Celebrating Black Laundry Month

I think I'm turning into a Ninja.

Before I moved to Vegas, I owned absolutely *no* black clothing. No black pants, socks, shoes, jackets, nothing. I wore either polo or Hawaiian shirts to work every day, with either navy, tan, or olive green khakis. That's it. And on my off days, it was more Hawaiian shirts or t-shirts, and shorts. I always thought black clothes were for shallow urban poseur-types that subscribed to the NY Times, drank wine with dinner every night, and shopped at Pottery Barn. Not my demographic.

Of course, Johnnie Cash looked good in all-black, but I didn't recognize his hipness until he was walkin' that line in the Great Beyond.

But when I made the decision to move to Las Vegas and become a casino dealer, I knew that I'd need a wardrobe update. I had plenty of white oxford shirts--those have been a staple of my wardrobe since my sophomore year in high school when my favorite cheerleader told me I looked good in one. But unless you plan on being a waiter, white shirts will only carry you through the auditions in this town. So I needed some new gear. Black socks, black shoes--with big comfy soles, black polyester pants that could stand up to the rigors of nightly abuse, and of course every casino ninja needs a black belt.

Well, that's where it started, and that portion of the wardrobe keeps growing on it's own. But now my current job requires us to wear black undershirts, too, if we wear one at all. I'm certainly not going to go without--I sweat too much, and a cotton undershirt actually keeps me cooler than not having one. And wearing one will keep nasty sweatiness from showing through the uniform shirt too. So for comfort and aesthetics, I now have a drawer full of black undershirts in addition to everything else.

My only nod to traditional clothing when at work was the fact that I wore regular old plain white Jockey boxer-briefs. More support than boxers, minus the geekiness of tighty-whiteys. Just like Victoria, that was my secret I kept underneath. Then one day I made the mistake of bending over to get an errant chip off the ground while wearing an old threadbare pair of pants. Polyester is tough stuff, but once it goes, it goes all the way.

Suddenly, my bright-white billboard of shame was on full display for anyone unfortunate enough to be looking in that direction at the time. All I can say is, thank god they were clean!

I live too far from the casino to make it home, change, and come back in time during my break, so I just had to grin and bear it, as they say. Of course, I turned my apron around, but that just drew more attention to the fact that I was mooning everyone in the pit for the rest of the evening.

Some of them probably deserved it though.

Anyhow, that was a bit embarrassing, but it taught me a lesson. Always keep a spare pair of pants in the truck, and start buying black 'fashion' underwear.

So now that I have to dress in black from head to toe five days a week, I have tons of cold-water washing to do on my days off. And my outfits have never been so coordinated in all my life! But all black from head to toe is rather dull, so I guess I'm lucky that the casino gives me shiny blue and maroon shirts to wear every night. Yep, fake satin long-sleeve bowling shirts with contrasting cuffs and wide disco-style collars.

So now I look like a cross between Johnny Cash and a 350-lb. peacock. From the 70's.

As Paris would say, That's hot!



Mikey

Midweek Chillin'

Well, it looks like Falcon Rob found himself some inspiration and hit the kitchen again late last night. After reading the sandwich thread, he found his curried-chicken salad recipe and made a huge bowl of the stuff.

I fixed myself a sandwich earlier this afternoon, and was impressed. It tasted better than the initial description, although I'm not quite sure if I like grape halves in my sandwich. That's a new taste sensation for me that I think I'll have to grow into. They don't taste bad--I love red grapes. But hell, I just had them in salad for the first time a couple years ago--putting them in sandwiches is pushing the culinary envelope for me. Curried chicken is always good, but I think I prefer it hot. Maybe I'm just a traditionalist when chicken salad is involved. Who knew?

But we've got a huge bowl of it in the fridge now, so sandies for the rest of the week are taken care of. Now it's my turn to come up with something tasty and new.

Otherwise, it's been a very relaxing day off, the highlight of which was my leisurely stroll in the sunshine (not to hot today--the sweltering heat has broken for good) down to the leasing office for a little harmless flirtation with the young hottie behind the desk.

Actually, it was a two-fold mission. I had to pick up a package from Amazon that was delivered yesterday. Of course, I got my ego stroked when I walked in and she said "Mikey! You have a package!", causing me to think Wow, out of all the hundreds of people that live here, she remembers my name and such... Score! The dirty old man still has it!

So I just played it cool and said "Well, that's not the main purpose of my visit, I was just coming down to see you. A package is just a little bonus..."

Don't know if she believed that, but it was the highlight of her my day. Yes, I lead a dull life.

I wandered back to the house and spent a couple hours reading Four Guys in a Boat -- A decade of rum, cigars, poker, and lies which sounded like it was right up my alley when I first purchased it. I've already finished it off, and decided that if Sheridan House would write that guy a check for putting out such a simple manuscript, then I should have more money than John Grisham. That's the second book I've read that I *know* I could've written much better than the author. (The first was that book 24/7, about the guy who took $50,000 and went to Vegas for a month. Oh how I wish I could've written that one--I'd still be on the talk show circuit!)

Anyhow, it was mildly entertaining, but very shallow. And the anecdotes the author thought to share were not very funny or entertaining, yet he kept falling back on the old 'most of them shouldn't be retold' excuse. Whatever dude. Maybe I'm disappointed because there was so much untapped potential in the book. And he started out with a lot of Oprah-esque "it was a journey of self-discovery blah blah blah" but it just turned out to be a less-than-stellar travelogue. Too many missing details, I guess. And poker? Barely a mention. Rum? He talked more about port wine. I felt a little bit cheated.

Another disappointment was the fact that it was only about 120 pages long. Seriously--ten years of week-long sailing trips, and that's all he could come up with? If this book were a sandwich, it'd be all bread with just a thin slice of off-brand baloney in the middle. It was that disappointing.

Hopes dashed, and all that.

All I know is, when this Buffoons at Sea trip comes along in March, the narrative will be richly detailed, photos will be shared, and all of the off-color jokes will be included so that they live on forever.

Maybe I can even get somebody to pay me for it...

Mikey

Show Us Your Tips!

It's no secret that I live on tips. Hell, half of Las Vegas does -- bellmen, cocktail waitresses, cab drivers, cab hailers, dealers, dancers, waiters and waitresses, room service, valets--all of us are dependent on tips for our income. And there are quite a few other people out here who don't 'depend' on tips like I do, but certainly supplement their income with the occasional toke--front desk clerks, doormen, pit clerks, slot hosts, housekeeping, etc.

I've written at length in the past about the proper ways to tip your dealers, the post itself earning a sticky at the top of a forum at travel2vegas.com. But it seems that clarification only causes more questions, and always seems to stir up a debate. But a reader decided to go right to the source and sent me the following email:

Mikey,

Just wanted to drop a line saying wassup, enjoy reading your blogs. You are a helluva writer, keep up the good work!

