Review of Wedding Crashers

SPOILER ALERT: I caught a late-night showing of Wedding Crashers last night (armed with a Cherry Coke that was literally the size of a propane tank). While I thoroughly enjoyed the movie, there were a few things that also really bugged me. Here they are in no particular order:

- The contrived love story between Owen Wilson and Rachel McAdams (the girl from The Notebook) didn’t do it for me at all. Granted, she’s smokin’ hot and I’ve always like Owen Wilson (he’s phenomenal in Meet the Parents and Zoolander), but every time the movie switched to their budding romance, the film slowed down to a grueling pace. Their scenes were so choppy and poorly written, that I could have cared less whether these two people ended up together, despite the fact that I like both of the actors. That’s pretty a tough combination to pull off – and not in a good way. Usually I tend to root for actors that I like, not this time.

- On the flip side, the love story between Vince Vaughn and the psycho girl was absolutely fantastic. After they both decided to be honest with each other, I was totally rooting for them to end up together and I was sincerely happy for them when they got married. I never would have guessed that out of the two romantic storylines, that would have been the one that carried the film, both in emotion and humor. It’s amazing how honesty and common interests (albeit, perverted sex) can build a solid a movie relationship ... As opposed to Owen Wilson's character trying to steal another guy’s woman just because he thinks she’s hot, gave her solid toast-making advice and played a little touch football with her (hilarious scene, by the way).

- Do you think Will Ferrell used one of the new 9/11 stamps to mail-in his cameo performance?

- Owen Wilson’s characters’ selfishness got to the point where it was really distracting and eventually made me upset. First, he is pursuing a woman who is already spoken for, right in front of her boyfriend (you don’t mess with another man’s happiness) and her family. Not to mention, he is primarily lying to her about himself, so it’s hard to buy a great “connection” between the two characters. Second, his general lack of concern or appreciation for what his best-friend is being subjected to (pre-honesty talk with the psycho chick) on his behalf. Third, once his best-friend finds love and happiness, he isn’t the least bit happy for him (even refusing to be his best man) because he’s so preoccupied with tracking down a girl who he lied to and is engaged to be married to someone else. What kind of friend is that? And forth, he almost ruins his best friend’s wedding by STILL going after that same girl. Good God, stop thinking about yourself, man. By the end, I was so pissed at his character’s selfishness that when he ended up with his girl, I was unhappy for him (why should his selfishness be rewarded by getting the girl?). I actually gained respect for Vince Vaughn’s character who was mature, concerned for his friend, unselfish and didn’t go nuts after his me-first best friend was one restraining order away from ruining his wedding and possibly his relationship.

- The way Vince and Owen got caught in their lies was really stupid. Pretty much anything would have been better than the boyfriend hiring a private detective to find out who these guys really were. How did the private detective find out they were career wedding crashers anyway? How did their fake names lead the private detective back to their real names? I know it’s a comedy and the plots are often times very loose and not exactly intelligent, but anything would have been better than the boyfriend/private detective angle.

- Again, I know it’s a comedy, but would it kill screenwriters to make long-term boyfriends look appealing to the ridiculously hot chick? What I mean is, in the movie, The Notebook girl is engaged to a total asshole. He cheats, talks down to her, he’s selfish, etc. So why would she have dated him for 3 ½ years? I know we need a villain, but there must be a better way to make a boyfriend evil other than him being a long-standing prick.

I know that seems like a long list of complaints, but the movie was freakin’ funny and like I said before, I really enjoyed it. In the first act, they have a montage of wedding scenes, and some of the things Vince and Owen say are so damn funny because they are so damn true - and you are shocked that other people know about those things (i.e.- we’ll just put the tip in and see how it feels). It was also refreshing to see a movie that wasn’t a remake and actually had an original storyline.

This movie also further cements that embracing your dorkiness and not being a fun extinguisher are traits that make great relationships. The “AH-HA!” moment between Rachel McAdams and her fiancée is after he fun extinguishes and fails to embrace! No one wants to marry someone who fun extinguishes for the next fifty years of their life.

I love Christopher Walken. His speech patterns are legendary. I would die a happy man if he came to my wedding and made a toast, or read a few Bible verses, or anything that required him to speak aloud. On second though, just having him in the background of wedding pictures would be amazing enough.
I am really loving the comedic return of Vince Vaughn. Look at his last few movies: Wedding Crashers, Anchorman, Be Cool, Dodgeball, Starsky and Hutch, Old School, Zoolander. That’s quite a run. It reminds me of the year 2000. I had a run like that, but that’s a story for another time. Keep it up, Vince … maybe even consider doing a guest spot on Entourage.

In terms of greatness, Wedding Crashers is closer to Old School than it is to Meet the Parents. But the true test of a movie’s greatness is whether or not I am willing to buy the DVD. Some movies are great, but you can’t watch them a lot, i.e. – Schindler’s List and American History X. Other movies are slightly above average or mediocre, but you can watch them over and over again, i.e. – Road Trip and Hitch. I am definitely buying the Wedding Crashers DVD and I have a feeling it will be a staple on future road trips.

So Much For My Happy Ending

Sorry for the delay in-between postings. I’ve been out researching why energy drinks only come in skinny, narrow cans and what the heck “dead skin on trial” means in the second verse of Green Day’s Good Riddance, a.k.a – The Time of Your Life – so I’ve been super busy. I’ll let you know when I get some definitive answers.

Here are some of totally unrelated thoughts for this Wednesday, the 27th of July, 2005 …

Does anyone have one of those friends who owns movies? And I’m not talking about someone with an extensive DVD library - I am talking about that person who if you mention how you want to see “The Muted Heart,” from that moment on you are obligated to see the movie first with that person; and if you don’t, they’ll get pissed at you? It’s like some sort-of movie marriage. Women are notorious for doing this.

Is there anything wrong with a 29-year old guy enjoying Avril Lavigne’s music? I don’t know … it just seems a little weird to me that a white collar professional from the Midwest would totally dig the music of a 20-year old skater-rocker-chick from Canada whose target audience is angry teenage girls. What does that say about me? For some damn reason her music just sounds good to me ... I have no excuses or justifications … and it’s totally embarrassing.

