The Vegas Blog

The Yellowstone Club

2012-01-05T13:22:00.000-08:00

Happy 2012!

Have you ever heard of this place - The Yellowstone Club? Basically a members only ski mountain/golf resort plopped right near Big Sky, Montana. If you've ever skied at Big Sky, you may have noticed some of the mega houses off in the woods while skiing down to the Southern Comfort lift. This is a ski hill where bazillionaires and A-listers come to frolic outside the public eye. It's what a place like the Mansion is to Vegas - except even more private.

In any event - I had the extreme fortune to ski here over the holidays. One of the members was kind enough to extend me an invitation here and there was no way I was going to miss out on this adventure.

I'm not sure what I expected going in - I had read somewhere that Bill Gates is a member - so I figured it'd be pretty nice. Now that I'm home and able to look back on the experience, it blew away my expectations.

The skiing terrain was above average - it still doesn't compare in size and variety to a Jackson Hole, Vail, or even Whistler. However, it doesn't need to. Why? Because there is virtually NOBODY on the hill or in lift lines. There's a two seater lift that takes you to the top of a peak where you can get off and either blaze down some double black diamond chutes or head down some black runs through pristine glades and you'll be the only one back there. Want long leg busting blue cruiser runs - plenty to be found. And for those that aren't good skiers? Lot's of nice easy green paths that wind all over the mountain.

I guess I shouldn't be that surprised - this is after all a mountain that only money could buy. How else do you explain the Sugar Shacks on the slopes? Sugar Shacks you ask? Little warm huts that are stocked with candy, cookies, libations, soft drinks, soup, cheese, crackers, etc., etc. . . huts that you just ski up to and head in and help yourself to whatever.

I have some pics that I'll post once I get them transferred over to this computer I'm typing on.

I guess while I was there there were a few celebs around - I did see Jessica Biel hitting the slopes - she's a very good skier. It's kind of hard to tell who's who when everyone is wrapped up in ski gear. But, truth be told, this isn't a place where someone goes to be "seen".

Price tag? I think the current cost to get in is $300,000, plus you have to purchase real estate which runs around $1.5 - $30 million. Drop in the bucket for guys like Gates . . .

More later . . . .

Blog Update - 12/1/11

2011-12-01T12:59:00.001-08:00

For those of you that check in now and then to see if there's anything new, or even for those of you that are new to this blog, I just thought I'd spill a few words out into cyberspace concerning the wholesale lack of activity on this Blog. There are a few reasons for my inactivity:

Reason 1: I haven't been back to Vegas since September 2010 (here's a LINK to the trip report from that epic voyage).

Several factors at work here. First, the last trip was so over the top, so big, so huge, that I think there's a general feeling among the crew that any subsequent Vegas trips will be sort of a let down. Time, I believe, will help make that feeling fade. Second, my main partner in crime, Whale Jo, has made a decision never to return to Vegas - EVER. That makes it harder to juice up the energy to plan a trip since he brings so much to the table on these trips (literally and figuratively). I'm definitely proud of his choice and how strong he's had to be to make it.

Reason 2: My writing energy has been focuses elsewhere.

Even though I kind of knew after the last Vegas trip that I probably wouldn't be going back any time soon, I still thought it'd be cool to write other posts on other travels or even random musings. That has not really happened. A large part of that is because for the last year+ I have been trying to make my way in the world as a writer. And maybe this factors into Reason 1 a little too. For 15 years I was a practicing attorney, toiling my way as a white collar zombie drone doing little in the way of anything creative. Looking back on it now I have no idea how I got from fresh faced disinterested law graduate to grumpy faced disinterested partner in a private firm. But it did and I guess one day I woke up and decided the life I was leading and path I was heading down weren't OK. So, thanks to a variety of factors that I'm extremely grateful for, I quit. I decided to turn back the clock to when I graduated college and my first choice of what I was going to be was "screenwriter." I had dabbled in it throughout the years, but never was able to give it a serious go. Now was the time. So, that's all a long winded way of saying, rather than write stuff on this blog, I've been writing elsewhere.

So what now? Why write all this down?

No reason other than I'm completely stuck in the mud on a script at the moment and am looking for any chance to write something other than that story. I have a journal that I hand write things in - but all I could do today was make angry stick figures. I figured getting on this blog and writing something down would force my hand. So if you've gotten this far in reading this post, what you've really been reading is an unedited stream of conscious type post from me.

And you know what? I think it's worked . . . I suddenly see a choice I wasn't making in the story that I should make . . . .

Will I come back? Will there be more posts?

Yes.

What about Vegas?

Just got an offer for 3 free nights and $300 credit . . . so I think it's highly probable.

Cheers.

Recent Travels

2011-07-02T20:11:00.000-07:00

No Vegas in the past several months unfortunately, but just spent a couple weeks traveling through British Columbia and Alberta. Might do a more detailed trip report, might not. In any event, here are some of the places I hit and some quick grades:

Harrison Hot Springs Resort, BC: B

This is a strange little hamlet tucked against a nice lake with some gorgeous mountains serving as backdrop. The place wants to be a five star resort - and frankly compared to the surrounding environs it is - but the rooms are in need of some renovation.

Fintry Provincial Park Campground, BC: B+

Set on the western side of Okanagon Lake, this campground during midweek in June is virtually empty. The campsites are quite large and some are private and some have zero privacy. The one complaint I have is that the ant population there seems to be abnormally large. I know you have to share the outdoors with "wildlife" . . . but do they need to be in my toothpaste? If you get a chance, hike the 4 gazillion steps to the top of the falls - awesome.

Nelson Lodge - Revelstoke, BC: B++

The town itself gets a solid "A" - I can't wait to try and get there sometime in the winter. One of the nights I spent here involved indulging in some local sushi and then knocking back cold Kokanees in some odd mini-bowling place. Mini-bowling? I felt like the Jolly Green Giant. The Nelson Lodge is right at the base of the mountain and, at this time of year, very very quiet. I had a two bedroom place and it was a very nice spot to come back to after a day of exploring the magnificent forests around Mt. Revelstoke (watch out for the black bears!).

Emerald Lake Lodge, BC: A-

Holy f_cking sh_t. This place is so unreal, so beautiful that I feel bad swearing. Google it and find a picture of this lake. Do it. Tell me that color isn't made by little wee angels high on mushrooms. I loved this place.

Num Ti Jah Lodge, Alberta (Icefields Parkway): A

Here's what I was told upon checking in: "There is no wi-fi, internet, phone service, or TV here at the lodge. You come here for a different type of mojo. Oh, and be careful walking around outside. It's bear season. Not little brown bears you might see in cartoons, I mean GRIZ." When I arrived it was SNOWING here . . . and stepping inside the lodge transported me back decades to when ole Jimmy Simpson himself was hand carving bear hides with his bare hands. Though pricey, totally worth it for me.

Sumwapta Falls Resort, Alberta (Icefields Parkway): C+

This is a glorified truck stop. A good place to rest your head, but nothing special. It'd be nice if they tightened the plumbing a bit so the toilet doesn't run all hours. But whatever. At least the staff was friendly. And the hike to Sumwapta Falls is beautiful. On a side note, the Icefields Parkway itself gets an A++++++. What a drive.

Fairmont Jasper Lodge - Outlook Cabin, Alberta: A+

Supposedly William and Kate will be staying here soon - it is the Royal's Retreat after all. The staff at the Fairmont tried to remain hush hush about the couple's plans - but when asked, several of the employees could not keep their grins from exploding when trying to deny who the "special visitors" were that were coming to stay. Of course, don't quote me on that - they could very well have just been saying that to add to the allure of staying in the Outlook Cabin.

This cabin was sick. In a good way. Six bedrooms . . . huge living room . . . large dining room . . . large screened in sitting room . . . the only complaint I have is the kitchen doesn't match the rest of the house - it's about as small as a broom closet. I guess the Fairmont wants you spending money on room service - oh well - that food was pretty good. Golf at this resort was some of the best I've experienced. I could do several pages on Jasper - maybe someday I will. But if you are at all thinking about going to this area - do it.

I will say, there are a few things that the hotel might want to fix before the Royal Couple arrives . . . nothing that really bothered me, but might be embarrassing to deal with if William and/or Kate called. First, if it rains up in Jasper, someone needs to unclog the drain on the entryway porch . . . it fills up like a pool. Second, clean the fireplace/chimney - not sure if it was the flue or what - but fires in that place tend to put more smoke in the Cabin than out.

However, I have no doubt if the Royal Couple decide to stay in Jasper at the Outlook Cabin that they will definitely enjoy it . . . the beds are quite large and coma-inducing comfortable, the scenery is breathtaking, and the staff at the Fairmont are unquestionably some of the nicest I've ever met in my travels.

If they like sushi, I hope they try Oka Sushi . . . chef Tatsuhiko Okaki is a master . . .

Delta Suites - Sun Peaks, BC: A

Stopped here on a whim and was very surprised at how cool this mountain town was. Felt like Whistler-Light - it had all the good components of Whistler (village, activities, weather), but none of the bad (CROWDS, expensive lodging). I'm definitely coming back in the winter.

So, there you have it. Some nuggets to chew on. Like I said above, maybe I'll expound, maybe I won't.

Cheers.

Paradise . . .

2011-03-28T21:16:00.000-07:00

Well, didn't make the cut to be Charlie Sheen's biatch intern . . . thank god . . . .so I'm now celebrating in Hawaii . . . why not, right? Will try and post pics at some point . . . . on Oahu right now, just back from a drive around the island (or as best you can, since there isn't any real road that circumnavigates this rock). Bright spot of the day . . . stopping at a Kahuku shrimp truck for a nice plate of garlic shrimp and spicy shrimp - then pulling over at a roadside fruit stand a few miles past for ice cold coconut water . . . .hot tip if you are ever in the area . . . SKIP Romy's truck . . . . and go to the next one on the highway (if you are heading towards the North Shore on the winward side) . . . Romy's had a 30+ min. wait . . . the other truck? Only waited 5 minutes . . . . AND there were no flies!

Well . . . . now thinking about heading out to the Kahala and finding some dinner . . . .

When are they going to put casinos in Hawaii?

#TigerBloodIntern - WINNING

2011-03-15T14:16:00.000-07:00

Can Jaco really be the next TigerBloodIntern for Charlie Sheen?

Well, like 1000s of other people, I was informed yesterday that I have made it to the second round in the Charlie Sheen intern search. Stay tuned for further developments.

Whistler/Blackcomb - British Columbia

2011-01-03T10:20:00.000-08:00

OK, it's not Vegas . . . but Vegas hasn't invented a resort yet that will allow me to ski. So I just got back from a week on the hill at Whistler (the place where the 2010 Olympics were held). The snow was incredible - got there just as a major storm was finishing dumping massive powder all over the place. Weather was on the chilly side - but it kept the slopes in good shape. The only minus for this trip were the crowds - way too many people. I was staying in a house on the Creekside portion of Whistler and there were several days where the wait in line for the Creekside Gondola was at least 45 minutes.

Highlights? When Whistler decided to open Symphony Chair I was on the 8th chair going up. Why does this matter? The chair hadn't been open in 4 or 5 days, meaning I was gaining first access to some of the above treeline bowls had extra virgin deep pow. If you've ever had the experience of making fresh tracks down the steeps of a powder bowl, nary a soul in sight, you'll get what I mean. I've tried coming up with a comparable experience in Vegas and there just isn't any. Also, riding in the Peak To Peak gondola was pertty cool. Check out the website if you don't know what I'm talking about.

I found it incredibly difficult to take pictures on the mountain - but did manage to find a few moments where I could whip out the ole iPhone and snap some photos:

The Magic Castle on Blackcomb - an odd little playground for kids.
I was told I was too big to go down the slides.

At the top of Peak Chair at Whistler. Incredible views.

Downloading on the Creekside Gondola. Either I was too drunk
to ski down or my legs really hurt - I can't remember.

View from Creekside Gondola looking at Taluswood where
I was staying.

Blog Directory

2010-12-05T14:55:00.000-08:00

The Elusive Chocolate Chip
(w/ a few white flags for good measure)

Welcome. You've reached my blog . . . currently filled with various trip reports, pictures and other content all derived from trips to Vegas (and, as of 2010, some other environs) over the past five years. If you know what you are looking for, just click on a link below. If you have no idea what you are looking for, don't worry, you aren't alone. Happy surfing.

Oh, and I'm in the process of starting a new cooking-based blog . . . not sure if it'll ever get off the ground, but if it does, it's over here: http://www.jacostable.blogspot.com/

Whistler/Blackcomb Mini-Report (December '10/January '11)

(1) The Dark Passenger Trip Report (September 2010)

(2) June 2010 LA Trip Notes

(3) April 2010 LA Trip Summary

(4) 2010 Report from Hawaii - Best Sushi in the World

(5) Thunder Rolls - The January 2010 Vegas Trip Report

(6) Video of Encore Salon Suite (January 2010)

(7) January 2010 Vegas Trip Pictures

(8) My Vegas Playlist

(9) The Vegas Crew Application

(10) The Whale Jo Chronicles - The Lost Chapter

(11) The Whale Jo Chronicles - Day Three

(12) The Whale Jo Chronicles - Day Two

(13) The Whale Jo Chronicles - Day One

(14) The Shipit Trip Report (April 2009)

(15) Snippets & Pics from Vegas - April 2009

(16) The Chocolate Chip Trip Report (October 2008)

(17) More Snippets & Pics from Vegas - October 2008

(18) Snippets & Pictures from Vegas - October 2008

(19) The April 2008 Vegas Trip Report

(20) Video of the Mirage 2BR Penthouse Suite - March 2008

(21) The March 2008 Vegas Trip Report

(22) The June 2007 Vegas Trip Report

(23) The April 2007 Vegas Trip Report

(24) The October 2006 Vegas Trip Report

(25) The April 2006 Vegas Trip Report

.

The Dark Passenger Trip Report - Las Vegas, September 2010

2010-09-21T15:26:00.000-07:00

I believe it was around the 4th of July when the germination of this latest trip began. I knew Whale Jo’s 40th Birthday was coming up in September and wondered what he had planned. I don’t know which one of us mentioned Vegas first, but once it was out there, forget about putting that idea to rest.

The next two or so months of planning took on a life of its own. The initial plan was just to have me and Whale Jo head to Vegas, but that seemed a titch too Brokeback Mountain, so we opened up the invite list. In the end, the participants on this trip (the Vegas portion anyways) numbered six. I know in previous reports I’ve described some of these players, but in case you haven’t read through some of the old articles, here’s a summary of the crew for this trip:

Jaco: Me. What do you need to know about me? Just turned 40 this year, quit my job (lawyer) earlier in the year (best decision of the decade) to chase a dream. This is an odd feeling sitting here trying to type words that describe who I am . . . as if this were some sort of B.S. job application. Let's see . . . I have an active imagination (I believe in things that go bump in the night . . . and Santa Claus) . . . I love Vegas (obviously) . . . and I don't think things get much better when you are having laughs and good times with friends and family. I don't mind crying at corny cheese ball sentimental shite (America's Got Talent) and I don't like ants. Or spiders. The picture over there is me getting in my favorite car - the Wynn Phantom (taken 10/2008).

Whale Jo: The birthday boy. Turned 40. Been one of my best friends since 6th Grade. That's a long time. We have a ton in common, including the same first names. He's just one of those dudes that I know has my back, as he knows I have his. He’s got a generous, crazy, frenetic energy about him. Case in point . . . we were fishing one time and upon landing a really big salmon, he got so excited about the whole thing that he sunk his teeth into the surprised creature and tore out and ate a chunk of its flesh. He enjoys crying as well. This is a pic of Whale Jo going uber-bonkers outside the private jet.

Smooth Chazz: The affable southern gentleman. We went to law school together. Solid character. Though only a few years older than me, I can’t help but notice that in photos he looks almost 60. In life though, you'd call him "Babyface." Must be the camera. If you want a guy that can tip back quadruple makers marks, watch SEC football, and be a good wingman while you flush black chips at the tables . . . this is your dude. This is a pic of Chazz sulking in the Phantom as we leave Encore for the airport.

Frankie Styles: Another polite southern gent. (though to be honest, I think both him and Smooth Chazz were born and grew up in places far from the south). Another lawyer. And a damn good one. Frankie provides some of the most gut busting moments of the trips with his amazing wry and poignant sense of humor. He’s also likes being carried like a baby (as you'll see from another picture I'll post later on in this report). Knows his wine. Excellent skill to have when the five other dudes at the table are all 1/2 in the bag. This is a pic of Frankie taking care of business atop the Chateau Marmont.

Hee-Haw aka Lone Sioux: My brother in law. Smart, solid and down to earth guy. Enjoys Vegas and enjoys going on long walks by himself in Vegas. Thank god I like this guy - he's married to my sister after all. Very handy. If a flood was to ever hit Vegas and we needed an ark to get out of there - he'd be the one that could build it out of bath soap. He doesn't like the nickname Hee-Haw, so that's why I'll call him it. :) This is a pic of him at the Chateau. Don't know what he's looking at . . . I'll have to discuss that with him at the next family dinner.

Scooter: A new member of the crew this trip. A H.S. buddy of mine (and Whale Jo). We go a long ways back. Another very smart dude. Observant and genuine, he brought a lot to this trip and hope he makes it on future trips. Loved the fact that he's a veggie, but took a timeout to try the beef at Carnevino. Shipit Scooter. This is a pic of Scooter trying to tell Whale Jo that it isn't a good idea if he tries to land the plane.

     So there you go. That’s the cast – we’ll see if any of them demand that their bylines be rewritten after reading my descriptions. If you're reading this boyz, changes will cost you $25.

     Anyway, so back to the planning. I don’t know any other way to represent start to finish the change of plans that occurred during the trip planning process than to lay it out in a list. Here’s how the trip changed from beginning to end:

(1) Fly into Vegas on Thursday and meet up with Whale Jo and leave Saturday a.m. for home;

(2) Same as (1), but include the Vegas crew in the party;

(3) Same as (2), but add a helicopter tour of the strip at night or arrange to play a private poker game with Daniel Negreanu (here's some INFO on him in case you don't know who he is) or Jean Robert Belande (here's INFO on him as well);

(4) Scrap the copter ride, instead what about playing with Negreanu or Belande and/or fly to LA to meet Whale Jo at airport and fly on his Southwest flight with him;

(5) Wait . . . why not fly out on a private jet instead?

(6) So now choice is, fly into LA Thursday a.m. and the fly out that morning on private jet or play poker with Daniel Negreanu.

(7) Screw you Negreanu, private jet trumps you.

(8) Why wait until Thursday morning? Fly into LA Wednesday night, surprise Whale Jo and take him to private jet and fly out to Vegas that night.

(9) Wait. Can’t just touch down in LA. Must party. So fly in to LA Wednesday night, have dinner, then sleep, fly out on private jet in a.m.

(10) Nah. Excitement and surprise level needs to be upped. Fly in Wed. early evening, meet up for a birthday party at Chateau Marmont, then fly out on private jet at midnight.

(11) Oh, and when we check in to Encore, it’s not into a 2BR Parlor Suite as Whale Jo thinks . . . nope . . . instead it’s a 2BR Apartment Suite . . . . shipit.

(12) And as an afterthought . . . stay Saturday night as well.

     Props definitely need to be given to Mrs. Whale Jo for making this possible. What an incredible wife to put together such a mind-blowing experience for her husband and his buddies. If you ever read this Mrs. Whale Jo, the boyz can never thank you enough – Mr. Whale Jo is one lucky SOB to have met you. The effort you put into all this was exceptional.

     So there are the short strokes on where this trip began and where it was going . . . . so without further ado, let’s dive right into it, shall we . . . the water is warm, as they say (though not quite sure who “they” really is or are . . . )

Day One: Wednesday

“Upgrade Day”

     Total amount of people on the flight to Burbank heading to Whale Jo’s birthday party: 13 (8 adults, 5 kids – ages 6-10). It was a bit different starting off the Vegas trip with wives and kids in tow. Definitely a little lower key.

Sitting in the airport waiting for departure, I got this e-mail:

*****
To: Jaco
From: Mrs. Whale Jo’s Assistant
Date: 9/15/10

Re: New tail number for tonight’s flight

Hi Jaco-

[The jet charter] just let me know that tonight's flight has been upgraded to a larger, nicer aircraft. The new tail number is xxxx. Please inform the driver as he approaches the airport, and I will be reachable if you have any questions!

thanks, and see you this evening.
******

    Sure, I’ve been upgraded from coach to first, from a regular room to a suite . . . but an upgrade on an entire plane? Now that was something definitely unique. I let out a little tiny whoo-hoo. How could this not be an unforgettable trip?

     Now, if you are wondering why there were wives and kids accompanying the fellas on the trip, here’s the scoop. During the planning process Mrs. Whale Jo asked if the ladies wanted to come down and hang out in LA. The plan would be to go to the birthday party, stay at the Chateau for a night, then the next day take the young gals to the American Girl Experience and stay at the Mr. and Mrs. Whale Jo house for a couple days. Why not? Girls are entitled to have fun! And, as it turns out, they had a blast – worthy of its own trip report. I'll make sure to plug in details of their trip in this report . . . here's a teaser though . . . at the movies with an A-List Celeb . . .

     I can’t remember if I mentioned it before, but everything we were doing was supposed to be a surprise to Whale Jo. He only knew that we were meeting in Vegas and that maybe he had some dinner plans with his wife the night of his birthday. In order to keep up the ruse, I e-mailed him from the plane, trying to convince him that we were not in LA and that I was back home taking care of domestic requirements.

     As some point during the e-mail exchange, I received this e-mail from Whale Jo:

*****
To: Jaco
From: Whale Jo
Date: 9/15/10

Re: Birthday

just left you a message - just got a free upgrade to the penthouse suite at the Chateau!!!!!!!!!!

oh my god

I wish you were here

I am on top of the world
*****

     Another upgrade? Ship that. Of course, at this point he thinks he is staying in that room at the Chateau. In fact, at one point during the flight, I received an e-mail from Whale Jo with his idea of what surprises were in store for him:

*****
To: Jaco
From: Whale Jo
Date: 9/15/10

Re: Birthday

so sick

at least 3000 square feet on top of the hotel facing the entire city wraparound views

so fucking VIP

[Mrs. Whale Jo] says every big actor has stayed here and had parties here

I still can't believe it

and now she is cancelling my flight so I know something is happening in the morning

that's why I think you are coming here

plus she was frantically cleaning the house - obviously someone is staying there!

I think you and [Mrs. Jaco] are already here and [Mrs. Jaco] is going to palm springs with [Mrs. Whale Jo] and you and I are taking a private plane to vegas in the am and staying in a penthouse suite at encore

that's what I think

call me from your home phone

then I will know you are still [at home].
*****

     Dang! He was getting kind of close . . . at least with the private plane idea. But way off on me already being down there. Also off on the plans for the wives. I had to laugh. Though he did kind of put a checkmate move on me by requesting a call from my home phone – no way I could accomplish that at 30,000 ft. somewhere over southern California. Oh well. Best I could do was tell the truth. So I e-mailed him and swore on everything I hold holy that I was not presently in LA and that everything would be revealed by tomorrow.

Smooth Chazz in the limo
to the Chateau, wondering
if I'm going to boot on him.

Arrival into Burbank was smooth. I had pre-arranged two 10-person BLS limos for us all. They were waiting for us and promptly whisked us off to the Chateau. Our driver took an odd circuitous route to the Chateau . . . at least one I hadn't been on before. A lot of corners . . . I kind of started to get car sick. But, thankfully just before I was going to boot out the window, we arrived.

The Chateau.

Let the fun begin . . .

     For those of you who have not been to the Chateau, it is really kind of impossible for a limo, or really any large car, to actually drive up the driveway to main entrance/garage, just too tight. So, the limos dropped all of us off, along with all of our bags, curbside just down the hill from the hotel and we all proceeded in what must have looked like some odd parade.

     The Chateau Marmont, at least to me, has a very old school feel to it. There's nothing overtly modern day fancy about it - more like a classy old dame. We got the girls checked in and they went to go check out their room. The guys went up to stow their bags in the penthouse suite.

     Wow. What a room. Here are a few of the lame pics I took - they don't really do the place justice:

The Living Room - Chateau Marmont Penthouse

Entry Hall - Chateau Marmont Penthouse

Looking into the dining area and kitchen
Chateau Marmont Penthouse

The view from the terrace . . .

Another view from the terrace

The five of us, Smooth Chazz, Frankie Styles, Hee-Haw, me and Scooter, milled around the suite and took in the sights while the party was set up for Whale Jo's surprise party. We were being served humbow, chicken wraps, and some sort of shrimp chip with dipping sauces. The food was amazing and I hope nobody noticed that I might have ate too much before the party started . . . .ooops. Drinks for the evening consisted of three of Whale Jo's personal favorites: 7 & 7, Mont Gay Rum mixed with cran and orange, and red wine. Knowing that a long night was ahead, I tried a few of the rum drinks, then stayed with straight cran (though I do think maybe I pulled some beers out of the mini-bar down in our gals' room).

Whale Jo was out to dinner with his wife and his family (who had also flown in for the event). I was pretty sure he thought that I would be meeting up with him at dinner. His head must have really been spinning. It wasn't too long after our arrival that we got word that Whale Jo was in the building.

Take your places everyone . . . lights out.

At this party, besides those of us that had flown in from out of town, were a cool collection of Whale Jo's LA friends. The plan of attack for the surprise was to have them inside the suite when Whale Jo walked in. Then, after that surprise had subsided, he was to be lead out of the suite to the terrace, where we would then casually walk around the corner and give him another surprise.

I heard him walk in the room and the people inside, true to form, yelled out a hearty SURPRISE. He went bananas. I watched carefully through a crack in the blinds from outside. Lot's of hand shaking, hugs and well wishes.

Then, Whale Jo was lead to the terrace. He marveled at the set-up. But he had no idea what lurked around the corner.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited . . . .

Then as a group, we casually sauntered into his field of vision.

Surprise!

He was floored. Absolutely floored.

"I knew you were here dude!" Whale Jo screamed out as he gave me a big bear hug.

Then he began to realize that more of the crew had made it down.

"Frankie Style! Chazz! Oh my god! Scooter? Hee-haw?"

He was even more surprised to see the little people and our lovely wives. I wish I had gotten a pic of that smile on his face (though I do suspect someone has it and I'll add it in after the fact). Whale Jo was one happy dude.

"What else is in store tonight boyz? Are we going to Vegas?"

What was I going to tell him? The truth?

I don't think so.

Smooth Chazz and I then proceeded to tell Whale Jo that while we might be going to Vegas, it certainly wasn't going to be tonight. Not even tomorrow. Nope. Tomorrow we (including Whale Jo) were all going to the American Girl Experience! We were all there to see him pick out his daughter's first American Girl!

That's also another picture I wish I had - his face when he realized that we weren't necessarily joking. It made sense after all . . . .our wives and girls were there . . .

Little did he know what was really about to happen.

For the next three hours, all of us out of town folks mingled with the LA crowd and had a genuinely good time. It was fun to get to know some of the friends Whale Jo has made in LA since moving there permanently. The young girls had a blast at the party and had even a better time heading off for a little late night swimming.

Then, eventually, it was time.

Whale was informed to have his bag ready by 11:15. We were getting picked up.

“Where are we going? Are you serious? We are leaving tonight?!?!?!?!?”

As he bounced off the walls, I made sure to let the other fellas know that departure time was near. Once 11:15 rolled around, we all headed down to the lobby and to the curb.

“Seriously, where are we going?”

“Private Jet”

As much as we had tried to keep the cat in the bag, this secret was just too big to keep any longer. Whale Jo’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus.

As we waited for the limo, Scooter suddenly scooted across the street. WTF? Turns out he wanted a picture of a taco joint . . . Pinches Tacos . . . apparently “pinche” can be a nasty word in Spanish and Scooter found the irony picture worthy.

Finally the limo arrived and took a much more direct route back to Burbank airport. During the drive, we finally had our first pre-Vegas gambling moment.

Since none of us had flown in a private jet before, we weren’t sure whether there would be booze on board. And for goodness sakes, who needs a dry plane when you flying out to Vegas at midnight? So we had the driver pull in to a random AM PM so someone could run in and get beer. Hee-Haw took charge. But before heading out, Smooth Chazz and Whale Jo made a bet on the over/under for the amount of time it’d take him. Whale Jo predicted over 2 minutes, Chazz under. As soon as the limo stopped, Hee-Haw was out like a bullet. And in 1:12 he was back in the vehicle with a ½ rack of Corona and another ½ rack of something else. Job well done sir.

Here’s a pic in the limo right after his run.

