Posted by: Jim | September 27, 2004


My Weekend in Vegas

No self-respecting Blogger can go to Las Vegas for the weekend and not return with something to say. So here are a few brief notes about my weekend:

1. Poker

First and foremost: I kicked ass at Texas Hold’ em. Well, I kicked enough ass to come back $100 richer after two full days of playing. That’s pretty good, isn’t it? This is the fourth straight time I’ve played and come out a winner. This time I felt so at-ease with the game that I was much more interested in sizing up the other players than even thinking about the cards.

At one point I just kept winning. I filled out a full house on the river at one point, and beat another guy’s set. He was not a friendly fellow, and looked at me in such a way that made me think he would have punched me if he could. At that point I knew I was a winner.

2. The Latest Cologne

At one point in the weekend, I found myself in a make-up store called “Sephora”. I was standing around with a dazed expression when I noticed two rather “spiffy” looking gents amble in. They asked about getting some cologne, and the girl behind the counter pointed them toward “the latest scent for men”. What was this cologne called? Why “Hummer” of course.

So now all the splendor that a man can represent by actually driving a Hummer can also be captured in his very scent–as if his vast output of pheremones weren’t enough as it is. This is a scent that says, “Hey baby, I’m a winner.” And even if a man can’t afford to drive a Hummer, this is the scent that says, “I want a hummer.”

3. Vegas can ruin everything

Passing by a rock singer, I noted to my girlfriend that Vegas can just ruin everything. Vegas is brimming with “fake soul”. People singing with so much fake passion it makes your ears want to commit ritual suicide. Right after saying this, we passed by a bar that had some really good jazz music spilling out of it. We were about to go dancing, but decided that we had found something good, and not to argue with it. We went inside and sipped some gin, and listened to a very nice, unpretentious jazz quartet. We were loving it.

Then a very tall, sexy woman came in, wearing a stunning brown dress. We were sitting on a couch front-and-center, and the place was full. She came by and asked if there was any room. My girlfriend and I are always very friendly people (especially to the likes of her) and we struck up a conversation. She sat down. We bought her a glass of wine, and she autographed a CD and gave it to us, letting us know that she was going to be doing a guest number with the band. We were thrilled, and I couldn’t wait to hear her sing.

Her turn came, she was invited up. (We think she was the girlfriend of the sax player.) She then started to sing “Knock Knock Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,” a song done correctly by it’s author, Bob Dylan. I can say with utmost certainty that if The Curmudgeon were with us in Las Vegas (as he had been last time) he would have walked out in disgust. This woman sang the song with–granted, a fantastic voice–but all kinds of fake soul. She was working the audience, flashing her big smile. She almost did the point-the-finger-like-it’s-a-gun-and-pull-the-trigger-by-clicking-your-thumb move.

We smiled and left after that. I was right: Vegas can ruin everything.


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