The Old Blog in the Desert

Nevada’s Latest Budgetary Jamboree

Nevada, ever a pioneer in getting the short end of the stick, has found itself awash in a mighty heap of cash—some $870 million, to be precise—courtesy of the opioid reckoning. The windfall–wrung from the trembling hands of big drug companies after their enthusiastic peddling of despair, was meant to mend the broken, patch the wounded, and, one supposes, buy a mountain or two of Narcan.

But if history has taught us anything, it’s that when politicians get their paws on a pile of money, their sense of direction becomes as reliable as a drunkard in a dust storm. With its unerring instincts, the legacy media is pounding the governor’s door with accusations of fiscal mischief as Attorney General Aaron Ford’s handling of the money remains a mystery wrapped in an enigma and stashed in a government office somewhere.

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, that great oracle of doom and statistics, has reported that while opioid deaths fell nationally by nearly 24 percent between 2023 and 2024, Nevada boldly bucked the trend with an 11.3 percent increase. That makes it one of only five states determined to prove that misery loves company, as nearly 1,500 souls perished from overdoses in the 12 months leading up to October, and a solid 969 of them were due to opioids.

Despite this bleak landscape, the state’s two-year budget proposal has raised the hackles of opioid advocates, who claim that $10 million of the settlement funds are getting used in a way that defies the very agreements designed to keep the money from being frittered away on the general slush of government spending. It’s not the first time a financial windfall got into the darkened depths of government.

One need only look back at the tobacco settlement funds, which, rather than fighting the very industry that sickened millions, found their way into a college scholarship program and a grab bag of general healthcare spending. Lessons learned? Perhaps not.

Under the 2021 law governing Nevada’s opioid funds, the money is supposed to be strictly devoted to abating the opioid crisis—no exceptions, no diversions, no cleverly worded budgetary sleight-of-hand. Yet, advocates have flagged some eyebrow-raising expenditures: $5 million tucked into Temporary Assistance for Needy Families (TANF), $2.5 million for extended foster care, and even $85,000 for minority health office staffing. Worthy causes, no doubt, but precisely how these expenditures abate an opioid crisis remains a riddle for the ages.

However, the bespoken $10 million could buy about 700,000 doses of Narcan, the life-saving drug that reverses overdoses. Instead, some of that money is going to upgrade a maximum-security youth facility–because nothing says opioid relief quite like sturdier prison walls.

During a recent budget committee hearing, Assembly Speaker Steve Yeager grilled officials on how moving the opioid money into TANF squares with the spirit of the law. The answer, given with the usual bureaucratic aplomb, boiled down to a vague assertion that the funds would support families affected by substance abuse—how, exactly, was left to the imagination.

Chief Deputy Attorney General Mark Krueger, tasked with ensuring these funds get properly used, did his best to assuage fears but acknowledged that if the money strays too far afield, there could be repercussions. And yet, if history is any indication, consequences for misappropriating such windfalls tend to be as rare as a politician declining a campaign donation.

As lawmakers trudge forward, poring over budget sheets and legal agreements, one thing remains certain: the $870 million meant to heal a wounded state is slipping through the cracks. Whether it will be spent on addiction recovery or swallowed whole by the endless hunger of government bureaucracy remains to be seen.

If the past is any guide, we may look back on the settlement, wondering not where the money went but why we even expected it to get properly used.

It has long been the custom of the civilized, when faced with a difficulty, to find a way to make it someone else’s problem. That is how Nevada made a name for itself in the divorce trades. Now, in a stroke of pure legislative genius, the esteemed members of Congress have devised a method by which a husband, should he find his matrimonial bonds growing tiresome, might rid himself of a wife with all the ease of misplacing an old hat.

The newly minted Safeguard American Voter Eligibility (SAVE) Act proposes to protect our most cherished institution—voting—by ensuring that no unqualified person wields the power of the ballot. To accomplish this noble goal, the Act would require that all voters produce documentary proof of citizenship, a task about as simple as finding a hen’s tooth for millions of Americans.

