The Manic Solace of a Quirky Rest

New York

Wed, 15 Oct 2008 14:51:24 GMT

Hi. New York. Tomorrow (thursday) morning on Court (Tru) TV doing commentary. Night. HEEB magazine release party. Call me. D.

Reinventing Figler...You Make the Call

Fri, 16 May 2008 20:48:46 GMT

SO without getting into it too much, I think I'm having what used to be called a nervous breakdown, but what I like to refer to as a suspension of belief. In any event, I fear that I've lost sight of my long term goals and have fallen into a devastatingly ridiculous loop of hypersensitivity and loathing. And isn't the Vegas the best place to be for that! Let's try to work through this together, okay? I have used the same metaphor for a while now and it's getting old, but at age 40 (where I feel I'm getting old for the first time maybe ever)...it's like I have what's very close to a complete set of puzzle pieces with nary a reference picture in sight. Usually it's on the box, only there are so many boxes in my house that I can't find the right one. Okay...metaphor done. Essentially, I can't stand the day to day anymore of all the sad people with their crime issues without the drip drip drip of mind rot. Not that I want to stop defending accused citizens...just not this way, not this how. And at age 40, I've participated in over 30 jury trials, sat as a municipal court judge on and off for three years, and handled in some capacity or another almost 70 murder cases. In the past three to four years, I've managed and resolved well over 300 garden variety matters from misdemeanors to a dabble in Federal White collar and I have no desire to simply double the stats over the next three to four years. Not this way, not this how. OF course those of you who know me understand that over the past decade or so I've kept the toes just barely in the world of creative expression ranging from short stories to storytelling events to poem parody in bars, cars and with (someone elses) guitars. I've been on NPR many times and have a thing here and there in cool places on the web and in a book or too. I have no novels in progress (just in my head) and I am finally at a financial stasis (meaning, not enough to run away, but enough to maybe experiment with something). Las Vegas is draining me (on all levels obvious, familial and physical), but it has been a dutiful servant and I really can't imagine and outright abandonment of the citystate source of much of what I do and who I am (plus I have a cool (enough) house). That said...I need to reinvent STAT! I need to stop googling myself and get snapping on....??????????????

Here's some thoughts for the dialogue that I am now officially inviting.

My dream existence at this point would be to live somewhere other than Vegas for at least the summer months (you know -- May through October). It would be to continue working towards more media commentary (like I do on NPR and Court TV). It would be to take on high profile cases around the country for worthy and wealthy clients. Maybe a novel, but more likely quirky Franzen-like essays for the men's pubs and holy grail NewYorker. Lecture circuit would be nice on law and perhaps whatnot...and maybe that has a crossover effect on the other things. Basically, I want to be a cool scenester Gerry Spence with less hat (but some hat). I also want to transition after that into TV writing (comedy, natch) and performance (why not try a superstar DJ/ top chef parody?). Some time in NYC would be nice. I also like parts of Canada, the Northwest and bigger cities. Also -- open to new challenges (cuz the old ones are just getting boring).

My inventory (puzzle pieces)--

Some awards (like State arts fellowships and Best of Vegas type things)
A law degree
A well put together 5 minute "reel" of different basic cable appearances
Successful and supportive friends at the top of their games in various writing fields (Entertainment mags, TV comedy, NYT best sellers, etc.)
Tons of "stories" (true and fictional, published and not)
An impressive list of festival appearances and such
An impressive gambling habit
Strangers in audiences telling me I'm not completely bad

Okay, let's get crackin'. Who wants to be a millionaire?

TONIGHT IN SF! WRITERS WITH DRINKS

Sat, 12 Apr 2008 13:43:52 GMT

TONIGHT: Karen Joy Fowler, Peter Hamilton and more!
Acclaimed reading series Writers With Drinks celebrates its seventh anniversary in style. This time around, we feature:

- Karen Joy Fowler (Wit's End)
- Peter F. Hamilton (The Dreaming Void)
- Elliot Fintushel (Breakfast With The Ones You Love)
- Juvenal Acosta (The Tattoo Hunter)
- Fran Varian (Lodestar Quarterly)
- Dayvid Figler (Grope, NPR's All Things Considered)

Where: The Make Out Room, 3225 22nd. St., SF
When: Saturday, April 12, 7:30 to 9:30 PM, come early for seating!
How much: $3 to $5 sliding scale, all proceeds go to saving rent control and the CSC

TWO READINGS IN SAN FRANCISCO

Sun, 09 Dec 2007 03:06:03 GMT

Tuesday, December 11 (6PM - 7:30 PM)

San Francisco Main Public Library
100 Larkin Street
San Francisco, CA

The Radar Reading series features the best emerging and underground writers - and the occasional superstar! Hosted by Michelle Tea.

This month features reading with Trebor Healey; Miss Lower East Side, Elena Azzolini; Dayvid Figler; and Matthue Roth, author of Nevermind the Goldbergs! at Michelle Tea's stupendous monthly soiree.

SHOW IS FREE. MICHELLE WILL GIVE YOU A HOME BAKED COOKIE IF YOU ASK A QUESTION

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Monday, December 17

Porchlight Storytelling Series hosted by Beth Lisick and Arline Klatte
Funny Uncle: The Family Show

Strap yourself in for the holiday season, people. It's all about family this month. You can't choose 'em.

With stories by:

Rob Baedeker from sketch comedy louts Kasper Hauser

The unofficial mayor of Las Vegas Dayvid Figler

Beth's dentist Don Nguyen

ray of light Deez Nutsian

long suffering community college teacher Sonya Wozniak

Details:
Cafe du Nord, 2170 Market St., SF

Doors at 7pm, Show at 8:00pm

$12

If you are in Vegas tomorrow night come to this

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 19:49:29 GMT

Tomorrow night at First Friday (November 2) and as part of the Vegas Valley Book Festival catch a humdinger (that's right, I said it) of a spoken word show. Derrick Brown, Mike ("I Love Puddin') McGee and television and movie star Amber Tamblyn. All reading their work from 6-9:30 on Casino Center a block north of the Funk House. It's free and we also anticipate surprise guests from the rest of the fest. ALSO - the live music of the Clydesdale who are kicking off a CD release night. BE THERE !

