Tuesday, June 7, 2016
When what happens in Vegas doesn't stay in Vegas
Last week, business called.
I had to go to Las Vegas.
This is a city that brings back memories. Most of them fuzzy.
As a 22 year old, I went there with two high school buddies and did things that shall forever remain sealed in a bro-vault, that shall never be opened. Suffice to say I've never again exited a "Gentleman's Club" when the sun was already 2 hours into its day.
Later in life, I had visited the city with girlfriends, wives, friends and other couples. There was considerably less debauchery. But a lot more of my hard earned money being turned over to the casinos.
Now, it seems, I only go there for business.
Years ago I was summoned to the CES convention. I was put up at a very fancy hotel. And treated to a monumentally expensive dinner at the SW Steakhouse, where (and I'm looking at their current menu) you can enjoy a 4 oz. New York Strip Steak, made from Kobe beef imported from the Hyogo Prefecture for only $220. If 4 ounces isn't enough you can increase the size of 100% Tajima Cattle steak for a mere $55 an ounce.
More recently, I was flown to Sin City and housed at the incredible Aria hotel, where everything in the room, and I mean everything, is controlled by an electronic remote control board. You want the shades up, there's a button for that. You want the closet doors to open, there's a button for that. You want the bidet in the bathroom to shoot water up your ass with the force of a fire hose, there's a button for that.
Last week, I was there for a project that will remain undisclosed.
It was a quick 32 hour turnaround that included two 5 hour drives, one 3 hour client meeting, one 2 hour dinner, one 90 minute show, and a hazy number of hours winning huge stacks of chips at the roulette table (first time ever). This was followed by endless gawking at the human zoo on Fremont street -- where two faux show girls were happy to exploit my intoxicated generosity and pose for some very embarrassing photos with me.
Why, you may be wondering would we forego the 45 plane ride and drive all the way to Vegas and back?
Well, the truth is, the mechanic at the Lexus dealership told me I had be using poor low octane gas in my car and that if I wanted to see better performance I needed to flush it out with a few tanks of the good high octane stuff.
So that's what Las Vegas has become to me -- an opportunity to perform some much needed automobile maintenance.
Damn, getting old(er) sucks.