterfuge to gain access into the Harrahs Corporation equivalent of the Holiest of Holies. Dawn stopped to use the free internet access to check her work email, while I scouted the territory and claimed a couch where we could watch hockey, basketball, and a show about shark attacks all at the same time.

The tuxedoed wait staff was kind enough to offer beverages, and after the last remnants of our Long Islands were consumed, we played copycat with this a-little-too-friendly-and-a-little-bit-kooky lady at a nearby table and ordered up some mudslides. There was also a rather generous snack buffet available, so we grabbed a couple plates and filled them with turkey-wrap slices, fruit, cheese and crackers, and chocolate-chip cookies. It was a great way to kill some time--nibbling on all the munchies, watching tv from our own private VIP alcove, and sipping on frozen chocolate goodness.

In a brilliant marketing move by the folks in charge at the Rio, they also had a display shelf of all of their in-house restaurant menus. We'd planned on dinner at The Palms, since I still have a $50 coupon good for basically anything there, and we'd been anticipating Mexican food at Gardunos after the show. But Dawn kept looking at the Fiore menu, and after I told her about how much we enjoyed it back in March, dinner plans were changed and we took the elevator back downstairs to the steak house.

Being that it was 5pm on a Tuesday night, they didn't make too big of a deal about us not having reservations. In fact they welcomed us heartily and we were seated immediately. The specials all sounded pretty good, but we opted for ordering off the menu.

Dawn had a field-greens salad and a petit filet. I went with the bone-in ribeye and white-cheddar au gratin potatoes and a glass of Pinot. Before the main courses we enjoyed a basket of assorted breads with spreads such as olive tapenade, bruschetta, and plain old butter. For a palate-cleansing intermezzo we were offered a small serving of mango sherbet doused with champagne. It was such a nice touch of class that I almost stood up and made my Jack Dawson toast about 'making it count', but nobody would've appreciated it since we were the only people in the dining room besides the wait staff.

The steaks arrived and they were excellent. Of course they were huge and tender, but after all the grazing we'd done upstairs in the lounge they were tough to finish. Somehow we managed. It was another fantastic meal in a city full of fantastic meals, and Fiore remains one of my favorite steakhouses.

We lingered a bit over our empty table, too stuffed for dessert or coffee. Dawn had some comp dollars left on her players card, so that took a nice chunk out of the bill. Again she charged the balance on her corporate Amex, letting The Man pay the tab for our culinary excess. She treats me much too well, I'd have to say.

We still had some time to kill before the show started, and I watched Dawn play some Hexbreaker video slot machine featuring black cats and broken mirrors. She can now declare with unquestioned authority that they are still bad luck.

Finally it was time to go to the theatre, and the cachet of the Diamond card allowed us to bypass the great unwashed in line and be seated immediately. There was still a half hour to go before show time--long enough to order a round of drinks, but luckily we avoided the aggressive photographers lurking about annoying the audience members. The problem was that by this time we were spent. Exhausted. We'd been running around all day, eating, drinking, goofing off, and it had caught up to us. We were actually dozing off at the table. Dawn even said we could skip out if I wanted to, as I was getting pretty droopy. No--I told her that I wanted to see the show, tired as I was. So we stayed.

I'm glad I did. The production was excellent. The Scintas put on a great show, doing dozens of impersonations and musical tributes, the Beatles being especially enjoyable. There was also a great piano medley featuring The Piano Man, the theme from Godfather, and the theme from Love Story. It was marvelous and brought the crowd to it's feet. My only gripe was the fact that they wasted so much time trying to sell their cd's, dvd's, and tomato sauce(?). Truly they took the showbiz maxim of 'always leave the crowd wanting more' to the extreme. More singing and less sales-pitching would improve the experience greatly and the audience would be much more satisfied. But overall it was still an excellent show, and definitely worth seeing, especially if you can score some free tickets.

After we left the theatre, we were dead on our feet. We immediately got the car out of the valet and made our way back to Treasure Island, where Dawn was staying. We said our goodbyes out in front of the hotel entrance, only pissing off a few cab drivers, reconfirming our plans to get together in March, the next time she's here on business.

I made it home without passing out from exhaustion and ending up in a ditch, and I was out as soon as my bald head hit the pillow.

What a great day.

A quick look at my social calendar shows that Doc Al arrives next week. I hope I can keep up.

Mikey

Infamy!

Yesterday, December 7, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan.

The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its Government and its Emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific. Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in Oahu, the Japanese Ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to the Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. While this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or armed attack.

It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time the Japanese Government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace.

The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. Very many American lives have been lost. In addition American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu.

Yesterday the Japanese Government also launched an attack against Malaya. Last night Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong. Last night Japanese forces attacked Guam. Last night Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands. Last night the Japanese attacked Wake Island. This morning the Japanese attacked Midway Island.

Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation.

As Commander-in-Chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense.

Always will we remember the character of the onslaught against us. No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory.

I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and of the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost but will make very certain that this form of treachery shall never endanger us again.

Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger.

With confidence in our armed forces - with the unbounded determination of our people - we will gain the inevitable triumph - so help us God.

I ask that the Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December seventh, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese Empire.

--President Franklin D. Roosevelt December 8, 1941

For more great Pearl Harbor information, click here and here.

Mikey's Christmas List

People have asked, so here ya go. Obviously there are some ridiculous items on there, but if I were a man of means, it's the stuff I'd get for myself.

1. A replacement for the Ghetto Sled. Preferably a Dodge Dakota Extra-cab, Chrysler 300M, or Dodge Charger. Must have the V-8. Silver or Burgundy in color.
   
2. An Ipod. At least 20 gig. The one that plays video would be cool
3. A new laptop. Dell is preferred and a dvd burner and wireless capability a must. Absolutely no Compaq, HP, or Gateway.
4. 5.0 megapixel digital camera
5. A new queen-sized pillowtop mattress set
6. A box or two of Partagas Black Labels
7. Rum
8. A Citizen Eco-drive watch
9. An authentic NFL Rams jersey, #85 with the name YOUNGBLOOD on the back. NFLshop.com sells 'em for about $300. And they come in my size, too.
10. Obsession for men
11. A 2006 calendar featuring Caribbean Islands or sailboats or boobies or something.
12. The Star Wars or Indiana Jones trilogies in widescreen DVD.
13. A Walther P-22
14. A new leather office chair
15. A new Coleman camp chair
16. A halogen floor lamp
    
17. An electric countertop griddle
18. The 2000-piece jigsaw puzzle entitled 'Belem'
19. A Craftsman tool kit
20. Johnny Cash/Tony Bennett/Dean Martin greatest hits cds
21. A Leatherman or Gerber pocket tool thingy
22. A handheld GPS receiver
23. New binoculars. Not the mini ones, but the big manly round ones
24. A new leather bi-fold wallet
25. Jimmy Cornell's World Cruising Routes

Well, that should about do it. It's what I can come up with off the top of my head. Of course what I'd really like is to have a week off from the casino and a round-trip ticket to Nashville for the holidays. But that ain't gonna happen--I'm stuck dealing overnight on Christmas Eve. I've got a better shot of waking up the next morning and seeing a Chrysler 300 in the driveway with a big red bow on it.

Mikey

Getting Voted Off the Island

Fark.com is one of my all-time favorite websites, and I visit it several times a day. The premise is fairly simple--just have members submit links to interesting or oddball news stories, but the hook is that they get to rewrite the headlines. As a mildly-talented scribe, this has a great appeal to me. (Sadly, however, none of my submissions have ever been greenlighted. Of course the conspiracy-theorist in me knows that it's because I've never coughed up the $5 per month Total Fark subscription). Hell, I even collect my favorite headlines and post them here on occasion. A couple of my other favorite features of the site are the photoshop and caption contests, and lord knows how much time I waste browsing that content. There are some seriously funny and talented people that frequent the place, even if the majority of them are politically babes-in-the-woods (but that's a mild annoyance that I don't wish to rant about at this point).

Anyhow, when I woke up early this morning, I found this extremely interesting thread, the topic of discussion being 'If you could vote somebody off of the Food Network, who would it be?'.

I posted a quick comment there, but I think I'll expound here on my own site. First of all, I love the Food Network--it is the best 'background tv' station available, except for maybe the digital music channels. Since I don't watch much prime-time tv due to my work schedule and most daytime programming involves talk shows, soap operas, and commercials for products that I am anatomically unable to use, the Food Network is generally where I keep my tv tuned during the day.

