We love Las Vegas. If you sometimes don't, or if you're one of those daisies who can't quite commit to even being a Las Vegan despite having lived here for more than one year, or if you're new and need to understand the ethos and pathos of Las Vegas in a manner that will help you appreciate this place, we've taken it upon ourselves to recommend these ways of enhancing your love of Las Vegas. It's not all in the drunken gambling and purchasable sex, although it's also not entirely without those pathological gems—it's in the way you feel the city.
So here you go—get started on enhancing your love of Las Vegas:
1. Slip into its Intellectual Enclaves
The UNLV library: Nothing helps you shuck those Vegas-is-a-dump blues like feeling there's brain-wave activity somewhere within city limits. The gorgeous UNLV library is a great place to start. Multiple floors of smartness, this place. We suggest loitering in the periodicals section—whatever your particular obsession, there's undoubtedly a journal devoted to it, and this place probably carries it. Back issues, too. We also like that there are always people parked at the desks and tables, thinking. Cognition!
Hal Rothman's office: Three words— said Hal Rothman—summarize the media's affection for our ubiquitous UNLV history prof/historian/author-editor, the go-to guru for informed perspective on Las Vegas.
Three more words—a beautiful shamble—summarize Rothman's overstuffed office, which oozes academia. Look around. There's some serious brain-drainin' going on here.
It's not simply that reference books, historical volumes, periodicals, university memos, graded and un-graded assignments, class schedules and reams of research fill the joint. It's that they OWN the joint. Every visible inch of it. Piles of intellectual flotsam and jetsam sliding precariously into one another over his desk and any flat surface—say, furniture once designed to function as chairs—threatening an imminent paper avalanche.
And, of course, a stack of Rothman-penned books—Devil's Bargains, Neon Metropolis, take your pick—remind you exactly where you are.
Stan Vaughan's Garage: It smells vaguely of cats. There's an old sofa parked in the back. There's a table full of baseball cards ("a half-million dollars' worth") and boxes full of framed calligraphy and sketches he has done himself. One is an Emerson quote about success, another is a Hugo quote about love, a third, a George Sand quote about happiness. Atop Stan Vaughan's work table are copies of the Anti-Federalist Papers and The Da Vinci Code and a bright orange Mead notebook on which he has written "Revelation." Vaughan is a local chess pro and failed political candidate and gadfly eccentric extraordinaire, and his suburban garage has housed conversations among chess types and sideline politicos ranging from nitpicking the lines of the Nevada Revised Statutes to dissecting the history of Kaballah. The brain is in overdrive here; the practical applications of it are wholly irrelevant.
The Science Fiction Book Club that Meets at Borders: Kidding!
2. Drive in Any Direction
Kingman: En route to and from Phoenix, The Weekly routinely visits the bathrooms at the T/A truck stop in Kingman and finds them, and the entire experience of Kingman, a solid reminder of the loveliness of Las Vegas.
Laughlin: "I don't want to die here," an Esquire writer lamented a few years ago. That should be emblazoned on the city-limits sign.
Barstow: If Vegas seems ... temporary, this California desert town feels as though it's one strong wind away from being a field of scattered wood and rebar. And, aside from the McDonald's that's been a way station for untold thousands of Las Vegans bound for Disneyland, would it be missed?
St. George: A nice-looking town nestled in pretty red hills. Not so bad, no. But to spend a weekend there, looking for something to do, something to eat or something to buy, is to rethink your knee-jerk notions of Vegas as a wasteland.
Needles: Oh, God.
3. Smell It
A few Scents of Vegas: The stench wafting from the construction at Wynn Las Vegas—the aroma of progress! The flora-filled conservatory at the Bellagio. The sugar-filled Krispy Kreme on Eastern. Lately, the smell of rain. The water-filled cut grass in the suburbs. Fresh wetlands at the end of Flamingo. The distinctive pig-shittiness the air acquires as you drive on Washburn near Mojave High School—that's the smell of a nearby hog farm, the smell of controversy, the smell of new growth clashing with old ways.
