Laughlin, Nevada

Into each life there periodically comes a great, yawning
indifference, a momentous shrug of the shoulders, and a pursing of the
lips that indicates there just isn't a damn thing to do at home. For
those of us located in the lower left corner of the United States, the
remedy is clear: a weekend of financial malfeasance, gluttony,
shameless people-watching, and altogether too much walking can be had
for the price of a tank of gas and a hotel room. I'm speaking of
Laughlin, Nevada, of course, the slower-paced and more plain sister of
Las Vegas. On a recent weekend we loaded up the van and headed north;
this is our great, yawning, indifferent story.

Laughlin is situated almost exactly at the intersection of California,
Nevada, and Arizona. It is some ninety minutes south of Las Vegas, and
Casino Drive, site of The Action, sits right on the banks of the
Colorado River. The gambling history of Laughlin picks up when Don
Laughlin, some guy from somewhere(1) , bought a disused hotel that
serviced men who were building a power generator. The Colorado flowed
due to the various dams in the area, and the future of Laughlin was
sealed when Don went into his own pocket to build a bridge across the
river to the Arizona side. That's about all I know of Laughlin history,
although you can hear it for yourself if you take the interminable boat
ride up and down the Colorado.(2)

Casino Drive has about two miles of casinos, almost all on the river
side of the street. Don Laughlin's own Riverside Hotel/Casino is the
first one as you cross that bridge, and Harrah's is the last. That
power generator is still there, rising all ugly above the desert floor,
and it can be clearly seen from the upper floors of the hotels at the
far end of the drive. The terrain undulates enough to provide some
awe-inspiring views of the various mountain ranges surrounding
Laughlin; on a clear day the scenery is wide-open and admittedly
beautiful. Laughlin is not cursed with the gimmicky, cartoonish skyline
of the Las Vegas Strip, so when you approach the place from the Arizona
side at dusk you're rewarded with a shimmering view of conservative,
well-lit buildings. Sort of like a medical center with table games. On
the Arizona side of the Colorado is Bullhead City, and along the
Colorado are scores of cabins and houses. I'm guessing that they're
retirement or winter homes, because I pity the fool who vacations in
Bullhead City during the summertime.(3) Little water taxis zoom up and
down the river, ferrying people from casino to casino. There is also a
river walkway that links some of the hotels.

Had I been alone in Laughlin, or in the company of some combination of
my buddies, the first stop would have been at the craps table, which is
my favorite place to get the old gambling mojo cooking. On this trip,
however, I was in the company of a wife, a mother-in-law, and my
three-year-old daughter who immediately piped up that she wanted to
play "big girl games." We assumed that she meant the slot machines,
since on the way to the bell desk there were scores of slot machines
manned by women were big in the sense of being old, or big in the sense
of being, well, damned big. We defused that situation in a big hurry,
pointing out that there was an arcade in which she could play Skee Ball
all weekend as far as we cared.(4)

We happened to visit on the same weekend as an auto show. It appeared
as though a few hundred Corvettes from around the country converged
upon Casino Drive, and a good percentage of them were parked at our
hotel. This is not interesting in and of itself, because I'm
indifferent to sports cars in general and Corvettes in particular.(5)
What is interesting is that the Corvette owners were almost exclusively
middle-aged people who were clearly trying to hang on to the little bit
of youthfulness they had left. For example, the men wore t-shirts and
jeans, and their (mostly gray) hair was consistently worn over the ears
and in throwback styles. The women were of the
tight-jeans-and-halter-top variety, with the ghastly sort of brassy
shoulder-length hair that indicated way too many attempts to dye it
blonde. In short, these were people who, while probably very nice, had
sacrificed a chunk of their dignity in order to live up to the sporty
vigor of their show cars. This is in decided contrast to gatherings of,
say, Porsche owners, who tend to be pretty realistic if not fastidious
about their personal appearance.(6)

The real visual takeaway concerning the Corvette show deals with
several portly men standing in line at the buffet. Apparently the show
organizers had very nice polo shirts, complete with collar and
stay-flat placket, made for the occasion. These shirts were whiter than
white, I mean, milktooth white, and apparently no one thought to order
anything larger than an Extra Large. Each of these men was wearing a
polo, and each had a belly and barrel chest that hung out in odd
directions. So, what was the sum visual total? Yes, precisely: a giant
bag of marshmallows. Still, I wished I had one of those shirts.

