Last-Minute Decision

Around 11:30 a.m. I decided it would be fun to catch the 12:15 Shuttle for Vegas and return to LA in time for dinner. Last-minute fares on the LA-Vegas run were only $50 higher each way than the cheapest advance-purchase fares so I jumped in the white Pontiac, fortunately having put the top down previously, and burned rubber to the airport. I drove up top and turned left to gamble on the closest parking. Lot 1 was full but fortunately lot 7 was open. There was a sign saying they were raising the rates to $24/day in October. Yikes!

 

I drove around and around and didn’t see a spot on the roof so I looked for the way down but I couldn’t find that either so I headed for the exit. That ramp took me all the way down to the ground where an attendant motioned me to the tollbooth. I waved my arms and asked, “How do you get to the other levels?” He asked how long I was staying. “A few hours.” He said it’s a two-hour max on the ground level but he figured I’d be OK so I backed up and turned into the Do Not Enter. I found a spot after three aisles, jumped out, and ran across the street and up the escalator. I went through secret security and didn’t beep. I ran to gate 81, stood in a short line, presented a spread hand of driver’s license, Sheraton Optima, and 1K card, and said, “I’d like to get on this flight if possible.”

 

“Where were you before this?” asked the agent. “In my living room.” “No, I mean what flight were you on.” “Oh, I wasn’t on a flight.” “Oh, then you want to purchase a ticket.” “Yes! I want to purchase a ticket!” “We can’t do that here. You have to go to Customer Service.” She craned her neck to look across the corridor behind me. “And it looks like they’ve got quite a line.” I thanked her and ran to the secret Premier Executive checkin but they had a line too so I called the 1K number and explained the situation. Quick as a flash they sold me a ticket to a later flight ($89.50) as I ran back to gate 81. They couldn’t sell me a ticket to this flight because it was sold out so they sold me one on the later flight so I could stand by.

 

There were a few people in line so I went to the desk and butted in. “I got a ticket on flight 2560 so I can stand by now.” The woman next in line looked at me and I waved my hand and said, “It’s OK. I was here already.” She said, “It’s OK. I don’t mind.” Before you could say, “Examine your options for other airlines,” I had a boarding pass in hand for seat 12F.

 

I approached the gate. Two United employees were leaning against the wall chatting. I walked up and one of them said, “Hold on! You got to stick that in the machine!” I knew it was her job to stick it in the machine, not lean against the wall chatting, so I pretended I didn’t know how the machine worked and tried to stick it in the vent in the back of the machine. “No! The other way!” So I turned the boarding pass around and tried to stick the other end of it in the vent. Finally a third agent came over, took my boarding pass, ripped the stub off, and handed it to me without saying a word. So I made like I was going to stick the stub into the machine. The blabbering leaning agent blabbered something else and I finally went into the Jetway.

 

Flight attendants were all smiles but when I entered I saw two empty seats so I went back. The fat blabbering leaning agent scolded me. “You can’t keep boardin’ and de-boardin’ you know.” I ignored her and asked the desk agent if I might have one of the empty First Class seats. “People are already coming for those,” he said. “Are they 1K?” “They paid for First.” I said oh OK and got back on the plane but soon after a uniformed pilot came and took one of the seats. I wasn’t in the mood to wait and see if it was a full lie or only a half lie so I went back to row 12.

 

Never having flown coach before in a Shuttle, I didn’t realize that 12F was the plum of all plum seats, a window with no seat in front of it. My seat opponents were a nice young couple from San Luis Obispo, Calif., who had missed their connection to New Orleans because of weather and were routed through Vegas with a 12-hour layover. Service in Economy was exactly the same as service in First Class: one notch above nonexistent. But the flight was on time and my butt could stand to be squeezed for 42 minutes. I strode directly to Las Vegas Limousines and quickly got a small Town Car to the MGM ($4 plus tip).

 

I found my way to the high-limit slot area to play some video poker. There were only two of my favorite machines and one guy was playing them both. He had a royal flush on one of them! He noticed me and offered to cash out of one of them so I accepted. I noticed he was playing very rapidly and with a lot of precision so I asked him to let me know if I made any mistakes if he happened to be looking. He said he teaches all the time but he’s not up for it today. Hmm. I was wondering who this guy was, because there was a very well known guy who teaches video poker in Vegas. Sure enough! It was Bob Dancer, whose name is on the excellent WinPoker program I had been using to teach myself. We chatted for a while, I lost a bit, and then it was time to go. I asked for a limo to the airport and had to pull teeth to get it. MGM is the tightest with comps I’ve ever run across but they give frequent-flyer miles.

 

The world’s nicest driver took me in a gold stretch limo to the airport. I told him to just drop me in the middle and I’d figure out what airline I was flying. United didn’t have a flight between 5:15 and 8:21 and frankly the 236 miles for the trip didn’t excite me so I decided to go with the best carrier, National. The price was the same, $89.50. I begged everyone once again for an upgrade but no dice. They wanted me to pay $50, or $1.25/minute, so I passed. But I did get the catbird seat, 8D on the 757. I smiled once again at the First-Class stewards in their butler suits and settled in for a nice flight. We waited on the ramp 45 minutes for LAX flow control and then flew slowly home, arriving 20 minutes late at gate 61, National’s only gate. I trotted to the car, paid $10 to get her out of hock, and drove home to pick up Hunnybear for dinner.

 

We were meeting Paul at Trader Vic’s in Beverly Hills. Paul was working for CNBC and I kept committing faux pas by asking him how Larry King was doing and mentioning other celebrities that were on other networks. I asked if he could introduce me to Soledad O’Brien, a newscaster for MSNBC who’s on my list of five, but he didn’t know her either. Trader Vic’s has the best rum drinks so Hunnybear and I shared a Scorpion Bowl. All the appetizers were good—lettuce cups, Cho Cho beef, and spicy tuna roll—and the BBQ New York Strip was perfect. As a rule I don’t eat dessert so everyone else followed my lead. We said goodbye to Paul and we headed home to the Marina.

 

The end.

 

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Three Bites for Seven Dollars

No longer fitting into either of the two tuxedos I owned, I put together a makeshift one from black slacks and a black Jhane Barnes jacket. I had a funky white dress shirt and a black bowtie but no clip-on suspenders so I used the belt and slapped a cummerbund over it for camouflage. Hunnybear drove me in the black Cabrio to Century City where I waited for Barton to pick me up in the limousine.

 

Barton and Helen had thoughtfully stocked the limo with wine and champagne in addition to the standard decanters of liquor. Grant, Rhonda, and Nicole were already aboard so we just picked up Richard, Brenda, and me and headed downtown. Rhonda was a TV actress herself, having played the giggling shoe saleswoman in love with Al Bundy on Married with Children some years ago. Barton, having directed a documentary that won three Emmys in his previous life, was a member of the Academy and scored us the tickets.

 

Barry, our driver, weaved in and out of lanes to get us to the front of the line at the Shrine Auditorium. It was not quite 4 p.m. and the show didn’t start until five but they said they close the doors at 4:30 so we hurried. We entered just to the left of the red-carpet area where the celebrities come in, between two sizable stands for the crowds to watch them enter. We saw Dennis Franz of NYPD Blue come right up and talk to someone over the red velvet rope separating us. Then the rope ended and we were right there, mixing with the stars.

 

They closed the lobby bars just as we arrived in an effort to get people seated but fortunately the bars were still open on the second and third floors. Drinks were available for sale at the usual prices and they had complimentary Red Bull, iced tea, and Evian. However, if you just asked for bottled water you got the $3 Arrowhead rather than the complimentary Evian. Unappetizing hors d’oeuvres were available at ridiculous prices: $3 a bite or three bites for $7! But we didn’t come for the food. We came for the spectacle!

 

The auditorium was well designed with hardly a bad seat in the house. We had perfect lines of sight in the second balcony and could even recognize some of the people sitting in the front row, our friend Dennis Franz and The Sopranos star James Gandolfini among them.

 

The three-hour ceremony itself was probably better enjoyed on television than in person, especially since they didn’t show the commercials to us, usually the most interesting part of the show. But we didn’t care: we were dressed to the nines and mingling with the beautiful people. Fortunately they kept the bar open the whole time. I went down to the first-floor men’s room to see if I could stand next to somebody famous but I didn’t recognize anyone. Finally it was over. We hustled down to the lobby to stargaze as the nominees moved through the lobby to the Governor’s ball. There we saw Jack Lemmon, one of the greats, who won an Emmy for Tuesdays with Morrie, and the two least promiscuous girls from Sex in the City, one of the only shows I’d watched in the last few years.

 

Our limo showed up and as we waited in traffic Barton leaned out the window and got a Starbucks mint from the actor who play’s Will’s boyfriend on Will and Grace. Apparently waiting for limos is a good time to mix with stars. Some people just rent a tux and go hang out pretending they’re waiting for a limo so they can strike up conversations.

 

We tried to crash a few parties but were inadvertently omitted from the guest lists, although we did see a young man with a replica Emmy (with price tag still on the bottom) get into Morton’s with a good story. Instead we headed to Mr. Chow’s, a small Beverly Hills Chinese eatery with excellent food and service. We let the waiter order for us and really had only a very few dishes before we cut him off. As a rule I don’t eat dessert and everyone followed my lead. Richard grabbed the check before I could look at it but I think it came to about $50 each including tip. They had a $25 minimum per person!

 

The limo made the rounds and dropped us all off after midnight. It was a memorable event for sure but underscored for me the cardboard thinness of the façade of the television industry. It was an event not designed to please its audience but rather designed for the audience to please it, to concoct a spectacle for the world to believe. Host Garry Shandling said not one word to us when the cameras were off, nor was there entertainment of any form during the interminable commercial breaks. The most interaction we had with the organizers of the event, other than being told were to go, was the eternal lie of the live studio audience: the call for more and more applause.

 

As always, though, the right company makes for a great evening. Barton put together an all-star cast of characters for our limo prowl through LA and it was a night none of us will soon forget. And we’ll always be able to say we were there.

