Party like a republican, protest like a democrat

During college, one of my democrat friends wrote an article professing that, although she was left-leaning, she liked to date conservatives because they were better lovers. During George W's presidency, I heard many male friends say that, although G.W. made a terrible leader of the Free World, he'd probably throw a really good kegger.

Regardless of your political persuasion, if you had to drive by this every day on the way home from work, like I do, you'd probably be persuaded to blog about it too:

Basically, the blog that follows is just a way of busying my idle hands so I don't roll down the window tomorrow and yell something really obnoxious at this guy like, "Hey, do you know where I can find the abortion clinic?" or "Is this where I park for the pride parade?"

But anyway, I snapped this photo on my way home today, and it's exactly what it looks like: a one-man protest.

I've been to many protests. One could argue that I was basically groomed from childhood to be a protester. For my birthday once, my cool uncle bought me a book about the Kent State shootings, and my parents used to drag my brother and I to protests; if we kept are rooms clean, we got to hold a sign. In college, my protesting career continued, albeit self-sustained. I marched against the Iraq war before we all found out there were no WMDs, and once I married my friend Jenny in the school commons as a protest against the Defense of Marriage Act. Anyway, the point is, I know a lot about organizing protests, or at least enough to know that the protest pictured above sucks proverbial ass.

I mean seriously? Is his blind individualism supposed to distract me from his protest's shortcomings? Republicans might throw good parties, but democrats are much better protesters. First of all, let me explain to you a little about the crossroads at which this guy is standing. On the southwest corner of this intersection is a gated residential neighborhood. On the northwest side of the intersection is a gated residential neighborhood. On the northeast side is a gated residential neighborhood. On the southeast side is a gated residential neighborhood. Here's a shocker: It's the suburbs. Also, it's located in one of the wealthiest zip codes in our county. So not only is no one driving by this guy, but he's basically "protesting" in the master-planned equivalent of the Republican National Convention.

And you know what else? He's only one person! I know, I know. We're supposed to believe that every vote counts, but how many people still occupy Wall Street? I don't exactly, but I can tell you one thing: it's more than one, and that protest has been going for more than a year!

And what does that sign mean, exactly? "Stop Obama" from what? Could he not think of something that rhymes with Obama? I'm tempted to lean out my car window and say, "Oh, is Obama driving through here? If I stop him, what do you want me to say? Did you want his autograph?"

Anyway, I think I'm entitled to one election-based rant, and that was it. Don't even get me started on the fanny pack.

I had a heart attack reading this!

The inevitable and ironic finally happened: Some schmuck had a heart attack at the Heart Attack Grill. Read the news story here.

Yes, the infamous Las Vegas restaurant--no, the term restaurant begs some level of refinement--trough, that serves guest--no, pigs-- who weight more than 350 pounds for free, finally gave someone an actual heart attack.

Not that I'm blaming their 8000 calorie meals for the patron's heart attack, but any place that glorifies obesity should at least make people sign some kind of waiver. See more ironic pictures below:

Ew

I think I just threw up a bit.

Whomp wahhh.

Now a Washington advocacy group is trying to shut the place down. What do you think? Is it worse than a liquor store or a crack dealer?

My two favorite things: fish and human flesh

For those of you who still haven't bought into the idea that Vegas is a classy city-those of you who think all we have to offer are street brawls (see the video in the post below) you're in for a big surprise. In fact, Vegas can add its name to a long list of cosmopolitan locales where you can eat raw fish off a naked lady. That's right, one visit to Geisha House Steak & Sushi on Decatur, and you can eat sushi off leaves strategically placed on an otherwise naked woman.

See, that's totally not weird or awkward. I immediately begin picturing Larry David inspired scenarios in which I find a migrant pube stuck to a spicy tuna roll. Gross. Would you try it?

Batman gets beat up in las vegas

Naughty and Nice: Two more options to diversify the Vegas economy

I'm constantly trying to think of ways to pull Vegas out of this downward spiral. As the one metropolitan area that has yet to see any economic growth indicators since the recession, we're still in need of help. I wrote a blog a few months in which I brainstormed non-entertainment ideas for Vegas economic expansion. Here are two ideas within the existing hospitality industry.