For the first time ever, I gambled with a woman. Specifically, I played
roulette with my wife, who is seven months with child.(7) Roulette has
several things working in its favor as far as socializing goes. First,
the betting limits are almost always fairly small, and it's possible to
wager as little as a dollar on a given spin of the wheel. Second, the
wheel is only spun about once a minute, if that. Third, the game is
easy to understand and bets are simple to make and interpret.(8) We sat
and played on a single twenty dollar bill for more than a half hour,
and we even made a few bucks in the process. Sherry employed a basic
Gambler's Ruin strategy,(9) while I spread chips all over the table in
effort to get the really big gains. The fun was not in the game itself,
but in the act of relaxation and gin-and-tonic-sipping leisure. The
experience underscored some facts which I have regarded as salient for
a long time. Here they are, in special order:

1. Blackjack is an angry game

Blackjack tables are almost never full of happy people, unless the
dealer just busted and everyone wins. Instead, the weight of the world
seems to rest on each hand, and all fun is forsaken in favor of
approaching 21 from below. By its nature, blackjack attracts the
win-quick crowd, most of whom ply themselves with the dubious trappings
of alleged success: gold chains, sunglasses worn indoors, pinky rings,
and, for some reason, toothpicks. Since blackjack is a game of mostly
complete information(10) , it's possible to form simple strategies that
can yield (theoretically) positive payoffs. The casinos know this, of
course, so they have no problem throwing countermeasures at any and all
card-counting Katzenjammers. Countermeasures include the use of shoes
that hold something like 500 cards, dealing seconds, and nefarious
rules that limit the ability of a strong cardcounter to capitalize on
favorable circumstances. All of this makes blackjack an angry game;
casinos expect some players to be belligerent assholes when they count
and lose (and even when they win), and players almost uniformly bemoan
the son-of-a-bitch cheating dealer that threw them a stiff when they
needed a deuce.(11)

Blackjack also seems to be a very personal game; dealers and players
seem to form odd relationships in which they discuss people, places and
events known only to them, and winning and losing seems secondary. Men
don't seem to mind losing when the dealer is an attractive woman, and a
preponderance of attractive women in a casino seem to prefer the
blackjack tables over craps and roulette. This behavior just adds to
the overblown machismo of the blackjack tables, and I avoid them
accordingly.

2. Craps is a fun game

It is. Unless the dice are very choppy and everyone is losing, craps
tables are joyous gatherings. I've heard that it's dying game because
it's hard to understand all the different bets and the associated
payoff odds, and at first blush it seems confusing. Basically, you make
bets that something will happen before something else happens. If the
something else happens first, you lose everything. If your something
happens first, you win, but not at the rate you should win given the
odds of your event happening before the fatal event happening. Got
that?

Craps dealers, croupiers, the guys who take bets and make payoffs, are
pretty amazing people. They keep track of up to six or eight people,
each of whom can make very complex bets that win or lose with every
toss of the dice. They're constantly in motion, placing chips here and
there, taking chips, making change, reminding players of rules and
etiquette, and the more entertaining dealers joke here and there. Like
blackjack, the jocularity is usually aimed at players they know well,
and the conversation is invariably about something or someone you don't
know. The way to make friends with dealers while attempting to do well
for yourself is to make a "two-way" bet: half of the wager is for you,
half for the dealers. You might toss a red (five dollar) chip at the
middle of the table and say, "Two-way hard eight!" and it's understood
that if double fours come up, you both win. If double fours don't come
up, you've tipped the dealers anyway. Dealers love that sort of thing;
it endears you to them. One of the cornier phrases you'll hear yelled
out after chips are tossed is "One for the boys!" This means that the
chips are an unconditional tip, but no one calls them "the boys"
anymore.

