The journey begins

This story was suppose to be published while we were in Las Vegas.  The problem: the hotel charges for internet access.  Can you believe that?

Well, on with the show.

The tale of our voyage to Vegas begins in Southern California.  For those unfamiliar with our territory, there is really only one direct route between Los Angeles and Vegas.  That would be the 15.  Thanks to the power of Google Maps, here’s the route.

Normally the trip takes 5 hours.   Four and a half if your traveling at night.

Mother nature unleashed a snow flurry, which shut down the 15.   Anybody going to or from Vegas was trapped wherever they might be.  Fortunately for us, we were not one of those who were stranded.  The 15 was shut down prior to us leaving.  This allows us to strategized another possible route.

With a back-up route planned and a back-up, back-up route we hit the road.  We were confident that Vegas would be in our sights by the end of Wednesday.

Well, not that day.  Every road to Vegas was closed.  Every single one.  As the hours dragged on, I knew that if we kept moving we would make it.  Somehow we’d luck out and find the right passage.  But alas, it was to no avail.

Wednesday night ended not with our triumph arrival into Las Vegas but rather taking one of the last rooms available in Needles, California.  Right next to Timbuktu and the sticks.  The small freeway we took, called the 95, turned out to be one of those roads that is frequently washed out due to flash floods.  Where the road was washed out could only been seen once you were on top of the water.  It’s still a minor miracle we made it off that stretch of barren land and into civilization for the night.

Thursday, nearing 3 p.m., we arrived in Vegas.  After facing more road closures, our 5 hour trip turned into a 14 hour odyssey.  And what a grand tour of the Southern California we took.  In the middle of my stress, I realized we were witnessing an event few in Southern California had ever seen: snow in the desert.  And what a beautiful site it was!

For the record: I couldn’t escape the impulse of throwing a snowball and hitting a cactus.  For some reason, the irony was too great for me to ignore.

Our Chef

With the magical day approaching, the 18th of December, the details of our little marriage have come together nicely. Joelle was in charge of arranging the hotel, the chapel, the clothes, etc. I had no part in the process, save for an occasional “Sounds good to me!”

I was in charge of dinner.

Thomas Keller is the premiere American Chef. His restaurant, the French Laundry, is one of the best restaurants in the United States and maybe the world.  Located in San Francisco, this hidden gem is nearly impossible to get a reservation at. People wait months, plan entire vacations, bribe local politicians and still can’t get reservations.

Yeah, it’s that good.

He has one other restaurant in the US. A place called Bouchon located at the Venetian in Las Vegas.  And guess who will be having their dinner at Bouchon?

Us.

Do a little dance,

make a little love,

get down tonight!

Oh sure, mom and dad will be sorely disappointed we didn’t have dinner at Denny’s.  But they aren’t paying for it; we are.  So I guess the choice of dining establishments is up to me.

Fortunately approval from Joelle was super easy to get.  A year ago, she paid me a huge compliment when we were speaking with friends.

“I order what Cliffordorders because he knows good food.”

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

So Thomas Keller’s hand picked Vegas Chef will be cooking dinner for Joelle and I, along with those that make it, on our most special night.

Can’t wait!

Bump in the night

Of all the horrific television programming that pollutes the airwaves, I’ve managed to get Joelle hooked on Ghost Adventures.

As a man of science I have to acknowledge that there is a reasonable explanation for all these weird events that transpire. A floating head filled with rotten teeth and no eyes which growls “Get out!” surely has a logical explanation.

Yeah, it’s a frickin’ ghost.

Ghost Adventures is three gen-yers with a metrosexual leader who get locked into these haunted buildings and try to either capture ghosts on video or on audio. Their modus operandi is to provoke the spectres. Especially the vicious ones. They think provoking the ghosts will ensure that evidence of the spirits will be captured.

Most of their evidence is shaky at best. They often speak of voices or mysterious sounds that the audience never hears. But it is cool to watch the look of sheer panic on their perfectly waxed eyebrows.

But every blue moon they show something that makes our collective neck hairs stick straight out like a porcupine. In this latest episode we learn of one ghost, a little boy named Jack. Reported missing in 1810, the researchers of the cave believes this ghost to be a boy named Jack. People have reported feeling a little childs hand suddenly appear in their own.

