Day 5 - "The Sabbatical That Made Two Friends A Bit More Wealthy"

So I wake up, with a dog licking my toes in a way that made me wake up a bit happier than I probably should have. We've all been there... right?

Someone agree with me quickly...

And as I awake I hear a lighter striking up and smell the sweet funk of smoke bring me to life in a way that bacon or coffee affects your average commercial character. Yes, another day has began in Los Angeles, and though I will be leaving this city in a few hours to begin another drive across the desert, I will enjoy these few hours as if I were sticking around for the rest of the day. Why not? L.A. has, in just a few days, become my favorite city in the US... might as well love it up while I can.

A shower later, we all head out to brunch for the best breakfast burrito I am ever likely to enjoy.

Breakfast burritos, as I have known them (which is mainly a 7-11 or McDonald's set of experiences) are a pile of crap. A few chunks of crappy meat, mixed in with an overcooked egg or two and a freeze-dried pepper of indistinguishable color, rarely satiate even the smallest appetite, but the burrito I am enjoying this morning is thick and full of fresh vegetables. I am a happy man. NYC has great brunch places, but Mexican food here is depressing on a level that nearly requires Zoloft for the stomach. We need to be closer to the border.... and by that I mean Mexico's.... not Canada's, which brings us no good food of any sort.

For that matter, what does Canada bring us other than jealosy for better health care and a few good comedians from time to time? Well, that and the occasional conversation that usually sounds like...

"Yeah, I had a friend who lived in Toronto and she loved it."

"I've heard that."

"She says Canada is great."

"I've heard that too."

People speak of Canada like I would imagine Ethiopians speak of buffets, yet most people I meet never leave buffets in a better mood than they did upon arrival. So, the question is, do visitors to Canada really love it, or leave feeling bloated and gassy? Food for thought.

Mark my words.... Canada is the Golden Corral of the western hemisphere.

The burrito is lovely however, and following a few directions after I finish eating (left, right, right, highway, highway, highway, highway) I am on the road back to Las Vegas.

I am kinda in a rush this time, since I hope to get there before my roommate gets off work. Mark, my NYC roommate, is in Vegas now on a conference for the jewelry industry (his company represents pearls) and we are scheduled to spend the next few nights in reckless pursuit of good stories to tell people when we are old men reliving our glory days. In this we do not fail. But for that to ever happen, I must get there in five hours, and traffic is as fun as ever on the way out of town.

My saddest knowledge as I make my way out of town listening to KROQ (WORLD FAMOUS ROCK!) is that there is no way I'm gonna have the time to stop in Peggy Sues 50s Diner on this trip, which Id been looking forward to since the last time I was there. What if Hank is there desperately trying to forget about Iraq, and I miss him. Fuck it, Hanks survived this long, he doesn't need me. Maybe I just needed him. Maybe the knowledge of impending days in Vegas required a bit of confidence that only this diner could afford me. Maybe I need to concentrate on driving now and not hit the stupid asshole in front of me who I swear to god is both driving and smoking pot at the exact same time. And now KROQ is playing She Wants Revenge again.

A side note, do you know this band? She Wants Revenge? Recently, on a lovely outing to a fantastic Depeche Mode concert with Mark, Casey and Sherri, we were forced to sit through an opening band of which none of us had ever heard. As it turns out, this band was getting quite a bit of radio play outside of NYC (because no one listens to the radio in New York), and is famous for some song about "fucking tearing you apart". Long story short, other than hearing Four Non-Blondes play live many years ago, I have never heard anything so awful in my entire life. Honestly, I would rather listen to the sounds of horses humping for 2 hours than ever sit through a live song from this band again. And here they are now on the radio, as I am in traffic, behind a drug-addled driver, heading to the town where my ex-girlfriend lives, and I am running late. I should have been drinking during brunch, damn my conscience.

For what its worth though, after many a radio change, I do make it to Vegas on time and the drive isn't so bad once I get into the desert. All ends well on that front.

