Summer In Vegas.

There is nothing quite like your first real Summer in Vegas and the lessons it imparts. Moments such as your eyeballs drying out and your skin starting to burn like a vampire’s are treasured memories that I’ll take with me for years to come.

But it has its moments.

It was here where I discovered First Friday, Las Vegas’ own art crawl. A lot of bands, artists, and various street prophets, mixed with a heavy dose of the Burner community. It happens the first Friday (naturally) of every month, and for a few hours, the local scene gets to enjoy a little bit of culture. It’s like a once a month Deep Ellum.

In bonding with the Demon World cast, I finally had my “gang” to hang out with. And one of our first adventures was the British pub Crown & Anchor. Pretty normal, I suppose. Fish ‘n’ chips, a pint of Guinness, the requisite gang of Elvis impersonators….

One of many Elvii.

One of many Elvii.

Pretty standard stuff, really.

It was also here where I learned about Vegas’ love for vanity license plates. Seriously. Among some of the favorites: “FINNICKY”, “HUNNY”, “WRKHRDR”, “GROVER”, “DSTROSE”, “JASONS3″, “MOSKOS1″, “NYPHNTM”, “FA1TH”, “G02BEME”, “LA CAGE”, and “TIGHT C”. Mind you, this was in about 4 days time. You could go on a photo safari for these things and never run out of subjects. I was also dismayed to find that Star Trek was closing. It seemed that my days of bartering meal prices with Ferengi were coming to an end that Fall.

Still, anything to distract from June, as it was a combination of both Father’s Day and my Dad’s birthday. I still resolved to get something for my Dad’s 71st that year, something I planned to get him before he passed, so I chose to eventually get this:

The Hollows.

The Hollows.

It’s a piece called The Hollows. It was painted by a dear friend of mine by the name of Tim Cantor. He and his lovely wife Amy have been dear friends of mine for years now, and during one of his visits to San Diego, Dad fell in love with Tim’s artwork. While I never got him the painting in life, the very least I could do was honor his memory with a piece that would have touched his heart.