I accidentally sent a “good morning” email to the wrong person this morning. That was awkward. I was typing a little too fast and instead of sending an email to my Dad, I sent one to a very nice lady named, Barb, who pulls statistical information for me here at work. I don’t know Barb very well at all. The only conversations we’ve ever had are work-related. So the fact that I would ever send her a non-work-related email is strange enough, let alone a good morning email. This is Barb’s response to my random email …

Well, thank you...I have to admit I did not wake up in a very good mood today but this certainly helps!

Good morning back!

Not flinching and playing it cool, I wrote back saying how much I appreciate her hard work and help on proposals, and that I just wanted to thank her and wish her a good day. Wheewwww. That could have been a lot worse. Imagine if I had written to Barb how great she was last night and that I hadn’t felt that good since the last time I visited that discount Asian massage parlor. That could have been more embarrassing than liking Avril Lavigne’s song, “Happy Ending.” Hmmm, maybe there is a reason that in my Human Resources handbook they strongly suggest not using work email for personal reasons.

(Two Hour Time-Lapse)

Quick update on the Barb-email-situation: I just passed her on the way to the elevators and she was totally happy to see me. I think I just made a new friend. She told me about her night and vented about a few work issues. Wow - what an unintended benefit! Something tells me that the next time I need some stats, they are going to come back to me a little faster than before. Either that or she wants to have an affair.

Listening to music at work, I just heard Anne Murray’s, “Danny’s Song.” C’mon you know the one, “even though we ain’t got money, I’m so in love with you, honey.” (Hope that gets stuck in your head) That’s another song I am mildly embarrassed to like.

Is there anything more painful or inexplicable than the random leg cramp while you’re sleeping?

For those of you who live in the Midwest … still wonder if that whole global warming is a myth?

Don’t you love those restaurants that give you free soft-serve ice cream (Jason’s Deli and Dickey’s to name two)? A small sugar cone with some vanilla soft-serve is the perfect finale to most meals. Mmmmm. Eating soft-serve ice cream reminds me of my freshman year at KU - we used to walk from the cafeteria back to the dorms polishing off an ice cream cone before it succumbed to the humidity.

A guy I work with misuses the “schwing” from Wayne’s World on a consistent basis and it’s starting to get hilarious and uncomfortable at the same time. First, isn’t that saying about 10 years past its prime? Secondly, the women who hear him say “schwing” get that look on your face when you put one too many Sour Patch Kids in your mouth every time he says it – it’s a bizarre HR incident waiting to happen. Thirdly, I don’t think he knows what “schwing” actually means. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t say it around females (he’s a professional) and he always uses it in the wrong context. For example, “we finally finished our work for the week, SCHWING!” I seriously doubt he is meaning to say that completing his work causes him to get an erection (at least I hope it doesn’t). Lastly, as a guy I am probably the most qualified to have an intervention with this person, and I am not prepared to have that conversation at this point. I’ve been hoping this problem would resolve itself, e.g. – he just stopped saying it, but after a two week hiatus, the saying is back and as disturbing as ever.

Ten traits that tell co-workers you used to be president or vice-president of a sorority back in college … 1) You attend every happy hour (often times planning the happy hour or leading the charge to have one). 2) You get drunk at every happy hour. 3) 80% of the time after the work happy hour is over, you go out with friends for a few more (or you are the last one to leave the happy hour). 4) You are slightly overweight due to alcohol consumption. 5) You dress nice at work. 6) You are in your mid-20’s and not married. 7) You have a chipper, borderline flirty personality. 8) You have blonde or light brown hair. 9) Most of your friends are guys. 10) You dated a lot of athletes during your college days.

Losing My Voice

So I guess I’ve changed.

I remember when following sports used to mean the world to me. There was a time when I could tell you every major league manager, stadium and player on a baseball team. Yes, I was that nerdy. There was a time when all the polo shirts I owned had some sort of logo on them. I haven’t given a girl a hickey since New Kids on the Block were being called the next Beatles. And I rarely air guitar anymore. I guess I’m different now.

Besides not wearing bowling shirts anymore when I go out, concluding that Olive Garden isn’t authentic Italian dining and stopped buying hip-hop c.d.’s, I realize I have changed in other ways, too. I have lost the ability to small talk.

Unfortunately, Corporate America demands I speak in a clichéd filled, uninspired language, so I find myself as an outsider of sorts - like Michael Jackson at a day care center. I want to establish relationships with my co-workers. And I certainly don’t want to come across as pretentious or unapproachable. But I also can’t engage in conversations that have no meaning, no point, no reason or no sincerity. Unlike a lot of women, I can’t fake it.

We’ve all painfully suffered through elevator conversations like “are you working hard or hardly working?” And cringed as someone awkwardly reminded us that, “it’s only two more days till’ the weekend, buddy” <wink, wink>. Ugh! Who talks like that? Who taught you how to talk like that? Who can I blame? The media? Political correctness? Public education? Environmentalist? Labor unions? Greedy professional athletes? Illegal immigrants? The Evil Do’ers? C’mon, I need a smoking gun or a bad guy to blame. I bet every one of you knows someone who talks like that, too. Office Space is such a damn funny movie because it’s so disturbingly accurate. Yeeeaaah, I am going to have to ask you to stop telling me, “how quickly your weekend went by” and “how two days just isn’t long enough.”

Anyone who knows me, knows that I am not a remotely shy person and that I love witty dialog more than most people; but I refuse to take part in a conversation just for the sake of talking to someone in the elevator, or because I pass you on the way to the copy machine. I would rather smile and be silent, then talk about how unseasonably warm it is outside.

