March 27th -Party Hoppin' @ The Palms

Oh love. Sweet love. A veritable kryptonite to the revelling mindset. So much so that since my return from Atlanta I've been in bed at 9:00pm and absolutely selfish with my out and about experiences. Thank goodness for party-minded friends reminding me that the National Society for Black Engineers (NSBE) is having its convention this weekend. How could I stand to miss something like that? A sea of right-brained, y chromosome-possessing, brown individuals with disposable income  all hungry for the sin that Las Vegas has to offer? I can't stay at home on a Friday night with that calling! I took a three hour nap starting at 5:30pm, consulted with my friend Lisa at 8:45 pm, selected my attire at 9:30pm, watched The Soup at 10:00pm and was out the door at 10:30pm.

N.E.R.D's You Know What was the first selection on my shuffle and I nearly turned around and went back to the crib when Jill Scott's Crown Royale played (it's so about you, Sweet Georgia Lover Man). But Dee Lite's Groove is in the Heart saved the evening and had me in a bouncy mood as I parked at The Palms. I adore being that mysterious lone lady dressed in black, hips swinging, CFM's strapped on tight, striking across the casino floor. Looking at nothing and seeing everything. I had no idea what I was going to do but not a soul would've ever known. I left my cell phone at home. I didn't see Lisa anywhere and there was a hell of a crowd at Rain. I had no idea which line to stand in. I had no idea whether or not I would be on the guest list. I had no cash money on my person. I just stood in there as if I owned the place and smiled. I was going to get in somehow. This is my city!

About twenty minutes later, after making the acquaintance of Cynthia, Brittany (Britney? Brittanie?) and Robert who just happened to be standing behind me in line, I discovered they had room for one more person on their guest invitation. The dear people were in town visiting from Valencia, California. They'd driven in for three days of partying. (What recession?) I told them what I knew about the other clubs at The Palms and urged them to return to Las Vegas in the warmer months. Afterwards, I received a hand stamp and an all access pass to all of The Palms' hot spots. Sweet.

The last time I was at Rain was for the MTV VMAs. You know the one where Britney Spears made her rather flatulent return singing about giving her more? I walked through the hot pink sequined corridor and spilled into the club. There was a drove of people in there dancing to rather nervous music. I made my way to the bar all ready to charge a vodka and cranberry when the gentleman to my right asked me what I was drinking. He gave me a disapproving look when I told him and insisted on ordering me the same of what he was having which was some sort of shot with a coke chaser. Fine. Bottoms up! Stuff tasted like hot rot. I shook hands with my drink sponsor. Olisa was his name. I don't know what it is with me and African men but it's like I put out an African-attracting pheromone or something. Olisa was Nigerian born and Igbo just like my Sweet Georgia Love and was one of those engineers with NSBE that had nothing better to spend his money on than drinks for my cute ass. We danced. He was rather clingy and I couldn't believe I was outdancing this guy. His rhythm had been Americanized away. Shame.

Anywho, Rain is something else. At one point this apparatus suspended from the ceiling shot out flames above our heads making it ridiculously hot on the dance floor. I decided I never wanted to be anywhere near Rain if that thing happened to malfunction. Olisa thankfully found some reason to get the hell away from me. There's no point in coming to Las Vegas and handcuffing some stranger just because you bought her a drink. Empower your pimp hand, Dog! Anywho, something told me to dance by myself for a bit when the fool standing next to me decided to make it rain...in Rain. How lovely. He didn't just toss up ones. He tossed fives, tens and twenties. I scored twenty-five and promptly left. I was not about to get elbowed or knock out someone's teeth over free-floating cash.

I went on to Playboy and Moon just for kicks recalling the antics of Eamon Springall and the wonderment of the electric dance floor. NSBE's were all about mouths open, hands in the air presumably because they just didn't care. I snapped a picture of this guy wearing the silliest suit I've seen in a bit (ain't freedom grand?) and then used some of my rained money to buy a medium fry from McDonald's. Ah! What a wonderful first night back in Sin City. Tonight, unless plans change at the last minute, I'm doing Whiskey Sky at Green Valley Ranch....