3. Time is not kind to gamblers

How do I put this delicately?older gamblers are not particularly
attractive people, in visage or demeanor. I'm careful to say older
gamblers because it's easy to spot the older non-gamblers: their eyes
are brighter, their gait is more sprightly, and they seem to take
pleasure in their surroundings. Older gamblers are in need of haircuts,
dental work, nicotine gum, and some sort of stimulus that would remove
the gummy ennui that oozes from their persona. It's pretty easy to
intuit why these people look so broken down. First of all, they spend
all their time in a dark, smoky casino. All there is to do besides
gamble is smoke and drink. Also, there's the demoralizing reality of
gambling itself, a heavy fact that really only rears its head when you
do it for too long. You spend all your time waiting for lucky spurts,
favorable swings of the variance, whatever, but eventually you get worn
down by losing and the monotony of the existence. I think this helps
make habitual gamblers even more haggard-looking, and it's sad. Again,
this is in direct contrast to casual visitors who seem to fairly glide
through the room, more taken with the odd pockets of sunlight pouring
in than anything they might gain at the table.

4. Poker is a truly great game

The first thing to understand is that there are about four different
kinds of poker played in casinos, and none of the varieties involve
wild cards. The main varieties are Texas Hold'Em, Seven Card Stud, and
Omaha, each of which is a variation on stud games. In stud games some
cards are revealed, and some aren't, and the inference you draw about
the hidden cards determines your strategy. I have had a great deal of
success playing Texas Hold'Em in Indian casinos, which means that I
have leaned to tame the inner beast that wants to stay in every
freaking hand regardless of the odds of victory. The reason poker is
such a great game is because it rewards traits that I hold as both
virtuous and beautiful: patience, discretion, calculation, and the
gleeful art of hastening the downfall of stupid and obnoxious
people.

You are taking your life into your hands when you sit down to play
poker at a large casino. The players there are practically
professionals, and their understanding of the game will quickly
highlight your lack of understanding. Undressing a neophyte doesn't
take long, and involves a lot less bluffery than you might think. The
key mistake all poker FNG's make is that they bluff far too often, with
far too much money, so they might happen to draw out a superior player
from time to time but on average they will lose. I have not played
poker in Laughlin enough to assess the quality of play, but I'm
guessing there are very good and very bad players.

I don't have many good poker stories because I apply kung fu-level
concentration at all times. I always miss the jokes and pratfalls. I'm
very proud of the nickname I was given in 1994 (when I was out of my
nut for poker; yes, I should have been studying): Smiley. Like every
other lame nickname, it was ironically applied because of my
indifferent expressions and body language, even after winning a pot. I
was purposefully stoic because of an article I'd read about Boris
Spassky's approach to chess.(12) There is one poker maxim that I hold
as self-evident, however: if you can't spot the idiot within an hour,
it's you.

There isn't much to say about entertainment in Laughlin, except that
acts which would be unnoticed in Las Vegas are hyped for weeks in
Laughlin. One would think that the proximity of the two cities,
combined with the undeniable bankroll of even the most meager Laughlin
hotel/casino, would imply a steady pipeline of high-quality
entertainment. Not so. I think the reason might have something to do
with the clientele; retirees probably don't have much interest in the
younger megastars that play Vegas all the time. Instead, Laughlin seems
to offer entertainment for the middle-aged and elderly.

To take two examples, Bill Medley(13) plays Laughlin quite a bit,(14)
and while we were there I noticed that Al Martino was playing the
Ramada Express. As any serious Godfatherphile knows, Al Martino played
the role of Johnny Fontane in the first Godfather movie. Johnny
Fontane, of course, was a thinly veiled version of Frank Sinatra, who
in the mid-1950's was experiencing something of a lull in his career.
The role of Maggio in From Here to Eternity(15) resurrected Sinatra's
career, and the Johnny Fontane version in The Godfather made for the
famous scene in which Jack Woltz woke to find he'd been sleeping with
Khartoum's severed head. That fictional relationship, along with
Spanish Eyes, are apparently Martino's calling cards, which explains
perfectly his presence in a place like Laughlin. I wanted to go, just
to see if there would be any tidbits about the filming of a great
American movie, but it was not to be.

