Monthly Archives: August 2012

Slaked by Intrusion: Vegas vs. Mojave D.

The following is the conclusion of a two-part guest post by Scott Nadeau of theDarkWaterPress.  Part I: Of Urban Builders and Rural Hunters recounts Scott’s childhood in a suburb of Las Vegas, Nevada, and is built on the underlying theme of the summer monsoon.  If part one was a retrospective, then part two is heavily introspective in nature. *

Oh, and the suggested soundtrack to this post? How about “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” by Green Day, or possibly Linkin Park’s “What I’ve Done” (a particularly good fit, in my opinion).  I’m sure Mr. DarkWater will loathe at least one of these selections.  I’ll let that be his problem. 

Part II

After a number of years in this neighborhood, another relocation was made. Back to Henderson proper, but into a newer development. These were my High School years and my interests began to change again. My high school friends and I discovered punk music and we soon formed our own punk band. My time as a desert explorer had passed, as had my time as an urban builder. Quite possibly, it might be imagined, that it was these two former occupations of mine that in some ways lead me to the punk rock subculture.

With more mobility and a new host of friends and acquaintances from bands in other parts of the  city, I was now part of a network of individuals that was both attempting to build a type of culture, as well as destroy, or at least subvert a culture that we were dissatisfied and bored with. This was a process of exploration and it often led us to remote locations in the surrounding deserts of Las Vegas where loosely organized outdoor punk shows could take place with little possibility of interruption from civilizations various forms of authorities. We would gather in large caves, or simply off of remote desert trails with band equipment and generators. We created our own music, our own form of expression, in a place that through a process of exploration, for the time being, belonged solely to us. We successfully built a habitation that offered us freedom according to our terms, rather than a prescribed freedom provided by unknown officials.

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How Cheeky

Quick post, courtesy of The Nematode:

What did one butt cheek say to the other butt cheek?

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Of Urban Builders & Rural Hunters: A Childhood Tale

Mid to late summer in the American Southwest can be tumultuous, as the “monsoons” encroach on the land.  The word “monsoon” usually conjures images of frequent, heavy downpours over dense greenery in exotic, eastern lands.  But, the monsoons in reference here are those of the Southwestern United States and so a different image is required.   Our typical summer monsoon spans July and early August and cycles much like this:

Hot & sunny morning. Hotter, and somewhat clouded mid-day. Stupid-hot, windy & cloudy afternoon accompanied by sixteen drops of “rain” which evaporate prior to or upon collision with the earth.  Back to hotter & somewhat calm evening.  Hot overnight.  Repeat for six weeks.  This is common of most days during the season.  But once in a great while the engorged clouds are caught by a wind with strength enough to force a breach in the barrier of our mountain-surround and pushed into the valley.  When this happens, the power of water discharged on parched earth can be an awesome and frightening exhibition.  Even so, for most desert dwellers, it’s a welcome and even exciting time.  Rain!  It’s rarer than gold in these parts.

And so, in that context, with the current monsoon season waning quickly, and “Dust in the Wind” by Kansas lending atmosphere (Seriously, I think I’m gonna recommend mood music for all future posts, à la wine recommendations to complement your meal!), I present part one of two guest posts by Scott Nadeau, of theDarkwaterPress:

Maple Street. Henderson, Nevada.

Part I

The house in which my working class family resided during the 1980’s was elevated slightly by a small hill. Across the street were similar looking houses, full of similar looking families, but without the same slope from this hill, these houses were not elevated in such a way. This proved, for my siblings and me, to be quite advantageous once we were old enough to acquire skateboards, bicycles, and other wheeled devices. With a not insignificant amount of courage, we would sit on our skateboards and speedily descend our steeped driveway, making a sharp left turn at the driveways base onto the sidewalk, attempting to develop enough momentum to roll all the way to the end of the block. A few of our more adventurous friends would attempt to wildly place lawn chairs atop their skateboards and descend in a less safe, but definitely more exciting manner. Another advantage this same small hill provided was discovered when a rainstorm would pass through the neighborhood. Our side of the street would gather more runoff and an instant rapid of gutter water would become the source of innumerable games, including races of found objects hastily made into competition speed boats. A storm in the Nevada desert is rare and therefore always a source of welcomed excitement… as well as a certain amount of destructive possibilities…

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