Things Are Not Going Well

UPDATE: This piece was published in the Viewpoints Section of the Sunday, April 29th edition of The Free Lance Star (Fredericksburg, VA). Here's the Link.

Police storming a school. Lines of ambulances with sirens blaring. Candlelight vigils. This all seems far too familiar. Although these scenes currently belong to the horrible events at Virginia Tech, they also serve as grim replays of past school shootings at Columbine and Jonesboro, and in doing so, call to mind how much tragedy and violence this generation of young adults, my generation, has experienced since our formative years. My peers and I have grown up in an unsafe and chaotic world, and if recent events are any indication, our situation won’t be improving any time soon.

We have endured much, my generation. We practiced hiding under our desks after Columbine, attended candlelight vigils for Oklahoma City, and watched in horror as the towers fell on 9/11. Now, more bloodshed, more loss and more unanswered questions as we see some of our best and brightest lost to another heinous act of violence. Although we may not know the victims personally, we can put ourselves in their place and imagine the horrors they experienced. We know them; they’re us.

Our world gets no sunnier once out of Blacksburg, as the news isn’t any better out of Iraq. 21, 20, and 22 years old rank as the top three ages of US soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan respectfully, and all totaled, more soldiers between the ages of 19 and 24 have been killed in the War on Terror than all other ages combined. It’s our friends, relatives, classmates and teammates fighting this war and paying for its mistakes, and when they come home in flag-draped coffins, our world gets a little bit grayer.

The hits just keep on coming. Our generation has come of age in the dark shadow of global warming, avian flu, roving interstate snipers, AIDS, West Nile virus, the USS Cole bombing, anthrax, sexual predators, weapons of mass destruction, the Axis of Evil, Y2K, shark attacks, dirty bombs, letter bombs, shoe bombs, oil crises, and a litany of other threats, fears, and dangers, each more ominous and deadly than the last. We are told that we are safe but not yet safe, that smoking guns will come as mushroom clouds, and that the worst is yet to come. Things, as they say, are not looking up.

What’s more, despite numerous opportunities to invite this generation to the table and seek our help in improving our world, the powers that be have consistently said “You kids play outside; the grownups have to talk.” After 9/11, we would have done anything for our country, yet our president only asked us to go shopping and resume our regular lives. Unless we plan to join the Army ourselves, it seems that the thing we can do to support our troops in Iraq is to put a magnetic ribbon on our car. This generation has learned the hard way that the world is a far more frightening and dangerous place than we could have ever imagined, and yet have only received a color-coded alert system and a roll of duct tape with which to defend ourselves.

In spite of this latest tragedy, and the mounting number of tragedies that document my generation, I believe though that we still have the capacity for hope. We hope that some good can come from the loss of life at Virginia Tech. We hope that the families and friends of those affected will find hope and comfort in their time of need. Most of all, we hope that, when it’s our turn, we will create an America far better than the one we inherit, so that the nation we’ve read about in books and watched in movies will be the one we see with our eyes wide open.

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Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue: Part 5

And now, the exciting conclusion to the Las Vegas Travelogue!

Sunday: Palms and Fountains

Palm Sunday. 8 AM Mass. Vegas. Which one is not like the other? However unlikely it may seem, there is indeed a Catholic Church in Las Vegas, The Shrine of the Holy Redeemer. Not technically a parish (hence the name “shrine”), the church primarily serves the needs of travelers and tourists that come through Vegas, and when jumbled together with the taxi-drivers, casino dealers (I saw a few people wearing their uniforms), and other locals, created a truly vibrant, albeit temporary, community. We sang together, moved together, and communed with the rest of the Universal Church. It was a great mass, one of the best I’ve been to in a while, and it surprised me to find that deep sense of community so far from home.

After a massive, crepes-serving breakfast buffet (“I want you to say “I. Love. Crepes,”), two April Fool’s Jokes (one failure, one success, and one nasty bit of karmic revenge waiting to pounce on me), a near-attack by a wandering pheasant at the Flamingo (as a side note, this passage proves that what you read here is 100% fair, balanced, and accurate. How easy it would have been to change the pheasant into a flamingo, but no, I keep it real), and other adventures in “down time,” we set out for the evening with dinner at Margaritaville (you may be noticing a theme).

