Illinois

Over the Labor Day weekend we’re fishing in Illinois. This year we’ve fished in the Northeast, the South, the West, and Hawaii, and we’re on our way to Idaho, but we’ve made no trips to the Midwest. I have this premonition of us coming down to the last states with Kansas, Nebraska, North Dakota, and Indiana the last on the list, so we’re making a special effort to knock Illinois off the list. I’ve been to Illinois plenty, or at least I’ve been to Chicago plenty, but Illinois isn’t a fishing destination, no matter how much I might otherwise like Chicago

And I do like Chicago. Chicago overwhelms the state, but the population in the corporate limits of the city is declining. In 1840, Chicago’s population was 4,470, St. Louis’s 77,860, and New Orleans’ 116,375. Midwestern trade ran down the Mississippi on steamboats from St. Louis and points north to New Orleans. While St. Louis and New Orleans thrived, Chicago was a frontier settlement badly located in a muddy swamp. Trains changed everything. By 1900, six years before one of the great Chicago novels, The Jungle, the population of St. Louis was 575,238 and the population of New Orleans was 287,104. Chicago’s population was 1,698,575.

Chicago won the 19th Century.

McCormick Harvester Company advertisement – Front page of The Abilene reflector, Kansas, May 29, 1884 – scanned by US Library of Congress http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn84029385/1884-05-29/ed-1/, from Wikipedia.

Three things built Chicago: meat, grain, and railroads, and Chicago’s rail and Great Lakes access to producers and markets and processing of meat and grain shaped the settlement of the the rest of the Prairies. With a McCormick reaper purchased on the installment plan (and other stuff purchased by catalogue from Sears, Roebuck), Chicago carried the Prairies into a market economy that was something new, something different. In the 18th Century Long Island farms produced grain. In the 19th Century Long Island farms converted to truck farms for produce.

Hog Butcher for the World,
   Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
   Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
   Stormy, husky, brawling,
   City of the Big Shoulders:

Carl Sandburg, Chicago, 1914.

Sandburg’s not much in vogue, but explaining the City of the Century in 22 lines was pretty good work.

But still, Chicago is only one city in Illinois. In 1900 the population of Chicago was 1,698,575, the population of Illinois was 4,821,550. In 1950, Chicago’s zenith and three years before Saul Bellow published another of the City’s great novels, The Adventures of Auggie March, the city’s population was 3,620,962. By 2010 the city’s population had declined to 2,695,598.

Augiemarch.jpg

But in the 2010 census Illinois remained the sixth most populous state with 12,830,632 people, behind, in order, California, Texas, New York, Florida, and Pennsylvania. Chicago proper may have shrunk, but greater Chicago, the municipal statistical area known as Chicagoland, had a population of 9.5 million. There’s Chicago, and then there’s Chicago.

For Democrats, Illinois has been a dependable presidential vote, and Hillary Clinton carried the state in 2016 by 55.83%. There was, however, a decided rural/urban voter split, with Donald Trump carrying the rural counties.

Al Zifan, Illinois Presidential Results 2016, Creative Commons Attribution.

Illinois and Chicago also have a long and distinguished mastery of political corruption and political incompetence. Four of the last seven governors of Illinois, three Democrats, one Republican, served time after leaving office. The most imaginative may have been Rod Blagojevich (D), who tried to sell the appointment for Barrack Obama’s successor in the US Senate. Its most famous congressman, Speaker of the House Dennis Hastert (R), plead guilty to structuring bank withdrawals to avoid reporting requirements, but is perhaps better known for admitting to molesting boys as a high school wrestling coach. Other well known Congressmen included Dan Rostenkowski (D) (mail fraud, 17 months) and Jesse Jackson (D) (mail and wire fraud, 30 months).

