ODDS AND ENDS: 
MY SPOTIFY WRAPPED, GOODREADS SUMMARY, OLD NEWS, AND ALSO?
I HAVE QUESTIONS.

Here we go.

Kinda surprised that Genesis was in my top artists yet again. I mean I dig them ('70s and early '80s Genesis, to be clear -- think Abacab era. Any of their post-1987 Michelob beer commercial sounding crap? Never!). I guess I didn't realize how much I listen to them.

Love my Top Five tracks obvs, but I expected to see Nation of Language further up the list, because I've been playing the shit out of them for the last six months or so. 

They did make my Top 10....

Nation of Language is a revelation. Their sound is a blend of OMD and early Human League, with a bit of 1982-era Depeche sprinkled on top. If you are an old-school new waver and haven't heard them yet, do yourself a favor. 

Although "Weak In Your Light" is gorgeous, "Sole Obsession" is my sole obsession. 

**************************

Onward! Goodreads is now doing its own version of Wrapped, and I love it. Here are some highlights from mine. 

Yep, I read a lot of graphic novels this year. I'm a huge fan of the genre, but not of the Alan Moore/Neil Gaiman variety; my tastes run more toward Daniel Clowes, Julia Wertz, Lisa Hanawalt, and their ilk.

I was lucky -- two of my favorite novelists (Curtis Sittenfeld and Morgan Richter) had new releases over the past year. I can confidently recommend anything and everything by those two authors.   

You know which book I don't recommend? The Better Liar by Tanen Jones. Absolute crap. I must've been feeling generous when I gave it two stars. It deserves one at most. (I have no problem ripping into a mainstream author. I'd never do that to an indie author, however. We struggle enough to be seen.) 

Ooh, "...a feeling of dread snaking through this novel." I was in an emo mood that day, apparently.

Yes, it's true: a former fling of mine in the Twin Cities had a hand in crafting Debbie Harry's memoir. The guy has an unusual surname, but even so I thought, "No fucking way!" Then I did some Googling and checked out his professional Facebook page and--I'll be damned--it's totally the same dude. No, I won't reveal his identity. He's a nice enough bloke and I don't want to put him on blast. I will divulge this semi-juicy tidbit, however. Remember back in the '90s when Sting was going around talking about how he was into tantric sex and could go for hours and hours? The guy in question made the same claims to me before we got, ehrm, "friendly." And in his case, the assertions proved to be decidedly false. In fact, quite the opposite, if you catch my drift. (What is it with British men of a certain age professing to be tantric studs?) Whatever. I just hope he didn't try that line on Debbie. 

**************************

OLD NEWS!

One of my early Christmas gifts from John was a subscription to Newspapers.com. I was delighted to receive it because, yes, I'm a nerd. I mostly wanted it for genealogy type research, but I am also having a blast looking at some of these old "nekkid lady ads" from The Indianapolis Star. I remember being quite fascinated with them as a kid. So seedy, so salacious, so unintentionally hilarious.

COMING
rain or shine!

Heh. Nice work, Ponderosa Sun Club publicity team. I see what you did there. It would've flown right over my head as a 10-year-old (which I was in 1983), but now I get it. 

My favorite part of that ad:

VISITORS NEED NOT DISROBE 

Here's a question for the ages: why in the name of fuck do these unhygienic jiggle joints serve food, and who was taking advantage of ALL THE SPAGHETTI YOU CAN EAT - $2.95 offer at The Centerfold showclub? Never mind, I don't want to know. In fact, I will pay you not to tell me.

Also, playing at The Rivoli: Three Cheers for B.J.U. Hmm. I wonder what that one's about?

Now this is just wrong. "Jo" looks like they used her senior yearbook photo for her "Fantasy of the Month" featured dancer ad. I mean, she's wearing a turtleneck for Christ's sake. Girl, you ain't about that life! I hope your tenure as a dancer was short-lived, and I'm sorry your father failed you. (I happen to agree with Chris Rock---a father's main goal in raising a daughter should be to keep her OFF THE POLE. There's a lot of truth to that.) 