The dinner, nachos, beer, and quesadillas, was overshadowed by another reminder that my Uncle Bill is the epitome of cool. During a discussion of favorite concerts and music, we learned that Uncle Bill has a friend that resells concert tickets, and thanks to this friend, Uncle Bill seen many shows (Van Morrison, David Gray, Carole King) within an arm’s reach of the stage. In short, if you need concert tickets, my Uncle Bill “knows a guy.” He’ll give you a good deal.

The plan for the evening was to leave dinner, hit the strip, and see three outdoor “shows;” the pirate ship show at Treasure Island, the volcano eruption at the Mirage, and the fountains at the Bellagio. The plan went awry.

What I Learned in Vegas: 9. The Karmic Revenge Machine is Alive and Well. Thanks to a potent mixture of cosmic trickery, two April Fool’s jokes, and a town built on luck and sand, I learned first hand that the Karmic Revenge Machine (a device conceived by the universe to punish small misdemeanors and wrongs usually ignored by our criminal justice system) is still churning. The Machine struck back hard on our group’s efforts, nixing one of three stops and forcing us to wait unwarranted amount of time to see sub-par attractions. Be aware.

We made it to Treasure Island in plenty of time, and waited. And waited. And, wait, just one minute, they’re announcing something…yes, they’ve canceled the show due to high winds, all thanks to that karmic revenge waiting to pounce on me like Hobbes when Calvin returns from school. We were 0 for 1 to start, and our luck did not improve.

We walked down to the Mirage, and learned from various other crowd members (literally, a crowd was waiting to watch this volcano, instilling me with the hope that this thing would go Dante’s Peak on the entire strip) that the volcano erupted at dusk. Dusk came and went, and we waited, and talked, and walked back to Treasure Island, and waited, and sat on a retaining wall, and waited, and talked some more, and waited, and stared at a giant sign, and waited, and after an hour of waiting, our eyes finally saw the glory and power of the Mirage Hotel and Casino’s erupting volcano.

I have seen better fireworks in my backyard. Escape from Pompeii has better pyrotechnics. I have not been that disappointed since I paid $6 to watch X-Men 3. This “volcano” was a couple blasts of fire, some lights, and a few fountains. While the waiting wasn’t that bad (I spent much of it discussing the upcoming baseball season with Uncle Bill), the worse thing about that damned volcano was that it kept building to some sort of triumphant finish, only that triumphant finish never came.

The flames went higher, and higher, and higher, and the lights beamed yellow, then orange, then red, and THEN…everything stopped. The eruption, in all its lackluster splendor, ceased erupting at the very moment it could have kicked into high gear. It was as if the person controlling the volcano accidentally pressed the “suck” button instead of the “awesome, kick-ass finish” button. The karmic revenge machine continues to churn, and we’re 0 for 2.

Last, the Fountains at the Bellagio. We arrived fatigued and sore from the walking, rogered from the glaring lameness of the last two “shows,” and yet filled with the hope that the Fountains would not overly disappoint (in short, we were somewhere between “pragmatic” and “peasant-revolt angry”). Yet all came into focus and all tension was released when Uncle Bill turned to me and said “So, do you feel more like Brad or George tonight?” (After the heist in Ocean’s Eleven, the crew watches the fountain show in front of the Bellagio and leaves one by one). Nice.

Uncle Bill and I went to get beers and sodas for the group at a snack bar inside the Bellagio (Thank You Again Open Container Law), providing some much needed refreshment. The Fountains themselves were good; not spectacular, but not disappointing either. Speakers broadcast operatic music in time with the blasts of the fountains, as if a great maestro was moving the water in time with his symphony.

We went back to the hotel, said our goodbyes to Uncle Bill and Charlene, and returned to the room. That night, I looked out of our floor to ceiling windows for a while, staring out at the bright lights and gleaming towers around us. You just don’t get those kind of views anywhere else.

Monday: Opening Day

I left the hotel early that morning to tie up some loose ends. After a few setbacks and a few “this might just not happen” moments, I got a Hard Rock guitar pin from the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino (now 21 cities represented), played roulette (my grandpa told me to put in on red, and I won. I’m following his advice much more closely these days) and finished up the trip spending less than $40 for three days of “gaming” (-$38 for the trip), slapped a couple random high fives from Red Sox fans at the Hard Rock Hotel (it pays to wear your Wakefield shirt in public), bought a Cinnabon from the Biggest Cinnabon I’ve Ever Seen, and flew home.

