A Morning with the Sparrows

The sparrows were out this morning, snapping at each other, some flying across the patio looking for something to eat. I join them for breakfast most weekday mornings at Starbucks. I pinch off a small piece of my bagel making sure not to include the cream cheese. (I'm not sure what cream cheese will do to the digestive system of a sparrow.) I like to flick a crumb-sized portion of an Albertson's raisin and cinnamon bagel among the birds and watch them fight each other for it.

Only the swift will win. Once a crumb-bagel hits the ground, a sparrow swoops down and grabs the morsel in its mouth and quickly takes flight to a nearby tree branch to enjoy breakfast without the company of its friends. Rude bird. Selfish twit.

I glance to my left and see the Chevron station serving breakfast gas to a covey of hungry cars. This intersection in Henderson must be one of the busiest in the Las Vegas valley. Hundreds of cars speed by my observation post on the patio located high above the scene. Workers are preparing the landscape around the station, hauling dirt and planting trees. The sparrows nearby seem to take notice. They turn their heads to glance at the workers and then just as quickly turn back towards me and look for more bagel crumbs.

To my right is the Texaco station across the street to the north. A huge American flag is waving from its pole. I see a bike rider scampering along the sidewalk, peddling fast. His backpack is heavy. Perhaps he's a student with a load of books. Steam from the street is rising in curly rhythms like clear sheets of velvet causing the bike rider to look warped and otherworldly. I swipe my forehead and collect a bead of sweat as I notice how hot it is.

A branch of the Colonial Bank is directly in front of my outpost about 200 yards away. I read the neon sign flashing above it: "Safe, Sound, Secure. You'll Like It Here." I smile at the irony of such a message appearing in a city like Las Vegas. Just beyond the sign, on the horizon in the far distance, I see the Strip with the tall Stratosphere tower reaching upward into the hazy summer sky. The famous skyline of the entertainment district on Las Vegas Blvd. is stretched out before me and I wonder about the winners and losers who are still sleeping away their deeds from the night before. Safe, sound, and secure.

This Starbucks has a fountain on the patio that's not running this morning. Perhaps it's too hot. What little breeze I feel upon my face feels like it's coming from a hair dryer. The heat surrounds me, covers me, engulfs me, and I wonder if bagels feel this way while baking. The patio is like an oven and those of us sitting out here are like loaves of bread. A business man wearing a suit has taken off his jacket revealing a starched white shirt so bright that it blinds me to look at him. Two women in shorts are having a spirited conversation and don't seem a bit worried about a potential heat stroke.

As for me and the sparrows? I'm listening to Joe Cocker on my iPod and the birds are staring at me, pleading with me with small dark eyes, to toss them more bagel crumbs. Cocker sings, "there's a time to reap/a time to sow/ for holdin' on/ for lettin' go/ sometimes doing what is right is lettin' go."

Library Hi-Tech Gear Gives Me a Hi-Tech Headache

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Day 103 in the Las Vegas Valley

I got my library card the first week I moved to Las Vegas. I was in Summerlin, and found the Las Vegas-Clark County Library District (clumsily referred to as the "LVCCLD", like some undecipherable Roman numeral). The Summerlin branch of the LVCCLD was undergoing a facelift at the time, but was a nice enough place tucked neatly inside a business center near The Trails. I had few problems finding my way around.

My trouble began when I tried to check out a few books, DVDs, and CDs. The hi-tech gear at the library check out counter gave me an old-fashioned headache. I was instructed to hold my books and other items under a scanner, then pass the stack of materials over a mechanized cabinet-gizmo that would deactivate the security tags placed in each of the items. Okay. I'm computer literate. I can do this.

As luck would have it, I missed something and set off an alarm as I was walking out. A library security guard gave me a "What's-your-problem" look and asked me to return to the check out counter. Well, she didn't really ask. She told me, "You need to return to the check out counter." I complied.

