We had finally made it. A bedroom. Who knew a hotel room could feel this good. Yet, something was wrong with the room. Maybe it was the fact there was only one queen bed and five of us. Maybe it was the plaster board windows with the ongoing blinking of neon outside. It could have been the fact that the room hadn't been refurnished since the World Series of Poker had been started thirty-five years before. It was probably a combination of all of this along with five guys who were cranky and needed some serious sleep. We ordered a rollaway and slept two on the bed, one on the rollaway and two on an air mattress. We had to shift the bed mattress slightly over the air mattress to fit the rollaway.
The feeling of noon woke us and we were ready to begin a full day in Las Vegas (Days don't begin until noon in Las Vegas anyway). We decided that although having a room for $25 a night in the Horseshoe Casino would be super, it was probably best to just go to our hotel room that I had secured through the Hilton employee discount. It would be more expensive, by about two dollars a person, but it was worth it. Chad and I went to the registration desk to pay the bill and we were greeted by a wonderful surprise.
The young man asked, "Was this a comped room?"
Chad answered, "Yeah." This wasn't a lie. It was comped at half price. We didn't know the kid was going to give it to us for free.
"Well, then you are done. Let me validate your parking," he said.
Our first night in Vegas was comped. How excellent was that. You hear stories about people getting comped rooms, but you never expect to get one in your lifetime.
The day was mostly uneventful, however we did play in a $60 tournament that night. The tournament was at a casino called Sam's Town. It is a place that probably was in the middle of nowhere about twenty years ago. It has a casino, hotel, restaurant, lounge and bowling alley. (By the way, Harrah's recently purchased Horseshoe Casino and in Shreveport, Harrah's has moved to the Horseshoe and Sam's Town is now where they used to be.)
All five of us entered the tournament. We ended up with about 48 people in the game. Chad was the first to go out. He didn't even make it to the big blind. Bart was next. Like the whole trip, no one really knows how he did during the game. He just shows up and says how much money he either has won or lost. Clint was looking the best out of all of us at the break. He might have even been close to being chip leader. However, in No-limit Texas Hold'em, things can change rather quickly. In about three hands, Clint went from a lot of money to not much money. He was third to go out of our group.
I had a good chip lead at my table and the guy on my right went all in. It was only another $200 to call (I had probably $5,000). I was pot committed and called. I had 4-5 off suit. He had pocket 9's. He had this one in the bag. The flop came with 7-4-4. The odds of him losing were not great and I actually felt bad for the guy when nothing else came for him. I wasn't supposed to win and it wouldn't have hurt me financially. Yet, luck plays a factor in this game and it was not on his side.
The field was eventually dwindled to ten. We moved to the final table and drew for seats again. James and I were one seat away from each other. James was on the short stack the whole time we were at the final table.
The pay structure looked like this: 1st-$1,000; 2nd-$750; 3rd-$380; 4th-$220; 5th-$100.
Before we started the final table, an older woman, who had a twin at the table with us, asked if we would like to chop it so that everyone got $100. Seeing that I was the chip leader at the table, I was very against this. However, I didn't want to say anything because I was new to all this and didn't know if it was common to chop it like that. James approved the deal very quickly because he was worried he wasn't going to place in the money. After a vote, we decided not to chop it thanks to the guy who was second in chips. He didn't want to and I thanked him for it. The old hag's sister then asked if we could change it to where everyone got at least $50. I was okay with that. They changed the pay structure to resemble this: 1st-$900; 2nd-$700; 3rd-$350; 4th-$170; 5th-$100; 6th-10th-$50.
We began to play some more cards. I was on fire. I was hitting everything. Making good calls. Laying down monster hands. It was wonderful. Player by player, James and I were moving up the ranks. However, James was clinging by just a few chips. He ended up lasting until 5th place. This left me with an older gentleman and the abominable twins. We took a five minute break and I was sweating with anxiety. I was so nervous, I was uncontrollably shaking. When we sat back down, the double mint twins asked if I wanted to chop it a final time.
"This is the last chance," she naggingly said.
"I'm sorry but I don't want to," I replied with frustration. It wasn't fair to make me the scapegoat for not chopping it. I wanted to know how good I was. After about ten minutes I started to wish I had chopped it. I became low on chips from a few bad calls.
I won a lot of them back though in a big hand that knocked out one of the sisters. I had pocket J's. She had 9-10 off suit. I called her all-in bet after the flop, which was Q-4-J. I had trip J's and she was on a straight draw. The turn was a King. She had her straight. I needed a miracle card. The river flipped over and it was a Queen. I had hit a full house. Needless to say, the ice maiden with frosty white hair was not happy. She got up and whispered something to her sister. I think she told her to tear me apart.
