The worst street names in the world

An errand yesterday took me to a subdivision I'd never seen before where the streets were named for qualities the houses lacked. There was Captivating Avenue and Entrancing Avenue. Lively Court. Novel Court. Pleasing Court. It was ghastly.

But I guess honest names — McMansion Way, Cookie Cutter Lane, Cheap Stucco Boulevard — were simply out of the question. I'd still take any of those over Alluring Avenue. Hell, I'd even prefer to live on Cheap Chinese Drywall Circle.

It was the subdivision next door, though, that really set a new low.

They drew names from decorative touches you might find on a house. Niche Avenue. Column Court. Balcony Trellis Avenue. Yes, Balcony Trellis Avenue.  It's a real street.

Put yourself in the shoes of a homeowner there. Your house has plummeted in value. You're way upside down on the mortgage. You're in a neighborhood of cloned stucco shoeboxes, many of which are empty, perhaps foreclosed. You're way out on the edge of town where all the growth used to be, but those days may be gone for good.

And you live on a street called "Musical Mantle."

Give up, dude.

Clustercluck

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.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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?