During my first trip to Laughlin, made in 1993 with my then-girlfriend
(now wife) and her family, we saw a show composed entirely of celebrity
impersonators. One of the celebrities being impersonated was Neil
Diamond, and it was claimed in print that this man was the preeminent
Neil Diamond impersonator in the United States. This implied several
things: first, that there is more than one Neil Diamond impersonator,
which I find dubious. Also, there is apparently some council, group,
board, caucus, organization, or coalition whose province is to rate
Neil Diamond impersonators. Finally, the jurisdiction of said group
apparently ends at the borders of the United States.(16) Maybe some
international governing board picks up after that. In any case, I have
to admit that the Neil Diamond impersonator was right-on, if only
because he replicated the real Diamond's cannily Semitic aura without
resorting to Tin Pan Alley hucksterism. Plus the women got to keep
their daiquiri glasses(17) ; that always makes a show go better.

One thing that differentiates Laughlin from Las Vegas is its incessant
and intransigent patriotism. American flags abound, and in many of the
casinos there are nods to veterans left and right. Las Vegas has little
of the sort. The marketing idea, of course, is to cozy up to veterans
of foreign wars, most of whom are old enough to have retired in the
Southwest and are therefore within close driving distance. Far from
being cynical, this ploy is fabulously successful in its premise:
remind men of their youth, vigor, and their part in slaughtering
krauts, japs, gooks, and what have you, and the nickels, dimes, and
quarters will flow in force. After all, the discretionary application
of disposable income in hopes of more disposable income is the bane of
most American existence. It's what these men fought for, and in some
perverse measure it seems appropriate to salute them between pulls of
the slot arm.

There is more than just the flag-waving, soldier-saluting brand of
patriotism, however. There is a definite rustic air pervading Casino
Drive, sort of a melange of Old West sensibilities, mid-American
earnestness, and southern charm. It's hard to put my finger on exactly
what it is, but on the whole it's absolutely hokey. It's understood
that when large numbers of Americans are to be entertained in a
relatively small place, little can be left to chance. Themes are
consequently boiled down to their lowest common denominator, and one is
left with a feeling of predictability and blandness. This is precisely
the problem with Branson, of course, except the place is so covered
with cornbread and American flags that it takes a little longer to
notice. What's the bottom line? Picture Wal Mart with a buffet. That's
Laughlin.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that one casino, with the theme of a
giant riverboat, had a large pool of water outside that was home to an
entire civilization of Koi. Koi, for those who don't keep up with Asian
fish lore, are the brightly colored things that look like impossibly
overgrown goldfish. Some are all orange, some have sickly-looking
spots, but they're all Koi.(18) A typical colony has hundreds of
smaller ones milling about, with much larger ones weaving their way
through the masses. The depth of my technical knowledge re: Koi is that
they seem to love popcorn, but I still enjoy watching them swim
pointlessly. Since they're essentially Japanese, there must be
something Zen about them, and as much as I despise anything tagged with
the moniker "Zen,"(19) I have to say that it's a calming endeavor.
Laughlin has it a little wrong, of course, because the same pool that
is home to the legions of Koi also happens to be the casino's wishing
well, and I spent a gleeful half-hour watching my daughter master the
Zen art of clobbering Koi with pennies, dropped one at a time.