FIRST FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 2
6-9:30
CASINO CENTER AND CALIFORNIA
DERRICK BROWN, MIKE McGEE, AMBER TAMBLYN, THE CLYDESDALE and special guests.

Help him help me.

Tue, 15 May 2007 07:47:07 GMT

I've entered some sort of public radio American Idol thing. Click on Hodgman. Log-in. Find me. User: tippyfig. Keyword: Fritos. Vote. Good luck and thank you.

Another way to find me is http://www.publicradioquest.com/node/1514

Why am I writing fiction...let's just say PROCRASTINATION

Mon, 17 Jul 2006 06:01:34 GMT

FRAZZLE

The turtle didn’t fit. Symbolically anyhow. Last night, Travis called people who would listen about how things weren’t right in his home. Interior lights had burnt out. The front door was locked at the knob, but he only had locked the deadbolt. Nothing was missing. The dog was squirrelly. When Travis got home after having another bad day marred by inexact digestion and the suffering of his work, he let Midge out of her cage. The first thing he noticed was that the otherwise unremarkably tan and short-haired Lab/Shepherd/Alt.Dog mix had shed large chunks. Wispy strands of straw fur floated up and out in the atypically ill-lit house as the dog bolted from her cage. Instead of the usual beeline to the water bowl, she barked. Barked into the last sunlight streaming through the window blinds. Barked past Travis and started circling. It was crazy dog eye circles and barks and a nippy indication for the backyard. “Pooties?” Travis asked Midge.

Bark Bark. The door barely open, Midge made quick back and forths across the great half-acre of land like a manic zamboni driver. Hitting every lane. Fleet-pawed. Her nose twitching. Her eyes spiraling about their sockets. Barking. It was about then that Travis almost got hit by a flying pomegranate. He looked across the yard at the tree. No one was there. He wasn’t sure what direction it came from, but it came from somewhere. Airborne. Missile. He shrieked. Midge came to investigate but was distracted by a bagel -- that was also of uncertain origin though merely stationary-- upon which she began to chomp. Thinking it was poisoned, Travis yelled at Midge to “Leave it. Leave it.” After six weeks of obedience training about six weeks prior, Midge was supposed to understand “Leave It” meant drop that diseased thing and I will give you a treat. It worked fine when treats were present, but Travis hadn’t thought about loading his pockets with treats before getting completely freaked out in his backyard. Finally, he was physically able to wrestle the tainted baked good away from the dog and the two darted for the house. Once locked inside, he called anyone who would listen about how things weren’t right in his home. He tied in a series of recent strangeness. The fireworks in August heard throughout the middle of last night. The pounding footsteps on the roof two nights before. The sudden appearance and then disappearance of a turtle in the ivy though the nearest water source (absent neighbor pools) was the Pacific Ocean three hundred miles to the west. None of this made sense to him. Still, the advice to call the police made even less sense. Besides, he still had more work to do and couldn’t take the time out to call the police and what would he say anyway? Assault by a specter with a non-lethal pomegranate? What he really wished he had was a bundle of sage to purge the metaphysical toxins he felt in his stomach. From his work. From his life. Something wasn’t right. And it all made sense. All the symbols were there. Pomegranate is the fruit of the dead. Aural hallucinations of explosions. The dog seeing the unseen. Even the evil bagels and the modest chaos involving lights and locks in the house fit the harbinger profile. Something bad was about to happen. Something bad and leavened and chewy. Something within the walls. Anxiety beset his heart in sketchy beats. More calls to friends, more hypotheses. Last week he had called an exterminator to rid the flower beds of the thousands of roaches that appeared each night at sundown, but oddly no dead roaches turned up. Not like in years past when it became a veritable roach graveyard. Indeed, Travis was on death watch for five days, but not one single roach corpse turned up, nor did one single live roach appear. Then there was the giant flying wasp that hovered near the door. He hadn’t seen that before. No, he was expecting the roach apocalypse and only got a hovering wasp as big as a toddler. Flying toddler randomly faking to the left and right and then up and then down. Wasp disappearing into the bushes as Travis walked swiftly to his car to get to his terrible job. The wasp, the evil inversion of the bee; the bee, the symbol of the Virgin Mary and now a wasp at the door. And now back from the job, the wasp was gone, and the sun was disappearing and things were happening and he was completely on edge calling anyone who would listen about how things weren’t right in his home. Travis’ friend Mary mentioned on the phone that there was also a horrible 80’s heavy-metal band called WASP that once depicted a bloody buzz-saw coming out some guy’s crotch. Travis appreciated the attempt to deflate his anxiety, but Mary couldn’t keep it up. How could she? What other nuggets could she glean from then counter against the endless rant? Travis hoped she’d come up with another witty diversion after he mentioned the plumbing wasn’t working well, either. How the bathroom sink was clogged and no amount of Liquid Plumr was fixing that. Each morning for the past two weeks the bathroom sink would fill with water and only after an entire bottle of Liquid Plumr would make it subside, but only for the night. Mary tried to riff on the absence of the ‘be’ in Liquid Plumr and made a fleeting grasp at tying the lack of ‘b-e’ into a philosophical nonexistence of the self and when that didn’t work, she went back to Travis’ Virgin Bee thing and then she just got tired and told Travis to get some sleep. But sleep was not to be had. Tomorrow was another hell day at work and there was much work left to do after making more calls. More friends to reach out to. Relating clues like the rotting figs dropped from the neighbor’s tree in his driveway when he got home. Usually the munchables for the roaches, but now just drying in the setting sun. FIGS! Calvin waited on the line as Travis looked figs up on Wikipedia. ROTTEN FIGS ARE A SYMBOL OF DESTRUCTION! JESUS REBUKES A FRUITLESS FIGTREE! Midge inside the house quiet to this point started barking madly. Barking at the front door where no one stood. Pacing frantically between the front door and the dark kitchen. Travis told Calvin he’d talk to him later and began peeking out the window. The whole neighborhood had grown dark and unusually quiet. Across the street where the multiple Mexican families sharing one home were perpetually festive; it was dark. The Mexican house where someone was always outside. Where music was always playing. Where Travis was certain drugs were being sold or at least an illegal car repair shop was being operated was dead. Slowly the street lights started to fade from yellow to nothing. Midge retreated into her cage without any prompting and plopped down flat. Quiet, then motionless.

