The second edition of the Contemporary Art Center's "state of the arts" roundtable discussion, Conversations @ CAC, happens from 6 to 8 p.m. at CAC's Arts Factory space. The first edition of Conversations brought a lot of passions to the surface, to put it mildly; I heard it described as everything from "a spirited discussion about Vegas art scene" to "a goddamn metaphorical knife fight." This edition's panel features collector Patrick Duffy, Trifecta Gallery owner Marty Walsh, collector Todd VonBastiaans, collector Dr. Frank Schneider and Arts Square owner Brett Wesley Sperry. Artist Matthew Couper will moderate.

Later, Commonwealth is joining forces with The Act to present The Factory, a night of mop-topped Warholia. Works by the renowned pop artist will be shown; the richly talented performers from The Act will do their thing; Jerome LOL will provide an arty soundtrack; and on the off chance that none of these things impress you on their own, complimentary Absolut cocktails will be served from 9 to 11 p.m. Are you on the fence about this, seriously? An Andy Warhol party? That's worth at least 15 minutes of your time.

And on Thursday night, Avant Café makes one last fundraising push towards getting the doors of its Arts District coffeehouse opened with a night of '80s, indie and Britpop dance music spun by the inimitable DJ Style, a $2 art raffle by Su Limbert, coffee cocktails fueled by Mothership Coffee Roasters, and a live performance by "The Duchess of Deco," Pin-Up Pointe's Heather Hermann. There's a $5 cover at the door, which is a triflingly small price to pay for that much entertainment and the promise of a well-crafted cup of espresso sitting on the table by the window.

Ranging in price from $250 to $450, the garments are made to measure and meant to flatter women of all shapes and sizes: During the line’s Vegas debut at Artifice this past January, a model who appeared to be over 50 shared the runway with the other leggy young women, drawing thunderous applause. Bradley and partner Roselyn Poon hope to expand to tops and leggings soon. They’ll show their latest collection Tuesday afternoon at Bagatelle as part of Las Vegas Fashion Week.

What was it like making the transition from designing cars to designing clothes?

Within car design a lot of artwork’s involved. We’d have to draw new concepts for the cars and I would always draw women next to the cars. Right in the studio we’d have to airbush-render a life-size likeness of the car. And it’s a competition because you’ve got five other artists in the room wanting to sell their design to management. That kind of design experience I believe lends itself to any product.

My background of creating 3-D shapes, I’ve actually put that into the dresses. We call them engineered fashion.  There’s highlights and shading and areas where the design tapers off into nothing. The dresses are form-fitting but they’re made out of a slightly heavier fabric so they kind of hold you in, and the lumps and bumps disappear. Some of them emphasize the bust; all of them make you look slimmer.

Describe your style in three words.

Happy, colorful, positive.

What can fashionistas expect to see at your runway show on Tuesday?

We’ve created 30 new designs just for the show. We call the collection ‘Colors for All Seasons.’ We’ve got colorful pieces, some that are more corporate, and some little black dresses.

We feel the trend of the future is color, and a lot of [the dresses] fit in with current trends like bringing back the ‘60s. We give some of them a rock and roll flavor. We’ve got a new series out where we’ve taken faces of rock and roll stars and collaged them together.

Each dress is individually made right here in Vegas. I design all the graphics, and we print our own fabrics.

Some of the dresses with the faces remind me of Ed Hardy. Who are your style inspirations?

I don't mind that comparison. I've got a few of his things at home.

I really like Roberto Cavalli because he does beautiful prints. I like some of the new Versace pieces out there. There’s a lot of influences as a designer—I look at new architecture, what’s happening with all the modular homes, or the new Ferraris and Lamborghinis. When you synthesize what they’re trying to do, that can be applied to dresses.

A few years ago I did an advanced concept interior for Mazda and learned about nanofabrics. You can weave fiberoptic threads into cotton and have a T-shirt you could plug into a light source and it could change colors. You could have seats that light up at night so you can see where you’re sitting. You could weave in conductive threads so your shirt could become your laptop, your shirtsleeve could be your cell phone or power a design and change the image on your shirt every five minutes. These new technologies are coming and I’d love to integrate them into our dresses when they become commercial.