Speaking of the daughter, we did in fact unload several hundred
quarters into the Skee Ball machine in the casino arcade. In return for
her effort, she was rewarded with tickets, which were then exchanged
for prizes and candy. It was an excellent place to lay low and avoid
gambling while solidifying my relationship with the future mother of my
grandchildren. Most casinos in Las Vegas and Laughlin have arcades for
the kids; some even have elaborate places with rides and midway
attractions. By and large, the prevailing philosophy is to keep the
kids happy, because happy kids mean calm, clearheaded parents who can
focus their attention on the slots and table games. Among other things,
this means that the State Fair midway games that usually play you for a
chump are muy simpatico, and the souvenir coffee mugs and stuffed
animals flow as freely as the milk cans fall.(20)

There is relatively little gourmet dining in Laughlin, although it
seems clear that you can buy an expensive steak in any of the hotels.
The fact that "quality food" in Laughlin seems to be insistently
synonymous with "steak" is again a nod to the average age of the
clientele, who grew up in an age where elegant dining meant huge
steaks, and exotic food was pretty much restricted to escargot.(21) I
doubt that the average visitor to Laughlin, what with their RV's and
sequined T-shirts advertising Branson, would take much of a shine to a
plate of crispy duck breast with foie gras(22) over roasted root
vegetables.

Even so, I confess that the abundance of food is a significant draw for
me. For the first night and the next day I suspended my usual
sugar-free and starch-free diet, and for those magical 36 hours the
buffet tables spun with activity and excitement, wedding
reception-style. I actually felt giddy as I stepped up to the buffet.
The dessert tables fairly groaned with all manner of cakes, pies,
cookies, tarts, and so forth, and I tried my best to accommodate each
of them. The first order of dessert business was the carrot cake, since
it's my favorite and I hadn't had any in a long time. I was
disappointed to find it dry and without character; the icing wasn't
even the cream cheese variety.(23) I took solace in lemon tarts, two of
them, and before long I was wired to the gills with more sugar than I'd
had in a month. I was expecting to be sick, but nothing happened. By
the second and final day, I decided to go back to my diet. I still
looked forward to breakfast, because eggs, bacon and sausage are all
green-light items and they were sure to be plentiful at the buffet. I
was not mistaken. I piled my plate high with scrambled eggs and bacon,
which was perfectly brown and in neat little strips. I cannot
meaningfully convey in these pages how important bacon has become in my
life. My love for bacon is pure and unconditional,(24) on par with the
love a man feels for a trusty dog.

I can't get away without mentioning breakfast again. The day before I
resumed the diet, we went to a pastry-cum-coffee shop in an obscure
casino. I stood at the case in awe, agape at the sheer size of the
assorted danish, muffins, and cream puffs. If there is a hydroponics
for breakfast items, surely these are its product. I settled on an
aircraft carrier-sized cheese danish drizzled with chocolate, and was
soon goaded into trying my hand at the cream puff. My maintained
assumption here is that this was the cream puff from which all other
cream puffs are derived; the thing was bigger than my fists combined. I
gave it the old college try, but could not finish, and I could hear the
detrital remains snickering at me as I headed for the trash bin. The
next day, as I stuck to eggs and bacon, I passed by the bread table and
was indeed tempted by the mountainscapes of tiny muffins and the like.
I said to my wife, hey, look at the LCD display; LCD, of course,
standing for Little Chocolate Donuts, but it went over her head.

For those who have never actually been to Las Vegas or Laughlin or any
other hot-weather place dotted with casinos, the actual feel of the
place can be a little off-putting. Imagine extremely hot, dry weather,
in which you will probably do a lot of walking as you walk from casino
to casino. Next, imagine the innards of the casino itself, where it's
certain that you are the only person who is not smoking. Those two
effects make for sweaty, stinking people, so I always seem to have at
least two showers a day with a change of clothes. Bear in mind that the
hotel/casinos manage and process tremendous amounts of waste, a lot of
it human, and oftentimes the sewer system and garbage system is taxed
to its limit. Despite the glitz and opulence of the megaresort casinos,
you will almost surely experience a blast of unpleasant air as you
approach, especially in the summertime. This is a built-in reminder
that you can never truly escape the true consumptive and excretive
nature of man, no matter how much cologne you apply. Having said all of
this, the best way to prepare for the sheer amount of perspiration,
tobacco smoke, body odor, and general olfactory malaise you will
experience in Laughlin or Vegas is to pay a visit to Sao Paolo, Brazil,
in the summertime.(25)