Travis didn’t come into work today and it was a nightmare. Things needed to be fixed right away. No one available or able to fix things right away. Not all day. Cell phone calls immediately rolling over to voice mail. Voice mail full. No Travis. No cell phone. No word. No understanding. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not in two weeks. Not ever. No leads. No message. No corpse. No Travis. No more.

Months, it's been months !!!!

Tue, 30 May 2006 19:17:47 GMT

I am stressed. I do, however, have friends who tell me things like “just chill” or “what do you have to be stressed about?” and that makes it all better…perfectly, wonderfully, fantastically, maniacally better…!

Accept the proposition for a moment that while we try to avoid “the darkness” of life and head towards the light, “stress” is the result of trying to figure out which is which. Still, what if the light you thought you were absorbing is really stinky, toxic darkness? And before you write me off as engaging in some sort of New Age Celebrity Celebrated Cult-ery – let me suggest that Las Vegas in many ways is perpetual midnight in the Garden of Light and Dark and consider this a non-religious prayer that all of us who are stressed need to reclaim the calm before the whole city starts spontaneously imploding.

I mean think about it, how many people do you see around who claim to be stressed despite the fact that ostensibly they have nothing significant to worry about? Their basics are usually covered and then some. Most have loving families…or at least families that do horrible things to each other…but in the name of love. They have acceptable levels of well-being, sturdy roofs, ample food stuffs and at least one friend to listen to their whining, complaining and general loathing of this force called stress. Some even have healthy relationships and obedient dogs. So why is Las Vegas such a stressful place?

Perhaps it’s because we have too much kinetic energy. Whenever you are sleeping, someone is not. Sometimes someone is not for days at time, but there is always movement. And in the whirl of all this constant spin is the worst force of all – unchecked dreaming. Unbridled aspiring. And what all the people dream and aspire and fantasize about is taking the lump of hot clay handed us here in the desert and making it a life of normalcy that we are not equipped to hold. Talk to the stressed among us and they all have a big plan. But unlike Hollywood, New York or really any other place on Earth where people dream…here in Vegas they can sort of get it on…at least catch an ear…make inroads until the inevitable happens and that is they sort of get what they want…or worse, exactly what they want. Enter the crash!

The stress in Las Vegas comes from not understanding why your great plans – heck, even the simple ones – are not exactly making you less stressed despite the fact that you think you’re doing everything right and filled with light. In the gardens of Las Vegas we use use too much precious water to keep things green and pretty. Here in this city… looking good, building things, making money all have a possibility of being tainted because of who we are…our history, audacity. But until we collectively take a breather… Slow it down…Stop the kinetic madness and engage in a little communal reflection -- the stress will continue. Despite the reassurances of our friends – things are kind of shakily headed towards…booom. As we gorge on the fruits of our gardens, the question remains…how healthy are the trees? How mad, the metaphor? What price, stress?

Um, here we go again...

Mon, 20 Mar 2006 20:18:23 GMT

Just when I thought I got out...they pull me back in...

http://www.kvbc.com/Global/story.asp?S=4656560&nav=15MV

For a cute doggie pic...

Thu, 16 Feb 2006 19:25:36 GMT

Did a local NPR commentary about my dog...here http://www.knpr.org/aint/detailNEW.cfm?FeatureID=2642 which comes with a cutie cute picture of Maudie Cha Cha herself taken by lx6 (who I can't get the lj link to work on...well go visit her anyway, always a fascinating tale being told

Bumped !

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 22:02:02 GMT

Ah, looks like a bump. Perhaps tomorrow. Key: Listen for a story on Indian Gaming then it should follow...two minutes of national glory...woo-hoo.

Public Radio Fans

Wed, 15 Feb 2006 00:54:09 GMT

Hi. Um, maybe you should listen to All Things Considered tomorrow...and possibly hear a silly voice from Las Vegas talking out of his bung hole about this,that and Jennifer Tilly...

Don't know the exact time, but give it a whirl...let me know...

Haiku Help

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 21:08:14 GMT

To all my Vegas people... I am in dire need of a boatload of haikus related to First Friday for tonight. So if you get this before 5:30 PM PST please please dump them on me....

Also, really funny love haikus are welcome....

thanks friends...

D.

Secret of Las Vegas

Sat, 28 Jan 2006 18:04:31 GMT

It was small talk. We were waiting around the courthouse engaging in idle banter with an upstanding prosecutor for Clark County, Nevada who proclaimed that he’d have no problem with government listening in on his private phone conversations because as he plainly stated “I have nothing to hide” Wonder if the majority of Las Vegans share that same…confidence.

As blatant, painstakingly open and ostentatious as Las Vegas (as a city) can be – I’ve always felt that there was a deep secret behind the eyes of most everyone I encounter. And while harboring of secrets may be a general human characteristic – it’s especially true here in Las Vegas. Las Vegas is a city of multiple chances and reinventions of the self. It seems in Las Vegas, people would be very happy if others didn’t know anything about their backgrounds…not to mention their day to day proclivities.