March 20th - Surin of Thailand (Atlanta, GA)

On this first day of spring, the weather was even warmer than expected. Fond memories include breakfast in bed, music in every room of the house, birthday wishes, plantains and chicken patties from the Jamaican spot and much, much laughter. Getting older is sweet. As the years pass, there is a deeper appreciation for the simple things instead of a hot pursuit of what one thinks is important. We forgive ourselves for how misinformed we were in the past. We look forward to learning how little we actually know.

In preparation of Sweets' birthday dinner at Surin of Thailand, we made the typical birthday rounds. Haircut at the barber and detailing of the car to insure proper cityscape flossin'. At the car wash, I saw one of the most amazing things ever. We dropped off the car, watched it move through the water and brushes and then arrived in the lobby to find other patrons intently watching Michelle Obama discussing implications of the new White House vegetable garden. I can't recall the last time I ever saw such a mix of people at a car wash on one accord like that.

The last time I was in Atlanta, Sweets and I enjoyed a quiet lunch at Surin of Thailand where we wrote love poems on the table sheet and I tasted the best fried catfish ever. Surin of Thailand is located in a fairly lively area of Atlanta. It reminds me of the region just outside the UC in Berkeley, California. A mix of residential with bars and pubs, restaurants appealing to all income levels and a yarn shop. On this night, the place was jumpin', jumpin'. We waited at the bar for our party of ten drinking cocktails and solving the problems of the world. It was a terribly grown up occasion as we argued the validity of societal definitions of gender and the dilemma a pro-choice gynecologist faces when performing an abortion on a patient who's had seven such procedures in the past five years. The couples at the table discussed how they came to meet and date. We tasted each other's dinner selections and I vowed to order the lemon snapper on my next visit (it was tasty as hell).

Sweets wasn't the only one celebrating his birthday. We had a fine time laughing at the antics of the party sitting near the window. One of the birthday girl's friends gave what she described as a "recession gift." It was pretty much a street performance on the sidewalk outside the restaurant including spirited marching back and forth and the relentless swirling of a silver hula hoop. Soon thereafter, our waiter delivered Sweets' ice cream cake with 3 and 1 candles atop. Speeches were given, photos were taken and hugs were passed all around. Lovely. Lovely indeed.

March 19th - Bazzaar (Atlanta, GA)

Last night, in celebration of professional achievement of one of Sweets' good friends, we visited a lounge called Bazzaar. I don't think I will ever understand why the interior of nightclubs and lounges have to be as dark as humanly possible. Is it to save on energy costs? If it is due to ambiance, does that ambiance include nearly knocking your teeth out while to attempting sit in a bar stool? I don't know.

Initially, I thought the evening was going to be forfeit. We had just come from having a deep discussion on the Pan-African movement and the issues surrounding the lack of unification among nations and tribes. A problem that I will never get rid of is my desire to heal the world and thus topics like that should probably not be discussed while under the influence of Sangria . However, when in the company of great minds from countries like Benin, Nigeria, and Ivory Coast it can't be helped. Thus when I stepped into Bazzaar hand in hand with Sweet Georgia Lover Man, I was a little amped. We ordered drinks at the bar and then saw a perfectly comfortable place to sit when this skinny, under-endowed waitress came over to tell us that we couldn't sit there unless we ordered something from her. Huh? I put my hand up and went back to the bar. In Africa, resources are being plundered by outsiders and children are starving with little or no access to health care while leadership is spending ridiculous amounts of money on birthday cakes and this little so and so is sweating me about sitting down in a non-reserved spot when we've already paid the establishment for drinks? Aye Caramba!


Sweets instructed me to take a deep breath. We toasted to life and then discovered that Bazzaar had an upstairs. There we found the rest of our friends dancing to a ridiculous selection of music that should not be played when the overall goal is to get people to dance. And then...all of sudden...we were having an awesome time. I personally love watching the rhythmically challenged cut loose. The folks here had good reason to do so. We were in the company of medical students who would be graduating in May as MDs. On this day, these students had learned they'd been accepted for residency programs at the hospital of their choice. We were amongst dreams being realized and investments that had cashed in. That's a beautiful thing.


