I had my ride drop me off in front of the Mirage, and I then headed north and tried to enter Gilley’s from the outside.

I soon realized the error of my ways.

To call the pedestrian situation in front of TI a “logistical nightmare” would be kind.  Calling it a clusterf**k would denigrate the beautiful act of making love to clusters.  Frankly, I don’t know what to call the situation other than a “complete and unadulterated mess”.

Sidewalk Crowd in front of Gilley's at TI

Sidewalk Crowd in front of Gilley's at TI

If you try to reach Gilley’s by walking north from the most populated portion of The Strip, you will quickly realize what a salmon feels like when it is trying to swim upstream.  At night, the TI plankbridge flows one-way, and that way is south.  This doesn’t sound like it should be a big deal, but as you can see from the photos … it is.  Gilley’s is segregated from all northbound pedestrian traffic by a rope, and this results in a dense, concentrated mosh of people directly in front of the bar which makes external entry the most monumental pain in the ass imaginable.  Yes, yes, that’s what she said.

After walking against the grain for 5 minutes, and smashing head-first into numerous people, I hopped over the rope and entered Gilley’s from the casino.

When I finally got inside, things finally mellowed out.

Guys in cowboy hats were standing around drinking beers, random tourists were warbling out karaoke tunes, and of course, a mechanical bull was tossing people around like ragdolls.  Strangely, there was also a lady inside with her child in-tow … cue Jeff Foxworthy “you might be a redneck” joke.

Inside Gilley's at TI

Anyway, I ordered a light beer, walked around, and took in the scenery.  I didn’t know what I was looking for in particular, but I will say this, watching people get tossed from a mechanical bull is a great way to make the time fly.

At one point, I pulled out my camera to record the action, and I captured one guy getting thrown feet-over-head into the side barrier:

That had to hurt.  At least a little bit.

I’ve ridden a mechanical bull once in my life, and that was in Mexico when I was far younger.  I was thrown several times, but I kept getting back on because I had no problem taking the abuse.  These days, however, at 41 years old, 6’3″ and 190lbs, I assume that being thrown from a bull in such a manner would be little more than suicide.  For both myself and the robobull.

After watching the bull riders get hammered, I turned my attention to the karaoke stage.

Now, I took this second video with my EVO, and I have to be brutally honest and concede a major point — The EVO video camera is almost useless indoors in dim light.  It’s not completely useless, but it’s pretty damn close.  The irony is that during the daytime, the EVO camcorder is remarkably good.  I would go so far as to call it excellent.

The difference between the camera at night and during the day, however, is like, uh … night and day.  It’s hard to believe that a great camera can go to complete shit simply by moving indoors.  Inexplicably, when the video goes to hell, the audio follows suit.  I’m not sure if the compression scheme is increased under stress or what, but it’s pretty bad.

That being said, I did the best I could to capture this guy doing a karaoke rendition of “Cowboy” by Kid Rock, but you are going to have to make judicious use of your imagination to hear the words:

I did find it admirable that the gentleman knew enough of the song to go off-script and sing “paint his wife white” and “my only words of wisdom are just suck my dick”.  Oddly enough, the guy didn’t seem all that familiar with the rest of the lyrics, but he shouted those two lines perfectly.  At least the man has priorities.

In general, Karaoke makes my ears bleed, but I’m warming up to it as I age.  You have to give props to people who get in front of an audience and belt out tunes when they are clearly aware that they cannot sing.  It’s for this reason that I have some respect for Ke$ha.

In any event, I spent a solid hour talking to some of the tourists at the bar, getting my drink on, and just generally enjoying the atmosphere.  I did not, however, ride the bull or sing to the crowd.  I eventually got a text message that my party had arrived, and my time in Gilley’s was up.  I grabbed a few more quick shots and headed into the abyss of Treasure Island on my way to the Mirage tram.

Even though it’s not a place that fits my personality perfectly, I can see myself using Gilley’s as a casual hangout more often in the coming years.  I’m not a huge fan of the faux-cowboy thing, but the pretense factor is low, douchebags are almost non-existent, and the waitresses were quite attractive and personable.  I give it a solid B+.

Gilley's Waitress

The genius urban planning in front of Treasure Island, however, receives a massive fail.

Since the Trop has been without an all-you-can eat venue for awhile, I was somewhat heartened to learn last week that their new Italian restaurant, Bacio, was instituting a new weekend “brunch” buffet.  Of course, I had to try it, and yesterday I did exactly that.

Bacio Brunch Buffet at the Tropicana

Bacio Brunch Buffet at the Tropicana

Bacio Brunch Buffet at the Tropicana

Bacio Brunch Buffet at the Tropicana

The new Bacio buffet is somewhat interesting from a logistical perspective.  You are seated inside, but in order to get your food, you have to go back out of the front entrance to the exterior of the restaurant .  Of course, this is the reverse of how most buffets operate.  It reminded me a little bit of wearing one’s clothes backward, like Kriss-Kross circa 1993.

Don’t even act like you weren’t down with the Migetty Migetty Migetty Migetty Mack Daddy.

Whatever happened to those guys?  Are they still alive?  I mean, one minute they’re everywhere, the next minute … anyway ….

Aside from the curious setup, the food itself was actually good.

Myself and my special date arrived for the breakfast portion of the “brunch”, which meant that all of the food was standard early-morning classics.  Eggs, waffles, bacon, sausage, croissants, muffins, fruit … what more could you ask for in breakfast food?  My personal favorite serving was the scrambled eggs with feta cheese and tomatoes.  I crushed some apple-cured bacon into the eggs, and I was good to go.  For “desert”, I downed mini-waffles with vanilla syrup.

Bacio Brunch Buffet at the Tropicana

For ten bucks, it was hard to go wrong.

As a serial “sampler” and the most impatient person on the face of the earth, I still prefer buffets to sit down restaurants where I have to get someone’s attention for every little request.  I like the DIY setup of high-quality buffets, and I always get more than my money’s worth.  Besides, buffets are a Vegas tradition.

Both my hostess and my waiter were extraordinarily nice, and the experience was positive.  Unlike the MGM, Excalibur, and Luxor buffets surrounding it, the Bacio buffet is a very small, quiet, intimate buffet.  It’s perhaps the smallest one that I have ever seen.  This is not a bad thing if you want to avoid the crowds, waits, and hassles of mega-buffets.  It’s good to have options, and Bacio is a solid one for a “first meal of the day” experience.

After getting my fill of breakfast food, I went downstairs to hang out by the pool for a little while.

By the time I got water-side, it was about 11am and 90 degrees, but the pool was not crowded at all.  This is not surprising given that it was the weird time slot after most people check out and before most people check in, and it gave me an opportunity to walk around and check everything out from all angles without wading through people.

Now, I don’t know if it is just me, but the “new” Trop pool does not look appreciably different from the “old” Trop pool.  The new one has a “cleaner” layout, but if anything, I might actually prefer the old version just slightly.  The older one was a bit more “tropical”.  You have to realize, however, that I have spent an entire decade … the last 10 summers … lounging by the Tropicana pool, and when I develop a familiar favorite, I tend to resent any change.  Hell, I taught one of my kids to swim at the Tropicana pool.  That’s how familiar the place was to me.