But I also like it because sometimes I stumble onto some great recipes and interesting features. I really enjoy watching The Best Of, just because every now and again I find myself in a city where they've featured a restaurant and y'all know how I love trying out new restaurants. But the cooking shows are generally pretty good, with few exceptions.

I've tried watching Iron Chef a few times, but I never got into it. Cooking competitions are cool and all, but anytime something gets "made for TV" the suckiness factor increases exponentially. And I hate how people behave differently when they know they're on camera. Iron Chef just exacerbates this problem. (Which reminds me, Emeril--call your office!)

Speaking of Emeril, I used to like his show a lot, but it's becoming a cliched self-parody. Enough with the whole pork-fat/booze/gahlic/onions/catchphrase banality. Personality is cool and all, but the recipes should be the feature. Otherwise, ditch the apron and get a talk show.

But it seems that a lot of people really don't like Bobby Flay. I've got no problem with the Flaymeister, but it just seems odd to me that somebody with such a conspicuous New York accent could turn out decent (but pricey) Tex-Mex derived dishes. Granted, I haven't made it down to the Mesa Grill at Caesars Palace yet to sample his wares, but once I do I'm sure my opinion of Bobby Flay will be more comprehensive. In the meantime, I still enjoy watching his shows, accent be damned.

As much dislike and ill-will seems to be directed at Bobby Flay, the exact opposite seems to be the norm for Alton Brown. Everybody loves Alton. I enjoy his show in small doses, but the campy skits and crap that's included in every episode really irritate me. Just give us the Hows & Whys and leave the lame drama club inanity on the editing room floor, please. Maybe then it won't take a half hour to explain how to make pizza dough. Otherwise, his show is chock full of scientificky goodness.

A lot of the commenters directed their ire at Tyler Florence's alleged condesencion. Hmm...I don't really see a lot of that, and he's actually one of my favorite personalities on the network. There have been many times that I'd love to have an expert like that looking over my shoulder while I'm in the kitchen. Hell, even if he wants to take over, so be it, but at least I'll learning from the master. My ego wouldn't be bruised too severely if he told me I was doing something wrong. But isn't that the point of his show, to correct the common mistakes that people are making? Besides, he does that one show with the tasty Jack Hourigan--Food TV's equivalent of a boy named Sue...

That brings me to a couple of hosts that I just find unwatchable. Michael Chiarello and Ina Garten. Michael Chiarello's show just has that whole Napa county snobbery vibe that I find 0ff-putting. And of course I don't know the first thing about the guy personally, but if he's not campaigning to be Grand Marshall of the next Gay Pride parade, I don't know who is. Time to come out of the closet, Mike--nobody serves chardonnay when they invite their friends over to 'watch football'. As far as Ina Garten goes, some of her recipes are ok, but it seems that all of her friends that she cooks for seem to be bowtie-wearing theatre critics straight (ok, bad pun) out of the Nathan Lane mold. Clearly the dinner companions from hell as far as I'm concerned. But then again, I'm a cretin that doesn't use a glass when I drink beer, so they probably wouldn't like me all that much, either. I don't mean to sound homophobic, because there's certainly more to it than that. I just don't like either of their shows.

It seems that a lot of people don't much care for Paula Deen, either. As a former southern gentleman, I find her recipes appealing in a comfort-food sort of way. Of course none of them are good for you--if you ate that shiat every day you'd be dead within a year. However, if I had to choose one person from Food TV to cook dinner for me, I'd probably choose her. My main gripe, however, is her two-syllable pronunciation of the word 'Ham'. Good lord--even my inner hillbilly shakes his head in disbelief.

Those of you that have followed my internets blatherings for any length of time know that I find Giada de Laurentiis extremely hot. Yeah, her head is disproportionately large, but so is my ass, so I can overlook that. The only thing I don't care for is the fact that she uses so much lemon in every farking recipe (Well, that and the whole over-pronunciation of Italian words--that drives me nuts). There is no way that Italians use that much lemon. Aside from the Italian dishes, I like watching her show because the director always manages to get closeups of her ample cleavage. I think the man has a future directing movies from somewhere in the San Fernando Valley if he ever leaves the Everyday Italian gig.

Another of my favorites, is the Food TV uber-milf Sandra Lee. Some people discount her as a Martha Stewart wannabe, minus of course the stint in the federal lockup, but the big difference for me is that she concentrates mostly on real life recipes made out of stuff generally found in the pantry--I never got much out of Martha's cookie decorating tips or instructions on how to make baby-shower decorations out of leftover Christmas ribbon. Granted, most of Sandra's recipes are simple affairs, but nobody cooks gourmet every day in the real world. I'm just waiting for an opportunity to bust out her crockpot version of wild mushroom risotto that I picked up a few weeks ago. I also like the fact that every episode of Semi Homemade features a cocktail of some sort. Gotta love a woman who knows her way around the bar! I just wish she'd drop the whole 'tablescape' nonsense, that's all. When that happens, the Martha Stewart comparisons would end once and for all.

I guess this brings me to who I'd vote off the network if I had the chance. This is the easiest choice ever--I cannot stand Rachel Ray. She would definitely be the first to go! There are a few things that put me into an immediate ass-kicking rage--Paul McCartney tunes, slow drivers in front of me, telemarketers calling my cellphone... But the sound of her nails-on-the-blackboard voice along with her shitty-assed shows, irritate me more than commercials featuring the sound of a crying baby. $40 A Day is a great concept, but it's unwatchable. She always picks the nastiest, cheapest thing on the menu and tips like a depression-era grandmother after a losing night at the blackjack tables. I'm tired of every show featuring a closeup of her scary Joker-face as she takes a bite followed by some sort of contrived moan trying to portray just how tasty her goat-cheese-and-arugula spinach wrap (served with a glass of water) is...

And what's the deal with an entire subculture of freaks in this world that think she is hot? She is NOT hot. Eva Mendez is hot. Lucy Lui is hot. Kari Wuhrer is hot. Misty the cocktail waitress-who-won't-give-me-the-time-of-day is hot. I repeat, Rachel Ray is not hot. Rachel Ray is the annoying pear-shaped female equivalent of a hand grenade that your wingman buddy throws himself onto so that you can bag her good-looking friend.

Seriously, if the Food Network got rid of all of Rachel Ray's shows and replaced them with athlete's foot treatment and bathroom-cleaner infomercials, I'm sure their viewship would skyrocket.

It's time to dump her like a psycho girlfriend.

Mikey

Sunday Morning Update

Alright alright alright... It's Sunday morning and I'm running on just about two hours of sleep, but there is so much great football going on that I forced myself to get up and watch the games. Not only do I have to give props to Cox for their latest generation of digital cable with includes the free Tivo-thingy, but I've also got picture-in-picture capability that doesn't require an extra VCR (does anyone still use those things, anyways?). It's a great solution for the two-great-games-but-only-one-tv dilemma I find myself in some days.

Ok, first item of housekeeping--I spent a good portion of yesterday afternoon trying to install new code into the website template to make the Comments sections a little more user-friendly. It was quite frustrating, but it seems to be working now. However, one of the side effects was that all of the old comments didn't carry over. My apologies to those of you that had especially pithy remarks, (this means you, Mr. Alarm Clock Jackass and Doc 'Talent Scout' Al). Now, I could get the old comments reposted, but that would require more coding on my part and I'm just too damn lazy. Besides, I'm not sure if I'm going to keep things this way. We'll see how it goes. So bottom line, my apologies for the missing comments, but hopefully this new setup will work a little better. I was getting a lot of spam in the comments section, and even the first roadblock I put up with the text box didn't stop it all. We'll see how this works.

Second of all, in yesterday's post I mentioned how I was looking forward to going back to work and finding out how much I made in tips on Friday night. I've got two words--Cha Ching! Brothaman made over three bills for his efforts that night. Best day ever! And because of that, a lot of the dealers took off early last night, so with fewer dealer-hours to divide all the tokes amongst, I should have another big night since I stayed the entire eight hours. As much fun as I had last night, nothing really memorable stands out except for one hour at Let It Ride where I dealt a four-of-a-kind (player made $800 on an $11 bet), then followed it up with back-to-back full-houses to a couple of different players. It was nice to see that game paying off, because usually I just hoover up all the chips every time I sit at that table.

