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Day 25 in Las Vegas
Starbucks, Cheyenne at Hwy. 215

It's a beautiful morning in Summerlin, light cool breeze and mild temperatures. I know this will change as Summer arrives. I grew up in North Texas, so I can handle the heat. I bet 110 degrees here is easier to take than those 110-degree days I spent as a kid in Wichita Falls. At least here the humidity won't kill you.

The talk around the coffee shops this morning is about the unexpected death of local entertainer Danny Gans. Currently appearing at The Encore, he was only 52. No news yet on the cause of his death. He was a big draw on The Strip and well known for his show. His death is another reminder to keep things in perspective. Taking one day at a time, and living each day as if it were your last, is not the worst advice I've taken.

I'm really beginning to like it here, for whatever reason. For now, anyway, I'm looking forward to building a life here. In a city built on the bad luck of others, I feel I'm right at home. It's been my bad luck (or timing) to settle down in a city being slaughtered by the worst economy in decades. Maybe that's one reason I'm drawn to this place. We both are being kicked in the groin by unemployment, a sagging real estate market, and politicians who can't get their act together. Maybe Las Vegas and I have a common goal: arise from the ashes and come out stronger on the other side of the misery currently besetting us.

I Need Real Estate Investors

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Day 23 in Las Vegas
Starbucks, Cheyenne at Hwy. 215

The two women were talking about real estate, so my ears perked up. Real estate talk is among my favorite hobbies. As a real estate broker myself, I spend half my time reading and learning all I can about short sales, wholesaling, selling, marketing, investing, Realtors, brokerage, and finance. Most recently I've been studying short sales, since banks are holding a lot of unwanted properties. (With a short sale, you're asking the bank to take less than what is owed on the property...and many times the bank will jump at a short sale in order to minimize the loss.)

The women talking nearby were looking for a home. One woman was obviously the agent and the other was a home buyer. The agent told the buyer that the market was near bottoming out and apparently things will begin to turn around next year. It seems what I've been reading in the paper agrees.

The Las Vegas area's job market has plummeted, reaching an unemployment rate of around 10%. Home prices have taken a beating and the commercial sector is in the toilet. It's a great time for those who have cash, however. Bargains are available on all kinds of properties. And with the market rebounding in 2010, it's a great time to invest.

I'm looking to build my list of investors in the Las Vegas area and will be designing a web site to promote my own real estate activity in the coming year. The real estate business has always been in my blood and I enjoy making money in it when I can.

If you're an investor, email me at mitch (at) mitchellaiken.com. I'm a wholesaler looking to go on the hunt for some great deals. Contact me and let's make some money!

The Employment Center

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Day 19 in Las Vegas
The Coffee Bean's black couch

The walk through the lobby is no problem. I know where I'm going so the maze of carpet and tile don't confuse me. The furniture does, however. I'm early for my meeting so I sit down in a very weird looking chair in the lobby of the resort. The frame is made of wire mesh, the cushion not that soft. When will furniture designers get a clue that a chair should be comfortable to sit in? People are walking about, a bellman checking a computer terminal, a suited employee observing the scene.

After a few minutes I exit the front doors of the lobby and turn right. I'm looking for a metal door with a sign above it: "Employment Center." I find it about a hundred yards down the sidewalk from the entrance to the resort. For some reason my heart begins to beat faster, sweat begins to accumulate beneath my pits and I begin to feel a nervousness inch it's way up my spine.

"Why the hell am I so nervous," I ask myself. "What's the problem?" I look up at the "Employment Center" sign and take a deep breath. I've heard that deep breathing helps relieve anxiety.

I enter the metal doors and see a small sign pointing left saying "Team Members." Well I'm not a team member. I've not been part of a team in years. Thankfully another sign is pointing right with the words "Employment Center." The haves and the have-nots. The employed and the unemployed. The paid and the unpaid. Being separated by these two signs gives me pause: go left because you have a job, go right if you need one.

I go right, of course. As I enter the Employment Center waiting room it immediately occurs to me that I'm in a doctor's office. Am I lost? Chairs lined up in neat little rows, no signs of life or a sense of humor. The one difference is the flat-panel screen hanging on the wall to the left. I've never seen a doctor's office with a television in it. Along another wall are two computer terminals. The room is spare of any decoration, save for a wall poster or two.