The Nice: Legalize Gay Marriage

This idea has been discussed quite a bit. If Vegas wedding chapels were able to perform gay marriages, then wedding sales would go up. This would create a trickle-down advantage for photographers, caterers, hotels, casinos, resorts, etc, that Vegas could cash in on. The only problem (which is a big one) is that our state constitution already has an amendment banning same-sex unions. Any movement in gay marriage legislation would take at least 5 years to finalize via the voting process. Not to mention, Nevada has plenty of rednecks and militias that would not easily stomach gay marriage rights.

The Naughty: Legalize Prostitution

This one has also been discussed in length, though not recently, and not as a way to mitigate our financial crisis. For those of you who don't know, prostitution is only legal outside the Las Vegas city limits. I used to think prostitution was kind of gross, but I recently watched the 80s documentary "Chicken Ranch" (Watch it free here:http://www.hulu.com/watch/155136/chicken-ranch ), which filmed the everyday lives of the young women at the brothel of the movie's namesake. After some research, I actually decided it wasn't too bad, and hey, I'm always a fan of regulation. Vegas hardly has a pure reputation as it is, and the sex industry would definitely bring more tourism.

I'd like to see either of these scenarios happen. While the legal same-sex marriage process is long, it doesn't look like the economy is going to bounce back anytime soon anyway. And then there's prostitution, which is happening right now, like it or not, so we might as well go with it and make it legal and safe.

There are definitely parts of Bad Teacher to which I relate.

Let me preface this post by telling you the part of Cameron Diaz' character I can't relate to: the hating teaching part. I love being a teacher, I love kids, and I (think I) am pretty good at it.

But then again, I laughed a lot during this movie, which is because there was a lot of truth to it.

First, like Diaz' character, Elizabeth, I never thought I'd be a teacher in the long term. I too envisioned myself marrying rich and never working again, wracking up large credit card bills at Bloomingdale's buying clothes and Manolos.

Second, like the perennially annoying supporting characters in this film, the public school system is filled with well-meaning but irritating educators that often made me want to put my sweatshirt over my head and nap.

Third, an extremely high percentage of public school teachers I once worked with used their hard-earned salaries to buy implants. Unfortunately they didn't perform the courtesy of scheduling surgery during the summer.

That's about where the similarities end. I highly recommend this movie for anyone who has spent time in the classroom.

Between Fact and Fantasy

I know, I'm blogging again. Shocking, right? One day I got stuck, and then another day passed and then another. Soon, I had piles of things to write about that accumulated like dirty laundry. Each pile spread into each other pile, and soon, I was buried.

And there are always better things to do and excuses. I had to get rid of a lot of shoes I hadn't worn in a long time. And then I became a mother to my beautiful adopted Morkie, Badugi. In the important things, I am a perfectionist, and Dugi is important enough to deserve all my time.

So here's a stream of consciousness of all the things you've missed, and then in my next post, I'll be normal again, and it will be like we never stopped communicating at all...

...Carolyn Goodman is mayor of Vegas tourists who think swimsuits are clothes that scream for me to buy them from the rack when I'm trying to save money to buy a car dealer who works at Hyundai and doesn't know the names of the models who I find out now are only 16 or 17 and make me feel old photographs that I find when cleaning and that I want to through away but can't sleep because Badugi is licking my face serum that costs $200 for several ounces of happiness I feel when I think of how good summer vacation was as a kid ourselves that the economy here will ever be the same as it used to be careful when going to the grocery store when hungry for change...

Talk to you soon.

The Next Big Las Vegas Industry

I recently listened to a radio segment that suggested the only hope for Michigan's economy is giving up its reliance on the auto industry and in favor of something new. That made me start thinking about the potential for Las Vegas to bring itself back by creating a new industry that would be more recession-proof. I know what you're thinking, prostitution IS recession-proof. But everyone knows prostitution is only legal outside the city limits. Here is a list of my predictions for what industry Las Vegas will transition to when the big guys realize Casino's can no longer sustain us.

1) Prostitution: See above. If it were legal, we'd have more jobs, more tourism, and there are already plenty of hotels to bring a John to.

2) Marijuana: Medical marijuana is already legal, which has spawned dozens of new hydroponics shops. It's an ideal crop since it can be grown indoors. The only foreseeable problem here is a lack of water.

3) Eco-tourism: We're surrounded by beautiful mountains and desert, and we're certainly worthy of the schlep. Imagine how good someone would feel after a week of digging up lawns to replace them with socially-responsible, sustainable rock gardens.