Consider, for example, the plight of the married woman. For reasons beyond all comprehension, many have changed their names over the years, typically after entering into that peculiar arrangement known as wedlock.

This small matter of name-changing, long thought to be the harmless folly of love-struck maidens, has now been exposed as a dire threat to democracy. For how–one must ask, can a woman prove she is the same person she was before she had the good sense, or misfortune—to marry?

Voting rights groups, always eager to stir up trouble where none exists, claim that this legislation will disenfranchise millions of Americans, especially those unfortunate enough to have been born under one name but now answer to another. They point to the outrageous inconvenience of acquiring proper documentation that involves navigating the labyrinthine corridors of government bureaucracy—a feat akin to hunting a wild goose in a snowstorm.

The honorable Representative Chip Roy of Texas, a man of little sound judgment but unparalleled confidence, assures the public that this law will not, under any circumstance, exclude any citizen from voting. It merely asks them to engage in a harmless bit of administrative sport—tracking down original birth certificates, marriage licenses, and various other parchments that may or may not have gotten devoured by time, fire, or an overzealous spring cleaning. If a few good citizens get lost along the way, that is a small price to pay for the grand assurance that something already illegal will remain illegal.

Naturally, critics remain unmoved. They lament the hardship this will impose upon women, rural folk, and other unfortunate souls who lack a fireproof file cabinet containing every document issued since their first breath. Some, with their usual taste for hyperbole, even suggest that the bill’s most delightful feature is its unintended (or, some whisper, entirely intended) effect of making it exceedingly difficult for a married woman to vote–at all.

In all fairness, the Act does provide for those who find themselves in such a predicament. States will get the solemn duty of establishing a process to remedy discrepancies–a task they will undertake with the speed and efficiency for which government offices are universally known. Those who fail to comply must accept their fate: no proof, no vote. A woman’s right to democracy, it seems, extends only as far as her ability to outwit bureaucracy.

Thus, those longing for the carefree days of bachelorhood may soon discover an unexpected benefit of this legislation. If a wife, once so devoted and lovely, has become a shade too chatty, a touch too opinionated, or, heaven forbid, a persistent advocate for her rights, then perhaps the easy course of action is to encourage her to exercise her civic duty.

Send her down to the courthouse, instruct her to register to vote, and let the fine men of government do the rest. Should she return triumphant, documents in hand, at least you will know you married a woman of remarkable perseverance.

But should she vanish into the void of rejected paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense, there are worse fates than being legally bound to one who no longer exists on paper.

Nevada Politicians Agree on Something

It is a well-established fact, known to all students of the human species– that expecting legislators to agree on anything is much like expecting a cat to take to water–or a lawyer to refuse a fee—contrary to nature itself. And yet, in the grand and baffling spectacle–the Nevada Legislature, a marvel has appeared–a bipartisan bill on the ever-divisive topic of mail ballots.

This curiosity, known as Assembly Bill 148, proposes that sample ballots get sent out before the state’s infamous mail ballots make their rounds. One might think such a notion was simply a matter of common sense, but common sense is an unwelcome guest in political chambers, so it’s treated as a legislative breakthrough.

Assembly Minority Leader Gregory Hafen, a Republican, has taken the lead, and—miracle of miracles—Assembly Speaker Steve Yeager, a Democrat, has joined him in this rarefied air of agreement. Even Nevada Secretary of State Cisco Aguilar has nodded in approval, proving that anything is possible in the Silver State, even reason.

The bill sets new deadlines for mailing ballots, ensuring that the sample ballots, meant to educate voters, do not arrive as an afterthought. Receiving their mail ballots, some citizens assumed them to be sample ballots, staring at the lack of indication that the paper before them was for practice, not participation.

Once again, government efficiency achieved the remarkable feat of confusing the people it meant to serve.

