Dear MillerCoors President Tom Long, I Enjoy Miller Lite Tall Boys But...

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February 8, 2012

Tom Long, President, CEO,
MillerCoors Corporation
405 Cordele Road
Albany, GA 31705

Dear Mr. Long,

I’ve been a long-time patron of Miller Lite, particularly of the three-pack Miller Lite 24 ounce cans often referred to as “tall boys,” or if drinking in the ghetto, “big boyz.”

Drinking out of these large cans make me feel more masculine, and yet less like an alcoholic. Having three large empty cans sitting on my coffee table takes up a lot less space than six smaller cans, and I subconsciously think I’ve only drank three beers instead of six—and although technically true, I don’t think this reasoning would hold water in a court of law, but it’s still a nice way of thinking.

Also, I think it brightens Jorge’s day when he goes through the dumpster in my condo complex and scores these larger cans for recycling. I think he gets more bang for his buck with these cans, and that’s a good thing because he can only hold a finite number of these aluminum beauties while riding his bicycle.

The reason I’m writing you is because the packaging of these cans has recently changed. They used to be sold with a series of three plastic rings holding them together—you know what I’m talking about—those plastic rings that get littered in the park and the next thing you know there’s a stupid duck choking to death with the thing wrapped around it’s neck.

Hear me now and believe me later, the plastic ring concept should not be messed with. It’s a proven design that holds the cans together and little effort is required to remove a can for consumption. With just one can removed, there’s suddenly a convenient handle to carry the rest of the beer around with and when they’re all gone, you can give the plastic rings to the kids and they’ll make something stupid out of them, like goggles. All these things, plus the benefit of controlling the duck population, come from just those simple plastic rings. Brilliant!

Oops. I think “Brilliant” is a slogan used by one of your competitors, so I’ll just say those plastic rings are “Awesome!”

Now however, your 24 ounce tall boys are being sold with a very tight plastic shrink-wrap encasing the whole shebangabang. This new packaging is horrible. First, you can’t get a good grip on the beer and if you do, you’ll have a hand-cramp by the time you get to the bus stop. Yes, you can cradle it or carry it under your arm, but really, that’s a method that should be left to celebrities and their chihuahuas.

And shrink-wrap? Seriously? From what I know about plastics, shrink-wrap shrinks with the application of heat, and I don’t think heat is good for beer. Just how hot are you torching these cans before shipping them out?

And finally, getting that shrink-wrap off the cans is a motherfucker. Unless one has talons, a sharp implement must be used—and I don’t like sharp things when I’ve been drinking—this all goes back to an old mumblety-peg accident I had in ’92—and the patrons at the bar are still talking about it.

I’m no country boy (although I’m sure a very large demographic of your tall boy drinkers are) but I can only equate the removing of this plastic wrap to that of skinning an animal—perhaps a squirrel or small racoon. Or maybe a duck. Wait, do ducks have skin or just feathers? I have no idea— I’ll check Wiki and let you know.

Would it be possible for you to go back to the old plastic ring packaging? If not, please install a zipper or velcro seam on the new packaging so it’s easier for a person to open, especially when they’re already blotto.

This letter reminds me of the time I wrote Kelloggs in the early ’80′s because they changed the packaging of their Pop-Tarts. You see, Pop-Tarts used to be sealed in paper but then Kelloggs started sealing them in foil, and that made it impossible for me to sneak one without my parents hearing. I was only allowed two Pop-Tarts a day back then, but I would often sneak and eat more—that is until the foil came along. I wrote Kelloggs—in red crayola—and you know what? They didn’t do a damn thing about it, so I stopped eating Pop-Tarts. My parents thought I suddenly decided to be anorexic and sent me to a shrink.

Mr. Long? Tom if I may? I want to continue buying and drinking Miller Lite because it’s truly my favorite pilsner when it comes to drinking in high-volume. It’s, well, how should I say this?  It’s everything I ever wanted in a beer. I know this may sound crazy, but it tastes great and yet it’s less filling—not unlike Pez, Certs, Jolly Rangers or chewing tobacco—or chewing gum for that matter.

