Archive for the ‘Tall Tales’ Category

Order and Chaos

April 14, 2010

There’s a neverending cosmic battle between the forces of order and disorder.

Order likes things in straight lines and perfect rows and organized in a manner that makes it easy to catalog and file and quantify so they can be more easily discriminated, hated and destroyed

Whereas disorder is the flagrant disregard for this. Where Order likes crystalline structure, Disorder does whatever it wants, wherever it damn well pleases, laying on the floor like a rug so Order trips over it. Entropy, it’s said is the irreversible breakdown of order. When you drop an egg, it shatters and splatters into a mess on the floor, but when you take that broken egg and drop it again on the floor, it doesn’t recombobulate itself into its original, pristine condition.

The fight of Order vs. Disorder is the metaphor for the City. Not just this city but any city, every city. Man does his best to upend the disorder of things, to bring rank and file and line to the disassociated and fractured arrays of nature.

I’ll not place myself in the camp that decries man and his endeavors and achievements. Man, as a race has done impossible things against impossible odds. We’ve made cities spring from the dirt, made the deserts arable, manufactured sheltered harbors and even put footprints on the moon. We look at nature as a thing to be overcome, a challenge to be beaten and a trophy waiting to be placed upon the mantle.

However, I do feel that Las Vegas is a blight. A never-ending, continuously-growing cancer on the ass of the world. It doesn’t find any limits, it continues beyond its bounds, spilling over into the wilderness that surrounds The Meadows and off into the desolation. Tract homes spring up by the tens of thousands, little wrinkled scabworks at the periphery of the bleeding ulcer that is this city.

Which is why it is so charming, endearing to find a space of open land in its center. Not a park, no no, parks are every bit as artificial – a big cynical “fuck you” to nature – as are the high rise resorts on The Strip. Rather, I discovered a parcel of undeveloped land, a remnant of the valley’s days as low swamp land, choked out with manzanita and sagebrush.

A dying breed in the city, outnumbered and surrounded, these open, swampy, wild areas will inevitably succumb to the inexorable march of real estate development.

I woke up with the sun and the roar of a jumbo jet overhead, to find a cottontail rabbit hopping outside the car. I sat up and stared out the window at this dichotomy, in the distance can be seen the glittering gold-and-white of the Mandalay Bay’s hotel tower and in the foreground a lone cottontail hops amid the sagebrush and discarded beer cans, grazing for something to eat, keeping eyes and ears panning constantly for predators.

Hop hop!

Quail darted about the brush, their topknots bouncing around as they go, followed by a flock of deep yellow chicklets. How utterly adorable, these florae and faunae finding a place to live their natural, normal lives amid the fast cars, bright lights and loud noises of this horrible, horrible city.

The worst part is, the ocean of disorder that is the city will soon overtake this island of order, the waves already erode its beaches, as a real estate developer’s machines lie in wait to uproot this delightful location and replace it with line after line of cookie-cutter McMansions. Once order is lost to disorder, it cannot be regained.

Another planeload of transients who will never experience and enjoy this small piece of untamed urban swamp.

I’ll enjoy this spot while it lasts. Something tells me next time I drive by, it’ll be gone.

Hustlin’ a Hustler

April 10, 2010

Turning a hustle around on itself and causing the hurt and anguish upon the perpetrator of the original hustle that they sought to enact on you is such a fulfilling sensation, an absolutely giddy high that can’t really be replicated. It’s a lot like getting locked-on by a MiG and trying to shake off its heat-seeker, only to split the S and swing close enough to the firer that the missile gets a thermal lock on the jet that fired it.

Basically that’s it.

That’s right, I am (beat) dangerous. (more…)