A cause worth biting for

I really can't resist the pun sometimes.

Now that you've forgiven that lapse in judgement, I was surprised to see that International Eat An Animal For PETA Day is coming up soon – on March 15th, and there's an open call to join the planet in chowing down on cow. Or pig. Or chicken. Basically, if it has a face and you can hunt it down, pull it out of a body of water or buy it in shrink-wrapped foam trays at the grocery store, have at it.

So I'm scanning my memory for the best place to have a Vegas event. Barbecue restaurants are expected, but so very appropriate. Luckily, there's a new one close to my office called T.C.'s Rib Crib. They just opened a couple of weeks ago, run by a whole family from Louisiana. On my next trip, I'll have to confirm whether or not they moved because of Katrina.

In the meantime, there is meat to be consumed. With loads of sauce. And sweet potato fries on the side. Hot links, pulled pork, tri tip, slabs and slabs of ribs . . . and Snicker pie for dessert. Snicker ever-lovin' pie.

Oh, and the best part about T.C.'s? The receipt. Under your total is printed stellar words of wisdom: "T.C. says, the way to a man's heart is through his ribs."

Yes. T.C.'s is the front runner. Definitely.

Adios, McCloud.

Dennis Weaver, too.

Damn.

The Old Man

Darren McGavin has died.

A Christmas Story is one of my favorite movies, and Darren McGavin is the main reason.

"In the heat of battle my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that as far as we know is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan."

I will truly miss him.

More booze!

Las Vegas is going to be a test market for a Thai beer called Singha Light. The other Singha products look mighty tasty.

Of course, I haven't really met too many beers I didn't like.

But as long as I'm on the subject, I have a few favorites.

For playing pool at the corner strip mall bar: bottled Bud Light

For cool winter evenings at J.C. Woolighan's: Harp

For that first Friday "left work a bit early" beer: Newcastle

For shotgunning: Coors Light 16-oz. Silver Bullets

For $20 burgers at Mandalay Bay: Samuel Smith's Organic Ale

For Las Vegas 51s games: $1 Miller Lite in a plastic cup

For local flavor: Monte Carlo Brew Pub's High Roller Red

For hanging out poolside: Rolling Rock

Mm. I'm getting thirsty. I wonder what would be best for "I should have been in bed a half hour ago?"

Blood on the Highway II

In the carnival of bad driving that marks any 3-day holiday weekend around here, even the State Troopers got into the act:

INTERSTATE 15 COLLISION: Police say little on accident

Basic information unavailable on crash involving trooper that left four dead

What a frickin' mess.

Blood on the highway

I will begin by making a not-so-bold statement: Las Vegas drivers are among the worst in the world. Bar none. The support is this:

1) I have an interesting little feature through Mac called Dashboard. I have one little doohickey (that Apple named a Widget) called Yahoo! Traffic. I can input a zip code and I will get construction notices and traffic accidents listed on a city map. Every day Las Vegas is littered with accidents. So I performed an experiment. One day during rush hours across the country I typed in different zips . . . and got almost zip. L.A.? Nada. Boston? Nothing. Chicago? 2. New York frickin' City? Eh. Las Vegas? 8.

2) I've seen (or been involved in) a near-accident every single day. Almost.

3) I spoke with a friend visiting from Bangkok. The driving there is legendarily crazy. And yet Dan said he couldn't believe how many accidents he saw here. More than Bangkok, Thailand.

So imagine my amusement when I saw this:

An analyst told Clark County's emergency planners Wednesday that theoretically it would be possible to evacuate the entire Las Vegas Valley within 28 hours in the event of a natural or man-made catastrophe.

Oh, nuh-uh.

Sharon Rice, a Clark County Geographic Information Systems analyst, presented the findings Wednesday to the Clark County Local Emergency Planning Committee. Based on statistics such as gas consumption and number of people and cars per lane of travel, Rice found that county officials could evacuate everyone from the valley in a little more than one full day.

Idiot.

Lest we think that everyone in town is this dumb, the article did present a dissenting view.

"To get everybody out in 28 hours, that means everybody is gassed up and ready to go, and they're all behaving politely and there are no (vehicle) breakdowns and no obstacles, and there is total compliance," said O'Brien, who like other county leaders supports smaller, more localized evacuations. "We saw during the MGM fire (in 1980) ... there was a fire burning around everyone and there were still people playing slot machines."

Exactly. I can just see the orderly procession now. Everyone in the city, knowing radiation or deadly disease is hovering in the air, will drive the speed limit. They'll let people merge at on-ramps. They won't weave in and out of lanes, attempting to get ahead of everyone else. They'll stay off the shoulders, and said disaster won't happen in the middle of July when every other car overheats.

