Why is it that members of the religious right feel that they alone are qualified to decide which citizens may have federal and state entitlements and priveleges bestowed on them by the government? Why is it that they can quote the second amendment of the Constituion chapter and verse when it comes to gun ownership debates, but somehow completely forget the rest.
Article 11
"The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people."
I am a citizen of the United States. I am entitled to equal treatment under the law (all laws) whether you think so or not. Any law which provides rights or entitlements by the government should not be limited to a specific group of people, even the ones who think God is on their side.
I do not believe the truth of a book written at a time when the Earth was considered to be flat and sea monsters were a real danger to sailors. I do not believe that Jonah lived in a fish for three days nor do I believe in the story of Jack and the beanstalk. Please stop telling me what your God thinks about all this. He is not a registered voter. If you want to live in a theocracy, move to Iran.
Would anyone deny my government bestowed right to speak freely, to travel freely, or to vote? What logical reason is there to deny just the right of marriage? Either repeal all of the rights and entitlements of marriage bestowed by the government, and reduce marriage to a strictly religious ceremony, or bestow the rights and entitlements of marriage to all citizens of the United States.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
April 8 - Rant Of The Day
At what age should young men stop using the word, "dude" to refer to someone whose name they know? Personally, I think a young man's last uttered "dude" should be on his high school graduation day. If you really want to be nice about it, then let's give them until their graduating class finishes college. After that, every uttered "dude", should be met with a hefty fine and a mandatory jail sentence. Dude, I can't stand it anymore.
Also left to echo in high school hallways should be "like" (when used more than once in a sixty second period), "chick" (used to refer to a woman) and "you know what I'm sayin'", because frankly, no, I don't know what you are saying.
If any of you are still using these words and phrases often, trust me, you sound like an idiot. And by the way if you are not a baseball player, but you insist on wearing a baseball cap anyway, would you mind turning your baseball cap around with the bill in the front? And pull your pants up. You look like an idiot too.
Also left to echo in high school hallways should be "like" (when used more than once in a sixty second period), "chick" (used to refer to a woman) and "you know what I'm sayin'", because frankly, no, I don't know what you are saying.
If any of you are still using these words and phrases often, trust me, you sound like an idiot. And by the way if you are not a baseball player, but you insist on wearing a baseball cap anyway, would you mind turning your baseball cap around with the bill in the front? And pull your pants up. You look like an idiot too.
Monday, April 6, 2009
April 7 - Rant Of The Day
When I was fifteen years old, I opened my first checking account. When I was sixteen years old, the bank mailed me a magical card that allowed me to use these fancy new machines they called "ATMs". It turns out that these letters stood for "Automated Teller Machine" and get this- I could take out money and make deposits without even going inside my bank! I didn't even have to go near my bank! Isn't that wild? Soon after came the advent of the debit card. Not only was it an ATM card, but I could also make purchases with it. Crazy, huh?
Fast forward twenty five years. Retailers are staffing the minimum number of cashiers they can possibly get away with. Lines to pay are incessantly long. Boy, it's a good thing we can all just swipe our debit cards and move along, right? Wrong!
Here I am at the warehouse store. I just want to buy some coffee, a set of tires, a diamond ring, and a side of beef and I'm ready to pay. I've waited patiently for six other customers to complete their transactions. There is just one more customer in front of me. Let's call her Myrtle. The cashier has totaled up Myrtle's purchases and is waiting for Myrtle to pay. We are all waiting for Myrtle to pay. Myrtle is fishing through her purse. She isn't exactly sure where her checkbook is, but she knows it's in there somewhere. "What's the date today?", Myrtle asks. Darn, Myrtle's pen is out of ink.
Meanwhile, I have lost the vision in my left eye because of the stroke I am having. Please people, I'm begging you - save the checks to slip inside your grandchild's birthday card. Use your debit card at the warehouse store or I will steal the pen right out of your check-writing hand and stab you in the neck with it.
Fast forward twenty five years. Retailers are staffing the minimum number of cashiers they can possibly get away with. Lines to pay are incessantly long. Boy, it's a good thing we can all just swipe our debit cards and move along, right? Wrong!
Here I am at the warehouse store. I just want to buy some coffee, a set of tires, a diamond ring, and a side of beef and I'm ready to pay. I've waited patiently for six other customers to complete their transactions. There is just one more customer in front of me. Let's call her Myrtle. The cashier has totaled up Myrtle's purchases and is waiting for Myrtle to pay. We are all waiting for Myrtle to pay. Myrtle is fishing through her purse. She isn't exactly sure where her checkbook is, but she knows it's in there somewhere. "What's the date today?", Myrtle asks. Darn, Myrtle's pen is out of ink.
Meanwhile, I have lost the vision in my left eye because of the stroke I am having. Please people, I'm begging you - save the checks to slip inside your grandchild's birthday card. Use your debit card at the warehouse store or I will steal the pen right out of your check-writing hand and stab you in the neck with it.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
April 6 - Rant Of The Day
I guess that airplane travel is an easy target. Who would disagree that airplane travel is miserable? But there are two things that irritate the bejeezus out of me that I never hear discussed.
Before I get to those two things, can I just make one observation about airplane seats? Can someone please explain to my why they are not at least as wide at the top of the seat as they are at the bottom? It's no secret that I am chubby. But, my ass and my waist fit in my seat with room to spare. The problem is my arms and my shoulders. Unfortunately, I cannot remove my arms from my torso and place them in the overhead. Well, I could. But it would be very difficult to put them back on. Has anyone ever see a human being whose ass is wider than their shoulders? Scratch that. Let me rephrase. Is it fair to say that most people are broader at the shoulders than they are at the hips? Who are these seats designed for, people without arms?
Dear fellow passengers (especially women), please control your purses, shopping bags, and luggage as you board the plane. I am tired of being whacked by your purse as you board. Your purses and luggage should be held in front of you or behind you as you walk down the aisle, not to your side. The next one of you that hits me with your oversized bag full of truly essential items is not going to make it to the final destination of their flight. Instead, I will leap out of my seat and choke you to death right there in the aisle. And don't expect the other passengers to defend you. They will be too busy applauding.
Dear passenger seated behind me. I paid for my seat. In my mind, this means that I am entitled to its use, while you are not. Notice that the back of my seat does not have a built-in grab bar, like the handicapped bathroom stalls you undoubtedly use even though you do not need them. Please do not yank on my seat to pull your fat ass up as you stand. Instead, try using those tree stumps that you call legs to rise from your seat. If you still find it difficult to stand, try using your own armrests to support yourself. The next person who yanks on the back of my seat to sit or stand is going to have their eyeballs ripped from their sockets. Then, when they can no longer see, I will also steal their in-flight snack.
Before I get to those two things, can I just make one observation about airplane seats? Can someone please explain to my why they are not at least as wide at the top of the seat as they are at the bottom? It's no secret that I am chubby. But, my ass and my waist fit in my seat with room to spare. The problem is my arms and my shoulders. Unfortunately, I cannot remove my arms from my torso and place them in the overhead. Well, I could. But it would be very difficult to put them back on. Has anyone ever see a human being whose ass is wider than their shoulders? Scratch that. Let me rephrase. Is it fair to say that most people are broader at the shoulders than they are at the hips? Who are these seats designed for, people without arms?
Dear fellow passengers (especially women), please control your purses, shopping bags, and luggage as you board the plane. I am tired of being whacked by your purse as you board. Your purses and luggage should be held in front of you or behind you as you walk down the aisle, not to your side. The next one of you that hits me with your oversized bag full of truly essential items is not going to make it to the final destination of their flight. Instead, I will leap out of my seat and choke you to death right there in the aisle. And don't expect the other passengers to defend you. They will be too busy applauding.
Dear passenger seated behind me. I paid for my seat. In my mind, this means that I am entitled to its use, while you are not. Notice that the back of my seat does not have a built-in grab bar, like the handicapped bathroom stalls you undoubtedly use even though you do not need them. Please do not yank on my seat to pull your fat ass up as you stand. Instead, try using those tree stumps that you call legs to rise from your seat. If you still find it difficult to stand, try using your own armrests to support yourself. The next person who yanks on the back of my seat to sit or stand is going to have their eyeballs ripped from their sockets. Then, when they can no longer see, I will also steal their in-flight snack.
April 5 - Rant Of The Day
Only in recent years have I noticed a new term that really gets under my skin - "activist judges", a term I only seem to hear during right-leaning broadcasts. Simply put, there is no such thing as an activist judge. It's just a made up term that gets used whenever a judge disagrees with the status quo. What people who use this term never acknowledge is that the judicial branch of government has the specific and intended responsibility to act as a check and balance for the executive and legislative branches, even when its opinion is not in lock step with the majority. Their job is to interpret the letter of the law, not to bob their heads in agreement like robe-wearing lemmings.
Dear Mr.'s O'Reilly, Beck, Limbaugh and Hannity. Please stop using the term activist judge every time a ruling comes down that you disagree with. It makes you sound childish and diminishes the weight of your arguments. (Dear Ann Coulter, please continue to use this term as well as any other terms that pop into that brain of yours. Please do not think about the words that are about to come out of your mouth before you speak them. Please do not deprive us of the entertainment we derive from the three-ring circus that is your mouth, you freak.)
P.S. - Bravo Iowa, for the heroic decision of your activist judges.
Dear Mr.'s O'Reilly, Beck, Limbaugh and Hannity. Please stop using the term activist judge every time a ruling comes down that you disagree with. It makes you sound childish and diminishes the weight of your arguments. (Dear Ann Coulter, please continue to use this term as well as any other terms that pop into that brain of yours. Please do not think about the words that are about to come out of your mouth before you speak them. Please do not deprive us of the entertainment we derive from the three-ring circus that is your mouth, you freak.)
P.S. - Bravo Iowa, for the heroic decision of your activist judges.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
April 4 - Rant Of The Day
I spent several years working for tips and I consider myself to be a generous tipper. I empathize with folks who rely on tips to earn a living. Some of them are truly deserving of all you can spare for a job well done. For example, consider the life of a hotel maid. Ever wonder what it must be like to clean a dozen toilets used by strangers every day of your life? If that isn't worth a fiver, nothing is.
But what the hell is going on with all the tip jars springing up at every self-serve counter in town? I'm sorry, but if I have to stand in line to order and pay, you are not getting a tip from me. I don't care whether you call yourself a barista. You don't know what it's like to earn tips for a living until you have spent a year hawking spaghetti dinners to groups of Japanese tourists a block from Disneyland like I did. I can still remember those mornings my feet hurt so bad I could barely walk after pulling a double shift waiting tables the day before.
I've been there and you haven't, guy at Subway. And furthermore, you ain't getting a tip from me for making my sandwich.
But what the hell is going on with all the tip jars springing up at every self-serve counter in town? I'm sorry, but if I have to stand in line to order and pay, you are not getting a tip from me. I don't care whether you call yourself a barista. You don't know what it's like to earn tips for a living until you have spent a year hawking spaghetti dinners to groups of Japanese tourists a block from Disneyland like I did. I can still remember those mornings my feet hurt so bad I could barely walk after pulling a double shift waiting tables the day before.
I've been there and you haven't, guy at Subway. And furthermore, you ain't getting a tip from me for making my sandwich.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
April 3 - Rant Of The Day
You all know what a patient person I am. (Yeah, right.) That's probably the reason I watch so many newscasts - usually all at once. I just don't have time for a commercial. That's why God invented the remote control.
Aside from Sean "won't let a person get a word in" Hannity and Glen "the world is coming to an end" Beck, I generally like the news coverage on Fox. I don't mind getting a balanced dose of views. In fact, I enjoy Shephard Smith's evening broadcast perhaps more than any other newscast, local or national.
(As an aside, I've had a belly full of Lou Dobbs' nightly whining about illegal immigration, followed by Nancy Grace's 737th show in a row on the trial of Casey Anthony on CNN. But that's another blog.)
So, the other morning I was flipping through the news shows and landed on Fox, where the news anchors were outraged (as usual) by how thoroughly non-conservative and non-traditional something ridiculous was. It was probably followed immediately by a thought provoking story on the world's largest ball of twine.
I can't remember exactly what they were talking about. I just remember that all three of the morning anchors were outraged over the non-traditionalism of it all. That's when I noticed that the blond anchorwoman they always have wedged between the two suit-clad men on the sofa was tugging at her skirt trying to keep from flashing the camera with her baby maker.
Has anyone noticed that they profess to be so "conservative" and "traditional", but the woman on the morning news can barely keep her boobs from popping out? Meanwhile, it's not like the guys are sitting there with their shirts unbuttoned. In fact, their neckties couldn't be any tighter. Meanwhile, "tootsie-bell" has had to learn to walk with her legs crossed because she has been sitting that way for so long, her legs are stuck.
Do I sense a little hypocrisy on the morning set of Fox News? Can you all over there at Fox please let your female morning anchor put some clothes on? I really don't want to have to be able to tell when she is due for her next bikini wax.
Aside from Sean "won't let a person get a word in" Hannity and Glen "the world is coming to an end" Beck, I generally like the news coverage on Fox. I don't mind getting a balanced dose of views. In fact, I enjoy Shephard Smith's evening broadcast perhaps more than any other newscast, local or national.
(As an aside, I've had a belly full of Lou Dobbs' nightly whining about illegal immigration, followed by Nancy Grace's 737th show in a row on the trial of Casey Anthony on CNN. But that's another blog.)
So, the other morning I was flipping through the news shows and landed on Fox, where the news anchors were outraged (as usual) by how thoroughly non-conservative and non-traditional something ridiculous was. It was probably followed immediately by a thought provoking story on the world's largest ball of twine.
I can't remember exactly what they were talking about. I just remember that all three of the morning anchors were outraged over the non-traditionalism of it all. That's when I noticed that the blond anchorwoman they always have wedged between the two suit-clad men on the sofa was tugging at her skirt trying to keep from flashing the camera with her baby maker.
Has anyone noticed that they profess to be so "conservative" and "traditional", but the woman on the morning news can barely keep her boobs from popping out? Meanwhile, it's not like the guys are sitting there with their shirts unbuttoned. In fact, their neckties couldn't be any tighter. Meanwhile, "tootsie-bell" has had to learn to walk with her legs crossed because she has been sitting that way for so long, her legs are stuck.
Do I sense a little hypocrisy on the morning set of Fox News? Can you all over there at Fox please let your female morning anchor put some clothes on? I really don't want to have to be able to tell when she is due for her next bikini wax.
April 2 - Rant Of The Day
Those of you who are grammar freaks will be the first to point out that my blog is often full of typographical errors. We all make mistakes and they should be overlooked, especially when reading casual writing. That's not what this rant is about. But what is with the people who make signs or send out "professional" documents where every plural word contains an apostrophe? Argh!
A few days ago I received a copy of a document that had been distributed by my company to all of its thousands of internal and external clients. The word "fee's" appeared in that document no less than fifty times over the course of thirty pages. This is not an exaggeration.
I am so tired of seeing signs that read something like, "Three Taco's For 99 Cents"!
The fact that some people get confused about when to use the apostrophe is not the part that bothers me. What really gets my goat is the fact that these widely distributed documents and professionally printed signs and banners must have been read by multitudes of idiots who were either too stupid, too lazy, or to embarrassed to tell the author about their mistake. How many proofreaders, typesetters (if there is still such a thing), graphic designers, and printers could possibly look at this and not notice?
Please people. There is no apostrophe in a word that is intended to be plural. So knock it off.
A few days ago I received a copy of a document that had been distributed by my company to all of its thousands of internal and external clients. The word "fee's" appeared in that document no less than fifty times over the course of thirty pages. This is not an exaggeration.
I am so tired of seeing signs that read something like, "Three Taco's For 99 Cents"!
The fact that some people get confused about when to use the apostrophe is not the part that bothers me. What really gets my goat is the fact that these widely distributed documents and professionally printed signs and banners must have been read by multitudes of idiots who were either too stupid, too lazy, or to embarrassed to tell the author about their mistake. How many proofreaders, typesetters (if there is still such a thing), graphic designers, and printers could possibly look at this and not notice?
Please people. There is no apostrophe in a word that is intended to be plural. So knock it off.
April 1 - Rant Of The Day
It's my blog and nobody reads it anyway, so I intend to post a new blog every single day this month where I get to crab and moan about something that makes me crazy. It's what I do best anyway. Since today is April Fool's Day, I'd like to start of with holidays and other specially designated days, especially those created within the last hundred years or so.
