Oh Please Tell Me I'm Wrong

I just got back from Las Vegas. And along with a lung full of second hand smoke, I have arrived home conflicted and am looking for some feedback. This is going to be one of those “If the music is too loud, you’re too old” kind of scenarios and I just need to know if I should stay home next time.

The story.

Those that have visited here before know that The Dave Matthews Band (DMB) is my absolute, all time favorite band in the whole wide world. I have all their music and am well attired in a variety of DMB concert T-shirts.

Two months ago, I received an e-mail from the DMB fan website announcing that Dave Matthews himself and Tim Reynolds were going to have an acoustical performance at Planet Hollywood in Las Vegas. Now I don’t want to suggest that I was excited to hear about this concert, but there was much sissy clapping and squealing as I ran up and down the hallway of my house.

Fast forward to Thursday, December 10^th.

I had flown from Seattle to Las Vegas, met my brother, who arrived from San Francisco, secured our room at the MGM and arrived early for the concert. Needless to say, the flight, the hotel room, the rental car and the concert tickets cost me a few bucks. I mention this because cost is an important factor in my defense.

As we wandered around the theater lobby, I saw that the age range of the fan base varied. The ages ranged from people in their 20’s up to people in their 60’s. I’m in my early 40’s. Another factor in my defense.

Time to take our seats.

Are theater seats designed and built by the same people who design and build airplane seats? I have rather broad shoulders, as does my brother who was seated to my right and the man seated to my left looked as if he may have played some pro football sometime during his lifetime. After an agreement that any unintentional shoulder rubbing and leg brushing would be written off to poor seat design, the three of us squeezed into our respective seats.

The show began.

Did I mention that this was an acoustical performance? Two men with acoustical guitars? Dave Matthews, not Metallica?

In any case, the performance was mesmerizing. I was having a really good time and was glad to have made the trip. Then suddenly, the young lady seated directly in front of me stood up and started dancing. I couldn’t see.

At first I decided to be patient and hoped that this young lady would realize that she was the only one in our section who had decided to stand up, and that I couldn’t see. Finally she turned around and through watery eyes, she asked me, ”Am I obstructing your view?”

“Yeah, you could say that.” I had now realized that Muffin Top (MT) was both drunk and dumb. Disgusted with my answer, MT took her seat and all was good for the time being.

Five minutes passed when MT jumped up and started dancing again. And once again, I couldn’t see. But this time she was going to town. In between stroking her hair with her hand and other Madonnaesque moves, she was bumping into the guy seated next to her. I don’t know about the people in front of her, but MT now had three large men behind her getting pissed off and the guy next to her wasn’t happy either.

After a few minutes of being patient, I finally had to say something. “Hey! There’s a special place for people who want to dance. It’s called the aisle. Move to the right or sit down!”

“But I need to dance!”

“Sit down!”

MT wasn’t happy. After a few F-Bombs thrown my way, she sat down with her arms crossed. The guy sitting next to MT, obviously pleased with my having taken action, reached his arm back and gave me a knuckle bump.

The next few minutes were amusing as MT switched her attention to the guy seated next to her, calling him various names, all of which started with the F-Bomb.

Finally, MT’s boyfriend, who up to this point had been practically invisible in his seat, decided to take action. I didn’t know what he had planned on doing, but I knew it wouldn’t be that impressive since he was wearing a pullover sweater.

Boyfriend stood up real tall like and switched seats with MT. What a hero! Now MT had to lean over her boyfriend while she continued to yell profanities at the guy she had been sitting next to, and still had no problem periodically flipping me the bird. This was an amusing performance for sure, but not the one I came to see.

After another twenty minutes of drunken silliness, MT, her boyfriend and his sweater all got up and walked off. I don’t know where they went and I don’t care. I was finally able to watch the show in peace.

Now before I ask for feedback, I need to offer a full disclosure of the situation. There were distinct sections in this theater. And in some sections, all the people were standing up and dancing. However, in my section, all the people who wanted to stand had worked their way to the aisle and the railing, leaving the more laid back crowd to sit in comfort and watch the show.

So now, keeping in mind the distance I had traveled, my age and the varied ages of the audience, and the fact that I paid big bucks for the whole event, don't I have the right to sit in the seat that I paid for? Or do I just have to understand that concerts and dancing people go hand in hand?

Is the music too loud, or am I too old?

What Were They Expecting?

I have had a recent run of people contacting me through my blog asking about CSI related matters. Don't know if it's because it's the end of summer, the beginning of school or what, but the inquiries are a rollin' in.

I just wonder what their thoughts are when they find my blog via a search for "Bullet Trajectory" and the scroll down to the post below to find the latest statistics on Zombie Invasions.

Double takes. Confusion. Disgust. It's all here.

