Only in America is free time frowned upon. No matter how deserved. Anytime I read or hear about a cubicle slave or some other automaton bound to his/her job by invisible chains, I say, “Poor sap.”
Where else but America do workers “brag” about their unused vacation days? Of course, where else but here do employers also grudge awarding those days which have been earned?
Deferring purchases is often wise. Deferring vacation days robs our humanity. Continue reading Water Finds Its Own Level
Not a lot of quiet reflection in Las Vegas. This really isn’t the place for that. The environment is unsuited for contemplation or reassessment.
In Las Vegas, that takes effort. So, even thinking twice is a rarity here. Continue reading Wassail!
After Hamas attacked Israel, it took no foresight to know that America’s much vaunted First Amendment was going to get a harder workout. Not from informed debate, which assumes both parties can actually support their positions. But from the decline of discourse in our nation. Continue reading Dogs Bark. The Caravan Rolls On.
Leave it to Americans to give our Saturnalia a wholesome name. Thanksgiving. Continue reading Where the Skies Are Cloudy All Day
Pro-Palestinian/anti-Israel demonstrations roiling our college campuses and city streets have manifested into the sort of antisemitism Americans would’ve believed ourselves immune. That these moils are predominated by a generation we will bequeath this nation portends badly for our country’s future. Continue reading Generation Harangue
During the three-day period of November 16th-18th, Las Vegas may experience terrific examples of faulty vision leading to lousy execution. If so, these will become prime lessons in reputable urban planning programs throughout America.
Lessons in what to avoid.
In November, the Big Mayberry will host a Grand Prix Formula One race. The first of what’s now scheduled as annual occurrences. The 2023 version portends to be Fiasco One. Continue reading Slapdash and Slipshod
Relocating to Las Vegas has given me greater appreciation of classical music. Growing up, many compositions heard today often provided the ambience to my 1960s boyhood in Quarropas, New York.
Besides the expected rhythm and blues records mother selected for our turntable, she also purchased 120 Music Masterpieces. If you’re old enough you should recall John Williams, the plummy English actor not Star Wars movies composer, who pitched them. Classical orchestrations filled this four-album compilation. If remembered correctly, mother usually had these spinning while cleaning house.
For some reason I still hear them best from summertime. Likely being home from elementary school on summer vacation increased these observances. Amazing how she could make and leave me lunch in the icebox before going to work, then return home after a full day of toil and freshen our home.
Now I can fully appreciate her efforts. Then it was simply “normal.” That is if the younger me ever contemplated it. Oh, quite unlikely. Continue reading Let the Music Play
No way I ever saw myself relocating from New York to Las Vegas. But that’s why it’s called “life,” not “sure thing.”
As I’ve written elsewhere, after cushy foundations in New York fell apart, I needed a nice soft spot to land. Ten years ago in August, Las Vegas became that new cushion. Continue reading Ten Years Forward
After the first commemoration of the September 11th attacks, I started observing them with less rigor.
I’d known World Trade Center victims. Hard not to have if one was a New Yorker. Several were work acquaintances. Two were social acquaintances. Stat Man and the Michigan Guy. The first I’d known over 10 years, the second maybe 14 months at most. Yet both have settled in the same firmament of memory. Continue reading Some Days Before
Ennui. Estrangement. Existentialism? L’Avventura.
The 1960 Italian movie is populated by figures who are unmoored in the modern world. They drift maybe searching for new anchorages or are just content to keep meandering until running aground.
An ideal movie to watch again during the last languor of summer. Which is when the story reveals itself. Continue reading Too Cool for This Room