Las Vegas Library, Las Vegas, Nevada

I'd never intended to visit a library in Las Vegas, as it had only been a vague pass-through plan on my larger itinerary to travel from California to my next major stop, Colorado Springs. Frankly, what I'd seen of Vegas on my previous trips told me most of what I needed to know, I figured, and I didn't see the point of belaboring a point that didn't really need to be made: There are a massive number of homeless people in Las Vegas and therefore there would be a massive number of homeless people at the library. True, there are also well-to-do parts of Vegas, working class parts of Vegas...and of course the primary money maker: the Strip. And all outlying hotels, motels, and resorts dedicated to the singular endeavor of conning money out of folks with big dreams. This is also where you can expect to see the highest concentration of famous faces outside of LA and NYC--everything glitters, until it doesn't. And much like San Francisco (again, last time I was there) and NYC (of course), Vegas has a disproportionate number of citizens living on the streets.

I guess I didn't want to write a blog post that was just All About That. It sucks. Kind of like Vegas is always All About The Other Thing. It's tiresome, oversimplifies a multifaceted place, life, and experience, and it is neverending. Ask a Kansan how they feel about Toto, Dorothy, and either being in or not being in Kansas, anymore.

My theory is that if you can stay drunk enough, the smarmy part of Vegas won't bother you. At least stay buzzed, keep your peripherals blurred, and never stop yanking on that greasy slot crank. Though I think it's all buttons now? Seems less satisfying, but whatever. I was never drunk in Las Vegas, and it's not an option now, so I have to see it sober. And getting to the library took me past all the things I knew were probably there but no one wants to see, especially not by the piercing light of day.

Tent City grew up around a vacant lot. People had their tents set up all around the perimeter for the most part (nearest the trees), but many were even set up on or near sidewalks. While there were quite a few tents, there were many people under blankets, and some that were just lying in the dirt with nothing but the clothes on their back and maybe a bag or shopping cart filled with belongings nearby. There were a lot of people there in the mid-morning, some sleeping off whatever they took the night before (or earlier that morning), some with just nowhere else to go. And a few were already on their way to the library, which was just opening as I drove by toward that very same destination.

The Las Vegas Library is just a couple of short blocks from the Tent City and is, as expected, a hotspot for homeless patrons. However, aside from the smell of bug spray and a very poor choice in carpet for the main floor, I have nothing but nice things to say about the library, the staff, and the patrons with which I shared the space, albeit for a very short amount of time.

For one, it is a sophisticated looking library--just look at the pictures and you can see what I mean. It is stylish and it is clear they were going for a very specific, Desert Oasis of Knowledge vibe. The cool grays, warm wood, and white highlights all make for a very bright, inviting space to sit down and learn something. Unlike many businesses in Vegas (especially on the Strip or even just near it), this library was not interested in whoring itself to the Neon Gods of Gambling and Vice. It's shiny, but a sharp, expensive shiny. Not the glitter gloss on a hooker's lips.

See the carpet? It is a light gray, very fine, soft grade,
not at all appropriate for heavy duty public use.
I bet it was beautiful for the first week or so!
Also note those lights...slick, huh?

For two, people minded their damn business. Me, my laptop, and my exer-pants barely registered--people were reading papers or books, fiddling on phones or laptops, and generally just doing their own thing. No glares, no stares, just utilizing the space. And obviously no shenanigans or trifling. The staff was upbeat and busy, attending to the business of the library and helping patrons (including me) with neither an over- or under-solicitous attitude. They were professional, open faced, and refreshing to be around.

God knows how many teeny tiny slivers of individually
cataloged government documents this one drawer
might hold? It may also be a doorway to Hellllll.

I didn't stay long because the bug spray smells were getting to me (my eyes started watering, which is never a good sign), so I packed it up and headed out for brunch (which turned out to be my third and last visit to a Cracker Barrel on this leg of the trip, always to get the same thing: The Multiberry Pankcake Breakfast. It's a special they are running right now and it is so EFFING GOOD you guys, go to Cracker Barrel and Treat Yo Self immediately).

Looks like a sci fi movie set, no? Dune, maybe.

I do wish I could have seen The Las Vegas Library on opening day--it must have been quite a sight. Even so, a good carpet cleaning and some polishing would probably do wonders. And mad, mad respect to the people who kept it classy and refused to put a slot machine in the bathroom. God knows they could have.

Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library, Flagstaff, Arizona

Can we all just agree that everything should be made in the image of a ski lodge and have done with it?

