Summary & Ratings:
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You know, after my second trip to Vegas this year (2006), I’ve come to realize there is a certain language common to fellow travelers in Vegas – Vegas-ese if you will. Maybe you’ve heard of some of these, maybe not:
“Some days are better than others” = “I just lost $600 on a blackjack hand trying to split 2 against a dealer’s nine”
“There’s always tomorrow” = “My bank is closed and my ATM card is maxed out”
“Can I buy in” = “I’ve already lost $500 at the table next to you, please say no”
“How do you play this game?” = “Let me bend over Mr. Casino Dealer while you perform a colonoscopy with my chips”
“I’m going to bed early tonight” = “I’ve drank so much that my legs feel like tree trunks”
“Just one more bet, all in” = “There’s a cute girl sitting next to me, and I know she’s a prostitute, but I’ll try to impress her anyway.”
That’s just a few that pop to mind . . . . . so, onto the October 2006 trip report (edited in May 2008).
Everyone who has been to Vegas knows what I’m talking about here – the descent, the arrival. How good does it feel when your plane comes over the mountains and you spy the outskirts of Vegas? For me, it’s like seeing an old friend . . . .one that I only need to see once or twice a year. After you get a glimpse of the suburban sprawl, your eyes pick the strip out and the blood starts pumping. Maybe you give a little extra squeeze to that roll of quarters in your pocket, or you rub that lighter that you inadvertently “forgot” on your way through your hometown airport – whatever it is, you know “go time” is no longer just a dream. Much to my horror on this trip, the only phrase that comes to mind is “Git ‘er done” . . . . shamefully, I used that saying over and over and over all weekend.
Time to go to the bathroom, “Git ‘er done”, I’d yell.
Looking for a bust card, “Come on dealer, git ‘er done!”
Want the cocktail waitress to slap your face? “Yo biatch, here’s a ten spot, git ‘er done!”
Sigh. I love Vegas.
I’ll skip over the mundane here – suffice it to say, flight good, walking through airport long.
I decided I’d try checking in for my room at CP in the airport. There was no line, so I thought it would save some time. I was staying in the Augustus Towers again and wanted to make sure I had a view of the Bellagio fountains – I had a special guest with me and wanted that guest’s stay to be memorable. To my chagrin, the room I was booked in did not have a view of the fountains and was on a low floor. I opened up my wallet and let the check in clerk sniff all the money I had stuffed in there and politely asked, “Can’t you get me something for free?” I even managed a half smile, half grimace. After she typed on her computer for six minutes, she picked up the phone and called someone. After another six minutes, I finally got what I wanted. I meant to pull out a $1 for the gal’s troubles, but a $20 was stuck to it. I’m not a total jerk, so I let her keep the $20, but pocketed the $1. Got the room, supposedly on a high floor with a view.
Next step was finding a limo to get the party to CP. Thankfully that went smooth - we used LVL - very professional. We had the limo stop at some dive bar so we could pick up enough booze to hold us over on the 15 minute drive from the airport to CP.
We arrived at CP at the Augustus Tower side of the complex. I hung around outside for a couple minutes with a friend, taking it all in. As I was about to go in, I got a phone call from my special guest. She had gone up to the room ahead of me.
"There's someone's stuff in here"
"What?"
"Yah, two bags, someone else is in this room"
"Call the front desk?"
"Already did, they said to go to the key/mail sign"
"I'll see you down here in a minute."
What the fuckaroni was this? OK, nothing to worry about yet. I was in Vegas and any bumps could be taken in stride. I went inside and proceeded to the front desk.
When I introduced myself and told the clerk of my problems, he looked at his computer and replied, "Uh, there's some notes here, I need to go talk to the general manager"
I smiled - of course he did - they knew who they were dealing with.
When he came back I asked if everything was OK.
"Sure, we're moving you to a new room"
"Is it just like the one we had - Bellagio view, upper level?"
"Um, no, it's smoking, on a lower floor, and looks at an AC unit"
I blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Um, yah, we're crowded. We sincerely apologize for the trouble"
I proceeded to make up some sad story about how this was my umpteenth visit to Vegas, that I had told my guest that we had the best room in Vegas, and I also added that I was starting to get a little concerned about security. I wondered aloud whether or not other guests would like to know about the little snafu of having my friend walk into a room that was already occupied . . .
"I'll be right back, let me check something with the manager."
He came back several minutes later.
"OK, looks like we do have a room that's become available on one of the top floors - it looks north up the strip, and is non-smoking."
"But I want the Bellagio view"
"It's all we have sir. And we'll throw in a $50 room credit"
I thought about this for a second - I had two choices. I could continue to press the issue - but honestly I didn't really care that much. The other option was just to take the offer and get going on this Vegas vacation.
"Fine - I'll take it - but I'm not happy"
I get the feeling that they didn't care.
The new room was fine – as you might recall, I stayed at the Augustus Tower in April. However, there were a few problems. One, the water pressure in the shower was low and it took ten minutes before the hot water would come on. Two, there's no bottle opener in the room. The only reason this is a complaint is because I wanted to start burning my $50 credit by pounding beers out of the mini-fridge. How the frick are you supposed to open the beers w/o an opener? I tried pounding the cap on the marble in the bathroom, but this only succeeded in breaking the top of the bottle and putting glass in my beer - yucky. Three, when you call room service and ask for a bottle opener, they bring you a wine opener. No help there. Third, there was mold in the shower - at least that's what I hope it was. These are all very minor complaints - but at the rate I was paying, well, I expected better, that's all. In any event, I took my obligatory pee in the corner of the closet and felt better.
Kidding.
It was time to load up on money and hit the casino. You know, going to Vegas always seems to change my perspective on life. Due to this last visit, I am now of the very strong opinion that our lives are dictated by some large cosmic random number generator. Seriously. I'm fairly confident that some little orange and blue man is operating this massive piece of machinery on some distant planet that somehow bends time and space and . . . . um . . . . .dang, what was in that muffin I ate this morning. All I'm trying to say is that in Vegas, you can feel the randomness of life more so than many other places. However, out of the chaos, there are always those two or three moments where you think you've locked into something and plenty of yummy goodness starts falling your way.
My first order of business in hitting the casino floor was to find my magic video poker machine. I don't mind admitting to you that I felt like I was meeting up with a dirty mistress. Enough time had passed from my trip in April that I couldn't exactly recall where she might be - but I had a pretty good idea. With two friends in tow, I circumnavigated the CP floor like a bear on a honey hunt. Thankfully I was wearing clothing. After a few wrong turns, I finally stumbled upon the corner of the casino where I last saw my machine. For a moment I was worried that CP had changed the floor layout. Luckily they had not.
