I didn't blog from Vegas this weekend.  Before I drove out I had a moment of clarity: leaving a laptop in the skanky Imperial Palace Hotel would be like leaving chicken scraps on the floor of a NY KFC.

But here's what when down on Thursday Night: Rickles.



Two of my buddies from Austin, Trey and Carms, joined me.  We made it to the Golden Nugget in plenty of time for the 9:00pm show.   Carms offered to get drinks from the bar.  I ordered Jack Daniels on the rocks.  It's what Sinatra drank.  As my buddies went off for the drinks I went into the theater to find our seats. 

We were on the side, a little more than half-way up.  Not bad since it was an intimate, 800 seat theater.  I took classes in bigger lecture halls at UCSB.  I grabbed the third seat in from the side and left the outer two for my friends. 

I soaked up the atmosphere, watched the crowd file in.  Some veteran performers, like Tony Bennett, manage to click with a young, hipster demographic.  Not Rickles, apparently.  Tom Brokaw should have been there, because the Greatest Generation was painting the town red.   And it felt right.  I was glad I was there and looking forward to my cocktail. 

Then I saw a couple of kids bounding down my row towards me -- I'm guessing an eight year old and a ten year old.   C'mon people, it's Vegas!  Rickles!  They're trailing  a woman who is clearly not related -- clearly hired help.  And behind them is an ancient looking man, hunched, with an ashen complexion and lifeless eyes.  And I think, that's what Larry King will look like when he is dead.   And as I stare I realize it is Larry King, but he's not dead - technically.

It wasn't a complete surprise to see him, since his wife, Shawn King, was opening for Rickles.  I would have guessed, however, that Larry would get better seats than me and my crew. 

I was pleased when my buddies finally brought me my drink. 

Trey got himself a beer and a tub of popcorn.  He offered me some.  Like, no thanks.  I'm in Vegas, sipping bourbon and I'm waiting to see Don Rickles, not The Last Mimzy.  Even Larry's kids aren't eating popcorn.  

People around us started taking pictures of Larry with their cellphones.  Trey realized he had a camera phone, but he had  never used it before.  After a taking a couple of blurry pictures of my ear, he put the phone away and went back to pawing at his popcorn. 

Finally, Shawn King took the stage.  With a cool big band behind her, she started off strong with a couple of hip, bossa-nova numbers that would sound good at the start of an Austin Powers movie.  Then it all went to shit.  She did a Motown medley.  What is the point of a medley?  Who wants to hear sputtering haphazard song morsels?  Not me. 

Later she did a song she referred to as "her latest single."  What does that mean these days?  Can I go to the record store and ask for the new Shawn King single?  The "single" is a duet with Willie Nelson, so a video of Willie popped up on the monitors on either side of the stage.  Willie starts in on the song and Shawn sings along to the tape.  It was all kind of klunky and creepy.

She finally bailed the stage and after just a minute or two the band fired up some matador-type music--just like Doc used to play when Rickles came on the Tonight Show--and out came a tuxedoed Mr. Rickles.   Vegas, baby!

He started right in on the crowd, noting the age of the people in the front row and asking, "Where am I playing, a retirement home?"   It was funny.  You had to be there.

In fact, that sums up the whole show: you had to be there.  I could recount his act here, but it won't be funny on paper (or on a monitor).  It's the angry persona that's funny, the uncensored id skewering the defenseless ego.  I could tell you how he pulled a man of Asian descent out of the crowd and got him to talk like the evil Jap soldier in WWII films, even getting him to make a bucked tooth face as he strung together Japanese sounding words, "hokoshino tanaka chungchoo...."  Or how he picked on the only black man in his band, "Look at Leroy.  He's laughing because his partner is up in my suite right now stealing my jewelry."  None of this reads funny, and it would be ill-advised for anybody to commit such language to paper.  But for about thirty minutes it was a hoot.

The problem was that his act went on for over an hour.  He started repeating himself.  It was like seeing the same show twice.  And there was nothing topical about the act--he probably did the same show verbatim in 1974.  Except at the very end when he told us we better support those troops, goddammit, over there fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.  Then he launched into a James Cagney impression, which included a rousing version of "Yankee Doodle Dandy."  Rickles has a booming singing voice, and he was dancing and high-stepping back and forth across the stage and I was thinking, "I'm going to be able to tell people that I was there the night Don Rickles had a heart attack and died on stage while doing a spot-on Jimmy Cagney impersonation."  He didn't die, of course, but as the song wound down Don looked up to heaven and, riffing on Jimmy's famous line from White Heat said, "Made it Jimmy.  Top of the world!  I'm playing the Golden Nugget."  It was spooky.  In a good way.

Before leaving, Don talked about his soon-to-be-published autobiography.  And he acknowledged Larry King, on whose show he will appear next month when the book hits the stores.  Don shielded his eyes from the stage lights and tried to find Larry in the crowd.  Don started by scanning the front rows, gradually working his sights all the way back to our row, where Larry had been helped to his feet by those around him.  "There he is, ladies and gentlemen, Larry King" Don announced, and after the crowd gave Larry a hearty round of applause, Don added, "Jesus Christ.  Nice fucking seats."  Despite the sarcasm, they were nice seats and I'm glad we went.