I think you're supposed to bring that home to your family.

Even in a place like the grocery store, Vegas bucks the mundane. And I'm not just talking about the mini casino between the checkout and the bathroom.

For example, people seem to buy a lot of booze when they're very drunk. I'm always confused because I wonder why they need the extra alcohol. Unless maybe they're the types who wake up hungover, and instead of regretting skinny dipping, they castigate themselves for leaving the liquor cabinet dry. Then I'm confused how they arrived at the grocery store, which presents a secondary concern of how they'll get home.

Anyway, the real point of this blog is to share a short sighting I had at the other day at the Starbucks inside Albertsons. I'd run in for a few things after work at about 3 pm and was making my way from the fruit aisle to the register.

At one of the tiny cafe tables that's only meant to seat one person, a body builder wearing bright blue Under Armour sat, both elbows propped up on the tabletop, legs spread as if he were about to do a set of squats. He stared determinedly forward. In his large hands he held a drumstick. In front of him sat...a whole roasted chicken, or at least the remnants of one.

He'd seriously plowed through almost an entire chicken. I swear I could see his canine teeth sinking into the last of the meat, ripping it off the vestiges of nearly naked carcass, veins on his forearms popping to the surface against the strain. Apparently he needed his mid-afternoon protein. But really, aren't those supposed to feed an entire family? From the looks of things, he hadn't been sitting there very long either. It's not like florescent lights and a Sun Chips display are great dining ambiance anyway.

I probably stared a little. I've been craving chicken ever since.

Is that a dauber in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

On Friday night, locals' bingo had a big comeback. I drove down to the South Point Casino bingo room for the first time in a long time, and, for the first time ever, I also used an electronic scorecard thingy instead of old-fashioned dauber and paper. This allowed me to play about 72 cards at once without doing anything. Seriously, even if you get a bingo, the machine plays a few bars of "We're in the Money," to wake you from your complimentary-bingo-drinks haze. All you have to do is yell "Winner!"

I used to think these devices made the game less fun, but a certain bingo expert told me that it's the only way to play. After all, how would a true fanatic be able to keep track of that many cards with a semblance of accuracy?

Anyway, after sitting in seats that weren't previously occupied by "reserved" signs from totally superstitious wackos, we started sipping drinks and getting comfortable. I wasn't three sips into my first drink before this blue hair sat down two seats to my right.

"You might want to move up a row," she said as she set up her electronic bingo device. I thought maybe she was about to make a joke about how animated she might get if she won. Like maybe she'd knock over my vodka and cranberry cocktail.

"I cut off the top of my big toe just now running up the escalator to get here on time, and security is coming up to wrap it. I'll probably have to put my bloody foot up on this chair here," she continued, gesturing to the chair between us.

"Oh no," I said, faking sympathy and wondering why she hadn't just sat away from me in the first place.

"I would move, but this is my lucky seat," she continued, stretching out her leg to show me the blood-soaked piece of tissue wrapped around her toe.

How rational. "Oh, I see," I said, turning away from her to decided how squeamish I would have to be before giving up my seat. This was clearly a matter of principle since I was there first.

"It's funny. I actually cut off the top of that same toe before."

"Hmmm..."

"When I was a kid, I went swimming in a lake and kicked it against an old piece of glass bottle."

At this point, I sincerely thought I was going to pass out. On cue, three security guards with a first aid kit rushed into the room. Apparently, next time I'm seriously injured, I should skip the ER and go to South Point.

Anyway, we ended up moving over (a nice compromise between moving to a completely different row and me passing out). The security guys wrapped up her foot and she actually won some money. I didn't, course. In fact, I've never won at bingo.

It's a Free Country and Other Things I Can't Stand

It's Independence Day in Vegas, and until approximately 4:30 this afternoon, rain spoiled all the barbecues, parades, and picnics. I find this endlessly unfortunate, considering no Las Vegan would be stupid enough to actually go outside during the summer, except maybe for July 4th.

But don't worry. After the rain stopped, our usually 95 degree summer evening chilled to a comfortable 75, and Dugi and I went to the dog park. For me, it was a great place to see fireworks shot up all over the Valley. For Dugi, it was a chance to feel large because he was one of the only dogs not afraid of the big lights and big noises.

But let me back track a little bit--say 10 or 11 years. When I was a kid, it was really popular for a while to say "It's a free country!" Kids used this ubiquitous phrase as a response to everything from cutting to the front of the lunch line to keeping a messy room. I always hated it because I was a fan of a more detailed, articulate rebuttal. Maybe one involving multiple points and pie charts. Plus, was throwing your vegetables away really the time to pull the independence card? Maybe save that for some kind of public protest or tax evasion.

Anyway, today, on the Fourth of July, I heard an adult invoke this phrase at the gas station. And as usual, he was saying this stupid line in a stupid context. See, he wanted to buy an entire carton of cigarettes, which is dumb in itself, but he also wanted to pay in change. When I stepped in line behind him, he had just dumped an entire shoebox of nickels and pennies on the counter. Well, let me be fair, he had already handed the attendant six dollars in quarters. The attendant was pissed. And when she scowled at him and opened a second register while he counted out $40 in change, he said, "Is it really THAT bad? It's a free country, you know!"

Really, Guy? I'm glad you take your patriotism so seriously. Most people dress in red, white, and blue, and you woke up this morning and thought, you know what would really show Uncle Sam? If I paid for my cigs in metal! I wanted to hit him in the face. After all, it's a free country.