The metrosexual musketeers bring a toy for Jack. A teddy bear. They announce to the ghost that they mean it no harm and that the bear is a gift. They leave the bear in front of a still camera to see if anything happens.

Sure enough, the bear moves. Not in a natural way either.

We scream from behind our make-shift pillow fort.

Horny

To be fair, I can’t give the impression that I make no mistakes speaking French.  Joelle’s mis-step was more cute than anything.  So, I will share my embarrassing story.

It was year 4 of learning French that I developed a knack for just knowing what words translated from English directly into French.  After all, the English language is full of all kinds of French words.  For instance, all words ending in -tion are spelled the same and pronounced the same from English to French.  Reading a news article, I could pick out words and say  ”Oh, it’s the same word in French.”  One such word was “excite”.  Or in French, “excité”.

I had discovered a new way of saying “I’m excited“.  Like saying “I’m excited to be here.“

A month after that, I was off to Paris for a vacation.  While roaming around, eating baguettes, I made use of my new found word excité.

Je suis excite d’etre en Paris!

For two weeks, I got some pretty bizarre looks.  But I didn’t care.  It was probably my thick accent.  Or maybe they were stunned I could speak French so well.  Who knows?

Upon my return, I was having lunch with a friend who was French.  When he asked how my trip was, I responded with “J’etais excité d’etre en Paris.”

I was excited to go to Paris.

He explained, quite abruptly, that excité in French is actually “horny”.

So for two weeks, an American was running around Paris, telling everyone how “horny” he was to be in Paris.

The Real Thanksgiving Story

Joelle is naturally curious about one of the biggest celebrations America has:  Thanksgiving.

As usual, she did her research and found the story we were all fed in school.  The pilgrims arrived and nearly died their first year here.  During the second year, an Indian showed the pilgrims how to grow vegetables such as corn, pumpkins, etc.  By surviving the second year, they decided to have a festival to thank God for the bounty.  Then we gave the Indians alcohol and stole their land.

But that story completely glosses over the birth of the greatest political theory the world had ever seen.  More importantly, it sowed the seeds to what would become the American Revolution.

The glaring omission was that collectivism (communism) nearly killed all the settlers.

During their first year, the Governor of Plimouth (spelled Plymouth today) made a command decision.  Everyone had their own land and whatever they grew on that land would be donated to the community.  Then everyone would take what they needed to survive the winter.  As could be expected, half the people in the community did nothing.  Why would they?  If they worked their butts off, the fruits of their labor would be donated to the community.  If they did nothing they would still get something.

The colony barely survived the first winter.  Many died.  The biggest reason: not enough supplies.

The second year, faced with riots from the settlers, the Governor prayed and came up with a new idea.  Whatever the settlers grew on their land was theirs to do with as they please.  If they wanted to keep it, they could.  If they wanted to sell it, they could.  Nobody got anything for free.  Capitalism.

And wouldn’t you know it?  Everyone worked their butts off.  The colony flourished.  Soon after other colonies adopted this same philosophy and they prospered.

After a prosperous year, the Governor wanted to have a feast to celebrate God’s vision of how the colonists could survive.  This was why Thanksgiving was born.

This is not, of course, to diminish the help of the Indians.  They did show the colonists how to grow corn, eat turkey, what not.  But the sole purpose of Thanksgiving was not because pilgrims learned how to make popcorn.

Little did the Governor know that this “capitalistic” decision sowed the seeds for what would become the Revolutionary War.  

Now, Joelle had the entire story of why Thanksgiving is celebrated.  Each year, we give thanks for the prosperity and enrichment of our lives.

Teeth – Faux Pas

Joelle:  My shoes are hurting my teeth.
Clifford:  Um . . . then stop chewing on your shoes.
Joelle:  It’s no big deal.  I have other shoes.
Clifford:  You know, it’s not good for your teeth to chew on your shoes.
Joelle:  I know.  But I’ll put a bandaid on my teeth when we get home.
Clifford:  That will leave a funny taste in your mouth.
Joelle:  My mouth?
Clifford:  Yeah.  Putting a bandaid on your teeth will leave a funny taste.
Joelle:  Not teeth!  Feet!  My shoes are hurting my feet!

Dana Point

Joelle asked to be taken to Dana Point this last weekend. It seems that every time she has been in California, she asks to be taken there.

