A Day in the Life of Chaos

Las Vegas is forever evolving.  I imagine the place as a kind of organism that is alive and constantly metastasizing into different forms.   It is not just metastasizing it is in a constant state of metamorphosis.  I almost think a new word should be invented to describe the condition, perhaps "metastasorphosis."   It is precisely this change that intrigues me so much.  I have often said that if I could change my way in life I would have been an urban planner.  There is something about the re-invention of design and function that fascinates me.  Very few urban planners begin with a blank slate, a canvas with which to completely adorn with their own image of perfection.  While this might seem idyllic, in truth I think it is a recipe for disaster.  Cities created with such an open canvas tend to be Stalinistic monolithic nightmares or organized chaos.  Brasilia was carved out of the jungle as a model capital and is instead an urban horror of concrete steel and glass that is

Very young Patrick There is a land far to the north that in many ways seems disconnected from reality.  When you live there it is like living on an island and news from the outside comes in snip-its that leave you at times questioning your involvement with the rest of the world.  It is a magical place and I when I first came to know it,  the largest city was still developing.  Many roads were unpaved.  Television was primitive.  There were only three networks and shows would come up on tapes from Seattle with a two week delay.  Try to avoid a Monday Night Football score for two weeks!  The town was so news starved there were actually two news papers.  How many cities these days can boast that? The people that lived there were as disconnected as the place.  They seemed to all be running from something and everyone had a different and unique reason for their flight.  Somehow in the self imposed exile there was company among strangers.  Everyone seemed to revel in being different, be

This blog gets some amazing hits in the far corners of the planet.  I just wanted to tell anyone out there, feel free to leave a comment or send an email.  I would love to know who you are!!!  People in life you meet or know are really the inspiration for everything.  Without those experiences I wouldn't have a thing to write.  I would just sit here and look at my belly button and that gets boring pretty fast.  I have seen hits from US, Russia, France, Germany, Denmark, Hungary, Italy, England, Canada, Armenia (I know who you are), Iran, China, India, Dubai, Singapore, Philippines, Japan and South Africa.  There are probably more but that is all I can think of at 8am in the morning with no coffee.  I know who some of you are but many others I have no idea.   You can post a comment whenever you want, you don't have to be a member.  You can also email me by clicking on my name or writing to bauerp6@aim.com.  Please tell me who you are and let yourself be my inspiration!!

David Hockney's "Pearblossom Highway #2." As I cross the mid-point of my life and move toward third base I always find myself wondering where is home?  These thoughts have recently come brilliantly to the forefront as I not long ago made contact with a distant cousin who is in the oil industry.  He lives a life of wandering that makes my own seem humble.   While Texas is his home his journeys carry him to Russia, Egypt, Oman, Yemen, Kazakhstan and East Africa.  Oh the old saying, "Home is where the heart is." has a certain ring to it but does it really mean anything?  As human beings we associate experiences with places and they color our minds in a collage of memories.  For some these are all close to home and for others, they span the world.  I often wonder if those that never lived a vagrant life are more satisfied?  They must feel so connected to the place that they live.  Like it is a part of them and they a part of it.  Are they happy with this or do th

As we grow old we can't help but notice the effects on our bodies.  Age is not kind.  The young body is viewed as the ideal, the old body is the result of living life.  It is like an old car.  It is no longer shiny and beautiful, it doesn't run as well but while taking longer, it still gets you there.  It is almost as if we are a product.  When we are born we are wrapped in the cellophane of our mother's womb.  We enter the world free from blemish, our minds have yet to be written and our bodies yet to be scarred.  Like an annual growing from a seed we seem so free from declination.  Our flower has yet to bloom and our seeds have yet to fall.  When we do flower, in our minds we reach perfection.  As a father I remember the day when my son scarred himself for the first time.  The beautiful product once protected by plastic was no longer new.  The problem with aging is that for many of us, our bodies change yet our minds never do.  While we collect life experience and wisdo

Harry Cooper's goodbye is today.  In my office goodbyes tend to happen a lot.  There is a lot of mobility, especially among those that want to climb the ladder of promotion.  The ritual is usually the same, an obligatory awkward lunch where the office gathers and the boss says some sugar coated litany of words.  A plaque is given and the person moves on.  They clean out their desk and disappear.  You can always tell the guys that have been around,  their work area is covered with the most mementos of distant offices and past goodbyes. Honestly I am going to miss Harry a lot.  Harry is one of those people in my office that will come by and say hi.  He will sit and talk for awhile and then move on.  He doesn't want anything, he doesn't have an agenda.  He is just a nice guy and a working friend.  Harry is also black and even though he doesn't know it, has taught me a lot about race and what it is like to be a black man in the south.  You see Harry accepted me. In the

Today as I prepared to go to work I sat in a hand carved thrown chair personally carried from Bolivia and regulated to my laundry room.  It has a red velvet pillow, lions feet for hand rests and a high carved back.  It sits next to my washer and dryer and is really quite regal.  I reached for a worn pair of brown leather shoes and cinched the laces tightly.  I buttoned myself up in a coat and prepared to meet the cold weather out side.  It is January 2011, a new year has arrived and carries with it all the promise that was never reached in 2010. New Years always amazes me.  People make resolutions, promises and pledges.  With the changing date there is a perception that a page has been turned in the book of life.  The new page is simply blank, not tarnished by words or finger prints, not soiled by oil or drops of food.   It is a page yet to be written.  This year will bring new challenges.  It will usher in new promise and for a neighbor of mine who just lost her new husband to pan

Everyone has a different definition of what friendship means.  It is a concept nearly as complex as love.  True friendship is something I have spent my life searching for like a prospector looking for a seam of gold.  Growing up I was fortunate to have lived in one place.  I developed a couple friends that I shared almost my entire youth with.  We were neighbors and in many ways brothers.  While connected to my familiar environment I always felt myself reaching to a world beyond.  Those were the days of letters and I eagerly wrote to pen palls I made around the world.  I had friends in Germany, England, Sweden and the Philippines.  I actually ended up marrying my friend from the Philippines but that is a long story for another time. There was something special about learning from other people in seemingly exotic places.  I discovered different points of view and a feeling that while far away, peoples thoughts, dreams and desires in life were very much the same.  It instilled in me