Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Vegas baby!!


We've all heard those words. Well, uh, I went this last week, just got back as a matter of fact. We went as the Williams Footprint-big and smelly. Most of us went to celebrate Jeannette and Tara's respected birthdays. We stayed in the MGM and did Vegas stuff. If you are reading this, two things- one-boredom has overcome you and two-go out and kiss your sidewalk for living where you do.

Listen, I've been to Las Vegas for work and pleasure. I've walked and been one of the privileged few to actually have run down the center of it a few years back, so I'm not some Puritan prude pontificating pleas of propriety. We had fun and laughed-a lot. But there were things observed and witnessed that I wish I could take a Brillo pad and scrub from my brain.

Let's address the sound issue. IT'S TOO FRIGGIN' LOUD IN THAT TOWN! There is no place-no place-you can go to where it's quiet, unless you count filling the bathtub with water and submerging yourself under the water but then you can still hear the guy flush the toilet two floors above you. Bells, chimes, people screaming, radios, announcements, cars honking, people honking, gee whiz guys, can't we all just take a breath?

Drinking anything seemed to be pretty high on the list of things you do there. When I went down for a coffee from Starbucks at 6:15 am, bars were open. Okay, I get that. That's fine; I'm hip; I'm in the know. But that's for people just getting off third shift at the docks. Who the hell is swilling Jack at 6:15 in the morning and DOESN'T have a drinking problem or entered in some weird reality TV docu-drama? How about the "Yard of Alcohol?" Yep, they measure liquid by the foot in Vegas. Interesting.

Good deals are still found in this little hamlet. But you have to looooookkkkkk haaaarrrrrddd. Coco's still had a breakfast for $3.99 and McDonald's in the MGM still had their dollar menu but that's it. Yeah, there were buffets but good luck finding the all you can eat for $5. We were shopping in Caesar's Forum and Joni wanted a Gellato and an ice tea. Okay, it was hot outside and we were on a sort-of vacation and she wanted some treats, I get that.

$18 later I felt they should have kissed me first. "They over-charged you, let me talk to them," she will say when she tells the story. I told her 'no,' don't bother. She will say I weenied up and wouldn't let her "discuss" the issue with the person who was having trouble with the translation from English to some language from Southeast Asia via Nepal. She's right, I didn't. I admit. I figured it was just part of the pain, since I had paid, just an hour before, $9 for a baby hot dog and a water. At least with the Gellato I got to taste it. Actually, I licked the bowl and wiped it out with my fingers. The slime we normally leave on a container like that is about $2 in this market.

Speaking of early mornings, the collection of people out at the slots working hard to buy mommy a new pair of shoes is impressive. They are propped up with their feet on the chair next to them, apparently having been in that position for hours, smoking their cigarette holding it with their thumb and forefinger, like the old Gestapo. Their eyes long since done tearing from the smoke and the three teeth still left in their head, made easy work for sipping their Jack through a straw. Just one more spin would bring them home to papa.

Speaking of three teeth, we went to Coyote Ugly.

It's a bar in the New York, New York Hotel. Its famous, although I don't remember seeing it advertised in Newsweek. I am sure I have lost some of my hearing and here is where the Brillo pad comes in. You see, its not your typical bar. It's the last hope for men. If you were trolling the bars on the Strip and your pick-up lines were not working as well as once or twice you got your face slapped, you wind up here. This is where people of last resort go. Women, grandmothers, the handicapped, dancing on the bar, taking off their bras and hanging them from the ceiling. But the good news was the beer was only $3 and it was cold. The music was real good even though it was at a decibel level that caused my bowels to spontaneously release. We went as a group because the birthday girls wanted to go see it. It was Travis and I as the two men with a herd of women. Travis was with Tara and watching over her and I had my son's back and, I guess, everyone else. You see, we were in a bar, a bar with drunk men, who had wound up here after being slapped by thousands of women, not just that night and all up and down the Strip, but probably for their entire lives. We had some nice looking ladies in our group. Anyone one of them could have made a nice kidnapping victim. The girls were young and naive enough to not even know they had been kidnapped until the next morning when they woke up on the tramp steamer. Frankly, this isn't a place where you go and meet and strike up long conversations with each other to learn the deep secrets and inflame your heart's interest in the opposite sex; you are there to fish the game and get out. Gaff something and leave with it. I could just see this thing erupting into a drunken brawl.
I thought "The Russian" might have taken a shot. He looked either like Napoleon or one of those factory workers from the Ukraine. Oh, and he was drunk. How do I know? He was dancing by himself while carrying on a conversation-with himself. "Geko Man" might have tried. His eyes worked independently of one another making him able to see around corners. When you looked at him, you didn't know what eye to make eye contact with. But he got lucky with a woman; at least I think she was a woman. Hmm.
All in all, it was fun. I discovered something about myself there. I like comfort. Now, I can camp, survive, get dirty, crawl, hunt, and handle myself in 'close quarter crisis management' situations with the best of them, at least that's what my 18 year old heart says feeding my 12 year old boy's brain. But why? Hmm. I'm fifty-one. I like soft and cozy things now. I want a hotel that doesn't smell like stale Pal-Mal's. They all did except for The Venetian. That place makes a hearty man say "Ahhhh." I want to do shows, sleep, and instead of walking, take the tram. Something with air-conditioning. I will watch Treasure Islands ships sink and re float every time. And I really don't mind paying $18 for some tea and Gellato. As long as there is a foot rub in the deal.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Last Day


Today is the last full day in the god-forsaken place. We come back to the world tomorrow. We are both chomping at the bit to get back to dust, extreme heat, dentist appointments, and preparing for school with endless hours of IEPs (you don't want to know). No more sitings of wild animals looking and smiling at you and welcoming you to their town. What a relief.