You’re making these dresses to order. Besides your website, how do you get the word out?

We’re starting to hold private viewing parties with small groups of women together. That approach allows us to let the girls try on the dresses, let them experience it. We show them it’s not too scary wearing a stretchy dress, and how to accessorize them.

I love that your name is Bunker Hill, like the Revolutionary War monument in Boston. How did that come about?

It was my grandfather’s nickname. His real name was Rollins Hill and he was a captain in the Navy. I’ve heard he was a pretty stoic, stern commander, so his crew nicknamed him Bunker Hill after the battle. When I was born my father wasn’t around but my grandfather was, so his nickname became my real name.

I thought maybe you were conceived at the monument.

No, nothing like that! I’ve never been to Boston or New England.

Catch the Cobra Culture runway show Tuesday at 4:00 at Bagatelle in the Tropicana, as part of Las Vegas Fashion Week. 

Looking for both? Look … Behind Closed Doors.

“There are lots of amazing women here doing amazing things and they don’t get held back as much as in other places,” says JK Russ, a contributor to Sin City Gallery’s current Behind Closed Doors exhibit. “That’s why women have a domination in my work. It’s my acknowledgment and appreciation of what I see women doing here in Las Vegas.”

One of the Sin City Gallery’s regular roster of artists, Russ helps owner Laura Henkel break new ground by displaying her work, “Neo-Romance,” the gallery’s initial video installation, marking the first time the space will host an exhibition for both daytime and nighttime viewing. Also included in the Doors show are three black-and-white canvases by Montreal artist François Dubeau.

“JK’s work is entirely in a class by itself,” Henkel says. “It’s complex, and there’s an aspect of it that is quite primal and grabs you. It ignites the senses.”

Running a little less than two minutes but played on a continuous loop on the gallery wall, “Neo-Romance” draws inspiration from the late-19th-century art movement that romanticized historic rural landscapes. Updating it to modern Vegas, Russ couples scenes from Gass Avenue to Interstate 215 with glowing canopies of Downtown lights and juxtaposes them against giant images of local burlesque figures. Among the busty Vegas beauties: Roxy Rouge, Janell Burgess, Lou Lou Roxy, Miss Charlamay, Staysha Randall and Ivana Blaize.

“I have a real interest in female sexuality and performance, and finding the burlesque scene here, it’s just perfect,” says the New Zealand-born Russ, her lilting accent intact after moving here in 2010 with her husband, artist Matthew Couper.

“I enjoy the glamour, the sequins, and there’s a real sexuality inherent in burlesque. At the same time, it’s the grunginess of Downtown Las Vegas with all the bright lights and neon, so it brings those things together.”

Primarily a collage artist, Russ’ work is often akin to a sexual fever dream with a surreal appeal, a collision of sensual female imagery with landscapes both man-made and natural, including the rugged desert and mountainous terrain encircling Las Vegas. Nearly always at the heart of Russ’ work is female sexual empowerment, which is especially potent in “Neo-Romance” as the burlesque performers pictured are giants towering over the other images.

“It’s like that movie, The Attack of the 50 ft Woman, where she’s coming through the screen, or that music video by the Rolling Stones [for the single “Love Is Strong”] where she’s coming through a cityscape,” Russ says. “They are potentially quite dangerous and destructive. In these [‘Neo-Romance’] they’re not, but they are dominating the landscape.”

Common throughout Russ’ work are depictions of women as both protectors and predators, creating an effect that can cut both ways with viewers. “It depends on what people bring to the images themselves,” she says.

“Some might find it threatening, and I can see how it can be interpreted that way. Strong female sexuality can be scary sometimes. But it’s also part maternal, not just with their children but also out in the community. Women will often be the [ones who care].”

Call it sensuously cerebral. Or cerebral sensuality. Either way, says Henkel, the impact is undeniable. “The way JK is able to juxtapose the imagery and incorporate the local culture, sexuality and empowerment, you can’t help but be mesmerized by her work,” Henkel says.

“This is a new genre for her, and it’s spectacular.”

