Dawn Patrol

It's th 4am crowd here tonight at the local bar not your traditional type of bar with dim lights, draft beer and the blue smike of a thousand lit cigarettes> the bar of today has taken a more modern Vegas approach to luring customers out of their weekly paychecks. These establishments have become part high end restuarant, part VIP velvet rope booth, and part strip club. At about this time, the better looking female bartenders begin to finish up their shifts for the night, casually parading around the bar in temptation of initiating some low rent fantasies with some of their regualar customers in hopes of making a bit of extra side money or a least getting the male clientele in bit more hooked on the hot female bartender to keep them returning like some high school dweeb with a bit of money who really has no shot at the woman, yet as long as the tips flow in will be allow a tiny portion of sexual tease via the ocassional tit and or ass shot.

Had a brief conversation a while back with a currently unemployed male bartender friend of mine who use have a steady gig in the industry, but has become a victim of the economic hard times, while being pushed aside in a new trend of local bar establishments bring in some attractive ex cocktail waitres to work as bartenders, with so few lucrative cocktail waitress jobs at the high end strip casino via the wave of massive layoffs in the past years combined with the sharp decline in high rollers, there are not too many well paying postions anymore that leaves a lot of these former waitress with a few alternatives, either go start stripping, prostitution, or hit the party circuit to pay the bill with some middle age sugar daddy providing for them, all which at some point take more of a tool on the mind as well as the body.

Still some of these women who have been accustom to a well to do lifestyle or have the responsibility of taking on the duties of single parenthood, divorce, and or home foreclosure face a sudden reevaluation in their priorities, from that classic big money, big pimpin, coke binging 8am party circuit hot girl of the week, not enough money around to support her gucci lifestyle or find anyway else who will look after their near thirty year old looks or post thirty year looks, the sugar daddies have tired of their abuse, vile, and demanding behavior, along with all the expenses involved in the delicate romance of sexual desire from a check book, so now these ladies have come to roost in the modern ultra bar willing to live off a hundred dollars a day in tips as well as what else they can pry loose from the gathering of male video poker players hitting the random royal flush on the machine.

With a bit of background on the new face of bartender, time to turn back to this particular morning at one of the more places at the forefront of this new bar service direction, some might say the owner of the small chain of multifunctional bar helped begin, develop, and refine what many of the other local chain pubs now attempt to follow, basically hot pussy gets more men spending money equally more cash in the registers. Women in this particular joint wear lingerie and various other sexually revealing outfits to me and the other guys to buy more drinks, strip club barmaids, the conversation with the women behind the bar does not differ much from that one might get in a strip club, the old once over, sizing up of wallet, then the process of manipulation to get that money out of the wallet and into their tiny little faux diamond studded purses. However, the drinks at the modern ultra bar are not quite as expensive, no Champange room or shower room, just hot ass in fish nets and thongs bending over for beers. This is why male friend can't find a bartending job, a few can but are mostly just for muscle, late night shift type of stuff, it's Vegas, meth time, crime time, and criminals will try to rob bars as well as everyone in them, so muscleheads tired of bouncing at the local strip clubs can take it down a few notches, content to dodge the potential bullet at a bar, while keeping the pervo types from sexually attacking the half naked women serving drinks, so my friend is out, suck for him, he is still looking for that bartending job, but hot the women seem to have them all locked up.

Plenty of pervs still here at 430am vying for the attention of the three girls still here, one is okay, the other fairly hot but mental trainwreck, while the last one has an ass to battle for, knives, guns, whatever, the kind of ass you see on supermodels, except for the fact that this woman works at this bar shaking that ass instead of walking a New York modeling runway. So of course every dude in the place wants to get his shot at hitting that fresh piece of tail to go brag to their other work friends or married buddies who get into the place once and a while to drool along with the rest of the bunch, nothing here but straight notch on the belt type of stuff, obviously here someone is going to get a piece, does not look she has much of a life outside of this place except maybe to be looking out on locking down a new sugar daddy to rid herself of existing in the current low point in glamourous life movie drama that use to have such a self indulgent, self fulfilling story line, but why reel in a few cute meatheads to pass the time, bunch them up like fish in a cannery boat net, then whittle them all away at once, a bit more work, but in these times honey, money is money,

So here is the routine all the middle class male knobs have to get in line and do the old show me what you can do for ME routine, though this particular bartender, the one with the supermodel ass is working the crowd pretty well at the moment, she knows she is way out of the league of the regular lonely hearts mediocre pinball that comes to this mega bar every night after his shift ends in whatever going nowhere, non white collar job that they call a life, who wait like good little boys in the lunch line playing the take a number game, but in the meantime show up nightly, spend money, get teased for their troubles, drop a couple bills, not quite as pricey as strip club, but you get the idea, all these guys get taken advantage of, willing this how the world works, either fork out the dough to get involved with some younger pussy, know the game in order to get inside the heads of these pretties to get in their pants, have the young male tattoo muscle head deal down, or just sit back throw out the bait, cash, with the other crew of regulars to be got over on who arrive in all forms, for too many reasons to list.

