The Old Blog in the Desert

On Halloween night, October 31, Washoe County Manager Eric Brown was spotted with his wife at David’s Grill in Sparks, despite recently taking an early medical leave citing a pneumonia diagnosis. Brown, who oversees county operations, including election oversight, reportedly left work on October 28 for a month-long medical leave planned for a later date in November.

An eyewitness noticed Brown’s personalized sports car outside the Red Hawk Golf and Resort, where the couple were at the bar, and shared photos to verify his presence. While it remains unclear if Brown was drinking alcohol, the nature of his illness has led to speculation.

Medical advice for pneumonia often involves antibiotics and extended rest, usually incompatible with outings or drinking.

In response to questions, County Spokesperson Bethany Drysdale explained that Brown’s leave was to ensure his full recovery ahead of the procedure.

“We tell our employees it’s okay to get sick, take time for family, and use their leave, and I’m going to do exactly that,” Brown said in a statement.

He emphasized the county’s commitment to cross-training employees to support continuity in his absence.

Some employees expressed frustration over the lack of advance notice about Brown’s leave. One employee emailed that, by learning of it from news outlets, they felt “a disappointing and disrespectful level of communication.”

Others have called for a review of Brown’s recent behavior, suggesting it does not align with his medical claims. On social media, the eyewitness urged Chairwoman Alexis Hill to launch an investigation, raising concerns over potential misuse of medical leave.

In anticipation of potential election-related actions, the Third Judicial Court in Lyon County has announced special extended hours to address issues related to the Tuesday, November 5 elections.

Effective Tuesday, October 29, the court order authorized filings and hearings to take place beyond standard business hours to prepare for any matters that may arise on or around Election Day. According to the court, the extension is for potential late filings or emergency hearings that need administration outside regular hours.

The court stated that the additional hours would ensure a timely response to any legal matters connected to the upcoming elections.

We lay flat against the ground, hearts steady but alert, a kind of calm that comes before a storm. Night had set in deep over the Congo, and the air felt like it was holding its breath.

Somewhere out there, beyond the low brush, the poachers were coming. Fifteen men, maybe more, armed and ready to butcher what they could for the ivory. The kind of job that didn’t take skill, just greed.

It was 1988, and none of us had seen a drone before, though something small and plastic hovered out there, watching. The others around me shifted in the dark, barely making a sound. We’d spent the day crawling into this position, high above the footpath, waiting for the moment they’d come.

“Quiet now,” whispered Martin beside me. His voice was rough, barely audible. “They’ll be here soon.”

I nodded, though I could hardly see him. To the left, Sam was adjusting his rifle, slow and careful. “Let’s hope it’s cleaner than last time,” Sam whispered. “One shot, in and out.”

“That was luck,” muttered Lewis. “Luck and a good wind.”

“Still counts,” Martin said, his breath tight. “We only need one shot tonight, too.”

The poachers were after elephants, maybe rhinos. They didn’t care for the land or the life on it. Just for money. That’s all this place was to them—a bank where the currency was blood.

We’d only been out here a week and already had a run-in with another gang. One shot and a bull saved. Tonight felt different. The air was thick, and the stars looked strange above us. Foreign. Everything about this continent felt raw, untamed.

Then we heard them—voices low, speaking in quick bursts. The poachers were close now, slipping through the brush like shadows. We were still, waiting. Just as the first man stepped into the open, the air changed.

A sound rumbled deep behind us like the earth had woken up. A lion huffed. The kind that rolls through your bones before you even know what’s happening.

“Christ,” I whispered, my hands tight around my rifle. “That’s close.”

“Hold,” Martin hissed. “Don’t move.”

The poachers froze–every one of them. They looked up toward us, squinting in the dark. The lion huffed again, and the ground beneath us trembled.

“They hear it too,” Lewis muttered. His voice was tight now, strained.

“Let them hear it,” I whispered back. “It’s buying us time.”

But time was not the problem. The lion was.

The poachers started backing away, disappearing into the thick brush, slipping out of the reserve as if the lion had spooked them more than any gunfire could. I could feel the tension in the air, the breath we all held as they moved farther off, back to where they came from.

“Stay still,” Martin whispered. “Let them go.”

We stayed silent, waiting. Minutes felt like hours. The night grew thicker around us, and still, the lion didn’t move. It was somewhere close, too close. I could feel its presence, the heat of its breath carried on the night air.

Then the voice came over the radio, low and controlled. “Move forward. Same trail. Left.”

“Roger that,” Martin replied, as none of us were eager to meet that lion head-on.

