Going to See the Elephant

 My brother and I have a tradition of taking a ‘bro-trip” when either of us celebrates a birthday ending in zero. For his 50th we spent a weekend in Chicago; I used to live there and he’d never been. When he turned 60 we went to upstate New York to see the baseball Hall of Fame, then to the largest motocross race in the country, at Unadilla in New Berlin.

This year I turned 70 and had never been to Las Vegas. We took care of that earlier this month, the excuse being the country’s largest pool tournament running from August 4 – 9.

We stayed at the Flamingo, where my brother’s wife got us a stupid cheap rate. (I think it was $218 for the three nights combined.) As neither of us are gamblers, the hotel took a bath.

I’d like to tell you all the cool things we did, but, you know, what happens in Vegas and all that. I can share some thoughts.

• You may not be aware of this, but Las Vegas is hotter than a dog’s balls on a griddle. No one was frying eggs on the sidewalk; they were roasting whole chickens. Highs were in the 110s every day we were there. The low each morning was 91.

• The food was outrageously expensive, but excellent. A Gordon Ramsey hamburger cost $26.95; it was also the best hamburger I ever ate. Bottled water at the hotel was six dollars. (In what was clearly an oversight, vending machines in the hotel sold the same water for only $3.10.) Beers were routinely $13 – $15. We did find a place that sold dollar wings and three-dollar drafts during happy hour. The wings were huge and excellent. If you’re in Vegas and want that combo, check out Bottled Blonde, across the street from Bellagio.

• The sports book at the Westgate is large, quiet, and comfortable. No one hassles you to spend money, and no bright lights are in your face. We came to view it as a sanctuary. Of course, we weren’t there during a football weekend.

• Speaking of sports books, you can get a bet down right now – today – on NFL games to be played in January. It’s safe to say anyone placing such a bet – not knowing how the season will play out or who might be hurt – is a degenerate gambler who should seek immediate assistance.

• As might be expected in a town where the sole industry is tourism, everyone we dealt with could not have been nicer, and it never seemed forced. The sole exception was a pissy blackjack dealer who was taciturn at best when I didn’t see the “$50 minimum” sign at her table and tried to get a twenty down. 

• Among these friendly people was an attractive young woman we met on The Linq Promenade, dressed in a cowboy hat, boots, chaps, and nothing else except for little spangly things over her nipples. She asked me if I wanted a picture with her. I replied, “Do I and will I are two different things.” She laughed and we went our separate ways.

• The monorail passes we bought the first day saved our lives, possibly literally, given the heat. We were able to tour the length of The Strip while never spending more than a few minutes at a time away from air conditioning. The two-day pass was the best $26 I spent all week.

The end result was about as I expected. I always enjoy time with my brother. We’re not just close; we genuinely enjoy each other’s company, even if we’re doing nothing more entertaining than riding the monorail or cooling off in the Westgate sports book. 

While I had more fun than anticipated – the tournament exceeded all expectations – now that I’ve been I see no reason to go back. I won’t go out of my way to avoid Vegas now that I know the niches where I’m comfortable, but it is the most ostentatious, extravagant example of profligate spending to be found outside of Saudi Arabia or Donald Trump’s bathroom. Several times each day I couldn’t help thinking any nation that can afford this kind of spectacle can afford to feed hungry children and make sure they and their grandparents have adequate health care.

Stu turns 70 in 2030. Embryonic plans are already under development.

Happy Anniversary to The Beloved Spouse™

 Today we celebrate the fifteenth anniversary of The Beloved Spousal Equivalent’s promotion to Beloved Spouse.

Notice how I did not say anything about it being ‘fifteen years ago today?”

That’s because it wasn’t. The actual anniversary was this past Wednesday, November 27.

Why the discrepancy?

In those days my parental units used to visit us over the Thanksgiving holiday. They’d arrive Wednesday afternoon and leave early Sunday morning so Dad could be home for the Steelers game. (He was old old school and didn’t believe in watching recorded games, no matter how much of his remaining time on earth would be saved by skipping commercials.)

The Sole Heir was still local then, a freshman at the University of Maryland in College park. She was home in Olney for the holiday weekend.

