In a very Vegas way, I got lucky.

But most of all, I want to thank those of you who have read me daily or even once. I hope I wrote something you enjoyed. I am very grateful to all. Thank you. Be well.

-- Richard Abowitz

I am staying at the Palms this weekend (where despite covering the resort since its opening in 2001, I never spent a night before) to blog the Fangoria Trinity of Terrors. The convention did not start until late Friday afternoon, and I spent most of the day doing what I should like a good Vegas worker bee.

By afternoon, I could feel the vibe change that takes place in a casino when a big convention arrives. One example: At a late lunch, actor Malcolm McDowell was sitting behind me eating alone. Still, I was in work mode: made arrangements to interview Holly Madison for the print Buffet at her Halloween party at Studio 54 at MGM Grand tonight, started drafting two stories due Monday to Weekly, etc. And yet it was Friday afternoon (quickly becoming Friday night) in Vegas. And, with my being actually inside a resort, my focus kept blurring. Staying in the hipster Palms, in the party capital of the world, Vegas, on a holiday weekend, with a very special woman and festive Halloween convention-goers who had nothing on their minds but fun (and in some cases, as with any convention, business too), there was a viral effect on my ability to concentrate on work.

My first distraction was business, though not mine, exactly. A publisher met with my companion to discuss a book she is thinking of writing. We were at the center bar of the Palms, a reasonably priced gathering spot for all inside the casino. Soon, by total chance, I got a call from a male friend from L.A. who was in town only for Friday night. He quickly came to the Palms to meet us long after I should have been back at the convention. Everyone was having a drink or two (except me). Did I mention the spirit was infectious?

To me, the key to covering Vegas is to know when to leave the party and get back to work. More than that, as a writer, I also try to always remember that I am not actually an invited guest to this party (metaphorically or literally) that is Vegas, but rather am a paid observer of the town's business model: sell the world on a place with a manufactured and marketed permanent party where regular rules of etiquette and in some cases law do not apply. And, at core, that invention of Vegas, that image, collectively is Sin City. And so for a writer trying to observe Vegas, on some level, that means not giving into the pleasures of a town that art critic Dave Hickey calls "a heart's destination" for tourists and residents. Hickey is right; this is my "heart's destination," and last night abstention lost in that conflict with work. I never made it back to the convention.

The truth is that keeping away from Vegas distractions is on most occasions relatively easy for me. I  neither drink nor gamble. And last night did not change that. But Vegas has more temptations than the obvious vices that keep me without a state income tax.

Last night, I had two people who matter to me in Vegas and those two really did not know each other well. Vegas is the perfect place to change that. Did I mention it was Friday night? 

In a broader way this bonding potential is the business value civic leaders argue that conventions in Vegas provide. This is a place you can do serious business, while getting face time with the people you may in this age mostly deal with by texting, Twitter, Facebook or old fashioned e-mail.

The urge for fun took over for me before the sun set. And like a tourist, I expressed it by spending far more money than I ever intended, hundreds of dollars, by treating my friends to a meal at Nove, the high-end Italian-style restaurant at the Palms with executive chef Geno Bernardo. To give a base of comparison for this meal against my usual habits and plan: My first meal at the Palms after checking in was from the hot dog place at the food court.

One of the things the Palms does well is to cater to everyone from the rich and famous to the locals who want to play low-limit slots for hours while enjoying free drinks. On some level, many tourists fall into general categories. And last night I behaved like a specific type of tourist who is drawn to the Palms; I acted like one of those weekend warriors who, despite earning little, come to Vegas every few months to live it up like a king and then face the bill after getting home. Nothing was too good for my friends at Nove!

As someone who covers Vegas professionally, every day, every night, every year, I don't often go rogue and spend time experiencing the Vegas mind-set that brings so many of my readers here. Last night I had good friends, good times, and this morning woke up worrying about how I am going to pay for it all. And, of course, I awoke to how little of the work I planned to do I actually got to doing. How Vegas. And good to know that after a relationship of more than a decade together, well, Vegas, I still love you. If I could do last night over, I would not change a thing.

