Hotel Hopping and Lard March 17, 2008

So, our latest trip to Vegas was quite the affair. We had a heady, ambitious trip planned, the hallmark of which was three different hotels in four nights. This proved to be not the ideal situation, but we also only spent about $350 total on hotel rooms, which, especially during the beginning of a humongous convention, was pretty darn good.

Let’s divide this into categories, because I don’t much feel like doing a true chronological narrative.

Hotels

Our first two nights were at Flamingo, where we had stayed before. I checked in using my Diamond access, and I also tried the $20 trick. The $20 got us a room facing the Strip on the floor below the top floor, which turned out to be fairly large for that reason.

However, this was not a newly renovated room or floor, so the furnishings were a bit tired. That being said, it was a good room, with a great view, and definitely met our needs. The Flamingo itself remains the same: not very interesting, few if any restaurants worth trying, poor video poker, but a location that really can’t be beat. Rick has stayed there three times now, and lamented that it means it’s his home casino — he could do worse.

Our third night was at Wynn, on a deal Rick got through email — $129 with $100 of slot credit. As I believe I wrote to Donna, I want to live there. I just love the aesthetic — deep colors, over-the-top cornices and flourishes, good art — and the room is also just very large. We were able to swing another Strip view, though this one slightly less interesting, but it still made for a nice place to sit and eat a little breakfast the morning of our departure.

We gave them a little play, so I hope he continues to get offers, because I would love to make this our home casino.

Our fourth night was at Fitzgerald’s downtown. I got us a $80 room off Vegas.com, which was something of a steal, since that night was the first real night of the huge construction convention in town, and rooms on the Strip were going for upwards of $500. Yeah, no. We had heard decent things about the Fitz, and we wanted to stay either downtown or off-strip, so this seemed like a good option. It didn’t really disappoint. The room was worn, but still pretty decent.

The notoriously slow elevators lived up to their billing, but we got on one because we were on one of the top floors (it was still annoying though, as after it was full after the 20th floor it kept stopping at almost any floor and we had to say no to the sad people waiting through their third or fourth elevator. However, perfectly able-bodied people on the third and fourth floors got no sympathy from me). I don’t know, with all the options available, if we would stay there again, but it sufficed.

Overall, three hotels in four nights was too much. The checking in and checking out didn’t really annoy us; it was more the literal living out of a suitcase and not having a home that got tiresome. I think we’d do two in four nights, but three in that span is just too much. Good stays though.

Food and Drink

We had initially made a reservation at Okada at Wynn for our “special” meal, but John and Angel suggested Carnevino at Palazzo for our first night, and we thought that sounded wonderful. The room is interestingly shaped, as it has a narrow bar (at which we sat and I had a barkeep-concocted drink after I requested something with Campari, and he used something else that was Campari-like with various other things — it was wonderful:

) that then opens into a large open dining room. It was a nice setting, and we were seated next to a window that looked out onto Wynn across the street. The bread came with some wonderful butter and something that was described as a pork-based lard sort of spread.

I think you can tell which was which by how much we (OK, I) used. That was followed by appetizers, which included my little Gorgonzola Dolce “Sformata,” that accompanied a pear and endive salad, Rick’s Beef Carpaccio, and John and Angel’s “Affetati Misti,” a selection of meats, peppers, and, of course, lard.

All were wonderful (though Angel and John didn’t feel so hot afterwards; perhaps the lardo didn’t agree with them as it did me).  Strangely, I was the only one who actually got meat: I chose the petit filet mignon, accompanied by a gorgonzola marscapone sauce (duh), while Rick had the gnocchi bolognese (and I can’t remember what John and Angel had — I think there was a special involved).

Again, everything was wonderful. The meal was of course outrageously expensive (I think around $100/person), but I think it was worth it. It didn’t rank on my top 5 of all time like Bradley Ogden at Caesars does, but it was very good. The service started oddly (some child attempted to tell us the specials, and then was summarily dispatched in favor of someone with a clue), but hit its stride; it also featured the first of two gay waiters who were perhaps overly comfortable with fellow family members (there was much sass that I enjoyed but almost crossed the line). Overall, thumbs up on Carnevino, and it gives me some motivation to give Batali another chance after a less-than-wonderful experience at Babbo in NYC.

