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
August is the reason the French refer to September as “reentry.”
Like some Old World countries, the Belle Republique takes a month off after the bombast and celebrations of July. Americans should do that here in the New World but wouldn’t this just be the thing to interrupt our motorcycle rallies and guns shows? Besides, we must grudge the notion of vacation. Isn’t it a national trait? Instead of seeing time off as deserved, ah, earned, business and our hamsters on wheels go-getting natures insist we disdain time away from the millstone.
That’s just wrong. Continue reading Long. Languid. Like August.
The title to this post is what I sought and found in Las Vegas. Many ask why I relocated to Nevada from New York. Too many surmise taxes, the weather, or crime chased me out of civilization. Not at all.
Of course, the tax rate is higher back East but services are extensive. Taxes are low out West but just looking around informs of a deficient society compared to what was left. Continue reading A Nice Soft Spot
Nothing inspires the ire of parochial Nevadans more than California. The Pacific Coast state enflames their passions, though in contrary ways.
Nevada and California, sage and eucalyptus. Continue reading Irksome Money
Valentine’s Day dumped a fine example of why I dissuade any high-tech venture curious about moving itself from a relatively expensive site to Las Vegas. This part of the Mojave suffered a power outage. One starting early Saturday afternoon and lingering in some neighborhoods into late Sunday. Who knows? Reluctant as the power company is to fully inform, the blackouts might straggle into Monday.
All because of high gales, not Hurricane Sandy.
These disruptions occur frequently enough to make them issues to consider. Continue reading My Rancid Valentine
The Singing Monument
Met a fellow staying at El Cortez. He was in his late 20s, just on the cusp of grasping the ways of the world. Or so I incorrectly presumed. Continue reading Two from Las Vegas
On Father’s Day 2019, I performed an act my own late father might’ve considered sacrilegious. I attended a Dodgers game in Chavez Ravine.
To mitigate my baseball transgression I cheered for the visitors not the home nine.
Father was a Brooklyn Dodgers man through and through. The Los Angeles Dodgers could never have engaged his rooting interest. Continue reading Keeping True
For the first time in my five years here in Nevada, the Yuletide has had a joyous feel. Not that the locals have brightened up the Mojave with glitter and approaches which correspond to the merriment derived from the period’s significance. After all, it remains bizarre seeing Christmas lights decorating palm trees. Continue reading The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Old Paint was wheezing harder than usual. After all the part swapping, repairs, and just general babying of that car, what finally forced my hand was a check engine light. Sure. It could’ve been a fouled sensor. Or maybe it might’ve been the first sign of the head gasket preparing to crack.
In any case, I read the yellow dashboard light as a clear warning from the gearhead gods. It became the straw which broke my camel’s back. Continue reading Old Paint Was a Lemon
Part of the job requires faking civility to visitors determined to be the biggest assholes as possible. It can’t be helped. It’s in their nature. Continue reading Schmendrick