The ad for this special investigative report was in the same section as the strip club ads. Coincidence, or were they trying to make some kind of subtle statement? 

Fun fact: 1983 was also the year my parents divorced. If only reporter Tracy Horth had gotten to the bottom of this crisis a few years earlier, my generation might've been spared the trauma. But probably not. 

Really though, I'm still glad to be Generation X. I was a free-range child myself, and I'm better off for it. I would've hated to grow up a Millennial, with all the helicopter parenting and arranged playdates and over-scheduling. (Not to mention all their shitty, shitty pop music.)

Speaking of free-range children....

That's me on the far left in the Fozzie Bear shirt, along with some of my neighborhood friends from Sherman Drive, fall 1980. Largely unsupervised, and we turned out just fine.

**************************

And finally, I have some burning questions. 

For Donald Trump: Who gives better blow jobs, Lindsey Graham or Mike Johnson?

(Personally, my money's on the Speaker of the House. He may not be as adept at some of the mechanics, but I'm sure he's plenty enthusiastic, which can make all the difference. Besides, you just know Lindsey Graham is a total pillow princess.)

For Elon Musk: Who gives better blow jobs, Donald Trump or Amber Heard? 

For JD Vance: Does Peter Thiel make you top him, or vice versa? 
(I don't know. With the eyeliner and the bitchiness, Shady Vance just screams "bossy bottom" to me.) 

For Donald Trump Jr: What size strap-on does Kimmy Guilfoyle use on you? 

(Oh come on, you know that limp-dicked cokehead hasn't gotten it up in years.)

For Lauren Boebert: Ew, you fucked Ted Cruz?

For Ted Cruz: Ew, you fucked Lauren Boebert?

For Greg Abbott: HEY BITCH, LIKE MY SHIRT?

And I'm out! Happy Solstice, Happy Christmas, Merry New Year, and remember to be kind and rewind.

    TALES FROM SUBURBIA
PT. 1: GOBBLED

I appreciate these little traditions that seem to be a thing around our subdivision. Last week, for instance, I got gobbled. 

No you pre-verts, not that kind of gobbled. I'm talking about this:

Apparently "gobbling" is the Thanksgiving practice of leaving a treat bag on a neighbor's doorstep with a sign and note asking them to anonymously pay it forward and do the same to another neighbor. It was a fun little surprise, and our treats included some Nestle miniatures, a few caramels, some biscotti, and a small pack of Twizzlers. I'd enclose a photo but everything was consumed pretty quickly; John and I hadn't yet detoxed from all the leftover Halloween candy we'd been scarfing up and were badly in need of a sugar fix.

The attached instructions said I was supposed to "gobble" someone within two days. I promptly forgot. Then yesterday--two days before Thanksgiving--I remembered. I searched through the cupboards but all I came up with was a half empty bag of Community coffee, some loose tea bags, a couple sweet potatoes and a pack of Harvest Snaps. And I was NOT about to part with my Harvest Snaps. Fuck that noise. 

So then I hit the supermarket. Ever been to the supermarket during Thanksgiving week? It's a clusterfuck. I grabbed a bag of Airheads and went looking for something besides candy to include in my gobble bag, like a little festive button with "Happy Thanksgiving," on it and maybe a seasonal pencil topper to throw in there. You know, just trying to be original. But being Thanksgiving week and all, I soon found myself just needing to get the hell out of there. 

In the end, these were my offerings:

Yeah, that's orange cookie icing and a wax moustache. It was the best I could do.

I packed up the gobble bag and chose one of the smaller ranch houses a few streets over from us, one that didn't show any signs of kids living there. I thought maybe a single person or some elderly retiree might get appreciate being gobbled.

I feel like I've now fulfilled my suburban neighborly obligations for the fall season, anyway.    

 

  

 

NEW YEAR CHEER

"And so this is Christmas, 

And what have we done?"

Well John and Yoko, I'll tell you what "we" have done: we oops--the electoral college went and installed a reality show trainwreck to run the country into the ground. 

Happy Christmas! 

