Jul. 14th, 2010

Ewwww

Jul. 14th, 2010 08:02 am
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I disgust myself. I may as well forget about the whole technical writing/any kind of writing thing right the fuck now. I ran a couple of different things I've written through there & got the same result, over & over again.


I write like
Dan Brown

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!




Dan Brown? Seriously? Why hasn't anyone let me know so I could stop it?

It's like... I gotta go take a shower now & wash some of the slime off.
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The love:

Monsoon season. There is nothing quite like rain in the desert, it renews, it replenishes. There is lightning that splits the sky and thunder that cracks it open like a big egg. The thunder babies walk and talk big out here.

Autumn. When the light makes that subtle shift from the blaze of summer to the golden glow of Autumn. The few trees we have that hold onto their leaves through the drought begin to drop them, the wind is gentle to them and they crackle and dance once the sun sets. The wind is still warm, but under its kiss is the colder breath of winter, raking an icy claw across your shoulders. Autumn here smells of spice.

The Night Life. Just being able to live after dark. The sidewalks don't roll up at sundown, you can still go and see and do. People are still active, maybe even more active, once it cools down some. Being able to work at night is a blessing.

The Wild Life. At the edges of the city, there is an unseen world. Coyote, jackrabbit, rattlesnake, chuckwalla, mountain lion, horse, burro, mule deer, big horn sheep, horned toad, roadrunner, bat, raven, fox. They sneak in sometimes, to drink from pools and to snatch away pets and small children. There are constant reminders that we were not here first, and we are not alone.

The Stories. The ghost stories, the whale stories, the shill stories, the jackpots, the Mob, La Llorona, all rub shoulders here. Elvis & Bugsy share a suite, everyone's got a story to tell and someone who will listen sitting next to them at the bar or poker table. More than anything, Vegas was built on dreams and words.

The Hates

Traffic
Holy fuck, where'd all these people come from?

The Work
If you want to make money here, you have to work for a casino. The jobs are all the same. Show me someone who hates the world & everyone in it & I'll show you someone who works in the Service Industry. Taking money from the public, while profitable, really sucks unless you're the CEO. Or unless you happen to like assholes.

The Broken Dreams
The one story I hear the most, especially now, is the one where someone with a little money left in their savings and no hope for finding a job or making it to the next month with a roof over their head comes to Vegas. They think they may have a chance, that Lady Luck will smile upon their misfortune and grant them Megabucks. When they lose their savings, and the money for their taxi back to the airport, and they've cashed in their plane ticket to home for half its face value, they've pawned whatever meager belongings they may have... only to lose it all. Then they jump off the top floor of a parking garage. There's a reason many hotels don't have windows that open or balconies.

Winter
It seems to have gotten colder, and it seems to stay colder longer... and it's started to snow more often.

Non-Culture
There is very little to do here unless you like casinos or hiking.
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I write bestiality porn better than anything else... my human-on-human porn rated me Nabokov.

But for fucking dogs, I get Chuck Palahniuk.


I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!


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A piece of my childhood is being auctioned off to the highest bidder:

Roy Rogers Museum Auction

I loved that place when I was little. It was originally in Victorville, CA - the only good reason to stop over in Victorville, hah. I vaguely remember a restaurant nearby. Of course, for me it wasn't so much about Roy & Dale Rogers as it was about Trigger & Buttermilk :)

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