"There she is!!!!"
Not to seem too strange, I, of course, said this to myself. I really did want to scream out and run over and hug the machine - I was sooooo happy to see her again. Instead, I closed my eyes briefly and said a silent prayer to the gambling gods and prepared to reintroduce myself to my lady.
There is an unfortunate circumstance of having a crush on a VP machine - their memories suck. You think that guy in high school who smoked pot every afternoon had it bad - you know the guy I'm talking about - the one who was 16, but looked like a 10 year old because he stopped growing, he hung out in wood shop, wore AC/DC and Ozzy shirts, had a big dopey friend who was in the marching band, but was his main supplier . . . anyway, VP machines are notoriously bad at remembering anything. My mistress was no exception.
I carefully stuck a twenty in the money slot. It didn't take. I think it was too crinkled. I thought about maybe trying to smooth it out, maybe stretch it in hopes of getting the slot to take it, but I didn't want to waste too much time. I went into my wallet and grabbed a clean crisp twamp and rammed it home. Ding. I was in business.
As I got ready to make my first bet, I gently tapped the side of the machine. Once with my hand, twice with my boot. My hope was that the machine would recognize my touch.
10-4-9-3-6 . . . all different suits. Gulp. She did remember me. I tossed those cards out and hoped for something better.
J-Q-5-4-2 . . . Not only did she remember me, but she was pissed. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.
I pressed my forehead against the screen and tried to perform a mind meld.
"Cocktails?"
I jerked my head up.
"Are you OK"
I smiled, "Just need a Heinie"
I returned my gaze to my machine. I had two options. One, I could get up and play another machine close by. This might make my machine jealous, but odds were that any machine close by was likely a "relative.” You probably don't know this, but most machines within a 20 ft. radius consider themselves part of a family. If you piss one off, you can't go sleep, er, play with another. Two, I could speed up my play and hope that the rapid pounding of buttons would shake loose some emotion from my machine.
I chose to play fast.
My twenty was gone in three minutes.
It was time to stop messing around, I had to up the ante. I shoved a $100 in.
Much to my surprise, the machine softened up a bit. I started hitting some hands. I even started getting in the black. But then, like a moron, I made a fatal mistake. I tried to tell the machine what to do.
What was I thinking. Well, I'll tell you. I had hit a straight, doubled up twice, and got greedy and wanted a third double up. I went for it. Before pressing the button, I said, "You better show me a mutha frickin' four or five you dirty machine" . . . . ding . . . Ace.
Ouch. Before I knew it, my $100 was gone. So I stuck another in. Five minutes later, gone. So I tried one last time.
I don't think it was any coincidence that Beck's "I'm a Loser" started playing over the speakers . . . .
I could not freakin’ believe I started out the trip on a losing streak. For months I had been getting that feeling that this was the one – this was the trip where everything I touched would turn to gold. I would catch glimpses of my reflection in various storefront windows and see myself smiling and holding wads of cash. Sometimes the reflection would wink at me . . . oh wait . . . I’ve been watching “Heroes” – sorry, shouldn’t have borrowed from that show (but what red blooded Vegas fan has not wished they could stop time and change where the little roulette ball lands?). I needed to breathe. I could feel a real bender coming on and needed to get some distance between the casino and my money. Best laid plans, right?
I stopped at a black jack table. Ouch. In a matter of minutes I was empty. Luckily one of the crew was on this trip – he still had some cash, so I borrowed $300. Um, kinda lost that too.
The only smart thing I did up to this point was leaving my ATM card in the room. I guess leaving a bunch of cash in the room was probably good too. It was time to undo those good deeds.
I cannot freaking believe how painfully long it takes to get from the casino floor to your hotel room after losing a wad of cash. Thankfully, I had not been in Vegas long enough to get loaded – that would have compounded the hurt. After what seemed like five hours, I made it back to my room and immediately B-lined for the safe.
I carefully extracted about 1/2 of the remaining funds, decided to grab a couple drinks out of the mini-bar, and while I was at it, freshened up. Dinner was coming up. Even better (or so I thought) high stakes gambling at the Wynn.
My little group had reservations over at Bartolotta at the Wynn. If you are thinking about eating at this place – save your money. The food is mediocre at best, and the prices are obscene. If I remember correctly, appetizers and drinks were something like $500+ and dinner itself was $1,200 . . . .and I didn’t even feel full. For that kind of money, I should have been wheeled out in a scooter. The only real memorable experience was hitting a credit card ATM and taking a cash advance on my visa – I think I just wanted to experience getting money out of a machine rather than just watching these heartless hunks of metal absorb my every last penny.
After dinner, it was time to gamble. I had money from my safe, money from the ATM and my voice was starting to fail me. In any event, rather than hit the tables at Wynn, the group decided to make a go of it at the Sahara . . . .low stakes, and a better feel than the crowd filling up at Wynn.
After riding in a taxi with doors that wouldn’t close, we made our way to Sahara. I love walking into this casino – nothing pretentious here – only good ole fashioned gambling. A number of us were able to secure all of the seats at a $5 BJ table – me included.
I played cautiously at first – and after 1/2 hour was maybe up $25. I think that’s when the wine from dinner really starting kicking in – because all of a sudden, I was not my quiet old timid self. No, I had liquid courage and the little voice in my head that usually helped me stay away from bad decisions took a nap. I shoved in $25 to feel the waters. Win. I let it ride. Win. I pushed in $50, split, win.
Gulp. I was on to something – I had caught a good luck wave.
About an hour later, I decided to do a chip count. Up $900 . . . . nine nice little stacks of $100 . . .
“Maybe you should cash out”
I think that’s what one of my buddy’s said – unfortunately, a new voice had entered my head and drowned him out. The voice was saying, “Go big young man, go big”.
Oh yah.
I pushed in a $300 bet. Won. The voice got louder.
I pushed in another $300 bet. Tie. The voice got louder.
I took it down to $200 . . . . double . . .win. The voice grew even louder.
I put in $300. Lose. The voice grew silent.
I put in $300. Lose. Where are you voice.
Another $200, double, lose. Voice?
Well, you know how this goes . . . all of the winnings vanished in a matter of minutes, plus all of the cash I had on me.
My head started spinning and suddenly I was no longer in control of my body – how else do you explain me going to the ATM and withdrawing more money?