The next morning, Rick and I went to the Spice Market Buffet at Planet Hollywood for Sunday Champagne Brunch. We’d heard good things about this buffet for a while, and we were not disappointed: great selection, roundly wonderful quality, some damn fine bacon (applewood smoked, natch), and a lovely stuffed pork loin. Also, it was a good deal: just over $50 for the two of us, which included unlimited champagne.

Having stuffed ourselves at brunch, we decided to go light for dinner and met John and Angel for drinks at the bar at Guy Savoy. Someday I will eat here for dinner, as well as at Joel Robuchon. This is when I win the Powerball.  For our four glasses of wine and a cheese plate, the bill went to $200 — John’s glass of champagne hit the $45 mark. A bit ridiculous, but nice.

The next morning we met John and Angel at the Paris breakfast buffet, where we fast-forwarded using my Diamond status and had a fine but unspectacular breakfast. This used to be a destination, but now it’s just convenient, which is too bad. For dinner, we ate at Red 8 at Wynn, a casual (for them) Chinese place, where I just had a plate of tempura and Rick some steamed vegetables, while John and Angel had fried rice. It was good tempura, and a nice setting; nothing to really be dramatically gaga over, but quality food at not horrible prices.

Speaking of horrible prices, the next morning, I hopped down to the cafe at Wynn to grab bagels, a fruit cup, two waters, and a coffee . . . for $30. OK then. Note to self: bulk up before going to Wynn. Downtown that night, we had a slightly surprisingly good meal at Roberta’s at the once-sketchy and now charming El Cortez. We had a coupon, so dinner was a good deal for salad and meat (again a filet mignon for me, while Rick had sea bass).

Oh, drink: we of course had our spiked lemonades from the kiosk outside Caesars, one of the best things on the Strip.

They’re slightly expensive (running $8.50 for 24oz.), but they are chockful of alcohol and plenty yummy. They are guaranteed to give you a buzz. We also enjoyed many cocktails at the Diamond Lounges (if you don’t know, one of the perks of my status with Harrah’s is to be able to visit these places with bars and some snacks in the Harrah’s properties — gratis. This perk ends this month though, so sadness overwhelms), including an invented drink at Harrah’s called a Purple Alaskan Thunderfucker (it involved some Jack Daniels, but I can’t remember anything else) and a oatmeal cookie “martini” at Caesars (not a drink I need to have again, but it was fun). While gambling, it was a lot of gin and tonics for me this trip, while Rick stuck to rum and diet coke. It was all good, and I refrained from the enormous frozen drinks downtown this trip — saving me from Slurpee headaches and drunken embarrassment.

OK, that’s enough for now. What’s left? Well, here’s something to tease you: “Leon, April, and Loretta.” Oh, the mind boggles.

The Terror Dream March 15, 2008

So, I actually read a book.

I’ve long been interested in Susan Faludi. I’ve liked the topic of her previous books, Backlash and Stiffed, but have never finished them (I’ve read around the former). I’ve also been interested in reading some of the analyses of 9/11, but also have not gotten to them, either because they seemed morbid or simplistic.

But, this one was recommended on a few sites, so I decided to dig in.

The Terror Dream’s thesis is that our bellicose response to 9/11 should have come as no surprise. Moreover, that that bellicosity was supported through narratives of brave masculine heroes saving helpless women should definitely come as no surprise, as that has been our national narrative since before we were a country. Finally, that these narratives of masculine heroism and feminine helplessness are largely fictions should come as no surprise, as some of the most foundational stories of our culture, particularly captivity narratives and Daniel Boone, are completely made up and often warp factual narratives of female independence and heroism.

Faludi structures the book in an interesting way, spending the first half on the reactions to 9/11 (in an “Ontology” section), showing methodically how certain narratives — like the one about how America wanted to “nest” after 9/11, or the automatic labelling of first responders as heroes, when they didn’t want the label — were media-driven and largely invented. She spends a lot of time on two other stories: the demonization of the “Jersey Girls” and the canonization of Jessica Lynch. It’s a persuasive argument — that our response to 9/11 quickly became a gendered response.

