My favorite mailman

Seriously, when is it gonna stop being so freaking hot in this town? I'm dry as a bone, man, dry as a bone!

Another mind-blowing performance last night by Santa Fe and the Fat City Horns. I hope that if you plan on coming to visit me in Vegas, you plan on being here for a Monday night show at the Palms. I haven't been here long, but I feel pretty confident that I've found the best band in Vegas. Check out their blog:
http://santafeandthefatcityhorns.blogspot.com/
Lots of great pics (I managed to sneak into one at the Sept 22nd gig) and links.

Today, I visited with Van, my friendly mail-keeper. And he actually had mail for me! See, when we moved from New York, we had our mail forwarded to our new address here in Vegas. It wasn't until we arrived that we realized we were living in a hotel. And there are no mailboxes in this hotel, just a cardboard box with a sign stating RESIDENT MAIL where the USPS dumps all of the resident mail. I prefer a little more privacy with my mail, so we rented a box at one of those all-purpose MAIL places in the same shopping center as the Trader Joe's (YAY for having TJ's back in my life). This all happened 3 weeks ago. And then we went to a branch of the USPS to try to have our mail forwarded from the hotel to the box, which turned out to be impossible (we would have to receive the entire hotel's mail in our little box). So then we went to another post office, where we were told to fill out Mail Forwarding Correction slips. And then we were told that it would take a few weeks before any changes took place. Meanwhile, we hadn't received any mail since mid-August in New York. In any case, Tuesday has been my day to run errands, as Alex doesn't need the car on Tuesday mornings. Which means that every Tuesday I make a Trader Joe's run. Which means that every Tuesday I check our mail box. And while I was pretty certain that the box would be empty, I looked forward to the trip just so I could visit with Van. Van is the man in charge of everything at the mailbox place. And this place not only does mailboxes and shipping and receiving and all that stuff, it also has language classes, a wifi area, handmade jewelry for sale, fish bowls for sale...it has it all! And Van does it all and he does it with style. He's from the DC area, lived in New York for awhile, speaks a little bit of a lot of languages (Greek, Russian, Mandarin, Italian, French, Spanish), publishes a Russian-English Vegas monthly, runs his own consulting firm, he's a graphic designer, photographer, rides a motorcycle, has hated Vegas all 3 years he's lived here, answers the phone with a British accent, stands over 6 feet tall, and is a female impersonator. Every week, Van tells me how much he wants to leave Vegas and go to the coast, and every week I tell him that I hope he's gone the next time I come in. But truth is, I truly enjoy my visits with Van. We bullshit about the bullshit that is Vegas and how much we appreciate east coast people out here in the west. He's easy to talk to and makes me laugh. I hope I get to see his Patti LaBelle someday, though he tells me that he hates performing in this town. But he does throw on that accent when he answers the phone... And today, I even had some mail! Mail which was forwarded from NY to my box! Which means that the NYC post office received the correction slip! Which makes me wonder: Where the hell is all my mail from the last 6 weeks?

Munday Morning Musings

A great day for this football fan!! The Cleveland Browns won their first game of the season, woo hoo! And Brett Favre...oh Brett Favre...Not only did he lead the Jets to victory, but he threw for 6 touchdowns, a career high for him. And the thing I love about Brett Favre is how much something like that means to him. When he was interviewed on the field after the game, he was visibly emotional, saying that he'd never played in a game like that before. This guy has played in hundreds of pro games, he holds all kinds of records, he was worthy of the Hall of Fame years ago, and yet he still plays as if his best games are ahead of him, as if there is no where else he'd rather be than on a football field. Oh Brett Favre, you are ever so dreamy...

I'd also like to report that Alex has been a non-smoker for 2 weeks now! And considering how tough it's been for him, he's made it pretty easy for me. No tantrums, no bitching, just a whole lot of gum-chewing and inner turmoil. I'm lucky, considering all the substances I've had to quit in my years, that I've never been addicted to cigarettes. Sure, I smoked in high school, but by my freshman year of college, my asthma got too bad for me to continue my love affair with Newport Lights. Not that I didn't try, I would smoke those things until they actually made me puke. Eventually, I got tired of puking. So I never got to experience the hell of nicotine withdrawal, I never had to replace an every-ten-minutes kind of habit. I applaud Alex, I understand that this is no fun for him, but I am SO GLAD he's trying! He smells so clean and soapy now. And there's no pile of cigarette butts on my patio. Here's wishing him much success in staying off the Marlboro junk!

Not much else to report from Sin City. Life crawls along. Still hot here, high 90's most days. 14% humidity. I'm having a tough time adjusting. Been feeling somewhat under-the-weather since we got here. And all of a sudden, we've been here a month! Time flies when you're...living, I suppose.

Driving the other day, we were at a light next to The Arville Shopping Center, which offers consumers the following fine establishments:
New Shanghai Massage
Queen Bee Nails
Ngoc Lan Video
Passions Gentleman's Club
Marine Corps League
Macau Massage
American Shooters Gun Club

Personally, I would consider this a specialty shopping center. I mean, there's not a lot of actual shopping, right? There's a nail salon and an adult video place. But mostly, it's a center for sex and guns. I suppose the employees at Passions are glad to have Queen Bee Nails next door, as those poles can be murder on nail tips. I wonder if the two massage parlors duke it out for clientele? Perhaps their employees also work at Passions, trying to bring the gents over for a happy ending after their lap dance. And then the gents can work off any extra energy at the gun club before returning home to the family. Or they can work off any extra guilt by getting a talking-to at the Marine Corps League. Huh, I guess for some people, The Arville Shopping Center has it all! Not much for me there, my nails grow long and strong without any help from nail salons, and I'm not so big into Vietnamese porn, nor do I have money to spend on strippers and happy endings, nor do I like guns. Nope, not much for Meg to do there, but this must be the Mecca of shopping centers for some people. There were plenty of cars in the lot.

Another sign I saw that made me pause: FREE PROFESSIONAL CHILDCARE! Which sounds good, right? Except that it was at a casino. Which now sounds like Bad Parenting 101. Sure, I understand that parents need to get away from the kids, they need a break from speaking in code and acting responsibly. And sure, I understand that many adults like to unwind by pumping quarters into slot machines or tossing dice at a craps table. But there's something about bringing kids to a casino-run childcare that seems really sketchy to me. Personally, I am always a little appalled when I see kids in casinos. It's one thing if you're visiting and are staying in a casino and need to walk through the gaming areas to get anywhere else. But casinos are in no way kid-friendly. Smoking, drinking, cussing, scantily-clad cocktail servers, no clocks or windows... Sure, there's lots of flashing lights and arcade-like sounds to amuse the tots for a time. But there's nothing for kids to do! Which, I suppose, is where the childcare comes in. Now you can drop your kids off in a room full of toys with adult supervision! Great! Except...IN A CASINO??? What, are there strip clubs out there with childcare? When Sinthia isn't working the pole, she's reading Dr. Seuss to your kids! There are some environments that aren't meant for kids, no matter how you dress them up. Casinos are not for kids!! Frankly, I think that if a parent wants to spend an afternoon or evening at a casino, find a babysitter! If you don't have the money for a babysitter, why the hell are you going to a casino?? Kids are exposed to enough madness without trotting them through Palace Station Casino to get to daycare. I don't know, I'm not a parent so I suppose it's not for me to judge. But if I were Queen of the World, I'm pretty sure I'd be removing the casino childcare system. And I'd also be implementing a monthly Ice Cream Holiday. And puppies would never grow old. And money would grow on trees, making everyone an environmentalist. Won't you all live with me in Megtopia?

A rant on education in our pre-Mad Max world

No auditions for me this week. The latest listing looks like this:
LOOKING FOR EXTREMELY ATHLETIC, HIGHLY SKILLED PROFESSIONAL FEMALE DANCERS FOR IMMEDIATE SWING AND FULL TIME POSITIONS. PLEASE WEAR SEXY, AGGRESSIVE ATTIRE. CALL BACKS WILL BE SAME DAY AND CALL BACKS WILL BE TOPLESS.
Sigh. Well, it took 3 weeks for me to find an audition for myself, so I will just keep perusing the listings and waiting for "clothes on" opportunities.

