The village idiot of Las Vegas considers a new path for his blog.

"Did you know North Las Vegas used a substantial amount of the fees they've collected from growers and dispensaries to fund last quarter's government? And not one dispensary has opened yet." Yesterday, Dan and I were discussing all the new money that would flow into the Las Vegas valley once marijuana dispensaries officially open.

"Wait, let me get this straight," he says, "The dispensaries are already playing a big role in funding local government and not one of them is open for business yet. Whew, just imagine the money that will roll in once they actually open and start selling the product."

"Dan," I say with a hint of enthusiasm, "How do you think guys like us can get in on the marijuana game? Projections put the business, in just Nevada alone, at two billion dollars in it's third year. There is so much fucking money to be made. And the great thing about is we are in the nascent stage."

"I have a suggestion for you," he smiles and adds, "Why don't you gear your blog towards the marijuana game in Nevada? Think about it, if local government is being funded with fees from the industry and like you said - 'Not a single joint has been sold from a dispensary yet.' Well, you should think about shifting the focus of your blog to the marijuana hurricane that's fixing to hit Las Vegas. Think about all the money that will be up for grabs," he then adds, much to my pleasure, "Come on dude! You're the village idiot. No one knows the streets and the game better than the village idiot. It would be a perfect fit for you!"

As I set here putting the finishing touches on my blog I can't help but think about what Dan said. He was right, no one knows more about what's going on in Las Vegas than me...actually I should rephrase the statement to read - "Very few no more than me about what's going on in Las Vegas." 

  

What's going on with the marijuana game in Las Vegas?

"Oh my my, oh hell yes. Honey put on that party dress. Buy me a drink, sing me a song. Take me as I come cuz' I can't stay long...Last dance with Mary Jane one more time to kill the pain."

Mary Jane's Last Dance - Tom Petty

From everything I hear and read it sounds as if the medical marijuana business is going to hit like a ton of bricks in the Las Vegas valley soon. The question being: How soon?

"This is the address listed in the county register. I don't see anything that resembles a dispensary." Jayball is hooked up with a group of growers who are looking to make a splash in the Mary Jane business - so the other day both of us rode around town checking out listed dispensary locations. We found no hint of any dispensaries, or dispensaries being built.

"How come all these places are empty? Isn't Mary Jane season just around the corner?" He shrugs and says - "That's what my guys are telling me. Last week I spent six hours shoveling horse shit at a warehouse in Henderson. My partners and I are getting ready for the inaugural grow cycle." I ask how long a grow cycle takes, he says - "Two to six months depending on different factors." I then ask if he thought dispensary owners were waiting until grow season begins before they started building out their dispensaries - He didn't know.

"It's probably more red tape holding up the process. You know how bureaucracy works," I tell him - he says - "Yeah, you are probably right, but the the thing I find perplexing is there are twenty six dispensaries that are suppose to be coming online in the next two to six months. And right now I don't see a hint of one in the areas I have checked."

"You know what is going to happen. I can see it right now Jayball. Whatever red tape that is holding up the dispensaries will be resolved soon," I then add, "Mary Jane will hit like a hurricane, all at once, and extremely fucking hard...I bet that's how it all begins in Las Vegas."

The village idiot of Las Vegas discovers the identities of his roommates imaginary girlfriends.

"Last night Ronda and I wrestled naked on the living room floor and then we jumped in the shower together. She likes a nice shower after we, well you know, after we fornicate." A roommate of mine at the dump truck I call home is named Keith. Turns out one of his imaginary girlfriends is Ronda Rousey.

"Keith," I say with a wide smile, "I think Ronda is stepping out on you. I read online that she was dating some guy from the UFC. She went to some awards show with him." We both enjoy a hearty laugh after the comment and he says - "That bitch! She said I was her one and only. I knew I couldn't trust her. No worries though, I will have my other girlfriend come over tonight instead." I ask who that might be, he says - "Oh you know her quite well. It is the lovely Jenna Jameson."

The village idiot of Las Vegas tells Fred why he loves the NLV so much.

"Fred - you know why I like North Las Vegas so much?" - "Why," he says -  I say, "I know something big is in the works for me in North town. It is changing here. And the people who are most adaptable to the change are the ones who will thrive."

Fred says, "When are you going to capture what you have been chasing? You've been at it a long time."

"It's a different breed up here," I tell him. "People are a ton more open in North town than anywhere else I have been. Besides, they need me and I need them." Fred rolls his eyes after my statement and says, "Saying something like that makes you sound really bizarre. Actually, it makes you sound obsessive." I shrug my shoulders and add, "I know I come off as a bit obsessive, but North Las Vegas is the place for me."

The village idiot of Las Vegas updates his friend Fred about the marijuana business in Las Vegas.