"Old" Tropicana Pool on May 23, 2009 - Swim-up Blackjack

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010 - Swim-up Blackjack

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010 - Swim-up Blackjack

"Old" Tropicana Pool on May 23, 2009

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

"Old" Tropicana Pool on May 23, 2009

"Old" Tropicana Pool on May 23, 2009

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

"Old" Tropicana Pool on May 23, 2009

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010 - Poolside Bar

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010

The biggest thing I miss from the “old” pool is the swim-thru waterfall.  I really enjoyed it.  Swimming through it, under it, behind it.  Where I’m from (which happens to not be a rainforest), there just weren’t many waterfalls, and this was a favorite feature of mine.

The “new” Tropicana pool is not bad by any stretch of the imagination (like I said, it’s not that different), but in my opinion … it wasn’t broken to begin with.  When something is already nearly perfect, making changes to it is probably not the greatest of ideas.  I guess pool parties are the wave of the future, though, and my guess is that the Trop pool is being scored to accommodate more of a beach club atmosphere than an alt.favorite tropical paradise.

Given that it’s the Trop, I may very well try the new “Nikki Beach Club” to see if I can get down with it.  I mean, I’m a jet-set hip and gorgeous person. Right?

I guess we’ll see.

As if it were not obvious, I’m really trying to go above and beyond to like the new and improved Tropicana.  My loyalty is theirs to lose.

The garden areas of the pool courtyard are looking very nice, but of course, there is also a great deal of construction going on at the Trop from front to back.  Nobody has found a way to invisibly remodel a property yet.

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010 - Garden Area

"New" Tropicana Pool on June 20, 2010 - Garden Area

Tropicana Under Construction - June 20, 2010

Tropicana Under Construction - June 20, 2010

Now for a little bit of bad news.

In my quest to solidify my Tropicana vs. Golden Nugget decision, I decided to call the Trop this weekend to inquire about booking a room.  In particular, I wanted to ask about resort fees.  I didn’t think they had one, but I wanted to double check.  As it turns out, they do have one.  The fee is lower than most, but it is there.

The reservation agent informed me that a fee of $7.99 would be added to all room rates, and when I asked what the fee included, she informed me that it included use of the phone, fax machine, fitness center, pool, and “parking”.

This was a relief, because if there is one thing I am sick and tired of, it’s paying for parking in Strip hotels.

I later did some online research to make sure I heard her correctly, and I found the following on the site:

Incidental charges: Tropicana charges a $7.99 per room, per night resort fee, which covers the cost of access to gym, two free drinks on property, unlimited local and 800 calls and use of the pool and jacuzzi. Tropicana charges a $5.50 baggage handling fee for all group arrivals. The hotel requires a credit card or a cash deposit for incidental charges. The resort fee listed above does not include tax. Some resorts also apply room tax to their resort fee.

As you can see, there is no official mention of parking as an amenity, but the fee does exist, along with a baggage handling fee for “groups”, although the word “groups” is not defined.

After hanging up with the Trop reservation line, I called the Golden Nugget to inquire about resort fees, and was told there were none.

This is a very compelling deciding factor for yours truly.  It’s not that I cannot afford resort fees, it’s that I despise them on principal because they are dishonest and they prevent a direct comparison of room rates from one property to the next.  Properties should be able to compete based on their advertised rates, and resort fees are a cheap ploy where the fine print taketh away what the big print giveth.  Frankly, I’m not 100% convinced that these fees are legal in the method they are being applied.  They seem to blatantly violate unfair and deceptive trade practice laws.  They are legal landmines, and I’d like to see them challenged at some point.

In any event, I’m ready to book the Nug but I’m holding off for just a bit longer.  There is still plenty of time between now and August for someone to surprise or disappointment me.  It happens all the time.  As soon as I book the Nugget, they’ll announce some kind of “running water” fee for all new check-ins, and shortly afterward the Trop will announce topless french maid service beginning in late July.

If there is one thing I can guarantee, it’s that whatever you hold to be true about any given property will change when you least expect it.  Also, a new contender may arise between now and then.

Anyway, it was an overall nice Sunday at the Tropicana.

For the duration of my visit, not a single person asked me for a cigarette, spare change, nor did they solicit me to take a picture or buy club passes.  I almost got dinged by the escalators by what appeared to be time share drones, however.  They tried to stop me, but I just kept walking.

If the Trop can get rid of those guys, I can overlook the waterfall and call it even.

Paintbrushes by Dennis Oppenheim

This is a display which will adorn my own neighborhood, and it is expected to be completed in three months.

A short, mainstream explanation of the work-in-progress follows:

We already have the Bow and Arrow Motel, the Horseshoe, and the Silver Slipper along Las Vegas Boulevard North, as well as the Vegas Sign, Martini Glass, and more along East Fremont Street.

Now, another set of street installations is coming to the downtown area.

Las Vegas has commissioned artist Dennis Oppenheim to create a gateway to the Arts District in downtown Las Vegas.

His previous work consists of other outdoor installations around the world in locations including Lithuania; Kansas City, Missouri; Ventura, California; and Seattle’s Olympic Park.

The local project will display a pair of 45-foot-tall paint brushes angled in over the street. Each will be topped by a set of lights that will shine a rainbow of colors up to 1,600 vertical feet into the sky.

Oppenheim refers to the beams as paintbrush strokes “echoing an artist’s excursion into the unknown.”

Work on the foundation and infrastructure beings Monday. The $95,000 installations are set for completion in August.

After reading around, what I have learned is that there will be two paintbrushes … one at Charleston and Las Vegas Boulevard and the other at Charleston and Main Street.  Frankly, I’ve never heard of the Dennis Oppenheim guy who was commissioned to make the display, but supposedly one of his other famous works is entitled “Village Around Piss Lake”, so you know he’s good.  Face it, you’ve got to have mad skills to put excrement in the titles of your signature pieces.

Charleston and Las Vegas Boulevard

Charleston and Main Street

Orange Cones at Charleston and Las Vegas Boulevard

I dropped by the locations today to see if there was any hint of the brushes to be seen, but the closest thing I could find to progress was a cluster of orange traffic cones.

In any event, I am glad to see some more attention being given to Rexville.  It is (arguably) the only “urban” neighborhood in Las Vegas which wasn’t built around intentionally misnamed stores such as “Anthropologie”.  My home and most of those around me were built in the 1950′s, and anyone caught measuring the grass in our front yards would probably be summarily decapitated with an African circumcision sword (we all keep one under our pillow).  Henderson and Summerlin can take that “HOA” shit and shove it in their orifice of least comfort.  Of course I take 100% of the credit for all of the new attention that the neighborhood is getting, but this is because I am a self-centered prick.

Seriously, I am not sure what to make of this artwork.  I’m glad to see more development hitting the area, but the giant paintbrushes sound kind of goofy.  Then again, so did “The Summer of ’69″ on Fremont last year.  Because of this, I have learned my lesson, and I will withhold my opinion until I actually see the things in action.

While I am on the subject of Rexville, I would like to note a few things that effect the immediate neighborhood.

Last week, a reader wrote to the RTC with the following message:

So VegasRex the most famous Las Vegas Blogger on the net is once again unhappy with the ACE service. Check out the website: http://www.casinoguide.com/blogs/transportation/aces-cracked/ Bottom line is we want to know if the 3 dollar one way ACE pass has been removed and if so why would such a stupid decision be made? Thanks

He received the following response:

Hi Sam,

Thank you for your time and information. The RTC’s appreciates and welcomes the feedback of the customers, regarding their experiences using our transit system.