Haughty socialites whose humble beginnings may have included a stint running cocktails or picking up cigarette butts in a casino. Functional addicts. People living off the underground economy. Folks who have committed great wrongs upon others to get where they are. Sexual…well sexual anything. It sure would be fun to listen into the conversations of Las Vegas residents -- and perhaps that’s what government agents say to each other when they draw straws for which city they get to domestically spy on that given day -- but should Las Vegans be worried about the government eavesdropping? In the scheme of things what could the government looking for terrorists possibly do with information gleaned from our city?

In truth, everything. Indeed, those looking for the answer to stopping terrorism would be well-served to wiretap every man, woman, child and tourist in Las Vegas ‘round the clock. Is the enemy a distant group of unhinged zealots calling for things to be blown up in the States or the fear and burrowing terror that accompanies reports of these threats?

Las Vegas is a town that keeps on keepin’ on despite the consequences. Las Vegas is a mad jamboree of lunatics, normals, developers, personalities, dreamers and risk takers all under one desert tent. If the fear creeps here, we may all very well be doomed. “Learning from Las Vegas” could be the greatest sociological undertaking of all time…the government monitoring all those who lurk and work within our borders; gathering bountiful information about that fiery part of the human condition that cannot be muted. Sure a few of us may get calls from the INS, the IRS, the ATF, FDA and even the ASPCA…but isn’t it completely worth it to understand what really makes America tick? Those who think they have nothing to hide don’t know the half of it…they actually have everything to reveal. If you can keep it together here, you can keep it together anywhere…and if you are living on the edge…the government needs to know that, too…to see how far you can be pushed. Listen in Uncle Sam all you want…Las Vegas has a million stories to keep your intelligence agents confounded until the end of time…or at least the end of civil liberties, which much like our very own outdated hotels, sometimes need to be imploded in the name of progress

A long way to get to a rant about pinball OR "The Wizard"

Sun, 15 Jan 2006 09:07:41 GMT

I went into my first high class bondage parlor yesterday on a mission for something quite pedestrian but on the recommendation of someone we all know and out of curiousity for sure. It was, is the word...ergonomically efficient. There, that works, sort of. A small lobby with a rack of alt. weeklies and a comfy (but not too comfy) chair. A heavy set lady wearing a sleeveless pastal polyblend shirt behind the window not out of place in a dentist office. "Can I help you?"

My eyes survey her backdrop as I stand before the window. Some posters for mainstream films obvious in selection because of their notorious sex scenes. Think Secretary. (Okay, stop thinking about Secretary...I need both your hands where I can see them. Why? Well, because this is about me and whats dear to me, and while your selfish pleasures make the list, you need to show SOME CONTROL so that the message about to be delivered is in fact received).

"Can I help you?"

I am confident that my task (not really all that special) can be accomplished in moments if they'd just let me at the inventory. Right now, all I see is paperwork, doors, and wobble fleshy upperarm yams swaying with even small gesture. I will get right to business.

"I need an...item."

"So you want to go into the studio?"

"Yes. Yes, I do."

The phone. The intercom. "Nikki, you have a client."

The locked door unlocked, and opened and out walks Nikki. Stillettoed, demure, tan mohair sweatered. Hair back, glasses (silver frames), slight cough. Modest mini skirt. Smile between slight coughs.

Nikki is new. She forgets to ask me if this is my first time here. If she had, she might have also remembered to offer me the "special effects" upon entry. The fog. The lasers. The grid of latex and electronic items coming to life like the Hall of Presidents (the Clinton edition) or Island of Misfit, um, Toys. (Apology...Clinton sex reference? In 2006? What am I Jay Leno...'s fax machine)? Nikki is new (by the way, I don't know if she spells it that way, but I bet she does). She says, "what are you looking for?" I know, and I tell her and sure enough there is a section (albeit small) for that and she leaves me to my own, ug!, devices.

I basically see what I want. Actually I didn't know I wanted something that actually has a textual joke on it, but I test it out anyway in my best mime stylie and then it is a keeper. Enter Dante (real name, Dave) who enters the room, not in a cowboy hat like he sports on HBO's "Real Sex" but in a blue T-shirt with some or other business logo and a jeans. I am greeted and he back. We make small talk with and about Nikki as she stands there. I am informed she is new and the special effects I missed. I proclaim that I was recommended to this place by an old chum who proclaimed to me that I should invest my money in objects of quality of I'm serious about my tasks at hand. Dante emphatically injects a "I second that" to that. I present myself like a real potential repeat customer (it's a gift, what can I say)? I am enthusiastic and naive all at once. It all works out. He disappears into the back...Nikki gives me a mini tour of items ranging up to 4000 dollars and as I scan the lines and colors of this space I think I would like to share this (not so) secret space with lovers and friends. Heck, with anyone who appreciates a dash of tabooistic prurient in their porridge mixed with the aesthetic of order. (Ah, pretty rubber bloomers in a row).

And off I go. Contemplating more so than anything the moment the door of the tiny lobby opened into that. My mouth agape, not because I have reached the nirvana of my own bent, but in appreciation for what was amassed and how. It reminded my in part of my reaction to turning the corner in the pinball warehouse space on what seems to be the maybe gone-forever Pinball Fun Nights and seeing every my own private Wonka-dream in the diodic effect. PINBALL, my anachronistic holdout. PINBALL, my love, lost.

PINBALL...tomorrow, part II where it all ties in together and comes back home, I bet.

SO WHAT DO YOU SAY WHEN THEY SAY IT...?

Mon, 19 Dec 2005 18:39:10 GMT

EVEN “MERRY CHRISTMAS” IS TOO WEAK FOR THE TRULY DEVOUT. HOW ABOUT...

“JOYOUS ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF THE BABY KING, BROTHER CHRISTIAN”

“PRAISE BESTOWED UPON YE, FOR YE TAKE TO HEART THIS TIDDING OF MERRIMENT IN CELEBRATING THE SACRED ARRIVAL OF THE MESSIAH”

“AHOY, FELLOW TRAVELLER. ARE YOU A VESSEL FILLED WITH THE CHRIST-INSPIRED SPIRIT OF THIS SEASON? IF SO, YEE-HAW. IF NOT, LET US SIT AND DISCUSS SCRIPTURE BECAUSE AS A CHRISTMAS TRADITIONALIST I AM WELL-VERSED IN MY RELIGION AND WOULDN’T BE BOTHERING YOU IF I WASN’T, RIGHT?”