I needed to find a way to summon Lady Luck . . . she certainly wasn’t playing the BJ tables.
After catching my breath and having a semi-lucid moment where I suddenly realized I had just done an incredibly stupid thing, I reminded myself I was in Vegas and having guilty thoughts about my actions was better left to the flight home. Let it sink it then, I said. Let my second hand smoke laced clothes slowly choke me from the odor, reminding me of my stupid mistakes and compounding my Vegas hangover – let it happen then, but not now. No, I was determined to have fun and break the streak.
Thankfully, when I was down to a couple last $100s, I stopped gambling. Not because I realized what I was doing was wrong – but I wanted enough dough for some cab fare and some late night grub back at CP. Plus, if I was really thrifty, I could try and mount an uber-comeback at some nickel machine.
After rounding up a couple of my friends, we sped back to CP. To be honest, once we got back there, I don’t remember too much. I think I gambled . . . I know I lost. I think I had some more drinks . . . I know I had a throbbing headache in the morning, and somehow, I think I ate some nasty food – mostly was able to figure that out from the food ticket stuck to my head that listed an order of Chipped Beef . . .
The clock read 9:45 a.m.
At least that’s what it looked like out of my left eye – my right eye wouldn’t open.
“Who is it” I tried yelling, but my voice was completely gone from the night before.
I hopped up, noticed all my clothes from the night before were still on, and decided to see who was at the door.
Room Service.
WTF?
“Um, what’s this” I asked politely.
“Your room service, sir. You put the order in around 4 a.m.”
“Uh, yah, of course I did, come on in.”
I watched the guy wheel past a cart with coffee, Danishes, fruit smoothies, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, juice . . . . ooooooh. I was going to have to thank myself later.
Today was going to be a good day.
I went to the window and opened up the blinds – wow – that’s some bright sunlight shining through them windows.
Then, the night’s previous activities caught up with me. The room started spinning, my head started pounding, and all that wonderful food, instead of smelling oh so good, now had triggered an involuntary twitch in my gag reflex.
Summoning every last ounce of energy in my dehydrated, toxified body, I managed to somehow leap ten feet across the room right into my bed and under the covers. I burrowed under the wonderfully soft pillows and pulled all the covers over me to make an airtight, pitch-black chamber. The thought being here that if I could somehow figure out a way to teleport my body to the future, that I could skip the horror of horrors I thought was about to come – the barfolympics.
But you know what? Things got better, and things got better real quick. As I lay in the fetal position, trying not to move, I suddenly had a warm pleasant feeling take over my thoughts (and no, I was not peeing the bed). I remembered I was in Vegas . . . VEGAS! I didn’t have time to lay in bed, curled up like a beaten donkey. No, I had work to do and my body would just have to deal.
It took another hour, though, before I actually was able to transform my positive thinking into action. However, emerging from my self-created hangover womb, I was ready to hit it. I looked at the food on the service tray, took a bite of a Danish, poked at the eggs, ate some butter, and washed it all down with tepid coffee.
I jumped in the shower, expecting to just have a nice short warm shower, but “warm” never happened. For whatever reason, after about seven minutes, the water was still cold. I thought about calling down to complain, but calculated that would waste too much time. I just braved the cold and was surprised at how refreshingly painful an ice cold shower could be. Very cleansing.
I dressed, took another bite of a Danish, and grabbed some cash out of the safe. Watch out Vegas, here I come. Day Two was about to begin with a bang.
As I headed out into the wild, I realized that I needed backup. I needed someone of like mind to join me in my quest to rebound from the night’s previous activities. Only one person would fit that bill – Whale Jo . . .I dialed him up on my cell phone. It was about 11, so I expected to reach him in his room.
Oh, as an aside, here’s a semi-funny story that I should have put at the beginning of this report. Oh well. I’ll tell it anyway. Turns out that Whale Jo had flown into Vegas the day before I did. When my flight arrived, here was the message on my cell phone:
“ Hey Jaco, this is your good buddy Whale Jo. It’s 10:30 a.m. and I haven’t been to sleep. I repeat, I have not been to bed yet. It’s 10:30 a.m. and I’m at Scores strip club and haven’t slept. I don’t think I’ll be able to meet you for drinks.”
*click*
That was one hell of a welcome message. Anyway, back to the story.
As I let the phone ring, I tried to formulate a message for my friend – something to motivate him to get out of bed and get moving.
“Hello?”
“Hey, where are you”
“I’m playing nickel Wheel of Fortune down at Fitzgerald’s”
You have got to be kidding me.
“What?”
“Dude, it’s awesome – meet me here.”
There was no way I was traveling to Downtown – no way.
“How ‘bout we hit the strip and gouge some of these properties Walmart style?”
“See you there in about an hour”
Cool – I’d have a little time by myself to scout out what games to play – what machines might be hot.
I mulled over my options – I wanted to go somewhere else other than CP, but I didn’t want to cross the street – my luck had been bad enough the night before that I was sure I would get run over by a taxi.
Mirage.
Oh sweet Mirage.
Really, I owe all my present day trips to Vegas to the Mirage – she was my first. Not my best, but my first. For that, I will always return.
Not much has changed over the past ten years – I’m still fearful of walking past the white tigers – I don’t think they are real. Seriously. I am of the belief that those kitties are demonic spacebots, put in place to thwart any potential casino heist. If you happen to be watching the tigers at any point during a robbery, fire shoots out their eyes. What are you supposed to do then? Run? You’re burnt to a crisp. Good luck with that.
Anyway, despite my fear, I always spend a few minutes trying to talk telepathically with the beasts – so far, I’ve learned that the big tiger spacebot is called Buzzles and he likes the color pink. I also learned that these creatures have the ability to pass through solid objects. When I asked Buzzles, once, why they never escape from their fake lair, he replied that he was lazy and rather enjoyed having zoo keepers pick up his poo. Yes – I know – how does a spacebot poo? I haven’t got an answer to that question yet.
So, after passing the white tigers, I enter the casino. Sweet lord. All them beautiful bells and beeps and, sniff, money. I’m not one for openly showing emotion, but dang if I didn’t drip a tear or two.
I first decided to walk around and get a “feel” for what game of chance I wanted to play. The sports book was super crowded, as college football has started. Funny, I had a 6 team parlay ticket in my pocket, but don’t remember getting it . . . . would this pay off later?