We crawled slowly, inch by inch, weapons drawn, moving down the hill toward the trail. I could feel the earth shift beneath me, each step deliberate. Every sound felt too loud in the dark. The lion’s presence hung behind us, but we didn’t see it and didn’t want to.

Three clicks away and at the base of the hill, the Land Cruiser waited. Safety was a drive away, but none of us would forget the feeling of that lion just behind us, somewhere, out there in the night.

For nearly a decade, Democrats have maintained a majority in the Nevada legislature, currently holding 28 of 42 seats in the Assembly and only one seat shy of a supermajority in the Senate.

With all 42 Assembly seats and half of the Senate up for re-election this year, Republicans are eyeing a chance to narrow this lead. Should Democrats gain a supermajority, they’d have the power to pass tax increases and override gubernatorial vetoes without Republican input.

Governor Joe Lombardo vetoed 75 bills in his first term, arguing they posed a “harmful and dangerous” impact. Several of these bills echoed California policies, from rent control and transparency on rental fees to legislation expanding Medicaid access to all Nevada residents regardless of immigration status and allocating $43 million for free school meals.

Lombardo fears these proposals could re-emerge and pass if Democrats win a supermajority. Meanwhile, Lombardo’s legislative priorities, like voter ID laws and school choice expansion, would face insurmountable obstacles if Democrats gain more control.

His initiatives were often stalled in the committee stages by the Democratic majority, which was criticized for alleged gerrymandering that favored their dominance. However, Republican voter turnout during early voting has been strong and seen as a challenge to Democrats’ supermajority.

As the race heats up, independent voters will play a decisive role.

GOP consultant Jeremy Hughes estimates a final Republican lead of 10,000-20,000 voters based on current trends and recent increases in GOP registrations. With nonpartisan voters representing a substantial share, their decisions could shape both legislative outcomes and the top of the ballot.

The Harris-Walz campaign, in particular, needs a three percent edge among these voters to secure a win, matching the margin by which Lombardo and Senator Catherine Cortez Masto won independents in 2022.

As early voting in Nevada wraps up today, Friday, November 1, voters who opted for mail-in ballots have a convenient way to track their status.

The Secretary of State’s office has launched Nevada BallotTrax, an online tool available at nevada.ballottrax.net/voter, allowing voters to monitor their ballots. To use BallotTrax, voters must enter their name, birth date, and zip code. The tool also offers the option to receive real-time updates by adding contact details.

For assistance with BallotTrax, contact the Secretary of State’s office at (775) 687-8683 or by emailing nvelect@sos.nv.gov.

foot meets autumn glow
candlelight leaps in shadow
pumpkin’s flicker fades

It was with a clenched jaw and a boiling rage that I dragged myself back into the hellhole they called high school—except now it was worse. It had transformed into a twisted prison under the thumb of those uninformed puppets from Warren Air Force Base. The place reeked of stale air and control as if the walls themselves were in on the joke that was my life.

They zeroed in on me like vultures, circling for their next meal, slapping the label “dorm rat” on me like I was less than nothing. A joke. And for what? For their sins. Not once did I snitch or give them a reason to come after me, but that didn’t matter. The paranoia of those weed-smoking cowards hung around my neck like a noose, tightening with every fucking glance they shot my way. They got to walk around like kings, laughing behind their hands while I ended up in the back of a goddamn ambulance, choking on their smoke.

The brass? Those cold-hearted bastards didn’t give a shit. Watching me squirm was their entertainment. Each day, they turned the screws tighter, waiting for me to snap, daring me to. I was their scapegoat, their so-called traitor in a rigged system. They wanted me broken and humiliated. And the worst part? They enjoyed it. “Dorm rat”—someone carved it into my door like a brand, a reminder that I wasn’t even human in their eyes. Every day, another fucking reminder.

I locked myself away in my room like a cornered animal. Not because I was scared—fuck no—but because I had to. The rage was growing in me, eating away at whatever the person I used to be was left. One wrong word, one wrong look, and I knew I’d explode.

They wanted me to lose it–to lash out so they could point and say, “See? He’s the problem.” But I wasn’t giving them the satisfaction.

I’d get up before dawn, showing, dressing, slipping out like a ghost. It was better than facing the gauntlet of bullshit that awaited me every day.

Each step felt like walking into a buzzsaw of hatred and cruelty, but I kept going. I had to because no one was going to break me. The assholes thought I was their fucking rat, but I wasn’t. I was a caged animal biding my time, waiting.

I wanted to burn their whole fucked-up game to the ground, and they wouldn’t even see it coming. And the thought of that kept me going.

