blaugra

Surviving the Seduction of The Sands

OK, the best way to deal with a casino in your town is to just drive on by and not enter. But, if you're me - curious and guillible - you might want to check it out for yourself.

Here is what I've learned about navigating The Sands in Bethlehem after just 4 visits:

If you get promotions in the mail for $35 of free slots play - ignore them.

The "free money" goes fast, and you won't win anything.  If you do, you might win 88 cents like I did last night.  When you cash out, you only get the net winnings and you know the house always wins with slots. So don't even bother.

The parking garage sucks the big one. 

I have never seen such a creepy clusterfuck in my life. I think it's deliberately designed to be Hell's Parking Garage to make you want to pay $7 for valet parking.

My mother's trick is to park somewhere else in town and take the low-priced "Loop" bus that will drop you at the very classy bus entrance to the casino.

If you don't like to breathe smoke, touch things that are dirty, or sing along to hits of the 1980s, don't even think about going.  If you worry about catching the swine flu, don't enter the building.

When you ride the elevators from the parking garage to the casino floor, you will be in a car with several other people:

1. The old lady who has a cane and is clutching the arm of her daughter or husband with excitement about losing her pension check.

2. The white trash guy who is wearing a tank top so you can see his hairy shoulders along with all his casino player's cards on a lanyard around his neck, who will say, "Well, if I don't win here I'll head out to the Borgata tomorrow! Heh heh heh"

3. The first-timers who will say things like, "What a cute town" or "I don't know how to play a slot machine."  Hint:  slot machines are for the lowest common denominator of society. 

Here's how you play slot machines:

Find a pretty one. Preferably one with a "Glitter Kitty" or "Wild Wolf Howl at the Moon" theme. Don't even try to get in on the "Deal or No Deal" machines, which actually make you feel like you are using your brain. There are only 5 of them, they're in the smoking section, and there's always a line to play them unless you're there at 4 am. Unless you want to stand in the line and cheer people, that's a great way to make friends.

Insert your players card so the casino can track every move you make. 

Insert money.

Hit the button that says "play all lines plus feature" and then make your bet. 

Repeat until money is gone or until you pull another $20 out of your wallet.  Don't even try to understand the logic behind the pay lines.

Make a new friend with the old guy sitting next to you whose machine is obviously winning, and accept his encouraging advice about how to hit the pay lines.  Reciprocate with cheers when his machine freaks out and makes lots of noise.

Order a "free" drink from the cocktail waitress in the heinous uniform, just don't expect it to come before you're out of money. 

There, wasn't that fun? 

Remember the cocktails are well drinks, small, and served in plastic cups. Tip the waitress even if she's slow to return, because she has to wear that heinous sparkle dress with nude stockings and brown shoes. 

My mom's trick:  bring hand sanitizer or towelettes. Wash hands often. Really, your hands will be gross and brown. eeeeeew

Also crucial if you're a girl - bring a sweater.  When it's 90 degrees outside it's like 50 inside.

Final casino-floor navigation tip: when you walk by the virtual video blackjack machines, you're obligated to say something about the chestiness of the lifesize virtual video blackjack dealer chick on the screen. "Nice rack!" is appropriate if you don't want to be too graphic about stating the obvious.

Then eat.

The best deal at the Sands is at St. James Gate faux Irish pub. Inside, you can barely hear the casino, and the barstools are really comfy and there is a fire in the fireplace, because, you know, it's 50 degrees. 

Order a Guinness, Harp or hard cider and something from the bar's mini-menu. It's written on a chalkboard behind the bartender and you have to ask for it.  Order the mini bangers & mash for $4 (which was enough for my dinner - two bangers, baked beans, tomato and a pyramid of mashed with fresh scallions), the fish-n-chips and/or the Prince Edward Island mussels (flown in fresh daily.)  All the selections are $3-$4. Your food bill will be less than your drinks, but at least you're not drinking swill from a plastic cup listening to Bananarama for the 900th time in your life.

Final step: the elevator ride back to Hell's Parking Garage. 

The mood is considerably different with the people in this car than on the way in.  There will ALWAYS, ALWAYS be someone who will say, to no one in particular, "Doesn't look like we're happy campers here!" 

Hint: even if you won, act like you're not a happy camper. Shake your head and say, "You win some, you lose some, I guess."  Because if you say you're a big winner, the seemingly harmless woman from New Jersey might mug you in Hell's Parking Garage and take all your winnings.

Still, I want you to come to the casino, put your money in and help decrease Pennsylvania's deficit  pad the pockets of a non-local companies and big government.

Also, if you want to buy something in the gift shop that doesn't say "Emeril" on it, take the loop to another part of town with gift shops selling the same stuff, and support the locals who will most likely not be wearing ugly sequined short dresses.  Well, you never know.

Do you wanna touch me? Yeah. Oh, yeah.