On an interesting note, I got the Ghetto Sled repainted yesterday. It wasn't on purpose, however. Ok, actually, I didn't repaint it, some feathered friends with a sick sense of humor did. I came out of the house yesterday and it looked like a flock of very large and incontinent birds used my car for target practice. Seriously, there was an avian turd covering the drivers' side window that looked like it could've been dropped by a pterodactyl that spent the morning gorging itself at the Circus Circus Buffet. Frankly, I'm surprised that the glass survived the impact. But that wasn't the only one. The entire car is covered with runny aerial detritus giving it a Dali-esque quality that one must see to appreciate. For that reason, I'm not going to wash it for a couple days so that others can enjoy it as much as I do. Besides, everyone knows that birds only shit on a clean car, so I'm hoping they'll give somebody else's ride the Dresden treatment this week.

Mikey

The George Killer

It's a beautiful Saturday afternoon here in Vegas-land. I got some quality sleepy time after a very long night at work, woke up this morning and was Mr. Productive, and now I'm just waiting for the dryer to stop spinning while the Army/Navy game provides the background noise.

After not much live-fire practice at all, I've been dealing a lot of Pai Gow this week. When I first got to the casino the other night and saw that I was on that 'string', along with Crazy-4-Poker--a game which I hadn't dealt in over three months, I was a bit nervous. But it was needless anxiety, as all went well and now my Kung Fu is much more powerful.

I've noticed that a lot of dealers, especially dice dealers, have an air of superiority regarding their preferred came and feel that dealing pai gow and blackjack is beneath them. I don't understand that outlook at all. I love changing it up and dealing different games every night--it keeps me from getting burnt out. The only games I really dislike dealing are the single-deck bj variations. We don't have shuffle machines on the blackjack tables, so I end up having to shuffle about 40 times an hour whenever I deal single-deck. Truly it's not much fun. And I've noticed that blackjack attracts the most people who shouldn't be gambling--It's easy to spot the folks playing with the rent money.

But one of the best things about dealing Pai Gow in the 'carnival pit' with all the games like Let It Ride, Crazy 4 Poker, Deuces Wild, 3-Card Poker, etc. is that you get to sit on your ass all night to deal and it's not nearly as tiring--the games are slower paced, the players are more relaxed, and generally it's an easy-going atmosphere. Working all night dealing double-deck blackjack will grind you down after eight hours, but dealing sit-down style carnival games the whole time is just a walk in the park, Kazanski.

The only problem is that the carnival games are generally the first ones to get closed down after midnight, so I usually end up dealing blackjack or dice for the last couple hours of my shift, anyways. Last night was no exception. I ended up on that single deck 6:5 game that I dislike so much and participated in the worst casino beat-down I've ever seen.

One of the blessings (and curses) of working at a locals casino is that we see a lot of the same players all the time. Generally, most of them are very cool, lots of fun to deal to, and generous tippers. One such guy was in again last night--he usually plays about $50-$100 per hand, but last night he decided to 'go for it'. I'm told that he took out a marker for about twenty grand and turned it into about fifty large. Then I heard that he got greedy and started giving it back, much too quickly. Towards the end of the night, he showed up at my table (it was a dead game at the time, I was just standing there daydreaming) and decided to play a thousand dollars a hand. Even the floor person was telling him to take his winnings and go home, but he told me that he'd lost about twenty grand in the last hour and wanted to get it back.

No problem--I told him I'd do what I could and wished him Good Luck.

Unfortunately, I wasn't in much of a giving mood and he lost his first five hands. He asked for a shuffle, so I obliged, and he started playing two spots at a grand a hand. He didn't win a single one. I hadn't dealt to him for even ten minutes before getting tapped out for my break, and in that time I took him for another twenty grand. Ouch. It was painful to watch, and even more so because he's one of our favorite players--always in a good mood, always telling jokes, always tipping (word around the campfire last night was that he made the dealers over five thousand dollars in tokes for the night--can't wait to go in tonight to see what I made for eight hours!). It was really a bummer seeing this guy give it all back to the house.

The thing is, he usually never plays at my table--another time earlier this summer I beat him pretty badly, so although he's nice to me and would always stop by and say hello for a minute or two, he'd never play with me. After last night's experience, I'm sure he won't ever sit at my table again.

On my way to the break room, I told the floorperson about how badly it'd gone, and she called me a George-killer. I think everyone wanted to see the guy win, but that's gambling. Less than an hour later, another dealer told me that she took another six grand from him.

Just another Friday night in Vegas.

Mikey

One Name Wonders

Cher. Madonna. Bono. Sting. Frank. Sammy. Dino. Liberace. Sigfried. Roy. Mikey. All the greats seem have just one name. But here in Vegas, I've realized that nobody has a last name (except Wayne Newton, but we'll leave him out of the current discussion). Even the mayor just goes by the name 'Oscar' (When he uses his last name, people tend to think he used to be Steve Austin's boss back in the seventies...) I've been here about ten months now, and although I've met hundreds of people, I can count on one hand the people who's last name I know. I think it's truly a Vegas phenomenon.

Back in Nashville and Phoenix, all of my jobs involved contact with the public, and everyone I dealt with knew my last name, and of course I knew everyone's last name who worked in my office, too. It was especially nice at Schwab, because we had to wear name tags with first and last names, and in a building with about 600 brokers lurking about, it was easy to find out who the especially attractive folks were. Hey man, have you seen that new girl, Tara Smith? Good God!

Once you had the last name, slipping their name into a group email reminding everyone about happy hour on Friday afternoon was easy. Maybe she'd show up, maybe introductions would be made, and maybe she'd bring along some of her hot friends, too. That's all there was to it. Before long she'd be attending the same parties on the weekends and letting you do tequila shots off of her body in the parking lot before a Jimmy Buffett concert.

Here, that kind of stuff wouldn't happen--first of all, I no longer work in an office and have access to a computer while at work. Second of all, the casinos go out of their way to make sure that employees remain somewhat anonymous. I mean, no cocktail waitress wants anyone to know her last name, and as a dealer, a lot of times I don't want some of the jackasses at my table to even know my first name, much less my last name. For security purposes, it's a great idea, and it really makes it tough on the stalker types. The funny thing is, it carries over everywhere else. I share a house with four other guys. I have no idea what three of their last names are. I go out every weekend with the same group of ten or twelve people I work with--I only know one of their last names. My old roommate Kelly--the stripper--I had no idea what her last name was, either. Of course she gave me her cell phone number and her stage name, but last name? Forget it.

Even my gaming ID card doesn't have my last name, just a picture and my first name. I've applied for a couple of different part-time jobs in recent months, and while filling out the paperwork, I've wracked my brain trying to remember my shift boss's full name, which I'd only heard once or twice in the past.

I remember when I first went looking for a job after I got out of dealer's school, my first referral was to 'go down and see John at the Golden Gate--he'll give you an audition'. No last name. But I got the job. So maybe Vegas really still is a small town. I haven't been here that long, but I've noticed it--there seems to be only two degrees of separation in Vegas in general and the casino business in particular, not the usual six found out in the real world. Everybody knows everybody--they just don't know their last name.

I guess this leads me to believe that last names aren't even needed, at least not here. I just wish there were a way to email Pebbles the cocktail waitress at Monte Carlo and invite her to happy hour this weekend.

Mikey

Celebrity Shocker!

I'm guessing the Courtney Love billboard is further down the street.

Another Blogger Quiz

Catching up on email today, I found another quiz in my inbox. This one is 35 questions long, but reading over it, I thought this has Mikey written all over it, so I'll do my best to answer every question for your enjoyment.

1. Internet Explorer or Mozilla? Firefox, baby! IE licks.
   
2. XM or Sirius? I currently don't have satellite radio, but I'm leaning towards XM once I finally get it. Although, whoever the program director for XM 25-The Blend is, they need to be kicked squarely in the nuts. God what a horrid channel.
   
3. Favorite Blog/Blogger? Kim du Toit. I think the latest incarnation of his site is called The Other Side.
   
4. Besides Google, what ‘reference’ website do you use most? Thesaurus.com. I use it several times a day.
   
5. Besides Amazon or Ebay, where do you do most of your online shopping? Either JR Cigars or Casual Male Big & Tall.
   
6. How many email addresses do you have? Four, I think. I only use two regularly, though.
   
7. What (Non-pr0n) website do you go to when you feel like daydreaming? Yachtworld. com, the Boats for Sale section.
   
8. Over the course of your lifetime, how many different cities have you lived in? Ten. Los Angeles, Nashville (three times!), St. Louis, Atlanta, San Diego, Rexburg Idaho, Juneau Alaska, Prescott Arizona, Phoenix, Las Vegas.
   