In an effort to accommodate the availability to purchase different fare media from the Ticket Vending Machines, The RTC temporary removed the $3 one way pass. Due to our concern for meeting the needs of the customers, on May 23rd the RTC will be restoring the $3 one way pass for sale through the TVMs.

Thank you.

On May 23rd, I walked over to the Stratosphere ACE Station, but there still was no $3 option.

Stratosphere ACE Station on May 23, 2010

Today, however, I stopped by both the Strat Station and the Arts District Station, and I am happy to report that the $3 2-hour pass is once again available for purchase.  This means that I will again start leaving my car parked and will resume utilizing the ACE for all of my Vegas Strip, Rexville, and Downtown transit needs.  Since I’ve no idea when the RTC will pull these shenanigans again, I’ll keep the gas tank in my car filled just in case … but if all goes according to plan, I won’t be a contributor to the layer of smog that shall lay over the entire Valley from June through October.

Arts District Station on May 25, 2010

Also, I bear arguably the greatest news to ever hit my neighborhood.

You see, for the last few months, I have been splitting my pizza ordering between Metro and Albo.  Albo has always been good, but Metro has always satisfied my East Coast craving a little better, even though it incurred a 10 minute drive each way (up to 20 minutes in heavy traffic).

Today, all of that changed.

I ordered a large pepperoni from Albo, and when I got it home, I noticed that the pie looked different.  Somewhat confused, I picked up a slice, took a bite, and I swear that my dick moved.

Apparently, not only does Albo’s pizza have a new look, but the recipe has also been significantly upped in quality.  It was like there was a party in my mouth and everyone was invited.  The Albo pie is now thinner, the sauce tastes better, the crust tastes better, and the toppings taste better.  If I had to describe it with words, I would say that Albo is now Metro Pizza with a little less grease.  It reminds me of my old favorite … Villa Pizza on Durango.

Albo's 18" Pepperoni Pizza

As of today, Albo is officially my current favorite pizza in all of Las Vegas.  I may be slightly biased because it is the official pizza joint of Rexville, but I fed some of the pie to two guests who dropped by, and they both agreed with my assessment.  I no longer have any reason to drive to Metro, and I can actually walk to my favorite pizza joint in the city.  I’m sure those of you reading this could not care less, but to me, this is a huge development.  Imagine your favorite food on the planet; now imagine the best place of that cuisine type opening adjacent to your home.  Hell, I may never go grocery shopping again.

In my opinion, the Albo situation is also very good news for tourists.  Instead of casino food court pizza, you can now take the ACE or Deuce Bus to Albo and get an 18″ single-topping pie for about $11.  Since an 18″ will feed 3-4 people, I would consider Albo a great hangover alternative to places like the Hash House, Peppermill, or In-N-Out.  Also, since your bus tickets are good for two hours, you can get off, eat, and continue on to Downtown or return to The Strip for three bucks per-person in transit costs.  In Las Vegas, this combo is one hell of a deal.

In more local food news, the Naked City Sandwich shop seems to have taken things up a notch as well, delivering a much meatier signature sandwich to me on Saturday.  Naked City and Albo are adjacent to each other, so if you are a budget-conscious tourist, the intersection of Las Vegas Boulevard and Oakey should be at the top of your list on your next trip.  I’m not just saying this because they are local joints.  I’m shooting you completely straight.  They’ve both stepped up their game to the point where they are now worthy urban alt-indie-eateries, and the price/quality factor is superior to anything you can get on the Boulevard south of Sahara.

If you happen to go to either one, be sure to tell them that Rex sent you.  Since they have no idea what my name is, the quizzical look on their faces should be an extra source of juvenile entertainment.

Christ, I sound like an advertisement, but you have to understand how rare it is to find something in Las Vegas that doesn’t completely suck.  It’s like finding the Holy Grail with a metal detector in the sand next to the Coney Island boardwalk.

Anyway, while I tend to be a “glass half empty” kind of guy, sometimes I have to sit back and acknowledge the positive developments that happen in this town every now and then.  With the new transit, new lighting, and new restaurants, it’s an interesting time to be a resident of Rexville.  Don’t get me wrong, the place is still an armpit, but we’re moving in the right direction.

All things considered, it looks like Mick was right.

It’s true that you can’t always get what you want.

But if you try sometimes, you just might find, you get a great f**king slice of pizza.

In the past month, I’ve lost 8-10 pounds, and this morning I had to punch an extra hole in my belt just to keep my pants from falling down.  I’ve been so busy, that on some days, I simply forget to eat.

I’ve never been a terribly food-oriented person, and when I was in my teens and 20′s, I would have to make a point to eat just so I would not be too underweight.  Hell, I often looked like I had a heroin habit even when I didn’t have a heroin habit.  Now that I am a 41 year-old, 190lb fatfuck, I no longer have to worry about gaining weight, but I am still not a person that seeks out “amazing food”.

In my opinion, time spent eating is kind of like time spent pissing.  It’s a biological imperative that needs to be accomplished a couple of times each day, but I see no reason to obsess over it.  I also prefer to do it on my own terms.  This is why I really like buffets during off-peak times.  No waiting in line, no waiting around for a waitress, just grab stuff that looks good, eat it, leave a tip on the table, and go on about life.

It is because of this mentality that I have always been a big fan of the $.99/$1.99 shrimp cocktail at the Golden Gate.  It’s cheap, takes only a few minutes to finish, and is satisfying.

Much like taking a piss.

$1.99 Shrimp Cocktail at Golden Gate

Even though I am a frequent consumer of the Golden Gate offering, I had never tried its cheaper cousin just a block to the east … the Fremont Hotel 99 cent shrimp cocktail.  I can’t really explain not trying the Fremont cocktail other than the fact that I am a creature of habit and a fairly loyal customer.  Since the Golden Gate has been good enough for the past couple of years, I’ve just typically started the evening there.

At the point when low blood sugar hit me on this particular night, however, I was standing directly in front of the Fremont itself.  It almost seemed like fate, and who am I not to answer the door when Jesus knocks?  The decision was made on the spot.  After all this time, I was going to try the Fremont cocktail.

99 cent Shrimp Cocktail at Fremont

I walked into the little cafeteria on the ground floor (Lanai Express), pulled out my wallet, and ordered up two shrimp cocktails and a Spam Bomb.

“We don’t have any Spam tonight” the cashier told me.

“I don’t blame you”, I replied, “that stuff’s way too expensive and perishable to keep in stock.”

As happens 90% of the time I say anything to anyone in this town, I received a blank stare.  Luckily, I’m used to it.

“Okay, do you still have the 99 cent shrimp cocktails?”, I asked.

“Yes”, she said while looking past me with complete disinterest.

“Well hey, shrimp is hardly a substitute for Spam, but what the hell … I’ll slum it this evening”, I replied.

“Does that mean you want one?”, she asked.

“Yes.  That is exactly what it means.  But like I said, please make it two”, I replied.

She said nothing, walked over to a large refrigerator, plucked my cocktails off of a shelf, and plunked them down on my tray.

Vegas, Baby!

You can’t get this level of service anyplace else in the world.  In my opinion, Las Vegas is like a gigantic summer camp for adults.  I might go so far as to call the entire town … Camp Vegas.

I don’t know how I come up with these ideas.  I think I’m just a hyper-creative genius.