“HELLO, GOOD SOLIDIER DEFENDING OUR FAITH IN THE WAR AGAINST CHRISTMAS. FIRST, SHALL THIS TIME BE MERRY UPON THEE. THEN, LET US WALK SIDE BY SIDE ON THIS HOLLY BEDECKED BATTLEFIELD AND MARGINALIZE THOSE WHO FOSTER INSURGENCY AGAINST THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. NEXT, THE SMASHING OF WINDOWS OF BUSINESSES OWNED BY NON-CHRISTIANS. FINALLY, TASTY SMORES MELTED OVER THE REMANTS OF THE GREAT PYRE OF PURIFICATION IN CELEBRATION OF A DAY WELL SPENT."

“CONGRATULATIONS, YOU MAY HAVE ALREADY WON ETERNAL SALVATION. ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ACCEPT THE LORD, JESUS CHRIST, AS YOUR PERSONAL SAVIOR AND JOIN ME IN BROADCASTING OUR CHEER TO ALL THOSE WE SHALL ENCOUNTER FOR THE THREE AND ONE-HALF WEEKS LEADING UP TO, BUT NOT NECESSARILY SURPASSING, DECEMBER 25th. WHEN THEY RESPOND IN KIND, LET US BASK IN THE BEAUTY OF HIS WORDS OF PEACE, FORGIVNESS AND LOVE. WHEN THEY REFUSE TO RESPOND, OR DO NOT MATCH OUR SALUTATION VERBATIM, LET THEM FEEL THE FULL FORCE OF PURCHASING POWER AND SUFFICATE THEM FINANCIALLY THROUGH PROTEST AND BOYCOTT SO THAT THEY AND THEIR KINFOLK MAY SUFFER A SLOW, LINGERING DESPAIR.”

“MERRY, MERRY, MERRY, MERRY, MERRY, MERRY CHRISTMAS.”

Day 7 of Trial

Tue, 08 Nov 2005 06:46:29 GMT

I don't know how to describe the anxiety in knowing that within the next day or two the fate of my young client (who was even younger when he committed the offense at issue) will be in the hands of Jack Klugman, Martin Balsam, E.G. Marshall and the like. (C'mon Juror 8). I'm a wreck. The case went better than expected. The instuctions on the law to the jurors is always a haphazard compilation of the prosectors greatest hits from past Nevada Supreme Court decisions (really lousy language that tends to confuse jurors -- we don't have set/pattern instructions in our State). So we fight, I fight, so much fighting over the past 7 days (I accidently wrote years and caught it). In the end, I anticipate that the jury will simply spend 3 hours to say, of course this isn't first degree murder but it isn't manslaughter either and come to unanimity on 2nd degree. I am told to consider this a win since the prosecutors are still trying to seek the big first degree (and the Nevada Supreme Court suggested that it might be 2nd), but it will seem hollow. This 15 year old has done 10 years of hard time for a rash impulse. An unreasoned twitch in cerebral functioning and he's earned a chance at parole (having a spotless record in the max. security facility he's been in up in Ely, Nevada -- a godforsaken institution I assure you -- home of death row and other swell rides). The system stinks. The judges are inferior. This judge (who is more of a friend to me than most) still refused to make solid decisions which would have loosened the plea bargain up. Sometimes he just plain ruled wrong on things (though sometimes to my benefit). He's actually doing a good job in keeping things even in that way and (as he reminds me)...given me outstanding appellate issues in the event that this all goes horribly wrong. Hello, anxiety.

In the end, my little man of almost 26 is looking at me with doe eyes. Will it be all better? I don't know what to say to him when we don't get manslaughter. "We'll keep fighting" leaps to mind and we will, but oh, what a drop in the stomach.

But we focus on the small victories. The fact that we were able to uncover the fact that the police lied under oath when they stated that no one told them that the kids had been drinking that night (we uncovered the hand written police notes from that night that never made it into any official report). We were able to put on a forensic psychologist who testified that from his professional standpoint there could be no malice here (the key issue between murder and manslaughter), that the 9th grader (while criminally responsible) was too drunk to form that. The psychologist was a champ -- my new hero. And the other expert who testified as to what happens when 9th graders drink Wild Irish Rose and play with guns.

In a perfect world the jury just does the right thing. I fear the world in which I am immerse is something other. Something barely fair. How will it play out? How ?

Even more cool writers coming to Las Vegas

Mon, 10 Oct 2005 21:49:24 GMT

LAS VEGAS – In conjunction with the City of Las Vegas, Division of Cultural Affairs, the Vegas Valley Book Festival opens on Thursday, October 13, 2005 at 5:30 PM with an evening of spoken word and music outdoors along the Lewis Avenue Corridor -- also known as Oscar’s River – on Lewis Avenue and 4th Street in Downtown Las Vegas.

Starting in 2004, host Dayvid Figler and the City of Las Vegas have presented dozens of writers from both Las Vegas and across the country as well as musical guests. This event has drawn hundreds of spectators to the downtown public square. This year, the Vegas Valley Book Festival has adopted the program for its launch. The program with begin at 5:30 and last until 9 PM. The following evening, October 14, 2005, the same writers will present a different program. The musical guests both nights will be popular Las Vegas band, The Clydesdale. Food and beverages will also be for available. The line-up includes:

Sarah Balcomb
Sarah M. Balcomb’s fiction has appeared in numerous publications including 5-Trope, the American Journal of Print, Both Magazine, McSweeney's, Opium Magazine and Pindeldyboz. Balcomb is a graduate of Columbia University's MFA Program in Creative Writing and lives in Brooklyn.

