I’ve come to the conclusion that Tripadvisor and similar websites should revise their format. Hotels should be rated on one thing only: The thickness of the robes in the spa. If said hotel has no spa, well that speaks volumes in and of itself, and that property needs no further review. On that basis alone I would say that The Red Rock Casino (which seems to be famous for absolutely no other reason than it is out in the middle of fucking nowhere!) stacks up pretty well. The spa is nice, the people are nice, and the towels and robes are generously thick, and on that basis alone I’ll give it four stars. On the down-side there is no deluge shower and the raisin bran muffins are inedible (although admittedly I am a very tough customer in that particular department as you know.)

So I’m back up in my lushly appointed one-bedroom Prestige Suite at 12:35 PM. It’s a long story, but basically I browbeat the unfortunate soul who had the misfortune of checking me in last night. Long story short I wasn’t too pleased with his manner during check-in. I told him as much using the formidable one-two combination of my Buddhist charm and The Caplan Stare (and the veiled threat it implies) I thusly convinced him that he’d messed with the wrong Jew. By the time we were through the scared little man basically offered me the choice of a lushly appointed one-bedroom Prestige Suite or the opportunity to stay at his house and sleep with his wife. You’ll be happy to know Ruth, that – sight unseen – I chose the former.

The tournament starts – Oh my Gosh, look at the time! – the tournament stats now! I better go.

Had a crappy session at the cash game last night. Oh well, we’ll try to make up for it today.