Naturally, this singular moment of cooperation does not signal a new era of legislative harmony. Republicans remain determined to rein in the wild and woolly practice of counting mail ballots that arrive after Election Day, as Democrats stand guard over the laws they put in place during the pandemic.

Governor Joe Lombardo, a man known for surrender, has even suggested taking the fight to the people should his efforts to reform mail voting be thwarted by the Democratic majority.

Still, for now, AB148 stands as a monument to that rarest of political occurrences–an agreement and a thing so uncommon, so utterly unheard of, that one suspects it will soon be put on display at the Nevada State Museum alongside the bones of prehistoric creatures. And like those ancient relics, it may soon be a thing of the past.

It was one of those tranquil evenings where a man can sit in his favorite chair, digesting his supper in peace, when suddenly, from down the hall, came the voice of my beloved wife—shrill as a tea kettle and twice as alarming.

“Do you ever get a sharp pain that shoots across your body, like someone’s got a voodoo doll of you and they’re stabbing it?” she inquired, as though she were conducting a scientific survey on the matter.

I pondered for a moment, then replied with the honesty and brevity of a man who wishes to avoid further interrogation. “No,” I said.

There was a pause, a dreadful pause. The kind that makes a man wonder if he has miscalculated something vital.

Then, with the speed and precision of a thunderclap, came her follow-up, “How about now?”

And, let me tell you, I have never been more convinced that some unseen hand had driven a pin straight through my very soul.

Nevada’s esteemed legislators have once again saddled up their noble steeds, donned their finest spurs, and galloped headlong into the grand enterprise of making more laws to fix laws that aren’t fixing anything. Two new bills, SB304 and SB309, have been introduced with much fanfare, promising to cure the scourge of drunken and drugged driving by—what else?—tinkering with the lawbooks.

Now, SB304 is a model of simplicity. It suggests that if a person in a drunken stupor kills someone with a vehicle, they might—just might—be charged with vehicular homicide, even if they haven’t been three times convicted. Such a novel concept, to be sure, as one might think that killing someone with a car while intoxicated would already be viewed dimly by the courts. But up to now, the law has been reluctant to call a spade a spade unless the driver’s thrice blessed by the criminal justice system.

SB309, however, is the true masterpiece of legal embroidery, weaving in all manner of new restrictions, definitions, and fine adjustments. It adds fentanyl and “Molly” to the forbidden elixirs of the road, jacks up fines from a mere $1,000 to a more respectable $3,000, and lowers the highest DUI threshold from 0.18 percent blood alcohol level to 0.16 percent—a change sure to be as effective as tightening the buckle on a broken belt. Meanwhile, the threshold for vehicular homicide goes from 0.08 percent to 0.10 percent, an adjustment reached by some esoteric arithmetic known only to legislators and their consultants.

The bill’s proud sponsor, Republican Sen. John Steinbeck–presumably, no relation to the famous author–has issued the usual solemn proclamations. He has seen too many tragic scenes in his long career as a firefighter and that Nevada’s DUI laws are deficient—though whether more laws will plug those holes or create new ones remains an open question.

One might wonder, dear reader, if the problem lies not in the quantity of laws but in their court enforcement. But such a notion would be too practical for a legislative body that must do something—whether it accomplishes anything.

And so, there will be a watch with bated breath as our lawmakers add yet another layer of legal varnish onto a system that is already as polished as a well-handled campaign donation.

Making Two Wrongs into a Right

The Nevada Legislature, in its infinite wisdom, has taken up the noble task of turning the aged adage “two wrongs don’t make a right” and turning it inside out and backward.

Assembly Bill 209, now before the Committee on Judiciary, proposes to extend a legal olive branch—nay, a full-blown pardon—to those who commit certain crimes whilst engaged in the world’s oldest profession. The reasoning, as put forth by the bill’s presenters, is that sex workers, being at higher risk of exploitation and violence, are disinclined to report such injustices for fear of finding themselves in an equally unenviable position—under arrest.