 

The end.

 

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[Note: yesterday’s column was incorrectly sent out with the wrong subject line. It should have read, “Free Friday at the W LA, part 1”—QL]

I get the vaunted invite

I was up early, writing and checking email, when my cell phone rang. It was Barton asking if I fit into my tux because he had an extra ticket to tomorrow’s Emmy Awards for me. I said I’d make do some how, thanked him, and started jumping up and down whooping and hollering to Hunnybear that I was going (without her) to the Emmys!

 

Later, after I had showered and bandaged all my bleeding parts, it was time to check out. The video checkout didn’t work so we called down to the valet to bring the Pontiac around and then checked out with the supermodel at the front desk. There were no phantom charges so we just left the drinks, Internet, and parking on the Sheraton Optima card and went down the waterfall steps to the curb. I handed the ticket to the valet who found my car parked at the curb and pulled it around to us. The doorman loaded our luggage into the back so I gave him a couple bucks in plain view of the valet and let them work out how to share it.

 

We stopped at the Coffee Bean in Westwood, across the street from Starbucks, for some coffee. The bouncy coeds staffing the small shop looked like they didn’t need any more coffee today. We verified with them that their wares were superior to Starbucks (“oh for sure!”) and noticed a sign on the wall saying that it was quicker for them to roast beans than to have them shipped from Seattle. We are waiting for Tully’s to open in LA.

 

We drove to LAX to pick up Hunnybear’s brother Carl. The crazy weather has vanished and it was once again a perfect day in paradise. We parked in the Terminal 2 lot and walked up and over the skybridge to the gates. This was home to Northwest as well as Air Canada. It was a depressing, run-down terminal with non-functioning video monitors. We finally found a working one to tell us to wait at gate 21. The monitor continued to show “on time” even when the flight finally arrived a half-hour late. We scooped up Carl and headed home.

 

The end.

 

 

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Girls dorm heh heh

I picked Hunnybear up at work in the white Pontiac convertible and we drove to Westwood to check into the W Los Angeles. It was cool and a bit cloudy in Southern California. Last night there were a couple scattered showers. We flipped on the TV and every channel had a special report on the “crazy weather” and how to protect yourself and your loved ones from this rain. And I thought Steve Martin was exaggerating in LA Story. These people go nuts if there are a few drops! They wouldn’t last an hour in Seattle.

 

From the outside, the W looked like a concrete college dormitory with a big W slapped onto it as we pulled up. In fact it had originally been a UCLA girls dormitory. What memories these walls must have had. A team of the classic W black-garbed valets greeted us as we arrived. I asked how much the valet parking was and the first one didn’t know but the second one said $10. Not bad. The steps up to the lobby had very cool waterfalls underneath them. The lobby interior was likewise cool with standard W fun plush furniture and a staggered checkin desk staffed by a team of starlets. I picked the best-looking one to check us in and she gave us a suite on the 12^th floor (out of 16). I asked if it was the best available room and she said yes. We waited a long time for the elevator and then went up to our suite.

 

The décor was much like other Ws—black painted furniture, plush sofas and chairs, and black-framed black-and-white prints—although somehow the Seattle one still seemed nicer. The bedroom had the fabled Heavenly-like bed (an actual king), There was one closet in the bedroom and one bathroom in the front room. A minibar was stocked full of munchies, high-end liquors, and the trademark W “intimacy kit.” A Platinum amenity awaited us: three crisp Granny Smith apples and a half-liter bottle of water along with the standard printed note from the general manager. I hooked up the high-speed Interned access ($9.95), an old hand by now, and gave my email a quick check before we went down to try out the lobby bar. We waited at least five minutes for the elevator. It felt like I was back at school again.

 

The lobby bar was decorated very much like Whisky Blue in the W New York. Like the W New York, they had no signature drink here, unlike Seattle’s W which had the fabled Emerald Drop, so Hunnybear ordered a Lemon Drop while I felt like a Beefeater martini. Prices were pretty high for LA, around $10 a drink, but they were big drinks. My martini tasted funny so I ate all the olives and then brought it back to the bar. I told one bartender about it but he said policy was that they couldn’t fix other bartenders’ mistakes. My bartender was talking to the manager at the register for about five minutes, both their backs turned. Finally I began waving my arms and a third bartender came over and repaired the damage. Meanwhile Tony and Judy had arrived and she made them a couple of drinks as well. Tony nearly tripped on an uprooted carpet on the way back to the table. He alerted a passing busboy about it but he just stepped on it for a few seconds and wandered off leaving a lawsuit waiting to happen.

 

Dinner was at Tanino, an Italian restaurant within walking distance. We got seated immediately at a table near the front and ordered an expensive bottle of Barbaresco, my favorite Italian wine. They had Gaja for $168 but we went with one under $100. When Gaja was being discovered back in the early eighties I went around to every Safeway in greater Seattle and bought up every bottle I could find for dirt cheap. Then I quit drinking for a couple years and at some point sold all my wine at a garage sale for like $5 a bottle. Somebody got a real good deal, but I wish I had kept that Gaja.

 

For starters I had a yummy beef carpaccio with “capers capers”—at least that’s what the menu said, and there were quite a few of them, like Little Caesar’s Pizza Pizza. They only had one veal chop so Tony and I split it and a beef chop. Both were fabulous. Hunnybear gave me a few tastes of excellent John Dory and Judy had a vegetarian pasta. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but Tony ordered three so I just had a few tastes. Dinner came to about $70 each before tip, but $25 of that was the wine.

 

We walked back to the dorm and headed up to bed. There was quite a bit of street and hall noise but we had no problem sleeping.

 

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I’m National, fly me!

I awoke again without the aid of the three alarms I had set and used the video checkout. Local calls were 85¢ for the first hour. I hustled downstairs and waited out in front of the Westin, sitting on a concrete fence in the refrigerated gloom. At 7:20 I caught the late 7:10 Gray Line bus. There was no traffic to the airport so we got there in good time. I headed for the 1K room and chatted with the angel for a few minutes, then dialed up and read email. I told her how I missed the Seattle 1K room, a warm, welcoming place staffed by angels who want to do special favors for their best customers. Other 1K rooms around the country would do well to take whatever Seattle has and bottle it.

 

My 737 to Los Angeles boarded on time. I had seat 1D because the bulkhead aisles were taken. My seat opponent ate a fruit plate and then snored through the remainder of the flight. I ordered the sampler, which was quite good: a rosemary-topped frittata, a wedge of croque monsieur (grilled ham and cheese sandwich), sausage, and fruit. Oddly, we had blackberries, a Seattle specialty, on the way up to Seattle but not on the flight catered in Seattle. Seattleites think blackberries are a weed and hack them to death constantly. They grow at an unbelievable rate, though, and quickly return. But boy are they delicious. There was no video on the 737 of course so I whipped out my laptop and used the time to write. Service was great and the stewardess kept my decaf and water refilled.

 

We landed early at LAX so I went to the Red Carpet Club and read FlyerTalk. The 12:15 connecting Shuttle to Las Vegas boarded on time but quickly developed a problem with the pressure framitz so they announced a half-hour delay. Mechanics came on board complaining about their lack of a contract and slowly replaced a unit that looked like it had nothing whatsoever to do with pressure. It didn’t solve the problem so I went out to the gate and had them rebook me on the 1:30 National Airlines 757.

 

I begged both the United agent and the National agent for First Class but the best offer I got was to pay $50 for the upgrade. If the flight had been a bit longer I would have done it but for a 40-minute flight I didn’t think so. The United agent was super nice and even filled out and mailed a form for me to request credit for the original flight. I had thoughtfully pre-joined National Comps (great name for a Vegas-based airline’s frequent-flyer program) and gave my number. Since they do points for dollars spent I have no idea what I’ll get for this flight. The program didn’t look attractive to me because you have to spend $8000/year to make elite and that’s tough to do just flying from LA to Vegas.

 

The National 757 was generous in legroom but stingy in width. I wouldn’t have liked to fly much farther than we did in that seat, especially with a chattering fat couple next to me. First Class, on the other hand, looked exquisite. They had row after row of natural tan leather seats and stewards dressed in fancy butler uniforms. The Economy flight attendants wore polo shirts. I thought the distinction was a great idea. They had video screens but did the safety announcement live anyway. Apparently they show movies on longer flights with a headset-rental charge in Economy. They gave a typical drink service but they had real peanuts instead of Krap-Snax™.

 

We arrived early in Vegas and I dashed to Las Vegas Limousines to get a ride to Mandalay Bay ($4). My aim this afternoon was to break the bank at the progressive $2 Deuces Wild video poker machines, but instead I got a major hoovering. I strolled over to the high-limit slot area to play a few rounds of $5 Deuces Wild. Theoretically, with perfect play and counting the cash back, the house has a very small advantage at these machines (about 0.5%). When you count the value of comps you can break even if you are really hard core about learning the optimal playing strategy, which of course most people aren’t. It remained to be seen if I was or not, but it fell under my general mission statement of finding ways to be treated like a VIP.

 

I met a nice slot host there who noticed all the money I had lost playing the $2 machine and comped me to a gourmet meal for my very first time, not including the comp to Drai’s that Arnie had procured at Barbary Coast. I asked for Red Square, one of several fabulous restaurants at Mandalay Bay. No problem.

 

I played Pai Gow Poker for an hour before dinner and made $22.50.

 

I cashed in my meager chips and walked over to Red Square. “VIP table for one, please,” I said. “I have a comp reservation.” Once again service and food were excellent. A short curvy brunette in a cat suit with a small red square on the chest brought over some bread but I waved it off with a smile. “As a rule I don’t eat bread,” I said. I ordered the lobster martini appetizer ($19), which I didn’t get last time because it wasn’t free, and the Roquefort New York steak. Both were superb, although I had to request extra mustard remoulade for the lobster. It arrived quite sparsely sauced, which is more than I can say for myself, having drowned my sorrows in a Manhattan at the Pai Gow Poker table and then ordered a couple of specialty vodkas here at Red Square. I started with the waitress’s recommendation, the Scottish vodka Brilliant, which lived up to its name. Then I returned to my favorite from last time, Charodei, from Russia. It was still great. They had the chocolate indulgence but I passed since as a rule I don’t eat dessert and I was at the top of my comp limit anyway.

