My neighbors moved out last week. They moved to Elko. They are not moving for the murals, but it struck me that Elko does, indeed, have murals. Henderson was inspired by Elko to have murals of its own. Las Vegas, too, has murals on its mind, if not yet on its walls. We do, however, as we speak, have metalounges and ultralounges and clubs featuring modern burlesque. Las Vegas is Manhattanizing. Tall buildings, it's getting. Reno has a big art museum. Las Vegas has a small one. In a library. A terrific library. There is an art gallery at Bellagio. Monet, they're showing. Monet is great art, particularly for people newly acquainted with great art. Monet at Bellagio serves a wider cultural purpose. Las Vegas also serves a wider cultural purpose, particularly in its increasing support of modern burlesque.
I do not believe that only the presence of great art in a great museum signifies a great community. There are other things. On Tuesday, February 1, 2005, the University of Nevada, Las Vegas Runnin' Rebel basketball team was defeated by the United States Air Force Academy by 18 points. We do, however, have Monet at Bellagio.
In early 2001, during a similar period of post-electoral ennui, The New Yorker developed a curious tic for using the word "incurious." "Incurious" and "unlovely." The idea, at least subliminally, was that there are few things more unlovely than incuriosity, and that the political landscape had been overrun by unlovely, incurious hordes. I tried the words on to see if they fit Las Vegas in 2005. They do not fit Las Vegas in 2005. Las Vegas in 2005 is filled with lovely, curious people, very curious people indeed, some of whom are aware that in three months the city will turn 100, that the city was not founded by a gangster with a killer smile, that the contract killings of hotel frontman Gus Greenbaum in a Phoenix ranch house, of eyeball-extractor Tony Spilotro in an Indiana cornfield, of the gangster with a killer smile on a Beverly Hills couch, are Las Vegas-related facts but should not be taken to encapsulate the whole of Las Vegas' identity. We have modern burlesque. We have lovely, curious people. O.D. Gass raised kids here. William Clark had an auction. Frank and Dean and Sammy blah-blah-blah (out-of towners, every last lush). I grew up here. Maybe you did, too. Screw the Rat Pack. Long live lizard-chasing on empty desert lots. We'd like to celebrate something of our own.
UNLV 103, Duke 73. April 2, 1991. How I love old news. Shortly thereafter a billygoat was apparently thrown out of the Thomas & Mack. (Non-Cubs fans: Google "curse.") What else you got?
Hey, the Wynn is opening in April!
Panorama Towers is reaching skyward!
Blasting on Black Mountain!
We are brimming with energy, with no place to share it. Kublai Khan did amazing things with that dome of his, but what's one Xanadan to say to the next but that the livin's easy and the towers are high? Must we see ourselves only as the outsiders do?
Air Force 64, UNLV 48.
What the hell?
It's a cliché of the worst kind, this idea that a city needs a bunch of college kids with a ball to provide us a civic identity. But Elko's got murals, Reno's got a museum, and I'm tired of what happens here staying here.
The Expos didn't come. The Marlins are still in Florida. The 61 acres are empty. The 51s are called the 51s. Bellagio is showing Monet. Monet is not ours.
Go Rebels!
Please.