The Vegas Window

When I was a kid I was obsessed with utility sheds and auxiliary power. I would sit in class and continuously draw the utility shed from Jurassic Park deep in a jungle surrounded by Velocaraptors. Something about having to move from one point to another, unseen, and with a hint of danger got me excited. The utility shed provided that. It was this place across the way that favored function over fashion with concrete stairs and metal railings. Inside was the magic switch that could reroute power in the park and bring systems back online. A pretty great place to be

PS - The other day at work I saw a kid write this on the computer screen in about 30pt font:

“I THINK THE T-REX IS THE BEST BECAUSE I THINK IT IS.”

I really hope he gets into college.

Cyberstalking. Serious.

My girlfriend has been stalked by several unscrupulous characters on campus before so when I saw that UCF is having a whole month dedicated to just stalking awareness I became very interested. However I wish they would not use the term “cyberstalking.” It is hard for me to take this word seriously. Now I know it makes total sense. It is stalking through the internet so it becomes cyber. It is better than iStalking.

But cyber has always meant great things to me! Cyberpunk. Cyberspace. For some reason the term cyberstalking comes across both interesting and terrifying. As if in the year 2045 we will all be living in a world where we work and play inside computers until a dark cloud/virus moves over us, the Cyberstalker. Then one lone cop, Jack Hammerick, must fight his way through the mainframe on his talking SAM (Synthetic Automated Motorbike) to defeat the Cybertsalker and bring order and peace to the entire world. AKA metaphor for the Iraq War and Vietnam.

If I had to choose which way to be stalked I would want to be cyberstalked. Just like I would like to be cyberknifed or deathkilled.

Greetings from UCF Victim Services!

January is Stalking Awareness Month and UCF Victim Services would like to take this opportunity to raise awareness about a very important issue. Stalking affects many individuals in our community and can escalate to more dangerous behaviors. Cyberstalking in particular is an issue that needs our increased attention. Please take the time to review the attached newsletters on stalking and Cyberstalking, which includes information on what stalking is, what your options are if you are being stalked, and safety precautions. Remember that UCF Victim Services is here to help. Advocates are available 24/7 by calling ********** and requesting to speak to the on-call advocate.

Victim Services will be hosting a workshop on Stalking and Cyberstalking on Wednesday, January 23 from 6:30 - 8:30 pm in the Academic Village Nike Programming Center.

So I had this crazy dream last night in which I was taking a friend to see Blade Runner: The Final Cut. But it was completely different than the version I or anybody else had seen. Now I am not sure where this dream sprang from. I swear that earlier in the day I had thought about cutting a version of Blade Runner to only show Deckard or Batty’s point of view. I was thinking about the logistics of it and if the film would still make any sense without the other scenes. The thing is though, that may have just been in my dream as well. I can’t really remember.

The details of the version of the film that I saw in my mind are still very blurry. I don’t remember much besides the fact that it followed Deckard only and hardly any of the scenes were the same. In fact, I think the whole story was different. The film climaxed with Deckard fighting somebody on the side of the Tyrell pyramid. And opposed to most of film it was daylight out. But it wasn’t the daylight of our time. It was the golden tinged, hazy, suffocating daylight of the film’s universe. The movie ended and I suddenly realized I hadn’t recognized any of the it. Where was the Batty death scene? Not only was there no “happy ending” there wasn’t even a Deckard and Rachael walk into the elevator. It was just Deckard standing on the side of this pyramid. I was so excited to tell everybody about what I had just witnessed.

Maybe this dream came out of my own expectations for a massive change in the Final Cut version of the film. Not that this version is bad. In fact, it is great! I think they made the right changes in all the right places. But over all there are no “new” scenes and I think that is what I had expected going in.

I guess I had just hoped to see this cut piece of the film. This photo appears on so much of the Blade Runner merchandise I was sure they were going to add it back in. But alas they did not. Even more to my surprise, it does not exist on the cut scenes/alternate take roll that the film’s extra discs contain. Maybe this photo was simply for publicity alone? After all there are photosgraphers on sets all the time taking photos just like this . Yet, I have scene footage of Ford running, jumping, and slipping on the hood of cars.

Considering there won’t be another version of this film coming out for at least another 20 years when they find the footage of the lost replicant Mary dying or the REAL Tyrell locked away in a cryogenic chamber (which wont happen) I guess I will just have to deal with what I have got and keep dreaming my own alternate versions.