Went to a debate-watching party at my voice teacher's house last night. She hosted the party through Moveon.org, so most of the people there were strangers. It was a good mixture, about 12 people ranging in age from early 20's to late 60's, about an even number of men and women, with differing opinions on the state of our country. Most people there were Obama supporters, a couple were on-the-fence, but everyone was in agreement that American life as we know it is changing in ways that we cannot yet imagine. As one person said, "The government pretty much owns the banking system...How much more socialized can we get?" I certainly don't understand much about the economy, but I know enough to be concerned when the Dow drops 500 points in a day, when Lehman Brothers shuts its doors, when the government seizes WaMu, the largest banking failure in history. Alex understands these things much better than myself; he was a stockbroker, he reads The Wall Street Journal for fun, CNBC is his favorite channel. And the guys that he works with are all numbers guys, they're in the business of money, with backgrounds in finance and whatnot. So I get to hear what they think about all this, and let me tell you, it scares me. I'm really appreciating the fact that the men-folk in my family have been buying hunting property in upstate NY, because I'm thinking there may be a need for us to get the heck out of the cities and hide in the woods with our canned food and shotguns. And frankly, I feel like whichever man wins this election is pretty much screwed: say goodbye to any projects you wanted to implement, cuz we're broke beyond broke! The dollar is starting to look like Monopoly money. Supposedly "safe" investments no longer exist. Houses are worth a fraction of what they were worth a few years ago. Here in Nevada (which not only tops the nation in foreclosures but also has the highest high-school dropout rate in the country, go figure) things are pretty bleak. It's especially apparent in Vegas, where half-finished skyscrapers sit and wait for something to give. And foreclosure signs cover the neighborhoods. The apartment below ours has a huge sign on the door: NOTICE! LOCKS HAVE BEEN CHANGED! NEW OWNER! DO NOT ATTEMPT TO ENTER! And no one has, in the 4 weeks we've been here. Apartments in this building that were bought for $300,000 a few years ago are now being sold for less than a third of that. There are units available for $30,000!! And most people don't feel that we've seen the bottom yet. The casinos are losing money, which is unheard of. Tourism has decreased dramatically. Times is hard here in Lost Wages. Times is hard all over the ol' US of A. And I have to say, I didn't really get the proper level of gravity from either candidate in the debate last night. I understand that the debate was focusing mostly on foreign policy, but the first half was centered around the economy. And I don't care what McCain says, earmarks and government overspending is not what this crisis is about. And I don't care what Obama says, he's gonna have to cut back on his desired projects in a huge way. There's just no way around it that I can see. The government is bailing out companies with money that we don't actually have, and I'm pretty sure no one is gonna bail out the government. I don't know, but if you've seen the "Mad Max" movies, you've got a sense of what my nightmares look like these days. McCain and Obama are gonna have to work it out in The Thunderdome!

This certainly is not the best time to be getting out of grad school with an MFA and a heaping shit-ton of student loans to be repaid (though Alex is hoping that the bank which provided my loans will somehow go defunct and I will magically be paid off--HA). The Arts always suffer when spending needs to be cut, and considering how little money goes towards the arts now, it's frightening to think of where we'll be heading in the years to come, no matter who wins this election (though I have to believe that the arts stand a better chance at survival under a Democratic administration, as has been the case in our history). And while I agree that there are elements of American life that have a higher level of urgency than art (who gives a crap about art when you can't pay the rent? Other than artists, of course), I know in my soul that a society that minimizes the importance of arts education for its children is doing a huge disservice to itself and to it's future. I feel like I can speak to this issue, as I made my living through educational theatre for close to 6 years. I can tell you of the power theatre has over students, the power to engage them and their imaginations, to bring them out of themselves and to empathize with the struggles and triumphs of people far removed from themselves. I can tell you of teachers who looked forward all year to the one-hour program I would bring in to their classrooms, as this hour would connect with their students more directly and more meaningfully than any textbook assignment they were required to do. I can tell you that after No Child Left Behind came to be, many schools no longer had the time or the budget for these outside programs. Because of all of the standardized testing that students had to cram for, there was no time for an hour-long opportunity to have elementary school students see theatre and let their minds expand beyond the facts and figures they had to memorize. I mean, COME ON!!! THESE ARE KIDS!!! You want them to learn? Let them enjoy it! Let them get involved and ask questions and use their imaginations to grasp concepts, rather than sitting them at a desk all day taking notes on names and dates and events that don't seem to have any relevance to their lives. This is what art can do: art can transport children directly to a situation, to another place and time, all through the power of imagination, which is far more powerful than any textbook retelling of historical events. Why do we limit these opportunities, insisting that children need to learn in a standardized way that keeps their imaginations, the most powerful tool they've got, turned off? What has this regime of standardization done for our test scores throughout the nation? Are we now ranking with the best of the best? Nope, we're still scoring about the same below-average marks as we were in 2003, according to an article in the Washington Post from Dec, 2007 http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/12/04/AR2007120400730.html

Clearly, cutting arts funding for schools and increasing the cramming for standardized tests isn't solving the problem. And there are many problems in our educational system. I've worked in schools in 35 states, from elementary through university, private and public and religious, all-girls and all-boys and co-ed. I have seen schools in low-income neighborhoods that consistently turn out high test scores, and I have seen students in high-priced private schools who behave like mildly retarded monsters. Kids are kids, whether they're in a crumbling public school in New Orleans (worst schools I ever worked at, and this was before Katrina) or in a tiny regional school in northern Montana (where there was no motel for 50 miles but they did have a heroin epidemic). They have their own learning curves, their own needs, their own strengths and skills. They all learn in different ways, and the more ways they can be engaged, the better they are going to do. And the more we take their imaginations out of their education, the worse they are going to fare. I know this to be true. A child's imagination is her greatest gift, and it is also her greatest tool. The more we smother the imaginations of our kids, the worse we will fare on the world stage. There is no doubt of this in my mind. And my mind is pretty frickin' sharp, people. Even with all the brain cells I've killed over the years.

I wonder what we'll be teaching our kids when we all head out to The Thunderdome...

A New Girl Singer in Town!

