Stories about this topic — a Senate candidate who championed bartering as a means of controlling health care costs — led to this story, which is about people wearing chicken suits when they vote.
Requisite warning label: Bad jokes abound. However, I quite liked this line: "It seems Secretary of State Ross Miller's ban did not stop some peeps from flocking to vote Wednesday."
It's fair to say there are some significant First Amendment issues to drill into here, so naturally the first thing I did was look for places to get a chicken costume. Tip: Don't type "chicken suit" into Google, because all you get are a bunch of tuxedo rental stores.
I didn't have much luck, but I did find this.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Meet Juicy Lucy
After almost three years in Vegas, I assumed you just get a little more jaded about these things, but I was driving down Tropicana the other day and HOLY CRAP! Is that a woman diagrammed as a piece of meat?
Yep. Sure is. That's Juicy Lucy, the mascot for Grind Burger Bar and Lounge. Yes, that's her real name.
So score some points for being attention-grabbing (hey, I'm writing about it, right?). But this is probably how cannibalistic serial killers look at their victims — and you make it the public face of your restaurant?
There's been a bit of an outcry, such as this commentary in the UNLV paper. The R-J turned it into a debate on free speech, calling those who don't like the mascot "prudes." And it gets a mention in a restaurant review that says the burgers are pretty darn good.
The points have already been made about objectifying women and viewing women solely as sources of pleasure and meeters of a man's needs (in this case, his need for tasty meat, apparently). I'll add another criticism: It's lazy.
It seems people here think the only way to attract attention is to show a scantily clad woman. Some examples are here (the slutty cop at the bail shop will always be my favorite). And then there's this billboard:
Think about the money that goes into putting up a billboard advertisement. They went to all that trouble, and all anyone could come with as a concept is, "Looky here! Tits!"
Naturally, Grind House has an online store, but there's one critical difference — on the merchandise, Lucy's actually naked. I guess someone figured that a giant balloon depicting a woman headed for the butcher's knife might be offensive if she wasn't at least wearing a thong.
Yep. Sure is. That's Juicy Lucy, the mascot for Grind Burger Bar and Lounge. Yes, that's her real name.
So score some points for being attention-grabbing (hey, I'm writing about it, right?). But this is probably how cannibalistic serial killers look at their victims — and you make it the public face of your restaurant?
There's been a bit of an outcry, such as this commentary in the UNLV paper. The R-J turned it into a debate on free speech, calling those who don't like the mascot "prudes." And it gets a mention in a restaurant review that says the burgers are pretty darn good.
The points have already been made about objectifying women and viewing women solely as sources of pleasure and meeters of a man's needs (in this case, his need for tasty meat, apparently). I'll add another criticism: It's lazy.
It seems people here think the only way to attract attention is to show a scantily clad woman. Some examples are here (the slutty cop at the bail shop will always be my favorite). And then there's this billboard:
Think about the money that goes into putting up a billboard advertisement. They went to all that trouble, and all anyone could come with as a concept is, "Looky here! Tits!"
Naturally, Grind House has an online store, but there's one critical difference — on the merchandise, Lucy's actually naked. I guess someone figured that a giant balloon depicting a woman headed for the butcher's knife might be offensive if she wasn't at least wearing a thong.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Okay, so I took a year off
Seems longer. But this city is still as senseless as ever, so I'll take a stab at being more consistent.
For some reason, I'm reminded of the rock star in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe who was spending a year dead for tax reasons. Funny guy, that Douglas Adams.
For some reason, I'm reminded of the rock star in The Restaurant at the End of the Universe who was spending a year dead for tax reasons. Funny guy, that Douglas Adams.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Vegas defined
So I was chatting with a friend the other day about bad places to raise your kids. Our list included Las Vegas, Rio and New Orleans, but I wasn't thrilled about the Big Easy being on the list because there's at least good music and food there. Then I mentioned that I'd been hungering for some red beans and rice.
HER: No one really likes red beans and rice.
ME: Watch your mouth, missy.
HER: Or else what?
ME: Or else I'll say, "You ain't got no brains, anyhow."
HER: Who needs brains when you have a nice rack?
Some people were born for Vegas. They just haven't made it here yet.
HER: No one really likes red beans and rice.
ME: Watch your mouth, missy.
HER: Or else what?
ME: Or else I'll say, "You ain't got no brains, anyhow."
HER: Who needs brains when you have a nice rack?
Some people were born for Vegas. They just haven't made it here yet.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Hooray for new words
Dan Savage has done it again, this time to "honor" Rick Warren, the pastor of the Saddleback Church who caused so much of a stir when Obama invited him to the swearing-in party.
Go here for the new definition of "saddleback."
Go here for the new definition of "saddleback."
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
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?
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?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
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.
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.
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