Laser Tag vs The Space Center

By James Porter
Reposted from his Blog
http://cachevalleysimulator.blogspot.com/

I celebrated the birthday of my wife's cousin yesterday by participating in laser tag. It has been a long time since I have gone and it was definitely enjoyable. When they opened the door to the arena my lungs filled with the all too familiar scent of smoke machine juice as I entered that hot maze of glowing paint and mirrors. We played three 20 minute games for $18 a person since there was a holiday special going on. I did well to follow the list of rules for how we were to safely play by not running, kneeling, covering my sensors, and all the other protective measures. Overall it was a fun experience as the birthday boy got first place in one of the games and all of our group had a fun time.

Afterward I began comparing that birthday experience to the many I used to help host at the space center. For a space center birthday there is about one item that is the same, the smoke machine. First of all a flight runs for 2.5 hours at an average cost of $10 per person. That flight time is yours and yours alone unlike the laser tag time we shared with 20 other people. Many compare the story experience to that of a movie and so for that you are paying a bit more than the average Utah movie ticket price. Though unlike the movie you get to be a part of the experience and the decision you make could completely change how everything turns out. You also don't need to worry about screening the mission before you go for inappropriate content. In that process of ma

king decisions your group will experience and learn much more than just laser tag tactics.

It was interesting to think about this after the activity because I frequently would compare our private programs to laser tag when parents would sit and talk with us in the control room. This is probably why we have many fans who look forward to their birthday year after year as it has become a tradition to visit the space center. Don't misunderstand, I think laser tag and going to the movies are great birthday option , but they fall short in comparison to a private birthday flight into space.

The Tuesday of our Holiday Vacation. My Trip to the Dentist

Hello Troops,
Well, there is very little Space Center news to report considering the Center is closed for the holiday so I'll just write about odds and ends.

Winter is taxing my patience. I used to be a big fan of the season but the older I get the less tolerance I have for snow packed roads and stupid drivers. I’m sitting at my front window looking at the fresh powder falling on my driveway and sidewalk. What may look “pretty” from the front window is actually something that requires my labor. I need to go outside, take the shovel and move the stuff, and as soon as I move it more will fall and as soon as I move that even more will fall. I’m done with it.

I visited the dentist this morning. It’s been a year since my last check up. I find my cavity count is usually zero with so many of my original molars replaced by crowns; therefore eliminating the need for six month visits.

My dentist is aging with me. I’ve been a patient of his since 1982. I thought how proud he must be when he looks into my mouth every year and sees his handiwork. There’s got to be some real job satisfaction in that. I enjoy my check ups. He may be on the young side of ancient but his dental assistants aren’t. I had a very pretty blond working on my teeth this morning. I tried to say something ‘hip‘ to strike up a conversation but came up with nothing.
“Do you want fresh mint or cinnamon for your polish?” she asked.
“Fresh mint,” I answered.
I sometimes wonder what to do with my eyes while my teeth are worked on. Younger dentists have distractions - like TV’s mounted in the ceiling. You can catch up on the news while you’re getting your cavities drilled. My dentist is very old school. He has boring ceiling tile with 25 tiny holes in each to look at. I sometimes stare into the overhead light. I find it interesting that the light my dentist uses today is the same make and model my dentist used when I was a kid in the 1960’s in Rapid City, South Dakota. Why change a good thing, right?

I thought about looking into her eyes while she worked on my teeth but thought better of it considering she had a mechanical spinning object in my mouth. Making her uncomfortable was the last thing I wanted to do.

I was hoping she’d say something complementary about my teeth, considering I never needed braces and all my molars were beautiful, unblemished crowns.
“You’re not brushing vigorously enough up near your top molars. I see a build up of plaque that is starting to calcify,” she said.
“Thank you,” I replied. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

A Poster in my Dentist's Office Announcing their use of the Latest in Dental Practices.

Out came the floss when the polishing was complete. She wound it around her fingers and started.
Tsk, tsk, tsk,” was the sound she made while trying to break through the calcified barriers bridging my teeth in an attempt to clean between my molars. I knew that she knew my flossing needed addressing. I'm not motivated to floss. My dental hygiene attention span handles brushing and nothing else. Besides, why not be her job security and let her do my flossing for me every six months?

She finished the flossing and directed me to the sink to “Rinse and Spit”. A moment later I was back in the recliner and waiting for the dentist to make an appearance. I knew I was next in line. I could hear him in the next room working on a lady that broke one of her front teeth on a pistachio.
The drilling in the next room stopped. A moment later he walked into my room. I was taken back by his glasses. I knew he wore glasses but what he was wearing wasn't your ordinary pair of glasses. His glasses had small microscopes embedded in each lens. I’m surprised he found where I was sitting.
“How are you Victor?” he asked while looking toward the wall. His assistant politely coughed, directing him to my general direction.
“Doing fine,” I answered as he lowered the chair’s back to his level. “Pretty impressive specs you’ve got there.”
“Well, an old dentist’s got to do what an old dentist’s gotta do,” he answered while feeling around my face for my mouth.