4) Fine dining: We already have better dining options than pretty much anywhere in the US outside of NYC. But I think we're still doing a shitty job advertising it. Plus, we could use better and more frequent food festivals.

5) Furniture: What ever happened to Mayor Goodman making us the furniture capital? We don't even have an IKEA yet. I'm not sure how people are going to haul their stuff across the desert, but it's actually a legit industry, so who am I to argue?

Vegas: Like a Lint Roller for Weirdos

Every city has its eccentrics. For example, in the town where I grew up, this creepy middle-aged man decided he should dress up as Superman and wave an American flag on the street corner for a post-9/11 morale boost. Now that doesn't make any sense.

But Las Vegas has even more weirdos. In fact, we have at least a dozen people who walk around dressed up like Superman, and not for the sake of some lofty ideal like patriotism. It's because they're broke and have no shame.

What really made me start questioning the sanity of the average Las Vegan was when I began attending education conferences after I moved here five years ago as a new teacher. When most people think of teachers, they think of a bunch of squares who are really only as wacky as their loudest holiday sweater. So, theoretically, a city's teachers should, if anything, be the most normal cross-section of the population, and teacher meetings should be a small representation of the city's most responsible, level-headed citizens, right?

Uh oh, Mrs. Peterson, someone's been eating the paste, and it isn't little Johnny.

The people I meet at these things are CRAZY. Just today, I attended a small conference about sensory integration disorders with several of my colleagues. We were really excited to network with some private occupational therapists in the area to whom we could later refer students. Boy, were we wrong. I'd be more likely to leave my kid alone with the crazy lady on the corner who gets the mail in a shower cap. I couldn't even attempt to break down all the kinds of crazy on this page. But if I were to create a composite, imagine post-plastic surgery Roseanne Barr (physically), wearing Kurt Cobain's clothes with Tom Cruise's personality (circa frenetic Oprah interview).

Then I got to thinking, what if the crazy teachers are just leading to more crazy students who are growing up to be crazy adults? That's something to think about.

Leaving Las Vegas

Have I complained about early morning flights at the Las Vegas airport yet? Because if I haven't, I should.

This morning I left my house at 4:30 to drive to Terrible's Casino to park my car to catch the airport shuttle. When I got there, the shuttle was already parked outside, which is awesome because I didn't even have to pretend like I was staying at the hotel and make them call for one. Unfortunately, I got an incredibly talkative shuttle driver who wanted to carry on a completely one-sided conversation. When I told him I was flying to Minneapolis, he fell into a tailspin of excited chatter. Apparently, his first love lived in St. Paul. Apparently it's his favorite place in the world.

When we arrived at the airport and he handed me my luggage, he gave me his card. Great, I thought, at least I have the number handy for when I need a shuttle back. Then he flipped over the card and pointed to his cell number and told me I should text him so we can go to a movie sometime. Now I have to live in fear for a week that he'll be on duty when I get back in town. Maybe I'll just pay for a cab. But no, I get back Friday night, and the cab line on Friday night is a disaster.

Anyway, I went through security and stood in line at Port-of-Subs, which was the only thing open, to get an orange juice. "I've gotta warn you, this is going to take a while," said the guy in front of me. "The line hasn't moved for like ten minutes." Since nothing else was open and I was early for my flight, I decided to brave the line. The really notable thing about early morning flights out of Vegas is that everyone is drunk still. One guy could barely stand up to order his "baconincheesesanwitchanacoffee." And there's always a girl who thinks it's cool to wear an ass-baring club dress to the airport. I mean, how long does it take to pull on pants and a shirt?

Needless to say, I am rather glad to be getting on a plane soon to fly to a different city altogether. And I'll let you know how it goes with me and the shuttle driver.

And then the mob said, "Turn your head and cough."

Yesterday I needed to go to the doctor. The only person available was the doctor's assistant, but he can prescribe drugs too, so what the heck.

When he entered the exam room, I thought perhaps I'd accidentally driven to urgent care on the Jersey Shore. He had one sort of droopy eye like he'd been punched in the face during one too many bar fights, and he kept saying shit. "I'll give you some of this shit and you'll feel all better. Shit." It's cool, I guess. Maybe the mob has infiltrated the medical industry.

Then, for dinner, we decided to try this new taco place. It's new but they'd sent out coupons in the mail, so what was there to lose?

