You can starve a body, but you can't starve a mind

As the year winds down I go through my book shelves and make two piles; books that I’ve bought, read and won’t read again that I will give away, and those to sell to a used bookstore. My intention is to make room for more books.

At one point in my life I'd walk through a bookstore and marvel at all the knowledge sitting there, feeling deflated as if I had wasted my life, I vowed to read two books per month. I kept this tradition alive until four years ago in the silence of the Desert, I subscribed to cable television and became a History channel junkie. Having been a listener of NPR for over two decades I now listen to NPR while I cook and clean my kitchen and schedule my tasks according to the BBC World Service and Terri Gross' Fresh Air.

Although I don't believe I'm a media enthusiast, my life has a mix of books, television, films, radio, and some selective news.

Until now- a month short of 2010.

Come the new year I plan to go back to my original goal.

Why? Because I'm convinced not enough people read and when a student admitted this to me, I felt a scream arising from the depth of my lungs. Disappointed, I ask, “Why not”. “Not enough time” he says. I sigh, with a stern expression and a tone that bids beware, “I will tell you one thing, you can't write unless you read. You must listen, take notes and you'll have to work very hard. You are in this class for a good reason. If you don't pick up a book you will dance with death. Books will make you come alive, as guides they will show you the way to your inner world and you will be reborn. Only then will you be able to write”.

He staggers back to his seat and I have a surging flash of panic- is the future of our country in the hands of illiterates?

As I hear myself mentally ranting I begin to hate myself for criticizing- for being so middle class, so comfortable and pampered that I am so shell-shocked. After fighting this war, I become resuscitated by understanding that I can do more by setting an example, books are buoyant with a love of life, like cascading diamonds that gleam waiting to introduce a reader to a hidden treasure.

I love the hunt for fabulous fiction and enjoy going to a bookstore without an agenda in a daze like Alice in Wonderland, I leave myself open and fuzzy to the thrill of discovery, almost shaking from excitement. As an independent shopper if a sales clerk wheels by to offer anything, I'm annoyed from the intrusion. This year my reading titles included:

1.Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman a collection of short stories by Haruki Murakami.
2.My Antonia by Willa Cather
3.Suite Francaise by Irene Nemirovsky
4.Malinche by Laura Esquivel
5.Sister of my Heart by Chitra Divakaruni
6.Queen of my Dreams by Chitra Divakaruni
7.The Young Wan by Brendan O' Carroll
8.The Coldest winter: A stringer liberated in Europe by Paula Fox
9.El tren pasa primero by Elena Poniatwokski
10.Art by Laney Salibury and Aly Sujo
11.The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
12.The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath
13.Seize the Day by Saul Bellow
14.The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

I read more fiction than non-fiction, more written by women than men and from writers spanning the globe. This year only one was in Spanish.

Reading is a privilege and a solitary pursuit, a journey unknown. Books hold an uncertainty principle that applies to all areas of thought, life, longing, and faith. It all depends on how comfortable you are with uncertainty, how fond you are of mystery, how willing you are to take the quantum leap of faith that a book requires.

The Life and Times of Las Vegas

Writing about settings from where you are currently living is that you can narrate the experiences firsthand. It can make writing more authentic since the writer is in both a place and time warp, transposing experiences that make the audience understand because human experience is universal. I impart this theory to my students, and although they may want to delve into the surreal, I advocate for starters to write what they know. Teaching is something I enjoy greatly, but apart from that, I learn so much from the process of teaching, of grappling with so many writing issues every week.The biggest perk is the infectious quality that I see in my students that have the fever of the emerging artist, and the desire to succeed against the sobering odds of the publishing landscape.

Not everyone has glowing memories of growing up in the Desert. Although many may appreciate Las Vegas now, a few wanted out back when. People were embarrassed by their working class parents. Some had complicated childhoods. Many had been poor. Having the Strip as an immediate detail was not insignificant- it made for aggrandizement, where the values of Sin City made many uncomfortable. The fascination with money and what it could buy was particularly apparent to those who didn't have much. The loan sharks, the high rollers, the clubs with the naked girls, with all their plumes and sequined costumes was a reminder for those who couldn't get enough of homes, jewelry, furs, and cars.

Las Vegas then as now symbolized American consumerism and excess, a coarse ugliness of mainstream American culture. There was no nature just bulldozing. It usurped Reno's place as the nation's capital for marriage. But it also became a place where up and coming entertainers – comedians, singers, musicians, – were scouted.

Later, when the high local color was fading, flattening, as the number of hotel rooms ballooned and the competition for tourist dollars became more fierce, individual hotels swallowed up many of the service and entertainment functions that had made the city lively.

Walking pass City Center, I overhear one woman say about another to her companion, “Getta loada that bling”. She doesn't recognize diamonds from Cubic Zirconia's. Hotels are in trouble, unemployment is over 13% and the reckless overbuilding, and over-financing of the national economic crisis hit hard made by massive speculation. No city has a larger concentration of home foreclosures.

In most American cities, “new” means “improved” but in Las Vegas, “old” means last year's hotel and old people, preservation is a concept that seems like nothing but a liability.

The city has a history of espousing poor judgment, and there hasn't been sufficient attention to the fundamentals. Yet it remains a populuxe playground where tourists flock and neon enjoy a spectacular life. As the day fades into sunset, the Strip gleams in pink, lavender and azure blue. At a distance, the neon lights shining between the dark silhouettes of the palms soften into a romantic sway. Like many of its attributes, it is an artificial sunset, but still a gorgeous one.