Behind Closed Doors, 1-7 p.m. Wed-Sat, 11 a.m.-2 p.m. Sun, video installation, Neo-Romance 7-9 p.m. Wed-Sat and by appointment, through May 28, Sin City Gallery in the Arts Factory, 107 E. Charleston Blvd., (702) 608-2461

PHOTO BY CHECKO SALGADO

Until last weekend neither my friend nor I had ever attended the Helldorado Days rodeo, which happens on a nice big dirt lot at Las Vegas Boulvard and Stewart. It was a fact we had both grown tired of obfuscating in our frequent conversations with true cowboys, so we hiked up our chaps and went. To our delight, we discovered a world that we two urban dwellers had only glimpsed in Sam Shepard plays, a world of bucking broncos, trick riders and rodeo clowns who dance to Beyoncé. And though we didn't stay for the entire rodeo — the sight of a calf being lassoed by the neck was a little too much for either of us greenhorns to bear — we were fascinated by the riders, like the one pictured above, who lashed themselves to animals any sane person would flee.

By the way, the deep-fried corn nuggets weren't half-bad.

PHOTO BY GEOFF CARTER

Friday: The Zappos Rideshop Series celebrates the online retailer's vast selection of stylish kicks by putting those shoes on skaters, who will in turn put them on skateboards, which will then be applied to ramps and whatnot. From 6 to 9 p.m. in Jackie Gaughan Plaza (better known as "the lot where they do Vegas StrEATS"), bands will play, painters will paint, skaters will skate and food trucks will feed — and there's no cover and no age limit, as near as I can tell.

Also on Friday: The animated lizard western Rango screens in Huntridge Circle Park at 8 p.m. We Can Cook catering will be on hand to serve up pulled pork sammies, and the Huntridge Foundation will have a cooler full of Otter Pops and a popcorn machine. There's no cover, and all ages are welcome.

Saturday: The Helldorado Days parade moseys down Fourth St. at 5 p.m., beginning at Gass and ending at Ogden. (Note that the other Helldorado events — your basic rodeo, your basic carnival — take place all weekend long; see the Helldorado Days website for a complete schedule of events.) Helldorado is one of Downtown's very few connecting lines to its past; the first Helldorado Days event took place in 1934, which predates even my time on this planet. It's a damned good thing, looking at all those cowboys on horseback and thinking, "Wow, when this event got started nobody cared about all the parking spaces this event eats up." Helldorado Days is an affirmation, savage reader. It reminds us that we made it — that we survived boom and bust and built a city of a million people from a trickle of water in the ground. Put on a big hat and get into the spirit of the thing.

Also on Saturday: Las Vegas Springs Preserve inaugurates a new tradition, the Ohana Festival. This celebration of the history, culture and cuisine of Hawaii and the Pacific Islands will feature live music by the Kalama Brothers plus hula performances, and the whole thing culminates with the dormant volcano under Las Vegas going suddenly and irrevocably active. (I may have made parts of that up.) Best of all, the event runs from 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. — one hour shy of the Helldorado Parade. You could conceivably throw a lei over your Western shirt and multi-task this sucker. As we do.

PHOTO BY GEOFF CARTER

There’s a new breed of bar in Las Vegas, and I’m hoping it multiplies. Velveteen Rabbit tried to open quietly on May 1, but a few devotees were just too excited to let the moment pass, myself included. So we flocked. I’ve been here three times since, and with each visit I notice a new detail, something that confirms my suspicion that this place is poised for success: the daily punch that keeps me guessing, the latest art added to the walls, the reasonable prices.

Sisters Christina and Pamela Dylag seem to have founded their tiny Arts District bar on three principles: community, originality and respect for craft, be it craft cocktails or craft beer. “We definitely did not want it to be pretentious,” Pamela says. Mission accomplished. Bucking the exclusivity fad, the door is wide open while the weather holds. Artisan spirits sit alongside their big-brand counterparts, inviting the willing to drink in uncharted waters. Ever tried genever?