Somehow got it in my head on this particular night that I had a shot with little miss hot ass, my game could get me somewhere with this piece of ass, knowing quite well thatI only sought to bang her doggie style from behind, then drop a load on her face, total pipe dream, Vegas romance does not exist, total illusion, a laugh, relationships in Vegas are business transactions at even the most lower income levels, peddling ass pays the bills, while the rest goes off to support some unemployed tattooed loser in skater gear who has a dream, no guts, too much of an idiot, scared, and untrainable, been there myself, but one day, got some spine, now write about this shit.

Drinking a beer at the bar, probably close to 5am, taking in all this in, the heartbroken guys, dejected from not getting first crack or even a hello from the hot ass princess, but like any prom queen she heads off with the biggest toolbag in the bar, siding up to discussed whatever mentally challenged people do in conversation such as sizing up this weeks performances on American Idol or the nice size stash of cocaine waiting back at his place, still this guy's days are numbered, age is what all these women are fighting against at the end of the day, those physical looks go south fast and people get tired of being used like a cum towel, the older I get I figure if you are going to pay for pussy you might as well go younger, hotter, still have to put in the time with romance angle, pay attention to them, make them feel special and wanted, but besides all the above, there is a small chance one of these women might be a smart one, could luck into one with a bit of guidance and fatherly direction who can be pulled out of the proverbial gutter and vicious cycle of strip, drug, sex mania, then shaped up into a career woman, the kind you might find in a a real city of with woman of a college educated, middle class upbring, and sense of self, but I have a had a few of these types too and they are no less whack jobs when it comes down to feelings of self worth, so what the fuck, why even try, yet there is plenty of fun and writing material in the process.

Have to look at it like scouting the baseball farm team, check out the prospects, give them a work out see what they bring to the table, of course this excludes any one night stands, random sexual encounters, no thought in any of those things, just needs being fulfilled, so leave the notebook back at the office, out here in Vegas, you get what you get, sometimes hot, sometimes not, you live with it as far as the women dept is concerned, but outside of that mentality, experience allsows to relax a bit more and get things dialed in, but jeez just getting out of a relationship to jump into another does not seem like the right move, still have to size up the current of Vegas headcases.

In Vegas, forget it, it is tough, feels like all the women here are on the take in one form or another, mostly in the financial support and develop into college grad future, thinking global, get a woman from outside the US, be done with the American nightmare, the drama, the over glamourous illusion that only feed into the brain damage society pool of potential new lovers, where is this going at 5AM, all this jabbering, sunrise is beginning to form on the eastern horizon signaling the end to another Vegas night and maybe the second time clock of the day for some of these little hotties who have to go home with someone to bring in that bit more of extra cash to keep the dream alive, as hot ass gets herself so drunk from shots to mask the depression that the good time have gone in the prime of her life, those stories, of flash cars, coke binges, and flash clothings, no more for me, why go shot to shot with this alcoholic, she is starting to become comfortable with her current reality as she goes on drinking some liquor attempting to chase whatever demons lie at her doorstep.

Airline Wheel Chair Brigade

The next series of blogs were done on plane rides over the last two weeks, my life has been uprooted from a ten relationship break, a constant habit of binge partying, and the fast pace nature that waking up in hotel to hotel room from having to work on the road can bring, so the details may be raw at times, but if anyone is still reading this, the caliber of my work has become quite natural.

There use to be a time I might have seen two or three elderly people all bundled up in blankets, dark glasses, and the their most recent work of crochet as they waited to board an airplane in the so called special assistance class, consisting of passengers who required an extra amount of time to wiggle their way out the wheelchair while cursing under their breath at the failure of the physical body and its rapid decline with the onset of age, alcohol abuse, and poor health habits. Well the repear waits for us all, but cuts some down slower than the rest, it always seems the special assistance passengers always have about eight other people in the party who have to tend to grandman or grandpa who have began to constantly jabbing in form of tongues only elderly people of their similar mental state understand about on par with context of your average third grader. Sure Adult diapers, being spoon fed, and taking more prescription drugs than a hypocondriac on speed can be quite a tough road to head down, probably better off driving the wheelchair of over a cliff or right in to oncoming traffic, if only these elderly could be so lucky, now they have merely become a tool for their younger relatives to board airplanes before anyone else, as grandson pushes the slung over sack of drooling, dissolving, and derranged carcass down the boarding platform.

However, today there appears to be an entire new legion of invalids, who can walk speak, and function with a great degree of self sufficiency. I am puzzled by this brigade of pretenders that are agile, self aware, and look perfectly healthy, these people look only to angle on abusing the special needs rule on this particular discount airline carrier, an entire wheelchair symphony being wheeled in row by row as if gathering in formation for the start of a Nascar racing event, this military precision of well defined lines, aisles, and pit crews of families bringing up the rear, remind me of teenagers with fake ids, fools who use their grandparents or some other handicapped family members parking placards to park up front at sporting events and middle age autograph hound seekers who shove young children out of the way in order to acquire an autograph from some overpaid sports player that the middle aged person plans on selling later, even worse those clowns on tv during a baseball game who jump in front of small little leaguers to snatch away a foul ball, then taut them for being so short as they flex theif muscles in front of their other drunken loser buddies who live with their parents.