I go to Vegas quite a bit (every weekend last summer!), I just got back from my 3rd trip to Nevada in the past 5 weeks so its safe to say I gamble quite a bit. In your blogs, you talk alot about these "fleas" and non-tippers, and such, and it got me thinking about how I tip, what is considered a good tip, etc.

I happen to play craps and blackjack. For blackjack, my average bets are probably 2 hands each of $75 - 155, but I dont play very long....maybe 15min? Regardless of the win amount (usually between $500 - 1500) I'll probably just tip a green chip after coloring up.

For craps, depends on the win but if i am up big (few thousand), I'll give dealers $55 across action or flat tip between 15- 50 after the roll, or both. My last trip, I won $5000 on a roll, and gave $55 accross action with 75 flat tip. Again, I dont play too long, maybe 30 min at most. I never tip on losses, only after wins.

As a dealer, do you have any type of expection for tips? I know that win amount probably plays into it a bit, and it varies from dealer to dealer, but I'm curious to hear what your take is on this. From my player perspective, I know that you guys make a living on tips, and as a dice player I know how hard you guys work (I tend to press this that hard) so I try to get you guys up. But at the same time, I dont feel obligated to give a huge tip after a big win since i am the one who is putting my own money at risk. So once I clear a certain win threshold, the tip amount will only vary so much.

What is your take?

Cheers,

Jim

Well Jim, first of all, thanks for the kind words, it's much appreciated.

Let's tackle blackjack first. If you're only playing 15 minutes at a time, handing over a green chip when you color up is plenty generous, and the dealer should be pretty happy with that. If only every player were so thoughtful.

However, the real world doesn't always work that way, and in my experience, 99% of players go for a huge win and stay until they're broke. It never fails. I'd say that only 10% of the players I deal to will leave with some money--most of them stay much too long, or psychologically have decided that this is the money I came to spend and won't leave until it's spent.

If you're on a slight winning streak, and decide to stick around longer, you may want to put an occasional red chip (or hell, even a buck) out for the dealer to play along with you. I know that if I'm dealing to a guy playing green action and he's up a few hundred bucks and still not tipping at all after 15 or 20 minutes, then chances are he's a stiff and I'll then be trying to bust him. Yes, there are ways--we can adjust the shuffle slightly, we can burn a card after making change for another player, we can adjust the depth of the cut slightly--nothing is guaranteed, but just like the bosses changing a dealer or changing cards to cool off a player, a dealer can do the same thing, within limits. I also know that the house edge is going to catch up to him, usually sooner than later, and if he hasn't tipped on the winning streak, he's certainly not going to start once the cards turn against him. And yeah, it's a rare player who tips well when they're getting their ass handed to them. Some might throw up a bet and say "Let's see if bribery works" or something like that, but blackjack players in particular seem to take it personally when they lose and will never tip the dealer once it starts going south.

As far as your style of tipping goes with craps, it sounds very generous. Dice dealers love to be in the game along with the players, and they will certainly be rooting for you to win if they're involved. But why wait until you leave the table before putting them across? Sure, a flat bet hand-in is *always* appreciated, but if you're going to put the dealers in the game, why not be in there with them. I know it sounds kind of trite, but it's sort of like saying, Well, I got mine, and I don't think it's gonna be any better, so I'm gonna take the money and run--I know the dice are getting cold, so here's some bets that may or may not pay off, fellas...

I dunno, if a player puts me up, I'd rather he be out there with us. If the streak is good, and you're gonna tip 'em anyways, why not let the dealers ride it also? Teamwork and camaraderie and all that. Maybe that's just me, though. When I'm playing, I want the dealer on my side, so I have his bets right alongside mine at the same time. Good karma, good manners, call it what you want, but that's the way I've done it. And I see it every night--if a player is taking care of the dealers, the boxman will almost always side with the player over the house on a judgement call or any controversy there might be on a payoff or bet. If you wait until the end to George it up, you'll lose that advantage.

One thing I've seen in several casinos over the years, and it's happened for me a few times, is that if a player is putting up 2-way hardways, and the number comes easy, the stickman and the boxman sometimes "forget" to take the bet down. It happens hundreds of times a day in this city, and I've benefited from it myself when I've played dice in the past. Besides, dealing dice is just about the hardest job in a casino, and even if you're the most experienced stud of a dice dealer, you absolutely *cannot* go an entire eight-hour shift without making a mistake--the game is just too complicated. So if a dealer makes a mistake, the boxman could either go strictly 'by the book' or use his discretion and provide better customer service. My two years behind the green felt tells me that players who tip absolutely get much better customer service.

As far as expectations for tips go, honestly, yeah, on some obvious situations, a tip is generally expected. If I'm in Chinatown, and payoff a thousand-dollar bonus to somebody and they stiff me, as soon as I go on break, every dealer in the place will know that person's name, description, and what they're wearing, and will do their damndest to bust them. The floorpeople also know, because they have to watch the payout. Half the floopeople in any casino are "dual-rates", meaning some nights they deal, and some nights they stand floor in a suit. So if somebody is stiffing the dealer, their rating will suffer, and comps won't be nearly as forthcoming.

On the dice table, I've learned not to have any expectations for tips. Some people don't know how to, some are just stiffs. I try and help everyone at first, but if they're not tipping after awhile, then I just dummy up and deal. If their odds are wrong, or they ask for something dumb like a $5 eight, then I won't say anything, and just give them what they ask for. For example, if a stiff is betting the field and gets distracted by their buddies or a cocktail waitress or something, the stickman won't remind them to pick up their winnings--he'll just call out 'all goes in the field' and send the dice. If they lose the entire bet as a result of that throw, bummer. Dealers will look out for you and your bets if you are tipping. If not, you're pretty much on your own. If somebody is tipping, I'll remind them about their come bets, or odds on come bets after a new point is established, or any of the dozens of little things I can do for them. If not, I don't say a word.

Also, my outlook may be skewed by the fact that I work in the toughest dice pit in all of Vegas. Our casino has a reputation for having the toughest players in the city--they're not tourists, they're "fleas with money" as I heard one boxman describe them. They're not bad players because they don't know what they're doing--precisely the opposite. They *all* know what they're doing, and they all seem to have healthy bankrolls, so it takes forever to bust them, even if they stroke you all night long. They have no concept of the term 'same bet' --everything is pressed, taken down, or propped after every roll.

And our regulars couldn't be considered the most generous fellows in the world. Any extra singles they have go directly in the prop box, not the toke box.

It's much easier to deal to them after you get to know their 'systems'. But the first few hours at the table after not being on dice for a couple of weeks is a real workout.

My goal, however, is to drop an average of $40 per hour every night, no matter what game I'm dealing. In an eight-hour shift, I'm at the tables for six hours, so I'm going for $240 per shift. Some nights, if I'm on $10 blackjack or higher all night, I'll drop a lot more than that. If I'm in Chinatown dealing Pai Gow all night, it's tough to crack a hundy. But in my casino, I'm one of the dealers on the high side of the bell-curve, bringing the average up. I almost always drop more in tokes than we make per-dealer, and there are a handful of dealers who cost us money (but that's the same in every casino, I'm afraid).

