Greetings from New York, where this column is either cursed or blessed -- fate will tell us, and we're powerless to control it. When I started, I was writing about doing research while gambling and generally living in as debauched a way as a parent can when he’s on vacation with the wife, the kids, and the nanny. The goal was to learn the truth about the economy at an upscale resort in the Bahamas during the off-season.

Does it seem loony to travel to the sultry Caribbean at the end of June? On the surface, yes. So is driving a $95,000 sports car, owning a bachelor pad in the Hamptons, and driving an SUV big enough to hold your other SUV. In good times, lunatic debauchery is the point of working 70 hours a week jockeying stocks. In bad times, saving is hip.

As far as visiting the Caribbean in the off-season goes, the East Coast has had 5 times the number of lousy, rainy, grim days as it has sunny ones so far this year. According to the NY Times,  NYC had twice as much rain in June as it does on average. Sadly, I can’t even go to Eddie Bauer (EBHIQ) and buy cool outerwear to protect myself from the deluge. Eddie has great prices, but the return policy gives me pause -- as does the “Everything Must Go!” feel.

I needed a break in the worst way, and it was either Atlantic City -- with its felt jumpsuits and gold chains and all their implications -- or the actual Atlantic -- with its own genuine natives but top-flight service. Had I been allowed to bet my own decision (which is how first SEC Chairman Joe Kennedy built his first fortune, as I understand it) it wouldn’t have been close. The Mackes were gathering their passports and heading south.

Of course, I can’t take a full conventional vacation. I can’t relax. That’s not a boast, not braggadocio -- and frankly nothing to be proud of. It’s closer to a form of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Regardless, I see stock buys and sells everywhere I go. I run odds for outcomes on everything, from check-out times (it’s about the number of coupons and seniors, not the number of customers) to whether or not I should let my kids beat me at Nintendo (NTDOY) Wii games -- generally not an issue since they usually beat me whether I like it or not.

As a mental tick, it's not exactly productive. But setting silly markets and then seeing whether I'd have won or lost has its uses.

For instance, the questions every casino visit raises are these: Can I make more money trading off what I find on my trip than the MIT brats who 'broke Vegas' by counting cards? At the very least, can I find a trade that pays for my trip? Every trip I make to a casino, I'm obsessed with paying for the trip -- either at the tables or with a trade -- inside of 30 days. It’s in my head, on the tip of my tongue, and all but pouring out my nose -- to the point that it’s white noise to Mrs. Jeffmacke (as is most of what I say).

Because I see possible trades anywhere and everywhere I go, a casino is for me what the Library of Congress is for a researcher: Bliss. (And with free drinks and oxygen pumped into the building.)

The MIT kids were suckers. The risk-reward of cheating at cards is simply terrible; an arrest and/or beating on the downside versus a pay-off of a few grand, taxed to the hilt. I couldn’t care less if a 17-year-old in a fake mustache makes $5,000. I’m looking for the big game: Is real spending happening at a greater rate than the market believes?

To demonstrate the value of the exercise, from late April to early May I shared with Minyanville readers long trades in Las Vegas Sands (LVS), Wynn (WYNN), and MGM (MGM) that more or less paid for this summer of partially engaged bliss. (See the post titled Macau Losing Bet.) I made enough to pay a kid to take my MCAT, then write my way into medical school. Card-counting types, go play Dungeons and Dragons -- we’re playing a grown-up game here.

The stakes are high. Patience is a must. Pay attention -- here are the rules: