In Florida, I learned about Ponce de Leon, and the Fountain of Youth, and St. Augustine in my history classes. But there I was in South Florida, and there was St. Augustine in Northeast Florida. I could read about it, but I couldn't readily see it. We went there sometimes during my childhood, but the last time I could remember going was when I was reaching my late teens, when my paternal grandparents were with us on that trip, and even then it was relatively brief, although I do remember seeing the fort. But if I wanted to know more about it beyond those visits, there were the books. We didn't always have reason to go back and if it was a choice between that or Walt Disney World today, I would choose Walt Disney World first and then see if there was time later to travel on up to St. Augustine.
The biggest disappointment of moving from South Florida to Southern California, before nine years' existence in Southern California became the biggest disappointment, was that I only got to see Tallahassee, my state capital, once, and that was when we were driving out of Florida. That's where the legislature meets and that's where the governor's mansion is. I don't think I saw the governor's mansion on the way out, but I saw the Capitol. And that's all I saw of my seat of state government. In years to come, I want to go back to visit, to see how my old haunts have changed, and I'd like to see Tallahassee again, to spend more time, to have a closer look at what remained far away as we drove by.
It's because of that missed opportunity that I hold more dearly to me the pleasure of having history nearby in Las Vegas, some in Henderson, and in Boulder City. Mostly Boulder City, since it's my favorite place in Southern Nevada. I have here a book called Hoover Dam & Boulder City by Marion V. Allen, whose family lived in Boulder City, and who also worked on the construction of Hoover Dam (Boulder Dam back then). I always love receiving books from the Boulder City library because it's my favorite in the entire Las Vegas-Clark County Library District, although it operates differently in many ways from the rest of the libraries in that cluster, with a separate website for one, and you're given two extra days with any books you receive from that branch because of the distance. Boulder City is close enough to Las Vegas, closer to Henderson, but when you drive there, it feels like a different world, higher up in the mountains. Unlike the trapped feeling I always got in Santa Clarita, there's so much more to see here, so much more to wonder about.
Besides reading Hoover Dam & Boulder City out of my fervent desire to know more about the history of all that's around me, I'm looking for more information about Boulder City manager Sims Ely, who ran the town single-handedly during the construction of Hoover Dam. He was hired by the government to do so, to be sure that their investment did not go to waste, and I think there's more history of him to be found, more stories that should be told. To some, he was a despot, but that may be only because he didn't allow gambling or alcohol inside Boulder City. He strikes me as having been fair-minded, but there's not as much to be found about him as there should be. I hope to rectify that in time.
But more than any of that, I love reading about living conditions in Boulder City and Hoover Dam construction and know that I have been to both. I read these details and I know exactly what's being referenced, where it is, and what it looks like today. I'm not good yet with directions in Boulder City, which streets intersect and the easiest way to get to the Boulder City library, but I'll get there. I have lots of time for that. To be able to go to those scenes of history, to be there and remember what I have read and picture it right there is new to me. As mentioned, I didn't have the chance all that often in Florida, and there was very little history of Southern California that I cared to know, outside of Buena Park and Anaheim, and even then, I didn't get as deep into Buena Park, where other history might have been. So this is pretty much all new to me, always fascinating, and I don't think it will ever waver. Nor will the sheer novelty of the California-Nevada border being merely 35 minutes away, albeit with long stretches of road empty on both sides. Both my parents came from New York and therefore it was nothing to them to go into New Jersey or Connecticut and back again. The biggest thing for me in Florida in terms of travel like that was that it took only an hour to get from the east side of the state to the west side, from Pembroke Pines, where we lived many years before we moved, to Naples. Only an hour! And yet, there were no states to cross until you get to Northern Florida, and then out. The only time I had ever crossed borders was from the air, when we flew on Delta from Ft. Lauderdale to Newark in 1994, and all I noticed were mountains we flew over. I didn't even think of borders.
Now, when we're in Primm, especially at the lotto store to the left of the Fashion Outlets of Las Vegas, I can look right out at the roads and see the border and the signs right there, one welcoming drivers to California on the right, and the other welcoming drivers to Nevada on the left. That I can see that, and I can see where history happened wherever I want, and see what it is today and if aspects of that history have been preserved (beyond Hoover Dam, of course, and the Boulder City/Hoover Dam Museum all the way in the back on the second floor of the Boulder Dam Hotel), at times means more to me than seeing the Strip just as often. I love knowing that others have been here before me and I always want to know what brought them there and how they reacted when they first saw it, and what they wanted to do when they got here, what they were looking for. Just another way of knowing that I really am home.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Milk at a Buffet
No matter if it's the Firelight Buffet at Sam's Town, Feast Buffet at Palace Station (Only that one time. It was awful enough to never want to go again), the International Buffet at Terrible's, or any other buffet I haven't been to yet in Las Vegas or Henderson, my drink order is the same: Milk. Always milk.
(There have been only two exceptions. Milk didn't seem appropriate at the pricey, utterly luxurious Wicked Spoon buffet at the Cosmopolitan, and I wanted to see how their iced tea was. Iced tea can tell a lot about a restaurant or a buffet, and they did it right at Wicked Spoon. Conversely, the iced tea at the Wild West Buffet at Arizona Charlie's on Boulder Highway tastes like it was brewed in a urinal, and the buffet was just as bad, only the pork stuffing coming through unscathed).
I love milk, especially Shamrock Farms' 2% Reduced Fat, surprisingly over anything my local Anderson Dairy offers, all of which tastes like water, except for their chocolate milk. Even their own 2% Reduced Fat milk is nothing more than white water. But I don't have milk all that often. For my cereal, I use Silk Soymilk. It holds longer than milk, which is convenient since I usually only have it once a day.
But at a buffet, it has to be milk for me. It's my tribute to Archie Goodwin, able legman and housemate to the sizable seventh-of-a-ton person that is Nero Wolfe in Rex Stout's series of novels. Goodwin loves milk. At any opportunity, even while on a case, he has it. It's one of his defining characteristics, besides his occasional frustration with what he sees as Wolfe's obstinacy, but is really Wolfe pursuing an avenue of thought that Goodwin hadn't considered yet, which may well be the one that keeps them in the black, and Wolfe in orchids and gourmet food, and certainly Goodwin in milk.
Since Wolfe never leaves their New York City brownstone, and never willingly when he's forced to, it's up to Goodwin to pursue what's on Wolfe's mind in a case, to interview witnesses, to catch the suspects that Wolfe deems are the suspects they want. And then when it almost seems hopeless, Wolfe has the solution.
I like this duo. I like their interplay, I like that when Archie is frustrated with Wolfe, there's still respect there. And I so love Wolfe's well-thought out reasoning that shows why he's a genius at solving cases. A buffet is a bounty of food, just like Wolfe solving the latest case produces a bounty of cash for the expensive running of his household. Therefore, milk at a buffet seems appropriate for me, not least because it brings Archie Goodwin there with me, and reminds me of that brownstone and the many happy times I've spent there so far and the times still to come.
(There have been only two exceptions. Milk didn't seem appropriate at the pricey, utterly luxurious Wicked Spoon buffet at the Cosmopolitan, and I wanted to see how their iced tea was. Iced tea can tell a lot about a restaurant or a buffet, and they did it right at Wicked Spoon. Conversely, the iced tea at the Wild West Buffet at Arizona Charlie's on Boulder Highway tastes like it was brewed in a urinal, and the buffet was just as bad, only the pork stuffing coming through unscathed).
I love milk, especially Shamrock Farms' 2% Reduced Fat, surprisingly over anything my local Anderson Dairy offers, all of which tastes like water, except for their chocolate milk. Even their own 2% Reduced Fat milk is nothing more than white water. But I don't have milk all that often. For my cereal, I use Silk Soymilk. It holds longer than milk, which is convenient since I usually only have it once a day.
But at a buffet, it has to be milk for me. It's my tribute to Archie Goodwin, able legman and housemate to the sizable seventh-of-a-ton person that is Nero Wolfe in Rex Stout's series of novels. Goodwin loves milk. At any opportunity, even while on a case, he has it. It's one of his defining characteristics, besides his occasional frustration with what he sees as Wolfe's obstinacy, but is really Wolfe pursuing an avenue of thought that Goodwin hadn't considered yet, which may well be the one that keeps them in the black, and Wolfe in orchids and gourmet food, and certainly Goodwin in milk.
Since Wolfe never leaves their New York City brownstone, and never willingly when he's forced to, it's up to Goodwin to pursue what's on Wolfe's mind in a case, to interview witnesses, to catch the suspects that Wolfe deems are the suspects they want. And then when it almost seems hopeless, Wolfe has the solution.
I like this duo. I like their interplay, I like that when Archie is frustrated with Wolfe, there's still respect there. And I so love Wolfe's well-thought out reasoning that shows why he's a genius at solving cases. A buffet is a bounty of food, just like Wolfe solving the latest case produces a bounty of cash for the expensive running of his household. Therefore, milk at a buffet seems appropriate for me, not least because it brings Archie Goodwin there with me, and reminds me of that brownstone and the many happy times I've spent there so far and the times still to come.
Saturday, May 4, 2013
The Word of Law Filtered Through the Great-Grandson
In the past two days, I have finished Gideon's Trumpet by Anthony Lewis, about the Supreme Court case in 1963 that led to legal representation for those who can't afford an attorney. I've been inspired by John Houseman's wonderfully modest performance as Earl Warren in the TV movie adaptation, enough to want to read about Warren's life, hoping he was really that way (In the one scene that inspired me, Warren walks into the room where his clerks are and calls out, "Ken?" Arthur, one of his other clerks, rises and says, "Mr. Chief Justice," and so does another clerk, besides Ken too, and Warren says, "Don't stand up, don't stand up."). And I've just finished Out of Order: Stories from the History of the Supreme Court by Sandra Day O'Connor. I am not a lawyer, nor do I have any desire to become one.