I really lucked out with my voice teacher, Jessica Marciel.
When I made the decision to move to Vegas, I realized that I needed to have some kind of plan, some way of focusing myself and my energies during my 6-month stint in Sin City. I made a list of goals for myself, and at the top of the list was: SING! It’s been a long time since I’ve thought of myself as a singer, and I have missed it dearly. At one point, singing came as naturally to me as breathing, but that is no longer the case. Even though I’ve spent a great deal of time training my voice as an actor, a disconnect grew between my singing and speaking voices. Yes, intellectually I understand that I’ve got one voice, but somehow I have managed to become a much stronger speaker and a much weaker singer. But I’m determined to sing! And so, while I was still in New York, I did some searching for a Vegas voice teacher. There were many options, and I didn’t really know how I could pick a teacher online, so I decided that I would contact a few and see if I could get a first appointment set up. Jessica responded to me immediately, seemed like a good match, and I decided to give her a shot. If we didn’t click after one lesson, I would look elsewhere. Well, I knew within a few minutes that I had found my teacher. I felt right at home with her, and she gave me confidence to believe that if I worked hard, I could get my voice back. Great!
What I never could have expected, or even hoped for, was that Jessica would do her best to try to get me known around town. At my lesson last Friday, she called her partner in her “big band” and said, “Hey, who do you use as a girl singer when I’m not available? Cause there’s a new girl singer in town that you need to meet. She’s pretty, mid-twenties (I didn’t feel a need to correct her on this) and very talented.” When she hung up the phone, she told me that they have a gig on October 5th and that I’m gonna sing a song with them. Wow! I was just excited for an introduction, but I get actual stage time!
Then on Monday night, Alex and I met Jessica at The Palms to see a band called Santa Fe and The Fat City Horns. The band is made up of guys who all play in the big shows around town (Jersey Boys, Phantom, Bette) and they come together every Monday night just to have fun. Jessica told me I had to come with her, not only because the band is amazing, but because I need to start networking (which is my biggest weakness in this business; I’m a total chicken-shit when it comes to meeting industry people). So we met her there after the end of the Jets-Chargers game (oh Brett Favre, how I love you, even with your high interception stat). Alex was excited to meet her, and right away they began debating politics (they both support Obama but have differing opinions on a number of topics). Then we went to The Lounge to get seats for the show, as it fills up early (there’s no cover charge, and lots of people are regulars). One by one, the band members began to show up from their gigs around town, and Jessica had me meeting all of them: “Hey, this is Meg, she’s a new singer in town and she’s really talented, you have to get to know her, she’s gonna be singing with my big band at Bugsy’s on the 5th, come check her out!” Most of these guys have known Jessica for years, and they were all so kind to me. “You just moved here? Welcome, it’s really great to meet you. How do you like it so far?” I’m so glad she was able to introduce me before the show, because I probably would have been too star-struck to speak to them afterwards. THESE GUYS ARE AMAZING MUSICIANS!! As the 6-piece horn section started blowing, I was blown away. Then the drums and percussion and keys and bass and guitar came in, then the singing layered on top…jaw-dropping goodness. Reminded me of a Maceo Parker show. Every person on that stage was a star in his own right, and together, they are unbelievable. Alex wasn’t sure he was gonna stick around, as the set began at 10:45 and he was exhausted from his long weekend at work. But once they got started, he was wide awake. He even pulled me up to dance! And dance we did, while the band rocked on. Over the course of the almost 2-hour set, they called a number of guests up onstage: members of Tower of Power; Earth, Wind & Fire; Spirogyra; and others. Seriously, an amazing show. And afterwards, the guys were mixing and mingling, and the ones I had met asked me how I liked the show, talked to me about needing to get a MySpace page set-up so I could network…
Between my audition experience Monday afternoon and my networking experience Monday night, I had a kick-ass day meeting some down-to-earth Vegas artists. For the first time since I arrived, I felt truly happy to be here. I don’t know where I’ll be going in this town, but all of a sudden, I am really excited about the journey. DIVA LAS VEGAS!!

Vegas Auditions

Let me give you an example of the kind of audition listings I've been seeing since I arrived here 3 weeks ago:
We are currently casting a variety of striking female models to begin in late August in the following categories: Classic Italian beauties, Exotic Pacific Islanders, All-American girls next door, and tranquil tan Mediterraneans. All models applying should have a full bust, be toned, and have fit bodies with elegant lines. Applicants must be able to create a sensual, sexy, and relaxed feel throughout the nightclub while maintaining a professional work ethic.
Notice how this listing doesn't actually say what the job is. Which pretty much means: "Looking for high-class strippers who won't snort too much blow on the job." Awesome.

But finally, I found an audition that I could go to AND keep my clothes on for!! Oh, happy day! The audition was for the Vegas production of "Tony n' Tina's Wedding" at the Rio, now in it's 6th year. Now, I've never seen the show, but Alex took his mom to the Atlantic City production last year and gave me a pretty good idea of what it's all about. Fairly similar to the murder mystery dinner theatre I did for a couple of years in Seattle: mingle with the guests as if you are a guest, eat a dry chicken dinner, get on stage to deliver some cheezy lines, generally be over-the-top and above all things, ENTERTAIN. No deep character research, no gut-wrenching drama, just make sure the people laugh and don't feel like they got ripped off for a hundred dollar plate of pasta. Not really what I want to be doing as an actor these days, but who cares? I got to go to an audition, WOO HOO!! And truthfully, it's kind of a perfect job for my Vegas adventure: walking distance from home, steady gig, lots of free time to keep working on my writing. Frankly, I didn't care if I got the job or not, I just wanted to do something that made me feel like an actor, if only for an hour or two.
I didn't know what to expect from a Vegas audition. The listing said, "2pm open-call audition, 1:30 registration, prepare a brief comic monologue and an upbeat non-pop song." Now, in New York, a 2 pm open-call means arriving by 11am and not being surprised to see a line has already formed. I didn't think I'd have to be THAT early in Vegas; after all, there are as many actors in NYC as there are people in Las Vegas! I arrived at 12:45, and I was the first one there. I went to a bathroom to put on my makeup and kill some time, and when I went back at 1:15, there were 3 people there, 2 men and 1 woman. And all 3 smiled and said, "Hello" when I got in line. In New York, I would have been sized up with withering gazes then turned away from. So I decided to test the waters with the other woman, see if she might be willing to help another actor out. I asked her where she finds auditions in Vegas, as I haven't been having much luck. And we ended up chatting for the next 30 minutes until they opened the doors. She even offered me a ticket to see "Phantom" last night, but I already had plans. By now, another 15 people had shown, and I was in conversation with quite a few. I got audition tips (the main site for listings in town is vegasauditions.com, which I already paid the $40 for, which is how I found yesterday's audition) and learned that most of the women there were dancers who were excited to be able to keep their clothes on for an audition, too! The waiting room was full of conversation, about the business in Vegas, about personal backgrounds, about where to get good pizza in town (I turned them onto Grimaldi's). I've gotta tell you, it was SO NICE to be in an audition situation where I didn't feel like the other women wanted to break my legs! I got spoiled by my years in Seattle, where there was an atmosphere of support, even with the understanding that we were all in competition with each other. New York is simply vicious. So even before I went in for my audition, I was thrilled that I was there. And then, I did my monologue. Which went well. They asked me to stick around and read for Tina. I read the side, was given direction: "Take out the Princess-feel." "Tina's tough." "Okay, she's tough but not angry." I like being directed. I was having fun. Then they asked me to sing "Desperado", which I kind of know, but I made up words. Didn't matter, they just wanted to know I could sing. The director then asked me to step outside with him and said, "You're from New York? Oh, I love New York. Listen, Tina's supposed to be 21, you're on the older side of that"--guess he could tell that I'm 27--"but I think you could play Tina, you could play Donna, you could do any of them. Have you seen the show? I want you to come see it. Yes? Great, I'll have my assistant give you a call this week. Thanks so much for coming in." And then he gave me a big hug. Which might have been a little casting-couch creepy if the man wasn't so very gay.
So...I think they liked me! I guess I'll see if I get a call or not. Regardless, it was one of the nicest auditions I've been to in a long, long time. As I was leaving, everyone asked me how it went and wished me luck. WOW! And as I walked home from the Rio, with all the cars honking and some nasty requests called out to me, I felt truly glad to be in Las Vegas.
And that was before my night out at the Palms....

