Land on Demand Editing Proofreading Indexing: Land on Demand Hits Las Vegas: I Get the "Loathing" Part

What It Is (posts below left; rate sheet, client list, other stuff below right)

My name is Bob Land. I am a full-time freelance editor and proofreader, and occasional indexer. This blog is my website.

You'll find my rate sheet and client list here, as well as musings on the life of a freelancer; editing, proofreading, and indexing concerns and issues; my ongoing battles with books and production; and the occasional personal revelation.

Feel free to contact me directly with additional questions: landondemand@gmail.com.

Thanks for visiting. Leave me a comment. Come back often.

Friday, March 30, 2012

Land on Demand Hits Las Vegas: I Get the "Loathing" Part

Not impressed.

I think what I needed was Raoul Duke and his attorney, the Brown Buffalo, at my side — to keep my mind off everything else.

What is it? Ninety-five percent of Nevada is missile testing range? Couldn’t the government get something entirely right for once? Is it too late?

Sorry, Moi, to diss part of your region of the country, but I just don’t get Las Vegas at all. It’s like the worst of the worst of some things that I think are pretty bad already. And the state has a Mormon U.S. senator? Can someone please explain what the hell is going on here?

13 comments:

moi said...: There is something quite awesome about the missile testing range-ness of the dessert surrounding Las Vegas. Something so spare and hopeless that it's almost beautiful. That being said, it looks nothing like New Mexico. Get further north, into Utah, and you'll grok the full meaning of my love for the spaces of the Desert Southwest. Vegas is not it. Remember, the mob situated the place there for a reason.

So, did you at least EAT something good?; March 30, 2012 at 11:06 AM
czar said...: Moi, don't get me wrong. I love wide-open spaces. And Vegas should have been left as one.

We went on the recommendation of another friend (no offense intended) to Bartolotta Ristorante del Mar in the Wynn Las Vegas. All the fish is flown in daily from one port in Italy. I am composing a manifesto to the corporate honchos around the world about how their little 5-star, 5-diamond, Top Chef restaurant has a hell of a lot to learn from a place like Cracker Barrel.

I've had better meals in restaurants at a third of the price (and that third still coming in two figures for a couple), and service far more attentive to the customer's experience at a Waffle House counter. And they will hear about it. In certified letters. And I am not a griper.

Casino hotels, people hugging onto the slots with their dying gasps (with the inevitable dangling cigarette), the simultaneous encouragement of awful addictions, the facades, the stretched-thin performers (men and women), the glitz mentality, the lure of the dollar, the poor city infrastructure, the lines on the freeway that will lead you directly into the retaining wall . . .

Rental car experience: bad. You don't give a customer a vehicle with an entirely different kind of transmission and not tell them how to drive it. And, of course, all rental cars have the owner's manual removed from the glove box.

Trip to Grand Canyon West was very cool, although we passed by a bad fatal wreck involving two vehicles and some free-range cattle. Then about 10 minutes later I had to drive slalom through some cattle that came up very quickly. Tere is making it out like I saved our lives with my driving acumen. Maybe so. I don't know.

I think both Tere and I were a bit disappointed in Cirque du Soleil's Love. Without the music itself, I wouldn't rank it anywhere near as intriguing as the first two shows of theirs we saw a coupla decades ago. A wonderful experience, though.

That, and we thought my stepmom was going to die while we were there. She was on so many different meds, couldn't keep anything down, and would refuse hospitalization if offered. We got in there, and I remembered the BRAT diet from our kids' childhood: bananas, rice, applesauce, and toast (dry). Two days later, she's keeping food down and looking and sounding much better. Then Dad Czar gets the gout.

Am I painting a picture for you here of how these four days were?; March 30, 2012 at 11:34 AM
moi said...: Slalom cows? Last gasps? Bad wait service and over priced food? Ill parents? Oh, my. I'm sorry. Definitely gripe to the management of el restaurante. That just ain't right.; March 30, 2012 at 2:20 PM
czar said...: Oh, we had a great burger on US 93, just over the Nevada-Arizona line. There's a place run by the Hualapai (sp?) called the Last Stop, and they make excellent burgers and very good fries. Highly recommended. Very friendly place.; March 30, 2012 at 5:30 PM
czar said...: Correction to my original comment: Should be "still coming in at three figures for a couple."

Our meal with tip was about $340. That included 1 drink before dinner for each of us, and only Tere had a split of wine with dinner. As I see it, the waiter saw Tere order a rather lower-priced entree and decided to deliver me a $90 piece of fish. Ninety. Dollar. Entree. And because of the way the menu is written, you don't know until the bill is delivered.

Whaddya think?; March 30, 2012 at 5:33 PM
moi said...: I think you need to letter bomb the restaurant for that neat little trick. Something similar happened to S.B. and I once. Neither of us knows all that much about wine, but when we go out for a nice dinner, we like to drink a bottle (or half-bottle, if they offer it) with the meal. Usually, one of us asks the waiter to recommend something based on what we're eating, and we give him a price range. Once we forgot to stipulate the range. And when we got the bill, we noticed the waiter had chosen the most expensive bottle on the menu--$80. And had split before I could crack his head open with it.; March 31, 2012 at 8:34 AM
Rafael said...: Czar:

What's wrong with Mirmons? Is magic unders any stranger than pregnant virgins?

