BRATS AND BEER IN VEGAS

One week from tomorrow night I will be in Las Vegas drinking beer and eating brats with a friend of mine who I grew up with, Jason R. I haven't hung out with him since the days of setting off sprinklers on golf courses and ordering pizza to his car parked in his driveway. (we didn't want to wake his parents, but we were all starving after all that running around the golf course) Those were the days when we'd drive (80mph) past the $1.03/gallon Kangaroo station to the 99cent/gallon Exxon station across the street to save a couple pennies.
   So about 13 years and $3/gallon for gas later, Jason’s now married and living in Vegas and I have a ten yr. old daughter who is forbidden to ever run around golf courses and order pizza after midnight with a pack of boys. (what were my parents thinking?!!)  Jason is still as sweet as ever. He and his new bride are picking us up from our hotel and giving us the grand tour of his ‘hood, the Strip. (I didn’t think people actually lived in Vegas, but I guess somebody has to pay the electric bill!) 
   Anyhoo, I’m about a week a way from the flight and I’m getting a tiny bit on edge. Apparently, yesterday, everyone in the control tower in a major airport fell asleep and two planes had to “wing it” (no pun  intended) and land without any guidance. Scary. I’ve flown over several different oceans, time zones, and mountain ranges before and never been as nervous as I am about flying to the west coast. Add to that too many stories about drunk, sleep-deprived pilots and I might as well fly the plane myself. I’m sure there’s an app for that.
   Sidenote: I'd like to thank the pal who recently encouraged me to use paragraphs in my blog entries. I'm sure it will make my rants and raves way easier to follow.