Daddy Dog Walker

All over my neighborhood there seems to a be a rash of thirty something guys who walk their little foofie dogs, you know the kind of dogs their girlfriend/wife/ boss tend to buy when they go out of town to nuture that lingering maternal instinct yet to be satisfied with their current male counterpart.
Everyday I see these guys on various forms of social stratification, yesterday there was the cool skinny alt rocker with the stringy hair, tattoos, and child size jeans taking the little pooch out for its afternoon piss break, another knob supported by the lady. There is also the overweight, ex jock, and the pretty boy band reject with the Backstreet Boys hairdo, all fallout from 2000, where their 20 something looks got them what they need without any thought, any effort, girls would go down on them, they did not need money or fame, just that little pubscent teen boy look, but now that era is over and these guys have no skills, education, or talent to support themselves, so now they lay up in the condo resort where I reside, these guys are everywhere, at least ten a day walking those little shit dogs around, I mean this a damn epidemic where I live, all sort of kiss asses who do not have a set on them, where are all the women at, probably the only ones employed. There is a couple who live across from me, have seen the girlfriend twice, but the guy always seems to be milling around, driving her car to where ever he spends his time during the day, possibly job hunting, more than likely heading over to some other woman's house to walk her dog inbetween bouts of sex, could also be participating in a collective male dog walking club while spending the day stoned. Ran into some guy while checking the mail one day who was from New Zealand, his wife happen to work at one of the local taverns I tend to frequent, did not want to know who she was, cause this guy looked like his family fucked each other for at least since the beginning of human evolution, possibly mom drank during her pregnancy, anyway, most of the women who work at the bar are a fair bit attract, so I could not understand how this jagged tooth, missing link replica, tenth generation inbred could possibly make any head way with a cocktail waitress, but there he was taking poochie out for a quick shit, of which very few people in my neighborhood bother to pick up, unless you catch them, then they seize up like a bolt of lighting hit them, running toward the nearest plastic poop bag dispenser of which there are scores of them throughout the subdivision, wrapping up that turd like a chirstmas present, yet most go undetected so I have to walk around turd after turd to check the mail, kicking the dry ones out into the street.

I have no problem with the dog crap, just these weak bitch ass guys who bend over backwards for their women, role reversal has hit the 21st century, now hubby can stay home, feed the kids, change the diapers, walk the dog, and become Mr. Mom. Secondly, those small little dogs like the ones you see Paris Hilton trying to stuff up snatch are typically the most annoying, paranoid, and obnoxious dogs of all, but this does not deter their popularity, maybe it has to do with all the bubblehead twenty something women of reality television who are constantly seen strolling to restuarants, airports, and red carpet premieres with their tiny rat looking dogs, so why not follow the trends, out go the masses of women purchasing these so called exotic dogs, could be cats as well. When I see a guy walking one of these small dogs, I know he is whipped, has reached way above his level in getting a woman and will do anything to hold on, money, sex, her good looks, and the ability to brag to friends, most men today have no sack anymore, complete slaves to the will of their girlfriends, not even a give and take, more like sure I'll go pick up some dogshit, while you go rub on cocks at the local strip club, just as long as I don't have to get a job and can lay up, work on my writing, and be an artist, it takes time baby to write that Great American Novel, screenplay, or whatever other load of shit these douchebags have made themselves believe to avoid the failure looming in reality all around them. Total twats, when you see them out in your neighborhood let them know, expose the male dog walker legion, trying to hide behind the scenes, this dark little secret of cutting off the balls for the illusion of security, a facade crumbling into fine dust.

The Cretins of Karen Ave

Nothing out of the ordinary to a man wearing sunglasses and sombereo walking down Karen Ave at 5 in the morning or the senile old man crusing the midnight streets in search of lost memories. The cops seem to have either hit or miss attitude to the street. Sounds of angry husbands beating on their wives during a backyard barbeque echo from the nearby apartment complexes, reminds me of the old days as a child when I lived in such rundown locations, full of broken homes and adults who spent more time getting high than paying attention to their kids. This particular moment was no exception, just an act of violence that is all too ready accepted in such places, the old school beat down shouting match, no cops around to stop this one so the hostilty continues, as small children munch on hot dogs and hamburgers never really understanding that this type of behavior was anything less than normal in the general public. Other nights, there will be a ten car squad staked out on every corner, looking to flush some fugitive out from the catacombs of apartment complexes that make up a large vacinity of the Karen Ave gauntlet. The street that leads to one of the entrances to where I live has been, barred, gated, and made impassible, not sure of the reason, maybe to keep random fools from driving at high rates of speed through the guard gates, the barrier has been there as long as I remember.

No one really appears to care about the nightcrawling transsexuals up the street who use the Las Vegas Lounge as their homebase to ply sex trade to the conga line of vehicles that drive through the small strip mall on any given night. At times, it looks like a freak show car wash, as the ladies gyrate, intice, and expose skin to help drive customer traffic to the little one lane entrance where a small cluster of trannies wait for curious johns to pick them up in tinted window cars. A few of the ladies will take the walk down Karen Ave toward the Hilton hotel, maybe to go home, like throwing a chum line of blood and guts out into shark infested waters. The police drive right by the entire lot of them with no desire to inquire what all these trannies are hanging around looking to be solicting themselves. So much for cracking down on prostitution, maybe there is some sort of prearranged agreement between the trannies, the Las Vegas Lounge, and metro, what the common thread may be is beyond me, but drive past on any weekend night, jeez, any night after dark and the party will be well under way. At other times, the cops pull almost anyone over regardless of the time of day, most of those pulled over will be out of the car, against the hood in cuffs, the woman might be sitting on the sidewalk or in bracelets herself.

