the fertile valleys

it's been a long process getting spooled up for my new gig.  i interviewed way back in march, was offered the job, and then spent many months waiting around for the middle management minions to decide when in fact my start date would be.  finally it came, and i got on a plane to east virginia.

we did the normal indoc horseshit, filling out countless forms by day and patronizing the local watering holes by night. then followed a full month at flight safety toronto, learning the new ship.  we were far too busy getting our types to fully appreciate what the town had to offer, but managed to get out a couple of nights.  for the record, let me say that toronto is full of hot women; in fact it's probably in my all-time top 3 list of world cities now, eh!

i'm enjoying the dash so far, she's a lot like the brasilia, only much simpler up front.  she's not as fast and sexy, but definitely more well thought-out, systems-wise.

after canada, the company had some aircraft they had purchased cheap and had mostly rebuilt and were in need of test flights.  against my will, i boarded a plane to las vegas and spent a mind-numbing 6 weeks there. the only good part was seeing grand canyon from the sky.

we only flew 2-3 times per week, which left a phenomenally ridiculous amount of time for me to explore probably my least favorite city on the planet.  i'm not a gambler, but i am a walker.  pretty sure i walked the entire strip about 10 times during my stay.

the casinos were packed.  financial recession my ass.  disease-vector pools were fully stocked with plasticized specimens of curved perfection and roided-out frat types with shrunken testicles, all paying $11 for bud lights and chickalobe ultras.  i had to get out of there fast.

i cruised past the bellagio fountains ejaculating into space-time.  strolled through a paris that smelled like tequila and vanilla body glitter and low self-esteem.

 tunneled into pyramids that reeked of cigarettes and lysol and hopelessness.

the one good thing about vegas i can say is this:  you can drink beer in the street.  at night, after the smoking-hot orb would grant us reprieve and fall behind the spring mountains, you could feel the desert radiating the day's absorbed heat back up into the stratosphere.  i'd put on my high heels and hike down to the strip.

ducking into a liquor store, finding a bomber of something dark and delicious, sitting my ass down on a nearby planter, brown bag in hand, wino-style, and watching the local talent go by.  i'd talk with the homeless people begging; most had lost everything due to their various addictions.

i made friends with a mexican girl who spoke almost no english; she was about my age and was from veracruz and spent 6 hours a night handing out fliers for "escorts," "girls girls girls," etc.  said she'd been doing it for years.  the truth of that statement was registered in her face; world-weary and seen it all.  she was barely paid anything; she sent most of it home to her family across the border.

this made me feel sad and rotten and filthy rich.  i quickly slipped her a twenty and told her that i hoped her life got better soon.  then i walked off into the anonymous shadows, back to the hotel, depressed.

eventually, it came time to leave fabulous las vegas.  the most ridiculous city anywhere.  on planet bullshit.  in the galaxy of oblivion.

send me on the next rocket to mars.