Insert Cliched Vegas Phrase Here

Well, after five long days and longer nights in Las Vegas, I'm back, and I know you all missed me very much. I laid down some cash on a handful of long-odds scenarios while I was out there, but with all due respect to our pals, I would never have bet on returning to find the Wheelhouse braintrust as local celebrities. After all this time who knew the key to blogosphere success was torching a previously untouchable hometown coaching legend? Some quick hits and thoughts from my travels to Sin City...

It appears in the last ten days or so Southwest Airlines has modified their stellar cattle call boarding process (don't ask me why I flew Southwest when it was a business trip...I am a dummy). You still board by Group (A, B or C) but now they've added a Position Number within each Group (1-60). Not terribly hard to comprehend, right? A15 would board before A36, A60 before B12, and so on - they've even got nice signs breaking each Group down in increments of five. Well, I guess a lot of travelers are absolute morons, because you would've thought people were being asked to split the atom before boarding. Heads were exploding, people were crying, wills were being finalized - it was a complete debacle. I suggest this new test to see if people are worthy of flying: if you can't complete the Jumble in your local Courier-Journal or Times Dispatch, head on down to Exxon, fuel up the Family Truckster, and stay the hell away from the airport.

I always love the flight out to Vegas, mainly because of the cross-section of society looking forward to living large and losing large. We had the two forty-year-old sons and their pop looking to blow the family fortune. There were the three loaded sorority chicks obviously on their way to a bachelorette party. Two rows in front of me, six NASCAR fans excited to wager on the upcoming Ford 400 (yeehaw, Jimmie Johnson). And of course me, reading an Entertainment Weekly cover to cover while a 6'2", 230 lb. Bea Arthur look-a-like elbowed me for 4 straight hours. Good times.

It's been mentioned in this space before, but it obviously needs to be said again. People, please, when the plane lands there is ABSOLUTELY NO NEED TO CLAP. Yes, I know we just landed in Vegas and you can't wait for the chicks and guns and fire trucks, but it is the pilot's job to land the plane. He does not need a round of applause for completing a vital aspect of his job.

The first billboard I see after deplaning: Carrot Top at the Luxor. Somewhere, Amazing Jonathan is drinking a cyanide mojito.

The second billboard: Tony Danza in "The Producers". Let President Skroob know they're letting Tony Miceli defile his work.

No, I did not make it to the final day of the O.J. proceedings Tuesday. And yes, I was honestly bummed out about it. I mean, how many more chances will I get to wear my "Free O.J...Again" t-shirt?

Let's see, as best as I can remember, the rest of the week went something like this: work...slots...work...making it rain...work...Tao...work...crashing the Democratic debate...work...craps...work...Blush...work...details redacted...work.

McCarran Airport might be Hell on Earth. You will never see a greater collection of distraught and despondent individuals in your life. I actually had to step over some guys leg to use the john. And for the love of god, have these people never learned queuing theory? I haven't seen chaos like that since the last 30 minutes of Deep Impact.

All in all, five days in Vegas is two days too many, especially when you're there on business. Frankly, it's good to be back. Anyone know where I can find some random video clips on the internet?