Take Me Out March 31, 2008

Opening Day greets us with a drizzly, demoralizing loss for the Fightin’ Phils; I’m ensconced in front of my mlb.tv player as the M’s take on the evil Rangers.  It’s baseball time. This summer proves to be quite the summer of baseball. We have gone halfsies on a Sunday ticket plan for the Phillies, and have added another Phils game to see with Donna. Further, next weekend, we’re heading down to Camden Yards to see the M’s take on the O’s. Later in the summer, we’ll see the last season at Yankee Stadium when the M’s come to town. I’m sure at some point we will also make it to Reading and to the new team in Allentown, if only to get something with the team name on it. Finally, in August, we are planning a Pennsylvania baseball/amusement park extravaganza, with stops at Knoebels, Williamsport, Erie, Pittsburgh, Fallingwater, and Altoona (which features both baseball and amusement park right next to each other). Should any blog readers like to join us at any point, do let us know!

The Empire Strikes Back March 26, 2008

I mean, first, Jaguar and Land Rover are sold to we colonists, angering many a Brit, no doubt.

But, now this? “Ford sells Jaguar, Land Rover to India’s Tata.”

I mean, the Queen must be pissed — almost as much as when Canada threatened to leave the Commonwealth. Oh, wait, that was Kids in the Hall (how is Kids in the Hall not really on YouTube?).

Two Dames and a Dam March 25, 2008

So, back to Vegas.

I’ll dispense with copious amounts of writing about my gambling. I did better than Rick. There was a lot of video poker, interspersed with some blackjack (including at a $5 table at Bellagio Sunday morning, featuring the oldest dealer on earth and the most annoying Canadian couple on earth, the latter causing us to leave the table — a $5 table at Bellagio! the height of the couple’s idiocy came when, after flipping a 50-cent piece at Richard for a top which landed in the chip tray, rendering it no longer a tip but the property of the casino, the guy kept on telling Richard that it was a tip for him, to which Richard mumbled, “it’s not worth it.” When Richard took his break (to, presumably, nap), the guy kept on going on and on about how Richard should retire because he wasn’t in a good mood. No, asshole, you need to stop being an idiot.), roulette (largely even there), some slots (including stellar wins at two different Wheel of Fortune machines, including my first 1000 on the big wheel:

), some bad sports bets (except I have futures bets on the M’s, which I’m sure will turn out well), and some craps downtown with some construction guys who completely rocked and won me $250. So, gambling wasn’t horrible, which was nice.

What did we do otherwise? We did some shopping for a watch for Rick (apparently, at a certain price range, you can haggle for watch prices? Who knew? Don’t pay full price!), and generally just walked around. And drank.

And then there were the three events referenced in the title.

Sunday night, we saw Bette Midler at the Colosseum, the house that Celine built. I had never seen Bette, and I can’t say that I am a huge fan, but I like her well enough — like her personality quite a bit. The show was really great. It had a great mix of music, dance, and comedy. The first part was surprisingly good: her rendition of “When a Man Loves a Woman” showed she still has the voice to pull off some difficult stuff when she wants to. There were her usual standards (second was “The Rose,” last, “Wind Beneath My Wings”) and others, including the saddest song I’ve ever heard, “Hello in There,” (original and Bette) — seriously, make sure you’re stable while listening. The dancing was good and the comedy ribald, though I could have done with less mermaid stuff. Overall, definitely a show to see and well worth it.

The next day, we drove to Hoover Dam, which is less than an hour from Vegas, which surprised me. It was really impressive and pretty interesting. They are also building a bypass and that is truly frightening:

I also liked the architecture of some of the accompanying pieces of the dam — to me this collection tower looks like a submerged Coit Tower:

It was all very cool and I’m glad we finally made it there.

