I just received a notice from Constellation Apartments that my service request has been completed.
It's worth noting that I haven't lived at Constellation for 16 months.
I wonder what took them so long to fix.
I only rarely go to McDonaldʼs; maybe three or four times a year. So I was surprised and delighted to find itʼs McRib season!
The McRib is the finest fast food sandwich there is. Better than a double Fisch Mac. Better than Starbuckʼs Thanksgiving panini. Yes, better than Chick-fil-a.
Itʼs never McRib season in Las Vegas, so for the seven years I lived there, I had to make my own — Driving three hours across the Mojave Desert to the nearest McDonaldʼs that had them, in Barstow, California. I never did find out why the McDonaldʼs franchises in Vegas donʼt carry McRibs.
Here, in Houston, McRib does exist, so I grabbed a loaf of that sweet, smokey, salty, crunchy, sesame seeded goodness.
Pro tip: Serve the sandwich on top of a pile of fries so that the sauce drips onto the fries, and you donʼt waste any of it on the plate.
I went to the Church of the Annunciation today. Itʼs one of those urban core Catholic churches that churches under the radar, serving its neighborhood for hundreds of years while the nearby cathedral gets all the attention. Most large American cities have one like this. Places like Saint Joan of Arc in Las Vegas, Assumption Catholic Church in Chicago, and the Basilica of Saint Mary in Minneapolis are other examples.
Annunciation is old-school, in both style, architecture, and message. While I did the special kind of musty funk that fills old American Catholic churches, Iʼve never been able to get used to using a Communion rail. Perhaps I have weak knees. Or I donʼt like people looking at my butt.
Still, if youʼre looking for a just-barely-this-side-of-Vatican-Ⅱ experience, this could be the place for you.
The monsoon has been generous this year.
I never thought I would miss the smell of creosote, but I will. When the rain falls on tumbleweeds, it makes a weird wet dog smell. The outflow boundary from the thunderstorm carries the smell far and wide, and is a much more reliable indicator of rain coming than radar is.
If you're ever in a slot canyon or a dry gulch, and suddenly you smell a wet dog, run. I've lost count of the number of stories I've seen in the newspapers this year about hikers and homeless people killed in flash floods. Dozens, at least. Always under blue, unsuspecting skies. The news helicopters sometimes follow a flash flood coming off one of the mountains as it weaves through the gullies and washes. Once, KTNV showed a car speeding down the road trying to outrun the water. It didn't.
If you can get married at the UPS Store, you might be in Nevada.
Pretty much the definition of “celebrate the little things.”
Todayʼs coffee is Goose Bumps from Vesta Coffee in Las Vegas.
The coffee is pretty good, considering it comes from a city that prides itself on being artificial, superficial, and doing things “good enough.” Itʼs very smooth, which might be attributed to the relentlessly mineralized water that Vegas siphons from Lake Mead, before returning it to the lake after being processed by four million kidneys. The stated notes are “chocolate, graham cracker, sweet.” I certainly get the chocolate, and a bit of the sweet. But Iʼm not sensitive enough to detect graham or any other type of cracker in my coffee. Still, this desert coffee isnʼt a dessert coffee. Itʼs a nice weekend morning coffee, or a good reward in the afternoon after accomplishing some minor, yet dreaded, task. Iʼd buy it again because I like my coffee the way I like my women: wholesome and surprisingly good.
I got a new Atari cart today. Itʼs Poker Plus, the Sears version of Atariʼs Casino.
This is the text label version, which is what I prefer because that means its an older version, and what I would have had in my home, if my family had this cart in 1978. But we didnʼt.
The version of this game with the Sears picture label is more unusual, but not quite what one might call “rare.” Just seldom seen for sale.
Itʼs a very minor topic of discussion in the realm of Atari nerds that Sears spent a lot of time and money making its own artwork for the Atari games it licensed. There are plenty of debates over which is better. I donʼt have a preference. But I do note that the Sears imagery is often racier than the Atari version.