so now there is a small army of sods who look like circus carnies, staring at the suckers like myself who have to wait for all thirty people to board before anyone else can get on the plane and on a discount carrier like this one, it is no doubt these folks are going right for the front rows as they stand up for a minute to readjust their ailing back, fat rolls, or just general lazy atrophied muscles while laughing behind dark glasses at the rest of the other passengers, I mean what the fuck good are these people going to be if the plane has an emergency, do we have to carry them off first before the flames of the plane engulf the rest of the cabin, shit no, right over them, grind them down, so some one who is not a lazy fuck can kick open a door, or whatever of the various process that are explained in the those guides in the exit rows, where I sit might need to be performed at 36,000 ft. The frauds continue to pile in with big smiles and large waves as the pit crew/family of eighteen cart their 50 yr old obesse lazy gluttonous mother off to the front row seats of the plane, all smiles, as I enter the plane because some of my travel deals require me to go cheap, luckily I get fat city privledges and board with the frequent filiers, inside the plane the first five rows are already filled, I head straight to the exit row for the leg room, luckily these new wave invalid have disqualified themselves from being able to assist in these exit rows, cause we'd all be fucked in an emergency with those types manning the team leader positions, pin everyone else in like a boulder wedged into a cave, forget, done, start praying and hope its quick or somehow come to life in fight or flight mode miraculously coming to life, kicking out the door then leaving the rest of us to a fiery state, as some small child bangs on the back of my head as I sit in the exit row, parents amaze me too.

They use to let parents have front row cuts, which made the procession of half wits twice as long that one kid had three dads, six mothers, seven uncles, five aunts cousins, grandparents, a god damn family reunion, so by the time I got on the plane these families had looted all the best seats. This use to piss me off and I imagine a lot of other non children family passengerss, even with this damn shiny A-list card, what good news was it when so many white trash yahoos heading off to Vegas or Disneyland had overrun the plane, while this fat slob next to me cuts smelly ass farts in the seat two over from me, he has his shoes off, feet stink, pretending to be sleeping so I can't call him out on his nasty stench, probably laughing at me inside his head, have to turn the air jets on him full blast, another fat slob, one-third of American's are fat according to a new study, no surprize, especially those like this lady who had pork chops for arms, so damn fat, they took up two seats and what is even worse, is that these people always try to muscle your space for their fat ass, so I just lean on them with my shoulders on their arm. These people give after a while, offering some resistance, yet due to their out shape nature cave, my 200 lbs of body weight on a 6'2" frame breaks them down, but they don't care they just order up double snacks, double drinks and then a super sized bag of candy inbetween.

I always give the pork chop battlion all my snacks, like feeding an animal at the zoo, entertain me pork chop, who is trying to dress sexy in tight jeans and tight top, damn, rubber tire like rolls of blubber, bigger than her titties, could have had the young hotties sit next to me or small woman riding in the middle seat, but these Large Marge types are the worst, this country has sold its soul for consumption, becoming lazy, because they know circus freaks are for public amusement, never to become part of the beautiful people, la, la, land they watch on tv, support through the tabloids and secretly dream of becoming if they could only stop eating junk food, fuck exercising, damn rat on a treadmill, beyond feeling sorry for themselves, these people have given up and let themselves go, as I fight with pork chop for arm position for the next three hours as she reads some lame ass romance novel, her should has probably gone numb by now, as I write this, time to finish up as her stretch mark get larger, her taste in clothes will only get smaller.

In The System

Not sure if it was the recent shooting across the street at the Federal court building where, a gunman decided to use a couple officer as target practice, but long before I entered the county court house on a mission to get a copy of my divorce paper from ten years ago, I could sense this dark desperate nature of future felons and naive sociopaths who had no concept of law or the imminent danger a lack of knowledge of law can present for those who become entrapt in the dragnet of the court system. The attorneys did not seem to mind, they needed the work, keep the wheels of justice flowing as they gathered in small groups dressed in their best of the rack discount wholesale suit department store, the suit of armor, the disguise, the only thing keeping them from becoming just like the rest of us here standing in line to be made to feel like Nazis, some sort of pre ordained prison bound soul who was only here at the courthouse as a mere formality until they slapped on the metal bracelets for that long walk to jail, where the concept of freedom becomes intelligible as quantum physics.



The lawyer hung around discussing some of the morning events as a old school pimp in a crushed purple velvet suit walks out, no doubt with personal law consultant in tow, working the latest angle to keep another one of his freelance employees viable for another lost weekend on the streets of Las Vegas, no one seems to notice him but me as he talks to some teenage kid over petty crimes and low rent drug busts. This is the 21st century but still these attorneys are walking around with large white folders over stuffed with court documents written in language that best hieroglyphic deciphers could not begin to crack, sort seems so analouge, where are the laptops, the virtual file transfer, nothing but paperwork amongst this crowd, so overburden, didn't these people have lackeys to wheel all that shit around, does not phase them though, as they continue to chat away about the latest victim to the system, how this angle might have been handled wrong or the client like to sniff the urine of his victims before he hand carved them into little bits of living furniture, just another day at the office, then off to the bar for drinks after the cases for the day have been cleared.