Anyway, needless to say, I skipped a contribution to the tip jar, and found a seat with my newly acquired shrimp friends.  Upon sitting down, I began examining the “new” cocktail so that I could compare and contrast it with my usual snack, and I was able to make a few observations right off the bat.

First of all, the shrimp in the Fremont cocktail were significantly smaller, but there were more of them.  Second of all, there was a layer of lettuce in the middle of the cup.  Why?  I do not know.  Third, the Fremont shrimp was served in a plastic cup instead of a tall glass.  After making these visual notations, I dug in, and I quickly became depressed.

99 cent Shrimp Cocktail at Fremont

$1.99 Shrimp Cocktail at Golden Gate

While eating the shrimp, all I could think about was Bubba.  Poor Bubba.  Why did he have to die in my arms?  I mean, all he had to do was run.   But no.  No.  He had to try and be a hero.

Damn the Viet Cong!  God damn them all straight to the blood bowels of hell!!!

If it’s the last thing I do, I will get vengeance for my good friend.  Anyway, I finished the first cocktail and contemplated diving into the second one … but couldn’t.  While I was devouring the first one, I couldn’t get over the notion that I was eating sea monkeys.

You know, those tiny little creatures that were advertised for sale in the back of comic books in the 70′s?  The shrimp in this cocktail were so small that I was convinced that they were not shrimp at all.  Instead, the restaurant had ordered a packet of sea monkeys from the back of a Batman comic book, put them into a plastic cup, added water, added lettuce, added cocktail sauce, and were passing them off as shrimp.

Seriously, I didn’t expect these things to be jumbo shrimp, but they were a little too small to be convincing.  It’s kind of like how some places try to sell crawfish as “mini-lobsters” when they look more like cockroaches.  Similarly, I felt like I was consuming grubs or mealworms while eating the first cocktail, and I really had no desire to eat the second one.

Of course, I don’t like wasting food either.  I’ve been told that there are starving children in China, and most of them work for Apple Computer.  Throwing food away is like slapping the little bastards in the face, and if there is one thing I absolutely refuse to do, it is to physically assault small Asian children without provocation.

Instead of tossing the second container in the trash, I carefully wrapped napkins and a plastic fork around my uneaten shrimp cocktail, and headed back to my car.

Shortly after rounding the corner on Casino Center, I encountered a panhandler.  I know, I know … panhandlers in Downtown Las Vegas?  What are the chances?  It’s like spotting an elusive unicorn.  As god as my witness, though, there he was.

Before he even had the chance to ask me for money, I bent down and handed him the sea monkey cup and said “here, I don’t have any change, but you are welcome to eat this”.

The man accepted the cup, looked at me, and said “god bless you”.

“Look buddy” I said, “I’m not doing you any favors.  It tastes like fucking cat food.  If I were you I’d try to sell this thing for some crack”.

The man grinned widely and actually emitted an audible laugh.

FINALLY!!!

For the first time in a week, I said something to someone and did not get a blank stare in return.  Someone in this town relates to me.  Granted it’s a homeless dude, but who cares.  A human is a human.

I walked on to my car, drove home, and once there … nuked a leftover slice of Albo Pizza.

Now that was satisfying.

Anyway, I guess the moral of my little story is this:

While the Fremont 99 cent cocktail is adequate for a quick shrimp fix, in my opinion, the Golden Gate offering is well worth the additional dollar.

That being said, if you opt for the Fremont cocktail, take it home, and add water … you will have instant pets that are fun for the whole family.

All things considered, I suppose it’s a draw.

I’ve been a lousy neighbor.

At least I have been in some respects.

In 2009, I ate at the Wynn Buffet upwards of a dozen times, Paris a dozen more, the Bellagio probably ten times, Aria 3 times (not bad for two weeks of existence), the Stratosphere a handful of times, and I won’t even attempt to count the times I’ve dropped $7 in the Sahara Buffet after jumping off the Monorail and walking home.

Although I have lived in slightly-off-strip neighborhoods for about five years, when I look back at my expenditures, over half of my disposable income was spent in a major Strip property or in the area surrounding Fremont Street.  I’ve never bought into the “I avoid tourist areas” mentality that many locals have adopted.  Instead, I have embraced said areas.  Hell, that’s one of the reasons I moved here … to avail myself of the unique attributes of Las Vegas.  Anyone who moves to Vegas and avoids Las Vegas Boulevard is kind of a moron in my book.

Why in the hell else would you move here if not for the casinos?  What else is there?

Culture?

The fabulous hell-like Death Valley climate?

The fantastic schools?

Face it, without The Strip and Downtown, Las Vegas is Albuquerque.  Just another desert shithole.

While I try to maintain a pretty decent balance between resident and perpetual tourist, if I were to err on one side or the other, it would probably be the latter.  I’m certainly a resident, but I may also be the most prolific tourist this town has ever seen.  I’m an asset to the mega-corporations, but I’m not as big of an asset to my neighbors.

Instead of supporting local businesses and helping to keep them solvent, I’ve remained obsessively committed to throwing dollar-after-dollar at the corporate overlords who could not give a rat’s ass about Las Vegas or the people in it.

It is for this reason that I have made a concerted effort in 2010 to think globally, and eat locally.  If you’ve been onboard for more than a month, you may have noticed that I have been branching out into smaller, near-strip, non-large-chain restaurants as of late.  Pop’s, The Mad Greek, Hash House, Metro Pizza, Naked City Sandwich …. this is not a mistake or a coincidence … it is a conscious effort to drag myself away from the buffet status-quo and evaluate places that I have ignored for damn near a decade.

Be they smaller places inside of casinos, or independent joints in the neighborhood, I have decided to expand my horizons this year and eat my way through the “Real Las Vegas”.  You know, real food accessible to real people on real budgets.  Places which are unlikely to have 800 reviews on travel websites.

Of course, the closer to Rexville any of these places are, the better.  Especially if they are good.  I’m a pretty loyal customer, so good eating joints close to my own home will almost certainly get a large amount of my business while cutting down on my own travel time substantially.

Last night, I got a craving for Pizza, and the first place that sprang into mind was Metro Pizza.  It’s about as good as they come in Vegas, but the closest location to me … Ellis Island … means that I sometimes have to nuke it by the time I get home.  It also means that I have to participate in my least favorite activity.  Driving.

While I really like Metro Pizza, I do have a problem with their business and civic philosophy.  They have a location in Henderson, a location in Boulder Station, a location in Ellis Island, a location one mile west of the Palms, a location near UNLV, but they have completely abandoned the inner-city.  They don’t even have a single location within the Las Vegas city limits.  Because of this, I would like to find someone else to support financially, if only they could approach the same quality.

The notion that one should have to drive to the suburbs for a good slice of pizza seems decidedly … backward.

After I wrote an article about Metro Pizza last month, I was inundated with “have you tried XXX?” emails.  I looked up some of the locations of the places that people were recommending, and there was not a single restaurant within walking distance, not just of my neighborhood, but to any neighborhood anywhere.  They were all drive-or-nothing propositions.  Because of this, I had tried very few of the places.  I’m simply not going to drive 45 minutes round trip just to eat pizza.  I grew up walking to carry-out restaurants, and the notion of driving such lengths simply to eat is patently absurd.  If you have a favorite restaurant in Las Vegas, and that restaurant is more than 2 miles from Las Vegas Boulevard, the chances that I have eaten there are slim.  If I wanted to hang out in Albuquerque, I would have moved to Albuquerque.