Here are the Atari and Sears picture labels of the same Casino/Poker Plus game.
The Atari one is fine, featuring a slim young woman in a strappy white evening frock engaged in severely constrained enthusiasm. The Sears one features a Vegas showgirl wearing low-rise panties, a feathered headdress, and nothing else. Sheʼs covering her breasts with her slender arms, but not out of shame, based on her smile.
As a resident of Las Vegas, I am uniquely positioned to decide which label is more accurate. And I can tell you that the Sears version is more correct.
Not because there are lots of gregarious topless showgirls roaming the casinos of Sin City. There arenʼt. Except for street buskers, the showgirls are all gone. Itʼs Miss Atari who is wrong. The notion of Vegas casinos being populated by well-dressed, glamorous, interesting people died in the late 1980ʼs. If she was done up in crop-top football jersey with a tattooed beer belly hanging over pajama bottoms and Crocs, toting a three-foot-long empty plastic beverage container and a grudge against Southwest Airlines, then she would fit right in.
But graceful white evening dress and statement jewelry? This isnʼt Monaco.
Day two of the dust storm. Houston has crap air, too, but at least thatʼs just chemicals and not Mother Nature trying to bury the city.
Today I learned that iOS has an icon for “sandstorm.”
Also, that I should say home today.
If you get a COVID shot at a strip club, you might live in Las Vegas.
The atmosphere is having a nice little hissy fit in Las Vegas right now. A touch of rain about an hour ago, and now a windstorm. More interestingly, we had some thunder. We hardly ever get thunder here, because with the effort involved in getting over the mountains, thereʼs usually not enough energy for lightning. Itʼs the same story in Seattle.
People talk about all the rain in Seattle, but itʼs almost always a very calm, gentle rain. What the Navajos call “female rain.” I donʼt know what the Quileute in La Push, Washington call it. But when we visited, Darcie took a smooth rock home from the beach, and didnʼt find out later that youʼre not supposed to do that. We ended up having all kinds of bad luck right after that. Go figure.
Thereʼs a Door Dash guy trying to deliver something soggy and greasy to my neighbor, and the wind just made off with his big red bag. Run, Dasher, run!
If a nearby nail salon is called “Hand Job,” you might live in Las Vegas.
I think thatʼs too many exclamation points for smooth jazz.
Dixieland, maybe.
Having a 25% occupancy cap is not reassuring in any way when that means you still have to share the air with 11,018 other people.
Sunrise was a little bit different today, so I broke out the good camera. I'll have to do some processing on it to get out the grain, but it's OK for this hour of the morning.
The clouds are over California. The mountain in front is Griffith Peak (11,063 feet), and the one in its shadow is Charleston Peak (11,916 feet).
A friend of mine is mad at me because I wouldn't go have dinner with him when he was in town last week. Too bad, the COVID positivity rate in Vegas is through the roof. Iʼm not going to just hang out in a casino like nothing is wrong.
His entire family had it and recovered, so he thinks it's OK to take everyone to Vegas for his daughter's birthday. In his mind, if he's safe, that's all that matters.
Never mind the maids, bartenders, airline staff, janitors, and everyone else that has to risk their lives so he can have a good time. He should know better, because he's a scientist. Then again, as I've learned getting older, being smart at one thing doesn't make you smart at everything.
I know a doctor in Chicago who thinks drinking his own pee will help him live forever. I know a TV anchor in Phoenix who doesn't believe in dinosaurs. Not as a religious thing. They just don't fit into the way her brain works. My old neighbor is an international airline pilot, and doesn't believe COVID is real.
I guess everyone is crazy in their own way. I wonder what my major malfunction is.
There were clouds in the sky this morning, so we had a nice sunrise. Iʼd forgotten that this area can have some pretty nice sunrises, but you need clouds to make them happen.