But I'm not here to talk about Herr Combover and his VP, The Antichrist. I'm sure I'll have plenty more to say about them in the coming months, but right now I'm trying not to think about January 20th. 

Right now, at this moment in time, Obama is still the president and we have a whole twenty-nine days left of his administration before Armageddon. So let's enjoy it while we can! Crack open the eggnog, raise a glass, and let's party like it's 2016 because--to paraphrase Prince (RIP)--"They say two thousand-one-seven party over, oops! Out of time."

Sigh. 

Anyhoo, here's a Christmas song. It's not what you'd call festive, but it's a damn good song, and The Killers are such a kick-ass band that I continue to be amazed and incredibly thankful that they're still around and making real music in a world where an untalented hack like Kanye West is considered a "genius" and a recycled Britney Spears knockoff like Katy Perry is considered an "artist." And the video stars Owen Wilson, a truly underrated and underutilized actor who needs to stop making crap Ben Stiller comedies and stick to Wes Anderson movies where he can shine (to be fair, they were in The Royal Tennenbaums together and that was brilliant, but that was also Wes Anderson. But I digress. Again.). 

Merry Christmas, or "Happy Holidays" as we liberal types like to say when we want to piss off the Sean Hannitys of the world. 

   

An oldie but goodie....taken from the archives. Not my archives, but the archives of Capnwacky's Zonar. You may remember my Capnwacky-related post from last Easter.
Enjoy.

**************************************************************************** 

Zonar reports on Thanksgiving

The following text is a report I have written up on the human holiday Thanksgiving to send to the Superion High Command. I repost it on this blog so that you humans may enjoy my insights on your culture:

REPORT: AMERICAN-HUMAN THANKSGIVING

This week hails the holiday of Thanksgiving for humans living in the Earth country called The United States of America. Being a American-created holiday, it focuses on American's favorite activities. First, there is a day of eating, followed by a day of shopping. Also, apparently there is some football watching, though my observances are inconclusive if this is part of the holiday traditions or merely normal everyday behavior that continued during the holiday.

Colonists, fattening their prey.

The first day of Thanksgiving celebrates the day American colonists arrived from the old world* and ate all the native Americans. To commemorate this day of conquest, humans gather together with their family members and eat large, cooked birds (symbolizing the "Indians"). Also, there is pie.

Following the day of consumption, the second day of Thanksgiving is focused on purchasing consumable goods from chain stores. This is apparently a contest among the Americans to see who can purchase as many items as possible in a single day (I am inferring this, as I see no other reason for the frenzy given that these consumable goods are available both before and after day two of Thanksgiving, and purchasing them on any other day would be a simpler and more comfortable experience). Predominantly the female American humans take part in this contest, and must survive through rounds of driving very early in the morning, finding a parking spot, and the traditional running of the fat ladies. It appears to be a grueling, dangerous experience. Fortunately, they have loaded up on carbohydrates the day before.

Eager combatants outside of the arena.

When a winner of the competition is selected, the surviving female combatants return home to divide up the remaining piles of food and retain the remaining piles of resentment. Everyone hates themselves for ingesting so much on Day 1 and prepares to repeat their mistakes throughout the following holiday season.


*not literally another world, but merely another country on the same world. "The Old World" is merely a term used by humans, indicating their dim view of the universe and how it works.

Happy Easter! Here are some disturbing greeting cards!

Image from Capnwacky

In honor of Easter, I wanted to pay tribute to one of my favorite (sadly, no longer updated) humor blogs, Capnwacky, and their brilliant gallery of creepy greeting cards from the days of yore. They called it The Unfortunate Page and it featured a myriad of WTF vintage cards, including goofy Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, and even Washington's Birthday cards (does anyone send out cards for Washington's Birthday?). They even added a bonus section of Unfortunate superhero and Star Trek costumes.

Anyhoo, here are some of my favorite icky Easter cards, courtesy of Capnwacky. I've also copied and pasted the captions from the site, which hopefully the Capnwacky guys won't be pissed about, since I'm basically giving them a big ol' plug, too. Also, Capnwacky guys? In case you're reading this...UPDATE YOUR SITE! I miss it. I especially miss Zonar, the human-hating alien.