 

I signed the bill, left a cash tip, got my luggage out of hock, and asked the bellman to call the casino host and order me a limo to the airport. I should have reserved it in advance but I’m still learning from the Master. It took a couple minutes to approve it but soon I was on my way. I asked the driver to take me to the zero level so I could go directly to the gate. I didn’t have a five so I tipped him $10 and I had a new best friend.

 

I stopped by the Prickly Pear for a frozen Patron margarita and then lost another $60 at my traditional video-poker machine. It was finally time to board the Shuttle home to LA for the last leg of this journey. I had seat 1D on the 737 and sat next to another 1K, a retired executive from TRW who now consulted on government contracts. The flight was quick and we landed 15 minutes early! Hunnybear was nevertheless waiting for me at the secret place and whisked me home through the beautiful moist California night. I was glad to be home.

 

 

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I woke up in my Tropicana penthouse relatively painlessly a few minutes before four and hopped in the shower. The water pressure was terrible and they had one of those gizmos hooked up to it to make the water come out faster by adding air to it. It was still terrible. Not a bad room though and a great view. Maybe the water pressure was better on lower floors.

 

I had some time before checkout so I decided to play some $5 video poker. I hit five of a kind and broke the bank for a $250 profit. I did great this trip in video poker but terrible at the Pai Gow Poker table. I went to check out and that short stint at the $5 machine had credited me with another $19 in comps so the room only ended up costing $40 for the two nights. I probably earned a few more dollars in cashback too but I didn’t have time to check.

 

I grabbed a taxi to the airport ($8 including tip) and found a zoo at the United checkin. I guessed a lot of people were flying back early to go to work after the holiday weekend. I waited a few minutes in the First Class/Premier line and checked in with the agent who asked for two 500-mile certs for the LA-Seattle portion. On my way to the gate I played a little Monopoly and hit two bonus rounds for a $75 profit. My flight was boarding as I got to the gate so I didn’t play any Deuces Wild on my traditional machine but instead wheeled down the Jetway and settled into 1D on the 737 Shuttle. The early-morning desert scenery was utterly spectacular! I enjoyed the flight and as usual the flight attendants on this particular run were friendly and helpful.

 

We landed on the south side of LAX for a change, which meant we didn’t have to taxi forever to get to gate 85. I had a little time so I checked email in the Red Carpet Club but I passed on the biscotti because I was feeling good after low-carbing yesterday. The 757 to Seattle was at gate 68A, far away, and by the time I got there they were boarding all rows so I turned left and took seat 1B. There was just enough room left in the overhead bins to place my stuff.

 

Service was good. The video program was the same one Hunnybear and I saw on the ill-fated flight 1111 on Sunday including the horrible That ’70s Show which I didn’t watch again but instead fired up my Toshiba laptop and wrote. Breakfast was a choice of fruit plate or sampler. I took the latter, which had a spinach-polenta concoction, a sausage, home fries, and two silver-dollar pancakes. It was a little too high-carb for my pleasure but tasted good.

 

We vectored farther north than usual landing in Seattle and turned final over Ballard. It was overcast and 60. The North Satellite subway was under construction and I weaved my way through obstacles heading for the escalators. I decided to take the Gray Line bus to the Westin ($14 round trip) rather than $60 worth of taxis. When the bus stopped at the Four Seasons Olympic I decided to walk the rest of the way just to stretch my legs. It was only five blocks to the Westin and I was on wheels so I enjoyed the cool moist air.

 

I went in the back entrance to the Westin and headed for the incredibly opulent private Starwood Preferred Guest checkin, a private marble room with a private clerk, an attractive blonde German girl. She had me upgraded to the Preferred Guest floor but I asked if any suites were available. She checked for me and found a suite that could be made up of adjoining rooms on the 19^th floor but told me the view was poor. I decided to try it anyway. Unfortunately, although the two rooms were adjoining, they were not adjoining each other but instead the two rooms on either side of them. So I went back down and instead asked if any guest offices were available since I wanted to print something out from my laptop. She found me one with a city view on the 23^rd floor so I took it. It was very nice and the view was OK but the Lake Union and Puget Sound views are nicer. I didn’t really care too much so I unpacked and got ready to head out. No Platinum amenity this trip but I may have faked them out with the room switch.

 

I needed to get to the new ballpark where the Microsoft 25^th anniversary celebration was being held so I walked to First Avenue and then turned south. At each bus stop I looked up the street and saw no buses in sight so I kept walking. I got all the way to Pioneer Square before a bus came so I took it the last two stops to the ballpark. Buses in downtown Seattle are free during the daytime but they don’t run with enough frequency to be a dependable form of transportation.

 

The celebration and party were nostalgic and reassuring for me. Bill Gates gave a great speech recounting the history of the company and then gave a glimpse into the future showing a very cool demo of the forthcoming XBox video-game unit and reiterating that he was betting the company on the .NET architecture. Traditionally, every year at the company meeting Bill promises that the company will continue to give its employees free Coke forever. He showed a chart that indicated Microsoft spent more money on free Coke last year than total revenues were when I started with the company in 1981. I sat up in the Mariners owners box with old friends for awhile and caught up with others of the first 100 employees, many of whom were still there. Comedian Sinbad did a hilarious routine lampooning the corporate culture. I didn’t stay for Cheap Trick but instead headed back to the Westin to see Kevin and a very pregnant Lara.

 

We had the concierge make reservations at Icon Grill for us and had drinks in the lobby bar while we caught up. Icon Grill was great as always. They served a complimentary salmon-cake appetizer because the Westin concierge made the reservation for us. I had the New York Steak, which arrived way overcooked but was quickly replaced with a rare one. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but they had a hot-fudge sundae to die for so we split just one. Roni arrived in time for dessert and helped us out but we still didn’t come close to finishing. The thing must be made with a quart of ice cream. With a very reasonably priced bottle of my favorite wine, the Willakenzie Pierre Leon Pinot Noir (Oregon) for $52, the bill came to under $170 for the three of us.

 

Kevin and Lara had a long ferry ride and drive home so we bid them farewell and Roni helped me walk my dinner off before she headed back home. I went up, set three alarms for 7 a.m., and had as Heavenly a sleep as can be expected minus one Hunnybear.

 

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Don’t splash the chips

Dawn from the 22^nd floor of the Tropicana was a stunning pastiche of mountain, shadow, and black pyramid. Hunnybear had made haircut appointments for the both of us at Bally’s for 10 a.m. so we walked there in the perfect morning air, stopping at Starbucks for a mild blend and at the new Aladdin to poke our heads into the casino. Hunnybear thought it was well done and it was quite a bit nicer without the crowds there. I bet the Aladdin management doesn’t think so though.

 

Our two stylists were waiting for us but the price had gone up because of the high cost of prices. We proceeded with our haircuts anyway. Naturally I finished first so I went up and played a couple hands of Pai Gow Poker to no avail. Hunnybear snuck up from behind and gave me a bear hug so I cashed out and we walked through the passageway to Paris for an early lunch.

 

The plan was to have lunch at Mon Ami Gabi, which Arnie the Compmeister recommended highly although he failed to tell me how to eat there without paying for it. We had to wait 15 minutes for it to open so we played some Chairman of the Board Monopoly. Hunnybear hit the bonus game for the first time and had an incredible run, hitting property after property. Since she didn’t know what to expect she had no idea that she was doing so well, collecting several monopolies and cashing out for $69 on her $5 investment.

 

We got in line and when the restaurant opened at 11:30 got seated right on the rail overlooking the Strip and Bellagio. A French deliveryman on a bicycle rode by and called up to us, “Bonjour, mes ami!” Hey, wazzup? We both had the brie omelet which was very good and came with a baguette and two triangles of perfectly buttered toast. The baguette for some reason was served with shredded carrots, which Hunnybear liked but I though tasted like orange dirt. At noon the gorgeous Bellagio fountain show fired up, accompanied by Copeland’s “Variations on a Shaker Melody.” (“’Tis a gift to be simple”). We had a great view through the palm trees in the median of the Strip. Lunch came to under $25 for the two of us. Sorry, Arnie.

 

We walked back to Tropicana to play some Pai Gow Poker but they had the stupid rule that only lets a player bank once every six hands so we went to play video poker instead. It was just as well because it was the only thing I could win at this trip. I hit a wild royal and cashed out for a modest profit.

 

It was time to hit swim-up blackjack, the reason we stayed at the Trop. Today was the last day of the season it would be open. We changed into our bathing costumes and headed down to the beautiful pool, certainly the jewel of the hotel. The stakes were higher than usual because it was a holiday weekend. One table was $5-$25 and the other was $3-$25, both played with what appeared to be eight-desk shoes with about 70% penetration. I started off small and couldn’t hit anything. Then I bet the maximum for a few hands and continued getting hoovered. I sipped my free $200 margarita while Hunnybear enjoyed a Gilligan’s Island, made with Malibu rum, pineapple juice, and cranberry juice. When we had been beaten badly enough we dried off and went upstairs.

 

I wanted to play some serious Pai Gow Poker so we went to MGM Grand to try to get a good game together. Hunnybear went off to play Monopoly while I continued getting the vacuum treatment. I had had enough so we crossed the skybridge back to the Trop, changed into our nice clothes, packed up Hunnybear’s things, and took the Excalibur tram over to Mandalay Bay to play a little more before dinner. No luck. I dropped some more and declared my unconditional surrender as it was time for our early reservations at Rumjungle.

