Summary & Ratings:
- Hotel: Wynn - Resort Room 33rd and 50-something floor (10)
- Restaurants: The Country Club (Wynn) (10); Okada (Wynn) (10); Terrace Point Cafe (3); Room Service (10)
- Casinos: Wynn (10); Hilton (7); Circus Circus (3.5); Slots of Fun (negative 500);
- Games: Too many to report . . . . best luck with BJ and Video Poker and Slots
Note: Ratings are made on a 1-10 scale, 10 being best. If you have any comments or questions about the ratings or the trip report in general, please feel free to post in the comments section. I'll do my best to respond.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was finally here – departure day. After months of anticipatory drool and pronounced procrastination, I was pulling my van into a parking lot, waiting to meet up with Whale Jo, who would be driving to the airport this trip.
Since getting this trip on the books, every detail had been meticulously thought out, from what shoes I might trash, to the exact dollar amount of coin I was willing to lose. This trip saw a little bump in the bank roll – mostly doing to how well the economy has been these past few months. So, there I stood, already dressed in my gambling threads, my beater carry-on bag overpacked, shades on and ready to go.
Meeting up with Whale Jo contained the usual amount of superlatives about how epic this trip would be, how much money we would win, and just how frickin’ nice it was to be getting away. No joke about it, these are troubling times – to ignore such a thing would mean I was an idiot. I’m close to one – but even I recognize that engaging in largess during a period of economic concern is probably nothing to trumpet about. So, an initial caution. If you are one to get pissed off at someone for spending a little extra cash in a time when it would be wise to do, well, otherwise, please stop reading. I make no apologies for the following report and welcome all comments. However, please be cognizant of the fact that everything endured during this trip was done by professionals.
Wow – I just re-read that paragraph above – I almost sound grown up and actually serious. Read on – I’m not even close.
This was my third trip to Vegas this year – and it meant a lot. This was a present from my Vegas-compadre Whale Jo for being the best man in his recent wedding. As you may have read in previous reports, the generosity of this guy knows no bounds. Unfortunately, none of the other crew (Frankie Styles, Double D, Buzzy, and Chaz) were able to join us. As Whale Jo told me - only their collective presence would have made this trip better.
So fast forward to the action. Check-in at airport was a non-item – no bags to check, first class. Got on the plane, settled into Seat 2C, and prepared to engage into what has become a very important pre-Vegas ritual - $1 monkey card game gambling with Whale Jo.
After ordering up a couple cocktails after takeoff, the cards were dealt, the stacks of ones were laid out in front of us, and we started gaming. Neither of us could really quite believe we were headed to Vegas . . . from the beginning it all felt as one big bonus trip.
A few cocktails later, and after losing most of my “juice” roll (money I was going to use to tip), I felt sufficiently primed for Vegas. Lucky for me, we were flying in at night and to help fuel the Vegas fire, I sat back and prepared to witness the strip and Vegas proper in all its glittering, light polluting glory.
This was the first time that I had flown in at night and I was not disappointed. I could tell we were coming over the mountains when the plane began to shake like John McCain’s arms during a debate. Then, as the air smoothed out, the shiny sea of sin burned my retinas. I wanted to weep, I wanted to break out in song. I wanted to hug my teddy bear, Mr. Crumbles, who takes up half of my carry-on bag.
But, instead, I whispered to nobody in particular, “Vegas”.
It always seems that during approach that there should be some sort of option for eager Vegas travelers to sky dive right out of the plane, instead of having to endure the excruciating excursion through McCarren and the accompanying long drive to the casino. How cool would that be! Though I suppose there’s quite a large risk of getting sucked into the jets . . . but maybe that’s why it would be so cool – the ultimate “first bet”.
Sorry – getting off track.
So, getting out of the airport was a breeze – as I mentioned before, no bags to pickup. All we had to do was find our driver from the Wynn – or rather, have him find us. During our ride to the airport Whale Jo had figured to see if the Wynn would send a free limo for us – no problem.
After about a minute or two wait, we spotted our driver and off we were whisked into the Vegas night. Because he obviously wasn’t on the meter, he took the shortest route possible to the Wynn – that road that begins with an “S” . . . .can’t remember at the moment.
Finally we made it to the Wynn. Stepping foot out of the limo, standing up under the portico, I was ready to explode. It took every fiber of my being to not start a full sprint and bust right into the casino. Instead, Whale Jo and I sauntered through the front entry and made our way to check-in.
It was close to 9 p.m., so not much of a line at Registration. We double checked to make sure that the rooms were comped and that RFB was in full effect. The Wynn was also kind enough to give us adjoining rooms. Initially we were on the 8th floor, but a nice smile and a $20 tip later, we were put on the 33rd floor, strip view.
With a little more giddy-up in our step, we both cruised up to the rooms, quickly unpacked, counted out necessary funds, drained a couple of beers, and headed back down to start the madness. It was gambling time.
First order of business was to take care of the $300 bet. Whale Jo and I had decided to pool money together and make a go at two $5 VP machines, max credits.
I proudly peeled three bills out of my cash roll and stuck them in the machine. Ahhhh. this was going to be very good. We pressed the max bet buttons on our respective machines at the same time and waited for a huge hand.
Blank.
Oh heck, who ever wins on a first push of the button, right? So we both pressed a few more times.
Nothing happened.
We had agreed beforehand that if we both got down to $100 that we’d cash out and find something else. I looked over at Whale Jo’s screen - $100 . . . mine was there too. Damn.
We got up and moved over to a Wheel of Fortune machine. Nothing happened there either. Ruh-roh.
Not deterred at this initial loss, we looked around for a second, then laid eyes on our old friend the Jackpot Party machine. As you might have read in previous trip reports, this machine had been very good to me in the past.
If you’ve ever been in the Wynn, you might recognize where this particular bank of machines is located. In a line from left to right: Jackpot Party; Jackpot Party; Ring Quest, and Keeping Up with the Joneses. If you are staring at the back of the casino, these four machines are located just before the baccarat pit, right hand side. If you are going to be in the Wynn casino in the next few eeeks, I’m sure it’s going to take them that long to clean the fingerprints and drool I left on their machine. Look for it.
We sidled up to the old machine friends and put in a couple bills. As we’d do with most of the machine play on this trip, we agreed to consider the money put in “pooled” and would split any winnings. Of course we had our usual arrangement in place as well – if we weren’t playing pooled money, the other person got a 20% cut of any machine jackpot over $1,000 and a 10% cut of any table game jackpot over $1000.
Drink in hand, I sat back and stroked the Jackpot Party game, pressed the 9 lines, 1 bet, buttons and waited.
And waited.
At $9 per spin, it didn’t take long to go through the first bill . ..
As I was getting ready to put more in, I heard the familiar horn sound . . . three times. Whale Jo landed a Jackpot Party . . . .
If I remember correctly, he had me pick. I got ready to choose one of the presents, dreams of W-2s in my hand.
Pooper.
I picked a pooper.
I just about pooped my pants.
A $25 win? That was it? I wanted to punch something. This was not the way things were supposed to happen.
No big deal. There were plenty of more bills to stick in these machines.
But alas, there were no magic jackpot parties. No super pays . . . as you can see from one of the pictures I posted earlier – the net result of my $300 bet was $1.00. The net loss at the Jackpot party machines was getting close to $1,000.
I took a deep breath. OK, this was to be expected. The ebb and flow of gambling luck was definitely on the downside, but I couldn’t give up now – I’d only been here for two hours! There were plenty of other games of chance that I could press my luck. Whale Jo melted off into the distance to try his luck at some table games.
I bounced around from some Alien machine, to Wheel of Fortune and then found myself back at the $5 VP machines. After a significant number of cocktails, I just knew that I could overcome the earlier money burn.
Hopelessly, I burned through a couple more bills, never getting above my initial buy-in. So I moved on.
Somehow I never really traveled far outside a 20 yard radius. Instead of cooling off and maybe going and enjoying the flora and fauna of the casino’s other areas, I stumbled around like a slot zombie, needlessly banging my head on the same stupid machines.
Oooooh, look, there’s Ring Quest again! I didn’t just drop $300 in there two minutes ago! Yay!
So I sat and pumped another $300 in Ring Quest. And what do you know! It started to warm up. I hit the best ring bonus available – the one that lets you play the dungeon bonus. Heck ya! My goal was to try and guide my little dungeon explorer past untold dangers and collect as much money as I possibly could.
Two steps and my little explorer fell down an endless hole. What a metaphor I thought. But, then I looked at my credits . . . I was up! I had made money on a machine!!! Logic at that point told me to press it and continue . . . my luck had changed!!!
Ten minutes later I was staring at $1.25 in credits . . . . sigh.
It was time to move away from the machines. I found Whale Jo and he had experienced a similar, if not more costly, fate at the tables. We had both burned through a great deal of cash with no reward. Our dreams of riches and grand luck were being dashed by this foul casino . . . at least that is what we were thinking at the time.
We made the smart decision to call it a night and not throw any further money to the gambling gods . . . we still had all day tomorrow to try and win.
So, with a little hunger in our bellies, and it being only 2 a.m., we headed for a nice depressing food session at the Wynn’s Terrace Point Café.
Basically this is an upscale Denny’s that remains open 24 hours for occasions just like the one Whale Jo and I had experienced.
The menu is simple enough – some basic breakfast fare, a few sandwiches, and dinner entrees. I ordered up a beer – as if I needed one – and I believe Whale Jo did the same. I settled on some French onion soup, three eggs, hash browns bacon and toast. I think Whale Jo had the shrimp cocktail. For some reason I started to hear the voice of King Leonidas from ‘300’: “Jaco! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty . . . For tonight, we dine in hell!”
*Cue intense battle scene music*
Looking back on this particular feast, I am surprised I did not boot right on the table. All I really recall is getting the food, mashing it all together, covering it with ketchup and pepper, and then inhaling in about three bites. Then washing it all down with a tepid Miller Light. Whale Jo muttered something about the shrimps being a bit rubbery.
Thankfully I had left the rest of my money in my room – so as we walked back to through the casino I didn’t do anything else stupid.
Frankly – the best part of the day was getting to my room, opening my safe, and seeing a platoon of Benjamins waiting to be let loose.
This time, I heard something different from King Leonidas in my head: “No retreat, no surrender” So what if about ¾ of my bankroll had been blown through! I still had bullets baby! And I wasn’t about to wallow around the next day all scared and tight. No, this dog wanted to hunt.
I did a double salchow into my bed, cracked open a box of nuts, and proceeded to watch 1.4 minutes of Indiana Jones before fading to black.
O.K., this was really weird. My REM stage sleep was failing to engage. I would start falling into the syrupy goo of dreamland, fully aware that I was doing so, but then going completely conscious just as the cool stuff started to happen. I imagine it’s a lot like how an apple feels when it’s getting dipped in caramel. All warm and good and sweet and then BAM . . yanked out, cooled off, and invariably consumed at an alarming rate.
The other strange phenomena I noticed – it was not getting light out. I was sure it had to be morning – but the room was engulfed in darkness. Had I entered a time warp? What the hell was in those nuts?
I finally decided to look at the clock to settle the inner debate once and for all. I was shocked to see it read 9:30 a.m. Seriously? Was there an eclipse outside? I went over to the remote curtain controls and pressed open.
Aaaieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
The sunlight came streaming in and reduced my line of sight to zero. WTF? Oh, nice, I had forgotten about the sun blocking curtains. Duh.
After splashing my eyes and face with cold water, I began the slow process of preparing for the day. First order of business was to double check what I feared – that I’d already plowed a large part of my bankroll. I carefully laid out all the bills on the table and began to count.
Shoot – I had not had a good night.
My plan had been to get up and run down stairs to make some NFL parlay picks – but seeing the devastation I had employed on my bankroll made me change my mind. I’d forgo any sports betting this trip and save up for some major damage on the tables and machines – just as long as it wasn’t at the Wynn. I just wasn’t feeling the mojo.
As I sat there peering down on the busy Vegas landscape, I thought to myself that there were only two sure ways of making money while gambling in Vegas. You either need to bet big and get lucky or if you are playing small ball, you need to get extremely lucky.
I didn’t have enough coin to engage in a large scale attack. Thus, I committed my mind to finding the gambling zone in hopes of catching lightning in a bottle. I would grind it out and hope that I could weather this patch of bad luck and get my gambling psyche headed in the right direction.
As I gathered my bills, I heard a knocking on the door to Whale Jo’s room. It was room service time.
I was not particularly hungry . . . I guess the gut bomb mash from the night before was still providing fuel for my body. All I really wanted was something to drink – coffee, maybe a smoothie. After looking over the menu – I decided that I could probably manage a grapefruit, some bacon and blinis – New Orleans style.
