I was in Las Vegas last Saturday, walking down the street at 7 a.m., looking for a breakfast joint, a bitter cold wind blowing past the neon avenues of casinos, and finally, feeling I was on the road to perdition, I walked into the Golden Nugget and was directed by a security guy past several acres of flashing dinging slot machines to a café back in the corner and there, among flashing lights and dinging, I ordered a garden omelet with a side of hash browns and coffee, and struck up a conversation with my neighbor, a guy from Long Beach who said he’d been to a burlesque show the night before and found it rather ho-hum.
Perhaps, while you were in the NM "The Plains" (Las Vegas), you might have seen some historical marker signs. That upper class Victorian village was chosen for the set of the film "The Harvey Girls" with Judy Garland as the star. It's something we might not think about much, but when film makers are making a "period piece", it can be very difficult to find a place that doesn't have a MacDonald's smack dab next to the court house, or a Walmart with a quarter-square mile of asphalt right next to that old West Virginia coal mine.
Actually, touring the "Original Route 66" from Chicago to Santa Monica can be a memorable experience. A couple of decades ago, when I followed that route, near a New Mexico border there was still about a dozen miles of the original dirt road. It brought to life my Dad's stories of going from Oklahoma to California to visit relatives in the 1930s. He recalls that at the California border, Needles, westbound travelers were gathered into a convoy to cross the desert to Barstow. His father - like everyone else, put a large bag of water in front of the grill so the water would absorb some of the heat and keep the engine from overheating. Like others, their tires expanded so much that they had several blowouts along the desert road. There were local assistants who gave road service to stranded travelers.
Long distance travel by car was quite an adventure back then - not quite the impression those of us who watched the Route 66 TV series in the 1960s got of that road.
Just think ! One day folks will look back on us and think to themselves: "How Quaint!"
I’m laughing out loud at Lake Street turning into a cultural Mecca. I love the idea, old folks showing their work and being applauded, and without the phony storefront nonsense of Vegas, which if I’m being truthful, I’ve always worried about collapsing, like the gold rush town in Paint Your Wagon.
I have never been to Lost Vegas. I have no desire. I have more interest in seeing the desert around the city than I do the the flashing lights and wide-eyed caffeine junky grandma's plunking down their kids inheritance into dinging box of illusion.
Lake Street on the other hand sounds like a place I could come to grips with. From what I can see, those coffee houses and artsy fartsy joints that had the solo acoustic guitar players singing their own songs about their anguish of having to go to work to earn money to pay for their internet access, have become a thing of the past. There are no places where writers can read their confusing array of words of 20-something wisdom in the form of poetry to the sound of finger snaps at the close of each stanza. There used to be many of these places, seemingly in each and every town with a town center. Now they mostly exist in kitschy places like Key West and New Hope. Just a shame.
As far as it goes for the progressive offspring. They too will have their day when their children scorn and shame them for being whiny wet diapers. About that time, respect will return, people will live and let live, mind their own business and poetry will be read aloud in one of those kitschy places that have names that end with "shoppe", with the final "e", to give it the impression of a classy joint. Unlike their Las Vegas counterparts.
"...we find ourselves oppressed by our progressive offspring who hold us responsible for racism, poverty, the theft of Indian lands, and who police our language and expect us to honor them as survivors of our abusive parenting."
"Nuts to that!" you say....nuts to all who don't know their derriere from a pothole or a poker chip. The last thing we need is more escapism and bleeding of wallets. Although, we do laud those who can take money out of Vegas instead of leaving theirs.
Most of us MN folks here are already restricted to very small and masked circles, places where our kids are still masked and still "all above average." Your admirers would say skip Vegas and help fix Lake Street again. There are a lot of corners where you coud tell a few stories and sing a few songs, and someone could work the crowd with an upturned hat.
Somehow our world has gone topsy. Let's get it right, with more kids above average in doing good.
Excuse me, Tom King, but it seems as if you have an "Ant's Eye" view of Garrison Keillor's place in the world! I understand he might have entertained you on "The Morning Program" way back when, mixing in the stock quotes for hogs with music and down-home comedy. But the fact is that you have a World Wide Star as your personal home town hero - Though I don't understand why you haven't dedicated a statue of him to match that of F. Scott Fitzgerald in St. Paul?
Once, about a decade ago now, A Prairie Home Companion hosted a weekend and evening's program with Our Renowned Host strictly for non-Minnesotans. The quota was quickly filled - as many of us as could fit in a Steamboat to ride on the Mississippi River, visit Our Host's home and attend the Saturday night APH show, complete with a party in the adjoining street prior to the performance. Attendance for this gala was nationwide in scope.
