It Came From The Puppy Mill...

The first few weeks I was here:

I dog-sat for a stripper named Jessica. Her pup was called Sadie and was maybe my least favorite dog in history. This is coming from someone who as a child (just ask my parents) would approach and pet the most disgustingly flea-ridden, one-eyed strays without hesitation. I'd run up to snarling dobermans and rabid-looking street dogs in Greece and try to hug them. At age 8, I practiced my piano every day for a year to get my doggy Rosie.

I. Love. Dogs. And I fuckin hated this one.

The thing weighed 5 pounds and would yap and sprint about the apartment hyperactively if I ever even reached for my purse or (God forbid!) put on my shoes. She couldn't sleep alone and would batter the door of our laundry room if I tried to make her sleep in her doggy bed. The one charm she offered was her puppy-pad training, which, frankly, did not impress. And I was instructed to microwave her food and only serve bottled water. If I hadn't been paid $150 for 5 days of work I might have quit. As it was, I was happy (nay, elated) to see her go. See picture below. Deceptively cute, no?

The Office: Las Vegas

The people at my work:

First off, there's my boss Joe. A balding lawyer from Baltimore who struck gold here in LV, married a woman (I won't say stripper yet) by the name of... wait for it.. Mysty.

Mysty!!! How is she NOT a stripper?!?! Apparently she's a lawyer as well, but based on that name (and the fact that, according to my co-workers, she has the most flagrantly fake-looking implants ever) you'd really think she earned her way humping poles for dollar bills.

Montse, a 20-year-old bilingual daughter of very conservative Mexican parents who kicked her out recently because her little brother tattled on her for meeting up with her ex-boyfriend. Her mom called her a "puta" because of her indiscretion. She just moved in with a friend.

Janyne, a __-year-old with braces and blonde hair who answers our phones. She's a total sweetheart whose first language is Spanish but whose English rivals many native speakers I know. She loves my hair and is constantly patting me on the head because I haven't dyed it in 6 years so its really soft. Her heels clack on the tiled floors and we have developed a rapport due to our close proximity in the office.

Alex, an attorney who is in the process of divorcing his wife and recently joined our firm. Joe constantly gives him shit for being slow and fucking shit up but he's a smart dude. He went to Hastings and got a 175 on the LSAT yet is fighting for custody of his 7-year-old daughter with his wife of 8 years. She was a stripper before they married, so in a less-than-appropriate moment I said: "at least she has something to fall back on!"

Fuckin funny, if you ask me.

Donna, a 30-something (I think...) who wears the most trashily work-appropriate clothes I have ever seen. She wears frosted lipstick and dark lipliner, (obviously) dyed blonde hair and drinks Jose Cuervo and grapefruit juice.

Most American City?

I can't do this.

I'm sleepy and watching the Daily Show, nuff said. After dog-sitting for a stripper and sitting on a corona-soaked rug, I guess I know I'm in Vegas. Either there or Mexico. I work in the heart of the Mexican ghetto for a law firm that specializes in DUIs and quickie divorces. How Vegas. When I arrive in the morning I hear roosters crowing in the neighbor's yard.

I still think I would be happier in another state/city but now I've learned to accept my surroundings. Vegas, I realize, is meant to be viewed from a moving automobile.

Every day I drive down Pecos Ave to get to/from work and certain highlights have emerged. Every morning when I'm busting my ass to be less than 10 minutes late (I haven't been on time since day 2) I look to my left and see the horses in their lovely gated community. Initially when I saw the signs and the gay-ass bronze horse statues outside I was like: "I swear to god, if this is a cowboy-themed gated community I'm gonna fuckin' kill myself". But then I realized there were actual horses there! In the morning they draw close to their scallop-edged fences and crop the grass nearby, some of them are dappled gray and remind me of my cats.

In the afternoon/evening when I drive home on the opposite way on Pecos I am always listening to GirlTalk and once I hit Sunset I roll my windows down. In the evening cool (only 70-85 degrees F!) the air smells so beautiful I almost want to pull over and take it in. It's like how I remember Berkeley smelling from when I visited as a kid. Maybe Eucalyptus trees? Who knows. Its like licorice and balsam, a rare fresh scent in this desolate desert. I'm like a dog craning its head out a window snatching a noseful. Of course it's all due to totally un-sustainable landscaping practices but hey, its Vegas.