Ahhhh. I cracked open a cold Corona and watched the lights go by. The limo got a little silent as we approached the private hanger where take off would occur. It actually kind of reminded me of heading into a federal detention center . . . high chain link fence, razor wire, security gate . . . .but once we cleared the entrance we saw all the iron on the tarmac . . . and then our plane . . . lit up . . . stairway down . . . it was really happening. Vegas baby.

Here are all the pics I took during the plane ride. I have a video of the landing, but unfortunately I was a little too amped up when I shot the video of us landing and didn't have the wherewithal to actually hold the camera in one position . . . it looks like the plane is flipping over . . . I'm trying to fix that. Anyways, check these out, and then following these pics I will try and put words together than can accurately describe the experience.

Yes, Whale Jo, that's your plane!

Laugh it up chuckle monkeys, we're going to VEGAS!

Guess this bird will fly itself . . .

This plane is, um, shipit?

Oh, look, a cup holder!

I'm going to tackle Frankie Styles.

Vegas, coming into view . . .

View of Vegas through the cockpit.

Screen telling us where we are.

Arrival. Welcome back boyz.

Best plane ride - EVER.

It really is like a dream. Stepping out of the limo and seeing the white, gleaming jet just waiting for the six of us to hop aboard and fly to Vegas. The two pilots greet us with strong handshakes (don’t want someone with a fish hand shake flying my plane!) and tell us that as soon as we’re all on board, we’ll take off. There are a ton of “No ways!”, “This is so cool”, “Shipit”, “Can I ride on the roof”, being shouted about as we board.

The plane? A Hawker 800XP. The interior. Soft colors, not too unlike the Wynn color scheme, accented with gold trip and gold cup holders. Soft supple lazy boy like seats. The cabin interior measures about 5.75 feet by 6 feet. Plenty of room. Oh, and it turns out they do have drinks. Anything you want. Beer. Wine. Booze. Some light snacks are in a goodie basket. And there’s a bathroom! That’s the first place I head – but takes me a while to figure out where the actual toilet is. It turns out it’s hidden underneath what looks like a normal bench. Guess when things get really crowded, a person could spend the ride in the john.

Here's a pic of the interior layout:

Here's a stock photo of the plane in flight (obviously I couldn't take this)

Once we’re all done bouncing around the plane, we tell the pilots that we’re good to go. Almost immediately we’re moving. And nobody tells us to put the seat belts on. Though I decide to. Just in case. We’re opening beers, doing toasts when suddenly it’s take off time.

My goodness.

It’s probably the closest I’m going to come to riding in a rocket to the moon. This plane has POWER. Forget the long windup of a 767 lumbering down the runway. This pony went from zero to hundreds of miles per hour in what seemed like 2 seconds. The force was so abrupt and powerful that Chazz’s beer literally flew out of the cup holder all over the side of the jet. If he hadn’t been buckled, I imagine he would have flown through the air all the way to the back.

And then we’re in the air. Lifting effortlessly, quietly, can’t believe how quiet, into the air. The lights of Burbank and LA beyond zoom out, turning from identifiable buildings and cars, into tiny little LED lights in some old school hand held video game. On the wall in our cabin was a nice big video screen that showed exactly where the plane was, airspeed, altitude and outside temperature. Kinda cool to watch.

This particular part of the trip is something I will never forget (and someday hope to experience again). The conversation was light, tons of laughter and by far the smoothest plane ride in the history of my universe. I still can't get over how it didn't feel like we were flying . . .

And then Vegas came into view . . . and what a view it was. So close . . . so close . . .

Watching the lights of Vegas creep closer and closer was completely mesmerizing. One minute a blurry fuzz of yellows and oranges, and then suddenly the strip in all its brightness reveals itself. We approached the strip and runway from the east, and then turned abruptly south (at least I think that’s the direction – strip was on our right, and we were moving towards MGM). The anticipation for touching down was epic, electrically epic. The wheels hit, cheers erupt and the pilots can’t get the planed stopped fast enough. We roll towards the private hanger, door opens, stairs down and we head out into the Vegas night.

I take my first breath of desert air and smile once my eyes settle on the Wynn limo waiting on the tarmac to whisk us off. I look at my watch. A little after 1 a.m. Plenty of time to have some fun. We were in Vegas!

Thank you Steve for picking us up . . . Encore here we come!

     Our bags get stuffed into the limo trunk and we’re off. No stops lady. Encore Tower Suites entrance pronto. As we move along towards our destination, I suddenly need a restroom.

     “Just go in here. You paid for it.” Chazz deadpans.

     No, that would be quite disrespectful. And messy.

     With only about two minutes left in the ride, Chazz decides it’s time to do stage dives in the limo. Another perfect picture opportunity lost. Don’t think anyone got bruised.

     Then we are at Encore. Getting out of the car, I can smell the distinct tropical notes of the seasoned air inside the resort. Time for Whale Jo’s final surprise of the night.

     The Two Bedroom Apartment Suite.

     He thinks we’re checking into a Parlor Suite . . . but thanks to his wife, she’s upgraded him to a big boy room. Happy birthday buddy.

     Oh is he surprised.

     We need to get up there, take in the room, then hit the floor. All before we hit the proverbial wall. We were on the clock.

     The rest of the boyz got checked in and a few of us decided to meet up in the room then head back down to the pit.

     The room was amazing. Huge. Maybe too huge? 3,500 sq. ft. is a large space to fill. I only managed to snap a few pics of the suite, and here's about the only one that was in focus.

Standing at windows and looking in towards the living room.
Encore Two Bedroom Apartment Suite

     I did take some vids and will try and get those posted later on - probably not until after this whole report is done.

     I’ll try and give a verbal tour of the room.

     You enter and are standing in a hallway, to your right is a massage room, something decorative to your left. As you move forward towards what appears to be a massive living room, you notice that the entryway T’s into two perpendicular hallways, all told about the length of what seems a bowling alley. If you travel to your right, you’ll pass by a rather large guest bathroom, a room that butlers or robbers could enter through, and then into one of the two massive bedrooms. In the bedroom is a king bed, a chair, a number of dressers, and then a faux bureau from which a decent sized (42?) flatscreen rises out of. Walking straight into the room, the bathroom is on your right. It has a large Jacuzzi tub, a two sink pimp up area, a large closet (with safe), a separate toilet room (w/ phone – really who uses that?), and a giant glass enclosed shower. The shower can be used as a steam shower – in addition to more conventional uses, like cleaning the shorts I soiled during takeoff. Kidding.

     As you go back out the room, passing the living room, now on your right, you head towards the other bedroom. Once past the entryway, you’ll see on your left the kitchen area. Nice stainless steel completely empty fridge, microwave, and sink. Then, you hit the other bedroom – large, same layout as the first bedroom – just a titch bigger.

     The layout is a lot like a Salon Suite w/ a connecting room – just bigger and nicer appointments. Not a bad place to call home for two nights . . . well, I guess three: Wed., Thurs., and Friday. Checkout of this room would be Saturday – I’d move into a Tower Suite King then.

     I do have some video of the room – but gotta figure out how to cut down some of it so it fits on blogger. Guess I’ll have to post that later.

     Maybe because it was 2 a.m. and maybe because of all the excitement from the previous hours’ activities, there just wasn’t enough energy to give the room its proper hello. Nevertheless, I gave a silent bow to St. Steve, threw my bag in the corner, put some cash in the safe, then joined Whale Jo to go make the first bet.

     First order of business for me was to hit the Survivor slots. I just wanted to see if there was any indication from the gaming gods on whether or not this would be a winning trip. We both put a hundo in. Nothing. Another hundo. This time got a few bonus rounds and was able to earn enough credits where we walked away up a hundo. OK. So no hand pay. At least I was up. But something wasn't feeling right.

     We moved over to the Wizard of Oz machine. Nothing doing on this one. A couple lame Glinda bonuses where she only put out one wild and we left the machine down about $50. Hmmm. Was it too late in the evening to muster up any fun winnings?

     We tried a Jaws slot machine. Got one bonus round. But our money got chewed up.

     Monopoly old friend! How about you? Any money for ole Jaco?

     No.

     Then a warning light went off in my head. I was out of gas. Whale Jo however was still raring to go. I bid him adieu and laughed to myself on the way up to the room. All this build up. All this hype. All the events leading to the moment I found myself in . . . and I was down. It was probably about $600 or so that I had lost – not that much – plenty of fire power left in the safe. But for some reason, there was a sudden dark and foreboding feeling wiping the laughter from my thoughts. As the elevator ascended, the colors seemed to drain a bit, the sounds muted, and when I walked off that elevator I knew exactly what was happening.

     The Dark Passenger had arrived.

     Those of you who are Dexter fans know what a “dark passenger” means in the context of that show. For those that don’t – basically it is the virtual demon within the main character that compels him to kill.

     Let me be straight with you before you get any strange ideas -- my Dark Passenger ain’t that DARK. Not even close. I can barely muster enough cajones to smack a fish in the head, let alone contemplate anything far across the morality line. I just like using the name.

     I guess within the realm of Vegas, I find that if I don’t win, there’s a certain brooding mood I can fall into. Sure who doesn’t. Nobody likes to lose. Just so happens that to help with this mood swing, I found identifying the term “Dark Passenger” keeps me from sinking to the bottom of the pity pit. When it hits, suddenly I can’t really talk (well, more like really don’t want to), can’t laugh, and would rather crawl into the dark corner of a room and sleep.

     So, there I was, walking down the hallway, trying as fast as I could to get to the room and hide under the covers. It was too early in the game to start feeling any remorse about the losses. Tomorrow was a brand new day.

     As I shrunk under the covers, I looked at the clock. 3:30 a.m. Christ that’s early. It must have taken another ½ hour before I finally went totally black . . .

     The first day/night in Vegas was over.

     And there were many more miles to go . . . the journey had just begun.

Day Two: Thursday

“Attack of the Friendlies”

wham.

Wham.

WHAM.

WHAM!!!!

     I don’t know any other way to explain it than to say when I woke up this particular morning it was like riding through some sort of transcendence turbulence that blocked the normally easy pathway between dreamland and reality. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to open my eyes.

     But, of course, not being a weenie, I did. The clock said 7:30. But it was pitch black. No.

     No, no, no, no, no.

     I had not just slept through an entire day. Not in Vegas. Not on my first real day.

     I took a deep breath and looked around the room.

     What was that? A crack in the darkness?

     Wait a sec . . . .

     I fumbled for the massive remote control, Betty, and stroked her buttons.

     It was just the shades! Light poured into the room as all the curtains drew back.

     7:30 a.m. suckah!

     No way I should be up. But I was.

     No way I should be hangover free. But I was.

     No way the Dark Passenger should be hanging around.

     But it was.

     I shook my head. Just cobwebs. That’s all, just cobwebs. I’ll get myself some coffee, maybe a snickers bar, some water and . . . and . . .

     And what?

     Exactly . . . and what? This unanswered question caused an uneasy feeling in my stomach. I couldn’t complete the sentence . . . couldn’t get past the “what”. I was really starting to psyche myself out and I had barely had any action on the gaming floor.

     I decided to bury the feeling deep inside. Internalization. I’m good at it. My only hope was that I had buried the ominous, bad luck feeling deep enough.

     Three deep breaths, a half hearted smile/smirk, and I jumped out of bed. Let’s do this.

     It was Choose Your Own Adventure time . . . I thought of three possible choices: (a) head straight out to the gaming floor and tackle the Dark Passenger head on; (b) order a massive amount of room service then hit the casino; or (c) let the casino wait, go outside and get the cabana your host reserved for you.

     I chose option (c). Cabana. I knew exactly what would happen if I undertook gaming at this juncture.

     Having come up with a plan, I proceeded to make use of the steam shower amenity in the suite. I fired up the steam shower in my bathroom. I turned the shower up to 118 degrees and after about 7 minutes or so, the hot box was ready.

     Oooooops. I wasn’t ready for the heat. I felt like I was on Venus. But I figured if there wasn’t any sort of safety governor on the temperature control, well, then it couldn’t be that hot.

     I lasted all of about 3 minutes before I reached for the regular shower controls and turned on the cold water tap. Sweet heat relief. I did this for another minute or two and felt completely alive and rejuvenated. Yessir. Time to enjoy time.

     After throwing on some clothes, I looked towards Whale Jo’s room. Door closed, but a note on the handle.

     Late night. In at 5:14 a.m. Meet you at 11 a.m.

     Git er dun Whale Jo! I hoped my friend had fared well at the tables.

     The jaunt down to the pool was quick enough and I didn’t even feel the urge to just give a little tester to the machines. Good sign.

     I went to the towel desk and asked for a cabana host. Tommy Towel checked his books and, sure enough, my name was on the reservation book. Almost immediately, two cabana hosts showed up to take me to my little oasis.

     Cabana #4. Right back by the European Bathing section of the Encore pool. Nice, this would do. It was about 9 a.m. and the pool area was basically empty. The music was softly muted – which I knew in a few hours would change. I sat back, ordered a coffee, took a few complimentary Gatorades out of the mini-fridge, and, for lack of a better word, chilled.

     I took a few pics just to record a moment in time where I felt content . . . safe . . . relaxed. Of course I knew that would all change too.

Looking into Cabana #4

Looking out at the Encore Pool

Looking up from the cabana.

     I then noticed a little pad of paper and jotted down some notes of the previous nights events . . . as I write these words in this trip report I’m looking at those notes . . . my last entry corresponds with what I said above . . “Cabana – coffee – empty POOL” . . . don’t know why I made pool all caps – maybe I was proud that I still could spell.

     I had just gotten a new phone and the only number I had in it was Chazz’s – so I called him. Woke him up from a deep slumber and told him to meet me in the cabana. He put an order in for some breakfast and a bloody mary and was down in about fifteen minutes.

     Eventually we track down all the other guys and one by one they came in and out of the cabana during the morning early and afternoon. Nothing too exciting happened – just some good conversations, a few laughs, and, at least for me, a nagging feeling scratching the inside of my head.

     I decided to finally give in. Time to start testing the machines and see if I could do some good.

     My first go at it wasn’t too bad, but it wasn’t great. Instead of wasting time playing Survivor, I sought out something new, something fresh.

     The Amazing Race slots sucked me in.

     They were big, lots of blue (favorite color), and loud. I had to give them a try.

     First couple spins didn’t do much for me. But then I noticed that there was some sort of multiplier in play . . . 3x . . . 4x . . . 5x . . . 10x . . . it kept going up depending on the rhythmic thumping of the Max Credit button. I never quite figured out the key . . . but once I got it to 10x, I seemed to be able to keep it between there and 15x.

     Here’s a pic of the big board above the actual game screen.

Amazing Race Slot Machine

As I’m plodding along, I finally hit some sort of bonus round. Kind of exciting, the host of the show suddenly appears on the screen and begins explaining how the bonus round works.

Let's do this Phil F-ing Keoghan!!!!

Basically the bonus round (at least the first one I hit) consists of a bunch of free spins. If a “Mileage Meter” comes up, you get, yep, miles.

Mileage Meter! I'm going to Australia!

Then the miles are added up and if you reach a certain level, you earn the progressive bonus.

Wow! After 1/2 hour of work, $20. I can now
buy a souvenir pen and have change left over
for a taco or fries at the airport.

     I have a video of the bonus round that, when I took it, seemed super exciting. But after watching it back, I about fall asleep. Once I get it compressed, I’ll post it.

     Oh, and another feature of this game is that it’s a community game. Meaning if you get in the bonus round, so do the other players. But, since nobody was sitting next to me, I did this one alone.

     However, it wasn’t long before a nice old Korean lady sat down next to me. She started playing and I got the feeling we were going to have fun.

     Boom. Bonus Round.

     Only this time it was different. I think it’s called Golden Ticket . . . or something like that (I don’t watch the show).

     This has got to be the silliest bonus round ever invented. The idea is that there’s a golden ticket buried in a virtual sand pile and you have to touch the screen as fast as you can to uncover it. The longer it takes you to find it, the less valuable the ticket becomes.

     I could tell the woman next to me had done this before. As the countdown started she raised her arms and hands up to sort of a “kitty cat about to pounce” position. I, of course, mirrored this.

     3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . GO!

     Sigh, again, another moment in time that should have been recorded.

     Both she and I frantically clawed at our respective machines, both hand flying in the air, digits pounding relentlessly against the glass. I started grunting as the pressure was getting to me . . . ugh . . tap tap tap tap . . ugh . . . taptaptaptaptaptap . . . can’t go any faster . . .

     Ding.

     Done.

     I looked over at her and made an appreciative nod. She shrugged her shoulders and gave me a pout face. Or maybe that was her way of smiling. Hard to say. For her efforts she had recovered 967 credits. $9.67. I had 3500 . . . $35.

     I continued to play, hoping to hit that ticket bonus round again. I was addicted. Seriously addicted. I sit here typing this and I’m trying to pantomime the whole scene out again and it gives me withdrawal chills.

     Unfortunately, I flushed my money.

     Then I realized I had only played slots so far. Time to find a table game.

     The only thing that felt “right” was roulette. I had a predetermined set of numbers I wanted to play and figured now was the right time. I bought in for $100 and placed some chips.

     31.

     Sweet. Right off the bat. Take that Dark Passenger. Shove that up your A . . . .

     Sssssssshhhhhhhhoooooooot.  No. I had forgotten to cover that number.

     OK. I sighed. Relax Jaco. Tons of time left. You can do it.

     Best I could manage was hitting a number when I had a chip on a four-way border.

     Some bloke from Manchester sat down, it was his 21st birthday. I wondered where his mates were – but I was in no mood to talk. I did tip my hat to him though and watched while he hit a bunch of numbers, sometimes two in a row. I, of course, went bust and headed back out to the pool.

     “The Dark Passenger is right behind me boyz”

     They knew what I was talking about.

     “Shake it off Jaco, enjoy the sun”

     Yep. That would do.

     Whale Jo had finally arrived at the cabana and was updating us on his journey into the wee hours of last night. Turns out he had quite a bit of fun. I think that was the night where he ran into a bunch of Canadian gals at Wynn and was betting on their hands at a Let It Ride table. There’s a post from one of them at the bottom of the blog page.

     Finally, the blackjack tables at the pool bar opened up. Before playing those, however, I went inside to try one more run at the slots.

     Stupid. Lost again.

     I came back out and joined Smooth Chazz and Whale Jo at a table. Things weren’t looking good. Whale Jo was bordering on tilt. I watched a few hands and cringed as Whale Jo was flayed. Maybe I could change the luck of the table.

     Nope. At least not the first three or four hands. By then, Whale Jo had been busted and left in a rush to reload. I expected to see him back in about ten minutes.

     After he left, I was able to go on a little mini run with about $75 remaining in my stack. Each time I won, I felt a little bit of the Dark Passenger being whittled away. Finally, Smooth Chazz declared he was done and cashed out. I followed suit and was happy to receive a Barney and a black chip.

Hello my little friends!

     OK! $600! That took away some of the pain from the morning slot debacle. I decided to give the gaming a rest and just hang out at the cabana. Got a little Sammy, had some brews, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon.

     The plan for the evening was to have all the boyz up to the suite around 6 p.m. for cocktails and then head out to Palazzo around 7. Dinner at Carnevino was set for 7:45 p.m.

     As the afternoon wore on, both Scooter and I noticed that Whale Jo had not returned. Hmmmm. I texted him. Silence. I called and left a message. No return call. 2 p.m. . . . . 3 p.m. . . . . 4 p.m. . . . around 4:45 Scooter and I headed up to the suite. Maybe he’d just decided to sleep through the afternoon.

     The room was empty. No sign of him. Scooter tried calling him. No answer.

     Hmmmm. Very strange.

     Not much I could do though. So, to pass the time, I picked out my threads for the evening.  Whoops. Should have taken them out of the suitcase sooner. They were very very wrinkled. I looked around for an iron and couldn’t find one. So, I just turned on the steam shower and hung my clothes in there.

     Presto! Wrinkles gone.

     I came out of my room at 5:45 . . . no sign of the Dark Passenger . . .

     “Scooter, any word?”

     “None”

     “Uh-oh”

     “Uh-oh is right.”

     Whale Jo was MIA . . . .

     But not for long.

     He appeared in the room right around 6 p.m. Big smile on his face.

You did what!?!

     “Well?”

     He flashed a bit of green. Grinned.

     “Down, but not too bad”

     “We thought you ended up in a ditch or went home.”

     Turns out anything but. Based on the brief interview we had with Whale Jo in the suite, it seems when he went back to the room to reload, he made a straight line to the Wynn casino. Not having much luck there with anything, he decided to change his game. Always a lover of poker, he headed straight for his personal poker mecca – the Ivey Room over at Aria.

     What is the Ivey Room? It’s the single table high limit room over at Aria . . . .I think they play the highest level regular cash game in Vegas now . . . not as high as back in the day . . . but you want action, this is where you go.

     Sounds like he had a great time playing at the table and made some new friends. Oh, and apparently stopped the bleeding too. Maybe we could all go over tomorrow . . . .

     And with the good news that our birthday boy was OK, it was time to high tail it over to Palazzo and our dinner at Carnevino.

     Before we could even get in the elevator to head down, the gambling juices took hold of Whale Jo and Smooth Chazz. $50 if Whale Jo could hold Frankie Styles for 2 minutes. Whale Jo hoisted Frankie up in his arms.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr!

Unfortunately for Whale Jo, he lost the bet as he decided to drop Frankie before hitting the ground floor.

After footing it over to Palazzo, we had a good ½ hour in which to try some of the games. I had only been to Palazzo once before in 2008. It felt like a big warehouse convention hall then and still feels like that now. Oh well.

The crew, on our way to the Palazzo.

     We found one of those giant Ebay games and five of us sat down to play. I wish I could say it was magical, but it really wasn’t. We hit a couple of the community bonus rounds which elicited some “shipits” and “I’m selling my kid’s bicycle!” shouts, but nobody really won anything. Some of the boyz headed off for the tables. I just stuck to the slots. The table players lost. I stayed about even. Man, when would the gambling excitement start?

     I met up with Smooth Chazz and Frankie Styles at the bar in Carnevino. My kind of place. Dark wood, dark colors, just the right setting to gnaw on some cattle and whatnot. Chazz proclaimed that he was drinking the best Manhattan EVER. I took a sip and was amazed that he was correct. So I ordered one.

     “Try the cherry”

     “Huh?”

     Chazz pointed at the garnish.

     “The cherry”

     I’m not much into bar garnishes, but since he was right about the Manhattan, I figured he must be right about the cherry.

     I put it in my mouth.

     I don’t know why . . . but I was immediately transported back in time to the first time I kissed my high school girlfriend . . . such a stereotypical couple we were . . . me the senior football player . . . her the hot junior cheerleader . . . met in a tent . . . never knew what she saw in me . . . wrote me notes on strawberry scented paper . . .

     But enough of that digression. Chazz was right, the cherry was good.

     I slurped down the Manhattan and had time to order another by time the rest of the boyz appeared. We were then led to our table.

     Our table was set in some sort of alcove off of the main room. Very cozy and very cool. We immediately asked if the adorning curtains could be closed. Half smile – obviously not the first drunks to ask such a thing.

     The busboy/waterboy/pre-server (not sure exactly what his job title is) filled our waters and took our drink orders.

     “I’d like to order the hostess”

     I won’t mention who said that.

     But that seemed to be a new one. And by his smile, the dude did not disagree on the veiled assessing comment.

     Then, the busboy was replaced by our waiter.

     Oh, our waiter.

     I know if Chazz or Scooter were writing this portion of the TR they would give some serious critical remarks and bad grades to our server.

     Me? I liked the guy.

     He’s what I would call a “professional” steakhouse waiter. You know the type. Serious granite block face. Script meticulously memorized (complete with hand gestures), a little round in the belly from snacking on raw meat . . .

     Here’s an approximation of his introductory speech . . . well, maybe I took a little creative license with this:

(I can't format this like a proper screenplay - so this is as close as I can get it)
FADE IN:

INT. CARNEVINO - NIGHT

Six men, 30s - 40s, sit two by two at a large square table. KARL, their waiter, begins his introductory speech.

KARL

Gentlemen.

(nods)

Welcome to Carnevino! Have any of you had the pleasure of dining in our restaurant before?

Silence.

KARL

Well then, gentlemen, you are in for a fantastic experience tonight.

(gestures)

I see Juan -

(cold glance at Juan)

- has already taken your drink orders. Before I begin tempting you with the culinary creations from our twenty seven star award winning extraordinary menu tonight, may I interest you gentlemen in some -

(with Greek accent)

Hudor

(Vietnamese accent)

Nuoc

(Korean accent)

Mool

(German accent)

Das Wasser

(Cherokee accent)

Ama

(Italian accent)

Acqua

(pauses for effect, then a strong whisper)

Water!

WHALE JO stirs as if about to speak. Karl puts his hand in Whale Jo's face.

KARL

We have the finest, absolute finest tap water in all of Vegas. Gentlemen, unlike other restaurants in Vegas, our tap water is run through the finest Chilean copper piping and finished at a perfect 37.789 degrees. The water, gentlemen, pours out of an iron faucet hand forged by albino water dwarves and runs virgin pure through a Danish stainless steel screen mesh. Holes on this mesh screen, gentlemen, were made by our own circus trained Middle Eastern bees, which, by the way gentlemen, can be rented out for entertainment if you so desire.

(a deep breath)

All water at Carnevino gentlemen is served in glasses made especially by Mr. Batali's good friend, Dale Chihuly. Break one and you will owe us $600.

(laughs)

Or, as I see you are a serious crowd, perhaps you would prefer a more refined H2O beverage. Gentlemen, it's September and you know what that means?

Silence.

KARL

Glacier harvest season in the Transantarctic Mountains. If you so prefer gentlemen, we have water that originates from a solid piece of a glacier, hand carved by our own special team of military trained indigenous terns. Gentlemen, this glacial shard is held in our firefly tank and melted gingerly for 65 days. As if an angel cried love tears into your cup. Gentlemen, water -

(beat)

Just

(beat)

Does not

(beat)

Get any purer.

(dramatic pause)

Of course, looking around this table, gentlemen, I see each of you must be very successful. In which case, I would not be doing my job if I didn't tell you about our off the menu water special.

(whispers)

Mr. Batali happens to have a distant cousin who works in the antiquities department at the Vatican. Just this past Easter while sorting through the Pope's chocolate egg collection, this cousin stumbled across a very special cache of ancient water.

(pauses for effect)

Gentlemen, we are the only restaurant in town to offer this water. You are the first customers this year that have looked special enough to offer this too.

(outstretches arms)

Bath water. Little tiny bald baby Christmas Jesus bath water.

Nobody moves.

KARL

No water? Fine. Gentlemen, now let me tell you about the three hundred and thirty seven varieties of table salt offered this evening.

     I think you get the idea. But you know what, even though I poke fun, I really like the waiter. Turns out he is a Freemason. Even took his magic ring off and showed it to Whale Jo (claimed it was the first time he’d ever done that). Once he was done with his performance, we commenced ordering. First, we started with some appetizers: steak tartare, fried calamari, grilled octopus, and prosciutto di parma reserve (aged some ridiculous amount of time. Let me describe and grade each:

Steak Tartare: A+. As I’ve mentioned in other reports, I have an ongoing love affair with this dish. Mainly it stems from the fact that way back in the day when I was a waiter (Denver, CO), I worked in a restaurant that allowed me to prepare it table side. Being a drama major in college, I enjoyed the performance aspect of it. And I loved to eat it. So, I order it any chance I get. This particular tartare was sublime – probably the best ever (topping the previous best which oddly enough was served in some out of the way restaurant in Asuncion, Paraguay). The texture, which is usually a little dense (which should happen when you mix raw egg and raw meat together) was mind-blowingly light. I was surprised I didn’t float off the table. The flavors were perfectly melded together and I was seriously depressed when I finished my serving . . . I considered asking one of the boyz to regurgitate their portion but since I didn’t know what they had eaten earlier in the day, I decided against it.

Fried Calamari: A+. Another home run. I don’t know what type of squid was used, but wouldn’t be surprised if Batali had a secret stash of them that he harvests on the dark side of the moon, in pools of asteroid dew. Undeniably brilliant. The complete package of texture and salty goodness taste.

Grilled Octopus: A+. I’m not ashamed to admit that I wanted to make sweat love to this dish. I have never in my life had anything that tasted like this dish. Yes, I’ve had octopus. It’s a very tough ingredient to do perfect. Undercook and you’ll be picking sticky cephalopodan bits from your teeth for years. Overcook and you won’t be able to tell the difference between your octo snack and a mushy brown bag soaked in dog piss. But, do it right, and apparently there’s a sweet spot within the “do it right” range my friends, and the gates of gastronomic heaven will open up and let you into a little back room filled with sensory nirvana balloons. My first bite I expected the typical resistance of an undercooked octopus – but it literally melted in my mouth. I couldn’t keep the “oh my god” out of my throat and, for all I know, yelled at the top of my lungs. I want to write frickin’ poetry to this dish.

