Hot Sauce

I love my home state, really, I do. There's reasons that I live here. I'm almost tempted to launch into a list of wonderful things that my state offers, but that's a discussion for another day.

Because, sometimes, my home state is tacky. Truly, undeniably, high ick factor tacky.

I've complained before about people's perception of our state and its... eccentricities. Sometimes, we are our own worst enemy, perceptionwise.

I've complained, for instance, that one of our local brothels - yes, local brothels, let the snickering begin - advertised itself on its billboards as a "deli." Please.

One of the brothels in the southern part of the state advertises itself on its billboards, up for miles before you encounter the place, as a "travel center." Truly.

Most of the brothels in Nevada have small signs out front that say things like, "Free Truck Parking!" The brothels themselves are usually housed in trailers, or collections of trailers, painted some bright colors. My husband glared daggers at me when I pointed out, on a recent trip, the columns (attached to nothing) surrounding the pink trailers. "Don't they just class the place up?" There were shorter columns around the dirt parking area; tres chic.

The "travel center" either ran into too many irate patrons who hauled their cranky kids in looking for restrooms, slushees and prepackaged pastries, or they discovered that they made more money advertising their primary purpose, because they put up this onsite billboard:

OK, truth in advertising; I can get behind that.

The small print just does me in, though: "HOT SAUCE  PHOTOS  SOUVENIRS."

Hot sauce?

Whether that's a euphemism or a condiment, in this context, I don't really want to know anything more about it.

That leaves me contemplating photos.

When I was growing up, the stereotype of sharing your vacation photos was having friends over to dinner, then making them watch an interminable slide show. Now, of course, it's all about social media; everyone you know, and potentially anyone else, can and will see your vacation photos. "This is me and a prostitute I met near Vegas." Maybe Bob in accounting will be impressed when he sees it, but it's hard for me to envision that. The club of People Who Pay For Sexual Services is not an exclusive or prestigious one; in fact, the first people who come to my mind are serial killers and people with few social skills.

Still, maybe ol' Bob really will be impressed. This is the sci fi themed brothel - yes, there is such a thing, you can't make this stuff up; maybe he's always wanted his photo taken with a "real, live Andorian," but he just doesn't have the cash to attend a Star Trek convention. It's hard for me to imagine a situation in which someone will be excited about their prostitute photo op, but I'll concede that maybe, in some circles, such a situation exists. (The thought just depresses me.)

For years, souvenir shops in my lovely state have been awash in prostitution themed souvenirs. I wish I was making this stuff up. You can buy maps of "The Pleasure Spots of Nevada," with all the legal brothels identified. You can get keychains that say things like, "Crib #4, Mustang Ranch." (The term "crib" hearkens back to the days when that term was slang for a prostitute's room. I can't believe that I know this stuff.)

The idea of buying them at an actual brothel is just a little too ridiculous for me. "Went to Nevada! Paid a hooker! Got a snow globe!"

Maybe you walked past Bob in accounting with your new brothel mug in your hand, hoping he'd be green with envy.

Personally, I can't imagine being impressed because you paid someone to be with you. It calls up images of elementary school kids giggling behind the building - "I gave her a dollar, and she let me touch her boob!"

If a woman walked up to you on the street and said, "I want nothing more than to have all manner of sexual contact with you!" I might think that you're attractive or charming. I still won't be impressed, but it's better than, "She had to - I paid for it."

Living here, though, I've been exposed to how the women feel. I remember a local prostitute calling up a radio station to enter their "Most Boring Job" contest. She's not showing your photo around work, bragging about how great her weekend was.

Sorry, Bob.

Lennon Had It Wrong

I recently read an article in the local paper about underage prostitution. Local law enforcement said that, when they apprehend an underage girl engaging in prostitution, their first priority is to separate the girl and her pimp for as long as possible, in order to convince the girl that the pimp doesn't really love her. Only then, the thinking goes, will she be willing to leave "the life."

I have great respect for law enforcement, social services and others who work in these areas, but it seemed to me that they were missing the point here. I realize that they have years of experience, and often education and degrees that I do not, but I would approach things differently.

First, it will be extremely difficult to convince a girl that her boyfriend or father figure doesn't love her. Ironically, the worse she has been treated, the tougher it will be. She will hang on tighter and tighter if someone tries to "take him away." The idea of not being loved is so unthinkably painful that she will avoid that conclusion at all costs, especially if she's used to being let down, disappointed, exploited or feeling unloved.

The thing is, I don't think it matters if he loves her. Sometimes, as much as these damaged men are capable, they do care about the girls. Sometimes, they do treat them better than anyone else ever has. It still doesn't matter. Whether he loves her is irrelevant.