The cocktail menu shows incredible care and restraint. “We had a lot of time,” Christina says, laughing. It took more than two years for the Rabbit to come to life. So the seasonal menu has been formulated again and again; this one should stick awhile. So far, the top sellers (all $8) include Crucifix in a Deathhand (inspired by the Bukowski poem) and Resurrection, which features house-made jalapeño oil. (Yes, oil—soon to be the new bitters.)

Not in the mood for spirits? There are 12 beers on tap ($2-$8), 12 in bottles ($3-$18)—some from local craft breweries!—a small selection of wines and free bar nibbles.

But it’s not just what the Dylags are doing at the Rabbit—it’s also about what they are not doing. They don’t proselytize, or haze the PBR crowd for not downing $13 sour beers (though the bartender/proprietresses might turn them on to Schlitz). They are not beholden to any one distributor, and there is an admirable lack of branding from beer taps to barware. And they didn’t suckle any funding from the Downtown Project teat. Rather, they took advantage of the City’s Urban Lounge incentives, and invested their own hard-earned hospitality industry savings.

Don’t be surprised if the place seems a shade unfinished. The Dylags are still waiting on their chandeliers, the parking lot needs paving and the back patio, slated for a midsummer debut, is a work in progress. But the crowd—a healthy mix of hipster, lawyer and the cocktail cognoscenti—doesn’t seem to mind one bit. They focus instead on the thoughtful touches: the chalkboard menu, the natural mural (leftover from the inferno that gutted the former furniture store) and, above all, the balanced cocktails. It’s one small sip for Las Vegas, but a giant hop forward for Downtown.

1218 S Main St., (702) 685-9645

PHOTO BY GEOFF CARTER

But Richard Lenz, the chairman of the Huntridge Group and the man who had nominated the Huntridge for historic status, had no intention of letting the Theater's story end there. He wrangled the money, worked with the city and got the Huntridge open again with a new roof.

The following story, which I wrote for Scope Magazine in November 1996, is about the first two nights of that second life. It's some clunky writing, and I feel kind of self-conscious about sharing it with you — but at the same time, it's a first-person account of the Huntridge Theater in its heyday, and it's invested with the joy we all felt at having a city treasure restored to use. - Geoff Carter

RAISE THE ROOF

It’s 8:15 p.m. on October 31, 1996, and I’m shivering outside the Huntridge Theater for the Performing Arts. A line of kids, most between the ages of 15 and 21, reaches all the way to Charleston and follows the sidewalk for another twenty-five-feet or so. My friend Mary and I find a friend in the line and crowd in with him, and we stare at the words on the marquee: Oct 31: Toasters, Aquabats, and at midnight, Rocky Horror.

Only then does it hit us: we’re at the 52-year-old Huntridge Theater, and a show is about to go on. It's the first show since July 28, 1995, which was the day the Circle Jerks played a show in the Huntridge parking lot because the roof of the theater collapsed.

At the time of the cave-in I was living in the nearby Huntridge Tract neighborhood at 11th and Bracken, less than five minutes’ walk from the theater. I ran to the theater the second I heard the news and found Huntridge Theater Chairman Richard Lenz standing sadly amongst the emergency vehicles and news trucks, talking to the Review-Journal’s Mike Weatherford. Periodically he would glance at the roofless theater, which was being hosed down by the fire units as a precautionary measure.

"The building is just devastated,” he said weakly. "It’s repairable, but it’s going to be at least two months worth of work.”

Weatherford wondered aloud if the theater was beyond repair.

“The Huntridge,” Lenz said firmly, “will keep going as long as I’m alive.”

That was all I needed to hear. I shook Lenz’s hand, got some quotes from Calamity Jayne and some of the theater’s volunteer staff, and went home to wait for opening night. I never doubted that the Huntridge would reopen, and now, almost 15 months after the cave-in, it has. The Huntridge Theater lives again, and we're gonna see a ska showcase there.

We walk inside, and are promptly greeted by Huntridge regulars. Wayne, the hefty doorman, tears our tickets. Nicole Sligar, Lenz’s former assistant and now a promoter, says hello and smiles broadly. Longtime staffer Cynthia Rothkopf runs over and administers a hug that nearly crushes my ribcage.

