LETTERS

Your article on Lake Las Vegas (December 4) was very interesting and very timely. My wife and I have been very curious to know how in this age of drought restrictions (heck, now I don't even wash off my golf clubs ... I use a grinder to chisel away the hardned turf) that Lake Las Vegas can get away with such atrocious, misguided use of water.

Granted, this whole development was probably dreamed of and financed during a time when water was not quite as critical (I thought we lived in a desert?), but now that we have arrived to the stunning conclusion that there is going to have to be new water usage restrictions, it sounds like the frivoulous lifestyles of the rich and not all famous do not seem to be affected.

Why is this absurd water usage allowed to continue? Has no one in Southern Nevada the courage to file a lawsuit regarding their irresponsible use and waste of the single most important asset in the desert—water ?

Shame on the local and state government for allowing this to continue. I agree the Strip needs to have its water and fountains ... let's not get too carried away ... lose visitors, lose your house! But stop the major needless water usage, starting with Lake Las Vegas.

Backhanded Compliment of the Week

The following arrived in response to our December 4 edition, which featured a laughing black Santa on the cover:

My respect for your publication just jumped up a few notches. I was so very tired of your relentless use of oiled-up, scantily clad women on your cover. Often your paper resembled one of those sleazy, street "entertainment" guides foisted on tourists, if only bigger. The December 4 cover does a much better job of reflecting what folks can expect to find inside. Thank you for choosing a photograph and model that are attention-grabbing, fun and different. I hope this becomes a trend.

Editor's note:
Of the 51 covers the Weekly has published this year, including this week's, 22 have featured women, and fewer than half—10—fit any reasonable definition of "scantily clad." Even those mostly fall short of what you'll see at your nearest municipal pool. Precisely zero have "oiled up," although one did apply some lotion before the shoot. Hardly enough to qualify as "relentless."

Our Typing Fingers Writhe on the Floor, or, We Get Cut Deeply by Our Own Double-Edged Sword

It's easy to mock someone's writing, as you did by printing two letters uncorrected in your December 11 issue. The irony was precious for the why-can't-they-speak-English writer, but the uncorrected cover-wannabe letter was cruel.

Then I wondered: Maybe you also mock yourselves by printing your own writing uncorrected, and I just wasn't getting it. So I randomly picked a page—Page 13—and found, indeed, you do treat your own writing in the same fashion:

"Don't'"—OK, a typo.

"And it's on it's own way"—come on; fifth-graders know there's no apostrophe in the possessive "its."

"'Metrosexual' infers"—no, "metrosexual" implies.

Fraiser—no, Frasier, and probably not a typo.

Be careful what or whom you mock. Arrogance can be a double-edged sword.

Editor's note:
We stand corrected—and chastened.

Rock 'n' Roll 'n' Writing

One of the groovy things about the Internet is that an archived story never fades away. Below, a response to a piece published April 24:

Just a note to let you know, that as a reader of rock 'n' roll stories for over 40 years and a former rock 'n' roll band singer/frontman, your story on Raven Storm was simply excellent rock 'n' roll" journalism. Raven's story could have been about any one of a thousand other dedicated, struggling, aging musicians/artists, but you captured the absolute essence so well, it left me speechless. Work of this quality deserves Rolling Stone magazine, however, I consider myself fortunate to have found the story in Las Vegas Weekly.

Like Storm, I, too had a convoluted, disparate childhood, filled with alcoholic parents, abuse and enough dysfunction to warp any child for a good many years. I was raised in Nevada, first at Tahoe, then Carson City, then Vegas, then Reno. I attended Roy Martin Junior High School, and then Las Vegas High. I was finally forced to drop out of school, though, in an effort to get the hell out of my dysfunctional home (a move that probably saved my life), and to pursue my "rock 'n' roll dreams." This was in 1968.

For the next 10 years or so, I pursued my dream with all the passion and fervor of Raven Storm. I relate so well to his story ... you just have no idea. I fronted bands like ROKZ and Axis, as a lead singer. We were the hottest thing in the northstate (Reno-Carson) at one time. After dominating our home scene for several years, and winning all of the "band battles," we eventually went all "original" and moved to San Francisco to record and perform, and then on to Hollywood for more of the same. We survived mostly thanks to the largess and charity of our girlfriends, while we recorded during the cheap hours (7 a.m. to noon) at Sunset Sound and strived for gigs at the hot Hollywood clubs or anywhere there might be a record company exec to hear us. We struggled, ate macaroni and cheese for nights on end, slept anywhere we could ... with anyone who would.

I used to watch Tom Petty in his office (a phone booth next to the one I used) haranguing his manager and calling record execs at all hours. The difference between Tom Petty and myself, though, was that Tom never gave up and finally got his deal. Our band, though close to signing with Arista at one time, struggled through several failed deals, contracts and managers. It was the dawning of the era of disco, and our brand of ass-kicking, guitar-driven Led Zep/Deep Purple/Who-type rock was becoming passe. At the same time, many of our record company contacts were losing their jobs, as the business, and the loose money that went with it, contracted in industry-choking form.

So, after years of trying, and 18 months of breathing the thick, acidic air of LA, my dedication to the "art form" weakened, and I decided that I wanted to go home. And so I did. I gave up working for my dream, though I still have the dream, and the memories, which I wouldn't trade for anything.

I have no regrets, for at one time, I was a "rock star," albeit not a terribly famous or rich one, but a star nonetheless!

From the cars to the bars,

We're the big-little stars,

And no one thinks half as much of us,

As we do ...

We're the big-little stars ...

Thanks so much for rekindling those memories again.