At midnight, my honey turned 31. What exactly is 31 other than two years the junior of Jesus or the year after 30? For us it was going to be an all day party, an excuse to smile and a deep appreciation for the blessings of this odd existence. Until tonight....

March 18th - Apres Diem (Altanta, GA)

True appreciation of the Las Vegas lifestyle sometimes requires an escape. As the old saying goes, you never miss it until it's gone... Wait a minute. Who the hell am I kidding? I love my life in Las Vegas but I adore my long distance beau currently residing in Atlanta, GA. Over the next six days, I'll be posting my experiences here in this Southern Chocolate City.

Here in Atlanta, spring is arriving with all deliberate speed. Explosions of blossoms dot a landscape of evergreens and maple trees still bare from winter's kiss. My nose hasn't figured quite how to respond to the humidity in the air. It is green and beautiful all around with rolling hills and pockets of civilization amongst the forests. I spent most of the day reuniting with the love of my life. I'll try not to focus on how awesome he is, but after 30 years of living and learning you gotta appreciate the good when you see it. One of the things I love most about him is his affinity to nightlife. His penchant for nocturnal activities makes me look like a nun in solitary confinement. On this night, I think he went easy on me.

Sweets took me to a bar/lounge called Apres Diem. Apres Diem is known for its ultra relaxed atmosphere, musical entertainment and array of sumptuous desserts. As romantics do, we sat in a corner enjoying cocktails and hypothesizing about what other couples were discussing at their tables. We dined while listening to live jazz sounds coming from an unseen band. They proposed obtaining kicks on Route 66. I don't even remember what we spoke of after that. I just remember smiling and holding hands and feeling like I was 19 again and we were meeting for the very first time. How's that for sappiness? Katie, our waitress was kind enough to snap a couple of photos of us before we made our way back home.

This isn't Las Vegas...but I do call it bliss.

March 13th - M Resort

This time of year in Las Vegas, the temperature flirts with the idea of giving way to sizzling summer heat. The sandals in my closet beckon me. The desire to frolic about town with shoulders and legs bared is overwhelming. I love the heat of Las Vegas. In spite of the arid daylight degrees sucking all of the moisture from my body and downright molesting my hair, I hungrily welcome the Las Vegas nights.

When sun gives way to moon and temps drop to a refreshing 90-something from a daytime high of 100-something, this 30-something rushes out to the nearest pool party, poolside concert, or patio gathering to let the night air swallow me right on up. Visiting the newly established M Resort at the southern most end of Las Vegas Blvd awakened the dormant summer girl in me. Specifically and shamelessly targeting adults aged 30-55, M Resort gives us the wonderful gift of Villaggio Del Sole Pool and Entertainment Piazza. Oh, it's something reminiscent of an Egyptian dream overlooking the expanse of the valley. I must have spent about fifteen minutes just walking around those pools imagining myself rocking out to a Gnarls Barkley concert while sipping a sweet cocktail. On Friday night however, the desert breeze was whipping around fiercely and so I made my way back inside thinking three words.... I'll be back.

Inside, the casino floor was bustling with activity. The place has just been open for a week, but their extensive ad campaign and big ass blimp floating around in the sky made it very difficult for curious locals to stay way. I'd heard that the casino was terribly understaffed and that was evident from the thirty minutes it took simply to place an order for my signature vodka martini with extra olives. No worries. I settled into a barstool at Ravello Lounge next to an older gentlemen named Charles who was visibly annoyed at the lounge entertainment. Totally blogworthy.

I guess from time to time, we locals tend to forget about the fabled Las Vegas lounge act. We're usually rushing through a casino to get to a Cirque Du Soleil show or a concert or a party. We tend to ignore the tourists drunkenly simulating dance in front of an ambiguously talented cover band. I firmly believe the only requirements for scoring a lounge gig is good looks and no fear. Alcohol consumptionm, on the part of the audience, totally takes care of the rest. Thus before me at the Ravello Lounge was a band that closely resembled The Brady Bunch, dressed in white, covering tunes made popular by Earth, Wind & Fire, Morris Day and The Time, and Rick James. Charles sat next to me rolling his eyes so hard I thought he was going to fall right out of his tool. He looked at the expression on my face believing me to mirror his feelings of the band sucking. Actually, I thought that the musicians played very well and I was wondering what I needed to do to petition one of these casinos to let me dance around on stage singing off key for four straight sets.