Thanks to a gracious and accommodating flight attendant who moved me into a single seat exit row chair (the Valhalla of Airline Seats), I enjoyed the legroom of an exit row with the night views of a window seat. The cities scattered beneath me like spider webs of light, and I wrote down all that I could remember about the weekend. Certainly more than enough to bring me back as soon as the winds blow west again. Not a bad four days. Not bad at all.

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Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue: Part 4

Saturday Night: Unspeakable Crimes Against Caution

What I Learned in Vegas: 8. The Normal Rules Do Not Apply: With its total lack of police presence, open container laws, and general “don’t know, don’t care” attitude, things that would normally be impossible (or at least highly improbably) happen frequently in Vegas. For example, you can grab a free beer while gambling at one casino, leave, walk a ½ mile down the street, and continue drinking and gambling at another.

What’s more, everyone is doing this. It’s staggering. It's almost beautiful. The best example, though, came on the ride home from the wedding. We were joined by many of Mindy’s extended family (all from Needles, NV, described as “a place at which you’ve probably broken down before”), some of whom had been drinking long island ice teas since dawn. The cries started to ring out from the back “Let’s stop at the AM/PM! Let’s stop at Albertsons! We should get some beer!”

And we did. The driver actually stopped to pick up beer. These things don’t happen, but as stated, the normal rules do not apply in Vegas. We stopped at an Albertson’s, and two representatives (one named Davey Duke, no relation to the noted white supremacist and former presidential candidate David Duke) ran in to grab a case of Bud Light and a bottle of Patron Tequila. The drinks started going around, the eyes of two elderly couples in the front began to light up with worry, and the bottle of Patron started slowly making its way around the bus.

In the interest of full disclosure, my sister and I don’t hang out with tequila. In fact, after an April evening freshman year, tequila and I haven’t been on speaking terms. So, when the bottle reached our seats, we gave the international symbol for “no” and did not partake. But, Uncle Bill did partake. He hit the bottle with the confidence and control of a GQ Man of the Year, further cementing his coolness, and causing and eruption of “YEAH!” from the far more drunk half of the bus. After passing the bottle on to its next victim, Uncle Bill remarked, “It’s smooth. With the good stuff, you don’t get drunk.” I almost believed him. After two beers, countless worried looks from the folks in the front, and another pull for Uncle Bill, we arrived back at the Flamingo, stumbling out of the bus and ready to go.

Drawn by the power of the leprechaun carnival barker, we went to O’Shea’s, where I found a $5 Three Card Poker table and a friendly dealer that did not spit fire (good sign). Plus, my sister was nowhere to be found (double good sign). In the space of about a half hour, I won multiple hands, and hit two flushes and a straight, doubling the money I had put on the table and erasing my loses from the night before (+5 for the trip). That’s when I made a not-so-calculated and currently much debated move.

I kept playing. I was up, had erased the losses from the night before, and yet I kept playing. Here’s my reasoning: I enjoyed gambling, was having fun, and being up so much, I made the decision to walk away from the table with no less than I put in that night. I continued to play, and stopped getting the good hands that had come so easily earlier in the evening. On the last fateful hand, I showed an Ace, and the dealer showed a pair. Worse yet, I counted my chips incorrectly and actually spent more than I wanted to. So much for being up (-$48 for the trip). Looking at the situation objectively, I enjoyed numerous free drinks, two hours of entertainment, and just for Saturday night, I only spent 8 dollars. Not bad. Not good, but not bad either. Back to the room and up early for mass the next morning.

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Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue: Part 3

Saturday: Sunrise, Sunset

My sister is hung over. Not in that “oh, that’s cute, you had a little too much fun last night” way, but more like “she’s swattin’ at us like an angry bear, grab you a helmet and hit the floor” way. After I returned to the room last night, she went in search of fun, and found it at the Margaritaville located conveniently in our hotel. Three giant margaritas, jet lag, and a completely lack of sleep had left my sister in the disgruntled bear-like state in which we currently found her. Seeking refuge, I went to find breakfast with the rest of my mom and aunt.

