April Winchell

I’m writing this entry through the TV in my hotel room in Vegas. This keyboard is very weird and I’m having a little trouble with it. I keep hitting the wrong button and all of a sudden I’m playing Mario Brothers.

Anyway, it’s two in the morning and I’ve done some serious damage. All I can say is, thank God the cocktails are free and I’ve already paid for my ticket home.

I decided to fly out of Burbank this morning, which I haven’t done in a long time. In fact, I think the last time was when I went to New York with Kevin Spacey in 1980. I don’t remember much about that trip, except that we were very young and very poor, and I couldn’t pay for the long term parking when we got back. I do vaguely recall Kevin convincing the guard to let us out with some hard luck story, delivered with the kind of heartbreaking sensitivity we would later see in “Pay it Forward”.

Anyway, when I tried to get on the plane at Burbank this morning, I got screened pretty good by security. The woman at the baggage x-ray area asked to go through my make-up bag, and then proceeded to carefully and methodically examine all of my cosmetics. At one point she asked me where I got my lipstick. I didn’t know if we were bonding, or if it was a test ( a terrorist wouldn’t know a good beauty supply in the Valley).

Outside of that, the most exciting moment happened at about midnight tonight, when we spotted Louie Anderson playing $5 video poker in the high limit slot room. I mean, come on. That’s some serious glamour. He was just siting there having a smoke, and looking like he regretted his career just a little more than we do. It was a great moment, and the whole reason to come to a shit hole town ike this in the first place. Bottoms up!

All right, I have to go to bed. I have a lot of losing to do tomorrow.