We Interrupt This Broadcast

Sometimes you just have to wonder if you’re cursed. As a Cubs fan, I don’t take curses lightly and I generally don’t believe in them (I think the Cubs’ lack of success has a lot more to do with poor or apathetic management over the decades than any sort of voodoo hoodoo). Still, I had to wonder this past Sunday when the fates conspired to make me miss one of the best Indy 500 finishes in the history of the race.

            I blogged about the race in my last post, mentioning how it’s been an important part of my family’s Memorial Day traditions going back my whole life. This year was no exception. I was visiting my parents, sister and nephew in South Bend over the weekend. The five-hour drive went fairly smoothly except for a couple of snarls in Indianapolis traffic Thursday evening, but nothing too serious. Sadly, the weather in South Bend was…well…South Bend weather. It was cool to cold, bleak, dreary and rainy. Despite that, the family was excited about race day.

            All weekend long we had been preparing my two-year-old nephew Elijah for the race. He’s seen some of the TV coverage and immediately decided he was exciting about watching the “Piston Cup.” As a fan of the movie “Cars” (and when I say a fan I mean someone that can watch the movie four or five times a day without getting tired of it) he’s decided that all auto races are part of the Piston Cup series from the movie. Hey, if it gets him excited about it, we’ll take it.

            Sunday morning mom and my sister Corrie made a fantastic brunch of eggs, sausage, bacon and toast. Then we settled in to watch the pre-race show. Clearly inspired, Elijah got his bag of toy cars down to roll around the living room floor. Jim Nabors sang “Back Home Again in Indiana,” which is always a stirring moment. They had the usual features on the top names in the race and a rather strange version of the national anthem that included both Seal and Kelly Clarkson. The race began on time and the weather looked great in Indianapolis. I remarked to my stepfather Marty what we should be able to watch the race with no weather delays. I was wrong, but in a way that had nothing to do with Indianapolis. As it turned out, a storm system was rolling across Illinois toward northern Indiana. Channel 57 broke in with around 30 laps to go to give us a quick update and then went right back to the race. None of us expressed much more than standard annoyance at this.

            Then, they broke in again a few short laps later. This got a few swears out of me as this system is so completely archaic. Let’s get one thing straight, local TV stations do not need to be doing this. A crawl along the bottom of the screen is all they need. In this age of smart phones, the internet and the Weather Channel (along with local all-weather stations) the need for constant break-ins by the weather bozos has long passed. It’s like newspapers and Time magazine. You already know what has happened before you read it. There is no need to make believe they are all that is separating us from safety and a “Wizard of Oz” experience in a storm.

            Anyway, with 17 laps left in a race where a rookie was toward the front, Danica Patrick was in contention and other huge names were gambling on their fuel strategies, they cut away again to the studio so this woman could tell us all about these storms that were happening a full 50 miles south of town. Incredibly, she stayed on the air, droning on and on and most frustratingly repeating the same information at least five or six times. By then I had my phone out and was getting the race updates from espn.com and relaying them to the family. That’s how I heard about the big name contenders falling out due to fuel problems, a rookie taking a late lead, only to crash in turn four in a shocking moment before Dan Wheldon took the checkered flag. Most of the nation saw it live. I read it on autorefresh on my phone. Trust me, it’s not nearly as exciting that way.

            I also mentioned in my last post how I learned to curse listening to the adults after the finish of the 1982 race was spoiled by a news team. Now an unnecessary weather update had sabotaged me from seeing one of the race’s best finishes in 2011. As for my cursing, well, I apologize if Elijah repeats anything I said that involves a certain weather anchor and how she can shove her maps right up her dual Dopplers.

Memorial Day Memories

            Memorial Day weekend has stood out for me as far back as I can remember. Some of my favorite memories come from this weekend, so I’m feeling upbeat as the holiday approaches. I’ll get to why Memorial Day has been so special to me in a bit, but in keeping with that theme I want to start this post with a few true feel-good stories from the world of baseball.

Brandon Phillips (Reds): According to this report,, a young Reds fan tweeted shortstop Brandon Phillips inviting him to the fan’s youth baseball game. It was his only day off until June 2, but Phillips showed up for the game and took pictures with the team, the 14-U Cincinnati Flames. Good stuff, Brandon.