9. In 2008, who would you most like to see running for President from each party? Least like? I'd most like to see the Hildebeast representing the Dems, only because it would be a landslide wipeout on the scale of the beat-down Reagan gave Mondale in 1984. I'd like to see Condeleeza Rice run on the Republican ticket, but I don't know if the GOP is far enough beyond the old-boys-country-club mentality to nominate a black woman. As far who I'd least like to see from the Dems, it doesn't matter to me--they are all equally reprehensible. But I'd hate to see John McCain be the Republican nominee. God, that would suck ass completely.
   
10. Where do you steal most of your music from? Well, now that I've outgrown Columbia House, I get most of my tunes from I-Mesh.
    
11. What’s the weirdest thing on your desk right now? A replica leg-lamp from 'A Christmas Story'
    
12. What kind of car/truck do you drive? The Ghetto Sled is a 1994 metallic green Lincoln Continental with leather seats and an eerie green-glowing dashboard.
    
13. What is hanging from your rear-view mirror? Yes, I actually have a set of fuzzy dice hanging from the mirror
    
14. What was the best job you’ve ever had? Teaching option trading to the new brokers at Schwab. Decent money, independence, fun people to work with, great benefits, interesting subject.
    
15. What was the worst job you’ve ever had? Fundraising for a non-profit charity. Ugh. Telemarketing with a self-righteous attitude.
    
16. Do you smoke? What brand? Never smoked a cigarette in my life. But I love cigars and Dominican Partagas Black Label are my favorites (when I don't have any Cuban Cohiba Siglo V's on hand...)
    
17. If you were independently wealthy, name three other places where you’d have a home. Isla de Cozumel, Mexico. Somewhere in the hills of Tennessee. Annapolis, Maryland--on the water.
    
18. If you were king for a day, name one government agency you’d do away with. That's easy--on the federal level, the IRS. On the state level, the DMV.
    
19. What reading material is stacked on the back of your toilet? The Ocean Almanac by Robert Hendrickson, some sailing magazines, the latest Dell computer catalog.
    
20. What book is currently on your nightstand? Blue Latitudes by Tony Horwitz
    
21. In your hometown, what’s the name of your favorite places for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Breakfast--Peppermill, Lunch--Binion's Snackbar, Dinner--Ortanique
    
22. How much do you spend at Starbucks per month? Maybe five bucks. I don't go there much. Seriously people, it's overpriced filtered bean water...
    
23. What is your next realistic big-ticket purchase going to be? A new bed and a laptop.
    
24. Where will you take your next vacation? Eastern Caribbean, onboard the Caribbean Princess.
    
25. If Hollywood called and offered you a major movie with a steamy love scene, the only caveat being that the other actor/actress had to be at least ten years older than you, who would you prefer the other star to be? Either Kim Basinger or Morgan Fairchild. But since they're giving me creative input, I'd have to say "Both".
    
26. Which character on Gilligan’s Island are you most like? The Skipper.
    
27. What’s the last DVD that you purchased? Snatch.
    
28. Favorite board game? Sequence or Othello, but I haven't played Othello in years. I like cribbage, too, but I don't know if that counts as a board game.
    
29. For what product was the last coupon you used? 'All you can drink for two people at the Ellis Island bar'
    
30. Favorite snack? This goes in cycles, but right now I'm kind of partial to sun-dried tomatoes and cream cheese on crackers.
    
31. If you had to eat only fast food for an entire month, which fast food restaurant would you choose? Del Taco.
    
32. What’s the funniest bumper sticker you’ve seen lately? There is room on earth for all of God's creatures--right next to the mashed potatoes
    
33. Have you ever fallen asleep in a movie theatre? If so, what movie? Yep, twice. Once during Fantasia and the other during Seven Years in Tibet.
    
34. How many foreign country’s stamps are in your passport? None. I've had the passport for four years, but none of the countries I've been to in that time have stamped it (Mexico, Belize, Cayman Islands, Netherland Antilles, Bahamas)
    
35. If you played golf, name three other people that would make up your perfect foursome. My buddy Eddie and I have actually had this conversation in the past. We always joked that it would be him, me, David Lee Roth, and Fred Couples. I haven't picked up the sticks in years, but if I could choose I'd say Charlie Steiner, Rich Eisen, and Charles Barkley. Of course Eva Mendez would have to be the cart girl...
    

Mikey

Blissful Slumber

I was completely exhausted after Vanessa's whirlwind visit, and had to work last night also. Talk about dead man walkin'. I was barely awake when I arrived, so I signed the E.O. list (Early Out--meaning, that once tables start closing after midnight or so, those people on the E.O. list get to go home if they choose. Since I'm basically working only part-time, I normally avoid the list like the plague. But I would've paid any price for sleep last night).

Luckily, I was on a very easy 'string' (A string is casino lingo for the set of tables you're assigned to for your eight-hour shift. There are typically four dealers and three tables on any string, allowing for an hour per table, followed by a twenty-minute break, then moving on to your next table, repeated all night long). Last night my tables were a $5 sit-down BJ table, Let It Ride (or Let It Die as it's more commonly called), and a $20 Pai Gow table. Yep, that was my first official shift dealing Pai Gow, but fortunately it was the higher-limit table at the far end of the pit, so it didn't get much traffic. My only Pai Gow player was a guy who'd been at my Let It Ride table earlier in the evening, and I'd dealt him a full house just before I left for break (for a $480 win!), so he followed me to my next game. I was good to him there, too, and he made a few more bucks before I left for the night.

I was at the top of the EO list, so instead of getting sent home around 2am like I thought would happen, I actually got to leave at midnight. Score! I came home and went directly to bed, not even turning on the tv to check scores or highlights. And I got eight hours of uninterrupted blissful slumper. It was exactly what I needed.

When I finally motivated myself out of bed this morning, I shuffled off to the other side of the estate (have I mentioned how huge this house is? It's like 75 steps from my room to the laundry room. I actually counted once...) for a pot of coffee and breakfast with The Captain. No, not Morgan, you degenerate drunks. The other Captain--Crunch! Normally the only cereal I ever eat is Raisin Bran, but if Captain Crunch or Golden Grahams ever go on sale, then I'll pick up a box or two of that. The cereal bowl is now empty, but I'm still enjoying a cup of the good stuff, this time flavored with holiday-edition peppermint creamer.

Anyhow--the past few days were pretty enjoyable. I always have a great time with Vanessa, and this time was no different, although I think we would've had much more fun if we hadn't just got crushed in the gambling department. We couldn't win a damn thing for two days straight. The best I did was end up even on Tuesday, but yesterday the Gambling Gods gave us the bitch-slap smack down and robbed us like they were Seinfeld and we were old ladies carrying a marble rye. I could tell lots of bad beat stories, but I guess the whole experience could be distilled into two simple lessons--One, if the $5 Wheel of Fortune slot in the High Limit room doesn't give you a single spin after $200, it's time to move on. And Two--if you're playing blackjack and get dealt 20, Blackjack, 20 in three consecutive hands and don't win a single one of them, it may be time to find something else to do.

Another bummer of the week was that my digital camera seems to have gone Tango Uniform on me and none of my pictures turned out. (I actually took a picture of my empty plate at the Peppermill after breakfast yesterday. I finally conquered the chicken fried steak and eggs! Woo hoo--Everest has been surmounted!) On one hand, that's ok, because I've wanted to upgrade to a 5 megapixel model for over a year now, so it gives me justification to purchase a new one. Unfortunately, the this week's negative experiences at the tables have impaired my ability to procure said camera.

So today is my day off--I get to relax a bit before working all weekend. I'll spend my afternoon catching up on email and doing around-the-house chores, maybe spending some quality time in front of the tube paring down my Tivo list (by the way, has there ever been a greater invention than Tivo??? I think not!).

I may post some more if I feel sufficiently inspired, but in the meantime, I just want to give a shout out to the jackass that checked out of our room at Harrahs just before we checked in. Thanks for making sure the alarm clock was at full volume and set for 5 am. We sure appreciated that. I hope you die a slow and painful death by nut cancer or something equally distasteful.