4. Observe Its Indigenous Wildlife
Packs of Taxis: In Las Vegas‚ herds of Taxis can be found in their natural habitats—casino porte cocheres, the airport and strip-joints—and rarely anywhere else. It is there that the Taxi finds another creature with which it shares a symbiotic relationship: the Fare. Both benefit one another, as the Fare provides food for the Taxi while hitching a ride with it, much like a remora and shark. Taxis are opportunistic feeders, and will usually ignore a Fare anywhere outside of its habitat, even when the Fare emits a call meant to attract the Taxi.
Nests of Valets: These can be found in the same habitat as the Taxi. Rarely resting, these creatures are more often seen in a flurry of activity, scurrying and riding from one spot to another within a much smaller range than the Taxi. Biologists aren't sure whether to classify the Valet as predator or scavenger, but it's common to observe them tussling with other creatures over a relative to the Taxi: the Car. The confrontations only end when the Valet surrenders some small, metal objects in exchange for bits of colored paper, at which point the Valet resumes the hunt for another Car.
Prides of Skittish Mothers Who Fear Sexy Billboards: They pilot SUVs with baby seats in the back; they dress sharp, have clean manicures and live in nice homes, enjoying like each and every one of us the fruits provided by the city's wild reputation. But they dislike actually seeing, ergo acknowledging, sexuality—particularly large sexual images on billboards around town, those with panties around ankles and others with more than two persons engaged in a romp, particularly if two of those people happen to be the same sex, which typically happens after you reach the quantity of three. It's tasteless, after all, and this is a city famously concerned about being tasteful. So the pride, in the grand American tradition of speaking out on meaningful political issues, protests. Its members show up en masse at gaming board meetings and pass around photos of nipples and gasp and go home to think about nipples and generally oppose the display of nipples. At night, they reproduce. They tote their offspring everywhere—including to the gaming meetings where they themselves are passing around photos of panties/nipples/lesbians while their offspring sit in the floor and color, listening, seeing—forcing us to acknowledge, over and over and over again, what goes on in Vegas ...
They're running down the up elevator trying like hell to get a snapshot of a statue of a Roman God in Caesar's. That's love, kids, and we can learn from that love.
Self-explanatory, no? Between the Strip, the malls and the strip malls, Las Vegas offers more chances than other places to pursue that most American of pastimes: achieving self-definition through purchasing stuff you don't need.
Fremont Street After Dark: You'll feel vastly more at home if you veer off the brightly lit and regularly beaten (by 25 million visitors) path through the Fremont Street Experience and trek to Fremont's easternmost sections, preferably after dark. Locals only, baby! There you'll find an array of species indigenous to the motel-dotted environs. Among the more interesting: womanus prostitutinus (you pay, she'll play), vagabondasauraus rex (noted for rampant wandering, sometimes with a beer in hand), the migrating cripsterbloodsterthug (spends weekends here avoiding its natural prey, the long-armed LAPD) and the invasive West Nile drugusdealerusvulgarus (feasts on the vast supply of thrill-seeking prey).
Industrial Road At 2 a.m.: What happens here, on this stretch of Industrial between Sahara and Desert Inn ... is anyone's guess. Cops can't definitively say, but that doesn't stop them from speculating. Cruise by on a Saturday or Sunday morning and let your mind wonder about ... the occupations of the women in barely-there skirts sitting in stools outside some businesses ... the meaning behind the sexed-up names of some of the enterprises (Hot Bodies Spa, Sensations, Sinful Art Gallery) ... the $40 nonrefundable fees you'll pay just to enter ... and the high price of massage these days ($300 and up; twice as much as you'll pay in some high-end casinos). Makes you wonder: Is this Vegas' red light district?
