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Valiant battle with Life of Luxury Riches of Rome slot machine. $1897 playthrough, max $2.40 a spin = 790.42 spins before hitting Life of Luxury bonus. Only to not get any progressives. Really? Guy watching commiserated with me, saying all machines are tight now. Being the only one on bank, was chasing my own tiny progressive contribution. Not a good idea. Not a good idea to play slots anyway, but promotion has free dinner buffet for 300 points, and points don't come off. 'Course, no excuse having 1897 points since only 300 count. Down $800 before triggering again and retrigger twice for 30 spins. So much potential for top 3 progressives but kept getting bottom. That, two regular bonuses, and a 5-of-a-kind top award got back to even. Winner this round: grubby of Rome.
Al, iggy, g-money, miamidon at hooker bar (aka Shutters bar at Rio). Approached two hookers who turned out not to be when Main Event poker players they were waiting for showed up. I still claim they were, but irrefutable proof indicated otherwise. Played video poker next to Svetlana and chatted. I mean, come on. A girl named Svetlana playing Double Double Bonus by herself and being open to talking with a degenerate slot player? Winner this round: faux hookers.
Take group to Penthouse strip club. Not all that. Surprisingly, Al and Miamidon's first strip club visit in Vegas. Strippers hanging out at bar. Girl named Tricia (not Patricia because parents didn't want her nicknamed Fatty Patty if she became fat) introduces herself to me, says lazy strippers are her friends, would I be amenable to buying them a drink and dance? It's a strip club, honey, not junior prom. We guys shouldn't have to work. I have 0 dances. Winner this round: lazy strippers.
Head to Cheetah's. Dump $540 on dances, including two in VIP. Money seemed a bonus because originally down in Riches of Rome slot. Leaving backroom, rental car keys are missing. Search party looks, including manager, dj, bartender, server, bouncer. Videotape shows me getting dance but can't see table clear enough. Flashlights shine like searching for Jimmy Hoffa. No avail. Call rental company, call locksmith. 90 minutes later have new set of keys made from keycode for $100 + 20 tip. Shuddering what Dollar will charge. One of our group pissed off stripper for falling asleep (5 a.m.). Could be her. Winner this round: vengeful stripper.
— —
Friday, July 04, 2008
4 minutes to lose $1000
Saw Hancock and enjoyed the first third before the Powers That Exec. Produce decided on the typical screenwriting structure plot twist that sets us up for Act 3. The camera holding on something too long was too obvious a tell, but thankfully the trailers were deceptive enough not to reveal anything, even though it seemingly gave everything away. (I didn't even know two other stars were in the movie besides Will Smith, and just because of that, they had to be more involved in the plot.)
There must've been half a dozen of these alert moments when just one would've sufficed. It's never good to have the audience ahead. Unless you want them to be (a la The Sixth Sense). To me, this tired foreshadowing is on the level of the movie cough. Whenever a movie character coughs, you know they're going to end up dying at the end.
Movies like Hancock and The Happening frustrate me because I know there're good movies rattling around in there. Hancock was on its way to exploring stereotypes, alcoholism, and even black male sexuality. It's an intriguing premise that could've been made more interesting if he were, say, destroyed by pop culture (being forced into the superhero mold, for example). We don't get any of that and instead receive the bottom remainders that ultimately leads to bad guys, a cliche origin story, and sequel potential.
***
When Joe was on his way, he texted that his ETA to my apartment was 10 minutes.
My apartment was about as clean as it was going to get, and all I had to do was wait before meeting him at the train station.
Ten minutes in grub time is dangerous, because it's very easy to deposit by credit card (Visa works) and play a few quick hands. And by hands, I don't mean poker. No, under time constraints, blackjack is the only way to go.
I won't dwell except to post the blackjack hand history (HyperUpload requires you to wait 23 seconds before downloading).
Suffice to say, four minutes go by and I'm down $1000. I could've put on Madonna and Justin Timberlake's "4 Minutes to Save the World" and would've been done before it ended. It began with $25 bets that led to $100, that led to a final tilting bet of all that I had left.
This cautionary gamble is more to remind myself to stay away from gambling when I leave to Vegas in a couple hours.
— —
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
"Do not lick Mr. Duke"
While making room for Joe's visit last week, I moved my computer next to my bed. The monitor can be swiveled, and I can now watch movies from bed. And play poker from bed. I finally have a use out of the wireless mouse other than throwing it across the room after a bad beat.
A side effect to playing from bed, however, is it's too easy to fall asleep. Especially when you've just returned home from Chipotle and a Chunky Strawberry (which is seemingly all granola, peanut butter, banana, and strawberry) from Jamba Juice.
It's 6 a.m. now, waking up from playing two tournaments last night. Checking the lobbies to see how I did, I busted out in the $100, but cashed in the $24, in the bottom third level. Full Tilt doesn't show players who are sitting out, which probably worked to my advantage.
That and I'm a mean tournament player when asleep.
