Vegas Seven

comrade grumpette

  • comrade grumpette

    What’s So Difficult About “Hold the Vodka?”

    Blasphemous as it sounds here in Sin City, I avoid the hooch. But every now and then I like to treat myself to a frilly and fully garnished virgin beverage.

  • comrade grumpette

    The Signs and the Fury, Signifying Nothing

    The best commentary on voting in our time can be seen in one block on Alta Drive: 33 dumpy campaign signs. They’re colorful and eye-catching—jammed into the ground on stakes, flapping in the wind, some knocked over, some defaced with graffiti, a blackened tooth here, an illegible but artfully spray-painted word there.

  • comrade grumpette

    Airport Shuttle Blues

    The moment I knew how thoroughly tourism dominated this burg? Back when I called to book an airport shuttle for a Christmas trip to my hometown and was told they only stopped at hotels. Where I come from, shuttles come right to your house. You know, so people who live there can get to the airport? But in Las Vegas, I had to haul my suitcase 10 blocks to the nearest tourist trap, only to learn that the stop had moved around the corner. To make matters worse, the driver only took cash, and he didn’t carry any change. No wonder I was the only passenger on the thing.

  • comrade grumpette

    Cig Tossers

    Ah, spring. Fresh, clean air. Crisp sunny mornings. Flowers blooming everywhere. There’s nothing like a morning walk this time of year to make you appreciate the corpse-like bouquet of a cigarette, abandoned and still burning on the sidewalk, flicked out of a car by someone who thinks that whole crying-Indian-anti-littering campaign in the 1970s doesn’t apply to them.

  • comrade grumpette

    Tape-Measure Receipts

    Paperless is the future, right? So why is my grocery-store receipt long enough to be toilet paper for a small nation? It’s not that I bought so many items we need a ledger capable of parsing the federal deficit—I’ve got two bags of groceries and three bags of receipts.

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