His exam was complete. He scraped and poked and scraped and poked as he went from tooth to tooth.
“Your front teeth are wearing down. You’ve got a small chip in one and the other is showing transparency. What are you doing, chewing on bark?” he commented. I never know how to respond to a dentist’s questioning with three tools inserted in my mouth. I did the best I could and grunted. He nodded as if he understood, then continued his scraping and poking.

At one point he stopped to clean his ice pick. My mouth was clear for a brief moment.
“I like my beef jerky,” I said, trying to justify the wearing down of my front teeth. There was an awkward pause, followed by the reinsertion of the tools.
“That explains part of it. All that biting and chewing, tsk tsk tsk....,” he said. “We may have to do some polishing. Maybe not today. We’ll give it a bit more time.”
I wondered what he meant by “part of it”? Could the other part be the fact that I, along with all other humans on this planet, must use my teeth to eat? Could that be the reason my teeth are showing signs of wear? Well, I apologize for that but will not stop eating just to save the wear on my two front teeth!

He finished the exam and looked at the x-rays.
“You’re good to go. No cavities this time,” he said. I was invited to stand and leave the room. I stood. He was already gone into the next room. The pretty blond 20 something hygienist stood in the doorway with the exam results and a small baggy holding a toothbrush, small tube of toothpaste and a small container of floss.
“See you in six months,” she radiated with perfectly white, straight teeth.
“Thanks,” I replied with my perfectly yellow, diet coke stained but straight teeth.

I walked to my car. It was starting to snow. I opened my car door, tossed in the dental Care Package, shut the door and hopped the curb to the Walkers Gas Station next door. I felt the need to celebrate another clean dental bill of health. I bought a diet soda and a package of those tasty orange circus peanuts in the ‘2 packages for $1.00‘ packaging. I skipped the jerky. I decided I’d follow my dentist’s advice for one day.

Our Christmas Lunch.

Hello Troops,
Did you all enjoy your Christmas? Were their presents under your tree? Are you happy someone felt kindly enough toward you to part with their hard earned cash to give you something you may or may not have deserved? Now that Christmas is over, have you taken out the check book, wallet and credit card receipts to see what's left in the bank? You may be living on oatmeal and saltines for the next month, but at least its all over.

I was up early on Christmas morning. Don’t know why. I still remember the days when I used to be able to log a good 8 hours of sleep a night. I’m down to 6 now. I have the time to sleep 8 but my brain won’t let me.

We all gathered around Jilane and Kevin’s tree for the opening of gifts. All very traditional. I took Grandma to the house after the opening of gifts so she could put the turkey in the oven. She worked away in the downstairs kitchen while I cleaned the kitchen upstairs. She called for help. She had Lisa’s bathroom scales out on the kitchen floor waiting for me.
“What do you need?” I asked.
“I can’t cook this turkey properly if I don’t know how much it weighs,” she explained.
I read the packaging and found no indication of weight. That meant we had to weigh it somehow. Mother’s solution was the bathroom scales. There was one small problem, were they accurate? Mother wanted me to get up on the scales and find out. How was I suppose to know if the scales were accurate by weighing myself? I didn’t know what I weighed. I know what I wish I weighed but that absolutely would fall into the realm of fiction.

The scales were digital, which placed them beyond my mother’s ability to understand and use. That alone put the fear into her leaving me behind to deal with the situation. I stood on the scales to see what they said. I planned on comparing the scale’s readout to my last known weight from my doctor’s scales in August. The digital numbers rolled a few times to the left and right, as if the machine couldn’t decide on a correct number. A few seconds later came the reading. The small window between my feet displayed this
“Err” The scales gave me an error reading. What was that all about? What did it mean? Was the error against me for attempting to use them to calculate my weight or was it something else? Maybe “Err” was the scales commentary on my life, kind of like the mechanical fortune tellers you find at a local carnival. Drop in a coin, the Gypsie opens its marble eyes, says something in gibberish - the official language of all carnivals, raises it wooden arm draped in someone’s curtains from the 1930’s and dispenses a card detailing your fortune. In my case, the scales didn’t attempt politeness. What I should have gotten was a ridiculously low weight to boost my self esteem and confidence. What I got was an “Err”. Story of my life, yes?

