The Old Blog in the Desert

Literary Indecency and Moral Outrage

Gather for the latest installment of “As the Pages Turn,” featuring an intrepid band of Lyon County residents scandalized by learning that books—those sneaky little devils—contain words. Some of these words–if arranged in an unfortunate sequence, might hint at things the average adult blushes to acknowledge, but which nature has already gone and made known to every barnyard critter in the county.

The trouble began when a concerned faction of citizens stormed the local library board, brandishing passages from books they declared unfit for the delicate eyes of young readers. According to Library Director Wynne Prindle, the initial group of about “seven or eight” rolled in, aghast that the library had failed to function as a moral monastery and was instead offering books—some of which, horror of horrors, contained passages that made people uncomfortable.

Upon encountering these literary horrors, Library Board President Deanne Davis confessed she had no idea such material existed in print. A fascinating revelation from a library official suggesting either a lifetime of very selective reading or a willful ignorance of certain sections of the bookstore. Regardless, Davis quickly determined that publishers had “taken out all the stops” in their race to corrupt the youth of Lyon County.

Predictably, there was a counterattack from those who still believe libraries should contain books and that readers should have some say in whether they read them. Librarians, who until now thought their job was helping folks find biographies of Abraham Lincoln and making sure the summer reading program didn’t devolve into chaos, suddenly found themselves branded as enablers of society’s moral decline.

“We take pride in what we do,” said Prindle, likely wondering at what point her career turned from community service into a high-stakes game of cultural dodgeball.

For those who believe in Democracy, the library provides a “Reconsideration of Materials” form, a charming bureaucratic device through which one can request the removal of a book without the need for pitchforks or torches. While six forms have been submitted, nary a book has been burned.

Silver City resident Erich Obermayer cut to the heart of the matter, suggesting this wasn’t about children or books but about power—one group’s determination to decide what everyone else can read. It is a comment that overlooked the most obvious question–can a non-adult get their hands and teeth on the edges of the jacket covers?

But fear not! The drama continues at the next Lyon County Commission meeting, where our valiant public officials will appoint a new trustee, thereby ensuring that the battle for the soul of the library rages on for another episode. Stay tuned—this one has all the makings of a real page-turner.

CARSON CITY, Nev. — In a stunning display of small-town pride, mild exasperation, and the ever-present need to remind the public that roads don’t pave themselves, five of Nevada’s county leaders assembled at Casino Fandango on Thursday to discuss the state of their domains. It was an event hosted by the Northern Nevada Development Authority, sponsored by local businesses, and attended by people who care about county governance or lost a bet and had to show up.

Lt. Gov. Anthony Stavros made a surprise appearance to remind everyone that county commissioners are the backbone of Nevada—though one suspects they already believed that themselves. He waxed nostalgic about his time on the Las Vegas City Council, perhaps to emphasize that while Vegas has its brand of chaos, rural counties have found their special flavor of governmental headaches, too.

Storey County: Where Industrial Parks Save Lives and You Can Borrow a Cup of Sugar Through Your Neighbor’s Window

Storey County Manager Austin Osborne wasted no time explaining that without the Tahoe-Reno Industrial Center (TRIC), the county would be little more than sagebrush and regret. With Tesla’s tax revenue rolling in at $15 million, Osborne painted a picture of a county that had just stumbled upon a silver mine but couldn’t afford new boots.

The budget, he explained, is a precarious $30 million, but that’s not enough to replace a $25 million jail, fix $20 million worth of roads, and ensure that residents have water that isn’t left over from the last century. However, Storey County is striding in affordability—by deregulating everything in sight.

“We allow tiny houses. We allow small houses. We allow zero setbacks,” Osborne said proudly. “In some cities, you can look through the windows and see your neighbors. In our county, you can climb through the window and shake hands.”

Douglas County: The ‘Just-Regulated-Enough’ Approach

Douglas County Manager Jenifer Davidson made it clear that while Douglas County is modernizing, it is not, in fact, Storey County.

