Short trip report about four days in Vegas beginning last Friday and ending Tuesday – okay, maybe not so short. Here's the cliff notes upfront: I brag like a winner even though I'm a loser; seven hours of champagne is more fiscally prudent than gambling; elvis is schizophrenic; four days in vegas requires three days recovery.
Friday: Some cabbies are still trying the freeway/tunnel swindle from the airport. Staying at Bellagio so I'd never take the freeway, but cabbie twice asked me, "Freeway's what you want, right?" and, "I'll just take the freeway."
No, you won't. You'll take Tropicana or Paradise or Harmon or whatever, but you will NOT take the freeway. For the amount of money I'm going to spend during my time here (thinly veiled brag) the extra 15-20 bucks he could make by long-hauling me through the tunnel/freeway shouldn't matter, but jeez it pisses me off.
Bellagio check-in is a breeze; maybe there are other hotels that post someone to walk you to an open position at the desk, but I can't remember them. Get upstairs, my pal and I unpack, and by 3 pm we are feeding the machines – which we continue to do for some 12 more hours. Unfortunately, we win precisely zero; if I were more literary minded I might call this foreshadowing. Instead, I am still hung over three days back in Los Angeles, so I'm just giving the ending away.
(There are all these bonus slot machines now, where you play 7000 lines at a time with 43 coins per line – I'm old fashioned. I like double diamond machines; three reels go round, something lines up on the center line, and you win or lose, but at least you know what you're rooting for. My buddy has played all these other machines though, where five reels with five lines go round and you bet the national debt of Greece in hopes of triggering some kind of bonus event when certain symbols line up a certain way – like this Dean Martin machine – here's a link: Finally, somewhere around 4 am, we choose sleep.
Saturday: breakfast at the coffee shop. Like Harrah's, MGM Mirage now rates players by rank – only gold or platinum member may cut the line to the café, which by the way is pretty f'ing long. The sign does, however, say 'Invited players and MLife gold and platinum guests,' and while we are not yet gold or platinum we are after all invited players (thinly veiled brag the second). So into breakfast it is, and dive right into the bloody marys. We are joined finally by the two remaining guests in our party, a father and his recently turned 21-year-old son who is in Vegas for the first time. Dad, for some reason has checked a bag for his Toronto-Dulles-Vegas trip, and so naturally has lost his luggage. But since both have been up since 2 am travelling and are finally here, who cares and drinks it is.
Pool time for the afternoon, followed by dinner at Todd English's PUB at Aria, and then 'Viva Elvis' by Cirque du Soleil. I gotta say, I really wanted to enjoy this show more. Faced with several artistic choices, it seems Cirque couldn't make up its mind. Strangely, this show needed more of both Cirque spectacular stuff AND more of Elvis himself. There were three great sequences, but the show ends strangely. I'll get more detailed if anyone cares.
Anyway, more gambling ensues in which my pal and I finally hit a jackpot on this machine (not-at-all veiled brag number three). Of course we must parlay our winnings, and of course we do no such thing. Four a.m. or so, and bed.
Sunday: Breakfast at the café again, where I now breeze past the line because I'm a gold member (brag number four). We follow breakfast with a six-hour shift at the Petrossian bar, because we all want to drink and no one wants to fight for chairs at the pool. Our bill is prodigious for this but we are happy to pay because it is cheaper than gambling (brag? douchebag comment? you decide.) and from here we shower and head to Prime for dinner. Which is … wow. Just…wow. I have always loved this joint.
Next is the Chandelier Bar at The Cosmopolitan, which is nowhere near as crowded as I expect it to be, but which is the new Vegas home for enterprising young saleswomen. Some sales are, um, consummated, while some of us head to a different bar in the hotel, before heading back to our rooms at the B and crashing face-first into the mattress – at least I did.
Monday: Pain. Lots of it. You know how sometimes you can help your hangover by just starting drinking again? This wasn't one of those times. But, soldier that I am, I head over to Aria and then Monte Carlo, because I am tired of the withholding machines that populate Bellagio. Useless effort. I even head to Planet Hollywood where there are a couple machines that have been very good to me. Sure enough, one of these machines pays well, but only as I wind down the amount of money I've already got in the machine, so that I'm never ahead. This requires a lie-down, which I take for a couple hours before heading back to the coffee shop for my first food of the day at 10 pm – a surprisingly good chicken noodle soup. Yet even here I am a loser, for as I stride to the head of the coffee shop line with my now-platinum MLife card in hand, there is no coffee shop line and so there is no one I can cut off (no brag, just definite douchebag comment).
Tuesday: GTFO of Vegas.
Wednesday, Thursday: recover.
Friday: get a call from the slot host of Planet Hollywood, who wants to know when I'm coming back. I start to ask her what she can do for me this weekend, already envisioning a pretty sick Memorial Day weekend extravaganza, but then slap myself in the face and say to her, "I'll let you know when I'm coming back."
Instead, I'm headed out soon to watch the Bs and Bolts in Game 7.