Television, Television

“Give me tits and politicians.
Give me death and demolition.
Give me glamour and sedition.
Television.” – OK Go, “Television, Television”

(Brief respite from the Las Vegas narrative here.  This started as a Facebook status update, but then I realized it would be too long for that format.)

Things I learned while watching television over the last week or so:

• Under-cheesing is ruining our country.
• How to avoid having a grandson with a dog collar.
• Taking any prescription drug can make you DIE.  But they’re still awesome.
• Only white guys know how to post videos to Facebook from their phones.
• (Sorry.  I was late on that previous observation.  It was so 27 seconds ago.)
• Jumbaco!
• I’m very confused about how the “silent treatment” is supposed to work.
• Trucks cannot snowboard (but only if you read the small print).

I probably learned more than that, but I’ll save it for next semester…

 

 

Blinking Lights (For Me)

Ain’t no rainbow in the sky
In the middle of the night
But the signal’s coming through
One day i will be alright again

-  The Eels, “Blinking Lights (For Me)”

As we traveled west out of Flagstaff, we marveled at the scenery.  Of course, we would not see it for long because of the sun setting behind the mountains., and that was too bad.  Snow blanketed the valleys, and ponds were frozen over.  The elk crossing sign changed to deer crossing, and that eventually changed to what I considered a highway department give-up sign:  Watch for wildlife crossing.  The specifics were apparently no longer important.

This stretch of Interstate 40 was curvy, the way women used to be, and we drove through the darkest night I have ever not seen.  (A month from this drive, I would see exactly what we missed due to the pitch of night.)  It was quiet all the way to Kingman, our last town on the interstate.  Other vehicles on the road were pretty much restricted to 18 wheelers, and there was absolutely no radio reception.

I don’t even think we listened to a CD on this stretch of the trip.  Not sure why.

As we approached Kingman, the road into town went down suddenly – and straight.  I’ve driven through the mountains of Colorado and Wyoming and New Mexico and Arkansas, but never have I have driven on such a steep grade without a single curve in the road.  The lights of the town were a welcome sight, as we had just driven through the equivalent of the dark side of the moon.  Plus, we were about to be rid of I-40 and onto Highway 93.

In other words, the home stretch was near.  Three hours through the middle of nowhere, in prime alien abduction territory, past Lake Mead and the Hoover Dam (invisible in the night).  We were so close to our destination.

And eventually, there it was.

From the heart of darkness, we crossed a hill and saw it.  Words cannot describe this, but I’ll try.

Imagine traveling for about 4 and half hours through the darkest terrain you can think of.  And then, suddenly, arrayed in a valley below you are lights that represent your future.  Lights that encapsulate the risk you are taking, moving cross country to a city you have never been to.  Lights in the shape of the Eiffel Tower and the Statue of Liberty.  Lights that show people in motion, commerce in progress, and – most of all – hope.

Blinking lights.  For me.  (And Bodie, of course.)

Nate looked up directions for our hotel on his iPhone, and we stopped at a gas station on the way to grab some beer.  My first reaction here was “Wow – beer is cheap here!”  When we got to the hotel, we saw that there was a large liquor store right across the street, so Nate went inside and bought a bottle of Crown.  Then we checked into the room.

On the recommendation of my new boss, we had a reservation at the Emerald Suites way down south on the strip.  Nice room, nice price.  Two beds, separate living area, dining room table, kitchenette – perfect.  And, despite the proximity to nefarious liquids, it was extremely quiet there.

We were extremely tired from the road, and it was nearing 10pm Pacific Time, so we just hung out in the room that first night and relaxed.  But not until stocking the fridge.  (Nate has a picture of this somewhere…)

This was on a Tuesday night, and I didn’t have to start work until the following Monday.  And Nate’s flight back to DFW was not until Saturday.  I had a little extra money in my pocket.

What could possibly go wrong?

The Painted Desert Redux

I guess all this history is just a mystery to me
One more worried whisper right in my ear

- Wilco, “Hotel Arizona”

Interstate 40 through New Mexico and Arizona is an odd combination of boring and beautiful.  Landscape that appears to be barren actually tells a pretty cool story.  Battles were fought here.  People traveling westward crested these hills, hoping to see forests of opportunity only to see more of the desert scrub ahead with no end in sight.  Whenever I’m in an environment like this, I always seem to ruminate on the fortitude of the first settlers.

