Reviewed!

Those Mortuary Billboards

****

—I'm sorry about your husband, Mrs. Jones. ... So, how did you hear about our mortuary? —Well, just before the car accident, I was looking at your billboard ... The "We'd Rather Wait” billboard on the 215—We'd rather wait to deliver your body to its final resting place 'til later than for you to have a traffic accident now, so, drive safely! Don't drink and drive!—is raw, ghoulish, campy, shameless, ironic and a public service. Rarely has so much been convoluted with so little. Absolutely thrilling.

Uni (sea urchin roe)

**** 1/2

Many an experienced sushi-eater draws the line at this orange-colored delicacy, to which I say: Good, more for me! Uni isn't the most expensive item on the menu for nothing—the soft-textured paste literally explodes in the mouth, pungent at first contact, then leaving behind a hypnotic aftertaste that makes you instantly crave more. Eat enough and you might experience the "uni buzz,” a strange sensation scientists have yet to fully explain. Beware, though, "off” uni is as appalling as "on” uni is stupefying, explaining why urchin came up just short of five-star perfection here.

Promotional items from horror-movie tributes on cable channels

** 1/2

It's time to celebrate Halloween with horror movies, and thus time to promote them with gimmicky doodads sent to the media. For TCM's Underground Horror, a series showing B-horror classics, comes a diorama under Plexiglas, with stills from the original Night of the Living Dead on the sides and two plastic people in the middle, cringing as they're menaced by zombies. While this item is creative, it's not particularly well-executed, and the figures look more amused than scared, as well as possibly retarded. From Starz comes a more traditional promotional item, a T-shirt, to promote its documentary Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film. Although slightly confusing at first, the shirt soon reveals itself as a simulated chest wound, a more effective (if obvious) depiction of its source material.

Seinfeld reruns

*** 1/2

What better to have on in the background as you're preparing dinner, eating it, washing the dishes afterward, getting ready for bed or sleeping? It seems Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer are always on some channel or other, and even though the show waxed and waned over its nine seasons, there's nary an episode not worth watching ... 20 or 30 times.

Green Apple Licorice from the Sweet Factory in the Galleria at Sunset

****

You get the traditional licorice-rope experience—letting it dangle out of your mouth, down past your chin, drawing it in as you chew—without the gummy, generic berry flavor of Twizzlers. Gotta love that green-apple bite.

Bodies ... the Exhibition Gastrointestinal Tract

*****

The art installation exhibit: Room after room of real body parts—gray brains, shriveled penises, super-red hearts, muscles galore—colorful, textury and displayed with climatic build-up. The digestive tract: Toward the end of the exhibit, hanging on the wall behind glass—points for presentation!—is one entire, completely intact human digestive system, mouth to rump. You will not believe how much amazing stuff is in your abdomen. You will not believe how long your intestines are when stretched out. The weird fleshy color. The odd shapes and sizes of the tongue and stomach. You'll look at your belly and back up at the wall, thinking, nah. But it's true. It's in you. And it's on the wall. Nice work.

Four-day-old, Half-eaten "Wild Boar” sandwich left over from Hash House A Go Go

***

A little gamey tasting, but not much different than when it was fresh. Would eat again, but maybe without the Fritos.

The "Star Wars Wall” at UNLV

*** 1/2

Artisan Martinis

**** 1/2

You know that joke about getting out of some wet clothes and into a dry martini? At the Artisan, you can literally do that, their martinis are that big. It takes a half-bottle of Grey Goose per cocktail and two hands to hoist the glass off the bar. Lemon peels involve the entire rind and the olives are as big as your fist. Thank God the chairs and sofas are so comfortable because you're in for the long haul.

Package (unopened)

**

Somewhat questionable contents, poor smell. Decent packing job done, though. At least there's a "tear here” slip on it.

The stoplight on the Pecos onramp to the 215

1/2

This sucks. I hear people giving kudos to traffic managers for good planning here, but when I hit an onramp, I'm shifting into second, third, ready to blow through the slow lane and right on into the far left. A red light? At the top of an onramp? Then a putt-putt-puttering into the freeway traffic from a dead standstill? Certain death.

