VEGASinsight Archives

It sounded like a good idea at the time:

Freakling Brothers Horror Shows, the Show Bus of the Stars and Pampas Brazilian Grille invite you and one guest to enjoy a TERRIFYING NIGHT of HORROR and FUN on October 14th!

We’ll be taking a real English open-top double-decker bus around town to experience all three of the Freakling Brothers Haunted Attractions! This event is free and for our invited guests only, so please do not forward this exclusive invitation.

Sounds like fun, right? An evening drive around the Las Vegas Valley, visiting haunted houses, riding atop an open-air bus in the early autumn air–what could go wrong?

To be honest, I was a bit apprehensive about the idea. The tour started with cocktails and hors d’oeuvres at Pampas Brazilian Grill inside the Miracle Mile shops at 6 p.m. and was projected to return there at 10:30 p.m., after visiting the aforementioned attractions, scattered at three corners of the valley. No kidding. So, basically, for four hours or so, I’d be trapped with a bunch of strangers (mostly) on a bus, or in a haunted set of trailers. Or maybe in line at a fast food restaurant bathroom.

But I went. I made the short trek to Planet Hollywood’s still-under-remodeling Miracle Mile shops and joined the already-sodden party at Pampas’ bar. I recognized a few other folks I knew from the media and hospitality industries; otherwise, it was a combo of costumed characters, tour organizers and … um … whoever. A little after 7 p.m., we all lined up outside to board the Show Bus of the Stars, the as-promised double decker vehicle … upon which Little Richard (OK, a reasonably facsimile thereof) acted as host, in-drive entertainment and party ringleader. At that time, the air was already getting chilly. I hadn’t worn a jacket or a hat, a decision I would later regret.

Riding in such a supremely touristy attraction on the Strip makes sense, and feels right. When we turned off to head toward the Northwest, things got … weird. Especially when our driver decided to turn onto I-15 North, defying any safety or logic, considering 90 percent of the passengers were on the top of a top-heavy, high-profile vehicle, not strapped in, and mostly drunk. That freeway jaunt lasted from Sahara Avenue to Charleston Boulevard.

A few illegal U-turns and run red lights later (apparently, driving a double-decker tour bus enables you to defy traffic law. COOL!), we were motoring past UMC blasting party music, waving at passersby and dancing dangerously close to the edge of the bus. OK, I wasn’t dancing, but you get the idea.

The organizers must have severely underestimated the distances between stopovers. The first attraction, Castle Vampyre, was at Rainbow Boulevard and Smoke Ranch Road. Yes, almost North Las Vegas. The second? The Mortuary, at Charleston and Lamb Boulevards. Yes, almost Sunrise Mountain. The third? Circus of Horrors at Sunset Road and Stephanie Drive. Yes, Henderson. Are you following?

Suffice it to say, we did not make it to Henderson. We left the second stop, the Mortuary, about 10 p.m., and headed back to Miracle Mile. People were cold. People were drunk. (Is it illegal to drink alcohol while riding on the top of an open-top double decker bus? Shh, don’t tell anyone!) I picked up some hot chocolate and a cheese danish at a (very smart) 7-Eleven stop, which helped offset my crankiness as the night wore on. Heck, by the time we got back on the Strip, I was singing the chorus to “My Girl” and waving at tourists.

So was it terrible? Nah … it ended up being kinda (gasp) fun, despite the inherent cheesiness. Actually, it was kinda degenerate by the end of the night (click here for photos)–the couple of kids on board (children of one of the organizers) headed to the lower level, leaving the costumed and non-costumed adults to smoke, drink, dance and fondle each other. I think I was molested a few times myself. Well, it is Vegas. There’s no escaping that.

And the Freakling Brothers’ haunted attractions? While still not quite scary, they are a thousand times better than the crap inside the Frightdome. So there.