Dana point is a special place for me. In the row of beach cities Dana Point stands out as the most friendly with the least pretension. Most beach cities is either a race between the beach crowd or the people with money. Neither of which interests me. Living my life my way seems more to my liking.

Driving through Newport and Laguna this sense of revulsion washed over me. It was as if the superficialty were leaking through the vents of the car. I wanted to take a hot shower after that.

In Dana Point that all changed.

Joelle ran down to the waters edge once we had arrived. This is something I had not seen very often in any other city. Maybe this is a good thing.

Suddenly a warm feeling washed over me. It felt like home. I asked Joelle if we could purchase a home there. She replied “Sure.”

Cuisine

Take two foodies, put them in the kitchen, and what do you get?

Magic.

Restaurant kitchens have chefs (read chefs with an s) to make sure that multiple items are cooked really well, done properly.  Usually cooking for one person is alright but leaves something always missing.

When Joelle and I cook, we divide the activities.

Normally Joelle does all the cooking.  But a few nights a week, we get together and create something special.

The other night, we decided to have some “steak au poivre”.  A classic and simple French dish, involving saute steaks and using the nasty bits in the pan to create a really nice sauce.  You do that with some cognac, demi-glace and cream.  Toss in some whole peppercorns and you have a nice, nice sauce.

Yum.

Joelle turns rice into a work of art.  I never even dreamed of saute bacon with onions and then adding that to the rice.  To me, rice was always a substitute side item that deserved soy sauce.  But that’s part of the charm that comes from the Frenchie back ground.  Take something ordinary and make it pretty dern special.

Snow White

Joelle is Snow White.

Joelle has this quality to her that makes wild animals come fawning every time she opens the front door.  At first it was the neighbor cats, Mr. Nichols and Baby.  Then the party list grew.

One Saturday, we were eating lunch.  My normal lunch consists of a simple sandwich.  Joelle has raised this a few notches.  We had a perfect salad with light dressing.  Put some foie gras on toast and a glass of wine and viola!  I’m sure at some restaurant I would have paid $50 for that lunch.

While I was reeling from the great foie gras spread on the warm toast, a squirrel jumped our fence and ran up to Joelle.  “Bonjour Lola!” Joelle said, piece of toast extended.

Great.  Bubonic plague.  Ugh.

“You can tell she’s a mama,” Joelle said.  “You can see her boops.”

“Boobs” I corrected.  “And you named the squirrel Lola?”

Just then, a loud chirp buzzed past my ear.  Suddenly a mocking bird zoomed in for a landing, waiting for his treat.

“Bonjour!” as the bread fell.

Usually when animals see me, they run away.  I guess they can sense evil.  But with her, they come a running.  Every night, you can hear the meows from the other side of the door.  That cats have arrived to say good night and get some belly scratching before heading off to jump up and down on my roof.

I guess it’s alright.  But if I ever walk into the bedroom and see mocking birds and squirrels helping her get dressed, I’m outta there.

First Election

Much like many other Americans, Joelle and I were watching the results of the election on television.

“How do you elect a President in the US?” she asked.

That’s actually a good question.  In France, the process is definitely different.  First off, France is full of political parties.  While we seem to be dominated by two, they have dozens.

During their Presidential election, everyone votes for their parties candidate.  The two top candidates then have a run-off, so to speak, for the Presidential spot.  When their constitution was re-written 50 some-odd years ago, De Gaulle wanted this.  What he was thinking escapes me to this day.

As anyone who has ever attended the required high school “Government” class will tell you, our process hinges on the electoral college.  Each state votes for either one candidate or another and all their votes go to that candidate.  Each state is allotted a certain number of electoral votes based on their population.  The first candidate to get to 270 votes wins.

Makes sense, right?

Try explaining that to a European.  It’s hard for most people to grasp that someone can have the majority of the popular votes yet still lose the election.  This has happened twice in our history.  What is even more astounding is when the electoral college votes against the populace of that state.  That has happened once.

It’s one of those fine differences between being a republic and a democracy.  Democracy is based purely on the majority.  “Mob rules” so to speak.  A republic is where we elect leaders to make decisions for us.  This is why we elect senators, representatives and our President.

When we elect these people to represent us, then all of us has to live with that decision.

Interesting stuff.

Fortunately she got to witness one of the most exciting elections of modern times.