One more off the bucket list...

I've always been a big fan of Las Vegas. I've loved it ever since my Dad took me there for a high school graduation gift so that he could show me the ins and outs of Vegas and gambling.

He wanted to show me that you never win in Vegas. Gambling is fine, but you're gonna lose. He tried to teach that to me several times. We started at the Tropicana, Caesars Palace, and also back at our hotel, The Flamingo Inn.

He failed.

He couldn't sit down at a blackjack table without winning $50, $100, $200 in a matter of 20-30 minutes. It was uncanny! Within a couple of hours, he told me that our trip had already been completely paid for.

So, I knew that Vegas would be a popular destination for me. And it was. I went up many, many times after college and before I moved out East. I'd seen just about everything. I'd seen friends (of each other) get into drunken fights at a craps table. I'd seen cheaters or other undesireables forcefully ejected from casinos. I'd managed to play enough during my trips to get minor comps.

But, one thing had always eluded me. One experience to complete my Vegas totality.

Then, after 28 years of off-and-on Vegas trips, it happened.

I was solicited.

One late night, after having some drinks with a coworker, we left the casino floor, split to go to different elevators, and as I passed a dimly lit, rarely used slot alcove, there she was. Beautiful, too. It was very late, and I was exhausted from the day, and the memory is already fading. She looked Asian, possibly Eurasian, and wore a pure white dress. Really beautiful and sexy.

She was smiling at me and waving me over like we were old friends or something. I was pretty sure I didn't know her, but... might she be a customer from the trade show that stopped by our booth? Sure, that must be it. Some beautiful young woman I met at the show, whom I didn't remember, and was inviting me into some empty alcove. Yeah. Sure.

So, as I decided I wasn't going to get rolled right there in plain view of the heavily trafficked hall, I went on over there.

Understand, I have nothing against her or her profession. Not at all. I don't believe it ruins the fabric of our society, breaks up marriages, or any of that. I can only hope that those women who practice it aren't forced into it out of desperation. I'd like to think that they enjoy it. Probably not, but, in any event, good luck to them.

Anyhow, she softly takes my arm, sits me down in a swivel slot-machine chair and sits so that she's slightly behind me. She softly places her chin on my shoulder and asks, "Where ya going?" Beautiful, sexy voice. No accent.

"I'm going to bed."

"How would you like me to tuck you in?" Breathy. Sultry. I suspect she was pretty good at her job.

At this point, I would have loved to have found out the price, maybe gotten her into a bar to just talk with her. I mean, how often does this sort of opportunity come up? I'd love to know more about her life and lifestyle. She probably would have lied about everything, but still, unless she's really good, a lot of truth can be garnered from lies.

But, no. I was tired, not thinking too clearly, and, frankly, off-balance.

So, I said, "I'd love that, but no thanks. Good luck." I got up and walked away without looking back.

Needless to say, as tired as I was, I still couldn't sleep for an hour or so.

The next day, as I related the story, like a badge of honor, to my coworker from the night before (who was also young and good looking), she mentioned that she had been 'solicited' too! I was a little shocked. So I asked her about it. She said some semi-drunk guy made a pass at her.

And that's when it all crystallized for me. You see, up until this point, some deep dark part of my ego thought that girl had picked me over others because, well, I'm just a hunk of a guy.

But, no more.

With that moment of clarity piercing my mind, I told my coworker, "No. That's not soliciting. That's a guy telling you that he thinks you're beautiful and sexy and he want's to sleep with you. Last night was a woman telling me that I look like a middle-age guy with money who isn't getting any."

Check.

Godhood, in a jiffy

All parents are somewhat godly to their young children. We have the kiss that heals all pain. We know everything. And, most importantly, we control the video games and TV time.

But nothing seals in that image of godliness like the first time you show your kids the buttery goodness of a Jiffy Pop Popcorn package.

When we were at the grocery store, they saw them, all lined up, and begged me to get one. So, I picked up a couple and took them home. After dinner, I told them, the magic would start.

Dinner comes and goes, and I grab the package, read the instructions and am dismayed to discover that it says it won't work on the glass/ceramic topped stoves. Now, I'm under pressure. Three kids are staring at me. Waiting.

I read them again. Darnit! It still says it won't work on my stove. Ok, let's think this through. Hmm.... needs to be cooked over a stove on medium heat. Why won't that work on... Oh, DRAT! I get it now... my type of stove doesn't directly control the heating elements. The elements are simply ON or OFF. There's no control. So, 'medium' heat is handled by turning on and off the elements with, say, a 50% duty cycle. Full power for a bit, turn off for a bit, so the average temperature is 'medium.'

