Fat Tony's Family

There was supposed to be a good musical act at the IAC last night, so Pammy booked a table for us and a couple other ladies.  What is the IAC you ask?  In typical healthcare fashion, I hear "IAC" and think "internal auditory canal," but no, this IAC refers to the Italian American Club.  Dennis excused himself for the evening, claiming he didn't want to be the only guy at a table filled with women.  This upset Pammy at first until Dennis and I figured out why:  If Dennis wasn't going, that means he wasn't driving.  Turns out that after a couple years in Vegas, Pam is still afraid to drive on I-15.  Granted, I-15 is a crazy interstate, though I don't imagine it's any worse than Atlanta.  It's four to five  lanes, two express lanes, and a lot of on and off ramps.  No one entering the freeway ever seems content to stay to the right--they feel the need to jump immediately into the fast lane.  Consequently, there is a constant barrage of cars weaving in and out.  And Vegas traffic moves fast.  Never one to know fear, however, I told Pam I would drive.  Why not?  The road belongs to Taco.  We made it to the IAC without incident.

I'm not sure of the entire history of the IAC, but I know it involves Old Las Vegas and a lot of imported Chicago mafia.  The place still has a Godfather-esque feel to it, with its low lights, New Jersey-Italian accents, and full suited security detail in the parking lot.  The food was mighty tasty; the musical act was just all right.  There was no live band, so the singers sang along to tracks, which is, I learned, called track singing.  Funny, because when you're an amateur we call it karaoke.  I think if I'd dared to use the "k" word, however, I would have been immediately tossed from the club by Fat Tony.

On the way back I asked Pam if she wouldn't mind if we drove home via the strip.  I still haven't seen the fountain show at The Bellagiao, though I've seen the volcano at The Mirage a couple times.  What a nightmare of a late night cruise!  For some inexplicable reason, Las Vegas Blvd. going south was brought from three lanes down to one, back to three for fifty feet, and then back down to one lane again.  It was pure chaos.  I was forced to bust a few moves that, as a graduate of the Tom Sneva School of Safe Driving, I'm not proud of, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.  Pam said I was aggressive enough to be mistaken for a Vegas native.  Oy vey!  At any rate, all of that effort was to no avail--we only caught the last 5 seconds of the show.  O Bellagio fountains, I will catch you yet!