from DxElliott
Austin-Bergstrom Airport
August 22, 2007
Late morning
I am, as always, exactly two hours early for my Southwest flight to Vegas. I’m sitting at Gate 8, pondering the remarkable fact that, in less than 24 hours, I will be a 55 year old man with coronary artery disease.
Remarkable.
The coronary artery disease is no big deal. You just grasp reality like a saddle horn, you try to behave like a grownup, and you avoid all the lovely fatty things that make eating food the second most appealing aspect of being human – and you move on.
Or, you don’t. Your choice.
It’s the 55 year old part I find so remarkable. How the hell did this happen? The last thing I remember, I was smack dab in the middle of Club Foot in Austin, Texas, hopping and writhing to Mirror in the Bathroom, feeling like I would be 25 forever. (I
was 30 at the time. Perhaps denial is an important component in this conundrum.)
The
n – I blinked – and now I’m old and I can’t smoke or eat cheeseburgers. Club Foot is long gone and the music that replaced Mirror in the Bathroom is unlistenable. Movies have become nothing but gigantic video games and television has taken the lowest common denominator and actually lowered it.
Too many pop culture references? Okay. And the human race is engineering it’s own destruction because of disagreements over a handful of prosaic fairy tales. How’s that?
Suddenly being on old man with heart disease ain’t so bad. At least I won’t be around to see how this horror show ends.
On that upbeat note, I will join the other impatient passengers lining up an hour early for takeoff.
Flight 607
August 22, 2007
Early afternoon
I wake up briefly and gaze at the terrain below. My brain skitters pinball-like, searching for the most appropriate description of what I see.
Plane high. Mountains pretty.
Before returning to the bliss of airplane slumber, I take note of an anxious stowaway – a housefly – who seems particularly fond of spiky hair gel. From the back of the plane you see a lot of spiky hair gel.
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 23, 2007
3:43 am
I’m in the Tower. My only previous ElCo experience involved a night in one of the Pavilion rooms. Sleeping in one of the Pavilion rooms at El Cortez is like sleeping in a Motel 6 built entirely of urinal cakes. I like this better. Clean and comfortable – filled with 1980’s hotel furniture that was obviously intended for a much larger room. (I suppose this is why there is no iron. There simply isn’t enough space.)
My friend Linda is somewhere in the hotel. She got this room for me (one of those “bring a friend” comp offers). My own offers would have put me up at either Harrah’s or the Rio for the next two nights, but I wanted to experience the renovated El Cortez before moving on to my next stop – the renovated Four Queens.
After two hours on the machines, I was down a few bucks and decided to take a break.
The walk from El Cortez to the Fremont Street Experience, once scary and depressing, is now downright kitschy and, uh, charming. A giant, neon martini glass? Okay. Oh, look – an enormous revolving shoe. Let’s pretend it’s the shoe that once upset Howard Hughes. Hey, a pub that resembles an eight story pint of Bass. Now there’s a good idea. What took so long?
It would seem, at first glance, that the disparity between what was, what is and what shall be has been filled in – or is in the process of being filled in. Even Neonopolis is now surrounded by architectural progress. Maybe, instead of tearing that place down, we can all just continue to ignore it.
What they really need on this street is one of those hip Laundromats with a bar and designer pizzas, so bargain-seeking gamblers can stay on Fremont Street and launder their own clothes. Don’t judge. Many people, myself included, are destined to live like college students for life.
After my break, I returned to the casino and my luck improved. A five-of-a-kind hand pay on Joker Poker and a remarkable run of luck on a video slot game put me up for the day. I played for a few more hours, wandered down to Four Queens for awhile, met Linda for a sandwich (we discussed our plans for my birthday which, oddly enough is also her birthday) and I retired dead even. Good feeling. All I have to do is maintain this status for five more days and I go home a winner
So now I’m awake. It’s about 4 am.. My favorite time to gamble in a casino. Think I’ll do that.
This hotel is very quiet. I almost feel guilty cranking up the shower at this ungodly hour.