If someone wants to discuss how much Wes on Real World: Austin looks and sounds like Steve Zahn, then I’ll be happy to chew that over with them. Or if someone wants to tell me how they once dreamed of being a veterinarian in North Dakota until a series of unfortunate events derailed their journey, I’m all ears. Or if you want to ask me why I get so defensive when someone says Kansas is flat; I’ll be happy to enlighten you … I’ll even use visual aids. But please stop telling me how Hump Day is more than just a day in the middle of the week, it’s an attitude. And by the off chance you actually want to discuss business, please don’t come to me with, “are you guys keeping busy over there?” The next person who does that to me will be gagged by my apple-shaped foam stress-ball.

Sometimes I think my co-workers view me as an elitist or snotty. The truth is I don’t want to know how bad your commute was or how if you hate the weather in Colorado to wait 5 minutes. I don’t want to talk about b.s. and pretend I’m interested. I want to talk about things people actually care about.

Tell me if you hate traveling 80% of the time while your kids are growing up. Don’t tell me how you are living out of a suitcase and follow-up that up with an obviously fake laugh.

If I ask you what you did this weekend, don’t say, “same-ole, same-ole … went too fast … could always use an extra day.” Tell me that you and your wife went out to dinner for the first time since your new daughter was born and that the sex afterwards was great (okay, maybe not that last part – especially with the people I work with … anyway).

If I ask you how things are going in Marketing, don’t say, “we keep on keeping on,” or “we’re slaving away.” Tell me about the new product launch or how you’ve been working tons of overtime because you are trying to get a head start on a project and impress the new manager.

See the difference?

If you tell me you went out with your wife, I can follow-up with a bunch of questions like, where did you go? Was it hard leaving the kid at home for the first time? When are you planning to go out again? Etc. Before we know it, I am actually getting to know you because we aren’t talking about the weather.

I spend 40+ hours a week with my co-workers - more time than I spend with my friends and family - is it too much to ask to see some genuine personality, individuality or creativity? I don’t need to be your best friend or attend weekly happy hours with you, but could you please show me the person behind the job title, behind the gray cubicle, behind the countless pointless emails?

Who knows? Maybe I am in the wrong. Maybe I should drink the red Kool-Aid, develop a believable fake laugh and start having hollow conversations. Maybe the only way I’ll ever become a vice-president will be to give up my distaste for clichés and buzzwords and start speaking in Corporate tongues.

Too Cool To Thank You

When I was a kid, I thought minding your p’s and q’s meant minding your “pleases” and “questions.” Since the context of the phrase was always in regards to etiquette, I concluded that the p had to stand for please. The q baffled me though. Minding your “pleases” and “thank yous” wouldn’t make sense since neither thank or you start with the letter q. My parents were always telling me to be seen and not heard, so minding my questions seemed like a very logical conclusion at the time.

Turns out, p and q stands for pints and quarts. Years ago back in England and Ireland, bartenders would keep a tab of how much alcohol their patrons consumed. When a patron got plowed, the bartender would tell the drunk person to mind their p’s and q’s as a way of encouraging them to monitor their buzz. The phrase was also a way to keep tabs on the tab, i.e. – how much money was owed to the bar at nights end.

(There is an alternate theory that in the early days of printing (before spell check), typesetting was done by physically choosing a letter and putting it in the type frame to be inked and printed. Since p and q look the same reversed, printers would confuse the letters, and the printing supervisor would tell their subordinates to mind their p’s and q’s as a way of insuring spelling accuracy. Since there isn’t a phrase for mind your b’s and d’s, I choose to not accept this theory … that and it’s not nearly as interesting as the bar/pub explanation.)

Anyway, on Friday, I went out to a bar with a group of people to celebrate my friend Amy’s new job. In the modern day sense of the phrase, I wish more people would mind their p’s and q’s.

At what point did it become un-cool to say “excuse me?” When making your way through a crowd, saying “excuse me” does not make you look like a pussy. Neither does saying “thank you” at the completion of successfully passing through the crowd. Also, angling your shoulders so someone can pass by you does not make you a wuss. Most social settings aren’t the OK Corral, so adjusting your body for someone to get by does not mean you just backed down at high-noon. Bumping shoulders with a total stranger trying to get to the bathroom or return to their friends, is not proving to the world that you are a bad-ass or too cool for common courtesy. You are not any less of a man, or woman, by being polite.

Here are a few other social actions that also don’t make you un-cool.

- Waiting for a drink when someone else has been waiting longer and/or is standing at the bar ahead of you.
- Saying please when you order a drink.
- Saying thank you when you receive that drink
- Apologizing for accidentally spilling your drink on someone.
- Apologizing for accidentally spilling someone else’s drink because your stupid drunk-butt was too busy staring at a girl’s ass (sorry, sounded a little bitter there).
- Saying excuse me when interrupting a conversation and/or walking though a group of people in the middle of a conversation.

I really don’t want to sound like one of those obnoxious guys on a soapbox who continually whines about “the way it was when … “ or how America is the worst place in the world because we have poor cell phone courtesy, but I can’t help but get frustrated by the lack of common decency and respect that I experience on a far too frequent basis.

(Dang it, despite my best efforts I still sound like an episode of the O’Reilly Factor)

Turn on practically any episode of any season of the Real World and you’ll watch seven strangers struggle to make it to work on time everyday. You’ll also see the one person in house who wants to be on time called “up-tight,” “anal,” “bossy,” “pushy” or “bitchy” or “ an asshole” (depending on gender) for asking the six other people to actually be punctual. What you won’t hear them argue is the fact that being on time isn’t dorky (being late was cool when trying to get to high school algebra), but rather is being respectful of other people's time.

Merge onto any highway and you’ll be sure to find the guy who believes letting you in is some sign of weakness on his part.

Cell phone users commonly speak very loudly in public when addressing such topics as: genital herpes, foot infections, bowel movements, Michael Jackson, underarm deodorants, their significant other deficiencies in the bedroom, political agendas and Kansas State University.