I hope that answers your question, somewhat.

I did get a kick, however, out of a tipping thread over on T2V where a foreigner posed a question on who and how much to tip when they come to Vegas, and that asshat Ken2V had to chime in. Basically, he went down the entire list of people in Vegas you should tip, and how much to tip them:

Drink Servers
Valet
Bell Staff
Buffet
Cabbies

But when he got to dealers, he had this to say:

Dealers--toke what you feel if you feel like it at often as you like or not at all. Don't buy into the mythology that: not tipping will kill your luck, you MUST tip dealers because they chose shit-paying jobs, you are a loser if you don't.

Heh. That nonsense wasn't posted to answer the question or be helpful, it was aimed directly at Yours Truly because when it comes right down to it, the guy is an arrogant prick and the bottom line is that he can't stand the fact that I am better at verbal jousting than he is. So he takes shots at me every chance he gets.

The problem with his argument in this particular case is that he went for snark instead of addressing reality. It's true--stiffing the dealers will not kill your luck--Oh how I wish it were so! But the fact that he singles out dealers as the only ones who chose 'shit-paying jobs' shows the depth of his ignorance. Every one of the jobs he listed as those who should be tipped are 'shit paying' in their own right. Hell, cocktail waitresses are paid even less than I am by the casino, yet somehow they didn't choose a shit-paying job. Every other job on that list pays minimum wage, or something right close to it unless it's a union house. The rest of their income comes from tips. Yep, I barely make minimum wage as far as the house is concerned. But I make more in tips than I ever did trading options at Schwab.

It's only a shitty job on those days when arrogant pricks like that come to the table. But then I'm reminded of that famous quote from The Godfather, This is the life we've chosen...

Assholes come with the territory.

Mikey

Not Coleslaw, But a Subject That Should Wake the Natives...

In case you weren't aware, and I wasn't before Rachel pointed it out, August is National Sandwich Month. And for a guy like me, it's ten times more relevant than other contrived celebrations like National Piano Month or the in-my-face preachiness of the politically-correct Black History Month.

I haven't quite figured out just how I'm going to celebrate my love for sandwiches this month, but I'm off to a good start by posting a photo of the Mother of All Sandwiches, the Monte Cristo. It's an amazing combination of ham, turkey, bread, and cheese, dipped in batter, deep-fried, dusted with powdered sugar and served with rasberry preserves.

I had my first one about 17 years ago at Bennigan's (recommended to my by my buddy who didn't smoke but always carried the Zippo), and once I got over my initial trepidation, I was hooked. I *love* a good Monte Cristo, but damn, you can only have one once a year or so or it'll probably kill you.

Back when I wrote that long 'floating crap game' post I mentioned my other favorite sandwich, roast beef and Brie on a crusty baguette with Dijon mustard. Unfortunately, I haven't had either one of these culinary masterpieces in months. My usual sandwich is just plain old ham and cheese on wheat (I've never liked white bread, even as a kid), although sometimes when I'm feeling saucy, I'll grill it to perfection on my cast-iron skillet that makes the best hot sandwiches in the world. If I'm not having ham and cheese, then it's usually a plain old PB & J (creamy peanut butter, strawberry preserves) with a tall cold glass of milk and some Lays sour cream and onion chips on the side.

When I go out to lunch, I can't pass up a good club sandwich because even though bacon is meat candy, the lettuce and tomato kind of balance it out and make you think you're eating somewhat healthy. And the whole-wheat bread helps, too.

I also love me a good Cuban sandwich on occasion, and even though I've tried a handful of Cuban restaurants around town, the best one I've ever had was at Kahunaville at Treasure Island.

Of course, most of the meals I eat are in the employee dining room at work. For the most part the food is decent, but it lacks a bit of variety--it's the same menu pretty much every week. So when I don't feel like eating tacos, stuffed chicken legs, or fried rice, I'll have the guy behind the counter make me a chicken salad with Swiss on wheat, with mayo. That's a pretty damn good sandwich, especially when coupled with pineapples and cottage cheese.

Sometimes when I get a wild hair, I make my own chicken salad, baking chicken breasts with garlic and real butter, then hand shredding it, and mixing it with Miracle Whip. One thing I hate about chicken and/or tuna salad is that everyone else always feels the need to cut it with chopped celery or pickle relish. I don't do that. I *hate* pickle relish. Hate it hate it hate it. But one of the best chicken salad sandwiches I've ever had got it's crunch from diced apples and chopped cashews, and it was served on a huge buttery croissant. Now *that* was a good chicken salad sandwich.

Of course, as much as I dig regular old traditional sandwiches, sometimes there is nothing better than a nice juicy burger. Grilled. With melted cheese. And bacon. On a real bun--not those cheapy store-brand small buns, but the big sesame-seeded proper hamburger buns. With mustard, ketchup, lettuce, pickles, onions, tomato, and maybe just a hint of A1 sauce.

Damn. Now I'm hungry and it's time to go to work.

Guess what I'm having for dinner tonight...

Mikey

Not Just For Downloading Pr0n

Sometimes, the internet can actually be used for more fruitful endeavors than checking scores or wasting time looking at dirty pictures. I get most of my news from the internet nowadays, blessedly free from commercial interruption, and most of my I-wish-I-were-sailing escapism is found on the screen of my laptop, too.

And even though the internet is a wasteland even more vast than television could ever hope to be, there are still some excellent diamonds to be found among the majority of excrement found in cyberspace.

For instance, this afternoon I read a fascinating article about the pros and cons of anarchy/self-governance versus state governance that really made me sit back and think for a bit. I know, it doesn't sound like the most interesting subject in the world, but it certainly scratched my intellectual itch. And it was a nice break from the usual daily bread-and-circuses.

But digesting that article used up my entire brain-power quota for the day, so I'll need to spend a few hours dealing Let It Ride tonight just so I can feel smart again. In the meantime, I think I'm gonna get a head start by watching some cartoons or YouTube videos of Jessica Simpson talking.

Mikey

Monday For You, Friday For Me

Happy Monday, everyone. I hope you all had a good weekend. Mine was rather dull. Honestly, I can't think of anything noteworthy that happened in the last two or three days, which would explain my vacation from posting.

Well, actually, I had an enjoyable visit with one of my readers, Drew, on Saturday. I picked him up at the Hilton and we motored over to NY P & P for a bit of lunch and conversation. It was good to see him again--last time I saw him was during March Madness when we tried to eat those foot-thick sandwiches at the Carnegie Deli. Lunch was a little more manageable, and cheaper, this time around.

