You might wonder why I’m wearing a Hawaiian shirt in Las Vegas. Sure, it’s a bit of a mixed message, a combination of two disparate Elvis movies (Blue Hawaii and Viva Las Vegas). But it made sense at the time.
Vegas is a city built on excess. Prostitution (something my sister, Miranda, was shocked to learn about), Gambling, Organized Crime, and Alcoholism are facts of everyday life here, and you’re giving me grief about my badass Hawaiian shirt?
I don’t gamble, I don’t pay for sex, and I don’t drink too much (anymore). I have dozens of Hawaiian shirts, but I’ve never been to the Aloha state. This is my excess. This is my symbolic approval of a city that is base, selfish and greedy.
I love it here, but damn is it expensive. Cirque du Soleil, Wolfgang Puck, Rollercoasters, you don’t need to be a slot junkie or a John to lose all your money. I can’t remember which phrase came first:
“It’s a nice place to live, but I wouldn’t want to visit.”
“It’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”
Vegas is the latter.