Prairie Homers, until the pandemic, have also met for cruises on an annual basis for most of this millennium! On board a Caribbean cruise, I recall meeting a Swede, an Aussie, and even, grasp this, a TEXAN! (He was initially a Minnesotan)
Tom, you say, "Your admirers would say skip Vegas and help fix Lake Street again." When F. Scott Fitzgerald was around, did you also demand that he return to the Twin Cities from New York for the sake of urban renewal projects?
If Twin City residents are so possessive about this World Famous Personality, have you considered renaming a major street Keillor Avenue? Or, in keeping with the "Star of Stage, Screen and Radio" performance quality of Our Great Host, have you considered building a performance theater in his name? It would have to be at least as big as the 1930s RKO Palaces that he's frequently filled, all over this land!
Well, I did contribute to MPR, and still do, so we could listen to his reports from Woebegon, but they have parted ways. He gave me some tickets to his show here once for helping his son get into a nearby school. Grateful I was!
I really do like this guy. He grinds out more good stuff than my old Aunt Bridget, RIP. He's a bit sarcastic at time, but other times you hardly know you've been cut. I like that, too.
I'm all for statuary for him, but then a future generation comes up with a new sin to peddle or a new politically correct position that was never correct before.
Nobody's perfect, my dear peripatetic Sioux. Dare I say both our darn-selves. He's A-OK in my book, and I hope he outlives us all. He's a national treasure. Tom
Thank you for the comment about the dish machine. My wife had me convinced I was the only idiot on the planet. I take comfort in knowing there are two of us.
Garrison, how about a video of the late Peter Ostroushko playing a piece on his mandolin. I was a big fan of his music and got to hear him at least 4 times, which was a treat for me.
I loved this piece. I might move back to Minneapolis if you can get the casino things going. And, do something about the extreme cold weather in winter. Maybe build skywalks all along Lake Street like in downtown Mpls.
Was I in Vegas, or Reno? I don't recall, but there was a fellow, late at night, standing by the side of the road with his thumb out. His problem was more serious than not being able to remember where his car was parked. He had been at the Blackjack table. and kept escalating his bets as his luck dwindled. Finally, he put down the registration for his car. He lost that on the next round. There he was, alone, destitute, on the roadside, without even enough to buy a bus ticket home. Like me, he was headed to the Los Angeles area, so he hopped in and got a ride home after all.
There are psychological tricks the casinos play on folks - lights, rhythm, small positive reinforcements from pittances of cash feedback, the suggestion that the next time will "fix it all." Groups like "Gambler's Anonymous" try and tell people that it's their own weakness at fault - but "legalized" casinos, whether in Nevada, on the Mississippi River, or on Native American reservations, all hone their presentations to take advantage of folks' natural tendencies.
That night, I drove that car-less gambler to his neighborhood, since he also happened to be an "Angeleno". But he wasn't the only one. Another time, I picked up a truck driver who had abstained, but his partner had gambled away the truck cab. This unfortunate colleague had walked for nearly twenty miles in 120 degree heat before I gave him a ride. I let him off at a junction on an Interstate. He felt he could be a back-up driver and get home that way.
In my own family, my father's cousin lived in a residential area in a suburb of Los Angeles, until her husband staked the deed to the house at a casino one evening. After he lost the home, they divorced. She ended up raising their children in a small, very hot trailer out in the desert instead.
This could be a screed against gambling, or it could be just a warning: Those in the organized gaming business use human nature to stack the decks in their direction. PLAYER, BEWARE!
My experiences were in the Twentieth Century. It could be they've changed laws since then. That's what folks told me - and they may have abbreviated their explanations.
The Missus and I have been on a US road trip since July, our travel arc never once intersecting yours... until last week. We've been in Vegas since mid-December, visiting with my stepson. When I saw a few weeks ago you were going to be sharing some of yourself onstage here, she gave me the gimlet eye and said, "You aren't thinking of going to sit in a roomful with hundreds of strangers, are you? NOW? With OMICRON???" I knew what that meant and stopped mentioning your name for a while. Ironically, a day later she learned that Adele (the surnameless singer) would soon be starting a "Vegas residency" (as they say, as though there's a medical degree somewhere on the CV), and I could hear the grinding of the Adele fan's mental gears clear across the room. When Adele canceled said residency a few days after that, there was much weeping and wailing, and even a bit of teeth-gnashing, to which I responded with what I fancied to be silent, aggrieved dignity.
I have found silent, aggrieved dignity to be one of the prime benefits of retirement. (It helps if there are plenty of televisions and books in one's living quarters.)
Thanks so much for all your writings and speakings over the years.
I am no Adele, John, and that would've been immediately clear toyour beloved two minutes after I walked out on stage and we would've had an aggrieved woman in the crowd with a dark cloud over her head. I think I would enjoy Adele though. I hear she really puts the hay down where the goats can get it. Someday.....