Prosciutto: A. This dish probably felt a little bit like a neglected guppy in a tank full of magnificent angel fish. But thank goodness I didn’t pass. I’d be lying if I tried to tell you how long this was aged – it was a long time – 8 months? 48 months? Whatever. It was old. And it tasted so good . . . so mature . . . I imagine I’d get the same feeling I got from eating this if I sat in an old leather chair, wrapped myself in a blanket woven by my great grandmother, and smoked a pipe filled with Natural Cavendish . . . oh, and it was a melt in your mouth dish.

     I don’t recall any salads. I think maybe there were some pasta dishes and I think they were good. There was definitely wine . . . a lot of wine . . .

     Then came dinner. Meatpolooza.

     We decided to go with three pieces of meat to be divided up amongst the party. This works at this particular restaurant because the meat is carved table side. We ordered the ribeye, the porterhouse, and I believe a bone in New York. Sides were ordered, I think. I was only interested in the meat.

     A+

     I have tears in my eyes as I type this. It’s like thinking about a long lost friend who I know I’ll never see again . . . though I’m sure some of the meat has to still be lodged somewhere in the ole colon, so all is not yet totally lost. I don’t think engaging in a litany of superlatives would do the meat justice. Did I French kiss the meat? Maybe. Did I get farther than first base? Come on. That’s a bit private, friend. Just go to Carnevino, order the meat.

     Oh man, I almost forgot. The meat came with Madagascar Shrimp. These suckers are HUGE. And they are good. I need to find a place around here that can supply me with some of these . . . or maybe there’s some online deal I can join and raise them in my back yard. Order this as well. Just don’t pick it up and wave it like a piece of bait in front of one of the good looking waitresses. Or yell out “coochie coochie”. Just saying.

     All told, the bill, including tip and tax, came to around $1,560. So know going in it ain’t gonna be cheap. But, this was the beginning of the trip and throwing in $260 of my gambling budget was OK by me. Well worth the price of admission.

     And that was that. Dinner. Over.

     We met up with a couple who knew Scooter and lived in Vegas. Turns out I had met the gal years back . . . still trying to remember when though. They were nice and wanted to take a peek at the suite.   I think we gamed for a little bit. I have a foggy memory of being at the ATM and trying to let this elderly gentlemen go in front of me. He stood next to me instead. First he gave me a stripper card from some nasty skin house. And asked for a tip. Decline. Then he pulled out a giant bag of reefer . . .looked like he had it stuck on Popsicle sticks. Sorry gramps. Probably some sort of poisonous garden weed.

     And then an idea formed.

     Don’t know who said it . . . maybe it was just whispered . . . but suddenly I heard the boyz discussing Sapphire. Don’t know what Sapphire is, plug in “Sapphire Las Vegas” into Google, Bing, Yahoo or whatever . . . then come back.

     The boyz were going to Sapphire (plus the girl).

     Jaco was about to meet a new breed of Las Vegas creatures . . . the Friendlies . . .

     Oh - and I totally forgot to add this in. But if I take you back for a minute to when Whale Jo arrived back in the suite, I did manage to call Mrs. Jaco to find out how the girls' day went and what they had planned for the night. They were going to a movie. Not any movie mind you, but the LA screening of "The Town" - techinically not the premiere since it had shown earlier in Toronto . . . but a nice event for the gals nonetheless . . . .

     I called later to find out how it went. Sounds like the gals were a tad late and somehow Mrs. Jaco was sent into the theater while parking was found . . . or something like that. First person she sees upon entering the joint . . . Ben Affleck! Ship that. As you've probably already read in a lot of reviews - it's a good flick.

     So back to the Vegas portion of the trip.

     Cut to Jaco, Scooter, and girl getting into cab at Encore. (somehow Whale Jo, Chazz, Frankie, and Hee Haw and flown ahead of us and were already on their way to Sapphire in a Rolls).

     “Um, Jaco, maybe you’d like to sit up front?”

     Indeed. This poor gal who I’d only just met was looking like unhappy sandwich meat scrunched in between Scooter and me. It had seemed like a good idea when I pushed her in . . .

     “Sorry.”

     I moved myself to the front and off we sped. No crazy hi-jinx. I spent the short cab ride grilling the driver on whether he had ever heard of a place called “Club Exercise” and if not, what he thought it might be. (Reader’s note: Club Exercise is a place that Frankie and Chazz stumbled across last trip when they were coming back to Encore from Sapphire – go read the Thunder Rolls TR for further elaboration). The cabbie had no idea what I was talking about, but said pointed to some shops in a strip mall and said that likely it was “one of those kinds of places.” What kind of place? The kind where you pay for some “private conversation” . . . wink wink . . . nod nod . . . Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.

     We reached our destination and headed for the door. I was wary of entering the establishment, for fear of being attacked by vampire strippers, as had happened at Rhino in January.

     Surprisingly, it was very low key. Though billed as the largest strip club in Vegas, Sapphire had a relatively low key feel about it. Could have been due to the fact that it was ½ empty. But since I was able to walk under my own power and not have skin urchins dragging me towards a pleasure booth, I already knew I was going to give this place a higher grade than Rhino.

     We were led to a little circular cocktail table. It was kind of hard to make conversation because of the noise, so I just sort of pretended I was talking with Scooter and the gal.

     “Hi, what’s your name?”

     What the . . . .

     There was someone sitting in my lap. And she was talking really loud in my ear. And her hand was on my shoulder.

     “Jaco”

     “Hi Jaco, I’m Crystal. Don’t worry, I’m not here to suck your money.”

     No, of course she wasn’t.

     “What are you doing here Jaco?”

     “I don’t know.”

     Conversation killer. Cue awkward silence, lady sitting on my lap.

     “My name isn’t really Crystal. It’s Tara and I really trust you and just want you to know that my boss sent me over here so I’m just going to pretend that I’m trying to sell you a dance, but you don’t have to do anything. I’m not after your money.”

     Friendly. But why was she shouting in my ear?

     I nodded. What the heck was I supposed to say?

     She leaned in for more shouting, “Could you lean back a little in your chair?”

     Uh oh.

     “How about you buy me a drink.”

     I used my polite inside voice, “No thanks.”

     “Really?”

     I smiled, probably looking now like Forrest Gump, “No thanks.”

     “But you have to buy me a drink if I’m sitting on your lap and you are at this VIP table.”

     I kept smiling, “Um, no thanks. This isn’t a VIP table. And if it is, I’ll just leave.”

     “Really, it’s gonna be just like that.”

     I shrugged.

     She gave a little “Ugh” sound and extricated herself from my lap, melting into the darkness of the club.

     I leaned forward to tell Scooter and the gal what had happened. But then I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and there was a very tall gal smiling at me.

     “Hi what’s your name?”

     Friendly!

     I mumbled something she didn’t hear and she leaned closer.

     "Do you want some company?”

     I pretended I didn’t speak English and pantomimed “no” . . . she left.

     This back and forth battle with the friendlies continued on for another ½ hour, all the while I kept a look out for the rest of the crew. Then I finally spied Chazz sitting at the main stage dollar table and I went to join him.

     I ordered myself a $15 Bud Light and tried to understand why all these dudes were throwing dollar bills up on the stage at this dancer – and seemingly enjoying it. I wondered what the dancer thought of it all – since best I could tell, the vast majority of dudes looked like they’d be comfortable having their face on a Most Wanted poster. As far as the “talent” goes, I didn’t see anything that special about the girls at Sapphire. Some had cute faces, but questionable gear . . . others had the streamlined look of a Porsche, but a face that would better fit at a wax museum. Not trying to be mean – I’m sure they are all good people – but since this is a shop that was selling a certain type of product, that’s why I’m reviewing.

     Enough time passed where I needed to get out of the place. Thankfully I ran into one of my buddies who was also ready to leave. However, this buddy wanted to introduce me to a friendly. I said hi. She leaned in. I thought she was going to whisper something stupid.

     OUCH! THAT FREAKIN’ HURT!

     She Mike Tyson’d my ear. Not a little mosquito nip, she full on clamped down with her teeth on my lobe and would not let go. Really? You had to do that? She smiled. I frowned.

     “That was bad!”

     She smiled more, “I’m a bad girl. Do you want to [censored] [bleep] [censored].”

     I left.

     On the way back, I again asked our cabbie whether he had heard of Club Exercise. Another no. Then I asked him who the worst cabbies in Vegas were.

     “The Chinese.”

     He was from Eritrea mind you.

     I nodded.

     Then he pretended he was Chinese. Wow. That was a first. Very racist. I would have said something, but my ear hurt and I think I was in shock.

     Back at Encore, where suddenly I felt very safe, very at home, very relieved, we tried a little gaming. Nothing would hit. But, despite this, I didn’t feel the onset of the Dark Passenger. Hmmmm. Curious. It was now close to 2 or maybe 3 a.m. I had an 11 a.m. massage booked and wanted to get up early and relax in the spa. I decided to shut ‘er down.

     Stumbling up to the room, I felt relaxed and calm. I still had not done any major gaming, and though down, tomorrow felt like the time to make my move.

     I left open the darkness shades so that when morning came, the sunlight would gently wake me up. Then, with the soft sound of classical music playing in the background, and a slightly pulsating throb in my ear, I slept.

Day Three: Friday

"The Third Eye Awakes"

     Hey now! I bolted upright.

     Another day in Vegas. Ship that.

     I looked over at the clock. 7:30 a.m. Dang, a little earlier than I had hoped, but that’s what I get for letting the sweet sunshine come in. Oh well. I channel surfed a bit, flipped and flopped around the bed, and then eventually it was close to 9:00 a.m. and I figured it was time to get moving. I had a good feeling about today. First order of business was to get to the spa.

     However, I was really grooving on the steam shower in my room, so I set the temp to 110 degrees and sat in there for a few minutes, letting the thick cloud of warm water vapor peel sin off of my body. Aaaaaah.

     As I got my gear together (cash, chips, TITO slips, players card, ID), I got a text from Chazz saying he was already at the spa. On my way out I noticed Whale Jo’s door was still closed. Hope my buddy had fared well.

     I was really looking forward to the massage. In January I had procured my first ever professional massage – a four hander at Encore – and absolutely loved it. For this trip I had scheduled a basic Fusion massage, but added on something called the Shirodhara Stillness. What is this? According to one website, it’s described as:

“A rejuvenating and nurturing treatment creating a pool of stillness in the mind. Shirodhara is the icon of Ayurveda in America. It is a luxurious application of Ayurveda to the body, mind, and spirit that deeply relaxes the nervous system. A warm stream of herbalized oil is gently and slowly poured on the client’s forehead. This stimulates the pituitary gland and marma (vital) points. A deep state of relaxation occurs as stress melts away and a profound meditative state is experienced. Successive shirodhara treatments result in the mind systematically achieving an even deeper state of stillness. Here, more healing occurs.”

     Okay then. Basically, the way I figured, I was going to get hot oil poured on my head by a total stranger and this would somehow give me supernatural powers. Ship that. The casinos wouldn’t stand a chance.

     So, I walk myself to the Encore Spa and breath in the tranquility that wafts through the air at the check in desk. I’m led back to the men’s portion of the spa, disrobe, put my stuff in a locker, and put on one the tiny little baby robes (note to Steve Wynn – get larger, not so femme robes). I go sit in the dry sauna. Hot. Drain a bottle of water. I see Chazz out in the Jacuzzi, wave, and then get in one of the strange shower machines. Tons of buttons, I spend most of the time pressing them and getting confused. I’m supposed to be relaxing, not figuring out how to stop the damn trash compactor from squishing Princess Lea.

     I then go to the steam room. I had already had a steam this morning, but I figure there’s nothing wrong with having a little more time washing away the scent from last night. Chazz is in there and we share a few knowing laughs concerning the events at Sapphire. We wonder how the other boyz ended up – no word from them yet.

     I then proceed to the freezing cold plunge pool. Let’s do this.

     YIKES.

     Man that’s cold. But it feels good. I start to dunk my head under, then realize that any number of naked dudes had been in the pool. Unclean. I don’t want to boot, so I slowly remove myself from the water and go take another shower.

     Then it’s time to relax on the heated tiled loungers. But first, we need some coffee. Turns out they don’t have any in the actual spa area, so we head out to the workout room where there is a little juice bar. Lots of people pumping iron and running on treadmills. None of them are wearing little girl bathrobes though. I am. Chazz is. I can’t get out of there fast enough.

     For another 20 minutes or so, I sip on my coffee, read the paper, and try and imagine what I’m in for. I just hope the masseuse doesn’t have hairy man hands. Or cat paws.

     Then, five minutes before 11 a.m., I head into the massage waiting room. Such a spot of tranquility, so quiet, subdued, almost like a university library, except woman come out and call your name and lead you away to a secret back room.

     “Mr. Jaco?”

      I look up. Ahhh. No man hands or paws. I recognize her from January, but I think she was one of the other fellas’ masseuse. She’s about all of 5’2” (I’m 6’2”), blond, and exudes such a peaceful energy that I know I’m in very good hands. She asks some nice polite questions as I’m led through what has to be the most relaxed “hallway” in Vegas. Oddly, they’re similar questions that I was asked the night before at Sapphire . . . name . . . where are you from . . . . what do you do . . . she does not ask to sit on my lap.

     We get to the massage room and, now having two massages under my belt, I know the drill. Take robe off, get under sheet.

     But wait until masseuse leaves room. Otherwise it gets a bit awkward.

     So I lie on my stomach, close my eyes and breath in as Amy (can’t remember her name – this may or may not be it – but she needs a name – easier to write about) sprays some sort of mist in the air. Relaxing little pixie dust I think. Then she asks if I have a preference as to how deep I want my massage. Light? Medium?

     “Hon, take it as deep as you can go.”

     I don’t know what that really means, but I say it anyway because it sounded good. Though I should have been careful what I said.

     Thankfully I have a high pain threshold, because she did things to me that might be classified as assault in some jurisdictions. But I loved it. Every blessed second. It felt like she removed my skin and muscles, stretched them out, ironed them, and then gently replaced it all back onto my bare skeleton. From head to toe, Amy really did an amazing job. I’m guessing there was an involuntary smile on my face the entire session. She had me turn over and worked her magic on the front side. Oh mama was I relaxed.

     Then it was time for the oil.

     At this point I didn’t care what happened – she could have poured melted jolly ranchers over my body – whatever – her massage had transported me to the cross section of Calm and Happiness – do whatever you want.

     My eyes were covered with some sort of warm bean bag thingy. One tiny surge of panic took hold as I wondered whether she might waterboard me.

     Nah.

     Then I heard her setting up some sort of mechanical contraption. I never saw it; wish I had, because it sounded complicated. Metallic twisting, inserting, pushing, pulling . . . then it started.

     Hot oil.

     Muted thwacks upon my head. Right where the mystical third eye is supposed to be located.

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     I sure hope this is oil.

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     It’s warm and viscous and I can feel it running off the back of my head.

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     There’s a certain rhythm to it. And then I can feel some sort of resistance in my thoughts. Almost like I had hit a wall. But a soft wall.

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     And suddenly I pushed through. While there was a part of me that certainly knew I was in a massage room at Encore in Las Vegas, Nevada, there was another part of me that went somewhere else. The space between dreaming and awake is the best way I can think of describing it. It’s a freaking large place too.

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     Much like the strong current of waves pushing and pulling, my thoughts wavered between conscious and subconscious. I would hear more oil being poured in the machine behind me . . . then as the drips started . . .

     Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.

     I was in the space between.

     All sorts of strange things occurred in that space. Good strange things.

     And then the dripping stopped.

     I was back.

     For another ten minutes or so, Amy massaged my cranium. She has to have gone to angel school. That’s the only thing that would explain her touch.

     Angelic.

     “How do you feel?”

     Oh my god, it was over. No. No. No.

     The first thought that pops into my head is that I want to hit the casino floor and try out my new superpowers – I want to know if I can see through cards.

     “I’m sooooooo relaxed. Thank you so much. That was the best experience ever.” Or I said something to that effect.

     She left the room so I could put my wee little gnome robe on. Then she led me back to the waiting room. I shook her hand and again spouted all sorts of nice adjectives describing her skills.

     And then I was in the locker room.

     Had that really happened? I saw Chazz and Frankie.

     “How were your massages boyz?”

     “Great. Awesome.”

     “Have you seen Whale Jo?”

     Chazz smirked, “Oh yah. He just came out. He said his massage was so good that he wept like a little baby on the table.”

     I could not wait to hear about this.

     Turns out that Whale Jo’s masseuse went deep. So deep that it must have unleashed some things he had buried deep inside of his head. He says that it just got to the point where his emotions just boiled over and he curled up into a fetal position and wept.

     Cane that shite brother!

     Now it was time to hit Country Club. Best post massage lunch ever. At least it was in January. Would it be again?

     First order of business was heading back to the room with Whale Jo so he could grab some dough. Of course, based on the relaxed state of being we were in, it was only logical that Whale Jo hit the Encore high limit room and see what was what.

     I wondered to myself if I really did have the third eye. If I did, would I get back roomed?

     Whale Jo laid his money out.

     “Are we going to shipittown Jaco?”

     Based on the cards that followed, no.

     But instead of feeling the ominous Dark Passenger pull up a seat next to us, I felt more like I was channeling Mr. Miyagi from The Karate Kid (1984 version). I nodded at Whale Jo and he nodded back. More money on the table.

     He wanted me to call the bets for him. At this point it’s just purple chips in play.

     I decline. I find myself thinking that it just isn’t the way the third eye works. It’s more encompassing than that. More of just a general feeling. The right energy.

     Call it whatever you want. It worked.

     Whale Jo crushed the table – got his money back plus a little extra. Time for lunch.

Thank you third eye!

     The boyz were all at the bar at Country Club. I sidled up and ordered a Stella. Mmmmmm. Man that tasted good. Scooter met us (he did not partake in the massagefest). Oh, and I forgot to mention earlier, Hee-Haw flew out in the a.m. So we were down to five.

     Country Club knocked it out of the park, again. I had the Cobb Salad, backed by some more Stellas. Great conversation with the fellas about nothing in particular and the obligatory “It doesn’t get any better than this” toast.

     Then came the question. What do we do now?

Meow! Have fun at Aria boyz!

     The answer?

      Take to Rolls down to Aria.

     Whale Jo had been in touch with one of the players at the Ivey room and the big game was on and he wanted in. I figured I hadn’t been to Aria yet, and it’d do me some good to get a little change of scenery. The other boyz agreed. But . . . I was supposed to meet up with Mr. and Mrs. Pigbob from the Tripadvisor Las Vegas forum over at the Eastside Lounge at 3:15. In hindsight, I should have gone and met up with them, then hightailed it over to Aria to catch up with the boyz. But, when you are in the middle of having a good time with the crew, it can be very hard to break away. Especially in Vegas. Plus, I’m shy and I’m sure that played a part in my decision.  Next time.

     Aria. Here we come.

No, I can't do 200 mph on the strip sir.

     Ahhhh. That moment in time deserved to be frozen. Post massage, post lunch, pre gaming. In the Rolls. No better feeling.

     Aria.

     I have no idea where we were dropped off. But my first impression was that I had walked into some fancy airport, with a casino. Huge. Cavernous. Some of the boyz didn’t care for it. But something about the place worked. I liked it. I might even stay here some day.

This way to the Ivey Room boyz.

     Whale Jo took us to the Ivey Room and we said hello to the poker players, watched Whale Jo play a few games. When you are in the Ivey Room, you can get pretty much anything you want (which we’d find out later). There’s a cocktail waitress that just stands there waiting for someone to order something. There’s also a manager usually ballyhooing about. It was fun watching the tenor of the room change once Whale Jo started playing. Upon initially walking in, the mood was very subdued, nobody talking to each other. But after about five minutes of Whale Jo’s banter, the table mood had lightened considerably and I even heard some of the players laugh.

     After a few cocktails, it was time for me to hit the gaming floor. As I walked out, Whale Jo tossed me a $500 chip.

     “We’re going halves Jaco. Make us some money.”

     Shipit. I had a mission.

     I figured with a cool grand to play with, I could do some damage on some high limit slots. I wandered into the high limit slot area and plugged a lot of hundos into a $10 machine.

     Oooops.

     I didn’t hit a thing. Flush-o-rama. I had a few hundos left and proceeded to dump that down the toilet as well. Maybe I didn’t like Aria so much.

     I contemplated heading back to the Ivey Room and telling Whale Jo that I was taking off. But . . . I had firepower left in my wallet and decided to make a go of things on my own. I decided to try and find some new slot machines. Ones that didn't know my name.

No idea what this was. Definite money sucker.

Yes. I ground it out on the penny Sex in the City Machine.

An Airplane! slot? Really? This machine
freaked me out. Big time. I think the buttons
are laced with LSD.

Another type of bonus round on the Airplane! slot.
Whoever made this game should be fired.

   Oh my goodness what a bad idea. Well, at the start it was a good idea. I'll admit to you dear readers that I quite enjoyed the Sex in the City slots. Though I certainly got some sideways looks when I clapped like a light loafered boy toy from Bangkok whenever I hit a bonus round - especially the one where you pick shoe boxes. "Ooooooooooh! Shoes! Goodie!"

     As I wandered around looking for other machines I spied a slot game based on the movie Airplane. WTF? That brand still works?

     Well it did for me. I sat down, plugged a hundo in and hit a few bonus rounds. Normally I like bonus rounds. But these ones spooked me. Especially the ones where the little captains that looked odd phallic, did what a phallic symbol should do . . . expand. What were the game designers smoking when the came up with this? Then the other bonus round seemed to revolve around being able to pick passengers out of their seats . . . I got really bent out of shape at this bonus round. Then I realized perhaps I had overdosed on slots. Time to move on.

I found a blackjack table with one person playing – a nice looking woman in her 60s from Orange County – and bought in. The table went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I’d get up. I’d get down. I’d be back to even. Then up. Down. Roller coaster. But never enough of a downturn that I got completely drained. Eventually the nice lady left and was replaced by two Mexicans. I knew they were Mexican because I asked.

Turns out they were in town, as were a lot of other Mexicans, for their country’s independence day. Cool. These two fellas were from Chihuahua and seemed to enjoy screaming “Monkey” at the cards with me. After twenty minutes or so, I was up and decided to walk away.

     I felt OK. Bad that I had lost Whale Jo’s $500, but felt good that I had been able to make some money back. I looked down at my watch and noticed it was about 6:30 or so. Wow. Where did the time go. I was kind of hungry and remembered being told that food might be ordered in the Ivey Room.

     I walked into the room and relayed the bad news to Whale Jo that I had lost the money. It looked like he was holding his own and was still in a good mood.

     “You want to order some sushi?”

     Whale Jo handed me a menu. Bar Masa.

     “It’s all free”

     Like I mentioned earlier, food and drink is free if you are in the Ivey Room. Food and drink from anywhere on the property. Cool.

     I scanned the menu and picked out some pieces of maguro, toro, kampachi, and uni. Oh, and a roll or two.

     The cocktail waitress came in and I asked her if I could get a Japanese beer. She said no problem; it would just take a few minutes for her to track one down from the restaurant. While she was at it, could she get some hot sake? No problem.

     Scooter found his way back to the Ivey Room and ordered as well. We chatted, enjoyed some Kirin and I lit up light a Christmas tree when the food was brought in. It looked so good.

     It was a little strange having a service cart rolled in with this unbelievable sushi and eating it in a corner while a bunch of guys were playing high stakes poker. But, whatever, it’s Vegas.

     I’ll state it now – the sushi created by Bar Masa is the BEST I’ve tasted in Vegas. Watch yourself Okada, you’ve got company. The quality of the nigiri was unbelievably fresh. And what I liked best of all, the nigiri pieces were about ¼ or 1/8 of an inch smaller than Okada's. Which meant instead of having every available space occupied by food when I stuffed a piece of toro in my mouth, I now had a little room for the food to move around.

     These little pieces of fish were like Olympic gymnasts in my mouth. This was some serious high end sushi. Did each piece melt in my mouth? Check. Temperature equivalent to water temp when fish was caught? Check. Perfectly textured and shaped sushi rice? Check. Me talking to each piece in a soothing loving voice. Check. I was kicking myself for not ordering more. Oh well, made me savor each tender bite.

     And then there was the uni.

     Yes. I love uni.

     I would bathe in uni if possible.

     I took a little shot of sake – YUM – and prepared my critical taste buds for uni insertion.

     The outward appearance clued me in that I was going to love it.

     My eyes still roll to the back of my head in recalling this distinctly oh-so-wrong pleasurable experience.

     If I was Catholic, I’d need a good hour of Padre Farmington’s time for a confession after all the thoughts that ran through my head after having the first piece of sushi. Bad bad bad Jaco.

     This is probably the only time in my life that I wanted to be Sponge Bob Squarepants . . . just for a day . . .just so I could live underwater and eat all the uni in the sea.

     I hoisted the other piece in . . . almost clipping off a tiny section to put in my pocket . . . but knowing that there could be smell issues down the road, I didn’t. Shipthat. I could have run screaming out of the Ivey Room – but likely would have run smack into the glass doors from pure shipit food blindness. Man oh man oh man. Lovely sweet delicious uni. While the night before I wanted to write poetry to the octopus dish, this night I wanted to write an opera . . . complete with stage fog, singing goats, and jewel encrusted sea urchins.

     That food caused a surge of energy to run through my veins. I was ready to hit the blackjack tables again. I stood up to go. Whale Jo turns to me.

     “Jaco”

     “Yeah?”

     “Take this. Turn it into $6k”

     I looked down, he’d palmed me $1,600 in chips.

     I nodded appreciatively, “Done.”

     And out I marched into battle. I had to find the right table . . . .

     And I did.

     $15 min. table. One dude playing. Very large jovial dealer dealing.

     This was my table.

     I asked the dude how things were going. He said so-so.

     Let’s change that.

     I bought in for $1k.

     I did OK. Up and down. Up and down. A lot like the earlier table.

     Then just as I was on an upswing, there was a dealer change. Dark cloud dealer.

     She took me to the felt. I threw in the last $600 of the mission money. Felt this.

     All black please.

     The table starting filling up. A nice couple from Arizona sat next to me (I was sitting at third base). They lightened things up.

     Then Mr. Fat Dealer returned. He looked at my dwindling chip pile and said he’d change that. I lost the first couple of hands and was down to $300. I pushed all in.

     6

     K

     Dealer showing Q.

     I got up. This was it. Time to go.

     Hit me.

     3

     At least I didn’t bust. But it’s not enough. Both legs are on the ground now.

     Dealer turns over . . . . 5.

     Next card . . . . I scream out “MONKEY!” . . . dealer slow rolls it over . . . the anticipation is killing me.

     K

     Bust.

     I took it to the nub and was not knocked out.

     “MEDIC!” I screamed. The blood was pumping fast!

     A few more up and downs, the energy of the table had definitely turned in the players favor. All of us together. Then it happened. The run.

     Have you ever listened to the Mary J. Blige and U2 version of One? The first two minutes of that song are pleasing enough to listen to. A lot like how the table felt. Good. But then at about the 2:23 mark of the song, the intensity level starts going up, you realize something has changed. For the good. Then as you are riding that wave, boom, at 2:44 of the song, at least for me, pure raw energy is unleashed. A cloak of goodness. Seriously.  Just go listen to the song. Fast forward to 2:16 and sit back and imagine yourself at a BJ table when the tide has turned your way. Then imagine that high point stretching out in time.  Shipit. That's the run I experienced at this table. Funny enough, at some point during the run, Scooter sat down and rode the wave. In short, short order, I think he turned $1k into $2k and then left. I had no such intention. There were only two outcomes for me. Either I busted or I walked with $6k. Come on MJB, don't let me down, keep singin' baby.

     I don’t know how many times I yelled monkey or medic, but I started losing my voice. Then I looked at my chips. My basic math skills were obviously impaired, I should be able to count it out.

     So I did.

     And recounted.

     I counted again.

     Then pulled out some purple chips that the dealer had told me to stuff into my pocket when I had won them. Smart dealer.

     Get the F out of here.

     I played one last hand. $200.

     Lost.

     Unbelievable. But in a good way.

     I colored up.

     “Six thousand."

     Did I hear him right?

     “Sorry sir, I don’t have any $1k chips, only purple.”

     I should have screamed out or something. But I was s-p-e-n-t. I mumbled something and stumbled away.

I did it. I really did it. I could not wait to show Whale Jo and hurried towards the Ivey Room, lest I be tempted to press my luck.

     “Whale Jo! What did you ask me to turn the money into?”

     “$6k?”

     “Here.”

     I proudly displayed the 12 Barneys. He gave me my cut. Ahhhhh. That felt good.