Opposite me are two side doors leading to small offices. After a few moments I notice a sign-in sheet. My job application was done completely online and the web site automatically assigned me an interview time. The sign-in sheet is for those who have an appointment, as it clearly spells out. No walk-ins welcome. I'm glad to be a part of the included, the ones who have an appointment time. I sign my name and my time of arrival, happy to see I am three minutes early.

CNN is broadcasting on the flat-panel screen as I sit down in the waiting area. A discussion over torture is underway, and former vice-president Dick Cheney's belief that waterboarding was an effective use of the CIA's time is the topic. So what if some terrorist gets water thrown on him a few times...what's the big deal? Job-hunting is far worse.

I think to myself at that moment that looking for a job in this economic downturn is a kind of torture. How bad can waterboarding be? Try filling out dozens of online job applications.

I see nine other job-seekers waiting along with me in the sterile room. We are all in our own little worlds, no one is saying anything. My attempt at a humorous remark is unnoticed. Tough room. We all just sit there, some are staring at the pundits on CNN, others are staring at their laps.

Twenty minutes later I'm called into one of the offices. I feel like I am back in high school, being called into the Principal's office. "Now, Mitch, I know you didn't want to insult Ms. Dollar that way. You've got to stop making fun of the way people dress. Especially your teachers." Funny how looking for a job makes you feel like a scared, young, inexperienced high school kid.

"Sorry for the delay," the young woman says. I'm old enough to be her father. "Won't you have a seat?"

The office is small, not much more than a closet. The desk and chairs take up most of the room. An enormous computer monitor sits to one side, blocking my view of the interviewer. She punches a while on her keyboard and brings up my file. She is reviewing my online job application and has a curious smile on her face, a smile that seems glued on rather than authentic. She is going through the motions. Another job application, another interview, another day doing the same old routine of asking silly questions and filling out silly forms. Yada, yada.

I say to myself, "Why pay a real person to sit here and go through this...why not just have me punch in answers on a computer? Does she even know I'm sitting here?"

After a couple of goofy questions like "How would you provide someone with top level service?" and "Do you like being a part of a team?", she calmly says my file will be provided to the appropriate departments and if an opening is available that fits my application then I will be contacted. Yada, yada, yada.

As I walk out of the Employment Center I glance up at the CNN broadcast on the flat-panel screen. Wolf Blitzer is moderating a discussion about bringing Dick Cheney and other former Bush administrators to justice for war crimes. I look at the other faces staring blankly out into space waiting to be called in for their interview and I think I'm in an episode of the Twilight Zone. Someone change the channel.

I Am...I Said...

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Day 14 in Las Vegas
The Coffee Bean

I've been putting this off for while, but now it's time to "get-ur done": order a certified birth certificate and replace my social security card.

Now at first glance it doesn't seem all that important. I've lived most of my adult life without a wallet-sized social security card, and I've never seen an official copy of my birth certificate. Somehow I survived college and graduate school, and about 30 years of adult-career-grown-up-type jobs without ever having to produce either a birth certificate or a social security card. I guess I've been lucky.

So the time has come to do the adult thing and acquire these two all-important, identity-proving documents. Since the 9/11 attacks and the birth of Homeland Security, proving one's identity has become a little more sticky. More employers are doing background checks and double-checking the proof of your identity. So it's become apparent that everyone should have both a certified copy of their birth certificate and an official social security card. (Unless you're an illegal allien...then all you need is the ability to speak Spanish and look really sad.)

I asked my father, "So...where I do go to get a birth certificate? The hospital I was born in? Have you got a copy?" My father's response, "Well...you probably need to go to the county clerk's office."

My father is usually smarter than me when it comes to these things, so I took his advice and went to the Nacogdoches County web site and sent an email to the County Clerk for instructions on how to obtain a birth certificate. I was emailed back with these instructions: "...pay $23 and send a letter requesting the certificate and tell us why you want it." Tell you why I want it? What kind of nitwit are you? "Well, I'd like to frame it and place on the wall next to my embossed driver's license!"

My next chore was to visit the Social Security Administration office this morning on S. Buffalo. I walked into the "Card Center", took a number, and waited for about 20 minutes. The lady behind the bullet-proof glass was kind enough, though a little tight around the buns if you know what I mean. She was all business. But she did have a nice manner about her. After filling out a form and showing my driver's license I was given a temporary form proving I exist. I was told I would have to wait a week to receive my card in the mail. "Don't laminate it," she said seriously as if to imply that if I did, Leon Panetta would send a CIA operative to my house to go Jason Bourne on my ass. "Yes, ma'am," I said and I quickly left the building.