There does not seem to be any consistancy of letting this stretch of Karen Ave become totally lawless or overly patrolled, flashing lights can occur at any moment and just the same the street can transformed into sexual solicitation extravaganza. Plenty of characters passby, massive overweight woman in a two piece bikini, junkies dressed in black on a summer afternoon slowly withdrawing from their last and possibly final fix. The dawn patrol makes the rounds now that the weather is nicer, usually women who will do anything for a negotiable price, they linger like shadows in the bush ocassionally revealing themselves to passing cars like a cat with the mange looking for a home, but different things turn on different people, a market for everything exists in this town with this street, a microcosm of low grade indulgence at affordable prices where pleasure is a boardsword containing a bookend edge of STD's. Danger exists here but it is packaged in such a disgustingly base way, like a Francis Bacon painting, a John Waters movie, or song by Tool. Filth,need, disfigurement, and imperfection which may be the driving forces to the large amount of middle aged men cruising these streets as I pass by on my way home after working out at the gym. Fleets of high priced luxury sedan sailing in like ships in the night, discreet, with detection, stealth perverts who have crossed so many lines in their lives that doing drive bys on transsexual hookers seems like sunday church. This is my neighborhood, no children play here, only adults with a strong sense of release endorphines in their body, crack, smack, and sex are the invisible forces that drive this hurricane circling Karen Ave where boarded up half burnt down apartment buildings are home for scores of squatters who brave the hundred plus degree temperatures throughout the day, ten foot fences keep them in, the grass is dead, trees fallen over, long alleyways leading into eternal darkness where anything is available, but only for those resigned to the horrors that call those paths their home.

The Motherland

The Stone Roses played on the jukebox at 4:30am, someone had noticed I was wearing a Stone Roses shirt and dragged me over to a larger group of English blokes who were probabaly in their early to mid fourties like myself, no one could believe the sight, especially some yank who looked like he had not slept in some time who appreciated acid house music, much praised was offered up, even seventy bucks for the shirt, but I had already been teleported back to the late eighties while a tidal wave of Charlatans UK Spronston Green reverberated in my head, I heard that on the jukebox and had to inquire who the hell would play such a track at this early morning hour, of course it was this crew of middle age thugs who happen to be on their tenth or fourteenth round of drinks at the moment and they had maybe been at the pub for no more than an hour or so. This was to be the first wave in many, a sort of reverse storming of the beaches at Normandy, here came the English, many tourists who some how got wind of The Crown and Anchor being the place for where all British had as much equal privledge as the rest of the territories under the monarchy of England. By the minutes fresh reinforcements entered the front door and within no time the chants of God Save the Queen could be heard echoing throughout the entire pub and it is only 5am. World Cup soccer, the reason everyone is here this morning, England is playing Germany, which basically equates WWIII, as far as the British and Americans are concerned who have congregated for the match which starts at 7a, only 5a now, have been here for 2 hours already, had to get a good spot cause by the time the game starts, it will be elbow to elbow full of surley football fans who are bent on getting as wasted as possible in some primitive ritualistic idea that will help propel the English national team to victory.

Scores of Brits continue to arrive, I turn around and a couple college friends happen to be in the building which is cool considering they are usually in marriage lockdown, complete surprize, adds to overall mood of insanity developing now that these guys are double fisting beers at such an early hour as they did so many years ago. The bartenders are going mad, must tip them heavily, even though I am quite a regular, have to appreciate the hustle, beers going out twenty at a time, plastic cups now to insure the medivac stays at the hospital, glass would only incite fights, hostility, and a general sense of eye for an eye, so the plastic cups stay. The old geezers in the back are keeping the acid house tracks in full effect, the place is shoulder to shoulder now, odd strangers handing me beers, just keep drinking, gave someone sixty bucks for beers a while back, that is gone, nothing but our small tribe gathered, college days all over again, brits on all sides begin singing again, almost like in a greek chorus, seeking blood, searching for answers , for redemption, for the invisible ancestors who live amongst us that weigh judgements on our overall desire to seek an audience with the ominscient, Dues ex Machina.

There are a few German fans and the English are giving it to them properly, yet these German are pretty wasted, feeling good about their team's chances on the match today. Shirts have come off, too bad it is only the guys, there are a few woman, one behind me with dyed magenta hair raidating the lucid cool of a person who has seen one too many Katy Perry videos, but who cares, she is bugging me for Charlie, like a hungry underfed buzzard, lurking over my shoulder, desiring satisfaction, maybe at half time of the game, move now and lose your spot forever, crowd surfing is underway, arm in arm, people more wasted than me sing songs of the homeland, bringing a sense of life in England to Las Vegas today, constant drinking, not giving a fuck, and vicious loyality to an outdated belief in an empire that has long since its glory days pass by. Still this did not stop the red shirted and white jerseryed fans of the English national team from beating on the bar, pouring drinks on their heads, and breaking out into spontaneous song, the comraderie this morning is something you'll never see in America, random strangers with a sense of national purpose who were not in anyway uptight about having a good time, making an ass out of themselves, to be highlighted with the ocassional trip to the toilet to throw up, cigarettes, plastic cups filled with water serving as ashtrays, a party has broken out, must talk to more people, get the lowdown, it is casual just start talking, been eating pills all morning, sandwhiched with some Charlie, hooked up a few of the Brits who are always happy to snort a bit down, loosen up the motor a bit, get in the proper mood, nothing but chants now as the teams walk out onto the pitch as the English national anthem comes on, God Save the Queen as flags swing to and fro, there is anticipation, a manic swell looking to crash on this crowd the second the game starts, this is what the World Cup is all about as I sit back and absorb the hysteria of this battlion at the gates awaiting the call to battle.

