Here is a town that can be honest with itself:






This is your brain on Jell-O. It was made from this great mold I got off stupid.com. They have other gadgets that some of you may or may not be getting for future birthday presents. And they didn't even have to pay me for this ad!
This is my father, outside of the casino. He had such high hopes. Of becoming a millionaire. Of giving up the farm. Doesn't he look full of promise and dreams?
This is the light show at the old strip, dowtown. It's the strip that's shown in all of the movies that feature Las Vegas as a city of intensely bright lights. Only now it's covered with a big canopy of more lights, and several times a night they have a big light show, focusing on nature or culture or whatever. This was amazing. We tried to count the lights but lost track after 15. Let's just say there are a million.
And finally, this is my new friend, Coke Bear, or Mr. Bear to you. My dad set up this photo with the ball. I think he was trying to make me look like one of those seals in the Christmas Coke commercial, but it didn't work so well.



This was in a roll of film from New Years Eve, when we went to a Red Wings game at Joe Louis Arena. For some reason we were determined to stay until the last person left. Anyway, flipping through the pictures, we came across this shot. Is he a long lost friend? No, he was the janitor. I'm still trying to figure out what possessed us to pose with him.
This sign is on I-94 in Wisconsin, north of Chicago and south of Milwaukee. I've never been to this recreation area, but I'm sure it's a happy place. I'm collecting photos of weird places, people, and things. Contributions are welcome. Look for the next photo in a couple days.
This is a post so Julie will not hate me. It's proof that yes, I really do come from on Cheese Factory Road. I promised to post it weeks ago, and she has not let me forget it. She keeps me honest. So here it is. Enjoy. I'm having a party here in May, when I turn 30. The only thing I'm worried about is mixing my friends from high school, college, and my professional life, along with my family. They all tend to have an embarrassing story or two, and none of them are afraid to share them.
My mom is the worst when it comes to this, because she tells stories in the present tense. One time my friends asked her for an embarrassing story and she said, to my horror,
Well, she sings to the turkeys.
OK, let me say here that I was nine years old. I might have, in a little-girl-wants-to-be-a-singer moment, given a little performance for a captive audience of pets, but I haven't done it since. I swear.