 

Rumjungle spells their name with a lower-case “r” but I think that’s affected so I don’t. As we approached, two attractive girls in ankle-length black coats trimmed with faux snow-leopard fur greeted us. We got a primo table by one of the waterfalls. Service was excellent. The manager came by several times to ask how we were doing and even cleared a plate himself. I ordered the signature fire pit dinner, similar to the churrascaria we had had in New York Friday night. Waiters came by with meat on skewers and dished out all I could eat, which in this case was one helping of everything. The pork and chicken were best. Hunnybear ordered a coconut-curry beef satay appetizer that was out of this world and a Hawaiian Caesar salad. Next time I’ll try some of the other intriguing dishes instead of the fire pit. After dinner the place turns into a nightclub and at 11 there is a show with flaming stuff. A receipt from dinner gets you into the VIP line for the club.

 

By now it was time to send Hunnybear to the airport for her five-star United Shuttle flight home so we retrieved her bags from the bell desk and I put her into a cab, telling the driver to take this precious package to United Airlines. I stayed in Vegas to get the first flight out to Seattle in the morning.

 

It was only 7:30 so I thought I’d try the Pai Gow at MGM Grand again so I walked over and tried to find a good game. I played for a good three hours but couldn’t put anything together. I decided to go back home to the Trop to play another half-hour of video poker before my double-cashback bonus expired. I hit a five-of-a-kind and a wild royal one after the other and cashed out up a couple hundred. I got a generous cashback bonus and my first room might comped so that added almost another couple hundred in value to eat into my Pai Gow Poker losses. Late, I went up to bed and told the wake-up-call-o-matic to ring me at (ouch) 4 a.m.

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Terror at 24,000 feet

I used the video checkout to pay the incidentals for our Free Friday and Saturday as the W had already checked me out and in again from the first two nights prepaid on Expedia. We got a $2/night “suite tax” tacked on to pay for the great public services in the City of New York. We went down in front and the black-T-shirted doorman offered us a limousine to LaGuardia for $35, which we took in preference to the ever-more-cramped New York taxis. We climbed in and I said, “La Guardia airport, driver, and step on it!” Tires squealed and Hunnybear and I were thrown against the side as the car accelerated around the corner. “I was just kidding!” I screamed. Geez. I say that all the time but it never had any effect till now. The driver took us via the Queensboro Bridge and got us there in 15 minutes in light traffic.

 

There was no line anywhere to be seen at the United counter so we checked in at the regular checkin hoping our certs would not be collected. The hope was in vain although the agent was pleasant enough. We went around back to the Red Carpet Room and waited for our flight. The soft drinks here were those little tiny cans that you get in Europe. In fact, the Diet Coke was called Coke Light. Snacks here were a choice of red apples or black Oreos. While I was there I asked the angel to move exactly the same flight I had asked the 1K desk to move for me the other day and been refused. She moved it with no problem and no charge, reminding me that United had waived the $75 change fee for the rest of September. I thanked her and got my new itineraries printed out.

 

We headed up to gate C10 to board the 727 in time to hear the smashing of ice. We had seats 1A and B, my favorite. Sitting behind us were two people marked on the manifest as VIPs. I snuck a look and it turned out the guy was chairman of a company bearing his name. I guess they must buy a lot of tickets. Service was excellent. It was a 90-minute flight but had a menu and full lunch. We had a choice of steak or turkey for our entrée and we both chose the steak, which arrived medium well. Dessert was Eli’s praline cheesecake but I passed since as a rule I don’t eat dessert and besides I don’t like cheesecake. Hunnybear ate hers though. The flight arrived in Chicago early, which didn’t help us because we had a long connection. It docked at gate E2, about a mile from our next flight which was at C21. We made the trek and then settled in the Terminal C Red Carpet Club right next to the 747 about to leave for Frankfurt at gate C18.

 

Flight 1111 was a 757 with the old leather seats but fitted with Empower ports except they weren’t turned on. Hunnybear and I turned left and settled into seats 1A and B. It was a very light flight with several empties in First Class and almost no one in Economy Plus. The flight attendants were exceptionally nice. One saw me about to hang up my coat and wouldn’t hear of it so she hung it up herself. We sat in a huge queue and then finally took off. I was waiting for the seatbelt sign to go off so I could ask for the Empower to be turned on when I heard over channel 9, “United 1111, we need to return to Chicago.” “Uh, roger, right turn or left turn?” “Uh, right turn.” Then the captain’s voice same over the PA system. There was a fault light on for the spoiler. They gave him a procedure for fixing it but it came on again. He didn’t want to stare at that light for three hours in the air to Vegas so he decided to return to Chicago.

 

The atmosphere was a little tense. Since the pilot did not declare an emergency or ask for special assistance at ORD I assumed things were in good shape. The landing felt a little fast but that might have just been imagination. We taxied to gate B7 where we were told to turn right and head for B3, where another plane awaited us. We did that. The posted departure time was 6:10, a two-hour-and-forty-five-minute delay from our original schedule.

 

The replacement was another 757 with leather seats but no Empower. We boarded quickly through door 1 and waited while the food and baggage were transferred. The stewardess told me that First Class would be getting all new food but coach was OK because it was all refrigerated. We once again sat in line to take off but finally did. Since it was a different airplane I think everybody was pretty relaxed. They showed the movie, Love and Basketball by Spike Lee, soon after take off. Hunnybear and I both liked it a lot. It was very romantic and realistic. This was a snack flight so we got a single-page menu with a choice of ribs and chicken. I had the ribs, which was actually one very good rib. Hunnybear enjoyed the chicken. A steward walked through the aisle passing out $25 vouchers for our trouble.

 

We landed 2:45 late, not surprisingly, and took the tram to the main terminal where we headed straight to Las Vegas Limo for a $4/person ride to the Tropicana. We shared a car with a couple going to Circus Circus and a kvetchy lady laden with lots of baggage going to her home. The driver took the tunnel, I suppose to avoid arriving at the Tropicana on the wrong side of the street. There was a lot of traffic this holiday weekend. We checked in with no line but all the great views north up the Strip were gone so we settled for a top-floor room with a great view of Excalibur, Luxor, and Mandalay Bay. Two negatives about this hotel: no feather pillows and outrageous local phone charges of 15¢/min. after the first half hour for $1.

 

We walked around the hotel and I showed Hunnybear the excellent pool where we would be playing swim-up blackjack tomorrow. It was the reason we stayed here. We walked across the street to MGM Grand and had something to eat at Emeril’s. We shared a half-dozen Washington State oysters and a pound of spicy shrimp. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but Emeril’s has a very delicious banana cream pie so we split just one piece. Dinner came to $50 or so for the excellent food. We walked over to the lion habitat and looked at the cubs sleeping above us on the Plexiglas, then we headed back to the Trop. We both joined the Winners Club and they were having a special double cashback bonus so I played a half-hour of video poker, losing $100 but qualifying for a free T-shirt. Tired after a long day, we went up to bed around midnight.

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Whadda ya talk?

We did some shopping on Fifth Ave. before lunch. The St. John’s store had a nice little bar set up with Perrier and cookies so we camped out there for awhile then headed over to Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door but her cookies weren’t as good so we jumped in a cab and headed downtown. We ended up at Soho Kitchen, where we had some yummy hummus. We kept ordering cucumbers and the waiter kept bringing celery. There didn’t seem to be any way to resolve the paradox so we peered out over the piles of celery and ordered a couple grilled-chicken salads for the girls, which arrived with at least four chicken breasts apiece. I had Oriental chicken which was good but the hummus was expanding in my stomach and I needed exercise.

 

After lunch we walked around the Bowery and shopped for light bulbs, then made it over to the handbag district so Hunnybear and Teresa could each get a few new purses. They made some lovely selections and then we strolled over to Mulberry St. where the street had been closed off to form a pedestrian mall. Hunnybear and I wanted some major exercise to compensate for our gustatory excesses so we walked the three miles back to the hotel up Third Ave. while Jeffrey and Teresa took a cab. We cleaned up and headed over to the Marriott Marquis, where we met Catman and Michael for pre-theater drinks.

 

The show tonight was The Music Man, one of the greatest shows ever written and immortalized in the perfect movie version starring Robert Preston and Richie Cunningham. There wasn’t much they could do to improve on the movie, which I would recommend in preference to seeing this production—not that it was bad, but it was merely a good performance of a great show. As always the orchestra was flawless. The lead, played by Craig Bierko, was a clone of Preston’s Harold Hill, and the voice of Rebecca Luker as Marian the librarian was superb, although acting-wise she didn’t come close to Shirley Jones’s classic portrayal of the guarded,  innocent beauty. Other than that, the casting suffered from mediocrity. No one came close to Buddy Hackett’s memorable Marcellus Washburn and most of the children were played by actors five or 10 years older than their supposed characters. We had third-row seats but upgraded ourselves to the leftmost seats in the front row when no theater employees arrives to fill them.

 

After the show we took cabs to Smith & Wollensky, where we met RichG and looked for our waiter friend Jerry. The main dining room was closed and Jerry was done for the night but we got a table at the Grill around the corner and had some OK steaks served by a fairly incompetent waiter. After trying the location in Chicago and this one it will probably be awhile before I go back. We bid everyone goodbye, walked the short block to the W and settled in for the evening.

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Night Fever

I checked my email and found a message from Microsoft. Apparently they were inviting me to a big 25^th-anniversary party up in Seattle on Tuesday because they were honoring their first 100 employees, which I was one of. They apologized for the late notice. It was pretty darn late but I booked a full-fare ticket from Vegas to Seattle for $328 and extended my Vegas stay overnight Monday because it was $200 cheaper than the full fare from LA. I called United to switch my return from Vegas to Wednesday but they gave me a song and dance about rules and regulations so I thanked the agent for the information and hung up. I guess the flexibility they were showing during the labor troubles has evaporated.

 

I went down to the front desk at the W New York once more to see if they had any better rooms available. They did have another corner suite with a different layout but the same small bed and a strong smell of chlorine throughout the entire floor so I passed. I walked a few blocks to 53^rd St. and met Jeffrey and Teresa for lunch at Brasserie, a former 24-hour restaurant now converted into a trendy French place. A video camera took snapshots of everyone who enters and rotated their images into a bank of monitors over the bar. I had tuna salad Niçoise, which was great except that I expected the tuna to be rare and it was cooked traditionally. We met two of Jeffrey’s friends from the National Speakers Association there and they gave us tips on shows as it was their policy to see everything. The waitress stared me right in my bloated face and asked if I wanted dessert. I asked if she had any heroin. She said she didn’t personally and I allowed as how it might be possible to inject the dessert directly into my veins then.