The Past Week in Review

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A look back over my shoulder at this past week:

1. Watching people salivate over a drawing at the Red Rock Casino has me laughing...because I'm just like them. Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights we all stand around and wait for our club card number to appear on a video screen. Ten people receive $1,000 each, plus there's a drawing for a new $75,000 Escalade.

2. A move to tax legalized prostitution in Nevada failed, as predicted. The brothels were willing to pay $5 per "client" as a tax in exchange for some respect. But the state legislature balked. They are willing to make prostitution legal, but don't want to tax it like a legitimate business. Brothels are good for tourism. But treat them like a normal business? Nope.

3. It snowed one morning, for ten minutes, on my way to Starbucks.

4. The Coffee Bean is my new favorite hang-out.

5. The MGM Mirage survived another week. As The Strip's largest employer, the developer of CityCenter keeps plugging ahead without the help of its partner, Dubai World. Will they file bankruptcy and attempt to reorganize a $13 billion debt? Will CityCenter open this fall as expected? The answers depend on what you read and who you talk to.

6. The local economy is in shambles, but some say they see signs of recovery. Housing sales are increasing, mainly due to prices dropping through the floor. If you're looking to buy real estate, bargains exist on every street corner. Example: condos selling for $275,000 can be had for $160,000. The number of foreclosures has more than doubled.

7. My right thumb still hurts. I did something to it before I left Carmel two weeks ago. When I bend it at the knuckle, a pain shoots down to the palm of my hand.

8. I met a very nice lady at a UPS Store. She's taking over a new store in June. UPS Stores in general do fairly well if they are managed well and are located in the right area. While shipping is down, the other services they offer help keep the cash coming in.

9. I like Facebook. I hate MySpace. I like email. I hate cell phones.

10. I sold a domain name through GoDaddy's Auction Service and found it to be a pain in the groin, mainly because the buyer was a city government.

Haiku #3: "To Freeze or Not"

To Freeze or Not

by Mitchell R. Aiken

Warm days, cool nights here.

The weather can't seem to choose.

Freeze them, or sizzle.

.

The ying and yang of

It all makes me long for a

Summer of pure heat.

.

I'll get my wish soon.

Hundred degree days will come,

Melting my yingyang.

A Brief Visit to Hooters and the MGM

Day 10 in Las Vegas
The Coffee Bean, on my favorite black couch

I walked through the Hooters Casino this afternoon. It's a rather casual, no-frills, kind of place when compared to the glitz of the MGM across the street. The word for Hooters that comes to mind is "unkempt", like a child's room that is messy and needs a good cleaning. I suppose that's an unfair judgement since Hooters doesn't claim to reach out to the high class clients of the more glamorous properties, so I shouldn't compare them. I'm just taking note of the little details I notice when I walk through a property.

For example, the first thing I noticed at Hooters was in the elevator. You can usually tell the class of a joint by its elevators and its bathrooms. The garage elevator at Hooters had lights knocked out and graffiti stains. In addition, it shook and rattled and noisily made its journey from the third level downward where it finally deposited me safely on the casino floor.

I don't want to be overly judgemental about Hooters. It's just an observation of the little things, the things that add up to an overall impression of a place.

When I walked across the street to the MGM, of course, I encountered a completely different world. Again it's unfair to compare the MGM to the Hooters, so I will not.

The lions at the MGM were feisty and putting on a show for a nice crowd huddled around the glass cage. I felt sorry for the lions. What must life be like for them? Created for the wild, to be masters of their domain, to conquer nature as one of the grandest beasts in the land. I could almost see in the eyes of one lion a sense of doom, a sense of resignation and defeat as if to say, "How the hell did I end up here in a glass case as show fodder for a bunch of tourists?"

As I walked around and observed the crowds and watched a few hands of poker in the pit I felt like I was in a glass case. Is someone watching me?

On my way back to Summerlin, a radio news report said that billionaire investor Carl Icahn advises the MGM Mirage to file bankruptcy and reorganize their $13 billion debt. No wonder the lion looked so sad.