They Came to Rob Las Vegas

Back from another tour of Vegas. I finally got eight full hours of shut eye and I’m ready to report on the grand time that was had by all.

The drinking started early in the Minneapolis
airport and continued on
pace throughout the sky. As is always the case when
flying to Vegas, the most dangerous and unsettling aspect of the incoming flight is trying to navigate the throngs of stout hard-faced forty-something Minnesotans who have opened up their livers early in the hopes of generating madness for those on board the flight. Folks always talk about the 20-something Americans and their penchant for partying but they are unmatched and outgunned always by the older generations who care not about social mannerisms, self-control, and most importantly self-image. They are a gregarious bunch, with a patriotic clan- like mentality. They are seasoned pros who need more firepower then the young to eviscerate decades of dilemma and debt.

The perfect example sat directly in front of me on the plane. Her posse, which spread across an entire aisle of the plane, was keeping the flight attendants excessively busy. Her head-to-toe denim outfit was accented very nicely by her pink t-shirt. And as she drank, her hard-lined Norwegian face began to blush into a full pink moon until the t-shirt has just a continuation of her skin tone. By the time we landed her color had rouged to the point where she looked like she had spent the entire day uncovered in the hot Florida sun.

For this trip we had decided to try out a Hotel in downtown Vegas – The Golden Nugget. Downtown is old Vegas whereas ‘the strip is’ new Vegas. In hindsight this was a mistake. Downtown Vegas is profoundly dull. Its total emphasis is on gambling and getting you to the tables and the slots. If you have any other desire other than sitting in front of a slot machine and making your donations all day, then I would advise that you leave downtown Vegas to those who are of a singular pursuit. We did, however, stop by Binions and observe the poker tables where all the ESPN gambling and World Series of Poker takes place, but without the opportunity to see anyone’s cards it was high stakes boredom.

My favorite part of downtown was the Lost Vegas Gambling Museum. It’s run by a cool guy with an excellent knowledge of Las Vegas history. It was a typographer’s wet dream. Tons of old memorabilia; postcards, old photos, hotel matchbooks, ashtrays, posters, and poker chips. It was another reminder of how cool Vegas must have been before the Disneyfication took place and it began catering to families and children. On a side note, many of the locals I talked to told a similar story of how the town has decided to drop the pro-family vibe and get things back to all sining all the time (see new add campaign: “what goes on in Vegas, stays in Vegas). Apparently the families don’t spend enough on prostitution. This will no doubt be a very good thing for Vegas. The kid thing just freaks me out. When you’re out running the strip at four in the morning the last thing you want or expect to see are small children walking around the lobby of a hotel where hookers mingle with clowns a mere ten feet away. It’s just not a good idea.

After a full afternoon of requisite gambling Friday afternoon, we went out to the Hard Rock Casino/Bar. The only thing remarkable about the Hard Rock was how unremarkable the hip factor was. That and the fact that the only celebrity we saw turned out to be a guy who looked just kinda like Jim Carrey. I quickly learned that I was out of dress code at the Rock as I had forgotten to wear my banana republic white and striped long sleeve dress shirt. So to hide my embarrassment we left for a place I had never been called the Artisan Hotel and Spa. I highly recommend this place. The Artisan lounge is the darkest bar in all of Las Vegas. The decor is very dark with gilded, ornately framed art work covering almost every inch of wall space and ceiling space. Dusty hardback books sit in hand-crafted oak and mahogany book shelves. Cigar smoking is heavily encouraged. The seating? A deep comfortable leather. To my knowledge, the Artisan is the only place in town where there are no gambling machines or tables anywhere. If you are looking for a place to get a good drink and sit unmolested for a few hours than this is the place. It’s totally not Vegas, which can be a good thing for when you are burned out on Vegas. There’s even a small renaissance style church in the hotel. An appropriate place to confess your sins at the end of a long day.

Saturday got a late start. Sushi and Mimosas started the day at the Golden Nugget Buffet. Followed by an afternoon of making donations to the hotel casino. For the night, it was back to the strip. And the strip was in rare form. I really don’t think Vegas gets interesting until after midnight. Midnight to eight in the morning are the prime hours of attraction in Vegas. The annual pilgrimage to the Fireside lounge at the Peppermill started things off right. The sunken fire pits are the most pimpinest in all the land. The people you meet at the Fireside are top notch. Got into a great conversation with a Northwest Airlines Pilot who told fantastical stories of international debauchery and airborne fate tempting. He was out celebrating his most recent Vegas landing which he said was the worst (eighty degree cross winds) landing he’d done in five years. A perfect story on the eve of my departure.

After the Fireside my memory is a bit hazy. I remember an outdoor bar that had acrobatic human monkeys as bar tenders. Ninja bar tenders they were! Whistles. Bottles flying everywhere. Behind the back. Over the shoulder. Balancing on top of the head. It was an amazing spectacle made only slightly annoying by the fact that you had to wait and watch for ten minutes before the drink was delivered to you.

I remember Eminem everywhere. He has definitely become the soundtrack of the strip. You couldn’t escape him. I remembering dueling pianos, with blond bombshells on the keys, teasing the crowd with AC/CD covers. At around three in the morning the call was made to gamble. This, gentle reader, should have been the most regrettable move of the trip as minds were not sharp. But the tables in the Imperial Hotel proved otherwise. We got the blackjack tables with dancing dealers. Dancing to…? Yes, Eminem. The cards and Eminem were on our side. After only a half hour we were up a hundred. That was good enough. Cash out. But before the money was cold it was decided it needed to be spent. More drinks and then the 4 AM call for sushi was made.

The short trip to the Hamada of Japan was made slightly difficult do to a car full of humans that ran parallel, shouting unintelligible insults at us the entire ride. At the Hamada, my favorite place for sushi in Vegas, an excessively obscene amount of food was demanded of the chef. Hot towels were brought out to wipe away the grime that accumulates on ones face after a night on the strip. We gorged ourselves on raw fish and got high on tablespoons of Wasabi.

And that about brings to an end another tour of Vegas. It was a jam packed adventure. Whew.