Ryan Howard (Phillies): A seven-year-old named Aidan Silva, a big Phillies fan, passed away of sudden cardiac arrest last Labor Day weekend. Last Friday his elementary school planted trees and a dedicated a plaque in the boy’s honor. While on the road in Atlanta, Howard filmed a video message that was shown during the ceremony. Howard said the boy would be in his thoughts and prayers and that he’d dedicate a game in his honor. He also sent a jersey and a hand-written note. How did Howard do in that game? He hit a three-run home run in his first at-bat, and later scored the go-ahead run. Nice work to you too, Ryan.

Barry Bonds (formerly of the Giants and Pirates): Yes, you’re reading this right. Bonds has a well-earned and well-documented reputation as a colossal jerk, but in this case I’m here to give him credit. Earlier this season, a Giants fan was beaten severely at Dodger Stadium, apparently for doing nothing more than wearing a Giants jersey in the Dodgers’ home park. The man, a single father with two elementary-school aged kids, was in a coma and is still in a hospital. He is slowly recovering. Bonds visited the man in the hospital and later offered to pay for his kids’ college education. He did this a month ago and did not notify any press. It only came out because the man’s family mentioned it. I have to give this one to you, Barry. Well done.

MEMORIAL DAY

            As a native Hoosier, Memorial Day weekend looms even larger on the calendar than for most others. It meant cookouts of course, but it also meant the Indianapolis 500. It seems funny now as the Indycar series has declined over the years in popularity, but when I was young the Indy 500 actually was what it now only claims to be, the greatest spectacle in racing. Back in the late 70’s and early 80s the buildup of to the race, the qualifications, bump day, time trials, everything, were all huge news. The results were followed closely by those who never paid attention to racing the rest of the year. For someone growing up in Indiana, this was our event.

            Of course, growing up in Indiana meant you also couldn’t watch the damn thing on live TV. While these days the race is only blacked out in Indianapolis itself, back when I was a kid it was blacked out throughout the state, South Bend included. This left fans with a huge dilemma every year. Do you listen to it on the radio, or do you studiously avoid all media all day and then watch the race when it aired in prime time on tape Sunday night?

            My family went back and forth on this. I have vivid memories of working out in the yard with my stepfather, the high-pitched vroom sounds of the cars coming from the radio, which sat on the patio plugged in with a cord snaking through the screen door back into the dining room. To this day, and I mean this, I can’t pick up a garden trowel without hearing “Crash in Turn 3! There’s a crash in Turn 3!” or the annual sigh from the announcer of “Mario is slowing down! (referring to the perpetually snakebitten Mario Andretti).

            Other years we carefully avoided things and watched the race at night as if it were live. In our old neighborhood the party usually involved us, the Lowe family and the Markiewicz family and occasionally others. It wasn’t easy to go the whole day without hearing the results of the biggest event going , but sometimes we managed. Sometimes we didn’t, and sometimes others conspired against us. I recall a Sunday night and a close race, all of us watching breathlessly as the cars zipped around the 2.5-mile oval on a tape delay, Rick Mears quickly reeling in Gordon Johncock. The race promised to come right down to the wire (here's the ABC coverage of it with Jim McKay on the call) when they went to commercial with only a few short laps to go. Before cutting away from the ads, the network broke in with a news brief. I can still hear the anchor now. “Blah blah blah happened in the middle east, blah blah blah President Reagan, and Gordon Johncock won the Indianapolis 500 today in the closest finish in the race’s history!”

            I’m pretty sure I learned how to curse by listening to the adults in the room yell at the TV that night. So much for the spoiler alert.

            When I lived in Indianapolis I was hooked up with race tickets for a few years. Actually going to the track, seeing those cars rocketing down the straightaway at 230-plus miles per hour at top speed, smelling the fuel, and especially feeling the cars was an awe-inspiring experience (you actually can feel it in your chest and beneath your feet, especially early in the race when the cars are bunched together).