At this point, I'm guessing that popcorn needs a constant temperature and won't work properly with the on/off cycle. Can I provide that? My kids are starting to fidget. It's going to get ugly soon.

Perhaps... yes... I can turn on all of my elements to medium, and then move the Jiffy Pop package between positions when the elements go off.

I quickly explain the plan to my wife, who looks at me with newfound concern about her marriage choice. Maybe it was the spittle that went flying as I blurted out my idea.

Anyhow, I put it in operation, racing against the elements, occasionally having to put the Jiffy Pop between elements because they had all cycled on. My kids watch, unimpressed. My wife watches, doubly unimpressed, struggling not to laugh.

And then...

...the popping started. Slowly, but then faster, and suddenly the tinfoil started expanding in to this huge ball! The only things that grew bigger and faster than the popcorn were my daughter's eyes as she watched it. Success!

Popcorn popped.

Godhood firmly locked in.

Maybe it did take a little godliness at that.

My Personal Curse

Everyone's got their own curse. Mine is the ol' "my line always moves the slowest." Oh, I know. That's your curse, too. No, I'm afraid not. Sure, you may have times when your line moves more slowly, but you just forget about the other times, when it moves faster. It all evens out in the end.

But not for me. The other day was unusually bad. I was again in the slowest line. In fact, it was the only line. To be more specific, I was the only person in line.

I was on the way to a local Game Stop to check out the non-existant specials, bad used-game pricing, and to just generally schmooze with the gamers that worked there.

On the way, I decided to stop at the Tropical Smoothie Cafe. I hadn't had lunch, didn't want to take the time to go to a restaurant or even a fast food place (the curse, remember?). So, I thought I'd grab a Peanut Paradise smoothie, which is a scoop of peanut butter, a banana, some low-fat yogurt, and enough suger and other junk to make an otherwise healthy drink truly fattening. But, hey.. it's got soy protein in it!

I entered the store, and luck was with me! Or so I thought. No one was in line. There were four other people there. Two were already eating, and two were waiting for their orders.

I walked up to the register, and a guy comes out from the back to take my order. Just as I notice a sign advertising that they take call-in orders for pickup, and right before the guy can ask me for my order, the phone rings.

"I'm sorry, I have to take that," he says.

About twenty seconds later, I'm thinking he's either ordering for a small town, or he's never been to Tropical Smoothie Cafe, because the guy is pretty much describing the entire menu of thirty smoothies.

Finally, after another minute, another guy comes out from the back, delivered a couple of sandwiches to the two waiting people, sees my dilemma, takes pity, and takes my order.

"Peanut Paradise, with whey, no soy," I say. Hey, that soy protein is too healthy, anyhow.

He rings it up and I pay. He goes back into the back, but he's not making my smoothie. No. He's cleaning up his workstation.

Finally, the other guy gets off the phone. "Sorry," he says, and then goes back to, presumably, make my smoothie. His workstation is around a corner, so I can't see what's happening.

A minute or so later, I hear the 'ding' of the door, and another customer walks in. I hear the blender kick in for my smoothie, and then the smoothie guy comes out to take the new order.

Another genius, here. He has questions. The guy has answers. The blender keeps churning. Finally, a decision is made, the order is rung up, and a cash transaction occurs that would put Paper Moon to shame.

Finally! The smoothie guy turns to go get my smoothie. But, no. The customer stops him and asks, "How much for that cookie?" "89 cents," is the reply. So, another cash transaction takes place with the customer slowly peeling a George Washington from his roll and the guy, oh so carefully, grabbing a pair of tongs, extracting the cookie from the display case, and placing it in a wax-paper bag.

The blender finally gives up and stops on its own. The guy goes back and finally delivers me my smoothie.

After all that blending time, it was a bit too smooth.

Total time? Fifteen minutes. Clocked.

Passing on the gene

It started out like any normal day. My wife had the day off and was helping to get the kids ready for school. Lunches were made, shoes and socks were on, and all that was left was getting the kids and their paraphernalia out the door, in the car, and on to school.

Suddenly! My son can't find his lunch box! Panic ensues! "Mom! Where's my lunch box!"

My wife, ever cool, replies "Your lunch box? I don't know... where do you think it is?"

My son's busily looking around. It's not on the counter. It's not on the floor. It's not on the table! "No, Mom... I really can't find it!"

It's getting late. My wife isn't helping! This is odd. She looks... incredulous. Hmmm....

I glance down. He's carrying it! He's had it in his hand the entire time. And, no. He's not joking.

And it's my fault. I know it is. I passed on the gene. The Flake gene.

