The Vegas Vagabond tells his young Elder friends about Donny and Marie.

For approximately the last month or so I have been receiving lessons from Elder Wilkes and Elder Reyes. Both of them have shown exceptional character and class, and not to mention a lot of determination in their efforts to bring me closer to the Lord. I have a short, and what I think is a funny story to share with everyone about the two of them. But before I get started, I just want to tell them again how much I appreciate them..

"Elder Wilkes, Elder Reyes - do you guys know who my favorite Mormon performers are? I have been watching them forever." We had just finished a study session when I posed the question to my young friends - By the way - I find it a bit awkward referring to the two of them as Elders. The fact is if you combined their ages into one and then added a few more years - I would still be older than both of them. "Who is your favorite Mormon performer?" Elder Wilkes asked...I didn't want to come right out and tell them so I said this, actually I started singing it. "I'm a little bit country and I'm a little bit rock-n-roll. Donny and Marie baby. The Osmond's. I used to watch their variety show faithfully when I was a kid. You guys like Donny and Marie? Don't you?"

When I think about Donny and Marie way back then, it reminds me of my two missionary friends of today. They were wholesome and pure, they were young, they were witty, and both had a deep affinity for their beliefs...Just like Elder Reyes and Elder Wilkes. "You guys must love Donny and Marie...Aren't they the best." I said with conviction. One problem, my young friends had never heard of them.

"Who is Donny and Marie?" At first I thought they were pulling my leg. "Come on guys - Donny and Marie are like Elvis to the Mormon sect. You know who I am talking about." Both the Elders have a great sense of humor. I was for sure they were trying to pull one over on the old guy when they said they didn't have any idea who the Osmond's were. So I needled them a little more, "If you go down to the strip, look directly up at the Flamingo Hotel, you will see a large mural of them on the side. You guys almost had me for a minute. Donny and Marie, who are they. You two should be standup comedians."

I waited a moment for them to fess up to the joke and then Elder Reyes says - "We kid you not. We are being serious. We don't have the slightest idea who Donny and Marie is? Are they some old time singers from when you were a kid?" When I think of Donny and Marie - even to this day - the last thing I think of is old. Donny still looks like he could whip anyone. And Marie, she is still one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen. They're not old to me, but to a couple of young whippersnappers like Elder Reyes and Elder Wilkes. I guess I can see where they are coming from. But still, Donny and Marie.

We played a few Donny and Marie tunes on Youtube and then I gave them a quick rundown on the rest of the Osmond clan. "I would play the Donny part, and my younger brother would be Marie. And after there show was over, we would stand up and sing one of their songs." I ranted a little more about how much I liked them and then I asked who they're favorite performers were...Both of them said in unison, "Imagine Dragons," I guess we will have to chalk it up to the age gap, because I had never heard of them...In Jesus name we pray - Amen.

The returrn of the urban outdoorsman....Part 2

"Annabella my love. I am sorry for leaving you the other night. I was rudely interrupted and I promise it won't happen again." My Bolivian muse with green eyes, mocha skin, a pearl smile and a body carved of stone was upset with me. "Vrob, I was ready to give myself to you and you left me," she said, "Vhat's wrong? Don't you vant me?" Once again I found myself in the high roller suite at Bellagio. The marble floors, a master suite spacious enough for a symphony, a panoramic view of the fountains. It was all secondary! Once and for all, it was now time for Annabella and I to finally consummate our relationship. "I'm sorry my love," I told her again, "Of course I want you. I promise nothing will stand in our way this time." She then drops her silk robe and bares her naked body to me. "Vrob," she says, as she is getting ready to accompany me in our bubble bath filled jet tub. "Please don't leave me again. I vant you more than anything in the vorld."