Oh wait. It’s Vegas.
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 23, 2007
7:03 am
A little Spin Poker, a little Double Pay – and I’m down again. I don’t mean I’m depressed, I mean I have less money now than when I arrived.
I’m supposed to meet Linda for breakfast later, but wall-crawling hangover demons have insisted I eat something now, so – thanks to the 24 hour Fremont Street Walgreen’s -- I’m able to enjoy a snack of Reduced Fat Triscuits, hummus and Frank’s Hot Sauce. I would have preferred a Louisiana product, like Crystal or Panola – but this cayenne pepper sauce from New Jersey makes a very respectable replacement.
Rule of thumb: anything you can cover with pepper sauce can be breakfast. (Except your thumb.)
I want to mention something about the shower in this room. Lots of hot water, but very little pressure. Not good. But I do like the window that allows fresh air to enhance the overall showering experience. Nice touch. Probably even better in January,
When I first arrived, the room was spotless, except for tiny human handprints all over the bottom of the picture window. I wondered, briefly, why anyone would bring kids to El Cortez (no pirates, no jugglers) and then it occurred to me that children as small as the ones who made these spider-monkey paw prints would be quite content staring down at an empty parking lot, with nothing but mountains beyond.
I would have. I still would. I may just do that later.
For now, a few drops of bourbon and a hotel washcloth and I have an excellent window cleaner.
This room is getting odder by the minute, I just noticed – there’s a writing desk, but no stationery. And a bible, but there’s no God. (Oh calm down. I’m just trying to have a little fun here.).
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 23, 2007
1:15 pm
I now have even less money. I returned to the Double Pay machines, but dreams of being dealt a royal have not materialized. Not only that, but breakfast at Binion’s included a pile of hash browns the size of a large puppy. And I’m having my first cocktail of the day – at 1:00. In other words, I’m eating, gambling and drinking like there’s no tomorrow. Which would be fine – but there probably will be.
I’m not sticking to my budget or my diet. Good thing I’m having fun.
Housekeeping has been here. I’ve decided to leave five bucks per day for the maid, instead of my usual two or three. It only seems extravagant until you get downstairs and start burning money like the decadent, self-centered oppressor of the masses you are. (By “you” I mean “me”, so once again, please calm down.)
Tonight, Linda is treating me to dinner at Mesa Grill. I think this is our third birthday dinner at this venue. I like the place. I’m sure Bradley Ogden is great, and Guy Savoy is probably a trip to the moon on gossamer wings. Don’t care. I want white truffle and mushroom quesadillas. Besides, I have neither the palate nor the wardrobe for Guy Savoy. It’s hard enough for me to even pronounce Guy Savoy properly without laughing so hard I fall to the floor and flop around like beached manatee.
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 23, 2007
4:34 pm
I’m dead even again. Actually, I’m up about $36. Life is good.
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 24, 2007
7:36 am
Dinner was excellent. I had Mahi Mahi, the abovementioned quesadilla (a very rare cheese experience for me) and some corn, which, frankly, had too much cream and cheese for my taste. Linda had some sort of Fred Flintstone cut of beef, rubbed with spices and cooked to absolute blushing perfection. There was also a wonderful throat-clutching Pinot Noir from Oregon.
After sampling Linda’s steak, I realized that beef is the main event at Mesa Grill. Forget the fish and pork. Eat cow.
The meal was on Linda, even though it was her birthday, as well. The woman is far too generous – and should probably be locked up for her own protection. But seriously -- if you make it through this wicked world and acquire even one friend like Linda, consider yourself fortunate.
Saw Bob Stupak. He was standing at the bar just outside Mesa Grill.
That’s about all there is to that story.