“We’re not deregulating to the extent that Austin is. We do have minor setbacks. We’re not climbing through windows here,” she assured the audience, to laughter and perhaps mild disappointment.

Instead, Douglas County is focusing on updating its development code, streamlining its bureaucratic labyrinth, and finding $6 million yearly to prevent its roads from crumbling into historical artifacts. The county, like much of the nation, is also suffering from a crisis of confidence in government, which Davidson described as the “paradox of government”—a phrase that sounds both profound and like something you’d hear just before someone raises your taxes.

Lyon County: Libraries, Lawmen, and Lots of Land

Lyon County Manager Andrew Haskin took a moment to highlight the county’s vast expanse and the plucky determination of its public servants. For example, the Lyon County Library System has five branches and a staff smaller than most fast-food restaurants, yet it somehow served 200,000 visitors last year.

Meanwhile, the Lyon County Sheriff’s Office has 84 deputies patrolling an area roughly the size of Rhode Island. They’ve managed to reduce emergency response times in Fernley and Silver Springs by 76 percent—either by increasing efficiency or subtly redefining what constitutes an “emergency.”

Carson City: The Open Book with an Expensive Safety Net

Carson City Manager Nancy Paulson reminded attendees that keeping the capital city safe costs an eye-watering $58 million out of the city’s $92 million general fund. Fire, police, and courts ain’t cheap, but transparency is free—or at least, Carson City offers it at a discount.

“Carson City is literally an open book,” Paulson declared before explaining that citizens can view every financial transaction in real-time, which is either a triumph of governmental honesty or an open invitation for armchair auditors to start sweating over office supply expenditures.

She also mentioned upcoming projects, including 210 new apartments downtown and a $15 million federal grant to spruce up Mills Park, which she called “Carson’s Central Park”—a bold statement, considering Central Park has a zoo, and Carson City has…optimism.

Mineral County: Where Hope Gets Measured in Rodeos and Rainbows

Mineral County’s Kyle Isom radiated enthusiasm for the small but scrappy community of Hawthorne, which recently held its first rodeo in 30 years. If that wasn’t enough excitement, the town also secured a grant to transform an old dirt lot into what Isom poetically described as a “community living room”—which is either an endearing vision of civic togetherness or a sign that people are getting a little too comfortable outside.

To wrap up his presentation, Isom shared a photo of a rainbow, which he claimed encapsulated the spirit of Mineral County.

“It’s freedom,” he declared. “It’s hundreds of miles of OHV trails. It’s barefoot skiing on the lake, launching a boat…”

And with that, the event concluded, leaving attendees to reflect on the trials, triumphs, and general absurdity of county governance—where the problems are many, the solutions are complicated, and sometimes, all you can do is point to a rainbow and hope for the best.

He’s in No Condition to Disagree

CHURCHILL COUNTY, Nev. — The Nevada State Police, in a remarkable feat of detective work, have successfully identified the name of a man who met his unfortunate and untimely end on Jan. 25 along Interstate 80.

The victim, 26-year-old Rahul Nogivenname of Sacramento, Calif., perished in a spectacularly unfortunate collision, which has since become the subject of an ongoing investigation and, no doubt, several insurance company headaches. Authorities assure the public they have verified the last name and can confirm that it is indeed his actual name—though one assumes he is in no condition to argue.

The incident, which unfolded at the thoroughly unreasonable hour of 2:56 a.m., involved two large commercial trucks and a tragic amount of rotten timing. A 2019 International truck managed to overturn itself, leaving its trailer sprawled across both westbound lanes like an oversized speed bump.

As fate, poor visibility, or the general misfortunes of highway travel would have it, a 2019 Kenworth truck plowed directly into the overturned trailer, resulting in the demise of its driver. The driver of the Kenny sustained only minor injuries, proving once again that life is neither fair nor predictable.

