Tag: Las Vegas

The High-Water Mark.


“And that, I think, was the handle — that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting — on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave.”

“So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.”

Luck be a Lady.


“I’m on a roll, I’m on a roll, this time. I feel my luck could change.” Just as it seemed that I’d have to settle into Valentine’s Day weekend with the cloying miasma of Love Actually still wafting in the air, along came Wayne Kramer’s The Cooler (by way of my local Blockbuster.) Stacked with quality performances by William H. Macy, Maria Bello, Alec Baldwin, Paul Sorvino, and Ron Livingston, The Cooler is an enchanting magical realist tale about the transformative power of love that I found passionate, poignant, and poetic (and not in the Vogon sense.) I thought it managed to capture that first, giddy and glorious flush of a new romance in spades.

The film begins with Bernie (Macy), a guy beat down so low by life he makes Jerry Lundegaard seem like Tony Robbins, ambling around the once-fabulous Shangri-La casino, bestowing bad mojo like a benediction upon any unfortunate gambler in his wake. Y’see, Bernie is such a hard luck case that he infects everyone around him with his awful fortune, and has thus been hired as a “cooler” by Old Vegas mob boss Shelley Kaplow (Baldwin, well-deserving of his Supporting Actor nomination.) But, when Bernie encounters cocktail waitress and amateur astrologist Natalie (Bello), Cupid works some mojo of his own, and soon enough a revitalized, invincible Bernie inexplicably has the Midas Touch, which may not sit well with his employers…

True, you can guess where this is basically going from the opening moments. The Cooler is ultimately a brief genre exercise in noir romance – It’s not reinventing the wheel. But the wry script takes a few jags I wasn’t expecting, and Kramer, Macy, and Bello succeed in fashioning two lovebirds who veer from playful to amorous to desperate for each other in a way that belies the cookie cutter courtship of so many other films. (And while it at first seems that The Cooler has a Sideways problem, it doesn’t, for spoilerish reasons which will be evident if you see the movie.) In sum, if you can stomach the occasional burst of Old Vegas-style mob brutality (usually at the hands of Baldwin), The Cooler is a testament to the notion that even perennial losers can sometimes catch a lucky break, and a touching character-driven romance well worth checking out.

UnFree Spin.

“Manufacturers design games primarily for women over 55 with lots of time and disposable income, and casinos near retirement communities…operate small fleets of jitneys that shuttle back and forth to assisted-living centers. As a come-on, one casino advertises free oxygen-tank refills for its players, and heart defibrillators are increasingly becoming standard equipment inside casinos…As one old Las Vegas hand put it, the country’s casinos are now providing ‘day care for the elderly.’” The NY Times Magazine delves into the fantastic rise of slot machines as the casinos’ prime cash cow.

Irish Eyes are Reading.


A very happy St. Patrick’s Day to you and yours. (Don’t miss this chance to rent Miller’s Crossing and/or have a Guinness or three.) My own St. Paddy’s should be relatively downbeat, for, as I suspected, it’s been much busier than usual over in these parts. Freelance work aside, I’ve been swimming neck-deep in political theory for a solid week now in prep for the big day. And I’ll be lugging a sack of books with me this weekend on what passes for my Spring Break vacation…Vegas Redux. (I know, I was down on the place last year, but it’s always good to catch up with old friends, and perhaps the glitz of the Strip will seem less jarring this time without the 24-hr CNN greenscreens of war on the other channel.) At any rate, if you want to approximate the GitM experience this weekend, peruse The Road to Serfdom or Democracy in America, while occasionally plying your hand at Deuces Wild. Between Hayek and games of chance, I’m feeling like Bill Bennett’s dream American at the moment.

Stick ‘n’ Move.

On Thursday morning, 3/4ths of the way to Las Vegas, I was ambling across LAX to catch my last connecting flight, and everywhere I looked the war was on. Airport lounges, fast-food places, and even the sports bars had foregone the beginning of March Madness so that travelers could keep abreast of the then-unchanging greenscreen views of Baghdad. An hour later, I stepped off the plane into Las Vegas and the war had disappeared. TV’s everywhere were tuned into the basketball games and – should a station break in with some news on the events in Iraq – all the televisions switched immediately to another feed. By the time I entered the taxi-line at the McCarran Airport, which looked and moved exactly like the line for Pirates of the Caribbean, my suspicions were clinched – On the Strip, there is no war, nor much of an outside world, for that matter. Vegas will be Fantasyland, whether you like it or not.

It’s probably unfair to the people of Vegas to contrast the environment with what was going on in Iraq, particularly as I never got off the Strip and saw the local scene. Nevertheless, it was that discrepancy between war on the Strip and war everywhere else that weighed on my mind most of the trip. As I was exploring all the various casinos one morning (to be honest, once you get past the lobby, they’re basically the same – low lighting, ugly carpets, intentionally confusing layout, and depressed-looking, bleary-eyed people glued to their Skinner box of choice), I took in the Fountains of Bellagio, wherein a number of impressive water jets danced in unison to the strains of Lee Greenwood‘s “Proud to Be an American.” To be fair, this was as close to a concession that a war was going on that I saw all weekend – nevertheless, something about the faux-opulence at that moment just turned my stomach.

Even putting the war aside, though, I think I’d be a bit down on Vegas. For one, there was something inherently unrelaxing about the beeps, blips, and whistles resounding from every corner – as the weekend went on, I found myself spending more and more time outside just to take in the breathtaking landscape and find sweet respite from the flashing lights of the casinos. For another – and I know this is hypocritical – after a few days all the vacationers were getting to me. Everywhere I looked, there were gangs of drunk guys constantly hooting, hollering, and acting like they owned the place. True, I was with a group of male college friends, and while we weren’t raging drunkards, we too were comping free drinks like they were going out of style. Nevertheless, I often got the sense I was stuck at the world’s largest neverending frat party, and as the weekend wore on we all spent more and more time staying in our room, where we could watch the games and keep up on the war without being surrounded by rampaging hordes of Men Behaving Badly and vacationers blowing off steam. Most of the locals working on the Strip must have a really depressing view of the human condition, a suspicion confirmed by what conversations I managed to strike up with bartenders, dealers, etc.

So, to sum up, I had a good time, I suppose. But the carefree veneer of Vegas glitz barely concealed the sick undercurrent of desperation that seemed to permeate the Strip, and should I visit again, I’d rather (a) leave the vacationer spots and get a sense of local culture and/or (b) head out into the desert and see a bit more of nature. It was great to see all my friends, of course, but by 48 hours into the trip we were already making plans to meet up next time here in NYC rather than at NY, NY (a mid-range and kinda tacky casino – we spent most of our gambling time elsewhere.)

Speaking of gambling time, a quick note on how I made out. I had allotted a small amount of cash to be used as losses for the weekend, and it barely lasted the first day and a half of blackjack. But as I was leaving for the airport, I threw in one last twenty into a Deuces Wild Video Poker machine, a game which my friend Danny had been telling me all weekend was the best bet in Vegas. On the last hand, I improbably hit the jackpot, and flew out of Vice City $2000 richer than when I entered (That money has since been transferred to my good friends at Mastercard.) Clearly, the city wants another chance.

Vegas, Baby.

GitM will be silent over the weekend, as I’m off on my first trip to Vegas for my college friends’ yearly March Madness reunion. I must say, I’m quite curious to see what Vegas is all about. And, although I have neither the resources nor the inclination to do much serious gambling, particularly given the state of world affairs, it never hurts to know the odds…