Eventually, it came time to check out of the hotel and go home. It was
two days and nights of relaxation and fun, and an excellent stress test
for the less-cynical version of myself that I've been touting for so
long. I think I passed with flying colors, but on the other hand,
stereotypes are there for a reason. Yes, on average, the cocktail
waitresses look like they get a daily beating from a Corvette-driving
man in a white three piece suit. Yes, certain people cannot release
their annoying grip on the 1950s and age gracefully. Yes, most of the
food appears to be the outcome of a prison work-release program. Yes,
there are enough American flags in Laughlin to make a country music
video. But on the whole, it's a fun experience, and I recommend it for
anyone who has absolutely nothing else to do. As we crawled back down
south across the jeweled desert, it occurred to me that it really is
harmless, and I'd love to do it all again soon. It also occurred to me
that anyone who thinks they're going to buy a good watch for $20 from a
casino is, ultimately, out of their damn mind.

(1)As much as they try to ram the history down your throat, nobody
seems to give a rat's ass where the casinos came from. By contrast,
almost everyone knows that Las Vegas was more or less founded by
gangsters, who were subsequently shot through the eye by Michael
Corleone's button men.

(2)One and a half hours, total, yet we never lost sight of the casinos.
People on JetSkis flew by the boat, sneering at our plodding pace.
Halfway through they took a break to clear barnacles from the hull. I
mean, this was a slow boat. Since a minute spent not gambling is a
minute wasted, I'm surprised the casinos would underwrite such a long
tour. You'd think they'd get you on the boat, ply you with alcohol and
pointless history, and whisk you back to the docks in time to blow the
second mortgage. Instead, this boat trip was a wonderful soporific, as
evidenced by the elderly folks whose snores resounded in the key of the
boat motor.

(3)This is to say that it gets yangin' hot in Bullhead. Bullhead is
typically the hottest spot in Arizona, and sometimes it's the hottest
spot in the nation. They say that it's a dry heat, which basically puts
Bullhead in the Extra Crispy category, whereas Houston or Miami would
soggily fall under Original Recipe. That sort of heat desiccates the
skin within minutes, and literally burns extremities such as ears and
noses. It's the kind of heat that makes you demand water, rather than a
spot of shade and an iced tea.
(4)And play she would. She's not yet strong enough to roll the ball
all the way up the ramp and into the holes, but she gets a lot of
excitement out of the affair. One has to admire the persistence of
little minds and hands; she'll toss balls up there and have them roll
down all day. Place an adult in that situation, and you get something
like, "Excuse me, can I talk to a manager? OK, I'm paying good money to
be here. Drove all the way from Phoenix, OK? I'm just trying to have a
relaxing time in your arcade, but look, I can't roll this goddamned
ball up into the chutes. Can you do something for me here? Free dinner,
something? I mean, I'd hate to have to go home and tell my friends,
'yeah, Laughlin, fun place, but don't expect much from the Skee Ball in
XYZ casino.' Are you with me? Can you do anything?"

(5)The exception, of course, is the 1972 model, which I viewed in a
custom car magazine when I was about 12 years old. This Corvette had
been customized to the extent that it was upholstered with crushed
orange velour, and the exterior was what you might call Candy Orange. I
decided that I wanted that car, and I planned to drive it to work while
wearing (get this) a white three piece suit. The logical career choice
for such savoir faire is, of course, pimp, but I don't think I have
what it takes to keep a stable of women intimidated and in my employ.
My predilection for meaningful relationships would probably start to
eat away at the bottom line, as I would likely encourage my bitches to
get to know the marks as individuals before taking the money off the
dresser.

(6)But what the hell is it with owners of foreign sports cars and
driving gloves? What a waste of rich Cabretta leather. That same
leather could have gone toward the jackets of the women in the Corvette
show; I forgot to mention that before.

(7) My child, in particular.