Reports confirmed by John “Ducky” Slaughter of M.A.D.a.M. indicate that “Flux Fridays” at the Stratosphere’s four-room nightclub Polly Esthers is ending. Johnnie Rox and his crew — who previously held a long residence with their popular “Rawkerz” Saturday night parties at Beauty Bar — are now moving to, according to Slaughter, a new home at a “locals venue with [a] stage for bands.”

Isn’t that what they had at Beauty Bar?

However, the planned performance by indie-electro group Datarock at Polly Esthers this Friday is still on. See flier below for details.

Had this post been published on Friday, as originally planned, it would have been all about Circus Circus’ Frightdome, and how pathetic its “haunted houses” are, and how lackluster its entire approach is. But given today is Monday and so much more has traversed since then, you’re getting a break. Sort of.

After swearing off judging anything again (click here to see why), I acquiesced when the Babes in Sin burlesque troupe approached me to be one of the judges of their “Miss All Tease, No Sleaze” burlesque pageant at Beauty Bar Las Vegas. I figure as an appreciator of burlesque and hot chicks with tattoos, I’d be as qualified as anyone to do this. And I suppose they felt the same, me being editor of a magazine that has featured both of the above numerous times.

The “All Tease, No Sleaze” went pretty well, actually. It was very well-organized, on-time and smoothly-executed. Babes in Sin used a full stage with catwalk in the outdoor venue behind Beauty Bar, and set up a “backstage” area in a tent to the side of the stage for full professional effect. The venue was packed with colorful characters. My fellow judges were, admittedly, better-qualified than myself–Kalani Kokonuts, a busty burlesque diva, and Luke, who does something with the Burlesque Hall of Fame (sorry, dude, I didn’t take notes!!)–but as with the Babes in Sin, they were welcoming and accommodating.

As is typical, the girl I didn’t want to win, won (again, I did not take notes, so her name … escapes me). Which is not to say I didn’t contribute to that. Remaining objective, she received the highest scores on my sheet as well. But it seems she brought every person she knows to the event, and her crowd response was therefore overwhelming, even before she stepped on stage. Something about her made me not want to like her, but the fact remains, she had her moves together, she was spunky, and again, had ridiculous crowd support, so we could not deny her the Miss All Tease, No Sleaze title.

And lest anyone think Fremont East is losing its steam, all three existing bars down there were packed Saturday night. The same cannot be said for sidebar, the formerly hip cocktail lounge on Third Street. When it opened, it had so much promise, adjacent to Triple George Grill and offering a simple formula: classic cocktails in a low-key atmosphere. Somewhere along the path, sidebar lost its way: loud pop music; glaring flat screen TVs; the subtle natural color palette mauled by the addition of cushioned seating with pastel-colored adornments; and most recently, the loss of favorite bartender George, to Downtown Cocktail Room, where he now mans the bar as night manager.

Yes, Third Street in general is suffering after a promising debut a few years back: Celebrity could neither survive as a drag club nor a live music venue; Triple George has been in serious pain despite rave reviews and a midday government and lawyer customer base; the Lady Luck closed for an alleged remodel, detracting further from the area’s appeal. Only Hogs & Heifers continues to be a serious draw down there, and sorry to say, but outside of bikers and white trash, that’s only a detractor from the area. Hipsters aren’t going to throw back beers surrounded by old. burly men in leather singing along to “Freebird.”

Photo by Geoff Carter

I must have been 16 when I first met Julie Brewer. She was the coolest chick in the world, as far as I was concerned. With her long, dark tresses flowing behind her, she brought such an energy and joy to the garden cafe she’d created behind the soon-to-be-defunct Vintage Madness, which we would all come to know as Enigma.

As much as we supported Julie and Enigma, she supported us. Her mere existence injected this city with a tangible force whose effects are still being felt today.

When Enigma closed — after expanding to three buildings with the help of Lenadams Dorris — it didn’t matter how long the time between our meetings or chance run-ins; Julie was still there, arms open.