Mikey

Tuesday Morning

Ok...another one of life's lessons that I've recently learned is not to drink an entire pot of coffee at 2am and stay up all night writing, unless I've got no place to go for a couple of days. That really screwed up my schedule. But it's almost 5:30 in the morning here in America's Playground, and although it's cold as hell outside (Yeah Doc, Minnesota is colder than hell), I'm wide awake and ready for the day.

But writing is going to be light-to-non-existent for the next couple of days. Vanessa arrives in a few hours and we've got lots of Vegas buffoonery planned. This morning, I have to go wash the last month's filth off of the ghetto sled (although I'm thinking about renting a 300M for a couple of days, just because...), I need to go to the bank, the cigar store (you've got to admire a woman who appreciates the simple pleasures of a fine cigar and a top-shelf martini), and find some decent clothes that match. Then it's off to the airport and the silliness begins. In addition to all the match-plays we have to burn, I still have a few LVA coupons that need to be used by the end of the year, and part of the agenda is to get a little more ink done. We should have a great time, and I probably won't be near a computer for the next day or two. However, once she heads home and I get some sleep, I'll post what I can, pictures included.

Before I sign off, I have to make a quick mention about last night's Steelers/Colts game. I've never been much of a Peyton Manning fan, often getting a perverse satisfaction out of seeing him choke away the big game. But after the season the Colts are having and seeing the first play from scrimmage last night where he made Pittsburg's vaunted defense look like his own personal bitches, all I could do is shake my head in amazement and admiration. Indy is definitely better than my all-time favorite team, the 1999 Rams, and I'd love to see them run the tables and make history, if only to shut up Nick Buoniconti and the rest of those old farts from Miami for the last time. I have a feeling that the case of champagne they've had on ice the entire year won't get opened unless they man-up and send it to the Colts locker room in Detroit for the post-game celebration in February.

19-0. That would even obliterate my old roommate Neil's Happy Hour Hook-Up Without Catching The Clap record. Here's to hoping they don't run into the NFL equivalent of a U of A sorority girl with a huge rack and an appetite for Cosmopolitans.

Mikey

Friday Night Smokin'

I had Friday night off, which was a rarity. Luckily, longtime reader Habanaman, aka Chris, was in town for a quick visit and wanted to meet up. His offer of free drinks and Cuban cigars was more than enough incentive for me to make my way down to the Strip on a Friday night.

We decided to meet up at Napoleon's Lounge there at the Paris at 10 pm, as that was the wife's bedtime and as soon as he could 'get off the leash' as he put it.

I made it to the lounge on time, after driving around for ten minutes looking for someplace to park. But when I arrived at Napoleon's, I was quite a bit disappointed. I've always thought of the place as a nice, understated, almost elegant cigar lounge and bar. But Caesars Entertainment no longer owns the place, Harrahs does, and it has become Harrah-fied. Instead of a low-key jazz pianist playing mellow tunes in a dimly lit room, they had two 'dueling' keyboardists hamhanding their way through the same cliched versions of songs that every other dueling piano bar in the world does. And not only that, it was about 30 decibels too loud. Imagine some shitty band like Limp Bizkit playing a classy joint like Carnegie Hall.

Chris spotted me immediately, and had a table saved as far away from the noise as possible, but it was still impossible to carry on a conversation without yelling. No fun at all. I was looking forward to a relaxing evening sipping top-shelf liquor, smoking cigars, and enjoying pleasant conversation. There was no way that was going to happen, so we decided to try someplace else. While we waited, and waited, and waited some more for the waitress to come by so we could settle the tab, I filled out one of the request slips with the simple appeal that they play 'the 25-minute-long Woodstock version of Shut The Hell Up'. Unfortunately, we left before they made their way through the stack and got to that request.

We decided to try the main bar in the casino, but that was completely packed with no tables available. While making our way through, we encountered the lamest bachelorette party in the History of Vegas. First of all, the bride was older than me and there was no sticky candy available to nibble off of her body. Penalty points for that faux paus.

Their first request was a reasonable one--they wanted a condom. Of course Chris is married, so he didn't have one. And I stopped carrying them around in my wallet years ago, not wanting to lose them in the washing machine. So we couldn't help them with that one. Ok, no problem--then they asked if I was wearing black socks, which I was. Well they told me that they needed one of them. I told them that I didn't carry those in my wallet either, but they were insistent. Yeah right, like I'm going to give those chicks my sock. What kind of stupid-ass scavenger hunt is that? They were getting annoying and so I turned to Chris and told him that we needed to get out of there, but not before the chicks told us that since we didn't have anything on their list that we had to give them a dollar bill or a 5-dollar casino chip. That was my cue to leave, but Chris tried to offer her a two-dollar bill--but one of them started freaking out saying how seriously unlucky that two-dollar bills were and refused it. She wouldn't even touch the thing. About that time we realized that things had just gone surreal and we both looked at each other with the same confused What the Fark? look on our faces. Since any chance of intelligent conversation was shot, we kept on walking.

We wandered the casino a bit, finally finding seats in the sportsbook bar. Fuzzy Navels for him, Captain & Seven for me. He was kind enough to bring along two Monte Cristo #2's, so we lit them up, toasted the good times, and enjoyed a couple hours of cocktails, storytelling, and people watching. After about four rounds they were closing the bar down, and Chris suggested we find a pai gow table. Sounded like a good idea to me, so off we went in search of a game. There were none to be found in Paris, so we made our way to Bally's instead.

We found a $15 table right away and sat down to play. Unfortunately, the dealer went on one of those runs where they deal themselves three pair every hand and wiped me out before I got my first drink. Losing a hundred was enough for me, so I thanked Chris for the enjoyable evening and headed for the parking garage.

On my way out, I saw a girl I went to dealer school with talking on a cell phone. We chatted for just a minute, but then she asked me if I could give her a ride. No problemo--she said she needed to get to the Pecos/Lake Mead area. I said I'm not quite sure where that was, but since I live right off of Pecos and I knew that Lake Mead Pkwy went through Henderson, I thought it would be close.

Nope. Apparently, there is another Lake Mead up in North Las Vegas. Great. Only about 15 miles out of my way. Oh well, I'd already said yes. The ride was a little odd though--it's not like I knew the chick very well anyways, but trying to make conversation I never did find out where she got a dealing job, or even if she got one at all. I did however, find out how she managed to be at the Paris with no car--apparently her and her dude got into a fight and he left her there. Nice. I dropped her off in the parking lot at her complex, and he was standing outside waiting for her. I didn't want to get involved in that drama, so I took off but they started yelling at each other before she closed the car door.

Having never been to North Las Vegas before (and not really wanting to go back now that I've seen it--it seems to be pretty ghetto up there), on the way back I drove past Jerry's Nugget. I knew I had a matchplay in my LV Advisor coupon book which I keep in the glove compartment, so I stopped in hoping to make my gas money back.

I was less-than-impressed with the place, but it was nicer than say, the El Cortez. Kind of like a very poor-man's Gold Coast. There were a couple of blackjack tables open, both with $5 limits. One girl was playing by herself, so I just watched (because I know how much I hate it when I'm playing one-on-one against the dealer, doing well, and some jerkoff comes and sits down and ruins the flow of the cards). She either won or pushed every hand that I was present for, so she invited me to join her. I told her I'd wait until she lost two hands in a row, and she made another hundred bucks before I sat down.

Luckily I won my match play, and a couple hands after that, also. I bought in for just $40 and said I'd quit with a hundy, and after a few shuffles I scored big on a double down and pocketed a hundred-dollar profit. I told my new friend that I'd sit out because she was winning bigger when I wasn't playing. The cards kind of turned on her, but in the meantime I found out that she was a dancer across the street at the Palamino. Having just seen it for the first time from the outside, she confirmed my suspicions that it was indeed a dump. The cards kept getting worse and worse for her, and she lost about $400 in ten minutes or so. She was a cute girl and all, but she had the foulest mouth ever and the worst attitude I'd encountered in a long time. I can understand the occasional salty talk, even from chicks, but once it got to the point were every other word was an f-bomb and other such niceties, I decided to hit the cage. She went all gangster on me and I was afraid she might bust a cap in my ass for not playing with her. I got my cash and headed for the door, marking Jerry's Nugget off the list of places I need to visit. At least I won my pai-gow losses back.