Charles was as a promoter of sorts. Hailing from Northern California, he had retired from a full time career of coordinating concerts and performances of the R&B and Soul persuasion. Now, as a four year Henderson resident, he was attempting to entice M Resort to have acts comparable to Tower of Power perform out on that luscious piazza. You see, Charles had successfully arranged for sold-out showings at such venues as Eastside Cannery and The Orleans and he was totally frustrated that M Resort would hear none of his ideas for entertainment. Charles felt the M Resort stood to lose out on a solid audience of 60+ year olds. He was sure that if his agemates came to hear The Brady Bunch, they would collect both their gambling dollars and their air tanks and promptly leave. Poor Charles.

I didn't want him to sit there growing increasingly upset especially after a collection of the target demo gathered in front of the stage to jeck back and forth to a cover of Sweet Home Alabama. As carefully as I could, I explained to Charles the difference between the crowd at Eastside Cannery and M Resort. They weren't discriminating against him or good entertainment. Rather, they were seeking a very specific audience not unlike that which frequents Red Rock Casino and Green Valley Ranch. I finished my martini and shook Charles's hand. I'm pretty sure he called me a few kinds of assholes as I walked away. Afterall, I had just rained on his Chi-Liting parade.

There was no reason to stay any longer. After slapping the drummer a hi-five, I made my way through the casino floor towards the parking lot. I love how casinos decorate with varying textures and patterns. Even when the place is devoid of bodies, it still manages to look alive. Perhaps, after I score a lounge-singing gig I can sit in on a few color scheme meetings for the next new resort.

March 11th - UNLV Jazz Ensemble II @ Clark County Library

Last weekend, I barhopped my way around Southern Nevada like some kind of restless, carousing nomad. At The Leadership Henderson Alumni Reception, I learned the secrets of nightclub bouncing in an interesting conversation with a veteran of the trade. At Ladies' Night at PT's, I met up with Melissa the Skydiver and scored a free g-string from a couple of interestingly attired representatives of a store called Strings. At Tao, Melissa was offered someone's virginity in a totally inappropriate and roundabout way and I had a drink spilled on me but we both had a great time on the crowded dance floor moving to 2 Live Crew's Hoochie Mama (Parental discretion is advised. Hump wit it). After Tao, I went on to Yardhouse and ate perhaps the worst bowl of clam chowder ever. That was all on Friday night.

On Saturday, I watched men, women and children get their heads shaved at MacMullen's Irish Pub where they were holding the St. Baldrick's Foundation event to benefit childhood cancer research. I was truly amazed at all the money the event raised. (What a really cool example of a great fundraiser, Nonprofits! )

Yes, Las Vegas is good for the restless soul but I was hungry for something more on which I couldn't quite put my finger. I thought of New Orleans, my initial foray into 24 hour living. Bible study followed by Hip Hop Night on Thursdays. Open mic followed by Latin Dance Night on Fridays. Cruising the art museum in City Park before hanging out on Bourbon Street on Saturdays. Snug Harbor, The Red Room, The Funky Butt. I needed to hear some jazz. Therefore, I got on my computer and did a search for jazz performances in Las Vegas. I discovered that the UNLV Jazz Ensemble II would be performing free of charge at the Clark County Library. Last night, I was there early and excited to hear perhaps a swingin' quartet with maybe a guest saxophonist from the east coast. Something like what I would've heard on UNO's campus at The Sandbar. My mouth was watering....but that wasn't what I got.

This is Las Vegas and after regarding the stage, I realized that the wise guys who used to run this town had a tradition of loving the big band variety of jazz. I can dig it. Of late, Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to The Moon has been in heavy rotation on my Ipod. (Is it just me or does Frank look totally blitzed in this video.) I stayed for six songs out of an eleven song concert. It was cool. The audience was probably made up primarily of parents of the student performers but some jazz fans were there as well. The band played very beautifully together and were quite supportive of the young soloists, bless their hearts. It wasn't New Orleans jazz but then again what else is? What I liked most is that this concert offered a female trumpeter AND trombonist. I've never seen that down south. UNLV has a spring concert series and I'm sure that I will attend in the future. After all, it's good to support our local students and get some culture out of the deal.