Photo credit: Sarah Gerke

I am going on vacation until Aug. 12. I am not leaving Las Vegas -- this is a good town for a vacation, I am told. And since I am here, I will certainly be posting some items over the next two weeks. But expect a reduced frequency of posts while I enjoy Las Vegas. 

This will be the longest break I have taken in writing the Buffet since this blog was started in 2005. And so please let me take this opportunity to say thank you for reading for all these years.

Photo: Sarah Gerke

I was not going to write about Criss Angel's taped interview on Larry King that aired earlier this week. But a number of people have asked me about Angel's quote that he "could care less about what critics think." Angel then continued, "Critics, in my opinion, are wannabes that have never -- will never be." He has more to say and seems sufficiently irritated by critics to undermine his proclaimed indifference.  His girlfriend dismisses us as "haters."

So, let me put it out there: Not a single atom in this Richard Abowitz body has any desire to be Criss Angel or star in any Cirque show -- not even the good ones.

So, how does Angel explain the shows that this critic loves in Vegas, including a number of  headliners such as Elton John, Penn & Teller and Wayne Brady? In fact, if I had to be any Strip headliner I would want to be Elton John, who decade after decade has created art that I admire, including his  wonderful yet neglected disc "The Captain & the Kid" (2006). One of the things that is great about being a critic is to point out a neglected disc like "Captain & the Kid."  Go check it out.

Still, there are limits. As much as I admire Elton John, I would never want to be in "The Red Piano." I just enjoy watching a great Vegas show. In fact, what critics are doing is not speaking to performers like Elton John or Angel at all, but writing for fellow potential audience members informing them about the quality of a show.

But for those in doubt here are some other reasons I do not want to be Criss Angel, off the top of my head:

1. An aversion to wearing jewelry.

2. I loved being a teenager, but I do not like spending time around them as an adult and, as a writer, I would have a hard time not feeling silly writing stuff meant to appeal to them in my 40s.

3. I dislike being recognized in public.

4. The Groundhog Day lifestyle of all those nights in casino nightclubs picking up B-list celebrities and getting trivial mentions in gossip columns.

5. If I am lucky, doing the same show night after night, and year after year for a decade.

I am not trying to be funny, just honest. The reality is that most of us who write about Vegas shows want the shows to be great. We have to see them a lot for work. We are also fans of great shows. That is why we do what we do. And the truth is that having to tell people when a show turns out as disastrously as "Criss Angel Believe" is one of the harder parts of my job.

Most of us moved here. Lifers are rare finds in Las Vegas, and I always treasure meeting someone who grew up here and watched this town become a city.

But sometimes what many, including me, tend to dismiss or describe as our town's colorful history can still be real-time life for natives. The distant past is also not that distant in a city that just turned the century mark.

My Sunday Calendar column was on the Palomino Club and its colorful history. I touch on how a defense lawyer is now the new owner of the club by way of a fee paid by the previous owner in connection with a murder defense. Though I did not have space to go into it, this is the second murder connected to the Palomino, which has a truly colorful Vegas history. The first murder was in 2000 when an employee of the club was killed by Jack Perry, son of the club's founder.

Yesterday, the day my Sunday Calendar column came out, I went to the Sav-On to pick up a prescription. I have gone to this Sav-On since moving here and have had the same pharmacy technician, I think, the entire time. A mother with two kids, she is a very tolerant and decent and friendly person. Anyway, she became gripped by my Palomino coverage for reasons mysterious, since she doesn't seem the strip club sort. Then she explained: her father was the employee killed by Jack Perry. That death, she said, a barely remembered headline here or, even worse, as I thought of it, an addendum to the "colorful history" of the Palomino Club, left five kids without a father and 13 children now without a grandfather.

According to the Review-Journal, her dad's killer "pleaded guilty and was sentenced to 14 years to life in prison."

I've asked her to meet with me to talk about her dad and growing up here; she is thinking about doing so.