Las Vegas Weekly mints

***

Sitting unopened on my desk since last November, these mints were given out to celebrate the landmark seventh anniversary of this publication. I finally cracked open the box and tried one. The verdict: minty.

Fran Deane

*** 1/2

Who knew the county recorder was an elected position? Who knew there was a county recorder? Deane brought these important civics lessons to light. Further, she gave credence to psychics and astrologers and other practitioners of the dark arts, giving them their rightful place at the county decision-making table. And if allegations about her sales of county info prove to be true, she's displayed an amazing amount of entrepreneurial creativity for someone in such a boring job. And then, brilliantly, when Jon Ralston asked her on Face To Face last week whether she considered herself "a victim,” she paused. She paused! Earnestly! And then, I've been treated differently than others in similar circumstances. One of our most entertaining political disasters, and that's saying a lot.

Miguel, the ubiquitous graveyard cook/cashier/janitor at Roberto's Taco Shop on Eastern and Horizon Ridge

***

Let's do the math:

+1 (He makes a vicious breakfast burrito.)

+1 (He washes his hands, constantly, before customers.)

-1 (He speaks in neither English nor Spanish—only grunts.)

-1 (He always appears mad that you're there disturbing him.)

+1 (He is in fact always mad that you're there disturbing him.)

+2 (He, if asked enough, will supersize your breakfast burrito.)

= 3 stars.

Ed Bernstein

** 1/2

While his head may be appealingly pointy, ubiquitous local lawyer and one-time political candidate Ed Bernstein is not nearly as goofily entertaining as, say, heavy hitter Glen Lerner. Bernstein is comfortable enough on camera to not be a hilarious train wreck (see the deer-in-the-headlights delivery of Chad Golightly), but not charismatic enough to be interesting. You have to admire his dedication to buying time on KVBC Channel 3 every week for his talk show, but watching it just makes you wish Lerner would show up and heavily hit something to enliven things.

The only homeless person in my neighborhoo

***

Jerry Airola

1/2

A carpet-bagger's carpet-bagger, one of the leading candidates for one of the city's most important jobs—Clark County sheriff—Jerry Airola brings with him a resumé better suited to heading up a Boy Scout troop than taking charge of the police force in a fast-growing county. We'd welcome him to start a company giving helicopter tours of the Grand Canyon, but let's have a sheriff who didn't have his police status revoked for lying.

My George W. Bush Voodoo Doll

1/2

Ineffective.

The hookers who prowl up and down W. Tropicana Avenue

*

I got no problems with them girls—nor with prostitution in general. No, sir: I wish them health, good fortune and the providence of staying out of jail. My problem, rather, is with the traffic them girls cause on a street which was once open and fluid like healthy arteries, and with the sudden and intermittent braking they inspire in certain men—and with the numerous police officers they've drawn to that street. That's my problem. It used to be that we could fly down Tropicana, from the Strip to damn near the mountains, at 50, 60, 70 miles per hour, without ever worryin' about the police, who must've had more precarious crimes to pursue, like prostitution. Now, them girls have brought the police with them, and a good deal of trouble for me.

Military servicemen and women

*****

No matter what side of the political gully people are on, we should be able to agree that our troops here and overseas are doing a fantastic job. And we don't mean saying, "I support the troops, but ...” These men and women love their country and are often putting their lives at risk to not only protect us but also to try and bring the same freedoms we take for granted to others around the world. Take a minute and salute them. Better yet, buy them a drink.

Taking photos of gay bars in the "fruit loop” On a Freelance Assignment

****

The sounds of house techno bleed into the air from back alleys of Las Vegas' gay-centric club area, the so-called "fruit loop” located near Paradise Road and Harmon Avenue. You pull out your camera from your bag, set the right F-stop and zoom in on two men entering the club Suede. Right as you take you put your finger on the shutter release, one of them stops and stares right at you. He looks you up and down and winks before taking his date into the club.