 

We settled on Saturday Night Fever as the last-minute show for tonight and headed to the concierge at the Waldorf-Astoria Hilton to get tickets. We waited for her to get off the phone and she referred us to the theater desk. They offered us second row mezzanine for $139/ticket and we passed because we like to sit up close in the orchestra. Jeffrey called a scalper friend who came through for us with seventh row center but when I got back to the room I checked Ticketmaster on line and found that eighth row center was available at face value. I didn’t realize last-minute tickets were available through Ticketmaster so it’s good to know.

 

Jeffrey and I went for a walk to ameliorate our conditions. We walked uptown on Park Ave. but it didn’t go to the park so we turned left and found it around 5^th Ave. Bottled water cost 50¢ more near the park than it did downtown—we paid $1.50 each. My cell phone rang and it was Hunnybear arriving safely at JFK. The limo I had reserved through my Starwood Platinum Concierge was there waiting for her with a beautiful new black Town Car. We finished our walk and Hunnybear arrived at the W. The limo driver said my card was declined so I called American Express and they said it wasn’t declined but rather the merchant had rescinded the purchase. So I gave the driver my card again so he could run it through but he dropped the imprinting machine and my card fluttered to the ground, teetering precariously on a subway grate like the one Marilyn Monroe stood over in The Seven Year Itch. I tried to grab it but he beat me too it and fortunately didn’t lose it.

 

The bathrobe I had ordered earlier still hadn’t come four hours later so I called three more times and it came in 45 minutes. I called the general manager but got voice mail and let him know about the problems with the hotel. Hunnybear took one look at the bed and said, “That’s not a queen!” I didn’t think so. The girl at the front desk said it was an “East Coast” queen, which was six inches shorter and narrower than we were used to. Hunnybear said she was from the East Coast and she’d never heard of that. Come to think of it, I was from the East Coast too.

 

Just then Catman appeared so we went down the steps to the lobby lounge but all the seats were taken so we stood around vulching. The attractive wait staff pointedly ignored us until we glommed seats but then a blonde in black zoomed over to us and took our orders within seconds. LarryU came by and joined us and gave us some tips for flying out of JFK. He invited us to meet him for a party in the Red Carpet Club the next morning but we all passed.

 

We headed over to Times Square for the show and left Catman and LarryU to their dinner at Sparks. We arrived with plenty of time so we decided to have another drink at the rotating lobby bar at the Marriott Marquis. We braved the man-eating elevators and had no trouble finding a table. I grabbed one at the start of the view arc and Jeffrey asked if we shouldn’t look for one with a better view, not realizing we were on a turntable. I assured him the view would improve and in fact, with a 45-minute rotation time it would be just time to go to the theater when we got to the end of the view. We drank and watched the billboards as we were carried around one of the most amazing places in the world.

 

We headed across 45^th St. to the Minskoff Theater and took our excellent seats, right in the center. I was expecting a nice show but was blown away by the opening number, “Stayin’ Alive.” It helps a new show to have some of the best music of a decade as the score. The play was pretty faithful to the movie and the choreography could not have been better. The single-named Orfeh, playing Annette, had an amazing voice and when she belted out “If I Can’t Have You” the audience let out an audible sigh. A large cast of dancers and beautiful sets complete with cars traveling the George Washington Bridge at night made this a joy to watch from start to finish despite the show’s tragic ending. Highly recommended to any Bee Gees fans.

 

It was raining as we exited the show but we walked the few blocks to 49^th St. and turned left to reach Churrascaria Plataforma. Having been here before we remembered the optimal strategy for eating at this Brazilian barbecue where the waiters come around with roasted meat on swords, carving it onto your plate until you cry “Tio”! The secret is to ignore the huge buffet in the middle and eat only the sirloin with maybe a little lamb if you like that, and the fried bananas they bring to the table. Our waiter pooh-poohed the Duck Pond Oregon Pinot Noir I tried to order and instead had us get a delicious Chilean Cabernet. After dinner they came around with the dessert cart. I passed of course but had a few tastes of Hunnybear’s tiramisu and Teresa’s chocolate mousse, both yummy.

 

By the time we finished the rain had subsided and we walked the mile or so back to the W.

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Crazy Taxi

I went down to the front desk at the W New York to ask if they had any bigger suites, maybe one with a queen-size bed in it. On the way I noticed stains in the carpeting. The air conditioning in the room wasn’t very good and even on the coldest setting it was a bit hot and muggy. The mirror was missing in the half-bath in the front room of the suite leaving circles of adhesive covering the wall where it once was. This was clearly not the nicest hotel in the W chain.

 

The front desk told me that I actually had a queen bed although I had a queen bed at home—the same brand in fact—and this one seemed smaller. They also told me there was high-speed Internet access in the room so I asked them to send up a cable as the phone lines weren’t very amenable to data. It never arrived and later that afternoon I had to call again.

 

I walked all the way to Javits Center at 39^th and 11^th just to get some exercise. When I got there I was sweating prodigiously. New York at 80 degrees seemed hotter than Vegas at 100. I checked in at the press room and got my badge, passing a life-sized poster of Jeffrey on the way. Some of the exhibitors at the trade show were luring attendees to their booths by offering snacks. I passed on the chocolate-chip cookies since as a rule I don’t eat dessert, but I sampled a piña colada smoothie that was very good. We spent the afternoon schmoozing and then walked to 9^th Avenue to catch a taxi downtown.

 

As we stood just past the entrance to the Lincoln Tunnel a cab without his sign lit slowed, rolled down his window, and asked where we were going. We told him and he told us to hop in. This was the smallest cab I’ve ever been in. I’m not quite 5' 10" but my knees were pressed hard against the dividing panel. From the instant we started the guy never shut up. He swore, swerved to hit potholes, and complained incessantly that we were going to cause him to miss a 3:10 fare at the Javits Center. We began to goad him on, telling him he was going a stupid way and he should have cut across on 22^nd St. When we arrived he turned the meter off two blocks from our destination. It read $8. I was going to give him $10 but Jeffrey insisted that he be rewarded with at least $12 so I gave him a $4 tip. He yelled, “Come on, just pay me, I’m late!” took the money and sped off.

 

Lunch was at the famous Katz’s deli, where Harry met Sally. This place was a real New York Institution but, to paraphrase Woody Allen, who wants to eat in an institution? We didn’t see any actual cockroaches but they would have been right at home here. When I finally got waited on in the Byzantine cafeteria line, after being cut in on by half a dozen people, I watched the unsmiling counterman make my Reuben. The meat was first-rate but the rye bread was more like Wonder bread. They put a little taste of what I was ordering up on the counter for me to munch on while I waited, right next to a cup with dollars sticking out for tips. I got a Katz’s brand bottle of water, which was so poorly manufactured that it was impossible to open it without spilling it everywhere. When we went in they gave everyone a ticket, on which the counterman wrote our orders so we could pay on the way out (cash only). If you lost your ticket it was like a parking garage, you pay for 30 days worth of food or something. The sandwich was only $11.40 plus tax.

 

We took a much saner cab ride back to the hotels and I caught up on email and FlyerTalk before dinner. We met under the clock at the Waldorf and Michael arrived right on time so we walked over to Maloney & Porcelli to cash in the rain check on free booze from last night. Our friend took care of us and brought a free bottle of wine as well as a goat-cheese pizza. I was still stuffed from doing nothing but eat my whole life so I just had a few Bluepoint oysters. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but I had a few bites of Teresa’s coconut cake which was excellent. We just loved our maitre d’ so when we found out he waited tables at Smith & Wollensky’s on weekends we decided to go there after the show on Saturday. This guy turned a potential problem into three meals.

 

After dinner we headed to Brooklyn to hang out with Howard Bloom, whose new book Global Brain had just come out. He never leaves his apartment, which is kind of an intellectual salon these days, so we talked about everything for a couple hours and then took a car service back to midtown. Jeffrey was tired because he’s old but Michael and I had a drink in the lobby lounge. Then Michael went home. I had planned to get one more Manhattan for the road but I got involved chatting with a bicoastal couple about the Ritz-Carlton Marina del Rey, which I have a view of from my apartment, and one thing led to another. Soon we were joined by Joe, a young, buff, tattooed Italian kid who was there with his cousin celebrating his signing the rights to his life story to a book and movie deal. He was a Wall Street broker who was being extorted by the Mafia. Joe found out the male half of the bicoastal couple was turning 30 next week so he ordered a birthday cheesecake and I had just one piece. I kept looking around in case any wiseguys came in and gunned us all down but they didn’t so we just had three or four more rounds and closed the place down around three.

 

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Not Vaunted

Jeffrey and I had some business in New York so I booked a flight down to coincide with a trade show he was speaking at. This was my first use of the Vegas trick: frequently a flight from LA through Vegas to the East Coast is cheaper than a nonstop flight. In this case I saved $100 or so. When the United labor troubles were in full swing a kind United angel offered to switch my convoluted itinerary to the nonstop so I wouldn’t get stuck so I was now booked on the first flight out to JFK, flight 10. Hunnybear drove me half-asleep in her shiny black Cabrio to Terminal 7 where I went through secret security and headed for the 1K room to check in.

 

As usual the ladies there were cordial but did me no special favors. My agent collected a North American upgrade cert and laughed when I asked about a double upgrade. “Can’t your company buy you a business-class ticket?” she asked. “Well, since I’m my company, I don’t think so.” I asked her if she knew what the fare difference was. They just don’t get it. I wheeled over to gate 75 and asked again about a double upgrade but the agent said they would have to give a reason. I suggested how about “being nice” but apparently that didn’t fly. Meanwhile I saw the other agent upgrading a young woman whom I’m guessing was an employee or relative to First Class. I asked about switching my seat to 10F or 11F, seeing as how I’d already see Where the Money Is twice before, but they were already taken.

