I'm feeling a bit lightheaded. Maybe you should drive.

Just got back from my first ever trip to Las Vegas To put it mildly, it was interesting. Since the ACM Awards were last Sunday, my flight from Nashville was full of people from the country music industry, which was interesting. The whole Vegas thing can be overwhelming. The obvious differences from there and wherever you live are obvious from the moment you step off the plane.
With hideous payout rates, they're like flypaper for total suckers.

I made my way to my subdued, understated accommodations.


My room? It's somewhere behind the enormous guy in the straitjacket. I'm sure it's purely coincidental.






But if it was good enough for the guy that helped make the place a world-class destination,













and good enough for a famous journalist and inspiration for this post's title, it's good enough for me, too.




And look who was waiting to greet me in my room!


Fortunately, my time spent in the room was limited. There was plenty to do. Like gawk at the fountains in front of the Bellagio (which looks suspiciously like the Beau Rivage back home)

If spending money like it's going out of style is more your thing, you could go to a certain expensive hotel (complete with expensive shops) and check out an expensive show.



Or, while at that same location, if you know exactly where to look (and it's nowhere near any other restaurants there), you can do what I did and have the best meal of your life at Bouchon.

Was it worth walking past at least a dozen other dining options to eat here twice (take note, jealous foodies)? You bet it was. A French Restaurant operated by a California chef in an Italian themed hotel where a Mexican guy called me "monsieur" when he brought out my food. It was all-American-ly fantastic. I even kept the menu.

Or, if such high-fallotin' options just aren't your thing,there are plenty of places to slum it and let your inner partying frat-boy out.

Translation: please come in our establishment if for no other reason than drinking games.

And lest you think that I didn't do what made Vegas famous while I was here, I was lucky enough to be hanging out in the sportsbook section of Caesar's Palace for the Preakness Stakes, which was really cool.


Apologies for the poor quality. A security guard told me to "make it quick" with the picture there. And in case my horrible Kentucky Derby pics weren't indicative enough: I am not good at sports betting. This trend continued for my NBA pics, too.
So, that sums up my first Vegas experience. Not pictured things include a guy getting kicked out of Margaritaville for jumping in the big blender, Pete Rose and Gordie Howe signing autographs at the shops in Caesar's (I have a knack for running into controversial sports figures) and the old eastern European (presumably) hooker hitting on me while I was playing video poker.

Your Derby 134 Wrap-up

Sure you know how it ends, but you haven't been treated to mundane infield pictures yet! Greetings from a still sunburned and not still hungover anymore viewer of the 134th run for the roses. Observe clutched in my sausage fingers the worst Derby picks ever.


My horses finished from 6th through 14th. Fortunately, I'm cheap, so I only lost the monetary equivalent of two juleps. I also didn't make any money off the filly, so I can sleep with a clear conscience (more on that later). The day turned out to be a lot nicer than the previous day, but the infield was incredibly muddy in spots. You can find mud wrestling pics out there in the internet, but I'm way to highbrow to look at share them.


Like I mentioned a few years back, the infield crowd can be overwhelming






I'm sure to the rich people next to the spires, we looked like ants. But behaved much less socially productive.


This is the only glimpse of the Derby we got from the backstretch




So we "missed out" on seeing Eight Belles collapse and the resultant horrible ending.



For us, the worst part was the non-moving mass of people jammed at the exit for an hour. The crowd wasn't that bad, except for the drunk idiots next to us that kept getting into a fight. At one point, this one guy got jumped by two jerks who smashed a julep glass over his head. Of course, at this point the multitudes of law enforcement that had been around all day were totally non-existent. I would have taken a picture of the carnage, but I was too buy trying to not get batshit-crazy-belligerent-drunk-hick blood on me or my friends (with mixed results). Frankly, it was slightly less jarring than rubbing shoulders with OJ.