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jamesqBright and early Monday morning I arrive at Vancouver airport for my flight to Las Vegas. I had a bit of good news and bad news while at the airport. The bad news is that I discovered that at some point during the last few days, I had cracked the screen to my netbook (Returning to Calgary later, I bought a replacement screen that was remarkably easy to install). The good news is that Steph arrived shortly after this so I had someone to grouse about it to.
With some good planning and a little bit of airline karma, we managed to get the window and aisle seats in the emergency exit row and nobody in between us. There was lots of room for elbows, shoulders and assorted junk.
Sometimes I think of a funny joke and don't think it throughall the way. That happened on the plane.
This didn't stop us from telling everyone in Vegas who thought we were married that Steph was my secretary. I have no idea if anyone got the joke.
We got off the plane and discovered that the entire state of Nevada is an easy-bake oven. It was 45c (that's 113 to you Yanks) when we got off the plane. Thus leading to this exchange in the taxi-line:
All previous trips to Vegas have been in February or November. I knew intellectually that the place got freaking hot in the summer, but now I knew knew.
We stayed at the MGM Grand. I didn't try the $20 trick (you slip the reception clerk a $20 and ask for a complimentary upgrade - apparently this has a 50/50 shot of actually working) since there appears to be no low-level suites (the next step up from our standard room) that had two beds. We got a view of the airport/Tropicana/Excalibur and were reasonably high up and close to an elevator, so I was happy. Not giving a shit about your room means never being disappointed unless something is actually broken.
I unpacked my bags and Steph dove into the magazine-o-Vegas-attractions that every room in the city has. It now being mid-afternoon and we were both hungry so I took her to The Burger Bar, thus beginning a strangely repetitive trip for me. I did a lot of things on this trip that I'd done before, mostly in an effort to play guide to Steph and show her things I knew she'd like. In this way I made her a Vegas-believer.
Our service at The Burger Bar was light-years ahead of the last time I was here. We got some good recommendations for beer and fixings and he was friendly, but not so chatty that he interrupted real conversations. It was nice, but we both ate way too much and spent the rest of the day feeling stuffed.
We explored some casinos, which Steph looked upon with a sort of detached academic interest (she just doesn't have the gambling bug).
Eventually we returned to our room. Steph wanted to rest but I was still eager to do stuff. I ended up getting myself a ticket for Crazy Horse Paris from one of those discount ticket vendors on the street. I ended up getting a basically perfect seat for the show and ordering an insanely expensive but damned tasty cocktail - the joy of charging things to your room like you're a real grown-up or something! The show itself? Very entertaining, but not for prudes.
Day two consisted of a walk around the Miracle Mile (including breakfast at the Earl of Sandwich). Getting there we had to walk by a gauntlet of ho-card slappers. They weren't offering any to me though (possibly they thought I was married to Steph) so I had to go up and ask for them. I wanted to make sure Steph got the full Vegas experience, and that has to include a mitt-full of ho-cards right?
Steph bought a very nice skirt at the Betty Page store and afterward we spent a few hours at the Atomic testing Museum.
The ATM is a very good, complete and informative exhibit for anyone interested in this era of history (or if you're just into recreating some Atompunk props for your cosplay). My one real complaint about the exhibit was a constant, but low-level sense of patronizing towards people who were against atomic testing (weapons or otherwise). It can be summed up by the phrase: "I'm proud of my role in creating nuclear weapons for America. People who protest that have the freedom to do so only because of what I did - the poor, naive fools."
Getting to the ATM was easy - we just hopped into a cab at Planet Hollywood's taxi stand. Getting back was a different matter - the ATM doesn't have a taxi stand. It is, however, an easy walking distance to Terrible's Casino (about 400 metres). Or it would be walking distance if it weren't 45c out. The soles of Steph's shoes began to melt on the pavement.. We managed to make it to Terrible's, images of cartoon men crawling over sand dunes dancing in our heads. Then it was a quick taxi back.
That night we ate at Fiamma Trattoria (tasty, but nothing special) and went to see KÀ. KÀ was both better and worse than the time I'd seen it before. We had much better seats, and I wasn't passing out from illness this time, but I'd seen it before, so a lot of the wide-eyed first-timer wonder was gone. Also it didn't help that I saw the guy running around the big big wheel-o-alchemy tripping on his rope in exactly the same point as he tripped last performance. What I thought was an honest near-trip was actually a well rehearsed part of the act. Impressive in a different way, but not nearly so breath-taking.