On the way home, I saw yet another surreal sight, as I passed a block that was covered from one end to the other with bums sleeping out on the sidewalk. It was pretty chilly that night, so they were all covered from head to toe in blankets, making it look like dozens of body bags lying about. The fact that it was directly across the street from a mortuary just completed the bizarre scene. Overall, it was a very interesting evening.

I felt much better once I got back to my neighborhood. We keep our bums out of sight, and our strip clubs are much classier joints.

Mikey

Saturday Night Tokin'

It's 2:30 in the morning, I just got home from work, I have a full pot of coffee brewing, and I just feel like staying up for a few hours and doing some writing. My shift was a little different tonight--I worked from 6pm till 2am and just got home. I like that shift, but unlike the 8-4 shift, this one doesn't give you any time to stand around and relax at a dead table. The first six hours absolutely flew by--I had the funnest tables ever. When I was getting tapped out, I couldn't believe that the hour had already passed. So let me tell you a few stories from the casino.

It all started before I left for work. I've been shaving my head for over ten years, and have gotten pretty good and quick with a razor. Normally that part of my daily toilette is done in the shower, without the use of a mirror. Well, I got in a hurry and managed to cut myself pretty good on the back of my head. Although, I didn't know it at the time. I finished up, dried off (with a maroon towel, so I didn't see any blood), got dressed, and drove to work. As I was walking back to the uniform room, somebody came up behind me and freaked out. The entire back of my head was all bloody and it had even ran down all over the collar of my shirt. According to her, it looked like I'd been smashed with a brick or something. I managed to get it all cleaned up and stopped the bleeding almost as soon as I put pressure on it, but I went through a half a roll of paper towels and everything withing three feet of me looked like the back seat of Jules Winfield's car before The Wolf showed up. Other than the dead nigga in the back seat, the car is tip top!

After that dramatic episode ended I got dressed and prepared for my evening at the tables.

One of the games I was scheduled on is called Super Fun 21. Basically it's a single or double deck blackjack game with a few different rules. Blackjacks pay even money, unless it's diamonds, then it pays double. You can double down at any time, not just after two cards, late surrender is offered, and a 5-card 21 pays double, a 6-card 20 or less wins regardless of what the dealer has, and all players' blackjacks win--no pushes, even if the dealer has a blackjack, too. Anyhow--it's a very popular game and we offer three tables of it.

So I'm on one tonight, just cranking out the jokes and dropping tokes after every hand. One dude had been at the table for almost twelve hours straight and had quite a stack of green quarter cheques in front of him. Unfortunately, he started betting big and I busted him three times in a row. I was a little bummed because he had a good personality and was a George (casino slang for 'great tipper'). After that, he said he felt like it was probably time to go, so he pushed out all of his green checques in a stack and said The hell with it--lets gamble!

So I called out 'Cheques play!' to alert the floorman that somebody is betting big. So he came over to watch the hand. I dealt the cards, and I had an eight showing. I get to Mr. Chips and he's got two cards that add up to seven. He takes a hit. Five. Now he's got twelve. He takes another hit and makes 16. Instead of surrendering the hand, he resigns himself to his fate and starts to wave me off to stand on his sixteen. Just being a dork, I said Hey man, a five-card 21 pays double... I'm just sayin'...

Everyone at the table laughed, even the floorman, but the player said Ok--hit me again.

Doh!

I was beginning to feel as bad as everyone else at the table since I'd just beat this guy down three hands in a row, and was about to bust him again. A grey cloud of depression formed overhead, as everyone started shaking their heads, anticipating the train wreck they were about to witness. Another player kept telling him to surrender but he wouldn't listen, and insisted on taking a card.

So I tapped the table, wished him a sincere Good Luck, and pulled the next card out of the deck.

Naturally, I dropped a five on him to make his five-card 21! Pandemonium. The whole table went nuts. I looked over my shoulder and see the floorman laughing and he whispered to me--"A five card 21 pays double!" Nice going, dickhead. Actually, he really didn't care at all--they don't 'sweat the money' in my casino, but he just couldn't believe the guy would take the hit. Anyhow, the player turned his $600 bet into $1800 on that one card, and was kind enough to throw me another fifty bucks tip in addition to all the rest he'd given me so far that evening. Good times all around. Talk about putting the entire table in a good mood--they wanted to nominate me for Dealer of the Year after suggesting that hit... Shortly thereafter I got tapped out and took a break, the same time as the floorman. We sat around in the dining room laughing about it and telling anyone who would listen.

When I got to my next table, it was a six-deck shoe game. Fun crowd, made better by one dude who, although he was a terrible player, had a substantial bankroll and was betting $100 per hand for himself, and every other had--win or lose--he'd bet $25 for me. Very nice. The bummer of it was the play at the table was so bad that I only won about every third or fourth bet. Not bad money in the toke box, but it would've been much more if people would take the time to learn some basic strategy and not be afraid to hit hands like 14 or 15 on occasion. As much as I'd hoped he'd play correctly, I certainly can't complain too much about his generosity.

The best table of the night was one that just had a perfect mix of people. They all had decent bankrolls, weren't playing with 'scared' money (you can always tell who is--they are the ones most upset when they lose, and still gripe when they win...), they all got along well, and believed in the karmic power of tipping the dealer. Even when the cards went cold, they were still having fun. After a particularly bad run, during the shuffle, the guy on third base asked me Mikey, where have all the good times gone?

So I replied with I dunno, we're running a little bit hot tonight--I can barely see the road from the heat comin' on...

The whole table started laughing and he tossed me a green chip, thanking me for my quick comeback to his Van Halen lyric with one of my own. Overall, it was a very fun hour and it ended much too soon. I think I probably dropped about $300 in tokes on that table alone. That was awfully nice, because I'm sure somebody needed to carry the load for the four poor schmucks stuck on the dollar dice table for eight hours. They might drop fifty bucks between them for the whole shift.

One thing I almost forgot to mention that helped my mood somewhat was that all the cocktail waitresses got their new Christmas uniforms and started wearing them tonight. Instead of the biker girl leather motif, they've gone with the red velvet and white furry Santa's Naughty Helper look. You gotta love that. It's like if Hef were Santa Clause and all the elves lived at The Mansion. It's just lucky that dealing blackjack requires me to stand still all night. If I had to walk around I'd be all bruised up from falling down and walking into stuff, unable to concentrate. Babes in Toyland, indeed.

So my eight-hour shift just flew by tonight. It was one of those days where I had so much fun that it didn't even seem like work. Of course, by the time I left I was exhausted and my feet were killing me, but now I'm at home sitting on my ass, drinking coffee, and doing something else I enjoy--writing this stuff down for you fine folks.

It's been a hell of a day.

Mikey

The Slippery Slope to Old Age

The more time passes, the closer I get to becoming that grouchy old man who stands on the porch yelling at the damn kids to get off my lawn. I'm only 38 years old, but that's three years beyond the magic 18-35 demographic that seems to carry the most relevancy, at least according to the experts on Madison Avenue.

The most recent I-just-don't-get-it moment came by way of the hype surrounding the release of the new Xbox 360 game console. Apparently, it is the latest must-have toy on all the Christmas lists this year, and the national news services have done a yeomanlike job of reporting the consumer stampede on retailers as demand is far outstripping supply. As a red-state borgeoisie imperialistic capitalist-dog investor, I offer a hearty congrats to Microsoft for the billions of dollars they are going to earn for providing the latest Better Mousetrap to the Ritalin-addled minds of today's yoots. But on the other hand, I ask myself, what's the big deal?

As far as I'm concerned, video game greatness peaked with the 2-D simplicity of Asteroids. Of course, having spent my formative years trying to convince my parents that the new MTV channel was not a Tool of the Devil, Hobie shirts were absolutely not the same thing as OP, and black nylon pants with zippers all over them were the pinnacle of coolness, it's unsurprising that a person like me would have such an affinity for a game that today's kids would consider downright lame.