It came down to me and her. I was sweating profusely. My shaking had gotten worse by this point. The final hand came quickly after we began heads-up play. Lady luck went all-in and started the stare down. I looked at my cards and saw an A-8 off suit. Not a hand I want to call for all my chips. I asked her to count it down. I would be left with very little. I debated in my mind for what seemed like an eternity. I finally said to myself, "You've made it this far. You have proven that you are good. Call."
I moved my chips in and called her bet. She flipped over Q-9 of clubs. The flop gave me an 8 and nothing else came on the turn or river. I had won my first tournament ever. I was on a high. I gave Clint, Chad and Bart $100 each (we had made a deal that if anyone won the tournament, the others got $100) and I tipped the dealer $60.
We were living large. I had won $900 and we decided to celebrate at Bellagio. While there, we saw Jason Alexander (George on Seinfeld). He was being very friendly with all the fans and generally seemed to care about what they were saying. The day had been good and I was going to enjoy the greatest sleep of my life.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
Friday, June 25, 2004
Day One: In Las Vegas
We began gambling at a staple in Vegas. No, it wasn't the Bellagio or Ceaser's Palace. No, not Horseshoe either, although we did end up there. It was a little place called The El Cortez. The El Cortez is down the street from Downtown. It's not even considered a downtown casino. It is bad. I mean really bad. The only reason we started there was because they have three dollar blackjack, which also had the flush bonus bet option (which is when both of your cards are the same suit), and three dollar craps. It is a place of cheap finance.
Bart rolled into town about an hour after we arrived and met us at the El Cortez. I did have an extremely scary conversation with an inebriated man about Texas Hold'em and seven card stud. I wanted to watch a 1-2 stud game to see if it was worth my time in trying out. The man stood next to me and proceeded to teach me how to play the game. For the record, I've been playing seven card stud since I was seven. He told me, with very stinky breath, that true poker players don't share their cards. Hold'em is for youngens who don't know how to play real poker.
"You never share your cards," he said. "Hold'em is just young wanna be's. You never share your cards."
"Yeah, I got it. Don't share your cards," is what I wanted to say. Instead it was more like, "Yeah. Uh-huh. Yep. Okay." And of course, none of my friends are around to save me. Instead, I had to slowly back away while he rambled on about not sharing your cards.
We stayed and gambled for about another hour and then went to Binion's Horseshoe Casino to try out the poker room and see the picture of the winner from the 2004 World Series of Poker.
Chad and I were at one table sitting next to each other. James was at a table by himself. Clint and Bart were at another table. According to Clint, "Bart was down by the idiots and I was by the retards." Clint sat next to a guy who actually vomited on himself at the table.
After about an hour of gambling Clint and Bart had run out of money, Chad decided to quit while he was ahead and I was moved to James table. I only had about $60 when I sat down. Not too long after I got there, a very drunk and beligerent young man decided to grace us with his presence. He was about 300 pounds of pure fat and flab. Don't get me wrong, his arms were the size of tree trunks, but there wasn't much to it. He could have crushed me, but only by actually falling on me. He was immediately hated. He wouldn't shut up, he was obnoxious and he kept saying how great he was. You know, if you're so good, why are you sitting at the cheapest table in the house? Because you suck, that's why. James was the one that actually started the trash talking, but it really escalated when I was in a bad beat with the guy.
Fatso would pre-flop rais everything, and I do mean everything. He pre-flop raised 2-3 offsuit. I flop top pair and he hits two pair. Of course I lost, but it wasn't because I was the bad player. When he flipped over two pair against my jacks with an ace kicker, I was astonished. How could someone pre-flop raise with 2-3 offsuit. I decided to say something.
"You have got to be the worst player at the table to play that," I blurted.
"Is that a fact," he responded.
This was his phrase. He would say this to every comment.
I came back with, "Yes it is. But I'll leave it up to a vote." I chose to let the other players at the table back me up. "By a show of hands, who thinks this guy is the worst player?" I immediately sent my arm sky high.
One guy near James said, "I don't know. That's a bold statement." I was thinking this moron was going to defend the 2-3 offsuit. Then he said, "But I think you are right. He is the worst player here."
Then a little, old man said, "You haven't seen me play yet."
I couldn't help but laugh. "No sir," I said, "You are way better than this guy."
During this humorous exchange, fattie had been messing with James and poking him. After the third prod, James shouted, "Don't f*#%ing touch me again."