Why do we have designated days where we are made to feel as if we have done something wrong simply by not participating? Why do we have to buy flowers on Valentine's day? Why do we have to wear green on St. Patrick's Day? Why do we have to take our mothers out to eat on Mother's day? And why don't I get any credit for doing these things all year long? I took my mother to breakfast just a few days ago. Didn't that count for anything? I took Paul to the mountains to stay overnight in a hotel last weekend. Can I get Valentine's day credit? I'm sick of feeling pressured to buy or do something just because some day on the calendar says I have to.
Let's face it, it's mostly the women among us who keep these pressures at the forefront. While I'm on the subject, ladies, what is with the greeting cards and potlucks? When is the last time a bunch of guys got together to have a potluck? Ever have a man come into your office with a greeting card for you to sign, that was not purchased by a woman?
Ladies, it is not necessary to buy a greeting card every time a co-worker has has a birthday. A simple spoken, "Happy Birthday" will suffice. The same goes for potlucks. I would much rather have a short phone call or email from my friends and family on my birthday, than a whole table full of homemade macaroni salad.
I recommend the following remedy: Take your mother out for a meal and do something nice for her whenever you can. Don't wait for Mother's day. Buy your better half some flowers on a Tuesday in April for no reason. Don't wait for Valentine's day. Call your friends and family once a month to say hello and wish them well. Don't wait for a birthday. And please stop making me feel guilty for not bringing a covered dish every time someone sneezes!
Why do we have designated days where we are made to feel as if we have done something wrong simply by not participating? Why do we have to buy flowers on Valentine's day? Why do we have to wear green on St. Patrick's Day? Why do we have to take our mothers out to eat on Mother's day? And why don't I get any credit for doing these things all year long? I took my mother to breakfast just a few days ago. Didn't that count for anything? I took Paul to the mountains to stay overnight in a hotel last weekend. Can I get Valentine's day credit? I'm sick of feeling pressured to buy or do something just because some day on the calendar says I have to.
Let's face it, it's mostly the women among us who keep these pressures at the forefront. While I'm on the subject, ladies, what is with the greeting cards and potlucks? When is the last time a bunch of guys got together to have a potluck? Ever have a man come into your office with a greeting card for you to sign, that was not purchased by a woman?
Ladies, it is not necessary to buy a greeting card every time a co-worker has has a birthday. A simple spoken, "Happy Birthday" will suffice. The same goes for potlucks. I would much rather have a short phone call or email from my friends and family on my birthday, than a whole table full of homemade macaroni salad.
I recommend the following remedy: Take your mother out for a meal and do something nice for her whenever you can. Don't wait for Mother's day. Buy your better half some flowers on a Tuesday in April for no reason. Don't wait for Valentine's day. Call your friends and family once a month to say hello and wish them well. Don't wait for a birthday. And please stop making me feel guilty for not bringing a covered dish every time someone sneezes!
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part IX
Hollywood discovered Las Vegas. Maybe celebrities had always been a part of the Las Vegas landscape, but not the most popular ones. Nightclubs began to open all over town, turning the Strip into one giant "Studio 54". For some reason, any nightclub with more than one word in its name was unacceptable. Perhaps it was because clubs were opening so quickly that there just wasn't time to build a sign with a second word in the name. Light, Pure, Rain, and Blush replaced the once hip Bachannal Room. Paris Hilton and Britney Spears replaced Steve and Eydie Gorme and were routinely paid six figure fees just to show up and draw publicity for an evening.
Private jets crowded the airport runways, room rates skyrocketed, and twenty dollar bottles of liquor were sold for two hundred. Suddenly, the Strip was no longer a place where anyone could afford to escape the daily grind. The middle class was no longer welcome, or at least that's the way it felt to me. Everything became at once grander than ever, but completely off limits to those of us who work for a living. We were left standing on the sidewalks gazing at the fountains unable to afford to go inside.
The same thing happened to the suburban scenery. Developers blasted away more and more of the hillsides to build mansions. The cost of housing had become unattainable. Safeway was replaced by Whole Foods. And people whose idea of "off-road" was the driveway, suddenly began to consider driving an Escalade or a Hummer as a necessity.
Paul and I began to feel like Las Vegas had become exactly the thing that we had moved there to escape. Traffic was miserable. Prices were astronomical. Life had become an uphill battle and it was clear to us that the house of cards that built Las Vegas was about to fall. We sold our house and after two years of soul searching have relocated to Denver.
On a recent visit to Las Vegas, I found myself sitting beside an older woman who like us, had become a regular fixture at the casino bar we used to frequent. I asked her how she was doing and the look on her face was devastating. Her husband, a project manager for the biggest hotel developer in town, was soon to be out of work. The value of their house had plummeted to its lowest level in ten years. Their 401k had been nearly wiped out. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she said, "We're sixty six years old and we've lost everything. We'll never be able to retire." I was overcome by sadness, not only for my bar acquaintance, but also because the city that won my heart had come apart at the seams.The city had done to its citizens what it had once reserved only for its visitors. It had fooled them into believing that fantasy was reality and it took their money while they were too busy staring at the lights.
Mark my words, one day soon Las Vegas will be back. It will completely reinvent itself, perhaps once again into a destination where the common man can be treated like a king. I look forward to returning to the city that I love, to gaze at it's blinding lights and feel it's electricity coursing through me while simultaneously being soothed by it's warm desert breezes.
Private jets crowded the airport runways, room rates skyrocketed, and twenty dollar bottles of liquor were sold for two hundred. Suddenly, the Strip was no longer a place where anyone could afford to escape the daily grind. The middle class was no longer welcome, or at least that's the way it felt to me. Everything became at once grander than ever, but completely off limits to those of us who work for a living. We were left standing on the sidewalks gazing at the fountains unable to afford to go inside.
The same thing happened to the suburban scenery. Developers blasted away more and more of the hillsides to build mansions. The cost of housing had become unattainable. Safeway was replaced by Whole Foods. And people whose idea of "off-road" was the driveway, suddenly began to consider driving an Escalade or a Hummer as a necessity.
Paul and I began to feel like Las Vegas had become exactly the thing that we had moved there to escape. Traffic was miserable. Prices were astronomical. Life had become an uphill battle and it was clear to us that the house of cards that built Las Vegas was about to fall. We sold our house and after two years of soul searching have relocated to Denver.
On a recent visit to Las Vegas, I found myself sitting beside an older woman who like us, had become a regular fixture at the casino bar we used to frequent. I asked her how she was doing and the look on her face was devastating. Her husband, a project manager for the biggest hotel developer in town, was soon to be out of work. The value of their house had plummeted to its lowest level in ten years. Their 401k had been nearly wiped out. Tears began to well up in her eyes and she said, "We're sixty six years old and we've lost everything. We'll never be able to retire." I was overcome by sadness, not only for my bar acquaintance, but also because the city that won my heart had come apart at the seams.The city had done to its citizens what it had once reserved only for its visitors. It had fooled them into believing that fantasy was reality and it took their money while they were too busy staring at the lights.
Mark my words, one day soon Las Vegas will be back. It will completely reinvent itself, perhaps once again into a destination where the common man can be treated like a king. I look forward to returning to the city that I love, to gaze at it's blinding lights and feel it's electricity coursing through me while simultaneously being soothed by it's warm desert breezes.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part VIII
As the baby boom continued in Las Vegas, it seemed there was nowhere left to go without having your heels nipped by strollers. Thankfully, during the late 1990's, it was Steve Wynn once again to the rescue with a new project he called, "Beau Rivage". The project was to be Las Vegas' first truly upscale hotel and the most expensive to construct to-date. The hotel was built to resemble a lakefront Italian village. Inside, there was an arboretum, an art gallery, and enough fine dining to please any foodie. Eventually, the project was renamed Bellagio. It opened on a windy night and its famous fountains drenched the tuxedo-wearing VIP's who attended its private opening (much to my delight).
It was a sea of tranquility amidst an ocean of chaos. Paul and I often wandered its casino during the quiet evening midweek hours. I can't remember ever playing any of their games, but I remember early breakfasts in the coffee shop overlooking the arboretum and live music performances in its lounges, all for the cost of an admittedly overpriced cocktail.
Sure the Bellagio had art and plants and mood lighting, but there was a lack of something here that was even more apparent to me than what it had. There were no children. In fact, the hotel would not allow any visitors under the age of eighteen to enter its doors unless they were registered guests. The only shrieking I ever heard inside Bellagio was that of a slot player hitting a jackpot, not the shrill scream of child who had just soiled themselves.
Other hotels quickly took notice and a new building boom was underway. The Four Seasons, The Ritz Carlton, and expansions of existing properties, and new undertakings like the Venetian with all-suite facilities and top notch spas began to open. This new trend of understated elegance eventually trickled all the way down to the locals casinos which were no longer considered to be complete without a centerpiece bar and at least one fine dining restaurant, if not three.
The money continued to flood into Las Vegas. It was no longer the exclusive playground of the the McGuire sisters and their aged friends. Celebrities that people have actually heard of began to move in. Swanky neighborhoods were constructed as quickly as possible. Construction companies began to use dynamite to carve the hillsides in an effort to give every buyer a view of the Strip in the valley below. We sometimes attended open houses in these neighborhoods to get interior decorating ideas and to marvel at the walls of sliding glass that separated their gigantic living areas from the roman spa-like swimming pools, their home theaters, and their private wine cellars.
Suddenly it was okay to tell strangers that we were from Las Vegas. We were no longer greeted with eye rolls and snickers. Instead we were more likely to get approving smiles and envious head bobs. Las Vegas had finally begun to grow up. But then something happened.
To be continued...
It was a sea of tranquility amidst an ocean of chaos. Paul and I often wandered its casino during the quiet evening midweek hours. I can't remember ever playing any of their games, but I remember early breakfasts in the coffee shop overlooking the arboretum and live music performances in its lounges, all for the cost of an admittedly overpriced cocktail.
Sure the Bellagio had art and plants and mood lighting, but there was a lack of something here that was even more apparent to me than what it had. There were no children. In fact, the hotel would not allow any visitors under the age of eighteen to enter its doors unless they were registered guests. The only shrieking I ever heard inside Bellagio was that of a slot player hitting a jackpot, not the shrill scream of child who had just soiled themselves.
Other hotels quickly took notice and a new building boom was underway. The Four Seasons, The Ritz Carlton, and expansions of existing properties, and new undertakings like the Venetian with all-suite facilities and top notch spas began to open. This new trend of understated elegance eventually trickled all the way down to the locals casinos which were no longer considered to be complete without a centerpiece bar and at least one fine dining restaurant, if not three.
The money continued to flood into Las Vegas. It was no longer the exclusive playground of the the McGuire sisters and their aged friends. Celebrities that people have actually heard of began to move in. Swanky neighborhoods were constructed as quickly as possible. Construction companies began to use dynamite to carve the hillsides in an effort to give every buyer a view of the Strip in the valley below. We sometimes attended open houses in these neighborhoods to get interior decorating ideas and to marvel at the walls of sliding glass that separated their gigantic living areas from the roman spa-like swimming pools, their home theaters, and their private wine cellars.
Suddenly it was okay to tell strangers that we were from Las Vegas. We were no longer greeted with eye rolls and snickers. Instead we were more likely to get approving smiles and envious head bobs. Las Vegas had finally begun to grow up. But then something happened.
To be continued...
Monday, March 2, 2009
And Then There's Maude
Those of you who have been reading my blog for a while may remember that I was required by the mortgage company to sell my beloved blue sports car in order to qualify for the loan on this place. If you don't remember this, I urge you to take notes as you read. You never know when there may be a quiz.
Since then, Paul and I have been sharing one car, which is fine because we only have a 1-car garage anyway. Also, we are just a five minute walk from the nearest light rail station for those times when we may not have the car available. This worked out okay for a short time, but I grew tired of carpooling with Paul as his daily start time is 6:30 am. Those of you who know Paul will understand that if his start time is at 6:30, then he wants to arrive by 6:00. I don't know what takes place between 6:00 and 6:30 in that office every morning as none of his other coworkers ever arrived that early. Whatever it is, it is apparently important enough to drag us out of bed every morning at 4:30am .
Last week, I felt I had had enough sleep deprivation and decided to figure this train thing out. It turns out that I can grab a train in the morning at 6:55 and still be to work by 7:30, giving me an extra hour to sleep. Unfortunately a transfer to a bus is required and let's face it - I'm not a bus person. Nevertheless, this past Saturday I bought a monthly transit pass to save a few bucks on my daily commute. I had resigned myself to riding the bus and was even thinking of wearing Walmart bags for shoes like some of the other passengers I have seen at bus stops.
On Sunday, we were invited to take a drive up to Idaho Springs, a quaint mountain town, to have breakfast with my father and his wife. The plan was that we would all ride together in their car which is a comfortable Lexus SUV. Instead, they showed up in their 1998 Mercedes E320, a car they purchased new and have babied ever since. We thought it was odd that they brought the Mercedes, but they don't drive it much these days and we just thought they wanted to stretch its legs and let it breathe as it spends most of its time all cooped up in their garage.
Even stranger was the fact that they were insistent that we do the driving. We tried to talk them into taking our SUV as there is plenty of room for all, but they were oddly insistent so we gave in, piled into the Mercedes and headed for the mountains.
When we arrived at our favorite restaurant, I tried to return the keys to my father so he could drive for the rest of the day, but he refused to take the key. Instead he said something to the effect of, "Keep the key. It's your car now." My jaw dropped and we tried to refuse, but they kept insisting that they no longer had any use for the car since, unbeknownst to us, they had decided to buy a gorgeus new sedan the day before we all got together. Eventually, we gave in and accepted the car.
By today, we finally got used to the fact that the Mercedes was ours. The car has a button for everything - even lowering the rear head rests. I drove the car to work today trying to get used to all those buttons embossed with their puzzling German symbols. She's not nimble and she isn't young, but she is a fierce German frauline for sure. Paul has decided that the car's name is Maude; a German name meaning "strong in battle". Maude told me on the way home today that she has always wanted to go to Las Vegas. "We'll see Maude, we'll see. Now put your rear headrests down."
Since then, Paul and I have been sharing one car, which is fine because we only have a 1-car garage anyway. Also, we are just a five minute walk from the nearest light rail station for those times when we may not have the car available. This worked out okay for a short time, but I grew tired of carpooling with Paul as his daily start time is 6:30 am. Those of you who know Paul will understand that if his start time is at 6:30, then he wants to arrive by 6:00. I don't know what takes place between 6:00 and 6:30 in that office every morning as none of his other coworkers ever arrived that early. Whatever it is, it is apparently important enough to drag us out of bed every morning at 4:30am .
Last week, I felt I had had enough sleep deprivation and decided to figure this train thing out. It turns out that I can grab a train in the morning at 6:55 and still be to work by 7:30, giving me an extra hour to sleep. Unfortunately a transfer to a bus is required and let's face it - I'm not a bus person. Nevertheless, this past Saturday I bought a monthly transit pass to save a few bucks on my daily commute. I had resigned myself to riding the bus and was even thinking of wearing Walmart bags for shoes like some of the other passengers I have seen at bus stops.
On Sunday, we were invited to take a drive up to Idaho Springs, a quaint mountain town, to have breakfast with my father and his wife. The plan was that we would all ride together in their car which is a comfortable Lexus SUV. Instead, they showed up in their 1998 Mercedes E320, a car they purchased new and have babied ever since. We thought it was odd that they brought the Mercedes, but they don't drive it much these days and we just thought they wanted to stretch its legs and let it breathe as it spends most of its time all cooped up in their garage.
Even stranger was the fact that they were insistent that we do the driving. We tried to talk them into taking our SUV as there is plenty of room for all, but they were oddly insistent so we gave in, piled into the Mercedes and headed for the mountains.
When we arrived at our favorite restaurant, I tried to return the keys to my father so he could drive for the rest of the day, but he refused to take the key. Instead he said something to the effect of, "Keep the key. It's your car now." My jaw dropped and we tried to refuse, but they kept insisting that they no longer had any use for the car since, unbeknownst to us, they had decided to buy a gorgeus new sedan the day before we all got together. Eventually, we gave in and accepted the car.