Matt Cook
Matt Cook's poetry has appeared in Aloud: Voices from the Nuyorican Poet's Cafe, The United States of Poetry, and The Cream City Review. He's performed at Lollapalooza, on National Public Radio, and on the Internet television site Zerotv.com. Cook lives in Milwaukee, where he teaches at Marquette University.

Jarret Keene
Jarret Keene is author of the poetry collection Monster Fashion and editor of The Undergound Guide to Las Vegas, both from Manic D Press. Keene’s stories, essays, and verse have appeared in several literary magazines, anthologies, and textbooks and he has been a regular contributor to several alternative weekly newspapers. Keene graduated from the Florida State University with a Ph.D. in English. He lives in Las Vegas.

Whitney Pastorek
Whitney Pastorek is a writer, musician, and performer. She is the executive editor of the literary magazine Pindeldyboz, and currently on the staff of Entertainment Weekly. Her writing has appeared in Utne, Surface Magazine,The Village Voice, SF Chronicle, and McSweeney's. She lives in New York.

Jeremy Richards
Poet Jeremy Richards is a writer, actor, and improvisational performer from Seattle, Washington. His work has appeared in McSweeney's, The Cascadia Review, two National Poetry Slam anthologies, and on National Public Radio's "All Things Considered." Jeremy was a member of Seattle's 2002 and 2003 National Poetry Slam teams, and Bumbershoot Slam champion for two years running.

Kim Russell
Kim Russell is the Program Director for The International House of Blues Foundation (IHOBF) in Las Vegas. Russell was recently re-elected Chair for the Clark County Parks and Recreation Advisory Commission, and she became a member of the Nevada Public Radio Community Advisory Board this year and the Las Vegas Arts Commission. She is an award winning producer, writer and actress.

Juliette Torrez
Poet Juliette Torrez is the author of Madness and Retribution: Poems, and editor of The Sofasurfing Handbook: A Guide for Modern Nomads and Revival: Spoken Word from Lollapalooza. She is the publisher of award-winning Kapow! Press. Torrez has been active in the national spoken word community and has appeared at Lollapalooza, the National Poetry Slam, the Albuquerque Poetry Festival as well as the Bumbershoot festival. She hails from San Francisco.

hey check it out...

Tue, 04 Oct 2005 04:35:32 GMT

nice people at yankee pot roast published this:

http://www.yankeepotroast.org/archives/main/fiction/index.html/

I'm almost at wits end on this...

Sun, 02 Oct 2005 06:40:11 GMT

The Sunday New York Times has YET ANOTHER bunch of features about, yes, you guessed it...Las Vegas. They are obvious and blase and well, I was just in New York, um, your town is about a billion times more interesting...what gives? When will it stop?!? Why do they keep parachuting writers in to come away with nothing?

So first story was about the cool digs that Celine and Barry Manilow get in their respective hotel venues as part of their deals to perform; the second, how "Broadway" is coming to Vegas. Fave part...when the writer pulls this one off --

"No, what happens in Vegas will probably stay in Vegas. "Phantom" will open here with effects that would be impossible at the Majestic. "Hairspray" will get an explosive new ending. Even "Avenue Q" has a few new bells and whistles. But none of these changes will come back to New York."

Nice lead ! Oh, and right...the reason it doesn't come back to NY is because they are LAME aspects! They are bombast for fanny packs. They are stimulo-fly traps for the slot machines that surround the theater doors. (But hey, at least it quoted Penn Jillette with the much reported chestnut about Elvis Costello once opining that he would not come to Vegas because the other dead one was more favored -- Costello now plays in Vegas about once or twice a year -- hilarious !).

Still, how fun it would be to have off-Broadway shows start popping up in neighborhood casinos. Beckett revivals and whatnot at the Eureka casino behind the snack bar.

And when does some Vegas publication finally send a bunch of Vegas writers to New York to capture the city in a week? Aargh...and don't get me started about the New Yorker's sizzling piece about the short order cooks at the coffee shop at the Flamingo ! The Flamingo for chrissake ! You know, the hotel built by Bugsy (as the story reads -- erroneously). The writer leads you to believe the Flamingo is some sort of mecca for breakfast in Vegas -- which couldn't be LESS true. No local goes into the Flamingo unless it's to see the Second City scriptless show and then only after bathing in Purell to avoid the Norovirus that lives there.

(http://www.reviewjournal.com/lvrj_home/2004/Nov-05-Fri-2004/news/25183873.html)

A simple google search would have provided the above article, "NOROVIRUS OUTBREAK: Visitors leave LV with virus." Hmmm, that could have been a lead for the New Yorker article..."At the Flamingo coffee shop some things are made to not stay in Vegas..." (oh, wait that was the lead the VEGAS WRITER USED in the piece...ARGH).

(oh, and if you were looking to file this rant somewhere...I'd suggest either under "How am I not the most famous writer in Las Vegas" or "Still bitter about no one interviewing me for the New York Times or New Yorker").

In other news (for Vegas radio listeners only)... Smells Like Teen Spirit just played on KKLZ. Welcome to classic rock boys. Kurt meet Steve Miller...you two must have much to talk about. Keep on a rockin' me baby, indeed. (PS. The next song was Kashmir).

From the New York Times

Wed, 28 Sep 2005 01:09:59 GMT

"On Monday, Mr. Bush asked Americans to help by using driving less and using other energy conservation measures."

Do you hear your President, NASCAR! No more pointless circles around the track burning fuel as fast as you humanly can, not to mention, the tens of thousands of trucks that drive in snail lines to the speedway. No more gallons upon gallons bursting into the air when the eager driver busts quick out of the pit to capture the gallon of milk or whatever it is they give as a prize these days.

NASCAR loves its President and will do what he say...DO WHAT HE SAY!!!! We know you are heroes in patches. We know you give hope to farm boys everywhere. We know you blow up real good. But seriously, thank you, thank you for giving up the sport of wasting gas even though some may argue that it makes the hurricanes feel they are winning when we don't get to be foolish at whim. Thank you, thank you, for succumbing to the forces of reason. Enjoy your time off the track. Perhaps you can spend the time simply getting into bar fights or learning to play the guitar to impress Ann-Margaret. Anything, anything, but driving. God bless.