The Bad Boys of Ouray were out this morning. They ganged up on the flowers in the yard of the house just up the hill from 3rd Avenue on the un-named street just west of the toboggan run. They saw me and looked up from their gorging. We know each other by now over the years. They can see it in my eyes and I them, those bad boys. We have developed a mutual respect for each other. I tipped my hat and coffee cup to them. They looked long at me. Then went back to eating. Since they have no thumbs, and don't wear hats, they can't tip anything but the fact they were eating flowers some poor smuck planted in hopes of decorating their yard and add color to it, was sign enough. They knew I cheered them on. "We will consume it all and leave no stem untouched," they mentaled to me. Ah, those are my boys!

This time of year, you don't get a real good picture of this town. Tourists are here, leaving their snail trail everywhere. In June or after August, this town gets quiet. The businesses like it because the tourists come in and leave their money in exchange for yelling at 1:36am while stumbling back from the bars to their hotel rooms or rentals. The animals know it the best. You can see it in their eyes. They tolerate it. Soon, it will get quiet again. Then winter and the blanket gets pulled up and over this town until the International Ice Climbing in early January. Then she sleeps again, until spring and the summer migration of outside influences. Nope, you really don't need to come here. Nothing here worth seeing, unless you're in to a change of heart, spirit, soul, and go on long walks with God. Who the heck wants that?

Nope, we're coming back to the world. Yep, here we go. We're on our way.



Shit

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Sunday


I slept in this morning. Maybe it was the downpour yesterday that washed all the stuff out of the air, if there was stuff in the air, which there wasn't. I went for my usual morning walk late after first getting up and starting the coffee. I took a different route this morning, up Seventh Avenue then crossed to Sixth and then up to the east until it dead ended, just below Chief Ouray's old house, which is now a new house, or at least new in the 20th Century. It was up on the side of the little hill that mother and her fawn were making their way back to their beds after a night of frolic and flower eating. Mother spotted me before I spotted her, her big-booty ears turning like a RADAR unit, picking up on my movement. Her baby, freezing behind her. Once she determined she was more of a threat to me than I to her, she moved on, fawn bouncing behind her in the tall grass.

Mouse Chocolates hadn't made lemon bars the whole time our team had been here. So, one of our team members, who craves lemon bars like a goose craves air, came up with a brave and bold plan. For the days we were here, at night we would take turns going in and asking for lemon bars. When we were told all they had was lime bars, we dropped our head in fain loss and walked out.

The day the majority of the team left for Phoenix, there were lemon bars on the shelf in Mouse. Bastards.

Duckett's Market is closed on Sunday so we stocked up yesterday. We went in to Montrose and stopped at Murdoch's Farm and Home Supply store. It was next to the Safeway where we got our cereal. Murdoch's is the place you can get a tool box you need to lift with a forklift. No, really, there are slide holes for the tongs of a forklift to fit in. You can also by herbicide concentrate for your herbicide issues right next to Slosh Authentic Root Beer. In the back is where you get your cow's ears for your dogs to chew on. They're just down the aisle from any size air compressor you could ever dream of. Oh, and don't forget that new set of Wrangler jeans on the other side of the store.

Chet, the dog, was directing traffic in front of Big John's store, Ivory's Trading Company and Gallery this morning. He sat in the middle of Main and 9th and didn't move while cars went around, thereby directing traffic. John and his wife, Sandy, use to live in Sun City a couple of years ago. Now, they live over their store, which use to be a bar and disco. The bar is still there, complete with bottles they've apparently dusted over the last few years. The bar is where they have breakfast. John was hosing off the front patio to the shop at 8:30 when the sun finally hit the center of Main Street.

The editing on the Holy Ground is going well. I have finished what my wonderful editor had given to me. Now, I get to turn to the next book Looking for Indianola. Part of that story takes place here. So, research and walking is in order.

Coffee, breakfast, naps are in order for today.

Friday, July 10, 2009

A Day of Quiet--sort of


There is something about this town I want all of you to avoid. When you get here, it takes a few days to dissociate yourself with the world you came from. Once you do, you find yourself doing stuff. Weird stuff.

You become nicer.

Who the hell wants that?

You notice flowers, and mountains, and trees, and dogs (cats are carried off by the eagles). You smile more and say 'Hi' to people on the street and here's the real weird part, they say 'Hi' back!

I went into the Artisan Bakery this morning. The only baker in town. Frankly, a town this size only needs one bakery. People were smiling and told me to have a nice day. When I started to leave with my coffee refill after completing my walk around town, I smiled and said the same to them. An infection of some kind had taken over!