March 6th - Skydive Mesquite

Throwing myself out of a flying plane? I think I missed that train about five years ago. But that doesn't stop me from being totally curious about the experience. Thank goodness for the bravery of friends...

Skydiving Mesquite.....I’ve wanted to go skydiving for as long as I can remember, so when it came time to decide what to do for my birthday this year, I figured now is as good a time as any to make it happen. Although I knew I wanted to go skydiving, I also knew I was afraid of jumping from heights. (One of my least fond memories to this day is when my high school swim coach made me compete on the high dive last minute for our diving team.) I had already been indoor skydiving at Las Vegas Indoor Skydiving had a blast, so I knew I had to do the real thing.

Before I could chicken out, I called the highly recommended Skydive Mesquite to make an appointment. My birthday is March 3, so I made my appointment for Friday, March 6, at 3 p.m. Three is my lucky number, so I was pleased when I realized the date (03-06-09) and time of my flight were all divisible by three. My chances of surviving looked good. After securing my appointment, I clicked through to Skydive Mesquite’s YouTube videos. One in particular, "Hit and Chug" caught my attention. Hm. I wonder if we’ll chug a beer when we land. I could probably use a drink after purposely jumping out of a perfectly good plane.


After work on March 6, I set out with my mom and my friends Megan, Nicole and Jenny for Mesquite. My boyfriend Marek was running late, so he drove up separately.We arrived at Skydive Mesquite late, but Brad didn’t seem to mind. Brad, who would be my tandem jumping partner, looked the part of a skydiver. He was tall and good-looking with tanned skin and tan lines in the corners of his eyes. Turns out looks weren’t deceiving. He made his first jump at age 16, and he’s now 44. He estimated he’s done around 5,000 jumps. I decided I would be pretty safe with Brad.


When it was time to go, we practiced first. We got into the tiniest plane I’d ever seen in person. While it was still on the ground, Brad instructed me: "When I say ‘Left leg out,’ put your left leg out. (I did.) When I say ‘Right leg out," put your right leg out. (Easy enough.) Then squat down with your arms crossed in front of your chest." I wobbled. I’m supposed to do this 10,000 feet above the ground?!?

Brad reminded me several times how to position my body as we freefell. "When we’re freefalling, keep your hands like you’re being held up. Head back. Feet at my butt."

Got it. I decided not to worry when the plane didn’t start right away and was reassured when Brad said he’d flown it this morning. No big deal – I’m sure it happens all the time … On the flight up to 10,000 feet, conversation was scarce since Brad was attached to my back, and the plane was pretty loud. I was marveling at the incredible view and how unbelievably high we were when Brad took out the video camera he’d been filming us with.


"Alright, we’re about half way. How do you feel?" he asked cheerfully. We’re only half way up?!? I gulped.


"If I were going to panic, would I have done it by now?" I asked him.


"I don’t know," he responded. Thanks, Brad. A few minutes later, it began to get cold. Really cold. I could see my breath. Under my jumping outfit, I was only wearing a tank top and jeans. I began to wish I’d spent more time planning my apparel. It also looked like a storm might be coming in. Well, I thought, If something happens to the plane, at least I’m already attached to a man wearing a parachute. Although I knew we had to open the door of the plane to jump out of it, I was jolted when he opened it. It just seems unnatural to open the door of a plane mid-flight. It was time. He reminded me again how to position my body when we freefell. Left foot. Holy crap! Right foot. HOLY CRAP! Crouch. Fold arms. Lean. We were freefalling before I knew it. We flipped over. I hadn’t put my body in the right position. Over the wind I could practically hear Brad’s eyes rolling. I fixed my arms and put my legs where I assumed his butt was.