            The traffic wasn’t as awe-inspiring however. I do remember being at Tony Stewart’s last Indy 500 before he dropped Indycar racing altogether. He was a NASCAR driver by then, but he was intent on doing the classic double, driving the Indy 500 in the daytime and flying to Charlotte, North Caroline for NASCAR’s Coca-Cola 600 at night. I was a fan of his and cheered on his top 10 finish at Indy. We left the track and waited in our parking lot to get out. And waited. And waited. Then crept every so slowly out of the lot before being funneled off to the interstate in the direction we didn’t want to go (tough luck, the cops don’t care where you live, just get the hell to the interstates), got ourselves turned around and made our way back to 56^th and Georgetown. That took three hours. The track is at 16^th and Georgetown, about four miles away. I got back home, plopped down tired on the living room sofa and turned on the NASCAR race. Stewart was in his stock car on the warm-up lap. I laughed as I realized in the time it took me to go from 16^th and Georgetown to 56^th and Georgetown, Tony had taken a helicopter out of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway, jumped in a plane to North Carolina, taken another helicopter to Lowe’s Motor Speedway and gotten in his stock car.  Thank goodness there was still a beer left in my cooler.

            But I smile most often thinking of those Sunday nights in the early 80’s, watching the race, feeling the beginning of a sunburn on my forehead and shoulders from being out in the sun, sitting in the living room surrounded by my closest friends and family, the promise of a great summer just on the horizon. That’s what I think of when I think of Memorial Day.

            Here’s hoping you make a few great memories yourself this coming holiday.

Sequels: Return of the Revenge of the Admission Price

            With the release of the new “Pirates of the Caribbean: Johnny Depp’s Paycheck” movie this weekend (what, that’s not the title?), we officially enter the 2011 summer blockbuster season. This is traditionally when the Hollywood studios roll out their big-budget, CGI-packed, mass audience-targeted action movies. In other words, a lot of really awful movies with lots of crashes and bangs are about to start drubbing us over the head like cavemen with clubs (I’m still regretting the time of my life wasted during the first “Transformers” movie). And there will be sequels. Lots and lots of sequels, which Hollywood routinely favors over originality. 

            There is one I’m looking forward to, and that’s the final Harry Potter film. This series has defied the odds by being creative and bold with excellent special effects and good acting on top of it. Usually by the time a series hits its eighth installment it features a slasher like Jason, Freddy or Michael Meyers that become punchlines rather than sources of fright. Instead, the HP series is completely unique in that it has kept people interested with high-quality installments all the way through.      

            I will of course see “The Hangover 2,” mostly because the first is one of my all-time favorites. I have high hopes for it, but I am dubious as to whether it can be as good as the first. Of course, allow me to state the obvious and say sequels rarely are. Most of the time they throw the cast and the script together, often on the fly and hope something good comes out, knowing there is little pressure because fans are inclined to see it anyway. Some have been so bad they never happened. Do you hear me? Never happened. “Ghostbusters 2,” “Caddyshack 2,” “Another 48 hours” and “Godfather Part III” never actually happened. They were just bad dreams. Move on, nothing to see here.  

Still, there have been a few examples of that rarest of cinema finds, a sequel that improves on the original. Please feel free to point out ones I may have missed.

            Lethal Weapon 2: Mel Gibson and Danny Glover had their chemistry down pat for this one. The villain was strong and the action was better than the first (which is saying something). Plus, they had gotten Gibson’s character straight after spending a lot of the first movie as a depressed potential suicide case. Most importantly, they pulled a house down a mountain, for real, not CGI. Very cool.

            Star Trek II: I firmly believe Wrath of Khan was the best of all of the Star Trek movies, no matter which generation’s cast was involved. The first Trek was a bit plodding and the special effects look extremely dated (which is curious because it was made years after Star Wars and those effects still look fairly fresh). I’ve come to appreciate the first Trek a little more over the years, but the classic bad-guy battle in Wrath of Khan was far better. The plot was grittier, the sets were brighter and the acting fit more in the line of the “western in space” that Star Trek was always supposed to be. Speaking of Star Wars…

            Empire Strikes Back: Allow me a moment of full disclosure: I am not a Star Wars fan. I think "Star Wars" is okay, again a western set in space (not knocking that as it’s fairly well done) and I have always felt "Return of the Jedi" stunk. Add in the three more recent disasters and I think the franchise is batting only 1.5-for-6 in the quality department. Empire is the one good one. It has the dramatic effect of the second act of an opera, complete with the bad guys winning in the end and the best single scene in the series, the Luke vs. Vader battle that cost Luke his hand. Add in the scenes with Yoda (who knew the guy that did Fozzy Bear’s voice could be so effective?) and this one stands strong.  