And yet, I am interested in the Supreme Court, in the federal courts, and in some of the lower courts, including my Nevada Supreme Court and my former Florida Supreme Court, as well as other courts extant in both states. A couple years ago in Southern California, when my father went to court to get the spelling of his name legally changed to ward off problems brought on by a criminal with the same name as him, including the no-fly list and a few financial issues, there were two cases ahead of him in the courtroom we were in, and I was fascinated by the procedures, so absorbed in them.
This is all due to my late maternal great-grandfather, Zeide as I knew him, who was a lawyer, as I learned from my mom when I grew up. She also told me that when I was a baby, he used to have me on his lap while he watched his beloved boxing matches on TV. This may be what led to me writing recaps of fantasy boxing matches for a website I've long forgotten, in the early days of the Internet, or my early days of it anyway. I'm not sure if his love of boxing inspired me to take that on, or if it was deep in the back of my mind and clanged when I found that opportunity, but I think it might be in my genes because I don't remember thinking about it at all when I found it. I haven't been interested in boxing since, though. I think it only cropped up that one time to gauge my interest and then disappeared.
According to Mom, who I believe because it sounded like Zeide had a caring nature and I strive to emulate that on top of my own, he was a devoted, honest lawyer who wanted what his clients wanted and worked his hardest to seek that particular outcome for them, whatever it might have been. He also had an extensive law library in the house where my mom grew up (she was raised by him and her grandmother, my great-grandmother of course, who I also unfortunately don't remember), and in fact, a year and a half ago, I ordered United States Reports Vol. 515 from the Government Printing Office, which had a low price of, well, I want to say $7.50, but it may have been slightly higher. But being on sale at that price, for 1,323 pages, I wanted to see what one of these volumes looked like, and to read it too. The full title is Cases Adjudged in the Supreme Court at October Term, 1994. This was back when William H. Rehnquist was Chief Justice and John Paul Stevens and David H. Souter, one of my favorite justices, were on the Court. When Mom saw it, she said, "I saw those in Zeide's library!"
My love of presidential history naturally includes forays into Congress and the Supreme Court, because all the branches of government interact. So of course I'd read about those battles and those rarest of rare Kumbaya moments, but being most passionate about the presidency, why would I explore the Supreme Court beyond what I read about it within the presidency?
It had to be in my genes once again. Otherwise, why would I go there when there's the White House, Air Force One, the Oval Office, the White House movie theater, foreign policy decisions, domestic policy, and so much else to explore that may well take the rest of my life?
It wasn't only Zeide's influence, most likely from his genes reaching through my mom to me. Here's the presidency, big and at times boisterous, facing the world head-on. Here's Congress, mostly boisterous. And then here's the Supreme Court, which, while it decides cases of potentially historical stature, seems so quiet. The justices do their work quietly. There are no cameras allowed during arguments in the courtroom. There are only transcripts and audio after the cases are argued, and then there are the written opinions released after they, or portions of them, have been read from the bench. In short, it's the perfect place for me.
The Supreme Court reminds me of my beloved libraries. In books at least, I can explore any aspect of them I want to, and I can have a fine, quiet, peaceful time while doing so. I visit SCOTUSblog every day to see what's going on at the Court and to find links to commentaries and concise, open explanation about that activity, as well as be surprised by some of the books coming out about the Court that I hadn't heard of before. That's how I found out about The Roberts Court: The Struggle for the Constitution by Marcia Coyle, which I of course ordered. I want to read it and I don't want to wait for my local library to get it in, not least because I'm not sure how often I'm going to be able to use the Las Vegas-Clark County Library District after we move, at least before I get a car, being that the few libraries in Henderson are all run by Henderson Libraries, totally separate from the LVCCLD. That doesn't mean you can't use both library cards. Wherever you live, you can get a Henderson library card if you want, but you can only obviously use it at the Henderson libraries. And I don't know how many holds I can expect for The Roberts Court. The listing in the LVCCLD catalog shows that there are four copies ordered for the entire district, but no holds so far. Even so, even after the book is released, it still takes time for the book to get to the district and then be processed and fitted with a barcode and then to be sent from the central location where books are processed, wherever that is, to be sent to those libraries, or to be sent from there to fulfill any requests at other libraries, which may well have been mine, but you see why I don't want to wait. It's about the Supreme Court. I don't want to wait. Some books I just have to have right away.
I am flummoxed by many of the legal theories posed in the books I read, and in the technical details of many of the cases presented to the Supreme Court, but that doesn't stop me. Nor does it stop my curiosity about the federal courts and the lower courts. Plus, I'm also interested in the writing quality of the Supreme Court justices, including the justices on the Nevada Supreme Court and the Florida Supreme Court. I've read a few of those opinions. Good so far, but some of them get tangled up in their legal vines. (I hate saying it like that, but it's true in some cases.) But the ruling stands, and that's what matters most in these courts.
I don't expect to be a legal expert, but remembering my experience waiting in that courtoom for my dad's name change, and my grandfather apparently doing much good in the law, I like reading about all of this. It's not only those, though. I love the silence to think while I read, to learn more about these laws, undoubtedly with less pressure than law school students go through, which is why learning it this way is for me and why I don't want to attend college again. I don't like classrooms and scheduled times to learn. Give me my books and I'll learn it. I'm happiest learning on my own, just like the Supreme Court justices do that sometimes-momentous work on their own. No influences, supposedly. No outside noise, well, not that they can hear in chambers. No interruptions. It's another library for me. I can spend years in here, and I will. I don't know if my grandfather actually read all those books in his law library, but I've a feeling he did. I'm sure the curiosity he had toward the law is the same curiosity I have. That's the only way to explain it. I'm not doing it for him, but I'm proud to follow him in that respect.
And yet, I am interested in the Supreme Court, in the federal courts, and in some of the lower courts, including my Nevada Supreme Court and my former Florida Supreme Court, as well as other courts extant in both states. A couple years ago in Southern California, when my father went to court to get the spelling of his name legally changed to ward off problems brought on by a criminal with the same name as him, including the no-fly list and a few financial issues, there were two cases ahead of him in the courtroom we were in, and I was fascinated by the procedures, so absorbed in them.
This is all due to my late maternal great-grandfather, Zeide as I knew him, who was a lawyer, as I learned from my mom when I grew up. She also told me that when I was a baby, he used to have me on his lap while he watched his beloved boxing matches on TV. This may be what led to me writing recaps of fantasy boxing matches for a website I've long forgotten, in the early days of the Internet, or my early days of it anyway. I'm not sure if his love of boxing inspired me to take that on, or if it was deep in the back of my mind and clanged when I found that opportunity, but I think it might be in my genes because I don't remember thinking about it at all when I found it. I haven't been interested in boxing since, though. I think it only cropped up that one time to gauge my interest and then disappeared.
According to Mom, who I believe because it sounded like Zeide had a caring nature and I strive to emulate that on top of my own, he was a devoted, honest lawyer who wanted what his clients wanted and worked his hardest to seek that particular outcome for them, whatever it might have been. He also had an extensive law library in the house where my mom grew up (she was raised by him and her grandmother, my great-grandmother of course, who I also unfortunately don't remember), and in fact, a year and a half ago, I ordered United States Reports Vol. 515 from the Government Printing Office, which had a low price of, well, I want to say $7.50, but it may have been slightly higher. But being on sale at that price, for 1,323 pages, I wanted to see what one of these volumes looked like, and to read it too. The full title is Cases Adjudged in the Supreme Court at October Term, 1994. This was back when William H. Rehnquist was Chief Justice and John Paul Stevens and David H. Souter, one of my favorite justices, were on the Court. When Mom saw it, she said, "I saw those in Zeide's library!"
My love of presidential history naturally includes forays into Congress and the Supreme Court, because all the branches of government interact. So of course I'd read about those battles and those rarest of rare Kumbaya moments, but being most passionate about the presidency, why would I explore the Supreme Court beyond what I read about it within the presidency?
It had to be in my genes once again. Otherwise, why would I go there when there's the White House, Air Force One, the Oval Office, the White House movie theater, foreign policy decisions, domestic policy, and so much else to explore that may well take the rest of my life?
It wasn't only Zeide's influence, most likely from his genes reaching through my mom to me. Here's the presidency, big and at times boisterous, facing the world head-on. Here's Congress, mostly boisterous. And then here's the Supreme Court, which, while it decides cases of potentially historical stature, seems so quiet. The justices do their work quietly. There are no cameras allowed during arguments in the courtroom. There are only transcripts and audio after the cases are argued, and then there are the written opinions released after they, or portions of them, have been read from the bench. In short, it's the perfect place for me.
The Supreme Court reminds me of my beloved libraries. In books at least, I can explore any aspect of them I want to, and I can have a fine, quiet, peaceful time while doing so. I visit SCOTUSblog every day to see what's going on at the Court and to find links to commentaries and concise, open explanation about that activity, as well as be surprised by some of the books coming out about the Court that I hadn't heard of before. That's how I found out about The Roberts Court: The Struggle for the Constitution by Marcia Coyle, which I of course ordered. I want to read it and I don't want to wait for my local library to get it in, not least because I'm not sure how often I'm going to be able to use the Las Vegas-Clark County Library District after we move, at least before I get a car, being that the few libraries in Henderson are all run by Henderson Libraries, totally separate from the LVCCLD. That doesn't mean you can't use both library cards. Wherever you live, you can get a Henderson library card if you want, but you can only obviously use it at the Henderson libraries. And I don't know how many holds I can expect for The Roberts Court. The listing in the LVCCLD catalog shows that there are four copies ordered for the entire district, but no holds so far. Even so, even after the book is released, it still takes time for the book to get to the district and then be processed and fitted with a barcode and then to be sent from the central location where books are processed, wherever that is, to be sent to those libraries, or to be sent from there to fulfill any requests at other libraries, which may well have been mine, but you see why I don't want to wait. It's about the Supreme Court. I don't want to wait. Some books I just have to have right away.