The Great Fake Society

The new age artist, their billboard Emergency Artist plastered on the wall of the new artist colony across the street, maybe the state of creation is on life support, cause the only thing I see tonight at this so call hipster bar is bunch of people who shop to look cool and learn enough to make others believe their individuality is a microcosm of substance in their words and behavior, from which nothing can be further from the truth, pour me another overpriced five dollar microbrew and wonder about the miracles of idealism bookended with the reality of being in a shitty job, unemployed, and or maxed out on credit. There is movement tonight even with the overplayed recycled eight generation indie rock playing on the jukebox at the moment, everyone here is waiting to die, in their own manner of course, sure, I am doing the same it seems, as the bartender in her sleeved tattooed arm serves me another beer, she could have easily just have been some arm trophy of a white collar slave while shaking her tits at one of the many local hotel ultra pools on the weekend, but not to pick on women, the guys here too, look like urban cowboys and poster children from the diluge of punk rock kids who live through Urban Outfitters and light socialist literature, blinded, the entire lot, who survive on more than I could ever wish for, even though I have more, it bugs me, does not make me feel complete, probably less than that, a tide receeding, forgetting, human nature, instinct, found cause, the real raw material not to be ignored.

This is what there is not enough of in the world right now, the just cause, the absolute answer no one wants to comprehend or acknowledge, the party was too much fun, please do not let it end, keep pumping me full of things, ideas, and dreams void of substance, wisdom is obsolete, littering the street in large piles like cow shit, fertiliziing abstract ideas that blossom in grotesque thorn like plants with beautiful petals but are sharp to the touch so everyone stays away. The delicate blossoms are gifts with no takers, only a few who ramble the streets beyond comprehension, speaking in tongues of the future, the edge walkers who have already made sense of the 22nd century, but who wants to listen, much easier to sit at a bar and talk amongst like minded people no matter how cool the crowd seems, cooler the crowd, deeper the meaning, right? Sure, that is what the clever children of alternative america want you to think, at the base they are still the outcasts that turned around and made their own status quo, only to annhilate everyone else, so what is the point, dissolve slowly, praise the next hip thing, disdain the next thing that is a bit too close to the point at exposing them for their obvious middle class traits, different wrapping, same results, like a christmas present wrapped in toilet paper, still a turd under all that packaging.

Where Did All the Thin People Go?

Spent sometime recently attempting to count all the thin people who walked passed me or were in my field of vision throughout the day. The number was not that great, in fact while eating a small piece of baked eel, a large lunch time crowd had gathered at the local food court inside the Venetian where the weekend tourists had decended from the skies of debauchery to continue their gluttonous ways at the fast food sector of the hotel. I have decreased my consumption quite dramatically over the past few months, just because I am getting older, cant carry the weight, and have used this opportunity to look at my surroundings a little bit different, to realize how sucked in and used up the entire nation of the United States has become, victim to an overdriven need to consume, it sits on all the guts of everyone sitting around me, even the young guys and girls in their 20's are over weight, chomping down on greasy burgers, fries, washed down with a soft drink, where an hour later they are standing in line by the throngs to get into Tao Beach where advertisements for Tao Beach of young slender model like women having a good time in the place are plastered throughout the casino, reality tells such a different story, I am sure there are a fair cross section of good looking people, but the masses must be there as well to worship those who don't eat, do drugs, and still find time to workout.

While watching the USA soccer match in front of an adult slurpee shop, frozen alcohol drink place, I observe about twenty people buy oversized plastic tubes of frozen drinks, completely normal, calm, not out of place, go for more, excess to success, but in this post excess world where the economy is in decline and job opportunities constricting, it seems very weird that people will not or cannot stop indulging themselves in all sorts of consuming behaviors, the bill is due, no one cares, the fat has been put on like a second skin, it will not come off or dissapear, an ugly reminder of brainwashing, of accepting the concept of the fourth meal, and 24 fast food restuarants, the fridgerator, buffets, and cater meals, something I deal with all the time in my business, all to easy to head over to the free meal, load up on a couple plates, three times a day, like a prisoner, watching all these stagehands around me at work today who are all overweight, relish in the ability to get free meals on the job, now they can spend their money on drugs and booze or whatever, internet porn, comic books or strip clubs. The stagehands leave their residue of McDonalds packaging on a table in the back with a smattering of half empty sport drinks and coffee cups. This is their grand painting, their life work on one table, sitting in line waiting for slow death to be served to them, no escape, sign the contract then get out there and feed, all else means nothing, forget higher thoughts, politics, and all the other savvy bullshit you talk to each other about grinding the hours away, the hog pin is closed, soon comes the slaughter, I'll be watching.

Getting Around in the Summer Heat

I like to drive without A/C Unit on during the summer, of course if there is someone else riding along in the car I will turn it on, but for myself, it really does not matter, reminds of all the cars previously owned that did not have air conditioning or moreover the fact there was not enough money and personal income to afford such a luxury. A luxury, not too most who have to commute to work in the midday Las Vegas traffic where the temperatures can reach 115, but there are a section of people in Las Vegas who do not own cars, they have to walk everywhere no matter what time of day, right in the midst of the sweltering heat, people develop their own dance, their own flow, a delerious pace where heat exhaustion and sunstroke set in, but what relief is there, maybe a big giant Pepsi or Slurpee, for the more harden types nothing beats a cold tall boy of beer, maybe two, shit why not an entire 18 pack, just like some of the locals the other day, some pisans who were finishing up lunch at one of the more regional mexican restuarants in the city, by regional, I mean, you mostly get people from a certain Mexican state who eat there cause the food is made by people from the region, just like home, who would not like that, I like the place as well, can rap some Spanish, hangout, place is call El Alacran de Durango, it's off of Valley View between Flamingo and Spring Mountain, same shopping center as Green Valley Grocery, anyway, the pisans have the 18 pack with them as they head back out to the portable car wash outfit located off to the side of the Alacran, sipping away on beers as they detail a fleet of automobiles, no one is shocked or concerned about the quality of work due the flowing beers, it is just part of the deal, a deal I can get behind.