By today, we finally got used to the fact that the Mercedes was ours. The car has a button for everything - even lowering the rear head rests. I drove the car to work today trying to get used to all those buttons embossed with their puzzling German symbols. She's not nimble and she isn't young, but she is a fierce German frauline for sure. Paul has decided that the car's name is Maude; a German name meaning "strong in battle". Maude told me on the way home today that she has always wanted to go to Las Vegas. "We'll see Maude, we'll see. Now put your rear headrests down."
Thursday, February 19, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes – Part VII
note: This week I read that another classic Las Vegas show, La Cage Aux Folles, is closing after a run of more than twenty years. Those of you who never got to see this famous female impersonator show really missed a treat, especially in its younger days when the star of the show, Frank Marino still looked like Joan Rivers. I knew the show was doomed when I noticed that Frank's plastic surgeon was unable to keep up with the frenetic pace of Joan's.
As we got to know our new home, we were somewhere between residents and tourists. We were still overcome by the excitement of it all, yet we began to understand what happened "backstage" as well. The late 1990's in Las Vegas was an exciting time. So many cranes dotted the skyline at one time that locals began to joke that the crane was the state bird of Nevada. New neighborhoods popped up and were populated seemingly overnight. Each morning on our way to work, we would note that another letter had been added to the top of the Monte Carlo's new hotel tower; "M", "MO", "MON", etc. The newspaper was always full of commentary on whether the Stratosphere was a monstrosity or an icon, and even a devastating fire couldn't slow its construction. We couldn't wait for the opening of the next big hotel, many of which were built off-strip and catered to locals. Each new hotel was bigger, more lavish, and filled with more amenities than the last.
Then it happened - The Invasion of the Crumb Snatchers. Yes, yard apes, curtain climbers, nose pickers...children. Always a playground for adults, hotels began to take notice that people with children had two things going for them - they had money and they were old enough to gamble. Topless shows began to offer "covered versions". The MGM built an amusement park. The Monte Carlo built a lazy river. The Hilton opened a Star Trek attraction. A Gameworks opened on the Strip. The inside of casinos began to look like the outside of the It's A Small World attraction at Disneyworld; strollers were everywhere.
For some, Las Vegas had changed for the better. Parents could now bring their children to swim with dolphins and ride roller coasters. But for me, the shine was off the apple. The elegantly dressed audiences that filled showrooms began to be replaced by flip flop wearing masses. On the locals scene, casinos began installing bowling alleys, movie theaters, and even indoor playgrounds. The casinos didn't care who filled their slot machines and family-friendly entertainment began to replace adult-themed entertainment all over town. The Walmart crowd had discovered Las Vegas and had claimed it for themselves.
As the city grew, so did the surrounding suburbs. On the one hand we were happy to no longer have to drive twelve miles to the nearest Home Depot. On the other hand, we found ourselves living in a smaller and smaller geographical circle. For me, the end of the excitement of Las Vegas came when parents began to complain loudly about a billboard's photo of a topless woman hiding her nipples with a pair of dice. I thought the billboard was fabulous. But the casino succumbed and took it down. Prada bags were out. Diaper bags were in.
To be continued...
As we got to know our new home, we were somewhere between residents and tourists. We were still overcome by the excitement of it all, yet we began to understand what happened "backstage" as well. The late 1990's in Las Vegas was an exciting time. So many cranes dotted the skyline at one time that locals began to joke that the crane was the state bird of Nevada. New neighborhoods popped up and were populated seemingly overnight. Each morning on our way to work, we would note that another letter had been added to the top of the Monte Carlo's new hotel tower; "M", "MO", "MON", etc. The newspaper was always full of commentary on whether the Stratosphere was a monstrosity or an icon, and even a devastating fire couldn't slow its construction. We couldn't wait for the opening of the next big hotel, many of which were built off-strip and catered to locals. Each new hotel was bigger, more lavish, and filled with more amenities than the last.
Then it happened - The Invasion of the Crumb Snatchers. Yes, yard apes, curtain climbers, nose pickers...children. Always a playground for adults, hotels began to take notice that people with children had two things going for them - they had money and they were old enough to gamble. Topless shows began to offer "covered versions". The MGM built an amusement park. The Monte Carlo built a lazy river. The Hilton opened a Star Trek attraction. A Gameworks opened on the Strip. The inside of casinos began to look like the outside of the It's A Small World attraction at Disneyworld; strollers were everywhere.
For some, Las Vegas had changed for the better. Parents could now bring their children to swim with dolphins and ride roller coasters. But for me, the shine was off the apple. The elegantly dressed audiences that filled showrooms began to be replaced by flip flop wearing masses. On the locals scene, casinos began installing bowling alleys, movie theaters, and even indoor playgrounds. The casinos didn't care who filled their slot machines and family-friendly entertainment began to replace adult-themed entertainment all over town. The Walmart crowd had discovered Las Vegas and had claimed it for themselves.
As the city grew, so did the surrounding suburbs. On the one hand we were happy to no longer have to drive twelve miles to the nearest Home Depot. On the other hand, we found ourselves living in a smaller and smaller geographical circle. For me, the end of the excitement of Las Vegas came when parents began to complain loudly about a billboard's photo of a topless woman hiding her nipples with a pair of dice. I thought the billboard was fabulous. But the casino succumbed and took it down. Prada bags were out. Diaper bags were in.
To be continued...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Surgery Update
It was a long night. Paul was released from the surgery center at the height of rush hour. By the time we got home it was nearing 6:00. He was so hungry.
The first order of business was food. But the minute that he sat down to eat, blood began to pour from his surgical dressing. True to form, the only thing he was worried about was getting it on the carpet, and not the fact that his body was leaking essential fluids.
We wrapped him up and rushed him to the emergency room. They checked the sutures, cleaned him up, redressed the wound,and ran some blood tests to make sure his blood was coagulating normally. It turns out that he just wasn't quite ready to be released from the surgical center earlier in the evening. After they patched him up and he quit leaking, they let us go home.
He is resting now, although I can't say "comfortably". The percocet seems to have a calming effect. Perhaps I should give him some of it as well!
Luckily, I can work from home as need be so he is well attended to. Again, thanks for all the get well wishes.
The first order of business was food. But the minute that he sat down to eat, blood began to pour from his surgical dressing. True to form, the only thing he was worried about was getting it on the carpet, and not the fact that his body was leaking essential fluids.
We wrapped him up and rushed him to the emergency room. They checked the sutures, cleaned him up, redressed the wound,and ran some blood tests to make sure his blood was coagulating normally. It turns out that he just wasn't quite ready to be released from the surgical center earlier in the evening. After they patched him up and he quit leaking, they let us go home.
He is resting now, although I can't say "comfortably". The percocet seems to have a calming effect. Perhaps I should give him some of it as well!
Luckily, I can work from home as need be so he is well attended to. Again, thanks for all the get well wishes.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Pauls' Surgery Went Well
For those of you following the saga, the doctor just came out to the waiting room here at the hospital and told me that Paul's shoulder surgery went fine. I haven't gone back to collect him yet, but the doctor says we will be able to go home shortly. Unfortunately, he will never play the violin again (but then he never could play the violin anyway.)
Paul will be at home recovering on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday if anyone wants to call and talk to him.
Paul will be at home recovering on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday if anyone wants to call and talk to him.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part VI
Over the next couple of years, I took Paul to Las Vegas many times to give him what I thought was the benefit of my "insider's" knowledge. I continued scanning the Sunday L.A. Times each week. One day, I came across an advertisement for a hotel I had never heard of – a place called "Sam's Town". It seems they had just built a new hotel tower that sounded unique. It turned out that the hotel was nowhere near the Strip, but by this time, I had grown accustomed to exploring outlying areas of the city and surrounding desert during my trips. I didn't care that we wouldn't be on the Strip and the rate was astonishingly low. In fact, it was so low that I apologized to Paul before we ever arrived because I was sure the place would be a dump.
To my surprise, what we discovered was a massive property marketed mostly to local Las Vegans. But this marketing concept had been combined with a hotel tower that could accommodate out-of-towners as well. What we found was a sparkling new high-rise hotel built in a square with hotel rooms along the outside edges of the square. The interior of the square contained a massive sunlit atrium filled with live plants and trees, a manmade waterfall, foot bridges, a revolving bar in the center and restaurants along the edges. The hotel's elevators were glass and offered a view of the atrium as they rose. The rooms were spotless and just as comfortable as any on the Strip. The casino was monstrous and was filled with low denomination (read affordable) machines that seemed to pay jackpots frequently. The food in the restaurants was top notch and dirt cheap, and served by the friendliest employees we had encountered. Sam's Town quickly became our little secret and it was the beginning of what came to be a huge push by other companies to provide adult playgrounds for Las Vegas locals.
During our frequent driving trips between Sam's Town and the Strip, we began to see another side of Las Vegas. This was a side that was purposely hidden from the tourists – a side that the locals kept quietly to themselves. The locals looked at the Strip as a place to avoid, or a place to work, but never a place to spend their free time. Instead they played in the outlying casinos where they actually had a chance to win. In the winter, they climbed the 1,000 foot walls of Red Rock Canyon, golfed in Death Valley, took picturesque drives through the Valley of Fire, and skied at nearby southern Utah resorts. In the summer, they boated on the waters of Lake Mead, and picnicked in the meadows atop Mount Charleston. And at the end of the day, they all went home to their brand new graffiti-free neighborhoods, sparkling swimming pools, and three-car garages.
Meanwhile, those of us in Southern California spent our time standing in line at the DMV, sitting in traffic on congested freeways, and circling endlessly trying to find a parking place near the beach. We spent our summers avoiding any areas where tourists might flock and instead took refuge in our tiny, overpriced, non-air conditioned homes. It may sound like a bargain now, but in the mid-1990's, bungalows in our neighborhood (California-speak for tiny houses with old wiring) sold in the mid-300,000's. Conversely, brand new homes in Las Vegas complete with swimming pools sold for $150,000 or less. The choice was ours to make. Continue to rent forever in the overcrowded Southern California valleys or buy our own home in Las Vegas where we could breathe and soak our toes in our own hot tub. At the end of our lease in 1995, we packed up and moved to Vegas.
Over the next 12 years, the city continued to evolve at breakneck speed. Some was for the better, some for the worse. To be continued…
To my surprise, what we discovered was a massive property marketed mostly to local Las Vegans. But this marketing concept had been combined with a hotel tower that could accommodate out-of-towners as well. What we found was a sparkling new high-rise hotel built in a square with hotel rooms along the outside edges of the square. The interior of the square contained a massive sunlit atrium filled with live plants and trees, a manmade waterfall, foot bridges, a revolving bar in the center and restaurants along the edges. The hotel's elevators were glass and offered a view of the atrium as they rose. The rooms were spotless and just as comfortable as any on the Strip. The casino was monstrous and was filled with low denomination (read affordable) machines that seemed to pay jackpots frequently. The food in the restaurants was top notch and dirt cheap, and served by the friendliest employees we had encountered. Sam's Town quickly became our little secret and it was the beginning of what came to be a huge push by other companies to provide adult playgrounds for Las Vegas locals.
During our frequent driving trips between Sam's Town and the Strip, we began to see another side of Las Vegas. This was a side that was purposely hidden from the tourists – a side that the locals kept quietly to themselves. The locals looked at the Strip as a place to avoid, or a place to work, but never a place to spend their free time. Instead they played in the outlying casinos where they actually had a chance to win. In the winter, they climbed the 1,000 foot walls of Red Rock Canyon, golfed in Death Valley, took picturesque drives through the Valley of Fire, and skied at nearby southern Utah resorts. In the summer, they boated on the waters of Lake Mead, and picnicked in the meadows atop Mount Charleston. And at the end of the day, they all went home to their brand new graffiti-free neighborhoods, sparkling swimming pools, and three-car garages.
Meanwhile, those of us in Southern California spent our time standing in line at the DMV, sitting in traffic on congested freeways, and circling endlessly trying to find a parking place near the beach. We spent our summers avoiding any areas where tourists might flock and instead took refuge in our tiny, overpriced, non-air conditioned homes. It may sound like a bargain now, but in the mid-1990's, bungalows in our neighborhood (California-speak for tiny houses with old wiring) sold in the mid-300,000's. Conversely, brand new homes in Las Vegas complete with swimming pools sold for $150,000 or less. The choice was ours to make. Continue to rent forever in the overcrowded Southern California valleys or buy our own home in Las Vegas where we could breathe and soak our toes in our own hot tub. At the end of our lease in 1995, we packed up and moved to Vegas.
Over the next 12 years, the city continued to evolve at breakneck speed. Some was for the better, some for the worse. To be continued…
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Surgery Postponed
Paul's surgery was unexpectedly postponed until next week. Thanks to those of you who have offered best wishes.
I'll try to have some new blogs up this weekend.
I'll try to have some new blogs up this weekend.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part V
Steve Wynn had a vision of what Las Vegas was to become. He brought to life several new innovations when he willed the Mirage into existence. His architects designed a never before seen layout for the hotel building consisting of three gigantic wings all accessible from the same bank of elevators, shortening the maximum walking distance from the elevator to your room. The casino was practically void of neon. He brought natural light into the casino with a towering dome shaped glass atrium. He filled the hotel with live plants ranging from palms to orchids. He added live animals from the shark tank behind the front desk to the white tigers and dolphins on display. And he built the famous volcano in front of the casino to attract passersby.
The Mirage wasn't merely large or stylish or head-turning; it was all of these things. Steve Wynn had transformed a patch of desert ground into a tropical oasis and had made it impossible for anyone walking past the Mirage to avoid coming inside, even with no cheap buffet. He had more than one-upped the competition. He had blown them away in every conceivable way, except one – value. The Mirage was always too expensive for my brother and I to enjoy as guests. Still, it created an inescapable draw for us. Though we couldn't afford to take advantage of its amenities, it drew us back to Las Vegas again and again, if only to smell the scented air of its casino. It also paved the way for a building boom that few cities on earth have seen.
Circus Circus had always been a gaudy spectacle. A walk through its casino often left me feeling a strong need to wash my hands. As one visiting friend remarked, "It smells like kindergarten." When I pressed my friend to expand on her assessment of the place, she said, "Well, you know when little school children go outside at recess to play on a hot day? And the way they all smell when they come back inside? And how they insist on rubbing against you? It smells like that." I have never been able to describe the place any better than she did.
Nevertheless, it was a cash cow that had catered to gamblers of modest means for decades with its R.V park out back and all-you-can-eat buffet consisting mostly of fried foods and gelatin desserts. The company that owned Circus Circus also changed the desert landscape forever by building their "Mirage" – Excalibur.
At its opening, Excalibur was the largest hotel in the world with over 4,000 rooms. At two people per room, the hotel could have housed 2% of the entire population of the metropolitan Las Vegas area on any given night. The hotel was twice the size of the Mirage, yet it cost less than half as much to build. Its construction was paid for entirely in cash – no construction loan required. Knowing the reputation of the company that owned Circus Circus, our expectations were low. My brother and I knew that the place would fail miserably. How could they possibly fill all those hotel rooms? Surely the place would go bust quickly. We had to see this monstrosity for ourselves.
Our first inspection of the hotel's exterior was exactly what we had expected to see. It appeared to be built from cinder block and it was topped with what looked like turrets made of plastic. It looked more like it belonged on a miniature golf course for giants than on the Las Vegas Strip.
Once inside the cinder block walls, we quickly figured out what had happened to all the neon lighting that the Mirage designers had decided not to purchase. It was everywhere here, spinning and flashing and making us wince. Most of all, I remember my brother's look of astonishment and his comment as he gazed upon the acres of grotesque casino carpet being trod upon by hundreds of gamblers. "There's a butt for every seat!" Little did I know how prophetic those words were. A simple joke uttered inside the Excalibur turned out to be the city's mantra for years to come.
Shortly after that trip, my brother moved to Northern California where he met his wife. I stayed behind in Southern California where I met Paul. My brother and I never got to take another trip that I can remember – just the two of us. Things were changing quickly in my life. And Las Vegas was about to evolve into something else for me besides a getaway destination. It was about to become my home.
To be continued…
The Mirage wasn't merely large or stylish or head-turning; it was all of these things. Steve Wynn had transformed a patch of desert ground into a tropical oasis and had made it impossible for anyone walking past the Mirage to avoid coming inside, even with no cheap buffet. He had more than one-upped the competition. He had blown them away in every conceivable way, except one – value. The Mirage was always too expensive for my brother and I to enjoy as guests. Still, it created an inescapable draw for us. Though we couldn't afford to take advantage of its amenities, it drew us back to Las Vegas again and again, if only to smell the scented air of its casino. It also paved the way for a building boom that few cities on earth have seen.