And with that, all my energy was done. It was only about 12:45, but I knew I had to get back to Encore ASAP and hit the pillow. Scooter was ready to go and off we went. Whale Jo, of course, stayed behind to play a little more poker. He was leaving tomorrow and wanted to squeeze every last drop out of Vegas.

Once back at Encore I burrowed into the bed, cut the lights, shut all the shades, turned up the classical music and floated off to sleep.

Another day and night done in Vegas. And the Dark Passenger was nowhere to be found.

Day 4: Saturday

“Take it to the Nub”

Wow. Another morning in Las Vegas, Nevada. My last full day and night here. A city I love. But also a city I can very easily hate. Right now, Saturday morning, I love Vegas. I do a quick mental check in . . . still no Dark Passenger. Seems to me the demon is long gone.

I have no plans, no agenda. Only thing that needs to be accomplished today is packing my bag and moving to a Tower Suite King. My stay in the 2BR Apartment Suite is over – Whale Jo is heading home.

Speaking of Whale Jo, did he make it home last night? I sneak a peek out my room towards his door – it’s closed. He’s back but definitely no movement coming from in there. I turn on the TV and watch a little of the college football pre-game coverage on ESPN. Had to do at least a little preparation before laying down some money on a few parlay tickets.

It wasn’t long before the first game was going to air, so I headed downstairs to try and get a quick bet in. As I’m walking by the front desk, I remember something odd about last night.

When I went to go into the room, my Red Card had made a funny sound and had not unlocked the door. But, the door was unlocked – so I was able to get in. I decide to see if the front desk can’t make me another key.

Nope. A problem with the account. They needed to talk to Whale Jo.

But what about my stuff?

Give us your credit card and you can have a key.

Um, how about, no?

Now, I suppose I could have put up more of a fight or at least requested a security guard to come up with me so I could get my luggage.

Hwever, there was no need. I had left a paper in the door so that it didn’t lock. Wasn’t like I couldn’t go up the elevators.

So I headed back up. Bets would have to wait.

Once I returned to the room, I called Smooth Chazz and told him to come on up and watch football. Plan now was to chill out in the a.m., say goodbye to Whale Jo, maybe hook up with Scooter, and watch football over at the Wynn sportsbook.

It wasn’t long before Whale Jo lumbered out of his room. Fully packed and ready for home. No big news gaming-wise from him. He had stayed at the game at the Ivey Room over at Aria long enough to eventually bust out one of the poker stars. In fact, he tried to raise the stakes of the game at one point to 1600/3200 NL, but that was too high for the group at that time. I made a half-hearted plea to have him stay another night – but I could tell by the look on his face that he was done with Vegas and needed to get out of town. No good would be done by keeping Whale Jo around chasing the dragon.

So, Smooth Chazz and I walked him out to the front, man-hugged, and watched him head off. Shipit my friend.

Whale Jo departs.

I went to the Tower Suite front desk and checked into my new room. It wasn’t quite ready, so I left my bag with the bellhop and Chazz and I marched over to the Wynn.

College football baby!

We found two seats right at the video poker bar at the sports book. Perfect view of many of the TVs that would be showing most of the major games throughout the day. I realized I hadn’t had anything of much substance to eat, so I ordered a bloody mary. Mmmmmmm.

I then proceeded to fill out my parlay cards and make some straight up bets. I did a five and two seven card parlays. I also bet on $50 on Alabama over Duke, $25 Washington +3 vs. Nebraska, and $25 Minnesota +12 vs. USC.

I ordered a beer, stuck a hundo in the $1 VP machine in front of me and alternated between playing video poker, drinking my beer and watching college football. While I watched my Washington pick get demolished, I was happy to see ‘Bama cover the Duke game easily. Also, as a nice little bonus, the two machines I played at the bar turned out to have nice personalities. As the pictures below show, I was able to get more than one four of a kind. Too bad these weren’t $5 machines . . . but I was glad to take whatever the gambling gods gave me.

I did order a chicken salad sandwich from the bar. It would be food prejudice if I didn’t do some sort of review for this dish, so here it goes.

It was OK. The only reason I remember it is because I took a picture. The only reason I took a picture was because the pickle was so big (that’s what she said . . . *cue cymbals*). Frankly, the chicken salad had the consistency of a non-Newtonian fluid . . . oobleck. If I chewed slowly, I could mash it into a swallowable mash. If I chewed too fast, it felt like I was chewing on a rubber ball. Overall grade? C-/D+. Edible, had some flavor, but whoever put the effort behind making the “chicken salad” – oh yes, it gets quotation marks – needs a refresher course in basic food prep. Next time I’ll just order a hot dog.

All in all, save for the chicken salad sandwich, it was a perfect lazy Saturday afternoon. Eventually Chazz, upon hitting the Vegas wall, left to go catch up on some sleep. I stayed at the bar drinking beer and watching football until about 4:30, then decided it was probably time to move into my new room and clean up for the evening.

The move to the new room was smooth enough. Had a nice strip view. I was located right above the beach club and could definitely hear the thumping bass. Didn’t bother me though. And I actually felt more comfortable in this room than the 2BR Apartment Suite. Maybe I discovered something about myself . . . there can be too big. I was gonna miss that steam shower though.

I met back up with Chazz around 5:30 at the Eastside Lounge.

We had a few cocktails and tried to figure out where we would go for the evening. Neither of us had heard from Scooter, so we decided it was best if we went over to Treasure Island and see if he was still alive. We were also in the mood for some Mexican food and turns out ole TI has a Mexican joint that has decent reviews on Yelp.

A short cab ride later, we were walking into TI. My first impression?

Something stinks.

Literally, the smell walking into that place was off. Not bathroom bad smell, but something stale and chemical. Almost like all the patrons in the entire casino had simultaneously used a can of cheap hair spray for three minutes. Oh well, like I said, it was off, not putrid.

I found a courtesy phone and dialed up Scooter’s room. No answer. Shoot, guess having him hang with us that last night wasn’t in the cards.

Chazz and I then made our way to Isla Mexican Kitchen. It was probably around 7 p.m. and there were plenty of seats to be had.

The first table we were brought to was way too close to other tables. No thanks, can we get something were I’m not sitting in another customer’s lap? The hostess walked us around the restaurant and sat us at a table on the other side of the place. Still too close, but oh well.

The décor of the place is nice enough. Nothing fancy, I think they were going for a little bit of an indigenous meets IKEA type feel.

The waiter comes out and takes our drink orders – we both go for the giant $15 margarita. And we were both sorely disappointed. Where’s the booze? It tasted like they had just rubbed the inside of the glass with a tequila infused cotton ball and then filled it with cheap mixer. Minus points for that Isla.

Next up were the chips and salsa. Cute little tower of chips with different types of salsas. A little impractical if you ask me – having the salsa raised above the table and chips. Seems that each time I dipped a chip and brought it back to my mouth, it created a little bit of salsa rain on the other chips.

Finally, time to order. Again, Chazz and I order the same thing. Chicken enchilada.

You know what? Not too shabby. Nothing earth shattering. And certainly nothing different than what I could get at an Azteca or Taco Bell – but that’s not a knock. It was decent food done fast.

The total check was about $65.

Considering what I had dropped at Carnevino two nights prior, this was a bargain.

Overall grade. C+. Slightly above average.

And then it was game time. The last major session of the trip. What to do, what to do . . . . it was either stay at TI, head out somewhere else, or trek back to Wyncore.

We chose TI.

It’s funny, as I wrote the above sentence; I had originally typed “We chose to battle at TI.” Then I thought about it a little more . . . battle . . . really? I’ve probably used the phrase before and probably thrown out military metaphors in describing gambling . . . but in writing it this time, it bothered me. Sorry for the rambling aside . . .just felt like sharing.

Anyway. Gambling at TI. Engage.

Dang it. Did it again. Oh well.

The first bets we made at TI were on the slots. Chazz and I agreed to pool our money together and see what would happen.

Nothing. The slots were drier than the underside of a rock in the Atacama Desert. Flushed a hundo or two down without any success.

Next up was a $5 craps table. One shooter. He looked depressed. I watched him crap out and smiled as the dice came to me. One time. Let’s have a good roll, one time.

First roll.

7

Nice. I just made $10. I think about letting it ride, but pull it back. Why am I so tight at craps?

7

I should have let it ride. OK. Maybe this time? No, instead I throw out some money on midnight. Some for the boyz too.

11

Wow, am I getting hot? I repeat the midnight bet.

10

I put odds out and place $12 on the 6 and 8. I throw some money on the hardways, a $5 bet on the field. It’s gonna be a good night!

7

Great job. I shake my head. Maybe I should bet the dark side.

No – Chazz is up. He’s the master roller.

Chazz hits the 6. Good point. I spread more money out on the felt.

Next roll . . . .

7

Groan.

Should have left at that point, but instead I flush my buy in trying to back the next two shooters. Oh well, I still have firepower left in my wallet.

Blackjack time.

We circled the pit looking for a table and saw an empty $15 game with an Asian dealer named Tom standing dour faced and uninviting. Perfect.

Chazz takes third base and I sit right next to him. I spread 8 bills on the table, order a bud light from the cocktail waitress . . . or no . . . I started off with rum, orange and cran.

Play starts off choppy. Win some. Lose some. I’m probably betting about $50 at this point. Sometimes $100. After about ten minutes a host comes over.

“Mr. Jaco? Mr. Chazz?”

A very nice lady, she gave us both her business card and said that if we were ever interested in staying at TI, give her a call. She commented on our nice “action” . . .

I start hitting a run of good luck, start smiling, start laughing and then the cooler dealer taps in.

She does not smile. Not even when I tell her she has a pretty smile.

Come on, just one tiny smile for Jaco?

“That is my smile.”

Her initial deals were choppy. Then the table started filling up with players who would stay the rest of the night. One of those fun family tables.

At the head of the table was an Iranian couple, Persians they called themselves. The wife obviously loved eye makeup and the husband must have been mute. Next to them was a gentleman from Bangladesh. He had been visiting a client in San Diego and decided to pop over to Vegas for some fun. He seemed to always have a deer in the headlights look about him. Very nice fella. Next to him was a physical therapist from Seattle who was in town for her mother’s birthday. Her pops came in and tested the water for a little bit. She, I think, was my lucky charm.

But, there couldn’t be any luck if at first I didn’t get buzz sawed. The lady dealer basically depleted all my hard earned profit stacks. Then she started taking my buy in money. She took it all.

Not so nice!

I pulled out another $1,100. That money started disappearing too. Finally, I also asked the table if they wouldn’t mind if I requested a shoe change. No, none minded, I wasn’t the only one getting gouged. I asked the dealer to re-shuffle and that, of course, brought over a pit boss. Jonathon Grumpyface.

“Sir, we usually don’t reshuffle mid-shoe.”

“OK, so make an exception?”

“The house doesn’t request a reshuffle when the players are winning.”

No, that would probably make people a bit mad.

Despite the positively not wanting to adhere to my request, he must have found something humorous in the way I was asking and finally figured out I was definitely not a card counter and posed no real threat to the casino’s bottom line.

The shoe was reshuffled, and then Tom came back.

The tide starting shifting back to positive. But it took some real blind dumb luck to keep me from going bust.

Several times with Tom I got a little overzealous with the betting (I moved to just black chips) and found myself on the wrong side of a split/double down. I had the remarkable ability of losing any of these big hands. Which, several times, had me down to under $500. The nub.

My reaction, when I reach the nub, is to just shove it all in. Either I go bust or stay at the table. I remember one time having $400, shoving it in and getting up, ready to go.

Win.

Then something came over me. Not the Dark Passenger . . . no, I was sure it was gone for good. This feeling was more concentrated anger. Chazz dubbed it “Pro Mode”.

No more smiling. No more clapping. No more fist bumps with Bangladesh. I wanted to make something of my stack.

But nothing really happens. I continue the up and down ride.

Finally, the night is coming to an end. I can tell Chazz is ready to go. He heads off to the bathroom.

And I catch a good run. Averaging $100 - $300, I watch with satisfaction as my little garden of black chips grows into a respectable harvest. Chazz returns. It’s time to go.

I try counting it out. Again, math skills have left the building. I just push it out to Tom.

“What’s the final tally Tommy boy?”

Here’s what I walked away with.

$3,600. Not too shabby. Especially considering how many times I took it to the nub and held on. I had not been busted and that, for me, was a great result.

And as quick as it all had started, the trip was coming to a fast end. Chazz and I tried to rally a bit with some slot play at Encore. But my heart wasn’t really into it. What I really wanted to do was head up to the room, start a movie, eat some cashews and relax.

So that’s what I did.

At least for two minutes. I clicked on Predators . . . enjoyed the opening sequence, but the thumping bass of the Encore Beach Club helped me fall asleep. Another day done.

Goodnight Vegas . . .

Day Five – Sunday

“Departure Day”

There’s a quote from one of my favorite books, Winter’s Tale, by Mark Helprin that goes something like, “But as we part, there are certain things we can know.”

Don’t know why, but that was running through my head as I woke up. To the phone ringing.

Thank god I had the foresight to schedule a wakeup call; I was dead to the world and no telling when I would have stirred.

Certain things we can know . . .

I wasn’t “up” for the trip, but I wasn’t down big. Doing my usual Vegas math, employing all Enron accounting techniques, I figured I was about as close to even as I could be. My Vegas envelope has about $400 less than what had been in there when I had arrived. Take into account paying cash for several items (TI dinner, spa, taxis, etc. – which were paid out of the wad) I could even delude myself into thinking I was actually up.

Regardless of whether I was up or down, more importantly, I had experienced some pretty fun things. Things I’m not likely to experience again anytime soon.

Private jet?

Not unless my new career takes off beyond my wildest expectations.

2BR Apartment Suite at Encore?

Not sure I would choose to stay here again even if I could. Regular TS room seems fine to me. May even try a new property next time.

2BR Penthouse at Chateau Marmont? Only one scenario I can see where I get back there . . . who knows.

Take all of those elements away though and I still would have a trip to cherish. Why? Because I got to spend some quality time with old friends. I laughed. I almost cried. I had hot oil poured on my forehead. Just another trip that someday I’ll be able to share with nurses in the old folk’s home.

I packed my bags. Ordered some coffee and an English muffin for room service. Then proceeded down to checkout. Sigh. Back to reality (which nowadays ain’t all that bad!). I only had about $60 in freeplay earned on my Red Card, but I decided to play it on Survivor.

Won $60.

Watched as some drunks got cut off at the Eastside Lounge . . . turns out they’d been up all night.

Glad that wasn’t me.

Then went to the concierge to get my boarding pass printed.

Did I need a ride?

Um, sure?

And the last surprise of the trip.

A ride to the airport in the Rolls. Courtesy of Steve.

The END.

Who Knew Treasure Island Could Be So Fun!

2010-09-19T17:53:00.000-07:00

Black Chip Blackjack at TI . . . why not?

A little collection of bumblebees ($1k chips - the yellow ones)

The Trip Has Started . . . .

2010-09-16T16:33:00.000-07:00

Finally the surprise was unleashed. Whale Jo's 40th birthday party weekend officially kicked off last night. I'll post more in trip report form when I get back. But here are a few pics and some of the actual details of what we've done so far . . . .

Trip started with five of us flying into Burbank with various wives and children. We were met by a couple limos and whisked off to the Chateau Marmont. Whale Jo was booked in a 2BR penthouse suite there - for what he thought was the night.

Here's a photo from the outdoor terrace:

About 20 - 40 people gathered for a surprise party (more on that in the trip report). Whale Jo was waaaay surprised. But having us out of towners show up was just the beginning. Next big surprise was letting Whale Jo we (the five of us and WJ) were going to Vegas that night. Party started around 8, a limo was coming to pick us up at the Chateau and taking us back to Burbank.

For a midnight flight.

On a private jet. A Hawker 800XP for anyone who cares . . .

Here are a few pics:

One of the two captains . . . looking forward at the cockpit

Whale Jo meeting his shipit plane

The flight was fricking unbelievable. More on that later too.

View from the jet as we touch down in Happyland

So we arrived last night at Encore around 1:45 a.m. . . . and then the final surprise for Whale Jo . . . checkin to a 2BR Apartment Suite . . . . 3,500 sq. ft. of Encore excellence. Gamed until 3 a.m. or so . . . got up at 8 . . . and just spent day at a cabana at the Encore pool.

Gambling for me is up and down . . . down a few hundos at the moment thanks to my new addiction: Amazing Race slots . . . I hate them, but can't stop.

So, now just chillin' in the room:

Control in the 2BR Apt. Suite - Main Room

Off to Carnevino tonight and who knows what else . . . .

More later.

Jaco

Another LA Trip Report

2010-06-07T09:32:00.000-07:00

Just got back from Los Angeles . . . this trip was a total surprise - especially since I had just been there in April. Until I boarded a plane on Thursday, 6/3/10, I had absolutely no clue as to where I was headed. Only thing I was told was to pack a bathing suit and some warm clothes.

Shipit.

What followed during the next three nights was incredible . . . here are the highlights:

Walking the red carpet at the World Premiere of "The A Team" . . . what a completely surreal experience.

My first face to face experience with real live paparazzi

The BEST Italian meal EVER . . .

Staying at the Sunset Marquis

Stand up paddle boarding in Malibu

Exploring the Magic Castle. . .

And everything in between . . . .on par, if not better, than any Vegas trip.

New Non-Las Vegas Trip Report

2010-04-27T09:34:00.000-07:00

Was in LA a couple days ago for a short in and out visit with Whale Jo, Mrs. Whale Jo and their brand spanking new baby, Lil' Guppy. Needless to say this was quite a different trip than what I usually experience when travelling with my good buddy.

One purpose of the trip was to introduce yours truly, Jaco, to the newest member of the Whale Jo clan. That part went great. I can't provide more details due to the seven page confidentiality agreement I had to sign.

Other purpose of the trip was just to hang out with Mr. and Mrs. and experience LA for a few days - Whale Jo had just moved out there permanently about six months ago.

HIGHLIGHTS:

Eating at Matsuhisa - while not quite hitting the high ceiling set by Sasubune in Honolulu (see review below), I found the food here better than what I have experienced at Okada.

Staying at La Casa de Whale Jo . . . cool hip neighborhood, five star accommodations . . .

Boogey Boarding at Manhattan Beach: A buddy of ours lives right on the ocean at Manhattan Beach and it would have been a crime not to stop by and say hello . . . the waves were awesome, dolphins were in the surf, and the three of us had a nice hot tub afterwards . . . in a tub that was about 3x5 . . .

Dinner Party at the Casa . . . fun meeting up with some Hollywood characters . . .

Hollywood Day . . . rode around the lot of one of the big studios on a golf cart - no, not the carts where 12 of you are packed in and driven around by a tour guide - this cart was one of the big head honcho's personal cart on loan to us . . . just me, Whale Jo and the missus . . . such a shipit ride . . . rode around checking out various building, lots, shooting sets . . . I was blown away by the experience . . . then a nice little lunch in the executive restuarant. Yum!

Chateau Marmont . . . had a few cocktails here w/ Whale Jo . . . then snuck into the back pool area and played some ping pong.

Secret Stairs . . . . type in secret stairs los angeles into google and the first link you'll see should be a link to this guide book to the secret staircases throughout LA . . . we did one of these tours . . . it was crazy . . . but wicked fun.

Cheers,

Jaco

Off Topic: Best Sushi in the WORLD

2010-04-14T16:38:00.000-07:00

No tellin' how long it'll be until I return to Vegas . . . so, in the meantime, anyone who is stumbling across this blog may be treated to various musings from some of my other travels. This post is my first attempt at such a diversion.

I just returned from a three week stint in Hawaii and had the good fortune to consume the best sushi in the world. I'd say universe, but that would be pure hyperbole and speculation as I have yet, despite my best intentions, to partake in space travel. It was so good that my prior favorite, Okada in Las Vegas, now looks like a glorified Skippers to me. Seriously, not sure if I'll ever be able to go back.

What and where is this place? Sushi Sasabune in Honolulu (there are Sasabunes in LA and NY and I definitely plan on trying those).

Prelude:

Whenever I'm in Hawaii I like to try out a new sushi joint and I finally had a free night where I could indulge my inner seal. For the past couple of trips I had had my eye on Sasabune and decided to do a little more research to see if this would be the year I gave it a try. Do a quick search on Yelp and you'll read exactly what I read . . . a lot of rave reviews, but within those reviews are stories of how the chef and servers at Sasabune are Sushi Nazis. You must eat the sushi as dictated by the chef and staff . . . OR ELSE. That means no mixing wasabi in your soy sauce, no dipping fish in sushi unless directly ordered, no dipping nigiri rice side down into soy sauce (fish side down please), and you must eat anything that is served to you in one bite. The consequence of failing to adhere to these rules? You get admonished and possibly kicked out. A relative of mine who lives in Oahu told me that he heard there was a customer who got so mad at being told what to do that he ended up punching the chef in the eyeball. That definitely got him kicked out. Oh, and don't expect to see anything but sushi on the menu. No fancy stupid named rolls, no tempura, no udon . . . only sushi. If you sit at the sushi bar don't even expect to see a menu - anyone who sits at the bar is at the mercy of the chef. Same with parties of four - you won't be given a menu.

Yikes, right? Why on earth go so such a place? Because the quality of the food is THAT good. And really, if you go to their website and investigate their motives, you'll see that this isn't some schtick that the chef and waitstaff put on just for jollies, i.e., there is a method to the madness.

First Impressions:

The restaurant is located on S. King Street in Honolulu, a couple blocks from Kalakaua (for those familiar with the area). Looking at it from the outside you would think that room temperature fish and hard uncooked rice would be the sushi du jour . . . there is nothing, I mean absolutely nothing, that hints at the magic happening behind the sliding Star Trek door into the place. The interior also fails to impress . . . it could be any sushi joint in Anytown, USA. It's small, I think that there were more seats at the sushi bar than in the restaurant. I had a party of four and had booked a table for us to sit at. It felt like a party of 10 when we sat down at the table - we took up that much space.

As I mentioned above, typically if you are a four top you can forget about ordering off the menu - you'll get what the chef decides to make. This explains the neon sign behind the sushi counter - "Trust Me". What about if you bring kids? The chef isn't that cruel - he'll allow kiddies to order off the menu - which is just a tally sheet for nigiri, sashimi, and a few bare bones rolls.

When the waiter came over I explained that two of my party were chopstick challenged. I closed my eyes expecting to be kicked out on the spot. Instead, the waiter discretely dropped off two forks. He also mentioned that using hands/fingers would be completely OK. Since they were underage, they picked a few choice items off the menu (blue fin tuna, salmon, and a tuna roll - well, not exactly a tuna roll since the meat wasn't just cut up maguro, rather it was meat shaved off close to the spine of the tuna . . . so delicate . . . so fluffy . . . ). My hot date and I went with the chef's choice . . . 13 courses . . . but you could tap out at any time . . .

Let It Begin:

Omakese . . . we would have absolutely no say in what was served. I was a bit nervous, but more giddy with anticipation . . . nothing like stepping out of the box.

First up, blue fin tuna and albacore sashimi, bathing in a ponzu sauce. No dippy in the soy sauce. The coloring of the fish was stunning. Such a deep red on the blue fin, hardly any noticeable lining of fat. The albacore looked like it had been carved from the flesh of a cherub. I chose to go with the tuna first.

Holy Fourth of July Surprise . . . I could have been done right then and there. The temperature was cool . . . it felt like I had just taken a bite of a fish while it was still swimming under water . . . the texture was unreal, melt in your mouth . . . after one chew, the entire piece evaporated in my mouth, and when combined with whatever house sauce it had been sitting in . . . I knew this night was going to be special. I took a quick swig of my Kirin and put the albacore to the test. Same result. Cool temperature, melts in your mouth . . . I would very much like to know where the fish came from . . . maybe they were raised in special tanks of sea water taken from the lost city of Atlantis, hand fed magical sea horse brains, and massaged daily by the rarest of starfish - Captain Carl Starfish.

Next up was baby squid wrapped delicately around a masterfully blended blue crab salad. I'm normally not a fan of the the tentacle creatures of the sea, usually way too rubbery. However, perhaps that's a function of the meat coming from adults. This little baby squid flesh was so easy to eat . . . again, melt in your mouth, but just a hint of crispness and resistance in the bites. Wow. The crab salad added a nice contrast with a bit of crabbiness and mayo goodness.

Flounder & Red Snapper

Who in their right mind would eat raw flounder? Come on, this is on ugly fish. And it's a bottom feeder. Not only does it look like shit, but it eats it. Prior to popping it into my mouth, I was fully prepared to barf. Oh how wrong I was. Unbelievably delicious. Moist, icey, salty and texturally satisfying. The red snapper was equally palatable - undeniably fresh. At this point I had already reached a sushi high.

Hamachi

Unreal. I don't completely recall how good this was because I happened to be still quite fixated on the fact that I had eaten flounder.

Scallop and Salmon

The salmon was served with the thinnest piece of kelp - almost like a tiny sheet for the wee little cut of fish. Great call chef. The scallops, raw, were perfectly seasoned pieces of sea marshmallows - only not so sticky as marshmallows.

And so it continued on into the night - incredible dish after dish after dish. We were served some amazing BBQ'd oysters, mackerel, amberjack, negitoro, lobster and tamago. There was one last dish to go, and I could sense I reached my limit. However, I didn't want to end on whatever it was that the chef was going to make - no - I wanted, nay, needed, to end by trying the uni. I couldn't bestow best sushi in the world honors on this place unless the uni brought me to my knees.

It did.

When the waiter brought it over he told me to forget dipping it in soy sauce and to just eat it plain. I figured since I had not been led astray all night I would take the chance.

So I popped the perfectly colored uni into my mouth. Cautiously bit down. Held my breath as the viscous sea liquid coated my tongue and mouth, then slowly breathed in.

Shipit.

The uni was semi-sweet, mineral, salty and savory - all at the same time. Delicate, yet bold. Shy, yet overtly ocean. The contrasting ying and yang of this uni blew my mind.

Sometimes there are things in this world that can't be described by words . . .this uni falls into that category. The only real superlative phrase that comes close: "f_cking unreal."

So there you go, my essay on the best sushi ever. This is a joint that you should run to, not walk, run to and experience.

Be prepared to pay for the experience though - this fish ain't cheap . . . our bill came to about $360 between the four of us . . . and two of our party really only ordered three items between them. So probably around $100 - $125 a person. Well worth it.

The next trip I have coming up will probably be to L.A. . . . gotta go visit Whale Jo and see what kind of trouble we can stir up in that city.

Thunder Rolls - The 2010 Trip Report

2010-01-28T12:41:00.000-08:00

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Introduction:

Best laid plans. I’m going to come Garth Brooks honest clean here (blatant foreshadowing), I had every intention of live blogging and tweeting during my last Vegas trip, taking picture, creating video . . . heck, pencil sketching even came to mind.

But it’s Vegas, man.

Who has time to geek out and multi-task like that?

Best I could do was snap a few random pics with my 1995 phone, take one video, and write unintelligible notes between the hours of 1 a.m. and 3 a.m. in my room with the lights turned off (not because I like darkness, but because I couldn’t find the switch).

Don’t despair though. I luckily have a very solid memory and putting pen to paper won’t be much of a chore at all. Typing this all out allows me to re-live some of these moments over again.

Let me start off with some basic background information here for those of you that have yet to read a trip report of mine. Every year there is a group of guys (I like to call them the crew) I travel with to Vegas. The purpose? Simple answer – Vegas. Who are these dudes? I think I described some of them in previous reports, but it bears mentioning again at the beginning of this story.

Whale Jo: Known since sixth grade. Best man at his wedding. Won scratch off lottery ticket with him (six figures). We have GREAT gambling luck together.

Smooth Chaz: Known for at least 17 years. First adult visit to Vegas was with Smooth Chaz – we waxed poetic this trip about our first walk down the strip, visiting haunts like the Desert Inn, the Sands, and the Frontier. First boyz trip to Vegas was with Smooth Chaz – stayed at the Mirage. Old school Vegas soul.

Frankie Styles: Known for at least 8 years. First got to know him when he accompanied us on a Vegas trip in 2003 to Barbary Coast. Extremely intelligent, smart and witty gentleman. Very good with the observational humor and strippers.

Buzzy: Known him for at least 20 years . . . went to college and after-college schools with him. Think George from Seinfeld meets Larry David. Buzzy never disappoints for some good Vegas stories (as you’ll find if you make it through this trip report – he’s the instigator of what will forever be known as “The Scallop Incident” at Okada).

We also had a few guest appearances this year. Hee-haw, my brother in law, decided to fly down for just one night. “P” flew down for two nights – Whale Jo and I have known him since sixth grade and it was his 40th birthday. And a character I’ll call “Thailand” – that’s where he flew in from. He’s a dude Whale Jo and I have also known since the sixth grade.