The palm trees and grass seem less mocking somehow. I'm sure its largely due to my acclimatization to this place but I've started to not mind them. I learned that the Joshua Tree is actually native to the Las Vegas area which is sweet because it looks like something out of Dr. Seuss and thus is totally appropriate. Its strange to be in a place entirely fueled by man-made entities: AC, electricity, the Hoover Dam, gambling, prostitution, etc. That's the reason I came here, well, not the hookers or gambling, but really because Vegas, I thought, was the most "American" city in the U.S.

I'm not sure I'm wrong about that but I now think its emblematic of all the shitty things about America, not the cool ones. Its a desolate landscape-- dominated by highways, absurdly pedestrian-hostile streets, strip malls, gated communities and parking lots. In between stretch vast expanses of dirt, awaiting construction crews. Unlike older cities, that expand outward from an urban core, Las Vegas is a random smattering of development. A Jackson Pollock-style approach to urban planning that renders life without an automobile an impossibility. In addition to its geographic, climatic and infrastructural woes, Las Vegas is hugely hispanic, totally lacking in political consciousness, largely filled with the intellectually un-curious and generally a place of apathy and soullessness.

There is beautiful decay here, like the Neon Museum with its lot full of gorgeous giant casino signs of Old Vegas and Fremont street with its Wedding Chapels and ancient motels, but Las Vegas doesn't seem to value its history. The Neon Museum and the Liberace Museum are fine examples of historic preservation but they are the exception rather than the rule.

The core of Las Vegas is hollow, its famous establishments seem bent on self-evisceration. Every decade or so the Strip is completely transformed, for better or for worse (usually the latter), without so much as a backward glance. Aside from the cloying unoriginality found in the more pedestrian architecture-- in my gated community stucco reigns supreme and beige is the preferred color for pretty much everything-- the casinos themselves are really just huge shopping malls with hotels attached.

Wandering the beige-tiled halls and fugly wall-to-wall carpeted casino-floors of these establishments, obese American tourists waste their money on craps, get shitfaced and generally act like irresponsible retards. Between the tribal-tattooed, sunburned Brahs at the Hard Rock leering at me and my friends like we're for sale and the sad, be-stretchpantsed senior citizens pumping their retirement funds into slot machines at the Flamingo, Vegas manages to attract and showcase a diverse array of revolting examples of human behavior. They are pathetic caricatures of human weakness-- succumbing to the O2-saturated, perpetually 5:00 PM atmosphere of every casino-- and vanity-- paying upwards of a thousand dollars for a couple of bottles of booze and the privilege of sitting down in a club... If this is the most American city, then our future as a nation is pretty fucking grim.

Fear & Loathing

I tried to be more original with the title but the words of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson more or less sum up my feelings about Las Vegas. As my first week of gainful employment comes to a close, I have settled into a kind of uneasy complacency about my fate. One week ago I had packed up some boxes, Google-Mapped a route to Portland via Sun Valley and was set to depart on a month-long road trip through the Great West. Its a confusing feeling to be both crushed and elated at the same time but that's how I felt when Joe "El Pelon" Scallia shook my hand and said "welcome onboard!" after our 5 minute interview had transpired. So close!

Many people have expressed surprise that I am working at a law firm, and, after nearly completing the online application for the position of "Hooters Girl" I'm inclined to agree.

Among my other comical job search efforts:

I applied for a too-good-to-be-true job on Craigslist. $60,000 a year, 4 weeks paid vacation, full medical, and use of a company car just to answer phones and greet clients?!?! How could I go wrong? Well, I learned how about 30 minutes after I sent a lengthy and well thought-out cover letter with my resumé attached. I received a one line reply:

"Would you work topless?"

'Nuff said.

A second demoralizing experience was interviewing for a full-time position making $7-$10/hr as an "Assistant Florist" at Little Chapel of the Flowers and not getting the job. While this stony bitch shot me withering glances, I tried (unsuccessfully) to sell my background in Art History and Visual Art as a helpful aid in creating lovely floral arrangements. As she put it: "When you don't hear from us by Thursday, you'll know to continue your job search." Burn.