Read MoreDante’s View is a two-hour drive from Las Vegas. It’s a fun journey lots to see along the way. This is a wonderful day trip for couples or families. It can also be a fun place for a group of friends, or a peaceful experience being alone.
This is the story of an empty blue chair.
More precisely, it’s the story of a person who once occupied it — someone’s name I do not know.
It’s the story of a loyal companion who sat beside the blue chair, so faithfully — at the same time and place, each and every day.
This is the story of love and loss, of life and death, and ultimately of rebirth and renewal.
This is a personal story, a search for that special someone who once occupied the blue chair — which is now empty.
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The only thing worse than flying, is flying during the holiday season.
Seriously, could air travel be any less glamorous?
When I was a kid, I remember people used to get dressed up when they traveled by air. Fliers were polite. No one ever seemed to be in a rush. The seats were comfortable. There was plenty of leg room. The airlines served you a hot meal and it tasted good. Alcoholic beverages were free. You never paid additional charges and your luggage arrived on time. When there was a flight delay, the airline apologized and even put you up in a first-class hotel, when necessary.
Now, boarding a plane is pretty much like getting on a Greyhound bus — only with wings.
Flying is constant battle. You battle to find a decent fare. You battle to get a good seat assignment. You battle to get to the airport on time — at least two hours early. You battle to run the gauntlet through TSA screening without being strip searched. You battle to get into the right boarding group. You battle for precious overhead bin space. You battle for the armrest. You battle for peace and quiet during the flight. You battle to depart your row so as to exit the aircraft. You battle to claim your luggage. Then, once you’re out of the airport, you battle to get a taxi or a rental car.
Indeed, if flying has become a serious of battles, then I’m hereby declaring war!
1. BIN HOGS — I realize the airlines now try to pork you for $30 per checked bag each way. But carry on abuse has become intolerable. Now, jackasses are hauling 50-pound suitcases down the aisles. Then, they heave the bone crushers into a tiny overhead bin space intended to be a storage area for purses and coats. I’m so sick of seeing these selfish pricks usurping every inch of storage space with bags the size of a Great Dane. It’s time for airlines to start enforcing carry-on size rules.
2. ARM REST THUGS — I paid the same $389 fare you did. So, move your fucking body part off my half of the arm rest. You’re not sitting at home in a Lazy Boy parked in front of the television. You’re in public. Try to act like a responsible adult.
3. BORING CONVERSATIONALISTS — I don’t want to hear your life story. I don’t want to hear your personal problems. I don’t give a rat’s ass what happened to you last week in Cleveland. I don’t care what your opinion is of the Redskins-Cowboys game. You’re on a cheap Southwest Airline flight just like me, pal. You’re not a guest on The David Letterman Show. Zip it.
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Yesterday, I almost had my balls chewed off by a pit bull named “Chief.”
It’s true.
I was attacked by three pit bulls this past weekend. Here’s the story of how a leisurely run through the mountains of northern San Diego County turned into a brief moment of terror.
………………
Ever had one of those “HOLY SHIT! WHAT DO I DO NOW?” moments?
I just had one.
Make that three. As in three pit bulls.
It all happened Saturday morning. A casual three-mile run concluded with an unexpected “bonus sprint” towards the end, when I was confronted by three gnarling, foaming-at-the-mouth, canine beasts.
First, the back story. I’m currently staying at the Harrah’s Rincon Resort and Casino, which is located in the mountains just north of San Diego. This is Indian land situated about halfway between Temecula and Escondido. Unless you drive 20 miles due east off the I-15, you’d never know there’s this vast barren area with almost no modern development, except for a few casinos and local Indians who all seem to drive $60,000 cars and live in shacks.
The roads here pretty much consist of single-lane stretches of pavement winding through mountains along blind curves with no guard rails. Everyone seems to drive 80 miles an hour along these roads. I guess there’s no state highway patrol here given this is a “sovereign nation,” so it’s almost like vehicular anarchy.
Having run along these roads a few times as part of my daily workout, I’ve nearly been hit by traffic, oblivious to the fat white guy wallowing along the yellow stripe who’s stupid enough to jog a route where no path exists. If running in Las Vegas is dangerous at times, and it certainly can be, then doing the same thing here on an Indian reservation is inviting a death wish.
So, on Saturday morning I went out in search of a detour. A new path where I could run over the next week which was challenging, but safe. I thought I’d found it, at least until the final stage of my run, which is where the story picks up.
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Photo Caption: Dinner tonight at “19,” which is high atop the Harveys Resort and Casino at beautiful Lake Tahoe. I wolfed down a 20-ounce coffee-rubbed rib-eye, with garlic mashed potatoes, asparagus, a house salad, a full bottle of Pellegrino, two double expressos, and two bottles of Caymus (shared, of course). Epic dinners like these always bring about great conversation, especially when you are with great company like Steve Schorr (Race and Sportsbook Manager) and Glen Cademartori (Caesars Entertainment Marketing Director for Northern Nevada). Dinners like this are what living life is all about. Tonight’s dinner prompted the following thoughts and column:
I wish there were 36 hours in the day, instead of 24.
I wish there were eight days in the week, instead of seven.
I wish I had more time.
There’s not enough time to read all the books I want to read. There’s not enough time to listen to all the music I want to hear. There’s not enough time to travel to all the places I want to go. There’s not enough time to make all the friends I’d like to meet. There’s not enough time to covet those family relationships and friendships that I’m already blessed to have. There’s not enough time fulfill a vast cauldron of desires.
Indeed, each of us lives inside an hourglass. The sand beneath our feet is always shifting and slowly disappears, one grain at a time, one ticking second at a time. At some point — no one knows exactly when — the sand runs out. Our hourglass becomes empty. And then, we will be gone.
When you think about it, other than our good health, time is our most precious resource.
Why then do we waste so much of it?
Tonight at dinner, the conversation turned to living a good life.
A random question came up that made me to pause and think. And quite frankly, I got stumped. I usually have quick answers for just about everything. That’s what comes with being opinionated. But a question was asked that I still have trouble answering. Perhaps you’d like to pretend you’re dining with us over a few bottles of wine and you suddenly get asked the following:
If you could pick one person in the world to have a long one-on-one dinner conversation with, who would it be?
Let’s embellish this just a bit. You must make two choices. The first choice must be someone living. The second choice must be someone deceased.
I find this a very difficult question to answer.
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Marieta Dalla
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