Meggy Crocker

So on Saturday, I was chatting with my friend, Nick, who was busy playing Daddy out in Catskill, NY. Nick asked me what I was doing with my day, and I told him, "Well, Saturday is my day to clean the apartment. And there's laundry to do. And I'm gonna bake some cookies." And Nick asked, "Ummm...are you wearing an apron?"
Domestic bliss is killing me! Okay, that's extreme, certainly. But when did my life become so regular? Saturday is cleaning day, Sunday is banana pancake NFL day, Tuesday is my grocery shopping day, ...I'm freakin' Betty Crocker here! I make Alex breakfast before he heads out to the office, I make dinner when he comes home, the bed is always made, the litter box is always scooped, I even bought one of those blue tablets you stick in the toilet tank to keep it nice and clean. WHO AM I?? When did my life become so stable? Oh wait, I know the answer to that one: 3 weeks ago when I arrived in Vegas.
Stability is something I both yearn for and despise. As an actor, there's been very little stability on the job front. Rarely can I look ahead 6 months and tell you what I'll be doing or where I'll be doing it. And sometimes, this drives me nuts! All I want is to know what's ahead, to know how I'm gonna pay rent, to know that I will in fact be acting again! But then, put me in a good, stable environment for 3 weeks and I'm ready to tear my hair out! Okay, I'm exaggerating. I'm actually kind of enjoying my domesticity. I feel kind of grown-up. Like I could throw a dinner party that wouldn't result in someone hugging the toilet and food fights breaking out in the kitchen. Which is nice, as I've had to clean food stains from walls on more occasions than I'd like to admit and trust me, it's a bitch getting mustard and cranberry sauce off of white paint. Yes, I'm a grown-up, with my dishwasher and the rent paid on time and the ability to recall how I got home from the bar (these days, it's generally as the designated driver: my sobriety has been a sweet deal for my drunken friends!). And it's nice to feel somewhat grounded, it's nice to sleep in clean sheets, it's nice to live with Alex full-time again. But this whole Betty Crocker thing is freaking me out! I made dozens of cookies on Saturday: chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, oatmeal chocolate chip, flourless peanut butter. I had flour on my nose and butter on my elbows (I dare this desert to dry me out with my butter balm!), I didn't have a mixer so I worked myself into a sweat creaming together the butter and sugar so my cookies would be light and crispy...
I would have made a killing at a church bake sale! But no, there was no financial impetus for my cookie-making. Yesterday was our last Sunday drive to Primm (you can read about Primm in the entry "Are You Ready for Some Football?"), as the independent sports book there has been taken over by Lucky's, which has books all over Vegas, meaning there's no reason for Alex to drive the 42 miles south to make his Sunday morning deals. Alex wanted to bring the people there something to say thanks for the relationship they'd developed over the years. The sports book manager is a pastry chef and many times would give Alex cookies when he came in, so Alex said he was gonna buy a tray of cookies to bring them. Oh, don't do that, I said, I'll bake some. You don't have to do that, he said, I'll just buy some at the supermarket. No no, I said, store-bought just isn't as good as homemade. He agreed, and I bought me a 5-pound sack o' flour and enough butter to kill a cow. This cookie-making thing was all me, and it's all about me being domesticized. (Well...I really really like cookies. And...I like cookie dough even more.) And my cookies were a big hit! In fact, we got a $400 comp for dinner out there tomorrow night (Alex needs to go cash out his winning tickets so we get one more drive). And I got big thumbs up both at Primm and at the Wynn (just trying to keep them from barring Alex, as there aren't many places left in town where he's allowed to bet). Yes, my cookies are rockin'. But is this what my life has become? Am I now the Domestic Diva? I can brighten your whites and keep your colors from fading! I can get your chrome to sparkle like new! I can color-code your closet! SAVE ME FROM MYSELF!!!

Sex sells

I just got thoroughly complimented on my backside!
I had a voice lesson today with my uber-cool teacher, Jessica. Jessica was in the original LA cast of "Hair" from '68-'71, she's got a killer voice, and she's an Obama volunteer!!! What's not to love?? I've met with her 3 times now, and we spend the first 10 minutes of each lesson talking about the crap being spewed in this campaign, mostly focusing on Sarah Palin, whom I truly believe is the worst thing to happen to women in this country since the advent of People Magazine. But I will speak no more of politics here... I had a great lesson, and then Jessica gave me a ride to the bus stop. For whatever reason, I decided to skip the bus and walk home. I must be getting used to the heat, because 95 didn't feel bad. And it's a straight 4 miles down Flamingo Road, so I didn't have to fear getting lost. I love to walk, it's one of my favorite activities, and the only walking I've done in Vegas is the casino Sports Book crawl with Alex. I was glad to put my feet to the pavement this afternoon. Unfortunately, I forgot both my phone and my iPod at home, so there was nothing for me to do but soak in the sounds of traffic on Flamingo. And I kept noticing the numerous taps of the horn as cars drove past. I noticed that all the honking was happening in the east-bound lanes closest to me. And eventually, I realized that they were honking at me! They were honking, and whistling, and clicking their tongues, and making lip-smacking sounds, and calling out, "Hey, Mommie!" Some cars slowed a bit, some drivers turned to get a look at the front side. Damn, my ass must be smokin'!
Not really. I mean, I was wearing sneakers, white shorts that run to the mid-thigh, and a black tank top. Nothing flashy, nothing special. I wasn't wearing a stitch of makeup, just some Carmex to keep my lips from blistering. My hair was all crazy from the wind. Truly, there was nothing special about the view of my rear side today. Much as I'd like to take credit for the frenzy created for these drivers, the reality is this: I am a woman, and as a woman, I am an object. I am something that can be beckoned like a puppy, snapped at like a servant. This town thrives on the objectification of women! Sure, I've gotten cat-calls and whistles before, in every city in which I've lived. But today, I got a taste of how women are truly viewed in Sin City.
It's not just the strippers or the call girls or the 24-hour "massage" parlors that are responsible for this objectification. (TIP: Don't ever go to a Vegas massage parlor with blacked-out windows, or one that advertises "All Kinds of Massage", or ones with names like "Lucky's" or "Golden Touch". Unless you actually want a Happy Ending. In which case, there's a massage parlor for you in every shopping center!) It's the billboards for upscale eateries, billboards which show no food, only a woman wearing lingerie. It's the taxi's advertising "Crazy Girls Revue" with a row of bare-assed women in bad 80's wigs driving in front of you. It's the clubs promising men that they'll find "no ugly women" inside. It's cocktail waitresses having to wear midriff-baring uniforms on their 7am shift. Yesterday, I saw a shoe-shine woman at Mandalay Bay wearing a mini-skirt and fishnets!! It's bowling alleys and housing developments and law offices, all of them advertising with beautiful nearly-naked women to get customers. Sex sells, and in this town, sex sells everything. As long as the sex is female.

