Sunday, November 27, 2005

Viva Las Vegas

Flying across the country can never be described as "fun." But, it never hurts to get bumped up to first class and make a quick connection in Las Vegas.














I haven't flown with the bourgeois in first class in about ten years. Apparently the trend these days is to forcibly hydrate the cabin. By the eighth time that Friendly Flight Attendant asked if I needed anything to drink, I just had to concede the point. It wasn't worth it. The woman was on a mission. But, eating airplane food? No amount of coercion could wear me down on that battle of wills.

Finally making it to Vegas, albeit for an hour, was entertaining. It seemed wrong to see the strip during daylight (and from 30,000 feet, at that). Though my inevitable rendezvous with the Bellagio Poker Room was thwarted this time around, people watching in the airport was fascinating in itself. Providing degenerates with slot machines twenty feet from the gate seemed like just the fix needed for those itching to feed their debilitating gambling addictions.

No, thank you, I did not partake. Slots are for monkeys. I stick to the skill games. Like Hold'em. "Why do you think the same five guys make it to the final table of the World Series of Poker every single year?" (Matt Damon, Rounders)

Anyway, after another twelve hours of pain free travel, I find myself in the Palo Alto trenches reading the same textbooks in the same coffee shop. But, coming straight off of bursting the Stanford bubble, things seem fresh again.

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