For this trip Whale Jo and I had booked a Salon Suite with a connecting Tower Suite Room, comped for four nights. Dinners were at Botero, Okada, Hugo’s, and Wazzuzu. Lunches worth mentioned were at Country Club and in-room dining that we ordered for a cocktail party Whale Jo and I hosted for the boyz. Gaming adventures consisted of Wynn, Encore, El Cortez and Four Queens. Extraneous activities (those that I define as non-gaming) included: a field trip to Spearmint Rhino, the Garth Brooks concert (1/23 at 10:30 p.m.), haircut at the Wynn Salon, and a four-handed massage at the Encore Spa. Gaming activities included: blackjack, let it ride, roulette, pai gow tiles, dealer’s bluff, video poker, and various forms of slots ranging from $.01 to $20 machines.

So there you have it. If you do have any questions about anything contained in this trip report, please do not hesitate to e-mail me.

Chapter One – “Let the Games Begin” (1/24/10)

This was the first boyz trip that I would be flying solo. Normally we’re all packed into the first class cabin, enjoying free drinks and reveling in the anticipatory energy that a Vegas trip creates.

As I’m walking on the plane I notice the person in front of me being greeted cheerfully by the flight attendants. I hear one of them mention “good luck in the contest”. Turns out she was Ms. Something or other heading down to the Ms. USA (or Ms. America) contest. Would she be in the seat next to me?

No, I got Carl the wholesale car buyer, complete with nervous twitch that must have developed during many a years of raising and lowering his hand at car auctions.

So, instead of engaging in high limit battles of mano y mano blackjack with Whale Jo, I’d have to be content entertaining myself.

Unfortunately, that entertainment came at a price. Fear.

The minute the big steel bird left the ground we hit some pretty nasty bumps. Instead of just laughing off the jolting and jumping, I instead freaked myself out by believing that we were going to crash.

Obviously that didn’t happen. But I did start drafting up an e-mail to send out in the case the plane did go down. Now that I look back on that e-mail – I don’t quite see the panic that I swear I thought I had felt. In any event, here’s what I wrote (I did not edit this – it’s cut and pasted as is):

On plane. Massive turbulence and drank b Mary in 30 sec on number 2 and listening to wind in willows . Somehow a story concerned with matters of talking animals is oddly comforting. #1 bm is now having a nice calming effectAnd WTF?!?!?Seat belt sign goes off just as I'm typing .I wish to weepI'll do so quietlyStill have one hour to goUh ohHere comes the shaking againI must say that the light playing off the person across the aisle's drink is strangely comfortingNow calmMy seaate just got up to go peeBut had to wait while flight lady cleaned up from my bumpy visitOooopsBps back plus a seemingly sideways yaw. I don't like yaw. I just cancelled my dinner.So that's my report from 35 k feetWell not quite now that it feels like weve hit some heavy shitAll I can wish for at this particular time is to be on firm groundOk my lumbering fingers are tired - must take a breakOf course as I go to put this down, we start really getting beat to shitFunny that the seatbelt sign is still offAhhhhhhhhh sweet smoothness4:05 signing off for now420 listening to Japanese language tape on iPod422 now staring at woman in front of my seat - looks like woman from weeds - but then she stands up and her back end is a bit askew size wizened30 min or so to goSun is outSmooth as glassJust learned the Japanese wir for you -WTF - it's four syllables.Just changed to the wonderf story of Henry sugara must Vegas readRoald dahlHe teaches himself to see the other side of cardsThough I don't think I'll get to that part of the storyShould be heading down soonJust got a Millie lightI think I'm buzzededOut
Indeed, the plane landed just fine. I was in row 2, so running off the plane was no problem. I immediately got on the horn to Whale Jo. He would be at the airport in five minutes with a limo.

I glided down to Level 0 and waited for the limo to arrive. Much to my surprise, Whale Jo pulled up in the Wynn’s Rolls Royce Phantom. God I love that car. We exchanged a few high fives, a couple shipits, and jumped back in the ride. I couldn’t believe I had finally made it to Vegas.

The ride back to Encore was pleasant enough. I have no idea which way our driver went. All I really remember is him gunning the Rolls at one point trying to run over a cab. “I hate cabs,” he muttered. I seriously think if the cab hadn’t moved out of the way that we would have hit it. Maybe that explains what the notches on the driver’s seatbelt meant.

Arrival at the Encore Tower Suites was a serene moment. The gentle nuanced smell that wafted from the open doors told me I was back “home”. I quickly checked in and we hustled up to the rooms. For this trip we had our hosts book us a Salon Suite with a connecting Tower Suite room. I have a video of the place, but need to figure out how to condense it so it fits on the blog. For now you’ll have to make do with my description of the place.

I first went through the doors of the Tower Suite room, put my bags down and slowly opened up the connecting door. Nice and heavy, it glided open as if by magic.

I staggered back, a giant “Shipit” yell caught in my throat.

The main area of the Salon Suite was HUGE.

I mean, forget for a moment the 65” flatscreen, the massage room, the wet bar, the dining area, the sitting area, the 500 lbs. art book . . . the sheer size of the space was enormous. I felt oddly compelled to do only one thing.

I started doing a full on sprint around the room, screaming like a stuck pig.

I shut that activity down fairly quickly, as there was no way I wanted to start out the trip with a pulled hammy. It was time to do some gaming.

Our room was on the 52nd (42nd floor in the real world – Steve doesn’t have floors numbered 40 – 49 in his world) so the ride down the elevator was just lengthy enough for Whale Jo and I to plan our initial attack.

First stop – Wizard of Oz. I wanted to cane the monkeys – cane them HARD.

The machines were located in the same general area that I remembered from the April 2009 trip. Some woman was grinding away at $.10 a spin, so no way for Whale Jo and I to play the games together. I briefly thought about sneaking around the side of the machine and ducking down so that I could then pop up between her legs and yell “Boo!”, but before I could put that thought into action she left.

Shipit time.

It felt sooooo good sliding a hundo (hundred dollar bill) into the big metallic shiny happy machine. I caressed my game appropriately and began to play. Wouldn’t you know it – both of our machines were singing. A magic Glinda bonus here, flying monkey bonus there. After only about ½ hour we were up a total of $600 - $300 each. Not a bad start at all.

As an aside, I should mention that as part of the copious amount of planning for this trip, Whale Jo and I had decided to really concentrate our gaming on pooled play. What’s that mean? Basically how it sounds – we were going to pool our money together. Whenever we played a slot machine, we’d either put the equal amount into the same machine or the equal amount in to different machines. If we won, we split the winnings. Losing we obviously absorbed equally as well. On table games it was going to work somewhat similarly. The only exception was blackjack. When we played blackjack we’d just play one hand instead of two.

So now we are officially up in Vegas. It was time to press our luck and find out if this was going to be a good night or if the WOZ machines were just employed sausage teasers on the Wynn payroll.

As we got up from the WOZ machines and looked over at the pit, and empty table turned its lonely eyes to us. Let it Ride. Why not?

We decided for this game to play two hands, so we both bought in for five hundo and started by playing single greens on the Let it Ride bets and $50 on the three card bonus hand (if you have no idea what I’m talking about, go do some research on the game and come back.). Whale Jo and I also added a little wrinkle to the betting. We could up the bets on the Let it Ride portion to $50 a spot and up the three card bonus to $75, but we could only do this twice. However, if we hit during a “bump up” we retained the right to do it again.

For the first few hands, we did quite nicely, getting a pair here, a flush there. Then, BOOM, the first real hit of the trip thundered down from the gambling gods.

“Shipit”

With a spastic little shimmy, Whale Jo showed me his hand.

All the same suit. Flush!

I looked closer.

Consecutive cards. Straight!

The connection was made.

Straight Flush.

40-1.

$50 bet.

$2k

Yessssssssssss. Now we were getting somewhere.

We were paid in two bumblebees. I sunk one of them deep into my pocket so as to suffocate it. No way I was letting that little bee out of my pocket to play. Whale Jo did the same.

We continued playing for about another ½ hour. As we were getting ready to leave, I peeled back my hand.

Three of the same number . . . 30-1.

$50 out.

That equals another nice little payday!!!!!

Shipit. The run was on.

We decided with this level of success that all signs pointed to running directly to the high limit black jack tables. I had dreams of a chocolate chip filling my head.

Alas, the high limit room was not quite as kind as the lowly little Let it Ride table had been. We got up, then down, then up, then down . . . we finally walked after giving just a smidge of the profit back. We were still playing with house money. It was a perfect time to hit the first dinner of the trip – Botero.

It was odd, looking into Botero from the outside, the place looked completely empty and dead. But once we walked in, it was clear that the restaurant was packed and full of good energy. I think my confusion came from looking at the outside seating – the weather last Wednesday (1/20) was atrocious.

Luckily there were a few two spots left open, so there was no problem getting seated right away – which was good – I was starving.

Having already looked at the menu online, I was pre-locked in to what I was going to order. Steak Tartare and a petite filet. Raw meat followed by lightly cooked meat. A meal a real tiger could love. Oh, and I wanted the onion rings. Whale Jo decided to add to that an order of some sort of crab appetizer, a side of mushrooms and a NY steak. Top it off with a bottle of Malbec and the ordering portion of the evening was done within five minutes.

The wine came fairly quickly and after doing a quick man toast to Vegas (that’s where you clink your glasses hard enough to almost break and to let everyone else around you know that your dinner isn’t straight out of Brokeback Mountain), the appetizers found themselves front and center on our table.

I posted a picture of the tartare appetizer on the blog – go check it out. Not a high quality pic, but it’ll give you a good idea of how the plate is laid out.

God I love steak tartare. There’s just something primal in me that really enjoys chewing on cold dead flesh . . . (lightly seasoned of course). Also, back in another time, I was a waiter and had the pleasure of making tartare tableside. I absolutely hated being a waiter – I couldn’t do anything right. Even opening wine – it seemed that for months I would use the line with my tables, “It’s my first night here, I’m not comfortable opening your wine, would you please do it for me?” I always loved people’s reactions to that. But making the steak tartare tableside – that was the one portion of my job I loved and why I didn’t quit after the first day.

So the dish arrives and it takes great restraint for me not to plant my face directly into the chopped raw steak and just molar it into submission. Instead, I enjoy looking at it for a few seconds, then I take one of the toast points and make an angry stab at the tiny little quail egg resting atop the meat.

As I am doing so, I wonder what kind of conversation those two had on their way out of the kitchen . . .

Egg: Hey.

Steak: Hey.

Egg: Where you from?

Steak: A cow. You?

Egg: Quail.

Before I can get any further with that dialogue in my head, the toast point with dripping egg and raw beef hits my mouth.

Yeeeee-Uhhhhhhh-Ummmmmmmmmmm.

Everything from the taste, to the texture, to the pleasure was just so wrong, but in a good way. The smooth custardniness of the egg, combined with the cold bits of kobe beef brought me to a place I love to go. You know how runners talk about the “runner’s high” – well this tartare, my friends, gave me an eater’s high. What an epicuriously delightful state of mind . . . if not a little frightening. When the tartare was gone, I had a brief thought of cutting my pinkie off so that I’d have a little raw meat left to dab up some of the egg yolk that still gelatinously oozed around the fringes of the plate.

In addition to the tartare, we also had some sort of crab appetizer. Unfortunately, due to my love affair with the raw steak, this crab was sort of overlooked by me. I do remember that whatever it was, it tasted outstanding.

Next up were the main courses and sides. Filet for me, NY for Whale Jo. Both with the chimi-something or other rub. Debating whether to go to SW or Craftsteak or some other steak place not called “Prime” – book your seat at Botero folks. Second (tied with Country Club) best steak I’ve ever had in Vegas. It is so shipitliciously sinfully good that I wish I had ordered two just so I could carry the extra one around to rub for good luck. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked. The sides were an A+ as well. I wish the onion rings had been a little smaller – but only so that I could have stuffed them all in my mouth at once. As it is, I gave it a good go. The mushrooms I didn’t have – but that’s only because I couldn’t stop hitting on my steak.

In the end, it was funny, despite how delicious everything was and how perfectly sized the portions seemed, both of us ended up with a lot left on the plate. So, we had the waiter box it up. After charging the meal to Mr. Wynn, we decided to get back to the gaming. We figured that we’d pressed our luck enough at Encore, so it was time to visit Wynn.

In hindsight, perhaps it would have been better to stay at Encore . . . I mean, why leave a fishing hole when the fish are biting, right?

Instead of falling into more good luck, we were attacked by the bad luck gaming sharks right off the bat at Wynn. The first game we tried, $5 VP, sucked money out faster than a hooker with a hoover transplanted in her throat. So we moved over to the old trusty Jackpot Party machines. Nothing. One party, pooper picked right off the bat. Ouch. The profit was dwindling.

As we were heading to the pit, we decided to give a $5 WOF machine a try. After a couple spins, a sweet reward was had.

The first hand pay of the trip. Ahhhhh. Lady Luck was back. Turns out she had been on a bathroom break.

We took our reloaded house money and went over to try this new game called Dealer’s Bluff. If you are thinking about playing this game – don’t – it is terrible. They might as well call it “Bend Over and Let Us Rip You a New Hole” . . . . the only somewhat entertaining part of playing this game was watching Whale Jo try and take back chips after he lost. This brought a little bit of heat from the pit boss, so we moved games. Back to Let it Ride. This game brought us a little more firepower . . . just enough to make it worth it to give the high limit black jack at Wynn a try.

I had to make a run to the little boy’s room, so I handed one of my bumble bees to Whale Jo and told him to make some money. I figured with $2k, he’d be able to do a little something. Well, in the six minutes it took me to go and come back, he’d managed to almost completely wipe the $2k out and had put more cash in the game. Quite a bit of cash. He kept having some good runs, but then would try and maximize profit and get slapped down.

When the stack got down to $300, it was time for me to give it a go.

Much to my surprise, we finally hit a magic shoe. I couldn’t lose. I don’t remember specific hands, how much I was betting, nothing. All I remember is that when I started I had three black chips and when the run ended, I had $6k sitting in front of me. After tallying it all up, both of us were back ahead for the trip.

Looking at my watch, it was getting close to 2 a.m. I had to get up early for a haircut (note to self, get hair cut at home before the trip). I really didn’t want to boot in the hairdresser’s sink, so I called it a night. Whale Jo, despite yearning to hit the town, also retired. There were still three more nights to go after all.

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Chapter Two – “The Boyz Are Back in Town” (1/21/10)

So I get to the room to get some much needed sleep and realize I need to get up quite early for a haircut I had booked a while back. I order a wakeup call and as my head falls to the pillow . . .

Cut to: Me waking up from some nightmare where I live in a watery world but can’t swim . . . and am H2O intolerant.

Wow, that was some quick sleep. I look at the clock, 7:15 a.m. The cut’s booked for 9 a.m., so looks like I won’t need that wake up call after all – there’s no going back to beddie-bye at this point. I’m in VEGAS.

After shaving, showering and downing a Powerade from the mini-bar, I head out into the world. My fuzzy memory replays some of the events from the night before. I smile . . . I’ve managed to survive the first night.

One small detail I forgot in drafting the report from the first night concerns the reactions by Whale Jo during the run where I turned $300 into $6k. At first we both had the normal excited reactions people have when winning money. Yelling, “Hooray!” or “Shipit!” or even “Brubaker!”. But as I continued to win, Whale Jo got increasingly excited. Why not? It actually kept me loose and definitely entertained the dealers and pit bosses around us (it being a Wednesday night, many many empty tables). It wasn’t too long before the words coming out of Whale Jo’s mouth made no sense. I’d get a 21 and yell “Shipit!” and Whale Jo would follow up with some medieval werewolf howl and a cackle. I’d split and get paid on both hands . . . Whale Jo would scream “Monkey” so loud that one would think an actual monkey would have been loose. I believe a few “Yabbadabbados” may have been sprinkled within the symphony of yells. No doubt about it though, by the end of the run he just plain wasn’t making any sense . . . I’m surprised we didn’t get back doored by security.

Anyway, back to the present day, I pop a couple hundos in various machines as I saunter over to the Wynn Salon. Hmmm. Nothing hits. Must be too early to travel down the rabbit hole. Machines are sleeping. I don’t sweat it too much. I can make back those hundos after the cut.

I had a little trouble finding the Spa/Salon. Well, that’s not entirely accurate. I knew where I was supposed to go to get to the Spa/Salon, I just had a little bit of a mental squeeze play that almost kept me from getting to where I wanted to go. Prior to departing my room, I had pinpointed my destination on the property map and I even found a sign pointing to where the Salon was supposed to be . . . but when I arrive where X was supposed to mark the spot, I instead find a sign outside the door proclaiming “Pool is Closed”. For numerous reasons, this confuses me. The way the sign is placed makes it look like, unless you have proper authorization, there is no stepping through the threshold. So, instead of opening the door and finding out if my irrational logic was correct, I choose to walk around like a retread, I suppose hoping that someone will come along and either remove the sign or go through the doors. Neither happens. My next move is to try and talk to this security guard I spy. However as I get close to him, some other patrons start chatting him up. Not wanting to be polite and interrupt, I casually saunter by. But then I realize I don’t have anywhere to go. This further confuses me. I head towards the tables and then pretend I lost something and look back the way I had come. A dialogue starts in my head between the part of my brain that is putting this stupid charade on and the part of my brain that would like to have a haircut. However, this throws me off as I should only have one voice talking in my head. I return to the security guard, seeing that he is no longer occupied. But as I get close he disappears down a hallway. WTF? I head back towards the “Pool is Closed” sign, genuinely hoping it reads differently. Nope. So I walk over to the Buffet, which is right across from the sign and the closed doors, with hopes of talking to a hostess about this increasingly troubling predicament. But nobody is at the front greeting desk. I head back to where the security guard went, praying that he’ll materialize. Nope. So I go back to the sign. It’s the same. Buffet. Nobody there. Security hallway. Empty. I repeat this little triangular dance a couple times and finally just stop. Seriously? What is it about this stupid “Pool is Closed” sign that has me unable to make any sort of decisive move? Just as I’m about to call it quits, a different security guard appears. I run him down. “Sir, could you please tell me where the Spa and Salon is?” The guard cocks one eyebrow and points to the door ten feet away. “Through that door.” Does he not see the “Pool is Closed” sign. “But the sign says the pool is closed,” I mumble. He walks over to the door, opens it up and points to the elevator inside. “Just go up, not down.”

Jesus. What a start.

I make my way to the Salon desk. The Wynn Spa and Salon area is very nice – having never been in a resort Spa, I have (well until my trip to the Encore Spa the next day) nothing to compare it to. Seems relaxing. Seems like there’s a lot more women than men. Especially waiting for a haircut. There are no men. Only women. And giant bubble hair drier thingies. Pleasant music and nice smells waft in and out of nostrils and ear holes.

Eventually my “stylist” comes to get me. A nice, affable, Danish man. He asks me when I last had my haircut. I say, “I don’t remember.” I’m not sure why. Sure, I do remember getting it cut a few months back, but just don’t remember the exact date and time. Then he asks if I put something in my hair. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t. But instead of telling him this, I merely pantomime, or rather, attempt to pantomime what the product looks like. This is met with a sigh. He motions me to get up to follow him to the shampoo area. I do, but not before putting down my cup of coffee on his “area”. This movement is met with steely death rays from his eyeballs. Guess I should have asked. It’s just a cup of coffee though. What else was I supposed to do with it? I wonder what his look would have been had I put a Danish down. Cue cymbals. I’m here all night. Don’t forget to tip your waitstaff!

Thankfully the rest of the time goes with out any other incidents. Actually, we ended up having some great conversations about life changing events, Las Vegas real estate, and British comedy. And the chop chop I received? Not too bad. Would I go back there again? No. Would I recommend it to someone who wants to pay for a trim in Vegas? Yes.

Finally having my one set in stone obligation out of the way, I made haste back to Encore to meet up with Whale Jo for some late morning gaming. Smooth Chaz, Frankie Styles, and Buzzy were due to arrive at Encore around 2 p.m. The plan was to get some time in at the tables, meet the boyz as they came in, then head to the Suite for some cocktails and noshes.

I called up to the room. Whale Jo was up – he thought maybe it’d be a good idea to get room service breakfast. I agreed. I needed a little pre-gaming fuel. I rushed up to the room and we put in an order. I had eggs benedict, some sort of smoothie, coffee, and beignets with chocolate dipping sauce. The food came very quickly. Fricking awesome. Now I was in a good frame of mind to make some positive gaming advances.

When we hit the floor, we try running four Wheel of Fortune machines at once. One hundo in each. No big hits right off and soon some of the machines ran empty. No worries, just stick some more hundos in! Eventually though, all tanks ran dry. I’m not sure what we flushed on this event, but it was not a good start.

No worries, there was always the Wizard of Oz machine. I could always count on some sort of profit from this game.

Not today. More hundos continued to disappear.

Maybe Let it Ride would be the flush stopper.

Nope.

Nor was Roulette. We both hit numbers on the first couple of spins, even got up $700. But that was all soon scooped off the board.

Back to Wizard of Oz . . . more hundos. I was started to feel a little panicked.

About the only good thing that happened in the morning was a nice encounter I had with a cocktail waitress at the WOZ machine. It felt sort of like I was piloting a plummeting aircraft and, when I had my little interaction with her, my aircraft suddenly regained the power of flight and I was soaring back to the clouds. What happened was this -- she brought over my first Bud Light of the day and when she handed it to me, she sort of drew it back, feinted if you will. Of course, at this point, I was pretty cracked out from playing and losing that I just thought my vision was impaired. I reached for the beer again, she pulled it away. I reached, she pulled away. Reach. Empty hand. I finally realized what was going on and looked up at her meekly. Her smile melted away the anxiety I was having from losing. Unfortunately, as soon as she walked away, my airship lost the wind in its wing, and the spiraling descent continued.

There was only one way to stop the inevitable, clichéd, conclusion. Whale Jo and I needed a gigantor parachute . . . i.e. high limit black jack. Either we’d get our money scooped or we’d find some magic. No choice at this point really.

Right off the bat, it was clear that the table was indeed magic.

Black dirty voodoo magic.

First buy-in was for $1k each. Scoop. The chips were gone. The boyz called after that first flush to let us know that they were en route to Encore.

Shite. How about another $600 each? The clock was ticking. I got another call from Smooth Chaz, just curious what we were doing. I couldn’t piece together the words. I just watched in horror as the dealer continued to condemn Whale Jo’s chips to death row.

But, just as soon as I hung up, Whale Jo managed to string together a series of bets that suddenly had $6k sitting in front of him. “Call it – we’re out of here”. Whale Jo colored up and we ran away from the tables. Ahhhh. Ammo back in pocket. The boyz were arriving. The reset button had just been pressed. It was time to take a break from the gaming and do some entertaining.

Whale Jo and I sped through the main lobby and out the front doors. We stood off to the side and watched for a black sedan to pull up. Sure enough, only after about a minute, the boyz’ car arrived. The “Holy Shite, I can’t believe I’m in Vegas” look on their collective faces was priceless. After they spotted us and we exchanged welcome to Vegas pleasantries, it was time to head back up to the Suite and order some food.

Wynncore actually has a nice, albeit small, selection of different types of noshes. We opted for some orders of chicken fingers, chips and dip, cold seafood tower, pork buns, and a few other things. Also ordered some beer and bubbly. A perfect Vegas afternoon late lunch. As soon as we ordered all this, I bumped back our Okada reservation from 7:30 to 8:30 . . . I certainly did not want to risk hitting Okada on anything but an empty stomach.

The boyz arrived at the Suite, the food came, we ate, laughed, drank, and laughed some more. I’m sure everyone thinks they have funny friends – but really – these dudes are hilarious. Nothing better than knocking back some brewskies on a cold January day . . . IN VEGAS.

After polishing off most of the food and the booze, it was time to hit the floor. I so much wanted to believe that the fellas had flown in with an ample supply of luck.

Unfortunately, the losing continued. We tried pooling a hundo each into a WOF machine. I think we would have had more fun lighting our shoes on fire and running through the lobby, betting $100 on who could get out of the casino without getting pummeled by security.

It’s funny, as I look back over notes from that afternoon, the only legible entry I can read is “Hard to write losing”. Indeed. Also hard to keep such memories alive in the neuro-databank. Maybe it’ll come to me when I’m writing another day . . . maybe not.

Jumping ahead, really the next thing I remember is heading up to the room to do a quick wardrobe change for dinner at Okada. Despite the bad luck streak, my spirits were high knowing that some incredible sushi was about to be consumed.

We had a nice table for five right in the front center of the restaurant. I will say that service was very slow when we first arrived. It probably took at least ten or fifteen minutes before any of us had a cocktail in our hand. But once our waiter turned his attention to us, the food and booze flowed. Whale Jo took care of ordering appetizers and the grilled food, I took care of putting in a massive sushi order.

First out of the gate were two plates of coconut shrimp. It was much like seeing an old friend after a long period of being apart. Only difference being that in real life you either shake hands, hug, or maybe kiss this friend. In the food world you stick the friend in your mouth and perform a little third degree mastication. With such a good friend as these coconut shrimp, I even threw in a little tongue. Yum.

From the robata grill came skewers of chicken, asparagus, hunks of pork, and scallops. All perfectly cooked and delicately seasoned. I only had a nibble of a few of these because I was becoming concerned about the size of the sushi order I had put in. In the back of my mind, I was finding there was a disconnect between what I think I ordered and what I actually ordered. I literally think I had suffered an sudden bout of numerological dyslexia. But before I could unravel this issue, the table was thrown into an event that forever shall be known as “The Scallop Incident”.

No, we didn’t get a plate of bad seafood and, no, nobody at the table flopped on the floor and pretended to be a scallop.

Instead, we got a sudden proclamation from Buzzy that “these aren’t real scallops, these are made out of white fish.”

Huh?

Buzzy emphatically exclaimed that it was his solemn belief that Okada was substituting firm fleshed white fish and passing it off as scallops.

“Look at the vein”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I had gone to school with Buzzy – and if memory serves me correctly, he didn’t take no marine biology classes.

Whale Jo scoffed at the notion and bet Buzzy $100 that he was wrong. The rest of the table chastised him. But, if you knew Buzzy, you’d know that any argument we were to throw forth would be met with stone-walled hostility. There’s no changing his mind on this.

As we were in the middle of this heated debate the waiter passed by to check on our table. He overheard our discussion and politely remarked, “Those are scallops.”

Oh no. He should have just walked away.

No sooner were those words out of his mouth when Buzzy shot straight out of his chair, thrust his hand towards the waiter and announced, “I’ll bet you $100 too!”.

The waiter, though surprised, dutifully shook Buzzy’s hand and said, “I’ll be right back.”

Buzzy sat back, arms crossed, and smugly retorted, “No way he can prove they’re scallops.”

In about a minute the waiter returned. He brought with him a dish with raw scallops in it. “Sir, this is what we use back in the kitchen, and they most assuredly are scallops”.

“Yes, I know those are scallops. But that doesn’t prove that these are scallops. These are whitefish.” Buzzy jabbed his finger at the skewer.

“No, they are scallops.”

“No, they are whitefish.”

And with that, there was no question that a standoff had been reached. Unless we could actually have the scallops that had been served to us tested in some accredited scallops verification facility, there was no convincing Buzzy he was wrong.

Sigh. Good ole Buzzy.

When the waiter left, this got the table to talking about some of the other “Incidents” involving Vegas and Buzzy.

The infamous “Luxor Poker Room Incident” . . . Buzzy demands that security get him the video tapes of his poker game because the people he was playing against kept getting better hands than his.

The “Barbary Coast Incident” . . . related to the above. On the first day in Vegas, Buzzy gets back from playing poker at Luxor at 7 a.m. and we don’t see him for the next two days as he stays in bed the whole time.

The “MGM Incident” . . . Buzzy demands that his room get comped after he alleges that the casino purposefully took too long in bringing him a cup of coffee while he played blackjack. His claim? Had they come sooner with the drink he would not have lost as much money. Funny result? It works.

The “Craftsteak Incident” . . . Upon being disappointed with the quality of his steak, Buzzy lectures the waiter for ½ hour on the proper way to cook a steak and demands that the waiter go back and educate the chefs.

This year he actually did have an “Incident” that was pretty serious and justified his demands of being comped. When he checked into his room at Encore he found poo on the toilet. Not “in”, but “on”. As in, someone finger painted with doo doo on the outside of the bowl. Is there anyone out there that’s going to say that’s OK? I wouldn’t expect that sort of find even at Imperial Palace. After reporting this to Encore management, it sounds as if there was no immediate action taken. That is, if I remember correctly, it took quite a while for housekeeping to remove the brown paint. What did the hotel do for Buzzy? He got one night comped. Buzzy believes he should have had the whole trip paid for – but at least he received some sort of fair restitution.