TBS and I had decided to get married but wanted something in our own…idiom. We arranged for a celebrant to come to the house on Black Friday afternoon, as Mom and Dad would be there and we could easily arrange a pretext to get TSH to the house.

Oh, yeah. We didn’t tell anyone except for the celebrant we were doing this. No one.

We were watching hockey – the Penguins would go on to lose to the Islanders 3 – 2 – with TSH and her then boyfriend now husband wondering what it was we’d hurried them over there for.

Three o’clock. The doorbell rings.

 Our celebrant, Heather, is at the door dressed in medieval garb. “Would anyone here like to get married?”

I turn to TBS. “Don’t we have that box of wedding stuff somewhere?” She says yes, tells me where it is – I already knew, this was theater – and everyone else wondered what exactly the hell was going on.

The wedding box contained, among miscellaneous festive appurtenances:

·       Tee shirts labeled husband, wife, mother, father, daughter. (We didn’t know Zack was coming, though he was more than welcome.)

·       Two small notebooks containing our “scripts;” the celebrant had her own scroll, for reasons that will become apparent later..

·       Heads on sticks of my brother, sister-in-law, two nieces, their dog, and two close friends who lived nearby and we knew would have come had we even hinted at this.

We then went through a real and legally binding ceremony while everyone else looked on with various shades of amusement, disbelief, or irritation. (It took Mom a while to figure out what was going on. She was still pretty sharp in those days, but no longer all that imaginative.)

I’ll not go through the entire brief, but not very solemn, ceremony here. Suffice to say it began thus, in script form:

HEATHER

 

Dearly beloved,

 

I know this was unexpected, so I will be brief.

 

(Allow scroll to fall open. It’s about four feet long.)

 

We are gathered here today on this not quite so solemn as some might have it occasion because when one heart exhibits migratory behavior toward another, it’s a force of nature, and not a question of where it grips it. Corky and Dana have married before. The marriages fell over and sank into the swamp. They tried again. Those marriages burned down, fell over, and sank into the swamp. So here they are, having learned from experience and lived as married in all but name (nudge, nudge, say no more) to build the strongest marriage in all the kingdom.

 

[References to Monty Python deliberate and numerous.]

Five minutes later we were married.

“This is all very nice,” you are asking, “but what does any of it have to do with not observing the actual date of the wedding?”

Good question. Actually, a great question. (What’s the difference between a good question and a great question? A great question is one I know the answer to.)

We were both still gainfully employed. We knew we’d always be off during the four-day weekend. November 27 might not always be convenient for an anniversary celebration.

The day after Thanksgiving would.

So here we are, celebrating our anniversary on the agreed-upon day, two days late by the calendar. Our prescience has been proven solid, as today finds us in Florida, where The Sole Heir, her husband, the baby, TSH’s mother, and Zack’s parents have all convened for the holiday. There are no better ways to celebrate important life events than with as many of the people who mean the most to you as can be assembled. That is exactly what we are doing.

Of course, the anniversary would still be a joy had it been just the two of us. The Pens play at Boston this evening – it’s later in the day than fifteen years ago, but the in-laws live in Massachusetts, so a friendly rivalry may be in order – even if we had nothing else scheduled. (Assuming the game is on in Florida.)

Every day is a bit of an anniversary with The Beloved Spouse™. We both do little things, intentional and otherwise, that remind us of why we chose to formalize a bond we’d already shared for five years. We are growing old together, not for better or for worse, but for better, as we are both well-equipped and willing to help the other through whatever vicissitudes old age visits upon us.

I wish I was as smart every day as the day I said:

DANA

 

I, Dana, take you, Corky, as my lawfully wedded wife, in this ceremony crafted to our own particular—uh—uh—

 

CORKY

 

Idiom

 

DANA

 

Idiom, to share in my great tracts of land in a very real, and legally binding sense. I promise never to make you live in a self-perpetuating autocracy, but in a an anarco-syndicalist commune. We shall take it in turns to be a sort of executive officer for the week, but all the decisions of that officer have to be ratified at a special bi-weekly meeting. Soft dirt shall not tempt me, even when I find unidentified and previously unannounced vegetables in my dinner, and I shall not say “Ni!” to you unless strenuously provoked.

 

Happy anniversary to The Beloved Spouse™. Never was a title more richly deserved.