In the line up now, not sure if this is the fast track to a court appearance, but man it looks like they empty every hardcore vato, thug, and player into this Escher like maze of courtrooms and law services. More of the typical airport security run around, one old man who is way beyond any sort of serviceable need, roams the line giving everyone the once over, no more active duty for this relic who plods along like some distant ancestor of Frankenstien, still in appearance and all but mobile in his movement, the man is handing out small plastic baskets, the kind you might get cover in wax paper and filled with oversaturated oil filled fries in a midwest restaurant. Running out of hands as I have to take off my jacket, belt, then pull out the phone, keys, and various of metal objects, while some rent a cop a a dark blue jacket, you know the kind you see at concerts, public functions, and wedding who was not smart enough to enter the police adacemy but has every sort of viable weapon from pepper spray to tazer and carries his own set of handcuffs barks out repetitious orders like an automaton, souless, eyes glazed over in his junkie state of authority, this person is beyond reach, beyond the human race, a dictator stuck in the body of a sub normal unable to fulfill his dreams of global domination, content to border detail with a minute amount of responsiblity parlayed in his own mind into a gold mine of enforcement. "You all will listen to me and respect my authority or it is off to the gallow for the like of you all, hahahahahahaha.......



Have to give his moment, he is harmless as are all these other enforcement types who are just waiting for someone to give them some lip, argue, protest, or take an attitude of general disregard of the power that be at this checkpoint, otherwise, thing appear pretty dull, almost into a form of failure, disorientation. By this point I have thrown all my stuff onto into the x ray machine, then pass through the metal detector, the people in line around me, are all very somber, difficult to get any sort of intell from these types, beside the body language, which is screaming why is my life so fucked up, coming down here, the end of the road, the sum of all differences, "when they called my name I tried to run, head to Mexico, change my identity, but long arm stretches across the globe, should have tried Cambodia, so now the invisible chains have been put in place, a liability to the state of affairs and once that label is slapped on, there is no getting rid of it, total corruption or death, no mercy, no reprieve, freedom flies away as the dark skies close in, encased in the long night with no end."



Get through the screening process, done with the hack power trip freaks as I set my belonging down on an empty shut down x ray machine that get an rapid response from one of the button pushers on the x ray machine, sorry sir, going to have to move your stuff over to that clearly stated area where you can put all your crap back in your pockets and on your body once more, we need at least twenty foot buffer zone for when that nut job shows up and tries to sneak past us, get out the saps, chains, and rubber bullets, beat him into baby food mush, then off to the woodchipper, gone, DNA erased, credit report deleted, did not exist, welcome to the world of Orwell, everyone is on notice, don't think you can escape or are not amongst the hunter, just a matter of time before you kneel at the alter of the ministry of truth, it will not be pretty, fair, or reasonable, the black oil ooze of control shall cover the eyes, reality becomes one long never ending nightmare, where death is no exit only a loop back to the front of the line in the department of misery.



Now inside the local bivoauc of justice, feel like a spy, a foriegner, and alien all at once, there are some hard motherfuckers in this place and not all of them are men, some damn rough women as well, this system nothing but another galaxy to create the ultimate worked load of entrapment for financial revenue and systematic practice for up and coming legal graduates to hone their skills with the possibility of developing a enough of a reputation to eventually fund an upper middle class lifestyle full of all the amenities such as the big house, fancy car, and well funded child's tuition, all guilt free at the expense of putting more people behind bars, in lines, and or in a constant revolving door involving unpaid warrants, fines, and court costs that would never be paid in full.

I just wanted to find the record keeping area, where I could get a copy of my divorce papers which even as I finiish writing this 3 weeks later has failed reach my door, funny especially considering that the downtown city court was the wrong place to go in order to retrieve the paper work, family court, said the middle aged ex-footballer who gave me the usual Al Qaida like once over, forget looking, black, mexican, or just down right anti-establishment, with all this paranoid like inquistion, this country as dawned into an era teetering on the ranks of the Spanish Inquisition, may be only a matter of time until the authority result to such means of extracting information from people such a nearly drowning them, wait they already do that. just to wrap this up, cause I have moved on to other subjects since I began this, this hall of justice is nothing more than purgatory for prisoners, a holding room where someday your number will be call and from the looks of most people in here, a well educated defensive is one thing 98 percent of the people roaming these courtroom halls shall not be able to afford, beware, watch your back, as the court clerk laugh over drinks down the street at the local bar at the demise of so many well deserving convicted defendants who attempted to fight a system that has long since narrowed all the angles of escape from the system, which is one of the biggest businses in the country, regardless of how many politicans so the city, county, state, and federal government can no longer afford it. Late.

League of Their Own

Beerpong fest at O'Shea, not really a throwback when it comes to casinos, but more like that aged wart with hairs grown upon it that has somehow survived the mergers, acquisitions, and transitions toward a more modern strip hotel experience. For whatever reason, the casino gods of Las Vegas have not been able to put the wooden stake through the heart of this low rent vampire who continually has had the ability to carve out a niche amongst the rural middle class twenty somethings and I imagine teens with good fake identifications as their oasis in the desert. A locale of cheap beer, low waged gambling, and all the conveniences spring breakers might find at any roadside bar down in the seedier resort towns in Mexico. Beer funnels, three foot plastic drink containers full of light beer, and spontaneous puking in the corner of this hotel at any given moment feel down right normal for this establishment and from these cornerstone of frat like partying, a foundation has been built, solidified every year with a St. Patrick's Day bash that makes old school fraternity hazing look like an AA meeting.