More than a few years ago, I started work on a book about the Vegas underground scene. Julie and I met to discuss it. She loved the idea. She was more excited about it than was I. Selflessly, thoughtfully and without provocation, Julie bestowed upon me a very special item — a clock suspended within a birdcage (get it?), which used to hang inside Enigma. She remembered how much I loved it. I barely did, as those days were hazy flashes of memory for me. But she remembered, and she gave me a piece of Enigma. She gave me a piece of herself.

We were supposed to meet again, to talk about her memories, her impressions, her experiences. We both got busy. She was a mother and a wife, and she helped spark what became Las Vegas’ most prominent cultural feature, First Friday. I had my own projects, as well as momentous personal shakeups. Julie and I never met again to talk about “the old days.”

I saw her about once a month, usually at First Friday, and though our words were brief, she always seemed genuinely interested in my life. And proud. She seemed so proud, like a big sister. Like the coolest chick in the world, with her permanent dark glasses and cigarette and disaffected gaze.

And then … I didn’t see her again.

These words aren’t perfect. They aren’t expressing accurately how I feel. For her family. For her friends. For myself, this city, everything. My stomach is in knots. My eyes are…needing to cry, but won’t.

I don’t think I’ve been this shocked by a death in a while. It kind of knocked the wind out of me.

There are so many feelings, conflicting anger and sadness and disbelief kicking around, I’m not sure what to do about it, save for write this unfitting tribute. I just don’t know what else to do.

Aaron Thompson’s thumbs weigh their options in front of the famed gong at Mist inside the Treasure Island for “Gong Karaoke.”

I am not a judge. I did not go to law school, I did not pass the Nevada State bar exam, I do not wear black robes nor wield gavels. However, I have dressed in black capes and wielded hammers, but neither of those have anything to do with casting judgment upon other human beings.

Apparently, no one cares about this. A few years ago, I was called upon to judge a battle of the bands. This kind of makes sense, as I have a history as a proto-musician and have been writing about music since I was old enough to grow a beard. I sat through one night of bad bands, and never returned.

Earlier this month, I was asked to judge karaoke at Mist lounge inside the Treasure Island, and part of a veritable judging squad made up of, for the most part, Las Vegas Weekly staffers and columnists who themselves could not carry a tune to save their lives. But it was all in fun, part of a promotion to drum up new faces at the bar’s monthly “Gong Karaoke” night. Yes, the premise is simple: “The Gong Show” meets karaoke bar.

Sadly, even that turned sour. No, the singers weren’t horrible, for the most part. But one member of our party, young Aaron Thompson, nearly got clobbered by some big, dumb lunkhead who didn’t like being gonged. Um, he was singing Godsmack in an upscale lounge. He needed to be gonged.

Well, after that less-than-enlightening experience – after which we fought over who was not going to gong the next contestant – I thought that maybe judging anything should be left to elected officials with fancy law degrees.

That was until I received a text message asking for my beauty judging skills to be employed at the Beauty Bar’s Drop Dead Gorgeous Beauty Pageant Sunday night. What beauty judging skills, you ask? Oh, I asked myself the same question.

I removed my mismatched light blue T-shirt and replaced it with a nondescript patterned button-down and headed to the Beauty Bar, unshaven and nowhere near beautiful myself, to judge the fourth round of local qualifiers for this multi-location beauty pageant.

What was I doing judging a beauty pageant? My fellow judges were far better-qualified: Tracy Lee, owner of NapkinNights.com, is responsible for putting beautiful people from multiple cities online, and is herself a former fitness model. Brandy Beavers is a vivacious local celebrity, shadow dancer and living pin-up. Frankie the File is the man that keeps the hands and nails of Beauty Bar’s patrons as gorgeous as they can be.

Me? I’m a journalist. We are not known for beauty, hygiene or even owning mirrors. Though I am a music and nightlife specialist and an occasional talking head, I still know about as much about judging a beauty pageant as I do about covering professional sports. Which is nothing, in case no one has been following my illustrious career.

