Such A Deal

For those of you who have never been to Las Vegas, I’ve got two little words for you...

DON’T DO IT!

Oh, three little words.

Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE LAS VEGAS.

For about eight hours at a time.

Any more than that and you are guaranteed to have a nervous breakdown.

Going to college in Los Angeles, we used to make many a spur-of-the-moment trip to Sin City.

We would do the four-hour drive, in closer to three, always stopping in Barstow for a burger.

We’d spend all night gambling.  

Grab a half-pound kosher dog at Slots O’Fun for 99 cents.

Nutrition is important.

And drive home with nothing in our pockets.

Almost every time.

It was the one in ten where you actually won something that motivated you to come back.

Kinda like that great eight-iron shot on 13 during your round of 107.

We were clearly ignoring the odds and the fact that the hotels were getting bigger each time we went back.

I love gambling.

I love the slots.  I love the tables.  I love the sports book.

But the good news for me is I hate losing my money just a wee-bit more than I love betting it.

So as many times as I’ve been to Vegas, I’m probably right about even.

Ok, probably not even, but not too bad off.

I’ve gone with friends, with my wife, even with my kids, but each time is exactly the same.

The first two hours are AWESOME!

The final two hours are AWFUL!

The rest is just a blur.

There was that one time in college when my fraternity brother and I made the late night drive on a whim.

He was going to show me how to play craps.

So I left with a hundy in my pocket, ready to win big time.

And when we got there, that’s what we did.

At one point, we were up BIG.

Ok, big for our college lifestyle.

I was hitting hard eights and field bets, pass lines and prop bets.

I had no idea what half of it meant, but we were rolling in it BAY-BEE.

I had so many chips on the table, you would’ve thought we were filming a Ruffles commercial.

What I didn’t realize is that with just one roll of those pretty little dice... 

..SEVEN-OUT.

Poof, it was gone.

ALL GONE.

I didn’t even know we had tickets to a Vegas Magic Show, but that game made my money disappear like it was Doug Henning.

$100 to the negative later, I was ready to jump off the top of the Mirage Hotel.

Fortunately for me, I am so old, the Mirage hadn’t been built yet.

But the ride home was THE most miserable four, make it five, hours of my life.

I’ve been back quite a few times since and now I stick to the blackjack tables.

Simple game.  Follow the book.  You’ll win in every time.

Ok, almost every time.

And not only is it fun, but its great for kids too.

You get to gamble, while they get to work on their math.

I’m all about the learning.

Last night instead of Apples to Apples or Candy Land or Monopoly, I taught the three kids all about the game of 21.

So I got out the pinto beans, divvied them up and started dealing.

Like any good dealer, I explained the game as we went.

My oldest daughter and I had played before, but I really had a great chance to take advantage of the two younger kids.

On the first hand, my two innocent little girls each bet one bean, while my wild and crazy boy bet three.

Fortunately for them, I busted, giving them a winning hand and a false sense of security.

Or as we call it in the gambling world, the daily double.

We went back and forth for awhile, but with just two hands left before bedtime, each of them was ahead for the night.

My 11-year old son convinced his six-year old sister that she should bet her entire pile of beans on the upcoming hand.

She easily had more than the other two kids put together, so she must’ve thought, it’s good to be the queen.

What could possibly go wrong.

And he must’ve thought, if she loses this hand, I WIN!

The two older kids stopped in the 17-18 range, leading up to their younger sister.

I think I had an eight or nine showing.

She flipped her cards, which were a 9 and a 3.

She successfully calculated that her hand was a 12.

By this point, she had mastered the motion of asking for a hit.

What she hadn’t mastered was the e-motion of losing all your beans.

When I flipped her a face card, she flipped on the water works.

Immediately.

The good news is it took her a milli-second to figure out that 12+10=22.

The bad news is it took her a milli-second to figure out that she had busted and lost all of her riches.

Poof.  Just like that.

As Kenny said, you gotta know when to walk away AND know when to run.

What made it worse was the cackling of her older brother coming from the other side of the table.

This game had ended like pretty much every other vegas game I had ever participated in.

A face full of tears and an empty pocket.

Well at least my daughter learned early.

The house ALWAYS wins.

30 Seconds of Fame

In 1984, when I was a Freshman in college, I wrote an amazing term paper on the birth of Cable Television. 

I got an A. 

I really did my homework on that one, contacting all the big players in the business at the time -- MTV, ESPN and CNN.

It was so good, I used the same exact paper again as a Sophomore and Junior.

I think I got an A on those too.

Why waste a good thing, right?  I was green before green.

Well, little did I know at the time that cable TV would be responsible for putting food on the table for my wife and kids.

Little did I know at the time that I would actually have a wife and kids.

After working for eight years in local TV, I spent the next 17 years working behind-the-scenes for the top cable sports networks in all of the land.

Talk about dreaming the impossible dream.

Unfortunately that dream came to a crashing halt a year-and-a-half ago, but yesterday I made my triumphant return to cable TV in a much different role -- in front of the camera.

I was on air, making my pitch on CNN’s 30-Second Pitch, where each week they give unemployed people 30-seconds to sell themselves to potential employers.

It’s really a fantastic idea and a great way to connect with a growing demographic.

I got the invite from CNN last Friday and from the moment I opened the email, I had a pit in my stomach.

Not an olive pit or a peach pit.   It was more like the La Brea Tar Pits.   

I actually spent several days not eating.   Well, maybe not days, but at least 20 minutes.

