LAS VEGAS -- What's the first thing you see when you emerge from that jetway into McCarran International Airport?
Slot machines. Of course.
Now I don't mean like, "Well, it wasn't exactly the first thing I saw -- that was the gate agent's butt -- but it was the first thing I actually noticed." The First Thing I Saw was the slot machines.
And not just one or two, like you see with those video poker machines in convenience stores in Louisiana. Hundreds of slot machines, right there at the gate. Come on, man. Leave some of your money here. What comes to Vegas stays in Vegas, if it came here in your wallet.
(And, I'm guessing, that voice might be exactly why Otis stopped carrying a wallet.)
Anyway ...
I walked. After all, it's just an airport, just like the 60 or so other airports I've trudged through in the last four years, right?
So I trudged. Down in baggage claim, billboards. Huge billboards. Come on, man. Come see our show. Penn & Teller, man; who can resist Penn & Teller? Tickets start at $74.95. Toni Braxton, Rita Rudner, Celine freakin' Dion ... and aren't Celine Dion and Toni Braxton a little young to already be sentenced to Vegas? I thought that's where obsolete performers went to die. I'm certainly not arguing Toni Braxton's obsolescence, but I thought there was an age minimum.
I'm here for business. Have a meeting tomorrow, home Friday morning. I'm not here for fun; I'm not here to drop a huge wad of cash in hopes of becoming really rich. I'm not here to drink myself to death.
I'm staying in a hotel way, way off the Strip. However, as it turns out, if I wanted to have fun, lose a lot of money and look for somebody to be Elisabeth Shue to my Nicolas Cage, I could do so. Right here.
I purposely did very little pre-trip research before this, my first trip to Vegas. So imagine my surprise to discover that my hotel has a casino right here. And a liquor store, right here. Dammit, that voice again: Come on, man; get the fuck off that computer and come downstairs. It's only 11:33 p.m. here, and really, what is time, anyway? Give us some of your money.
Well, my body and my computer think it's 2:34 a.m. I have to be in front of customers tomorrow. I have to be coherent. I have to go to bed.
Tonight, anyway.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
We're all gonna be 40 soon -- but you're first
Insomnia sucks, but it gives me an opportunity to make note (once again) of the Young Daughter's seventh birthday. (At one point in the evening, when she felt like someone else in the house was getting a little too much attention, she said to no one in particular, "Don't you have something to say to me?" Yeah, kid, nobody has said "happy birthday" to you in the last five minutes. Sorry about that.)
The crushing inability to sleep also, however, gives me a chance to say happy birthday to my friend TLC -- who is the first of my high school classmates (at least, the first of the ones who matter) to turn 40.
(The dateline above suggests I'm a day late. Screw that. As I write this, it's still Oct. 23 in her time zone.)
She was the first to get a driver's license; she was the first to turn 21; and now, she's the first to peek behind the door of the Fifth Decade. Which makes her Older than Us. But not much.
Ain't nothin' but a number, y'all. Happy birthday, TLC.
The crushing inability to sleep also, however, gives me a chance to say happy birthday to my friend TLC -- who is the first of my high school classmates (at least, the first of the ones who matter) to turn 40.
(The dateline above suggests I'm a day late. Screw that. As I write this, it's still Oct. 23 in her time zone.)
She was the first to get a driver's license; she was the first to turn 21; and now, she's the first to peek behind the door of the Fifth Decade. Which makes her Older than Us. But not much.
Ain't nothin' but a number, y'all. Happy birthday, TLC.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
It's been a long time
October 2001 was a long, long time ago. Since then:
* I've moved from one major metropolitan area to another, then another yet.
* I've executed a career slingshot -- took a small step backward that led indirectly to a huge step forward.
* I've watched three Mini-Humans grow from tiny little semi-functioning beings into full-fledged children. Back then, the oldest of them was 7. In two days, the youngest of them will be 7. The oldest is now a teenager.