The bill proposes a novel approach: grant immunity from the consequences of lesser infractions—prostitution, loitering, trespassing, and low-level drug offenses—so long as the offender is also a victim or witness to human trafficking or some other weightier misdeed. The person must, of course, be seeking assistance from law enforcement or other professional services, a stipulation that assumes a level of trust between the accused and the accuser which, given history, is as sturdy as a sandcastle in a Nevada windstorm.

Thus, we arrive at the legislative cartwheel before us: commit Crime A, witness Crime B, and—presto!—Crime A disappears. It is a curious method of lawmaking, akin to declaring that a man caught filching a chicken should get off the hook if he happens to have seen a bank robbery on his way home.

Whether this dazzling display of legal gymnastics will achieve its intended goal—making Nevada safer—is a matter left to time and the inevitable judicial head-scratching that will follow.

But He’ll Sue the Feds in a Heartbeat

Well, sir, it ain’t much of a surprise that Attorney General Aaron Ford doesn’t take kindly to DOGE, as he won’t even spare a sideways glance at nearly a million dollars gone missing in some Internet rigmarole in Lovelock. But turn your back for one second, and he’s already saddled up, riding into court with a posse of 19 other attorneys general, ready to give the federal government what-for over some pink slips.

A federal judge in Maryland, perhaps feeling particularly charitable toward the working man, has seen fit to grant a temporary restraining order against 18 federal agencies, forbidding them from sending probationary employees packing and even ordering them to round up the poor souls they already fired and put ‘em back on the payroll. The lawsuit, spearheaded by Ford and his fellow legal wranglers, argues that these mass firings—ordered by none other than President Trump and DOGE—have caused “irreparable injuries” to Nevada and other states.

The judge, evidently seeing merit in their bellyaching, agreed to halt the whole business.

Ford, never one to miss a chance at a grand proclamation, issued a statement dripping with righteous indignation:

“This ruling not only requires the Trump Administration to stop these indiscriminate and unlawful layoffs but also orders it to undo the harm inflicted on Nevada by restoring the jobs of hardworking federal employees. These mass firings reflect a disregard for both the law and the essential role of the civil service in maintaining government stability.”

Some lovely words, certainly, but one questions whether his enthusiasm could be summoned for the small issue of the disappearing Lovelock Internet funds.

It is universally recognized—at least by those with a lick sense—that a man’s stomach, like the rest of his insides, is his concern. But in these latter days, when the noble art of government consists chiefly of meddling in the affairs of others, the question of whom a man (or woman, or anyone sufficiently afflicted with the need for medical attention) may see for their doctoring has become a matter for the courts, rather than common sense.

Nevada Attorney General Aaron Ford, a man presumably elected to keep the peace and maintain the dignity of the law, now finds himself in a tussle along

with no fewer than 17 other state attorneys general over a simple proposition: whether those who rely upon Medicaid shall be permitted to decide for themselves which physician, nurse, or other sawbones they might employ to probe, poke, and prescribe upon their ailments.

The trouble began in South Carolina, where the governor, exercising that peculiar instinct for interference that afflicts all men in office, sought to bar Medicaid funds from traveling in the direction of certain providers—chiefly those with an association of a particular kind of doctoring that stirs up the righteous indignation of politicians with idle hands. Lower courts, perhaps briefly overtaken by an unusual bout of reason, ruled that such a maneuver was illegal, affirming the long-standing principle that choices in healthcare should be an individual desire rather than the whims of those in power.

But because no absurdity in this nation can be left untested before the highest tribunal in the land, the case has now made its way to the U.S. Supreme Court on April 2, where justices will take a break from their usual business of bewildering the citizenry with conflicting interpretations of the Constitution to determine whether 791,000 Nevadans and untold others across the republic shall continue to enjoy their current freedom of choice or get conscripted into whatever arrangement suits the reigning political mood.