In the old days you carried your books to the check out counter and the librarian would stamp a few cards and off you would go. No hassle. No big deal. Just a stamp and go. But now I'm required to maneuver my way through computerized equipment scanners and high-beam security sensors in order to check out the latest bestseller. Give me a break.

After moving to Henderson I found the nearest branch of the LVCCLD on Shelbourne, just off South Las Vegas Blvd. I wanted to check out two books, six CDs, and three DVDs. I went to the check out computer consoles and encountered something similar to the bridge of the Starship Enterprise. What the crap is all of this hi-tech stuff? How the heck do I check out a book?

I placed the entire stack of items I wanted to check out on a table in front of a computer monitor. As I was looking around to see what to do next, the monitor began to list the items I had placed on the table. "You've got to be kidding me. What the hell is this?" A security guard nearby walked over and gave me directions on how to check out items on "our new toy."

I was instructed to place my books in a stack on the table. The table top, as if by magic, scanned the stack of books, CDs, and DVDs and immediately checked them out. I received a receipt when it was through. I did not have to pass the books by hand under a scanner. All I did was set the books down on the table.

Naturally, I missed something and set off an alarm as I was leaving the library. With all this hi-tech gear to make my library experience a pleasant one, I sure seem to be setting off a lot of alarms. In the old days with just a stamp I don't remember ever setting off an alarm. Not once. I eventually discovered that I was not leaving my stack of books on the table long enough. (I guess the hi-tech gizmo needs time to save me time.)

To check the library materials back in is another story. You punch a button on a computer screen to begin. Then you place each item under a red light hovering over a conveyor belt hidden inside a slot in the wall. The book, CD, or DVD, whatever, is slowly sucked in by the conveyor belt. As it passes by a scanner the red light turns green. It's similar to standing in front of a microwave oven in your kitchen and slowly placing a book inside it, only to see it disappear into nothingness, sucked into oblivion.

I suppose all of this Star Trek technology enables the library to safely check out items to the public without having to pay someone to stamp a card. It is a slick operation when you think about it. Walk in, find your book, lay it on a table, walk out. But does it save time? Maybe. If I can stop setting off the alarm.

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My fireworks video from Green Valley Ranch Casino this July 4th, "in support of the troops" as its theme, along with music by Leonard Cohen.

Scatter Shooting on July 4th

Day 89 in Las Vegas Valley

Just a few things on my mind today, while I sit here and sweat on the patio drinking coffee:

Governor Palin is resigning. So what. I don't really care, though I'm a conservative and have voted Republican my whole life. I don't think she, nor Mitt Romney, are the future for conservatives. But we can't seem to find a GOP candidate who can keep their pants on, so the 1012 election doesn't look pretty.
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Fireworks are going to be all over the valley tonight. I'll be watching the show from the roof of a casino, overlooking the panoramic vista of Sin City under fire. Should be a cool night, too. The winds need to take a night off, however, or they could ruin it all.

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I'll be moving into a new home next Friday, closer to work and within walking distance of The District and the GVR. Should be nice, though Summerlin is a great place, too.

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Is it just me, or does Al Franken look like he belongs behind the meat counter at your local grocery store? It's going to be hard to take this guy seriously.

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I've heard all I need to hear about Michael Jackson and his will. Does anyone really care? His life is becoming a bigger circus, after death. Can we move on? And if his scuzzy ex-wife who is nothing more than a baby-maker-for-hire gets custody of those kids, then the entire Jackson clan needs to go into therapy with Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton. His kids are innocent victims and I don't see any reason to believe they will be normal, well-adjusted adults after having grown up around these people. Dr. Phil needs to step in and get Oprah to take the kids to Oprahland where they will have a chance to grow up normal like the rest of us.
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Happy July 4th to all our troops, my nephews Cody and Caleb included. Take care guys.