After that, it was back home for a couple hours of nap-time before heading back to another busy night at work. This has been a rough week for me. Once they gave me a taste of that 7:00 o'clock start time, going in at 8:00 pm truly sucks, and I've had both shifts this past week. Luckily, starting tonight, I'm back on the 7:00 pm crew for all of the schedules that have been released.

Last night, however, was one of those dreaded eight o'clock shifts, and when I got off the elevator in the casino, I knew it was going to be a shiatty night. Not only were the fire-alarm strobes going off (for more than two hours I found out later), but the air-conditioning system had also broke down and it was hot and humid as hell inside the casino.

Then I found out that two of my three tables were $5 blackjack, so I was pretty much completely unmotivated to be there. Since times are still tight cash-wise, I told myself to gut it up and just suffer through eight hours. But around midnight I realized that I hadn't taken any early-outs at all in the past week, so I told the boss I'd be willing to go.

I guess the fleas had had enough by then, because we closed down a dice game and about six other tables at the same time, and I was out the door by 12:30, lugging a hand towel that was dripping with my own head-sweat.

I lead-footed it home, passing a burning hulk of what used to be a car on the 215, which kept every Henderson cop occupied so that speed laws were pretty much unenforceable, and took a nice cool shower, followed by relaxing with a bowl of Breyer's Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream while watching the Steelers/Saints game on the DVR.

Yeah, I know it's pre-season and all, but damn, it was like getting that first piece of pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving--it's so tasty and it's been far too long since I had any.

It's time for bed, and I've got a few errands to run once I get up, but I'll try and post a bit more later this afternoon if the Muse feels like speaking to me. If not, you'll have to wait until tomorrow.

Peace.

Mikey

Drawing A Blank

It's Friday. And nobody comes here from around Friday at noon until first thing Monday morning anyways.

Think I'll take a nap.




Mikey

Two Thumbs Way Up

Well, I didn't do the double-feature yesterday like I'd planned. I got a couple of phone calls that I was expecting, and got busy doing other things, plus I wrote that epic list of 100 Life's Lessons, which took about two hours, too.

But once Rob got up, and I finished all the things I needed to do, and he finished his errands, we took off for the late matinée of The Simpsons Movie.

Damn if it wasn't the funniest movie I've seen in years. I laughed my ass off all the way through it, and then afterwards, we rehashed the whole thing over dinner and laughed some more. There were a couple of scenes and gags in there that had me literally wiping the tears from my eyes because I was laughing so hard. And I was humming 'Spiderpig, spiderpig...' all night long, too.

If you find the Simpsons the least bit funny, you'll love this movie.

After the movie ended, we decided we were hungry enough to make the trek out to the west side for dinner at New York Pizza & Pasta. It was great, as always, and I've got more than half a pizza leftover in the fridge, and I'm afraid some of it may not see the light of day.

Once we got home, we basically just flopped in the living room watching televised poker and a couple of Shark Week shows we recorded.

Right now, it's about 2:00 am, and I've got a long day ahead of me tomorrow. I know I *should* go to bed, but even though I feel a little fatigued, I'm still wide awake. I better force myself--I won't have an opportunity for a nap tomorrow, I don't think.

Mikey

Google Makes Me Giggle

One of the cool toys you can put on a blog is some software from Sitemeter. It tracks your hits, page views, all that stuff. I look at it pretty much every day, because it can tell me how many people are looking at my site at any given time, where they're from, and all kinds of other technical details.

It also tells me all the details about the last 100 visitors to the site, so I can always tell when Dougie, Hoya, Sticky, or even Howzie are lurking about.

Anyhow, one of my favorite tools is the referral page. That means it gives me a list of anyone who's hit a link to my site from an outside page. Bookmarks don't count, nor does typing 'hurricanemikey.com' in the address bar.

But I found a most interesting one tonight. Somebody went on a Google search for "My Personal MILF Therapists", and guess which website came up NUMBER ONE on Google...

That's right, baby--HurricaneMikey.com! I own that shiat!

Hell, I guess if pervs didn't read this site, I wouldn't have half the audience I do now.

Mikey

Another Lesson Learned

I guess I could always add a #101 to the list below, but I shouldn't be surprised with the results if I eat nothing but Special K and stewed veggies all day, and then follow it up by drinking an entire pot of coffee 12 hours later.

Let's just say I got a lot of reading done today...

Mikey

Life's Lessons

A few of Life's Lessons, sometimes learned the hard way:

1. Don't set a drink on the sliding keyboard-tray part of your desk.
2. If you ignore lesson number one, make sure that you don't have every towel you own in the washing machine at the same time.
3. Make sure the cocktail waitress doesn't have a husband and kids before you start hitting on her.
4. Orange soda is not a good substitute for orange juice when making cocktails.
5. Don't buy meat from the 'Clearance' bin.
6. Remember to write down the amount of the check before licking the envelope.
7. Don't leave the top on the cocktail shaker for prolonged periods of time.
8. Read the instructions.
9. Save the manuals.
10. Write down passwords. Even if you think you'll never use them again.
11. Don't open attachments. Especially if they come from some guy named Terry Hargreaves and you're at work.
12. Problems with iPod, cellphone, or digital camera? Ask a kid.
13. Make sure you have your wallet before the grocery cart is full.
14. Don't trust Mapquest.
15. Don't hang out with people who have a bail-bondsman on speed dial in their cell phone.
16. You don't want free show tickets.
17. Never make eye contact with somebody in a parking lot who obviously doesn't have a car.
18. Fold Ace-Queen offsuit as soon as you get reraised.
19. Don't argue with cops.
20. The tunnel is faster for anything north of Tropicana and west of The Strip.
    
21. Overtip the waitress at breakfast time.
22. Learn a little Spanish.
23. Free drinks are always more expensive.
    
24. Make sure you have every piece of paperwork known to man with you before getting in line at the DMV.
25. Older women always cost less and know when to stop talking.
    
26. Don't date vegetarians. The freaky sex ain't worth the hassle.
27. Remove the bong from the coffee table before she brings her parents over.
28. Just because it's expensive, it doesn't mean that the coffee is any good.
    
29. Change the oil.
30. You can never have too many ziplock bags.
31. Keep a supply of new toothbrushes on hand. And small t-shirts. Your impromptu overnight guests will deem you thoughtful.
32. Leave your car keys in the same place every time you come home.
33. Don't look at porn on public computers. Seriously, if you need to go to Kinkos to get your fix, you may have a problem.
34. Bananas go bad all at once.
35. If you can't find your sunglasses, check your head. If they're not there, then you'll always find them lodged in the gap between the passengers seat and the door.
    