The Dark Knight: Christopher Nolan hit this one out of the park. I don’t have to go too deeply into this one. While “Batman Begins” was good, this was amazing. It got a huge acting upgrade with Heath Ledger and Maggie Gyllenhaal (much better than Katie Holmes in that role), the action was relentless and the plot tense. For my money, it’s the best superhero movie of all time.

The Godfather, Part II:  It’s worth mentioning as the only sequel that has won Best Picture, as did its predecessor. But is it better than “The Godfather?” It’s tough to say. I’ll try to break it down. Marlon Brando created an iconic character in the first movie, but I think De Niro’s younger version of Don Corleone was enough to cancel it out. The second had a brilliant performance from John Cazale as Fredo, which was a little better than James Caan in the first movie. Pacino’s was great in both, but his intensity in the second as Michael lost what little humanity he had left puts the second movie over the top for me by just a touch.

Side Note: The first two Godfather movies are in a second rare category. Movies based on books that are actually better than the books. In this case, better by far. Mario Puzo was a hack.

Will "Hangover 2" join the list of sequels better than the original? I’d like for it to, but really I’m just hoping to get a few laughs out of it and enjoy the characters again. If that happens, I’ll consider my admission money well-spent. If it gets tacked on to this list, I’ll consider it a nice bonus.

When the Wizard of Odds Craps in Your Ruby Slippers (Vegas Part III)

            Gambling as an activity has a lot of downside. First, it can be addictive. Second, even if you’re not an addict it can suck the joy out of you like a city-sized Shamwow if things aren’t going so well. My gambling tends to veer toward sports betting, since I enjoy watching the games, talking to the other bettors and I know a lot about the bets I’m making. Slot machines and table games are not as much fun for me. Slots in particular bore me very quickly, since you basically sit down at a machine, put money in and hit a button asking it to give you more in return (the answer usually being a firm “no”). It’s the exact same process as using the change machine, except at least the bill breaker will always let you come out even.

            While I know it makes no difference mathematically when you gamble and when you don’t (the computer chip inside the slot machine doesn’t care what time it is or how long it’s been since it paid out, and the cards don’t care whether they’ve been good to you or not either), psychologically you have to break the momentum when a casino is kicking you where the wallet don’t shine. If you’ve been at the machines or tables so long you get bored, you might start playing stupid. Sitting there taking a financial beating is no fun of course, and fun is why you went on vacation in the first place. Timeouts are important.

            With that in mind, here are a few things I did on this trip to Vegas, all of which I recommend for when the Wizard of Odds is crapping in your ruby slippers:

SEE A SHOW

            The entertainment in Vegas is world-class. Everyone knows about the numerous Cirque De Soleil shows as well as Blue Man Group, Celine Dion or the various showgirls-type shows. There are also comedians, magicians and variety shows that go on during the day that can break things up when you’re on a bad streak. The best thing about the afternoon shows is they usually aren’t very expensive and you can even pick up great coupons for them from the bargain books you find everywhere around town.

            I caught Mac King’s Comedy and Magic show at Harrah’s for instance for $13 and really enjoyed it. Remember, competition is fierce to get a show in Vegas, so the people there are almost always really good. It’s hard to go wrong.

            You can even see sights you never expected just walking around. Besides my encounter with a roaming band of Oompa-Loompas (documented in an earlier post), I also walked past a Mexican bar and grill and saw a troupe of drunken midget wrestlers dancing on the bar in oversized sombreros celebrating Cinco De Mayo (or were the sombreros really normal sized but just looked…never mind). I love it when I get to write sentences like that without making anything up.

GET A MASSAGE

            No, I don’t mean those kinds of massages, you perv. The resort spas are top-of-the-line as well. On my first trip I was lucky enough to get a massage at the Orleans spa and it was an hour of utter bliss. Price around as different places have different deals, but again competition is fierce at the big hotels so quality is high.