Small groups of twenties somethings oversaturated on bad comedies and lukewarm romances have led there here tonight as oppose to something more tame like a movie, driven by what they have seen in spoof dramatizations of this concept, this idea, now called Beerpong, a game embraced by fellow college friend in Las Vegas. Being a bit older than most of my college breathern, I missed out on the transition from quarters, up the river, down the river, strip poker, 3 Man, and Thumbmaster, maybe Thumper made the cut to this new generation of binge drinkers, so by now the big thing was to drag out a ping pong table, grab ten red beer cups, fill them half full of beer, some might wonder, why not fill the entire cup, first of all you would go through about a case of beer every game and be stone cold wasted after three games, depending on your skill level, but not too worry social drinking is encouraged during the game if not mandatory, which usual ranges from tame things like Parrot Bay rum to full on shots of Jack Daniels, around my friends it usually depended on who was playing and/or losing, upping the ante on increasing the level of intoxication during the game was always facilitated by shit talking and lewd behavior conducted around the pile of beer cups, tits get taken out, asses, and other organs if the game is on the line, this form of frat play is for the more extreme types. They were enjoyable times and a surefire way to get all the hot girls drunk in the fastest amount of time, where their services would be farmed out for other more carnal like ventures, but the professional boozers, we pretty much played till all the beer, then straight alcohol ran dry.

There is a winner take all fascination with Beerpong for juvenile types like myself who get a kick out of watching two others drink there ten beers then finish off my teams remaining six or being down at the end of the game with two shots left, two cups standing, have to make both in order to go into a three cup playoff, by this time all the people in the party have gathered around so maybe fifty or sixty people close in and believe it or not, a bit of pressure can creep into the mind, drama to rival any final drive in an NFL playoff game, you make the first one, then the second, then finish the other team off in the extra round, total jock fest, but what the fuck, it is my victory, my small contribution the steady decline of american society, to strut around like Kobe Bryant after a game winning shot in the NBA finals, it might look odd to the sober person, but not too many sober types with this college crew. I would usually do more drinking on the side, then during the game which can make things all the more challenging with double vision, have to go zen and just will the ping pong ball into the cup. At the end of it all is truck loads of empties, dead bottles, and a cascade of casualties all about the party house, where a few of the harder souls, talk shit, tells stories, and recall the glory days of college life, so rapidly dwindling down as graduation grew ever closer.

No fun like that tonight here at O'Shea, my kind of fun would lead to fights, gross behavior in the bathroom stalls, and a general desire to smash then set on fire anything not screwed down with strong metal bolts, nothing but the fourth generation of waterdown overkill, looking to model their forty year old uncles and aunts who come to the family parties, do cocaine in the bathrooms, steal then take all the prescription pills out of the medicine cabinet, then dose the punch bowl with MDMA and Ritalin, those wacky Gen X kids, no parents, no rules, restraint, or supervision, this black hole generation, passed over with the steam roller, the weird, the wise, and the invisible the bridge between Leave it to Beaver and Leave it to Technology, that homogenized past has been pureed into silicone, transformed into online masterbation, virtual banking, and re-collecting all those odd musical keepsakes, tossed into the trash when your single substance dependent relationship timebomb parent gave you the boot out the house with all that you could stuff in a suitcase, wish I could have set on fire all my records, posters, concert shirts, clothing, everything, gave all my clothes to the homeless, then left.

But back at O'Shea's where to girls are giving each other the finger, while another shakes her tits trying to distract a guy throwing his ping pong ball, the guy misses, so the tit shaker has been successful, I look over at the cups, they are barely a tenth full, why even play, this all looks so amatuerish, a routine, as if these teenagers had been given orders to come down here and pose, just look like they are getting wasted, instead of spending all their time on their phones Facebooking each other pictures of them pretending to be getting wasted in other parties, that prototypical rot gut brand tequila bottle in hand or pressed against the lips, chugging away in a manner that would make Keith Richards smile, is nothing but a fucking lie, a doctor photoshop slide, tall tales now available on video, not much partying going on in front of me, this younger generation seems thrown off by everything, while in fact they have their own digital world, very content to leave my analouge world in the cosmic dust of existence, so who fucking cares if you, old man, can drink a bottle of Patron, do an eight ball of coke, then take ten hits of LSD, followed up with a hand full of IN-TER-NET, where anything is possible and can be made into reality, believe by all those of my generation who script their own life, we are infinite, boundless, and everywhere all at the same time, who the fuck needs LSD.

I would have to agree with this crowd here tonight, where a video arcade game stands over in a corner that was originally a home video game console product as turned the tables and become what I use to slam quarters into like some junked out digital freak in need of reinforcement in the act of being a winner, of being a killer, being important, reviling in total victory over these overwhelming forces of mediocrity all around me, with a desposition of being lazy and not caring. Off in another corner are pictures of winning beer pong teams from tournaments here at O'Shea's apparently there is a national beer pong tournament held in Las Vegas annually, just one more thing to make someone a adrenline like rush of self importance in a world that looks to dispense it out only through the channels of make believe media la la land. Team titles like Big, Black, and Sexy, Two Ball Jen, and Sex Panthers don this winners circle of subnormals and mental degenerates who have fallen so far as to embrace the endorphine rush of being victorious in beer pong, celebrating a shower of stale light beer that smells more like urine than alcohol, but what does it matter, take that picture, you winner, flash those gang signs, and pull up your girlfriends t shirt to show her tits if you are quick enough, but go home all the same back to the television re-runs, late night fast food, and if lucky half conscious sex to the sounds of todays latest popstars, no revision, its late, work soon, but back in the business of writing, the only real business left.

