now that's what I call a stimulus package

a love litmus test:

Driving down the strip in Las Vegas.

a two-night getaway.

I see BARRY MANILOW flashing on the marquis sign.
A neon beacon.

I whip my head around to make sure it wasn't a mirage.

I think I might need the paddles. Heartrate stabilizes.

I tell McHopingIDidn'tSeeTheSign that I'm embarrassed at how excited I feel.

At the mere prospect of singing along to "Mandy".
Or whistling the intro to "Can't Smile Without You."
I honestly don't know what it is about that androgynous sap that I love so much.
I just know that I love him.

All at once, my entire Junior High choreography/lip synch career rewinds into vivid memory.

Betsy's dad's huge video camera capturing hours of various "dance" versions of Copacabana on horrifying video.

I got the "go ahead" resigned look.
Proof positive that he loves me.

We call for tix.

Sold out.

{Except for the $390 per seat scalped tix}.

Spit.

Marc was secretly relieved to retain his masculinity. And basic self-respect.

No having to endure the taunts of my brothers.
The same brothers (most likely Gavin) who scratched my Barry Manilow ONE VOICE album with a car key.
Rendering it unplayable on my Sanyo turntable.
[The desired result.]

That's OK . I've been promised a trip back to Vegas soon.

Just for Barry.