36. Buy your toiletries on Amazon. No sales tax, free shipping.
37. The cheese is cheaper if you grate it yourself.
    
38. Get the big bottle of rum.
39. Wait until the absolute last possible minute to show up for the lifeboat drill.
40. Get a passport before you lose your wallet.
41. Empty the pockets before it goes in the hamper.
42. Beer. You get what you pay for. Except at the high end.
43. Don't forget the sunscreen.
44. Don't eat any snack food from a dish at the bar. Half those f*ckers in there didn't wash their hands after they went to the bathroom.
45. When renting a car in Vegas, hang something from the rear-view mirror. Makes it much easier to find in a sea of look-a-likes.
46. Turkey jerky is better than beef jerky.
47. Buy a toolbox. And fill it with good-quality tools.
48. Cheap Vegas Entertainment: A room full of drunk girls and a pack of multi-colored Sharpies.
49. Make sure you know the rules before you argue with the dealer.
50. String bets only happen in the movies. If you try it at a real poker table, you'll only look like a retard.
51. A real martini is gin/vermouth/3 olives. That's all. Bombay Sapphire is preferred.
52. Always carry a pen. And a Zippo. And a few singles. And a digital camera. Just in case.
    
53. If your car is covered in asshat-lefty bumper stickers, don't be surprised when nobody lets you cut in line during heavy traffic.
54. Only use one hand to hold the dice. Or cards.
55. Don't be an obnoxious football fan. In other words, if you're from Buffalo, Denver, or Dallas, find a new favorite team. Or just shut the hell up.
56. There is no sex in the Champagne Room.
57. Keep your receipts. And the original packing materials.
58. Except for when you buy a house, you don't need the extended warranty. Just going back and raising hell in the store usually works pretty well.
59. The kind of people that would pre-approve me for credit aren't the kind of people I want to do business with.
60. If you go out of your way to look like a muslim nutbag, complete with the skull cap and weird-beard, don't be surprised when everyone looks at you with the jaundiced eye of suspicion. We don't trust you bastards.
61. Pants before shoes, unless you really need to make a quick exit.
    
62. Real butter makes a difference.
    
63. You'll never get a warning from a motorcycle cop. Or a female cop. If it's a female motorcycle cop, better pop some Melissa Etheridge in the cd player before she approaches the window, or you're going straight to the can.
64. Dogs will hump anything. Remember that before using a throw pillow at your friend's house.
65. The punk goes in your mouth, the firecracker goes in your hand. Not the other way around.
66. Shake the ketchup bottle before squirting it on the hotdog.
    
67. A spare key does you no good if it's locked inside the car, too.
68. If you're packing a toothbrush, you'll probably need to pack the cellphone charger, also.
69. If a female asks you a question, never answer with the first thing that pops in your head. Trust me on this one.
70. Dark chocolate makes for better smores.
71. If you have a gas stove, never leave the kitchen when it's on. Gas can be as unforgiving as the cruel gray sea.
72. Ignore # 71 if you need to test your smoke detector.
73. The perfect ice cream scooper has yet to be invented.
74. Trialware sucks.
75. Buy the best bed you can afford. Actually, go up one level from the best one you can afford.
76. Never announce your workplace on the internet.
77. Getting a tattoo of somebody's name is never a good idea. Love can fade, but ink is forever.
78. If you do it right the first time, she will eventually come back for seconds, and she'll tell her friends about it, too.
79. Don't donate to a political campaign until they actually *announce* the fact that they're running for President. (I'm talkin' to YOU, Fred. Get off your ass and just do it already!)
    
80. Make sure you have a nicer pair of black pants on hand than the usual ghetto stuff you wear to work, because you never know when that other job you applied for is going to call and want an audition.
81. Carry breath mints.
82. Remember where you put the valet ticket.
83. Don't order the seafood special on Monday. It's made out of the weekend's leftovers.
84. The better the tequila, the better the margarita.
85. If you feel like you need to wash your face after a visit to the strip club, you probably got your money's worth.
86. Fat white guys who wear throwback NBA jerseys look like complete retards. Stick to the NFL, Homeys.
87. The only thing that sticks to Teflon is dishwasher soap.
88. If I ask somebody 'How are you doing tonight?' when they come to my table, they always answer. And I usually regret doing it.
89. Old showgirls never die. They become dealers. Or real estate agents.
90. Just because somebody pays you to sing, it doesn't mean you're any good. Lots of people are getting paid to do jobs they suck at.
    
91. The tag still goes in the back.
92. Sourdough English muffins never go bad.
93. The line always moves, usually against you.
94. Parlays are a sucker bet, yet strangely addictive.
95. A shoe is not a hammer, nor are pliers a wrench.
96. Take your apron off before you unzip.
97. The IRS is the world's most effective collection agency.
98. Pretty much anything can be made to taste better if you add bacon or cinnamon.
99. Fountain Coke tastes better than bottled Coke, which tastes better than canned Coke, which tastes better than raw sewage, which tastes better than Pepsi.
100. The gub-mint creates more problems than it solves.

Mikey

Not a Damn Thing, Thanks For Asking

In case anyone wants to know what I did on my first day off, the answer is right there in the headline. I guess 'sleeping' counts as an activity, and I certainly caught up on plenty, but otherwise I was a slug. Didn't do any housework, laundry, chores, errands, nothing. Hell, I barely ate. I had a bowl of Special K in the morning, and around 9 pm or so, I microwaved a bowl of minestrone and ate the rest of my hunk-o-beef from the night before. It wasn't really a hunk by that time, barely big enough to fill up a roll with some mustard. But it seemed to do the trick.

Today, however, I've been a little more productive. The laundry is sorted, ready to go in the washer, but I was holding off on starting a load for a couple of hours, as the washer is right next to Rob's bedroom door, and he's still sleeping. But the thunderstorm we've got going on outside is fairly loud, so I'm guessing the spin cycle won't bother him too much more. I've got the bills organized, envelopes stamped, and checks written. I even ran the dishwasher, too.

I've got nothing else going on today, so I think I'm gonna treat myself to a movie or two. I know it's almost blasphemy for me to admit it, but I still haven't seen the Pirates of the Caribbean Worlds End sequel that came out in June. And I was all looking forward to it and planning on seeing it the first week! Guess I never got around to it. But it's still playing in a few theatres, so I'm probably going to go see it in a couple of hours. And I think it ends about 15 minutes before the Simpsons movie starts, so I may do some sneakin' in and get two for the price of one. Heh.

At some point I gotta eat, so I may go exploring here in the new neighborhood and see what's available. Heck, there's even a Metro Pizza just down the road on Horizon Ridge that I haven't been to yet.

In the meantime, a pot of coffee and a little Discovery channel are on my morning's agenda.

Mikey

75 Years of Getting the Girls

I didn't know it until making another round of my daily internet stops this evening, but it's the 75th anniversary of the Zippo lighter. (Hat tip to Ace). It's amazing when you think about it--the design has remained virtually unchanged since the very beginning.

I like to brag that I've never smoked a cigarette in my entire life, and it's true, I haven't, but I've owned the same Zippo lighter since 1997.