So please change the packaging back to the plastic rings or to something better. I’m afraid I’m going to lose a finger (and I can’t afford to lose another) trying to cut-off the shrink-wrap.

Even worse, I may accidentally puncture one of the cans, and there’s nothing like that to shut my circus down.

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Thanks,

.T. O.

The Salton Sea and Bombay Beach - Because Life is Nothing But a Habit Anyway

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I just spent 76 minutes in Bombay Beach, California, courtesy of Alma Har'el's (that's not a typo) 2011 documentary of the same name. My brief trip was lived vicariously through her film and for reasons I'm still not sure why, I want to return for another visit.

Bombay Beach is on the shores of southern California's Salton Sea—a 525 square-mile below sea-level saline lake that was accidentally formed in the early 1900's—and despite attempts to make the area an oasis resort in the middle of a desert, the impoverished community is slowly and literally turning to dust.

 

The first thirty minutes of the film is a bit sporadic, but it's then that we're introduced to three vastly different residents of local color. We meet Benny, a young bipolar boy on a plethora of drugs including Ritalin and Lithium. There's Ceejay, a hopeful high school jock who left the gangster life in Los Angeles in order to focus on his grades and vie for a football scholarship. And finally there's Red—a lovable old geezer who lives on cigarettes and whiskey and drives around the desert on his ATV. Red makes a little money by selling the local residents cigarettes purchased at discount from the nearby Indian reservation.

There's plenty of other people featured too—but as one resident observes, "they're all rejects."

Although the outcasts they are, the community is tight-knit. Birthdays are celebrated with money from recycled cans, and they're exceptionally good when dancing in (slightly choreographed) free-style.

During the film we see old wounds heal and new enemies made, but when O'l Red suffers a life threatening crisis, it's for damn certain he's not going to leave this world without someone at his side.

Watch the preview:

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And it's this stuff—along with the excellent editing and timing from Har'el's gifted eye—that draws you into the lives of these people, and well after those first thirty minutes.

Can troubled young Benny eventually realize his full potential? Will the jock earn his scholarship? Does the old codger live to see another day?

On the corroded shores of the Salton Sea—in a small desolate town called Bombay Beach—there lies the truth.

And all I can say is that for one reason or another, you'll be rooting for them to make these series of potential dreams a reality—whether any of them come true or not.

FiN.

Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library Offers Banned Novel to Students

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It's called a "typewriter."

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Until a few days ago I had no idea the two things I'm about to share happened. Sometimes I think Las Vegas might as well be on another planet, light-years away from Earth. You would think with the benefit of the Internet and my online subscriptions to The Huffington Post, The Week and The Daily Beast, pertinent news wouldn't slip by me—but apparently it often does.

Here's what I did know: Back in 1973 a school in Drake, North Dakota burned copies of Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five in the school's furnace. Pissed off, Vonnegut respectfully wrote a letter to school board chairman Charles McCarthy, and you can read that letter here.

In the nearly forty years following the conflagration of the novel, more instances of schools banning Vonnegut's books have sporadically surfaced, but with the dawn of the new millennium—I thought (hoped?) society had left this type of unjust censorship behind.

As I often am though, I was wrong.

Here's what I didn't know: First, in August of last year, Missouri's Republic High School banned Slaughterhouse-Five, citing the novel teaches "principles contrary to Biblical morality and truth." I had no idea this asinine travesty had recently happened—again.

Second, the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library did a beautiful thing. Thanks to an anonymous donor, all 150 students at Republic High School were given the opportunity to request a copy of Vonnegut's best selling anti-war novel, and at no charge—this being the other thing that somehow slipped by me—not the free books for the students, but the fact there's a Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library.