79 never felt so good

I made it through a hot and sweaty night on Tuesday, and while the outside temp was hanging in the mid-70's, it never made it below 83 indoors. By 10am yesterday, it was 85 indoors and getting stuffier by the minute. I figured the best thing for me to do was some hot yoga. I've never done hot yoga (or Bikram, for you practitioners), though I've heard some pretty interesting things about it, good and bad. I've heard about instructors acting like drill sergeants, I've heard of the cleansing properties of doing detoxifying poses while sweating out impurities, I've heard of people ready to pass out 10 minutes into a 90 minute class. I've never been interested. Truth is, I'm a bit of a yoga coward. I enjoy doing poses on my own, or with my DVD friend Rodney Yee talking me through in his "so calm I wanna smack him" manner. But classes intimidate me. And since I'm too broke to afford classes, I don't have to worry about conquering that fear just yet. Anyway, I was already sweating at 10am yesterday, and I couldn't sit still. So, hot yoga it was! Now, my understanding is that Bikram is generally practiced in a room set at 95-100 degrees, and it only made it to 89 for me yesterday, but that was enough! Somehow, it actually made me feel better, like I could handle the heat and perhaps even be productive! That feeling lasted about 20 minutes post-yoga, then I was back to being pissed off. Alex was working from home yesterday, so we got to be pissed off together. And poor She-ra, she drank her weight in water and was still thirsty for more. We finally heard from our realtor, Debbie, who let us know that she was talking with the owner and doing her best to persuade him to stop trying to fix an obviously unfixable unit and buy a new one, but he was hesitant. And again, I get it. Money Pit. (Remember that movie, with Tom Hanks and Shelley Long? Brilliant. The scene where Tom Hanks falls through a hole in the floor and is trapped there all night singing "The Name Game" still makes me chuckle. I'm chuckling right now.) But I can't live like this! And the same unit which is meant to bring us cool air in the summer is also responsible for bringing us warm air in the winter. IT NEEDS TO WORK! We went to Home Depot yesterday to buy screens for the sliding door and the bedroom window so at least we could get some air flow in here (She-ra is not an outdoor cat, much as she'd like to be, so with no screens, we've had to keep things pretty much sealed tight). We're trying to be understanding and patient and do what we can to improve the situation for the time-being. But when the outside temp is 96, a screen door is not gonna do much to cool things off inside. ARGH!
One of the perks of Alex's job is the comps. So by 3pm yesterday, 89 degrees and climbing, Alex made a call and got us a hotel room for the night. I felt bad leaving She-ra behind to deal with the hell-heat, but not that bad. I felt worse for us humans. Besides, I like staying in hotels. Mostly, I like escaping my routine. Alex and I started doing hotel nights about once a month during our last year in Boston, and we discovered how good it is in a relationship to break things up, to get away from the responsibilities of home for just a night and appreciate each other without the complications of adulthood. And I especially like staying in Vegas casinos. At least, I like staying in the casinos where we get free rooms, which are generally the more upscale places. There are many, many casinos here that I've not stayed in, nor do I have much of a desire to do so. But it's exciting to stay in a casino, even though I don't gamble. It's such a LIVE atmosphere, 24 hours a day. It's highly theatrical, from the costumes worn by the cocktail waitresses (yes, only waitresses, and yes, only those with bodies that look good in skimpy sequined outfits need apply) to the casino's theme, which carries over into the architecture, the restaurants, the music, the floor shows. For example, at The Rio, it's Mardi Gras every day! At Paris, everyone speaks with a faux French accent. The Venetian has a canal which you can travel along in a private gondola. And the rooms generally reflect the overall feel of the casino. Some are pretty basic, nothing you couldn't find in any of the 50 states. But some are...truly spectacular. I've taken many pictures of these rooms (which I'll someday figure out how to post), usually concentrating on the bathrooms, so that someday when I've got tons of money and am going to be designing my own loft, I can refer to some of the bathroom shots for inspiration. I love well-designed bathrooms, and we've stayed in casinos with some super-shwanky inspirations.
Vegas casinos I've stayed in: Harrah's, Bally's, The Rio, Palms, MGM, Paris, Venetian, Palazzo, Caesars, Bellagio, Wynn, Red Rock (which is out by Red Rock Canyon, about 25 minutes from the Strip) and last night, I spent my first night at Green Valley Ranch, an upscale resort about 20 minutes from the Strip. Alex had some work to do out there, so it seemed like the easiest option. Alex has stayed at GVR a few times. In fact, the last time he stayed, in June, they gave him a suite with a grand piano. Nothing so shmancy for us last night. Still, a very nice room, with a bathroom the size of our living room here. Funny, we've stayed in such ridiculous rooms that my perspective has entirely shifted. I mean, when we're driving cross-country, which happens twice a year, we stay in whatever is cheapest, and we're quite content. But when it comes to casino rooms, we (Alex especially) are snobs. At one time, our room last night would have seemed elegant beyond belief. But that was before Caesars. And Palazzo. And especially Wynn. All of the rooms at Wynn are suites, all are lovely and have top-quality fixin's. First time we stayed, August of 2006, I felt for certain that we would never stay in such a nice room again. Huge jacuzzi tub, shower built for 4, huge living room and bar separate from the bedroom, 2 bathrooms...it was Heaven. So good, I didn't want to sleep. I couldn't imagine ever finding myself in such luxury again. But then we stayed in one of the Wynn Villas. Holy. Crap. There are 18 Villas, sitting on the golf course. Entirely separate entrance from the rest of the resort. The foyer was the size of my living room. There were 3 bathrooms, each of which could have housed a small family. The private balcony was as long as a driveway. We even had a private massage room. Not that we used it, as we would have had to pay for the masseuse. And we paid for nothing on that trip. It was RFB. What is RFB, you ask? RFB is a license to charge as much as you'd like and never pay for any of it! It stands for Room, Food & Beverage, and all of those items are comped by the casino. So, in our 3 days at the Villa, we emptied out the minibar daily, we ordered room service at least 3 times a day (Alex ate lobster daily), we had all of Alex's friends over to help with the consumption. It was truly ridiculous. This room has to go for at least $10,000 a day, not counting the lobster and champagne and $10 minibar M&M's. What the hell are they giving it to us for? Sadly, we will never get that room again. Literally 45 minutes after we checked into the room, Alex had been booted from the tables. I was taking my first of 7 bubble baths for our 3-day stay when Alex returned from the casino to let me know he'd been barred from playing. I leaped from the tub to get packed, as I knew it was too good to be true. But no, we were allowed to stay, we could eat filet and lobster on the house, they already made the deal on the room. Makes no sense to me, but I certainly wasn't going to argue. (I did spend the whole 3 days fearing every knock on the door, but it was always either room service or minibar service knocking, never a couple of bodybuilders in dark suits come to forcibly remove us.)
I imagine that I will never again stay in accommodations like those, and I have definitely been spoiled by the experience. So much so that when I walked into our Executive Suite at GVR last night, with it's beautiful furniture and huge bathroom and enough space for me and Alex to get a vigorous game of catch going, my response was, "Cute." And cold! The air conditioner was cranked to 66, way too cold, but I was so relieved not to be sweating that I gladly just crawled into the plushest robe I think I've ever used (GVR gets the award for best robes) and enjoyed my nose being cold. It was ever so lovely to sleep under blankets!
And this morning, when we left the Ranch at 8am, we were prepared to sweat it out again. But lo and behold, John the Repair Man was hard at work when we pulled up to our building! And the AC is once again working! It's 79 degrees in here, and it feels like Heaven. Of course, John let us know that the owner is still not ready to buy a new unit, so the re-wiring that was done this morning is only a temporary fix. But that's good enough for today. As much as I like staying in hotel rooms, I don't need an escape from this apartment yet. It's too new, it's just starting to feel like home. I'd rather be here than a hotel room. Unless the Villa were available...

seriously? again?

Maybe he didn't use duct tape after all. Or maybe he did.

The air conditioner is busted again. It is currently 85 degrees in my apartment, which is, of course, much cooler than the 98 degrees outside. But this is not cool! I am shrivelling like a raisin here, all the moisture in my body is sweating out onto my clothes, the cat is moaning like she's in heat. Alex quit smoking yesterday (yay!) which means he's already feeling like crap, and since my job is to be nice to him until the worst of the withdrawal is over, I'm working double-time. How the hell am I supposed to be nice when it's too hot to breathe? How am I supposed to distract him from both cigarettes and hell-heat?! He's already a big wimp when it comes to heat, he needs AC when the outdoor temp goes above 73! I tell him to take a cold shower is good for the length of the shower, but a minute after towelling off, the sweat beads are already popping out on the forehead. Along the spine. In the knee-pits.

I've actually got a good story to write, about living in a brothel, but the heat generated by this computer is making me itch. It'll have to hold until this problem is solved. And how, praytell, will this problem be solved? BY BUYING A NEW FREAKING AIR CONDITIONER, ONE THAT WASN'T MADE IN AUSTRALIA, ONE THAT HAS PARTS AND SERVICE AVAILABLE IN THE GOOD OL' U S OF A! Seems that this unit can't be fixed, it needs to be replaced. Which we were told on the repair man's 3rd visit to us. He did give us a quick-fix solution: when it stops blowing cold, shut off the breaker for 10 seconds then turn it on again. Worked well like that for almost a week. But we've powered off and on 20 times today (Alex isn't terribly patient) to no avail. The owner of this apartment is hesitant to put more money into the unit, as he bought it for $300K and it's now worth less than a third of that (the economy is in good shape, John McCain??). That's the story of Vegas. Foreclosure capital of the country! So, I get it. His investment has already been blown, and he's not thrilled about pumping more money into this pit. But I cannot survive in the desert without Air Conditioning!!!!!
Make that 21 times we've powered down the unit. We're gonna give it a little rest. Again.

In praise of duct tape

I have nothing good to say about football this morning. Except that Peyton Manning managed to get it back on track to win his game. But that can only dull the pain momentarily...

