Watching today’s Super Bowl XLIII is going to be bittersweet. Sweet because, really, who isn’t up for XIII or XIV hours of football? Bitter, though, because it represents the last wheezy, raspy, Tom Waits-with-bronchitis gasp of a dying network.
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There was Joel Murray, his tux as authentic ’60s Rat Pack as the drink and smoke in his hands. “Vegas has changed,” he joked. “You can’t use corporate credit cards for hookers anymore.”
The 21 current members of Nevada’s Bed and Breakfast Guild offer wide-ranging experiences all over the state. Those located in larger cities are handy to well-known visitor attractions. Some situated in smaller towns play upon laid-back local lifestyles. Others located in remote parts of the Silver State offer wild landscapes and adventurous activities.
Bret Michaels is one of those Pittsburgh Steelers fans with mixed emotions.
You can see Neanderthal behavior any Las Vegas afternoon if you hover around the buffet, sports book or the blackjack table when there’s a bad beat.
Every now and again, someone will ask me if I really feel comfortable reviewing a restaurant after just one visit. The fact that I do has many reasons, the foremost being that I’ve been a restaurant critic since 1982 (to paraphrase a friend, "You couldn’t possibly be that old"), and in the light-years since have developed a feel for when a restaurant is just having a bad night and when things have spiraled into a death dive toward hell.
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