***
While in North Carolina, I was easily able to live blog from my iPhone. Except for the airport, North Carolina was full of free WiFi hotspots. With so many people wired, it doesn't make sense why the whole country doesn't already have free WiFi. I guess Starbucks has to make their money somehow.
At the Duke Inn, there's a line of busts of Duke relatives.
Joe posed in front of one, pretending to lick the ear.
A security guard later approached and said in all seriousness, "Please do not lick Mr. Duke."
Brunch before the wedding was at the fun Top of the Hill (aka TOPO), where we ate outside, overlooked Franklin, and drank bottomless Arnold Palmers. After basketball games, the street below is crammed full of people.
The mansion where the crappy Pacifica broke down. Security cameras were housed under bubbles on either side. The birdhouse on the right is bigger than my apartment.
My Jeep Commander, the new stylin' car that took over for the crappy Pacifica.
Crashing the next door wedding for alcohol.
A friend's baby's favorite pose.
The delicious food, masked by the fruit I plunked down over the fried green tomatoes, brisket, pulled pork, and skewer of grilled vegetables (the tub of barbecue sauce can also be seen).
While in line, I picked up a cup and ladled in a heap of peach soup, which dripped to the side. Wiping it with the tablecloth, a friend said, "Yeah grub, that's class. Real classy there." And handed me a saucer.
At least I didn't try to kick birthday cake crumbs underneath a nonexistent rug, as another friend did once.
At the end of the line, I'm juggling the soup, plate, parfait, and drink, when Whitney, the cute server I was eyeing earlier, asked if she could help. I doubt adding even more fruit helped to impress her. She took the plate back with me to my table.
A friend asked, "Is this your personal assistant?"
I said, "She's also my bodyguard."
The weekend wasn't without some gambling.
Playing Chinese Poker with a newly opened deck of Bicycle cards from the gas station next door, I kept losing. Then we found 3 Jokers.
Sifting through the deck, we discovered there were no hearts, just a few clubs, and duplicates of most diamonds and spades.
They wouldn't exchange the purchase, so we just got the Aviator deck and played Chinese Poker till late.
— —
Sunday, June 29, 2008
The day after
Hanging out at Washington Duke Inn & Golf Club until flight.
Car was exchanged for much more pimpin' Jeep Commander that was supposedly the last on the lot. Tow truck arrived at 3:30, right after the wedding ended.
Missed the chapel experience but made reception. Wonderful southern food atypical of wedding grub -- beef brisket, pulled pork, peach soup, strawberry parfait, peach biscuit, much more. Gift to everyone was delicious tub of barbecue sauce made by 93-year-old guy. Poured it on everything, expecting it confiscated at airport.
Wine served but otherwise no alcohol. Duke Inn had other wedding receptions running (our hotel had a high school cheerleading convention), so crashed Fleming-Miller wedding for a Captain & Coke. Shook hands with bride and congratulated her, then also partook in a shrimp skewer. Thanks, Mr. and Mrs. Fleming.
Back to original wedding, much dancing -- OMC's "How Bizarre" by request. Danced with previously mentioned 12-year-old for amusement of friends. Later formed dance circle and entered with little kid. Accidentally stepped on her bare feet but she didn't cry until finishing dance.
Many goofy photos, in one of all the college friends, called over 12-year-old to be in our photo. She came over and posed, wonder if this will scar her for life or at least till the braces come off.
Stayed till end, no time for strip club (plus in mixed company), so hung out drinking and eating more outside at Duke Inn terrace.
Cute waitress named Alison put up with us and had snappy comebacks.
Showed magic trick to group, waitress stops by. "Alison," a friend says, "he has a trick to show you."
I show the trick again, not as good the second time.
"Hey that's really cool," she says.
"Now for his next trick he'll get your phone number."
As she walks away, Alison says, "Now I'll show my disappearing act."
Ouch.
— —
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Hot and have to pee
No sign of tow truck.
Wedding in 30 minutes.
20 minutes to hotel.
10 minutes to change.
15 minutes to church.
Called groom and told him to stall and walk slow.
But will most likely miss wedding.
Could always be first at reception, though.
Couldn't possibly miss that too, could I?
— —
Stranded in Chapel Hill
Dang Tarheels.
Wedding in 90 minutes, car broke down, waiting for new rental car in 60-90 minutes. Stalled and steering wheel locked while driving with oncoming traffic. Used up #4 of my nine lives.
Need a drink.
Maybe nice people in mansion will have some Southern hospitality Arnold Palmers.
— —
Short does not mean over 18
At rehearsal dinner near Duke University.
"What about that girl?" I said. "She's cute."
"She's 12 years old."
I squinted and indeed she is underage. I need new contacts. I thought she was just short.
Later she gave a speech (wearing braces) and teared up about how great a friend the bride is and how she helped her through a lot. But come on, honey, 12 years ain't long enough to warrant the tears.
I wanted to say something about the groom, but all the good stories involve porn and strippers.
Tomorrow my friend from college is getting married. Seven college buddies are in Durham to celebrate, but drinks ran too long for any strip clubbing.