Drove through Twain and Sands today, where not too many people have cars, there is a man who has long since lost the battle with cheap local drugs who is manuevering in sort of a slow motion halfback/pinball carefully plotting each step to stay clear of other pedestrians, he waves to me as he passes temporarily stepping out of character as if to let me know, hey, I see you get all this, pretty crazy shit, glad you understand this, now go out and share it. Across the street there is a guy on the phone, holding it in a manner when one talks to another on speaker phone, ala Star Trek style, like a walkie talkie, his other hand has a large plastic Mountain Dew, he strolls along in a semi pimp walk with his long with t shirt and khaki shorts, the weather has him knocked a few pegs as he screeches to a halt at the crosswalk barely alert enough to see the oncoming traffic intersecting in front of him. A family is walking with their young baby in a stroller who is cover with a light white blanket, it has to be a challenge to get everyone around without some sort of major bit of frustration developing, from making sure the baby is cool enough, not hungry, hydrated, to pushing the stroller around in the sun, I imagine things could get frustrating, no car, no dependable public transportation, the lucky ones ride around on bikes to get to their destinations a lot faster but for most around these parts, they are not so fortunate, just have to start walking and get over the heat, the large amount of insane people walking the neighborhood around you who might have lost all their sense from being out in the sun too long, dodging the drunks and the addicts up against the liquor store walls hiding from the sun with cheap alcohol in hand, a liquor store where the counter is covered wall to wall in two inch thick Lexan glass, the bulletproof shit, how do I know this, went in a while back to buy some zags, that place looked more fortified than most banks, but doing business in that area, those types of measures seem mandatory. So as the hot breeze blows my hair into a bigger fro and dries the skin on my face, I am not really bothered, especially after spending decades of my younger life like all the people mentioned above, journey to the sun, the sun never loses the battle, today I sat in an air conditioned hotel, made some money, and spent the day relatively comfortable, so driving around without A/C is not much of an inconvenience and moreover reminds me of how so many people get by on nothing, something I need to rediscover. Later

On The Take

There are those who will sell you an agenda over and over again for their personal benefit, as long as the same sucker buys into some potential possibility, the repetition of the con will continue. I have a friend who has been trying to dupe me on a bill of goods he has no leverage to deliver, some long drunken circus ringleader who steps up into the singular spotlight clutching a bottle of rye whiskey long ago over romanced on well rehearsed words looping through his brain on auto repeat. Everytime this person gets his wives friends around he drudges up some great scheme to get me all excited about the possibility of screwing either one of his wives friends. A story which I reluctantly bought into a few years ago resulting in a series of trips out of town to party with my friends and his harem of whores who only pretended to be loose when in fact, my only purpose their was to serve as drug conduit, my friend is in on it, he probably would not admit it, but the obviousness wreeks in perverse acknowledgement on his part. Today would be a great example for some reason, I got conned into being party to a Las Vegas weekend getaway where I would cough up some flier miles to get one of my friends sexpot bitches out. I have already gone through the paces with this leech, this opportunist, this user, the classic manipulator, via multiple trips back east, this woman has such an over inflated self perception it is surprizing her head has not flown away.

After relcutantly agreeing to getting the leech out to Vegas, I decided no more, they could figure out whatever else they might need here and if they wanted any narcotics or favors they would have to pay retail. Once the word got out that I was cutting them off, this was about the time when the routine started up again. The routine consists of my friend calling or texting, probably half drunk, more than likely drunk, talking about how his wife's friends are running around in little booty shorts, how he is getting them all worked up about the trip, it is going to be a fucking orgy when the girls come out, on and on. Next, are the little phone pixs that look like cold war era teen pornography, not too flattering, nothing to really get me excited about them coming out in the first place to the point where I would rather not be part of any of the bullshit at all, by why let's this deliberate attempt to scam me, slow me down, the fact they collude to do this over and over again pisses me off, so now they are cut off, fend for themselves, makes me feel much better, this will make the Fourth of July weekend all the more enjoyable, so now I do indeed have something to look forward to beside the next of overhyped phone texts telling me how my friend is in a heated foursome with all the women, sure, more bullshit, retread information, why bother when I can go out on a weekday in Vegas with more chance of getting laid then with any of my friend's female acquaintences, gotta love Vegas just for that one thing.

Land of a Thousand Zombies

Vancouver supposedly has the reputation in certain circles as being the Amsterdam of the west. This is primarly based upon the concept of a few local bars which allow pot smoking, there did not seem to be any distribution of weed as found in Amsterdam but at first look after walking into one of the more tourist inhabited locales I found a wet dog shit like scent of novelty wreaking within its walls. The bar felt like what a teenager might experience the first time he or she gets away with using a fake ID to get in a club or buy alcohol at the local liqour store. There is a wave of pure delight, degenerate sheen washing over the teen in a blissful state of victory, popped that cherry, now amongst the deviants, well done, no turning back now so why not head down a few blocks where the effects of self indulgence have turned into a case of genital warts so pustal and infectious that viscous, glowing substance flowing from them takes on an acidic skin dissolving behavior.