A lot of things have changed since I banged in that first post at my desk at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, the one with the cubicle where the window looked out on the concrete jungle of the nation's eighth-largest city.
I type this post looking out into my backyard, with the towering playset and the big pool. The girl who "celebrated" her first birthday in rather dubious fashion during that first month of this forum -- by learning that she has a neurological disease -- is now 7, outwardly perfectly healthy, and interrupting my typing every few words with some other question.
In the last six years, my two remaining grandparents have died. My father was diagnosed and has largely beaten colon cancer. The last remaining member of my mother's immediate family passed on. My sister had a baby and got married, in that order, after years of quiet desperation.
The original inspiration for this forum left his cubicle for things I suspect even he can't yet fully comprehend; a chance to become fully immersed in something he dearly loves. I've sensed a bit of "Be Careful What You Wish For" in some of his writing. I've had that thought more than a few times myself over the last 2,191 days.
Sitting here this morning, I've come to realize this: "Careful" people don't ever find what they want. They're too busy being careful. A "careful" quarterback racks up a 70-percent completion rating but never makes a big play. A "careful" politician can hold on to his seat for 35 years without ever having an accomplishment with his name next to it. A "careful" mom raises perfectly average kids.
Screw being careful. Throw that long pass, quit that job, say something that people aren't going to agree with, and write it all down so you can refer back to it later or perhaps help somebody else through a similar situation. That's what I've learned since 2001. And I've learned it largely through expressing myself in this forum, and through following others through similar forums along the way.
It's important to learn. It's important to share. Thanks to all of y'all for sharing with me.
--
I noted in yesterday's post that there is nothing else in my life that is six years old or more, other than my wife and children. There is some truth to that. I have one prized possession that predates 2001: A black-and-white Telecaster, purchased with my first paycheck as a full-time sports writer in 1988.
I'm a big fan of committing to things that matter. I made a commitment to a young woman in the fall of 1990. Now I'm growing old with her. (Odd how she isn't growing old; it's just me. How the hell does that happen?) It has been everything for which I could have possibly hoped: To spend my life with a beautiful woman with charm, energy, intelligence, and wit.
The story of Us makes little sense to those who were not a part of it (i.e., everybody but her and me.) I've tried to recount it here in the past, but the story transcends the words available to me to tell it.
Over the course of the six years of writing stuff down here, we've moved from Years 11 to 17, which I guess aren't exactly milestone years. But know this: Every day is a milestone, and for me, every day is another day in which I'm getting better than I deserve.
That's what wakes me up every day. That's what makes me want to write it down. Can't wait to see what happens next.
* I've moved from one major metropolitan area to another, then another yet.
* I've executed a career slingshot -- took a small step backward that led indirectly to a huge step forward.
* I've watched three Mini-Humans grow from tiny little semi-functioning beings into full-fledged children. Back then, the oldest of them was 7. In two days, the youngest of them will be 7. The oldest is now a teenager.
A lot of things have changed since I banged in that first post at my desk at the Very Large Metropolitan Newspaper, the one with the cubicle where the window looked out on the concrete jungle of the nation's eighth-largest city.
I type this post looking out into my backyard, with the towering playset and the big pool. The girl who "celebrated" her first birthday in rather dubious fashion during that first month of this forum -- by learning that she has a neurological disease -- is now 7, outwardly perfectly healthy, and interrupting my typing every few words with some other question.
In the last six years, my two remaining grandparents have died. My father was diagnosed and has largely beaten colon cancer. The last remaining member of my mother's immediate family passed on. My sister had a baby and got married, in that order, after years of quiet desperation.
The original inspiration for this forum left his cubicle for things I suspect even he can't yet fully comprehend; a chance to become fully immersed in something he dearly loves. I've sensed a bit of "Be Careful What You Wish For" in some of his writing. I've had that thought more than a few times myself over the last 2,191 days.