You find yourself walking around town, up and down the streets, wandering back alleys, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. Simplicity takes over and you find yourself admiring window curtains, lights as they glow from inside homes during dusk, the quietness of dogs sleeping on the sidewalk.

Yep, it took a couple of days, almost a week, but the infection that I get every time I come here has set in. It will carry me for a year.

Crap.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

The Morning After


Okay, its safe to come out of your bunkers; they're gone. If you compare this photo to the one yesterday, you have to ask yourself if someone called an evacuation of the town. All those people, who you could look at and just tell they don't belong. Give-a-ways like a woman in a dress and high heels walking up a gravel road. Or the family of ten and the whiny kids crying to the exhausted mother and her saying "I'm sorry your bored, for the last time, you can't go climb that mountain. I don't care if your older brother goes." Or the guy who just bought a hat for himself and his girlfriend/sister/wife and was walking down the street with the tag still hanging from it. At least try to blend in.

This is the way this crappy little town is suppose to look. The only cars on the street are the morning crews delivering rolls to the two restaurants open for breakfast. The young man drives in from Montrose to deliver whatever they need on this early morning. The Meadowfresh truck hasn't even made the run from Durango over that little hill you're looking at, through Silverton to Ouray and on to Montrose. Just some poor guy who drew the short straw and had to either wake up early to make the delivery or just stayed up, probably with a blood alcohol level somewhere near 'explosive.'

I made a cup of Ethiopian and wandered the town assessing damage as well as looking for 'The Bad Boys of Ouray.' Look, once a cop, always a cop, okay? Get off my back. These guys, although not fully bad, aren't fully good either. I'm talking about three rogue brothers that cause mischief and occasional swearing among the town's folk. They're deer, young male bucks looking for females and a good time chewing up someone's flowerbed. If they were human they would have a rap sheet as long as your arm for petty stuff, nothing hard or violent. They would be the neighbor that changes the oil to their NASCAR type car, probably an old Dodge Charger, in the street, leaving a permanent stain. You would always see at least two of them together, usually in bars called The Dew Drop In. Nope, not this morning. It concerned me a little with no signs of any deer reported the last few days in town. I felt better when I saw a young male at the intersection of 5th Avenue and 6th Street. We looked at each other, I tipped my hat, he went back to eating some Daises. That's the other pestering thing about this town, the wildlife wanders in and looks at you says 'What are you going to do? Shoot me? I don't think so.' Bastards.

Good news, Papillon Restaurant is back. They've moved from 7th Avenue to Main Street, just around the corner to a much bigger place. You can get the 'Big Easy Breakfast' for only $7.95 or sleep in and come back at lunch and get the 'Po Boy' for the same price. If you remember two years ago during my last report, most of the family was thinking about moving back to Louisiana and their Uncle Noble's home. Guess they didn't go.

Sun won't hit the heart of the valley where this hole is for another hour. All you have to look at is big mountains and colors that you can't find at Walmart, soft, hues that drive that darn blood pressure to normal levels. Jeez.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Happy Fourth from a Hell Hole

Look, there are certain things a person needs to do, experience, live, cherish, run from, that we just have to do. That's it. We just have to do certain things. One of my burdens is I have to go to this town, Ouray. It's in a valley surrounded by 13,000 foot mountains. The picture is Main Street. It also doubles as State Highway 550. If you will allow me, spend the next 10 days or so reading about a place I hope none of you come to. I'm selfish, I admit. Please don't come here, it's just not worth it. If you double me, please read on.

This place is crap! There are people here for the 4th. What's up with that? Why do people insist on being where I am? Do I hear an 'Amen" from some of you? Frankly, people are over-rated. Here is the first of several 'briefings' from this god-awful place.

I have to wear a coat outside. At the bottom of the stairs where we are staying, which overlooks some crappy mountains that go all the way to the friggin' sky, is a taco bar with cold beer and, well, tacos and in the other direction is an Irish bar/restaurant with reasonably priced appetizers, a 1/2lb burger for under $9 and really good scotch and Irish whiskey, which, I have learned, should not be consumed back to back-note to self.

I went to the Fireman's pancake breakfast this morning-all you can eat for $5-then the parade down the highway-the picture above, which, yes, I was standing in the middle of.

Over the next few days, allow yourself the pain of knowing that I am suffering for you-to report the truth and expose this town for something you really don't ever want to enjoy. I will update you on the 'Bad boys of Ouray,' the delivery timetable of the Meadowfresh truck to Ducketts Market, which, by the way, is closed for today; also, any other ramblings and of course, tonight's fireworks which resonates off the mountain walls like you're in a steel trash dumpster and someone is pounding on the side. The fact that it truly is a bigger display then anything in Phoenix, just goes to show you how crappy this place is, oh, and they synchronize it to the local radio station which plays some of the best music selections you have ever heard.

Look, I know its hot and dusty there, but just be thankful that you're not here. You're blood-pressure might drop and you would have to stop taking all those heart medications.

Please pray for me.

That taco stand I told you about-they sell regular Coors.