After the show I had my only real success gambling during the trip. I set aside a certain amount per day and tell myself to stop when I either reach 2X my buy in or 0. I actually ended up tripling my money at Roulette, but instead of stopping I lost it back down to 2X. Alas. I was also standing by a table with a $25 chip thinking "you should throw it on 17 just because." I didn't. 17 came up. AARGH!
Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
I tried my hand at video poker for the first time, which seems like an interesting way of killing time while being served free drinks. Aside from that it was kind of dull. Nice way to people watch though. To each there own.
Speaking of people-watching, I tried my hand at spot-the-prostitute. Sadly I was right outside Tabú nightclub, which gave a lot of false-positives (Steph: That girl is totally dressed like a ho. Me: Nah, she's just a club habitué). Four trips to Vegas and I've never been propositioned (not that I'm anxious to take one up on their offer - I'm far too bashful) - clearly they find me as attractive as normal women do.
Day three we went to The Gun Store, because when in America, do as the Americans!
The Gun Store runs a tight operation. We got out of the cab to see a bunch of people talking to the insanely hot sales girls. One of the girls motioned us over and immediately went into a very inviting sales pitch. I opted for the WWII package, which consists of a 1911 pistol, a Thompson SMG and an MP40 SMG. Steph went for the "any three guns" package (choosing among other guns, a Tommy gun) and we both opted to use the VIP range since she hadn't shot a gun since cadets and the only time I ever shot a gun I was eight and it was a 22 on my uncle's farm.
We had to sign a waiver stating that we were not mentally ill, planning on killing anyone or planning on killing ourselves. I lied and signed it anyway, reasoning that they meant "voices in your head" crazy and not garden variety depression like I have.
Each package came with three targets and a tee-shirt, which you could pick. Mine were the hostage-taking terrorist (shoot the terrorist, don't shoot the hostage), a psycho clown and a zombie chick. Waiting in line at the VIP lounge with our sales girl, we suddenly realized that we had both paid, but had forgotten to use each of our ubiquitous $5-off coupons. D'oh! Hearing this, the sales girl looks around to see if a manager is paying attention and then tells us to help ourselves to an additional tee-shirt on the way out, rather then taking us back to the till to redo our order. Cool!
We meet our instructor, who's a regular forces guy (i.e. this is his second job for when he's not patrolling portions of Iraq or Afghanistan) who knows his guns. Steph and I took turns using our guns while the instructor kept a keen eye on us and occasionally calling us on our dumb mistakes. I had more dumb mistakes than Steph, owing to her being in cadets.
He was definitely on the job, standing right behind you (close enough to grab your gun if need be) while you're shooting.
What was it like? A lot of adrenalin-pumping fun! Try it if you're at all interested, it will get your heart racing. We were both grinning from ear-to-ear afterwards and on the ride back to the hotel.
Apparently I'm a pretty good shot for a beginner. So much so that on my second clip with the pistol he doubled the range of the target. Apparently my archery skill translate over a bit. I shot better than Steph, but then she wasn't wearing her glasses.
We each kept our receipt in case we had a run in with an explosive-detector at the airport on the way back home. Didn't turn out to be necessary though.
Our last night there we had a slight dilemma - Steph wanted to go see Penn and Teller, and I wanted to see Absinthe. So we decided to see the shows separately!
My deal with Steph for KÀ was that I'd buy the tickets for that and she could buy me tickets for another show. We went to a cheap ticket kiosk and she bought me the VIP tickets for Absinthe. I wouldn't have bought VIP tickets personally, but if someone else is treating, sure.
I've seen Penn and Teller before (and I'll probably see them again), so I was more interested in Absinthe anyway. Plus they're likely not going to be around the next time I'm in town.
VIP treatment basically gets you into a "secret" lounge that you wait in until the show starts and then you get first pick of the seats (it's a small venue with rush seating). To get to the secret lounge you need to go through the secret door (a green phone booth).
I walked up to the phone booth.
The back of the phone booth opens up to a nice outdoor lounge with Edwardian-ear chairs interspersed with hammock chairs. I ordered a Corona and sat down and waited for the show to start. A nice quiet half hour passes while I nursed my beer and watched my fellow VIPs. Finally they let us in.