After getting in the order, I quickly spruced up. I wanted to hit the ground running after breakfast – time was short.
The food arrived and it did not disappoint. I could have made a necklace out of the bacon and nibbled on it all day and been satisfied. The grapefruit was perfection and the coffee absolutely delicious.
Then I tasted the smoothie . . . a tropical smoothie with a couple added boosts of something – vitamins, hangover medicine . . . I dunno, whatever it was, it was Viagra for my taste buds. My morning had just been made.
But then it got even better. I bit into one of the blinis. To be honest – I really can’t remember what they were called – basically they were just pieces of dough, friend to crispy perfection, then smothered and covered in sugar. To top off the experience, a little dipping container full of warm chocolate sauce. Every single bite I took transported me back to being a child – when I fantasized about being able to visit Candyland and actually eat some of those confectionary creations. Truth be told, had I been alone, I likely would have done very bad things to these little blinis . . . very bad things.
With breakfast out of the way (and what would turn out to be the last thing I would eat for the next nine hours), it was time for a comeback. Seriously, you know how sometimes you just wake up in the morning and you know, you absolutely deep down in your heart of hearts, know that it is going to be a good day? Yah, I had that feeling. Better yet, I could feel the same vibe coming from Whale Jo.
Based on the previous night’s debacle, we decided to forgo any gaming at the Wynn – at least for the morning and afternoon sessions. Instead, we opted to head to the LV Hilton.
It was an extremely sunny October day, so Whale Jo and I thought it would be good to get some air and walk to the LV Hilton from Wynn . . . how far could it be anyway?
As we rounded the corner out of the front entryway, we both discovered the saddening truth – it was waaaaaay too long. However, this didn’t seem to stop our legs from walking forward. Thankfully, there was some construction going on and the sidewalk was completely blocked off – just pass the bus stop if you are familiar with the area. Conveniently there was some sort of city worker sitting on the barricade who told us that we needed to circle back and cross the street before proceeding any further. That was enough for me . . . extraneous walking and wasted time in Vegas isn’t something I’m too interested in.
Right at that point a Duece bus pulled up. And for a fleeting second dear readers I almost got on. That is until I looked through the tinted windows and discovered that the bus was packed tighter than sardines. If my personal space bubble wasn’t so large, I probably would have risked it. But, we decided instead to haul ourselves back to the Wynn and grab a cab.
That’s when I had my first “sign” that this would be a good day. Of all the cabbies in Vegas, I wonder what the odds are that you would end up with the same driver? To be honest, if you lined up all the cab drivers I have met in my trips to Vegas, I probably couldn’t pick out but one or two. One technically wasn’t a cab driver – he was the driver of an SUV that took the crew downtown one trip. The other – well, the other was this gregarious woman with a saltine cracker voice that I had ridden with back in 2006. The minute Whale Jo and I stepped in her cab and she started talking, I knew it was her.
This woman loves her job – and better yet, she seems to love to try and make her riders laugh. I mean, how funny is it when a cab driver asks you if you like to gamble and if you say “yes”, she responds by saying, “OK, what do you want to be that you make it to the Hilton alive on this trip?” Followed of course by a Camel Light laugh.
She definitely put us in the right mood for gaming. Once at the Hilton we decided that our strategy would be to take it easy and let the luck come to us. First stop – the machines.
I will fully admit that I’m a sucker for anything bright, shiny and loud. That explains why the Ebay machine caught my eye. Oh yah baby, let’s play.
All I have to say about this machine is WTF? Where’s the freakin’ bonus round? Reminiscent of the night before, I started feeling the mojo slipping away as I pumped a couple bills into this machine. But then I hit something – cant’ remember what – only that it was enough to take me back to even – or maybe just a little above.
OK, it was time to move on. Whale Jo and I wandered aimlessly, waiting to be called to a machine. We ended up in the part of the casino formerly associated with Star Trek. This actually ended up being quite boring and a non-event. There was no magic to be had in this part of the casino.
As we were walking back toward the main entrance, an emerald shimmer caught my eye. Well, well, well . . . an open Wizard of Oz penny machine. Hello beautiful. Whale Jo and I sat down. As the gaming ensued, I was absolutely enthralled with the vibrating chair and stereo sound that enveloped me in a warm gaming envelope. Mindlessly I watched the video reels spin . . . having no clue as to why I would win on some, and lose on others.
I treaded water for a while, even got a few of the bonus rounds . . . but nothing big. Nothing big, that is, until that magic little fairy inside the machine decided she had a crush on me. I blush thinking back on it.
As one of the pictures on the blog (look below) should show, I hit a nice little bonus when she turned three of the spinning columns into WILDS. When that happened, I clapped with glee and sat back and enjoyed the show . .. . Yum. I felt like cashing out, but my credits weren’t at an even number so I figured I’ play a few more spins.
The seas parted. That little fairy came out, winked at me, waved her wand and gave me FOUR WILDS. My heart stopped. I couldn’t lose! Next thing I know, the little credit meter is over 100,000 credits!!!! Poor Whale Jo leaned over . . . we hadn’t agreed to pool this particular session. “Dude, I have major slot envy” He had .50 left in his machine.
There was an uneven amount of credits, so I hit one more spin and got another bonus. I laughed, cashed out and enjoyed pocketing over a grand from a penny machine. I believe I even gave Whale Jo a $100 tip . . . I hope it wasn’t a $10.
So, with a little bit of luck on my side and some additional ammo in my pocket, it was time to try some of the table games offered up by the Hilton. We stopped at a Let It Ride table. We both bought in and I decided to play with green chips. I noticed Whale Jo was alternating between green and black. The first few hands did nothing. But just as I was getting set to leave, I had one of those “feelings.” I even told Whale Jo.
“Did you feel that? There was a shift. Somethin’ good is coming.”
Boom. I turned over my three cards . . . straight flush. Booooya!
A few hands later . . . three tens. Booooya!!!
Then I even started calling cards . . . .
And then it ended. I could tell the hot streak was over. Confidently I pushed my stacks of chips in and colored up.
The smile on my face could not have been bigger – I was on my way back!
As Whale Jo and I left the Hilton we didn’t hesitate at where to go next – Circus Circus.
It just felt right going to a place that was my first Vegas experience. I think I must have been 11 or 12 years old at the time. No doubt that is what planted the seed to my modern day fixation on Las Vegas. As the cab driver dropped us off, I had this funny feeling that we were heading into the belly of the beast of Vegas.
As we walked through the doors, my feelings were fully realized – lots of kids, lots of strollers, lots of dirty slot machines, and (but of course) a crazy outdated, but oddly fascinating circus theme run amok.
Wow.
We carefully walked through the machines to try and find somewhere that might provide a bit of luck. It was then that I noticed Whale Jo moving as if he had been caught by some crazy tractor beam.
When I saw where he was headed, my jaw dropped.
A rotating section of cramped slot machines . . . . the capitol city of Grinderville.
I felt myself being sucked in as well.
I can’t even remember the game we ended up playing . . . something that seemed to keep me floating even . . . never getting up . . . but never crapping out so that I could leave. With each push of a button, it seemed to me that the sounds from the machines would get louder.
It was one heck of an auditory and visual overload. As the world that I was stuck on would spin, I would get fixated on my machine, only to get distracted by my reflection in a mirror to my right, then back to the machine, then distracted by what I thought was my reflection only to realize the floor was moving and I was now looking at a woman, then back to the machine, then looking back to make sure I hadn’t turned into a woman only to see a white wall and feeling like I was in jail.
Breath.
Back to the machine, then I hear an announcer saying something about some wonderful performer and the lights go on above me. I concentrate on the machine, but then hear applause and look up and what do you know, there’s a freakin’ trapeze artist being flung high above the casino. It’s at this point that I notice my finger is on overload and just pounding on the machine with a mind of its own. I look around, no doubt with a glazed face and dopey grin, and notice everyone else looks like that too.
Then I realize I’m looking in the mirror.
That scares me.
Then I look down and see that the tray of my machine, a tray that probably at one time made someone happy by paying out dirty quarters, had been used as an ashtray depository. Sure, that made sense. Why not just dump random full ashtrays into a slot machine tray? What else are you going to use it for.
Then I notice the sound of what I thought was gunfire. Nobody seemed to care. My finger pressed even faster. I looked up and finally figured out the popping sound came from balloons. Phew.
I look over at Whale Jo and he’s twitching. Not good. He looks over at me and says, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
But the circle of slots has turned into a haunted house. There is no visible exit. After enduring at least 100 full rotations, all sense of geographical normalcy had vanished. I panicked and sat back down, hoping I would somehow be magically transported away.
Whale Jo? He took matters into his own hands and somehow managed to climb an 8 foot wall into what I suppose is the Circus Circus high limit slot area. As I spun away, I could hear him laughing gleefully.
I had to get off. I looked at my machine. It knew I had to leave too. In a matter of seconds, instead of just treading water, I was full on flushed out of the machine. Suddenly, to the left of me appeared an easy exit. I stepped off.
And as much as the place had felt like the devil’s lair when I was on it, I looked at the spinning slot area and saw normalcy. It just looked, well, like spinning slots. I felt myself going back in.
NO!
I am so happy for having voices in my head sometimes. Luckily this one was smart and led me away to find Whale Jo.
We dinked around on a few slots and didn’t win anything. Then we decided to play some cards. We found a nice BJ table . . .I think it was $5. We asked to have the limits raised . . . they wouldn’t do it. Hmmmm. They asked if I wanted a players card. I couldn’t do it.
So for the next ½ hour or so, I kept myself entertained while making a few bucks at the table. Whale Jo was not as lucky. He sunk a lot of dough into the table, wandered off, then sunk more dough into another table . . . by the time he returned, I knew we had to move on. This wasn’t his time or place and we needed to find it quickly.
We scurried out of the casino and to our immediate right, we thought we saw our answer: Slots of Fun.
If Circus Circus is the belly of the beast my friends, Slots of Fun is surely the digestive waste that comes out of that belly. I say this because that is exactly what it smelled like from the moment I walked in.
Not a good sign.
Whale Jo had to make a phone call, so I took $100 and stuck it in a $1 WOF machine. I got it down to about $50 and noticed something . . . . no tickets. Then I looked around . . .well, more listened around. Coins. These machines paid out in coins. I peeked around the corner and saw many different walks of life scooping coins out of the machine trays.
Oh great.
Finally Whale Jo showed up and I decided to cash out at $40. Two coins came out. Then some message flashed about having to call an attendant. Oh god no.
I pressed the service button and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until Whale Jo got so impatient that he wandered off screaming “Attendant! Slot Attendant!”
He came back – no luck.
Finally after about 25 minutes of this arduous, torturous wait, some dude showed up, opened the machine up, pressed a few buttons and 38 more coins fell out.
I felt violated. I felt dirty. All the good feelings I had stored up from earlier in the day were now soiled.
Time to go.
We still had some time before dinner at Okada that night, so the choice came down to where to gamble some more. Looking across the street, the answer became obvious.
The Riv.
Why not? So what if I had experienced a melt down there? This was a new day and I was ready to try and dispel the demons.
The only question was . . . were the demons ready to leave me.
Well, not to give the ending away or anything – but by not losing anything at the Riv, I feel I did release the demons.
To be honest, playing at the Riv was a nice cool down after the madness of Circus Circus and the depression of Slots of Fun. The pit boss noticed our action and got a casino host to come talk to us. We mentioned we were RFB over at the Wynn, but always keeping an eye out for something new. Both of these gentlemen were extremely kind and honest about what they had to offer. Perhaps someday we’ll take them up on it. It’d be kind of cool to stay in the Sinatra Suite . . . .
And then it was time to get back to the Wynn. The day had been successful for me, not so much for Whale Jo. But we had Okada to look forward to and a night of gaming at the Wynn.
As we sped off in a cab (with one VERY perverted driver), I just knew better things were yet to come.
Oh the things one forgets about as one writes.
Forgive me while I step back to the previous paragraphs above for a moment . . . I mentioned seeing signs. In my haste to get this Trip Report written, I failed to mention the most important sign I spied all day. It was at the Riv . . . it was while playing $25 Let It Ride . . . . much like the LV Hilton, I started to have a feeling that good cards were coming. At that moment I looked up at the TV and spied an Applebees commercial. Not any commercial mind you, but a commercial that the week prior I had spent about five minutes obsessing about because I thought I recognized one of those faces that flash at you during the montage of clips that are supposed to be home video taken at Applebees. You know what I’m talking about – those pics of people stuffing good ole fashioned Applebees food into their pie holes? Yum. Well, there’s this one 1.34 second clip of a gal who I think is making a heart sign with her hands. I swear I’ve seen her before . . . . anyway, that’s what I saw at the moment I looked up. Boom. A sign. Sure enough, went on another little mini-run at Let It Ride. Yessss.