Megan had warned me that when her boyfriend went skydiving, his mouth was dry, so he was making funny faces throughout his entire fall. Her other friend, on the other hand, drooled everywhere. I tried to keep my face as relaxed as I could falling toward the ground at 120 miles per hour.The freefalling was exhilarating, and the view was beautiful. I was surprised I wasn’t scared. Just excited. I felt free. Suddenly Brad pulled the parachute and we practically halted in the air. OUCH! I was thrilled to be safely strapped in, but Good God that harness on my thigh was tight! We lightly floated toward the ground, and Brad taught me how to steer the parachute. By this time, I could hardly feel my fingers, so I was relieved I kept hold of the handles.
I jerkily guided us through the sky. I could see all of Mesquite and much of the surrounding land. It was wonderful!


Eventually, Brad took over the steering, and shortly afterward we slid to a halt in the gravel by the bright yellow flag that had beckoned us from the sky. I made a mental note to keep my mouth shut next time I’m sliding through the dirt. Success!


Brad handed me a "Certificate of Incredible Achievement." It reads: This is to certify, to all who do not believe, that Melissa Rothermel has intentionally and successfully jumped from an aircraft while in flight thousands of feet above the Earth thus joining the elite group of humans who actually do the things they have always wanted to do instead of just talking about them while sitting on the couch watching TV. Sweet.

I selected "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC and "I Want to Get Away" by Lenny Kravitz to accompany my DVD. And then it was over. To celebrate, we decided to meet up with Outpast30 Lady at PTs Pub on Eastern and St. Rose Parkway for ladies night …


Thanks, Ms. Melissa! Boy, she's a trooper. She jumped out of a plane and then went on to barhop with me until about 1:00 in the morning. Truly an adventurer after my own heart. Of course, the barhopping will be reported on soon...

March 6th - Buffalo Wild Wings

I'm starting to think that those bankers who are throwing lavish parties with our tax money may have a point. In times of economic uncertainty, the last thing people want to do is stay at home simmering in their own special stew of discontent. They want to party or at least forget about their worries for a moment. They also seek to find answers in others. When one attracts people (say prospective customers) to a party and gets a few drinks in them, those people will spend money. They'll feel good. They'll eat a little. They allow themselves to fantasize about happy times and nice surprises.... Oh goodness, let me shut up before I anger one or more of my beloved readers...

All I know is that last night Buffalo Wild Wings on Horizon Ridge and Horizon out in Henderson was offering three hours of free Miller Lite and Tyku Vodka and giving away VIP passes to The Miller Lite March Hoops Viewing Party at The Palms on March 21st (courtesy of Spyonvegas.com). Buffalo Wild Wings already offers 60 cent boneless wings on Thursdays, so attendance for me and my fellow Imagine girls, Megan and Melissa (happy now?), was a no brainer. This notion also rang true with several other locals because the place was packed. In combination with a live broadcast remote from local radio station, Xtreme 107.5, the wing joint was a verifiable hit.

What's the relevance here? If you own a restaurant, beer or pub, there is no reason for you to be losing business. In fact, any business with a physical location and/or showroom can keep hope alive. With a little creativity and a reasonable investment you can attract, retain and raise customers even in our lovely recession. Why? Because folks want to be out, about and around other people and they want to do so while drinking. Now, I'm in no way encouraging alcoholism but, truth be told, enjoying a libation or two is the American way. In fact, according to the MADD 2001 annual report, the bill for a celebration party for the 55 drafters of the US Constitution was for 54 bottles of Madeira, 60 bottles of claret, 8 bottles of whiskey, 22 bottles of port, 8 bottles of hard cider, 12 beers and seven bowls of alcohol punch large enough that "ducks could swim in them."

If you're in Las Vegas, contact your local liquor distributor and see if there are any opportunities available for them to sponsor an event at your establishment. Contact your local radio station and see what kind of remote deals they're offering so they can do some advertising on your behalf. Hop online and start working your network of friends and associates. (If you're not on Facebook, Twitter, and/or MySpace, what the hell?) Once you're party is in full swing, you'd better be taking pictures like photography is going out of style and then using those pictures to further promote your business as a hot community destination. Why do I feel like I should be selling this information? Perhaps it's because you can find the same kind of consulting wisdom at Imagine Marketing of Nevada where I happen to work during the day. (As if you didn't know that would be coming. It's what I do, Baby!)

Anywho, hosting a party means building relationships. In a relaxed setting, you get to know what makes your friends, coworkers and potential business partners tick. You share hot buttons, hopes and dreams. You find that you have more in common than you previously thought. You find inspiration and a lasting human connection. You find life.