Rexville is, unfortunately, somewhat deficient in pizza joints.  We do have one popular place called “Boston Pizza”, and the place is okay, but nothing that I would consider out of the ordinary.  The location is excellent, but the pizza is more or less what you will find in any strip mall across America.

Albo Pizza is a different animal.

Albo Pizza in Rexville

Albo Pizza in Rexville

Albo Pizza in Rexville

Albo Pizza in Rexville

Sitting directly adjacent to Dino’s, this joint opened roughly one year ago, and they have been faithfully serving food to the residents of Rexville since that time.

I’ve gotten a menu from Albo on several occasions, and given the diversity of said menu, I had assumed Albo would not make terribly good pizza.  They just offered way too much other non-pizza food.  Generally, restaurants which offer too many dishes are jacks of all trades, masters of none.

Fortunately, this is not the case with Albo.  I’ve grabbed slices from the restaurant here and there, but last night represents the first time I have ordered an entire pie.

Inside of Albo Pizza

Inside of Albo Pizza

Inside of Albo Pizza

I called the number on the menu, and a very friendly gentleman answered and took my order.  When I walked over to pick up the pie, I was a little disappointed to find the place empty.  I talked to the owner for a couple of minutes, and he explained that the economy was taking its toll on the new business.  I don’t suppose this is surprising, but since most businesses take a few years to get in the black, it’s not necessarily a terrible omen.

Upon getting home and opening the box, I was quite pleased at the look and smell of the pie.  Albo’s “large” pizza is a full 18″, not unlike my … well, you know the drill … and they didn’t skimp on the toppings either.

Albo's 18" pepperoni and black olives pizza

The taste and quality of the food also made me wonder why I didn’t order from here more often.  I think it’s because I had always gotten a slice on the run before, and had never really stopped and paid attention to what I was eating.

Albo Pizza is hard to neatly categorize.  It’s certainly not thick and bready like Chicago-style pizza, nor is it super thin like New York-style.  In a way, it almost reminds me of DC-style pizza, although it’s not quite that either.  It’s a medium crust pie with plenty of sauce, cheese, toppings, all of which seem to be decidedly good quality.  It all comes together very well, and it’s a very satisfying and somewhat distinct pizza.

Color me impressed.

A real pizzeria in Rexville has officially arrived.  At least one I can personally get into.

Now, when the urge hits, I don’t have to travel quite so far for a good pizza.  Instead of hopping into the car and driving to Ellis Island every time, I will now have a walking option.

Metro Pizza at Ellis Island

While I would not call Albo a direct competitor to Metro (it’s a different taste altogether), it will be something that I can see myself craving on a routine basis.  For this reason, I sincerely hope that Albo Pizza is able to weather the economic downturn and thrive.  I will do whatever I can to make this happen.  If it requires me eating at the Wynn Buffet a few less times during the year, I will make a concerted effort to do so.  I will finally try to be a better neighbor.

If you happen to find yourself in the Rexville area at any point in the future, maybe consider doing the same.

Albo Pizza is certainly well above average, and absolutely worth the trip when you tire of the standard food court/buffet fare.

It’s a real pizza joint in a real neighborhood — and in Las Vegas, this makes it a rare find indeed.

While we do have some signature establishments such as Tiffany’s, Luv-It, Pepe’s, and Albo’s … for the most part, we are limited to fairly common offerings such as Carl’s Jr. and Denny’s.

This is a shame for such an urban, inner-city neighborhood, but such is the net effect of suburban sprawl.  It is my hope, and even counter-intuitive expectation, that Las Vegas may actually reverse its pattern of honky flight.  As the outer fringes become cheaper and de-facto “low income” areas, perhaps the former-elite will begin questioning their 45 minute commute.  It’s entirely possible that the central city will see a re-imagining.  If you are going to live among the riff-raff anyway, you may as well live closer to work and in a place that isn’t completely infested with strip malls and lawn nazis.

Dare to dream.

Until such a time comes when people extend a middle finger to “planned communities”, however, it’s always heartening when an independent business discovers the Rexville neighborhood.  Of course, this usually comes at the expense of a failed business, but such is the price of progress I suppose.

Big Island Smoothies and Shave Ice in Rexville

Big Island Smoothies and Shave Ice in Rexville

The Naked City Sandwich Shop

The Naked City Sandwich Shop

The Naked City Sandwich Shop

The Naked City Sandwich Shop

Sometime in mid-December, a new establishment took over the shaved ice parlor which used to sit directly adjacent to Dino’s.  The new restaurant is called the “Naked City Sandwich Shop”.  This joint was supposedly founded by a couple of chefs who worked in restaurants on The Strip.  Why did they decide to open a sandwich shop?  In this neighborhood of all places?  It’s hard to say, but it’s certainly an interesting move.

For the past 6 weeks or so, I have passed the Naked City Sandwich shop on a near-daily basis with alternating amusement and curiosity.  You have to give props to any business that openly advertises their affiliation with the seediest, most dangerous neighborhood in the entire state of Nevada.  At least that is the perception of said neighborhoods, and I’m not sure that it’s completely unwarranted.

On Saturday, I finally decided to dine in the establishment.

I called the place up and ordered their signature dish named, appropriately enough, “The Naked Sandwich”.  I figured if I called before I left, the sandwich would be ready to go by the time I got there, and this was indeed the case.

When I walked in and got the attention of the chef/cashier, she handed me a humongous bag to carry back home.  At first I thought she had gotten my order mixed up with that of a large corporate picnic, but as it turns out, they just use large paper bags because they hate trees.  Or because plastic bags make baby seals cry.  I’m out of the eco-loop, so I won’t pretend to know what is fashionable for the planet these days.

The Naked City Sandwich Shop's Humongous Carry Out Bag

The cashier was pleasant enough, but I was a little dismayed by yet another goddamn tip jar.  I really wish businesses would stop putting these things by the cash register.  To me, it really, really seems like begging — and there is some kind of psychological pressure surrounding it.  It makes me feel like a penile implant if I put my change in my pocket instead of dropping it in the jar.  Like I am just oh-so cheap if I actually want to keep my coins.

It wasn’t like the sandwich was inexpensive either.  It was $10.  This is the same price as the Hash House and the Mad Greek, and is somewhat pricey for a carryout joint in Rexville.  I didn’t want to be an ass, but neither did I want to encourage the carry-out tip behavior … so I pocketed my change while looking around and acting like I didn’t see the jar.  I don’t want to be a pushover, but I don’t want to be rude either.

After waving to Craig Ferguson and passing three pants-less murderers on my way home, I tore open the bag and then opened the styrofoam container that encapsulated my sandwich.

Styrofoam inside of a paper bag?  Isn’t that an eco oxymoron?

Not for me to say.

Anyway, when I finally got to the food, I was pleasantly surprised.  I was greeted with a large sandwich, garlic/onion/salt roll containing a generous amount of roast beef.  It tasted even better than it looked.  The meat was rare, tender, and practically melted in my mouth.  Your mother says the same thing about my … never mind.

