Choosing Happy Over Cool Since 2003

I just got back from Viva Las Vegas, after a 4 hour delay in Denver, but what the hell. I'm back home and I love home. I don't care if it's 15 degrees; I don't care if it's dirty; I don't care if this is home to carnivores of happy; I'm home, I love it.

Work was good.

I've been down in the casino every morning at 6am getting my coffee from scantily clad waitresses in Roman dress or the bald guy behind the bar. Three dollars. Three dollars for a random cup of coffee, but whatever. This morning though, I was a bit earlier because of my flight. It was only 5am and it's Saturday so all the drunk kids were out. The hooting, woohooing, your boobs are falling our of your dress drunk kids. A much older woman, looking a bit worn in a shimmery outfit, was sitting by herself at the end of the busy bar. I feel sorry for the staff but I guess they make good money. Everything is different at that time in the casino. The cops were around, and Daniel saw a fight in the Forum Shops. Like our security guy at Events, Marty, used to say: "the underbelly of [fill in conference name]". I didn't really get to see any of the underbelly, but honestly, why would I want to? "Live to see another peaceful day" beat out "a good story" a long time ago for me.

The airport in Montreal was a huge Indian reception. Crowds of young Indians, behind stanchions, holding roses, single roses. Then there was a space in the middle of them and a bench covered with some elaborate scarf. It looked like someone was going to get married right off the plane. But I never got to see the actual event, just the waiting crowd.

My cab driver told me he works 12-14 hours a day every day of the week. I asked him if he only sleeps and works and he said "pretty much. What else is there to do?" and I told him all about getting a life.

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Visit my cousin's blog. If I was impressed by his paintings before, I'm even more so now. ¿Cuándo me llegará uno de reglo, cof cof?

This one has an interesting anecdote (for me) because it's based on a still from a movie (I think) and my father's in it, and my mother is cut out but she was right next to him. They were walking in a park in Europe in the 70s and were filmed in Fellini's Roma. My parents took me to see it back in the 80s and I remember them: my dad with his beard and still skinny pre-me body (he said he got fat out of "sympathy" for my pregnant mother) and my mother with her thick blonde hair and her huge sunglasses. Celluloid lasts longer than romance, aren't you glad?

*a los que leen español les recomiendo la descripción completa y en primera persona de la anécdota, contada por mi papá en los comentarios del blog de Rodrigo.