So, back to the trip report.
Getting back to the Wynn, after having spent a significant part of the day at the LV Hilton, Circus Circus, Slots of Fun and the Riv was a little bit like bathing in real water instead of run off from the local landfill. Sort of. I don’t mean to disparage, I had fun (except for Slots of Fun) at all the other properties, but there’s something about the Wynn that just has me hooked.
The combination of real plants, clean air, and empty walkways beckoned like an old friend. Come, Jaco, come play with me . . . I’ll let you be the speeding sports car instead of the deer in the road . . . y’all remember that game don’t ya?
So Whale Jo and I decided we’d do a quick clean up and money count before coming back down and hitting the machines for a little pre-dinner fun.
Bad idea – the machines were still cold. It was a little depressing doing a mini-money flush before dinner. Oh well, there was a long night of gaming still ahead.
Then it was time.
If you have ever read any of my prior trip reports, you know I freakin’ love Okada. I mean LOVE it. To say I was excited about eating here would be a little bit like saying Rosie O’Donnel is merely happy to see a Krispy Kreme. Plus, neither Whale Jo or I had eaten since breakfast . . . unless of course you count the beers, rum drinks and 7n7s.
Our table was ready the moment we walked in and, more than any other time that I’ve been here, I noticed the zen quality of the restaurant. I swear if you were to suddenly find yourself sitting in this restaurant, you would have no idea that you were in Vegas.
First order of business was to get some drinks and appetizers coming. We both ordered this Japanese beer that is uber-refreshing. I think I downed the first one in two giant gulps. If I remember correctly it was called Kaitakushi . . . . .it we pure beer nirvana.
First appetizer to arrive was the Kobe beef carpaccio. The meat was pure, the accompaniments subtle, and the taste divine. If eating at Okada was like driving a Ferrari, this first course would be akin to first sitting in the car. You know you are in something frickin’ sweet, but won’t know until you kick it into drive.
Next appetizer – the battered rock shrimp. The first bite into one of these gems took my breath away. Oh you have got to be kidding me, I thought. I discreetly wondered whether or not Okada had employed mystical beings to prepare the food. Wouldn’t have surprised me at all to go back in the kitchen and find it filled with unicorns, gnomes, and flying monkeys. I would have been satisfied ordering about ten plates of the shrimp – but at Okada there’s no need to engage in exclusionary food tactics.
As soon as the last shrimp was engulfed, a plate of steamed lobster tail with uni and other assorted goodies made it’s entrance onto our table. With every bite of this dish I seriously imagined myself as some erstwhile sea pirate being served exotic maritime culinary delights by local maidens. Argggghhhh!
After polishing these dishes off in record time, plus washing them back with a few more succulent beers, it was time to move on. Rather than dive headfirst into sushi heaven, we actually mixed it up a bit and tried something new – food from the Okada’s robata grill.
Heck – after the first three courses I was still consumed with hunger. We ordered pork short ribs, oysters, and some sort of fish – snapper I think.
The food arrived very quickly and I was humbled by the sheer simplicity of the food. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply caused a major olfactory orgasm . . . well, I guess not really, since I suppose the end result of such a thing would be an enormous amount of snot erupting from one’s nostrils. Um, let’s just say it smelt good?
The short ribs were undeniably tender and perfectly cooked. All fat and all connective tissue shyly melted away in my mouth with each bite. This dish is definitely a tongue tease.
Eating the fish reminded me of travels that have taken me to small fishing villages in Central and South America. A star lit night, bouncing through a gravely jungle road . . . hoping that local militia doesn’t take you out because you’ve inadvertently taken a wrong turn and are driving through a massive pot field . . . and then thankfully driving into a coastal town where the fresh catch of the day has just been roasted over a driftwood fire . . . food has this wonderful ability, if it’s really good, to induce some incredible memory recall episodes.
And then the oysters.
Ooops. One of the two missteps made during this meal.
Normally I’m a big fan of oysters – raw, grilled, fried, whatever. However, I am not a fan of BIG oysters. I swear that the oysters that were put out in front of us had to have come from waters just outside a secret military facility where all the bad chemical waste is dumped directly into the ecosystem. These were big mofos.
I put my trust into the kitchen and decided to just grin and eat ‘em. You know those porno movies where the main actress is involved in a “gag” scene? I don’t want to get too explicit here, but that’s what I imagine my face looked like as I tried to down this giant bivalve mollusk.
As I forcefully engaged my throat muscles to push the oyster down into my gut, I wasn’t at all surprised to hear the gooey mass cry out, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”
A dead oyster quoting Dylan Thomas? It was either that or succumbing to a major gastro-quake and spewing bile-lava onto the table.
Actually, once the oyster was in my stomach, the aftertaste wasn’t all that unpleasant – a little like peanut butter.
So finally it was on to the main event – sushi. I will come clean and say that by this point I was starting to feel a tiny bit full. Thankfully I recognized this and did not order my usual 20 piece barrage of raw fish.
I opted for a few pieces of tuna, salmon, yellow tail and albacore sushi. Whale Jo stuck with tuna and eel.
The salmon, yellow tail and the albacore were all perfect. The tuna, however, was a bit off.
Actually, it was a lot off. I’m pretty sure that it’s not OK for your tongue to go numb after eating a piece of raw fish. Nor do I suppose it’s OK for there to be a gas like smell to the fish.
Oh well, nobody is perfect. I was happy to accept this minor setback in exchange for the other amazing food.
The very last thing I ordered was uni and a bottle of hot sake. This ended up being the perfect ending to this incredible meal. The uni was just the right temperature, fresh tasting and perfect in texture. The hot sake we had was good – even though the first sip tasted like I was drinking paint thinner.
Before getting the bill and heading back to the gaming trenches, Whale Jo and I decided to stretch our legs and explore the rest of Okada. If you ever get the chance, take the walk out to the private dining area that is right next to the waterfall. I definitely think next time I eat at Okada I’ll try and get this table. Not only because it’s a cool setting, but because I want to know what lies in the jungle that Steve Wynn has built around Okada. It seemed that it would be very very easy to just slip into the bamboo and get lost. I bet there are people living in there . . . a la John Rambo.
Dinner was just a titch over $400 for the two of us . . . a little on the pricey side, but since it was on the Wynn, it was kind of easy to just go for it.
Next stop – the Mirage.
We made a game time decision to switch up locations and try our luck elsewhere. The Mirage had been decent to me this year – not so much to Whale Jo. We just needed a place to go for a bit to get some space from the Wynn.
After eating such an amazing meal, I had this odd overconfidence that comes with too much good food and drink. I just knew that the previous night’s money flush would not, could not, be repeated.
The Mirage started off as another money dump. First, we tried a little Tailgate Party slot action – I’d been lucky enough to get a hand pay on this in March. No luck. Then we moved onto some blackjack. Again, no luck.
Then, with despair knocking on the door, we sat down at a 4 Card Crazy Poker game. The first few hands sucked, but then I started treading water. I took this as a good sign. Then, we got a call from some friends that were also in town and they ended up meeting us at the table. This changed my luck for the better. I hit enough hands to stage a minor comeback and have enough bullets for the last session of the night.
The Wynn.
The cab ride was somewhat silent on the way back. Whale Jo had not found any luck at the Mirage and now found himself near the bottom of his bankroll.
We arrived back at the Wynn, reloaded from whatever was left in our respective safes and hit the floor.
Whale Jo went right for the craps table. I decided to buy-in as well, I think for $500. It only took four rolls from the two of us to reduce my stake to $100. This did not leave a whole lot in my wallet for other gaming. Whale Jo continued to roll for a little longer, but he just got steamrolled.
We walked away from the craps table, anxious to find anything that would work. We spied an empty BJ table . . $200 per hand.
Why not. I wasn’t going to make back any money grinding it out on a penny machine, or playing through multiple decks of BJ at anything less than at least $100/hand . . . we sat.
I bought in for $400 and made that last for at least five minutes. Then I dug in my wallet once more and put out my final bills. If I lost this, I’d fold up and live to fight another day.
And that’s when it happened.
The elusive magic shoe.
I couldn’t lose. There were a few times I was down to my last $200 or $400, but I never got washed out. Instead, I cashed out (a nice little hive of bumblebees) and knew that I was now actually up for this trip. When I did the math up in my room later, I turned out to be $270 up – but considering where I had been, I was ecstatic.
Whale Jo, initially, did not do quite as well as I did. In fact, he blew through his money and was reduced to asking if he could borrow $200. This was about a minute or so before I cashed out, so I pushed over two black chips.
Now, what unfolds from here, you can choose to believe me or not. Frankly, had I not been an eyewitness to it, I would call B.S. But it’s all true. Whale Jo went on one of the most amazing runs I have ever seen.
That $200 sum turned into five figures in the space of several hours. The picture at the start of this post shows some of the loot made from that $200 start. Every table Whale Jo visited was like an ATM. By the time he started making his run, I had decided to quit gambling and just run around with him as his black jack advisor. I’d watch his play, watch the cards and let him know if he needed to pull back or push it. Was I counting cards? No. It was pure dumb luck.
My favorite table that he hit was one with a dealer named “Spring.” She had this beautiful sing-song voice and seemed truly interested in having Whale Jo win. Her shtick was to try and call face cards out the deck by whispering “Picture” every time she dealt. Though the skeptics out there won’t believe it, I truly think she had some sort of connection to a metaphysical realm beyond our comprehension. If you’ve ever seen Big Trouble, Little China, that’s kind of what it felt like watching her deal.
And so, the night ended. I was happy. Whale Jo, well, he was happy. Though I think he would have liked a few more hours to try and get even more of the Wynn’s money.
We did stupidly try and press our luck on the slots and were sad to find out that our BJ mojo did not carry over. With that, I retired to my room, opened up a box of cashews, and tried to watch that Mummy movie.
I think my brain shut off during some scene where Yetis were making the touchdown signal with their arms after kicking some Chinese soldier through two upright pillars.
Touchdown indeed.
Morning came quickly. Mostly because I was stuck in this dream where I was on an airplane, it was taking off, then kept flipping over . . .
Wasn’t I supposed to fly this a.m.?
Thankfully our flight out of Vegas did not leave until 3:30 p.m. So there was no need to get up early and check out. Our plan was to get some room service, make sure we could check out late, do a little light gaming, then head home.
I heard Whale Jo in the next room talking to the front desk – it didn’t sound like it was going that well.
He knocked on my door.
“Dude, no problem – we can check out whatever.”
Turns out that the front desk was trying to tell him that we couldn’t check out late, that some new policy was in place. This prompted Whale Jo to ask to be transferred to Casino Services so he could talk to a host.
The host apparently told Whale Jo, “Change the rules. Just stay. Don’t check out. They can’t do anything.”
So that’s what we did. Though, to be honest, we only ended up staying 15 minutes past when we were supposed to check out.
We repeated the breakfast fare from the morning before. Oh those scrumptious fried pieces of dough . . . how I loved thee.
Then it was “We’ve Got Two Hours Before We Need To Be At The Airport So Let’s Gamble” time.
In hindsight, that was a mistake.
We dumped way too much money into the stupid Jackpot party machines trying to get a payoff. Then, as if that wasn’t stupid enough, I sat down at a Let It Ride table and flushed more money trying to chase the money I had lost at the machines.
It was a little depressing knowing that I hadn’t had the discipline to walk away when up. Oh well, I still wasn’t anywhere near down to where I had been.
Once the magic hour came, we checked with casino services to see if they’d have a car take us to the airport. They said no problem. I figured we’d get the same nice limo that had picked us up. But as I saw the bellman walking to our car, my jaw dropped.
A Rolls Royce Phantom.
Any hurt I had been feeling washed away when I slid into the supple leather seats. Now this was traveling in style. The ride in this car was super smooth. The amenities in the car were incredible. If this is the Wynn’s way of making sure you’ll come back to Vegas, job well done.
The long road home is always filled with mixed blessings. On the one hand you are leaving Vegas, on the other, you are, well, leaving Vegas. Whale Jo and I sat in terminal, biding our time playing a few airport slots. I managed to turn $10 into $40 . . . yay.
Then, it was time to board. The dream I had earlier in the morning flashed through my head. Nah, it was nothing. Just anxiety, coupled with late night cashew indigestion.
We sat back in our first class seats. I ordered a bloody mary for after the flight was in the air and prepared to read some junk airport novel.
“Excuse me folks, this is your captain speaking, we’re gonna be delayed a few minutes, maybe ten minutes, here at the gate. We’re just checking on a few minor maintenance issues.”
