The Thrilling Travels of Normal Guy and Girl

"The stars at night..."

2007-06-07T14:04:00.000-07:00

Above: That’s me, sporting my ten-gallon hat, of course!

"Are big and bright, (clap, clap, clap), Deep in the heart of Texas!" I remember hearing this song for the first time while watching Pee Wee’s Big Adventure. I always wanted to sing it, preferably with a bunch of Texans. My dream came true last weekend at Minute Maid Park in Houston.

Jason and I just returned from a long weekend trip to Houston. I have to be honest, I was not super thrilled to return to the city where I had my wisdom teeth taken out, but I was excited to meet his family members from his dad’s side. Having lived a big chunk of my life in the south, I was looking forward to sweet tea, southern food, and friendly people. I was not disappointed.

After getting settled in the first of two hotel rooms (the first one’s A/C wasn’t working, so we relocated after our first night), we decided to check out the local Waffle House. I don’t believe there are any Waffle Houses north of the Mason-Dixon Line, so Jason and I believed we were in for a treat.. Or at least, I did, and Jason gave me the benefit of the doubt. We walked in at 11:30 PM and saw only one clean table. The remaining tables were covered in dirty dishes left by previous patrons. We were so focused on our hunger that we ignored the mess as best as we could, especially since I reassured Jason that it’d be okay. The other Waffle Houses I had frequented were clean and had friendly people and decent food. I knew we were in trouble when we had to clear ants off of the table. The sad thing is that we stayed to eat! Jason’s brother-in-law, Paul, claims that it was worth it for the funny story this experience provides. I am still debating this theory.

Above: With Jason’s family, wearing 3D glasses at the IMAX.

I met Jason’s family, including his grandpa (who reminded me a lot of my 81-year-old grandpa from Tennessee who still works full time!), his aunts and uncles, and a few cousins. We had a great time! You can definitely say we ate wonderful food, and we managed to go to an Astros game (thank you, Carlos and Vicky!), and even broke them out of an 11-game losing streak. (The Red Sox lost that night, but you can’t win ‘em all!)

The best part for me was feeling welcomed into Jason’s family by people who had met me for the first time that weekend. Hugs were plentiful and I felt the southern hospitality throughout my visit, a feeling that I sometimes miss in Boston. Of course, since his dad grew up in Houston, I am marrying a half-southern gentleman, but I digress.

One of my favorite moments was at the end of the trip. Jason and I, along with his sister and Paul, were following his mom and dad back to the hotel. Stopped at a red light, Jason decided to honk the horn as soon as the light changed. Laughter shook the Trail Blazer as his dad flipped us off.

For me, Jason helped me wipe away the bad memories from my summer in Houston during college. They have been replaced with Carlos’ stories, Jason’s grandpa’s laugh, and all of the smiles shared during our visit.

Non-Stop Prom

2007-05-24T12:46:00.000-07:00

[From the clutter-free desk of Normal Girl, comes this evaluation of the Boston Prom. Check out a mini photo gallery over at Jason’s blog]

For me, last weekend was devoted to Prom.

Friday, my youngest sister attended her senior prom. She got all dolled up, and then I squatted at her feet to buckle her black heels. I mentioned that she’d be returning the favor in a little over a year when I wear my wedding dress, but she was too excited to sense my hint of sarcasm. You have to understand that she is a bit of a drama queen, being the baby of the family and all. The following words came out of her mouth in a huff as she paced, waiting on her boyfriend who ALMOST prevented them from riding in the limo: “It’s my senior prom; it’s supposed to be perfect!” Lyra (my other sister) and I looked at each other and rolled our eyes. I guess after you experience your senior prom, it doesn’t seem like such a thrilling experience anymore. For Lyss, it was a big deal and looking back, I feel bad that I wasn’t more supportive. At the same time, her boyfriend slept until 2 and then ran around getting an undershirt and borrowing my dad’s dress shoes, while Lyra frantically searched on the internet for instructions on folding a handkerchief. Are you getting a glimpse into the chaos of my family’s house?! After surviving the tornado that was Lyss and her date, Chris, running down the stairs to catch a limo with Lyss’ friends, I took a deep breath and remembered my senior prom..

Cast your memory back to 1995… Although big hair was beginning to fade into history, it was alive and well in Circleville, Ohio. Prom was a huge event. We decorated for two days straight to make the gym into a Paris café. The sidewalk was lined with parents and siblings, who blinded us with flashes like we were celebrities on the red carpet. My date and I had a blast, dancing the night away with friends and smiling as the Prom Queen and King were announced. I have a few distinct memories from that night, but what stands out more than anything is how I sat in the salon chair for two hours on a hairstyle that barely survived through pictures. This time around, I’d do it myself!

Back to last weekend and Boston Prom. Normal Guy and I always joke about “what ifs”—what if I had stayed in Maine? Would we have dated? Would we have gone to prom? Well, this was our chance to experience prom together. I have to be honest, it took a little of the fanfare away considering that we got ready in the same apartment! Nevertheless, we got all dolled up, just like Lyss, and headed out to catch a cab to prom.

Dinner was good, although we shared our table with an “interesting” pair. We had fun taking pictures and tried to think of cheesy poses, just like we did in 1995. I was excited about sharing a slow dance at prom, but it wasn’t meant to be. Spinderella had only fast songs on her play list and didn’t touch any of my favorites from the 80’s: Bon Jovi, Boyz II Men, and Guns ‘n Roses. We sat there, watching the other prom-goers dancing. We danced for a few songs, but the music was the end for me—just not what I was looking for! When Normal Guy asked me what I was thinking about, my response was “comfy pants.” I wanted to go home.

Reliving prom was fun, but I realized what made it different this time around. After watching Lyss get ready, I remembered that, to me, high school prom was about creating a perfect romantic moment. Normal Guy and I don’t need to create a perfect time and place for perfect moments; we experience them at random moments that we share, whether it’s sharing a laugh in my car driving to Maine or playing travel cribbage on our hotel bed in NYC. Prom was not necessary for us to have a perfect moment, but it was still fun to get dressed up! Next time, we’ll call it an early night and share a slow dance barefoot in our living room!

Senior Prom – 12 Years Later

2007-05-21T21:17:00.000-07:00

Above: That’s us, captured mid-laugh at The Boston Prom

Better late than never, isn’t that right? On Saturday night, Keryn and I got dressed up in our best formal-ware and headed to the prom. I think we were both expecting it to be a more relaxed event, but 90% of the people there were taking it very seriously. I had been hoping to see some puffy sleeves and mall hair—standard fare for my own actual senior prom back in mid-coast Maine. Keryn was hoping for some cheesy 80’s music; perhaps some Whitesnake, Poison, and Bon Jovi. Alas, we were both sorely out of luck. And they reserved the lone slow dance for the waning minutes (by which point we had already fought the drizzle to snag a taxicab). All in all, we had a great time. How could I not, seeing as my date was the hottest girl at the prom!

Dining at the Automat

2007-05-18T20:27:00.000-07:00

After brunch in the East Village, we wandered in search of cheap sunglasses and knock-off handbags. Suddenly I perceived a pink storefront… No, not a storefront, but a vending machine the size of a hotel room. What kind of crazy contraption might it be?

Imagine my glee at realizing it was none other than the very Automat I read about in The New Yorker a few months ago. I couldn’t have been more excited. I think Keryn had a tough time understanding my fascination, but I was not the only man drawn to the stainless steel machine. In the fifteen minutes we stood in the vicinity, ten people snapped photographs. None bought food.

The Automat offers a diverse set of snacks and meals. PB&J sandwiches. Chicken nuggets. “Roast pork bun”--whatever the hell that is. Or how about the mac ‘n’ cheese kroket (or the dubious-sounding chicken pot pie kroket). Corndogs. Hot dogs. Cheeseburgers. Donuts. Name something unhealthy, and they’ve got it.

How does this nifty contraption work? Well some guy in the back prepares the snacks and loads them onto shelves. The hungry shopper feeds six or eight quarters through the change slot, opens one of the glass doors, and takes the treat of his liking. No lines, no menus, no language barriers. Like buying a soda except with meat.

I’m not going to lie--the food did not look especially appetizing. And I’ll eat almost anything. The cheeseburger repelled me with estimable enthusiasm. Yet I nearly bought a portion of chicken nuggets just to be able to say that I sampled the wares.

I’m not sure whether the Automat will ever catch on (it certainly didn’t the first time around, decades ago), but the next time I pass one by, I might have to roll the dice. I think I'll stay away from the cheeseburgers...

