Don't Taze Me, Bro!

My hump day is finally over--and it was all I could do to make it. Yes, I'm still feeling miserable, necessitating another trip to the drugstore after work. I'm sure that a couple of days of rest combined with a liberal dose of the hot tub would work wonders on my system. But there is no rest for the weary, as not only do I have to work the next two nights, I'm scheduled to deal dice both times. Ugh. Not that I don't like dealing dice--it's a nice change of pace, and it beats the hell out of dealing blackjack. But I *know* it's gonna damn near kill me to spend eight hours at the craps table tonight, especially if I'm not feeling any better.

It's a tough way to spend eight hours when you're sick. I'm not looking forward to it at all.

Last night wasn't too bad, though. I was on my favorite string of games again, made a bunch of money for myself and my co-workers, and actually had a few laughs. There was on guy at the Deuces Wild table that everyone seemed to think looked just like Alec Baldwin, and I thought there was a mild resemblance. The table was full, and everyone was cracking jokes and tossing out movie lines and song lyrics the whole time, making the hour fly by.

Anyhow, 'Alec' had been there for about four hours, and it was getting late in the evening, almost towards the end of my shift. He'd switched from drinking Newcastle to just sipping on black coffee. Anyhow, he was at 'first base' on the table, meaning he was first to act. So after I dealt all the cards out, he didn't pick his up right away, and instead took a sip of coffee, forcing the other players to wait for him. No big deal, it was a fun group, but I tossed out the most appropriate movie line I could come up with, going Glengarry Glen Ross on him--

PUT that coffee down! Coffee is for closers!

That caused instant pandemonium at the table--he damn near spit out his drink, and everybody else just cracked up. I guess you had to be there, but it was funny as hell. And I was buried under a cloudburst of tokes as well, as everyone giggled throughout the rest of the hand, repeating the line several times.

There was also some great entertainment early on in the evening. I was the 'relief' dealer on my string, meaning I took the first twenty minute break after assuring that the other three dealers had shown up and were at the proper tables. So I was walking from the pit back to the break room, when I saw some dude come running through the main pit with a couple of cops and security guards chasing him. He made it to the first bank of video poker machines just past the Baccarat tables when a security guard cut him off and tackled him right there on the marble floor, about five feet past where the carpet ended.

That had to hurt.

Well, he was struggling and putting up a fight, and the cops told him to stay down. But he kept fighting and as soon as he regained his feet, out came the stun gun.

ZAP!

Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!

Heh. A small crowd had started to gather at this point, and all activity at the nearest tables had ceased. But they got the cuffs on him and the zip-ties around his ankles, and proceeded to drag him out. I'm guessing they also tested to see if they could open the front door with his head shortly after that.

I wondered what he had done, because whenever there is a chase scene in the casino, 1) The cops aren't there until after it's over, and 2) the perp is always running away from the cage--this one seemed to be running towards it. I found out later that the dude had stolen a car, the cops were chasing him, and so he pulled into the parking lot, hoping to lose them in the crowded casino. But they had radioed our security guys as soon as he drove on property, so they were kinda ready for him.

Since it happened right at the beginning of my shift, I just knew I was in for an interesting evening.

Another great thing happened on one of my Pai Gow tables later on--I kicked the ever-livin' shiat out of one of our super-fleas that I just can't f*cking stand. In fact, every dealer in the joint hates this guy and loves to bust him. When I walked up to the table, I saw his stupid ass sitting there and I immediately lost whatever spring was in my step at the time. Geez I hate that guy. I don't know how I dodged him last night, because the dude never takes a day off. Anyhow, I had the sublime pleasure of busting his ass on every hand. It was a thing of beauty--he didn't win or push a single time. But the best part is this--he's one of those players who takes a shot at the game every time he plays, and I'm always looking to catch him doing something that'll get him 86'd.

He usually plays the Fortune Bonus for $5 per hand, but his main bet for just $10. So whenever he wins a hand, I pay him $9.50. He always pockets the change, but after he wins, on the following hand, instead of betting $5 on the Fortune Bonus, he only bets the four white dollar chips I just paid him.

However, most dealers are lazy and leave the 'Envy Bonus' lammer out on the table in front of him, and since he always sits in seat two, he's hoping that somebody in seat six or seven gets an Envy Bonus and the dealer forgets that he didn't qualify for it. But I watch his ass like a hawk, because I'm onto him.

So he pulled that shiat again tonight, and I yoinked the envy bonus lammer away from him as soon as I saw that he'd only put up four bucks instead of five. And as luck would have it, he had a crummy hand, while I had two pair, so I beat him, of course. And one of our better players on seat seven just happened to get a Straight Flush for a $250 payout. Well, whenever that happens, whoever was playing the Envy Bonus during the hand gets $20.

Everyone else at the table was eligible except for him, so when I made the payouts, I acted like I was going to give him twenty bucks worth of chips, but then I stopped short, saying "Oh, I'm so sorry Robert, you only bet four bucks that time--I guess you don't get an envy bonus..."

Heh. That made my night.

The next hand was his last, as he went all-in. I ended up having three pairs, Kings on top with sixes and threes on the bottom. He had Queens on top and Aces on the bottom, and I could barely contain my laughter when I took the last of his money and saw him shuffle off towards the exit.

Unfortunately, that three pair cleared everyone else off the table too--my cards were falling just a little too hot and chased away my good players, too. I hate when that happens.

But other than that, I was busy for the rest of the night. So busy in fact, I couldn't get the half-hour early push that I was hoping for. I had to stay till the bitter end, finally punching out around 3:00 am, and headed for the store once again to buy some more powerful medicine. I also picked up some sausage links (I've got a bunch of blueberry pancake mix in the cupboard, and breakfast is the most important meal of the day!) and a can of cashews to munch on during the game this afternoon. I also grabbed another 12-pack of that new Vanilla Coke Zero. I'm not sure yet if I like that better than Diet Coke with Lime, but it's pretty damn good. I think if they ever came out with Coke Zero with Lime, then I'd be set.

But now the drugs are kicking in, I've gone almost five minutes without coughing, and my nose is starting to get unstuffed for the first time in the past ten hours without the aid of wasabi paste. I guess it's probably a good time to try and get some sleep.

Y'all have a great day!

Mikey

A Special Message for T-Rev

Heh. The refs had nothing to do with this de-pantsing you clowns took on national TV. Aside from those two early fumbles by Ryan Grant, the only points you guys could muster was two lousy field goals?

Way to represent, seachickens.

But seriously, Bobby Engram is about the only offensive weapon you guys had working. Sean Alexander, not so much. On the other side, I know everyone heaps the man-love on Brett Favre, but Al Harris is a frickin' stud.

See ya in September!

Mikey

Mailing It In

Sorry folks, I'm apologizing in advance for the lameness of this morning's update. I feel like dog poo, I'm half crocked on drugs medication, and I'm a wee bit tired after a full night of entertaining the folks at the tables. I sure hope they had a good time, because they damn near wore my ass out. Of course, I'm running on about half strength and about 30% of normal brain power, too.

The good news was, as soon as I got to work, I found out that I was dealing my favorite string of games--two $10 Pai Gow tables and Deuces Wild. And I started doing the first full hour, thus nearly guaranteeing the half-hour early out. I like that sequence of games because they are very popular and I know that I'll likely be busy the entire night, making the shift just fly by. And it did for the most part, but it wasn't easy due to my attempt at coughing up a lung all night.
Yep, this cough has got not only me, but a handful of other dealers I work with--we spent our breaks drinking hot tea with lemon and popping Hall's like they were Halloween candy. I was glad to see that misery had company last night. Hell, yesterday I damn near lost my voice entirely, and I would've called in sick, but I just can't afford to miss any more time this week.

That's what I miss the most about the salaried corporate world--you get sick, you stay home, you get better, you still get paid, and the only repercussions at the office was the big pile of work waiting for you at your desk when you got back. Not so at the casino--you get sick, you don't get paid. Unless you're in the hospital or something, but I'm not sure how it works. I think you have to use up all your vacation days first, before they pay you sick time. Hell, I don't know, I never use it. I don't think I've used my insurance but once or twice in the three years I've been here.

Anyhow, for being a sickly, hacking, out-of-it dealer last night, I still managed to drop a comparatively good share of tokes, even for spending the majority of my night dealing Pai Gow, which is an especially tough game to try and pry a tip out of the players. I was doing my best to put on my show, and it seemed to go over well. It also helped that I dealt to absolutely ZERO of our normal Pai Gow fleas that everyone hates. I don't know where they were last night, nor do I much care. I'm just glad they weren't at my table. I guess that kinda makes up for New Years Eve this year. When the ball dropped, I was stuck dealing $5 blackjack to five of the loneliest losers in the entire Pacific time zone. When everyone else was popping confetti, drinking champagne, kissing their dates, and singing Auld Lang Syne, those poor freaks were agonizing over whether or not to hit a 15 against my seven. It was kind of fitting when I turned over a three, followed by an Ace, and swept up all of their meager bets.

