I call your bluff, comrade. As you may have heard, casinos in Russia can stay open by converting to poker rooms. A tip of the fedora goes to reader mike_ch for pointing out this story, which delineates some of the pros and cons. In Vegas, even the strongest poker rooms don’t generate nearly the body count that table games and slots do. But Russian casinos are much smaller and at least a few might be able to hang on, depending on the size of the rake.
It’s mighty big of the Kremlin, by the way, to concede that poker is a sport, not a game of chance. Now if only Uncle Sam would do the same …
Rescue the Riv! Random observation from driving down Las Vegas Boulevard last night: The Riviera suddenly looks so much better and more classic when juxtaposed with the incredible bulk that is Fontainebleau. Land values have fallen, RIV stock is worthless and the property itself provides ready access to the Las Vegas Convention Center.
Time, methinks, for Penn National to get off its duff and make an offer … unless Penn CEO Peter Carlino is waiting for the Riviera to go into bankruptcy, so he can pluck the carcass at auction. Then again, if Carlino really thinks that Planet Hollywood and some or all of Station Casinos are low-hanging fruit, who am I to second-guess him?
Who’s the dummy? The purpose of our excursion was to attend an incredibly pointless media event at Madame Tussauds at The Venetian. If there was a point, it was so that the assembled media hordes would serve as extras for yet another episode of Kathy Griffin: My Life on the D List. A waxwork of Ms. Griffin was being unveiled and suffice it to say that Wax!Griffin looks far better than Real!Griffin. (I must be Officially Jaded, for I scarcely gave the comedienne a second glance.) The various and sundry female impersonators on hand — led by Frank Marino — had clearly taken greater care of their appearances than Griffin had of hers. There was, in fact, just about every stripe of LGBT humanity on hand last night, so it was almost more Rainbow Coalition than media event.
What excitement there was went on outside, where a smallish crowd surrounded the Michael Jackson statue. Tributes were in evidence but everything was tasteful and no hysteria was to be seen. As for Mme. Tussauds itself, I’ve been to the original one in London, and I recall its wax figures as being more believable and the setting itself as more atmospheric (especially the tableaux of infamous British homicides and regicides) … but that was 35 years ago this month.
Give Vegas Tussauds props for having a Joan Rivers dummy who looks more animated than her real-life counterpart, as seen on the NBC sitcom Celebrity Apprentice. All that’s missing is to give the waxwork Rivers a voice box that periodically squawks, “A pokuh playah! A pokuh playah!” Still, we easily spent more time checking out the doodads and gizmos in Brookstone than we did in the wax museum.