I did a quick tour of the table games – I wasn’t feeling it. Mostly, I didn’t want any interaction with humans. I quickly surmised that I needed to find a machine. I wandered past VP machines, various slot machines, then saw something out of the corner of my eye that froze me in my tracks.
Monopoly.
Get the fred out of here. Monopoly? My favorite board game of all time was now a casino game? I tried not to run.
Sweet petunia and then some – I can’t put into words what feelings I had when I was able to look over the Monopoly machine in full glory. I was dreaming.
First, it was a nickel slot machine. A plus in my book because it gave me a psychological edge. Though I can loose just as much on one of these machines – the fact that the credits are only nickels makes me fuzzy. Second, it has a progressive element. You and fellow Monopoly players sit around, drink, smoke cigarettes, and play the basic video slot games – all with their own bonuses – but every once in a while, BAM, a bonus round would occur where every player gets paid. Sorta like being on the board of directors of a Fortune 500 company I would guess.
This game is all about the bonus round. First and foremost, as you play the basic game, you earn a multiplier – something between 2x and 12x . . .meaning, if you ever get to the bonus round, you will earn the credits time whatever multiplier you’ve earned. Here’s where it can get a bit pricey and where I found myself heading down troubled lane.
Hello.
So, where was I – oh yes, Monopoly. I sat down in one of the open seats and stuck $100 in the machine and sat back and tried to figure out what I was playing. The screen itself was not a monopoly game, but instead, had some weird animated pirate theme going on. The sound effects were amusing enough – everyone likes a good pirate laugh. I hit a couple of bonus rounds and was starting to get into the game. I noticed the giant big screen above all the little machines kept playing an animated short feature with Mr. Monopoly . . . . I kept wondering what the heck was going on with the display and could not quite make the connection between why these machines were being advertised as a Monopoly game . . . . until some voice from the heavens announced “Bonus Round”
I will come clean here for a second – I have no actual memory of the real words used by this machine – so don’t be surprised when you play (and I know you will) you end up hearing something different.
So the screen lights up and you are taken on this magical ride where you just watch the credits pile up – you just sit back, sip your cocktail, take a drag, and relax. Much like it was probably during the good ole days at Enron HQ.
I found it really interesting how I behaved depending on which bonus game Mr. Monopoly would come up with. There’s the money train one where a train rolls by with different numbers on all of its cars – when it stops, you get the three numbers that stop in some magical box. If it’s 111 – you get 111 credits times your bonus. I think the numbers go up to seven – I can’t be sure though – once that train got rolling, I’d stand up and start yelling at it like my life depending on where it would stop:
“You freakin’ son of a bitch – you stupid train – don’t you stop on that one – no, no – not the one. Yes, yes, three, baby, three. Four!!!! I see a fucking four. What!!!! Come on you piece of . . . .oh, oh my god, a five, slow down, please, slow down. Five . . . mmmmm . . . five . . . .give me five . . .”
Usually it stopped on a one. But with a 10x multiplier, I didn’t really care.
Then there is the round where Mr. Monopoly lets you play the entire board of Monopoly. This is pure and simple, the most delicious gambling experience I’ve had on a .05 machine. You get a chance to rack up credits all the way until you pass Go. It’s much more relaxing, that is, until you get to the last stretch of the board. At that point I’d lose my “act nice in public” governor, and turn into some sort of weird Oprah/Dr. Phil/Montel guest hybrid.
I’d first start with the faux friendly act: “Oh honey – you know you want to stop on that railroad space. Come on now – I promise I’ll tell you something dirty about myself”
Then, maybe I’d get intellectual: “It’s OK, I already have 50,000 credits – that’s a lot of nickels. In fact, I bet if I took my payoff all in nickels, I could really make a difference in this world by going outside and dumping them all into the Bellagio fountain and see how many porn slappers jump in to retrieve them.”
Finally, I’d resort to belligerence: “I’m going to stick my hand through the freakin’ screen!!!!! You stop on Boardwalk or I turn into Mr. Paddle Your Freaking Screen you fucking machine!!!!”
Huh? Do I have issues? Yes – I like to win. I also like to talk tough to inanimate objects – never has one yet physically responded to me. If they did, I suppose I'd just throw water on it.
In any event, I probably could have sat there playing the machine all day. However, at one point I started getting a little bit down and thought that I was starting down the same sad road as the day before.
Then, it happened. Magic. I caught a tiny piece of its tail. I was getting dangerously close to losing a $100 in the machine when I hit the bonus round. Not only did I get to share in this magic – but Whale Jo had shown up and was playing machines on either side of me. I was at the 10x multiplier, he had one machine at 8x and the other at 12x. We sat back and watched the credits roll in. By the time it ended, we had a nice little crowd surrounding us – mostly because we probably resembled a couple of mice on crack. I didn’t know my voice could go so high – but I was screaming like a little girl – and dancing around on my toes . . . how could I not? This was the first real stroke of luck – I intended to enjoy every last minute.
By the time all was said and done, I had over $900 worth of credits coming my way – nice. For the first time on this trip, I did not let it ride. Whale Jo and I decided to look around the Mirage a little bit more and see if anything else grabbed our attention.
We made it to a Deal or No Deal machine – this things sucks. I described it on tripadvisor.com – which has for some reason taken down my TR post – so look for it there. I don’t want to waste time talking about this game.
Nothing did. So, with $900 in my pocket and the feeling that lady luck was with me – it was time to move to the big time. Barbary Coast. Sad to say, there was no other luck to be had. As the trip dragged on, I lost some, won some, but never went on any sort of streak.
Some other high/low lights from this trip:
Dinner at Rosemary's - many of my group really really enjoyed this place. I thought it was just OK. Service was remarkable - if not a little embarrassing at the amount of attention foisted upon the diners. Food was decent - but I expected more flavor that what made its way into my gut. Frankly, four months after eating there, I had no recollection of what my meal was - other than a vague feeling that it probably was meat. For a five star joint, I want memories dammit. Heck - I can still remember and taste this Whopper Jr. I had near O'Shea’s over eight years ago - it was amazing. If a restaurant can't give me that kind of memory - then what good is it?
Gaming Downtown - I know there are fans, big fans, of downtown Vegas. Don't count me as one. Well, actually I'm being obtuse about this - my only experience downtown is the Golden Nugget - I shouldn't be so quick to damn the rest of the joints around it. Maybe next trip I'll give the Spike a try.
OK - that's it - time to put that trip in the vault and move onto other things.