Nevertheless, there I was, sitting on a plastic-coated sofa between Lee and Beavers, watching the five contestants in this round of the pageant strut their stuff down a makeshift runway, clipboard in lap, pen at the ready, passing judgment on women with whom I have no familiarity. They could be active members of charitable organizations, mothers of multiple children, survivors of abusive relationships – I had no idea. All I knew was that I had to rate them based on five criteria using the standard 1-10 numbering system.

And so they came out on the runway, first in skimpy outfits of their choice, then again in bathing suits, just before being asked purposely inane questions that read more like “truth or dare” jabs than personality-diggers. There was biting. There was straddling. There was shimmying. But in the end, there could only be one winner.

I guess the numbers on the white Xeroxed sheet on my clipboard were on the mark, at least in choosing a winner based on appearance, personality, bathing suit, Q&A and crowd reaction. Natalie Summerlin (not her real name), who is apparently the sister of some other hottie, was the leggy, raven-haired winner of this night’s showdown. No. 3 on my list was No. 2 in the final, the wild-haired, mocha-skinned beauty Amelian Kashiro, who is a senior at UNLV studying marketing.

In the end, I didn’t feel good or bad. Just … shallow, I suppose. I despise beauty pageants. They are the summation of everything we have done wrong with our society. Well, no, that’s MySpace. But beauty pageants are second. But I was doing a favor for a friend, and its semi-lowbrow approach made it slightly more palatable than the big TV freak shows – I mean, pageants.

Still, I don’t think I’ll jump at that chance again, unless someone’s career or rep is on the line. Next time you need something judged, please don’t call me. I like to sit back, observe, record and report – it’s what I do. I’m a journalist. What do I know about anything?

A three-day party at the popular Vegas resort spawns questions about its future

While the Hard Rock Hotel changes hands from owner and founder Peter Morton to its new corporate owners – possibly jeopardizing its future as a hipster, boutique resort – George Maloof’s Palms Casino Resort continues to build on its status as the hottest property in Las Vegas. The latest addition to the resort’s arsenal of nightclubs, restaurants and over-the-top party suites is the fully-remodeled, $40 million Pool at the Palms.

Completed just in time for one of the craziest holidays in Vegas’ nonstop party, Fourth of July weekend, the new pool debuted to the public with a three-day bash celebrating the one-year anniversary of 944 Magazine.

Events at the resort included DJ Robert Oleysyck’s successful breaking of the Guinness World Record for longest DJ set (now 88 hours), a star-packed premier of Superman Returns at Brenden Theatres, a day-long string of live music culminating with performances by Camp Freddy and Panic Channel, fireworks, a declaration of “944 Day” by Mayor Oscar Goodman, and … man, we are running out of breath.

The Pool at the Palms features all sorts of nifty enhancements and adornments, including private tee pee-cabanas that overlook the pool area from a tall balcony, multiple bars (including one beneath a waterfall), table gaming, plush furniture and the coup-de-grace, a glass-bottomed pool and deck that rise above the table games and center bar.

On Saturday, however, the area was converted into a makeshift concert venue at which Dave Navarro’s latest musical projects were scheduled to entertain guests as part of the anniversary weekend festivities. This meant the pools were off-limits. Strictly. And amazingly, no one defied that unwritten rule, despite the heat that lasted well into the late evening.

The Palms is a study in the dichotomy of Las Vegas. On one hand, its is a popular locals casino, filled with copious (and supposedly loose) slot machines, which inevitably draws hundreds of senior citizens to its casino floor daily. On the west side of the property is a food court and the cinemas which – save perhaps for the week a year that CineVegas holes up at Brenden Theatres – cater to the lowest-common denominator.

It is on the east side of the resort where things gets interesting: Hart & Huntington Tattoo Parlor (star of cable TV’s “Inked”), ghostbar, Rain nightclub, AMP salon and spa, the entrance to the Fantasy Tower, and the aforementioned pool.

