A Perfectly Cromulent Blog

Vegas '07 - Part I

Profit.

Don't "curse, smoke, or gamble." Dude sure knows how to pick his spots.

My first trip to Las Vegas was in 1997. I went with a bunch (okay, three) of my grad school friends (we'd all graduated a year earlier), we stayed at the Luxor, and of all the subsequent trips I've made - six as of last weekend - it's still the only time I returned "up," netting about $250. It probably had something to do with the fiendish nature of craps, which can fool a novice into thinking hitting a hard six twice in one roll is a common occurrence.

Truth be told, I hadn't anticipated returning again for some time. At least, not until my income topped $500,000 a year. Vegas can be a mite pricey, which is fine if other expenses in your life don't have you sweating that $25 double-down, like mine do. I'm not cut out to be a high-roller, I guess, because once I go down about $100 I clam up and lurk around my friends who are playing, muttering encouragement while cajoling free drinks out of the unfortunately costumed waitress. Circumstances changed, however, thanks to a confluence of events believed by most of the world's top scienticians to be statistically incapable of ever taking place. The first, mentioned here previously, was the wholly unlikely Spice Girls tour. I know how hard it is for most of us to believe that five singers as devoted to their music as Posh, Scary, Sporty, Ginger, and Baby would stoop to something so base as a "reunion" tour, but pictures don't lie:

Question their artistic integrity at your peril.

The second world-shattering event is the impending marriage of The Thing That Walks Like a Man. Some of you out there are probably having difficulty wrapping your heads around the idea that a (live) woman would enter into a legally binding union with such a person without the aid of firearms or near-lethal amounts of prescription medication, but I have met the young lady in question and can assure you their marriage will rival that of Tom Green and Drew Barrymore in longevity, if not fluid spillage.

Being Spice Girls "fans" from way back, and knowing that Vegas was one of their few North American stops, there was little choice but to secure overpriced tickets and airfare and plan TTTWLAM's last barbaric yawp of bachelorhood. We flew out Thursday night with a third traveling companion - dubbed "Cujo" for reasons that will become apparent later on - and 375ML of Tito's vodka smuggled aboard the airplane in a plastic flask (my ready excuse, if searched, was to claim I didn't realize vodka was a liquid).

The Proof (price obscured to preserve ticketholder dignity)

Hillary is the Anti-Christ

The flight, like most of the "to Las Vegas" variety, was barely tolerable. We had the usual assortment of reprobates: the Wannabe High-Rollers - usually rocking the "Turtle from Entourage" ensemble; the Girls Weekend Out-ers - who have forgotten (in the 20 years since college) how readily their screeching drunken voices send others fleeing their presence; and the Unfortunates - a handful of families and couples stuck on the plane until its final destination, somewhere in Calfiornia.

Curiously, nobody else seemed to be going to the concert.

I'm normally an unindicted co-consiprator in Vegas-related tomfoolery, but this flight was particularly irritating. The cackling hens behind us were bad enough (even drunk they were discussing home decorating and kitchenware), albeit more loudly than usual, but they were mere amateurs compared to the guy sitting in front of me, whom I'll unaffectionately refer to as "Big Tex."

Clad in pleated Wranglers, a khaki chambray shirt, boots of indeterminate origin, and topped off with a white Resistol hat, Big Tex certainly didn't appear any different than the few dozen or so other folks heading to the National Finals Rodeo (coincidentally taking place in LV that same weekend), except he was several orders of magnitude drunker than anyone else. And he was sitting directly in front of me. I've catalogued a few of his more egregious offenses:

1. Yelling "Put the spurs to her!" and "Yee-ha!" at various intervals while we were experiencing turbulence.

2. Attempting to engage the college-aged guy next to him, who just happened to be black, in a political discussion. He opened with thoughtful commentary about Barack Obama which actually included the terms "articulate" and "well-spoken," then claimed he had evidence that Hillary Clinton was, in fact, the antichrist.

3. Using the expression "Git R Done" on several non-consecutive occasions. Without irony.

4. Wearing one of those cowboy wallets that sticks a third of the way out of your rear pocket. I have nothing against such wallets, except when they're embossed with a frigging cross and worn by someone who loudly berates flight attendants and stumbles down the aisle during multiple trips to the bathroom.

TTTWLAM commented that Big Tex was the reason everybody else in America hates Texans. I countered that he was the reason everybody in the world hates Americans.

Three hours and change later, we touched down. Being men, and unsavory ones at that, none of us has checked any bags for our four night stay. We navigated the labyrinthine taxi line, secured transportation, and by 10 PM were headed downtown.

Next up: The Dave and (El) Cortez the Killer