Not that much if you're MGM Mirage and trying to leverage your brand recognition into Mainland China. Toward the tail end of his most recent earnings call, MGM Mirage CEO J. Terrence Lanni said the company had made an erroneous assumption that "because MGM is a known name because of our former sister company, the [film] studios, that people would flock there in the mass market and the slot area ... frankly, those people may recognize the studio but they didn't recognize the fact that there was an MGM Grand hotel casino, if you will, in Macao."

So all those Chinese watching pirated DVDs of Stargate SG-1 (and selling them on eBay) aren't making a connection between Leo the Lion and the MGM/Pansy Ho pleasure palace on the South China Sea. Lanni estimates MGM's share of the Macao market at 8%, putting it in last place behind -- and these percentages are approximate, based on the best available figures -- Galaxy Entertainment (11%), Wynn Resorts (17%), PBL Melco Entertainment (18%), Las Vegas Sands (22%) and Stanley Ho's SJM (24%).

Which would mean only seven percentage points now separate fading frontrunner SJM from relative newcomer Wynn (which has but one property to Ho's 19), and Wynn itself has already gotten taken down a peg by PBL Melco's Crown Macau. As for getting a larger slice of that pie, MGM is putting its focus on mass market/slot players "because that's where the real margins are."

Wall Street sets too little store by the fable of the tortoise and the hare, but ... has MGM's being the last entrant into the Macanese market hurt it? Macao players can be fickle, given the right incentives, but did MGM lose the first round of the customer-loyalty war by being so late to the battlefield?

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Las Vegas Review-Journal gossip columnist Norm Clarke has dubbed the obstreperous star of Cirque du Soleil's forthcoming Criss Angel Believe ... wait for it ... "the Cirque jerque."

P.S.: Consumer complaints continue to mount about Harrah's Entertainment's petulant and petty decision to ban the R-J from its properties. C'mon Harrah's, get over it already.

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Last night's showcase of Simon at Palms Place was mostly par for the course or better for such events: prompt and friendly service; generous servings of lobster, oysters and shrimp; more desserts than you can shake a diet book at; beautiful vistas of Las Vegas under the stars, and comfy couches, plus seemingly every would-be Derek Zoolander in town.

Unfortunately, nobody in charge of the event seems to have bothered to check the morning weather forecast, which predicted "GUSTY" conditions come nightfall. Sho' nuff, when we arrived the winds were roiling the waters of the wraparound swimming pool something fierce and causing us to hold onto our flimsy plastic plates for dear life (and to ultimately no avail).

But the best part involved the towering ice sculpture. It was a thing of beauty and accomodated two tiers of seafood. Unfortunately, this being Las Vegas in mid-May, it manifested a not-unpredictable tendency to melt. Not only were shrimp splattering onto the floor as the quickly melting serving station reverted to pure H2O, nobody had thought to install any sort of base in which to capture the inevitable runoff. Instead, City Life Arts Editor Mike Prevatt, I and our respective dates were nearly swept away in a flash flood. (OK, I exaggerate ... but not by much.) Quick-thinking waitstaff quasi-solved the problem by wrapping big, white towels around the base of the disintegrating sculpture.

Again, you'd think somebody would have anticipated such an eventuality. But it at least it provided quite a conversation-starter the remainder of the evening.

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Just to the left of the gargantuan Toni Braxton wrap on the Flamingo, there's now a 14-story wrap for Nathan Burton. The "building wrap" trend has officially jumped the shark. Let's hope Steve Wynn doesn't plaster Danny Gans' cheesy grin across the length and breadth of Encore.

(He'll probably do it anyway, just to spite all those people, from Steve Friess on downwards, who say Gans is an absolutely sucktastic choice for a supposedly forward-looking resort.)

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  … that is also spelled “S-U-C-K.” We’re speaking of CHER the production show at Caesars Palace’s Colosseum -- not Cher the performer (of whom more below).

When attending a show entitled Cher, one might reasonably expect it to prominently feature … Cher. Such expectations are sadly crushed. Cher runs 100 minutes, and both I and a City Life colleague estimated it to 30 minutes (or less) of Cher onstage and 70 minutes of Other Stuff. It’s as though Gary Loveman was paying Cher by the minute and determined to minimize his outlay.