I would tell her that, with all due respect to the songwriting genius of John Lennon, philosophically he had it all wrong. Love is not all you need. It's a nice starting point, but it's not necessary in order for someone to treat you well.

If someone is asking you to do something illegal, potentially dangerous or potentially harmful, it doesn't matter if they love you. It is wrong of them to ask you. Especially if it goes against your wishes, it is extraordinarily wrong for them to either ask again or force the issue. It does not show love on your part if you say "yes" to such a request. It shows a lack of good judgement, and probably a tragic lack of self esteem.

I wouldn't waste my time trying to convince her that her pimp doesn't love her. I'd tell her, "It's irrelevant. It doesn't matter."

I feel the same way about people who are violent or controlling or otherwise abusive toward their partners. I cannot believe it when people excuse that behavior by saying, "But I know that he loves me. He doesn't really mean it (the bad behavior)." Everyone has bad days, loses their cool, hurts your feelings. That's part of being human. Broken bones, threats of death, hospital stays and more - these things are not OK. It truly, completely does not matter who loves whom.

People say, "But he loves me," or, "But I love her," as though it means that everyone will say, "Oh, well, OK then, that changes everything." No. It is irrelevant. It may be a fact, but it's a fact like, "Water freezes at 32 degrees Fahrenheit." It has zero bearing on the situation at hand.

Just because you love someone, or they love you, does not mean that the relationship is healthy. If the relationship is unhealthy, it's bad for both of you, and both of you will benefit if it is ended. Feeling in pain because it ended or missing them does not mean that you did the wrong thing ending it or that you should have stayed. It means that you're human. If it's unhealthy, get out.

Some people do not believe in monogamy, and those people should only be in relationships with partners who also do not believe in monogamy. If cheating or multiple partners are a problem for one partner, then the relationship is unhealthy if the other partner insists on going outside the marriage for intimacy (whether or not the other partner knows about it). It does not matter if you love each other.

This is another situation in which, "But I love you," or, "But he loves me," are deeply irrelevant. I cannot imagine what people are thinking when they attempt to explain straying by saying to a distraught partner, "But I love you," or, "But I don't love him/her." You might as well say, "I had my teeth cleaned on Tuesday." It's a fact, but an irrelevant one. "He loves me, he's a good father and provider, and he comes home every night," also falls into this category. Bully for him. That doesn't mean that he can do no wrong.

Never let someone tell you that if you love them and they love you, anything goes. They are wrong.

Practice saying it - "That is irrelevant." Practice meaning it. Sometimes, love is irrelevant.

Legal Vices and Their Champions

I was recently asked to write sample newspaper columns, 700 words each or thereabouts, as a way of auditioning, if you will, for an opening at a local paper. They didn't hire me, which is OK - it turns out that they wanted someone well connected to the local political scene, and that's not me.

I've printed two of the sample columns below. The editor wanted my take on local issues. In light of the media coverage lately of Harry Reid's take on prostitution, and John Ensign's take on Harry's position (which, in my opinion, boiled down to "I won't take a stand, because then someone would disagree with me, and I'm trying to rebuild my credibility before I run for office again, hoping everyone will have forgotten the whole infidelity/bribery/misuse of funds and influence thing so I can return to office,") I thought I'd put my two cents out there.

Let's keep in mind, 700 words didn't give me enough space to address the whining about what the supposedly crushing loss of brothel revenue would mean. First and foremost, whenever anyone says that without the brothels and their fees, the rural economies would be crippled, the schools will close, there will be fewer police officers, firefighters, apple pie, baseball and everything good, I feel like saying, "You're so right. There are no rural counties anywhere else in the other 49 states and the District of Columbia that manage to function without brothel income." Give me a break. And for the rest of my feelings, see my take on legalized marijuana. The arguments are interchangeable.

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I have lived in Nevada for my entire life – I was born at St. Mary's Regional Medical Center. I can sing "Home Means Nevada" and mean it. I am not here by default; I am here because I choose to be. Still, I cannot shake the feeling that occasionally overwhelms me that Nevadans do a good job of embarrassing themselves and the rest of us. I'm not talking about John Ensign, although I admit that his latest fiasco had me fuming, "Oh, thanks so much for making the rest of us look wonderful!" I mean some of our laws and policies that make me cringe.

I swear, the ink wasn't dry on the law allowing brothels to advertise before the tops of every taxicab in town were covered with glowing ads, ads I had to explain to my youngest child. I do not want to discuss the offered services with small children.