Washoe City was no stranger to violence, but the cold-blooded shotgun killing of the stage driver and guard was something else entirely. The town was stirred to its core when Noah Hale, a rough-edged but respected ranch hand, was accused of the crime.

With little more than circumstantial evidence and whispers of his temper, Hale was convicted, sentenced to hang, and left to rot in the jailhouse as the gallows rose plank by plank in the town square. In the condemning crowd, one stood out in quiet curiosity—Lucinda “Lucy” Merritt.

Lucy had grown up in Washoe City, only to leave for Carson City as a young woman, determined to find a life beyond the dust and brawls of her childhood. But after her father passed, she returned, taking up residence in her family home.

Though sharp-witted, Lucy knew better than to press too hard, especially when questioning men. Instead, she played her part as a demure and unassuming woman, choosing her words carefully and feigning naivety when needed.

The morning after the conviction, Lucy wandered down the street. Gathered on the boardwalk sat a cluster of men.

“Ain’t right to let him sit there much longer,” drawled Jed Morrow, a wiry rancher with a crooked hat. “Man’s guilty as sin.”

Lucy tilted her head and offered a small, hesitant smile. “Oh, Mr. Morrow, you’re probably right, but… I was just wondering… how do we know for sure? I mean, I’m not too clever about these things, but wasn’t it done with a shotgun?”

Jed scowled. “Proof enough. He was seen near the stage that mornin’, and everyone knows he’s got a grudge against Otis Cromwell. That’s reason enough for me.”

Lucy clasped her hands and looked down, embarrassed. “Oh, I suppose that makes sense. It’s just… well, doesn’t Mr. Hale use pistols? I thought only a few folks around here had shotguns.”

Sam Tolliver, the grizzled blacksmith sitting with his back against the wall, nodded. “That’s right.”

Lucy glanced up at him with wide eyes. “Really? Oh, Mr. Tolliver, you’d know. How many shotguns are there in town? Six, isn’t it?”

Sam nodded again. “Six.”

“Oh dear,” Lucy said softly as if the thought had only now occurred to her. “So… if Mr. Hale doesn’t own one, where could he have gotten it? And where is it now?”

The men fell silent as Lucy’s innocent-sounding question hung in the air. Sheriff Ben Calhoun, sitting quietly nearby, leaned forward.

“You treadin’ dangerous ground, Miss Merritt,” he said gruffly. “We’ve got a man set to hang, and I don’t take kindly to folks stirrin’ up trouble.”

Lucy’s cheeks turned pink, and she looked down quickly. “Oh, I’m sorry, Sheriff. I didn’t mean to stir trouble. I just… I suppose I shouldn’t have said anything.”

The conversation shifted after that, but Lucy’s soft-spoken words lingered in the minds of the men around her.

Meanwhile, Noah Hale sat in his cell, listening to the sounds of hammering and sawing as the gallows took shape outside. He’d long since given up shouting his innocence—it had done no good during the trial.

When Lucy appeared at his cell door, guitar in hand, he couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly. “What’s this?”

Lucy smiled shyly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I just thought… well, it’s noisy, and I thought maybe this would help.”

Noah took the guitar with a raised eyebrow. “Much obliged,” he said, strumming it once before frowning. “This thing’s got a rattle to it.”

“Oh dear,” Lucy said, her brow furrowing. “I… I hope it’s still playable. I must have jostled it on the way over.”

Noah gave her a long look but said nothing. He began to pick out a tune, the sound carrying faintly over the construction noise. Lucy lingered for a moment before disappearing into the front office.

As Lucy left the Sheriff’s Office, Abigail Harper, a widowed seamstress, was bringing a cake into the jail. Sheriff Calhoun intercepted her at the door, his face red with anger.

“Abigail,” he barked, “you think I don’t know about the four files you bought from the mercantile last week?”

Abigail’s face turned scarlet. “Files? Sheriff, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play coy with me,” he snapped. “You’re trying to help Hale escape. I ought to search you right here and now.”