Today's Xbox runs about $400 retail, if you're lucky enough to find one. But a quick glance at Ebay shows that some have gone for over TWELVE HUNDRED FRICKIN DOLLARS in the secondary market! Good grief. When I saw that, the first thing that came to mind were Gunnery Sergeant Hartmann's immortal words--You've gotta be shittin' me Pyle! Yeah, good luck getting my folks to spend that kind of jack back in the eighties. Especially for a video game. Hell, my parents wouldn't even get me the electronic Battleship for Christmas--the original version was perfectly adequate, I was told. But $1200 for a video game system? Are you nuts? That doesn't even include the cost of the actual games! I don't have kids, but even if I did, I know I wouldn't love them that much. For twelve Benjamins, I'm sure as hell not wasting money on a video game--even for myself. Maybe a box of Cuban cigars, a couple bottles of rum, another tattoo, dinner at Delmonico, and perhaps a new subscription to Girls Gone Wild. Clearly I've become a more responsible consumer as I've matured.

For the Ebay price of an Xbox, you could get almost five thousand chances to enter your initials as one of the Top Ten players. (And who among us never had a temporary alias that looked like A.S.S. after cracking that list???) Even the most uncoordinated buffoon could get to level ten and beyond with that kind of investment, and no 'cheats' would be needed. And with the Xbox, you're just sitting around on your ass in the basement for days on end. At least Asteroids had some social aspect involved--there were always other players around, and like a saloon pool table, your quarter sitting in line meant that 'you got next'.

My favorite machine was located at La Jolla Skate Village in Harvester, Missouri--the Saturday night social center of the universe when I was in junior high. All that was needed (besides parents willing to provide transportation) were three bucks for admission and skate rental (if you owned your own skates, you were clearly gay), a couple more bucks to cover pizza and cokes, and a few quarters for the Asteroids machine for when that inevitable awkward moment arrived and the lights would dim, a Journey ballad would start playing, and the DJ would make the dreaded announcement-- Couple skate, couples only... Since I never wanted to suffer the humiliation of Pam Epperly rejecting my offer to take a few laps around the rink holding hands, that was always the time I practiced making the cosmos safe from large electronic rocks and small ufo's.

I remember another time my buddy Brad Bateman and I had made $20 apiece doing some sort of odd job or another, and talked his mom into dropping us off at the arcade for the afternoon. We played Asteroids the whole time. Several hours later the money was gone and we had to endure a lecture for the entire ride home about wasting all of our money playing video games. Telling her that we spent some of the money on a box of donuts and a couple of cokes--so technically we didn't waste it *all* on video games--didn't seem to make a difference in her eyes. Damn kids--we didn't have any idea how long it took to make twenty bucks back in the fifties when she was a teenager...

Even after we got driver's licenses, going to the video arcade was still a favorite after-school pastime. And when one of my buddies actually got a job at the arcade, well, it was Free Game City! Somewhere around that time, we stopped going to the skating rink and the arcade and just started hanging out at the mall, able to shop at Chess King and buy zipper pants with our own money, without the parental disapproval.

Atari even released a home version of Asteroids to play on your tv (well, not the tv at my house--we still had Pong), and a buddy of mine was one of the first to get it. Unfortunately, it was such a horrible spinoff of the arcade original (what the hell was up with all the squares?) that a week later it met it's demise in the back yard courtesy of a pack of firecrackers after we'd run out of model airplanes to destroy.

Anyhow, the world is changing, and it's leaving people like me behind. I've tried playing video games with my nieces, but they all seem pretty senseless. Case in point--the snowboarding game, Tricky--you don't have to do anything, the game does it all. If you didn't touch a button after you've started down the hill, you'd still get to the bottom of the hill eventually. Speaking as someone who's actually tried to make it to the bottom of a hill on a real snowboard, that's not how it works in real life. There's a little more effort involved. I'm not saying there's no effort to become proficient with today's video games, but I'm pretty sure that asteroids don't split up on their own out in space, that's all.

Even after Asteroids popularity started to wane, I dabbled with the other classic video games for a few years. I was a sucker for Galaga and Tempest, and was infuriated with the difficulty of Defender/Stargate. Donkey Kong and Pac Man were fun in mixed company, and I even thought Joust was pretty cool, but I could see the handwriting on the wall because it was so popular with the Dungeons & Dragons geeks. I just knew that if I ever started playing that game on a regular basis, Pam Epperly would never skate with me.

Turns out, she never did. She moved to Florida before then end of eighth grade. But once that distraction was gone, I was unbeatable.

Looking back, I'd gladly trade a couple of those top-ten scores for a few laps around La Jolla holding her hand and listening to Who's Cryin' Now. I'm sure she's an uber-milf now, and I've discovered that there are much better ways to score than just with video games.

Mikey

Friday Limerick

There once was a fellow named Mikey
Who met a waitress to likey

When he tried to hit it
She told him 'Forget it'

She must be a little bit dikey

Mikey

Leftovers...

Today I'm realizing that the worst part of missing a big family Thanksgiving is the utter lack of leftovers to munch on. No pie, no potatoes, no stuffing, and no can-shaped cranberry sauce. But the true bummer is having no turka sandies to chow on, so I went with ham & cheese. But on a positive note, that smoked chipotle mayonaise was pretty good. Can't wait to bust into the wasabi style bottle next time around.

I had to work last night--as did everyone else I know in this city. All week everyone was telling me that it was going to be sloooow on Thanksgiving night--just like last year. Well, they were wrong. We had all four dice tables open, and they were all packed. The entire pit was full--we even opened tables that never get opened except for Friday and Saturday nights. I'm looking forward to finding out just how much we made last night--I know I dropped a ton of tokes while I was dealing blackjack. About halfway through the night I got moved to dice and the table was ice cold, just wiping everyone out, so the tokes weren't nearly as substantial.

Before working last night, I had a pretty relaxing day. On Wednesday night (Ok, actually it was Thursday morning at 4am) all of the dealers that I hang out with got together over at our local bar for a few drinks and a lot of laughs, although I bugged out just before the sun came up. I wanted to go straight to bed, but couldn't sleep, and then my phone started ringing because the rest of the family is a couple of hours ahead of me. I finally collapsed just as the Atlanta/Detroit game was starting and missed the entire thing. So basically I slept all day in front of the tv, waking up here and there to catch bits of the later game.

I had my turkey/stuffing/etc dinner that night once I got to work, and even managed to get a piece of pumpkin pie. It was decent, but not nearly as enjoyable as spending the day with all of my goofball siblings and relatives around the family table.

But today is my day off. I've got the Arizona/ASU game in the background and a rum drink in the foreground, the bills are paid, I've got it made in the shade and all I need, is a beautiful girl...

Mikey

Thanksgiving 2005

On this Thanksgiving holiday, I would like to take the opportunity to share with all of you the things that I am most thankful for.

First and foremost, I am most thankful for my family. As much as I love living here in Vegas, there is a tinge of sadness because I can’t be back in Nashville celebrating turkey day with those closest to me. So I a raise a toast to them—

To Dad and my stepmom Karen—thank you for always being a great example of how people can live their lives by always putting other people first and respecting the choices that your kids make. We all turned out pretty well, in no small part due you your guidance and example.

To Mom—thank you for all of the effort you put into being close to your kids, grandkids, and great grandkids. Some of my best memories of Nashville are all the times we sat outside by the fire, drinking coffee, watching the lightning bugs, and talking about whatever came up. Oh, and all the times I kicked your ass at Sequence—that was pretty cool too.

To Sherry—thank you for all time good times we’ve had over the past couple of years—Road trips, dinner at Raz’z, or just hanging out and watching the Cardinals. And letting me raid your liquor cabinet was always nice, too.

To Cyndy and David—thank you for EVERYTHING! From opening your home to be the social gathering place for the entire family, to all of the helpful things you do, both big and small, which make life easier for everyone. I couldn’t even begin to compile a list of all the kindness you’ve shown me over the years, but I am truly thankful and blessed to have such a wonderful sister and brother-in-law.

To Nancy—thank you for always making me proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You have no idea how often I brag about you. Lurking around Russia like a cold-war spy, traveling the world, training astronauts for cryin’ out loud? Are you kiddin’ me? You and Mark need to come to Vegas and get silly with me for a couple of days. Enough of that globetrotting stuff…

To David and Angie—thank you both for always making sure we have a great time whenever we get together. Not only are the stories epic, but I never knew that I could have so much fun in Alabama. And thanks to you, I firmly believe that no holiday weekend with the family is complete without alcohol, tobacco, and firearms.

To Amy—thank you for always keeping me laughing. No matter what we talk about, it’s always served with a generous helping of laughter. Your zest for life is contagious, and I always look forward to hearing from you. I think everyone would agree that our family would be most incomplete if you hadn’t come along. You are truly the glue that holds us all together.