It's bad enough to live somewhere where I've seen, for my entire life, things like Yellow Pages ads for brothels that screamed, "It's legal here!" and "Private airstrip and limousines!" but now I have to endure ridiculous and even misleading advertising campaigns. Mind you, I don't want to see sex acts described 40 feet high, but I was astonished by the choices of words on the brothel billboards. One of the first ones I saw advertised a brothel on the way to a popular boating spot as a "deli." Truly! Can you imagine a family on the way to the reservoir pulling over hoping to buy potato salad and ham sandwiches?

"Resort and spa!" says one description. I've stayed at resorts, but I've always done so with my kids, and I doubt that many of their activities and services are available at a brothel. I doubt that I could get a facial there.

Even when they attempt to be a bit more accurate, I resent having to explain terms like "cage dance" to my kids. Would it be possible to simply say, "Adult entertainment; must be 21"?

I used to look around Las Vegas and say, "At least Reno doesn't do that," but the distinction is getting smaller. Strip club ads used to be one of those things, but no more.

Visiting my daughter at college in Las Vegas and being treated to huge billboards with buttocks hanging out of thongs was one of those cringe inducing experiences. How can any reasonable human possibly be OK with that? Don't give me a lecture about the beauty of the human form and how sexuality is not shameful. I'm not going to discuss my personal life with you, but let me assure you that my opinion is not about shame. It's about appropriateness. Would you clip your nails at the dinner table, or discuss your finances with a department store clerk or have your postman make discipline decisions for your kids? Of course not. It's not appropriate. Plus, the fact that the body is beautiful, sacred and made by God is the very reason that your buttocks, or mine, should not be on display for everyone to see. Do we all remember the Biblical warning not to cast pearls before swine, and what that means?

Remember when The Men's Club opened downtown, and to appease those who opposed it, they promised that the words "girl" or "girls" would never be used in their ads? How long did that last? (Does anyone even remember that there was opposition?)

I'd rather live without these services nearby, but since that's unlikely, can we please have some decorum?

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There's a reason for the old adage, "Know your audience." It's applicable in politics, advertising, dinner table conversation – just about any situation you can imagine. Frequently I find that people are neglecting to consider their audience when speaking to me about recreational marijuana legalization. They invariably say, "It's no different than alcohol," leaving me having to remind them, "You do remember that I don't drink?"

By "don't drink," I mean never have. At age 12, I joined (without my parents, but with their consent) a religion that forbids alcohol. I went through my teen years without feeling a need to question that wisdom or push those boundaries. I cannot imagine a circumstance occurring in my adult years that would make me change my mind.

The number of people who say to me, "Not even wine?" staggers me - like I'll say, "Oh, of course I have WINE! I'm not a zealot!" I once truly offended a relative. We were eating dinner at her house, and she was splashing wine into the gravy. I asked if she could possibly set some aside without wine. She glared at me – she considers advising the cook to be a capital offense anyway – and snapped, "All the alcohol burns off in cooking. You can't even taste it." She was not prepared for my response, but she should have seen it coming: "If you can't even taste it, why put it in?" Whether you find alcohol to be unacceptable morally, like me, or are a recovering addict, like many of my friends, no alcohol means no alcohol.

For the record, even though I eat meat, I provide vegetarian entrees when I host vegetarians. When my son invited a Muslim classmate to his birthday party during Ramadan, I waited until after sunset to serve the (cheese) pizza. It's just common courtesy.

I did not grow up on a sheltered commune somewhere. I was born in Reno; I graduated from Reed High in Sparks. I've spent my life the same places everyone around me has. I just never indulged.

I'm not the only one. I can introduce you to dozens of people, older, younger and the same age as myself, with similar stories. A thirty-something friend just posted on his Facebook page, " So I was standing in a circle of 7-8 guys today and discovered that I was the only one in the group who had never done crystal meth, cocaine, heroin, hash, mushrooms, Ecstasy, marijuana, OxyContin, alcohol or cigarettes."

So, clearly, I am not your target audience for discussions of how marijuana is equal to alcohol – or nicotine or anything else legal.

Occasionally, I actually have to trot out statistics on alcohol related disease, crime, auto accidents and the like before people will concede that I may have a valid point. Let's not even discuss stupid, cringeworthy, wish-it-never happened moments and the societal costs of drinking.

The same goes for smoking. Do I honestly have to point out the disease quotient of smoking, the toll it takes on health and wellbeing? Please tell me I don't, that it's all understood. Telling me it will be "regulated" isn't a big plus. Alcohol and tobacco are regulated.

I have to resort to sarcasm when someone says, "tax revenue." Oh, there's MONEY to be made? Why didn't you say so? You know what else makes lots of money? Child porn! Heroin! We gotta jump on those opportunities! There's a world of unexplored possibilities!

Now, here's my dilemma. Even the history impaired should be aware of the violence and corruption of the Prohibition era. Humans don't handle being told "no" very well. Oh, what to do?