This is actually, no-lie, being written in the Las Vegas Airport as I wait for my flight home. I just set the laptop up on a little table in the food court, where I have a lovely view of Burger King, Pizza Hut, TCBY Treats, and Cinnabon. (Do they still say "TCBY" stands for "The Country's Best Yogurt?" I've always assumed that when the company started out, those initials were short for, "This Can't Be Yogurt!" If they'd had the other in mind, it would have been TWBY — "The World's Best Yogurt," right? I'm guessing they switched — maybe for a legal reason, maybe for marketing concerns. And while we're at it, how long before KFC officially stands for "Kentucky's Fine Chicken" or something of the sort, to completely expunge all reminders that it's fried?)
I think about such things, and it sometimes worries me that I do.
This was my first visit to Vegas for some time. The biggest change, apart from the opening of The Palms, is that the slot machine areas are turning into Nick-at-Nite. Every machine now seems to have as its theme an old TV show, a celebrity, or some brand-name. I watched a lady playing a Beverly Hillbillies slot which, if it hits, pays you enough money to move in next to the Drysdales and build your own cee-ment pond. Land-a-doggies.
Variation on the above joke: If you get a jackpot on the I Love Lucy slot, you get to be in the show that Ricky's doing at the Copa Club with Cesar Romero. Babalu!
The Palms is nice, but I found myself wondering why I bothered to trek all the way over there to see another casino full of slot machines, blackjack dealers, roulette wheels, etc. Nothing you can't see at two dozen other establishments.
I did have a nice time though, hanging out with Paul Harris and guesting on his radio program, which was being ISDNed back to St. Louis. Paul and I have "known" each other for some fifteen years, having first connected in — I think — the Broadcast Professionals discussion group on CompuServe. One day in that forum, I posted the up-'til-then-secret info that NBC had finally decided who would replace David Letterman as the host of Late Night — a complete unknown named Conan O'Brien. Paul, canny broadcaster that he is, spotted a scoop and took to the air with it on the radio show he was then doing — in Boston, I believe. This info had not appeared anywhere, NBC refused to confirm it, and a local critic denounced Paul for spreading a bogus news item. But Mr. Harris had the final chuckle, and we became e-mail buddies. Like some really demented introduction scene on The Bachelor, this was the first time we'd met in person. I enjoyed talking with him and I enjoyed watching him do his talk show live from a lounge at the Orleans Hotel. He really knows how to keep the proceedings moving at an entertaining clip. If you're in St. Louis, catch him live every weekday on KTRS, the Big 550 on your dial. If you're not in St. Louis, you'll have to be content with bits 'n' pieces over at www.HarrisOnline.com. As I have to be.
I'll post more Vegas stuff later, including the tale of the cab driver who wouldn't stop talking about his sex life.