Greyhound Observations

2007-05-16T05:12:00.000-07:00

My birthday present for Keryn’s 30th: two nights in a nice Times Square hotel, orchestra seats to The Lion King, and an afternoon with her future maid-of-honor. We took the bus because it’s really the only way to travel when you’re saving up for a wedding. The Acela would have cost nearly as much as the airplane ticket she bought for an upcoming trip to Hawaii, and once you factor in security lines and the commute from LGA into the city, the shuttle hardly seems worth the extra dough. So we headed to South Station last Saturday for the bus to New York’s Port Authority Bus Terminal.

Scattered observations from our trip:

Apparently the economics of the matter are widely apparent. There was so much demand for the Saturday 9am bus that they added a second bus for the overflow – and filled it. On our return trip Monday afternoon at 3pm (hardly what one would call a popular travel time), half the potential passengers in line were stuck waiting for the next bus. Turns out that you really do have to be at the bus station an hour before departure…

The passengers on a typical Greyhound coach represent an incredible socioeconomic spectrum. Almost shocking, in fact. Like a great eighty-passenger melting pot with one sloshing toilet and squirt-on hand sanitizer.

Would it really be so bad if they put pockets on the seats? Or cup holders?

How is it possible that so many people traveling the Boston-New York corridor are unfamiliar with the basic concept of “carry-on bags go under the seat in front of you?” The lady in front of me on Monday kept shoving my bag into my feet while she enjoyed ample legroom. I have just resisted the urge to type a flurry of unkind names.

I’m still not clear on the rules regarding tips to the driver or curbside luggage guys. Is there a standard practice?

R.N. Morris’s The Gentle Axe is a splendid mystery novel, though it makes me think a re-read of Crime and Punishment may be in order.

I shudder at the thought of an eventual permission for in-flight cellular phone calls.

How does anyone undertake a 4.5 hour journey without a scrap of reading material? I’ve wondered this on flights, too… But at least they show a movie there. And there’s always the SkyMall catalogue (and the hot dog toaster I’ve long claimed to covet). If you’re going to sleep part of the way, great. But sooner or later you’re going to wake up. The idea of staring straight ahead for so many hours makes me queasy.

The view of Manhattan on the voyage home is absolutely priceless… And I can’t wait to go back again in a few months.

Planning the Honeymoon (13 Months Early)

2007-05-09T17:01:00.000-07:00

Assuming that we get our desired date and stick around for Sunday brunch / farewell with our guests, Keryn and I will leave for our honeymoon exactly 13 months from today. By this point in the day we would be somewhere over the Atlantic, our scheduled arrival in Paris - Charles de Gaulle a mere five hours away…

So far we are implementing a divide-and-conquer approach to wedding planning. Keryn has minimal interest in menu/bar, and she has somehow arrived at the conclusion that I should plan the honeymoon. Meanwhile, she is in charge of the music (including a string trio/quartet for the wedding march) and flowers. Some subjects (cake, stationary, centerpieces) remain in a netherworld of shared responsibility.

I’m so excited about honeymoon planning that I have already sketched out an itinerary. Paris for four days. Normandy (D-Day beaches, Mont St. Michel) for two. Overnight train to Monaco. One day suntanning on the Riviera. Onward to Florence for four days. Day-trips into the heart of Tuscany and Cinque Terre (on the coast). Venice for two nights. Fly home from whichever Italian airport we can get a convenient itinerary from.

Not bad, huh? Of course there are a few problems with the plan… Namely, it’s way too early to book flights, hotels, train tickets, restaurant reservations--pretty much everything. Prices will change between now and then. Airlines don’t let you book more than a year in advance (if you’re lucky). Restaurants may close. Besides, Keryn needs to look at the fancy travel guides (they have lots of pictures!) to figure out if there’s anything she’s dying to see but I unknowingly excluded from the plan.

We are planning to set up a honeymoon registry for all this… If anybody happening by this blog has suggestions on that increasingly-popular-but-still-quasi-taboo practice, I’d love to hear them!

[It’s important to note here how I typically plan travel. A recent scenario: woke up on Thursday morning realizing I had not yet booked airfare for my business trip scheduled for Monday-Tuesday. Got the very last seat on the very last flight that would get me into the city prior to my meeting. So planning something this far in advance is definitely out of the norm. See what the love of a good woman does to a perfectly normal procrastinator like me!?!]

Wedding Planning: The Launch

2007-05-02T12:54:00.000-07:00

So what if it’s not about our random travel adventures. Normal Guy and Girl are planning our wedding--tentatively scheduled for June 2008. I say “tentatively” because we have to settle the pesky matter of picking a venue and paying a deposit before we prepare Save the Date cards for our epic guest list of A-list celebrities and potentates.

To kickstart our wedding planning, we attended a bridal show at The Dunegrass, which is one of our top choices (we think). Last Saturday (April 28), we drove two hours from Boston to Old Orchard Beach so we could start debating the finer points of fondant vs. butter cream, bow ties vs. cravats, digital photo albums vs. old school prints.

The setting was quite handsome, despite the fact that the trees don’t yet have their leaves. Check out the photograph Keryn took to document our trip:

Yup, that’s a chipmunk on a concrete wall. Seals the decision for me! :)

Overall we loved the venue. Easy to find, with a minimum of Route 1 driving (a critical issue for my mother). An attractive indoor space, plus usage of the deck and patio areas. Decent prices for dinner (and a reasonable minimum total food/beverage requirement). And they throw in a free round of golf for the groom and three buddies! Only one trifling little problem... No indoor ceremony option.

Sure, the little gazebo on the lawn looks classy, and hopefully it stands well out of the range of errant tee shots. But from the very beginning of our planning, that was one subject on which Keryn and I steadfastly agreed. NO OUTDOOR CEREMONIES. Unfortunately, we are apparently among the only people who feel so strongly on the matter. But I think of swarming black flies in Connecticut, hurricane-force torrents in Southern Mass. (my sister’s wedding), and getting a migraine from squinting against the sunlight in Colorado. NO OUTDOOR CEREMONIES. Yet for a solid hour, as I stuffed my face with wedding cake samples (point of fact: wedding cake just doesn’t taste all that good), I worked on convincing myself otherwise.

We returned home with eighty pounds of promotional material, most of which Keryn has already analyzed. In three weeks we’re scouting other venues and some potential indoor ceremony sites. Man, no wonder people hire wedding planners!

Normal Girl on Miss America

2007-05-01T19:05:00.000-07:00

Today, in response to Normal Guy’s comments on the Miss America pageant in Las Vegas, Normal Girl gives her own perspective on the pageant, her personal connection to it, and some thoughts on the 2007 outcome…

“There she is…. Miss America…” These were words I heard for the first time in 1987 (I was 10 at the time), when Kaye Lani Rae Rafko was crowned Miss America by outgoing queen Kellye Cash. I watched Miss USA the year before, but I fell in love with the queens walking and waving down the long runway of Atlantic City’s Convention Hall. The beautiful crown and scepter given to the new Miss America were the clinchers.

What a thrill it was to attend Miss America while Normal Guy and I were in Las Vegas! But I’ll get back to that shortly…

I competed in my first pageant at 7, after my dance teacher encouraged my mom to sign me up. I finished as first runner-up…and quickly became hooked on performing and being in the limelight. Nearly twenty years later, I retired from pageants when I discovered that I had developed stage fright! It sounds ridiculous…but it is definitely accurate. My own stage fright gives me an even greater appreciation for the young women who are brave enough to continue to compete, despite the scrutiny and disapproval that sometimes surrounds pageantry.

I have videos of Miss America dating back to the late 1950’s and I am mesmerized by the grandeur of each year’s pageant. My mother was 7 years old when Marilyn Van Derbur was crowned Miss America 1958 and I am amazed that nearly 50 years later, the ideals have remained even though there have been many changes to the system. Miss America remains a class act.

I could write for days about all the memories that are attached to watching the pageant through the years, but I will share only two before commenting on this year’s event.

I watched Miss America live and in-person in Atlantic City in September 2000. I knew Miss Maine and Miss Mississippi personally and had even competed with both of them! Watching the pageant unfold before my eyes was a memory that I will never forget. My mom and I secured “backstage passes” to attend the after-pageant party to greet the state queens. I have pictures from those parties and loved every minute. I did not know whether I would ever attend Miss America again, and I am so thankful that I went that last year before it moved from Atlantic City to Las Vegas.
My mom and I have always “judged” the pageant, even down to creating sheets with the queens’ information and a rating system to determine our winners. I sometimes chose my favorite just by looking at their profiles on the Miss America website. In 2001, I saw Katie Harman’s preliminary talent picture: she had it, and I knew she was going to win. Throughout the telecast, every time I saw her on screen, I said, “Oregon’s got it. There’s the winner.” Sure enough, she won! (Years later, I purchased a book autographed by the one and only Katie Harman).

