What do you get when you combine chain-smoking blue-hairs, flu-ridden dice, 350 ladies in sweatshirts and an ungodly amount of nauseating Journey music?

Sounds like a hot tub at Wilbon's.

But also my trip with five friends this past weekend to Atlantic City, the cheesiest A.C. since Slater, a party and gambling locale so "eh," it's no wonder New Yorkers are more apt to fly cross-country to Las Vegas than drive less than 2½ hours to South Jersey.

Here's how it all ranked on a scale of 1-5 crackpipes:

Scrap One On: I don't know much about scrapbooking, but when madames of the Scrapper's Dream Vacation invade a hotel by the hundreds you'd better have an ample supply of glitter ... and butter. A healthy (unhealthy?) proportion of these ladies looked like they could stand to put down the heat guns and go running once in a while, but I dig people with creativity and passion, so I'm giving them 2 ½ crackpipes.

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Chef Vola: We lucked into a reservation at a secluded, family-run Italian restaurant that's received universal acclaim. I've never been fed so much and so well at an establishment in which you have to slide past the dishwasher to take a piss. First-rate food and service, way more comfortable than uppity, and a perfectly competent staff. It's cash-only, and there are pictures from multiple mob films on the walls, but I'm sure all taxes get paid 100%. Take a hit off these five crackpipes.

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Gambling: Crowds, boy. Maybe Joe Piscopo and Whoopi Goldberg really do bring 'em in. I found one seat at a $25 Tropicana blackjack table. But who wants to play alone during a group road trip? So after winning six of eight hands, I took $100 to the bar to treat my pals to drinks. They'd just bought me dinner so, ya know, that whole karma thing. A $10 craps table at Caesar's was an oasis, and we still couldn't squeeze more than three of us in there. Broke even for an hour. Nothing under $25 at the Borgata, even at 4 a.m., and even those were packed. In other words, unless you wanted to play $50 a hand/roll, it was hard to give away your money. The poker rooms were bustling, but I need more practice, both in play and how to have fun with nine sloppy, gloomy strangers trying to convince you to fold over your your loot.

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Bars: Tried several bars. Two of them featured live music, including Bally's Blue Martini, in which we were treated to the sweet sounds of "Jessie's Girl," "Copacabana," Journey shit (which I could not escape for 24 hours, even in a limo) and other chick-pandering rubbish that gave an otherwise cool-looking place all the edge of a velcro-fastening sneaker. The center bar at the Borgata was chill enough, though I was there for only one drink around 4:30 a.m. At least they were showing Showgirls on one of the TVs.

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The Superstitious Craps Fools: Watching and listening to these people was a trip. The way they selected and set two of the five offered dice, all serious like it fucking mattered. The number of actions or tendencies a player would be guilty of that forced others to change their betting patterns. Oh no, he grabbed the dice with only three fingers, he'll never roll a 4! Oh no, he looked to the sky, he'll crap out for sure! How many times do casino employees roll their eyes at those who claim to know some edge over irrefutable probability? Here was the safest bet in the house: someone at my table probably caught whatever flu/bronchitis I'd been coughing on my hands before passing dice around.

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Fashion: In New York and Las Vegas, I can be intimidated by others' sense of style. But Chess King doesn't scare me.

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Overall: Good times. Spent a lot of time exploring and casino-hopping, time that will be better spent next time when I have a better idea of what to seek and avoid. Traffic to and fro was a breeze this time of year, getting around locally via taxi was fine, food and drink open late, and lots of laughs with our group. Aside from the gambling, though, I didn't find "Only in A.C." kinds of entertainment that define Vegas or that we don't have at home.

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