My friend Jamison had already given me somewhat of a primer on what to expect in this more deseperate, drug driven, spiral to hell; I must admit things like junkies on parade interest me like hidden jungle tribes in the deepest, most remost parts of the planet intrigue the anthropolgist. Within a few blocks of pot bar, the initial vibes of disconnected bodies searching for the means or barter to invest in another hit, fix, or taste began to mill about the sidewalk selling everything from silverware, lighters, and a single shoe, any sort of possession or object some people might consider of value was available for sale in this single line of swap meet vendors whose faces where hidden by the dark shadows talking incomprehensibly as if I had been transported to a middle eastern zouk ran by crack fiends, did these people realize they were attempting to sell beat up, rundown, and broken materials to other users who had no money of their own, no desire to own anything more than the clothes on their back which they might have traded for whatever delicate substance was current running out of concentrated strength in their veins at the moment. Old junkie in wheelchair fixed in their chairs having a convenient place of nod off once of junk cells received their meal.

Of course, dealers peddle all sorts of typical street stuff, low grade smack, crack rocks, ice, meth, and probably a handful of other things I had not even heard of, felt like this was a place the more adventurous tourists came to score just for the sake of doing so, any neighborhood like this in the states would come with a large glowing sign that stated how you were taking your life into your own hands buy crossing over onto this side of the street, town, hood, or where ever, serious life threatening danger looms, robbery, assualt, and potentially murder, but here in Vancouver, the whole entire traveling sideshow felt more like a carnival, a street theater put on by all the trapped drugs user who had nowhere else to go. Vancouver is the place where junkies go to die.

After a few more blocks, the alleyways began to resemble a cross section of Micheal Jackson's Thriller video and the movie 28 Days Later. Zombiefied people just milled around with no real purpose of direction, like actors in a movie, as a woman started thrusting her hips while sitting with her legs spread open in the general direction of Davidson, I got the thought that by just willing something it would magically materialize right in front of us. Nearly a hundred or so people trudged about in the alley, as two cops attempted to put their finger in the dike by arresting a couple street level drug hustlers. What about all these brain fried muthafuckers, spinning in circles completely devoid of life, mumbling to other rotting corpses in a new form of communication totally unfamiliar to me. I felt like running down or walking down the hundred yard long alleyway in a sort of juvenile fashion but Davidson was not into it, he wanted to score, won't bother to go into much of that except for the guy who helped us get what we were looking for would not let up in getting a cut of goods. He kept on us like a horny pigeon until I told him to breakout, which caused him to go into a well rehearsed routine for tourists like us in hopes of intimidating us into kicking him down, but I could out weird this guy anyday of the week, grabbed him by the shoulders, shook him violently, then laughed in his faced, topped off by jumping up behing one of the lions guarding the Chinatown section of the city, then booty slapping the lion from behind, a nice pushof the guy into a chainlink fence did not hurt either and after another half a block he turned around screaming in disgust of someone who had lost a family member, we are road tested, half ass efforts do not effect me, whether its a gun, a drug, or a shadowy figure, the path I cut is scorched with the flames of hell, do not expect me to be understanding of needs, an hour later I am in a vicadin coma, happy to be away from everyone, content until work the next day.

Happy?

Happy was the word on the pair of french style panties the male worker at Victoria Secrets was folding. Are there such things as french style panties? Was the job market so bad that this guy had decided a career in the fashion undergarment industry looked like the next step up the ladder to success or did this person only have a purely perverted fetish with women's lingere. The answer was not immediately apparent. The man just stood there folding pair after pair of underwear with an insect calm as if he was at the laundrymat putting together his freshly dried clothes. Pretty busy in here right now, not sure why everyone is bitching about the state of the economy, there must be at least a hundred and fifty women in here culling through the bins of multi discounted clothes attempting to find some combination, some connection that will reinforce the mild nausea many women possibly feel when heading out amongst the general population who judge, comment, and laugh in small groups about the so called short comings of the not so beautiful people.

Maybe that is why this place is so crowded, all those hot, starved, well tanned and coke binging international models from the lingerie catalog could hopefully transcend some of there goddess like looks to the not so fortunate. What a house of cards that has been built in this 21st society to the point people are even self conscious about their underwear or maybe some people just enjoy dressing up in sexy intimate apparel, the friend I am with at the time looks pretty good in everything she tries on, which gives me all the more reason to buy into this construct, still there are a group of guys over in the corner looking at baby doll dresses, not sure if it is for some practical joke they are going to play a bachelor, possibly something for the strippers to wear at the party, or venture into the realm of cross dressing at the next white party. Either way the guys looked confused, unsure, and possibly embarassed at the endeavor in general as if the other women in the place might be thinking the same thing I was thinking, so I walked over and commented how it would look good on him, they pretended to laugh, but were out of there a few minutes later, guess the soon to be bride's wedding night attire would have to be bought by someone with a bit more self confidence.

There are a of couple boyfriends or husbands helping their wives and or girlfriends look through the panties, nothing wrong with that, might as well at least let them know what you think, make them feel comfortable with putting on a small thong that goes up their ass and covers a small triangle of their vaginal area. Though it appears one of the guys is getting into quite a bit more than the others, really culling his way amongst the bins, inspecting them as if hoping to gain some previously unfound insight, maybe a scent or color pattern that might turn him on more than the rest, the idea of him putting the panties on over his head crossed my mind or a possible deep inhale with them on his face, potentially even the frozen frame of him molding them in front of a mirror when the women was away; this visual made me laugh in disgust knowing that there was a bit of truth in all those ideas. My friend has bought her underwear and we left as the man still sat there folding more panties passing away the time, paralyized, desensitized or even possibly happy at the fate life had dealt him up to this point, a lot of people could not even get his job, so that has to count for something.

Meta-Droid

I am a robot in my actions, over and over again, from drinking to dealing, to hitting nasty ass bitches, not giving a fuck, this is what we do, how we live, animaltronic, coming to blow up your neighborhood, feel nothing, remember nothing, wake up the next morning a blank slate, ready to walk back into combat, nothing mortal, sweet, or kind going on, roaming the shadows to the brightest light, pushing away any help, cut through all by myself, know this truth, as the streets run deep with dark sanguine washed away in luxury sedans, eight thousand dollar rims, I am a commodity without a soul, only presence to get all that cash, no friends, walking ten feet tall, this is the remedy people seek, a skin they will never fit into no matter how much they try.

