After a meal for nine of us Trujillos at a splendid Santa Fe restaurant, Los Potrillos, where the Mexican food is authentic, I plunked down a tip, all in coins. Well, I suspect the waitperson did some quick math: $2.50 for a meal of about $65, or less than 4 percent.

Inferring I’d left him 10 quarters, the server must have thought, “Este chango es un cheap-o.” So I assured him, “Son dolares”: they’re not quarters but dollars. And therefore I wasn’t such a Señor cusco after all.

But that’s the problem. After buying stamps from the often-out-of-order machine at the Las Vegas Post Office, I ended up with a pocketful of Sacajawea dollars as change. The coins were minted in 2000, to replace the unpopular Susan B. Anthonys of July 1979 vintage.
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Probably as a remnant of a Valentine’s party, someone at the Optic left a box of chocolate-covered cherries in the break room for all us hard-working staffers to enjoy. They vanished the same day — no thanks to me.

Here’s why:

I grew up — as did many of you — in an era when visits to doctors were rare. My first visit was for what I thought was a hearing loss.

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Whose job is it to ensure people’s safety? How do I respond to a tough biker who’s aware that I strongly support helmet laws — not just for people on Harleys, but for kids on skateboards?

Fishing for today’s topic, I got a TiVo-type glimpse of the NBA Wunderkind LeBron James of the Cleveland Cavaliers as he got knocked down (and almost out) in a game against the Mavericks on Wednesday night, when the back of his head lost a battle with the hardwood floor. Does this mean I’d be in favor of helmets for basketball players as well? Perhaps.

But here’s how I zoomed in on this topic:

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   An Albuquerque weathercaster, Bill Eisenhood, used to include an “amazing fact? each evening. One such “fact? was a mnemonic device in which one could recall the names of all the planets. It made such an impression on me that I can’t remember any of it.
   Just for kicks, I sent in a question: What is the longest word one can type using only (not necessarily all) the keys in the row above the home keys of a standard typewriter?
   Eisenhood appeared to be so impressed with that factoid that he led off the weathercast with the question. The news anchors at the time simultaneously blurted out the answer, as if they’d actually figured it out. No way! Obviously, they’d heard the weatherman spill the answer before airtime. I’ve asked the same question to dozens. Nobody has yet to give me the correct answer.

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    What have been the top stories this year? In terms of time and space, the who’s-the-father-of-Anna Nicole Smith’s-baby? ranks in the top 5.
    Britney Spear’s haircut and rehab certainly deserves honorable mention, as do items such as British Prime Minister Tony Blair’s decision to begin pulling troops out of Iraq.
    Those of us who read a variety of newspapers and watch the news are aware of lots of puffery, the practice of treating celebrities as newsmakers.

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    A home-grown e-mail making the rounds covers the theme of “You know you’re from Las Vegas if …” It’s similar to the paradigm made famous by comedian Jeff Foxworthy, which declares, “You might be a redneck …” And here he inserts something like “… if at least four of your dogs get killed whenthe porch of your trailer collapses.”
    The Vegas version contains some extremely witty entries. My favorite reads: “You know you’re from Las Vegas if you were threatened constantly with, “La Llorona is going to hear you if you don’t stop crying.”

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    The pity is that I probably won’t change anyone’s mind. I’d be ecstatic beyond belief were someone to read this and decide, “Hey, I’m going to quit smoking.”
    But it’s like the how-many-people does-it-take-to-change-a-light bulb conundrum. How many? Well only one (but the light bulb really has to want to change).
    Let me start from the beginning. In me, Bonnie married a smoker. I started my senior year in high school at a time when the only fear was that nicotine prevented athletes from getting in shape. Like Mark Twain, I was able to say, “Quitting is easy. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

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    During the past weeks I’ve become addicted to C-Span, a public- affairs TV station originating in Congress. Each morning “Washington Journal” features a guest, usually a member of Congress, who fields phone calls. If you’re a Democrat, use this number; if Republican, dial this number, etc.
    No matter what Republican guest appears, Democrat callers are sure to attack the war in Iraq. Similarly, Republican callers have a weakness for Democratic jugulars. And so it went this week, when a caller asked, rhetorically, “Why do you hate Bush?” “Why are all Democrats cowards?” and “Don’t you realize that criticism of the war on ‘tear’ demoralizes our troops and emboldens the enemy?”

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A Super Bowl Sunday event that took place 31 years ago and involved the abduction of half a dozen hostages, threats at gunpoint, evasive driving, hordes of police and an attempted suicide, has made indelible impressions on the lives of several of those involved in it.

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    Art Abreu was head coach in the early ‘90s when the Robertson High School football Cardinals traveled to Lovington to take on the Wildcats. Abreu’s players lost 40-22. Although many New Mexico players may think of having gone against Brian Urlacher — even to have been pureed by the future Pro Bowler — he wasn’t a factor as a skinny eighth-grader or freshman player for the Wildcats. Continue reading →