Saturday Night on the Strip

There are many reasons I no longer frequent the Las Vegas Strip as a sidewalk pedstrian, especially on the weekends where the crowds of tourist hordes only seem to exponentially multiply. The only times I may have to be around these people would concern work that might take place on the strip itself. Today sort of falls inbetween the two as I attempt to brave the elements of the strip masses who are ping ponging in every direction, be it for Cirque shows, happy hours, or the infamous buffet extravaganza, either way, who said the economy is in recession, it feels almost like New Years Eve with all the foot traffic tonight, though not out of the ordinary, all the new sidewalk street vendors give my current trip a bit of almost third world glint, that additional layer of inner city scent, where random people stand off on the sides of the walkways selling everything from bootleg DVD's to bottles of water, now this mentality has proliferated its way onto the Las Vegas Strip, as some Mexican Indian woman catatonically hawks bottles of water from a plastic white cooler, chanting, one dollar for a water, as if it was some ritualistic prayer with buddhist undertones that needed a plethora of repetition before its magical power could be fully realized.

Next to her was a cascade of modern day lepors in which chairs and assorted other forms of visual artifacts that let the tourist know as they passed by with their freshly bought high end boutique clothing and jewelry that they needed to fork over some money to these worn down at the heel, helpless, and most unfortunate lot of despots, but their pleas went unheard for the most part, the vibrance, possiblity, and sheer mass of the strip had captivated everyone's attention. Jeez there was beer to drink, gambling, and all sort of forms of carnal activity right at one's fingertips, as highlighted by the gauntlet of workers sporting "Dial 966-SLUT" t-shirts, when those shirts first came out I always tried to buy them off of the workers but none of them ever budged. It was a badge of honor, an ultimate sign of rebellion to go around filling up all those metal magazine racks at 2am, where one or two of the workers went the extra mile by taking out the spray bottle and cleaning the plastic windows as well as the magazine rack itself, who says you can't get into your job. The sex mag ad worker contains a special almost laughable position in Vegas, as the workers do their magic with the small color flyers about the size of a business card, back years ago, the men and women employed by these companies use to smack the cards on their hand in a way a card dealer might shuffle the cards then lay them out on the table. The porno flier distributor brought a certain flair with this deliberate wrist to hand motion as a way to gather attention and for the most part it worked. This point always stuck in my mind even today, as the main artifact of the whole experience, besides the time my son tried to grab one of the fliers from a distributor, who casually replied, " You too young holmes. " an instant classic line that still gets brought up today, even though the event itself happened four years ago.

No matter the slap motion of the fliers has now been replaced by the flipping motion of the fliers like a deck of cards, no one cares anymore, no enough attention, so let's replace this over familiar sound with a new and unheard sound. I can imagine some overpaid consultant sitting in a meeting room with all the distributors discussing new methods of gaining potential customers attention, how do you think the whole portable truck billboard with half naked women on the adverstiments got started in the first place. People were floored while waiting at a traffic light on the strip, and here comes crusing through, 702-HOT-BABE, where a gaint fourteen by eight photo of some woman bent over doggie style in scant clothing enters my visible periphery, granted nothing surprizes me on the Las Vegas Strip, there is no level of base behavior that comes as a shock, this is the arena where the human race dumps such emotions, like an abandon child, to forget and never look back, burn it out of the mind, this never happened, and various other dirt paths of the sort convene. So seeing this steriod like billboard cruising the strip strapped to a small truck did not appear out of the realm of possiblity, just merely smart advertising as well as something to discuss amongst other friends who could take the entire situation and dissect it with a generous helping of dark humor.

Well, the card flick is the new system of passing out porno bills, cool, along with the new motif, well worn out in other tourist destinations which is the guitar music combo, nothing like you might see in New York where real jazz musicians hang out in the park and play standards that will rock your socks off, no this is more like pity employment, where the hell did these two burn outs from the sixties get their funds to buy their axes, you kidding me as the two men sit there in some sort of metaphysical trance, part religious fixation, part chemical induced freak show, but by this point, they look content of run their fingers up and down the fretboard of their guitars in an infinite rock and roll solo, the sound is reminisant of two blenders running at different speeds right before the motors give out for the last time. There is nothing cultural about this performance except for the sheer desperate nature of them being on the crosswalk bridge in the first place, wasn't there cops around to control this kind of impromptu behavior or were they merely sideshow freelancers employed by the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce who had decided that Las Vegas needed a bit more of that downtown metropolitan feel so prevalent in many other large cities around the world. Either way, the strip has now become a fertile ground for new artisans who wish to enchant the masses with ear piercing versions of Santana and Motley Crue, peronsal requests for an additional couple of bucks, but people still felt the need to throw a few dollars at these would be musicans so their place in the circus of the strip had been cemented.

