Vegas on Valentine's

Now why didn't you think of that one before? Full marks to all those who did.
Walked into world famous hotel and laughed non stop for nineteen minutes!
Nothing prepares you for this freak fantasyland in the nothingness of a numb Nevada desert.

No one comes here alone though. (No marks to me for that one, only raised eyebrows).Its a heady, romantic , raunchy 'people' place, so pick up someone quick, if you want to do it right. Sex, dope and rock n roll ain't dead yet, just the rules have changed.

Walk the 'strip' in wonder, click the mammoth Coca Cola bottle and freeze Venetia in a frame that looks much too pristine, while Ceasar's serfs look on. Crane your neck to glimpse that E tower rubbing shoulders with the fleshy green libertine holding the lamp aloft to an already dazzled sky. Tourists in every shape size and colour throng the boulevards, frazzled feet, smelling sweet with giant size holes in their pockets that keep getting bigger as the city thickens its waistline.

I'm hungry- seafood burrito or a steak in that all American diner? Settle for the sirloin, give up halfway through and exit with giant pickled cucumber for dessert.

Everyone's happy in Vegas, me included,albeit for a few days. Seduced by the glitz, the sheer scale of things, crazy kitsch, casual chic,bluster of neon, wine women song and the lure of wealth. Who could ever resist bright lights and the smell of money?

No one's real here, though -they just float through the fakeness like I did, racing over Brooklyn bridge, wind in my face, Springsteen in my ears. One casino melting into another, the jangling tune of gaming machines and shouts of triumph from the poker table. Who remembers the men who made Vegas -Bugsy, Lansky, Hughes etc and all the blood,hustle and darkness behind the sequinned curtains?

Perhaps Jon the craps dealer at the Excalibur casino (who claimed he used to do interiors for the mafia) remembers. He talks about how in the old days you would be sacked if you lost money at your table, and flashes a gold tooth smile at the suave millionaire in carefully casual clothes with every wrinkle in the right place, who keeps tipping him generously.

Big woman with even bigger cleavage in bright red gown totters out of Jester's Lounge on three inch high unintelligible shoes, and spills her elegant margarita on smug tuxedo'd partner, squealing coyly. Naked man in blonde wig runs around with bunch of balloons and poster on back saying 'I'm 53 today, save me'. Lady in posh black Armani gown with expensive hair and inch thick diamond bracelet beckons the eager (for huge tip) waiter with an imperceptible nod of her pale head, for yet another priceless bottle of bubbly. I suddenly feel like a tramp in jeans and dirty boots.
Resolve to comb hair, scrub face and smell like a million dollars before the night is out.

Waylaid by roulette table I lasted 3 hours with chips worth twenty bucks, tripled my gains twice and then lost steadily as the two beers and three wines started talking. Damn, and I thought the only reason I came here was to make money!
Watching grizzly old women staring hopefully at fruity slot machines whirring away their savings, keen eyed chinese gamblers killing the competition, podgy legged waitresses in naughty skirts... . Businessman in smart black suit next to me threw in a few hundreds on my behalf which I politely declined, he insisted, betted and lost it all, smiled benignly at me and started a conversation. Never lock eyes with a smooth bald man, no matter how deceptively simple he looks. They're dreaming of jumping into bed with you before you can say 'forget it buddy'.
Exit roulette table. Made mental note to master blackjack before next visit. Leaves you no time for conversation. Besides, the hunks seem to be headed that way.

Get some fresh air first. Man in gold suit and rastafarian locks scrubbing gleaming white stretch limo, chatting up kid in black hood from North Carolina. Edged closer to decipher thick accent and guess what, they're talkin about their mothers for chrissakes- what happened to the mafia tales?

Woman in rasping voice announces' get that jackpot before your mother in law does- and gives you hell for it after'. Stench of high stakes and big money. Intoxicating. Well, almost. Give me a tall bottle of Gucci 'envy' anyday or better still some fresh green cilantro. Wow, did I really mean that?

Cursing myself for not knowing Spanish. Everyone thinks I'm Mexican around here. Cool Latino dude regales neighbours with tales of purple women he laid. Hits on me gratuitously, loves my hair and insists on knowing if I'm married. Fob him of with a bunch of lies and then wonder if I did the right thing. Console myself thinking he wasn't wearing the right shoes and that hat was a trifle too gauche for my taste.

Walk off your losses. Walk into Starbucks for a caramel apple cider. Can still smell it somehow.
'It won't do, to dream of caramel, think of cinnamon and long for you' (Suzanne Vega)
See tireless escalators carrying frozen people into paradise and huge screens in frenzied competition to lure you into snazzily choreographed shows. How many topless women can you handle at one shot? Give your eye (and other) muscles a rest, take a break and hit the spa.

Cool blue after all that roaring red. Another ripoff. What a riot. Still raring to go you raving renegade? Ride the wave. Roll on...

and take me with you next time.