Why do I love Las Vegas?

We spent the past couple of days on a working buffalo ranch just outside of Zion National Park.  Zion is one of the most strikingly beautiful places on earth, with a deep canyon cut into the layered rock by the Virgin River, and soaring rock formations with names like “Temple of the Patriarchs” and “Angels Landing.”  We decided to spend the day on the ranch, watching the buffalo, deer and antelope (along with the miniature horses, ducks and chickens, sitting on the rustic log porch swing and reading our “bubblegum for the mind” novels.  We drove through Zion this morning on our way to Vegas.

We had many plans and ideas: hiking in Zion (the famous “Angel’s Landing” was recommended to us as a must-do hike, but I guess we’ll do it next time); stopping to see St. George (home of the multitudinous polygamous FLDS families); Mountain Meadows (home of the infamous Mountain Meadows Massacre, in which scores of Mormons killed unarmed Arkansans who were trying to get to California), Valley of Fire State Park, etc. but once we were on the road, Las Vegas pulled us like a giant magnet; we drove without stopping (okay, that’s a lie: we got an oil change at Jiffy Lube and I dropped off a pair of my boots at a boot repair place, but no sightseeing)  until we reached the MGM Grand, where I had won a free night by playing a free online slot machine game.  We also won four free buffets and free tickets to ride on the monorail.

Las Vegas is one of my favorite American places.  Every time I go, I see things you just don’t see any place else: a sign with a sexy, scantily clad female police officer advertising bail bonds; a large group of Indonesian businessmen in three piece suits and ties, eating a giant bag of Lay’s sour cream and onion potato chips and drinking copious amounts of red wine while sitting in a classy lounge; a stand in the underground mall where people with hangovers can get various intravenous vitamin treatments. 

I was also privileged to witness my first Vegas wedding.  I think some of my Facebook friends were surprised when we “checked in” at the Vegas Wedding Chapel, perhaps thinking we had decided to tie the knot.  However, that was not the case.  Matt’s cousin Kristi and her partner, Les, were getting married, and we happened to be there at the right time, in the right place! 

When we arrived, the wedding party was standing outside, next to the “drive through” tunnel with its big white limos, drinking 32 oz cans of Coors and Miller Light.  They greeted us joyfully, and I snapped some pictures.  We waited in the lobby for the minister, who was a young, charismatic fellow with a scruffy beard.  There was a lot of merchandise for sale, including fabulous sparkly rings, matching “bride” and “groom” baseball caps, and souvenir mugs and tiaras.  Photos of obscure celebrities (former NBA players, rap singers I had never heard of, stars of TV sitcoms from the 80s and 90s) who had gotten married at this particular chapel adorned the walls.  I tried to take some photos of the guests, but photography inside the building was strictly forbidden, as I guess the main way they make their money is through selling the photography packages.  When the time came, we were ushered up the stairs to the rooftop outdoor gazebo.  The bride’s mom was watching over a live video feed, and Matt leapt over to wave and say hi.  Then we stood for the bride’s entrance, to the traditional “wedding march” played over the speakers.  The ceremony was very lovely, with the minister nodding his head as he told them to clasp hands.  “Don’t ever forget that these are the hands of your best friend,” he reminded them.  Despite the cheesy setting, the numerous helicopters flying overhead, the artificial roses used in the “symbolic rose exchange,” the ceremony was genuinely moving.  Love is love, whether people exchange rings and vows in a courtroom, a beach, a cathedral or a rooftop in Vegas near Fremont street. 

Speaking of Fremont street, we then spent some time in the old Binion’s gambling hall, where I watched two college boys clean up at the craps table and a woman about my age pray to the Flashdance slot machine that took my 20 dollars without ever giving me the bonus.  As I walked away, discouraged, I heard her chanting, “Flash!  Flash!” while waving her hand across the screen in a mysterious ritualistic gesture, perhaps invoking the spirit of Jennifer Beals.

Vegas is the least sustainable place on earth.  I don’t know where they get the water for the fountains in the Bellagio, or the water I get to drink from the tap here.  It will all be gone, probably within my kids’ lifetime.  It’s the fakest place on earth, with the fake Paris, the fake Venice, the fake New York…but it’s the best fake Paris there is, the most striking fiberglass Statue of Liberty replica on the planet, the most authentic shopping mall Gondoliers singing “O Sole Mio” you can get.  Is it wrong to want to visit here before it disappears?  I wanted to stay at the MGM because Randall Flagg, Stephen King’s antichrist in the apocalyptic novel The Stand, stays here during the apocalypse, crucifying disobedient followers on telephone poles in the desert hills before it all goes sour and his bride leaps to her death from the hotel balcony.  I love the view of the strip from the rooms here, the flashing signs telling me to “buffet” as if it were a verb, to bathe in precious stones at the spa, to see Penn and Teller, Donny and Marie or David Copperfield.  I love to pronounce the names of the hotels with the open “aaah” sound of awe and wonder: Mirage, Bellagio, Aria, elongating that vowel as I repeat them again and again, like an incantation at a slot machine.

After a few hours basking in the sun by the pool, a ride on the monorail, and yet another complimentary buffet, we see “Vegas! The Show!” which combines Rat Pack and Elvis impersonators, beautiful showgirls, and God knows what else in an extravaganza of frolicsome fun. "We want to share with you the moments and the memories of that gleaming jewel in the desert,"  the show’s producers write. I had originally wanted to see Jubilee! - a show in which hundreds of topless showgirls dance aboard a full size replica of the sinking Titanic, but for some reason that show is not playing tonight.  I was torn between that and “Divas!” starring Brad Marino, a superstar drag revue, in which “female impersonators portray famous divas including Britney Spears, Cher, Madonna, Dolly Parton, Diana Ross and Beyonce,” or “The Rat Pack is Back.” Next time.

I know some people think Vegas is sordid, seedy, depressing, full of people just hitting the slot machines again and again.  Maybe it is, and maybe it’s also a vision of America at its most voracious, the height of the Capitalist spectacle, the current day Roman Empire (no accident that Caesar’s Palace is still the grande dame of the strip, eh?), but I am not going to pretend that I come here as some kind of sociological experiment.  I LOVE it.  I can’t get enough.  I want to see every show, eat every buffet and steakhouse, lose all my money at the craps table, and come back for more the next day.  Nothing in excess, eh?  Luckily, we’re leaving tomorrow morning – although not before one last buffet, here at the MGM.  Next time I go to Vegas, you should come with me!
Meanwhile, watch Elvis sing "Viva Las Vegas"