Don’t you hate coming home from a bar, restaurant or casino smelling like smoke? There is certainly an argument to be made for allowing smoking in public places (though I disagree), but do you really need to blow smoke right in other people’s faces? For God’s sake man, there are women and children around!!! Seriously, is it really that hard to mind where your smoke is blowing? I don’t mean to sound like the Surgeon General, but how would you like it if I was blowing B.O. in your face, while at the same time making you smell like my B.O. for the rest of day and destroying your lungs in the process? (And you wonder why people want to make it illegal to smoke in public places)

I certainly don’t want to come across as holier than thou (at least not on this issue), because I certainly have left my fair share of trash behind in a movie theatre, talked on my cell phone while going through the check out line at the grocery store and accidentally spilt a little bit of someone’s p’s and q’s while getting a little too excited dancing to Love Shack – but when did we decide that social indifference was cool and that an apathetic disregard for social niceties meant you were a tough guy? Just like Catherine Zeta-Jones’ popularity, I don’t get it? I am continually amazed how much a nice smile and sincere please or thank you can you get you nowadays - free hotel room upgrades, better seats, extra food, a larger discount, better service, etc. - so even from a selfish standpoint, why wouldn’t more people be courteous to one another? If you are so vain not to say “excuse me” when bumping into someone, wouldn’t your ego at least show the extrinsic perks that go along with common courtesy?

Last year a group of us went to Orlando to do the whole Disney/Epcot-thing. Our hotel was across a large street from a steakhouse that we decided to eat at one night. As we were crossing this 6-lane boulevard (not at the cross-walk, mind you), one of the members of our group, we’ll call her “Stacey,” decided that she would rebel and slowly walk across the street instead of lightly jogging like the rest of us were doing in order to avoid the oncoming traffic. Then, this conversation took place:

“Stacey” (in a snotty voice) – Why would you guys run? The cars have to slow down for you.

“Bill” – I don’t know, out of common decency maybe?

Later that night we found out that one of the cars that had to slow down for “Stacey” had an injured person in the backseat and because of the delay, that person lost their right leg. Okay, I made that last part up, but you never know. The point is that if “Stacey” had been driving, she would have annoyingly honked her horn at the pedestrian who was unnecessarily slowing her down, just as she would have angrily flipped off any car that would have honked at her for illegally crossing the street. “Stacey’s” actions and her all-to-common attitude is far more un-cool then running across a busy street or giving a thank-you wave to the person who just let you merge during rush hour traffic.

Next week on FOX News – A Fair & Balanced Look at How to Prevent Pre-Mature Elbow Wrinkling. Stay Tuned.

Wynn-ing and Losing in Vegas

Well, we made it back. We still have fully functional and, as far as we know, healthy livers. We don’t owe any money to bookies and/or gangsters. And no one in the group got married. So all-n-all it was another successful Vegas trip.

Let me give you the ups and downs, the thins and flushes, the good and the bad of Vegas, by answering some of the most common questions I have been asked …

“Did you win?”

Remember those scenes early in Shawshank Redemption where Andy is consistently being beaten-up and taking it up the rear-end by The Sisters – in the laundry, in the prison theatre, in backrooms, and no matter where he went or what he did, Andy got his ass kicked … and that went on for a few years. Well, that was me for most of the trip - at the Wynn, at The Mirage, heck even at the $5 dollar tables at the Frontier; I was being whipped by a merciless group of dealers who treated me like their bitch. I was never up at any point on the trip and the most I was ever up at one table sitting was a pathetic $65. Sadly, I wasn’t able to provide sound financial advice to a Pit Boss or Casino Host, which could have turned around my fortune at the prison, er, at the casino … but they did provide me with a free bucket of ice cold beer on the roof of the hotel.

Did my losses ruin the trip or put me in an irreversible bad mood? Absolutely not! We still had a blast despite my inability to mount any type of a comeback or get on anything resembling a roll (reminds me of high school). I guess I can take pride in my generous donations to the Wynn so they can pay off that billion dollar debt.

Ryan, on the other hand, provided us with the greatest gambling moment to date.

“The Strategy” is when a player doubles his bet every time he loses a hand of blackjack. So, if you lose one $10 hand, on your next hand you bet $20, then if you lose again you bet $40, and then if you lose again you bet $80, so on and so forth. You keep doubling your bet until you win a hand (recouping all your losses), and then the sequence starts all over. What prevents most players from using this strategy is that you need a large cash flow to be able to handle a long losing streak, a table with a high maximum bet limit (at least $10,000), and the balls to make an $800 or $2,300 bet for one hand of blackjack. Ryan decided on our second day to try “The Strategy” at the Wynn.

For the first few minutes, Ryan and I were both treading water, winning some hands losing a few others. Suddenly, we both hit a long using streak mixed in with a couple of frustrating pushes on 19 and 20. Ryan, using “The Strategy,” kept taking money out of his pocket in an attempt to win back his losses. After losing 6+ hands in a row (I won’t say exactly how many), Ryan had a ridiculously large bet on the table. I won’t get into specific dollar amounts, but I could easily say that it was more than a lot of people’s mortgage payments. Lets just say that it was the first time Ryan got to touch lavender colored chips and the extremely rare and elusive red, white and blue chips. So the next hand comes … Ryan loses. He has to double his bet … again. By this time, a small crowd of people have gathered behind the table, the guy playing with us volunteers to stop playing, the Pit Boss has come over to watch, and Ryan has to keep counting his chips and money because his hands are shaking so much due to the adrenaline rush (trust me, you can’t blame him – I was playing next to him and my heart was racing and my hands were sweating profusely). At this point, it makes no logical sense for Ryan to stop, plus he can only lose 2 more hands before he is out of cash and down an obscene amount of money. Ryan’s first card. A king. Ryan’s second card. An ace! BLACKJACK! A blackjack that paid 3:2 (your bet x’s 1.5). The “yes!” that came out of Ryan’s mouth at that moment made him sound possessed, like Signorney Weaver in Ghostbusters before she turns into a dog. You should have seen the colorful and impressive pile of chips that lay in front of Ryan after the dealer got done paying him and the Pit Boss stopped crying. Ryan left the table victorious (and with a lot of money), to a round of applause and the firm handshakes and envy of total strangers. It was quite a moment. After Ryan bought himself a new pair of underwear and stopped shaking, he walked a little taller for the rest of the trip.