Well I guess I'm droppin' into NYC... SHAPPY catch me !

Wed, 31 Aug 2005 22:40:55 GMT

GALAPAGOS ART SPACE
70 North 6th Street
between Kent and Wythe
Williamsburg, Brooklyn, NY 11211
718 782-5188

9.7 7pm $5

Beth Lisick Book Release

Author Beth Lisick leans on the talent of her friends to help celebrate the release of her new book Everybody Into the Pool. Joining her will be Las Vegas NPR commentator/municipal court judge Dayvid Figler, Whitney Pastorek from Pindeldyboz, magical singing misfit Linda Hagood and reigning Miss L.E.S. Dynasty Handbag.

Anyone want to help me polish this???????

Sun, 28 Aug 2005 22:23:12 GMT

70’s MUSIC IS STUPID

"Time in a Bottle" by Jim Croce: First of all, you can’t. Time is a concept. But you knew that, you’re just gettin’ all literary. Cool. No problem. Still, the first thing you’d do is save every day till eternity passes away? Okay, if by “saving time in a bottle” you mean suspend time for everyone except you and the object of this affectionate song, then there would be no eternity, time would just stand still in your fucking bottle. It would be like that episode of the Twilight Zone with the librarian who drops his glasses or something. Just creepy silence in a world without time. Not the best conditions to make out with that lady you’re singing to. Also, you never mention if you’d ever let the time out of the bottle and what the repercussions of suddenly unleashing bottled up time would be. You just want to take all time from everyone else in the universe for some selfish little dream and completely ignore the consequences. If you indeed had the technology to save time in a bottle, don’t you think you should use it more wisely – like, say, stopping a plane from crashing right before it hits the ground. (what, is it too soon to make that joke?). And by the way, how big would the time-saving bottle have to be? And why a bottle? Why not a mason jar or a glass bong?

“You’re So Vain” by Carly Simon: Oh, yeah, Carly, you really got him good with that zinger…but guess what? He is completely justified in thinking the song is about him since it IS about him. Albeit it is about him and his vanity. If you had a brain you'd sing something like “You’re so Vain, you thought ‘Anticipation’ was about you. Or ‘Nobody Does it Better’ was about you. And Mick Jagger doing backup vocals? Did Warren Beatty sleep with him, too, and neglect to call? The two of you must have been giggling through your flappy lips all night long.

The entire catalog of the Eagles: Is there anyone in 2005 who hasn’t heard “Hotel California” over 100 times (maybe 1000 times)? Is there any reason to continue to play it on the radio, pick it on a juke box in a bar or (gasp) choose it for your one and only shot at the karaoke mike on a crowded night at BJ’s Pub? Do people really get pumped at the opening chords these days? Do they say, “Wow…what is that great song?” Or “Wow, despite its annoying familiarity I still want to groove to it right now!” Is there any reason “Hotel California” isn’t mothballed? Does it stay alive, just like the Eagles with their 200 dollars per ticket, last tour, hell freezes over part III bullshit – because the music listening audience is that stupid? Maybe it’s just because everyone knows the words and thinks they’re cool that they can rattle off that “colitis” means burnt marijuana. (Nothing like obscure music trivia to empower). “Hotel California” is bad metaphor, lame imagery and it celebrates the ridiculousness of pink champagne. (Stab it with their steely knives was supposed to be a dig at Steely Dan? Really?). It’s stupid -- as is every Eagles song. “Ooohhh, Witchy Woman, she got the moon in her iiiiiiiiiiiizzzzz”? “I used to hurry a lot, I used to worry a lot?” Ladies and Gentlemen, the genius of Don Henley and his amazing, rhyming dictionary. Country rock? All the Eagles did was efficiently destroy everything exciting that Gram Parsons started. (Damn you, Jack Daniels and morphine!) The only interesting Eagles song is “Take it Easy” and that’s only because it’s one extended sexual innuendo. From the title to cornball lines like “running down the road, trying to loosen my load”, “looking for a lover who won’t blow my cover” and of course, “open up, I’m climbin’ in.” You must have had a real blast in junior high, Glenn Frey.

“Da Ya Think I’m Sexy” by Rod Stewart: Seriously, “Da” ya. Rod Stewart is embroiled in litigation with a Las Vegas hotel (off strip) for keeping 2 million dollars (the contract was for 3 million) for a one-night concert even though Stewart was a no-show claiming he had a sudden onset of “throat cancer.” But -- in the Monty Python spirit -- he’s much better now. Da Ya Think You Might be a Greedy Bastard, Rod Stewart? All of which belies the fact that 30 years later he gets paid millions? The depths of stupidity are mind-boggling.

“Joy to the World” by Three Dog Night: Put aside for a second that there’s, like, one of the most famous Christmas songs in the world already called “Joy to the World” that every kid who ever touched a piano figured out how to play since it’s just hitting all the white keys from C down to C to get that killer opening riff. Put that aside and look at the Three Dog Night’s version. I guess the song is supposed to be stupid. How in the world can you give joy to the “fishees” in the deep blue sea? More importantly, if you were the king of the world…what is your brilliant agenda? Oh, you’d throw away the cars and bars and the war and make sweet love to someone. Granted war is stupid (as we learned in the next decade from Boy George) and it is good to be the king, embarking on all sorts of peccadilloes. But then what? No cars (presumably buses and other forms of motorized transportation, too) and no bars surely will cut down on DUI’s, but you will almost certainly have a restless population on your hands. And while you’re busy making sweet love, there may just be a revolution in the streets. Sorry to say, but there would be little joy in your kingdom, Nero, not even for the fishes. You know, Joy To the World could have been a great lesbian anthem if you saw past your selfish need to make sweet heterosexual love. It’s already filled with lines like “I’m a rainbow rider” and “You know I love the ladies.” Imagine belting out the opening line, “Jeremiah was a bull dyke!”