"Hey! Get up! There's no sleeping in the park!" Please Lord, tell me this isn't happening. My Bolivian beauty had once again faded into the abyss. And now in her place was a crew cut looking; sun glass wearing; gun toting park ranger. My initial thoughts at that very moment - "Goddammit, you thoughtless bastard. Why couldn't have you given me ten more minutes? I was oh so close to finally having my Bolivian muse," then I thought again. "OK sir, sorry about the indiscretion. I will be on my way," I murmured. I grabbed my backpack and rose to my feet. I told the ranger to have a nice day and began to saunter away with my darling Annabella at the forefront of my mind. Unfortunately, my thoughts were hampered once again by the park rangers parting words, "Don't let me catch you sleeping in the park again or I will give you a ticket."

The return of the urban outdoors man.

It was the green eyes coupled with the mocha skin that first attracted me to Annabella: No, it was the dark flowing hair and the voluptuous body. Then again it could have been the pearly white smile and the Bolivian accent. One thing was a certainty, it was love at first site when I literally ran into her at the library. She was walking around one corner and I was walking around the other. And just like you see in the movies, I accidentally knocked her books from her hands. We both bend down to pick them up and our heads bump against each other's. Her beauty and aura were simply astonishing. Well, I laid on a little of the Astle charm and the next thing you know we're both in a suite at the Bellagio. "Vrob," she said in her Bolivian tone, "You are the sexiest man I have ever seen. Shall I order us another bottle of champagne?" My heart was racing, I could not for one moment take my eyes off this heavenly creature as I lie in a silk robe on the king size bed with a goose down and pillow comforters, "Yes, my darling Annabella, another bottle of champagne sounds exquisite. This time order the Krug Brut Vintage 1988." She then smiles, giggles and says, "Before I do, I vant to show you something. Vhat do you think Vrob?" She drops her robe and shows me the skimpiest piece of lingerie I have ever seen on a women. "Vould you like me take it off Vrob?"

"Get up motherfucker! This is my spot!" Five more minutes! Five lousy fucking minutes! That's all I needed for my darling Annabella and I to consummate our relationship. "I said get up motherfucker, this is my spot." Why couldn't this bastard find another place to sleep. I told him to fuck off and tried to fall back asleep, but that never works - "Move prick, this has been my spot for three years! Go find another place to sleep!" - There are literally a million places to sleep on the street and I had to pick this one - I had some nasty words for my fellow urban outdoors man as I grabbed my backpack and piece of cardboard, "Thanks a lot dude! I was having every urban outdoors man's favorite fucking dream and you had to fuck it up for me. I am going to remember this!" The thought of turning his nose sideways raced through my mind for a few moments, but then I thought, "What good would that do? Annabella was long gone."

I have been playing urban outdoors man for the last couple of days. It's not a long term thing, it just so happened I had to be out of my apartment before I had anticipated. I thought I had another one lined up, but it ended up being more than I had agreed upon. Anyways, I am hoping by the end of the week I will have some new digs. And most of all, I am praying Annabella will find her way back to me.

The sewing circle of homeless town.

"I don't know what's worse by number in America, the vacant houses standing, or the homeless people falling into them."

~ Anthony Liccione

I like referring to my homeless brethren as 'urban outdoors men.' It has a certain ring to it. Anyways, I decided to make a trek to my old stomping grounds yesterday. Thanksgiving had proved bountiful for me and I felt the need to share the leftovers with my 'urban outdoors men' friends.

Most homeless people are what I refer to as hyper local. Meaning they usually pick a certain area and never leave its confines - Think of it as a comfort zone kind of thing - I had the bus drop me off in front of an abandoned building that I knew to be frequented by street urchins. Surely I could find some of the brethren there. "Don't shoot, it's just a homeless guy." Before I made my entrance into the building, I blurted out the unofficial code words of the street. Trust me, it's a terrible idea to walk into a homeless encampment unannounced. After my greeting, I heard a familiar voice. "Dr. Seuss is that you?" The west Texas twang was unmistakable, "Indeed it is me Boatie, I brought some leftover Thanksgiving grub for you." Boatie originally hails from Midland, Texas. If he's not in jail, he's on the streets. I liken him to a modern day Texas outlaw. "What are you waiting for? Come on in," he replied.