I am flummoxed by many of the legal theories posed in the books I read, and in the technical details of many of the cases presented to the Supreme Court, but that doesn't stop me. Nor does it stop my curiosity about the federal courts and the lower courts. Plus, I'm also interested in the writing quality of the Supreme Court justices, including the justices on the Nevada Supreme Court and the Florida Supreme Court. I've read a few of those opinions. Good so far, but some of them get tangled up in their legal vines. (I hate saying it like that, but it's true in some cases.) But the ruling stands, and that's what matters most in these courts.
I don't expect to be a legal expert, but remembering my experience waiting in that courtoom for my dad's name change, and my grandfather apparently doing much good in the law, I like reading about all of this. It's not only those, though. I love the silence to think while I read, to learn more about these laws, undoubtedly with less pressure than law school students go through, which is why learning it this way is for me and why I don't want to attend college again. I don't like classrooms and scheduled times to learn. Give me my books and I'll learn it. I'm happiest learning on my own, just like the Supreme Court justices do that sometimes-momentous work on their own. No influences, supposedly. No outside noise, well, not that they can hear in chambers. No interruptions. It's another library for me. I can spend years in here, and I will. I don't know if my grandfather actually read all those books in his law library, but I've a feeling he did. I'm sure the curiosity he had toward the law is the same curiosity I have. That's the only way to explain it. I'm not doing it for him, but I'm proud to follow him in that respect.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Save 80 Bucks. Audition for Wheel of Fortune.
The renamed Venetian Theatre was where Phantom - The Las Vegas Spectacular performed for six years. The centerpiece chandelier, which fell during every performance, is now permanently locked into the ceiling, its computer programming long since disconnected. It's not the first thing I noticed in the somber, gothic-themed, weighted-with-ghosts theater at 11:40 last Saturday morning, but the reminder was there when I looked up at it, along with the knowledge that preeminent Broadway director Hal Prince stood in this theater many times.
The theater had been remodeled since the show closed, with more seats extending to the stage, which I don't think could have been done before. The music of the night needed more room.
I wondered where the Phantom was now, what he was doing now. After the show closed, Anthony Crivello, our Phantom, went back to Broadway to audition, and I think he landed in one show. Maybe he's still in that show or maybe that show closed too. Nevertheless, he was a great supporter of Las Vegas like former Playboy Playmate Holly Madison, even gamely appearing on Wheel of Fortune during those Phantom years, whenever it was in Las Vegas for a few weeks.
Tim McGraw and Faith Hill's Soul2Soul is there now for a little while longer. Then they'll leave and be replaced with Priscilla Queen of the Desert. I don't know if the balcony seating on both sides of the theater is still used (I couldn't see the seats up there, if there were any), but with those offerings, I don't think they need to. There had been some buzz about Soul2Soul before it started, naturally. But it doesn't sound like it was a major hit. McGraw and Hill don't live here, instead flying in when it's time to perform on weekends, and that's understandable because they have other business in their careers to attend to.
I think if the box office take had been monstrous, Venetian officials would have tried to entice them with everything they could have ever wanted to stay longer. And guaranteed, Vegas Deluxe (www.vegasdeluxe.com), led by Robin Leach, would have had all the details of those negotiations. But there's nothing. As it is, the only big thing besides the impending remodel of the outside of New York-New York to build a park modeled on Madison Square Park, with shops and restaurants and a Hershey store, connecting it and the Monte Carlo and to an eventual 20,000-seat sports stadium, is that Olivia Newton-John will begin her mini-residency at the Flamingo possibly at the start of summer, performing when Donny & Marie aren't.
It's said that Tim McGraw wants to go back out on tour, and that's reasonable, but I don't think this show is going to come back. There's no word on what will follow the limited run of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, though that box office take will likely determine if they extend it, but I think they need something fresh, what with the Strip beginning to change in various places, such as the old Sahara becoming SLS Las Vegas next year, and an Asian-themed resort called Resorts World Las Vegas under construction for a 2016 opening.
But at that moment, at 11:40 in the morning, I'm sitting in a mostly empty row, across from an exit, next to Meridith, Dad and Mom. We're part of the audience for auditions for Wheel of Fortune. We filled out the small yellow applications outside the theater, while waiting in line, and dropped them in the tall box outside the theater. As we learn from the Jim Carrey-influenced, pop culture-loving host, whose name I've long forgotten, the applications are placed in a wire mesh drum and spun around and around, with applications chosen at random. Those names called go on stage, first backstage to sign in and have their photo taken. Then they stand on one of the five X's placed diagonally. The host interviews them, asking about their jobs, their hobbies, their passions, and it's there that they must be at their most enthusiastic, their most charismatic because that's what they're looking for in future contestants. Those contestants on stage would find out in two months either by a letter in the mail or by e-mail that they've been invited to the final auditions in Las Vegas. If they make it through those, they're on the show. Factoring in 6 weeks of shows being taped in July and August, which is five shows in a week (taped in one day, of course, which means the production will be here for six days), that's 30 shows. Three contestants per show is 90 contestants total. The odds are long, but we are in Las Vegas. We still hope.
Then the host spins the wheel on stage to determine what prize all the contestants will get (t-shirt, hat, mini-pack with a black shoulder strap and a keychain and "blinky pin," as the host called it, inside; or a "Surprise" that includes all those prizes and either a duffel bag or a smaller cooler bag), and then the contestants play the Speed-Up Round, which is the round when time's running out on the show and Pat Sajak gives the wheel a final spin, led by Morgan Matthews, who fills the Vanna White role for the Wheelmobile events.
The first show began and the host introduced himself and explained all this, and then introduced Morgan Matthews, who spun the drum and took out the first five applications, handing each to the host as she went along. I was surprised when Dad was called to the stage, and then I was called right after him, causing the host to comment, "A double shot of Aronskys!"
Originally, I didn't want to audition. When Mom heard about the Wheelmobile coming to the Venetian, Meridith immediately wanted to, and then Dad did too. I didn't, because while I'm not a stiff personality, I'm not that charismatic or demonstrative. I can get lively in conversation, but usually with one other person or a small group of people. It was Dad and Meridith's thing, not mine.
But then, I went to see Jeff Bridges, one of my heroes, in concert on Friday night at the Chrome Showroom at Santa Fe Station. Front row seat. Well worth the price ($88.50 via Ticketmaster, immediately when tickets went on sale), and my seat was right where Jeff Bridges stood while he played his guitars and sang, and directly in front of the keyboard on which he performed a few songs, including two from The Big Lebowski. When he played that keyboard and sang, he loomed over me at that angle and I watched him the entire time, his eyes closed throughout most of the songs he sang at that keyboard. I was in awe of the clear passion he had for his music, and on the way home, thinking about all that Jeff Bridges does in taking photos on the sets of his movies, drawing, writing his first book with Bernie Glassman, his Zen master, working to eliminate childhood hunger, attending Zen conventions, making movies of course, and now music, I thought to myself that I wanted to be a renaissance man at 63 years old like he is. But then I thought, "Why not start now?" I decided in the car that I would sign up for the chance to audition for Wheel of Fortune, but not for the purpose of becoming a renaissance man like Jeff Bridges. Mom has been watching Wheel of Fortune since Chuck Woolery hosted from 1975 to 1981. I wanted to increase our chances of getting tickets for at least one of the tapings, besides fighting like hell to get them when they become available in June, so why not increase them three-fold?
When I dashed down the steps to the stage after my name was called, following Dad as he did the same, I felt like I wasn't in my body. Was this real? Was this actually happening? I thought Meridith would be called first. She wanted it the most. But there I was, reaching the stage after figuring out how to get there, since there was a curtain in front of me that I thought led backstage (I didn't go behind it, though), and then three stairs immediately leading to the stage. I took the latter and was led backstage to a long table to sign in and then one of the production assistants, wearing a shirt that said "Spin This.", took a photo of me. Before that, I joked, "This is better than the DMV!"
I took my place on stage, the last "X", closest to the audience. I waited as the first three contestants were interviewed by the host, and then Dad, and I was a little nervous. But once called upon by the host, I went up there, told him and the audience that I'm a substitute elementary school library assistant in the Clark County School District, hoping for a full-time position. He asked me what I like to do, and I said, "Reading, writing, movies, pinball, presidential history and....more movies." (I think I got it all, because that comprises my life.) He zeroed in on presidential history, asking me who my favorite president is. "43 presidents and you want to know right now who my favorite president is?" I joked to him. In hindsight, I know there are 44, but I blanked by one.
I quickly thought about it and said "William Howard Taft," mainly because I'm reading about him right now and he does fascinate me. The host asked why and I said, "Because he didn't want to be president. He wanted to be Chief Justice of the United States and later on, he got his dream when Warren G. Harding nominated him and..." I'm not the lecturing type, but maybe I was still a little nervous because the host sensed I was going on too long and amiably moved me along with, "He really knows his presidents." I didn't mind that he moved me along since he had a show to run. I wished I could have compressed Taft's history fast enough, including the fact that he ran for president because his wife, Helen "Nellie" Taft, wanted to be First Lady, and he was devoted to her. I knew I couldn't include the fact that Taft was responsible for the Supreme Court building as we know it today, wanting a separate, grand building for this separate branch of the government, but he died before it was completed. That would have been impossible, but I wanted to get to Harding nominating Taft to be Chief Justice. Nervousness overpowers all, though, even when you don't actually feel nervous while on stage.