Back to Miss America 2007--As Normal Guy and I entered the Aladdin, the energy was contagious. Families had big banners naming their “favorite” queen; others waved small fans with their queens’ pictures. As we sat waiting for the pageant to begin, I couldn’t believe we were there!

Overall, the pageant was great. Mario Lopez, aka A.C. Slater, did an impressive job hosting the pageant. I really felt like this year marked the return to the classic feel that had been evident in the 50’s and 60’s era of the pageant (as opposed to the over-processed productions of the 80s and 90s).

I was surprised that Miss Oklahoma produced a winner for its second year, but Lauren Nelson was deserving of the title. My only issue was that I had chosen my “favorite” just like I did in 2001. Shilah Phillips was the first African-American to win Miss Texas, and her talent gave me goose bumps. I really believed the crowd was rooting for her when it got down to the final two. I feel that she represented all the girls who entered the pageant truly desiring scholarship money to pursue their education. Hearing her name as first runner-up was a let down for me, but that quickly changed when I realized that her dream had come true—she will be able to finish her college education. In my mind, that is what Miss America is all about.

Normal Guy did a great job of describing the pageant details. For me, it is all about choosing my favorite and rooting her on. Okay, it might also be about the judging and the exciting atmosphere, too! Miss Texas, my favorite queen and first runner-up, called Miss America the “Super Bowl of Pageants” and I couldn’t agree more.

-- Normal Girl (a.k.a. Keryn)

Mamma Mia in Vegas

2007-04-24T20:38:00.000-07:00

It has been nearly three months now since we returned from our Las Vegas vacation, and I’m still catching up on stories… Pathetic, I know. But hey, I’ve been busy. Trying to snag a literary agent for my novel. Designing tuition calculation algorithms for my employer. Shopping for diamond engagement rings…

But the real truth is that I have been slow to write this review because I’m afraid I’ll catch hell from old friends who already nave noticed some chinks in my masculinity. In the last six months I’ve reviewed “women’s literature” and critiqued Miss America and talked about my new obsession with hot tea…and the list goes on.

Today I’m here to rave about Mamma Mia!, the musical featuring the songs of ABBA. You can read its history here. How we ended up there is pretty simple: it’s the show playing at the Mandalay Bay, where the Maine State Lottery sent us in January. Included in our package were two tickets. Third row from the front, as it turned out… Spoiled me forever for show tickets. How I’ll go back to sitting in the nosebleeds, I can’t say.

My beef with musical theatre has typically been that showtunes don’t cut it for me. As readers who have read my other blog or my columns at Being There Magazine will know, I love music from many genres. But traditional musical theatre fare will never make it onto my iPod.

My opinions on the subjects oftened last summer, when Keryn took me to see Rent for my birthday. I thought it was great—in large part because the music was so good. Turns out that maybe what blocks me from enjoying musical theatre is that I wouldn’t like most of those songs if I heard them on the radio.

Mamma Mia! is an interesting phenomenon because the songs came first, and the story was built around a clever arrangement of those songs. That the story proves cogent given this approach is a testament to the writers. (Last week I read a review of the new musical based on the music of Queen; apparently they didn’t mange to do quite such a bang-up job there).

That isn’t to say that it isn’t a rather fantastic story. Young Sophie lives on a Greek island, and she’s set to marry her boyfriend. She doesn’t know her father, but she stumbled upon her mother’s old diary, where she learned that it might be one of three men. Remarkably enough, she has their contact information, thus enabling her to fire off three invites (unbeknownst to her mother, a former pop star, now hotel matron). Imagine the chaos when all three men show up… and one of them has never fallen out of love with Sophie’s mother!

The show is funnier than hell from beginning to end, and the songs stand up remarkably well. Going into the show, I knew only two ABBA songs: “Dancing Queen” and “Take A Chance On Me.” But by the end I had to grudgingly admit that “S.O.S.,” “Knowing Me Knowing You,” and “Voulez Vous” are pretty remarkable pop songs.

The performances were exceptional across the board, and Keryn and I spent a long time raving about the show… I give a solid gold recommendation to everyone, whether you think you enjoy musicals or not. Give Mamma Mia! a chance.

If you're in Vegas, check here for the Mandalay Bay box office. Even though we went for free, I'd hazard that it's more than worth the price of admission.

Normal Girl Explains Her Slacker-Ness

2007-04-12T12:29:00.001-07:00

I’m a slacker, I know.

Normal Guy has been nagging me to contribute to our site, even providing me with potential topics. The problem is that I need to be inspired to write.

Well, maybe not inspired so much as motivated and in the right mindset. The past three months have been a whirlwind (to say the least), so in the hopes of being forgiven for my absence, here are my excuses (each punctuated with “a shining moment”).

#1: My Cat Ate My Homework
Just kidding! I wanted to make sure you were paying attention. By the way…my cat, Corky, COULD eat paper if she was inclined to do so. (Yes, she was named after Corky from the late-eighties show “Life Goes On.” I have the DVDs…)

#2: Work
Work has been insane. I knew it was bad when I started dreaming about reading admissions files! Then again, I have been reviewing them day-in and day-out. We received nearly 6600 applications at my office and I feel like I personally looked at each and every one over the course of the last three months… I even started remembering students by name!

The shining moment during “reading season” was my “heart file.” Each year, each of us fights for one student who doesn’t quite meet our admission requirements 100%, but deserves consideration. We present their information and the committee votes. I wrote a poem about my student from New York and he was unanimously accepted! (The caveat is that he now has to enroll and succeed or I will receive flak from my co-workers). When my reading partner said I might have changed the student’s life, it made those three months of reading files (almost) worthwhile. I am super-psyched for my heart file!

#3: Travel (which is the subject of this website, but that’s beside the point!)
Let me start by saying, I do not know how Normal Guy traveled for work as long as he did. We do a little bit of spring travel for work, and as I write this blog I am sitting at a college fair in Syracuse. I left Boston on Sunday and it is now Wednesday morning [though this update to the website is a few days later than I wrote it!]. I started the week in Rochester and immediately realized how spoiled I was for having Normal Guy travel with me last fall. You see, it was raining when I arrived in Rochester and I had to do everything on my own. I consider myself an independent woman, but it is helpful to have a set of muscle-bound arms to carry my luggage, work bag, or sometimes (gasp!) even my purse.

I jest, but what I miss most is Normal Guy’s company. Sightseeing is not quite as fulfilling when you don’t have someone to share it with.

Yesterday I did two cool tourist-y things on my own. First, I visited the Harriet Tubman House in Auburn (NY). Seeing a sewing machine used by Tubman was interesting, but it would have been more exciting if Normal Guy had been there.

I also learned that a Syracuse mall housed a fully-restored carousel built in 1909. Being a kid at heart (see our trip to the Strong Museum of Play for proof), I had to ride it. The sweet (yet amusing) fact is that Normal Guy would have ridden it with me, standing beside me in line to purchase a token while adults carrying toddlers gave us sideways glances. It was a fun two minutes, feeling the breeze on my face and seeing the breathtaking view of the lake behind the mall. I just wish Normal Guy had been beside me…

We both admit to being utterly pathetic, to the point where we can’t stand being apart for more than a day. Five days is preposterous.

Central New York Shining Moment: After dinner at a restaurant near my hotel. I turned down dessert, but my waiter returned to the table, check in one hand and a plate piled high with (drum roll, please) blue cotton candy in the other! I kid you not. It was AWESOME!

#4: Normal Guy
I probably shouldn’t use him as an excuse for not writing, but he’s been keeping me busy. As some readers have noticed, Normal Guy proposed about a month ago (one month and seven days, to be EXACT) and I have been distracted by my bling and the attention it garners.

While at a college fair in Buffalo, I stood under the fluorescent lights. I inherited my mother’s habit of talking with her hands, prompting a lady to approach me: “Girl, that ring is doing its thing!”

Of course, the proposal led to phone calls and emails, along with a visit to Portland to tell Normal Guy’s family our life-changing news. Needless to say, the shining moment was seeing Normal Guy’s thrilled, yet nervous expression as he got down on one knee.

How can you expect me to find time to blog with all that going on??

#5: Sisters
I have two younger sisters who have both recently gone through the college application process. Working in admissions seems to make me the expert, so they’ve been eager for my help.

My younger sister is 20 and was recently accepted to her dream college in Pennsylvania--her best friend goes there and she has been trying to transfer since last fall. Congratulations are in order to her! She has been calling me with questions about transfer credits, housing, and everything else she needs to know.