Besides the occasional coughing fit, the night went by fairly easily. Before I knew it, it was 1:40 in the morning, and I was heading to my last game of the night--forty minutes and out. I debated whether or not to stop at the store and get some more medicine (this bug seems to have overpowered the Delsym), but decided to just stop and get a carton of ice cream to sooth my aching throat. It felt all swollen due to the dozen or so cough drops I'd gone through, so I was looking for something cool with no mediciney aftertaste.

Ben & Jerry's mint cookies & creme did the trick of providing some temporary, but blessed, relief. It's gone now, but I've got a tall glass of ice water on the nightstand and a bag full of drugs within reach. I'm gonna try to sleep for a few hours before getting up and watching today's playoff games. If I'm feeling well enough, and hungry enough, I'm going to make a batch of blueberry muffins and drink about a half gallon of orange juice. Not exactly the coolest tailgating menu in the world, but it'll have to do.

In case anyone is looking for me, I'm that pale blubbery lump under the blankets in the living room, trying to yell at the tv between hack attacks.

Mikey

Yellow Fever

Funny how the scent of the third-of-a-cup of cold leftover hazelnut coffee sitting on my nightstand since yesterday can make me think about food-bloggin'. But it's true. I'm not thirsty for coffee right now, but I know how you folks love to read about food...

You all are keenly aware of how I can go on and on about good pizza. And believe me, if it weren't for boobies, gambling, or sports, that's about all I would think about. But a couple of weeks ago, I had another culinary treat that I've revisited a few times since.

First of all, we have an above-average employee dining room at work. It's got a decent salad bar, a hot-dog treadmill, cafeteria-style pizzas, a steam-table buffet, a made-to-order sandwich station, soup of the day, and a grill where you can order anything from pancakes to quesadillas 24 hours a day. All free of charge. It's not bad--granted, they serve waaaay too much salmon and catfish for my tastes, and the ubiquitous 'Chef's Choice' mystery casserole is always a wild card, and some days it's just downright awful. But for the most part, it's not too bad. Lasagna is always a hit, as is their Chinese food. Rob's favorite is Taco Day, where he will stay after work an extra half-hour loading up, just so he doesn't have to cook once he gets home. Me? I don't care what they're serving in there--it could be Ambrosia delivered straight from Mt. Olympus and served on a nude Playboy bunny--I ain't stickin' around to eat it once I'm done with my shift.

Anyhow, awhile back, I got to work about a half hour early, looking to get a bite to eat before unleashing the fury on the Pai Gow tables. Nothing looked good at all. Pork and sauerkraut? No thanks--I only eat cabbage if I'm dealing dice and need to clear the table. Collared greens and short ribs? None for me, thanks. Split pea soup? Are you kidding--it looked like it should've been served in a diaper. And any self-respecting pizza snob like me wouldn't dare consider touching the culinary blasphemy rotating around behind the glass, sitting in those grease-soaked metal pans. Even the salad bar looked like it had been neglected for several hours. That left the grill as my only option, so I ordered up a bacon cheeseburger--plain and undressed--no lettuce, no tomato, no onion.

By the time I got my root beer, it was ready, so I sat down with a few of my friends and listened to the usual pre-shift bitch-fest that always happens there in the cafeteria. I swear, as a group, there is no more miserable bunch of people than casino dealers on break. But I tuned it out and grabbed a bottle of French's yellow mustard and a bottle of Hunt's ketchup. No mayo, no steak sauce, nothing else.

And let me tell you, that was one of the best burgers I'd eaten in months. It really was pretty enjoyable. Meat, cheese, bread, mustard, ketchup. Almost the perfect food. Normally, here at the house, I keep all kinds of goofy mustard on hand--spicy brown, Dijon, sweet-hot, you name it. I have everything but good old American yellow mustard in the fridge. So going back to the basics was quite a treat. In fact, it was so good, that the next day when we were sitting around watching football, I was telling Rob just how damn good the burger was I'd had at work the night before, and how I thought the plain old mustard was the secret. He concurred, and said that plain mustard is always underrated. Wise fellow, that Rob.

Of course, he's a believer--he's got a huge bottle of French's sitting in the door of the fridge. So the last time I went grocery shopping, I got an eight-pack of 1/4 lb. hamburger patties from the butcher shop and some buns. And I've been not-so-secretly snarfing up Rob's plain yellow mustard every other day for lunch while my bottle of expensive sweet-hot deli mustard looks at me forlornly from the shelf like the last ugly puppy at the pet shop that nobody wants.

I've still got two patties left, and that'll make a fine meal sometime this weekend while I'm watching the playoffs. But once that's gone, I've got a pound of deli-sliced roast turkey that I'll be making sandwiches out of all next week--no mustard there. Just Miracle Whip and Swiss cheese. That's right--I'm one of those people--I prefer the Miracle Whip instead of mayo. But at least I use wheat bread. White bread is for uncouth louts, trailer dwellers, and people who wear pinkie rings.

Mikey

Late to the Party, Again

'Trendy' is not a word people would use to describe me. My wardrobe consists of shorts and Hawaiian shirts, dockers and oxfords, with a handful of funny-to-me t-shirts in the mix. That's about it. The last three cd's I've bought were of music released at least fifteen years ago. And I didn't even start liking Pearl Jam until about seven years after they got big and popular. I'm not what the Madison Avenue types call an 'early adopter'.

So it comes as no surprise that I have just recently discovered the following artist. About a month ago, I was sitting in a bowling alley, waiting for Falcon Rob to come join me for free booze. It was the company "Holiday Party", and they were holding it in a bowling alley. Speaks volumes, if you ask me. Two years ago, it was in the ballroom at Green Valley Ranch with ice sculptures and a string quartet. This year, in a bowling alley... WTF? But I digress. So I was sitting there at the bar, watching videos on the big screen TV, when this video came on:




I was mesmerized! I had no idea who it was, so I had to watch all the way to the end to find out. In the meantime, I was just blown away at the direction and 'cinematography', if you will, of the video. It's amazing. (If you click on the video, it'll take you directly to YouTube, where you can see it with better resolution) I'm certainly no expert on music videos, but I know "good" when I see it, and this one ranks right up there with George Michael's Freedom 90 video. Not only that--it's just a damn good song!

Being a history buff, the 1940's/WWII era is endlessly fascinating to me, and I've always thought that of any decade in history, that's when the styles of dress and hair were the most attractive, at least to me. Granted, this video is a very loose interpretation/homage to that era, but damn, I was hooked.

When I finally realized that it was Christina Aguilera, I was shocked. Back in 2002 or so, before we knew what bat-shiat crazy disease-addled slatterns that Brittney and Lindsay were, I thought the title of Queen Skizank belonged to Christina Aguilera.

Holy shiat. Let me be the first to admit that I was totally wrong. My opinion of her has done a complete 180, and she gets a coveted spot on my laminated list! Of course, she had done a complete and total image makeover in the past couple of years, and I'm ok with that. Whatever she's doing, it's working--it's got me all hot and bothered.

Not knowing anything about the music the kids were listening to, I used to kind of think that her and Gwen Stefani were basically formed from the same cookie cutter (even though I had that first big No Doubt cd), BUT, Gwen Stefani is now persona non grata in my book just because she has released three of the dumbest f*cking songs I have ever heard.

Seriously--I view her as a no-talent assclown, just like Michael Bolton.

Anyhow, enough talk about my Christina-crush. Let me show you the goods:







Those are nice photos, to be sure, but madre de dios, this pic should make all you children of the Seventies do a collective gasp and wonder Farrah who?


If that's not enough, here's an extremely not safe for work pic that makes me want to work at Disneyland--You've been warned!

Word around the campfire is that she's married now, but you know how them Hollywood relationships last--If it doesn't work out, I'm here in Vegas--she knows where to find me.

By the way, does anyone know if I can still call her a Sugar Mama if she's younger than me? Could we get a ruling on that?

Mikey

Doubling Down on the Nasty Funk

Man, I feel like total crapola today. If you remember, I woke up on Christmas morning with a mild head cold. Nothing a little Zicam, Alka-Seltzer Plus, and Halls couldn't take care of. Of course, it's a virus, so it has to run it's course, and I was a little under the weather for two weeks. And right on schedule, Tuesday morning, I felt fine.

Then yesterday afternoon I was in the living room watching a little PTI, and started coughing. And couldn't stop. A few cough drops helped, but it was only temporary. It got much worse as I headed to work, but I took some medicine with me. It only helped a little, as it was mostly for head colds, and this crap is centered in my lungs. So instead of getting all this nastiness at the same time, I get to spread it out over a month. Great...

I was miserable at work, and forced myself to stay at least half the shift, due to my early out on Monday. But midnight came and I ran out of cough drops, felt like crap, and my head was glistening with sweat. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't make it any further. I was on a dead game, so when they told me to bring the lid up and start closing it, I asked if I could just go ahead and punch out. They were kind enough to let me.