There’s also a special level of City of Chicago corruption, best captured in its 50-member Board of Aldermen. Patronage drove Chicago politics at least through the modern age, but even in the modern age the corruption is magnificent: The Economist quotes Dick Simpson of the University of Illinois, who estimates that of the 200 aldermen serving since 1969, 33 have served time for corruption. That’s only about 15%, but one suspects that there’s plenty of undetected malfeasance, and it’s 15%. Think of it being the norm for 15% of your co-workers going to work for fraud. That would be a special kind of office culture.

Of the places we’ve been, only New Orleans and Louisiana can hold a candle to Chicago and Illinois.

Chicago, Illinois. Union stockyards, Delano, Jack, 1943, U.S. Farm Security Administration/Office of War InformationChicago, Library of Congress.

And the incompetence! Chicago’s pension deficit is $28 billion and there’s no real plan to fix it. And as crippling as that is, it’s a drop in the bucket when stacked up against the estimated $214 billion state pension deficit. Standard & Poor’s rates Illinois’ long-term debt at BBB-minus. Junk. Illinois government is broke and failing.

There’s plenty of good stuff to say about Chicago. The University of Chicago championed the social sciences, there’s the magazine Poetry, a fine symphony and opera, the Art Institute, and Prairie Style architecture and the modern skyscraper. There’s the White Sox. Of course there’s also the Black Sox.

Illinois did give us our greatest statesman, A. Lincoln. One can put up with a lot for A. Lincoln. And I thought Barrack Obama a very good president, and he’s at least as Illinoisian as Lincoln was.

Abraham Lincoln, Matthew Brady, 1860, National Portrait Gallery.

Of course we’re going to go to Illinois to fish, and it’s not known for its fishing. I thought about trying urban fishing in the city, but honestly that feels presumptuous. It seems to me that urban fishing may be best left to local residents, and this exercise is stunt-like enough. Plus I should at least once get out of Chicago. We’ll go looking for smallmouth out of the City.

Island Kingdom

Catskill Mountain House Hotel, opened 1824, ”View From The Mountain House” by W.H. Bartlett, 1836. Engraving by R. Branford, published in “American Scenery”, London 1838.

I have been to New York City just enough, and I could live the rest of my days without returning. How often? I don’t know. A half dozen times? A dozen? But the number of times I’ve actually been there isn’t really the point, is it? Most times I’ve turned on the television or listened to the radio or read a book I’ve likely as not been on a trip to New York City, or at least someone’s idea of the place.

Getting ready for the Catskills we’ve been watching The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, and yes, she is Marvelous, and because of the tv show I’ve been reading about why the great Jewish Catskill resorts died: greater mobility, mismanagement, dispersion from the City by the New York Jewish community, air conditioning, and assimilation.

I have a favorite movie moment, ok I have a lot of favorite movie moments but one is when Cary Grant is abducted from the Plaza Hotel’s Oak Room in North by Northwest. Everything in that sequence, the room, the martini, Grant’s suit and perfect shirt and tie, were meant to show the rest of us New York City. Becoming a man who takes a phone call in the Oak Room and begins an adventure was at least one of the things that I could aspire to. It was as exotic as Tahiti, and just as appealing.

North by Northwest (1959)

When we were getting ready for Louisiana I read a book by Shane K. Bernard about the Cajuns, called, fittingly enough, The Cajuns.* The premise of the book was that until after the World War II mobilization the Cajuns were culturally isolated, and that after World War II and the advent of television the Cajuns were assimilated into a national culture. Not completely: we still thank God have red beans and rice and boudin and spring crawfish, but a Cajun boy born in the 50s or 60s or 70s no longer looked solely to Lafayette or New Iberia or Lake Charles for his only point of reference. The television beamed New York and Los Angeles and London into his home every evening, and what it beamed was inordinately influenced by New York City. As much as any place it came from New York City.

It worked both ways though. If New York had more influence on the national culture, the rest of the nation was more accessible to New Yorkers. New Yorkers also assimilated. Air travel opened the nation physically and at the same time old prejudices declined. New Yorkers were no longer confined to the Castskills. The Catskill resorts died.