What? Come on. Who’s playing tricks on me. Maintenance issues. I smiled weakly at the flight attendant as she passed through the cabin.
Ten minutes later I saw a maintenance man sprint onto the plane, rush into the cockpit and slam the door close. I turned to Whale Jo.
“That can’t be good.”
It was at that point that both of our minds started turning . . . kind of half kidding, we talked about heading back into town if this was anything major.
The maintenance guy bolted out of the cockpit and off the plane. I could hear the captain talking to the flight attendant. Something about a major problem . . . something about a major delay . . . something about getting the people off the plane.
“Hi folks, this is the captain again. Looks like we’ve got a little longer delay than expected. Maintenance has informed me that it’s going to be at least 45 minutes before we know anything regarding the maintenance issues.”
After that, all I could hear in my head was, “jackscrew, jackscrew, jackscrew.” I was mortified.
“Dude, there’s no way I’m flying in this plane. Let’s get on another flight.”
Then the discussion between Whale Jo and I escalated. What if we got on a flight first thing in the a.m.? What if we could get back into two comped rooms at the Wynn?
The moment the flight attendant came on and said everyone could get off with their stuff, we sprinted out of the plane and to the first available gate agent.
Bingo. There was a flight, with room in first class, leaving first thing in the a.m. No extra charge, we wouldn’t even have to check back in.
Next, Whale Jo called his host. No problem, two rooms ready for Whale Jo and Jaco.
We looked at each other and laughed.
We’d just hit the ultimate bonus round . . . one more night in Vegas.
As Whale Jo and I walked briskly back through McCarren, I felt conflicted. Questions poured through my head. Was I making the right decision here? Did I really have any other decision to make? Would I gamble? Should I just hole up in my room and watch movies?
All those questions swept away as we got down to baggage claim, went to the limo area, and hopped a ride back to the Wynn. It was late afternoon, the city was awash in a golden hue . . . .
“Vegas”
The word escaped from my mouth in a cautious whisper.
I noticed the limo driver trying to engage us in conversation as if we had just arrived in his city . . . I didn’t have the energy to tell him all that had occurred and merely nodded my head in silent acquiescence. I needed to pull in my reserves and prepare for one more Vegas night.
When we pulled back up to the Wynn, I fully expected all the staff to yell out, “Welcome back Jaco! Welcome back Whale Jo!” And then for some Disney song and dance routine to follow. Instead, and obviously, our re-entry into the Wynn was completely anonymous.
We walked over to the registration area and happily declared that we were checking back in for one more night. The desk gal stated that only one of our rooms was ready – the other was still being cleaned. I looked down at the room numbers she had written and laughed. They were the same rooms as we had checked out of. I told her that there was absolutely no reason to clean the rooms, since we were the last people to be in there. But she dutifully replied that it was resort policy.
Whale Jo then slipped her a $20 and asked if there was anything else available, maybe something on a higher floor? (Note – the $20 was given as a “tip” – Whale Jo said it was for all her troubles in dealing with us). Sure enough, two adjoining rooms were ready on the 51st floor. Exact same stack numbers too. While we were chatting it up with the gal, we asked her if she’d be so kind to make us reservations for dinner at the Country Club. Why not? We were hungry – and might as well enjoy a nice little meal courtesy of the Wynn.
We basically flew up to the rooms, cracked open some beers, and then cheered the Vegas strip and the setting sun. We were back.
As we headed back down to the casino for a little pre-dinner gaming, I couldn’t shake this feeling that I was somehow living a part of a real life bonus round. Almost like I had been sucked through a slot machine’s time space portal and landed on the jackpot. If nothing else, it’d give me something cool to write about.
In the elevator ride down, Whale Jo and I started discussing what games we might play and ventured upon a very salient point that, in our gambling hunger, we had not taken into consideration. It finally occurred to us that we were pressing too hard to pry lady luck out of machines that, in the past, had been good to us. We were dipping our proverbial buckets into the well one too many times.
Insert light bulb over my head.
We needed to find fresh meat, er, machines.
Entering the casino floor, it became quite clear that our focus had been on one particular section of the Wynn. If you are standing with your back to the elevator area, we had been playing machines exclusively on the far left hand side of the casino. With a new found purpose, we voyaged into the right hand side.
As you likely know by know, I like to play machines based on “feel.” That is, I wait until a particular machine tickles my fancy (which I usually feel in my left foot), and that is when I pounce.
It did not take long before Whale Jo and I found our slot prey. He sidled up to some sort of slot themed with Neptune, while I parked myself in front of some sort of magic unicorn game. In synchronized motion, we dutifully both put $100 in each machine and began the delicate dance of slot foreplay.
It took me about a minute or two to figure out that my machine liked it rough. No slow pressing, no caressing, just plain old pounding of the buttons – and fast. It seemed the faster I pressed, the more bonus rounds I hit. Pretty soon, I had worked up a good sweat and about $3.00 in profit.
Whale Jo, on the other hand, was with a machine that liked to be played a little dirty. Nothing NC-17 or anything like that, all it really wanted was to be spanked lightly and to have the occasional curse word floated in its ear. His skills were fine tuned and he worked this machine up to about $80 ahead. We decided it would be good gambling karma to stop right then and there and head to dinner “up.”
We got to the Country Club and it was obvious we didn’t need reservations – only one table was occupied. It was still fairly early by Vegas standards, so that made sense. We opted for a table outside, with a clear view of the 18th green.
After looking over the menu, both Whale Jo and I decided to take it easy. We wouldn’t over do it with the ordering. There was always Okada that we could go back to later in the night if any hunger pains manifested themselves.
Our order consisted of lobster bisque, two fillets, a side of fries, and a side of mushrooms. Oh, a couple of Stella Artois a piece, and a bottle of 2006 Stags Leap Petite Syrah to have with the steak.
Oh you can’t believe it, it was soooo good.
I think someone should call the Clark County Health Department and have an investigation initiated against the Wynn for the lobster bisque . . . I swear it was laced with Ativan. Upon the first delicious bite of the bisque, the jumbled messed up puzzle pieces of my mind peacefully melted away. Instead, my brain was filled with happy go funday kind of thoughts. Crickets playing banjos, bunnies on the bongos, and a little tiny moth strumming the one string bass . . . they were all right there, debuting in my ear.
Hmmm. Pretty sure there were no mushrooms in the bisque . . .
It’s fair to say that the lobster bisque at the Country Club is a first ballot entry into my Food Hall of Fame.
That left just the steak, sides, and wine to consume.
As much as I was disappointed with the food I had at SW Steakhouse, the opposite was true with the beef I received at the Country Club. I’d be curious to know whether or not they share the same beef supply.
The steak was flat out perfection. This was the steak that I could eat just with my mouth – go freakin’ tiger on it. Too bad there wasn’t like a hidden pocket of warm blood in the steak . . . that would have been cool to chomp down on it, and then have blood squirt out just like you see on Wild Kingdom.
The steak had just the right amount of spice on top and each bite literally melted in my mouth. Thank you steak gods, thank you.
The mushrooms were good – nothing out of this world – but definitely solid fungalicious work.
The wine? Amazing – I think it was the same wine I had back in April at Prime. That’s probably why it jumped off the menu. It more than made up for there being no blood in the steak.
And the best part?
The fries.
If you are heading to Vegas anytime soon, do me a favor, make the trip to the Country Club for the fries. Unreal.
As much as I like to describe food, I’m so humbled by these fries that I’m afraid I won’t do them proper justice. I will try though.
First, let’s start with the appearance. Eye candy. Pure and simple, these fries fit my definition of culinary eye candy. Any type of food that can make me want to make out with it gets the eye candy label. Golden, visible salt and spice, just a wee hint of glistening oil. Oh mamma.
Second, smell. In my experience, if food smells good, it generally tastes good. Here, the smell of the fries was significantly emotional. Whale Jo hit it when he said it reminded him of the smell at county fairs, or a place like Coney Island . . . the good smells. It conjured up images of being wrapped up in a blanket with that special someone, sharing a box of garlic cheese fries . . . furtive finger touching . . . watching, but not really watching the rodeo . . . these fries were made by deities heretofore unknown on this earth.
Finally, taste. From crunchy crusty salty exterior to the soft, gentle cloud-like fluffy goodness inside, each fry that was crushed beneath my teeth gave extraordinary pleasure. They were truly a mouth-tease.
Get the fries. Thank me later.
And with that, dinner was over. We had a nice conversation with the wine dude about Steve Wynn and whether he likes to eat at any of the restaurants. Turns out that the Country Club is one of his favorites to haunt while he is in town. So definitely look around next time you are there – chances are you might spy Steve.
And then it was time to battle. I was down from the early afternoon pre-airport session and yearned to get that money back. Whale Jo was itching to parlay his winnings into even more piles of cash. So, fresh out of the gate, we hit a Let it Ride table.
God that was dumb. I just started bleeding money. Luckily Whale Jo was doing OK – actually he was busy bouncing from Let it Ride to BJ, every so often dropping off a black chip or two to play with.
As I reach into my wallet for the fourth or fifth time after about two hours at this table I discovered that there was nothing left. Damn. That meant a trip to the room safe. As I left the floor, I caught up with Whale Jo and discovered he was on tilt. Apparently the bloodletting was carrying over to him too.
I grabbed more cash that I had thankfully left in the safe and prepared for another run. I made a quick call to Whale Jo on his cell to double check he hadn’t spontaneously combusted.
He hadn’t, but I could tell he was close. He was in the high limit room. Sounded like I needed to get there quickly.
When I got there, I saw him fumbling nervously with various stacks of black and purple chips. He had begun a tiny little run. Whale Jo introduced me to the dealer as his BJ advisor . . . and, much like the night before, I witnessed one incredible BJ run.
I believe it all started when we both looked at the dealer’s chip tray and spied a stack of chocolate chips. We asked if we could hold one or take a picture of one. No way said the pit boss. Whale Jo muttered that he’d just have to win it then.
I honestly don’t remember the chain of events after that – only that it was like we entered this zone where time and matter stood still. I can recall various snapshots of that period – Whale Jo changing between bets of $500 and $2,500 . . . me trying to call out cards . . . me trying to make sure Whale Jo didn’t flush it all away . . . both of us interacting with the dealer like she was some long lost friend . . . the cards just kept coming. At one point all three of us (Whale Jo, I and the dealer) were laughing hysterically because of how he was winning. It was supernatural. This “zone” ended during one particular shuffle when we looked at the dealer’s tray and noticed that Whale Jo had taken just about every purple chip in her tray. He had a virtual army of Barneys . . . I think we both knew what had to happen.
“Dude, color up and let’s get the ‘F’ out of here.”
The picture you see at the start of this entry is just a few of the chips he was paid. Chocolate chip, white flags, bumblebees, and barneys . . . Whale Jo had dun good.
Even more remarkable was what happened next and just goes to show the absolute incredible generosity of Whale Jo. After cashing out at the cage, Whale Jo handed me a significant stack of money.
“Here, you earned this.”
How the heck do you respond to something like that. I probably should have cried And you wonder why he’s got good gambling karma.
We still had about an hour left before our self-imposed curfew. Since we planned to leave the Wynn around 5:45 a.m., we figured that it’d be a pretty good idea to call it a night around 1 a.m.
So we decided to just do some “cool off” video poker. If you go to the Wynn anytime soon, look for the bank of machines right behind the craps tables and next to the Red Card desk.
We were still laughing about the incredible lucky streak when, boom, 4 Aces appeared on the screen of Whale Jo’s machine. $1,600. Hand pay. Bonus cash we figured.
That is until about 15 minutes later. Boom. 4 Aces. Another $1,600. Hand pay. Double Bonus unreal cash.
That set us both over the edge just a little. I suddenly found myself playing all four machines on the side of the bank I was sitting on. Whale Jo skipped over to some lucky 7 machines and was playing 3 at once. I watched him hit 3 7s on each machine.
And then it was 1 a.m. This trip was over.
As I walked into my room, I still found it hard to believe just how lucky things had gone. I was back above my original bankroll, Whale Jo was waaaay up . . . . and most everything else was “on the house.”
I must say that getting up at 5:45 a.m. hurt just a tad – but the hurt was greatly tempered by this incredibly epic trip I had just experienced.
And that, to me, is the whole key as to why I keep returning to Vegas. The experience – the action – the completely illogical feeling that I’m somehow in control of my own destiny, that I can catch luck in a bottle, that there is this world that exists beyond what our naked eye can see, that inanimate slot machines have the hots for me . . . I mean, what fun is it to look at Vegas in a linear, no nonsense, business-like way? That’s just not the cloth I’m cut from. Do I know that the odds are stacked against me? Yes. Am I aware that everything I play in Vegas is a negative sum game? Yes.
But all that doesn’t matter.
