Vegas draws the greedy dreamers out from their suburban hovels for long, wasted weekends of bad behavior, evenings planned by someone's new girlfriend and her gaggle of froufie chicas ready to let it loose after a steak dinner and a few whiskey sours. By then, the southern part of the strip had become an architectural and conceptual wrestling mat. In 1989, no new casino had been built for 16 years. The fork between glamour and gutteral was paved then, when Steve Wynn opened the Mirage and the Circus Circus company countered with the Excalibur. Wynn countered in 1993 with Treasure Island and its live pirate show.
Nothing catches the high-low hyperreality of Vegas better.
Now that the wave of mega-resorts has hit the sparkling desert town just west of the Hoover Dam, there's a new era of indulgence afoot, and the town looks spanking new, fitted with piles of amenities. We do, the young and the restless. No kids and plenty of disposable income. God Bless Vegas, once and for all, because now it's ours. We're twentysomethings, thirtysomethings, fortysomethings and fabulous and there's no better place to party down in the whole wide world.