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<\/a><\/div>\nClick the dead end for our Vegas photos. <\/em><\/p>\n I can see that under certain circumstances, say, with several thousand to blow without regret or explanation, Vegas might be “fun.” One could book a suite with a view of the strip, buy excellent seats for the most expensive shows in town, head over to Dolce and Gabanna and buy something that would make Donatella Versace look classy, and stay in a numbed state of intoxication for 48 hours.<\/p>\n However.<\/p>\n Not being a woman of unlimited resources, I had a really hard time seeing the appeal. I hate shopping malls. I hate big cars cruising around and going nowhere. I hate suburban sprawl with a passion reserved for George W. Bush and pinheads who make exclamations about America without ever having been here. I don’t gamble – I don’t have the nerves for it – and I don’t smoke and I’m not really much of a drinker. That last one, the not being much of a drinker is, I think, a fatal flaw in a visitor to Vegas. Sedation is neccessary in order to cope with the near constant input to all of your senses.<\/p>\n It would be wrong to say I hated Vegas. I enjoyed the tour at Hoover Dam. I had several nice meals out in the never ending strip malls that radiate from the center. We had an excellent visit with the family and enjoyed their company. I was – what? Impressed? Gobstruck? Awed? Something. I was awed – let’s go with awed – by the implementation of Paris and the Venetian, and it’s hilarious to drive down the strip. New York! Paris! Rome! Venice! Morocco! A world tour through your car window.<\/p>\n But it was all too much for me. I didn’t like the artifice and was offended by the waste. Vegas was too much surface quailty and not enough anything else. The noise and sparkle distracted me constantly but there was nowhere to look away. There was nothing for me to bite in to, I was ungrounded the entire time. I felt like a snob. Vegas is not for me.<\/p>\n There is one thing that might return me to Vegas. I like the idea of arriving at dusk, checking in to some lowrise off the strip motel, and eating in a local Mexican restaurant. Then, I’d like to get up really early, just before dawn while the neon is still lit, and cruise the streets where the old hotels and casinos still stand, taking pictures. I’d like to photograph all the wedding chapels in the rising desert light, empty, the parking lots littered with confetti and champagne corks.<\/p>\n And then, I’d like to put my foot to the gas and get the hell out of there.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Click the dead end for our Vegas photos. I can see that under certain circumstances, say, with several thousand to blow without regret or explanation, Vegas might be “fun.” One could book a suite with a view of the strip, buy excellent seats for the most expensive shows in town, head over to Dolce … <\/p>\n