Not Your Father’s Vegas — Las Vegas, NV
Driving through the California desert west of Las Vegas, one wonders how anything could live here for a sustained period of time without turning all Kalifornia
on its nearest neighbor. But then you crest The Spring Mountains and there she is, Las Vegas, Nevada. A megalopolis of sprawl and glitz that has absolutely no business being there. The need to Sin away from one’s own backyard spawned this desert outpost in the thirties, and for a good forty years it seemed that Vegas had found its rightful place in Americana.
But something happened when Sinatra left town. The impeccable stylings of the original sins have have been replaced by the boorish celebration of all that is painfully obvious in America. This town may be a good place to spend 36 hours trying to erase a painful memory, but it’s no longer a place to shoot the cuffs and hang regal. I think The Rig and I are twenty years too late. Read on…