Last of course, who could forget all the drunk teenagers hanging out with large forty ounce white buckets filled with Coors light, smoking cigarettes, talking to other underage teens who have yellow plastic Gutiar Hero like guitars filled with bottom barrel watered down frozen alcoholic drinks that shall only serve a speed train to the platform to the mega headache township, a first class trip to the feeling of a spike being shoved right through both temples of the brain,but that is why you do that kind of thing when you are young, easier to bounce back, recover from all that poison being forced down the throat, do it a couple more times and you get the picture, cheap booze, is cheap for one reason, because it is crap and makes you feel like crap, these teens tonight did not care about such things and only appeared compelled to push the Vegas experience to its known limits or whatever their wallet would allow, probably the main reasion they are sitting on a brick retaining wall at the moment with their buddies like it is spring break in Cancun as oppose to a hotel suite with piles of cocaine and an assortment of loose women moved by the large amounts of readily available blow. Slowly through the throngs of tourists I moved toward my destination, an affordable meal on the strip, now their is something you don't see everyday.

You Can't Stop Rock and Roll

Must have been family night in the Hilton Theater tonight as a small mass of parents with their teenage children pushed forward toward of the stage to get a better view of Twisted Sister. Some skinny youth is waving his arms at the bass player with his hands in a devil horn sign displayed rather proudly like an A+ plus homework assignment after an entire year's worth of F's. It makes me think back to my years as a heavy metal, punk rock, and death metal junky, where I spent almost every dollar I made to go to any sort of concert of the above genres that came to town, even if I had to take the bus, then hitchhike, maybe bum a ride, there was nothing that could stop me from getting to a show, my mother gave up rather early as far as keeping me in the house, plenty of excuses to get away, from staying at friend's homes to just out right walking out the door, what did it matter, there was something larger than my dull life in rural San Diego waiting for me at the doors of whatever arena, nightclub, or veterans hall, either to hangbang, slamdance, or mosh in a pit, an energy existed where all sorts of different characters came together bonded by music, plus it was a point of bragging to the other kids at school who did not or could not attend such concerts, call it independence or outright defiance, music taught me a lot of things, but especially that last concept.

The hangbang fest has already began at the Heavy Metal Christmas Spectacular and unlike the first night the crowd looks rather prepared for the rollercoaster ride of highs and lows this show has to offer. The renditions of standard Christmas tune takes a bit of blind faith at least as far as taking the whole thing seriously, watching the entire band perform some Christmas themed song where Dee Snider comes out as Santa Claus with a reindeer team made of half naked women in thong bikinis and tube tops pulling a sleigh might be said to be quiet a way to start a show, but why not, it caught my interest, shit and I get to point a video camera on the womenwith all sorts of preverted camera shots that I have no doubt shall seal the deal on grabbing the audience's attention. But why stop there as the gathering of the new heavy metal youth start swarming around me, like a beacon, I get it, understand to some degree, how this might feel new, definitely better than current crop of overprocessed music available to them today, but I am fighting with the nostalgic overtones from a bunch of fifty somethings playing songs that almost everyone mocked right out the gate, but it seems Twisted Sister have had the last laugh as another generation is endoctrinated into the mindset of anti-authoritarianism, questioning others, and not to follow trends, these things remain, long after the music is gone, that rather subtle tweaking of the mind, which will have these kids seeking out the music Lou Reed, David Bowie, The New York Dolls, and Ozzy all of whom are considered the quintsential renegades of their time, the hall of fame of don't give a fuck. This is what is going on here tonight, these tourists who have been handed free tickets tonight have no clue, not a clue at what they are witnessing here is not merely a concert, but more like a rite of passage as well as reunion of sorts for the music fans who lived their lives as rebels, outlaws, and outcasts, right now no one is an outcast, just members of the rock and roll tribe, where the elders are respected and always have the last say, none of this corporate get thrown under the bus, never have had any influences in my life, art or music, fans here realize how fragmented the tribe has become as the elders die, the new youth are not replacing them fast enough, which may leave thought, culture, and idealism in the past as another victim of the corporate chopping block, left to be marginalize then discarded into oblivion, eventually erased from existence in this digital age.

Still, even with the advent of our digital culture, they are so many entreprenuers who have created many things for the internet, from chat rooms to social networks to phone applications, the pool of new minds has not dwindled, maybe only changed gears as the environment has changed in the past twenty years, now there might be some moral questions in regards to how useful all this new technology might be, yet it felt like our president used technology rather effectively to gain control of a group of voters who might of otherwise felt alienated, using their comfort of digital culture as leverage to send a message they could understand, embrace, then eventually get behind. has that Brave New World come to fruitition, I personally do not think so, these new tools are merely as such and for the people who can wisely use them, they shall offer a global audience that gives advertisers wet dreams in their sleep. I still can't get over the idea of blogging, like a daily novel that throws in some of Keroauc's spontaneous stream of consciousness with a bit of personal travelouge, plenty of ways to take such a thing, but the personal angle, just allows me to be a bit more open with my ideas, emotions, and experiences.

Who knows where this is going now as all the teenagers are singing We're Not Gonna Take and I hope that they get what Dee is trying to get across, not just as this high school rebellion against having their X Box taken away, grounded for the weekend, but as the larger wing clipping that is going on from presidential adminstration to presidential adminstration, where the political parties change, but the ideology stays the same, which is keep things as they always have been, just present them in a different manner, reprogram the constituents to make 2+2=5 and once you have accomplished that goal, anything is possible and will remain so for an indefinite time unless people speak up against, walking through life with their head in the sand, yet for some of these fans here tonight that might feel alright, having more than one might need is a great cure for expansive thought, wisdom, and truth, words to be planed down into sawdust, why make a mark, make a difference, isn't that what television and the movies are for, someone to cheer, who can do all the hard work, make all the sacrifices, just sit back and let the drama unfold. I think being amongst the people as opposed to a movie screen can be more often than not, be compiled with more drama than the best 10 films ever made, so I will continue to hit the streets, jot down notes at work and sacrifice some of personal indulgences in order to document the rythmn of the streets.

