The American dream?

I sat atop my riding lawnmower yesterday, 12.5 horsepower between my legs, slowly circling my yard to get every patch of grass, and wondered is this the American dream?

Truly, what is the American dream? Is it residing in the penthouse suite of Trump Tower in New York, or is it mowing your yard on a Tuesday evening with the sun setting over the Southern pines, all the while fretting how weeds have taken over your lawn?

Is it waking up to the piercing alert of the alarm clock every morning and heading to that 9 to 5 job, or is it running several multi-million, even billion, dollar businesses in the economic capital of the world?

(By the way, I bet Trump sucks at poker.)

Different dreams for different folks.

I believe the true test of what makes a man is happy is to turn his world upside down, completely changing his daily routine, and examining under the microscope the effect on his emotions and attitudes. I'll be going through self examination soon enough; I just wonder if I will like what I see.

Although I hate the thought of trying to make it around Vegas for almost a month without my own car, I've decided to fly to Sin City and try to get by on public transportation. (Yes, I know, yuck.) Renting a car every day will get expensive, as would taking taxis everywhere. Luckily I know a few people in town who I can probably get a lift from when the need arises.

I'll be staying downtown for the first time, partially because it's cheaper and I'll be living on a shoestring budget for the next year and partially because I just love the smell of piss, but mostly because it fits in nicely with the theme of the poor man's gambler among a world of high-stakes Moneymakers. I'll be taking the Citizens Area Transport from downtown to the WSOP everday while Daniel Negreanu wheels his Lexus over from his suite at the Wynn to the valet of the Rio. It will be quite the contrast in styles.