I know he's inherited the Flake gene from me, because when I was in high school, something similar happened. I had misplaced my pencil (in Journalism class, of all places), and I was asking if anyone had seen it. One girl, Jenny, started laughing. She was laughing so hard she could only vaguely point at me. Or, rather, behind me. I turned and looked. Nothing. She laughed harder and gesticulated at me more wildly! Not behind me, then... maybe... my ear? Yes. The darn thing was behind my ear.

So, it may be that my son is doomed to flakedom. On the bright side, he's also inherited a good sense of humor (probably from my wife). Once he spotted the lunch box in his own hand, he broke into this wonderful laughter that stayed with me all day.

When life gives you lemons... or charges for them

I visited my home town of Tucson, AZ, this weekend. My sister and her clan came down to visit, and we all went out for breakfast at The Egg Connection. It turns out that this is one of my brother-in-law's favorite breakfast spot.

It used to be one of mine as well. For years, before I left, it was this ratty hole-in-the-wall that had old wooden tables that looked lucky to still be up. The food was good and hot, the service was quick, and the prices were nothing. Then, after they became popular, they moved a few streets down and got airs. They shifted to folding tables, reduced their service staff, changed their menu, and raised their prices.

I stopped going. It was just like any other breakfast place. It just wasn't the same.

So, I was interested in seeing what the place was like. It's in the same location as it had moved to and had the same sign. I figured that's a good thing as they apparently hadn't had to make any additional style concessions. And, they were crowded as well, which always bodes well.

So, while we're standing outside waiting for our table to be ready, I catch sight of a 5x7 index card next to the door, saying, "We charge for lemon slices to go along with your water, because 'we don't get lemons for free'".

Wow. Charging for lemon slices? I've never heard of that. I've never been to a place that charges for a slice of lemon. Oh, I've been to places that didn't have free refills on coffee, but I couldn't get over this. Did they charge for the little jelly packets? Or maybe for condiments?

My family all had a good chuckle and eventually got seated. The first thing I noticed was that most of the wait staff probably hadn't been born the last time I had been there. Nice.

I was happy to see that most of the menu items I had missed and stopped going there for were actually back! They had the massively large sausages that I loved (and should no longer eat), and their prices were still rock bottom. I felt at home again.

I went through the menu, and, on the back, there it was. "Slice of Lemon: $0.50."

Fifty cents? My God! I swiftly glanced around the table. "Whew!" I thought. Plenty of salt, pepper and jelly packets. I guess we're getting a free ride on those.

I wondered if they would charge a cutting fee if I brought in my own lemon. But, why stop there? Could I make any money setting up shop selling lemon slices in the parking lot? I could easily undercut them and sell slices for a quarter each.

But, just as the excitement of a new business opportunity was peaking, my mother informed me that The Egg Connection was already on top of it. She pointed to a sign saying, "No Outside Food or Drink Allowed."

Drat.

One Big US Family

I'm really not much of a political animal. But, when the elections come along, I still manage to get involved in the typical lunch-time discussions, even though I really have no idea what I'm talking about.

So, when we started talking platforms, issues, complaints, and all the other typical stuff, I suddenly got this crazy vision about the nature of our party system. Or, perhaps, it simply reflects my views on our national politics.

It's like a family. The two primary parties are the parents, and all us constituents are, well... the kids.

One one hand, you have the Democratic Party who takes on the nurturer role.

"Ok, Kids. We want you all to do the best you can and help each other out. We want you to try as hard as you can, but if you can't handle it, don't worry. We'll be there to take care of you. Now, make sure you watch over your brothers and sisters. We need to work together on this. So, if you need to give up your dates on Fridays to take your younger sibling to piano lessons, that's just what you're going to do. "

On the other hand, the Republicans are more of the disciplinarian and character builder.

"Ok, Kids. You need to learn to do for yourself. Nothing's free in this world. If you really want something, you'll find a way to earn it. There are plenty of things you can do around here for an allowance, and there's always a part-time job, if you want it. We can't be constantly moddle-coddling you. Need help with something? So does everyone else. Make a deal. Compromise with each other. Don't be running to us with little stupid stuff. We're not interested."

None of this applies to the extreme right or left, but to what I consider to be the original, core beliefs of each party.

I know it's over simplified. And I know that I really don't know much about it. It was just a train of thought that came to me, and I found it to be pretty amusing. But, to each their own, I suppose.

Purpose of Ears

The other night, as the family was sprawled on our bed in our nightly togetherness, my wife was playing with our three year-old daughter.

"What's your mouth for?" "Eating."
"Good! What's your nose for?" "Bweathing."
"What are your ears for?" "..."

At this point, she was stumped. After screwing up her face in thought for 15 seconds, she suddendly brighted up, smiled, and exclaimed "Earrings!"