Well, it was fun while it lasted. However, my sourcing for the Wynn-buyout-of-New Frontier item (see the aptly titled "Too Good to Be True?") has pretty much collapsed. My apologies to you all. It had the virtue of providing a plausible explanation for why the plug was pulled on the Ruffin/Ed-Ad deal … but no cigar.

My esteemed colleague, Tony Illia, has been poking around on this rumor and on the mooted W/Edge/Las Ramblas sale to Morgans Hotel Group. Again, much smoke, little or no fire. Sorry about that, dear readers. I’ll try and do better next time.

If you like buffets, by all means avoid the one at South Point. My girlfriend and I ate there last week and lived to regret it. Flavorless shrimp, overcooked and dessicated meat, unappetizing presentation … you name it, they had it. Worst of all was the radioactive-looking guacamole. Normally, I can’t resist Mexican food but I sure could on this occasion. Both of us experienced, um, digestive malfunctions later on. Coincidence? We think not. Michael Gaughan really needs to kick it up several notches … and stat. This was my worst buffet experience in Vegas, bar none.

Apropos of nothing, we also saw Blades of Glory last weekend and if I’ve ever seen a more homoerotic movie than this Will Ferrell-Jon Heder romance, I can’t think of it. It’s the ultimate gay-date movie or, as I told City Life Arts Editor Mike Prevatt, if gayness were a 10-point scale with 10 being the max, Blades of Glory would score a 12. Think of it as Brokeback Mountain without the unhappy ending and with an ingenue as pretty as Scarlett Johansson.

I am so relieved that Donald Trump won his throwdown with Vince McMahon last weekend. The thought of The Donald being forced to part with his flowing, orange locks was more than I could bear. Whew! (Although it would aid Trump’s ongoing impersonation of Lex Luthor.) But, since professional wrestling has only a hairsbreadth more integrity than Major League Baseball, Trump’s fluorescent Veronica Lake flip was never in danger of being shorn.