A more comforting sense of deja vu is impossible to imagine. Even in its dusty and unfinished state, the Huntridge is still the Huntridge and the show goes on.

LOOKING UP

It’s easy for me to see what the Huntridge is on the verge of becoming. Others have trouble seeing past the current lack of seats, the unfinished tile, the untreated drywall and so on. To my eyes, it’s little short of a miracle.

But all I care about is the roof, and it’s on there tight. It’s a barrel-style ceiling with exposed steel beams. Just over a quarter of it is spray-painted black, and was probably still being worked on as late as 6:00 in the afternoon before the show, when roadies unwittingly chased workers from the stage.

“The bands showed up around then,” Lenz admits later. “They needed to set up. There were no soundchecks—it was just blow and go.”

The lobby is half-tiled, with a jury-rigged refreshment counter. The remodeled bathrooms share a communal sink. Looking up, I admire the graceful deco ceiling that workers discovered just under a month ago: the United Artists theater chain had slapped a lower, false ceiling up in the late Seventies. It was discovered purely by accident.

Inside the theater itself, Lenz and his volunteers have leveled off a dance floor near the stage, and it’s already packed with bodies. Looking up, I examine the new fly space above the stage—an absolute must if the Huntridge is to start presenting theatrical productions like John Miner’s rock opera “Heaven’s Cafe,” already scheduled for November 22 and 23.

Many of the new amenities can’t be seen—the rear loading dock and storage rooms, the upstairs recording studio, the performers’ green room. In some cases, there is nothing to see but empty walls and bare wiring, waiting for equipment and lights.

Still, it’s all new ground for the Huntridge, which began life in 1944 as a simple movie house. Over the years, the likes of Frank Sinatra and Judy Garland have wandered the Huntridge’s aisles, smoked cigarettes in the lobby, stood on the stage. Surely they would appreciate what Lenz was doing. Fifty years ago, Sinatra couldn’t have performed his music at the Huntridge. Today he could, provided Henry Rollins—the Nineties Sinatra—didn’t get here first and strike up his band.

Making my way back to the lobby, I run into a Las Vegas City Council member Matthew Callister, who admits even he had doubts the Theater would be open tonight.

“The building inspectors said there was no way on this Earth that this theater could open before December,” he says neutrally, exhausted by a full day of work that included a visit from the President of The United States. “There was just too much to do. The fire department said it was impossible; the theater was only three-quarters of the way done.”

Yet he’s here, waiting for the figurative curtain to rise (the genuine article won’t be in place for a few weeks yet). The theater is open—underdone perhaps, but the proof of Lenz’s convictions is readily visible. Callister tells me he wouldn’t have missed this for the world, and a short time later, he pays Lenz a high tribute:

“Fifteen months ago, the roof above your heads collapsed,” he says to the crowd of just over 700 people. “This morning, we landed Air Force One on this roof and it did not collapse.”

With that, he turns to Lenz.

“Without this man, none of this would be here,” he intones. “I want you to join me in thanking Richard Lenz, even though he has a truly frightening haircut. “

The applause washes over him in enormous waves, and Lenz grins—an amazingly big grin, one he’s been saving for over a year.

“I’d like to thank all the volunteers that made this possible,” he says. “And, of course, I’d like to thank ska.”

The audience roars approval. MU330 takes the stage, and the Huntridge is reborn. Even my friends Mary, quiet most of the evening, bursts into dance as Reel Big Fish gets in the groove.

A DAY LATE AND A DOLLAR SHORT

“I’m exhausted, baby,” Cynthia Rothkopf says to me the following afternoon. “Can we talk later? I’m going to get maybe an hour of sleep.”

The show went off with relatively few glitches, most of them related to the sound mix. But the work is far from finished. It takes supreme effort for Rothkopf to stagger to her car to drive herself home, but she’s doing it.

“How many hours have you been working these past few weeks?” I ask.

“Oh, not nearly as many as Richard—only ten to eighteen a day.”

Somnambulism is a common plague among the members of Team Huntridge. Sound engineer Alex Fletcher looks beat as he loads equipment onto a truck for a Voodoo Glow Skulls gig. (Amazingly, Lenz managed to maintain his concert sound-and-lighting business through the Huntridge refit.) Stage manager KT Chayse fights fatigue to rewire some equipment.