Maybe that’s why celebrities like the Palms so much. Unlike the Hard Rock Hotel, or even some Strip joints like Caesars Palace or Mandalay Bay, the average Palms gambler is mostly concerned with the three reels in front of him or her. There is no Circle Bar surrounded by mooks looking for loose women or famous faces. Heck, after Camp Freddy’s set ended, Navarro and his crew waltzed right in the front doors of the casino, no one noticing much and no need for security.

Of course, eventually the Palms will have to deal with its identity crisis. With the opening of the Fantasy Tower – home to the must-be-seen-to-be-believed Fantasy Suites and the penthouse Playboy Club – the Palms has thrown down a challenge to any other Vegas property to steal its thunder as the premier party spot in the valley. And when Palms Place — the adjacent condominium development from the Maloof mind – opens in 2007, it will be the part-time home to a number of A-list celebrities. Eventually, that cute, locals-oriented casino with the loose slots could be considered a liability.

KVGS 107.9-FM — otherwise known as Area 108 — started with such potential. Yes, much like any mainstream radio station (they call themselves “independent,” but that’s only because they’re not owned by Clear Channel, just a small Phoenix-based company), they played certain songs a little too often, including previously enjoyable tracks by the Killers, Franz Ferdinand and Foo Fighters. But the station brought back great stuff that has been missing from Vegas airwaves for a while, like the Pixies, Echo and the Bunnymen, Peter Murphy, etc., as well as playing stuff I’d never heard on Vegas terrestrial radio before, such as Modest Mouse and Death Cab for Cutie.

As with most new station launches these days, Area 108 ran DJ-free (and commercial-free for a little while), sounding like a great big alt-rock iPod on shuffle. Not so bad. Even when the commercials came in, they were minimal, and the song selection — except for the occasional Nickelback or its ilk — was very good. Of course, after a few weeks, DJs were hired, and promotions started. Now, to be fair, the promotions thus far have been subtle — simple call-to-win tickets type of stuff — and the DJs have been relatively unobtrusive. But they ARE talking over the beginning of songs. And the song selection during the day — nights seem to dig deeper — continues to be listenable, but unadventurous.

There is one terrestrial radio station in the country that I would listen to 24 hours a day if I could, and that is San Diego’s 94.9-FM. No funny name. The station is, quite simply, “about the music.” This should be the model for any station calling itself “alternative,” “modern rock,” or “diverse.”

I was reminded of this again today, after not listening for a while (iTunes blitz, sorry). First song? Velvet Underground from the Warhol album. Then “Train in Vain” by the Clash. Then a song from Echo and the Bunnymen’s new album (they have a new album??!!). Then a live acoustic track from Pearl Jam. Then Queens of the Stone Age.

The music is all that matters, but the great thing is, the DJs know their stuff. It’s OK for them to talk BETWEEN songs (not over them; they have strict rules about NEVER talking over any part of a song), because they have interesting things to say. Garret Michaels, the morning DJ and Program Director (go figure — the PD actually WORKS), after playing “Train in Vain,” told the whole story behind how the song was a “hidden” track on “London Calling” only because it was added to the song program after the artwork for the double album had gone to press, even though it was the lead-off single. And these guys have ALL SORTS of inside stories like that, because they’ve been in the business for so long and have been fans of great music for so long.

They don’t do call-in radio contests. That doesn’t mean they don’t reward listeners. They have an “insiders” e-mail list that often features discounts and pre-sale ticket options, exclusive “insider-only” concerts, and more. Plus, they do “Random Acts of Kindness,” where the station’s van simply shows up somewhere and gives out concert tickets, CDs, etc.

As well, their weekly specialty shows are reminiscent of college radio: there’s a locals-only show, an ethereal/chill-out show, and a Bob Marley tribute show.

Listening to this gleaming example of perfect radio put into perspective once again just how bad is every other station out there. I think it’s time for me to finally replace my stolen XM antenna and get back on the satellite. And I think it’s time for Area 108 to wake up: Be different. Live up to your “independent” claims. Respect the music. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll earn the respect of your listeners as well.

A year after announcing plans for a vibrant and enlivened University District surrounding UNLV, university President Carol Harter is still staring into the bright vision of Las Vegas’ academic future.