Below is an e-mail I just received from a guy I recently met while on the Sun Cruz Casino ship. He told me his name was Charlie Whitman and that he was a freelance writer so I gave him my e-mail address. To be honest with you I really did not expect to hear from him so soon but it looks like he had something to submit. He said that he has been looking for an outlet for some memoir type writing. I offered to set him up with his own blog but he feels that my readership will help him get established. Please enjoy.

Charlie Whitman appears as a guest writer on The Vegas Window, he currently resides at the Merritt Island Co-Op in sunny Merritt Island, Florida.

———–

It takes a hard night to truly feel your age the next morning. Now I’m not saying this from the point of view of an old man but from a man of experience and a FEW years. One who counts the passing months awaiting the approach of arthritis and prostate trouble. I must mention that I have experienced true youth, youth as a justification for doing the impossible and the improbable. I’ve built up a reputation in my town over the years as being the embodiment of all things rash and indulgent, a label I am proud to have. And because of this I have led a personal crusade to always live up to this mark, not for myself but for the sake of the town itself. I am Florida’s native son.

So we can get past these annoying introductions let me conclude by saying that for as long as I can remember people have been calling me “The Stagman”. I can’t recall exactly how far back, as these days my memory is a bit hazy without the aid of a drink, but that is beside the point. A name like “The Stagman” doesn’t apply to just any knuckle-dragging chauvinist. You gotta truly live the part. The name embodies late night stag parties with just you and your buds watching old 1950’s pornography on a reel-to-reel projector, smoking cheap cigars, and swigging back Jim Beam. It’s whistling at broads, hitting on one girl in a group of girls at a bar, and then going home with her fat friend just to spite her. This is what makes a Stagman… that and more than a couple dozen visits to the local strip joint in a given month.

This is a way of life and I’d probably choose a different one if given a menu. But this is fate clashing with freewill. This is my world and its great.

- Charlie Whitman aka The Stagman

I will give her one thing. She sure is thorough.

Dear Nick Jade ,

Sorry for the late response.

Your mail received and noted with every understanding.

I am on a bed rest here at the hospital and I cannot move around but i really want this fund to be distributed through you.

My money is clean and generated from my late husband company at United Kingdom .

I want to give out the money soon because the doctor has told me that i will die soon.

I will be going in for an operation soon and I want you to come and see me after this operation.

Can you come and visit me after the operation here in Harlem Hospital ?

My case is different from what you think so please pray for me for survival after this operation .

I just want to you help me distribute this funds as support from me to Motherless baby home in your state .

The amount in my bank account is $2, 800.000.00 and i want you to keep $800.000.00 with you for business establishment then distribute the rest to charity & motherless homes etc around your state .

My funds was deposited by me at ( Standard Life Bank Plc , United Kingdom ) and i have asked my attorney to proceure an irrevocable Power of Attorney in your favour so that i can sign .

I spoke with the bank manager yesterday and he told me as i am not present in there bank at United Kingdom , my attorney should provide an irrevocable Power of Attorney in your favour so as soon as they receive documents from my attorney Robin Gibbs instructing them to wire the funds to you , they will proceed so please comply with them and make sure that the desires of a dying woman are accomplished.

Am hoping and asking for Gods healing, though the doctor said that i must be operated upon, the attached file is my drivers license and passport before i got ill.

Please in your next mail, kindly send Your Full Name and Address .

Your message has been forwarded to my attorney now for proper documentations to enable the UK bank transfer the funds to you .

As soon as my attorney Mr. Robin Gibbs get across to you along with the documents , you will proceed and contact the bank for payment directives so that the bank will transfer the funds to your bank account and after my recovery i will make a way for us two to see and discuss about other way of helping our selves like other international businesses that others can benefit from.

You will have nothing to fear because I will always be there for you.

I also expect that the mutual trust which I have placed on you will not be neglected, as it is the only way for us to successfully conclude this agreement.

Lastly, always write to me promptly.

I wait for your mail and please reply soonest.

Mrs. Judith Williams.

You have got to love that Texas way of speech with such specificity in their letters/e-mails/correspondences.

Dear Friend ,

My name is Mrs Judith Williams am 79yrs old of age, i stay at 6618 Flowermound Dr, Sugarland TX 78479 , USA. I am a good merchant , I have several industrial companies and good share in various banks in the world .I spend all my life on investment and corporate business.

All the way i lost my husband and two beautiful kids in fatal accident that occur in November 5th 2003.