"AquaLung" by Jethro Tull: Best hit song ever about pedophilia. Check out the snot encrusted guy watching the frilly panties run. Oh look!? Now he’s bending to pick a dog end. What’s a dog end? Charming. Hey, instead of rock flute, wouldn’t it be cool if someone jazz scatted after the dramatic duh-duh-duh-duh-duh-duh part at the end before they go “oohhhhhh ooooohhhhh Aqua Lung.” C’mon, give us a little skibbity dibitty zop bam doo, Aqua Lung. STUPID !

“Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees: Hardly. (Is it too soon?)

This probably causes a virus, huh?

Sat, 20 Aug 2005 00:11:43 GMT

1. Go here.
2. Pass it on.

1.~How did you meet karinotvery? Across a poetic floor.
2.~What would you do if you had never met lx6? I'd never dream of/for pedals/petals. Amplified flower.
3.~What do you honestly think of rustyimmelman? Potential drunk? Drunk with potential? Compelling writer.
4.~Would or did sparklesndreams and hallawayjoe go out? Intriguing !
5.~Have you ever liked juliette23? Who hasn't? I get to see her in two months if she ever writes back.
6.~If 30milesormore died tomorrow, what is one thing that you would need him/her to know? I swear the copy is coming even if I have to deliver it personally to your funeral plus, I've always loved you -- sorry, want to be you, slight diff.
7.~Would bucky_sinister and skidspoppe make a good couple? In a writing group.
8.~Describe travelchick17 in 3 words: stole his (what?)
9.~Do you think doctorgogol is hot? Revenge ! On a scale of 1-10, he's a 6.9999999999
10.~Would 30milesormore and turqoiz make a lovely couple? See doctorgogol's response to the SAME DAMN "?"
11.~What do you think of when you see hallawayjoe? Pure joy. Almond joy. Sometimes you feel like a nut!
12.~Tell me something humiliating about skidspoppe: Skinny boy on a motor bike...that can't be cool can it?
13.~Do you know any of shecanfilmit's family members? I don't think so.
14.~What's rustyimmelman's favorite color? Black (velvet)
15.~On a scale of 1-10 how cute is twosnoos? Individually 10's. Collectively...23
16.~What would you do if beatnikside just professed their undying love for you? Write it off to nostalgia.
17.~What language does sparklesndreams speak? Pure passion.
18.~Who is rustyimmelman going out with? That cute brunette/redhead/blonde at the bar he met last week
19.~Is otterpoppy a boy or a girl? Girly girl.
20.~Would doctorno and beatnikside make a good couple? Just like Steely and Dan.
21.~Who do you think peigioneil would be great with from this list? I'll give you that one, Gogol... Perfect match.
22.~When was the last time you talked to doctorgogol? Last evening.
23.~What is juliette23's favorite band? Oh, I know this, uh, uh...damn I forget...
24.~Does bucky_sinister have any siblings? Dunno.
25.~Would you ever date shecanfilmit? She's a cutie. I'd date anyone who's great on a walk. She's great on a walk!
26.~Would you ever date travelchick17? Forbidden territory (like that's ever stopped me!). But likely not -- don't think she'd have me either.
27.~Is peigioneil single? :(
28.~What is rustyimmelman's last name? It might legally be Fingers.
29.~What is doctorno's middle name? Perfect
30~What is rustyimmelman's fantasy? Enough with Rusty...I want to talk about Gogol.
31.~Where does otterpoppy live? Under the blistering sun.
32.~Would you make out with karinotvery? C'mon, she doesn't look at me that way.
33.~Are lx6 and shecanfilmit best friends? They'd be mutual admirers at least.
34.~Does travelchick17 like rustyimmelman? I thinks that would be a neutral.
35.~How did you meet doctorno? I was a supervillian, he turned me around.
36.~Is doctorgogol older than you? Damn it, no, by a hair (hairs?).
37.~Is turqoiz the sexiest person alive? Mightily sexy for sure, but the answer you are looking for is Jennifer Jason Leigh

Like a dog begs for a belly rub !

Fri, 19 Aug 2005 00:33:06 GMT

Instead of going individually through the friends, let me just say thank you all for the birthday wishes. And yes, I know that means I'll get more now. Duh ! It's all part of the plan.

So what can you get me for my birthday?

Here's my annual wish list.

1. Nothing really, I'm fine.
2. Seriously, just go about your business, I don't need a thing.
3. No, thanks, I'm not drinking right now (my body says so), but if you want to buy me a pineapple and soda that's nice.
4. Um, I don't think I'm being a stick in the mud, I really don't need anything...sheesh!
5. Seriously, if you want to get me something, how about some rest. I'll take that.
6. Oh, and how in the hell do you get rid of mosquitos inside the house...mosquitos in the mojave for crying out loud...(don't forget Maudie Cha Cha can't handle insecticides).
7. On second thought, I'm fine. Don't worry about it.
8. Boundaries. Boundaries would be nice. Seems I have lost the ability to honor them or have them honored. If you're going to press me (and that seems to be what you're doing here) -- i'll take boundaries for my birthday. Simply stated, that's all I need.
9. And tolerance. Tolerance, too. And patience with my rambling stories. I promise they're getting better. Did I tell you the one about my mom and dad calling the wrong number last night at midnight and singing happy birthday (all 8 choruses -- family tradition) until the guy said, "there's no david here." That's a good one. Oh, and they were supposed to come over with the traditional cupcake this afternoon, but then they got into some sort of fight and I was supposed to go over there, but I took a nap instead and now they've called a bunch of times, but I've been unconscious, but I think I should go over there now and get it over with, but I hate calling it that...it seems so disrespectful and I'd like to start my new fiscal life year off right....
10. Nudity. You could always give me nudity. or Cable. or TiVo. That would fit just about right.