            Not all of it is a good idea, though. It turns out you can even get a massage at Caesar’s Palace without going to the spa. Women walk around offering chair massages there. I was sitting in the sports book watching a game I had money on and decided I could use a little relaxation, so when the woman came by my seat I asked how much it cost. She told me $2 per minute. I decided to give it a try for ten minutes. I leaned forward in my chair and she went to work. She asked where I was from. I told her I was living in New Albany and before that, Indianapolis. As it turned out, she was from Indy as well and had moved to Vegas 8 months earlier. She’d lived in Broad Ripple while I was in the 56^th and Georgetown area.

I then made the mistake of asking her if she liked Las Vegas. She said she liked the weather but not the people quite as much. As she described her trouble meeting new friends the massage began to get more painful. Her fingers stopped rubbing and began grinding. It seemed she was taking her frustration out on my shoulders and spine. To top things off, she kept making conversation. At this point I would have given up any information she was looking for, state secrets, the location of Jimmy Hoffa's body, hell I'd have admitted to watching "Glee" on Hulu. She asked where I grew up and I told her South Bend, then she told me she was from Jasper. I just groaned while trying to glance at a clock hoping my 10 minutes was almost up. The world is too damn small, that’s the problem. The irony of something from Jasper that seems really nice at first but turns out really painful was not lost on me for a moment. When my 10 minutes mercifully came to an end, I gave her $20 plus a $5 tip, mostly to make sure she didn’t continue.

GO SHOPPING

            My favorite place is the Canal Shoppes in the Venetian. The atmosphere is relaxing, with the canal winding through the stores while people in gondolas are serenaded by the…the…well, the guys in the striped shirts that steer the boats (I’m sure they have a name I just don’t have a clue what it is).

 Pretty nice mall, huh?

 A living statue and a jester entertain the crowd in the square

Dude is on stilts. The interior of the place is really impressive. You feel like you're outdoors sometimes.

            The living statues are always fun there and it’s the only place I’ve been in years that has a legit rare book shop. Walking in I felt as the mother ship had called me home. The store contained shelf after shelf of first-edition classic books, and the display cases contained the most impressive items. A clerk asked if she could help and I did something I found has almost always worked for me. I asked her, “What do you think is the most interesting stuff here?” I love to use that question whenever I’m in a store such as that, since it gives the clerks a chance to show off both knowledge of  - and enthusiasm for – their favorite items.

She quickly led me to a case which contained an original edition of the Poor Richard Almanac written by Benjamin Franklin and another book written by Thomas Jefferson in its original hard cover. A book of Walt Whitman’s poems signed with a short note from Whitman as it was apparently a gift to a friend was nearby. The original memoir of the Lewis & Clark expedition was available for a cool $45,000, a copy of A.G. Spaulding’s original rulebook for the National League for $22,000 and even a heavily illustrated copy of the Nuremburg Chronicles from the 15^th century, yours for only $178,000. It felt really good to chat about classic books with someone who knew so much about them, and it turned a short browse into a fascinating hour of my day.

GET DESSERT

            The Ghirardelli restaurant on the strip has great desserts, plus you get some free chocolate just for walking in. It’s hard to beat that.

            New York New York has a food court by the casino where you can get an authentic egg cream. These chocolate and soda concoctions are really tasty and quite refreshing when it’s about 100 degrees outside.

            Serendipity 3 is a restaurant at Caesar’s that sits right on the strip and is known for its desserts. They have massive sundaes there, priced around $13 each. They are delicious and primarily designed for at least two or maybe more to share. I ate mine on my own.

          

   Have dessert first here and you’ll forget about the standard wraps-and-sandwiches lunch menu

FINALLY, LET ME SAVE YOU 30 BUCKS & A 45-MINUTE DRIVE

            The Hoover Dam is really really big. It’s a lot of concrete. They don’t know how many people died while building it for sure. The concrete goes up a really long ways, and the concrete is really thick. Have I mentioned how much concrete there is? It’s a lot. A lot of concrete. Big old honkin’ pile of concrete. If you give them $30, you can take pictures of the stairs that go from the bottom of the concrete to the top of the concrete. And each at each stop to look at the concrete they’ll tell you exactly how much concrete is above you, how much concrete is below you, and how much concrete is to your left, and even how much concrete is to your right. And believe you me, it’s a lot of friggin’ concrete.

            You’ve just taken the Hoover Dam tour.

 They charged extra for the right to take a picture of this. Damn right I'm snapping one.