I do not mean to discount Native Americans with that last line, but by the time the “white men” arrived, the Indians already knew the lay of the land, yet they chose to stay where they were.  And perhaps that is precisely why – because they knew where they were.  And they knew how to survive there.  That is, until guns made an entrance.

Wow.  I got way off subject there.  I’ll just sum up by saying that I admire the gumption of the early settlers.  They went west based on hearsay and dreams, rolling through lands of high wind, minimal water, and lots and lots of dirt while chasing a notion of a better life.

And that is pretty much what I did, albeit in a vehicle with bathroom breaks along the way.

On Tuesday morning, we got a semi-late start.  It was not too late for breakfast from McDonald’s, which Nate got while I checked us out of the hotel, but later than I would have liked.  We had a slight detour planned for the morning, as Nate and his lovely wife Ali collect Hard Rock Cafe merchandise and there was a Hard Rock casino on the southern edge of Albuquerque.  I waited in the car with Bodie while Nate got their swag, and then we were on the road.

To Vegas.

The scenery on this day was much better than Texas.  Hills, mesas, and roadside attractions.  We spent WAY too much time looking for cheap cigarettes – thinking we were on reservations – but the drive was otherwise uneventful and relaxing.  And soon we were in Arizona, a state I had only visited once in an airport bar.

The snowy hills of western New Mexico soon gave way to nothingness.  For a while.  For a long while.  While driving through the Navajo Reservation, I-40 got a little bumpy (prefaced by a sign warning of “Rough Road Ahead”), and the CD we were listening to started skipping.  I cannot for the life of me remember which song it was, but I do know that the artist was Pearl Jam.  And the road-induced skips, for whatever reason, amused the heck out of Nathan and I.  It was our first genuine laugh out loud moment of the trip.  Bodie, as usual, didn’t give a shit.

(Nate, can you remember the song?  I seem to recall that the skips made Eddie Vedder sound like he was performing a Native American chant.  And the fact that it happened while driving through the reservation is what made us crack up.  It was also at this time that I got a notification on my phone that I had a new Facebook friend request from someone I went to high school with.  Her new last name?  Raincrow.  True story.)

About an hour east of Flagstaff, the scenery started to change.  At least, in regards to what we were driving toward.  A large mountain loomed in the distance, capped with snow.  As we got closer, a ski lift became apparent on the mountain’s side and a road sign warned to watch for elk crossing – for the next 60 miles.  (Remember that this was in January, the time of the year when elk move to lower elevations and shed their antlers.  The thought of hitting one of those big SOBs scared the crap out of me.)

We stopped in Flagstaff – beautiful city that I’d love to go back to – for gas and food then got back on the road.  The sun was setting quickly now, because of the higher elevation, but we were on the home stretch.  Only about 5 hours (and one more time zone change) to go.

We can do this, I told myself.

Bodie just kept sleeping on the console of the USS Vegas.

Next stop?  Kingman.

Route 66

Well if you ever plan to motor west
Just take my way, that’s the highway that’s the best
Get your kicks on Route 66

Day 1 of my new life was pretty uneventful for the most part.  Nate, my dog Bodie, and I headed north on Highway 287 to Amarillo.  From there, we would take Interstate 40 all the way to Kingman, AZ with a planned stop in Albuquerque, NM.  We got really lucky that there was no construction on the way, and were making great time until about 30 miles east of Amarillo.

And that is when the winds hit us, bringing back memories of the Reno adventure.  What is it about road trips to Nevada that bring out the gales?  Aren’t they supposed to bring out the girls?

Nate kept checking the local weather on his iPhone, and he reported that the winds were steady ay 50mph with gusts up to 60mph.  The USS Vegas was getting blown all over the road, thus slowing down our pace.  Once we got to Gallup, NM conditions improved.  The topography contained more hills, so the crazy ass winds did not have a flat plain to roll across and we were able to drive at a more reasonable speed.

I cannot recall what time we arrived in Albuquerque that night.  8pm, maybe?  It was Bodie’s first experience at shitting on rocks – something he would get used to over the following month.  We found a clean, inexpensive hotel room for the night and made a quick beer run to the nearby 7-11.

Back in the room, we sipped our cold ones and watched TV while checking our respective emails and Facebook updates.  Nate worked on getting all the photos from the drive off of his camera, and we relived the extremely boring scenery of the day’s drive.