The venue is small. So much so that when the MC warns the front row to stay seated during the rollerskating act, lest you get kicked in the head, he means it! It's a round area with the 4 meter diameter stage in the center. Surround this is three rows of chairs, a step up onto a riser to the next section which is three more rows of chairs and then a bunch of booths in the back.
The show consists of discrete acts, mostly acrobatic, but a few song-and-dance numbers all strung together with some of the most filthy, politically-incorrect comedy you're likely to ever encounter. The first two rows were horribly picked-on by the MC and his assistant. Having an inkling that something like this would happen, I opted for row 4.
The acrobatics are decidedly old-school. This is no Cirque du Soleil show with colourful costumes and story-lines invoking worlds of wonder. Nope, it was a bunch of Russian tumblers marching on stage in their wrestling-gear and throwing each other around. And astonishing the feats they did were!
Absinthe was a hoot and I'd go again in a heartbeat. Too bad it's not going to be there in a few months.
It was late when I got out of the show and the sun had gone down. The temperature had dropped to tolerable levels (about 30c) so I decided to walk back to the MGM. Along the way I figured I'd try the hidden pizza at the Cosmopolitan.
Unfortunately, I couldn't remember exactly where that was (It's "hidden" remember) so I ended up exploring a lot of the Cosmo's nooks and crannies. That is one beautiful hotel. Finally I found the correct hallway and went in to find the pizza joint. I also found all of the ushers who were working at Absinthe! Clearly this was their after-work hang-out. Not wanting to intrude on their down time I ordered a slice and quickly went on my way, doing more exploring as I went.
I ran into them again at the CVS, which I had gone into to get some cheap pop.Were they following me, asked the paranoid part of my mind. Clearly Steph had sent them to keep an eye on me. Did I even know if they were "real" ushers at all? Maybe they were assassins waiting for just the right time to kill me. But I was too clever for them. I set a trap and ambushed them all, using my newly acquired SMG skills to do away with them all, and then I dumped the bodies in a dumpster behind the drug store.
Ahem. Back to the trip. Cosmo's pizza was good, but it wasn't great. I ended up having a superior slice later that night at Bonanno's in MGM's food fare. Walking back I collected more ho-cards. Lots and lots of ho-cards. I had a plan.
More gambling, this time losing my stake after a few hours and that was my cue to go back to bed. Alas.
Our final day in Las Vegas, we were thinking about seeing The Price is Right Live. It's a show I want to see (Steph too), but not for $56. We decided to explore and see if we could find a cheap ticket kiosk with PIRL tickets, but we had no luck. We did manage to get completely lost in City Center (literally coming out behind the point that we entered); decided that Viva Elvis was something we should do on our next trip; had a drink in Cosmo's chandelier; watched the Bellagio fountains (waiting a long time to do so because both of us forgot that we had smartphones and could just look up the next time); had some high-end gelato in the Bellagio; did a lot of window-shopping in the Forum Shops.
We never did see The Price is Right Live. I did manage to stuff all of my ho-cards into Steph's purse. She has decided to keep them there, bless her heart - if you want to see one, ask her.
Along the way I found an outlet for Vosges Chocolates! Mmmmm - bacon chocolate bar.
Returning to the hotel we had about an hour to kill before we had to go to the airport so I decided to gamble some more. Steph decided to watch.
We separated in the airport - her back to Cowtown, me to continue my vacation in beautiful Vancouver.
Note: A slightly shorter version of this post was posted on the Vegas Message Board.
With some good planning and a little bit of airline karma, we managed to get the window and aisle seats in the emergency exit row and nobody in between us. There was lots of room for elbows, shoulders and assorted junk.
Sometimes I think of a funny joke and don't think it throughall the way. That happened on the plane.
"Here's what we do if MM is one of the flight attendants - we look really panicy and plead with him not to tellWe'd basically have been aping a situation in MM's personal life - joking about running away to have an affair is only funny if your ex-wife hadn't done that.garething that we're together. Then we'll see if he can keep a secret or if he blabs to G instantly!".
"That's hilarious," says Steph, "But is MM the best person to pull that prank on?"
"Eesh - you're right, that would be a douchey move. I'm glad you talked some sense into me."It was moot though, MM was not one of our flight attendants.