I open the door, walk in, take a look around and then follow the light to the backroom. When I turned the corner I could have sworn that I was walking into a homeless summit. "Dr. Seuss, what the hell have you been doing?" Boatie wasn't alone, my friend Ajax was there as well. He got his nickname because he always carries a bottle of cleaner with him. He is undoubtedly the most anal retentive homeless guy in Las Vegas. "Hi fellas, how are things going? I brought you guys some scraps from Thanksgiving." I then opened up my bag and took out the Tupperware and paper plates. I had forgotten to bring silverware, but it turned out not being a problem. Most professional urban outdoors men carry their own. "Here, grab a seat." Another one of my street urchin friends, Yankee, had just wheeled a chair up for me to sit in. His moniker is based on the old crusted Yankees ball cap he always has covering his mop of unkempt hair.

We divvied up the food and everyone ate until their heart's content. After the feast was over it was time to play 'Gossip Girl' on all the latest happenings on Vagabond Lane. "Did you hear about Stinky?" Boatie replied. Stinky is another urban outdoors man whose claim to fame is that he once bedded Pamela Anderson. Of course, no one believes him. Anyways, I replied, "No, what's the deal with Stinky?" Boatie then looked at me and said. "You're really going to enjoy this story. Stinky is shacking-up with a girl in North town. I saw him the other day and he looks like a changed man. We can't call him Stinky anymore. He was wearing a suit and tie and driving his new ladies car." What's the best way to describe a character like Stinky? To me, he looks, acts and smells exactly how Hollywood would portray a bum. You could literally tag him for homeless from a mile away. So when they told me he had a girlfriend who was taking care of him, well, it brought a quick smile to my face.

After catching up on all the latest street gossip, I decided to call it a night and head back to my apartment. As I'm riding the bus home, a thought came over me - There is a certain camaraderie that many street urchins share - It stems from the notion that society has forgotten about them. Most only have each other to lean on. I feel it is best described as a kinship, which can be difficult to find nowadays.

The fallen angel of homeless town.

'By that sin fell the angels.'

~William Shakespeare

I was venturing down an alley in SW Las Vegas the other day when I heard the utterance of a girls cry. The streets are an unforgiving place to call home and my first intuition was to ignore it and keep moving on; but it proved too ominous. At first I was unable to pinpoint exactly where the shrill was coming from. I then heard another burst: I've developed a new habit since hitting the streets. It is counting how many steps it takes for me to get from one point to another: Eleven paces in the direction I was headed was all it took, eleven lousy paces and a glance to the right.

Sitting behind a dumpster was a young lady, at first gander; she couldn't have been much older than sixteen or seventeen. That was enough of a shock, but then I noticed something truly indelible; a baby was cradled in her arms. She looked up at me with swollen eyes and said, "They are trying to take her away from me and I can't let that happen." My life has had its fair share of precarious moments; but encountering a young girl crouched behind a dumpster crying and holding a baby is an image I wouldn't wish on my worst foe. After the initial shock was over, I asked her if there was anything I could do to help. She said this to me, "I made a mistake taking her without telling anyone. Do you have a phone so I can call my sister to come pick us up?"

She shifted the baby to one arm and I held the phone out so she could dial. The other line answers and I give her the phone to hold, she then said this. "Can you come get us? I took Sophia from the house because they were talking about putting her up for adoption again. I shouldn't have taken her but I didn't know what else to do." A few moments pass and she gives me the phone back. I asked her if there was anything else I could do for her. She was very polite when she answered, "Sir, you have been very nice. I am sorry that you had to see this. I just don't want to lose my baby. Thank-you again for letting me use your phone. I promise that we're OK. My sister is going to pick us up at Los Taco's.

I follow her and the baby out of the alley and over to Los Taco's. I asked her again if she was alright and if I could do anything to assist. She assured me again that things were fine and it was her responsibility to deal with it. After her statement, I decided it best to get moving, but I didn't travel far. I walked around the corner so I could see her but she couldn't see me. My intentions were to make sure that someone was actually coming to retrieve her and the infant. After a ten minute wait or so; a car pulls in and the baby and her enter it and drive away.

