Movin' on in, shackin' on up...

I'm single but still find this totally hilarious. (*No hints, just humor.)

In case of fire... do not use Twitter.

Lord knows it will be hard to resist tweeting about how the building you're in is on fire, but unless you're a reporter and the burning building is a major Strip hotel (ahem, Monte Carlo?) please heed the sign's advice:

In case of fire, do not use Twitter.

Oh, and if you're not already, you can stalk me, 140 characters at a time, via the handy-dandy and oh-so-very addictive status updater otherwise known as Twitter by clicking here.

Another shameless plug: If you haven't already read the account of my using Twitter to stalk out Dave Navarro a few months back, here's some fireside reading for ya: http://www.lasvegassun.com/news/2009/apr/14/dave-navarro-and-other-musicians-tune-fans-through/ (Dave actually tweeted about it, and linked to the story, too...)

Funnies from the HardBat Classic

Some of the signage from this weekend's HardBat Classic at the Sands Expo Center (a.k.a. the Palazzo/Venetian)

Love it.


(The no streaking rule must've been brought in before Anna Kournikova agreed to appear at the event...)

Further evidence that Facebook ads are crap

I've said it before: Facebook ads are crap. But now this.

Facebook apparently thinks I'm gay.

WTF?! It seems to be a common trend, or something.

A month or two ago it was revealed that a friend who's known me for over a year thought I was a bonafide lesbian.

I'm not. Not even close. Not that there's anything wrong with it... it's just not my thing.

I've never kissed a girl. Heck, I don't even like that Katy Perry song about kissing girls, and I've already blogged about my distaste for the tasteless girl-on-girl kissing contests.

But now Facebook thinks I'm a lesbian, too? This is too much.

So, one last time, let me make it clear:

I'm in love.

Mom, Dad, I've met someone special.

His name is Stanley. (You can call him Stan.)

We've met a few times before, but, as you can see, we really hit it off during the NHL Awards when they were in town. Eddie Olczyk introduced us over breakfast at Simon. (Stan and Eddie have been friends for several years.)

I know, I know, Stanny boy is a few years older than I am, and has been around the block a time or two. But you know I like older guys -- and he makes me so happy.

I think he's a keeper. Meet your new son-in-law.

Energetic Jackpot!

Forget shoes or clothes, and never mind the mall or eBay. The best shopping is for energy supplements, and can be done at your friendly neighborhood truck stop.

Cheers.

Local celebrity journalists are given a table at the Bank and all hell breaks loose: Drinks are poured, inhibitions fly out the window and we run out of glasses.
Thankfully, a seasoned member of the group knows just how to handle the situation... and we all meet deadline.

Step one: OJ.

Step two: Vodka.

Step three: Ice.

Step four: Mix.

Step five: High five!

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... a f-ing hipster!

"Look! There's a f-ing hipster on the ceiling! Oh, wait -- the ceiling is mirrored and that f-ing hipster is me..."

I LOVE the "Look at this fu©king hipster" Web site. The only thing that tops it is seeing a living, breathing hipster in the wild and snapping a photo of the fool all by yourself.

I saw this f-ing hipster out on Saturday at Lavo and, as luck would have it, he was out again on Monday, this time at Privé -- wearing almost the exact same, oh-so-hip-and trendy outfit.

I couldn't help myself... and I still can't.

Stanly Cup = Simple Math

Some people were shocked that the Pittsburgh Penguins came back to win the Stanley Cup during Friday night's NHL final.

I was not one of them.

Granted, they came off a 5-0 loss in Game 5 and barely survived Game 6, with an overtime win against the Detroit Red Wings.

The win sent them back to the Motor City for the Stanley Cup Final. No home turf advantage, no nothing. The odds were against them.

They were +175, actually.

I really, really wanted to lose my Vegas gambling virginity to this match-up. I knew Sid and the rest of his Pens would take it.