This didn't stop us from telling everyone in Vegas who thought we were married that Steph was my secretary. I have no idea if anyone got the joke.
We got off the plane and discovered that the entire state of Nevada is an easy-bake oven. It was 45c (that's 113 to you Yanks) when we got off the plane. Thus leading to this exchange in the taxi-line:
"It's strange that it's so hot yet I'm not sweating at all."This had alarming implications for a couple of red-headed Canadians. Clearly any time outside more than about ten minutes would be life-threatening or at least epidermis-threatening.
"You are sweating, it's just evaporating faster than it can get your clothing damp."
All previous trips to Vegas have been in February or November. I knew intellectually that the place got freaking hot in the summer, but now I knew knew.
We stayed at the MGM Grand. I didn't try the $20 trick (you slip the reception clerk a $20 and ask for a complimentary upgrade - apparently this has a 50/50 shot of actually working) since there appears to be no low-level suites (the next step up from our standard room) that had two beds. We got a view of the airport/Tropicana/Excalibur and were reasonably high up and close to an elevator, so I was happy. Not giving a shit about your room means never being disappointed unless something is actually broken.
I unpacked my bags and Steph dove into the magazine-o-Vegas-attractions that every room in the city has. It now being mid-afternoon and we were both hungry so I took her to The Burger Bar, thus beginning a strangely repetitive trip for me. I did a lot of things on this trip that I'd done before, mostly in an effort to play guide to Steph and show her things I knew she'd like. In this way I made her a Vegas-believer.
Our service at The Burger Bar was light-years ahead of the last time I was here. We got some good recommendations for beer and fixings and he was friendly, but not so chatty that he interrupted real conversations. It was nice, but we both ate way too much and spent the rest of the day feeling stuffed.
We explored some casinos, which Steph looked upon with a sort of detached academic interest (she just doesn't have the gambling bug).
Eventually we returned to our room. Steph wanted to rest but I was still eager to do stuff. I ended up getting myself a ticket for Crazy Horse Paris from one of those discount ticket vendors on the street. I ended up getting a basically perfect seat for the show and ordering an insanely expensive but damned tasty cocktail - the joy of charging things to your room like you're a real grown-up or something! The show itself? Very entertaining, but not for prudes.
Day two consisted of a walk around the Miracle Mile (including breakfast at the Earl of Sandwich). Getting there we had to walk by a gauntlet of ho-card slappers. They weren't offering any to me though (possibly they thought I was married to Steph) so I had to go up and ask for them. I wanted to make sure Steph got the full Vegas experience, and that has to include a mitt-full of ho-cards right?
Steph bought a very nice skirt at the Betty Page store and afterward we spent a few hours at the Atomic testing Museum.
The ATM is a very good, complete and informative exhibit for anyone interested in this era of history (or if you're just into recreating some Atompunk props for your cosplay). My one real complaint about the exhibit was a constant, but low-level sense of patronizing towards people who were against atomic testing (weapons or otherwise). It can be summed up by the phrase: "I'm proud of my role in creating nuclear weapons for America. People who protest that have the freedom to do so only because of what I did - the poor, naive fools."
Getting to the ATM was easy - we just hopped into a cab at Planet Hollywood's taxi stand. Getting back was a different matter - the ATM doesn't have a taxi stand. It is, however, an easy walking distance to Terrible's Casino (about 400 metres). Or it would be walking distance if it weren't 45c out. The soles of Steph's shoes began to melt on the pavement.. We managed to make it to Terrible's, images of cartoon men crawling over sand dunes dancing in our heads. Then it was a quick taxi back.
That night we ate at Fiamma Trattoria (tasty, but nothing special) and went to see KÀ. KÀ was both better and worse than the time I'd seen it before. We had much better seats, and I wasn't passing out from illness this time, but I'd seen it before, so a lot of the wide-eyed first-timer wonder was gone. Also it didn't help that I saw the guy running around the big big wheel-o-alchemy tripping on his rope in exactly the same point as he tripped last performance. What I thought was an honest near-trip was actually a well rehearsed part of the act. Impressive in a different way, but not nearly so breath-taking.
After the show I had my only real success gambling during the trip. I set aside a certain amount per day and tell myself to stop when I either reach 2X my buy in or 0. I actually ended up tripling my money at Roulette, but instead of stopping I lost it back down to 2X. Alas. I was also standing by a table with a $25 chip thinking "you should throw it on 17 just because." I didn't. 17 came up. AARGH!