“Did you discover any new drinks that were named after a popular 80’s TV show?”

What do you get when you mix strawberry daiquiri and pina colada together? A Miami Vice! Awesome frozen beverage! I highly recommend anyone reading to try one. You won’t regret it – great poolside drink. Though I have no idea why it is called a Miami Vice?

For any guys out there, when a Miami Vice gets mixed together or melts a little bit, it turns pink. Don’t be intimidated. It takes a special kind of man to drink a pink beverage with confidence – so believe in yourself, the drink is worth it.

Also, if you were ordering two drinks, would you say two Miami’s Vice or two Miami Vices? Ryan and I went back and forth on this and never reached a definitive consensus.

“Did you run into anyone who may or may not have committed a rape in Eagle, Colorado?”

Yes, twice actually. Kobe Bryant was playing in a celebrity poker tournament at The Mirage and he and his entourage walked right pass us at the pool. Sadly, I had my head buried in a Miami Vice at the time and was unable to get out any Eagle jokes while he was still within earshot. We later encountered Kobe at the poker tournament which really isn’t the proper venue to reminisce about Colorado.

“Did you have any other random celebrity sightings?”

Sure did. Brad Garret from “Everyone Whines on Raymond” and Jermaine O’Neal from the Indiana Pacers (and maybe Drew Gooden from KU, but I was really drunk at the time and couldn’t tell 100%). In case you don’t know who Jermaine O’Neal is, he was one of the Pacers punching fans during the melee in Detroit last season. I tried to convince James or Ryan to throw a water bottle at him, but unfortunately neither one of them had the guts to do it.

On Sunday morning, as Ryan and I were moving hotels from The Mirage to the Wynn, we got into a cab that was being driven by Rita Scott from HBO’s Taxicab Confessions! That’s right, the actual blonde lady. She was very sweet and personable, and tolerated all of our excitement and three dozen questions. Definitely one of the highlights of the trip.

PS – We didn’t confess anything. (I know you were wondering)

“How was it staying at the Wynn?”

I told Ryan on Monday that given a billon or so dollars, I bet him and I could come up with some really cool stuff to put into a Vegas hotel/casino. Unfortunately, Ryan’s blackjack didn’t come when he bet 500 million (he would have had to have lost 27 hands in a row for that to happen), so until that day comes we have to leave the casino building to Steve Wynn.

The rooms at Wynn were spectacular – highlighted by the breathtaking floor-to-ceiling panoramic windows. Though the beds were full-size, not queen size, the down pillows and comforter made up for the lack of space. The two flat screen TVs were nice little perks, as were the free slippers and robes, chocolates on the nightstand and the nightly turndown service.

The elevators were on the obnoxious side due to a lack of ventilation and air conditioning, and the alarm-clock-like squawking the elevator made every time you passed a floor. Very annoying.

Pool-side blackjack was everything I hoped and dreamed it would be. It’s nice to sit outside “near” the pool – and is a welcome change from the smoky casinos. Though when the temperature is 100°+, I bet swim-up blackjack is a much cooler and relaxing way to go than pool-side blackjack. Not to mention the additional benefit of being able to dunk the player next to you who won’t stop playing with his chips.

A few other things about the Wynn:

- They need to work on the service. We had a couple of service issues, ranging from needing a plunger in the room – which took two hours and four phone calls to obtain, to having some very unfriendly dealers, to having to get a front desk manager to get a room with two beds, to having to ask everyone who worked in the casino whether they can give you a cashiers check instead of having to carry home cash on the airplane. When you are paying for luxury, you expect the service to be world-class; which unfortunately only happened when we were waiting in line to check-in and when we were leaving and needed a quick cab ride to the airport so we didn’t miss our flight.

- The main entrance is surprisingly very unspectacular - and maybe that was the point. But when you spend a billion or so, and you have already built The Mirage (with a volcano in front), Treasure Island (with a pirate battle out front) and Bellagio (with the incredible and beautiful fountains), the standard and expectations are pretty high. Granted, Wynn does have a nice mountain landscape and some picturesque waterfalls, but it’s aesthetically mediocre compared to his previous casinos, and other new venues like The Venetian and Paris.
- No complaints with the pool. Wynn has two pools – one, very large and long, family pool and a second, smaller pool, that doesn’t allow children, and offers European-style bathing, club music and is closer to the bar and pool-side blackjack. The second/adult pool is a great mix of socializing, sun, topless women, young people, alcohol, good music, floating platforms that allow you to lay down/nap in the water and an attentive waitstaff. Next to the room, the pool was the best part about Wynn.

Despite Wynn’s shortcomings – and being a new hotel/casino, they still have some kinks to work out - we would definitely stay there again.

“What the wildest thing you did?”

Besides paying $15 for a Red Bull and Jager at the Bellagio; I would have to say it was seeing Celine Dion at Caesar’s Palace. As God is my witness, her show gets better and better every time I see it. The $400 for front row seats was a small price to pay for the outpouring of love and emotion that she angelically sings into my heart during all those moving and adoring ballads. No one gives me more goosebumps and hour-long smiles than the immortal Celine Dion. I was singing the “Power of Love” all trip long. (Cuz, I’m your lady and you are my man!!!)

Juuuusssst kidding. (I hope that song gets stuck in your head, by the way)

You know damn well I can’t tell you what the wildest thing was!

“Did you visit Sbarro?”

Indeed we did. And during this trip, Sbarro taught me humility. Sbarro showed me that it works in mysterious ways. And I know that me not winning during this trip was Sbarro’s will, and part of a larger plan that I don’t and can’t possibly understand right now. But I do know that if I put my heart and my trust in Sbarro, it will never, ever let me down. Amen.

“Now that your trip is over will you please stop writing about Vegas and give us something different to read?”

Definitely. I am looking forward to moving on to other subjects and I really appreciate your patience during this onslaught of Vegas material.