I told you day 1 was uneventful.  On day 2, there is much more to talk about…

The Painted Desert

This won’t be as long as the Reno entry. I promise. But that is because I can remember most of the Reno trip. (On the downside, this will not be as well written as the Reno recap. I’m just trying to get back into the flow.)

In a Flagstaff trailer court, you wrote the line: “He kicked a tumbleweed and his mother called him home where the Arizona moon met the Arizona sun.” (10,000 Maniacs – “The Painted Desert”)

I think it was around January 21, 2011 when I left Austin for what I thought would be the last time. I was in a bad mental place at the time. I had just cashed out my meager 401k, I had just split up with my wife, and I had left my job of two and a half years. I was feeling adventurous – no kids of my own, no mortgage, no lease (except a new lease on life). I bought a used Suburban and loaded up all my belongings.

Because I had just accepted a job offer in Las Vegas.

And then I headed to Fort Worth. Actually, Keller to be specific. My good friends Nate and Ali were hosting a small going away party for me on Saturday the 22nd. The added bonus was that on Monday morning, Nate would assume the role as my co-pilot to Nevada.  Ali graciously allowed me to borrow him for a week – he’d make the drive with me, and then fly back to DFW on the 29th.  What could go wrong with that plan?

On Monday morning, we loaded  up the Suburban (which we had by then christened the “USS Vegas”) and hit the road.  I stopped at a 7-11 to fill up with gas, and that is when Nate realized he left his wallet behind.

Two miles in, we were already backtracking.

Foreshadowing?

2011 (i.e. Single Again)

2011 was a weird year for me.  A soul-searching year.  A time of flux, doubt, anxiety, excitement, and adventure.  Thousands of miles were traveled this past year, only to end up back where I started.  But I wouldn’t change a thing.  My lasting impression of the year will be cresting that hill on US-93, with my buddy Nathan and my dog Bodie, looking at the lights of Las Vegas splayed out in front of me.

I remember saying at that moment (to Nathan, not Bodie):  I can’t believe I live here now.

To Bodie, I said “Get used to shitting on rocks instead of grass.”

[I know a lot of you go to Vegas on little junkets.  Weekend trips, etc.  But you most likely fly in.  I flew in once just to change flights.  An do you know what I remember from that little stop-over?  Everyone else on the flight was staring at the Strip, but I was infatuated by the number of baseball fields I could see by the air.  But my convoluted point is, everyone should experience driving into Vegas on 93  from the south - at night - at least once.  It's magical.]

I could probably fill up this entry with stories of Nate and I and our Vegas adventures.  (Forgetting where we parked was a biggie.  Scary.)  But that would do a disservice to the other 11 months of the year.

So, with that I will segue into the lazy script.  After all, that is what you came here for, right?

Moments to remember:  NYE at The Casa (k2?).  The previously mention drive up US-93.  Seeing Flagstaff (and the snow) for the first time.  Giving $5 to some  dude begging at a casino, and then winning $175 on my next pull.  (Karma, anyone?)  Dripping Springs (’nuff said).  My Texas Rangers in the World Series. Again!  Nights at Quinn’s Bar with the following:  Ben, Rob, Marla, Kelly K, A, Izzy, Posas, and Marcus.  Camping and skinny dipping.  The Mavs winning it all.  Seeing my former step-daughter again.   (She will always be my kiddo.)

Moments to forget:  Driving back to Austin with $12 to my name.  The repo (yeah, that happened).  Game 6 of the World Series.  (Fuck!)  Really?  There were two times the Rangers were one strike away from a  WS championship?  Shit.  SHIT!

Music:  I saw Echo &  the Bunnymen this past year.  Finally.  My singing hero – Ian McCulloch – was smoking cigarettes during the entire show in a non-smoking venue.  Jerk.  (Yeah, I was jealous.)   I also saw some of Austin’s best musicians/singers doing a Pink Floyd tribute show.  Phenomenal.

You will be remembered:  Harry Morgan, Bil Keane, Joe Frazier, Al Davis, Steve Jobs, Amy Winehouse, Peter Falk, Betty Ford, Clarence Clemons, Jack Kevorkian, Harmon Killebrew, and the GREAT Andy Rooney.

Things to look forward to in 2012:  I’m done making predictions.  They all fail.  But I have my own ideas for this year.  I just won’t put them in writing.  Yet.

Non Sequiter:  I had something really witty to insert here, but I forgot what it was.  Shit.

Happy 2012, peeps.