Coulda, woulda, shoulda.
I tried my hand at video poker for the first time, which seems like an interesting way of killing time while being served free drinks. Aside from that it was kind of dull. Nice way to people watch though. To each there own.
Speaking of people-watching, I tried my hand at spot-the-prostitute. Sadly I was right outside Tabú nightclub, which gave a lot of false-positives (Steph: That girl is totally dressed like a ho. Me: Nah, she's just a club habitué). Four trips to Vegas and I've never been propositioned (not that I'm anxious to take one up on their offer - I'm far too bashful) - clearly they find me as attractive as normal women do.
Day three we went to The Gun Store, because when in America, do as the Americans!
The Gun Store runs a tight operation. We got out of the cab to see a bunch of people talking to the insanely hot sales girls. One of the girls motioned us over and immediately went into a very inviting sales pitch. I opted for the WWII package, which consists of a 1911 pistol, a Thompson SMG and an MP40 SMG. Steph went for the "any three guns" package (choosing among other guns, a Tommy gun) and we both opted to use the VIP range since she hadn't shot a gun since cadets and the only time I ever shot a gun I was eight and it was a 22 on my uncle's farm.
We had to sign a waiver stating that we were not mentally ill, planning on killing anyone or planning on killing ourselves. I lied and signed it anyway, reasoning that they meant "voices in your head" crazy and not garden variety depression like I have.
Each package came with three targets and a tee-shirt, which you could pick. Mine were the hostage-taking terrorist (shoot the terrorist, don't shoot the hostage), a psycho clown and a zombie chick. Waiting in line at the VIP lounge with our sales girl, we suddenly realized that we had both paid, but had forgotten to use each of our ubiquitous $5-off coupons. D'oh! Hearing this, the sales girl looks around to see if a manager is paying attention and then tells us to help ourselves to an additional tee-shirt on the way out, rather then taking us back to the till to redo our order. Cool!
We meet our instructor, who's a regular forces guy (i.e. this is his second job for when he's not patrolling portions of Iraq or Afghanistan) who knows his guns. Steph and I took turns using our guns while the instructor kept a keen eye on us and occasionally calling us on our dumb mistakes. I had more dumb mistakes than Steph, owing to her being in cadets.
He was definitely on the job, standing right behind you (close enough to grab your gun if need be) while you're shooting.
What was it like? A lot of adrenalin-pumping fun! Try it if you're at all interested, it will get your heart racing. We were both grinning from ear-to-ear afterwards and on the ride back to the hotel.
Apparently I'm a pretty good shot for a beginner. So much so that on my second clip with the pistol he doubled the range of the target. Apparently my archery skill translate over a bit. I shot better than Steph, but then she wasn't wearing her glasses.
We each kept our receipt in case we had a run in with an explosive-detector at the airport on the way back home. Didn't turn out to be necessary though.
Our last night there we had a slight dilemma - Steph wanted to go see Penn and Teller, and I wanted to see Absinthe. So we decided to see the shows separately!
My deal with Steph for KÀ was that I'd buy the tickets for that and she could buy me tickets for another show. We went to a cheap ticket kiosk and she bought me the VIP tickets for Absinthe. I wouldn't have bought VIP tickets personally, but if someone else is treating, sure.
I've seen Penn and Teller before (and I'll probably see them again), so I was more interested in Absinthe anyway. Plus they're likely not going to be around the next time I'm in town.
VIP treatment basically gets you into a "secret" lounge that you wait in until the show starts and then you get first pick of the seats (it's a small venue with rush seating). To get to the secret lounge you need to go through the secret door (a green phone booth).
I walked up to the phone booth.
"You need to say the secret password to get in."I get into the phone booth and lift the receiver. I hear the other end pick up.
"What's the secret password?"
"Penis butter."
(thinking I must have misheard that) "Peanut butter?"
"PENIS butter".
(rolling my eyes) "Penis butter. Got it."
"The password is penis butter," I said.Believe it or not, these shenanigans actually get you into the right head-space for the show.
"What was that?"
"PENIS BUTTER."
"They lied to you, that's not the password. The real password is 'sauerkraut sucks'."
"Ok."
"You need to say it out loud."