Yup, lots of concrete all right.

Looking downriver from the dam.

Gravity...it's the law (Vegas Part II)

           Day two began with great anticipation, due to a little deal I’d made with myself months before. This was my third trip to Las Vegas, and over the previous two vacations I had seen most of the casinos and resorts in town. Only a couple were left to cross off the list. The Stratosphere, the Palms, the Hard Rock and the new City Center complex were some of the places I’d yet to visit.

            The Stratosphere is the tallest structure in Las Vegas and one of the tallest in the United States. It’s not a traditional skyscraper but more like the Space Needle in Seattle (but taller) in that it’s all elevator until you get to the observation levels up top. Taking advantage of the height of the building, the Stratosphere people built several thrill rides and a roller coaster on the top. Those had been there for years and I’d been eyeing them, a chance to get up there just never materialized. In 2010 they put in a new attraction that really caught my eye.

           

            The SkyJump is pretty basic. They attach you to a steel cable and you jump off the building. It’s similar to bungee jumping, only from 855 feet and cost $99. I made a deal with myself. I’d do it, but I would only do it with Vegas’ money. In other words, if I were ever up $100 gambling on this trip, I’d take that $100, put it aside, and use it to do the Skyjump.

            As it turned out, the fates had it in for me. The day we landed in Vegas, Steve, Jennifer and I spent some time at the laid-back off-strip Orleans Casino. We were enjoying our first night in town and found a Wheel of Fortune slot machine game. I’m not a big fan of slot machines since there’s no decision-making involved (I know the house has the advantage either way, I just enjoy at least being able to decide whether I should stay or hit, or what numbers or teams to bet on). Still, the Wheel of Fortune game is kind of fun as the players sit around the huge iconic wheel from the gameshow and when the bonus prize is hit, the wheel spins to loud sound effects and lights. People cheer for the other players and it seems to give out the bonus spins fairly regularly to keep people interested, so when Steve and Jennifer decided to play, I sat down too.

            It took only a few turns to get my bonus spin. The first wasn’t very big, 250 credits, so $2.50 as it was a penny machine. Still, I was up on my $20 investment so I was feeling good. I stayed hovering around the $22 mark for a few more minutes when I hit the bonus again. Around and around the wheel went, the machine blaring that famous “spinning” noise from the game show as I waited to see what I’d won. A bright white slot with red numbers slowly crept toward me, and I smiled as I saw the 1,000 credits blinking in front of me.

            “All right, ten bucks!” I said, smiling.

            “No man, that’s 10,000 credits!” said Steve. I stood up and sure enough, there was another zero obscured by my screen. I’d hit for $100 on the spin, and suddenly, after only ten minutes of gambling, I was up $102.00 playing penny slots. I knew right then I was about to jump off the Stratosphere. I hit the “cash out” button, received my voucher and cashed it in at one of the automated machines scattered around the casino. Monday would the day I’d put my money where my mouth was.

            I decided to do the jump the next day, just to make sure I didn’t talk myself out of it, but I felt surprisingly calm the next morning driving down the strip to the Stratosphere.  I found the SkyJump booth in the casino’s shopping area and signed up. It was around 11:30 in the morning, but my jump time would be 1:15 p.m. They told me to report at 1:00 to get my gear and safety instructions. I also sprung another $15 to have a DVD made of the jump.

            As I sat at a table outside a hot dog joint, taking bites out of a Chicago-style dog, I waited for the butterflies to hit, but strangely none were coming. I had skydived before and perhaps my brain just figured nothing would be as scary as that again, so I was cool as a cucumber when I returned at 1:00 to sign in. First of course was the waiver, absolving the Stratosphere from any legal problems should I splatter. I told them if anything were to go wrong I’d go spread eagle and try to make one of those Wild E. Coyote “Steven-shaped” holes in the ground. I’d at least want to go out being entertaining.

            A woman waved me behind the counter to a small room where I’d be fitted for the jump. The contents of my pockets went into a small locker and I was given a skydiving style suit to slip on. The harness came next, and I was belted and buckled in. They took two of us back at a time, the other jumper being an attractive blonde woman  in her late 20’s named Brandy, who was absolutely buzzing with nerves in a good way as she could not get the smile off her face. Her enthusiasm was infectious and I was grinning too as the camera was strapped to my right wrist to record the adventure.