We even got what I call a "double sunrise" — the sun coming up turns the clouds over Arizona all pinky-orange, and when it starts to crest the eastern mountains, it lights up the clouds over California, too, so thereʼs a nice sunrise no matter in what direction you look.
On clear mornings, we get what I call a "false sunrise," which is when the sunʼs rays bounce off the bronze glass of the casino towers and make it look like the sun is rising in the west.
Most people here never see the sunrise, or the sunset. The houses have few windows, and people generally keep their shades drawn at all times. They might as well live in a steel shipping container.
Darcie and I enjoy the sun and the sky and let in all the light we can. Or at least all the light the windows will allow. They have several layers of coatings on them to keep the heat out, and it kills most of the color, too. This morningʼs sunrise was blood red in plain air from the balcony, orange from the dining room windows, and just a bland yellow from the library.
When I was starting on my career path in my 20ʼs, I made sure I went into a field that would keep me from spending all day locked in an office like my parents were. I guess I screwed that one up.
I predict that when we donʼt have to wear masks anymore, women will go nuts wearing bold lipstick colors just because they can. Equip your wife appropriately before the rush starts.
You know you live in the desert when the newspaperʼs big front page ballyhoo is over 0.04 inches of rain.
After 240 days, youʼd think we could do better than 0.04 inches, though.
This is why being a weatherman in Las Vegas is the easiest job in broadcasting.
According to todayʼs paper, you can now crush a car, operate heavy machinery, shoot a machine gun, detonate explosives, drive a monster truck, launch flaming arrows, blast flame-throwers, and drink yourself into a stupor all in one place. Because doing all those separately was too much work.
Oh, and thereʼs a brothel on the other side of the ridge.
I can only assume this started with someone from Texas saying, “Yʼknow, thereʼs just too many rules around here.”
Las Vegas is a different place since things have opened up a bit. Because the hotel rates have dropped so much, itʼs brought in the worst people. This is something that Darcie has known from day one, but itʼs only hitting the front pages of the local newspapers now.
Rooms that used to be $675 a night are now $100 or less. Itʼs gotten so bad that the head of Wynn Resorts went public saying that her regular customers are afraid to come to Las Vegas now. She says that some who have come to town have been afraid to leave their rooms, and wonʼt ever return.
Itʼs simply unprecedented for the head of a resort company to say anything bad about the industry, or its guests. But things are pretty bad out there now.
I went to the supermarket yesterday. I think itʼs the first time since April.
It looks like theyʼre skipping Halloween this year. There was just one small Halloween display. No aisle dedicated to candy and decorations and such. Pumpkins are only five bucks. I donʼt think Iʼve ever seen a pumpkin for under $15 here. Workers were putting together Thanksgiving and Christmas displays, but those, too, looked small. It seems like the supermarkets are mostly skipping all of the holidays this year.
Maybe because hardly anyone goes to the store anymore. It was almost vacant when I went there on Friday at 6pm. Still, even with no customers, there were still large gaps in the stock. The toilet paper aisle is about ⅓ full, which is an improvement. Still no cleaning supplies, though. Half the deli is empty. No salami or corned beef to be found anywhere, so I had to settle for pastrami. Pasta and soup sections were mostly empty. So were some other sections that I couldnʼt identify because they were not only devoid of product, the store didnʼt even bother to put up price tags.
If I worked for a gambling addiction treatment center, Iʼd set up a table in front of all these casinos that are re-opening to record crowds.
It seems logical that the closer to the front of the line someone is, the more help they need.
Las Vegas locked down is a weird place. With no humans on The Strip, the city is being taken over by waterfowl.
Local media has been showing photos and video of geese and ducks all over the casinos. The theory is that they're attracted by the people-less fountains. Last week, I saw some video of a family of ducks that have made a home in one of the revolving doors of The Bellagio.
The good thing about the plague is that itʼs made things quiet again.
When I first moved to this block, almost all of the homes were military households; mostly Air Force and Nevada National Security Site people (mathematicians, nuclear physicists). Couples, no kids. It was always so silent around here, and I would sit on my bench on the front stoop and read my newspapers in peace.