The guy got defensive and asked what James was going to do about it. James told him he would take him outside. The guy told him he would tear James apart. Then, in Bart's finest hour, he leaned in from behind both of them and said, "You're not going to do a thing." I was more proud of him then than I have ever been.
After the hand was over I only had about $25 left and I was on tilt (big surprise). I told everyone the next big hand I get I am going all-in. It just so happened it was the next hand. Flabby raised pre-flop (of course) and about three people called, including me. It ended up with James winning the pot, thank goodness. Everyone was pissed at Stay-Puffed and I had lost all my money. James began putting his chips up to leave so we could go to our room.
During all of this Chad had gotten a room comped for half-price at the Horseshoe. We had decided we couldn't stay up all night. We were going to head up to the nice room and crash for the evening.
I began to stand up and Fattie Fatterson said something about how I was out of chips. I couldn't hold it in anymore. There is only so much one man can take. I looked at him with the darkest eyes I could muster and I firmly and deliberately spoke these words.
"I may be the smallest guy at this table, but I will still kick your ass."
I got up, left the table and heard his overstated question, "Is that a fact?" James left to go cash in and Chad was helping him. Bart, Chad, James and I were ready to rumble. However, Clint was not completely on board with us. He decided to do damage control. He talked the guy down and met us by the exit. We ended up not fighting, but we were ready to. There is nothing like having a story about the first night in Vegas and getting into a brawl. As we left to get the car, a guy called us a crew. I've been waiting for that my whole life. We were a crew. How cool is that? We then got the car and went to the room. End of day one, or is it...
Bart rolled into town about an hour after we arrived and met us at the El Cortez. I did have an extremely scary conversation with an inebriated man about Texas Hold'em and seven card stud. I wanted to watch a 1-2 stud game to see if it was worth my time in trying out. The man stood next to me and proceeded to teach me how to play the game. For the record, I've been playing seven card stud since I was seven. He told me, with very stinky breath, that true poker players don't share their cards. Hold'em is for youngens who don't know how to play real poker.
"You never share your cards," he said. "Hold'em is just young wanna be's. You never share your cards."
"Yeah, I got it. Don't share your cards," is what I wanted to say. Instead it was more like, "Yeah. Uh-huh. Yep. Okay." And of course, none of my friends are around to save me. Instead, I had to slowly back away while he rambled on about not sharing your cards.
We stayed and gambled for about another hour and then went to Binion's Horseshoe Casino to try out the poker room and see the picture of the winner from the 2004 World Series of Poker.
Chad and I were at one table sitting next to each other. James was at a table by himself. Clint and Bart were at another table. According to Clint, "Bart was down by the idiots and I was by the retards." Clint sat next to a guy who actually vomited on himself at the table.
After about an hour of gambling Clint and Bart had run out of money, Chad decided to quit while he was ahead and I was moved to James table. I only had about $60 when I sat down. Not too long after I got there, a very drunk and beligerent young man decided to grace us with his presence. He was about 300 pounds of pure fat and flab. Don't get me wrong, his arms were the size of tree trunks, but there wasn't much to it. He could have crushed me, but only by actually falling on me. He was immediately hated. He wouldn't shut up, he was obnoxious and he kept saying how great he was. You know, if you're so good, why are you sitting at the cheapest table in the house? Because you suck, that's why. James was the one that actually started the trash talking, but it really escalated when I was in a bad beat with the guy.
Fatso would pre-flop rais everything, and I do mean everything. He pre-flop raised 2-3 offsuit. I flop top pair and he hits two pair. Of course I lost, but it wasn't because I was the bad player. When he flipped over two pair against my jacks with an ace kicker, I was astonished. How could someone pre-flop raise with 2-3 offsuit. I decided to say something.
"You have got to be the worst player at the table to play that," I blurted.
"Is that a fact," he responded.
This was his phrase. He would say this to every comment.
I came back with, "Yes it is. But I'll leave it up to a vote." I chose to let the other players at the table back me up. "By a show of hands, who thinks this guy is the worst player?" I immediately sent my arm sky high.
One guy near James said, "I don't know. That's a bold statement." I was thinking this moron was going to defend the 2-3 offsuit. Then he said, "But I think you are right. He is the worst player here."
Then a little, old man said, "You haven't seen me play yet."
I couldn't help but laugh. "No sir," I said, "You are way better than this guy."
During this humorous exchange, fattie had been messing with James and poking him. After the third prod, James shouted, "Don't f*#%ing touch me again."