Early Moring Workforce

From the sounds of trucks dumping garbage nine floors below, there is an underbelly at work in this somewhat sleepless night knowing I have to get up in four hours to catch a flight back to Vegas. Metal bangs against metal, echoing cadences of sirens, police cars leading fire trucks down one way street shut down for reconstruction. A man sings in beautiful Spanish cantonation while washing the windows in the terminal gate. He has figured out how to put worry, stress, and the pressure of socially excepted personal development behind. Must give the man credit for finding a will to freedom, lost in his own soundtrack from yesteryear, maybe his homeland, a voice that could win over any high price concert hall audience, a hidden gem laying in wait, content to have a place to earn a living, performing on a private stage amongst the general public, not sure anyone else notices or even cares about his amazing song bird voice, half romantic, half Verdi opera. This twenty something Italian woman with her husband or boyfriend keeps getting up to show her bigs tits on a small frame, tiny ass and all the above, looking to stir up some feelings of jealousy in her man, not sure they look content enough to head off to one of the many Carribean destinations this particular airline offers.

Coffee shops in admist the gate, not the typical Starbucks style, but an old diner motif with sharped dress servers in the classic look of tailored black clothing taking laps around espresso machines and coffee dispensers. The day is beginning, an extenstion from the big stage of New York City, life is underway very rapidly as if it ever ended earlier in the night where even on a Monday around 1am there are many nightclubs and lounges filled with customers who have to be at work in the next 5 to 6 hrs, does not appear to discourage the desire to catch a few hours of sleep then jump back onto the internet express to get back to work on whatever pipe dream happens to be the flavor of the week. For folks like myself there are no options, only wasting time inbetween the next brainstorm, trying not to go crazy by thinking about all the time spent avoiding what I want to do in life, as the man on the microphone in the airplane terminal calls out the final boarding call for Kingston Jamiaca in his best island voice, passengers more vacation minded than myself, no edit, have to board. Later

The Terminal

Walking around like some lost desperate child who can no longer find his way home, tugging on my rollerbag like a blanket, dejected, worn down from attempting to wait out a flight delay due mechanical repairs that turned into the airlines not disclosing the full details, have not really dealt with any flight delays before, so did not really know how to handle the problem except to head over to the bar for a few hours and have a drink, which did nothing but only put me more behind schedule, could have left many hours ago, if I had cancelled my ticket then bought a new one, luckily I have a few friends who are travel savvy that gave me the proper advice in order to get to NYC, already have a 3 day reservation at Club Affinia, got the cheap deal so no refund, it was either eat a bit of money for a new ticket on the airlines or eat the hotel which would have been a lot more expensive, right to the internet and cellphone technology while trying not to get pissed at the operator after waiting for nearly 5 hours already for the plane, right at this moment I should be getting into JFK, yet am still stuck in Vegas for another hour and a half, has given me some time to write which is something I don't take advantage of enough.


But the big point revovles around the general feeling of tired anger which is really nothing but being a big baby, there have been many times when I have pulled off worse running on empty type of travel days, boarding the plane stone drunk or worse, to snore the entire 5 hr flight only to land in another strange town to work and hopefully catch a bit of sleep. Feeling sorry for myself what a loser, slinking around like a lost soul, having to leave the terminal after canceling my first ticket, my nerves were feeling edgy, not a good time to be in public could regress into that mentality my mom seems to carry around like a boat anchor attached to her neck, everything was beginning to take on an abrasive tone, people everywhere, they are multiplying and getting dumber by the day, stem the tide, do something, why can't education fix this? It took quite a bit of time to get my new ticket, handling the transaction over the phone, paying more for the new plane ticket did not sit well but there was not much left to do, had already built up so much hype around getting back out to NYC that cancelling now would have been a bummer for everyone, so action had to be taken, get through it, is the motto, but this and that, extra money for this seat, have to connect through this city with a long layover, and leave early in the morning, it was all screwing me, but I was still going which was much need, it has been at least five or six months since my last visit, NYC is my personal playgroun just as much as the people who come to Las Vegas think of that town as their personal playground, different tastes.

I finally got to the Jet Blue ticket desk then proceeded to walk into the wrong snake like maze and all the barriers to the maze are hollow tubular metal, so you can' t duck under them anymore, so it was back out throughthe maze then over to the Jet Blue maze, I was about on tilt as possible, nearly thought of eating the ticket and the hotel, just walk to the car, drive home then sleep the weekend away. Thankfully I sucked it up, waited for about ten minutes before a woman discovered the computerized check in, hooray, finally something positive I thank her and her husband who get me in the right direction, back to the fast lane with ticket in hand, things are starting to look up as long as I don't think about the time left waiting for my flight which is only an hour now, what a damn day, but the night will be better that is assured.