We walked in and ordered and the guy's like, "Sure! Fuggidaboutit! I'll make you an offer you can't refuse," and gave us a bunch of free stuff. Then he started speaking Spanish with the grill guy in an Italian accent. At that point, we were pretty sure our burritos were going to suck, but that's beside the point. Has our economic slump trickled down to include organized crime? Will Bugsy Siegle show up to clean my carpet? I won't let him park out front for fear of car bombs.

Even Vegas Needs a New Year's Resolution

In honor of the new year, I propose the following resolutions for the city of Las Vegas. Let's be honest, if Las Vegas were a person, it would be a fat, smokey, aging mobster, so in theory this whole metaphor thing works.

1) Quit smoking
People still smoke a lot in Las Vegas-- the most I've seen outside the Midwest. It's so 1990.

2) Cut back
New casinos continue to open. New highrises continue to go up. When the average hotel cost has dropped by 50 percent, clearly this whole building this isn't working anymore.

3) Invest in education
This isn't so much a Vegas resolution as a Nevada resolution. We're the lowest performing state in a stupid country. Completely unacceptable.

4) Exercise
Since we're not getting better hospitals or doctors anytime soon.

5) Go to therapy
Depression is a disease that can't be cured by booze.

I Heart Mayor Goodman

Some of you may have noticed I haven't blogged in quite some time. That's because I worked about 65 hours this week. I've been saving this post up for days now.

Alas, Oscar Goodman's reign as mayor of Las Vegas is coming to an end. And for the first time, I really hate term limits. Suddenly I realize that just about everyone really loves our mayor. This is rare for a city. It's rare to find a politician that matches a city's personality so perfectly.

Mayor Goodman is real and famous, crass and street-smart. He remembers your name. Once, he participated in a fundraiser for our synagogue called "The Wedding Game" with his wife. It was basically The Newlywed Game, and Oscar divulged details about everything from his sex life to his favorite food. He was totally transparent, and he took time out of his busy schedule to do something selfless. Our next mayor has to be the same way: real and famous. And intelligent. Vegas is weaker now than it's ever been in the past, so we need someone strong.

Desert Smesert

It's really fricking cold all of a sudden. For a few weeks there, Vegas really had me fooled. I thought we might have another mild winter. But, no. It's freezing.

A lot of people think it's got to be sunny here all the time, like we're in Florida or something. But we're not. I mean, it's not cold like other places are cold, but it snows. Tourists think they can wear pasties in the winter. Actually, when is a good time/place to wear pasties?

And now I'm sensitized to cold. The October after I moved here, I remember sitting on a restaurant patio under a heat lamp and marveling at how cold it was. When we looked at the thermometer, it read 62 degrees. I had officially become weak.

I'll never live somewhere with four seasons again. I don't like having to run from location to location with my nose frozen shut. I don't miss driving on ice or snow on my birthday anymore. The only real con to the weather here is a shortened scarf season. That's about where it ends. And no skiing. Other than that, I've learned to love the dry heat and almost passing out while sitting by the pool.

People Las Vegans Hate

I'm starting a running list of people Las Vegan's hate. Here is the beginning in no particular order. Feel free to suggest additions:

1) Paris Hilton
2) The guy(s) who defaced the Welcome to Las Vegas sign
3) Lil Wayne
4) Sharon Angle
5) Candidates who try to de-thrown Oscar Goodman
6) The Hoff
7) Militant evangelists who picket on Fremont Street
8) East Coasters who go to the A.C. because it's closer
9) People who walk in front of our cars around The Strip
10) Cabdrivers who try to cheat us like we're tourists

Why Even Bother: I Try to Start a Writers' Group

I really have no idea why I even bother. I mean, I've lived in lovely Las Vegas for five years now. (Good god, that's a long time.) I don't know what made me think I could find one or two literate, normal people to join the writers' group I wanted to start with fellow Nebraska alum, Chris Smith, who recently moved to this fair city.

Perhaps I've been reading too much Joyce lately, and I've tricked myself into thinking genius lurks around every corner. I'll tell you one place it doesn't lurk: between LVB and the mountains.

Ok, I probably sound pompous. But really, the only "writers" in this town think they're one bus ride with a Warner Bro's exec away from being the next Steve Spielberg. "I like dogs, and, um...Here's a link to my blog on which I've posted pictures of Rover opposite an acrostic poem beginning with 'rovely.'"