Sadly, I got stuck at the office and didn't get over to a Sports Book before face-off.

I sure wish I had:

A $10 bet would've paied $27.50; A $50 bet (which was what I was thinking of doing -- either that or a solid hundo, depending on my mood at the gate) paid out $137.50; and, had I put a Benjamin on the Pens, I would've walked away with $275.

Dammit!

I don't know how anyone got things wrong. Simply looking at the number of Canadians on each team was a clear indication of who would emerge victorious.

Forget the stats, odds, and other wishy-washy mumbo-jumbo: The Wings had nine Canadians on their roster while the Pens had 15.

Read: No brainer.

Detroit's Canuck roster quotient included Kris Draper and fellow former Winnipeggers Darren Helm and Derek Meech.

Pittsburgh's Great White Northerners included the team capitan/boy genius otherwise known as Sidney Crosby (dead giveaway that they'd win, helloooo!) and Jordan Staal.

Both teams' goalies were Canadian: The Pens had Marc-Andre Fleury and the Wings had Chris Osgood.

The difference, here, was Fleury was awesome and Ogood, while decent, was left defenseless and didn't stand a chance.

He was also Quebecois, which, generally speaking, settles the coin-toss of which Canadian (er, Canadien) player is better, the Anglo or the Frenchie.

I really, really wish I made it to GVR's Sports Book before the game started. Damn it anyway.

Despite my missed chance at a handsome monetary gain, the Pens' victory was a sweet one.

I an hard-pressed to convey how happy I was to see the Wings lose.

I mean, the Wings are awful. Like, the worst team ever in the history of hockey.

OK, I might be *slightly* biased, given my history as a Winnipeg Jets fan and the fact that the Jets lost out to the Wings in first round playoff action on an annual basis... and that the last game at the Winnipeg was against the Wings and, yes, the Jets didn't win that night.

I also *might* still have my ticket stub from that game. Not that I'm holding onto the past or anything. Whatever. It's just an honest coincidence, really...

Betty White: Beer Pong Princess

Yet another gem passed on by the one and only Kevin Rose of Digg.com's Twitter feed: Everyone's favorite Golden Girl, Betty White, playing beer pong with SNL alum-turned-talkshow host, Jimmy Fallon.

Thank you, Kevin; my life is now complete.

If you're not already following the Digg.com founder, you should. He's a UNLV grad and somehow, despite Digg's success and current big-deal status, has time to find all sorts of random videos and stories and shares 'em with his followers on a regular basis.

I wish I had the time to both crawl the web on my own and watch Fallon's new show. Sigh.

PS: Continuing my love to restate the obvious, I have to say that I <3 Jimmy Fallon; Weekend Update hasn't been the same since he and Tina Fey left...

Pittsburgh Perogies: Cooking with Evgeni Malkin

It's Game 7 go time, kiddies -- let's hope Pens center Evgeni Malkin has sufficiently carb-loaded for tonight's Stanley Cup final.

And let's hope he didn't do so with homemade pierogies.

The Russian was featured on Pens TV a few months ago whipping up some of his homestyle monstrosities. Check out his culinary adventure below.

Apparently Russian pierogies are different than the Ukrainian "perogies" my family is oh-so-fond of: His were thick and breaddy, baked in the oven and downright awful looking while the Ukie version I'm familliar with are D-shaped, doughy little dumplings that are boiled, then fried with onions, butter (and sometimes bacon) and served with sour cream.

Oh, and my version is delicious.

I think I should challenge him and his missus to a pierogy-perogy-off.

+++++++ CineVegas Lesson #1 +++++++ L.A. = Fun; L.A. Guys = Short, desperate

So CineVegas is in town which means L.A.'s up-and-coming filmmakers have invaded Las Vegas.

The annual film festival like Sin City's mini Sundance, on a smaller, more B-list scale. Still, fun folks and parties abound.