I am a very greedy woman with all cost i don’t know much and care about people, since when I have an experience of my it difficult to sleep and give rest . Later in the year 2004 February i was sent a letter of medical check up, as my personal Doctor testify that i have a lung cancer, which can easily take off my life soon. I found it uneasy to survive myself, because a lot of investment cannot be run and manage by me again.

I quickly call up a pastor / prophet to give me positive thinking on this solution, as my adviser. He ministered to me to share my properties ,wealth, to motherless baby/orphanage homes/people that need money for survivor both student that need money/ business men for their investment and for future rising. So i am writing this letter to people who really need help from me both student in college, to contact me urgently.

So that i can make available preparation on that especially women of the day, who are divorced by their husband, why they cannot survive the mist of feeding theirself. Please contact me and stop weeping .

Probably let me now what you really need the money for, and if you can still help me to distribute money to nearest orphanages homes near your town.

Now am so much with God, am now born again.

May you be blessed, as you reach me,

I will give more information to you as i await your response immediately.

Best Regards ,

Mrs . Judith Williams

Reply

Dear, Mrs. Williams,

I am very interested, how may I help? I myself have come into some rather bad times as of late and could use the joy helping others brings. Hope you feel better.

Nick

Dan won VIP tickets to the Sun Cruz Casino ship so with his birthday just around the corner we all took a trip! If you are not familiar with this cruise it is basically a ship full of money, alcohol, and degenerates who want to partake in these vices. I have provided an example here:

But this is really a story about one man, Brian Probus, who has been on vacation for the last three years. We seem to always run into Brian on our various trips, maybe it is by accident, maybe it is divine intervention. Regardless of what brings us together we always find ourselves consumed and left to our own devices to handle him.

Brian was in town from Nebraska where he was visiting family for the Christmas/Hanukkah holiday. Brian was on the ship to enjoy the Florida sunshine and try his hand at roulette out to sea. “Four miles out, there’s no doubt!” Brian told us a few times. Supposedly the term came from a strip club on a barge that Brian once visited in the same area. The name escapes me now but the basic idea is that they did whatever they wanted in international waters. We kept telling him that it was actually only three miles out at which you could gamble (among other things) but he swore it was four miles due to his experience in nautical law.

We witnessed some very interesting sea gulls on the ship. Most of the gulls carried their heads high but one kept his low and looked very mean/tough because of it. Below the Brian also explains the mating rituals of birds he once witnessed in Detroit:

On the left a normal bird, on the right a bird not giving a sh**.

Since we took the day trip our ship returned to port by 4 PM. We all headed back to Dan’s house to eat birthday cake and watch three different football games. I fell asleep halfway into the first one since I was dead tired from driving all the way back from Orlando super early in the morning, losing money, eating, and drinking all day. We invited Brian to come back to the house to eat cake but he said parents weren’t really his thing and he had some prior engagements at The Readhead, a classy cocktail joint at the port. As we parted ways I stopped to think about what exactly Brian means in all our lives. Sometimes it seems we all get caught up with work, school, and the like. It’s kind of like he is a martyr for the working man, but opposite. Dick.

So my buddy Don has been working on this film called The Deathkill. It is about time travel and computers. I had a dream about the Deathkill last night but it really has nothing to do with his premise.

The Deathkill can happen to anybody at anytime. You can’t stop it or control it. It takes over your body and fills you with a rage that you can not ignore. I was at my house old house on the river when it happened. We were having some sort of family get together. I was helping my brother fill up his car with gas. The Deathkill came and entered somebody. The only way to kill them was to completley cut them apart. And I saw this being done all around me. Some how I survived for quite some time because those infected by the Deathkill had a strange sense of torturous humor. They would chase you around and prolong the fact that they wanted to take you over. I don’t know how it worked. By touch, maybe bite? They weren’t zombies though. I ran to a large industrial sized kitchen where I grabbed a knife. I swung it right into on of their necks and it dug in. But with every swing the knife felt loose and I was afraid to lose it. Then my cousin came in the room, infected by The Deathkill, I cut his hand off and it was horrifying. It just came right off. I kept trying to explain to people what The Deathkill was. It couldn’t be talked to or negotiated with. It was pure evil plain and simple. Because the Deathkill wasn’t a disease with a cure or a supernatural force wioth some kind of sentience. It was like anger or love, its just an emotion or state of being that exists and we can do nothing to stop or control it. A great poet wrote about the Deathkill and I had his book and was trying to read about it. It was somebody like William Blake but I can’t remember beyond that.