(8) Nevertheless, the casino makes a fortune off you at roulette. They
do it the same way they do on the other table games: winnings paid to
players do not adequately reflect the actual odds. The house keeps the
difference. To wit, there are 37 slots on the wheel, two of which
belong to the house. If you place a single number and win, you are paid
at a rate of 35 to 1, while the house gets paid 1 to 1 when you lose.
That is how casinos make money: they take your bet when you lose, and
they don't pay you enough when you win. It's a very simple fact that is
obscured by the huge array of bets that can be made at any table game.
The best odds without cheating, or knowing which card is coming next?
Double-odds craps. Put two dollars on the pass line, and when the point
is a six or eight, place a five dollar chip behind your two-dollar bet.
The house advantage is minimal.

(9) Double your bet if you lose. Mathematically, this is represented by
something called a martingale, and it's comforting to know that almost
all of the field of statistics was developed as a byproduct of trying
to win casinos blind.

(10) That is, you generally get to see all the cards.

(11) The relationship of the casino to talented cardcounters is odd.
The casino exists to make money; they do so by presenting Joe Sixpack
and Sally Housecoat with an opportunity to leave with more money than
they brought. If Joe is an accomplished cardcounter and can whittle the
(implied) odds against him just by having a good memory, then there
should be no problem, right? The casinos don't see it that way. Their
Eyes In The Sky spot counters pretty much immediately, and they go to a
lot of trouble to keep up with them. If a player actually makes
long-run profits, he will be banned from the casino and his picture
will be distributed up and down the Strip. I just don't understand
this. Cardcounting is most effective in single and double deck games,
so you'd expect the counters to seek them out, yes? Well, they do, and
the casinos act surprised and hurt that someone would try to improve
their lot. So why do the casinos advertise such games in space they
could otherwise use to pimp prime rib and shrimp cocktail? Easy: they
throw the kitchen sink of countermeasures at you. This includes the
obvious and infuriating practice of reshuffling after each hand. What
is so difficult to understand is the clandestine nature of it all, like
spying, when on the surface everyone is happy and having a good
time.

(12)Spassky had a bad habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve at the
chesstable, and when it was brought to his attention he purposely
changed his appearance to one of casual indifference. The result was
comical: one of the greatest players ever, looking at the pieces as
though reading the paper.

(13) The baritone half of the Righteous Brothers. I didn't know this
until recently, and it will be some time before I care. I found this
out because I was listening to the radio whilst driving one day, and
Medley was said to playing in Phoenix (and I thought the Holiday Inn
did away with live entertainment). Everyone was exhorted to come and
listen to his (exact quote) "full, smoky baritone." So now whenever I
think of Bill Medley, I think of a beautiful rack of St. Louis-style
ribs.

(14) My in-laws recently saw Medley perform in Laughlin, and they
related a story in which Medley extended his show not because the crowd
requested encores, but because "what else was (he) going to do?" (his
own quote). Amen, brother. How many giant hot dogs can you eat in one
day, anyway?

(15) I highly recommend this movie because I like Burt Lancaster, and
it's actually fun to watch Montgomery Clift put on the affected James
Dean bit. The biggest reason to like From Here to Eternity, however, is
that Ernest Borgnine is perfectly cast as Fatso Judson. One nickname
that has sadly gone by the cultural wayside is Fatso. I also recommend
Days of Wine and Roses because it's fun to juxtapose Jack Lemmon's
affecting portrayal of Joe Clay to his harrowing portrayal of Shelley
(The Machine) Levene in Glengarry Glen Ross. Not only that, but the
scene in which Joe Clay wakes up screaming in the drying-out facility
is pretty cool. I'd love to see the old movie trailers from Days of
Wine and Roses; trailers in those days were so upbeat and happy (check
out the trailers for late 50's-early 60's Cary Grant/Rock Hudson/Doris
Day movies; they're like toothpaste ads) that it's hard to imagine what
they'd do for a subject as depressing as alcoholism. While I'm here,
the best movie ever made about the merrier undertones of alcoholism is
Barfly. For something like a year after I saw that movie I walked
around slurring, "To alllll my frrrreinnnnnds" whenever it was even
remotely appropriate. To this day, a well-placed "To alllll my
frrrreinnnnnds" can win friends and influence people.

(16)It's unclear what those borders are: the 48 contiguous states, the
whole 50-state magilla, U.S. territories, U.S. airspace, U.S. waters,
etc.