The streets are not a place for women, children or animals. None of them possess the necessary abilities to defend themselves against all the ills of the gutter. Now when I first saw this young lady crouched behind a dumpster crying and holding a baby, shock and disbelief were my immediate emotions; after they simmered. My thoughts turned to such. "Jesus, this girl belongs in a sophomore English class somewhere and the baby belongs in a loving home. Leave the crouching behind dumpsters in an alley for bums like me."

A tall tale from homeless town.

'Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and adventures are the shadow truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgotten."

~Neil Gaiman


One of my favorite bums in Las Vegas is a guy named Harry, also known as -Dirty Harry- If you ever see him; you'll understand how he earned his moniker. Harry holds the title as the most delusional braggadocio on Vagabond Lane: A few weeks back, I was charging my phone in a power outlet on the outside of Wendy's. As I was standing there waiting for the phone to charge; two things distinctive to his presence occur: a smell that resembled rotten milk appeared in the morning air coupled with a dragging noise on the concrete. I didn't even look up to acknowledge him when I said, "What's going on Harry?"

Harry is disheveled to say the least and if the smell doesn't tip you off to his presence; the dragging noise of his lame foot caused from an auto accident years ago will. "Where have you been Dr. Seuss?" He calls me Dr. Seuss in homage to his favorite writer. We then spend a few minutes catching up on all the latest street gossip and such. Now most people can only take so much of him before it is time to politely excuse themselves. I am no exception, "Harry, I have to meet a friend of mine, so I will see you around." As I am walking away, he says this to me, "Did I ever tell you about the time I banged Pamela Anderson in the back of a limousine?"

I was twenty paces or so away from him when I decided to wheel it around and listen to his tale: "My friend and I were standing outside a restaurant in Las Vegas panhandling when a big black limousine pulled up beside us. The window rolls down and I notice a women with long blond hair staring at me. I make my way up to her thinking that she was going to throw me some coin and lo and behold it was Pamela Anderson in the flesh. I then said to her, 'You're Pamela Anderson, right?' She looks at me and says, 'Guilty as charged. I have been watching you for a while and I was curious to see if you wanted to do a little partying with me." 

Being disrespectful to people on the street is the quickest way in the world to get your ass kicked, but I couldn't contain my disbelief, so I told him this. "Harry, let me get this straight; you're telling me that Pamela Anderson pulled up in a black limousine and told you that she wanted to party with you. Come on dude. Do I look like a moron?" He then looks at me with all the conviction in the world and says. "That's exactly what happened. So I jump in the limousine with her and we have a few cocktails. She then tells the driver to pull around back and to go for a walk. A few minutes later both of us are naked and you know what she told me then; she said if you're going to fuck me, fuck me like you mean it, and that is exactly what I did! Now that's a story for your blog Dr. Seuss."

To be honest, I hadn't given his story a second thought until I talked with another street urchin friend of mine today. We started yakking about Harry and he asked me if I had heard the Pamela Anderson story. I rolled my eyes and told him I had. My friend then tells me this. "He has told that story to every derelict in town for the last two years and even the craziest of the crazy refuse to believe him. It is hard to imagine a guy who has been banned from Wendy's and McDonald's due to his lingering stench ever bedding Pamela Anderson, but who knows, maybe she suffers from sinus issues."

The Warren Buffett of homeless town.

"The way to make money is to buy when blood is running on the streets."