The guy got defensive and asked what James was going to do about it. James told him he would take him outside. The guy told him he would tear James apart. Then, in Bart's finest hour, he leaned in from behind both of them and said, "You're not going to do a thing." I was more proud of him then than I have ever been.
After the hand was over I only had about $25 left and I was on tilt (big surprise). I told everyone the next big hand I get I am going all-in. It just so happened it was the next hand. Flabby raised pre-flop (of course) and about three people called, including me. It ended up with James winning the pot, thank goodness. Everyone was pissed at Stay-Puffed and I had lost all my money. James began putting his chips up to leave so we could go to our room.
During all of this Chad had gotten a room comped for half-price at the Horseshoe. We had decided we couldn't stay up all night. We were going to head up to the nice room and crash for the evening.
I began to stand up and Fattie Fatterson said something about how I was out of chips. I couldn't hold it in anymore. There is only so much one man can take. I looked at him with the darkest eyes I could muster and I firmly and deliberately spoke these words.
"I may be the smallest guy at this table, but I will still kick your ass."
I got up, left the table and heard his overstated question, "Is that a fact?" James left to go cash in and Chad was helping him. Bart, Chad, James and I were ready to rumble. However, Clint was not completely on board with us. He decided to do damage control. He talked the guy down and met us by the exit. We ended up not fighting, but we were ready to. There is nothing like having a story about the first night in Vegas and getting into a brawl. As we left to get the car, a guy called us a crew. I've been waiting for that my whole life. We were a crew. How cool is that? We then got the car and went to the room. End of day one, or is it...
Day One Continued
Our story continues with four exhausted young men cruising down I-40 through Alburquerque. We were running behind the schedule, so James said we could only have 23 minutes for lunch. This was a huge cut from the hour lunch we had been promised three days earlier.
We decided to stop at the evil empire of restaurants, better known as McDonald's. I call McDonald's this because first of all they did away with the supersize deal. That was a good deal. What was wrong with it? Because people are fat. That's not McDonald's fault, now is it. The second reason they are the evil empire is because they only care about money, like most big businesses. Sure, they give money to charities, like that Ronald McDonald house (except has anyone ever actually seen where this guy lives, I don't think it exists). They only give to charities to look good to the general public.
Let me give an example of their wickedness. While at this McD's, an old lady asked for an empty cup to make a rootbeer float out of. She had ordered ice cream and was going to put it in the cup and fill it up with rootbeer. The manager told her she couldn't do that. She would have to pay for a cup. Can you believe that? It's a piece of cardboard that costs them seven cents to manufacture. Give the lady a cup for goodness sakes.
I was so astonished and disgusted at this display of poor customer service and greed that I decided to do something about it. I stepped right into the men's room, did my business (number 1) and then proceeded to break the urinal by flushing it. That's right. I showed them. It started overflowing and didn't stop. That is street justice.
Actually, I felt really bad when that happened because then Pedro had to come mop it up. Sorry Pedro, my bad.
I also might add Clint got a good view of all this from the stall. He was trying to clean out the pipes, but he had plumbing problems for about three days straight.
After lunch we decided to have another go at horse racing. Chad was unstoppable. I tried to bring myself luck when he was rolling by rubbing the Buddha. That is what I call it when I start rubbing Chad's belly and willing him to lose. It kind of creeps him out, but this time it wasn't doing anything. Chad couldn't lose. I at one time owed him five dollars (betting fifty cents a horse). We had a double or nothing bet and when my single horse of seven only needed one more square to his two, six, eight, eleven, and twelve horse only needing one square, I decided to up the ante. If one of his horses won, I owed him twelve. If my horse pulled it off, he would owe me five dollars. I was rolling the dice. I threw them into the cardboard box. Tensions were high. Every eye (even the drivers) was on what would fall. Then one of the dice didn't make it into the box. I immediately erupted with, "no roll, no roll!" So we rolled again. It was a six, sad. I lost again and that is when I gave up horse racing for a whole hour.
During that hour Clint and I got into a discussion about Indians. Clint is himself part Indian. As we passed a small community of adobes, Clint made sure it was his job to inform us that his people are forced to live in the small clay cubicles.
I felt it was necessary to point out that Indians lived in adobes before the white man even came to America. Clint responded with, "Yeah, but now you force us to live in them and sell jewelry and fireworks."
Since we were running behind the schedule, Chad opted to catch up to the clock. However his method was not without flaws. He would try and speed up to faster travelers by slamming down the gas peddle and power accelerating down the highway. You could actually feel how fast the gas was being pumped into the engine. Chad would find one way or another to stop every 45 minutes. Either bathroom breaks or power accelerating the gas tank empty.