Walking from MGM to GameWorks and Back

*** 1/2

As walks go, it's up there with East Fremont, but shorter, pop culturier and more aromatic. There's this little gimmicky store that displays a toy pink pig blowing soap bubbles out of its ass. Right next to the fabulous MGM Grand, on the glamorous Las Vegas Strip, pig-ass bubbles. After that, a T-shirt shop, the smell of sewage and escalators down, under the sidewalk, to a GameWorks entrance that drops you right into the dim arcade. Later, exhausted from kicking ass (losing) with assorted relatives in air hockey, you'll want to go back that same way, but the up escalator goes north, away from the MGM, so you'll have to hoof it up the stairs instead. Back past the smell of sewage, the farting pig. Into the swanky lobby of the MGM. Points for class.

Studying for Sociology Exam

**

What the hell the difference is between nomethetic theory and idiographic theory remains a mystery. Is nomethetic even spelled right? [Ed. note: No.] These notes look like a three-year-old with tentacles took them. Is this for real? Milgram, Zimbardo; who are these people!? God, I'm screwed. Oh well, at least the TA for this class is hot.

Shooting Pool with Art Critic Chuck Twardy, September 20, Mickey's brews & cues

*** 1/2

Chuck: "... There's a reason any story gets told, so I've been wondering, what is Hollywoodland trying to say ...”

Me: "Now, are you saying—”

Chuck: "I can't believe I missed that shot!”

Me: "—that this storytelling reason is subconscious on the part of the filmmakers, or is it more like society as an entity expressing these stories through their work ...?”

Clearly the conversation was a five-star affair. The experience gets busted down a star and a half because Chuck beat me three out of five games (and I only won two because he scratched on the eight ball both times).

Riding elevators at the regional justice center

*

Sure, they're nice, new, and clean, and they travel up and down the Justice Center's 16 floors with futuristic speed—but those six elevators are crowded, all throughout the day, with wearied jurors and haughty lawyers and chronic small-time offenders looking for their courtrooms. There's body odor, there's nicotine breath, there's the single strands of hair creeping out of moles and crawling on top of you; and then there's the fat woman's boob, enormous and inescapable, brushing up against your elbow, and the guy who can't bear the silence and so makes a terrible joke. Forced intimacy is all it is, and it might be necessary for the judicial branch of our region's government to take place there, but I don't have to like it. And neither do you.

Shopping at Smith's at 2:30 in the morning

****

And I ain't talkin' about no dash in and out of the store just to satisfy your nocturnal craving for ice cream. No, in my opinion, jumping on the back of a cart full of groceries, hootin' and hollerin' at full speed down each and every aisle, which of course is free of congestion at this hour, is second only to eating all the delicious food you had no hindrance or headache picking up, for the lines at the check-out stand are clear at 2:30 a.m., and all those godforsaken kids who start wailing the moment they step into a grocery store, as if just to tick me off, are at home, in their beds, right where they belong.

Shopping at Wal-Mart at 2:30 in the morning

**

It's nice to be able to buy beer, engine oil, new slacks, DVD's and a foosball table to keep the party going in the wee morning hours; but it's the sheer pits when you have to wait in line for the 15 other people in front of you, with baskets twice as heavy as yours. Which is inevitable at Wal-Mart, no matter what time you go. One's patience just runs shorter at 2:30 in the morning than it does 12 hours later.

Intersection of Lake Mead and Martin Luther King

***

Making love to someone you love (or someone you hardly know!) atop the McCarran airport parking garage

****

Ask any woman: Spontaneity, danger, and a heart-swelling view are all hot by themselves, but in concert they present an aphrodisiac both fantastical and irresistible, regardless of the man's talents. And because for us men it is the same anywhere—glorious, of course—feeding the parking meter a few quarters (depending on the man's talents) is well worth it. Not only do you get to feel the wild and erogenous rush for which millions of tourists come to Southern Nevada every year, but you get to experience it while overlooking the sexiest place in America—the Las Vegas Strip—as well.

Napping

******

Vastly underrated, this is an activity that can be participated in at any time of the day or night. No training or warm-ups are required and no special equipment is needed (although we recommend a love seat just big enough that your feet can rest on one arm and your head on the other).