Instead, he stuck his hand into the cake and removed the two files baked into the destroyed cake, holding them up.

Lucy stepped forward, her voice soft and soothing. “Oh, Sheriff, please. I’m sure Mrs. Harper didn’t mean any harm. It was probably just… oh, I don’t know… a misunderstanding?”

Calhoun glared at her but backed down, muttering as he returned to his desk. Abigail shot Lucy a grateful look before hurrying away.

Lucy’s gentle persistence led her to Otis Cromwell. She visited him at the bank, her demeanor sweet and unassuming.

“Mr. Cromwell,” she began hesitantly, “I… I was just wondering about something. I know it’s silly, but… the money that was stolen… it was yours, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he smiled.

“But…well…I thought if you were to send money, gold, or whatever by stage, it isn’t yours anymore but becomes property of the stage line, so they can insure it against… say theft.” she said.

Otis frowned. “What’s your point, Miss Merritt?”

“Oh, no point!” she said quickly, her hands fluttering nervously. “I just… well, I thought that was odd. I… I probably shouldn’t have mentioned it. Please forgive me.”

Otis flustered, but Lucy’s wide-eyed innocence disarmed him. She left before he could respond.

That night, chaos erupted. Noah Hale escaped from his cell. The bars of the window filed clean through. The guitar lay abandoned on the floor, its secret now clear.

By morning, Lucy was gone too. The townsfolk buzzed with rumors—had she run off with the outlaw? Sheriff Calhoun refused to answer.

Abigail Harper smiled when Jed Morrow came to her door to pick up a shirt and tell her the news.

When the gathered crowd of hundreds demanded justice, the town obliged. Otis Cromwell was dragged to the gallows, protesting his innocence until the noose tightened around his neck.

From Protest to Prestige

Well, bless their stars and all that is sacred in the world of racing–Virginia City’s World Championship Outhouse Races have managed to worm their way into the USA Today’s 10 Best Readers’ Choice awards, earning a shiny nomination in the Best Cultural Festival category.

Todd Tuttle, the town’s tourism director and likely someone who has seen more outhouse action than most people see in a lifetime, was quick to credit this new recognition to the long-standing tradition.

“What started as a tongue-in-cheek protest decades ago has now become a must-see event for everyone—from grizzled locals to tourists who can’t tell the difference between a Western saddle and a Western toilet,” Tuttle mused with a wink. “It’s free, it’s family-friendly, and it’s the loo-niest race in the West. We’re very proud.”

It’s worth noting that in the race of tourism, Virginia City is certainly a contender. With its streets, preserved 19th-century charm, and a history of innovation, it’s a town that somehow manages to be a modern-day crossroads of culture, history, and, apparently, outhouses.

The nomination, Tuttle claims, is a “testament to the dedication of those who work tirelessly to keep our story alive.”

So, if you’re feeling generous and wish to reward the fine folks who’ve perfected the art of portable bathroom racing, you can vote for them. Voting continues through March 12, which gives you time to look up what a cultural festival is before casting your ballot.

When the Wind Takes the Wheel

Travelers hoping to take to the skies this fine Sunday were instead treated to an impromptu lesson in the whimsical tyranny of Mother Nature as the Reno-Tahoe International Airport found itself at the mercy of winds strong enough to make a bald man reconsider his hatlessness.

By the afternoon, 21 incoming flights were delayed, three outright canceled, and seven outbound flights were told to stay put, likely to the dismay of passengers who had already resigned themselves to overpriced coffee and the dulcet tones of an intercom repeating the words “Thank you for your patience.” Another nine departing flights were caught up in a purgatory of delay as their fate dangled between the caprices of the wind and the optimism of airline scheduling.

The National Weather Service—well-versed in delivering bad news with clinical precision—reported gusts of 70 to 80 miles per hour, a force of nature typically reserved for hurricanes and particularly enthusiastic door slams. These gales were so mighty that at least one flight from Las Vegas turned tail midair and scurried back the way it came as though it had suddenly recalled an urgent engagement elsewhere.

