a fairyland castle, the statue of liberty, a rap group...

nope, nothing unusual here.

lost in the neon wasteland known as las vegas. having as hard of a time figuring out all the walkways and escalators outside of the casino as in. too easily distracted by the circus-like surroundings. i get on a crosswalk (pictured here) overlooking the vegas strip. where am i going? i see a big flashing neon sign for "NEW YORK, NEW YORK" - another casino building/mini-city extravaganza. i head that way... i'd rather be in new york than vegas, right now.

just ahead on the crosswalk are 4 young black guys, stopping passers-by, asking if they'd like to hear or purchase a copy of their CD. soliciting, what i imagine is rap, or hip-hop music. now, under normal circumstances i would avoid these fellas altogether. lose myself in the crowd and sneak past while they harrass some other unlucky, defenseless chap. but today i'm feeling ornery. i want to be harrassed by four young black guys selling underground las vegas hip-hop music. don't know why, but i do? so, i walk full on into the closest solicitor, giving him no alternative but to ask me if i'd like to partake in his goods...

"hey man, you wanna hear some of our music?"
he's already handed me a pair of headphones.
"sure, why not..?"
"just asking for a donation if you like what you hear."
"okay, cool."
"you wanna hear somethin' heavy, or smooth..?"

hmm... tough call. DMX or BARRY WHITE? DMX or BARRY WHITE?
now, under normal circumstances i would say, "BARRY WHITE, FUCK YEA! DMX IS TOTAL SHIT!" but today...

"something heavy please."
"alright, check this out."

he plays a few tracks for me. i listen. not bad, not bad at all... i shake my head agreeingly.

"what's the name of your group?"
"POWER MOVE, here's our cd..." he hands me a copy.

printed on the cheap xerox cover, in large bland letters, are the words "POWER MOVE." just below the title are each of the four members, standing in front of, and facing, a brick wall. their backs to the viewer. each dressed in a slightly-varying shade of grey, oversized, sports blazer of the 80's-early 90's fashion (shoulder pads!), with a fist raised in the air as if to be knocking on the wall behind them. it looks oddly similar to bel, biv, devoe, & bobby brown leaning against the side of a brick building, taking a wiz.

i reach in my wallet to offer a donation for such a prized commodity. my friend asks a question while i do so...

"you don't look like the vegas type, what brings you here?"
"potato-climate-sasquatch-man," i reply, pre-empted with "i'm an artist who is..."
"oh, yeah? what kind of art do you do?"
"painting, illustration, photography, graphic design, websites... all of it."

i successfully pull out a bill from my wallet. a fiver. shit! that's a little higher than i was anticipating on offering. wait, that's the smallest bill i've got?! i don't want to ask for change on a donation..?! i hand over my prized commodity.

"thanks. hey, we're actually looking for someone to do our posters and website. maybe you'd be interested? what's your name?"

"jamie. yeah, here let me give you one of these..." i reach in my bag for one of my custom postcards advertising my website (the same postcard a lot of you at home have received). i get out a pen and jot down my contact info on it.

"what's your name?"
"kareef."
"here check this out, if you're interested maybe we can work something out?"
"yeah. hey actually, i think i know someone who might be able to help you out. he works with up-and-coming artists and musicians here in vegas. gets em gigs. he booked our last show. they call him... ICEMAN. here let me give you his phone number. can i see that pen a sec?"

i hand over my pen.

on the inside cover of my cd, kareef writes "ICEMAN" and ICEMAN'S corresponding telephone number.

"ICEMAN?" i chuckle.
"yeah, i know. he's cool though. give this guy a call."
"okay, thanks... (ICEMAN)?!"

we shake hands. i start to walk away.

"hey, you never know? god works in mysterious ways..."
i turn around, answering, "yeah, i know..."