We finally entered Las Vegas, right on time too. Exactly 19 hours after leaving, we were worn out and in need of a good shower. Yet, it was time to start gambling. While traveling down the strip, a car full of young women were checking us out (Clint thinks they were only looking at him though). They honked at us and wanted us to follow them, but Clint would have none of it. Even despite James' nagging about how he needed this. We were on a mission: to kick Vegas in the junk. Our tale will continue here.
We decided to stop at the evil empire of restaurants, better known as McDonald's. I call McDonald's this because first of all they did away with the supersize deal. That was a good deal. What was wrong with it? Because people are fat. That's not McDonald's fault, now is it. The second reason they are the evil empire is because they only care about money, like most big businesses. Sure, they give money to charities, like that Ronald McDonald house (except has anyone ever actually seen where this guy lives, I don't think it exists). They only give to charities to look good to the general public.
Let me give an example of their wickedness. While at this McD's, an old lady asked for an empty cup to make a rootbeer float out of. She had ordered ice cream and was going to put it in the cup and fill it up with rootbeer. The manager told her she couldn't do that. She would have to pay for a cup. Can you believe that? It's a piece of cardboard that costs them seven cents to manufacture. Give the lady a cup for goodness sakes.
I was so astonished and disgusted at this display of poor customer service and greed that I decided to do something about it. I stepped right into the men's room, did my business (number 1) and then proceeded to break the urinal by flushing it. That's right. I showed them. It started overflowing and didn't stop. That is street justice.
Actually, I felt really bad when that happened because then Pedro had to come mop it up. Sorry Pedro, my bad.
I also might add Clint got a good view of all this from the stall. He was trying to clean out the pipes, but he had plumbing problems for about three days straight.
After lunch we decided to have another go at horse racing. Chad was unstoppable. I tried to bring myself luck when he was rolling by rubbing the Buddha. That is what I call it when I start rubbing Chad's belly and willing him to lose. It kind of creeps him out, but this time it wasn't doing anything. Chad couldn't lose. I at one time owed him five dollars (betting fifty cents a horse). We had a double or nothing bet and when my single horse of seven only needed one more square to his two, six, eight, eleven, and twelve horse only needing one square, I decided to up the ante. If one of his horses won, I owed him twelve. If my horse pulled it off, he would owe me five dollars. I was rolling the dice. I threw them into the cardboard box. Tensions were high. Every eye (even the drivers) was on what would fall. Then one of the dice didn't make it into the box. I immediately erupted with, "no roll, no roll!" So we rolled again. It was a six, sad. I lost again and that is when I gave up horse racing for a whole hour.
During that hour Clint and I got into a discussion about Indians. Clint is himself part Indian. As we passed a small community of adobes, Clint made sure it was his job to inform us that his people are forced to live in the small clay cubicles.
I felt it was necessary to point out that Indians lived in adobes before the white man even came to America. Clint responded with, "Yeah, but now you force us to live in them and sell jewelry and fireworks."
Since we were running behind the schedule, Chad opted to catch up to the clock. However his method was not without flaws. He would try and speed up to faster travelers by slamming down the gas peddle and power accelerating down the highway. You could actually feel how fast the gas was being pumped into the engine. Chad would find one way or another to stop every 45 minutes. Either bathroom breaks or power accelerating the gas tank empty.
We finally entered Las Vegas, right on time too. Exactly 19 hours after leaving, we were worn out and in need of a good shower. Yet, it was time to start gambling. While traveling down the strip, a car full of young women were checking us out (Clint thinks they were only looking at him though). They honked at us and wanted us to follow them, but Clint would have none of it. Even despite James' nagging about how he needed this. We were on a mission: to kick Vegas in the junk. Our tale will continue here.
Wednesday, June 23, 2004
Day One of Getting Kicked In the Junk 2004
Even before sunrise, I could hear James on the phone with Clint. "Is Chad there yet?" A short pause and then, "Well we got to get going, we have a schedule to keep."
The schedule. It was a vicious, unforgiving thing. We lived by the schedule and we died by the schedule. James' schedule was down to the last detail. Eat lunch for an hour in Albuquerque and end up in Las Vegas 19 hours after we left. However, things didn't start off smoothly.
While driving down 180 (Division), we were about to get onto 820 and Clint remembered something very important...our fifth passenger. Yes, this was a road trip for five going out and four coming back. We were going to take a small plastic test tube full of the ashes of Clint's dad. Clint wanted to spread the remains of his father out on the open road. This delayed the trip 20 minutes, but everyone was okay with it because of the circumstances.