So I shuffled on out of the casino, looking forward to a nice hot steamy shower. I made a quick stop at the grocery store for a few essentials, including a bottle of that Delsym stuff that works so well. Of course, being a miracle drug, it's priced appropriately at $12 for a 3 oz. bottle, about eight times the price of good rum. And believe me, it doesn't taste nearly as good.

Once I got home and out of the shower, I swigged a couple of teaspoons, as per the directions. But that left me wholly unsatisfied. After a day of nothing but orange juice and ice water, I'm currently trying to go healthy with 12 ounces of yeast, hops, barley, and good old Mississippi river water.

Cheers!

Mikey

Damn You, Travel Channel!

So, I was sitting around doing not a damn thing yesterday afternoon when Rob stumbled home from the casino--they'd sent him home early. I guess that's the big difference between full-time (me) and extra-board (Rob). I can choose to come home early, otherwise, I work a full 40 hours a week. He has no choice and only gets scheduled a few days a week, and they'll send him home at their pleasure.

I think that's why I'm so reluctant to go find a new job, as often as I talked about it. The casino industry here in Vegas is like no other in the real world. If you leave a job and take another one, 99% of the time you won't be hired for full time--you go back to being on the extra board, so you lose benefits and what-not, making it a huge pain in the ass, not to mention a hit to the wallet. All because you want a better job. They make it very hard to change jobs, unless you're quitting a really crummy paying one (like the Golden Gate) and moving up to a better paying place like where I'm at now.

Anyhow, once he got home, we parked ourselves in the living room to watch a couple of episodes of Jeopardy that we'd recorded, and once that finished up, I played another show I'd recorded from the Travel Channel, called Pizza Paradises. Yeah, we hadn't watched for more than five minutes or so before we both started thinking the same thing--FOOD PORN!

Watching them pull a fresh-made pizza from the oven on that huge TV, with a picture so brilliant that you could almost smell the toppings, it wasn't long before we'd talked ourselves into dinner at--wait for it--yes, Grimaldi's! But at least we managed to wait until the show was over before heading out to get our grub on.

So there we were, an hour later, sitting there at my favorite pizza joint in the known universe, marveling over the fact that we'd never seen their extensive wine list. But vino was not what we came for. We were there for the pie. And the hostess was kind enough to put us at the table closest to the display kitchen where we could watch the magic happen.

Instead of 16-inchers this time, we both went large and ordered 18-inchers. And years of experimentation has taught me that the perfect pizza topping consists of one meat and one vegetable. Rob concurs, and got his favorite, ham and onion. I stuck with old reliable--pepperoni and mushroom. For drinks, I was tempted to go with a beer, but just wasn't feeling it, so I had my favorite Arnold Palmer--half iced tea, half lemonade. Rob did The Dew.

The great thing about thin-crusted NY-style pies baked at uber-high temps means that you don't have to wait long for dinner to cook. No sitting there for an hour getting antsy like at a Chicago deep-dish joint. New Yorkers like to get things done, so they don't have time for dilly-dally, and just a few minutes later, our pies were delivered to our table, generating oohs and aaaahhs from other patrons in the dining room whose mouths watered while still waiting for their own pan full of happiness to arrive.

Again, perfection. No grease on the bottom, and a nice bubbly charred crust providing the base for quality toppings, the whole thing brought held together by a red sauce that would even make liver taste good. Conversation pretty much came to a stop as we lustily dove in. It was so good that after the first piece we totally forgot about the grated Parmesan. Didn't need it.

However, I now realize that I'm going to go back to 16-inchers instead of the large. Not that there is a thing wrong with more pizza--there isn't--more is better, especially when it's this good! But just like ordering a pint of beer instead of a 23 ounce schooner--unless you just pound the beer, it gets warm. If you want to enjoy it, the big glass is too much at once. The same thing goes for the 18 inch pizza--that thin crust, suspended in the air over the table on the serving rack, gets cool too quickly because you can't eat it fast enough unless you go totally Belushi on it. And this pizza is meant to be savored, not crammed down like a buffet with a time limit. So from now on, I think I'll stick to the 'medium' 16 inch pie and just make peace with the fact that there will be no leftovers.

On the other hand, enjoying three pieces this morning before I posted this was a lot like hooking up with the hottest girl in the club last night, and then waking up and going another round before heading home.

Oh yeah, it's that good.

So no, I never got around to making that Crab Rangoon I've been teasing you with these past couple of days. Sorry 'bout that.

Mikey

Anybody Seen Falcon Rob?

As far as sports fans go, nobody has had a tougher week than Falcon Rob. First of all, his alma-mater, Bowling Green State University, just got their asses handed to them in the GMAC Bowl a couple of days ago, losing to Tulsa, 63-7.

He's also a huge Steelers fan, even sporting a Kendrell Bell replica jersey on occasion. And everyone knows what happened to the Steelers on Saturday night--they lost at home to Jacksonville, getting eliminated from the playoffs. Regardless of what Oakland or Dallas fans have to say, the Pittsburgh Steelers ARE America's team, so that loss had to sting quite a bit.

And then there was last night, when his favorite college team, the Ohio State Buckeyes, got waxed once again by an SEC team in the national championship game. It started out ok, but then it got ugly in a hurry. After seeing him put a hurt on our tequila stocks after the Illinois loss late in the season, I was worried how this latest setback might affect him. I sent him a text message from work last night, asking if I needed to bring home more tequila. He never answered, but when I got home, there was that note on the counter saying he was going out drinking and he'd be home sometime today. That was over 12 hours ago, and I haven't seen or heard from him since.


I'm guessing that he found comfort in the arms of another fan who might be feeling his same pain.


Mikey

Blatant Thievery

Sometimes, I just can't think of anything to write about. I think my life is fairly dull, even though I work in a casino, which a lot of people find fascinating. I have to admit, it's not always boring--every week there is something interesting or exciting happening, or something happens where all I can do is shake my head and mumble to myself WTF?

Besides, most of the feedback I get from readers of this site tells me that they're most interested in two things 1) Food, which is always a popular topic, and 2) Life in a Vegas Casino, since most of my readers seem to be Vegas addicts needing a digital fix. Sometimes, being so close to the action, it's tough to see the little nuggets of activity that outsiders find fascinating. Somebody blowing through ten grand? Feh--seen it dozens of times. Somebody melting down and snapping? I see it a couple times a month. A huge winner? Yep, it happens, more often than you'd think.

So the other day, I was reading Falcon Rob's latest post about life in the casino, so I thought I'd post the same thing with my own observations from behind the green burgundy felt.

Biggest Single Win

It's tough to get a single huge win in our casino because most of the time our table limits are capped at $2000 per hand. Like Rob, I've seen people hit the hard ways on the dice table with purple chips for a $4500 payoff on several occasions, but the biggest single payout I've made was late at night on the blackjack table. I was dealing a private double-deck game to a single player who was playing two hands at $5000 per hand, and managed to give him a couple of blackjacks for a $7500 payout each time. That was pretty cool.

Biggest Single Loss

Same guy as above, losing two hands at the same time for 15 grand. Ouch. It was especially ugly since I was showing a five and he doubled down on one of his hands, getting a twenty and a nineteen with his other hand. I then pulled a five-card 21. Seriously, ouch.

Biggest Single Winning Session

I've seen a couple of guys color up for $70,000+ on the dice table after an unbelievably hot night and some crazy press action, but I wasn't involved, thank god. Dealing blackjack one night, one of our regulars, who usually *never* walks away when he wins, went on a huge rush for about five hours and turned $500 into something just north of forty grand. The problem is, he's one of those Jekyll and Hyde types who's nice when he's winning and sober, but just a complete ass when he's drunk and losing. He got so bad that he has since been 86'd from our casino, so I haven't seen him in months. But it was a helluva run, and we made some good money that night.

Biggest Single Losing Session

One time I took $22,000 off of a guy in less than ten minutes at the blackjack table. It was ugly--no matter what he did, he couldn't win a hand. Another time I was on stick at the dice table, and there was a loud obnoxious guy standing right next to me carrying a man-purse just *stuffed* with hundred-dollar bills. After every roll, he'd throw down a thousand on some stupid prop bet, and he didn't catch a single one, burning through almost 40 grand in less than twenty minutes.

Smallest Bet Made

Back when I first started at my current casino, we had a dollar dice game with quarters, so the fleas could make all kinds of stupid bets--$1.25 on the nine, $1.50 on the six, etc. And a lot of times they'd use those quarter chips (no, not the green $25 chips, but light blue 25-CENT chips!) for their hard ways. You gotta love paying off a buck-seventy-five on a hard ten... Ugh. Just thinking about that game gives me the creeps.

And about once a week, I'll get somebody at the Pai Gow tables trying to put me up for a quarter on the Fortune Bonus. When that happens, I tell them to wait until they can afford three more, as the minimum bet is one US dollar...