But Faludi does not want to merely say that, which is laudable. The second section, “Phylogeny,” goes back to the very beginnings of a (white) America and spends a lot of time showing how narratives of female heroism (and even violence) quickly became subsumed by the need to show that men were in fact protecting “their” women from those whom they would consider to be terrorists — the Native Americans who would engage in a series of surprise attacks on the settlers. At the same time, Faludi shows how narratives of male terrorism basically had to be created out of nothing — particularly the story of the largely irresponsible Daniel Boone.

I have to admit that the second half somewhat drags, but that may be because I just wasn’t as interested in going back in as much detail as Faludi provides. However, the overall argument is interesting; it’s almost as if we cannot help ourselves — like it’s in our blood to revert to these tropes and this language. However, Faludi does end the book with a “What if?” chapter, asking what if we had denied our history and engaged in true soul-searching and fact-finding? Her answer is that we might be safer than we are right now — and perhaps would not be engaging in a losing war that will continue to necessitate division along gender lines.

Back March 13, 2008

I am back from Vegas and exhausted. We had a great time and did some things we’ve never done before, like Hoover Dam, ate well, especially at Mario Batali’s Carnevino, and saw two divas — Bette Midler and Sylvia Browne (my God just look at her. She’s even more…something…in person). Both were fabulous in completely different ways. Report and photos will be forthcoming.

Also back are the M’s (whom I couldn’t seem to bet on during Spring Training, but whom I did bet on to win the AL West and to win more than 84.5 games; hey, it’s possible) and their commercials. This year’s lot is really up and down, with “Pepe” being almost unwatchable and “Yuni the Magician” and “Slide Show” being barely smile-worthy. Ichiro’s commercial is a waste of a good concept (too many shots of the ball hitting the target and not enough of Ichiro trying on different suits), and Beltre’s is just fine (though somehow leading the voting right now). The best by far are “Fullness and Sheen,” with just a great “effect” and cameo by Richie, and “Fungo”: I had no idea what that one was going to be, but having baseball players dance and do the limbo is always a good idea. I don’t know if they approach 2006’s Jamie Moyer tribute making fun of his age and the ad with ordinary citizens doing Ichiro’s sleeve tug, 2004’s ad with Edgar and the Clapper (perhaps my favorite), or 2003’s ad with ordinary citizens doing Boone’s bat flip and “Casual Friday.”

Ah, they make me happy. We are going to be doing a ton of baseball this year — many Sundays at the Bank, trips to Balto and NYC, our planned PA baseball/roller coaster road trip, and probably visits to Reading and Allentown, if only to chant Go Pigs!

The Whores March 5, 2008

OK, first, Rick and I use this term a lot, and though we probably shouldn’t, we still do. A lot. We did decide though that calling young people whores was cruel, so we developed the term WIT (whores-in-training) to compensate.

Anyway, two whore-related notes:

First, the journalist whores will be descending on Pennsylvania now that Hill has fought back to make things very interesting. You know what I would love? If people like Tim Russert, Chris Matthews, et al. would not be so obsessed with gotcha questions and horse races and scandals, but actually provided the public with in-depth reporting on what these candidates think and have done. That would be helpful to the American public. What is not helpful is daily poll analysis and constant suck-uppage to St. McCain. Whores.

Second, and only slightly whore-related. I have been reading much about the latest American Idol scandal: basically one of the male finalists not only worked at a gay bar but stripped at it. First, we should all call (racist?) BS on the producers who rode Frenchie out of town for some soft-core photos, but find it fine for Antonella Barba to have racy photos and this guy to prance around with no clothes on. The other thing I have to point out too is the sense of embarrassment that commenters have argued he should/must have. First, it’s a legitimate job. Second, I can’t help but notice that he should be even more embarrassed because he stripped for men. I just wish people would give up their hang-ups about smut and such things. I mean, I wish I could

BTW, in case you were wondering, I’m not interested.

Leap Thoughts February 29, 2008

OK, not really, just a smattering of items from blogs today. 