Call me stupid, irrational, whatever.
That’s your reality – mine’s different.
Because the simple fact is, I believe I’m different . . .
I believe I can, and will beat the house . . .
I believe I am lucky.
What’s stopping you from believing the same?
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was finally here – departure day. After months of anticipatory drool and pronounced procrastination, I was pulling my van into a parking lot, waiting to meet up with Whale Jo, who would be driving to the airport this trip.
Since getting this trip on the books, every detail had been meticulously thought out, from what shoes I might trash, to the exact dollar amount of coin I was willing to lose. This trip saw a little bump in the bank roll – mostly doing to how well the economy has been these past few months. So, there I stood, already dressed in my gambling threads, my beater carry-on bag overpacked, shades on and ready to go.
Meeting up with Whale Jo contained the usual amount of superlatives about how epic this trip would be, how much money we would win, and just how frickin’ nice it was to be getting away. No joke about it, these are troubling times – to ignore such a thing would mean I was an idiot. I’m close to one – but even I recognize that engaging in largess during a period of economic concern is probably nothing to trumpet about. So, an initial caution. If you are one to get pissed off at someone for spending a little extra cash in a time when it would be wise to do, well, otherwise, please stop reading. I make no apologies for the following report and welcome all comments. However, please be cognizant of the fact that everything endured during this trip was done by professionals.
Wow – I just re-read that paragraph above – I almost sound grown up and actually serious. Read on – I’m not even close.
This was my third trip to Vegas this year – and it meant a lot. This was a present from my Vegas-compadre Whale Jo for being the best man in his recent wedding. As you may have read in previous reports, the generosity of this guy knows no bounds. Unfortunately, none of the other crew (Frankie Styles, Double D, Buzzy, and Chaz) were able to join us. As Whale Jo told me - only their collective presence would have made this trip better.
So fast forward to the action. Check-in at airport was a non-item – no bags to check, first class. Got on the plane, settled into Seat 2C, and prepared to engage into what has become a very important pre-Vegas ritual - $1 monkey card game gambling with Whale Jo.
After ordering up a couple cocktails after takeoff, the cards were dealt, the stacks of ones were laid out in front of us, and we started gaming. Neither of us could really quite believe we were headed to Vegas . . . from the beginning it all felt as one big bonus trip.
A few cocktails later, and after losing most of my “juice” roll (money I was going to use to tip), I felt sufficiently primed for Vegas. Lucky for me, we were flying in at night and to help fuel the Vegas fire, I sat back and prepared to witness the strip and Vegas proper in all its glittering, light polluting glory.
This was the first time that I had flown in at night and I was not disappointed. I could tell we were coming over the mountains when the plane began to shake like John McCain’s arms during a debate. Then, as the air smoothed out, the shiny sea of sin burned my retinas. I wanted to weep, I wanted to break out in song. I wanted to hug my teddy bear, Mr. Crumbles, who takes up half of my carry-on bag.
But, instead, I whispered to nobody in particular, “Vegas”.
It always seems that during approach that there should be some sort of option for eager Vegas travelers to sky dive right out of the plane, instead of having to endure the excruciating excursion through McCarren and the accompanying long drive to the casino. How cool would that be! Though I suppose there’s quite a large risk of getting sucked into the jets . . . but maybe that’s why it would be so cool – the ultimate “first bet”.
Sorry – getting off track.
So, getting out of the airport was a breeze – as I mentioned before, no bags to pickup. All we had to do was find our driver from the Wynn – or rather, have him find us. During our ride to the airport Whale Jo had figured to see if the Wynn would send a free limo for us – no problem.
After about a minute or two wait, we spotted our driver and off we were whisked into the Vegas night. Because he obviously wasn’t on the meter, he took the shortest route possible to the Wynn – that road that begins with an “S” . . . .can’t remember at the moment.
Finally we made it to the Wynn. Stepping foot out of the limo, standing up under the portico, I was ready to explode. It took every fiber of my being to not start a full sprint and bust right into the casino. Instead, Whale Jo and I sauntered through the front entry and made our way to check-in.
It was close to 9 p.m., so not much of a line at Registration. We double checked to make sure that the rooms were comped and that RFB was in full effect. The Wynn was also kind enough to give us adjoining rooms. Initially we were on the 8th floor, but a nice smile and a $20 tip later, we were put on the 33rd floor, strip view.
With a little more giddy-up in our step, we both cruised up to the rooms, quickly unpacked, counted out necessary funds, drained a couple of beers, and headed back down to start the madness. It was gambling time.
First order of business was to take care of the $300 bet. Whale Jo and I had decided to pool money together and make a go at two $5 VP machines, max credits.
I proudly peeled three bills out of my cash roll and stuck them in the machine. Ahhhh. this was going to be very good. We pressed the max bet buttons on our respective machines at the same time and waited for a huge hand.
Blank.
Oh heck, who ever wins on a first push of the button, right? So we both pressed a few more times.
Nothing happened.
We had agreed beforehand that if we both got down to $100 that we’d cash out and find something else. I looked over at Whale Jo’s screen - $100 . . . mine was there too. Damn.
We got up and moved over to a Wheel of Fortune machine. Nothing happened there either. Ruh-roh.
Not deterred at this initial loss, we looked around for a second, then laid eyes on our old friend the Jackpot Party machine. As you might have read in previous trip reports, this machine had been very good to me in the past.
If you’ve ever been in the Wynn, you might recognize where this particular bank of machines is located. In a line from left to right: Jackpot Party; Jackpot Party; Ring Quest, and Keeping Up with the Joneses. If you are staring at the back of the casino, these four machines are located just before the baccarat pit, right hand side. If you are going to be in the Wynn casino in the next few eeeks, I’m sure it’s going to take them that long to clean the fingerprints and drool I left on their machine. Look for it.
We sidled up to the old machine friends and put in a couple bills. As we’d do with most of the machine play on this trip, we agreed to consider the money put in “pooled” and would split any winnings. Of course we had our usual arrangement in place as well – if we weren’t playing pooled money, the other person got a 20% cut of any machine jackpot over $1,000 and a 10% cut of any table game jackpot over $1000.
Drink in hand, I sat back and stroked the Jackpot Party game, pressed the 9 lines, 1 bet, buttons and waited.
And waited.
At $9 per spin, it didn’t take long to go through the first bill . ..
As I was getting ready to put more in, I heard the familiar horn sound . . . three times. Whale Jo landed a Jackpot Party . . . .
If I remember correctly, he had me pick. I got ready to choose one of the presents, dreams of W-2s in my hand.
Pooper.
I picked a pooper.
I just about pooped my pants.
A $25 win? That was it? I wanted to punch something. This was not the way things were supposed to happen.
No big deal. There were plenty of more bills to stick in these machines.
But alas, there were no magic jackpot parties. No super pays . . . as you can see from one of the pictures I posted earlier – the net result of my $300 bet was $1.00. The net loss at the Jackpot party machines was getting close to $1,000.
I took a deep breath. OK, this was to be expected. The ebb and flow of gambling luck was definitely on the downside, but I couldn’t give up now – I’d only been here for two hours! There were plenty of other games of chance that I could press my luck. Whale Jo melted off into the distance to try his luck at some table games.
I bounced around from some Alien machine, to Wheel of Fortune and then found myself back at the $5 VP machines. After a significant number of cocktails, I just knew that I could overcome the earlier money burn.
Hopelessly, I burned through a couple more bills, never getting above my initial buy-in. So I moved on.
Somehow I never really traveled far outside a 20 yard radius. Instead of cooling off and maybe going and enjoying the flora and fauna of the casino’s other areas, I stumbled around like a slot zombie, needlessly banging my head on the same stupid machines.
Oooooh, look, there’s Ring Quest again! I didn’t just drop $300 in there two minutes ago! Yay!
So I sat and pumped another $300 in Ring Quest. And what do you know! It started to warm up. I hit the best ring bonus available – the one that lets you play the dungeon bonus. Heck ya! My goal was to try and guide my little dungeon explorer past untold dangers and collect as much money as I possibly could.
Two steps and my little explorer fell down an endless hole. What a metaphor I thought. But, then I looked at my credits . . . I was up! I had made money on a machine!!! Logic at that point told me to press it and continue . . . my luck had changed!!!
Ten minutes later I was staring at $1.25 in credits . . . . sigh.
It was time to move away from the machines. I found Whale Jo and he had experienced a similar, if not more costly, fate at the tables. We had both burned through a great deal of cash with no reward. Our dreams of riches and grand luck were being dashed by this foul casino . . . at least that is what we were thinking at the time.
We made the smart decision to call it a night and not throw any further money to the gambling gods . . . we still had all day tomorrow to try and win.
So, with a little hunger in our bellies, and it being only 2 a.m., we headed for a nice depressing food session at the Wynn’s Terrace Point Café.
Basically this is an upscale Denny’s that remains open 24 hours for occasions just like the one Whale Jo and I had experienced.
The menu is simple enough – some basic breakfast fare, a few sandwiches, and dinner entrees. I ordered up a beer – as if I needed one – and I believe Whale Jo did the same. I settled on some French onion soup, three eggs, hash browns bacon and toast. I think Whale Jo had the shrimp cocktail. For some reason I started to hear the voice of King Leonidas from ‘300’: “Jaco! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty . . . For tonight, we dine in hell!”
*Cue intense battle scene music*
Looking back on this particular feast, I am surprised I did not boot right on the table. All I really recall is getting the food, mashing it all together, covering it with ketchup and pepper, and then inhaling in about three bites. Then washing it all down with a tepid Miller Light. Whale Jo muttered something about the shrimps being a bit rubbery.
Thankfully I had left the rest of my money in my room – so as we walked back to through the casino I didn’t do anything else stupid.
Frankly – the best part of the day was getting to my room, opening my safe, and seeing a platoon of Benjamins waiting to be let loose.
This time, I heard something different from King Leonidas in my head: “No retreat, no surrender” So what if about ¾ of my bankroll had been blown through! I still had bullets baby! And I wasn’t about to wallow around the next day all scared and tight. No, this dog wanted to hunt.
I did a double salchow into my bed, cracked open a box of nuts, and proceeded to watch 1.4 minutes of Indiana Jones before fading to black.
O.K., this was really weird. My REM stage sleep was failing to engage. I would start falling into the syrupy goo of dreamland, fully aware that I was doing so, but then going completely conscious just as the cool stuff started to happen. I imagine it’s a lot like how an apple feels when it’s getting dipped in caramel. All warm and good and sweet and then BAM . . yanked out, cooled off, and invariably consumed at an alarming rate.
The other strange phenomena I noticed – it was not getting light out. I was sure it had to be morning – but the room was engulfed in darkness. Had I entered a time warp? What the hell was in those nuts?
I finally decided to look at the clock to settle the inner debate once and for all. I was shocked to see it read 9:30 a.m. Seriously? Was there an eclipse outside? I went over to the remote curtain controls and pressed open.
Aaaieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!
The sunlight came streaming in and reduced my line of sight to zero. WTF? Oh, nice, I had forgotten about the sun blocking curtains. Duh.
After splashing my eyes and face with cold water, I began the slow process of preparing for the day. First order of business was to double check what I feared – that I’d already plowed a large part of my bankroll. I carefully laid out all the bills on the table and began to count.
Shoot – I had not had a good night.
My plan had been to get up and run down stairs to make some NFL parlay picks – but seeing the devastation I had employed on my bankroll made me change my mind. I’d forgo any sports betting this trip and save up for some major damage on the tables and machines – just as long as it wasn’t at the Wynn. I just wasn’t feeling the mojo.
As I sat there peering down on the busy Vegas landscape, I thought to myself that there were only two sure ways of making money while gambling in Vegas. You either need to bet big and get lucky or if you are playing small ball, you need to get extremely lucky.
I didn’t have enough coin to engage in a large scale attack. Thus, I committed my mind to finding the gambling zone in hopes of catching lightning in a bottle. I would grind it out and hope that I could weather this patch of bad luck and get my gambling psyche headed in the right direction.
As I gathered my bills, I heard a knocking on the door to Whale Jo’s room. It was room service time.
I was not particularly hungry . . . I guess the gut bomb mash from the night before was still providing fuel for my body. All I really wanted was something to drink – coffee, maybe a smoothie. After looking over the menu – I decided that I could probably manage a grapefruit, some bacon and blinis – New Orleans style.
After getting in the order, I quickly spruced up. I wanted to hit the ground running after breakfast – time was short.
The food arrived and it did not disappoint. I could have made a necklace out of the bacon and nibbled on it all day and been satisfied. The grapefruit was perfection and the coffee absolutely delicious.