Hitting Rock Bottom

I see people betting with money that they obviously shouldn't be playing with almost every day. The funny thing is, if they are losing, they absolutely *refuse* to leave with a single dollar--they'd rather go home flat broke than take their case money with them. Or even if they're down to their last ten bucks, instead of walking, they'll play it until it's gone--it's amazing to watch. Of course, you want to put this person out of their misery, and I'd rather not deal to them anyways--you know you'll never get a toke out of them, so might as well just bust them and send them on their way. But it seems that a case bet NEVER loses, and the jerkoff keeps hanging around. Sometimes when it's obvious that a player won't leave until he's flat broke, but he's still treading water with ten or twenty bucks, but keeps standing up to leave, wins the hand, and sits back down, it irritates the hell out of me. Sometimes they outlast me, and I get tapped out to go on break and they're still sitting there with their last ten bucks. So a lot of times I'll say to the relief dealer, as I'm leaving the table, "This guy wants to go home broke, help him out!"

The worst though, are the Pai Gow players who start hitting up other players for money as soon as they go broke, or don't have enough to make a Fortune Bonus in addition to their regular bet. I love running them off the table--no hustling other players on my game!

Weirdest Player Dealt To

Oh, we get a lot of absolute freaks that come in. Every now and then we'll get a bum who finds his way in off of Boulder Highway with a wrinkled up twenty, thinking that they'll turn it into a million. They always play till it's gone, not satisfied into turning it into an extremely lucky hundred for a thousand-percent return. Rob mentioned the Rastafarian midget that comes in and plays craps almost every week--He's ok, just kind of a pain in the ass to deal to. There's another guy who we call "Buddy Love" who is just a complete jackass to deal to and he stays for hours upon hours, not leaving the table for an entire shift. He's a total douchebag and every dealer in the place just *hates* him. I still give Rob shiat about the time he was dealing to this jerkoff and made the ultimate rookie mistake of asking him what his "system" was. The dude started talking and didn't come up for air for about six hours, about the time Rob left for the day, ready to kill him with a hammer.

There's another guy who comes in every weekend to play blackjack who fancies himself as a professional card counter, and he's a total flea. Everybody hates him and tries to bust him because not only is he an annoying stiff, he has the worst B.O. stench, bad breath, he's a chain-smoker, and he annoys and chases off all the rest of the decent players who happen to sit down at the table. What makes it worse is that he's about six feet tall, weighs maybe a buck-thirty, and has long stringy gray hair that is never washed. Rob and I call him 'Edgar Winter', but all the rest of the dealers on my shift simply refer to him as 'Freakshow'. The funny thing is, I thought they'd back him off because of his obvious card-counting, but he just loses his ass every week, so they continue to let him play.

Most Famous Player Dealt To

That would be Robin Williams, also known as Mork from Ork. I've also dealt dice to a few well-known poker pros, but most of them aren't that good. And for the most part, they're not very good tippers, either.

Biggest Dealer Bet Made

A few times I've had players put me up for two or three hundred on a hand while dealing blackjack, and I've lost just as many as I've won. The casino limits dealer bets to $300 per hand without supervisor approval, because they know that once that money hits the toke box, they'll never have a chance of getting it back from the player. So yeah, the casino wants the dealers to make money, but not too much.

I've also had players put me up for $5 a hand on the Fortune Bonus for Pai Gow, which isn't much at first glance, but a couple of times I've hit it for a Straight Flush, which pays us $255. Not too shabby.

Just the other day I was dealing dice and a player colored up to leave and threw in a $5 red chip, telling me to put it on whatever bet I wanted for the boys. So I called a hopping hard ten. Next roll--fifty five! That's $155 and down for the crew, which earned me a few high fives while the boxman just sat there with his jaw on the table shaking his head. Heh.

Best and Worst Toke Days

Early on I had one day over $300, but it's been almost two years since then. Other than that, the highest toke day was around $260, but I couldn't tell you when the last day we had that was actually over $200. It's been a tough year. The worst toke day I've seen for eight hours was $78, but luckily that happened on a Tuesday, and I'm off on Tuesdays. My worst showing for eight hours was $86, but in the past month, we've had several days in the low nineties.

Back when I worked at the Golden Gate, we averaged about $50-$60 per day. Good lord.

Biggest Mistake Made

You mean other than learning dice and blackjack first and getting a pit job instead of a poker job when I moved to town? Damn, if I'd only known...

One time I spent 45 minutes dealing a single deck pitch game of blackjack FACE UP before the shift boss even noticed. I thought I was gonna get busted, fired, wrote up, suspended, or have to deal with some sort of negative repercussions, but she just laughed and said that I wasn't in trouble, but the floor supervisor certainly was. Heh. The funny thing is that the players who'd been sitting there, tucking and scraping their cards before I got there, were totally oblivious, thinking it must've been Dealers Choice or something...

Another time, on the Pai Gow table, I mis-set my hand as a straight flush with a King-Four on top, when I should've set it as a flush with a pair of fours on top. Everybody pushed, whereas they all would've lost had I set it right (about a $300 swing against the house). But I didn't notice until after the damage was done, and neither surveillance or the floor caught it, so I just played dumb and kept on dealing. Never heard a word about it.

Dumbest Shots Taken

Players take shots all the time, trying to cheat the casino out of a few bucks here and there. One time I was dealing dice, and this bum came shuffling in and stood right next to me. He put his money on the pass line, and on the come out roll the point was established as four. Well, four is the toughest point to make, so he immediately dropped all of his chips all over the layout in front of him, holding up the game. He scooped them all up in a pile, including his pass line bet that he no longer wanted to make, but I caught him and made him put it back. Nice try! I told him.

Just three nights ago a guy was playing Pai Gow and putting a dollar chip on the bottom and one of our old limited-edition $5 chips with the white edges on top, trying to make it look like he was betting ten bucks when he was only betting six. He probably would've gotten away with it, the way he offset the chip slightly, hiding the lower one in a shadow, but he lost the bet, and I caught him when I went to pick up the chips. Uh, dude, you owe me another five bucks. Nice try, though. I love telling people that when I bust them.

Dream Scenario

For the most part, I like dealing, but sometimes it just gets old. Especially dealing at a locals joint where you see that same people night in and night out. Most of them are pretty nice, but there are about 20 people I can name off the top of my head that if I never saw again, I'd think I was the luckiest guy on earth.

I'm not leaving my current position anytime soon, at least as much as I can anticipate, but setting aside the fantasy of winning the World Series of Poker Main Event and not having to work at all, I guess my ultimate gig would be to deal poker at the MGM Grand full time, and work two or three days a week dealing Pai Gow and some classy joint like Encore or Caesars Palace. That would be ideal. Oh, and of course when that happens, I'll be dating a cocktail waitress/showgirl and earning royalties on all of the articles I've sold, too.

Mikey

Apologies

To the 500+ people who visited this site yesterday, expecting a new post or some sort of interesting update, I am sorry for being a slacker.

I was up late on Sunday night, didn't get much sleep, had to get up early on Monday morning and make a phone call, and once that was taken care of, I went back to sleep for several hours, not waking up until almost 2:30 in the afternoon.

So what did I do? I spent a couple hours watching the pre-game hype surrounding the LSU/Ohio State game. I figured LSU would win, and of course I was rooting for the SEC to do well. But I *knew* it was over when Lou Holtz picked Ohio State--What a senile old fool he is. This is the same guy who, the week before the season kicked off, said that Notre Dame should be ranked in the top ten, and that they were going to surprise a lot of people this season. Yep, I was surprised at how bad they were, that's for sure. Anyhow, I couldn't help myself, so I sent a text message to Falcon Rob, telling him that it was over because Holtz just picked Ohio State. Heh.

I got to watch the first quarter of the game before shuffling off to work. Once I got to the casino, I put my name on the list to get out early, requesting 2 1/2 hours of EO. Then I checked the road map, and didn't see my name listed anywhere--I had no table assigned to me. Hmmm... Just then, the boss walked over and I said "Hey, you can go ahead and send me home, it's my Friday" and then she pointed out that I was scheduled to deal dice instead. Doh!

It's extremely tough to request a specific time if you want out early and are dealing dice, so I had to change my request to an "anytime Early Out", meaning that they'll punt you at their earliest convenience, or you can be stuck till the bitter end.

So I went and clocked in, wandered over to the dice pit, and took my spot dealing to a couple of players. About ten minutes into my shift, Lars Vargas and his lovely bride Sheri showed up, having gotten out of the house to have dinner there at the casino. So I was half-assing my way through the game, talking to them, when the boss showed up and said I was going home at 8 pm. Holy crap--talk about an early out! And my rotation on the table was such that I'd deal for the first 20 minutes, take a twenty minute break, and then come back and be the stickman for the final 20 minutes before going home. But then about two minutes later, I got updated instructions--"Just go home when you get tapped out".

Ok! So I got the rare 7 1/2 hour EO last night. So I went and signed out, punched out, changed my shirt, and then Lars, Sheri, and I went to the bar to watch the game and have a couple of beers. We caught up for a bit and had two rounds before calling it a night.