Nestled in the historic Emelie Building in the author's hometown of Indianapolis, the Kurt Vonnegut Memorial Library opened in November of 2010. On display is his typewriter where visitors can type short messages to later be tweeted around the world. A stack of rejection letters are on display, along with an unopened pack of his Pall Mall cigarettes. Many of his drawings and artwork adorn the walls and there's a replica of his writing studio. Of course all his books are available—as are other things all Vonnegut. The library has monthly events and workshops and since it's non-profit, donations are gladly accepted. Depending on the amount, your donation can get you anything from a bumper sticker to an invitation to his birthday celebration every November 11th.

 Morley Safer of 60 Minutes introduces KVML

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I've written plenty about Kurt Vonnegut in the past. It's no secret I think of the man as a surrogate father because of the gigantic generation gap between myself and my own Father. You see, my Dad was much older than most fathers of kids my age, and I think this made him feel awkward at times. I wish he'd written down the things he didn't want to talk to me about—things for me to read later—but he didn't (because Dad wasn't much of a writer) so I guess you can say Kurt Vonnegut filled-in the empty spaces in my brain.

I love Kurt like he's one of my own—and I don't even have any kids. Besides the cigarettes, alcohol and humanist cynicism, we're both also connected by the same Latin words written on his pack of unfiltered Pall Malls and on my family's Irish crest—In Hoc Signo Vinces—by the sign of the cross, we shall conquer. Not that it means anything.

For me, Kurt is part father, part brother, part best friend. I think of him often.

So now I'm sitting here trying to figure out how and when I can get to Indianapolis because there's a birthday party there that's not to be missed.

FiN.

Chris Heers and The Dirt Rich Band - Going Strong Like Bull

All Photos © The Neon Lounge 2012

I first met Chris Heers many moons ago at a local open mic night. He did a top-notch cover of Hal Ketchum's "Small Town, Saturday Night" and finished the set with some Townes Van Zandt and Steve Earle—and those three songs were all it took for me to become a fan of the native Las Vegan. Granted, since I'm from Nashville I should like country music by default (which explains why a guitar that I don't know how to play is hanging on my wall) but honestly, I wasn't much of a die-hard country music fan at the time—although it's suffice to say that Chris's songwriting has since broadened both my country and western horizons.

In the years following those open mic nights Chris has achieved goals that most musicians only hope to attain. He left his day job and started writing songs—a lot of songs. Good songs.  He went to Nashville and recorded his album Western Stars with some of the best session musicians in the business. He's played Music City's World Famous Tootsie's Orchid Lounge. Even more impressive, long time Nashville music critic Robert K. Oermann bestowed Chris with his highly sought after "DisCovery" award for the Heers' single "Dirt Rich." In addition to Western Stars, “Dirt Rich" can be found on the Wii entertainment game Country Dance II—along with music by the likes of Brad Paisely, George Strait, Keith Urban and Lady Antebellum.

Heers is the only musician I know who has achieved so much in such a short amount of time—and all without him hailing from Texas or having lived in Nashville. Vegas is home for Heers. Make no mistake though, these accomplishments only happened because of his devotion and passionate talent toward his music.

Last year Chris finally did what I've been waiting for—he formed a down-home, full fledged country band to jam with on a regular basis. Trust me folks, this was no easy task. Finding a good pedal steel guitarist ain't easy. Hell, finding any good and available musician in Las Vegas ain't easy. Chris did an excellent job though and now has a band that will keep your boots scootin' across the dance floor all night long.

The band—known either as The Chris Heers Band or Chris Heers and The Dirt Rich Band—play regularly at the Naughty Ladies' Saloon inside Arizona Charlie's Westside. It wasn't until last month though—during the National Finals Rodeo—that I dusted off my boots and caught-up with the band during one of their (ten night) gigs at the Tuscany Hotel & Casino. Finally seeing Chris perform with a full and tight band was an absolute joy. People danced, the beer flowed, song requests were met (including some Townes requested by yours truly) and a good time was had by all. Also, I hadn't worn my shit-kickers since my motorcycling days and I'd forgotten how comfortable they still are.

In addition to playing at Arizona Charlie's, Chris occasionally plays an unplugged set on Sunday afternoons at the Pioneer Saloon in Goodsprings, Nevada. The Pioneer is one of the oldest free-standing bars in America and is well worth the short drive from Las Vegas to check-out Chris in an intimate setting. Just be careful not to run over the sleeping dog in the middle of Main Street.