"I'm in love with Mary Jane. I'm not the only one. If Mary wants to play around, I let her have her fun. She's not the kind of girl that you can just tie down. She likes to spread her love and turn your head around. Do you love me Mary Jane?"

Mary Jane - Rick James

"What do you hear about the marijuana business in Las Vegas?" - Fred was requesting more information about a budding, no pun intended, business in Nevada - "It looks like the medical dispensaries are going to start popping up left and right in the next three to six months," I tell him - I then add, "They solved the pesticide problem that was holding up grow season - Mary Jane is just around the corner."

We chat about the weather for a few minutes and he says - "When do you think it will be fully legalized?" I answer, "My sources tell me they will be following the Colorado model, meaning, a vote for legalization will be on the ballot in 2016. Everyone expects it to pass. Give it a year in regulation and come January 1st, 2018 (first day of legalization) the Las Vegas valley will be one big cloud of marijuana smoke."

One of the things I admire most about Fred is his nose for the dollar - "What are some of the projections you are hearing. Is it going to be anything like the money Colorado makes?" - I say with emphasis - "Fred, the higher up are stating 1.5 to 2 billion in taxable revenue two or three years into legalization. You know it is going to get taxed at 20% to 30%. I'm not great at math, but I can still figure it out...four to six hundred million dollars in new tax revenue!"

We chat about the weather again for a few minutes and he says - "It sounds like businesses are going to start printing money real soon." When he wants to he can be very perceptive - I answer - "Yes sir, the indicators are all pointing that way." I then close with, "There is one thing that is totally indisputable about the whole marijuana game." Fred asks- "What?" - I say firmly, "The state is beyond broke! It needs new taxable revenue any way it can get it. Besides, people are going to use marijuana irregardless of whether it is legal or not...so you might as well legalize and tax it.

The village idiot of Las Vegas leaves a bottle of Coors Light for his favorite drunk in North Las Vegas - Eddie.

"At least he's not lying in the middle of the sidewalk like usual," I thought to myself as I walk by his passed out ass again. Eddie, my favorite drunk in North Las Vegas, is lying on what appeared to be fresh cut grass with a nice shade tree overhang - you could see the slobber coming from his mouth as he let out soft snoring sounds. Since he wasn't lying in the middle of the sidewalk, as I usually find him, I decide to leave him be.

An hour or so later I walk by him again and he is still sawing logs. Well, this time, I decide to help my good friend out - See -- I had a six pack of Coors Light and I know he will be thirsty when he awakens...so I left a cold bottle for him (at his feet) to drink once he does awake - I'm positive he'll appreciate the gesture.

The village idiot of Las Vegas talks about guerrilla marketing and hyper local markets in Hispanic neighborhoods with Councilman Barron.

Before you are allowed to go to the council offices on the ninth floor at North Las Vegas city hall you must first check in at the information desk in the lobby:

"I have a meeting with Councilman Barron at four," I tell the security guard setting at the station. You would think saying something so routine would be easy, it wasn't - See, the most beautiful girl in Las Vegas was setting maybe four feet from me on the other side of the reception desk. I was going to say something to her but she looked occupied - "Okay...you can get on the elevator now," the guard tells me after calling the council's office. I sneak one last peek at her before getting on the elevator...she is a heavenly site to say the least.

I walk into Councilman Barron's office on the ninth floor and am greeted immediately, he asks if I would like a bottle of water - I say yes, he walks around the corner and moments later returns with it. "How have you been doing Mr. Astle? Please have a seat." The councilman has an easygoing manor about him...it makes things comfortable - he then asks what he can do for me. I start with my diatribe.

"Councilman Barron, thank you for seeing me. I want to follow up on something we talked about previously. I have been researching more about Hispanic tendencies and purchasing power and I am here to say there are all sorts of opportunities to be had if my research proves correct and things are attacked correctly." He asks what I mean by attacked correctly, I say - "I propose a small guerrilla marketing team be established under my direction." He asks what I mean by guerrilla marketing, I say - "Guerrilla marketing has its roots in guerrilla warfare - think of it as going to war and relying on creativity and connections versus big budget spending."

We talk a few minutes about the weather and then the conversation turns to the good people at Hartke Park - "Councilman," I say with all the conviction in the world, "Hartke Park and all the people who go there would make an excellent jumping off point for what I am proposing." He says, "What do you mean by that?" I say, "They're so many people in the target market who are down there at one time, I would strive to throw a lasso over the place," I then take a deep gulp and add, "Basically I want to make them laugh! If that happens? Good Lord councilman - the sky would be the limit!"

The village idiot of Las Vegas watches his favorite China man flip out.