The air conditioner has been working for 4 days straight! I think duct tape must have been used to finally keep it running after 4 visits from the repair guy. Duct tape fixes anything! Even cars! My first car was a hand-me-down from my grandfather, a 1988 mint-green Oldsmobile which I called "Grandpa" (not my greatest moment of creative wizardry). Actually, Grandpa was my second car. My first was my dad's old car, which he handed over when I moved to Philly. This car had a refrigerator pan covering a hole in the floor on the front passenger's side big enough for Fred Flintstone to have powered his ride. This car made it to Philly, then sat in my driveway for months after I was told that it would need close to $2000 in parts and repairs to make it legal enough to get registered in the state of Pennsylvania. Eventually, a co-worker from the butcher shop (another story for another time) took it off my hands, as she had an ex who was good with cars. Guess he wasn't that good, as we got a notice from the state many months later telling us that the car was found abandoned on the side of a highway. Anyway, Grandpa was given to me after my grandfather decided that he wasn't going to drive anymore. I thought I'd struck it rich! The car looked great (in an '88 mint-green Olds' kind of way) and I was certain that it was in great condition. See, my grandfather spent most of his afternoons sitting at a repair shop in Rutherford, NJ with his friends and fellow horse-bettors. So naturally, I assumed that the car was well taken care of. Boy was I wrong. Seems my grandfather never took it in for a tune-up in the 10 years that he owned that vehicle. Regardless, after $1000 of work, the car was working well enough to get me, Alex, She-ra, and whatever else we could fit into it, from Philly to Seattle. And it ran fairly well for a few months in Seattle. But then it started falling apart. Literally. And we were broke, way too broke to afford new engine blocks and belts and alternators and whatever else was required. DUCT TAPE TO THE RESCUE! Alex figured out a way to keep things in place with nothing more than a $3 roll of duct tape! We'd keep a spare roll in the car, as things tended to loosen up under the hood with all the heat produced by the engine. I'd estimate that duct tape bought us an extra year with Grandpa. And I really loved that car. I still remember riding in the back as a kid, my cousin Melanie on the other side of the seat, each of us with our own bag of candy from the corner store near my aunt & uncle's house in East Hampton. Our grandparents often gave us each a couple of bucks to buy candy, clearly unconcerned by my ever-expanding ass, which was camouflaged by my unfortunate white-girl Afro. Me and Mel were always very careful not to get any chocolate on the fabric of Grandpa's new car. Years later, as I was using duct tape to keep the engine from dropping out, I was still careful about food stains on the upholstery. Duct tape might keep Grandpa from falling apart, but duct tape couldn't remove ketchup from the fabric (trust me, I tried). Sadly, time proved too much for Grandpa. All the king's horses and all the king's men couldn't use duct tape to fix Grandpa again, and we had to donate him to an organization that advertised "Will take any vehicle, any condition!" But the powers of duct tape had been revealed to me as never before! I have since used duct tape to fix furniture and appliances, I've used it to instantly hem a too-long pair of pants, I've used it to cover holes in walls, preventing roaches from passing through. Duct tape is an essential in every gal's toolbox. We all know that it can prevent radiation from seeping through those window cracks, but did you know you can also use it to remove unwanted hairs from those hard-to-shave spots? Yes, duct tape is a most powerful ally in the fight against terror and cracking porcelain. Buy it by the truck load to ensure the safety and well-being of your family today!
This post brought to you by the Duct Tape Manufacturers of America.

Bunnies and Batman and Buddha, oh my!

For all the things I don't care for in my new "neighborhood" (for lack of a better word, one which would translate to "living situation in extended-stay hotel surrounded by empty lots and something which looks like it could have been a dried-up river bed, where no sidewalks or corner stores or trees exist"), one thing I really like is the fact that I can walk to the Palms in just a few minutes. The Palms is a casino, much like every other higher-end casino in town, though it definitely appeals to the MTV-set more than, let's say, the Wynn casino (which appeals to the $500-round-of-golf set). It's home to the world's only Playboy Club (bunnies working the turntables--sweet!) as well as the world's largest underwear party (I don't know what that means exactly, but it says so on their billboard). It's a favorite hangout of celebs such as Britney and Justin and that guy who plays Hurley on "Lost" (well, maybe not a favorite hangout of his, but I saw him there a few days ago). I shared an elevator with Suge Knight on New Year's last year, which accounts for one of my closest celeb encounters. Yes, The Palms is the place to be for many young hipsters. And I am certainly not one of those. So why do I like being so close to this casino, when I don't gamble, don't drink, and am not looking for a random one-nighter? Because two of my favorite things are there: a 14-screen movie theatre with IMAX; and a kick-ass sushi restaurant.
Last night, Alex and I saw "The Dark Knight" on IMAX. Flippin' sweet, yo! I'd seen it about a month ago, while I was visiting my friend Mark up in Windham, NY. Mark and I had planned on going to the drive-in to see it (yes, drive-in theatres still exist!), but they changed the schedule and we would have had to sit through "The Clone Wars" first, which excited neither of us. So we went to the local 2-screen theatre, which is also the Subway, the ice cream parlor, the gift shop, the video rental place. Mark had been boycotting this theatre for some time, as he finds the $9 ticket price to be outrageous for an old 60-seat theatre with a crappy sound system. But it was either cough up the money or sit through another Lucasfilms attempt to live up to the greatness of the original films. No thanks. And since $9 is a cheap movie price in Manhattan, I paid so Mark could hold fast to his refusal to support their extravagant pricing. And it was worth every over-priced penny! We both highly enjoyed the movie (though Mark had some questions regarding who killed Bruce Wayne's parents, but it didn't spoil the fun). I felt bad for Alex, as he had wanted to see it but spent 7 days a week all summer glued to a computer and didn't get to do fun things like visit friends in the Catskills or see movies or leave the apartment. And as much as I enjoyed the film, I felt like perhaps I might enjoy it even more with a huge screen and a killer sound system. I was right, it was SO much better on IMAX! There were moments when I felt like I was on a roller coaster, and I loves me some roller coaster. How cool to have movies so close to home?
And sushi...Alex started raving about Little Buddha a few years ago, and almost every time I visited him included a trip to Buddha. Best sashimi I've ever had, and they do good rolls. Plus it's a good atmosphere. There's a DJ spinning, the decor is all red and black, and I must admit, I look good in the dark. Plus, we get it all comped! Well, we try. Thursday night, Alex's buddy George took care of most of the tab, as Alex blew through most of his comp points there last week. Unfortunately, he hasn't been betting as much at Palms this year, so the comp points are running low. Must rectify that. (Someday, I'll write a whole post about the beauty of casino comps, the dream that is RFB--RoomFoodBeverage--and how people as poor as me and Alex sometimes get to live like we have money.)
Yes, I miss my New York neighborhood. I miss having sidewalks, I miss having parks and a river nearby, I miss having newspaper boxes on the corner rather than sexpaper boxes. But I sure do love walking to sushi and movies. And getting it all for free!

wet vegas...girls girls girls!!!

I was sitting here this afternoon, trying not to pass out from moisture loss while the air conditioner was being maintenanced--3rd time's a charm, we hope--and Alex came home for a few minutes to grab something. An ice cold Cherry Coke Zero, I believe it was. Anyway. When he arrived at our front door, he was greeted by Crystal, Deja, Tawny and their 12 or so friends whose advertisements had kindly been left for us, tucked behind the "Privacy Please" magnet which warmly greets our visitors. According to the ads, these girls will gladly come right to our home, wearing nothing but funny little spots of light over their nipples, for anywhere from $35 for Candy to $150 for Belinda. (I guess Belinda has seniority.) What exactly happens once these ladies arrive isn't clearly defined anywhere. My guess is, it's got nothing to do with Scrabble.

