I wait patiently at the seafood bar as a woman inspects the crawfish; I mean each one of the li'l critters individually. Is it dinner, or is she looking to adopt? Damn things are so ugly they have to be blindfolded to reproduce, and she's searching for the cute one.

Not only is the all-you-can-eat buffet a great place to sample different cuisines at a reasonable price, or gorge yourself after a night of partying, but, as Freud would undoubtedly say (were he in line behind you at the dessert station), it's a fascinating petri dish in which to observe the foibles, neuroses and compulsions of human nature.

Today I'm lunching at a buffet in one of Vegas' most historic properties. The crowd is predominantly what I've come to refer to as "Nouveau Vegas." I'm talking thirty-something couples (usually with a rugrat or two in tow): him wearing shorts, sandals and a "CSI: LAS VEGAS" T-shirt; her wearing matching shorts and an "I'M WITH STUPID" T-shirt. I also notice an inordinate number of warm-up style tracksuits, as if they might pull a hamstring racing to the burrito station . . .


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