The Real South.

I can cross one thing off my list. I've visited the real South. Where the air literally makes your clothes heavier. When Charleston is Chas'n. Where the men wear khaki shorts and white polo shirts. Where women wear skirts that reach the actual waistline. Where the smile and nod is a bit more of a smile, look, and nod. Where secret parties happen upstairs. Where the bars close. Where another kind of history lives and breathes.

I visited Charleston, South Carolina for a Pi Kappa Phi conference. These are five of the shots I was more interested in. The rest will be on the Nevada Pikapp website soon. I was very busy for most of my trip, so I didn't get a lot of time for photography.

Snow as finals come to a close.

The first signs of snow showed on Sunday night. A light dusting that would in all probability be so much drain water by the next morning. So I let myself slip into sleep.

Early next morning I awoke only to realize the world was just a bit brighter out. Either I was getting up late or something was different. Turns out a fresh coat of snow was different. seeing as I'm a Vegas kid and I always will be, I grabbed my study gear (wish me luck) and my camera and went on my merry way. I wanted to capture Old Campus with an undisturbed coat of snow. I arrived alone with only two or three others around me hurrying into buildings. The snow made its soft sound. like rain, but softer. And I wondered how many others had seen and heard this event before. The university is old. And as I've said on other occasions, you can feel that history sometimes. I hope through these photos you will understand what I mean.

The more you know!

**I used the Knowledge Center computers again for these photos and I think the color is off again.**

(This is really the first time I'm actually using this blog for news content. Though this is relatively low level news, I think it counts. At the very least I'm sure I'd have some sort of case against the university if I died.)

A dumpster now sits in front of the old Sagebrush offices. Inside are bags filled with debris and hazard clothing. Suite A is sealed off and air is constantly pumped in and out of it. Behind three layers of plastic, a sign warns against entry into the building. Apparently The Nevada Sagebrush was operating inside a building rife with a builders best friend (circa 1905) Asbestos.

One story about the Sagebrush office begins with a sudden server failure paired with an internet failure. The solution was deemed to be getting into the suite next door to reset the server...or something like that. Explorations under the offices yielded no entrances into the next suite. The next course of action was, of course, a venture through the attic. I was the individual who volunteered for these adventures. We joked about Asbestos. Now it seems we were right.

Nevada Desert Towns

Nevada is chiefly known for what I document on a regular basis: The two main centers of gambling in the United States. But an even deeper passion of mine lies in the Nevada desert, on the highways between Reno and Las Vegas. Towns, some living and some figments of the past, pepper the landscape. These towns are what used to be the life blood of this great state. The mining towns that heaved up thousands of tons of earth to establish the silver state. The mining towns where tumbleweed bounces through the streets. Where some of the grandest buildings of their time still stand. In the spaces between the active hands of Nevada is the heart of the state.

Recently I visited the old ghost town of Rhyolite, and the dying town of Goldfield. In the posts below are my short chronicles of those towns.

Desert Towns, Nevada.

Goldfield

A handful of businesses remain open on the main road through town. Houses further out from the road are in various states of decay. Some have for sale signs that optimistically list a phone number. Others sit vacant, open, and empty. Shops are closed. The town is listed as a ghost town in most modern atlases. Those residents who remain stare blankly as tourists gawk and pose in front of what used to be a thriving community. The Goldfield Hotel, once the largest in the West, sits boarded up. The schoolhouse rots slowly as repair efforts are made in vain.

Further out, where no tourist dare venture, are the mines. A range of hundreds of mounds. Each one a mine. Each one fenced off with barbed wire. The earth in this area is stained yellow and red by what was pulled up from below.

The town of Goldfield, Nevada.

Alystra: Mourning

I visited The Alystra Site a couple of days ago. Few things remain. scraps of wood painted sky blue. Glass shards. Tile. And a foundation. A foundation that once supported the majestic casino. The space where the building once stood is like a massive grave site. The only remaining structure is the stage that was once within the walls. Beneath it was once a vault. Now it is exposed to open air and filled in with dirt. The marquee still stands, a depressing sight without it's partner. The marquee is now a massive marker, a tombstone for the the fallen Alystra. I walked atop the foundation and tried to imagine what once was. 'Here was the front entrance' I told myself 'And over here was the main gambling hall'. It all started to break down when I tried to continue. At least we have the memories, an a few pretty rectangles of frozen time.

I'm stalking a House.

That's right. That house I ranted about a couple of days ago. Well, as it turns out, the internet is rediculously good at keeping information for years and years.

Built in 1982, the house isn't as old as I once thought. But it's almost thirty.

It's had at least 8 owners. Probably more, seeing as this list has some gaps in time and sudden new owners.

I found out that the house has been changing hands rapidly since 2004. The house hasn't maintained an owner for more than a year for 5 years.