Getting ready to go to New York, I’ve been reading a history of Catskill fly fishing by Ed van Put, Gotham: A History of New York City to 1898 by Burrows and Wallace, “Rip Van Winkle”, E.B. White’s short essay “Here is New York“, a book of New York geology (orogeny, glaciers). But whatever I read now, whatever I might try to read before we go, much of my reading life has already involved New York, and I give up. It wins. Just to name a few important books to me: The Last of the Mohicans; The Great Gatsby; The Summer Game; The Emperor’s Children; Netherland; How the Other Half Lives; Bright Lights, Big City; The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York; Eloise; Washington Square; Kaddish; Enter the Goon Squad; Veronica; The Pushcart Wars; Breakfast at Tiffany’s; Lunch Poems; The Boys of Summer; The Poems of Hart Crane; Brooklyn; Catcher in the Rye; The Poems of Charles Reznikoff; Motherless Brooklyn; Leaves of Grass; The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Klay; The Age of Innocence; The Bonfire of the Vanities; it wins. It wins.

Spider-Man lived in New York City.

I suspect though that New York doesn’t win in the same way any more. There was a time when a good part of our notions were bundled and delivered from New York, but our notions now come from Fox News or CNBC or what our friends, defined as the people we haven’t unfriended, post on Facebook. We have so many media choices that we only need to see the things that affirm our own prejudices. We can happily return to alienation and separation.


The Oak Room closed in 2017.

Maybe it was always really this way, but it seems that every man is now his own island kingdom of inclinations and prejudices. I’ve been to New York City plenty enough, but at least I’ve been, and it has always changed me in ways I didn’t expect. While there are other places I’d rather go, I don’t at all mind going again, or another half-dozen or dozen times. Mrs. Maisel is still Marvelous. And each time I ‘ll likely come back a little different, a little surprised at what else there is.

* * *

There are roughly three weeks each spring when Houston is the best place in the world to be. Home-grown tomatoes ripen, the largemouths move onto and off of their spawning beds, the reds and the flounder return to the bays from the Gulf, baseball returns, the last of the winter northers come into town not for revenge but gently, sweetly. It is always green in Houston, but for that three weeks it could be no other color. Best of all the walls of climbing star jasmine bloom and add their scent, a scent less cloying but as lovely as a roomful of lilies, and you smell the scent of jasmine on every walk or bike ride or run.

We went Sunday to Damon’s Seven Lakes to catch post spawn bass, and I caught three of these on my new five weight rod. The rod is a Winston Pure, and Trout Unlimited sent it to me because I am kind, handsome, and amusing. It was very good of them. I also saw, cast to, and caught a six or seven or eight pound catfish, which for various reasons neither Kris nor I got a picture of, mostly because she thought I was taking the picture and I thought she was taking the picture. Anyway I caught a trophy catfish and three good largemouths on a rod that, if you look carefully at the picture, is inscribed “Trout Unlimited.” It’s not inscribed “Bass Unlimited,” and certainly not “Channel Cat Unlimited,” but “Trout Unlimited.” It’s not just any trout rod either: according to R.L. Winston it’s Pure. That must mean it’s probably too pure for bass, and certainly too pure for a big channel cat. I hope Trout Unlimited and R.L. Winston don’t find out. They might take the rod back because I abused it, and it really is sweet.

Since I didn’t get a picture of the catfish, I took a picture of a half-eaten plate of cheese enchiladas from Ninfa’s on Navigation to show you. They were delicious, and you’ll have to let that serve in the catfish’s stead. In a Texas sort of way it seems an appropriate trade. Probably because of that fish I had the catfish at Brennan’s of Houston on both Monday and Tuesday, but it’s just not my week to take pictures of catfish, live or fried. The Brennan’s catfish was good though, and the Damon’s catfish was magnificent. Just don’t tell the folk at Winston.

*Actually the name of the book was The Cajuns: Americanization of a People, but the shorter title works better in the paragraph.