Then I tasted the smoothie . . . a tropical smoothie with a couple added boosts of something – vitamins, hangover medicine . . . I dunno, whatever it was, it was Viagra for my taste buds. My morning had just been made.
But then it got even better. I bit into one of the blinis. To be honest – I really can’t remember what they were called – basically they were just pieces of dough, friend to crispy perfection, then smothered and covered in sugar. To top off the experience, a little dipping container full of warm chocolate sauce. Every single bite I took transported me back to being a child – when I fantasized about being able to visit Candyland and actually eat some of those confectionary creations. Truth be told, had I been alone, I likely would have done very bad things to these little blinis . . . very bad things.
With breakfast out of the way (and what would turn out to be the last thing I would eat for the next nine hours), it was time for a comeback. Seriously, you know how sometimes you just wake up in the morning and you know, you absolutely deep down in your heart of hearts, know that it is going to be a good day? Yah, I had that feeling. Better yet, I could feel the same vibe coming from Whale Jo.
Based on the previous night’s debacle, we decided to forgo any gaming at the Wynn – at least for the morning and afternoon sessions. Instead, we opted to head to the LV Hilton.
It was an extremely sunny October day, so Whale Jo and I thought it would be good to get some air and walk to the LV Hilton from Wynn . . . how far could it be anyway?
As we rounded the corner out of the front entryway, we both discovered the saddening truth – it was waaaaaay too long. However, this didn’t seem to stop our legs from walking forward. Thankfully, there was some construction going on and the sidewalk was completely blocked off – just pass the bus stop if you are familiar with the area. Conveniently there was some sort of city worker sitting on the barricade who told us that we needed to circle back and cross the street before proceeding any further. That was enough for me . . . extraneous walking and wasted time in Vegas isn’t something I’m too interested in.
Right at that point a Duece bus pulled up. And for a fleeting second dear readers I almost got on. That is until I looked through the tinted windows and discovered that the bus was packed tighter than sardines. If my personal space bubble wasn’t so large, I probably would have risked it. But, we decided instead to haul ourselves back to the Wynn and grab a cab.
That’s when I had my first “sign” that this would be a good day. Of all the cabbies in Vegas, I wonder what the odds are that you would end up with the same driver? To be honest, if you lined up all the cab drivers I have met in my trips to Vegas, I probably couldn’t pick out but one or two. One technically wasn’t a cab driver – he was the driver of an SUV that took the crew downtown one trip. The other – well, the other was this gregarious woman with a saltine cracker voice that I had ridden with back in 2006. The minute Whale Jo and I stepped in her cab and she started talking, I knew it was her.
This woman loves her job – and better yet, she seems to love to try and make her riders laugh. I mean, how funny is it when a cab driver asks you if you like to gamble and if you say “yes”, she responds by saying, “OK, what do you want to be that you make it to the Hilton alive on this trip?” Followed of course by a Camel Light laugh.
She definitely put us in the right mood for gaming. Once at the Hilton we decided that our strategy would be to take it easy and let the luck come to us. First stop – the machines.
I will fully admit that I’m a sucker for anything bright, shiny and loud. That explains why the Ebay machine caught my eye. Oh yah baby, let’s play.
All I have to say about this machine is WTF? Where’s the freakin’ bonus round? Reminiscent of the night before, I started feeling the mojo slipping away as I pumped a couple bills into this machine. But then I hit something – cant’ remember what – only that it was enough to take me back to even – or maybe just a little above.
OK, it was time to move on. Whale Jo and I wandered aimlessly, waiting to be called to a machine. We ended up in the part of the casino formerly associated with Star Trek. This actually ended up being quite boring and a non-event. There was no magic to be had in this part of the casino.
As we were walking back toward the main entrance, an emerald shimmer caught my eye. Well, well, well . . . an open Wizard of Oz penny machine. Hello beautiful. Whale Jo and I sat down. As the gaming ensued, I was absolutely enthralled with the vibrating chair and stereo sound that enveloped me in a warm gaming envelope. Mindlessly I watched the video reels spin . . . having no clue as to why I would win on some, and lose on others.
I treaded water for a while, even got a few of the bonus rounds . . . but nothing big. Nothing big, that is, until that magic little fairy inside the machine decided she had a crush on me. I blush thinking back on it.
As one of the pictures on the blog (look below) should show, I hit a nice little bonus when she turned three of the spinning columns into WILDS. When that happened, I clapped with glee and sat back and enjoyed the show . .. . Yum. I felt like cashing out, but my credits weren’t at an even number so I figured I’ play a few more spins.
The seas parted. That little fairy came out, winked at me, waved her wand and gave me FOUR WILDS. My heart stopped. I couldn’t lose! Next thing I know, the little credit meter is over 100,000 credits!!!! Poor Whale Jo leaned over . . . we hadn’t agreed to pool this particular session. “Dude, I have major slot envy” He had .50 left in his machine.
There was an uneven amount of credits, so I hit one more spin and got another bonus. I laughed, cashed out and enjoyed pocketing over a grand from a penny machine. I believe I even gave Whale Jo a $100 tip . . . I hope it wasn’t a $10.
So, with a little bit of luck on my side and some additional ammo in my pocket, it was time to try some of the table games offered up by the Hilton. We stopped at a Let It Ride table. We both bought in and I decided to play with green chips. I noticed Whale Jo was alternating between green and black. The first few hands did nothing. But just as I was getting set to leave, I had one of those “feelings.” I even told Whale Jo.
“Did you feel that? There was a shift. Somethin’ good is coming.”
Boom. I turned over my three cards . . . straight flush. Booooya!
A few hands later . . . three tens. Booooya!!!
Then I even started calling cards . . . .
And then it ended. I could tell the hot streak was over. Confidently I pushed my stacks of chips in and colored up.
The smile on my face could not have been bigger – I was on my way back!
As Whale Jo and I left the Hilton we didn’t hesitate at where to go next – Circus Circus.
It just felt right going to a place that was my first Vegas experience. I think I must have been 11 or 12 years old at the time. No doubt that is what planted the seed to my modern day fixation on Las Vegas. As the cab driver dropped us off, I had this funny feeling that we were heading into the belly of the beast of Vegas.
As we walked through the doors, my feelings were fully realized – lots of kids, lots of strollers, lots of dirty slot machines, and (but of course) a crazy outdated, but oddly fascinating circus theme run amok.
Wow.
We carefully walked through the machines to try and find somewhere that might provide a bit of luck. It was then that I noticed Whale Jo moving as if he had been caught by some crazy tractor beam.
When I saw where he was headed, my jaw dropped.
A rotating section of cramped slot machines . . . . the capitol city of Grinderville.
I felt myself being sucked in as well.
I can’t even remember the game we ended up playing . . . something that seemed to keep me floating even . . . never getting up . . . but never crapping out so that I could leave. With each push of a button, it seemed to me that the sounds from the machines would get louder.
It was one heck of an auditory and visual overload. As the world that I was stuck on would spin, I would get fixated on my machine, only to get distracted by my reflection in a mirror to my right, then back to the machine, then distracted by what I thought was my reflection only to realize the floor was moving and I was now looking at a woman, then back to the machine, then looking back to make sure I hadn’t turned into a woman only to see a white wall and feeling like I was in jail.
Breath.
Back to the machine, then I hear an announcer saying something about some wonderful performer and the lights go on above me. I concentrate on the machine, but then hear applause and look up and what do you know, there’s a freakin’ trapeze artist being flung high above the casino. It’s at this point that I notice my finger is on overload and just pounding on the machine with a mind of its own. I look around, no doubt with a glazed face and dopey grin, and notice everyone else looks like that too.
Then I realize I’m looking in the mirror.
That scares me.
Then I look down and see that the tray of my machine, a tray that probably at one time made someone happy by paying out dirty quarters, had been used as an ashtray depository. Sure, that made sense. Why not just dump random full ashtrays into a slot machine tray? What else are you going to use it for.
Then I notice the sound of what I thought was gunfire. Nobody seemed to care. My finger pressed even faster. I looked up and finally figured out the popping sound came from balloons. Phew.
I look over at Whale Jo and he’s twitching. Not good. He looks over at me and says, “I’ve got to get out of here.”
But the circle of slots has turned into a haunted house. There is no visible exit. After enduring at least 100 full rotations, all sense of geographical normalcy had vanished. I panicked and sat back down, hoping I would somehow be magically transported away.
Whale Jo? He took matters into his own hands and somehow managed to climb an 8 foot wall into what I suppose is the Circus Circus high limit slot area. As I spun away, I could hear him laughing gleefully.
I had to get off. I looked at my machine. It knew I had to leave too. In a matter of seconds, instead of just treading water, I was full on flushed out of the machine. Suddenly, to the left of me appeared an easy exit. I stepped off.
And as much as the place had felt like the devil’s lair when I was on it, I looked at the spinning slot area and saw normalcy. It just looked, well, like spinning slots. I felt myself going back in.
NO!
I am so happy for having voices in my head sometimes. Luckily this one was smart and led me away to find Whale Jo.
We dinked around on a few slots and didn’t win anything. Then we decided to play some cards. We found a nice BJ table . . .I think it was $5. We asked to have the limits raised . . . they wouldn’t do it. Hmmmm. They asked if I wanted a players card. I couldn’t do it.
So for the next ½ hour or so, I kept myself entertained while making a few bucks at the table. Whale Jo was not as lucky. He sunk a lot of dough into the table, wandered off, then sunk more dough into another table . . . by the time he returned, I knew we had to move on. This wasn’t his time or place and we needed to find it quickly.
We scurried out of the casino and to our immediate right, we thought we saw our answer: Slots of Fun.
If Circus Circus is the belly of the beast my friends, Slots of Fun is surely the digestive waste that comes out of that belly. I say this because that is exactly what it smelled like from the moment I walked in.
Not a good sign.
Whale Jo had to make a phone call, so I took $100 and stuck it in a $1 WOF machine. I got it down to about $50 and noticed something . . . . no tickets. Then I looked around . . .well, more listened around. Coins. These machines paid out in coins. I peeked around the corner and saw many different walks of life scooping coins out of the machine trays.
Oh great.
Finally Whale Jo showed up and I decided to cash out at $40. Two coins came out. Then some message flashed about having to call an attendant. Oh god no.
I pressed the service button and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Until Whale Jo got so impatient that he wandered off screaming “Attendant! Slot Attendant!”
He came back – no luck.
Finally after about 25 minutes of this arduous, torturous wait, some dude showed up, opened the machine up, pressed a few buttons and 38 more coins fell out.
I felt violated. I felt dirty. All the good feelings I had stored up from earlier in the day were now soiled.
Time to go.
We still had some time before dinner at Okada that night, so the choice came down to where to gamble some more. Looking across the street, the answer became obvious.
The Riv.
Why not? So what if I had experienced a melt down there? This was a new day and I was ready to try and dispel the demons.
The only question was . . . were the demons ready to leave me.
Well, not to give the ending away or anything – but by not losing anything at the Riv, I feel I did release the demons.
To be honest, playing at the Riv was a nice cool down after the madness of Circus Circus and the depression of Slots of Fun. The pit boss noticed our action and got a casino host to come talk to us. We mentioned we were RFB over at the Wynn, but always keeping an eye out for something new. Both of these gentlemen were extremely kind and honest about what they had to offer. Perhaps someday we’ll take them up on it. It’d be kind of cool to stay in the Sinatra Suite . . . .
And then it was time to get back to the Wynn. The day had been successful for me, not so much for Whale Jo. But we had Okada to look forward to and a night of gaming at the Wynn.
As we sped off in a cab (with one VERY perverted driver), I just knew better things were yet to come.
Oh the things one forgets about as one writes.
Forgive me while I step back to the previous paragraphs above for a moment . . . I mentioned seeing signs. In my haste to get this Trip Report written, I failed to mention the most important sign I spied all day. It was at the Riv . . . it was while playing $25 Let It Ride . . . . much like the LV Hilton, I started to have a feeling that good cards were coming. At that moment I looked up at the TV and spied an Applebees commercial. Not any commercial mind you, but a commercial that the week prior I had spent about five minutes obsessing about because I thought I recognized one of those faces that flash at you during the montage of clips that are supposed to be home video taken at Applebees. You know what I’m talking about – those pics of people stuffing good ole fashioned Applebees food into their pie holes? Yum. Well, there’s this one 1.34 second clip of a gal who I think is making a heart sign with her hands. I swear I’ve seen her before . . . . anyway, that’s what I saw at the moment I looked up. Boom. A sign. Sure enough, went on another little mini-run at Let It Ride. Yessss.
So, back to the trip report.
Getting back to the Wynn, after having spent a significant part of the day at the LV Hilton, Circus Circus, Slots of Fun and the Riv was a little bit like bathing in real water instead of run off from the local landfill. Sort of. I don’t mean to disparage, I had fun (except for Slots of Fun) at all the other properties, but there’s something about the Wynn that just has me hooked.
