The Old Blog in the Desert

Now, I may have put pen to paper on this subject before—though, if memory serves, it was at the behest of a newspaper editor who took a dim view of digressions, embellishments, and the honest pursuit of a good yarn. But that was then, and this is now.

The good folks at the Rural Medevac Alliance have announced that their flying contraption, Battle Born Medevac 1, is buzzing about the countryside, day and night. It is no small matter, as it turns out that more than half the times someone has hollered for them, it has been after dark—a time when most respectable people are asleep and most disreputable ones are getting themselves into the sorts of trouble that require urgent medical intervention.

“We are mighty pleased about this,” said one Joey Loehner, the high captain of this outfit. “Our pilots and crew now have the best sky-faring wizardry money can buy, which means we can fetch twice the number of folks in dire straits than we could before.”

It, of course, is a great comfort to anyone who needs swift conveyance to a hospital and an even greater comfort to those who enjoy having aeronautical marvels available at all hours but hope never to need them.

Now, if you find yourself lost, broken, or otherwise indisposed anywhere between the Tahoe Basin and Tonopah, Mammoth, and Lovelock, rest assured that Medevac 1 can come flapping over the horizon to fetch you. And should that horizon be veiled in darkness, fear not! The pilots now don a set of wondrous Night Vision Goggles—made of some luminous wizard glass called E3 White Phosphorous, which sounds like something one ought to handle with tongs but is the latest and greatest in nighttime seeing spectacles.

This miraculous eyewear allows the pilots to peer into the darkness as if it were broad daylight while also sparing the head and neck the indignity of hauling around the sort of heavy headgear that turns a simple flight into an exercise in endurance. The result is fewer stiff necks and improved odds of arriving where one means to go.

As for what kind of scrapes these airborne Samaritans get called to, the list is as varied as mankind’s talent for calamity. Auto wrecks, sudden ailments, hospital transfers, search-and-rescue missions—if there is trouble afoot and an urgent need to flee from it or get plucked out of it, the good people of Battle Born Medevac 1 will be there.

Headquarters is South Lyon Medical Center in Yerington, and when the call comes, it’s the Lyon County Sheriff’s Office that’ll send them to wherever they are most needed. If one must get into trouble, it is at least reassuring to know that help now flies at all hours, with eyes that pierce the dark and wings that wait for no man.

Virginia City is a peculiar town. It takes no small effort to stand out in the throng of silver-tongued scoundrels, hard-bitten miners, and fortune-hunting gamblers, but Jackson managed it with an ease that bordered on art. Not for his charm or his wit—though he possessed neither—but for his unmatched skill with a revolver and a propensity to use it in ways that made men marvel even as it made them shiver.

Jackson was not violent, at least not by Virginia City standards. Violence in these parts is as regular as breakfast, and some said Jackson had skipped breakfast more than a few times. He was, however, a man of principle, and his primary principle was this: offenses were like gold nuggets, valuable and worth holding on to.

One brisk morning, as the town’s citizenry shuffled along C Street, Jackson was leaning lazily against a post, contemplating the mysteries of the universe—or, more likely, the mysteries of his next drink. His gaze suddenly fixed on a figure in the distance, a man walking toward him with the carefree air of one unaware he was heading straight for the gates of perdition.

The unfortunate soul had offended Jackson some days prior, though no one could quite recall the nature of the offense. Neither, likely, could Jackson. It was enough that it happened and was unaddressed.

As the man drew near, Jackson straightened up, dusted off his coat, and turned to a nearby group of men.

“Gentlemen,” Jackson announced with a slow, deliberate drawl that suggested he had all the time in the world, “You see that fella comin’ yonder?”

The men squinted against the sun and nodded.

“Well,” Jackson continued, drawing his revolver with the kind of reverence one might reserve for a fine violin, “He’s got a button on his coat—a third one, from the top. It’s a good twenty-yard shot, I reckon. And I’ll clip it clean.”

There was no time for protest or persuasion—not that anyone would have dared try. Jackson’s arm rose, steady as a church steeple, and the revolver barked.

A murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd as the man staggered backward, clutching his chest. Jackson, his face as blank as an unmined vein, holstered his revolver and ambled off, muttering something about needing to find a decent breakfast.

The funeral was well-attended, as funerals often are in these parts.

The drifter rode into town like a cloud dragging its shadow across the desert. His hat brim hung low, shading eyes that had seen too much.

Dust clung to his boots, and his horse moved at a weary plod, the animal’s ribs visible beneath a coat of trail grit. At his hip, a Colt revolver swung like a promise in waiting.