In her 2004 State of the University address, she announced the concept of “Midtown UNLV,” a master plan co-conceived by developer Mike Saltman to revive and enrich UNLV’s campus and its surrounding areas.

“Mike Saltman and his architects have created some highly imaginative conceptual drawings that illustrate a vision of what the area around campus might look like,” Harter said in that address, “a neighborhood of restaurants, cafes, outdoor gathering places, small-scale galleries, and welcoming residential and retail opportunities.”

At the university’s annual Planning Retreat in August, Harter asked participants to imagine what UNLV might look like “10 years down the road.”

“Although I don’t have H.G. Wells’ time machine,” Harter said, “I’ll ask you to figuratively close your eyes and envision the year 2015.”

Harter went on to describe an ultra-modern urban environment where faculty and students live side-by-side in lofts and condominiums, where coffee shops and fine dining establishments line the two-lane Maryland Parkway.

“You are heading to campus to dine in a quaint French restaurant,” Harter said of future community members visiting Midtown, “after which, you have tickets to the 35th Anniversary Barrick Lecture featuring keynote speaker President Hillary Clinton. As you safely make your way across Maryland Parkway, you become captivated by the art fair that is taking place along the main mall of the campus.”

It’s an idyllic future Harter has laid out for future students, faculty and community members, but the real challenge, as she noted at the retreat, is to “determine if and how we get there.”

* * *

These days, the stretch of Maryland Parkway from Flamingo Road to Tropicana Avenue is sharply divided between its west and east sides. One the west side sits the ever-growing, increasingly modernized UNLV campus. Looming like an overgrown Tinker Toy creation over what was once a parking lot is the steel frame of a new, under-construction student union. The face of Maryland Parkway, at least on the west side of the six-lane thoroughfare, is rapidly changing.

On the east side, however, the story is a little different. Decades-old shopping centers with little more in common than their obviously aging exteriors and interiors are strewn across the parkway, inconsistent in design, color, tenants or clientele. Those walking the sidewalks are less likely to be students as they are to be derelicts, residents of the surrounding neighborhoods or CAT bus riders biding time between routes.

Now, picture Maryland Parkway as a center of cultural activity, where both college students and the creative class of Las Vegas come to study, socialize, dine and shop. Independently owned coffee shops are filled with academics and intellectuals alike. A top-grade record store such as Tower Records serves as a premier destination for local musicologists. Bars and clubs are buzzing with live music, flowing taps and warm bodies. At night, people casually walk from retail stores to cafes to bars, making the parkway a culturally aware alternative to the tourist-trapping Strip.

This vision of the University District as a pedestrian-friendly, bustling cultural community is not the imagined Midtown Harter envisions for the area 10 years from now. It is the memory of a scene that actually existed, approximately 10 years ago.

* * *

In the mid-1990s, when UNLV was still regarded mainly for its athletic programs and President Harter was just starting to feel her way around the hallowed halls of the Flora Dungan Humanities building, Maryland Parkway was simply the destination for the “creative class” that Harter has spoken of ever since she picked up Richard Florida’s book, “The Rise of the Creative Class.”

Arguably, the rise of Maryland Parkway as a cultural center was jumpstarted when Lenadams Dorris moved his downtown Las Vegas café, The Newsroom, into the lower floor of the Promenade at Maryland Parkway and Harmon Avenue in 1987, placing it directly across from UNLV. With it, The Newsroom brought a dedicated clientele of diverse interests and backgrounds.