In Amarillo we saw a glimpse of the cadillac ranch. That was a big highlight considering there is nothing in west Texas. To pass the time during the depressing and bleak drive through flat nothingness, Chad brought along home-made horse racing. The rules of the game are simple. You roll two dice and whatever number comes up, that horse moves up one space. To win the race, a horse must move a certain number of times. For the number two and twelve, it is only two. For seven it is six times. We would bet fifty cents on a horse. The pot eventually got up to $20. Chad finally won that session.
Afterward, we discussed where to spread the ashes that were sitting in the middle console like nothing more than a garage door opener or a lighter. We narrowed it down to two possible options. Either in the desert of New Mexico, which is where he lived, or over the side of Hoover Dam. After listing the pros and cons of each burial site, we still didn't know which location was more beneficial to the dearly departed. So, we let fate make the decision for us. We let the dice have the choice. If it was an even number, Hoover Dam. If it was an odd, New Mexico. I shook it up in my palm, gave Clint a last glance to make sure he was ready and I then let it fly. It spun around for what seemed like a mile (on a road trip, time is measured in distance traveled, not by a watch or clock). Finally, it stopped. The small cube revealed two white dots. An even number. Hoover Dam it was.
Once this choice was over with, there was an abnormal and ackward silence in the car. No one knew what to say. So I decided to listen to a cd that was given to me by Joanna. The title was Viva Las Vegas 2004.
I was on the first song and James asked me, "What are you listening to?"
"A cd Joanna made for me," I answered.
"What does it have on it?"
"I'm only on the first song," I said.
"Well, what is it?"
"The Sopranos theme song."
Immediately Clint and Chad sat up. "Oh yeah," they all said. "Let's listen to it."
So we put the cd in. The following is the list of the songs: 1. Soprano's Theme Song, 2. Viva Las Vegas, 3. The Gambler, 4. a country song about chasing the wind and cowboys like us, 5. Danke Shoen, 6. Bare Naked Ladies poker song, 7. Pat Green song about Texas, 8. On the Road Again, 9. Everybody Loves Somebody, 10. My Way and 11. Come Away With Me.
Everyone was getting into the music. In fact, by song seven, we thought it was the greatest cd ever arranged by a girlfriend. However, by the time Dean Martin came around, you could tell 3/4 of the audience were starting to lose interest. Once the cd was over, we all decided that they should have stopped listening at about track nine. I love the whole cd and I haven't taken it out of my cd player yet.
By this time we rolled into Alburquerque and were ready to eat lunch. I will continue with day one in my next entry.
The schedule. It was a vicious, unforgiving thing. We lived by the schedule and we died by the schedule. James' schedule was down to the last detail. Eat lunch for an hour in Albuquerque and end up in Las Vegas 19 hours after we left. However, things didn't start off smoothly.
While driving down 180 (Division), we were about to get onto 820 and Clint remembered something very important...our fifth passenger. Yes, this was a road trip for five going out and four coming back. We were going to take a small plastic test tube full of the ashes of Clint's dad. Clint wanted to spread the remains of his father out on the open road. This delayed the trip 20 minutes, but everyone was okay with it because of the circumstances.
In Amarillo we saw a glimpse of the cadillac ranch. That was a big highlight considering there is nothing in west Texas. To pass the time during the depressing and bleak drive through flat nothingness, Chad brought along home-made horse racing. The rules of the game are simple. You roll two dice and whatever number comes up, that horse moves up one space. To win the race, a horse must move a certain number of times. For the number two and twelve, it is only two. For seven it is six times. We would bet fifty cents on a horse. The pot eventually got up to $20. Chad finally won that session.
Afterward, we discussed where to spread the ashes that were sitting in the middle console like nothing more than a garage door opener or a lighter. We narrowed it down to two possible options. Either in the desert of New Mexico, which is where he lived, or over the side of Hoover Dam. After listing the pros and cons of each burial site, we still didn't know which location was more beneficial to the dearly departed. So, we let fate make the decision for us. We let the dice have the choice. If it was an even number, Hoover Dam. If it was an odd, New Mexico. I shook it up in my palm, gave Clint a last glance to make sure he was ready and I then let it fly. It spun around for what seemed like a mile (on a road trip, time is measured in distance traveled, not by a watch or clock). Finally, it stopped. The small cube revealed two white dots. An even number. Hoover Dam it was.