As he passed the Odeon Saloon, a man leaning against a hitching post called, “Levi Grayson? That you?” His voice cracked with disbelief, and he squinted against the setting sun.

The drifter didn’t turn his head, didn’t slow his horse. He rode on, stopping when he reached the rail outside the saloon.

Sliding from the saddle, he hitched his horse and took the creaking steps to the boardwalk. When he pushed through the Odeon’s doors, the hinges groaned like they knew trouble had arrived.

Inside, behind the bar, Henry “Hank” Maddox gave the newcomer a quick once-over, his eyes flicking to the gun at Levi’s side. A young, pretty girl with sharp, untamed beauty moved between tables, collecting empty mugs.

Levi’s gaze lingered too long on her, and the corner of his mouth quirked in a half-smile that promised nothing good.

The man who’d called his name entered and approached, grinning wide. “By God, it is you!” he said, clapping a hand on Levi’s shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d see you again, not after all these years.”

Levi glanced at him, recognition flickering. “Bill Langley,” he said, voice low and flat. “Been a long time.”

“Too long,” Bill said, his enthusiasm unchecked. “You remember when we used to run this town? Seemed like nothing could stop us back then. What brings you back, anyhow?”

Levi’s eyes hardened. “I go where the road takes me.”

From across the room, Sheriff Roy Tanner watched the exchange. A man who’d worn the badge longer than most folks in Dayton could remember, Roy didn’t miss much.

He noted the gun, the casual way Levi moved, and the edge of trouble that clung to him like a second shadow. Years ago, Dayton had voted to clear Main Street of sidearms.

It had been Roy’s job to enforce it ever since, and he wasn’t about to start making exceptions. The sheriff crossed the room, boots heavy on the floorboards.

“Evening, stranger,” he said, stopping near Levi. “Reckon you don’t know, but this here’s a no-gun town. Main Street’s off-limits.”

Levi turned slowly, one hand resting on the bar. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Didn’t reckon this was a town where a man gets told what he can and can’t carry.”

“The law’s the law,” Roy said evenly.

Levi’s smile widened, but his eyes were cold as the grave. “Ain’t never been too fond of laws or lawmen.”

The sheriff held his gaze for a long moment before speaking. “Let’s leave it at that,” he said, turning to leave, his wisdom keeping him alive.

As the night deepened, Levi drank too much. His words became mean, cutting into Bill’s awkward attempts at conversation. When Ellie Harper, the saloon girl, brushed past, he grabbed her wrist.

“C’mon now,” he slurred. “Ain’t no need to play hard to get.”

Ellie yanked her hand free. “Don’t touch me,” she snapped, her voice firm. “Go find some other girl to bother.”

Levi chuckled darkly. “Don’t think you understand who you’re talking to.”

Before Ellie could respond, Hank stepped in, his voice calm but resolute. “That’s enough, friend. Leave the girl be.”

Levi turned on him, swaying slightly. “You gonna make me?” he sneered, his hand drifting toward his revolver.

“No one’s making you do anything,” Hank said, keeping his tone even. “But maybe it’s time you called it a night.”

Levi snorted, then fired into the ceiling. The boom silenced the room, and all eyes turned to him. “I’ll call it a night when I’m damn good and ready,” he growled. “How ‘bout I shoot up this whole place? See who’s man enough to stop me!”

The saloon doors swung open, and Sheriff Tanner stepped through.

“That’s enough, Grayson,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Put the gun down.”

Levi turned, his grin feral. “Roy Tanner,” he said, his words dripping with mockery. “Still playing the hero, huh?”

Before Roy could respond, Levi raised his gun and fired. The sheriff fell where he stood, a single shot to the chest silencing him forever.

Levi laughed, his head thrown back, drunk on the power of it. “Anybody else feel like playing sheriff tonight?” he taunted. “Go on, step through those doors. I’ll make a game of it!”

Behind the bar, Hank moved. He reached beneath the counter and came up with a double-barrel shotgun, leveling it at Levi’s head. The room was silent save for the sound of both hammers getting cocked.

“Nobody’s that fast,” Hank said, his voice steady.

Levi sneered, his hand twitching toward his revolver. “You wanna bet?”

The roar of both barrels filled the saloon.