What I Learned in Vegas: 7. Everything Costs Money: My major beef with Vegas. Unlike in other major cities or tourists attractions, very little worth doing in Vegas can be done for free, and everything that can cost money costs more than normal. For example, my breakfast of a basic omelet, coffee, and toast cost roughly $20, including separate charges for each cup of coffee. They charged me for the refill. This is 2007 America, and they’re charged me for my single refill of coffee. I ask you, didn’t we win the Cold War? Didn’t the Berlin Wall fall? Didn’t the Iron Curtain collapse? In the America I know, if a person buys a cup of coffee, that means unlimited coffee, an endless supply of refills. In Las Vegas, apparently, we’re still practicing duck and cover drills and searching for closet communists in Hollywood.

After schlepping around the hotel for a bit, I set off to walk the strip and take in the sights. Just out the front door, I hear a carnival barker type voice advertising for O’Shea’s Casino (right next door), and as I move closer, I realize that the man behind the voice is a little person. A midget. A little person dressed in a Leprechaun suit. I couldn’t believe it. Offended? Not really. I’m just happy the little guy can find work.

The Strip itself is staggering to see. Surrounded by flat desert and shining golden in the Nevada sun, the monolithic high-rise hotels stand like giant temples honoring the blessings of our pagan gods (or, in the case of Treasure Island, our pirate gods), like some futuristic Valley of the Kings. If the human race is ever wiped clean off the earth, and aliens come to our planet and research our history, they will suspect that Las Vegas is where we buried our god-king leaders, with monuments built to honor their great deeds. The Flamingo, of course, will have been built to honor Montgomery the Strong, who used his flamingo-drawn chariots to conquer Indo-China in 2048.

If aliens were to study the future ruins of America, then Las Vegas wouldn’t be a bad place to look. With its opulence and gleam, Las Vegas represents the shining American ideal that anyone can change their life, taking those few dollars in their pocket and striking it rich. At the same time, though, Vegas revels in the dark excess and isolation for which America is known, the bad weekend that our nation can’t collectively seem to shake. Despite all the smiling faces and towering chip stacks on the billboards at the airport, very few make it out of Vegas with luck on their side, and just in case anyone thinks they’re entitled to a better place at the table, the high stakes area has a man at the door front to keep out the riff-raff. But, way down at the bottom of this dark sea is a faint light of hope, making it seem like anyone, anyone is just a few good rolls away from the high rollers suite.

After lunch at Margaritaville (I ate a “Cheeseburger in Paradise” because I’m that guy), we took it easy the rest of the afternoon until the bus ride (excuse me, luxury shuttle ride) to the wedding, held at a country club at least a half hour out of town. Once you leave the city, you realize how small Vegas is in square miles, as after just ten minutes on the highway, the shining carriage of Las Vegas turns back into the pumpkin of the Nevada desert.

The wedding itself was great, held outside on a hill above a far-too-green-for-Las-Vegas golf course with the Sierra Nevada Mountains in the distance. During the reading of the vows, Mindy (my new cousin-in-law. Is that a thing? Can you be cousins-in-law, or is it just cousins? I’m waiting on a judges’ ruling) had to face directly into the setting sun, so, seeing his bride squinting, my cousin Jason subtlety moved his head in front of her face, blocking the sun from her eyes. A nice moment.

The reception featured an open bar (again! hooray! As a side note, if you are having a wedding and don’t have an open bar, then you obviously don’t want people to come. It’s that simple), good food, and a DJ that didn’t overstep his bounds and did not play the “Macarena,” the “Chicken Dance” or the “Electric Slide” (the music was so good in fact that even I was convinced to dance). On top of that, we watched the sunset over the Sierra Nevada Mountains, a remarkable sight. If it wasn’t for the “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?” heat in the summer, the sunset is reason enough to move out west.

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Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue: Part 2

Friday Night: Riding the High and Beautiful Wave

Once checked in, we ran up to the room, changed, and went to the rehearsal dinner for my cousin Jason’s wedding. [We met some new relatives, talked with those we hadn’t seen in far too long (The rehearsal dinner marked first time I met my Uncle Mike and his wife Millie, as well as the first time in a long time that I’ve seen Jason), and generally enjoyed ourselves. The banquet room was connected to a great balcony by a short hallway, and once outside, you could see a big wide view of the Flamingo hotel (with its giant pink sign illuminating the night like a beacon of awesome) as well as a few other hotels on the strip.