I'll take my chances with duct tape and plastic wrap.

I made the paper!

Not for a promotion, mind you. Nor was I in the society pages. I didn't do anything noteworthy at all. In fact, my mention is for something too entirely predictable: I happened to be sloshed in a bar on a Friday night.

MIXING IT UP: Lowering the bar
Reporter's spirits are down at Hogs & Heifers

So this little reporter guy spends an evening as the only male bartender at our local Hogs and Heifers, which is like Coyote Ugly. Which means men get yelled at a lot and women end up dancing on the bar.

Yes, I have danced on the bar. One of my bras is there, too, but they're never getting another. Bras are expensive.

The night in question, little reporter dude was comic relief. I bought him a shot out of pity. Miles was just drunk enough to mistake him for a New York Times reporter that had won a Pulitzer for the same schtick (reporter doing odd job).

Obviously, not the same guy. Even though it took some blurry next-day online research to confirm the fact.

Imagine my surprise when he interviewed me as his shift was over. I gave all the stats then gave him my quote. And he used it:

"You have no flair," says Las Vegas native Shannon Sarver, 36, my something and 7 customer. And she's not finished.

"As a bartender or a dancer," she adds.

So I slammed him.

But he got me back. He published my age.

Little bastard.

Because he's all about the guitar . . .

Cullen is a true music god. His guitar posts are beautifully done, and informative as all hell. Now, I see something else: His knowledge of rock songs is damned encyclopedic. For example, his Top 10 Instrumentals contest has a list of choices that's blowing me away.

If you end up here, go there. You won't believe your eyes.

A step in the right direction

Finally. A project in Nevada that almost makes sense. As reported by In Business Las Vegas:

Massive solar photovoltaic project to be built in Nevada

We have an insane amount of sunny days per year – the most in the nation – so let's use it, for heaven's sake.

Powered by Renewables of Nevada and SunEdison of Maryland announced this week that they will partner to build the world's largest solar photovoltaic project in Nevada.

The 18-megawatt project power plant would nearly double the size of the 10-megawatt plant in Germany currently ranking as the world's largest.

The plant will be on a military installation in Clark County which Tim Carlson, president of PBR declined to identify while contracts are being finalized. Construction is expected to begin in July.

Under the current plans, the military would by [sic] the power generated by plant, which would be owned by PBR and SunEdison. Nevada Power Co. would buy renewable energy credits from the military in exchange for offsetting the need for fossil-fuel generated power.

So, okay. Solar power: good. Lots of it: good. Extra military funding: sure, I'm there.

Wait for it: I predict Nevada Power hikes our rates AGAIN to help them pay for the renewable energy credits. Which, in the end, means the consumer is funding the military twice. Once through federal taxes, and again through mandatory payment to our monopoly power provider.

Grammur

While I scream loudly about the many transgressions committed against the English language, he writes.

And it's bloody brilliant.

Oh, and while you're there, check out the Lynndie Gallery. Because if you're here reading this, you agree that nothing – NOTHING – is sacred.

How to behave

at the soda fountain.

True, man. True.

Get this.

Emily over at Pints starts a great conversation about movie snob-osity, brought on by my review of Match Point.

Join the fun.

Match Point

OMG! Allen is a genius! Oh, I love London, and isn't the view of the Thames TO DIE FOR, and isn't Johnathan Rhys Myers so tortured and so heroic in a Dostoyevsky anti-heroic kind of way, and besides, he's so nice to look at. And wasn't Scarlett Johansson so totally passionate and sexy and smoldering and didn't you love her crass vulnerability, and wow! Woody left New York and totally took on class and infidelity and fate and luck and aspirations in a way that hasn't been covered in all of his other films because it happened in, well, LONDON. With Opera. And nihilism. I LOVE nihilism, especially when Woody does it.

– Peter Travers, Rolling Stone


I pitched a tent.

– Roger Ebert, Chicago Sun Times


I didn't simply dislike this movie, I disLURVED it. I disLUFFED it. All you Woody Allen whores who are so grateful to have a near-coherent effort in the last 10+ years, no matter how predictable and plodding and painful it was, need to be whipped. It was a steaming coil of celluloid. Admit it. Admit it and move on. And before you say I don't "GET" Woody Allen, I'll say this: I get good movies. He's made good movies. This is not one of them. This sucked cranky old hackneyed man ass.

– Shannon Sarver, I Want Those Two Hours Back At The End Of My Life