Zombies Could Kick Our Butts

Photo courtesy of VWS via Flickr

As far as I can tell, there must not be much to calculate in Canada these days.

Canadian mathematicians have determined that in the event of Zombie outbreak, all of civilization as we know it is toast. The proof is in this article from the Telegraph.co.uk

Load the shotgun and pass the gasoline. We're gearing up to save mankind!

What Happens in Vegas Ought to Stay There

Picture Courtesy of dotbenjamin via Flickr

I am home and am two days back into work. Not an easy adjustment after four days of mindless fun.

My flight from Vegas to Seattle was perfect. We left on time, the flight was smooth and we arrived earlier than expected. However, this was not the case for everyone around me.

The McCarran Airport in Las Vegas is a big one. From the ticket counters and security screening, there is a tram that shuttles everyone to his or her respective terminal. As I stood waiting for the tram, I noticed a young man in his twenties standing alone, and he did not look happy. I watched him as he walked back and forth, looking at the ground. I realized that things were not going well for him when the young man set his bag down and lay down on the granite floor. A crowd of people waiting for the tram surrounded him. He did not care. And then it dawned on me, that man is in pain. He’s hung over.

Once I was on the plane, I sat down in my aisle seat, book in hand. (Lee Child, “Nothing to Lose”). Two nicely dressed men and a woman, all in their twenties, sat in the aisle next to me. Both of the men were wearing sunglasses inside the plane, and were loudly making jokes, asking if a doctor was present on the plane. Flying is not exactly a comfortable activity. It must be worse when the reading lights inside the plane look like small suns. I hope that the glasses helped.

As I took my seat and turned to page 271, I looked over at the young lady sitting next to me. She was holding a white bag in her hand, see-through enough that I could tell that it was filled with liquid. I heard her say to her friend how embarrassed she was as I stood up to make room for her to pass, and work her way to the plane’s restroom. It was an awkward feeling to sit next to her during the flight as she continued to fill up the barf bags, all courtesy of Alaska Airlines.

The stewardesses came by with the drink cart. I had a root beer.

Traveling would be so much more of a pleasure if I could just have the plane all to myself.

The Greatest Show on Earth

I have discovered something here in Las Vegas. Really drunk people are completely invisible to touchless paper towel dispensers. They wave their hands in front of the sensor and wait. And then they do it again. After several failed attempts, they move onto the next machine and go through the process several more times, hoping for a different outcome.

When that doesn’t work, the verbal assault on the machine begins.

“What? What the hell.” Hand wave. Hand wave. “What? You dumb son of a…buurrrp, what the hell?” Hand wave. Hand wave. “You better give me a towel!”

Right about this time I like to walk up behind the drunk, wave my hand in front of the machine, take my towel, smile and say, “How you doing?”

The drunk is guaranteed to run over to the machine I just used and start the process all over. This is one of the least expensive shows in Las Vegas.

I am also convinced that Las Vegas has the highest per capita of smokers anywhere in the US. It is remarkable to see so many people preparing their own deaths with a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other and pumping quarters into slot machines.

Now I have to be fair. I realize that these same folks may have seen me bellied up to the buffet, balancing two plates of food and wondering to themselves, Is he really going to eat all that?

The path of one’s own death is often a personal choice, but at least I didn't loose all my money playing slot machines.

Speaking of death, I will always give a double take to those smokers who are attached to an oxygen bottle. They have one-fifth of their lung capacity left, a tank on a little cart they pull behind themselves because the tank is too heavy, and they’re smoking!

Now I’m not an expert on this, but aren’t there some explosion considerations regarding oxygen tanks and lit objects?

I really don’t know. I’m just saying.

On the poker front – How should I say this? “Meh”

Last night was limit hold-em. There were 57 players, which was a much smaller turnout than expected. I went out number 16. The payouts were to the top seven, so at least it wasn’t on the bubble.

Just one more game left tonight. This will be a no-limit game, just like the ones you see on TV. You do watch poker on TV, don’t you?

The results to follow. Hope your having an excellent weekend.

The Bubble Blows

In tournament poker, there is a phrase used to describe a very demoralizing time for a player to be knocked out of the tournament. The phrase is, “Going out on the bubble.”

The top finishing players are awarded cash prizes, and sometimes trophies and other prizes. If the tournament calls for cash prizes to be awarded to the top four players, then the person who gets knocked out in 5th place is said to be on the bubble.

Fast Forward

I am in Las Vegas – (I suspect that some of you may know where this is going.)

As I have for the last six years, I am playing in a series of poker tournaments that are limited to police and fire personnel only. This means that cops and water squirters come from all over the USA to play, and it is without question, a hoot. The money raised in these events goes to assist police and fire fighters who have been seriously injured in the line of duty.

Last night was a really fun tournament called a Tag Team event. Two players share a chip stack and alternate between playing 7-card stud and limit hold-em. Close to 30 teams played last night.