Perhaps, while you were in the NM "The Plains" (Las Vegas), you might have seen some historical marker signs. That upper class Victorian village was chosen for the set of the film "The Harvey Girls" with Judy Garland as the star. It's something we might not think about much, but when film makers are making a "period piece", it can be very difficult to find a place that doesn't have a MacDonald's smack dab next to the court house, or a Walmart with a quarter-square mile of asphalt right next to that old West Virginia coal mine.
Actually, touring the "Original Route 66" from Chicago to Santa Monica can be a memorable experience. A couple of decades ago, when I followed that route, near a New Mexico border there was still about a dozen miles of the original dirt road. It brought to life my Dad's stories of going from Oklahoma to California to visit relatives in the 1930s. He recalls that at the California border, Needles, westbound travelers were gathered into a convoy to cross the desert to Barstow. His father - like everyone else, put a large bag of water in front of the grill so the water would absorb some of the heat and keep the engine from overheating. Like others, their tires expanded so much that they had several blowouts along the desert road. There were local assistants who gave road service to stranded travelers.
Long distance travel by car was quite an adventure back then - not quite the impression those of us who watched the Route 66 TV series in the 1960s got of that road.
Just think ! One day folks will look back on us and think to themselves: "How Quaint!"
Abstemious is a great word.
Sad to say not a lot of doers, though....
I’m laughing out loud at Lake Street turning into a cultural Mecca. I love the idea, old folks showing their work and being applauded, and without the phony storefront nonsense of Vegas, which if I’m being truthful, I’ve always worried about collapsing, like the gold rush town in Paint Your Wagon.
Good one!
I have never been to Lost Vegas. I have no desire. I have more interest in seeing the desert around the city than I do the the flashing lights and wide-eyed caffeine junky grandma's plunking down their kids inheritance into dinging box of illusion.
Lake Street on the other hand sounds like a place I could come to grips with. From what I can see, those coffee houses and artsy fartsy joints that had the solo acoustic guitar players singing their own songs about their anguish of having to go to work to earn money to pay for their internet access, have become a thing of the past. There are no places where writers can read their confusing array of words of 20-something wisdom in the form of poetry to the sound of finger snaps at the close of each stanza. There used to be many of these places, seemingly in each and every town with a town center. Now they mostly exist in kitschy places like Key West and New Hope. Just a shame.
As far as it goes for the progressive offspring. They too will have their day when their children scorn and shame them for being whiny wet diapers. About that time, respect will return, people will live and let live, mind their own business and poetry will be read aloud in one of those kitschy places that have names that end with "shoppe", with the final "e", to give it the impression of a classy joint. Unlike their Las Vegas counterparts.
Those roosters and hens will come back like albatrosses to hang around the necks of the blamers. You could bet on it.
"...we find ourselves oppressed by our progressive offspring who hold us responsible for racism, poverty, the theft of Indian lands, and who police our language and expect us to honor them as survivors of our abusive parenting."
THIS!!!
"Nuts to that!" you say....nuts to all who don't know their derriere from a pothole or a poker chip. The last thing we need is more escapism and bleeding of wallets. Although, we do laud those who can take money out of Vegas instead of leaving theirs.
Most of us MN folks here are already restricted to very small and masked circles, places where our kids are still masked and still "all above average." Your admirers would say skip Vegas and help fix Lake Street again. There are a lot of corners where you coud tell a few stories and sing a few songs, and someone could work the crowd with an upturned hat.
Somehow our world has gone topsy. Let's get it right, with more kids above average in doing good.
Excuse me, Tom King, but it seems as if you have an "Ant's Eye" view of Garrison Keillor's place in the world! I understand he might have entertained you on "The Morning Program" way back when, mixing in the stock quotes for hogs with music and down-home comedy. But the fact is that you have a World Wide Star as your personal home town hero - Though I don't understand why you haven't dedicated a statue of him to match that of F. Scott Fitzgerald in St. Paul?
Once, about a decade ago now, A Prairie Home Companion hosted a weekend and evening's program with Our Renowned Host strictly for non-Minnesotans. The quota was quickly filled - as many of us as could fit in a Steamboat to ride on the Mississippi River, visit Our Host's home and attend the Saturday night APH show, complete with a party in the adjoining street prior to the performance. Attendance for this gala was nationwide in scope.
Prairie Homers, until the pandemic, have also met for cruises on an annual basis for most of this millennium! On board a Caribbean cruise, I recall meeting a Swede, an Aussie, and even, grasp this, a TEXAN! (He was initially a Minnesotan)
Tom, you say, "Your admirers would say skip Vegas and help fix Lake Street again." When F. Scott Fitzgerald was around, did you also demand that he return to the Twin Cities from New York for the sake of urban renewal projects?
If Twin City residents are so possessive about this World Famous Personality, have you considered renaming a major street Keillor Avenue? Or, in keeping with the "Star of Stage, Screen and Radio" performance quality of Our Great Host, have you considered building a performance theater in his name? It would have to be at least as big as the 1930s RKO Palaces that he's frequently filled, all over this land!