Dee Snider's Twisted Christmas

Been hired to document the lastest Christmas time sensation of the holiday season, Twisted Sister's Twisted Christmas Spectacular. A heavy metal redention of the those ol yule tide classics one might here Andy Williams or Diane Shore sing if you are old enough to recall who those two people are, either way just think of those damn type of music songs played throughout the next week while at work, shopping, or in an elevator and the gist of the Twisted Sister songlist for the show is near complete. Not to leave out the real hardcore fans, the band throws in some of their classic tunes for if nothing else to keep the interest of the crowd from waning too much as Dee Snider kicks into his rendetion of I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus, not sure I even know the lyrics to the song, nonetheless the overall experience of watching some guy in his mid fifties running around in the same New York Dolls/Kiss like spandex pants does warrant an audience, even in the 21 century, nostalgia does not discriminate as the long a crowd of people are willing spend their money, and so the comebacks continue.

My first experience of seeing Dee Snider outside of being constantlybeing plastered on MTV during their Stay Hungry album due to a series of catchy anti establishment rock songs that almost felt difficult to take seriously, because here were these five guys all dressed up like low rent versions of popular glam rock bands of time, as the band themselves got together in this mockery like fashion to illustrate how ridiculous the current crop of long haired pretty boys were. A collective lot who needed to be taken out back and shot like the fluffheaded idiots, the videos, the interviews, and photo shots made them out be. Thoughts of Every Rose Has Its Thorn comes to mind I should seriously consider a lobotomy why does that particular melody haunt me like some Christmas ghost from the past, looming, desiring to channel an entire lifetime of mistakes, errors, and regrets to weigh me down in loathing like some vicious animal in chains requiring immediate sedation. Still have not got to the point while heading off into the cavern of arena rock during the eighties and how it inspired a generation of teenagers like myself to grow out my hair, dress in tight jeans, and then start experimenting with drugs and sex.

The last two I am perfectly comfortable with, even today, pretty much the cornerstone of my existence and possible downfall in my last two relationships, even so Twisted Sister had that punk defience from the Seventies mashed together with the ever blossoming sarcastic mantra of the 80's Regean era, where if you were not, making big bucks, smoking rock cocaine with hookers, and did not have a hidden bank account in the Carribean, you were not trying, so that meant pretty much everyone in the states back then, quite a potential audience for this band to cultivate. Now to the point, the first time I really gave a second thought about Dee Snider was when he had the balls to stand up in court against the Parents Music Resource Coallition and for those too young to remember, this group is basically the reason why every CD, for those who even bother to buy them anymore, has the parental advisory lyrics on the cover, there was actually a time children when Ozzy albums, NWA, and even Slayer albums did not contain such guideful information in regards to protecting the youth of America from listening to Ozzy's Suicide Solution eight thousand times in a row then jumping off a bridge, or going to school with a machine gun, or possibly even putting a pipe bomb in the toilet during gym class, all these were considered light social events before the era of the clampdown, before homeland security, before 9/11, where throwing M-80's into freeway traffic was considered juvenille behavior, nowadays they'll find you a nice quiet space somewhere on the outskirts of Cuba where they will paint you as some sort grand anti-christian terrorist who loves Lenin, prays to Che, and seeks to see the skyline of Manhattan filled with minirets.

Even today, I have a profound respect for Dee Snider with his stance against the PRMC, ran by of all people Tipper Gore, the wife of Al Gore, that golem like beast who invented the internet, man bear pig, and various other sorts of energy saving ideas. Have to say this idea of censorship has had far more reaching results than anything else, number one, if only to drive sales of every piece of music that was fortunate enough to be tagged by the PRMC as profound, violent, sexual, racial, thought provoking, and blantently honest about the government, its citizens, and this facade called society. Total mockery of the powers that be, always went straight to the top, a group of middle age upper class twats with no connection whatsoever with the lives of the average urban, rural, or suburban teenagers, the main source of income for the music industry at the time, became the artistry rubber stamp of approval for music, not that it mattered, Bodycount's Cop Killer, NWA's Fuck The Police, to Nirvana's Rape Me all rung the bells of anti-establishment approval with the PRMC, amongst a hundred others I have already forgotten in my drug soaked, under slept, over sensitized, and relationship ruined brain.

The thing that bugged me the most during this time was how so many of the artist's facing the PRMC label did nothing, said nothing, and sort of just went along with the entire program which I interpeted at the time as them being a bunch of pussies, think Chuck D of Public Enemy went on record against the PRMC, but as for the rest of them, I can't recall too many others who did. How little did I know about the windfall this bad ass attitude labeling would give any artist willing to swear, talk dirty, or just tell the government to fuck itself. The record labels made a killing and the artists as well, just work that anti-family, anti-parent, and anti-rule to the millionth degree, and next thing you know we've hit the motherlode, the easy money, time to buy that island in the South Seas, record my next album from there, not even tour, just keep on fucking bitches, slanging dope, gang bang, beat on the neighbors, set cars on fire and burn down Hollywood, Our Motto: Apocalypse Now.