Biirdie’s new album Catherine Avenue drops January 22nd. Can’t wait to get my hands on a copy! Read an interview I conducted with the band back in 2005 here.

I keep trying to think of the perfect way to explain why I like Biirde. After many failed attempts over many years I have decided to forget any kind of professional presentation and just cut straight to the chase. You know that photo you have of your brother/sister/mom and you sitting in front of some monument on a vacation you took years ago. Small fragments of that time remain in your memory, it is hard to remember all of it yet it still feels like it was just yesterday. Nothing that was the norm back then is the norm now. You live somewhere else, you know different people, you do different things. That’s what Biirdie is to me, that photograph.

I was 20 in 2005, working with my friend Josh Benfield running Little Reggies Productions, putting on small rock shows for kids at the Jaycees in Melbourne, Florida. I was going through what I thought were old e-mails to delete them when I stumbled across a message from the band Biirdie about playing a show in our town. Why they wanted to play our town I really still have no idea. I was told that Jared wanted to play some shows around his home state but I was still convinced there had to be some mistake. Melbourne? Regardless we jumped on the opportunity to book them and we set up a show for March 11. In the months leading up the show, and beyond, our office was filled with their debut album Morning Kills The Dark on constant repeat.

That summer was full of boogie boarding, booking shows with my best friends, bar-b-quing, community college, and Biirdie. I was on that edge between high school, college, and the real world. I had so many plans for what I wanted to do and what I knew I could if I had the chance. Unfortunately at that stage in my life I was tied down by lack of age, experience, time, and money. I was determined to work hard despite my position and somehow booking this band would help validate all my efforts.

Before they even arrived I realized that Kala was Fred Savage’s sister. I grew up on The Wonder Years and once made a sequel to The Wizard in a CiCi’s pizza arcade, so for me this was a big deal. I had already confirmed that I wouldn’t say anything about it to her, or at least not until the end of the night. I was just this kid in a small nowhere town and this band that was 1/4 Savage family was coming all the way from LA to play for us. They represented so many things I wanted to accomplish, experience, and be a part of. LA, Hollywood, Fred Savage, success, and fulfilling goals.

Would they like the venue? Would they think the sound sucked? (btw, it probably did!) As the band stretched outside of their van I approached them with my clipboard in hand. I had done this hundreds of times before but on this occasion I was actually nervous. Unlike all the other bands who had come through our town this one truly meant something to me on a personal level. Soon my nervousness faded completely. They were everything I had hoped for. Kind, friendly, understanding, eccentric, whimsical (I hate that word but can’t think of anything better at the moment). They were all the things their music represented to me. They were from a world I had never experienced but wanted to more than anything.

That night, and on repeated visits, I kept trying to figure them out. Were Kala and Jared and item? Did they really like Melbourne or were they just being polite? Why such the obsession with LA and Florida? How is this music both happy and sad at the same time? The one thing I could confirm was that they were friendly and receiving yet still reserved. Maybe that comes with maturity, experience? I was used to having these teenage hardcore bands come through that either tore the place apart or were your instant “best friend” and invited you to go on the road because you were such a “cool brohan.” The hardcore bands were never earnest with their sentiments. Maybe Biirdie seemed so aloof because they were actually genuine? It wasn’t all or nothing like with other bands. The band members and the music were intricate, balanced, and real. They weren’t a gimmick, a fad, or some product of the times. They seemed to be doing exactly what was right and honest. They were a family not just four people hitting some notes on a stage.

They continued to play in Melbourne and Orlando for us over that year but then just as they had suddenly arrived in our lives they left again. Not in the bad way but in the way you have to split apart from a friend you make at summer camp. You both say you will remain friends and that you will write although in the back of your head you know that it may be the last time you will ever see that person and all you will have are some memories and photographs.

We continued to speak here and there on the phone. I would call Kala to see how they were doing and tell her about film school and Little Reggies. Yet despite the fact that we would occasionally chat, and I was sure I would see them again someday, I always knew that I would never get that moment of my life back and the strange obscurity the band once held. Every now and then as I drive around a new town, work a new job, or make a new friend Biirdie will come to mind and I will slip back into a time that seems so long ago but like it was just yesterday.

I know their songs about Indian Rivers and Satellite Beaches aren’t about me, or the time they spent in Melbourne, but there will always be a side of me that refuses to believe they aren’t.