Explaining to Disapproving Visitors Why You Like Living in Vegas

**

Redundant and unsatisfying. You can tell the artsy ones you like the social experiment gone mad, you can tell the uptight ones you never go to the Strip, you can tell the anti-suburbia ones there's a budding Downtown, you can tell the environmentalists you're appalled but ... but ... This is the kind of question that the askers generally have asked with a judgment already pending: "I like to visit but I wouldn't want to live here,” and so you're better off not trying to explain, just saying, I love it. So, as a conversation topic, it's stale and leaves a chalky aftertaste.

Checking E-mails on a BlackBerry While Walking Through a Casino

******

Nothing makes me feel as if I'm giving off an aura of great importance more than when I'm winding my way through a property, scrolling and texting. I can feel strangers' eyes on me, and I know they're thinking I'm some high-powered mucky-muck in the middle of an important negotiation involving a nightclub, Robin Leach and E! No one needs to know I'm simply erasing spam about penis and boob enlargements.

Checking e-mail on a Blackberry at 3 a.m. when you're trying to sleep but can't because you haven't weaned yourself from the constant information flow

1/2

Not as fun as it sounds.

Suburban Yard Watching

* 1/2

Use of time: Wasteful. Scenery: Calls for a keen appreciation of nuance. Vibe: Addictive. Once you're forced to pay a homeowner's fee, you become horrifyingly pettier and nosier than you ever knew you could be: Wait a minute—can he water on a Tuesday? Wow, the Hummer family is w****y overdue in trimming the hedges. Can the new California transplants put their garbage out three days early like that? Oh, look, the loud-kid/loud-dog family is going xeriscape. Whose dog crapped in my yard!? Is that family ever going to close their garage door?

Reception area inside Headhunterz Barbershop

**

With the receptionist taking appointments on a computer, an Internet kiosk, a flashing sign announcing events and the barbers sidled up to laptops or playing video games between cuts, is this a barbershop or an arcade? Thing is, it works. However, points are deducted for the ebonical grammar.

Book Section, Goodwill Superstore

*** 1/2

This is, without dispute, the bottom of the book food chain, where tired paperback Grishams, volumes that'll never be read again (Stutter No More) and weirdo nonsense (Anaheim Mighty Ducks media guides, 1995-98) get to sit on a shelf one last time before the landfill. And yet: I left with three books—Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, Literary Symbolism and a dictionary of philosophical terms—for 75 freakin' cents. An underappreciated gem.

Supermarket self-check lines

****

We've all been there. Bag of chips in one hand, banana in the other, 12 deep in the express lane while the shopper in pole position fumbles with a checkbook. No longer. It's manifest destiny, baby, thanks to this wonder of modern engineering. Self-check might not be perfect—"Please place your item in the bag”; "It's already in the bag, dammit!”—but until they invent that Jetsons instant-food-at-home gizmo, it's the best option going.

Pond at Lorenzi Park

**

If you can get past the visible debris at the bottom—mostly shards of clothing—and tolerate the hungry, meandering ducks, you can become part of a decades-long fishing tradition at the urban park.

Damon Hodge

The Hoover Dam

*

Hey, here's a great idea: Let's build a giant amusement park in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge. Or how about a zoo dead center in the Lincoln Tunnel? It's hard to imagine another major roadway—the primary connector between two states, no less—overrun by tourists dodging cars and trucks as they hunt for the best photo-snapping perches. And if that weren't enough, driving across the Dam means eyeing that giant white line, expanding with each day, reminding us that we'll soon be out of water, which will kind of defeat the purpose of a dam, won't it?

Desert Inn Super Arterial

****

All about connectedness, this wonderful stretch of a Strip flyover. But it's about more than simply connecting one street to another—in this case Valley View to Paradise. It's about connecting two parts of town, east and west, in a seamless, 90-second, who-needs-the-Beltway kind of way. No wonder the Valley's traffic gurus are considering super arterials for streets like Tropicana. Best of all, you rarely see cops.

KFC Restaurant during a PETA protest, September 23

*****

Outside the KFC on Spring Mountain Road and Jones, this protest—with its dozen or so smelly punk kids and semi-attractive girls, and the strange homeless people harassing them—brought immense entertainment to a normal Saturday afternoon. However, despite the effigies of Col. Sanders and signs that looked like fourth-grade students had designed them, it was lunchtime and I was hungry. Five minutes later, I emerged with a Twister, a drink and some potato skins. I hate fast food, but I have to admit, the protestors definitely got me to rethink my lunch plans.