I’ve had bad luck with player’s cards and room keys on this trip. They stop functioning, regardless of where I put them -- and I’m not exposing them to my cellphone. It’s crazy. It’s epidemic. I’m on my fifth set of key cards, and I replaced my El Cortez player’s card about three times yesterday. It happened again this morning -- but the Player’s Club was closed, so I walked to Four Queens (where I’ll be checking in later) and THAT player’s card was non-functional. And that’s how I ended up at Binion’s at 5:30 this morning, winning hundreds playing penny slots at max coin. I’m now slightly down for the trip, but way ahead of my self-imposed (and utterly ignored) gambling budget. Gosh, Mr. Wizard. This may be the best birthday ever.
People who don’t play modern slot machines for whatever reason are probably more highly evolved than myself. They’re the real grownups (something I pretend to be because of all the grey hair). I’m sure I’m just a monkey in a cage. A gibbering gibbon, flinging poo and bobbing my head to the canned music. Happy as a pig in pudding. (Wait. Am I a pig or a monkey? I’ve lost track.) But I couldn’t imagine coming to Vegas and missing this electronic intersection of greed, anticipation, irritating music and cartoons.
Don’t believe me? Play Lucky Lemmings and pray for a bonus round.
And, for me at least – on this particular trip (at least) these bastards have been paying off like slot machines.
El Cortez Hotel and Casino
Room 1206
August 24, 2007
2:58 pm
I’ve checked in at Four Queens (these first two bookings overlap – I will start moving my stuff to 4Q tonight, and check out of here sometime tomorrow morning.) The rooms at Four Queens have been renovated. Even though their standard room may be the smallest on Fremont (with the possible exception OF the Fremont) they have been gussied up quite respectably – with new carpet, furniture, window treatments and flatscreens.
Feels like home. I think I’ll schlep the rest of my stuff down there right now.
Four Queens Hotel and Casino
Room 716
August 24, 2007
9:53 pm
I was supposed to attend a Cirque show tonight, but I weaseled out. It’s not like I have anything against this burgeoning troupe of double-jointed jackanapes who are currently spreading across Las Vegas like some kind of clown cancer. I don’t. If this is what you want – go for it. If you prefer acrobats to showgirls – well gosh, you certainly have a lot to choose from – and more on the way.
You want to watch Las Vegas morph into a vacuous Federico Fellini wet dream? Cool. Just keep supporting this franchise. .
Like I said -- I don’t really care.
But, of course, if I had gone to KA, I would have missed my first W-2G form. Ever.
This was the dealt royal I’ve been anticipating since I arrived – only on a triple-play quarter game instead of a nickel Double Pay machine. I pushed a button, and the club royal was dealt and automatically held. The machine locked up, blinking “Attendant” and “$3,000”. Prettiest damned thing I’ve ever seen.
Today I am a man.
It was a Super Times Pay machine, but the bonus function did not engage for this particular hand (pity). After I got my hand pay and had tipped the staff, I just couldn’t focus on the game anymore. I really didn’t care if I got 2, 5 or 10 times anything. I cashed out and retired for the evening.
So now I am, let’s just say – up for the day. And up for the trip.
Hell, I may be up all night.
Four Queens Hotel and Casino
Room 716
August 25, 2007
11:10 am
Four Queens offers the same Cox Network wireless Internet connection as El Cortez (billed to a credit or debit card, not to your room). Only at 4Q it’s $5.99 for 24 hours, as opposed to $11.99 at ElCo. Of course, I could just walk a few feet to Fitzgerald’s and use the free WiFi they offer.
I said farewell to El Cortez (for this trip) this morning. I have always preferred Four Queens, and that still seems to be the case. I’m certain the ElCo offers will be sweet (considering how much I churned) but the same will be true of future Four Queens offers.
I will say this about the ElCo experience – this is the only casino I’ve played in that programs the kind of music I expect to hear in Las Vegas. Everywhere I go in this town (except the Palms) I hear the same predictable loops of boomer pabulum. Basically -- everything I heard on Top 40 radio from 1962 -1992. And, after a while, I just can’t hear it anymore.