The Republican Party has mobilized thousands of poll watchers across the United States to monitor polling stations on Election Day. While the party claims the effort aims to uphold election integrity, Democratic leaders and advocacy groups are increasingly worried about possible intimidation tactics toward voters and poll workers.

Jim Womack, chairman of a local Republican Party in North Carolina, has been vocal about encouraging volunteers to take a firm approach to spot any “nefarious activity.” He told Reuters that the goal is to guarantee the election’s quality by training volunteers to be “the eyes and ears” at polling stations.

“You’re the people who can make sure all the rules are being followed,” Womack said, adding that he sees alleged vulnerabilities in election laws as an opportunity for fraudulent practices, which he attributes to left-wing agendas. His efforts are part of a broader strategy coordinated by the Republican National Committee (RNC).

According to RNC co-chair Lara Trump, the party has trained 230,000 poll watchers and support staff nationwide, with 5,000 volunteers and 500 attorneys in key battleground states.

“We want eyes on it every time a vote is cast and counted,” she said, emphasizing the goal of maintaining public confidence in the voting process. “We don’t want a single American to feel like their vote doesn’t matter and their vote doesn’t count.”

Republican poll observers are encouraged to complete a checklist to ensure that polling stations close on time, that voting machines are secured, and that machines remain disconnected from the internet. However, the requests may overstep, as poll watchers are not legally entitled to certain procedural information.

Democratic leaders argue that such guidelines are intimidating to, rather than protective of the voting process. Stacey Abrams, founder of the New Georgia Project and Fair Fight Action, described these efforts as an “intentional strategy by the RNC to sow chaos” in elections.

In a recent CNN interview, she said, “We’ve seen the criminalization by Republicans of election workers…there have been intentional strategies adopted to weaken not just confidence but the infrastructure of elections.”

A recent Pew Research poll reflects the underlying concerns over election integrity. While most voters remain confident in their local poll workers and the election process, only 57 percent of Trump supporters believe the election will be without bias, compared to 90 percent of Harris supporters.

The development is part of a historical trend of electoral oversight efforts on both sides. In 2008, tensions rose when two New Black Panther members were seen armed with AK-47-style weapons at a Philadelphia precinct, underscoring concerns over intimidation at polling stations.

Crows on the Rez know how to keep their secrets unless you know what to ask and how to listen.

The earth beneath your feet is thick with history; every footstep stirs the dust of those who walked before. If you stand still long enough, quiet enough, the ground might remember you. It might whisper something if it thinks you are ready to hear.

The land and its inhabitants—crows, trees, stones—are keepers of memory. They watch us with quiet patience, waiting for us to ask the right questions, to remember what we’ve forgotten.

The stories are there, beneath the surface, woven into the earth itself. You can feel it in the way the wind shifts, in the faint tremor beneath the soles of your feet.

The crow is always speaking if you know how to listen. When the sun sets and the sky streaks red, they fly in slow, deliberate circles as if tracing the outlines of forgotten paths in the air.

The crows perch like shadows on the high branches, their eyes glinting like obsidian in the dying light. They are witnesses, observers of all that has been and will be.

They know the stories the wind carries—the old stories that have slipped beyond human memory. They secret those stories in their wings, in the spaces between their sharp cries.

The crows do not speak in words. They speak in silence and pauses between the beats of their wings and the rustle of leaves.

It is not the language of humans, bound by sounds and syllables, but something older, something woven into the fabric of the world itself. It is a language of time and space, of breath and shadow.

They have no use for the trivial questions of the present. The crows do not care about the fleeting worries of the human heart, but they know the deep questions we hesitate to ask. They carry with them the weight of time, of things that stretch far beyond our narrow understanding.

It is best to learn to listen to what they do not say. The answers are not in the noise of this world but in the spaces between, in the shifting of the wind, in how the grass bends as if brushing against a secret too fragile to be heard aloud.

Beneath their black feathers are questions. Questions that haunt the spaces of your mind, that slip in between the sharp calls when the world is quiet. They know things we have forgotten, things the land remembers for us, things it has been keeping safe for generations.

There is something sacred in the silence, something that the crows guard with their watchful eyes. They have seen the world change and land reshaped, but they remain. They are the keepers of time, the guardians of forgotten stories. And they wait for one to ask the right question, and to listen, to remember.

The wind shifts again, and the crows take flight. Their shadows stretch across the land, long and dark, like memories stretching back to the beginning of time. You watch them go, and for a moment, just a moment, you think you hear it—something ancient, something true—whispering in the wind.