That would be Big Al himself, on the right. (We assume he’s “Big Al.” We also assume that’s short for “Big Alligator.” Perhaps we assume too much.) Al is in keeping with the mardi gras theme of the Orleans. New Orleans is one of those rare places where one can both eat and be eaten by an alligator. Or so we are constantly reminded.
The marquee is giant. And employs both an electronic screen and elaborate, kinetic neon. Neon is getting rarer and rarer in this town and that’s a pity. The Orleans sign towers perhaps 50 or 60 feet over Tropicana Avenue. It is a marvelous throwback to the pre-Wynn era, before multi-colored neon gave way to computer-controlled LED’s.
We hit the Big Al’s open mike last night because it occurred to us that we hadn’t once set foot on the stage that would be our home for the next four weekends (with the exception of a brief photo shoot a few weeks ago– see below).
We’re excited about “Mr. and Mrs. Comedy!” (And that label is a choice that we made. It’s not pretentious in the least. It’s… ironic! Kinda. Old-school, maybe. Vegas-y, perhaps. No other comedy couple has laid claim to the title. And no other comedy couple has written a book about comedy. Or written about standup in a high-profile way for more than a decade. Besides, if you stand in the Orleans parking lot long enough, the slide touting our engagement is replaced by one that displays Don Rickles, who is known as “Mr. Warmth.” Folks get sarcasm and irony around here. Or they don’t. That’s the beauty of Vegas. Either folks enjoy the entertainment in a literal way or, if they choose, in an ironic way. We suppose it depends on where you’re coming from– literally and figuratively! Oddly, the folks who most often seem to fail to grasp that are in the entertainment media.)
Big Al seems to be conducting a hold-up using a microphone as a fake gun. The Female Half seems genuinely startled. “Don’t tase me, Bro!”