A Survivor of Sins of the Past

The past being the past week in Las Vegas, of course. But the survivor I'm referring to isn't me.

Although the pain of paying $14.99 for 24 hours of an internet connection with the lightning-fast speed of a 300 baud acoustic modem kept me from posting more than once from Sin City, I took a lot of character and story notes throughout the trip, enough to gestate many pages of Vegas stories, I hope.

One of those character notes was a man I spent over an hour talking to in a bar, a man we'll call Ron.

Ron is twenty-six years old, although he looks more like a wiry thirty-five, his face seamed with wrinkles and small scars, his crew-cut black hair sprinkled with grey.

Before the latest Iraq war, Ron worked training DJs for the Deja Vu chain of strip clubs, teaching new DJs how to cue up dancers and music alike, how to read a crowd, when to shift from classic rock to rap to country, what to do when the featured dancer is late.

During the war, instead of crowds and dancers Ron read prisoners of war as a member of an Army Interrogation unit. Small flame tattoos run up and down both his arms. Interspersed among the claws and legs of two protective dragons, and above and below the tattooed unit mottos, each flame signifies a set of 10 interrogations.

I didn't ask Ron if he was at Abu Ghraib, but from the way he spoke about the professionalism of his unit and his work in the Army, I don't think so.

There is a swirling mist tattooed by a special, particularly painful, process surrounding the larger dragon. Spikes in the mist commemorate the dead, people whom Ron was close to who have died.

I counted at least 12 spikes.

In Tikrit, Ron's vehicle was destroyed by a roadside IED, and weeks later he woke up alone in a VA hospital stateside, crazy with fear because he didn't have any idea where he was. He has scars on both sides of both arms from entry and exit shrapnel wounds, and his lower jaw is reconstructed on a plastic plate. When, months later, he left the hospital and returned to his home in Colorado with his wife and his two-year old daughter, it was only a few weeks before their home, car, and most of their other possessions, were destroyed in a tornado. He considers himself blessed because none of the family was injured, but he regrets that one of the urns of ashes that he promised to take home for a fellow soldier was destroyed.

Ron and his family now live in a rented home on Lake Mead near Las Vegas. He commutes over two hours, each way, by bus, to his current job, daytime DJ for the Deja Vu Showgirls club in Las Vegas.

He's optimistic about the future, although his downtime reading matter includes a survivalist manual. I guess that's appropriate. Ron is a survivor.

There was lots more; the plan to pull a van full of strippers, strong-man competition style, for a block in order to raise money for charity, the Alaskan fishing job, the wilderness training parachute drop when he broke an ankle. An awful lot of living, some of it awful, most of it just living, for someone in their twenties. A lot of material

Ron himself, off course, is too much of a character for fiction -- I'll have to use him in small doses, spread him out over a number of characters. If someone made Ron up, I know I wouldn't believe them. Until I met him.

Thanks for reading,

Stephen

Bonus Ron quote: "I'll always have a job. I'm good at what I do, and everyone likes boobies."

Greetings from Sin City

I am writing this blog from high above the Las Vegas strip, at the Paris Casino and Resort.

Las Vegas, a city that is a beacon of hope to immigrants around the world (ask any of the Ethiopian cab drivers), the fin de siecle of capitalism, a hive of scum and villany to rival Mos Eisley spaceport, an environmental disaster, a marvel of high technology, a place to win, or more likely, lose a fortune gambling, and a place to try out shooting a machine gun at The Gun Store, all at the same time.

People are either invigorated by Vegas, or, well, it saps their souls. Often both, come to think of it, so make that 'or' an 'and/or' (try saying that three times after your fourth Corona of the afternoon).

I always find inspiration for writing when I visit Las Vegas, whether it's imagining the story of the two joggers I saw wave as they passed each other (one overly-muscled and designer-draped heading away from the strip, the other overweight and shambling in a dirty tee shirt and jeans heading towards the strip), thinking about what goes on in the Club Platinum "Gentleman's Club" (Video Poker. Full Bar.), a concrete shack that sits a half block away from the towering, luxurious-looking Platinum Hotel and Spa, or after learning about the Atomic Viewing Parties Las Vegas residents threw in the '50s during nuclear tests at the Atomic Testing Museum. (And did you know that the Nevada Test Site is also home to a conventional weapons testing facility know as BEEF - for the Big Explosive Experiment Facility?)

The Russian woman at the blackjack table paying for an at-table back massage with $25 chips after 110 minutes of therapy, at $2 / minute. The couple from Canada in imminent danger of missing their plane home because they're on a hot streak. The South American couple, young and obviously in love, handing out the "Girls to Your Room" cards and flyers to unaccompanied men on the street.

Not to mention anyone who would pay $30 to put on a parka and have one drink at a bar chilled to minus five degrees Fahrenheit. They're all grist for the mill.

Time to stock up some more.

Thanks for reading,

Stephen

Ouch, really Dorneman? We're only blogging once a month now?

'Tis the Season of excuses, but rather than prattle on with mine, just fill in the blanks as you see fit:

I haven't blogged lately because my _________ had a _________, I came down with _________, my _________ schedule has been completely crazy, my _________ was _________ by a _________, and on top of it all, we ended up buying a new _________.

I'm sure your imagination will be much more interesting than my reality.

I do have a trip coming up that should involve some interesting writer research, however, and I plan on blogging during it. I'm shooting for a new blog post at least every other day.

You see, by next week at this time I'll be in Las Vegas. Some of you might know that I try and make my way to Sin City at least once a year, to join in a few Texas Hold 'em poker tournaments, catch some live comedy, and otherwise make my contribution to the Casino Shareholders' Widows and Orphans Fund. This year I'm also going to visit some of the odder Vegas attractions and, *shudder* talk to more of the locals than I normally would, taking notes along the way. I'm working on a loosely linked series of short stories set in Las Vegas, and looking to this research to amp-up the weirdness.

Hey, I wonder if there's some grant I could get for doing this...

Thanks for reading,

Stephen