Dude, where's my house?

Oh my God, we just bought a house. And by just bought a house, I mean we spent roughly one hundred fifty minutes in an office this afternoon signing a purchase agreement, which is far more tiring than you might at first believe it to be. More on this newest evidence of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune later, but for now you can check this out for a bunch of pictures of the model version of our house and some pics of the actual under-construction home itself.

New ground for Nike?

This afternoon, The Madame went over to Red Rock Casino to have lunch at their buffet. The line was longish, and we were behind a large family of conspicuously Christian people. The mother, in fact, was wearing a shirt which read "Hooked on Jesus." This led me to wonder: why hasn't Nike tapped into this market? Why isn't there Nike gear for religious fanatics? At this point, The Madame chimed in: "Just praise it."

Just praise it indeed.

Imagine, if you will, a new line of sportswear for the active cleric. Nike Vestments. Communion wafers with the Swoosh! Clunky black shiny pastor shoes with a bold purple Swoosh for the Easter season! Those little white priest collar tabs with a nice black Swoosh! And all in the name of our Heavenly Father. Maybe His Holiness Pope Benedict XVI could get an endorsement deal. I think it could be a pretty lucrative market for Nike, and it's entirely untapped. Check it out: we even put together a logo for them.

That Was Awful

Wow. That was awful. I have just completed my five-week summer session at the University: two three-credit courses, neither of which had been at all modified from their semester-long versions. Both were simply compressed into five weeks and shotgun-blasted at us. An ugly business at best... at worst, a very ugly business. But (lucky for you) if you're interested, you can see ALL the work I did for one of those classes here. And you can also see a dead sexy picture of yours truly. I know it sort of breaks the secret identity blogging rule, but I think we all know who I am here. Right on.

In other news, the Madame and I went to see the Las Vegas 51s play ball against the Tucson Sidewinders last night. Most people don't know that I still really like to watch baseball, even though my enthusiasm for it was very much dampened by the players strike back in the early 90s. It's just got to be fun to watch, preferably outside, and with players who really care about playing. For sure, that pretty much describes the 51s.

These guys are the AAA farm team serving the LA Dodgers, so it's minor league all the way. How minor league, you ask? Well, last night we saw a guy trip and fall while running from first to second base (but the fielding was so bad that he made it there anyway); we saw a guy jump up against the right field wall to catch a fly ball, miss it, and crumple down on the ground for no discernible reason; we saw one of the Las Vegas pitchers hit a batter in the head with a pitch; and the final score was 12-2 Sidewinders. Bush league indeed.

And besides all that, everybody except the huge Mormon youth group in the section next to us was blotzed out of their gourds. That's not so out-of-the-ordinary for a baseball game, but at the 51s game, you can see these drunk people almost fight. Almost. And then glare at each other for three innings over the heads of their wives and small children. Question about that: if one guy was white and the other guy was black, does that mean I almost witnessed the big bang of a race riot? Hm.

And besides all that, the whole experience was made more unique by the fact that we ran into two people we know. You wouldn't think that a city of 1.3 million people could feel like a small town, but it really does. When was the last time you ran into somebody you know that you didn't arrive with at the Dome? The Madame insightfully observed that Las Vegas feels like this because everything is so tourist-centered that when you go places that only draw locals, you're pretty much guaranteed to see some one you know.

So I'm back now, and hopefully I'll have more time to throw up posts now that I'm off from school for tow months. And for those of you keeping track, I have less than thirty working days left to be in the retail business. In the fall, I get to move one rung higher on the ladder of UNLV authority: I shall be a professor's bitch. Oh, whoops. Strike that. I shall be a Graduate Assistant. There. That sounds much better.