Seven days and nights of Texas hold 'em primarily at The Mirage provide no copy of interest. Fellow poker players usually just feign interest in the bad beat stories or the detail of winning hands. Suffice to say I enjoyed playing and showed a meager profit. No poker stories will be found here.
My general comment about Las Vegas (the tourist aspect of the place) is that folks with different agendas gather and exist in parallel universes. This was most evident on Friday and Saturday night. The club crowd invaded and overran The Strip, While I was looking for a low stakes dice table and a Diet Pepsi that I could buy for under $3, others were hoping to get into a club so thy could (reportedly) spend hundreds, if not thousands just to be part of the human Jello mold on the dance floor.
The scene reminded me of the old Let's Make a Deal show where contestents would wear costumes to attract the attention of Monty Hall. The bunny suits and foil robot attire were replaced in LV with five inch heels, sparkly dresses and cheap perfume for the ladies. The boys wore whatever what was regarded as high fashion in their particular circle. It was a freak parade to my old eyes. The early evening was full of anticipation, although it appeared that 90% of the contestants would not get into a club let alone find themselves lucky in love.
The trip back to my room at about 3 a.m. saw girls too drunk and drugged to walk, let alone be of any sexual benefit, either being carried home or, in one case, sprawled on the sidewalk in a laughing fit. Small bands of defective men with beers in hand wandered about wondering how the evening passed them by.
I cared no more for an account of their club experiences than they of my telling of how I found a lucky queen on the turn to fill me in to beat a lower boat.