My partner Eric and I placed 4th in this event last year and were really hoping to kick some butt this year. Without going into long details of card play, it is enough to say that after seven long hours of play, Eric and I went out on the bubble.

I took it well though. I quietly went back to my hotel room and ate one of the pillows on the bed.

For me, it is much easier to be knocked out of a tournament early than it is to play that long and get nothing. At least by getting knocked out early, I would have had the evening to go run around for a bit. But nooooooo!

Tonight is tournament #2. This is a limit game and is expected to have about 100 players. We will see.

On other fronts, the Steampunk bookcase is completely assembled. I will have pictures when I get back.

Weather in Las Vegas: Clear with a high of 101 degrees

If you have a bubble in your life, please share.

The Steampunk Office Begins

I don’t like antiques. Never have. They’re old and they smell funny.

However, now that I have recently moved into the new Stampfl estate, I can finally begin assembling my Steampunk themed office. For those not familiar with this project, I chatted about it a bit in this older post.

In the last few months I have visited a bazillion antique shops around my area, and several in Oregon and Northern California during my recent road trip. So far I have not been able to find the kind of table that I am looking for, but during this weekend I found a bookcase that I simply could not pass up.

There is a huge antique store in Seattle that focuses mainly on furniture and not the trinkety stuff so often seen in antique stores. On the third level, which was oh so dimly lit, I found a monster of a bookcase with just enough Victorian style and Gothic touches that I knew that I had to have it. According to the store owners, the piece was from Denmark and it was estimated to be from about 1910. This is just outside of the Victorian era, but hey, the Steampunk design concept is a fictitious one anyway. I can fudge the timeline a bit, and besides, the piece is cool. However, it will need some work.

The two wood doors are slightly warped and one of the framed doors is missing a piece of glass. The finish is a mix of perfect, to slightly worn, to needs work, and it smells funny. It has clearly been refinished at least once in its lifetime but could use a good going through once again. But for now, I will leave it as is and make the restoration a winter time project.

I was told by the store owners that this piece actually breaks down into several sections and could be easily loaded up in my truck that day. I was delighted to learn this, but slightly horrified when I was presented with the disassembled version of this bookcase. I wondered if I would be able to put it back together on my own.

Happily, I am nearly finished with the assembly. I will have a picture to show the updated version soon.

So, how was your weekend?

Road Trip Update

I have finally stopped an unstoppable amount of driving. I have now sworn off any future road trips by car. The west coast is long, and at 106 degrees, I will be avoiding Central California from now on as well.

Fast Forward to here and now: House we are staying at has game room with dart board.

And now A random conversation with a five year old

"Hey buddy, wanna play darts?'

"Sure"

"Okay, here are three darts. Go stand back there and when...HEY! HEY! HEY! Wait til' I'm out of the way. That almost hit me in the head."

"Sorry Dad."

We are off to dinner. More road trip updates later.

Where Have You Been?

I have had three inquiries in as many days asking me when I’m going to post something.

One of those inquiries came from Randy. Remember him? I had lunch with him today.

I don’t often have lunch with Randy, as he insists on talking with his mouth full. Meaningful dialogue is a two-way street, but my street tends to be lined with potholes as I watch bits of hamburger drop from Randy’s mouth onto the table. I could almost handle the sight of food falling from his lips as he blathers on about insignificant bits of Star Trek trivia, but rarely is this the only offensive behavior I have to sit through.

For example, at the point of what should have been the conclusion to the meal, Randy gathered up the half-chewed scraps from the table, squished them with his fingers into one tidy little ball, and popped it into his mouth. As I watched in horror at the third world table manners, he proclaimed, “Hey, there are starving kids in Irvine California. No point in being wasteful.”

I would mention the other two inquiries, but I didn’t have lunch with them today.

Okay, what else?

On a good note, we have finally moved into the new Stampfl estate!! Mrs. CSI and I are still unpacking boxes, some of which have been in storage for over a year. (You’ll remember that we were residing in an apartment for some time.) Opening each box is like a Christmas present, except that each box contains a White Elephant gift.

We have given away what seems like truck loads of stuff to Goodwill, all the while wondering why we paid so much money to store the junk for so long.

I have decided to go Zen people. I’m giving everything away. A beer, my laptop, and the Dave Mathews Band playing in the background will suit me just fine.

So what’s next? Roadtrip! I will keep you posted. Hope you’re all well.

Oh, I Know Just How This Guy Feels

I Really Need to Tri Better

Photo by DavidDMuir

A few weeks back, I made the really poor decision to sign myself up for a triathlon. It's a Sprint triathlon, which is significantly shorter than a traditional triathlon. But with a 1/4 mile swim, a 15 mile bike ride and a 3 mile run, this is still going to be a tough event for a guy who gets winded running to answer the phone.