“We’re ninety-percent volunteers here,” she says. “A lot of people just don’t realize that, and complain without knowing the facts.”

True to Rothkopf’s word, Lenz looks dead on his feet. The punishment isn’t letting up, either. What should be a fifteen-minute conversation is spread to an hour, as Lenz is pulled away, again and again. The fire department, in particular, is monopolizing much of his time.

“It has been a strain on everyone; we’re all under the gun.” Lenz says. “In football terms, this was ‘hell week.’ And I don’t know if I’ll ever get the epoxy off my hands.”

Lenz wants to make up for those 15 lost months. It took some time to get the $500,000 from the insurance company, and longer still to get a promised $475,000 in state funds. Then there was a delay in finding the right contractors, subcontractors…

And the $975,000 kitty will still fall short of expenses, says Lenz.

“We’ve used everything we have, and we will probably be writing checks off our own money once this is done.”

That takes into account some deep discounting from many of the contractors—from Larry Campbell of Tri-State Fire protection, whose equipment brought the World War II-era facility up to current fire specs; from the roofing contractor; and from nearly everyone who’s worked on the project.

“We’ve been very, very lucky,” Lenz admits. “Otherwise, this would have cost nearly a million-and-a-half.

“The reason for this whole big change is so we can be set up to do things other than concerts, although that’s certainly our forte. ‘Heaven’s Cafe’ is coming up; that should be interesting. We’ve got a Filipino fashion show coming up. Somebody’s talking to us about coming in and rehearsing an ice-skating show here. We can do that kind of stuff now.”

“You know, you’re perceived as primarily a punk venue,” I remind him.

“Oh, yeah. Everybody wants to classify what you are. I’ve said from day one, when I took this place over in 1992, that I didn’t want the Huntridge to be classified. If a fifteen-year-old thinks we’re a great place to see punk shows, then fine, we’re the greatest punk venue in town. If another person comes in and sees the Rocky Horror Picture Show, we’re the greatest movie theater in town. If someone checks out a play here, then it's a great playhouse. We can do it all—at least, as close as anyone has ever got to doing it all.”

THE NO-SHOWS

Tool’s touring bus rolls into the parking lot late Saturday morning, ready and willing to lay their morbid fixations bare for an evening. The band sleeps while representatives from their label, Zoo Entertainment, peek inside the theater, blanch, and came right out again. The bus leaves for Salt Lake City without the band having so much as stepped foot inside the venue. Only the bassist, Justin Chancellor, hangs around to enjoy the amenities of fabulous Las Vegas.

I call Lenz, who confirms that the band has rescheduled the show for December 17.

“Oh, well,” he sighs. “What can we do?”

That evening, I meet with the Tool party at Mr. Lucky’s 24-7, inside the Hark Rock Hotel. Chancellor looks bored but the label reps make up for him, drinking Sam Adams by the case, scarfing down pizza, and firing off a barrage of gambling-related questions.

“I kinda wish the band was going to be playing here, instead,” says one of the PR guys, gesturing to the Hard Rock’s concert hall, The Joint. “Are the acoustics in there really good? Do they allow moshing?”

“We would have loved to play the Huntridge tonight,” a female staffer cuts in. “But when we walked in there, the place was still covered in dust, and there were guys working on the roof. The fire department was there, for crying out loud.”

THE POWER OF SKA

While it is easy to see why a double-platinum band would bypass the theater in its current state, none of that stuff matters to the two-tone nation, taking over the venue the very next night. It’s a school night, Skankin’ Pickle is in the house, and the kids will have their say.

This time out, I’m with them. I want to see the stage from the pit, so I go down there and get thrashed during Assorted Jellybeans’ set. I shove bodies back into the mosh pit, and a fifteen-year old girl flies into me like a cannonball. I leave the pit after that.

Aside from that little episode, I have no problems with the show or venue. I don’t mind the lack of chairs, clouds of drywall dust and poor sound, because I know those things will be fixed.

“Hey, Carter, when’s the real opening night?” someone asks me.

