October 13, 2016 | At one point in the distant past, a public relations guru coined the term "What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas." The guru achieved PR brilliance. It caught on like wildfire, largely because it gave the casual Vegas tourist a false sense of security in the anonymity of their behavior.
I just returned from being one of those Vegas tourists. I'll begin with the admission that nothing happened in Vegas that needed to stay in Vegas. I didn't pull off any heists. I didn't shove anyone off the Hoover Dam. I didn't bury any bodies in the desert. I didn't rush to any hotel roofs to escape in a helicopter. I didn't lose my fortune to an unforgiving casino tycoon. I didn't marry a stranger at the drive-thru wedding chapel. I didn't even chat up an Elvis impersonator. Nothing. Nada. Absolutely nothing transpired that would cause me to desperately hope the details would never come to light.
However, even though I didn't test the PR guru's promise myself, I did witness events that led me to believe there were many humans in Vegas who were testing the heck out of that promise. I tend to people-watch, and let me tell you, there is no shortage of interesting subjects to watch along the Vegas Strip -- it's a veritable plethora of outlandishness.
If cities could have well-meaning aunts, and I was Vegas' aunt, I'd promptly send Vegas to identity counseling, because it needs to feel better about standing on its own merits. Vegas needs to feel better about itself.
"That's crazy!" you may exclaim. "Vegas is probably the most egotistical, self-absorbed city in the world!"
Well, I see Vegas feeling less egotistical and self-absorbed, and more like the city that feels so bad about itself, that it screams and spotlights and shows off in order to compensate for its shortcomings. Vegas goes over the line, past the limit, over the top, and off the ledge to push its level of excess -- kind of like a belligerent teenager who hasn't found their way in the world yet. My father-in-law called Las Vegas "Lost Wages". I prefer to call Vegas "The City of Excess". It's a strange opinion, I realize. Let me back up my claim with a few examples of the excess of which I speak.
Excessive Landmark Envy: Las Vegas is the city that pretends to be everywhere else. I spent four days traipsing along faux cityscapes, pondering why there are replicas of international landmarks smack dab in the middle of the Nevadan desert. Paris. Seattle. Egypt. Greece. New York. Medieval England. Venice. Monte Carlo. Mandalay Bay. Rome. The Caribbean. I've got a sinking suspicion Vegas is even envious of Reno, because I've seen one of those larger than life Cowboy signs there, too. Why, Vegas? You have universities, museums, lakes, a dam. This excessive need to be somewhere else isn't healthy.
Excessive Use of Light and Dark: At night, one must shield the eyes from the miles of neon and billions of glaring lights, when, five miles out of town, there is nothing but darkness. During the harsh light of day, the lights keep burning, yet everything is tan, and dusty, and a bit grimy.
Excessive Water Use: Mirage vs. Oasis. Yes, there are actual casinos with these names, but I'm talking about actual mirages and oases. On the Vegas Strip, one can quickly locate large bodies of water housing pirate ships and lava flows, not to mention scads of swimmers and sunbathers. There is even a simulated Mediterranean coast, complete with lagoon and fountain spectacle. Where did all that water come from? This is a desert. Right?
Excessive Confusion Between Night and Day: I spent hours in several upscale shopping areas before realizing that the sun was always up, and the sky was always blue, even though it was eleven o'clock at night. It messed with my circadian clock in a big way. Everything is open 24 hours a day. It actually is The City that Never Sleeps.
Excessive Need to Entertain: Dinner and a movie? Oh, please. Vegas doesn't do "dinner and a movie". Vegas does endless buffets, world-class restaurants run by world-class chefs that stay open twenty-four hours a day, you know, in case you need filet mignon at four o'clock in the morning. And a movie? Whatever. Vegas does shows with all its excessive gumption. Outlandish, over the top, death-defying extravaganzas, like the craziest jaw-dropping stuff you'd never even thought of thinking of. Glitter. Feathers. Sequins. Acrobats. Musicians. Dancers. Singers. Magicians. Clowns. (Clowns make me shudder. Even when they have French accents and endeavor to be endearing.)
Excessive Illusions: Glass. Mirror. Marble. Exotic wood. Precious metals. Sumptuous fabrics. Posh. Every surface exudes rich tastes and extravagant costs. Yet, turn the wrong corner, and you may run into plywood hallways and grimy concrete. It's all a front, like going backstage and realizing the sets are nothing more than a backdrop -- a fanciful façade meant to trick the eye. Vegas is masterful at illusion. Vegas even manages to make every resort on The Strip look super close, when, in actuality, a Vegas "block" is like two miles long. Do yourself a favor. Wear your walking shoes. Or take a cab. I know it's "just right there" as you point up the street. It's a trick. Take the cab.
Excessive Vice: Then there's the vice factor. There's stuff going on in Vegas. I don't need to go into detail, but let me say, there are people willing to sell you anything in Vegas. Anything. Avert your eyes from the billboards -- and the marquees -- and the advertisement boards topping the city cabs -- and the flyers littered underfoot. I realize that's a lot of averting. Just be careful where you look, because you can't un-see much of what you'll see. You'd also be wise to sidestep those nasty pamphlet-slapping whore mongers who line the sidewalks. Hey! I've never used that word in exact context before. Weird. And gross. Avert and sidestep. Just do it.
I could go on, but I think you now see where I'm going with this. Las Vegas really is The City of Excess.
Here's the rub: If you tell people they can leave their sins behind in a city that pretends everything is hunky dory, there's gonna be trouble. Let me just quickly state for the record -- you aren't out of the country in a place with no extradition. The debt, STD, drug addiction, police record, marriage certificate, or loss of self-esteem from the realization that those showgirls and strippers who smiled your way were not actually interested in you beyond the cash in your wallet, will not stay in Vegas. All those awful consequences will follow you home. You simply can't believe everything brilliant PR gurus tell you.
Don't get me wrong. I had fun. I saw extravagantly choreographed artistic circus acrobats. I ate delicious food in restaurants named for famous chefs. I slept in a lavish hotel suite that was so lovely it made me forget the nightly fee was the same amount I paid for a month's rent in college. I wore sandals and short sleeves in October. I people-watched the throngs, with their selfie-sticks in hand, until I could no longer fathom the complexity of humanity. I sat alongside a faux canal in a charming Italian piazza, under a beautifully painted azure sky complete with puffy clouds, and watched gondoliers serenade their passengers while I snuck the time to do some writing. I let my imagination sweep me into a faux Venetian daydream and basked in the excessive illusion.
Maybe Vegas doesn't pretend at being other cities, so much as utilize its awesome imagination. Maybe Vegas has an overactive imagination, just like me, and can't help but spin outlandish escapes for world-weary average folk. Maybe Vegas is the consummate host, doing its best to do whatever it takes to show its guests a good time.
So I say, "Hey, Vegas. Well-meaning aunt, here. Maybe we're not so different, after all. But, don't let it go to your head. I'd still never be foolish enough to do anything I'd regret while I'm with you. And could you do something about those nasty pamphlet-slapping dudes before I visit again? Because if they try to hand me another one of those flyers, I just may do something that I'd need to leave in Vegas, and we both know it wouldn't stay there. Take care of it, Vegas. Don't make me call your mother."
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