What I Learned in Vegas: 5. My Uncle Bill is Awesome: My Uncle Bill, while technically not an uncle (he’s a cousin of some sort), fills the role of my “cool uncle” to the fullest extent (as a side note, every family has a cousin or family friend that they call “Uncle _____,” and most have a de facto “cool uncle. The McMahon family is no exception). Not only did he take me out for my first night of gambling, but he also has excellent musical tastes (Van Morrison, Bob Dylan, David Gray) and can knock back Patron like a champ (more on that later).

Uncle Bill, my sister, and I walked across the street to Caesar’s, and with an absence of available seats at $10 black jack tables, started the night by playing $1 slots. In my first couple pulls, I’ve doubled my money, and continue to play until I’ve not only paid back Uncle Bill for my the $20 he lent me but won $30 more on top of that (+$30 for the trip).

When we finished playing slots, we walked through the casino and directly past the line for PURE, a nightclub that at the time was offering free cover for girls and free drinks until midnight. The line was about 50 yards long, and packed with attractive women in clothes that would make Lindsey Lohan say, “You may need to tone it down a tad.” Uncle Bill and I exchanged just a single glance, both knowing exactly what the other was thinking and needing no words to communicate with the other. A nice moment, to say the least.

What I Learned in Vegas: 6. My Sister Is Horribly Unlucky: Not only did my sister lose out playing slot machines, but on our return to the Flamingo, she (deciding she had played enough for the trip) decided to stand directly behind Uncle Bill and me and sent a malicious metaphysical malady upon both our chairs, thus eliminating any chances of us having a profitable evening (Side note: Never touch the back of a person’s chair while they’re playing cards. It’s just wrong). I gambled the entire weekend, and did much better whenever she was not around. A word to the wise, if you’re ever around my sister, never bet on anything. ANYTHING.

As for Uncle Bill and me, we played Three Card Poker, and in the course of about an hour, we collectively took hit after hit from a venomous, fire breathing, bite-the-head-off-a-pigeon-and-drink-its-blood-for-strength dealer, who kept beating us with alarmingly improbable hands. Imagine a basketball game where one team hits 10 half-court shots and wins. That’s how bad this was. I get a pair of kings, she hits a flush. I hit a flush, she hits three queens. Nothing was dropping, nothing was clicking, we were getting rogered, but good. Even when my sister had left, our luck did not improve, and we left the table in need of a rebound and a good nights sleep (-$40 for the trip).

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Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue

Last weekend, and I visited Las Vegas for my cousin's wedding. Here now is Part 1 of my Super Deluxe Las Vegas Travelogue. Enjoy:

Friday: A People in Flight

We start the day early (5 AM) by picking up some coffee and donuts from Dunkin’ Donuts. Why? Because Friday Was a Big Day, and Big Days Start with Donuts. (I soon plan to have that copyrighted). At Richmond International Airport, I once again get red flagged by security, because I am, wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, on the government watch list. To be correct, my name is on the watch list (apparently, there’s an IRA member out there with a penchant for getting caught), and despite the collective “heightened state of awareness” under which our nation currently lives, no one at the airport knows what to do when dangerous men like me approach the counter. Therefore, we wait, exchanging more that a few “well, I’m glad we got here early” quips, and after far too long, we proceed through security and get on the plane.

Once in Dallas, we were delayed 2 hours on top of our already lengthy 3 hour layover, so to kill time, I took a monorail around the airport and saw first hand the vast expanse of the Dallas/Ft. Worth airport. The sheer size of the airport is incredible, a magnificent sprawl of flat, lifeless tarmac spreading out through a seemingly endless maze of runways and access roads. I tried to imagine what it would have looked like before the tarmac, but then again, we’re talking about the flat, treeless, rolling sagebrush state of Texas, so I can’t imagine it looked markedly better.

Back at the gate, my family waited patiently for the crew to arrive (due to the storms that ransacked the Midwest earlier that week, American Airlines was piecing together the flight crew out of clay and bits of straw) and we noticed that roughly half the passengers were standing right outside the gate door. Do these people know something that we don’t? Do they believe that, if they stand in a crowd around the gate, the flight will just magically be ready to go and we’ll all get on board? If you’re one of those people, have a seat. The flight won’t leave without you. They’re going to call your row. It’s okay. We all want to be first, but being the first on the plane is like rushing to be the first to get a colonoscopy. Once you’ve done it, you seriously regret your decision.