Then last year all of the military households were relocated en masse. New people moved in. An architect family. A massage therapist family. A guy running some kind of fleaBay business out of his garage. A family from New York via Malawi, Frankfurt, and Copenhagen. Ordinary people and many many kids.
As recently as last weekend, the block was alive after 3pm and on weekends. The guy tinkering on his car. The knot of ladies and their fashion accessory dogs. The guy flying model airplanes and home-made drones at the end of the street. Mexican polka music wafting through the palm trees. And about 20 children running, jumping, throwing things, and playing at murdering one another. Noise. Noise Noise.
Now everyone is afraid to go outside. The block is silent. Once again, the block belongs to me, my newspapers, and my coffee.
Today is January 5th. My neighbors just removed the Halloween pumpkins from their front porch.
One of the things I miss about not working in the office anymore is that I canʼt squeeze in a quick lunchtime mass anymore.
I sometimes used to go to the noon mass at Guardian Angel Cathedral, but it wasnʼt exactly a contemplative atmosphere. Standing room only, and half of it tourists. Thereʼs a special Catholic church just for the tourists, paid for by the casinos, but the tourists still end up at Guardian Angel. I guess being a cathedral, itʼs got more gravity.
I see stories in the media all the time saying that church is dying, but I canʼt help but think this is just a cliché, and not based on facts. Yes, churches in Chicago are closing all the time, but thatʼs because of bad decisions made by the archdiocese in the early 1900ʼs.
Because the various immigrant groups in Chicago couldnʼt get along, instead of having a church for each neighborhood, each neighborhood was given several churches — one for each ethnicity/nationality/community. So, Bridgeport, for example, had a bunch of Catholic churches: one for Germans, one for Poles, one for Lithuanians, one for Irish. But now that everyone gets along, all those churches arenʼt needed, so theyʼre constantly consolidating. The church I went to in Chicago (Assumption) was an Italian church, formed because Italians in that area of town werenʼt welcome at what is now Old Saint Patrickʼs Church.
Here in Las Vegas, and most of the southwest, there simply arenʼt enough Catholic churches for the number of people who want to use them. I go to Saint Elizabeth either for the 4pm Saturday, or the 6am on Sunday, and both times it is absolutely packed. This is a church with a capacity of at least 750, which to me seems pretty big. Iʼve heard from a person I know in Ohio who says itʼs the same situation there.
There are Roman Catholic congregations here that meet in the lyceum of the Lutheran high school down the street, for lack of space. We had a similar situation in Seattle, where the noon mass at the cathedral was so packed that there was another Catholic mass down the street at the Unitarian church.
I feel bad for the people who live in small towns around here. Amargosa Valley and Pioche are 250 miles apart, and have to share a priest, so they only get a single mass every other week. Other towns only get mass once a month. Because of this, we have special dispensation from the Archdiocese of San Francisco to watch mass on TV. The church I go to records a mass on Thursdays that is broadcast state-wide Sunday morning. Thereʼs no communion, naturally, but it still counts somehow.
Every once in a while Las Vegas is invaded by locusts.
There were 37 on the door when I got to work yesterday. Plus eleven more in the lunch room and nine in the hall.
Imagine that. A plague of locusts descending on a city of sinners in the desert. Sounds appropriately Biblical.
6:00am, 43° in the town square. This is how the morning police roll call is done in Las Vegas, New Mexico.
The Great Presidents Day Blizzard of 2019. We will rebuild.
Iʼm glad Iʼm off tomorrow. I donʼt think you can even buy snow tires in this town.
Not my best work, but Iʼm 30 years out of practice.
The kid on me thinks all this snow is awesome.
The adult in me remembers that Nevada has six snow plows for an area the size of New Jersey. And the city of Las Vegas has exactly zero.