A Modern Business Strategy

Nevada Attorney General Aaron Ford, a man of such exceptional virtue that one might suspect him of sainthood were he not so tragically confined to the legal profession, has joined hands with 16 of his fellow state prosecutors to bring us a revelation of the age: Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) is not only lawful but downright essential to business success. Yes, dear reader, it turns out that the secret to a “legally compliant and thriving workplace” is not, as some old-fashioned folks might believe, hiring the best person for the job, but rather ensuring that one’s hiring practices resemble a grand game of Bingo—where the winner is determined not by merit, but by the precise arrangement of demographic checkboxes.

According to General Ford, the recent attacks on DEI are “incorrect and disingenuous information.” It is a relief, for many of us were beginning to suspect that selecting employees based on factors other than their abilities might have some slight drawbacks.

But no! DEI, we are assured, makes businesses financially stronger and gives them an advantage over their competitors. How, you ask? Well, through the brilliant strategy of ensuring that companies are “reflective of the communities they serve,” rather than, say, competent at what they do.

One might ask forgiveness for thinking that history is replete with evidence that businesses thrive when they hire the most skilled and capable. And the quaint notions of merit and experience were misguided relics of a bygone era. As it turns out, the modern business model is less about skill and more about ensuring the appropriate level of chromatic diversity in the company holiday photo.

Ford also takes a moment to denounce political actors who oppose DEI, accusing them of seeking to “keep us divided.” It is an interesting stance, considering DEI programs are all about constantly categorizing, separating, and sorting according to immutable traits in the name of social justice.

The logic is simple: the way to end discrimination is to focus even harder on race, gender, and every conceivable identity marker—sort of like putting out a fire by dousing it in kerosene.

He is also quite vexed with President Trump, who suggests hiring based on merit rather than identity might be a reasonable course of action. Ford assures us, however, that DEI is not unlawful hiring—perish the thought. It merely “focuses on ensuring that businesses can recruit, hire, and retain qualified employees” while prioritizing race, gender, and other factors over those pesky things like experience, skill, or performance.

You see, it’s all about balance—ensuring that the workplace is both inclusive and exclusive at the same time. It is a true marvel of modern logic.

And so, we must tip our hats to Ford for his tireless efforts to educate us poor, unenlightened souls. For too long, businesses have been shackled by the tyranny of qualifications, laboring under the outdated belief that knowledge and ability were the chief ingredients of success.

Thanks to DEI, we know that the real key is ensuring a properly curated workforce, arranged with the precision of a Victorian parlor display—ornamental, diverse, and ideally, incapable of independent thought.

One can only hope Ford’s next great endeavor will be to extend these principles beyond the workplace.

Yes, progress marches on. And with it, the comforting assurance that one’s livelihood, safety, and economic future are in the capable hands of a system that values appearance over ability.

What could go wrong?

A First for Gainful Employment

In a turn of events, the University of Nevada, Reno Extension, has appointed Adam Carpenter as the new extension county coordinator for Carson City and Storey County. It may not shake the very foundations of the world, but Carpenter holds a degree in philosophy and has found a job—one that even pays money—worthy of profound contemplation.

Whispered in college hallways for generations is that the fate of a philosophy graduate is to sit beneath a tree and ponder existence while passing students toss spare change out of pity. Yet Carpenter is living proof that such dark prophecies do not always come to pass. In securing employment, he has triumphed over odds even longer than those faced by that fabled soul who majored in Advanced Underwater Basket Weaving.

Carpenter will now take his place among those who dispense wisdom to the masses, working with city and county offices, community members, and his fellow Extension colleagues to ensure that the good people of Carson City and Storey County are well-informed on vital matters such as nutrition, youth development, and environmental conservation. One can only assume that his philosophical training will be put to good use when explaining why a balanced diet is preferable to a steady regimen of fried foods or when resolving the age-old riddle of why children refuse to eat vegetables.

The northern area director for the Extension, Holly Gatzke, expressed great enthusiasm for Carpenter’s appointment, citing his “valuable experience and strong commitment to community engagement.” She did not explicitly mention whether she was impressed by his ability to translate Kant into plain English, but one assumes that played a role in the decision.

Carpenter’s previous endeavors include running after-school programs for elementary students, coordinating science events for teenagers, and working in client relations for a healthcare system. These noble pursuits have prepared him well for proving to the world that a philosopher can perform duties beyond staring pensively into the middle distance.

“I’m grateful for the opportunity to serve Carson City and Storey County and to work alongside Extension’s dedicated team,” Carpenter said, suppressing the urge to add, “Therefore, I am.”

His appointment sets a precedent. If a philosopher can find employment, what other miracles may pass? Will a poet soon be discovered earning a living wage? Could a historian be sighted outside academia, engaged in work that does not involve writing lengthy dissertations no one will ever read? The mind reels at the possibilities.