In Céline Dion: A New Day, Dion and Franco Dragone knew what the public was coming to see (Céline) and delivered it, in spades, whether one liked the final product or not. Bette Midler’s Colosseum show, too, is generous with her talent. It also has rhythm, pace and a unifying style, qualities lacking in Cher.

The stupefaction-inducing spectacle that transpires is, instead, more like “V: The Ultimate Variety Show with special guest Cher.” The nominal headliner is upstaged by her Bob Mackie costumes (12 in all), a fashion parade that seems to be have been Cher’s creative starting point, a creatively fatal decision from whence it was all downhill. Cher is brought onstage, sings half a song or so, then must depart for another wardrobe-and-wig change, leaving five-minute-or-longer lacunae in an already slack show.

The “down time” is filled with second-rate Cirque du Soleil-style acrobatics, blinding Nuremberg-rally lighting effects, contortionists, disco dancing and a one-man-plus-puppets rendition of “YMCA” so bad it doesn’t even qualify as camp. (If Midler’s show was High Camp at its finest, Cher is Vegas Tacky … and not in a good way.) As for the choreography, it could be the textbook definition of “uninspired.”

The well of inspiration having apparently run dry quickly, other changes are covered with innumerable and interminable video segments. It’s like watching your entire Sonny & Cher DVD collection in the company of a few thousand of your closest friends. (To drive the point home, we were subjected to the constant verbal obbligato of a quartet of goombahs behind us. [“That’s Jerry Lewis!” “Where?” “Right.” “He’s good.”] Imagine watching a Cher concert while listening to an episode of The Sopranos and you’ll get the effect.)

Only in a Sixties-themed segment was all the show’s infrastructure – dancers, backup singers, band, set and video cyclorama – employed to maximum potential. Otherwise, you’d have to have to be in a remarkably indulgent frame of mind to regard Cher as Colosseum-worthy entertainment. But, judging from the audience reaction, mine is a minority report.

As for Cher herself, it wouldn’t be cricket to give an in-depth critique of a performance where she was clearly indisposed and looked to be on the verge of collapse in “If I Could Turn Back Time.” Least affected was her voice, which is remarkably well-preserved (the rest of her is pretty well-preserved too, but let’s not get into bionics) with intermittent “froggy notes,” as she called them, adding an appealing touch of humanity.

Deeper than ever, Cher’s voice is a plumy alto throb, verging upon a basso profundo. In truth, she’s in fresher vocal estate than Bette Midler, but takes far fewer risks and it’s a shame that such a lush timbre is lavished upon songs that are mostly piffle.

Truth in Packaging Dept.: If Caesars were to be candid about what it’s presenting, it should re-slug the show “A LOTTA RANDOM S%!T … and (intermittently) Cher.” Yeah, that’d about sum it up.

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"The Strip has done phenomenally well, but I think there's a segment of the population that's kind of getting ignored, the value-conscious customer who really can't afford the kind of pricing the Strip offers these days." -- Binion's and Four Queens owner Terry Caudill.

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OK, so it was a derelict that's been closed for 10 years and unlikely ever to reopen. But the Alystra is now officially "a total loss." Too bad. It was an attractive building that happened to sit in a sort of mini-Bermuda Triangle where no casino could flourish. It also was operated in a manner that brought it afoul of the Nevada Gaming Control Board. There were some flutters of interest 16 months ago, then silence. Since the Alystra had become a homeless hangout, it'll probably be no great mystery how it caught fire.

A bad month for Adelson. First, there was a shaky performance on the witness stand in the Richard Suen/Las Vegas Sands lawsuit. Then a first-quarter loss. Now he's been questioned in a bribery investigation of Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert's government. Sheldon will probably have to do a little 'splainin' to the Control Board when he gets back from Jerusalem.

Luxor 2.0: A review of the ongoing makeover has been posted at VegasTripping.com. The verdict: "Pharoah's Tomb Meets Airport Bar." Hard to believe that Luxor is already 18 years old -- unlike Excalibur, which only looks like it's been around for 30 years or so.