Hope to see you Monday...just wouldn't be the same without you.

Rafa; March 31, 2012 at 2:09 PM
czar said...: Thanks, Rafa, for the invite.

I have no greater and no less problem with magic undies than preggy virgins. But how a Mormon could have such political blueballs as to be senator of a state whose main income comes from gambling, drinking, and whoring is another aspect of modern life not likely to be understood.; March 31, 2012 at 8:58 PM
Rafael said...: Czar:
So Christian's can be hypocrites but Mormon's can't...

Sometimes you gotta join'em to change 'em. PLUS...if there wasn't any sin'n goin' on, priests couldn't live vicariously anymore and they'd have to resort to acting on their...oh, never mind!!!

Rafa; March 31, 2012 at 9:30 PM
czar said...: Rafa: Don't know where you got anything from what I've said about Christians vs. Mormons. I'm just talking about one particular politician. That doesn't give the rest of them a pass. I'd say the same thing if he was a tongues-talking fundie and represented Nevada.

Too, I consider Mormons Christians. You don't?; March 31, 2012 at 10:54 PM
Rafael said...: czar:
Sorry, I mainly commented because I find the idea of magic unders hilarious.

I don't know much about Mormonism, but between the undewear stuff and Jesus being an alien that spoke to the native americans IS a bit different...to me anyway

Really all meant in jest and that hypocrscacy surrounds us at every turn.

Rafa; April 1, 2012 at 1:48 AM
czar said...: Rafa: No problem, and certainly no offense taken.

I'm working on a book that criticizes the supernaturalism of belief in ghosts and astrology, but questions not at all such concepts as the virgin birth or the resurrection (or walking on water, or bushes that burn but which are not consumed). It's interesting how people pick and choose.

Fundies would likely diss the concept that Jesus came to North America and spoke to the Native Americans (it's adding to the Word, donch'a know?). But would they question that Jesus is speaking to them directly in their own lives? Heaven forfend.; April 1, 2012 at 6:50 AM
moi said...: @Rafe. Do not speakest thou lightly of the magic underwear. Spanx works WONDERS.

@Czar: I know people who won't make a major decision without consulting their astrologists, but who regularly skewer Christians. As Forest Gump says . . .; April 2, 2012 at 9:36 PM

Rate Sheet

Bob Land's Rate Sheet

Note: Different rates may apply for self-publishing or overseas authors.

Copyediting—Take the word count of your manuscript and divide it by 265. That's a billable page. Remember to include footnotes/endnotes in the word count.

Electronic edit—edited files returned to publisher/author: $5+/page

Marked-up manuscript returned to publisher/author for keying changes—$5.25+/page

Typical turnaround time: 3–4 weeks from receipt of manuscript

Substantive editing—See above for determining page count.

Electronic edit—edited files returned to publisher/author—$6.25+/page

Marked-up manuscript returned to publisher/author for keying changes—$8+/page

Typical turnaround time: 3–4 weeks from receipt of manuscript

Higher editing rates apply for material that requires extensive rewriting or that includes complicating elements, such as massive reworking or cross-checking of documentation. Technical manuscripts (legal, medical, etc.) also subject to higher rates.

Contact me for bids on work if English is not your primary written language.

Indexing—Based on a 6x9 page; other page sizes adjusted proportionately

$5+/indexable page

$6+/indexable page for biographies and military histories

Typical turnaround time: 3–4 weeks from receipt of page proofs

Proofreading—based on a 6x9, one-column page; other page sizes and formats adjusted accordingly

Cold read—$2+/book page

Read against manuscript—$3+/book page

Typical turnaround time: 14 days from receipt of page proofs

Rush fees

Editing 25 percent surcharge for 8- to 14-day turnaround; 50 percent surcharge for 7-day turnaround

Indexing 25 percent surcharge for 7-day turnaround; 50 percent surcharge for 4- to 6-day turnaround

Proofreading 50 percent surcharge for 5- to 7-day turnaround; 100 percent surcharge for 3- to 4-day turnaround; if you need it faster than that, we can talk

I can accept hard copy sent to the address below, or PDF or Word files emailed to address below.

Copying fee (for example, if you want me to keep a copy of work that I’m sending): $.06/standard page.

Shipping charges paid by publisher/author. Preferred method is for publisher/author to provide shipping account number (FedEx or UPS); alternate: billed with final invoice.

All invoices payable upon receipt. 30 percent payable at start of project/task for new clients or self-publishing authors.