Circus Circus had always been a gaudy spectacle. A walk through its casino often left me feeling a strong need to wash my hands. As one visiting friend remarked, "It smells like kindergarten." When I pressed my friend to expand on her assessment of the place, she said, "Well, you know when little school children go outside at recess to play on a hot day? And the way they all smell when they come back inside? And how they insist on rubbing against you? It smells like that." I have never been able to describe the place any better than she did.
Nevertheless, it was a cash cow that had catered to gamblers of modest means for decades with its R.V park out back and all-you-can-eat buffet consisting mostly of fried foods and gelatin desserts. The company that owned Circus Circus also changed the desert landscape forever by building their "Mirage" – Excalibur.
At its opening, Excalibur was the largest hotel in the world with over 4,000 rooms. At two people per room, the hotel could have housed 2% of the entire population of the metropolitan Las Vegas area on any given night. The hotel was twice the size of the Mirage, yet it cost less than half as much to build. Its construction was paid for entirely in cash – no construction loan required. Knowing the reputation of the company that owned Circus Circus, our expectations were low. My brother and I knew that the place would fail miserably. How could they possibly fill all those hotel rooms? Surely the place would go bust quickly. We had to see this monstrosity for ourselves.
Our first inspection of the hotel's exterior was exactly what we had expected to see. It appeared to be built from cinder block and it was topped with what looked like turrets made of plastic. It looked more like it belonged on a miniature golf course for giants than on the Las Vegas Strip.
Once inside the cinder block walls, we quickly figured out what had happened to all the neon lighting that the Mirage designers had decided not to purchase. It was everywhere here, spinning and flashing and making us wince. Most of all, I remember my brother's look of astonishment and his comment as he gazed upon the acres of grotesque casino carpet being trod upon by hundreds of gamblers. "There's a butt for every seat!" Little did I know how prophetic those words were. A simple joke uttered inside the Excalibur turned out to be the city's mantra for years to come.
Shortly after that trip, my brother moved to Northern California where he met his wife. I stayed behind in Southern California where I met Paul. My brother and I never got to take another trip that I can remember – just the two of us. Things were changing quickly in my life. And Las Vegas was about to evolve into something else for me besides a getaway destination. It was about to become my home.
To be continued…
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part IV
The next morning I left for my new home in California. But I now had a soft spot in my heart for Las Vegas. It was a place of unrivaled unreality, yet at the same time it was very real. It was an escape from the everyday where anyone could feel exuberant and glamorous – even become someone else for a few days, perhaps a Roman Emperor.
Over the next few years, living in California, my younger brother served as my roommate and best friend. An airline executive today, he was a car salesman at the time often working what he called “bell to bell”, meaning twelve hour days – sometimes longer. It was a job he was not ultimately cut out to do because his only interest was in providing customers with the best value and this was not the most lucrative way to operate. I was making a small hourly wage reviewing closed mortgage packages. From there I went on to become a waiter at a coffee shop. Neither of us ever had much money to spend and we often had days off together during the middle of the week when car dealerships and restaurants were less busy.
We looked forward each week to the Sunday L.A. Times which always had a section devoted to Las Vegas in it. There was usually some inconsequential fluff story about Las Vegas that was followed by advertisements for cheap hotel rooms. It was the first page we turned to and sometimes the only page we read.
Las Vegas was full of incredible deals. We stayed in suites at the Rio for $39.00. We stayed at Bally’s for $25.00 per night. We stayed everywhere a deal was to be had, developing a list of favorites as we went. Perhaps the best deal we ever scored was a room at Whiskey Pete’s on the California/Nevada border for $16.00 per night. When we arrived, we marveled at the brand new hotel rooms at Whiskey Pete’s, complete with shower gel – a new relatively concoction. We laughed as I insisted that my brother give me his $8.00 to compensate me for his half of the room, as if I was a gangster collecting on a large debt. Each time we went to Las Vegas we were amazed to find that the hotels clean, more than comfortable, and sometimes downright luxurious compared to our simple apartment.
We were the kings of the coupon books. We had loyalty to no particular casino and would go wherever we could eat and drink the cheapest, scanning all the marquees carefully for food and drink specials. We could eat so much food at a buffet that we swore the casino would have to turn out a light or two to recoup their profits. Along the way, we discovered that no matter how inexpensive, some buffets were not worth the price of entry. The cheapest buffet we ever found was a breakfast buffet for 99 cents. The buffet hostess gave us a number and promised to call us to our table shortly. We passed our time each losing $10.00 worth of quarters in a video blackjack machine. Once seated in the buffet we were disappointed to find cold food prepared without any care for its appearance or flavor. Our disgusting breakfast had cost us each $11.00. As we left that buffet feeling taken advantage of, my brother remarked, “I will not eat green eggs and ham.” That line became our mantra in the years to come as we sought only value for our money, rather than rock bottom prices. From that day on, we often enjoyed the breakfast buffet at Caesars Palace with its freshly squeezed juice, custom-made omelets, crispy bacon, and $5.99 price tag – no waiting.
Over the years, we became part of a tourist subculture that came to Las Vegas to take advantage of its cheap rooms, plentiful buffets, and free drinks. We slept in suites with floor-to-ceiling Strip views at the Rio. We sipped drinks in the Mahogony lined bar on the 34th floor of the Landmark. We drove down Glitter Gulch, marveling at the lights of The Mint. We took advantage of the spas and pools. We always came home rested and we often spent less than $100.00 each on an entire trip. We knew who had the best rooms, the best food, the cheapest drinks, and the lowest blackjack minimums. Las Vegas had become not only an escape from reality but also a way for two average Joes to unwind and feel like something better than average, if only for a short time. It was a place where we could go and forget about serving food and selling cars. It was a welcome respite from the daily drone of life. And then a man named Steve Wynn came along.
To be continued…
Over the next few years, living in California, my younger brother served as my roommate and best friend. An airline executive today, he was a car salesman at the time often working what he called “bell to bell”, meaning twelve hour days – sometimes longer. It was a job he was not ultimately cut out to do because his only interest was in providing customers with the best value and this was not the most lucrative way to operate. I was making a small hourly wage reviewing closed mortgage packages. From there I went on to become a waiter at a coffee shop. Neither of us ever had much money to spend and we often had days off together during the middle of the week when car dealerships and restaurants were less busy.
We looked forward each week to the Sunday L.A. Times which always had a section devoted to Las Vegas in it. There was usually some inconsequential fluff story about Las Vegas that was followed by advertisements for cheap hotel rooms. It was the first page we turned to and sometimes the only page we read.
Las Vegas was full of incredible deals. We stayed in suites at the Rio for $39.00. We stayed at Bally’s for $25.00 per night. We stayed everywhere a deal was to be had, developing a list of favorites as we went. Perhaps the best deal we ever scored was a room at Whiskey Pete’s on the California/Nevada border for $16.00 per night. When we arrived, we marveled at the brand new hotel rooms at Whiskey Pete’s, complete with shower gel – a new relatively concoction. We laughed as I insisted that my brother give me his $8.00 to compensate me for his half of the room, as if I was a gangster collecting on a large debt. Each time we went to Las Vegas we were amazed to find that the hotels clean, more than comfortable, and sometimes downright luxurious compared to our simple apartment.
We were the kings of the coupon books. We had loyalty to no particular casino and would go wherever we could eat and drink the cheapest, scanning all the marquees carefully for food and drink specials. We could eat so much food at a buffet that we swore the casino would have to turn out a light or two to recoup their profits. Along the way, we discovered that no matter how inexpensive, some buffets were not worth the price of entry. The cheapest buffet we ever found was a breakfast buffet for 99 cents. The buffet hostess gave us a number and promised to call us to our table shortly. We passed our time each losing $10.00 worth of quarters in a video blackjack machine. Once seated in the buffet we were disappointed to find cold food prepared without any care for its appearance or flavor. Our disgusting breakfast had cost us each $11.00. As we left that buffet feeling taken advantage of, my brother remarked, “I will not eat green eggs and ham.” That line became our mantra in the years to come as we sought only value for our money, rather than rock bottom prices. From that day on, we often enjoyed the breakfast buffet at Caesars Palace with its freshly squeezed juice, custom-made omelets, crispy bacon, and $5.99 price tag – no waiting.
Over the years, we became part of a tourist subculture that came to Las Vegas to take advantage of its cheap rooms, plentiful buffets, and free drinks. We slept in suites with floor-to-ceiling Strip views at the Rio. We sipped drinks in the Mahogony lined bar on the 34th floor of the Landmark. We drove down Glitter Gulch, marveling at the lights of The Mint. We took advantage of the spas and pools. We always came home rested and we often spent less than $100.00 each on an entire trip. We knew who had the best rooms, the best food, the cheapest drinks, and the lowest blackjack minimums. Las Vegas had become not only an escape from reality but also a way for two average Joes to unwind and feel like something better than average, if only for a short time. It was a place where we could go and forget about serving food and selling cars. It was a welcome respite from the daily drone of life. And then a man named Steve Wynn came along.
To be continued…
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part III
Encouraged by my recent good fortune, I succumbed to the Dunes’ enticing marquee and walked into the closest annex of the Dunes casino, an extension of the main casino called the “Dunes Oasis”. In later years, I heard locals refer to it as the Dunes “O’anus”, but it was the first time I’d ever seen the inside of a large casino so it was exciting to me.
The entrance to the casino was flanked by neon palm trees. The vibrant carpet inside was dizzying. In years to come, my younger brother and I often wondered whose job it was to look at a swatch of wildly colored carpet, and place an order with confidence, “We’ll take three acres of the pink and orange stuff.”
Each side of the main Dunes Oasis interior walkway was lined with gaming tables. I stood looking at the top of one of them, trying to understand the layout. There were no other players at the table. The dealer could tell that I was apprehensive so she said that she would be happy to teach me to play. Nervously, I followed her instructions and plunked down a few dollars to exchange for chips. The table minimum was high - $3.00, but I bravely sat down at the table anyway, putting myself in the dealer’s hands. I don’t remember now whether I won or lost, but either way it was fascinating and I had finally had the chance to sit at a real blackjack table and play!
I left the Oasis with renewed confidence and made my way toward the big daddy of them all – Caesars Palace. Years after my first visit, I read a book that explained that “Caesars Palace” has no apostrophe in its name because the casino was not the Palace belonging to a specific “Caesar”. It was a palace that belonged to all who entered its doors, and we were all “Caesars” – emperors to be adored and worshipped with excess. Though gigantic compared to its neighbors, Caesars only had one gaming area with tables. There was also a high limit slot area, some less expensive slots scattered around, and of course their famous newly built sports book with its theater sized screens. The whole place was much smaller than what is considered today to be the acceptable size of a casino aimed at local players.
The main gaming area was a round room, called the "Olympic Casino" which still exists today I believe. The ceiling had rows of crystals hanging in lines that met in the center of the room’s opulent domed ceiling. The dealers all wore medallions with the likeness of an emperor on them. Some of the customers wore these medallions as well, but only a few. It was immediately understood that to wear one these medallions meant that you were a VIP – an invited guest of the casino.
There were dozens of gorgeous cocktail waitresses working the crowd, all wearing what appeared to be roman togas that were cut short to show off their shapely legs. The head of each cocktail waitress was crowned with a perfect cone of hair whose end supported a long strands that hung down to the waitresses’ shoulders. It was years before I realized that these were actually wigs.
Betting minimums at Caesars Palace were higher than at the Dunes. The lowest I could find was an astronomical $5.00 per hand or spin of the wheel. I was far too nervous to play blackjack here, but I was intrigued by the roulette wheel. I understood nothing about the game, but I was sure that if I restricted my bet to red or black that I could feign confidence.
I placed a few dollars on the table and was handed a couple of $5.00 chips. I put one of the chips on black and surveyed the other players. The other players were dressed so elegantly. One older man and his wife looked like they had come from a black tie function. She wore an aqua full-length evening dress and had taken great pains to match her eye shadow. Carefully created grey curls hung down in front of her bejeweled ears. The other players bet wildly spreading their brightly colored chips all over the center of the table. Somehow, the croupier managed to straighten up everyone’s chips before the roulette ball fell into a slot on the wheel. While the players waited breathlessly, most puffed away on complementary cigarettes they had just plucked from a large highly polished wooden box that was kept full by the casino.
The ball fell and bounced around the wheel before coming to rest in a black slot. Some players whooped while others remained quiet and stone faced. The mounting tension was too much for me to handle so I scooped up my two $5.00 chips and made my way to the cashier’s cage.
To be continued...
The entrance to the casino was flanked by neon palm trees. The vibrant carpet inside was dizzying. In years to come, my younger brother and I often wondered whose job it was to look at a swatch of wildly colored carpet, and place an order with confidence, “We’ll take three acres of the pink and orange stuff.”
Each side of the main Dunes Oasis interior walkway was lined with gaming tables. I stood looking at the top of one of them, trying to understand the layout. There were no other players at the table. The dealer could tell that I was apprehensive so she said that she would be happy to teach me to play. Nervously, I followed her instructions and plunked down a few dollars to exchange for chips. The table minimum was high - $3.00, but I bravely sat down at the table anyway, putting myself in the dealer’s hands. I don’t remember now whether I won or lost, but either way it was fascinating and I had finally had the chance to sit at a real blackjack table and play!
I left the Oasis with renewed confidence and made my way toward the big daddy of them all – Caesars Palace. Years after my first visit, I read a book that explained that “Caesars Palace” has no apostrophe in its name because the casino was not the Palace belonging to a specific “Caesar”. It was a palace that belonged to all who entered its doors, and we were all “Caesars” – emperors to be adored and worshipped with excess. Though gigantic compared to its neighbors, Caesars only had one gaming area with tables. There was also a high limit slot area, some less expensive slots scattered around, and of course their famous newly built sports book with its theater sized screens. The whole place was much smaller than what is considered today to be the acceptable size of a casino aimed at local players.
The main gaming area was a round room, called the "Olympic Casino" which still exists today I believe. The ceiling had rows of crystals hanging in lines that met in the center of the room’s opulent domed ceiling. The dealers all wore medallions with the likeness of an emperor on them. Some of the customers wore these medallions as well, but only a few. It was immediately understood that to wear one these medallions meant that you were a VIP – an invited guest of the casino.
There were dozens of gorgeous cocktail waitresses working the crowd, all wearing what appeared to be roman togas that were cut short to show off their shapely legs. The head of each cocktail waitress was crowned with a perfect cone of hair whose end supported a long strands that hung down to the waitresses’ shoulders. It was years before I realized that these were actually wigs.
Betting minimums at Caesars Palace were higher than at the Dunes. The lowest I could find was an astronomical $5.00 per hand or spin of the wheel. I was far too nervous to play blackjack here, but I was intrigued by the roulette wheel. I understood nothing about the game, but I was sure that if I restricted my bet to red or black that I could feign confidence.
I placed a few dollars on the table and was handed a couple of $5.00 chips. I put one of the chips on black and surveyed the other players. The other players were dressed so elegantly. One older man and his wife looked like they had come from a black tie function. She wore an aqua full-length evening dress and had taken great pains to match her eye shadow. Carefully created grey curls hung down in front of her bejeweled ears. The other players bet wildly spreading their brightly colored chips all over the center of the table. Somehow, the croupier managed to straighten up everyone’s chips before the roulette ball fell into a slot on the wheel. While the players waited breathlessly, most puffed away on complementary cigarettes they had just plucked from a large highly polished wooden box that was kept full by the casino.
The ball fell and bounced around the wheel before coming to rest in a black slot. Some players whooped while others remained quiet and stone faced. The mounting tension was too much for me to handle so I scooped up my two $5.00 chips and made my way to the cashier’s cage.
To be continued...
Monday, January 19, 2009
Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep
Yesterday, the weather was so spectacular that we just had to get out for a drive in the mountains. We came across a herd of bighorn sheep, the Colorado state animal. According to the web, they are found only in the Rocky Mountains. Aren't they beautiful?
Friday, January 16, 2009
Las Vegas Through My Eyes - Part II
With less than a hundred dollars to my name, I couldn’t afford to gamble. But I had never been in Las Vegas before, so I had to try at least once didn’t I? I made my way down to the motel’s small casino where there were about twenty slot machines to choose from. It seemed that no two were alike. The whole process of gambling intimidated me, but I assumed that I would need to buy a roll of quarters from the cashier. The universal ease of playing a slot machine had not been lost on me.