Yesterday a couple of roommates and I were setting in the living room of the dump truck I call home watching the basketball game when our crazy China man landlord appeared. The following is a brief excerpt of the event:

"How many times I tell you? I not hear to air condition all of North Las Vegas! Close door!" My landlord is a crazy Asian fellow by the name of Bruce Lee (I kid you not that is his real name). Any way, the thing that angers him most is when he catches the doors or windows open in one of his houses when the air conditioning is running. And that just so happened to be the case.

"Bruce," I tell him sarcastically, "It smells like a sewage pit in this shit hole. I was just airing it out. Besides you have the AC set at 80! I don't even think it has kicked on yet." He wasn't appreciative of my response and told me such - "It not house that stink! You are smelly motherfucker. Why don't you go jump in pool at recreation center and you smell better!"

"No reason to act like an asshole about it," I tell him as I close the door - "Chill out China man," I add as I set back down on the couch and continue watching the game. I thought it was over. But turns out his aggravation was headed to another level. "You not pay bill for AC! How many times I tell you guys to close door when AC running? I think some time you the one who don't understand English."

After his rant he walks through the living room and towards the porch - I then hear him shriek again - "Fuck! Shit! fuck! Are you people deaf? Back door open too! How many times I tell people to close fucking door. I not interested in air conditioning all of North Las Vegas. I swear house full of morons here." He then walks through the living room again; opens the front door to leave; slams door shut upon his exit; yells something inaudible and gets in his car and leaves.

The village idiot of Las Vegas and the beautiful day in his neighborhood.

"This neighborhood isn't so bad. So what if you see crackheads and working girls walking up and down the street. They don't bother me and I don't bother them," my sister called yesterday to inquire about my whereabouts. She'd been informed I was living in a rough area of Las Vegas. The truth being I see the area I call home as a Garden of Eden. I would never ever use the word rough to describe it.

"Fred said it was scary when he came to visit you. He also said the house you live in was way worse than how you described. Do you ever hear gunshots in your neighborhood?" My friend Fred was in town last week and I gave him a tour of my neighborhood. He didn't say it, but I know he found it a cultural shock - "Look," I tell my sister, "If Fred was to spend a little time in the area it would grow on him like it has grown on me. And to answer your question about gunshots, yeah, I hear them every once in a while, but as long as they ain't firing them at me. Why should I care?"

We chat a little more about the weather and then she says - "It sounds like you're the only white guy around your place. Doesn't that make you nervous," the first thirty five years of my life were spent in a predominantly white neighborhoods in Kansas -- which was fine. The problem being, and I hate to sound cliche - we ain't in Kansas anymore - "Look," I say again to my sister, "There is a thousand more times to grow for a guy like me in the eight blocks or so I roam in North Las Vegas than I would ever find in the whole state of Kansas. That's the way I see it. I have decided to live or die with what North Las Vegas is willing to give me."

The village idiot of Las Vegas drinks some beers with a yard full of Mexicans.

"He's a real nowhere man, sitting in his nowhere land, making all his nowhere plans for nobody. Doesn't have a point of view, knows not where he's going to. Isn't he a bit like you and me. Nowhere man please listen, you don't know what you're missing."

Nowhere man - The Beatles


Yesterday I was walking home from the library when I came across a crowd of young Latino males drinking beer in the yard of a house on the corner of McDaniel & Stanley. I smile, nod and proceed on my way. All of sudden I hear one say - "Gringo, do you want a beer?"

My first inclination is he was talking to someone else, but then I realize I am the only gringo within a mile radius. I don't want to come off as rude, so I say - "A cold cerveza sounds good." I walk around the fence and enter through the driveway. One of them yells - "Heads up!" He tosses me a cold bottle of Modelo. I open it and take a hefty swallow, I then say - "Gracias Senor," he says - "De nada." There was an awkward silence and then another quips - "I always see you walking around the neighborhood. What's your deal?" I tell him I live in a dump truck a few blocks over and don't have a car. So my only means of transportation is Fred & Barney.

"Fred & Barney - what's that?" He didn't get the Flintstones reference. I explain to him it's an Anglo reference for someone who doesn't have a car and their only mode of transportation is by foot. "I get it now," he snickers, "The cartoon." Everyone shares a hearty laugh and then another guy says - "Why does a white boy like you live down here with all us Mexicans...are you crazy?" I tell him how much I like the neighborhood and all the potential I see in it, he says - "What kind of potential do you see in a place like this?" 

I explain a few ideas I'm having, he wasn't catching on, but it's okay. The ideas I have are much easier to understand if they are in action versus me explaining. I then notice one of them is wearing a Lebron Jame's jersey. I ask if he thinks the Cavaliers are going to win the title, he says - "The king and his court vato! They are going to take it all. They better win I have them at +240 to win it all." He pulls a betting ticket from his pocket, kisses it and says - "Traer mi Lebron!" I think, but I'm not for sure, the English equivalent is 'Bring it home Lebron.'

