We who produce small words smushed between pix of sultry chicks for our living note the following with a fine appreciation of the absurd:
The Chicken Ranch brothel—where, of course, women line up to be selected by johns and have sex on demand in trailers before giving a percentage of their earnings back to the ranch—announced this week that it is contributing charity dollars to the Shade Tree Shelter for abused women. Somewhere else in these pages you'll find Chuck Twardy's column on the reputed death of irony, but this stands out among the decisively undead.
The well-respected shelter has a mission statement: To provide safe shelter to homeless and abused women and children in crisis and to offer life-changing services promoting stability, dignity, and self-reliance.
The famous Ranch, too, has a certain mojo, perhaps best summed up by its website's online poll: "Is oral sex better than actual intercourse?"
One wonders about the (other) Big Questions at times like these—chicken and brothel questions—such as, is it noble that prostitution helps women who are abused? Is it even possible that prostitution helps women who are abused? Can prostitution restore dignity to downtrodden women? And this: Does oral sex or actual intercourse benefit abused women more?
Shower with a Friend, Relative or Bachelor Party Buddy
Last week, George Maloof unveiled more of his themed party suites in the Palms' new Fantasy Tower. Along with the basketball-themed Hardwood Suite, there's now the Erotic Suite (with corseted chairs), Kingpin Suite (two full-size bowling lanes, dude!), Pink Suite (think retro-'50s), Crib Suite (for your homies), Celebrity Suite (perfect for doing lunch), G Suite (your own mini-Ghostbar) and the Director's Suite (kinda like the Celebrity). The one thing all have in common: glass shower stalls visible from the suites' main rooms. That should keep gangs of frat boys from renting them out. Or should it?
Malcolm,You Like Us?
From an ESPN.com interview with Tipping Point best-selling author Malcolm Gladwell:
ESPN: Can you explain in one paragraph why you're against Vegas?
Gladwell: Where to start? You get there. You can't get a cab. Last time I waited 30 minutes in line at the airport. You get to your hotel, you wait another 45 minutes to check in. It's 120 degrees outside, and inside it's 45 degrees and all you can think about is there's about to be a epidemic of Legionnaires' Disease. The food is terrible. Everyone loses money—everyone. The amount of plastic surgery is terrifying. There are large packs of enormous, glassy-eyed people in stretch pants, pulling the levers on slot machines. (By the way, greatest and most underappreciated gambling story ever: William Bennett, he of one best seller after another lecturing Americans on moral values and virtue and the bankruptcy of our culture, turns out not only to be a degenerate gambler, but a gambler who only played the slots. The slots! Had he been a great poker player—even a decent poker player—I'm in his corner. But the slots?) I digress. Back to Vegas: Why would I want to see Celine Dion, ever (and I'm Canadian)? Or white mutant tigers? Or the Village People? Or Tony Orlando and Dawn? I have more fun walking to the laundromat from my apartment in New York than I do in Vegas.
Oscar's Many Heads
The City of Las Vegas unveiled a new Oscar Goodman bobblehead doll at the Tennis Channel Open last Thursday, depicting the mayor dressed for the courts, leaning on a racket with a ball at his feet. That brings the total number of Goodman bobbleheads to seven. Sound like a lot? By way of comparison, a quick Google search reveals six for Peyton Manning, four for Kevin Garnett and just two for Mariano Rivera.
The Goodman bobblehead collection to date: two in Las Vegas 51s baseball jerseys; one for Bombay Sapphire Gin (featuring the mayor holding a martini); one for Oscar's Political Action Committee, or OPAC (featuring him holding dice and cards, next to the Welcome to Las Vegas sign); one for a Station Casinos Get Out the Vote event (featuring him in an Uncle Sam outfit); and one that has Goodman in a black pinstriped suit holding a "proclamation," a gift he often awards to visiting dignitaries.
Beach Bummed
Jeremiah L. Wilke, Beach nightclub marketing guru, sets the record straight on the aborted Young Jeezy concert: "... We had an outside promoter coming in for the event ... What happened was that the power went out ... A car hit an electric pole ...You can't really do a show without power. The crowd was very calm ... There was not a riot or a near-riot. Obviously people paid to see Young Jeezy and they were upset. ... Because it was an outside promoter, we couldn't give them their money back on the spot, but everyone was given instructions to return the next week and they would get their money back." Got it.