After far too long in the ground and in the air, we arrive late, tired, and overjoyed to not be cramped into a metal air sausage anymore. McCarran Airport, conveniently located mere steps from downtown Vegas (as a side note, the city of Las Vegas is about the size of my front yard, not including the driveway) is a wonderful spectacle to behold. There are slot machines the moment you get off the plane, the biggest Cinnabon I’ve ever seen, and about two miles of billboard-strewn hallways between our gate and the baggage claim.

What I Learned in Vegas: 1. Las Vegas has No Problem Showing Semi-Nude Women in Public Places. This was a disconcerting thing to learn, being that I traveled with my Mom and sister, as the baggage claim at McCarran boasted numerous billboards for “burlesque shows” “gentlemen’s clubs,” and “topless reviews,” all showing scantily clad women to drive that point home. What’s worse, these same shows were advertised on huge video screens, which are distracting to say the least. Men, do you know when you’re walking through the mall, pass by a Victoria’s Secret, and stare straight ahead so that you can’t be accused of gawking? I did that almost the entire trip.

What I Learned in Vegas: 2. Las Vegas is the Only Place Left for Magic. About half the signs in McCarran baggage claim were for magic shows or magicians, which I found odd, being that you never see magic on television anymore and you rarely, if ever, go see a live magic show. By all accounts, Vegas is the only place left for magicians, much like The Great Valley is for the animated dinosaurs in “The Land Before Time.”

In our shuttle from the airport to the Flamingo, we were joined by a guy, nay, a man that I truly did not think existed. Imagine a person for whom Maxim was solely invented. Imagine a person who has “a favorite chair” at Hooters. Imagine the most stereotypical cool-guy-frat-boy-dipped-in-cologne-my-friends-call-me-Trapper-my-dad-owns-a-dealership guy that you’ve ever seen, multiply by 88, and get him hooked on crack. He’s real. Oh so very real.

This guy chatted up the three women in his direct area while my family made jokes just loud enough for the rest of the bus to hear (and conceivably for him to hear as well, but he was far too focused on his game to let us stop him). I asked my Mom “Could I be like him one day? Could I be that cool?” and she said, “I don’t think you have it in you. But if you work hard, maybe, just maybe, you can do it.” At one point, he said the following to his audience of three women in their early 30’s: “Yeah, I’m here for my buddy’s bachelor party, and I keep trying to break him and his fiancé up. I mean, I introduced them, but why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free? Oh, I’m just playing, it’s cool” Beautiful, magical, and brilliant. I could not believe that I was sitting the presence of a master of his stature. When we arrived at his stop (the Hooters Hotel and Casino, not surprising) he spoke plainly, saying, “Ladies, I’m Matthew by the way.” A stunning, monumental closer. As he walked away from the bus, I somehow know that he said, “I could have totally bagged all three of them.”

What I Learned in Vegas: 3. Everything Takes a Long Time: Soon into the trip, it became evident that everything in Vegas takes far longer than you would expect. 30 minute ride from the airport to the Flamingo (although we did drop off other passengers), 20 minute wait to check in, 30 minute wait for cabs at night, 15 minute wait to buy coffee, 20 minute wait for a seat a blackjack table. Everything takes time. For a city as bustling and busy as Vegas, I would imagine that they would want things to move faster, but given the hordes of people moving through a very small space, it seems to make sense.

The Flamingo itself is a classic hotel/casino, a mainstay of the strip for many years. Loaded with old-Vegas charm and history (in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Duke and Dr. Gonzo fled to the Flamingo after burning bridges on the other side of town), the Flamingo was a perfect place to experience Vegas for the first time, especially the casino smell. The smell, an odd mix of cigarette smoke, air freshener, sweat, booze, pure oxygen, despair, and money, hits you the first time you walk through the door and stays with you until your plane talks off.

What I Learned in Vegas: 4. If You Can’t Make It Anywhere Else, You Make It in Vegas: While the bigger shows (Cirque Du Solei, Blue Man Group) are popular outside of Vegas, most of the people considered headliners in the city aren’t very good at all. Here’s a list of people who have dedicated “shows” in Vegas (appearing most nights at a hotel): Toni Braxton. Carrot Top. George Wallace. Rita Rudner. Apparently, if you’ve fallen off the map and can’t find success in the main stream, you turn to Vegas, where the only reason people watch your show is because they have no more will to gamble.

Will our heroes ever find their hotel room? Will the escape the clutches of the Riddler and his goons? Why does everything in Vegas take so long? Find out in Part 2.

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