"SAUERKRAUT SUCKS."
The back of the phone booth opens up to a nice outdoor lounge with Edwardian-ear chairs interspersed with hammock chairs. I ordered a Corona and sat down and waited for the show to start. A nice quiet half hour passes while I nursed my beer and watched my fellow VIPs. Finally they let us in.
The venue is small. So much so that when the MC warns the front row to stay seated during the rollerskating act, lest you get kicked in the head, he means it! It's a round area with the 4 meter diameter stage in the center. Surround this is three rows of chairs, a step up onto a riser to the next section which is three more rows of chairs and then a bunch of booths in the back.
The show consists of discrete acts, mostly acrobatic, but a few song-and-dance numbers all strung together with some of the most filthy, politically-incorrect comedy you're likely to ever encounter. The first two rows were horribly picked-on by the MC and his assistant. Having an inkling that something like this would happen, I opted for row 4.
The acrobatics are decidedly old-school. This is no Cirque du Soleil show with colourful costumes and story-lines invoking worlds of wonder. Nope, it was a bunch of Russian tumblers marching on stage in their wrestling-gear and throwing each other around. And astonishing the feats they did were!
Absinthe was a hoot and I'd go again in a heartbeat. Too bad it's not going to be there in a few months.
It was late when I got out of the show and the sun had gone down. The temperature had dropped to tolerable levels (about 30c) so I decided to walk back to the MGM. Along the way I figured I'd try the hidden pizza at the Cosmopolitan.
Unfortunately, I couldn't remember exactly where that was (It's "hidden" remember) so I ended up exploring a lot of the Cosmo's nooks and crannies. That is one beautiful hotel. Finally I found the correct hallway and went in to find the pizza joint. I also found all of the ushers who were working at Absinthe! Clearly this was their after-work hang-out. Not wanting to intrude on their down time I ordered a slice and quickly went on my way, doing more exploring as I went.
I ran into them again at the CVS, which I had gone into to get some cheap pop.
Ahem. Back to the trip. Cosmo's pizza was good, but it wasn't great. I ended up having a superior slice later that night at Bonanno's in MGM's food fare. Walking back I collected more ho-cards. Lots and lots of ho-cards. I had a plan.
More gambling, this time losing my stake after a few hours and that was my cue to go back to bed. Alas.
Our final day in Las Vegas, we were thinking about seeing The Price is Right Live. It's a show I want to see (Steph too), but not for $56. We decided to explore and see if we could find a cheap ticket kiosk with PIRL tickets, but we had no luck. We did manage to get completely lost in City Center (literally coming out behind the point that we entered); decided that Viva Elvis was something we should do on our next trip; had a drink in Cosmo's chandelier; watched the Bellagio fountains (waiting a long time to do so because both of us forgot that we had smartphones and could just look up the next time); had some high-end gelato in the Bellagio; did a lot of window-shopping in the Forum Shops.
We never did see The Price is Right Live. I did manage to stuff all of my ho-cards into Steph's purse. She has decided to keep them there, bless her heart - if you want to see one, ask her.
Along the way I found an outlet for Vosges Chocolates! Mmmmm - bacon chocolate bar.
Returning to the hotel we had about an hour to kill before we had to go to the airport so I decided to gamble some more. Steph decided to watch.
"I should warn you, I'm like a black hole for luck."And then I started losing money fast at the roulette table.
"Rationally that's not possible - the odds of the game are not affected by your presence whatsoever."
"Are you still so sure you want me around."My money continues to vanish at an alarming rate. Is the Croupier actually cycling through the bets faster?
"I feel that as a skeptic, you're presence has nothing to do with this streak of bad numbers, but I will admit that my monkey brain wants you to go away."
"What does your monkey brain have to say now?"I was down to my last $25 dollar chip and I managed to outside bet it back up to $100. Good enough, I'm out of here. Total money staked for the entire trip: $600. Total money won by the end: $300. I could do a lot worse than be $300 down after four days in Las Vegas, but still it felt bad and I wanted to chase my loses. I didn't, because that way lies madness.
"Monkey brain says bad mojo. You go away. Ook ook."
We separated in the airport - her back to Cowtown, me to continue my vacation in beautiful Vancouver.
Note: A slightly shorter version of this post was posted on the Vegas Message Board.
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Date: 2011-07-15 05:14 pm (UTC)