For those still harboring dreams of air travel, officials advise checking with your airline before making the trek to the airport, lest you arrive only to be informed that your journey is getting scotched by a capricious breeze with a mean streak.

In an inspiring display of decision-making that would make a chicken crossing the road look like a master strategist, Dennis Solares-Garcia, aged 39 and allegedly a proud affiliate of the esteemed social club known as MS-13, found himself in the warm embrace of U.S. Marshals on Sunday.

His crime? A robbery at the Tiendita Luzita MiniMarket in St. George, Utah—an establishment whose name suggests it was neither Fort Knox nor a depository for the Crown Jewels.

The authorities allege that Mr. Solares-Garcia, with a firearm in hand and ambition in his heart, relieved the store of an undisclosed sum of money before vanishing like a magician with no exit strategy. The St. George police, in an act of commendable perseverance, called upon the U.S. Marshals Service, who—exercising the radical investigative technique known as “checking Las Vegas”—found the suspect amid the bright lights and buffets of the Strip.

Further inquiry revealed a fascinating twist: Mr. Solares-Garcia had been deported once before. But, much like a stubborn weed or an unsolicited houseguest, he reappeared, undeterred by past failures. Alas, his luck expired around 11:30 a.m. on Sunday when the Marshals extended a most unceremonious invitation to the Clark County Detention Center.

U.S. Marshal Gary Schofield, speaking with the calm satisfaction of a man who has seen this sort of thing before, noted, “An MS-13 gang member responsible for a violent crime was removed from the community today.”

Indeed, thanks to the tireless work of law enforcement, the suspect finds himself in a new and less glamorous establishment—one where the slot machines are scarce, the buffet consists mainly of regret, and the only jackpot comes in early parole.

The investigation, as these things often do, continues.

Once again, the great and noble state of Nevada has saddled up for its biennial exercise in lawmaking, where the people’s representatives gather to argue, filibuster, and occasionally pass a bill or two—if they can stop bickering long enough to find a pen.

At the top of this session’s wish list is education funding, which remains the state’s favorite mystery. Gov. Joe Lombardo, a Republican, wants to make teacher raises permanent—something most educators never expected to see in their lifetimes—while Senate Majority Leader Nicole Cannizzaro, a Democrat, is also in favor, but only if the negotiations involve a proper number of long speeches, delayed votes, and at least one dramatic walkout.

Meanwhile, Nevada’s pre-K expansion is up for debate. Currently, only the financially unfortunate get a head start on their ABCs, but Cannizzaro wants all 4-year-olds to have a shot. Lombardo is offering $140 million to the cause, which will likely be spent on an in-depth study proving that small children benefit from early education.

On the criminal justice front, lawmakers are wrestling over whether to make Nevada’s prisons so crowded that future inmates will need to bring sleeping bags. The governor wants tougher penalties for theft, drug trafficking, and crimes against children and the elderly. Progressive lawmakers insist on more rehabilitation despite Nevada’s rich tradition of solving problems with harsher punishments and a handshake with the warden.

Housing, another perennial favorite, has lawmakers scratching their heads over whether Nevada has more houses or casinos and which should be more affordable. Lombardo proposes a billion-dollar effort for middle-income housing, while Democrats are looking at rent caps and making evictions slightly less dramatic. Corporate landlords, naturally, are in mourning.

Election reform is on the table because nothing says democracy like endless arguments over when and how votes should count. Lombardo, a man of efficiency, wants mail-in ballots to be received by Election Day, while Democrats prefer the current system, where ballots can dawdle in like lost tourists on the Las Vegas Strip.

And lest anyone forget, the Gaming Control Board has submitted bills to streamline casino regulations because if there’s one thing Nevada takes more seriously than elections, it’s keeping slot machines operational.