Hell on Earth blog (satanscity.blogspot.com)

*** 1/2

Desert Shores Villas

*** 1/2

In northwest Las Vegas, this condominium community provides the amenities typical of complexes around the Valley, such as swimming pools, basketball courts and a business center. But it also offers cool stuff unavailable to most condo dwellers, such as a billiards room, a library, and 8 1/2 miles of jogging paths. And best of all, there are privileges unfathomable in the middle of the desert: boating and fishing in the area's five (man-made) lakes, complete with migratory ducks and swans and imported fish. And one doesn't need to be wealthy to live there: On Craigslist, rental units go for cheaper than many apartments.

The Sahara-Las Vegas Boulevard Intersection

1/2

Woe unto you if you try to make a left-hand turn from the Strip onto Sahara. Even if your path wasn't clogged by out-of-town drivers bedazzled by the majesty that is Bonanza Gifts or fantasizing about themselves as the next Steve Wynn while reading the sign from the failed Ivana Towers, the traffic light is timed so that only one-and-a-half cars can make it through. If you happen to be waiting when there's no traffic, the light can sense it and will increase the amount of time until the turn signal comes on. Honestly, it's faster to just keep driving down to Charleston and swing back around.

Summerlin Roundabouts

0 stars

Drive through one and you'll understand.

The Coroner's Inquest

*****

The thing works. So well, in fact, that now other jurisdictions are flying down to Southern Nevada to take notes on our coroner's inquest. Since its inception 30 years ago, 164 of the 165 police officers to fall subject to an inquest for killing someone have been absolved of any wrongdoing; and, thank God, that one officer who was not justified in his proceeding went on to have his case thrown out by a grand jury. Which is good, because we all know that police officers are infallible, that they never make mistakes, and that if they ever shoot an unarmed man surrendering on his knees while flanked by two cops, as Metro did in 2003, it was in all likelihood the dead man's fault. Just as it was Swauve Lopez's mortal mistake earlier this year, when the teenager was shot and killed by two officers as he was running away with his hands bound by handcuffs and with no means to escape the flotilla of police cars behind him. Too bad such a stellar system could not receive six stars.

The no-cell-phones-in-sports-books rule

*

This leftover from the Mesozoic Era requires folks to step out of the book proper to make or receive calls since, you know, that will prevent them from taking bets for other people. Or maybe they'll just do it before they arrive ... or elsewhere in the casino ... or right in the sports book via a Blackberry ... or wireless Bluetooth. Really, the only people who get caught talking on the phone in sports books are guys who don't know about the rule, because they're just talking to their pregnant wives or sick mothers and couldn't care less about booking bets for their buddies. Word.

Yahoo fantasy sports hosting

****

Back in the old days (yes, I'm a dork who played fantasy football in middle school), we either kept our own stats or paid a service to do it. Transactions were weekly, at most, and reports arrived ... whenever the commissioner had some extra time to provide them. Then along came the Messiah, also known as Yahoo fantasy hosting, and a revolution ensued. Sure, it can be clunky and counterintuitive at times, but it's reliable, instantaneous and completely and utterly free—our favorite word in the English language.

Film Club

****

After interviewing film critic and scholar Tony Macklin earlier this year, I started an informal film-discussion group with some friends of mine, headed by Macklin, who taught courses on film for 37 years at the University of Dayton. We've watched plenty of interesting films and had some lively discussion, although membership of late has been dwindling. But where else will I find at least two other people interested in seeing and talking about an early Milos Forman film made in Czechoslovakia?

The View From My Front Porch

*****

Near the top of Sunrise Mountain, my front porch offers a view of the Valley that stretches from Henderson to North Las Vegas with not a single rooftop obstructing the vista. During the day, Red Rock Canyon is a geological beacon, at sunset the entire Spring Mountains range glows, and at night, the Strip sparkles like a tray of gems. I'd invite you all, but we haven't settled on the cover charges and bottle costs yet.