And then I arrive, and after a mild confusion on how to navigate the parking lot of the Monte Carlo, I am checking in to the nicest hotel room I have stayed in for many years. This place is not only dirt cheap (because you can find endless cheap rooms in Vegas, they want everyone to stay there and gamble at their casino), but has two huge beds, a hot-tub, a beautiful wooden desk, tv, high-speed internet, view of the strip, etc etc etc. Its awesome, and I celebrate my room with a hot shower and fresh change of clothes before going to pick Mark up for our night of gambling.

I hop in my car, speed out onto the strip, and again find myself horribly confused as to where the car pick-up area is at the Flamingo. For lack of a better comparison, driving in Vegas is like trying to bang a eunuch... you can search for hours and never find what you're looking for. Or so I've heard. Whatever. It can be that frustrating, but when all is said and done, at least the traffic isn't too tough to manage, which is a blessing of sorts. And tonight eventually pans out. Mark finds the car, we briefly try to come up with a respectable plan of what to do, but if you know Mark and I, you know that is pretty much an impossibility. Our entire friendship (11 years and change) we have tried to make plans for things, seen them fall through brutally, and decided just to drive around and see where we end up. This is exactly what we do, and after a drive up and down the Vegas strip, we decide why not try the Stratosphere, which is a huge frickin tower at the north end of the Strip that towers above most of Vegas. In this place are many restaurants, rides, games, shows, etc. and at this point we are all about just going somewhere and blowing some money.

We park (in typical eunuch-sex style) and enter the main floor of the casino. After circling the floor to see what is offered, we start thirstin' for free casino drinks, and plant ourselves on some blackjack machines in the hope that we can play for a few minutes and get a beer or two. And we are ignored... but that's alright, because I manage to go on a blackjack roll and keep "letting it ride" until I make 80 bucks and cash out. And now I am 80 bucks up in my first hour in Vegas. Lady Luck is nibbling my earlobes tonight!

Mark's down a few bucks, not much though, and we decide on a new strategy. One that is perfect for the two of us. We are now going to circle the casino until we find a natural redhead, and sit near them for our next game, for surely that is something that can bring us luck. Those who know my recent situation probably see this as faulty logic, but Mark and I entered into this fascination together a long time ago, and we are counting on this common bond to bring us luck tonight. Separate we are weak, but together we are the fuckin McFaddyns (the names for the Scottish personalities that erupt when we drink), and we are co-opting red-headed luck damnit. And find one we do... not a busty lass, but rather a geeky red-headed guy, but since there seem to be no redheaded women there, we settle on this dude, a craps boxman.

Since I have no idea how this game works, I opt to watch this night, and procede to give Mark my ideas on the luck of the other players at the table while he plays the odds on the game. All in all we make a great team, and an hour and a half later, Mark is up about 150 dollars, half due to his wisdom on the game and half on my wisdom of the players ("always bet on men over 50 and Asians"). Old men understand gambling, and Asians are good luck. Its science.

And now we both have money... what to do? Roulette! Why not! We take our winnings, put them on Red (like I said, the McFaddyns trust red and are both quite a few beers into the night now) and win! So we take half of that, put it on Red again and win! Pocket half, bet the rest again and win! Pocket half again, bet, and lose! Fuck. Well, we still came out of that about another hundred bucks up, which puts us both in an awesome mood. A couple hundred bucks up, we haven't spent a dime, have been drinking free all night, and have found that Vegas is a pretty damn fun city for two best friends to roam around. Life's good, and tomorrow night is the big night of craziness, so I drop him off (after taking a picture of us drinking and winning in the Stratosphere parking lot... see my pics for that one) and head home, where I fall asleep exhausted from the long long long long long, but pretty wonderful day. Fortunately, this sleep lasts a long time, because the next day goes on much longer than this one did. But that's a story for the next entry.

Thought of the Day : What is it about seeing two hotel beds side by side that gets a person so excited? Why, when the first bed would be just about as clean and crisp on the second night, am I so excited about sleeping in the other one on day two in the hotel? Am I this easily amused? And if so, they why do I think that Everybody Loves Raymond was such a crappy show?