Prostitution is not legal in Las Vegas. You have to leave the city limits for that kind of action. But fear not, there's plenty of action in town. Every 30 feet, there are flashing neon signs advertising LOOSE SLOTS. And in front of them, you'll find whole families, mom, dad, kids, uncles, grandma (remember, Vegas is a family destination, too!), whole families handing out flyers for escorts, whole families wearing bright red or yellow shirts with bold, black lettering: LIVE GIRLS DIRECT TO YOU! 702-WET-VEGAS. Many of these flyers end up scattered about the sidewalk. Many are gladly received and pocketed for later. There are more strip clubs here than Starbucks, if you can imagine such a thing. Billboards dot the city: "Ladies! Don't leave town before your $500 audition for Gearbox Films!" "Wanna be a star? Bait & Tackle wants you!" I've been perusing the local audition listings, and let me tell you, if I wasn't so keen on keeping my clothes on in public, I'd be fighting off the job offers!

Funny what different cities mean to people. People go to New York to shop and eat at great restaurants and go to museums and Broadway shows. People go to New Orleans to see graveyards and get drunk and flash their nipples. People go to Seattle to drink coffee and listen to local music and get out in nature. And people go to Vegas to do things they wouldn't do anywhere else. Think of the flights: Flying into Vegas, the plane is abuzz, people are chatting and excited, there's at least a dozen guys reading "Beat the Dealer" or some other gambling guide in order to have a proper foundation for kicking the casino's ass (TIP: It takes more than a plane ride.) Flying out of Vegas, there's no sound from the passengers besides the occasional moan of the hung-over, the sudden cries of "Why did I hit that 15?" The regret is already there, with Vegas barely out of sight. But it doesn't keep people from coming back, ready to do it all over again! Everyone is prepared to PARTY when they get here, in whatever way that means. For some people, it's the entertainment and the restaurants. For others it's the gaming. For others, it's the nightlife, which begins at noon and ends around noon. For most, it's all those things combined into one endless day-night of snippets of sleep between booze and boobs and the bountiful buffets. Where else would you do that? New York may be 24 hours, it may be full of beautiful women and places to party with them. But you don't meet them sitting in a g-string by the pool. And in Vegas, people show up EXPECTING to get lucky.

I've never lived in a place like this. It's, well, different. Not in a bad way, just in a different way. I don't know where I fit into this city of sin. I don't live that kind of life. Not that I'm opposed to it. Hell, I gladly support immoral behavior in others! And I've had a few scattered moments of immorality myself, if you can imagine. But these days, I'm a quasi-married woman who likes to curl up with a good book and a cup of herbal tea at night with my cat purring next to me. (Okay, as I wrote that, I kind of threw up a little. I'm not THAT tame. Am I?) Truthfully, I love to party, I love to dance, but I hate to do it in pick-up joints. Unless I'm on good drugs. And single. Neither of which is currently the case. And Vegas is basically one big pick-up joint, far as I can tell from the magazines.

I know, most of the people who live here aren't out partying all the time. I mean, they live here. They have jobs. And kids. And mortgages. None of which I've got. But they're regular people doing regular things. I guess it's me that isn't all that "regular". I'm not here to settle down and be a grown-up, and I'm not here to party and pay for sex. I'm here to live with my boyfriend for more than 5 months a year, I'm here to write and audition and see what happens, I'm not on vacation and I'm not here to stay. I've never lived in a place like this. And I'm talking "place" in not only the physical sense but the mental and spiritual, as well. Where the hell am I, and what am I doing here anyway? Whoa, man...I'm kind of tripping out a bit. Wonder what advice Belinda might be able to offer...

I'm melting, melting, melting...

No one should live without air conditioning in the desert. It is a cruel environment and requires some serious comforts. In my 10 days in Las Vegas, I have consumed many, many gallons of water, and still I am dehydrated. I feel faint as soon as the sun hits my skin. Me, the girl who would walk 10 miles in Manhattan just to cross the Brooklyn Bridge for a killer pizza at Grimaldi's (which, by the way, opened a location in Vegas a year ago--THANK YOU!!) can barely climb the 3 flights of stairs to my front door without taking a break on the second-floor landing. I feel like a big wimp, but this dryness, this heat, is a bitch! And while in my New York life I would usually choose all-natural summer air over recycled air conditioning (much to Alex's chagrin), here in Las Vegas I can barely stand to sit on my balcony for more than 90 seconds before retiring to an ice bath with the AC pumping away.
So let me tell you, when the AC stopped working last night, I was not pleased. And here in the mid-day heat, sitting in my 89 degree apartment, I'm rather pissed off. We had a man come out to fix it a week ago, and he said there was no problem, we just needed to keep the thermostat at 79 degrees and it would work fine. Now, I've never had central air, and to me, 79 seems like a reasonable enough temperature to keep a desert apartment at. However, everyone else we've talked to in Vegas said, (79?? What's the point?). So, we kept it at 75. And it was nice. Alex would've preferred 71, I would've preferred 78, so we middled. And all was well. Until last night. And now, my cat is puking up cat grass and looking at me like she's in the process of being slowly cooked alive. I feel her pain. WHERE THE HELL IS THE MAINTENANCE MAN?
I think tonite, we may be staying in a hotel. And I plan on keeping the room at about 68 degrees. I've never been a fan of the cold, but I will gladly freeze a bit tonite. Oh, I am so not a desert diva...

The waters are rising...

I heard the thunder, but I assumed it was a moving truck or something (that comes from years of living in cities and learning to sleep through all kinds of outrageous sound). But then the room grew dark, and I turned to see...rain? A trip to my balcony (still can't believe I have a balcony) let me see it, a rainstorm in the desert. It's actually kind of beautiful. The mountains are red in the distance, and there are dark grey clouds hovering above them. Rain here feels wonderful, not cold at all, it feels inviting. I kind of want to run outside and play in it! Except that I'm surrounded by concrete, which isn't a very playful surface. But it's raining, and that makes me feel good.
For five years, I lived in Seattle, and I had more than my share of rain there. 8 months of the year, it rained. Except that it wasn't rain so much as it was a heavy mist. Umbrellas were mostly useless, the air was just wet. And there were no clouds, no storms to speak of. There was just a flat, grey ceiling of a sky, every day, for 8 months. There was endless moisture, and I was constantly chilled. I'd lived in much colder places, Seattle hardly ever reaches the freezing mark. But the damp settled into my bones and blood, and nothing could warm me. Except a glass of bourbon, that always did the trick. From the first sip, I could feel the warmth travel through me, warming first my lips and tongue, my throat and lungs, my belly. The second sip travelled a little lower, and by the end of the first glass, I would curl my toes in my shoes, thankful that they were no longer numb. A glass of bourbon was medicinal in those dark winter months of endless grey. And when the ceiling retracted, when the blue sky reminded us of the space beyond, when the sun shone strong enough to cast shadows on the ground, the winter seemed well worth it.
But now, it's winter that I long for! At least, the autumn. A cooling-down. I long for rain, I long for weather, I long for a cold that isn't manufactured. Because as hot as it is outside, inside I am forced to wear sweatshirts to shield myself from the arctic blast of the air conditioning. I like warmth, I even like heat. But this desert heat is a killer. I miss moisture. I miss humidity, even though it's a bitch to keep my hair from 'fro-ing out. This dry heat keeps me parched, I can't drink enough water to keep from being thirsty!
I am thrilled to see it rain. Even though it will lead to flooding in this city. Every time it rains, the city floods. Not the Strip, though the sewage rises and causes some serious foul odors. Take a walk near the Palazzo and Treasure Island after a rain and you'll smell what I mean. There are billboards all over town instructing people on the how-to's of flooding, so it's clearly an issue, one which may be a large pain in my ass someday. But for today...YAY!! IT'S RAINING!!

Are you ready for some football?!!