And, "Here's my post-apocalyptic masterpiece wherein women roam around topless for some reason; perhaps the garment district is where they're hoarding the viable Twinkies."

I don't know. I think I give up.

Dude, where are my sunglasses?

I was at job training the other night with my purse under my chair and a pair of old crappy sunglasses wrapped around the handle. I got up to move to the other side of the room, and I realized I no longer had my sunglasses. I looked on the floor around where I'd just been sitting, on my head, in my purse, to no avail.

Then, I looked up to see the elderly, retired teacher book it out the door--my sunglasses on her head!

And the next two nights at work, she was scheduled to work next to me, and she didn't show! Little does she know, those sunglasses were broken. The left lens pops out all the time! Ha!

Are you supposed to be a cat or a prostitute?

Aside from New Year's and payday, Halloween is Vegas' favorite holiday. The already crazy populace of the city has an excuse to get a little crazier, to let it all hang out, and be completely unapologetic about it. We even have a strategically placed government holiday, Nevada Day, that acts as a buffer from work sometime around Halloween weekend.

I'm curious to see what this Halloween will bring. For those of you who haven't been to Fremont Street lately, the place has turned into a sad Hollywood Boulevard. A guy dressed as Freddy Kruger has been stationed there for weeks. In fact, entire brigades of unemployed people have taken to downtown, costumed and desperate to make money from a photo op. How we'll tell the professional Jokers from the amateurs, I have no idea. Chances are, both demographics will be drunk when October 31 comes around.

As fun as Halloween is here, a place where you don't have to be a kid to celebrate, it's pretty stressful. There's a lot of pressure for a woman to find an original, flattering costume that won't disintegrate when doused with booze. Ok, to be honest, most women aren't all that creative. The scantily-clad teenagers in the pre-incarceration Lohan flick, "Mean Girls," spoofed it best: You really can't tell a cat costume from the work uniform of an actual prostitute.

This year, all my personal costume inclinations have been too political, from "recession showgirl," who would don a headdress made of beer cans and old newspaper, to being the city of Las Vegas in a t-shirt that reads "15% unemployment," and "foreclosed," maybe I'm just not in the mood. I've finally settled on a flapper. After all, what would be more ironic right now than an outfit right out of the Roaring Twenties?

When it rains, it floods

Between working, going to school full time, launching a new website, and buying my first pair of jeggings, I've been really busy lately. Then, this morning, my life was put on hold when I woke up to ridiculously heavy rain. In any other city, rain means nothing more than dragging around an awkward umbrella, but in Vegas, rain equals Armageddon.

First of all, people in the desert don't know how to drive in the rain. Or if they once did, they completely forget as soon as they cross the Hoover Dam. People drive about 20 mph and STILL insist on crashing into each other. Once, I even saw a car catch on fire in the rain.

Second, the streets flood. The city was built before climate change was even a term that "scientists" could deny, so we don't have a sewer system. This makes Vegas less advanced than India circa 1500 B.C. The point is, I had to drive for an hour to get to work today. And since I know I don't have any readers in Los Angeles, that's a long time to all of us.

But my extended commute did give me time to think. It gave me time to breathe. And it gave me time to make a mental list of everything I wanted to be hit by lightening. None of those people/places were, of course, but it's fun to pretend.

The Classic Vegas Night

Many tourists think a classic Vegas evening begins with Tequila shots, centers on losing your money playing baccarat, and ends with a head in the toilet (not that you'd remember). And I don't think "The Hangover" helped our case any. But really, a classic night in Vegas is characterized by nothing. Classic Vegas is completely random.

Tonight, for example, we headed to The Palms Casino to see Vampire Weekend, an indie band that has been around for a few years now and has recently gained modest notoriety in the mainstream. The occasion was a launch party for Fallout: New Vegas, a video game sequel set in a post-apocalyptic Las Vegas. I'm not sure why Vampire Weekend was playing at this event, or even how I ended up on the guest list exactly, but that's just so typical. In Vegas, you never really know what's going to happen next.

But then, before the band went on, who steps into the spotlight but Mr. Vegas himself, Wayne Newton, wearing a half-mesh black shirt and looking, well, as weird as usual. He awkwardly referred to Fallout as a "video I had to be a part of," and then sort of stood there while everyone took pictures of his plastic mug with their iPhones. Bizarre and strange.

That's all. There wasn't really a point to this post. It's just sort of a weird slice of life.