The Naked City Sandwich Shop - The Naked Sandwich

Seriously, I devoured the Naked Sandwich pretty quickly, and I found the meat to be some of the highest quality I have ever had in a ten buck deli offering.  Not only was the sandwich itself good, but so was the pickle and the vegetable sides.  Of the quick $10 meals I’ve had in the last few weeks, I would have to say that this was my favorite.  The fact that I procured the food in Rexville, within quick walking distance to my home made it all the better.

Now that I have actually tried the food, I think it is safe to say that I will be a repeat customer to The Naked City Sandwich Shop.

Great location, great name, great food … what’s not to like?

The prices may be a tiny bit on the high side for a strictly locals joint, but given the quality of the ingredients, I don’t imagine that the prices could be much lower.  If I can convince them to get rid of the damn tip jar, it just might be perfect.

The shop is also directly across the street from the Olympic Garden, and is a mere one block away from Luv-It Custard and the small crack/heroin market that operates behind it (trust me, I’m not telling the LVMPD anything they don’t already know).

In any event, for those of you who usually give no thought to the small, sketchy neighborhood that you have to traverse while going from The Strip to Fremont Street … you now have another reason to stop and spend some time here.

If you do happen to try out Naked City Sandwich, tell them Rex sent you.

They have absolutely no idea what my name is, but taking time to explain it to them will give you perfect cover to avoid the tip jar.

Located in Baker, California, The Mad Greek is arguably the most popular diner between Vegas and LA.  Baker is also, inexplicably, home to the World’s Largest Thermometer.  I am not kidding and I have no idea why such an attraction exists.

Anyway, since I’m fairly impatient and have no desire to hang out in the middle of Tweedledick, Nowhere … I typically zoom by this small town at the appointed interstate speed limit, and not a single mile-per-hour faster.

One day about 8 years ago, however, it appeared that I was overly-optimistic with regards to the fuel efficiency of my vehicle.  I stopped in Baker to fill up my gas tank, drain the monster … and while I was there … figured I would eat at the pissed off Greek dude’s restaurant.

Unfortunately, I do not remember the details of the food vividly.  This either means that it was not memorable, I had other things on my mind, or both.

Last year, I began noticing billboards going up around Las Vegas indicating that a location for this restaurant had opened on the Las Vegas Strip.  Since this joint was already somewhat associated with traveling to Las Vegas, this seemed like a natural progression.

Normally when I hang out in this particular area, I eat at the Peppermill, but after passing by the Greek numerous times over the past several months, I decided to give it a go yesterday.

I waited outside for a friend of mine to show up, and when she arrived, we walked up to the counter and proceeded to contemplate our orders.

Standing behind the Mad Greek counter was a somewhat surly gentleman, and when I told him that I wanted to try their signature dish, he looked at me as if he wanted to plunge a dagger through my sternum.  I’m not 100% sure if the guy was Greek, but he did seem to be a little bit mad.  At least there was partial truth in advertising.

He eventually mumbled something about the “Mad Gyro” being a popular item, so I plunked down the eleven bones and ordered it up.

About 10 minutes later, a large gyro was delivered to my table along with a substantial helping of rice.  The price of the sandwich seemed a bit steep at the cash register (not far off from Peppermill or Hash House fare), but the quantity was reasonable.  A falafel or two in addition to the rice would have been a welcome addition to a sandwich in the $10 price range, however.

The cucumber sauce for the meat was good, the rice was decent, and the meat was good too, but while I was eating I could not get over the impression that I was consuming standard food-court fare.

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

The Mad Greek Cafe on The Las Vegas Strip

Unlike similar food from Zankou Chicken in Hollywood (an old favorite), the gyros at the Mad Greek were somewhat on-par with what you might find at a gyro restaurant in a local mall … only larger.

That being said, I suppose there is only so much you can do with this particular combination of ingredients.

The person I was dining with is from Buffalo, New York and a semi-frequent consumer of Greek food.  She thought the size of the dish was admirable, but she opined that the Greek joints back home were considerably superior.

This is a frequent refrain when I take anyone from the East Coast to eat at most any casual dining outlet in Vegas.  Our expensive restaurants such as Craftsteak tend to excel, but our carry-out eateries tend to be lacking intangible “somethings”, which I chalk up to a de-emphasis on authenticity, and the general low expectations of those who inhabit the Las Vegas Valley.

I’ve tried to explain the In-N-Out Burger phenomenon to people who just don’t get it.  I tell them that it’s not so much that IO Burger is great, it’s just that the alternatives are so much worse.  Everything is relative.  In Bangladesh, the Imperial Palace Buffet would be a 5,000-Star restaurant.  On some levels, Las Vegas is the American Bangladesh.  We’re just thrilled to have something that isn’t terrible.

The Mad Greek would probably fall into this paradigm.  Good for Las Vegas and on some lonesome stretch of highway, but probably average for anywhere else.

I certainly will not rule out eating here in the future, but I’m not sure if I will crave it.

It’s certainly no Zankou Chicken, but neither is it Carl’s Jr.

If anyone from The Mad Greek is reading this, I would like to offer only the following.

Don’t get carried away with the “mad” thing.  I’m arguably the crankiest guy in this town, but if someone were trying to patronize my business in this economy, I might try and pretend like I didn’t hate them.

Aside from this minor point, The Mad Greek is a worthy addition to the North Strip, if for no other reason than it actually opened.

Now that I think about it, it kind of makes sense why the employees are a little surly.

If I opened a restaurant directly across the street from this, I’m not sure how happy I would be either.

Las Vegas Strip - Echelon Place

It just flat out blows goats.

As an East Coast transplant who used to enjoy good pizza on a very regular basis, this has always been hard to come to terms with.  Along with blowing goats … a hobby I have picked up since I moved here.

When I lived on the far west side of Vegas, there was a joint called “Villa Pizza” at Durango and Desert Inn which was actually pretty good — but not good enough to keep me in that hellacious neighborhood of bored lawn nazis with whom I was constantly at odds.  I tried to organize a homeowner’s uprising at one point, but all of my neighbors were so browbeaten into submission that they quivered and soiled their pants at the mere mention of the name of the HOA.

It’s been a very long time since I’ve been back to that gated mind-toilet.

I wonder if they miss me?

Anyway, those days of 2004-2005 were probably the last time I had a decent slice of pizza in this town.  There is a Villa joint near Maryland and Sahara, but the one time I ate there was kind of a disappointment.  I figured two restaurants in the same franchise would be the same, but somehow they weren’t.

Today, however, I finally broke the five-year losing streak.

I had a doctor’s appointment near the Ellis Island casino, and the doctor failed to show up for my appointment.  I am completely serious.  Such is the state of health care in Las Vegas.

One might say that I got what I deserved by booking an appointment with a doctor near the freaking Ellis Island, but I dare you to find one medical center in this town that’s not a glorified version of the board game “Operation”.

In any event, being wholly fed up with the town once again, I decided to erect my middle finger to nobody in particular by being a self-destructive degenerate … by drinking and gambling in a low-roller joint before the sun even set.

In my opinion, there is nothing more sad than a local sitting around nursing beers and pissing his money away while the sun is still beaming outside.  The gaming is not so bad, but the beer is kind of pathetic.

I’m kind of an elitist when it comes to drinking.  To be brutally honest, I consider sitting around drinking booze to be beneath me.  In my opinion, drinking is on intellectual par with sniffing glue.  Alcohol is a very crude drug.  You can’t do a goddamn thing on it besides drool on yourself and act like an F’ing moron.  It turns otherwise intelligent people into complete idiots.  Say what you want about pot, coke, and skag, but none of them are the sledgehammer-to-the-brain that booze is.