The combination of real plants, clean air, and empty walkways beckoned like an old friend. Come, Jaco, come play with me . . . I’ll let you be the speeding sports car instead of the deer in the road . . . y’all remember that game don’t ya?
So Whale Jo and I decided we’d do a quick clean up and money count before coming back down and hitting the machines for a little pre-dinner fun.
Bad idea – the machines were still cold. It was a little depressing doing a mini-money flush before dinner. Oh well, there was a long night of gaming still ahead.
Then it was time.
If you have ever read any of my prior trip reports, you know I freakin’ love Okada. I mean LOVE it. To say I was excited about eating here would be a little bit like saying Rosie O’Donnel is merely happy to see a Krispy Kreme. Plus, neither Whale Jo or I had eaten since breakfast . . . unless of course you count the beers, rum drinks and 7n7s.
Our table was ready the moment we walked in and, more than any other time that I’ve been here, I noticed the zen quality of the restaurant. I swear if you were to suddenly find yourself sitting in this restaurant, you would have no idea that you were in Vegas.
First order of business was to get some drinks and appetizers coming. We both ordered this Japanese beer that is uber-refreshing. I think I downed the first one in two giant gulps. If I remember correctly it was called Kaitakushi . . . . .it we pure beer nirvana.
First appetizer to arrive was the Kobe beef carpaccio. The meat was pure, the accompaniments subtle, and the taste divine. If eating at Okada was like driving a Ferrari, this first course would be akin to first sitting in the car. You know you are in something frickin’ sweet, but won’t know until you kick it into drive.
Next appetizer – the battered rock shrimp. The first bite into one of these gems took my breath away. Oh you have got to be kidding me, I thought. I discreetly wondered whether or not Okada had employed mystical beings to prepare the food. Wouldn’t have surprised me at all to go back in the kitchen and find it filled with unicorns, gnomes, and flying monkeys. I would have been satisfied ordering about ten plates of the shrimp – but at Okada there’s no need to engage in exclusionary food tactics.
As soon as the last shrimp was engulfed, a plate of steamed lobster tail with uni and other assorted goodies made it’s entrance onto our table. With every bite of this dish I seriously imagined myself as some erstwhile sea pirate being served exotic maritime culinary delights by local maidens. Argggghhhh!
After polishing these dishes off in record time, plus washing them back with a few more succulent beers, it was time to move on. Rather than dive headfirst into sushi heaven, we actually mixed it up a bit and tried something new – food from the Okada’s robata grill.
Heck – after the first three courses I was still consumed with hunger. We ordered pork short ribs, oysters, and some sort of fish – snapper I think.
The food arrived very quickly and I was humbled by the sheer simplicity of the food. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply caused a major olfactory orgasm . . . well, I guess not really, since I suppose the end result of such a thing would be an enormous amount of snot erupting from one’s nostrils. Um, let’s just say it smelt good?
The short ribs were undeniably tender and perfectly cooked. All fat and all connective tissue shyly melted away in my mouth with each bite. This dish is definitely a tongue tease.
Eating the fish reminded me of travels that have taken me to small fishing villages in Central and South America. A star lit night, bouncing through a gravely jungle road . . . hoping that local militia doesn’t take you out because you’ve inadvertently taken a wrong turn and are driving through a massive pot field . . . and then thankfully driving into a coastal town where the fresh catch of the day has just been roasted over a driftwood fire . . . food has this wonderful ability, if it’s really good, to induce some incredible memory recall episodes.
And then the oysters.
Ooops. One of the two missteps made during this meal.
Normally I’m a big fan of oysters – raw, grilled, fried, whatever. However, I am not a fan of BIG oysters. I swear that the oysters that were put out in front of us had to have come from waters just outside a secret military facility where all the bad chemical waste is dumped directly into the ecosystem. These were big mofos.
I put my trust into the kitchen and decided to just grin and eat ‘em. You know those porno movies where the main actress is involved in a “gag” scene? I don’t want to get too explicit here, but that’s what I imagine my face looked like as I tried to down this giant bivalve mollusk.
As I forcefully engaged my throat muscles to push the oyster down into my gut, I wasn’t at all surprised to hear the gooey mass cry out, “Rage, rage against the dying of the light!”
A dead oyster quoting Dylan Thomas? It was either that or succumbing to a major gastro-quake and spewing bile-lava onto the table.
Actually, once the oyster was in my stomach, the aftertaste wasn’t all that unpleasant – a little like peanut butter.
So finally it was on to the main event – sushi. I will come clean and say that by this point I was starting to feel a tiny bit full. Thankfully I recognized this and did not order my usual 20 piece barrage of raw fish.
I opted for a few pieces of tuna, salmon, yellow tail and albacore sushi. Whale Jo stuck with tuna and eel.
The salmon, yellow tail and the albacore were all perfect. The tuna, however, was a bit off.
Actually, it was a lot off. I’m pretty sure that it’s not OK for your tongue to go numb after eating a piece of raw fish. Nor do I suppose it’s OK for there to be a gas like smell to the fish.
Oh well, nobody is perfect. I was happy to accept this minor setback in exchange for the other amazing food.
The very last thing I ordered was uni and a bottle of hot sake. This ended up being the perfect ending to this incredible meal. The uni was just the right temperature, fresh tasting and perfect in texture. The hot sake we had was good – even though the first sip tasted like I was drinking paint thinner.
Before getting the bill and heading back to the gaming trenches, Whale Jo and I decided to stretch our legs and explore the rest of Okada. If you ever get the chance, take the walk out to the private dining area that is right next to the waterfall. I definitely think next time I eat at Okada I’ll try and get this table. Not only because it’s a cool setting, but because I want to know what lies in the jungle that Steve Wynn has built around Okada. It seemed that it would be very very easy to just slip into the bamboo and get lost. I bet there are people living in there . . . a la John Rambo.
Dinner was just a titch over $400 for the two of us . . . a little on the pricey side, but since it was on the Wynn, it was kind of easy to just go for it.
Next stop – the Mirage.
We made a game time decision to switch up locations and try our luck elsewhere. The Mirage had been decent to me this year – not so much to Whale Jo. We just needed a place to go for a bit to get some space from the Wynn.
After eating such an amazing meal, I had this odd overconfidence that comes with too much good food and drink. I just knew that the previous night’s money flush would not, could not, be repeated.
The Mirage started off as another money dump. First, we tried a little Tailgate Party slot action – I’d been lucky enough to get a hand pay on this in March. No luck. Then we moved onto some blackjack. Again, no luck.
Then, with despair knocking on the door, we sat down at a 4 Card Crazy Poker game. The first few hands sucked, but then I started treading water. I took this as a good sign. Then, we got a call from some friends that were also in town and they ended up meeting us at the table. This changed my luck for the better. I hit enough hands to stage a minor comeback and have enough bullets for the last session of the night.
The Wynn.
The cab ride was somewhat silent on the way back. Whale Jo had not found any luck at the Mirage and now found himself near the bottom of his bankroll.
We arrived back at the Wynn, reloaded from whatever was left in our respective safes and hit the floor.
Whale Jo went right for the craps table. I decided to buy-in as well, I think for $500. It only took four rolls from the two of us to reduce my stake to $100. This did not leave a whole lot in my wallet for other gaming. Whale Jo continued to roll for a little longer, but he just got steamrolled.
We walked away from the craps table, anxious to find anything that would work. We spied an empty BJ table . . $200 per hand.
Why not. I wasn’t going to make back any money grinding it out on a penny machine, or playing through multiple decks of BJ at anything less than at least $100/hand . . . we sat.
I bought in for $400 and made that last for at least five minutes. Then I dug in my wallet once more and put out my final bills. If I lost this, I’d fold up and live to fight another day.
And that’s when it happened.
The elusive magic shoe.
I couldn’t lose. There were a few times I was down to my last $200 or $400, but I never got washed out. Instead, I cashed out (a nice little hive of bumblebees) and knew that I was now actually up for this trip. When I did the math up in my room later, I turned out to be $270 up – but considering where I had been, I was ecstatic.
Whale Jo, initially, did not do quite as well as I did. In fact, he blew through his money and was reduced to asking if he could borrow $200. This was about a minute or so before I cashed out, so I pushed over two black chips.
Now, what unfolds from here, you can choose to believe me or not. Frankly, had I not been an eyewitness to it, I would call B.S. But it’s all true. Whale Jo went on one of the most amazing runs I have ever seen.
That $200 sum turned into five figures in the space of several hours. The picture at the start of this post shows some of the loot made from that $200 start. Every table Whale Jo visited was like an ATM. By the time he started making his run, I had decided to quit gambling and just run around with him as his black jack advisor. I’d watch his play, watch the cards and let him know if he needed to pull back or push it. Was I counting cards? No. It was pure dumb luck.
My favorite table that he hit was one with a dealer named “Spring.” She had this beautiful sing-song voice and seemed truly interested in having Whale Jo win. Her shtick was to try and call face cards out the deck by whispering “Picture” every time she dealt. Though the skeptics out there won’t believe it, I truly think she had some sort of connection to a metaphysical realm beyond our comprehension. If you’ve ever seen Big Trouble, Little China, that’s kind of what it felt like watching her deal.
And so, the night ended. I was happy. Whale Jo, well, he was happy. Though I think he would have liked a few more hours to try and get even more of the Wynn’s money.
We did stupidly try and press our luck on the slots and were sad to find out that our BJ mojo did not carry over. With that, I retired to my room, opened up a box of cashews, and tried to watch that Mummy movie.
I think my brain shut off during some scene where Yetis were making the touchdown signal with their arms after kicking some Chinese soldier through two upright pillars.
Touchdown indeed.
Morning came quickly. Mostly because I was stuck in this dream where I was on an airplane, it was taking off, then kept flipping over . . .
Wasn’t I supposed to fly this a.m.?
Thankfully our flight out of Vegas did not leave until 3:30 p.m. So there was no need to get up early and check out. Our plan was to get some room service, make sure we could check out late, do a little light gaming, then head home.
I heard Whale Jo in the next room talking to the front desk – it didn’t sound like it was going that well.
He knocked on my door.
“Dude, no problem – we can check out whatever.”
Turns out that the front desk was trying to tell him that we couldn’t check out late, that some new policy was in place. This prompted Whale Jo to ask to be transferred to Casino Services so he could talk to a host.
The host apparently told Whale Jo, “Change the rules. Just stay. Don’t check out. They can’t do anything.”
So that’s what we did. Though, to be honest, we only ended up staying 15 minutes past when we were supposed to check out.
We repeated the breakfast fare from the morning before. Oh those scrumptious fried pieces of dough . . . how I loved thee.
Then it was “We’ve Got Two Hours Before We Need To Be At The Airport So Let’s Gamble” time.
In hindsight, that was a mistake.
We dumped way too much money into the stupid Jackpot party machines trying to get a payoff. Then, as if that wasn’t stupid enough, I sat down at a Let It Ride table and flushed more money trying to chase the money I had lost at the machines.
It was a little depressing knowing that I hadn’t had the discipline to walk away when up. Oh well, I still wasn’t anywhere near down to where I had been.
Once the magic hour came, we checked with casino services to see if they’d have a car take us to the airport. They said no problem. I figured we’d get the same nice limo that had picked us up. But as I saw the bellman walking to our car, my jaw dropped.
A Rolls Royce Phantom.
Any hurt I had been feeling washed away when I slid into the supple leather seats. Now this was traveling in style. The ride in this car was super smooth. The amenities in the car were incredible. If this is the Wynn’s way of making sure you’ll come back to Vegas, job well done.
The long road home is always filled with mixed blessings. On the one hand you are leaving Vegas, on the other, you are, well, leaving Vegas. Whale Jo and I sat in terminal, biding our time playing a few airport slots. I managed to turn $10 into $40 . . . yay.
Then, it was time to board. The dream I had earlier in the morning flashed through my head. Nah, it was nothing. Just anxiety, coupled with late night cashew indigestion.
We sat back in our first class seats. I ordered a bloody mary for after the flight was in the air and prepared to read some junk airport novel.
“Excuse me folks, this is your captain speaking, we’re gonna be delayed a few minutes, maybe ten minutes, here at the gate. We’re just checking on a few minor maintenance issues.”
What? Come on. Who’s playing tricks on me. Maintenance issues. I smiled weakly at the flight attendant as she passed through the cabin.
Ten minutes later I saw a maintenance man sprint onto the plane, rush into the cockpit and slam the door close. I turned to Whale Jo.
“That can’t be good.”
It was at that point that both of our minds started turning . . . kind of half kidding, we talked about heading back into town if this was anything major.