"And you thought Joe Camel caused trouble."

"Yes, the Easter Bunny brings treats to good boys and girls, but beware
the evil Easter gnomes who steal treats and bite children on the ankles."

"Ah yes, the frontier. Forged by nancy-boys in
sissysuits, riding egg wagons pulled by bunnies."

"So, are these tiny people, or are the birds freakishly huge?
Either way, it adds up to me not getting a pleasant night's sleep."

"Only big bunnies get to cavort with humans."

This Good Friday Support Planned Parenthood!

Misty, me, and Katy at the the 2011 rally in St. Paul

Aww, I had so much fun at the Planned Parenthood Good Friday support rallies! This is the first time in four years that I haven't gone and I'm really missing it. It's become something of a tradition, as Good Friday is the designated day for religious fanatics to line up outside Planned Parenthood locations around the country to wave anti-choice signs, so Planned Parenthood set up "support" teams to counter the holy rollers. Planned Parenthood didn't let people on their side bring their own placards because they wanted to keep a positive, upbeat atmosphere, but they did provide signs for us supporters to hold (see above).

At the first rally I attended (with Katy in 2010) this old dude walked up carrying a "SAVE THE SPERM" sign complete with squiggly little sperm-creatures inked in around the letters. Everyone was a little freaked, and a bit confused, as it wasn't clear a.) what the hell message the guy was trying to convey with that (was he being funny? was he serious?) and b.) was he with us, or with the holy rollers on the other side? It turned out that he was, in fact, a pro-choice supporter and his pro-sperm sign was a misguided attempt at humor. The PP organizers respectfully asked him to discard his sperm sign, and gave him a more tasteful one to carry. It was memorable, anyway.  

The awesome thing about this photo? I found it on a Google image search of "Planned Parenthood Good Friday rally" and it's from the exact same day we were there (you can see Misty's jacket and sign to the left of the woman above). We are EVERYWHERE baby!

Borrowed this from Everything Is Terrible, one of my favorite websites in the history of ever.



There are so many jaw-droppingly awesome/awful moments packed into this clip, I scarcely know where to begin.

• "Come on, don't put me on. I know you got a bowling ball. You became a champion bowlah! You joke with me, hah hah hah." Arnold sounds like he's reading from a script penned by Tommy Wiseau. You might say that Tommy Wiseau sounds like Arnold Schwarzenegger, but you would be wrong. Arnold sounds like Tommy Wiseau.
• Arnold telling the children that the devil came to his house on Christmas. And then the tender violin music starts up in the background. (And then he banged the maid. The devil made him do it!)
• It's 1988 and that room is just teeming with Cosby sweaters.  
• Mike Tyson, future convicted rapist, singing to children. 
• Randy Travis, future butt-nekkid Trans Am-driving singer, is there too.
• Maria Shriver at 2:09 sporting some serious feathered hair. 
• Any time I see Danny De Vito in something, I automatically think "No no no De Vito!" (War of the Roses joke. Look it up, it's a good one.) 

The date was Friday, January 16, 2009. 

US Airways pilot Chelsey "Sully" Sullenberger had just made headlines the day before when he guided Flight 1549 to an emergency landing on the Hudson River. Barack Obama would be sworn in as the 44th President of the United States four days later. The Killers' new album Day and Age was in heavy rotation on my iPod (particularly track no. 3, "Spaceman"). I was fully self-employed as a massage therapist and about to complete the final edits on my first novel, Thanks, That Was Fun. But the big thing that happened on January 16, 2009 was meeting a guy called John. I had no way of knowing that the cute, charming, bearded Brit that took me out for tea and Thai food that night would one day become my husband.

Photo of me taken by John on the night of our first date.

If I could go back in time and tell the woman in the above photo three things, they would be: 

• For the love of God, quit drinking! 
• Beware of false friends (i.e. The Troll Twins).
• The guy standing in your apartment taking this photo? Hold onto him. He's a keeper.