The puzzle began. The category was "Event." I think I guessed "L" or "M," but neither were in the puzzle. I knew what it was about a minute later, but the host was back to the beginning of the row and the fourth person before me in the row solved it: "Toga Party." As the host put it, just because you're on stage does not guarantee you a final audition, and just because you solved the puzzle does not guarantee you a final audition. They're looking for the whole package, with charisma, energy, and puzzle-solving ability all together, which flummoxed Mom after we had left the Venetian later in the day because all the time that she's watched the show, most of those people seem very subdued, so she doesn't know exactly what they're looking for if they seem all the same.
After leaving the stage, I went back up to our row, and we watched the rest of the first show. By the end, Meridith still hadn't been called up, so we went back to the elevator, downstairs (Mom uses a cane, so we don't use stairs), and got back in line for the second show where Meridith filled out a blue application and put it in the tall box outside the theater. We went back to the elevator, back to the second (or third?) floor, back to our row. Second show, no luck.
We got back in line for the third and final show of the day and Meridith filled out another application, a different color. And no luck again. After the final names for the second show were called, we got up and left the theater to get back in line before everyone else not called did the same thing. And after the final names were called for the third show, we left. What reason was there to sit for the rest of that show? Mom gave Meridith the option of going back on Sunday for those shows, for the hope of being called, but Meridith said she has three chances with those three applications, so that was enough for her. The host also said that those who aren't called on the stage still have a shot. During each show, he said he's going to take the remaining applications with him back to Los Angeles, pick a few at random, and those chosen will get the letter or e-mail inviting them to the final auditions. Meridith filled out each application differently, with her interests worded differently in each, with different drawings on the border of the applications. You have to stand out somehow to hopefully catch their attention.
There were a few people I saw during all three shows that I would happily give up my spot for in order to see them on the show. They need to be on the show. Based on what Mom said about people on the show seeming subdued, I may have a better chance than I think I do.
And the phantoms remain in the Venetian Theatre. The ghosts of Phantom of the Opera and soon Soul2Soul and future productions that will arrive and then leave either months or years later. Things always change in this city. But one thing that will never change is my happiness at the opportunity for free events that let me see places for which I would have to pay exorbitant amounts. This was the best way to save 80 bucks or more to see the Venetian Theatre. And the main feature on the stage is a "C" with its rear in the air and the arms of the C on the stage, lit in blue. That looks like the centerpiece for the Soul2Soul show, the one thing that couldn't be removed from the stage since it looks like it's attached to it, that is if Tim McGraw and Faith Hill use anything else besides that. Stools, of course, but I think that's it. For me, it's enough to have seen this theater, the only time I ever will like this, just like when we waited along with the rest of the crowd in the 1 OAK Nightclub in early March at the Mirage before we were all dispatched to the Beatles LOVE theater for the live broadcast of American Idol. If I make it to the final audition and then am invited to be on Wheel of Fortune, I'll do it. It means Mom would get to see the show live, and that's the only reason for me.
The theater had been remodeled since the show closed, with more seats extending to the stage, which I don't think could have been done before. The music of the night needed more room.
I wondered where the Phantom was now, what he was doing now. After the show closed, Anthony Crivello, our Phantom, went back to Broadway to audition, and I think he landed in one show. Maybe he's still in that show or maybe that show closed too. Nevertheless, he was a great supporter of Las Vegas like former Playboy Playmate Holly Madison, even gamely appearing on Wheel of Fortune during those Phantom years, whenever it was in Las Vegas for a few weeks.
Tim McGraw and Faith Hill's Soul2Soul is there now for a little while longer. Then they'll leave and be replaced with Priscilla Queen of the Desert. I don't know if the balcony seating on both sides of the theater is still used (I couldn't see the seats up there, if there were any), but with those offerings, I don't think they need to. There had been some buzz about Soul2Soul before it started, naturally. But it doesn't sound like it was a major hit. McGraw and Hill don't live here, instead flying in when it's time to perform on weekends, and that's understandable because they have other business in their careers to attend to.
I think if the box office take had been monstrous, Venetian officials would have tried to entice them with everything they could have ever wanted to stay longer. And guaranteed, Vegas Deluxe (www.vegasdeluxe.com), led by Robin Leach, would have had all the details of those negotiations. But there's nothing. As it is, the only big thing besides the impending remodel of the outside of New York-New York to build a park modeled on Madison Square Park, with shops and restaurants and a Hershey store, connecting it and the Monte Carlo and to an eventual 20,000-seat sports stadium, is that Olivia Newton-John will begin her mini-residency at the Flamingo possibly at the start of summer, performing when Donny & Marie aren't.
It's said that Tim McGraw wants to go back out on tour, and that's reasonable, but I don't think this show is going to come back. There's no word on what will follow the limited run of Priscilla Queen of the Desert, though that box office take will likely determine if they extend it, but I think they need something fresh, what with the Strip beginning to change in various places, such as the old Sahara becoming SLS Las Vegas next year, and an Asian-themed resort called Resorts World Las Vegas under construction for a 2016 opening.
But at that moment, at 11:40 in the morning, I'm sitting in a mostly empty row, across from an exit, next to Meridith, Dad and Mom. We're part of the audience for auditions for Wheel of Fortune. We filled out the small yellow applications outside the theater, while waiting in line, and dropped them in the tall box outside the theater. As we learn from the Jim Carrey-influenced, pop culture-loving host, whose name I've long forgotten, the applications are placed in a wire mesh drum and spun around and around, with applications chosen at random. Those names called go on stage, first backstage to sign in and have their photo taken. Then they stand on one of the five X's placed diagonally. The host interviews them, asking about their jobs, their hobbies, their passions, and it's there that they must be at their most enthusiastic, their most charismatic because that's what they're looking for in future contestants. Those contestants on stage would find out in two months either by a letter in the mail or by e-mail that they've been invited to the final auditions in Las Vegas. If they make it through those, they're on the show. Factoring in 6 weeks of shows being taped in July and August, which is five shows in a week (taped in one day, of course, which means the production will be here for six days), that's 30 shows. Three contestants per show is 90 contestants total. The odds are long, but we are in Las Vegas. We still hope.
Then the host spins the wheel on stage to determine what prize all the contestants will get (t-shirt, hat, mini-pack with a black shoulder strap and a keychain and "blinky pin," as the host called it, inside; or a "Surprise" that includes all those prizes and either a duffel bag or a smaller cooler bag), and then the contestants play the Speed-Up Round, which is the round when time's running out on the show and Pat Sajak gives the wheel a final spin, led by Morgan Matthews, who fills the Vanna White role for the Wheelmobile events.
The first show began and the host introduced himself and explained all this, and then introduced Morgan Matthews, who spun the drum and took out the first five applications, handing each to the host as she went along. I was surprised when Dad was called to the stage, and then I was called right after him, causing the host to comment, "A double shot of Aronskys!"
Originally, I didn't want to audition. When Mom heard about the Wheelmobile coming to the Venetian, Meridith immediately wanted to, and then Dad did too. I didn't, because while I'm not a stiff personality, I'm not that charismatic or demonstrative. I can get lively in conversation, but usually with one other person or a small group of people. It was Dad and Meridith's thing, not mine.
But then, I went to see Jeff Bridges, one of my heroes, in concert on Friday night at the Chrome Showroom at Santa Fe Station. Front row seat. Well worth the price ($88.50 via Ticketmaster, immediately when tickets went on sale), and my seat was right where Jeff Bridges stood while he played his guitars and sang, and directly in front of the keyboard on which he performed a few songs, including two from The Big Lebowski. When he played that keyboard and sang, he loomed over me at that angle and I watched him the entire time, his eyes closed throughout most of the songs he sang at that keyboard. I was in awe of the clear passion he had for his music, and on the way home, thinking about all that Jeff Bridges does in taking photos on the sets of his movies, drawing, writing his first book with Bernie Glassman, his Zen master, working to eliminate childhood hunger, attending Zen conventions, making movies of course, and now music, I thought to myself that I wanted to be a renaissance man at 63 years old like he is. But then I thought, "Why not start now?" I decided in the car that I would sign up for the chance to audition for Wheel of Fortune, but not for the purpose of becoming a renaissance man like Jeff Bridges. Mom has been watching Wheel of Fortune since Chuck Woolery hosted from 1975 to 1981. I wanted to increase our chances of getting tickets for at least one of the tapings, besides fighting like hell to get them when they become available in June, so why not increase them three-fold?
When I dashed down the steps to the stage after my name was called, following Dad as he did the same, I felt like I wasn't in my body. Was this real? Was this actually happening? I thought Meridith would be called first. She wanted it the most. But there I was, reaching the stage after figuring out how to get there, since there was a curtain in front of me that I thought led backstage (I didn't go behind it, though), and then three stairs immediately leading to the stage. I took the latter and was led backstage to a long table to sign in and then one of the production assistants, wearing a shirt that said "Spin This.", took a photo of me. Before that, I joked, "This is better than the DMV!"
I took my place on stage, the last "X", closest to the audience. I waited as the first three contestants were interviewed by the host, and then Dad, and I was a little nervous. But once called upon by the host, I went up there, told him and the audience that I'm a substitute elementary school library assistant in the Clark County School District, hoping for a full-time position. He asked me what I like to do, and I said, "Reading, writing, movies, pinball, presidential history and....more movies." (I think I got it all, because that comprises my life.) He zeroed in on presidential history, asking me who my favorite president is. "43 presidents and you want to know right now who my favorite president is?" I joked to him. In hindsight, I know there are 44, but I blanked by one.