I made my way to a slot machine and begin inserting quarters and pulling the handle. Within a few pulls, three red 7’s appeared on behind the glass. I had hit a jackpot! A large casually dressed woman sidled over to me to tell me that she had been playing that machine all weekend and asked if she could borrow a few dollars of my jackpot. I declined and put all my quarters into a plastic bucket so the cashier could change them into folding money. I walked out of the little casino with eighty or ninety dollars that I didn’t have just moments before! I was all alone and surrounded by neon. I felt grown up – invigorated – excited by the possibilities of the night. Who knew what I would see and experience?
I walked toward the Strip from the motel. In those days, the Strip was much smaller, but seemed even more out of place against the suburban streets that surrounded it than it does today. The whole city had maybe 400,000 residents. Any building that was more than ten stories tall looked mammoth compared to the surrounding small suburban structures.
When I reached the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard, I was like a deer in headlights – neon headlights. The buildings themselves were not particularly impressive; but the marquees were a sight to see! The Dunes sat on the site where the Bellagio stands today. Its marquee must have been twenty stories tall. The whole thing was lined in red neon whose bulbs were illuminated in succession making the lights appear to snake up the sign's humongous support beams ending at a point at the top shaped somewhat like a spade on a playing card.
The top of the marquee advertised the showroom’s latest topless review. It had a name that exuded electricity, excitement and burlesque – all in two words. The show producer’s name was proudly displayed over the show’s name as if that would make it even more compelling to come and see the show. I had never heard of this show’s producer but I was sure that everyone else had.
There were no pedestrian bridges allowing people to stroll slowly from casino to casino, just throngs of people and cars all converged on the same intersection. All of the people were very enthusiastic and you could tell there was something different about this crowd. Cars and people jostled through the intersection seeing which group could push the other out of the way. The lights of the marquees danced and sang. Bally’s, The Dunes, The Flamingo Hilton, and Caesars Palace all jockeyed for position enticing customers with food, drink, shows, and loose slots. There was a charge in the air that was palpable. There was an unspoken promise being whispered to my subconscious by all that surrounded me; a promise of earthly pleasures and excitement just waiting to be plucked as easily as picking up a penny from the ground.
To be continued…
I made my way to a slot machine and begin inserting quarters and pulling the handle. Within a few pulls, three red 7’s appeared on behind the glass. I had hit a jackpot! A large casually dressed woman sidled over to me to tell me that she had been playing that machine all weekend and asked if she could borrow a few dollars of my jackpot. I declined and put all my quarters into a plastic bucket so the cashier could change them into folding money. I walked out of the little casino with eighty or ninety dollars that I didn’t have just moments before! I was all alone and surrounded by neon. I felt grown up – invigorated – excited by the possibilities of the night. Who knew what I would see and experience?
I walked toward the Strip from the motel. In those days, the Strip was much smaller, but seemed even more out of place against the suburban streets that surrounded it than it does today. The whole city had maybe 400,000 residents. Any building that was more than ten stories tall looked mammoth compared to the surrounding small suburban structures.
When I reached the corner of Flamingo Road and Las Vegas Boulevard, I was like a deer in headlights – neon headlights. The buildings themselves were not particularly impressive; but the marquees were a sight to see! The Dunes sat on the site where the Bellagio stands today. Its marquee must have been twenty stories tall. The whole thing was lined in red neon whose bulbs were illuminated in succession making the lights appear to snake up the sign's humongous support beams ending at a point at the top shaped somewhat like a spade on a playing card.
The top of the marquee advertised the showroom’s latest topless review. It had a name that exuded electricity, excitement and burlesque – all in two words. The show producer’s name was proudly displayed over the show’s name as if that would make it even more compelling to come and see the show. I had never heard of this show’s producer but I was sure that everyone else had.
There were no pedestrian bridges allowing people to stroll slowly from casino to casino, just throngs of people and cars all converged on the same intersection. All of the people were very enthusiastic and you could tell there was something different about this crowd. Cars and people jostled through the intersection seeing which group could push the other out of the way. The lights of the marquees danced and sang. Bally’s, The Dunes, The Flamingo Hilton, and Caesars Palace all jockeyed for position enticing customers with food, drink, shows, and loose slots. There was a charge in the air that was palpable. There was an unspoken promise being whispered to my subconscious by all that surrounded me; a promise of earthly pleasures and excitement just waiting to be plucked as easily as picking up a penny from the ground.
To be continued…
Las Vegas Through My Eyes – Part I
Las Vegas has had a major impact on my life. I experienced it both as a tourist and as a resident over the course of twenty years. For better or worse, it’s part of the fabric of who I am.
Yesterday, I read with sadness that the Folies Bergere in Las Vegas is closing. The Folies Bergere was the last of two traditional Vegas revues with gorgeous topless showgirls and fantastic costumes. When I first began visiting Las Vegas some twenty years ago, shows like this not only provided entertainment, they made the audience members feel glamorous as well. They were unlike anything that could be experienced anywhere else in the United States and they had an effect on me, along with the rest of the Vegas experience, of removing me from the reality of daily life. They transported audience members to a gentler time when people still dressed up to go to dinner. It made me nostalgic and I thought I'd write about some of my experiences in Las Vegas and how I watched it evolve over the years.
I first experienced Las Vegas while passing through on my way from Denver to Los Angeles. I had just turned twenty one and I was flat broke. My younger brother had an available bedroom in his apartment in Southern California and had invited me to come and start a new life. Real estate was booming in California and I quickly landed a job shuffling mortgage paperwork for World Savings in Costa Mesa, California while I was still living in Denver. On a July Friday afternoon, I loaded up my convertible with what few possessions I had and that night I hit the road.
My mom had booked a room for me in a motel that she had seen from her hotel window during past trips to Las Vegas. The motel had looked clean to her and it was cheap. I drove all night long through the Utah desert and arrived in Las Vegas just before noon the next day. I hauled my television and my microwave upstairs to my motel room to keep them from being stolen. Those of you who remember how heavy even small appliances used to be will know that this was no easy feat. I cranked up my noisy wall air conditioner and quickly passed out from exhaustion. Several hours later, I woke up refreshed and ready to see what I could see of Las Vegas that night, knowing I had to hit the road in the morning. I had a new job to start on Monday and I still had three hundred miles to drive.
To be continued…
Yesterday, I read with sadness that the Folies Bergere in Las Vegas is closing. The Folies Bergere was the last of two traditional Vegas revues with gorgeous topless showgirls and fantastic costumes. When I first began visiting Las Vegas some twenty years ago, shows like this not only provided entertainment, they made the audience members feel glamorous as well. They were unlike anything that could be experienced anywhere else in the United States and they had an effect on me, along with the rest of the Vegas experience, of removing me from the reality of daily life. They transported audience members to a gentler time when people still dressed up to go to dinner. It made me nostalgic and I thought I'd write about some of my experiences in Las Vegas and how I watched it evolve over the years.
I first experienced Las Vegas while passing through on my way from Denver to Los Angeles. I had just turned twenty one and I was flat broke. My younger brother had an available bedroom in his apartment in Southern California and had invited me to come and start a new life. Real estate was booming in California and I quickly landed a job shuffling mortgage paperwork for World Savings in Costa Mesa, California while I was still living in Denver. On a July Friday afternoon, I loaded up my convertible with what few possessions I had and that night I hit the road.
My mom had booked a room for me in a motel that she had seen from her hotel window during past trips to Las Vegas. The motel had looked clean to her and it was cheap. I drove all night long through the Utah desert and arrived in Las Vegas just before noon the next day. I hauled my television and my microwave upstairs to my motel room to keep them from being stolen. Those of you who remember how heavy even small appliances used to be will know that this was no easy feat. I cranked up my noisy wall air conditioner and quickly passed out from exhaustion. Several hours later, I woke up refreshed and ready to see what I could see of Las Vegas that night, knowing I had to hit the road in the morning. I had a new job to start on Monday and I still had three hundred miles to drive.
To be continued…
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
So This Is Winter
You know how the weather seems to stay clear until you wash the car? Well, as I write this I can’t help thinking that the Gods are getting ready to wallop Denver with mounds of snow and frigid temperatures because I wrote this blog. My, I’m self-important aren’t I?
Before we moved here, I was really uneasy about how we would deal with the winter season. We haven’t lived in a climate where average daily highs fall below fifty degrees in over twenty years. But we have had it really easy so far. Most all of the snow that has fallen has been restricted to the mountains, where the ski resorts and the Colorado River benefit. So far, we haven’t had more than two or three inches at a time down here in Denver. We did have a couple of days of cold, but it was quickly over, even warming up to the sixty degree mark.
I see on the news today that the Plains are dealing with unbelievably frigid temperatures – as low as thirty seven degrees below zero! Yet we are supposed to climb to somewhere just under fifty degrees here. Those of you in California and Florida may think that fifty degrees sounds cold, but those of you in the Midwest know that fifty degrees is practically barbecue weather.
And so we wait and we watch as the Midwest gets the worst of the winter season, wondering when our turn will come. And surely it will. For those of you suffering in the cold right now, our thoughts are with you. Stay warm and safe. And hey, you can always come to Denver for a weekend warm up.
Before we moved here, I was really uneasy about how we would deal with the winter season. We haven’t lived in a climate where average daily highs fall below fifty degrees in over twenty years. But we have had it really easy so far. Most all of the snow that has fallen has been restricted to the mountains, where the ski resorts and the Colorado River benefit. So far, we haven’t had more than two or three inches at a time down here in Denver. We did have a couple of days of cold, but it was quickly over, even warming up to the sixty degree mark.
I see on the news today that the Plains are dealing with unbelievably frigid temperatures – as low as thirty seven degrees below zero! Yet we are supposed to climb to somewhere just under fifty degrees here. Those of you in California and Florida may think that fifty degrees sounds cold, but those of you in the Midwest know that fifty degrees is practically barbecue weather.
And so we wait and we watch as the Midwest gets the worst of the winter season, wondering when our turn will come. And surely it will. For those of you suffering in the cold right now, our thoughts are with you. Stay warm and safe. And hey, you can always come to Denver for a weekend warm up.
Friday, January 2, 2009
The Omen
Yesterday, Paul and I took advantage of the holiday to go skiing at Copper Mountain. We rented skis, bought $150.00 worth of "discount lift tickets", and drove two hours to the ski resort. We had a couple of very short runs just to get the hang of it again before taking a lift all the way to the top of the mountain. Following beginner trails, we slowly made our way all the way from the top of the mountain to the bottom, where we had decided we would get a cup of coffee and have a rest break. It was a great day.
Three hundred yards from the bottom of the mountain, Paul gently took his first tumble of the day. He had lost a ski, so as I approached, I stopped to retrieve the ski so that I could hand it to him where he lay a few yards down the slope. While I bent to get the ski, I expected him to prop himself up and dust himself off so we could finish the run. But instead, I arrived to see his nose scraped and swelling up and him unable to lift himself off the slope.
It seems he had fallen in just such a way that he hit shoulder first, with the face following along. The ski patrol had to bring him down on a stretcher/toboggan. Once at the bottom, he was taken by ambulance to the medical center where they confirmed that he had broken his arm in the shoulder area. Today, we are off to speak with the orthopedic surgeon.
Is this a sign of things to come? Well, happy damn New Year to you too!
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Peas On Earth. Gouda Wheel. Two Men.
This year has sure had its ups and downs. But we remained healthy, warm, and fed for another year. We attended no funerals and visited no emergency rooms. It seems that in these times, this is the best we can expect. And I for one, will consider it to be a triumph.
It has been a real pleasure to share my thoughts with you all this past year. My wish for the new year is to be able to see many of you personally. My new year's resolution is to make every effort to visit those of you in Minnesota, Nevada, California, Texas (and yes, even Florida), if only for a long weekend. You all have an open invitation to visit us here in Colorado where we would be overjoyed to show you the sights. I think the greatest gift I could receive would be your continued friendship and to have it in person would be just wonderful.
We truly wish each of you health, love, and comfort in the new year. Happy New Year to each of you.
With warmest wishes,
Jon and Paul
It has been a real pleasure to share my thoughts with you all this past year. My wish for the new year is to be able to see many of you personally. My new year's resolution is to make every effort to visit those of you in Minnesota, Nevada, California, Texas (and yes, even Florida), if only for a long weekend. You all have an open invitation to visit us here in Colorado where we would be overjoyed to show you the sights. I think the greatest gift I could receive would be your continued friendship and to have it in person would be just wonderful.
We truly wish each of you health, love, and comfort in the new year. Happy New Year to each of you.
With warmest wishes,
Jon and Paul
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Forty Drunk Santas
Paul works on Saturdays which makes it impossible to have weekend getaways. But we were both feeling frazzled lately, so I decided it might be fun to have a Saturday night getaway in downtown Denver. As usual, we are on the tightest of budgets, but travelling on the cheap is practically a game for me. I thought a nice hotel, a quiet dinner, and maybe a smart cocktail would be fun. I thought we could enjoy the holiday lights and maybe even do a little window shopping. Oh, the best laid plans.
The weekend started off with a successful bid on Priceline for a 4-star hotel in the downtown area for $59.00 - score! We were booked at the Hyatt Regency. While Paul worked, I took the light rail to the Hyatt on Saturday afternoon and checked in. But all they had were rooms with two double beds. I started negotiating with the front desk, but after checking in and out of two different rooms, I succumbed to paying an upcharge for a junior suite. My $59.00 room just became $109.00, plus tax. Cha-ching. Oh well, it was a nice room.
I found that the Hyatt has a bar on the 27th floor and it sounded like the perfect place to unwind. As Paul rode into town on the train from his job, I grabbed a table by the window and ordered some sort of espresso martini concoction and settled in to wait. $12.00. Cha-ching.
His train was running late and my drink was empty, so I ordered a scotch and continued waiting. $12.00 Cha-ching.
Shortly before he arrived, I had the server bring another scotch for me a and a glass of wine for him. $23.00. Cha-ching. Oh well, I've been holding this table for almost two hours and I'm not going to leave before he gets here. Besides, it was a such a serene place to relax and enjoy the view as the sun went down.
About two minutes before Paul arrived, approximately forty drunken revelers dressed like Santa Claus invaded the bar - some carrying signs reading "Less Cookies - More Ho's"! Apparently it was a group of bar-hopping Santas that grew larger as the night went on. Imagine the scene from Trading Places where Dan Akroyd, dressed as Santa, gets drunk and crashes the Christmas party of the company that fired him, but multiply it times forty. Hotel security swarmed in to monitor the situation, but how could they evict Santa Claus - especially when Santa is wearing fishnet stockings? While we tried to talk over the drunken Santas, Paul had a second glass of wine. $11.00. Cha-ching.
Next we decided to have dinner. With the budget fairly blown, we decided to settle for hamburgers at Johnny Rockets. So much for the quiet dinner.
After dinner, we found a nice bar where we spent another small fortune. While inside, the temperatures outside plummeted so low, that any television weather personality would just simply have given the temperature as "damn cold". I mean at some point, does it really matter what the number is? We high-tailed it back to the Hyatt where we each had a cup of coffee with a splash of Baileys before bed. $24.00. Cha-ching.
This morning it was so cold outside that our plans to spend the day window shopping and soaking up the holiday cheer were dashed. We had a terrific breakfast at a little coffee shop, but then caught the train straight home.
All in all it was still fun, but things just never turn out the way we plan them do they? Hey, at least one of the drunk Santas gave me a handful of Hershey's Kisses - no charge.
The weekend started off with a successful bid on Priceline for a 4-star hotel in the downtown area for $59.00 - score! We were booked at the Hyatt Regency. While Paul worked, I took the light rail to the Hyatt on Saturday afternoon and checked in. But all they had were rooms with two double beds. I started negotiating with the front desk, but after checking in and out of two different rooms, I succumbed to paying an upcharge for a junior suite. My $59.00 room just became $109.00, plus tax. Cha-ching. Oh well, it was a nice room.
I found that the Hyatt has a bar on the 27th floor and it sounded like the perfect place to unwind. As Paul rode into town on the train from his job, I grabbed a table by the window and ordered some sort of espresso martini concoction and settled in to wait. $12.00. Cha-ching.