I saw this photo in the news today and was, like, wow, THAT'S what Joan Jett looked like last night?  Because what I saw was like a little gray insect with a whiter-than-white dot of a head. 

The horrible seats are not the worst part of Musikfest shows.  Or the fact that we bought our $50 tickets at 10AM on the day they went on sale to the general public, because we were too "cheap" to join the special club that costs an extra $200 for the privilege of buying tickets earlier to get better seats.  Or because the high-priced VIP section in the front was half empty, populated only with people who were related to corporate sponsors and not really into seeing Joan Jett.  Or because it was so bright and sunny at 7:15 when Joan's show started that the jumbo video screens weren't visible. Or the two big freight trains that rolled by on the tracks next to the field.  Or the bugs swarming from the stagnant canal next to the tracks, demonstrating why the venue is nicknamed "Mosquito-Platz" and making me all scratchy today.  Or the two-mile walk to the damn place. Or the port-a-potties that smell like urinal-cake and drunken piss and guys who don't lock the door lock so innocent women with active bladders like me open the door to see one of them peeing. 

No, none of those things are the worst.  Not when I was unabashedly shaking my rump, as it turned

Hazard County

Someone asked me where my blogroll went.  Well, that someone is my husband Salty D.  I'm revamping it along with other sidebar materials. But I haven't had the time to do it this week, post-blogher.

Apparently now, Thursday, is too late to be talking about Blogher'09.  Oh, but I have more to say.  I will...

Now it's time to contend with the local scene which our"media" is calling "the perfect storm:"

Eagles Training Camp + Musikfest + DasAwskthFescht (which I can never spell) + Sands Casino = terrific traffic taquito fiasco.

What's the big deal? you ask.  This isn't Chicago, this is the THIRD LARGEST metropolitan area in PENNSYLVANIA.  So imagine, if you will, Donovan McNabb, The Commodores, old guys in their classic cars, busloads of old biddies, and all the spectators and gamblers drunk and driving.  The perfect storm.  I'm hunkering down.

street scenes, part 1

Waiting for the "S" to hit.

Vegas.

Macau.

Bethlehem.

Oddity.

Musik Express

I was at a friend's house and they asked me, "Who's playing Musikfest this year?"  She used to live in the area and has since moved on to hipper metropolises.  She remembers when the main attractions at the fest were the big polka tent and KC and the Sunshine Band.

At this moment I am playing a "guess the act" game with Musikfest on Twitter.  Because there's just nothing better to do at the moment, on this glorious Pennsylvania day ?  What's my problem?

They are announcing one of their big double bill acts tomorrow morning, and I've been trying to guess as they've been handing out hints.  

So, you try!

Here are the hints:

Guinness IS Good

Background to mildly funny story:

In Pennsylvania you have to buy beer either by the case, six-pack, or single servings.  Most beer is purchased at a beer distributor, which sells just beer in cases (and kegs) and usually pretzels.  You have to buy wine and spirits at the Wine and Spirits state stores. Some of you who live in states where you can get Wild Turkey alongside slushies at a gas station are thinking this is the most inconvenient commonwealth and you're right.

Some beer distributors are drive-ins.  If you want to buy a case of beer after 9pm, you can not.  If you want to buy three or more six-packs, you can not.  You can buy no more than two six packs at a restaurant or "6-pack shop."   

SO, this is where we found ourselves at 9:05 on Saturday nite.  Salty D. had been invited to attend a football game on Sunday and wanted to bring beer and we were fresh out at home.

We went to a 6-pack shop called - and I'm not making this up - Boo's. 

Brilliant!

An outgoing and/or coked up Eminem lookalike saw us cruising the coolers, I was looking for pumpkin ale, and D. was looking for whatever would taste good at a tailgate.

Eminem came up to me (I don't think he worked there) and said, "Man, I love beer!  What kind of beer do you like?"

Me:  "Lots of kinds.  I'm trying to decide on a pumpkin ale right now."

Eminem:  "Oh, man, have you ever tried the pumpkin ale?  It's really, really good!"

Me:  "Uh, yeah."

Eminem:  "I really like beer. The honey brown is good.  You should try that."

Me:  "Nah, too sweet."

Eminem:  "What do you like?  I like this kind, Stella, but it's expensive."

Me: "That's good."  he's getting closer as he's pointing out every beer he fancies.

Eminem:  "Anything but dark beer is good.  Especially not Guinness. That shit is disgusting!"

Me: "WHAT?!  How can you love beer but not like Guinness?"

Eminem:  "You like that crap?  Hey, you guys remember quaaludes?  'Cause YOU'RE ON 'LUDES!"

Having made our purchases and prompted a young man to attack our choice of libation and assume that we were enjoying a throwback mellow high, we left. 