I need to get back to my day job. Please tune in this weekend for more musings and reasons to blackmail me. Tonight, I'll be attending the Leadership Alumni Reception at 5pm, going to PT's Ladies' Night (ladies drink free!!!) at 7pm and then back to Tao for open bar from 9-11. Saturday, you'll find me at the St. Baldrick's fundraiser (benefitting children with cancer) watching my coworker's head get shaved.

Toodles!

March1st - NASCAR Shelby 427 @ Las Vegas Motor Speedway

On Saturday night, I did my fair share of volunteering at an event that will be televised on ABC's 20/20 this coming Friday. It was the The Power of Love Gala 2009 to benefit The Lou Ruvo Brain Institute. Since my grandmother suffers from Alzheimer's I was glad to take part in support of this organization and I encourage others to volunteer their time in support of any cause that is near and dear to them.

I wish I could say that I was excited to be in the presence of national and local celebrities such as Hilary Duff, Teri Hatcher, Danny Devito, Kenny Guinn (Ex Governor of Nevada) and Lorenzo Fertitta (majority owner of UFC) but I wasn't. After all, they are just people. While I am thankful for the money these people donated, I believe that real stars are those individuals that truly illuminate our lives and help guide us through the dark mysteries of this human experience. After retiring Saturday evening, I excitedly anticipated going to the Shelby 427 at Las Vegas Motor Speedway with one of the stars that I work with. (Thanks for coming with me, Ms. Megan.)

A little history on NASCAR. It was born out of friendly competitions during Prohibition between moonshine runners just for the honor of boasting the fastest car. Anyone remember the Dukes of Hazzard? Since it's formation in 1948 it has become a marketing monster. It's the second most popular professional sport in the United States following the National Football League and that was obvious from the crowd gathered in the stands on Sunday. So, what does this have to do with someone like me?

My appreciation of cars goes back to Saturdays spent with Dad working on the old grey Charger in the garage. We'd go back and forth to Kragen like ten times to get a tool for that or a gadget for this. I remember the grease that would accumulate on his hands and the blue coveralls zipped over his clothes. The way he would say "doggone it" when something wasn't working out quite the way he imagined. My dad, an Oklahoma native, was also a NASCAR fan and I could just hear him saying "woo-weee" after getting a look under the hood of one of those competing beasts. Those cars are truly mechanical wonders what with the way they roar around the gigantic track in thirty seconds or less.

Contrary to popular notion, NASCAR is not just celebrated by Southern men with sun burned necks. Walking into the event on Sunday, I saw both men and women. I saw people hued black, brown, yellow and white. I saw small children and senior citizens. I saw America. As the National Anthem was performed by the stars of The Jersey Boys and Thunderbirds flew overhead, the roar of the crowd was wondrous. Gotta love this country.

As a marketing professional by day, I saw tons of dollar signs. Beneath the bleachers, booths offered every kind of artery clogging delicacy one could think of from turkey legs to pulled pork sandwiches. How convenient of Tums to be giving out free samples! Liquor was consumed as if it were going out of style and thus one of the biggest attractions was a Jack Daniel's tent. Lamar Billboards (thanks for the tix, Suzy) were situated between the first and second turns of the track. During the race, the cars travelled around the track 285 times over the course of approximately three hours. Thus, both the billboards and car wraps provided a ridiculously long commercial for brands such as Miller Beer, M&M's, Lowe's, 3M, GoDaddy.com, DuPont and UPS. NASCAR is marketing genius.

For car enthusiasts there is something romantic about the roar of engines and the love of American brands such as Ford and Chevrolet. Watching the careful and quick choreography of the pit crew is also something to behold. However, I believe that all those fans tolerate the inhalation of oil fumes and tire debris smudging their faces for one thing only..... the potential car wreck. Every time one of those machines crashed into a wall or another car, the crowd was on their feet to watch the undercarriages glow with flames and the miraculous manner in which racers narrowly avoided running into a car careening across the track. It's amazing AND patriotic!

Congrats to Las Vegas racer and driver of the M&M's car, Kyle Busch. Why do I have a sudden taste for chocolate?