“Let’s go to Vegas, drink ourselves into a stupor, forget what we did, then lay around and feel like shit the next day!”

This makes about as much sense as booking a trip to Mexico, and drinking the water once you get there to make sure you have the squirts for the next 48 hours.  What a freaking waste of a vacation.  Just stay home and huff paint.  You’ll get the same effect, and it will cost you much less.  You’ll also not f**k up our fair city for everyone else by playing 6:5 Blackjack, starting liquid-courage fights, and driving like a douche.

The LVCVA obviously does not care about your welfare, but I do.  Save the “what happens here” crap for back home, or learn how to hold your liquor.  The sloppy drunk routine was cool in the 8th grade, but when you are 30 … it’s kind of pathetic.  Keep your shit together or this town will put you over its knee and spank you like a little bitch.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, this article had something to do with pizza.  I had to go back and re-read the first paragraph to figure out what in the hell my topic was.  Don’t try this “stream of conscious” stuff at home, kids.  This article is being driven on a closed course by a professional.

At some point in my little endeavor I got hungry and I set off in search of food.  I spotted a pizza restaurant near the back brewery, and I stopped to consider the possibilities.  Last week I ate pizza in O’Sheas, and it was less than terrific.  It was standard food court fare, which is about par for the course here … but I craved something better.

I looked up at the sign on this restaurant which read “Metro Pizza”.

“I’ve heard about this place”, I said to myself, although I could not for the life of me remember where.

I walked up to the counter, and they had these little signs that said “Voted best pizza by the Review-Journal”, “Voted best pizza by Steers and Queers Illustrated”, or whatever little accolades they had garnered for themselves.  I noticed that they didn’t win a Trippie, though.  Losers.

At this point, I also remembered that I had read about this place in the Las Vegas Weekly, and it had been crowned “Best Pizza by a Paper Too Lame to Keep Richard Abowitz”.  Seriously, if I read one more goddamn column about nightclubbing in that rag while I am trying to relax and chop a loaf, things are going to get mildly unpleasant.

Anyway, I ordered a pie, content that if it sucked I could at least write about how the Weekly didn’t know good pizza from its own asshole.

When someone’s right, however, you’ve got to acknowledge it, and the Weekly was spot-on.  For once.

Given that I had little desire to spend the night in a Clark County Detention Center Couple’s Suite, I called a friend of mine who lives in the nearby Marie Antoinette building and ordered him to pick me up.

“Man, you know I have to work all night, just drive over or walk”, came the reply.

“F**k you.  I’m moderately inebriated and I bought a whole pizza.  I’m not going to sit and eat it in Ellis f**king Island”, I said.

“You got Metro Pizza?”, he asked.

“No, I called Dominos and had them deliver it to the blackjack table you stupid f**k”, I replied.

In three and a half minutes my man-servant was obediently chauffeuring me the full one block to his nerd cave.  Apparently, he was more excited about the pizza than I was, and once I tasted it, I knew why.

This was, hands-down, the best pizza I had ever tasted in Las Vegas.  Even better than Villa.

I’m not going to describe the pie in detail like a “foodie” (anyone who uses the infantile term “nom nom” should be sodomized with a screwdriver before being shot in the face).  Hostility issues are one more reason I can’t actually follow anyone on Twitter.

Feel free to take my word for the quality, though.  I lived in Brooklyn and sustained myself on pizza for quite some time, and while Metro might not rise to the level of the best eateries there, it was absolutely satisfying in its own way.  It was definitely kicking the flavor New York-style, and suffice to say that they now have a new loyal customer.

It’s one less thing from “back home” that I have to pine for, and for today at least … it was the only thing about this town that didn’t utterly suck.

The sun shines on a dog’s ass every now and then.

I guess this entire post was little more than a giant advertisement for a pizza joint, but screw it.  There is so little in this town worth endorsing anymore that I don’t feel like a complete tool.

Go to Ellis Island.  Order a pizza from Metro.  Be Happy.

For a brief moment today, I was.

The far-flung location of this eatery (Rainbow and Sahara) has always prevented me from becoming a routine patron of the establishment, but its new location mid-Strip allowed me to finally get around to giving it a fair shot.

This morning, I happened to be out and about by myself when hunger struck, and I’ve always felt that eating solo was highly underrated.   I never really caught on to the eating-as-a-social event thing.  Why do people get together to talk at the precise moment they plan on having food in their mouths?  It’s kind of like going to the proctologist after downing a full bar of Ex-Lax.  When I eat, I don’t like to talk, I like to read … or possibly think.  The last thing in the world I want to do is carry on a conversation.  I’m very much an eater that prefers to be left alone.

The only drawback to eating solo is that everyone else in the restaurant looks at you with pity and assumes that you are a loser, and I am a loser which I’ve fully accepted.

Hash House a Go Go in the Imperial Palace

Hash House a Go Go in the Imperial Palace

Hash House a Go Go in the Imperial Palace

This being the case, I ascended the escalator to the Hash House, and asked the seating guy (host? I don’t know what their title is) for a table for one.  He looked at me quizzically and said “one?”, as if I couldn’t possibly be serious.

“Yes, I will be eating alone”, I replied.

He seemed to have a combination of sympathy and amusement, but fortunately, losers go to the head of the line in this town.  Just ask Steve Wynn.  I was led past a line of waiting social eaters needing larger tables, and I was seated immediately.

About 10 minutes later my waitress came by, took my order, and said “this is going to take awhile, we are backed up”.

I looked around at a plethora of empty tables, and said “uh, ok”.

Having been warned that it might take awhile, I pulled out my 13″ and also pulled out my laptop.  That’s right folks, a dick joke … I’ll be here all week.  I set it on the table (my pecker that is), fired up my 4G modem, and proceeded to … do nothing.

Waiting for food at Hash House a Go Go

Waiting for food at Hash House a Go Go

Apparently, the Hash House is in the nuclear core of the Imperial Palace.  Nothing can penetrate it, especially wireless signals.  It wasn’t just 4G, even the 3G on my CrackBerry rolled back to 1x standard data with zero bars.

Fortunately, my computer picked up a Wi-Fi signal named “Hash House”.  Score one for me.  I clicked the SSID, and once again proceeded to do nothing.  It required a WEP password.  I summoned the guy who shows people to their seats for a living, and asked him how I could grab an IP address on their network.

He looked at me as if I had just asked for permission to cornhole his sister, and said “You can’t, it’s not for customers.”

Well f*ck me in the ear.

That’s what I get for roaming the Vegas Strip with uppity 21st century expectations.

I was half expecting the waitress to bring me raw food served with two rocks.  That way if I was one of “those guys” who ate things cooked, I could bang them together and make fire.

With long waits, they absolutely need to put Wi-Fi in the joint.  It’s already a quasi-hipster place, so a complete lack of connectivity is inexcusable.

It’s not just the Hash House’s fault, though.  As much as I like and depend on Clearwire, their building penetration is for shit.  Planet Hollywood and Aria are also dead spots unless you go to the roof and sit on a ledge.

I digress.

After sprouting three gray hairs and watching my driver’s license expire, my food finally arrived.  The cook brought it out himself, and for some reason, he stuck a tree in my biscuit.  I thanked him, but I contemplated the tree for awhile.  What in the hell was I supposed to do with the thing?  Take it home, decorate it, and put presents under it?  Gnaw it in half and build a dam?  Why was it in my biscuit of all places?