Last night's kick-off soirée was at Privé. On my way into the VIP section I was interviewed by the Independent Film Channel. They asked me, among other things, how Privé ranked in terms of the Vegas nightclub scene.

I didn't lie. I'm not a huge fan of the joint -- but the Planet Hollywood nightclub is OK. I mean, it could be worse... it could be Tabu. Or in the Fiesta.

But I wasn't about to say it's up there with XS or Blush or Tao or even Lavo. Heck, I even like LAX better.

And like my thoughts about Privé, I'm not going to hold back from sharing the lesson I learned last night: The vast majority of L.A. guys suck.

If the largely L.A.-based crowd demonstrated anything last night, it's that L.A. guys are short and reek of desperation. Well, the ones at this party did, at least. They couldn't handle their liquor, either.

It's not that I have anything against L.A. I actually quite like the city, depite its brutal traffic and materialistic ways.

Still, I am hard-pressed to recall a party where I was hit on so much and by such a large collection of low-quality fellas (yes I use the term "quality" loosely; I'm sure they were all nice/successful enough people). And I say this after attending the saus fest otherwise known as the Playmate of the Month party last week -- which was, coincidentally enough, in L.A. (And yes, I fielded more than my fair share of offers that night. But that's not the point. All of said offers were, as all of those I received last night, declined, ever-so-politely.)

Unlike the fairly savvy set of guys at Foxtail last week, however, the vast majority of last night's selection had no chance whatsoever. Not that that stopped them.

Perhaps it's because they were out of their element, on vacation, and didn't hink they had to worry about anyone recognizing them again.

Vegas does, after all, make people think irrational things and behave in irrational ways.

I'm not sure what it was, but whatever it was, it rendered the guys shameless.

Is it that these shorties (and oldies, and douchies) actually thought they had a chance? Because they didn't. And don't. It should be obvious... but somehow, it (apparently) wasn't.

I still had a good time, though -- with the smattering of fun cool locals who were there, I mean.

Highlights: The three cute guys in attendence; realizing the standard issue L.A. guy uniform consists of jeans, a black blazer, Chuck Taylors and artie/emo hair (nerd glasses optional); some hot chick asking me if my friend, Sarah, was my girlfriend, and when I explained that she was my friend but not my girlfriend, she replied "Oh, sorry, I was going to hit on you, but never mind..." (I get a kick out of being confused for gay -- don't ask); the open bar (not that I drank); the gift bags (even though I didn't get one); talking about perogies and singing "Who Stole the Keeshka" with my newest flaming Ukrainian friend; the room being the perfect size for the VIP reception; the music not being too loud or shitty; the fact that CineVegas is officially underway.

Lowlights: Perceived gender imbalance; male dinosaurs hitting on me (the rules are simple: if you're older than my boss you're too old and if you're older than my dad you're downright dillusional); groundhog guys who refused to take the "I've got to go find my friend..." hint and kept reappearing; their running out of gift bags; having to pay for Red Bull; having to go home afterward and write until 5:30 a.m.

Best. Cocktail napin. Ever.

This one needs little explanation:

One of the particularly cute bartenders at this particularly fun bar in LA gave me one of these babies last week while I was enjoying a particularly tasty cocktail.

Brilliant, I say.

Sadly, I was half way through my second cucumber martini when he pointed out the napkin's suggestive underside and I failed to fill it out for him.

Not so brilliant, I know.

It pays to shop around

I was recently walking the Santa Monica Pier when I was reminded of the importance of doing one's research before making any purchase, big or small.

I was minding my business amidst the kitschy tourist trap when I saw a man selling grains of rice with names written on them.

Now I've seen these sort of "souvenirs" before and never understood the attraction. I kept walking.

Not 30 seconds further down the pier did I encounter another man, also selling grains of rice with names written on them.

This time, however, the vendor was selling granules with your name and a drawing on them, too.

(Fancy, I know!)