I love NFL Sundays in Vegas! Over the past 3 years, I came to Vegas on a number of occasions to visit Alex, always during the NFL season, as that's when he works out here. He works long days and nights, 7 days a week, and if I wanted to see him at all, I generally would have to run around town with him from sports book to sports book, so I came to appreciate Sundays. For one thing, he usually begins his Sunday with a drive to Primm, NV. For anyone who has driven into Vegas on I-15 from California, you'll recognize Primm as the first sign of civilization past Baker. It's a border town, and what that means in Nevada is CASINOS! Primm isn't really a "town"; it's 3 casinos (one McDonald's for each), a few gas stations, and an outlet mall. It's 40 miles from Vegas, and there ain't much between. And Alex goes there almost every Sunday. In general, I really don't like driving around with Alex when he's working, as he drives like a maniac to try to be the first person to get a number at a sport book. But for Primm, he just sets the cruise control at 80, and we've got 40 miles each way to sit and talk and be with each other. Before I lived here, this would be the only real chance I'd have to hang out with Alex on my visits. Now that I live here, I don't need to hold out for every spare minute he may have. But I do enjoy the drive through the desert, and as yesterday was the first Sunday in the regular season, and as I am an NFL fan, I was very happy to hop in the car at 8:30 and head south to Primm Valley Resort and Casino. When we got to the sports book, I was able to watch numerous big-screens show footage of Brett Favre, my favorite player of all time, while I waited for Alex to place his bets and strike his deals (oh, he's such a smooth talker). A beautiful start to a beautiful day! We then headed back to town and went to the sports book at the Wynn to watch the first halves of all the games (plus a dozen horse races, some baseball, and the Women's US Open of Bowling, but I was only interested in football). Brett threw 2 touchdown passes in the first half of his first game as a New York Jet, woo hoo!! (Figures I would leave NYC when I finally had a reason to be interested in one of their teams.) Miami almost won the game late in the 4th quarter, but the Jets defense stood up to them, and now Brett is 1-0!!!
While Brett Favre is my favorite player, and has been since the mid-90's, my team has always been the Cleveland Browns. Which means I'm doomed to disappointment. And I'm not a real fan, I don't follow the players (though I'm excited about both their starting and secondary quarterbacks), but as I was born and raised outside of Cleveland, I became a football fan with the Browns. The people of Cleveland really love their teams! I was in Cleveland 2 summers ago to visit the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame (a highly worthwhile road trip for music fans). The museum is just next to the Browns stadium, and we were there for the first home-game of the pre-season. No big deal, right? Well, the fireworks display to celebrate their win that night was pretty spectacular, and the hotel we stayed in was packed with rowdy fans---you would've thought the Browns had just won a playoff game! Yes, Clevelanders love their teams, and as a Clevelander by birth, I am still, and will always be, a fan of the Browns. I didn't become a fan of the New York teams when I moved to Jersey, nor a Patriots fan when I moved to Boston, nor an Eagles fan in Philly or a Seahawks fan in Seattle. I supported those teams and do consider them among my favorites (though I was really getting sick of the Patriots--thank you, Eli Manning and the Giants for ending their streak!), but I will always root for the Browns, even if they play against Brett Favre. And I was rooting for them yesterday, as they lost miserably to the Dallas Cowboys. Sigh.
But even when my team is losing, I love being in a sports book with tons of people who are really excited about the game, whether they've got money on it or not (they mostly do), whether they're for my team or the enemy. And as I've not lived in Ohio since I was 8, and as the Browns have never been good enough in my lifetime to warrant coverage outside of the Cleveland area, I love the fact that I can actually see a Browns game on a Sunday, and I love the fact that there are people all around me rooting them on! I do love NFL Sundays in Vegas.

So here I am....

Las Vegas. Or, as my quasi-husband Alex refers to it, Lost Wages. Though we hope to define is differently for ourselves this year. I've been here for 4 solid days now, and yet I don't feel like I've landed. This is a tough town to take seriously, you know? Flashing neon signs advertising Loose Slots and Looser Ladies, gambling in gas stations, and one buffet for every 10 residents. I live here? People shouldn't live in a place like this; they should just stop by for a few days of hedonism and escapism. And yet, I'll be calling this place HOME for the next 6-8 months. I gave up the keys to my lovely upper-west-side-NYC apartment a week and a half ago, put all my furniture in storage at my sister-in-law's Jersey basement, then loaded up my Buick with the basic necessities (gold stilettos are a necessity in this town, after all) and headed west with Alex, She-ra the wonder cat, and a very fuzzy idea of what the hell I'd like to do with myself out here in the desert. Very fuzzy, indeed. I'd like to get onstage. Somewhere. Somehow. With my clothes on.
But first, I have to get grounded. So, I'm spending some quality time in my new apartment, marvelling at the way people live outside of Manhattan. I mean, I have a dishwasher! And laundry IN MY APARTMENT! Sure, many people consider these to be standard home goods. Many people also consider a monthly rent of $2400 enough for a few bedrooms, a yard, perhaps a live-in masseuse. My $2400 in Manhattan got me a lovely one-bedroom with broken hardwood floors, windows that could drop out of the frames at any moment, walls that crumbled if I stuck up a post-it note, light fixtures that hung by wires, an elevator that had me considering religion each time I used it. Don't get me wrong, I LOVED that apartment. Mostly, I loved the neighborhood. 3 blocks to Central Park, 2 blocks to the Hudson River, and an extravagantly priced foodmart on any corner. It was tough to walk away from it. Except that I could no longer afford to live there, which made it easier.
And now, for less than half what I paid for my pre-war crumbler, I've got a nicely furnished one-bedroom with ceiling fans and central air and a balcony and a fireplace (yes, it does get cold in Vegas in the winter) and marble countertops and cable tv (another first for my adulthood). There's a pool and hottub on the grounds, groundskeepers to prune the palm trees. I mean...WOW. I feel like a real grown-up here! This is, by far, the nicest apartment I've lived in. The neighborhood...well, the "neighborhood" is a big switch from the upper west. The location is good, a 5-10 minute walk down Flamingo to The Strip (for those of you who are familiar with Vegas, we're west of Strip, a block from The Palms, so I've got the Playboy Bunny winking at me every night). But it's not really a neighborhood. For one thing, I'm living in an extended-stay hotel, basically. Whole long story to that, but the complex is called The Desert Tides, and a few units are privately owned (we're renting one of those) while the rest are managed and maintenanced as hotel rooms. It's surrounded by empty lots, which may someday become parking lots, who knows. Sure, I've got the bright lights of the Rio lighting up the night sky. But as someone who considers walking to be key to life...this isn't a walking town. At all. Nor is it a biking town. Okay, sure, it's 110 degrees out now, so neither of those activities is currently appealing to me. But on an average week in NYC, I walked a good 20-30 miles (not during my Columbia days, of course). When I lived in Seattle, I walked everywhere, unless I was on my bike. Even in LA, I was braving the roads on my bike. But Vegas is just not conducive to these activities. Not to say I won't be giving it a shot. But it's definitely the biggest lifestyle change I'm gonna have to figure out.
Good stuff: my incredibly persnickety cat is adjusting quite well. The day we left New York, she peed in one of my bags (thanks, cat). But since then, she's been pretty mellow. Guess it comes with old age (she's been with me for 13 years now). Also, I am once again able to make Trader Joe's my main grocery provider. Been missing TJ's since leaving the west coast in 2003. And did I mention that I have cable? With HBO and Showtime? I am trying my best not to turn on the TV during daylight hours, otherwise I may accomplish nothing in this town.
So, here I am in my new hometown. I don't really know what to expect. But I'm excited! It's certainly an adventure, and I've been hankering for a change. And it will be nice to live with Alex for an entire year. We've been together for over 12 years now, which is probably why we were able to survive the last 3 years living on separate coasts for more than half the time (yes, I consider Vegas to be on the west coast, even though there is no water to be seen for hundreds of miles, except for Lake Mead and the Hoover Dam, but it's only about a 4-hour drive to the Pacific, so here I am, back on the west coast). But it hasn't been easy. And Alex has spent his Vegas time shacking up with too many men in too small spaces, men with names like Barndog and Hizzle, Goose and Chaperone. He's thrilled to have his family here in his town, and I'm thrilled to be with him.
I'm gonna use this blog to keep people up-to-date on what the hell I'm doing with myself, and I'm gonna use it to figure it out myself. Here's hoping for many reasons for you to check in!