My youngest sister is a high school senior, and she isn’t sure what she wants to do. I have tried to guide her along the way, too. It makes me proud to know that I can help my sisters figure out their future plans. Two recent shining moments: a phone call from my youngest sister announcing her SAT scores had gone up 50 points in each section (!!!), and being at the house when my sister opened her acceptance packet from her first (and only!) choice. I am so proud of both of them!

It has been a jam-packed three months, but I wouldn’t change a thing. Forgive me for not writing now that you have read my excuses?

Next blog—my take on Vegas and Miss America. (A couple months late).

One Year Ago

2007-03-25T21:04:00.001-07:00

365 days ago, I took the Green Line to Park Street station. It’s a popular meeting place, and I was one of a dozen people milling about on the sidewalk, waiting for someone to emerge from the station. The problem was that I hadn’t seen this person since 1990. Okay, that’s not entirely true: I had seen a few low resolution photographs on MySpace.

The woman had once been a little girl on whom I had an enormous childhood crush. She moved into my hometown early in fifth grade, and I was smitten to the day she left, midway through seventh grade. Out of the blue, in February 2006, I received an email from an atypically-spelled woman. “MySpace message from Keryn.” Nah, can’t be the same girl? And do I have a MySpace account?

A few weeks later we decided to meet--on March 25. I suggested Park Street station, but neglected to specify which exit she should take. So, as I milled about the plaza, thinking I had been stood up, she was acting out the same sad scene about two hundred meters down the Common.

Fortunately, she called, I ascertained her position (“Tell me what is across the street. McDonald’s? Okay, I’ll be there in a sec.”), and we met face-to-face for the first time in sixteen years... It wasn't supposed to be a date, but become one somewhere between appetizer and dessert.

What a year it has been since that evening!

On March 5th, following something of a whirlwind year (to say the least), Keryn agreed to hitch her cart to this crazy wagon forever. (Bless her heart!)

--The Luckiest Guy In The World

Miss America 2007: Part Two

2007-03-15T12:57:00.000-07:00

Above: Here we are, about to head inside for the Greatest Show on Earth.
We settle into our balcony seats one row behind the parents of the entrant from South Dakota, whom we already feel we know thanks to the significant air time she garnered during the CMT special. Callee is nominated for Miss Congeniality, which this year was voted on by the general public. I have learned that the Miss Congeniality honor—while undoubtedly a significant one—is pretty much the kiss of death when it comes to winning the contest. In any event, you can’t help but root for the girl with her family sitting in front of you… Seeing them there has one other effect on me—I feel as if I should whisper (or keep to myself) any criticism of the contestants, lest some member of their immediate family hear me and take offense.

The emcee of this year’s show is Mario Lopez, who remains A.C. Slater, his Saved by the Bell character, to me and a host of other Gen Xers. He was also a finalist for Dancing With the Stars last year, through which he introduced himself to an entirely new audience; my grandmother thinks he’s quite the catch.

At the beginning of the show, Lopez makes a point of mentioning that he will not be dancing tonight. Although I’m initially skeptical, it’s a promise he keeps. On the whole, he proves a capable-enough host, though he engages in precisely 0 minutes of casual banter. This was the first live television event I have ever attended that was not a sporting event, and I guess I always expected there was some kind of entertaining filler during commercials. Instead, those periodic breaks were little more than an opportunity to run to the bathroom or grab a drink, same as they’d be at home.

I don’t think I have ever seen a more diverse crowd than at Miss America. I kept looking around and trying to figure out the motivations of different groups…

Some fans’ interest was worn around their torsos in the form of pageant sashes. I think some of the women might have earned their sashes before my birth, some of them manufactured their sashes on their at-home Singers, and still others earned their stripes at what Normal Girl described to me as “mall pageants.” I don’t really know what that means, but I can conjure an image. To be fair, quite a few younger girls wore sashes from their regional pageants, which I think is totally fine.

To understand the pageant horde outside of a.) current, past, and future pageant contestants and their relatives and b.) hubbies and boyfriends of those girls and women, I would need more time near the entrance. The idea of performing such an ethnographic study intrigues me, so if you see a top-heavy guy hastily jotting notes the next time you attend a major pageant, that guy just might be me. For now, let me just say that it’s a diverse crowd…

The flow of the competition is roughly as follows:

Introduce all fifty-one women.
Immediately pare the group down to ten semi-finalists.
Swimsuit (need I say more?)
Evening gown.
…and then there were five…
Talent
Down to three…
One more interview question
Crowning and Bert Parks (on tape)

The range of talents can be pretty broad. Keryn has told me about past competitions where women brought their horses on stage, swallowed swords, etc., but they have fine-tuned the rules to limit much of the digression from singing, dancing, and playing an instrument, which are the predominant talents. This year’s Top 5 comprises 1 pianist, 3 singers, and 1 tap dancer. Too bad, because we were really hoping to see some of the edgier talents, such as the one contestant who had aerial something-or-other listed as hers… But we would have had to attend a preliminary to see the others.

Most of the crowd believes, by the conclusion of talent, that Miss Texas has sown up the title. Her powerful vocals stand out against rather mundane vocal performances from the others, and she seems to have everything going for her.

The final question doesn’t go well for any of them—at least to this viewer. It must be difficult to stand in front of such a crowd and come up with the perfect answer to an odd question, and the go-to strategy seems to be to dodge the question if you’re the least bit unsure. Texas loses some points for returning to her oft-repeated line about the importance of education. If anything, at least she seems genuinely excited about the scholarships…

Minutes later, a former Miss Oklahoma crowns the current Miss Oklahoma, who steps onto the hastily assembled temporary runway for her inaugural walk under the weight of the title.

(Don’t tell anyone, but I have to admit that I had a great time… Shh… Especially don’t tell Keryn, or we’ll be making hotel reservations for next January, too.  )

The spectacle over precisely two hours from its start, Keryn and I join the mass pouring into the Planet Hollywood Casino, which remains halfway converted from the Aladdin, and seek 25-cent slot machines.

Miss America 2007: Part One

2007-03-14T07:05:00.000-07:00

Above: That’s right, we’re headed to see Miss America...

I realize this article is so late as to be absurd, but I feel compelled to post it...

When Normal Girl and I first met back in 1988, she was the reigning Miss Maine National Pre-Teen. She continued to compete in pageants in Maine, and in each subsequent state she lived in thereafter. Her video collection includes many editions of the grandmammy of all scholarship competitions: Miss America.

After we won our Vegas vacation on that lucky scratch ticket (thanks again to the South China mini-mart who sold it to us), we had to figure out when to go. Ideally we wanted to escape the dreary New England winter, but undergraduate admissions offices go into crisis mode between December and April, so Keryn’s work schedule presented some challenges. Her bosses informed her that exactly one week--the last week in January--would fit neatly in the lull between Early Action and Regular Admissions, and would therefore permit two days of vacation.

In a great stroke of serendipity, that weekend happened to correspond with the 2007 Miss America, which relocated from Atlantic City to Las Vegas a few years ago.

Keryn couldn’t have been more excited...

I fired off our preferred dates to the “grand prize fulfillment” people (a friendly and helpful bunch in Alpharetta, GA). A week later, “Lisa” left me a voicemail: “Mandalay Bay is booked on your other suggested weekends, so we’re doing everything we can to make it happen for the last weekend in January.” A day later, she confirmed our travel, and Keryn rushed to the Internet where two balcony seats for the Miss American main event were ours for the taking.

Before the trip, Keryn made sure I was well versed in how the pageant works, because it was imperative that we place a casual bet on the proceedings. She built a spreadsheet listing each contestant, her talent, and other salient characteristics, and encouraged me to go through the website, reviewing each profile. And so, under duress from my beautiful girlfriend, I pored over the photographs, career aspirations, and college majors of fifty-one rather pretty women. There are worse ways to spend a Tuesday night.

To continue our preparation, we watched a CMT special, “Pageant School,” which showed the future contestants in the “Super Bowl of Women” (Miss Texas’s words, not mine) doing each other’s makeup, learning to line dance, and racing obstacle courses. (Dead serious on all three activities). Although I felt somewhat-to-very emasculated upon seeing one of the women in a subsequent advertisement and recalling her name, it was good for me to get an inside look at the pageant, and into what Keryn did for those many years. It’s kind of frightening, actually.

What amazes me is that the women manage to be so nice to each other, when they surely pray for the others to screw up… It’s a competition where the combatants are not allowed to outwardly exhibit their competitiveness. That aspect might impress me more than anything. To smile and compliment your enemy takes guts. If, years ago, Mike Tyson had said “I admire my opponent and think he is a wonderful person” in lieu of “I want to eat his children,” wouldn’t it have been ten times more frightening?