So back to Okada. Despite the Scallop Incident, the waiter remained quite friendly to our table. It wasn’t but a minute or two after clearing off the appetizers that the mountains of sushi arrived. As I had feared, my ordering had been way off. There was enough raw fish on the table to make a penguin smile. Oh well, we’d do our best.

I made it through about six pieces. All perfectly cut, at the perfect temperature, and the perfect texture. I looked around at the boyz. Most of them had reached their limit too. But looking down at the table it looked as if nobody had taken one piece. Thankfully, Buzzy came to the rescue. I think he single handedly finished off 30 pieces. Maybe he’s part penguin . . .

Despite having had my fill, I needed to order uni. I could hear it calling from the kitchen. How was the quality this time? All I can say is WOW. The waiter said it came from San Diego, but I think it came straight from some secret undersea stash only known to Aquaman. This wasn’t just sea urchin . . .this was sea SHIPIT urchin. As I type this and relive the memory, tears are streaming down my face. There ain’t no uni right now up in the waters near where I live . . . so the best I could hope for I suppose is going to the beach and finding a smooth stone and licking it. But that would be a lot like settling for beef jerkey when you craved a grade A piece of moo-flesh. Oh my uni . . . my lovely lovely uni.

And, after a quick nip of sake, the dinner was finished. Thank you Mr. Wynn.

Upon the completion of this incredible meal, I concluded that there was only one way the night could end . . . a huge run.

And boy.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy.

Was I wrong.

We found an open craps table at Wynn and laid down some coin. Everyone was rolling hot. Chips were filling up in everyone’s trays. Everyone except mine. It felt like I was winning, but every time I recounted, I had less chips. It wasn’t until after the rolling was done, and everyone was smiling over there wins that I realized what I had done.

Instead of betting smart and sticking with the safe bets. I had thrown my money at the prop bets. Unless someone had blatantly stolen my chips, that’s the only explanation. I guess I had fallen in love with the sound of my voice bellowing out “$5 MIDNIGHT”, “$25 MIDNIGHT” . . .

This put me in a sour mood.

So it was probably not a good idea to hit the high limit room with Whale Jo.

F-L-U-S-H.

I stumbled out of there looking for redemption . . . but, as the siren call of the machines tried to draw me in, I finally made a good call. Elevator. Hallway. Door. Bed.

Sleep.

Tomorrow had to be better. Additional friends were coming in, we had some downtown activities at El Cortez and Hugo’s planned, a four handed massage was on the books . . .

As my eyes slammed shut, I had a feeling that, as fun as things had been, we were all about to enter the REAL meat of the trip.

-----------------------------------------------------
Chapter Three – Friday – “Strange Dayz” (1/22/10)

Cough, cough, almost boot.

Ahhhh. Good morning Vegas. Good morning Encore.

Good morning bad ominous feeling hanging over my head.

It takes me a minute or two to shake whatever foreboding webbing had covered me during the night, but eventually I clear it off and am ready to start another Vegas day. Back a few years ago this would be the return home day . . . now I still had two more wakeups in front of me . . .still trying to figure out how that happened. Was there such a thing as too much Vegas?

Naaaaaaaah.

I peek in to the Suite to see if Whale Jo is up . . . he’s not . . .must have been a late night I guess. I opt to head down to the casino floor to grab a muffin and coffee and attempt to start the day off on the right foot. There’s no line at that little café/lounge that sits between the regular check in area and the elevators so I have my morning fuel lickety split. I sit down and get ready to slowly enjoy this wondrous blueberry muffin and . . .

and . . .

The machines.

I can hear them calling.

I take three bites of the muffin and call it good. I took my black cup o’ joe with me.

It takes all I can do not to sprint. I’m afraid that if I break into a run that I won’t be able to stop and that, a la Harry Potter, I’ll be magically transported to a secret train station gate. Sure. I probably could stand to take a few classes at Hogwarts and hand out with tweener magicians. But right now I wanted to game. I wanted to will from the land of random luck a major hot streak. The time was now and I would not be denied.

As I got close to the machines, I felt a tractor beam lock onto my body. It was no use fighting, I had been chosen. The good ole Wizard of Oz machine wanted me. Happily I submitted. I feed the machine a hundo.

Blink.

Did the machine just burp?

Another hundo.

It’s laughing?

What was in that muffin?

I give it one more try. Nothing. What made matters worse was watching someone sit down at the machine next to me and hit three Glinda bonus rounds within the span of five minutes. Grrrrr. Why does that happen. That gave me a mean case of Slot Envy. Grrrrr..

Why is that lady looking at me?

Oh, I guess I growled out loud. Ooops. Sorry ma’am.

I slither away. As I wind my way through various slot machines, I spy a game I have not played. Survivor Slots.

If you’ve seen the show on TV, you’ll recognize some of the characters that are used on the spinning video reels. Rupert, Rudy and some girl . . . Jenni? Julie? Jerri. That’s it. Jerri.

Here’s an objective summary of how the game works. You spin the reels. If you get at least three matching symbols in the first three reels, then you get bonus spins. All non-matching symbol spaces re-spin. If you get a match on those, the machine will spin again. And again. And again. Each res-pin has this sound attached to it that resembles a cross between a time machine and jet engine. And for each re-spin that noise gets louder and louder. So that if you get five or six spins in a row you really do expect the hand of some otherworldly god to reach and pull you into the machine. If you get a really big win, the machine lets off a massive alarm that will test the strength of your heart.

Oh, and the bonus round . . . .

If you get five bonus symbols it takes you to the Survivor Bonus Round. This consists of you first choosing one of four (maybe five) Survivor Logos. Depending on how you choose you’ll go to either the Stone, Copper, Silver, or Gold Level. Once there, you pick another symbol. Some of the symbols just have credits behind them, others have stuff like “3x, Choose Again” or even “Collect all Rewards” . . .

I cannot tell you why I immediately became addicted to this game. It seemed at first that there was a very sweet symbiotic relationship working between me and this machine. I actually hit some nice wins and at one point was even up about three hundo. But then, it happened.

The beautiful symbiosis I thought I had felt went bad.

Very bad.

This machine wasn’t interested in deriving a mutual benefit from our relationship. No sir. This machine was a Grade A parasite destined to suck whatever optimism I had left in my blood.

I could not stop playing. It felt like someone else was in control of my body. I felt really dirty. Really sad. But still couldn’t stop playing this game. I wanted the bonus round. I wanted a screen full of Rudy’s (which I eventually almost got, save two or so squares, the picture of that screen is over on the blog). I wanted more BIG WIN alarms. I wanted to hear that haunting theme music, just like in the show. If I could have figured out how to make that trademark sing song howl . . . I would have bellowed that sound in hopes that someone would save me from the grasp of this machine.

Luckily my phone buzzed and the spell was broken.

I seriously was put in a trance. No joke. I bet if I had stood under a black light that I would have discovered a strange rubric of symbols covering my body . . .

I still get chills thinking about the Survivor machine. Play at your own peril.

Thank goodness it was time to head over to the Spa for a four handed massage.

A couple things you should know about me . . . context if you will . . . concerning me and massages and spas.

(a) I’ve never had a professional massage.
(b) I’ve never stepped foot in a spa.
(c) I have issues with public nudity.
(d) I’m ticklish.

I think those four about cover why I had a slight bit of trepidation walking into the Spa.

I met up with Whale Jo down in the Encore lobby and we made our way up the elevators to the Spa check in counter. Walking into the Encore Spa calmed my nerves. There was soothing music playing and the décor was refined and obviously meant to invoke a feeling of a safe place.

We were meeting up with Smooth Chaz and Frankie Styles – turns out they had checked in well before hand and had been enjoying the various Spa amenities.

Whale Jo and I were led in to the men’s spa locker area.

“Um, now what?”

Whale Jo has been to a spa or two in his life and I figured he’d be able to guide me through the appropriate protocol.

“Get nude and put that robe on.”

I looked in my locker and there was, what looked to me, the tiniest women’s robe on earth.

“Just that?”

“Yep. I’ll see you in there.”

And with that, Whale Jo disappeared through the side door that led to where the massages take place.

I poked at the robe.

It didn’t bite my hand.

I took a deep breath.

Bam. Clothes off. Robe on.

Not as small as I had pictured it to be . . . and actually comfortable. Huh – not bad.

I slipped on some sandals and made my way to the massage area door.

What I entered into was nothing short of WOW.

A small “shipit” escaped from my mouth.

The tranquility of the massage waiting room was unreal. When I stepped through the door from the locker room it was as if I had entered another world. Comfortable lounge chairs were spread throughout the room. Soft, warm lighting made the room feel as if it were bathed in light from a setting golden sun. The music playing in this room was a bit different than what had been in the main spa area. Haunting . . . but in a good way. The otherworldliness I felt was pretty cool.

I could feel tension and awkwardness oozing out of my pores . . . in their place smooth and groove. This wasn’t gonna be all that bad!

Then the therapists starting coming out. One by one, a therapist would materialize and call out a name. “Mr. Chaz?”

I looked up. She was cute! Lucky Chaz.

I had the weird sensation of being transported back in time to some 18th century brothel . . . . I really had to remind myself that I was at the Encore.

“Mr. Jaco?”

I stood up, careful to make sure my robe did its job and covered the necessary southern exposure.

Since I was booked for a four handed massage, I expected to see two therapists, but only the one. She quickly explained that the other therapist would be meeting us in our room.

Then she took me through another door.

I am not sure if my memory is correct – all I can do now is repeat what my brain is suggesting happened. When walking out of the waiting room into what appears to be a passageway to different massage rooms, I literally felt as if I had passed through to the other side. Odd feeling. There was a whiteness about the space . .. white stones bordering some sort of serene pathway . . . bushes . . .pretty sure some kind of shrubbery adorned whatever it was I was walking on. Music . . . harp music I think.

We finally arrived at my “room” and were met by the other therapist. Wow, these were two small, petite women. They ushered me inside the massage room. The room itself was dimly lit, with a massage table draped in a flimsy white sheet in the center. Had I just fallen trick to some organ harvesters?

“Mr. Jaco, is there anything that you’d like to tell us about yourself before we begin?”

“Uh, first massage for me.”

Why did it sound like I was speaking baby-talk?

“Your first massage at Encore?”

“No ma’am. My first massage ever.”

Both therapists giggled.

I giggled.

Wait, I don’t giggle.

I smiled. That’s better.

“Wow. You are in for a surprise. Once you’ve had four hands, you’ll never do two.”

Did she really just say that?

“Do you have any particularly tight spots that you’d like us to concentrate?”

Oh, you have no idea.

“Um, not really. I’m good with all over. Whatever.”

We stood there for an awkward moment. What was I supposed to do next? Disrobe? Turn and cough?

I shuffled my feet in hopes that this would let them know I was at a loss on how to proceed.

“Mr. Jaco, we’re going to step outside and you can get out of your robe and get under the sheet on this table. We’ll knock before we come back in.”

“Just like a bed?”

They didn’t answer. I was alone. I noticed the music in the background . . . soothing New Age . . .

I quickly disrobed, got spooked when I noticed there was another naked man in the room looking at me, but quickly calmed down when I realized it was just a big mirror. I awkwardly pawed my way onto the massage table and got under the covers.

Now what?

Maybe the therapists were playing some sort of massage joke on me, but it sure seemed like they gave me 10 minutes to do what only took 1. I finally heard their knock on the door.

“May we come in”

“Mmmmm. mmmmmmm.”

My face was pressed down against the donut at the top of the massage table, so talking wasn’t easy – but they understood and entered.

I was very very very very very very nervous at this point. What if they touched me and it tickled? Was it appropriate? Would they then continue to tickle me? Could anyone hear me in this place?

Then one of the therapists cupped her hand under my face with some sort of fragrant oil.

“Breath deeply three times Mr. Jaco. This will relax you.”

Am I being put down?

I decided to relax and go with it.

One deep breath.

Hey – this smells pretty good. Is that pine?

Another deep breath.

Ahhhh. This is relaxing.

Third deep breath.

I think I might pass out.

The therapists then pulled the sheet tight over me. Phew. Thought they might take it off.

Then I felt slight pressure on my back. Just a hand pressing down on my lower spine. Then another hand. Then another. Then one more. Four.

Wow.

Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow.

This was going to be fun.

However, before I could totally relax, the sheet was peeled off my top half . . .

OK. Big deal.

Then I heard the therapists getting lubed up. Big squirts of something, followed by rapid squishy hand movements.

Then they touched me.

Words cannot do justice to what these therapists did to me. It wasn’t sexual – believe me, if it was, I’d have no problem writing about it. No, this was spiritual. Extratranscedentaspiritual if there’s such a word. I swear they not only worked the knots out of my muscles, but they unhindered complicated puzzles that had been trapping my soul.

There were times where I literally wanted to weep – I was cocooned into a dream-like state where nothing in the world mattered. At times I swore I was high above the earth, on clouds, being rubbed out by angels.

Think of a place where you are the most comfortable. Times that by 1000. Then add on a time when you felt stress free. Times that by another 1000 and you might come close to feeling what I felt.

Did it tickle? At the beginning. But it didn’t matter. They worked through it.

In fact, there was only one small moment when the spell was broken and that’s when my stomach growled to alert anyone within a five block radius that the previous night’s dinner was done percolating.

I heard a giggle.

“It’s quiet in massage rooms”

Smooth soothing voice.

Then one of their stomachs growled.

Get out of here. That sounded like a scene out of Jurassic Park. One dinosaur calls, some other dino far away answers.

Roooooooooar.

GurgleRoarGurgleRoaaaaaaaar.

Pretty neat trick.

Back to the rubbing.

Oh – and the pulling . . . at one point they both had a hold of me and made me feel like I was being drawn and quartered. They had to have been pretty strong to do that.

Backside, front side, arms, legs, hands, fingers, feet, toes, head . . . . . every last ounce of tension I had was worked out.

And then it was over.

“Please get up slowly Mr. Jaco. We’ll leave the room and you can take your time getting your robe on. Just open the door when you are ready.”

After they exited, I looked at myself in the mirror. I smiled. They just made me 10 years younger.

I slipped my robe on and exited.

“How was it Mr. Jaco?”

I couldn’t resist, “Like being on clouds with angels. The most amazing experience ever. Thank you.”

I liked their reaction – smiles. Genuine smiles.

“We hope to see you again.”

“Shipit. You can take that to the bank.”

And with that, I was escorted back out the passage way to the massage waiting room.

I poured myself a cup of tropical cucumber flavored water and sat down on a lounge chair. What a fricking awesome time.

After a couple minutes, I made my way back to the spa facilities. I figured I might as well check out the equipment.

As I made my way back to the whirlpool, plunge pool area I saw Frankie Styles and Smooth Chaz hanging out. Both of them looked equally relaxed.

I did a cycle of the various spa treatments . . . waterfall shower, hot tub, plunge pool, sauna, steam room . . .and repeated.

I was on top of the world. I was cleansed.

Watch out Vegas. Jaco thinks he has his mojo back.

After a quick shower and shave, I got dressed and headed downstairs to meet up with the crew for lunch. We had decided on Country Club.

Arriving at Country Club, I still had that euphoric feeling of not having a care in the world. Judging from their faces, the rest of the boyz felt it too. We sat at a nice round table in the middle of the restaurant and spent that part of the afternoon sharing good drink, wonderful food, and some side-splitting conversations. Hearing some of Whale Jo’s tales from back in his younger days of traveling solo in Ireland were absolutely priceless. Crazy guy now, crazier guy then.

Lunch for me consisted of their Cobb Salad and some fries. Perfection on a plate. No saladcide being committed here. Just the right amount of ingredients, mixed gently with a perfect portion of dressing. Lickaliciously good. The fries? Undeniably the best in Vegas.

After polishing off the food, we all went outside and checked out the 18th green. The weather was starting to turn nice. But, even with the cloud breaks, we all felt it was probably too cold and the course too wet to really justify shelling out $500 for the greens fee (plus another $100 for tip). Nonetheless, standing outside with my good friends, having some laughs at the expense of some bad golfers, enjoying a good crisp beer, that is one of the better vivid memories I have stuck in my head from this trip.

And then it was time. Time to hit the floor and find out if the chillaxness from the massages would translate into good fortune.

First up. Pooled Wheel of Fortune. Didn’t work the previous night, but this felt different. And sure enough . . . BLAM . . . hand pay. Luckily Smooth Chaz’ Red Card was in the machine – he gets the taxes, we get the free cut. Can’t remember the exact amount, but I think it was $1,500.

Next up was another new slot machine – Time Machine. At Wynn these are banked with the WOZ machines . . . and I’m here to tell you these machines blow WOZ and all others away.

If you win, that is.

Buzzy and Frankie Styles decided to go on a man-walk through the Esplanade, so Whale Jo, Chaz and myself pooled money into a Star Trek Machine and two Time Machines.

I entered into some bonus round right off the bat – I think it was a trip to the past. Oh how I love time travel and the notion of time travel . . . and this little machine must have read that in me. The bonus round lasted, I kid you not, at least twenty minutes. At first it consisted of me picking left, center, or straight, down some ancient dinosaur path. I’d pick, and win, and then pick again. At some point during this process I met up with a very angry T-Rex. I was given the option of picking one of three symbols to try and find something to kill him with. I was successful the first time I met up with the angry lizard and thus kept going. Down the path I went again. Credits collecting. Met T-Rex again. Destroyed it, again. More paths. Dino eggs. More paths. And then at some point it all ended. I had lost my voice from screaming at the machine. I had pitted out. Wow. What a run.

Then, as soon as I was done, Chaz’ machine heated up. By this time, Whale Jo had flushed his hundo and had moved 25 ft. to the north of us to play black jack. I was screaming his way, “Whale Jo!!!!! It’s ANOTHER big one.” And indeed it was. Chaz nailed whatever bonus round it was he had hit for over a grand. SHIPIT. Nothing better than working a grand off of a penny machine. Profits! The afternoon post-massage was starting quite nicely.

We cashed out the tickets, pocketed the cash and then quickly ran up to our rooms to change. Time moves fast in Vegas. We were due to meet up with the boyz in the Tower Suites lobby to ride out to El Cortez and begin the downtown portion of the night.

In record time, I sloughed off my day clothes and moved into my evening attire. It seemed all of us simultaneously arrived in the lobby.

It was me, Whale Jo, Smooth Chaz, Frankie Styles, Buzzy, and three new additions. Hee-haw, P and Thailand. Those three were wide-eyed, having just arrived into happy town.

We step outside, I figure we’re either catching a cab or a big limo to El Cortez.

Instead, two Rolls Royce Phantoms pull up.

Hey-ELLLL yessss.

Four in each ride. Three seated comfortably in the back and one person riding shotgun.

Shotgun in a Rolls. In one of Stevie’s Rolls. Try it.

As we begin the journey to downtown, our driver casually mentions that in the many years he’s been driving for Mr. Wynn, he’s never dropped anyone off at the El Cortez. He checks with the car in front of us. Nope, that driver never had either. I’m not sure, but I thought I sensed a titch of fear in his voice.

As we get closer to downtown things look ugly. I’m not breaking any news here, but whatever road it is you take to get from the strip to downtown, it’s in horrible shape. Not just the road – but the building, the people, even the birds. Dirty.

We catch some very interesting looks as we get closer to the ElCo. One car rides along side of us for a while and the little white rapper wannabe in the front passenger seat looks sooooooo angry following us. Lighten up kid. Take off the XL Kings jersey and ditch the neon red backwards baseball cap . . . then shave that peach fuzz off your lip and go learn how to properly speak the English language. Poser.

Sorry for that digression.

We finally arrive at ElCo and the eight of us flow out of the cars. Not a lot of onlookers when we pulled in which I think is a very good thing. We stride into the casino and look for the first downtown action of the night.

We find an empty BJ table and those of us that want to play fill up the empty seats.

I complete my buy in, make sure Whale Jo and I are pooling it, and proceed to play.

Buzz Saw.

I think that is what here Chinese name meant in English.

My first buy in is destroyed within minutes.

No worries. I brought plenty of ammo. Another buy in. Whale Jo is out too. He buys back in.

Scoop Artist.

Cards down, chips scooped.

Ouch. Bad table.

Bad me for sitting there too long.

OK, so that was a painful start. I look over at Whale Jo. Same result.

Time to find a new game.

All of ten steps later, we take over one end of a craps table. Frankie Styles, Smooth Chaz, Whale Jo and myself buy in. The table is ominously quiet. The point already has been established. So I watch the shooter roll. He hits about three numbers and then the point. Hmmm. Not bad. I put my pass line bet down and a few prop bets (you think I’d learn). Shooter rolls a few numbers, hits the point. Well now. I make the same bets. Odds. Same result. I notice at this point that Whale Jo is throwing out some decent coin. Mostly green chips. On everything. And his stack is growing. The shooter rolls some more numbers. Hits the point. Hard 4. We all make money. Our end of the table is cheering – the other end is silent. That’s silly.

Whale Jo notices this too.

“I want everyone to high five for this shooter. Come on, high fives all the way around.”

And by god, the table does it. With smiles.

And the shooter rolls. Hits numbers. Hits prop bets. Hits the point.

Cue screaming. Cue praising the shooter’s name. Cue crazy dancing at our end of the table.

Cue very old man sneaking his way to a spot next to Whale Jo and buying in for $50. He knows what he’s doing though . . . just listen to him call out the bets . . . . “$3 Aces . . . $3 hoppin’ six . . . hard ways heavy on the ten . . .” Cooler? I don’t think so.

Shooter rolls. Sevens on the come out. More money. More cheers.

Old man smiles. Didn’t think you’d have this kind of fun tonight, eh old timer?

Shooter finally craps out. Standing ovation.

Old man’s turn to roll.

He passes to Whale Jo.

Shipit time.

Though not as long as the previous shooter, Whale Jo manages to hold onto the dice for at least ten minutes. His stack grown exponentially. Mine? Not so much. Gotta stop making prop bets.

My roll lasts about six minutes. Not earth shattering. But people still making money. Still cheering.

Smooth Chaz rolls for a good clip. Makes the old man some money on his prop bets.

Up last is Frankie Styles. Regardless of how he rolls, it’s time to move on to dinner at Hugo’s.

Frankie does a fair job as well. All around great team effort. Old man turns to us and says, “Guys, that has to be the funnest craps table I’ve been on in 35 years. Thank you.”

Your welcome sir. Just glad to be here.

And with that (small profit for me, large for the rest of the crew), we head out from ElCo to Hugo’s.

We had picked Hugo’s upon the recommendation of one of our part time crew members – Double D.

All in all, a very pleasant old school atmosphere. Good service. Good wine. So so food. At this point in the night the energy level of the group was electric. One of the photos I saw taken of our table has Whale Jo shaking his man-boobs at the camera. Yikes. Not sure how I missed that. Glad I did. Looked like he was doing it right over the crab cakes.

Let’s see. Food-wise, we had some, as I mentioned, crab cakes, seafood platters, and perhaps something else for appetizers. Meh. Nothing to write home about, but nothing to write the Clark County Health Department about either. Next up were made to order salads. Nice touch. Good ingredients. Except the lettuce. Oooops. Lettuce forms the base of the basic table salad. Bad lettuce = bad salad. At least one of the little anchovies I had on the side meekly apologized.

For my entrée I had the Veal Marsala. I love cooking Veal Marsala and unfortunately have become proficient enough at it that if a restaurant can’t meet my B grade effort, it ain’t good enough. The Veal Marsala was a flat B. Nothing special. Meat just a titch overcooked.

Oh well. The ambiance and the company overcame the so-so food effort. There was talk of perhaps having a “Very Bad Things” themed party back at the Suite. Hmmm. When our waiter passed by I waved him over and whispered, “Hey, where can we find some talent in this town.”

He looked at me and made quote signs, “You mean ‘talent’ talent?”

I nodded.

He scratched his head.

“Hold on a sec. We got a guy in the back who can probably answer that better than I can.”

He was gone a few minutes, but when he returned he had with him what looked like a waiter pulled right out of the 1950s. Mr. Old School Vegas Waiter. They guy who knows everybody and can get you anything.

“You boys looking for talent?”

Oh man, I couldn’t wait to hear this guy’s answer. Awesome, straight from central casting voice.

“Bill’s Casino”

My jaw dropped. No.

“What?”

“Bill’s, yah, lot’s of good looking young talent there.”

“Um, perhaps somewhere that has a little higher level of talent?”

I’d heard stories about Bill’s . . . . parking garage . . . . talent . . . use your imagination.

No thanks.

“Oh. Well then perhaps the Wynn.”

Gee, why didn’t I think of that (sarcasm dripping off words).

I can’t remember, but I think I slipped the guy some cash and said thanks. At least I hope I did. Even though his info wasn’t helpful, the experience was memorable.

I could feel my energy dragging, so I ordered an espresso, caned it, and was ready for some table action at the Four Queens.

Coming up out of the basement that Hugo’s resides in, I could hear Whale Jo already in full action. Turns out there’s a blackjack switch game right outside of the entrance/exit to Hugo’s. He was on it.

“Jaco, meet my wife!”

He made a kissy motion with his mouth towards the dealer. She nodded at him.

“I love her!”

I sidled up to the table and bought in. Let’s see, if I remember correctly, Whale Jo, Smooth Chaz, Frankie Styles, and myself were at the table. Along with some strange man from Canada.

“Hey Canada, let me ride $50 on your action”

Whale Jo threw out two green chips at Canada. There was some sort of bonus bet associated with this game and Whale Jo wanted in on Canada’s luck. They won.

It seemed as if everyone else was doing well. Whale Jo kept feeding Canada chips and kept winning those bets. But my stacks kept shrinking. Oh well, I was laughing a lot.

At some point during the height of a table-wide laughing spell, something happened that put the table – more specifically, Whale Jo – on super tilt. We were laughing at something the guy we called Canada had said . . . a guy we had been incessantly referring to as “Canada” . . . when the dealer, with her Hungarian accent asked, “Oh, are you from Canada.”

Seriously hon, we’d been doing this shtick for ½ hour. For whatever reason, this put Whale Jo over the edge. And you know how it works sometimes with group laughter – once someone starts going off the deep edge, the others can easily follow.

Whale Jo bellowed, tears coming out of his eyes.

“Are you from Canada?” He mimicked, gasping between laughs.

“ARE YOU FROM CANADA?” Uh oh. Code Red laugh attack.

He started pounding the table. Chips went flying.

“ARE YOU FROM CANADA?” Hysterical laughing. Someone might hurt themselves. I began to wonder if we were attracting any notice.

Then Whale Jo literally disappeared. One minute there pounding the table and laugh-crying. The next, empty space.

What the –

“Are you from Canada?”

Holy shipit. That came from underneath the table. I look over at Smooth Chaz and he’s busting up hard and pointing.

“ARE YOU FROM CANADA!!!!!!”

Whale Jo’s head pops out from under the table . . . he’s crawling on his hands and knees in and out between the players.

No.

How security did not toss us out at that point is beyond me.

Thankfully we were able to quiet down

A few more hands were played. Including one that Whale Jo took a pic of and is up on the blog. Split Aces . . .double down on a nine.

Dealer did not bust.

Dealer one. Scooped all the bets.

And with that, it was time to depart the Four Queens.

Somehow it was just me, Smooth Chaz and Whale Jo. I don’t know what happened to the other boyz. Oh well. We’d go find our fun.

We wandered out onto Fremont . . . and headed, well, I’m not sure where. We passed by some bars and then actually stuck our head into one. Can’t remember what it was called. But it was dark, crowded, extra loud music . . . .

I muttered, “Might as well be at Spearmint Rhino if we’re gonna sit in here.”

Next thing I know, Whale Jo has hailed a cab and promised to pay for Smooth Chaz and I if we accompany him to the Rhino.

What was I gonna say at that point?

I mean, I’m not a strip club fan. Just never been my gig. Some like it, I don’t. But I figured it’d be an interesting experience and would give me something to write about.

As we are getting close to the Rhino, we end up sitting at some intersection where an old man in an Audi pulls up. Whale Jo looks over.

“I want his hat.”

He rolls down window.

“Sir, I’ll give you $50 for that hat.”

The man has a puzzled look on his face.

Whale Jo yells the offer louder.

The man smiles, shakes his head no.

“$60?” Whale Jo yells out.

The man says no.

Whale Jo really wants that hat.

As he begins to start making a plea, the old man holds up another hat.

And another.

And another.

He’s a hat salesman.

We find that excruciatingly funny.

The light turns green before Whale Jo can complete a transaction.

But then we hit an intersection and suddenly Whale Jo pops out of the cab. WTF?

One minute later he’s back in.

“Um. No sale.”

Whale Jo says he ran back to the old man’s car, the old man had a look of terror in his face and tried locking the doors. But Whale Jo got one open . . . now the dude was super freaked out. He would definitely not sell a hat to Whale Jo.