One night, I was sitting out in my 'Arizona room' attached to the back of the house, playing my acoustic guitar and just chillin' out late in the evening when there was a knock at the door. I had no idea who would be showing up after 10 o'clock, but I was surprised to see Reverend Dave standing there with a duffel bag full of clothes asking if he could crash.

Seems that he finally wised up and left that ridiculous pain in the ass of a first wife (who, oh by the way, the entire family tried to warn him off of...). Anyhow, he finally had his moment of clarity, bailed out, and needed a place to live.

Of course I invited him in, happy that he'd finally seen the light the rest of us had known for four years or so. Being in a celebratory mood, and the fact that neither of us had to go to work the next day, we decided to raise a toast and embrace the fact that bachelor life was a decent alternative to a crappy marriage.

The first thing we did was hit the liquor store for a big bottle of Scotch. Johnnie Walker Red, to be exact. Why Scotch? Well, neither one of us had ever even had a sip of Scotch before, but growing up, our favorite tv show was Black Sheep Squadron, and Pappy Boyington was always trading cases of Scotch to bribe his way into adventures and out of trouble, so being rational adult males, we chose Scotch as our particular poison.

We also decided that we needed cigars, but it was fairly late at night, so our options were pretty much limited to Walgreens for a pack of Dutch Masters and another of Swisher Sweets. Incidentally, neither one of us had ever smoked cigars before, either, or else we'd have likely gone without instead of puffing on what basically amounts to rolled-up dogshit.

While at Walgreens purchasing our bachelor-stash, we realized that neither of us owned a lighter, so we settled on a five-pack of multicolored disposable Bics, too.

We got back to the house tried to choke down the Scotch, trying both 'on the rocks' or just 'and water', and smoked our cigars, toasting Reverend Dave's new-found freedom. We liked the idea of cigars, well, tobacco in general, but the Scotch just didn't take at all. (We ended up giving the rest of the bottle to our alcoholic roommate, who liked it just fine when mixed with cranberry and vodka).

While sitting out there in the Arizona room that night, bathed in halos of blue smoke, we also decided that maybe we should try pipe tobacco, too. Our grandfather smoked a pipe for as long as I can remember, and I'll never forget the smell of his favorite Captain Black tobacco.

So the next day, it was back for more shopping, this time to a local smoke shop that sold Meerschaum pipes. We picked up a couple, along with a can of Captain Black. While browsing, I stepped into a walk-in humidor for the first time, and that was a life-altering experience for me, although at the time, we were all about the mission at hand, which was to shop for pipes.

There was also a huge display of Zippo lighters in the store, and we decided right then that we both *had* to have one.

I remembered one of my best friends in college never smoked, but he always carried a Zippo around with him. I asked him why, and he gave me a piece of very valuable advice. He said that he made it a point to always have a nice lighter on hand whenever he went out because it made is so much easier to meet chicks. Every time he was at a bar or a party and saw a girl get a cigarette out, he was Johnny-on-the-spot with his lighter, and it was an easy ice-breaker. Sometimes he could close the deal, sometimes not, but having that lighter on hand gave him an edge--and one doesn't forget stories like that.

Anyhow, we sprang for a couple of new lighters that day--Reverend Dave got a flat-black Marine Corps model, complete with the eagle, globe, and anchor, and I went with a Naval Aviation model (which I have since replaced with a basic bronze case, but the lighter itself is original. I believe Dave still has his Marine Corps model and uses it every day).

Every night for the next week, we sat outside, immersing ourselves in the pipe-smoking rituals remembered all those childhood visits with the grandparents, and did our damnedest to enjoy our new pastime. But we soon realized that smoking a pipe, while aesthetically pleasing, was a lot of hard work. That moist tobacco just didn't want to stay lit. However, we both really dug to coolness factor of the Zippo lighter, and I played with mine incessantly, clicking it open and closed in my pocket all the time, almost to the point of being a nervous habit.

We gave up on pipes a few weeks later, and revisited that walk-in humidor.

Since then, our tastes have matured quite a bit. I still don't really care for Scotch all that much, regardless of how many expensive single-malts I've tried, and I also gave up on crappy machine-made cigars almost as soon as I started on them. After years of trial-and-error, I prefer not to smoke anything except premium hand-rolled cigars from the Dominican Republic, or Cuba if I can get my hands on them. And rum is my liquor of choice.

But ten years later, I still carry around my Zippo, and I'm still using it to pick up chicks.


Mikey

TGIT

My day off is finally here! I swear, these last few days at work have been a soul-crushing exercise in my ability to keep from absolutely snapping and going ape-shit nuts. Seriously, I think I need a vacation.

Last night, I was in no mood to be at work at all, and we were at the beginning of a new 'extra' pay period this month. So the first thing I did when I arrived at the casino was put my name at the top of the Early Out list and write 'ASAP' next to it, thinking that I'd get cut loose within the first two hours of my shift, just like I'd seen happen with a few of my buddies earlier in the week. Then I saw the roadmap and learned that I was scheduled on one game with just one other dealer, meaning, basically, I'd be working 20-minutes on, 20-minutes off. A cakewalk, to be sure, but it makes for a looooong night. So I figured that my chances were good that they'd launch me out of there within a half an hour.

But no. I was sent to the dealers' equivalent of the Seventh Circle of Hell, the ONLY $5 blackjack game in the entire casino, because some dipshit on the extra-board called in sick. Luckily, it was only for an hour, and they found a string of two other games to put me on. Still, talk about a bummer. I didn't want to be there in the first place, I thought I was going to get to go home right away, and then I got stuck on the worst table in the casino (besides Let It Ride). Ugh. At least I was at the top of the early-out list.

Sidebar--Another thing that's been pissing me off lately is the fact that we are the only casino in all of Vegas that actually lowers the table limits on the weekends, which makes absolutely no business sense to me at all. Seriously--all week long we have one--maybe two--five-dollar blackjack tables. But then on Friday and Saturday nights, we open up an entire pit with nothing but five-dollar games. It's like ringing the dinner bell for every flea and loser in a twenty-mile radius. Couple that with the fact that if there are four dead five-buck games sitting all in a row, and I'm one of those four dealers standing there doing nothing, I am *always* the first person that the people who only have a $40 gambling bankroll want to come up and play with--it's uncanny. Seriously, they'll walk right past the other three dealers and directly to my table. It doesn't matter if I'm on a six-deck shoe game that's sitting between two double-deck pitch games being dealt by hot Asian chicks (yeah, like we've got lots of those on our shift...)--they'll walk up and sit down with me like I'm their best friend in the world. I guess I need to work on my scowl...

And it doesn't matter if they've only got twenty or forty dollars to play with--they'll last an hour, minimum, or at least long enough to score a free pack of smokes that they feel they're entitled to. But if a hot girl in a low-cut top who's tipping me a five-spot every other hand sits down, I'll bust her out of $500 in less than ten minutes, guaranteed.

Life just ain't fair sometimes...

Well, the hours started plodding by, and I got no love from the bosses. Finally, at 1:00 am, I'd done twenty minutes on a game and got tapped out.