Since time travel is not an option, I'm eternally grateful that somehow--after all the stresses and changes and bumps in the road we've weathered over the last 3+ years--John and I have managed to hang on and make everything work.

And so, 1,349 days later, John snapped this photo of me:

In our room at the Mirage on September 25, 2012, one hour before the wedding.

But backing up a little bit, this is the rest of our trip (in chronological order)...

On the plane to Vegas, September 23

We arrived in Vegas late Sunday night, grabbed our rental car and headed to the Strip. It was John's first time in Vegas and he was impressed and slightly overwhelmed by all the lights and activity. We checked into the Mirage (room 20018 -- in Numerology 2 + 0 + 0 + 1 + 8 = 11 -- I've been a bit obsessed with this number since 11/11/11). 

View from our room on the 20th floor

The next morning we grabbed breakfast and drove downtown to pick up our marriage license at the Clark County Courthouse. 

Breakfast at IHOP

We were in and out of the courthouse so quickly (Vegas is efficient with those marriage licenses) that I didn't have time to snap a photo of some of the hilarious signs posted. Luckily, I was able to find one of them online: 

Never drink and marry. 

We then headed back to the Mirage to meet Sarah, John's sister-in-law, who had flown out from England for our nuptials. Her husband (John's younger brother) Richard was supposed to be with her, but he had a pretty bad case of nerves the day before their flight (he suffers from an intense fear of flying) and was unable to make it. We were disappointed but still very happy to have Sarah there. She was funny and easy-going and I liked her right away. 

After meeting up with Sarah we walked around the casino a bit, did a little souvenir shopping, then headed out for an Italian dinner. I was beginning to feel a little bit jittery about the ceremony the next day, but I was nowhere near as nervous as I thought I'd be. We dropped off Sarah at the Luxor and went back to our hotel room early so we could both get a good night's sleep...I didn't want to wake up on my wedding day with dark circles and puffy eyes!

The next day the weather was perfect--89 degrees and sunny with low winds. I was wishing I'd remembered to bring my swimsuit because the pool at the Mirage is amazing. But, with my hair and makeup appointment at 12:30 and the limo coming to pick us up at 3:15, there wasn't much time for poolside lounging.

 View of the palm trees surrounding that gorgeous, gorgeous pool.

After breakfast, Sarah and John went down to the casino to gamble while I had my coffee, showered, made some last minute phone calls to my family and puttered around the hotel room. Elaine from Pampered Brides showed up at 12:30 sharp (another Las Vegas perk--they send makeup and hair stylists right to your room!). I wanted an updo with some loose curls but Elaine suggested a "younger" look: a Taylor Swift-ian sideswept ponytail with loose curls hanging down here and there. After I okayed it, Elaine went to work on me with a curling iron, about 87 bobby pins and a can of hairspray. I was happy with the end result, although after Elaine left I took my wide-toothed comb and a few bobby pins and tamped down the "bump" she did at the back of my crown, as it was a little too Bristol Palin for my taste. She did an excellent job on my makeup though, and I learned a valuable mascara tip: coat lashes with a regular mascara first, wait for it to dry, then go over them again with a waterproof mascara to "seal" it. (Who knew?) It worked: I teared up a bit during the ceremony but I had nary a smudge to show for it. 
  
With my hair and makeup done, I changed into my dress and John and Sarah returned to the room to get cleaned up and dressed for the wedding. I was starting to get a little jittery again, but more excited than anything else. The limo picked us up in front of the hotel at 3:15 and drove us out to the lake for the festivities. Originally the ceremony was to be held at the Always and Forever Wedding Chapel, but about two weeks before the wedding we received an email saying that there had been some massive floods in Vegas and that the Chapel was temporarily closed due to water damage. To remedy the situation, they gave us a free upgrade to their Lakeside Garden site. It was quite serendipitous: I had always wanted an outdoor wedding--preferably by the ocean--so this was the next best thing. It worked out beautifully.