The Funk Phenomenon

At the Artisan on a tip that one of the top UK dance music DJ's would be making an appearance, so I made a beeline for the place right after work. Of course the big UK jock was nowhere to be found, bad intel no doubt or a set up, but gave me a chance to have a conversation with a friend who is a local house music DJ in Las Vegas. Theory is out of LA original and is still getting use the lack of real scene in Vegas. This has not discouraged him from carving his own niche in a city that has sent more than one friend to the DJ retirement home. It is a very tight crew who run the local strip casino club rooms, but this is not for Theory who acknowledges the overall compromise that exists in the well paid arena of premiere Djing after a brief stint at some of the strip properties, he says it's better at the Artisan, the cool uber hip hotel that embraces the global fascination with dance music, this hotel does not kill you on drink prices or charge excessive cover, none of the usual trappings associated with high end clubbing in Vegas, no dress codes, a sort of come as you are approach that favors Theory's more individual renegade style, but this is not to say that he does not have to ocassionally succumb to the ever present will of mediocrity and the general public, he does. After playing 2 hours of the freshest dance music at the poolside, I go off for a drink and return the sounds of Mary J Blige. What?, this can't be, no, no, no, not urban hip pop music, but the crowd of media types from the Las Vegas Film Festival feel more comfortable with this style of music and within a few minutes a large group of people had gathered around the pool revelling in that sort of high school reunion feel that results in unexpected pregnancies and the random sexual assualt, so the masses were owning the day, Theory had been reduced to a jukebox hero, the music was intorable, and as a capper the disco inferno hip hop summit was in full swing. At this time I was contemplating leaving for the night, even though it had started off pretty damn well, but enough of the mainstream shite, it is kryptonite, death paralysis, but why isn't this crowd getting it, they are artistic, like movies and are involved with the film festival in some capactiy, so these folks must have some sensibility, some taste, but none to be found when it came to appreciating the finer points of dance music, forget it, they were having none of it, the people only hung around because Rubio Fish Tacos was catering the event with free food.

Chatted with a fellow film friend for a minute, at least he could understand the dance music, probably ten years older than me and I am 40, so anyone older than me who can get with the global throwdown is cool in my book so carry on, no fear, embrace the unknown, with that said, the drinks started to go down faster without regard for how I would feel about 8 hrs later when I had to get up to catch a plane, never another thought, bye, send it off, fine, can deal now, little drunk but nothing mind bending. The tacos and goodtimes continue to flow, all the posers are out doing the ritualistic sex dance in hopes to attract someone of the opposite or same sex, have it, so the funk phenonmemon continues, middle class party central. Avoiding the pitfalls of conformity has served me well, even though there has been a time or two when my decision to be myself has made very isolated, I think more people like it, at least people I want in my life and that is all I can ask for anymore.

Kid Rock

Finally got back into the video music melee, more of the fast paced no breaks attempting to stuff eighty pounds of shit into a twelve ounce boxing glove. The Fulcos are a brother and sister duo whose parents play background instruments as the kids parade around with all the fevor of such Disney tweenie rock icons Hanna Montana and the Jonas Brothers, only knowing by parody as made by the general media and the show South Park, I sort of had to put the pieces together in order to fully understand the teenage desire to be socially acceptable in an era of anti cool misunderstood artists whose main problems were figuring out what clothes to buy and how to accent their bedding. Of course, there are always parents driving the kids head first in their attempt at stardom and the build up I was given over the phone while mulling over the decision to take the gig or not felt something like a promotional build up one might here on the radio, a steriod fill commerical of deep voices and loud electric rock, coke induced babble teetering on a near stroke or at least blackout. I took the job it was something to do, did not really have any idea what was going to happen, just put it out of mind, could always walk away if things became so ridiculous that my well tuned intuition knew that the video music shoot would only end up in a fatal disaster.

Watching the two kids dance around while lip synching to the music track as well as playing their instruments was not all that bad, but the tweenie extras, about thirty of them who came to play as an audience, sent the shoot into the realm of the absurd. The director was already in dismay from the idea of having to deal with thirty unmanagable kids who had trouble enough pay attention, standing still, and fending off boredom, giving these children verbal cues to follow in order to mimic a concert audience did not seem possible, probably easier to set up an impromptu spelling bee, but the director went ahead anyway, jumping around, yelling, then screaming with more energy than the rest of kids combined, he was not pleased with their effort and general desire to do the opposite of whatever the director dictated, maybe the authority roll was part of the problem, so he got down about eye level to the group then became uber animated, like a cartoon character on anphetamine, this did the trick, the kids began to giggle then belly laugh, the director had made a connection turning the event into a game, something the kids felt no pressure in performing, from that point the tweenies did their part, practically falling over themselves screaming, dancing, and over acting to the point of Japanese game show humor.

While shooting on location with a single camera as opposed to live television, things always take longer, the crew is always smaller, and the expectations to do anything reign supreme, fetching water, setting up chairs, and taping up black drape from the front of the music sound stage are things reserved from newbies to the industry, yet this artistical collective effort would have none the amenities I so covet when working on big budget shows. Everything from the meals, breaks, what breaks?, to the equipment itself only lends to the general frustration of dealing with having to do too much with too little. I had to laugh a bit watching the lead singer, a girl of probably no more than 15 strut around, in the words of the director, like Joan Jett. Big laughs with that comment, this girl already weighed more than Joan and I imagine a 30 min conversation between Jett and this girl would have the girl turning hard core lesbo or running, hair on fire for the nearest convent. The pedestal the general public puts on what I do for a living never ceases to amaze. I have a dream job of sorts, creating viewing content for the dreamers of society who want the limelight, the fame, and lifestyle that comes with it, guess my job offers some sort of conduit to enlightenment in the brief glimpse most people get when they watch a production in action, it is a lot of work and almost anyone believes they can do it, if you like taking shit with a smile, getting yelled at then running yourself into the ground over 15hrs, then it's your kind of business, not for many, maybe those too stubborn, too caught up in their own personal fantasies of notariety endure the pain, either way it is fast track work, living, and lifestyle, becomes addictive, not really a rock star, but not really a garbage man either, depending on the production of course.

