Growing up in Las Vegas is a weird thing. It's sort of like growing up in Disneyland and seeing all the scaffolding behind the majesty and the guy who plays Pluto with his head off smoking a cigarette and chatting up Snow White and realizing that the scale on the Matterhorn's all weird and that's why it looks so tall. Only, you know, more depressing.
Having been away for a few years now I can appreciate what other people see in this painted harlot of a town. I especially have grown to appreciate the run-down downtown, the Vegas that once was. In a city that demolishes anything once it's 30 years old, only to rebuild something more garish, more immediately dated, it's strangely comforting to see the rows of motels with cheesy script type and busted neon, all proudly advertising things that are best left unadvertised ("Adult Movies & Hourly Rates?" Um, no thanks.). It's the closest thing to history this "man with a mid-life crisis" of a town has.
It's sad and off-putting, these monuments to failure and indecency, but at least it has the guts to tell the truth in a town whose foundation is built entirely of lies, false promises and heartache. "Viva, Las Vegas."
No comments:
Post a Comment