Tomorrow… The epic saga continues…

The Titanic @ The Trop

2007-02-18T19:21:00.000-08:00

Above: Since there’s no photography allowed inside, the above will have to suffice...

When you think of Las Vegas, what do you think of first? Some may envision the flashy Strip and its multicolored splendor. Others may imagine that forty-minute roll on the craps table at The Bellagio. Perhaps for you it’s the Pharaoh’s Pfeast at Luxor. Even if you think about Celine Dion’s spectacular at Caesar’s, I’m willing to bet that you don’t immediately think of the Titanic.

The Tropicana is an anachronism in the context of Las Vegas Boulevard. Walking across the casino floor, looking up at the mirrored false ceiling that feel impossibly low (it’s probably 15 feet, but compared to the new places, I for one feel claustrophobic there), it impossible to avoid the keen awareness that the casino is outdated and decidedly unstylish.

At most casinos, I would not feel out of place or overdressed in a suit. But I felt as odd walking the Tropicana floor in my new suit as I would feel in a honky-tonk bar back home.

So why were we spending any time there, when we could have been taking in the scene at one of the swankier venues in town? Well, we were there to see the Titanic Exhibit, and like every other thing in Vegas, you can’t get there without walking the casino floor.

FULL DISCLOSURE: I am one of ten living persons who have managed to avoid watching the movie. Impressive, no?

We arrived just before ten p.m., and I have to tell you--that’s a kick-ass time to visit an exhibit in Vegas, because there wasn’t a soul there to push us along, get in our way, or prevent us from taking the time to read each and every detailed information card flanking the artifacts. We opted against the audio wands (unlike the Shark Reef, they were not included in the exorbitant entry fees), and considering how much time we spent reading the information cards, the play-by-play voiceover might have pushed me over the edge...

Above: Visit the Trop to see a full-scale reproduction of this stairwell.

At the start of the exhibit, the ticket-taker handed us cards describing a single passenger on the ill-fated vessel. As we came to learn in the final room of the exhibit, both our passengers died. Although this failed to resonate in the way that a similar device might at, say, the Holocaust Museum, the exhibit itself struck a chord. The video coverage of the shipyard impressed me; other than a World Series celebration, what other single event could prompt such a massive gathering today? But I especially enjoyed the sections of the exhibit where we were transported from generic exhibit-hall spaces into reconstructions of the ship. A third-class sleeping cabin, cramped and uncomfortable, with low ceilings and the dull roar of engines and machines. The grand staircase complete with gilded cherubs. And most ooh-inspiring of all, the open-air deck with a faux view of the stars and crashing waves.

Other artifacts of interest:
- A giant hunk of ice you’re encouraged to touch (as if I’ve never touched a block of ice before...)
- Reproductions of first- and second-class cabins -- the former were nearly as grand as our Mandalay Bay accommodations
- As a Harvard alumnus who spent many hours in Widener Library, named after a young man who died on the ship, some related artifacts drew my attention. (While we're here, check out this page on the popular theory that Harry's death is the reason every Harvard dining hall serves ice cream...)

In any other context, the artifacts would be interesting for period-study and in critiquing the grand span between upper and middle classes. That they were harvested from the sea floor is challenging to fathom. A cache of dinner plates earns your interest when you learn that the wood cabinet around them decayed during eighty years at the ocean’s bottom, leaving the plates to settle in the sand in the same ordered stacks a Titanic crewperson had arranged them in.

All in all, I came away with a whole new appreciation for the incredible engineering feat, the tragedy, and the impressive effort made to salvage the wreck site.

Doesn’t mean I’m going to stop dodging the movie...

- Normal Guy (aka Jason Shaffner)

Oxygen Bar

2007-02-13T18:29:00.000-08:00

Above: Normal Guy breathes “pure” oxygen in The Venetian.

We saw our first Oxygen Bar in the entry vestibule of New York New York around ten a.m. At the time, neither of us knew what the kiosk was selling. Bright-colored tubes of water gurgled, but the bar was empty of patrons, and the marquee was hardly comprehensive.

I nodded toward the kiosk. “What’s that?”

Before Keryn could reply, the salesman was upon us. “Fifteen bucks for fifteen minutes. Give it a try?”

We shook our heads. “Off to see the lions,” I said. We wandered past Coyote Ugly and Nathan’s before following the bridge to MGM.

A few hours later, while wandering alongside The Grand Canal in The Venetian, I spotted another bar. It was the fourth or fifth I’d seen that day. At every turn we found a Starbucks, and at every other turn we saw another oxygen stand. They were stalking us. My curiosity could weather the ignorance no longer.

“Excuse me,” I said. “Can you explain how this works?”

“It’s basically pure oxygen,” the girl told me. “It provides energy for up to eight hours.”

“Does it work?” I asked, flooding my cheeks with skepticism.

“I think so,” she said.

Hardly a ripping sales presentation, but I was too intrigued to say no. Besides, I was on a temporary high from a temporary bout of luck on the slot machines. Keryn opted out. The procedure was a little too hospital-like for this hospital-phobic gent, but a minute later I had an orange tube jammed into each nostril.

(It’s important to stop here for a clarification. The tubes are one-time use, and you can keep them as souvenirs, though I can’t imagine why… There is no boogie-sharing going on. That seems to be everyone’s first question on seeing the above picture.)

The Oxygen-girl offered me a Vitamin Water—I chose a bottle of the red. She asked me to hold out my palms and emptied a dropper onto my right hand.

“Rub them together and do this,” she said, cupping her hands over her mouth and inhaling. “Only don’t breathe too hard at first; it’s strong stuff.”

No joke. That eucalyptus oil will clear the cobwebs out of your head in a hurry. It hurts a little even in recollection…

A few minutes later, the girl came around with two of those $6.99 three-legged massagers you can pick up just about everywhere these days. For sale, of course. The vibrating head massager could be yours, too, for the low, low price of $25. (Those things may look like instruments of torture, but they work awful well).

Peppermint oil on my fingertips was to rub on the back of my neck. The soothing chill felt nice, but for the rest of the night, I paid for it by suffering the odd mix of peppermint and eucalyptus like cough drops hanging around my neck.

And how about that Oxygen? I really can’t say whether it was that or Starbucks that sustained me through the night. But I’d advise everybody to give it a shot, if only for the pictures…

- Normal Guy (aka Jason Shaffner)

Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay

2007-02-09T12:13:00.000-08:00

Above: Up close and personal with an alligator (or is it a crocodile?)

Beyond the obvious gambling machines, tables, and rooms, every resort casino in Vegas has the following common elements:
- Overpriced boutiques
- A dozen or so restaurants
- Exactly one eatery open all night
- Starbucks (perhaps one at each end of the casino foor)
- One or more nightclubs or lounges
- One big show (Broadway, Cirque de Soleil, etc.)
- And… a special non-gambling, non-dining, non-musical activity

From amusement park rides (Stratosphere, New York New York, Circus Circus), to water shows (Bellagio), to gondolas, a wax museum, and a Guggenheim outpost at the Venetian, to the lions behind glass at MGM, etc., every resort has at least one attraction of the kind you might find in another city. I wonder at the motivations behind these exhibits, most of which, even if they charge a fee, can’t possibly be profitable.

Mandalay Bay offers The Shark Reef, which “will put you face to face with some of the most dangerous and exotic animals in the world.” In other collateral, they describe it as the only predator-focused aquarium in the world. Since Keryn and I were staying in the hotel, we decided that we might as well give it a shot. Not that there’s a discount for Mandalay key-holders, or anything... But it was a five minute walk from the casino.

The tickets cost us $15.95 apiece, but the audio tour wands were included in the price. I didn’t pay much attention to the fake story behind the motif, but it had something to do with a sunken Mayan temple (or was it Aztec?), but there was also a shipwreck??? In any case, the alligator shown above greeted us straightaway. Not the liveliest critters until they attack, it’s remains eerie, and more than a touch disturbing, to stand so close that you can see into their beady green eyes.

Above: The nifty-keen aquarium tunnel in the Shark Reef at Mandalay Bay.

Past the alligator, we visited with “Ed” the water monitor, who may not be much of a threat to humans, but enjoys consuming small mammals whole. His face appears all over Vegas in advertisements for The Shark Reef.

The piranhas looked harmless until we saw their teeth. Yikes. After a brief interlude looking at colorful reef fish, we encountered the sharks. The above photograph does not do justice to the tunnel that sits at the deepest point inside The Shark Reef. It is an impressive sight. Railings lining each side served as perches to support us while we sat watching the always-swimming sharks and the graceful flying rays. Hundreds of thousands of gallons of water above and beside us, teeming with captive life.