I quickly thought about it and said "William Howard Taft," mainly because I'm reading about him right now and he does fascinate me. The host asked why and I said, "Because he didn't want to be president. He wanted to be Chief Justice of the United States and later on, he got his dream when Warren G. Harding nominated him and..." I'm not the lecturing type, but maybe I was still a little nervous because the host sensed I was going on too long and amiably moved me along with, "He really knows his presidents." I didn't mind that he moved me along since he had a show to run. I wished I could have compressed Taft's history fast enough, including the fact that he ran for president because his wife, Helen "Nellie" Taft, wanted to be First Lady, and he was devoted to her. I knew I couldn't include the fact that Taft was responsible for the Supreme Court building as we know it today, wanting a separate, grand building for this separate branch of the government, but he died before it was completed. That would have been impossible, but I wanted to get to Harding nominating Taft to be Chief Justice. Nervousness overpowers all, though, even when you don't actually feel nervous while on stage.
The puzzle began. The category was "Event." I think I guessed "L" or "M," but neither were in the puzzle. I knew what it was about a minute later, but the host was back to the beginning of the row and the fourth person before me in the row solved it: "Toga Party." As the host put it, just because you're on stage does not guarantee you a final audition, and just because you solved the puzzle does not guarantee you a final audition. They're looking for the whole package, with charisma, energy, and puzzle-solving ability all together, which flummoxed Mom after we had left the Venetian later in the day because all the time that she's watched the show, most of those people seem very subdued, so she doesn't know exactly what they're looking for if they seem all the same.
After leaving the stage, I went back up to our row, and we watched the rest of the first show. By the end, Meridith still hadn't been called up, so we went back to the elevator, downstairs (Mom uses a cane, so we don't use stairs), and got back in line for the second show where Meridith filled out a blue application and put it in the tall box outside the theater. We went back to the elevator, back to the second (or third?) floor, back to our row. Second show, no luck.
We got back in line for the third and final show of the day and Meridith filled out another application, a different color. And no luck again. After the final names for the second show were called, we got up and left the theater to get back in line before everyone else not called did the same thing. And after the final names were called for the third show, we left. What reason was there to sit for the rest of that show? Mom gave Meridith the option of going back on Sunday for those shows, for the hope of being called, but Meridith said she has three chances with those three applications, so that was enough for her. The host also said that those who aren't called on the stage still have a shot. During each show, he said he's going to take the remaining applications with him back to Los Angeles, pick a few at random, and those chosen will get the letter or e-mail inviting them to the final auditions. Meridith filled out each application differently, with her interests worded differently in each, with different drawings on the border of the applications. You have to stand out somehow to hopefully catch their attention.
There were a few people I saw during all three shows that I would happily give up my spot for in order to see them on the show. They need to be on the show. Based on what Mom said about people on the show seeming subdued, I may have a better chance than I think I do.
And the phantoms remain in the Venetian Theatre. The ghosts of Phantom of the Opera and soon Soul2Soul and future productions that will arrive and then leave either months or years later. Things always change in this city. But one thing that will never change is my happiness at the opportunity for free events that let me see places for which I would have to pay exorbitant amounts. This was the best way to save 80 bucks or more to see the Venetian Theatre. And the main feature on the stage is a "C" with its rear in the air and the arms of the C on the stage, lit in blue. That looks like the centerpiece for the Soul2Soul show, the one thing that couldn't be removed from the stage since it looks like it's attached to it, that is if Tim McGraw and Faith Hill use anything else besides that. Stools, of course, but I think that's it. For me, it's enough to have seen this theater, the only time I ever will like this, just like when we waited along with the rest of the crowd in the 1 OAK Nightclub in early March at the Mirage before we were all dispatched to the Beatles LOVE theater for the live broadcast of American Idol. If I make it to the final audition and then am invited to be on Wheel of Fortune, I'll do it. It means Mom would get to see the show live, and that's the only reason for me.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
My Book Reviews
Only a week and a half? I thought it was longer since I last wrote a post here. In that time, I've been a substitute elementary school library assistant at two schools, gathered many books for research for my first novel while also figuring out who I need to talk to for insight into RVs and pinball (the average owner of the particular RV I'm looking to use in this novel will do, but for the pinball aspect, I want to find the creators of the particular pinball machine that's my inspiration for the one I'm going to create), and I've written my seventh book review for Boekie's Book Reviews, which will be posted soon. It's for How My Summer Went Up in Flames by Jennifer Salvato Doktorski, a first-time Young Adult novelist, and while I'm still not entirely comfortable in book reviewing yet, I think I'm getting there. It's not a question of if I want to do it. I really do. In fact, one day, I'd like to write reviews for more outlets. This is my way of thinking about the kind of reviewer I want to be, how I want to write them, because to me, at least, while it is a review, like the movie and DVD reviews I used to write all the time and now only write occasionally (DVD reviews all), there's a different language to book reviews, picking out style, an author's interest in what they write, how compelling the characters are, a lot that I never thought about at length before. Yes, I've been reading since I was 2, but I never thought about it like I am now, although it must have lodged in my brain because at times, it's easy to understand an author's style, or how approachable their writing is. I don't expect every single novel I review to be easy to get into from the start, but I mean like how there's a gauzy curtain between us and the story in Fifteenth Summer by Michelle Dalton, how she doesn't let us into this summer, let us feel the vacation going on in the lakeside town of Bluepointe, Michigan.
I worry about how much to explain. Not to the extent that I'd spoil the rest of the book for readers, but is it enough to just mention that gauzy curtain feeling and maybe the reader will see it if they decide to read it? I'm not sure yet. And even though I've provided examples and snippets of dialogue in some of my reviews, I'm still not sure what the right balance is for that. I'm thinking it's on a review-by-review basis, that you know when you read a novel and you're forming what you should say, and you can pick out what makes you want more from a particular author, or what bothers you. I'm easy, though. Even if a novel is a slog to get through, I don't get mad at it, or unduly angry. I express my disappointment at the unnecessarily slow pace of the story (a slow pace is fine if the author keeps building the story, but not in continually repeating the same actions because they can't think of anything else to write), and I move on. There are more books to read. My room is proof of that.
I'd like to write reviews for Publishers Weekly or BookPage or Booklist or even Amazon if possible. Maybe Costco Connection, but I hear that those reviews are handled by their in-house buyers. Nevertheless, I'd like to try. Yet I know right now that I'm not good enough to go to those publications and tell them how much I'd be valuable to them as a reviewer. I need to rack up more reviews, to try to feel as free as I did in some of my DVD reviews, to have more fun with my writing.
I belong to books. That's how it's always been. Yet now, here I am on the other side as a reviewer, which is a great place to be because of the novels I get to read early, much earlier than the DVDs I review(ed). I'm slightly disappointed that I've entered book reviewing at a time when print copies might not be as readily sent as they used to be. All the books I've reviewed have been .pdf files graciously converted for me by Vanessa, the owner of Boekie's Book Reviews, because I will not, and will never, buy a Kindle. I like my book in print, thank you. But for reviewing, this is wonderfully convenient because I can have the .pdf file open, as well as a Notepad file to type notes or copy-and-paste descriptions and dialogue while I'm reading, which I might want to reference in a review. Sometimes I copy and paste just for the pleasure of having those well-written descriptions, not at all intending to use them in a review, but that pleasure does seep into the review, so that works for me.
So here are the reviews I've written so far, in order from my first (That Time I Joined the Circus by J.J. Howard) to the one before my most recent (Vengeance Bound by Justine Ireland, the first disappointing novel I reviewed). I'm enjoying this not only because I get to write about these books, but also because I don't have to work with any publicists like I sometimes did when I wrote movie and DVD reviews. Vanessa sends me the books by e-mail, as .pdf attachments, I download them, read them, review them (one by one, of course), and send the reviews to her. Then I get another batch. It's been a little slowgoing lately since she's also an aspiring YA novelist who recently released a short story online, and is self-publishing her first novel in July, but I like the pace. After all, I've got my own books to write. Even so, this feels a lot more easygoing for me, and outside of the worry about what my own style will be as a book reviewer, I'm enjoying it:
That Time I Joined the Circus by J.J. Howard
Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell
The Wanderer by Robyn Carr
Fifteenth Summer by Michelle Dalton
Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy
Vengeance Bound by Justine Ireland
Out of all these reviews, Fifteenth Summer was the easiest to write, and also the shortest read. 272 pages might not seem like that, but being a speed reader, I blazed through it in a day and was glad to see it improved toward the end. I actually wasn't disappointed that it wasn't like that all the way through, because I liked Chelsea and her supportive, whole family, which is usually rare to see in Young Adult novels.
Now on to the next reviews, and to becoming more experienced at this.
Next-Day Update: My latest review was posted today.
I worry about how much to explain. Not to the extent that I'd spoil the rest of the book for readers, but is it enough to just mention that gauzy curtain feeling and maybe the reader will see it if they decide to read it? I'm not sure yet. And even though I've provided examples and snippets of dialogue in some of my reviews, I'm still not sure what the right balance is for that. I'm thinking it's on a review-by-review basis, that you know when you read a novel and you're forming what you should say, and you can pick out what makes you want more from a particular author, or what bothers you. I'm easy, though. Even if a novel is a slog to get through, I don't get mad at it, or unduly angry. I express my disappointment at the unnecessarily slow pace of the story (a slow pace is fine if the author keeps building the story, but not in continually repeating the same actions because they can't think of anything else to write), and I move on. There are more books to read. My room is proof of that.
I'd like to write reviews for Publishers Weekly or BookPage or Booklist or even Amazon if possible. Maybe Costco Connection, but I hear that those reviews are handled by their in-house buyers. Nevertheless, I'd like to try. Yet I know right now that I'm not good enough to go to those publications and tell them how much I'd be valuable to them as a reviewer. I need to rack up more reviews, to try to feel as free as I did in some of my DVD reviews, to have more fun with my writing.