I spent the rest of my Saturday night sorting out my sock drawer.  Wait, maybe I was on ludes. 

this will come back to bite me in the ass

I volunteer once in a while for this organization.  As you see on their home page, their newest national campaign is getting all their volunteers in all their local offices to wear the same t-shirt and take their pictures. 

So, I decided that I would go to two photoshoots on the same day.

I wore all my photo-ready makeup and first went to the DMV for my new driver's license.  The line was waaaaay too long.  So instead I went to the organization for the t-shirt shoot. 

I thought we would each get a cool "Live United" shirt.  But no, photo wardrobe only, we had to give them back.  Crap!  That was half the reason for going! 

The coordinator said, "What t-shirt size are you?"  large.  "Ummmm, well the women's sizes run REALLY small. Here, try this 3-XL."  Triple X?  I held it up and it was like a tiny medium.   Fine, I'll change into this, all the regular shaped shirts were taken.  Most people were just throwing the shirts on over their clothes which frankly looked pretty lame.

I put the shirt on -  "Oh my GOD!" I said to the other women in the ladies' room, "3XL my ASS!  I look like I'm ready for a wet t-shirt contest!"  The women looked at me with disgust, and like they had never heard of a wet t-shirt contest.   

I watched the other volunteer models being photographed before me.  They stood uncomfortably still like they were at a police station or, well, a driver's license photo center. Except for my high school friend who said she totally worked it fierce and that I should be fierce, too.  So I decided I wasn't gonna just stand there and wait for the water to be thrown on me.  I kept my jacket on and did a little catwalk twirl move and posed like this: 

Then I found my inner Tyra and did some pivots and fake laughter.  The photographer was, like, snap snap snap snap "Oh this is good, this is different, great smiles!"  snap snap snap snap  "Wait just a few more that's great!"  snap snap

That was supermodel fun.  If I ever see the outcome, I'll have to share.  Unless it ends up being used in a campaign then I'll hide it under a rock.

Of course, that good fun was balanced later in the day by the dorkiest looking driver's license photo shoot of my life. 

Yum too

I hate the misuse of the word "too" so much that I now find it funny every time.  Like when stores open up a second location and call themselves "Anita's Hair-um Too."  That said, this is Yum, part too: the follow-up.

Sports Illustrated writer Peter King stopped in the coffeeshop after sweltering at football camp and said this:

"I noticed that as a tribute to Eagles play-by-play man Merrill Reese, Jeff has invented a coffee concoction for the broiling days here -- a iced latte with coffee ice cubes, peanut butter and chocolate syrup and coffee. Unusual, but I polished it off in about three minutes."

So that's super-exciting, yes?!

Yum

The Eagles are in town training their buns off. I don't care about football until I see cute Eagles walking down the street and interesting sports reporters at the coffeeshop, then I suddenly care about football for a few weeks.

This is the coinciding drink special, born out of a creative staff effort.  Mr. Reese has stopped in the coffeeshop a few times, and last year I met him.  He was very very tan and wore a very large gold ring. 

We're hoping he comes by again, and laughs, and doesn't ask for any royalties.  That would probably be like $12 anyway.

What's in a Merrill's Mocha:

Hot coffee, poured over coffee ice cubes, with cold milk, chocolate syrup, Reese's Peanut Butter syrup, topped with whipped cream and drizzled with more chocolate.   

It really is good.  I love the coffee ice cubes - no watered down coffee, just chilly-chill!

Nerve-ana

The day with the cleaning service has arrived, and I'm a nervous ... oh, I was going to say the usual "nervous wreck" but that's really getting old.  I'm not a wreck. 

I stayed up half the night, cleaning in preparation for the cleaning service. 

Not cleaningcleaning, just removing all the crap from surfaces so that the cleaner can actually clean. 

The other half of the night I spent in bed fantasizing:

First, I'm gonna pile up aalllll our junk. Then I'll call that crap hauling company with the big truck that shows up and takes anything and everything away for you.  And that truck is backing into my driveway, and two big strapping guys - wearing HOT back support belts!  yes!! - are coming to my door...and then they take away that random ice machine in the basement, the one that doesn't work but is too heavy for us to get rid of ourselves.  The old bathroom sink from 1952 that we're never going to install anywhere else! Enough office clutter recycling to pile on a pallet.  Wedding gifts of things we've never used from people we never see!  In my fantasy, there's no guilt!!  Ooooh! - our notebooks from college, just the few that we each kept.  Why did we keep those?  To prove we went to college and had that class in abnormal psychology?  When the fuck did we ever consult those notes that we wrote when we were 19 years old?  Oh, this is gettin' good!!!  Take it away, boys!

And this is how my sick mind spent the rest of the sleep time.

Now I have to let this stranger in my home and introduce her to all of our little dust rhinos and carpet tumbleweeds.

Update, dateline July 16 - Holy shit. I never thought my house could look like it does.  She even left chocolates on our pillows. I'm so happy.