Max Max Bet, Baby

Plus, I'm on the hunt for a photograph and you can help...

Did you miss me last week? I’ve been traveling a bit but the real reason I took the week off from Message from the Underworld is I’ve been wrestling with what to share about my mother’s illness. I’ve been spending more time with my mother in Virginia because she doesn’t have a lot of time left, and I’ve found that writing about it while going through it is challenging. But so is not writing about it. Confused? So am i.

Some of you have known me my entire writing life. Some of you don’t know me at all. Some of you appreciate personal news and I assume some of you would prefer that I stick to books, music, etc. If that’s the case, I appreciate you not sharing that with me, but don’t worry, I can sense it.

I am, in the parlance, going through some things. But this is a weekly newsletter and I’ve got all manner of things to share with you. As I work through this I want you to know I appreciate each and every one of you. While some writers treat these newsletters like a side hustle or even a job, I truly do enjoy corresponding with you each week and have no plans to stop anytime soon.

So, long story short, I stayed in Virginia a bit longer than expected. I had to cancel some travel plans. Other plans were cancelled for unrelated reasons. When it was time to leave I did the sensible thing which was meet Nuvia for a few days in Las Vegas.

I love Las Vegas. As a recovering alcoholic and former casino employee, one would think that Las Vegas would be at the bottom of the list of places I’d want to go, and you’d be wrong. There’s something about the unquiet desperation of a casino floor that feels like… home. 

But first I need to get something out of the way. 

Earlier this summer, Nuvia and I planned a getaway that we had to scrap. We’d envisioned days of sitting by the pool, sipping fruity drinks, and attempting to relax, a concept we’re not all that familiar with. (I hear its good for you? Sounds sketchy TBH.)

Anyway, I ordered a matching shirt and short set for lounging by the pool, mostly as a joke, because 99% of my poolside lounging takes place in the shade. Like, the darkest spot I can find. Preferably a cave.

When I arrived in Vegas, Nuvia surprised me by unpacking the outfit I’d ordered. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about it. I busted it out and was surprised to see that it actually fit me pretty well considering all the grief eating I’ve been doing lately and I was feeling pretty good about myself—until I posted a photo on Instagram. That’s when the hordes online accused me of wearing a romper, a jumper, even pajamas. Friends, I assure you there are two pieces to this outfit. Do you really think I’d wear a romper in public? 

Not a romper. Not even close.

But the joke was on me. I went out for what I thought was a brief walk in my new fit wearing flip flops to complete the ultra casual ensemble. Several hours and seven miles later (according to the step counter on my phone) my dogs were barking, my back was stiff, and I was partially soaked after getting caught in a summer storm. So much for all that. 

As a middle-aged Gen Xer, that should have been it. I had every excuse in the world to hole up in my hotel room to nurse my sore back and watch whatever it is that people watch on TV in hotel rooms. (Twenty years ago I would have said porn, but I suspect that’s no longer the case. IDK. Except for the odd sporting event, I don’t watch TV when I travel.)

Instead I ventured forth to explore the Cosmopolitan, the Aria, and the Excalibur casinos with Nuvia, and everywhere we went, we won a little money. Nuvia likes the Wheel of Fortune slot machine. I like any machine with actual reels, the older the better. We played $20 here and $20 there, and each time we were up $40 or more we cashed out. 

Then we discovered the magnet horse racing game at Excalibur. Do you know this game? 

Basically, it’s a game where you can bet on toy horses as they race around a fake track. It’s controlled by magnets and sentient puppets? I don’t want to spend too much time on this, but I hit an exacta. Just dumb, stupid luck. 

We took our winnings and splurged on a decadent lunch at Javier’s at the Aria. The restaurant caught our attention because of the amazing twenty-five foot, three-thousand-pound chainsaw carving depicting the Mayan creation myth that decorates an entire wall. It has pyramids and owls and a bazillion skeletons. A literal message from the underworld…

The next day we took the monorail to the Sahara and walked back to our hotel before it got too hot, stopping off at various casinos to suck in some of that sweet, sweet AC. At the Venetian, Nuvia put $20 in a Wheel of Fortune slot machine. Nada. I played $20 on the same machine and got the same result. After two days of stringing together a bunch of cheap wins, we felt cheated. 

We went to leave but Nuvia had to use the bathroom and because my back was still bothering me, I looked for a place to sit down and the closest place to sit was the Wheel of Fortune slot machine I’d just left. 

Can you see where this is going? 

I went back to the machine. Since I was just sitting there, I put five dollars in. It was a twenty-five cent machine, so that’s twenty credits. On this particular machine you can play one, two, three, five, seven, or ten credits per spin. Nuvia likes to vary her bets but because we only played machines tied to a progressive, which goes into effect on bets of five credits or higher, she never bet less than five credits. Why? Because how dumb would you feel if you beat the odds and hit the jackpot and missed out on a lifechanging payday because you were too cheap to maximize your bet? 

As for me, I always go max bet, baby. In this instance, that’s ten credits a spin. 

Five dollars. Two spins. 

On the second spin, I won 2000 credits. 

Nuvia emerged from the bathroom while the machine counted off the credits and I struggled with the math. 

“You won $500?!” 

I guess I did.

Friends, I cashed that ticket and didn’t make another wager the rest of the trip. I may be a gambler, but I’m not a degenerate. That night we had dinner with my friend Siel and one of Nuvia’s former students and I had an interesting story to tell…

Now I’d like to put some of that money in your pocket. Read on...

PssSST! (Audience Participation Edition)

Well, you’ve heard me say this before but Corporate Rock Sucks is just about finished. A few months ago I turned in the first draft of the manuscript. I mentioned in my last newsletter that I’d met with the publisher’s legal team, which I always dread (but usually enjoy), and that set the stage for formally turning in the book to the production team so it can be laid out and copyedited. 

In this round I’m also submitting the rest of the material that will go into the manuscript: photo captions, discography, acknowledgements, bibliography, and endnotes. In my experience, it’s better to submit everything together because once you break it into pieces, the likelihood of things getting monkeyballed skyrockets. (Yes, that’s an official publishing term.)

However, I’m missing one piece of the puzzle and this is where you can help.

Did you or anyone you know attend the Black Flag Benefit for Cats in 2003 at either the Hollywood Palladium or Alex’s in Long Beach?

I was there but spent most of the show in the lobby drinking and talking shit with some people I knew. I’d love to get a photograph from this show and if you have one, or know someone who does, I’d love to see it and possibly license it for the book. You can reach me corproxsux at gmail dot com. Please be advised: if you reply to this newsletter with an attachment it won’t go through.

When all is said and done the manuscript will be over 135,000 words, which is just under 500 pages with close to 50 photos and more than 600 endnotes, which is a lot. It’s easily the longest book I’ve ever written. I’ll have more to say about all this once I’ve actually turned the thing in, right now I’m reading the entire manuscript one final time, and yes my back still hurts. 

Anyone have a tin of Fiery Jack?