But, at El Cortez, you actually hear Frank and Dean and Keely Smith and Peggy Lee. Stuff that evokes the golden age of Las Vegas sin and sensibility. It isn’t the music of my generation – it’s my parent’s music. But I love it, and it just seems to fit.
And the egg-white spinach omelet I had a Kitty’s this morning was just absurdly delicious. And I was prepared to settle for adequate.
Four Queens Hotel and Casino
Room 716
August 25, 2007
8:43 pm
Today, I had no plans at all, so I wandered around the Strip, visiting the Sahara, Las Vegas Hilton and The Flamingo (where I’ll be relocating tomorrow.)
I had some luck with a couple of Atronic games at the Hilton, and then spent a few hours of acute monetary awareness, as I lost those winnings playing 25¢ Spin Poker. Max coin on that game can obliterate a C-note with gut-wrenching efficiency and speed.
Before I left for the Strip, I had the breakfast buffet at Golden Nugget. I was less than impressed. There was nothing particularly wrong with it, but nothing justified the $20.00 price tag – unless you wanted to order champagne. I did not. Even if I appreciated that headache-inducing French mistake, I certainly wouldn’t want it for breakfast. (Call it brunch all you want – I poured Tabasco on the hummus -- and it was breakfast.)
Okay – I suppose I should commend them for offering hummus – especially since there was no low-cholesterol egg substitute, and I needed a blob of something on the plate to balance out the lox and bagel and the small pile of potatoes. Presentation is important. We eat first with the eyes. I’m out of clichés.
I went back to the salad area for a small plate of tabouli, and turned breakfast into a Middle Eastern love-fest. If only the real world could get along as well as my overpriced Vegas breakfast. How many times have we all made that comment?
I have removed a portion of my recent VP winnings (exactly the size of my original bankroll) and put it away. I plan to (try to) take this money with me when I leave. We shall refer to this money as “the nest egg”. Just don’t force me to explain “the nest egg theory” to you.
Austin, Texas
August 31, 2007
When I got to the Flamingo, my iMac stopped working. My desktop was stoic, the computer seemingly searching for something unattainable (overdue respect, perhaps?). Anyway, I’m not the sharpest bulb on the plate, but I knew instinctively that the problem was environmental (not in the Al Gore sense). The room was obviously haunted. If this wasn’t a paranormal problem, it was certainly an electronic one.
Don’t ask me about the bloodcurdling screams in the bathroom. I still don’t know what that was.
So the conclusion of my trip report had to wait. God forbid I pick up a pen and apply it to paper. The last two days were spectacular, as my winnings allowed me to party just a little harder, and play maximum coin at many of my favorite strip casinos. This was a luxury I thought would have to wait until summer of 2009, but thanks to good luck and good fortune (not the same thing) I was able to have great big fun well ahead of schedule.
The other choice would have been to stop gambling for the trip, and wait patiently for my flight home with a pocketful of money. That is a perfectly reasonable scenario, and one which I chose to ignore. I’m only human. I was in Las Vegas. I had cash. I would ask you to do the math, but you probably would.
My friends Bret and Sue arrived Sunday, and we met for dinner at some seafood place near Todai in Planet Hollywood. We wanted to dine at Todai, but we all showed up about three minutes too late. Bret paid for my Cajun salmon -- because it was one day after my birthday. More free food. We discussed gambling, comic book inkers of the1960’s and movies. We determined that I have bad taste, because I liked Gangs of New York. I’ll take the hit. I’ll gladly share Martin Scorcese’s bad taste.
Unfortunately, I repaid Bret’s generosity my canceling our lunch plans the next day. I was not feeling well. Some sort of gastrointestinal complaint that persisted through Tuesday (and the return flight). I felt like a schmuck for canceling, but as I get older I get more comfortable with my inner schmuck. (I also seem to enjoy potatoes more. What’s that all about?)
