"While the poor people sleeping all the stars come out at night"

Ceiling, Palazzo Hotel - Las Vegas

I have just returned from a four day holiday to Las Vegas, comped courtesy of the Venetian Hotel. Leslie had her biannual buying show for her women's clothing store, Caravan and through either a case of pure serendipity or serious demographic sleuthing, the hotel decided to give me a luxury suite gratis and enter me in a slot machine tournament. So I got to tag along and get us a free room. And it was Leslie's birthday on the 23rd so we got to be together and have a nice weekend.

I have never really played the slots in my life, looking down at them with the snobbish eye of the hardcore blackjack animal that I keep mostly restrained in a forgotten compartment of the Sommers being. I try to exercise my thinking and logic functions rather than merely irritating my ulna nerve and elbow joint, the slots being a quick avenue to carpal tunnel, bursitis a mindless, bovine activity rooted deeply in the reptilian limbic system.

Pardon my arrogance if I admit to being an exceptionally good black jack player. I was trained by my mathematician father at an early age at the Stardust. My father never lost. I occasionally do. I don't exactly play basic strategy. I have a couple basic rules of my own. I try to play with a nice, happy dealer. I always play at third base (to the far left) if I can. I try not to play at a table with too many idiots or loud, obnoxious drunks. I actually prefer to play alone. I double on more ace combinations than the book says you ought to. Rarely split nines. Mostly I play a psychic game. I was about 19 out of 20 on calling the dealer's hole card for insurance this week. The other players were amazed. I have been blessed with an exceptional memory but I don't actually count cards consciously. I feel cards.

 This was not a steller weekend for me. I had blown through two thousand in markers through a combination of sloppy play and falling victim to a surfeit of backdoor dealer 21's. I was starting to grip. My rule is that after I lose $2500, the gambling portion of the excursion is always over and I was bumping close to it. I typically play fifty dollar hands and bump my bet about every fourth hand, after a string of bad hands or when I get the "vibe". 

The place was filled with Israeli's, some of the more obnoxious world travelers one meets these days, especially when drinking. They were mostly shmatta merchants from the many fashion shows in town. Lots of South Africans as well. And the normal Vegas mix of aging cheerleaders and fat ex quarterbacks from Dubuque with the huge bellies and the barbed wire tattoos on their once large biceps.  

The Venetian is the only casino that I feel really comfortable playing in these days and I have played there exclusively since it's opening. I always play near the Grand Lux Cafe, in supervisor Frankie's section. Frankie is out for a while with foot surgery, nicest pit boss I have ever met. At 4:30 in the morning I met my match. A swarthy middle eastern man sat down next to me that smelled like he had not met our friend soap in several weeks. Black jack is hard enough to play in the best of circumstances, but doubly tough when you are holding your breath.

He was so depressed, he tried to commit suicide by inhaling next to an Armenian.

Woody Allen 

 I knew that it was time for little Robbie to admit defeat and come back to fight another day. I got to my room and my wife smiled sweetly and didn't say a word. Later she told me that she had discerned exactly what had happened and even knew the dollar amount. But she chose to be wonderful and not press.

The next day I skipped the incredible spa and hit the tables around nine in the morning and played all day, with one sweet bulgarian dealer. I grinded and grinded and finally went past even mid afternoon and said over. No point chancing again on a weekend when fate seemed to be conspiring.  

***

The slot tournament was kind of cool. We got grouped into several sections. Met the law dean at Texas Wesleyan, a Columbia Law graduate who was a very neat guy. You show up for three ten minute sessions and keep hitting the button like a research chimp trying to get another cigarette.

It came real easy at first. I got four series of blazing 7's in a row and posted an 11k my first trip up to bat. Ditto the second round, posted 10+. This was going to be easy, I was near top ten out of the 3 or 4 hundred entrants, just needed a decent finish and the $7500 was mine. Of course I fell on my ass. Ended up 67th and won a hundred dollars of slot credits. Better than a poke in the eye with the proverbial sharp stick, as they say.

***

The Canyon Ranch Spa was always incredible but has got even better since the Palazzo expansion. I got my robe and sandals and first headed for the steam bath, then the Jacuzzi. I segued over to the sauna and then into something new for me, the igloo, or ice cave. This was very cool, literally, a cold mist and you could dial in one of three aromas. Also checked out the experimental rain room with its variety of downpours. Worked out in the gym and laid out by the pool, which was hotter than hell, even at six o'clock in the evening.

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We ate very well as always, the highlight being our meal at our favorite, Valentino's. Not the grill, the real restaurant in the back. Leslie had the six course chef extravaganza with blood orange lobster tail, duck prosciutto, medallions of venison amongst over culinary delights. I had lamb osso bucco and a mushroom flan. Couldn't eat another bit.

I was bummed to learn that my favorite favorite, Rosemary's, closed down last month.

For her birthday we went to Origin India, my wife's favorite. We got garlic naan, basmati and da'al. I had vegetable samosas and a kebab platter. Leslie had tandoori shrimp and her favorite martini, with muddled basil, anise, mint and fennel, apple and lemon over Absolute, garnished with purple basil. I have trouble with Indian, my body doesn't tolerate garam masala but it was her birthday and I wanted to be a good sport. The meal was good, the service was slow and terrible.

Mon cheri, raison d'etre

***

Leslie got done with her business at the Off-Price, WIN and Magic Shows and we headed for home. The external thermometer read 120° when we left, the news announcing a heat record for that day in history. We drove by the exit for Death Valley on the freeway and it seemed rather cool and frosty by comparison.

***

Now I am back, not substantially poorer and hopefully no worse for wear. I am breaking through my blog doldrums and will hopefully be back to full blather in no time. Peace.