The maintenance guy bolted out of the cockpit and off the plane. I could hear the captain talking to the flight attendant. Something about a major problem . . . something about a major delay . . . something about getting the people off the plane.
“Hi folks, this is the captain again. Looks like we’ve got a little longer delay than expected. Maintenance has informed me that it’s going to be at least 45 minutes before we know anything regarding the maintenance issues.”
After that, all I could hear in my head was, “jackscrew, jackscrew, jackscrew.” I was mortified.
“Dude, there’s no way I’m flying in this plane. Let’s get on another flight.”
Then the discussion between Whale Jo and I escalated. What if we got on a flight first thing in the a.m.? What if we could get back into two comped rooms at the Wynn?
The moment the flight attendant came on and said everyone could get off with their stuff, we sprinted out of the plane and to the first available gate agent.
Bingo. There was a flight, with room in first class, leaving first thing in the a.m. No extra charge, we wouldn’t even have to check back in.
Next, Whale Jo called his host. No problem, two rooms ready for Whale Jo and Jaco.
We looked at each other and laughed.
We’d just hit the ultimate bonus round . . . one more night in Vegas.
As Whale Jo and I walked briskly back through McCarren, I felt conflicted. Questions poured through my head. Was I making the right decision here? Did I really have any other decision to make? Would I gamble? Should I just hole up in my room and watch movies?
All those questions swept away as we got down to baggage claim, went to the limo area, and hopped a ride back to the Wynn. It was late afternoon, the city was awash in a golden hue . . . .
“Vegas”
The word escaped from my mouth in a cautious whisper.
I noticed the limo driver trying to engage us in conversation as if we had just arrived in his city . . . I didn’t have the energy to tell him all that had occurred and merely nodded my head in silent acquiescence. I needed to pull in my reserves and prepare for one more Vegas night.
When we pulled back up to the Wynn, I fully expected all the staff to yell out, “Welcome back Jaco! Welcome back Whale Jo!” And then for some Disney song and dance routine to follow. Instead, and obviously, our re-entry into the Wynn was completely anonymous.
We walked over to the registration area and happily declared that we were checking back in for one more night. The desk gal stated that only one of our rooms was ready – the other was still being cleaned. I looked down at the room numbers she had written and laughed. They were the same rooms as we had checked out of. I told her that there was absolutely no reason to clean the rooms, since we were the last people to be in there. But she dutifully replied that it was resort policy.
Whale Jo then slipped her a $20 and asked if there was anything else available, maybe something on a higher floor? (Note – the $20 was given as a “tip” – Whale Jo said it was for all her troubles in dealing with us). Sure enough, two adjoining rooms were ready on the 51st floor. Exact same stack numbers too. While we were chatting it up with the gal, we asked her if she’d be so kind to make us reservations for dinner at the Country Club. Why not? We were hungry – and might as well enjoy a nice little meal courtesy of the Wynn.
We basically flew up to the rooms, cracked open some beers, and then cheered the Vegas strip and the setting sun. We were back.
As we headed back down to the casino for a little pre-dinner gaming, I couldn’t shake this feeling that I was somehow living a part of a real life bonus round. Almost like I had been sucked through a slot machine’s time space portal and landed on the jackpot. If nothing else, it’d give me something cool to write about.
In the elevator ride down, Whale Jo and I started discussing what games we might play and ventured upon a very salient point that, in our gambling hunger, we had not taken into consideration. It finally occurred to us that we were pressing too hard to pry lady luck out of machines that, in the past, had been good to us. We were dipping our proverbial buckets into the well one too many times.
Insert light bulb over my head.
We needed to find fresh meat, er, machines.
Entering the casino floor, it became quite clear that our focus had been on one particular section of the Wynn. If you are standing with your back to the elevator area, we had been playing machines exclusively on the far left hand side of the casino. With a new found purpose, we voyaged into the right hand side.
As you likely know by know, I like to play machines based on “feel.” That is, I wait until a particular machine tickles my fancy (which I usually feel in my left foot), and that is when I pounce.
It did not take long before Whale Jo and I found our slot prey. He sidled up to some sort of slot themed with Neptune, while I parked myself in front of some sort of magic unicorn game. In synchronized motion, we dutifully both put $100 in each machine and began the delicate dance of slot foreplay.
It took me about a minute or two to figure out that my machine liked it rough. No slow pressing, no caressing, just plain old pounding of the buttons – and fast. It seemed the faster I pressed, the more bonus rounds I hit. Pretty soon, I had worked up a good sweat and about $3.00 in profit.
Whale Jo, on the other hand, was with a machine that liked to be played a little dirty. Nothing NC-17 or anything like that, all it really wanted was to be spanked lightly and to have the occasional curse word floated in its ear. His skills were fine tuned and he worked this machine up to about $80 ahead. We decided it would be good gambling karma to stop right then and there and head to dinner “up.”
We got to the Country Club and it was obvious we didn’t need reservations – only one table was occupied. It was still fairly early by Vegas standards, so that made sense. We opted for a table outside, with a clear view of the 18th green.
After looking over the menu, both Whale Jo and I decided to take it easy. We wouldn’t over do it with the ordering. There was always Okada that we could go back to later in the night if any hunger pains manifested themselves.
Our order consisted of lobster bisque, two fillets, a side of fries, and a side of mushrooms. Oh, a couple of Stella Artois a piece, and a bottle of 2006 Stags Leap Petite Syrah to have with the steak.
Oh you can’t believe it, it was soooo good.
I think someone should call the Clark County Health Department and have an investigation initiated against the Wynn for the lobster bisque . . . I swear it was laced with Ativan. Upon the first delicious bite of the bisque, the jumbled messed up puzzle pieces of my mind peacefully melted away. Instead, my brain was filled with happy go funday kind of thoughts. Crickets playing banjos, bunnies on the bongos, and a little tiny moth strumming the one string bass . . . they were all right there, debuting in my ear.
Hmmm. Pretty sure there were no mushrooms in the bisque . . .
It’s fair to say that the lobster bisque at the Country Club is a first ballot entry into my Food Hall of Fame.
That left just the steak, sides, and wine to consume.
As much as I was disappointed with the food I had at SW Steakhouse, the opposite was true with the beef I received at the Country Club. I’d be curious to know whether or not they share the same beef supply.
The steak was flat out perfection. This was the steak that I could eat just with my mouth – go freakin’ tiger on it. Too bad there wasn’t like a hidden pocket of warm blood in the steak . . . that would have been cool to chomp down on it, and then have blood squirt out just like you see on Wild Kingdom.
The steak had just the right amount of spice on top and each bite literally melted in my mouth. Thank you steak gods, thank you.
The mushrooms were good – nothing out of this world – but definitely solid fungalicious work.
The wine? Amazing – I think it was the same wine I had back in April at Prime. That’s probably why it jumped off the menu. It more than made up for there being no blood in the steak.
And the best part?
The fries.
If you are heading to Vegas anytime soon, do me a favor, make the trip to the Country Club for the fries. Unreal.
As much as I like to describe food, I’m so humbled by these fries that I’m afraid I won’t do them proper justice. I will try though.
First, let’s start with the appearance. Eye candy. Pure and simple, these fries fit my definition of culinary eye candy. Any type of food that can make me want to make out with it gets the eye candy label. Golden, visible salt and spice, just a wee hint of glistening oil. Oh mamma.
Second, smell. In my experience, if food smells good, it generally tastes good. Here, the smell of the fries was significantly emotional. Whale Jo hit it when he said it reminded him of the smell at county fairs, or a place like Coney Island . . . the good smells. It conjured up images of being wrapped up in a blanket with that special someone, sharing a box of garlic cheese fries . . . furtive finger touching . . . watching, but not really watching the rodeo . . . these fries were made by deities heretofore unknown on this earth.
Finally, taste. From crunchy crusty salty exterior to the soft, gentle cloud-like fluffy goodness inside, each fry that was crushed beneath my teeth gave extraordinary pleasure. They were truly a mouth-tease.
Get the fries. Thank me later.
And with that, dinner was over. We had a nice conversation with the wine dude about Steve Wynn and whether he likes to eat at any of the restaurants. Turns out that the Country Club is one of his favorites to haunt while he is in town. So definitely look around next time you are there – chances are you might spy Steve.
And then it was time to battle. I was down from the early afternoon pre-airport session and yearned to get that money back. Whale Jo was itching to parlay his winnings into even more piles of cash. So, fresh out of the gate, we hit a Let it Ride table.
God that was dumb. I just started bleeding money. Luckily Whale Jo was doing OK – actually he was busy bouncing from Let it Ride to BJ, every so often dropping off a black chip or two to play with.
As I reach into my wallet for the fourth or fifth time after about two hours at this table I discovered that there was nothing left. Damn. That meant a trip to the room safe. As I left the floor, I caught up with Whale Jo and discovered he was on tilt. Apparently the bloodletting was carrying over to him too.
I grabbed more cash that I had thankfully left in the safe and prepared for another run. I made a quick call to Whale Jo on his cell to double check he hadn’t spontaneously combusted.
He hadn’t, but I could tell he was close. He was in the high limit room. Sounded like I needed to get there quickly.
When I got there, I saw him fumbling nervously with various stacks of black and purple chips. He had begun a tiny little run. Whale Jo introduced me to the dealer as his BJ advisor . . . and, much like the night before, I witnessed one incredible BJ run.
I believe it all started when we both looked at the dealer’s chip tray and spied a stack of chocolate chips. We asked if we could hold one or take a picture of one. No way said the pit boss. Whale Jo muttered that he’d just have to win it then.
I honestly don’t remember the chain of events after that – only that it was like we entered this zone where time and matter stood still. I can recall various snapshots of that period – Whale Jo changing between bets of $500 and $2,500 . . . me trying to call out cards . . . me trying to make sure Whale Jo didn’t flush it all away . . . both of us interacting with the dealer like she was some long lost friend . . . the cards just kept coming. At one point all three of us (Whale Jo, I and the dealer) were laughing hysterically because of how he was winning. It was supernatural. This “zone” ended during one particular shuffle when we looked at the dealer’s tray and noticed that Whale Jo had taken just about every purple chip in her tray. He had a virtual army of Barneys . . . I think we both knew what had to happen.
“Dude, color up and let’s get the ‘F’ out of here.”
The picture you see at the start of this entry is just a few of the chips he was paid. Chocolate chip, white flags, bumblebees, and barneys . . . Whale Jo had dun good.
Even more remarkable was what happened next and just goes to show the absolute incredible generosity of Whale Jo. After cashing out at the cage, Whale Jo handed me a significant stack of money.
“Here, you earned this.”
How the heck do you respond to something like that. I probably should have cried And you wonder why he’s got good gambling karma.
We still had about an hour left before our self-imposed curfew. Since we planned to leave the Wynn around 5:45 a.m., we figured that it’d be a pretty good idea to call it a night around 1 a.m.
So we decided to just do some “cool off” video poker. If you go to the Wynn anytime soon, look for the bank of machines right behind the craps tables and next to the Red Card desk.
We were still laughing about the incredible lucky streak when, boom, 4 Aces appeared on the screen of Whale Jo’s machine. $1,600. Hand pay. Bonus cash we figured.
That is until about 15 minutes later. Boom. 4 Aces. Another $1,600. Hand pay. Double Bonus unreal cash.
That set us both over the edge just a little. I suddenly found myself playing all four machines on the side of the bank I was sitting on. Whale Jo skipped over to some lucky 7 machines and was playing 3 at once. I watched him hit 3 7s on each machine.
And then it was 1 a.m. This trip was over.
As I walked into my room, I still found it hard to believe just how lucky things had gone. I was back above my original bankroll, Whale Jo was waaaay up . . . . and most everything else was “on the house.”
I must say that getting up at 5:45 a.m. hurt just a tad – but the hurt was greatly tempered by this incredibly epic trip I had just experienced.
And that, to me, is the whole key as to why I keep returning to Vegas. The experience – the action – the completely illogical feeling that I’m somehow in control of my own destiny, that I can catch luck in a bottle, that there is this world that exists beyond what our naked eye can see, that inanimate slot machines have the hots for me . . . I mean, what fun is it to look at Vegas in a linear, no nonsense, business-like way? That’s just not the cloth I’m cut from. Do I know that the odds are stacked against me? Yes. Am I aware that everything I play in Vegas is a negative sum game? Yes.
But all that doesn’t matter.
Call me stupid, irrational, whatever.
That’s your reality – mine’s different.
Because the simple fact is, I believe I’m different . . .
I believe I can, and will beat the house . . .
I believe I am lucky.
What’s stopping you from believing the same?
1 comment:
Great post, cant wait to hear more.
Post a Comment