Our friend is overly excited for tomorrow night after the wedding because he's marrying a preacher, which comes with all that that entails.
When we left him on his last evening of bachelorhood, I shook his hand and gave the only advice to come to mind: "Don't jerk off."
— —
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Practicality over design
I'll be in Raleigh, North Carolina near Duke University this coming weekend for a friend's wedding.
Arriving a day before on Friday, two of the group will be in the wedding and attending rehearsal dinner. They got the bad beat. The rest of us will be drinking and scouting out strip clubs (and yes, I still owe a posting of the Vegas stripper's house and midget).
So far one seems to be the best of the bunch -- Teasers. They even have a nifty coupon for free admission. Not sure if that's a good or bad sign.
Paging through their wedding registry at Macy's (the happy couple, not the gentlemen's club), there was this Vera Wang gravy boat for $155.
Not the stand, mind you, that was an additional $80.
I can't see paying $235 for something that will only be used a couple times a year.
Not to mention that's almost 10 couch dances at Teasers (at $25 each, Durham strippers have that high Duke U. student loan to pay off).
There was a time in my 20s when everyone who got married received my standard gift of a gargoyle statue. It stood out, it was memorable, and it warded off evil. Some even still have theirs above their fireplace.
Now as weddings slow down, I get things more practical.
But a Vera Wang gravy boat?
Instead, I got a beef jerky maker.
— —
Saturday, June 21, 2008
A blog by M. Night Shyamalan
I think my apartment is actually presentable now. If I get a couch I can join Couchsurfing.
The trick will be to keep it this way after Joe leaves. Odds are about as slim as my quitting gambling every day, but I have hopes.
(I call him Joe here because when he played craps for the first time at the MGM Grand, he kept hitting points, and a guy at the end of the table started yelling, "C'mon, L'il Joe!")
I've known Joe for years, working together at the college newspaper and then being roommates in a townhouse with two others. I remember sitting in the kitchen with him watching the breakfast chandelier shake and almost fall as our roommate above had sex with his girlfriend. I remember our refrigerator having three gallons of milk, because we each drank a different type (that was probably the last time I ever drank milk). I remember the backyard getting so long that our neighbors complained, and we cut the blades of grass with scissors.
Years later we ended up living within walking distance, and I'd house- and catsit whenever he and his wife were away. His house was always immaculately decorated and arranged, and I have a fun memory of inviting a girl over to watch a DVD of The Royal Tenenbaums while pretending it was my house. I was all over her during the movie, and I thought she would call me out on not living there when I didn't know how to work the surround sound. Instead, she said, "You had no intention of ever watching the movie, did you?" I shook my head and then she began sucking on my thumb.
Shortly after I moved to Vegas, Joe and his wife moved to London, where they've been since. He's now writing travel books, an ideal job that gets him to travel on the company's dime and then write about his experiences.
So this week we've just been hanging out and catching up.
A couple nights ago we saw M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening, which is seemingly an Al Gore environmental horror flick. Afterwards, it kept running through my mind, and I bothered Joe with "what if" scenarios, trying to work through how to make it better. The Central Park and 9/11 callback is so visceral at the beginning that it's all the more disappointing how it's followed up. I think Shyamalan could've done something beginning with the lawnmower incident. Up to that point, he's playing with our expectations a la The Sixth Sense, where we assume certain things are Happening but we only see the before and after. This time we see it, but if we were to see something else (think a "V"-type reveal), it may have been more interesting. May have, because as Joe said, "The Happening" should've been called "Shit Happening."
And what Happened to poor Zooey Deschanel? She was a favorite of mine (she was great in Elf, and I went to Los Angeles to hear her sing), but lately with this and Tin Man she's been out of the paper bag and wide-eyed staring acting school. Marky Mark was a bonafide actor in my eyes until this movie, where he's going to have to regain credibility. Worst of all is Shyamalan, who I thought could at least direct if his scripts were going downhill, but this movie shows otherwise. He doesn't yet realize his recent movies are shit, because he still boasts "A FILM BY M. NIGHT SHYAMALAN" introducing the closing credits.
The best part of the night was eating at OYSY (Oh-ee-she... speaking of Wes Anderson, I'm waiting for a restaurant called ORU), a swank sushi bistro in the Paper District while people-watching out the window on Grand Ave. Glam rolls at not-too-expensive prices, with friendly and extremely fast service.
We shared the specialty maki called the Rainbow Dragon, and it did indeed look like a colorful dragon. Note the eyes are a piece of Octopus tentacle. It contained salmon, eel, ebi, shrimp tempura (to keep it crunchy), super white eel, masago, cucumber, avocado, and wasabi, chili, and black tobiko.
It almost looked too cute to eat, but I got over that.
Good sushi restaurants always offer mochi (a bonbon-shaped ice cream ball covered in gelatin) for dessert, and I chose the mango.
Then I spoiled a good dinner with a large popcorn, a shit movie, and Hooters' mexi-fries (like nachos but with fries) and Co-co-colada girlie drink.
Grubby's Hands of the Week
What is The Hammer?