YAHOOOOOO!

So, I was fairly excited, and asked the boss with the roadmap if that meant I was going home. He looked at me like I was out of my mind and said Hell no--I've only got nine dealers in the entire casino scheduled until 4:00 am and you're one of them...

Dammit.

Talk about being pissed off. The smart-ass in me asked how it was possible that there weren't enough dealers around to let me go home, but at the same time we had so many dealers that we were only doing twenty minutes a round. But they didn't have an answer to that one...

So I took the long walk back to the dining room, pissed off again. To add insult to injury, when I got back, they tossed me back onto that god-awful $5 bj game for another hour. At 2:20, I took another break, the highlight of which was the fact that there was bacon and eggs available in the dining room. So I had a small plate of breakfast, resigning myself to the fact that for the ninth week in a row, I wouldn't be getting the early-out I requested on my 'Friday' night.

When I went back at three, a bunch of dealers from the graveyard shift showed up, so I finally got to pull the ripcord. Thank god. I was hot, sweaty, exhausted, pissed off, and in need of a strong cocktail. I punched out before they could change their minds, and headed for the exit without looking back.

It was hot and just stupidly humid out when I left, and the arctic blast of the A/C in my truck was a welcome relief. When I drove up to the apartment, I could see the living room lights on, meaning Rob was still up watching tv. As soon as I opened the door, I was enveloped in the most amazing aroma. Rob had spent the entire evening cooking a monster feast--a huge pot of minestrone and another crockpot full of Italian beef.

Oh hell yeah. He was just starting to dig in when I drove up, so I headed to the shower with the instructions of something along the lines of Fix me a plate, bitch!

I hosed off all of the casino funk, dried off, changed clothes, and parked my ass on the couch. Rob, clearly inspired by my hash-brown casserole creation last week, had decided to out-do me and just went completely Julia Child crazy in our kitchen last night.

I gotta hand it to him--that minestrone was the absolute best I'd ever had--I don't know what kind of spices he used, but the veggies were outstanding--cabbage, tomatoes, chickpeas, zucchini--it had everything in a meaty broth. And he topped it with fresh-grated Parmesan cheese, which I'd never even considered doing with minestrone. I sat there happily slurping away, making all kinds of Oh-my-god-this-is-f*cking-good sounds. But that wasn't all. He'd also fixed me an Italian variation of the French Dip, complete with au jus, that was even better than my previous favorite offering from the Golden Gate deli. I immediately regretted eating the bacon and eggs at work, because I was too full to finish all of the delicious grub sitting on the plate in front of me.

But we've got a shiatload of leftovers, so we're good to go for the rest of the week. And I don't care if it's not soup weather--that minestrone is damn good. My system may go into shock, however, having all those good veggies in one place. I told Rob that I don't think I've had any veggies except onions, peppers, and mushrooms for about a month, and all this stuff in the soup might throw me off-kilter. But it's so good, the veggie-overload would be worth it

So there I was, shoes off, feet up, sitting on the couch, my disposition improved 100% since I got out of the casino, with a satisfied belly full of great food. Just when I thought it couldn't get any better, Rob showed me something on the DVR list of scheduled recordings that made my whole day. This coming Sunday, five days hence, is the Hall of Fame Game in Canton, Ohio.

Steelers versus Saints. Oh hell yeah.

NFL football is back, I've got two days off, and if I could just get my hands on some boobies, life would be damn near perfect.

Mikey

A Case of the Mondays

I feel listless and unmotivated today. Seriously, I could just chill on the couch and half-snooze my way through today's Shark Week offerings on the Discovery Channel for the next eight hours and be perfectly content.

I mean, I'm not motivated to do anything. I feel like a stoner without the munchies.

Maybe it's because the last couple of days at work have been a patience-trying clusterf*ck of titanic proportions and it has sapped my will to live. Between the incompetent dealers I've seen in action, the unorganized management, and the normal bevy of stiffs, fleas, and degenerates that I have to smile for, I've had just about all I can take. Thank god tonight is my Friday, because I need a break in the worst way.

Last night, when I got home, spent, I fixed myself a tall plastic tumbler full of rum and Coke over ice, and I swear I'd only drank about an inch-and-a-half of it before passing out. I woke up this morning with it sitting next to me on the nightstand, full. Warm, flat, and uninviting.

Surfing around the internet hasn't been much fun, either. I've already gone over my usual rotation three times today, and I've found nothing to thrill me or hold my attention. Maybe I just need a nap. Something. I dunno.

I don't feel like writing, I don't feel like reading, and I don't feel like walking down to the pool. Hell, I don't even feel like laying down and sleeping. And I certainly don't feel like working, either.

I'm sure tomorrow will be different--I won't have to think about work, there's nothing on my agenda, and I'll probably go catch The Simpsons Movie.

I could use a laugh.

Mikey

The Kid is Hot Tonight

Ok, while the rest of the world is already knee-deep in happy hour, or slipping on the red leather pants, hoping to get lucky, I'm on my way back to the casino, workin' for the weekend. Of course they're gonna turn me loose on that damn Mini Pai Gow game again, coupled with it's retarded cousin, Let It Ride. So there's not much chance of me being able to spend a few hours on the higher-limit tables, dropping lots of money dealing to big tippers or a couple of hot girls in love. Nope, that would be almost paradise, and clearly, I don't have enough seniority at the present time.

But I'll be busy as hell, and that has the happy side effect of making the time fly by. Last night I was depressed when I went on break with a case of the yawns and saw that it was only 1:20 am, but then I realized I was almost finished with my shift. When I came back, I crushed all of the mathematically inept at the Let It Ride table in less than half an hour, which immediately brought the lid up and sent me to a Pai Gow table where everyone was betting $50 or more per hand and putting me up on the bonus each time. Talk about lovin' every minute of it. As a bonus, the floorman in charge of the roadmap came by and asked me if I'd like to take a half-hour of Early Out and leave at 2:20.

Oh hell yeah. My response was something like "Every time, dude. You don't even have to ask!" I'm not one of the dealers who's notorious for begging for the half hour every night, but I'll certainly take it when it's offered. And having the 7:00 pm shift makes it much easier to get. By 2:20 am they usually have a lot more dealers than open tables, so the lucky ones scheduled to get out at 3:00 usually get to pull the ripcord.

But Friday night in the casino is usually a fun night to work--that's when most of the good stories happen, along with some epic people-watching opportunities. Even so, I'll be happy when it's over.

Mikey

Just For Hoya

Talk about your weird coincidences. Just yesterday, I got bored and revisited one of my favorite posts, the one about The Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game, and when I got home, there were a couple of emails from people who sent this YouTube video link.

Yep, it's cruise time again, and again this year I won't be going. But Hoya is taking an Alaska cruise in a couple of weeks, and I believe my sister Nancy and her husband are doing the same--hell they might even be on the same cruise! Anyhow, this is an amazing video, showing what happens when a cruise ship has to fight it's way through very rough seas.