So, the last thing. When we were in Vegas a trip or two ago, we saw ads for an event featuring Sylvia Browne, and thought, oh what a hoot. For those of you who don’t know her, she is constantly on Montel Williams, telling people their futures, who their spirit guides are, and how their loved ones died. She sounds like she’s been smoking since age 10 months and has the kind of attitude of someone who is not just world weary, but tired of you and your shit. I sort of love her.

So, we saw ads for her again (this time at Excalibur! Perfect!), and I started to do my Sylvia impression for John and Angel, and they were really loving it — to the point that they decided we actually needed to see her. I thought they were kidding. But, no, there’s Angel calling the box office on the way back from Hoover Dam; there we are buying our tickets; there we are posing next to her angelic visage before the show (in the same theater as the Thunder from Down Under male revue and hack comic Louie Anderson!):

So, there were two price points: $141 for VIP tickets, which guaranteed you a question for Sylvia, and $85 for us shlubs (hey, it’s Vegas). We entered, sat among true believers, and listened for the first half-hour to Sylvia explaining her lexicon ([the following are paraphrases unless quoted] when you ask for an angel, make sure you ask for the principalities and the thrones — they’re the ones that have the real power) and then just ranting (I don’t understand why we’re not drilling in Alaska for natural resources — I mean there’s the oil, but also all kinds of zinc). Then we got to the questions.

The first person explained to Sylvia how she and her father had to leave their house a year ago because their neighbor had put a hit out on them. Her question was whether it was safe for them to go back to get their stuff. Here’s what followed:

• Sure, honey. Just get a police escort and you’ll be safe.
• Are you sure, because I just don’t feel right about and I’m worried about us getting hurt. Now, are they still after us?
• I’m sorry honey, but it’s just one question.
• Oh, but I bought three tickets.
• Oh, OK.

Yes, rather than spending $500 on, oh, I don’t know, a bodyguard, she sought Sylvia’s advice. Yes, this is who we were with. My two favorite other moments from the questions:

• Sylvia, will I be a millionaire? No….but you’ll be comfortable.
• Sylvia, can you tell me the names of the spirit guides for me, my wife, and my son? Leon, April, and Loretta. (Other spirit guides included Andrea and Frida)

So, once all the VIPs got their turn, she pulled tickets out of a bowl, and if the number matched yours, you got to ask a question. As our spirit guide would have it, we all got to ask a question. I asked a semi-serious question about my uncle (heart problem; he’s still watching over me; he was eccentric — all feasible, all relatively predictable), while the others asked the following, in order of my favorites:

• Rick: what is my financial outlook? Bleak until December…of course, it’s been bleak all year, huh? (Rick has had the best year financially of his career this year)
• Angel: how long will I be in my current job? As long as you want. (Um, what spirit guide did you consult for that?)
• John: will my current relationship last? Is it with a light-haired female? No. Then, no. (as John goes to sits next to his boyfriend).

John maintains that Sylvia was better than Bette; all I’ll say is that it was entertaining (but also pathetic or perhaps just bathetic — I mean, there are a few relationships in the dust after this thing, and possible death with that one woman) and definitely worth the money.

Overall, we had a really good time. I think four nights may be the right amount of time — if we can swing it with our schedules — but obviously three hotels is ridiculous. We didn’t gamble as much as we usually do because of the longer stay, in some ways, because we didn’t feel pressured to get everything in that we wanted to do — we were much more relaxed. All in all, a very good time.

My New Favorite Person March 21, 2008

Thanks to NPR’s Story of the Day Podcast, I heard about Leslie Hall.

Um, how come I have never seen nor heard her before? I lurve her!

PS: here’s hoping I get the rest of the Vegas trip report up soon. Perhaps tonight while I listen to the M’s or something. We’ll see.

Sudden Newfound Respect for Charlie Rose March 18, 2008

“Charlie Rose Face Plants to Save His MacBook Air”

I would do the same, sir.

Of course, first I’d have to have one. I think I will start though with at some point getting an iPod where the whole screen works. Damned Detroit airport and your awfully hard tiled floors!

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.