But let us consider the Flamingo for a moment, erroneously called “Bugsy Siegel’s vision in the desert” by people who don’t know Vegas history. Even the rotating television promos produced by Harrah’s and piped into the rooms perpetuate this half-baked mythology by completely ignoring the facts. But it really doesn’t matter, since there is nothing left of that original property anyway. At this point the name, the logo, the sign and the legend have absolutely no meaning. The Flamingo looks and sounds exactly like what it is – an extension of Harrah’s. Only, for some inexplicable reason, the Flamingo is much more irritating.
My luck in the casino was fine; my room was large and comfortable and displayed a breathtaking view of Caesars and the Bellagio fountains. Everything else pissed me off, however. The casino is annoyingly loud. All the human and electronic noises one might hear in any casino are amplified, perhaps by the low ceilings. And decades of renovation and addition have created a maze of disjointed, cramped spaces. Or maybe it only seems that way because – again -- the ceilings are so low.
On this particular Sunday, the joint was filled with rude, obnoxious over-aged fratboys wearing ugly hats and carrying bottles of tasteless corporate beer. Dressed like drunken toddlers, they stumbled around, squawking insipid monkey-words like “hottie” and “wing man.” One look at these bright-eyed wonders and you understand why women have sex with each other.
On the other hand, maybe I’m just an old fart, and this is the new face of Las Vegas. Perhaps the crunchy-haired, slovenly lout is as valid in the Justin Timberlake era as the suave, silken-voiced hipster was during the Sinatra years.
Who knows? Who cares?
One more complaint. When I checked in at the Flamingo, I declined their request to produce a credit card. I no longer have credit cards. I booked the room with my debit card, but did not wish to use it to secure the room. I don’t like the idea of Harrah’s reaching into my bank account and holding on to $200. I held up the card and I said, “This is a debit card. I don’t want to use this card. I will make a cash deposit instead.” I put the card back in my pocket. I handed over $200, and got a receipt.
I found out later they put the hold on my card anyway. It stayed on until Thursday. No harm was done, but if I had been overdrawn or something else had come up insufficient because of it, I would have incurred penalties. And they did it without my authorization or knowledge -- using information they had on file. Sons of bitches.
I would like to boycott Harrah’s because of this. And I will, as soon as they sell Caesars.
I spent some quality time (and quality coin) at Mandalay Bay -- in many ways, still my favorite Vegas location. After lunch with Linda at Border Grill (grilled fish tacos) I spent several hours playing those shiny, clinky-clanky multi-line slot machines (something I did my very first night in Vegas, right after the property opened). I particularly enjoyed the new (new to me) Atronic machine called Johnny Vegas. This is a remarkably entertaining experience and, like many Atronic games, just a little creepy. Good combination. I made a killing. This maximum coin thing can really pay off.
I had similar luck with several Aristocrat machines featuring “stacking multipliers”.
My final night was a marathon session at Flamingo, chasing jackpots and royals until 4:00 am, and packing my bags at 6:00. Then, it was time to check out and grab a cab.
I encountered a profoundly bitter cab driver. The first thing he said, with a heavy Italian accent, was, “I hate Las Vegas. Is fake town, fake people.”
“But I’m trapped here. My wife – she was angel, now she’s Satan – gambles the money. Loses everything. Hers. Mine. All gone. Every day.”
He pointed to a motel. “She work there. Makes $400 a day. Then she lose it all down there at the terrible casino.” He pointed in the other direction.
“Which one?”
“That Terrible’s Casino. You can’t hear me?”
He went on to explain that he loved America (except for American doctors – “Here, the doctors they kill you.”) and considered himself a redneck. “I agree with Mr. Merle Haggard,” he explained. “Love it or leave it. In Europe, you need permission just to travel. People here are spoiled. They have no idea.”
At the airport, after many monological tangents, I gave him twenty dollars for a fourteen-dollar ride.
“You must be rich man.”
“Not even close.” I replied.
Short wait. Short delay. Short flight. I was home by 5:00, Austin time.
Okay. So I dipped into the nest egg – but I came home with lots of money. Relatively speaking.
Next trip? Hard to say. Now that I’ve found my comfort level, I’m not certain I can afford it.
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