For now, let us take a moment to reflect on the remarkable fortune of Adam Carpenter, who has secured a job and done so in a manner that allows him to dispense knowledge, aid the community, and—most miraculously of all—put his degree to use.

Let’s turn our attention to where men are known to do some remarkable things—both noble and idiotic. Our subject is in the latter category, and he goes by Brandon Christiansen.

At approximately 5:20 on Saturday evening in Spanish Springs, while most respectable folk were settling in for supper, Mr. Christiansen, aged 43 years and seemingly possessed of a most unfortunate lack of judgment, decided that the best use of his time was to discharge a shotgun at an occupied vehicle. The decision, we must assume, was not made after deep contemplation nor with the benefit of sober reasoning, for officials quickly discovered that he was under the influence of alcohol at the time of the incident.

Now, shooting at an occupied vehicle is, on its own, a poor life choice. Doing so while drunk is an even poorer one. But to do so in the presence of children? Well, that elevates the matter from mere folly to full-blown calamity. It was, of course, no surprise to anyone but perhaps Mr. Christiansen himself that the law soon came knocking.

The Sparks Police Department wasted no time identifying their man and ensuring he found himself in new accommodations at the Washoe County Detention Facility. His itinerary now includes charges of child endangerment, possession of a firearm while intoxicated, and the unlawful discharge of said firearm—charges which, in sum, suggest that the State of Nevada frowns upon drunkenly firing weapons at people.

Miraculously, no injuries came from the action, which one might argue is more due to fortune than wisdom. The Sparks Police, ever diligent, now request that any witnesses—or those with knowledge of the incident—step forward and contact them or Secret Witness.

As for Mr. Christiansen, he will likely have plenty of time to reflect on his decisions, preferably with less liquor and fewer firearms at his disposal. Whether he will emerge from this experience a wiser man remains unknown, but if history teaches us anything, common sense is a rare and precious commodity, and some are determined to prove it.

Michele Fiore is a woman whose penchant for politics and personal finance seems tangled up like a cat in a knitting basket. Once a Justice of the Peace in the fine town of Pahrump, Fiore faces the justice she once dispensed, and she is none too pleased about it.

It all started with a noble cause—a memorial for fallen police officers. A fundraiser, donations, and seventy thousand dollars materialized like a puff of magic smoke.

But instead of erecting a grand tribute to the boys in blue, that money allegedly went into a different kind of ceremony—her daughter’s wedding. Now, weddings are fine affairs, full of joy, tears, and bills long enough to make a banker faint, but they do not, by most legal definitions, constitute a police memorial.

A jury found Fiore guilty of wire fraud, a fancy way of saying she took money under one pretense and spent it under another. As a result, she was booted from her position in October without a gavel, a paycheck, or a friend on the bench.

But Fiore is not one to go quietly. No, sir. She has filed for a new trial, citing a grand collection of grievances—everything from biased witnesses to an attorney who, if her filing is correct, defended her about as well as an umbrella defends against a hurricane.

Her legal woes, however, are not without a political backdrop. Fiore, a longtime firebrand and unapologetic supporter of Donald Trump, has been a target of political slings and arrows since before 2020. Whether one sees her as a martyr of partisan persecution or merely reaping the rewards of a poorly managed charity drive depends on where one sits on the political spectrum.

Among the star witnesses in this courtroom drama was Fiore’s daughter, Sheena Siegel, who found herself in a bit of a predicament when confronted with checks that bore either her signature or her mother’s—she wasn’t quite sure which. When prosecutors pressed her on whether she was, at that very moment, confessing to a federal crime, a quick trip to the legal department was in order. The next day, she promptly invoked the Fifth Amendment.

Nicole Beck, another witness, took the stand and reportedly delivered testimony so emotional it could have sold tickets. The defense took issue, arguing people were available to explain the statute in question without evoking tears that could sway a jury. Then, there was Governor Joe Lombardo, whose name alone added a touch of drama to the proceedings.

Fiore’s defense, however, was not what one might call airtight. According to her filing, her attorney fumbled pretrial motions, allowed evidence to be admitted that should have been excluded, and generally provided a level of legal representation best described as “lacking.” Whether this will be enough to secure her a new trial remains to be seen, but prosecutors had until February 14 to respond.

And then, come March 10, Fiore will find out just how much all this legal wrangling has bought her—freedom or further trouble. Either way, it’ll be another chapter in the long and winding saga of a woman who has never been one to shrink from a fight, no matter the odds or the evidence.