From tax credits to water rights, cannabis sales to immigration, Nevada’s legislative session promises all the drama of a soap opera, the spectacle of a three-ring circus, and the productivity of a committee meeting scheduled right before lunch. So grab some popcorn, folks, because, during the next 120 days, Carson City will be home to the greatest show in government—where laws are written, rewritten, and occasionally, against all odds, actually passed.

Gentle reader, it is a rare pleasure to witness a grand spectacle of government at work, particularly when said work involves running headlong into a wall of its construction. The latest demonstration of political acrobatics came courtesy of the Trump administration, which, in a moment of inspired miscalculation, attempted to freeze federal funding with all the grace of a steamboat captain yanking the whistle cord without first checking for icebergs.

On Monday, the White House Office of Management and Budget shot off a memo instructing states to freeze all federal grants and loans, an order that landed upon the nation like a cannonball in a henhouse. State officials, charities, and agencies promptly found themselves bewildered, their funds held hostage by a decree so perplexing that even its authors seemed unsure of its purpose. The administration, when prodded for an explanation, declared that the freeze was a noble endeavor to reverse the tide of progressive notions such as diversity, equity, and inclusion—concepts which, by all accounts, had been threatening to bring civilization itself to ruin.

Upon realizing that the effort was about as popular as a rattlesnake in a child’s cradle, the administration performed a maneuver known in political circles as the “rapid retreat,” rescinding the order with all the dignity of a man attempting to pass off a tumble down the courthouse steps as an intentional dance.

By then, twenty-two state attorneys general, led partly by Nevada’s Aaron Ford, had filed suit faster than a cardsharp folds a bad hand. As laid out before the court, the argument was that the President, in his enthusiasm for unilateral decision-making, had neglected a minor detail known as “the law.” Federal Judge John J. McConnell, presiding over the matter, concurred and issued a temporary restraining order, effectively informing the administration that Congress—not the President—holds the purse strings.

Basking in the glow of the judicial spanking, Ford released a statement hailing the ruling as a victory for Nevadans, democracy, and possibly even the concept of sanity itself. Meanwhile, Governor Joe Lombardo’s office noted that nearly 32 percent of the state’s budget was caught in the funding freeze, which did nothing to improve the governor’s blood pressure.

And so, dear reader, we close this chapter of political theater, where the moral of the tale is simple: if one intends to freeze something, it is best to ensure it is not the entire machinery of government.

Gang Unimpressed

The Reno Police Department has triumphantly announced that it has delivered a knockout punch to the KO gang—an outcome that, if one were to believe law enforcement, was about as decisive as a heavyweight champ flooring a glass-jawed opponent in the first round.

For years, KO, a local Blood gang set, had been making a name for itself in the fine fields of homicide, human trafficking, drug dealing, armed robbery, and the ever-popular art of stealing cars. But after a multi-year investigation led by the Regional Gang Unit and the Northern Nevada Safe Streets Task Force, the police have seized 30 guns, several pounds of illegal drugs, and an awe-inspiring $10,000—an amount that, in modern criminal economics, wouldn’t even buy a decent used getaway car.

Still, authorities insist this was a resounding success. More than 50 gang members and associates have been convicted, with many now residing in the state’s most exclusive accommodations—prison cells with an all-inclusive meal plan. Several additional cases remain pending, presumably because the wheels of justice, like the Wi-Fi in Lovelock, operate at the pace of a glacier.

The RPD says this joint effort is the first of its kind in Washoe County, and they seem quite pleased with themselves. Whether KO members share in this enthusiasm remains unclear, but given the history of organized crime, one suspects that if history has taught us anything, nature abhors a vacuum, and so do gangs. One can only hope that whatever new criminal enterprise rises to take KO’s place will at least have the good manners to make better financial decisions.

For now, Reno’s police have declared victory, and perhaps rightly so. Whether it’s a lasting peace or merely the intermission before the next act remains to be seen.