Nathan Burton at the Flamingo. I went. I saw. (And the stunt pictured here does not figure in the act, so caveat emptor.) The magic tricks were sloppily executed -- you had to wonder what the coterie of rival magicians in attendance thought of them -- and almost made one nostalgic for Hans Klok. For this Harrah's Entertainment ditched Society of Seven?

No warp speed here: A story that broke on the Web last week (and was picked up by LVA's "What's News" page six days ago) finally crept into the pages of the Dogpatch Daily. (UNLV's David Schwartz has a good critique of the situation, though.) The same writer who branded Strip casinos as "monuments to gullibility" now turns his scorn upon patrons of the Las Vegas Hilton's Star Trek attraction -- while managing to meet the R-J's two-factual-mistakes-per-story quota and confusing "premiere" with "premier."

But he's not alone. A local publisher mistakes "ringer" for "wringer" in ...

An utterly ridiculous column that suggested the Democratic presidential ticket be suggested by a coin-toss. Seriously. It's difficult to decide if this is a bigger insult to Las Vegas Sun readership or to the democratic process itself, this flippant (pun intended) notion of hinging the fate of our country -- and perhaps, by extension, the world -- on a game of chance. As one Sun reader notes, "I admire your ability to get paid for this."

Since one normally needs to pack a lunch and some No-Doz to finish a Brian Greenspun column (and I couldn't even get through this one w/o skimming), I'll boil down the "logic": "Hillary Clinton has worked harder than any person I know of to become America’s president [and] running for president, and the presidency itself, has to be the hardest job on the planet."

So? Meaning if Greenspun's next-door neighbor worked harder than Hillary Clinton to be on the donkey-party ticket, then he/she would deserve it even more? As Clint Eastwood's William Munny observes in Unforgiven, "Deserve's got nothin' to do with it."

Greenspun cites exit polls as holy writ, whereupon his moving finger moves on to write, "We all know that the polling this year has been wrong at best" (Who's this "we all"? I know no such thing. Do you?) "People, for good or bad reasons, don’t tell the truth to pollsters when it comes to race or gender." Well, if true, that puts paid to those exit polls in which Greenspun places so much stock.

After calling upon the respective campaigns not to "short-circuit the democratic process," out comes the loony coin-toss idea. Why? "We accept the coin toss in every other facet of our lives," quoth the suddenly Solomonic Greenspun. Oh, do we? Maybe that's how they make important decisions at Greenspun Media but I don't think, for instance, that the board of Harrah's Entertainment decided not to accept Penn National's buyout offer because the nickel came up "heads."

Hey, let's have representatives of the Kurds, Shiites and Sunnis over to the Bellagio poker room to decide the fate of Iraq in a game of Texas Hold 'Em, with Halliburton taking a "rake" of the pot. Works for me.

The clue to Greenspun's thoroughly trite and un-democratic "solution" can be found in a passing comment that enfranchisement "for far too long has been a burden to Americans rather than a blessing." I'll leave you to ponder the disturbing -- and elitist -- implications of that telltale remark.

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"The message is, 'Don't think about how crappy your economic situation is, just come to Vegas, damn it. If you don't, you're a wallowing loser.'" -- Atlanta resident Tania Franco, in Newsweek, panning the Las Vegas Convention & Visitors Authority's " ... do without thinking. Do Vegas now" ad spots. Franco's spouse recently suffered a salary reduction.

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Mondays aren't anybody's favorite day (in my case, it usually means having to sift through three-five days worth of news reports). Today, however, is even worse than usual. I struggled with one blog entry, then scrapped it as it wasn't worth the ink it wasn't printed on.

Then, just as I was one sentence away from finishing a dispatch on the 40/40 Club, my Internet browser crapped out, leaving me with ... a blank page. Upon reflection, I could have accomplished exactly as much by staying in bed this morning. At least I wouldn't be sitting here, shaking my head over the factual errors in the Dogpatch Daily.

Time to go back to reorganizing the "Question of the Day" archives ...

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"Tropicana [Entertainment] did not view workers as a valuable commodity and I think they regret it now." -- Culinary Union supremo D. Taylor, on the collapse of Columbia Sussex's heavily leveraged casino portfolio.

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