Again, I had no desire to buy one, but I couldn't help but feel bad for the countless suckers who buy their inscribed grain from man #1, only to be disappointed minutes later when they realize they could've bought more bang for their tourist buck from man #2.

Meh.

New news for the MTV generation?

Maybe, if the evening news was like this, more people would actually watch it.

Aw, who am I kidding? No one would watch it. We're already too used to getting our news from the Daily Show...

Still, this "auto-tune the news" thing is pretty hilarious.

Officially "a little different than others"

I went to the dentist today.

Most people hate the dentist. I am not one of them. I’ve always enjoyed going, actually. I like clean teeth – so much so that I brush mine in the middle of the night, whenever I get up to use the loo or whatever – and I always leave the dentist with that minty-clean feeling.

Today’s visit, however, was not for a cleaning. I needed a filling.

I didn’t have a cavity but I knew one was on the way – this is how OCD I am with my teeth; I ASK to have fillings before things get ugly; I think of it as preventative maintenance.

So there I was, in the chair, good to go. I got the shot, sat there, and waited for the left side of my mouth to numb up.

Part of it did, but part of it didn’t. So the doc shot me again.

This time, I could feel it. Not the needle going into my gums, but the freezing liquid, as it shot across my face.

Yes, face. Upper lip especially.

I told the Good Doctor about the sensation.

“That’s odd,” he said, leaning in to take a closer look. Meanwhile, the better part of the left side of my face was slowly freezing up.

By the time the stuff ran its course, I couldn’t feel a thing from the bottom of my nose all the way down, over my chin and half way to my throat. From the center of my face, things were frozen straight though to my ear, and up to my cheekbone.

It was really wacky.

The doc determined that for some reason, a blood vessel that usually sits back near the base of the jaw decided to run across my face instead – and it was the catalyst for freeze-o-rama.

“That’s not a bad thing,” he said, trying to assure me after, essentially, telling me I’m f’d up from the inside out.

“You’re just put together a little different than others,” he said.

I laughed again.

“You’re not the first guy to tell me that,” I said.

Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits

I'm not sure why, but my Gramma always says "rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits" on the first of the month -- and, as luck would have it, today is the first of the month.

That's right, kiddies: it's June already. (Rabbits, rabbits and more rabbits!)

Today marks the beginning of national "iced tea" month (don't ask how I know this) and, as bad luck would have it, the official start of hurricane season.

It also marks the ushering in of the Western Hemisphere Travel Initiative (WHTI), which requires everyone coming and going to and from Canada and the U.S. to show their passport (same goes with people coming from or going to the U.S. and Mexico, Bermuda, and a few other places...)

In (dis)honor of the WHTI, I'll be sure to provide my passport as I.D. if asked for it all month long. (Unless it's at the door, of course, and I need to show local I.D. to get in for free, haha.)

On the bright side, the first Monday of the month is also mixology Monday at my beloved downtown Vegas watering hole, DCR -- perhaps they'll feature a new bevvy (hurricane in a hurricane? twister tea-tini?) to mark the momentous month ahead.

And what a month it will be: the newest (and totally hilarious) Vegas-based blockbuster, "the Hangover," opens tomorrow (nationally on Friday) CineVegas is right around the corner (June 10-15!) and the NHL Awards (and all the corresponding parties) hit the Palms on the 18th.

So hold on to your hats, folks -- and cheers to the fab month ahead.

Thanks but no thanks

It's always nice to be appreciated, but let's face it: It's important to be aware of your audience.

And, as a wise man or woman once said, "Never confuse respect with popularity."

Now just for the record, I think my blip.fm playlist is hilarious. It's random and contains both gems and downright awful jokes that somehow pass themselves off as singles.


Still, when I received a "props" notification from a fellow Blip.fm user who uses the handle "assnacho," I couldn't help but laugh.

This is what makes the internet (and my playlist?) great. It's so random, you never know what you're going to get.