Put your money where your mouth is, Tom!
Well, I did contribute to MPR, and still do, so we could listen to his reports from Woebegon, but they have parted ways. He gave me some tickets to his show here once for helping his son get into a nearby school. Grateful I was!
I really do like this guy. He grinds out more good stuff than my old Aunt Bridget, RIP. He's a bit sarcastic at time, but other times you hardly know you've been cut. I like that, too.
I'm all for statuary for him, but then a future generation comes up with a new sin to peddle or a new politically correct position that was never correct before.
Nobody's perfect, my dear peripatetic Sioux. Dare I say both our darn-selves. He's A-OK in my book, and I hope he outlives us all. He's a national treasure. Tom
How splendid you are--good health to you!
Thank you for the comment about the dish machine. My wife had me convinced I was the only idiot on the planet. I take comfort in knowing there are two of us.
Thanks for this. Now I'll work on my photographs. The Presbyterians will love them.
This reminds me of Dave Barry visiting The Villages. Lots of free outdoor concerts by 70's cover bands. Just a great time for all.
All my friends agree, Vegas was more fun when the Mob was in charge.
Garrison, how about a video of the late Peter Ostroushko playing a piece on his mandolin. I was a big fan of his music and got to hear him at least 4 times, which was a treat for me.
Nick Royal - a mandolinist in Santa Cruz, CA
There's lots of Pete on YouTube and I think there's a Facebook page devoted to him.
I loved this piece. I might move back to Minneapolis if you can get the casino things going. And, do something about the extreme cold weather in winter. Maybe build skywalks all along Lake Street like in downtown Mpls.
Was I in Vegas, or Reno? I don't recall, but there was a fellow, late at night, standing by the side of the road with his thumb out. His problem was more serious than not being able to remember where his car was parked. He had been at the Blackjack table. and kept escalating his bets as his luck dwindled. Finally, he put down the registration for his car. He lost that on the next round. There he was, alone, destitute, on the roadside, without even enough to buy a bus ticket home. Like me, he was headed to the Los Angeles area, so he hopped in and got a ride home after all.
There are psychological tricks the casinos play on folks - lights, rhythm, small positive reinforcements from pittances of cash feedback, the suggestion that the next time will "fix it all." Groups like "Gambler's Anonymous" try and tell people that it's their own weakness at fault - but "legalized" casinos, whether in Nevada, on the Mississippi River, or on Native American reservations, all hone their presentations to take advantage of folks' natural tendencies.
That night, I drove that car-less gambler to his neighborhood, since he also happened to be an "Angeleno". But he wasn't the only one. Another time, I picked up a truck driver who had abstained, but his partner had gambled away the truck cab. This unfortunate colleague had walked for nearly twenty miles in 120 degree heat before I gave him a ride. I let him off at a junction on an Interstate. He felt he could be a back-up driver and get home that way.
In my own family, my father's cousin lived in a residential area in a suburb of Los Angeles, until her husband staked the deed to the house at a casino one evening. After he lost the home, they divorced. She ended up raising their children in a small, very hot trailer out in the desert instead.
This could be a screed against gambling, or it could be just a warning: Those in the organized gaming business use human nature to stack the decks in their direction. PLAYER, BEWARE!
Do casinos really allow you to put the deed to your house or your car registration as legitimate bets?
My experiences were in the Twentieth Century. It could be they've changed laws since then. That's what folks told me - and they may have abbreviated their explanations.
The Missus and I have been on a US road trip since July, our travel arc never once intersecting yours... until last week. We've been in Vegas since mid-December, visiting with my stepson. When I saw a few weeks ago you were going to be sharing some of yourself onstage here, she gave me the gimlet eye and said, "You aren't thinking of going to sit in a roomful with hundreds of strangers, are you? NOW? With OMICRON???" I knew what that meant and stopped mentioning your name for a while. Ironically, a day later she learned that Adele (the surnameless singer) would soon be starting a "Vegas residency" (as they say, as though there's a medical degree somewhere on the CV), and I could hear the grinding of the Adele fan's mental gears clear across the room. When Adele canceled said residency a few days after that, there was much weeping and wailing, and even a bit of teeth-gnashing, to which I responded with what I fancied to be silent, aggrieved dignity.
I have found silent, aggrieved dignity to be one of the prime benefits of retirement. (It helps if there are plenty of televisions and books in one's living quarters.)
Thanks so much for all your writings and speakings over the years.
John, A Happily Ex-Floridian
I am no Adele, John, and that would've been immediately clear toyour beloved two minutes after I walked out on stage and we would've had an aggrieved woman in the crowd with a dark cloud over her head. I think I would enjoy Adele though. I hear she really puts the hay down where the goats can get it. Someday.....