•  This post over at SA is a delightful segue into a story I’ve been following all day about a White House staffer plagiarizing in a newspaper (this post started it all). A lot. What is interesting to me in the academic hand-wringing about Google and the Internet and their effects on increased plagiarism is that the hand-wringers and students don’t understand that just as easy as it is for people to steal material for their own purposes, it’s just as easy for me and others to find the original texts (today’s story is an example of this — people finding many more stories than the original example where this doofus plagiarized through Google — as well as the growing trend of citizen journalism aided by the Internet, typified by the recent Polk award given to Talking Points Memo). I’d bet that while plagiarism has increased, so too have findings of plagiarism have as well — and I wonder whether the latter has outpaced the former. [Update: he's done; boy, things happen fast these days]
• I have only been slightly following the two recent deaths of gay teens – one, 15yo who apparently asked a peer to be his valentine, who later shot him, and another who was beaten to death while in drag. The latter has been big news in Ft. Lauderdale, because of the gay-bashing that has gone on there in the past; the former has been touched on by Hillary, Barack, Anderson, and Ellen. Ellen said it well: as many strides as have been made in the past decade, gay people are still a long way from being treated as humans, let alone equally.
• On a lighter note, ALOTT5MA has a great post on an issue, again, that I’ve only been periodically following: the inevitable theft of the Sonics from Seattle. First, I think it’s admirable that the city is deciding to say, um, no to millionaires who want cities to fund their stadiums. OK, sure, that was after doing so for the Mariners and Seahawks, but at least they’re drawing a line; other cities (ahem) have still not got the message, even though everyone says they don’t pay off (including a Villanova professor who spoke at Ursinus last summer because I invited him:)). While I don’t have the passion for the Sonics like I do for the M’s, or even the random interest like I do the Seahawks, I do have fond memories of the Supes: I remember the excitement of the championship (Seattle’s only in any pro sport), I remember the heyday of Payton/Kemp, and I have a lingering fondness for Nate McMillan and the continually stoned Sam Perkins. I have always thought Seattle had something of an odd relationship with the Sonics, I think in no small part because of our own hang-ups with race, but it’s been a cornerstone of the sports scene for as long as Seattle has been a real city. There’s something to be said for that, and it will be too bad when the Sonics leave. Plus, they have had some fun logos, especially that first one. 

This is sort of brilliant February 25, 2008

Sorta NSFW, but everything’s bleeped out; it’s in response to the Sarah Silverman/Matt Damon video, which was funny, but this goes much, much further: http://dynamic.abc.go.com/streaming/landing?channel=23306&video=83300

I could analyze this, but I think it’s pretty self-evident.

PS: Oscars on DVR are also sort of brilliant. Jon Stewart was good, Tilda was, to quote Project Runway’s Christian, a tranny mess, and I loved every minute of it, and there were some really nice moments actually. Really must see No Country now, huh?

Get out the rye bread and mustard, Grandma February 19, 2008

Well, finally: Dave Niehaus, voice of the Mariners from the very beginning, has been inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

There are too many great moments to share and remember. I’ve been lucky to live in places with great baseball announcers, with Vin Scully and Harry Kalas.

[OK, as I'm writing this, I'm listening to the news conference, and Dave just choked up thinking about how he wished his dad was here to see this. I'm seriously going to lose it.]

These great old men are part of an era that we are losing, what with show-off announcers, snarky announcers, and just dumb announcers now dominating the airwaves.

And people don’t listen to baseball on the radio like my Grandpa used to, as he was exiled to the dining room to listen to games while Grandma watched TV. Of course, I like to think that Grandpa was able to connect to a network of fellow, hapless Mariners fans, and loved those moments.

I get to listen to Dave still, thanks to technology, which is probably in my top 5 best things the Internet has provided to me. His famous lines are “My Oh My!”, which has become somewhat tiresome, and “It will fly away.” I don’t know when it started, but his best line is “Get out the rye bread and mustard, Grandma, it’s Grand Salami time!” because it’s just so insane and lovely.  I can’t find any other derivations right now, but he does mix it up sometimes.