I have a vague recollection of an aquarium “petting zoo” back home in Maine: hermit crabs, spiny urchins, perhaps a sea cucumber. At Mandalay Bay, we jammed our arms into a shallow pool to stroke the topside of non-stinging rays. Slimy. Kind of gross. Before then, one of my favorite dishes at McCormick and Schmick’s was the skate wing; now I may have to rethink my position on that menu item.

Above: Jellyfish freak us out. How about you?

We spent ten minutes mesmerized by the jellyfish, listening to the magic audio wand explaining that the creatures before us lack brains and hearts (but what about souls? do they possess souls?). They totally freak me out, yet I couldn't take my eyes off them...

After visiting the National Aquarium in Baltimore last autumn (a blog that has been on my to-do list for three months now), I walked into The Shark Reef expecting to be disappointed. Instead, I left feeling that it was well worth the time. Sharks are cool. If you find yourself with a spare hour and you're in the Mandalay Bay at the time, definitely check it out.

Have a great weekend,
- Normal Guy (aka Jason Shaffner)

Vegas in a Nutshell

2007-01-31T11:54:00.000-08:00

Tempted as I was to bring my computer along and post a new blog every few hours, I decided to allow myself a vacation without Internet access. Sure, I could check my GMail on my cell phone (in case an agent got back to me), but we were practically cut off from email, MySpace, ESPN.com, and our employers for the last four days. It was liberating…

Vegas trips can easily seem too short or run on too long; the sweet spot is leaving when you feel ready for your comfy bed at home but have already started making a list of the things you want to do next time you’re there… Fortunately, that’s exactly how it happened for us. We already have a list of five or six things for our next trip.

Sadly, we did not hit 100% of our Trip Goals for this year. Let’s run back through them again quickly…

1. Mamma Mia!
Yup, this one we managed. And as my forthcoming review should indicate, we were both shocked by how much we liked this show…

2.) Miss America Pageant
Slater proved a good host, and the show was very entertaining. The results surprised us—you should have been there to hear Miss Texas sing…

3.) Bellagio Water Show
Check. Saturday night, Shania Twain over the p.a. Love the water show.

4.) Walk away from a gaming table with more money than I arrived with
Technically, this happened a few times in the slot pits. Didn’t have such stellar luck with Craps, though…

5.) Take a dip in the Mandalay Bay pool
This isn’t our fault…but the pool was closed for the season, and under construction to boot…

6.) Visit the Wynn
Next time…

7.) Stroll Piazza San Marco inside the Venetian
And while I was there, I hung out at an Oxygen Bar – more on that later this week!

8.) Go to bed at a reasonable hour at least once...
After sitting at Logan for 5.5 hours before finally departing Saturday, we were hardly fit to stay out late on Saturday night… Hardly something to brag about!

Seven out of Eight is a pretty good finish, I’d have to say, and that doesn’t include other unexpected pleasures such as: Titanic Exhibit at the Tropicana, Shark Reef (Aquarium) at Mandalay Bay, basking in the sun at Margaritaville, gambling in eight different casinos…

We have a lot of fun stories to post over the next few days!

- Normal Guy (Jason Shaffner)

Two Days To Vegas

2007-01-25T20:18:00.000-08:00

From the desk of Normal Girl…

Okay, it’s two days before our trip to Vegas begins and I still can’t believe that we are getting on the plane this Saturday. Jason keeps bugging me to search for fun things that I want to experience while we are there, but I finally broke it to him—I know nothing about Vegas.

It’s true, I don’t. I know of “the strip,” I know Jennifer McFly gets married in the “Chapel o’ Love” there, and I know I will be super excited when the lights go down at the start of Miss America. Beyond that, I can’t be much help with tourist-type expeditions. I even asked Jason where Vegas is located in the state; one of my lifetime goals is to stand on the site where you are in the four states at once. (My other two lifetime goals are to ride on a Zamboni and play Plinko on The Price is Right, but that’s another story for another day.)

So, off we go to Vegas. Although I am unsure what I want to see, I know I want sunshine and warmer weather than the predicted 13 degrees for Boston. I want to be blinded by the lights of The Strip. I want to be surrounded by Elvis impersonators. (I went to college in Mississippi, so becoming an Elvis fan was inevitable!) I want to walk around, see some random event, and decide to join in.

Planning has never been a forte of mine, especially when it’s a new destination. Sure, I can tell you where you should go in various cities across the nation, but it’s only because my family has either lived there or we have visited many times. Take New Orleans, for example. The city was my family’s home while I was in college and I made many treks to the Crescent City for fun—yes, Mardi Gras included. I can tell you that Maspero’s has the best fried shrimp and Camellia Grill, where the cooks sing, has amazing apple pie. Ask me to plan a vacation to an unfamiliar place and I look like a deer in headlights. Tell me to take you to Oxford, Mississippi and there will be no hesitation when I direct you to the gas station with the best chicken-on-a-stick known to man.

Vegas overwhelms me. Part of me remains the small-town girl, intimidated by big city lights. I am sure that the skylines of Philadelphia, NYC, and New Orleans are nothing compared to the strip after sunset.

I can’t wait to go and enjoy this time with Normal Guy, not only because he can be my official tour guide, but because any guy that will go to Miss America with me is one I plan to keep around…

Gearing Up for Vegas

2007-01-25T08:22:00.000-08:00

Above: They're holding our room...

In 45 hours, we will depart from Logan. In 51 hours, or thereabouts, we will arrive at Mandalay Bay (pictured above). In 51.5 hours, I will have blown my first $20 in a slot machine.

Of course it just figures that I’d wake up this morning fending off sniffles. I get one cold each year, and I hope this isn’t it…

The strange thing about this trip is that we won it more than six months ago, and spent most of our excitement and glee in the two weeks that followed. On top of that, Normal Girl has never been there, so she doesn’t even know what to expect. I was nagging her yesterday to blog about her expectations, but she informed me, plainly, that she wouldn’t even know where to begin.

Vegas does not lend itself easily to planning. Let’s say you decide you’re going to visit the Forum Shops at Caesar’s and then stroll down to watch the ship sink in front of Treasure Island. Not a bad plan, but next thing you know, you’ve been playing video poker for an hour.

We have to find some discipline, though, since we have two pre-planned evenings. Sunday night brings us to Mamma Mia, which describes itself as follows: “Timeless songs such as Dancing Queen, I Have a Dream, Voulez-Vous, and Take a Chance on Me, are ingeniously woven into an enchanting tale of love, laughter and friendship.” I have to tell you that the website sucked a bit of the life out of me. Not the best promo I’ve ever seen. In any event, the tickets are free, the show is in our hotel, and I’m sure we’ll have a good time. I just hope that I escape without getting any of ABBA’s songs stuck in my head…

Monday night we’re going to get all dressed up for the Miss America Pageant. Yup.

That leaves us plenty of time to plan. Since I’ve been to Vegas seven or eight times and Normal Girl is a Vegas Virgin, defining our Trip Goals falls to me… Remember the formula: for any given trip, no matter the destination, you must define a set of goals that do not exceed twice the number of days you’ll be in the place (as defined here…) Eight goals…

Mamma Mia!
Watch A.C. Slater (Dancing with the Stars loser Mario Lopez) crown Miss America
Bellagio Water Show, like in that Ocean’s Eleven movie
Walk away from a gaming table with more money than I arrived with (I’m praying to the Craps Gods the whole flight)
Take a dip in the Mandalay Bay pool. I don’t care if it’s only going to be in the high 50s, it’s the principle of the thing.
Visit the Wynn
Stroll Piazza San Marco inside the Venetian
Go to bed at a reasonable hour at least once...

This trip marks the first I’ve made in YEARS where I will not have my laptop. Or at least that’s the plan. I reserve the right to change my mind at the last minute… Don’t know that I can make it that long without checking my email!

- Normal Guy (aka Jason Shaffner)

You’ve Won A Trip…

2007-01-22T22:39:00.000-08:00

...to the magnificent Mandalay Bay Casino and Resort in beautiful Las Vegas, Nevada! Yup, those are pretty much the words I heard in my head when Keryn uncovered that magical palm tree on that lucky scratch ticket.

Full disclosure: I never win anything. Ever.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. I won Red Sox tickets in a raffle two years ago. And I have had pretty decent luck at the poker table over the years. But other than that, I don’t win. In my clutches, winning tickets mysteriously transform themselves into losers. Good thing I was driving and Keryn had the penny between her fingers…

You might be wondering, as I wondered for the long two days between when we won and when we were able to get through to the Maine State Lottery folks -- how does winning a trip work, exactly?