As I Choose to Remember Them

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Day 82 in the Las Vegas valley

I choose to remember these two icons as young and full of life, as I was when we first met. Both are now gone. And I have to wonder how much longer I have before I join them. Just a reminder that life ends for us all. It's up to us to make the best of it.

Michael Jackson was born the week before me on August 29, 1958 (I was born on September 5) and I remember him when we both turned 11 years old...he was singing his way to superstardom and I was watching Farrah Fawcett on Charlie's Angels. I had the poster of Farrah (seen below) hanging on my bedroom wall. Mr. Jackson, of course, was all over the cover of Teen Magazine.

As I'm writing this, I'm sitting in a Starbucks in Henderson, Nevada, and I hear a conversation:

"All of these people dying at the same age as me....it's making me nervous. I'm starting to think my time is getting closer," says Guy Number One.

Guy Number Two is walking out the door and responds by saying, "I know what you mean. Last year I started doing Yoga and working out and now I feel a lot better. None of us know when it's our time to go."

Ms. Fawcett died after a struggle with anal cancer (no cancer is a picnic, but anal cancer must be really horrible) at the age of 62. She remained beautiful until the end. Unfortunately Mr. Jackson lost his humanity somewhere along the way between the Jackson 5 concerts I remember as a kid, his father's abuse, and an adoring public that wouldn't leave the guy alone.

I just finished reading a book on the history of Las Vegas, and the role of Howard Hughes in developing the valley here. I thought how alike both the King of Pop and Howard Hughes were, both becoming victims of their own success.

And Farrah had those amazing...uh,...teeth.

Day 78 in Las Vegas

God, it's hot. Yes, Lord, it's very hot. This must be what Hell is like. And it's not even July yet.

Having found a job I'm thankful. Having found a job that is primarily an INDOOR job, I'm ecstatic and overjoyed with glee. While the unemployment rate continues to skyrocket I'm aware I've received a miracle. Thousands looking for work and I landed a pretty good job. I was told 500 resumes were submitted to the company where I now work. I hit a long shot. The first log shot I've hit in months. The odds were certainly against me.

You make your own luck, I guess. Each day I filled out online job applications for hours, trying to convince the keyboard I was worthy of a chance. Long gone are the days of walking in and talking your way into a job. Now it's all about filling out online job applications and answering questions like, "How would you react if a co-worker lied about you to the boss?"

Being older was a problem, too. I turned 50 this last year. Who wants to hire an old fart when there are thousands of 20-year olds looking for work? We of the older generation need to be thankful we have a strong work ethic, honesty, integrity, and a willingness to survive at any cost. Many 20-year olds can't tie their own shoes without help or a computer game to show them how.

But I suppose life is what happens when everything else you have planned ends up on a "To-Do" list that remains stuck in your car's ash tray.

I Like the Heat

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Day 41 in Las Vegas

With temperatures above 100 this weekend, the main goal is to stay in the shade. Hanging out on the patio at the local Coffee Bean is like a game of musical chairs, shifting your seat and table around as the sun moves along. "Staying in the shade is my purpose in life," I said to a fellow coffee-drinker. "Today I vow to stay out of this blazing sun."

I know we're in the desert and I expect heat. In fact, I like heat. Hot summer days remind me of home, of years growing up in a climate that had 100-degree days with 90% humidity. Nothing like north Texas heat. Heat in Las Vegas is child's play compared to the sizzle of north Texas.

But north Texas was home and I loved it. So bring on the summer sun and allow me to think of past days growing up when we had no terrorists (or at least I didn't know of any), gas was really cheap (20 cents a gallon?), school was actually safe and fun, friends were plentiful, and Mom was at home cooking supper. Bring on the sizzle and remind me of bike rides to the park, football games in the yard, kick-the-can games at night, Cowboys vs. Redskins, and Friday night parties at someone's house.

I like the heat because it burns away the fog of old age were memories often stay frozen in time. So what if I have to sweat a little.