When we got there we sat down with the minister and the photographer and worked out the processional. We decided that John and Sarah would be waiting for me down front and then they'd cue the music and I would walk down the aisle solo. John had asked for a civil ceremony as opposed to a Christian ceremony (we are both practicing Nichiren Buddhists) but the minister told us that, instead of reading off the book for the generic civil ceremony, it would sound more natural if he did the usual Christian spiel (which he had memorized) and just left out the religious parts. That sounded fine, so we agreed to that.  

Our wedding at Always and Forever Lakeside Gardens

I actually walked down the aisle to "Here Comes the Bride" (I don't think I've ever attended a wedding where they played that!), stood next to John and the minister began the reading. But here's the thing: he totally forgot to leave out the Christian-y parts! He went on about how God had created woman to be a companion to man and yada yada yada. I didn't mind so much, I just thought it was kind of funny. When he finished, I handed Sarah my bouquet and the minister had John and I turn and face one another for the vows. The minister said something really sweet about how out of all the millions of people in the world, John and I chose one another and we must always remember that and that's when both of us got all misty-eyed. The minister said a few other things and....then he forgot himself and repeated the exact same "millions of people" speech verbatim. John and I were still holding hands and facing one another, we both realized at about the same time that he was repeating himself. We were both staring at each other, trying not to laugh and a small part of me was panicking, hoping that he would be able to transition smoothly into the vows (he did). So we said our vows and exchanged rings, and (to my relief!) the minister remembered to read the Apache wedding blessing that we'd written down for him to say at the end. So then John and I kissed, smiled for the photographer, walked back up the aisle and we were married! It was awesome. 

Oh yeah, my wedding dress! I'd found it two months earlier at Hippie Gypsy in New Orleans. It cost a mere 48 bones. Yep, $48.00. And it was perfect.

 Hippie Gypsy. For all your wedding day needs.

 After the ceremony the limo dropped us off back at the Mirage. We were all famished, so we changed clothes and headed for the buffet, where we gorged ourselves on tacos, curry, Thai noodles, pizza, mixed veggies, mashed potatoes, egg rolls, and ice cream (it was one of those buffets that had stations set up for any and every sort of ethnic cuisine you happened to be craving). I never really got the appeal of Vegas buffets before--during my two previous trips to the Sin City I was pretty underwhelmed by the general crappiness of the buffet food--but the one at the Mirage rocked. (My extreme hunger pangs may have had something to do with the deliciousness of the food.)  

The next day (Wednesday) the three of us set out for Area 51, about 90 minutes outside Vegas. I took a lot of photos of the scenery along the way. I don't think I could live in a desert climate, but the landscape is beautiful. 

Just before we got to Area 51, we stopped at the famous Little Ale-Inn in Rachel, Nevada for lunch and more souvenirs. The manager of the Ale-Inn was very friendly and very intrigued by John and Sarah's accents. She said to me, "Now, are you also visiting from England?" I said no, I'm from Indiana originally and that John and I had just gotten married the day before, and Sarah had flown in from England for our wedding. The manager said to Sarah, "Oh, so you're the sister of the groom?" Sarah told her that no, she was John's sister-in-law. The manager looked confused and she said to me, "So...this is your sister?" I laughed and said that she was John's brother's wife. The manager said to Sarah "So, where's your husband?" and Sarah explained that he was unable to stomach the plane ride, so she ended up coming over on her own. The manager nodded, then turned to John and I and said "Well then, are you going to live in England now?" John told her no, we were currently living in Louisiana. The manager was even more confused then, and said to me, "Wait....you said you're from Indiana, right?" I told her that I was, but that John and I were living in Louisiana and, just to confuse things even more, I told her that John and I had actually met in Minnesota. At that point the manager stopped trying to piece together our weird histories and just laughed and said, "Well, congratulations on your marriage anyhow."

 John outside the Little AleInn

Sarah with the sign (and flying saucer!) out front.

After lunch and more shopping, we set out on the Extraterrestrial Highway....

....and completed our journey to Area 51, or as close as we could get to it, anyway. There aren't a lot of markers telling you where you are out there--we'd gotten a map at the AleInn--but it wasn't very detailed and it was hard to know what roads to turn on and where the "borderline" was. I sat in the backseat while John drove and Sarah navigated, worrying that that we'd inadvertently drive into the forbidden zone, where  supposedly you would be shot on sight by the military, detained indefinitely, or--at the very least--be forced to pay a $600 fine for trespassing on government land.

