The
place makes you want to scream for help because your senses are
violated at every turn. Music blares from speakers lining the
streets, buildings careen at odd angles, lights blaze wherever you
turn, and boys in sunglasses thrust little packets of photos in your
face. Las Vegas is where brass trumps charm.
It's
full of excess. The meek have no place in Vegas. While the Bellagio
Hotel and Casino gardens are reliably lovely, that's the only area of
The Strip that is tasteful.
White
clouds and blue skies never change in the Miracle Mile Mall
shops--not even when it's "raining" every hour on the hour
into the pond below.
The
All Saints Spitalfields avant-garde clothing shop has 1,800
old-fashioned sewing machines dressing its considerable storefront.
This
man, Art Santen, is in The Guinness Book of World Records. He has
over 32,000 bottle openers. Yes, bottle openers.
We met
a man from the California Coast who said he towed his boat to a Vegas
parking garage. He roamed the streets during the day and retired to
his private yacht every night to sleep.
We met
only one man who tilted at windmills, trying to sell his photocopied
booklets of poetry to passersby.
I'm
delighted that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas because I
couldn't pack all the brash bravado of that city in my suitcase no
matter how large the bag.
Practicalities -
No comments:
Post a Comment