Harry Reid claims John McCain is hotheaded. Names for the opposite of that aren’t as colorful. Is anyone called a “cool head”? But Gilles Ste-Croix could be submitted as the dictionary definition of one.
Mike Weatherford
I wish I could quit the Krave.
It doesn’t matter where you sit. He will find you.
A network TV series carrying the same name as a Las Vegas show can be good publicity. Or it can be confusing. Or maybe both.
The new Criss Angel show pins a lot of ticket-sale hopes on younger fans who spend more time in nightclubs than other shows on the Strip.
Paul Rodriguez figures, “The hardest thing to be right now is a white comedian from Iowa. You’ve got nothing. Everybody can talk about you, but you can’t talk about them.”
Las Vegas has put everything onstage from the sinking of the Titanic to an aerial view of a samurai battle. So it probably could field an adaptation of the movie “Point Break,” complete with surfing and a skydiving battle.
The producers of “Shear Madness” might be living up to their show title by challenging the very definition of Las Vegas entertainment.
Criss Angel is one busy guy, what with a multimillion-dollar show at Luxor just around the corner.
Alice Cooper turned 60 this year. He is playing The Orleans this weekend, not sitting at home yelling at the neighborhood kids to get out of his yard — though wouldn’t you love to see just how he would scare them away?
Take your pick: The Criss Angel show is either so dull it needs a wake-up call or so groundbreaking that it needs more time to fine-tune its technical complexities.
On one of the final weekdays before Labor Day, a steady trickle of downtown pedestrians ponders the choices at a discount ticket booth on Fremont Street. They seem oblivious to how much this long, hot summer has narrowed the pack.