I'm excited to see what 2012 has in store for Chris and the band. For starters, I hereby deem Chris Heers as someone who Las Vegas needs more of—that being a hometown hero.

FiN.

More Heers Here:

See a few more of my photographs of the band playing at the Tuscany here. I wish drummer Jim Lovgren had been more visible.

Hit up Chris's website and Facebook page to get his music and see his schedule.

Read another Chris Heers related article that I originally wrote for another website here.

Learning to Love the "Q" - Winning Strategies for Words With Friends, Scrabble and Lexulous

 

For the past year or so I've been playing Lexulous on Facebook with the same person. Lexulous is much like Scrabble or Words With Friends but with eight tiles instead of seven, bonus points for 7 and 8 letter words, and the board has a slightly different pattern when it comes to double and triple word scores. After playing four hundred games with this person it's suffice to say we're formidable opponents. We've had two draws and the win/lose ratio is nearly 50/50.

Ever since getting an iPhone I've been playing the more popular Words With Friends with a lot of other people. At the moment I have 8 active games with seven friends—and two games with complete strangers who I found by selecting the "random player" button.

I've never been really good at anything, but after playing Lexulous (with that extra tile to deal with) I think it made me a better Scrabble and WWF player. Like a batter on deck swinging a weighted bat, Lexulous conditioned me to come out swinging hard when stepping up to the plate to play Scrabble or WWF. I've been winning a lot of matches—and it's not because of long and elaborate words. I also don't use a "Scrabble helper" website to find words, although I'm sure some of my opponents do—and that's fine with me because like I say, long words don't mean much if you really want to win. If you've played me in a game, you know I usually use very common and simple words.

Here's some strategies I use when playing these word games. Although WWF, Scrabble and Lexulous all vary to some degree from each other, you'll get the gist of these hints and if you apply them to the appropriate game, you'll start winning a lot more. You can read a comparison between these three games at Red Letter Day.

• When starting a new game only spell long words or use high value tiles if you can reach a double word square or if the game gives double points when the first word is played. My game opening words are often only two or three letters and (if applicable) use the overly abundant letters such as I, E and A. I often spell "tea" "air" "to" or "at" for my game starting word.

• Shuffle! Shuffle! Shuffle! I shuffle my tiles until a word or possible word jumps out at me. The human brain can read most shuffled words if only the first and last letters of the word are in their correct place. Do you udsrentnad  this? Shuffling tiles four or five times won't cut it. You know how many combinations there are for 7 letters? I sometimes shuffle at least twenty times and also try to keep my opponent's available and playable letters that are on the board in my head while doing it.

• Keep adding on! Just because a word has been played doesn't mean it can't grow. "Air" can become "pair" and that can turn into "repair" and finally end as "repairs" or "disrepair." "Air" could also become "airway" and then "stairway(s)." "Build" could become "building(s)" or "rebuild(s)."

• Commit to memory the obscure two letter words (AA, AG, AE, QI, XI, XU, UT, MM, ZA etc...). Learning these will get you out of a bind and often with a lot of points. I also suggest learning all the obscure words that use "Q" because the letter is so valuable and needs to be played on a double or triple valued square. Some unique words using "Q" are "Qaid(s)" "suq" "qua" "quag" and "qat."

• Check to see if you can spell the suffixes "ING" and "TION" (using any combination of your letters and those on the board). You'll find you can add these suffixes to many words. Also, if you have "ED," check to see if you can make a word past tense.

• Cherish the letter "S" and the blank tiles! I mostly  reserve my "S's" for words that either begin or end with the letter, and always attach them to an existing word on the board, thus making the word plural. Seeing an "S" in the middle of a word and not attached to anything is usually a waste of a good tile and that can be costly. I treat my blank tiles like gold and often save them until the end of the game when things start to get tight.