Reno, Nevada Packing List

What We Took

If you’re fishing with a good guide he will have good equipment, and dragging rods and reels and flies to the Territory almost seems pretentious. Still, we do. We took Kris’s 8 weight, my 7 weight, and two 5 weights. We took 5 weights for the Truckee River, and never took them out of the luggage. We fished the 7 and 8 weights some the second day. We took 250 grain and 350 grain and intermediate sinking lines, which we didn’t use, and floating lines, standard trout lines, which we did use but which we didn’t like as much as the guide’s Orvis Bank Shot lines.

Maybe we drag stuff because of familiarity, but I suspect it’s mostly pride of possession. Part of the fun of fly fishing is the esoteric gear, the rod cases, the well-made reels, the lines, and most of all the small bits of fur and feather, and there is always the notion that even with a guide we may sneak off to fish for a quiet evening and need our own stuff.

I tied flies for the trip and never touched them, and I felt bad about it, but it was my fault. They weren’t bad flies, either. At least the balanced leaches will be used. And the worms, but I won’t admit that I’ll use the worms.

I hate tying those squirmy things, not because I’m squeamish but because the squirmy part won’t stay straight. They also melt if they get Super Glue on them. Aiden at Reno Fly Shop said he now ran them through a bead head that he then ran onto a barbless hook. He never touched them with thread.

Casinos

I had never been into a casino. Some people find that odd, but there are none in Texas, and I never went out of my way to get to one when I traveled. I don’t understand the attraction of gambling. If I lose I hate losing and if I win I only feel lucky, not skilled. We looked around the Reno Circus Circus, which I hope is the worst casino in the world, because if it’s the best I’m baffled. This wasn’t James Bond playing baccarat, it was just kind of dismal. A friend said that he loves casinos because even though he doesn’t gamble he loves the people watching, and that the dismal is the point. He says that you can measure how upscale a casino is by the height of ladies’ heels: when you get to the place with stilt-like stilettos you’re in the upscale casino. I didn’t notice the heels in Circus Circus, but my guess is they were pretty flat.

Restaurants

We had one memorable meal, Louis Basque Kitchen, where Kris had the sweetbreads and I had the lamb. Everything was served family style at communal tables, though you ordered your entree. It was great fun, and one of the high school football coaches sitting next to us said that when we went to California we should hire his nephew at AC Fly Fishing as a guide. He was really proud of his nephew, and how could we now use anyone else? When we get to Redding it’s Anthony at AC Fly Fishing for us.

There’s a lovely French place, Beaujolais Bistro where we ate Friday, and I like a lovely French place. The last night we shared prom night in the suburbs at a place called Twisted Fork. The best part of Twisted Fork was the prom dresses and, oddly, the boys’ hair. Boys’ hair in Reno in prom night is magnificently well-coiffed.

There’s a surprising number of German bakeries in Reno. We went to one, The results were excellent. They also have a restaurant and a dance floor.

Pronunciation Guide

Nə-væ-də, as in banana, not Nə-vah-də, as in Prada or nada or whatever, the “what” part. In Spanish it means “snow covered.” I’m pretty sure that the correct Spanish pronunciation is not Nə-væ-də, but I’m from Houston, and you should hear the old-timers here pronounce San Felipe, or New Yorkers pronounce Houston. If you say Nə-vah-də then Nə-væ-dəns will cringe. At Louis Basque Corner it was the first thing our communal table mates told us. I have to admit that here in Houston Sæn Fɪl-ɪ-pee has pretty much gone by the wayside. I’m sad to see it go, so I’ll try to say Nə-væ-də.

Playlist

Crime Novels

I looked for mystery novels set in Nevada, but couldn’t find anything I liked. There were plenty of mystery novels, but the crimes were so despicably unpleasant that I couldn’t stomach them. I don’t think that’s an accident. What other kind of crime could get any attention in Nevada? I decided that the appropriate crimes for Nevada would be blackmail and theft. The threat of something not staying in Vegas, either secrets or money, might be pretty believable. All these serial killers get old.