Attorney General Ford, for his part, insists that the “free choice of provider” rule is essential, not merely as a matter of principle but as a means of ensuring access to necessary medical care. His opponents, no doubt, will argue otherwise, and the great machinery of law grinds on, converting simple rights into complicated battles, leaving the average citizen to wonder if he dares sneeze without first consulting a judge.

Bless his heart, Nevada Attorney General Aaron Ford seems to think that hollering “unconstitutional” is the same as making it law, much like a rooster believing his crowing brings up the sun. Ford has hitched his wagon to a group of like-minded legal luminaries to stop Donald Trump from downsizing the Department of Education—a noble cause if one assumes the federal government must be ever-expanding and never subject to a trim.

With all the grace of a man clearing brush with a scythe, the Trump Administration recently announced plans to send half the department’s workforce packing, which has sent Ford into a fit of righteous indignation.

“I was a public school math teacher!” he declared, as though that alone makes him the sole authority on education policy.

He then went on to inform that removing government employees from their chairs is not just a bureaucratic shift but an “attack on Nevada’s students”—never mind that education is a state responsibility or that entire nations have managed to educate their youth without a sprawling federal apparatus.

In his fervor, Ford has been scrawling his name on a pre-drafted lawsuit, ensuring his signature appears in the mix of fine print while insisting that “This plan is unconstitutional. It’s illegal. It’s dangerously reckless.”

That is his opinion—a fine and fiery one—but as any schoolchild knows, merely declaring something unlawful does not make it so. The lawsuit, making way to the federal courts, seeks to block Trump’s attempts to wield his budgetary axe.

If successful, Ford and his fellow litigators may ensure that not a single bureaucratic chair is left unoccupied, or if not, some of those soon-to-be-displaced officials can take up the noble profession of teaching math.

Once upon a time, a man could walk into a schoolhouse, tip his hat, and expect to be judged by his wits, not by the color of his britches. Alas, such quaint notions have fallen under suspicion, as more than 50 universities—including the University of Nevada, Las Vegas

—find themselves in a pickle jar of federal scrutiny for what the Department of Education calls “race-exclusionary practices.”

President Donald Trump, in his second tenure, has taken the broom to Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion programs, a breed of institutional contraptions designed, in theory, to uplift the downtrodden but, in practice, have turned the table against white and Asian students. In a memo as direct as a Missouri mule, the administration gave colleges two weeks to dismantle anything hinting at racial favoritism or risk a cut-off from the federal trough.

The department has also fashioned itself a contraption called the “End DEI” portal, where students, faculty, and concerned parties can report instances of discrimination, or at the very least, its heavy whiff. This modern-day complaint box, one imagines, will soon be filled to the brim with grievances, some worthy and some no more substantial than a summer breeze.

At the heart of the investigation sits the PhD Project, a well-intended initiative that assists underrepresented students in business programs but which officials say crosses the line into outright exclusion. If true, it suggests that in the pursuit of fairness, some schools have sorted applicants as a farmer might sort apples—keeping some for market and tossing others aside, not based on taste, but on the shade of their skins.

The Department of Education, led by Secretary Linda McMahon, now finds itself on the warpath against such practices, declaring that “students must be assessed according to merit and accomplishment.” What was a clumsy attempt at social engineering has now collided with the unwavering principle that a young person’s future should be determined by hard work rather than by their ancestry.

Of course, not everyone is taking this lying down. Teachers’ unions have already filed lawsuits, claiming the administration’s order is as vague as a fortune teller’s predictions and a direct affront to free speech. Whether the courts will uphold the administration’s iron grip or throw its memo into the dustbin of unenforceable policy remains to be seen.

College administrators, once the lords of their leafy domains, must now answer to a federal authority that has turned its skeptical gaze upon them. When the government comes knocking, universities tend to do a mighty quick reappraisal of their priorities.