Tuesday, February 13, 2007


Don't get me wrong. I love Las Vegas.

Having been born and raised in Los Angeles, I can testify that there is more juice, more spark here in Vegas than I ever felt anywhere in LA county, even Hollywood itself.

But, Vegas has the peculiar ability to seriously derail some people.   Or, perhaps, it just attracts the mad.

Such as:

1)The Playah

Soon after arriving in Vegas (Jan 05), I became acquainted with the Playah.   These are people who are just one slot-pull, crap-shoot or walk-on short of immortality.   Sporting lizard skin boots, leather vests, gold rings/chains/teeth and leopard prints, they gonna hit, real big, real soon, yeah.

2)The Freak

Basically, in this town, you'll probably never know if the normal-seeming person you meet during the workday is actually, seriously - but legally - bent.   The Fed-Ex driver with a passion for licking Veuve Clicquot off of prostitute's butts.   The barber with a 200k gambling tab at Ceasar's.   The pole-dancing preschool teacher.   You get the picture.

3)The Traffic Spaz

50% of the people on the road are staid locals trying to get to work, the mall or home.   25% are Playahs (see above) and the remaining 25% are lost.   Completely, totally, hopelessly lost tourists with some crackpot notion that they can find their way around Vegas with a map or, worse, a GPS.

Now, traffic is a serious issue in many American cities.   But I have to say, after having driven extensively in the southwest, the traffic in Vegas is off-the-cliff beyond anything you'll find in San Jose, Los Angeles, San Diego, Phoenix, Tuscon, Houston or Santa Fe.

People just go spastic. Someone will just suddenly short-circuit, his patience smoked after following along behind someone else driving 5mph below the speed limit, having aborted six right turns only to swerve madly to the left in order to pop into Palace Station at the last moment.   I tell people, you're not a local in Vegas until you've driven over a median in an apoplectic rage.


No comments:

Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether.

-Hunter S. Thompson

Dedicated to the other side of Las Vegas, namely; the sprawling, mad, incoherent underpinnings of the world's favorite destination.

That, and the occasional ranting about nothing in particular.