In the meantime, Ohio State was getting their asses completely kicked. Which actually kinda sucked, because the smokin' hot cocktail waitress that I've been hot for for months is an Ohio State fan, and she told me that she had them in a parlay that would pay her $300 if they covered the five points they were getting. So, I was hoping they'd keep it close, if only for her sake. But of course, I'm *not* a Buckeye fan by any stretch of the imagination, so part of me was enjoying the beat-down. But she stopped by our table a couple of times for updates, and she was not enjoying the game nearly as much as I was.

Falcon Rob, who bleeds Ohio State crimson scarlet, was faring no better back at the house.

I got home about two or three minutes after the game ended, and noticed that his car was gone. On the counter was a hand-written note that said "I'm going out drinking, I'll be home sometime tomorrow". It's after midnight right now, and he's not home yet, so I hope he's not feeling too suicidal and maybe found some other sad Buckeye fans to drown his sorrows with...


Anyhow... I too am pretty sad because now college football is officially over until next September. Damn. Nine months. The NFL is cool, but it's just not nearly as much fun as college football is. Plus there are just too many damn commercials. Somehow I'll muddle through. The playoffs are here, then there is the Super Bowl, the Daytona 500, March Madness, Opening Day, The Masters, the baseball season, and before too long, football will come back and the circle of life will be complete.

So, what's on the agenda for today? Well, at some point, I'm going to go down to the grocery store and get some fixin's for my Crab Rangoon. I still haven't decided what else to make with it, but I'm hoping that a little surfing around my favorite foodie sites will provide inspiration. I'm also going to finish scrubbing my bathroom (I started on it last night when I got home, but there is still much work to be done), and maybe do a little bit of reading, too. But I think the most fun will be found in the kitchen.

More later,

Mikey

Master Mixologist

We're all about the good grub here at the Man Cave. Rob and I both like to cook, and given the absolute HAUL of kitchen gadgets I got for Christmas this year, it would be a shame not to put them to immediate use.

First of all, that huge cast iron skillet has become indispensable. I use it all the time--from frying bacon, to making gravy, or cooking hash browns--it does it all. The muffin tins are also getting a workout. I still haven't made that crab dish I was talking about, but I'm still munchin' on poppyseed muffins every day, and the blueberry variety is waiting in the wings. Dave P sent along the mixer I had on my wish list, and it's a monster. It'll mix pretty much everything but bread dough. So my first use of it will be next week--I'm going to make Crab Rangoon. I used to make it all the time several years ago, but I haven't done it in quite awhile. No mixer was the reason, I guess--it's a bitch to mix cream cheese by hand.

Along with the Crab Rangoon, I've got to come up with another dish to serve with it. I'm pretty much sold on Thai-style coconut rice, but I don't know what else to do. Maybe chicken satay with peanut sauce, or just plain old sweet and sour pork. We'll see what I feel like next week. Hell, back in college, I'd just dump a can of La Choy over rice whenever I made crab Rangoon. It was fine. But I'd like to go all-out and make something crazy good. If Angy ever finds her way back over here again, I'll make coconut shrimp for her because I know she likes it so much. It'd be a good excuse to make it for 'practice'.

Speaking of Angy, and the rest of the T2V buffoons, I got good news last night. I got my five days of vacation approved for the week of the Madness. I'll scoot outta work early on Monday night before the clowns start arriving in town, and won't go back till the Thursday night after the party ends, ten days later! Man, I don't know what I'm looking forward to more--March Madness with my buddies, or the fact that I don't have to work for ten days straight! All I know is that I'm gonna be going on a poker bender. Maybe a rum bender too, just for giggles.

That's about all for now. I've got to get some sleep before the games start. I've got a three-leg parlay on today's action, so I need to be well rested when the frisbee of my expectations gets stuck on the roof of reality later this evening.

Mikey

Vacation All I Ever Wanted

I was doing my usual bi-weekly ritual of writing checks, figuring the bills, and putting stamps to envelopes this morning when the thought struck me that I had no idea how many vacation days I still had left until May, four months hence, when I collect another two weeks worth.

This holiday season was a busy one at work, and I'm thinking I could use a little time off, even if I don't go anywhere. I thought I had three days left, plus the three floater days I collected on January 1st. I know I'm gonna need some time off during The Madness, so those three floater days are spoken for. And, ideally, I'd really like to just take the whole week off away from work so that it actually *feels* like a vacation (the past two years, I've gone back to work on either Sunday or Monday night, so I was away from the casino for just a couple of days).

So instead of wondering, I decided to call the payroll office. Turns out that I still have a weeks worth of vacation left to use! Woot! So with my floaters, that gives me eight days to play with between now and the end of April.

Well, the first thing is a no-brainer. I'm going to take five days off during March Madness, giving me nine days away from the casino when you factor in my weekends! Oh good lord, you have no idea how great it would be to not set foot in that place for nine days straight!

That still leaves me with three more days. I think I'm going to use one of them to try to get Super Bowl Sunday off. I'd love to be able to actually enjoy the game once again. That leaves two days in the bank, which I'll probably use to make another road trip down to Phoenix at some point. I don't have to use them all before May, but it's nice to know that they're there.

Mikey

The Pizza Snob Strikes Again!

The members of my social network are all keenly aware that I am a pizza snob aficionado, so there is no shortage of recommendations of places I should try. But one of the unintended consequences of finally finding and enjoying the Greatest Pizza On Earth, Or At Least My Corner Of It, is that everything else just pales in comparison. The bar has been set so high that nobody else can hope to compete. Seriously, short of a trip to Pizza Mecca, I'm pretty sure that Grimaldi's won't ever be topped. (And where is the original Grimaldi's located, class? That's right--Brooklyn!). But you know what--even though it may be an exercise in futility, it's still fun to try. Hell, I know I'll never come anywhere close to breaking Wilt Chamberlain's record of 20,000 women, but that doesn't mean I won't give it a shot.

So I've had a few different people tell me that Sunset Pizzeria on West Horizon Ridge out here in Henderson is pretty damn good. When I hear it from one person, I don't put too much stock in it, because their tastes may not be anything like mine. When I hear it from two different people, I'm intrigued. Any recommendations beyond that moves it to the top of the 'Must Do' list. Since I had three different people tell me about it and give it the thumbs up, I knew I had to try.

Last night, both Rob and I had the evening away from the casino, an empty cupboard, and a few bucks in our pockets. So off we went. The pizza joint is just right down the road from the Man Cave, so it didn't take us five minutes to get there. When we pulled up, we both thought Uh oh, it doesn't look like it even has a dining room--we might have to get our dinner to go. If that was the case, I said we'd bag it and just go to Grimaldi's, because if I have to wait for a pizza, I'd prefer to be sitting at the bar in a place I like, rather than standing around outside freezing my ass off waiting for a pie of unknown quality. But we were wrong--as we walked up to the door, we could see that there was a long narrow area on the side with a few tables and chairs.

So we grabbed a couple of paper menus and headed to a table in the rear of the dining area. Immediately we noticed a self-serve Coke fountain, so that was a good sign--none of that vile Pepsi shiat stinking up the joint! The room was fairly plain, the only decor was some cheezy random sports memorabilia, looking like stuff from the clearance bin on the Home Shopping Network, with the occasional autographed picture from an unknown boxer tossed in the mix. We also noticed that there were way too many employees hanging around. And by 'employees', I mean gentlemen of European descent, wearing velour track suits and lots of jewelry, speaking in heavy accents, sitting at the tables, not eating. Yes, they outnumbered us six-to-two, not including the kid they had cooking in the kitchen.

Rob and I both noticed it at the same time, and I even remarked that if a guy comes out of the bathroom wearing a Members Only jacket, I'm diving under the table. Some restaurants try for a mobbed-up vibe with pictures of John Gotti or Al Capone on the walls, dark wood accents, and dimly lit booths, but this place was nothing like that--it felt authentic, kind of like we were having dinner at Satriale's Pork Store. So we were on our best behavior.

For a joint with no discernible ambiance, but plenty of real gangster-style vibe, the menu was rather extensive. Lots of southern Italian pasta dishes, a huge list of salads, calzones, both hot and cold sandwiches, and of course, pizza.

Rob immediately pointed out the must-have for me, pizza number four -- Mikey's Favorite. It was a 16-inch pie that featured pepperoni, Italian sausage, salami, and mushrooms. I looked no further. Rob dug a little deeper on the menu and went with the ham-and-cheese calzone. We walked back up to the front and placed our order, skipping the appetizers altogether, content to just sip on our Cokes and whisper about what kind of nefarious misdeeds must go on in this place when nobody was looking.

About fifteen minutes later, dinner was delivered to our table by the same guy who cooked it. The pizza looked amazing, and Rob's calzone was huge. The food was piping hot, straight out of the oven, and of course I burned the roof of my mouth on the first bite. On the downside, there was no grated Parmesan available, and at that point we realized that we had no silverware, either. Rob, being the resourceful dude that he is, found some forks by the soda fountain. The help-yourself aspect of the place only added to the experience.