• Don't exchange your tiles. Unless you have only "I's" and "E's" it's generally not worth losing your turn to exchange tiles. Plus you'll probably get a lot of "O's" and "A's" in return.

• Save your "Q" and "J" and "Z" for triple word squares—even if you can only spell "Qat" or "Jo" or "Za." I've had longer words to spell using other letters but would spell the shorter word with the "Q" or "J" or "Z" first because the triple word square may not be available come my next turn. Really, if there's a triple word square within your reach, play on it no matter what the word. Incidentally, my favorite word is "Jonquil" meaning "a flowery earth-yellow color." I've only played it once in a game but it garnered me a gazillion points.

• There's nothing wrong with playing just one tile. A simple "X" in a strategic location can be worth a lot of bang for the buck. You need to look for these spots.

Check this out:

I started a game with a random player and they opened with the word "SOAR." It's a pitiful opener because the player didn't reach the double word square, and they wasted their valuable "S." A better word to play would have been just "OAR." I played the word "REGAL" and then the player laid down "COZY." Dear GOD, what a bad move wasting those three valuable letters on squares with no added value. At this point I resigned from the game because it was going to be a waste of time.

Check this out:

This is one of my most favorite games that I ever played. It just worked out that all the words gravitated diagonally and to the right. If you make your way up the staircase, you'll see there just weren't any words that could be played to the left of the given letters.

And finally, take your time when playing. You're on a phone or computer, so take all the time you need. It's not like you have to play your word before grandma comes back from the bathroom. Speaking of grandmas, watch out when playing these games with old ladies. They'll try to cheat by making up words like "numble." Actually they're proabably not cheating, but they do tend to use words that are old and outdated and most likely unfamiliar to you and me.

My 105 year old Grandma has been playing Scrabble ever since it's inception in the early 1950's. I like to think that playing the game with her over the years has also helped make me a better player. Last year while visiting her in Michigan I won a game by playing the word "SOLARIA." It was the first game I can recall ever winning against her, but with the benefit of hindsight I should have let Granny win.

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Why?

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Because it's only a game.

FiN.

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Dear Kurt Vonnegut

Dear Mr. Vonnegut,

Today is Veterans Day but as I learned while reading your book Palm Sunday in the 11th grade, this holiday was originally called Armistice Day. Today commemorates the signing of the armistice that ended the great war on the Western Front at 11am in the morning on the 11th day of the 11th month in the year 1918, but you already know all this stuff.

Today is a special Veterans Day because the date is 11/11/11. For some reason there were a lot of weddings here in Las Vegas—I guess couples like having an easy date to remember when it comes to their anniversaries. Personally, I wouldn't want my wedding to fall on a holiday that remembers and honors our military, but that's just me.

I read your book (I've read all your books!) Slaughterhouse-Five and I know how you were in the Army in Europe and how you were caught by the Germans and was a prisoner of war for six months. I also know how the Allies (your own team!) firebombed Dresden while you were imprisoned there and how afterwards you had to help dispose of the fifty-thousand dead civilians. Dresden, as you know, was a beautiful cultural city of little military importance. It was nicknamed the "Florence on the Elbe."

My father (I don't know if the two of you have ran into each other where you are now but I hope so) was also in World War II but was stationed in the Pacific. He too witnessed the horrors of more Allied bombings, these being the annihilation of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Just like Dresden, these two cities were of little military importance and a lot of women and children lost their lives.

Mr. Vonnegut, thanks to your books I learned at an early age how insane war and society and mankind can be. I think it's during one's high school and teenage years—when we are still impressionable and easily influenced—that we develop our beliefs and ideals that carry us into adulthood. My father never talked about what he saw in Japan until I was an adult but because of your books, I knew when Dad did finally start talking, he spoke the truth.

I wish to thank you and all veterans for serving in our Armed Forces. Because of people like you I've never had to experience war first hand and I'm grateful for that. I'm also sorry you got caught by the Germans and had to be a prisoner of war and had to pick-up a lot of dead bodies and burn them.