A few Sounds of Vegas: "Cocktails, anyone?' The Killers playing on every single stereo in the entire United States—yeah, that started here. Jazz at the Clark County Amphitheater. Birds in your back yard. The hum of stalled traffic. "Can you take a picture of us with the fake Statue of Liberty?" Parents cheering at a soccer game. Bad lounge bands. Students laughing on the UNLV mall. Funky club beats. "WHEEL ... OF ... FORTUNE!" Skies inundated by aircraft. The gentle belching of buffet contentment. Trunk-rattling bass at every stoplight. The absent gurgle of water in dry fountains. The vroom of NASCAR at the Speedway. Arcades filled with Dance Dance Revolution.
See "Prides of Skittish Mothers Who Fear Sexy Billboards." See "Marvel at the City's Capacity to Honor the Not-So-Honorable." Vegas has a brilliant—brilliant!—capacity to display the absurd. It encapsulates ridiculousness of the human condition on every other block; ie: The Guardian Angel Cathedral on the Strip across from the Stardust might very well be a church-themed casino to the unindoctrinated, but it's actually a nice Catholic church that reputedly accepts casino chips as tithing; it's a place where tourists, walking the Strip, may stop in to pray, ask forgiveness, think about the great hereafter, and then mosey on over to a sports book, place a bet, have a few tequila shots, head up to the room and order an escort. Here in Vegas, there are layers upon layers of absurdism—the kind we all see (or can't avoid seeing), such as the mayor who is a former mob lawyer and who jokes about where the bodies are buried but who takes offense when his political ethics are questioned, to the less blatant, such as, say, the fact that the Strip was in its early days financed by key leaders in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, which to this day forbids its members from gambling or drinking. Broadening our view, Vegas is one of the fastest-growing cities in America—and without any substantial industry not dependent on vice, and built in the middle of a desert lacking the water to naturally sustain even a small community. Absurd.
Josh Bell Tunes In, January 2: It's zero degrees in Fargo, North Dakota. Zero, as in none. The guy on the Weather Channel warns people not to stay out for more than half an hour or they'll get frostbite. There are 5-10 inches of snow on the ground there. The entire Midwest is referred to as "dreary." There are icy road conditions in Kansas. Northern New England is under a winter weather advisory; there is ice in upstate in New York and freezing rain, sleet and light snow in Vermont. At least the snow is light. In Texas, there are heavy rains and thunderstorms. Houston is covered in a thick fog. Even our close neighbors in Los Angeles are getting 1-3 inches of rain, and should expect flooding, mudslides and road closures. Meanwhile, the worst we can expect are some clouds, and a few green dots on the Doppler radar. Maybe a little rain. But you don't have to shovel rain.
McCarran International Airport: Every time you step on or off of a plane in the gorgeous airport dubbed McCarran, think about the xenophobia of the man it's named for. In the 1940s, Sen. Patrick McCarran worked to prevent millions of European war refugees—including scads of Holocaust survivors—from entering the U.S. From there, it was on to the Red Scare—McCarran wrote an omnibus bill that pretty much outlawed the American Communist Party. The 1950 McCarran Act, or "Internal Security Act," was denounced even by some Republicans as the biggest threat to liberty in America since the 1798 Alien and Sedition Acts, as it allowed the now infamous interrogations of U.S. citizens. And in 1952, McCarran pushed through Congress the Immigration and Nationalities Act, which allowed the deportation of suspected Communists without due process of law.
Reviewing a book on McCarran, historian David Greenberg recently wrote in the New York Times: "(T)his dyspeptic, power-hungry titan—driven by hatreds and resentments and driving the nation's legislative agenda, [was responsible for] gratuitous persecutions at home, waged in the name of the hunt for those spies, that sowed panic, ruined lives and stained America indelibly." Happy flying!