The pizza was pretty good, although the crust was just a wee bit thicker than I prefer, but not bad at all. And the edges were chewy and delicious--perfect for dipping in ranch dressing. The pie itself was a little on the greasy side, but that was to be expected having three different kind of salted meats on top. About mid-way through the second piece, I realized that there were absolutely no mushrooms to be found anywhere on the pizza. Not wanting to cause any trouble, we just figured that whoever that other Mikey was, he must've developed an allergy to mushrooms after the menus were already printed, and just left it at that.

The sauce didn't have as much zip as I would've liked, the mozzarella was the shredded industrial variety, and there was no fresh basil in site, but again, it's pizza--you have to try *really* hard to screw it up. It was good, but not great. We both decided that if Grimaldi's was a 10, and New York Pizza & Pasta was an 8, than this was a good solid 7, but that's just the opinion of the Simon Cowell and Randy Jackson of the pizza-judging world. We could easily see how some people would just love it. The prices weren't bad, either, as dinner for two came to thirty bucks, with leftovers.

Would I eat there again? Certainly. But if I'm going out for pizza, Grimaldi's is just too close, so Sunset Pizzeria is going to lose that battle every time. And when I finish up, I won't feel like I have to check under the drivers seat before I start my truck.

Mikey

Welcome To 2008!

Happy New Year, everybody--I hope everyone had a wonderful and safe holiday season!

Yeah, I know, I haven't written in about five days or so, but I've been working my ass off all week, and when I wasn't doing that, I was lying in bed, sick. Yep, that head cold has upgraded itself from tropical depression to a full-on tropical storm, and it has taken damn near all my strength. And on New Year's Eve, I forgot to bring any medicine with me to work, so by 11:00 pm or so, I was just flat-out miserable. Not only was I feeling poorly, I spent the evening dealing low-limit blackjack to a table full of lonely losers who had no place to go or anything to do that night. It was so bad--every time one of my co-workers would walk by my table, they'd shake their head in pity and empathy, secretly giving thanks that all the morons had gravitated to me that night instead of them.

But we weren't nearly as busy as expected on NYE, so the bosses were slamming lids on the tables as early as 12:30. Since I was feeling like crap, I scooted out at 1:00 am, dodged all the drunks on the road, and went straight to bed. It was probably my lamest New Years Eve ever.

I set my alarm for 7:40 in the morning, giving me enough time to make a pot of coffee and take a shower before the Tournament of Roses Parade started at 8:00. I love watching the Rose Parade--no matter how stupid drunk I get or how late I work, I always get up to watch it live. The last time I missed it was in 1996, but I was doing the 'drive of shame' that morning--having to catch a cab back to the bar, fetch my car, and come home...

Anyhow, for whatever reason, I was wide awake a half-hour before the alarm, so I just got out of bed and kickstarted my day off. The first score of the day was finding out that the parade was being broadcast commercial-free on the Discovery HD Theater channel. Nice! So I basically didn't get out of the chair except to refill my coffee cup. I then spent the rest of the day absolutely vegging out in front of an endless stream of bowl games, finally throwing in the towel during the Sugar Bowl, once it was an obvious blow out.

Not a bad way to spend New Years Day, if I do say so myself. At some point, I got hungry, so I got up out of the chair and made a batch of lemon-poppy seed muffins, breaking in my new muffin tins. Yep, they work great! I think, however, that our gas oven runs a bit hot, and even using a timer and following the directions, baked stuff comes out just a *hint* overdone. Not burned or anything like that, just the "skin" of the muffins was a little too elasticky. But now I know, so future baking projects should turn out fine.

Having gotten plenty of sleep last night, my plan for today is to be completely productive. Once I get a shower and some medicine into my system, I'll tackle some much-needed housecleaning (my room is a mess and the laundry is never done) before settling down with either a book or a movie, depending on my mood.

Mikey

Hump Day Videos

Just to ease my way back into blogging this week, here are a few cool videos for ya. First one up, Robbie Maddison's football-field jump from New Year's Eve here in Vegas:



It was a 322-foot jump, which is amazing to think about when compared to Evel Knievel's jump at the Caesars Palace fountains on New Years Eve 1967. It was only 125 feet, and it damn near killed him:




Now, speaking of mis-judging a jump, this video just cracked my ass up when I saw it for the first time yesterday:




So if that cat was Evel Knievel, this one is Robbie Maddison:




Mikey

The Cold

Yep, it's cold outside, still... Last night at work, word around the campfire was that it's supposed to get down into the twenties again tonight, too. So I think I'll spend my night off indoors, bundled up in flannel and drinking hot coffee, sorta like I'm doing now. And my head cold is officially here--I was thinking I could kill it in the early stages, but it seems to have prevailed.

I mentioned in an earlier post that sleeping against the outside wall in my bedroom probably hastened my illness, prompting this response from a 'lurker':

Contrary to popular belief, being cold doesn't actually give you a cold. A cold is typically caused by a virus (What are rhinoviruses?) which is more likely to be transfered between people during the winter months when everyone is cooped up together inside.

Well, yeah, I knew that. I guess I what I meant, which everyone knows, is that the change in temperature makes your system much more susceptible to allowing a cold virus in to do it's dirty work. The only other person in the house is Rob, and we're far from being cooped up together. Besides, he's fairly clean, even for an Ohio State fan (and you *know* them people got cooties!). I think the germs come from all those nasty-assed people at the casino I have to deal with on a daily basis. As much as I'd like, I just can't escape from them.

Speaking of work, it was busier than hell again last night. But it wasn't "good busy", it's what we dealers call "flea busy". We were dealing to a bunch of full tables, but it wasn't the good action that we strive for. It was mostly a lot of our regular losers. Now, don't get me wrong--I dropped my fair share of tokes, well over $300 last night. But again, I'm one of the producers on my crew. We just have a bit of dead weight in the pit, that's all.

And the bosses are finally letting me off the hook as far as that god-awful Bonus Holdem game goes. It was on my string of four games (yes, we started the evening anticipating doing an hour and twenty minutes at each table--five dealers/four games instead of the regular four dealers/three games rotation). But by the time I'd gotten to my second blackjack table, they'd fixed the string so we only had to do an hour per table, and they took that game off my rotation, which was just fine with me. The downside was that I was then dealing two blackjack games and that $5 Flea-Gow game that *everybody* hates.

The funny thing is, most people just love to deal that Bonus Holdem game because 1) you get to sit down, 2) it's way off at the end of Chinatown, so the bosses don't hover around the table, and 3) it's an easy sucker game. Me? I just hate it--I think it has to do with the fact that I have a pretty low tolerance for stupid people (so tell me again, Why do I work in a casino?), and that game has such a high house edge that it just pains me to watch some of these people play it. Same thing goes for Let It Ride. It's such a dumb game where you have almost no shot of making any money unless you get spectacularly lucky. And sitting there watching people grind their money away is pretty lame. But what makes it worse is listening to them complain the whole time. Sometimes I want to say Duh! You're playing a game where the house holds over 20%! I guess the bottom line is that I just don't like to deal games that I would never play.

As far as that $5 Pai Gow game goes, it is the Apex of Suck in our casino. We got along just fine for years with nothing less than $10 Pai Gow games, but some genius, about a year ago, thought it would be a good idea to "introduce more players to the game" and they stuck these stupid "$5 Pai Gow -- Always Available" signs all over the casino. But that table doesn't introduce any new players to the game--it's the same six or eight losers every night sitting there grinding away, always complaining, always begging for comps, and never tipping. And when some random tourist sits down and takes up a seat and plays for $10 or $15 a hand, shutting one of them out, the bitching and moaning reaches a crescendo.

Why can't you just go play the other high limit tables? You're taking a seat away from the rest of us! blah blah blah...

Yep, those toads hover around the table all night, like vultures around a carcass, waiting for somebody to stand up, just so that they can get a seat. I swear, if I were in charge, the first thing to go would be the $5 Pai Gow game. Of course, at just five bucks a hand, it's damn near impossible to break somebody, which is the unwritten goal of every dealer on my shift as far as that table is concerned.

Although last night, I got one lady, but it took damn near six hours to do it. At the beginning of my shift, she took out a $500 marker, and by 1:00 am, we'd finally busted her. But damn, it took forever. I had the delicious honor of taking away her last five bucks when my two pair beat hers. I looked over my shoulder at the floor person, and she nodded and whispered Finally! Seriously though-- a $500 marker at a five dollar game, and you still lose every dime? Perhaps Pai Gow just isn't your game!

But here it is, Friday in Vegas, and I have the night off for the first time in over two years without having to take a vacation day to get it. And I'm sick--Talk about sorry luck! I was considering, earlier this week, spending the evening down at the MGM Grand poker room, padding my bankroll by showing the touristas how Mikey plays Hold-em, but now I just don't feel up to it.

Poker is not something you want to be doing if you're not feeling 100%. And I'm sitting on a good solid 70% today, which is just about good enough to stay in bed reading a book or something.

Mikey

Toys In the Nightstand

Ok, re-reading my last update, it seems to be all over the place, with no sense of order or cohesion. So I'll post a picture from my archives--my gal Steph hovering over my bed one night.