            When the time came, they walked us to the elevator that shot up the tower. We walked right through the shopping area in our gear led by the guides, which caused quite a stir as the shoppers took pictures of us and generally stared at us with looks that ranged from, “I wish I were doing that,” to “What a couple of idiots.”

            Our ears popped a few times as the elevator as it stopped first on the 106^th floor (the restaurant) and then up to the 108^th. Brandy’s eyes were darting around in all directions as we walked onto the observation floor. It was a bright, sunny day as usual and the sheer scale of the Stratosphere finally hit home. The tower isn’t just the tallest building in Las Vegas, it’s the tallest by a long way. Nothing else even comes close, so the hotels and resorts that look so huge from street level seemed like toy models from those huge windows. We could see the tops of every other building in the city, and off in the distance the snow-capped mountains.

            The guides led us to an area sectioned off by metal posts and rails painted yellow, which was next to a small glass enclosure. Inside that stood two more guides and the large spool that coiled the steel cable that would keep us from becoming a smear on the ground. Just past that was a plank that jutted out from the side of the 108^th floor. We’d be walking that plank in just a few minutes. As they got the coil set up, Brandy and I nervously chatted as observers gathered around, taking more pictures of the view of both the view and of us. Both of us spoke quicker and a little louder than normal as the adrenaline began to hit. I found out it was her birthday and her boyfriend had paid for her jump as part of her birthday present. She’d be catching a plane back home later that day so this was her last adventure in Vegas. We talked of attractions and restaurants while we tried not to think about what we were about to do.

            Brandy went first, and she stepped inside the glass enclosure with the spool and the plank. There were gasps as the guide held the rail on the plank and leaned out precariously over the abyss to grab the hook (he was actually attached by a line too but not everyone could see that). Then Brandy was hooked up. After a few seconds she slowly crept out on the ledge. I could see her eyes were closed as she stood right on the edge. I saw her say something to the guide, and after a second, he put his hand in the small of her back and shoved her off. She dropped like a rock down and out of sight as the crowd gasped and gave oooh’s and ahhh’s again.

            After a few minutes of setup time again it was my turn. I stepped into the glass and the guides checked my equipment again. I tightened the cord that would keep my glasses secured. While Brandy had closed her eyes and asked to be pushed, I wanted to be the one to step off, and I wanted to see everything on the way down. They turned my camera on and we recorded a few last words before told me to walk down the plank. I looked out over the entire city, holding the rails like they asked. Finally, the guide counted down from three…two…one. I put my foot forward and walked off the building.

            I fell quickly, but the steel cable uncoiled slowly enough that I never had the free-fall feeling. Instead it just felt like I was floating, and I moved my head from the ground approaching to looking out over the strip as I dropped, seeing the Wynn, Venetian and TI casinos go from small models far below me to large edifices again. Before I knew it, I was slowing down rapidly and floated easily down to the ground. My front teeth were dry from smiling down through all 855 feet. I said a few words about how much fun it was to the camera as the guide at the bottom unhooked me. I looked back up, heart still beating strongly, and saw the ledge that now looked like a small yellow square way up on the building.

            I’d done it. I walked off the side of a building. And I never closed my eyes.

Vegas Baby, Vegas (Part I)

INTRO: The next few entries will be a chronicle of my trip to Las Vegas from May 1 to May 8. I'll hit on the highlights of what turned out to be a terrific trip filled with interesting experiences. I hope you enjoy reading about them.

SUNDAY:

           Good omens abounded as the Southwest Airlines Boeing 737 touched down at McCarron airport in Las Vegas on May 1. That was in stark contrast to the last few days before the trip, making me even more antsy than usual to get off the plane and get my vacation started. The first good omen came when my alarm went off at the ridiculously early hour of 4 a.m. We were taking an 8:40 a.m. flight out of Indianapolis, which meant we needed to leave by 4:45 or so to make the drive up to Indy, get through check-in and security and make it to the gate with minimal time stress.

            I was going with good friends Steve and Jennifer and was happy when they showed up at my place early, when I was fresh out of the shower. I had packed the night before, so all I had to do was get my bathroom supplies together and I was ready to roll. We hit the road 15 minutes earlier than planned. I took that as Good Sign No. 1.

