From the Crow’s Nest
by CLINT YOUNTS
For several years, I have scripted distortional dissertations from the infamous Crow’s Nest, a lofty perch made of dry timber and rusty nails that looks out into the woods behind our humble home. The view from my deck chair is quite handsome and serene. Deer and antelope graze in the shade of oak trees while song birds and cicadas serenade them from above. It’s a perfect setting for my twisted mind to work its magic and turn an obscure query into a literary piece of bovine excrement.
There have been numerous columns penned while plopped in an old beach chair, soaking up the tranquility and UV rays of a Texas coastline. Hearing the roar of the ocean over the strange voices in my head, my mind wanders willy-nilly out into the vast gulf, only to be washed back ashore like a piece of driftwood or a misguided tar ball.
Recently, I travelled to faraway lands on a family vacation. We visited sites far distant from any place this old cowboy normally hangs his hat. My idea of a relaxing getaway usually involves peace and quiet, the smell of salty air or a brisket smoking on a pit, and having some sort of cold beverage in my hand. Our latest venture had me crossing enemy lines, dropping me right smack in no-man’s land, where I was thrilled to leave with my life and what’s left of my sanity. I was eager to get to Las Vegas and get the hell out of Dodge, or in this case, Los Angeles, California. I was only in the L.A. airport for two hours, but I saw more weirdos and rude people there than I’ve ever seen walking along 6th Street.
Las Vegas is a fun place to visit for a few days, but I don’t know how folks can live there. There are way too many lights and not enough trees for my liking. Everywhere you go, there is a slot machine luring you to squat down and drop a few bills in its tightfisted innards. Since I work hard for my money, I’m not one to shove it all down the throat of some slot machine or hand it all over to Lady Luck. So I sat at nickel slots, drank free beer and watched the chaos. It wasn’t long before my brain recovered from jetlag and began to ingest the smoky casino atmosphere. I sat on my newly acquired perch at a game called Salmon Run and looked out at the crazy world revolving in front of my blood-shot eyes. Here are a few acute observations from atop a Las Vegas bar stool.
1. First of all, Austin has not cornered the market on weirdness. Vegas and L.A. make Austin look quite tame.
2. The Surgeon General never submitted his findings on secondhand smoke to the folks of Nevada.
3. I don’t know what the official language is in Las Vegas, but I don’t think it’s English. There were more foreigners in Vegas than at the U.N. on “Take Your Kids to Work Day.”
4. I needed a program to help determine the actual sex of some folks in Vegas. There were girls dressed like guys, guys dressed like girls, and the verdict is still out on a couple of folks I saw.
5. Gals wearing a cowboy hat, a plastered-on dress and 10-inch heels just ain’t right.
6. I believe all of downtown Buda could fit inside Caesar’s Palace.
7. I discovered expensive food ain’t necessarily tasty food.
8. Apparently, it’s customary in Vegas to tip just about everybody. I got so carried away that I tipped a Guatemalan fella who was handing out informative brochures on local bordellos.
9. Why can’t all airlines be as good as Southwest? And why can’t the TSA hire pretty gals to do the pat-downs instead of GI Joe with his kung fu grip?
10. Just because the sign says “All-U-Can-Eat Buffet” doesn’t mean you should eat so much that blueberry cobbler starts dribbling out your nose.
11. The luckiest slot machine will be the one you find at the airport just as you hear it’s time to start boarding your flight.
12. The one thing I liked most about Las Vegas is that I was no longer in L.A.
This old cowboy is back in Texas now, sitting on my deck and watching the axis deer graze beneath some elm trees. There’s a cardinal bathing in our birdbath and a hummingbird flickering about Maw’s potted plants. My recollection of my Vegas vacation is still a bit hazy, but my view from the Crow’s Nest is crystal clear. I don’t need to go to Las Vegas to seek my fortune, not when the view just beyond my outstretched boots is a true treasure.
You can take Clint Younts out of the country, but you certainly can’t take the country out of Younts.