A wave coming over the bow--that's gotta be at least a fifty footer. And a couple of the rolls that ship was taking, some of them looked well beyond 15 degrees. Enough to start breaking stuff and make just about everyone sick. I can't imagine how terrified people onboard must've been.



One time, coming back from Alaska, I was on a 400-foot ferry boat, and we had some very rough seas one night in the Inside Passage. The crew told us that the waves were topping out at 25 feet, and it was ridiculous--almost impossible to walk, people's bags and such sliding all over the decks, and about every third person was puking their guts out. It went on for about three hours, and I can tell you, it was a very miserable ship. Of course, I was up front, hanging from a catwalk under the bridge screaming Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! and Yeeeeeeeeee Haaaaaaaaaw! for most of the worst of it, but my buddy Buck had actually lashed himself into a chaise lounge in the solarium that was lashed to a handrail, and spent the whole time trying to puke on everything but his backpack, along with about thirty other adventure travelers who finally had to put away their hacky sacks and hold on for dear life.

Good times!

Luckily it was raining pretty hard, so the decks didn't smell too bad in the morning.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy the video. And remember, do not f*ck with Mother Ocean. She can kick your ass.

Mikey

Yep, Leftovers Were Good

Just as I suspected, the leftovers of Hurricane Mikey's Hashbrown Casserole-Over and Get Me Some Breakfast, Bitch! were just as good as, if not better than, the first serving. I had some more late last night, and again this morning. Rob even dug in at some point last night and gave it an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Of course, a meal like that is kind of like spaghetti--if I make it, I'm stuck eating it for a couple of days until the leftovers are gone--there's no good way to make a single serving. I can tell you this, though, I'll be making it again, in advance of the Brethren of the Coast Cruise to Catalina next March. Yep, we'll have that for breakfast one morning, instead of hardtack and grog. Actually, I'm pretty sure we'll still have the grog, but the point is that we'll dine much better than our seafaring ancestors did.

Speaking of which, now that the move is behind me and I'm almost caught up on all the pain-in-the-ass expenses I've been faced with this summer, I'm thinking about sailing a lot more. Maybe I just need a vacation, but at least I have something to look forward to. The holidays are going to suck again this year. Unless I take an unpaid leave of absence, I can't have any time off for Thanksgiving or Christmas, so a trip back to Tennessee to see the family is out of the question. That leaves the 'Buffoons at Sea' trip in March.

And since I take my skippering responsibilities seriously, I've been learning all I can about the systems and sailplan on the Jeanneau Sun Fast 35, the boat we're looking at to use on the trip. It's got a lot of room for a 35-footer, and apparently she's pretty fast, too. We'll see how much I like it later this fall--I'm gonna go out to Marina Del Rey and rent one for the day with an instructional skipper for a few hours of hands-on sailing. If it seems too small, we'll have to upgrade to something bigger, like the Hunter 420, which I think I like better and would probably be more suitable for our group. I've spent a few days with just four people on a 36-footer, and it's tough to imagine having seven people in the same space, especially if the weather turns sour and we're all stuck below deck. Seven more feet in length seems to create a whole lot more than seven feet of space.

Actually, the more I think about it, the more Chief Brody's immortal words ring in my mind: We're gonna need a bigger boat.

I'll have to run the numbers to find out just how much it's gonna cost. And I'll definitely have to get some practice on that beast. I've never handled anything bigger than 36 feet on my own. I've spent time at the helm of a 42-footer in the past, and actually spent three days chartering one, but there were more experienced people than me onboard. But 42 feet a big damn boat when you're in the harbor with lots of expensive things to run into. Hell, I helmed a 60-foot gaff-rigged schooner with a long pointy bowsprit all the way from Avalon to Long Beach, but again, there was always somebody around who knew what they were doing.

Not that I don't know what I'm doing, but the fact that I'll be the most experienced person onboard and also responsible for the safety and well-being of the rest of the crew is cause for a little contemplation on my part.

Oh well. I've got months to prepare. And it'll be lots of fun, too. I can't wait.

Mikey

Cool Video

This video really tickled me because of the whole Patton thing, and I also enjoyed it because it's right on target. Some of you may not like it.



Hat tip to reader Ed Bull.

Mikey

Breakfast is Served!

Well, since you asked, my hashbrown casserole turned out pretty damn good--I'd give it an 8.5 on the ten scale. It was really tasty, and my only gripe is that I think the recipe calls for too much sour cream--it made it just a touch tangy, and a little greasy. I think that might have been remedied had I let it sit and rest a bit longer once I pulled it out of the oven, though, so I'm guessing that the leftovers will be much better.

As far as the recipe goes, it was pretty simple:

• One bag of frozen hashbrowns (32 oz.)
• One medium onion, finely diced
• One can of Cream of Chicken Soup
• One cup of shredded cheese (I used Colby/Jack combo)
• One cup of sour cream
• One half cup of melted butter
• Salt and Pepper to taste
  

All I had to do was combine all the ingredients, spray a casserole dish with cooking spray, and cook the thing for about an hour at 350 degrees. I also put a little sprinkle of cheese on top at the end, just to make it look better.



I think next time, however, I'm going to cut back on the butter and the sour cream--it'll still taste good, but maybe I'll use a little chicken stock instead of butter to keep it moist and flavorful, without abusing the arteries.

I also made some scrambled eggs, maple-flavored sausage links, sourdough English muffins with honey, and a pot of hazelnut coffee. Since today is my 'Sunday', I felt it was most appropriate to cook myself a brunch. There are plenty of leftovers, but Rob is still sleeping off the effects of his nickel craps bender last night, so he has yet to sample the tasty goodness that I created.



If you click on that last picture, you can actually see the steam rising from the plate. Oh hell yeah--It was damn good.

But I didn't spend all morning in the kitchen. I actually made it down to the local Barnes & Noble like I was talking about. Not only did I pick up the latest issues of Latitudes & Attitudes and Cruising World, but I spent some time browsing the deep discount racks at the front of the store and found a couple of other treasures.

One book was an immediate keeper as soon as I saw the cover. It's called Pirates--Scourge of the Seas, by John Reeve Carpenter. The cover is made to look like an old wooden chest, the pages are dyed to look like treasure map parchment, and it's highly illustrated. I can't wait to dig into it.

I also got another book, more for Angy than for me, but it's been fun to browse through it. It's called Minibar Mixology -- 233 Drinks & Games That'll Turn Your Hotel Room into a Party. I can't think of a more appropriate gift to give upon her next arrival in town. I'm thinking that it'll come in handy by the time March Madness rolls around.

I've already pretty much finished up the first magazine, and am working my way through the second. But then I found out that the Cardinals/Cubs game is on ESPN2 in a couple of hours, so that pretty much takes care of my evening.

Mikey