I belong to books. That's how it's always been. Yet now, here I am on the other side as a reviewer, which is a great place to be because of the novels I get to read early, much earlier than the DVDs I review(ed). I'm slightly disappointed that I've entered book reviewing at a time when print copies might not be as readily sent as they used to be. All the books I've reviewed have been .pdf files graciously converted for me by Vanessa, the owner of Boekie's Book Reviews, because I will not, and will never, buy a Kindle. I like my book in print, thank you. But for reviewing, this is wonderfully convenient because I can have the .pdf file open, as well as a Notepad file to type notes or copy-and-paste descriptions and dialogue while I'm reading, which I might want to reference in a review. Sometimes I copy and paste just for the pleasure of having those well-written descriptions, not at all intending to use them in a review, but that pleasure does seep into the review, so that works for me.
So here are the reviews I've written so far, in order from my first (That Time I Joined the Circus by J.J. Howard) to the one before my most recent (Vengeance Bound by Justine Ireland, the first disappointing novel I reviewed). I'm enjoying this not only because I get to write about these books, but also because I don't have to work with any publicists like I sometimes did when I wrote movie and DVD reviews. Vanessa sends me the books by e-mail, as .pdf attachments, I download them, read them, review them (one by one, of course), and send the reviews to her. Then I get another batch. It's been a little slowgoing lately since she's also an aspiring YA novelist who recently released a short story online, and is self-publishing her first novel in July, but I like the pace. After all, I've got my own books to write. Even so, this feels a lot more easygoing for me, and outside of the worry about what my own style will be as a book reviewer, I'm enjoying it:
That Time I Joined the Circus by J.J. Howard
Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell
The Wanderer by Robyn Carr
Fifteenth Summer by Michelle Dalton
Criminal by Terra Elan McVoy
Vengeance Bound by Justine Ireland
Out of all these reviews, Fifteenth Summer was the easiest to write, and also the shortest read. 272 pages might not seem like that, but being a speed reader, I blazed through it in a day and was glad to see it improved toward the end. I actually wasn't disappointed that it wasn't like that all the way through, because I liked Chelsea and her supportive, whole family, which is usually rare to see in Young Adult novels.
Now on to the next reviews, and to becoming more experienced at this.
Next-Day Update: My latest review was posted today.
Friday, April 5, 2013
Sometimes a Neighborhood of Grace
While I do feel that I'm finally home here in Nevada and particularly in Las Vegas and Henderson and Boulder City, I sometimes forget what it is that makes me feel at home. It's not anything that I believe that causes it, but rather what happens around me.
Last weekend, during the day, the house to our left exploded in argument, and since we're so close to it, we could hear everything that was being said. There was shouting inside, and someone stormed out, got in the truck in that driveway, and started the engine, then gunned it out of there. And then diagonally from us, there's a house that routinely erupts in fights, usually between the eldest adult son of the household (that is if there are any more children than just him, which I'm not sure about, and I don't ever want to make sure) and his girlfriend. A few weeks ago, it happened right outside and I could hear the whole thing from my window. Of course I listened from on my bed, where I was reading. I'm a writer, after all. But I don't like any of this. This mobile home park isn't necessarily so bad on this side all the time. I hear stories about drug dealing going on on the far opposite end, and the occasional squatter, and conflicts elsewhere in the park. At least it doesn't happen every day, but it's still jarring when it does. You startle, and then you settle. Just another day in the neighborhood, hopefully far removed from the previous day that it happens.
Las Vegas is a jittery city. It's the 24-hour lifestyle. Anything can happen at any hour of the day. There are separate blocks of time for different people. For example, my street is populated with those who have day jobs. They're sleeping right now and they'll get up in a few hours, do what they need to in order to face the day, and then go to work. The middle of the mobile home park are where those who leave for work at 2, 3 in the morning, live because there's not much of a risk of waking anybody up, being that those houses on each side face the pool area, the playground, and the basketball court.
And yet, there is balance. Sometimes the scales are tipped in favor of anger and shouting and recriminations, but eventually, there is grace. Not always from the people, but at least from the pets. The cats. The dogs.
At night, the cats on my street walk from one end to the other, uninterrupted, unruffled. They're used to whatever they've seen in their lives. But I feel sorry for some of the dogs. Not in Southern California, and not in Florida, did I ever see dogs simply walk away from wherever they live, probably needing a break. Many of the dogs in my street are mostly outside, behind tall gates or behind smaller, squat gates placed at the top of front-door stairs so they can't get out. But some do.
For example, yesterday afternoon, when I was walking Tigger, a small, furry, off-white dog walked from wherever he lived, a perpetual grin on his face. Maybe he had done this before. I didn't know who he belonged to, and especially where those people were. Wouldn't they notice that their dog was missing? Probably not. It's just that kind of neighborhood. He came closer to Tigger and I and I knew I had to pick up Tigger because I didn't want to deal with these neighbors beyond their dogs, whoever these neighbors were.
The dog simply looked at me, smiling. Was it a smile of relief at being away from whoever he lived with, or just at seeing someone new? I don't know. However, he looked like he knew where he lived, and there's not much of a chance of strays here. None can get in with the front gates and walls there are around the property. The dogs and cats here do belong to those who live here.
I didn't feel so much worry for the dog. Mild concern that it had gotten out, but understanding that some people aren't fit to own dogs, and maybe his owner wasn't. Some people may like dogs, but they don't know how to take care of them or care enough to take care of them.
I liked the look on the dog's face, contentment that you don't see often in Las Vegas. That's not to say there isn't pleasure, but you won't see many of my kind in a casino. I walk around, feeling completely at home, despite the cigarette smoke, depending on what casino we're at. For example, at the Rio a few nights ago, I looked down at the banks of slot machines from the second floor and yet again couldn't believe that I'm a resident here. To me, it's a waking dream all the time. But most want to win. They think a casino is a bank and they can withdraw money accordingly. Faces furrowed in concentration, hoping that the slot machines hit that magic combination, that the cards at the blackjack table are the ones they wanted when they got here. I'm fine with it because that's our economy. I must be the exception and also persona non grata to the casinos because I don't gamble as much as I did when I was a tourist and certainly not as much as I did in our first few months as residents, which is to say not much anyway, but I still put in a dollar or two or more. Now, unless it's free play given occasionally because of having a casino club card, depending on the casino, I usually have a book with me, and I read while Mom, Dad and Meridith are at the slot machines. I'd rather save my money for books and other important things. (That reminds me that not only do I have to deposit the check I received yesterday from the school district for the day I was a substitute library aide at Dean Petersen Elementary three weeks ago, but I also have to withdraw $10 to give to Mom for the newspaper fund we all contribute to in order to keep up our subscription to the Review-Journal. $10 monthly to cover the months already in progress and to have a little extra to renew the subscription when it comes time.)
I know people are having fun in their own ways and that's all I expect from those who visit. But I mean pure contentment, not that mixed with intense concentration, hoping to break a casino for all they're worth. It's interesting to me that the first time I really saw it was on the face of that dog. Maybe the dog has an inkling that he's in Las Vegas, but his Las Vegas surely isn't as detailed as my Las Vegas, and that's probably better for him. There's already enough troubles in this city to wade through and choose what matters to you and discard what doesn't, not out of heartlessness, but survival. I don't mean to say that Las Vegas is a dangerous expanse of rogues and slot machines, but, you know, it can be strange at times. Sometimes a good strange, sometimes the concerned strange such as in my neighborhood. It's not necessarily all over this valley, though. You just do what you can, and find where you feel you belong, and make good on that. In Santa Clarita, I used to be so frustrated with everything that was so awful about that valley, and it was, what with there being absolutely nothing to do, and you could try to find things to do but they soon ran out. In Las Vegas, you learn to let things go. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then some other time. Of course, that doesn't apply to the rent and your job, but to mostly everything else, it does.
And then, before American Idol began, Mom told me that she killed a snakelike bug in her bathroom that was silver. I knew exactly that it was a Silverfish, the third most common Nevada pest. I hate hearing about these things, and Mom said that I would have to spray for bugs again. I thought about waiting until later today to do it, but it's been warmer than usual this past week, and it's obviously cooler at night, so what better time? I took the Raid Max Bug Barrier spray out of the cabinet below the kitchen sink and went outside. I sprayed around the back door, then went down the three steps, opened the gate to our rock-and-pebble-laden backyard and sprayed around the house, including around Mom's bathroom window, hoping that this would do it. I circled the entire house and suddenly, a dog approached me, a shaggy dog at that. Unlike the dog from earlier in the day, I didn't have a clue about who this one belonged to. I guessed one of the houses further up the street, toward the front gate, and it was apparent that this dog needed a break. It was friendly as can be, and went up on the section of rocks under my window and Meridith's window and peed a few times. It trotted off and then I went back to the back door area, planning to go back through the gate to look at the high-up electrical wires a couple yards away, from the backyard, but then I looked down and the dog was right next to me. I couldn't go back inside because I didn't want it to follow me. I didn't shoo it away, because I'm a dog lover and I don't do that. But what could I do? What did this dog want? I gently told it to go home and it trotted away, to the front of the empty lot to our right, and that seemed to be it.
Two dogs approaching me in one day. Am I well known among dogs in this neighborhood and I just don't know it? Do they somehow know about Tigger and Kitty and how well I take care of them when they walk them and they want to meet me or something? I've walked the rows of my mobile home park before, and whenever a dog barks at me behind a screen door or behind one of those screened gates at the top of the stairs, I always say hello to it or them. I figure it wants to talk for a bit, so why not? It may be suspicious of me, but perhaps curious too since it probably doesn't see many other people. But I never saw those two dogs before. Well, maybe the white one. I think that may be the dog of the neighbor directly across from us, kept behind that looming gate in the back. They don't seem like the sort who let the dog in all that often. So maybe that's why the dog took to me: A friendlier face and one not likely to be so stern about where they belong. But since we have Tigger and Kitty, I can't do very much for those dogs anyway. Not that I'd want to anyway because everyone's business here is their own. I do feel sorry for those dogs, though, if they got out because they needed a break from where they live. Obviously they're back in wherever they came from because when I walked Tigger and Kitty over two hours ago, I didn't see them around, and I'm sure they would have gravitated to me yet again had they still been out. Could have been the warm weather, though. With how bothersome it's been this week without the cool of Spring, it wouldn't have surprised me if those dogs got out because they needed to move around, needed to feel some air as they trotted about. It's halfway stifling if you're sitting in one place.