Well the twelve teens have started a fan club in my honor and to be hit on by some 13 yr old is classic. You kidding me? come back in five years, jeez my daughter and son are older than you, as the girls give me dreamy eyes talking to me about my job as they both twist their hair around their fingers attempting to absorb the glamour of entertainment. Well the build up for this band that really did not add up to more than some parents as well as family members looking generate the next American Idol, it was painful to watch the two kids dance around then try to connect with the small crowd of tweenies at their feet, things were beginning to feel forced, I just stood back and took in the scene while the director ran around a crazed stir motivating the entire group to find that flair reserved for such glam rock greats as Motley Crue and Poison, had I gone back to the 80's, the boy had the Tom Cruise 80's haircut, where was the Members Only jacket, while all the bangles, spandex pants, and glittered shirt worn by the older sister brought back horrible flashbacks of Debbie Gibson and Tiffany during their mall tour peak.

After the soundstage shooting we eventually ended up at the Fulco family's house. The dad was one of prototypical blues rockers in the 80's who had pictures all around the house of the famous people he had played with over the years, framed albums as well as cd's from bands he had been part of, as well as Beatles memorabilia. There was also an assortment of bass guitars, guitars, and a small studio set up in the living room, these family was all about rock and roll, have to give them that, the Beastie Boys poster was a nice touch, trying to get on my good side. The entire family along with a group of older teens had gathered as talent for another part of the video which was something about, the brother and sister being stuck at home doing chores, then having to go to bed while all the cool kids walked by her house, mocked her, then carried on with the ladder to success of binge drinking, experiemtal sex, and low grade marijauna. Why do these 15 year old girls persist in trying to lay the mack on me, want to know my name, what I do, please, maybe it's that age, the hormones kick in and the father figure thing starts, not sure, cause for a second these girls would give you that look which gets honed over the years, the I want you look, forget it, funny though, back to the family, great picture of the father, sort of a collage of pixs during his younger 20's as a body builder sporting the cowboy style mullet, his kids liked him though, cause they all had old pixs of him in their rooms, nostalgic stuff, so he had to be a good guy, but the printed sheets with all those positive reinforcement mantras you might find in Chicken Soup for the Soul or some other book on Oprah's book of the month club, made the parents look a bit hypocritcal, John Lennon and new age philosophy are probably closer than I give credit but could not make the connection, more like not willing to make the connection, just something with all those ideas, words, and isms that makes me do just the opposite, maybe that is why I ignore my desire to go public with my life, but doing what I do for a living has taught me plenty about public figures and the hoops they have to jump through in order to go out for something as routine as dinner.

Now I am the moving man, have to clear a bed out of the older sisters room to do a composition shot where the room explodes into rock and roll hoochie koo, it is a good experience, seeing how the director of photography has to frame the shot a certain way in order to insert the effects later on in post that is why I am here to learn these kind of things, the rest has been routine for sure, as we move the top half of the bed out pops a dairy, glad to see there are some things still relavent to kid from the time when I was one, feels like they are already adults by the time they reach eight, so as the two kids did their best Disney sitcom flow, I had to smile, I wanted to laugh, at times, tell them they are going about things the wrong way, turn from this pop fodder fiasco, but it was too late, so many people had already invested a ton of time and money into these kids therefore the result must bare out some sort of reward, whether it was music, tv, or both, these poster children of the 21st had their role, the younger brother played bass, so I showed him how to play Lou Reed's Walk on the Wild Side, both kids laughed uncontrollably when they recognized the intro to the song, there was still hope for them yet.

Delayed

As usual the airlines never bother to tell you anything until there is absolutely nothing I can do to adjust to the impending situation. Delta airlines did not bother to call me about the four and one half hour delay of my flight which was original scheduled to leave at 7am. The call came right about the time I had started to undergo the screening process, already invested 30 minutes into the routine, so even after only getting 3hrs of sleep, the thought of getting out of line, then returning to my car, and eventually house with the realization that I would have to repeat the process all over again in no more than a few hours did not seem all that appealing, maybe a bump up to first class or free admission into the lounge would have helped to heal the wound, but after taking a quick walk to the gate where the plane was due to leave, a small battlion of mostly foriegn tourists had already begun to bang the war drums in search of some satisfaction, a majority of these travelers would now missed their connections to Europe and from the looks of things, maybe these people had reached their limit with international travel during the volcano eurption and ash that followed it. Either way, many calls had been nearly scream aloud in the direction of the ticket counter agent who was doing his best to deflect all the insults, verbal assualts, and various other calls to violent action, while attempting to find some supervisors to hand of all the requests to placed on an the adjecent airline in the next gate heading to the same place, while million milers and multi level rewards travelers walked up to the counter right past the small band of bitter travelers who only became more infruiated when these VIP's pulled rank with their collective status, attaining a new boarding pass for the other airline headed to the same destination with relative ease.

There was no need for me to hand around with all the negativity, too early, too messy, could not handle all the passive aggressive anger at this hour, had a brief chat with the ticket agent who looked to be sweating more and more with every passing minute, there was no where to hide, he had to face this problem head on, no breaks or other agents to hand the baton to, at any moment this agent might break and decide to cancel all the tickets for the entire slate of flights for the day then run down the corridor toward the plane, board it, slam the door shut and take his chances at flying the plane. So what to do now, wait a half an hour for the bar to open and see how wasted I can get in four hours, sure but after getting kicked off a plane for excessive drunkenness a few months ago the thought of waking up in some strange hotel room with no idea how I got there does not appeal to me, at least it was not jail, thankfully it never has been, so why not write a bit get something down, damn chairs are made out of metal and do not have any backs, chillin at the charging station in order to get the laptop fully charged so I can sit at the bar without having to seek out any power, not sure how much longer I can last, back is starting to knot up. Had a breakfast sandwhich, now I just belching Stella beer and eggs, either way, damn hell this early morning putting a delay in my routine for NYC, probably better to be getting a start later on in the evening, cause being at the bar by 4p could leave to more dangerous events. Another 20 min and the battery will be good for the day, can go back to observing the general public who have always been great source of material.