Sitting here this morning, I've come to realize this: "Careful" people don't ever find what they want. They're too busy being careful. A "careful" quarterback racks up a 70-percent completion rating but never makes a big play. A "careful" politician can hold on to his seat for 35 years without ever having an accomplishment with his name next to it. A "careful" mom raises perfectly average kids.
Screw being careful. Throw that long pass, quit that job, say something that people aren't going to agree with, and write it all down so you can refer back to it later or perhaps help somebody else through a similar situation. That's what I've learned since 2001. And I've learned it largely through expressing myself in this forum, and through following others through similar forums along the way.
It's important to learn. It's important to share. Thanks to all of y'all for sharing with me.
--
I noted in yesterday's post that there is nothing else in my life that is six years old or more, other than my wife and children. There is some truth to that. I have one prized possession that predates 2001: A black-and-white Telecaster, purchased with my first paycheck as a full-time sports writer in 1988.
I'm a big fan of committing to things that matter. I made a commitment to a young woman in the fall of 1990. Now I'm growing old with her. (Odd how she isn't growing old; it's just me. How the hell does that happen?) It has been everything for which I could have possibly hoped: To spend my life with a beautiful woman with charm, energy, intelligence, and wit.
The story of Us makes little sense to those who were not a part of it (i.e., everybody but her and me.) I've tried to recount it here in the past, but the story transcends the words available to me to tell it.
Over the course of the six years of writing stuff down here, we've moved from Years 11 to 17, which I guess aren't exactly milestone years. But know this: Every day is a milestone, and for me, every day is another day in which I'm getting better than I deserve.
That's what wakes me up every day. That's what makes me want to write it down. Can't wait to see what happens next.
A major victory for the First Amendment
In Arizona. And a reminder: If we don't protect the First Amendment, none of the others matter. The fuel that powers a democracy is the free press.
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Greenville to Baton Rouge ...
... 30 years ago today, the real Day the Music Died. Obligatory story from the hometown paper.
Clearing the cobwebs
See, the problem is, that when I have good subject matter with which to work and still find a way to make it boring, that’s when I start to think I don’t know how to do this anymore. Some people – real professionals – would say "you have to write through it," the same way a major-league hitter would try to get out of a slump. And that might work. But instead, I just crawl into a shell, try to grab on to something else that’s out there, and try to find my inspiration that way. And oddly, it never works.
I’ve had some great subject matter with which to work over the last several weeks.
I had an anniversary celebration that was straight out of the dream. It is still a bit overwhelming to think about, to try to wrap my mind about how I am blessed so far beyond what I deserve. She knows that too. I am. That’s a good thing.
--
See, the problem is, I have this long, long, long list of things I should do. I should eat better. I should exercise more. I should write more. I should focus on one task at a time at work, rather than let myself be distracted by all the stuff going on around me. I should do more stuff around the house. I should do a lot of things. I don’t do very many of them. I find this frustrating. Sometimes it’s just as hard to be me as it is to deal with me. I hate that.
--
There are things, however, I really like. Randomly:
-- Single-malt Scotch. A group of like-minded co-workers holds a monthly Scotch-and-cigar fest. One of those guys, G, is way more into it than, well, most people. He’s been choosing the distilling region and doing hours of research on the best whiskies from that region. He provides a long list of recommendations, and he and the rest of us buy a different bottle from that list to sample. We’ve been through the Islay, Speyside and Highland malts. The favorite so far, to my palate: the Speysides, authoritative drinks which pack a gentle wallop.
-- My dry cleaner. They lost a shirt of mine a few weeks ago – a shirt I had never worn. I am probably the only person who has had that happen to him twice in his life. (Yes, 15 years ago, another dry cleaner did the very same thing – lost a shirt I had never worn.) This one had a happier ending, though; two days later, they found the shirt. But that’s not why I like these people. I like these people because Martina behind the counter calls me by my name, knows my starch preferences, and has my clothes hanging for me before I even come in the door because she knows my car. That, friends, is good customer service, and there are few things I like better.