 

I reluctantly went on board the aging 767-200 and took my seat 5C, the middle bulkhead with a good view of the movie. This aircraft had very old seats, which were wider and therefore more comfortable than the newer ones. I asked an older German stewardess about moving into one of the empty seats and she went and asked the gate agent who said no. “Only for employees, eh?” I said. She replied that no, they like to keep it to a maximum of 50% employees, or was it 75%? Anyway, she said, that’s one of their few perks. Nice perk.

 

I moved over to 5A since I didn’t want to watch the movie ant I was the only one in the whole row. I spent the entire flight looking at the two empty seats in F and thinking about other airlines I could fly. It’s amazing how much goodwill United burns with this policy. If American came out tomorrow and said “Top elites get the best available seat on all flights,” I’d think seriously about jumping ship.

 

They had complimentary newspapers on this flight, the same ones they can’t seem to keep stocked in the Red Carpet Club because the customers keep taking them. I was offered water or orange juice before takeoff and took a water and asked for a decaf, which I got.

 

We took off on time. The stewardess brought around biscotti (that and the newspapers are the only advantage in Business Class on this “premium” flight over the normal two-class F service) and menus. Choices for breakfast were quiche, French toast, or fruit plate. I chose the quiche, being the least carbo-bomb of the three. It arrived dry and overdone with a rubbery crust. They didn’t start the movie for an hour after takeoff. Why? After the movie was a good episode of Frasier followed by some Discovery Channel shows. An hour and 45 minutes before landing they brought around the second meal, a deli plate. They’ve now removed all the expensive elements of the deli cart that they serve in F, including roast beef, salmon, and shrimp. What was left looked like Oscar-Meyer Luncheon Pak. Amusingly, the menu specified “choice of” mustard or mayonnaise but they actually brought both, in little plastic tubs right next to the paper tubes of salt and pepper. There was a miniature box of excellent Godiva chocolates on the tray. I had half a glass of a nice Médoc with lunch.

 

We landed a few minutes early despite the pilot’s earlier warning that flight time would be longer than usual. The purser wished us well and actually didn’t repeat the usual inane “wherever your final destination may take you” and said instead, “wherever your travel plans may take you,” which makes a lot more sense. My destination doesn’t take me anywhere—I have to go to it.

 

I had neglected to arrange a limo to town but fortunately the taxi line was not too long. A nice young man zoomed me toward the City. Construction on the new Skytrain to JFK was going along well with concrete pillars all along the Van Wyck Expressway. There was no traffic at all until we hit town but then we sat in cross-town traffic for 15 minutes. We were about to make a left turn from the second lane to get to the W but the driver saw a cop giving a taxi a ticket for doing just that so he asked me if I wouldn’t mind going up another two blocks. Since it was a flat fare I didn’t mind.

 

Two events were going on: the US Open Tennis Championship, which apparently had some people staying at the W because there was an official marked van parked in front, and a Millennium Peace Conference across the street at the Waldorf-Astoria. I was hoping Anna Kournikova would be staying at the W since she was on my list of five. I looked around the bar for her but then I realized she was too young to drink in the land of the free. In Russia they wean them with Vodka.

 

A pleasant young doorman dressed in black wheeled my luggage into the hotel for me. The W lobby was very attractive in daytime, a light and sweeping space with the bar and lounge area to the right and their famous club Whisky Blue off to the left. I was expecting the snooty front-desk experience that so many had reported. Imagine my surprise when four attractive young desk clerks dressed in black T-shirts all smiled broadly and made eye contact with me as I arrived. I picked the short curvy brunette, Alicia, and gave her my name and credit card. “Hmm,” she said. “We have you in a corner suite, Mr. Lion, but I apologize that your room won’t be read for a couple of minutes. Why don’t you have a drink at the bar on the house while you wait?” I was stunned. What a superb experience! Clearly somebody at Starwood had been reading Jeffrey Gitomer’s book, which is not surprising since I sent them all copies. I went to the bar and ordered a Manhattan from the nice bartender.

 

In a few minutes Alicia came over to bring me my room key. I complimented her on the experience and she beamed. I finished my drink then went up to my room. The signage in the halls was minimal and it was difficult to find the room. I ended up having to go down a short flight of stairs to get there. I did indeed have a suite: two tiny rooms with a full-size (not queen) bed and 1.5 small bathrooms but a cool floor-level shower with swivel head. The walls were painted cream with a ring of green leaves stenciled 12 inches below the ceiling. There was no high-speed Internet access.

 

I checked email and FlyerTalk and then headed across the street to meet Jeffrey and Teresa under the famous clock at the Waldorf. They were waiting for me so we went out to catch a cab to Little Italy for dinner. Just as we found a vacant taxi a police van pulled out in front of traffic, blocking the street. We climbed in the cab and the driver started the meter. It ticked and ticked as we waited 10 minutes while traffic was blocked. Finally a motorcade pulled up and parked in front of the Inter-Continental next door. That really rankles me. In this country, why is anyone so important that the public streets are blocked off to let them make their way through the city? Unless, like, it was me or something. Then it would be OK.

 

We arrived at Da Nico on Mulberry St. and went through to the garden out back for outside seating. Our waiter took care of us and brought us a bottle of excellent Chianti for under $30. Jeffery’s new partner Andy joined us and we had a superb meal, my third within seven hours. I started with beef carpaccio and had the recommended red snapper. Focaccia bread was phenomenal. You have to work really hard to get a bad meal in New York.

 

After dinner we went back to the clock at the Waldorf to meet a couple business associates for drinks and dessert. The lobby was filled with spiritual and religious leaders here for the peace conference so it was tough to find a place to sit down. There was an empty sofa but someone had left some stuff there reserving it. Jeffrey said never mind, we could take their seats because we knew they weren’t going to fight us for them. So we did.

 

Our friends arrived and we walked a block to Maloney & Porcelli, a steakhouse owned by the same group as TGI Friday’s and Cité. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but they had profiteroles which are on my list of five so I had them. They were OK but could have used more hot fudge sauce. Teresa got a beautiful chocolate cake with a stamped chocolate cow atop it, possibly in honor of the Cows on Parade event that used to be in Chicago but is now in New York. After we finished our desserts and sat around awhile, the manager came by and said, “Can I buy you all a drink at the bar?” When we looked astonished, he continued, “I really need this table.” Another superbly handled customer-service problem. Jeffrey congratulated him and game him a card, saying he’d be mentioned in an upcoming column. We took a rain check on the drinks.

 

Nobody was up for late-night partying so we parted ways and I returned to my suite. There was a nice blue bottle of sparkling Ty Nant water, my favorite, and a box of four miniature chocolates waiting for me. I climbed into the Heavenly-like bed and slept like a dream.

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Hello Aladdin; Farewell Desert Inn

Around nine I got a call from Arnie. He said he’d heard through the grapevine that Tiger Woods, Michael Jordan, and Shaquille O’Neal were going to come play in the high-rolling Mansion Casino at MGM Grand in about a half-hour. I finished writing, showered, and came down but they weren’t there yet. They never did show up by the time we checked out. I used the video checkout, paid the $2 for two local calls to the Internet, and went down to retrieve the red Mitsubishi Mirage from valet hock.

 

Arnie drove us over to Aladdin to check out the new casino and shopping mall. If there was a way to enter from the Strip we missed it and had to cut through the Paris parking lot to get around back. They wanted $2 plus tip for the valet so we self-parked and went into the mall. Desert Passage was yet another Vegas mall with painted sky. Only about half the spaces were occupied by open shops but the ones that were open were nice, high-end boutiques and trendy places like Z Gallerie. Arnie and Gary hopped on a bicycle-driven rickshaw for a free tour ($3 tip accepted with gushing joy) while I walked briskly and had little difficulty keeping up. The coolest store in Desert Passage was Build-a-Bear, where you get to design your own teddy bear out of the materials provided. I was content with my Hunnybear so I passed.

 

Eventually we found the casino. It had a unique interior with lots of stairs and escalators but it was not exceptionally large. There was only one Pai Gow Poker game going on for $10/hand and the high-roller room ($25) was deserted. The lobby was nice and there was a pleasant lounge on the upper level that looked like it had live music in the evening. The other high-roller area, the London Casino, didn’t open till four so we didn’t see it but apparently the dealers wear long gowns. My overall sense of the place was cramped and noisy but there were some pretty sights and at least it wasn’t a cookie-cutter knock-off.

 

All three of us climbed back in the rickshaw for a ride back to the parking lot and this time I tipped the driver $2. He was still beaming so I guess some people hadn’t been tipping him at all. Arnie drove us through the back alleys to Barbary Coast and told the pit boss we were here for lunch so we got a comp slip for three. We ordered a ton of good Chinese food. They didn’t have anything but Merlot by the glass so I ordered a bottle of Beaujolais listed at $12 on the menu. It was pretty decent and I left most of the bottle. Arnie corked it and stuffed it in our sassy waitress’s apron pocket as a tip. We left 10 bucks and I decided to play a couple hands of video poker. I stuck $100 in a Deuces Wild machine and hit Max Play. Well it was a $5 machine, five coins per hand, and three hands per play for a total of $75 a press! I got an inside straight and drew to it. It hit on two of the three hands for a win of 20 coins, a net profit of $25! I cashed out quick.

 

It was 1:30 so we headed over to Desert Inn to play the last few hands before they closed forever. It was sad. Even sadder, we arrived to find the parking lot fenced off. We parked in the valet lot as no valets were in sight. A news camera was set up in front of the hotel. We approached the door but were told that it was already closed, apparently at 2 a.m. last night. We had the wrong information from the news media. We kissed the old DI goodbye and tried to imagine a 40-acre lake with four new hotels surrounding it. I hoped one of them would be a Starwood property.