            The drive up was rainy, as almost every day of the last three weeks had been in the flooded-out Ohio Valley, but it passed quickly. As we rode past fields that were normally dry but instead reflected the streetlights in inches of standing water, we talked about the upcoming weather in Vegas, which was set to be in the mid to upper eighties with zero chance of precipitation. That in and of itself seemed like paradise. Good Sign No. 2.

            The good people of the TSA were good enough to give me my first full body scan (see? I told you all you have to do was tip the guy at the metal detector and they’d give you one). I had a feeling that after many rants about how unnecessary, intrusive and irritating airport security has become I’d be chosen to go through one of those big wastes of time. Sure enough, I was one of the lucky ones selected to step to the side, put my hands in the air and wave them like I just didn’t care (actually, they want you to stand still in that position, kind of making you feel like an unfortunate bank teller in a western movie). The scanner whirred around me, irradiating me with enough waves to make my fillings hurt (total exaggeration) and a few seconds later I was given the all-clear.

            After parking we went through check-in. Flying Southwest is a little different with open seating. The airline divides the passengers up in groups A, B and C, then puts them in numerical order. Group A goes in first, followed by Group B then C, but you sit wherever there’s an open seat. Despite getting to the airport early, we found ourselves in Group C. By the time we got on the plane, the flight attendants told us only middle seats were available. Luckily I found two skinny people and plopped down between them.

            Both of my row-mates were pleasant folks. The woman in the window seat worked with dogs who had been abused or used in science experiments, meaning they were skittish around people and had to be re-socialized. She had some interesting stories about her work, while the man in the aisle seat and I compared notes on our e-reader devices. I had my Nook on and ready to go, but as always I had a difficult time staying awake on the plane and napped most of the way out. We even got to Las Vegas 15 minutes early, bringing us Good Sign No. 3.

            Landing in Vegas is exciting since the airport is so close to the strip. Taxiing to the terminal you can see Mandalay Bay, Luxor, the Tropicana and the MGM Grand out your window. I knew I was fired up and ready. We got our bags, took the tram over to the rental car building (it’s such a big business in Vegas the rental car companies have their own plaza complete with shops and a Starbucks) and got our Corolla for the week. Since it was only 10:00 or so local time at that point, we had a few hours to kill before our hotel was ready for us, so we did what any good tourists would do after falling out of the airport in a rental car: We drove the strip.

            We also an In-N-Out Burger to see what all the west coast hype was about. After grabbing a cheeseburger and fries there, I see exactly why people from California miss that place. Excellent burger there.
             After cruising and a food stop, we made our way to the hotel, stocked up on a few provisions for the week and headed out. That night we hit the Bellagio, my favorite resort on the strip for its elegance and class, and got a front-row spot for a nighttime dancing fountain show (still breathtaking).

           We also walked through the conservatory. The theme of the conservatory changes each month and they build gorgeous sets of flowers and plants. We went at night so the pictures didn't turn out as well as they would have in the daytime, but they give you an idea of how elaborate their designs can be. They even included a glass house which held hundreds of live butterflies:

            While I always find it tough to leave Bellagio, we had a lot to explore, so we headed out and checked  out the Mirage as well as TI. Things got a lot less highbrow there. Only in Vegas can you go from the sophistication of the Bellagio to Bikini Bullriding at Gilley's in TI (voted top bikini bullriding spot on the strip according to the sign, so you know it's top-notch).
            We had packed in quite a bit for a first day. We'd cruised the strip, had dinner at the Orleans, gambled some (I'll get into that tomorrow as it led to one of the absolute highlights of the week) and hit some of the nicest places in the city. While Vegas gives you energy to go for hours longer than you normally would, it was getting late, and it was downright early in the morning in our own time zone, so we were ready to sack out and hit town with a vengeance again the next day.
            But I'd be remiss if I didn't end my entry for Sunday with this next picture, taken at about 2 a.m. Vegas time as we walked back to the parking garage to get back to the car. I don't know what was funnier, the fact that we crossed paths with these guys in front of the Forum Shoppes at Caesar's Palace, or the fact that one of them high-fived me for wearing a Liverpool FC jersey:

            You gotta love Vegas.