-- My son’s swimming coach. She’s incredibly good with a bunch of hard-to-control 8-year-olds. She’s in her early 20s, and is studying to be an elementary school teacher. She’s going to be a really good one.
-- New toys. One of the joys of my job is getting fresh technology and not having to pay for it. My latest new toy: a T-Mobile Dash. Nice to have a QWERTY keyboard again. I’d much rather use Windows Mobile than a Blackberry or Treo, and this device adds the bonus of being a really nice, clear phone. The great thing: About the time I get bored with it, some new device will show up on my desk. That rocks.
--
Today’s main event: The Young Daughter turns 7 on Tuesday. Her party is today. The Wife found a local firm that is putting together a princess party from start to finish. All we have to bring is the juice boxes. This should be fun.
--
If the Young Daughter is turning 7, that means this forum is turning 6. The only other thing that I’ve stuck with for six years or more is my marriage. In my adult life, I’ve never driven a car, lived in one place or held a job title for six years. Like so many other things in my life, I don’t treat this forum as well as I should. But I’m glad it has stuck with me for all this time; and I’m glad you have stuck with me. I’ll put this on the list of things that I should do better, and I’ll start attacking that list.
I’ve had some great subject matter with which to work over the last several weeks.
I had an anniversary celebration that was straight out of the dream. It is still a bit overwhelming to think about, to try to wrap my mind about how I am blessed so far beyond what I deserve. She knows that too. I am. That’s a good thing.
--
See, the problem is, I have this long, long, long list of things I should do. I should eat better. I should exercise more. I should write more. I should focus on one task at a time at work, rather than let myself be distracted by all the stuff going on around me. I should do more stuff around the house. I should do a lot of things. I don’t do very many of them. I find this frustrating. Sometimes it’s just as hard to be me as it is to deal with me. I hate that.
--
There are things, however, I really like. Randomly:
-- Single-malt Scotch. A group of like-minded co-workers holds a monthly Scotch-and-cigar fest. One of those guys, G, is way more into it than, well, most people. He’s been choosing the distilling region and doing hours of research on the best whiskies from that region. He provides a long list of recommendations, and he and the rest of us buy a different bottle from that list to sample. We’ve been through the Islay, Speyside and Highland malts. The favorite so far, to my palate: the Speysides, authoritative drinks which pack a gentle wallop.
-- My dry cleaner. They lost a shirt of mine a few weeks ago – a shirt I had never worn. I am probably the only person who has had that happen to him twice in his life. (Yes, 15 years ago, another dry cleaner did the very same thing – lost a shirt I had never worn.) This one had a happier ending, though; two days later, they found the shirt. But that’s not why I like these people. I like these people because Martina behind the counter calls me by my name, knows my starch preferences, and has my clothes hanging for me before I even come in the door because she knows my car. That, friends, is good customer service, and there are few things I like better.
-- My son’s swimming coach. She’s incredibly good with a bunch of hard-to-control 8-year-olds. She’s in her early 20s, and is studying to be an elementary school teacher. She’s going to be a really good one.
-- New toys. One of the joys of my job is getting fresh technology and not having to pay for it. My latest new toy: a T-Mobile Dash. Nice to have a QWERTY keyboard again. I’d much rather use Windows Mobile than a Blackberry or Treo, and this device adds the bonus of being a really nice, clear phone. The great thing: About the time I get bored with it, some new device will show up on my desk. That rocks.
--
Today’s main event: The Young Daughter turns 7 on Tuesday. Her party is today. The Wife found a local firm that is putting together a princess party from start to finish. All we have to bring is the juice boxes. This should be fun.
--
If the Young Daughter is turning 7, that means this forum is turning 6. The only other thing that I’ve stuck with for six years or more is my marriage. In my adult life, I’ve never driven a car, lived in one place or held a job title for six years. Like so many other things in my life, I don’t treat this forum as well as I should. But I’m glad it has stuck with me for all this time; and I’m glad you have stuck with me. I’ll put this on the list of things that I should do better, and I’ll start attacking that list.