Playlist

I found two musicians from Nevada, an operatic mezzo-soprano, Emma Zajick, and Panic! At the Disco!. I liked the opera singer.

So instead of native born music I listened mostly to songs that mention Reno or Las Vegas, and Vegas Acts. There are a lot of songs that mention Vegas.

Louis Prima
  • Sheryl Crow, “Leaving Las Vegas.” I liked the 80s, and nobody says the 80s like Sheryl Crow.
  • Sara Bareilles, “Vegas.” I didn’t know this song, or Sara Bareilles. Apparently it was kind of a big deal when it was first released. Its a good song.
  • Panic! At the Disco, “Vegas Lights.” I guess this the kind of music Vegas would produce if left to its own devices.
  • Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, Cowboy Junkies “Ooh Las Vegas.” Things always go better with Emmylou Harris, Gram Parsons, and the Cowboy Junkies.
  • Elvis Presley, “Viva Las Vegas.” This song needs an exclamation point after Viva!
Heinrich Klaffs, Johnny Cash, Bremen, 1972.

Songs that mention Reno are different I think. They are generally stranger.

  • Johnny Cash, “Folsom Prison Blues.” This is one of the great songs, it’s impossible to say “Reno” without thinking “I shot a man . . .” There are actually two mysteries about the song. First, why would shooting a man in Reno, Nevada, put somebody in prison in a California prison? The usual internet answer is that the singer also committed a crime in California. Second, why would a train going through California end up in San Antonio? That’s one long haul. I figure these mysteries are like the creation of the world in seven days: poetic truth doesn’t need to be literal, and neither God nor poets are confined to mere facts.
  • REM, “All the Way to Reno.
  • The Stone Foxes, “Reno.” I learned from this song that Casinos are built without windows.
  • Dottie West, “Reno.” This has nothing to do with the city.
  • Jonathan Richman, “Reno.” I thought this the best of the lot, except he doesn’t go fishing.
  • The Whiskey Gentry, “Reno.” You now know almost as much as I do.
  • Bruce Springsteen, “Reno.” This is the worst song Bruce Springsteen ever wrote. It’s about the additional price a prostitute charges for anal sex. I suspect Springsteen likes to write about places, and he’s good at it, but in Nə-væ-də he ran into the same problem the mystery novels run into: run-of-the-mill grittiness just don’t signify. So he wrote this. He shouldn’t have.
  • Beck, “Loser.” “I’m a loser baby/So why don’t you kill me.” That may be the strangest ear worm ever written.
  • Grateful Dead, “Friend of the Devil.”

And then there are the lounge acts: Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Frank Sinatra, Charo, Liberace, Celine Dion, Lois Prima, Bobby Darin, Wayne Newton, Elton John. There are some great songs in this songbook, “That Old Black Magic,” “Mambo Italiano,” “Everybody Loves Somebody,” “Fly Me to the Moon,” “I’ll Never Smile Again,” and the first time I listened through it I was so excited, and the second time I was a little weary with much of it, and on the third day I wondered who ever listened to a steady diet of this? And Celine Dion, what’s up with that? We never made it through a single Celine Dion song, and she’s been in Vegas for 17 years straight. Celine Dion will never be in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame because she will still be playing Vegas.

I promise Kris that when Celine came through Houston on her new world tour I’d get tickets. Man was Kris excited.

Leaving Las Vegas

C.S. Fly, Orient Saloon at Bisbee, Arizona, Faro Game, c. 1900, National Archives.

Generally I distrust generalizations, but I’ve got this generalized story-line in my head about what happens in Nevada. Think of two of the state’s three important books :

  • Roughing It, Mark Twain, 1872, illustrated by various artists. Twain’s semi-autobiographical romp through the silver mining towns of Nevada, set in 1861. It includes a wild stagecoach journey west with his companion, an attorney, various wild scrapes and outrageous cultural observations, and the author’s ultimate retreat from the territory in dubious circumstances.
  • Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream, Hunter S. Thompson, 1971. Illustrated by Ralph Steadman. Thompson’s semi-autobiographical romp through a Nevada gambling town, including a wild journey east in a convertible with his companion, an attorney, various wild scrapes and outrageous cultural observations, and the author’s ultimate retreat from the state in dubious circumstances.
First Edition, from Wikipedia.