Have a great weekend! New, non-Vegas related postings coming next week!

Peace out.

Viva Las Vegas

A few miscellaneous items before we get started:

- Evidently I ruined War of the Worlds for a few of my readers who haven’t seen the movie yet. Oops, sorry about that. So going forward, I am now going to put a disclaimer on all movie reviews stating that it contains spoilers.

- What the hell is a laundry list? One of my readers emailed me saying that I made an Excel laundry list for Vegas … who makes a list when doing laundry? If you did, wouldn’t it pretty much just say …

WASH: Lights and Darks
DRY: Those same lights and darks
IRON: Anything that might be wrinkled
DRY CLEAN: Anything that is marked, “dry clean only”

Yep, that’s a pretty tricky to-do list. I can definitely see why some people need to make a laundry list.

Anyway, today is going to be dedicated to Las Vegas. My trip is only 48 hours away, so the only moral and ethical thing to do is to write something in honor of the Greatest City in the History of Man.

To get you in the mood, here is an email excerpt from my best friend Ryan that he wrote last year before we went to Vegas for my brother’s bachelor party. I think Ryan (with a little help from Red from Shawshank Redemption) sums up a Vegas trip perfectly.

“I find I am so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head. I think it is the excitement only a free man with a ticket to Vegas can feel. A free man with a ticket to Vegas at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain. I hope I can drink for 4 days straight without a liver transplant. I hope I can talk to a pit boss, and shake his hand. I hope the sounds of the slot machines are as enchanting as they have been in my dreams. I hope.

The real secret is that what happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas. It becomes a part of you. A part of your friendships. A bond that brings you closer to the people with which you shared the experience … These things are far too valuable to be left behind. No, what happens in Vegas, stays in your heart, your being, your soul.”

That being said, here are the Top 10 Things I Am Looking Forward To In Vegas …

Honorable Mentions:

- In-n-Out Burgers

- Carrying Around $100 Bills

- All You Can Eat Buffets – Buffets in Vegas are really expensive these days ($20+), so you really need to be Kirstie Alley hungry to eat your moneys worth and to spend a looonnng time waiting in line.

- Watching the Bellagio Fountains as a Billy Joel Song Plays - They do a great job of picking songs, but I have yet to hear a song from the Piano Man. Wishful thinking (It’s also impossible to not think of that beautiful scene at the end of Ocean’s 11 when the entire crew is watching the fountains).

- Having a Perfect 10 Model Apply Suntan Lotion For Me – Again, wishful thinking. Or, I could apply her suntan lotion. Regardless, I want me, a Perfect 10 model and suntan lotion to be all in the same heterosexual sentence.

- Pool Side Drink Service & Charging Drinks to Your Room – I am usually nursing a wicked hangover at the pool, so sadly I don’t utilize this God-given service as much as others do.

- Being Tempted to Make Large Bets – My dream is to play a $100 hand of blackjack. I haven’t had the stones to do that … yet.

The Top 10:

10. Making Fun of Stupid Blackjack Players – There is something really entertaining about mocking someone who doesn’t have the balls to take a hit when the dealer is showing a face card or a 10, the player has a 16, and the player, not surprisingly, ends up losing the hand. Bonus points when the next card out is a 4 or a 5 ,and I end up getting their card and winning. It’s also highly amusing to laugh at those idiots who take insurance, take even-money on blackjacks and have to think really hard when deciding to double-down on an 11 (bonus points when you make fun of them so much to the point they feel obligated to double-down).

9. Eating Lunch at Mon Ami Gabi in Paris – What do you call a delicious French lunch on a hot summer day, overlooking the Bellagio fountains as scores of passer-bys walk by your Strip-side table on the patio of a beautiful Las Vegas casino? Well obviously you call it lunch at Mon Ami Gabi … what else would I be referring to?

One recommendation, if you have the choice between Mon Ami Gabi and Subway, please choose option #1 – you’ll thank me later. If you need additional information, please email my brother or father.

8. Being Ridiculously Drunk at Nine Fine Irishmen in New York/New York - Last time I was at Nine Fine Irishmen, I welcomed in the New Year by doing the Irish Jig next to a 60-year old woman who kept wanting to show her breasts to Ryan and his girlfriend, Bryn. The time before that, I spent the night hitting on every woman within four feet of me (regardless of appearance – and I have the pictures to prove it!) and taking free shots with a guy who wanted to buy us drinks because he thought he was getting laid later on that night. Good times.

7. Large Drinks in Unique Containers – Since I have been going to Vegas, I have consumed alcoholic beverages out of glasses shaped like: a cowboy boot, a football, a drink that was a yard long, an Eiffel Tower, a hot-air balloon, Lancelot’s sword in the stone, a skull, a parrot and a pyramid. One of the best parts of any Vegas trip is purchasing an obscenely huge drink filled with a frosted adult beverage, and then to walk the Strip (bonus points for when people stare at the size of your drink or ask you where you bought it).

6. Creating New Inside Jokes/Stories – Due to the people watching, alcohol, gambling, swimsuits, shady characters, sexual tension, money and the pure insanity which is Las Vegas, it’s impossible to leave Sin City without a healthy supply of new inside jokes and stories. From, “push, push in the bush,” to “hey look! It’s Caesar’s Palace,” to “I have a 7, a 5 and a 10 – that’s 21!” there is never a short supply of laughs.

5. Meeting New People – Unfortunately, they make you sign a confidentiality agreement at McCarron Airport and the 5th Amendment of the US Constitution prevents me from elaborating on this any further. Thank you.

4. Staying at the Wynn Resort – For those of you who may not know, the Wynn Resort is the new billion dollar mega-resort compliments of Bellagio, Mirage and Treasure Island creator, Steve Wynn. In terms of luxury, it’s supposed to rival Bellagio, Mandalay Bay and The Venetian – we’ll see if it lives up to its billing. They were kind enough to give us two nights at a very reasonable price, so we are happily giving Wynn a test drive.