- Hotel: Augustus Towers - Caesars Palace (7)
- Restaurants: Bartolotta (5); Rosemary's (6)
- Casinos: Sahara; CP; Mirage; Barbary Coast (before it was Bill's)
- Games: Too many.
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You know, after my second trip to Vegas this year (2006), I’ve come to realize there is a certain language common to fellow travelers in Vegas – Vegas-ese if you will. Maybe you’ve heard of some of these, maybe not:
“Some days are better than others” = “I just lost $600 on a blackjack hand trying to split 2 against a dealer’s nine”
“There’s always tomorrow” = “My bank is closed and my ATM card is maxed out”
“Can I buy in” = “I’ve already lost $500 at the table next to you, please say no”
“How do you play this game?” = “Let me bend over Mr. Casino Dealer while you perform a colonoscopy with my chips”
“I’m going to bed early tonight” = “I’ve drank so much that my legs feel like tree trunks”
“Just one more bet, all in” = “There’s a cute girl sitting next to me, and I know she’s a prostitute, but I’ll try to impress her anyway.”
That’s just a few that pop to mind . . . . . so, onto the October 2006 trip report (edited in May 2008).
Everyone who has been to Vegas knows what I’m talking about here – the descent, the arrival. How good does it feel when your plane comes over the mountains and you spy the outskirts of Vegas? For me, it’s like seeing an old friend . . . .one that I only need to see once or twice a year. After you get a glimpse of the suburban sprawl, your eyes pick the strip out and the blood starts pumping. Maybe you give a little extra squeeze to that roll of quarters in your pocket, or you rub that lighter that you inadvertently “forgot” on your way through your hometown airport – whatever it is, you know “go time” is no longer just a dream. Much to my horror on this trip, the only phrase that comes to mind is “Git ‘er done” . . . . shamefully, I used that saying over and over and over all weekend.
Time to go to the bathroom, “Git ‘er done”, I’d yell.
Looking for a bust card, “Come on dealer, git ‘er done!”
Want the cocktail waitress to slap your face? “Yo biatch, here’s a ten spot, git ‘er done!”
Sigh. I love Vegas.
I’ll skip over the mundane here – suffice it to say, flight good, walking through airport long.
I decided I’d try checking in for my room at CP in the airport. There was no line, so I thought it would save some time. I was staying in the Augustus Towers again and wanted to make sure I had a view of the Bellagio fountains – I had a special guest with me and wanted that guest’s stay to be memorable. To my chagrin, the room I was booked in did not have a view of the fountains and was on a low floor. I opened up my wallet and let the check in clerk sniff all the money I had stuffed in there and politely asked, “Can’t you get me something for free?” I even managed a half smile, half grimace. After she typed on her computer for six minutes, she picked up the phone and called someone. After another six minutes, I finally got what I wanted. I meant to pull out a $1 for the gal’s troubles, but a $20 was stuck to it. I’m not a total jerk, so I let her keep the $20, but pocketed the $1. Got the room, supposedly on a high floor with a view.
Next step was finding a limo to get the party to CP. Thankfully that went smooth - we used LVL - very professional. We had the limo stop at some dive bar so we could pick up enough booze to hold us over on the 15 minute drive from the airport to CP.
We arrived at CP at the Augustus Tower side of the complex. I hung around outside for a couple minutes with a friend, taking it all in. As I was about to go in, I got a phone call from my special guest. She had gone up to the room ahead of me.
"There's someone's stuff in here"
"What?"
"Yah, two bags, someone else is in this room"
"Call the front desk?"
"Already did, they said to go to the key/mail sign"
"I'll see you down here in a minute."
What the fuckaroni was this? OK, nothing to worry about yet. I was in Vegas and any bumps could be taken in stride. I went inside and proceeded to the front desk.
When I introduced myself and told the clerk of my problems, he looked at his computer and replied, "Uh, there's some notes here, I need to go talk to the general manager"
I smiled - of course he did - they knew who they were dealing with.
When he came back I asked if everything was OK.
"Sure, we're moving you to a new room"
"Is it just like the one we had - Bellagio view, upper level?"
"Um, no, it's smoking, on a lower floor, and looks at an AC unit"
I blinked.
"Excuse me?"
"Um, yah, we're crowded. We sincerely apologize for the trouble"
I proceeded to make up some sad story about how this was my umpteenth visit to Vegas, that I had told my guest that we had the best room in Vegas, and I also added that I was starting to get a little concerned about security. I wondered aloud whether or not other guests would like to know about the little snafu of having my friend walk into a room that was already occupied . . .
"I'll be right back, let me check something with the manager."
He came back several minutes later.
"OK, looks like we do have a room that's become available on one of the top floors - it looks north up the strip, and is non-smoking."
"But I want the Bellagio view"
"It's all we have sir. And we'll throw in a $50 room credit"
I thought about this for a second - I had two choices. I could continue to press the issue - but honestly I didn't really care that much. The other option was just to take the offer and get going on this Vegas vacation.
"Fine - I'll take it - but I'm not happy"
I get the feeling that they didn't care.
The new room was fine – as you might recall, I stayed at the Augustus Tower in April. However, there were a few problems. One, the water pressure in the shower was low and it took ten minutes before the hot water would come on. Two, there's no bottle opener in the room. The only reason this is a complaint is because I wanted to start burning my $50 credit by pounding beers out of the mini-fridge. How the frick are you supposed to open the beers w/o an opener? I tried pounding the cap on the marble in the bathroom, but this only succeeded in breaking the top of the bottle and putting glass in my beer - yucky. Three, when you call room service and ask for a bottle opener, they bring you a wine opener. No help there. Third, there was mold in the shower - at least that's what I hope it was. These are all very minor complaints - but at the rate I was paying, well, I expected better, that's all. In any event, I took my obligatory pee in the corner of the closet and felt better.
Kidding.
It was time to load up on money and hit the casino. You know, going to Vegas always seems to change my perspective on life. Due to this last visit, I am now of the very strong opinion that our lives are dictated by some large cosmic random number generator. Seriously. I'm fairly confident that some little orange and blue man is operating this massive piece of machinery on some distant planet that somehow bends time and space and . . . . um . . . . .dang, what was in that muffin I ate this morning. All I'm trying to say is that in Vegas, you can feel the randomness of life more so than many other places. However, out of the chaos, there are always those two or three moments where you think you've locked into something and plenty of yummy goodness starts falling your way.