His train was running late and my drink was empty, so I ordered a scotch and continued waiting. $12.00 Cha-ching.
Shortly before he arrived, I had the server bring another scotch for me a and a glass of wine for him. $23.00. Cha-ching. Oh well, I've been holding this table for almost two hours and I'm not going to leave before he gets here. Besides, it was a such a serene place to relax and enjoy the view as the sun went down.
About two minutes before Paul arrived, approximately forty drunken revelers dressed like Santa Claus invaded the bar - some carrying signs reading "Less Cookies - More Ho's"! Apparently it was a group of bar-hopping Santas that grew larger as the night went on. Imagine the scene from Trading Places where Dan Akroyd, dressed as Santa, gets drunk and crashes the Christmas party of the company that fired him, but multiply it times forty. Hotel security swarmed in to monitor the situation, but how could they evict Santa Claus - especially when Santa is wearing fishnet stockings? While we tried to talk over the drunken Santas, Paul had a second glass of wine. $11.00. Cha-ching.
Next we decided to have dinner. With the budget fairly blown, we decided to settle for hamburgers at Johnny Rockets. So much for the quiet dinner.
After dinner, we found a nice bar where we spent another small fortune. While inside, the temperatures outside plummeted so low, that any television weather personality would just simply have given the temperature as "damn cold". I mean at some point, does it really matter what the number is? We high-tailed it back to the Hyatt where we each had a cup of coffee with a splash of Baileys before bed. $24.00. Cha-ching.
This morning it was so cold outside that our plans to spend the day window shopping and soaking up the holiday cheer were dashed. We had a terrific breakfast at a little coffee shop, but then caught the train straight home.
All in all it was still fun, but things just never turn out the way we plan them do they? Hey, at least one of the drunk Santas gave me a handful of Hershey's Kisses - no charge.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Hell Has Frozen Over
I can't keep my car clean here in Denver. You see, every time I wash it, it snows, turning my evening commute into a scene that looks like a combination between a monster truck rally and some kind of mud wrestling competition.
I have decided that there are two kinds of winter. The first kind is the kind we all hear about in holiday songs, like "Let It Snow" (Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful....) The second kind is the kind that we have to push our shopping carts through when we leave Walmart.
As I schlepped home in the muck today, ruining our car's freshly washed exterior, I wondered if we had made the right decision in moving to Colorado. And then I remembered that our friend Laura Lee had sent us a picture taken from her home this morning in Las Vegas.
It seems hell has now frozen over, and there is nowhere to escape from it.
I'm ready for Spring now.
I have decided that there are two kinds of winter. The first kind is the kind we all hear about in holiday songs, like "Let It Snow" (Oh, the weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful....) The second kind is the kind that we have to push our shopping carts through when we leave Walmart.
As I schlepped home in the muck today, ruining our car's freshly washed exterior, I wondered if we had made the right decision in moving to Colorado. And then I remembered that our friend Laura Lee had sent us a picture taken from her home this morning in Las Vegas.
It seems hell has now frozen over, and there is nowhere to escape from it.
I'm ready for Spring now.
Dear Anonymous
To Whom It May Concern
Anonymous blog responses are only well understood by your readers when they don't contain an abundance of pronouns. Those of us who read your responses don't know where "up here" and "down there" are. Furthermore, we also do not have a frame of reference for words like "I" or "them".
You see anonymous, you are anonymous. This means quite literally that the source of your words is completely unknown to those of us reading them.
We do thank you for your responses anonymous, but please refrain from using words that suggest familiarity, when in fact, the rest of us have no goddamn idea who the hell you are.
Thank you.
Kindest regards,
Your readers
Anonymous blog responses are only well understood by your readers when they don't contain an abundance of pronouns. Those of us who read your responses don't know where "up here" and "down there" are. Furthermore, we also do not have a frame of reference for words like "I" or "them".
You see anonymous, you are anonymous. This means quite literally that the source of your words is completely unknown to those of us reading them.
We do thank you for your responses anonymous, but please refrain from using words that suggest familiarity, when in fact, the rest of us have no goddamn idea who the hell you are.
Thank you.
Kindest regards,
Your readers
Friday, December 5, 2008
Colorado vs. Minnesota
For those of you who aren't aware, my friend who leaves comments on my blog under the identity "Nonna" used to be my boss up in Minnesota some years back. She has had to listen to me piss and moan about many things through the years, not just about the cold, and for that I'm truly sorry. She was a real trooper to put up with all that bitching. But I will never apologize for crabbing about the Minnesota winter.
The day she is referring to in her comment was a very long time ago. I had come to Minneapolis for a class. The hotel I stayed in was next door to the building where the class was held. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. Let's go over that again. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. A co-worker and I found that we had to run from the hotel to the classroom next door to avoid the severe pain that stung our exposed skin during the unbearable two minute commute.
Some years later when she hired me, she chose a week for me to come up and work with her in her office. Yep, you guessed it, smack in the dead of winter. I'll never forget flying out of Minneapolis, seeing the lifeless frozen tundra stretching out for hundreds of miles in every direction as I departed by air at the end of my week there. When I arrived back in Las Vegas to a balmy winter evening, I opened my car's sunroof and sighed with relief. I swore I would never travel to Minnesota again during the winter.
If you ask me, and even if you don't - it's my blog, Minnesota in the winter is not exactly the picture of a winter wonderland. It's more like the inside of an old freezer that hasn't been defrosted in several years. It's a place where they boast about the number of indoor passageways they have between buildings, always forgetting to mention that if people were forced to walk outdoors, they would lose appendages to frostbite.
I'll always love my dear friend Nonna, but if she thinks that a Minnesota winter can be compared to a Colorado winter, she's crazy. Poor crazy Nonna. That's what they'll call her. Oh, did I forget to mention that it will be sunny and in middle 50's in Denver this weekend? The high in Minneapolis today you ask? 19.
The day she is referring to in her comment was a very long time ago. I had come to Minneapolis for a class. The hotel I stayed in was next door to the building where the class was held. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. Let's go over that again. The high temperature that day was four degrees below zero. A co-worker and I found that we had to run from the hotel to the classroom next door to avoid the severe pain that stung our exposed skin during the unbearable two minute commute.
Some years later when she hired me, she chose a week for me to come up and work with her in her office. Yep, you guessed it, smack in the dead of winter. I'll never forget flying out of Minneapolis, seeing the lifeless frozen tundra stretching out for hundreds of miles in every direction as I departed by air at the end of my week there. When I arrived back in Las Vegas to a balmy winter evening, I opened my car's sunroof and sighed with relief. I swore I would never travel to Minnesota again during the winter.
If you ask me, and even if you don't - it's my blog, Minnesota in the winter is not exactly the picture of a winter wonderland. It's more like the inside of an old freezer that hasn't been defrosted in several years. It's a place where they boast about the number of indoor passageways they have between buildings, always forgetting to mention that if people were forced to walk outdoors, they would lose appendages to frostbite.
I'll always love my dear friend Nonna, but if she thinks that a Minnesota winter can be compared to a Colorado winter, she's crazy. Poor crazy Nonna. That's what they'll call her. Oh, did I forget to mention that it will be sunny and in middle 50's in Denver this weekend? The high in Minneapolis today you ask? 19.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Baby, It's Cold Outside!
Every morning I pour my coffee and then I look out the window. I don't know what I'm looking for.
Today there are tiny snow flurries floating in the air. For those of us not used to snow, we picture it falling down and sticking to the ground. But this snow is floating in every direction. Some of it is falling. Some of it is rising. Some of it is drifting sideways. All of the snow is moving slowly and gently through the air. The snow isn't sticking to the ground but is drifting around like grains of sand across a Las Vegas parking lot. You can tell that it is truly cold outside just by watching the drifting snow.
The walk to the train station takes seven minutes. I bundle myself up and walk toward the station. For the first time in many years I can feel cold air on my cheeks. The gently blowing snow melts on them and makes them feel even colder, but the rest of me is well-dressed and warm.
As the electric train rolls quietly toward my stop, I watch the world go by. Everything is dusted in a thin blanket of white that stretches from the tracks all the way to the foothills, twenty miles to the west.
Tonight the low temperature is described by a word that only has one syllable, but today I feel alive for the first time in a very long time.
Today there are tiny snow flurries floating in the air. For those of us not used to snow, we picture it falling down and sticking to the ground. But this snow is floating in every direction. Some of it is falling. Some of it is rising. Some of it is drifting sideways. All of the snow is moving slowly and gently through the air. The snow isn't sticking to the ground but is drifting around like grains of sand across a Las Vegas parking lot. You can tell that it is truly cold outside just by watching the drifting snow.
The walk to the train station takes seven minutes. I bundle myself up and walk toward the station. For the first time in many years I can feel cold air on my cheeks. The gently blowing snow melts on them and makes them feel even colder, but the rest of me is well-dressed and warm.
As the electric train rolls quietly toward my stop, I watch the world go by. Everything is dusted in a thin blanket of white that stretches from the tracks all the way to the foothills, twenty miles to the west.
Tonight the low temperature is described by a word that only has one syllable, but today I feel alive for the first time in a very long time.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
The Meaning Of Thanksgiving
I thought that volunteering would be a good way to make new friends, so when we moved to Denver I contacted the Colorado AIDS Project to see if I could help. Most of their volunteers work in their food bank, which is primarily a Monday through Friday job. Evening and weekend assignments are pretty much limited to fundraisers and holiday meals, so I’ve only had two opportunities to volunteer so far.
Yesterday, my job was to drive folks home who did not have their own transportation. Imagine what that would be like trying to lug a frozen turkey and a box of food to the bus stop. The volunteers are encouraged to refer to the recipients as “clients” and to picking up food as “shopping” to help maintain their dignity. Volunteers were all told that we should offer to carry groceries to and from the car for the clients.
One couple that I drove home had a strong impact on me. It was a man and his wife. They each had a turkey and a box of food, which means that they were either both infected, or they were shopping for someone who was. The wife was very gentle when she spoke and the man was as courteous as could be, but was mostly quiet. He was in a wheelchair and used a blanket scarred with cigarette burns as a seat pad. Neither of them smelled of smoke, so I am guessing this is the best they could come up with.
As we drove toward their home, the wife kept telling me how grateful they were for the ride. The man told me what a nice SUV I had, though he also was angry at SUV drivers because one of them had driven over his ankle and crushed it without even stopping. All the while, I could only think about my own selfishness and the things I take for granted.
They lived many miles away and I relied on them for driving directions. As we got further and further from the food bank, I wondered if they even knew where we were going. She knew the cross streets but didn’t know their address. I pressed her for the address, but she just didn’t know it. I thought that was odd until she explained that their new home was an apartment that was miles away from the homeless shelter they had been living in. They hadn’t been there long. She said that it had taken them two hours on three different buses to reach the food bank.
At their apartment, I stacked the boxes on each other and tried to lift the thirty pounds or so of food as best I could. She led me to the stairs that went up to their apartment. They lived on the third floor. I almost didn’t make it, but I didn’t want anyone to help me. I just couldn’t ask them for help. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs while she opened the apartment door. Once again at the bottom of the stairs, I asked if I could help him upstairs, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He just wished me a blessed holiday.
This year I am especially grateful. I am grateful for Paul. I am grateful for my new home. I am grateful for my new job. I am grateful for another year of good health. I am truly grateful to know you all and to have you in my life. I wish each of you love, peace, joy, and good health on this Thanksgiving day.
Yesterday, my job was to drive folks home who did not have their own transportation. Imagine what that would be like trying to lug a frozen turkey and a box of food to the bus stop. The volunteers are encouraged to refer to the recipients as “clients” and to picking up food as “shopping” to help maintain their dignity. Volunteers were all told that we should offer to carry groceries to and from the car for the clients.
One couple that I drove home had a strong impact on me. It was a man and his wife. They each had a turkey and a box of food, which means that they were either both infected, or they were shopping for someone who was. The wife was very gentle when she spoke and the man was as courteous as could be, but was mostly quiet. He was in a wheelchair and used a blanket scarred with cigarette burns as a seat pad. Neither of them smelled of smoke, so I am guessing this is the best they could come up with.
As we drove toward their home, the wife kept telling me how grateful they were for the ride. The man told me what a nice SUV I had, though he also was angry at SUV drivers because one of them had driven over his ankle and crushed it without even stopping. All the while, I could only think about my own selfishness and the things I take for granted.
They lived many miles away and I relied on them for driving directions. As we got further and further from the food bank, I wondered if they even knew where we were going. She knew the cross streets but didn’t know their address. I pressed her for the address, but she just didn’t know it. I thought that was odd until she explained that their new home was an apartment that was miles away from the homeless shelter they had been living in. They hadn’t been there long. She said that it had taken them two hours on three different buses to reach the food bank.
At their apartment, I stacked the boxes on each other and tried to lift the thirty pounds or so of food as best I could. She led me to the stairs that went up to their apartment. They lived on the third floor. I almost didn’t make it, but I didn’t want anyone to help me. I just couldn’t ask them for help. He stayed at the bottom of the stairs while she opened the apartment door. Once again at the bottom of the stairs, I asked if I could help him upstairs, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He just wished me a blessed holiday.
This year I am especially grateful. I am grateful for Paul. I am grateful for my new home. I am grateful for my new job. I am grateful for another year of good health. I am truly grateful to know you all and to have you in my life. I wish each of you love, peace, joy, and good health on this Thanksgiving day.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
You Mean There Was A Priest Who Was NOT A Registered Sex Offender?
I was watching the local evening news last night when the stories of economic gloom and doom were interrupted to tell viewers about a new criminal conviction. It seems that a Colorado priest decided to go jogging sometime before dawn. He claimed that he gets too sweaty when he wears clothes while jogging, so he decided to jog around a local high school running track in the nude. The priest must now register as a sex offender.
You know, this never would have happened in Florida. He would have been eaten alive by mosquitos.
Click here to read the the story.
You know, this never would have happened in Florida. He would have been eaten alive by mosquitos.
Click here to read the the story.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Now Let's Vote On Your Marriage
There’s an old saying that goes something like this, “It’s better to stay silent and let people think you are a fool, than to open your mouth and prove it.” Mostly for this reason, I try to shy away from political topics on my blog. What I don’t know outweighs what I do know by volumes. But something has happened lately that I feel I need to speak up about. I promise to be as brief as possible.
Californians have voted by a slim margin to amend their state constitution to ban same-sex marriages. This has also happened in other states, but this is the first time that people have voted to take away rights from people that already legally existed. Think about that for a moment. Imagine what it would be like to have the right to do something one day, and then wake up the next day to find out that your friends, neighbors, and co-workers have voted to take this right away from you. It’s astonishing to me that people could be this cruel.
There seem to be five main arguments against same-sex marriage. Let’s run through those shall we?
1) Same-sex marriage threatens the sanctity of traditional marriage.
I had to look this one up. I’ve heard this word so much lately that I’m not even sure I know what it means anymore. The word “sanctity” is synonymous with “holy”. Something that is “holy” is automatically worthy of respect and reverence. So, suddenly people consider marriage to be sacred? Where is the outrage when Las Vegas vacationers have too much to drink, get married by Elvis at a drive-through window, and have it all annulled the next day? Where is the outrage at a divorce rate that is near fifty percent of all marriages? Where is the outrage of the folks who are afraid that the sanctity of marriage is threatened by divorce and the lack of religious significance marriage holds for most of us? Where are the ballot initiatives and constitutional amendments to prevent these outrages? Hmmm? The sanctity of marriage is not created by the church, or simply by its own existence, but by the actions of the people that enter into it.
2) The purpose of marriage is to encourage procreation.
Okay, this one is simple. Let’s ban marriage for anyone who cannot or does not want to have children. If having children is the reason for people to get married, then there is no reason for two people who are unable or unwilling to conceive to be married. But wait, that would be cruel wouldn't it?
3) Churches will be forced to marry same-sex couple against the will of the church.
Nonsense. Churches don’t even have to marry different-sex couples if they don’t want to. The separation of church and state is well established. (It does however, seems to be perfectly okay for churches full of people wearing magic long underwear to donate millions of dollars to pass constitutional amendments.)
4) Schools will be forced to teach children that it’s okay to be gay.
And? Is there some reason that children should be led to believe that gay people deserve to be treated as second class citizens? Let me just say this now. Being gay is not a choice. Want proof? Do you remember the day when you "chose" your sexual orientation? I'll give you a minute to think....(insert Jeapordy music here).