Blue Star Mothers of Spanish Springs NV5

Lisa Callen sits at her kitchen table in Spanish Springs, Nevada, writing names on a list. The names are of sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, who are far away. She knows each name well. They are the faces of the men and women who wear the uniform of the country but carry the weight of their loved one’s hearts across the world.

The Blue Star Mothers of Spanish Springs NV5, the group she leads, works quietly. Their mission is simple, but the work is never easy. They gather to create care packages, lovingly packing boxes with snacks, essential hygiene items, and thoughtful little comforts.

Each box becomes a treasure trove of warmth and generosity, designed to uplift and support those in need–things to remind those far from home that someone remembers. But there is always more to do. The need has grown, and now, they are preparing more than 200 packages to send to Nevada’s deployed servicemen and women.

Each box carries a piece of home, a gesture to let them know that someone remembers. Callen knows the value of those small comforts. For a soldier, a snack or a simple treat means the difference between the cold distance of war and a brief moment of warmth, a moment of connection.

The task before her and the others is daunting. The estimated cost for shipping alone—somewhere between $3,500 and $4,500—is high. And there’s the challenge of gathering the supplies to fill each box. They have a plan. The community will help. The people of Spanish Springs will lend a hand. A list of needed items is available on Amazon, and the community can send whatever they can spare. A donation drive where people can drop off supplies is happening March 8 at the Nevada Veterans Memorial Plaza.

Lisa Callen watches the sun sink lower, casting long shadows over the dry earth. She thinks about the soldiers, sailors, Marines, and airmen, the names on the list, and the moment a package is opened. Lisa Callen thinks about their faces when they see that someone remembers. And she knows they will all be a little less lonely, if only for a moment.

With the stakes high and the lights bright, the Fernley Vaqueros proved they could deliver. On Friday, they stepped onto the court with a score to settle and left with a decisive 61-50 victory over the North Valleys Panthers. Call it payback, call it justice—call it whatever you like—but Fernley showed they weren’t walking away with another close loss like they did back in January.

For North Valleys, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Ivy Williams played her heart out, nearly securing a double-double with 22 points and nine rebounds. Her hands were as quick as ever, notching multiple steals for the 21st game in a row. Annika Hester chipped in 14 points and seven boards, but even with their efforts, the Panthers couldn’t claw their way to victory.

Fernley, meanwhile, has been hitting its stride at the right time, winning five of its last six games and bringing their record to 21-6. Unfortunately, their momentum ran into a wall named Churchill County the next day, where they suffered a bruising 63-31 defeat.

As for North Valleys, their season is over. Fernley fought hard for their redemption, but in the unforgiving world of playoffs–one victory does not make a champion.

A Study Telling Us What We Already Knew

The financial wizards at SmartAsset—a name that sounds suspiciously like a choice insult—have put their considerable brainpower to work and discovered, to everyone’s great astonishment, that people in America owe money. Their latest report, Debt Disparities in the U.S.: Regional and Generational Trends, unveils such groundbreaking revelations as “homeownership is expensive” and “student loans exist.”

According to this study, Nevada is among the top ten states where households are so deep in debt they’ve tunneled straight past broke and into negative net worth. Also on this prestigious list of financial despair are Wyoming, West Virginia, Alabama, Oklahoma, Georgia, New York, Virginia, Michigan, and Tennessee. In other words, if you’ve ever thought, Gee, I’d like to live somewhere that guarantees an empty wallet, these states are prime real estate.

The Western U.S. allegedly leads the way in total debt, with the average household owing $104,200. According to SmartAsset, it is driven primarily by home debt, which averages a staggering $263,723. Whether that debt is due to overpriced real estate, a national addiction to quartz countertops, or simply folks borrowing against their homes to buy jet skis, remains unspecified.

The study also informs us that Generation X carries the most overall debt at an average of nearly $107,000, while Millennials are drowning in student loans, averaging $27,648. Wyoming, meanwhile, wins the grand prize for the highest percentage of households with zero or negative net worth at a cheerful 20 percent.

One can only assume that with all that wide-open land, they’re running out of places to bury their unpaid bills.

And for those feeling smug in states not mentioned, don’t get too comfortable—SmartAsset reports that, nationally, 11.1 percent of U.S. households have a net worth of zilch or less. In other words, more than one in ten Americans is financially upside-down, but thanks to this well-funded research, we now have official confirmation of what everyone’s bank account has been screaming for years.