My first order of business in hitting the casino floor was to find my magic video poker machine. I don't mind admitting to you that I felt like I was meeting up with a dirty mistress. Enough time had passed from my trip in April that I couldn't exactly recall where she might be - but I had a pretty good idea. With two friends in tow, I circumnavigated the CP floor like a bear on a honey hunt. Thankfully I was wearing clothing. After a few wrong turns, I finally stumbled upon the corner of the casino where I last saw my machine. For a moment I was worried that CP had changed the floor layout. Luckily they had not.
"There she is!!!!"
Not to seem too strange, I, of course, said this to myself. I really did want to scream out and run over and hug the machine - I was sooooo happy to see her again. Instead, I closed my eyes briefly and said a silent prayer to the gambling gods and prepared to reintroduce myself to my lady.
There is an unfortunate circumstance of having a crush on a VP machine - their memories suck. You think that guy in high school who smoked pot every afternoon had it bad - you know the guy I'm talking about - the one who was 16, but looked like a 10 year old because he stopped growing, he hung out in wood shop, wore AC/DC and Ozzy shirts, had a big dopey friend who was in the marching band, but was his main supplier . . . anyway, VP machines are notoriously bad at remembering anything. My mistress was no exception.
I carefully stuck a twenty in the money slot. It didn't take. I think it was too crinkled. I thought about maybe trying to smooth it out, maybe stretch it in hopes of getting the slot to take it, but I didn't want to waste too much time. I went into my wallet and grabbed a clean crisp twamp and rammed it home. Ding. I was in business.
As I got ready to make my first bet, I gently tapped the side of the machine. Once with my hand, twice with my boot. My hope was that the machine would recognize my touch.
10-4-9-3-6 . . . all different suits. Gulp. She did remember me. I tossed those cards out and hoped for something better.
J-Q-5-4-2 . . . Not only did she remember me, but she was pissed. This was going to be more difficult than I thought.
I pressed my forehead against the screen and tried to perform a mind meld.
"Cocktails?"
I jerked my head up.
"Are you OK"
I smiled, "Just need a Heinie"
I returned my gaze to my machine. I had two options. One, I could get up and play another machine close by. This might make my machine jealous, but odds were that any machine close by was likely a "relative.” You probably don't know this, but most machines within a 20 ft. radius consider themselves part of a family. If you piss one off, you can't go sleep, er, play with another. Two, I could speed up my play and hope that the rapid pounding of buttons would shake loose some emotion from my machine.
I chose to play fast.
My twenty was gone in three minutes.
It was time to stop messing around, I had to up the ante. I shoved a $100 in.
Much to my surprise, the machine softened up a bit. I started hitting some hands. I even started getting in the black. But then, like a moron, I made a fatal mistake. I tried to tell the machine what to do.
What was I thinking. Well, I'll tell you. I had hit a straight, doubled up twice, and got greedy and wanted a third double up. I went for it. Before pressing the button, I said, "You better show me a mutha frickin' four or five you dirty machine" . . . . ding . . . Ace.
Ouch. Before I knew it, my $100 was gone. So I stuck another in. Five minutes later, gone. So I tried one last time.
I don't think it was any coincidence that Beck's "I'm a Loser" started playing over the speakers . . . .
I could not freakin’ believe I started out the trip on a losing streak. For months I had been getting that feeling that this was the one – this was the trip where everything I touched would turn to gold. I would catch glimpses of my reflection in various storefront windows and see myself smiling and holding wads of cash. Sometimes the reflection would wink at me . . . oh wait . . . I’ve been watching “Heroes” – sorry, shouldn’t have borrowed from that show (but what red blooded Vegas fan has not wished they could stop time and change where the little roulette ball lands?). I needed to breathe. I could feel a real bender coming on and needed to get some distance between the casino and my money. Best laid plans, right?
I stopped at a black jack table. Ouch. In a matter of minutes I was empty. Luckily one of the crew was on this trip – he still had some cash, so I borrowed $300. Um, kinda lost that too.
The only smart thing I did up to this point was leaving my ATM card in the room. I guess leaving a bunch of cash in the room was probably good too. It was time to undo those good deeds.
I cannot freaking believe how painfully long it takes to get from the casino floor to your hotel room after losing a wad of cash. Thankfully, I had not been in Vegas long enough to get loaded – that would have compounded the hurt. After what seemed like five hours, I made it back to my room and immediately B-lined for the safe.
I carefully extracted about 1/2 of the remaining funds, decided to grab a couple drinks out of the mini-bar, and while I was at it, freshened up. Dinner was coming up. Even better (or so I thought) high stakes gambling at the Wynn.
My little group had reservations over at Bartolotta at the Wynn. If you are thinking about eating at this place – save your money. The food is mediocre at best, and the prices are obscene. If I remember correctly, appetizers and drinks were something like $500+ and dinner itself was $1,200 . . . .and I didn’t even feel full. For that kind of money, I should have been wheeled out in a scooter. The only real memorable experience was hitting a credit card ATM and taking a cash advance on my visa – I think I just wanted to experience getting money out of a machine rather than just watching these heartless hunks of metal absorb my every last penny.
After dinner, it was time to gamble. I had money from my safe, money from the ATM and my voice was starting to fail me. In any event, rather than hit the tables at Wynn, the group decided to make a go of it at the Sahara . . . .low stakes, and a better feel than the crowd filling up at Wynn.
After riding in a taxi with doors that wouldn’t close, we made our way to Sahara. I love walking into this casino – nothing pretentious here – only good ole fashioned gambling. A number of us were able to secure all of the seats at a $5 BJ table – me included.
I played cautiously at first – and after 1/2 hour was maybe up $25. I think that’s when the wine from dinner really starting kicking in – because all of a sudden, I was not my quiet old timid self. No, I had liquid courage and the little voice in my head that usually helped me stay away from bad decisions took a nap. I shoved in $25 to feel the waters. Win. I let it ride. Win. I pushed in $50, split, win.
Gulp. I was on to something – I had caught a good luck wave.
About an hour later, I decided to do a chip count. Up $900 . . . . nine nice little stacks of $100 . . .
“Maybe you should cash out”
I think that’s what one of my buddy’s said – unfortunately, a new voice had entered my head and drowned him out. The voice was saying, “Go big young man, go big”.
Oh yah.
I pushed in a $300 bet. Won. The voice got louder.
I pushed in another $300 bet. Tie. The voice got louder.
I took it down to $200 . . . . double . . .win. The voice grew even louder.
I put in $300. Lose. The voice grew silent.
I put in $300. Lose. Where are you voice.