He’s lost a step (like Karas), but he’s still the best, and I love him. I might cry

Don’t Mess February 18, 2008

Today on Scrabble on the Internet Scrabble Club (I also play Scrabulous on Facebook, should anyone want to challenge me), I played “cloaking” spanning two triple word scores, reaching my all-time high for one word — 158. It was delightful.

I can think of four other lovely scrabble moments: playing my grandmother in her dining room as a kid, playing my great-grandmother as an even younger kid (and this had to be when I was younger than five I think), playing drunk scrabble at my grandmother’s house, and playing with a French set (Ks worth 10!) at Muddy Waters with (at least) Paul, high on coffee and the biggest Rice Krispies treats you’ve ever seen.

Juno and The Savages February 17, 2008

In our quest to do a better job as media consumers, we’ve been something of a movie run of late, having knocked out these two Oscar-nominated films (this week, I plan on seeing No Country for Old Men while Rick is out of town–he no likey the violence).

I had slightly high expectations of these films: for Juno, it was the “hype” and the real-life Ellen Page, who reminds me of a cool student or something; for The Savages, it was the powerhouse duo of Linney and Hoffman, as well as seeing a Tamara Jenkins movie, whose Slums of Beverly Hills was pretty entertaining way back when.

They are also tied in interesting ways: both have best actress and best original screenplay nominations; both have strong-willed, slightly odd female protagonists; both are written by women; both are about the strange qualities of families. And yet, to sound like a horrible compare/contrast essay, they are quite different.

And, overall, neither of them disappointed. Rick ended up liking Juno better than The Savages; I don’t quite know where I stand, but I think they’re pretty even. Interestingly, I also don’t think either of them deserve the Oscars they share nominations for. Mind you, I think Page and Linney are wonderful, but I have to imagine that Christie blows them out of the water. If I had to choose, though, I’d go with Linney — like Day-Lewis, she so inhabits this role, that she seems so different from the woman in, say, Love Actually.

Now, let’s talk screenplay. Michael Clayton should win, because it had a great plot and great lines. The Savages has a decent plot, but I somehow felt that the Hoffman character was a bit underwritten: Linney’s character is all there — an insufferable 35-year-old who just needs to grow up — but Hoffman too seems stunted, but we don’t get to see exactly why, or care whether he gets out of it. I also felt that the film was a bit too sweet overall: I expected more savagery. As for Juno’s screenplay, it was very entertaining, and I didn’t actually keep up with a twist, so that’s good. However, the first few minutes are largely unforgivable: they are too twee by half, cleverness parading itself around like a float on Mardi Gras, so much so that if the film were a person, I would have slapped it. It’s that annoying (there’s another plot point I’ll complain about in the comments so as not to spoil). There wasn’t such a slip in Michael Clayton, and it fully fleshed out its main characters, so it gets my nod.

Getting away from the Oscars, both films featured some great acting that was really genuine: besides Page, Michael Cera, Allison Janney, and J.K. Simmons were all really affecting — I loved them — and Garner wasn’t nearly as boring as I expected her to be; besides Linney, Hoffman was wonderful in what he was given.

As for the direction, you can tell the ages of both directors: Reitman seems to want to show you how clever he is, whereas Jenkins lingers on images and ideas much longer. I enjoyed the ending of Juno quite a bit, but that’s really the only moment where he provides a breath; there are lingering moments over desolate landscapes provided by Jenkins which really add to the feel of the film.

They are both good, and I’m glad they were both nominated. They of course don’t hold candles to There Will Be Blood, but that’s a pretty tough task.

I wish… February 15, 2008

that I had written this post on ALOTT5MA. Gosh, that’s pretty much every plane I have ever been on.

congratulations to Sara on her big news and best wishes to her and Chris.

good vibes to the HR department at Google and for them having the good sense to hire my sister.

that our house would stop being so cranky and doing strange things that force us to get handymen to do stuff that we can’t do because we’re not handy.

that I could be as disciplined with eating as Rick is. He’s like a waif at this point.

I would get my act together and write the posts for this blog I had promised. This weekend. Really.