Dennis is my neighbor. And quite frankly, I don’t know what he does all day.

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In 2008, the Las Vegas Wranglers hosted Games 3, 4 and 5 against Cincinnati in the ECHL Kelly Cup Championship Finals. As the Wranglers were in the Queen City knotting up the series at one game apiece on a late third-period goal by current Wrangler Adam Miller, “Red Sea in Game 3” was the marketing message back here at home.

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With so much hyperbole about the Las Vegas Wranglers and Alaska Aces organizations standing on different sides of the demarcation between good and evil, I have yet to be anecdotal about the differences between the two. Until now.

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The details of the Alaska Aces are quite inconsequential. But these evil geniuses – with Mr. Bigglesworth presumably in tow – are bringing their top-seeded collection of sharks with “lasers” attached to the tops of their heads to Las Vegas.

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Facebook is the refrigerator door of our times. We post our hand-traced drawings of turkeys for all of our friends to see there. Oddly enough, most of these friends would probably never be invited over to see our real refrigerator door, even if it guaranteed a thrilling avalanche of accolades over the macaroni art depiction of your house ravished by beams of bright yellow sunlight.

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Stratosphere headliner Frankie Moreno and esteemed hard rock vocalist Paul Shortino were sitting in Moreno’s dressing room Wednesday night. Moreno and his band had just reeled in the audience with an explosion of musicianship, humor and charisma. And Shortino was, justifiably, hard rock singing Moreno’s praises.

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Any regular reader of Neuropsychopharmacology - and you know who you are - who skimmed past Paul W. Czoty and David CS Roberts’ “Thinking Outside the Synapse: Pharmacokinetic-Based Medications for Cocaine Addiction” was probably struck by an implication that different rats have varying levels of work ethic. Like Benny in the adjoining cubicle, a rat can be a worker rat or a slacker rat.

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On March 28, 1992, I sat along a loge level press table – which resembled a stripped down sky box – at the Dean E. Smith Center in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. Below, on the floor, Kinston High School and West Charlotte High School were running east and west, chasing the state’s high school championship. The high school championship’s headliner was Kinston’s Jerry Stackhouse, an obvious future NBAer, and a player that when watched in the claustrophobic confines of his high school gymnasium was not a man among boys but a dragster amongst soap box derby cars.

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When one searches for St. Baldrick’s on line, an invitation appears with the search result; “Help Kids with Cancer | Cure Childhood Cancers.” It’s a simple invitation. It’s as straightforward as a reality that confronts a family that has been sucker-punched by a word.

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In college in the 1980s it wasn’t uncommon for fiscally-struggling students to hand over three crumpled one dollar bills to the gas station attendant to scantly fuel the handed down 1972 Ford Torino station wagon. It was just enough gas to get one to a restaurant, to order a meal, then to hope there was enough cash in their pockets to leave the restaurant without washing the dishes.

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