Damn.

And then we pulled into the parking lot. Rhino. Jesus.

I get the wand as I’m going in . . . not metal on me tonight.

Whale Jo pays the entry fee for all of us and then we pass back through to the main room.

As wonderful and heavenly as my passages through the different doors at the spa had been . . . moving from the pay booth to the main area of the strip club was the exact opposite.

I seriously felt like I was in a scene from a vampire movie . . . from all corners of the room, scantily clad women rushed at us . . . I swear I saw red eyeballs. Before I could even get a word out, Whale Jo had somehow complete a transaction and all three of us were being led like cows to slaughter to some private dance area.

One minute I’m outside in the cool Vegas air . . .the next I’m stuck right in the center of a den of iniquity being led around by some gal who says she’s from Sweden but has a heavy Russian accent. And a fake rack.

We end up back in this area where the booths look straight out of a Denny’s restaurant. The only difference is that at Denny’s, you are typically seated with only your party. At Rhino you get to share the space.

Yup.

Oh, excuse me sir, sorry to interrupt you with whatever you are doing with those two ladies, but could you skootch over an inch so I can fit in here. Please don’t touch me. Yah, you.

Gulp.

So all three of us sit down. The girls sit on top of us. And what rushes into my head?

The one on my neck I mean.

e.e. cummings

For whatever reason, the first couple stanzas of his poem “may I feel said he” run through my brain.

may i feel said he
(i’ll squeal said she
just once said he)
it’s fun said she

(may i touch said he
how much said she
a lot said he)
why not said she

Seriously? Poetry?

Of course my gal wasn’t interested in poetry. Oh no. She was much more interested in telling me about how she needed a green card, wanted to get married, and all the, er, “benefits” that come with marriage.

Sorry hon. That’s pretty weak.

I try and make actual conversation.

“Oh, that’s some soft skin. What kind of lotion do you use?”

“Oh baby, I just rub c _ m all over myself!”

I want a hazmat suit.

Then I guess my gal decides that I must really like the dirty talk because she suddenly delves into phrases that I’ve never heard of. I won’t repeat the definitions here, but if you haven’t heard of some of these, go onto urban dictionary and look them up. Actually, I’ll just give you one. “Angry Pirate”.

I tried to play along – but I couldn’t stop laughing. Nor could Whale Jo. Nor could Smooth Chaz. I could not take these girls seriously . . .just not my gig.

Time ran up thankfully and it was time to leave. Whale Jo paid up and moved out. But before either Smooth Chaz or myself could follow, the girls blocked us.

“How ‘bout a tip honey?”

“Didn’t you like it?”

“Um, it was, uh, nice. But I don’t have any cash.”

They start laying into us . . . but thankfully Whale Jo came back and told them to ef off and got us out of there.

As I made my way to the door, I couldn’t help but notice how aggressive the ladies were. Grabby grabby.

Exiting that place made me very happy. At least my shirt smelled somewhat nice.

I looked at my watch. It was time to retire. I had nothing left for Vegas this night.

CHAPTER FOUR – Saturday – “Don’t Call it a Comeback” (1/22/10)

7 a.m.

Blink, blink, blink.

Up again. What the heck is going on?

Oh my god, why does the voice in my head sound like its drunk?

Cashews in my bed.

Dangit . . . gotta cure that inner squirrel sometimes . . .

I shake my head a couple times hoping that jostling the brain around would restart my morning. Sort of like pumping and priming a chainsaw.

Only thing I accomplished was releasing a massive right sided headache.

Ow. Ow.

I head to the bathroom and turn the water on full cold and put a wash cloth under the stream. After sufficient application of cold liquidly goodness, I slap the washcloth over my right eye.

I look in the mirror.

“Arrrrrrrrrrrrrrggghhhhhhhhhh”

Angry pirate.

Rhino.

Cue laughter.

But then I suddenly panic. I remember leaving the Rhino.

All those arms grabbing for me.

Pickpockets.

No way.

As I make my way to my clothes, I am convinced that my wallet had been pinched.

Sure enough. No wallet in my pants or blazer.

I look around for my fanny pack.

No. That’s an alternate universe. I don’t carry one in this world.

Sweat beads on my forehead.

I take a deep breath and try to remember exactly what I did prior to falling asleep.

No way I could have been picked.

Safe.

I breath a huge sigh of relief. Duh. I put my wallet in the safe.

Now I remember. I was a wee bit worried that some of the boyz may have tried to bring talent back to the room last night and I wanted to make sure my valuables were locked up in case they did. Thankfully that did not happen.

I notice a snickers bar in the safe – oh yah – bought that several days ago in the airport.

Breakfast. Why not, right? It’s quick and will hold me until I get downstairs and find a nice place to have breakfast or even an early lunch.

As I ride the elevator down, I have thoughts of booking another massage. I imagine how relaxed I would end up feeling on my last full day in Vegas. Not only would it feel good, but it’d keep me off the casino floor. I had to face it – there was no finding lady luck this trip. It was probably best to stick to a few sports bets and do some sightseeing.

I’m starting to really buy into this plan when it happens.

I pass by a Wizard of Oz machine and have that “funny” feeling.

Maybe if I could catch a little lighting in a bottle . . . .start small . . . roll it into something bigger . .. what if . . . what if . . .

Ding. Hundo inserted. Jaco sitting down. Coffee in hand. Buttons being pressed.

Nothing.

No bonus round of any kind. No monkeys, no Glinda, not even that stupid 1,500 credits that is put up as an option. NOTHING.

It’s just a hundo.

Ding ding. Another hundo inserted.

Yikes. Nothing.

However, this time I cash out ½ way through.

I feel a tiny sense of accomplishment – maybe the gambling demons didn’t have as tight a grip on me as I thought. Maybe there was hope.

I wander around thinking again about booking a massage. Why not? I loved it so much the day before and ---

Survivor theme song.

I freeze. It’s like a tiger is stalking me.

I figure I have two choices here. Either run or face it head on.

Running entails waaaaaay too much energy, so I decide to tackle the tiger head on . . . who knows . . .maybe this tiger is friendly and won’t dis me. (not dis as in disrespect, but dis as in dismember and disembowel.).

I take a deep breath, plop into the seat in front of the machine, put in the $50 TITO and think good thoughts. Really really good thoughts.

Next thing I know an hour has passed by. I’ve lost the $50 and another bill or two. I catch a glimpse of myself in the machine’s shiny metal . . . good god man . . . .

My phone rings. It’s my host. I don’t answer. I should, but I don’t. A minute later I dial up my messages and listen . . . she just wants to know if I’m having fun, wants to see me to give me a hug, and reminds me to pick up my Garth Brooks tickets.

A hug.

I’m reminded of that kid’s book by Jez Alborough . . .HUG . . . with the little baby monkey? Just wants his Mommy . . .and a hug.

Sniff.

Wow. I’m actually misting up, in Vegas, at 9 a.m., playing a Survivor Slot Machine.

It doesn’t get any better than that.

“Jaco?”

Did someone say my name?

I turn around and it’s my host!

Oh jesus. It’s my host. And here I am, bleary eyed, grinding it out on a penny slot machine. Thanks for those comps hon!

I stand up, get a nice hug, and profusely thank my host for all she’s done.

How did she find me?

I guess they must have tracking devices in those Red Cards.

After she leaves, I am 100% certain that my luck is going to change.

It doesn’t. For another hour or so I continue to grind on the stupid machine. I even hit one of the best bonus rounds of all time on the machine . . . but in the end I have nothing.

The feeling I had at that moment was pretty low. It was like I had just hiked barefoot over a glass encrusted trail and at the end of that trail found out I would have to cross a river of lemon juice to return home.

Ouch.

I get a call from Whale Jo – he’s over at the Wynn casino. So I shuffle over there to meet up with him. As I pass through the casino I come across a few of the other boyz . . . Buzzy and Smooth Chaz grinding it out on Time Machine. I wish them luck and move on.

I finally meet up with Whale Jo and we decide to go pick up our Garth Brooks tickets.

However, once we get close to the pickup area we discover it’s just a zoo. No thanks. We’ll come back later.

At this point I’ve extinguished all energy from the Snickers Bar and have to find some food. I try the Pizza Place in the Wynn Esplanade, but the line is out the door. I go over to the sports book . . . don’t see anything I like. Finally I settle on hitting the little coffee shop that sits near the theaters. I order a tuna fish sammy and a banana. Normally I would NEVER order either of these items. But I feel like punishing myself. The tuna fish is extra dry and flavorless and the banana is bruised. I wash down each uninspiring bite with a swig of room temperature water. God this is awesome.

I stop eating when I start to gag and throw away the uneaten portion of my lunch. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and think happy thoughts.

I’m not going down without a fight.

No. I didn’t come to Vegas to lay up. I didn’t come to Vegas to have my last night of fun ruined because of some stupid machines. I certainly wasn’t going to sit around and mope about woulda, coulda, shoulda.

I find Whale Jo.

“Let’s do this.”

We go try some video poker. The good ole bank of $5 VP machines. They were always good for a laugh and some dough.

They were colder than a witch’s nippie doodle.

How about Wheel of Fortune? We try some $20 WOFs . . . $60 a spin. Nada.

$10 WOF. Blank.

Guess we might as well try some black jack.

Hey now!

We actually make a little coin. The first positive momentum of the day. So we carry the profits over to Let it Ride.

Whale Jo hits trips! I get a couple straights (on the three card bonus). The cards start falling the right way.

We walk away with some Barneys (purple chips) in our pockets. The feeling I had must be a lot like what a bear experiences after a long hibernation. It was good to be alive (and winning).

Our next play was on some penny slots. First I play a jackpot party game. I think at max credits I was only doing $3.50 or $4.50 a spin. And then I hit a PARTY. And I caned that party. I must have popped at least 15 – 20 balloons. Magic. More profit.

We play some fishing game right behind the Jackpot Party machine. We start hitting bonus rounds on that machine. More profit. More magic.

At some point Whale Jo’s host calls. He picked up his Garth tix for him. Very nice! So we go over to the host desk and pick them up. He tells me that he asked about my tickets, but was told they had already been picked up. Odd. I hadn’t picked them up and I know my host didn’t either. Whale Jo’s host says he’ll look into it and give us a call.

I’m feeling pretty lucky at this moment and wanted to continue to play.

But we run into Hee-Haw as he’s leaving for the airport. 24 hours in Vegas . . . he’d had enough. I pat him on the back and wish him well . . . all the while thinking about what should be played next.

“How about that game? $100k jackpot would be nice?” I look to see what Whale Jo is pointing at . . . normal ole reel slot machine. Why not.

“Hundo each?”

I nodded and pulled out a crisp bill and put it in. Before pressing the spin button on my machine, I watch Whale Jo give it a go.

7

7

Some symbol.

Machine freezes.

Huh? Oh . . . a handpay!

“Did you win?”

Whale Jo responds, “I think so. Maybe $1,100?”

He looks closer. Double look.

“Dude.”

“Dude?”

“Duuuuuuude.”

I look down at the machine.

Add another zero.

$11,500

I look up at the paytables.

We had hit the mini-progressive!

“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!”

The battle cry of Vegas unleashes itself with preternatural cathartic oomph.

“AAAIIIIIEEEEEEEE”

“CANE THE MONKEY!!!!!!”

“S-H-I-P-I-T . . . . “

I looked at Whale Jo. Unbelievable luck.

Seriously, you wouldn’t believe how lucky we’ve been when gambling together. As I mentioned in the beginning, we bought this scratch off ticket one time . . . boom . . .six figures.

And now this? After such a spell of bad luck. After getting special fitted with a casino enema suit and having it stuck on turbo douche the last few days, all was good and right and beautiful in the gambling universe.

We quickly tallied what the respective cuts would be and double checked our math. On top of what I had just made in the last hour, the bankroll was going to start looking a lot like its former self.

The hand pay jockeys came by and counted out the bills. Then Whale Jo shipped my portion of the jackpot. Ahh. There’s the money I lost on WOZ. There’s the Survivor money back.

Ahhhhhhhh.

Lovely winning streak.

Oh, and as we’re sitting there, Whale Jo’s host finds us and turns out he’d made a mistake about my Garth tix. He has them. I look at them and smile. But then I notice that they’ve put the wrong name on one of the tix. I point it out to the host.

“Don’t worry about it. They won’t hassle you, you are an invited casino guest.”

Shipit.

After that, I tried a couple little tiny tasters, but didn’t get anything rolling. So I stopped gaming. I wasn’t about to dump the jackpot money back into Steve Wynn’s pockets. The rest of the afternoon was fairly non-eventful (how could it be after hitting a little mini-progressive).

I made some sports bets (took Duke over Clemson) and just kind of reflected on all that had occurred. A lot of what ifs started playing through my head. What if we hadn’t hit that jackpot? What if I took all that money and put it on red? What if . . . . what if . . . what if . . . . I laugh as I realize that most of this town was built on “what if” bricks.

Eventually it was time to have some dinner. The original plan had been to go to American Fish down at Aria, but we scrapped that, instead opting to use Steve’s money to dine at Wazuzu. Whale Jo raved about the chicken wings. I was a little excited because when looking at the menu I noticed they had uni!

Winning + uni = good.

We sit down, I order a giant beer and peer over the other selections of sushi and decide that I’ll just eat some differing offerings of nigiri and sashimi. Oh, and some kimchi. Love kimchi. I knew who I was sitting next to at the Garth concert, so I was not too concerned about smelling like rank cabbage. Others took turns ordering other types of sushi, various appetizers, and a few main dishes.

Kind of hard to remember exactly what we had, but I think it was the following:

Kimchi: B. Not spicy enough. Had some good flavor and the cabbage was firm – but lacked the bite I was looking for.

Maguro Nigiri: A . I bet they use the same fish Okada uses. Wonderful deep red color and if the waiter had said they had a live fish in the back that they were slow peeling the flesh off of, I would have believed it. It was that fresh.

Sake (Salmon) Nigiri: A. Clean and crisp.

Sea Bass Sashimi: A. Perfect sized portion. Amazingly fresh. I spanked it and it blushed.

Uni: A+++++ I usually wait until the conclusion of a meal to imbibe in uni. However, I stepped outside the box and had two freakishly heavenly pieces right at the start. So glad I did. Nothing wrong starting out dinner in your happy place.

Chicken Wings: B+. Very good. But had one piece after finishing the sushi above, not the best combo. Made me think I was eating at a buffet.

Pork Buns: B+. Fluffy white goodness on the outside, meaty savory surprise on the inside.

Drunken Noodles: B+. Not a dish I would normally eat, but I couldn’t help but notice all the fresh chopped tiny jalapeno peppers hiding amongst the noodles. I like me a little heat. Good for pores. All around solid dish.

I know we had more, but Wazuzu had me at “sushi”. I’d still take the overall experience of Okada any day of the week, but for a little variety, I’d have no problem returning here.

I passed the next couple of hours before the Garth concert by watching some college basketball in the sport book. Nothing too exciting. I put some action on Duke, Montana, Washington, Hawaii, and Arizona St. At one point I noticed Whale Jo off in the corner of the book. I walked over and asked what he was doing.

“Trotters. I have the 1,2 and 3 horse.”

Trotters?

I looked up at the screen. Chariot races. Why not.

As it got closer to 10:00 p.m. I noticed that there was an enormous line starting to form outside of the Encore Theater. When I met up with Whale Jo, Buzzy, and P, to go in the theater, the line had wrapped all the way back to the entrance of the Buffet. Much to my surprise, as long as the line was, it was the world’s fastest moving line. We could barely keep up with the people in front of us.

As I may have mentioned earlier, my host had mistakenly put the wrong name on one of my tickets. Fortunately, that wasn’t an issue. The only thing security wanted to see were orange wristbands and tickets.

The Encore Theater is a very intimate space. I think it seats only about 1,500 on two levels. You can go to the Wynn website and actually get pictures from different view points in the theater. Not a bad seat in the house. Our seats were in Row N in the center section of the theater, right on the aisle.

Prior to the show starting, the stage contains only a stool and a bottle of water. That’s it. All framed in blue lights. The simplicity of it was oddly soothing. Coupled with the palpable energy buzzing through the crowd, I was excited to see what this show would bring.

I am not a huge country fan – its just not a genre I’ve explored all that much. Nor am I a Garth Brooks fan. About the only song I think I knew prior to this show was “Thunder Rolls.” However, when I got the offer from Wynn for two free tickets to see this show, I just felt it was something I couldn’t pass up.

When Garth first stepped foot on stage, I knew then and there that I had made a GREAT decision. I found myself whooping and hollerin’ along with the rest of the crowd – the majority of whom were obvious country and Garth fans.

“SHIPIT!!!!”

Not sure if Garth heard me or not, but it felt appropriate to scream at the top of my lungs.

Then he started playing.

Wow.

The show is built around Garth telling a story of where his music comes from. From music his daddy listened to (Merle Haggard), to his momma (James Taylor), to his brothers (Bob Seger). Anytime Garth would talk about another artist, he would cut the chit chat and play his guitar.

Obviously, as the best selling artist of all time, he has some skills. His voice easily fills the theater and evoked a feeling of being wrapped in a silk cocoon. His guitar playing was very very good.

Some of the stories he told were absolutely heart-warming. One that stands out was his recollection of meeting James Taylor and James Taylor knowing the names of Garth’s daughters. Listening to Garth recall meeting James and recreating the moment when James reached down to greet the littlest of the Brooks girls made me tear up. Don’t know why, just did. Them tears kept flowing when he then did a cover of “Fire & Rain” . . . such a soulful song.

Garth, as a performer, knew exactly what he was doing with his audience. Most of the people sitting around me had come to hear him play his songs. So as the night wore on, he started sprinkling in his own work – each song drawing louder applause from the fans.

There were more than a few songs where Garth would suddenly stop playing and singing and hearing the crowd softly signing along was awesome. The collective voice of 1,500 strangers, banded together for only a moment, sweet whispering out refrains from Don McLean’s “American Pie” sent shivers up my spine – and the visible effect it had on Garth was pretty cool.

About ½ way through the show, Garth’s wife Trisha Yearwood joined him on stage. I was blown away at the heels she wore. They were so fricking big that it had the unfortunate effect of making her look like she was walking around with a rod up her you know what. But, thankfully she has a good enough voice that it overcame the distraction of me putting invisible odds on whether or not she’d face plant. This portion of the show was OK. My favorite part was hearing her describe what it’s like living with Garth and waking up in the morning.

“Oh, mornings are pretty typical. I go downstairs, turn on the fog machine, and then this big hole opens up in the kitchen floor and Garth raises up out of it with a big ole black hat and his fist raised up in the air.”

Another cool part of the concert was hearing Garth come clean about how he “air guitared” during his concert days. He told us this under the auspice of wanting to be completely honest. Kinda cool.

My absolute favorite part of the whole night was when he played the one song I knew – Thunder Rolls. He peeled off just a few notes of the song and the entire audience knew what was coming. This evoked the loudest “shipit” I’ve ever thrown from my vocal chords. What an incredibly moving song.

And what was really cool was that he stopped in the middle of the song and explained how the entire song came together and how the ending part came to be. Then of course he launched into the finale of the song, absolutely bringing down the house.

Towards the end of the evening, Garth had the house lights raised and took requests from the audience. I thought at one point that the patrons were going to literally jump out of their seats and rush the stage. It was interesting seeing Garth communicate one on one with his fans. His humbleness towards all the adoration seemed completely genuine.

One of the requests made was “Desperado” by the Eagles. He claimed to have never played the song before. If true, this cover truly showed how talented of an artist he is.

All the other requests were for songs off his albums – none which I really recognized, but thoroughly enjoyed.

And, then it was lights up. Shows over.

I sat there for a second in disbelief.

I couldn’t believe I wanted more!

Absolutely the best show I’ve seen.

Better than U2, Tom Petty, AhHa, Dave Mathews, Chris Isaac, John Cougar, and all the other concerts I’ve been to in my lifetime.

If you get the chance, go. I don’t care if you don’t like country. I don’t care if you don’t like Garth. I don’t care if you don’t like music and have a strong fear of guitars.

Book it. You’ll never see anything like this show in Vegas – or anywhere for that matter.

Step outside the box.

So, another night in Vegas, my last night, in the books.

As we left the Encore Theater, everyone went their separate ways. Whale Jo melted into the mass of casino patrons, off to do one last battle against the evil empire in an effort to reclaim the lost denizens of his chip world. In hindsight, I wish I had joined him on that quest – it sounds like he absolutely caned it. Not only slew the dragon, but carved it up turkey-style and served with a half pound of in your face mashed potatoes. But, at the time, I was feeling good from the Garth concert and really did not want to suffer any more losses.

I had had my fill of Vegas.

At least until Sunday morning. My flight didn’t leave until late in the afternoon . . . so the potential to do a little more damage existed . . . . this small burning ember of a thought lay smoldering in my brain as I drifted off to sleep . . . .

Chapter Five – Sunday – “Requiem For Vegas” (1/24/10)

Lights.
It's my last day in Vegas. I fly out in seven hours.
I really can’t believe it’s over.
A blink of an eye. My time in Vegas that short.
One minute arriving in Vegas . . . the anticipation of the journey ahead igniting euphoric pulses of adrenaline through my blood . . .
Blink.
Departure day. A curious mix of emotions . . . . sadness at leaving this town . . . redemptive relief at leaving this town . . .leaving this town.
Good thing though about leaving Vegas? . . . the next time I come back.
I take a contemplative walk through the suite one more time. Flashes of memories accompanying me with every step.
Packing takes no time. No rhyme or reason when packing for home . . . just stuff it all in and hope that I have room to shove some of the Encore toiletries and mini-bar items in my bag.
I get a call from Chaz and Buzzy. They are down at Café Society having a bite of breakfast. I decide to join them. But first I want to check out.
After dropping the bags off with the bell desk, I slip into the Casino Host area and sit down to make sure everything is taken care of. Sure enough, the host graciously zeros out my account – well, almost zeros it out – I end up paying for a movie and one drink at the Sports Bar. I don’t ask why those are left on – doesn’t matter.
Side Note – It’s worth double checking with the front desk even after settling up with a host. On my way out, I quickly stopped and asked the front desk gal to print out my room statement and I was surprised to see that, despite what the host had said, there were a lot of charges left on my account. I pointed this out politely to the gal and she fixed it. First class service and attitude all the way.
In any event, I joint the boyz, but am not very hungry. I take a couple bites of lukewarm flabby white toast and guzzle some coffee. Truth be told, I really wanted to hit the Survivor machine one last time. I figured I must have accrued enough FreeCredit to take a good run at (with?) my nemesis.
So, I left the boyz, sidled up to a Survivor game, plugged in my red card along with a $20, said a silent prayer to the gaming gods, and had one last run with the bulls.
Crazy enough – I made a little dough. No jackpots – but a couple hundred bucks. Good enough for me at this point. Hit a few bonus rounds and even got a screen full of Rudy’s . . . that set off the big win alarm and left me with a smile on my face.
Smooth Chaz joined me on the machines. He had a bit of credit as well and put $3 in and within the first couple of spins had hit the bonus round and he cashed out a couple hundo up as well.
That had to be it. Gaming was officially done. Time to re-enter the atmosphere.
Chaz and I decided to head off and do some souvenir shopping across the street. I had promised some people a few gifts from Vegas and didn’t want to wait until the airport. Also, word to the wise, crumpled up drink napkins from the airplane don't qualify as "gifts". No matter how hard you try and claim that the little dirty balled up paper is a new art form called "Vegas origami." Nuh-uh.
And, for the first time in five days, I ventured outside. Fresh air. The universe balanced.
Couldn’t imagine a better way to end the trip.
Fade to Black.

Miscellaneous Notes/Observations

There were a couple stories that I remembered after posting this TR. I’ll share a few:

The Skeever Dude

Whale Jo and I were busy trying to work some magic on a couple of Jackpot Block Party games and actually seemed to be doing quite OK. In the middle of a good run some sketchy skeever looking dude walks up and asks if we have a light. Before we can answer, he blurts out, “You guys here for some fun? Want some party favors?”

Then, like he was reciting a grocery list, he rattles off the various forms of entertainment he has at his disposal (i.e., drugs).

Cold calling drug sale at the Wynn? In the middle of the day? Duuuuuuuuude.

I shake my head no and he scurries off.

Or at least I thought he did.

We play on the machines for another ten minutes or so. When we get up to leave, I see this douchebag sitting at the bank right behind us . . .

Whale Jo and I debate calling security . . . but get distracted by a blackjack table.

Tell It Like It Is

When the boyz first arrived, we all sat down at a table at the Encore. At first things seemed to go well, but the table quickly turned. When both Whale Jo and I reached into our wallets to get some more cash, the pit boss came over to us and in a hushed voice said, “Fellas, you don’t want to do that. Go find another table. You aren’t going to win at this one.”

I thought that was real classy.

Of course we didn’t listen.

And he was right. We did not win.

So there you have it folks, the end of this trip report. Thanks for reading and if you have any questions about anything written in here, please don’t hesitate to ask.

Cheers.

Video of Encore Salon Suite

2010-01-27T20:03:00.000-08:00

For whatever reason, I could not embed my video in the blog. So, it's posted over on YouTube.

Click on this LINK.

Once I get done with the Trip Report, I'll try and come back and see if I can't get the video embedded on here.

2010 Trip - Pictures!

2010-01-26T10:08:00.000-08:00

I'm currently in the process of breaking down my last trip and putting all the events into a trip report. Day One is posted above.

Needless to say it was a goooooooood trip . . . just regaining sight in my left eye.

Here are some grades:

Encore Salon Suite: A

Encore Tower Suites Service: A+

Encore Casino: D (grade based on amount won)

Wynn Casino: A+ (unfortunately not enough to overpower Encore's 'D')

Botero: A

Okada: A

Hugo's: B/B-

Wazuzu: B+

Country Club Lunch: A

Encore Spa: A+++

Garth Brooks: No grade high enough

Rhino: A+ for humor experience only

El Cortez: C+

Four Queens: B

In room dining at Encore: B+

New Addiction: Survivor Slot Machines at Encore . . .for a seemingly innocent looking penny slot machine - I swear the devil is spinning the reels on this one . . .

Here are some pics from the trip - hopefully these will tide y'all over for now:

Whale Jo mixing it up during a game of BJ Switch at the Four Queens

First handpay of the Trip at Wynn casino - $5 WOF
I think $1660 . . .

View from my seat at Garth (center section, 13 rows up)

Shipit Steak Tartare at Botero (Encore) - yes, those toast points got naughty with that raw meat and egg.

Another view of the tartare, plus a shot of the crab appy. Shipit-delicious. Oh man - those fries were something else too.

The Progressive . . . hit on the first spin . . .

Survivor Slot Machine at Encore - winning with a whole lot of Rudy's . . .

Report from the Field . . .

2010-01-22T09:18:00.000-08:00

How long have I been here? Seems like forever and a day. And I still have 2.5 days left . . . .

Yesterday was a roller coaster day. Up and down, up and down. And eventually like a lot of roller coasters, to get off the ride, I had to go down.

Nothing was working. No Wizard of Oz, no WOF, no grinder penny slots, no BJ, no LIR . . . I knew it was bad when I lost on the hottest craps table of the night. No - I wasn't betting the dark side - I guess I just didn't have that gambling karma.

Oh well, today's a new day. Got a four-handed massage on the books . . . hope it doesn't hurt. Then have a few more guests arriving in town today and tonight - dinner at Hugos, gaming at El Cortez . . .

My theme for today is to slow roll. If I can grind out some small wins then perhaps I can build momentum going into tomorrow.

No pics to post yet - I keep forgetting to bring my camera with me - just not enough pockets and I don't own a fanny pack.

Jaco out.

So Much To Report . . .

2010-01-21T08:08:00.000-08:00

But so little time! Enjoying the morning here . . .gotta run to a hair cut . . . WTF . . . who scheduled this sooooo early.

Highlights from last night:

Handpay on $5 WOF
$300 into $6k at BJ
$2k popper on Let it Ride

All in all with the various swings to account for - I'm lucky to be up . . . .Whale Jo is too.

Dinner at Botero was amazing - best steak tartare I've ever feasted upon. The filet was superb as well. Onion rings made me cry.

More later.

Hurry Up and WAIT!

2010-01-20T13:50:00.000-08:00

Just sitting at the airport . . . just found out Whale Jo's plane has already left and he's going to beat me there. No worries I suppose - he claims he'll bring the Rolls back to pick me up.

I was going to try and wait and start drinking on the plane - but that plan went by the wayside . . . 1 gigantor Sam Adams already down the hatch.

Currently looking for signs that this trip will be a good one . . . nice looking flight attendant walking by and smiling at me . . . that's a good one . . . getting carded for this beer . . . another good one. If the plane's captain is named Thomas, I'm buying all the passengers a round.