Once this choice was over with, there was an abnormal and ackward silence in the car. No one knew what to say. So I decided to listen to a cd that was given to me by Joanna. The title was Viva Las Vegas 2004.
I was on the first song and James asked me, "What are you listening to?"
"A cd Joanna made for me," I answered.
"What does it have on it?"
"I'm only on the first song," I said.
"Well, what is it?"
"The Sopranos theme song."
Immediately Clint and Chad sat up. "Oh yeah," they all said. "Let's listen to it."
So we put the cd in. The following is the list of the songs: 1. Soprano's Theme Song, 2. Viva Las Vegas, 3. The Gambler, 4. a country song about chasing the wind and cowboys like us, 5. Danke Shoen, 6. Bare Naked Ladies poker song, 7. Pat Green song about Texas, 8. On the Road Again, 9. Everybody Loves Somebody, 10. My Way and 11. Come Away With Me.
Everyone was getting into the music. In fact, by song seven, we thought it was the greatest cd ever arranged by a girlfriend. However, by the time Dean Martin came around, you could tell 3/4 of the audience were starting to lose interest. Once the cd was over, we all decided that they should have stopped listening at about track nine. I love the whole cd and I haven't taken it out of my cd player yet.
By this time we rolled into Alburquerque and were ready to eat lunch. I will continue with day one in my next entry.
Wednesday, June 16, 2004
Getting Kicked In The Junk By Vegas 2004 In Review
We did it. We drove to Las Vegas, stayed four days, and didn't pay for a single night in a hotel room. This feat has been tried before and few, if any, have succeeded. This is just one tale of what occurred at Getting Kicked in the Junk by Vegas 2004. Over the next few days I will be telling many stories of what happened in Sin City. I will be breaking the cardinal rule of Vegas though. That rule is: what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Unless you need a prescription to get rid of it. Oh, I don't want to divulge any more yet. You will just have to wait. Until next time...
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Applause Has Become A Mockery
Has the status of applauding diminished so much that anything can deserve an applause and standing ovations mean nothing more than good job? Is it just America that insults the applause or has all of society lowered the standards of the standing ovation? I have observed this trend over the last few years and feel it must be stopped. Let me remind you of what is and what is not deserving of praise by clapping.
Let us begin with live performances. This is very deserving of applause. The people that perform before a live audience earn the glorification they recieve. They train and practice for months to get one performance right. Anything can go wrong and there are no corrections for mistakes. The entertainers I am referring to are the following types: musicians (both vocal and instrumental), stage actors, dancers, athletes and public speakers. They are to be applauded at the completion of a magnificent achievement, such as a complicated musical number or the setting of a record.
However, these men and women are only worthy of standing ovations if what they have done can be considered truly spectacular. If it is anything less, clapping is what should be given. It can be clapping that lasts an hour and a half, but no one should stand. The standing ovation is the apex of applause. If it is given out like it is now, the meaning behind it will depreciate.
I went to see Jerry Seinfeld perform a few months ago, and when the audience saw him step out on stage, they erupted and flew out of their seats. The applause that ensued was tremendous. He hadn't done anything yet. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of Seinfeld. I love his show. I own his book, DVD and CD. He is a comic genius. Yet, does he deserve a standing ovation for stepping on stage? No. Save it for the end of the performance because he will definetly deserve it then.
Moving on to recorded performances. What I mean by this is a movie. What I have noticed lately is people are beginning to give rounds of applause at the rolling of the credits in a movie theater. Why are you doing this? Who are you clapping to? The actors can't hear you. The producers aren't there. Are you applauding the AMC employees for switching the reels so well? Way to flip that switch at the second cigarette burn (If you don't know what a cigarette burn is, watch Fight Club).
Here is why you don't applaude a film. Because they didn't get it right the first time. The director says action for each scene at least four times. The actor can correct any missed cue or forgotten line. The editor takes the best footage out of eighteen takes and splices it together. A movie is a collection of great scenes that were taken many times to get just right.
The way to show you enjoy a movie is to buy another ticket and watch it again. They rate the success of a film by money. Cash is what fuels Hollywood. It's all they think about. They don't care if you are cheering at the end of the movie. They want you to go to the local toy store and buy the new Tickle Me Spidey that has been made to coincide with Spiderman 2.
