Viva Las Vegas!
I recently had the opportunity to attend a weekend meeting in Las Vegas and because it had been years since I had seen the place I decided to go. After a sunny flight I soon found myself careening through the streets in a taxi, listening to a rather heated cell phone conversation in Polish between my driver and some mysterious voice from the ether. I say Polish but actually it could have been English, or even Klingon, I was so distracted by the large number of fellow motorists we tried to take out, not to mention several unfortunate pedestrians lost in daydreams. As we sped past the glistening hotels arrayed like jewels in Cleopatra’s walk-in closet, I relished the chance to learn a helpful fact or two about my chosen profession, but my goals for the trip were more frivolous than that. I wanted to immerse myself for a couple of days in Las Vegas in an attempt to try to understand what is it about this city that attracts visitors like an overturned garbage can to a passing family of raccoons.
48 hours later, in desperate need of a shave, I limped past the final row of slot machines warbling happily in the airport terminal and boarded my flight back to reality, waving off offers of coffee and oxygen from the attendants. It wasn’t until today that I was able to put any coherent thoughts together about the neon sandstorm, the screaming trampoline, the groaning mass of marching idiocy - the utter preposterousness that is Las Vegas. The conclusion I have reached is painful but must be reported in the interest of social science as one small step in our attempt to explain the zeitgeist of this country. In a nutshell it is this:
Las Vegas has become the paradigm for our popular culture.
It represents the America that fluffy media stars, advertising executives and retailers dream of. As proof of this theorem allow me to adduce the following evidence (of course all of these observations were recorded from a safe distance):
America is The Garden of Earthly Delights! What’s that you say? You want pirate ships, loud music, dancing girls, dancing bears, Hermes ties, karaoke or twelve dollar martinis? Want to forget about your job, or your kids, or your car payments? Come to the Garden that is Las Vegas! See the women come and go, talking of Barry Manilow. Whatever your silliest fraternity-party-gone-wild fantasy is, here you can run around dressed up like a Hell’s Angel, or Ricky Ricardo, or Julius Caesar for all we care. Feel free to scream at your friends loitering inside the Ermenigildo Zegna shop to come and look at the water fountains dance to tunes from Phantom of the Opera. Go on and enjoy yourself - you deserve it! How many times did you watch Casablanca and feel a pang of jealousy anyway?
America Has Attitude! Just watch it buster! I’m on my way to the best time of my life and if you aren’t happy for me, well sit thee on a spit thou impertinent foul-practicing maggot-pie! I’ve got a flagon of grog hanging from my neck, a pocket full of fascinating promotional cards with ladies’ telephone numbers on them and the bold, brave spring of the tiger that quickens my walk. Fun is my goddess tonight - in fact I might just get this tattooed on that inviting expanse of skin just north of my keister where billboards for attitude are displayed with pride. Deal me in!
America Reeks with Temptation! “Well, Mother, what do you want to do tonight? Should we go play “The Beverly Hillbillies” slots and try to win that silver Harley, or try to run up a migraine-sized bar tab, or take in one of the “adults only” floor shows, or hit the midnight buffet for all its worth, or just open a new carton of Marlboro Lights and order a movie from Spectravision?”
America is the Great Equalizer! Gee, how wonderful it is to see you, Mr. or Ms. Billionaire/Movie Star/Celebrity-For-Some-Unknown-Reason! What’s that you say? Your limo is hopelessly stuck in traffic on Las Vegas Boulevard? Sorry we can’t clear out a lane of traffic for you. And the band is playing too loud? Your pillow isn’t as wonderful as you thought it would be? You don’t want to walk through the casino to get to your private high-roller room? And a person of your stature shouldn’t have to pay any gambling debts anyway? Sorry, but out here everyone looks the same to us - like a wad of greenbacks just waiting to be stuffed into the drop box.
What - did someone mention money? Now what could filthy lucre, Las Vegas and American popular culture have in common? If I may be so bold as to supply an answer, offered not just as an arrogant riposte but as the proof of the matter - Revelare Pecunia!. If there is one thing that fuels the engine of rampant consumerism, of happy days and good times, of being cool and trying valiantly to get something for nothing - it’s money. Money is what Las Vegas is all about, and just like the myriad delights offered for sale in this country, unless we are wise enough to know the real reason why we are tossing our hard-earned scratch into the pit we will find ourselves wandering the crowded alleys late at night, holding a fistful of the stuff high into the air as a beacon for all the carnival barkers searching for their next sucker.
[Editor’s note: the author apparently was too embarrassed to admit that while he lost only ten bucks playing “The Wheel of Fortune”, he blew the rest of his budget on a ticket to see Carrot Top.]
