Touched By an Angel

Anyone got a 10-foot pole?

Then, after a moment of reflection, I added, "You're in a band?" Huh.

We did quickly stop off at Sam's, Sunset Beach's tiki eden, to look at all the middle-aged dudes in Hawaiian shirts and young hepcats in tattoos and goatees (I do believe goatees have finally breathed their last, but apparently nobody told the li'l Mike Nesses in the leather booths). Our slushy scorpion, which was served in a giant Googie ashtray, was luscious, though it needed one of those Slurpee straws with the spoon at the end like a miniature spork. And it was only $7.50! Sam's scorpions are highly recommended. But then we decided to do the right thing and go see James' band, The Distraction, even though they would doubtless be very loud and tuneless, since James is a ringer for a Stitch or a Measle.

Pretty Cayt and pretty Wade were both behind the bar, serving it up to the cute little boys wearing eyeliner and the cute little girls with their dyed-black hair. I just wanted to pet them and hug them and name them all George! Even better than the adorable youngsters, though, walking into the Ol' West-themed Prospector is no longer like getting shoved down into the mouth of a mine. For those who went once and then were yearning to breathe free, feel free to make your triumphant return. It's now a paradise of sootless air—or as sootless as air in Long Beach can be. Hooray!

My body was a bridge, so we skipped out, distracted. My bacon was saved for another day.

Hooray, Raiders! Now please don't implode in the Super Bowl. You know how you can be.
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