So at least there are the dogs, a balance provided after those overheard arguments. There are bad situations in Las Vegas, yes, but there aren't only bad situations. Not that I thought there were only those, what with the creativity that this city has inspired me to want to achieve in my work, but sometimes a gentle reminder is necessary of grace existing where it doesn't seem possible. And yet, in some cases, the further you get from Las Vegas, the more easygoing people are. I think of our new apartment complex in Henderson where we'll be moving in Henderson, that interpretation of a wispy, whispery forest with all those thin trees. I think of Boulder City where people are happy because they're living the lives they want to live, pursuing the passions that wake them up every day, and finding their ideas of peace. But then, it's the same of any major city. I disliked every minute I was in Santa Clarita, but it was quieter than it would have been living in Los Angeles. It's said that the closer you live to the Strip, the higher your insurance rates are. When we move to Henderson in September, the car insurance rate and the renters insurance rate will drop because we'll be further from the Strip, but it'll be no less accessible to us. One thing I really like about Henderson right away is that we'll be closer to Boulder City than we are here. Closer to home for me.
A few minutes ago, during that previous paragraph, I heard sirens outside our neighborhood, sirens that echo in our immediate area, stretching from the Rebel gas station at the intersection, to Sam's Town. Police sirens or ambulance sirens or both, it doesn't rattle me. It happens every night. It's balance. Bad with the good. I don't know if I'll see those dogs again tomorrow, but they are a cheerful reminder that this isn't so bad. And what makes it unpleasant won't be of concern much longer anyway. I wish I could take those dogs in because they obviously deserve better homes, but just like this mobile home park, there's a two-dog policy at our new apartment complex. I hope for the best for those two dogs, and I also hope that the dogs I'll see in Henderson are better taken care of than what seems to be the case here. For some. Not all.
Last weekend, during the day, the house to our left exploded in argument, and since we're so close to it, we could hear everything that was being said. There was shouting inside, and someone stormed out, got in the truck in that driveway, and started the engine, then gunned it out of there. And then diagonally from us, there's a house that routinely erupts in fights, usually between the eldest adult son of the household (that is if there are any more children than just him, which I'm not sure about, and I don't ever want to make sure) and his girlfriend. A few weeks ago, it happened right outside and I could hear the whole thing from my window. Of course I listened from on my bed, where I was reading. I'm a writer, after all. But I don't like any of this. This mobile home park isn't necessarily so bad on this side all the time. I hear stories about drug dealing going on on the far opposite end, and the occasional squatter, and conflicts elsewhere in the park. At least it doesn't happen every day, but it's still jarring when it does. You startle, and then you settle. Just another day in the neighborhood, hopefully far removed from the previous day that it happens.
Las Vegas is a jittery city. It's the 24-hour lifestyle. Anything can happen at any hour of the day. There are separate blocks of time for different people. For example, my street is populated with those who have day jobs. They're sleeping right now and they'll get up in a few hours, do what they need to in order to face the day, and then go to work. The middle of the mobile home park are where those who leave for work at 2, 3 in the morning, live because there's not much of a risk of waking anybody up, being that those houses on each side face the pool area, the playground, and the basketball court.
And yet, there is balance. Sometimes the scales are tipped in favor of anger and shouting and recriminations, but eventually, there is grace. Not always from the people, but at least from the pets. The cats. The dogs.
At night, the cats on my street walk from one end to the other, uninterrupted, unruffled. They're used to whatever they've seen in their lives. But I feel sorry for some of the dogs. Not in Southern California, and not in Florida, did I ever see dogs simply walk away from wherever they live, probably needing a break. Many of the dogs in my street are mostly outside, behind tall gates or behind smaller, squat gates placed at the top of front-door stairs so they can't get out. But some do.
For example, yesterday afternoon, when I was walking Tigger, a small, furry, off-white dog walked from wherever he lived, a perpetual grin on his face. Maybe he had done this before. I didn't know who he belonged to, and especially where those people were. Wouldn't they notice that their dog was missing? Probably not. It's just that kind of neighborhood. He came closer to Tigger and I and I knew I had to pick up Tigger because I didn't want to deal with these neighbors beyond their dogs, whoever these neighbors were.
The dog simply looked at me, smiling. Was it a smile of relief at being away from whoever he lived with, or just at seeing someone new? I don't know. However, he looked like he knew where he lived, and there's not much of a chance of strays here. None can get in with the front gates and walls there are around the property. The dogs and cats here do belong to those who live here.
I didn't feel so much worry for the dog. Mild concern that it had gotten out, but understanding that some people aren't fit to own dogs, and maybe his owner wasn't. Some people may like dogs, but they don't know how to take care of them or care enough to take care of them.
I liked the look on the dog's face, contentment that you don't see often in Las Vegas. That's not to say there isn't pleasure, but you won't see many of my kind in a casino. I walk around, feeling completely at home, despite the cigarette smoke, depending on what casino we're at. For example, at the Rio a few nights ago, I looked down at the banks of slot machines from the second floor and yet again couldn't believe that I'm a resident here. To me, it's a waking dream all the time. But most want to win. They think a casino is a bank and they can withdraw money accordingly. Faces furrowed in concentration, hoping that the slot machines hit that magic combination, that the cards at the blackjack table are the ones they wanted when they got here. I'm fine with it because that's our economy. I must be the exception and also persona non grata to the casinos because I don't gamble as much as I did when I was a tourist and certainly not as much as I did in our first few months as residents, which is to say not much anyway, but I still put in a dollar or two or more. Now, unless it's free play given occasionally because of having a casino club card, depending on the casino, I usually have a book with me, and I read while Mom, Dad and Meridith are at the slot machines. I'd rather save my money for books and other important things. (That reminds me that not only do I have to deposit the check I received yesterday from the school district for the day I was a substitute library aide at Dean Petersen Elementary three weeks ago, but I also have to withdraw $10 to give to Mom for the newspaper fund we all contribute to in order to keep up our subscription to the Review-Journal. $10 monthly to cover the months already in progress and to have a little extra to renew the subscription when it comes time.)
I know people are having fun in their own ways and that's all I expect from those who visit. But I mean pure contentment, not that mixed with intense concentration, hoping to break a casino for all they're worth. It's interesting to me that the first time I really saw it was on the face of that dog. Maybe the dog has an inkling that he's in Las Vegas, but his Las Vegas surely isn't as detailed as my Las Vegas, and that's probably better for him. There's already enough troubles in this city to wade through and choose what matters to you and discard what doesn't, not out of heartlessness, but survival. I don't mean to say that Las Vegas is a dangerous expanse of rogues and slot machines, but, you know, it can be strange at times. Sometimes a good strange, sometimes the concerned strange such as in my neighborhood. It's not necessarily all over this valley, though. You just do what you can, and find where you feel you belong, and make good on that. In Santa Clarita, I used to be so frustrated with everything that was so awful about that valley, and it was, what with there being absolutely nothing to do, and you could try to find things to do but they soon ran out. In Las Vegas, you learn to let things go. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then some other time. Of course, that doesn't apply to the rent and your job, but to mostly everything else, it does.
And then, before American Idol began, Mom told me that she killed a snakelike bug in her bathroom that was silver. I knew exactly that it was a Silverfish, the third most common Nevada pest. I hate hearing about these things, and Mom said that I would have to spray for bugs again. I thought about waiting until later today to do it, but it's been warmer than usual this past week, and it's obviously cooler at night, so what better time? I took the Raid Max Bug Barrier spray out of the cabinet below the kitchen sink and went outside. I sprayed around the back door, then went down the three steps, opened the gate to our rock-and-pebble-laden backyard and sprayed around the house, including around Mom's bathroom window, hoping that this would do it. I circled the entire house and suddenly, a dog approached me, a shaggy dog at that. Unlike the dog from earlier in the day, I didn't have a clue about who this one belonged to. I guessed one of the houses further up the street, toward the front gate, and it was apparent that this dog needed a break. It was friendly as can be, and went up on the section of rocks under my window and Meridith's window and peed a few times. It trotted off and then I went back to the back door area, planning to go back through the gate to look at the high-up electrical wires a couple yards away, from the backyard, but then I looked down and the dog was right next to me. I couldn't go back inside because I didn't want it to follow me. I didn't shoo it away, because I'm a dog lover and I don't do that. But what could I do? What did this dog want? I gently told it to go home and it trotted away, to the front of the empty lot to our right, and that seemed to be it.
Two dogs approaching me in one day. Am I well known among dogs in this neighborhood and I just don't know it? Do they somehow know about Tigger and Kitty and how well I take care of them when they walk them and they want to meet me or something? I've walked the rows of my mobile home park before, and whenever a dog barks at me behind a screen door or behind one of those screened gates at the top of the stairs, I always say hello to it or them. I figure it wants to talk for a bit, so why not? It may be suspicious of me, but perhaps curious too since it probably doesn't see many other people. But I never saw those two dogs before. Well, maybe the white one. I think that may be the dog of the neighbor directly across from us, kept behind that looming gate in the back. They don't seem like the sort who let the dog in all that often. So maybe that's why the dog took to me: A friendlier face and one not likely to be so stern about where they belong. But since we have Tigger and Kitty, I can't do very much for those dogs anyway. Not that I'd want to anyway because everyone's business here is their own. I do feel sorry for those dogs, though, if they got out because they needed a break from where they live. Obviously they're back in wherever they came from because when I walked Tigger and Kitty over two hours ago, I didn't see them around, and I'm sure they would have gravitated to me yet again had they still been out. Could have been the warm weather, though. With how bothersome it's been this week without the cool of Spring, it wouldn't have surprised me if those dogs got out because they needed to move around, needed to feel some air as they trotted about. It's halfway stifling if you're sitting in one place.