Hash House a Go Go - Hash with Chorizo and Jalepenos

Again, this was probably my fault.  When I ordered my food, I didn’t say not to put a tree in it, so that could be construed as tacit consent.

I threw the tree aside, started eating, and found it to be decent food … albeit very “potato-y”.  It was the Hash with Chorizo and Jalepenos.  If I had to describe this particular dish, it would be a baked potato topped with meatloaf.  The potatoes were not really scrambled, rather, one potato had been cut into about 16 pieces.  I have never had this type of “heavy, full-potato hash” before, and while it was tasty, it was way too filling for me.  I thumbed my nose at the starving kids in China, and only finished about half of it.

The eggs were, well, eggs, but the thing that stood out most was the homemade strawberry jam that they had also put on the table.  It was very good dripped over the biscuit.

Hash House a Go Go - Biscuit with Strawberry Jam

Now, as one who looks at value propositions, I realized that what I was eating was “inexpensive food served attractively”.  One would be hard-pressed to find a less expensive food product than the modest potato, but it wasn’t like I was paying the highest device markup in the industry by buying an iPhone.  That would just be silly.  “But I’m paying for the eeeekooosisssstemm” shutup douchebnevermind.

Anyway, I finished up, yammered with my waitress for a couple of minutes, and then headed down into the bowels of the IP.

The entire meal was $14, or $20 with tip.  This is not bad for a meal on The Strip.

Hash House a Go Go Receipt

So, now I’ve eaten at the new Strip Hash House a Go Go, and it’s not bad.

While my personal waitress was very cool, like the rest of Las Vegas, they do have some service issues to address.

An hour wait is not good for the customer, and is not something that a casino will appreciate.  We cut short Broadway shows in this town to keep people gambling, and it hardly seems rational to hold them longer than that for eggs and potatoes.

It would also be nice if they didn’t tease people with Wi-fi, and then act like you are trying to get one over if you try to access it.  I could have pulled up my favorite website and rubbed a few out during my wait.  This may have put me in a better mood … although I may have fallen asleep on the table.  Prolactin is a cruel joke that mother nature plays on the human male.

I’m still kind of partial to the Peppermill for my obesity endeavors, however. It’s easier to get in and out, it’s a bit friendlier, and it has a familiarity thing going on.  They have a seafood omelette that I eat regularly, and I can also get a wireless signal for every device I have.

However, my criteria may not be the same as everyone else’s.

The Hash House is a worthy addition to The Strip, and it seems to be a good fit for the target demographic of the Imperial Palace.

Hash House a Go Go Menu

The “Go Go” in the name is a bit ironic, however.

Trust me, if you take a seat in the Hash House, you’re not “going going” anywhere for a very long time.

The Las Vegas Strip

Even though the cost of living in Vegas is relatively low when compared to that of other major cities, it can be outrageously expensive in other respects.

For instance, every time someone you know visits Vegas, they are on vacation with their completely disposable income, and they expect you to act in-kind.

Imagine living in Orlando and having everyone you know want to meet at Disney World every time they fly in.  Now imagine that they fly in at least once per week.  By the end of the year, the mouse would own all of your money.

The Las Vegas Strip

Vegas is similar.

Be they people I’ve known for decades or people I only “know” online, I can honestly say that not one single night passes where I don’t know at least one person who is visiting our fair city, and I try to touch base as often as I can.  It adds up quickly, though.  Not only that, but you feel genuinely bad if you don’t treat them — because after all, they have absolutely no idea that this is your 15th such dinner this month.

Locals, stop me if you’ve heard this one:

“No, I don’t want to meet at the Food Court, this is Vegas, Baby!  Let’s go to Craftsteak!”

Of course, you can interchange Craftsteak with your favorite restaurant or bar, but you get the point.

People don’t come to Las Vegas to meet up in libraries or public parks.  Neither do they come to Las Vegas to eat at Sbarro or nurse a coffee from Starbucks.  They come to eat heavily marked up casino restaurant food, drink heavily marked up bar beverages, and to drop generous gratuities in our tip-fueled economy.  This is what they should do.  They’re on vacation.

Obviously, as a resident, I take more of a measured approach.  It’s not that I’m cheap, it’s that I have other things going on and it would be a terrible investment to dine out every, single, solitary day.  Hell, even a paltry $10 daily tip is nearly $4,000/year, and the only thing you get in return for that is a smile.  At least it used to buy a smile.  These days it will buy a grumbling about what a cheapskate you are.

While I have no problem “meeting for dinner or drinks” 18 days each year like a typical Vegas-centric tourist (6 visits x 3 days), 365 days is tricky.  More often than not, I politely decline and people just think I’m an ass.  This maintains the status-quo because they thought I was an ass anyway, and it also prevents me from going completely broke.

This weekend, however, I made an exception.

Since it was “a holiday weekend” I conceded not once, not twice, but several times to a few dinner/drink endeavors.  Be it at the Bellagio Buffet, Sushi Samba, View Bar, or the aforementioned Craftsteak … I was a regular socialite.

Of course, good times have a price, and when it came time for me to play my customary Sunday poker session, I was decidedly short stacked.  I knew that I was using my bankroll for raw fish, booze, beef, and tips over the previous three days — but for Christ’s sake, it didn’t hit me just how much I was into it until I opened my wallet after sitting down at the card table.

Ouch.

Fortunately, I quickly remembered that I was the greatest poker player alive.

MGM and NYNY on the Las Vegas Strip

“It’s okay”, I told myself, “instead of one double, I’ll just make a quick hit at MGM and take that money for one more double at the Mandalay Bay.  I’ll be back where I started from”.

The great thing about goals is that they allow you to blissfully postpone failure.

Almost immediately after taking a seat, the cards were dealt, and I peeked at mine.

What I saw gave me cause for enthusiasm.

Holy mother of Moses, this was going to be the greatest year ever!

On my very first hand of the session, my very first hand of year, on the very first hand of the decade … I got pocket rockets.  American Airlines.  Bullets.  Sweet Dick Willy.  The Flying Albatross.

All of the above being nicknames for, of course, pocket aces.  Both of them also happened to be red.  How festive.

I bet, and I was called twice.

The flop was 10-8-5 with two spades.

Check, small raise, fold, call.  I was now heads up.

The turn brought an Ace of spades.  Doh!

This was my very first hand.  I had no idea how my opponent played.  Not even the slightest clue.  Obviously I couldn’t read the guy.  I may as well have been playing online.  I had a set, but there were three spades on the board.  I hate it when I have zero idea what to do.

I thought it out.  If he didn’t already have the spades, I sure hell wasn’t going to check and let him catch it.  If he already did have the spades, I was going down anyway.  I felt my best shot was to push him off of a chase, or to just get the inevitable over with.

I pushed in, and he called.

We unzipped our flies, compared dicks, and his was bigger.  Two spades.

The river brought a 3, I congratulated my opponent, and thus represents my Hole’ Em record for the year to date.

To sum it up … in 2010 … I have played exactly one hand of poker, and in that one hand, I lost it all.

In retrospect, I wish I would have had a few more meals over the weekend.  I would have enjoyed myself longer, and the outcome would have been exactly the same … a steaming pile of crap.