California 2010 or "Is that a puma? Or are you just glad to see me?"

I'll say this for Los Angeles, the traffic may suck to high heaven...but it does have more smog than Congress has idiots. Just returned from the annual trek to visit the prodigal ("if you don't stop'"tidying' my apartment mom, I'll kill you") son. As usual the trip was full of fun, excitement, culinary adventures and just a little bloodshed. Just kidding, actually there was a lot of bloodshed.
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This year we decided to spend a couple of days at Big Bear Lake, about 2 1/2 hours east of LA. We intelligently figured this would give us a good head start on arguing over how to get there, where to eat and the amount of trash accumulated in Dustin's Yaris since our visit last June. This plan didn't disappoint. The 2 1/2 hour drive seemed to last only a couple of decades. However, when we arrived at Big Bear Lake, we knew that we had made a good choice. It is gorgeous there.
We only had a couple of appetizers early and so naturally, still being on eastern time we decided to kick off the annual "vacation gastronomic debauchery" with a pepperoni pizza, as it was only 10:00 p.m. Pacific time. Of course, that meant my stomach was still set at 1:00 a.m. eastern. I am a long way, and many many years from it being a good idea to have pizza at 1:00 a.m. My stomach reminded me of that at about 6:00 a.m.

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After recovering the next day, we all took a charter fishing trip on the lake. The goal, we were told by our charter guide Curt and his faithful companion Tonto, er, I mean Martin, was "rocky mountain rainbow trout". Martin is quite a colorful and knowledgeable guide. He did of course attempt to get us "rookies" to fall for the old "to get a lot of fish you have to dance around the boat naked, singing in a voice loud enough to be heard in Sacremento, 'HERE FISHY, FISHY, FISHIES'". For some inexplicable reason, Dustin and I were told we were required to stay dressed or be thrown overboard. Sandy on the other hand, not having just fallen off the turnip truck yesterday, but still fairly gullible, only removed her top.

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Well, whatever it was we started bringing in fish, which were originally just going to release, until Curt told us there was a restaurant in town that would prepare the fish for us at a reduced cost if we wanted them for dinner. Little did Curt know that the State of California had gotten wind of this practice and so naturally it was banned by the Department of Health, motto "Keeping consumers safe by banning the preparation and eating of the freshest fish in our local waters". Sometimes I understand Republicans. Anyway, we wound up keeping about 8 - 10 lbs. of prime rainbow trout for an anticipated seafood feast. Dustin, would later prepare and cook up the fish at a local park on a barbecue grill and it was as they say, "to die for". And I don't even like fish.

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We had a great time on the lake, were regaled with colorful fishing stories, and learned volumes about trout, Big Bear Lake and which movie stars danced naked around town. If you ever get to Big Bear Lake and like to fish, I highly recommend taking Curt's charter as he and Martin are great and will help with everything. Be sure to ask about the "$65,000 Flubbies" but you probably want to refrain from doing the "Here fishy, fishy" dance. The website is http://www.fishbigbear.net/.

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After a couple of days fishing and taking in the gorgeous scenery at Big Bear we decided it would be fun to go to Las Vegas, a couple of hours away. I wanted to be able to say I drove through the Mojave Desert. Quick Science fact: Bottled products, packed in suitcases and stored in a car trunk for a three hour drive through the desert will explode leaving various gels, lotions and other assorted goop thoroughly dispersed into the clothes, books and expensive camera equipment throughout your baggage. If you need to ask, this is not a marital relationship enhancer. Remember I did say there was alot of bloodshed. Say no more!

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In Vegas my son Dustin, motto: "I never met a craps table I didn't like (as long as the minimum is no more than $5)" introduced me to the dice tables. I knew he still hated me for making him enter the pinewood derby in cub scouts, but I digress. I kind of got the hang of betting, which is more complicated than the Manhatten Project, with various methods of betting including how many democrats will get smoked in the next election. Just kidding, that bet was in a whole other part of the casino. However, like a good boy I stuck to my (by "my" I of course mean Sandy's) betting limit of $50 and managed not to lose it all. While at the table I did manage to entertain all the other players who got a few laughs watching Dustin and table workers trying to get me to understand the various bets and side bets, odds and chip denominations.

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But I did get even. When it became my turn "roll" the dice, I discovered that term was a euphemism. If you haven't played the game it is conducted on a felt covered table about 15 feet long, which is no big deal if your sleeve measurement is 14 feet. However, as I am well over 5 feet (length and diameter) and was at the very end of the table this became problematic. This was when I realized that "rolling" the dice actually meant "hurling" the dice. And dice, being in the shape of a cube, happen to bounce very erratically, especially when "hurled" 15 feet on a table with a 10 inch wall around it. After a few rolls in which the dice leapt the table and found their way into various drinks, vital occular organs and brasierres, players began diving for cover as soon as they made their bets. The next day I found the table workers in combat helmets. One of the pit bosses politely offered to take me for a ride in the desert, but I very respectfully declined.

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Our Vegas leg of the journey at an end, we drove back to Los Angeles for a couple of days of taking it easy. In LA we pretty much ate our brains out and did a couple of touristy things around town. We went to the Getty museum and afterward I was introduced to a new culinary an art clogging treat called "Roscoe's Chicken and Waffles," the initial thought of which I will confess, made me want to... well, you know. But actually the combination was fabulous and you should do yourself a favor and try it sometime. I don't know where you can find a Roscoes outside of LA, but it is worth the effort.

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On our last day of activity we went to a local park and wildlife reserve, which primarily offered gorgeous vistas of the Los Angeles skyline in all its smog shrouded glory. While I was taking some pictures, Sandy and Dustin took a walk on a wooded path and came back claiming that they had seen a panther or a puma sleeping in a tree. I had my doubts, but it was early and no wine bottles had been opened to my knowledge. Sure enough a park ranger explained that they had seen something called a "feral cat" which is a regular domestic cat which has essentially gotten its' groove back.

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Anyway, I skipped a lot of other events (embarrassing myself playing Guitar Hero in Sandy's Sportsbar and the "Sandy and Bubba" incident at Harvelle's Blues Club come to mind), but life is short. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I see a puma trying to snack on some of our finches.

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Love

Dad