Meanwhile, outside my office window, in the middle of traffic…
Yes, reusing plastic shopping bags is one way to save on airline baggage fees when visiting Las Vegas.
But in case your oversized TJMaxx carrier blows out a block from your hotel, disgorging all of your worldly possessions onto sidewalk, you might want to have a Plan B.
This is what happens when a homeless guy watches too much Marie Kondo on Netflix.
At least he has the sense to keep the waffle iron.
I came across this house on my way home from church this morning.
At first I thought it was over the top. But the Chinese dog statue and Bart Simpson really tone it down.
So this guy rolls up on his motorcycle, pulls a suit bag out of his pannier and hangs it in a tree. Then he pulls out a big tub of Windex Wipes and gives himself a full bath — underbits and all — while standing in the parking lot. Then he unzips the suit bag, puts on a tuxedo, and walks away down the street. Ta da!
Always get behind the self-driving cars. Computers know which lane is the fastest.
Self-driving cars in Nevada have special license plates that start with “AU.”
If the coronerʼs office has a gift shop, you might live in Las Vegas.
Yay! The minor league baseball team down the street changed its name, so now we donʼt have the worst logo in baseball history anymore!
Oh, wait…
“Oh, hi!”
In my mind I like to think that the bus driver simply said, “Fuck it. Iʼm out!” and walked away from his bus. But reality is less dramatic.
He probably just died at the wheel.
He picked up the discarded Wild Turkey jug, slurped out the homeless guyʼs backwash, and tossed it aside for the next guy.
Eeeeew!
If your neighborhood Christmas tree display has a tree from the Hooters Casino, you might live in Las Vegas.
When you show up to work on Monday and thereʼs a dead guy at the bus stop outside your window, itʼs either a bad omen for the week ahead, or an indication that things canʼt possibly get worse.
After a long night of walking the streets trying to convince drunk conventioneers that youʼre a woman, it feels good to stretch your kinky boots.
And using a utility pedestal is a handy way to stretch your hamstrings.
Again? Why canʼt women keep their hands off of my tree?
If youʼre fleeing from the police, donʼt try to hide under the bush in front of my office window. Because when the cops catch up to you and you try to run, your purse will get snagged on the branches, and no amount of texting will keep you from being frogmarched down to the curb in handcuffs.
It looks like the neighborhood purse snatcher stepped in something. I guess he deserves it since he has two purses in his hand and three on his back.
Todayʼs lesson from the office window: If you tell the cops that thing they found while frisking you is a harmonica, be prepared to sing and dance.
Back to work day. The window never fails to entertain.
California license plate. Must be a local.
Itʼs nice to be a passenger for a change. Too bad thereʼs nothing to see
If the lady ahead of you in line at the Apple Store to pick up a new iPhone is watching stripper videos on Instagram, you might be in Las Vegas.
I never know which shoes to wear to stand in line at the Apple Store. Iʼm glad someone has confidence in her footwear choices.
Why is it that women keep attacking the tree outside my office window?
This chick hiked up her dress, adjusted her lady parts, and then went to town on the foliage.
After loading up on branches, she strolled off down the street, just like the other one did!
“I just traded my shoes for this speedball. Mind if I shoot up right outside your office window? I don't think the people in the seven lanes of traffic will mind.”
My neighbor across the street is standing in his driveway putting together a brand new, enormous red scythe! Heʼs from Russia, so he really knows how to hammer that sickle!
In other news, there is no Soviet flag emoji.
In other other news, someplace around here sells seven-foot-long scythes!
“Hi, there. Iʼm building a temple to my Earth goddess in the abandoned Burger King across the street, so Iʼm collecting samples of all the trees in the neighborhood to sacrifice in my Gender Studies class. Can I rip some branches off of your tree and put them in my blue bucket? K, thanks! Also, Iʼm high as fuck.”
Construction cones have appeared. Change is in the air.
Charlie Brownʼs kite-eating tree has developed an appetite for hats.