 

We decided to finish up at Mandalay Bay. I played a little Pai Gow Poker but there wasn’t a decent game going so I just treaded water and ended up ahead a little more. It was a great trip gambling-wise: all three of us won. After a couple hours it was time to head to the airport so we fetched the car from valet parking and began the short drive to the airport. On the way we drove right by the airplane graveyard and saw all the decommissioned United DC-10s up close. We returned the car to Dollar, which didn’t have the outdoor wireless devices, and waited five minutes for the shuttle. It stopped at the desolate Terminal 2 to let off a dozen people who were flying ATA. It looked scary.

 

Arnie showed me the secret way up to the gates. I checked in and my upgrade came through but the flight was delayed 20 minutes so I played some more video poker and won another $50. What a trip! The poker machines I play have a house advantage of only 1.1% with perfect play so it’s not too bad. It costs me an average of 5-1/2¢ per pull—not bad entertainment. Once again I broke the bank. I cashed out just in time to sprint to the gate before they called Zone 1.

 

I had seat 1C, my old favorite. My seat opponent was once again a beautiful woman in the fashion industry. She was Italian and touring all her company’s US stores. I advised her to see Venice Beach and the Getty Museum while in town and told her the Andiamo restaurant at the Hilton where she was staying was good. Service was good once again although the announcements were robotic and in that patented United schoolteacher tone. A salient quote: “When the seatbelt sign is on, using the restroom is not an option.” Hey doll—sometimes it’s the only option, you know what I mean?.

 

We landed 20 minutes late. I took the shuttle to secret parking, put the top down, paid the $14, and zoomed home to my Hunnybear.

 

The end.

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Happy Smiling Pilots

 

I got a great comp deal in the mail from the MGM Grand so I booked an overnight trip to Vegas to meet Catman and the Arnie the Compmeister. Arnie and his brother Gary had received the same deal.  I drove my white Pontiac convertible to the secret parking and took the shuttle to Terminal 7 in plenty of time for the first flight out. The line for United Shuttle checkin was snaking into the next terminal but there was nobody in the First Class/Premier 1K line so I made my way past a bass fiddle and weaved my way through the maze. An unsmiling male agent in a blue vest was typing away at his terminal so I wheeled up to him. “I’m not ready yet,” he said, quoting his Customer-Repellent manual verbatim. “I’ll wave you in when I’m ready.” Oh. OK. I wheeled back six feet and waited till he was ready. After 30 seconds he waved to me, still not smiling. “Hey!” yelled the lady at the front of the plebeian line, “I’m next.” “Ma’am, I’m servicing the First Class/1K line today.” “Does not matter!” She shouted. “Yes,” said the agent. “Yes it does matter.” He looked up at me with the barest hint of a smile. “I’m beating people up for you today.” I thanked him for his support and checked in.

 

I went through secret security and got beeped no matter how much metal I took out so they had to do me manually. They had security settings on high today. I stopped by the Red Carpet Club to pick up a Styrofoam cup of decaf and a couple of biscotti. They normally don’t like to put out too many biscotti because people just take them. Fortunately I had arrived in time to be the guy who takes them. I headed directly to gate 85. As I did, I saw happy, smiling pilots walking the other way, no doubt delighted they had come to agreement with United on their new contract. I passed a man shaking his head and saying to his wife, “I wouldn’t have picked United.” They’ve got a lot of PR work to do.

 

I was the first one on board and took seat 1C. The pilot was standing in the galley with a big grin, warmly greeting each passenger coming on board. “A lot of happy pilots today,” I said to him. “Yes,” he said. “I think we got what we wanted.” Good for you. My seat opponent was a beautiful tall woman who designed clothes and was heading to Vegas for a convention. She had been delayed three times yesterday by United. What little service there was on a Shuttle flight was delivered in a friendly and competent manner, which is all, I think, that anyone can really hope for. We arrived 10 minutes early.

 

Arnie’s flight was due to arrive at 10:05 so I had some time to play Deuces Wild. I hit a pat flush on the first hand and a pat five-of-a-kind on the second! The first session is an omen of the trip so I was happy about that. I kept playing and cashed out exactly even but the machine ran out of dollars. “Yes!” I shouted. “I broke the bank! Muhahahahahaha!” The change girl got on the phone and called for a refill. “What time is your flight?” she asked. “I’m picking someone up.” “About 10 minutes,” she said into the phone. Someone came and refilled the hopper and I was on my way.

 

I went down to baggage claim to see if the remote checkin for MGM Grand was open. It wasn’t, so I went back up through security to the C gates. The Compmeister was flying in from Phoenix with his brother Gary on Southwest. I had a few minutes so I played a little more Deuces Wild. This time I had a big losing streak but I hit a Wild Royal at the end and recovered all but $60. The old buzzard at the change booth counted out my money and instead of giving me the last $20 started counting ones. “Are you out of twenties?” I asked. “No. You want a twenty?” “Please.” He was obviously hustling tips.

 

The monitor still said 10:05 but the plane was nowhere in sight so I asked the nice Southwest agent when it was due. “10:17,” she said. “But the monitor still says 10:05.” “Those are the airport monitors. We have no control over those.” Really. Does the airport just tune in the radio to the flight delay channel? Who gives them the information if not Southwest? I didn’t believe it but didn’t make it an issue.

 

Finally Arnie and Gary arrived. Apparently there had been a medical emergency on the previous leg and the plane had diverted to Oklahoma City. I know that’s where I’d want to go if I had a medical emergency. I hear the hospital food is great there. The Comp brothers went to Dollar to rent a car on an $18.99 deal and I went to meet Catman. His United flight got in early too and we met at the tram stop in the main terminal and headed down to meet the boys. We took the shuttle to Dollar and piled into a tiny car and headed to MGM Grand.

 

Arnie looked for a front-desk manager that he knew to see about some comp upgrades. He wasn’t there but his boss was. She said the casino doesn’t like them giving comp upgrades on comp rooms but she did it anyway so all three of us got large Spa Suites with whirlpool baths. The Compmeister did it again. We said not a word but went straight down to play. I settled into the Pai Gow Poker pit and found a great game. I immediately lost the $75 in free chips I got as part of the comp package but hit a winning streak and built a nice cushion for the trip.

 

Our brunch reservations were for 1:20 at the Brown Derby but we showed up at one and munched on lamb chops while we waited. MileCrazy showed up a few minutes later and we got a nice round table near the food. I didn’t realize it was a buffet but it was a great one. Arnie requested some hot king-crab legs and we received a huge platter, steaming, with melted butter. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but come on. This buffet was world class and at $37.50 including Domaine Ste. Michelle was a pretty good deal compared to Bally’s $50 Sterling Brunch. The Compmeister entertained us with stories of past comps while Catman regaled us with plans for next year’s Catman-do-trois in New York.

 

We made plans to meet up with Catman and MileCrazy later. Gary decided to hit the Spa, which we had free admission to as part of our package, and Arnie and I headed for the pool. The new MGM pool is superb and has the longest Lazy River I’ve seen. We floated around under our own power taking in the sights and then Arnie found two abandoned inner tubes and grabbed them. “See?” he said. “I got those comped too?” “Arnie, that’s not a comp. That’s theft.” “Gray area,” he said. Regardless, we floated around a few more laps and then bestowed the tubes on some kids in case to throw the inner-tube police off our trail.

 

I changed and played some more Pai Gow Poker before we headed over to the Orleans for our show. We had Smothers Brothers tickets and picked them up at will call. Arnie had arranged comps for himself and Gary but I had to pay. “Tsk tsk,” I said. “Slipping.” But we sat down to play blackjack and the Compmeister went into action. Within 20 minutes we had a comp for dinner in the steakhouse, four rounds of four drinks at the show, and a credit-card refund for my ticket. Oh master, how could I ever have doubted you?

 

I lost my shirt at blackjack as usual and we headed into the show. As we had heard, the Smothers Brothers, in the 42^nd year of their unique comedy-music act, were still great. They put on a first-class show and, when the crowd called for an encore, played “Michael, row the boat ashore” to ensure that nobody would ask for a second one.

 

We headed into the Canal St. steakhouse and had some excellent food. I tried the bone-in New York, which was quite good. The French onion soup was superb, as were the crab cakes I tasted from Arnie and the escargot Gary ordered. The menu is very reasonably priced even if we weren’t being comped and they had a great selection of inexpensive wines with a modest markup. I selected a bottle of Meridian Pinot Noir listed at $25. As a rule I don’t eat dessert but they had bananas Foster so I just had one. Catman and MileCrazy joined us for a few comp drinks at the end. I continued to be impressed with Coast properties and their great restaurants at modest prices.

 

We headed to Flamingo to take Catman home. Arnie and Gary played a little blackjack but the Pai Gow action was not great so I watched for a bit. A strung-out hooker sat down next to Arnie and we decided to get the heck out of there. What a dump this place had become.

 

We made plans to get together the next morning. I played a few more hours of Pai Gow Poker but didn’t get anywhere. I crashed around 2:30.

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Economy Plus

I awoke in the Sheraton North Houston to the lilting strains of Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” and wrote for about an hour before Paul came by for breakfast. He had spent the last nine months in Paris but had now moved to Houston. We caught up over a decent buffet breakfast in the Sheraton restaurant ($9.95) and then got so engrossed in talking that he accompanied me to the airport. I checked out of the hotel and saw that I had no local phone charges since I had been upgraded to Club level.

 

We boarded the Mercury Grand Marquis and set Neverlost for the Hertz return. When we arrived I realized I had forgotten to buy gas. That cost me $38. The rental itself was $19. Hertz had charged an estimated $4.05/gallon for the gas. Outrageous. We took the shuttle on about a 20-minute ride to the United terminal and I checked in at the Premier/First Class line even though there was no one in either line. The flight was on time but my upgrade had not come through. The agent said my chances looked good though. We headed to gate A11 to continue talking and sat next to a guy studying for an Internet exam. I felt like turning to him and challenging him: “OK, buddy: 127.0.0.1?” But I didn’t.

