Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Sorry Gunslinger, Disneyland Burned Down

Saturday before last, The VP hosted a jewelry party.

As you might imagine, a jewelry party is not fit for man or boy; and since Picasso was out of town, I volunteered to get Gunslinger out of the house.

So what can a 3 year-old and his significantly older Uncle do that would be entertaining to both? Given my propensity for childish humor, it turns out a lot.

For starters, we both wanted to eat.

Gunslinger wanted MickeyD’s, but since Uncle was both buying and flying, we bargained for Japanese food. Besides every 3 year-old needs to sit at a sushi bar and watch somebody slice fish. It makes them well rounded.

Sushi was ordered. And to be on the safe side, I also order tempura veggies.

Gunslinger’s favorite was the tempura yam slice. In fact he ate a little bit of all the veggies, but he didn’t care for the sushi.

Gunslinger does deserve a little credit for at least nibbling on a small corner of a piece of salmon and on a slice of California roll before loudly proclaiming, “YUCKY!” to the entire restaurant.

As part of the sushi bargain, I promised Gunslinger we’d go play Skee-Ball, air hockey, and a video game or two (unbeknownst to Gunslinger, I wanted to play the games! A double score for uncle!).

So we jumped in the car and headed for a video game/restaurant called Jillian’s. Gunslinger could hardly contain himself. He sang the Skee-Ball song.





When he wasn’t sing the Skee-Ball ball he was asking, “Are we there yet Uncle Rob?”

As we pulled into the parking lot of the arcade/restaurant we got a parking spot in the front row. In retrospect, that should have been a clue.

Lifting Gunslinger out of the carseat was a lot like trying to hold onto a greased chicken, which is why I didn’t notice that the neon sign was turned off.

As soon as Gunslinger’s feet hit the tarmac, he nearly took my arm out of its socket dragging me towards the front door.

Before we were even on the wide, wide sidewalk, I realized something wrong; the there were no lights on inside the arcade/restaurant - taped to the front door was a 8½” x 11” sheet of paper with three little words in a sea of white, “OUT OF BUSINESS”

Gunslinger cried. I felt like a heel.

Now it was too late to drive across town to another arcade. All we could do is go home.

But to make it up to him, we’re going for tattoos next week.