We are also going to see how long it takes for the, “I won at Wynn”/“I lost at Wynn,” jokes to get old.

3. Pool-Side Blackjack – Speaking of the Wynn, one of their selling points was the appeal of pool-side blackjack. Doesn’t that just sound right? Anyway, there are two types of pool-related-blackjack, 1) swim-up blackjack 2) pool-side blackjack. How awesome does it sound to swim-up to a blackjack table and sit in the water while playing? Though a few things do concern me about swim-up blackjack, like: How do you keep your cash dry? Is it okay to get the chips wet? What if you accidentally splash the table? Where are the security cameras? Is it really a good idea to be giving people alcohol while sitting in the water, since alcohol tends to make people go to the bathroom? Sadly, the Wynn doesn’t offer swim-up blackjack; we get pool-side blackjack, which is where the tables are, well, poolside. Is it going to be awkward gambling in my swimsuit? Is it really a good idea to bring blackjack pool-side since historically the pool was one of the few safe-havens where you didn’t feel tempted to gamble? Will pool-side blackjack allow me to become the gambling-holic I always feared becoming? Will it be possible to do a cannonball into the pool and drench the annoying guy who kept taking the dealer’s bust card? Damn, so many questions.

2. Gambling With My Best Friend & Brother – This sentimental moment is brought to you by the Oxygen Channel - Teaching you how to love again, one tear at a time. I love strolling up to a blackjack table being flanked by my brother James and my best friend Ryan. Few things are as cool as gambling, drinking and laughing with two of the greatest guys in the world. It’s impossible to be mad, depressed or not have a good time with those two around. Just impossible. You have a better chance of seeing Jennifer Anniston watching Mr. & Mrs. Smith than not having an absolute blast hanging out with Ryan and James.

1. Sbarro Pizza – I cannot fully explain why this is number one, except to say:

Our Father, who art in Sbarro,

Hallowed be thy Name.

Thy Blackjack come.

Thy will be done,

On splits and doubling-down, as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our 21s.

And forgive us for our jinxes,

As we forgive those who constantly jinx us.

And lead us not into splitting 10s,

But deliver us from busting.

For Sbarro and Las Vegas is the kingdom,

and the power, and the glory,

for ever and ever.

Vegas, baby. Amen.

Baggage Claims

“I hate that they have so many Italian restaurants in The Venetian.”

My sister-in-law, Vanessa, Saturday morning at breakfast discussing Las Vegas.

Packing. Women are often criticized, mocked and humiliated by men for their penchant to over-pack. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t made jokes and laughed about a women’s 1) size of a suitcase 2) weight of a suitcase 3) number of suitcases. But sadly, I think my days of making fun of women for over-packing are over. Let me tell you why.

It was 106° in Vegas yesterday. So obviously I am going to be wearing shorts in fear that my legs might actually start on fire if I wear anything else. However at night, especially if we go out (which we will), I am going to need to wear jeans. And I need to bring more than one pair because I hate clothes that smell like smoke and in the event that a drink gets spilled on me. But what if we go to a nice club or restaurant? Well, that means I need to bring pants, too. I am not the type of guy to wear sandals with jeans or pants, so that means I need to bring shoes. I wish I could say that standard black shoes would match with everything I wear, but they don’t, so add on brown shoes to join my black shoes and sandals. I can’t wear black socks with brown shoes, so throw those into the pile, as well. Oh, and don’t forget brown and black belts. (Am I starting to sound gay yet? Just asking) Like I said earlier, it’s going be surface-of-the-sun hot in Vegas, so I certainly can’t wear the same shirt that I was sweating in all day long to the bars, clubs and restaurants – which means at least two shirts per day (I might layer, you never know … okay, now I sound gay). Did I mention swimming trunks, boxers, sunglasses and a visor/hat? Good God that’s a lot of crap for a three day/four night excursion!

Men’s clothing is easily double the size of womens. Our shorts, shirts, underwear and pants are all bigger than most women’s. And lets not forget our shoes, which dwarf most women’s feet. Why do I bring all this up? Because my suitcase for the trip to Vegas is going to be the same size and weight as a Mini-Cooper.

I fully anticipate to be made fun of by my friends and family at the airport for the size of my baggage (and I am not talking about my relationships). Today I know that I can no longer mock those women who pack heavy and excessively, for in a few short days, I will be as sad as them. Tragic.

“C is for Crunk”

The clever message on the t-shirt of the guy my friend Jasmine was dancing with on Friday night.

Movie Review Time!

I caught a Saturday night viewing of War of the Worlds. Much to my pleasant surprise, I didn’t hate the movie and found it pretty entertaining. And one awkward scene aside, when Tom Cruise argues with a reporter about the history of air travel at the scene of a plane crash, the first two acts of the movie are really well done. Though it would have been nice if somewhere in the movie Spielberg could have paid homage to Orson Wells’ radio broadcast.

What prevented this movie from being excellent, and in some instances very haunting, were the problems scattered throughout the entire third act. After composing a handful of chilling and solid scenes (minus the above mentioned scene at the site of a plane crash where somehow the only surviving object was Tom Cruise’s stolen car) they did a great job depicting how the world might realistically react to an alien invasion. From a sad picture of everyday people fighting for the only working vehicle; to the point of a man pulling out a shattered windshield with only his bare hands, and then later another man shooting someone for possession of a car, to Tom Cruise’s son pulling people onto a ferry to save their lives (or so they thought), to more subtle images of a passenger train speeding by, totally on fire, or bodies floating down a river, Spielberg did a great job of removing some of the silly scenes that other such films, i.e. – Independence Day, routinely pepper throughout in a movie like this. The scope of the film is also effective. Instead of telling us the stories of the President of the United States, a group of everyday Americans and soldiers in the Air Force, they keep the focus just on Tom Cruise and his family. This works well because you sympathize with his confusion, his lack of information, the loneliness and any confident sense of what to do next.

And then the third act starts.