The third important Nevada book, Basin and Range, 1980, by John McPhee, is about geology, but even it has a Harvard geology professor who goes west in part to look at road cuts and in part to look for silver. Everyone goes to Nevada to get rich, along with other wild and crazy stuff. Basin and Range also has long discussions about the history of the science of geology, and the nature of geologic time. It’s really the most depressing book of the lot, given how insignificant we are, and how certain it makes it seem that this will all end badly.

Maybe that’s the Vegas story line after all. More on that story line later.

Almost nobody living in Nevada comes from Nevada. They never have. In 1860, Nevada’s population was 6,857. It’s largest population over the rest of the century was in 1880, with 62,266. That’s a growth in 20 years of 808%. Since in 1860 there were only 760 women in Nevada, I’m guessing that the population increase wasn’t solely caused by the birth rate. That would be a lot of labor for 760 women.

That’s not the last time Nevada boomed. Between 1900 and 1910 there was another mining boom, almost doubling the population from 42,335 in 1900 to 81,875 ten years later. This time mining was accompanied by labor violence and the rise of the Industrial Workers of the World, the Wobblies, in the Nevada mines. That was the closest Nevada ever came to an industrial-syndicalist utopia, though it did come close to a Mormon utopia back before silver was discovered. That didn’t turn out well either. I’m not sure whose utopia it is now.

Like Hawaii, Modern Nevada wouldn’t exist without airlines. On a random Sunday in May I can choose from six nonstops from Houston to Vegas on Southwest Airlines. If that’s not enough there are another 15 Southwest flights that will take me to Vegas with a layover, and United has four additional nonstops. If I want to get to Vegas I can get to Vegas.

And the combination of airplanes and sin is unbeatable. In 1940, the population was 110,247. Over 30 years that’s not really much different than the 81,875 population of 1910. Between 1940 and 1960, the population grew 158 percent, to 285,278. That’s a pretty good increase, but then things really took off. Between 1960 and 2000 Nevada was the fastest growing state in the Union, with growth of 600 percent, to 1,998,257. The population estimate as of 2018 is 3,034,392, another 51 percent.

Airplanes. You can’t have modern Nevada without airplanes.

By population Nevada’s not a particularly big state. It ranks 31st, after Iowa and before Arkansas, and this in a state that is 7th in area, after Arizona but before Colorado. Western states are just bigger.

Like everyplace else Nevada’s population isn’t evenly distributed, but Nevada’s can be peculiarly uneven. An estimated 2,112,436 people live in Clark County, the site of the former railroad town known as Viva Las Vegas! That’s almost 70 percent of the total state population. Another 15 percent live in and around Reno. That puts 85 percent of Nevada’s population in roughly 13 percent of its area.

Jim Irwin, Population Density Map of Nevada, 2010, GNI Free Documentation License, Wikimedia Commons,

Nevada is a vast state, with a lot of vast emptiness. Seven counties, White Pine, Pershing, Lander, Lincoln, Mineral, Storey, Eureka, and Esmeralda (which is Spanish for Emerald) have populations smaller than 10,000 people. That puts less than two percent of the population in about 30 percent of the area.

Population distribution might be affected by federal ownership of 81 percent of Nevada land, but I suspect it’s just not very hospitable land. Federal ownership of land is one of the radical Western conflicts, giving rise to Nevada’s Cliven Bundy’s and endless constitutional theoretics. All I know is that I’m not excited about giving up my share for the Bundys, and I like national parks. Get over it.