Another $200, double, lose. Voice?
Well, you know how this goes . . . all of the winnings vanished in a matter of minutes, plus all of the cash I had on me.
My head started spinning and suddenly I was no longer in control of my body – how else do you explain me going to the ATM and withdrawing more money?
I needed to find a way to summon Lady Luck . . . she certainly wasn’t playing the BJ tables.
After catching my breath and having a semi-lucid moment where I suddenly realized I had just done an incredibly stupid thing, I reminded myself I was in Vegas and having guilty thoughts about my actions was better left to the flight home. Let it sink it then, I said. Let my second hand smoke laced clothes slowly choke me from the odor, reminding me of my stupid mistakes and compounding my Vegas hangover – let it happen then, but not now. No, I was determined to have fun and break the streak.
Thankfully, when I was down to a couple last $100s, I stopped gambling. Not because I realized what I was doing was wrong – but I wanted enough dough for some cab fare and some late night grub back at CP. Plus, if I was really thrifty, I could try and mount an uber-comeback at some nickel machine.
After rounding up a couple of my friends, we sped back to CP. To be honest, once we got back there, I don’t remember too much. I think I gambled . . . I know I lost. I think I had some more drinks . . . I know I had a throbbing headache in the morning, and somehow, I think I ate some nasty food – mostly was able to figure that out from the food ticket stuck to my head that listed an order of Chipped Beef . . .
The clock read 9:45 a.m.
At least that’s what it looked like out of my left eye – my right eye wouldn’t open.
“Who is it” I tried yelling, but my voice was completely gone from the night before.
I hopped up, noticed all my clothes from the night before were still on, and decided to see who was at the door.
Room Service.
WTF?
“Um, what’s this” I asked politely.
“Your room service, sir. You put the order in around 4 a.m.”
“Uh, yah, of course I did, come on in.”
I watched the guy wheel past a cart with coffee, Danishes, fruit smoothies, eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, juice . . . . ooooooh. I was going to have to thank myself later.
Today was going to be a good day.
I went to the window and opened up the blinds – wow – that’s some bright sunlight shining through them windows.
Then, the night’s previous activities caught up with me. The room started spinning, my head started pounding, and all that wonderful food, instead of smelling oh so good, now had triggered an involuntary twitch in my gag reflex.
Summoning every last ounce of energy in my dehydrated, toxified body, I managed to somehow leap ten feet across the room right into my bed and under the covers. I burrowed under the wonderfully soft pillows and pulled all the covers over me to make an airtight, pitch-black chamber. The thought being here that if I could somehow figure out a way to teleport my body to the future, that I could skip the horror of horrors I thought was about to come – the barfolympics.
But you know what? Things got better, and things got better real quick. As I lay in the fetal position, trying not to move, I suddenly had a warm pleasant feeling take over my thoughts (and no, I was not peeing the bed). I remembered I was in Vegas . . . VEGAS! I didn’t have time to lay in bed, curled up like a beaten donkey. No, I had work to do and my body would just have to deal.
It took another hour, though, before I actually was able to transform my positive thinking into action. However, emerging from my self-created hangover womb, I was ready to hit it. I looked at the food on the service tray, took a bite of a Danish, poked at the eggs, ate some butter, and washed it all down with tepid coffee.
I jumped in the shower, expecting to just have a nice short warm shower, but “warm” never happened. For whatever reason, after about seven minutes, the water was still cold. I thought about calling down to complain, but calculated that would waste too much time. I just braved the cold and was surprised at how refreshingly painful an ice cold shower could be. Very cleansing.
I dressed, took another bite of a Danish, and grabbed some cash out of the safe. Watch out Vegas, here I come. Day Two was about to begin with a bang.
As I headed out into the wild, I realized that I needed backup. I needed someone of like mind to join me in my quest to rebound from the night’s previous activities. Only one person would fit that bill – Whale Jo . . .I dialed him up on my cell phone. It was about 11, so I expected to reach him in his room.
Oh, as an aside, here’s a semi-funny story that I should have put at the beginning of this report. Oh well. I’ll tell it anyway. Turns out that Whale Jo had flown into Vegas the day before I did. When my flight arrived, here was the message on my cell phone:
“
*click*
That was one hell of a welcome message. Anyway, back to the story.
As I let the phone ring, I tried to formulate a message for my friend – something to motivate him to get out of bed and get moving.
“Hello?”
“Hey, where are you”
“I’m playing nickel Wheel of Fortune down at Fitzgerald’s”
You have got to be kidding me.
“What?”
“Dude, it’s awesome – meet me here.”
There was no way I was traveling to Downtown – no way.
“How ‘bout we hit the strip and gouge some of these properties Walmart style?”
“See you there in about an hour”
Cool – I’d have a little time by myself to scout out what games to play – what machines might be hot.
I mulled over my options – I wanted to go somewhere else other than CP, but I didn’t want to cross the street – my luck had been bad enough the night before that I was sure I would get run over by a taxi.
Mirage.
Oh sweet Mirage.
Really, I owe all my present day trips to Vegas to the Mirage – she was my first. Not my best, but my first. For that, I will always return.
Not much has changed over the past ten years – I’m still fearful of walking past the white tigers – I don’t think they are real. Seriously. I am of the belief that those kitties are demonic spacebots, put in place to thwart any potential casino heist. If you happen to be watching the tigers at any point during a robbery, fire shoots out their eyes. What are you supposed to do then? Run? You’re burnt to a crisp. Good luck with that.
Anyway, despite my fear, I always spend a few minutes trying to talk telepathically with the beasts – so far, I’ve learned that the big tiger spacebot is called Buzzles and he likes the color pink. I also learned that these creatures have the ability to pass through solid objects. When I asked Buzzles, once, why they never escape from their fake lair, he replied that he was lazy and rather enjoyed having zoo keepers pick up his poo. Yes – I know – how does a spacebot poo? I haven’t got an answer to that question yet.
So, after passing the white tigers, I enter the casino. Sweet lord. All them beautiful bells and beeps and, sniff, money. I’m not one for openly showing emotion, but dang if I didn’t drip a tear or two.
I first decided to walk around and get a “feel” for what game of chance I wanted to play. The sports book was super crowded, as college football has started. Funny, I had a 6 team parlay ticket in my pocket, but don’t remember getting it . . . . would this pay off later?
I did a quick tour of the table games – I wasn’t feeling it. Mostly, I didn’t want any interaction with humans. I quickly surmised that I needed to find a machine. I wandered past VP machines, various slot machines, then saw something out of the corner of my eye that froze me in my tracks.