I drink a few more beers and then tell them I must be on my way. As I am getting ready to walk away one of them says - "I get what you are talking about now. Your idea that is. You want to get rich off the back of a million Mexicans. You know that we spend money and you want to get in on the action homie." I look at him and say, "Yeah, pretty much. I don't know if I would say it like that. My research says there is limitless potential in the Latino market as pertains to their purchasing power. Especially when you talk about online goods and services. That is a better way to say it." I thank them again for the beers and the hospitality and continue my trek home.

The village idiot of Las Vegas goes to a North Las Vegas city council meeting with his senior associate Fred.

"Get ready to see the most beautiful girl in all of Las Vegas," a senior associate of mine (Fred) was in town and we were attending Wednesday's North Las Vegas city council meeting. "Don't stare," I tell him, "We don't want to weird her out." As were passing I wave, she waves back - Fred says, "You weren't kidding - she is gorgeous." I tell Fred how much I would like to ask her out, he quips sarcastically, "Good luck with that."

As we're setting in the lobby waiting to enter the meeting a group of people gather around next to us. They are wearing buttons that read -TNR. Fred asks what it stands for. I had no idea so I ask a lady next to us who is wearing a button, she says, "TNR stands for trap, neuter and release." The acronym was making reference to all the feral cats who call North Las Vegas home.

Five minutes or so pass and we enter the auditorium where the council meeting is being held. I immediately look for Councilman Barron (he's the gentlemen I soft pitched a few ideas to recently). He is extremely busy but I manage to introduce Fred to him...albeit it was a brief introduction.

We take our seats and right before the meeting is set to start a lady behind us says - "Tonight is when they are granting a number of licenses for marijuana cultivation. I am here to address my concerns. My business is located next to a proposed grow facility. I have a number of safety concerns." I ask her concerns - she says, "What if someone is freaking out and wants a lid (slang for an ounce of marijuana) and comes into my business by mistake?" I reassure her that she will be alright and if someone should stumble into her place by accident she should just point them in the right direction - I close our conversation with - "Complain all you want. It will fall on deaf ears. There's no stopping the marijuana gold rush."

After twenty minutes or so of attendance Fred and I decide we've had all the fun we can handle. As we are walking to the car, I turn to him and say - "Judging by the agenda of tonights meeting it looks like a few people are fixin' to get in the marijuana business." Fred looks at me, shakes his head and says - "Yes sir, it sure appears that way."

The village idiot of Las Vegas gets a birthday present from his favorite drunken bum..

Today was a glorious day in North Las Vegas, not to mention it was my birthday as well. To tell the truth most of the day was uneventful, no stripper jumping out of a cake or antics of that nature. However, something interesting did occur...I ran into my favorite drunk in North Las Vegas - Eddie.

"Not again," I thought to myself as I spot him in the distance. A few weeks ago I found him passed out on the sidewalk. Initially, I was going to step over him and continue on my trek and then I thought about my civic duty, so I awoke him and pointed him to the park. He could sleep there and no one would care. Plus he would prove much less of an eyesore to the community.

As I am approaching him for the second time while he is passed out on the sidewalk my initial thought again was to step over him and head on my way, and then my sense of civic duty kicks in once again - "Goddammit! Why do you have to pass out on the sidewalk?" I yell as I kick the soul of his shoes. "Do you know how bad it makes the neighborhood look to have some guy passed out where everyone can see him? Why don't you go to the fucking park like I told you last time?"

My rant wakes him from his drunken stupor. He proceeds to wipe his eyes; scratch his head; and then says in a slur - "Sorry man, it just hit me. I've been warned about it. I just can't help myself." I roll my eyes and say, "Today is my birthday and the last thing I want to see is a guy passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. Come on! Have some pride! Kids walk by here all the time!" I then extend my hand down to him, he grabs hold and I pull him to his feet - "Go pass out where no one can see you," I say as I prepare to walk away.

I should have left good enough alone, but idiots like me never do - "Look," he murmurs as I am twenty or so paces from him, "If it's your birthday let me buy you a beer." The last thing he needed was another beer, but since he was offering and it's my birthday - I say - "Yeah man, what the hell. I could use a beer." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled five dollar bill and instructs me to go into the CVS and buy a couple Mickey's. I do such and five minutes later return.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," I say to him as I twist the top off and take a huge swallow. He then says in his drunken slur - "Thanks for waking me. It's time for me to go home." He turns and began to stumble his way home I presume, I head in the opposite direction. A few moments pass and he yells - "Happy birthday dude," I raise my beer to him in thanks without stopping, turning around or saying a word.