Do you remember now? I didn't think so. You are what you are. It’s that simple. There is no such thing as “recruitment”. I don’t get a toaster if I sign up ten new ones. And frankly, if there it were a choice, believe me…I would have taken the easy way out. Let’s face it. I’m lazy and this is too much work.
5) Same-sex couples already have all the rights that everyone else has. They only need to draw up contracts and wills.
Not true. This is the most important point. There are 1,138 legal rights and benefits extended to married couples by the federal government…all of which I shall name for you now. (That was for you Pee Wee’s Big Adventure fans.) Please take a moment to click on this link to read about them briefly. The injustice is self-evident.
We all know what the bottom line is- fear. People are afraid that if gay people can marry then it will be okay to be gay. And then maybe little Timmy or Mary will turn gay. And maybe drag queens will run for president. And we’ll all be forced to redecorate our living rooms against our will. And who knows what other kinds of awful things will happen? Fear makes people weak and too afraid to stand up for others.
I ask all of you…my friends, my family, my neighbors, and my co-workers to imagine what it feels like to watch those around you be treated differently than you are. Stop being afraid. Stand up for me. Allow me to have the same rights and benefits under the law that you have.
Californians have voted by a slim margin to amend their state constitution to ban same-sex marriages. This has also happened in other states, but this is the first time that people have voted to take away rights from people that already legally existed. Think about that for a moment. Imagine what it would be like to have the right to do something one day, and then wake up the next day to find out that your friends, neighbors, and co-workers have voted to take this right away from you. It’s astonishing to me that people could be this cruel.
There seem to be five main arguments against same-sex marriage. Let’s run through those shall we?
1) Same-sex marriage threatens the sanctity of traditional marriage.
I had to look this one up. I’ve heard this word so much lately that I’m not even sure I know what it means anymore. The word “sanctity” is synonymous with “holy”. Something that is “holy” is automatically worthy of respect and reverence. So, suddenly people consider marriage to be sacred? Where is the outrage when Las Vegas vacationers have too much to drink, get married by Elvis at a drive-through window, and have it all annulled the next day? Where is the outrage at a divorce rate that is near fifty percent of all marriages? Where is the outrage of the folks who are afraid that the sanctity of marriage is threatened by divorce and the lack of religious significance marriage holds for most of us? Where are the ballot initiatives and constitutional amendments to prevent these outrages? Hmmm? The sanctity of marriage is not created by the church, or simply by its own existence, but by the actions of the people that enter into it.
2) The purpose of marriage is to encourage procreation.
Okay, this one is simple. Let’s ban marriage for anyone who cannot or does not want to have children. If having children is the reason for people to get married, then there is no reason for two people who are unable or unwilling to conceive to be married. But wait, that would be cruel wouldn't it?
3) Churches will be forced to marry same-sex couple against the will of the church.
Nonsense. Churches don’t even have to marry different-sex couples if they don’t want to. The separation of church and state is well established. (It does however, seems to be perfectly okay for churches full of people wearing magic long underwear to donate millions of dollars to pass constitutional amendments.)
4) Schools will be forced to teach children that it’s okay to be gay.
And? Is there some reason that children should be led to believe that gay people deserve to be treated as second class citizens? Let me just say this now. Being gay is not a choice. Want proof? Do you remember the day when you "chose" your sexual orientation? I'll give you a minute to think....(insert Jeapordy music here).
Do you remember now? I didn't think so. You are what you are. It’s that simple. There is no such thing as “recruitment”. I don’t get a toaster if I sign up ten new ones. And frankly, if there it were a choice, believe me…I would have taken the easy way out. Let’s face it. I’m lazy and this is too much work.
5) Same-sex couples already have all the rights that everyone else has. They only need to draw up contracts and wills.
Not true. This is the most important point. There are 1,138 legal rights and benefits extended to married couples by the federal government…all of which I shall name for you now. (That was for you Pee Wee’s Big Adventure fans.) Please take a moment to click on this link to read about them briefly. The injustice is self-evident.
We all know what the bottom line is- fear. People are afraid that if gay people can marry then it will be okay to be gay. And then maybe little Timmy or Mary will turn gay. And maybe drag queens will run for president. And we’ll all be forced to redecorate our living rooms against our will. And who knows what other kinds of awful things will happen? Fear makes people weak and too afraid to stand up for others.
I ask all of you…my friends, my family, my neighbors, and my co-workers to imagine what it feels like to watch those around you be treated differently than you are. Stop being afraid. Stand up for me. Allow me to have the same rights and benefits under the law that you have.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Do Not Attempt
This morning, I saw a television ad for a video game that simulates snowboarding. The ad begins with a crowd of about twenty snowboarders clinging to each other, while the guys at the top of the heap hold on to the bottom of a helicopter. The helicopter then lifts off from the top of a skyscraper with the clinging mass of idiots, we assume toward some mountain where they can all go snowboarding.
At the bottom of the ad in small white letters is the phrase "Do not attempt." Really!? Really!?
Okay, let's take a moment to think about this. You and nineteen of your idiot friends dress in your best expensive snowboarding outfits. Holding snowboards, you all somehow make it past security and climb to the top of a skyscraper. Then, you hire a helicopter to land, but nobody gets inside. Instead, you are all so excited to go snowboarding, that you all just start jumping toward the bottom of the helicopter as it lifts off, clinging to each other. Of course the pilot is completely unaware that nobody has gotten inside the helicopter, and that twenty people are hanging from the bottom, lifts off and carries you all away.
I say, if you and your friends are dumb enough and rich enough to make this happen, do us all a favor and go for it. Help us rid the world of snowboarders.
At the bottom of the ad in small white letters is the phrase "Do not attempt." Really!? Really!?
Okay, let's take a moment to think about this. You and nineteen of your idiot friends dress in your best expensive snowboarding outfits. Holding snowboards, you all somehow make it past security and climb to the top of a skyscraper. Then, you hire a helicopter to land, but nobody gets inside. Instead, you are all so excited to go snowboarding, that you all just start jumping toward the bottom of the helicopter as it lifts off, clinging to each other. Of course the pilot is completely unaware that nobody has gotten inside the helicopter, and that twenty people are hanging from the bottom, lifts off and carries you all away.
I say, if you and your friends are dumb enough and rich enough to make this happen, do us all a favor and go for it. Help us rid the world of snowboarders.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Changes Aplenty
It seems that everything changes at once. First, let me say that I am truly pleased that country has chosen Barack Obama as their next president. It seems I am not alone. The whole world seems to be celebrating. Let's just hope he doesn't screw it up!
Next, I finally finished negotiating with a new employer here in Colorado and I have formally accepted the job. I told my boss yesterday that I would be leaving. She was sad to see me go, but was very understanding. This is not the type of economy to sit back and hope for the best. I think if you have an opportunity, you had better grab it.
That being said, I am now going to be a contract employee. They don't provide benefits, but I did get a 35% increase over my current salary. Fortunately, Paul's new employer will allow him to add me to his insurance policy. The difference between what I used to make and what I will make now is so substantial, that I may actually be able to put some money away. That would be a real triumph for me.
And finally, the seasons have suddenly changed here as well. As of yesterday, the air is dry and cold and the snow has begun to fall in the mountains. I am excited to try my hand at skiiing and I'm going to see about getting some ski clothes this weekend. I am really looking forward to the holidays this year. It will be the first time in twenty years that I won't be admiring a holiday light display on a palm tree!
Next, I finally finished negotiating with a new employer here in Colorado and I have formally accepted the job. I told my boss yesterday that I would be leaving. She was sad to see me go, but was very understanding. This is not the type of economy to sit back and hope for the best. I think if you have an opportunity, you had better grab it.
That being said, I am now going to be a contract employee. They don't provide benefits, but I did get a 35% increase over my current salary. Fortunately, Paul's new employer will allow him to add me to his insurance policy. The difference between what I used to make and what I will make now is so substantial, that I may actually be able to put some money away. That would be a real triumph for me.
And finally, the seasons have suddenly changed here as well. As of yesterday, the air is dry and cold and the snow has begun to fall in the mountains. I am excited to try my hand at skiiing and I'm going to see about getting some ski clothes this weekend. I am really looking forward to the holidays this year. It will be the first time in twenty years that I won't be admiring a holiday light display on a palm tree!
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Monday, October 20, 2008
Is It Fate Or Dumb Luck?
This past week, I went to see the movie, "Religilous". For those of you that don't know, the movie is one-sided documentary examining organized religion and its followers. The main question the movie asks is, why do people believe these books of fantastic tales (bible, quran, torah, etc.) that were written at a time when people thought sea monsters were real and that the Earth was flat? People believe so strongly in these books of mythology that they are willing to kill each other.
In one part of the movie, the tale of Jonah and the great fish was questioned. The host asked a Christian follower, if they really believed that this man lived inside of a fish for three days? The follower did believe the story. The host then asked if instead of the tale of Jonah, what if the bible talked of Jack and the beanstalk...then would he believe the story? Needless to say, I left the movie more sure than ever that my agnostic stance was not changing any time soon. So, why then do I believe in fate?
I consider myself to be a thinking person, but at the same time, I cannot ignore the string of coincidences that have happened to me lately. You see, the wife of a co-worker (and good friend) just happened to run in to the co-worker's old boss from his past company. The ex-boss asked about my co-worker, and whether his wife thought my co-worker might be interested in returning to his old company. A few days later, I learned that he had decided to leave our company to return to his old company.
Let's go back six months to an evening when Paul and I sat on the back patio in Florida discussing where we would like to move to. After we weighed all the pros and cons of every location we thought we might be interested in, we chose Denver. The list of reasons is too long to go into here, but suffice it to say that my career had no bearing on our chosen location. And in the end, it practically came down to the flip of a coin. There was no single compelling reason to come to Denver. It just seemed like a good idea.
Now, back to present day...as is often the case, my co-worker passed my name around to his new employer. His employer passed my name on to another employer who apparently has some interest in hiring me, because they contacted me and we are now in negotiations. Whether an actual job offer will materialize is yet to be seen.
But here, as they say, is the real kick in the rubber parts. Guess where the company is located that is talking to me. Yep, you guessed it...Denver!
Do you believe in fate?
In one part of the movie, the tale of Jonah and the great fish was questioned. The host asked a Christian follower, if they really believed that this man lived inside of a fish for three days? The follower did believe the story. The host then asked if instead of the tale of Jonah, what if the bible talked of Jack and the beanstalk...then would he believe the story? Needless to say, I left the movie more sure than ever that my agnostic stance was not changing any time soon. So, why then do I believe in fate?
I consider myself to be a thinking person, but at the same time, I cannot ignore the string of coincidences that have happened to me lately. You see, the wife of a co-worker (and good friend) just happened to run in to the co-worker's old boss from his past company. The ex-boss asked about my co-worker, and whether his wife thought my co-worker might be interested in returning to his old company. A few days later, I learned that he had decided to leave our company to return to his old company.
Let's go back six months to an evening when Paul and I sat on the back patio in Florida discussing where we would like to move to. After we weighed all the pros and cons of every location we thought we might be interested in, we chose Denver. The list of reasons is too long to go into here, but suffice it to say that my career had no bearing on our chosen location. And in the end, it practically came down to the flip of a coin. There was no single compelling reason to come to Denver. It just seemed like a good idea.
Now, back to present day...as is often the case, my co-worker passed my name around to his new employer. His employer passed my name on to another employer who apparently has some interest in hiring me, because they contacted me and we are now in negotiations. Whether an actual job offer will materialize is yet to be seen.
But here, as they say, is the real kick in the rubber parts. Guess where the company is located that is talking to me. Yep, you guessed it...Denver!
Do you believe in fate?
Friday, October 10, 2008
You Say Color-aa-do, I Say Color-ah-do
Most states seem to hold another state's population in low esteem. Now, like most other western states, the residents of Colorado view transplants from California as a scourge. But when we first arrived in Colorado, being a Texan was not held in high esteem by the other folks who were already here. This impression of Texans was probably most often made on the slopes of Vail and Aspen, where rich Texans came to get drunk and spend their money every season. Back then, Las Vegas was not the place to go and make an ass out of yourself for Texans; it was Colorado.
My family first moved to Colorado when I was 13 years old. We moved from Houston, where I was born. We had never lived anywhere else during my lifetime. We came to Colorado pulling a trailer full of "y'alls" and other attributes that made us instantly identifiable as Texans. Upon arriving, I had to get used to the fact that a carbonated beverage was not a "coke" as every variety in Texas had been, but was now referred to as a "pop" - a ridiculous word if you ask me. The hardest thing to get used to saying was "you guys", which sounded to me like something only an effeminate male interior designer would say, instead of "y'all" - a perfectly proper contraction by the way.
Over time, my prejudice against these and other previously unknown uses for the English language disappeared. I went with "you guys" to get a "pop", just like the rest of my friends did. But there was still one pronunciation that I have never become accustomed to - "Color - aa - do". Years later as an adult, I moved to Nevada, where I lived for twelve years. There is no disputing the fact that Nevada is pronounced "Ne-vaa-da", and not "Ne-vah-da". The pronunciation "Ne-vah-da" make the hair on my arms stand up. It's just wrong. The end.
Now, back in Colorado, I have noticed that the newscasters all seem to say "Color-aa-do". I figured there must have been an invasion of newscasters from Nevada while I was away. Now I come find out that "Color-aa-do" is the proper pronunciation, and that only outsiders say "Color-ah-do"! Don't believe me? Here it is:
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/colorado
So, now I have to change again. I'm getting too old for this. I just figured out how to say "Hyundai". Alright you guys. Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I'm going to go get a pop now.
My family first moved to Colorado when I was 13 years old. We moved from Houston, where I was born. We had never lived anywhere else during my lifetime. We came to Colorado pulling a trailer full of "y'alls" and other attributes that made us instantly identifiable as Texans. Upon arriving, I had to get used to the fact that a carbonated beverage was not a "coke" as every variety in Texas had been, but was now referred to as a "pop" - a ridiculous word if you ask me. The hardest thing to get used to saying was "you guys", which sounded to me like something only an effeminate male interior designer would say, instead of "y'all" - a perfectly proper contraction by the way.
Over time, my prejudice against these and other previously unknown uses for the English language disappeared. I went with "you guys" to get a "pop", just like the rest of my friends did. But there was still one pronunciation that I have never become accustomed to - "Color - aa - do". Years later as an adult, I moved to Nevada, where I lived for twelve years. There is no disputing the fact that Nevada is pronounced "Ne-vaa-da", and not "Ne-vah-da". The pronunciation "Ne-vah-da" make the hair on my arms stand up. It's just wrong. The end.
Now, back in Colorado, I have noticed that the newscasters all seem to say "Color-aa-do". I figured there must have been an invasion of newscasters from Nevada while I was away. Now I come find out that "Color-aa-do" is the proper pronunciation, and that only outsiders say "Color-ah-do"! Don't believe me? Here it is:
http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/colorado
So, now I have to change again. I'm getting too old for this. I just figured out how to say "Hyundai". Alright you guys. Thanks for stopping by to read my blog. I'm going to go get a pop now.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Maverick Schmaverick
I happened to be in the car last night during the vice-presidential debate. I flipped the radio on to listen to the debate. I try to keep an open mind about elections. I am a registered Democrat, but I will vote for the person I feel is the best candidate. This time though, I’m just as irritated as hell with McCain’s choice in Sarah Palin. I can’t put my finger on it and I don’t have a logical explanation. She seems smart and she seems sincere. But when she said the word, “Maverick” for the second time I turned the radio off. I can’t stand all that folksy “soccer mom” “Joe six-pack” “darn tootin” crap. It makes my blood boil.
The only reason my television doesn’t have a brick through it is because I wasn’t home to watch her wink repeatedly at the camera, like it’s all some big inside joke. I don’t think there is anything funny about our current economic situation, our standing in the world, or the 4,000 troops that have been killed in Iraq to protect us from WMD’s that don’t exist. So, stop winking at me lady and explain why you are the better choice.
The issue that is most important to me is health care. After the $105,000 bill we were presented for a week’s hospital stay a couple of years back, and with the ridiculous cost of prescriptions (which seem to rise inexplicably each year by 2, 3 or even 4 times), I live in constant fear of losing our health insurance. It is fair to say that if it weren’t for the insurance plan that my employer provides to us, I would have left my job long ago. I work day in and day out in a job I don’t want to be in, because if I leave, I will lose my health insurance.