Meal Ticket dropped out of the bill, so Skankin’ Pickle goes on nearly an hour early. They were originally scheduled to play two days after the roof crashed, so it’s only appropriate that they play a few days after it went back up.

“This is the tallest ceiling in the world,” says one of the Pickles, marveling at the fly space.

“Just hope it doesn’t fall on our heads,” guitarist Lynnette Knackstedt adds, knocking on her skull and making knock-wood sounds.

Then they slam back into the music. Over the course of the last two shows, there’s been a lot of stage diving, a lot of people climbing on stage and dancing. Security makes an effort to stop them, usually to no avail. Tonight, during Skankin’ Pickle’s first and only encore, more and more people leap onstage, until there are nearly fifty kids crowding the stage. The band simply wasn’t visible, and the band finally has to climb onto the drummer’s riser just to be seen.

Before I leave the Huntridge and Richard Lenz, I drop the question I’ve wanted to ask him for over a year: I ask him why he bothered.

He smiles his opening-night grin.

“Like the Stormin’ Mormon said, ‘I’m one tenacious son-of-a-gun,’” he says. “It’s not in my nature to give up. I mean, my wife—bless her lovely heart—and I have put our hearts and souls into this place for five years. We have sacrificed many things to do this. We grew up here, and this place is the heart of what we have to point to in terms of where we came from.

“Because of that, I think it’s vitally important that the Huntridge goes on. That’s why I do what I do, why I tick off people in the city government, why I bite and scratch and do whatever I can to make sure the Huntridge survives. Somebody’s got to understand that we’re not just about the newest casino, the biggest project, the most hotel rooms, and the most lights. We’re about where we came from, and this corner of Charleston and Maryland is the center of what we started with.

“That’s why the project is successful. It’s not just due to me; it’s due the fact that there are people who have that same conviction. Because of what we’ve created, there are fifteen-year-olds who love the Huntridge for what we do now. There are people who are fifty years old who were once fifteen years old, who appreciate the Huntridge for what it was. You couple those two forces together, and get enough of them, and you’re going to have people who believe in what you’re doing.

“Plus, I’m one heck of a driver," he adds. "I can say that after 15 months.”

ILLUSTRATION BY HERNAN VALENCIA

On a Tuesday evening in April I dropped into a class at the breezy, cheery Sin City (near Alta and Rancho), along with only three other students. Granted, it’s a small space—maximum capacity couldn’t be more than 15—but it was advanced-level Vinyasa Flow, taught by the studio’s owner and most experienced instructor, Angelica Govaert. Anywhere else, such a class would be a top seller.

The evening before, I’d taken Happy Hour Yoga with Cheryl Slader, owner of Blue Sky in the Arts Factory. In that case, the space was filled—meaning about a dozen students plus the guitar player, who provided live accompaniment for Cheryl’s Jivamukti-style session. She, too, would be hard pressed to fit more than 15 people in the room, which doubles as an art gallery during First Friday and other events.

Between the two studios, then, Downtown has the capacity to accommodate 30 yoga students at a time. Compare this to Yoga Sanctuary’s West side location, where I taught part-time until recently. That studio easily accommodates 40 people between its two spacious rooms, and it’s not the only one in Summerlin. Instructors at studios around the Valley tell me stories of similar capacity in other neighborhoods.

Meanwhile, at least two Downtown yoga programs, at Emergency Arts and Real Results Fitness, have gone away.

Could the dearth of Downtown yoga have something to do with the practice itself? It can be a little confusing. Yoga encompasses both fitness and spirituality, without being either a workout or a religion, per se. And there are myriad methods, styles and schools of thought—some quite different from others; a Bikram class is as much like Yoga Nidra as a Carnival cruise ship is like a sailboat. The uninitiated may also be repelled by the odd belief that yoga requires balance and flexibility (rather than endowing them over the course of time, as is actually the case).

But all that applies equally from Blue Sky to Northwest Yoga (Ann Road and the 95)—it’s not Downtown-specific. If anything, the portrait of the hip, multicultural Downtowner would suggest he or she is more likely to embrace yoga than the tradition-bound suburbanite. And yoga’s popularity overall is on the rise, according to the 2012 Yoga in America study by Yoga Journal.