On a lighter note, remember how after being an atheist all your life you finally decided that there was a God? The proof, you said, was because of the existence of music. Shortly after writing this in your final essay (you didn't know it was your final essay at the time) you fell down and hit your head and died. I was really sad for a long time but that heaven-sent music you mentioned helped make me feel a little better.

Lastly, I want to wish you a Happy Birthday. Not only is today the day we honor veterans, but it's also the day I remember the man who taught me so much at a time when I really needed to learn.

Happy Birthday Mr. Vonnegut. I still miss you terribly.

Tyge

Robbed From Armageddon

It was a quiet morning at the hotel, especially for it to be almost 6am. There were two of us about to come off the graveyard shift at the bell desk, and I spotted Federico on the casino floor returning from a delivery. He was pushing his cart quickly and pointing over his shoulder toward the televisions in the nearby lounge.

"Tyge! A plane crashed into The World Trade Center!"

I had no idea what he was saying because of his thick Colombian accent.

"In English please?"

Frustrated, Federico repeated himself, this time using one hand as the airplane and his other hand as the building.

His hands collided.

I figured it was some little private Cessna-type airplane—the pilot either deranged or hellbent on killing himself, and wanting to take a few more people with him.

A few minutes later it was my turn to do a delivery. Passing the televisions in the mostly empty lounge, I saw the outline of a huge airliner branded on the face of one of the buildings.

"Holy shit," I thought to myself.

As I stood there pondering how and why this could happen, the picture on the screen was from a nearby helicopter. As it circled the building, the camera zoomed in close, showing the undamaged side of the building—and the second tower was hidden behind it.  Then, in a split second, I saw an airplane enter the right side of the screen, disappear, and then a fireball emerged from behind the building.

My brain didn't register what it had just seen. A ton of confused thoughts raced through my head and I couldn't, for the life of me, process them. The thought of it being a second airplane never entered my mind during those few seconds.

"What was that? Was it a replay? How did they do that? How did they just show a plane crashing into the building when it's already on fire?"

A few seconds later the screen went to a wide shot, and both towers were in flames.

When I returned to the bell desk I learned about the attack on the Pentagon and the other possible hijackings.  When word came that all flights to anywhere had been cancelled—and knowing most of the guests in the hotel were stranded and not needing my service—I went home early.

The first tower collapsed sometime between my walking from the bell desk to my car in the employee garage—but I didn't know it at the time. Driving home I listened to Howard Stern broadcasting live from New York City. I tuned-in 1 hour, 50 minutes and 45 seconds into his broadcast, just as Howard was fielding a phone call from a crazy woman who seemed oblivious to the day's events. You can listen to his full broadcast from that day here.

When I got home I turned on the TV and saw the second tower collapse. I remained on the sofa for the rest of the day, transfixed to the television.

My then girlfriend arrived home around 6pm and wanted to go to the Red Cross to donate blood. I tried to talk her out of it. I tried to tell her that blood would be of no immediate help because we were too far away from New York City. That's what I told her, but what I really wanted to say—what I knew in my heart—was that there were probably just a mere few survivors, and that only a miracle—and not blood—could save anyone in the remains of the towers. She went to give blood anyway, but the Red Cross turned her away, along with many others wanting to donate that night.

After being awake for nearly twenty-four hours, I remembered I still had to go to work at midnight, and I decided to try and get some sleep. An hour or two later I awoke and for a fleeting moment, I thought everything had been a dream. I was wrong though.

It took some time for me to admit, but it was the events of September 11th, 2001 that caused me to lose my faith—not only in God, but also with mankind and humanity. I gave up on any hope for the world, and was convinced that we were somehow robbed from Armageddon on that otherwise beautiful day in September. It's strange, I know, but part of me wished the world had ended that day.

It wasn't until a few years later—and after having some all-to-real and bizarre dreams in a short amount of time—that I decided, to quote The Shawshank Redemption, that "hope is a good thing," and that I had better "get busy living or get busy dying."

I chose to get busy living—not because I finally realized my dismal perception of the world was wrong, but because so many people were forced, so unwillingly, to get busy with dying on that day in September, 2001.