God help the person sitting next to me - I hope they are ready to gamble . . . I forgot cards, so maybe they'll be interested in high stakes rock scissors paper . . . .

Also just sent an e-mail to the rest of the crew and offered up $100 if they can make it on my plane . . . .

Funny side note - as I try and check to see what this post looks like the airport web security screen is blocking my site due to it being inappropriate . . . . . it keeps saying "sex" . . . . now I'm giggling like a third grader.

Let the Games Begin!

2010-01-04T08:30:00.000-08:00

T-24 hours.

At exactly this moment tomorrow my plane should be putting rubber to tarmac in Vegas. Sudden change of plans for the solo night . . . Whale Jo was able to clear up his schedule and join in the fun. His flight lands around the same time as mine. Watch out Vegas. The Wynn Phantom is scheduled to pick us up and take us to a 2BR Salon Suite at Encore. Shipit.

Dinner at Botero - mostly so I can get steak tartare.

I may try updating the blog from time to time while there - probably mostly at night - so stay tuned!

My Vegas Playlist . . .

2009-11-02T14:15:00.000-08:00

In between Vegas planning right now . . . the trip is all set (Jan. 21st), plane tics purchased, hotel figured out (Encore) . . . it'll probably be a couple more weeks before the final details (dinner reservations) are hammered out.

So, being the ADD person I am, instead of working on something productive, I instead tried to hammer out a playlist that I could imagine listening to when I'm in Vegas in January. My only qualifier for a song was that it had to make me believe I was in Vegas . . . evoke some kind of imagery.

If you have any good suggestions (beyond the traditional songs), leave me a comment or e-mail me:

The List:

'Pursuit of Happiness' by Kid Cudi . . . this song wigs me out . . . . I close my eyes and the beginning of the song makes me think I've just sat down in some insane limo . . . then quickly it switches me to standing with my face plastered against my hotel room window, eyes staring off listessly at the glittering lights . . . then it makes me almost weep . . . as I stand emptyhanded at a video poker machine, having just lost my last $100 and realizing I don't even have enough cash to catch a cab to the airport . . . but then I hang in with the song and I'm moving in slow motion, running, screaming, crazed that I just pulled off the biggest win of my life . . . I like songs like this . . .

'Sometime Around Midnight' by The Airborne Toxic Event . . . this song starts me off in the middle of some sort of "Friday Night Lights" setting . . . riding through West Texas in my beater pickup truck . . . . my old dog Rufus snoozing at my side . . . having just been dumped by my old lady and on my way to Vegas to blow every last dollar that I have so she doesn't get it . . . and then the rest of the song has me at some real Vegas dives . . . drunk . . . really drunk . . . but somewhat satisfied that I'm not so angry anymore.

'The All Spark' by Steve Jablonsky from The Transformers soundrack . . . If you've read any of my trip reports, you might see where I'm coming from on this one. Cue this song . . . I'm sitting in the middle of the Mirage casino . . . . it's darker than usual . . . 2 a.m. . . . nobody really around except that tiny little Chinese lady who looks like she's cleaning up cigarettes . . . my head is bobbing up and down from exhaustion . . . .I'm down $4k . . . I only have $400 left . . . . so I stuff it all into a video poker machine . . . I take a deep breath . . . and bam, just as this music crescendos, the machine blinks at me. With real eyes. No shit.

"Just Breathe" by Pearl Jam . . . this song plays as I'm sitting in my room, counting up the money won from the day's events. Glass of red wine and plate of animal crackers sit on the couch . . . and as I finish counting the money I call down for a taxi and take the red-eye out of town so I can get home early.

"Straight Line" by Clear Conscience . . . strip club . . . that's all I can say.

"Crunch" by Yes King . . . a good song that I would like to play as I enter some dump casino like the Riv, Circus Circus or Tropicana. Let's inject some fun into this place kind of song.

"Thrash Unreal" by Against Me! . . . this song is one that should definitely play as I run through McCarren just after being unleashed from the plane . . . if, while running, I could light my hair on fire without lasting damage I think that would be cool too and fits with this song.

"Deeper Shade of Soul" by Urban Dance Squad . . . I'm moving like gooey syrup through the high limit room, off my rocker from accidentally doing shots of absinthe and red bull . . . I know that if I stop and sit down I will boot. So I keep moving.

"Anagram" by Dousk . . . outside at Country Club . . . sunset . . . plate of fries . . . half finished pale ale . . . the whisper of promise in the air . . .

Main Song from Last of the Mohicans . . . Whale Jo and Jaco enter the main pit at Wynn . . . Whale Jo nods to Jaco as he slides into an open seat at the $100 min. BJ table . . . Jaco acknowledges with a point of the finger and strides towards the cage where he dumps off three bumblebee chips and takes the cash right at an open Wizard of Oz machine . . .

"Sound of Madness" by Shinedown . . .this song is playing in my head as I ride the elevator down to the casino . . . I'm coming off a four hour nap and have been on an increidble gambling run for two days straight . . . I clench my fist and sucker punch the elevator floor buttons . . . ooops.

Vegas Crew Application

2009-10-28T10:41:00.000-07:00

For the January trip, the crew is contemplating adding a few additional members. The first step in that process is being nominated by a current crew member . . . but what about after that? Shouldn't there be some sort of written application? Absolutely.

If you feel like answering the questions - please do! Just e-mail me back your answers. I've received a few already and the responses are pretty humorous! I'll post my favorite or favorites in the next couple days.

theApplication – You have 15 minutes to complete this Application in full.

Name: _________________________________________

1. Name, in sequence, the hotel casinos on the Strip, starting with Mandalay Bay, going as far north as Stratosphere, crossing the street to the Sahara, and then finishing at MGM.

2. Where is the best place to buy souvenirs in Vegas?

3. Who was Danny Gans?

4. If you needed to get from the MGM to the Las Vegas Hilton, would you:

(a) Take a cab;
(b) Take the monorail;
(c) Take the Deuce;
(d) Walk.

5. Name at least three steak joints on the Strip.

6. Name at least three free attractions in Vegas.

7. Name at least two strip clubs in Vegas.

8. Name at least five different table games you can find in a Vegas casino.

9. Where can you find a white tiger?

10. Who is the best female vocalist performing in Vegas (careful, trick question).

11. When faced with the choice at McCarren Airport of standing in the taxi line for 25 minutes or hopping in a limo or town car, which do you choose?

12. Please explain why you stop at a liquor store on the way to the hotel? Is it:

(a) To save some money so you can have drinks in your room;
(b) Because you are a degenerate drunk;
(c) To keep your buzz going from the 4 drinks on the airplane; or
(d) All of the above

13. When you arrive at your hotel, what is the first thing you do after checking in:

(a) Drop bags off with a bellhop and head straight for the tables;
(b) Head up to room and order room service, watch a movie and take a nap;
(c) Head up to room, scream at the top of your lungs, and then power down a mini-bar beer;
(d) Unpack, check blackberry, and drink a diet Cherry Coke.

14. When riding in a taxi or a limo, is it appropriate to ask the driver to drive as fast as he can up to a casino entrance and then hit his brakes so that the car will come to a screeching stop?

15. Two-part Question. It is 3 a.m. You are playing black jack. You order a drink. The drink does not come for 30 minutes. During that 30 minutes you suffer a money flush (i.e., you lose all your chips). Would you immediately call over the pit boss and demand that your entire trip be comped? If the pit boss didn't give you any love, would you continue your efforts up the management chain until you received some sort of just compensation?

16. You are playing $2-$4 limit poker at Luxor at 3 a.m. Your flush loses on the river to a full house. On a scale of 1-10 with 1 being “never” and 10 being “done deal” how likely is it that you will accuse the dealer of cheating and demand to see surveillance tapes?

17. You go to a strip club with your buddy. You become separated. At some point you are lured back to a private room for a "dance." When you open the door to the room, you see your buddy sitting in there. Alone. He has a very shameful look on his face. How would you handle this situation?

18. What does RFB stand for?

19. Have you ever received a “comp” at a Vegas hotel. If so, please elaborate.

20. Is there ever a time when you would split K-K during a game of black jack?

21. Have you ever bet the dark side?

22. It is midnight. You get in a cab at Bellagio to go back to your room. Where are you staying?

23. What is the first question you should ask any cab driver in Vegas?

(a) How fast can you get me there?
(b) How are you?
(c) Where can I go to get a massage with a fourth of july surprise?

24. What is the best way at a restaurant to check whether or not your steak is cooked to your liking?

25. Do you know what a "juice roll" is? If so, please describe the most random person in Vegas that you have ever "juiced."

The Whale Jo Chronicles - Whale Jo's Lost Chapter

2009-10-27T11:40:00.000-07:00

Welcome - you've stumbled across the "The Whale Jo Chronicles." These posts (four in all) are a recount of the exploits of my friend Whale Jo during an October 22 - October 24 trip to Vegas. Don't know who Whale Jo is? Check out the trip reports on this blog and then you'll know. I'd recommend: The Shipit Trip Report and The Chocolate Chip Trip Report for starters. Or you can scroll down this page and you'll see the reports and various pictures from Las Vegas.

Most of the e-mails and pictures came from the first two days of his trip. Here's a link to Day One. Want to see what happened on Day Two? Here's a link to Day Two. What little trickled out on the third day can be found at Day Three.

Suffice to say, Whale Jo's trip had its ups and downs and appears to have ended, this time, on a down note. I wasn't sure if I'd get a final report putting a wrap on this trip - but Whale Jo has been gracious enough to provide me with his "Lost Chapter."

The next Vegas trip is January 2010 . . . but I do plan on adding some more content to this site between now (October 2009) and then . . . so please come back and visit. And, good or bad, please send me an e-mail if you have any comments or questions.

And without further ado . . .

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Whale Jo's Lost Chapter
------------------------------------------------------
Reprinted with express permission by W. Joe.

As many of you have probably experienced, it's all about timing in Vegas.

When you walk away, when you hit a table, when you put a dollar in a slot machine. If you're a second too late or too early...

So after an incredible run the first night I was riding a high through the 2nd day. I felt like my timing was perfect. Like James Caan in The Gambler, I was juking and jiving, bopping and weaving....I was invincible. A few hundred here, a few hundred there, a couple thousand here, a couple thousand there. It was magic and I was in the zone.

After meeting up with some of the TA boys at Golden Gate and finally crushing the Golden Nugget to the tune of about $4k, I was back up $10K for the trip.

I felt good. I was up. It was Friday night and I saw the big lights.

I told the cabbie - Back to the Encore!

And that was my fatal mistake.

I had horrible luck at the Encore the entire trip, and now, as the sweet scent greeted me at the door I thought I could outhorsepower the gods and take some of Steve's loot.

No luck.

I ended up sitting at the high limit blackjack table for 3 hours and dumping hand after hand after hand. I just wouldn't give up. I kept trying to force it and I kept losing. It was disgusting. I tried everything I could think of - switching from 1 to 4 hands, standing, hitting, splitting, doubling. Every move I made was the wrong one.

Finally, at 3 am, I gave up.

I went up to the room and passed out.

I had been there before, so many times, when I tried to force it and lost.

I broke all my cardinal rules and I paid for it.

On Saturday I woke up, had an incredibly refreshing breakfast, massage and workout and then gave it one final stand, grinding it at $100 a pop throughout the afternoon, trying to get back the magic and get in the flow again.

But by late Saturday night I hit the wall. I was mentally and emotionally exhausted and decided to lick my wounds and retreat to the suite.

3 days in Vegas is a marathon and I ran too fast in the beginning and didn't have any legs for the finish.

The trip back on Sunday was thankfully uneventful. The ride in the Rolls does wonders for the beaten down spirit of a Vegas loser. Steve is a marketing guru.

I'm back in the drizzly Pacific Northwest now and ready to train again. There's 3 months to go til our January trip which I know will be epic.

I'll have my wingman Jaco back to guide me through the madness and magic, as well as our 5 copilots: buzzy; Chaz; Frankiestyles; Double D; and the Doctor.

Cheers,
WJ

The Whale Jo Chronicles - Live from Las Vegas - DAY THREE

2009-10-24T09:15:00.000-07:00

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DAY THREE - October 24, 2009

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E-mail #1
Location: Unknown
Time: 12:45 a.m.
Subject: eBay slot heaven 2 machine 15x

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E-mail #2
Location: Unknown
Time: 1:41 p.m.
Subject: Have to go find magic

Just had a life altering massage followeb by chocolate donuts and eggs
benedict and a documentary about dolphins

I'm back in love with this town

The restorative powers of vegas are unrivaled
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E-mail #3:
Location: Encore
Time: 3:40 p.m.
Subject: [none]

Just getting back into the flow - I completely tried to force it last night to no avail besides a lot of rubber bands around my wrist and a pocket full of paperclips

I need the prayers of your readers today

The climb is starting.....
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E-mail #4
Location: Encore
Time: 8:03 p.m.
Subject: Retire

It's time

To lick my wounds and retreat

Headed back to the room to order a disgusting amount of room service
and order every movie on pay per view and watch each for 2 minutes
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E-mail #5
Location: Encore
Time: 10:00 p.m.
Subject: [None]

I'm thinking about taking one last shot at midnight.
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The Whale Jo Chronicles - Live from Las Vegas - DAY TWO

2009-10-23T09:54:00.000-07:00

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DAY TWO - October 23, 2009

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E-mail #1:
Location: Encore
Time: 9:30 a.m.
Subject: Nice calm morning

It's still so hard to sleep here I really do believe they pump 'wake up and come downstairs to gamble air' into the vents in the hotel rooms. I feel amazing.

Thank you for being my virtual wingman last nightI felt like I had to prove it to you and your readers and hold onto the money, although that last hand could have obviously gone sideways.

My plan today is to grind in the morning and slowly make my way to Caesars for a noon $1k buy in no limit holdem tournament.

There will probably be a hundred runners so 1st place will be around $30k.

I just want to have fun and play well.

I've never cashed in a vegas poker tournament so I reckon I'm due.

Stay tuned I'll give updates throughout the day.
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E-mail #2
Location: Encore
Time: 11:53 a.m.
Subject: Re: Nice calm morning

So far bad morning
got sucked into let it ride and went about 20 hands without 1 win ouch
Then tried to win back at blackjack and did another flush
Yikes how it all can change

I'm still up but I need to get out of here!!! Encore is death
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E-mail #3
Location: Encore
Time: 12:11 p.m.
Subject: Re: Nice calm morning

Just got back almost all of it - again it all came down to 1 card- I pull a 21 and beat his 20

Shipit I'm at the cage now cashing 11k and running for the hills

Cp here I come
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E-mail #4
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 2:41 p.m.
Subject: Still in tournament

[Note - Whale Jo is playing in the $1,000 N/L Hold 'Em poker event at the Caesar's Palace Classic]

Have total ADD I can't sit in my seat.

I keep getting up and going to the pit or the vp bar.

Poker tournaments are boring!!!
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E-mail #5
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 2:43 p.m.
Subject: Just got dealt 4 10s at $2 vp with max bet!

Ship $500 my way!!!
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E-mail #6
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 2:52 p.m.
Subject: Re: Just got dealt 4 10s at $2 vp with max bet!

[NOTE - I asked Whale Jo how many players were in the tourney and what his plan was for tonight]

There's 71 players - I think I'll try some high limit poker at bellagio and then go back to the wynn for more blackjack madness.

I'm calm again now. I got pretty tilted this morning at let it ride when I didn't win a hand for an hour.
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E-mail #7
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 2:56 p.m.
Subject: Just busted this poor old bastard

Shipit

I have 5-7
flop come q-7-6
Turn 4
river 5
He has kq

Goodbye

Up to 19000 in chips!

Started with 12500
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E-mail #8
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 3:29 p.m.
Subject: Poker Update

Just won a 5k pot with absolutely nothing.
Stone cold bluff.
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E-mail #9
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 3:29 p.m.
Subject: It feels so good

To not take this shit seriously

Everyone at my table are all in sunglasses and headphones and grinding like the douchebags they are.

WJ don't give a shit.

He's here to enjoy not suffer

Holding steady at 23000 chips

Only 41 players left

40 to beat
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E-mail #10
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 3:39 p.m.
Subject: Some pro just got moved to my table

I call him pro douchebag
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E-mail #11
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 3:39 p.m.
Subject: Extreme ADD

Just bet 200 on random horse races going off in 3 minutes

Felt the number 3
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E-mail #12
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 4:30 p.m.
Subject: Ouch

Just lost a 8k pot trying to bluff the pro douchebag
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E-mail #13
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 5:05 p.m.
Subject: Re: Ouch

Just bluffed off another 7k while getting a table massage
Note to self - no more table massages while playing in poker tournament
I'm down to 9k in chips
34 players left
I need some cards!!
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E-mail #14
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 5:17 p.m.
Subject: This guy is grinding 10 cents a spin

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E-mail #15
Location: Caesar's Palace
Time: 6:03 p.m.
Subject: Busted

Out of the tournament - 30th place

Haven't eaten since 9

Über tilt blackjack session at Caesars dumped a shitload

Yikes

Now headed back to wynn with a $5k flag - need to do some damage control

Might stop at wazuzu to calm down and eat
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E-mail #16
Location: Wynn
Time: 6:22 p.m.
Subject: Ouch

Just got hammered again - this time at the wynn blackjack

Time to take a breather!!!!
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E-mail #17
Location: Wynn
Time: 7:18 p.m.
Subject: Just had my greatest craps roll

Of all time

Turned 1k into14200

Shipit

I held the dice for at least 35 minutes

When I sevened out I had at least 4k on the table

Felt pretty damn good

I'm back to even now for the day

Unreal
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E-mail #18
Location: Wynn
Time: 8:12 p.m.
Subject: Epic blackjack hand still haven't eaten

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E-mail #19
Location: Wynn
Time: 8:24 p.m.
Subject: I'm in flag heaven

"Almost a chocolate chip . . . "
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E-mail #20
Location: Wynn
Time: 8:50 p.m.
Subject: [none]

Just called [Beeejay] sounds like a great guy

I'm going to go meet him downtown at 10:30!!!
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E-mail #21
Location: Encore
Time: 8:58 p.m.
Subject: Wazuzu chow fest

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E-mail #22
Location: Encore
Time: 9:26 p.m.
Subject: The h is silent

In Jaco

It's pronounced "haaacko"

I loved that Bart called you jack-o

Fucking hilarious

He said they were looking to harpoon whalejo

He's awesome

Just absolutely caned 3 dishes in 10 minutes

I have hotsauce in my eyeballs
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E-mail #23
Location: Encore
Time: 9:23 p.m.
Subject: Handpay on $5 top dollar slot!!!!

It's making a really strange noise I think it might explode.

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E-mail #24
Location: Encore
Time: 10:36 p.m.
Subject: Purple People Eaters

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E-mail #24
Location: Downtown
Time: 11:56 p.m.
Subject: Jaco Fan

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The Whale Jo Chronicles - Live from Las Vegas - DAY ONE

2009-10-22T11:15:00.000-07:00

DAY ONE - October 22, 2009

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E-mail #1
Location: Departure Airport
Time: 10:58 a.m.
Subject: Epic pee

I swear I just timed my pee and it was a minute and 45 seconds- unreal.

Good sign
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E-mail #2
Location: On the Airplane
Time: 11:18 a.m.
Subject: Ride from airport at 2:15

[Just e-mailed host at encore] asking for encore limo from airport I hope they send the rolls

Just asked for first class upgrade at the ticker counter but its sold out of course but I did move up from 24a to 12f

Double down on seat upgrade!

Why are there seven different varieties of gun magazines at the airport kiosk but not one magazine about gambling?
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E-mail #3
Location: Still On the Airplane
Time: 11:38 a.m.
Subject: Ride from airport at 2:15

Another small win - no one in the middle seat! Just about to take off have a lovely older lady on my left who is going to her friends wedding - I asked her if she likes to gamble and she said she only likes to watch.

I will never understand that
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E-mail #4
Location: On the Airplane - but in VEGAS
Time: 1:44 p.m.
Subject: A few random notes from 32,000 feet

(NOTE FROM JACO - Whale Jo drafted this on the plane and shot it off as soon as his plane touched down)

A few random notes from 32,000 feetVegas is a gigantic gurgling living maze of wonder and abandonment for me. It always has been and even now at age 39, blessed with everything I've ever wanted in life(the most amazing wife, my health, family, friends and a girl on her way), the allure is as strong as ever.

In one word it's possibility.

(sidenote the stewardess just walked by and gave me a smiley face on a post-it for being an MVP gold on Alaska air - and said I can cash it in later for a free drink! How cool is that??)

Possibility

It's the idea that anything can happen at any time. It's the odds defying mathematical anomaly that can and will happen at least a few times in life. I happen to believe there's a little more to what we see and know and it's a place like vegas that can give momentary glimpses into that other world. Everyone calls it something different, from religion to degeneracy, but in the doctrine of whalejo, I prefer to think of it as magic.

My best memories of this magic have occurred with Jaco.

I remember this mystical Asian woman at a roulette table who was telepathically funneling numbers to me, but she would just send me one number, like an 8. So then I would frantically cover every number with an 8 in it, 18, 28, 8, and then close my eyes and smile, knowing that the last 13 rolls were inexplicable and that this woman who Im not sure was even physcially there, was signalling me through a few seconds jump in time, giving me numbers to bet.

I remember an epic craps roll where I had to say the exact same thing over and over and over while one of the crew asked the most ridiculous question. And it wasn't until I had answered in the exact tone that he was listening for until he rolled. And rolled and rolled. he rolled for 45 minutes.

It's a release from the norm, a temporary respite from the regular rules.

I remember hitting 4 of a kind at let it ride - it was 4 4s and I had 2 in my hand and a split second before the dealer turned up her 2nd 4 in front of her to make me quads, I screamed across the casino to jaco - hey jaco watch this I'm gonna hit quads!!

I remember a thousand times that I knew I was going to lose. Just knew it absolutely without a doubt I was going to flush it. And it always happened.

But the true magic is when Jaco and I truly feel it. We dance between raindrops and everything turns to gold.

I remember walking by row after row of slot machines, looking for that one special gem, the one that was going to ring. And then sitting, respectfully acknowledging it's being, and then listening to it sing.

It's all crazy and it's all possible,But when Jaco and I are truly flowing through that magical ether of vegas and not fighting the stream but letting it take us over, magic happens.

I just reread that paragraph and it sounded quite gay. Clarification to the readers: jaco and whalejo are 2 of the most Hetero men in the planet. We are timber cutting woodsmen who rejoice in their testosterone fueled madness. However that does not and will not exclude us from being a tad sensitive to the wonder of the world. I for instance, will openly weep at soap commercials - get me to a wedding and I cry longer than the bride... I think Jaco will admit to the same delicate sensitivities

I've completely digressed and it's now time to finish this delicious rum drink, pop in a stick of nicotine gum and try to control my urge to scream Sanjaya!!! at the top of my lungs and crawl like a french circus performer along the tops of everyones heads, making my way row by row to the cockpit to speed this thing along!!!
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E-mail #5
Location: Sitll on the plane in VEGAS
Time: 1:46 p.m.
Subject: Ride from airport at 2:15

Just landed see [my host's] note below I swear she's mad at me!!!!
I feel like I got drunk and cheated on her
I hope I see her
I whispered shipit to myself 7 times as we landed
I got a goooooooood feeling!!!!
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E-mail #6
Location: Still on the plane in VEGAS
Time: 1:48 p.m.
Subject: Welcome to Las Vegas

I fucking love it
I just sent you long ramblings from the plane ride
It actually made the plane trip quicker
Now it's time for the full boar sprint through the airport
Why does Alaska drop you off at Timbuktu mccaren?
Where's my helicopter???????!
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E-mail #7
Location: Still on the plane in VEGAS
Time: 1:52 p.m.
Subject: I would pay 50 bucks

To be the first one off the plane

This is torture!!!!
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E-mail #8
Location: Outside of McCarren Airport
Time: 2:08 p.m.
Subject: No driver yet

But outside having my first vegas smoke

It feels like 85
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E-mail #9
Location: McCarren Airport
Time: 2:28 p.m.
Subject: James is here with the Rolls!

No message.
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E-mail #10
Location: With the Phantom
Time: 2:48 p.m.
Subject: WJ Arrives in style

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E-mail #11
Location: Encore
Time: 3:06 p.m.
Subject: Just got in the room

Moment of sadness without you next door and all that shared adrenalin
and anticipation

Caning beers and screaming obscenities

Vegas and the encore miss Jaco!!!!
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Email #12
Location: Wynn Casino
Time: 3:36 p.m.
Subject: First Session

Up $1500 played half a shoe of bj

Guy sitting on next table has $30k in front if him and his semi hot
girlfriend was doing a meg Ryan orgasm thing- it started feeling weird
so I bailed

At wynn now walked through encore and the vibe was dead

Now onto $5 vp
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E-mail #13
Location: Wynn Casino
Time: 3:42 p.m.
Subject: Full house $5 vp

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E-mails #14 - #17
Location: Wynn Casino
Time: 3:58 p.m.; 4:10 p.m.; 5:09 p.m.; 5:30 p.m.
Subjects: First handpay $5 wof; 2nd handpay!!!; Epic Blackjack hand - unreal; and Up $5k pic attached.

"Had no idea what it paid - $1290"

"Our old friend- I chose at least ten prizes - one $500 and several
$300!!!!!"

"Epic"

"shipit"
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E-mail #18
Location: Wynn casino
Time: 6:11 p.m.
Subject: So Hammered

Raising everything in 5-10 no limit not even looking

Winning pot after pot
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E-mail #19
Location: Wynn casino
Time: 6:53 p.m.
Subject: [none] (e-mail to the entire crew)

Up just shy of $5k raising every hand blind in wynn 5-10 no limit game and talking smack to the douches!!!!!!

2 hadpays a couple epic bj runs and a very drunk mental state

I keep asking the hot little waitress for a catheter
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E-mail #20
Location: Wynn casino
Time: 6:56 p.m.
Subject: Help me keep this I'll pay $500 of your airfare

[no message - Whale Jo just sent the pick of the $5k chip from above to the whole crew]
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E-mail #21
Location: Wynn casino
Time: 7:06 p.m.
Subject: [none - another e-mail sent to all the crew]

I'm crushing this no limit game raising blind every hand up about 6500 for the day

Guy just sat down with 15k.

Ruh roh
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E-mail #22
Location: Wynn casino
Time: 7:27 p.m.
Subject: Random 300 win in between poker session

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E-mail #23
Location: Okada
Time: 8:30 p.m.
Subject: [none]

I am following jacos advice to a T

[NOTE - I wrote Whale Jo and told him to go eat and then play one last hand of BJ and then lock himself in his room]

I am sitting at the okada bar with 5k cash in my pocket, 6k chips and about 2500 sitting at the poker table

Oh and a 600 slot ticket

I brought down 4 from the room and havnt been back

So up about 9???!

Shipitola!!!!

I'm so fuching happy

I think the waitress is scared of me I just ordered like 10 things

Gotta go pee again and then the feast begins!!!!!!!!!!!!
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E-mail #24
Location: Okada
Time: 8:38 p.m.
Subject: First round at Okada

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E-mail #25
Location: Okada
Time: 8:45 p.m.
Subject: View from the table

I'm already full and I just finished the first round!!!!

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E-mail #26
Location: Okada
Time: 8:51 p.m.
Subject: Food heaven

Pork, shrimp, scallops and bacon wrapped asparagus

Wake me up I'm dreaming

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E-mail #27
Location: Okada
Time: 8:57 p.m.
Subject: First round at Okada

I just told 3 people to wake me up

And then this one guy offered me an espresso

I love Vegas

I miss you dude

We would literally be crying right now

I want to jump across the counter and hug the sushi chef
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E-mail #28
Location: Okada
Time: 9:01 p.m.
Subject: Espresso then high limit blackjack

What a combination

If I happen to die let them know that I went out complete

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E-mail #29
Location: Wynn/Encore
Time: 10:22 p.m.
Subject: All on one card, life is good

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E-mail #30
Location: Wynn Casino
Time: 10:27 p.m.
Subject: [none]

You wouldn't believe the last blackjack hand - I split 2s for 3k and get a 14 on 1 hand and a 6 on the other - double down - I end up with a 17 - dealer draws 1 to a 13 and busts!!!!!

Shipit!!!

I fucking screamed it at the top of my lungs
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E-mail #31
Location: Encore
Time: 10:37 p.m.
Subject: [none]

Back in the room up about $13,500!!!

Time to chill with a movie and some cookies
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E-mail #32
Location: Encore
Time: 10:56 p.m.
Subject: WJ signing off for the night - up $13,500

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END OF DAY ONE.

Noooooo . . . . I have a Twitter Account

2009-09-24T09:43:00.000-07:00

http://twitter.com/Jacoblog

Do you really care?