Here is what I am saying. Don't clap for a movie. It is retarded. No one can hear you except me. And frankly, it pisses me off. You're a moron if you applaude a movie. So stop doing it. Also, don't give everything a standing ovation. This will just give people who aren't deserving bragging rights to something they shouldn't have earned. They will pull a Reuben. (James got that)
Let us begin with live performances. This is very deserving of applause. The people that perform before a live audience earn the glorification they recieve. They train and practice for months to get one performance right. Anything can go wrong and there are no corrections for mistakes. The entertainers I am referring to are the following types: musicians (both vocal and instrumental), stage actors, dancers, athletes and public speakers. They are to be applauded at the completion of a magnificent achievement, such as a complicated musical number or the setting of a record.
However, these men and women are only worthy of standing ovations if what they have done can be considered truly spectacular. If it is anything less, clapping is what should be given. It can be clapping that lasts an hour and a half, but no one should stand. The standing ovation is the apex of applause. If it is given out like it is now, the meaning behind it will depreciate.
I went to see Jerry Seinfeld perform a few months ago, and when the audience saw him step out on stage, they erupted and flew out of their seats. The applause that ensued was tremendous. He hadn't done anything yet. Don't get me wrong, I am a huge fan of Seinfeld. I love his show. I own his book, DVD and CD. He is a comic genius. Yet, does he deserve a standing ovation for stepping on stage? No. Save it for the end of the performance because he will definetly deserve it then.
Moving on to recorded performances. What I mean by this is a movie. What I have noticed lately is people are beginning to give rounds of applause at the rolling of the credits in a movie theater. Why are you doing this? Who are you clapping to? The actors can't hear you. The producers aren't there. Are you applauding the AMC employees for switching the reels so well? Way to flip that switch at the second cigarette burn (If you don't know what a cigarette burn is, watch Fight Club).
Here is why you don't applaude a film. Because they didn't get it right the first time. The director says action for each scene at least four times. The actor can correct any missed cue or forgotten line. The editor takes the best footage out of eighteen takes and splices it together. A movie is a collection of great scenes that were taken many times to get just right.
The way to show you enjoy a movie is to buy another ticket and watch it again. They rate the success of a film by money. Cash is what fuels Hollywood. It's all they think about. They don't care if you are cheering at the end of the movie. They want you to go to the local toy store and buy the new Tickle Me Spidey that has been made to coincide with Spiderman 2.
Here is what I am saying. Don't clap for a movie. It is retarded. No one can hear you except me. And frankly, it pisses me off. You're a moron if you applaude a movie. So stop doing it. Also, don't give everything a standing ovation. This will just give people who aren't deserving bragging rights to something they shouldn't have earned. They will pull a Reuben. (James got that)
Friday, June 04, 2004
Getting Kicked In The Junk By Vegas 2004 Update
It is only a week until we depart for Las Vegas. Woo-hoo. I am getting very excited. This trip could end up being the greatest road trip since Joseph and Mary tried staying at an inn without a reservation and she ended up going through labor in the barn. On the other hand, the four of us may never talk to each other after the 18-hour drive back to Arlington. Who knows? That's what makes it so thrilling.
I am also looking forward to this trip because I get to see my brother. He and I don't always get along, but I enjoy seeing him and I think we can be nice for the better of the trip.
Well, we have endured all the hitches I think there are going to be. The only snag I could see occurring would be Chad getting a job with Wells Fargo and not being able to go. Wait, what am I saying. Oh...that was good. I needed a good laugh for the day.
Even with the loss of Clint's dog, Boon, he will still be able to afford the trip. Everything is in place. All the wives and other legal guardians have given the okay and we are ready to hit the road. If anyone has good road trip music suggestions, please let me know. We get to take four cds each. I haven't decided what music to bring. I might put the boys through hell and make them listen to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra the whole time. James would enjoy it, but Clint and Chad would probably shoot themselves by disc two and leave their dead carcasses in the desert for the buzzards to devour.
Best road trip ever!
I am also looking forward to this trip because I get to see my brother. He and I don't always get along, but I enjoy seeing him and I think we can be nice for the better of the trip.
Well, we have endured all the hitches I think there are going to be. The only snag I could see occurring would be Chad getting a job with Wells Fargo and not being able to go. Wait, what am I saying. Oh...that was good. I needed a good laugh for the day.
Even with the loss of Clint's dog, Boon, he will still be able to afford the trip. Everything is in place. All the wives and other legal guardians have given the okay and we are ready to hit the road. If anyone has good road trip music suggestions, please let me know. We get to take four cds each. I haven't decided what music to bring. I might put the boys through hell and make them listen to Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra the whole time. James would enjoy it, but Clint and Chad would probably shoot themselves by disc two and leave their dead carcasses in the desert for the buzzards to devour.
Best road trip ever!
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