Luckily, the desert gods were smiling on us that day and we managed to find our way to the cut-off point: the site of the mysterious black mailbox (which was actually painted white), and, a few miles down the road, a giant sign warning that if you went beyond that point your ass belonged to the US government. Wisely, we decided not to push our luck. 

 John and me, in front of the warning sign and cut-off point.

The graffiti-covered black (white) mailbox

Of course, we had to make our mark...

...and I threw in a plug for my book.

We got in the car to head back to Vegas, but then we had to stop when we spotted the mystery car parked about a mile away from the Area 51 border. Sarah had mentioned something about an abandoned car that was rumored to be parked near the site; actually, a few different cars, always parked in the same place. Sometimes there was a red car, sometimes a white one, sometimes a gray one. This time it was an old white Pontiac, very dirty, with an expired license plate from way back in 2002! Sarah and I went over and peeked in the windows. Inside the car was an old blanket, some pine tree air fresheners, and an empty Aquafina bottle. Of course, we both dared one another to try the door handles but neither of us had the cojones to do so.

Sarah inspects the mystery car.

Tabs expired in 2002. If this car were parked on a Minneapolis side street, it would 

last all of 5 minutes before being handily whisked away to impound purgatory.

When we were done gawking at the mysterious Pontiac, we all hopped in the car and headed back to Vegas. On our way out of the desert, I had John stop so I could take one last photo for my friend Rachel.

We made it safely back to Vegas without being captured by aliens or the military. Sarah went back to her hotel room at the Luxor to rest, but John and I had to shower and start packing for home. We were catching the red eye back to Baton Rouge at midnight, but first---YES!---we had a concert to attend.

Rod!!!!  

The concert started at 7:30 so we had to hurry. After hosing off the desert funk and changing into fresh clothes, John and I ran next door to Caesar's Palace. It turned out that we were still late, as we had trouble locating the door to the Coliseum. We finally found the entrance, had our tickets scanned, and dashed up about five flights of stairs to the balcony. Inside the Coliseum, the concert was already underway. Luckily though, we were only missing the opening song--"Love Train"--a song that Rod has never even recorded (to my knowledge, anyway). I was fine with that. If I were going to miss any songs, it might as well be "Love Train." I've been to enough wedding receptions in my life, thank you. There is no need for me to hear that song ever again. 

ROD!!!

It was the eighth time I've seen him live (my first was in 1989--some of my Minneapolis friends weren't even born yet) and he did not disappoint. The man is 67 years old, but seeing him perform, you'd never guess he was over 40.

  Still rockin' the white socks and black shoes. Gotta love it.

The show was billed as Rod Stewart: The Hits so of course he did all the big ones--"Maggie May," "Forever Young," "You're In My Heart," "Tonight's the Night," "Hot Legs," "Have I Told You Lately?" "First Cut is the Deepest," "Young Turks," and--of course--"Do You Think I'm Sexy?"

 By the way, yes I do. 

The concert was John's wedding gift to me. He wasn't thrilled about going--John had lost interest around the time Rod stopped doing the seventies rocker thing (circa 1975 and Atlantic Crossing)--but he was surprised by how much he enjoyed the show. He even got misty-eyed and cuddled up to me during "Have I Told You Lately?" which was awesome. 

Oooh yeah, there's more where that came from...

Aw hell, I might as well just post all of them.

In no particular order....

"Just remember every picture tells a story, don't it?"

When the concert was over, John and I made our way back to the hotel room to grab our bags and head to the airport. Sarah was staying on until Sunday to do more sight-seeing and shopping on her own, but our flight was booked for Thursday at 12:55 a.m. As we boarded the plane we both remarked that, weirdly enough, neither of us felt tired. We were exhilarated from the concert and the Area 51 trip and the excitement that we were returning to Baton Rouge as husband and wife.

We've come a long way, baby.