I have absolutely no problem talking about myself, but on national TV?  

Are you kidding me?   

Plus, I’ve always been told I have a face for radio.

This was a recipe for disaster.

Of course, there was also the potential for a job.

Risk?  Yes.   Reward?  YES.

I somehow made it through the week, preparing myself for the big day.

I arrived at the studio 40 minutes before the live shot.  CNN had requested 25. That gave me an extra 15 minutes to find a brown paper bag to breath into.

To be perfectly honest, the best thing I did was sit in the chair where the interview was being done way before my time.

There must’ve been some magic in that chair because it made all of my fear disappear.

I was scheduled to go live at 10:40am Eastern.   Then it got pushed back to 10:43.   No biggie.

Then President Obama came on with some “breaking news”.

Hey, if you are going to get pre-empted, that’s the way to go.

Finally at 10:53, it was showtime.

Kyra Phillips, the host of the show, did a fantastic job making me feel at ease.  

She said hello.   I said hello.   

She asked me why I'm writing a blog.  I answered why I'm writing a blog.

We were a real Donny and Marie.

Then she set me up for my 30 seconds of fame.

I was on a roll, nailing every word I had practiced about 5,000 times without once looking down at my notes.

Then, out of nowhere, a man’s voice jumped into my earpiece:

“We need to do that again,” the voice said.

Now I’m pretty used to hearing voices in my head, but it’s never happened before WHILE I WAS DOING A LIVE SHOT ON CNN.

I had that split second to make a decision.

Make that half of a split second.  

Re-start or keep going?

I’m not sure why, but I decided to push forward and finish my 30-seconds.   Fortunately there was just a blip of the deer-in-the-headlights look.

As it turned out, that was the best decision of the day.

There were no technical problems.  There was no reason to start over.

In fact, who knows if that was even a real person in my head.

A few seconds later, Kyra said thanks, I said thanks and we all skipped our merry way.

But what if?

What if I would’ve stopped, as I was directed.

Clearly, somebody hit the wrong button somewhere and that message was not intended for me.

Slip happens. 

In 25 years of working in TV, I’ve definitely been on the other side of that, talking to the wrong person at the wrong time.

But this was REALLY the wrong time.   This was no seasoned vet in the chair. This was me.

I don’t think anybody expected me to be polished on-air, but had I stopped and started all over, I would’ve been a youtube sensation.

Wait a minute...

I could’ve been a youtube sensation.

Damn! 

Well by all accounts -- like my handful of close friends who talked me off the ledge for the last week -- it went extremely well.

I heard words like "perfect" and "you looked so young" and "you did a great job."

I don't know if they think I'm a charity case, but I truly appreciated the donations.

And on tax day, nonetheless.

By the time I got back to my car to visit my phone, about seven minutes later, I was greeted by nine text messages, two voice mails and about 40 new emails.

Amazingly, every single one of the messages said the same thing:  
  Did you really use the same exact term paper three different times?

Food For Thought

Tonight we got the band back together.

At least for a night.

I have spent the last couple of days in my old stomping ground, the city where I went to high school and college.

I made the return home to help an old colleague with a little project and tonight, three of my oldest friends and I got together for dinner and a trip down memory lane.

Of course, it took about half a second to hop into the way back machine.

These three amigos have been with me for pretty much all of my memorable moments from teenage life on, including marriage, parenthood, job and now unemployment.

My friends have all enjoyed tremendous success in the working world, two in my field, well my former field, and one in a world I know nothing about.

The stories we shared tonight ranged from professional to preposterous, but they all felt right.

Whether it was about that crazy night in college – TWENTY FIVE YEARS AGO – or something that one of the guys is working on now, there was never a pause in the conversation.

And all of this without judgment.

You could say WHATEVER you want and it would be ok.

And believe me, there was plenty of jabbing at each other. Nothing was off-limits.

Except for my unemployment.

Those were not my rules and actually there were no rules at all, but EVERY time I referenced my being out of work, usually in jest, one of the guys quickly made a positive comment.

I didn’t wear a white flag around my neck, as it wouldn’t have matched my shoes, but I guess my buddies wanted to make sure that there was no surrender in me.

I have not come close to giving up, although it would be pretty easy at this point.

In fact, I said several times that I am in such good spirits for most of my days, I feel like I am just one lottery ticket away from the perfect life.

I love being at home, I love the family time that unemployment has provided me, but I don’t love dipping into the safety net of my savings account each month to pay the bills.

Unless those lottery numbers come in soon, I’m going to need to get a job.

Unemployment is not cheap.

The moral support at our dinner was as strong as it has been since I was told 14 months ago that my services were no longer needed, but tonight it took on a new twist.

At one point, one of my friends leaned over and whispered that he is there to cover any expenses if I need the help.

Wow and ouch.

Wow, that is awesome.

And ouch, is that what this has come to?

I can’t put into words how appreciative I am of the offer, but I really hope that I am not becoming a charity case.

Knowing that an offer like that is as genuine and legitimate as our friendship, makes me feel amazing, but I truly hope I am never in a position where that is something that I really need to consider.

I have been able to avoid taking a job, just for the money, and hopefully I won’t have to.

When I go back to work, I want it to be a career and not a job. I don’t care if it is my old career or a brand new one, but I have always been one of the lucky ones to do something I love and not something I have to do.

Of course, my career choice doesn’t really matter to my friends, as long as I can find the time for a good meal.