 

Then came the dreaded announcement, the first one in my two years as a 1K: “For those passengers waiting for an upgrade, the First Class cabin has checked in completely full.” I didn’t believe my ears. I sidled up to the counter and said, “Did I hear that correctly? First Class is full?” “I’m afraid so.” “No employees up there?” “Uh…I don’t think so.” “Well, I’ll just hang around until the last minute in case something magic happens.” As I scanned the waiting area for possible movie stars, I rehearsed what I was going to say in case I walked onto the plane and saw a platoon of uniformed flight attendants camped out in my jamboree. They called all rows and I asked if any magic had happened. Nope. I hugged Paul goodbye and steeled myself for a possible confrontation.

 

I turned right at the end of the Jetway and saw eight Taiwanese businessmen filling all eight seats in First Class. It turned out half the plane was full of passengers connecting to Taipei through LAX. I took my seat in 4C, carefully chosen as always just in case. This was the first time I ever had to use it though. I stood at my seat until the last passenger boarded. Yes! Only a couple of empty seats on the plane, but the one next to me was blocked out. I settled into the seat and my jaw dropped. The legroom! The seat width and legroom in Economy Plus were comparable to a 767 in First Class! Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad.

 

Then came the other dreaded announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen, your flight attendants are primarily here for your safety.” Wonderful. If there’s an emergency, I hope it doesn’t involve the flight attendants knowing how to cook beef. Frankly I’d prefer flight attendants that were here primarily to make me happy. And what about those seats that cost extra in Economy Plus and First Class? Are those extra safe? I sure like sitting up there in those really safe seats. No, nice pretty Texas girls who didn’t know a thing about anything but cooking and being sweet would be fine. In the event of an emergency she could just wrinkle her nose and say, “Is there a big strong man on board who could help li’l ol’ me open that big heavy door for just a minute?”

 

Then, as seems to happen more often than not, though, there was a problem with the entertainment system on the Airbus. The daddy sitting in the bulkhead was congratulating himself on scoring such great seats. I told him yes, those were very nice except you can’t see the movie. His face fell. Sure enough, when they started the feature I heard comments like, “It’s like looking at a negative.” I had more problems. None of the seats in my row had any audio on any channel. And in the weirdest problem yet, my channel selector skipped directly from channel 15 to 2, missing 1 entirely. The flight attendants brought spare headsets for my safety but it was to no avail. Finally they restarted the movie since a couple other people in Coach and the entire First-Class cabin had no audio. No dice. As a last resort the purser offered to put the sound track on the PA system if no one objected. No one did but she couldn’t figure out how to work it. If there’s an emergency I hope it doesn’t involve knowing how to work the video system.

 

So I watched the video portion of the movie, Center Stage, on and off. It appeared to be about teenage girls wearing leotards, one of my favorite subjects, so I was disappointed I didn’t get to hear the dialogue. I made it up in my head. “Do you like my new leotard?” “Oh, yes, I like it very much. It’s a nice color on you.” “Thank you. I was thinking of wearing it to the Prom.” “Oh, definitely. It will go quite well with a corsage.”

 

The drink cart came around and they did a stealth drink comp to compensate for the movie problems. In a stealth drink comp they don’t announce that they’re giving away free drinks but if you order one they don’t charge you. I’m not sure if it was just for me because I was 1K or if they did it for the whole cabin but they included my seat opponent, a minister from Oxnard, California, who finally asked for a beer after several subtle hints from the stewardess. He was crowing to me about the benefits of Silver Wings membership in conjunction with Oxnard Airport. Apparently Silver Wings members get mileage-based fares that save lots of money when flying in and out of boutique airports like that. He said he flew 100,000 miles last year on United so I educated him a bit about those funny certificates that come in the mail. We discussed whether we thought Jesus would accept an upgrade and decided that it fell into the category of anointing his feet with precious oils so it was probably OK if given freely.

 

Lunch was a cheeseburger recycled from recalled Firestone SUV tires, served with tasteless onions on an overtoasted bun, accompanied by Lays potato chips and a pickle. The stewardess thought some of the entrees might be chicken but didn’t know how to tell them apart. If there’s an emergency I hope it doesn’t involve being able to tell entrees apart. Dessert was a tiny shortbread cookie, which I passed on since as a rule I don’t eat dessert. The curtains were closed and I imagined the hushed laughter, the clinking of champagne, the smell of fresh pheasant as the glass is lifted by liveried waiters—

 

All too quickly the captain announced our descent. I put away my toys and watched wistfully as the purser presented hot towels to the First-Class passengers. That’s really the thing I miss the most, I thought. And then she made my day. Quite unexpectedly, she ventured two steps beyond the barrier, leaned in, smiled, and said only to me, “Would you like a hot towel, Mr. Lion?” Oh yes. Yes indeed. Indeed I would.

 

The flight arrived at the gate 10 minutes late although it was scheduled for 15 minutes early. There was a lot of traffic on the ramp. Hunnybear was waiting at the secret place and we drove down to Newport Beach to pick up Pluto, in town for a wedding himself. We found him, parched and sweating, having attempted to walk “a couple blocks” in Orange county.

 

We swung by the Westin South Coast Plaza to take a look at the suite of rooms they had given him. The rooms had been redone with nice new W-like furniture and Heavenly Beds, although the windows in the hotel still had the scratchy film over them that I remembered from my last stay there with Hunnybear. He had only bought one room but they gave him three. Nice going, Pluto. We drove back to the Marina and showed Pluto our own suite of rooms, then went for a walk up Venice beach before dropping Pluto off at United for his flight back to Seattle.

 

Hunnybear and I took my white Pontiac convertible up to Burbank to meet with the FlyerTalk gang for dinner at Castaways. The part of Burbank near the foothills was very nice. We drove up a winding road to this historic view restaurant that burned down a few years ago and was completely rebuilt. Like most view restaurants, the food was awful, but the company was great. Catman had shaved off his whiskers. We wished PremEx a happy birthday and asked him what he was going to do. His response, of course: “I’m going to Disneyland!”

 

The end.

 

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Comps galore

Not expecting to see Kokonutz the next morning, I was surprised to find him in the elevator lobby as I was returning to my room to retrieve my forgotten cell phone. His presentation was finished and we decided to hit the casino host to get some more comps. We wheeled our luggage to the VIP-services office by the front desk. There were four clerks there behind a huge counter. It looked like a very upscale travel agency. I poured myself a cup of decaf from a silver urn while the clerk looked up our accounts. She sent us across the casino to a different office that actually said “casino host.” Apparently we weren’t quite VIP enough to deserve to be in the plush room so we wheeled our bags across the casino.

 

The casino host office had low ceilings, fluorescent lights, and several desks that mostly looked unlived in. A nervous guy named Bob, who reminded me of the Dan Hedaya character in Joe versus the Volcano (“I know he can get the job. But can he do the job?”), sat fidgeting on the telephone, ignoring us, so we wandered around the room, picked up doodads and examined them, leafed through the fake books on the particle-board shelves, and played with the mounted bass that dances and sings to “Don’t Worry, Be Happy” until Bob got off the phone.

 

I told Bob that we were ready to check out and would ideally like to get comped for last night’s meal, have a comp lunch now, and get a limo to the airport. He punched a few buttons. “Would you like to have lunch at the coffee shop? The buffet?”

 

“We’d like to have lunch at the nicest place we can go that we don’t have to pay.”

 

“Would you like to have lunch at the coffee shop or the buffet?” Koko and I figured that since we had tried the coffee shop about six hours ago that we would go to the buffet. No problem. Bob picked up the phone and reserved a limo for us for 1:15 to take Koko to the airport and we headed for the buffet. It was just as bad as the coffee shop but had the added problem of several shelves of dessert. Koko and I agreed that, since as a rule neither of us eats dessert, that if the dessert selection was crappy we’d only eat a little bit. So we each got just a couple pieces of cake or pie with maybe a little soft-serve ice cream to cleanse the palate.

 

On the way to check out we played a few hands of nickel video poker and then headed for the front desk. My only charges were the tips and phone calls—one-dollar flat rate for local calls, which I’ve never seen any casino comp. A skinny guy wearing a black suit and black shirt with a black-and-white tie escorted us into a cherry-red stretch limo and dropped Kokonutz off at the airport in plenty of time for his flight home. I had the driver then take me to the Mirage to play some more Pai Gow Poker.

 

I had great luck at the Mirage and couldn’t lose. There were some high rollers in this place, still one of the nicest casinos in Vegas. One guy was playing two hands of $1000 at the next table. A fidgety Chinese guy from Albuquerque at my table was sipping cognac, shuffling his chips, betting only exact multiples of $115, and bemoaning the $15 grand he dropped at Baccarat yesterday. After a few hours I asked for a comp to the nicest dinner I could get without paying. The floor supervisor recommended the coffee shop or the buffet. I picked the coffee shop, which turned out to be superb. I had a shrimp cocktail, Caesar salad, and T-bone steak. I passed on dessert even though it was free. By that time it was almost time to go to the airport and I just hopped into a cab rather than arrange for a limo even though I probably could have.

 

The cab ($11) dropped me at United Airlines and I went right to the Premier/First-Class checkin counter since there was no one in line. I once again had reserved seat 1A. The agent asked for certs but I said, “Certs? I don’t need no stinkin’ certs.” He agreed and handed me my boarding pass. I wheeled up to the Monopoly machines and quickly doubled $5. I didn’t put the bucket of nickels through the conveyor belt this time so they didn’t spill all over the floor this time. I changed them at the booth near my gate and headed right for my favorite Deuces Wild machine and once again hit a wild royal for another $55 profit. What a trip!

 

The flight boarded just about on time. Service was once again great. The steward even asked for drink refills on the short 42-minute run. My seat opponent was a Hong Kong Chinese businessman with a beautiful British Accent who got upgraded, leaving his wife and two children behind in coach. I told him about FlyerTalk and he said he’d have his secretary read it.

 

I was the first one off the plane so I raced to the secret place to find my Hunnybear waiting for me in her beautiful black Cabrio to whisk me home.

 

The end.

 

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