When I was a little kid, I believed that geographical borders between states and countries were literal. After looking at maps and globes, I had it in my adolescent head that between, say, California and Nevada, there was a big line running down the border. For some reason, I suspect that George W. Bush still thinks this is the case.
Anyway, as I grew up and traveled a little bit, I realized this was not generally the case. But there are some regions where there are indeed "lines" that make it clear that two very different places are meeting.
South Lake Tahoe is a prime example of this. On the eastern side of the metropolitan area, casinos like Caesars Tahoe, Harvey's and Harrah's dominate the skyline. Then, as one heads west, all of a sudden the casinos are GONE. They just stop. That is, until you reach an Indian reservation; then, they start again.
The dividing line between California and Nevada is more obvious these days, thanks to the energy crisis that is hitting the Golden State. This started when a Republican governor, Pete Wilson, drove the state head-first into energy deregulation, without thinking about the possible consequences. It continued when Gray Davis, a Democratic governor, showed everyone he had the leadership ability of a stoned, blindfolded possum by doing nothing to help matters until it was too late, when his "help" consisted of throwing taxpayer money at the problem as he simultaneously bent over to kiss his aspirations of becoming president good-bye.
This unique bipartisan cooperation has led to the specter of something they call "rolling blackouts." These are power outages that are ordered by people from an organization called the California Independent System Operator, which controls the state's power grid. The timing and location of these outages are determined with a complex formula consisting primarily of when and where someone CISO officials don't like will be located in an elevator.
In other words, on the non-casino side of South Lake Tahoe, rolling blackouts are theoretically be possible. But on the Nevada side, all is fine and dandy. My friend Howie Nave, the host comic at the Improv at Harrah's, points out that things would be different in California if the casino industry ran that state, as the gamers would rather a hospital go dark than a nickel machine go off-line. But that is an awfully cynical outlook that I can no way support. Instead, I optimistically believe that if it were up to the casinos, they'd much rather the hospitals' power stayed on, conditioned only on whether or not video machines were installed in each and every room.
But I digress. My point here is not to mock the casino industry nor Pete Wilson nor Gray Davis. My point is to mock George W. Bush. Wait, that's not right. My point is to discuss geographical boundaries. That's right.
Anyway, this begs the question: Couldn't a concerned business at Lake Tahoe theoretically, as a precaution from rolling blackouts, get a really big extension cord and run it over across the state border, and plug it in somewhere when nobody was looking -- kind of like Suzie's tried to do in south Reno? And what could we do if California, because they are, like, 30 times Nevada's population, just decided to invade us and take away our power?
I am not worried, actually, because the casinos would defend us. Oh, well. Maybe we should look into painting a big line down the border (I'd say a "white line," but I am afraid such a phrase would possibly make George W. Bush's nose itch) just in case. After all, that would make it easier to see the extension cord.
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By the way, I wanted to apologize for a goof last week. I rambled on about my new mug shot and how much better it is than the old one, but -- because Murphy's Law sucks -- of course, my old shot ended up running. Let me assure you that we're working here at This Fine Newspaper to eliminate that old shot, because it is starting to kill off the birds that have to look at it when it lines their bird cages (which is a common destination for this column). The new one will be in place soon, if it isn't already. Thanks for your understanding, and God save the queen.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who is very wary of elevators whenever he now visits California. His column appears here Tuesdays, and a column archive may be viewed at jimmyboegle.com.