I wasn't going to blog today. I am in the middle of revisions to that YPF consultation paper. But no, we had to have the whole what would our perfect lifestyle conversation. Did we want to be loved, did we want to be rich, did we want to be powerful. You don't need the details. But it all lead to what is the preferred way to get to Las Vegas.

Mel and I disagree on this. She prefers to fly. She maintains she is in such a rush to get to Las Vegas the drive to takes to long and then on the way back, she is too tired to drive all that distance. I agreed with her in theory until we actually did fly. For PansyconII. Mel and I are perfect travel companions. And the flying experience just confirmed it. I know some people like to check in fifteen minutes before their flight leaves. I read those instructions that say three hours before an international flight and I follow them. I spend a lot of time in airports because I become just a tad bit paranoid when I fly. Mel, strangely enough, does the same thing. So we are flying to Las Vegas, out of Burbank and we decide we will be early. We checked in a good 2 1/2 hours before the flight. We were flying Southwest so we go to the check-in gate to get our little tickets so we can have our pick of seats. They haven't even boarded the previous flight. The woman at the gate desk smiles at us nicely and tells us to go away. For a while. We wander through Burbank airport. There aren't even the little gift shops selling snowglobes of Hollywood. We wander back. The previous flight has left and the woman says 'Don't ask. Its too soon. Go away.' She's still smiling. She isn't rude or anything. But one does feel that perhaps one is being a bit of a trial. So we go and drink in the bar. Eventually we get on the plane (I think it might have been a little late). This is after waiting in line with people with higher numbers crowding around, OBVVIOUSLY NOT UNDERSTANDING THE WHOLE POINT OF THE NUMBERS. Its a bumpy flihgt. Something about going over mountains and thermals and wind turbulence. Mel is looking at me saying, 'I am ready to die.' 'Isn't this the way all flights are?' 'Why are you gripping the seats?' I am not ready to die. We get to McClaren. I notice the needle drop-off in the toliets (las vegas, classy city). Then we have to wait for our luggage (all seventeen pieces Mel has brought) and then get the shuttle bus. On the way back, we arrive again early but there are nicer places to get coffee and little buns than at Burbank. And then I am reminded why I hate flying in and out of Burbank. Those noise restrictions. The practically vertical take-off, the cut the engines and plummet out of the sky landing. And with all our showing up at the airport early, we aren't saving any time. Oh, and some of mel's many bags didn't make it.The ones with her meds. They came in the last flight out of Vegas. And she wonders why I don't like the flying.

What then is the perfect way to get to Las Vegas? I actually had this dream where Kiefer Sutherland whisked me off to Vegas in a limo and then was upset that there were two more important people than him at the Bellagio and he only got the third best suite (I was going through a 24 phase). During waking hours, I can order my desires much more effectively. It would still be a limo. Only it would be Johnny Depp in the back, taking me off for a few days of shoping, drinking, receiving gifts, maybe seeing a band, and a bit of pampering. That is the ideal way of getting to Vegas.