~John D. Rockefeller

You don't find any solace in it; but I am not the only homeless person in Las Vegas, not by a long stretch. If you look at the few blocks I roam - I did a poor man's census on this a few days ago and counted twenty plus just like me- Now if you fan out a little from my usual stretch the number turns colossal. My mother used to tell me that it takes all sorts and she was right, especially when it comes to the streets. I have encountered everything from the 'way gone' to the 'Average Joe. Homelessness has no creed, class or color. Now I have to tell everyone who reads this blog a certain truth I share with a number of fellow derelicts. It's not that all of us are crazy or lazy, of course some are. Its just a lot of us are trying to find are way and a stretch on the street, no matter how gloomy it may be, is serving as the guiding light. With that said, it's blatantly obvious to most that I need employment; but I'm not looking for a job per se. It's purpose that I truly long for. The remainder of the post is going to be dedicated to just that; purpose for Rob Astle. I ask one thing from people reading this post: Think.

It's been a while, but I used to dedicate a lot of my time analyzine a website called Groupon. By now, the majority are familiar with how they operate. So let's back up and tell everyone how Groupon was created. Before its conversion it was a website called ThePoint.com. The Point was a call to action website based in a section of Chicago, the sole purpose of the site was to draw attention to civic matters in the Greater Chicago area; Example: If there was a pot hole in the road or graffiti on a wall in the Point's call to action zone, they would notify their database and encourage them to call or email the correct authority to alleviate the problem. The effectiveness of their database proved so overwhelming; that it wasn't uncommon for thousands to reply to a single call for action. Well, after a year or so of the same results they decided it was time to monetize their database. Thus Groupon was born.

When Groupon rolled out in November of 2008, they had a hefty investment; which is important, but that's not what made them successful in the beginning. The underlying factor was an organic database of 150,000 that was built during the Point's existence. An organic database is best defined as a database that is built from the ground up. It is most effective when the initial message of a website/blog is based on ideological or hot button issues (civic issues, homelessness) people have proven to pay more attention to it versus a commerce site. The notion of monetizing is secondary in the beginning; but once an effective response is garnered, monetizing becomes the underlying factor.

What's the most effective (cost & strategy) way to build an organic database for my blog in the town of Las Vegas.?

Guerrilla Marketing is a strategy in which low cost unconventional means (graffiti, sticker bombing, flash mobs) are utilized, often in a localized fashion or large networks of individual cells; to convey or promote a product or idea. The term guerrilla marketing is easily traced to guerrilla warfare which utilizes atypical tactics to achieve a goal in a competitive or unforgiving environment.

I just gave you the Wikipedia definition of Guerrilla Marketing, mine is simpler: Be aggressive but tactful. Get your point/pitch across in the simplest of terms while keeping your target disarmed. Below is just one example of how I would Guerrilla Market my blog in Las Vegas.

The setting- a youth bible fellowship. The one in my neighborhood has two hundred and fifty members according to their brochure.

The approach- "Hello Ma'am/Sir, my name is Rob Astle and I am writing a blog about homelessness in Las Vegas. I've had some good response and I just want to share with other people what I'm experiencing. If you get some time, check it out. Thanks and have a nice day." I would then hand them a card with the blog address on it. If they didn't have any questions or concerns I would approach the next person and the next person and the next person.

The intended outcome- A certain percentage of the people in Las Vegas who are made aware of my blog are going to be inclined to view it. Especially if the content remains relevant. Homelessness is a big issue in Las Vegas. You can call it confidence, arrogance, call it what you want. I am under the belief that my storytelling in a reality sense is strong enough to attract and hold a crowd. The immediate goal is to build an organic database of five thousand within a three-six month of start of campaign.

I like to end every post of mine with a thought I'm having...Call it the vagabond thought of the day. "The unconventional is the new conventional, so to speak. I understand my current situation points to despair; At this point it may be too hard for people to look past it. But the key to any successful web based business in the beginning is building an organic database! At this juncture, I couldn't be in a better situation to pull a feat like this off. My ex wife told me a few weeks ago that if life gives you lemons make lemonade. That's my intentions. This idea is going to require some financial assistance, but not much. If a few people are gracious enough to string together a couple hundred dollars a piece and then pool it together: That would be sufficient: Once that happens - I will concentrate on improving the features of the blog, creating adequate marketing materials and hiring a number of other people to assist in the Guerrilla Marketing process."