The answer is that there’s some company in Georgia, and apparently this is what they do.

Let’s say you run a company and you want to give away a vacation as the grand prize in your annual sweepstakes. You name your price and these guys will tell you what it gets you. A trip to Vegas, the Virgin Islands, Paris, Alaska, Delaware -- you name it, and they'll assemble a voyage.

In this case, here’s what we’re getting:

Roundtrip tix (on America Worst, which happens to be one of the only direct flights from Boston, so we scored there)
Three nights “deluxe” accommodations at Mandalay Bay (I’m eagerly looking forward to learning what exactly “deluxe” means—I’m guessing it doesn’t mean squat).
Tickets to Mamma Mia (featuring the music of ABBA, which is all I have to say about that)
Cab vouchers to/from McCarran
Enough gambling money to last me a solid five minutes at the craps tables… (shh… don’t tell Keryn)
And, of course, a liability on my taxes...

All in all, a pretty sweet package (excepting that last part).

I can’t wait until we arrive in Vegas and slide a crisp one dollar bill into the very first slot machine that greets us as we deplane.

Back tomorrow with more details on our planning…

- Normal Guy (aka Jason Shaffner)

Things I’ve Lost: Hotel Rooms

2007-01-17T14:41:00.001-08:00

I promise this is the last (and the shortest) in this ill-advised series.

Of all the places I’ve misplaced items, none have frustrated me more than hotel rooms. Why? Because they make it next to impossible to recover items. You can never get a person on the telephone, that’s for sure, and they never want to let you into the area where they supposedly keep the items classified neatly by room number. Riffing on that last point—they always seem to want to know your room number. Do they seriously think that we can keep track of that kind of thing?

Not even the Sheraton Old San Juan, where I stayed more than 300 nights in two years and where the valets, bell men, and desk staff greeted me by name, they couldn’t help me. I even left my voicemails in Spanish! All to no avail…

I wonder about the housekeeping headquarters. There are two possibilities:

An palatial room filled with wondrous wonders. Watches, umbrellas, sneakers, pens, books, toiletries…
There is no such room. Perhaps they hold things a day or two, but then everything of value is posted on eBay and the rest dropped in the dumpster out back.

The most frustrating thing for me is that on two occasions the valuable thing I lost was my prescription eyeglasses. It isn’t as if they would be immediately useful to someone in housekeeping. I mean, they’re my prescription (which happens to be pretty potent). Of all the things to mysteriously vanish from the trove of goodies hidden in the underbelly of hotels, why my glasses?

Vegas details are coming together nicely. More on that in the next couple of days!

- Normal Guy (Jason Shaffner)

Vegas, Baby, Vegas!

2007-01-16T13:57:00.000-08:00

Above: Yup, that there sign is referring to Normal Guy and Girl. Does winning the lottery make us less “normal”?

It’s summer. We are on our way to spend a long weekend at the “Lemieux Compound,” as Jason has affectionately named what I call our camps on China Lake in Maine. On the four-hour drive from Boston, we decided to purchase a few lottery tickets, one of which was a Mandalay Bay $5 scratch ticket, Jason’s choice. We won $5 in Kennebunk, which we crammed immediately back into the lottery machine. I won back $7, which we decided to save for the return ride home.

A great time was had by all at the Lemieux compound…s’mores, sea-doo riding, and watching fireworks from our boat. It was Jason’s second trip to our camps and we spent time listening to old 45’s, playing old-school Atari, and reading in our porch swing.

Sunday afternoon, we began the trip back home to Boston, with an additional passenger in my back seat: my sister’s ex-boyfriend, John (they’re “still friends”). He slept off and on throughout the trip, but he was wide awake whenever we stopped for snacks and lottery tickets. John is 19, 6’1”, and a bottomless pit. He also developed a gambling habit after his first trip to the Windsor Fair.

(Windsor Fair is held over Labor Day Weekend, and John attended during the Lemieux annual trip two years ago. Having turned 18 right before the fair, he discovered midway gambling and became addicted to the various games scattered throughout the fair. Anyway, I digress…)

We stopped in Augusta for the two Cokes Jason needs for the trip (it’s a fact) and to exchange our $7 for more tickets; Jason gave me three more dollars and told me to “have at it.”

I seriously debated… should I go for the Mandalay Bay again or choose something new? Jason had won twice on that brand, so why not? I walked out with one more Mandalay Bay ticket, a bingo ticket (my personal fave that I have won exactly once with, even though I have bought one every month for the past year!), and another random $2 ticket.

We hopped in my Camry and started talking about John’s Windsor Fair gambling addiction, which led to a conversation about Vegas, where Jason has been several times, including a relatively recent work conference. I was half-listening to the discussion, focused intently on the scratching of the tickets. I had already lost on my bingo (BIG surprise) and feeling rejected, I half-heartedly began scratching the Mandalay Bay ticket.

I scratched off three random numbers that did not match the winning numbers, and thought I had another loser on my hands. Then I saw something that did not resemble a number.

I continued with my nickel and finished unveiling a tiny palm tree.

Me: “Huh…”
Jason: “What’s wrong?”
I read the bottom of the ticket aloud.
Me: “See a palm tree, win a trip to Vegas.”
Jason: “And…?” (He must’ve thought I was reading the rules for no good reason!)
Me: “I think I just won a trip to Vegas!!”

Above: Normal Girl re-enacts scratching the winning lottery ticket that will bring us to Vegas...

John stared at the ticket in disbelief and Jason swerved between lanes as he sneaked peeks at the winning ticket. Can you imagine winning a trip to Vegas on a $5 scratch ticket?!? Me neither.

Apparently, we are one of 50 winners of a Mandalay Bay stay from the Maine State Lottery. We alternated between laughing and being in shock the remainder of the trip after calling both sets of parents to share our exciting news. (We might still be in shock!)

Upon further research, we learned that we won roundtrip tickets, a 4-day, 3-night trip with deluxe accommodations at Mandalay Bay, some spending money, a wheelie suitcase, and two tickets to see “Mamma Mia!”

Since I work (unlike a certain Normal Guy I know), I had to determine when would be the best time for me to take vacation from work. Ironically enough, it was the end of January.

Well… it just so happens that Miss America moved last year from Atlantic City to Las Vegas after 80-odd years, and guess what? This year, it is being held the weekend that we will be staying in Mandalay Bay! (Have I mentioned that I love Miss America and have had friends who competed in the pageant?)

Yes, I purchased tickets immediately and plan to drag Jason to the spectacle that Mario Lopez, a.k.a. A.C. Slater, will be emceeing. Vegas, Baby, VEGAS!!!

- Normal Girl (a.k.a. Keryn Lemieux)

Things I’ve Lost: Taxis and Rental Cars

2007-01-15T19:55:00.000-08:00

Advance Warning: today’s post is boring… Four hours of 24, four playoff games, and too many hours honing the last chapter of my novel have sucked the life out of me! But I promised a posting, and here it is. Tomorrow, Normal Girl will be back with the story of how we came by our upcoming flight to Las Vegas!!!

My Wallet
Here’s a story of mixed Samaritanism.

Cab driver finds a wallet in the backseat of his car. Inside he reads the phone number from a pinch of business cards and leaves an incomprehensible voicemail. (Note: cab ride was in Chicago, he took me from the airport to the office, left a voicemail in Boston on the same day; I received the message two weeks later).

When he doesn’t hear back, he packages up the IDs (including a Social Security Card), credit cards, assorted business cards, movie rental cards, receipts, and postage stamps, and mails the bundle to the business address on the card. He keeps the neatly folded Liar’s Poker dollars from the inside pockets (you know, the ones with six or seven of a kind -- I guarantee I’m the only person who knows what I’m talking about), 80 Euros, about $100, and the wallet.

It was tough for me to be angry, because the lost cash was not going to cause me to live on Top Ramen, and the miscellaneous IDs would have been much harder to replace. Still, I couldn’t help but think it was an odd gesture of partial good will on his part… Sure hope he got something nice for himself with those euros!

(Btw: you might ask how I got home. Well, I had to have my building superintendent enter my apartment, locate my passport, and Express Mail it to my hotel in Chicago, which was paid for by one of my colleagues.)

Cell Phone
I will make no excuses. The driver called the three most recent numbers, but the battery went dead an hour later. Here is another case where I may have been more careless with something because I unconsciously wanted it lost. That phone sucked.

Frankly, I’m surprised it’s only happened to me once…

Countless CDs
Note to self: take the CDs out of the rental car’s CD player before you get to the airport. Now was that so hard?