Glow-sticks and hotties--always a good combination.



Mikey

It Feels Like a Friday

Howdy everybody!

I want to apologize to those of you who check my site for updates first thing in the morning when you get to work--my traffic stats show that most of my visitors check in before 11:00 am, and that's why I *try* to have updated posts in the morning.

And that was my plan this morning, but as soon as I got home from work, showered, and crawled into bed with my laptop, I heard Rob lurking around in the kitchen and living room, so I got back up and went out to be social. We ended up watching a couple more episodes of Jeopardy--and of course I got the final question right, the answer was Hadrian's Wall--followed by a long discussion of the history of classic rock, focusing on Pink Floyd. Now, I'm not much of a Floyd fan--I'll listen to them on occasion, but I'm not into them at all, nor do I own any of their music. But Rob is the ultimate Floyd connoisseur, knowing more about their music than Paris Hilton knows about shopping.

So we talked for quite awhile and he busted out a couple of the bootleg CDs and gave me a history lesson. I think we stayed up till around 6:30 or so listening to some weird effin' music, and by then I was dozing off, so I called it a night without checking in here on the blog.

It felt pretty strange working on a Wednesday, especially since I was doing hour-and-twenties on my tables. We were busy as hell, and what made it tough on me was the fact that I'm now coming down with a cold and felt like total shiat when I got to work last night. So I signed up for the early out, but I was slammed all night long and unable to get out at a reasonable hour. As much as I wanted to stop at the store on the way home and get some medicine, it was just too damn cold and windy outside, so I came straight home.

And then, getting that last 20 feet into my parking space was almost impossible because the sprinklers had come on earlier in the evening, drained all over the parking lot, and with the cold temperatures and the freezing wind, it turned the surface into an ice rink. Yep, the parking lot here at the apartment complex was frozen solid, and just getting up that 1% grade into my spot was next to hopeless. I sat out there spinning the tires on the truck for five minutes, using lower gears, doing whatever I could to gain traction, all to no avail. I finally was able to back up and find a dry spot, so I took a running start and slid into my spot, missing the roof support for the covered parking by about a half an inch and using the Braille method to come to a stop at the curb.

When I got up this morning around 11:00, it was bright and sunny out, but still windy and cold. But I bundled up and headed out to do some errands, which is why I felt like today was Friday instead of Thursday. I picked up the mail, got gas, went to the bank, and headed to Walgreens to buy a bunch of drugs. My head cold is pretty mild, and I'm hoping it stays that way. But the first thing on my agenda tomorrow is to move my bed away from the outside wall--I'm sure that's what's causing me to get a cold. I have no headboard, so my pillows are up against the wall, and this apartment, I've found, is not insulated very well. I wake up every morning and the wall is freezing cold to the touch, and these past few days I've had a stuffed up nose and a slightly sore throat every morning.

Anyhow, once I got back home, there was another UPS package on the patio--this one from Justin in Wisconsin (I *think* he was also the one who sent the alarm clock). But there was a big stainless steel shower caddy inside, which is something I've needed for some time now. And Rob came home a few minutes later, carrying another big box for me from Drew (also from Wisconsin), and inside was another muffin tin and a set of Pyrex mixing bowls. Apparently, I need to get in the kitchen and start making stuff.

Thanks again, fellas! And as always, it was much appreciated.

I nuked myself a bowl of chili with some shredded smoky mozz on top, and I have to admit, it was pretty damn good on a cold day like today.

Rob and I sat in the living room and continued our discussion of music and movies, and we decided to watch The Commitments, one of my all-time favorite movies, which he'd never seen before. And the funny thing is, the DVD came from a reader several months ago--Lisa in Massachusetts, and we've been corresponding through email this week, talking about that movie and all the good music that's included. Anyhow, I finally introduced Rob to it today, and he enjoyed it. And of course I always get a kick out of re-watching it.

But the first round of drugs seems to be wearing off, so it's time for me to head back to the kitchen and 'med-up' again once more before heading off to work. Luckily I'm off tomorrow, so hopefully a bit of rest, along with staying in out of the cold, will do me some good.

Mikey

The Day After

Good morning, everybody--I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas with family and friends and you all got more toys and goodies than socks and sweaters.

I will admit, I had a really tough time with Christmas this year--as hard as I tried, I just couldn't get into it these past few weeks. And I'm a huge fan of the holidays, too, so it didn't set well with me at all. On the plus side, it had less to do with the stress of finances than it had to do with the knowledge that I was truly stuck here in Vegas, when what I *really* wanted to do was go back to Tennessee for a few days and be with my family.

And even though I was stuck here last year, too, it was much easier because I had a special someone to shop for, dote over, and make plans with, so the holidays were much more fun. This year, being away from the family and also being single conspired to put a little bit of a damper on my Christmas fun.

But you're not here to read a post-holiday bummer, so I will also say that even though things weren't ideal here in Mikey's world, Christmas day was still rather enjoyable.

First of all, Christmas Eve started off with my cell phone filling up with tons of greetings and well-wishes from readers and friends. I swear I never get that many messages at one time except for maybe the first day of March Madness. Of course, I had to work that night, and I absolutely despise having to work on Christmas Eve. Hate it with every fiber of my being.

And even though I hated being at work, and held nothing but contempt for the people that were playing and forcing me to be there against my will, everyone was friendly, generous, and having a good time, so the evening passed quickly. The only bummer was that the one boss in charge that night is always extremely reluctant to *ever* close a game--so when our dice table went dead at 11:00 pm, we were begging him to let us bring the lid up and get out, but he refused.

You can't make any money with a closed table, Mikey! was what he said to me.

Sorry, but I just don't give a shiat about making a dime on Christmas Eve. Never have, never will. As far as I'm concerned, the degenerates can take a night off--the place won't go out of business. And I can survive on nine days worth of tokes instead of ten just this once... Oh well, I'm fighting a losing battle in this town.

As far as Vegas goes, Christmas is just another day--and that's probably the worst thing about living here.

But I finally got out around 1:30 in the morning, and my mood brightened considerably (the funny thing was, on the outside, I was happy and cheerful all night long, but on the inside I was bitter and resentful... stupid, huh?).

I got home, and the house was empty--Rob had the holidays off, so he was out tying one on with some of his friends. But I turned on the Christmas tree, fixed myself and eggnog martini (or two), and watched 'Christmas Lights Across America' on the Discovery HD channel before falling asleep in the chair an hour later. Once I woke up, I took a shower, turned the tv over to the 'Sounds of the Seasons' channel, and crawled into bed.

I heard Rob come stumbling home a little while later, and I slept until around 8:00 am or so, waking up when I heard him in the kitchen. So I got up, and the first thing we did was watch an episode of Jeopardy, like a couple of dorks... But then we decided to open up all the presents that were under the tree.

Santa Claus was especially good to me this year--I got a couple of new CDs (Johnny Cash and Elvis), a multi-tool, a pirate book, and some pretty damn cool 600-thread count sheets. The brown-suited Santa Claus also made another delivery, this time bringing a new alarm clock (thanks to an anonymous reader in Wisconsin) and some Cuban cigars from Chuck in Georgia. And word came that he'll be making yet another visit either today or tomorrow.

Words simply cannot express the amount of gratitude that I've felt these past few weeks--so many people have been so kind and generous that it just floors me. I am truly not deserving of such consideration. I wish I could personally thank each and every one of my readers--most of whom I've never met--who have had an extra ration of holiday spirit and sent along a gift, a note, a text message, or a greeting. It's amazing, and I'm humbled ever time I think about it. You guys are the best!

What you don't know is how much it's helped me to remain focused on just how truly lucky I am. Sometimes, late at night, I'd sit out in the living room with lights off with nothing but the tree and a couple of candles for light, listening to Christmas music, and sipping on a glass of the good stuff. And I'd be sad, thinking of what I've given up to be here and all the things I'm missing back in Tennessee. I'd think of all the fun I could be having with my family--cooking with Mamasan, shopping with Amy, sharing secrets with Cyndi and Sherry, spoiling my nieces, and just goofing off redneck-style with Reverend Dave. And I'd get a little depressed.

But then I consider all of the people who took a little time out of their busy lives to think of me this holiday season, who spent a few bucks that they could've easily spent on someone else much closer to them, or sent nice emails telling me how much they appreciate what I do here instead of just remaining anonymous lurkers, and I'm humbled once again, to the point that it gets misty in the room and I'm overcome with emotion. And I guess that's what the Christmas spirit is all about--sharing enough of yourself to make somebody else's outlook a little brighter. It's happened to me dozens of time this holiday season, and for that I am truly thankful.

God bless us, Everyone!

After the presents were opened, I made a pot of peppermint mocha coffee, and we watched Christmas Vacation. Once that finished up, Rob announced that he was going to scrub his bathroom and bedroom from floor to ceiling, so I didn't see him again for the rest of the day. I made myself a nice breakfast of blueberry pancakes and link sausage, and then giggled my way through A Christmas Story. After that, I discovered the Yule Log fireplace channel in HD, so I pretty much left that on for the rest of the day while I dozed.

