The most outrageous accommodations are always tucked away and inaccessible, practically kept secret from the vast majority of guests. At Crockfords, there’s no indication anywhere on property that such rooms even exist. The Villas and “Palaces”—a marketing term for their extra-large villas—are on the same floor as the pool. Their secret, key access-only corridor is easily missed.
I had every intention of going swimming, but I was drunk and in an exploratory mood. I approached the door that I suspected lead to the Villas and Palaces and slowly turned the door knob fully expecting it to be locked. Fortunately, with all the ongoing construction, key access had yet to be engaged.
I was one of Crockfords’s very first guests checking in less than two weeks after Resorts World opened. Hiccups were to be expected. Hard hats weren’t. Technical glitches are the norm the first weeks of operation. But ladders in guest room hallways? At times, I felt like a welcomed guest, at others, a nuisance in the way of construction of an entirely unfinished hotel.
At almost $400 per night midweek, I would’ve been less forgiving, but a week prior, I touched base with a host and sent her my MLife win/loss statements. She comped both nights plus round trip transportation. It made everything you’re about to read a little easier to digest…
Superlatives. It’s the nicest casino downtown but we already knew that. This place would reign high in Caesars’s portfolio, could slip comfortably into the upper echelon of MGM’s, and has Cosmo wow factor at every corner. It’s one of the nicest joints in Vegas; that’s the correct superlative.
$1352. That was the nightly rate for a two-bedroom, 3000 square foot Skyloft at MGM Grand… for a weekend… my birthday weekend. Taxes, fees, everything. You usually can’t score that on weekdays, weekends hover closer to $2500, and even recessionary rates of ten years ago never got this good. And so, some ten months prior to my arrival, I kindly let MGM withdraw the first night’s deposit and locked something in.
Escalade enthusiast, nog connoisseur, and fellow Vegas Snob BigHosss was kind enough to submit a unique side-by-side perspective on some posh penthouses at MGM’s flagship properties. We at Vegas Snob are grateful that readers submit reviews with no arm-twisting, stipulations, or demands whatsoever…
Outside of Vegas, I try to get the most bang for my buck. California casino? Where I go is based on the deals I find rummaging through my inbox. Reno, Laughlin? If the whole thing’s not comped, forget it. Even during my one trip to Macau, the value proposition was at the top of my list.
But in Vegas, something special overcomes me. The moment I pull up to Mirage, or Bellagio, or Wynn, I don’t give a flying fuck about my wallet, bank account, or assets; for the next couple days, I’m living a goddamn fantasy. No other place in the world inspires careless frivolity and financial irresponsibility the way Vegas does.
I recently visited MGM Grand, a property I’d only ever had fond memories of but had not stepped foot in since indulging in 16 courses at the fancier of the two Robuchon restaurants over a decade ago. A relic of early 90s family-era Las Vegas, MGM’s theme celebrated classic Hollywood glamor. Having booked a two-bedroom Skyloft and several standard rooms for a potential birthday trip, I figured I’d walk through on a little reconnaissance mission—what will the table minimums be like for my friends and I, how are the public spaces holding up, and do I even like being here?
JetSuiteX is an airline that, as of this writing, only flies between points in southern and northern California and Las Vegas. So why should you—someone reading this shitty, infrequently updated, and highly esoteric blog about Vegas—care? Why should I even bother writing this review? Is it the no-wait, no TSA, drive-up-and-fly-out private jet-like experience? Is it the first class legroom and unlimited drinks?
This review is dedicated to the memory of my friend, Alan Reed, an even bigger Vegas fan than I. The Mirage was his favorite property and I would learn at his memorial that he spent his final night in his favorite city in one of these suites.
In the late 90s, my family and I would take a two-car caravan to Las Vegas once or twice per year. We’d almost exclusively stay crammed between a couple rooms at Luxor and Dad would occasionally splurge upgrading one to a Pyramid Corner suite. At 590 square feet, teenaged me felt like a king luxuriating under the slanted windows in a hot tub that—perhaps thankfully—always smelled overwhelmingly of bleach. At home, early stages of the internet meant that I could peruse tiny gifs of fancy suites before a landline call interrupted my hotel fantasies loading at dial-up speeds.Read More