Countless Cheap Umbrellas
For umbrellas I shop exclusively at my corner convenience store. The beauty of $5 umbrellas is that you can through them away if you’re tired of carrying them (as I did on my second date with Normal Girl!), lose no tears when they inevitably break, and stash one in each piece of luggage so you’re always prepared on the road. On the flipside, you tend to get a little careless with them. Here’s the typical chronology:

Learn it’s raining before leaving for the office.
Remove cheap umbrella from carry-on suitcase.
Carry said umbrella to the office.
After work, carry umbrella to car (if it’s raining) or forget in the office if it’s not.
Drop umbrella in trunk or backseat.
Record mental note: “don’t forget to pack the umbrella at the hotel.”
Pack suitcase on last morning of stay, carry to car, stash in trunk.
Jot down mental reminder of earlier note: “don’t forget to pack the umbrella before leaving for the airport.”
Leave for airport fifteen minutes later than you wanted to (an inevitable event).
Arrive at airport, huffing and puffing from cursing at traffic to get out of your way so you can make your flight.
Grab suitcase, forget umbrella.

I can predict with reasonable certainty the next big ticket item I’ll leave in the center console… Let me give you a hint. Starts with an “i” and ends with a “pod.”

Until later, safe travels…

-- Normal Guy (a.k.a. Jason Shaffner)

Things I’ve Lost… Or Not

2007-01-13T08:30:00.001-08:00

I cannot count the times I’ve proclaimed aloud to myself, to friends, to family that I’m going to draft a nasty letter of complaint. It happens at least twice per year.

This fall my pet gripes were held against Delta (spilling something fishy on our luggage, mishandling delayed baggage, mismanaging cancellations) and Target (lousy service, rude personnel). I went so far as to add a task into my task list, but I never got around to it…

Perhaps I would have been more on top of the task if I had a PDA to remind me of my duties. But, as you may recall from my last journal, I left my PocketPC PDA in Seat 4D during a flight from San Juan to Boston. Although I never wrote a letter of complaint on the subject, I mentioned it in an online survey. Somebody from American called me to chat about my complaint. He apologized and gave me 1,000 bonus miles.

Frequent fliers are prima donnas. We think that the world stops to admire as we pass and that airline personnel should literally fall to the feet and kiss our feet. We feel entitled to express lines through security and getting our luggage first in the claim area. We expect that policies such as “we will only call if we find your lost item” do not apply to us. That’s what had me riled up, much more than the actual loss of the device…

Last weekend, Normal Girl was conducting some January-cleaning.

“That’s disgusting,” she said.

“What?”

“Dust bunnies under the couch.”

“Um, okay,” I said. “Then don’t look under there.”

She retrieved a hand-held vacuum from the closet. “Can we push the couch back?” We did, exposing a gray bail of aggregated dust. And one black neoprene case containing a genuine Dell PDA.

“Hey, look what I found,” she said.

Whoops! At least I didn’t write a scathing letter….

Things I’ve Lost: Airplanes

2007-01-11T16:45:00.000-08:00

This is a story about things that I've lost over the course of about a thousand flights in the last seven years. Luggage doesn’t count, because I’ve never had luggage permanently lost. In fact, my bags have eluded me only once, at home in Boston. The next morning, I walked downstairs and took my suitcase from the delivery man. No problem. We had a less splendid time dealing with Normal Girl’s luggage back in October, but that’s another story for another day.

There isn’t a whole lot of space on commercial aircraft these days, not even in the front. So you might be wondering how I could manage to lose anything. But you also probably raised your eyebrows yesterday when I mentioned leaving my keys in the refrigerator (and once in the freezer, too, for good measure). IN any event, here’s the inventory of things I’ve left behind…

My Favorite Coat
This wasn’t my favorite coat at the time, but my favorite coat of all time. Manufactured by Brooks Brothers, but one of my rare lucky finds at the outlets in Wrentham, it was a black cashmere pea coat. My build isn’t easy—most everything runs way too small or the sleeves hang past my fingers—but that coat fit like it had been tailored to my precise dimensions. (Imagine the wistful expression on my face as I wax on about this damn coat).

I flew from Tucson to Denver, before catching the last flight to Boston. Those short hauls came with automatic upgrades for the highest status level on United Airlines back then (before the Ted experiment, before bankruptcy). I didn’t need the coat in Tucson, and it was too bulky for my roller bag, so I cradled it in my arms like an infant when I boarded.

“May I take your coat?” the flight attendant asked.

Here’s the thing. When they take your coat in first class, it’s kind of a pain in the ass. Sure, the jacket doesn’t wrinkle, and it’s not going to end up with a stain from somebody’s luggage. And yes, I realize I’m complaining about first class… However, the routine is for them to present your coat while preparing the cabin for landing. It makes perfect logical sense – once the wheels touch the ground, there’s too much going on for them to distribute the laundry. But it means you have to hug your coat for the last twenty minutes of the flight. Somehow this bothered me. (Like many things that bother me, I realize I may be alone in my irritation).

For whatever reason, I handed it over rather than fold it inside out (travel tip: the liner protects against other luggage in the bin) and tuck it overhead.

They did not hand out the coats that afternoon.

An hour later, moments before boarding my flight to Boston, I realized I was missing something. My coat! My favorite coat! I called down to the gate. Left a message for DEN lost and found. Learned where that plane traveled to on its subsequent two flights. Left messages at those airports. Nothing.

I’m still looking for a coat like that one… *Sniffle* *Sniffle*

The Mayor of Casterbridge
All together, I’ve probably left a dozen books or notebooks in seat pockets. How hard is it to check that pocket before deplaning? Depends how many drinks you’ve had… But seriously, the odds are that in 500 flights you’re going to forget something, and books are easy. They slip down, and when you peer inside you see SkyMall, the Safety Information Card, a prior passenger’s garbage, and a barf bag. The good news is that by leaving The Mayor of Casterbridge for United Airlines to find, I escaped reading it.

A Very Expensive Gift
I’m not going to say what it was exactly, but I’ll tell you that it was smaller than a book and larger than a nickel. Before I brought it aboard, I told myself it was a very bad idea. “You’re going to lose it,” mumbled a voice I tend to ignore. If I’m not mistaken, the passenger beside me commented on how nice it was. Straight to the bottom of the seat pocket. Some lucky maintenance worker might even be using it today.

My Mind
Well, not quite. But close. So very close.

Leather Wallet o’ Business Cards
My parting gift from a prior employer was a leather wallet to hold my business cards. It was from Longchamps, which I surmise to be an expensive accessories boutique merely from their location on the ritzy end of Newbury Street in Boston. Of course I decided to carry it, because my pockets were not overflowing already with my regular wallet, cell phone (they weren’t quite so slim seven years ago), keys, etc.

Got home and realized: Oops, left my business cards on the plane. Bummer.

Lo and behold, the item whose loss concerned me the least was the one that turned up in my mailbox. A flight attendant (bless her heart) saw the address on the fifty business cards inside and voilà, I had a fancy carrying case for my useless business cards again.

Not so fast. One week later, I transferred my laundry from the washing machine to the dryer. What’s that at the bottom? Uh oh, my mangled business card wallet.

Do you see what Normal Girl puts up with???

Last, but not least: my top-of-the-line, über-fancy, high-definition, Bluetooth-capable, WiFi-enabled, but completely useless Dell Axim x50 Personal Digital Assistant
I was thrilled about this gadget. Loaded it with contacts, tasks, and a flashcard program to teach me Spanish. Learned how to write quickly in their special shorthand. Carried that thing everywhere. And then after a while I realized it was spending a lot of time in my work bag and not as much time in use.

I elected to give it one more try. Of course, the memory had vanished by then, so I had to reload, re-associate, and re-sync. “This thing works great!” I proclaimed.

At the apex of this last-ditch attempt to use my costly toy for something other than solitaire, I took it out before one of my last flights from San Juan to Boston in early July. Checked off some tasks, added some tasks, checked my calendar, surfed the Internet on the free WiFi. Started talking to Mark (the guy beside me). Set the PDA in the seat beside me. Chit-chatted some more. Drinks came. Dinner was served. We broke to do some “real work” on our laptops. Landed. Deplaned. Took a taxicab home.

The next morning, I realized my PDA was not in the front pouch of my messenger bag. Where could it be? In the seat, that’s where. I called Logan and San Fran (where the plane went in the morning) and left messages at lost and found. They did not return my call. I know the policy is they’ll call only if they find your missing item, but I’m an Executive Platinum! (Insert indignant rant here).

Guess what Normal Girl found under the couch last weekend…