At some point, I finished off the rest of the eggnog and the last of Mamasan's peanut butter balls. Rob went to bed early, having to be at work at 3:00 am this morning, and I stayed up late watching more stuff like Christmas at Belmont and a few MoTab specials.

All in all, it was a very relaxing Christmas Day.

I'm going back to work tonight, the worst part of it being that the cocktail waitresses will have put the naughty Santa's helper outfits back in the closet for another eleven months. It's enough to make the baby Jesus cry.

Mikey

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas!

Here is a picture of our booze grotto, decked out in it's holiday finery:



The tree is actually covered in multi-colored sparkling LED lights, but the flash from the camera washed them out. It may be humble, but it looks nice at night with nothing else but candles providing ambient light. And if I turn on Christmas music, I can sit in the magic sleepy-time chair and stare at it for hours, like a stoner watching the Cartoon Network. And if you look closely, you can see a picture of Flick with his tongue stuck to the flagpole. Nothing says 'Christmas' quite like that, not even elves and reindeer.

Between Rob and I, we have a few presents wrapped up under the tree so we'll have some stuff to open on Christmas morning. We may both be stuck here against our wishes, but I'm sure we'll somehow manage to make the best of it. (Spiked Eggnog, please pick up the white courtesy phone...) Although, if anyone is interested in what I'd really like to have for Christmas, I could go for that whole nine-ladies-dancing thing. That sounds pretty cool...

Mikey

I've Had All I Can Stands

... and I can't stands no more!

Yes, I am a puss, especially compared to my hearty brethren from places like Idaho or Minnesota, but there's a reason I moved to the desert... TO BE WARM!

When I came home from work this morning, it was 36 degrees and windy, giving us a chill factor of 28 frickin' degrees. That's just too damn cold. When I came home, I jumped right into bed, under my comforter and flannel sleeping bag, yet my hands and face were still chilled. I heard Rob banging around in the kitchen, so I got up and went out to talk to him.

Basically, I did my best impersonation of Kramer-from-'The Contest'-episode--

I'm out, Jerry!

Actually, I said something along the lines of Dude, I don't care what the utility bills are next month, it's too damn cold in this house. How's about we give in and turn on the heat?

His response? Ok--I had it on earlier already.

That bastard, making me think this whole time that he hasn't been cold in this weather! I don't care where you're from, 28 degrees is freezing cold. So we said the hell with it and cranked up the furnace. I'm not quite toasty warm yet, but I'm getting there. At least my fingertips aren't frozen as I type this.

Oh, and I checked the weekend forecast for Henderson-- Saturday's high is 46, and the low is 28! Good grief!

At least I finally got my nifty new fleece jacket to keep me warm when I go to and from work, (and sit outside with the smokers to get away from the loud-ass Spanish TV in the break room. I swear every Mexican that works in the casino must be deaf). It's long enough that it stays put when I bend over, not exposing any skin to the elements, and the sleeves are wonderfully too long, coming just to the base of my thumbs when I'm hanging my arms down at my sides. (One of the problems I have when shopping for clothes is that my arm length is close to 38 inches, and most standard men's clothes have sleeve lengths of 36 inches--so long sleeves are iffy when it's not an oxford dress shirt where you can specify sleeve length).

Anyhow, this jacket is comfortably big on me, and it's perfect for sailing too, if I ever get my ass back out on a boat. I remember a sailing trip that Derek, Ed, and I took back in April of 2002, and it was cold, windy, and gray out there on the ocean off the coast of Southern California. A fleece jacket under a rain suit would've been perfect at the time, when all I had was a sweatshirt and a windbreaker. Now I am properly equipped to take on the elements.

But not today!

I'm gonna hibernate here in my bed until around noon or so, then get up and run back to the alteration shop over by the airport. If I don't pick up my pants by 3:00 pm, I can't get 'em back until after New Year's--my tailor is apparently heading back to the Old Country for the holidays. And I have to go--I'm down to wearing the most raggedy of my still-functional black pants. At first glance they look ok, but I can just tell that if I make one sudden move, they'll fall off of me and disintegrate like the Bluesmobile in front of the Cook County Assessor's Office.

And nobody wants to see me standing there in the middle of the pit in just my drawers and an apron.

But if there's anybody out there sexy enough to pull it off, it's me!

Mikey

Blustery

I just got back home a little while ago from running a few errands, and holy shiat is it windy outside! It's clear and beautiful, of course, which makes the mountains off in the distance look especially cool, but damn, it's so windy that it was blowing my truck all over the road when I was out on the freeway.

All the crazies are out in force today--I had two people damn near smashed into me, but my cat-like reflexes behind the wheel saved the day. And of course I almost rear-ended a chick on a cellphone on Maryland Parkway, and I was all ready to cuss her out from the comfort of my drivers seat, until I realized she slammed on her brakes to avoid running over a stupid little yap dog that had gotten loose and decided it was a good time to take a stroll across four lanes of traffic.

But the dog survived and I hit all my stops and ran my errands in record time, going to the bank (what a nightmare, but at least all five of the tellers where there, which I've *never* seen happen before), the post office, the auto parts store, the alterations shop, the grocery store, and the leasing office. Believe me, I was glad to get home.

As soon as I pulled in, I saw a couple of packages on the patio, left by the UPS man. My fleece jacket finally arrived, and it's currently in the dryer with a couple of fabric softener sheets losing it's new smell. There was also another unexpected box from Amazon, this time from Dave P up in Connecticut. He sent the muffin tins (now I can make that crab recipe from Mrs. VJW's website) and a DVD copy of one of the greatest movies of all-time, Casablanca. When I tackle that recipe, I shall temporarily rename the humble Casa de Mikey, instead referring to the Man Cave as Mikey's Cafe American.

Thanks again, Dave--very thoughtful of you! Although, I kinda miss the rum balls you sent last year...

In the meantime, I've got a chance to take a two-hour nap before going to work, so I'm gonna take it. I hope you all have a great weekend!

Mikey

The Ultimate Accessory

Late last night I was surfing around on the internet, and I found myself 'Windows' shopping over at The Sportsman's Guide. I used to buy stuff there all the time back when I lived in Nashville, but I haven't purchased anything from them probably since I've been here in Vegas. But I still like to browse, and while I was looking, I stumbled across the Ultimate Man Cave Accessory:



No, I'm not talking about a blonde in a purple sweater, I'm talking about the coffee table with a nifty pop-up top. Isn't that the greatest idea EVER?

Right now, we're using Rob's black pleather ottoman as a coffee table/footstool. It works, and it matches the rest of our so-called furniture just fine. But it's just not as functional as the table you see here. First of all, it'd be better to eat off of than the ottoman. We still don't have a dining room table, so most of our meals are consumed in the living room while we crouch over the foot stool. We don't even own TV trays.

Second of all, a lot of times when we're watching football, a trivia question will come up that needs some research, or we hear of a school that neither one of us knows it's location, so I go grab my laptop and bring it out to the living room to look stuff up. We also refer to the computer a lot on Saturdays during college football season to get up-to-the-moment score updates, since we both usually have a stack of parlay cards working and are concerned with ten different games at any one time. But a table like that would be a most excellent platform to do instantaneous research from, even better than my lap.

So yeah, that piece of furniture is now a definite 'must-have' as far as I'm concerned. I'd still like to get a dining room table and some chairs, or at least a folding utility table from Sam's Club and some banquet chairs, just so we have a work/eating surface bigger than our desks or the ottoman. I've got a few jigsaw puzzles in the closet that I haven't broken the seal on yet, just because I don't have a suitable table for them. So maybe a utility table for the dining room is a higher priority, but that pop-up coffee table *will* be a fixture in the living room before next football season rolls around.

The funny thing is, I have had experience with a coffee table like that in the past, but had forgotten about it. About eight years ago, I was dating this completely crazy biatch named Corrine, and she had all the cool toys--a kick ass SUV, a pop-up coffee table, and the first 55-inch widescreen TV I'd ever seen. Of course, she was a total psycho biatch and my buddies hated her, but I couldn't help myself--she had a nice rack, lots of money, and loved to cook. I should've known something wasn't quite right the first time I went to her place and saw that she had a room in her house that held nothing but shoes (way before that guy on The Italian Job did). Seriously, she had over 500 pairs of shoes in there. WTF?

Anyhow, we were dating during the Y2K scare/turn of the century, which was also the miracle year for the Rams when they won the Super Bowl. So I spent that wonderful Super Bowl Sunday feasting on an endless buffet of munchables at her pop-up coffee table and watching the Rams win on that beautiful 55-inch television. As I recall, I may have gotten my hands on that nice rack of hers before/during/and afterwards, too.

As Bill Murray so famously said in Groundhog Day-- " That was a *pretty* good day... "

Ah, but eventually things turned sour between us and we went our separate ways. Last I heard, she moved to Indy with a new boyfriend, and I haven't seen her in almost seven years. But as nice as those boobies were, I'd really like to get my hands on that coffee table again.

Mikey