The event is May 28h. I started training yesterday.

Yesterday I went out for a run just to see how I am doing. Prior to yesterday, if I saw an overweight guy jogging down the sidewalk, I'd say to myself, "That boy might want to pick up the pace." For thirty painful minutes, the occupants of every passing car were given the opportunity to say the same thing about me. However, despite the numerous requests that I made to myself to stop, I managed three miles.

So now begins a personal experiment into streamlining. I have just four weeks to maximize my training, diet, rest and recovery in order to not only participate in the triathlon, but to actually finish. A tough challenge for a guy who is out of shape and has never participated in triathlon before.

Updates to come.

BTW - Special thanks to Kylie. She has awarded me the Zombie Chicken Award. I am not entirely sure what the award means, but I think it suggests that I have not been blogging as often as I should, therefore leaving my three readers without the extraordinary information that they crave to fill their minds with valuable information...or something like that. Regardless of its meaning, I like it. Thanks Kylie.

A Little Advertising for a Friend

There are two types of writers: Writers who write, and those who say they will.

I am amazed at the number of authors I have met since becoming interested in writing. This link is to Diesel's site regarding his new book. He is a writer who writes, and this is his second book.

Take a look. It's quick. It's simple. Diesel will mow your lawn if you do.

Did You See It?

Did anybody watch American Idol tonight? I don't normally blather on about this kind of stuff, but Adam Lambert was absolutely amazing. His rendition of Tears for Fears' Mad World was so cool that I actually watched it several times. Thank goodness for TiVo.

I may even have to buy that recording from iTunes.

Your thoughts? And yes, you can bag on me for watching American Idol.

Full Frontal Nerdity

Mini CSI and I just got back from the Emerald City ComiCon.  

The place was packed but it was cool.  And I almost got to see what I wanted to see. Just as we busted through the doors, Mini CSI spotted a booth where they were making balloon animals.  Oh Joy!  He had to have one.  

So we stood in line to get ourselves a balloon animal, all the while Ray Park (aka Darth Maul from the Phantom Menace) is standing behind us, chatting it up with the crowd and taking pictures with everyone.  I tried get Mini CSI to break away, but he would not hear of it. Balloon Animal or Bust! So, that was a missed opportunity.  

After what seemed like forever, Mini CSI's balloon animal, which was actually a hat shaped like a dragon, was now complete.  In the meantime, I had a sudden drop in blood sugar and was in desperate need of some food.  So back down the escalators to the lower floors of the convention center for a little lunch.   Unfortunately for me, one more obstacle was about to be placed in front of me.  As we were eating, one of the balloons of the dragon balloon hat popped.  Mini CSI's eyes began to tear up and my heart sank on his behalf since his new hat was all of about fifteen minutes old.  In order to restore order to the free world, I promised Mini that we would go back to the balloon guy and request a repair.  

So back up we went, and back in line we stood.  Repairs made, and off we went.  

Although I am not a big fan of comic books per se, I am a big fan of the artwork that goes into making the comic books.  There were well over one hundred artists on hand showing off their respective artwork and signing their products for the crowd.  This is the kind of stuff I like.  

On the other hand, there were well over one hundred vendors selling models, replicas and toys.  This is the kind of stuff that Mini CSI likes.  Immediately he got himself a case of what we call the "gimmies".  "Oh Dad, I want that.  I love that.  Oh Dad, you gotta see this."  

The very first "toy" that Mini saw that he had to have was a 2 1/2 foot wide Millenium Falcon replica. I have to say, it was really cool.  Luckily, it was on sale for only $250.00.  I never really liked the Millenium Falcon that much.  

So we cruised around, looking at all the different displays.  There were several celebrities on hand signing autographs.  Several of cast members of the current Battlestar Galactica were on hand, as well as Stargate Atlantis.  Wil Wheaton formerly Wesley Crusher on Star Trek The Next Generation was there as well.  I had hoped for the chance to say hello to him as I enjoy reading his very successful blog, but the line was way too long for a guy toting along a kid in a dragon balloon hat.  

Before we left, I managed to convince Mini CSI to take at least one picture with one of his Star Wars heros.  And with that, the day was complete. 

Did you manage to get your Nerd on today?  

A Contrast in Parenting Styles

Mini CSI and I are walking to the park, which is one of his favorite places. An obviously angry dad is dragging his four-year-old son by the arm back to their car. The dad is yelling at his son, “Tell me again what you called Daddy. You don’t call Daddy names. Tell me what you called me.”

In the meantime, Mini CSI and I are doing that thing where you flip your leg up to the side and kick each other in the butt, all the while engaged in our own conversation.

“You’re a big dufus.”
“No you’re a big dufus.”
“Oh yeah? Well you’re a big dufus.”

Am I doing it wrong?