(By the way, the aliens look they are the love child from the ones in Independence Day and Alien)
Remember those times when you wrote a paper in high school or college that was required to be a certain length, and all of a sudden you realized you only had ¼ of a page left to write a conclusion, so you just abruptly ended your paper with a neat and clean three sentence concluding paragraph? Well, that’s what they did in War of the Worlds. The Deus ex Machina-like ending comes at you so fast and easy that you sit in the theatre staring at “Directed by Steven Spielberg” a few seconds longer than normal because you still can’t believe the movie just ended. Or maybe it was the shock from seeing Tom Cruise’s ex-wife and family, standing in front of their brownstone in pristine condition in Boston, fully decked out in clothing from Banana Republic, waiting to have an afternoon BBQ. Did somehow they miss or avoid all the death and destruction? Or maybe I was just so moved by the fact that Tom Cruise’s rebellious son somehow escaped a fireball the size of Rhode Island and managed to make to Boston all by himself, with time to spare. It also would have been nice if the aliens showed any symptoms of a pending problem, rather than their whole plan/attack becoming un-glued faster than you can say Katie Holmes.

This summer has been filled with movies that I enjoyed but wouldn’t say I loved, i.e. - Mr. & Mrs. Smith. Despite tons of faults, I enjoyed Star Wars - Episode 3, and Cinderella Man was solid; War of the Worlds falls somewhere in-between. The first two acts were good enough and some of the other scenes, especially those in Tim Robbins’ house (you could have heard a piece of popcorn hit the floor in theatre during those parts where the aliens are looking around the house, it was so quiet) were effective enough, that the movie is definitely worth seeing despite all the third act blunders. Am I going to buy the DVD? No. But it does warrant a B- grade and a "go see" recommendation.

Dorky, Geeky & Nerdy

Happy Friday everyone! Only three more days until the start of the next work week! Yes!

I love watching fireworks ... from the woman who has to go, “oooo-ahhhh” after every firework, to the kid who is determined to figure out which firework is their favorite, to the guy obsessed with guessing when the grand finale is starting – fireworks are always a good time.

Pre-vacation excitement (8 days till Vegas) – call me nerdy, call me geeky, but there is something cool about the whole getting a haircut/doing laundry/shopping/tanning/packing-frenzy that occurs the week leading up to a much-anticipated vacation. I have so many errands to run and things to do between now and next Saturday that I even created a “to-do” calendar on Excel. Yeah, you heard me right, on Excel. I have tasks ranging from “don’t forget to charge the digital camera” to “buy new sunglasses – don’t be tempted to buy Elvis sunglasses just because you are going to Vegas.”

By the way, a great debate to have with your friends is what’s worse, being a dork, geek or nerd?

George Lucas recently announced that Scarlett Johansson will be the voice of Darth Vader in the next Star Wars film.

I am embarrassed to say that I used the disastrous and amazingly ineffective, “my friend wants to talk to you” line at the bar the other night. Ugh. I might as well have said, “I have a scab that needs picking, can you help?” It would have gone over just as well. Someone in my position should not be descending to such banter. That’s like Tom Cruise talking about psychiatry or George Bush making a speech – it should never happen. So to all that were involved, I am sorry.

Not to be gross, but can someone explain to me what’s the deal with that post-tanning bed smell? Is it the tanning lotion? The ultra-violet rays? Sweat? A combination? Probably one of my least favorite smells – up there with that airplane smell, burnt popcorn, manure and Bucknell.

Speaking of Bucknell, it’s time for my first KU blog remark. For those who may not know, I am an alumnus of the University of Kansas – and I LOVE Jayhawk sports, especially basketball. When college basketball season rolls around, expect many-a-column to be dedicated to the performance of the basketball team. I can’t wait.

Anyway, to say the least the last two years have been rough on those of us who Wave the Wheat and Rock Chalk. From losing a very winnable championship game against Syracuse and then losing our ridiculously successful and iconic coach Roy Williams to North Carolina a week later, to an up-and-down first season under Bill Self, to losing several key recruits to transfer after that season, to an under-achieving freshman class, to embarrassingly losing to Bucknell in the first round of NCAA tournament and then watching Roy finally win the championship with Tarheels – it’s been one of those stretches from back in high school when you get dumped by your girlfriend, get in a fight with your best friend, flunk a test, get yelled at by your boss, get a speeding ticket driving home and find a massive zit on your forehead all within a couple of days – except for us Jayhawk fans – it has lasted two years. Not good.

So yesterday I learned that JR Giddens is transferring (and the hits just keep on comin’). JR had a disappointing sophomore season which preceded him being stabbed in the calf in a bar fight last month - not exactly winning the hearts and minds of Jayhawk fans. But with JR leaving (Coach Roy just lost his top seven scorers off his championship team, and he needs players, I wonder if JR will sport Carolina blue in the near future?) Wayne Simien, Aaron Miles, Keith Langford and Michael Lee graduating, and Alex Galindo transferring, that’s a lot of experience, points and rebounds not stepping onto the gigantic Jayhawk in Allen Fieldhouse next year. In fact, the only returning starter will be former walk-on Christian Moody. Yikes. Granted we have three stud freshmen coming in, and it’s hard to imagine our sophomores could do any worse than last year, but I have that feeling in my stomach that you get when you are driving down the road and a cop pulls up behind you. You don’t know what’s going to happen next and it is a 50/50 chance it could end up bad. Last Thanksgiving I wrote that I was thankful for the great job that Bill Self was doing, I really don’t want to have to take that comment back this Thanksgiving, but we are going to be a really, really young and inexperienced team this season.

I don’t want to ramble on too long about KU basketball because I have all of November through March to do that.

I want to give a special birthday shout-out to my good friend and fellow blogger, Jasmine! (Her blog http://jasminesdrivel.blogspot.com is an edgy, girl-oriented look at being a single professional in Denver – it’s pretty funny stuff, give it a read sometime.) Happy birthday Jasmine - you sick ... rhymes with duck.

A guy just walked by my desk, and the pattern on his shirt is the same pattern I have on my boxers.

Have a safe and fun 4th of July everyone.