“Unlike any other coffee joint before it,” wrote Michael T. Toole in the Aug. 12, 2004 issue of the Las Vegas Weekly, “The Newsroom was about doing the New York Times crossword puzzle over a good cup of herbal tea, playing chess, flipping through the 600-plus magazines from all over the world without interruption, and just watching a most diverse selection of people: young and old, liberal and conservative, gay and straight, atheist and proselytizing Christian, all just hanging out.”
Cafe Copioh

By the mid-‘90s, Maryland Parkway was lined with other independent cafes such as Café Rainbow, Cyber-City Café and Café Copioh. The Newsroom changed owners and names, becoming Café Espresso Roma. Tower Records anchored the University District along the parkway to the north at Flamingo Road, with Benway Bop!, an underground record store, at the south end, just shy of Tropicana Avenue. Interspersed were bars such as Tom & Jerry’s, the Sports Pub and Moose McGillicuddy’s, along with various independent and franchise eateries. A two-story Kinko’s next to Espresso Roma was the largest and busiest in the valley.

Live music, poetry readings, underground dance parties and works from local artists could be found in the bars, cafes and shops at any given time. The customers and denizens of Maryland Parkway hangouts were as likely to be commuters to the district as they were to be residents living in the low-rent apartments to the east of the parkway. For many, the “street scene” on Maryland Parkway during the Lollapalooza era — most of which died as businesses closed one-by-one — is deeply ingrained into their cultural memories.

“I played my first gig ever at Copioh,” said Frank Salvo, a local musician. “I saw Wax at Benway. I remember playing the conga at (the) Underground. My best friend worked at Tower on Maryland.”

Andrew Ramsay perhaps put it best in a May 11, 2000 Las Vegas Weekly article:

“The lifeblood of this city is Maryland Parkway.”

* * *

“Midtown UNLV and the proposed overall University District is still very much a work in progress,” Saltman said. “The goal is still to get to a Las Vegas version of Mill Avenue in Tempe.”

Mill Avenue, which runs through the campus of Arizona State University in Tempe, Ariz., has been held as the major point of reference for Harter and Saltman since Midtown’s announcement. From aesthetic and fiscal standpoints, it makes sense why.

Twenty years ago, Mill Avenue was in worse shape than Maryland Parkway is today. Yet now, it’s the beating heart of Tempe, a pedestrian-heavy street filled with trendy clothing stores such as Urban Outfitters and the Gap, clubs, cafes, ethnic restaurants and an entertainment complex. It caters as much to the campus community as it does to Tempe’s movers and shakers.

Looking at Maryland Parkway now, one might find it difficult to envision that kind of retail wonderland appearing in less than 10 years where the current collection of head shops, dive bars and thrift stores now sits. Of course, not everybody thinks that such a change needs to happen.

“The thing that worries me is the tendency for developers in this town to ‘think’ they know what an area needs without communicating to the people in that area first,” said Maggie Verderame, owner of It’s Yoga, a yoga center located across from UNLV on Maryland Parkway.

Verderame said that she is not alone in her concern over the potential redevelopment of the corridor. According to her, some of the small businesses in the area have had informal discussions about what their fates may be if a Mill Avenue-scale cleansing comes to their stretch of the road.

“We haven’t really strategized anything,” Verderame said, “but there is concern about the concept of building a center intended to attract the ‘creative class’ when many of the businesses there are already run by and catering to the ‘creative class.’”

The It’s Yoga owner also has her own concerns about some of the businesses already struggling on the parkway.

“My hunch is that the small, artsy/independent businesses, like Balcony Lights, would not be able to afford raised rents,” Verderame said.
Hilarie Grey, special assistant to Harter, thinks such worries are a little premature.

“It’s such a long term project from that overall vision standpoint that it’s a little surprising that businesses are already worried about being displaced,” Grey said.

Of course, the current economic environment on Maryland Parkway isn’t ideal either. On Monday, the aforementioned Balcony Lights Books & Music announced it would be closing in December, after five years of critical — but not financial — success.

* * *

On the west side of Maryland Parkway, progress marches on. Aside from the new student union, two other major facilities are under various stages of construction: a new student recreation center on the south side of campus, near the Thomas & Mack Center, and the new Science, Engineering and Technology building on the north side. By the fall of 2006, construction should be under way on Greenspun Hall, the new home for the Greenspun College of Urban Affairs.

