One hallowed point

The desert out here has a particular smell. Not the Las Vegas strip, the actual desert. Reminds me of dead leaves. Not the familiar piles of dead leaves during Midwest months of autumn that brought us so much joy as kids. Rather dead decaying leaves from a rotting wilderness. The stench gets in your hair and stays there. I don’t wash my hair every day therefor I was forced to buy perfume just for my hair. I can smell when women haven’t washed their hair. They smell like dead leaves and rotting wood. Men smell even worse. 

This is my second summer in Las Vegas, otherwise knows as the season of air conditioning. One giant sardine can of cool air, after another. Breathing in the same air over and over, as the hundreds, thousands, of others who may or may not have showered or brushed their teeth that day. All is lost. 

There’s a video library behind the Stratosphere hotel from where I borrow films. It’s there I was able to borrow PHANTOM THREAD and REBEL IN THE RYE. Question, where are the people who also watched those movies? Where are you? I need you. Intelligent life form. 

Yesterday I watched THE PROFESSOR AND THE MADMAN, while drawings images for Smith Card Co. I highly recommend this movie. Such a great film. I’ve come to the conclusion that brilliance and madness can only be separated with an act of criminal brutality. 

I’m transitioning into a stereotypical old woman. Complete with a nose mole that grew in a year ago. I have several moles on my face to begin with but NOSE MOLE. 

Could be worse I guess. 

It’s going to be 106 next weekend. Disgusting. 

I’m glad the Magic Mike guys are doing so well but, your boys are, well, not my type, at all. I’m still a Thunder from Down Under, girl. Blue jeans. Cowboy hat. Cowboy boots. 

Yup. Nose mole approved. Gadzooks.