Floyd Lamb State Park: Fitting that a town popularized by the morally suspect (it was mob boss Meyer Lansky who convinced Bugsy Siegel to trade Hollywood for Vegas) routinely pays homage to them. Granted, Floyd Lamb's name was attached to a 2,040-acre state park before his 1982 political corruption indictment—he served nine months of the three-year sentence for accepting bribes—but the widely respected politician (chair of the powerful state Senate Finance Committee; staunch defender of minorities) wasn't always Dudley Do-Gooder. Lamb's temper was incendiary: He pulled a shotgun on four guys who disrespected him outside a tavern; upset with a story, he kicked an Associated Press reporter during the 1977 Legislature.
12. Experience Spiritual Vegas
See "Appreciate the Absurdism in Vegas." Once you've enjoyed bathing in the polarity of the notion of God in Sin City, dig a little deeper and find a thriving, sincere spiritual life here. On any day, at any given time, a spiritual group likely is meeting somewhere in Las Vegas. Two thousand nondenominational Christians may be parked in theater seating at Central Christian Church, a stadium-esque house of worship with a snack bar. Or 20 studious people may be gathering on the carpeted floor of an apartment clubhouse for a Course in Miracles meeting. Or 1,200 Baptists may be belting out a gospel hymn in a westside church. Or 700 Jews may be listening to the cantor at a central synagogue. Or, tucked away in a downtown office building one night after hours, a handful of members of the Self Realization Fellowship may be discussing the similarities between the New Testament and Hinduism. Visit the Buddhist Temple in North Las Vegas and meet the monks. Drop in on a prayer meeting in a casino cafeteria. Help the poor at the Episcopal Diocese. Religion is alive and well in Vegas. While the world sees the irreligiousness of the Strip; religion is woven tightly into the communities that extend beyond the Strip—as a force affecting, and reflecting, the development of suburban Las Vegas.
• Run for office on dirty money without getting caught!
• Eat at a buffet every day for 40 days straight without getting sick!
• Jaywalk at Sahara and Decatur!
• Pine-tar "The Heavy Hitter's" bat!
A Few Tastes of Vegas: Sunday morning soul food buffet at Sweet Georgia Browns. Spanikopita at Gyro Time. Blue corn muffins at Bobby Flay. Deep-fried Twinkies at Mermaid Casino. Caviar parfait at Michael Mina. The California Club at Fanny's Bistro. Machaca-filled breakfast burrito at Roberto's Tacos. Chicken tamale at Dona Maria. Shrimp cocktail at the Golden Gate. Crispy pizza at Rocco's. Steak burrito at Los Molcajetes Mexican Restaurant
15. Appreciate Its Place in Western Social History
Hal Rothman on Las Vegas' Place in Western Social History: "No place is more dependent on modern technology," says UNLV history Professor Hal Rothman. "Without air-conditioning, without chemical palliatives to keep the dust down, without a chain of damns and an elaborate array of agreements, the number of people who live here couldn't. The city is a product of industrial and postindustrial society."
Another thing that makes Vegas unique? A hundred-thirty thousand hotel rooms. "There is no place in the world that has as many hotel rooms that provides as high a standard of living for its residents as Las Vegas," Rothman continues. So the next time you're down on the Strip, look past the buffets and slot machines and appreciate the miracle at work. "We give the middle class a luxury experience at a middle class price. All towns reflect desire, but we anticipate it as well."
• "There, in the shadow of Red Rock's crimson cliffs, there's a herd of bicyclists who appear to be pausing to watch a herd of wild burros. Or, is it the herd of burros pausing to watch a herd of cyclists?"
• "Valley of Fire on one side, Death Valley on the other. Is this, indeed, the mythical Hell? And doesn't that make its denizens something very notable in the course of human existence?"
• "There's an old city under Lake Mead somewhere, or that has recently surfaced, or that is entirely populated by vicious attack carp."
From guinessworldrecords.com:
• Largest slot machine win: $39,713,982.25 won on March 21, 2003, at the Excalibur. The winner is anonymous.
• Most fountains in a hotel: the 1,000 fountains in the lake at Bellagio.