To all of my gorgeous nieces and handsome nephews—thank you all for keeping me young. Even though the beard is getting gray and the calendar has started to mock me with it’s progress, the simple joy of watching you all grow up into wonderful young adults is one of life’s great pleasures. I love spoiling you when I get the chance, and doing my duty as an uncle by introducing you to all of the things your parents would never approve of is kind of fun, too.

To Ed, Eddie, Derek, and Tamm—thank you all for being such great friends for the past several years. They say that you can judge the character of a man by the friends he has. That can’t be true, as you guys are some of the finest people I’ve ever known—I know that I don’t deserve to be associated with such a great crowd. I hope we can all grow old together, irritating our handlers at the old folks home by fingerpainting with our own poo and other such silliness.

To Kelly, Dane, Al, Dougie, Dawn, Jer, Terry, Sammi, Angy, Ron, and Bill—thank you for all of your kindness, generosity, support, and friendship, especially over the past year or so. Without all of you in my life, things would have been much tougher. Words cannot adequately describe how lucky I feel to know all of you and include you in my circle of friends. I know we have a lot of laughs when we get together, but behind all of that I have a deep appreciation for you all as just being ‘some of the good guys’.

To Old Friends whom I’ve lost touch with—The South County gang, Mark, Steve, Matt, Jim, Adrian, Kimmie, and Richie—you guys were the greatest, probably still are. I hope that wherever you may be you are finding happiness and fulfillment with the diverse paths you have chosen. Some memories will never go away, and a lot of them include you fine people.

To Lost Loves—Stephani & Jennifer, Maria, Trisha, Kathryn, and Brenda—thank you for the experience and perspective that I gained from our times together. I could pour my heart out for days writing about each of you, but let me just say that the lessons in love and experience with heartbreak still shapes my outlook to this day. I treasure every moment I spent with each of you.

To the people that inspire me the most—Kim du Toit, Tania Aebi, Herb Payson, Bill Whittle, Bob Bitchin, Jay Nordlinger, and Victor Davis Hanson. Not only is your writing top-notch, but the depth of your life experience is something others can only aspire to. You are all equally responsible for keeping my dreams alive.

Finally I’m thankful for my friend Vanessa—sometimes people come into your life that brighten it more than you previously thought possible. You're one of those people that always manages to make me smile, no matter how bad a day I might be having. You laugh at my jokes, share the same interests as I, and make me feel important. But most of all, you make me feel like I’m not alone. For that I am most grateful.

In addition to family and friends—there are lots of other things that I am thankful for that I remember in moments of quiet introspection. I’m thankful for the foresight and fortitude of the Founding Fathers. I know how lucky I am to be a citizen of the greatest country in the history of civilization. I don’t know if I’d have the cajones to do the things they did. Lives, fortunes, and sacred honor—it’s amazing to think about. I’m thankful for the volunteer soldiers, sailors, and Marines who are sacrificing much, sometimes all, to keep the rest of us fat, safe, and happy back at home. May God watch over and protect them and bring them home as soon as the job is done. I’m thankful for a Commander In Chief who has the stones to stay the course, regardless of the vicious slings and arrows thrust at him on a daily basis. History will judge him far more objectively than the pundits of today. I’m thankful for the giants of humanity that created so many of the things that I take for granted today. I couldn’t imagine living in a time without telephones, air travel, automobiles, healing medicines, or even computers. Two days without hot water damn near drove me crazy. Again, those that came before were much tougher than me. I’m thankful for their hard work and sacrifice, which benefits all of us. I’m especially thankful for the creative process and those gifted enough to harness it. I am constantly awestruck by beautiful art, architecture, literature, and especially music. The power to create something that speaks to so many people on such a deep emotional level is an amazing thing that I find endlessly fascinating. I’m thankful for the small serving of talents that I possess. I’m a fair teacher, writer, and cook. And I can always manage to find some humor, no matter how grave the situation may be. I’m thankful that I have a quick wit and the ability to share it. I’m thankful to live in a wonderful city that provides me with so many opportunities. Most people only dream about living here, but I’m here living the life 24/7. As some would say, the juice is worth the squeeze. And finally I’m thankful for the trials and experiences that have marked my life for the past five years. I’ve had the highest of highs and the lowest of lows, but I’ve managed to survive, thrive, grow, and learn. As Brother Jimmy once said—some of it’s magic, and some of it’s tragic, but I’ve had a good life anyways.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Mikey

Bustin' the Homeys

I had a pretty good night at work last night. It was fairly busy and I'm sure I dropped more than my fair share of tokes. That tends to happen when you are dumping the money. 'Dumping the money' is dealer slang for giving away your rack--busting all the time, dealing lots of winners for the players, and making lots of 17s. I'm completely in favor of dumping my rack when I've got fun players at the table--they tend to tip better when they win, and it makes the table that much more enjoyable because they will stick around longer, too. Even as a stockholder in the company, I don't much care how much the house loses at the tables (I'm sure I'd be a pretty easygoing pit boss) because no matter how much people win, they always go lose most of it back on another game. Nobody knows when to stop. Well, maybe they know, but they just won't.

Anyhow, I had a fairly attractive gal following me around from table to table for the first couple hours of my shift. She started with about a hundy and turned it into almost two grand. Of course since I was the one dealing to her, she stuck to me like glue. That made the evening more fun for me. Finally she wised up when her luck started to turn and left with plenty of black chips when I took a break around 11pm.

But the entire time I was dreading going to another table in the pit that I was scheduled for later in the evening. It was full of the most ridiculous bunch of wannabes I'd ever seen. You know the type. Malibu's most wanted. Bling Bling Pinky Ring all about the East siiiiide, yo! Mere words cannot describe the level of jackassedness and moronitude on display. Clearly they were representin' Henderson's Wonder Bread Posse. The leader of the pack was wearing enough jewelry to make Mr T proud, the crowning jewel being a lion pendant that looked like it was stolen from the front of an MGM Grand limo. Most definitely a 'hood ornament.

So while they were bringing all the attention to themselves at their table, everyone else around them started to get a little tired of it. A few complaints were lodged, but then the heckling began. If they won a hand and started celebrating a little too loud, some random player at another table would yell out something along the lines of 'Shut up White Bread!' Even the players at my table, 30 feet away were making fun of them. Unfortunately they loved the attention. I kept saying a silent prayer that the other dealer would bust them out before I got there.

My table shift ended, I took a break, and twenty minutes later I came back to the pit to see that they were still at the table that I was about to tap into. Great. That's when I go into my 'Shut up and deal' mode--they've chased all the good players away, they're drunk, and they're acting like idiots. In situations like that, I clam up, put my hands in a higher gear, and crank out as many cards as I can.

Luckily the cards came back to the house's favor after my three hours of dumping. I couldn't lose! I made every hand--four-card 21s, five-card 21s, a face under every ace. If they all had an 18 or 19, I pulled a twenty. It was uncanny. Due to all the noise and heavy action, every camera in the joint was on that table, and of course every boss in the pit was watching too. Before long, I had every one of their green and black cheques, and not too long after that, it was down to the true signal of desperation, Money plays! followed by the inevitable Money Down!

It was a thing of beauty.

They walked away completely broke, and a cone of blessed silence surrounded my table. But the general consensus around the pit was that they'd be back as soon as they made it to one of the local 24-hour pawn shops and sold off some of the bling.

Not my concern--I went home shortly thereafter.

Generally, as a dealer, I want the players to win. If they're happy, I'm getting tokes and making more money. I do my best to make sure everyone is having fun regardless of which way the cards are falling. But it's no secret that if you're acting like a jackass at the table, every dealer in the joint is gonna do their best to bust you. With a big smile on their face of course. But that's only because we're not allowed to laugh.

Mikey

Answering the Question...

Ok, so one of today's posts generated an extra boatload of traffic to my inbox, all carrying an underlying theme/concern.

But the Hurricane Mikey blog (this site that you're reading) is going nowhere. Ok, maybe that doesn't sound so good...what I mean to say is that this website will remain active, and actually, will probably benefit from my new-found freedom. Maybe now I can direct more creative energy to this blog. I'm not going Witness Protection on ya, I'm just limiting my exposure to the idiots and fools.

By the way, it's not permanently posted here on the site, but I can always be reached at mikey-at-hurricanemikey-dot-com.

Mikey