Monopoly.
Get the fred out of here. Monopoly? My favorite board game of all time was now a casino game? I tried not to run.
Sweet petunia and then some – I can’t put into words what feelings I had when I was able to look over the Monopoly machine in full glory. I was dreaming.
First, it was a nickel slot machine. A plus in my book because it gave me a psychological edge. Though I can loose just as much on one of these machines – the fact that the credits are only nickels makes me fuzzy. Second, it has a progressive element. You and fellow Monopoly players sit around, drink, smoke cigarettes, and play the basic video slot games – all with their own bonuses – but every once in a while, BAM, a bonus round would occur where every player gets paid. Sorta like being on the board of directors of a Fortune 500 company I would guess.
This game is all about the bonus round. First and foremost, as you play the basic game, you earn a multiplier – something between 2x and 12x . . .meaning, if you ever get to the bonus round, you will earn the credits time whatever multiplier you’ve earned. Here’s where it can get a bit pricey and where I found myself heading down troubled lane.
Hello.
So, where was I – oh yes, Monopoly. I sat down in one of the open seats and stuck $100 in the machine and sat back and tried to figure out what I was playing. The screen itself was not a monopoly game, but instead, had some weird animated pirate theme going on. The sound effects were amusing enough – everyone likes a good pirate laugh. I hit a couple of bonus rounds and was starting to get into the game. I noticed the giant big screen above all the little machines kept playing an animated short feature with Mr. Monopoly . . . . I kept wondering what the heck was going on with the display and could not quite make the connection between why these machines were being advertised as a Monopoly game . . . . until some voice from the heavens announced “Bonus Round”
I will come clean here for a second – I have no actual memory of the real words used by this machine – so don’t be surprised when you play (and I know you will) you end up hearing something different.
So the screen lights up and you are taken on this magical ride where you just watch the credits pile up – you just sit back, sip your cocktail, take a drag, and relax. Much like it was probably during the good ole days at Enron HQ.
I found it really interesting how I behaved depending on which bonus game Mr. Monopoly would come up with. There’s the money train one where a train rolls by with different numbers on all of its cars – when it stops, you get the three numbers that stop in some magical box. If it’s 111 – you get 111 credits times your bonus. I think the numbers go up to seven – I can’t be sure though – once that train got rolling, I’d stand up and start yelling at it like my life depending on where it would stop:
“You freakin’ son of a bitch – you stupid train – don’t you stop on that one – no, no – not the one. Yes, yes, three, baby, three. Four!!!! I see a fucking four. What!!!! Come on you piece of . . . .oh, oh my god, a five, slow down, please, slow down. Five . . . mmmmm . . . five . . . .give me five . . .”
Usually it stopped on a one. But with a 10x multiplier, I didn’t really care.
Then there is the round where Mr. Monopoly lets you play the entire board of Monopoly. This is pure and simple, the most delicious gambling experience I’ve had on a .05 machine. You get a chance to rack up credits all the way until you pass Go. It’s much more relaxing, that is, until you get to the last stretch of the board. At that point I’d lose my “act nice in public” governor, and turn into some sort of weird Oprah/Dr. Phil/Montel guest hybrid.
I’d first start with the faux friendly act: “Oh honey – you know you want to stop on that railroad space. Come on now – I promise I’ll tell you something dirty about myself”
Then, maybe I’d get intellectual: “It’s OK, I already have 50,000 credits – that’s a lot of nickels. In fact, I bet if I took my payoff all in nickels, I could really make a difference in this world by going outside and dumping them all into the Bellagio fountain and see how many porn slappers jump in to retrieve them.”
Finally, I’d resort to belligerence: “I’m going to stick my hand through the freakin’ screen!!!!! You stop on Boardwalk or I turn into Mr. Paddle Your Freaking Screen you fucking machine!!!!”
Huh? Do I have issues? Yes – I like to win. I also like to talk tough to inanimate objects – never has one yet physically responded to me. If they did, I suppose I'd just throw water on it.
In any event, I probably could have sat there playing the machine all day. However, at one point I started getting a little bit down and thought that I was starting down the same sad road as the day before.
Then, it happened. Magic. I caught a tiny piece of its tail. I was getting dangerously close to losing a $100 in the machine when I hit the bonus round. Not only did I get to share in this magic – but Whale Jo had shown up and was playing machines on either side of me. I was at the 10x multiplier, he had one machine at 8x and the other at 12x. We sat back and watched the credits roll in. By the time it ended, we had a nice little crowd surrounding us – mostly because we probably resembled a couple of mice on crack. I didn’t know my voice could go so high – but I was screaming like a little girl – and dancing around on my toes . . . how could I not? This was the first real stroke of luck – I intended to enjoy every last minute.
By the time all was said and done, I had over $900 worth of credits coming my way – nice. For the first time on this trip, I did not let it ride. Whale Jo and I decided to look around the Mirage a little bit more and see if anything else grabbed our attention.
We made it to a Deal or No Deal machine – this things sucks. I described it on tripadvisor.com – which has for some reason taken down my TR post – so look for it there. I don’t want to waste time talking about this game.
Nothing did. So, with $900 in my pocket and the feeling that lady luck was with me – it was time to move to the big time. Barbary Coast. Sad to say, there was no other luck to be had. As the trip dragged on, I lost some, won some, but never went on any sort of streak.
Some other high/low lights from this trip:
Dinner at Rosemary's - many of my group really really enjoyed this place. I thought it was just OK. Service was remarkable - if not a little embarrassing at the amount of attention foisted upon the diners. Food was decent - but I expected more flavor that what made its way into my gut. Frankly, four months after eating there, I had no recollection of what my meal was - other than a vague feeling that it probably was meat. For a five star joint, I want memories dammit. Heck - I can still remember and taste this Whopper Jr. I had near O'Shea’s over eight years ago - it was amazing. If a restaurant can't give me that kind of memory - then what good is it?
Gaming Downtown - I know there are fans, big fans, of downtown Vegas. Don't count me as one. Well, actually I'm being obtuse about this - my only experience downtown is the Golden Nugget - I shouldn't be so quick to damn the rest of the joints around it. Maybe next trip I'll give the Spike a try.
OK - that's it - time to put that trip in the vault and move onto other things.
1 comment:
Dude, you've got to learn how to open beer bottles w/o an opener: key, table edge, teeth, etc. Let your inner Boy Scout take charge!
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