(17)Perfunctory observation: there are girls drinks and there are boy
drinks. Daiquiris, margaritas, and fundamentally anything frozen, are
girl drinks. Period. There are drinks that are in some sense
androgynous (Cosmopolitan, Sidecar,...), but as a rule, if it's blue or
if it has whipped cream on top, it's a girl drink. To see a man
drinking a girl drink is to see a gay man, or a casually-drinking man
on a tropical vacation.

(18)Every time I see Koi, i.e., every time I go to the zoo, park, or
Laughlin, I wonder how they taste. I love fish, and it looks like it
would be pretty simple to fill a sack with them and eat for weeks.
Every time I ask, however, I get the same response: they don't taste
good. They aren't for eating. I'm beginning to think that's bullshit,
though, because they're fish, for God's sake, and the only reason I
ever saw anyone toss a fish back was because it was too small. My guess
is that they're pretty tender and flaky, because they don't do a lot of
heavy duty swimming and they seem to eat all the popcorn they can get
their gills on. Here's my thought: cows eat grass, dead grass at that,
and they taste wonderful. Koi can't be all bad.

(19)Say, remember the late 80's, when the whole Zen phenomenon was at
the cultural forefront? When people had those pain-in-the-ass rock and
sand garden things on their desks, the ones with the little rake? When
everything that took a little time and mastery (fly fishing, cooking,
gardening) was suddenly a "Zen art?" Yeah, I remember that, too. Right
after oat bran but just before M.C. Hammer.

(20)Flip around on cable sometime and you might catch a glimpse of
Ocean's Eleven, the quintessential Las Vegas movie, starring the entire
Rat Pack, including at-large members Norman Fell and Henry Silva. I
would give anything, read anything, to see outtakes in which Sinatra
and Peter Lawford take turns whiffing those giant Chicago softballs at
milk cans, just so they can have a little stuffed something to take
upstairs to the dollies. And while I'm on Ocean's Eleven, be sure to
watch for the part where the phone is ringing and Joey Bishop trots
over to get it. It's such a cool-guy run, it had to have been
choreographed. Another neat part of the movie is when Sinatra and
Lawford finally do mix it up a little, and they drag out the good old
1950's Industrial/Military Complex "karate" chop, which consists of a
rigid hand brought down near the shoulder blade. It appears lethal.
This same karate chop serves Sinatra well in The Manchurian Candidate,
which is otherwise an exceptionally good movie.

(21)Snails. I've never had them, but I hear they're wonderful. I always
thought that great cuisine was given a bad rap because of one or two
items that seem nasty to an uneducated palate. Surely, I thought,
French food can't be all bad. But you know what? Most of it really is
pretty bad. In what I call Hardcore France, i.e., outside Paris, they
eat stuff like calf brains. I mean, come on. Calf brains. American
Indians are hailed as the most efficient users of animals killed during
the hunt, but I strongly doubt that they sat on the range sauteeing
brains in cream and white wine.

(22)Foie gras is duck liver, and not just any duck liver. To make truly
great foie gras, apparently one must restrict the movement of a
candidate duck, much the same way young calves are restricted in the
production of veal. Then a metal feeding tube is introduced, and all
manner of (ironically, sinfully delicious) fatty foodstuffs are pumped
into the animal. A small fitting is placed somewhere along the throat
to ward off spells of vomiting. It is estimated that the daily feeding
necessary to create foie gras is equivalent to human being eating about
30 pounds of food in a day. All guilt aside, foie gras is absolutely
delicious and is a staple in any gourmet restaurant.

(23) Go figure that the best carrot cake can be found at the mall.
Paradise Bakery, found in most any mall food court, makes one with
little shards of carrot baked right in, and the icing somehow
incorporates pineapple. I'm highly impressed.

(24)How sad that the acronym NAMBLA has already (and disgustingly) been
taken by organized pedophiles. If I could wrest it from them, I'd
institute the North American Man/Bacon Love Association
forthwith.

(25)Jabs at Brazil are perfunctory.