Only about 24 percent of Nevadans are born in Nevada, but the transience tends to be urban. A higher percentage of residents are native born in the hinterlands, there’s just not enough population in the hinterlands to make much difference. The biggest source for immigration is California, but foreign-born immigrants, legal and otherwise, comprise about 19 percent of the population. It is a diverse population, about 67 percent white, 8 percent Asian, 9 percent African American, and 10 percent other. Of the total population approximately 34 percent is Hispanic.

David Vasquez, Welcome to Las Vegas sign, 2005, Wikimedia Commons, 2005.

Sorry, this is getting down in the weeds, isn’t it? Summary, Nevada has grown fast. Everybody in Nevada pretty much lives in Vegas, or maybe Reno. At least in Vegas and Reno it’s pretty diverse, and about a third of the population works in leisure, hospitality, or food services. There are strong unions in the service industries, one supposes because of mob/union ties back in the 60s, but it’s no longer the Wobblies.

Like everyplace we’ve been but Mississippi, that rural/urban split plays out in the state’s politics. Red rural, blue urban. Republicans controlled state offices from 2015 to 2018, but in the 2018 elections they lost control to Democrats. Both US senators are Democrats, as are three of the four members of congress. Its six electoral college votes have gone for the Democrat since Barrack Obama’s first election. In 2016, the state went marginally for Clinton, 47.92 percent to 45.5 percent, with the Reno and Vegas urban counties voting Democratic while all or the rural counties voted red.

2018 US Senate elections in Nevada by County, GNU Free Documentation License, Wikipedia.

I’m down in the weeds again. Summary: Nevada currently leans Democratic, with the usual rural/urban split.

But back to the Nevada story line in my head. I’ll tell the story this time through song. Sing along if you’d like.

  • I’m going to Las Vegas, I’m going to have a good time/get drunk/win a lot money/get laid/get married/get divorced/see Elton John/turn 21/and my life will be something better than better.Vegas,” Sara Bareilles. “Gonna sell my car and go to Vegas/’Cause somebody told me/That’s where dreams would be . . . ” “Reno,” R.E.M., “You know who you are/You’re gonna be a star.” “Viva Las Vegas.

Bright light city gonna set my soul
Gonna set my soul on fire
Got a whole lot of money that’s ready to burn,
So get those stakes up higher
There’s a thousand pretty women waitin’ out there
And they’re all livin’ devil may care
And I’m just the devil with love to spare
Viva Las Vegas, viva Las Vegas

From Roughing It.
  • Have mercy Jesus what have I done. Ooh Las Vegas,” Gram Parsons. “Ooh, Las Vegas ain’t no place for a poor boy like me/Every time I hit your crystal city/You know you gonna make a wreck out of me.” “Vegas Lights,” Panic at the Disco. “We’re swimming with the sharks until we drown.” “Waking Up in Vegas,” Katy Perry.

You gotta help me out
It’s all a blur last night
We need a taxi ’cause you’re hung-over and I’m broke
I lost my fake id but you lost the motel key

  • It’s time to leave now. I’ve done the damage get me home. Friend of the Devil,” Grateful Dead. “Leaving Las Vegas,” Sheryl Crow.

I’m Leaving Las Vegas
Lights so bright
Palm sweat, blackjack
On a Saturday night
Leaving Las Vegas
Leaving for good, for good

From Roughing It.

Meantime in Houston it’s time for the warbler migration, when the warblers leave the Yucatan and fly across the Gulf heading to warbler sex and parties at their summer place in Ohio. Kris drives most every day to Galveston an hour away to watch for the birds. These guys like the warblers too.

Agkistrodon piscivorus, water moccasin, cottonmouth

I’m always dubious about identifications of cottonmouths, because to Texans every water snake in or near the water is a cottonmouth. This is a no doubt proper identification, and Kris was probably wise not to walk on by. It’s cousin the copperhead also likes the wee birdies.

Blackburnian
Indigo Bunting
Hooded
Prothonotary warbler.
Northern Parula
Worm-eating
Brown Thrasher
Black and White