Travels with Brendo - Las Vegas (again)
It’s time for another episode of your favorite travelog that can’t decide if it’s spelled ‘travelog’ or ‘travelogue’! Autocorrect favors the former, but since when do we listen to autocorrect? Autocorrect thinks I want to duck you all night long. Stupid autocorrect! I don’t want to duck you for more than a couple hours tops!
This past weekend, I took a quick little jaunt to Las Vegas to work as an assistant director on a 2-day shoot (about which I will field no questions). You may be asking yourself - “Wait a minute! Brendan jaunts? I would have never pegged Brendan for a jaunter.” And you wouldn’t be wrong per se - I’m not a habitual jaunter. But I have been known to indulge in the occasional jaunt. I guess what I’m saying is - if the occasion calls for jauntiness, I’m not afraid to get jaunty. So don’t fence me in.
I flew from Burbank to Vegas on Spirit Airlines. Spirit gets a bad rap for being the cheapo airline, but I’ve got to tell you - for a short flight, I’ve never had a bad experience on Spirit. It’s no frills as fuck, but the plane was clean, the crew was efficient, and (most importantly) we took off and landed roughly on time. There was a problem when we landed on the tarmac on the return trip to Burbank having to sit in the plane for roughly an hour while another plane left the gate late, but I surmised that it wasn’t Spirit’s fault. The pilot was sure to tell us “a United plane is delaying us” and I believed him. After my last experience flying with JetBlue and United, I’ll ride with the dregs of Spirit any day!
As I’ve mentioned before, I have mixed feelings about Vegas. It is objectively gross, but I also see the appeal of a city based purely on the moment. Life resets in Vegas every day and nothing matters. There’s a nihilistic beauty about the whole thing that my depression loves to sop up with a fatty self-indulgence biscuit. I can only tolerate that mindset for about 48 hours before my diet becomes entirely donut-based. Luckily, I was there to work so I only had an evening after wrapping the shoot to hit the town in Vegas. It was only a few hours in the casino, but I got the terrifying pleasure of gambling with my friend Eddie.
Eddie is what we would call a ‘Vegas veteran.’ He has settled down quite a bit in his maturity, but he spent a few years (decades, but who’s counting?) of his youth enjoying the high life and making terrible decisions, many of which took place in Vegas. When the crew was trying figure out a place to celebrate a successful shoot, Eddie informed us that he was banned from any MGM-owned casinos. “It’s a long story.” So when we got to a non-MGM casino, of course I wanted to gamble with Eddie.
We hit the craps table first. I have never played craps and my brain don’t work so good, so I elected to just observe. Craps is confusing as all get out, but it’s got all the cool lingo. “Two hundred on the pass!” “Give me hard way 6 all day and 8 and 9 on the flip doodle!” “Cinco dos Adios makes the four trey line away look like money!” I have no idea what’s going on, but it’s exhilarating. I watched Eddie go into ‘craps mode’ like a Bengal tiger getting ready to pounce on a sea lion (it’s natural enemy). If you want to feel cool at a casino, the craps table is the place to be.
Since I am more of the ‘wussy gambler’ variety, Eddie was kind enough to join me at the low stakes blackjack table. I enjoy some low stakes gambling, because a) I’m po’ and b) I’m not so much looking to make money as I am to give myself a little kick. I don’t drink alcohol or indulge in (very many) drugs, so the rare occasion of gambling at a casino is all about chasing a moderate thrill. Which means - I like to do stupid shit.
At the table, I was getting sixteens and seventeens on my ten dollar bets all day. It was kind of boring. Eddie was behind me, making much more ridiculous and strategic bets. When I got two tens against a two, I decided to do something fun/stupid - split them.
Eddie: Wait - you’re splitting tens against a two?
Me: Sure.
Eddie: You’re not supposed to split tens.
Me: I know, but I haven’t gotten to split yet. I like splitting. Wouldn’t it be cool if I beat the odds on such a stupid bet?
Eddie: (eye vein popping) Mmhmm…
Of course, I didn’t win my big stupid split and Eddie didn’t get the cards he wanted either (possibly) due to me burning a few. Now, to be fair - Eddie wasn’t mad mad. We were playing low stakes blackjack for fun. But you know how someone is mad but they know that the situation is ridiculous for them to be mad? Like - he can’t be really mad at me. That would make him the asshole. But he secretly wants to throttle me. You know that type of situation? When people aren’t allowed to be mad at you for social reasons but they totally are and have to eat it? I live for those moments.
My favorite example was when some friends were doing karaoke. One woman who was a serious singer got up to do a Broadway tune. You could tell she wanted to kill it. Her identity was wrapped up in what a great singer she was. Then, she was joined by another friend who was completely tone deaf. He had a blast but he just ruined the song. She did her best to ignore him, but he was an atonal holocaust to everyone’s ears. The good singer couldn’t actually show how mad she was - it was just karaoke with friends. She had to be a good sport. But clearly, she was seething under her ‘playing along for fun’ smile. It was glorious.
Anyway - yeah, I split tens against a two. I’m that asshole. Eddie may have lost that hand, but I gave him the gift of getting to make fun of me for it for the rest of our lives. It is a small price to pay to see that eye vein pulsing. There’s nobody more fun to piss off than an old friend.
As I headed back to the airport, my ambivalence about Vegas remained. It’s a strange place. It radiates such emptiness and yet it has this undeniable draw. Vegas has a way of tapping into my lizard brain like no other place I’ve been. It feels good but it doesn’t. Every time I leave, I never want to go back. But when circumstances bring me back, I am always a little excited. What will happen? How many donuts will I eat? The mind boggles at the possibility.
As I sat in the airport staring at the slots, I thought “What kind of an idiot would throw their money away like that? Wait - how long until my flight? Hmmm… maybe just a quick spin…”
Boogie Writes is a completely independent endeavor by one hard-working funnyman trying to make his way in the world today (which takes everything you’ve got.) If you like what you read, please subscribe, support, and tell a friend! Also - do you need advice? Of course you do! Send your queries to brendan@brendanboogie.com with “Dear Boogie” in the subject and get some solid or at least passable advice!