In Which I Am Not Bill Simmons

I went to Las Vegas this past weekend.  In an effort to prove once and for all that I am not Bill Simmons, I did none of the following:

• Hang out with guys named "The Broom" or "Fang," although there was a "Loopy."
• Bet on any sports at all. (I seriously don't know how I failed at this. I walked past the sports book 25 times and I WANTED to bet on the Pens over the Lightning.)
• Smoke a cigar.
• Run, with my bros, a 16-rack bracket comparing the physical features of the cocktail waitresses from the various establishments I attended. In fact I failed to bracketize anything.
• Engage in a fist bump of any kind.

I'll turn in my sports blogger card at the next annual meeting.

Things I learned in Las Vegas:

• The elevators in the Luxor pyramid are not "elevators" at all but rather "inclinators." They go up and to the left or right as they traverse the outer wall of the pyramid. This is surprising when sober. When drunk it's a Bosch painting.
• You have to tap the table when checking a bet because the cameras can't hear you say "check."
• The scalper on the street assured me that the way the Internet works these days, fake tickets won't even print out. So if the tickets are printed they must be valid. Even if he is selling tickets to a $90 show for  $10.
• It is possible to run out of amazement.