Hey Team,

Looks like it’s time to bail on Vegas. I made a couple of good connections that will probably bare fruit as far as being part of a stage illusion goes but the wheels of networking turn slowly in this city and I’m starting to get antsy.

I have to take care of two quick things back in Southern California and then it’s time to hit the road for realsies. So riddle me this good viewers, “Where to next?”

Take a good look at that list running down the left hand side of the site and let me know what you think you can help with lickety-split. If you say come to Iowa and do some crop circling then by gum I’ll start making my way towards Iowa.

Sorry for the lack of posts the last two days I was stumbling through some video work. That should be up soon. But for now I’ll leave you with the other Vegas story I teased since so many people asked for the details:

There’s a little dive of a casino in Downtown Las Vegas, not only off the strip but off any visibly beaten path. I mentioned the name to a woman working the craps table yesterday and she insisted it didn’t even exist.

But I assure you it does. It’s called The Western. No need to waste your time there, I did it for you. The requisite cloud of smoke hangs over the entire casino and the bar smells distinctly of vomit. I was told the smell had nothing to do with the night I visited. “That’s normal.”

I was standing near the bar chatting with the three girls I walked in with when a scruffy old man, less than steady on his feet, grabbed my neck and leaned in close.

I said something witty like, “Hey man, that’s my neck,” as I smiled and brushed him away. (I’m a firm believer that a good solid smile will defuse 90% of situations.) But he insisted in leaning in close to my ear to exhale a warning, “My friends say if you don’t get out of here they’re going to kick your ass.”

Now, I consider myself a pretty observant dude. So before this guy ever said a single word to me it was pretty clear that he didn’t have any friends hanging around. There were however a lot of others like him. There’s no doubt the four of us were the odd men (well, man…and women) out.

Bottom line: despite my overwhelming sissiness I was pretty confident the old man couldn’t hurt me as fast as I could hurt him.

I laughed it off and thanked him for the warning but the girls were pissed and he could tell. He backed off for a couple minutes.

Then came the next warning, this time he chose not to grab my neck, “My friends said if you don’t take that hat off they’re gonna knock it off.”

“But I like this hat.”

That’s when one of the girls, Shana my couch surfing host, yelled for the bartender to get him out. A security guard came over and I tried to explain that he was just a harmless creepy old drunk and who’s to say we wont all be looked at that way sometime or another? (Maybe not so much the old drunk part.) He just took himself out of his element and now he’s back where he belongs.

On the other side of the puke stained bar; nowhere near me.

I’m done.

Brett.

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