I went to both candidates’ web sites some time ago to read about their health care proposals. This little tidbit was either missing from McCain’s web site when I last visited, or was inconspicuous – McCain wants us to pay income tax on the health insurance premiums paid by our employers. Yep. Let’s give tax breaks to large corporations and wealthy folks, and let’s tax people’s health care benefits. Good plan, huh?
For those of us who do not receive insurance from our employers, we will receive a $2,500 per person ($5,000 per family) tax credit to purchase health care ? Well, that would help pay for three months of insurance (assuming someone will insure me). I have no idea where the other nine months worth of premiums is supposed to come from. Here’s a link to a non-profit non-partisan site that explains the truth about McCain’s “health care plan”. Read if for yourself.
http://www.factcheck.org/mccains_5000_promise.html
I’ve had enough of the maverick and the soccer mom. Give me an honest debate about the issues so I can choose who I feel is the candidate that will best represent me. Big surprise…this time it will be Obama.
The only reason my television doesn’t have a brick through it is because I wasn’t home to watch her wink repeatedly at the camera, like it’s all some big inside joke. I don’t think there is anything funny about our current economic situation, our standing in the world, or the 4,000 troops that have been killed in Iraq to protect us from WMD’s that don’t exist. So, stop winking at me lady and explain why you are the better choice.
The issue that is most important to me is health care. After the $105,000 bill we were presented for a week’s hospital stay a couple of years back, and with the ridiculous cost of prescriptions (which seem to rise inexplicably each year by 2, 3 or even 4 times), I live in constant fear of losing our health insurance. It is fair to say that if it weren’t for the insurance plan that my employer provides to us, I would have left my job long ago. I work day in and day out in a job I don’t want to be in, because if I leave, I will lose my health insurance.
I went to both candidates’ web sites some time ago to read about their health care proposals. This little tidbit was either missing from McCain’s web site when I last visited, or was inconspicuous – McCain wants us to pay income tax on the health insurance premiums paid by our employers. Yep. Let’s give tax breaks to large corporations and wealthy folks, and let’s tax people’s health care benefits. Good plan, huh?
For those of us who do not receive insurance from our employers, we will receive a $2,500 per person ($5,000 per family) tax credit to purchase health care ? Well, that would help pay for three months of insurance (assuming someone will insure me). I have no idea where the other nine months worth of premiums is supposed to come from. Here’s a link to a non-profit non-partisan site that explains the truth about McCain’s “health care plan”. Read if for yourself.
http://www.factcheck.org/mccains_5000_promise.html
I’ve had enough of the maverick and the soccer mom. Give me an honest debate about the issues so I can choose who I feel is the candidate that will best represent me. Big surprise…this time it will be Obama.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
How Much Is Enough?
Living in an 872 square foot condo, you begin to realize that you have to do without some things. There just isn't room to have "regular dishes" and "good dishes". There just isn't room to buy everything in bulk. There just isn't room to keep bringing home stuff.
This past weekend, Paul and I were eating in a sandwich shop and found this quote on the wall. It really made me think. I have edited it slightly. I hope you enjoy it.
* * * * The Story of the Mexican Fisherman* * * *
An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, ‘only a little while.’
The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?
The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.
The American then asked, ‘but what do you do with the rest of your time?’
The Mexican fisherman said, ‘I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.’
The American scoffed, ‘I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.’
The Mexican fisherman asked, ‘But, how long will this all take?’
To which the American replied, ‘15 - 20 years.’
‘But what then?’ Asked the Mexican.
The American laughed and said, ‘That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”
“Millions - then what?”
The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”
This past weekend, Paul and I were eating in a sandwich shop and found this quote on the wall. It really made me think. I have edited it slightly. I hope you enjoy it.
* * * * The Story of the Mexican Fisherman* * * *
An American investment banker was at the pier of a small coastal Mexican village when a small boat with just one fisherman docked. Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish and asked how long it took to catch them. The Mexican replied, ‘only a little while.’
The American then asked why didn’t he stay out longer and catch more fish?
The Mexican said he had enough to support his family’s immediate needs.
The American then asked, ‘but what do you do with the rest of your time?’
The Mexican fisherman said, ‘I sleep late, fish a little, play with my children, take siestas with my wife, Maria, stroll into the village each evening where I sip wine, and play guitar with my amigos. I have a full and busy life.’
The American scoffed, ‘I am a Harvard MBA and could help you. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds, buy a bigger boat. With the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could buy several boats, eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman you would sell directly to the processor, eventually opening your own cannery. You would control the product, processing, and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually New York City, where you will run your expanding enterprise.’
The Mexican fisherman asked, ‘But, how long will this all take?’
To which the American replied, ‘15 - 20 years.’
‘But what then?’ Asked the Mexican.
The American laughed and said, ‘That’s the best part. When the time is right you would announce an IPO and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich, you would make millions!”
“Millions - then what?”
The American said, “Then you would retire. Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take siestas with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos.”
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Bicycle Pants Are Black
We had the envious position of being able to choose to move anywhere we wanted. One of the main reasons we chose to move to Colorado was that we thought it would be healthier place to live - a place that might foster a more healthy lifestyle for us.
Since I hurt my back, I have not wanted to try to use the workout room here at the condo complex. But I have discovered that we have miles and miles of paths that meander through parks and open spaces to walk on. It's really wonderful not to have to walk next to the traffic.
I've been trying to walk six miles every day until my back is healed enough to use the machines at the gym. During my walks, I noticed all these people on bicylcles. At first, I thought it was a fluke. Then I thought that maybe their cars had broken down. As more and more little Lance Armstrongs whizzed past me this week, I realized they were doing it on purpose! Can you believe that? Riding a bike on purpose? Toto, I don't think we're in Vegas anymore.
You just have to laugh at some of the bicycle people. They think they look so cool and of course they are very aerodynamic. Apparently, the more angles your helmet has on the back of it, the faster you can go. If the back of your bicycle helmet looks like the bridge of a Klingon's nose, you are especially speedy.
And the outfits - they look so ridiculous. They are all stuffed into those shiny bicycle pants we all thought were cool way back when. And of course, there's the brightly colored shirt made entirely of some unnatural fiber and sporting an advertisement for something Italian. They all look like Cinzano umbrellas zipping around on two wheels.
One thing I have noticed is that apparently, there is an unwritten code that while your shirt can be any color of the rainbow (as long as it says something Italian), your shiny little shorts must be black. Bright yellow shiny shirt? Cool. Bright yellow shiny shorts? Not so much.
Since I hurt my back, I have not wanted to try to use the workout room here at the condo complex. But I have discovered that we have miles and miles of paths that meander through parks and open spaces to walk on. It's really wonderful not to have to walk next to the traffic.
I've been trying to walk six miles every day until my back is healed enough to use the machines at the gym. During my walks, I noticed all these people on bicylcles. At first, I thought it was a fluke. Then I thought that maybe their cars had broken down. As more and more little Lance Armstrongs whizzed past me this week, I realized they were doing it on purpose! Can you believe that? Riding a bike on purpose? Toto, I don't think we're in Vegas anymore.
You just have to laugh at some of the bicycle people. They think they look so cool and of course they are very aerodynamic. Apparently, the more angles your helmet has on the back of it, the faster you can go. If the back of your bicycle helmet looks like the bridge of a Klingon's nose, you are especially speedy.
And the outfits - they look so ridiculous. They are all stuffed into those shiny bicycle pants we all thought were cool way back when. And of course, there's the brightly colored shirt made entirely of some unnatural fiber and sporting an advertisement for something Italian. They all look like Cinzano umbrellas zipping around on two wheels.
One thing I have noticed is that apparently, there is an unwritten code that while your shirt can be any color of the rainbow (as long as it says something Italian), your shiny little shorts must be black. Bright yellow shiny shirt? Cool. Bright yellow shiny shorts? Not so much.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Just Call Me "Grace"
The other night while walking back to the car from a store, I didn't see a rock on the ground in the parking lot. When I stepped on it, I twisted my ankle. It all happened so fast that I didn't have time to get my hands out squarely in front of me. I was close enough to the car to stumble quickly head-first into the rear passenger door, like a lovesick goat battling a rival. The car won, although I left a good-sized dent where my head hit it. I think it learned its lesson anyway.
I heard a "crack" in my back and the wind was knocked out of me. I fell to the ground in a heap writhing in pain and unable to breathe. I remember thinking two things while I was gasping for air:
1) I hope nobody is looking at me.
2) I wonder if I just paralyzed myself?
This morning I woke up early because of the pain between my shoulder blades. I know that I should go to the doctor, but I just switched health plans due to the move, and don't have an insurance card to show. Heck, I don't even know where a doctor is yet.
This got me thinking about health care and the two major candidate's policies on health care. I went to each web site to look up their plans. They are not terribly dissimilar in actuality.
The major difference is that McCain wants to provide people with a $2500 tax credit to purchase private insurance. Those who are denied private insurance would be relegated to a state plan of some sort.
Obama's plan is to provide employers with tax credits of 50% of their employee's policy premiums if they cover their employees, otherwise, if they provide nothing they will be subject to a payroll tax. For those who fall through the cracks, there will be a national affordable health plan available for purchase. The cost of the plan will depend upon one's income.
While these plans have some similarities, McCain's plan puts the burden on the individual states, while Obama's puts the burden on the federal government. I suppose my biggest question is, how does the federal government go about forcing the states to insure their populations? I didn't realize the feds had this power. I can only imagine the disparity that will exist between each state's plan. And those states with lower tax bases will have inferior plans, creating a huge set of differences in care from state to state. Sounds like a real mess to me.
I think if we are going to do something to ensure that we all have access to at least basic health care, it has to be an "all or nothing deal", and not relegated to each state to figure out. I don't know what the answer is.
I do know that we have to do something to see that we all have access to health care. Either that, or we are going to have to create federal oversight to see that all rocks are swept away from parking lots.
I heard a "crack" in my back and the wind was knocked out of me. I fell to the ground in a heap writhing in pain and unable to breathe. I remember thinking two things while I was gasping for air:
1) I hope nobody is looking at me.
2) I wonder if I just paralyzed myself?
This morning I woke up early because of the pain between my shoulder blades. I know that I should go to the doctor, but I just switched health plans due to the move, and don't have an insurance card to show. Heck, I don't even know where a doctor is yet.
This got me thinking about health care and the two major candidate's policies on health care. I went to each web site to look up their plans. They are not terribly dissimilar in actuality.
The major difference is that McCain wants to provide people with a $2500 tax credit to purchase private insurance. Those who are denied private insurance would be relegated to a state plan of some sort.
Obama's plan is to provide employers with tax credits of 50% of their employee's policy premiums if they cover their employees, otherwise, if they provide nothing they will be subject to a payroll tax. For those who fall through the cracks, there will be a national affordable health plan available for purchase. The cost of the plan will depend upon one's income.
While these plans have some similarities, McCain's plan puts the burden on the individual states, while Obama's puts the burden on the federal government. I suppose my biggest question is, how does the federal government go about forcing the states to insure their populations? I didn't realize the feds had this power. I can only imagine the disparity that will exist between each state's plan. And those states with lower tax bases will have inferior plans, creating a huge set of differences in care from state to state. Sounds like a real mess to me.
I think if we are going to do something to ensure that we all have access to at least basic health care, it has to be an "all or nothing deal", and not relegated to each state to figure out. I don't know what the answer is.
I do know that we have to do something to see that we all have access to health care. Either that, or we are going to have to create federal oversight to see that all rocks are swept away from parking lots.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
One Of LIfe's Greatest Mysteries Has Been Answered
At least twenty years ago, my younger brother and I decided that there were three great mysteries of life that would probably never be answered:
1) Why do men have nipples?
2) Why don't you ever see any baby pigeons?
3) If Denny's is "always open", why do they have locks on the doors?
That last one confuses me especially. Their sign specifically states that they are always open. They NEVER close. So, why the locks? A newspaper article I found the other day has answered this great question.
Coke User Tries To Sever Arm In Denny's
(Modesto, Calif.) Police say a man tried to cut off his arm at a restaurant because he thought he had injected air into a blood vessel while shooting cocaine and feared that he would die unless he took drastic action.
Authorities said 33-year-old Michael Lasiter rushed into a Denny's restaurant late Friday and started stabbing himself in one arm with a butter knife he had grabbed from a table.
They said that when the butter knife didn't work, Lasiter took a butcher knife from the kitchen and dug it into his arm.
Police Sgt. Brian Findlen said Lasiter told officers he thought he needed to amputate his arm to ward off dying from the cocaine injection.
Lasiter was taken to a hospital for treatment of sever cuts.
The Denny's closed for the night.
1) Why do men have nipples?
2) Why don't you ever see any baby pigeons?
3) If Denny's is "always open", why do they have locks on the doors?
That last one confuses me especially. Their sign specifically states that they are always open. They NEVER close. So, why the locks? A newspaper article I found the other day has answered this great question.
Coke User Tries To Sever Arm In Denny's
(Modesto, Calif.) Police say a man tried to cut off his arm at a restaurant because he thought he had injected air into a blood vessel while shooting cocaine and feared that he would die unless he took drastic action.
Authorities said 33-year-old Michael Lasiter rushed into a Denny's restaurant late Friday and started stabbing himself in one arm with a butter knife he had grabbed from a table.
They said that when the butter knife didn't work, Lasiter took a butcher knife from the kitchen and dug it into his arm.
Police Sgt. Brian Findlen said Lasiter told officers he thought he needed to amputate his arm to ward off dying from the cocaine injection.
Lasiter was taken to a hospital for treatment of sever cuts.
The Denny's closed for the night.
Friday, September 5, 2008
The Saga Continues
Well, we are all moved in. So far so good....except for one thing. We can't figure out how to get the dang phone and internet turned on.
When we were in Florida, I made the dumb mistake of thinking we could order phone service from any of Denver's major providers, assuming they agreed to serve us when I called. Wrong.
Company A said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service via DSL. They schedule a technician to come out this past Wednesday. The technician arrived on Wednesday afternoon, but asked me if I knew where the "box" was. Hell, I don't even know where the dumpster is yet. He went off to find it and returned later to tell me that he just found out his company doesn't serve my area. He advised me to call company B.
Company B said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service, but couldn't find my address in their system. It turns out that my address is so new, that their database hadn't been updated. They said they would add the address o their database and give me a call back. "In an hour or so?", I asked. "In a couple of days", they said.
Two days go by. No call. I called company B back and it turns out that I can now order service. They just neglected to call. "Whatever", I'm thinking. "Just get on with it." "Oh. Wait.", the agent says. "We can only provide television and phone service. We aren't allowed to offer internet service for you. We can have a technician out there tomorrow to turn your phone on. What number can we contact you at?" "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.
So, I call the HOA office and they tell me that the builder has signed some dumb contract with some no-name internet provider we'll call "company C."
I called company C to get service. Some guy answers me on a speakerphone. He tells me that he'll email me a form to fill out that I can fax back to order service. "What's your email address?", he says. "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.
When we were in Florida, I made the dumb mistake of thinking we could order phone service from any of Denver's major providers, assuming they agreed to serve us when I called. Wrong.
Company A said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service via DSL. They schedule a technician to come out this past Wednesday. The technician arrived on Wednesday afternoon, but asked me if I knew where the "box" was. Hell, I don't even know where the dumpster is yet. He went off to find it and returned later to tell me that he just found out his company doesn't serve my area. He advised me to call company B.
Company B said they would be happy to set us up with phone and internet service, but couldn't find my address in their system. It turns out that my address is so new, that their database hadn't been updated. They said they would add the address o their database and give me a call back. "In an hour or so?", I asked. "In a couple of days", they said.
Two days go by. No call. I called company B back and it turns out that I can now order service. They just neglected to call. "Whatever", I'm thinking. "Just get on with it." "Oh. Wait.", the agent says. "We can only provide television and phone service. We aren't allowed to offer internet service for you. We can have a technician out there tomorrow to turn your phone on. What number can we contact you at?" "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.
So, I call the HOA office and they tell me that the builder has signed some dumb contract with some no-name internet provider we'll call "company C."
I called company C to get service. Some guy answers me on a speakerphone. He tells me that he'll email me a form to fill out that I can fax back to order service. "What's your email address?", he says. "I don't know. You tell me.", I replied.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