No, I believe the real reason downtown doesn’t have more yoga is the area’s low residential density. While I’m confident my students at Yoga Sanctuary liked me during the seven years I taught there, I gathered that most of them came to my class—at least in part—because it was close to where they live and took place at a time that fit their schedules. In general, I found that people liked to stop by and unwind on the way home from work — an event which, in this round-the-clock town, could occur at all hours.

Downtown is not “on the way home” for very many Las Vegans. According to census data, the ZIP codes in the city’s center have in the tens of thousands of residents, which increases to the twenties of thousands as you travel outward in any direction. The “urban” population (as the U.S. Census Bureau defines it) has 1.3 million residents, while the suburban “metro” area has 1.9 million.

Reversing those numbers to put more people in the heart of the city is on Downtown Project’s to-do list. It will be interesting to see whether more people actually do move Downtown, and if they do, a larger yoga community materializes. Will there be more spaces like Blue Sky, a donation-based studio that offers yoga to all, regardless of ability to pay; or $18-per-class hot spots, as is more typical in the ’burbs?

It’s just one scene in the urban infill/gentrification documentary that’s playing out before our eyes. Others—shifting demographics, average rents—may be more poignant, but if you haven’t got the stomach for those, follow the yoga. At worst, you’ll get better balance and flexibility.

It’s her mom, Debbie Roxarzade, who decided to name her first Las Vegas-based restaurant after her daughter when she moved her family to Las Vegas in 2006 from Los Angeles, where she had several other restaurants at the time.

It’s all about family-friendly comfort at Rachel’s Kitchen: Highlights include all-day breakfast, the Ultimate Grilled Cheese, Rachel’s chicken salad sandwich, wraps and fresh-fruit smoothies. For dinner, burgers and pasta hit the spot, even for those on special diets, now that Rachel’s Kitchen offers gluten-free breads and quinoa pasta.

The fourth location of Roxarzade’s enterprise recently opened Downtown in the southwest corner on the first floor of the Ogden apartment building. Roxarzade is happy to be part of that rapidly growing area’s vibrant new energy. “Downtown is cleaning up a lot, and I see the changes every time I’m down there,” Roxarzade says.

Even with the brand’s recent growth, Roxarzade is careful to whom she sells franchise rights. “I’m trying to be very selective as to who we choose and also not grow so fast. As much as we do want to grow the brand, I just want to make sure all the kinks are worked out,” Roxarzade says.

Rachel’s Kitchen operators have to do their part. Although some franchisees may come from an entirely different line of work, what they have in common is the fervent desire to start their own business. And, Roxarzade observes, they are willing to take risks. But with growth comes the possibility of too much, too soon, and having it all go south.

Roxarzade cites food, ambience and value as the top reasons why people return to her restaurants. But part of what else makes Rachel’s Kitchen successful is the ability to cater to a diverse client base. “You could come [to Rachel’s Kitchen] on a business meeting, on a date, you can bring the kids, you can come here after a workout and grab food to go,” Roxarzade says.

In order to ensure quality and consistency at all locations, Roxarzade uses a commissary kitchen to make some of the base recipes needed in the storefronts. Recipes are written and followed to within one-sixteenth of an ounce of salt, and meetings and inspections are held on a regular basis. Going beyond the usual comment cards, Roxarzade invites guests to text her their suggestions. “The fact that we care makes people want to give us the opportunity to succeed,” says Roxarzade, something she does not take for granted in this touch-and-go economy.

With attention to detail in place, two more Rachel’s Kitchens are scheduled to open before the end of summer. The first is under construction in Centennial Hills, and the second is a smaller version of the restaurant planned for McCarran International Airport.

And keeping Rachel’s Kitchen in the family as the business grows is a strong possibility. “As [Rachel’s] getting older, there’s more talk of that. It’s kind of evolving,” Roxarzade says. And what could be more natural than Rachel in Rachel’s Kitchen?

150 Las Vegas Blvd. N. #160, (702) 778-8800

PHOTO BY JONATHAN ESTRADA

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