We were still left with the problem of weighing the turkey. Instead of putting my whole weight on the scale I tried my foot. The numbers rolled and landed on a number that seemed reasonable. I stood on the scale again, never wanting to admit defeat. Grandma handed me a warped aluminum baking pan holding our Christmas turkey. Another “Err” appeared. OK, time for plan 2. We took the turkey out of the pan and placed it directly on the white digital bathroom scales. So there we were, Grandma and me standing over Tom Turkey, barely balanced on the scale with its two legs hanging out and down. It was comical. The scale thought for a moment then displayed “Err”. Finally, the scale and I found something we could both agree on. It was a complete error to do what we were doing. To make a long story short, after several attempts we finally got the scale to give us a reading of 18 pounds. The scale was dripping with turkey juices but we got the job done. There would be turkey for lunch.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon was spent in controlled chaos as Lisa and Grandma prepared the meal. I enjoyed the shouting up and down the stairs between kitchens. Then a catastrophe. We were out of brown sugar for the candied yams. Lisa sent Grandpa and I on a brown sugar Christmas quest. Walgreens was our first stop. They had the butter we needed but no brown sugar. As we left the kindly clerk at the cash register wished us both a very merry Christmas.
“Bah Humbug,” Grandpa shot back. I stopped long enough to make excuses for his poor behavior. I explained the fact that he was born during the Great Depression, had a hard childhood, had eight kids, many of whom were intelligent enough to hold down real paying jobs, and was in his 70’s. I also added the fact that he’d recently fallen over a curb, hit his head and for the past two months has no sense of taste. I must have done a good job because they were all in tears.
“That poor man,” one older lady said to the clerk opposite me. Having been a showman my whole life I understood when to make an exit. I left the store knowing someone’s life may have been changed because of our brown sugar quest.

Albertson’s in American Fork was our next stop. It was closed. The third stop was the Chevron station on the Pleasant Grove border. Again, no brown sugar. I purchased a diet Mt. Dew. Grandpa bought a bag of orange circus peanuts candies.
“What are those for?” I asked, knowing he wouldn’t be buying them for himself, having lost his sense of taste.
“Lisa,” he responded. “Kind of like a peace offering for not finding Brown Sugar.”

Our last stop was the Maverick Station on State Street. Grandpa gassed up his red truck while I examined the store’s shelves. Nothing - just as I expected. When we got home we discovered the yams were in the oven. Thank goodness for neighbors that thought ahead for any possible Christmas necessity.

We decided to eat around the table! I know how shocking that is to everyone that knows my family. We are the kind of people who use the living room as our dining room and the TV as our excuse not to speak to each other. Having a neutral party in the room as we eat (like any TV show that happens to be airing at the time) keeps us focused on the small screen and not each other’s personality and character flaws.

The food was spread out on the table. It all came together perfectly. I even mashed the potatoes. It is my belief the potatoes were the highlight of Christmas dinner - something I had to point out during the consumption of the food thus forcing everyone sitting around me to dispense compliments, sincere or not.
We gathered around the table for formal blessing of the food. Grandma had the honors, considering she was the least haggard of the group. We bowed our heads and folded our arms. She started.
Half way through the prayer a cell phone rang, right in the section where she was thanking the good Lord for her children, grand children and all her other many blessings. We looked up and saw something so disturbing it put many of us off our food. There stood Grandma with her hand down her blouse. Her hand was fumbling around in her bra looking for her cell phone. I’m proud of her though. She kept saying the prayer, paying no attention to the fact that everyone else in the house was staring at her in shock. The teenagers started laughing, then did their best to stifle the laughs when they saw she wasn’t going to abort the prayer.

We started eating. There were uncomfortable pauses as we stared at each other. We quickly exhausted polite conversation and quickly descended into commentary on each other and others not present who couldn’t defend themselves. Those with weak nerves ate quickly and asked to be excused. The rest of us continued for some time, stopping only when the food was cold and orders were going out for the cleaning.

It was an interesting Christmas day. Its all over now. Christmas 2009 is a thing of the past.

I’m hoping this Boxing Day finds everyone in good spirits and health. Unfortunately I’ve fallen victim to a bad cold. I felt fine this morning, even went on an invigorating 45 minute walk. Right after the walk I felt the start of a sore throat. So, I have the pleasure of keeping a sore throat company, along with its companion, the runny nose.

We stopped at WalMart earlier today to purchase a new TV stand for my mother. While there, my mother found a homeopathic treatment for the relief of symptoms associated with the flu and cold. The name is long, taking up the entire front label of the box. I wondered why the French makers of this stuff couldn’t come up a name easily remembered. Wouldn’t be in their best commercial interests to give a product a name simple enough for their costumers to use when they recommend it to their friends and family? If you called me right now and asked me I could only tell you the name is long, it starts with an O, and the package is orange and white. I’m hoping this medicine, along with my Coldeze and the occasional swig of DayQuill will keep me functioning.

So, good night troops. I’ll see many of you soon.

Mr. Williamson