Brushes with Fame

1. An old friend had to remind me of this one, because he remembers more about my life than I do. When I was a youngster, I threw up on Johnny Carson in an NYC theatre. Would have been in the early 1960s. I have no recollection of the event, but from what my mother said, he apparently handled it well.
2. The family went down to Plains, GA, maybe around 2004 to sit in on Jimmy Carter's Sunday school class. Afterward people could line up for a photo op with the president and Mrs. Carter. As we were in line, Tere (my wife) said, "I'm going to give him a kiss." I responded, "Wonderful. I'll catch up with you after Secret Service breaks your kneecaps." As we stepped up to pose with the Carters, my darling wife, never a wallflower, leans over and pecks him on the cheek. He just smiled and said, "Right on!"
3. Backstage with Stanley Clarke, after Return to Forever performance, Atlanta, 8/2/2008. See photo below.
4. Internationally acclaimed artist Thornton Dial was bribed fifty dollars to let our family give him a ride home; Birmingham to Bessemer, AL. Dial is justifiably suspicious of white folks he doesn't know; actually, I might have to say that's one thing we have in common. I'm always happy when going to a party to see a good dog to engage in proper conversation.
5. Gave a very drunk John Fahey a ride to an Atlanta airport hotel after a depressing performance, during which he became progressively more wasted on stage and basically just babbled more than playing guitar. Among his comments were that his father-in-law offered to give Fahey some money if his wife (the guy's daughter) would lose some weight. The sight of seeing the slump-shouldered Fahey shuffling into the hotel carrying his guitars haunts me still.
6. Lunch with Jane Fonda at Bulloch House, Warm Springs, GA, the morning after she filed for divorce from Massa Ted. The first time I saw her was when she stepped out of the back of the car she was sleeping in at the home of a folk artist we were both going to see: the Prophet Jesse Marshall. (She had apparently been up all night.) Bulloch House is a southern-style buffet, which La Jane took to right away. No healthy eating there. She was quite angered when they removed her plate from the table while she had stepped away before she had a chance to finish what she'd put on there to begin with. After spending some time with our two boys, she offered to adopt them if ever anything happened to my wife and me.
7. Garrison Keillor rode in my car; spoke with him later at apres-performance dessert party, Abingdon, VA. Keillor was invited (paid) to give a fundraising performance at Barter Theatre, the state theatre of Virginia, where my wife works. They needed a big vehicle to pick up Keillor, so they borrowed my Chevy Tahoe. Quite tall Keillor apparently sat in the way back and spoke on the cell phone the entire time (I was not invited to be in the car to pick him up). For a while we could say that our car had his DNA in it, but then we traded it in on a Prius, which gets 48 miles a gallon -- a whole lot better value than having a car where Garrison Keillor once sat. He was very nice after his performance, though -- apparently totally against type. I told him that A Prairie Home Companion used to save my Saturday nights in the early '80s when I was working at the printing plant.
8. Physically bumped into Jack Nicholson upstairs at Sardi's -- the famous Broadway theatre district bar -- 1977; the occasion was an "audition" (that is, a fundraiser) for a play that some folks were trying to get produced. The playwright and composer and two of the leads they had cast were there performing all the songs. Maybe 20 people were there, sitting in folding chairs gathered around the piano. One of the songs was a little ditty called "Tomorrow." The play ended up being Annie. Why, as a 17-year-old, I was invited to this gig is far less interesting, but one of the oddities of my life.
9. A very slight brush. Back around 1978 when I was in college, some friends and I traveled from Atlanta to Huntsville, AL, because, before transferring to school in Atlanta, one of my friends had been instrumental in arranging for Hunter S. Thompson to give a talk at the University of Alabama at Huntsville campus. Because of my friend’s remaining connections at the UAH campus, we knew when Thompson’s plane would be arriving, so we prepared ourselves properly to meet him at the airport—kind of the unofficial welcoming party. So we are positioned in the concourse and see Dr. Thompson’s unique stride coming toward us (along with the official welcoming party of two or three students). There are three or four of us unofficial types—longhaired, eyes glazed, and mostly in awe. My friend says in his most cultured tone, “Ah, Dr. Thompson,” at which point we begin genteel applause, as if we are at a ladies’ tea party or piano recital. Thompson takes one frightened look at us and darts into the airport bar. We follow, and take up our spots at the table next to him and his minders, trying to glean what we can from the conversation, which is virtually impossible, because even at his best, Thompson speech is mostly incomprehensible. After about 15 or 20 minutes, Thompson gets up to leave, stops by our table, and says, “Sorry. I thought you were some of Wallace’s boys,” referring to former governor, presidential candidate, and opportunistic segregationist George Wallace. Looking at us, you would have hardly associated us with Wallace supporters, but we were happy for the moment of attention and humor from the good doctor. When we saw him the next day giving his talk for the students, I’m not sure I understood one of every 10 words he said, but as a brush with fame goes, the trip was well worth it.
10. Added starter: Once when I was ushering at the Fox Theatre in Atlanta (early 1980s), I heard the Grateful Dead perform "Let It Be" for their sound check. Deadheads who've listened to thousands of hours of bootleg tapes assure me that the band never played that song. Well, maybe not during a concert, but I know what I saw and heard, performed for about 30 ushers and the guys at the sound board, who seemed to be more occupied with the lines of coke in front of them. Jerry Garcia and Donna Godchaux singing, if you're keeping score at home.