So at least there are the dogs, a balance provided after those overheard arguments. There are bad situations in Las Vegas, yes, but there aren't only bad situations. Not that I thought there were only those, what with the creativity that this city has inspired me to want to achieve in my work, but sometimes a gentle reminder is necessary of grace existing where it doesn't seem possible. And yet, in some cases, the further you get from Las Vegas, the more easygoing people are. I think of our new apartment complex in Henderson where we'll be moving in Henderson, that interpretation of a wispy, whispery forest with all those thin trees. I think of Boulder City where people are happy because they're living the lives they want to live, pursuing the passions that wake them up every day, and finding their ideas of peace. But then, it's the same of any major city. I disliked every minute I was in Santa Clarita, but it was quieter than it would have been living in Los Angeles. It's said that the closer you live to the Strip, the higher your insurance rates are. When we move to Henderson in September, the car insurance rate and the renters insurance rate will drop because we'll be further from the Strip, but it'll be no less accessible to us. One thing I really like about Henderson right away is that we'll be closer to Boulder City than we are here. Closer to home for me.
A few minutes ago, during that previous paragraph, I heard sirens outside our neighborhood, sirens that echo in our immediate area, stretching from the Rebel gas station at the intersection, to Sam's Town. Police sirens or ambulance sirens or both, it doesn't rattle me. It happens every night. It's balance. Bad with the good. I don't know if I'll see those dogs again tomorrow, but they are a cheerful reminder that this isn't so bad. And what makes it unpleasant won't be of concern much longer anyway. I wish I could take those dogs in because they obviously deserve better homes, but just like this mobile home park, there's a two-dog policy at our new apartment complex. I hope for the best for those two dogs, and I also hope that the dogs I'll see in Henderson are better taken care of than what seems to be the case here. For some. Not all.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
To See American Beauty or Not to See American Beauty?
Today at Century 18 at Sam's Town, American Beauty was playing at 2 and 7:30, part of Cinemark's Classic Series. I was thinking of going because even though I accidentally bought it twice over for my DVD collection (I couldn't cancel my Amazon order for Paramount's release of it on DVD by the time I found the original edition I used to have at the Goatfeathers Too antique shop in Boulder City), I hadn't seen it in a movie theater since 2000, and I wanted to see how it played to me at one now. But suppose, say, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory appears next month as part of the series. I'd much rather see that since I've never seen it in a movie theater.
But then, while walking Kitty before my family and I went out, before I was going to ask them to drop me off at Sam's Town, I met Nick, one of my neighbors down the street, on my side of the street. He was walking to his car parked next to the curb in front of his house and he asked me if I knew who was letting their dog crap on the empty lot next to his. Sometimes he crosses over to the lot to walk to his car and steps right in it and he hates that. I told him it wasn't me, showing the bag I have to pick up our dogs' business, but I knew what he was talking about because it annoys me, too. I sometimes walk Tigger and Kitty on those empty lots because of that space, because I can pick up more easily there, but then there's other dogs' efforts left behind.
I learned that he's a plumber who lives here, but is based in Southern California, convenient because the rest of his family lives in Los Angeles, in West Covina, in San Pedro, so whenever he has a job in L.A., he stays with them. Las Vegas is getting a new mega-resort called Resorts World Las Vegas that needs all kinds of construction people, including plumbers, and he's on the list. There's positions open for 400 plumbers, but 800 have signed up for the chance to be hired. He wants it because it would let him spend more time here. He still has the work in Southern California, so he's covered either way. He and his wife have lived here for eight years, his grandmother having bought that particular property 10-12 years ago, and they like it. His wife works at Vons, and it seems to be an easy existence. The work is there, family is there, and he likes his work. That's all you can really ask for in life and maintain total peace of mind, if not for the dog crap. He wants to find who's been doing it and plans to go to the owners of this mobile home park to tell them what's been going on, that things are not well-managed, that the front office expects everyone to pull weeds around their property, but doesn't do their part, with empty lots overgrown with weeds. Plus, if you're renting, it should be the park's responsibility to pull those weeds. That's what you'd think Maintenance is there for.
Nick had to get going and invited me over for a beer or wine some time, though I drink neither, but I'd be glad to talk with him some more some other time. After he left, I thought that yes, I could go see American Beauty, but I would only see the same people that I always see whenever I go to Sam's Town. Then the movie would be over and since Mom and Dad and Meridith would be out, I'd walk home since there's nothing else I can think of doing there. I decided instead that I'd watch American Beauty on DVD some time in the next few weeks. I wanted to go out into Las Vegas and see other people, especially the tourists here on spring break. I like them because they're pumping money into our local economy. Tourism is our main industry, and we need it.
It turns out that I chose well. On the way to the Walmart next to one of the taxiways and runways at McCarran, we drove past one of the runways seen clearly there, and as we were, a Virgin Atlantic Boeing 747-400 was landing. One of the things we did on my birthday was park at the McCarran observation lot so I could watch another Virgin Atlantic 747 land. It was incredible seeing it come in to land, but to see it land as we were driving by it? That was totally unexpected and in fact, I noticed across the way at the international terminal that there was no 747 there. And then suddenly, there it was behind us, next to us. The speed of driving makes it even more awe-inspiring.
Then came visits to the Flamingo and Ellis Island and the Tropicana. The Flamingo looks decrepit, and some of the fixtures there look like they've been there since it opened in 1946. Not worth visiting again.
The Tropicana was fine, but too much white decoration in walls and tile and furniture. They're going for a South Beach look in Florida, which is fine, but I can't stand there not being contrasts.
At Ellis Island, the first paragraph of what may be my first novel hit me, and I hurriedly typed it into my cell phone. I began research for it fully last night, and I'm excited about it, and interested to see where it goes. It combines so many of my interests, though the challenge here will be making my interest organic to my main character and not merely making him my mouthpiece. I like the first paragraph, but I have to play with the introduction of the narrator after the explanation that opens my novel.
And to think that if I had gone to see American Beauty, I would have missed out on all of this.
But then, while walking Kitty before my family and I went out, before I was going to ask them to drop me off at Sam's Town, I met Nick, one of my neighbors down the street, on my side of the street. He was walking to his car parked next to the curb in front of his house and he asked me if I knew who was letting their dog crap on the empty lot next to his. Sometimes he crosses over to the lot to walk to his car and steps right in it and he hates that. I told him it wasn't me, showing the bag I have to pick up our dogs' business, but I knew what he was talking about because it annoys me, too. I sometimes walk Tigger and Kitty on those empty lots because of that space, because I can pick up more easily there, but then there's other dogs' efforts left behind.
I learned that he's a plumber who lives here, but is based in Southern California, convenient because the rest of his family lives in Los Angeles, in West Covina, in San Pedro, so whenever he has a job in L.A., he stays with them. Las Vegas is getting a new mega-resort called Resorts World Las Vegas that needs all kinds of construction people, including plumbers, and he's on the list. There's positions open for 400 plumbers, but 800 have signed up for the chance to be hired. He wants it because it would let him spend more time here. He still has the work in Southern California, so he's covered either way. He and his wife have lived here for eight years, his grandmother having bought that particular property 10-12 years ago, and they like it. His wife works at Vons, and it seems to be an easy existence. The work is there, family is there, and he likes his work. That's all you can really ask for in life and maintain total peace of mind, if not for the dog crap. He wants to find who's been doing it and plans to go to the owners of this mobile home park to tell them what's been going on, that things are not well-managed, that the front office expects everyone to pull weeds around their property, but doesn't do their part, with empty lots overgrown with weeds. Plus, if you're renting, it should be the park's responsibility to pull those weeds. That's what you'd think Maintenance is there for.
Nick had to get going and invited me over for a beer or wine some time, though I drink neither, but I'd be glad to talk with him some more some other time. After he left, I thought that yes, I could go see American Beauty, but I would only see the same people that I always see whenever I go to Sam's Town. Then the movie would be over and since Mom and Dad and Meridith would be out, I'd walk home since there's nothing else I can think of doing there. I decided instead that I'd watch American Beauty on DVD some time in the next few weeks. I wanted to go out into Las Vegas and see other people, especially the tourists here on spring break. I like them because they're pumping money into our local economy. Tourism is our main industry, and we need it.
It turns out that I chose well. On the way to the Walmart next to one of the taxiways and runways at McCarran, we drove past one of the runways seen clearly there, and as we were, a Virgin Atlantic Boeing 747-400 was landing. One of the things we did on my birthday was park at the McCarran observation lot so I could watch another Virgin Atlantic 747 land. It was incredible seeing it come in to land, but to see it land as we were driving by it? That was totally unexpected and in fact, I noticed across the way at the international terminal that there was no 747 there. And then suddenly, there it was behind us, next to us. The speed of driving makes it even more awe-inspiring.
Then came visits to the Flamingo and Ellis Island and the Tropicana. The Flamingo looks decrepit, and some of the fixtures there look like they've been there since it opened in 1946. Not worth visiting again.
The Tropicana was fine, but too much white decoration in walls and tile and furniture. They're going for a South Beach look in Florida, which is fine, but I can't stand there not being contrasts.
At Ellis Island, the first paragraph of what may be my first novel hit me, and I hurriedly typed it into my cell phone. I began research for it fully last night, and I'm excited about it, and interested to see where it goes. It combines so many of my interests, though the challenge here will be making my interest organic to my main character and not merely making him my mouthpiece. I like the first paragraph, but I have to play with the introduction of the narrator after the explanation that opens my novel.
And to think that if I had gone to see American Beauty, I would have missed out on all of this.
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