Darcie is becoming a Goonie in 25¢ increments.
“No, Darcie. Keep eating. I'm just taking a picture of my sammitch.”
Darcie took me to the last Carnegie Deli for our anniversary. Sammitches so big I had to back up to take the picture.
We're not Red Sea pedestrians, but we love matzah ball soup and a good knish!
For those of you in states considering legalizing sports betting, this is what you're in for.
× 100.
Day 9: The couch has been called home. Godspeed, Stains McComfortson.
Day 8: itʼs now a smoking couch
Day 7: A guy does a little dance in traffic, then takes off his clothes, puts them on the couch and strides toward the Stratosphere. I think heʼs already there.
Day 4: 11:30am - That moment when you realize that the couch in your living room is less comfortable than a couch discarded along the side of the road
Day 4: 8am. After a good nightʼs rest the couch is ready for another day.
Day 4: 8:15am - Iʼll just leave my baby stroller over there while I sit down on this abandoned couch by the side of the road and have a smoke.
Day 2: 12pm - The healing power of Jesus allows the guy in the mobility scooter to heft the couch out of his way.
Day 2: 11am. A smart guy would have turned the couch the other way so he could get both shade and a comfy nap. Unless he thinks the couch is dirtier than the sidewalk.
Day two: 8am
Outside the supermarket: an entire articulated transit bus wrapped with 12-foot-high letters spelling out “Gonorrhea Alert!”
Inside the supermarket: An announcement on the P.A. system letting me know that I can make child support payments while I shop.
Iʼve got to move to a better neighborhood.
This is what happens when real estate developers run out of names.
“Yeah, hello, Pizza Hut guy? Yeah, take a left on Spiced Butter Rum, then a right on Macadamia Nut, then a left on Frapuccino… *click* Hello?”
Five hours to kill at the airport. I guess Iʼll be the only person to ever go into the aviation museum.
This is why four weeks a year it is not a good idea to take your phone to The Strip. I keep mine off at work while these hacker conferences are going on.
And then there are days when you show up for work and the city is installing 40-foot-tall light-up neon showgirls on the sidewalk. This city is a slave to Instygram.
Weʼve been pretty lucky this summer. It looks like our luck is about to run out.
This morning my egg formed itself into a perfect circle. And I donʼt even own a ring mold.
Itʼs also Red Flag week on the other side of town. Coincidence?
This is what happens when you let Jerry Lewis eat breakfast in your diner too often.
Searching for a new butcher this morning, I was reminded once again that you can get anything in Vegas. Anything.
So if anyone needs any coyote chops, bobcat stew meat, peacock thighs, lion fish filets, or otter steaks, I know a place.
Also, guinea pig nards (apparently suitable for slow cookers) are $19.99 a set. A SET!
Ordinarily Iʼd say that the technical director double-punched. But who am I kidding? In this marker, the director probably punches his own shows.
Telling the barista that your name is “Vegas Strong” so they have to yell “Vegas Strong!” across the coffee shop when your drink is ready was cool for the first couple of weeks after the massacre. But now that everyone does it, nobody knows whoʼs drink is whose.
There are only two occasions in life when you get to use the word "bevy." Quails and bathing beauties.
Guess which one ran in front of my car today.
Since I live in Las Vegas, the answer may not be as easy as it seems.
If a steakhouse has an oil painting of the mayor and her mob lawyer husband on the wall over their regular booth, itʼs probably a good steakhouse.
If a steakhouse has brass plaques identifying the regular tables of people from Frank Sinatra to Mario Andretti, itʼs probably a very good steakhouse.
But do you know how you can tell if a steakhouse is an excellent steakhouse? Creamed spinach, baby!
Iʼm at a Starbucks on the Las Vegas Strip. A couple of tourists at the next table figure it will take them about two hours to drive to San Francisco from here.
San Francisco is 528 miles away.
Maybe they drive a rocket sled.
This is what happens when the Space Needle and the Stratosphere get it on.