As a certified victim of Terrible 80s B Movies, I totally bought into the idea of skiing and all its accouterments to be the summit of human achievement and acquisition. If you and your family ski, have skied, or go skiing on the reg, you have Made It. And also I hate you.

I've recovered from my venomous jealousy honed to stabby perfection back in the 80s (especially at Isely, a place I loved but taught me about Jordache Jeans, Tupperware lunchboxes, and a level of covetousness so depraved there should be a supervillain conjured in its honor. I suggest Envious Evy, "She'll Bitchslap that Bubblegum Lipsmackers Right Off Your Face"...we'll work on the tagline), but I'll never really be over that ski lodge aesthetic, especially since it often combines with my much beloved Tudor designs.

The Flagstaff City-Coconino County Public Library is huge and very, very lodge-y. With snow capped mountains in the distance, it makes complete sense, and as a library I was very into it. I found a space near the window to set up shop and stayed there for several hours. I was pretty tired (as I've mentioned) but the act of writing managed to perk me up a bit and, no doubt, that lovely building made a difference, too. I got so used to the Barnes & Noble but especially Borders aesthetics that the oldster lodge feel seemed fresh and new.

Since Flagstaff itself is a sort of international house of pancakes (I haven't heard such a wide variety of languages since leaving NYC), it stood to reason that I would not be the only tourist utilizing the space. People from all walks were there to take advantage first and foremost of the free wifi, while many others were set about research, writing (like me), or looking for books or DVDs to borrow (locals). It was a very busy library.

With it's temperate climate and influx of tourism and dollars, it should be no surprize that Flagstaff has a burgeoning homeless population. Almost all of the indigent people I witnessed were very, very young, as well--early twenties and teens. They were stationed at the usual spots (by entrances/exits for freeways, Wal Marts, food shops) but there was also a small group gathered at the library. This particular group seemed to know each other and were, at least in part, representative of kids living, half-living, or fleeing foster situations. One girl in particular was looking for a place to stay that night and seemed to know a lot of people that came and went that afternoon. She looked about 16, but as a person who looked 30 at 16, I couldn't really say for sure.

I am staying with my mother while I figure out my Next Chapter (yes, we must say it in caps), and my licence says I live at her address, so technically I am not "homeless." But I am aware that this is a temporary situation completely dependent on my mother's good will and whatever decisions I make next. I don't have a mortgage and I don't pay rent. And right now, my car is my home in many ways. It probably sounds dorky as hell, but I am grateful for it every time I unlock the door and get behind the wheel. It is an incredible luxury to have a car and to have the ability to go where I want when I want and to be at the beck and call of exactly NO ONE.

For now.

I've mentioned the incident at the main library in Wichita, which was the beginning of my trepidation about homeless people (and let's be clear, 99.9% of my fear is directed toward men), but my fear intensified into something even more personal after living in New York, and especially after living as a "functional" alcoholic for six solid years. When I was spiraling, I could not help but see myself in their shoes. After all, the "functional" part can't last, can it? I would watch shows featuring alcoholics and cling to the idea that sure, that could be me, too (I am thinking of Meredith on The Office, but there are so many more). Surely I won't end up like that homeless woman by the Flatiron, right? It couldn't really happen? But in the brittle morning light, hungover and watching her antics as I fled toward work and away from the Truth of her, I knew it was a lie.

Speaking of The Office--love that show. LOVE it. But it's portrayal of Meredith the "Functional Alcoholic" was a disservice to the problem and all the people who suffer from it. I found her last appearance in the show (the finale, "oh let's all toast to the future and ha ha Meredith still has a bottle in her desk") both delusional and grotesque.

The fear is still there. Obviously from that first encounter when I was a teen in my own hometown main library...but the fear that grew in NYC (alcoholic reflections and all that) has turned into something else now. I no longer have that anchor around my neck, and things are so much clearer and controlled, but it also means that this is really It. This is the best version of me I have to offer...and whatever I decide to do with that, what if it is not good enough? Where will that lead me? Not down the dark path I've tread before, not if I can help it. But where?

I don't look at the homeless as a group of people who can't get jobs--if only it were that simple. I know that they are, for the most part, the uncared-for mentally ill cast out to survive (or not) on their own. And a portion of them (with obvious overlaps) are suffering from alcohol and drug addiction. But this is where catastrophic thinking takes me...and my creative slant fills in the all the color and depth to where it becomes this 3D Reality that is impossible to completely shake off.

Plus I hate relying on anyone but myself--and I hate asking for help. The only person I'm comfortable relying upon to any degree is my mother...and that's because she owes me $5.

Cough it up, lady.