“Besides Greenspun Hall, there are other key campus-side buildings and initiatives being planned,” Grey said, “like a new campus gateway entrance — a ‘Black Mountain Institute’ building — that would be home to the International Institute of Modern Letters.”

All of this is part of Harter’s vision for UNLV to become a premier research institution, whose presence “is a huge advantage in the creative economy,” according to Dr. Florida’s book. There are other steps being taken, outside of infrastructure and Harter’s “Invent the Future” capital campaign, to ensure UNLV attains its goals.

One major step is Harter’s push to raise the admissions standards of UNLV. Originally, there was a 10-year plan to increase grade point average requirements to 3.0. At the next meeting of the Nevada System of Higher Education Board of Regents, Harter will request the GPA increase be advanced from 2010 to 2007.

It is likely that Harter will get her wish. Both Board Chair Bret Whipple and NSHE Chancellor James Rogers are behind the idea of raising admissions standards at UNLV and the University of Nevada, Reno.

“Only the top high school graduates, those who have excelled in the most demanding courses in high school, should be brought into the rigorous academic life of our fine universities,” Rogers said in his State of the System address on Thursday.

Almost like peering into a crystal ball, Harter’s Planning Retreat vision of UNLV in 10 years predicted such loftier standards.

“Academic requirements to enter UNLV had become very competitive,” Harter said to the imagined student of the future, “and you are glad you have made it this far.”

Not only does Harter have the support of her superiors in making her university a more elite academic institution, she also has the representative support of the student body, or at least of its elected president, Peter Goatz.

“With the addition of Nevada State College,” Goatz said, “we are able to be more selective with our students and really make a true college experience similar to that of UCLA, USC, and the other schools within our range.”

* * *

From Saltman to Harter to Grey, it seems most of the involved parties want to remind the world that Midtown is a long-term plan, and one that is far from fruition. Of course, looking at the pace of progress on the university side of things — new buildings, increasing admissions standards — the reality doesn’t seem so far away. On the private side, however, Maryland Parkway is still trying to redefine itself without any help.

“Multiple studies are underway,” Saltman reassures, “and the outcomes are still down the road.”

Those outcomes will undoubtedly be a boon to the campus, but it remains to be seen just how they will affect the organically developed businesses on the other side of the parkway.

“It would be really exciting if Maryland Parkway was stylish, but not forced or fabricated,” Verderame said. “I believe that will only come with time and a natural evolution of businesses continuing to open there.”

In yet another earth-shattering (read with sarcasm, please) announcement, Hollywood heartthrob George Clooney (didn’t this guy used to be on The Facts of Life?), Cindy Crawford’s hubbie, Rande Gerber, and a couple of companies about which no one really cares until their bathtub starts leaking are planning to break ground in 2006 on — shock and awe — a $3 billion hi-rise, mixed-use, condo/hotel development called Las Ramblas.

Nestled conveniently between the Hard Rock Hotel’s planned condo expansion and the recently-announced W Hotels project at Koval Lane and Harmon Avenue, Las Ramblas will replace low-income apartments just west of the Hard Rock with 25 acres of luxury hotel rooms, residences, bungalows, spas, nightclubs, dining, bla, bla, bla.

So the big boys will build million-dollar residences where their ultra-cool Hollywood friends can live while they hang out in Vegas, while affordable — and yes, crack-infested sh*tholes — are torn down, displacing hundreds of lower-income-type folk, forcing them into a market where even cost-efficient apartments outside of the Swenson/Twain area are hard to find.

It’s exciting that our city will look like … um, a city … in about five or six years. Tall buildings will block out the accursed sun. I’ll run into Brad Pitt at 7-11, and we’ll trade hair styling tips. I won’t have to look at empty lots or worn-down buildings anymore.

But no one can afford anything. Except for Mssrs. Pitt and Clooney, of course.

At what point are these builders and developers going to find themselves unable to sell a 900 square-foot condo for $500,000? That saturation point is coming, and it may come before any of these proposed projects even break ground.

(Via Awesome City)