Vegas reminds us of sushi. We used to hate both, but now we’re inexplicably addicted. We now hit Vegas about once every three months, and over the past couple years, we’ve learned the gambling ropes (at least for blackjack, which is all we play).

Awhile back we were hitting the tables at The Palms, and felted a couple hundred in $20s for the dealer to convert to chips. We soon found out, from the looks of the oxygen-tanked booze hounds stationed next to us, that if you’re at a high limit table, anything less than a c-note isn’t kosher.

Now if only Gil Arenas had been with us that night. Read more…