• Longest and highest blindfold skywalk: Jay Cochrane walked the 600 feet between the two 30-story towers of the Flamingo Hilton on November 11, 1998.
• City with highest annual gaming revenue: Las Vegas, of course. The site lists the figure of $7,673,134,286 from the year 2000. Las Vegas undoubtedly still holds the record, but we are sure to have beaten this four-year-old figure by now.
• Most consecutive Texas skips: On March 11, 2003, at the Wild West Arts Club convention at the Tropicana, Andrew Rotz performed 11,123 consecutive Texas skips.
• Most marriage vow renewals: At the Lighthouse Lounge at the Boardwalk hotel-casino on August 16, 2004, Lauren Lubeck Blair and David E. Hough Blair, of Tennessee, married each other for the 83rd time.
World Records Waiting To Be Set:
• Longest lap dance
• Ethical broad jump (politicians only)
• Consecutive days without a Paris Hilton sighting
1. No doubt some of these expenses are "unreasonable." Like renting a white Cadillac convertible and then soaking the bastard with the hard-crusted, sun-baked scum of 100 grapefruits and 2 dozen coconuts and 26 pounds of catsup and french fry residue—along with a layer or so of vomit and a goodly number of dings, dents and scrapes that were covered, thank christ, by an extra $2 a day for total insurance. The car was not a happy looking machine when I turned it in. ... Anyway, the point is that you can't sent a man out in a f--king Pinto or a VW to seek out the American Dream in Las Vegas. You want to be able to come roaring into the Circus-Circus in a huge Coupe de Ville and know the insanity of watching people jump and run and salute and all that crap ... which is crazy of course, but the insane truth is that the difference between $15 a day for a Mustang and $20 a day for a white Cadillac convertible is massive in ... Las Vegas. That extra $5 is a ticket to Their world—that and constantly giving dollar bills to the "boys" for quick and unctuous service.
—Hunter S. Thompson, justifying the expenses incurred for Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, in a May 1971 letter to his editor, included in Fear and Loathing in America: The Gonzo Letters, Volume 2.
2. It took two and a half weeks after moving to Vegas, for reasons wholly unrelated to the tourist economy or sex industry, for me to be propositioned ... Sitting in my red car at an intersection, I felt the burn of eyes on the side of my face and glanced at the car next to me. A clean-cut, middle aged man was cranking his fists in a circle in a signal for me to roll down my window. I did, noting the early arid September heat and the politeness of this fellow citizen, who, I speculated, would be asking for directions or informing me of a need for air in one of my tires. Instead, he yelled, "How much?" I felt my head cock just a bit as I wondered why he cared how much my car cost. "Huh?" He repeated his question with a lascivious grin and a chuckle. ...Blonde hair. Youngish woman. Red car. A mile from Las Vegas Boulevard. At a red light half a block from the Palomino All Nude Dance Club billboard. The equation was as simple as 1-2-3: I must be for sale. It began to make sense, and I began to make sense of myself in this city.
3. Vegas's McCarran International Airport had grown up since Valentine's last visit. Movable sidewalks, celebrity voice-overs on the PA system, upscale boutiques and jewelry stores, splashy promo films for the casinos on digital screens at the baggage claim. It was a regular amusement park, complete with video poker and banks of gleaming one-armed bandits.
"They say the casinos cheat their customers," a 50-ish woman wearing an I LOVE LEONARDO DICAPRIO T-shirt and support hose remarked as they waited for their bags. "You think that's true?"
"Absolutely not," Valentine replied, noting the plastic bucket filled with silver dollars clutched to her bosom. No luggage, and she was already betting the rent. "The state of Nevada wouldn't permit it. The casinos are the single biggest source of revenue the state has. They make sure everything's on the square."
"On the what?"
"On the square. As in legit."
"Oh. You some big-time gambler or something?"
"I don't play," he admitted. "It's a poor man's tax."