Grabby grabby!

Some of the most fascinating moments before the Las Vegas City Council never get reported because they're about individual work cards — permission slips, essentially, to work in certain industries here, like serving alcohol or dancing naked for tips.The idea is to keep out people with shady backgrounds, and it makes for some fine theater when an applicant tries to convince the council to grant a second chance.

There's a silly part, too. Council members go to great, euphemistic lengths not to mention what the applicant's crime actually was, because the reports they receive are "confidential." Never mind that the person's name is printed on a public agenda and it's as easy as pie to look up a public court record.

Anyway, the other day a woman who needed a card to cashier at a grocery store came up, and pretty much blurted out she'd had a drug problem but was clean now. Then came a guy who didn't reveal his crimes except that he'd done something stupid before he had the guidance of a good woman in his life and he needed to keep his restaurant job. (I guessed right: Theft.)

These cases are usually touching because the employer knows about the person's background and is backing the employee anyway. Second chances, not being defined by the past, all that — and, usually, the council says yes, although the person's on notice not to screw it up.

But some don't get that second chance.

The last guy on the agenda wanted to keep working at a 7-11, but he had a felony on his record. He admitted he was at fault for his crime, and talked about the alcohol dependency program he completed and the fact that his relationship with God got him through his prison term. The drinking had nothing to do with his crime, though, he said, which was big of him, because the reason he did time involved having sex with a pre-teen. (He's in his 40s.) It took me about 50 seconds in the records room to look that up, and I wish I hadn't.

Kids go into 7-11s, and cashiers there are frequently on their own. So the council turned him down.

A large group of co-workers and his manager were there to support him, and they all walked out together, him bitching the whole time. "Do I pay for this the rest of my life?" he was muttering. As they walked out the door, he put his hand on a woman's shoulder, then let his hand slide down her back to her waist, and then the top of her butt.

And I'm thinking:

1. A child molester has a girlfriend and I don't?

and,

2. You couldn't wait until you're outside the chamber before grabbing your girlfriend's ass?

Only in Vegas

I started the evening last night at a wedding chapel. A new one, a big, fancy one that was having its official grand opening reception. They had two — two! — Elvis impersonators. The dedication was moving, with the owners displaying a plaque memorializing the long marriages of their parents and their own 40-year union. There was a lot of talk about love and commitment and people building a future together.

Then I got invited to a porn party.

The annual Adult Video News trade show starts today, where porn purveyors from all over flock to Vegas to "meet" and "greet" and show off their products and give each other awards for screwing on camera. An old roommate from when I first moved here knows people who know people in that world, and she periodically calls me up when she has some of them over. I don't know why. Maybe she's trying to impress me.

Just about everyone had their clothes on, and there were few people there that you would want to see with their clothes off. One fat guy was walking around in a tiny leather thong and a bow tie. Other than that it looked like a normal mixer. But it was awful. Everyone was practically shouting while talking to each other. It was supposed to be BYOB, but almost nobody did, so all that was available was the hostess' box-o-wine and a rapidly dwindling case of Heineken that somebody brought. While people were talking at the top of their voices, they bopped and flounced around like teenagers trying to be naughty for the first time — but these people were all middle-aged and up.

Still, it was worth it just to hear what bullshit my old roommate was spewing this time around:

1. She's starting a nudist bed and breakfast in her house. Except, it's not her house. She's buying it from one of her partners in the business. (It's a damn nice house, by the way. Big yard. Pool. Tennis court.) It's valued at $370,000 in county records. And she has a lot of partners in the venture, but she's fired a few, and she's planning on firing the guy who's allegedly selling her the house.

Yes, talking to this woman frequently makes your head spin.

2. Her ex-husband and his new girlfriend have a hit out on them from the Mob. They ripped off someone's drugs and now there's a contract on their lives. "How can you know that?" I said. "Those aren't exactly advertised." She said her "bouncer" told her, and he knows because he knows "everyone" in town. No one at the party was acting even remotely like a bouncer.

3. There's another business in the works — a nudist resort on 10 acres outside of town. Then the house would be set up for swing parties. Or maybe it was the other way around. The property is really nice, she said, with a race track, and horse exercise yard, and really good stables .... "Um," I said, "is it a good idea to ride a horse naked?" She then told me that the house on the property is the one used in the movie "Casino." Problem: While that house exists, it is not out of town. It's well inside town, actually. Also, it doesn't sit on 10 acres, and it's on a freakin' golf course.

So it was fun. But I'm going to ignore her calls from now on.

We Hoovered up the water in Lake Mead ...

"Well," the astute gentleman said upon surveying this scene, "that's a lot of water that isn't there."


Still, this ain't gonna stop me from taking a long, hot and totally pointless shower tonight.

... and winners never — die?

There was a hearse parked in front of one of the crappy weekly apartment places on Sixth Street the other night — not one there on official business, although that wouldn't have been surprising. It was old, something from the 1970s, maybe, with the paint blasted off the hood by years of sunlight and frayed curtains in the back windows.

Still, the owner went the extra mile and got a vanity license plate.

Which was this: QUITTRS.

It really said that.

See: Redundant

The second one bothers me more because somebody paid a professional to make it. That means nobody involved took the time to say, "Uh, dude?"


Full disclosure: I've been walking past this sign almost every day for most of a year and only noticed the goof last week. So, overall, not a lot of attention to detail on this block.

Mr. Helpful

He had a smile on his face as he sat on the street corner, feasting on takeout noodles and laughing a henchman's laugh to himself.

As I walked by, he said, "How far is it to Memphis from here?"

"A long way," I said.

And he thanked me.

Not quite a civil rights struggle

Oh, the humanity:

When Todd Phillips looks to the future in Las Vegas, he says he sees a day when everyone, regardless of gender, will have to pay the same price to get into a nightclub.

That vision, he says, became clearer Monday when a decision was handed down by the Nevada Equal Rights Commission on a complaint he brought a year ago after his wife got a free gym membership and he didn't.

To paraphrase Office Space: Who the @#*! is this ass-clown?

The Las Vegas Athletic Club, our local chain of very fine megagyms, regularly runs a special in which ladies can join free. This wanker apparently has a problem with that. And because of his problem, now an entire sector of the economy is in a dither because of the NERC, in its wisdom, said the practice is discriminatory. So what does this do to ladies nights? What about our fancy nightclubs and "adult" pools, which charge different admission prices for men and women? There are lawsuits a-comin'.

Phillips ... said he thinks letting women into health clubs or nightclubs free is demeaning to them. It reinforces the idea, he said, that women do not earn as much money as men.

Actually, it reinforces the idea that these businesses want female customers. Because then they'll get more male customers, who will spend money trying to meet the female customers. (Also, according to LVAC, women are more diligent about paying their membership dues, so the club doesn't feel they have to get the money up front.)

Like I said — Ass. Clown. And he has a wife! Isn't your spouse supposed to let you know when you're being an ass-clown? That's one of the benefits of having a partner — there's someone who can pat you on the arm and say, "Take a deep breath, dear," and you'll actually listen to them!

Okay, two more things:

1. I joined LVAC and paid, I think, a $1 signup fee. (Phillips paid $10; his wife was free.) I think most gyms will waive the fee to get your business. They make far more on a membership than they would with a fee.

2. This has been covered in other states as well, but it was handled best by the Daily Show, which covered the well-known Colorado case:



Wankers.